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diff --git a/18140-h/18140-h.htm b/18140-h/18140-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a9840d6 --- /dev/null +++ b/18140-h/18140-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,14762 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of An Alabaster Box, by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman and Florence Morse Kingsley</title> +<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +p.caption {font-weight: bold; + text-align: center; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold;'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of An Alabaster Box, by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman and Florence Morse Kingsley</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: An Alabaster Box</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Mary E. Wilkins Freeman and Florence Morse Kingsley</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Illustrator: Stockton Mulford</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: April 10, 2006 [eBook #18140]<br /> +[Most recently updated: March 29, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Jeff Kaylin and Andrew Sly</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN ALABASTER BOX ***</div> + +<h1>An<br /> +Alabaster Box</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">By<br /> +Mary E. Wilkins Freeman<br /> +and<br /> +Florence Morse Kingsley</h2> + +<p class="center"> +Illustrated by<br /> +Stockton Mulford +</p> + +<p class="center"> +D. Appleton and Company<br /> +New York London<br /> +1917 +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +......There came a woman, having an alabaster box of ointment, very precious; +and she broke the box..... +</p> +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER XX.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">CHAPTER XXII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23">CHAPTER XXIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">CHAPTER XXIV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25">CHAPTER XXV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap26">CHAPTER XXVI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap27">CHAPTER XXVII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap28">CHAPTER XXVIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap29">CHAPTER XXIX.</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>Chapter I.</h2> + +<p> +“We,” said Mrs. Solomon Black with weighty emphasis, “are +going to get up a church fair and raise that money, and we are going to pay +your salary. We can’t stand it another minute. We had better run in debt +to the butcher and baker than to the Lord.” +</p> + +<p> +Wesley Elliot regarded her gloomily. “I never liked the idea of church +fairs very well,” he returned hesitatingly. “It has always seemed +to me like sheer beggary.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” said Mrs. Solomon Black, “we will beg.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Solomon Black was a woman who had always had her way. There was not one +line which denoted yielding in her large, still handsome face, set about with +very elaborate water-waves which she had arranged so many years that her black +hair needed scarcely any attention. It would almost seem as if Mrs. Solomon +Black had been born with water waves. +</p> + +<p> +She spoke firmly but she smiled, as his mother might have done, at the young +man, who had preached his innocent best in Brookville for months without any +emolument. +</p> + +<p> +“Now don’t you worry one mite about it,” said she. +“Church fairs may be begging, but they belong to the history of the +United States of America, and I miss my guess if there would have been much +preaching of the gospel in a good many places without them. I guess it +ain’t any worse to hold church fairs in this country than it is to have +the outrageous goings on in the old country. I guess we can cheat a little with +mats and cakes and things and not stand any more danger of hell-fire than all +those men putting each other’s eyes out and killing everybody they can +hit, and spending the money for guns and awful exploding stuff that ought to go +for the good of the world. I ain’t worried one mite about church fairs +when the world is where it is now. You just run right into your study, Mr. +Elliot, and finish your sermon; and there’s a pan of hot doughnuts on the +kitchen table. You go through the kitchen and get some doughnuts. We had +breakfast early and you hadn’t ought to work too hard on an empty +stomach. You run along. Don’t you worry. All this is up to me and Maria +Dodge and Abby Daggett and a few others. You haven’t got one blessed +thing to do with it. All you’ve got to do is to preach as well as you +can, and keep us from a free fight. Almost always there is a fuss when women +get up a fair. If you can preach the gospel so we are all on speaking terms +when it is finished, you will earn your money twice over. Run along.” +</p> + +<p> +Wesley Elliot obeyed. He always obeyed, at least in the literal sense, when +Mrs. Solomon Black ordered him. There was about her a fairly masterly +maternity. She loved the young minister as firmly for his own good as if he had +been her son. She chuckled happily when she heard him open the kitchen door. +“He’ll light into those hot doughnuts,” she thought. She +loved to pet the boy in the man. +</p> + +<p> +Wesley Elliot in his study upstairs—a makeshift of a study—sat +munching hot doughnuts and reflecting. He had only about one-third of his +sermon written and it was Saturday, but that did not disturb him. He had a +quick-moving mind. He sometimes wondered whether it did not move too quickly. +Wesley was not a conceited man in one sense. He never had doubt of his power, +but he had grave doubts of the merits of his productions. However, today he was +glad of the high rate of speed of which he was capable, and did not worry as +much as he sometimes did about his landing at the exact goal. He knew very well +that he could finish his sermon, easily, eat his doughnuts, and sit reflecting +as long as he chose. He chose to do so for a long time, although his +reflections were not particularly happy ones. When he had left the theological +seminary a year ago, he had had his life planned out so exactly that it did not +seem possible to him that the plans could fail. He had graduated at the head of +his class. He had had no doubt of a city church. One of the professors, a rich +man with much influence, had practically promised him one. Wesley went home to +his doting mother, and told her the news. Wesley’s mother believed in +much more than the city church. She believed her son to be capable of anything. +“I shall have a large salary, mother,” boasted Wesley, “and +you shall have the best clothes money can buy, and the parsonage is sure to be +beautiful.” +</p> + +<p> +“How will your old mother look in fine feathers, in such a beautiful +home?” asked Wesley’s mother, but she asked as a lovely, +much-petted woman asks such a question. She had her little conscious smile all +ready for the rejoinder which she knew her son would not fail to give. He was +very proud of his mother. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, mother,” he said, “as far as that goes, I +wouldn’t balk at a throne for you as queen dowager.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are a silly boy,” said Mrs. Elliot, but she stole a glance at +herself in an opposite mirror, and smiled complacently. She did not look old +enough to be the mother of her son. She was tall and slender, and fair-haired, +and she knew how to dress well on her very small income. She was rosy, and +carried herself with a sweet serenity. People said Wesley would not need a wife +as long as he had such a mother. But he did not have her long. Only a month +later she died, and while the boy was still striving to play the rôle of +hero in that calamity, there came news of another. His professor friend had a +son in the trenches. The son had been wounded, and the father had obeyed a +hurried call, found his son dead, and himself died of the shock on the return +voyage. Wesley, mourning the man who had been his stanch friend, was guiltily +conscious of his thwarted ambition. “There goes my city church,” he +thought, and flung the thought back at himself in anger at his own +self-seeking. He was forced into accepting the first opportunity which offered. +His mother had an annuity, which he himself had insisted upon for her greater +comfort. When she died, the son was nearly penniless, except for the house, +which was old and in need of repair. +</p> + +<p> +He rented that as soon as he received his call to Brookville, after preaching a +humiliating number of trial sermons in other places. Wesley was of the lowly in +mind, with no expectation of inheriting the earth, when he came to rest in the +little village and began boarding at Mrs. Solomon Black’s. But even then +he did not know how bad the situation really was. He had rented his house, and +the rent kept him in decent clothes, but not enough books. He had only a little +shelf filled with the absolutely necessary volumes, most of them relics of his +college course. He did not know that there was small chance of even his meager +salary being paid until June, and he had been ordained in February. He had +wondered why nobody said anything about his reimbursement. He had refrained +from mentioning it, to even his deacons. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Solomon Black had revealed the state of affairs, that morning. “You +may as well know,” said she. “There ain’t a cent to pay you, +and I said when you came that if we couldn’t pay for gospel privileges we +should all take to our closets and pray like Sam Hill, and no charge; but they +wouldn’t listen to me, though I spoke right out in conference meeting and +it’s seldom a woman does that, you know. Folks in this place have been +hanging onto the ragged edge of nothing so long they don’t seem to sense +it. They thought the money for your salary was going to be brought down from +heaven by a dove or something, when all the time, those wicked flying things +are going round on the other side of the earth, and there don’t seem as +if there could be a dove left. Well, now that the time’s come when you +ought to be paid, if there’s any decency left in the place, they comes to +me and says, ‘Oh, Mrs. Black, what shall we do?’ I said, ‘Why +didn’t you listen when I spoke out in meeting about our not being able to +afford luxuries like gospel preaching?’ and they said they thought +matters would have improved by this time. Improved! How, I’d like to +know? The whole world is sliding down hill faster and faster every minute, and +folks in Brookville think matters are going to improve, when they are sliding +right along with the Emperor of Germany and the King of England, and all the +rest of the big bugs. I can’t figure it out, but in some queer, +outlandish way that war over there has made it so folks in Brookville +can’t pay their minister’s salary. They didn’t have much +before, but such a one got a little for selling eggs and chickens that has had +to eat them, and the street railway failed, and the chair factory, that was the +only industry left here, failed, and folks that had a little to pay had to eat +their payings. And here you are, and it’s got to be the fair. Seems queer +the war in Europe should be the means of getting up a fair in Brookville, but I +guess it’ll get up more’n that before they’re through +fighting.” +</p> + +<p> +All this had been the preliminary to the speech which sent Wesley forth for +doughnuts, then to his study, ostensibly to finish his lovely sermon, but in +reality to think thoughts which made his young forehead, of almost boyhood, +frown, and his pleasant mouth droop, then inexplicably smooth and smile. It was +a day which no man in the flush of youth could resist. That June day fairly +rioted in through the open windows. Mrs. Black’s muslin curtains danced +in the June breeze like filmy-skirted nymphs. Wesley, whose imagination was +active, seemed to see forced upon his eager, yet reluctant, eyes, radiant +maidens, flinging their white draperies about, dancing a dance of the innocence +which preludes the knowledge of love. Sweet scents came in through the windows, +almond scents, honey scents, rose scents, all mingled into an ineffable bouquet +of youth and the quest of youth. +</p> + +<p> +Wesley rose stealthily; he got his hat; he tiptoed across the room. Heavens! +how thankful he was for access to the back stairs. Mrs. Black was sweeping the +parlor, and the rear of the house was deserted. Down the precipitous back +stairs crept the young minister, listening to the sound of the broom on Mrs. +Black’s parlor carpet. As long as that regular swish continued he was +safe. Through the kitchen he passed, feeling guilty as he smelled new peas +cooking for his delectation on Mrs. Black’s stove. Out of the kitchen +door, under the green hood of the back porch, and he was afield, and the day +had him fast. He did not belong any more to his aspirations, to his high and +noble ambitions, to his steadfast purpose in life. He belonged to the spring of +the planet from which his animal life had sprung. Young Wesley Elliot became +one with June, with eternal youth, with joy which escapes care, with the +present which has nothing to do with the past or the future, with that day +sufficient unto itself, that day dangerous for those whose feet are held fast +by the toils of the years. +</p> + +<p> +Wesley sped across a field which was like a field of green glory. He saw a +hollow like a nest, blue with violets, and all his thoughts leaped with +irresponsive joy. He crossed a brook on rocky stones, as if he were crossing a +song. A bird sang in perfect tune with his mood. He was bound for a place which +had a romantic interest for him: the unoccupied parsonage, which he could +occupy were he supplied with a salary and had a wife. He loved to sit on the +back veranda and dream. Sometimes he had company. Brookville was a hot little +village, with a long line of hills cutting off the south wind, but on that back +veranda of the old parsonage there was always a breeze. Sometimes it seemed +mysterious to Wesley, that breeze. It never failed in the hottest days. Now +that the parsonage was vacant, women often came there with their needlework of +an afternoon, and sat and sewed and chatted. Wesley knew of the custom, and had +made them welcome. But sometimes of a morning a girl came. Wesley wondered if +she would be there that morning. After he had left the field, he plunged +knee-deep through the weedage of his predecessor’s garden, and heart-deep +into luxuriant ranks of dewy vegetables which he, in the intervals of his +mental labors, should raise for his own table. Wesley had an inherent love of +gardening which he had never been in a position to gratify. Wesley was, in +fancy, eating his own green peas and squashes and things when he came in sight +of the back veranda. It was vacant, and his fancy sank in his mind like a +plummet of lead. However, he approached, and the breeze of blessing greeted him +like a presence. +</p> + +<p> +The parsonage was a gray old shadow of a building. Its walls were stained with +past rains, the roof showed depressions, the veranda steps were unsteady, in +fact one was gone. Wesley mounted and seated himself in one of the gnarled old +rustic chairs which defied weather. From where he sat he could see a pink and +white plumage of blossoms over an orchard; even the weedy garden showed lovely +lights under the triumphant June sun. Butterflies skimmed over it, always in +pairs, now and then a dew-light like a jewel gleamed out, and gave a delectable +thrill of mystery. Wesley wished the girl were there. Then she came. He saw a +flutter of blue in the garden, then a face like a rose overtopped the weeds. +The sunlight glanced from a dark head, giving it high-lights of gold. +</p> + +<p> +The girl approached. When she saw the minister, she started, but not as if with +surprise; rather as if she had made ready to start. She stood at the foot of +the steps, glowing with blushes, but still not confused. She smiled with +friendly confidence. She was very pretty and she wore a delicious gown, if one +were not a woman, to observe the lack of fashion and the faded streaks, and she +carried a little silk work-bag. +</p> + +<p> +Wesley rose. He also blushed, and looked more confused than the girl. +“Good morning, Miss Dodge,” he said. His hands twitched a little. +</p> + +<p> +Fanny Dodge noted his confusion quite calmly. “Are you busy?” said +she. +</p> + +<p> +“You are laughing at me, Miss Dodge. What on earth am I busy +about?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said the girl. “Of course I have eyes, and I can see +that you are not writing; but I can’t see your mind, or your thoughts. +For all I know, they may be simply grinding out a sermon, and today is +Saturday. I don’t want to break up the meeting.” She laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on up here,” said Wesley with camaraderie. “You know I +am not doing a blessed thing. I can finish my sermon in an hour after dinner. +Come on up. The breeze is heavenly. What have you got in that bag?” +</p> + +<p> +“I,” stated Fanny Dodge, mounting the steps, “have my work in +my bag. I am embroidering a center-piece which is to be sold for at least twice +its value—for I can’t embroider worth a cent—at the +fair.” She sat down beside him, and fished out of the bag a square of +white linen and some colored silks. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Black has just told me about that fair,” said Wesley. +“Say, do you know, I loathe the idea of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why? A fair is no end of fun. We always have them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Beggary.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it is. I might just as well put on some black glasses, get a little +dog with a string, and a basket, and done with it.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl giggled. “I know what you mean,” said she, “but your +salary has to be paid, and folks have to be cajoled into handing out the +money.” Suddenly she looked troubled. “If there is any to +hand,” she added. +</p> + +<p> +“I want you to tell me something and be quite frank about it.” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny shot a glance at him. Her lashes were long, and she could look through +them with liquid fire of dark eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” said she. She threaded a needle with pink silk. +</p> + +<p> +“Is Brookville a very poor village?” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny inserted her pink-threaded needle into the square of linen. +</p> + +<p> +“What,” she inquired with gravity, “is the past tense of +bust?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am in earnest.” +</p> + +<p> +“So am I. But I know a minister is never supposed to know about such a +word as bust, even if he is bust two-thirds of his life. I’ll tell you. +First Brookville was bust, now it’s busted.” +</p> + +<p> +Wesley stared at her. +</p> + +<p> +“Fact,” said Fanny, calmly, starting a rose on the linen in a +career of bloom. “First, years ago, when I was nothing but a kid, Andrew +Bolton—you have heard of Andrew Bolton?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have heard him mentioned. I have never understood why everybody was so +down on him, though he is serving a term in prison, I believe. Nobody seems to +like to explain.” +</p> + +<p> +“The reason for that is plain enough,” stated Fanny. “Nobody +likes to admit he’s been made a fool of. The man who takes the gold brick +always tries to hide it if he can’t blame it off on his wife or sister or +aunt. Andrew Bolton must have made perfectly awful fools of everybody in +Brookville. They must have thought of him as a little tin god on wheels till he +wrecked the bank and the silk factory, and ran off with a lot of money +belonging to his disciples, and got caught by the hand of the law, and landed +in State’s Prison. That’s why they don’t tell. Reckon my poor +father, if he were alive, wouldn’t tell. I didn’t have anything to +do with it, so I am telling. When Andrew Bolton embezzled the town went bust. +Now the war in Europe, through the grinding of wheels which I can’t +comprehend, has bankrupted the street railway and the chair factory, and the +town is busted.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, as you say, if there is no money, why a fair?” Wesley had +paled a little. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” replied the girl, “there is always the hoarding +instinct to be taken into account. There are still a lot of stockings and +feather beds and teapots in Brookville. We still have faith that a fair can +mine a little gold out of them for you. Of course we don’t know, but this +is a Yankee village, and Yankees never do spend the last cent. I admit you may +get somebody’s funeral expenses out of the teapot.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good Lord!” groaned Wesley. +</p> + +<p> +“That,” remarked the girl, “is almost swearing. I am +surprised, and you a minister.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it is an awful state of things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Fanny, “Mrs. B. H. Slocum may come over from +Grenoble. She used to live here, and has never lost her interest in Brookville. +She is rich. She can buy a lot, and she is very good-natured about being +cheated for the gospel’s sake. Then, too, Brookville has never lost its +guardian angels.” +</p> + +<p> +“What on earth do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“What I say. The faith of the people here in guardian angels is a +wonderful thing. Sometimes it seems to me as if all Brookville considered +itself under special guardianship, sort of a hen-and-chicken arrangement, you +know. Anyhow, they do go ahead and undertake the craziest things, and come out +somehow.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” said Wesley Elliot soberly, “that I ought to +resign.” +</p> + +<p> +Then the girl paled, and bent closer over her work. “Resign!” she +gasped. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, resign. I admit I haven’t enough money to live without a +salary, though I would like to stay here forever.” Wesley spoke with +fervor, his eyes on the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, you wouldn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“I most certainly would, but I can’t run in debt, and—I want +to marry some day—like other young men—and I must earn.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl bent her head lower. “Why don’t you resign and go away, +and get—married, if you want to?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fanny!” +</p> + +<p> +He bent over her. His lips touched her hair. “You know,” he +began—then came a voice like the legendary sword which divides lovers for +their best temporal and spiritual good. +</p> + +<p> +“Dinner is ready and the peas are getting cold,” said Mrs. Solomon +Black. +</p> + +<p> +Then it happened that Wesley Elliot, although a man and a clergyman, followed +like a little boy the large woman with the water-waves through the weedage of +the pastoral garden, and the girl sat weeping awhile from mixed emotions of +anger and grief. Then she took a little puff from her bag, powdered her nose, +straightened her hair and, also, went home, bag in hand, to her own noon +dinner. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>Chapter II.</h2> + +<p> +A church fair is one of the purely feminine functions which will be the last to +disappear when the balance between the sexes is more evenly adjusted. It is +almost a pity to assume that it will finally, in the nature of things, +disappear, for it is charming; it is innocent with the innocence of very good, +simple women; it is at the same time subtle with that inimitable subtlety which +only such women can achieve. It is petty finance on such a moral height that +even the sufferers by its code must look up to it. Before even woman, showing +anything except a timid face of discovery at the sights of New York under male +escort, invaded Wall Street, the church fair was in full tide, and the managers +thereof might have put financiers to shame by the cunning, if not magnitude, of +their operations. Good Christian women, mothers of families, would sell a tidy +of no use except to wear to a frayed edge the masculine nerves, and +hand-painted plates of such bad art that it verged on immorality, for prices so +above all reason, that a broker would have been taken aback. And it was all for +worthy objects, these pretty functions graced by girls and matrons in their +best attire, with the products of their little hands offered, or even forced, +upon the outsider who was held up for the ticket. They gambled shamelessly to +buy a new carpet for the church. There was plain and brazen raffling for +dreadful lamps and patent rockers and dolls which did not look fit to be owned +by nice little girl-mothers, and all for the church organ, the minister’s +salary and such like. Of this description was the church fair held in +Brookville to raise money to pay the Reverend Wesley Elliot. He came early, and +haunted the place like a morbid spirit. He was both angry and shamed that such +means must be employed to pay his just dues, but since it had to be he could +not absent himself. +</p> + +<p> +There was no parlor in the church, and not long after the infamous exit of +Andrew Bolton the town hall had been destroyed by fire. Therefore all such +functions were held in a place which otherwise was a source of sad humiliation +to its owner: Mrs. Amos Whittle, the deacon’s wife’s unfurnished +best parlor. It was a very large room, and poor Mrs. Whittle had always dreamed +of a fine tapestry carpet, furniture upholstered with plush, a piano, and lace +curtains. +</p> + +<p> +Her dreams had never been realized. The old tragedy of the little village had +cropped dreams, like a species of celestial foliage, close to their roots. Poor +Mrs. Whittle, although she did not realize it, missed her dreams more than she +would have missed the furniture of that best parlor, had she ever possessed and +lost it. She had come to think of it as a room in one of the “many +mansions,” although she would have been horrified had she known that she +did so. She was one who kept her religion and her daily life chemically +differentiated. She endeavored to maintain her soul on a high level of +orthodoxy, while her large, flat feet trod her round of household tasks. It was +only when her best parlor, great empty room, was in demand for some social +function like the church fair, that she felt her old dreams return and +stimulate her as with some wine of youth. +</p> + +<p> +The room was very prettily decorated with blossoming boughs, and Japanese +lanterns, and set about with long tables covered with white, which contained +the articles for sale. In the center of the room was the flower-booth, and that +was lovely. It was a circle of green, with oval openings to frame young +girl-faces, and on the circular shelf were heaped flowers in brilliant masses. +At seven o’clock the fair was in full swing, as far as the wares and +saleswomen were concerned. At the flower-booth were four pretty girls: Fanny +Dodge, Ellen Dix, Joyce Fulsom and Ethel Mixter. Each stood looking out of her +frame of green, and beamed with happiness in her own youth and beauty. They did +not, could not share the anxiety of the older women. The more anxious gathered +about the cake table. Four pathetically bedizened middle-aged creatures, three +too stout, one too thin, put their heads together in conference. One woman was +Mrs. Maria Dodge, Fanny’s mother, one was Mrs. Amos Dix, one was Mrs. +Deacon Whittle, and one was unmarried. +</p> + +<p> +She was the stoutest of the four, tightly laced in an ancient silk, with +frizzed hair standing erect from bulging temples. She was Lois Daggett, and a +tragedy. She loved the young minister, Wesley Elliot, with all her heart and +soul and strength. She had fastened, to attract his admiration, a little bunch +of rose geranium leaves and heliotrope in her tightly frizzed hair. That little +posy had, all unrecognized, a touching pathos. It was as the aigrette, the +splendid curves of waving plumage which birds adopt in the desire for love. +Lois had never had a lover. She had never been pretty, or attractive, but +always in her heart had been the hunger for love. The young minister seemed the +ideal of all the dreams of her life. He was as a god to her. She trembled under +his occasional glances, his casual address caused vibrations in every nerve. +She cherished no illusions. She knew he was not for her, but she loved and +worshipped, and she tucked on an absurd little bow of ribbon, and she frizzed +tightly her thin hair, and she wore little posies, following out the primitive +instinct of her sex, even while her reason lagged behind. If once Wesley should +look at that pitiful little floral ornament, should think it pretty, it would +have meant as much to that starved virgin soul as a kiss—to do her +justice, as a spiritual kiss. There was in reality only pathos and tragedy in +her adoration. It was not in the least earthy, or ridiculous, but it needed a +saint to understand that. Even while she conferred with her friends, she never +lost sight of the young man, always hoped for that one fleeting glance of +approbation. +</p> + +<p> +When her sister-in-law, Mrs. Daggett, appeared, she restrained her wandering +eyes. All four women conferred anxiously. They, with Mrs. Solomon Black, had +engineered the fair. Mrs. Black had not yet appeared and they all wondered why. +Abby Daggett, who had the expression of a saint—a fleshy saint, in old +purple muslin—gazed about her with admiration. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t it look perfectly lovely!” she exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Whittle fairly snapped at her, like an angry old dog. +“Lovely!” said she with a fine edge of sarcasm in her tone, +“perfectly lovely! Yes it does. But I think we are a set of fools, the +whole of us. Here we’ve got a fair all ready, and worked our fingers to +the bone (I don’t know but I’ll have a felon on account of that +drawn-in rug there) and we’ve used up all our butter and eggs, and I +don’t see, for one, who is going to buy anything. I ain’t got any +money t’ spend. I don’t believe Mrs. Slocum will come over from +Grenoble, and if she does, she can’t buy everything.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what made us get up the fair?” asked Mrs. Dodge. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose we all thought somebody might have some money,” ventured +Abby Daggett. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to know who? Not one of us four has, and I don’t +believe Mrs. Solomon Black has, unless she turns in her egg-money, and if she +does I don’t see how she is going to feed the minister. Where is Phoebe +Black?” +</p> + +<p> +“She is awfully late,” said Lois. She looked at the door, and, so +doing, got a chance to observe the minister, who was standing beside the +flower-table talking to Ellen Dix. Fanny Dodge was busily arranging some +flowers, with her face averted. Ellen Dix was very pretty, with an odd +prettiness for a New England girl. Her pale olive skin was flawless and fine of +texture. Her mouth was intensely red, and her eyes very dark and heavily shaded +by long lashes. She wore at the throat of her white dress a beautiful coral +brooch. It had been one of her mother’s girlhood treasures. The Dix +family had been really almost opulent once, before the Andrew Bolton cataclysm +had involved the village, and there were still left in the family little +reminiscences of former splendor. Mrs. Dix wore a superb old lace scarf over +her ancient black silk, and a diamond sparkled at her throat. The other women +considered the lace much too old and yellow to be worn, but Mrs. Dix was proud +both of the lace and her own superior sense of values. If the lace had been +admired she would not have cared so much for it. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly a little woman came hurrying up, her face sharp with news. “What +do you think?” she said to the others. “What do you think?” +</p> + +<p> +They stared at her. “What do you mean, Mrs. Fulsom?” asked Mrs. +Whittle acidly. +</p> + +<p> +The little woman tossed her head importantly. “Oh, nothing much,” +said she, “only I thought the rest of you might not know. Mrs. Solomon +Black has got another boarder. That’s what’s making her late. She +had to get something for her to eat.” +</p> + +<p> +“Another boarder!” said Mrs. Whittle. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the little woman, “a young lady, and Mrs. Solomon +Black is on her way here now.” +</p> + +<p> +“With <i>her</i>?” gasped the others. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, she’s coming, and she looks to me as if she might have +money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is she?” asked Mrs. Whittle. +</p> + +<p> +“How do I know? Mrs. Mixter’s Tommy told my Sam, and he told me, +and I saw Mrs. Black and the boarder coming out of her yard, when I went out of +mine, and I hurried so’s to get here first. Hush! Here they come +now.” +</p> + +<p> +While the women were conferring many people had entered the room, although none +had purchased the wares. Now there was stark silence and a concentrated fire of +attention as Mrs. Black entered with a strange young woman. Mrs. Black looked +doubtfully important. She, as a matter of fact, was far from sure of her wisdom +in the course she was taking. She was even a little pale, and her lips moved +nervously as she introduced the girl to one and another. “Miss +Orr,” she said; sometimes “Miss Lydia Orr.” +</p> + +<p> +As for the girl, she looked timid, yet determined. She was pretty, perhaps a +beauty, had she made the most of her personal advantages instead of apparently +ignoring them. Her beautiful fair hair, which had red-gold lights, should have +shaded her forehead, which was too high. Instead it was drawn smoothly back, +and fastened in a mat of compact flat braids at the back of her head. She was +dressed very simply, in black, and her costume was not of the latest mode. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see anything about her to have made Mrs. Fulsom think she +was rich,” Mrs. Whittle whispered to Mrs. Daggett, who made an +unexpectedly shrewd retort: “I can see. She don’t look as if she +cared what anybody thought of her clothes; as if she had so much she’s +never minded.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Whittle failed to understand. She grunted non-assent. “I don’t +see,” said she. “Her sleeves are way out of date.” +</p> + +<p> +For awhile there was a loud buzz of conversation all over the room. Then it +ceased, for things were happening, amazing things. The strange young lady was +buying and she was paying cash down. Some of the women examined the bank notes +suspiciously and handed them to their husbands to verify. The girl saw, and +flushed, but she continued. She went from table to table, and she bought +everything, from quilts and hideous drawn-in rugs to frosted cakes. She bought +in the midst of that ominous hush of suspicion. Once she even heard a woman +hiss to another, “She’s crazy. She got out of an insane +asylum.” +</p> + +<p> +However nobody of all the stunned throng refused to sell. Her first failure +came in the case of a young man. He was Jim Dodge, Fanny’s brother. Jim +Dodge was a sort of Ishmael in the village estimation, and yet he was liked. He +was a handsome young fellow with a wild freedom of carriage. He had worked in +the chair factory to support his mother and sister, before it closed. He +haunted the woods, and made a little by selling skins. He had brought as his +contribution to the fair a beautiful fox skin, and when the young woman essayed +to buy that he strode forward. “That is not for sale,” said he. +“I beg you to accept that as a gift, Miss Orr.” +</p> + +<p> +The young fellow blushed a little before the girl’s blue eyes, although +he held himself proudly. “I won’t have this sold to a young lady +who is buying as much as you are,” he continued. +</p> + +<p> +The girl hesitated. Then she took the skin. “Thank you, it is +beautiful,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Jim’s mother sidled close to him. “You did just right, Jim,” +she whispered. “I don’t know who she is, but I feel ashamed of my +life. She can’t really want all that truck. She’s buying to help. I +feel as if we were a parcel of beggars.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, she won’t buy that fox skin to help!” Jim whispered +back fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +The whole did not take very long. Finally the girl talked in a low voice to +Mrs. Black who then became her spokeswoman. Mrs. Black now looked confident, +even triumphant. “Miss Orr says of course she can’t possibly use +all the cake and pies and jelly,” she said, “and she wants you to +take away all you care for. And she wants to know if Mrs. Whittle will let the +other things stay here till she’s got a place to put them in. I tell her +there’s no room in my house.” +</p> + +<p> +“I s’pose so,” said Mrs. Whittle in a thick voice. She and +many others looked fairly pale and shocked. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Solomon Black, the girl and the minister went out. +</p> + +<p> +The hush continued for a few seconds. Then Mrs. Whittle spoke. +“There’s something wrong about that girl,” said she. Other +women echoed her. The room seemed full of feminine snarls. +</p> + +<p> +Jim Dodge turned on them, and his voice rang out. “You are a lot of +cats,” said he. “Come on home, mother and Fanny, I am mortal shamed +for the whole of it. That girl’s buying to help, when she can’t +want the things, and all you women turning on her for it!” +</p> + +<p> +After the Dodges had gone there was another hush. Then it was broken by a +man’s voice, an old man’s voice with a cackle of derision and +shrewd amusement in it. “By gosh!” said this voice, resounding +through the whole room, “that strange young woman has bought the whole +church fair!” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s something wrong,” said Mrs. Whittle again. +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t you got the money?” queried the man’s voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but—” +</p> + +<p> +“Then for God’s sake hang onto it!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>Chapter III.</h2> + +<p> +After Jim Dodge had taken his mother and sister home, he stole off by himself +for a solitary walk. The night was wonderful, and the young man, who was in a +whirl of undefined emotion, unconsciously felt the need of a lesson of eternal +peace. The advent of the strange girl, and her unprecedented conduct had caused +in him a sort of masculine vertigo over the whole situation. Why in the name of +common sense was that girl in Brookville, and why should she have done such a +thing? He admired her; he was angry with her; he was puzzled by her. +</p> + +<p> +He did not like the minister. He did not wonder that Elliot should wish for +emolument enough to pay his way, but he had a little contempt for him, for his +assumption of such superior wisdom that he could teach his fellow men spiritual +knowledge and claim from them financial reward. Aside from keeping those he +loved in comfort, Jim had no wish for money. He had all the beauty of nature +for the taking. He listened, as he strolled along, to the mysterious high notes +of insects and night-birds; he saw the lovely shadows of the trees, and he +honestly wondered within himself why Brookville people considered themselves so +wronged by an occurrence of years ago, for which the perpetrator had paid so +dearly. At the same time he experienced a sense of angry humiliation at the +poverty of the place which had caused such an occurrence as that church fair. +</p> + +<p> +When he reached Mrs. Solomon Black’s house, he stared up at its glossy +whiteness, reflecting the moonlight like something infinitely more precious +than paint, and he seemed to perceive again a delicate, elusive fragrance which +he had noticed about the girl’s raiment when she thanked him for his fox +skin. +</p> + +<p> +“She smelled like a new kind of flower,” Jim told himself as he +swung down the road. The expression was not elegant, but it was sincere. He +thought of the girl as he might have thought of an entirely new species of +blossom, with a strictly individual fragrance which he had encountered in an +expedition afield. +</p> + +<p> +After he had left the Black house, there was only a half mile before he reached +the old Andrew Bolton place. The house had been very pretentious in an ugly +architectural period. There were truncated towers, a mansard roof, hideous +dormers, and a reckless outbreak of perfectly useless bay windows. The house, +which was large, stood aloof from the road, with a small plantation of +evergreen trees before it. It had not been painted for years, and loomed up +like the vaguest shadow of a dwelling even in the brilliant moonlight. Suddenly +Jim caught sight of a tiny swinging gleam of light. It bobbed along at the +height of a man’s knee. It was a lantern, which seemed rather an odd +article to be used on such a night. Then Jim came face to face with the man who +carried the lantern, and saw who he was—Deacon Amos Whittle. To +Jim’s mind, the man resembled a fox, skulking along the road, although +Deacon Amos Whittle was not predatory. He was a small, thin, wiry man with a +queer swirl of white whisker, and hopping gait. +</p> + +<p> +He seemed somewhat blinded by his lantern, for he ran full tilt into Jim, who +stood the shock with such firmness that the older man staggered back, and +danced uncertainly to recover his balance. Deacon Amos Whittle stuttered +uncertain remarks, as was his wont when startled. “It is only Jim +Dodge,” said Jim. “Guess your lantern sort of blinded you, +Deacon.” +</p> + +<p> +Then the lantern almost blinded Jim, for Whittle swung it higher until it came +on a level with Jim’s eyes. Over it peered Whittle’s little keen +ones, spectacled under a gray shag of eyebrows. “Oh it is you!” +said the man with a somewhat contemptuous accent. He held Jim in slight esteem. +</p> + +<p> +Jim laughed lightly. Unless he cared for people, their opinion of him always +seemed a perfectly negligible matter, and he did not care at all for Amos +Whittle. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, to his amazement, Amos took hold of his coat. “Look a’ +here, Jim,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know anything about that strange woman that’s +boardin’ to Mis’ Solomon Black’s?” +</p> + +<p> +“How in creation should I know anything about her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hev you seen her?” +</p> + +<p> +“I saw her at the fair tonight.” +</p> + +<p> +“The fair at my house?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t know of any other fair.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what do you think of her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t think of her.” +</p> + +<p> +Jim tried to pass, but the old man danced before him with his swinging lantern. +</p> + +<p> +“I must be going along,” said Jim. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a minute. Do you know she bought the whole fair?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I do. You are blinding me with that lantern, Deacon Whittle.” +</p> + +<p> +“And she paid good money down. I seen it.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right. I’ve got to get past you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a minute. Do you s’pose that young woman is all right?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see why not. Nothing against the law of the land for her +to buy out a church fair, that I know of.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think it looks sort of suspicious?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s none of my business. I confess I don’t see why +it’s suspicious, unless somebody wants to make her out a fool. I +don’t understand what any sane person wants with all that truck; but I +don’t pretend to understand women.” +</p> + +<p> +Whittle shook his head slowly. “I dunno,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I don’t know who does, or cares either. They’ve got +the money. I suppose that was what they were after.” Jim again tried to +pass. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait just a minute. Say, Jim, I’m going to tell you something. +Don’t you speak of it till it gets out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fire away. I’m in a hurry.” +</p> + +<p> +“She wants to buy this old Bolton place here.” +</p> + +<p> +Jim whistled. +</p> + +<p> +“You know the assignees of the Bolton estate had to take the house, and +it’s been running down all these years, and a lot of money has got to be +spent on it or it’ll tumble down. Now, this young woman has offered to +pay a good round sum for it, and take it just as it is. S’pose it’s +all right?” +</p> + +<p> +“How in creation should I know? If I held it, and wanted to sell it, +I’d know darn well whether it was all right or not. I wouldn’t go +around asking other folks.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you see it don’t seem natural. Folks don’t do things +like that. She’s offering to pay more than the place is worth. +She’ll have to spend thousands on it to make it fit to live in. She says +she’ll pay cash, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I suppose you’ll know cash when you see it. I’ve got +to go.” +</p> + +<p> +“But cash! Lord A’mighty! We dunno what to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you know whether you want to sell or not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Want to sell! If we didn’t want to sell this old shebang +we’d be dumb idiots.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, why in the name of common sense don’t you sell?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because, somehow it don’t look natural to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I must confess that to throw away much money on an old shell like +that doesn’t look any too natural to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come now, Jim, that was a real nice house when it was built.” +</p> + +<p> +Jim laughed sarcastically. “Running up your wares now, are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“That house cost Andrew Bolton a pile of money. And now, if it’s +fixed up, it’ll be the best house in Brookville.” +</p> + +<p> +“That isn’t saying much. See here, you’ve got to let me pass. +If you want to sell—I should think you would—I don’t see what +you are worrying about. I don’t suppose you are worrying for fear you may +cheat the girl.” +</p> + +<p> +“We ain’t goin’ to cheat the girl, but—I dunno.” +Whittle stood aside, shaking his head, and Jim passed on. He loitered along the +shaggy hedge which bordered the old Bolton estate, and a little farther, then +turned back. He had reached the house again when he started. In front of the +gate stood a shadowy figure, a woman, by the outlines of the dress. Jim +continued hesitatingly. He feared to startle her. But he did not. When he came +abreast of her, she turned and looked full in his face, and he recognized Miss +Orr. He took off his hat, but was so astonished he could scarcely utter a +greeting. The girl was so shy that she stammered a little, but she laughed too, +like a child caught in some mischief. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I am so glad it is you!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, taking all things into consideration, so am I,” said Jim. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean—?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean it is pretty late for you to be out alone, and I’m as good +as a Sunday School picnic, with the superintendent and the minister thrown in, +for you to meet. I’ll see you home.” +</p> + +<p> +“Goodness! There’s nothing to be afraid of in this little +place,” said the girl. “I have lived in New York.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where there are policemen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, but one never counts on that. One never counts on anything in +New York. You can’t, you know. Its mathematics are as high as its +buildings, too high to take chances. But here—why, I saw pretty near the +whole village at that funny fair, didn’t I?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, yes, but Brookville is not a walled town. People not so desirable +as those you saw at the fair have free entrance and egress. It is pretty +late.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not in the least afraid,” said the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“You have no reason to be, now.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean because you have happened along. Well, I am glad you did. I +begun to think it was rather late myself for me to be prowling around, but you +will simply have to leave me before I get to my boarding house. That Mrs. Black +is as kind as can be, but she doesn’t know what to make of me, and on the +whole I think I would rather take my chances stealing in alone than to have her +spy you.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you wanted to come out, why didn’t you ask the minister to come +with you?” Jim asked bluntly. +</p> + +<p> +“The minister! Oh, I don’t like ministers when they are young. They +are much better when all the doctrines they have learned at their theological +seminaries have settled in their minds, and have stopped bubbling. However, +this minister here seems rather nice, very young, but he doesn’t give the +impression of taking himself so seriously that he is a nervous wreck on account +of his convictions. I wouldn’t have asked him for the world. In the first +place, Mrs. Black would have thought it very queer, and in the second place he +was so hopping mad about that fair, and having me buy it, that he +wouldn’t have been agreeable. I don’t blame him. I would feel just +so in his place. It must be frightful to be a poor minister.” +</p> + +<p> +“None too pleasant, anyway.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are right, it certainly is not. I have been poor myself, and I know. +I went to my room, and looked out of the window, and it was so perfectly +beautiful outdoors, and I did want to see how this place looked by moonlight, +so I just went down the back stairs and came alone. I hope nobody will break in +while I am gone. I left the door unlocked.” +</p> + +<p> +“No burglars live in Brookville,” said Jim. “Mighty good +reasons for none to come in, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“What reasons?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a blessed thing to burgle. Never has been for years.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a silence. The girl spoke in a hushed voice. +“I—understand,” said she, “that the people here hold +the man who used to live in this house responsible for that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, yes, I suppose he was. Brookville never would have been a Tuxedo +under any circumstances, but I reckon it would have fared a little better if +Mr. Bolton hadn’t failed to see the difference between mine and thine. I +was nothing but a kid, but I have heard a good deal about it. Some of the older +people are pretty bitter, and some of the younger ones have it in their veins. +I suppose the poor man did start us down hill.” +</p> + +<p> +“You say ‘poor man’; why?” asked the girl and her voice +trembled. +</p> + +<p> +“Lord, yes. I’m like a hound sneaking round back doors for bones, +on account of Mr. Bolton, myself. My father lost more than ’most anybody, +but I wouldn’t change places with the man. Say, do you know he has been +in State’s Prison for years?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course any man who does wrong is a poor man, even if he doesn’t +get caught. I’m mighty glad I wasn’t born bitter as some of the +people here were. My sister Fanny isn’t either. She doesn’t have +much, poor girl, but I’ve never heard her say one word, and mother never +blames it on Mr. Bolton, either. Mother says he is getting his punishment, and +it isn’t for any of us to add to it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your sister was that pretty girl at the flower table?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—I suppose you would call her pretty. I don’t really +know. A fellow never does know, when the girl is his sister. She may look the +best of the bunch to him, but he’s never sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“She is lovely,” said Lydia Orr. She pointed to the shadowy house. +“That must have been a nice place once.” +</p> + +<p> +“Best in the village; show place. Say, what in the name of common sense +do you want to buy it for?” +</p> + +<p> +“Who told you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I met old Whittle just before I met you. He told me. The place must +be terribly run down. It will cost a mint of money to get it in shape.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have considerable money,” stated the girl quite simply. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’s none of my business, but you will have to sink +considerable in that place, and perhaps when you are through it won’t be +satisfactory.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have taken a notion to it,” said the girl. She spoke very shyly. +Her curiously timid, almost apologetic manner returned suddenly. “I +suppose it does look strange,” she added. +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody’s business how it looks,” said Jim, “but I +think you ought to know the truth about it, and I think I am more likely to +give you information than Whittle. Of course he has an ax to grind. Perhaps if +I had an ax to grind, you couldn’t trust me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I could,” returned the girl with conviction. “I knew +that the minute I looked at you. I always know the people I can trust. I know I +could not trust Deacon Whittle. I made allowances, the way one does for a clock +that runs too fast or too slow. I think one always has to be doing addition or +subtraction with people, to understand them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you had better try a little subtraction with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t have to. I didn’t mean with everybody. Of course +there are exceptions. That was a beautiful skin you gave me. I didn’t +half thank you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense. I was glad to give it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you hunt much?” +</p> + +<p> +“About all I am good for except to run our little farm and do odd jobs. I +used to work in the chair factory.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t think you would have liked that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t; had to do what I could.” +</p> + +<p> +“What would you like to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know. I never had any choice, so I never gave it any +thought. Something that would keep me out of doors, I reckon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know much about plants and trees?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know whether I know much; I love them, that’s +all.” +</p> + +<p> +“You could do some landscape gardening for a place like this, I should +think.” +</p> + +<p> +Jim stared at her, and drew himself up haughtily. “It really is late, +Miss Orr,” he said. “I think, if you will allow me, I will take you +home.” +</p> + +<p> +“What are you angry about?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not angry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you are. You are angry because I said that about landscape +gardening.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not a beggar or a man who undertakes a job he is not competent to +perform, if I am poor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you undertake setting those grounds to rights, if I buy the +place?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you hire a regular landscape man if you have so much +money?” asked Jim rudely. +</p> + +<p> +“I would rather have you. I want somebody I can work with. I have my own +ideas. I want to hire you to work with me. Will you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Time enough to settle that when you’ve bought the place. You must +go home now. Here, take my arm. This sidewalk is an apology for one.” +</p> + +<p> +Lydia took the young man’s arm obediently, and they began walking. +</p> + +<p> +“What on earth are you going to do with all that truck you bought?” +asked Jim. +</p> + +<p> +Lydia laughed. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t the slightest +idea,” said she. “Pretty awful, most of it, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I wouldn’t give it house room.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t either. I bought it, but I won’t have it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must take us for a pretty set of paupers, to throw away money like +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, don’t you get mad again. I did want to buy it. I never wanted +to buy things so much in my life.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never saw such a queer girl.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will know I am not queer some time, and I would tell you why now, +but—” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you tell me a thing you don’t want to.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I had better wait just a little. But I don’t know about +all those things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Say, why don’t you send them to missionaries out West?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, could I?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you can. What’s to hinder?” +</p> + +<p> +“When I buy that place will you help me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I will. Now you are talking! I’m glad to do anything +like that. I think I’d be nutty if I had to live in the same house as +that fair.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl burst into a lovely peal of laughter. “Exactly what I thought +all the time,” said she. “I wanted to buy them; you don’t +know how much; but it was like buying rabbits, and white elephants, +and—oh, I don’t know! a perfect menagerie of things I +couldn’t bear to live with, and I didn’t see how I could give them +away, and I couldn’t think of a place to throw them away.” She +laughed again. +</p> + +<p> +Jim stopped suddenly. “Say.” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, it will be an awful piece of work to pack off all those +contraptions, and it strikes me it is pretty hard on the missionaries. +There’s a gravel pit down back of the Bolton place, and if you buy +it—” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, bury the fair there.” +</p> + +<p> +Lydia stopped short, and laughed till she cried. “You don’t suppose +they would ever find out?” +</p> + +<p> +“Trust me. You just have the whole lot moved into the house, and +we’ll fix it up.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I can’t tell you how thankful I am to you,” said Lydia +fervently. “I felt like a nightmare with all those things. Some of them +can be used of course, but some—oh, those picture throws, and those +postage stamp plates!” +</p> + +<p> +“They are funny, but sort of pitiful, too,” said Jim. “Women +are sort of pitiful, lots of them. I’m glad I am a man.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should think you would be,” said the girl. She looked up in his +face with an expression which he did not see. He was regarding women in the +abstract; she was suddenly regarding men in the individual. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>Chapter IV.</h2> + +<p> +Elliot slept later than usual the morning after the fair. Generally he slept +the beautiful, undisturbed sleep of the young and healthy; that night, for some +reason, he did not. Possibly the strange break which the buying of the fair had +made in the course of his everyday life caused one also between his conscious +and unconscious state, which his brain refused to bridge readily. Wesley had +not been brought face to face, many times in his life, with the unprecedented. +He had been brought before it, although in a limited fashion, at the church +fair. The unprecedented is more or less shattering, partaking of the nature of +a spiritual bomb. Lydia Orr’s mad purchase of that collection of things +called a fair disturbed his sense of values. He asked himself over and over who +was this girl? More earnestly he asked himself what her motives could be. +</p> + +<p> +But the question which most agitated him was his relations with the girl, Fanny +Dodge. He realized that recently he had approached the verge of an emotional +crisis. If Mrs. Black whom he had at the time fairly cursed in his heart, in +spite of his profession, had not appeared with her notice of dinner, he would +be in a most unpleasant predicament. Only the girl’s innate good sense +could have served as a refuge, and he reflected with the utmost tenderness that +he might confidently rely upon that. He was almost sure that the poor girl +loved him. He was quite sure that he loved her. But he was also sure, with a +strong sense of pride in her, that she would have refused him, not on mercenary +grounds, for Fanny he knew would have shared a crust and hovel with the man she +loved; but Fanny would love the man too well to consent to the crust and the +hovel, on his own account. She would not have said in so many words, +“What! marry you, a minister so poor that a begging fair has to be held +to pay his salary?” She would have not refused him her love and +sympathy, but she would have let him down so gently from the high prospect of +matrimony that he would have suffered no jolt. +</p> + +<p> +Elliot was a good fellow. It was on the girl’s account that he suffered. +He suffered, as a matter of course. He wanted Fanny badly, but he realized +himself something of a cad. He discounted his own suffering; perhaps, as he +told himself with sudden suspicion of self-conceit, he overestimated hers. +Still, he was sure that the girl would suffer more than he wished. He blamed +himself immeasurably. He tried to construct air castles which would not fall, +even before the impact of his own thoughts, in which he could marry this girl +and live with her happily ever after, but the man had too much common sense. He +did not for a moment now consider the possibility of stepping, without +influence, into a fat pastorate. He was sure that he could count confidently +upon nothing better than this. +</p> + +<p> +The next morning he looked about his room wearily, and a plan which he had +often considered grew upon him. He got the keys of the unoccupied parsonage +next door, from Mrs. Black, and went over the house after breakfast. It was +rather a spacious house, old, but in tolerable preservation. There was a +southeast room of one story in height, obviously an architectural afterthought, +which immediately appealed to him. It was practically empty except for charming +possibilities, but it contained a few essentials, and probably the former +incumbent had used it as a study. There was a wood stove, a standing desk fixed +to the wall, some shelves, an old table, and a couple of armchairs. Wesley at +once resolved to carry out his plan. He would move his small store of books +from his bedroom at Mrs. Black’s, arrange them on the shelves, and set up +his study there. He was reasonably sure of obtaining wood enough for a fire to +heat the room when the weather was cold. +</p> + +<p> +He returned and told Mrs. Black, who agreed with him that the plan was a good +one. “A minister ought to have his study,” said she, “and of +course the parsonage is at your disposal. The parish can’t rent it. That +room used to be the study, and you will have offers of all the wood you want to +heat it. There’s plenty of cut wood that folks are glad to donate. +They’ve always sent loads of wood to heat the minister’s study. +Maybe they thought they’d stand less chance of hell fire if they heated +up the gospel in this life.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll move my books and writing materials right over +there,” said Elliot with a most boyish glee. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Black nodded approvingly. “So I would.” She hesitated a +moment, then she spoke again. “I was just a little bit doubtful about +taking that young woman in yesterday,” said she. +</p> + +<p> +Elliot regarded her curiously. “Then you never had met her before?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, she just landed here with her trunk. The garage man brought her, and +she said he told her I took boarders, and she asked me to take her. I +don’t know but I was kind of weak to give in, but the poor little thing +looked sort of nice, and her manners were pretty, so I took her. I thought I +would ask you how you felt about it this morning, but there ain’t any +reason to, perhaps, for she ain’t going to stay here very long, anyway. +She says she’s going to buy the old Bolton place and have it fixed up and +settle down there as soon as she can. She told me after you had gone out. +She’s gone now to look at it. Mr. Whittle was going to meet her there. +Queer, ain’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“It does look extraordinary, rather,” agreed Elliot, “but +Miss Orr may be older than she looks.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, she ain’t old, but she’s of age. She told me that, and I +guess she’s got plenty of money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Elliot, “that is rather a fine old place. She +may be connected with the Bolton family.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s exactly what I think, and if she was she wouldn’t +mention it, of course. I think she’s getting the house in some sort of a +business way. Andrew Bolton may have died in prison by this time, and she may +be an heir. I think she is going to be married and have the house fixed up to +live in.” +</p> + +<p> +“That sounds very probable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it does; but what gets me is her buying that fair. I own I felt a +little scared, and wondered if she had all her buttons, but when she told me +about the house I knew of course she could use the things for furnishing, all +except the cake and candy, and I suppose if she’s got a lot of money she +thought she’d like to buy to help. I feel glad she’s coming. She +may be a real help in the church. Now don’t color up. Ministers have to +take help. It’s part of their discipline.” +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes Mrs. Solomon Black said a wise and consoling thing. Elliot, moving +his effects to the old parsonage, considered that she had done so then. +“She is right. I have no business to be proud in the profession calling +for the lowly-hearted of the whole world,” he told himself. +</p> + +<p> +After he had his books arranged he sat down in an armchair beside a front +window, and felt rather happy and at home. He reproached himself for his +content when he read the morning paper, and considered the horrors going on in +Europe. Why should he, an able-bodied man, sit securely in a room and gaze out +at a peaceful village street? he asked himself as he had scores of times +before. Then the imperial individual, which obtrudes even when conscience cries +out against it, occupied his mind. Pretty Fanny Dodge in her blue linen was +passing. She never once glanced at the parsonage. Forgetting his own scruples +and resolves, he thought unreasonably that she might at least glance up, if she +had the day before at all in her mind. Suddenly the unwelcome reflection that +he might not be as desirable as he had thought himself came over him. +</p> + +<p> +He got up, put on his hat, and walked rapidly in the direction of the old +Bolton house. Satisfying his curiosity might serve as a palliative to his +sudden depression with regard to his love affair. It is very much more +comfortable to consider oneself a cad, and acknowledge to oneself love for a +girl, and be sure of her unfortunate love for you, than to consider oneself the +dupe of the girl. Fanny had a keen sense of humor. Suppose she had been making +fun of him. Suppose she had her own aspirations in other quarters. He walked on +until he reached the old Bolton house. The door stood open, askew upon rusty +hinges. Wesley Elliot entered and glanced about him with growing curiosity. The +room was obviously a kitchen, one side being occupied by a huge brick chimney +inclosing a built-in range half devoured with rust; wall cupboards, a sink and +a decrepit table showed gray and ugly in the greenish light of two tall +windows, completely blocked on the outside with over-grown shrubs. An +indescribable odor of decaying plaster, chimney-soot and mildew hung in the +heavy air. +</p> + +<p> +A door to the right, also half open, led the investigator further. Here the +floor shook ominously under foot, suggesting rotten beams and unsteady sills. +The minister walked cautiously, noting in passing a portrait defaced with +cobwebs over the marble mantelpiece and the great circular window opening upon +an expanse of tangled grass and weeds, through which the sun streamed hot and +yellow. Voices came from an adjoining room; he could hear Deacon +Whittle’s nasal tones upraised in fervid assertion. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, ma’am!” he was saying, “this house is a little +out of repair, you can see that fer yourself; but it’s well built; +couldn’t be better. A few hundred dollars expended here an’ +there’ll make it as good as new; in fact, I’ll say better’n +new! They don’t put no such material in houses nowadays. Why, this +woodwork—doors, windows, floors and all—is clear, white pine. You +can’t buy it today for no price. Costs as much as m’hogany, come to +figure it out. Yes, <i>ma’am!</i> the woodwork alone in this house is +worth the price of one of them little new shacks a builder’ll run up in a +couple of months. And look at them mantelpieces, pure tombstone marble; and all +carved like you see. Yes, ma’am! there’s as many as seven of +’em in the house. Where’ll you find anything like that, I’d +like to know!” +</p> + +<p> +“I—think the house might be made to look very pleasant, Mr. +Whittle,” Lydia replied, in a hesitating voice. +</p> + +<p> +Wesley Elliot fancied he could detect a slight tremor in its even flow. He +pushed open the door and walked boldly in. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-morning, Miss Orr,” he exclaimed, advancing with outstretched +hand. “Good-morning, Deacon! ...Well, well! what a melancholy old ruin +this is, to be sure. I never chanced to see the interior before.” +</p> + +<p> +Deacon Whittle regarded his pastor sourly from under puckered brows. +</p> + +<p> +“Some s’prised to see <i>you</i>, dominie,” said he. +“Thought you was generally occupied at your desk of a Friday +morning.” +</p> + +<p> +The minister included Lydia Orr in the genial warmth of his smile as he +replied: +</p> + +<p> +“I had a special call into the country this morning, and seeing your +conveyance hitched to the trees outside, Deacon, I thought I’d step in. +I’m not sure it’s altogether safe for all of us to be standing in +the middle of this big room, though. Sills pretty well rotted out—eh, +Deacon?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sound as an oak,” snarled the Deacon. “As I was telling +th’ young lady, there ain’t no better built house anywheres +’round than this one. Andrew Bolton didn’t spare other folks’ +money when he built it—no, <i>sir!</i> It’s good for a hundred +years yet, with trifling repairs.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who owns the house now?” asked Lydia unexpectedly. She had walked +over to one of the long windows opening on a rickety balcony and stood looking +out. +</p> + +<p> +“Who owns it?” echoed Deacon Whittle. “Well, now, we can give +you a clear title, ma’am, when it comes to that; sound an’ clear. +You don’t have to worry none about that. You see it was this way; dunno +as anybody’s mentioned it in your hearing since you come to Brookville; +but we use to have a bank here in Brookville, about eighteen years ago, +and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Ellen Dix told me,” interrupted Lydia Orr, without turning +her head. “Has nobody lived here since?” +</p> + +<p> +Deacon Whittle cast an impatient glance at Wesley Elliot, who stood with his +eyes fixed broodingly on the dusty floor. +</p> + +<p> +“Wal,” said he. “There’d have been plenty of folks glad +enough to live here; but the house wa’n’t really suited to our kind +o’ folks. It wa’n’t a farm—there being only twenty +acres going with it. And you see the house is different to what folks in +moderate circumstances could handle. Nobody had the cash to buy it, an’ +ain’t had, all these years. It’s a pity to see a fine old property +like this a-going down, all for the lack of a few hundreds. But if you was to +buy it, ma’am, I could put it in shape fer you, equal to the best, and at +a figure— Wall; I tell ye, it won’t cost ye what some folks’d +think.” +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t that man—the banker who stole—everybody’s +money, I mean—didn’t he have any family?” asked Lydia, still +without turning her head. “I suppose he—he died a long time +ago?” +</p> + +<p> +“I see the matter of th’ title’s worrying you, +ma’am,” said Deacon Whittle briskly. “I like to see a female +cautious in a business way: I do, indeed. And ’tain’t often you see +it, neither. Now, I’ll tell <i>you</i>—” +</p> + +<p> +“Wouldn’t it be well to show Miss Orr some more desirable property, +Deacon?” interposed Wesley Elliot. “It seems to me—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I shall buy the house,” said the girl at the window, quickly. +</p> + +<p> +She turned and faced the two men, her delicate head thrown back, a clear color +staining her pale cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall buy it,” she repeated. “I—I like it very much. +It is just what I wanted—in—in every way.” +</p> + +<p> +Deacon Whittle gave vent to a snort of astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +“There was another party looking at the place a spell back,” he +said, rubbing his dry old hands. “I dunno’s I exac’ly give +him an option on it; but I was sort of looking for him to turn up ’most +any day. Course I’d have to give him the first chance, if it comes to +a—” +</p> + +<p> +“What is an option?” asked Lydia. +</p> + +<p> +“An option is a—now, let me see if I can make a legal term plain to +the female mind: An option, my dear young lady, is—” +</p> + +<p> +The minister crossed the floor to where the girl was standing, a slight, +delicate figure in her black dress, her small face under the shadowy brim of +her wide hat looking unnaturally pale in the greenish light from without. +</p> + +<p> +“An option,” he interposed hurriedly, “must be bought with +money; should you change your mind later you lose whatever you have paid. Let +me advise you—” +</p> + +<p> +Deacon Whittle cleared his throat with an angry, rasping sound. +</p> + +<p> +“Me an’ this young lady came here this morning for the purpose of +transacting a little business, mutually advantageous,” he snarled. +“If it was anybody but the dominie, I should say he was butting in +without cause.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t, please!” begged the girl. “Mr. Elliot meant +it kindly, I’m sure. I—I want an option, if you please. +You’ll let me have it, won’t you? I want it—now.” +</p> + +<p> +Deacon Whittle blinked and drew back a pace or two, as if her eagerness +actually frightened him. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I guess I can accommodate ye,” he stuttered; +“but—there’ll be some preliminaries—I +wa’n’t exactly prepared— There’s the price of the +property and the terms— S’pose likely you’ll want a +mortgage—eh?” +</p> + +<p> +He rubbed his bristly chin dubiously. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to buy the house,” Lydia said. “I want to be +sure—” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you seen the rooms upstairs?” asked the minister, turning his +back upon his senior deacon. +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, why not—” +</p> + +<p> +Wesley Elliot took a step or two toward the winding stair, dimly seen through +the gloom of the hall. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold on, dominie, them stairs ain’t safe!” warned the +Deacon. “They’ll mebbe want a little shoring up, before— Say, +I wish—” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care to go up now, really,” protested the girl. +“It—it’s the location I like and—” +</p> + +<p> +She glanced about the desolate place with a shiver. The air of the long-closed +rooms was chilly, despite the warmth of the June day outside. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you what,” said the deacon briskly. “You +come right along down to the village with me, Miss Orr. It’s kind of +close in here; the house is built so tight, there can’t no air git in. I +tell you, them walls—” +</p> + +<p> +He smote the one nearest him with a jocular palm. There followed the hollow +sound of dropping plaster from behind the lath. +</p> + +<p> +“Guess we’d better fix things up between us, so you won’t be +noways disappointed in case that other party—” he added, with a +crafty glance at the minister. “You see, he might turn up ’most any +day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes!” exclaimed the girl, walking hurriedly to the door. +“I—I should like to go at once.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned and held out her hand to the minister with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you for coming,” she said. “I wanted you to see the +house as it is now.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked down into her upturned face with its almost childish appeal of utter +candor, frowning slightly. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you no one—that is, no near relative to advise you in the +matter?” he asked. “The purchase of a large property, such as this, +ought to be carefully considered, I should say.” +</p> + +<p> +Deacon Whittle coughed in an exasperated manner. +</p> + +<p> +“I guess we’d better be gitting along,” said he, “if we +want to catch Jedge Fulsom in his office before he goes to dinner.” +</p> + +<p> +Lydia turned obediently. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m coming,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Then to Elliot: “No; there is no one to—to advise me. I am obliged +to decide for myself.” +</p> + +<p> +Wesley Elliot returned to Brookville and his unfinished sermon by a long detour +which led him over the shoulder of a hill overlooking the valley. He did not +choose to examine his motive for avoiding the road along which Fanny Dodge +would presently return. But as the path, increasingly rough and stony as it +climbed the steep ascent, led him at length to a point from whence he could +look down upon a toy village, arranged in stiff rows about a toy church, with +its tiny pointing steeple piercing the vivid green of many trees, he sat down +with a sigh of relief and something very like gratitude. +</p> + +<p> +As far back as he could remember Wesley Elliot had cherished a firm, though +somewhat undefined, belief in a quasi-omnipotent power to be reckoned as either +hostile or friendly to the purposes of man, showing now a smiling, now a +frowning face. In short, that unquestioned, wholly uncontrollable influence +outside of a man’s life, which appears to rule his destiny. In this +rôle “Providence,” as he had been taught to call it, had +heretofore smiled rather evasively upon Wesley Elliot. He had been permitted to +make sure his sacred calling; but he had not secured the earnestly coveted city +pulpit. On the other hand, he had just been saved—or so he told himself, +as the fragrant June breeze fanned his heated forehead—by a distinct +intervention of “Providence” from making a fool of himself. His +subsequent musings, interrupted at length by the shrieking whistle of the noon +train as it came to a standstill at the toy railway station, might be termed +important, since they were to influence the immediate future of a number of +persons, thus affording a fresh illustration of the mysterious workings of +“Providence,” sometimes called “Divine.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>Chapter V.</h2> + +<p> +There existed in Brookville two separate and distinct forums for the discussion +of topics of public and private interest. These were the barroom of the village +tavern, known as the Brookville House, and Henry Daggett’s General Store, +located on the corner opposite the old Bolton Bank Building. Mr. Daggett, +besides being Brookville’s leading merchant, was also postmaster, and +twice each day withdrew to the official privacy of the office for the +transaction of United States business. The post office was conveniently located +in one corner of Mr. Daggett’s store and presented to the inquiring eye a +small glass window, which could be raised and lowered at will by the person +behind the partition, a few numbered boxes and a slit, marked +“Letters.” +</p> + +<p> +In the evening of the day on which Miss Lydia Orr had visited the old Bolton +house in company with Deacon Whittle, both forums were in full blast. The +wagon-shed behind the Brookville House sheltered an unusual number of +“rigs,” whose owners, after partaking of liquid refreshment +dispensed by the oily young man behind the bar, by common consent strolled out +to the veranda where a row of battered wooden armchairs invited to reposeful +consideration of the surprising events of the past few days. +</p> + +<p> +The central chair supported the large presence of “Judge” Fulsom, +who was dispensing both information and tobacco juice. +</p> + +<p> +“The practice of the legal profession,” said the Judge, after a +brief period devoted to the ruminative processes, “is full of +surprises.” +</p> + +<p> +Having spoken, Judge Fulsom folded his fat hands across the somewhat soiled +expanse of his white waistcoat and relapsed into a weighty silence. +</p> + +<p> +“They was sayin’ over to the post office this evening that the +young woman that cleaned up the church fair has bought the old Bolton place. +How about it, Jedge?” +</p> + +<p> +Judge Fulsom grunted, as he leveled a displeased stare upon the speaker, a +young farmer with a bibulous eye and slight swagger of defiance. At the proper +moment, with the right audience, the Judge was willing to impart information +with lavish generosity. But any attempt to force his hand was looked upon as a +distinct infringement of his privilege. +</p> + +<p> +“You want to keep your face shut, Lute, till th’ Jedge gets ready +to talk,” counseled a middle-aged man who sat tilted back in the next +chair. “Set down, son, and cool off.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you see I got to hurry along,” objected the young farmer +impatiently, “and I wanted to know if there was anything in it. Our folks +had money in the old bank, an’ we’d give up getting anything more +out the smash years ago. But if the Bolton place has actually been +sold—” +</p> + +<p> +He finished with a prolonged whistle. +</p> + +<p> +The greatness in the middle chair emitted a grunt. +</p> + +<p> +“Humph!” he muttered, and again, “Hr-m-m-ph!” +</p> + +<p> +“It would be surprising,” conceded the middle-aged man, +“after all these years.” +</p> + +<p> +“Considerable many of th’ creditors has died since,” piped up +a lean youth who was smoking a very large cigar. “I s’pose +th’ children of all such would come in for their share—eh, +Judge?” +</p> + +<p> +Judge Fulsom frowned and pursed his lips thoughtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“The proceedings has not yet reached the point you mention, Henry,” +he said. “You’re going a little too fast.” +</p> + +<p> +Nobody spoke, but the growing excitement took the form of a shuffling of feet. +The Judge deliberately lighted his pipe, a token of mental relaxation. Then +from out the haze of blue smoke, like the voice of an oracle from the seclusion +of a shrine, issued the familiar recitative tone for which everybody had been +waiting. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, boys, I’ll tell you how ’twas: Along about ten minutes +of twelve I had my hat on my head, and was just drawing on my linen duster with +the idea of going home to dinner, when I happened to look out of my office +window, and there was Deacon Whittle—and the girl, just coming up +th’ steps. In five minutes more I’d have been gone, most likely for +the day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gosh!” breathed the excitable young farmer. +</p> + +<p> +The middle-aged man sternly motioned him to keep silence. +</p> + +<p> +“I s’pose most of you boys saw her at the fair last night,” +proceeded the Judge, ignoring the interruption. “She’s a nice +appearing young female; but nobody’d think to look at her—” +</p> + +<p> +He paused to ram down the tobacco in the glowing bowl of his pipe. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, as I was saying, she’d been over to the Bolton house with +the Deacon. Guess we’ll have to set the Deacon down for a right smart +real-estate boomer. We didn’t none of us give him credit for it. +He’d got the girl all worked up to th’ point of bein’ afraid +another party’d be right along to buy the place. She wanted an option on +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shucks!” again interrupted the young farmer disgustedly. +“Them options ain’t no good. I had one once on five acres of +timber, and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Shut up, Lute!” came in low chorus from the spell-bound audience. +</p> + +<p> +“Wanted an option,” repeated Judge Fulsom loudly, “just till +I could fix up the paper. ‘And, if you please,’ said she, +‘I’d like t’ pay five thousand dollars for the option, then +I’d feel more sure.’ And before I had a chance to open my mouth, +she whips out a check-book.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gr-reat jumping Judas!” cried the irrepressible Lute, whose other +name was Parsons. “Five thousand dollars! Why, the old place ain’t +worth no five thousand dollars!” +</p> + +<p> +Judge Fulsom removed his pipe from his mouth, knocked out the half-burned +tobacco, blew through the stem, then proceeded to fill and light it again. From +the resultant haze issued his voice once more, bland, authoritative, +reminiscent. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, now, son, that depends on how you look at it. Time was when Andrew +Bolton wouldn’t have parted with the place for three times that amount. +It was rated, I remember, at eighteen thousand, including live stock, +conveyances an’ furniture, when it was deeded over to the assignees. We +sold out the furniture and stock at auction for about half what they were +worth. But there weren’t any bidders worth mentioning for the house and +land. So it was held by the assignees—Cephas Dix, Deacon Whittle and +myself—for private sale. We could have sold it on easy terms the next +year for six thousand; but in process of trying to jack up our customer to +seven, we lost out on the deal. But now—” +</p> + +<p> +Judge Fulsom arose, brushed the tobacco from his waistcoat front and cleared +his throat. +</p> + +<p> +“Guess I’ll have to be getting along,” said he; +“important papers to look over, and—” +</p> + +<p> +“A female woman, like her, is likely to change her mind before tomorrow +morning,” said the middle-aged man dubiously. “And I heard Mrs. +Solomon Black had offered to sell her place to the young woman for twenty-nine +hundred—all in good repair and neat as wax. She might take it into her +head to buy it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Right in the village, too,” growled Lute Parsons. “Say, +Jedge, did you give her that option she was looking for? Because if you did she +can’t get out of it so easy.” +</p> + +<p> +Judge Fulsom twinkled pleasantly over his bulging cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“I sure did accommodate the young lady with the option, as +aforesaid,” he vouchsafed. “And what’s more, I telephoned to +the Grenoble Bank to see if her check for five thousand dollars was O. K.... +Well; so long, boys!” +</p> + +<p> +He stepped ponderously down from the piazza and turned his broad back on the +row of excited faces. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold on, Jedge!” the middle-aged man called after him. “Was +her check any good? You didn’t tell us!” +</p> + +<p> +The Judge did not reply. He merely waved his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s going over to the post office,” surmised the lean +youth, shifting the stub of his cigar to the corner of his mouth in a knowing +manner. +</p> + +<p> +He lowered his heels to the floor with a thud and prepared to follow. Five +minutes later the bartender, not hearing the familiar hum of voices from the +piazza, thrust his head out of the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Say!” he called out to the hatchet-faced woman who was writing +down sundry items in a ledger at a high desk. “The boys has all cleared +out. What’s up, I wonder?” +</p> + +<p> +“They’ll be back,” said the woman imperturbably, +“an’ more with ’em. You want t’ git your glasses all +washed up, Gus; an’ you may as well fetch up another demijohn out the +cellar.” +</p> + +<p> +Was it foreknowledge, or merely coincidence which at this same hour led Mrs. +Solomon Black, frugally inspecting her supplies for tomorrow morning’s +breakfast, to discover that her baking-powder can was empty? +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll have to roll out a few biscuits for their breakfast,” +she decided, “or else I’ll run short of bread for dinner.” +</p> + +<p> +Her two boarders, Lydia Orr and the minister, were sitting on the piazza, +engaged in what appeared to be a most interesting conversation, when Mrs. Black +unlatched the front gate and emerged upon the street, her second-best hat +carefully disposed upon her water-waves. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t be gone a minute,” she paused to assure them; +“I just got to step down to the grocery.” +</p> + +<p> +A sudden hush fell upon a loud and excited conversation when Mrs. Solomon +Black, very erect as to her spinal column and noticeably composed and dignified +in her manner, entered Henry Daggett’s store. She walked straight past +the group of men who stood about the door to the counter, where Mr. Daggett was +wrapping in brown paper two large dill pickles dripping sourness for a small +girl with straw-colored pig-tails. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Daggett beamed cordially upon Mrs. Black, as he dropped two copper pennies +in his cash-drawer. +</p> + +<p> +“Good evening, ma’am,” said he. “What can I do for +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“A ten-cent can of baking-powder, if you please,” replied the lady +primly. +</p> + +<p> +“Must take a lot of victuals to feed them two boarders o’ +yourn,” hazarded Mr. Daggett, still cordially, and with a dash of +confidential sympathy in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Daggett had, by virtue of long association with his wife, acquired +something of her spontaneous warm-heartedness. He had found it useful in his +business. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, they ain’t neither of ’em so hearty,” said Mrs. +Black, searching in her pocket-book with the air of one who is in haste. +</p> + +<p> +“We was just speakin’ about the young woman that’s stopping +at your house,” murmured Mr. Daggett. “Let me see; I disremember +which kind of bakin’-powder you use, Mis’ Black.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Golden Rule brand, if you please, Mr. Daggett.” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m; let me see if I’ve got one of them Golden Rules +left,” mused Mr. Daggett.... “I told the boys I guessed she was +some relation of th’ Grenoble Orrs, an’ mebbe—” +</p> + +<p> +“Well; she ain’t,” denied Mrs. Black crisply. +</p> + +<p> +“M-m-m?” interrogated Mr. Daggett, intent upon a careful search +among the various canned products on his shelf. “How’d she happen +to come to Brookville?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Black tossed her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course it ain’t for me to say,” she returned, with a +dignity which made her appear taller than she really was. “But folks has +heard of the table I set, ’way to Boston.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t say!” exclaimed Mr. Daggett. “So she come +from Boston, did she? I thought she seemed kind of—” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know as there’s any secret about where she +<i>come</i> from,” returned Mrs. Black aggressively. “I never +s’posed there was. Folks ain’t had time to git acquainted with her +yit.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s so,” agreed Mr. Daggett, as if the idea was a new and +valuable one. “Yes, ma’am; you’re right! we ain’t none +of us had time to git acquainted.” +</p> + +<p> +He beamed cordially upon Mrs. Black over the tops of his spectacles. +“Looks like we’re going to git a chance to know her,” he went +on. “It seems the young woman has made up her mind to settle amongst us. +Yes, ma’am; we’ve been hearing she’s on the point of buying +property and settling right down here in Brookville.” +</p> + +<p> +An excited buzz of comment in the front of the store broke in upon this +confidential conversation. Mrs. Black appeared to become aware for the first +time of the score of masculine eyes fixed upon her. +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t you got any of the Golden Rule?” she demanded sharply. +“That looks like it to me—over in behind them cans of tomatoes. +It’s got a blue label.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, yes; here ’tis, sure enough,” admitted Mr. Daggett. +“I guess I must be losing my eyesight.... It’s going to be quite a +chore to fix up the old Bolton house,” he added, as he inserted the blue +labeled can of reputation in a red and yellow striped paper bag. +</p> + +<p> +“That ain’t decided,” snapped Mrs. Black. “She could do +better than to buy that tumble-down old shack.” +</p> + +<p> +“So she could; so she could,” soothed the postmaster. “But +it’s going to be a good thing for the creditors, if she can swing it. Let +me see, you wa’n’t a loser in the Bolton Bank; was you, Mis’ +Black?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; I wa’n’t; my late departed husband had too much +horse-sense.” +</p> + +<p> +And having thus impugned less fortunate persons, Mrs. Solomon Black departed, a +little stiffer as to her back-bone than when she entered. She had imparted +information; she had also acquired it. When she had returned rather later than +usual from selling her strawberries in Grenoble she had hurried her vegetables +on to boil and set the table for dinner. She could hear the minister pacing up +and down his room in the restless way which Mrs. Black secretly resented, since +it would necessitate changing the side breadths of matting to the middle of the +floor long before this should be done. But of Lydia Orr there was no sign. The +minister came promptly down stairs at sound of the belated dinner-bell. But to +Mrs. Black’s voluble explanations for the unwonted hour he returned the +briefest of perfunctory replies. He seemed hungry and ate heartily of the cold +boiled beef and vegetables. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you see anything of <i>her</i> this morning?” asked Mrs. Black +pointedly, as she cut the dried-apple pie. “I can’t think +what’s become of her.” +</p> + +<p> +Wesley Elliot glanced up from an absent-minded contemplation of an egg spot on +the tablecloth. +</p> + +<p> +“If you refer to Miss Orr,” said he, “I did see her—in +a carriage with Deacon Whittle.” +</p> + +<p> +He was instantly ashamed of the innocent prevarication. But he told himself he +did not choose to discuss Miss Orr’s affairs with Mrs. Black. +</p> + +<p> +Just then Lydia came in, her eyes shining, her cheeks very pink; but like the +minister she seemed disposed to silence, and Mrs. Black was forced to restrain +her curiosity. +</p> + +<p> +“How’d you make out this morning?” she inquired, as Lydia, +having hurried through her dinner, rose to leave the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, thank you, Mrs. Black,” said the girl brightly. Then +she went at once to her room and closed the door. +</p> + +<p> +At supper time it was just the same; neither the minister nor the girl who sat +opposite him had anything to say. But no sooner had Mrs. Black begun to clear +away the dishes than the two withdrew to the vine-shaded porch, as if by common +consent. +</p> + +<p> +“She ought to know right off about Fanny Dodge and the minister,” +Mrs. Black told herself. +</p> + +<p> +She was still revolving this in her mind as she walked sedately along the +street, the red and yellow striped bag clasped tightly in both hands. Of course +everybody in the village would suppose she knew all about Lydia Orr. But the +fact was she knew very little. The week before, one of her customers in +Grenoble, in the course of a business transaction which involved a pair of +chickens, a dozen eggs and two boxes of strawberries, had asked, in a casual +way, if Mrs. Black knew any one in Brookville who kept boarders. +</p> + +<p> +“The minister of our church boards with me,” she told the Grenoble +woman, with pardonable pride. “I don’t know of anybody else that +takes boarders in Brookville.” She added that she had an extra room. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, one of my boarders—a real nice young lady from +Boston—has taken a queer notion to board in Brookville,” said the +woman. “She was out autoing the other day and went through there. I guess +the country ’round Brookville must be real pretty this time of +year.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; it is, real pretty,” she had told the Grenoble woman. +</p> + +<p> +And this had been the simple prelude to Lydia Orr’s appearance in +Brookville. +</p> + +<p> +Wooded hills did not interest Mrs. Black, nor did the meandering of the silver +river through its narrow valley. But she took an honest pride in her own +freshly painted white house with its vividly green blinds, and in her front +yard with its prim rows of annuals and thrifty young dahlias. As for Miss Lydia +Orr’s girlish rapture over the view from her bedroom window, so long as +it was productive of honestly earned dollars, Mrs. Black was disposed to view +it with indulgence. There was nothing about the girl or her possessions to +indicate wealth or social importance, beyond the fact that she arrived in a +hired automobile from Grenoble instead of riding over in Mrs. Solomon +Black’s spring wagon. Miss Orr brought with her to Brookville one trunk, +the contents of which she had arranged at once in the bureau drawers and +wardrobe of Mrs. Black’s second-best bedroom. It was evident from a +private inspection of their contents that Miss Orr was in mourning. +</p> + +<p> +At this point in her meditations Mrs. Black became aware of an insistent voice +hailing her from the other side of the picket fence. +</p> + +<p> +It was Mrs. Daggett, her large fair face flushed with the exertion of hurrying +down the walk leading from Mrs. Whittle’s house. +</p> + +<p> +“Some of us ladies has been clearing up after the fair,” she +explained, as she joined Mrs. Solomon Black. “It didn’t seem no +more than right; for even if Ann Whittle doesn’t use her parlor, on +account of not having it furnished up, she wants it broom-clean. My! +You’d ought to have seen the muss we swept out.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d have been glad to help,” said Mrs. Black stiffly; +“but what with it being my day to go over to Grenoble, and my boarders +t’ cook for and all—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, we didn’t expect you,” said Abby Daggett tranquilly. +“There was enough of us to do everything.” +</p> + +<p> +She beamed warmly upon Mrs. Black. +</p> + +<p> +“Us ladies was saying we’d all better give you a rising vote of +thanks for bringing that sweet Miss Orr to the fair. Why, ’twas a real +success after all; we took in two hundred and forty-seven dollars and +twenty-nine cents. Ain’t that splendid?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Black nodded. She felt suddenly proud of her share in this success. +</p> + +<p> +“I guess she wouldn’t have come to the fair if I hadn’t told +her about it,” she admitted. “She only come to my house +yesterd’y morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“In an auto?” inquired Abby Daggett eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” nodded Mrs. Black. “I told her I could bring her over +in the wagon just as well as not; but she said she had the man all engaged. I +told her we was going to have a fair, and she said right off she wanted to +come.” +</p> + +<p> +Abby Daggett laid her warm plump hand on Mrs. Black’s arm. +</p> + +<p> +“I dunno when I’ve took such a fancy to anybody at first +sight,” she said musingly. “She’s what I call a real sweet +girl. I’m just going to love her, I know.” +</p> + +<p> +She gazed beseechingly at Mrs. Solomon Black. +</p> + +<p> +“Mebbe you’ll think it’s just gossipy curiosity; but I +<i>would</i> like to know where that girl come from, and who her folks was, and +how she happened to come to Brookville. I s’pose you know all about her; +don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Solomon Black coughed slightly. She was aware of the distinction she had +already acquired in the eyes of Brookville from the mere fact of Lydia +Orr’s presence in her house. +</p> + +<p> +“If I do,” she began cautiously, “I don’t know as +it’s for me to say.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t fer pity’s sake think I’m nosey,” besought +Abby Daggett almost tearfully. “You know I ain’t that kind; but I +don’t see how folks is going to help being interested in a sweet pretty +girl like Miss Orr, and her coming so unexpected. And you know there’s +them that’ll invent things that ain’t true, if they don’t +hear the facts.” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s from Boston,” said Mrs. Solomon Black grudgingly. +“You can tell Lois Daggett that much, if she’s getting +anxious.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Daggett’s large face crimsoned. She was one of those soft, easily +hurt persons whose blushes bring tears. She sniffed a little and raised her +handkerchief to her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I was afraid you’d—” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, of course I ain’t scared of you, Abby,” relented Mrs. +Black. “But I says to myself, ‘I’m goin’ to let Lydia +Orr stand on her two own feet in this town,’ I says. She can say what she +likes about herself, an’ there won’t be no lies coming home to +roost at <i>my</i> house. I guess you’d feel the very same way if you was +in my place, Abby.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Daggett glanced with childish admiration at the other woman’s +magenta-tinted face under its jetty water-waves. Even Mrs. Black’s +everyday hat was handsomer than her own Sunday-best. +</p> + +<p> +“You always was so smart an’ sensible, Phoebe,” she said +mildly. “I remember ’way back in school, when we was both girls, +you always could see through arithmetic problems right off, when I +couldn’t for the life of me. I guess you’re right about letting her +speak for herself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Course I am!” agreed Mrs. Black triumphantly. +</p> + +<p> +She had extricated herself from a difficulty with flying colors. She would +still preserve her reputation for being a close-mouthed woman who knew a lot +more about everything than she chose to tell. +</p> + +<p> +“Anybody can see she’s wearing mournin’,” she added +benevolently. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I thought mebbe she had a black dress on because they’re +stylish. She did look awful pretty in it, with her arms and neck showing +through. I like black myself; but mourning—that’s different. Poor +young thing, I wonder who it was. Her father, mebbe, or her mother. You +didn’t happen to hear her say, did you, Phoebe?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Solomon Black compressed her lips tightly. She paused at her own gate with +majestic dignity. +</p> + +<p> +“I guess I’ll have to hurry right in, Abby,” said she. +“I have my bread to set.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Solomon Black had closed her gate behind her, noticing as she did so that +Wesley Elliot and Lydia Orr had disappeared from the piazza where she had left +them. She glanced at Mrs. Daggett, lingering wistfully before the gate. +</p> + +<p> +“Goodnight, Abby,” said she firmly. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>Chapter VI.</h2> + +<p> +Mrs. Maria Dodge sifted flour over her molding board preparatory to +transferring the sticky mass of newly made dough from the big yellow mixing +bowl to the board. More flour and a skillful twirl or two of the lump and the +process of kneading was begun. It continued monotonously for the space of two +minutes; then the motions became gradually slower, finally coming to a full +stop. +</p> + +<p> +“My patience!” murmured Mrs. Dodge, slapping her dough smartly. +“Fanny ought to be ready by now. They’ll be late—both of +’em.” +</p> + +<p> +She hurriedly crossed the kitchen to where, through a partly open door, an +uncarpeted stair could be seen winding upward. +</p> + +<p> +“Fanny!” she called sharply. “Fanny! ain’t you ready +yet?” +</p> + +<p> +A quick step in the passage above, a subdued whistle, and her son Jim came +clattering down the stair. He glanced at his mother, a slight pucker between +his handsome brows. She returned the look with one of fond maternal admiration. +</p> + +<p> +“How nice you do look, Jim,” said she, and smiled up at her tall +son. “I always did like you in red, and that necktie—” +</p> + +<p> +Jim Dodge shrugged his shoulders with a laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t know about that tie,” he said. “Kind of crude +and flashy, ain’t it, mother?” +</p> + +<p> +“Flashy? No, of course it ain’t. It looks real stylish with the +brown suit.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stylish,” repeated the young man. “Yes, I’m a regular +swell—everything up to date, latest Broadway cut.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked down with some bitterness at his stalwart young person clad in +clothes somewhat shabby, despite a recent pressing. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Dodge had returned to her bread which had spread in a mass of stickiness +all over the board. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s Fanny?” she asked, glancing up at the noisy little +clock on the shelf above her head. “Tell her to hurry, Jim. You’re +late, now.” +</p> + +<p> +Jim passed his hand thoughtfully over his clean-shaven chin. +</p> + +<p> +“You might as well know, mother; Fan isn’t going.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not going?” echoed Mrs. Dodge, sharp dismay in voice and eyes. +“Why, I did up her white dress a-purpose, and she’s been making up +ribbon bows.” +</p> + +<p> +She extricated her fingers from the bread and again hurried across the floor. +</p> + +<p> +Her son intercepted her with a single long stride. +</p> + +<p> +“No use, mother,” he said quietly. “Better let her +alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“You think it’s—?” +</p> + +<p> +The young man slammed the door leading to the stairway with a fierce gesture. +</p> + +<p> +“If you weren’t blinder than a bat, mother, you’d know by +this time what ailed Fan,” he said angrily. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Dodge sank into a chair by the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I ain’t blind,” she denied weakly; “but I thought +mebbe Fannie—I hoped—” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you think she’d refused him?” demanded Jim roughly. +“Did you suppose—? Huh! makes me mad clean through to think of +it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Dodge began picking the dough off her fingers and rolling it into little +balls which she laid in a row on the edge of the table. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been awful worried about Fanny—ever since the night of +the fair,” she confessed. “He was here all that afternoon and +stayed to tea; don’t you remember? And they were just as happy +together—I guess I can tell! But he ain’t been near her +since.” +</p> + +<p> +She paused to wipe her eyes on a corner of her gingham apron. +</p> + +<p> +“Fanny thought—at least I sort of imagined Mr. Elliot didn’t +like the way you treated him that night,” she went on piteously. +“You’re kind of short in your ways, Jim, if you don’t like +anybody; don’t you know you are?” +</p> + +<p> +The young man had thrust his hands deep in his trousers’ pockets and was +glowering at the dough on the molding board. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s rotten nonsense, mother,” he burst out. “Do you +suppose, if a man’s really in love with a girl, he’s going to care +a cotton hat about the way her brother treats him? You don’t know much +about men if you think so. No; you’re on the wrong track. It wasn’t +my fault.” +</p> + +<p> +His mother’s tragic dark eyes entreated him timidly. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m awfully afraid Fanny’s let herself get all wrapped up in +the minister,” she half whispered. “And if he—” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to thrash him!” interrupted her son in a low tense +voice. “He’s a white-livered, cowardly hypocrite, that’s my +name for Wesley Elliot!” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Jim, that ain’t goin’ to help Fanny—what you +think of Mr. Elliot. And anyway, it ain’t so. It’s something else. +Do you—suppose, you could—You wouldn’t like to—to speak +to him, Jim—would you?” +</p> + +<p> +“What! speak to that fellow about my sister? Why, mother, you must be +crazy! What could I say?—‘My sister Fanny is in love with you; and +I don’t think you’re treating her right.’ Is that your +idea?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush, Jim! Don’t talk so loud. She might hear you.” +</p> + +<p> +“No danger of that, mother; she was lying on her bed, her face in the +pillow, when I looked in her room ten minutes ago. Said she had a headache and +wasn’t going.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Dodge drew a deep, dispirited sigh. +</p> + +<p> +“If there was only something a body could do,” she began. +“You might get into conversation with him, kind of careless, +couldn’t you, Jim? And then you might mention that he hadn’t been +to see us for two weeks—’course you’d put it real cautious, +then perhaps he—” +</p> + +<p> +A light hurried step on the stair warned them to silence; the door was pushed +open and Fanny Dodge entered the kitchen. She was wearing the freshly ironed +white dress, garnished with crisp pink ribbons; her cheeks were brilliant with +color, her pretty head poised high. +</p> + +<p> +“I changed my mind,” said she, in a hard, sweet voice. “I +decided I’d go, after all. My—my head feels better.” +</p> + +<p> +Mother and son exchanged stealthy glances behind the girl’s back as she +leaned toward the cracked mirror between the windows, apparently intent upon +capturing an airy tendril of hair which had escaped confinement. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s real sensible, Fanny,” approved Mrs. Dodge with +perfunctory cheerfulness. “I want you should go out all you can, whilest +you’re young, an’ have a good time.” +</p> + +<p> +Jim Dodge was silent; but the scowl between his eyes deepened. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Dodge formed three words with her lips, as she shook her head at him +warningly. +</p> + +<p> +Fanny burst into a sudden ringing laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I can see you in the glass, mother,” she cried. “I +don’t care what Jim says to me; he can say anything he likes.” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<img src="images/ab1.jpg" width="369" height="600" alt="[Illustration]" /> +<p class="caption">“Oh, I can see you in the glass, mother,” she cried.</p> +</div> + +<p> +Her beautiful face, half turned over her shoulder, quivered slightly. +</p> + +<p> +“If you knew how I—” she began, then stopped short. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s just what I was saying to Jim,” put in her mother +eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +The girl flung up both hands in a gesture of angry protest. +</p> + +<p> +“Please don’t talk about me, mother—to Jim, or anybody. Do +you hear?” +</p> + +<p> +Her voice shrilled suddenly loud and harsh, like an untuned string under the +bow. +</p> + +<p> +Jim Dodge flung his hat on his head with an impatient exclamation. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on, Fan,” he said roughly. “Nobody’s going to +bother you. Don’t you worry.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Dodge had gone back to her kneading board and was thumping the dough with +regular slapping motions of her capable hands, but her thin dark face was drawn +into a myriad folds and puckers of anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +Fanny stooped and brushed the lined forehead with her fresh young lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Goodnight, mother,” said she. “I wish you were going.” +</p> + +<p> +She drew back a little and looked down at her mother, smiling brilliantly. +</p> + +<p> +“And don’t you worry another minute about me, mother,” she +said resolutely. “I’m all right.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I do hope so, child,” returned her mother, sniffing back her +ready tears. “I’d hate to feel that you—” +</p> + +<p> +The girl hurried to the door, where her brother stood watching her. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on, Jim,” she said. “We have to stop for Ellen.” +</p> + +<p> +She followed him down the narrow path to the gate, holding her crisp white +skirts well away from the dew-drenched border. As the two emerged upon the +road, lying white before them under the brilliant moonlight, Fanny glanced up +timidly at her brother’s dimly seen profile under the downward sweep of +his hat-brim. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s real dusty, isn’t it?” said she, by way of +breaking a silence she found unbearable. “It’ll make my shoes look +horrid.” +</p> + +<p> +“Walk over on the side more,” advised Jim laconically. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll get in with all those weeds; they’re covered with +dust and wet, besides,” objected Fanny.... “Say, Jim!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Wouldn’t it be nice if we had an auto, then I could step in, right +in front of the house, and keep as clean as—” +</p> + +<p> +The young man laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Wouldn’t you like an aëroplane better, Fan? I believe I +would.” +</p> + +<p> +“You could keep it in the barn; couldn’t you, Jim?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” derided Jim, “the barn isn’t what you’d +call up-to-date. I require a hangar—or whatever you call +’em.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl smothered a sigh. +</p> + +<p> +“If we weren’t so poor—” she began. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh—lots of things.... They say that Orr girl has heaps of +money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who says so?” demanded her brother roughly. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, everybody. Joyce Fulsom told me her father said so; and he ought to +know. Do you suppose—?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do I suppose what?” +</p> + +<p> +Jim’s tone was almost savage. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter with you, Jim?” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny’s sweet voice conveyed impatience, almost reproach. It was as if +she had said to her brother, “You know how I must feel, and yet you are +cross with me.” +</p> + +<p> +Jim glanced down at her, sudden relenting in his heart. +</p> + +<p> +“I was just thinking it’s pretty hard lines for both of us,” +said he. “If we were rich and could come speeding into town in a snappy +auto, our clothes in the latest style, I guess things would be different. +There’s no use talking, Fan; there’s mighty little chance for our +sort. And if there’s one thing I hate more than another it’s what +folks call sympathy.” +</p> + +<p> +“So do I!” cried Fanny. “I simply can’t bear it to know +that people are saying behind my back, ‘There’s <i>poor</i> Fanny +Dodge; I wonder—’ Then they squeeze your hand, and gaze at you and +sigh. Even mother—I want you to tell mother I’m not—that it +isn’t true—I can’t talk to her, Jim.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll put her wise,” said Jim gruffly. +</p> + +<p> +After a pause, during which both walked faster than before, he said hurriedly, +as if the words broke loose: +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you give that fellow another thought, Fan. He isn’t +worth it!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl started like a blooded horse under the whip. She did not pretend to +misunderstand. +</p> + +<p> +“I know you never liked him, Jim,” she said after a short silence. +</p> + +<p> +“You bet I didn’t! Forget him, Fan. That’s all I have to +say.” +</p> + +<p> +“But—if I only knew what it was—I must have done +something—said something— I keep wondering and wondering. I +can’t help it, Jim.” +</p> + +<p> +There was an irrepressible sob in the girl’s voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Fan, pull yourself together,” he urged. “Here’s +Ellen waiting for us by the gate. Don’t for heaven’s sake give +yourself away. Keep a stiff upper lip, old girl!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I thought you two were never coming!” Ellen’s full +rich voice floated out to them, as they came abreast of the Dix homestead +nestled back among tall locust trees. +</p> + +<p> +The girl herself daintily picked her way toward them among the weeds by the +roadside. She uttered a little cry of dismay as a stray branch caught in her +muslin skirts. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the sign of a beau, Ellen,” laughed Fanny, with +extravagant gayety. “The bigger the stick the handsomer and richer the +beau.” +</p> + +<p> +“What made you so late?” inquired Ellen, as all three proceeded on +their way, the two girls linked affectionately arm in arm; Jim Dodge striding +in the middle of the road a little apart from his companions. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know,” fibbed Fanny. “I guess I was slow +starting to dress. The days are so long now I didn’t realize how late it +was getting.” +</p> + +<p> +Ellen glanced sympathizingly at her friend. +</p> + +<p> +“I was afraid you wouldn’t want to come, Fanny,” she +murmured, “Seeing the social is at Mrs. Solomon Black’s +house.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why shouldn’t I want to come?” demanded Fanny aggressively. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I didn’t know,” replied Ellen. +</p> + +<p> +After a pause she said: +</p> + +<p> +“That Orr girl has really bought the Bolton house; I suppose you heard? +It’s all settled; and she’s going to begin fixing up the place +right off. Don’t you think it’s funny for a girl like her to want a +house all to herself. I should think she’d rather board, as long as +she’s single.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Jim Dodge coolly. +</p> + +<p> +“You folks’ll get money out of it; so shall we,” Ellen went +on. “Everybody’s so excited! I went down for the mail this +afternoon and seemed to me ’most everybody was out in the street talking +it over. My! I’d hate to be her tonight.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” asked Fanny shortly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know. Everybody will be crowding around, asking +questions and saying things.... Do you think she’s pretty, Jim?” +</p> + +<p> +“Pretty?” echoed the young man. +</p> + +<p> +He shot a keen glance at Ellen Dix from under half-closed lids. The +girl’s big, black eyes were fixed full upon him; she was leaning forward, +a suggestion of timid defiance in the poise of her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that depends,” he said slowly. “No, I don’t +think she’s <i>pretty</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +Ellen burst into a sudden trill of laughter. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I never!” she exclaimed. “I supposed all the +men—” +</p> + +<p> +“But I do think she’s beautiful,” he finished calmly. +“There’s a difference, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +Ellen Dix tossed her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, is there?” she said airily. “Well, I don’t even +think she’s pretty; do you, Fan?—with all that light hair, drawn +back plain from her forehead, and those big, solemn eyes. But I guess she +<i>thinks</i> she’s pretty, all right.” +</p> + +<p> +“She doesn’t think anything about herself,” said Jim +doggedly. “She isn’t that kind of a girl.” +</p> + +<p> +Ellen Dix bit a vexed exclamation short. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe any of us know her very well,” she said, +after a pause. “You know what a gossip Lois Daggett is? Well, I met her +and Mrs. Fulsom and Mrs. Whittle coming out of the Daggetts’ house. +They’d been talking it over; when they saw me they stopped me to ask if +I’d been to see Miss Orr, and when I said no, not yet, but I was going, +Lois Daggett said, ‘Well, I do hope she won’t be quite so +close-mouthed with you girls. When I asked her, real sympathizing, who she was +wearing black for, she said she had lost a dear friend and never even told who +it was!’” +</p> + +<p> +Jim Dodge threw back his head and burst into a laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Served her right,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean Lois?” +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t suppose I meant Miss Orr; did you?” +</p> + +<p> +Jim’s voice held a disdainful note which brought the hot color to +Ellen’s cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not so stupid as you seem to think, Jim Dodge,” she +said, with spirit. +</p> + +<p> +“I never thought you were stupid, Ellen,” he returned quickly. +“Don’t make a mistake and be so now.” +</p> + +<p> +Ellen gazed at him in hurt silence. She guessed at his meaning and it +humiliated her girlish pride. +</p> + +<p> +It was Fanny who said somewhat impatiently: “I’m sure I can’t +think what you mean, Jim.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, in my humble opinion, it would be downright stupid for you two +girls to fool yourselves into disliking Lydia Orr. She’d like to be +friends with everybody; why not give her a chance?” +</p> + +<p> +Again Ellen did not reply; and again it was Fanny who spoke the words that rose +to her friend’s lips unuttered: +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t see how you should know so much about Miss Orr, +Jim.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t myself,” he returned good-humoredly. “But +sometimes a man can see through a woman better—or at least more +fair-mindedly than another woman. You see,” he added, +“there’s no sex jealousy in the way.” +</p> + +<p> +Both girls cried out in protest against this. +</p> + +<p> +It wasn’t so, they declared. He ought to be ashamed of himself! As for +being <i>jealous</i> of any one—Fanny haughtily disclaimed the +suggestion, with a bitterness which astonished her friend. +</p> + +<p> +It was something of a relief to all three when the brilliantly illuminated +house and grounds belonging to Mrs. Solomon Black came in view. Japanese +lanterns in lavish abundance had been strung from tree to tree and outlined the +piazza and the walk leading to the house. +</p> + +<p> +“Doesn’t it look lovely!” cried Ellen, scattering her +vexation to the winds. “I never saw anything so pretty!” +</p> + +<p> +Inside the house further surprises awaited them; the music of harp and violins +stole pleasantly through the flower-scented rooms, which were softly lighted +with shaded lamps the like of which Brookville had never seen before. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Solomon Black, arrayed in a crisp blue taffeta, came bustling to meet +them. But not before Fanny’s swift gaze had penetrated the assembled +guests. Yes! there was Wesley Elliot’s tall figure. He was talking to +Mrs. Henry Daggett at the far end of the double parlors. +</p> + +<p> +“Go right up stairs and lay off your things,” urged their hostess +hospitably. “Ladies to the right; gents to the left. I’m so glad +you came, Fanny. I’d begun to wonder—” +</p> + +<p> +The girl’s lip curled haughtily. The slight emphasis on the personal +pronoun and the fervid squeeze of Mrs. Black’s fat hand hurt her sore +heart. But she smiled brilliantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Mrs. Black, I wouldn’t have missed it for +worlds!” she said coldly. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>Chapter VII.</h2> + +<p> +“Does my hair look decent?” asked Ellen, as the two girls peered +into the mirror together. “The dew does take the curl out so. It must be +lovely to have naturally curly hair, like yours, Fanny. It looks all the +prettier for being damp and ruffled up.” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny was pulling out the fluffy masses of curling brown hair about her +forehead. +</p> + +<p> +“Your hair looks all right, Ellen,” she said absent-mindedly. +</p> + +<p> +She was wondering if Wesley Elliot would speak to her. +</p> + +<p> +“I saw that Orr girl,” whispered Ellen; “she’s got on a +white dress, all lace, and a black sash. She does look pretty, Fanny; +we’ll have to acknowledge it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ye-es,” murmured Fanny who was drawing on a pair of fresh white +gloves. +</p> + +<p> +“You aren’t going to wear those gloves down stairs, are you, Fan? I +haven’t got any.” +</p> + +<p> +“My hands are all stained up with currant jelly,” explained Fanny +hurriedly. “Your hands are real pretty, Ellen.” +</p> + +<p> +Ellen glanced down at her capable, brown hands, with their blunt finger-tips. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever notice <i>her</i> hands, Fanny?” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Her nails are cut kind of pointed, and all shined up. And her hands are +so little and soft and white. I suppose a man—do you think Jim would +notice that sort of thing, Fanny?” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny snapped the fastenings of her gloves. +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s go down stairs,” she suggested. “They’ll +be wondering what’s become of us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Say, Fan!” +</p> + +<p> +Ellen Dix caught at her friend’s arm, her pretty face, with its full +pouting lips and brilliant dark eyes upturned. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you suppose— You don’t think Jim is mad at me for what I +said about <i>her</i>, do you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t remember you said anything to make anybody mad. Come, +let’s go down, Ellen.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Fan, I was wondering if that girl— Do you know I—I kind +of wish she hadn’t come to Brookville. Everything seems—different, +already. Don’t you think so, Fanny?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know. Why should you think about it? She’s here +and there’s no use. I’m going down, Ellen.” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny moved toward the stairs, her fresh young beauty heightened by an air of +dignified reserve which Ellen Dix had failed to penetrate. +</p> + +<p> +Wesley Elliot, who had by now reached the wide opening into the hall in the +course of his progress among the guests, glanced up as Fanny Dodge swept the +last step of the stair with her unfashionable white gown. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, good evening, Miss Dodge,” he exclaimed, with commendable +presence of mind, seeing the heart under his waistcoat had executed an +uncomfortable <i>pas seul</i> at sight of her. +</p> + +<p> +He held out his hand with every appearance of cordial welcome, and after an +instant’s hesitation Fanny laid her gloved fingers in it. She had meant +to avoid his direct gaze, but somehow his glance had caught and held her own. +What were his eyes saying to her? She blushed and trembled under the soft dark +fire of them. In that instant she appeared so wholly adorable, so temptingly +sweet that the young man felt his prudent resolves slipping away from him one +by one. Had they been alone—... +</p> + +<p> +But, no; Ellen Dix, her piquant, provokingly pretty face tip-tilted with ardent +curiosity, was just behind. In another moment he was saying, in the easy, +pleasant way everybody liked, that he was glad to see Ellen; and how was Mrs. +Dix, this evening? And why wasn’t she there? +</p> + +<p> +Ellen replied demurely that it had been given out on Sunday as a young +people’s social; so her mother thought she wasn’t included. +</p> + +<p> +They entered the crowded room, where Deacon Whittle was presently heard +declaring that he felt just as young as anybody, so he “picked up mother +and came right along with Joe.” And Mrs. Daggett, whose placid face had +lighted with pleasure at sight of Fanny and Ellen, proclaimed that when the day +came for <i>her</i> to stay at home from a young folks’ social she hoped +they’d bury her, right off. +</p> + +<p> +So the instant—psychological or otherwise—passed. But Fanny +Dodge’s heavy heart was beating hopefully once more. +</p> + +<p> +“If I could only see him alone,” she was thinking. “He would +explain everything.” +</p> + +<p> +Her thoughts flew onward to the moment when she would come down stairs once +more, cloaked for departure. Perhaps Wesley—she ventured to call him +Wesley in her joyously confused thoughts—perhaps Wesley would walk home +with her as on other occasions not long past. Jim, she reflected, could go with +Ellen. +</p> + +<p> +Then all at once she came upon Lydia Orr, in her simple white dress, made with +an elegant simplicity which convicted every girl in the room of dowdiness. She +was talking with Judge Fulsom, who was slowly consuming a huge saucer of +ice-cream, with every appearance of enjoyment. +</p> + +<p> +“As I understand it, my dear young lady, you wish to employ Brookville +talent exclusively in repairing your house,” Fanny heard him saying, +between smacking mouthfuls. +</p> + +<p> +And Lydia Orr replied, “Yes, if you please, I do want everything to be +done here. There are people who can, aren’t there?” +</p> + +<p> +When she saw that Fanny had paused and was gazing at her doubtfully, her hand +went out with a smile, wistful and timid and sincere, all at once. There was +something so appealing in the girl’s upturned face, an honesty of purpose +so crystal-clear in her lovely eyes, that Fanny, still confused and uncertain +whether to be happy or not, was irresistibly drawn to her. She thought for a +fleeting instant she would like to take Lydia Orr away to some dim secluded +spot and there pour out her heart. The next minute she was ready to laugh at +herself for entertaining so absurd an idea. She glanced down at Lydia’s +ungloved hands, which Ellen Dix had just described, and reflected soberly that +Wesley Elliot sat at table with those dainty pink-tipped fingers three times +each day. She had not answered Ellen’s foolish little questions; but now +she felt sure that any man, possessed of his normal faculties, could hardly +fail to become aware of Lydia Orr’s delicate beauty. +</p> + +<p> +Fanny compelled herself to gaze with unprejudiced eyes at the fair transparent +skin, with the warm color coming and going beneath it, at the masses of blond +hair drawn softly back from the high round forehead, at the large blue eyes +beneath the long sweep of darker lashes, at the exquisite curve of the lips and +the firmly modeled chin. Yes; Jim had seen truly; the ordinary adjective +“pretty”—applicable alike to a length of ribbon, a gown, or a +girl of the commoner type—could not be applied to Lydia Orr. She was +beautiful to the discerning eye, and Fanny unwillingly admitted it. +</p> + +<p> +Lydia Orr, unabashed by the girl’s frank inspection, returned her gaze +with beaming friendliness. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you know I’d bought a house?” she asked. +“It’s old and needs a lot of repairing; so I was just asking Judge +Fulsom—” +</p> + +<p> +“Deacon Amos Whittle is, so to say, a contractor,” said the Judge +ponderously, “and so, in a way, am I.” +</p> + +<p> +“A contractor?” puzzled Lydia. “Yes; but I—” +</p> + +<p> +“If you’ll just give over everything into our hands connected with +putting the old place into A-number-one shape, I think you’ll find you +can dismiss the whole matter from your mind. In two months’ time, my dear +young lady, we’ll guarantee to pass the house over to you in apple-pie +order, good as new, if not better.... Yes, indeed; better!” +</p> + +<p> +The Judge eyed his empty saucer regretfully. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the best ice cream—” he added with total +irrelevance. “Have some, won’t you? I hear they’re passing it +out free and permiscuous in the back room.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think we should like some cream, if you please, Judge Fulsom,” +said Lydia, “if you’ll keep us company.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’ll keep company with you, as far as strawberry ice +cream’s concerned,” chuckled the Judge, his big bulk shaking with +humor. “But I see Mis’ Fulsom over there; she’s got her +weather eye on us. Now, watch me skeedaddle for that cream! Pink, white or +brown, Miss Orr; or, all three mixed? There’s a young fellow out there in +charge of the freezers that sure is a wonder. How about you, Fanny?” +</p> + +<p> +The two girls looked at each other with a smile of understanding as the big +figure of the Judge moved ponderously away. +</p> + +<p> +“We never had ice cream before at a church sociable,” said Fanny. +“And I didn’t know Mrs. Solomon Black had so many lanterns. Did you +buy all this?” +</p> + +<p> +Her gesture seemed to include the shaded lamps, the masses of flowers and +trailing vines, the gay strains of music, and the plentiful refreshments which +nearly every one was enjoying. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s just like a regular party,” she added. +“We’re not used to such things in Brookville.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you like it?” Lydia asked, doubtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, of course,” returned Fanny, the color rising swiftly to her +face. +</p> + +<p> +She had caught a glimpse of Wesley Elliot edging his way past a group of the +younger boys and girls, mad with the revelry of unlimited cake and ice cream. +He was coming directly toward their corner; his eyes, alas! fixed upon the +stranger in their midst. Unconsciously Fanny sighed deeply; the corners of her +smiling lips drooped. She appeared all at once like a lovely rose which some +one has worn for an hour and cast aside. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s such a little thing to do,” murmured Lydia. +</p> + +<p> +Then, before Fanny was aware of her intention, she had slipped away. At the +same moment Judge Fulsom made his appearance, elbowing his smiling way through +the crowd, a brimming saucer of vari-colored ice cream in each hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Here we are!” he announced cheerfully. “Had to get a +<i>habeas corpus</i> on this ice cream, though. Why, what’s become of +Miss Orr? Gone with a handsomer man—eh?” +</p> + +<p> +He stared humorously at the minister. +</p> + +<p> +“Twa’n’t you, dominie; seen’ you’re here. Had any +ice cream yet? No harm done, if you have. Seems to be a plenty. Take this, +parson, and I’ll replevin another plate for myself and one for Miss Orr. +Won’t be gone more’n another hour.” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny, piteously tongue-tied in the presence of the man she loved, glanced up +at Wesley Elliot with a timidity she had never before felt in his company. His +eyes under close-drawn brows were searching the crowd. Fanny divined that she +was not in his thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +“If you are looking for Miss Orr,” she said distinctly, “I +think she has gone out in the kitchen. I saw Mrs. Solomon Black beckon to +her.” +</p> + +<p> +The minister glanced down at her; his rash impulse of an hour back was already +forgotten. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think it’s awfully warm in here?” continued +Fanny. +</p> + +<p> +A sudden desperate desire had assailed her; she must—she would compel him +to some sort of an explanation. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a warm evening,” commented the minister. “But why +not eat your cream? You’ll find it will cool you off.” +</p> + +<p> +“I—I don’t care much for ice cream,” said Fanny, in a +low tremulous voice. +</p> + +<p> +She gazed at him, her dark eyes brimming with eager questions. +</p> + +<p> +“I was wondering if we couldn’t—it’s pleasant out in +the yard—” +</p> + +<p> +“If you’ll excuse me for just a moment, Miss Dodge,” Wesley +Elliot’s tone was blandly courteous—“I’ll try and find +you a chair. They appear to be scarce articles; I believe the ladies removed +most of them to the rear of the house. Pardon me—” +</p> + +<p> +He set down his plate of ice cream on the top shelf of Mrs. Solomon +Black’s what-not, thereby deranging a careful group of sea-shells and +daguerreotypes, and walked quickly away. +</p> + +<p> +Fanny’s face flushed to a painful crimson; then as suddenly paled. She +was a proud girl, accustomed to love and admiration since early childhood, when +she had queened it over her playmates because her yellow curls were longer than +theirs, her cheeks pinker, her eyes brighter and her slim, strong body taller. +Fanny had never been compelled to stoop from her graceful height to secure +masculine attention. It had been hers by a sort of divine right. She had not +been at all surprised when the handsome young minister had looked at her twice, +thrice, to every other girl’s once, nor when he had singled her out from +the others in the various social events of the country side. +</p> + +<p> +Fanny had long ago resolved, in the secret of her own heart, that she would +never, never become the hard-worked wife of a plodding farmer. Somewhere in the +world—riding toward her on the steed of his passionate desire—was +the fairy prince; her prince, coming to lift her out from the sordid +commonplace of life in Brookville. Almost from the very first she had +recognized Wesley Elliot as her deliverer. +</p> + +<p> +Once he had said to her: “I have a strange feeling that I have known you +always.” She had cherished the saying in her heart, +hoping—believing that it might, in some vague, mysterious way, be true. +And not at all aware that this pretty sentiment is as old as the race and the +merest banality on the masculine tongue, signifying: “At this moment I am +drawn to you, as to no other woman; but an hour hence it may be +otherwise.” ... How else may man, as yet imperfectly monogamous, find the +mate for whom he is ever ardently questing? In this woman he finds the trick of +a lifted lash, or a shadowy dimple in the melting rose of her cheek. In +another, the stately curve of neck and shoulder and the somber fire of dark +eyes draws his roving gaze; in a third, there is a soft, adorable prettiness, +like that of a baby. He has always known them—all. And thus it is, that +love comes and goes unbidden, like the wind which blows where it listeth; and +woman, hearing the sound thereof, cannot tell whence it cometh nor whither it +goeth. +</p> + +<p> +In this particular instance Wesley Elliot had not chosen to examine the secret +movements of his own mind. Baldly speaking, he had cherished a fleeting fancy +for Fanny Dodge, a sort of love in idleness, which comes to a man like the +delicate, floating seeds of the parasite orchid, capable indeed of exquisite +blossoming; but deadly to the tree upon which it fastens. He had resolved to +free himself. It was a sensible resolve. He was glad he had made up his mind to +it before it was too late. Upon the possible discomfiture of Fanny Dodge he +bestowed but a single thought: She would get over it. “It” meaning +a quite pardonable fancy—he refused to give it a more specific +name—for himself. To the unvoiced opinions of Mrs. Solomon Black, Mrs. +Deacon Whittle, Ellen Dix, Mrs. Abby Daggett and all the other women of his +parish he was wholly indifferent. Men, he was glad to remember, never bothered +their heads about another man’s love affairs.... +</p> + +<p> +The chairs from the sitting room had been removed to the yard, where they were +grouped about small tables adequately illuminated by the moon and numerous +Japanese lanterns. Every second chair appeared to be filled by a giggling, +pink-cheeked girl; the others being suitably occupied by youths of the opposite +sex—all pleasantly occupied. The minister conscientiously searched for +the chair he had promised to fetch to Fanny Dodge; but it never once occurred +to him to bring Fanny out to the cool loveliness of mingled moon and +lantern-light. There was no unoccupied chair, as he quickly discovered; but he +came presently upon Lydia Orr, apparently doing nothing at all. She was +standing near Mrs. Black’s boundary picket fence, shielded from the +observation of the joyous groups about the little tables by the down-dropping +branches of an apple-tree. +</p> + +<p> +“I was looking for you!” said Wesley Elliot. +</p> + +<p> +It was the truth; but it surprised him nevertheless. He supposed he had been +looking for a chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Were you?” said Lydia, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +She moved a little away from him. +</p> + +<p> +“I must go in,” she murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“Why must you? It’s delightful out here—so cool +and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know. But the others— Why not bring Miss Dodge out of that +hot room? I thought she looked tired.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t notice,” he said.... “Just look at that flock +of little white clouds up there with the moon shining through them!” +</p> + +<p> +Lydia glided away over the soft grass. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been looking at them for a long time,” she said gently. +“I must go now and help cut more cake.” +</p> + +<p> +He made a gesture of disgust. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re fairly stuffing,” he complained. “And, anyway, +there are plenty of women to attend to all that. I want to talk to you, Miss +Orr.” +</p> + +<p> +His tone was authoritative. +</p> + +<p> +She turned her head and looked at him. +</p> + +<p> +“To talk to me?” she echoed. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; come back—for just a minute. I know what you’re +thinking: that it’s my duty to be talking to parishioners. Well, +I’ve been doing that all the evening. I think I’m entitled to a +moment of relaxation; don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m a parishioner,” she reminded him. +</p> + +<p> +“So you are,” he agreed joyously. “And I haven’t had a +word with you this evening, so far; so you see it’s my duty to talk to +you; and it’s your duty to listen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” she murmured. +</p> + +<p> +Her face upturned to his in the moonlight wore the austere loveliness of a +saint’s. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<img src="images/ab2.jpg" width="360" height="600" alt="[Illustration]" /> +<p class="caption">Her face upturned to his in the moonlight, wore the austere +loveliness of a saint’s.</p> +</div> + +<p> +“I wish you’d tell me something,” he said, his fine dark eyes +taking in every detail of delicate tint and outline. “Do you know it all +seems very strange and unusual to me—your coming to Brookville the way +you did, and doing so much to—to make the people here happy.” +</p> + +<p> +She drew a deep, sighing breath. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid it isn’t going to be easy,” she said +slowly. “I thought it would be; but—” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you came with that intention,” he inferred quickly. +“You meant to do it from the beginning. But just what was the beginning? +What ever attracted your attention to this forlorn little place?” +</p> + +<p> +She was silent for a moment, her eyes downcast. Then she smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“I might ask you the same question,” she said at last. “Why +did you come to Brookville, Mr. Elliot?” +</p> + +<p> +He made an impatient gesture. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that is easily explained. I had a call to Brookville.” +</p> + +<p> +“So did I,” she murmured. “Yes; I think that was the +reason—if there must be a reason.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is always a reason for everything,” he urged. “But you +didn’t understand me. Do you know I couldn’t say this to another +soul in Brookville; but I’m going to tell you: I wanted to live and work +in a big city, and I tried to find a church—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; I know,” she said, unexpectedly. “One can’t +always go where one wishes to go, just at first. Things turn out that way, +sometimes.” +</p> + +<p> +“They seemed to want me here in Brookville,” he said, with some +bitterness. “It was a last resort, for me. I might have taken a position +in a school; but I couldn’t bring myself to that. I’d dreamed of +preaching—to big audiences.” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled at him, with a gentle sidewise motion of the head. +</p> + +<p> +“God lets us do things, if we want to hard enough,” she told him +quite simply. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you believe that?” he cried. “Perhaps you’ll think +it strange for me to ask; but do you?” +</p> + +<p> +A great wave of emotion seemed to pass over her quiet face. He saw it alter +strangely under his gaze. For an instant she stood transfigured; smiling, +without word or movement. Then the inward light subsided. She was only an +ordinary young woman, once more, upon whom one might bestow an indulgent +smile—so simple, even childlike she was, in her unaffected modesty. +</p> + +<p> +“I really must go in,” she said apologetically, “and help +them cut the cake.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>Chapter VIII.</h2> + +<p> +Jim Dodge had been hoeing potatoes all day. It was hard, monotonous work, and +he secretly detested it. But the hunting season was far away, and the growing +potatoes were grievously beset by weeds; so he had cut and thrust with his +sharp-bladed hoe from early morning till the sun burned the crest of the great +high-shouldered hill which appeared to close in the valley like a rampart, off +Grenoble way. As a matter of fact, the brawling stream which gave Brookville +its name successfully skirted the hill by a narrow margin which likewise +afforded space for the state road. +</p> + +<p> +But the young man was not considering either the geographical contours of the +country at large or the refreshed and renovated potato field, with its serried +ranks of low-growing plants, as he tramped heavily crosslots toward the house. +At noon, when he came in to dinner, in response to the wideflung summons of the +tin horn which hung by the back door, he had found the two women of his +household in a pleasurable state of excitement. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve got our share, Jim!” proclaimed Mrs. Dodge, a bright +red spot glowing on either thin cheek. “See! here’s the check; it +came in the mail this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +And she spread a crackling bit of paper under her son’s eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I was some surprised to get it so soon,” she added. “Folks +ain’t generally in any great hurry to part with their money. But they do +say Miss Orr paid right down for the place—never even asked ’em for +any sort of terms; and th’ land knows they’d have been glad to +given them to her, or to anybody that had bought the place these dozen years +back. Likely she didn’t know that.” +</p> + +<p> +Jim scowled at the check. +</p> + +<p> +“How much did she pay for the place?” he demanded. “It must +have been a lot more than it was worth, judging from this.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” Mrs. Dodge replied. “And I dunno as I +care particularly, as long’s we’ve got our share of it.” +</p> + +<p> +She was swaying back and forth in a squeaky old rocking-chair, the check +clasped in both thin hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall we bank it, children; or draw it all out in cash? Fanny needs new +clothes; so do you, Jim. And I’ve got to have a new carpet, or something, +for the parlor. Those skins of wild animals you brought in are all right, Jim, +if one can’t get anything better. I suppose we’d ought to be +prudent and saving; but I declare we haven’t had any money to speak of, +for so long—” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Dodge’s faded eyes were glowing with joy; she spread the check upon +her lap and gazed at it smilingly. +</p> + +<p> +“I declare it’s the biggest surprise I’ve had in all my +life!” +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s spend every cent of it,” proposed Fanny recklessly. +“We didn’t know we were going to have it. We can scrub along +afterward the same as we always have. Let’s divide it into four parts: +one for the house—to fix it up—and one for each of us, to spend any +way we like. What do you say, Jim?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t wonder if Mrs. Deacon Whittle would furnish up her +best parlor something elegant,” surmised Mrs. Dodge. “She’s +always said she was goin’ to have gilt paper and marble tops and electric +blue plush upholstered furniture. I guess that’ll be the last fair +we’ll ever have in that house. She wouldn’t have everybody +trampin’ over her flowered Body-Brussels. I suppose <i>we</i> might buy +some plush furniture; but I don’t know as I’d care for electric +blue. What do you think, son?” +</p> + +<p> +Jim Dodge sat sprawled out in his chair before the half-set table. At this +picture of magnificence, about to be realized in the abode of Deacon Amos +Whittle, he gave vent to an inarticulate growl. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter with you, Jim?” shrilled his mother, whose +perpetually jangled nerves were capable of strange dissonances. +“Anybody’d suppose you wasn’t pleased at having the old +Bolton place sold at last, and a little bit of all that’s been owing to +us since before your poor father died, paid off. My! If we was to have all that +was coming to us by rights, with the interest money—” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m hungry and tired, mother, and I want my dinner,” said +Jim brusquely. “That check won’t hoe the potatoes; so I guess +I’ll have to do it, same as usual.” +</p> + +<p> +“For pity sake, Fanny!” cried his mother, “did you put the +vegetables over to boil? I ain’t thought of anything since this check +came.” +</p> + +<p> +It appeared that Fanny had been less forgetful. +</p> + +<p> +After his belated dinner, Jim had gone back to his potatoes, leaving his mother +and sister deep in discussion over the comparative virtues of Nottingham lace +and plain muslin, made up with ruffles, for parlor curtains. +</p> + +<p> +“I really believe I’d rather spend more on the house than on +clo’es at my age,” he heard his mother saying, happily, as he +strode away. +</p> + +<p> +All during the afternoon, to the clink of myriad small stones against the busy +blade of his hoe, Jim thought about Lydia Orr. He could not help seeing that it +was to Lydia he owed the prospect of a much needed suit of clothes. It would be +Lydia who hung curtains, of whatever sort, in their shabby best room. And no +other than Lydia was to furnish Mrs. Whittle’s empty parlor. She had +already given the minister a new long-tailed coat, as Jim chose to characterize +the ministerial black. His cheeks burned under the slanting rays of the +afternoon sun with something deeper than an added coat of tan. Why should Lydia +Orr—that slip of a girl, with the eyes of a baby, or a saint—do all +this? Jim found himself unable to believe that she really wanted the Bolton +place. Why, the house was an uninhabitable ruin! It would cost thousands of +dollars to rebuild it. +</p> + +<p> +He set his jaw savagely as he recalled his late conversation with Deacon +Whittle. “The cheating old skinflint,” as he mentally termed that +worthy pillar of the church, had, he was sure, bamboozled the girl into buying +a well-nigh worthless property, at a scandalous price. It was a shame! He, Jim +Dodge, even now burned with the shame of it. He pondered briefly the +possibilities of taking from his mother the check, which represented the <i>pro +rata</i> share of the Dodge estate, and returning it to Lydia Orr. Reluctantly +he abandoned this quixotic scheme. The swindle—for as such he chose to +view it—had already been accomplished. Other people would not return +their checks. On the contrary, there would be new and fertile schemes set on +foot to part the unworldly stranger and her money. +</p> + +<p> +He flung down his hoe in disgust and straightened his aching shoulders. The +whole sordid transaction put him in mind of the greedy onslaught of a horde of +hungry ants on a beautiful, defenseless flower, its torn corolla exuding +sweetness.... And there must be some sort of reason behind it. Why had Lydia +Orr come to Brookville? +</p> + +<p> +And here, unwittingly, Jim’s blind conjectures followed those of Wesley +Elliot. He had told Lydia Orr he meant to call upon her. That he had not yet +accomplished his purpose had been due to the watchfulness of Mrs. Solomon +Black. On the two occasions when he had rung Mrs. Black’s front +door-bell, that lady herself had appeared in response to its summons. On both +occasions she had informed Mr. Dodge tartly that Miss Orr wasn’t at home. +</p> + +<p> +On the occasion of his second disappointment he had offered to await the young +lady’s home-coming. +</p> + +<p> +“There ain’t no use of that, Jim,” Mrs. Black had assured +him. “Miss Orr’s gone t’ Boston to stay two days.” +</p> + +<p> +Then she had unlatched her close-shut lips to add: “She goes there +frequent, on business.” +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes appeared to inform him further that Miss Orr’s business, of +whatever nature, was none of <i>his</i> business and never would be. +</p> + +<p> +“That old girl is down on me for some reason or other,” he told +himself ruefully, as he walked away for the second time. But he was none the +less resolved to pursue his hopefully nascent friendship with Lydia Orr. +</p> + +<p> +He was thinking of her vaguely as he walked toward the house which had been his +father’s, and where he and Fanny had been born. It was little and low and +old, as he viewed it indifferently in the fading light of the sunset sky. Its +walls had needed painting so long, that for years nobody had even mentioned the +subject. Its picturesquely mossy roof leaked. But a leaky roof was a +commonplace in Brookville. It was customary to set rusty tin pans, their holes +stopped with rags, under such spots as actually let in water; the emptying of +the pans being a regular household “chore.” Somehow, he found +himself disliking to enter; his mother and Fanny would still be talking about +the disposition of Lydia Orr’s money. To his relief he found his sister +alone in the kitchen, which served as a general living room. The small square +table neatly spread for two stood against the wall; Fanny was standing by the +window, her face close to the pane, and apparently intent upon the prospect +without, which comprised a grassy stretch of yard flanked by a dull rampart of +over-grown lilac bushes. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s mother?” inquired Jim, as he hung his hat on the +accustomed nail. +</p> + +<p> +“She went down to the village,” said Fanny, turning her back on the +window with suspicious haste. “There was a meeting of the sewing society +at Mrs. Daggett’s.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good Lord!” exclaimed Jim. “What an opportunity!” +</p> + +<p> +“Opportunity?” echoed Fanny vaguely. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; for talking it over. Can’t you imagine the clack of tongues; +the ‘I says to <i>her</i>,’ and ‘she told <i>me</i>,’ +and ‘what <i>do</i> you think!’” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be sarcastic and disagreeable, Jim,” advised Fanny, +with some heat. “When you think of it, it <i>is</i> a wonder—that +girl coming here the way she did; buying out the fair, just as everybody was +discouraged over it. And now—” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you explain it, Fan?” asked her brother. +</p> + +<p> +“Explain it? I can’t explain it. Nobody seems to know anything +about her, except that she’s from Boston and seems to have heaps of +money.” +</p> + +<p> +Jim was wiping his hands on the roller-towel behind the door. +</p> + +<p> +“I had a chance to annex a little more of Miss Orr’s money +today,” he observed grimly. “But I haven’t made up my mind +yet whether to do it, or not.” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny laughed and shrugged her shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“If you don’t, somebody else will,” she replied. “It +was Deacon Whittle, wasn’t it? He stopped at the house this afternoon and +wanted to know where to find you.” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re going right to work on the old place, and there’s +plenty to do for everybody, including yours truly, at four dollars a +day.” +</p> + +<p> +“What sort of work?” inquired Fanny. +</p> + +<p> +“All sorts: pulling down and building up; clearing away and replanting. +The place is a jungle, you know. But four dollars a day! It’s like taking +candy from a baby.” +</p> + +<p> +“It sounds like a great deal,” said the girl. “But why +shouldn’t you do it?” +</p> + +<p> +Jim laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, indeed? I might earn enough to put a shingle or two on our own +roof. It looks like honest money; but—” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny was busy putting the finishing touches to the supper table. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother’s going to stop for tea at Mrs. Daggett’s, and go to +prayer meeting afterward,” she said. “We may as well eat.” +</p> + +<p> +The two sat down, facing each other. +</p> + +<p> +“What did you mean, Jim?” asked Fanny, as she passed the bread +plate to her brother. “You said, ‘It looks like honest money; +but—’” +</p> + +<p> +“I guess I’m a fool,” he grumbled; “but there’s +something about the whole business I don’t like.... Have some of this +apple sauce, Fan?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl passed her plate for a spoonful of the thick compound, and in return +shoved the home-dried beef toward her brother. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see anything queer about it,” she replied dully. +“I suppose a person with money might come to Brookville and want to buy a +house. The old Bolton place used to be beautiful, mother says. I suppose it can +be again. And if she chooses to spend her money that way—” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s just the point I can’t see: why on earth should she +want to saddle herself with a proposition like that?” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny’s mute lips trembled. She was thinking she knew very well why Lydia +Orr had chosen to come to Brookville: in some way unknown to Fanny, Miss Orr +had chanced to meet the incomparable Wesley Elliot, and had straightway set her +affections upon him. Fanny had been thinking it over, ever since the night of +the social at Mrs. Solomon Black’s. Up to the moment when +Wesley—she couldn’t help calling him Wesley still—had left +her, on pretense of fetching a chair, she had instantly divined that it was a +pretense, and of course he had not returned. Her cheeks tingled hotly as she +recalled the way in which Joyce Fulsom had remarked the plate of melting ice +cream on the top shelf of Mrs. Black’s what-not: +</p> + +<p> +“I guess Mr. Elliot forgot his cream,” the girl had said, with a +spark of malice. “I saw him out in the yard awhile ago talking to that +Miss Orr.” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny had humiliated herself still further by pretending she didn’t know +it was the minister who had left his ice cream to dissolve in a pink and brown +puddle of sweetness. Whereat Joyce Fulsom had giggled disagreeably. +</p> + +<p> +“Better keep your eye on him, Fan,” she had advised. +</p> + +<p> +Of course she couldn’t speak of this to Jim; but it was all plain enough +to her. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going down to the village for awhile, Fan,” her brother +said, as he arose from the table. But he did not, as was his custom, invite her +to accompany him. +</p> + +<p> +After Jim had gone, Fanny washed the dishes with mechanical swiftness. Her +mother had asked her if she would come to prayer meeting, and walk home with +her afterwards. Not that Mrs. Dodge was timid; the neighborhood of Brookville +had never been haunted after nightfall by anything more dangerous than +whippoorwills and frogs. A plaintive chorus of night sounds greeted the girl, +as she stepped out into the darkness. How sweet the honeysuckle and late roses +smelled under the dew! Fanny walked slowly across the yard to the old +summer-house, where the minister had asked her to call him Wesley, and sat +down. It was very dark under the thick-growing vines, and after awhile +tranquillity of a sort stole over the girl’s spirit. She gazed out into +the dim spaces beyond the summer-house and thought, with a curious detachment, +of all that had happened. It was as if she had grown old and was looking back +calmly to a girlhood long since past. She could almost smile at the +recollection of herself stifling her sobs in her pillow, lest Jim should hear. +</p> + +<p> +“Why should I care for him?” she asked herself wonderingly; and +could not tell. +</p> + +<p> +Then all at once she found herself weeping softly, her head on the rickety +table. +</p> + +<p> +Jim Dodge, too intently absorbed in his own confused thoughts to pay much +attention to Fanny, had walked resolutely in the direction of Mrs. Solomon +Black’s house; from which, he reflected, the minister would be obliged to +absent himself for at least an hour. He hoped Mrs. Black had not induced Lydia +to go to the prayer meeting with her. Why any one should voluntarily go to a +prayer meeting passed his comprehension. Jim had once attended what was known +as a “protracted meeting,” for the sole purpose of pleasing his +mother, who all at once had appeared tearfully anxious about his +“soul.” He had not enjoyed the experience. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you saved, my dear young brother?” Deacon Whittle had inquired +of him, in his snuffling, whining, peculiarly objectionable tone. +</p> + +<p> +“From what, Deacon?” Jim had blandly inquired. “You in for +it, too?” +</p> + +<p> +Whereat the Deacon had piously shaken his head and referred him to the +“mourner’s pew,” with the hope that he might even yet be +plucked as a brand from the burning. +</p> + +<p> +Lydia had not gone to the prayer meeting. She was sitting on the piazza, quite +alone. She arose when her determined visitor boldly walked up the steps. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it is you!” said she. +</p> + +<p> +An unreasonable feeling of elation arose in the young man’s breast. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you think I wasn’t coming?” he inquired, with all the +egotism of which he had been justly accused. +</p> + +<p> +He did not wait for her reply; but proceeded with considerable humor to +describe his previous unsuccessful attempts to see her. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose,” he added, “Mrs. Solomon Black has kindly warned +you against me?” +</p> + +<p> +She could not deny it; so smiled instead. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the young man, “I give you my word I’m not +a villain: I neither drink, steal, nor gamble. But I’m not a saint, after +the prescribed Brookville pattern.” +</p> + +<p> +He appeared rather proud of the fact, she thought. Aloud she said, with +pardonable curiosity: +</p> + +<p> +“What is the Brookville pattern? I ought to know, since I am to live +here.” +</p> + +<p> +At this he dropped his bantering tone. +</p> + +<p> +“I wanted to talk to you about that,” he said gravely. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean—?” +</p> + +<p> +“About your buying the old Bolton place and paying such a preposterous +price for it, and all the rest, including the minister’s back-pay.” +</p> + +<p> +She remained silent, playing with the ribbon of her sash. +</p> + +<p> +“I have a sort of inward conviction that you’re not doing it +because you think Brookville is such a pleasant place to live in,” he +went on, keenly observant of the sudden color fluttering in her cheeks, +revealed by the light of Mrs. Solomon Black’s parlor lamp which stood on +a stand just inside the carefully screened window. “It looks,” he +finished, “as if you—well; it may be a queer thing for me to say; +but I’ll tell you frankly that when mother showed me the check she got +today I felt that it was—charity.” +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” she said quickly. “You are quite, quite in the +wrong.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you can’t make me believe that with all your +money—pardon me for mentioning what everybody in the village is talking +about— You’ll have to convince me that the old Bolton place has oil +under it, or coal or diamonds, before I—” +</p> + +<p> +“Why should you need to be convinced of anything so unlikely?” she +asked, with gentle coldness. +</p> + +<p> +He reddened angrily. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course it’s none of my business,” he conceded. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t mean that. But, naturally, I could have no idea of coal +or oil—” +</p> + +<p> +“Well; I won’t work for you at any four dollars a day,” he +said loudly. “I thought I’d like to tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want you to,” she said. “Didn’t Deacon +Whittle give you my message?” +</p> + +<p> +He got hurriedly to his feet with a muttered exclamation. +</p> + +<p> +“Please sit down, Mr. Dodge,” she bade him tranquilly. +“I’ve been wanting to see you all day. But there are so few +telephones in Brookville it is difficult to get word to people.” +</p> + +<p> +He eyed her with stubborn resentment. +</p> + +<p> +“What I meant to say was that four dollars a day is too much! Don’t +you know anything about the value of money, Miss Orr? Somebody ought to have +common honesty enough to inform you that there are plenty of men in Brookville +who would be thankful to work for two dollars a day. I would, for one; and I +won’t take a cent more.” +</p> + +<p> +She was frowning a little over these statements. The stalwart young man in +shabby clothes who sat facing her under the light of Mrs. Solomon Black’s +well-trimmed lamp appeared to puzzle her. +</p> + +<p> +“But why shouldn’t you want to earn all you can?” she +propounded at last. “Isn’t there anything you need to use money +for?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, just a few things,” he admitted grudgingly. “I suppose +you’ve noticed that I’m not exactly the glass of fashion and the +mold of form.” +</p> + +<p> +He was instantly ashamed of himself for the crude personality. +</p> + +<p> +“You must think I’m a fool!” burst from him, under the sting +of his self-inflicted lash. +</p> + +<p> +She smiled and shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not at all the sort of person you appear to think me,” +she said. Her grave blue eyes looked straight into his. “But don’t +let’s waste time trying to be clever: I want to ask you if you are +willing, for a fair salary, to take charge of the outdoor improvements at +Bolton House.” +</p> + +<p> +She colored swiftly at sight of the quizzical lift of his brows. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve decided to call my place ‘Bolton House’ for +several reasons,” she went on rapidly: “for one thing, everybody +has always called it the Bolton place, so it will be easier for the workmen and +everybody to know what place is meant. Besides, I—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; but the name of Bolton has an ill-omened sound in Brookville +ears,” he objected. “You’ve no idea how people here hate that +man.” +</p> + +<p> +“It all happened so long ago, I should think they might forgive him by +now,” she offered, after a pause. +</p> + +<p> +“I wouldn’t call my house after a thief,” he said strongly. +“There are hundreds of prettier names. Why not—Pine Court, for +example?” +</p> + +<p> +“You haven’t told me yet if you will accept the position I spoke +of.” +</p> + +<p> +He passed his hand over his clean-shaven chin, a trick he had inherited from +his father, and surveyed her steadily from under meditative brows. +</p> + +<p> +“In the first place, I’m not a landscape gardener, Miss Orr,” +he stated. “That’s the sort of man you want. You can get one in +Boston, who’ll group your evergreens, open vistas, build pergolas and all +that sort of thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“You appear to know exactly what I want,” she laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps I do,” he defied her. +</p> + +<p> +“But, seriously, I don’t want and won’t have a +landscape-gardener from Boston—with due deference to your well-formed +opinions, Mr. Dodge. I intend to mess around myself, and change my mind every +other day about all sorts of things. I want to work things out, not on paper in +cold black and white; but in terms of growing things—wild things out of +the woods. You understand, I’m sure.” +</p> + +<p> +The dawning light in his eyes told her that he did. +</p> + +<p> +“But I’ve had no experience,” he hesitated. “Besides, +I’ve considerable farm-work of my own to do. I’ve been hoeing +potatoes all day. Tomorrow I shall have to go into the cornfield, or lose my +crop. Time, tide and weeds wait for no man.” +</p> + +<p> +“I supposed you were a hunter,” she said. “I +thought—” +</p> + +<p> +He laughed unpleasantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I see,” he interrupted rudely: “you supposed, in other +words, that I was an idle chap, addicted to wandering about the woods, a gun on +my shoulder, a cur—quite as much of a ne’er-do-well as +myself—at my heels. Of course Deacon Whittle and Mrs. Solomon Black have +told you all about it. And since you’ve set about reforming Brookville, +you thought you’d begin with me. Well, I’m obliged to you; +but—” +</p> + +<p> +The girl arose trembling to her feet. +</p> + +<p> +“You are not kind!” she cried. “You are not kind!” +</p> + +<p> +They stood for an instant, gazing into each other’s eyes during one of +those flashes of time which sometimes count for years. +</p> + +<p> +“Forgive me,” he muttered huskily. “I’m a brute at +best; but I had no business to speak to you as I did.” +</p> + +<p> +“But why did you say—what made you ever think I’d set about +reforming—that is what you said—<i>reforming</i>—Brookville? +I never thought of such a thing! How could I?” +</p> + +<p> +He hung his head, abashed by the lightning in her mild eyes. +</p> + +<p> +She clasped her small, fair hands and bent toward him. +</p> + +<p> +“And you said you wanted to be—friends. I hoped—” +</p> + +<p> +“I do,” he said gruffly. “I’ve told you I’m +ashamed of myself.” +</p> + +<p> +She drew back, sighing deeply. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want you to feel—ashamed,” she said, in a +sweet, tired voice. “But I wish—” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me!” he urged, when she did not finish her sentence. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think everybody is going to misunderstand me, as you have?” +she asked, somewhat piteously. “Is it so strange and unheard of a thing +for a woman to want a home and—and friends? Isn’t it allowable for +a person who has money to want to pay fair wages? Why should I scrimp and +haggle and screw, when I want most of all to be generous?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because,” he told her seriously, “scrimping, haggling and +screwing have been the fashion for so long, the other thing rouses mean +suspicions by its very novelty. It’s too good to be true; that’s +all.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean people will suspect—they’ll think there’s +something—” +</p> + +<p> +She stood before him, her hands fallen at her sides, her eyes downcast. +</p> + +<p> +“I confess I couldn’t believe that there wasn’t an ulterior +motive,” he said honestly. “That’s where I was less noble +than you.” +</p> + +<p> +She flashed a sudden strange look at him. +</p> + +<p> +“There is,” she breathed. “I’m going to be +honest—with you. I have—an ulterior motive.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you tell me what it is?” +</p> + +<p> +Her lips formed the single word of denial. +</p> + +<p> +He gazed at her in silence for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going to accept the post you just offered me, Miss Orr; at any +salary you think I’m worth,” he said gravely. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” she murmured. +</p> + +<p> +Steps and the sound of voices floated across the picket fence. The gate rasped +on its rusted hinges; then slammed shut. +</p> + +<p> +“If I was you, Mr. Elliot,” came the penetrating accents of Mrs. +Solomon Black’s voice, “I should hire a reg’lar +reviv’list along in th’ fall, after preservin’ an’ +house-cleanin’ time. We need an outpourin’ of grace, right here in +Brookville; and we can’t get it no other way.” +</p> + +<p> +And the minister’s cultured voice in reply: +</p> + +<p> +“I shall give your suggestion the most careful consideration, Mrs. Black, +between now and the autumn season.” +</p> + +<p> +“Great Scott!” exclaimed Jim Dodge; “this is no place for me! +Good night, Miss Orr!” +</p> + +<p> +She laid her hand in his. +</p> + +<p> +“You can trust me,” he said briefly, and became on the instant a +flitting shadow among the lilac bushes, lightly vaulting over the fence and +mingling with the darker shadows beyond. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>Chapter IX.</h2> + +<p> +“Now, Henry,” said Mrs. Daggett, as she smilingly set a plate of +perfectly browned pancakes before her husband, which he proceeded to deluge +with butter and maple syrup, “are you sure that’s <i>so</i>, about +the furniture? ’Cause if it is, we’ve got two or three o’ +them things right in this house: that chair you’re settin’ in, for +one, an’ upstairs there’s that ol’ fashioned brown bureau, +where I keep the sheets ’n’ pillow slips. You don’t +s’pose she’d want that, do you?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Daggett sank down in a chair opposite her husband, her large pink and +white face damp with moisture. Above her forehead a mist of airy curls +fluttered in the warm breeze from the open window. +</p> + +<p> +“My, ain’t it hot!” she sighed. “I got all het up +a-bakin’ them cakes. Shall I fry you another griddleful, papa?” +</p> + +<p> +“They cer’nly do taste kind o’ moreish, Abby,” conceded +Mr. Daggett thickly. “You do beat the Dutch, Abby, when it comes t’ +pancakes. Mebbe I could manage a few more of ’em.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Daggett beamed sincerest satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know,” she deprecated happily. “Ann +Whittle says I don’t mix batter the way she does. But if <i>you</i> like +’em, Henry—” +</p> + +<p> +“Couldn’t be beat, Abby,” affirmed Mr. Daggett sturdily, as +he reached for his third cup of coffee. +</p> + +<p> +The cook stove was only a few steps away, so the sizzle of the batter as it +expanded into generous disks on the smoking griddle did not interrupt the +conversation. Mrs. Daggett, in her blue and white striped gingham, a pancake +turner in one plump hand, smiled through the odorous blue haze like a tutelary +goddess. Mr. Daggett, in his shirt-sleeves, his scant locks brushed carefully +over his bald spot, gazed at her with placid satisfaction. He was thoroughly +accustomed to having Abby wait upon his appetite. +</p> + +<p> +“I got to get down to the store kind of early this morning, Abby,” +he observed, frowning slightly at his empty plate. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll have ’em for you in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, +papa,” soothed Mrs. Daggett, to whom the above remark had come to signify +not merely a statement of fact, but a gentle reprimand. “I know you like +’em good and hot; and cold buckwheat cakes certainly is about th’ +meanest vict’als.... There!” +</p> + +<p> +And she transferred a neat pile of the delicate, crisp rounds from the griddle +to her husband’s plate with a skill born of long practice. +</p> + +<p> +“About that furnitur’,” remarked Mr. Daggett, gazing +thoughtfully at the golden stream of sweetness, stolen from leaf and branch of +the big sugar maples behind the house to supply the pewter syrup-jug he +suspended above his cakes, “I guess it’s a fact she wants it, all +right.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should think she’d rather have new furniture; Henry, they do say +the house is going to be handsome. But you say she wants the old stuff? +Ain’t that queer, for anybody with means.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that Orr girl beats me,” Mr. Daggett acknowledged +handsomely. “She seems kind of soft an’ easy, when you talk to her; +but she’s got ideas of her own; an’ you can’t no more talk +’em out of her—” +</p> + +<p> +“Why should you try to talk ’em out of her, papa?” inquired +Mrs. Daggett mildly. “Mebbe her ideas is all right; and anyhow, +s’long as she’s paying out good money—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, she’ll pay! she’ll pay!” said Mr. Daggett, with a +large gesture. “Ain’t no doubt about her paying for what she +wants.” +</p> + +<p> +He shoved his plate aside, and tipped back in his chair with a heavy yawn. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s asked me to see about the wall paper, Abby,” he +continued, bringing down his chair with a resounding thump of its sturdy legs. +“And she’s got the most outlandish notions about it; asked me could +I match up what was on the walls.” +</p> + +<p> +“Match it up? Why, ain’t th’ paper all moldered away, Henry, +with the damp an’ all?” +</p> + +<p> +“’Course it is, Abby; but she says she wants to restore the +house—fix it up just as ’twas. She says that’s th’ +correct thing to do. ‘Why, shucks!’ I sez, ‘the wall papers +they’re gettin’ out now is a lot handsomer than them old style +papers. You don’t want no old stuff like that,’ I sez. But, I swan! +you can’t tell that girl nothing, for all she seems so mild and +meachin’. I was wonderin’ if you couldn’t shove some sense +into her, Abby. Now, I’d like th’ job of furnishin’ up that +house with new stuff. ‘I don’t carry a very big stock of +furniture,’ I sez to her; but—” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Hen-ery Daggett!” reproved his wife, “an’ you a +reg’lar professing member of the church! You ain’t never carried no +stock of furniture in the store, and you know it.” +</p> + +<p> +“That ain’t no sign I ain’t never goin’ to, +Abby,” retorted Mr. Daggett with spirit. “We been stuck right down +in the mud here in Brookville since that dratted bank failed. Nobody’s +moved, except to the graveyard. And here comes along a young woman with money +... I’d like mighty well to know just how much she’s got an’ +where it come from. I asked the Judge, and he says, blamed if he knows.... But +this ’ere young female spells op-per-tunity, Abby. We got to take +advantage of the situation, Abby, same as you do in blackberrying season: pick +’em when they’re ripe; if you don’t, the birds and the +bugs’ll get ’em.” +</p> + +<p> +“It don’t sound right to me, papa,” murmured his wife, her +kind face full of soft distress: “Taking advantage of a poor young thing, +like her, an’ all in mourning, too, fer a near friend. She told Lois so +... Dear, dear!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Daggett had filled his morning pipe and was puffing energetically in his +efforts to make it draw. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t <i>say</i> take advantage of <i>her</i>,” he +objected. “That’s somethin’ I never done yet in my business, +Abby. Th’ Lord knows I don’t sand my sugar nor water my vinegar, +the way some storekeepers do. I’m all for ‘live an’ let +live.’ What I says was—... Now, you pay attention to me, Abby, and +quit sniffling. You’re a good woman; but you’re about as soft as +that there butter! ...” +</p> + +<p> +The article in question had melted to a yellow pool under the heat. Mrs. +Daggett gazed at it with wide blue eyes, like those of a child. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Henry,” she protested, “I never heerd you talk so +before.” +</p> + +<p> +“And likely you won’t again. Now you listen, Abby; all I want, is +to do what honest business I can with this young woman. She’s bound to +spend her money, and she’s kind of took to me; comes into th’ store +after her mail, and hangs around and buys the greatest lot o’ +stuff— ‘Land!’ I says to her: ‘a body’d think you +was getting ready to get married.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, now I shouldn’t wonder—” began Mrs. Daggett +eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you get excited, Abby. She says she ain’t; real +pointed, too. But about this wall paper; I don’t know as I can match up +them stripes and figures. I wisht you’d go an’ see her, Abby. +She’ll tell you all about it. An’ her scheme about collecting all +the old Bolton furniture is perfectly ridiculous. ’Twouldn’t be +worth shucks after kickin’ ’round folk’s houses here in +Brookville for the last fifteen years or so.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you can’t never find her at home, Henry,” said Mrs. +Daggett. “I been to see her lots of times; but Mis’ Solomon Black +says she don’t stay in the house hardly long enough to eat her +victuals.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you take the buggy, Abby, and drive out to the old +place?” suggested Mr. Daggett. “Likely you’ll find her there. +She appears to take an interest in every nail that’s drove. I can spare +the horse this afternoon just as well as not.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Twould be pleasant,” purred Mrs. Daggett. “But, I +suppose, by rights, I ought to take Lois along.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nope,” disagreed her husband, shaking his head. “Don’t +you take Lois; she wouldn’t talk confiding to Lois, the way she would to +you. You’ve got a way with you, Abby. I’ll bet you could coax a +bird off a bush as easy as pie, if you was a mind to.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Daggett’s big body shook with soft laughter. She beamed rosily on +her husband. +</p> + +<p> +“How you do go on, Henry!” she protested. “But I ain’t +going to coax Lydia Orr off no bush she’s set her heart on. She’s +got the sweetest face, papa; an’ I know, without anybody telling me, +whatever she does or wants to do is <i>all</i> right.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Daggett had by now invested his portly person in a clean linen coat, +bearing on its front the shining mark of Mrs. Daggett’s careful iron. +</p> + +<p> +“Same here, Abby,” he said kindly: “whatever you do, Abby, +suits <i>me</i> all right.” +</p> + +<p> +The worthy couple parted for the morning: Mr. Daggett for the scene of his +activities in the post office and store; Mrs. Daggett to set her house to +rights and prepare for the noon meal, when her Henry liked to “eat hearty +of good, nourishing victuals,” after his light repast of the morning. +</p> + +<p> +“Guess I’ll wear my striped muslin,” said Mrs. Daggett to +herself happily. “Ain’t it lucky it’s all clean an’ +fresh? ’Twill be so cool to wear out buggy-ridin’.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Daggett was always finding occasion for thus reminding herself of her +astonishing good fortune. She had formed the habit of talking aloud to herself +as she worked about the house and garden. +</p> + +<p> +“’Tain’t near as lonesome, when you can hear the sound of a +voice—if it is only your own,” she apologized, when rebuked for the +practice by her friend Mrs. Maria Dodge. “Mebbe it does sound kind of +crazy— You say lunatics does it constant—but, I don’t know, +Maria, I’ve a kind of a notion there’s them that hears, even if you +can’t see ’em. And mebbe they answer, too—in your +thought-ear.” +</p> + +<p> +“You want to be careful, Abby,” warned Mrs. Dodge, shaking her +head. “It makes the chills go up and down my back to hear you talk like +that; and they don’t allow no such doctrines in the church.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Apostle Paul allowed ’em,” Mrs. Daggett pointed out, +“so did the Psalmist. You read your Bible, Maria, with that in mind, and +you’ll see.” +</p> + +<p> +In the spacious, sunlighted chamber of her soul, devoted to the memory of her +two daughters who had died in early childhood, Mrs. Daggett sometimes permitted +herself to picture Nellie and Minnie, grown to angelic girlhood, and keeping +her company about her lonely household tasks in the intervals not necessarily +devoted to harp playing in the Celestial City. She laughed softly to herself as +she filled two pies with sliced sour apples and dusted them plentifully with +spice and sugar. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d admire to see papa argufying with that sweet girl,” she +observed to the surrounding silence. “Papa certainly is set on having his +own way. Guess bin’ alone here with me so constant, he’s got kind +of willful. But it don’t bother me any; ain’t that lucky?” +</p> + +<p> +She hurried her completed pies into the oven with a swiftness of movement she +had never lost, her sweet, thin soprano soaring high in the words of a winding +old hymn tune: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Lord, how we grovel here below,<br /> +Fond of these trifling toys;<br /> +Our souls can neither rise nor go<br /> +To taste supernal joys! ... +</p> + +<p> +It was nearly two o’clock before the big brown horse, indignant at the +unwonted invasion of his afternoon leisure, stepped slowly out from the Daggett +barn. On the seat of the old-fashioned vehicle, to which he had been attached +by Mrs. Daggett’s skillful hands, that lady herself sat placidly erect, +arrayed in her blue and white striped muslin. Mrs. Daggett conscientiously wore +stripes at all seasons of the year: she had read somewhere that stripes impart +to the most rotund of figures an appearance of slimness totally at variance +with the facts. As for blue and white, her favorite combination of stripes, any +fabric in those colors looked cool and clean; and there was a vague strain of +poetry in Mrs. Daggett’s nature which made her lift her eyes to a blue +sky filled with floating white clouds with a sense of rapturous satisfaction +wholly unrelated to the state of the weather. +</p> + +<p> +“G’long, Dolly!” she bade the reluctant animal, with a gentle +slap of leathern reins over a rotund back. “Git-ap!” +</p> + +<p> +“Dolly,” who might have been called Cæsar, both by reason of +his sex and a stubbornly dominant nature, now fortunately subdued by years of +chastening experience, strode slowly forward, his eyes rolling, his large hoofs +stirring up heavy clouds of dust. There were sweet-smelling meadows stacked +with newly-cured hay on either side of the road, and tufts of red clover +blossoms exhaling delicious odors of honey almost under his saturnine nose; but +he trotted ponderously on, sullenly aware of the gentle hand on the reins and +the mild, persistent voice which bade him “Git-ap, Dolly!” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Lois Daggett, carrying a black silk bag, which contained a prospectus of +the invaluable work which she was striving to introduce to an unappreciative +public, halted the vehicle before it had reached the outskirts of the village. +</p> + +<p> +“Where you going, Abby?” she demanded, in the privileged tone of +authority a wife should expect from her husband’s female relatives. +</p> + +<p> +“Just out in the country a piece, Lois,” replied Mrs. Daggett +evasively. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I guess I’ll git in and ride a ways with you,” said +Lois Daggett. “Cramp your wheel, Abby,” she added sharply. “I +don’t want to git my skirt all dust.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Daggett was wearing a black alpaca skirt and a white shirtwaist, profusely +ornamented with what is known as coronation braid. Her hair, very tightly +frizzed, projected from beneath the brim of her straw hat on both sides. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going out to see if I can catch that Orr girl this +afternoon,” she explained, as she took a seat beside her sister-in-law. +“She ought to want a copy of Famous People—in the best binding, +too. I ain’t sold a leather-bound yit, not even in Grenoble. They come in +red with gold lettering. You’d ought to have one, Abby, now that +Henry’s gitting more business by the minute. I should think you might +afford one, if you ain’t too stingy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mebbe we could, Lois,” said Mrs. Daggett amiably. +“I’ve always thought I’d like to know more about famous +people: what they eat for breakfast, and how they do their back hair +and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be silly, Abby,” Miss Daggett bade her sharply. +“There ain’t any such nonsense in Famous People! <i>I</i> +wouldn’t be canvassing for it, if there was.” And she shifted her +pointed nose to one side with a slight, genteel sniff. +</p> + +<p> +“Git-ap, Dolly!” murmured Mrs. Daggett, gently slapping the reins. +</p> + +<p> +Dolly responded by a single swift gesture of his tail which firmly lashed the +hated reminder of bondage to his hind quarters. Then wickedly pretending that +he was not aware of what had happened he strolled to the side of the road +nearest the hay field. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, if he ain’t gone and got his tail over the lines!” +cried Mrs. Daggett indignantly. “He’s got more resistin’ +strength in that tail of his’n—wonder if I can—” +</p> + +<p> +She leaned over the dashboard and grasped the offending member with both hands. +</p> + +<p> +“You hang onto the lines, Lois, and give ’em a good jerk the minute +I loosen up his tail.” +</p> + +<p> +The subsequent failure of this attempt deflected the malicious Dolly still +further from the path of duty. A wheel cramped and lifted perilously. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Daggett squealed shrilly: +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll tip the buggy over—he’ll tip the buggy over! For +pity’s sake, Abby!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Daggett stepped briskly out of the vehicle and seized the bridle. +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t you ashamed?” she demanded sternly. “You loosen +up that there tail o’ yourn this minute!” +</p> + +<p> +“I got ’em!” announced Miss Daggett, triumphantly. “He +loosened right up.” +</p> + +<p> +She handed the recovered reins to her sister-in-law, and the two ladies resumed +their journey and their conversation. +</p> + +<p> +“I never was so scared in all my life,” stated Lois Daggett, +straightening her hat which had assumed a rakish angle over one ear. “I +should think you’d be afraid to drive such a horse, Abby. What in +creation would have happened to you if I hadn’t been in the buggy?” +</p> + +<p> +“As like as not he wouldn’t have took a notion with his tail, Lois, +if I’d been driving him alone,” hazarded Mrs. Daggett mildly. +“Dolly’s an awful knowing horse.... Git-ap, Dolly!” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to tell me, Abby Daggett, that there horse of Henry’s +has took a spite against <i>me?</i>” demanded the spinster.... +“Mebbe he’s a mind-reader,” she added darkly. +</p> + +<p> +“You know I didn’t mean nothin’ like that, Lois,” her +sister-in-law assured her pacifically. “What I meant to say was: I got so +interested in what you were saying, Lois, that I handled the reins careless, +and he took advantage.... Git-ap, Dolly! Don’t you see, Lois, even a +horse knows the difference when two ladies is talking.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’d ought to learn to say exactly what you mean, Abby,” +commented Miss Daggett. +</p> + +<p> +She glanced suspiciously at the fresh striped muslin, which was further +enhanced by a wide crocheted collar and a light blue satin bow. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’d you say you were goin’ this afternoon, Abby?” +</p> + +<p> +“I said out in the country a piece, Lois; it’s such a nice +afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, <i>I</i> should think Henry’d be needing the horse for his +business. I know <i>I’d</i> never think of asking him for it—and me +a blood relation, too, trying to earn my bread and butter tramping around the +country with Famous People.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Daggett, thus convicted of heartless selfishness, sighed vaguely. +Henry’s sister always made her feel vastly uncomfortable, even sinful. +</p> + +<p> +“You know, Lois, we’d be real glad to have you come and live with +us constant,” she said heroically.... “Git-ap, Dolly!” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Daggett compressed her thin lips. +</p> + +<p> +“No; I’m too independent for that, Abby, an’ you know it. If +poor Henry was to be left a widower, I might consider living in his house and +doing for him; but you know, Abby, there’s very few houses big enough for +two women.... And that r’minds me; did you know Miss Orr has got a hired +girl?” +</p> + +<p> +“Has she?” inquired Mrs. Daggett, welcoming the change of subject +with cordial interest. “A hired girl! ...Git-ap, Dolly!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” confirmed Miss Daggett. “Lute Parsons was telling me +she came in on th’ noon train yesterday. She brought a trunk with her, +and her check was from Boston.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I want to know!” murmured Mrs. Daggett. +“Boston’s where <i>she</i> came from, ain’t it? It’ll +be real pleasant for her to have somebody from Boston right in the house.... +G’long, Dolly!” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know why you should be so sure of that, Abby,” +sniffed Miss Daggett. “I should think a person from right here in +Brookville would be more company. How can a hired girl from Boston view the +passin’ and tell her who’s goin’ by? I think it’s a +ridiculous idea, myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t wonder if it’s somebody she knows,” +surmised Mrs. Daggett. “’Twould be real pleasant for her to have a +hired girl that’s mebbe worked for her folks.” +</p> + +<p> +“I intend to ask her, if she comes to the door,” stated Lois +Daggett. “You can drop me right at the gate; and if you ain’t going +too far with your buggy-riding, Abby, you might stop and take me up a spell +later. It’s pretty warm to walk far today.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I was thinkin’ mebbe I’d stop in there, too, +Lois,” said Mrs. Daggett apologetically. “I ain’t been to see +Miss Orr for quite a spell, and—” +</p> + +<p> +The spinster turned and fixed a scornfully, intelligent gaze upon the mild, +rosy countenance of her sister-in-law. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, <i>I see!</i>” she sniffed. “That was where you was +pointing for, all the while! And you didn’t let on to me, oh, no!” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Lois, don’t you get excited,” exhorted Mrs. Daggett. +“It was just about the wall papers. Henry, he says to me this +mornin’—... Git-ap, Dolly!” +</p> + +<p> +<i>“‘Henry says—Henry says’!</i> Yes; I guess so! What +do you know about wall papers, Abby? ...Well, all I got to say is: I +don’t want nobody looking on an’ interfering when I’m trying +to sell ‘Lives of Famous People.’ Folks, es a rule, ain’t so +interested in anything they got to pay out money fer, an’ I want a clear +field.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t say a word till you’re all through talkin’, +Lois,” promised Mrs. Daggett meekly. “Mebbe she’d kind of +hate to say ‘no’ before me. She’s took a real liking to +Henry.... Git-ap, Dolly.... And anyway, she’s awful generous. I could +say, kind of careless; ‘If I was you, I’d take a +leather-bound.’ Couldn’t I, Lois?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you can come in, Abby, if you’re so terrible anxious,” +relented Miss Daggett. “You might tell her, you and Henry was going to +take a leather-bound; that might have some effect. I remember once I sold three +Famous People in a row in one street. There couldn’t one o’ them +women endure to think of her next door neighbor having something she +didn’t have.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s so, Lois,” beamed Mrs. Daggett. “The most of +folks is about like that. Why, I rec’lect once, Henry brought me up a +red-handled broom from th’ store. My! it wa’n’t no time +b’fore he was cleaned right out of red-handled brooms. Nobody wanted +’em natural color, striped, or blue. Henry, he says to me, ‘What +did you do to advertise them red-handled brooms, Abby?’ ‘Why, +papa,’ says I, ‘I swept off my stoop and the front walk a couple of +times, that’s all.’ ‘Well,’ he says, +‘broom-handles is as catching as measles, if you only get ’em +th’ right color!’ ... Git-ap, Dolly!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, did you <i>ever!</i>” breathed Miss Daggett excitedly, +leaning out of the buggy to gaze upon the scene of activity displayed on the +further side of the freshly-pruned hedge which divided Miss Lydia Orr’s +property from the road: “Painters and carpenters and masons, all going at +once! And ain’t that Jim Dodge out there in the side yard talking to her? +’Tis, as sure as I’m alive! I wonder what <i>he’s</i> doing? +Go right in, Abby!” +</p> + +<p> +“I kind of hate to drive Dolly in on that fresh gravel,” hesitated +Mrs. Daggett. “He’s so heavy on his feet he’ll muss it all +up. Mebbe I’d better hitch out in front.” +</p> + +<p> +“She sees us, Abby; go on in!” commanded Miss Daggett masterfully. +“I guess when it comes to that, her gravel ain’t any better than +other folks’ gravel.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus urged, Mrs. Daggett guided the sulky brown horse between the big stone +gateposts and brought him to a standstill under the somewhat pretentious +<i>porte-cochère</i> of the Bolton house. +</p> + +<p> +Lydia Orr was beside the vehicle in a moment, her face bright with welcoming +smiles. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear Mrs. Daggett,” she said, “I’m so glad +you’ve come. I’ve been wanting to see you all day. I’m sure +you can tell me—” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve met my husband’s sister, Miss Lois Daggett, +haven’t you, Miss Orr? She’s the lady that made that beautiful +drawn-in mat you bought at the fair.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Orr shook hands cordially with the author of the drawn-in mat. +</p> + +<p> +“Come right in,” she said. “You’ll want to see what +we’re doing inside, though nothing is finished yet.” +</p> + +<p> +She led the way to a small room off the library, its long French windows +opening on a balcony. +</p> + +<p> +“This room used to be a kind of a den, they tell me; so I’ve made +it into one, the first thing, you see.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a rug on the floor, a chair or two and a high mahogany desk which +gave the place a semblance of comfort amid the general confusion. Miss Lois +Daggett gazed about with argus-eyed curiosity. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know as I was ever in this room, when Andrew Bolton lived +here,” she observed, “but it looks real homelike now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor man! I often think of him,” said kindly Mrs. Daggett. +“’Twould be turrible to be shut away from the sunshine f’r +even one year; but poor Andrew Bolton’s been closed up in State’s +prison fer—l’ me see, it mus’ be goin’ on—” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s fifteen years, come fall, since he got his sentence,” +stated the spinster. “His time must be ’most up.” +</p> + +<p> +Lydia Orr had seated herself in an old-fashioned chair, its tall carved back +turned to the open windows. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you—lose much in the bank failure, Miss Daggett?” she +inquired, after a slight pause, during which the promoter of Famous People was +loosening the strings of her black silk bag. +</p> + +<p> +“About two hundred dollars I’d saved up,” replied Miss +Daggett. “By now it would be a lot more—with the interest.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, of course,” assented their hostess; “one should always +think of interest in connection with savings.” +</p> + +<p> +She appeared to be gazing rather attentively at the leather-bound prospectus +Miss Daggett had withdrawn from her bag. +</p> + +<p> +“That looks like something interesting, Miss Daggett,” she +volunteered. +</p> + +<p> +“This volume I’m holdin’ in my hand,” began that lady, +professionally, “is one of the most remarkable works ever issued by the +press of any country. It is the life history of one thousand men and women of +world-wide fame and reputation, in letters, art, science <i>an’</i> +public life. No library nor parlor table is complete without this authoritative +work of general information <i>an’</i> reference. It is a complete +library in itself, and—” +</p> + +<p> +“What is the price of the work, Miss Daggett?” inquired Lydia Orr. +</p> + +<p> +“Just hold on a minute; I’m coming to that,” said Miss +Daggett firmly. “As I was telling you, this work is a complete library in +itself. A careful perusal of the specimen pages will convince the most +skeptical. Turning to page four hundred and fifty-six, we read:—” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<img src="images/ab3.jpg" width="370" height="600" alt="[Illustration]" /> +<p class="caption">“Just hold on a minute; I’m coming to +that,” said Miss Daggett firmly.</p> +</div> + +<p> +“I’m sure I should like to buy the book, Miss Daggett.” +</p> + +<p> +“You ain’t th’ only one,” said the agent. “Any +person of even the most ordinary intelligence ought to own this work. Turning +to page four hundred and fifty-six, we read: ‘Snipeley, Samuel Bangs: +lawyer ligislator <i>an’</i> author; born eighteen hundred fifty-nine, in +the town of—’” +</p> + +<p> +At this moment the door was pushed noiselessly open, and a tall, spare woman of +middle age stood upon the threshold bearing a tray in her hands. On the tray +were set forth silver tea things, flanked by thin bread and butter and a +generous pile of sponge cake. +</p> + +<p> +“You must be tired and thirsty after your drive,” said Lydia Orr +hospitably. “You may set the tray here, Martha.” +</p> + +<p> +The maid complied. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I must have that book, Miss Daggett,” their hostess went +on. “You didn’t mention the title, nor the price. Won’t you +have a cup of tea, Mrs. Daggett?” +</p> + +<p> +“That cup of tea looks real nice; but I’m afraid you’ve gone +to a lot of trouble and put yourself out,” protested Mrs. Daggett, who +had not ventured to open her lips until then. What wonderful long words Lois +had used; and how convincing had been her manner. Mrs. Daggett had resolved +that “Lives of Famous People,” in its best red leather binding, +should adorn her own parlor table in the near future, if she could persuade +Henry to consent. +</p> + +<p> +“I think that book Lois is canvassing for is just lovely,” she +added artfully, as she helped herself to cake. “I’m awful anxious +to own one; just think, I’d never even heard of Snipeley Samuel +Bangs—” +</p> + +<p> +Lois Daggett crowed with laughter. +</p> + +<p> +“Fer pity sake, Abby! don’t you know no better than that? +It’s Samuel Bangs Snipeley; he was County Judge, the author of +‘Platform Pearls,’ and was returned to legislature four times by +his constituents, besides being—” +</p> + +<p> +“Could you spare me five copies of the book, Miss Daggett?” +inquired Lydia, handing her the sponge cake. +</p> + +<p> +“Five copies!” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Daggett swiftly controlled her agitation. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t told you the price, yet. You’d want one of them +leather-bound, wouldn’t you? They come high, but they wear real well, and +I will say there’s nothing handsomer for a parlor table.” +</p> + +<p> +“I want them all leather-bound,” said Lydia, smiling. “I want +one for myself, one for a library and the other three—” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s nothing neater for a Christmas or birthday present!” +shrilled Lois Daggett joyously. “And so informing.” +</p> + +<p> +She swallowed her tea in short, swift gulps; her faded eyes shone. Inwardly she +was striving to compute the agent’s profit on five leather-bound copies +of Famous People. She almost said aloud “I can have a new dress!” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve been thinking,” Lydia Orr said composedly, “that +it might be pleasant to open a library and reading room in the village. What do +you think of the idea, Miss Daggett? You seem interested in books, and I +thought possibly you might like to take charge of the work.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who, me?— Take charge of a library?” +</p> + +<p> +Lois Daggett’s eyes became on the instant watchful and suspicious. Lydia +Orr had encountered that look before, on the faces of men and even of boys. +Everybody was afraid of being cheated, she thought. Was this just in +Brookville, and because of the misdeeds of one man, so long ago? +</p> + +<p> +“Of course we shall have to talk it over some other day, when we have +more time,” she said gently. +</p> + +<p> +“Wouldn’t that be nice!” said Mrs. Daggett. “I was in a +library once, over to Grenoble. Even school children were coming in constant to +get books. But I never thought we could have one in Brookville. Where could we +have it, my dear?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; that’s the trouble,” chimed in Lois. “There +isn’t any place fit for anything like that in our town.” +</p> + +<p> +Lydia glanced appealingly from one to the other of the two faces. One might +have thought her irresolute—or even afraid of their verdict. +</p> + +<p> +“I had thought,” she said slowly, “of buying the old Bolton +bank building. It has not been used for anything, Judge Fulsom says, +since—” +</p> + +<p> +“No; it ain’t,” acquiesced Mrs. Daggett soberly, “not +since—” +</p> + +<p> +She fell silent, thinking of the dreadful winter after the bank failure, when +scarlet fever raged among the impoverished homes. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s been some talk, off and on, of opening a store +there,” chimed in Lois Daggett, setting down her cup with a clash; +“but I guess nobody’d patronize it. Folks don’t forget so +easy.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it’s a good substantial building,” Lydia went on, her +eyes resting on Mrs. Daggett’s broad, rosy face, which still wore that +unwonted look of pain and sadness. “It seems a pity not to change +the—the associations. The library and reading room could be on the first +floor; and on the second, perhaps, a town hall, where—” +</p> + +<p> +“For the land sake!” ejaculated Lois Daggett; “you +cer’nly have got an imagination, Miss Orr. I haven’t heard that +town hall idea spoken of since Andrew Bolton’s time. He was always +talking about town improvements; wanted a town hall and courses of lectures, +and a fountain playing in a park and a fire-engine, and the land knows what. He +was a great hand to talk, Andrew Bolton was. And you see how he turned +out!” +</p> + +<p> +“And mebbe he’d have done all those nice things for Brookville, +Lois, if his speculations had turned out different,” said Mrs. Daggett, +charitably. “I always thought Andrew Bolton <i>meant</i> all right. Of +course he had to invest our savings; banks always do, Henry says.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know anything about <i>investing</i>, and don’t want +to, either—not the kind he did, anyhow,” retorted Lois Daggett. +</p> + +<p> +She arose as she spoke, brushing the crumbs of sponge cake from her skirt. +</p> + +<p> +“I got to get that order right in,” she said: “five +copies—or was it six, you said?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I could use six,” murmured Lydia. +</p> + +<p> +“And all leather-bound! Well, now, I know you won’t ever be sorry. +It’s one of those works any intelligent person would be proud to +own.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure it is,” said the girl gently. +</p> + +<p> +She turned to Mrs. Daggett. +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t you stay awhile longer? I—I should like—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I guess Abby’d better come right along with me,” put in +Lois briskly ... “and that reminds me, do you want to pay something down +on that order? As a general thing, where I take a big order—” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course—I’d forgotten; I always prefer to pay in +advance.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl opened the tall desk and producing a roll of bills told off the price +of her order into Miss Daggett’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I should think you’d be almost afraid to keep so much ready money +by you, with all those men workin’ outside,” she commented. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re all Brookville men,” said Lydia. “I have to +have money to pay them with. Besides, I have Martha.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean your hired girl, I suppose,” inferred Miss Daggett, +rubbing her nose thoughtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“She isn’t exactly—a servant,” hesitated Lydia. +“We give the men their noon meal,” she added. “Martha helps +me with that.” +</p> + +<p> +“You give them their dinner! Well, I never! Did you hear that, Abby? She +gives them their dinner. Didn’t you know men-folks generally bring their +noonings in a pail? Land! I don’t know how you get hearty victuals enough +for all those men. Where do they eat?” +</p> + +<p> +“In the new barn,” said Lydia, smiling. “We have a cook stove +out there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t that just lovely!” beamed Mrs. Daggett, squeezing the +girl’s slim hand in both her own. “Most folks wouldn’t go to +the trouble of doing anything so nice. No wonder they’re hustling.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mebbe they won’t hustle so fast toward the end of the job,” +said Lois Daggett. “You’ll find men-folks are always ready to take +advantage of any kind of foolishness. Come, Abby; we must be going. +You’ll get those books in about two weeks, Miss Orr. A big order takes +more time, I always tell people.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Miss Daggett. But wouldn’t you—if you are in a +hurry, you know; Mr. Dodge is going to the village in the automobile; +we’re expecting some supplies for the house. He’ll be glad to take +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who, Jim Dodge? You don’t mean to tell me Jim Dodge can drive an +auto! I never stepped foot inside of one of those contraptions. But I +don’t know but I might’s well die for a sheep as a lamb.” +</p> + +<p> +Lois Daggett followed the girl from the room in a flutter of joyous excitement. +</p> + +<p> +“You can come home when you get ready, Abby,” she said over her +shoulder. “But you want to be careful driving that horse of yours; he +might cut up something scandalous if he was to meet an auto.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>Chapter X.</h2> + +<p> +Mrs. Daggett was sitting by the window gazing dreamily out, when Lydia returned +after witnessing the triumphant departure of the promoter of Famous People. +</p> + +<p> +“It kind of brings it all back to me,” said Mrs. Daggett, furtively +wiping her eyes. “It’s going t’ look pretty near’s it +used to. Only I remember Mis’ Bolton used to have a flower garden all +along that stone wall over there; she was awful fond of flowers. I remember I +gave her some roots of pinies and iris out of our yard, and she gave me a new +kind of lilac bush—pink, it is, and sweet! My! you can smell it a mile +off when it’s in blow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you knew—the Bolton family?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl’s blue eyes widened wistfully as she asked the question. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, indeed, my dear. And I want to tell you—just betwixt +ourselves—that Andrew Bolton was a real nice man; and don’t you let +folks set you t’ thinking he wa’n’t. Now that you’re +going to live right here in this house, my dear, seems to me it would be a lot +pleasanter to know that those who were here before you were just good, kind +folks that had made a mistake. I was saying to Henry this morning: +‘I’m going to tell her some of the nice things folks has seemed to +forget about the Boltons. It won’t do any harm,’ I said. ‘And +it’ll be cheerfuller for her.’ Now this room we’re sitting +in—I remember lots of pleasant things about this room. ’Twas +here—right at that desk—he gave us a check to fix up the church. He +was always doing things like that. But folks don’t seem to +remember.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you so much, dear Mrs. Daggett, for telling me,” murmured +Lydia. “Indeed it will be—cheerfuller for me to know that Andrew +Bolton wasn’t always—a thief. I’ve sometimes imagined him +walking about these rooms.... One can’t help it, you know, in an old +house like this.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Daggett nodded eagerly. Here was one to whom she might impart some of the +secret thoughts and imaginings which even Maria Dodge would have called +“outlandish”: +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” she said. “Sometimes I’ve wondered +if—if mebbe folks don’t leave something or other after +them—something you can’t see nor touch; but you can sense it, just +as plain, in your mind. But land! I don’t know as I’d ought to +mention it; of course you know I don’t mean ghosts and like that.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean their—their thoughts, perhaps,” hesitated Lydia. +“I can’t put it into words; but I know what you mean.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Daggett patted the girl’s hand kindly. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve come to talk to you about the wall papers, dearie; Henry +thought mebbe you’d like to see me, seeing I don’t forget so +easy’s some. This room was done in a real pretty striped paper in two +shades of buff. There’s a little of it left behind that door. Mrs. Bolton +was a great hand to want things cheerful. She said it looked kind of sunshiny, +even on a dark day. Poor dear, it fell harder on her than on anybody else when +the crash came. She died the same week they took him to prison; and fer one, I +was glad of it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Daggett wiped her kind eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Mebbe you’ll think it’s a terrible thing for me to +say,” she added hastily. “But she was such a delicate, soft-hearted +sort of a woman: I couldn’t help feelin’ th’ Lord spared her +a deal of bitter sorrow by taking her away. My! It does bring it all back to me +so—the house and the yard, and all. We’d all got used to seeing it +a ruin; and now— Whatever put it in your head, dearie, to want things put +back just as they were? Papa was telling me this morning you was all for +restoring the place. He thinks ’twould be more stylish and up-to-date if +you was to put new-style paper on the walls, and let him furnish it up for you +with nice golden oak. Henry’s got real good taste. You’d ought to +see our sideboard he gave me Chris’mas, with a mirror and all.” +</p> + +<p> +Having thus discharged her wifely duty, as it appeared to her, Mrs. Daggett +promptly turned her back upon it. +</p> + +<p> +“But you don’t want any golden oak sideboards and like that in this +house. Henry was telling me all about it, and how you were set on getting back +the old Bolton furniture.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think I could?” asked the girl eagerly. “It was all +sold about here, wasn’t it? And don’t you think if I was willing to +pay a great deal for it people would—” +</p> + +<p> +“’Course they would!” cried Mrs. Daggett, with cheerful +assurance. “They’d be tickled half to death to get money for it. +But, you see, dearie, it’s a long time ago, and some folks have moved +away, and there’s been two or three fires, and I suppose some are not as +careful as others; still—” +</p> + +<p> +The smile faded on the girl’s lips. +</p> + +<p> +“But I can get some of it back; don’t you think I can? +I—I’ve quite set my heart on—restoring the house. I want it +just as it used to be. The old furniture would suit the house so much better; +don’t you think it would?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Daggett clapped her plump hands excitedly. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve just thought of a way!” she exclaimed. “And +I’ll bet it’ll work, too. You know Henry he keeps th’ post +office; an’ ’most everybody for miles around comes after their mail +to th’ store. I’ll tell him to put up a sign, right where everybody +will see; something like this: ‘Miss Lydia Orr wants to buy the old +furniture of the Bolton house.’ And you might mention casual you’d +pay good prices for it. ’Twas real good, solid furniture, I remember.... +Come to think of it, Mrs. Bolton collected quite a lot of it right ’round +here. She was a city girl when she married Andrew Bolton, an’ she took a +great interest in queer old things. She bought a big tall clock out of +somebody’s attic, and four-posted beds, the kind folks used to sleep in, +an’ outlandish old cracked china plates with scenes on ’em. I +recollect I gave her a blue and white teapot, with an eagle on the side that +belonged to my grandmother. She thought it was perfectly elegant, and kept it +full of rose-leaves and spice on the parlor mantelpiece. Land! I hadn’t +thought of that teapot for years and years. I don’t know whatever became +of it.” +</p> + +<p> +The sound of planes and hammers filled the silence that followed. Lydia was +standing by the tall carved chair, her eyes downcast. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad you thought of—that notice,” she said at +last. “If Mr. Daggett will see to it for me—I’ll stop at the +office tomorrow. And now, if you have time, I’d so like you to go over +the house with me. You can tell me about the wall papers and—” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Daggett arose with cheerful alacrity. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like nothing better,” she declared. “I ain’t +been in the house for so long. Last time was the day of the auction; +’twas after they took the little girl away, I remember.... Oh, +didn’t nobody tell you? There was one child—a real, nice little +girl. I forget her name; Mrs. Bolton used to call her Baby and Darling and like +that. She was an awful pretty little girl, about as old as my Nellie. +I’ve often wondered what became of her. Some of her relatives took her +away, after her mother was buried. Poor little thing—her ma dead +an’ her pa shut up in prison—... Oh! yes; this was the parlor.... +My! to think how the years have gone by, and me as slim as a match then. Now +that’s what I call a handsome mantel; and ain’t the marble kept +real pretty? There was all-colored rugs and a waxed floor in here, and a real +old-fashioned sofa in that corner and a mahogany table with carved legs over +here, and long lace curtains at the windows. I see they’ve fixed the +ceilings as good as new and scraped all the old paper off the walls. There used +to be some sort of patterned paper in here. I can’t seem to think what +color it was.” +</p> + +<p> +“I found quite a fresh piece behind the door,” said Lydia. +“See; I’ve put all the good pieces from the different rooms +together, and marked them. I was wondering if Mr. Daggett could go to Boston +for me? I’m sure he could match the papers there. You could go, too, if +you cared to.” +</p> + +<p> +“To Boston!” exclaimed Mrs. Daggett; “me and Henry? Why, Miss +Orr, what an idea! But Henry couldn’t no more leave the post +office—he ain’t never left it a day since he was appointed +postmaster. My, no! ’twouldn’t do for Henry to take a trip clear to +Boston. And me—I’m so busy I’d be like a fly trying t’ +get off sticky paper.... I do hate to see ’em struggle, myself.” +</p> + +<p> +She followed the girl up the broad stair, once more safe and firm, talking +steadily all the way. +</p> + +<p> +There were four large chambers, their windows framing lovely vistas of stream +and wood and meadow, with the distant blue of the far horizon melting into the +summer sky. Mrs. Daggett stopped in the middle of the wide hall and looked +about her wonderingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, yes,” she said slowly. “You certainly did show good +sense in buying this old house. They don’t build them this way +now-a-days. That’s what I said to Mrs. Deacon Whittle— You know +some folks thought you were kind of foolish not to buy Mrs. Solomon +Black’s house down in the village. But if you’re going to live here +all alone, dearie, ain’t it going to be kind of lonesome—all these +big rooms for a little body like you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me about it, please,” begged Lydia. “I—I’ve +been wondering which room was his.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean Andrew Bolton’s, I s’pose,” said Mrs. Daggett +reluctantly. “But I hope you won’t worry any over what folks tells +you about the day he was taken away. My! seems as if ’twas +yesterday.” +</p> + +<p> +She moved softly into one of the spacious, sunny rooms and stood looking about +her, as if her eyes beheld once more the tragedy long since folded into the +past. +</p> + +<p> +“I ain’t going to tell you anything sad,” she said under her +breath. “It’s best forgot. This was their room; ain’t it nice +an’ cheerful? I like a southwest room myself. And ’tain’t a +bit warm here, what with the breeze sweeping in at the four big windows and +smelling sweet of clover an’ locust blooms. And ain’t it lucky them +trees didn’t get blown over last winter?” +</p> + +<p> +She turned abruptly toward the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Was you thinking of sleeping in this room, dearie? It used to have blue +and white paper on it, and white paint as fresh as milk. It’d be nice and +pleasant for a young lady, I should think.” +</p> + +<p> +Lydia shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Not,” she said slowly, “if it was <i>his</i> room. I think +I’d rather—which was the little girl’s room? You said there +was a child?” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, I’m real sorry you feel that way,” sympathized Mrs. +Daggett, “but I don’t know as I blame you, the way folks talk. +You’d think they’d have forgot all about it by now, wouldn’t +you? But land! it does seem as if bad thoughts and mean thoughts, and like +that, was possessed to fasten right on to folks; and you can’t seem to +shake ’em off, no more than them spiteful little stick-tights that get +all over your clo’es.... This room right next belonged to their baby. Let +me see; she must have been about three and a half or four years old when they +took her away. See, there’s a door in between, so Mrs. Bolton could get +to her quick in the night. I used to be that way, too, with my children.... You +know we lost our two little girls that same winter, three and five, they were. +But I know I wanted ’em right where I could hear ’em if they asked +for a drink of water, or like that, in the night. Folks has a great notion +now-a-days of putting their babies off by themselves and letting them cry it +out, as they say. But I couldn’t ever do that; and Mrs. Andrew Bolton she +wa’n’t that kind of a parent, either— I don’t know as +they ought to be called <i>mothers</i>. No, she was more like me—liked to +tuck the blankets around her baby in the middle of th’ night an’ +pat her down all warm and nice. I’ve often wondered what became of that +poor little orphan child. We never heard. Like enough she died. I +shouldn’t wonder.” +</p> + +<p> +And Mrs. Daggett wiped the ready tears from her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“But I guess you’ll think I’m a real old Aunty Doleful, going +on this way,” she made haste to add. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s plenty of folks in Brookville as ’ll tell you how +stuck-up an’ stylish Mrs. Andrew Bolton was, always dressed in silk of an +afternoon and driving out with a two-horse team, an’ keeping two hired +girls constant, besides a man to work in her flower garden and another for the +barn. But of course she supposed they were really rich and could afford it. +<i>He</i> never let on to <i>her</i>, after things begun to go to pieces; and +folks blamed her for it, afterwards. Her heart was weak, and he knew it, all +along. And then I suppose he thought mebbe things would take a turn.... Yes; +the paper in this room was white with little wreaths of pink roses tied up with +blue ribbons all over it. ’Twas furnished up real pretty with white +furniture, and there was ruffled muslin curtains with dots on ’em at the +windows and over the bed; Mrs. Andrew Bolton certainly did fix things up +pretty, and to think you’re going to have it just the same way. Well, I +will say you couldn’t do any better.... But, land! if there isn’t +the sun going down behind the hill, and me way out here, with Henry’s +supper to get, and Dolly champing his bit impatient. There’s one lucky +thing, though; he’ll travel good, going towards home; he won’t stop +to get his tail over the lines, neither.” +</p> + +<p> +An hour later, when the long summer twilight was deepening into gloom, Jim +Dodge crossed the empty library and paused at the open door of the room beyond. +The somber light from the two tall windows fell upon the figure of the girl. +She was sitting before Andrew Bolton’s desk, her head upon her folded +arms. Something in the spiritless droop of her shoulders and the soft +dishevelment of her fair hair suggested weariness—sleep, perhaps. But as +the young man hesitated on the threshold the sound of a muffled sob escaped the +quiet figure. He turned noiselessly and went away, sorry and ashamed, because +unwittingly he had stumbled upon the clew he had long been seeking. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>Chapter XI.</h2> + +<p> +“Beside this stone wall I want flowers,” Lydia was saying to her +landscape-gardener, as she persisted in calling Jim Dodge. “Hollyhocks +and foxgloves and pinies—I shall never say peony in Brookville—and +pansies, sweet williams, lads’ love, iris and sweetbrier. Mrs. Daggett +has promised to give me some roots.” +</p> + +<p> +He avoided her eyes as she faced him in the bright glow of the morning +sunlight. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, Miss Orr,” he said, with cold respect. “You want +a border here about four feet wide, filled with old-fashioned +perennials.” +</p> + +<p> +He had been diligent in his study of the books she had supplied him with. +</p> + +<p> +“A herbaceous border of that sort in front of the stone wall will give +quite the latest effect in country-house decoration,” he went on +professionally. “Ramblers of various colors might be planted at the back, +and there should be a mixture of bulbs among the taller plants to give color in +early spring.” +</p> + +<p> +She listened doubtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know about the ramblers,” she said. “Were +there ramblers—twenty years ago? I want it as nearly as possible just as +it was. Mrs. Daggett told me yesterday about the flower-border here. +You—of course you don’t remember the place at all; do you?” +</p> + +<p> +He reddened slightly under her intent gaze. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I remember something about it,” he told her; “the garden +was a long time going down. There were flowers here a few years back; but the +grass and weeds got the better of them.” +</p> + +<p> +“And do you—remember the Boltons?” she persisted. “I +was so interested in what Mrs. Daggett told me about the family yesterday. It +seems strange to think no one has lived here since. And now that I—it is +to be my home, I can’t help thinking about them.” +</p> + +<p> +“You should have built a new house,” said Jim Dodge. “A new +house would have been better and cheaper, in the end.” +</p> + +<p> +He thrust his spade deep, a sign that he considered the conversation at an end. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell one of the other men to dig this,” she objected. “I +want to make a list of the plants we need and get the order out.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can do that tonight, Miss Orr,” he returned, going on with his +digging. “The men are busy in the orchards this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“You want me to go away,” she inferred swiftly. +</p> + +<p> +He flung down his spade. +</p> + +<p> +“It is certainly up to me to obey orders,” he said. “Pardon +me, if I seem to have forgotten the fact. Shall we make the list now?” +</p> + +<p> +Inwardly he was cursing himself for his stupidity. Perhaps he had been mistaken +the night before. His fancy had taken a swift leap in the dark and +landed—where? There was a sort of scornful honesty in Jim Dodge’s +nature which despised all manner of shams and petty deceits. His code also +included a strict minding of his own business. He told himself rather sharply +that he was a fool for suspecting that Lydia Orr was other than she had +represented herself to be. She had been crying the night before. What of that? +Other girls cried over night and smiled the next morning—his sister +Fanny, for example. It was an inexplicable habit of women. His mother had once +told him, rather vaguely, that it did her good to have a regular crying-spell. +It relieved her nerves, she said, and sort of braced her up.... +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I didn’t mean that,” Lydia was at some pains to +explain, as the two walked toward the veranda where there were chairs and a +table. +</p> + +<p> +She was looking fair and dainty in a gown of some thin white stuff, through +which her neck and arms showed slenderly. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s too warm to dig in the ground this morning,” she +decided. “And anyway, planning the work is far more important.” +</p> + +<p> +“Than doing it?” he asked quizzically. “If we’d done +nothing but plan all this; why you see—” +</p> + +<p> +He made a large gesture which included the carpenters at work on the roof, +painters perilously poised on tall ladders and a half dozen men busy spraying +the renovated orchards. +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” she returned with a smile, “—now that +you’ve so kindly pointed it out to me.” +</p> + +<p> +He leveled a keen glance at her. It was impossible not to see her this morning +in the light of what he thought he had discovered the night before. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve done nothing but make plans all my life,” she went on +gravely. “Ever since I can remember I’ve been +thinking—thinking and planning what I should do when I grew up. It seemed +such a long, long time—being just a little girl, I mean, and not able to +do what I wished. But I kept on thinking and planning, and all the while I +<i>was</i> growing up; and then at last—it all happened as I +wished.” +</p> + +<p> +She appeared to wait for his question. But he remained silent, staring at the +blue rim of distant hills. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t ask me—you don’t seem to care what I was +planning,” she said, her voice timid and uncertain. +</p> + +<p> +He glanced quickly at her. Something in her look stirred him curiously. It did +not occur to him that her appeal and his instant response to it were as old as +the race. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you would tell me,” he urged. “Tell me +everything!” +</p> + +<p> +She drew a deep breath, her eyes misty with dreams. +</p> + +<p> +“For a long time I taught school,” she went on, “but I +couldn’t save enough that way. I never could have saved enough, even if I +had lived on bread and water. I wanted—I needed a great deal of money, +and I wasn’t clever nor particularly well educated. Sometimes I thought +if I could only marry a millionaire—” +</p> + +<p> +He stared at her incredulously. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean that,” he said with some impatience. +</p> + +<p> +She sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m telling you just what happened,” she reminded him. +“It seemed the only way to get what I wanted. I thought I shouldn’t +mind that, or—anything, if I could only have as much money as I +needed.” +</p> + +<p> +A sense of sudden violent anger flared up within him. Did the girl realize what +she was saying? +</p> + +<p> +She glanced up at him. +</p> + +<p> +“I never meant to tell any one about that part of it,” she said +hurriedly. “And—it wasn’t necessary, after all; I got the +money another way.” +</p> + +<p> +He bit off the point of a pencil he had been sharpening with laborious care. +</p> + +<p> +“I should probably never have had a chance to marry a millionaire,” +she concluded reminiscently. “I’m not beautiful enough.” +</p> + +<p> +With what abominable clearness she understood the game: the marriage-market; +the buyer and the price. +</p> + +<p> +“I—didn’t suppose you were like that,” he muttered, +after what seemed a long silence. +</p> + +<p> +She seemed faintly surprised. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you don’t know me,” she said quickly. “Does +any man know any woman, I wonder?” +</p> + +<p> +“They think they do,” he stated doggedly; “and that amounts +to the same thing.” +</p> + +<p> +His thoughts reverted for an uncomfortable instant to Wesley Elliot and Fanny. +It was only too easy to see through Fanny. +</p> + +<p> +“Most of them are simple souls, and thank heaven for it!” +</p> + +<p> +His tone was fervently censorious. +</p> + +<p> +She smiled understandingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps I ought to tell you further that a rich man—not a +millionaire; but rich enough—actually did ask me to marry him, and I +refused.” +</p> + +<p> +“H’mph!” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” she added calmly, “I think I should have married him, +if I had not had money left me first—before he asked me, I mean. I knew +all along that what I had determined to do, I could do best alone.” +</p> + +<p> +He stared at her from under gathered brows. He still felt that curious mixture +of shame and anger burning hotly within. +</p> + +<p> +“Just why are you telling me all this?” he demanded roughly. +</p> + +<p> +She returned his look quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“Because,” she said, “you have been trying to guess my secret +for a long time and you have succeeded; haven’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +He was speechless. +</p> + +<p> +“You have been wondering about me, all along. I could see that, of +course. I suppose everybody in Brookville has been wondering and—and +talking. I meant to be frank and open about it—to tell right out who I +was and what I came to do. But—somehow—I couldn’t.... It +didn’t seem possible, when everybody—you see I thought it all +happened so long ago people would have forgotten. I supposed they would be just +glad to get their money back. I meant to give it to them—all, every +dollar of it. I didn’t care if it took all I had.... And then—I +heard you last night when you crossed the library. I hoped—you would ask +me why—but you didn’t. I thought, first, of telling Mrs. Daggett; +she is a kind soul. I had to tell someone, because he is coming home soon, and +I may need—help.” +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes were solemn, beseeching, compelling. +</p> + +<p> +His anger died suddenly, leaving only a sort of indignant pity for her +unfriended youth. +</p> + +<p> +“You are—” he began, then stopped short. A painter was +swiftly descending his ladder, whistling as he came. +</p> + +<p> +“My name,” she said, without appearing to notice, “is Lydia +Orr Bolton. No one seems to remember—perhaps they didn’t know my +mother’s name was Orr. My uncle took me away from here. I was only a +baby. It seemed best to—” +</p> + +<p> +“Where are they now?” he asked guardedly. +</p> + +<p> +The painter had disappeared behind the house. But he could hear heavy steps on +the roof over their heads. +</p> + +<p> +“Both are dead,” she replied briefly. “No one knew my uncle +had much money; we lived quite simply and unpretentiously in South Boston. They +never told me about the money; and all those years I was praying for it! Well, +it came to me—in time.” +</p> + +<p> +His eyes asked a pitying question. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes,” she sighed. “I knew about father. They used to +take me to visit him in the prison. Of course I didn’t understand, at +first. But gradually, as I grew older, I began to realize what had +happened—to him and to me. It was then I began to make plans. He would be +free, sometime; he would need a home. Once he tried to escape, with some other +men. A guard shot my father; he was in the prison-hospital a long time. They +let me see him then without bars between, because they were sure he would +die.” +</p> + +<p> +“For God’s sake,” he interrupted hoarsely. “Was there +no one—?” +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“That was after my aunt died: I went alone. They watched me closely at +first; but afterward they were kinder. He used to talk about home—always +about home. He meant this house, I found. It was then I made up my mind to do +anything to get the money.... You see I knew he could never be happy here +unless the old wrongs were righted first. I saw I must do all that; and when, +after my uncle’s death, I found that I was rich—really rich, I came +here as soon as I could. There wasn’t any time to lose.” +</p> + +<p> +She fell silent, her eyes shining luminously under half closed lids. She seemed +unconscious of his gaze riveted upon her face. It was as if a curtain had been +drawn aside by her painful effort. He was seeing her clearly now and without +cloud of passion—in all her innocence, her sadness, set sacredly apart +from other women by the long devotion of her thwarted youth. An immense +compassion took possession of him. He could have fallen at her feet praying her +forgiveness for his mean suspicions, his harsh judgment. +</p> + +<p> +The sound of hammers on the veranda roof above their heads appeared to rouse +her. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think I ought to tell—everybody?” she asked +hurriedly. +</p> + +<p> +He considered her question in silence for a moment. The bitterness against +Andrew Bolton had grown and strengthened with the years into something rigid, +inexorable. Since early boyhood he had grown accustomed to the harsh, +unrelenting criticisms, the brutal epithets applied to this man who had been +trusted with money and had defaulted. Even children, born long after the +failure, reviled the name of the man who had made their hard lot harder. It had +been the juvenile custom to throw stones at the house he had lived in. He +remembered with fresh shame the impish glee with which, in company with other +boys of his own age, he had trampled the few surviving flowers and broken down +the shrubs in the garden. The hatred of Bolton, like some malignant growth, had +waxed monstrous from what it preyed upon, ruining and distorting the simple +kindly life of the village. She was waiting for his answer. +</p> + +<p> +“It would seem so much more honest,” she said in a tired voice. +“Now they can only think me eccentric, foolishly extravagant, lavishly +generous—when I am trying— I didn’t dare to ask Deacon +Whittle or Judge Fulsom for a list of the creditors, so I paid a large +sum—far more than they would have asked—for the house. And since +then I have bought the old bank building. I should like to make a library +there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know,” he said huskily. +</p> + +<p> +“Then the furniture—I shall pay a great deal for that. I want the +house to look just as it used to, when father comes home. You see he had an +additional sentence for trying to escape and for conspiracy; and since then his +mind—he doesn’t seem to remember everything. Sometimes he calls me +Margaret. He thinks I am—mother.” +</p> + +<p> +Her voice faltered a little. +</p> + +<p> +“You mustn’t tell them,” he said vehemently. “You +mustn’t!” +</p> + +<p> +He saw with terrible clearness what it would be like: the home-coming of the +half-imbecile criminal, and the staring eyes, the pointing fingers of all +Brookville leveled at him. She would be overborne by the shame of it +all—trampled like a flower in the mire. +</p> + +<p> +She seemed faintly disappointed. +</p> + +<p> +“But I would far rather tell,” she persisted. “I have had so +much to conceal—all my life!” +</p> + +<p> +She flung out her hands in a gesture of utter weariness. +</p> + +<p> +“I was never allowed to mention father to anyone,” she went on. +“My aunt was always pointing out what a terrible thing it would be for +any one to find out—who I was. She didn’t want me to know; but +uncle insisted. I think he was sorry for—father.... Oh, you don’t +know what it is like to be in prison for years—to have all the manhood +squeezed out of one, drop by drop! I think if it hadn’t been for me he +would have died long ago. I used to pretend I was very gay and happy when I +went to see him. He wanted me to be like that. It pleased him to think my life +had not been clouded by what he called his <i>mistake</i>.... He didn’t +intend to wreck the bank, Mr. Dodge. He thought he was going to make the +village rich and prosperous.” +</p> + +<p> +She leaned forward. “I have learned to smile during all these years. But +now, I want to tell everybody—I long to be free from pretending! +Can’t you see?” +</p> + +<p> +Something big and round in his throat hurt him so that he could not answer at +once. He clenched his hands, enraged by the futility of his pity for her. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Daggett seems a kind soul,” she murmured. “She would be +my friend. I am sure of it. But—the others—” +</p> + +<p> +She sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“I used to fancy how they would all come to the station to meet +him—after I had paid everybody, I mean—how they would crowd about +him and take his hand and tell him they were glad it was all over; then I would +bring him home, and he would never even guess it had stood desolate during all +these years. He has forgotten so much already; but he remembers home—oh, +quite perfectly. I went to see him last week, and he spoke of the gardens and +orchards. That is how I knew how to have things planted: he told me.” +</p> + +<p> +He got hastily to his feet: her look, her voice—the useless smart of it +all was swiftly growing unbearable. +</p> + +<p> +“You must wait—I must think!” he said unsteadily. “You +ought not to have told me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think I should have told the minister, instead?” she asked +rather piteously. “He has been very kind; but somehow—” +</p> + +<p> +“What! Wesley Elliot?” +</p> + +<p> +His face darkened. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank heaven you did not tell him! I am at least no—” +</p> + +<p> +He checked himself with an effort. +</p> + +<p> +“See here,” he said: “You—you mustn’t speak to +any one of what you have told me—not for the present, anyway. I want you +to promise me.” +</p> + +<p> +Her slight figure sagged wearily against the back of her chair. She was looking +up at him like a child spent with an unavailing passion of grief. +</p> + +<p> +“I have promised that so many times,” she murmured: “I have +concealed everything so long—it will be easier for me.” +</p> + +<p> +“It will be easier for you,” he agreed quickly; +“and—perhaps better, on the whole.” +</p> + +<p> +“But they will not know they are being paid—they won’t +understand—” +</p> + +<p> +“That makes no difference,” he decided. “It would make them, +perhaps, less contented to know where the money was coming from. Tell me, does +your servant—this woman you brought from Boston; does she know?” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean Martha? I—I’m not sure. She was a servant in my +uncle’s home for years. She wanted to live with me, so I sent for her. I +never spoke to her about—father. She seems devoted to me. I have thought +it would be necessary to tell her—before— He is coming in +September. Everything will be finished by then.” +</p> + +<p> +His eyes were fixed blankly on the hedge; something—a horse’s ears, +perhaps—was bobbing slowly up and down; a faint rattle of wheels came to +their ears. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t tell anyone, yet,” he urged, and stepped down from the +veranda, his unseeing gaze still fixed upon the slow advance of those bobbing +ears. +</p> + +<p> +“Someone is coming,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +He glanced at her, marveling at the swift transition in her face. A moment +before she had been listless, sad, disheartened by his apparent disapproval of +her plans. Now all at once the cloud had vanished; she was once more cheerful, +calm, even smiling. +</p> + +<p> +She too had been looking and had at once recognized the four persons seated in +the shabby old carryall which at that moment turned in at the gate. +</p> + +<p> +“I am to have visitors,” she said tranquilly. +</p> + +<p> +His eyes reluctantly followed hers. There were four women in the approaching +vehicle. +</p> + +<p> +As on another occasion, the young man beat a swift retreat. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>Chapter XII.</h2> + +<p> +“I am sure I don’t know what you’ll think of us gadding about +in the morning so,” began Mrs. Dix, as she caught sight of Lydia. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Dix was sitting in the back seat of the carryall with Mrs. Dodge. The two +girls were in front. Lydia noticed mechanically that both were freshly gowned +in white and that Fanny, who was driving, eyed her with haughty reserve from +under the brim of her flower-laden hat. Ellen Dix had turned her head to gaze +after Jim Dodge’s retreating figure; her eyes returned to Lydia with an +expression of sulky reluctance. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m so glad to see you,” said Lydia. “Won’t you +come in?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to,” said Mrs. Dodge. “Jim has been telling us +about the improvements, all along.” +</p> + +<p> +“It certainly does look nice,” chimed in Mrs. Dix. “I +wouldn’t have believed it possible, in such a little time, too. Just +cramp that wheel a little more, Fanny.” +</p> + +<p> +The two older women descended from the carryall and began looking eagerly +around. +</p> + +<p> +“Just see how nice the grass looks,” said Mrs. Dodge. “And +the flowers! My! I didn’t suppose Jim was that smart at fixing things +up.... Aren’t you going to get out, girls?” +</p> + +<p> +The two girls still sat on the high front seat of the carryall; both were +gazing at Lydia in her simple morning frock. There were no flowers on +Lydia’s Panama hat; nothing but a plain black band; but it had an air of +style and elegance. Fanny was wishing she had bought a plain hat without roses. +Ellen tossed her dark head: +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” she said. “You aren’t going to +stay long; are you, mother?” +</p> + +<p> +“For pity sake, Ellen!” expostulated Mrs. Dodge briskly. “Of +course you’ll get out, and you, too, Fanny. The horse’ll +stand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Please do!” entreated Lydia. +</p> + +<p> +Thus urged, the girls reluctantly descended. Neither was in the habit of +concealing her feelings under the convenient cloak of society observance, and +both were jealously suspicious of Lydia Orr. Fanny had met her only the week +before, walking with Wesley Elliot along the village street. And Mrs. Solomon +Black had told Mrs. Fulsom, and Mrs. Fulsom had told Mrs. Deacon Whittle, and +Mrs. Whittle had told another woman, who had felt it to be her Christian duty +(however unpleasant) to inform Fanny that the minister was “payin’ +attention to Miss Orr.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” the woman had pointed out, “it wasn’t to +be wondered at, special, seeing the Orr girl had every chance in the world to +catch him—living right in the same house with him.” Then she had +further stated her opinions of men in general for Fanny’s benefit. All +persons of the male sex, according to this woman, were easily put upon, +deceived and otherwise led astray by artful young women from the city, who were +represented as perpetually on the lookout for easy marks, like Wesley Elliot. +</p> + +<p> +“He ain’t any different from other men, if he <i>is</i> a +minister,” said she with a comprehensive sniff. “They’re all +alike, as far as I can find out: anybody that’s a mind to soft-soap them +and flatter them into thinkin’ they’re something great can lead +them right around by the nose. And besides, <i>she’s</i> got +<i>money!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny had affected a haughty indifference to the doings of Wesley Elliot, which +did not for a moment deceive her keen-eyed informer. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, anybody with eyes in their heads can see what’s taken +place,” compassionated she, impaling the unfortunate Fanny on the prongs +of her sympathy. “My! I was telling George only yesterday, I thought it +was a <i>perfect shame!</i> and somebody ought to speak out real plain to the +minister.” +</p> + +<p> +Whereat Fanny had been goaded into wishing the woman would mind her own +business! She did wish everybody would leave her and her affairs alone! People +had no right to talk! As for speaking to the minister; let any one dare—! +</p> + +<p> +As for Ellen Dix, she had never quite forgiven Lydia for innocently acquiring +the fox skin and she had by now almost persuaded herself that she was +passionately in love with Jim Dodge. She had always liked him—at least, +she had not actively disliked him, as some of the other girls professed to do. +She had found his satirical tongue, his keen eyes and his real or affected +indifference to feminine wiles pleasantly stimulating. There was some fun in +talking to Jim Dodge. But of late she had not been afforded the opportunity. +Fanny had explained to Ellen that Jim was working terribly hard, often rising +at three and four in the morning to work on his own farm, and putting in long +days at the Bolton place. +</p> + +<p> +“She seems to have most of the men in Brookville doing for her,” +Ellen had remarked coldly. +</p> + +<p> +Then the girls had exchanged cautious glances. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s something awfully funny about her coming here, +anyway,” said Ellen. “Everybody thinks it’s queer.” +</p> + +<p> +“I expect she had a reason,” said Fanny, avoiding Ellen’s +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +After which brief interchange of opinion they had twined their arms about each +other’s waists and squeezed wordless understanding and sympathy. +Henceforth, it was tacitly understood between the two girls that singly and +collectively they did not “like” Lydia Orr. +</p> + +<p> +Lydia understood without further explanation that she was not to look to her +nearest neighbors for either friendship or the affection she so deeply craved. +Both Ellen and Fanny had passed the place every day since its restoration +began; but not once had either betrayed the slightest interest or curiosity in +what was going on beyond the barrier of the hedge. To be sure, Fanny had once +stopped to speak to her brother; but when Lydia had hurried hopefully out to +greet her it was only to catch a glimpse of the girl’s back as she walked +quickly away. +</p> + +<p> +Jim Dodge had explained, with some awkwardness, that Fanny was in a hurry.... +</p> + +<p> +“Well, now, I’ll tell you, Miss Orr,” Mrs. Dix was saying, as +all five women walked slowly toward the house. “I was talking with Abby +Daggett, and she was telling me about your wanting to get back the old +furniture that used to be in the house. It seems Henry Daggett has put up a +notice in the post office; but so far, he says, not very many pieces have been +heard from. You know the men-folks generally go after the mail, and men are +slow; there’s no denying that. As like as not they haven’t even +mentioned seeing the notice to the folks at home.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s so,” confirmed Mrs. Dodge, nodding her head. “I +don’t know as Jim would ever tell us anything that happened from morning +till night. We just have to pump things out of him; don’t we, Fanny? +He’d never tell without we did. His father was just the same.” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny looked annoyed, and Ellen squeezed her arm with an amused giggle. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know, mother, there was anything we wanted to know, +particularly,” she said coldly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you know both of us have been real interested in the work +here,” protested Mrs. Dodge, wonderingly. “I remember you was +asking Jim only last night if Miss Orr was really going to—” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you’ll like to see the house,” said Lydia, as if she +had not heard; “of course, being here every day I don’t notice the +changes as you might.” +</p> + +<p> +“You aren’t living here yet, are you?” asked Mrs. Dix. +“I understood Mrs. Solomon Black to say you weren’t going to leave +her for awhile yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“No; I shall be there nights and Sundays till everything is finished +here,” said Lydia. “Mrs. Black makes me very comfortable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I think most of us ladies had ought to give you a vote of thanks +on account of feeding the men-folks, noons,” put in Mrs. Dodge. “It +saves a lot of time not to have to look after a dinner-pail.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mother,” interrupted Fanny in a thin, sharp voice, quite unlike +her own, “you know Jim always comes home to his dinner.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what if he does; I was speaking for the rest of th’ +women,” said Mrs. Dodge. “I’m sure it’s very kind of +Miss Orr to think of such a thing as cooking a hot dinner for all those hungry +men.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Dodge had received a second check from the assignees that very morning +from the sale of the old bank building, and she was proportionately cheerful +and content. +</p> + +<p> +“Well; if this isn’t handsome!” cried Mrs. Dix, pausing in +the hall to look about her. “I declare I’d forgotten how it used to +look. This is certainly better than having an old ruin standing here. But, of +course it brings back old days.” +</p> + +<p> +She sighed, her dark, comely face clouding with sorrow. +</p> + +<p> +“You know,” she went on, turning confidentially to Lydia, +“that dreadful bank failure was the real cause of my poor husband’s +death. He never held up his head after that. They suspected at first he was +implicated in the steal. But Mr. Dix wasn’t anything like Andrew Bolton. +No; indeed! He wouldn’t have taken a cent that belonged to anybody +else—not if he was to die for it!” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s so,” confirmed Mrs. Dodge. “What Andrew Bolton +got was altogether too good for him. Come right down to it, he wasn’t no +better than a murderer!” +</p> + +<p> +And she nodded her head emphatically. +</p> + +<p> +Fanny and Ellen, who stood looking on, reddened impatiently at this: +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sick and tired of hearing about Andrew Bolton,” +complained Ellen. “I’ve heard nothing else since I can remember. +It’s a pity you bought this house, Miss Orr: I heard Mr. Elliot say it +was like stirring up a horrid, muddy pool. Not very complimentary to +Brookville; but then—” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think people will—forget after a while?” +asked Lydia, her blue eyes fixed appealingly on the two young faces. “I +don’t see why everybody should—” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if you’d fixed the house entirely different,” said +Mrs. Dix. “But having it put back, just as it was, and wanting the old +furniture and all—whatever put that into your head, my dear?” +</p> + +<p> +“I heard it was handsome and old—I like old things. And, of course, +it was—more in keeping to restore the house as it was, than +to—” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I s’pose that’s so,” conceded Mrs. Dodge, her +quick dark eyes busy with the renovated interior. “I’d sort of +forgot how it did look when the Boltons was livin’ here. But speaking of +furniture; I see Mrs. Judge Fulsom let you have the old sofa. I remember she +got it at the auction; she’s kept it in her parlor ever since.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Lydia. “I was only too happy to give a hundred +dollars for the sofa. It has been excellently preserved.” +</p> + +<p> +“A hundred dollars!” echoed Mrs. Dix. “Well!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Dodge giggled excitedly, like a young girl. +</p> + +<p> +“A hundred dollars!” she repeated. “Well, I want to +know!” +</p> + +<p> +The two women exchanged swift glances. +</p> + +<p> +“You wouldn’t want to buy any pieces that had been broke, I +s’pose,” suggested Mrs. Dodge. +</p> + +<p> +“If they can be repaired, I certainly do,” replied Lydia. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother!” expostulated Fanny, in a low but urgent tone. +“Ellen and I—we really ought to be going.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl’s face glowed with shamed crimson. She felt haughty and +humiliated and angry all at once. It was not to be borne. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Dix was not listening to Fanny Dodge. +</p> + +<p> +“I bid in the big, four-post mahogany bed at the auction,” she +said, “and the bureau to match; an’ I believe there are two or +three chairs about the house.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve got a table,” chimed in Mrs. Dodge; “but one leg +give away, an’ I had it put up in the attic years ago. And Fanny’s +got a bed and bureau in her room that was painted white, with little pink +flowers tied up with blue ribbons. Of course the paint is pretty well rubbed +off; but—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, might I have that set?” cried Lydia, turning to Fanny. +“Perhaps you’ve grown fond of it and won’t want to give it +up. But I—I’d pay almost anything for it. And of course I shall +want the mahogany, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we didn’t know,” explained Mrs. Dix, with dignity. +“We got those pieces instead of the money we’d ought to have had +from the estate. There was a big crowd at the auction, I remember; but nobody +really wanted to pay anything for the old furniture. A good deal of it had come +out of folks’ attics in the first place.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be glad to pay three hundred dollars for the mahogany bed and +bureau,” said Lydia. “And for the little white set—” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care to part with my furniture,” said Fanny Dodge, +her pretty round chin uplifted. +</p> + +<p> +She was taller than Lydia, and appeared to be looking over her head with an +intent stare at the freshly papered wall beyond. +</p> + +<p> +“For pity sake!” exclaimed her mother sharply. “Why, Fanny, +you could buy a brand new set, an’ goodness knows what-all with the +money. What’s the matter with you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know just how Fanny feels about having her room changed,” put in +Ellen Dix, with a spirited glance at the common enemy. “There are things +that money can’t buy, but some people don’t seem to think +so.” +</p> + +<p> +Lydia’s blue eyes had clouded swiftly. +</p> + +<p> +“If you’ll come into the library,” she said, +“we’ll have some lemonade. It’s so very warm I’m sure +we are all thirsty.” +</p> + +<p> +She did not speak of the furniture again, and after a little the visitors rose +to go. Mrs. Dodge lingered behind the others to whisper: +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure I don’t know what got into my Fanny. Only the other +day she was wishing she might have her room done over, with new furniture and +all. I’ll try and coax her.” +</p> + +<p> +But Lydia shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Please don’t,” she said. “I want that furniture very +much; but—I know there are things money can’t buy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mebbe you wouldn’t want it, if you was t’ see it,” was +Mrs. Dodge’s honest opinion. “It’s all turned yellow, +an’ the pink flowers are mostly rubbed off. I remember it was real pretty +when we first got it. It used to belong to Mrs. Bolton’s little girl. I +don’t know as anybody’s told you, but they had a little girl. My! +what an awful thing for a child to grow up to! I’ve often thought of it. +But mebbe she didn’t live to grow up. None of us ever heard.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mother!” called Fanny, from the front seat of the carryall. +“We’re waiting for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“In a minute, Fanny,” said Mrs. Dodge.... “Of course you can +have that table I spoke of, Miss Orr, and anything else I can find in the +attic, or around. An’ I was thinking if you was to come down to the +Ladies’ Aid on Friday afternoon—it meets at Mrs. Mixter’s +this week, at two o’clock; you know where Mrs. Mixter lives, don’t +you? Well; anyway, Mrs. Solomon Black does, an’ she generally comes. But +I know lots of the ladies has pieces of that furniture; and most of them would +be mighty glad to get rid of it. But they are like my Fanny—kind of +contrary, and backward about selling things. I’ll talk to Fanny when we +get home. Why, she don’t any more want that old painted set—” +</p> + +<p> +“Mother!” Fanny’s sweet angry voice halted the rapid +progress of her mother’s speech for an instant. +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t wonder if the flies was bothering th’ +horse,” surmised Mrs. Dodge; “he does fidget an’ stamp +somethin’ terrible when the flies gets after him; his tail ain’t so +long as some.... Well, I’ll let you know; and if you could drop around +and see the table and all— Yes, some day this week. Of course I’ll +have to buy new furniture to put in their places; so will Mrs. Dix. But I will +say that mahogany bed is handsome; they’ve got it in their spare room, +and there ain’t a scratch on it. I can guarantee that.... Yes; I guess +the flies are bad today; looks like rain. Good-by!” +</p> + +<p> +Lydia stood watching the carryall, as it moved away from under the milk-white +pillars of the restored portico. Why did Fanny Dodge and Ellen Dix dislike her, +she wondered, and what could she do to win their friendship? Her troubled +thoughts were interrupted by Martha, the taciturn maid. +</p> + +<p> +“I found this picture on the floor, Miss Lydia,” said Martha; +“did you drop it?” +</p> + +<p> +Lydia glanced at the small, unmounted photograph. It was a faded snapshot of a +picnic party under a big tree. Her eyes became at once riveted upon the central +figures of the little group; the pretty girl in the middle was Fanny Dodge; and +behind her—yes, surely, that was the young clergyman, Wesley Elliot. +Something in the attitude of the man and the coquettish upward tilt of the +girl’s face brought back to her mind a forgotten remark of Mrs. Solomon +Black’s. Lydia had failed to properly understand it, at the time. Mrs. +Solomon Black was given to cryptic remarks, and Lydia’s mind had been +preoccupied by the increasing difficulties which threatened the accomplishment +of her purpose: +</p> + +<p> +“A person, coming into a town like Brookville to live, by rights had +ought to have eyes in the backs of their heads,” Mrs. Black had observed. +</p> + +<p> +It was at breakfast time, Lydia now remembered, and the minister was late, as +frequently happened. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought like’s not nobody would mention it to you,” Mrs. +Black had further elucidated. “Of course <i>he</i> wouldn’t say +anything, men-folks are kind of sly and secret in their doings—even the +best of ’em; and you’ll find it’s so, as you travel along +life’s path-way.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Black had once written a piece of poetry and it had actually been printed +in the Grenoble <i>News</i>; since then she frequently made use of figures of +speech. +</p> + +<p> +“A married woman and a widow can speak from experience,” she went +on. “So I thought I’d just tell you: he’s as good as engaged, +already.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean Mr. Elliot?” asked Lydia incuriously. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Black nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you ought to know,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Elliot had entered the room upon the heels of this warning, and Lydia had +promptly forgotten it. Now she paused for a swift review of the weeks which had +already passed since her arrival. Mr. Elliot had been unobtrusively kind and +helpful from the first, she remembered. Later, he had been indefatigable in the +matter of securing workmen for the restoration of the old house, when she made +it clear to him that she did not want an architect and preferred to hire +Brookville men exclusively. As seemed entirely natural, the minister had called +frequently to inspect the progress of the work. Twice in their rounds together +they had come upon Jim Dodge; and although the clergyman was affable in his +recognition and greeting, Lydia had been unpleasantly surprised by the savage +look on her landscape-gardener’s face as he returned the polite +salutation. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you like Mr. Elliot?” she had ventured to inquire, +after the second disagreeable incident of the sort. +</p> + +<p> +Jim Dodge had treated her to one of his dark-browed, incisive glances before +replying. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid I can’t answer that question satisfactorily, Miss +Orr,” was what he said. +</p> + +<p> +And Lydia, wondering, desisted from further question. +</p> + +<p> +“That middle one looks some like one of the young ladies that was here +this morning,” observed Martha, with the privileged familiarity of an old +servant. +</p> + +<p> +“She must have dropped it,” said Lydia, slowly. +</p> + +<p> +“The young ladies here in the country has very bad manners,” +commented Martha, puckering her lips primly. “I wouldn’t put myself +out for them, if I was you, mem.” +</p> + +<p> +Lydia turned the picture over and gazed abstractedly at the three words written +there: “Lest we forget!” Beneath this pertinent quotation appeared +the initials “W. E.” +</p> + +<p> +“If it was for <i>me</i> to say,” went on Martha, in an injured +tone, “I’d not be for feedin’ up every man, woman and child +that shows their face inside the grounds. Why, they don’t appreciate it +no more than—” +</p> + +<p> +The woman’s eloquent gesture appeared to include the blue-bottle fly +buzzing noisily on the window-pane: +</p> + +<p> +“Goodness gracious! if these flies ain’t enough to drive a body +crazy—what with the new paint and all....” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>Chapter XIII.</h2> + +<p> +Lydia laid the picture carefully away in a pigeonhole of her desk. She was +still thinking soberly of the subtle web of prejudices, feelings and conditions +into which she had obtruded her one fixed purpose in life. But if Mr. Elliot +had been as good as engaged to Fanny Dodge, as Mrs. Solomon Black had been at +some pains to imply, in what way had she (Lydia) interfered with the +dénouement? +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head at last over the intricacies of the imperfectly stated +problem. The idea of coquetting with a man had never entered Lydia’s +fancy. Long since, in the chill spring of her girlhood, she had understood her +position in life as compared with that of other girls. She must never marry. +She must never fall in love, even. The inflexible Puritan code of her +uncle’s wife had found ready acceptance in Lydia’s nature. If not +an active participant in her father’s crime, she still felt herself in a +measure responsible for it. He had determined to grow rich and powerful for her +sake. More than once, in the empty rambling talk which he poured forth in a +turgid stream during their infrequent meetings, he had told her so, with +extravagant phrase and gesture. And so, at last, she had come to share his +punishment in a hundred secret, unconfessed ways. She ate scant food, slept on +the hardest of beds, labored unceasingly, with the great, impossible purpose of +some day making things right: of restoring the money they—she no longer +said <i>he</i>—had stolen; of building again the waste places desolated +by the fire of his ambition for her. There had followed that other purpose, +growing ever stronger with the years, and deepening with the deepening stream +of her womanhood: her love, her vast, unavailing pity for the broken and aging +man, who would some day be free. She came at length to the time when she saw +clearly that he would never leave the prison alive, unless in some way she +could contrive to keep open the clogging springs of hope and desire. She began +deliberately and with purpose to call back memories of the past: the house in +which he had lived, the gardens and orchards in which he once had taken pride, +his ambitious projects for village improvement. +</p> + +<p> +“You shall have it all back, father!” she promised him, with +passionate resolve. “And it will only be a little while to wait, +now.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus encouraged, the prisoner’s horizon widened, day by day. He appeared, +indeed, to almost forget the prison, so busy was he in recalling trivial +details and unimportant memories of events long since past. He babbled +incessantly of his old neighbors, calling them by name, and chuckling feebly as +he told her of their foibles and peculiarities. +</p> + +<p> +“But we must give them every cent of the money, father,” she +insisted; “we must make everything right.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes! Oh, yes, we’ll fix it up somehow with the +creditors,” he would say. +</p> + +<p> +Then he would scowl and rub his shorn head with his tremulous old hands. +</p> + +<p> +“What did they do with the house, Margaret?” he asked, over and +over, a furtive gleam of anxiety in his eyes. “They didn’t tear it +down; did they?” +</p> + +<p> +He waxed increasingly anxious on this point as the years of his imprisonment +dwindled at last to months. And then her dream had unexpectedly come true. She +had money—plenty of it—and nothing stood in the way. She could +never forget the day she told him about the house. Always she had tried to +quiet him with vague promises and imagined descriptions of a place she had +completely forgotten. +</p> + +<p> +“The house is ours, father,” she assured him, jubilantly. +“And I am having it painted on the outside.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are having it painted on the outside, Margaret? Was that necessary, +already?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, father.... But I am Lydia. Don’t you remember? I am your +little girl, grown up.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, of course. You are like your mother— And you are having +the house painted? Who’s doing the job?” +</p> + +<p> +She told him the man’s name and he laughed rather immoderately. +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll do you on the white lead, if you don’t watch +him,” he said. “I know Asa Todd. Talk about frauds— You must +be sure he puts honest linseed oil in the paint. He won’t, unless you +watch him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll see to it, father.” +</p> + +<p> +“But whatever you do, don’t let ’em into my room,” he +went on, after a frowning pause. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean your library, father? I’m having the ceiling whitened. +It—it needed it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean my bedroom, child. I won’t have workmen pottering about in +there.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you won’t mind if they paint the woodwork, father? +It—has grown quite yellow in places.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense, my dear! Why, I had all the paint upstairs gone over—let +me see—” +</p> + +<p> +And he fell into one of his heavy moods of introspection which seemed, indeed, +not far removed from torpor. +</p> + +<p> +When she had at last roused him with an animated description of the vegetable +garden, he appeared to have forgotten his objections to having workmen enter +his chamber. And Lydia was careful not to recall it to his mind. +</p> + +<p> +She was still sitting before his desk, ostensibly absorbed in the rows of +incomprehensible figures Deacon Whittle, as general contractor, had urged upon +her attention, when Martha again parted the heavy cloud of her thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +“The minister, come to see you again,” she announced, with a slight +but mordant emphasis on the ultimate word. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Lydia, rousing herself, with an effort. “Mr. +Elliot, you said?” +</p> + +<p> +“I s’pose that’s his name,” conceded Martha +ungraciously. “I set him in the dining room. It’s about the only +place with two chairs in it; an’ I shan’t have no time to make more +lemonade, in case you wanted it, m’m.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>Chapter XIV.</h2> + +<p> +The Reverend Wesley Elliot, looking young, eager and pleasingly worldly in a +blue serge suit of unclerical cut, rose to greet her as she entered. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t been here in two or three days,” he began, as he +took the hand she offered, “and I’m really astonished at the +progress you’ve been making.” +</p> + +<p> +He still retained her hand, as he smiled down into her grave, preoccupied face. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the trouble with our little lady of Bolton House?” he +inquired. “Any of the workmen on strike, or—” +</p> + +<p> +She withdrew her hand with a faint smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Everything is going very well, I think,” she told him. +</p> + +<p> +He was still scrutinizing her with that air of intimate concern, which inspired +most of the women of his flock to unburden themselves of their manifold +anxieties at his slightest word of encouragement. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a pretty heavy burden for you,” he said gravely. +“You need some one to help you. I wonder if I couldn’t shoulder a +few of the grosser details?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve already been most kind,” Lydia said evasively. +“But now— Oh, I think everything has been thought of. You know Mr. +Whittle is looking after the work.” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled, a glimmer of humorous understanding in his fine dark eyes. +“Yes, I know,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +A silence fell between them. Lydia was one of those rare women who do not +object to silence. It seemed to her that she had always lived alone with her +ambitions, which could not be shared, and her bitter knowledge, which was never +to be spoken of. But now she stirred uneasily in her chair, aware of the intent +expression in his eyes. Her troubled thoughts reverted to the little picture +which had fluttered to the floor from somebody’s keeping only an hour +before. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve had visitors this morning,” she told him, with purpose. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! people are sure to be curious and interested,” he commented. +</p> + +<p> +“They were Mrs. Dodge and her daughter and Mrs. Dix and Ellen,” she +explained. +</p> + +<p> +“That must have been pleasant,” he murmured perfunctorily. +“Are you—do you find yourself becoming at all interested in the +people about here? Of course it is easy to see you come to us from quite +another world.” +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” she said quickly. “—If you mean that I am +superior in any way to the people of Brookville; I’m not, at all. I am +really a very ordinary sort of a person. I’ve not been to college +and—I’ve always worked, harder than most, so that I’ve had +little opportunity for—culture.” +</p> + +<p> +His smile broadened into a laugh of genuine amusement. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Miss Orr,” he protested, “I had no idea of +intimating—” +</p> + +<p> +Her look of passionate sincerity halted his words of apology. +</p> + +<p> +“I am very much interested in the people here,” she declared. +“I want—oh, so much—to be friends with them! I want it more +than anything else in the world! If they would only like me. But—they +don’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“How can they help it?” he exclaimed. “Like you? They ought +to worship you! They shall!” +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head sadly. +</p> + +<p> +“No one can compel love,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Sometimes the love of one can atone for the indifference—even the +hostility of the many,” he ventured. +</p> + +<p> +But she had not stooped to the particular, he perceived. Her thoughts were +ranging wide over an unknown country whither, for the moment, he could not +follow. He studied her abstracted face with its strangely aloof expression, +like that of a saint or a fanatic, with a faint renewal of previous misgivings. +</p> + +<p> +“I am very much interested in Fanny Dodge,” she said abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +“In—Fanny Dodge?” he repeated. +</p> + +<p> +He became instantly angry with himself for the dismayed astonishment he had +permitted to escape him, and increasingly so because of the uncontrollable tide +of crimson which invaded his face. +</p> + +<p> +She was looking at him, with the calm, direct gaze which had more than once +puzzled him. +</p> + +<p> +“You know her very well, don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, of course, Miss Dodge is—she is—er—one of our +leading young people, and naturally— She plays our little organ in church +and Sunday School. Of course you’ve noticed. She is most useful +and—er—helpful.” +</p> + +<p> +Lydia appeared to be considering his words with undue gravity. +</p> + +<p> +“But I didn’t come here this morning to talk to you about another +woman,” he said, with undeniable hardihood. “I want to talk to +you—<i>to you</i>—and what I have to say—” +</p> + +<p> +Lydia got up from her chair rather suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“Please excuse me a moment,” she said, quite as if he had not +spoken. +</p> + +<p> +He heard her cross the hall swiftly. In a moment she had returned. +</p> + +<p> +“I found this picture on the floor—after they had gone,” she +said, and handed him the photograph. +</p> + +<p> +He stared at it with unfeigned astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes,” he murmured. “Well—?” +</p> + +<p> +“Turn it over,” she urged, somewhat breathlessly. +</p> + +<p> +He obeyed, and bit his lip angrily. +</p> + +<p> +“What of it?” he demanded. “A quotation from Kipling’s +Recessional—a mere commonplace.... Yes; I wrote it.” +</p> + +<p> +Then his anger suddenly left him. His mind had leaped to the solution of the +matter, and the solution appeared to Wesley Elliot as eminently satisfying; it +was even amusing. What a transparent, womanly little creature she was, to be +sure! He had not been altogether certain of himself as he walked out to the old +Bolton place that morning. But oddly enough, this girlish jealousy of hers, +this pretty spite—he found it piquantly charming. +</p> + +<p> +“I wrote it,” he repeated, his indulgent understanding of her mood +lurking in smiling lips and eyes, “on the occasion of a particularly +grubby Sunday School picnic: I assure you I shall not soon forget the spiders +which came to an untimely end in my lemonade, nor the inquisitive ants which +explored my sandwiches.” +</p> + +<p> +She surveyed him unsmilingly. +</p> + +<p> +“But you did not mean that,” she said. “You were thinking of +something—quite different.” +</p> + +<p> +He frowned thoughtfully. Decidedly, this matter should be settled between them +at once and for ever. A clergyman, he reflected, must always be on +friendly—even confidential terms with a wide variety of women. His brief +experience had already taught him this much. And a jealous or unduly suspicious +wife might prove a serious handicap to future success. +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t you sit down,” he urged. “I—You must allow +me to explain. We—er—must talk this over.” +</p> + +<p> +She obeyed him mechanically. All at once she was excessively frightened at what +she had attempted. She knew nothing of the ways of men; but she felt suddenly +sure that he would resent her interference as an unwarrantable impertinence. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought—if you were going there today—you might take +it—to her,” she hesitated. “Or, I could send it. It is a +small matter, of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” he said gravely, “that it is a very serious +matter.” +</p> + +<p> +She interpreted uncertainly the intent gaze of his beautiful, somber eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I came here,” she faltered, “to—to find a home. I had +no wish—” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand,” he said, his voice deep and sympathetic; +“people have been talking to you—about me. Am I right?” +</p> + +<p> +She was silent, a pink flush slowly staining her cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“You have not yet learned upon what slight premises country women, of the +type we find in Brookville, arrive at the most unwarrantable +conclusions,” he went on carefully. “I did not myself sufficiently +realize this, at first. I may have been unwise.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, you were not!” she contradicted him unexpectedly. +</p> + +<p> +His lifted eyebrows expressed surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you would explain to me—” he began. +</p> + +<p> +Then stopped short. How indeed could she explain, when as yet he had not made +clear to her his own purpose, which had grown steadily with the passing weeks? +</p> + +<p> +“You will let me speak, first,” he concluded inadequately. +</p> + +<p> +He hastily reviewed the various phrases which arose to his lips and rejected +them one by one. There was some peculiar quality of coldness, of +reserve—he could not altogether make it clear to himself: it might well +be the knowledge of her power, her wealth, which lent that almost austere +expression to her face. It was evident that her wonted composure had been +seriously disturbed by the unlucky circumstance of the photograph. He had +permitted the time and occasion which had prompted him to write those three +fatefully familiar words on the back of the picture altogether to escape him. +If he chose to forget, why should Fanny Dodge, or any one else, persist in +remembering? +</p> + +<p> +And above all, why should the girl have chosen to drop this absurd memento of +the most harmless of flirtations at the feet of Lydia? There could be but one +reasonable explanation.... Confound women, anyway! +</p> + +<p> +“I had not meant to speak, yet,” he went on, out of the clamoring +multitude of his thoughts. “I felt that we ought—” +</p> + +<p> +He became suddenly aware of Lydia’s eyes. There was no soft answering +fire, no maidenly uncertainty of hope and fear in those clear depths. +</p> + +<p> +“It is very difficult for me to talk of this to you,” she said +slowly. “You will think me over-bold—unmannerly, perhaps. But I +can’t help that. I should never have thought of your caring for +me—you will at least do me the justice to believe that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lydia!” he interrupted, poignantly distressed by her evident +timidity—her exquisite hesitation, “let me speak! I +understand—I know—” +</p> + +<p> +She forbade him with a gesture, at once pleading and peremptory. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she said. “No! I began this, I must go on to the end. +What you ought to understand is this: I am not like other women. I want only +friendship from every one. I shall never ask more. I can never accept +more—from any one. I want you to know this—now.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I—do you realize—” +</p> + +<p> +“I want your friendship,” she went on, facing him with a sort of +desperate courage; “but more than any kindness you can offer me, Mr. +Elliot, I want the friendship of Fanny Dodge, of Ellen Dix—of all good +women. I need it! Now you know why I showed you the picture. If you will not +give it to her, I shall. I want her—I want every one—to understand +that I shall never come between her and the slightest hope she may have +cherished before my coming to Brookville. All I ask is—leave to live here +quietly—and be friendly, as opportunity offers.” +</p> + +<p> +Her words, her tone were not to be mistaken. But even the sanest and wisest of +men has never thus easily surrendered the jealously guarded stronghold of sex. +Wesley Elliot’s youthful ideas of women were totally at variance with the +disconcerting conviction which strove to invade his mind. He had experienced +not the slightest difficulty, up to the present moment, in classifying them, +neatly and logically; but there was no space in his mental files for a woman +such as Lydia Orr was representing herself to be. It was inconceivable, on the +face of it! All women demanded admiration, courtship, love. They always had; +they always would. The literature of the ages attested it. He had been too +precipitate—too hasty. He must give her time to recover from the shock +she must have experienced from hearing the spiteful gossip about himself and +Fanny Dodge. On the whole, he admired her courage. What she had said could not +be attributed to the mere promptings of vulgar sex-jealousy. Very likely Fanny +had been disagreeable and haughty in her manner. He believed her capable of it. +He sympathized with Fanny; with the curious mental aptitude of a sensitive +nature, he still loved Fanny. It had cost him real effort to close the doors of +his heart against her. +</p> + +<p> +“I admire you more than I can express for what you have had the courage +to tell me,” he assured her. “And you will let me see that I +understand—more than you think.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is impossible that you should understand,” she said tranquilly. +“But you will, at least, remember what I have said?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will,” he promised easily. “I shall never forget +it!” +</p> + +<p> +A slight humorous smile curved the corners of his handsome mouth. +</p> + +<p> +“Now this—er—what shall we call it?—‘bone of +contention’ savors too strongly of wrath and discomfiture; so we’ll +say, simply and specifically, this photograph—which chances to have a +harmless quotation inscribed upon its reverse: Suppose I drop it in the +waste-basket? I can conceive that it possesses no particular significance or +value for any one. I assure you most earnestly that it does not—for +me.” +</p> + +<p> +He made as though he would have carelessly torn the picture across, preparatory +to making good his proposal. +</p> + +<p> +She stopped him with a swift gesture. +</p> + +<p> +“Give it to me,” she said. “It is lost property, and I am +responsible for its safe-keeping.” +</p> + +<p> +She perceived that she had completely failed in her intention. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you going to do with it?” he inquired, with an easy +assumption of friendliness calculated to put her more completely at her ease +with him. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. For the present, I shall put it back in my +desk.” +</p> + +<p> +“Better take my advice and destroy it,” he persisted. +“It—er—is not valuable evidence. Or—I believe on second +thought I shall accept your suggestion and return it myself to its probable +owner.” +</p> + +<p> +He was actually laughing, his eyes brimming with boyish mischief. +</p> + +<p> +“I think it belongs to Miss Dix,” he told her audaciously. +</p> + +<p> +“To Miss Dix?” she echoed. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; why not? Don’t you see the fair Ellen among the group?” +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes blazed suddenly upon him; her lips trembled. +</p> + +<p> +“Forgive me!” he cried, aghast at his own folly. +</p> + +<p> +She retreated before his outstretched hands. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t mean to—to make light of what appears so serious a +matter to you,” he went on impetuously. “It is only that it is +<i>not</i> serious; don’t you see? It is such a foolish little mistake. +It must not come between us, Lydia!” +</p> + +<p> +“Please go away, at once,” she interrupted him breathlessly, +“and—and <i>think</i> of what I have said to you. Perhaps you +didn’t believe it; but you <i>must</i> believe it!” +</p> + +<p> +Then, because he did not stir, but instead stood gazing at her, his puzzled +eyes full of questions, entreaties, denials, she quietly closed a door between +them. A moment later he heard her hurrying feet upon the stair. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>Chapter XV.</h2> + +<p> +August was a month of drought and intense heat that year; by the first week in +September the stream had dwindled to the merest silver thread, its wasted +waters floating upward in clouds of impalpable mist at dawn and evening to be +lost forever in the empty vault of heaven. Behind the closed shutters of the +village houses, women fanned themselves in the intervals of labor over +superheated cookstoves. Men consulted their thermometers with incredulous eyes. +Springs reputed to be unfailing gradually ceased their cool trickle. Wells and +cisterns yielded little save the hollow sound of the questing bucket. There was +serious talk of a water famine in Brookville. At the old Bolton house, however, +there was still water in abundance. In jubilant defiance of blazing heavens and +parching earth the Red-Fox Spring—tapped years before by Andrew Bolton +and piped a mile or more down the mountain side, that his household, garden and +stock might never lack of pure cold water—gushed in undiminished volume, +filling and overflowing the new cement reservoir, which had been one of Lydia +Orr’s cautious innovations in the old order of things. +</p> + +<p> +The repairs on the house were by now finished, and the new-old mansion, shining +white amid the chastened luxuriance of ancient trees, once more showed glimpses +of snowy curtains behind polished windowpanes. Flowers, in a lavish prodigality +of bloom the Bolton house of the past had never known, flanked the old stone +walls, bordered the drives, climbed high on trellises and arbors, and blazed in +serried ranks beyond the broad sweep of velvet turf, which repaid in emerald +freshness its daily share of the friendly water. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Abby Daggett gazed at the scene in rapt admiration through the clouds of +dust which uprose from under Dolly’s scuffling feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t that place han’some, now she’s fixed it +up?” she demanded of Mrs. Deacon Whittle, who sat bolt upright at her +side, her best summer hat, sparsely decorated with purple flowers, protected +from the suffocating clouds of dust by a voluminous brown veil. “I +declare I’d like to stop in and see the house, now it’s all +furnished up—if only for a minute.” +</p> + +<p> +“We ain’t got time, Abby,” Mrs. Whittle pointed out. +“There’s work to cut out after we get to Mis’ Dix’s, +and it was kind of late when we started.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Daggett relinquished her random desire with her accustomed amiability. +Life consisted mainly in giving up things, she had found; but being cheerful, +withal, served to cast a mellow glow over the severest denials; in fact, it +often turned them into something unexpectedly rare and beautiful. +</p> + +<p> +“I guess that’s so, Ann,” she agreed. “Dolly got kind +of fractious over his headstall when I was harnessin’. He don’t +seem to like his sun hat, and I dunno’s I blame him. I guess if our ears +stuck up through the top of our bunnits like his we wouldn’t like it +neither.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Whittle surveyed the animal’s grotesquely bonneted head with cold +disfavor. +</p> + +<p> +“What simple ideas you do get into your mind, Abby,” said she, with +the air of one conscious of superior intellect. “A horse ain’t +human, Abby. He ain’t no idea he’s wearing a hat.... The Deacon +says their heads get hotter with them rediculous bunnits on. He favors a green +branch.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Mrs. Daggett, foiling a suspicious movement of +Dolly’s switching tail, “mebbe that’s so; I feel some cooler +without a hat. But ’tain’t safe to let the sun beat right down, the +way it does, without something between. Then, you see, Henry’s got a lot +o’ these horse hats in the store to sell. So of course Dolly, he has to +wear one.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Whittle cautiously wiped the dust from her hard red cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“My! if it ain’t hot,” she observed. “You’re so +fleshy, Abby, I should think you’d feel it something terrible.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know,” said Mrs. Daggett placidly. “Of +course I’m fleshy, Ann; I ain’t denying that; but so be you. You +don’t want to think about the heat so constant, Ann. Our thermometer fell +down and got broke day before yesterday, and Henry says ‘I’ll bring +you up another from the store this noon.’ But he forgot all about it. I +didn’t say a word, and that afternoon I set out on the porch under the +vines and felt real cool—not knowing it was so hot—when along comes +Mrs. Fulsom, a-pantin’ and fannin’ herself. ‘Good land, +Abby!’ says she; ‘by the looks, a body’d think you +didn’t know the thermometer had risen to ninety-two since eleven +o’clock this morning.’ ‘I didn’t,’ I says +placid; ‘our thermometer’s broke.’ ‘Well, you’d +better get another right off,’ says she, wiping her face and groaning. +‘It’s an awful thing, weather like this, not to have a thermometer +right where you can see it.’ Henry brought a real nice one home from the +store that very night; and I hung it out of sight behind the sitting room door; +I told Henry I thought ’twould be safer there.” +</p> + +<p> +“That sounds exactly like you, Abby,” commented Mrs. Whittle +censoriously. “I should think Henry Daggett would be onto you, by +now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, he ain’t,” said Mrs. Daggett, with mild triumph. +“He thinks I’m real cute, an’ like that. It does beat all, +don’t it? how simple menfolks are. I like ’em all the better for +it, myself. If Henry’d been as smart an’ penetrating as some folks, +I don’t know as we’d have made out so well together. Ain’t it +lucky for me he ain’t?” +</p> + +<p> +Ann Whittle sniffed suspiciously. She never felt quite sure of Abby Daggett: +there was a lurking sparkle in her demure blue eyes and a suspicious dimple +near the corner of her mouth which ruffled Mrs. Whittle’s temper, already +strained to the breaking point by the heat and dust of their midday journey. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I never should have thought of such a thing, as going to +Ladies’ Aid in all this heat, if you hadn’t come after me, +Abby,” she said crossly. “I guess flannel petticoats for the +heathen could have waited a spell.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mebbe they could, Ann,” Mrs. Daggett said soothingly. +“It’s kind of hard to imagine a heathen wanting any sort of a +petticoat this weather, and I guess they don’t wear ’em before +they’re converted; but of course the missionaries try to teach ’em +better. They go forth, so to say, with the Bible in one hand and a petticoat in +the other.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should hope so!” said Mrs. Whittle, with vague fervor. +</p> + +<p> +The sight of a toiling wagon supporting a huge barrel caused her to change the +subject rather abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s Jacob Merrill’s team,” she said, craning her +neck. “What on earth has he got in that hogs-head?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s headed for Lydia Orr’s spring, I shouldn’t +wonder,” surmised Mrs. Daggett. “She told Henry to put up a notice +in the post office that folks could get all the water they wanted from her +spring. It’s running, same as usual; but, most everybody else’s has +dried up.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think the minister ought to pray for rain regular from the pulpit on +Sunday,” Mrs. Whittle advanced. “I’m going to tell him +so.” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s going to do a lot better than that,” said Mrs. +Daggett.... “For the land sake, Dolly! I ain’t urged you beyond +your strength, and you know it; but if you don’t +g’long—” +</p> + +<p> +A vigorous slap of the reins conveyed Mrs. Daggett’s unuttered threat to +the reluctant animal, with the result that both ladies were suddenly jerked +backward by an unlooked for burst of speed. +</p> + +<p> +“I think that horse is dangerous, Abby,” remonstrated Mrs. Whittle, +indignantly, as she settled her veil. “You ought to be more careful how +you speak up to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll risk him!” said Mrs. Daggett with spirit. “It +don’t help him none to stop walking altogether and stand stock still in +the middle of the road, like he was a graven image. I’ll take the whip to +him, if he don’t look out!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Whittle gathered her skirts about her, with an apprehensive glance at the +dusty road. +</p> + +<p> +“If you das’ to touch that whip, Abby Daggett,” said she, +“I’ll git right out o’ this buggy and walk, so there!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Daggett’s broad bosom shook with merriment. +</p> + +<p> +“Fer pity sake, Ann, don’t be scared,” she exhorted her +friend. “I ain’t never touched Dolly with the whip; but he knows I +mean what I say when I speak to him like that! ...I started in to tell you +about the Red-Fox Spring, didn’t I?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Whittle coughed dryly. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I had a drink of it right now,” she said. “The idea +of that Orr girl watering her flowers and grass, when everybody else in town is +pretty near burnt up. Why, we ain’t had water enough in our cistern to do +the regular wash fer two weeks. I said to Joe and the Deacon today: ‘You +can wear them shirts another day, for I don’t know where on earth +you’ll get clean ones.’” +</p> + +<p> +“There ain’t nothing selfish about Lydia Orr,” proclaimed +Mrs. Daggett joyfully. “What <i>do</i> you think she’s going to do +now?” +</p> + +<p> +“How should I know?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Whittle’s tone implied a jaded indifference to the doings of any one +outside of her own immediate family circle. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s going to have the Red-Fox piped down to the village,” +said Mrs. Daggett. “She’s had a man from Boston to look at it; and +he says there’s water enough up there in the mountains to supply two or +three towns the size of Brookville. She’s going to have a reservoir: and +anybody that’s a mind to can pipe it right into their kitchens.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Whittle turned her veiled head to stare incredulously at her companion. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I declare!” she said; “that girl certainly does like +to make a show of her money; don’t she? If ’tain’t one thing +it’s another. How did a girl like her come by all that money, I’d +like to know?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see as that’s any of our particular affairs,” +objected Mrs. Daggett warmly. “Think of havin’ nice cool spring +water, just by turning a faucet. We’re going to have it in our house. And +Henry says mebbe he’ll put in a tap and a drain-pipe upstairs. It’d +save a lot o’ steps.” +</p> + +<p> +“Huh! like enough you’ll be talkin’ about a regular +nickel-plated bathroom like hers, next,” suspicioned Mrs. Whittle. +“The Deacon says he did his best to talk her out of it; but she stuck +right to it. And one wa’n’t enough, at that. She’s got three +of ’em in that house. That’s worse’n Andrew Bolton.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean <i>worse</i>, Ann Whittle, or do you mean <i>better?</i> A +nice white bathtub is a means o’ grace, I think!” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean what I said, Abby; and you hadn’t ought to talk like that. +It’s downright sinful. <i>Means o’ grace! a bathtub!</i> Well, I +never!” +</p> + +<p> +The ladies of the Aid Society were already convened in Mrs. Dix’s front +parlor, a large square room, filled with the cool green light from a yard full +of trees, whose deep-thrust roots defied the drought. Ellen Dix had just +brought in a glass pitcher, its frosted sides proclaiming its cool contents, +when the late comers arrived. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” Mrs. Dix was saying, “Miss Orr sent over a big piece +of ice this morning and she squeezed out juice of I don’t know how many +lemons. Jim Dodge brought ’em here in the auto; and she told him to go +around and gather up all the ladies that didn’t have conveyances of their +own.” +</p> + +<p> +“And that’s how I came to be here,” said Mrs. Mixter. +“Our horse has gone lame.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well now, wa’n’t that lovely?” crowed Mrs. Daggett, +cooling her flushed face with slow sweeps of the big turkey-feather fan Mrs. +Dix handed her. “Ain’t she just the sweetest girl—always +thinking of other folks! I never see anything like her.” +</p> + +<p> +A subtle expression of reserve crept over the faces of the attentive women. +Mrs. Mixter tasted the contents of her glass critically. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” she said dryly, as if the lemonade had failed +to cool her parched throat, “that depends on how you look at it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Whittle gave vent to a cackle of rather discordant laughter. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s just what I was telling Abby on the way over,” she +said. “Once in a while you do run across a person that’s bound to +make a show of their money.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Solomon Black, in a green and white sprigged muslin dress, her water-waves +unusually crisp and conspicuous, bit off a length of thread with a meditative +air. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said she, “that girl lived in my house, off an’ +on, for more than two months. I can’t say as I think she’s the kind +that wants to show off.” +</p> + +<p> +Fifteen needles paused in their busy activities, and twice as many eyes were +focused upon Mrs. Solomon Black. That lady sustained the combined attack with +studied calm. She even smiled, as she jerked her thread smartly through a +breadth of red flannel. +</p> + +<p> +“I s’pose you knew a lot more about her in the beginning than we +did,” said Mrs. Dodge, in a slightly offended tone. +</p> + +<p> +“You must have known something about her, Phoebe,” put in Mrs. +Fulsom. “I don’t care what anybody says to the contrary, +there’s something queer in a young girl, like her, coming to a strange +place, like Brookville, and doing all the things she’s done. It +ain’t natural: and that’s what I told the Judge when he was +considering the new waterworks. There’s a great deal of money to be made +on waterworks, the Judge says.” +</p> + +<p> +The eyes were now focused upon Mrs. Fulsom. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I can tell you, she ain’t looking to make money out of +Brookville,” said Abby Daggett, laying down her fan and taking an +unfinished red flannel petticoat from the basket on the table. “Henry +knows all about her plans, and he says it’s the grandest idea! The +water’s going to be piped down from the mountain right to our +doors—an’ it’ll be just as free as the Water of Life to +anybody that’ll take it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; but who’s going to pay for digging up the streets and putting +’em back?” piped up an anxious voice from a corner. +</p> + +<p> +“We’d ought to, if she does the rest,” said Mrs. Daggett; +“but Henry says—” +</p> + +<p> +“You can be mighty sure there’s a come-back in it somewhere,” +was Mrs. Whittle’s opinion. “The Deacon says he don’t know +whether to vote for it or not. We’ll have rain before long; and these +droughts don’t come every summer.” +</p> + +<p> +Ellen Dix and Fanny Dodge were sitting outside on the porch. Both girls were +sewing heart-shaped pieces of white cloth upon squares of turkey-red calico. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t it funny nobody seems to like her?” murmured Ellen, +tossing her head. “I shouldn’t be surprised if they wouldn’t +let her bring the water in, for all she says she’ll pay for everything +except putting it in the houses.” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny gazed at the white heart in the middle of the red square. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s awfully hard to sew these hearts on without puckering,” +she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Fan,” said Ellen cautiously, “does the minister go there +much now?” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny compressed her lips. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure I don’t know,” she replied, her eyes and +fingers busy with an unruly heart, which declined to adjust itself to +requirements. “What are they going to do with this silly patchwork, +anyway?” +</p> + +<p> +“Make an autograph quilt for the minister’s birthday; didn’t +you know?” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny dropped her unfinished work. +</p> + +<p> +“I never heard of anything so silly!” she said sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“Everybody is to write their names in pencil on these hearts,” +pursued Ellen mischievously; “then they’re to be done in tracing +stitch in red cotton. In the middle of the quilt is to be a big white square, +with a large red heart in it; that’s supposed to be Wesley +Elliot’s. It’s to have his monogram in stuffed letters, in the +middle of it. Lois Daggett’s doing that now. I think it’s a lovely +idea—so romantic, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny did not appear to be listening; her pretty white forehead wore a frowning +look. +</p> + +<p> +“Ellen,” she said abruptly, “do you ever see anything of Jim +nowadays?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! so you thought you’d pay me back, did you?” cried Ellen +angrily. “I never said I cared a rap for Jim Dodge; but you told me a +whole lot about Wesley Elliot: don’t you remember that night we walked +home from the fair, and you—” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny suddenly put her hand over her friend’s. +</p> + +<p> +“Please don’t talk so loud, Ellen; somebody will be sure to hear. +I’d forgotten what you said—truly, I had. But Jim—” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” interrogated Ellen impatiently, arching her slender black +brows. +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s walk down in the orchard,” proposed Fanny. +“Somebody else can work on these silly old hearts, if they want to. My +needle sticks so I can’t sew, anyway.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got to help mother cut the cake, in a minute,” objected +Ellen. +</p> + +<p> +But she stepped down on the parched grass and the two friends were soon +strolling among the fallen fruit of a big sweet apple tree behind the house, +their arms twined about each other’s waists, their pretty heads bent +close together. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a>Chapter XVI.</h2> + +<p> +“The reason I spoke to you about Jim just now,” said Fanny, +“was because he’s been acting awfully queer lately. I thought +perhaps you knew—I know he likes you better than any of the other girls. +He says you have some sense, and the others haven’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“I guess that must have been before Lydia Orr came to Brookville,” +said Ellen, in a hard, sweet voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; it was,” admitted Fanny reluctantly. “Everything seems +to be different since then.” +</p> + +<p> +“What has Jim been doing that’s any queerer than usual?” +inquired Ellen, with some asperity. +</p> + +<p> +Fanny hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t tell?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not, if it’s a secret.” +</p> + +<p> +“Cross your heart an’ hope t’ die?” quoted Fanny from +their childhood days. +</p> + +<p> +Ellen giggled. +</p> + +<p> +“Cross m’ heart an’ hope t’ die,” she repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Jim’s been off on some sort of a trip,” said Fanny. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see anything so very queer about that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait till I tell you— You must be sure and not breathe a word, +even to your mother; you won’t, will you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fan, you make me mad! Didn’t I just say I wouldn’t?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then; he went with <i>her</i> in the auto; they started about five +o’clock in the morning, and Jim didn’t get home till after twelve +that night.” +</p> + +<p> +Ellen laughed, with studied indifference. +</p> + +<p> +“Pity they couldn’t have asked us to go along,” she said. +“I’m sure the car’s plenty big enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think it was just for fun,” said Fanny. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t? What for, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“I asked Jim, and he wouldn’t tell me.” +</p> + +<p> +“When did you ask him?” +</p> + +<p> +“The morning they went. I came down about half past four: mother +doesn’t get up as early as that, we haven’t much milk to look after +now; but I wake up awfully early sometimes, and I’d rather be doing +something than lying there wide awake.” +</p> + +<p> +Ellen squeezed Fanny’s arm sympathetically. She herself had lost no +moments of healthy sleep over Jim Dodge’s fancied defection; but she +enjoyed imagining herself to be involved in a passionate romance. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t it <i>awful</i> to lie awake and think—<i>and +think</i>, and not be able to do a single thing!” she said, with a tragic +gesture. +</p> + +<p> +Fanny bent down to look into Ellen’s pretty face. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Ellen,” she said, “is it as bad as that? I didn’t +suppose you really cared.” +</p> + +<p> +She clasped Ellen’s slender waist closer and kissed her fervently. +</p> + +<p> +Ellen coaxed two shining tears into sparkling prominence on her long lashes. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t mind me, Fan,” she murmured; “but I +<i>can</i> sympathize with you, dear. I know <i>exactly</i> how you +feel—and to think it’s the same girl!” +</p> + +<p> +Ellen giggled light-heartedly: +</p> + +<p> +“Anyway, she can’t marry both of them,” she finished. +</p> + +<p> +Fanny was looking away through the boles of the gnarled old trees, her face +grave and preoccupied. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps I oughtn’t to have told you,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you haven’t told me anything, yet,” protested Ellen. +“You’re the funniest girl, Fan! I don’t believe you know how +to—really confide in anybody. If you’d tell me more how you feel +about <i>him</i>, you wouldn’t care half so much.” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny winced perceptibly. She could not bear to speak of the secret—which +indeed appeared to be no secret—she strove daily to bury under a mountain +of hard work, but which seemed possessed of mysterious powers of resurrection +in the dark hours between sunset and sunrise. +</p> + +<p> +“But there’s nothing to—to talk about, Ellen,” she +said; and in spite of herself her voice sounded cold, almost menacing. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, very well, if you feel that way,” retorted Ellen. “But I +can tell you one thing—or, I <i>might</i> tell you something; but I guess +I won’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Please, Ellen,—if it’s about—” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it is.” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny’s eyes pleaded hungrily with the naughty Ellen. +</p> + +<p> +“You haven’t finished your account of that interesting pleasure +excursion of Jim’s and Miss Orr’s,” said Ellen. +“Isn’t it lovely Jim can drive her car? Is he going to be her +regular chauffeur? And do you get an occasional joy-ride?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not,” Fanny said indignantly. “Oh, Ellen, how can +you go on like that! I’m sure you don’t care a bit about Jim or me, +either.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do!” declared Ellen. “I love you with all my heart, Fan; +but I don’t know about Jim. I—I might have—you know; but if +he’s crazy over that Orr girl, what’s the use? There are other men, +just as good-looking as Jim Dodge and not half so sarcastic and +disagreeable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jim can be disagreeable, if he wants to,” conceded Jim’s +sister. “When I asked him where he was going with the car so early in the +morning—you know he’s been bringing the car home nights so as to +clean it and fix the engine, till she can get somebody—I was surprised to +find him putting in oil and tightening up screws and things, when it was +scarcely daylight; and I said so. He wouldn’t tell me a thing. ‘You +just ’tend to your own knitting, Fan,’ was all he said; +‘perhaps you’ll know some day; and then again, perhaps you +won’t.’” +</p> + +<p> +“And didn’t you find out?” cried Ellen, her dark eyes alight +with curiosity. “If that doesn’t sound exactly like Jim Dodge! But +you said you heard him when he came in that night; didn’t he tell you +anything then?—You don’t think they ran off to get married? Oh, +Fan!” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not, you goose! Do you suppose he’d have come back home +alone, if it had been anything like that?” +</p> + +<p> +Ellen heaved a sigh of exaggerated relief. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Be still, my heart’!” she murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“No; they went to get somebody from somewhere,” pursued Fanny. +</p> + +<p> +“To get somebody from somewhere,” repeated Ellen impatiently. +“How thrilling! Who do you suppose it was?” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny shook her head: +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t the slightest idea.” +</p> + +<p> +“How perfectly funny! ...Is the somebody there, now?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. Jim won’t tell me a thing that goes on there. +He says if there’s anything on top of the earth he absolutely despises +it’s a gossiping man. He says a gossiping woman is a creation of +God—must be, there’s so many of ’em; but a gossiping +man—he can’t find any word in the dictionary mean enough for that +sort of a low-down skunk.” +</p> + +<p> +Ellen burst into hysterical laughter. +</p> + +<p> +“What an idea!” she gasped. “Oh, but he’s almost too +sweet to live, Fan. Somebody ought to take him down a peg or two. Fan, if he +proposes to that girl, I hope she won’t have him. ’Twould serve him +right!” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps she won’t marry anybody around here,” mused Fanny. +“Did you ever notice she wears a thin gold chain around her neck, +Ellen?” +</p> + +<p> +Ellen nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps there’s a picture of somebody on it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t wonder.” +</p> + +<p> +Ellen impatiently kicked a big apple out of her way, to the manifest +discomfiture of two or three drunken wasps who were battening on the sweet +juices. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got to go back to the house,” she said. +“Mother’ll be looking for me.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Ellen—” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“You said you knew something—” +</p> + +<p> +Ellen yawned. +</p> + +<p> +“Did I?” +</p> + +<p> +“You know you did, Ellen! Please—” +</p> + +<p> +“’Twasn’t much.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, nothing, only I met the minister coming out of Lydia Orr’s +house one day awhile ago, and he was walking along as if he’d been sent +for— Never even saw me. I had a good mind to speak to him, anyway; but +before I could think of anything cute to say he’d gone by—two-forty +on a plank road!” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny was silent. She was wishing she had not asked Ellen to tell. Then +instantly her mind began to examine this new aspect of her problem. +</p> + +<p> +“He didn’t look so awfully pleased and happy,” Ellen went on, +“his head was down—so, and he was just scorching up the road. +Perhaps they’d been having a scrap.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no!” burst from Fanny’s lips. “It wasn’t +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, what do you know about Wesley Elliot and Lydia Orr?” inquired +Ellen vindictively. “You’re a whole lot like Jim—as +close-mouthed as a molasses jug, when you don’t happen to feel like +talking.... It isn’t fair,” she went on crossly. “I tell you +everything—every single thing; and you just take it all in without +winking an eyelash. It isn’t fair!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Ellen, please don’t—I can’t bear it from +you!” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny’s proud head drooped to her friend’s shoulder, a stifled sob +escaped her. +</p> + +<p> +“There now, Fan; I didn’t mean a word of it! I’m sorry I told +you about him—only I thought he looked so kind of cut up over something +that maybe— Honest, Fan, I don’t believe he likes her.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t know,” murmured Fanny, wiping her wet eyes. +“I didn’t tell you she came to see me.” +</p> + +<p> +“She did!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; it was after we had all been there, and mother was going on so +about the furniture. It all seemed so mean and sordid to me, as if we were +trying to—well, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +Ellen nodded: +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I do. That’s why you wouldn’t let her have your +furniture. I gloried in your spunk, Fan.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I did let her have it, Ellen.” +</p> + +<p> +“You did? Well!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you how it happened. Mother’d gone down to the +village, and Jim was off somewhere—he’s never in the house +day-times any more; I’d been working on the new curtains all day, and I +was just putting them up in the parlor, when she came.... Ellen, sometimes I +think perhaps we don’t understand that girl. She was just as sweet— +If it wasn’t for— If I hadn’t hardened my heart against her +almost the first thing, you know, I don’t believe I could help loving +her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fanny!” cried Ellen protestingly. “She certainly is a +soft-soap artist. My mother says she is so refined; and Mrs. Daggett is always +chanting her praises.” +</p> + +<p> +“Think of all she’s done for the village,” urged Fanny. +“I want to be just, even if—” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I don’t!” cried Ellen. “I just enjoy being real +spiteful sometimes—especially when another girl gobbles all the men in +sight; and I know I’m prettier than she is. It’s just because +she’s new and—and stylish and rich. What made you give in about +your furniture, Fan?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I—” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny stopped short, puckering her forehead. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know whether I can explain it, Ellen; but I notice it +every time I am with her. There’s something—” +</p> + +<p> +“Good gracious, Fan! She must have hypnotized you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Be quiet, Ellen, I’m trying to think just how it happened. She +didn’t say so very much—just sat down and watched me, while I sewed +rings on the curtains. But the first thing I knew, I piped up and said: +‘Do you really want that old furniture of mine so much?’ And she +said— Well, no matter what she said; it was more the way she looked. I +guess I’d have given her the eyes out of my head, or any old +thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s just what I told you,” interrupted Ellen. +“There are people like that. Don’t you remember that horrid old +what’s-his-name in ‘Trilby’?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be silly, Ellen,” said Fanny rebukingly. “Well, +I took her up to my room and showed her my bed and bureau and washstand. There +were some chairs, too; mother got them all for my room at that old auction +we’ve heard so much about; I was just a baby then. I told her about it. +She sat down in my rocking-chair by the window and just looked at the things, +without saying a word, at first. After a while, she said: ‘Your mother +used to come in and tuck the blankets around you nice and warm in the night; +didn’t she?’” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why, I suppose she did,’ I told her. ‘Mother’s +room is right next to mine.’ ... Ellen, there was a look in her +eyes—I can’t tell you about it—you wouldn’t understand. +And, anyway, I didn’t care a bit about the furniture. ‘You can have +it,’ I said. ‘I don’t want it, and I don’t see why you +do; it isn’t pretty any more.’ I thought she was going to cry, for +a minute. Then such a soft gladness came over her face. She came up to me and +took both my hands in hers; but all she said was ‘Thank +you.’” +</p> + +<p> +“And did she pay you a whole lot for it?” inquired Ellen sordidly. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t think anything about that part of it,” said Fanny. +“Jim carried it all over the next day, with a lot of old stuff mother +had. Jim says she’s had a man from Grenoble working in the barn for weeks +and weeks, putting everything in order. My old set was painted over, with all +the little garlands and blue ribbons, like new.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how much—” persisted Ellen. “She must have paid +you a lot for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t ask mother,” said Fanny. “I didn’t want +to know. I’ve got a new set; it’s real pretty. You must come over +and see my room, now it’s all finished.” +</p> + +<p> +What Fanny did not tell Ellen was that after Lydia’s departure she had +unexpectedly come upon the photograph of the picnic group under a book on her +table. The faded picture with its penciled words had meant much to Fanny. She +had not forgotten, she told herself, she could never forget, that day in June, +before the unlooked-for arrival of the strange girl, whose coming had changed +everything. Once more she lived over in imagination that perfect day, with its +white clouds floating high in the blue, and the breath of clover on the wind. +She and Wesley Elliot had gone quietly away into the woods after the boisterous +merriment of the picnic luncheon. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s safe enough, as long as we follow the stream,” Fanny +had assured him, piloting the way over fallen logs and through dense thickets +of pine and laurel, further and further away from the sounds of shrill laughter +and the smoky smell of the camp fire, where the girls were still busy toasting +marshmallows on long sticks for the youths who hovered in the rear. +</p> + +<p> +The minister had expressed a keen desire to hear the rare notes of the hermit +thrush; and this romantic quest led them deep into the forest. The girl paused +at last on the brink of a pool, where they could see the shadowy forms of brook +trout gliding through the clear, cold water. +</p> + +<p> +“If we are quiet and listen,” she told him, “I think we shall +hear the hermit.” +</p> + +<p> +On a carpet of moss, thicker and softer than a deep-piled rug, they sat down. +Not a sound broke the stillness but the gurgle of water and the soft soughing +of the wind through great tree tops. The minister bared his head, as if aware +of the holy spirit of solitude in the place. Neither spoke nor stirred; but the +girl’s heart beat loud—so loud she feared he might hear, and drew +her little cape closer above her breast. Then all at once, ringing down the +somber aisles of the forest came the song of the solitary bird, exquisite, +lonely, filled with an indescribable, yearning sweetness. The man’s +eloquent eyes met her own in a long look. +</p> + +<p> +“Wonderful!” he murmured. +</p> + +<p> +His hand sought and closed upon hers for an instant. Then without further +speech they returned to the picnickers. Someone—she thought it was Joyce +Fulsom—snapped the joyous group at the moment of the departure. It had +been a week later, that he had written the words “Lest we +forget”—with a look and smile which set the girl’s pulses +fluttering. But that was in June. Now it was September. Fanny, crouched by the +window where Lydia Orr had been that afternoon, stared coldly at the picture. +It was downright silly to have carried it about with her. She had lost it +somewhere—pulling out her handkerchief, perhaps. Had Lydia Orr found and +brought it back? She ardently wished she knew; but in the meanwhile— +</p> + +<p> +She tore the picture deliberately across, thereby accomplishing unhindered what +Wesley Elliot had attempted several days before; then she burned the fragments +in the quick spurt of a lighted match.... Lest we forget, indeed! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a>Chapter XVII.</h2> + +<p> +The day after the sewing society Ellen Dix went up to her room, after hurriedly +washing the dinner dishes. It was still hot, but a vague haze had crept across +the brazen sky since morning. Ellen’s room looked out into cool green +depths of trees, so that on a cloudy day it was almost too dark to examine the +contents of the closet opposite its two east windows. +</p> + +<p> +It was a pretty room, freshly papered and painted, as were many rooms in +Brookville since the sale of the old Bolton properties. Nearly every one had +scrimped and saved and gone without so long that the sudden influx of money +into empty pockets had acted like wine in a hungry stomach. Henry Daggett had +thrice replenished his stock of wall papers; window shades and curtaining by +the yard had been in constant demand for weeks; bright colored chintzes and gay +flowered cretonnes were apparently a prime necessity in many households. As for +paper hangers and painters, few awaited their unhurried movements. It was easy +for anybody with energy and common sense to wield a paintbrush; and old paper +could be scraped off and fresh strips applied by a simple application of flour +paste and the fundamental laws of physics. One improvement clamors loudly for +another, and money was still coming in from the most unexpected sources, so new +furniture was bought to take the place of unprized chairs and tables long ago +salvaged from the Bolton wreck. And since Mrs. Deacon Whittle’s dream +parlor, with its marble-tops and plush-upholstered furniture, had become a +solid reality, other parlors burgeoned forth in multi-colored magnificence. +Scraggy old shrubs were trimmed; grass was cut in unkempt dooryards; flowers +were planted—and all because of the lavish display of such improvements +at Bolton House, as “that queer Orr girl” persisted in calling it; +thereby flying in the face of public opinion and local prejudice in a way which +soured the milk of human kindness before the cream of gratitude could rise. +</p> + +<p> +Everybody agreed that there was something mysterious, if not entirely unnatural +in the conduct of the young woman. Nobody likes unsolved riddles for long. The +moment or century of suspense may prove interesting—even exciting; but +human intelligence resents the Sphynx. +</p> + +<p> +Ellen Dix was intensely human. She was, moreover, jealous—or supposed she +was, which often amounts to the same thing. And because of this she was looking +over the dresses, hanging on pegs along her closet wall, with a demurely +puckered brow. The pink muslin was becoming, but old-fashioned; the pale yellow +trimmed with black velvet might get soiled with the dust, and she wasn’t +sure it would wash. She finally selected a white dress of a new and becoming +style, attired in which she presently stood before her mirror adjusting a plain +Panama hat, trimmed simply with a black ribbon. Not for nothing had Ellen used +her handsome dark eyes. She set the hat over her black hair at exactly the +right angle, skewering it securely in place with two silver pins, also severely +simple in their style and quite unlike the glittering rhinestone variety +offered for sale in Henry Daggett’s general store. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going out for a while, mother,” she said, as she passed +the room where Mrs. Dix was placidly sewing carpet rags out of materials +prodigiously increased of late, since both women had been able to afford +several new dresses. +</p> + +<p> +“Going to Fanny’s?” inquired Mrs. Dix.... “Seems to me +you’re starting out pretty early, dear, in all this heat. If you’ll +wait till sundown, I’ll go with you. I haven’t seen their parlor +since they got the new curtains up.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not going to Fanny’s, right off,” said Ellen +evasively. “Maybe I’ll stop on the way back, though. +’Tisn’t very hot; it’s clouded up some.” +</p> + +<p> +“Better taken an umbrella,” her mother sent after her. “We +might get a thunder storm along towards four o’clock. My shoulder’s +been paining me all the morning.” +</p> + +<p> +But Ellen had already passed out of hearing, her fresh skirts held well away +from the dusty wayside weeds. +</p> + +<p> +She was going, with intentions undefined, to see Lydia Orr. Perhaps (she was +thinking) she might see Jim Dodge. Anyway, she wanted to go to Bolton House. +She would find out for herself wherein lay the curious fascination of which +Fanny had spoken. She was surprised at Fanny for so easily giving in about the +furniture. Secretly, she considered herself to be possibly a bit shrewder than +Fanny. In reality she was not as easily influenced, and slower at forming +conclusions. She possessed a mind of more scope. +</p> + +<p> +Ellen walked along, setting her pointed feet down very carefully so as not to +raise the dust and soil her nice skirts. She was a dainty creature. When she +reached the hedge which marked the beginning of the Bolton estate, she started, +not violently, that was not her way, but anybody is more startled at the sudden +glimpse of a figure at complete rest, almost rigidity, than of a figure in +motion. Had the old man whom Ellen saw been walking along toward her, she would +not have started at all. She might have glanced at him with passing curiosity, +since he was a stranger in Brookville, then that would have been the end of it. +But this old man, standing as firmly fixed as a statue against the hedge, +startled the girl. He was rather a handsome old man, but there was something +peculiar about him. For one thing he was better dressed than old men in +Brookville generally were. He wore a light Palm Beach cloth suit, possibly too +young for him, also a Panama hat. He did not look altogether tidy. He did not +wear his up-to-date clothes very well. He had a rumpled appearance. He was very +pale almost with the paleness of wax. He did not stand strongly, but rested his +weight first on one foot, then on the other. Ellen recovered her composure, but +as she was passing, he spoke suddenly. His tone was eager and pitiful. +“Why Ann Eliza Dix,” he said. “How do you do? You are not +going to pass without speaking to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“My name is Dix, but not Ann Eliza,” said Ellen politely; “my +name is Ellen.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are Cephas Dix’s sister, Ann Eliza,” insisted the old +man. His eyes looked suddenly tearful. “I know I am right,” he +said. “You are Ann Eliza Dix.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl felt a sudden pity. Her Aunt Ann Eliza Dix had been lying in her grave +for ten years, but she could not contradict the poor man. “Of +course,” she said. “How do you do?” +</p> + +<p> +The old man’s face lit up. “I knew I was right,” he said. +“I forget, you see, sometimes, but this time I was sure. How are you, Ann +Eliza?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, thank you.” +</p> + +<p> +“How is Cephas?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is well, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“And your father?” +</p> + +<p> +Ellen shivered a little. It was rather bewildering. This strange old man must +mean her grandfather, who had died before her Aunt Ann Eliza. She replied +faintly that he was well, and hoped, with a qualm of ghastly mirth, that she +was speaking the truth. Ellen’s grandfather had not been exactly a godly +man, and the family seldom mentioned him. +</p> + +<p> +“He means well, Ann Eliza, if sometimes you don’t exactly like the +way he does,” said the living old man, excusing the dead one for the +faults of his life. +</p> + +<p> +“I know he does,” said Ellen. The desire to laugh grew upon her. +</p> + +<p> +She was relieved when the stranger changed the subject. She felt that she would +become hysterical if this forcible resurrection of her dead relatives +continued. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you like an automobile?” asked the old man. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know, I never had one.” +</p> + +<p> +The stranger looked at her confidingly. “My daughter has one,” he +said, “and I know she bought it for me, and she has me taken out in it, +but I am afraid. It goes too fast. I can’t get over being afraid. But you +won’t tell her, will you, Ann Eliza?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I won’t.” +</p> + +<p> +Ellen continued to gaze at him, but she did not speak. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me see, what is your name, my dear?” the man went on. He was +leaning on his stick, and Ellen noticed that he trembled slightly, as though +with weakness. He breathed hard. The veinous hands folded on top of the stick +were almost as white as his ears. +</p> + +<p> +“My name is Ellen Dix,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Dix—Dix?” repeated the man. “Why, I know that name, +certainly, of course! You must be the daughter of Cephas Dix. Odd name, Cephas, +eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Ellen nodded, her eyes still busy with the details of the stranger’s +appearance. She was sure she had never seen him before, yet he knew her +father’s name. +</p> + +<p> +“My father has been dead a long time,” she said; “ever since +I was a little girl.” +</p> + +<p> +The man appeared singularly disquieted by this intelligence. “I +hadn’t heard that,” he said. “Dead—a long time? +Well!” +</p> + +<p> +He scowled, flourishing his stick as if to pass on; then settled to his former +posture, his pale hands folded on its handsome gold top. +</p> + +<p> +“Cephas Dix wasn’t an old man,” he muttered, as if talking to +himself. “Not old. He should be hale and hearty, living in this good +country air. Wonderful air this, my dear.” +</p> + +<p> +And he drew a deep breath, his wandering gaze returning swiftly to the +girl’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“I was just walking out,” he said, nodding briskly. “Great +treat to be able to walk out. I shall walk out whenever I like. Don’t +care for automobiles—get you over the road too fast. No, no; I +won’t go out in the automobile, unless I feel like it! No, I won’t; +and there’s an end of it!” +</p> + +<p> +He brought his stick down heavily in the dust, as if emphasizing this +statement. +</p> + +<p> +“Guess your father left you pretty well off, eh, my dear?” he went +on presently. “Glad to see you looking so fresh and neat. Always like to +see a pretty girl well dressed.” +</p> + +<p> +The man’s eyes, extraordinarily bright and keen, roved nimbly over her +face and figure. +</p> + +<p> +“No, he did not,” replied Ellen. “My father used to be +rich,” she went on. “I’ve heard mother tell about it hundreds +of times. We had horses and a carriage and plenty of money; but when the bank +went to pieces my father lost everything. Then he died.” +</p> + +<p> +The man was peering at her from under his shaggy gray brows. +</p> + +<p> +“But not because the bank failed? Surely not because he lost his money? +That sort of thing doesn’t kill a man, my dear. No, no!” +</p> + +<p> +“It did,” declared Ellen firmly. +</p> + +<p> +The man at once seemed to grow smaller; to huddle together in his clothes. He +muttered something unintelligible, then turned squarely about, so that Ellen +could see only his hunched back and the glistening white hair cut close behind +his waxen ears. +</p> + +<p> +The girl walked thoughtfully on, but when she paused to look back she saw that +he had resumed his slow walk in the opposite direction, his stick describing +odd flourishes in the air, as before. +</p> + +<p> +When she reached Bolton House she was ushered into a beautiful parlor by a prim +maid in a frilled cap and apron. The maid presented to her attention a small +silver tray, and Ellen, blushing uncomfortably because she had no card, asked +for Miss Orr. +</p> + +<p> +Soon the frilled maid reappeared. “I’m sorry, Miss,” she +said, “I thought Miss Lydia was at home, but I can’t find her +anywheres about.” +</p> + +<p> +She eyed Ellen’s trim figure doubtfully. “If there was any +message—” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Ellen. “I only came to call.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m real sorry, Miss,” repeated the maid. “Miss +Lydia’ll be sorry, too. Who shall I say, please?” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Dix,” replied Ellen. She walked past the maid, who held the +door wide for her exit. Then she paused. A surprising sight met her eyes. Lydia +Orr, hatless, flushed as if by rapid flight, was just reaching the steps, +convoying the strange old man Ellen had met on the road a short time before. +</p> + +<p> +The maid at her back gave a little cry. Ellen stood staring. So this was the +person Jim Dodge had gone to fetch from somewhere! +</p> + +<p> +“But it isn’t too warm for me to be walking out to take the +air,” she heard, in the heavy mumble of the man’s voice. “I +don’t like being watched, Lydia; and I won’t stand it, either. I +might as well be—” +</p> + +<p> +Lydia interrupted him with a sharp exclamation. She had caught sight of Ellen +Dix standing under the deep portico, the scared face of the maid looking over +her shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +Ellen’s face crimsoned slowly. All at once she felt unaccountably sorry +and ashamed. She wished she had not come. She felt that she wanted nothing so +much as to hurry swiftly away. +</p> + +<p> +But Lydia Orr, still holding the strange old man by the arm, was already coming +up the steps. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll not go in the automobile, child,” he repeated, with an +obstinate flourish of his stick. “I don’t like to ride so fast. I +want to see things. I want—” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped short, his mouth gaping, his eyes staring at Ellen. +</p> + +<p> +“That girl!” he almost shouted. “She told me—I +don’t want her here.... Go away, girl, you make my head hurt!” +</p> + +<p> +Lydia flashed a beseeching look at Ellen, as she led the old man past. +</p> + +<p> +“Please come in,” she said; “I shall be at liberty in just a +moment.... Come, father!” +</p> + +<p> +Ellen hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps I’d better not, today,” she murmured, and slowly +descended the steps. +</p> + +<p> +The discreet maid closed the door behind her. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a>Chapter XVIII.</h2> + +<p> +Ellen did not at once return home. She walked on reflecting. So the old man was +Lydia Orr’s father! And she was the first to know it! +</p> + +<p> +The girl had never spoken of her father, Ellen was sure. Had she done so, Mrs. +Solomon Black would certainly have told Mrs. Whittle, and Mrs. Whittle would +have informed Mrs. Daggett, and thence, by way of Mrs. Dodge and Fanny, the +news would long ago have reached Ellen and her mother. +</p> + +<p> +Before she had covered a quarter of a mile of the dusty road, Ellen heard the +muffled roar of an over-taking motor car. She glanced up, startled and half +choked with the enveloping cloud of dust. Jim Dodge was driving the car. He +slowed down and stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello, Ellen. Going down to the village? Get in and I’ll take you +along,” he called out. +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said Ellen, jumping in. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t seen you for an age, Jim,” said Ellen after +awhile. +</p> + +<p> +The young man laughed. “Does it seem that long to you, Ellen?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, why should it?” she returned. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, Ellen,” said Jim, “I saw you when you came out of +Bolton House just now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” He looked sharply at Ellen, who smiled evasively. +</p> + +<p> +“I was going to call,” she said with an innocent air, “but +Miss Orr had—a visitor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Ellen; don’t let’s beat about the bush. Nobody +knows he’s there, yet, except myself and—you. You met him on the +road; didn’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Ellen, “I met him on the road.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did he talk to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“He asked me what my name was. He’s crazy, isn’t he, +Jim?” +</p> + +<p> +The young man frowned thoughtfully at his steering wheel. +</p> + +<p> +“Not exactly,” he said, after a pause. “He’s been sick +a long time and his mind is—well, I think it has been somewhat affected. +Did he— He didn’t talk to you about himself, did he?” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you want to know for?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, he appeared rather excited, and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; I noticed that.” She laughed mischievously. +</p> + +<p> +Jim frowned. “Come, Ellen, quit this nonsense! What did he say to +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you mean Mr. Orr—” +</p> + +<p> +He turned his eyes from the road to stare at her for an instant. +</p> + +<p> +“Did he tell you his name was Orr?” he asked sharply. +</p> + +<p> +It was Ellen’s turn to stare. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, if he is Miss Orr’s father—” she began. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, of course,” said Jim hurriedly. “I was just wondering if +he had introduced himself.” +</p> + +<p> +Ellen was silent. She was convinced that there was some mystery about the pale +old man. +</p> + +<p> +“He said a lot of awfully queer things to me,” she admitted, after +a pause during which Jim turned the car into a side road.... “I thought +you were going to the village.” +</p> + +<p> +“This will take us to the village—give you a longer ride, Ellen. +I’ll take you home afterwards.” +</p> + +<p> +“After what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, after we’ve got the mail—or whatever you want.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think Miss Orr and that queer old Mr. —— If +his name isn’t Orr, Jim, what is it?” She shot a quick glance at +him. +</p> + +<p> +“Good Lord!” muttered Jim profanely. +</p> + +<p> +He drew the car up at the side of the road and stopped it. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you going to do?” inquired Ellen, in some alarm. +“Won’t it go?” +</p> + +<p> +“When I get ready,” said Jim. +</p> + +<p> +He turned and faced her squarely: +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll have this out, before we go a foot further! I won’t +have the whole town talking,” he said savagely. +</p> + +<p> +Ellen said nothing. She was rather angry. +</p> + +<p> +“The devil!” cried Jim Dodge. “What’s the matter with +you, Ellen?” +</p> + +<p> +“With me?” she repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Why can’t you talk?” +</p> + +<p> +She shrugged her shoulders. “I want to go home,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +He seized her roughly by the wrist. “Ellen,” he said, “I +believe you know more than you are willing to tell.” He stared down into +her eyes. “What did he say to you, anyway?” +</p> + +<p> +“Who?” +</p> + +<p> +“You know well enough. The old man. Lord, what a mess!” +</p> + +<p> +“Please let me go, Jim,” said Ellen. “Now look here, I know +absolutely nothing except what I have told you, and I want to go home.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>“Ellen!”</i> +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you keep a secret?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I can, Jim!” She met his dark gaze squarely. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, rather than have you spreading a piece of damnable gossip over the +village— Of course you would have told everybody.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean about meeting the old man? But won’t everybody know? If +he goes out and talks to people as he did to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“You haven’t told me what he said.” +</p> + +<p> +Ellen raised her brows with a mischievous air. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t care to spread any—what sort of gossip did you say, +Jim?” +</p> + +<p> +“Confound it! I didn’t mean that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I could see he was some one who used to live here,” she +went on. “He knew father.” +</p> + +<p> +Jim had thrust his hands deep into his trousers’ pockets. He uttered an +impatient ejaculation. +</p> + +<p> +“And he said he should go out whenever he felt like it. He doesn’t +like the automobile.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s an impossible proposition. I see that plainly +enough!” Jim said, as if to himself. “But it seems a +pity—” +</p> + +<p> +He appeared to plunge into profound meditation. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, Ellen, you like her; don’t you? ...Don’t see how you +can help it. She’s a wonder!” +</p> + +<p> +“Who? Miss Orr?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course! Say, Ellen, if you knew what that girl has gone through, +without a murmur; and now I’m afraid— By George! we ought to spare +her.” +</p> + +<p> +“We?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; you and I. You can do a lot to help, Ellen, if you will. That old +man you saw is sick, hardly sane. And no wonder.” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped short and stared fixedly at his companion. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you guess who he was?” he asked abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +Ellen reflected. “I can guess—if you’ll give me time.” +</p> + +<p> +Jim made an impatient gesture. “That’s just what I thought,” +he growled. “There’ll be the devil to pay generally.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jim,” said Ellen earnestly, “if we are to help her, you must +tell me all about that old man.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>She</i> wanted to tell everybody,” he recollected gloomily. +“And why not you? Imagine an innocent child set apart from the world by +another’s crime, Ellen. See, if you can, that child growing up, with but +one thought, one ideal—the welfare of that other person. Picture to +yourself what it would be like to live solely to make a great wrong right, and +to save the wrongdoer. Literally, Ellen, she has borne that man’s grief +and carried his sorrow, as truly as any vaunted Saviour of the world. Can you +see it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean—? Is <i>that</i> why she calls it <i>Bolton</i> House? +Of course! And that dreadful old man is— But, Jim, everybody will find it +out.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re right,” he acknowledged. “But they +mustn’t find it out just yet. We must put it off till the man can shake +that hang-dog air of his. Why, he can’t even walk decently. Prison is +written all over him. Thank God, she doesn’t seem to see it!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m so glad you told me, Jim,” said Ellen gently. +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t say a word about this, will you, Ellen?” he asked +anxiously. “I can depend on you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Give me a little credit for decency and common sense,” replied +Ellen. +</p> + +<p> +Jim bent over the wheel and kissed her. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a>Chapter XIX.</h2> + +<p> +Rain was falling in torrents, slanting past the windows of the old parsonage in +long gray lines, gurgling up between loosened panes, and drip-dropping +resoundingly in the rusty pan the minister had set under a broken spot in the +ceiling. Upstairs a loosened shutter banged intermittently under the impact of +the wind, which howled past, to lose itself with great commotion in the tops of +the tall evergreens in the churchyard. It was the sort of day when untoward +events, near and far, stand out with unpleasant prominence against the +background of one’s everyday life. A day in which a man is led, whether +he will or not, to take stock of himself and to balance with some care the +credit and debit sides of his ledger. +</p> + +<p> +Wesley Elliot had been working diligently on his sermon since nine +o’clock that morning, at which hour he had deserted Mrs. Solomon +Black’s comfortable tight roof, to walk under the inadequate shelter of a +leaking umbrella to the parsonage. +</p> + +<p> +Three closely written pages in the minister’s neat firm handwriting +attested his uninterrupted diligence. At the top of the fourth page he set a +careful numeral, under it wrote “Thirdly,” then paused, laid down +his pen, yawned wearily and gazed out at the dripping shrubbery. The rain had +come too late to help the farmers, he was thinking. It was always that way: too +much sunshine and dry weather; then too much rain—floods of it, deluges +of it. +</p> + +<p> +He got up from his chair, stretched his cramped limbs and began marching up and +down the floor. He had fully intended to get away from Brookville before +another winter set in. But there were reasons why he felt in no hurry to leave +the place. He compelled himself to consider them. +</p> + +<p> +Was he in love with Lydia Orr? Honestly, he didn’t know. He had half +thought he was, for a whole month, during which Lydia had faced him across Mrs. +Solomon Black’s table three times a day. +</p> + +<p> +As he walked up and down, he viewed the situation. Lydia had declared, not once +but often, that she wanted friends. Women always talked that way, and meant +otherwise. But did she? The minister shook his head dubiously. He thought of +Lydia Orr, of her beauty, of her elusive sweetness. He was ashamed to think of +her money, but he owned to himself that he did. +</p> + +<p> +Then he left his study and rambled about the chill rooms of the lower floor. +From the windows of the parlor, where he paused to stare out, he could look for +some distance up the street. He noticed dully the double row of maples from +which yellowed leaves were already beginning to fall and the ugly fronts of +houses, behind their shabby picket fences. A wagon was creaking slowly through +a shallow sea of mud which had been dust the day before: beyond the hunched +figure of the teamster not a human being was in sight. Somewhere, a dog barked +fitfully and was answered by other dogs far away; and always the shutter banged +at uncertain intervals upstairs. This nuisance, at least, could be abated. He +presently located the shutter and closed it; then, because its fastening had +rusted quite away, sought for a bit of twine in his pocket and was about to tie +it fast when the wind wrenched it again from his hold. As he thrust a +black-coated arm from the window to secure the unruly disturber of the peace he +saw a man fumbling with the fastening of the parsonage gate. Before he could +reach the foot of the stairs the long unused doorbell jangled noisily. +</p> + +<p> +He did not recognize the figure which confronted him on the stoop, when at last +he succeeded in undoing the door. The man wore a raincoat turned up about his +chin and the soft brim of a felt hat dripped water upon its close-buttoned +front. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-morning, good-morning, sir!” said the stranger, as if his +words had awaited the opening of the door with scant patience. “You are +the—er—local clergyman, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +At uncertain periods Wesley Elliot had been visited by a migratory +<i>colporteur</i>, and less frequently by impecunious persons representing +themselves to be fellow warriors on the walls of Zion, temporarily out of +ammunition. In the brief interval during which he convoyed the stranger from +the chilly obscurity of the hall to the dubious comfort of his study, he +endeavored to place his visitor in one of these two classes, but without +success. +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t stop for an umbrella,” explained the man, rubbing his +hands before the stove, in which the minister was striving to kindle a livelier +blaze. +</p> + +<p> +Divested of his dripping coat and hat he appeared somewhat stooped and feeble; +he coughed slightly, as he gazed about the room. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter here?” he inquired abruptly; +“don’t they pay you your salary?” +</p> + +<p> +The minister explained in brief his slight occupancy of the parsonage; whereat +the stranger shook his head: +</p> + +<p> +“That’s wrong—all wrong,” he pronounced: “A +parson should be married and have children—plenty of them. Last time I +was here, couldn’t hear myself speak there was such a racket of children +in the hall. Mother sick upstairs, and the kids sliding down the banisters like +mad. I left the parson a check; poor devil!” +</p> + +<p> +He appeared to fall into a fit of musing, his eyes on the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“I see you’re wondering who I am, young man,” he said +presently. “Well, we’re coming to that, presently. I want some +advice; so I shall merely put the case baldly.... I wanted advice, before; but +the parson of that day couldn’t give me the right sort. Good Lord! I can +see him yet: short man, rather stout and baldish. Meant well, but his religion +wasn’t worth a bean to me that day.... Religion is all very well to talk +about on a Sunday; broadcloth coat, white tie and that sort of thing; good for +funerals, too, when a man’s dead and can’t answer back. Sometimes +I’ve amused myself wondering what a dead man would say to a parson, if he +could sit up in his coffin and talk five minutes of what’s happened to +him since they called him dead. Interesting to think of—eh? ...Had lots +of time to think.... Thought of most everything that ever happened; and more +that didn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are a stranger in Brookville, sir?” observed Wesley Elliot, +politely. +</p> + +<p> +He had already decided that the man was neither a <i>colporteur</i> nor a +clerical mendicant; his clothes were too good, for one thing. +</p> + +<p> +The man laughed, a short, unpleasant sound which ended in a fit of coughing. +</p> + +<p> +“A stranger in Brookville?” he echoed. “Well; not +precisely.... But never mind that, young man. Now, you’re a clergyman, +and on that account supposed to have more than ordinary good judgment: what +would you advise a man to do, who had—er—been out of active life +for a number of years. In a hospital, we’ll say, incapacitated, very much +so. When he comes out, he finds himself quite pleasantly situated, in a way; +good home, and all that sort of thing; but not allowed to—to use his +judgment in any way. Watched—yes, watched, by a person who ought to know +better. It’s intolerable—intolerable! Why, you’ll not believe +me when I tell you I’m obliged to sneak out of my own house on the +sly—on the sly, you understand, for the purpose of taking needful +exercise.” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped short and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, the fineness of +which the minister noted mechanically—with other details which had before +escaped him; such as the extreme, yellowish pallor of the man’s face and +hands and the extraordinary swiftness and brightness of his eyes. He was +conscious of growing uneasiness as he said: +</p> + +<p> +“That sounds very unpleasant, sir; but as I am not in possession of the +facts—” +</p> + +<p> +“But I just told you,” interrupted the stranger. +“Didn’t I say—” +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t make clear to me what the motives of this person who +tries to control your movements are. You didn’t tell me—” +</p> + +<p> +The man moved his hand before his face, like one trying to brush away imaginary +flies. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose she has her motives,” he said fretfully. “And very +likely they’re good. I’ll not deny that. But I can’t make her +see that this constant espionage—this everlasting watchfulness is not to +be borne. I want freedom, and by God I’ll have it!” +</p> + +<p> +He sprang from his chair and began pacing the room. +</p> + +<p> +Wesley Elliot stared at his visitor without speaking. He perceived that the man +dragged his feet, as if from excessive fatigue or weakness. +</p> + +<p> +“I had no thought of such a thing,” the stranger went on. +“I’d planned, as a man will who looks forward to release +from—from a hospital, how I’d go about and see my old neighbors. I +wanted to have them in for dinners and luncheons—people I haven’t +seen for years. She knows them. She can’t excuse herself on that ground. +She knows you.” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped short and eyed the minister, a slow grin spreading over his face. +</p> + +<p> +“The last time you were at my house I had a good mind to walk in and make +your acquaintance, then and there. I heard you talking to her. You admire my +daughter: that’s easy to see; and she’s not such a bad match, +everything considered.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you?” demanded the young man sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“I am a man who’s been dead and buried these eighteen years,” +replied the other. “But I’m alive still—very much alive; and +they’ll find it out.” +</p> + +<p> +An ugly scowl distorted the man’s pale face. For an instant he stared +past Wesley Elliot, his eyes resting on an irregular splotch of damp on the +wall. Then he shook himself. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m alive,” he repeated slowly. “And I’m +free!” +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you?” asked the minister for the second time. +</p> + +<p> +For all his superior height and the sinewy strength of his young shoulders he +began to be afraid of the man who had come to him out of the storm. There was +something strangely disconcerting, even sinister, in the ceaseless movements of +his pale hands and the sudden lightning dart of his eyes, as they shifted from +the defaced wall to his own perturbed face. +</p> + +<p> +By way of reply the man burst into a disagreeable cackle of laughter: +</p> + +<p> +“Stopped in at the old bank building on my way,” he said. +“Got it all fixed up for a reading room and library. Quite a nice idea +for the villagers. I’d planned something of the sort, myself. Approve of +that sort of thing for a rural population. Who—was the benefactor in this +case—eh? Take it for granted the villagers didn’t do it for +themselves. The women in charge there referred me to you for information.... +Don’t be in haste, young man. I’ll answer your question in good +time. Who gave the library, fixed up the building and all that? Must have cost +something.” +</p> + +<p> +The minister sat down with an assumption of ease he did not feel, facing the +stranger who had already possessed himself of the one comfortable chair in the +room. +</p> + +<p> +“The library,” he said, “was given to the village by a Miss +Orr, a young woman who has recently settled in Brookville. She has done a good +deal for the place, in various ways.” +</p> + +<p> +“What ways?” asked the stranger, with an air of interest. +</p> + +<p> +Wesley Elliot enumerated briefly the number of benefits: the purchase and +rebuilding of the old Bolton house, the construction of the waterworks, at +present under way, the library and reading room, with the town hall above. +“There are,” he stated, “other things which might be +mentioned; such as the improvement of the village green, repairs on the church, +the beginning of a fund for lighting the streets, as well as innumerable +smaller benefactions, involving individuals in and around Brookville.” +</p> + +<p> +The man listened alertly. When the minister paused, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“The young woman you speak of appears to have a deep pocket.” +</p> + +<p> +The minister did not deny this. And the man spoke again, after a period of +frowning silence: +</p> + +<p> +“What was her idea?— Orr, you said her name was?—in doing all +this for Brookville? Rather remarkable—eh?” +</p> + +<p> +His tone, like his words, was mild and commonplace; but his face wore an ugly +sneering look, which enraged the minister. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Orr’s motive for thus benefiting a wretched community, +well-nigh ruined years ago by the villainy of one man, should be held sacred +from criticism,” he said, with heat. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, let me tell you the girl had a motive—or thought she +had,” said the stranger unpleasantly. “But she had no right to +spend her money that way. You spoke just now of the village as being ruined +years ago by the villainy of one man. That’s a lie! The village ruined +the man.... Never looked at it that way; did you? Andrew Bolton had the +interests of this place more deeply at heart than any other human being ever +did. He was the one public-spirited man in the place.... Do you know who built +your church, young man? I see you don’t. Well, Andrew Bolton built it, +with mighty little help from your whining, hypocritical church members. Every +Tom, Dick and Harry, for miles about; every old maid with a book to sell; every +cause—as they call the thousand and one pious schemes to line their own +pockets—every damned one of ’em came to Andrew Bolton for money, +and he gave it to them. He was no hoarding skinflint; not he. Better for him if +he had been. When luck went against him, as it did at last, these precious +villagers turned on him like a pack of wolves. They killed his wife; stripped +his one child of everything—even to the bed she slept in; and the man +himself they buried alive under a mountain of stone and iron, where he rotted +for eighteen years!” +</p> + +<p> +The stranger’s eyes were glaring with maniacal fury; he shook a tremulous +yellow finger in the other’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“Talk about ruin!” he shouted. “Talk about one man’s +villainy! This damnable village deserves to be razed off the face of the earth! +...But I meant to forgive them. I was willing to call the score even.” +</p> + +<p> +A nameless fear had gripped the younger man by the throat. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you—?” he began; but could not speak the words. +</p> + +<p> +“My name,” said the stranger, with astonishing composure, in view +of his late fury, “is Andrew Bolton; and the girl you have been praising +and—courting—is my daughter. Now you see what a sentimental fool a +woman can be. Well; I’ll have it out with her. I’ll live here in +Brookville on equal terms with my neighbors. If there was ever a debt between +us, it’s been paid to the uttermost farthing. I’ve paid it in flesh +and blood and manhood. Is there any money—any property you can name worth +eighteen years of a man’s life? And such years— God! such +years!” +</p> + +<p> +Wesley Elliot stared. At last he understood the girl, and as he thought of her +shrinking aloofness standing guard over her eager longing for friends—for +affection, something hot and wet blurred his eyes. He was scarcely conscious +that the man, who had taken to himself the name with which he had become +hatefully familiar during his years in Brookville, was still speaking, till a +startling sentence or two aroused him. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no reason under heaven why you should not marry her, if +you like. Convict’s daughter? Bah! I snap my fingers in their faces. My +girl shall be happy yet. I swear it! But we’ll stop all this sickly +sentimentality about the money. We’ll—” +</p> + +<p> +The minister held up a warning hand. +</p> + +<p> +An immense yearning pity for Lydia had taken possession of him; but for the man +who had thus risen from a dishonorable grave to blight her girlhood he felt not +a whit. +</p> + +<p> +“You’d better keep quiet,” he said sternly. +“You’d far better go away and leave her to live her life +alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’d like that; wouldn’t you?” said Bolton dryly. +</p> + +<p> +He leaned forward and stared the young man in the eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“But she wouldn’t have it that way. Do you know that girl of mine +wouldn’t hear of it. She expects to make it up to me.... Imagine making +up eighteen years of hell with a few pet names, a soft bed and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Stop!” cried Wesley Elliot, with a gesture of loathing. “I +can’t listen to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you’ll marry her—eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Bolton’s voice again dropped into a whining monotone. He even smiled +deprecatingly. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll excuse my ranting a bit, sir. It’s natural after what +I’ve gone through. You’ve never been in a prison, maybe. And you +don’t know what it’s like to shake the bars of a cell at midnight +and howl out of sheer madness to be off and away—somewhere, +anywhere!” +</p> + +<p> +He leaned forward and touched the minister on the knee. +</p> + +<p> +“And that brings me back to my idea in coming to see you. I’m a +level-headed man, still—quite cool and collected, as you see—and +I’ve been thinking the situation over.” +</p> + +<p> +He drew his brows together and stared hard at the minister. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve a proposition to make to you—as man to man. Can’t +talk reason to a woman; there’s no reason in a woman’s +make-up—just sentiment and affection and imagination: an impossible +combination, when there are hard realities to face.... I see you don’t +agree with me; but never mind that; just hear what I have to say.” +</p> + +<p> +But he appeared in no haste to go on, for all the eagerness of his eyes and +those pallid, restless hands. The minister got quickly to his feet. The +situation was momentarily becoming intolerable; he must have time to think it +over, he told himself, and determine his own relations to this new and +unwelcome parishioner. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m very sorry, sir,” he began; “but—” +</p> + +<p> +“None of that,” growled Bolton. “Sit down, young man, and +listen to what I have to say to you. We may not have another chance like +this.” +</p> + +<p> +His assumption of a common interest between them was most distasteful; but for +all that the minister resumed his chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, as I’ve told you, my daughter appears unwilling to allow me +out of her sight. She tries to cover her watchfulness under a pretense of +solicitude for my health. I’m not well, of course; was knocked down and +beaten about the head by one of those devils in the prison— Can’t +call them men: no decent man would choose to earn his living that way. But +cosseting and coddling in a warm house will never restore me. I want +freedom—nothing less. I must be out and away when the mood seizes me +night or day. Her affection stifles me at times.... You can’t understand +that, of course; you think I’m ungrateful, no doubt; and that I +ought—” +</p> + +<p> +“You appear to me, a monster of selfishness,” Wesley Elliot broke +in. “You ought to stop thinking of yourself and think of her.” +</p> + +<p> +Bolton’s face drew itself into the mirthless wrinkles which passed for a +smile. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m coming to that,” he said with some eagerness. “I +do think of her; and that’s why— Can’t you see, man, that +eighteen years of prison don’t grow the domestic virtues? A monster of +selfishness? You’re dead right. I’m all of that; and I’m too +old to change. I can’t play the part of a doting father. I thought I +could, before I got out; but I can’t. Twice I’ve been tempted to +knock her down, when she stood between me and the door.... Keep cool; I +didn’t do it! But I’m afraid of myself, I tell you. I’ve got +to have my liberty. She can have hers.... Now here’s my proposition: +Lydia’s got money. I don’t know how much. My brother-in-law was a +close man. Never even knew he was rich. But she’s got it—all but +what she’s spent here trying to square accounts, as she thought. Do they +thank her for it? Not much. I know them! But see here, you marry Lydia, +whenever you like; then give me ten thousand dollars, and I’ll clear out. +I’m not a desirable father-in-law; I know that, as well as you do. But +I’ll guarantee to disappear, once my girl is settled. Is it a +bargain?” +</p> + +<p> +Elliot shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Your daughter doesn’t love me,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Bolton flung up his hand in an impatient gesture of dissent. +</p> + +<p> +“I stood in the way,” he said. “She was thinking of me, +don’t you see? But if I get out— Oh, I promise you I’ll make +myself scarce, once this matter is settled.” +</p> + +<p> +“What you propose is impossible, on the face of it,” the minister +said slowly. “I am sorry—” +</p> + +<p> +“Impossible! Why impossible?” shouted Bolton, in a sudden fury. +“You’ve been courting my daughter—don’t try to crawl +out of it, now you know what I am. I’ll not stand in the way, I tell you. +Why, the devil—” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped short, his restless eyes roving over the young man’s face and +figure: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I see!” he sneered. “I begin to understand: ‘the +sanctity of the cloth’—‘my sacred calling’— Yes, +yes! And perhaps my price seems a bit high: ten thousand dollars—” +</p> + +<p> +Elliot sprang from his chair and stood over the cringing figure of the +ex-convict. +</p> + +<p> +“I could strike you,” he said in a smothered voice; “but you +are an old man and—not responsible. You don’t understand what +you’ve said, perhaps; and I’ll not try to make you see it as I +do.” +</p> + +<p> +“I supposed you were fond of my girl,” mumbled Bolton. “I +heard you tell her—” +</p> + +<p> +But the look in the younger man’s eyes stopped him. His hand sought his +heart in an uncertain gesture. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you any brandy?” he asked feebly. “I—I’m +not well.... No matter; I’ll go over to the tavern. I’ll have them +take me home. Tired, after all this; don’t feel like walking.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a>Chapter XX.</h2> + +<p> +The minister from the doorstep of the parsonage watched the stooped figure as +it shambled down the street. The rain was still falling in torrents. The +thought crossed his mind that the old man might not be able to compass the two +miles or more of country road. Then he got into his raincoat and followed. +</p> + +<p> +“My umbrella isn’t of the best,” he said, as he overtook the +toiling figure; “but I should have offered it.” +</p> + +<p> +Andrew Bolton muttered something unintelligible, as he glanced up at the poor +shelter the young man held over him. As he did not offer to avail himself of it +the minister continued to walk at his side, accommodating his long free stride +to the curious shuffling gait of the man who had spent eighteen years in +prison. And so they passed the windowed fronts of the village houses, peering +out from the dripping autumnal foliage like so many watchful eyes, till the +hoarse signal of a motor car halted them, as they were about to cross the +street in front of the Brookville House. +</p> + +<p> +From the open door of the car Lydia Orr’s pale face looked out. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, father,” she said. “I’ve been looking for you +everywhere!” +</p> + +<p> +She did not appear to see the minister. +</p> + +<p> +Bolton stepped into the car with a grunt. +</p> + +<p> +“Glad to see the old black Maria, for once,” he chuckled. +“Don’t you recognize the parson, my dear? Nice fellow—the +parson; been having quite a visit with him at the manse. Old stamping-ground of +mine, you know. Always friendly with the parson.” +</p> + +<p> +Wesley Elliot had swept the hat from his head. Lydia’s eyes, blue and +wide like those of a frightened child, met his with an anguished question. +</p> + +<p> +He bowed gravely. +</p> + +<p> +“I should have brought him home quite safe,” he told her. “I +intended ordering a carriage.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl’s lips shaped formal words of gratitude. Then the obedient +humming of the motor deepened to a roar and the car glided swiftly away. +</p> + +<p> +On the opposite corner, her bunched skirts held high, stood Miss Lois Daggett. +</p> + +<p> +“Please wait a minute, Mr. Elliot,” she called. “I’ll +walk right along under your umbrella, if you don’t mind.” +</p> + +<p> +Wesley Elliot bowed and crossed the street. “Certainly,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know why I didn’t bring my own umbrella this +morning,” said Miss Daggett with a keen glance at Elliot. “That old +man stopped in the library awhile ago, and he rather frightened me. He looked +very odd and talked so queer. Did he come to the parsonage?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Wesley Elliot. “He came to the parsonage?” +</p> + +<p> +“Did he tell you who he was?” +</p> + +<p> +He had expected this question. But how should he answer it? +</p> + +<p> +“He told me he had been ill for a long time,” said the minister +evasively. +</p> + +<p> +“Ill!” repeated Miss Daggett shrilly. Then she said one word: +“Insane.” +</p> + +<p> +“People who are insane are not likely to mention it,” said Elliot. +</p> + +<p> +“Then he is insane,” said Miss Daggett with conviction. +</p> + +<p> +Wesley looked at her meditatively. Would the truth, the whole truth, openly +proclaimed, be advisable at this juncture, he wondered. Lydia could not hope to +keep her secret long. And there was danger in her attempt. He shuddered as he +remembered the man’s terrible words, “Twice I have been tempted to +knock her down when she stood between me and the door.” Would it not be +better to abandon this pretense sooner, rather than later? If the village knew +the truth, would not the people show at least a semblance of kindness to the +man who had expiated so bitterly the wrong he had done them? +</p> + +<p> +“If the man is insane,” Miss Daggett said, “it doesn’t +seem right to me to have him at large.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I knew what to do,” said Elliot. +</p> + +<p> +“I think you ought to tell what you know if the man is insane.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I will tell,” said Elliot, almost fiercely. “That man +is Andrew Bolton. He has come home after eighteen years of imprisonment, which +have left him terribly weak in mind and body. Don’t you think people will +forgive him now?” +</p> + +<p> +A swift vindictiveness flashed into the woman’s face. “I +don’t know,” said she. +</p> + +<p> +“Why in the world don’t you know, Miss Daggett?” +</p> + +<p> +Then the true reason for the woman’s rancor was disclosed. It was a +reason as old as the human race, a suspicion as old as the human race, which +she voiced. “I have said from the first,” she declared, “that +nobody would come here, as that girl did, and do so much unless she had a +motive.” +</p> + +<p> +Elliot stared at her. “Then you hate that poor child for trying to make +up for the wrong her father did; and that, and not his wrongdoing, influences +you?” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Daggett stared at him. Her face slowly reddened. “I wouldn’t +put it that way,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“What way would you put it?” demanded Elliot mercilessly. He was so +furious that he forgot to hold the umbrella over Miss Daggett, and the rain +drove in her hard, unhappy face. She did not seem to notice. She had led a +poisoned life, in a narrow rut of existence, and toxic emotions had become as +her native atmosphere of mind. Now she seemed to be about to breathe in a +better air of humanity, and she choked under it. +</p> + +<p> +“If—” she stammered, “that was—her reason, +but—I always felt—that nobody ever did such things without—as +they used to say—an ax to grind.” +</p> + +<p> +“This seems to me a holy sort of ax,” said Elliot grimly, +“and one for which a Christian woman should certainly not fling +stones.” +</p> + +<p> +They had reached the Daggett house. The woman stopped short. “You +needn’t think I’m going around talking, any more than you +would,” she said, and her voice snapped like a whip. She went up the +steps, and Elliot went home, not knowing whether he had accomplished good or +mischief. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a>Chapter XXI.</h2> + +<p> +Much to Mrs. Solomon Black’s astonishment, Wesley Elliot ate no dinner +that day. It was his habit to come in from a morning’s work with a +healthy young appetite keen-set for her beef and vegetables. He passed directly +up to his room, although she called to him that dinner was ready. Finally she +went upstairs and knocked smartly on his door. +</p> + +<p> +“Dinner’s ready, Mr. Elliot,” she called out. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want any today, thank you, Mrs. Black,” was his +reply. +</p> + +<p> +“You ain’t sick?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, only not hungry.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Black was alarmed when, later in the afternoon, she heard the front door +slam, and beheld from a front window Elliot striding down the street. The rain +had ceased falling, and there were ragged holes in the low-hanging clouds which +revealed glimpses of dazzling blue. +</p> + +<p> +“I do hope he ain’t coming down with a fever or something,” +Mrs. Black said aloud. Then she saw Mrs. Deacon Whittle, Lois Daggett, Mrs. +Fulsom, and the wife of the postmaster approaching her house in the opposite +direction. All appeared flushed and agitated, and Mrs. Black hastened to open +her door, as she saw them hurrying up her wet gravel path. +</p> + +<p> +“Is the minister home?” demanded Lois Daggett breathlessly. +“I want he should come right down here and tell you what he told me this +noon. Abby Daggett seems to think I made it up out of whole cloth. Don’t +deny it, Abby. You know very well you said.... I s’pose of course +he’s told you, Mrs. Black.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Elliot has gone out,” said Mrs. Black rather coldly. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s he gone?” demanded Lois. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Black was being devoured with curiosity; still she felt vaguely repelled. +</p> + +<p> +“Ladies,” she said, her air of reserve deepening. “I +don’t know what you are talking about, but Mr. Elliot didn’t eat +any dinner, and he is either sick or troubled in his mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“There! Now you c’n all see from that!” triumphed Lois +Daggett. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Deacon Whittle and Mrs. Judge Fulsom gazed incredulously at Mrs. Solomon +Black, then at one another. +</p> + +<p> +Abby Daggett, the soft round of her beautiful, kind face flushed and tremulous, +murmured: “Poor man—poor man!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Solomon Black with a masterly gesture headed the women toward her parlor, +where a fire was burning in a splendidly nickeled stove full five feet high. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said she; “we’ll talk this over, whatever it +is.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a>Chapter XXII.</h2> + +<p> +A mile from town, where the angry wind could be seen at work tearing the purple +rainclouds into rags and tatters, through which the hidden sun shot long rays +of pale splendor, Wesley Elliot was walking rapidly, his head bent, his eyes +fixed and absent. +</p> + +<p> +He had just emerged from one of those crucial experiences of life, which, more +than the turning of the earth upon its axis, serve to age a human being. For +perhaps the first time in the brief span of his remembrance, he had scrutinized +himself in the pitiless light of an intelligence higher than his own everyday +consciousness; and the sight of that meaner self, striving to run to cover, had +not been pleasant. Just why his late interview with Andrew Bolton should have +precipitated this event, he could not possibly have explained to any +one—and least of all to himself. He had begun, logically enough, with an +illuminating review of the motives which led him into the ministry; they were a +sorry lot, on the whole; but his subsequent ambitions appeared even worse. For +the first time, he perceived his own consummate selfishness set over against +the shining renunciations of his mother. Then, step by step, he followed his +career in Brookville: his smug satisfaction in his own good looks; his shallow +pride and vanity over the vapid insincerities he had perpetrated Sunday after +Sunday in the shabby pulpit of the Brookville church; his Pharisaical relations +with his people; his utter misunderstanding of their needs. All this proved +poignant enough to force the big drops to his forehead.... There were other +aspects of himself at which he scarcely dared look in his utter abasement of +spirit; those dark hieroglyphics of the beast-self which appear on the whitest +soul. He had supposed himself pure and saintly because, forsooth, he had +concealed the arena of these primal passions beneath the surface of this +outward life, chaining them there like leashed tigers in the dark.... Two faces +of women appeared to be looking on, while he strove to unravel the snarl of his +self-knowledge. Lydia’s unworldly face, wearing a faint nimbus of +unimagined self-immolation, and Fanny’s—full of love and +solicitude, the face which he had almost determined to forget. +</p> + +<p> +He was going to Lydia. Every newly awakened instinct of his manhood bade him +go. +</p> + +<p> +She came to him at once, and without pretense of concealment began to speak of +her father. She trembled a little as she asked: +</p> + +<p> +“He told you who he was?” +</p> + +<p> +Without waiting for his answer she gravely corrected herself. +</p> + +<p> +“I should have said, who <i>we</i> are.” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled a faint apology: +</p> + +<p> +“I have always been called Lydia Orr; it was my mother’s name. I +was adopted into my uncle’s family, after father—went to +prison.” +</p> + +<p> +Her blue eyes met his pitying gaze without evasion. +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad you know,” she said. “I think I shall be +glad—to have every one know. I meant to tell them all, at first. But when +I found—” +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” he said in a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +Then because as yet he had said nothing to comfort her, or himself; and because +every word that came bubbling to the surface appeared banal and inadequate, he +continued silent, gazing at her and marveling at her perfect serenity—her +absolute poise. +</p> + +<p> +“It will be a relief,” she sighed, “When every one knows. He +dislikes to be watched. I have been afraid—I could not bear to have him +know how they hate him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps,” he forced himself to say, “they will not hate him, +when they know how you— Lydia, you are wonderful!” +</p> + +<p> +She looked up startled and put out her hand as if to prevent him from speaking +further. +</p> + +<p> +But the words came in a torrent now: +</p> + +<p> +“How you must despise me! I despise myself. I am not worthy, Lydia; but +if you can care—” +</p> + +<p> +“Stop!” she said softly, as if she would lay the compelling finger +of silence upon his lips. “I told you I was not like other women. +Can’t you see—?” +</p> + +<p> +“You must marry me,” he urged, in a veritable passion of +self-giving. “I want to help you! You will let me, Lydia?” +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“You could not help me; I am better alone.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him, the glimmer of a smile dawning in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“You do not love me,” she said; “nor I you. You are my +friend. You will remain my friend, I hope?” +</p> + +<p> +She arose and held out her hand. He took it without a word. And so they stood +for a moment; each knowing without need of speech what the other was thinking; +the man sorry and ashamed because he could not deny the truth of her words; and +she compassionately willing to draw the veil of a soothing silence over his +hurts. +</p> + +<p> +“I ought to tell you—” he began. +</p> + +<p> +But she shook her head: +</p> + +<p> +“No need to tell me anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean,” he said bitterly, “that you saw through my +shallow pretenses all the while. I know now how you must have despised +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it nothing that you have asked me—a convict’s +daughter—to be your wife?” she asked. “Do you think I +don’t know that some men would have thanked heaven for their escape and +never spoken to me again? I can’t tell you how it has helped to hearten +me for what must come. I shall not soon forget that you offered me your +self—your career; it would have cost you that. I want you to know how +much I—appreciate what you have done, in offering me the shelter of an +honest name.” +</p> + +<p> +He would have uttered some unavailing words of protest, but she checked him. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall both be glad of this, some day,” she predicted +gravely.... “There is one thing you can do for me,” she added: +“Tell them. It will be best for both of us, now.” +</p> + +<p> +It was already done, he said, explaining his motives in short, disjointed +sentences. +</p> + +<p> +Then with a feeling of relief which he strove to put down, but which +nevertheless persisted in making itself felt in a curious lightening of his +spirits, he was again walking rapidly and without thought of his destination. +Somber bars of crimson and purple crossed the west, and behind them, flaming up +toward the zenith in a passionate splendor of light, streamed long, golden rays +from out the heart of that glory upon which no human eye may look. The angry +wind had fallen to quiet, and higher up, floating in a sea of purest violet, +those despised and flouted rags of clouds were seen, magically changed to rose +and silver. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap23"></a>Chapter XXIII.</h2> + +<p> +Fanny Dodge sat by the pleasant west window of the kitchen, engaged in reading +those aimless shreds of local information which usually make up the outside +pages of the weekly newspaper. She could not possibly feel the slightest +interest in the fact that Mr. and Mrs. James M. Snider of West Schofield were +entertaining a daughter, whose net weight was reported to be nine and three +quarters pounds; or that Miss Elizabeth Wardwell of Eltingville had just issued +beautifully engraved invitations to her wedding, which was to take place on the +seventeenth day of October—yet she went on reading. Everybody read the +paper. Sometimes they talked about what they read. Anyway, her work was over +for the day—all except tea, which was negligible; so she went on, +somewhat drearily suppressing a yawn, to a description of the new water-works, +which were being speedily brought to completion in “our neighboring +enterprising town of Brookville.” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny already knew all there was to tell concerning the concrete reservoir on +the mountain, the big conduit leading to the village and the smaller pipes laid +wherever there were householders desiring water. These were surprisingly few, +considering the fact that there would be no annual charge for the water, beyond +the insignificant sum required for its up-keep. People said their wells were +good enough for them; and that spring water wasn’t as good as cistern +water, when it came to washing. Some were of the opinion that Lydia Orr was in +a fool’s hurry to get rid of her money; others that she couldn’t +stand it to be out of the limelight; and still other sagacious individuals felt +confident there was something in it for “that girl.” Fanny had +heard these various views of Miss Orr’s conduct. She was still striving +with indifferent success to rise above her jealousy, and to this end she never +failed to champion Lydia’s cause against all comers. Curiously enough, +this course had finally brought her tranquillity of a sort and an utter +unprotesting acquiescence. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Whittle had been overheard saying to Mrs. Fulsom that she guessed, after +all, Fanny Dodge didn’t care so much about the minister. +</p> + +<p> +Fanny, deep once more in the absorbing consideration of the question which had +once been too poignant to consider calmly, and the answer to which she was +never to know, permitted the paper to slide off her knee to the floor: Why had +Wesley Elliot so suddenly deserted her? Surely, he could not have fallen in +love with another woman; she was sure he had been in love with her. However, to +kiss and forget might be one of the inscrutable ways of men. She was really +afraid it was. But Wesley Elliot had never kissed her; had never even held her +hand for more than a minute at a time. But those minutes loomed large in +retrospect. +</p> + +<p> +The clock struck five and Fanny, roused from her reverie by the sudden sound, +glanced out of the window. At the gate she saw Elliot. He stood there, gazing +at the house as if uncertain whether to enter or not. Fanny put up a tremulous +hand to her hair, which was pinned fast in its accustomed crisp coils; then she +glanced down at her blue gown.... Yes; he was coming in! The bell hanging over +the passage door jangled shrilly. Fanny stood stock-still in the middle of the +floor, staring at it. There was no fire in the parlor. She would be forced to +bring him out to the kitchen. She thought of the wide, luxuriously furnished +rooms of Bolton house and unconsciously her face hardened. She might pretend +she did not hear the bell. She might allow him to go away, thinking none of the +family were at home. She pictured him, standing there on the doorstep facing +the closed door; and a perverse spirit held her silent, while the clock ticked +resoundingly. Then all at once with a smothered cry she hurried through the +hall, letting the door fall to behind her with a loud slam. +</p> + +<p> +He was waiting patiently on the doorstep, as she had pictured him; and before a +single word had passed between them she knew that the stone had been rolled +away. His eyes met hers, not indeed with the old look, but with another, +incomprehensible, yet wonderfully soul-satisfying. +</p> + +<p> +“I wanted to tell you about it, before it came to you from the +outside,” he said, when they had settled themselves in the warm, silent +kitchen. +</p> + +<p> +His words startled Fanny. Was he going to tell her of his approaching marriage +to Lydia? Her color faded, and a look of almost piteous resignation drooped the +corners of her mouth. She strove to collect her scattered wits, to frame words +of congratulation with which to meet the dreaded avowal. +</p> + +<p> +He appeared in no hurry to begin; but bent forward, his eyes upon her changing +face. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps you know, already,” he reflected. “She may have told +your brother.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you speaking of Miss Orr?” +</p> + +<p> +Her voice sounded strange in her own ears. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said slowly. “But I suppose one should give her her +rightful name, from now on.” +</p> + +<p> +“I—I hadn’t heard,” said Fanny, feeling her hard-won +courage slipping from her. “Jim didn’t tell me. But of course I am +not—surprised.” +</p> + +<p> +He evidently experienced something of the emotion she had just denied. +</p> + +<p> +“No one seemed to have guessed it,” he said. “But now +everything is plain. Poor girl!” +</p> + +<p> +He fell into a fit of musing, which he finally broke to say: +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you would go to see her. She sorely needs friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“She has—you,” said Fanny in a smothered voice. +</p> + +<p> +For the life of her she could not withhold that one lightning flash out of her +enveloping cloud. +</p> + +<p> +He disclaimed her words with a swift gesture. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not worthy to claim her friendship, nor yours,” he said +humbly; “but I hope you—sometime you may be able to forgive me, +Fanny.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think I understand what you have come to tell me,” +she said with difficulty. +</p> + +<p> +“The village is ringing with the news. She wanted every one to know; her +father has come home.” +</p> + +<p> +“Her father!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, you didn’t guess, after all. I think we were all blind. Andrew +Bolton has come back to Brookville, a miserable, broken man.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you said—her father. Do you mean that Lydia Orr—” +</p> + +<p> +“It wasn’t a deliberate deception on her part,” he +interrupted quickly. “She has always been known as Lydia Orr. It was her +mother’s name.” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny despised herself for the unreasoning tumult of joy which surged up within +her. He could not possibly marry Andrew Bolton’s daughter! +</p> + +<p> +He was watching her closely. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought perhaps, if she consented, I would marry Lydia Orr,” he +forced himself to tell her. “I want you to know this from me, now. I +decided that her money and her position would help me.... I admired her; I even +thought at one time I—loved her. I tried to love her.... I am not quite +so base as to marry without love.... But she knew. She tried to save me.... +Then her father—that wretched, ruined man came to me. He told me +everything.... Fanny, that girl is a saint!” +</p> + +<p> +His eyes were inscrutable under their somber brows. The girl sitting stiffly +erect, every particle of color drained from her young face, watched him with +something like terror. Why was he telling her this?—Why? Why? +</p> + +<p> +His next words answered her: +</p> + +<p> +“I can conceive of no worse punishment than having you think ill of +me.” ... And after a pause: “I deserve everything you may be +telling yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +But coherent thought had become impossible for Fanny. +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you marry her?” she asked clearly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I asked her. I knew I had been a cad to both of you. I asked her all +right.” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny’s fingers, locked rigidly in her lap, did not quiver. Her blue eyes +were wide and strange, but she tried to smile. +</p> + +<p> +His voice, harsh and hesitating, went on: “She refused me, of course. She +had known all along what I was. She said she did not love me; that I did not +love her—which was God’s truth. I wanted to atone. You see that, +don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at Fanny and started. +</p> + +<p> +“My God, Fanny!” he cried. “I have made you suffer +too!” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fanny, can you love me and be my wife after all this?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am a woman,” said Fanny. Her eyes blazed angrily at him. Then +she laughed and put up her mouth to be kissed. +</p> + +<p> +“Men will make fools of women till the Day of Judgment,” said she, +and laughed again. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap24"></a>Chapter XXIV.</h2> + +<p> +When the afternoon mail came in that day, Mr. Henry Daggett retired behind his +official barrier according to his wont, leaving the store in charge of Joe +Whittle, the Deacon’s son. It had been diligently pointed out to Joe by +his thrifty parents that all rich men began life by sweeping out stores and +other menial tasks, and for some time Joe had been working for Mr. Daggett with +doubtful alacrity. +</p> + +<p> +Joe liked the store. There was a large stock of candy, dried fruit, crackers +and pickles; Joe was a hungry boy, and Mr. Daggett had told him he could eat +what he wished. He was an easy-going man with no children of his own, and he +took great delight in pampering the Deacon’s son. “I told him he +could eat candy and things, and he looked tickled to death,” he told his +wife. +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll get his stomach upset,” objected Mrs. Daggett. +</p> + +<p> +“He can’t eat the whole stock,” said Daggett, “and +upsetting a boy’s stomach is not much of an upset anyway. It don’t +take long to right it.” +</p> + +<p> +Once in a while Daggett would suggest to Joe that if he were in his place he +wouldn’t eat too much of that green candy. He supposed it was pure; he +didn’t mean to sell any but pure candy if he knew it, but it might be +just as well for him to go slow. Generally he took a paternal delight in +watching the growing boy eat his stock in trade. +</p> + +<p> +That afternoon Joe was working on a species of hard sweet which distended his +cheeks, and nearly deprived him temporarily of the power of speech, while the +people seeking their mail came in. There was never much custom while +mail-sorting was going on, and Joe sucked blissfully. +</p> + +<p> +Then Jim Dodge entered and spoke to him. “Hullo, Joe,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Joe nodded, speechless. +</p> + +<p> +Jim seated himself on a stool, and lit his pipe. +</p> + +<p> +Joe eyed him. Jim was a sort of hero to him on account of his hunting fame. As +soon as he could control his tongue, he addressed him: +</p> + +<p> +“Heard the news?” said he, trying to speak like a man. +</p> + +<p> +“What news?” +</p> + +<p> +“Old Andrew Bolton’s got out of prison and come back. He’s +crazy, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“How did you get hold of such nonsense?” +</p> + +<p> +“Heard the women talking.” +</p> + +<p> +Jim pondered a moment. Then he said “Damn,” and Joe admired him as +never before. When Jim had gone out, directly, Joe shook his fist at a sugar +barrel, and said “Damn,” in a whisper. +</p> + +<p> +Jim in the meantime was hurrying along the road to the Bolton house. He made up +his mind that he must see Lydia. He must know if she had authorized the +revelation that had evidently been made, and if so, through whom. He suspected +the minister, and was hot with jealousy. His own friendship with Lydia seemed +to have suffered a blight after that one confidential talk of theirs, in which +she had afforded him a glimpse of her sorrowful past. She had not alluded to +the subject a second time; and, somehow, he had not been able to get behind the +defenses of her smiling cheerfulness. Always she was with her father, it +seemed; and the old man, garrulous enough when alone, was invariably silent and +moody in his daughter’s company. One might almost have said he hated her, +from the sneering impatient looks he cast at her from time to time. As for +Lydia, she was all love and brooding tenderness for the man who had suffered so +long and terribly. +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll be better after a while,” she constantly excused him. +“He needs peace and quiet and home to restore him to himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“You want to look out for him,” Jim had ventured to warn the girl, +when the two were alone together for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean father?” Lydia asked. “What else should I do? It +is all I live for—just to look out for father.” +</p> + +<p> +Had she been a martyr bound to the stake, the faggots piled about her slim +body, her face might have worn just that expression of high resignation and +contempt for danger and suffering. +</p> + +<p> +The young man walked slowly on. He wanted time to think. Besides—he +glanced down with a quick frown of annoyance at his mud-splashed +clothing—he certainly cut a queer figure for a call. +</p> + +<p> +Some one was standing on the doorstep talking to Fanny, as he approached his +own home. Another instant and he had recognized Wesley Elliot. He stopped +behind a clump of low-growing trees, and watched. Fanny, framed in the dark +doorway, glowed like a rose. Jim saw her bend forward, smiling; saw the +minister take both her hands in his and kiss them; saw Fanny glance quickly up +and down the empty road, as if apprehensive of a chance passerby. Then the +minister, his handsome head bared to the cold wind, waved her farewell and +started at a brisk pace down the road. +</p> + +<p> +Jim waited till the door had closed lingeringly on the girl; then he stepped +forth from his concealment and waited. +</p> + +<p> +Abreast of him Elliot stopped; aware, it would seem, of the menace in the other +man’s eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“You wished to speak with me?” he began. +</p> + +<p> +“Speak with you—no! I want to kick you.” +</p> + +<p> +The minister eyed him indignantly. “What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“You sneaking hypocrite! do you think I don’t know what has +happened? You threw Fanny down, when Lydia Orr came to town; you thought my +sister wasn’t good enough—nor rich enough for a handsome, eloquent +clergyman like you. But when you learned her father was a convict—” +</p> + +<p> +“Stop!” cried Elliot. “You don’t understand!” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t? Well, I guess I come pretty near it. And not content with +telling Lydia’s pitiful secret to all the busybodies in town, you come to +Fanny with your smug explanations. My God! I could kill you!” +</p> + +<p> +The minister’s face had hardened during this speech. +</p> + +<p> +“See here,” he said. “You are going too far.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you deny that you’ve made love to both my sister and Miss +Orr?” demanded Jim. +</p> + +<p> +Physically the minister was no coward. He measured the slight, wiry figure of +his wrathful opponent with a coolly appraising eye. +</p> + +<p> +“My relations with Miss Orr are none of your business,” he reminded +Jim. “As for your sister—” +</p> + +<p> +“Damn you!” cried Jim. +</p> + +<p> +The minister shrugged his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“If you’ll listen to reason,” he suggested pacifically. +</p> + +<p> +“I saw you kiss my sister’s hand! I tell you I’ll not have +you hanging around the place, after what’s gone. You may as well +understand it.” +</p> + +<p> +Wesley Elliot reflected briefly. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s one thing you ought to know,” he said, controlling +his desire to knock Fanny’s brother into the bushes. +</p> + +<p> +A scornful gesture bade him to proceed. +</p> + +<p> +“Andrew Bolton came to see me in the parsonage this morning. He is a +ruined man, in every sense of the word. He will never be otherwise.” +</p> + +<p> +Jim Dodge thrust both hands deep in his trousers’ pockets, his eyes fixed +and frowning. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he murmured; “what of that?” +</p> + +<p> +“That being the case, all we can do is to make the best of +things—for her.... She requested me to make the facts known in the +village. They would have found out everything from the man himself. He +is—perhaps you are aware that Bolton bitterly resents his +daughter’s interference. She would have been glad to spare him the pain +of publicity.” +</p> + +<p> +The minister’s tone was calm, even judicial; and Jim Dodge suddenly +experienced a certain flat humiliation of spirit. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know she asked you to tell,” he muttered, kicking a +pebble out of the way. “That puts a different face on it.” +</p> + +<p> +He eyed the minister steadily. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll be hanged if I can make you out, Elliot,” he said at +last. “You can’t blame me for thinking— Why did you come here +this afternoon, anyway?” +</p> + +<p> +A sudden belated glimmer of comprehension dawned upon the minister. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you in love with Miss Orr?” he parried. +</p> + +<p> +“None of your damned business!” +</p> + +<p> +“I was hoping you were,” the minister said quietly. “She +needs a friend—one who will stand close, just now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean—?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am going to marry Fanny.” +</p> + +<p> +“The devil you are!” +</p> + +<p> +The minister smiled and held out his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“We may as well be friends, Jim,” he said coolly, “seeing +we’re to be brothers.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man turned on his heel. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll have to think that proposition over,” he growled. +“It’s a bit too sudden—for me.” +</p> + +<p> +Without another glance in the direction of the minister he marched toward the +house. Fanny was laying the table, a radiant color in her face. A single glance +told her brother that she was happy. He threw himself into a chair by the +window. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s mother?” he asked presently, pretending to ignore +the excited flutter of the girl’s hands as she set a plate of bread on +the table. +</p> + +<p> +“She hasn’t come back from the village yet,” warbled Fanny. +She couldn’t keep the joy in her soul from singing. +</p> + +<p> +“Guess I’ll eat my supper and get out. I don’t want to hear a +word of gossip.” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny glanced up, faltered, then ran around the table and threw her arms about +Jim’s neck. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Jim!” she breathed, “you’ve seen him!” +</p> + +<p> +“Worse luck!” grumbled Jim. +</p> + +<p> +He held his sister off at arm’s length and gazed at her fixedly. +</p> + +<p> +“What you see in that chap,” he murmured. “Well—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Jim, he’s wonderful!” cried Fanny, half laughing, half +crying, and altogether lovely. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you think so. But after the way he’s treated you— +By George, Fan! I can’t see—” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny drew herself up proudly. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I haven’t talked much about it, Jim,” she said, +with dignity; “but Wesley and I had a—a little misunderstanding. +It’s all explained away now.” +</p> + +<p> +And to this meager explanation she stubbornly adhered, through subsequent +soul-searching conversations with her mother, and during the years of married +life that followed. In time she came to believe it, herself; and the +“little misunderstanding with Wesley” and its romantic +dénouement became a well-remembered milestone, wreathed with sentiment. +</p> + +<p> +But poised triumphant on this pinnacle of joy, she yet had time to think of +another than herself. +</p> + +<p> +“Jim,” said she, a touch of matronly authority already apparent in +her manner. “I’ve wanted for a long time to talk to you seriously +about Ellen.” +</p> + +<p> +Jim stared. +</p> + +<p> +“About Ellen?” he repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“Jim, she’s awfully fond of you. I think you’ve treated her +cruelly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Fan,” said Jim, “don’t you worry yourself +about Ellen Dix. She’s not in love with me, and never was.” +</p> + +<p> +Having thus spoken, Jim would not say another word. He gulped down his supper +and was off. He kissed Fanny when he went. +</p> + +<p> +“Hope you’ll be happy, and all that,” he told her rather +awkwardly. Fanny looked after him swinging down the road. “I guess +it’s all right between him and Ellen,” she thought. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap25"></a>Chapter XXV.</h2> + +<p> +Jim had no definite plan as he tramped down the road in the falling darkness. +He felt uncertain and miserable as he speculated with regard to Lydia. She +could not guess at half the unkind things people must be saying; but she would +ask for the bread of sympathy and they would give her a stone. He wished he +might carry her away, shielding her and comforting her against the storm. He +knew he would willingly give his life to make her happier. Of course she did +not care for him. How could she? Who was he—Jim Dodge—to aspire to +a girl like Lydia? +</p> + +<p> +The wind had risen again and was driving dark masses of cloud across the sky; +in the west a sullen red flared up from behind the hills, touching the lower +edges of the vaporous mountains with purple. In a small, clear space above the +red hung the silver sickle of the new moon, and near it shone a single star.... +Lydia was like that star, he told himself—as wonderful, as remote. +</p> + +<p> +There were lights in the windows of Bolton House. Jim stopped and gazed at the +yellow squares, something big and powerful rising within him. Then, yielding to +a sudden impulse, he approached and looked in. In a great armchair before the +blazing hearth sat, or rather crouched, Andrew Bolton. He was wearing a +smoking-jacket of crimson velvet and a pipe hung from his nerveless fingers. +Only the man’s eyes appeared alive; they were fixed upon Lydia at the +piano. She was playing some light tuneful melody, with a superabundance of +trills and runs. Jim did not know Lydia played; and the knowledge of this +trivial accomplishment seemed to put her still further beyond his reach. He did +not know, either, that she had acquired her somewhat indifferent skill after +long years of dull practice, and for the single purpose of diverting the man, +who sat watching her with bright, furtive eyes.... Presently she arose from the +piano and crossed the room to his side. She bent over him and kissed him on his +bald forehead, her white hands clinging to his shoulders. Jim saw the man shake +off those hands with a rough gesture; saw the grieved look on her face; saw the +man follow her slight figure with his eyes, as she stooped under pretext of +mending the fire. But he could not hear the words which passed between them. +</p> + +<p> +“You pretend to love me,” Bolton was saying. “Why don’t +you do what I want you to?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you’d like to go away from Brookville, father, I will go with +you. You need me!” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s where you’re dead wrong, my girl: I don’t need +you. What I do need is freedom! You stifle me with your fussy attentions. Give +me some money; I’ll go away and not bother you again.” +</p> + +<p> +Whereat Lydia had cried out—a little hurt cry, which reached the ears of +the watcher outside. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t leave me, father! I have no one but you in all the +world—no one.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you’ve never even told me how much money you have,” the +man went on in a whining voice. “There’s daughterly affection for +you! By rights it all ought to be mine. I’ve suffered enough, God knows, +to deserve a little comfort now.” +</p> + +<p> +“All that I have is yours, father. I want nothing for myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then hand it over—the control of it, I mean. I’ll make you a +handsome allowance; and I’ll give you this place, too. I don’t want +to rot here.... Marry that good-looking parson and settle down, if you like. I +don’t want to settle down: been settled in one cursed place long enough, +by gad! I should think you could see that.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you wanted to come home to Brookville, father. Don’t you +remember you said—” +</p> + +<p> +“That was when I was back there in that hell-hole, and didn’t know +what I wanted. How could I? I only wanted to get out. That’s what I want +now—to get out and away! If you weren’t so damned selfish, +you’d let me go. I hate a selfish woman!” +</p> + +<p> +Then it was that Jim Dodge, pressing closer to the long window, heard her say +quite distinctly: +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, father; we will go. Only I must go with you.... You are not +strong enough to go alone. We will go anywhere you like.” +</p> + +<p> +Andrew Bolton got nimbly out of his chair and stood glowering at her across its +back. Then he burst into a prolonged fit of laughter mixed with coughing. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, so you’ll go with father, will you?” he spluttered. +“You insist—eh?” +</p> + +<p> +And, still coughing and laughing mirthlessly, he went out of the room. +</p> + +<p> +Left to herself, the girl sat down quietly enough before the fire. Her serene +face told no story of inward sorrow to the watchful eyes of the man who loved +her. Over long she had concealed her feelings, even from herself. She seemed +lost in revery, at once sad and profound. Had she foreseen this dire +disappointment of all her hopes, he wondered. +</p> + +<p> +He stole away at last, half ashamed of spying upon her lonely vigil, yet withal +curiously heartened. Wesley Elliot was right: Lydia Orr needed a friend. He +resolved that he would be that friend. +</p> + +<p> +In the room overhead the light had leapt to full brilliancy. An uncertain hand +pulled the shade down crookedly. As the young man turned for a last look at the +house he perceived a shadow hurriedly passing and repassing the lighted window. +Then all at once the shadow, curiously huddled, stooped and was gone. There was +something sinister in the sudden disappearance of that active shadow. Jim Dodge +watched the vacant window for a long minute; then with a muttered exclamation +walked on toward the village. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap26"></a>Chapter XXVI.</h2> + +<p> +In the barroom of the Brookville House the flaring kerosene lamp lit up a group +of men and half-grown boys, who had strayed in out of the chill darkness to +warm themselves around the great stove in the middle of the floor. The wooden +armchairs, which in summer made a forum of the tavern’s side piazza, had +been brought in and ranged in a wide semicircle about the stove, marking the +formal opening of the winter session. In the central chair sat the large figure +of Judge Fulsom, puffing clouds of smoke from a calabash pipe; his twinkling +eyes looking forth over his fat, creased cheeks roved impartially about the +circle of excited faces. +</p> + +<p> +“I can understand all right about Andrew Bolton’s turning +up,” one man was saying. “He was bound to turn up sooner or later. +I seen him myself, day before yesterday, going down street. Thinks I, +‘Who can that be?’ There was something kind of queer about the way +he dragged his feet. What you going to do about it, Judge? Have we got to put +up with having a jailbird, as crazy as a loon into the bargain, living right +here in our midst?” +</p> + +<p> +“In luxury and idleness, like he was a captain of industry,” +drawled another man who was eating hot dog and sipping beer. +“That’s what strikes me kind of hard, Judge, in luxury and +idleness, while the rest of us has to work.” +</p> + +<p> +Judge Fulsom gave an inarticulate grunt and smoked on imperturbably. +</p> + +<p> +“Set down, boys; set down,” ordered a small man in a red sweater +under a corduroy coat. “Give the Jedge a chance! He ain’t going to +deliver no opinion whilst you boys are rammaging around. Set down and let the +Jedge take th’ floor.” +</p> + +<p> +A general scraping of chair legs and a shuffling of uneasy feet followed this +exhortation; still no word from the huge, impassive figure in the central +chair. The oily-faced young man behind the bar improved the opportunity by +washing a dozen or so glasses, setting them down showily on a tin tray in view +of the company. +</p> + +<p> +“Quit that noise, Cholley!” exhorted the small man in the red +sweater; “we want order in the court room—eh, Jedge?” +</p> + +<p> +“What I’d like to know is where she got all that money of +hers,” piped an old man, with a mottled complexion and bleary eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Sure enough; where’d she get it?” chimed in half a dozen +voices at once. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s Andrew Bolton’s daughter,” said the first +speaker. “And she’s been setting up for a fine lady, doing stunts +for charity. How about our town hall an’ our lov-elly library, an’ +our be-utiful drinking fountain, and the new shingles on our church roof? You +don’t want to ask too many questions, Lute.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t I?” cried the man, who was eating hot dog. “You +all know <i>me!</i> I ain’t a-going to stand for no grab-game. If +she’s got money, it’s more than likely the old fox salted it down +before they ketched him. It’s our money; that’s whose money +’tis, if you want to know!” +</p> + +<p> +And he swallowed his mouthful with a slow, menacing glance which swept the +entire circle. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Lucius,” began Judge Fulsom, removing the pipe from his +mouth, “go slow! No use in talk without proof.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what have you got to say, Jedge? Where’d she get all that +money she’s been flamming about with, and that grand house, better than +new, with all the latest improvements. Wa’n’t we some jays to be +took in like we was by a little, white-faced chit like her? Couldn’t see +through a grindstone with a hole in it! Bolton House.... And an automobile to +fetch the old jailbird home in. Wa’n’t it lovely?” +</p> + +<p> +A low growl ran around the circle. +</p> + +<p> +“Durn you, Lute! Don’t you see the Jedge has something to +say?” demanded the man behind the bar. +</p> + +<p> +Judge Fulsom slowly tapped his pipe on the arm of his chair. “If you all +will keep still a second and let me speak,” he began. +</p> + +<p> +“I want my rights,” interrupted a man with a hoarse crow. +</p> + +<p> +“Your rights!” shouted the Judge. “You’ve got no right +to a damned thing but a good horsewhipping!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got my rights to the money other folks are keeping, +I’ll let you know!” +</p> + +<p> +Then the Judge fairly bellowed, as he got slowly to his feet: +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you once for all, the whole damned lot of you,” he shouted, +“that every man, woman and child in Brookville has been paid, +compensated, remunerated and requited in full for every cent he, she or it lost +in the Andrew Bolton bank failure.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a snarl of dissent. +</p> + +<p> +“You all better go slow, and hold your tongues, and mind your own +business. Remember what I say; that girl does not owe a red cent in this town, +neither does her father. She’s paid in full, and you’ve spent a lot +of it in here, too!” The Judge wiped his red face. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, come on, Jedge; you don’t want to be hard on the house,” +protested the man in the red sweater, waving his arms as frantically as a +freight brakeman. “Say, you boys! don’t ye git excited! The Jedge +didn’t mean that; you got him kind of het up with argufying.... Down in +front, boys! You, Lute—” +</p> + +<p> +But it was too late: half a dozen voices were shouting at once. There was a +simultaneous descent upon the bar, with loud demands for liquor of the sort +Lute Parsons filled up on. Then the raucous voice of the ringleader pierced the +tumult. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on, boys! Let’s go out to the old place and get our rights +off that gal of Bolton’s!” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s th’ stuff, Lute!” yelled the others, clashing +their glasses wildly. “Come on! Come on, everybody!” +</p> + +<p> +In vain Judge Fulsom hammered on the bar and called for order in the court +room. The majesty of the law, as embodied in his great bulk, appeared to have +lost its power. Even his faithful henchman in the red sweater had joined the +rioters and was yelling wildly for his rights. Somebody flung wide the door, +and the barroom emptied itself into the night, leaving the oily young man at +his post of duty gazing fearfully at the purple face of Judge Fulsom, who stood +staring, as if stupefied, at the overturned chairs, the broken glasses and the +empty darkness outside. +</p> + +<p> +“Say, Jedge, them boys was sure some excited,” ventured the +bartender timidly. “You don’t s’pose—” +</p> + +<p> +The big man put himself slowly into motion. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll get th’ constable,” he growled. +“I—I’ll run ’em in; and I’ll give Lute Parsons +the full extent of the law, if it’s the last thing I do on earth. +I—I’ll teach them!—I’ll give them all they’re +lookin’ for.” +</p> + +<p> +And he, too, went out, leaving the door swinging in the cold wind. +</p> + +<p> +At the corner, still meditating vengeance for this affront to his dignity, +Judge Fulsom almost collided with the hurrying figure of a man approaching in +the opposite direction. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello!” he challenged sharply. “Where you goin’ so +fast, my friend?” +</p> + +<p> +“Evening, Judge,” responded the man, giving the other a wide +margin. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s Jim Dodge—eh? Say, Jim, did you meet any of the +boys on the road?” +</p> + +<p> +“What boys?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, we got into a little discussion over to the Brookville House about +this Andrew Bolton business—his coming back unexpected, you know; and +some of the boys seemed to think they hadn’t got all that was coming to +them by rights. Lute Parsons he gets kind of worked up after about three or +four glasses, and he sicked the boys onto going out there, and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Going out—where? In the name of Heaven, what do you mean, +Judge?” +</p> + +<p> +“I told ’em to keep cool and— Say, don’t be in a hurry, +Jim. I had an awful good mind to call out Hank Simonson to run a few of +’em in. But I dunno as the boys’ll do any real harm. They +wouldn’t dare. They know <i>me</i>, and they know—” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean that drunken mob was headed for Bolton House? Why, Good +Lord, man, she’s there practically alone!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, perhaps you’d better see if you can get some help,” +began the Judge, whose easy-going disposition was already balking at effort. +</p> + +<p> +But Jim Dodge, shouting back a few trenchant directions, had already +disappeared, running at top speed. +</p> + +<p> +There was a short cut to Bolton House, across plowed fields and through a patch +of woodland. Jim Dodge ran all the way, wading a brook, swollen with the recent +rains, tearing his way through thickets of brush and bramble, the twinkling +lights in the top story of the distant house leading him on. Once he paused for +an instant, thinking he heard the clamor of rude voices borne on the wind; then +plunged forward again, his flying feet seemingly weighted with lead; and all +the while an agonizing picture of Lydia, white and helpless, facing the crowd +of drunken men flitted before his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Now he had reached the wall at the rear of the gardens; had clambered over it, +dropping to his feet in the midst of a climbing rose which clutched at him with +its thorny branches; had run across an acre of kitchen garden and leaped the +low-growing hedge which divided it from the sunken flower garden he had made +for Lydia. Here were more rosebushes and an interminable space broken by walks +and a sundial, masked by shrubs, with which he collided violently. There was no +mistaking the clamor from the front of the house; the rioters had reached their +quarry first! Not stopping to consider what one man, single-handed and unarmed, +could do against a score of drunken opponents, the young man rounded the corner +of the big house just as the door was flung wide and the slim figure of Lydia +stood outlined against the bright interior. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you want, men?” she called out, in her clear, fearless +voice. “What has happened?” +</p> + +<p> +There was a confused murmur of voices in reply. Most of the men were decent +enough fellows, when sober. Some one was heard to suggest a retreat: “No +need to scare the young lady. ’Tain’t her fault!” +</p> + +<p> +“Aw! shut up, you coward!” shouted another. “We want our +money!” +</p> + +<p> +“Where did you get yer money?” demanded a third. “You tell us +that, young woman. That’s what we’re after!” +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s the old thief? ...We want Andrew Bolton!” +</p> + +<p> +Then from somewhere in the darkness a pebble flung by a reckless hand shattered +a pane of glass. At sound of the crash all pretense of decency and order seemed +abandoned. The spirit of the pack broke loose! +</p> + +<p> +Just what happened from the moment when he leaped upon the portico, wrenching +loose a piece of iron pipe which formed the support of a giant wistaria, Jim +Dodge could never afterward recall in precise detail. A sort of wild rage +seized him; he struck right and left among the dark figures swarming up the +steps. There were cries, shouts, curses, flying stones; then he had dragged +Lydia inside and bolted the heavy door between them and the ugly clamor +without. +</p> + +<p> +She faced him where he stood, breathing hard, his back against the barred door. +</p> + +<p> +“They were saying—” she whispered, her face still and white. +“My God! What do they think I’ve done?” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re drunk,” he explained. “It was only a miserable +rabble from the barroom in the village. But if you’d been here +alone—!” +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“I recognized the man who spoke first; his name is Parsons. There were +others, too, who worked on the place here in the summer.... They have +heard?” +</p> + +<p> +He nodded, unable to speak because of something which rose in his throat +choking him. Then he saw a thin trickle of red oozing from under the fair hair +above her temple, and the blood hammered in his ears. +</p> + +<p> +“You are hurt!” he said thickly. “The devils struck +you!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s nothing—a stone, perhaps.” +</p> + +<p> +Something in the sorrowful look she gave him broke down the flimsy barrier +between them. +</p> + +<p> +“Lydia—Lydia!” he cried, holding out his arms. +</p> + +<p> +She clung to him like a child. They stood so for a moment, listening to the +sounds from without. There were still occasional shouts and the altercation of +loud, angry voices; but this was momently growing fainter; presently it died +away altogether. +</p> + +<p> +She stirred in his arms and he stooped to look into her face. +</p> + +<p> +“I—Father will be frightened,” she murmured, drawing away +from him with a quick decided movement. “You must let me go.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not until I have told you, Lydia! I am poor, rough—not worthy to +touch you—but I love you with my whole heart and soul, Lydia. You must +let me take care of you. You need me, dear.” +</p> + +<p> +Tears overflowed her eyes, quiet, patient tears; but she answered steadily. +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t you see that I—I am different from other women? I have +only one thing to live for. I must go to him.... You had +forgotten—him.” +</p> + +<p> +In vain he protested, arguing his case with all lover’s skill and +ingenuity. She shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Sometime you will forgive me that one moment of weakness,” she +said sadly. “I was frightened and—tired.” +</p> + +<p> +He followed her upstairs in gloomy silence. The old man, she was telling him +hurriedly, would be terrified. She must reassure him; and tomorrow they would +go away together for a long journey. She could see now that she had made a +cruel mistake in bringing him to Brookville. +</p> + +<p> +But there was no answer in response to her repeated tapping at his door; and +suddenly the remembrance of that stooping shadow came back to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me go in,” he said, pushing her gently aside. +</p> + +<p> +The lights, turned high in the quiet room, revealed only emptiness and +disorder; drawers and wardrobes pulled wide, scattered garments apparently +dropped at random on chairs and tables. The carpet, drawn aside in one corner, +disclosed a shallow aperture in the floor, from which the boards had been +lifted. +</p> + +<p> +“Why— What?” stammered the girl, all the high courage gone +from her face. “What has happened?” +</p> + +<p> +He picked up a box—a common cigar box—from amid the litter of +abandoned clothing. It was quite empty save for a solitary slip of greenish +paper which had somehow adhered to the bottom. +</p> + +<p> +Lydia clutched the box in both trembling hands, staring with piteous eyes at +the damning evidence of that bit of paper. +</p> + +<p> +“Money!” she whispered. “He must have hidden it +before—before— Oh, father, father!” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<img src="images/ab0.jpg" width="372" height="600" alt="[Illustration]" /> +<p class="caption">“Money!” she whispered. “He must have hidden it +before—before—”</p> +</div> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap27"></a>Chapter XXVII.</h2> + +<p> +History is said to repeat itself, as if indeed the world were a vast pendulum, +swinging between events now inconceivably remote, and again menacing and near. +And if in things great and heroic, so also in the less significant aspects of +life. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Henry Daggett stood, weary but triumphant, amid the nearly completed +preparations for a reception in the new church parlors, her broad, rosy face +wearing a smile of satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t it look nice?” she said, by way of expressing her +overflowing contentment. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Maria Dodge, evergreen wreaths looped over one arm, nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“It certainly does look fine, Abby,” said she. “And I guess +nobody but you would have thought of having it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Daggett beamed. “I thought of it the minute I heard about that city +church that done it. I call it a real tasty way to treat a minister as nice as +ours.” +</p> + +<p> +“So ’tis,” agreed Mrs. Dodge with the air of complacent +satisfaction she had acquired since Fanny’s marriage to the minister. +“And I think Wesley’ll appreciate it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Daggett’s face grew serious. Then her soft bosom heaved with mirth. +</p> + +<p> +“’Tain’t everybody that’s lucky enough to have a +minister right in the family,” said she briskly. “Mebbe if I was to +hear a sermon preached every day in the week I’d get some piouser myself. +I’ve been comparing this with the fair we had last summer. It ain’t +so grand, but it’s newer. A fair’s like a work of nature, Maria; +sun and rain and dew, and the scrapings from the henyard, all mixed with garden +ground to fetch out cabbages, potatoes or roses. God gives the increase.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Dodge stared at her friend in amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“That sounds real beautiful, Abby,” she said. “You must have +thought it all out.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s just what I done,” confirmed Mrs. Daggett happily. +“I’m always meditating about something, whilst I’m working +’round th’ house. And it’s amazing what thoughts’ll +come to a body from somewheres.... What you going to do with them wreaths, +Maria?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, I was thinking of putting ’em right up here,” said Mrs. +Dodge, pointing. +</p> + +<p> +“A good place,” said Mrs. Daggett. “Remember Fanny peeking +through them wreaths last summer? Pretty as a pink! An’ now she’s +Mis’ Reveren’ Elliot. I seen him looking at her that night.... My! +My! What lots of things have took place in our midst since then.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Dodge, from the lofty elevation of a stepladder, looked across the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Here comes Ann Whittle with two baskets,” she said, “and +Mrs. Solomon Black carrying a big cake, and a whole crowd of ladies just behind +’em.” +</p> + +<p> +“Glad they ain’t going to be late like they was last year,” +said Mrs. Daggett. “My sakes! I hadn’t thought so much about that +fair till today; the scent of the evergreens brings it all back. We was +wondering who’d buy the things; remember, Maria?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should say I did,” assented Mrs. Dodge, hopping nimbly down from +the ladder. “There, that looks even nicer than it did at the fair; +don’t you think so, Abby?” +</p> + +<p> +“It looks perfectly lovely, Maria.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, here we are at last,” announced Mrs. Whittle as she entered. +“I had to wait till the frosting stiffened up on my cake.” +</p> + +<p> +She bustled over to a table and began to take the things out of her baskets. +Mrs. Daggett hurried forward to meet Mrs. Solomon Black, who was advancing with +slow majesty, bearing a huge disk covered with tissue paper. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Black was not the only woman in the town of Brookville who could now boast +sleeves made in the latest Parisian style. Her quick black eyes had already +observed the crisp blue taffeta, in which Mrs. Whittle was attired, and the +fresh muslin gowns decked with uncreased ribbons worn by Mrs. Daggett and her +friend, Maria Dodge. Mrs. Solomon Black’s water-waves were crisp and +precise, as of yore, and her hard red cheeks glowed like apples above the +elaborate embroidery of her dress. +</p> + +<p> +“Here, Mis’ Black, let me take your cake!” offered Abby +Daggett. “I sh’d think your arm would be most broke carryin’ +it all the way from your house.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Abby; but I wouldn’t das’ t’ resk +changin’ it; I’ll set it right down where it’s t’ +go.” +</p> + +<p> +The brisk chatter and laughter, which by now had prevaded the big place, ceased +as by a preconcerted signal, and a dozen women gathered about the table toward +which Mrs. Solomon Black was moving like the central figure in some stately +pageant. +</p> + +<p> +“Fer pity sake!” whispered Mrs. Mixter, “what d’ you +s’pose she’s got under all that tissue paper?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Solomon Black set the great cake, still veiled, in the middle of the +table; then she straightened herself and looked from one to the other of the +eager, curious faces gathered around. +</p> + +<p> +“There!” she said. “I feel now ’s ’o’ I +could dror m’ breath once more. I ain’t joggled it once, so’s +t’ hurt, since I started from home.” +</p> + +<p> +Then slowly she withdrew the shrouding tissue paper from the creation she had +thus triumphantly borne to its place of honor, and stood off, a little to one +side, her face one broad smile of satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +“Fer goodness’ sake!” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ev—er!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Mis’ Black!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t that just—” +</p> + +<p> +“You never done that all yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Black nodded slowly, almost solemnly. The huge cake which was built up in +successive steps, like a pyramid, was crowned on its topmost disk by a bridal +scene, a tiny man holding his tiny veiled bride by the hand in the midst of an +expanse of pink frosting. About the side of the great cake, in brightly colored +“mites,” was inscribed “Greetings to our Pastor and his +Bride.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought ’twould be kind of nice, seeing our minister was just +married, and so, in a way, this is a wedding reception. I don’t know what +the rest of you ladies’ll think.” +</p> + +<p> +Abby Daggett stood with clasped hands, her big soft bosom rising and falling in +a sort of ecstasy. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Phoebe,” she said, “it’s a real poem! It +couldn’t be no han’somer if it had been done right up in +heaven!” +</p> + +<p> +She put her arms about Mrs. Solomon Black and kissed her. +</p> + +<p> +“And this ain’t all,” said Mrs. Black. “Lois Daggett is +going to fetch over a chocolate cake and a batch of crullers for me when she +comes.” +</p> + +<p> +Applause greeted this statement. +</p> + +<p> +“Time was,” went on Mrs. Black, “and not so long ago, +neither, when I was afraid to spend a cent, for fear of a rainy day +that’s been long coming. ’Tain’t got here yet; but I can tell +you ladies, I got a lesson from <i>her</i> in generosity I don’t mean to +forget. ‘Spend and be spent’ is my motto from now on; so I +didn’t grudge the new-laid eggs I put in that cake, nor yet the sugar, +spice nor raisins. There’s three cakes in one—in token of the +trinity (I do hope th’ won’t nobody think it’s wicked +t’ mention r’ligion in connection with a cake); the bottom cake was +baked in a milk-pan, an’ it’s a bride’s cake, being made with +the whites of fourteen perfec’ly fresh eggs; the next layer is fruit and +spice, as rich as wedding cake ought to be; the top cake is best of all; and +can be lifted right off and given to Rever’nd an’ Mrs. Wesley +Elliot.... I guess they’ll like to keep the wedding couple for a +souvenir.” +</p> + +<p> +A vigorous clapping of hands burst forth. Mrs. Solomon Black waited modestly +till this gratifying demonstration had subsided, then she went on: +</p> + +<p> +“I guess most of you ladies’ll r’member how one short year +ago Miss Lyddy Orr Bolton came a’walkin’ int’ our midst, +lookin’ sweet an’ modest, like she was; and how +down-in-th’-mouth we was all a-feelin’, ’count o’ +havin’ no money t’ buy th’ things we’d worked s’ +hard t’ make. Some of us hadn’t no more grit an’ gumption +’n Ananias an’ S’phira, t’ say nothin’ o’ +Jonah an’ others I c’d name. In she came, an’ +ev’rythin’ was changed from that minute! ...Now, I want we +sh’d cut up that cake—after everybody’s had a chance t’ +see it good—all but th’ top layer, same’s I +said—an’ all of us have a piece, out o’ compl’ment +t’ our paster an’ his wife, an’ in memory o’ her, +who’s gone from us.” +</p> + +<p> +“But Lyddy Orr ain’t dead, Mis’ Black,” protested Mrs. +Daggett warmly. +</p> + +<p> +“She might ’s well be, ’s fur ’s our seein’ her +’s concerned,” replied Mrs. Black. “She’s gone t’ +Boston t’ stay f’r good, b’cause she couldn’t +stan’ it no-how here in Brookville, after her pa was found dead. +The’ was plenty o’ hard talk, b’fore an’ after; +an’ when it come t’ breakin’ her windows with stones +an’ hittin’ her in th’ head, so she was ’bleeged +t’ have three stitches took, all I c’n say is I don’t wonder +she went t’ Boston.... Anyway, that’s my wish an’ +d’sire ’bout that cake.” +</p> + +<p> +The arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Wesley Elliot offered a welcome interruption to a +scene which was becoming uncomfortably tense. Whatever prickings of conscience +there might have been under the gay muslin and silks of her little audience, +each woman privately resented the superior attitude assumed by Mrs. Solomon +Black. +</p> + +<p> +“Easy f’r <i>her</i> t’ talk,” murmured Mrs. Fulsom, +from between puckered lips; “<i>she</i> didn’t lose no money off +Andrew Bolton.” +</p> + +<p> +“An’ she didn’t get none, neither, when it come t’ +dividin’ up,” Mrs. Mixter reminded her. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s so,” assented Mrs. Fulsom, as she followed in pretty +Mrs. Mixter’s wake to greet the newly-married pair. +</p> + +<p> +“My! ain’t you proud o’ her,” whispered Abby Daggett to +Maria Dodge. “She’s a perfec’ pictur’ o’ joy, if +ever I laid my eyes on one!” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny stood beside her tall husband, her pretty face irradiating happiness. She +felt a sincere pity welling up in her heart for Ellen Dix and Joyce Fulsom and +the other girls. Compared with her own transcendent experiences, their lives +seemed cold and bleak to Fanny. And all the while she was talking to the women +who crowded about her. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; we are getting nicely settled, thank you, Mrs. Fulsom—all but +the attic. Oh, how’d you do, Judge Fulsom?” +</p> + +<p> +The big man wiped the perspiration from his bald forehead. +</p> + +<p> +“Just been fetchin’ in th’ ice cream freezers,” he +said, with his booming chuckle. “I guess I’m ’s well ’s +c’n be expected, under th’ circumstances, ma’am.... An’ +that r’minds me, parson, a little matter was s’ggested t’ me. +In fact, I’d thought of it, some time ago. No more ’n right, in +view o’ th’ facts. If you don’t mind, I’ll outline +th’ idee t’ you, parson, an’ see if you approve.” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny, striving to focus attention on the pointed remarks Miss Lois Daggett was +making, caught occasional snatches of their conversation. Fanny had never liked +Lois Daggett; but in her new rôle of minister’s wife, it was her +foreordained duty to love everybody and to condole and sympathize with the +parish at large. One could easily sympathize with Lois Daggett, she was +thinking; what would it be like to be obliged daily to face the reflection of +that mottled complexion, that long, pointed nose, with its rasped tip, that +drab lifeless hair with its sharp hairpin crimp, and those small greenish eyes +with no perceptible fringe of lashes? Fanny looked down from her lovely height +into Miss Daggett’s upturned face and pitied her from the bottom of her +heart. +</p> + +<p> +“I hear your brother Jim has gone t’ Boston,” Miss Daggett +was saying with a simper. +</p> + +<p> +From the rear Fanny heard Judge Fulsom’s rumbling monotone, earnestly +addressed to her husband: +</p> + +<p> +“Not that Boston ain’t a nice town t’ live in; but +we’ll have t’ enter a demurrer against her staying there f’r +good. Y’ see—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Fanny, smiling at Miss Daggett. “He went several +days ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m-m,” murmured Miss Daggett. “<i>She’s</i> +livin’ there, ain’t she?” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean Miss Orr?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean Miss Lyddy Bolton. I guess Bolton’s a good ’nough +name for <i>her</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +From the Judge, in a somewhat louder tone: +</p> + +<p> +“That’s th’ way it looks t’ me, dominie; an’ if +all th’ leadin’ citizens of Brookville’ll put their name to +it—an’ I’m of th’ opinion they will, when I make my +charge t’ th’ jury—” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” murmured Fanny absently, as she gazed at her husband +and the judge. +</p> + +<p> +She couldn’t help wondering why her Wesley was speaking so earnestly to +the Judge, yet in such a provokingly low tone of voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I had become so accustomed to thinking of her as Lydia Orr,” she +finished hastily. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I don’t b’lieve in givin’ out a name ’at +ain’t yourn,” said Lois Daggett, sharply. “She’d ought +t’ ’a’ told right out who she was, an’ what she come +t’ Brookville <i>for</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +Judge Fulsom and the minister had moved still further away. Fanny, with some +alarm, felt herself alone. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think Miss Orr meant to be deceitful,” she said +nervously. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, o’ course, if she’s a-goin’ t’ be in +th’ family, it’s natural you sh’d think so,” said Lois +Daggett, sniffing loudly. +</p> + +<p> +Fanny did not answer. +</p> + +<p> +“I sh’d <i>hope</i> she an’ Jim was engaged,” +proclaimed Miss Daggett. “If they ain’t, they’d ought +t’ be.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why should you say that, Miss Lois?” asked Fanny hurriedly. +“They are very good friends.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Daggett bent forward, lowering her voice. +</p> + +<p> +“The’s one thing I’d like t’ know f’r +certain,” she said: “Did Jim Dodge find that body?” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny stared at her inquisitor resentfully. +</p> + +<p> +“There were a good many persons searching,” she said coldly. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Daggett wagged her head in an irritated fashion. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I know <i>that</i>,” she snapped. “What I want +t’ know is whether Jim Dodge—” +</p> + +<p> +“I never asked my brother,” interrupted Fanny. “It all +happened so long ago, why not—” +</p> + +<p> +“Not s’ terrible long,” disagreed Miss Daggett. “It was +th’ first o’ November. N’ I’ve got a mighty good reason +f’r askin’.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have?” murmured Fanny, flashing a glance of entreaty at her +husband. +</p> + +<p> +“Some of us ladies was talkin’ it over,” pursued the spinster +relentlessly, “an’ I says t’ Mis’ Deacon Whittle: +‘Who counted th’ money ’at was found on Andrew Bolton’s +body?’ I says. ‘W’y,’ s’ she, ‘th’ +ones ’at found him out in th’ woods where he got lost, I +s’pose.’ But come t’ sift it right down t’ facts, not +one o’ them ladies c’d tell f’r certain who ’t was +’at found that body. The’ was such an’ excitement +’n’ hullaballoo, nobody ’d thought t’ ask. It +wa’n’t Deacon Whittle; n’r it wa’n’t th’ +party from th’ Brookville House; ner Hank Simonson, ner any o’ the +boys. <i>It was Jim Dodge, an’ she was with him!”</i> +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Fanny faintly. +</p> + +<p> +She looked up to meet the minister’s eyes, with a sense of strong relief. +Wesley was so wise and good. Wesley would know just what to say to this prying +woman. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you and Miss Daggett talking about so earnestly?” asked +the minister. +</p> + +<p> +When informed of the question under discussion, he frowned thoughtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Miss Daggett,” he said, “if you will fetch me the +dinner bell from Mrs. Whittle’s kitchen, I shall be happy to answer your +question and others like it which have reached me from time to time concerning +this unhappy affair.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mis’ Deacon Whittle’s dinner bell?” gasped Lois +Daggett. “What’s that got t’ do with—” +</p> + +<p> +“Bring it to me, and you’ll see,” smiled the minister +imperturbably. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you going to do, Wesley?” whispered Fanny. +</p> + +<p> +He gazed gravely down into her lovely eyes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>“Dearest,”</i> he whispered back, “trust me! It is time we +laid this uneasy ghost; don’t you think so?” +</p> + +<p> +By now the large room was well filled with men, women and children. The ice +cream was being passed around when suddenly the clanging sound of a dinner +bell, vigorously operated by Joe Whittle, arrested attention. +</p> + +<p> +“The minister’s got something to say! The minister’s got +something to say!” shouted the boy. +</p> + +<p> +Wesley Elliot, standing apart, lifted his hand in token of silence, then he +spoke: +</p> + +<p> +“I have taken this somewhat unusual method of asking your attention to a +matter which has for many years past enlisted your sympathies,” he began: +“I refer to the Bolton affair.” +</p> + +<p> +The sound of breath sharply indrawn and the stir of many feet died into +profound silence as the minister went on, slowly and with frequent pauses: +</p> + +<p> +“Most of you are already familiar with the sordid details. It is not +necessary for me to go back to the day, now nearly nineteen years ago, when +many of you found yourselves unexpectedly impoverished because the man you +trusted had defaulted.... There was much suffering in Brookville that winter, +and since.... When I came to this parish I found it—sick. Because of the +crime of Andrew Bolton? No. I repeat the word with emphasis: <i>No!</i> +Brookville was sick, despondent, dull, gloomy and impoverished—not +because of Andrew Bolton’s crime; but because Brookville had never +forgiven Andrew Bolton.... Hate is the one destructive element in the universe; +did you know that, friends? It is impossible for a man or woman who hates +another to prosper.... And I’ll tell you why this is—why it must be +true: God is love—the opposite of hate. Hence All Power is enlisted on +the side of <i>love</i>.... Think this over, and you’ll know it is +true.... Now the Bolton mystery: A year ago we were holding a fair in this +village, which was sick and impoverished because it had never forgiven the man +who stole its money.... You all remember that occasion. There were things to +sell; but nobody had money to buy them. It wasn’t a pleasant occasion. +Nobody was enjoying it, least of all your minister. But a miracle took +place— There are miracles in the world today, as there always have been, +thank God! There came into Brookville that day a person who was moved by love. +Every impulse of her heart; everything she did was inspired by that mightiest +force of the universe. She called herself Lydia Orr.... She had been called +Lydia Orr, as far back as she could remember; so she did no wrong to anyone by +retaining that name. But she had another name, which she quickly found was a +byword and a hissing in Brookville. Was it strange that she shrank from telling +it? She believed in the forgiveness of sins; and she had come to right a great +wrong.... She did what she could, as it is written of another woman, who poured +out a fragrant offering of love unappreciated save by One.... There quickly +followed the last chapter in the tragedy—for it was all a tragedy, +friends, as I look at it: the theft; the pitiful attempt to restore fourfold +all that had been taken; the return of that ruined man, Andrew Bolton, after +his heavy punishment; and his tragic death.... Some of you may not know all +that happened that night. You do know of the cowardly attack made upon the +helpless girl. You know of the flight of the terrified man, of how he was found +dead two days later three miles from the village, in a lonely spot where he had +perished from hunger and exposure.... The body was discovered by James Dodge, +with the aid of his dog. With him on that occasion was a detective from Boston, +employed by Miss Bolton, and myself. There was a sum of money found on the body +amounting to something over five thousand dollars. It had been secreted beneath +the floor of Andrew Bolton’s chamber, before his arrest and imprisonment. +It is probable that he intended to make good his escape, but failed, owing to +the illness of his wife.... This is a terrible story, friends, and it has a sad +ending. Brookville had never learned to forgive. It had long ago formed the +terrible habits of hate: suspicion, envy, sharp-tongued censure and the rest. +Lydia Bolton could not remain here, though it was her birthplace and her +home.... She longed for friendship! She asked for bread and you gave +her—a stone!” +</p> + +<p> +The profound silence was broken by a sob from a distant corner. The strained +listeners turned with a sharp movement of relief. +</p> + +<p> +“Fer pity sake!” faltered Abby Daggett, her beautiful, rosy face +all quivering with grief. “Can’t nobody do nothing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, ma’am!” shouted the big voice of Judge Fulsom. +“We can all do something.... I ain’t going to sum up the case +against Brookville; the parson’s done it already; if there’s any +rebuttal coming from the defendant, now’s the time to bring it before the +court.... Nothing to say—eh? Well, I thought so! We’re guilty of +the charges preferred, and I’m going to pass sentence.... But before I do +that, there’s one thing the parson didn’t mention, that in my +opinion should be told, to wit: Miss Lydia Bolton’s money—all that +she had—came to her from her uncle, an honest hardworkin’ citizen +of Boston. He made every penny of it as a soap-boiler. So you see ’twas +<i>clean</i> money; and he left it to his niece, Lydia Bolton. What did she do +with it? You know! She poured it out, right here in Brookville—pretty +nigh all there was of it. She’s got her place here; but mighty little +besides. I’m her trustee, and I know. The five thousand dollars found on +the dead body of Andrew Bolton, has been made a trust fund for the poor and +discouraged of this community, under conditions anybody that’ll take the +trouble to step in to my office can find out....” +</p> + +<p> +The Judge paused to clear his throat, while he produced from his pocket, with a +vast deal of ceremony, a legal looking document dangling lengths of red ribbon +and sealing wax. +</p> + +<p> +“This Bond of Indemnity, which I’m going to ask every man, woman +and child of fifteen years and up’ards, of the village of Brookville, +hereinafter known as the Party of the First Part, to sign, reads as follows: +Know all men by these presents that we, citizens of the village of Brookville, +hereinafter known as the Party of the First Part, are held and firmly bound +unto Miss Lydia Orr Bolton, hereinafter known as the Party of the Second +Part.... Whereas; the above-named Party of the Second Part (don’t +f’rget that means Miss Lydia Bolton) did in behalf of her +father—one Andrew Bolton, deceased—pay, compensate, satisfy, +restore, remunerate, recompense <i>and re-quite</i> all legal indebtedness +incurred by said Andrew Bolton to, for, and in behalf of the aforesaid Party of +the First Part.... +</p> + +<p> +“You git me? If you don’t, just come to my office and I’ll +explain in detail any of the legal terms not understood, comprehended and known +by the feeble-minded of Brookville. Form in line at nine o’clock. First +come, first served: +</p> + +<p> +“We, the Party of the First Part, bind ourselves, and each of our heirs, +executors, administrators and assigns, jointly and severally, firmly by these +presents, and at all times hereafter to save, defend, keep harmless and +indemnify the aforesaid Party of the Second Part (Miss Lydia Bolton) of, from +and against all further costs, damages, expense, disparagements (that means +spiteful gossip, ladies!) molestations, slander, vituperations, etc. (I could +say more, <i>but</i> we’ve got something to do that’ll take time.) +And whereas, the said Party of the Second Part has been actually drove to +Boston to live by the aforesaid slander, calumniations, aspersions and +libels—which we, the said Party of the First Part do hereby acknowledge +to be false and untrue (yes, and doggone mean, as I look at it)—we, the +said Party of the First part do firmly bind ourselves, our heirs, executors, +administrators an’ assigns to quit all such illegalities from this day +forth, and forever more.” ... +</p> + +<p> +“You want to get out of the habit of talking mean about Andrew Bolton, +for one thing. It’s been as catching as measles in this town since I can +remember. Andrew Bolton’s dead and buried in our cemetery, beside his +wife. We’ll be there ourselves, some day; in the meanwhile we want to +reform our tongues. You get me? All right! +</p> + +<p> +“And whereas, we, the Party of the First Part, otherwise known as the +village of Brookville, do ask, beg, entreat, supplicate and plead the +f’rgiveness of the Party of the Second Part, otherwise known as Miss +Lydia Orr Bolton. And we also hereby request, petition, implore +<i>an’</i> importune Miss Lydia Orr Bolton, otherwise known as the Party +of the Second Part, to return to Brookville and make it her permanent place of +residence, promising on our part, at all times hereafter, to save, defend, keep +harmless and indemnify her against all unfriendliness, of whatever sort; and +pledging ourselves to be good neighbors and loving friends from the date of +this document, which, when signed by th’ Party of the First Part, shall +be of full force and virtue. Sealed with our seals. Dated this seventh day of +June, in the year of our Lord, nineteen hundred—” +</p> + +<p> +A loud uproar of applause broke loose in the pause that followed; then the +minister’s clear voice called for silence once more. +</p> + +<p> +“The Judge has his big fountain pen filled to its capacity,” he +said. “Come forward and sign this—the most remarkable document on +record, I am not afraid to say. Its signing will mean the wiping out of an old +bitterness and the dawning of a new and better day for Brookville!” +</p> + +<p> +The Reverend Wesley Elliot had mixed his metaphors sadly; but no one minded +that, least of all the minister himself, as he signed his name in bold black +characters to the wondrous screed, over which Judge Fulsom had literally as +well as metaphorically burned the midnight oil. Deacon and Mrs. Whittle signed; +Postmaster and Mrs. Daggett signed, the latter with copious tears flowing over +her smooth rosy cheeks. Miss Lois Daggett was next: +</p> + +<p> +“I guess I ought to be written down near the front,” said she, +“seeing I’m full as much to blame, and like that, as most +anybody.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come on you, Lute Parsons!” roared the Judge, while a group of +matrons meekly subscribed their signatures. “We want some live men-folks +on this document.... Aw, never mind, if you did! We all know you +wa’n’t yourself that night, Lucius.... That’s right; come +right forward! We want the signature of every man that went out there that +night, full of cussedness and bad whiskey.... That’s the ticket! Come on, +everybody! Get busy!” +</p> + +<p> +Nobody had attended the door for the last hour, Joe Whittle being a spellbound +witness of the proceedings; and so it chanced that nobody saw two persons, a +man and a woman who entered quietly—one might almost have said timidly, +as if doubtful of a welcome in the crowded place. It was Abby Daggett who +caught sight of the girl’s face, shining against the soft dark of the +summer night like a pale star. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, my sakes alive!” she cried, “if there ain’t Lyddy +Bolton and Jim Dodge, now! Did you ever!” +</p> + +<p> +As she folded the girl’s slight figure to her capacious breast, Mrs. +Daggett summed up in a single pithy sentence all the legal phraseology of the +Document, which by now had been signed by everybody old enough to write their +names: +</p> + +<p> +“Well! we certainly are glad you’ve come home, Lyddy; an’ we +hope you’ll never leave us no more!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap28"></a>Chapter XXVIII.</h2> + +<p> +“Fanny,” said Ellen suddenly; “I want to tell you +something.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Wesley Elliot turned a complacently abstracted gaze upon her friend who +sat beside her on the vine-shaded piazza of the parsonage. She felt the +sweetest sympathy for Ellen, whenever she thought of her at all: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you remember my speaking to you about Jim— Oh, a long time ago, +and how he—? It was perfectly ridiculous, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny’s blue eyes became suddenly alert. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean the time Jim kissed you,” she murmured. “Oh, Ellen, +I’ve always been so sorry for—” +</p> + +<p> +“Well; you needn’t be,” interrupted Ellen; “I never +cared a snap for Jim Dodge; so there!” +</p> + +<p> +The youthful matron sighed gently: she felt that she understood poor dear Ellen +perfectly, and in token thereof she patted poor dear Ellen’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I know exactly how you feel,” she warbled. +</p> + +<p> +Ellen burst into a gleeful laugh: +</p> + +<p> +“You think you do; but you don’t,” she informed her friend, +with a spice of malice. “Your case was entirely different from mine, my +dear: You were perfectly crazy over Wesley Elliot; I was only in love with +being in love.” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny looked sweetly mystified and a trifle piqued withal. +</p> + +<p> +“I wanted to have a romance—to be madly in love,” Ellen +explained. “Oh, you know! Jim was merely a peg to hang it on.” +</p> + +<p> +The wife of the minister smiled a lofty compassion. +</p> + +<p> +“Everything seems so different after one is married,” she stated. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that really so?” cried Ellen. “Well, I shall soon know, +Fan, for I’m to be married in the fall.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>“Married? Why, Ellen Dix!”</i> +</p> + +<p> +“Uh—huh,” confirmed Ellen, quite satisfied with the success +of her <i>coup</i>. “You don’t know him, Fan; but he’s +perfectly elegant—and <i>handsome!</i> Just wait till you see +him.” +</p> + +<p> +Ellen rocked herself to and fro excitedly. +</p> + +<p> +“I met him in Grenoble last winter, and we’re going to live there +in the <i>sweetest</i> house. He fell in love with me the first minute he saw +me. You never knew anyone to be so awfully in love ... m’m!” +</p> + +<p> +Without in the least comprehending the reason for the phenomenon, Mrs. Wesley +Elliot experienced a singular depression of spirit. Of course she was glad poor +dear Ellen was to be happy. She strove to infuse a sprightly satisfaction into +her tone and manner as she said: +</p> + +<p> +“What wonderful news, dear. But isn’t it rather—sudden? I +mean, oughtn’t you to have known him longer! ...You didn’t tell me +his name.” +</p> + +<p> +Ellen’s piquant dark face sparkled with mischief and happiness. +</p> + +<p> +“His name is Harvey Wade,” she replied; “you know Wade and +Hampton, where you bought your wedding things, Fan? Everybody knows the Wades, +and I’ve known Harvey long enough to—” +</p> + +<p> +She grew suddenly wistful as she eyed her friend: +</p> + +<p> +“You <i>have</i> changed a lot since you were married, Fan; all the girls +think so. Sometimes I feel almost afraid of you. Is it—do +you—?” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny’s unaccountable resentment melted before a sudden rush of sympathy +and understanding. She drew Ellen’s blushing face close to her own in the +sweetness of caresses: +</p> + +<p> +“I’m <i>so</i> glad for you, dear, so <i>glad!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“And you’ll tell Jim?” begged Ellen, after a silence full of +thrills. “I should hate to have him suppose—” +</p> + +<p> +“He doesn’t, Ellen,” Jim’s sister assured her, out of a +secret fund of knowledge to which she would never have confessed. “Jim +always understood you far better than I did. And he likes you, too, better than +any girl in Brookville.” +</p> + +<p> +“Except Lydia,” amended Ellen. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, of course, except Lydia.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap29"></a>Chapter XXIX.</h2> + +<p> +There was a warm, flower-scented breeze stirring the heavy foliage drenched +with the silver rain of moonlight, and the shrilling of innumerable small +voices of the night. It all belonged; yet neither the man nor the woman noticed +anything except each other; nor heard anything save the words the other +uttered. +</p> + +<p> +“To think that you love me, Lydia!” he said, triumph and humility +curiously mingled in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +“How could I help it, Jim? I could never have borne it all, if +you—” +</p> + +<p> +“Really, Lydia?” +</p> + +<p> +He looked down into her face which the moonlight had spiritualized to the +likeness of an angel. +</p> + +<p> +She smiled and slipped her hand into his. +</p> + +<p> +They were alone in the universe, so he stooped and kissed her, murmuring +inarticulate words of rapture. +</p> + +<p> +After uncounted minutes they walked slowly on, she within the circle of his +arm, her blond head against the shoulder of his rough tweed coat. +</p> + +<p> +“When shall it be, Lydia?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +She blushed—even in the moonlight he could see the adorable flutter of +color in her face. +</p> + +<p> +“I am all alone in the world, Jim,” she said, rather sadly. +“I have no one but you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll love you enough to make up for forty relations!” he +declared. “And, anyway, as soon as we’re married you’ll have +mother and Fan and—er—” +</p> + +<p> +He made a wry face, as it occurred to him for the first time that the Reverend +Wesley Elliot was about to become Lydia’s brother-in-law. +</p> + +<p> +The girl laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t you learned to like him yet?” she inquired +teasingly. +</p> + +<p> +“I can stand him for a whole hour at a time now, without experiencing a +desire to kick him,” he told her. “But why should we waste time +talking about Wesley Elliot?” +</p> + +<p> +Lydia appeared to be considering his question with some seriousness. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Jim,” she said, looking straight up into his eyes with the +innocent candor he had loved in her from the beginning, “Mr. Elliot will +expect to marry us.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s so!” conceded Jim; “Fan will expect it, +too.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her eagerly: +</p> + +<p> +“Aren’t you in a hurry for that wonderful brother-in-law, Lydia? +Don’t you think—?” +</p> + +<p> +The smile on her face was wonderful now; he felt curiously abashed by it, like +one who has inadvertently jested in a holy place. +</p> + +<p> +“Forgive me, dearest,” he murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“If you would like—if it is not too soon—my birthday is next +Saturday. Mother used to make me a little party on my birthday, so I +thought—it seemed to me—and the roses are all in bloom.” +</p> + +<p> +There was only one way to thank her for this halting little speech: he took her +in his arms and whispered words which no one, not even the crickets in the +hedge could hear, if crickets ever were listeners, and not the sole chorus on +their tiny stage of life. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN ALABASTER BOX ***</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 18140-h.htm or 18140-h.zip</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/1/4/18140/</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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