diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:17:55 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:17:55 -0700 |
| commit | a814f1d2eb443ab43af19186a10748823f1cce83 (patch) | |
| tree | ac062001e8db24096969672765ea39f441315268 | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1876-0.txt | 2977 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1876-0.zip | bin | 0 -> 59673 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1876-8.txt | 2976 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1876-8.zip | bin | 0 -> 59485 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1876-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 62743 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1876-h/1876-h.htm | 3506 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1876.txt | 2976 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1876.zip | bin | 0 -> 59462 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/1876-h.htm.2021-01-27 | 3505 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/tshfr10.txt | 3996 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/tshfr10.zip | bin | 0 -> 58668 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/tshfr10h.htm | 2747 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/tshfr10h.zip | bin | 0 -> 61911 bytes |
16 files changed, 22699 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/1876-0.txt b/1876-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0a1e25a --- /dev/null +++ b/1876-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2977 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Shape of Fear, by Elia W. Peattie + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Shape of Fear + +Author: Elia W. Peattie + +Posting Date: November 20, 2008 [EBook #1876] +Release Date: September, 1999 +Last Updated: March 10, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SHAPE OF FEAR *** + + + + +Produced by Judy Boss + + + + + +THE SHAPE OF FEAR + +AND OTHER GHOSTLY TALES + + +By Elia Wilkinson Peattie + + + +Original Transcriber's Note: + + I have omitted signature indicators and italicization of the + running heads. In addition, I have made the following changes + to the text: + + PAGE LINE ORIGINAL CHANGED TO + 156 1 where as were as + 156 4 mouth mouth. + 165 5 Wedgwood Wedgewood + 166 9 Wedgwood Wedgewood + 167 6 surperfluous superfluous + 172 11 every ever + 173 17 Bogg Boggs + + +CONTENTS + + + THE SHAPE OF FEAR + + ON THE NORTHERN ICE + + THEIR DEAR LITTLE GHOST + + A SPECTRAL COLLIE + + THE HOUSE THAT WAS NOT + + STORY OF AN OBSTINATE CORPSE + + A CHILD OF THE RAIN + + THE ROOM OF THE EVIL THOUGHT + + STORY OF THE VANISHING PATIENT + + THE PIANO NEXT DOOR + + AN ASTRAL ONION + + FROM THE LOOM OF THE DEAD + + A GRAMMATICAL GHOST + + + + +THE SHAPE OF FEAR + +TIM O'CONNOR--who was descended from the O'Conors with one N---- started +life as a poet and an enthusiast. His mother had designed him for +the priesthood, and at the age of fifteen, most of his verses had an +ecclesiastical tinge, but, somehow or other, he got into the newspaper +business instead, and became a pessimistic gentleman, with a literary +style of great beauty and an income of modest proportions. He fell in +with men who talked of art for art's sake,--though what right they had +to speak of art at all nobody knew,--and little by little his view of +life and love became more or less profane. He met a woman who sucked +his heart's blood, and he knew it and made no protest; nay, to the great +amusement of the fellows who talked of art for art's sake, he went the +length of marrying her. He could not in decency explain that he had +the traditions of fine gentlemen behind him and so had to do as he did, +because his friends might not have understood. He laughed at the days +when he had thought of the priesthood, blushed when he ran across any of +those tender and exquisite old verses he had written in his youth, +and became addicted to absinthe and other less peculiar drinks, and to +gaming a little to escape a madness of ennui. + +As the years went by he avoided, with more and more scorn, that part of +the world which he denominated Philistine, and consorted only with the +fellows who flocked about Jim O'Malley's saloon. He was pleased with +solitude, or with these convivial wits, and with not very much else +beside. Jim O'Malley was a sort of Irish poem, set to inspiring measure. +He was, in fact, a Hibernian Mæcenas, who knew better than to put +bad whiskey before a man of talent, or tell a trite tale in the presence +of a wit. The recountal of his disquisitions on politics and other +current matters had enabled no less than three men to acquire national +reputations; and a number of wretches, having gone the way of men who +talk of art for art's sake, and dying in foreign lands, or hospitals, +or asylums, having no one else to be homesick for, had been homesick for +Jim O'Malley, and wept for the sound of his voice and the grasp of his +hearty hand. + +When Tim O'Connor turned his back upon most of the things he was born +to and took up with the life which he consistently lived till the +unspeakable end, he was unable to get rid of certain peculiarities. For +example, in spite of all his debauchery, he continued to look like the +Beloved Apostle. Notwithstanding abject friendships he wrote limpid and +noble English. Purity seemed to dog his heels, no matter how violently +he attempted to escape from her. He was never so drunk that he was +not an exquisite, and even his creditors, who had become inured to his +deceptions, confessed it was a privilege to meet so perfect a gentleman. +The creature who held him in bondage, body and soul, actually came to +love him for his gentleness, and for some quality which baffled her, +and made her ache with a strange longing which she could not define. +Not that she ever defined anything, poor little beast! She had skin the +color of pale gold, and yellow eyes with brown lights in them, and great +plaits of straw-colored hair. About her lips was a fatal and sensuous +smile, which, when it got hold of a man's imagination, would not let it +go, but held to it, and mocked it till the day of his death. She was +the incarnation of the Eternal Feminine, with all the wifeliness and the +maternity left out--she was ancient, yet ever young, and familiar as joy +or tears or sin. + +She took good care of Tim in some ways: fed him well, nursed him back +to reason after a period of hard drinking, saw that he put on overshoes +when the walks were wet, and looked after his money. She even prized his +brain, for she discovered that it was a delicate little machine which +produced gold. By association with him and his friends, she learned that +a number of apparently useless things had value in the eyes of certain +convenient fools, and so she treasured the autographs of distinguished +persons who wrote to him--autographs which he disdainfully tossed in the +waste basket. She was careful with presentation copies from authors, and +she went the length of urging Tim to write a book himself. But at that +he balked. + +“Write a book!” he cried to her, his gentle face suddenly white with +passion. “Who am I to commit such a profanation?” + +She didn't know what he meant, but she had a theory that it was +dangerous to excite him, and so she sat up till midnight to cook a chop +for him when he came home that night. + +He preferred to have her sitting up for him, and he wanted every +electric light in their apartments turned to the full. If, by any +chance, they returned together to a dark house, he would not enter till +she touched the button in the hall, and illuminated the room. Or if it +so happened that the lights were turned off in the night time, and +he awoke to find himself in darkness, he shrieked till the woman came +running to his relief, and, with derisive laughter, turned them on +again. But when she found that after these frights he lay trembling and +white in his bed, she began to be alarmed for the clever, gold-making +little machine, and to renew her assiduities, and to horde more +tenaciously than ever, those valuable curios on which she some day +expected to realize when he was out of the way, and no longer in a +position to object to their barter. + +O'Connor's idiosyncrasy of fear was a source of much amusement among the +boys at the office where he worked. They made open sport of it, and +yet, recognizing him for a sensitive plant, and granting that genius was +entitled to whimsicalities, it was their custom when they called for +him after work hours, to permit him to reach the lighted corridor before +they turned out the gas over his desk. This, they reasoned, was but a +slight service to perform for the most enchanting beggar in the world. + +“Dear fellow,” said Rick Dodson, who loved him, “is it the Devil you +expect to see? And if so, why are you averse? Surely the Devil is not +such a bad old chap.” + +“You haven't found him so?” + +“Tim, by heaven, you know, you ought to explain to me. A citizen of the +world and a student of its purlieus, like myself, ought to know what +there is to know! Now you're a man of sense, in spite of a few +bad habits--such as myself, for example. Is this fad of yours +madness?--which would be quite to your credit,--for gadzooks, I like a +lunatic! Or is it the complaint of a man who has gathered too much +data on the subject of Old Rye? Or is it, as I suspect, something more +occult, and therefore more interesting?” + +“Rick, boy,” said Tim, “you're too--inquiring!” And he turned to his +desk with a look of delicate hauteur. + +It was the very next night that these two tippling pessimists spent +together talking about certain disgruntled but immortal gentlemen, who, +having said their say and made the world quite uncomfortable, had now +journeyed on to inquire into the nothingness which they postulated. The +dawn was breaking in the muggy east; the bottles were empty, the +cigars burnt out. Tim turned toward his friend with a sharp breaking of +sociable silence. + +“Rick,” he said, “do you know that Fear has a Shape?” + +“And so has my nose!” + +“You asked me the other night what I feared. Holy father, I make my +confession to you. What I fear is Fear.” + +“That's because you've drunk too much--or not enough. + + “'Come, fill the cup, and in the fire of Spring + Your winter garment of repentance fling--'” + +“My costume then would be too nebulous for this weather, dear boy. But +it's true what I was saying. I am afraid of ghosts.” + +“For an agnostic that seems a bit--” + +“Agnostic! Yes, so completely an agnostic that I do not even know that +I do not know! God, man, do you mean you have no ghosts--no--no things +which shape themselves? Why, there are things I have done--” + +“Don't think of them, my boy! See, 'night's candles are burnt out, and +jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain top.'” + +Tim looked about him with a sickly smile. He looked behind him and there +was nothing there; stared at the blank window, where the smoky dawn +showed its offensive face, and there was nothing there. He pushed away +the moist hair from his haggard face--that face which would look like +the blessed St. John, and leaned heavily back in his chair. + +“'Yon light is not daylight, I know it, I,'” he murmured drowsily, “'it +is some meteor which the sun exhales, to be to thee this night--'” + +The words floated off in languid nothingness, and he slept. Dodson arose +preparatory to stretching himself on his couch. But first he bent over +his friend with a sense of tragic appreciation. + +“Damned by the skin of his teeth!” he muttered. “A little more, and he +would have gone right, and the Devil would have lost a good fellow. As +it is”--he smiled with his usual conceited delight in his own sayings, +even when they were uttered in soliloquy--“he is merely one of those +splendid gentlemen one will meet with in hell.” Then Dodson had a +momentary nostalgia for goodness himself, but he soon overcame it, and +stretching himself on his sofa, he, too, slept. + +That night he and O'Connor went together to hear “Faust” sung, and +returning to the office, Dodson prepared to write his criticism. Except +for the distant clatter of telegraph instruments, or the peremptory +cries of “copy” from an upper room, the office was still. Dodson wrote +and smoked his interminable cigarettes; O' Connor rested his head in +his hands on the desk, and sat in perfect silence. He did not know when +Dodson finished, or when, arising, and absent-mindedly extinguishing the +lights, he moved to the door with his copy in his hands. Dodson gathered +up the hats and coats as he passed them where they lay on a chair, and +called: + +“It is done, Tim. Come, let's get out of this.” + +There was no answer, and he thought Tim was following, but after he had +handed his criticism to the city editor, he saw he was still alone, and +returned to the room for his friend. He advanced no further than the +doorway, for, as he stood in the dusky corridor and looked within the +darkened room, he saw before his friend a Shape, white, of perfect +loveliness, divinely delicate and pure and ethereal, which seemed as the +embodiment of all goodness. From it came a soft radiance and a perfume +softer than the wind when “it breathes upon a bank of violets stealing +and giving odor.” Staring at it, with eyes immovable, sat his friend. + +It was strange that at sight of a thing so unspeakably fair, a coldness +like that which comes from the jewel-blue lips of a Muir crevasse +should have fallen upon Dodson, or that it was only by summoning all the +manhood that was left in him, that he was able to restore light to +the room, and to rush to his friend. When he reached poor Tim he was +stone-still with paralysis. They took him home to the woman, who nursed +him out of that attack--and later on worried him into another. + +When he was able to sit up and jeer at things a little again, and help +himself to the quail the woman broiled for him, Dodson, sitting beside +him, said: + +“Did you call that little exhibition of yours legerdemain, Tim, you +sweep? Or are you really the Devil's bairn?” + +“It was the Shape of Fear,” said Tim, quite seriously. + +“But it seemed mild as mother's milk.” + +“It was compounded of the good I might have done. It is that which I +fear.” + +He would explain no more. Later--many months later--he died patiently +and sweetly in the madhouse, praying for rest. The little beast with +the yellow eyes had high mass celebrated for him, which, all things +considered, was almost as pathetic as it was amusing. + +Dodson was in Vienna when he heard of it. + +“Sa, sa!” cried he. “I wish it wasn't so dark in the tomb! What do you +suppose Tim is looking at?” + +As for Jim O'Malley, he was with difficulty kept from illuminating the +grave with electricity. + + + + +ON THE NORTHERN ICE + + +THE winter nights up at Sault Ste. Marie are as white and luminous as +the Milky Way. The silence which rests upon the solitude appears to be +white also. Even sound has been included in Nature's arrestment, for, +indeed, save the still white frost, all things seem to be obliterated. +The stars have a poignant brightness, but they belong to heaven and not +to earth, and between their immeasurable height and the still ice rolls +the ebon ether in vast, liquid billows. + +In such a place it is difficult to believe that the world is actually +peopled. It seems as if it might be the dark of the day after Cain +killed Abel, and as if all of humanity's remainder was huddled in +affright away from the awful spaciousness of Creation. + +The night Ralph Hagadorn started out for Echo Bay--bent on a pleasant +duty--he laughed to himself, and said that he did not at all object +to being the only man in the world, so long as the world remained as +unspeakably beautiful as it was when he buckled on his skates and shot +away into the solitude. He was bent on reaching his best friend in time +to act as groomsman, and business had delayed him till time was at its +briefest. So he journeyed by night and journeyed alone, and when the +tang of the frost got at his blood, he felt as a spirited horse feels +when it gets free of bit and bridle. The ice was as glass, his skates +were keen, his frame fit, and his venture to his taste! So he laughed, +and cut through the air as a sharp stone cleaves the water. He could +hear the whistling of the air as he cleft it. + +As he went on and on in the black stillness, he began to have fancies. +He imagined himself enormously tall--a great Viking of the Northland, +hastening over icy fiords to his love. And that reminded him that he had +a love--though, indeed, that thought was always present with him as a +background for other thoughts. To be sure, he had not told her that she +was his love, for he had seen her only a few times, and the auspicious +occasion had not yet presented itself. She lived at Echo Bay also, and +was to be the maid of honor to his friend's bride--which was one more +reason why he skated almost as swiftly as the wind, and why, now and +then, he let out a shout of exultation. + +The one cloud that crossed Hagadorn's sun of expectancy was the +knowledge that Marie Beaujeu's father had money, and that Marie lived in +a house with two stories to it, and wore otter skin about her throat +and little satin-lined mink boots on her feet when she went sledding. +Moreover, in the locket in which she treasured a bit of her dead +mother's hair, there was a black pearl as big as a pea. These things +made it difficult--perhaps impossible--for Ralph Hagadorn to say +more than, “I love you.” But that much he meant to say though he were +scourged with chagrin for his temerity. + +This determination grew upon him as he swept along the ice under the +starlight. Venus made a glowing path toward the west and seemed eager to +reassure him. He was sorry he could not skim down that avenue of light +which flowed from the love-star, but he was forced to turn his back upon +it and face the black northeast. + +It came to him with a shock that he was not alone. His eyelashes were +frosted and his eyeballs blurred with the cold, so at first he thought +it might be an illusion. But when he had rubbed his eyes hard, he +made sure that not very far in front of him was a long white skater in +fluttering garments who sped over the ice as fast as ever werewolf went. + +He called aloud, but there was no answer. He shaped his hands and +trumpeted through them, but the silence was as before--it was complete. +So then he gave chase, setting his teeth hard and putting a tension on +his firm young muscles. But go however he would, the white skater went +faster. After a time, as he glanced at the cold gleam of the north star, +he perceived that he was being led from his direct path. For a moment +he hesitated, wondering if he would not better keep to his road, but his +weird companion seemed to draw him on irresistibly, and finding it sweet +to follow, he followed. + +Of course it came to him more than once in that strange pursuit, that +the white skater was no earthly guide. Up in those latitudes men see +curious things when the hoar frost is on the earth. Hagadorn's own +father--to hark no further than that for an instance!--who lived up +there with the Lake Superior Indians, and worked in the copper mines, +had welcomed a woman at his hut one bitter night, who was gone by +morning, leaving wolf tracks on the snow! Yes, it was so, and John +Fontanelle, the half-breed, could tell you about it any day--if he were +alive. (Alack, the snow where the wolf tracks were, is melted now!) + +Well, Hagadorn followed the white skater all the night, and when the ice +flushed pink at dawn, and arrows of lovely light shot up into the cold +heavens, she was gone, and Hagadorn was at his destination. The sun +climbed arrogantly up to his place above all other things, and as +Hagadorn took off his skates and glanced carelessly lakeward, he beheld +a great wind-rift in the ice, and the waves showing blue and hungry +between white fields. Had he rushed along his intended path, watching +the stars to guide him, his glance turned upward, all his body at +magnificent momentum, he must certainly have gone into that cold grave. + +How wonderful that it had been sweet to follow the white skater, and +that he followed! + +His heart beat hard as he hurried to his friend's house. But he +encountered no wedding furore. His friend met him as men meet in houses +of mourning. + +“Is this your wedding face?” cried Hagadorn. “Why, man, starved as I am, +I look more like a bridegroom than you!” + +“There's no wedding to-day!” + +“No wedding! Why, you're not--” + +“Marie Beaujeu died last night--” + +“Marie--” + +“Died last night. She had been skating in the afternoon, and she came +home chilled and wandering in her mind, as if the frost had got in it +somehow. She grew worse and worse, and all the time she talked of you.” + +“Of me?” + +“We wondered what it meant. No one knew you were lovers.” + +“I didn't know it myself; more's the pity. At least, I didn't know--” + +“She said you were on the ice, and that you didn't know about the big +breaking-up, and she cried to us that the wind was off shore and the +rift widening. She cried over and over again that you could come in by +the old French creek if you only knew--” + +“I came in that way.” + +“But how did you come to do that? It's out of the path. We thought +perhaps--” + +But Hagadorn broke in with his story and told him all as it had come to +pass. + +That day they watched beside the maiden, who lay with tapers at her head +and at her feet, and in the little church the bride who might have been +at her wedding said prayers for her friend. They buried Marie Beaujeu in +her bridesmaid white, and Hagadorn was before the altar with her, as he +had intended from the first! Then at midnight the lovers who were to +wed whispered their vows in the gloom of the cold church, and walked +together through the snow to lay their bridal wreaths upon a grave. + +Three nights later, Hagadorn skated back again to his home. They wanted +him to go by sunlight, but he had his way, and went when Venus made her +bright path on the ice. + +The truth was, he had hoped for the companionship of the white skater. +But he did not have it. His only companion was the wind. The only voice +he heard was the baying of a wolf on the north shore. The world was as +empty and as white as if God had just created it, and the sun had not +yet colored nor man defiled it. + + + + +THEIR DEAR LITTLE GHOST + + +THE first time one looked at Elsbeth, one was not prepossessed. She was +thin and brown, her nose turned slightly upward, her toes went in just +a perceptible degree, and her hair was perfectly straight. But when one +looked longer, one perceived that she was a charming little creature. +The straight hair was as fine as silk, and hung in funny little braids +down her back; there was not a flaw in her soft brown skin, and her +mouth was tender and shapely. But her particular charm lay in a look +which she habitually had, of seeming to know curious things--such as it +is not allotted to ordinary persons to know. One felt tempted to say to +her: + +“What are these beautiful things which you know, and of which others are +ignorant? What is it you see with those wise and pellucid eyes? Why is +it that everybody loves you?” + +Elsbeth was my little godchild, and I knew her better than I knew any +other child in the world. But still I could not truthfully say that I +was familiar with her, for to me her spirit was like a fair and fragrant +road in the midst of which I might walk in peace and joy, but where I +was continually to discover something new. The last time I saw her quite +well and strong was over in the woods where she had gone with her two +little brothers and her nurse to pass the hottest weeks of summer. I +followed her, foolish old creature that I was, just to be near her, for +I needed to dwell where the sweet aroma of her life could reach me. + +One morning when I came from my room, limping a little, because I am +not so young as I used to be, and the lake wind works havoc with me, my +little godchild came dancing to me singing: + +“Come with me and I'll show you my places, my places, my places!” + +Miriam, when she chanted by the Red Sea might have been more exultant, +but she could not have been more bewitching. Of course I knew what +“places” were, because I had once been a little girl myself, but unless +you are acquainted with the real meaning of “places,” it would be +useless to try to explain. Either you know “places” or you do not--just +as you understand the meaning of poetry or you do not. There are things +in the world which cannot be taught. + +Elsbeth's two tiny brothers were present, and I took one by each hand +and followed her. No sooner had we got out of doors in the woods than +a sort of mystery fell upon the world and upon us. We were cautioned to +move silently, and we did so, avoiding the crunching of dry twigs. + +“The fairies hate noise,” whispered my little godchild, her eyes +narrowing like a cat's. + +“I must get my wand first thing I do,” she said in an awed undertone. +“It is useless to try to do anything without a wand.” + +The tiny boys were profoundly impressed, and, indeed, so was I. I felt +that at last, I should, if I behaved properly, see the fairies, which +had hitherto avoided my materialistic gaze. It was an enchanting moment, +for there appeared, just then, to be nothing commonplace about life. + +There was a swale near by, and into this the little girl plunged. I +could see her red straw hat bobbing about among the tall rushes, and I +wondered if there were snakes. + +“Do you think there are snakes?” I asked one of the tiny boys. + +“If there are,” he said with conviction, “they won't dare hurt her.” + +He convinced me. I feared no more. Presently Elsbeth came out of the +swale. In her hand was a brown “cattail,” perfectly full and round. She +carried it as queens carry their sceptres--the beautiful queens we dream +of in our youth. + +“Come,” she commanded, and waved the sceptre in a fine manner. So we +followed, each tiny boy gripping my hand tight. We were all three a +trifle awed. Elsbeth led us into a dark underbrush. The branches, as +they flew back in our faces, left them wet with dew. A wee path, made by +the girl's dear feet, guided our footsteps. Perfumes of elderberry and +wild cucumber scented the air. A bird, frightened from its nest, made +frantic cries above our heads. The underbrush thickened. Presently the +gloom of the hemlocks was over us, and in the midst of the shadowy green +a tulip tree flaunted its leaves. Waves boomed and broke upon the +shore below. There was a growing dampness as we went on, treading very +lightly. A little green snake ran coquettishly from us. A fat and glossy +squirrel chattered at us from a safe height, stroking his whiskers with +a complaisant air. + +At length we reached the “place.” It was a circle of velvet grass, +bright as the first blades of spring, delicate as fine sea-ferns. The +sunlight, falling down the shaft between the hemlocks, flooded it with +a softened light and made the forest round about look like deep purple +velvet. My little godchild stood in the midst and raised her wand +impressively. + +“This is my place,” she said, with a sort of wonderful gladness in her +tone. “This is where I come to the fairy balls. Do you see them?” + +“See what?” whispered one tiny boy. + +“The fairies.” + +There was a silence. The older boy pulled at my skirt. + +“Do YOU see them?” he asked, his voice trembling with expectancy. + +“Indeed,” I said, “I fear I am too old and wicked to see fairies, and +yet--are their hats red?” + +“They are,” laughed my little girl. “Their hats are red, and as +small--as small!” She held up the pearly nail of her wee finger to give +us the correct idea. + +“And their shoes are very pointed at the toes?” + +“Oh, very pointed!” + +“And their garments are green?” + +“As green as grass.” + +“And they blow little horns?” + +“The sweetest little horns!” + +“I think I see them,” I cried. + +“We think we see them too,” said the tiny boys, laughing in perfect +glee. + +“And you hear their horns, don't you?” my little godchild asked somewhat +anxiously. + +“Don't we hear their horns?” I asked the tiny boys. + +“We think we hear their horns,” they cried. “Don't you think we do?” + +“It must be we do,” I said. “Aren't we very, very happy?” + +We all laughed softly. Then we kissed each other and Elsbeth led us out, +her wand high in the air. + +And so my feet found the lost path to Arcady. + +The next day I was called to the Pacific coast, and duty kept me there +till well into December. A few days before the date set for my return to +my home, a letter came from Elsbeth's mother. + +“Our little girl is gone into the Unknown,” she wrote--“that Unknown in +which she seemed to be forever trying to pry. We knew she was going, and +we told her. She was quite brave, but she begged us to try some way to +keep her till after Christmas. 'My presents are not finished yet,' she +made moan. 'And I did so want to see what I was going to have. You can't +have a very happy Christmas without me, I should think. Can you arrange +to keep me somehow till after then?' We could not 'arrange' either with +God in heaven or science upon earth, and she is gone.” + +She was only my little godchild, and I am an old maid, with no business +fretting over children, but it seemed as if the medium of light and +beauty had been taken from me. Through this crystal soul I had perceived +whatever was loveliest. However, what was, was! I returned to my home +and took up a course of Egyptian history, and determined to concern +myself with nothing this side the Ptolemies. + +Her mother has told me how, on Christmas eve, as usual, she and +Elsbeth's father filled the stockings of the little ones, and hung them, +where they had always hung, by the fireplace. They had little heart for +the task, but they had been prodigal that year in their expenditures, +and had heaped upon the two tiny boys all the treasures they thought +would appeal to them. They asked themselves how they could have been +so insane previously as to exercise economy at Christmas time, and what +they meant by not getting Elsbeth the autoharp she had asked for the +year before. + +“And now--” began her father, thinking of harps. But he could not +complete this sentence, of course, and the two went on passionately and +almost angrily with their task. There were two stockings and two piles +of toys. Two stockings only, and only two piles of toys! Two is very +little! + +They went away and left the darkened room, and after a time they +slept--after a long time. Perhaps that was about the time the tiny boys +awoke, and, putting on their little dressing gowns and bed slippers, +made a dash for the room where the Christmas things were always placed. +The older one carried a candle which gave out a feeble light. The other +followed behind through the silent house. They were very impatient and +eager, but when they reached the door of the sitting-room they stopped, +for they saw that another child was before them. + +It was a delicate little creature, sitting in her white night gown, with +two rumpled funny braids falling down her back, and she seemed to be +weeping. As they watched, she arose, and putting out one slender +finger as a child does when she counts, she made sure over and over +again--three sad times--that there were only two stockings and two piles +of toys! Only those and no more. + +The little figure looked so familiar that the boys started toward it, +but just then, putting up her arm and bowing her face in it, as Elsbeth +had been used to do when she wept or was offended, the little thing +glided away and went out. That's what the boys said. It went out as a +candle goes out. + +They ran and woke their parents with the tale, and all the house was +searched in a wonderment, and disbelief, and hope, and tumult! But +nothing was found. For nights they watched. But there was only the +silent house. Only the empty rooms. They told the boys they must have +been mistaken. But the boys shook their heads. + +“We know our Elsbeth,” said they. “It was our Elsbeth, cryin' 'cause she +hadn't no stockin' an' no toys, and we would have given her all ours, +only she went out--jus' went out!” + +Alack! + +The next Christmas I helped with the little festival. It was none of +my affair, but I asked to help, and they let me, and when we were all +through there were three stockings and three piles of toys, and in the +largest one was all the things that I could think of that my dear child +would love. I locked the boys' chamber that night, and I slept on the +divan in the parlor off the sitting-room. I slept but little, and the +night was very still--so windless and white and still that I think I +must have heard the slightest noise. Yet I heard none. Had I been in my +grave I think my ears would not have remained more unsaluted. + +Yet when daylight came and I went to unlock the boys' bedchamber door, +I saw that the stocking and all the treasures which I had bought for my +little godchild were gone. There was not a vestige of them remaining! + +Of course we told the boys nothing. As for me, after dinner I went home +and buried myself once more in my history, and so interested was I that +midnight came without my knowing it. I should not have looked up at all, +I suppose, to become aware of the time, had it not been for a faint, +sweet sound as of a child striking a stringed instrument. It was so +delicate and remote that I hardly heard it, but so joyous and tender +that I could not but listen, and when I heard it a second time it seemed +as if I caught the echo of a child's laugh. At first I was puzzled. Then +I remembered the little autoharp I had placed among the other things in +that pile of vanished toys. I said aloud: + +“Farewell, dear little ghost. Go rest. Rest in joy, dear little ghost. +Farewell, farewell.” + +That was years ago, but there has been silence since. Elsbeth was always +an obedient little thing. + + + + +A SPECTRAL COLLIE + +WILLIAM PERCY CECIL happened to be a younger son, so he left home--which +was England--and went to Kansas to ranch it. Thousands of younger sons +do the same, only their destination is not invariably Kansas. + +An agent at Wichita picked out Cecil's farm for him and sent the deeds +over to England before Cecil left. He said there was a house on the +place. So Cecil's mother fitted him out for America just as she had +fitted out another superfluous boy for Africa, and parted from him +with an heroic front and big agonies of mother-ache which she kept to +herself. + +The boy bore up the way a man of his blood ought, but when he went out +to the kennel to see Nita, his collie, he went to pieces somehow, and +rolled on the grass with her in his arms and wept like a booby. But the +remarkable part of it was that Nita wept too, big, hot dog tears which +her master wiped away. When he went off she howled like a hungry baby, +and had to be switched before she would give any one a night's sleep. + +When Cecil got over on his Kansas place he fitted up the shack as +cosily as he could, and learned how to fry bacon and make soda biscuits. +Incidentally, he did farming, and sunk a heap of money, finding out +how not to do things. Meantime, the Americans laughed at him, and were +inclined to turn the cold shoulder, and his compatriots, of whom there +were a number in the county, did not prove to his liking. They consoled +themselves for their exiled state in fashions not in keeping with +Cecil's traditions. His homesickness went deeper than theirs, perhaps, +and American whiskey could not make up for the loss of his English home, +nor flirtations with the gay American village girls quite compensate +him for the loss of his English mother. So he kept to himself and had +nostalgia as some men have consumption. + +At length the loneliness got so bad that he had to see some living thing +from home, or make a flunk of it and go back like a cry baby. He had +a stiff pride still, though he sobbed himself to sleep more than one +night, as many a pioneer has done before him. So he wrote home for Nita, +the collie, and got word that she would be sent. Arrangements were made +for her care all along the line, and she was properly boxed and shipped. + +As the time drew near for her arrival, Cecil could hardly eat. He +was too excited to apply himself to anything. The day of her expected +arrival he actually got up at five o'clock to clean the house and make +it look as fine as possible for her inspection. Then he hitched up and +drove fifteen miles to get her. The train pulled out just before he +reached the station, so Nita in her box was waiting for him on the +platform. He could see her in a queer way, as one sees the purple centre +of a revolving circle of light; for, to tell the truth, with the long +ride in the morning sun, and the beating of his heart, Cecil was only +about half-conscious of anything. He wanted to yell, but he didn't. +He kept himself in hand and lifted up the sliding side of the box and +called to Nita, and she came out. + +But it wasn't the man who fainted, though he might have done so, being +crazy homesick as he was, and half-fed and overworked while he was yet +soft from an easy life. No, it was the dog! She looked at her master's +face, gave one cry of inexpressible joy, and fell over in a real +feminine sort of a faint, and had to be brought to like any other lady, +with camphor and water and a few drops of spirit down her throat. Then +Cecil got up on the wagon seat, and she sat beside him with her head on +his arm, and they rode home in absolute silence, each feeling too much +for speech. After they reached home, however, Cecil showed her all over +the place, and she barked out her ideas in glad sociability. + +After that Cecil and Nita were inseparable. She walked beside him +all day when he was out with the cultivator, or when he was mowing or +reaping. She ate beside him at table and slept across his feet at night. +Evenings when he looked over the Graphic from home, or read the books +his mother sent him, that he might keep in touch with the world, Nita +was beside him, patient, but jealous. Then, when he threw his book or +paper down and took her on his knee and looked into her pretty eyes, or +frolicked with her, she fairly laughed with delight. + +In short, she was faithful with that faith of which only a dog is +capable--that unquestioning faith to which even the most loving women +never quite attain. + +However, Fate was annoyed at this perfect friendship. It didn't give her +enough to do, and Fate is a restless thing with a horrible appetite for +variety. So poor Nita died one day mysteriously, and gave her last +look to Cecil as a matter of course; and he held her paws till the last +moment, as a stanch friend should, and laid her away decently in a pine +box in the cornfield, where he could be shielded from public view if he +chose to go there now and then and sit beside her grave. + +He went to bed very lonely, indeed, the first night. The shack seemed +to him to be removed endless miles from the other habitations of men. +He seemed cut off from the world, and ached to hear the cheerful little +barks which Nita had been in the habit of giving him by way of good +night. Her amiable eye with its friendly light was missing, the gay wag +of her tail was gone; all her ridiculous ways, at which he was never +tired of laughing, were things of the past. + +He lay down, busy with these thoughts, yet so habituated to Nita's +presence, that when her weight rested upon his feet, as usual, he felt +no surprise. But after a moment it came to him that as she was dead the +weight he felt upon his feet could not be hers. And yet, there it was, +warm and comfortable, cuddling down in the familiar way. He actually +sat up and put his hand down to the foot of the bed to discover what +was there. But there was nothing there, save the weight. And that stayed +with him that night and many nights after. + +It happened that Cecil was a fool, as men will be when they are young, +and he worked too hard, and didn't take proper care of himself; and so +it came about that he fell sick with a low fever. He struggled around +for a few days, trying to work it off, but one morning he awoke only to +the consciousness of absurd dreams. He seemed to be on the sea, sailing +for home, and the boat was tossing and pitching in a weary circle, and +could make no headway. His heart was burning with impatience, but the +boat went round and round in that endless circle till he shrieked out +with agony. + +The next neighbors were the Taylors, who lived two miles and a half +away. They were awakened that morning by the howling of a dog before +their door. It was a hideous sound and would give them no peace. So +Charlie Taylor got up and opened the door, discovering there an excited +little collie. + +“Why, Tom,” he called, “I thought Cecil's collie was dead!” + +“She is,” called back Tom. + +“No, she ain't neither, for here she is, shakin' like an aspin, and a +beggin' me to go with her. Come out, Tom, and see.” + +It was Nita, no denying, and the men, perplexed, followed her to Cecil's +shack, where they found him babbling. + +But that was the last of her. Cecil said he never felt her on his +feet again. She had performed her final service for him, he said. +The neighbors tried to laugh at the story at first, but they knew the +Taylors wouldn't take the trouble to lie, and as for Cecil, no one would +have ventured to chaff him. + + + + +THE HOUSE THAT WAS NOT + + +BART FLEMING took his bride out to his ranch on the plains when she +was but seventeen years old, and the two set up housekeeping in three +hundred and twenty acres of corn and rye. Off toward the west there was +an unbroken sea of tossing corn at that time of the year when the bride +came out, and as her sewing window was on the side of the house which +faced the sunset, she passed a good part of each day looking into that +great rustling mass, breathing in its succulent odors and listening +to its sibilant melody. It was her picture gallery, her opera, her +spectacle, and, being sensible,--or perhaps, being merely happy,--she +made the most of it. + +When harvesting time came and the corn was cut, she had much +entertainment in discovering what lay beyond. The town was east, and it +chanced that she had never ridden west. So, when the rolling hills of +this newly beholden land lifted themselves for her contemplation, and +the harvest sun, all in an angry and sanguinary glow sank in the veiled +horizon, and at noon a scarf of golden vapor wavered up and down +along the earth line, it was as if a new world had been made for her. +Sometimes, at the coming of a storm, a whip-lash of purple cloud, full +of electric agility, snapped along the western horizon. + +“Oh, you'll see a lot of queer things on these here plains,” her husband +said when she spoke to him of these phenomena. “I guess what you see is +the wind.” + +“The wind!” cried Flora. “You can't see the wind, Bart.” + +“Now look here, Flora,” returned Bart, with benevolent emphasis, “you're +a smart one, but you don't know all I know about this here country. I've +lived here three mortal years, waitin' for you to git up out of your +mother's arms and come out to keep me company, and I know what there is +to know. Some things out here is queer--so queer folks wouldn't believe +'em unless they saw. An' some's so pig-headed they don't believe their +own eyes. As for th' wind, if you lay down flat and squint toward th' +west, you can see it blowin' along near th' ground, like a big ribbon; +an' sometimes it's th' color of air, an' sometimes it's silver an' gold, +an' sometimes, when a storm is comin', it's purple.” + +“If you got so tired looking at the wind, why didn't you marry some +other girl, Bart, instead of waiting for me?” + +Flora was more interested in the first part of Bart's speech than in the +last. + +“Oh, come on!” protested Bart, and he picked her up in his arms and +jumped her toward the ceiling of the low shack as if she were a little +girl--but then, to be sure, she wasn't much more. + +Of all the things Flora saw when the corn was cut down, nothing +interested her so much as a low cottage, something like her own, which +lay away in the distance. She could not guess how far it might be, +because distances are deceiving out there, where the altitude is high +and the air is as clear as one of those mystic balls of glass in which +the sallow mystics of India see the moving shadows of the future. + +She had not known there were neighbors so near, and she wondered for +several days about them before she ventured to say anything to Bart +on the subject. Indeed, for some reason which she did not attempt to +explain to herself, she felt shy about broaching the matter. Perhaps +Bart did not want her to know the people. The thought came to her, +as naughty thoughts will come, even to the best of persons, that some +handsome young men might be “baching” it out there by themselves, and +Bart didn't wish her to make their acquaintance. Bart had flattered her +so much that she had actually begun to think herself beautiful, though +as a matter of fact she was only a nice little girl with a lot of +reddish-brown hair, and a bright pair of reddish-brown eyes in a white +face. + +“Bart,” she ventured one evening, as the sun, at its fiercest, rushed +toward the great black hollow of the west, “who lives over there in that +shack?” + +She turned away from the window where she had been looking at the +incarnadined disk, and she thought she saw Bart turn pale. But then, +her eyes were so blurred with the glory she had been gazing at, that she +might easily have been mistaken. + +“I say, Bart, why don't you speak? If there's any one around to +associate with, I should think you'd let me have the benefit of their +company. It isn't as funny as you think, staying here alone days and +days.” + +“You ain't gettin' homesick, be you, sweetheart?” cried Bart, putting +his arms around her. “You ain't gettin' tired of my society, be yeh?” + +It took some time to answer this question in a satisfactory manner, but +at length Flora was able to return to her original topic. + +“But the shack, Bart! Who lives there, anyway?” + +“I'm not acquainted with 'em,” said Bart, sharply. “Ain't them biscuits +done, Flora?” + +Then, of course, she grew obstinate. + +“Those biscuits will never be done, Bart, till I know about that house, +and why you never spoke of it, and why nobody ever comes down the road +from there. Some one lives there I know, for in the mornings and at +night I see the smoke coming out of the chimney.” + +“Do you now?” cried Bart, opening his eyes and looking at her with +unfeigned interest. “Well, do you know, sometimes I've fancied I seen +that too?” + +“Well, why not,” cried Flora, in half anger. “Why shouldn't you?” + +“See here, Flora, take them biscuits out an' listen to me. There ain't +no house there. Hello! I didn't know you'd go for to drop the biscuits. +Wait, I'll help you pick 'em up. By cracky, they're hot, ain't they? +What you puttin' a towel over 'em for? Well, you set down here on my +knee, so. Now you look over at that there house. You see it, don't yeh? +Well, it ain't there! No! I saw it the first week I was out here. I was +jus' half dyin', thinkin' of you an' wonderin' why you didn't +write. That was the time you was mad at me. So I rode over there one +day--lookin' up company, so t' speak--and there wa'n't no house there. I +spent all one Sunday lookin' for it. Then I spoke to Jim Geary about +it. He laughed an' got a little white about th' gills, an' he said he +guessed I'd have to look a good while before I found it. He said that +there shack was an ole joke.” + +“Why--what--” + +“Well, this here is th' story he tol' me. He said a man an' his wife +come out here t' live an' put up that there little place. An' she was +young, you know, an' kind o' skeery, and she got lonesome. It worked on +her an' worked on her, an' one day she up an' killed the baby an' her +husband an' herself. Th' folks found 'em and buried 'em right there on +their own ground. Well, about two weeks after that, th' house was burned +down. Don't know how. Tramps, maybe. Anyhow, it burned. At least, I +guess it burned!” + +“You guess it burned!” + +“Well, it ain't there, you know.” + +“But if it burned the ashes are there.” + +“All right, girlie, they're there then. Now let's have tea.” + +This they proceeded to do, and were happy and cheerful all evening, +but that didn't keep Flora from rising at the first flush of dawn and +stealing out of the house. She looked away over west as she went to +the barn and there, dark and firm against the horizon, stood the +little house against the pellucid sky of morning. She got on Ginger's +back--Ginger being her own yellow broncho--and set off at a hard pace +for the house. It didn't appear to come any nearer, but the objects +which had seemed to be beside it came closer into view, and Flora +pressed on, with her mind steeled for anything. But as she approached +the poplar windbreak which stood to the north of the house, the little +shack waned like a shadow before her. It faded and dimmed before her +eyes. + +She slapped Ginger's flanks and kept him going, and she at last got him +up to the spot. But there was nothing there. The bunch grass grew tall +and rank and in the midst of it lay a baby's shoe. Flora thought of +picking it up, but something cold in her veins withheld her. Then she +grew angry, and set Ginger's head toward the place and tried to drive +him over it. But the yellow broncho gave one snort of fear, gathered +himself in a bunch, and then, all tense, leaping muscles, made for home +as only a broncho can. + + + + +STORY OF AN OBSTINATE CORPSE + + +VIRGIL HOYT is a photographer's assistant up at St. Paul, and enjoys +his work without being consumed by it. He has been in search of the +picturesque all over the West and hundreds of miles to the north, in +Canada, and can speak three or four Indian dialects and put a canoe +through the rapids. That is to say, he is a man of adventure, and no +dreamer. He can fight well and shoot better, and swim so as to put up a +winning race with the Indian boys, and he can sit in the saddle all day +and not worry about it to-morrow. + +Wherever he goes, he carries a camera. + +“The world,” Hoyt is in the habit of saying to those who sit with him +when he smokes his pipe, “was created in six days to be photographed. +Man--and particularly woman--was made for the same purpose. Clouds +are not made to give moisture nor trees to cast shade. They have been +created in order to give the camera obscura something to do.” + +In short, Virgil Hoyt's view of the world is whimsical, and he likes to +be bothered neither with the disagreeable nor the mysterious. That +is the reason he loathes and detests going to a house of mourning to +photograph a corpse. The bad taste of it offends him, but above all, +he doesn't like the necessity of shouldering, even for a few moments, a +part of the burden of sorrow which belongs to some one else. He dislikes +sorrow, and would willingly canoe five hundred miles up the cold +Canadian rivers to get rid of it. Nevertheless, as assistant +photographer, it is often his duty to do this very kind of thing. + +Not long ago he was sent for by a rich Jewish family to photograph the +remains of the mother, who had just died. He was put out, but he was +only an assistant, and he went. He was taken to the front parlor, where +the dead woman lay in her coffin. It was evident to him that there was +some excitement in the household, and that a discussion was going on. +But Hoyt said to himself that it didn't concern him, and he therefore +paid no attention to it. + +The daughter wanted the coffin turned on end in order that the corpse +might face the camera properly, but Hoyt said he could overcome the +recumbent attitude and make it appear that the face was taken in the +position it would naturally hold in life, and so they went out and left +him alone with the dead. + +The face of the deceased was a strong and positive one, such as +may often be seen among Jewish matrons. Hoyt regarded it with some +admiration, thinking to himself that she was a woman who had known +what she wanted, and who, once having made up her mind, would prove +immovable. Such a character appealed to Hoyt. He reflected that he +might have married if only he could have found a woman with strength of +character sufficient to disagree with him. There was a strand of hair +out of place on the dead woman's brow, and he gently pushed it back. +A bud lifted its head too high from among the roses on her breast and +spoiled the contour of the chin, so he broke it off. He remembered these +things later with keen distinctness, and that his hand touched her chill +face two or three times in the making of his arrangements. + +Then he took the impression, and left the house. + +He was busy at the time with some railroad work, and several days passed +before he found opportunity to develop the plates. He took them from +the bath in which they had lain with a number of others, and went +energetically to work upon them, whistling some very saucy songs he had +learned of the guide in the Red River country, and trying to forget that +the face which was presently to appear was that of a dead woman. He had +used three plates as a precaution against accident, and they came +up well. But as they developed, he became aware of the existence of +something in the photograph which had not been apparent to his eye +in the subject. He was irritated, and without attempting to face the +mystery, he made a few prints and laid them aside, ardently hoping that +by some chance they would never be called for. + +However, as luck would have it,--and Hoyt's luck never had been +good,--his employer asked one day what had become of those photographs. +Hoyt tried to evade making an answer, but the effort was futile, and he +had to get out the finished prints and exhibit them. The older man sat +staring at them a long time. + +“Hoyt,” he said, “you're a young man, and very likely you have never +seen anything like this before. But I have. Not exactly the same thing, +perhaps, but similar phenomena have come my way a number of times since +I went in the business, and I want to tell you there are things in +heaven and earth not dreamt of--” + +“Oh, I know all that tommy-rot,” cried Hoyt, angrily, “but when anything +happens I want to know the reason why and how it is done.” + +“All right,” answered his employer, “then you might explain why and how +the sun rises.” + +But he humored the young man sufficiently to examine with him the baths +in which the plates were submerged, and the plates themselves. All was +as it should be; but the mystery was there, and could not be done away +with. + +Hoyt hoped against hope that the friends of the dead woman would somehow +forget about the photographs; but the idea was unreasonable, and one +day, as a matter of course, the daughter appeared and asked to see the +pictures of her mother. + +“Well, to tell the truth,” stammered Hoyt, “they didn't come out +quite--quite as well as we could wish.” + +“But let me see them,” persisted the lady. “I'd like to look at them +anyhow.” + +“Well, now,” said Hoyt, trying to be soothing, as he believed it was +always best to be with women,--to tell the truth he was an ignoramus +where women were concerned,--“I think it would be better if you didn't +look at them. There are reasons why--” he ambled on like this, stupid +man that he was, till the lady naturally insisted upon seeing the +pictures without a moment's delay. + +So poor Hoyt brought them out and placed them in her hand, and then +ran for the water pitcher, and had to be at the bother of bathing her +forehead to keep her from fainting. + +For what the lady saw was this: Over face and flowers and the head of +the coffin fell a thick veil, the edges of which touched the floor in +some places. It covered the features so well that not a hint of them was +visible. + +“There was nothing over mother's face!” cried the lady at length. + +“Not a thing,” acquiesced Hoyt. “I know, because I had occasion to touch +her face just before I took the picture. I put some of her hair back +from her brow.” + +“What does it mean, then?” asked the lady. + +“You know better than I. There is no explanation in science. Perhaps +there is some in--in psychology.” + +“Well,” said the young woman, stammering a little and coloring, “mother +was a good woman, but she always wanted her own way, and she always had +it, too.” + +“Yes.” + +“And she never would have her picture taken. She didn't admire her own +appearance. She said no one should ever see a picture of her.” + +“So?” said Hoyt, meditatively. “Well, she's kept her word, hasn't she?” + +The two stood looking at the photographs for a time. Then Hoyt pointed +to the open blaze in the grate. + +“Throw them in,” he commanded. “Don't let your father see them--don't +keep them yourself. They wouldn't be agreeable things to keep.” + +“That's true enough,” admitted the lady. And she threw them in the fire. +Then Virgil Hoyt brought out the plates and broke them before her eyes. + +And that was the end of it--except that Hoyt sometimes tells the story +to those who sit beside him when his pipe is lighted. + + + + +A CHILD OF THE RAIN + + +IT was the night that Mona Meeks, the dressmaker, told him she didn't +love him. He couldn't believe it at first, because he had so long been +accustomed to the idea that she did, and no matter how rough the weather +or how irascible the passengers, he felt a song in his heart as he +punched transfers, and rang his bell punch, and signalled the driver +when to let people off and on. + +Now, suddenly, with no reason except a woman's, she had changed her +mind. He dropped in to see her at five o'clock, just before time for the +night shift, and to give her two red apples he had been saving for her. +She looked at the apples as if they were invisible and she could not see +them, and standing in her disorderly little dressmaking parlor, with its +cuttings and scraps and litter of fabrics, she said: + +“It is no use, John. I shall have to work here like this all my +life--work here alone. For I don't love you, John. No, I don't. I +thought I did, but it is a mistake.” + +“You mean it?” asked John, bringing up the words in a great gasp. + +“Yes,” she said, white and trembling and putting out her hands as if to +beg for his mercy. And then--big, lumbering fool--he turned around +and strode down the stairs and stood at the corner in the beating rain +waiting for his car. It came along at length, spluttering on the wet +rails and spitting out blue fire, and he took his shift after a gruff +“Good night” to Johnson, the man he relieved. + +He was glad the rain was bitter cold and drove in his face fiercely. +He rejoiced at the cruelty of the wind, and when it hustled pedestrians +before it, lashing them, twisting their clothes, and threatening their +equilibrium, he felt amused. He was pleased at the chill in his bones +and at the hunger that tortured him. At least, at first he thought it +was hunger till he remembered that he had just eaten. The hours passed +confusedly. He had no consciousness of time. But it must have been +late,--near midnight,--judging by the fact that there were few persons +visible anywhere in the black storm, when he noticed a little figure +sitting at the far end of the car. He had not seen the child when she +got on, but all was so curious and wild to him that evening--he himself +seemed to himself the most curious and the wildest of all things--that +it was not surprising that he should not have observed the little +creature. + +She was wrapped in a coat so much too large that it had become frayed +at the bottom from dragging on the pavement. Her hair hung in unkempt +stringiness about her bent shoulders, and her feet were covered with old +arctics, many sizes too big, from which the soles hung loose. + +Beside the little figure was a chest of dark wood, with curiously +wrought hasps. From this depended a stout strap by which it could be +carried over the shoulders. John Billings stared in, fascinated by the +poor little thing with its head sadly drooping upon its breast, its thin +blue hands relaxed upon its lap, and its whole attitude so suggestive +of hunger, loneliness, and fatigue, that he made up his mind he would +collect no fare from it. + +“It will need its nickel for breakfast,” he said to himself. “The +company can stand this for once. Or, come to think of it, I might +celebrate my hard luck. Here's to the brotherhood of failures!” And +he took a nickel from one pocket of his great-coat and dropped it in +another, ringing his bell punch to record the transfer. + +The car plunged along in the darkness, and the rain beat more viciously +than ever in his face. The night was full of the rushing sound of the +storm. Owing to some change of temperature the glass of the car became +obscured so that the young conductor could no longer see the little +figure distinctly, and he grew anxious about the child. + +“I wonder if it's all right,” he said to himself. “I never saw living +creature sit so still.” + +He opened the car door, intending to speak with the child, but just +then something went wrong with the lights. There was a blue and green +flickering, then darkness, a sudden halting of the car, and a great +sweep of wind and rain in at the door. When, after a moment, light and +motion reasserted themselves, and Billings had got the door together, he +turned to look at the little passenger. But the car was empty. + +It was a fact. There was no child there--not even moisture on the seat +where she had been sitting. + +“Bill,” said he, going to the front door and addressing the driver, +“what became of that little kid in the old cloak?” + +“I didn't see no kid,” said Bill, crossly. “For Gawd's sake, close the +door, John, and git that draught off my back.” + +“Draught!” said John, indignantly, “where's the draught?” + +“You've left the hind door open,” growled Bill, and John saw him +shivering as a blast struck him and ruffled the fur on his bear-skin +coat. But the door was not open, and yet John had to admit to himself +that the car seemed filled with wind and a strange coldness. + +However, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered! Still, it was as well no +doubt to look under the seats just to make sure no little crouching +figure was there, and so he did. But there was nothing. In fact, John +said to himself, he seemed to be getting expert in finding nothing where +there ought to be something. + +He might have stayed in the car, for there was no likelihood of more +passengers that evening, but somehow he preferred going out where the +rain could drench him and the wind pommel him. How horribly tired he +was! If there were only some still place away from the blare of the city +where a man could lie down and listen to the sound of the sea or the +storm--or if one could grow suddenly old and get through with the bother +of living--or if-- + +The car gave a sudden lurch as it rounded a curve, and for a moment it +seemed to be a mere chance whether Conductor Billings would stay on +his platform or go off under those fire-spitting wheels. He caught +instinctively at his brake, saved himself, and stood still for a moment, +panting. + +“I must have dozed,” he said to himself. + +Just then, dimly, through the blurred window, he saw again the little +figure of the child, its head on its breast as before, its blue hands +lying in its lap and the curious box beside it. John Billings felt a +coldness beyond the coldness of the night run through his blood. Then, +with a half-stifled cry, he threw back the door, and made a desperate +spring at the corner where the eerie thing sat. + +And he touched the green carpeting on the seat, which was quite dry +and warm, as if no dripping, miserable little wretch had ever crouched +there. + +He rushed to the front door. + +“Bill,” he roared, “I want to know about that kid.” + +“What kid?” + +“The same kid! The wet one with the old coat and the box with iron +hasps! The one that's been sitting here in the car!” + +Bill turned his surly face to confront the young conductor. + +“You've been drinking, you fool,” said he. “Fust thing you know you'll +be reported.” + +The conductor said not a word. He went slowly and weakly back to his +post and stood there the rest of the way leaning against the end of the +car for support. Once or twice he muttered: + +“The poor little brat!” And again he said, “So you didn't love me after +all!” + +He never knew how he reached home, but he sank to sleep as dying men +sink to death. All the same, being a hearty young man, he was on duty +again next day but one, and again the night was rainy and cold. + +It was the last run, and the car was spinning along at its limit, when +there came a sudden soft shock. John Billings knew what that meant. He +had felt something of the kind once before. He turned sick for a moment, +and held on to the brake. Then he summoned his courage and went around +to the side of the car, which had stopped. Bill, the driver, was before +him, and had a limp little figure in his arms, and was carrying it to +the gaslight. John gave one look and cried: + +“It's the same kid, Bill! The one I told you of!” + +True as truth were the ragged coat dangling from the pitiful body, the +little blue hands, the thin shoulders, the stringy hair, the big arctics +on the feet. And in the road not far off was the curious chest of dark +wood with iron hasps. + +“She ran under the car deliberate!” cried Bill. “I yelled to her, but +she looked at me and ran straight on!” + +He was white in spite of his weather-beaten skin. + +“I guess you wasn't drunk last night after all, John,” said he. + +“You--you are sure the kid is--is there?” gasped John. + +“Not so damned sure!” said Bill. + +But a few minutes later it was taken away in a patrol wagon, and with it +the little box with iron hasps. + + + + +THE ROOM OF THE EVIL THOUGHT + + +THEY called it the room of the Evil Thought. It was really the +pleasantest room in the house, and when the place had been used as the +rectory, was the minister's study. It looked out on a mournful clump +of larches, such as may often be seen in the old-fashioned yards in +Michigan, and these threw a tender gloom over the apartment. + +There was a wide fireplace in the room, and it had been the young +minister's habit to sit there hours and hours, staring ahead of him at +the fire, and smoking moodily. The replenishing of the fire and of his +pipe, it was said, would afford him occupation all the day long, and +that was how it came about that his parochial duties were neglected so +that, little by little, the people became dissatisfied with him, though +he was an eloquent young man, who could send his congregation away drunk +on his influence. However, the calmer pulsed among his parish began to +whisper that it was indeed the influence of the young minister and not +that of the Holy Ghost which they felt, and it was finally decided +that neither animal magnetism nor hypnotism were good substitutes for +religion. And so they let him go. + +The new rector moved into a smart brick house on the other side of the +church, and gave receptions and dinner parties, and was punctilious +about making his calls. The people therefore liked him very much--so +much that they raised the debt on the church and bought a chime of +bells, in their enthusiasm. Every one was lighter of heart than under +the ministration of the previous rector. A burden appeared to be lifted +from the community. True, there were a few who confessed the new man +did not give them the food for thought which the old one had done, but, +then, the former rector had made them uncomfortable! He had not only +made them conscious of the sins of which they were already guilty, but +also of those for which they had the latent capacity. A strange and +fatal man, whom women loved to their sorrow, and whom simple men could +not understand! It was generally agreed that the parish was well rid of +him. + +“He was a genius,” said the people in commiseration. The word was an +uncomplimentary epithet with them. + +When the Hanscoms moved in the house which had been the old rectory, +they gave Grandma Hanscom the room with the fireplace. Grandma was well +pleased. The roaring fire warmed her heart as well as her chill old +body, and she wept with weak joy when she looked at the larches, because +they reminded her of the house she had lived in when she was first +married. All the forenoon of the first day she was busy putting things +away in bureau drawers and closets, but by afternoon she was ready to +sit down in her high-backed rocker and enjoy the comforts of her room. + +She nodded a bit before the fire, as she usually did after luncheon, and +then she awoke with an awful start and sat staring before her with such +a look in her gentle, filmy old eyes as had never been there before. +She did not move, except to rock slightly, and the Thought grew and grew +till her face was disguised as by some hideous mask of tragedy. + +By and by the children came pounding at the door. + +“Oh, grandma, let us in, please. We want to see your new room, and mamma +gave us some ginger cookies on a plate, and we want to give some to +you.” + +The door gave way under their assaults, and the three little ones stood +peeping in, waiting for permission to enter. But it did not seem to be +their grandma--their own dear grandma--who arose and tottered toward +them in fierce haste, crying: + +“Away, away! Out of my sight! Out of my sight before I do the thing I +want to do! Such a terrible thing! Send some one to me quick, children, +children! Send some one quick!” + +They fled with feet shod with fear, and their mother came, and Grandma +Hanscom sank down and clung about her skirts and sobbed: + +“Tie me, Miranda. Make me fast to the bed or the wall. Get some one to +watch me. For I want to do an awful thing!” + +They put the trembling old creature in bed, and she raved there all +the night long and cried out to be held, and to be kept from doing the +fearful thing, whatever it was--for she never said what it was. + +The next morning some one suggested taking her in the sitting-room +where she would be with the family. So they laid her on the sofa, hemmed +around with cushions, and before long she was her quiet self again, +though exhausted, naturally, with the tumult of the previous night. +Now and then, as the children played about her, a shadow crept over +her face--a shadow as of cold remembrance--and then the perplexed tears +followed. + +When she seemed as well as ever they put her back in her room. But +though the fire glowed and the lamp burned, as soon as ever she was +alone they heard her shrill cries ringing to them that the Evil Thought +had come again. So Hal, who was home from college, carried her up to his +room, which she seemed to like very well. Then he went down to have a +smoke before grandma's fire. + +The next morning he was absent from breakfast. They thought he might +have gone for an early walk, and waited for him a few minutes. Then +his sister went to the room that looked upon the larches, and found him +dressed and pacing the floor with a face set and stern. He had not been +in bed at all, as she saw at once. His eyes were bloodshot, his face +stricken as if with old age or sin or--but she could not make it out. +When he saw her he sank in a chair and covered his face with his hands, +and between the trembling fingers she could see drops of perspiration on +his forehead. + +“Hal!” she cried, “Hal, what is it?” + +But for answer he threw his arms about the little table and clung to +it, and looked at her with tortured eyes, in which she fancied she saw +a gleam of hate. She ran, screaming, from the room, and her father came +and went up to him and laid his hands on the boy's shoulders. And then +a fearful thing happened. All the family saw it. There could be no +mistake. Hal's hands found their way with frantic eagerness toward his +father's throat as if they would choke him, and the look in his eyes was +so like a madman's that his father raised his fist and felled him as he +used to fell men years before in the college fights, and then dragged +him into the sitting-room and wept over him. + +By evening, however, Hal was all right, and the family said it must have +been a fever,--perhaps from overstudy,--at which Hal covertly smiled. +But his father was still too anxious about him to let him out of his +sight, so he put him on a cot in his room, and thus it chanced that the +mother and Grace concluded to sleep together downstairs. + +The two women made a sort of festival of it, and drank little cups of +chocolate before the fire, and undid and brushed their brown braids, +and smiled at each other, understandingly, with that sweet intuitive +sympathy which women have, and Grace told her mother a number of things +which she had been waiting for just such an auspicious occasion to +confide. + +But the larches were noisy and cried out with wild voices, and the flame +of the fire grew blue and swirled about in the draught sinuously, so +that a chill crept upon the two. Something cold appeared to envelop +them--such a chill as pleasure voyagers feel when a berg steals beyond +Newfoundland and glows blue and threatening upon their ocean path. + +Then came something else which was not cold, but hot as the flames of +hell--and they saw red, and stared at each other with maddened eyes, and +then ran together from the room and clasped in close embrace safe beyond +the fatal place, and thanked God they had not done the thing that they +dared not speak of--the thing which suddenly came to them to do. + +So they called it the room of the Evil Thought. They could not account +for it. They avoided the thought of it, being healthy and happy folk. +But none entered it more. The door was locked. + +One day, Hal, reading the paper, came across a paragraph concerning the +young minister who had once lived there, and who had thought and +written there and so influenced the lives of those about him that they +remembered him even while they disapproved. + +“He cut a man's throat on board ship for Australia,” said he, “and then +he cut his own, without fatal effect--and jumped overboard, and so ended +it. What a strange thing!” + +Then they all looked at one another with subtle looks, and a shadow fell +upon them and stayed the blood at their hearts. + +The next week the room of the Evil Thought was pulled down to make way +for a pansy bed, which is quite gay and innocent, and blooms all the +better because the larches, with their eternal murmuring, have been laid +low and carted away to the sawmill. + + + + +STORY OF THE VANISHING PATIENT + + +THERE had always been strange stories about the house, but it was a +sensible, comfortable sort of a neighborhood, and people took pains to +say to one another that there was nothing in these tales--of course +not! Absolutely nothing! How could there be? It was a matter of common +remark, however, that considering the amount of money the Nethertons had +spent on the place, it was curious they lived there so little. They +were nearly always away,--up North in the summer and down South in the +winter, and over to Paris or London now and then,--and when they did +come home it was only to entertain a number of guests from the city. The +place was either plunged in gloom or gayety. The old gardener who kept +house by himself in the cottage at the back of the yard had things much +his own way by far the greater part of the time. + +Dr. Block and his wife lived next door to the Nethertons, and he and his +wife, who were so absurd as to be very happy in each other's company, +had the benefit of the beautiful yard. They walked there mornings when +the leaves were silvered with dew, and evenings they sat beside the lily +pond and listened for the whip-poor-will. The doctor's wife moved her +room over to that side of the house which commanded a view of the yard, +and thus made the honeysuckles and laurel and clematis and all the +masses of tossing greenery her own. Sitting there day after day with +her sewing, she speculated about the mystery which hung impalpably yet +undeniably over the house. + +It happened one night when she and her husband had gone to their room, +and were congratulating themselves on the fact that he had no very sick +patients and was likely to enjoy a good night's rest, that a ring came +at the door. + +“If it's any one wanting you to leave home,” warned his wife, “you must +tell them you are all worn out. You've been disturbed every night this +week, and it's too much!” + +The young physician went downstairs. At the door stood a man whom he had +never seen before. + +“My wife is lying very ill next door,” said the stranger, “so ill that +I fear she will not live till morning. Will you please come to her at +once?” + +“Next door?” cried the physician. “I didn't know the Nethertons were +home!” + +“Please hasten,” begged the man. “I must go back to her. Follow as +quickly as you can.” + +The doctor went back upstairs to complete his toilet. + +“How absurd,” protested his wife when she heard the story. “There is no +one at the Nethertons'. I sit where I can see the front door, and no one +can enter without my knowing it, and I have been sewing by the window +all day. If there were any one in the house, the gardener would have the +porch lantern lighted. It is some plot. Some one has designs on you. You +must not go.” + +But he went. As he left the room his wife placed a revolver in his +pocket. + +The great porch of the mansion was dark, but the physician made out that +the door was open, and he entered. A feeble light came from the bronze +lamp at the turn of the stairs, and by it he found his way, his feet +sinking noiselessly in the rich carpets. At the head of the stairs the +man met him. The doctor thought himself a tall man, but the stranger +topped him by half a head. He motioned the physician to follow him, and +the two went down the hall to the front room. The place was flushed with +a rose-colored glow from several lamps. On a silken couch, in the midst +of pillows, lay a woman dying with consumption. She was like a lily, +white, shapely, graceful, with feeble yet charming movements. She looked +at the doctor appealingly, then, seeing in his eyes the involuntary +verdict that her hour was at hand, she turned toward her companion with +a glance of anguish. Dr. Block asked a few questions. The man answered +them, the woman remaining silent. The physician administered something +stimulating, and then wrote a prescription which he placed on the +mantel-shelf. + +“The drug store is closed to-night,” he said, “and I fear the druggist +has gone home. You can have the prescription filled the first thing in +the morning, and I will be over before breakfast.” + +After that, there was no reason why he should not have gone home. Yet, +oddly enough, he preferred to stay. Nor was it professional anxiety that +prompted this delay. He longed to watch those mysterious persons, who, +almost oblivious of his presence, were speaking their mortal farewells +in their glances, which were impassioned and of unutterable sadness. + +He sat as if fascinated. He watched the glitter of rings on the woman's +long, white hands, he noted the waving of light hair about her temples, +he observed the details of her gown of soft white silk which fell about +her in voluminous folds. Now and then the man gave her of the stimulant +which the doctor had provided; sometimes he bathed her face with water. +Once he paced the floor for a moment till a motion of her hand quieted +him. + +After a time, feeling that it would be more sensible and considerate +of him to leave, the doctor made his way home. His wife was awake, +impatient to hear of his experiences. She listened to his tale in +silence, and when he had finished she turned her face to the wall and +made no comment. + +“You seem to be ill, my dear,” he said. “You have a chill. You are +shivering.” + +“I have no chill,” she replied sharply. “But I--well, you may leave the +light burning.” + +The next morning before breakfast the doctor crossed the dewy sward to +the Netherton house. The front door was locked, and no one answered to +his repeated ringings. The old gardener chanced to be cutting the grass +near at hand, and he came running up. + +“What you ringin' that door-bell for, doctor?” said he. “The folks ain't +come home yet. There ain't nobody there.” + +“Yes, there is, Jim. I was called here last night. A man came for me to +attend his wife. They must both have fallen asleep that the bell is not +answered. I wouldn't be surprised to find her dead, as a matter of fact. +She was a desperately sick woman. Perhaps she is dead and something has +happened to him. You have the key to the door, Jim. Let me in.” + +But the old man was shaking in every limb, and refused to do as he was +bid. + +“Don't you never go in there, doctor,” whispered he, with chattering +teeth. “Don't you go for to 'tend no one. You jus' come tell me when you +sent for that way. No, I ain't goin' in, doctor, nohow. It ain't part +of my duties to go in. That's been stipulated by Mr. Netherton. It's my +business to look after the garden.” + +Argument was useless. Dr. Block took the bunch of keys from the old +man's pocket and himself unlocked the front door and entered. He mounted +the steps and made his way to the upper room. There was no evidence of +occupancy. The place was silent, and, so far as living creature went, +vacant. The dust lay over everything. It covered the delicate damask of +the sofa where he had seen the dying woman. It rested on the pillows. +The place smelled musty and evil, as if it had not been used for a long +time. The lamps of the room held not a drop of oil. + +But on the mantel-shelf was the prescription which the doctor had +written the night before. He read it, folded it, and put it in his +pocket. + +As he locked the outside door the old gardener came running to him. + +“Don't you never go up there again, will you?” he pleaded, “not unless +you see all the Nethertons home and I come for you myself. You won't, +doctor?” + +“No,” said the doctor. + +When he told his wife she kissed him, and said: + +“Next time when I tell you to stay at home, you must stay!” + + + + +THE PIANO NEXT DOOR + + +BABETTE had gone away for the summer; the furniture was in its summer +linens; the curtains were down, and Babette's husband, John Boyce, was +alone in the house. It was the first year of his marriage, and he missed +Babette. But then, as he often said to himself, he ought never to +have married her. He did it from pure selfishness, and because he was +determined to possess the most illusive, tantalizing, elegant, and +utterly unmoral little creature that the sun shone upon. He wanted her +because she reminded him of birds, and flowers, and summer winds, +and other exquisite things created for the delectation of mankind. He +neither expected nor desired her to think. He had half-frightened her +into marrying him, had taken her to a poor man's home, provided her with +no society such as she had been accustomed to, and he had no reasonable +cause of complaint when she answered the call of summer and flitted +away, like a butterfly in the morning sunshine, to the place where the +flowers grew. + +He wrote to her every evening, sitting in the stifling, ugly house, and +poured out his soul as if it were a libation to a goddess. She sometimes +answered by telegraph, sometimes by a perfumed note. He schooled himself +not to feel hurt. Why should Babette write? Does a goldfinch indict +epistles; or a humming-bird study composition; or a glancing, red-scaled +fish in summer shallows consider the meaning of words? + +He knew at the beginning what Babette was--guessed her +limitations--trembled when he buttoned her tiny glove--kissed her dainty +slipper when he found it in the closet after she was gone--thrilled at +the sound of her laugh, or the memory of it! That was all. A mere case +of love. He was in bonds. Babette was not. Therefore he was in the +city, working overhours to pay for Babette's pretty follies down at the +seaside. It was quite right and proper. He was a grub in the furrow; +she a lark in the blue. Those had always been and always must be their +relative positions. + +Having attained a mood of philosophic calm, in which he was prepared to +spend his evenings alone--as became a grub--and to await with +dignified patience the return of his wife, it was in the nature of an +inconsistency that he should have walked the floor of the dull little +drawing-room like a lion in cage. It did not seem in keeping with +the position of superior serenity which he had assumed, that, reading +Babette's notes, he should have raged with jealousy, or that, in the +loneliness of his unkempt chamber, he should have stretched out arms of +longing. Even if Babette had been present, she would only have smiled +her gay little smile and coquetted with him. She could not understand. +He had known, of course, from the first moment, that she could not +understand! And so, why the ache, ache, ache of the heart! Or WAS it the +heart, or the brain, or the soul? + +Sometimes, when the evenings were so hot that he could not endure the +close air of the house, he sat on the narrow, dusty front porch and +looked about him at his neighbors. The street had once been smart and +aspiring, but it had fallen into decay and dejection. Pale young men, +with flurried-looking wives, seemed to Boyce to occupy most of the +houses. Sometimes three or four couples would live in one house. Most of +these appeared to be childless. The women made a pretence at fashionable +dressing, and wore their hair elaborately in fashions which somehow +suggested boarding-houses to Boyce, though he could not have told why. +Every house in the block needed fresh paint. Lacking this renovation, +the householders tried to make up for it by a display of lace curtains +which, at every window, swayed in the smoke-weighted breeze. Strips +of carpeting were laid down the front steps of the houses where the +communities of young couples lived, and here, evenings, the inmates of +the houses gathered, committing mild extravagances such as the treating +of each other to ginger ale, or beer, or ice-cream. + +Boyce watched these tawdry makeshifts at sociability with bitterness and +loathing. He wondered how he could have been such a fool as to bring +his exquisite Babette to this neighborhood. How could he expect that she +would return to him? It was not reasonable. He ought to go down on his +knees with gratitude that she even condescended to write him. + +Sitting one night till late,--so late that the fashionable young wives +with their husbands had retired from the strips of stair carpeting,--and +raging at the loneliness which ate at his heart like a cancer, he heard, +softly creeping through the windows of the house adjoining his own, the +sound of comfortable melody. + +It breathed upon his ear like a spirit of consolation, speaking +of peace, of love which needs no reward save its own sweetness, of +aspiration which looks forever beyond the thing of the hour to find +attainment in that which is eternal. So insidiously did it whisper these +things, so delicately did the simple and perfect melodies creep upon the +spirit--that Boyce felt no resentment, but from the first listened +as one who listens to learn, or as one who, fainting on the hot road, +hears, far in the ferny deeps below, the gurgle of a spring. + +Then came harmonies more intricate: fair fabrics of woven sound, in +the midst of which gleamed golden threads of joy; a tapestry of sound, +multi-tinted, gallant with story and achievement, and beautiful things. +Boyce, sitting on his absurd piazza, with his knees jambed against +the balustrade, and his chair back against the dun-colored wall of his +house, seemed to be walking in the cathedral of the redwood forest, +with blue above him, a vast hymn in his ears, pungent perfume in his +nostrils, and mighty shafts of trees lifting themselves to heaven, proud +and erect as pure men before their Judge. He stood on a mountain at +sunrise, and saw the marvels of the amethystine clouds below his feet, +heard an eternal and white silence, such as broods among the everlasting +snows, and saw an eagle winging for the sun. He was in a city, and away +from him, diverging like the spokes of a wheel, ran thronging streets, +and to his sense came the beat, beat, beat of the city's heart. He saw +the golden alchemy of a chosen race; saw greed transmitted to progress; +saw that which had enslaved men, work at last to their liberation; heard +the roar of mighty mills, and on the streets all the peoples of earth +walking with common purpose, in fealty and understanding. And then, from +the swelling of this concourse of great sounds, came a diminuendo, calm +as philosophy, and from that, nothingness. + +Boyce sat still for a long time, listening to the echoes which this +music had awakened in his soul. He retired, at length, content, +but determined that upon the morrow he would watch--the day being +Sunday--for the musician who had so moved and taught him. + +He arose early, therefore, and having prepared his own simple breakfast +of fruit and coffee, took his station by the window to watch for the +man. For he felt convinced that the exposition he had heard was that of +a masculine mind. The long, hot hours of the morning went by, but the +front door of the house next to his did not open. + +“These artists sleep late,” he complained. Still he watched. He was +too much afraid of losing him to go out for dinner. By three in the +afternoon he had grown impatient. He went to the house next door and +rang the bell. There was no response. He thundered another appeal. An +old woman with a cloth about her head answered the door. She was very +deaf, and Boyce had difficulty in making himself understood. + +“The family is in the country,” was all she would say. “The family will +not be home till September.” + +“But there is some one living here?” shouted Boyce. + +“_I_ live here,” she said with dignity, putting back a wisp of dirty +gray hair behind her ear. “It is my house. I sublet to the family.” + +“What family?” + +But the old creature was not communicative. + +“The family that lives here,” she said. + +“Then who plays the piano in this house?” roared Boyce. “Do you?” + +He thought a shade of pallor showed itself on her ash-colored cheeks. +Yet she smiled a little at the idea of her playing. + +“There is no piano,” she said, and she put an enigmatical emphasis to +the words. + +“Nonsense,” cried Boyce, indignantly. “I heard a piano being played in +this very house for hours last night!” + +“You may enter,” said the old woman, with an accent more vicious than +hospitable. + +Boyce almost burst into the drawing-room. It was a dusty and forbidding +place, with ugly furniture and gaudy walls. No piano nor any other +musical instrument stood in it. The intruder turned an angry and baffled +face to the old woman, who was smiling with ill-concealed exultation. + +“I shall see the other rooms,” he announced. The old woman did not +appear to be surprised at his impertinence. + +“As you please,” she said. + +So, with the hobbling creature, with her bandaged head, for a guide, he +explored every room of the house, which being identical with his own, he +could do without fear of leaving any apartment unentered. But no piano +did he find! + +“Explain,” roared Boyce at length, turning upon the leering old hag +beside him. “Explain! For surely I heard music more beautiful than I can +tell.” + +“I know nothing,” she said. “But it is true I once had a lodger who +rented the front room, and that he played upon the piano. I am poor at +hearing, but he must have played well, for all the neighbors used to +come in front of the house to listen, and sometimes they applauded him, +and sometimes they were still. I could tell by watching their hands. +Sometimes little children came and danced. Other times young men and +women came and listened. But the young man died. The neighbors were +angry. They came to look at him and said he had starved to death. It was +no fault of mine. I sold his piano to pay his funeral expenses--and it +took every cent to pay for them too, I'd have you know. But since then, +sometimes--still, it must be nonsense, for I never heard it--folks say +that he plays the piano in my room. It has kept me out of the letting of +it more than once. But the family doesn't seem to mind--the family that +lives here, you know. They will be back in September. Yes.” + +Boyce left her nodding her thanks at what he had placed in her hand, and +went home to write it all to Babette--Babette who would laugh so merrily +when she read it! + + + + +AN ASTRAL ONION + + +WHEN Tig Braddock came to Nora Finnegan he was red-headed and freckled, +and, truth to tell, he remained with these features to the end of his +life--a life prolonged by a lucky, if somewhat improbable, incident, as +you shall hear. + +Tig had shuffled off his parents as saurians, of some sorts, do their +skins. During the temporary absence from home of his mother, who was at +the bridewell, and the more extended vacation of his father, who, like +Villon, loved the open road and the life of it, Tig, who was not a +well-domesticated animal, wandered away. The humane society never heard +of him, the neighbors did not miss him, and the law took no cognizance +of this detached citizen--this lost pleiad. Tig would have sunk into +that melancholy which is attendant upon hunger,--the only form of +despair which babyhood knows,--if he had not wandered across the path of +Nora Finnegan. Now Nora shone with steady brightness in her orbit, +and no sooner had Tig entered her atmosphere, than he was warmed and +comforted. Hunger could not live where Nora was. The basement room where +she kept house was redolent with savory smells; and in the stove in her +front room--which was also her bedroom--there was a bright fire glowing +when fire was needed. + +Nora went out washing for a living. But she was not a poor washerwoman. +Not at all. She was a washerwoman triumphant. She had perfect health, an +enormous frame, an abounding enthusiasm for life, and a rich abundance +of professional pride. She believed herself to be the best washer of +white clothes she had ever had the pleasure of knowing, and the value +placed upon her services, and her long connection with certain families +with large weekly washings, bore out this estimate of herself--an +estimate which she never endeavored to conceal. + +Nora had buried two husbands without being unduly depressed by the +fact. The first husband had been a disappointment, and Nora winked at +Providence when an accident in a tunnel carried him off--that is to +say, carried the husband off. The second husband was not so much of a +disappointment as a surprise. He developed ability of a literary order, +and wrote songs which sold and made him a small fortune. Then he ran +away with another woman. The woman spent his fortune, drove him to +dissipation, and when he was dying he came back to Nora, who received +him cordially, attended him to the end, and cheered his last hours by +singing his own songs to him. Then she raised a headstone recounting his +virtues, which were quite numerous, and refraining from any reference to +those peculiarities which had caused him to be such a surprise. + +Only one actual chagrin had ever nibbled at the sound heart of Nora +Finnegan--a cruel chagrin, with long, white teeth, such as rodents have! +She had never held a child to her breast, nor laughed in its eyes; never +bathed the pink form of a little son or daughter; never felt a tugging +of tiny hands at her voluminous calico skirts! Nora had burnt many +candles before the statue of the blessed Virgin without remedying this +deplorable condition. She had sent up unavailing prayers--she had, at +times, wept hot tears of longing and loneliness. Sometimes in her sleep +she dreamed that a wee form, warm and exquisitely soft, was pressed +against her firm body, and that a hand with tiniest pink nails crept +within her bosom. But as she reached out to snatch this delicious little +creature closer, she woke to realize a barren woman's grief, and turned +herself in anguish on her lonely pillow. + +So when Tig came along, accompanied by two curs, who had faithfully +followed him from his home, and when she learned the details of his +story, she took him in, curs and all, and, having bathed the three of +them, made them part and parcel of her home. This was after the demise +of the second husband, and at a time when Nora felt that she had done +all a woman could be expected to do for Hymen. + +Tig was a preposterous baby. The curs were preposterous curs. Nora had +always been afflicted with a surplus amount of laughter--laughter which +had difficulty in attaching itself to anything, owing to the lack of the +really comic in the surroundings of the poor. But with a red-headed and +freckled baby boy and two trick dogs in the house, she found a good and +sufficient excuse for her hilarity, and would have torn the cave where +echo lies with her mirth, had that cave not been at such an immeasurable +distance from the crowded neighborhood where she lived. + +At the age of four Tig went to free kindergarten; at the age of six he +was in school, and made three grades the first year and two the next. At +fifteen he was graduated from the high school and went to work as +errand boy in a newspaper office, with the fixed determination to make a +journalist of himself. + +Nora was a trifle worried about his morals when she discovered his +intellect, but as time went on, and Tig showed no devotion for any woman +save herself, and no consciousness that there were such things as bad +boys or saloons in the world, she began to have confidence. All of his +earnings were brought to her. Every holiday was spent with her. He told +her his secrets and his aspirations. He admitted that he expected to +become a great man, and, though he had not quite decided upon the nature +of his career,--saving, of course, the makeshift of journalism,--it was +not unlikely that he would elect to be a novelist like--well, probably +like Thackeray. + +Hope, always a charming creature, put on her most alluring smiles for +Tig, and he made her his mistress, and feasted on the light of her eyes. +Moreover, he was chaperoned, so to speak, by Nora Finnegan, who listened +to every line Tig wrote, and made a mighty applause, and filled him up +with good Irish stew, many colored as the coat of Joseph, and pungent +with the inimitable perfume of “the rose of the cellar.” Nora Finnegan +understood the onion, and used it lovingly. She perceived the difference +between the use and abuse of this pleasant and obvious friend of hungry +man, and employed it with enthusiasm, but discretion. Thus it came +about that whoever ate of her dinners, found the meals of other cooks +strangely lacking in savor, and remembered with regret the soups +and stews, the broiled steaks, and stuffed chickens of the woman who +appreciated the onion. + +When Nora Finnegan came home with a cold one day, she took it in such a +jocular fashion that Tig felt not the least concern about her, and when, +two days later, she died of pneumonia, he almost thought, at first, that +it must be one of her jokes. She had departed with decision, such as had +characterized every act of her life, and had made as little trouble for +others as possible. When she was dead the community had the opportunity +of discovering the number of her friends. Miserable children with faces +which revealed two generations of hunger, homeless boys with vicious +countenances, miserable wrecks of humanity, women with bloated faces, +came to weep over Nora's bier, and to lay a flower there, and to scuttle +away, more abjectly lonely than even sin could make them. If the cats +and the dogs, the sparrows and horses to which she had shown kindness, +could also have attended her funeral, the procession would have been, +from a point of numbers, one of the most imposing the city had ever +known. Tig used up all their savings to bury her, and the next week, by +some peculiar fatality, he had a falling out with the night editor of +his paper, and was discharged. This sank deep into his sensitive +soul, and he swore he would be an underling no longer--which foolish +resolution was directly traceable to his hair, the color of which, it +will be recollected, was red. + +Not being an underling, he was obliged to make himself into something +else, and he recurred passionately to his old idea of becoming a +novelist. He settled down in Nora's basement rooms, went to work on +a battered type-writer, did his own cooking, and occasionally pawned +something to keep him in food. The environment was calculated to further +impress him with the idea of his genius. + +A certain magazine offered an alluring prize for a short story, and Tig +wrote one, and rewrote it, making alterations, revisions, annotations, +and interlineations which would have reflected credit upon Honoré; +Balzac himself. Then he wrought all together, with splendid brevity and +dramatic force,--Tig's own words,--and mailed the same. He was convinced +he would get the prize. He was just as much convinced of it as Nora +Finnegan would have been if she had been with him. + +So he went about doing more fiction, taking no especial care of himself, +and wrapt in rosy dreams, which, not being warm enough for the weather, +permitted him to come down with rheumatic fever. + +He lay alone in his room and suffered such torments as the condemned +and rheumatic know, depending on one of Nora's former friends to come in +twice a day and keep up the fire for him. This friend was aged ten, and +looked like a sparrow who had been in a cyclone, but somewhere inside +his bones was a wit which had spelled out devotion. He found fuel for +the cracked stove, somehow or other. He brought it in a dirty sack which +he carried on his back, and he kept warmth in Tig's miserable body. +Moreover, he found food of a sort--cold, horrible bits often, and Tig +wept when he saw them, remembering the meals Nora had served him. + +Tig was getting better, though he was conscious of a weak heart and a +lamenting stomach, when, to his amazement, the Sparrow ceased to visit +him. Not for a moment did Tig suspect desertion. He knew that only +something in the nature of an act of Providence, as the insurance +companies would designate it, could keep the little bundle of bones away +from him. As the days went by, he became convinced of it, for no Sparrow +came, and no coal lay upon the hearth. The basement window fortunately +looked toward the south, and the pale April sunshine was beginning +to make itself felt, so that the temperature of the room was not +unbearable. But Tig languished; sank, sank, day by day, and was kept +alive only by the conviction that the letter announcing the award of the +thousand-dollar prize would presently come to him. One night he reached a +place, where, for hunger and dejection, his mind wandered, and he seemed +to be complaining all night to Nora of his woes. When the chill dawn +came, with chittering of little birds on the dirty pavement, and an +agitation of the scrawny willow “pussies,” he was not able to lift his +hand to his head. The window before his sight was but “a glimmering +square.” He said to himself that the end must be at hand. Yet it was +cruel, cruel, with fame and fortune so near! If only he had some food, +he might summon strength to rally--just for a little while! Impossible +that he should die! And yet without food there was no choice. + +Dreaming so of Nora's dinners, thinking how one spoonful of a stew such +as she often compounded would now be his salvation, he became conscious +of the presence of a strong perfume in the room. It was so familiar +that it seemed like a sub-consciousness, yet he found no name for this +friendly odor for a bewildered minute or two. Little by little, however, +it grew upon him, that it was the onion--that fragrant and kindly bulb +which had attained its apotheosis in the cuisine of Nora Finnegan of +sacred memory. He opened his languid eyes, to see if, mayhap, the plant +had not attained some more palpable materialization. + +Behold, it was so! Before him, in a brown earthen dish,--a most familiar +dish,--was an onion, pearly white, in placid seas of gravy, smoking and +delectable. With unexpected strength he raised himself, and reached for +the dish, which floated before him in a halo made by its own steam. It +moved toward him, offered a spoon to his hand, and as he ate he heard +about the room the rustle of Nora Finnegan's starched skirts, and now +and then a faint, faint echo of her old-time laugh--such an echo as one +may find of the sea in the heart of a shell. + +The noble bulb disappeared little by little before his voracity, and in +contentment greater than virtue can give, he sank back upon his pillow +and slept. + +Two hours later the postman knocked at the door, and receiving no +answer, forced his way in. Tig, half awake, saw him enter with no +surprise. He felt no surprise when he put a letter in his hand bearing +the name of the magazine to which he had sent his short story. He was +not even surprised, when, tearing it open with suddenly alert hands, he +found within the check for the first prize--the check he had expected. + +All that day, as the April sunlight spread itself upon his floor, he +felt his strength grow. Late in the afternoon the Sparrow came back, +paler, and more bony than ever, and sank, breathing hard, upon the +floor, with his sack of coal. + +“I've been sick,” he said, trying to smile. “Terrible sick, but I come +as soon as I could.” + +“Build up the fire,” cried Tig, in a voice so strong it made the Sparrow +start as if a stone had struck him. “Build up the fire, and forget you +are sick. For, by the shade of Nora Finnegan, you shall be hungry no +more!” + + + + + +FROM THE LOOM OF THE DEAD + + +WHEN Urda Bjarnason tells a tale all the men stop their talking to +listen, for they know her to be wise with the wisdom of the old people, +and that she has more learning than can be got even from the great +schools at Reykjavik. She is especially prized by them here in this +new country where the Icelandmen are settled--this America, so new in +letters, where the people speak foolishly and write unthinking books. +So the men who know that it is given to the mothers of earth to be +very wise, stop their six part singing, or their jangles about the +free-thinkers, and give attentive ear when Urda Bjarnason lights her +pipe and begins her tale. + +She is very old. Her daughters and sons are all dead, but her +granddaughter, who is most respectable, and the cousin of a physician, +says that Urda is twenty-four and a hundred, and there are others who +say that she is older still. She watches all that the Iceland people do +in the new land; she knows about the building of the five villages on +the North Dakota plain, and of the founding of the churches and the +schools, and the tilling of the wheat farms. She notes with suspicion +the actions of the women who bring home webs of cloth from the store, +instead of spinning them as their mothers did before them; and she +shakes her head at the wives who run to the village grocery store every +fortnight, imitating the wasteful American women, who throw butter in +the fire faster than it can be turned from the churn. + +She watches yet other things. All winter long the white snows reach +across the gently rolling plains as far as the eye can behold. In the +morning she sees them tinted pink at the east; at noon she notes +golden lights flashing across them; when the sky is gray--which is not +often--she notes that they grow as ashen as a face with the death shadow +on it. Sometimes they glitter with silver-like tips of ocean waves. But +at these things she looks only casually. It is when the blue shadows +dance on the snow that she leaves her corner behind the iron stove, and +stands before the window, resting her two hands on the stout bar of her +cane, and gazing out across the waste with eyes which age has restored +after four decades of decrepitude. + +The young Icelandmen say: + +“Mother, it is the clouds hurrying across the sky that make the dance of +the shadows.” + +“There are no clouds,” she replies, and points to the jewel-like blue of +the arching sky. + +“It is the drifting air,” explains Fridrik Halldersson, he who has +been in the Northern seas. “As the wind buffets the air, it looks blue +against the white of the snow. 'Tis the air that makes the dancing +shadows.” + +But Urda shakes her head, and points with her dried finger, and +those who stand beside her see figures moving, and airy shapes, and +contortions of strange things, such as are seen in a beryl stone. + +“But Urda Bjarnason,” says Ingeborg Christianson, the pert young wife +with the blue-eyed twins, “why is it we see these things only when we +stand beside you and you help us to the sight?” + +“Because,” says the mother, with a steel-blue flash of her old eyes, +“having eyes ye will not see!” Then the men laugh. They like to hear +Ingeborg worsted. For did she not jilt two men from Gardar, and one from +Mountain, and another from Winnipeg? + +Not even Ingeborg can deny that Mother Urda tells true things. + +“To-day,” says Urda, standing by the little window and watching the +dance of the shadows, “a child breathed thrice on a farm at the West, +and then it died.” + +The next week at the church gathering, when all the sledges stopped +at the house of Urda's granddaughter, they said it was so--that John +Christianson's wife Margaret never heard the voice of her son, but that +he breathed thrice in his nurse's arms and died. + +“Three sledges run over the snow toward Milton,” says Urda; “all are +laden with wheat, and in one is a stranger. He has with him a strange +engine, but its purpose I do not know.” + +Six hours later the drivers of three empty sledges stop at the house. + +“We have been to Milton with wheat,” they say, “and Christian Johnson +here, carried a photographer from St. Paul.” + +Now it stands to reason that the farmers like to amuse themselves +through the silent and white winters. And they prefer above all things +to talk or to listen, as has been the fashion of their race for a +thousand years. Among all the story-tellers there is none like Urda, for +she is the daughter and the granddaughter and the great-granddaughter +of storytellers. It is given to her to talk, as it is given to John +Thorlaksson to sing--he who sings so as his sledge flies over the snow +at night, that the people come out in the bitter air from their doors to +listen, and the dogs put up their noses and howl, not liking music. + +In the little cabin of Peter Christianson, the husband of Urda's +granddaughter, it sometimes happens that twenty men will gather about +the stove. They hang their bear-skin coats on the wall, put their fur +gauntlets underneath the stove, where they will keep warm, and then +stretch their stout, felt-covered legs to the wood fire. The room is +fetid; the coffee steams eternally on the stove; and from her chair in +the warmest corner Urda speaks out to the listening men, who shake their +heads with joy as they hear the pure old Icelandic flow in sweet rhythm +from between her lips. Among the many, many tales she tells is that of +the dead weaver, and she tells it in the simplest language in all +the world--language so simple that even great scholars could find no +simpler, and the children crawling on the floor can understand. + +“Jon and Loa lived with their father and mother far to the north of the +Island of Fire, and when the children looked from their windows they saw +only wild scaurs and jagged lava rocks, and a distant, deep gleam of the +sea. They caught the shine of the sea through an eye-shaped opening in +the rocks, and all the long night of winter it gleamed up at them, like +the eye of a dead witch. But when it sparkled and began to laugh, the +children danced about the hut and sang, for they knew the bright summer +time was at hand. Then their father fished, and their mother was gay. +But it is true that even in the winter and the darkness they were happy, +for they made fishing nets and baskets and cloth together,--Jon and Loa +and their father and mother,--and the children were taught to read in +the books, and were told the sagas, and given instruction in the part +singing. + +“They did not know there was such a thing as sorrow in the world, for no +one had ever mentioned it to them. But one day their mother died. Then +they had to learn how to keep the fire on the hearth, and to smoke the +fish, and make the black coffee. And also they had to learn how to live +when there is sorrow at the heart. + +“They wept together at night for lack of their mother's kisses, and in +the morning they were loath to rise because they could not see her face. +The dead cold eye of the sea watching them from among the lava rocks +made them afraid, so they hung a shawl over the window to keep it out. +And the house, try as they would, did not look clean and cheerful as it +had used to do when their mother sang and worked about it. + +“One day, when a mist rested over the eye of the sea, like that which +one beholds on the eyes of the blind, a greater sorrow came to them, for +a stepmother crossed the threshold. She looked at Jon and Loa, and made +complaint to their father that they were still very small and not likely +to be of much use. After that they had to rise earlier than ever, and to +work as only those who have their growth should work, till their hearts +cracked for weariness and shame. They had not much to eat, for their +stepmother said she would trust to the gratitude of no other woman's +child, and that she believed in laying up against old age. So she put +the few coins that came to the house in a strong box, and bought little +food. Neither did she buy the children clothes, though those which their +dear mother had made for them were so worn that the warp stood apart +from the woof, and there were holes at the elbows and little warmth to +be found in them anywhere. + +“Moreover, the quilts on their beds were too short for their growing +length, so that at night either their purple feet or their thin +shoulders were uncovered, and they wept for the cold, and in the +morning, when they crept into the larger room to build the fire, they +were so stiff they could not stand straight, and there was pain at their +joints. + +“The wife scolded all the time, and her brow was like a storm sweeping +down from the Northwest. There was no peace to be had in the house. +The children might not repeat to each other the sagas their mother had +taught them, nor try their part singing, nor make little doll cradles of +rushes. Always they had to work, always they were scolded, always their +clothes grew thinner. + +“'Stepmother,' cried Loa one day,--she whom her mother had called the +little bird,--'we are a-cold because of our rags. Our mother would have +woven blue cloth for us and made it into garments.' + +“'Your mother is where she will weave no cloth!' said the stepmother, +and she laughed many times. + +“All in the cold and still of that night, the stepmother wakened, and +she knew not why. She sat up in her bed, and knew not why. She knew not +why, and she looked into the room, and there, by the light of a burning +fish's tail--'twas such a light the folk used in those days--was a +woman, weaving. She had no loom, and shuttle she had none. All with +her hands she wove a wondrous cloth. Stooping and bending, rising and +swaying with motions beautiful as those the Northern Lights make in a +midwinter sky, she wove a cloth. The warp was blue and mystical to see, +the woof was white, and shone with its whiteness, so that of all the +webs the stepmother had ever seen, she had seen none like to this. + +“Yet the sight delighted her not, for beyond the drifting web, and +beyond the weaver she saw the room and furniture--aye, saw them through +the body of the weaver and the drifting of the cloth. Then she knew--as +the haunted are made to know--that 'twas the mother of the children come +to show her she could still weave cloth. The heart of the stepmother was +cold as ice, yet she could not move to waken her husband at her side, +for her hands were as fixed as if they were crossed on her dead breast. +The voice in her was silent, and her tongue stood to the roof of her +mouth. + +“After a time the wraith of the dead mother moved toward her--the wraith +of the weaver moved her way--and round and about her body was wound the +shining cloth. Wherever it touched the body of the stepmother, it was as +hateful to her as the touch of a monster out of sea-slime, so that her +flesh crept away from it, and her senses swooned. + +“In the early morning she awoke to the voices of the children, +whispering in the inner room as they dressed with half-frozen fingers. +Still about her was the hateful, beautiful web, filling her soul with +loathing and with fear. She thought she saw the task set for her, and +when the children crept in to light the fire--very purple and thin were +their little bodies, and the rags hung from them--she arose and held out +the shining cloth, and cried: + +“'Here is the web your mother wove for you. I will make it into +garments!' But even as she spoke the cloth faded and fell into +nothingness, and the children cried: + +“'Stepmother, you have the fever!' + +“And then: + +“'Stepmother, what makes the strange light in the room?' + +“That day the stepmother was too weak to rise from her bed, and the +children thought she must be going to die, for she did not scold as they +cleared the house and braided their baskets, and she did not frown at +them, but looked at them with wistful eyes. + +“By fall of night she was as weary as if she had wept all the day, and +so she slept. But again she was awakened and knew not why. And again +she sat up in her bed and knew not why. And again, not knowing why, she +looked and saw a woman weaving cloth. All that had happened the night +before happened this night. Then, when the morning came, and the +children crept in shivering from their beds, she arose and dressed +herself, and from her strong box she took coins, and bade her husband go +with her to the town. + +“So that night a web of cloth, woven by one of the best weavers in all +Iceland, was in the house; and on the beds of the children were blankets +of lamb's wool, soft to the touch and fair to the eye. After that the +children slept warm and were at peace; for now, when they told the sagas +their mother had taught them, or tried their part songs as they sat +together on their bench, the stepmother was silent. For she feared +to chide, lest she should wake at night, not knowing why, and see the +mother's wraith.” + + + + +A GRAMMATICAL GHOST + + +THERE was only one possible objection to the drawing-room, and that was +the occasional presence of Miss Carew; and only one possible objection +to Miss Carew. And that was, that she was dead. + +She had been dead twenty years, as a matter of fact and record, and to +the last of her life sacredly preserved the treasures and traditions of +her family, a family bound up--as it is quite unnecessary to explain to +any one in good society--with all that is most venerable and heroic in +the history of the Republic. Miss Carew never relaxed the +proverbial hospitality of her house, even when she remained its sole +representative. She continued to preside at her table with dignity and +state, and to set an example of excessive modesty and gentle decorum to +a generation of restless young women. + +It is not likely that having lived a life of such irreproachable +gentility as this, Miss Carew would have the bad taste to die in any way +not pleasant to mention in fastidious society. She could be trusted to +the last, not to outrage those friends who quoted her as an exemplar of +propriety. She died very unobtrusively of an affection of the heart, one +June morning, while trimming her rose trellis, and her lavender-colored +print was not even rumpled when she fell, nor were more than the tips of +her little bronze slippers visible. + +“Isn't it dreadful,” said the Philadelphians, “that the property should +go to a very, very distant cousin in Iowa or somewhere else on the +frontier, about whom nobody knows anything at all?” + +The Carew treasures were packed in boxes and sent away into the Iowa +wilderness; the Carew traditions were preserved by the Historical +Society; the Carew property, standing in one of the most umbrageous +and aristocratic suburbs of Philadelphia, was rented to all manner +of folk--anybody who had money enough to pay the rental--and society +entered its doors no more. + +But at last, after twenty years, and when all save the oldest +Philadelphians had forgotten Miss Lydia Carew, the very, very distant +cousin appeared. He was quite in the prime of life, and so agreeable and +unassuming that nothing could be urged against him save his patronymic, +which, being Boggs, did not commend itself to the euphemists. With him +were two maiden sisters, ladies of excellent taste and manners, who +restored the Carew china to its ancient cabinets, and replaced the Carew +pictures upon the walls, with additions not out of keeping with +the elegance of these heirlooms. Society, with a magnanimity almost +dramatic, overlooked the name of Boggs--and called. + +All was well. At least, to an outsider all seemed to be well. But, +in truth, there was a certain distress in the old mansion, and in +the hearts of the well-behaved Misses Boggs. It came about most +unexpectedly. The sisters had been sitting upstairs, looking out at the +beautiful grounds of the old place, and marvelling at the violets, +which lifted their heads from every possible cranny about the house, and +talking over the cordiality which they had been receiving by those upon +whom they had no claim, and they were filled with amiable satisfaction. +Life looked attractive. They had often been grateful to Miss Lydia Carew +for leaving their brother her fortune. Now they felt even more grateful +to her. She had left them a Social Position--one, which even after +twenty years of desuetude, was fit for use. + +They descended the stairs together, with arms clasped about each other's +waists, and as they did so presented a placid and pleasing sight. They +entered their drawing-room with the intention of brewing a cup of tea, +and drinking it in calm sociability in the twilight. But as they entered +the room they became aware of the presence of a lady, who was already +seated at their tea-table, regarding their old Wedgewood with the air of +a connoisseur. + +There were a number of peculiarities about this intruder. To begin with, +she was hatless, quite as if she were a habitué; of the house, and +was costumed in a prim lilac-colored lawn of the style of two decades +past. But a greater peculiarity was the resemblance this lady bore to a +faded daguerrotype. If looked at one way, she was perfectly discernible; +if looked at another, she went out in a sort of blur. Notwithstanding +this comparative invisibility, she exhaled a delicate perfume of sweet +lavender, very pleasing to the nostrils of the Misses Boggs, who stood +looking at her in gentle and unprotesting surprise. + +“I beg your pardon,” began Miss Prudence, the younger of the Misses +Boggs, “but--” + +But at this moment the Daguerrotype became a blur, and Miss Prudence +found herself addressing space. The Misses Boggs were irritated. They +had never encountered any mysteries in Iowa. They began an impatient +search behind doors and portières, and even under sofas, though +it was quite absurd to suppose that a lady recognizing the merits of the +Carew Wedgewood would so far forget herself as to crawl under a sofa. + +When they had given up all hope of discovering the intruder, they saw +her standing at the far end of the drawing-room critically examining a +water-color marine. The elder Miss Boggs started toward her with stern +decision, but the little Daguerrotype turned with a shadowy smile, +became a blur and an imperceptibility. + +Miss Boggs looked at Miss Prudence Boggs. + +“If there were ghosts,” she said, “this would be one.” + +“If there were ghosts,” said Miss Prudence Boggs, “this would be the +ghost of Lydia Carew.” + +The twilight was settling into blackness, and Miss Boggs nervously lit +the gas while Miss Prudence ran for other tea-cups, preferring, for +reasons superfluous to mention, not to drink out of the Carew china that +evening. + +The next day, on taking up her embroidery frame, Miss Boggs found a +number of oldfashioned cross-stitches added to her Kensington. Prudence, +she knew, would never have degraded herself by taking a cross-stitch, +and the parlor-maid was above taking such a liberty. Miss Boggs +mentioned the incident that night at a dinner given by an ancient friend +of the Carews. + +“Oh, that's the work of Lydia Carew, without a doubt!” cried the +hostess. “She visits every new family that moves to the house, but she +never remains more than a week or two with any one.” + +“It must be that she disapproves of them,” suggested Miss Boggs. + +“I think that's it,” said the hostess. “She doesn't like their china, or +their fiction.” + +“I hope she'll disapprove of us,” added Miss Prudence. + +The hostess belonged to a very old Philadelphian family, and she shook +her head. + +“I should say it was a compliment for even the ghost of Miss Lydia Carew +to approve of one,” she said severely. + +The next morning, when the sisters entered their drawing-room there were +numerous evidences of an occupant during their absence. The sofa pillows +had been rearranged so that the effect of their grouping was less +bizarre than that favored by the Western women; a horrid little Buddhist +idol with its eyes fixed on its abdomen, had been chastely hidden behind +a Dresden shepherdess, as unfit for the scrutiny of polite eyes; and +on the table where Miss Prudence did work in water colors, after the +fashion of the impressionists, lay a prim and impossible composition +representing a moss-rose and a number of heartsease, colored with that +caution which modest spinster artists instinctively exercise. + +“Oh, there's no doubt it's the work of Miss Lydia Carew,” said Miss +Prudence, contemptuously. “There's no mistaking the drawing of that +rigid little rose. Don't you remember those wreaths and bouquets framed, +among the pictures we got when the Carew pictures were sent to us? I +gave some of them to an orphan asylum and burned up the rest.” + +“Hush!” cried Miss Boggs, involuntarily. “If she heard you, it would +hurt her feelings terribly. Of course, I mean--” and she blushed. “It +might hurt her feelings--but how perfectly ridiculous! It's impossible!” + +Miss Prudence held up the sketch of the moss-rose. + +“THAT may be impossible in an artistic sense, but it is a palpable +thing.” + +“Bosh!” cried Miss Boggs. + +“But,” protested Miss Prudence, “how do you explain it?” + +“I don't,” said Miss Boggs, and left the room. + +That evening the sisters made a point of being in the drawing-room +before the dusk came on, and of lighting the gas at the first hint of +twilight. They didn't believe in Miss Lydia Carew--but still they meant +to be beforehand with her. They talked with unwonted vivacity and in +a louder tone than was their custom. But as they drank their tea even +their utmost verbosity could not make them oblivious to the fact that +the perfume of sweet lavender was stealing insidiously through the room. +They tacitly refused to recognize this odor and all that it indicated, +when suddenly, with a sharp crash, one of the old Carew tea-cups +fell from the tea-table to the floor and was broken. The disaster was +followed by what sounded like a sigh of pain and dismay. + +“I didn't suppose Miss Lydia Carew would ever be as awkward as that,” + cried the younger Miss Boggs, petulantly. + +“Prudence,” said her sister with a stern accent, “please try not to be a +fool. You brushed the cup off with the sleeve of your dress.” + +“Your theory wouldn't be so bad,” said Miss Prudence, half laughing and +half crying, “if there were any sleeves to my dress, but, as you see, +there aren't,” and then Miss Prudence had something as near hysterics as +a healthy young woman from the West can have. + +“I wouldn't think such a perfect lady as Lydia Carew,” she ejaculated +between her sobs, “would make herself so disagreeable! You may +talk about good-breeding all you please, but I call such intrusion +exceedingly bad taste. I have a horrible idea that she likes us and +means to stay with us. She left those other people because she did not +approve of their habits or their grammar. It would be just our luck to +please her.” + +“Well, I like your egotism,” said Miss Boggs. + +However, the view Miss Prudence took of the case appeared to be the +right one. Time went by and Miss Lydia Carew still remained. When the +ladies entered their drawing-room they would see the little lady-like +Daguerrotype revolving itself into a blur before one of the family +portraits. Or they noticed that the yellow sofa cushion, toward which +she appeared to feel a peculiar antipathy, had been dropped behind the +sofa upon the floor, or that one of Jane Austen's novels, which none of +the family ever read, had been removed from the book shelves and left +open upon the table. + +“I cannot become reconciled to it,” complained Miss Boggs to Miss +Prudence. “I wish we had remained in Iowa where we belong. Of course I +don't believe in the thing! No sensible person would. But still I cannot +become reconciled.” + +But their liberation was to come, and in a most unexpected manner. + +A relative by marriage visited them from the West. He was a friendly +man and had much to say, so he talked all through dinner, and afterward +followed the ladies to the drawing-room to finish his gossip. The gas in +the room was turned very low, and as they entered Miss Prudence caught +sight of Miss Carew, in company attire, sitting in upright propriety in +a stiff-backed chair at the extremity of the apartment. + +Miss Prudence had a sudden idea. + +“We will not turn up the gas,” she said, with an emphasis intended to +convey private information to her sister. “It will be more agreeable to +sit here and talk in this soft light.” + +Neither her brother nor the man from the West made any objection. Miss +Boggs and Miss Prudence, clasping each other's hands, divided their +attention between their corporeal and their incorporeal guests. Miss +Boggs was confident that her sister had an idea, and was willing to +await its development. As the guest from Iowa spoke, Miss Carew bent a +politely attentive ear to what he said. + +“Ever since Richards took sick that time,” he said briskly, “it seemed +like he shed all responsibility.” (The Misses Boggs saw the Daguerrotype +put up her shadowy head with a movement of doubt and apprehension.) “The +fact of the matter was, Richards didn't seem to scarcely get on the way +he might have been expected to.” (At this conscienceless split to the +infinitive and misplacing of the preposition, Miss Carew arose trembling +perceptibly.) “I saw it wasn't no use for him to count on a quick +recovery--” + +The Misses Boggs lost the rest of the sentence, for at the utterance of +the double negative Miss Lydia Carew had flashed out, not in a blur, but +with mortal haste, as when life goes out at a pistol shot! + +The man from the West wondered why Miss Prudence should have cried at so +pathetic a part of his story: + +“Thank Goodness!” + +And their brother was amazed to see Miss Boggs kiss Miss Prudence with +passion and energy. + +It was the end. Miss Carew returned no more. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Shape of Fear, by Elia W. Peattie + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SHAPE OF FEAR *** + +***** This file should be named 1876-0.txt or 1876-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/7/1876/ + +Produced by Judy Boss + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions 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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/1876-0.zip b/1876-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c0f647d --- /dev/null +++ b/1876-0.zip diff --git a/1876-8.txt b/1876-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d84b056 --- /dev/null +++ b/1876-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2976 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Shape of Fear, by Elia W. Peattie + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Shape of Fear + +Author: Elia W. Peattie + +Posting Date: November 20, 2008 [EBook #1876] +Release Date: September, 1999 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SHAPE OF FEAR *** + + + + +Produced by Judy Boss + + + + + +THE SHAPE OF FEAR + +AND OTHER GHOSTLY TALES + + +By Elia Wilkinson Peattie + + + +Original Transcriber's Note: + + I have omitted signature indicators and italicization of the + running heads. In addition, I have made the following changes + to the text: + + PAGE LINE ORIGINAL CHANGED TO + 156 1 where as were as + 156 4 mouth mouth. + 165 5 Wedgwood Wedgewood + 166 9 Wedgwood Wedgewood + 167 6 surperfluous superfluous + 172 11 every ever + 173 17 Bogg Boggs + + +CONTENTS + + + THE SHAPE OF FEAR + + ON THE NORTHERN ICE + + THEIR DEAR LITTLE GHOST + + A SPECTRAL COLLIE + + THE HOUSE THAT WAS NOT + + STORY OF AN OBSTINATE CORPSE + + A CHILD OF THE RAIN + + THE ROOM OF THE EVIL THOUGHT + + STORY OF THE VANISHING PATIENT + + THE PIANO NEXT DOOR + + AN ASTRAL ONION + + FROM THE LOOM OF THE DEAD + + A GRAMMATICAL GHOST + + + + +THE SHAPE OF FEAR + +TIM O'CONNOR--who was descended from the O'Conors with one N---- started +life as a poet and an enthusiast. His mother had designed him for +the priesthood, and at the age of fifteen, most of his verses had an +ecclesiastical tinge, but, somehow or other, he got into the newspaper +business instead, and became a pessimistic gentleman, with a literary +style of great beauty and an income of modest proportions. He fell in +with men who talked of art for art's sake,--though what right they had +to speak of art at all nobody knew,--and little by little his view of +life and love became more or less profane. He met a woman who sucked +his heart's blood, and he knew it and made no protest; nay, to the great +amusement of the fellows who talked of art for art's sake, he went the +length of marrying her. He could not in decency explain that he had +the traditions of fine gentlemen behind him and so had to do as he did, +because his friends might not have understood. He laughed at the days +when he had thought of the priesthood, blushed when he ran across any of +those tender and exquisite old verses he had written in his youth, +and became addicted to absinthe and other less peculiar drinks, and to +gaming a little to escape a madness of ennui. + +As the years went by he avoided, with more and more scorn, that part of +the world which he denominated Philistine, and consorted only with the +fellows who flocked about Jim O'Malley's saloon. He was pleased with +solitude, or with these convivial wits, and with not very much else +beside. Jim O'Malley was a sort of Irish poem, set to inspiring measure. +He was, in fact, a Hibernian Mcenas, who knew better than to put +bad whiskey before a man of talent, or tell a trite tale in the presence +of a wit. The recountal of his disquisitions on politics and other +current matters had enabled no less than three men to acquire national +reputations; and a number of wretches, having gone the way of men who +talk of art for art's sake, and dying in foreign lands, or hospitals, +or asylums, having no one else to be homesick for, had been homesick for +Jim O'Malley, and wept for the sound of his voice and the grasp of his +hearty hand. + +When Tim O'Connor turned his back upon most of the things he was born +to and took up with the life which he consistently lived till the +unspeakable end, he was unable to get rid of certain peculiarities. For +example, in spite of all his debauchery, he continued to look like the +Beloved Apostle. Notwithstanding abject friendships he wrote limpid and +noble English. Purity seemed to dog his heels, no matter how violently +he attempted to escape from her. He was never so drunk that he was +not an exquisite, and even his creditors, who had become inured to his +deceptions, confessed it was a privilege to meet so perfect a gentleman. +The creature who held him in bondage, body and soul, actually came to +love him for his gentleness, and for some quality which baffled her, +and made her ache with a strange longing which she could not define. +Not that she ever defined anything, poor little beast! She had skin the +color of pale gold, and yellow eyes with brown lights in them, and great +plaits of straw-colored hair. About her lips was a fatal and sensuous +smile, which, when it got hold of a man's imagination, would not let it +go, but held to it, and mocked it till the day of his death. She was +the incarnation of the Eternal Feminine, with all the wifeliness and the +maternity left out--she was ancient, yet ever young, and familiar as joy +or tears or sin. + +She took good care of Tim in some ways: fed him well, nursed him back +to reason after a period of hard drinking, saw that he put on overshoes +when the walks were wet, and looked after his money. She even prized his +brain, for she discovered that it was a delicate little machine which +produced gold. By association with him and his friends, she learned that +a number of apparently useless things had value in the eyes of certain +convenient fools, and so she treasured the autographs of distinguished +persons who wrote to him--autographs which he disdainfully tossed in the +waste basket. She was careful with presentation copies from authors, and +she went the length of urging Tim to write a book himself. But at that +he balked. + +"Write a book!" he cried to her, his gentle face suddenly white with +passion. "Who am I to commit such a profanation?" + +She didn't know what he meant, but she had a theory that it was +dangerous to excite him, and so she sat up till midnight to cook a chop +for him when he came home that night. + +He preferred to have her sitting up for him, and he wanted every +electric light in their apartments turned to the full. If, by any +chance, they returned together to a dark house, he would not enter till +she touched the button in the hall, and illuminated the room. Or if it +so happened that the lights were turned off in the night time, and +he awoke to find himself in darkness, he shrieked till the woman came +running to his relief, and, with derisive laughter, turned them on +again. But when she found that after these frights he lay trembling and +white in his bed, she began to be alarmed for the clever, gold-making +little machine, and to renew her assiduities, and to horde more +tenaciously than ever, those valuable curios on which she some day +expected to realize when he was out of the way, and no longer in a +position to object to their barter. + +O'Connor's idiosyncrasy of fear was a source of much amusement among the +boys at the office where he worked. They made open sport of it, and +yet, recognizing him for a sensitive plant, and granting that genius was +entitled to whimsicalities, it was their custom when they called for +him after work hours, to permit him to reach the lighted corridor before +they turned out the gas over his desk. This, they reasoned, was but a +slight service to perform for the most enchanting beggar in the world. + +"Dear fellow," said Rick Dodson, who loved him, "is it the Devil you +expect to see? And if so, why are you averse? Surely the Devil is not +such a bad old chap." + +"You haven't found him so?" + +"Tim, by heaven, you know, you ought to explain to me. A citizen of the +world and a student of its purlieus, like myself, ought to know what +there is to know! Now you're a man of sense, in spite of a few +bad habits--such as myself, for example. Is this fad of yours +madness?--which would be quite to your credit,--for gadzooks, I like a +lunatic! Or is it the complaint of a man who has gathered too much +data on the subject of Old Rye? Or is it, as I suspect, something more +occult, and therefore more interesting?" + +"Rick, boy," said Tim, "you're too--inquiring!" And he turned to his +desk with a look of delicate hauteur. + +It was the very next night that these two tippling pessimists spent +together talking about certain disgruntled but immortal gentlemen, who, +having said their say and made the world quite uncomfortable, had now +journeyed on to inquire into the nothingness which they postulated. The +dawn was breaking in the muggy east; the bottles were empty, the +cigars burnt out. Tim turned toward his friend with a sharp breaking of +sociable silence. + +"Rick," he said, "do you know that Fear has a Shape?" + +"And so has my nose!" + +"You asked me the other night what I feared. Holy father, I make my +confession to you. What I fear is Fear." + +"That's because you've drunk too much--or not enough. + + "'Come, fill the cup, and in the fire of Spring + Your winter garment of repentance fling--'" + +"My costume then would be too nebulous for this weather, dear boy. But +it's true what I was saying. I am afraid of ghosts." + +"For an agnostic that seems a bit--" + +"Agnostic! Yes, so completely an agnostic that I do not even know that +I do not know! God, man, do you mean you have no ghosts--no--no things +which shape themselves? Why, there are things I have done--" + +"Don't think of them, my boy! See, 'night's candles are burnt out, and +jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain top.'" + +Tim looked about him with a sickly smile. He looked behind him and there +was nothing there; stared at the blank window, where the smoky dawn +showed its offensive face, and there was nothing there. He pushed away +the moist hair from his haggard face--that face which would look like +the blessed St. John, and leaned heavily back in his chair. + +"'Yon light is not daylight, I know it, I,'" he murmured drowsily, "'it +is some meteor which the sun exhales, to be to thee this night--'" + +The words floated off in languid nothingness, and he slept. Dodson arose +preparatory to stretching himself on his couch. But first he bent over +his friend with a sense of tragic appreciation. + +"Damned by the skin of his teeth!" he muttered. "A little more, and he +would have gone right, and the Devil would have lost a good fellow. As +it is"--he smiled with his usual conceited delight in his own sayings, +even when they were uttered in soliloquy--"he is merely one of those +splendid gentlemen one will meet with in hell." Then Dodson had a +momentary nostalgia for goodness himself, but he soon overcame it, and +stretching himself on his sofa, he, too, slept. + +That night he and O'Connor went together to hear "Faust" sung, and +returning to the office, Dodson prepared to write his criticism. Except +for the distant clatter of telegraph instruments, or the peremptory +cries of "copy" from an upper room, the office was still. Dodson wrote +and smoked his interminable cigarettes; O' Connor rested his head in +his hands on the desk, and sat in perfect silence. He did not know when +Dodson finished, or when, arising, and absent-mindedly extinguishing the +lights, he moved to the door with his copy in his hands. Dodson gathered +up the hats and coats as he passed them where they lay on a chair, and +called: + +"It is done, Tim. Come, let's get out of this." + +There was no answer, and he thought Tim was following, but after he had +handed his criticism to the city editor, he saw he was still alone, and +returned to the room for his friend. He advanced no further than the +doorway, for, as he stood in the dusky corridor and looked within the +darkened room, he saw before his friend a Shape, white, of perfect +loveliness, divinely delicate and pure and ethereal, which seemed as the +embodiment of all goodness. From it came a soft radiance and a perfume +softer than the wind when "it breathes upon a bank of violets stealing +and giving odor." Staring at it, with eyes immovable, sat his friend. + +It was strange that at sight of a thing so unspeakably fair, a coldness +like that which comes from the jewel-blue lips of a Muir crevasse +should have fallen upon Dodson, or that it was only by summoning all the +manhood that was left in him, that he was able to restore light to +the room, and to rush to his friend. When he reached poor Tim he was +stone-still with paralysis. They took him home to the woman, who nursed +him out of that attack--and later on worried him into another. + +When he was able to sit up and jeer at things a little again, and help +himself to the quail the woman broiled for him, Dodson, sitting beside +him, said: + +"Did you call that little exhibition of yours legerdemain, Tim, you +sweep? Or are you really the Devil's bairn?" + +"It was the Shape of Fear," said Tim, quite seriously. + +"But it seemed mild as mother's milk." + +"It was compounded of the good I might have done. It is that which I +fear." + +He would explain no more. Later--many months later--he died patiently +and sweetly in the madhouse, praying for rest. The little beast with +the yellow eyes had high mass celebrated for him, which, all things +considered, was almost as pathetic as it was amusing. + +Dodson was in Vienna when he heard of it. + +"Sa, sa!" cried he. "I wish it wasn't so dark in the tomb! What do you +suppose Tim is looking at?" + +As for Jim O'Malley, he was with difficulty kept from illuminating the +grave with electricity. + + + + +ON THE NORTHERN ICE + + +THE winter nights up at Sault Ste. Marie are as white and luminous as +the Milky Way. The silence which rests upon the solitude appears to be +white also. Even sound has been included in Nature's arrestment, for, +indeed, save the still white frost, all things seem to be obliterated. +The stars have a poignant brightness, but they belong to heaven and not +to earth, and between their immeasurable height and the still ice rolls +the ebon ether in vast, liquid billows. + +In such a place it is difficult to believe that the world is actually +peopled. It seems as if it might be the dark of the day after Cain +killed Abel, and as if all of humanity's remainder was huddled in +affright away from the awful spaciousness of Creation. + +The night Ralph Hagadorn started out for Echo Bay--bent on a pleasant +duty--he laughed to himself, and said that he did not at all object +to being the only man in the world, so long as the world remained as +unspeakably beautiful as it was when he buckled on his skates and shot +away into the solitude. He was bent on reaching his best friend in time +to act as groomsman, and business had delayed him till time was at its +briefest. So he journeyed by night and journeyed alone, and when the +tang of the frost got at his blood, he felt as a spirited horse feels +when it gets free of bit and bridle. The ice was as glass, his skates +were keen, his frame fit, and his venture to his taste! So he laughed, +and cut through the air as a sharp stone cleaves the water. He could +hear the whistling of the air as he cleft it. + +As he went on and on in the black stillness, he began to have fancies. +He imagined himself enormously tall--a great Viking of the Northland, +hastening over icy fiords to his love. And that reminded him that he had +a love--though, indeed, that thought was always present with him as a +background for other thoughts. To be sure, he had not told her that she +was his love, for he had seen her only a few times, and the auspicious +occasion had not yet presented itself. She lived at Echo Bay also, and +was to be the maid of honor to his friend's bride--which was one more +reason why he skated almost as swiftly as the wind, and why, now and +then, he let out a shout of exultation. + +The one cloud that crossed Hagadorn's sun of expectancy was the +knowledge that Marie Beaujeu's father had money, and that Marie lived in +a house with two stories to it, and wore otter skin about her throat +and little satin-lined mink boots on her feet when she went sledding. +Moreover, in the locket in which she treasured a bit of her dead +mother's hair, there was a black pearl as big as a pea. These things +made it difficult--perhaps impossible--for Ralph Hagadorn to say +more than, "I love you." But that much he meant to say though he were +scourged with chagrin for his temerity. + +This determination grew upon him as he swept along the ice under the +starlight. Venus made a glowing path toward the west and seemed eager to +reassure him. He was sorry he could not skim down that avenue of light +which flowed from the love-star, but he was forced to turn his back upon +it and face the black northeast. + +It came to him with a shock that he was not alone. His eyelashes were +frosted and his eyeballs blurred with the cold, so at first he thought +it might be an illusion. But when he had rubbed his eyes hard, he +made sure that not very far in front of him was a long white skater in +fluttering garments who sped over the ice as fast as ever werewolf went. + +He called aloud, but there was no answer. He shaped his hands and +trumpeted through them, but the silence was as before--it was complete. +So then he gave chase, setting his teeth hard and putting a tension on +his firm young muscles. But go however he would, the white skater went +faster. After a time, as he glanced at the cold gleam of the north star, +he perceived that he was being led from his direct path. For a moment +he hesitated, wondering if he would not better keep to his road, but his +weird companion seemed to draw him on irresistibly, and finding it sweet +to follow, he followed. + +Of course it came to him more than once in that strange pursuit, that +the white skater was no earthly guide. Up in those latitudes men see +curious things when the hoar frost is on the earth. Hagadorn's own +father--to hark no further than that for an instance!--who lived up +there with the Lake Superior Indians, and worked in the copper mines, +had welcomed a woman at his hut one bitter night, who was gone by +morning, leaving wolf tracks on the snow! Yes, it was so, and John +Fontanelle, the half-breed, could tell you about it any day--if he were +alive. (Alack, the snow where the wolf tracks were, is melted now!) + +Well, Hagadorn followed the white skater all the night, and when the ice +flushed pink at dawn, and arrows of lovely light shot up into the cold +heavens, she was gone, and Hagadorn was at his destination. The sun +climbed arrogantly up to his place above all other things, and as +Hagadorn took off his skates and glanced carelessly lakeward, he beheld +a great wind-rift in the ice, and the waves showing blue and hungry +between white fields. Had he rushed along his intended path, watching +the stars to guide him, his glance turned upward, all his body at +magnificent momentum, he must certainly have gone into that cold grave. + +How wonderful that it had been sweet to follow the white skater, and +that he followed! + +His heart beat hard as he hurried to his friend's house. But he +encountered no wedding furore. His friend met him as men meet in houses +of mourning. + +"Is this your wedding face?" cried Hagadorn. "Why, man, starved as I am, +I look more like a bridegroom than you!" + +"There's no wedding to-day!" + +"No wedding! Why, you're not--" + +"Marie Beaujeu died last night--" + +"Marie--" + +"Died last night. She had been skating in the afternoon, and she came +home chilled and wandering in her mind, as if the frost had got in it +somehow. She grew worse and worse, and all the time she talked of you." + +"Of me?" + +"We wondered what it meant. No one knew you were lovers." + +"I didn't know it myself; more's the pity. At least, I didn't know--" + +"She said you were on the ice, and that you didn't know about the big +breaking-up, and she cried to us that the wind was off shore and the +rift widening. She cried over and over again that you could come in by +the old French creek if you only knew--" + +"I came in that way." + +"But how did you come to do that? It's out of the path. We thought +perhaps--" + +But Hagadorn broke in with his story and told him all as it had come to +pass. + +That day they watched beside the maiden, who lay with tapers at her head +and at her feet, and in the little church the bride who might have been +at her wedding said prayers for her friend. They buried Marie Beaujeu in +her bridesmaid white, and Hagadorn was before the altar with her, as he +had intended from the first! Then at midnight the lovers who were to +wed whispered their vows in the gloom of the cold church, and walked +together through the snow to lay their bridal wreaths upon a grave. + +Three nights later, Hagadorn skated back again to his home. They wanted +him to go by sunlight, but he had his way, and went when Venus made her +bright path on the ice. + +The truth was, he had hoped for the companionship of the white skater. +But he did not have it. His only companion was the wind. The only voice +he heard was the baying of a wolf on the north shore. The world was as +empty and as white as if God had just created it, and the sun had not +yet colored nor man defiled it. + + + + +THEIR DEAR LITTLE GHOST + + +THE first time one looked at Elsbeth, one was not prepossessed. She was +thin and brown, her nose turned slightly upward, her toes went in just +a perceptible degree, and her hair was perfectly straight. But when one +looked longer, one perceived that she was a charming little creature. +The straight hair was as fine as silk, and hung in funny little braids +down her back; there was not a flaw in her soft brown skin, and her +mouth was tender and shapely. But her particular charm lay in a look +which she habitually had, of seeming to know curious things--such as it +is not allotted to ordinary persons to know. One felt tempted to say to +her: + +"What are these beautiful things which you know, and of which others are +ignorant? What is it you see with those wise and pellucid eyes? Why is +it that everybody loves you?" + +Elsbeth was my little godchild, and I knew her better than I knew any +other child in the world. But still I could not truthfully say that I +was familiar with her, for to me her spirit was like a fair and fragrant +road in the midst of which I might walk in peace and joy, but where I +was continually to discover something new. The last time I saw her quite +well and strong was over in the woods where she had gone with her two +little brothers and her nurse to pass the hottest weeks of summer. I +followed her, foolish old creature that I was, just to be near her, for +I needed to dwell where the sweet aroma of her life could reach me. + +One morning when I came from my room, limping a little, because I am +not so young as I used to be, and the lake wind works havoc with me, my +little godchild came dancing to me singing: + +"Come with me and I'll show you my places, my places, my places!" + +Miriam, when she chanted by the Red Sea might have been more exultant, +but she could not have been more bewitching. Of course I knew what +"places" were, because I had once been a little girl myself, but unless +you are acquainted with the real meaning of "places," it would be +useless to try to explain. Either you know "places" or you do not--just +as you understand the meaning of poetry or you do not. There are things +in the world which cannot be taught. + +Elsbeth's two tiny brothers were present, and I took one by each hand +and followed her. No sooner had we got out of doors in the woods than +a sort of mystery fell upon the world and upon us. We were cautioned to +move silently, and we did so, avoiding the crunching of dry twigs. + +"The fairies hate noise," whispered my little godchild, her eyes +narrowing like a cat's. + +"I must get my wand first thing I do," she said in an awed undertone. +"It is useless to try to do anything without a wand." + +The tiny boys were profoundly impressed, and, indeed, so was I. I felt +that at last, I should, if I behaved properly, see the fairies, which +had hitherto avoided my materialistic gaze. It was an enchanting moment, +for there appeared, just then, to be nothing commonplace about life. + +There was a swale near by, and into this the little girl plunged. I +could see her red straw hat bobbing about among the tall rushes, and I +wondered if there were snakes. + +"Do you think there are snakes?" I asked one of the tiny boys. + +"If there are," he said with conviction, "they won't dare hurt her." + +He convinced me. I feared no more. Presently Elsbeth came out of the +swale. In her hand was a brown "cattail," perfectly full and round. She +carried it as queens carry their sceptres--the beautiful queens we dream +of in our youth. + +"Come," she commanded, and waved the sceptre in a fine manner. So we +followed, each tiny boy gripping my hand tight. We were all three a +trifle awed. Elsbeth led us into a dark underbrush. The branches, as +they flew back in our faces, left them wet with dew. A wee path, made by +the girl's dear feet, guided our footsteps. Perfumes of elderberry and +wild cucumber scented the air. A bird, frightened from its nest, made +frantic cries above our heads. The underbrush thickened. Presently the +gloom of the hemlocks was over us, and in the midst of the shadowy green +a tulip tree flaunted its leaves. Waves boomed and broke upon the +shore below. There was a growing dampness as we went on, treading very +lightly. A little green snake ran coquettishly from us. A fat and glossy +squirrel chattered at us from a safe height, stroking his whiskers with +a complaisant air. + +At length we reached the "place." It was a circle of velvet grass, +bright as the first blades of spring, delicate as fine sea-ferns. The +sunlight, falling down the shaft between the hemlocks, flooded it with +a softened light and made the forest round about look like deep purple +velvet. My little godchild stood in the midst and raised her wand +impressively. + +"This is my place," she said, with a sort of wonderful gladness in her +tone. "This is where I come to the fairy balls. Do you see them?" + +"See what?" whispered one tiny boy. + +"The fairies." + +There was a silence. The older boy pulled at my skirt. + +"Do YOU see them?" he asked, his voice trembling with expectancy. + +"Indeed," I said, "I fear I am too old and wicked to see fairies, and +yet--are their hats red?" + +"They are," laughed my little girl. "Their hats are red, and as +small--as small!" She held up the pearly nail of her wee finger to give +us the correct idea. + +"And their shoes are very pointed at the toes?" + +"Oh, very pointed!" + +"And their garments are green?" + +"As green as grass." + +"And they blow little horns?" + +"The sweetest little horns!" + +"I think I see them," I cried. + +"We think we see them too," said the tiny boys, laughing in perfect +glee. + +"And you hear their horns, don't you?" my little godchild asked somewhat +anxiously. + +"Don't we hear their horns?" I asked the tiny boys. + +"We think we hear their horns," they cried. "Don't you think we do?" + +"It must be we do," I said. "Aren't we very, very happy?" + +We all laughed softly. Then we kissed each other and Elsbeth led us out, +her wand high in the air. + +And so my feet found the lost path to Arcady. + +The next day I was called to the Pacific coast, and duty kept me there +till well into December. A few days before the date set for my return to +my home, a letter came from Elsbeth's mother. + +"Our little girl is gone into the Unknown," she wrote--"that Unknown in +which she seemed to be forever trying to pry. We knew she was going, and +we told her. She was quite brave, but she begged us to try some way to +keep her till after Christmas. 'My presents are not finished yet,' she +made moan. 'And I did so want to see what I was going to have. You can't +have a very happy Christmas without me, I should think. Can you arrange +to keep me somehow till after then?' We could not 'arrange' either with +God in heaven or science upon earth, and she is gone." + +She was only my little godchild, and I am an old maid, with no business +fretting over children, but it seemed as if the medium of light and +beauty had been taken from me. Through this crystal soul I had perceived +whatever was loveliest. However, what was, was! I returned to my home +and took up a course of Egyptian history, and determined to concern +myself with nothing this side the Ptolemies. + +Her mother has told me how, on Christmas eve, as usual, she and +Elsbeth's father filled the stockings of the little ones, and hung them, +where they had always hung, by the fireplace. They had little heart for +the task, but they had been prodigal that year in their expenditures, +and had heaped upon the two tiny boys all the treasures they thought +would appeal to them. They asked themselves how they could have been +so insane previously as to exercise economy at Christmas time, and what +they meant by not getting Elsbeth the autoharp she had asked for the +year before. + +"And now--" began her father, thinking of harps. But he could not +complete this sentence, of course, and the two went on passionately and +almost angrily with their task. There were two stockings and two piles +of toys. Two stockings only, and only two piles of toys! Two is very +little! + +They went away and left the darkened room, and after a time they +slept--after a long time. Perhaps that was about the time the tiny boys +awoke, and, putting on their little dressing gowns and bed slippers, +made a dash for the room where the Christmas things were always placed. +The older one carried a candle which gave out a feeble light. The other +followed behind through the silent house. They were very impatient and +eager, but when they reached the door of the sitting-room they stopped, +for they saw that another child was before them. + +It was a delicate little creature, sitting in her white night gown, with +two rumpled funny braids falling down her back, and she seemed to be +weeping. As they watched, she arose, and putting out one slender +finger as a child does when she counts, she made sure over and over +again--three sad times--that there were only two stockings and two piles +of toys! Only those and no more. + +The little figure looked so familiar that the boys started toward it, +but just then, putting up her arm and bowing her face in it, as Elsbeth +had been used to do when she wept or was offended, the little thing +glided away and went out. That's what the boys said. It went out as a +candle goes out. + +They ran and woke their parents with the tale, and all the house was +searched in a wonderment, and disbelief, and hope, and tumult! But +nothing was found. For nights they watched. But there was only the +silent house. Only the empty rooms. They told the boys they must have +been mistaken. But the boys shook their heads. + +"We know our Elsbeth," said they. "It was our Elsbeth, cryin' 'cause she +hadn't no stockin' an' no toys, and we would have given her all ours, +only she went out--jus' went out!" + +Alack! + +The next Christmas I helped with the little festival. It was none of +my affair, but I asked to help, and they let me, and when we were all +through there were three stockings and three piles of toys, and in the +largest one was all the things that I could think of that my dear child +would love. I locked the boys' chamber that night, and I slept on the +divan in the parlor off the sitting-room. I slept but little, and the +night was very still--so windless and white and still that I think I +must have heard the slightest noise. Yet I heard none. Had I been in my +grave I think my ears would not have remained more unsaluted. + +Yet when daylight came and I went to unlock the boys' bedchamber door, +I saw that the stocking and all the treasures which I had bought for my +little godchild were gone. There was not a vestige of them remaining! + +Of course we told the boys nothing. As for me, after dinner I went home +and buried myself once more in my history, and so interested was I that +midnight came without my knowing it. I should not have looked up at all, +I suppose, to become aware of the time, had it not been for a faint, +sweet sound as of a child striking a stringed instrument. It was so +delicate and remote that I hardly heard it, but so joyous and tender +that I could not but listen, and when I heard it a second time it seemed +as if I caught the echo of a child's laugh. At first I was puzzled. Then +I remembered the little autoharp I had placed among the other things in +that pile of vanished toys. I said aloud: + +"Farewell, dear little ghost. Go rest. Rest in joy, dear little ghost. +Farewell, farewell." + +That was years ago, but there has been silence since. Elsbeth was always +an obedient little thing. + + + + +A SPECTRAL COLLIE + +WILLIAM PERCY CECIL happened to be a younger son, so he left home--which +was England--and went to Kansas to ranch it. Thousands of younger sons +do the same, only their destination is not invariably Kansas. + +An agent at Wichita picked out Cecil's farm for him and sent the deeds +over to England before Cecil left. He said there was a house on the +place. So Cecil's mother fitted him out for America just as she had +fitted out another superfluous boy for Africa, and parted from him +with an heroic front and big agonies of mother-ache which she kept to +herself. + +The boy bore up the way a man of his blood ought, but when he went out +to the kennel to see Nita, his collie, he went to pieces somehow, and +rolled on the grass with her in his arms and wept like a booby. But the +remarkable part of it was that Nita wept too, big, hot dog tears which +her master wiped away. When he went off she howled like a hungry baby, +and had to be switched before she would give any one a night's sleep. + +When Cecil got over on his Kansas place he fitted up the shack as +cosily as he could, and learned how to fry bacon and make soda biscuits. +Incidentally, he did farming, and sunk a heap of money, finding out +how not to do things. Meantime, the Americans laughed at him, and were +inclined to turn the cold shoulder, and his compatriots, of whom there +were a number in the county, did not prove to his liking. They consoled +themselves for their exiled state in fashions not in keeping with +Cecil's traditions. His homesickness went deeper than theirs, perhaps, +and American whiskey could not make up for the loss of his English home, +nor flirtations with the gay American village girls quite compensate +him for the loss of his English mother. So he kept to himself and had +nostalgia as some men have consumption. + +At length the loneliness got so bad that he had to see some living thing +from home, or make a flunk of it and go back like a cry baby. He had +a stiff pride still, though he sobbed himself to sleep more than one +night, as many a pioneer has done before him. So he wrote home for Nita, +the collie, and got word that she would be sent. Arrangements were made +for her care all along the line, and she was properly boxed and shipped. + +As the time drew near for her arrival, Cecil could hardly eat. He +was too excited to apply himself to anything. The day of her expected +arrival he actually got up at five o'clock to clean the house and make +it look as fine as possible for her inspection. Then he hitched up and +drove fifteen miles to get her. The train pulled out just before he +reached the station, so Nita in her box was waiting for him on the +platform. He could see her in a queer way, as one sees the purple centre +of a revolving circle of light; for, to tell the truth, with the long +ride in the morning sun, and the beating of his heart, Cecil was only +about half-conscious of anything. He wanted to yell, but he didn't. +He kept himself in hand and lifted up the sliding side of the box and +called to Nita, and she came out. + +But it wasn't the man who fainted, though he might have done so, being +crazy homesick as he was, and half-fed and overworked while he was yet +soft from an easy life. No, it was the dog! She looked at her master's +face, gave one cry of inexpressible joy, and fell over in a real +feminine sort of a faint, and had to be brought to like any other lady, +with camphor and water and a few drops of spirit down her throat. Then +Cecil got up on the wagon seat, and she sat beside him with her head on +his arm, and they rode home in absolute silence, each feeling too much +for speech. After they reached home, however, Cecil showed her all over +the place, and she barked out her ideas in glad sociability. + +After that Cecil and Nita were inseparable. She walked beside him +all day when he was out with the cultivator, or when he was mowing or +reaping. She ate beside him at table and slept across his feet at night. +Evenings when he looked over the Graphic from home, or read the books +his mother sent him, that he might keep in touch with the world, Nita +was beside him, patient, but jealous. Then, when he threw his book or +paper down and took her on his knee and looked into her pretty eyes, or +frolicked with her, she fairly laughed with delight. + +In short, she was faithful with that faith of which only a dog is +capable--that unquestioning faith to which even the most loving women +never quite attain. + +However, Fate was annoyed at this perfect friendship. It didn't give her +enough to do, and Fate is a restless thing with a horrible appetite for +variety. So poor Nita died one day mysteriously, and gave her last +look to Cecil as a matter of course; and he held her paws till the last +moment, as a stanch friend should, and laid her away decently in a pine +box in the cornfield, where he could be shielded from public view if he +chose to go there now and then and sit beside her grave. + +He went to bed very lonely, indeed, the first night. The shack seemed +to him to be removed endless miles from the other habitations of men. +He seemed cut off from the world, and ached to hear the cheerful little +barks which Nita had been in the habit of giving him by way of good +night. Her amiable eye with its friendly light was missing, the gay wag +of her tail was gone; all her ridiculous ways, at which he was never +tired of laughing, were things of the past. + +He lay down, busy with these thoughts, yet so habituated to Nita's +presence, that when her weight rested upon his feet, as usual, he felt +no surprise. But after a moment it came to him that as she was dead the +weight he felt upon his feet could not be hers. And yet, there it was, +warm and comfortable, cuddling down in the familiar way. He actually +sat up and put his hand down to the foot of the bed to discover what +was there. But there was nothing there, save the weight. And that stayed +with him that night and many nights after. + +It happened that Cecil was a fool, as men will be when they are young, +and he worked too hard, and didn't take proper care of himself; and so +it came about that he fell sick with a low fever. He struggled around +for a few days, trying to work it off, but one morning he awoke only to +the consciousness of absurd dreams. He seemed to be on the sea, sailing +for home, and the boat was tossing and pitching in a weary circle, and +could make no headway. His heart was burning with impatience, but the +boat went round and round in that endless circle till he shrieked out +with agony. + +The next neighbors were the Taylors, who lived two miles and a half +away. They were awakened that morning by the howling of a dog before +their door. It was a hideous sound and would give them no peace. So +Charlie Taylor got up and opened the door, discovering there an excited +little collie. + +"Why, Tom," he called, "I thought Cecil's collie was dead!" + +"She is," called back Tom. + +"No, she ain't neither, for here she is, shakin' like an aspin, and a +beggin' me to go with her. Come out, Tom, and see." + +It was Nita, no denying, and the men, perplexed, followed her to Cecil's +shack, where they found him babbling. + +But that was the last of her. Cecil said he never felt her on his +feet again. She had performed her final service for him, he said. +The neighbors tried to laugh at the story at first, but they knew the +Taylors wouldn't take the trouble to lie, and as for Cecil, no one would +have ventured to chaff him. + + + + +THE HOUSE THAT WAS NOT + + +BART FLEMING took his bride out to his ranch on the plains when she +was but seventeen years old, and the two set up housekeeping in three +hundred and twenty acres of corn and rye. Off toward the west there was +an unbroken sea of tossing corn at that time of the year when the bride +came out, and as her sewing window was on the side of the house which +faced the sunset, she passed a good part of each day looking into that +great rustling mass, breathing in its succulent odors and listening +to its sibilant melody. It was her picture gallery, her opera, her +spectacle, and, being sensible,--or perhaps, being merely happy,--she +made the most of it. + +When harvesting time came and the corn was cut, she had much +entertainment in discovering what lay beyond. The town was east, and it +chanced that she had never ridden west. So, when the rolling hills of +this newly beholden land lifted themselves for her contemplation, and +the harvest sun, all in an angry and sanguinary glow sank in the veiled +horizon, and at noon a scarf of golden vapor wavered up and down +along the earth line, it was as if a new world had been made for her. +Sometimes, at the coming of a storm, a whip-lash of purple cloud, full +of electric agility, snapped along the western horizon. + +"Oh, you'll see a lot of queer things on these here plains," her husband +said when she spoke to him of these phenomena. "I guess what you see is +the wind." + +"The wind!" cried Flora. "You can't see the wind, Bart." + +"Now look here, Flora," returned Bart, with benevolent emphasis, "you're +a smart one, but you don't know all I know about this here country. I've +lived here three mortal years, waitin' for you to git up out of your +mother's arms and come out to keep me company, and I know what there is +to know. Some things out here is queer--so queer folks wouldn't believe +'em unless they saw. An' some's so pig-headed they don't believe their +own eyes. As for th' wind, if you lay down flat and squint toward th' +west, you can see it blowin' along near th' ground, like a big ribbon; +an' sometimes it's th' color of air, an' sometimes it's silver an' gold, +an' sometimes, when a storm is comin', it's purple." + +"If you got so tired looking at the wind, why didn't you marry some +other girl, Bart, instead of waiting for me?" + +Flora was more interested in the first part of Bart's speech than in the +last. + +"Oh, come on!" protested Bart, and he picked her up in his arms and +jumped her toward the ceiling of the low shack as if she were a little +girl--but then, to be sure, she wasn't much more. + +Of all the things Flora saw when the corn was cut down, nothing +interested her so much as a low cottage, something like her own, which +lay away in the distance. She could not guess how far it might be, +because distances are deceiving out there, where the altitude is high +and the air is as clear as one of those mystic balls of glass in which +the sallow mystics of India see the moving shadows of the future. + +She had not known there were neighbors so near, and she wondered for +several days about them before she ventured to say anything to Bart +on the subject. Indeed, for some reason which she did not attempt to +explain to herself, she felt shy about broaching the matter. Perhaps +Bart did not want her to know the people. The thought came to her, +as naughty thoughts will come, even to the best of persons, that some +handsome young men might be "baching" it out there by themselves, and +Bart didn't wish her to make their acquaintance. Bart had flattered her +so much that she had actually begun to think herself beautiful, though +as a matter of fact she was only a nice little girl with a lot of +reddish-brown hair, and a bright pair of reddish-brown eyes in a white +face. + +"Bart," she ventured one evening, as the sun, at its fiercest, rushed +toward the great black hollow of the west, "who lives over there in that +shack?" + +She turned away from the window where she had been looking at the +incarnadined disk, and she thought she saw Bart turn pale. But then, +her eyes were so blurred with the glory she had been gazing at, that she +might easily have been mistaken. + +"I say, Bart, why don't you speak? If there's any one around to +associate with, I should think you'd let me have the benefit of their +company. It isn't as funny as you think, staying here alone days and +days." + +"You ain't gettin' homesick, be you, sweetheart?" cried Bart, putting +his arms around her. "You ain't gettin' tired of my society, be yeh?" + +It took some time to answer this question in a satisfactory manner, but +at length Flora was able to return to her original topic. + +"But the shack, Bart! Who lives there, anyway?" + +"I'm not acquainted with 'em," said Bart, sharply. "Ain't them biscuits +done, Flora?" + +Then, of course, she grew obstinate. + +"Those biscuits will never be done, Bart, till I know about that house, +and why you never spoke of it, and why nobody ever comes down the road +from there. Some one lives there I know, for in the mornings and at +night I see the smoke coming out of the chimney." + +"Do you now?" cried Bart, opening his eyes and looking at her with +unfeigned interest. "Well, do you know, sometimes I've fancied I seen +that too?" + +"Well, why not," cried Flora, in half anger. "Why shouldn't you?" + +"See here, Flora, take them biscuits out an' listen to me. There ain't +no house there. Hello! I didn't know you'd go for to drop the biscuits. +Wait, I'll help you pick 'em up. By cracky, they're hot, ain't they? +What you puttin' a towel over 'em for? Well, you set down here on my +knee, so. Now you look over at that there house. You see it, don't yeh? +Well, it ain't there! No! I saw it the first week I was out here. I was +jus' half dyin', thinkin' of you an' wonderin' why you didn't +write. That was the time you was mad at me. So I rode over there one +day--lookin' up company, so t' speak--and there wa'n't no house there. I +spent all one Sunday lookin' for it. Then I spoke to Jim Geary about +it. He laughed an' got a little white about th' gills, an' he said he +guessed I'd have to look a good while before I found it. He said that +there shack was an ole joke." + +"Why--what--" + +"Well, this here is th' story he tol' me. He said a man an' his wife +come out here t' live an' put up that there little place. An' she was +young, you know, an' kind o' skeery, and she got lonesome. It worked on +her an' worked on her, an' one day she up an' killed the baby an' her +husband an' herself. Th' folks found 'em and buried 'em right there on +their own ground. Well, about two weeks after that, th' house was burned +down. Don't know how. Tramps, maybe. Anyhow, it burned. At least, I +guess it burned!" + +"You guess it burned!" + +"Well, it ain't there, you know." + +"But if it burned the ashes are there." + +"All right, girlie, they're there then. Now let's have tea." + +This they proceeded to do, and were happy and cheerful all evening, +but that didn't keep Flora from rising at the first flush of dawn and +stealing out of the house. She looked away over west as she went to +the barn and there, dark and firm against the horizon, stood the +little house against the pellucid sky of morning. She got on Ginger's +back--Ginger being her own yellow broncho--and set off at a hard pace +for the house. It didn't appear to come any nearer, but the objects +which had seemed to be beside it came closer into view, and Flora +pressed on, with her mind steeled for anything. But as she approached +the poplar windbreak which stood to the north of the house, the little +shack waned like a shadow before her. It faded and dimmed before her +eyes. + +She slapped Ginger's flanks and kept him going, and she at last got him +up to the spot. But there was nothing there. The bunch grass grew tall +and rank and in the midst of it lay a baby's shoe. Flora thought of +picking it up, but something cold in her veins withheld her. Then she +grew angry, and set Ginger's head toward the place and tried to drive +him over it. But the yellow broncho gave one snort of fear, gathered +himself in a bunch, and then, all tense, leaping muscles, made for home +as only a broncho can. + + + + +STORY OF AN OBSTINATE CORPSE + + +VIRGIL HOYT is a photographer's assistant up at St. Paul, and enjoys +his work without being consumed by it. He has been in search of the +picturesque all over the West and hundreds of miles to the north, in +Canada, and can speak three or four Indian dialects and put a canoe +through the rapids. That is to say, he is a man of adventure, and no +dreamer. He can fight well and shoot better, and swim so as to put up a +winning race with the Indian boys, and he can sit in the saddle all day +and not worry about it to-morrow. + +Wherever he goes, he carries a camera. + +"The world," Hoyt is in the habit of saying to those who sit with him +when he smokes his pipe, "was created in six days to be photographed. +Man--and particularly woman--was made for the same purpose. Clouds +are not made to give moisture nor trees to cast shade. They have been +created in order to give the camera obscura something to do." + +In short, Virgil Hoyt's view of the world is whimsical, and he likes to +be bothered neither with the disagreeable nor the mysterious. That +is the reason he loathes and detests going to a house of mourning to +photograph a corpse. The bad taste of it offends him, but above all, +he doesn't like the necessity of shouldering, even for a few moments, a +part of the burden of sorrow which belongs to some one else. He dislikes +sorrow, and would willingly canoe five hundred miles up the cold +Canadian rivers to get rid of it. Nevertheless, as assistant +photographer, it is often his duty to do this very kind of thing. + +Not long ago he was sent for by a rich Jewish family to photograph the +remains of the mother, who had just died. He was put out, but he was +only an assistant, and he went. He was taken to the front parlor, where +the dead woman lay in her coffin. It was evident to him that there was +some excitement in the household, and that a discussion was going on. +But Hoyt said to himself that it didn't concern him, and he therefore +paid no attention to it. + +The daughter wanted the coffin turned on end in order that the corpse +might face the camera properly, but Hoyt said he could overcome the +recumbent attitude and make it appear that the face was taken in the +position it would naturally hold in life, and so they went out and left +him alone with the dead. + +The face of the deceased was a strong and positive one, such as +may often be seen among Jewish matrons. Hoyt regarded it with some +admiration, thinking to himself that she was a woman who had known +what she wanted, and who, once having made up her mind, would prove +immovable. Such a character appealed to Hoyt. He reflected that he +might have married if only he could have found a woman with strength of +character sufficient to disagree with him. There was a strand of hair +out of place on the dead woman's brow, and he gently pushed it back. +A bud lifted its head too high from among the roses on her breast and +spoiled the contour of the chin, so he broke it off. He remembered these +things later with keen distinctness, and that his hand touched her chill +face two or three times in the making of his arrangements. + +Then he took the impression, and left the house. + +He was busy at the time with some railroad work, and several days passed +before he found opportunity to develop the plates. He took them from +the bath in which they had lain with a number of others, and went +energetically to work upon them, whistling some very saucy songs he had +learned of the guide in the Red River country, and trying to forget that +the face which was presently to appear was that of a dead woman. He had +used three plates as a precaution against accident, and they came +up well. But as they developed, he became aware of the existence of +something in the photograph which had not been apparent to his eye +in the subject. He was irritated, and without attempting to face the +mystery, he made a few prints and laid them aside, ardently hoping that +by some chance they would never be called for. + +However, as luck would have it,--and Hoyt's luck never had been +good,--his employer asked one day what had become of those photographs. +Hoyt tried to evade making an answer, but the effort was futile, and he +had to get out the finished prints and exhibit them. The older man sat +staring at them a long time. + +"Hoyt," he said, "you're a young man, and very likely you have never +seen anything like this before. But I have. Not exactly the same thing, +perhaps, but similar phenomena have come my way a number of times since +I went in the business, and I want to tell you there are things in +heaven and earth not dreamt of--" + +"Oh, I know all that tommy-rot," cried Hoyt, angrily, "but when anything +happens I want to know the reason why and how it is done." + +"All right," answered his employer, "then you might explain why and how +the sun rises." + +But he humored the young man sufficiently to examine with him the baths +in which the plates were submerged, and the plates themselves. All was +as it should be; but the mystery was there, and could not be done away +with. + +Hoyt hoped against hope that the friends of the dead woman would somehow +forget about the photographs; but the idea was unreasonable, and one +day, as a matter of course, the daughter appeared and asked to see the +pictures of her mother. + +"Well, to tell the truth," stammered Hoyt, "they didn't come out +quite--quite as well as we could wish." + +"But let me see them," persisted the lady. "I'd like to look at them +anyhow." + +"Well, now," said Hoyt, trying to be soothing, as he believed it was +always best to be with women,--to tell the truth he was an ignoramus +where women were concerned,--"I think it would be better if you didn't +look at them. There are reasons why--" he ambled on like this, stupid +man that he was, till the lady naturally insisted upon seeing the +pictures without a moment's delay. + +So poor Hoyt brought them out and placed them in her hand, and then +ran for the water pitcher, and had to be at the bother of bathing her +forehead to keep her from fainting. + +For what the lady saw was this: Over face and flowers and the head of +the coffin fell a thick veil, the edges of which touched the floor in +some places. It covered the features so well that not a hint of them was +visible. + +"There was nothing over mother's face!" cried the lady at length. + +"Not a thing," acquiesced Hoyt. "I know, because I had occasion to touch +her face just before I took the picture. I put some of her hair back +from her brow." + +"What does it mean, then?" asked the lady. + +"You know better than I. There is no explanation in science. Perhaps +there is some in--in psychology." + +"Well," said the young woman, stammering a little and coloring, "mother +was a good woman, but she always wanted her own way, and she always had +it, too." + +"Yes." + +"And she never would have her picture taken. She didn't admire her own +appearance. She said no one should ever see a picture of her." + +"So?" said Hoyt, meditatively. "Well, she's kept her word, hasn't she?" + +The two stood looking at the photographs for a time. Then Hoyt pointed +to the open blaze in the grate. + +"Throw them in," he commanded. "Don't let your father see them--don't +keep them yourself. They wouldn't be agreeable things to keep." + +"That's true enough," admitted the lady. And she threw them in the fire. +Then Virgil Hoyt brought out the plates and broke them before her eyes. + +And that was the end of it--except that Hoyt sometimes tells the story +to those who sit beside him when his pipe is lighted. + + + + +A CHILD OF THE RAIN + + +IT was the night that Mona Meeks, the dressmaker, told him she didn't +love him. He couldn't believe it at first, because he had so long been +accustomed to the idea that she did, and no matter how rough the weather +or how irascible the passengers, he felt a song in his heart as he +punched transfers, and rang his bell punch, and signalled the driver +when to let people off and on. + +Now, suddenly, with no reason except a woman's, she had changed her +mind. He dropped in to see her at five o'clock, just before time for the +night shift, and to give her two red apples he had been saving for her. +She looked at the apples as if they were invisible and she could not see +them, and standing in her disorderly little dressmaking parlor, with its +cuttings and scraps and litter of fabrics, she said: + +"It is no use, John. I shall have to work here like this all my +life--work here alone. For I don't love you, John. No, I don't. I +thought I did, but it is a mistake." + +"You mean it?" asked John, bringing up the words in a great gasp. + +"Yes," she said, white and trembling and putting out her hands as if to +beg for his mercy. And then--big, lumbering fool--he turned around +and strode down the stairs and stood at the corner in the beating rain +waiting for his car. It came along at length, spluttering on the wet +rails and spitting out blue fire, and he took his shift after a gruff +"Good night" to Johnson, the man he relieved. + +He was glad the rain was bitter cold and drove in his face fiercely. +He rejoiced at the cruelty of the wind, and when it hustled pedestrians +before it, lashing them, twisting their clothes, and threatening their +equilibrium, he felt amused. He was pleased at the chill in his bones +and at the hunger that tortured him. At least, at first he thought it +was hunger till he remembered that he had just eaten. The hours passed +confusedly. He had no consciousness of time. But it must have been +late,--near midnight,--judging by the fact that there were few persons +visible anywhere in the black storm, when he noticed a little figure +sitting at the far end of the car. He had not seen the child when she +got on, but all was so curious and wild to him that evening--he himself +seemed to himself the most curious and the wildest of all things--that +it was not surprising that he should not have observed the little +creature. + +She was wrapped in a coat so much too large that it had become frayed +at the bottom from dragging on the pavement. Her hair hung in unkempt +stringiness about her bent shoulders, and her feet were covered with old +arctics, many sizes too big, from which the soles hung loose. + +Beside the little figure was a chest of dark wood, with curiously +wrought hasps. From this depended a stout strap by which it could be +carried over the shoulders. John Billings stared in, fascinated by the +poor little thing with its head sadly drooping upon its breast, its thin +blue hands relaxed upon its lap, and its whole attitude so suggestive +of hunger, loneliness, and fatigue, that he made up his mind he would +collect no fare from it. + +"It will need its nickel for breakfast," he said to himself. "The +company can stand this for once. Or, come to think of it, I might +celebrate my hard luck. Here's to the brotherhood of failures!" And +he took a nickel from one pocket of his great-coat and dropped it in +another, ringing his bell punch to record the transfer. + +The car plunged along in the darkness, and the rain beat more viciously +than ever in his face. The night was full of the rushing sound of the +storm. Owing to some change of temperature the glass of the car became +obscured so that the young conductor could no longer see the little +figure distinctly, and he grew anxious about the child. + +"I wonder if it's all right," he said to himself. "I never saw living +creature sit so still." + +He opened the car door, intending to speak with the child, but just +then something went wrong with the lights. There was a blue and green +flickering, then darkness, a sudden halting of the car, and a great +sweep of wind and rain in at the door. When, after a moment, light and +motion reasserted themselves, and Billings had got the door together, he +turned to look at the little passenger. But the car was empty. + +It was a fact. There was no child there--not even moisture on the seat +where she had been sitting. + +"Bill," said he, going to the front door and addressing the driver, +"what became of that little kid in the old cloak?" + +"I didn't see no kid," said Bill, crossly. "For Gawd's sake, close the +door, John, and git that draught off my back." + +"Draught!" said John, indignantly, "where's the draught?" + +"You've left the hind door open," growled Bill, and John saw him +shivering as a blast struck him and ruffled the fur on his bear-skin +coat. But the door was not open, and yet John had to admit to himself +that the car seemed filled with wind and a strange coldness. + +However, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered! Still, it was as well no +doubt to look under the seats just to make sure no little crouching +figure was there, and so he did. But there was nothing. In fact, John +said to himself, he seemed to be getting expert in finding nothing where +there ought to be something. + +He might have stayed in the car, for there was no likelihood of more +passengers that evening, but somehow he preferred going out where the +rain could drench him and the wind pommel him. How horribly tired he +was! If there were only some still place away from the blare of the city +where a man could lie down and listen to the sound of the sea or the +storm--or if one could grow suddenly old and get through with the bother +of living--or if-- + +The car gave a sudden lurch as it rounded a curve, and for a moment it +seemed to be a mere chance whether Conductor Billings would stay on +his platform or go off under those fire-spitting wheels. He caught +instinctively at his brake, saved himself, and stood still for a moment, +panting. + +"I must have dozed," he said to himself. + +Just then, dimly, through the blurred window, he saw again the little +figure of the child, its head on its breast as before, its blue hands +lying in its lap and the curious box beside it. John Billings felt a +coldness beyond the coldness of the night run through his blood. Then, +with a half-stifled cry, he threw back the door, and made a desperate +spring at the corner where the eerie thing sat. + +And he touched the green carpeting on the seat, which was quite dry +and warm, as if no dripping, miserable little wretch had ever crouched +there. + +He rushed to the front door. + +"Bill," he roared, "I want to know about that kid." + +"What kid?" + +"The same kid! The wet one with the old coat and the box with iron +hasps! The one that's been sitting here in the car!" + +Bill turned his surly face to confront the young conductor. + +"You've been drinking, you fool," said he. "Fust thing you know you'll +be reported." + +The conductor said not a word. He went slowly and weakly back to his +post and stood there the rest of the way leaning against the end of the +car for support. Once or twice he muttered: + +"The poor little brat!" And again he said, "So you didn't love me after +all!" + +He never knew how he reached home, but he sank to sleep as dying men +sink to death. All the same, being a hearty young man, he was on duty +again next day but one, and again the night was rainy and cold. + +It was the last run, and the car was spinning along at its limit, when +there came a sudden soft shock. John Billings knew what that meant. He +had felt something of the kind once before. He turned sick for a moment, +and held on to the brake. Then he summoned his courage and went around +to the side of the car, which had stopped. Bill, the driver, was before +him, and had a limp little figure in his arms, and was carrying it to +the gaslight. John gave one look and cried: + +"It's the same kid, Bill! The one I told you of!" + +True as truth were the ragged coat dangling from the pitiful body, the +little blue hands, the thin shoulders, the stringy hair, the big arctics +on the feet. And in the road not far off was the curious chest of dark +wood with iron hasps. + +"She ran under the car deliberate!" cried Bill. "I yelled to her, but +she looked at me and ran straight on!" + +He was white in spite of his weather-beaten skin. + +"I guess you wasn't drunk last night after all, John," said he. + +"You--you are sure the kid is--is there?" gasped John. + +"Not so damned sure!" said Bill. + +But a few minutes later it was taken away in a patrol wagon, and with it +the little box with iron hasps. + + + + +THE ROOM OF THE EVIL THOUGHT + + +THEY called it the room of the Evil Thought. It was really the +pleasantest room in the house, and when the place had been used as the +rectory, was the minister's study. It looked out on a mournful clump +of larches, such as may often be seen in the old-fashioned yards in +Michigan, and these threw a tender gloom over the apartment. + +There was a wide fireplace in the room, and it had been the young +minister's habit to sit there hours and hours, staring ahead of him at +the fire, and smoking moodily. The replenishing of the fire and of his +pipe, it was said, would afford him occupation all the day long, and +that was how it came about that his parochial duties were neglected so +that, little by little, the people became dissatisfied with him, though +he was an eloquent young man, who could send his congregation away drunk +on his influence. However, the calmer pulsed among his parish began to +whisper that it was indeed the influence of the young minister and not +that of the Holy Ghost which they felt, and it was finally decided +that neither animal magnetism nor hypnotism were good substitutes for +religion. And so they let him go. + +The new rector moved into a smart brick house on the other side of the +church, and gave receptions and dinner parties, and was punctilious +about making his calls. The people therefore liked him very much--so +much that they raised the debt on the church and bought a chime of +bells, in their enthusiasm. Every one was lighter of heart than under +the ministration of the previous rector. A burden appeared to be lifted +from the community. True, there were a few who confessed the new man +did not give them the food for thought which the old one had done, but, +then, the former rector had made them uncomfortable! He had not only +made them conscious of the sins of which they were already guilty, but +also of those for which they had the latent capacity. A strange and +fatal man, whom women loved to their sorrow, and whom simple men could +not understand! It was generally agreed that the parish was well rid of +him. + +"He was a genius," said the people in commiseration. The word was an +uncomplimentary epithet with them. + +When the Hanscoms moved in the house which had been the old rectory, +they gave Grandma Hanscom the room with the fireplace. Grandma was well +pleased. The roaring fire warmed her heart as well as her chill old +body, and she wept with weak joy when she looked at the larches, because +they reminded her of the house she had lived in when she was first +married. All the forenoon of the first day she was busy putting things +away in bureau drawers and closets, but by afternoon she was ready to +sit down in her high-backed rocker and enjoy the comforts of her room. + +She nodded a bit before the fire, as she usually did after luncheon, and +then she awoke with an awful start and sat staring before her with such +a look in her gentle, filmy old eyes as had never been there before. +She did not move, except to rock slightly, and the Thought grew and grew +till her face was disguised as by some hideous mask of tragedy. + +By and by the children came pounding at the door. + +"Oh, grandma, let us in, please. We want to see your new room, and mamma +gave us some ginger cookies on a plate, and we want to give some to +you." + +The door gave way under their assaults, and the three little ones stood +peeping in, waiting for permission to enter. But it did not seem to be +their grandma--their own dear grandma--who arose and tottered toward +them in fierce haste, crying: + +"Away, away! Out of my sight! Out of my sight before I do the thing I +want to do! Such a terrible thing! Send some one to me quick, children, +children! Send some one quick!" + +They fled with feet shod with fear, and their mother came, and Grandma +Hanscom sank down and clung about her skirts and sobbed: + +"Tie me, Miranda. Make me fast to the bed or the wall. Get some one to +watch me. For I want to do an awful thing!" + +They put the trembling old creature in bed, and she raved there all +the night long and cried out to be held, and to be kept from doing the +fearful thing, whatever it was--for she never said what it was. + +The next morning some one suggested taking her in the sitting-room +where she would be with the family. So they laid her on the sofa, hemmed +around with cushions, and before long she was her quiet self again, +though exhausted, naturally, with the tumult of the previous night. +Now and then, as the children played about her, a shadow crept over +her face--a shadow as of cold remembrance--and then the perplexed tears +followed. + +When she seemed as well as ever they put her back in her room. But +though the fire glowed and the lamp burned, as soon as ever she was +alone they heard her shrill cries ringing to them that the Evil Thought +had come again. So Hal, who was home from college, carried her up to his +room, which she seemed to like very well. Then he went down to have a +smoke before grandma's fire. + +The next morning he was absent from breakfast. They thought he might +have gone for an early walk, and waited for him a few minutes. Then +his sister went to the room that looked upon the larches, and found him +dressed and pacing the floor with a face set and stern. He had not been +in bed at all, as she saw at once. His eyes were bloodshot, his face +stricken as if with old age or sin or--but she could not make it out. +When he saw her he sank in a chair and covered his face with his hands, +and between the trembling fingers she could see drops of perspiration on +his forehead. + +"Hal!" she cried, "Hal, what is it?" + +But for answer he threw his arms about the little table and clung to +it, and looked at her with tortured eyes, in which she fancied she saw +a gleam of hate. She ran, screaming, from the room, and her father came +and went up to him and laid his hands on the boy's shoulders. And then +a fearful thing happened. All the family saw it. There could be no +mistake. Hal's hands found their way with frantic eagerness toward his +father's throat as if they would choke him, and the look in his eyes was +so like a madman's that his father raised his fist and felled him as he +used to fell men years before in the college fights, and then dragged +him into the sitting-room and wept over him. + +By evening, however, Hal was all right, and the family said it must have +been a fever,--perhaps from overstudy,--at which Hal covertly smiled. +But his father was still too anxious about him to let him out of his +sight, so he put him on a cot in his room, and thus it chanced that the +mother and Grace concluded to sleep together downstairs. + +The two women made a sort of festival of it, and drank little cups of +chocolate before the fire, and undid and brushed their brown braids, +and smiled at each other, understandingly, with that sweet intuitive +sympathy which women have, and Grace told her mother a number of things +which she had been waiting for just such an auspicious occasion to +confide. + +But the larches were noisy and cried out with wild voices, and the flame +of the fire grew blue and swirled about in the draught sinuously, so +that a chill crept upon the two. Something cold appeared to envelop +them--such a chill as pleasure voyagers feel when a berg steals beyond +Newfoundland and glows blue and threatening upon their ocean path. + +Then came something else which was not cold, but hot as the flames of +hell--and they saw red, and stared at each other with maddened eyes, and +then ran together from the room and clasped in close embrace safe beyond +the fatal place, and thanked God they had not done the thing that they +dared not speak of--the thing which suddenly came to them to do. + +So they called it the room of the Evil Thought. They could not account +for it. They avoided the thought of it, being healthy and happy folk. +But none entered it more. The door was locked. + +One day, Hal, reading the paper, came across a paragraph concerning the +young minister who had once lived there, and who had thought and +written there and so influenced the lives of those about him that they +remembered him even while they disapproved. + +"He cut a man's throat on board ship for Australia," said he, "and then +he cut his own, without fatal effect--and jumped overboard, and so ended +it. What a strange thing!" + +Then they all looked at one another with subtle looks, and a shadow fell +upon them and stayed the blood at their hearts. + +The next week the room of the Evil Thought was pulled down to make way +for a pansy bed, which is quite gay and innocent, and blooms all the +better because the larches, with their eternal murmuring, have been laid +low and carted away to the sawmill. + + + + +STORY OF THE VANISHING PATIENT + + +THERE had always been strange stories about the house, but it was a +sensible, comfortable sort of a neighborhood, and people took pains to +say to one another that there was nothing in these tales--of course +not! Absolutely nothing! How could there be? It was a matter of common +remark, however, that considering the amount of money the Nethertons had +spent on the place, it was curious they lived there so little. They +were nearly always away,--up North in the summer and down South in the +winter, and over to Paris or London now and then,--and when they did +come home it was only to entertain a number of guests from the city. The +place was either plunged in gloom or gayety. The old gardener who kept +house by himself in the cottage at the back of the yard had things much +his own way by far the greater part of the time. + +Dr. Block and his wife lived next door to the Nethertons, and he and his +wife, who were so absurd as to be very happy in each other's company, +had the benefit of the beautiful yard. They walked there mornings when +the leaves were silvered with dew, and evenings they sat beside the lily +pond and listened for the whip-poor-will. The doctor's wife moved her +room over to that side of the house which commanded a view of the yard, +and thus made the honeysuckles and laurel and clematis and all the +masses of tossing greenery her own. Sitting there day after day with +her sewing, she speculated about the mystery which hung impalpably yet +undeniably over the house. + +It happened one night when she and her husband had gone to their room, +and were congratulating themselves on the fact that he had no very sick +patients and was likely to enjoy a good night's rest, that a ring came +at the door. + +"If it's any one wanting you to leave home," warned his wife, "you must +tell them you are all worn out. You've been disturbed every night this +week, and it's too much!" + +The young physician went downstairs. At the door stood a man whom he had +never seen before. + +"My wife is lying very ill next door," said the stranger, "so ill that +I fear she will not live till morning. Will you please come to her at +once?" + +"Next door?" cried the physician. "I didn't know the Nethertons were +home!" + +"Please hasten," begged the man. "I must go back to her. Follow as +quickly as you can." + +The doctor went back upstairs to complete his toilet. + +"How absurd," protested his wife when she heard the story. "There is no +one at the Nethertons'. I sit where I can see the front door, and no one +can enter without my knowing it, and I have been sewing by the window +all day. If there were any one in the house, the gardener would have the +porch lantern lighted. It is some plot. Some one has designs on you. You +must not go." + +But he went. As he left the room his wife placed a revolver in his +pocket. + +The great porch of the mansion was dark, but the physician made out that +the door was open, and he entered. A feeble light came from the bronze +lamp at the turn of the stairs, and by it he found his way, his feet +sinking noiselessly in the rich carpets. At the head of the stairs the +man met him. The doctor thought himself a tall man, but the stranger +topped him by half a head. He motioned the physician to follow him, and +the two went down the hall to the front room. The place was flushed with +a rose-colored glow from several lamps. On a silken couch, in the midst +of pillows, lay a woman dying with consumption. She was like a lily, +white, shapely, graceful, with feeble yet charming movements. She looked +at the doctor appealingly, then, seeing in his eyes the involuntary +verdict that her hour was at hand, she turned toward her companion with +a glance of anguish. Dr. Block asked a few questions. The man answered +them, the woman remaining silent. The physician administered something +stimulating, and then wrote a prescription which he placed on the +mantel-shelf. + +"The drug store is closed to-night," he said, "and I fear the druggist +has gone home. You can have the prescription filled the first thing in +the morning, and I will be over before breakfast." + +After that, there was no reason why he should not have gone home. Yet, +oddly enough, he preferred to stay. Nor was it professional anxiety that +prompted this delay. He longed to watch those mysterious persons, who, +almost oblivious of his presence, were speaking their mortal farewells +in their glances, which were impassioned and of unutterable sadness. + +He sat as if fascinated. He watched the glitter of rings on the woman's +long, white hands, he noted the waving of light hair about her temples, +he observed the details of her gown of soft white silk which fell about +her in voluminous folds. Now and then the man gave her of the stimulant +which the doctor had provided; sometimes he bathed her face with water. +Once he paced the floor for a moment till a motion of her hand quieted +him. + +After a time, feeling that it would be more sensible and considerate +of him to leave, the doctor made his way home. His wife was awake, +impatient to hear of his experiences. She listened to his tale in +silence, and when he had finished she turned her face to the wall and +made no comment. + +"You seem to be ill, my dear," he said. "You have a chill. You are +shivering." + +"I have no chill," she replied sharply. "But I--well, you may leave the +light burning." + +The next morning before breakfast the doctor crossed the dewy sward to +the Netherton house. The front door was locked, and no one answered to +his repeated ringings. The old gardener chanced to be cutting the grass +near at hand, and he came running up. + +"What you ringin' that door-bell for, doctor?" said he. "The folks ain't +come home yet. There ain't nobody there." + +"Yes, there is, Jim. I was called here last night. A man came for me to +attend his wife. They must both have fallen asleep that the bell is not +answered. I wouldn't be surprised to find her dead, as a matter of fact. +She was a desperately sick woman. Perhaps she is dead and something has +happened to him. You have the key to the door, Jim. Let me in." + +But the old man was shaking in every limb, and refused to do as he was +bid. + +"Don't you never go in there, doctor," whispered he, with chattering +teeth. "Don't you go for to 'tend no one. You jus' come tell me when you +sent for that way. No, I ain't goin' in, doctor, nohow. It ain't part +of my duties to go in. That's been stipulated by Mr. Netherton. It's my +business to look after the garden." + +Argument was useless. Dr. Block took the bunch of keys from the old +man's pocket and himself unlocked the front door and entered. He mounted +the steps and made his way to the upper room. There was no evidence of +occupancy. The place was silent, and, so far as living creature went, +vacant. The dust lay over everything. It covered the delicate damask of +the sofa where he had seen the dying woman. It rested on the pillows. +The place smelled musty and evil, as if it had not been used for a long +time. The lamps of the room held not a drop of oil. + +But on the mantel-shelf was the prescription which the doctor had +written the night before. He read it, folded it, and put it in his +pocket. + +As he locked the outside door the old gardener came running to him. + +"Don't you never go up there again, will you?" he pleaded, "not unless +you see all the Nethertons home and I come for you myself. You won't, +doctor?" + +"No," said the doctor. + +When he told his wife she kissed him, and said: + +"Next time when I tell you to stay at home, you must stay!" + + + + +THE PIANO NEXT DOOR + + +BABETTE had gone away for the summer; the furniture was in its summer +linens; the curtains were down, and Babette's husband, John Boyce, was +alone in the house. It was the first year of his marriage, and he missed +Babette. But then, as he often said to himself, he ought never to +have married her. He did it from pure selfishness, and because he was +determined to possess the most illusive, tantalizing, elegant, and +utterly unmoral little creature that the sun shone upon. He wanted her +because she reminded him of birds, and flowers, and summer winds, +and other exquisite things created for the delectation of mankind. He +neither expected nor desired her to think. He had half-frightened her +into marrying him, had taken her to a poor man's home, provided her with +no society such as she had been accustomed to, and he had no reasonable +cause of complaint when she answered the call of summer and flitted +away, like a butterfly in the morning sunshine, to the place where the +flowers grew. + +He wrote to her every evening, sitting in the stifling, ugly house, and +poured out his soul as if it were a libation to a goddess. She sometimes +answered by telegraph, sometimes by a perfumed note. He schooled himself +not to feel hurt. Why should Babette write? Does a goldfinch indict +epistles; or a humming-bird study composition; or a glancing, red-scaled +fish in summer shallows consider the meaning of words? + +He knew at the beginning what Babette was--guessed her +limitations--trembled when he buttoned her tiny glove--kissed her dainty +slipper when he found it in the closet after she was gone--thrilled at +the sound of her laugh, or the memory of it! That was all. A mere case +of love. He was in bonds. Babette was not. Therefore he was in the +city, working overhours to pay for Babette's pretty follies down at the +seaside. It was quite right and proper. He was a grub in the furrow; +she a lark in the blue. Those had always been and always must be their +relative positions. + +Having attained a mood of philosophic calm, in which he was prepared to +spend his evenings alone--as became a grub--and to await with +dignified patience the return of his wife, it was in the nature of an +inconsistency that he should have walked the floor of the dull little +drawing-room like a lion in cage. It did not seem in keeping with +the position of superior serenity which he had assumed, that, reading +Babette's notes, he should have raged with jealousy, or that, in the +loneliness of his unkempt chamber, he should have stretched out arms of +longing. Even if Babette had been present, she would only have smiled +her gay little smile and coquetted with him. She could not understand. +He had known, of course, from the first moment, that she could not +understand! And so, why the ache, ache, ache of the heart! Or WAS it the +heart, or the brain, or the soul? + +Sometimes, when the evenings were so hot that he could not endure the +close air of the house, he sat on the narrow, dusty front porch and +looked about him at his neighbors. The street had once been smart and +aspiring, but it had fallen into decay and dejection. Pale young men, +with flurried-looking wives, seemed to Boyce to occupy most of the +houses. Sometimes three or four couples would live in one house. Most of +these appeared to be childless. The women made a pretence at fashionable +dressing, and wore their hair elaborately in fashions which somehow +suggested boarding-houses to Boyce, though he could not have told why. +Every house in the block needed fresh paint. Lacking this renovation, +the householders tried to make up for it by a display of lace curtains +which, at every window, swayed in the smoke-weighted breeze. Strips +of carpeting were laid down the front steps of the houses where the +communities of young couples lived, and here, evenings, the inmates of +the houses gathered, committing mild extravagances such as the treating +of each other to ginger ale, or beer, or ice-cream. + +Boyce watched these tawdry makeshifts at sociability with bitterness and +loathing. He wondered how he could have been such a fool as to bring +his exquisite Babette to this neighborhood. How could he expect that she +would return to him? It was not reasonable. He ought to go down on his +knees with gratitude that she even condescended to write him. + +Sitting one night till late,--so late that the fashionable young wives +with their husbands had retired from the strips of stair carpeting,--and +raging at the loneliness which ate at his heart like a cancer, he heard, +softly creeping through the windows of the house adjoining his own, the +sound of comfortable melody. + +It breathed upon his ear like a spirit of consolation, speaking +of peace, of love which needs no reward save its own sweetness, of +aspiration which looks forever beyond the thing of the hour to find +attainment in that which is eternal. So insidiously did it whisper these +things, so delicately did the simple and perfect melodies creep upon the +spirit--that Boyce felt no resentment, but from the first listened +as one who listens to learn, or as one who, fainting on the hot road, +hears, far in the ferny deeps below, the gurgle of a spring. + +Then came harmonies more intricate: fair fabrics of woven sound, in +the midst of which gleamed golden threads of joy; a tapestry of sound, +multi-tinted, gallant with story and achievement, and beautiful things. +Boyce, sitting on his absurd piazza, with his knees jambed against +the balustrade, and his chair back against the dun-colored wall of his +house, seemed to be walking in the cathedral of the redwood forest, +with blue above him, a vast hymn in his ears, pungent perfume in his +nostrils, and mighty shafts of trees lifting themselves to heaven, proud +and erect as pure men before their Judge. He stood on a mountain at +sunrise, and saw the marvels of the amethystine clouds below his feet, +heard an eternal and white silence, such as broods among the everlasting +snows, and saw an eagle winging for the sun. He was in a city, and away +from him, diverging like the spokes of a wheel, ran thronging streets, +and to his sense came the beat, beat, beat of the city's heart. He saw +the golden alchemy of a chosen race; saw greed transmitted to progress; +saw that which had enslaved men, work at last to their liberation; heard +the roar of mighty mills, and on the streets all the peoples of earth +walking with common purpose, in fealty and understanding. And then, from +the swelling of this concourse of great sounds, came a diminuendo, calm +as philosophy, and from that, nothingness. + +Boyce sat still for a long time, listening to the echoes which this +music had awakened in his soul. He retired, at length, content, +but determined that upon the morrow he would watch--the day being +Sunday--for the musician who had so moved and taught him. + +He arose early, therefore, and having prepared his own simple breakfast +of fruit and coffee, took his station by the window to watch for the +man. For he felt convinced that the exposition he had heard was that of +a masculine mind. The long, hot hours of the morning went by, but the +front door of the house next to his did not open. + +"These artists sleep late," he complained. Still he watched. He was +too much afraid of losing him to go out for dinner. By three in the +afternoon he had grown impatient. He went to the house next door and +rang the bell. There was no response. He thundered another appeal. An +old woman with a cloth about her head answered the door. She was very +deaf, and Boyce had difficulty in making himself understood. + +"The family is in the country," was all she would say. "The family will +not be home till September." + +"But there is some one living here?" shouted Boyce. + +"_I_ live here," she said with dignity, putting back a wisp of dirty +gray hair behind her ear. "It is my house. I sublet to the family." + +"What family?" + +But the old creature was not communicative. + +"The family that lives here," she said. + +"Then who plays the piano in this house?" roared Boyce. "Do you?" + +He thought a shade of pallor showed itself on her ash-colored cheeks. +Yet she smiled a little at the idea of her playing. + +"There is no piano," she said, and she put an enigmatical emphasis to +the words. + +"Nonsense," cried Boyce, indignantly. "I heard a piano being played in +this very house for hours last night!" + +"You may enter," said the old woman, with an accent more vicious than +hospitable. + +Boyce almost burst into the drawing-room. It was a dusty and forbidding +place, with ugly furniture and gaudy walls. No piano nor any other +musical instrument stood in it. The intruder turned an angry and baffled +face to the old woman, who was smiling with ill-concealed exultation. + +"I shall see the other rooms," he announced. The old woman did not +appear to be surprised at his impertinence. + +"As you please," she said. + +So, with the hobbling creature, with her bandaged head, for a guide, he +explored every room of the house, which being identical with his own, he +could do without fear of leaving any apartment unentered. But no piano +did he find! + +"Explain," roared Boyce at length, turning upon the leering old hag +beside him. "Explain! For surely I heard music more beautiful than I can +tell." + +"I know nothing," she said. "But it is true I once had a lodger who +rented the front room, and that he played upon the piano. I am poor at +hearing, but he must have played well, for all the neighbors used to +come in front of the house to listen, and sometimes they applauded him, +and sometimes they were still. I could tell by watching their hands. +Sometimes little children came and danced. Other times young men and +women came and listened. But the young man died. The neighbors were +angry. They came to look at him and said he had starved to death. It was +no fault of mine. I sold his piano to pay his funeral expenses--and it +took every cent to pay for them too, I'd have you know. But since then, +sometimes--still, it must be nonsense, for I never heard it--folks say +that he plays the piano in my room. It has kept me out of the letting of +it more than once. But the family doesn't seem to mind--the family that +lives here, you know. They will be back in September. Yes." + +Boyce left her nodding her thanks at what he had placed in her hand, and +went home to write it all to Babette--Babette who would laugh so merrily +when she read it! + + + + +AN ASTRAL ONION + + +WHEN Tig Braddock came to Nora Finnegan he was red-headed and freckled, +and, truth to tell, he remained with these features to the end of his +life--a life prolonged by a lucky, if somewhat improbable, incident, as +you shall hear. + +Tig had shuffled off his parents as saurians, of some sorts, do their +skins. During the temporary absence from home of his mother, who was at +the bridewell, and the more extended vacation of his father, who, like +Villon, loved the open road and the life of it, Tig, who was not a +well-domesticated animal, wandered away. The humane society never heard +of him, the neighbors did not miss him, and the law took no cognizance +of this detached citizen--this lost pleiad. Tig would have sunk into +that melancholy which is attendant upon hunger,--the only form of +despair which babyhood knows,--if he had not wandered across the path of +Nora Finnegan. Now Nora shone with steady brightness in her orbit, +and no sooner had Tig entered her atmosphere, than he was warmed and +comforted. Hunger could not live where Nora was. The basement room where +she kept house was redolent with savory smells; and in the stove in her +front room--which was also her bedroom--there was a bright fire glowing +when fire was needed. + +Nora went out washing for a living. But she was not a poor washerwoman. +Not at all. She was a washerwoman triumphant. She had perfect health, an +enormous frame, an abounding enthusiasm for life, and a rich abundance +of professional pride. She believed herself to be the best washer of +white clothes she had ever had the pleasure of knowing, and the value +placed upon her services, and her long connection with certain families +with large weekly washings, bore out this estimate of herself--an +estimate which she never endeavored to conceal. + +Nora had buried two husbands without being unduly depressed by the +fact. The first husband had been a disappointment, and Nora winked at +Providence when an accident in a tunnel carried him off--that is to +say, carried the husband off. The second husband was not so much of a +disappointment as a surprise. He developed ability of a literary order, +and wrote songs which sold and made him a small fortune. Then he ran +away with another woman. The woman spent his fortune, drove him to +dissipation, and when he was dying he came back to Nora, who received +him cordially, attended him to the end, and cheered his last hours by +singing his own songs to him. Then she raised a headstone recounting his +virtues, which were quite numerous, and refraining from any reference to +those peculiarities which had caused him to be such a surprise. + +Only one actual chagrin had ever nibbled at the sound heart of Nora +Finnegan--a cruel chagrin, with long, white teeth, such as rodents have! +She had never held a child to her breast, nor laughed in its eyes; never +bathed the pink form of a little son or daughter; never felt a tugging +of tiny hands at her voluminous calico skirts! Nora had burnt many +candles before the statue of the blessed Virgin without remedying this +deplorable condition. She had sent up unavailing prayers--she had, at +times, wept hot tears of longing and loneliness. Sometimes in her sleep +she dreamed that a wee form, warm and exquisitely soft, was pressed +against her firm body, and that a hand with tiniest pink nails crept +within her bosom. But as she reached out to snatch this delicious little +creature closer, she woke to realize a barren woman's grief, and turned +herself in anguish on her lonely pillow. + +So when Tig came along, accompanied by two curs, who had faithfully +followed him from his home, and when she learned the details of his +story, she took him in, curs and all, and, having bathed the three of +them, made them part and parcel of her home. This was after the demise +of the second husband, and at a time when Nora felt that she had done +all a woman could be expected to do for Hymen. + +Tig was a preposterous baby. The curs were preposterous curs. Nora had +always been afflicted with a surplus amount of laughter--laughter which +had difficulty in attaching itself to anything, owing to the lack of the +really comic in the surroundings of the poor. But with a red-headed and +freckled baby boy and two trick dogs in the house, she found a good and +sufficient excuse for her hilarity, and would have torn the cave where +echo lies with her mirth, had that cave not been at such an immeasurable +distance from the crowded neighborhood where she lived. + +At the age of four Tig went to free kindergarten; at the age of six he +was in school, and made three grades the first year and two the next. At +fifteen he was graduated from the high school and went to work as +errand boy in a newspaper office, with the fixed determination to make a +journalist of himself. + +Nora was a trifle worried about his morals when she discovered his +intellect, but as time went on, and Tig showed no devotion for any woman +save herself, and no consciousness that there were such things as bad +boys or saloons in the world, she began to have confidence. All of his +earnings were brought to her. Every holiday was spent with her. He told +her his secrets and his aspirations. He admitted that he expected to +become a great man, and, though he had not quite decided upon the nature +of his career,--saving, of course, the makeshift of journalism,--it was +not unlikely that he would elect to be a novelist like--well, probably +like Thackeray. + +Hope, always a charming creature, put on her most alluring smiles for +Tig, and he made her his mistress, and feasted on the light of her eyes. +Moreover, he was chaperoned, so to speak, by Nora Finnegan, who listened +to every line Tig wrote, and made a mighty applause, and filled him up +with good Irish stew, many colored as the coat of Joseph, and pungent +with the inimitable perfume of "the rose of the cellar." Nora Finnegan +understood the onion, and used it lovingly. She perceived the difference +between the use and abuse of this pleasant and obvious friend of hungry +man, and employed it with enthusiasm, but discretion. Thus it came +about that whoever ate of her dinners, found the meals of other cooks +strangely lacking in savor, and remembered with regret the soups +and stews, the broiled steaks, and stuffed chickens of the woman who +appreciated the onion. + +When Nora Finnegan came home with a cold one day, she took it in such a +jocular fashion that Tig felt not the least concern about her, and when, +two days later, she died of pneumonia, he almost thought, at first, that +it must be one of her jokes. She had departed with decision, such as had +characterized every act of her life, and had made as little trouble for +others as possible. When she was dead the community had the opportunity +of discovering the number of her friends. Miserable children with faces +which revealed two generations of hunger, homeless boys with vicious +countenances, miserable wrecks of humanity, women with bloated faces, +came to weep over Nora's bier, and to lay a flower there, and to scuttle +away, more abjectly lonely than even sin could make them. If the cats +and the dogs, the sparrows and horses to which she had shown kindness, +could also have attended her funeral, the procession would have been, +from a point of numbers, one of the most imposing the city had ever +known. Tig used up all their savings to bury her, and the next week, by +some peculiar fatality, he had a falling out with the night editor of +his paper, and was discharged. This sank deep into his sensitive +soul, and he swore he would be an underling no longer--which foolish +resolution was directly traceable to his hair, the color of which, it +will be recollected, was red. + +Not being an underling, he was obliged to make himself into something +else, and he recurred passionately to his old idea of becoming a +novelist. He settled down in Nora's basement rooms, went to work on +a battered type-writer, did his own cooking, and occasionally pawned +something to keep him in food. The environment was calculated to further +impress him with the idea of his genius. + +A certain magazine offered an alluring prize for a short story, and Tig +wrote one, and rewrote it, making alterations, revisions, annotations, +and interlineations which would have reflected credit upon Honor; +Balzac himself. Then he wrought all together, with splendid brevity and +dramatic force,--Tig's own words,--and mailed the same. He was convinced +he would get the prize. He was just as much convinced of it as Nora +Finnegan would have been if she had been with him. + +So he went about doing more fiction, taking no especial care of himself, +and wrapt in rosy dreams, which, not being warm enough for the weather, +permitted him to come down with rheumatic fever. + +He lay alone in his room and suffered such torments as the condemned +and rheumatic know, depending on one of Nora's former friends to come in +twice a day and keep up the fire for him. This friend was aged ten, and +looked like a sparrow who had been in a cyclone, but somewhere inside +his bones was a wit which had spelled out devotion. He found fuel for +the cracked stove, somehow or other. He brought it in a dirty sack which +he carried on his back, and he kept warmth in Tig's miserable body. +Moreover, he found food of a sort--cold, horrible bits often, and Tig +wept when he saw them, remembering the meals Nora had served him. + +Tig was getting better, though he was conscious of a weak heart and a +lamenting stomach, when, to his amazement, the Sparrow ceased to visit +him. Not for a moment did Tig suspect desertion. He knew that only +something in the nature of an act of Providence, as the insurance +companies would designate it, could keep the little bundle of bones away +from him. As the days went by, he became convinced of it, for no Sparrow +came, and no coal lay upon the hearth. The basement window fortunately +looked toward the south, and the pale April sunshine was beginning +to make itself felt, so that the temperature of the room was not +unbearable. But Tig languished; sank, sank, day by day, and was kept +alive only by the conviction that the letter announcing the award of the +thousand-dollar prize would presently come to him. One night he reached a +place, where, for hunger and dejection, his mind wandered, and he seemed +to be complaining all night to Nora of his woes. When the chill dawn +came, with chittering of little birds on the dirty pavement, and an +agitation of the scrawny willow "pussies," he was not able to lift his +hand to his head. The window before his sight was but "a glimmering +square." He said to himself that the end must be at hand. Yet it was +cruel, cruel, with fame and fortune so near! If only he had some food, +he might summon strength to rally--just for a little while! Impossible +that he should die! And yet without food there was no choice. + +Dreaming so of Nora's dinners, thinking how one spoonful of a stew such +as she often compounded would now be his salvation, he became conscious +of the presence of a strong perfume in the room. It was so familiar +that it seemed like a sub-consciousness, yet he found no name for this +friendly odor for a bewildered minute or two. Little by little, however, +it grew upon him, that it was the onion--that fragrant and kindly bulb +which had attained its apotheosis in the cuisine of Nora Finnegan of +sacred memory. He opened his languid eyes, to see if, mayhap, the plant +had not attained some more palpable materialization. + +Behold, it was so! Before him, in a brown earthen dish,--a most familiar +dish,--was an onion, pearly white, in placid seas of gravy, smoking and +delectable. With unexpected strength he raised himself, and reached for +the dish, which floated before him in a halo made by its own steam. It +moved toward him, offered a spoon to his hand, and as he ate he heard +about the room the rustle of Nora Finnegan's starched skirts, and now +and then a faint, faint echo of her old-time laugh--such an echo as one +may find of the sea in the heart of a shell. + +The noble bulb disappeared little by little before his voracity, and in +contentment greater than virtue can give, he sank back upon his pillow +and slept. + +Two hours later the postman knocked at the door, and receiving no +answer, forced his way in. Tig, half awake, saw him enter with no +surprise. He felt no surprise when he put a letter in his hand bearing +the name of the magazine to which he had sent his short story. He was +not even surprised, when, tearing it open with suddenly alert hands, he +found within the check for the first prize--the check he had expected. + +All that day, as the April sunlight spread itself upon his floor, he +felt his strength grow. Late in the afternoon the Sparrow came back, +paler, and more bony than ever, and sank, breathing hard, upon the +floor, with his sack of coal. + +"I've been sick," he said, trying to smile. "Terrible sick, but I come +as soon as I could." + +"Build up the fire," cried Tig, in a voice so strong it made the Sparrow +start as if a stone had struck him. "Build up the fire, and forget you +are sick. For, by the shade of Nora Finnegan, you shall be hungry no +more!" + + + + + +FROM THE LOOM OF THE DEAD + + +WHEN Urda Bjarnason tells a tale all the men stop their talking to +listen, for they know her to be wise with the wisdom of the old people, +and that she has more learning than can be got even from the great +schools at Reykjavik. She is especially prized by them here in this +new country where the Icelandmen are settled--this America, so new in +letters, where the people speak foolishly and write unthinking books. +So the men who know that it is given to the mothers of earth to be +very wise, stop their six part singing, or their jangles about the +free-thinkers, and give attentive ear when Urda Bjarnason lights her +pipe and begins her tale. + +She is very old. Her daughters and sons are all dead, but her +granddaughter, who is most respectable, and the cousin of a physician, +says that Urda is twenty-four and a hundred, and there are others who +say that she is older still. She watches all that the Iceland people do +in the new land; she knows about the building of the five villages on +the North Dakota plain, and of the founding of the churches and the +schools, and the tilling of the wheat farms. She notes with suspicion +the actions of the women who bring home webs of cloth from the store, +instead of spinning them as their mothers did before them; and she +shakes her head at the wives who run to the village grocery store every +fortnight, imitating the wasteful American women, who throw butter in +the fire faster than it can be turned from the churn. + +She watches yet other things. All winter long the white snows reach +across the gently rolling plains as far as the eye can behold. In the +morning she sees them tinted pink at the east; at noon she notes +golden lights flashing across them; when the sky is gray--which is not +often--she notes that they grow as ashen as a face with the death shadow +on it. Sometimes they glitter with silver-like tips of ocean waves. But +at these things she looks only casually. It is when the blue shadows +dance on the snow that she leaves her corner behind the iron stove, and +stands before the window, resting her two hands on the stout bar of her +cane, and gazing out across the waste with eyes which age has restored +after four decades of decrepitude. + +The young Icelandmen say: + +"Mother, it is the clouds hurrying across the sky that make the dance of +the shadows." + +"There are no clouds," she replies, and points to the jewel-like blue of +the arching sky. + +"It is the drifting air," explains Fridrik Halldersson, he who has +been in the Northern seas. "As the wind buffets the air, it looks blue +against the white of the snow. 'Tis the air that makes the dancing +shadows." + +But Urda shakes her head, and points with her dried finger, and +those who stand beside her see figures moving, and airy shapes, and +contortions of strange things, such as are seen in a beryl stone. + +"But Urda Bjarnason," says Ingeborg Christianson, the pert young wife +with the blue-eyed twins, "why is it we see these things only when we +stand beside you and you help us to the sight?" + +"Because," says the mother, with a steel-blue flash of her old eyes, +"having eyes ye will not see!" Then the men laugh. They like to hear +Ingeborg worsted. For did she not jilt two men from Gardar, and one from +Mountain, and another from Winnipeg? + +Not even Ingeborg can deny that Mother Urda tells true things. + +"To-day," says Urda, standing by the little window and watching the +dance of the shadows, "a child breathed thrice on a farm at the West, +and then it died." + +The next week at the church gathering, when all the sledges stopped +at the house of Urda's granddaughter, they said it was so--that John +Christianson's wife Margaret never heard the voice of her son, but that +he breathed thrice in his nurse's arms and died. + +"Three sledges run over the snow toward Milton," says Urda; "all are +laden with wheat, and in one is a stranger. He has with him a strange +engine, but its purpose I do not know." + +Six hours later the drivers of three empty sledges stop at the house. + +"We have been to Milton with wheat," they say, "and Christian Johnson +here, carried a photographer from St. Paul." + +Now it stands to reason that the farmers like to amuse themselves +through the silent and white winters. And they prefer above all things +to talk or to listen, as has been the fashion of their race for a +thousand years. Among all the story-tellers there is none like Urda, for +she is the daughter and the granddaughter and the great-granddaughter +of storytellers. It is given to her to talk, as it is given to John +Thorlaksson to sing--he who sings so as his sledge flies over the snow +at night, that the people come out in the bitter air from their doors to +listen, and the dogs put up their noses and howl, not liking music. + +In the little cabin of Peter Christianson, the husband of Urda's +granddaughter, it sometimes happens that twenty men will gather about +the stove. They hang their bear-skin coats on the wall, put their fur +gauntlets underneath the stove, where they will keep warm, and then +stretch their stout, felt-covered legs to the wood fire. The room is +fetid; the coffee steams eternally on the stove; and from her chair in +the warmest corner Urda speaks out to the listening men, who shake their +heads with joy as they hear the pure old Icelandic flow in sweet rhythm +from between her lips. Among the many, many tales she tells is that of +the dead weaver, and she tells it in the simplest language in all +the world--language so simple that even great scholars could find no +simpler, and the children crawling on the floor can understand. + +"Jon and Loa lived with their father and mother far to the north of the +Island of Fire, and when the children looked from their windows they saw +only wild scaurs and jagged lava rocks, and a distant, deep gleam of the +sea. They caught the shine of the sea through an eye-shaped opening in +the rocks, and all the long night of winter it gleamed up at them, like +the eye of a dead witch. But when it sparkled and began to laugh, the +children danced about the hut and sang, for they knew the bright summer +time was at hand. Then their father fished, and their mother was gay. +But it is true that even in the winter and the darkness they were happy, +for they made fishing nets and baskets and cloth together,--Jon and Loa +and their father and mother,--and the children were taught to read in +the books, and were told the sagas, and given instruction in the part +singing. + +"They did not know there was such a thing as sorrow in the world, for no +one had ever mentioned it to them. But one day their mother died. Then +they had to learn how to keep the fire on the hearth, and to smoke the +fish, and make the black coffee. And also they had to learn how to live +when there is sorrow at the heart. + +"They wept together at night for lack of their mother's kisses, and in +the morning they were loath to rise because they could not see her face. +The dead cold eye of the sea watching them from among the lava rocks +made them afraid, so they hung a shawl over the window to keep it out. +And the house, try as they would, did not look clean and cheerful as it +had used to do when their mother sang and worked about it. + +"One day, when a mist rested over the eye of the sea, like that which +one beholds on the eyes of the blind, a greater sorrow came to them, for +a stepmother crossed the threshold. She looked at Jon and Loa, and made +complaint to their father that they were still very small and not likely +to be of much use. After that they had to rise earlier than ever, and to +work as only those who have their growth should work, till their hearts +cracked for weariness and shame. They had not much to eat, for their +stepmother said she would trust to the gratitude of no other woman's +child, and that she believed in laying up against old age. So she put +the few coins that came to the house in a strong box, and bought little +food. Neither did she buy the children clothes, though those which their +dear mother had made for them were so worn that the warp stood apart +from the woof, and there were holes at the elbows and little warmth to +be found in them anywhere. + +"Moreover, the quilts on their beds were too short for their growing +length, so that at night either their purple feet or their thin +shoulders were uncovered, and they wept for the cold, and in the +morning, when they crept into the larger room to build the fire, they +were so stiff they could not stand straight, and there was pain at their +joints. + +"The wife scolded all the time, and her brow was like a storm sweeping +down from the Northwest. There was no peace to be had in the house. +The children might not repeat to each other the sagas their mother had +taught them, nor try their part singing, nor make little doll cradles of +rushes. Always they had to work, always they were scolded, always their +clothes grew thinner. + +"'Stepmother,' cried Loa one day,--she whom her mother had called the +little bird,--'we are a-cold because of our rags. Our mother would have +woven blue cloth for us and made it into garments.' + +"'Your mother is where she will weave no cloth!' said the stepmother, +and she laughed many times. + +"All in the cold and still of that night, the stepmother wakened, and +she knew not why. She sat up in her bed, and knew not why. She knew not +why, and she looked into the room, and there, by the light of a burning +fish's tail--'twas such a light the folk used in those days--was a +woman, weaving. She had no loom, and shuttle she had none. All with +her hands she wove a wondrous cloth. Stooping and bending, rising and +swaying with motions beautiful as those the Northern Lights make in a +midwinter sky, she wove a cloth. The warp was blue and mystical to see, +the woof was white, and shone with its whiteness, so that of all the +webs the stepmother had ever seen, she had seen none like to this. + +"Yet the sight delighted her not, for beyond the drifting web, and +beyond the weaver she saw the room and furniture--aye, saw them through +the body of the weaver and the drifting of the cloth. Then she knew--as +the haunted are made to know--that 'twas the mother of the children come +to show her she could still weave cloth. The heart of the stepmother was +cold as ice, yet she could not move to waken her husband at her side, +for her hands were as fixed as if they were crossed on her dead breast. +The voice in her was silent, and her tongue stood to the roof of her +mouth. + +"After a time the wraith of the dead mother moved toward her--the wraith +of the weaver moved her way--and round and about her body was wound the +shining cloth. Wherever it touched the body of the stepmother, it was as +hateful to her as the touch of a monster out of sea-slime, so that her +flesh crept away from it, and her senses swooned. + +"In the early morning she awoke to the voices of the children, +whispering in the inner room as they dressed with half-frozen fingers. +Still about her was the hateful, beautiful web, filling her soul with +loathing and with fear. She thought she saw the task set for her, and +when the children crept in to light the fire--very purple and thin were +their little bodies, and the rags hung from them--she arose and held out +the shining cloth, and cried: + +"'Here is the web your mother wove for you. I will make it into +garments!' But even as she spoke the cloth faded and fell into +nothingness, and the children cried: + +"'Stepmother, you have the fever!' + +"And then: + +"'Stepmother, what makes the strange light in the room?' + +"That day the stepmother was too weak to rise from her bed, and the +children thought she must be going to die, for she did not scold as they +cleared the house and braided their baskets, and she did not frown at +them, but looked at them with wistful eyes. + +"By fall of night she was as weary as if she had wept all the day, and +so she slept. But again she was awakened and knew not why. And again +she sat up in her bed and knew not why. And again, not knowing why, she +looked and saw a woman weaving cloth. All that had happened the night +before happened this night. Then, when the morning came, and the +children crept in shivering from their beds, she arose and dressed +herself, and from her strong box she took coins, and bade her husband go +with her to the town. + +"So that night a web of cloth, woven by one of the best weavers in all +Iceland, was in the house; and on the beds of the children were blankets +of lamb's wool, soft to the touch and fair to the eye. After that the +children slept warm and were at peace; for now, when they told the sagas +their mother had taught them, or tried their part songs as they sat +together on their bench, the stepmother was silent. For she feared +to chide, lest she should wake at night, not knowing why, and see the +mother's wraith." + + + + +A GRAMMATICAL GHOST + + +THERE was only one possible objection to the drawing-room, and that was +the occasional presence of Miss Carew; and only one possible objection +to Miss Carew. And that was, that she was dead. + +She had been dead twenty years, as a matter of fact and record, and to +the last of her life sacredly preserved the treasures and traditions of +her family, a family bound up--as it is quite unnecessary to explain to +any one in good society--with all that is most venerable and heroic in +the history of the Republic. Miss Carew never relaxed the +proverbial hospitality of her house, even when she remained its sole +representative. She continued to preside at her table with dignity and +state, and to set an example of excessive modesty and gentle decorum to +a generation of restless young women. + +It is not likely that having lived a life of such irreproachable +gentility as this, Miss Carew would have the bad taste to die in any way +not pleasant to mention in fastidious society. She could be trusted to +the last, not to outrage those friends who quoted her as an exemplar of +propriety. She died very unobtrusively of an affection of the heart, one +June morning, while trimming her rose trellis, and her lavender-colored +print was not even rumpled when she fell, nor were more than the tips of +her little bronze slippers visible. + +"Isn't it dreadful," said the Philadelphians, "that the property should +go to a very, very distant cousin in Iowa or somewhere else on the +frontier, about whom nobody knows anything at all?" + +The Carew treasures were packed in boxes and sent away into the Iowa +wilderness; the Carew traditions were preserved by the Historical +Society; the Carew property, standing in one of the most umbrageous +and aristocratic suburbs of Philadelphia, was rented to all manner +of folk--anybody who had money enough to pay the rental--and society +entered its doors no more. + +But at last, after twenty years, and when all save the oldest +Philadelphians had forgotten Miss Lydia Carew, the very, very distant +cousin appeared. He was quite in the prime of life, and so agreeable and +unassuming that nothing could be urged against him save his patronymic, +which, being Boggs, did not commend itself to the euphemists. With him +were two maiden sisters, ladies of excellent taste and manners, who +restored the Carew china to its ancient cabinets, and replaced the Carew +pictures upon the walls, with additions not out of keeping with +the elegance of these heirlooms. Society, with a magnanimity almost +dramatic, overlooked the name of Boggs--and called. + +All was well. At least, to an outsider all seemed to be well. But, +in truth, there was a certain distress in the old mansion, and in +the hearts of the well-behaved Misses Boggs. It came about most +unexpectedly. The sisters had been sitting upstairs, looking out at the +beautiful grounds of the old place, and marvelling at the violets, +which lifted their heads from every possible cranny about the house, and +talking over the cordiality which they had been receiving by those upon +whom they had no claim, and they were filled with amiable satisfaction. +Life looked attractive. They had often been grateful to Miss Lydia Carew +for leaving their brother her fortune. Now they felt even more grateful +to her. She had left them a Social Position--one, which even after +twenty years of desuetude, was fit for use. + +They descended the stairs together, with arms clasped about each other's +waists, and as they did so presented a placid and pleasing sight. They +entered their drawing-room with the intention of brewing a cup of tea, +and drinking it in calm sociability in the twilight. But as they entered +the room they became aware of the presence of a lady, who was already +seated at their tea-table, regarding their old Wedgewood with the air of +a connoisseur. + +There were a number of peculiarities about this intruder. To begin with, +she was hatless, quite as if she were a habitu; of the house, and +was costumed in a prim lilac-colored lawn of the style of two decades +past. But a greater peculiarity was the resemblance this lady bore to a +faded daguerrotype. If looked at one way, she was perfectly discernible; +if looked at another, she went out in a sort of blur. Notwithstanding +this comparative invisibility, she exhaled a delicate perfume of sweet +lavender, very pleasing to the nostrils of the Misses Boggs, who stood +looking at her in gentle and unprotesting surprise. + +"I beg your pardon," began Miss Prudence, the younger of the Misses +Boggs, "but--" + +But at this moment the Daguerrotype became a blur, and Miss Prudence +found herself addressing space. The Misses Boggs were irritated. They +had never encountered any mysteries in Iowa. They began an impatient +search behind doors and portires, and even under sofas, though +it was quite absurd to suppose that a lady recognizing the merits of the +Carew Wedgewood would so far forget herself as to crawl under a sofa. + +When they had given up all hope of discovering the intruder, they saw +her standing at the far end of the drawing-room critically examining a +water-color marine. The elder Miss Boggs started toward her with stern +decision, but the little Daguerrotype turned with a shadowy smile, +became a blur and an imperceptibility. + +Miss Boggs looked at Miss Prudence Boggs. + +"If there were ghosts," she said, "this would be one." + +"If there were ghosts," said Miss Prudence Boggs, "this would be the +ghost of Lydia Carew." + +The twilight was settling into blackness, and Miss Boggs nervously lit +the gas while Miss Prudence ran for other tea-cups, preferring, for +reasons superfluous to mention, not to drink out of the Carew china that +evening. + +The next day, on taking up her embroidery frame, Miss Boggs found a +number of oldfashioned cross-stitches added to her Kensington. Prudence, +she knew, would never have degraded herself by taking a cross-stitch, +and the parlor-maid was above taking such a liberty. Miss Boggs +mentioned the incident that night at a dinner given by an ancient friend +of the Carews. + +"Oh, that's the work of Lydia Carew, without a doubt!" cried the +hostess. "She visits every new family that moves to the house, but she +never remains more than a week or two with any one." + +"It must be that she disapproves of them," suggested Miss Boggs. + +"I think that's it," said the hostess. "She doesn't like their china, or +their fiction." + +"I hope she'll disapprove of us," added Miss Prudence. + +The hostess belonged to a very old Philadelphian family, and she shook +her head. + +"I should say it was a compliment for even the ghost of Miss Lydia Carew +to approve of one," she said severely. + +The next morning, when the sisters entered their drawing-room there were +numerous evidences of an occupant during their absence. The sofa pillows +had been rearranged so that the effect of their grouping was less +bizarre than that favored by the Western women; a horrid little Buddhist +idol with its eyes fixed on its abdomen, had been chastely hidden behind +a Dresden shepherdess, as unfit for the scrutiny of polite eyes; and +on the table where Miss Prudence did work in water colors, after the +fashion of the impressionists, lay a prim and impossible composition +representing a moss-rose and a number of heartsease, colored with that +caution which modest spinster artists instinctively exercise. + +"Oh, there's no doubt it's the work of Miss Lydia Carew," said Miss +Prudence, contemptuously. "There's no mistaking the drawing of that +rigid little rose. Don't you remember those wreaths and bouquets framed, +among the pictures we got when the Carew pictures were sent to us? I +gave some of them to an orphan asylum and burned up the rest." + +"Hush!" cried Miss Boggs, involuntarily. "If she heard you, it would +hurt her feelings terribly. Of course, I mean--" and she blushed. "It +might hurt her feelings--but how perfectly ridiculous! It's impossible!" + +Miss Prudence held up the sketch of the moss-rose. + +"THAT may be impossible in an artistic sense, but it is a palpable +thing." + +"Bosh!" cried Miss Boggs. + +"But," protested Miss Prudence, "how do you explain it?" + +"I don't," said Miss Boggs, and left the room. + +That evening the sisters made a point of being in the drawing-room +before the dusk came on, and of lighting the gas at the first hint of +twilight. They didn't believe in Miss Lydia Carew--but still they meant +to be beforehand with her. They talked with unwonted vivacity and in +a louder tone than was their custom. But as they drank their tea even +their utmost verbosity could not make them oblivious to the fact that +the perfume of sweet lavender was stealing insidiously through the room. +They tacitly refused to recognize this odor and all that it indicated, +when suddenly, with a sharp crash, one of the old Carew tea-cups +fell from the tea-table to the floor and was broken. The disaster was +followed by what sounded like a sigh of pain and dismay. + +"I didn't suppose Miss Lydia Carew would ever be as awkward as that," +cried the younger Miss Boggs, petulantly. + +"Prudence," said her sister with a stern accent, "please try not to be a +fool. You brushed the cup off with the sleeve of your dress." + +"Your theory wouldn't be so bad," said Miss Prudence, half laughing and +half crying, "if there were any sleeves to my dress, but, as you see, +there aren't," and then Miss Prudence had something as near hysterics as +a healthy young woman from the West can have. + +"I wouldn't think such a perfect lady as Lydia Carew," she ejaculated +between her sobs, "would make herself so disagreeable! You may +talk about good-breeding all you please, but I call such intrusion +exceedingly bad taste. I have a horrible idea that she likes us and +means to stay with us. She left those other people because she did not +approve of their habits or their grammar. It would be just our luck to +please her." + +"Well, I like your egotism," said Miss Boggs. + +However, the view Miss Prudence took of the case appeared to be the +right one. Time went by and Miss Lydia Carew still remained. When the +ladies entered their drawing-room they would see the little lady-like +Daguerrotype revolving itself into a blur before one of the family +portraits. Or they noticed that the yellow sofa cushion, toward which +she appeared to feel a peculiar antipathy, had been dropped behind the +sofa upon the floor, or that one of Jane Austen's novels, which none of +the family ever read, had been removed from the book shelves and left +open upon the table. + +"I cannot become reconciled to it," complained Miss Boggs to Miss +Prudence. "I wish we had remained in Iowa where we belong. Of course I +don't believe in the thing! No sensible person would. But still I cannot +become reconciled." + +But their liberation was to come, and in a most unexpected manner. + +A relative by marriage visited them from the West. He was a friendly +man and had much to say, so he talked all through dinner, and afterward +followed the ladies to the drawing-room to finish his gossip. The gas in +the room was turned very low, and as they entered Miss Prudence caught +sight of Miss Carew, in company attire, sitting in upright propriety in +a stiff-backed chair at the extremity of the apartment. + +Miss Prudence had a sudden idea. + +"We will not turn up the gas," she said, with an emphasis intended to +convey private information to her sister. "It will be more agreeable to +sit here and talk in this soft light." + +Neither her brother nor the man from the West made any objection. Miss +Boggs and Miss Prudence, clasping each other's hands, divided their +attention between their corporeal and their incorporeal guests. Miss +Boggs was confident that her sister had an idea, and was willing to +await its development. As the guest from Iowa spoke, Miss Carew bent a +politely attentive ear to what he said. + +"Ever since Richards took sick that time," he said briskly, "it seemed +like he shed all responsibility." (The Misses Boggs saw the Daguerrotype +put up her shadowy head with a movement of doubt and apprehension.) "The +fact of the matter was, Richards didn't seem to scarcely get on the way +he might have been expected to." (At this conscienceless split to the +infinitive and misplacing of the preposition, Miss Carew arose trembling +perceptibly.) "I saw it wasn't no use for him to count on a quick +recovery--" + +The Misses Boggs lost the rest of the sentence, for at the utterance of +the double negative Miss Lydia Carew had flashed out, not in a blur, but +with mortal haste, as when life goes out at a pistol shot! + +The man from the West wondered why Miss Prudence should have cried at so +pathetic a part of his story: + +"Thank Goodness!" + +And their brother was amazed to see Miss Boggs kiss Miss Prudence with +passion and energy. + +It was the end. Miss Carew returned no more. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Shape of Fear, by Elia W. Peattie + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SHAPE OF FEAR *** + +***** This file should be named 1876-8.txt or 1876-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/7/1876/ + +Produced by Judy Boss + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions 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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/1876-8.zip b/1876-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7e3f59 --- /dev/null +++ b/1876-8.zip diff --git a/1876-h.zip b/1876-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..641c160 --- /dev/null +++ b/1876-h.zip diff --git a/1876-h/1876-h.htm b/1876-h/1876-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..409be7a --- /dev/null +++ b/1876-h/1876-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3506 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!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" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + The Shape of Fear, by Elia Wilkinson Peattie + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Shape of Fear, by Elia W. Peattie + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Shape of Fear + +Author: Elia W. Peattie + +Release Date: November 20, 2008 [EBook #1876] +Last Updated: March 10, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SHAPE OF FEAR *** + + + + +Produced by Judy Boss, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE SHAPE OF FEAR + </h1> + <h2> + AND OTHER GHOSTLY TALES + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Elia Wilkinson Peattie + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="mynote"> + <p> + Original Transcriber's Note: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I have omitted signature indicators and italicization of the + running heads. In addition, I have made the following changes + to the text: + + PAGE LINE ORIGINAL CHANGED TO + 156 1 where as were as + 156 4 mouth mouth. + 165 5 Wedgwood Wedgewood + 166 9 Wedgwood Wedgewood + 167 6 surperfluous superfluous + 172 11 every ever + 173 17 Bogg Boggs +</pre> + </div> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkfear"> THE SHAPE OF FEAR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> ON THE NORTHERN ICE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> THEIR DEAR LITTLE GHOST </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> A SPECTRAL COLLIE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE HOUSE THAT WAS NOT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> STORY OF AN OBSTINATE CORPSE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> A CHILD OF THE RAIN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> THE ROOM OF THE EVIL THOUGHT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> STORY OF THE VANISHING PATIENT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> THE PIANO NEXT DOOR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> AN ASTRAL ONION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> FROM THE LOOM OF THE DEAD </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> A GRAMMATICAL GHOST </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><a name="linkfear" id="linkfear"></a> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + THE SHAPE OF FEAR + </h2> + <p> + TIM O'CONNOR—who was descended from the O'Conors with one N—— + started life as a poet and an enthusiast. His mother had designed him for + the priesthood, and at the age of fifteen, most of his verses had an + ecclesiastical tinge, but, somehow or other, he got into the newspaper + business instead, and became a pessimistic gentleman, with a literary + style of great beauty and an income of modest proportions. He fell in with + men who talked of art for art's sake,—though what right they had to + speak of art at all nobody knew,—and little by little his view of + life and love became more or less profane. He met a woman who sucked his + heart's blood, and he knew it and made no protest; nay, to the great + amusement of the fellows who talked of art for art's sake, he went the + length of marrying her. He could not in decency explain that he had the + traditions of fine gentlemen behind him and so had to do as he did, + because his friends might not have understood. He laughed at the days when + he had thought of the priesthood, blushed when he ran across any of those + tender and exquisite old verses he had written in his youth, and became + addicted to absinthe and other less peculiar drinks, and to gaming a + little to escape a madness of ennui. + </p> + <p> + As the years went by he avoided, with more and more scorn, that part of + the world which he denominated Philistine, and consorted only with the + fellows who flocked about Jim O'Malley's saloon. He was pleased with + solitude, or with these convivial wits, and with not very much else + beside. Jim O'Malley was a sort of Irish poem, set to inspiring measure. + He was, in fact, a Hibernian Mæcenas, who knew better than to put bad + whiskey before a man of talent, or tell a trite tale in the presence of a + wit. The recountal of his disquisitions on politics and other current + matters had enabled no less than three men to acquire national + reputations; and a number of wretches, having gone the way of men who talk + of art for art's sake, and dying in foreign lands, or hospitals, or + asylums, having no one else to be homesick for, had been homesick for Jim + O'Malley, and wept for the sound of his voice and the grasp of his hearty + hand. + </p> + <p> + When Tim O'Connor turned his back upon most of the things he was born to + and took up with the life which he consistently lived till the unspeakable + end, he was unable to get rid of certain peculiarities. For example, in + spite of all his debauchery, he continued to look like the Beloved + Apostle. Notwithstanding abject friendships he wrote limpid and noble + English. Purity seemed to dog his heels, no matter how violently he + attempted to escape from her. He was never so drunk that he was not an + exquisite, and even his creditors, who had become inured to his + deceptions, confessed it was a privilege to meet so perfect a gentleman. + The creature who held him in bondage, body and soul, actually came to love + him for his gentleness, and for some quality which baffled her, and made + her ache with a strange longing which she could not define. Not that she + ever defined anything, poor little beast! She had skin the color of pale + gold, and yellow eyes with brown lights in them, and great plaits of + straw-colored hair. About her lips was a fatal and sensuous smile, which, + when it got hold of a man's imagination, would not let it go, but held to + it, and mocked it till the day of his death. She was the incarnation of + the Eternal Feminine, with all the wifeliness and the maternity left out—she + was ancient, yet ever young, and familiar as joy or tears or sin. + </p> + <p> + She took good care of Tim in some ways: fed him well, nursed him back to + reason after a period of hard drinking, saw that he put on overshoes when + the walks were wet, and looked after his money. She even prized his brain, + for she discovered that it was a delicate little machine which produced + gold. By association with him and his friends, she learned that a number + of apparently useless things had value in the eyes of certain convenient + fools, and so she treasured the autographs of distinguished persons who + wrote to him—autographs which he disdainfully tossed in the waste + basket. She was careful with presentation copies from authors, and she + went the length of urging Tim to write a book himself. But at that he + balked. + </p> + <p> + “Write a book!” he cried to her, his gentle face suddenly white with + passion. “Who am I to commit such a profanation?” + </p> + <p> + She didn't know what he meant, but she had a theory that it was dangerous + to excite him, and so she sat up till midnight to cook a chop for him when + he came home that night. + </p> + <p> + He preferred to have her sitting up for him, and he wanted every electric + light in their apartments turned to the full. If, by any chance, they + returned together to a dark house, he would not enter till she touched the + button in the hall, and illuminated the room. Or if it so happened that + the lights were turned off in the night time, and he awoke to find himself + in darkness, he shrieked till the woman came running to his relief, and, + with derisive laughter, turned them on again. But when she found that + after these frights he lay trembling and white in his bed, she began to be + alarmed for the clever, gold-making little machine, and to renew her + assiduities, and to horde more tenaciously than ever, those valuable + curios on which she some day expected to realize when he was out of the + way, and no longer in a position to object to their barter. + </p> + <p> + O'Connor's idiosyncrasy of fear was a source of much amusement among the + boys at the office where he worked. They made open sport of it, and yet, + recognizing him for a sensitive plant, and granting that genius was + entitled to whimsicalities, it was their custom when they called for him + after work hours, to permit him to reach the lighted corridor before they + turned out the gas over his desk. This, they reasoned, was but a slight + service to perform for the most enchanting beggar in the world. + </p> + <p> + “Dear fellow,” said Rick Dodson, who loved him, “is it the Devil you + expect to see? And if so, why are you averse? Surely the Devil is not such + a bad old chap.” + </p> + <p> + “You haven't found him so?” + </p> + <p> + “Tim, by heaven, you know, you ought to explain to me. A citizen of the + world and a student of its purlieus, like myself, ought to know what there + is to know! Now you're a man of sense, in spite of a few bad habits—such + as myself, for example. Is this fad of yours madness?—which would be + quite to your credit,—for gadzooks, I like a lunatic! Or is it the + complaint of a man who has gathered too much data on the subject of Old + Rye? Or is it, as I suspect, something more occult, and therefore more + interesting?” + </p> + <p> + “Rick, boy,” said Tim, “you're too—inquiring!” And he turned to his + desk with a look of delicate hauteur. + </p> + <p> + It was the very next night that these two tippling pessimists spent + together talking about certain disgruntled but immortal gentlemen, who, + having said their say and made the world quite uncomfortable, had now + journeyed on to inquire into the nothingness which they postulated. The + dawn was breaking in the muggy east; the bottles were empty, the cigars + burnt out. Tim turned toward his friend with a sharp breaking of sociable + silence. + </p> + <p> + “Rick,” he said, “do you know that Fear has a Shape?” + </p> + <p> + “And so has my nose!” + </p> + <p> + “You asked me the other night what I feared. Holy father, I make my + confession to you. What I fear is Fear.” + </p> + <p> + “That's because you've drunk too much—or not enough. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'Come, fill the cup, and in the fire of Spring + Your winter garment of repentance fling—'” + </pre> + <p> + “My costume then would be too nebulous for this weather, dear boy. But + it's true what I was saying. I am afraid of ghosts.” + </p> + <p> + “For an agnostic that seems a bit—” + </p> + <p> + “Agnostic! Yes, so completely an agnostic that I do not even know that I + do not know! God, man, do you mean you have no ghosts—no—no + things which shape themselves? Why, there are things I have done—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't think of them, my boy! See, 'night's candles are burnt out, and + jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain top.'” + </p> + <p> + Tim looked about him with a sickly smile. He looked behind him and there + was nothing there; stared at the blank window, where the smoky dawn showed + its offensive face, and there was nothing there. He pushed away the moist + hair from his haggard face—that face which would look like the + blessed St. John, and leaned heavily back in his chair. + </p> + <p> + “'Yon light is not daylight, I know it, I,'” he murmured drowsily, “'it is + some meteor which the sun exhales, to be to thee this night—'” + </p> + <p> + The words floated off in languid nothingness, and he slept. Dodson arose + preparatory to stretching himself on his couch. But first he bent over his + friend with a sense of tragic appreciation. + </p> + <p> + “Damned by the skin of his teeth!” he muttered. “A little more, and he + would have gone right, and the Devil would have lost a good fellow. As it + is”—he smiled with his usual conceited delight in his own sayings, + even when they were uttered in soliloquy—“he is merely one of those + splendid gentlemen one will meet with in hell.” Then Dodson had a + momentary nostalgia for goodness himself, but he soon overcame it, and + stretching himself on his sofa, he, too, slept. + </p> + <p> + That night he and O'Connor went together to hear “Faust” sung, and + returning to the office, Dodson prepared to write his criticism. Except + for the distant clatter of telegraph instruments, or the peremptory cries + of “copy” from an upper room, the office was still. Dodson wrote and + smoked his interminable cigarettes; O' Connor rested his head in his hands + on the desk, and sat in perfect silence. He did not know when Dodson + finished, or when, arising, and absent-mindedly extinguishing the lights, + he moved to the door with his copy in his hands. Dodson gathered up the + hats and coats as he passed them where they lay on a chair, and called: + </p> + <p> + “It is done, Tim. Come, let's get out of this.” + </p> + <p> + There was no answer, and he thought Tim was following, but after he had + handed his criticism to the city editor, he saw he was still alone, and + returned to the room for his friend. He advanced no further than the + doorway, for, as he stood in the dusky corridor and looked within the + darkened room, he saw before his friend a Shape, white, of perfect + loveliness, divinely delicate and pure and ethereal, which seemed as the + embodiment of all goodness. From it came a soft radiance and a perfume + softer than the wind when “it breathes upon a bank of violets stealing and + giving odor.” Staring at it, with eyes immovable, sat his friend. + </p> + <p> + It was strange that at sight of a thing so unspeakably fair, a coldness + like that which comes from the jewel-blue lips of a Muir crevasse should + have fallen upon Dodson, or that it was only by summoning all the manhood + that was left in him, that he was able to restore light to the room, and + to rush to his friend. When he reached poor Tim he was stone-still with + paralysis. They took him home to the woman, who nursed him out of that + attack—and later on worried him into another. + </p> + <p> + When he was able to sit up and jeer at things a little again, and help + himself to the quail the woman broiled for him, Dodson, sitting beside + him, said: + </p> + <p> + “Did you call that little exhibition of yours legerdemain, Tim, you sweep? + Or are you really the Devil's bairn?” + </p> + <p> + “It was the Shape of Fear,” said Tim, quite seriously. + </p> + <p> + “But it seemed mild as mother's milk.” + </p> + <p> + “It was compounded of the good I might have done. It is that which I + fear.” + </p> + <p> + He would explain no more. Later—many months later—he died + patiently and sweetly in the madhouse, praying for rest. The little beast + with the yellow eyes had high mass celebrated for him, which, all things + considered, was almost as pathetic as it was amusing. + </p> + <p> + Dodson was in Vienna when he heard of it. + </p> + <p> + “Sa, sa!” cried he. “I wish it wasn't so dark in the tomb! What do you + suppose Tim is looking at?” + </p> + <p> + As for Jim O'Malley, he was with difficulty kept from illuminating the + grave with electricity. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON THE NORTHERN ICE + </h2> + <p> + THE winter nights up at Sault Ste. Marie are as white and luminous as the + Milky Way. The silence which rests upon the solitude appears to be white + also. Even sound has been included in Nature's arrestment, for, indeed, + save the still white frost, all things seem to be obliterated. The stars + have a poignant brightness, but they belong to heaven and not to earth, + and between their immeasurable height and the still ice rolls the ebon + ether in vast, liquid billows. + </p> + <p> + In such a place it is difficult to believe that the world is actually + peopled. It seems as if it might be the dark of the day after Cain killed + Abel, and as if all of humanity's remainder was huddled in affright away + from the awful spaciousness of Creation. + </p> + <p> + The night Ralph Hagadorn started out for Echo Bay—bent on a pleasant + duty—he laughed to himself, and said that he did not at all object + to being the only man in the world, so long as the world remained as + unspeakably beautiful as it was when he buckled on his skates and shot + away into the solitude. He was bent on reaching his best friend in time to + act as groomsman, and business had delayed him till time was at its + briefest. So he journeyed by night and journeyed alone, and when the tang + of the frost got at his blood, he felt as a spirited horse feels when it + gets free of bit and bridle. The ice was as glass, his skates were keen, + his frame fit, and his venture to his taste! So he laughed, and cut + through the air as a sharp stone cleaves the water. He could hear the + whistling of the air as he cleft it. + </p> + <p> + As he went on and on in the black stillness, he began to have fancies. He + imagined himself enormously tall—a great Viking of the Northland, + hastening over icy fiords to his love. And that reminded him that he had a + love—though, indeed, that thought was always present with him as a + background for other thoughts. To be sure, he had not told her that she + was his love, for he had seen her only a few times, and the auspicious + occasion had not yet presented itself. She lived at Echo Bay also, and was + to be the maid of honor to his friend's bride—which was one more + reason why he skated almost as swiftly as the wind, and why, now and then, + he let out a shout of exultation. + </p> + <p> + The one cloud that crossed Hagadorn's sun of expectancy was the knowledge + that Marie Beaujeu's father had money, and that Marie lived in a house + with two stories to it, and wore otter skin about her throat and little + satin-lined mink boots on her feet when she went sledding. Moreover, in + the locket in which she treasured a bit of her dead mother's hair, there + was a black pearl as big as a pea. These things made it difficult—perhaps + impossible—for Ralph Hagadorn to say more than, “I love you.” But + that much he meant to say though he were scourged with chagrin for his + temerity. + </p> + <p> + This determination grew upon him as he swept along the ice under the + starlight. Venus made a glowing path toward the west and seemed eager to + reassure him. He was sorry he could not skim down that avenue of light + which flowed from the love-star, but he was forced to turn his back upon + it and face the black northeast. + </p> + <p> + It came to him with a shock that he was not alone. His eyelashes were + frosted and his eyeballs blurred with the cold, so at first he thought it + might be an illusion. But when he had rubbed his eyes hard, he made sure + that not very far in front of him was a long white skater in fluttering + garments who sped over the ice as fast as ever werewolf went. + </p> + <p> + He called aloud, but there was no answer. He shaped his hands and + trumpeted through them, but the silence was as before—it was + complete. So then he gave chase, setting his teeth hard and putting a + tension on his firm young muscles. But go however he would, the white + skater went faster. After a time, as he glanced at the cold gleam of the + north star, he perceived that he was being led from his direct path. For a + moment he hesitated, wondering if he would not better keep to his road, + but his weird companion seemed to draw him on irresistibly, and finding it + sweet to follow, he followed. + </p> + <p> + Of course it came to him more than once in that strange pursuit, that the + white skater was no earthly guide. Up in those latitudes men see curious + things when the hoar frost is on the earth. Hagadorn's own father—to + hark no further than that for an instance!—who lived up there with + the Lake Superior Indians, and worked in the copper mines, had welcomed a + woman at his hut one bitter night, who was gone by morning, leaving wolf + tracks on the snow! Yes, it was so, and John Fontanelle, the half-breed, + could tell you about it any day—if he were alive. (Alack, the snow + where the wolf tracks were, is melted now!) + </p> + <p> + Well, Hagadorn followed the white skater all the night, and when the ice + flushed pink at dawn, and arrows of lovely light shot up into the cold + heavens, she was gone, and Hagadorn was at his destination. The sun + climbed arrogantly up to his place above all other things, and as Hagadorn + took off his skates and glanced carelessly lakeward, he beheld a great + wind-rift in the ice, and the waves showing blue and hungry between white + fields. Had he rushed along his intended path, watching the stars to guide + him, his glance turned upward, all his body at magnificent momentum, he + must certainly have gone into that cold grave. + </p> + <p> + How wonderful that it had been sweet to follow the white skater, and that + he followed! + </p> + <p> + His heart beat hard as he hurried to his friend's house. But he + encountered no wedding furore. His friend met him as men meet in houses of + mourning. + </p> + <p> + “Is this your wedding face?” cried Hagadorn. “Why, man, starved as I am, I + look more like a bridegroom than you!” + </p> + <p> + “There's no wedding to-day!” + </p> + <p> + “No wedding! Why, you're not—” + </p> + <p> + “Marie Beaujeu died last night—” + </p> + <p> + “Marie—” + </p> + <p> + “Died last night. She had been skating in the afternoon, and she came home + chilled and wandering in her mind, as if the frost had got in it somehow. + She grew worse and worse, and all the time she talked of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Of me?” + </p> + <p> + “We wondered what it meant. No one knew you were lovers.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know it myself; more's the pity. At least, I didn't know—” + </p> + <p> + “She said you were on the ice, and that you didn't know about the big + breaking-up, and she cried to us that the wind was off shore and the rift + widening. She cried over and over again that you could come in by the old + French creek if you only knew—” + </p> + <p> + “I came in that way.” + </p> + <p> + “But how did you come to do that? It's out of the path. We thought perhaps—” + </p> + <p> + But Hagadorn broke in with his story and told him all as it had come to + pass. + </p> + <p> + That day they watched beside the maiden, who lay with tapers at her head + and at her feet, and in the little church the bride who might have been at + her wedding said prayers for her friend. They buried Marie Beaujeu in her + bridesmaid white, and Hagadorn was before the altar with her, as he had + intended from the first! Then at midnight the lovers who were to wed + whispered their vows in the gloom of the cold church, and walked together + through the snow to lay their bridal wreaths upon a grave. + </p> + <p> + Three nights later, Hagadorn skated back again to his home. They wanted + him to go by sunlight, but he had his way, and went when Venus made her + bright path on the ice. + </p> + <p> + The truth was, he had hoped for the companionship of the white skater. But + he did not have it. His only companion was the wind. The only voice he + heard was the baying of a wolf on the north shore. The world was as empty + and as white as if God had just created it, and the sun had not yet + colored nor man defiled it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THEIR DEAR LITTLE GHOST + </h2> + <p> + THE first time one looked at Elsbeth, one was not prepossessed. She was + thin and brown, her nose turned slightly upward, her toes went in just a + perceptible degree, and her hair was perfectly straight. But when one + looked longer, one perceived that she was a charming little creature. The + straight hair was as fine as silk, and hung in funny little braids down + her back; there was not a flaw in her soft brown skin, and her mouth was + tender and shapely. But her particular charm lay in a look which she + habitually had, of seeming to know curious things—such as it is not + allotted to ordinary persons to know. One felt tempted to say to her: + </p> + <p> + “What are these beautiful things which you know, and of which others are + ignorant? What is it you see with those wise and pellucid eyes? Why is it + that everybody loves you?” + </p> + <p> + Elsbeth was my little godchild, and I knew her better than I knew any + other child in the world. But still I could not truthfully say that I was + familiar with her, for to me her spirit was like a fair and fragrant road + in the midst of which I might walk in peace and joy, but where I was + continually to discover something new. The last time I saw her quite well + and strong was over in the woods where she had gone with her two little + brothers and her nurse to pass the hottest weeks of summer. I followed + her, foolish old creature that I was, just to be near her, for I needed to + dwell where the sweet aroma of her life could reach me. + </p> + <p> + One morning when I came from my room, limping a little, because I am not + so young as I used to be, and the lake wind works havoc with me, my little + godchild came dancing to me singing: + </p> + <p> + “Come with me and I'll show you my places, my places, my places!” + </p> + <p> + Miriam, when she chanted by the Red Sea might have been more exultant, but + she could not have been more bewitching. Of course I knew what “places” + were, because I had once been a little girl myself, but unless you are + acquainted with the real meaning of “places,” it would be useless to try + to explain. Either you know “places” or you do not—just as you + understand the meaning of poetry or you do not. There are things in the + world which cannot be taught. + </p> + <p> + Elsbeth's two tiny brothers were present, and I took one by each hand and + followed her. No sooner had we got out of doors in the woods than a sort + of mystery fell upon the world and upon us. We were cautioned to move + silently, and we did so, avoiding the crunching of dry twigs. + </p> + <p> + “The fairies hate noise,” whispered my little godchild, her eyes narrowing + like a cat's. + </p> + <p> + “I must get my wand first thing I do,” she said in an awed undertone. “It + is useless to try to do anything without a wand.” + </p> + <p> + The tiny boys were profoundly impressed, and, indeed, so was I. I felt + that at last, I should, if I behaved properly, see the fairies, which had + hitherto avoided my materialistic gaze. It was an enchanting moment, for + there appeared, just then, to be nothing commonplace about life. + </p> + <p> + There was a swale near by, and into this the little girl plunged. I could + see her red straw hat bobbing about among the tall rushes, and I wondered + if there were snakes. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think there are snakes?” I asked one of the tiny boys. + </p> + <p> + “If there are,” he said with conviction, “they won't dare hurt her.” + </p> + <p> + He convinced me. I feared no more. Presently Elsbeth came out of the + swale. In her hand was a brown “cattail,” perfectly full and round. She + carried it as queens carry their sceptres—the beautiful queens we + dream of in our youth. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” she commanded, and waved the sceptre in a fine manner. So we + followed, each tiny boy gripping my hand tight. We were all three a trifle + awed. Elsbeth led us into a dark underbrush. The branches, as they flew + back in our faces, left them wet with dew. A wee path, made by the girl's + dear feet, guided our footsteps. Perfumes of elderberry and wild cucumber + scented the air. A bird, frightened from its nest, made frantic cries + above our heads. The underbrush thickened. Presently the gloom of the + hemlocks was over us, and in the midst of the shadowy green a tulip tree + flaunted its leaves. Waves boomed and broke upon the shore below. There + was a growing dampness as we went on, treading very lightly. A little + green snake ran coquettishly from us. A fat and glossy squirrel chattered + at us from a safe height, stroking his whiskers with a complaisant air. + </p> + <p> + At length we reached the “place.” It was a circle of velvet grass, bright + as the first blades of spring, delicate as fine sea-ferns. The sunlight, + falling down the shaft between the hemlocks, flooded it with a softened + light and made the forest round about look like deep purple velvet. My + little godchild stood in the midst and raised her wand impressively. + </p> + <p> + “This is my place,” she said, with a sort of wonderful gladness in her + tone. “This is where I come to the fairy balls. Do you see them?” + </p> + <p> + “See what?” whispered one tiny boy. + </p> + <p> + “The fairies.” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence. The older boy pulled at my skirt. + </p> + <p> + “Do YOU see them?” he asked, his voice trembling with expectancy. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed,” I said, “I fear I am too old and wicked to see fairies, and yet—are + their hats red?” + </p> + <p> + “They are,” laughed my little girl. “Their hats are red, and as small—as + small!” She held up the pearly nail of her wee finger to give us the + correct idea. + </p> + <p> + “And their shoes are very pointed at the toes?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very pointed!” + </p> + <p> + “And their garments are green?” + </p> + <p> + “As green as grass.” + </p> + <p> + “And they blow little horns?” + </p> + <p> + “The sweetest little horns!” + </p> + <p> + “I think I see them,” I cried. + </p> + <p> + “We think we see them too,” said the tiny boys, laughing in perfect glee. + </p> + <p> + “And you hear their horns, don't you?” my little godchild asked somewhat + anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Don't we hear their horns?” I asked the tiny boys. + </p> + <p> + “We think we hear their horns,” they cried. “Don't you think we do?” + </p> + <p> + “It must be we do,” I said. “Aren't we very, very happy?” + </p> + <p> + We all laughed softly. Then we kissed each other and Elsbeth led us out, + her wand high in the air. + </p> + <p> + And so my feet found the lost path to Arcady. + </p> + <p> + The next day I was called to the Pacific coast, and duty kept me there + till well into December. A few days before the date set for my return to + my home, a letter came from Elsbeth's mother. + </p> + <p> + “Our little girl is gone into the Unknown,” she wrote—“that Unknown + in which she seemed to be forever trying to pry. We knew she was going, + and we told her. She was quite brave, but she begged us to try some way to + keep her till after Christmas. 'My presents are not finished yet,' she + made moan. 'And I did so want to see what I was going to have. You can't + have a very happy Christmas without me, I should think. Can you arrange to + keep me somehow till after then?' We could not 'arrange' either with God + in heaven or science upon earth, and she is gone.” + </p> + <p> + She was only my little godchild, and I am an old maid, with no business + fretting over children, but it seemed as if the medium of light and beauty + had been taken from me. Through this crystal soul I had perceived whatever + was loveliest. However, what was, was! I returned to my home and took up a + course of Egyptian history, and determined to concern myself with nothing + this side the Ptolemies. + </p> + <p> + Her mother has told me how, on Christmas eve, as usual, she and Elsbeth's + father filled the stockings of the little ones, and hung them, where they + had always hung, by the fireplace. They had little heart for the task, but + they had been prodigal that year in their expenditures, and had heaped + upon the two tiny boys all the treasures they thought would appeal to + them. They asked themselves how they could have been so insane previously + as to exercise economy at Christmas time, and what they meant by not + getting Elsbeth the autoharp she had asked for the year before. + </p> + <p> + “And now—” began her father, thinking of harps. But he could not + complete this sentence, of course, and the two went on passionately and + almost angrily with their task. There were two stockings and two piles of + toys. Two stockings only, and only two piles of toys! Two is very little! + </p> + <p> + They went away and left the darkened room, and after a time they slept—after + a long time. Perhaps that was about the time the tiny boys awoke, and, + putting on their little dressing gowns and bed slippers, made a dash for + the room where the Christmas things were always placed. The older one + carried a candle which gave out a feeble light. The other followed behind + through the silent house. They were very impatient and eager, but when + they reached the door of the sitting-room they stopped, for they saw that + another child was before them. + </p> + <p> + It was a delicate little creature, sitting in her white night gown, with + two rumpled funny braids falling down her back, and she seemed to be + weeping. As they watched, she arose, and putting out one slender finger as + a child does when she counts, she made sure over and over again—three + sad times—that there were only two stockings and two piles of toys! + Only those and no more. + </p> + <p> + The little figure looked so familiar that the boys started toward it, but + just then, putting up her arm and bowing her face in it, as Elsbeth had + been used to do when she wept or was offended, the little thing glided + away and went out. That's what the boys said. It went out as a candle goes + out. + </p> + <p> + They ran and woke their parents with the tale, and all the house was + searched in a wonderment, and disbelief, and hope, and tumult! But nothing + was found. For nights they watched. But there was only the silent house. + Only the empty rooms. They told the boys they must have been mistaken. But + the boys shook their heads. + </p> + <p> + “We know our Elsbeth,” said they. “It was our Elsbeth, cryin' 'cause she + hadn't no stockin' an' no toys, and we would have given her all ours, only + she went out—jus' went out!” + </p> + <p> + Alack! + </p> + <p> + The next Christmas I helped with the little festival. It was none of my + affair, but I asked to help, and they let me, and when we were all through + there were three stockings and three piles of toys, and in the largest one + was all the things that I could think of that my dear child would love. I + locked the boys' chamber that night, and I slept on the divan in the + parlor off the sitting-room. I slept but little, and the night was very + still—so windless and white and still that I think I must have heard + the slightest noise. Yet I heard none. Had I been in my grave I think my + ears would not have remained more unsaluted. + </p> + <p> + Yet when daylight came and I went to unlock the boys' bedchamber door, I + saw that the stocking and all the treasures which I had bought for my + little godchild were gone. There was not a vestige of them remaining! + </p> + <p> + Of course we told the boys nothing. As for me, after dinner I went home + and buried myself once more in my history, and so interested was I that + midnight came without my knowing it. I should not have looked up at all, I + suppose, to become aware of the time, had it not been for a faint, sweet + sound as of a child striking a stringed instrument. It was so delicate and + remote that I hardly heard it, but so joyous and tender that I could not + but listen, and when I heard it a second time it seemed as if I caught the + echo of a child's laugh. At first I was puzzled. Then I remembered the + little autoharp I had placed among the other things in that pile of + vanished toys. I said aloud: + </p> + <p> + “Farewell, dear little ghost. Go rest. Rest in joy, dear little ghost. + Farewell, farewell.” + </p> + <p> + That was years ago, but there has been silence since. Elsbeth was always + an obedient little thing. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A SPECTRAL COLLIE + </h2> + <p> + WILLIAM PERCY CECIL happened to be a younger son, so he left home—which + was England—and went to Kansas to ranch it. Thousands of younger + sons do the same, only their destination is not invariably Kansas. + </p> + <p> + An agent at Wichita picked out Cecil's farm for him and sent the deeds + over to England before Cecil left. He said there was a house on the place. + So Cecil's mother fitted him out for America just as she had fitted out + another superfluous boy for Africa, and parted from him with an heroic + front and big agonies of mother-ache which she kept to herself. + </p> + <p> + The boy bore up the way a man of his blood ought, but when he went out to + the kennel to see Nita, his collie, he went to pieces somehow, and rolled + on the grass with her in his arms and wept like a booby. But the + remarkable part of it was that Nita wept too, big, hot dog tears which her + master wiped away. When he went off she howled like a hungry baby, and had + to be switched before she would give any one a night's sleep. + </p> + <p> + When Cecil got over on his Kansas place he fitted up the shack as cosily + as he could, and learned how to fry bacon and make soda biscuits. + Incidentally, he did farming, and sunk a heap of money, finding out how + not to do things. Meantime, the Americans laughed at him, and were + inclined to turn the cold shoulder, and his compatriots, of whom there + were a number in the county, did not prove to his liking. They consoled + themselves for their exiled state in fashions not in keeping with Cecil's + traditions. His homesickness went deeper than theirs, perhaps, and + American whiskey could not make up for the loss of his English home, nor + flirtations with the gay American village girls quite compensate him for + the loss of his English mother. So he kept to himself and had nostalgia as + some men have consumption. + </p> + <p> + At length the loneliness got so bad that he had to see some living thing + from home, or make a flunk of it and go back like a cry baby. He had a + stiff pride still, though he sobbed himself to sleep more than one night, + as many a pioneer has done before him. So he wrote home for Nita, the + collie, and got word that she would be sent. Arrangements were made for + her care all along the line, and she was properly boxed and shipped. + </p> + <p> + As the time drew near for her arrival, Cecil could hardly eat. He was too + excited to apply himself to anything. The day of her expected arrival he + actually got up at five o'clock to clean the house and make it look as + fine as possible for her inspection. Then he hitched up and drove fifteen + miles to get her. The train pulled out just before he reached the station, + so Nita in her box was waiting for him on the platform. He could see her + in a queer way, as one sees the purple centre of a revolving circle of + light; for, to tell the truth, with the long ride in the morning sun, and + the beating of his heart, Cecil was only about half-conscious of anything. + He wanted to yell, but he didn't. He kept himself in hand and lifted up + the sliding side of the box and called to Nita, and she came out. + </p> + <p> + But it wasn't the man who fainted, though he might have done so, being + crazy homesick as he was, and half-fed and overworked while he was yet + soft from an easy life. No, it was the dog! She looked at her master's + face, gave one cry of inexpressible joy, and fell over in a real feminine + sort of a faint, and had to be brought to like any other lady, with + camphor and water and a few drops of spirit down her throat. Then Cecil + got up on the wagon seat, and she sat beside him with her head on his arm, + and they rode home in absolute silence, each feeling too much for speech. + After they reached home, however, Cecil showed her all over the place, and + she barked out her ideas in glad sociability. + </p> + <p> + After that Cecil and Nita were inseparable. She walked beside him all day + when he was out with the cultivator, or when he was mowing or reaping. She + ate beside him at table and slept across his feet at night. Evenings when + he looked over the Graphic from home, or read the books his mother sent + him, that he might keep in touch with the world, Nita was beside him, + patient, but jealous. Then, when he threw his book or paper down and took + her on his knee and looked into her pretty eyes, or frolicked with her, + she fairly laughed with delight. + </p> + <p> + In short, she was faithful with that faith of which only a dog is capable—that + unquestioning faith to which even the most loving women never quite + attain. + </p> + <p> + However, Fate was annoyed at this perfect friendship. It didn't give her + enough to do, and Fate is a restless thing with a horrible appetite for + variety. So poor Nita died one day mysteriously, and gave her last look to + Cecil as a matter of course; and he held her paws till the last moment, as + a stanch friend should, and laid her away decently in a pine box in the + cornfield, where he could be shielded from public view if he chose to go + there now and then and sit beside her grave. + </p> + <p> + He went to bed very lonely, indeed, the first night. The shack seemed to + him to be removed endless miles from the other habitations of men. He + seemed cut off from the world, and ached to hear the cheerful little barks + which Nita had been in the habit of giving him by way of good night. Her + amiable eye with its friendly light was missing, the gay wag of her tail + was gone; all her ridiculous ways, at which he was never tired of + laughing, were things of the past. + </p> + <p> + He lay down, busy with these thoughts, yet so habituated to Nita's + presence, that when her weight rested upon his feet, as usual, he felt no + surprise. But after a moment it came to him that as she was dead the + weight he felt upon his feet could not be hers. And yet, there it was, + warm and comfortable, cuddling down in the familiar way. He actually sat + up and put his hand down to the foot of the bed to discover what was + there. But there was nothing there, save the weight. And that stayed with + him that night and many nights after. + </p> + <p> + It happened that Cecil was a fool, as men will be when they are young, and + he worked too hard, and didn't take proper care of himself; and so it came + about that he fell sick with a low fever. He struggled around for a few + days, trying to work it off, but one morning he awoke only to the + consciousness of absurd dreams. He seemed to be on the sea, sailing for + home, and the boat was tossing and pitching in a weary circle, and could + make no headway. His heart was burning with impatience, but the boat went + round and round in that endless circle till he shrieked out with agony. + </p> + <p> + The next neighbors were the Taylors, who lived two miles and a half away. + They were awakened that morning by the howling of a dog before their door. + It was a hideous sound and would give them no peace. So Charlie Taylor got + up and opened the door, discovering there an excited little collie. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Tom,” he called, “I thought Cecil's collie was dead!” + </p> + <p> + “She is,” called back Tom. + </p> + <p> + “No, she ain't neither, for here she is, shakin' like an aspin, and a + beggin' me to go with her. Come out, Tom, and see.” + </p> + <p> + It was Nita, no denying, and the men, perplexed, followed her to Cecil's + shack, where they found him babbling. + </p> + <p> + But that was the last of her. Cecil said he never felt her on his feet + again. She had performed her final service for him, he said. The neighbors + tried to laugh at the story at first, but they knew the Taylors wouldn't + take the trouble to lie, and as for Cecil, no one would have ventured to + chaff him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE HOUSE THAT WAS NOT + </h2> + <p> + BART FLEMING took his bride out to his ranch on the plains when she was + but seventeen years old, and the two set up housekeeping in three hundred + and twenty acres of corn and rye. Off toward the west there was an + unbroken sea of tossing corn at that time of the year when the bride came + out, and as her sewing window was on the side of the house which faced the + sunset, she passed a good part of each day looking into that great + rustling mass, breathing in its succulent odors and listening to its + sibilant melody. It was her picture gallery, her opera, her spectacle, + and, being sensible,—or perhaps, being merely happy,—she made + the most of it. + </p> + <p> + When harvesting time came and the corn was cut, she had much entertainment + in discovering what lay beyond. The town was east, and it chanced that she + had never ridden west. So, when the rolling hills of this newly beholden + land lifted themselves for her contemplation, and the harvest sun, all in + an angry and sanguinary glow sank in the veiled horizon, and at noon a + scarf of golden vapor wavered up and down along the earth line, it was as + if a new world had been made for her. Sometimes, at the coming of a storm, + a whip-lash of purple cloud, full of electric agility, snapped along the + western horizon. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you'll see a lot of queer things on these here plains,” her husband + said when she spoke to him of these phenomena. “I guess what you see is + the wind.” + </p> + <p> + “The wind!” cried Flora. “You can't see the wind, Bart.” + </p> + <p> + “Now look here, Flora,” returned Bart, with benevolent emphasis, “you're a + smart one, but you don't know all I know about this here country. I've + lived here three mortal years, waitin' for you to git up out of your + mother's arms and come out to keep me company, and I know what there is to + know. Some things out here is queer—so queer folks wouldn't believe + 'em unless they saw. An' some's so pig-headed they don't believe their own + eyes. As for th' wind, if you lay down flat and squint toward th' west, + you can see it blowin' along near th' ground, like a big ribbon; an' + sometimes it's th' color of air, an' sometimes it's silver an' gold, an' + sometimes, when a storm is comin', it's purple.” + </p> + <p> + “If you got so tired looking at the wind, why didn't you marry some other + girl, Bart, instead of waiting for me?” + </p> + <p> + Flora was more interested in the first part of Bart's speech than in the + last. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come on!” protested Bart, and he picked her up in his arms and jumped + her toward the ceiling of the low shack as if she were a little girl—but + then, to be sure, she wasn't much more. + </p> + <p> + Of all the things Flora saw when the corn was cut down, nothing interested + her so much as a low cottage, something like her own, which lay away in + the distance. She could not guess how far it might be, because distances + are deceiving out there, where the altitude is high and the air is as + clear as one of those mystic balls of glass in which the sallow mystics of + India see the moving shadows of the future. + </p> + <p> + She had not known there were neighbors so near, and she wondered for + several days about them before she ventured to say anything to Bart on the + subject. Indeed, for some reason which she did not attempt to explain to + herself, she felt shy about broaching the matter. Perhaps Bart did not + want her to know the people. The thought came to her, as naughty thoughts + will come, even to the best of persons, that some handsome young men might + be “baching” it out there by themselves, and Bart didn't wish her to make + their acquaintance. Bart had flattered her so much that she had actually + begun to think herself beautiful, though as a matter of fact she was only + a nice little girl with a lot of reddish-brown hair, and a bright pair of + reddish-brown eyes in a white face. + </p> + <p> + “Bart,” she ventured one evening, as the sun, at its fiercest, rushed + toward the great black hollow of the west, “who lives over there in that + shack?” + </p> + <p> + She turned away from the window where she had been looking at the + incarnadined disk, and she thought she saw Bart turn pale. But then, her + eyes were so blurred with the glory she had been gazing at, that she might + easily have been mistaken. + </p> + <p> + “I say, Bart, why don't you speak? If there's any one around to associate + with, I should think you'd let me have the benefit of their company. It + isn't as funny as you think, staying here alone days and days.” + </p> + <p> + “You ain't gettin' homesick, be you, sweetheart?” cried Bart, putting his + arms around her. “You ain't gettin' tired of my society, be yeh?” + </p> + <p> + It took some time to answer this question in a satisfactory manner, but at + length Flora was able to return to her original topic. + </p> + <p> + “But the shack, Bart! Who lives there, anyway?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not acquainted with 'em,” said Bart, sharply. “Ain't them biscuits + done, Flora?” + </p> + <p> + Then, of course, she grew obstinate. + </p> + <p> + “Those biscuits will never be done, Bart, till I know about that house, + and why you never spoke of it, and why nobody ever comes down the road + from there. Some one lives there I know, for in the mornings and at night + I see the smoke coming out of the chimney.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you now?” cried Bart, opening his eyes and looking at her with + unfeigned interest. “Well, do you know, sometimes I've fancied I seen that + too?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, why not,” cried Flora, in half anger. “Why shouldn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “See here, Flora, take them biscuits out an' listen to me. There ain't no + house there. Hello! I didn't know you'd go for to drop the biscuits. Wait, + I'll help you pick 'em up. By cracky, they're hot, ain't they? What you + puttin' a towel over 'em for? Well, you set down here on my knee, so. Now + you look over at that there house. You see it, don't yeh? Well, it ain't + there! No! I saw it the first week I was out here. I was jus' half dyin', + thinkin' of you an' wonderin' why you didn't write. That was the time you + was mad at me. So I rode over there one day—lookin' up company, so + t' speak—and there wa'n't no house there. I spent all one Sunday + lookin' for it. Then I spoke to Jim Geary about it. He laughed an' got a + little white about th' gills, an' he said he guessed I'd have to look a + good while before I found it. He said that there shack was an ole joke.” + </p> + <p> + “Why—what—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, this here is th' story he tol' me. He said a man an' his wife come + out here t' live an' put up that there little place. An' she was young, + you know, an' kind o' skeery, and she got lonesome. It worked on her an' + worked on her, an' one day she up an' killed the baby an' her husband an' + herself. Th' folks found 'em and buried 'em right there on their own + ground. Well, about two weeks after that, th' house was burned down. Don't + know how. Tramps, maybe. Anyhow, it burned. At least, I guess it burned!” + </p> + <p> + “You guess it burned!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it ain't there, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “But if it burned the ashes are there.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, girlie, they're there then. Now let's have tea.” + </p> + <p> + This they proceeded to do, and were happy and cheerful all evening, but + that didn't keep Flora from rising at the first flush of dawn and stealing + out of the house. She looked away over west as she went to the barn and + there, dark and firm against the horizon, stood the little house against + the pellucid sky of morning. She got on Ginger's back—Ginger being + her own yellow broncho—and set off at a hard pace for the house. It + didn't appear to come any nearer, but the objects which had seemed to be + beside it came closer into view, and Flora pressed on, with her mind + steeled for anything. But as she approached the poplar windbreak which + stood to the north of the house, the little shack waned like a shadow + before her. It faded and dimmed before her eyes. + </p> + <p> + She slapped Ginger's flanks and kept him going, and she at last got him up + to the spot. But there was nothing there. The bunch grass grew tall and + rank and in the midst of it lay a baby's shoe. Flora thought of picking it + up, but something cold in her veins withheld her. Then she grew angry, and + set Ginger's head toward the place and tried to drive him over it. But the + yellow broncho gave one snort of fear, gathered himself in a bunch, and + then, all tense, leaping muscles, made for home as only a broncho can. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + STORY OF AN OBSTINATE CORPSE + </h2> + <p> + VIRGIL HOYT is a photographer's assistant up at St. Paul, and enjoys his + work without being consumed by it. He has been in search of the + picturesque all over the West and hundreds of miles to the north, in + Canada, and can speak three or four Indian dialects and put a canoe + through the rapids. That is to say, he is a man of adventure, and no + dreamer. He can fight well and shoot better, and swim so as to put up a + winning race with the Indian boys, and he can sit in the saddle all day + and not worry about it to-morrow. + </p> + <p> + Wherever he goes, he carries a camera. + </p> + <p> + “The world,” Hoyt is in the habit of saying to those who sit with him when + he smokes his pipe, “was created in six days to be photographed. Man—and + particularly woman—was made for the same purpose. Clouds are not + made to give moisture nor trees to cast shade. They have been created in + order to give the camera obscura something to do.” + </p> + <p> + In short, Virgil Hoyt's view of the world is whimsical, and he likes to be + bothered neither with the disagreeable nor the mysterious. That is the + reason he loathes and detests going to a house of mourning to photograph a + corpse. The bad taste of it offends him, but above all, he doesn't like + the necessity of shouldering, even for a few moments, a part of the burden + of sorrow which belongs to some one else. He dislikes sorrow, and would + willingly canoe five hundred miles up the cold Canadian rivers to get rid + of it. Nevertheless, as assistant photographer, it is often his duty to do + this very kind of thing. + </p> + <p> + Not long ago he was sent for by a rich Jewish family to photograph the + remains of the mother, who had just died. He was put out, but he was only + an assistant, and he went. He was taken to the front parlor, where the + dead woman lay in her coffin. It was evident to him that there was some + excitement in the household, and that a discussion was going on. But Hoyt + said to himself that it didn't concern him, and he therefore paid no + attention to it. + </p> + <p> + The daughter wanted the coffin turned on end in order that the corpse + might face the camera properly, but Hoyt said he could overcome the + recumbent attitude and make it appear that the face was taken in the + position it would naturally hold in life, and so they went out and left + him alone with the dead. + </p> + <p> + The face of the deceased was a strong and positive one, such as may often + be seen among Jewish matrons. Hoyt regarded it with some admiration, + thinking to himself that she was a woman who had known what she wanted, + and who, once having made up her mind, would prove immovable. Such a + character appealed to Hoyt. He reflected that he might have married if + only he could have found a woman with strength of character sufficient to + disagree with him. There was a strand of hair out of place on the dead + woman's brow, and he gently pushed it back. A bud lifted its head too high + from among the roses on her breast and spoiled the contour of the chin, so + he broke it off. He remembered these things later with keen distinctness, + and that his hand touched her chill face two or three times in the making + of his arrangements. + </p> + <p> + Then he took the impression, and left the house. + </p> + <p> + He was busy at the time with some railroad work, and several days passed + before he found opportunity to develop the plates. He took them from the + bath in which they had lain with a number of others, and went + energetically to work upon them, whistling some very saucy songs he had + learned of the guide in the Red River country, and trying to forget that + the face which was presently to appear was that of a dead woman. He had + used three plates as a precaution against accident, and they came up well. + But as they developed, he became aware of the existence of something in + the photograph which had not been apparent to his eye in the subject. He + was irritated, and without attempting to face the mystery, he made a few + prints and laid them aside, ardently hoping that by some chance they would + never be called for. + </p> + <p> + However, as luck would have it,—and Hoyt's luck never had been good,—his + employer asked one day what had become of those photographs. Hoyt tried to + evade making an answer, but the effort was futile, and he had to get out + the finished prints and exhibit them. The older man sat staring at them a + long time. + </p> + <p> + “Hoyt,” he said, “you're a young man, and very likely you have never seen + anything like this before. But I have. Not exactly the same thing, + perhaps, but similar phenomena have come my way a number of times since I + went in the business, and I want to tell you there are things in heaven + and earth not dreamt of—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know all that tommy-rot,” cried Hoyt, angrily, “but when anything + happens I want to know the reason why and how it is done.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” answered his employer, “then you might explain why and how + the sun rises.” + </p> + <p> + But he humored the young man sufficiently to examine with him the baths in + which the plates were submerged, and the plates themselves. All was as it + should be; but the mystery was there, and could not be done away with. + </p> + <p> + Hoyt hoped against hope that the friends of the dead woman would somehow + forget about the photographs; but the idea was unreasonable, and one day, + as a matter of course, the daughter appeared and asked to see the pictures + of her mother. + </p> + <p> + “Well, to tell the truth,” stammered Hoyt, “they didn't come out quite—quite + as well as we could wish.” + </p> + <p> + “But let me see them,” persisted the lady. “I'd like to look at them + anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, now,” said Hoyt, trying to be soothing, as he believed it was + always best to be with women,—to tell the truth he was an ignoramus + where women were concerned,—“I think it would be better if you + didn't look at them. There are reasons why—” he ambled on like this, + stupid man that he was, till the lady naturally insisted upon seeing the + pictures without a moment's delay. + </p> + <p> + So poor Hoyt brought them out and placed them in her hand, and then ran + for the water pitcher, and had to be at the bother of bathing her forehead + to keep her from fainting. + </p> + <p> + For what the lady saw was this: Over face and flowers and the head of the + coffin fell a thick veil, the edges of which touched the floor in some + places. It covered the features so well that not a hint of them was + visible. + </p> + <p> + “There was nothing over mother's face!” cried the lady at length. + </p> + <p> + “Not a thing,” acquiesced Hoyt. “I know, because I had occasion to touch + her face just before I took the picture. I put some of her hair back from + her brow.” + </p> + <p> + “What does it mean, then?” asked the lady. + </p> + <p> + “You know better than I. There is no explanation in science. Perhaps there + is some in—in psychology.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the young woman, stammering a little and coloring, “mother + was a good woman, but she always wanted her own way, and she always had + it, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And she never would have her picture taken. She didn't admire her own + appearance. She said no one should ever see a picture of her.” + </p> + <p> + “So?” said Hoyt, meditatively. “Well, she's kept her word, hasn't she?” + </p> + <p> + The two stood looking at the photographs for a time. Then Hoyt pointed to + the open blaze in the grate. + </p> + <p> + “Throw them in,” he commanded. “Don't let your father see them—don't + keep them yourself. They wouldn't be agreeable things to keep.” + </p> + <p> + “That's true enough,” admitted the lady. And she threw them in the fire. + Then Virgil Hoyt brought out the plates and broke them before her eyes. + </p> + <p> + And that was the end of it—except that Hoyt sometimes tells the + story to those who sit beside him when his pipe is lighted. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A CHILD OF THE RAIN + </h2> + <p> + IT was the night that Mona Meeks, the dressmaker, told him she didn't love + him. He couldn't believe it at first, because he had so long been + accustomed to the idea that she did, and no matter how rough the weather + or how irascible the passengers, he felt a song in his heart as he punched + transfers, and rang his bell punch, and signalled the driver when to let + people off and on. + </p> + <p> + Now, suddenly, with no reason except a woman's, she had changed her mind. + He dropped in to see her at five o'clock, just before time for the night + shift, and to give her two red apples he had been saving for her. She + looked at the apples as if they were invisible and she could not see them, + and standing in her disorderly little dressmaking parlor, with its + cuttings and scraps and litter of fabrics, she said: + </p> + <p> + “It is no use, John. I shall have to work here like this all my life—work + here alone. For I don't love you, John. No, I don't. I thought I did, but + it is a mistake.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean it?” asked John, bringing up the words in a great gasp. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, white and trembling and putting out her hands as if to + beg for his mercy. And then—big, lumbering fool—he turned + around and strode down the stairs and stood at the corner in the beating + rain waiting for his car. It came along at length, spluttering on the wet + rails and spitting out blue fire, and he took his shift after a gruff + “Good night” to Johnson, the man he relieved. + </p> + <p> + He was glad the rain was bitter cold and drove in his face fiercely. He + rejoiced at the cruelty of the wind, and when it hustled pedestrians + before it, lashing them, twisting their clothes, and threatening their + equilibrium, he felt amused. He was pleased at the chill in his bones and + at the hunger that tortured him. At least, at first he thought it was + hunger till he remembered that he had just eaten. The hours passed + confusedly. He had no consciousness of time. But it must have been late,—near + midnight,—judging by the fact that there were few persons visible + anywhere in the black storm, when he noticed a little figure sitting at + the far end of the car. He had not seen the child when she got on, but all + was so curious and wild to him that evening—he himself seemed to + himself the most curious and the wildest of all things—that it was + not surprising that he should not have observed the little creature. + </p> + <p> + She was wrapped in a coat so much too large that it had become frayed at + the bottom from dragging on the pavement. Her hair hung in unkempt + stringiness about her bent shoulders, and her feet were covered with old + arctics, many sizes too big, from which the soles hung loose. + </p> + <p> + Beside the little figure was a chest of dark wood, with curiously wrought + hasps. From this depended a stout strap by which it could be carried over + the shoulders. John Billings stared in, fascinated by the poor little + thing with its head sadly drooping upon its breast, its thin blue hands + relaxed upon its lap, and its whole attitude so suggestive of hunger, + loneliness, and fatigue, that he made up his mind he would collect no fare + from it. + </p> + <p> + “It will need its nickel for breakfast,” he said to himself. “The company + can stand this for once. Or, come to think of it, I might celebrate my + hard luck. Here's to the brotherhood of failures!” And he took a nickel + from one pocket of his great-coat and dropped it in another, ringing his + bell punch to record the transfer. + </p> + <p> + The car plunged along in the darkness, and the rain beat more viciously + than ever in his face. The night was full of the rushing sound of the + storm. Owing to some change of temperature the glass of the car became + obscured so that the young conductor could no longer see the little figure + distinctly, and he grew anxious about the child. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if it's all right,” he said to himself. “I never saw living + creature sit so still.” + </p> + <p> + He opened the car door, intending to speak with the child, but just then + something went wrong with the lights. There was a blue and green + flickering, then darkness, a sudden halting of the car, and a great sweep + of wind and rain in at the door. When, after a moment, light and motion + reasserted themselves, and Billings had got the door together, he turned + to look at the little passenger. But the car was empty. + </p> + <p> + It was a fact. There was no child there—not even moisture on the + seat where she had been sitting. + </p> + <p> + “Bill,” said he, going to the front door and addressing the driver, “what + became of that little kid in the old cloak?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't see no kid,” said Bill, crossly. “For Gawd's sake, close the + door, John, and git that draught off my back.” + </p> + <p> + “Draught!” said John, indignantly, “where's the draught?” + </p> + <p> + “You've left the hind door open,” growled Bill, and John saw him shivering + as a blast struck him and ruffled the fur on his bear-skin coat. But the + door was not open, and yet John had to admit to himself that the car + seemed filled with wind and a strange coldness. + </p> + <p> + However, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered! Still, it was as well no + doubt to look under the seats just to make sure no little crouching figure + was there, and so he did. But there was nothing. In fact, John said to + himself, he seemed to be getting expert in finding nothing where there + ought to be something. + </p> + <p> + He might have stayed in the car, for there was no likelihood of more + passengers that evening, but somehow he preferred going out where the rain + could drench him and the wind pommel him. How horribly tired he was! If + there were only some still place away from the blare of the city where a + man could lie down and listen to the sound of the sea or the storm—or + if one could grow suddenly old and get through with the bother of living—or + if— + </p> + <p> + The car gave a sudden lurch as it rounded a curve, and for a moment it + seemed to be a mere chance whether Conductor Billings would stay on his + platform or go off under those fire-spitting wheels. He caught + instinctively at his brake, saved himself, and stood still for a moment, + panting. + </p> + <p> + “I must have dozed,” he said to himself. + </p> + <p> + Just then, dimly, through the blurred window, he saw again the little + figure of the child, its head on its breast as before, its blue hands + lying in its lap and the curious box beside it. John Billings felt a + coldness beyond the coldness of the night run through his blood. Then, + with a half-stifled cry, he threw back the door, and made a desperate + spring at the corner where the eerie thing sat. + </p> + <p> + And he touched the green carpeting on the seat, which was quite dry and + warm, as if no dripping, miserable little wretch had ever crouched there. + </p> + <p> + He rushed to the front door. + </p> + <p> + “Bill,” he roared, “I want to know about that kid.” + </p> + <p> + “What kid?” + </p> + <p> + “The same kid! The wet one with the old coat and the box with iron hasps! + The one that's been sitting here in the car!” + </p> + <p> + Bill turned his surly face to confront the young conductor. + </p> + <p> + “You've been drinking, you fool,” said he. “Fust thing you know you'll be + reported.” + </p> + <p> + The conductor said not a word. He went slowly and weakly back to his post + and stood there the rest of the way leaning against the end of the car for + support. Once or twice he muttered: + </p> + <p> + “The poor little brat!” And again he said, “So you didn't love me after + all!” + </p> + <p> + He never knew how he reached home, but he sank to sleep as dying men sink + to death. All the same, being a hearty young man, he was on duty again + next day but one, and again the night was rainy and cold. + </p> + <p> + It was the last run, and the car was spinning along at its limit, when + there came a sudden soft shock. John Billings knew what that meant. He had + felt something of the kind once before. He turned sick for a moment, and + held on to the brake. Then he summoned his courage and went around to the + side of the car, which had stopped. Bill, the driver, was before him, and + had a limp little figure in his arms, and was carrying it to the gaslight. + John gave one look and cried: + </p> + <p> + “It's the same kid, Bill! The one I told you of!” + </p> + <p> + True as truth were the ragged coat dangling from the pitiful body, the + little blue hands, the thin shoulders, the stringy hair, the big arctics + on the feet. And in the road not far off was the curious chest of dark + wood with iron hasps. + </p> + <p> + “She ran under the car deliberate!” cried Bill. “I yelled to her, but she + looked at me and ran straight on!” + </p> + <p> + He was white in spite of his weather-beaten skin. + </p> + <p> + “I guess you wasn't drunk last night after all, John,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “You—you are sure the kid is—is there?” gasped John. + </p> + <p> + “Not so damned sure!” said Bill. + </p> + <p> + But a few minutes later it was taken away in a patrol wagon, and with it + the little box with iron hasps. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE ROOM OF THE EVIL THOUGHT + </h2> + <p> + THEY called it the room of the Evil Thought. It was really the pleasantest + room in the house, and when the place had been used as the rectory, was + the minister's study. It looked out on a mournful clump of larches, such + as may often be seen in the old-fashioned yards in Michigan, and these + threw a tender gloom over the apartment. + </p> + <p> + There was a wide fireplace in the room, and it had been the young + minister's habit to sit there hours and hours, staring ahead of him at the + fire, and smoking moodily. The replenishing of the fire and of his pipe, + it was said, would afford him occupation all the day long, and that was + how it came about that his parochial duties were neglected so that, little + by little, the people became dissatisfied with him, though he was an + eloquent young man, who could send his congregation away drunk on his + influence. However, the calmer pulsed among his parish began to whisper + that it was indeed the influence of the young minister and not that of the + Holy Ghost which they felt, and it was finally decided that neither animal + magnetism nor hypnotism were good substitutes for religion. And so they + let him go. + </p> + <p> + The new rector moved into a smart brick house on the other side of the + church, and gave receptions and dinner parties, and was punctilious about + making his calls. The people therefore liked him very much—so much + that they raised the debt on the church and bought a chime of bells, in + their enthusiasm. Every one was lighter of heart than under the + ministration of the previous rector. A burden appeared to be lifted from + the community. True, there were a few who confessed the new man did not + give them the food for thought which the old one had done, but, then, the + former rector had made them uncomfortable! He had not only made them + conscious of the sins of which they were already guilty, but also of those + for which they had the latent capacity. A strange and fatal man, whom + women loved to their sorrow, and whom simple men could not understand! It + was generally agreed that the parish was well rid of him. + </p> + <p> + “He was a genius,” said the people in commiseration. The word was an + uncomplimentary epithet with them. + </p> + <p> + When the Hanscoms moved in the house which had been the old rectory, they + gave Grandma Hanscom the room with the fireplace. Grandma was well + pleased. The roaring fire warmed her heart as well as her chill old body, + and she wept with weak joy when she looked at the larches, because they + reminded her of the house she had lived in when she was first married. All + the forenoon of the first day she was busy putting things away in bureau + drawers and closets, but by afternoon she was ready to sit down in her + high-backed rocker and enjoy the comforts of her room. + </p> + <p> + She nodded a bit before the fire, as she usually did after luncheon, and + then she awoke with an awful start and sat staring before her with such a + look in her gentle, filmy old eyes as had never been there before. She did + not move, except to rock slightly, and the Thought grew and grew till her + face was disguised as by some hideous mask of tragedy. + </p> + <p> + By and by the children came pounding at the door. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, grandma, let us in, please. We want to see your new room, and mamma + gave us some ginger cookies on a plate, and we want to give some to you.” + </p> + <p> + The door gave way under their assaults, and the three little ones stood + peeping in, waiting for permission to enter. But it did not seem to be + their grandma—their own dear grandma—who arose and tottered + toward them in fierce haste, crying: + </p> + <p> + “Away, away! Out of my sight! Out of my sight before I do the thing I want + to do! Such a terrible thing! Send some one to me quick, children, + children! Send some one quick!” + </p> + <p> + They fled with feet shod with fear, and their mother came, and Grandma + Hanscom sank down and clung about her skirts and sobbed: + </p> + <p> + “Tie me, Miranda. Make me fast to the bed or the wall. Get some one to + watch me. For I want to do an awful thing!” + </p> + <p> + They put the trembling old creature in bed, and she raved there all the + night long and cried out to be held, and to be kept from doing the fearful + thing, whatever it was—for she never said what it was. + </p> + <p> + The next morning some one suggested taking her in the sitting-room where + she would be with the family. So they laid her on the sofa, hemmed around + with cushions, and before long she was her quiet self again, though + exhausted, naturally, with the tumult of the previous night. Now and then, + as the children played about her, a shadow crept over her face—a + shadow as of cold remembrance—and then the perplexed tears followed. + </p> + <p> + When she seemed as well as ever they put her back in her room. But though + the fire glowed and the lamp burned, as soon as ever she was alone they + heard her shrill cries ringing to them that the Evil Thought had come + again. So Hal, who was home from college, carried her up to his room, + which she seemed to like very well. Then he went down to have a smoke + before grandma's fire. + </p> + <p> + The next morning he was absent from breakfast. They thought he might have + gone for an early walk, and waited for him a few minutes. Then his sister + went to the room that looked upon the larches, and found him dressed and + pacing the floor with a face set and stern. He had not been in bed at all, + as she saw at once. His eyes were bloodshot, his face stricken as if with + old age or sin or—but she could not make it out. When he saw her he + sank in a chair and covered his face with his hands, and between the + trembling fingers she could see drops of perspiration on his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Hal!” she cried, “Hal, what is it?” + </p> + <p> + But for answer he threw his arms about the little table and clung to it, + and looked at her with tortured eyes, in which she fancied she saw a gleam + of hate. She ran, screaming, from the room, and her father came and went + up to him and laid his hands on the boy's shoulders. And then a fearful + thing happened. All the family saw it. There could be no mistake. Hal's + hands found their way with frantic eagerness toward his father's throat as + if they would choke him, and the look in his eyes was so like a madman's + that his father raised his fist and felled him as he used to fell men + years before in the college fights, and then dragged him into the + sitting-room and wept over him. + </p> + <p> + By evening, however, Hal was all right, and the family said it must have + been a fever,—perhaps from overstudy,—at which Hal covertly + smiled. But his father was still too anxious about him to let him out of + his sight, so he put him on a cot in his room, and thus it chanced that + the mother and Grace concluded to sleep together downstairs. + </p> + <p> + The two women made a sort of festival of it, and drank little cups of + chocolate before the fire, and undid and brushed their brown braids, and + smiled at each other, understandingly, with that sweet intuitive sympathy + which women have, and Grace told her mother a number of things which she + had been waiting for just such an auspicious occasion to confide. + </p> + <p> + But the larches were noisy and cried out with wild voices, and the flame + of the fire grew blue and swirled about in the draught sinuously, so that + a chill crept upon the two. Something cold appeared to envelop them—such + a chill as pleasure voyagers feel when a berg steals beyond Newfoundland + and glows blue and threatening upon their ocean path. + </p> + <p> + Then came something else which was not cold, but hot as the flames of hell—and + they saw red, and stared at each other with maddened eyes, and then ran + together from the room and clasped in close embrace safe beyond the fatal + place, and thanked God they had not done the thing that they dared not + speak of—the thing which suddenly came to them to do. + </p> + <p> + So they called it the room of the Evil Thought. They could not account for + it. They avoided the thought of it, being healthy and happy folk. But none + entered it more. The door was locked. + </p> + <p> + One day, Hal, reading the paper, came across a paragraph concerning the + young minister who had once lived there, and who had thought and written + there and so influenced the lives of those about him that they remembered + him even while they disapproved. + </p> + <p> + “He cut a man's throat on board ship for Australia,” said he, “and then he + cut his own, without fatal effect—and jumped overboard, and so ended + it. What a strange thing!” + </p> + <p> + Then they all looked at one another with subtle looks, and a shadow fell + upon them and stayed the blood at their hearts. + </p> + <p> + The next week the room of the Evil Thought was pulled down to make way for + a pansy bed, which is quite gay and innocent, and blooms all the better + because the larches, with their eternal murmuring, have been laid low and + carted away to the sawmill. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + STORY OF THE VANISHING PATIENT + </h2> + <p> + THERE had always been strange stories about the house, but it was a + sensible, comfortable sort of a neighborhood, and people took pains to say + to one another that there was nothing in these tales—of course not! + Absolutely nothing! How could there be? It was a matter of common remark, + however, that considering the amount of money the Nethertons had spent on + the place, it was curious they lived there so little. They were nearly + always away,—up North in the summer and down South in the winter, + and over to Paris or London now and then,—and when they did come + home it was only to entertain a number of guests from the city. The place + was either plunged in gloom or gayety. The old gardener who kept house by + himself in the cottage at the back of the yard had things much his own way + by far the greater part of the time. + </p> + <p> + Dr. Block and his wife lived next door to the Nethertons, and he and his + wife, who were so absurd as to be very happy in each other's company, had + the benefit of the beautiful yard. They walked there mornings when the + leaves were silvered with dew, and evenings they sat beside the lily pond + and listened for the whip-poor-will. The doctor's wife moved her room over + to that side of the house which commanded a view of the yard, and thus + made the honeysuckles and laurel and clematis and all the masses of + tossing greenery her own. Sitting there day after day with her sewing, she + speculated about the mystery which hung impalpably yet undeniably over the + house. + </p> + <p> + It happened one night when she and her husband had gone to their room, and + were congratulating themselves on the fact that he had no very sick + patients and was likely to enjoy a good night's rest, that a ring came at + the door. + </p> + <p> + “If it's any one wanting you to leave home,” warned his wife, “you must + tell them you are all worn out. You've been disturbed every night this + week, and it's too much!” + </p> + <p> + The young physician went downstairs. At the door stood a man whom he had + never seen before. + </p> + <p> + “My wife is lying very ill next door,” said the stranger, “so ill that I + fear she will not live till morning. Will you please come to her at once?” + </p> + <p> + “Next door?” cried the physician. “I didn't know the Nethertons were + home!” + </p> + <p> + “Please hasten,” begged the man. “I must go back to her. Follow as quickly + as you can.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor went back upstairs to complete his toilet. + </p> + <p> + “How absurd,” protested his wife when she heard the story. “There is no + one at the Nethertons'. I sit where I can see the front door, and no one + can enter without my knowing it, and I have been sewing by the window all + day. If there were any one in the house, the gardener would have the porch + lantern lighted. It is some plot. Some one has designs on you. You must + not go.” + </p> + <p> + But he went. As he left the room his wife placed a revolver in his pocket. + </p> + <p> + The great porch of the mansion was dark, but the physician made out that + the door was open, and he entered. A feeble light came from the bronze + lamp at the turn of the stairs, and by it he found his way, his feet + sinking noiselessly in the rich carpets. At the head of the stairs the man + met him. The doctor thought himself a tall man, but the stranger topped + him by half a head. He motioned the physician to follow him, and the two + went down the hall to the front room. The place was flushed with a + rose-colored glow from several lamps. On a silken couch, in the midst of + pillows, lay a woman dying with consumption. She was like a lily, white, + shapely, graceful, with feeble yet charming movements. She looked at the + doctor appealingly, then, seeing in his eyes the involuntary verdict that + her hour was at hand, she turned toward her companion with a glance of + anguish. Dr. Block asked a few questions. The man answered them, the woman + remaining silent. The physician administered something stimulating, and + then wrote a prescription which he placed on the mantel-shelf. + </p> + <p> + “The drug store is closed to-night,” he said, “and I fear the druggist has + gone home. You can have the prescription filled the first thing in the + morning, and I will be over before breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + After that, there was no reason why he should not have gone home. Yet, + oddly enough, he preferred to stay. Nor was it professional anxiety that + prompted this delay. He longed to watch those mysterious persons, who, + almost oblivious of his presence, were speaking their mortal farewells in + their glances, which were impassioned and of unutterable sadness. + </p> + <p> + He sat as if fascinated. He watched the glitter of rings on the woman's + long, white hands, he noted the waving of light hair about her temples, he + observed the details of her gown of soft white silk which fell about her + in voluminous folds. Now and then the man gave her of the stimulant which + the doctor had provided; sometimes he bathed her face with water. Once he + paced the floor for a moment till a motion of her hand quieted him. + </p> + <p> + After a time, feeling that it would be more sensible and considerate of + him to leave, the doctor made his way home. His wife was awake, impatient + to hear of his experiences. She listened to his tale in silence, and when + he had finished she turned her face to the wall and made no comment. + </p> + <p> + “You seem to be ill, my dear,” he said. “You have a chill. You are + shivering.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no chill,” she replied sharply. “But I—well, you may leave + the light burning.” + </p> + <p> + The next morning before breakfast the doctor crossed the dewy sward to the + Netherton house. The front door was locked, and no one answered to his + repeated ringings. The old gardener chanced to be cutting the grass near + at hand, and he came running up. + </p> + <p> + “What you ringin' that door-bell for, doctor?” said he. “The folks ain't + come home yet. There ain't nobody there.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there is, Jim. I was called here last night. A man came for me to + attend his wife. They must both have fallen asleep that the bell is not + answered. I wouldn't be surprised to find her dead, as a matter of fact. + She was a desperately sick woman. Perhaps she is dead and something has + happened to him. You have the key to the door, Jim. Let me in.” + </p> + <p> + But the old man was shaking in every limb, and refused to do as he was + bid. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you never go in there, doctor,” whispered he, with chattering + teeth. “Don't you go for to 'tend no one. You jus' come tell me when you + sent for that way. No, I ain't goin' in, doctor, nohow. It ain't part of + my duties to go in. That's been stipulated by Mr. Netherton. It's my + business to look after the garden.” + </p> + <p> + Argument was useless. Dr. Block took the bunch of keys from the old man's + pocket and himself unlocked the front door and entered. He mounted the + steps and made his way to the upper room. There was no evidence of + occupancy. The place was silent, and, so far as living creature went, + vacant. The dust lay over everything. It covered the delicate damask of + the sofa where he had seen the dying woman. It rested on the pillows. The + place smelled musty and evil, as if it had not been used for a long time. + The lamps of the room held not a drop of oil. + </p> + <p> + But on the mantel-shelf was the prescription which the doctor had written + the night before. He read it, folded it, and put it in his pocket. + </p> + <p> + As he locked the outside door the old gardener came running to him. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you never go up there again, will you?” he pleaded, “not unless you + see all the Nethertons home and I come for you myself. You won't, doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the doctor. + </p> + <p> + When he told his wife she kissed him, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Next time when I tell you to stay at home, you must stay!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PIANO NEXT DOOR + </h2> + <p> + BABETTE had gone away for the summer; the furniture was in its summer + linens; the curtains were down, and Babette's husband, John Boyce, was + alone in the house. It was the first year of his marriage, and he missed + Babette. But then, as he often said to himself, he ought never to have + married her. He did it from pure selfishness, and because he was + determined to possess the most illusive, tantalizing, elegant, and utterly + unmoral little creature that the sun shone upon. He wanted her because she + reminded him of birds, and flowers, and summer winds, and other exquisite + things created for the delectation of mankind. He neither expected nor + desired her to think. He had half-frightened her into marrying him, had + taken her to a poor man's home, provided her with no society such as she + had been accustomed to, and he had no reasonable cause of complaint when + she answered the call of summer and flitted away, like a butterfly in the + morning sunshine, to the place where the flowers grew. + </p> + <p> + He wrote to her every evening, sitting in the stifling, ugly house, and + poured out his soul as if it were a libation to a goddess. She sometimes + answered by telegraph, sometimes by a perfumed note. He schooled himself + not to feel hurt. Why should Babette write? Does a goldfinch indict + epistles; or a humming-bird study composition; or a glancing, red-scaled + fish in summer shallows consider the meaning of words? + </p> + <p> + He knew at the beginning what Babette was—guessed her limitations—trembled + when he buttoned her tiny glove—kissed her dainty slipper when he + found it in the closet after she was gone—thrilled at the sound of + her laugh, or the memory of it! That was all. A mere case of love. He was + in bonds. Babette was not. Therefore he was in the city, working overhours + to pay for Babette's pretty follies down at the seaside. It was quite + right and proper. He was a grub in the furrow; she a lark in the blue. + Those had always been and always must be their relative positions. + </p> + <p> + Having attained a mood of philosophic calm, in which he was prepared to + spend his evenings alone—as became a grub—and to await with + dignified patience the return of his wife, it was in the nature of an + inconsistency that he should have walked the floor of the dull little + drawing-room like a lion in cage. It did not seem in keeping with the + position of superior serenity which he had assumed, that, reading + Babette's notes, he should have raged with jealousy, or that, in the + loneliness of his unkempt chamber, he should have stretched out arms of + longing. Even if Babette had been present, she would only have smiled her + gay little smile and coquetted with him. She could not understand. He had + known, of course, from the first moment, that she could not understand! + And so, why the ache, ache, ache of the heart! Or WAS it the heart, or the + brain, or the soul? + </p> + <p> + Sometimes, when the evenings were so hot that he could not endure the + close air of the house, he sat on the narrow, dusty front porch and looked + about him at his neighbors. The street had once been smart and aspiring, + but it had fallen into decay and dejection. Pale young men, with + flurried-looking wives, seemed to Boyce to occupy most of the houses. + Sometimes three or four couples would live in one house. Most of these + appeared to be childless. The women made a pretence at fashionable + dressing, and wore their hair elaborately in fashions which somehow + suggested boarding-houses to Boyce, though he could not have told why. + Every house in the block needed fresh paint. Lacking this renovation, the + householders tried to make up for it by a display of lace curtains which, + at every window, swayed in the smoke-weighted breeze. Strips of carpeting + were laid down the front steps of the houses where the communities of + young couples lived, and here, evenings, the inmates of the houses + gathered, committing mild extravagances such as the treating of each other + to ginger ale, or beer, or ice-cream. + </p> + <p> + Boyce watched these tawdry makeshifts at sociability with bitterness and + loathing. He wondered how he could have been such a fool as to bring his + exquisite Babette to this neighborhood. How could he expect that she would + return to him? It was not reasonable. He ought to go down on his knees + with gratitude that she even condescended to write him. + </p> + <p> + Sitting one night till late,—so late that the fashionable young + wives with their husbands had retired from the strips of stair carpeting,—and + raging at the loneliness which ate at his heart like a cancer, he heard, + softly creeping through the windows of the house adjoining his own, the + sound of comfortable melody. + </p> + <p> + It breathed upon his ear like a spirit of consolation, speaking of peace, + of love which needs no reward save its own sweetness, of aspiration which + looks forever beyond the thing of the hour to find attainment in that + which is eternal. So insidiously did it whisper these things, so + delicately did the simple and perfect melodies creep upon the spirit—that + Boyce felt no resentment, but from the first listened as one who listens + to learn, or as one who, fainting on the hot road, hears, far in the ferny + deeps below, the gurgle of a spring. + </p> + <p> + Then came harmonies more intricate: fair fabrics of woven sound, in the + midst of which gleamed golden threads of joy; a tapestry of sound, + multi-tinted, gallant with story and achievement, and beautiful things. + Boyce, sitting on his absurd piazza, with his knees jambed against the + balustrade, and his chair back against the dun-colored wall of his house, + seemed to be walking in the cathedral of the redwood forest, with blue + above him, a vast hymn in his ears, pungent perfume in his nostrils, and + mighty shafts of trees lifting themselves to heaven, proud and erect as + pure men before their Judge. He stood on a mountain at sunrise, and saw + the marvels of the amethystine clouds below his feet, heard an eternal and + white silence, such as broods among the everlasting snows, and saw an + eagle winging for the sun. He was in a city, and away from him, diverging + like the spokes of a wheel, ran thronging streets, and to his sense came + the beat, beat, beat of the city's heart. He saw the golden alchemy of a + chosen race; saw greed transmitted to progress; saw that which had + enslaved men, work at last to their liberation; heard the roar of mighty + mills, and on the streets all the peoples of earth walking with common + purpose, in fealty and understanding. And then, from the swelling of this + concourse of great sounds, came a diminuendo, calm as philosophy, and from + that, nothingness. + </p> + <p> + Boyce sat still for a long time, listening to the echoes which this music + had awakened in his soul. He retired, at length, content, but determined + that upon the morrow he would watch—the day being Sunday—for + the musician who had so moved and taught him. + </p> + <p> + He arose early, therefore, and having prepared his own simple breakfast of + fruit and coffee, took his station by the window to watch for the man. For + he felt convinced that the exposition he had heard was that of a masculine + mind. The long, hot hours of the morning went by, but the front door of + the house next to his did not open. + </p> + <p> + “These artists sleep late,” he complained. Still he watched. He was too + much afraid of losing him to go out for dinner. By three in the afternoon + he had grown impatient. He went to the house next door and rang the bell. + There was no response. He thundered another appeal. An old woman with a + cloth about her head answered the door. She was very deaf, and Boyce had + difficulty in making himself understood. + </p> + <p> + “The family is in the country,” was all she would say. “The family will + not be home till September.” + </p> + <p> + “But there is some one living here?” shouted Boyce. + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> live here,” she said with dignity, putting back a wisp of dirty + gray hair behind her ear. “It is my house. I sublet to the family.” + </p> + <p> + “What family?” + </p> + <p> + But the old creature was not communicative. + </p> + <p> + “The family that lives here,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Then who plays the piano in this house?” roared Boyce. “Do you?” + </p> + <p> + He thought a shade of pallor showed itself on her ash-colored cheeks. Yet + she smiled a little at the idea of her playing. + </p> + <p> + “There is no piano,” she said, and she put an enigmatical emphasis to the + words. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense,” cried Boyce, indignantly. “I heard a piano being played in + this very house for hours last night!” + </p> + <p> + “You may enter,” said the old woman, with an accent more vicious than + hospitable. + </p> + <p> + Boyce almost burst into the drawing-room. It was a dusty and forbidding + place, with ugly furniture and gaudy walls. No piano nor any other musical + instrument stood in it. The intruder turned an angry and baffled face to + the old woman, who was smiling with ill-concealed exultation. + </p> + <p> + “I shall see the other rooms,” he announced. The old woman did not appear + to be surprised at his impertinence. + </p> + <p> + “As you please,” she said. + </p> + <p> + So, with the hobbling creature, with her bandaged head, for a guide, he + explored every room of the house, which being identical with his own, he + could do without fear of leaving any apartment unentered. But no piano did + he find! + </p> + <p> + “Explain,” roared Boyce at length, turning upon the leering old hag beside + him. “Explain! For surely I heard music more beautiful than I can tell.” + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing,” she said. “But it is true I once had a lodger who rented + the front room, and that he played upon the piano. I am poor at hearing, + but he must have played well, for all the neighbors used to come in front + of the house to listen, and sometimes they applauded him, and sometimes + they were still. I could tell by watching their hands. Sometimes little + children came and danced. Other times young men and women came and + listened. But the young man died. The neighbors were angry. They came to + look at him and said he had starved to death. It was no fault of mine. I + sold his piano to pay his funeral expenses—and it took every cent to + pay for them too, I'd have you know. But since then, sometimes—still, + it must be nonsense, for I never heard it—folks say that he plays + the piano in my room. It has kept me out of the letting of it more than + once. But the family doesn't seem to mind—the family that lives + here, you know. They will be back in September. Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Boyce left her nodding her thanks at what he had placed in her hand, and + went home to write it all to Babette—Babette who would laugh so + merrily when she read it! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AN ASTRAL ONION + </h2> + <p> + WHEN Tig Braddock came to Nora Finnegan he was red-headed and freckled, + and, truth to tell, he remained with these features to the end of his life—a + life prolonged by a lucky, if somewhat improbable, incident, as you shall + hear. + </p> + <p> + Tig had shuffled off his parents as saurians, of some sorts, do their + skins. During the temporary absence from home of his mother, who was at + the bridewell, and the more extended vacation of his father, who, like + Villon, loved the open road and the life of it, Tig, who was not a + well-domesticated animal, wandered away. The humane society never heard of + him, the neighbors did not miss him, and the law took no cognizance of + this detached citizen—this lost pleiad. Tig would have sunk into + that melancholy which is attendant upon hunger,—the only form of + despair which babyhood knows,—if he had not wandered across the path + of Nora Finnegan. Now Nora shone with steady brightness in her orbit, and + no sooner had Tig entered her atmosphere, than he was warmed and + comforted. Hunger could not live where Nora was. The basement room where + she kept house was redolent with savory smells; and in the stove in her + front room—which was also her bedroom—there was a bright fire + glowing when fire was needed. + </p> + <p> + Nora went out washing for a living. But she was not a poor washerwoman. + Not at all. She was a washerwoman triumphant. She had perfect health, an + enormous frame, an abounding enthusiasm for life, and a rich abundance of + professional pride. She believed herself to be the best washer of white + clothes she had ever had the pleasure of knowing, and the value placed + upon her services, and her long connection with certain families with + large weekly washings, bore out this estimate of herself—an estimate + which she never endeavored to conceal. + </p> + <p> + Nora had buried two husbands without being unduly depressed by the fact. + The first husband had been a disappointment, and Nora winked at Providence + when an accident in a tunnel carried him off—that is to say, carried + the husband off. The second husband was not so much of a disappointment as + a surprise. He developed ability of a literary order, and wrote songs + which sold and made him a small fortune. Then he ran away with another + woman. The woman spent his fortune, drove him to dissipation, and when he + was dying he came back to Nora, who received him cordially, attended him + to the end, and cheered his last hours by singing his own songs to him. + Then she raised a headstone recounting his virtues, which were quite + numerous, and refraining from any reference to those peculiarities which + had caused him to be such a surprise. + </p> + <p> + Only one actual chagrin had ever nibbled at the sound heart of Nora + Finnegan—a cruel chagrin, with long, white teeth, such as rodents + have! She had never held a child to her breast, nor laughed in its eyes; + never bathed the pink form of a little son or daughter; never felt a + tugging of tiny hands at her voluminous calico skirts! Nora had burnt many + candles before the statue of the blessed Virgin without remedying this + deplorable condition. She had sent up unavailing prayers—she had, at + times, wept hot tears of longing and loneliness. Sometimes in her sleep + she dreamed that a wee form, warm and exquisitely soft, was pressed + against her firm body, and that a hand with tiniest pink nails crept + within her bosom. But as she reached out to snatch this delicious little + creature closer, she woke to realize a barren woman's grief, and turned + herself in anguish on her lonely pillow. + </p> + <p> + So when Tig came along, accompanied by two curs, who had faithfully + followed him from his home, and when she learned the details of his story, + she took him in, curs and all, and, having bathed the three of them, made + them part and parcel of her home. This was after the demise of the second + husband, and at a time when Nora felt that she had done all a woman could + be expected to do for Hymen. + </p> + <p> + Tig was a preposterous baby. The curs were preposterous curs. Nora had + always been afflicted with a surplus amount of laughter—laughter + which had difficulty in attaching itself to anything, owing to the lack of + the really comic in the surroundings of the poor. But with a red-headed + and freckled baby boy and two trick dogs in the house, she found a good + and sufficient excuse for her hilarity, and would have torn the cave where + echo lies with her mirth, had that cave not been at such an immeasurable + distance from the crowded neighborhood where she lived. + </p> + <p> + At the age of four Tig went to free kindergarten; at the age of six he was + in school, and made three grades the first year and two the next. At + fifteen he was graduated from the high school and went to work as errand + boy in a newspaper office, with the fixed determination to make a + journalist of himself. + </p> + <p> + Nora was a trifle worried about his morals when she discovered his + intellect, but as time went on, and Tig showed no devotion for any woman + save herself, and no consciousness that there were such things as bad boys + or saloons in the world, she began to have confidence. All of his earnings + were brought to her. Every holiday was spent with her. He told her his + secrets and his aspirations. He admitted that he expected to become a + great man, and, though he had not quite decided upon the nature of his + career,—saving, of course, the makeshift of journalism,—it was + not unlikely that he would elect to be a novelist like—well, + probably like Thackeray. + </p> + <p> + Hope, always a charming creature, put on her most alluring smiles for Tig, + and he made her his mistress, and feasted on the light of her eyes. + Moreover, he was chaperoned, so to speak, by Nora Finnegan, who listened + to every line Tig wrote, and made a mighty applause, and filled him up + with good Irish stew, many colored as the coat of Joseph, and pungent with + the inimitable perfume of “the rose of the cellar.” Nora Finnegan + understood the onion, and used it lovingly. She perceived the difference + between the use and abuse of this pleasant and obvious friend of hungry + man, and employed it with enthusiasm, but discretion. Thus it came about + that whoever ate of her dinners, found the meals of other cooks strangely + lacking in savor, and remembered with regret the soups and stews, the + broiled steaks, and stuffed chickens of the woman who appreciated the + onion. + </p> + <p> + When Nora Finnegan came home with a cold one day, she took it in such a + jocular fashion that Tig felt not the least concern about her, and when, + two days later, she died of pneumonia, he almost thought, at first, that + it must be one of her jokes. She had departed with decision, such as had + characterized every act of her life, and had made as little trouble for + others as possible. When she was dead the community had the opportunity of + discovering the number of her friends. Miserable children with faces which + revealed two generations of hunger, homeless boys with vicious + countenances, miserable wrecks of humanity, women with bloated faces, came + to weep over Nora's bier, and to lay a flower there, and to scuttle away, + more abjectly lonely than even sin could make them. If the cats and the + dogs, the sparrows and horses to which she had shown kindness, could also + have attended her funeral, the procession would have been, from a point of + numbers, one of the most imposing the city had ever known. Tig used up all + their savings to bury her, and the next week, by some peculiar fatality, + he had a falling out with the night editor of his paper, and was + discharged. This sank deep into his sensitive soul, and he swore he would + be an underling no longer—which foolish resolution was directly + traceable to his hair, the color of which, it will be recollected, was + red. + </p> + <p> + Not being an underling, he was obliged to make himself into something + else, and he recurred passionately to his old idea of becoming a novelist. + He settled down in Nora's basement rooms, went to work on a battered + type-writer, did his own cooking, and occasionally pawned something to + keep him in food. The environment was calculated to further impress him + with the idea of his genius. + </p> + <p> + A certain magazine offered an alluring prize for a short story, and Tig + wrote one, and rewrote it, making alterations, revisions, annotations, and + interlineations which would have reflected credit upon Honoré; Balzac + himself. Then he wrought all together, with splendid brevity and dramatic + force,—Tig's own words,—and mailed the same. He was convinced + he would get the prize. He was just as much convinced of it as Nora + Finnegan would have been if she had been with him. + </p> + <p> + So he went about doing more fiction, taking no especial care of himself, + and wrapt in rosy dreams, which, not being warm enough for the weather, + permitted him to come down with rheumatic fever. + </p> + <p> + He lay alone in his room and suffered such torments as the condemned and + rheumatic know, depending on one of Nora's former friends to come in twice + a day and keep up the fire for him. This friend was aged ten, and looked + like a sparrow who had been in a cyclone, but somewhere inside his bones + was a wit which had spelled out devotion. He found fuel for the cracked + stove, somehow or other. He brought it in a dirty sack which he carried on + his back, and he kept warmth in Tig's miserable body. Moreover, he found + food of a sort—cold, horrible bits often, and Tig wept when he saw + them, remembering the meals Nora had served him. + </p> + <p> + Tig was getting better, though he was conscious of a weak heart and a + lamenting stomach, when, to his amazement, the Sparrow ceased to visit + him. Not for a moment did Tig suspect desertion. He knew that only + something in the nature of an act of Providence, as the insurance + companies would designate it, could keep the little bundle of bones away + from him. As the days went by, he became convinced of it, for no Sparrow + came, and no coal lay upon the hearth. The basement window fortunately + looked toward the south, and the pale April sunshine was beginning to make + itself felt, so that the temperature of the room was not unbearable. But + Tig languished; sank, sank, day by day, and was kept alive only by the + conviction that the letter announcing the award of the thousand-dollar + prize would presently come to him. One night he reached a place, where, + for hunger and dejection, his mind wandered, and he seemed to be + complaining all night to Nora of his woes. When the chill dawn came, with + chittering of little birds on the dirty pavement, and an agitation of the + scrawny willow “pussies,” he was not able to lift his hand to his head. + The window before his sight was but “a glimmering square.” He said to + himself that the end must be at hand. Yet it was cruel, cruel, with fame + and fortune so near! If only he had some food, he might summon strength to + rally—just for a little while! Impossible that he should die! And + yet without food there was no choice. + </p> + <p> + Dreaming so of Nora's dinners, thinking how one spoonful of a stew such as + she often compounded would now be his salvation, he became conscious of + the presence of a strong perfume in the room. It was so familiar that it + seemed like a sub-consciousness, yet he found no name for this friendly + odor for a bewildered minute or two. Little by little, however, it grew + upon him, that it was the onion—that fragrant and kindly bulb which + had attained its apotheosis in the cuisine of Nora Finnegan of sacred + memory. He opened his languid eyes, to see if, mayhap, the plant had not + attained some more palpable materialization. + </p> + <p> + Behold, it was so! Before him, in a brown earthen dish,—a most + familiar dish,—was an onion, pearly white, in placid seas of gravy, + smoking and delectable. With unexpected strength he raised himself, and + reached for the dish, which floated before him in a halo made by its own + steam. It moved toward him, offered a spoon to his hand, and as he ate he + heard about the room the rustle of Nora Finnegan's starched skirts, and + now and then a faint, faint echo of her old-time laugh—such an echo + as one may find of the sea in the heart of a shell. + </p> + <p> + The noble bulb disappeared little by little before his voracity, and in + contentment greater than virtue can give, he sank back upon his pillow and + slept. + </p> + <p> + Two hours later the postman knocked at the door, and receiving no answer, + forced his way in. Tig, half awake, saw him enter with no surprise. He + felt no surprise when he put a letter in his hand bearing the name of the + magazine to which he had sent his short story. He was not even surprised, + when, tearing it open with suddenly alert hands, he found within the check + for the first prize—the check he had expected. + </p> + <p> + All that day, as the April sunlight spread itself upon his floor, he felt + his strength grow. Late in the afternoon the Sparrow came back, paler, and + more bony than ever, and sank, breathing hard, upon the floor, with his + sack of coal. + </p> + <p> + “I've been sick,” he said, trying to smile. “Terrible sick, but I come as + soon as I could.” + </p> + <p> + “Build up the fire,” cried Tig, in a voice so strong it made the Sparrow + start as if a stone had struck him. “Build up the fire, and forget you are + sick. For, by the shade of Nora Finnegan, you shall be hungry no more!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FROM THE LOOM OF THE DEAD + </h2> + <p> + WHEN Urda Bjarnason tells a tale all the men stop their talking to listen, + for they know her to be wise with the wisdom of the old people, and that + she has more learning than can be got even from the great schools at + Reykjavik. She is especially prized by them here in this new country where + the Icelandmen are settled—this America, so new in letters, where + the people speak foolishly and write unthinking books. So the men who know + that it is given to the mothers of earth to be very wise, stop their six + part singing, or their jangles about the free-thinkers, and give attentive + ear when Urda Bjarnason lights her pipe and begins her tale. + </p> + <p> + She is very old. Her daughters and sons are all dead, but her + granddaughter, who is most respectable, and the cousin of a physician, + says that Urda is twenty-four and a hundred, and there are others who say + that she is older still. She watches all that the Iceland people do in the + new land; she knows about the building of the five villages on the North + Dakota plain, and of the founding of the churches and the schools, and the + tilling of the wheat farms. She notes with suspicion the actions of the + women who bring home webs of cloth from the store, instead of spinning + them as their mothers did before them; and she shakes her head at the + wives who run to the village grocery store every fortnight, imitating the + wasteful American women, who throw butter in the fire faster than it can + be turned from the churn. + </p> + <p> + She watches yet other things. All winter long the white snows reach across + the gently rolling plains as far as the eye can behold. In the morning she + sees them tinted pink at the east; at noon she notes golden lights + flashing across them; when the sky is gray—which is not often—she + notes that they grow as ashen as a face with the death shadow on it. + Sometimes they glitter with silver-like tips of ocean waves. But at these + things she looks only casually. It is when the blue shadows dance on the + snow that she leaves her corner behind the iron stove, and stands before + the window, resting her two hands on the stout bar of her cane, and gazing + out across the waste with eyes which age has restored after four decades + of decrepitude. + </p> + <p> + The young Icelandmen say: + </p> + <p> + “Mother, it is the clouds hurrying across the sky that make the dance of + the shadows.” + </p> + <p> + “There are no clouds,” she replies, and points to the jewel-like blue of + the arching sky. + </p> + <p> + “It is the drifting air,” explains Fridrik Halldersson, he who has been in + the Northern seas. “As the wind buffets the air, it looks blue against the + white of the snow. 'Tis the air that makes the dancing shadows.” + </p> + <p> + But Urda shakes her head, and points with her dried finger, and those who + stand beside her see figures moving, and airy shapes, and contortions of + strange things, such as are seen in a beryl stone. + </p> + <p> + “But Urda Bjarnason,” says Ingeborg Christianson, the pert young wife with + the blue-eyed twins, “why is it we see these things only when we stand + beside you and you help us to the sight?” + </p> + <p> + “Because,” says the mother, with a steel-blue flash of her old eyes, + “having eyes ye will not see!” Then the men laugh. They like to hear + Ingeborg worsted. For did she not jilt two men from Gardar, and one from + Mountain, and another from Winnipeg? + </p> + <p> + Not even Ingeborg can deny that Mother Urda tells true things. + </p> + <p> + “To-day,” says Urda, standing by the little window and watching the dance + of the shadows, “a child breathed thrice on a farm at the West, and then + it died.” + </p> + <p> + The next week at the church gathering, when all the sledges stopped at the + house of Urda's granddaughter, they said it was so—that John + Christianson's wife Margaret never heard the voice of her son, but that he + breathed thrice in his nurse's arms and died. + </p> + <p> + “Three sledges run over the snow toward Milton,” says Urda; “all are laden + with wheat, and in one is a stranger. He has with him a strange engine, + but its purpose I do not know.” + </p> + <p> + Six hours later the drivers of three empty sledges stop at the house. + </p> + <p> + “We have been to Milton with wheat,” they say, “and Christian Johnson + here, carried a photographer from St. Paul.” + </p> + <p> + Now it stands to reason that the farmers like to amuse themselves through + the silent and white winters. And they prefer above all things to talk or + to listen, as has been the fashion of their race for a thousand years. + Among all the story-tellers there is none like Urda, for she is the + daughter and the granddaughter and the great-granddaughter of + storytellers. It is given to her to talk, as it is given to John + Thorlaksson to sing—he who sings so as his sledge flies over the + snow at night, that the people come out in the bitter air from their doors + to listen, and the dogs put up their noses and howl, not liking music. + </p> + <p> + In the little cabin of Peter Christianson, the husband of Urda's + granddaughter, it sometimes happens that twenty men will gather about the + stove. They hang their bear-skin coats on the wall, put their fur + gauntlets underneath the stove, where they will keep warm, and then + stretch their stout, felt-covered legs to the wood fire. The room is + fetid; the coffee steams eternally on the stove; and from her chair in the + warmest corner Urda speaks out to the listening men, who shake their heads + with joy as they hear the pure old Icelandic flow in sweet rhythm from + between her lips. Among the many, many tales she tells is that of the dead + weaver, and she tells it in the simplest language in all the world—language + so simple that even great scholars could find no simpler, and the children + crawling on the floor can understand. + </p> + <p> + “Jon and Loa lived with their father and mother far to the north of the + Island of Fire, and when the children looked from their windows they saw + only wild scaurs and jagged lava rocks, and a distant, deep gleam of the + sea. They caught the shine of the sea through an eye-shaped opening in the + rocks, and all the long night of winter it gleamed up at them, like the + eye of a dead witch. But when it sparkled and began to laugh, the children + danced about the hut and sang, for they knew the bright summer time was at + hand. Then their father fished, and their mother was gay. But it is true + that even in the winter and the darkness they were happy, for they made + fishing nets and baskets and cloth together,—Jon and Loa and their + father and mother,—and the children were taught to read in the + books, and were told the sagas, and given instruction in the part singing. + </p> + <p> + “They did not know there was such a thing as sorrow in the world, for no + one had ever mentioned it to them. But one day their mother died. Then + they had to learn how to keep the fire on the hearth, and to smoke the + fish, and make the black coffee. And also they had to learn how to live + when there is sorrow at the heart. + </p> + <p> + “They wept together at night for lack of their mother's kisses, and in the + morning they were loath to rise because they could not see her face. The + dead cold eye of the sea watching them from among the lava rocks made them + afraid, so they hung a shawl over the window to keep it out. And the + house, try as they would, did not look clean and cheerful as it had used + to do when their mother sang and worked about it. + </p> + <p> + “One day, when a mist rested over the eye of the sea, like that which one + beholds on the eyes of the blind, a greater sorrow came to them, for a + stepmother crossed the threshold. She looked at Jon and Loa, and made + complaint to their father that they were still very small and not likely + to be of much use. After that they had to rise earlier than ever, and to + work as only those who have their growth should work, till their hearts + cracked for weariness and shame. They had not much to eat, for their + stepmother said she would trust to the gratitude of no other woman's + child, and that she believed in laying up against old age. So she put the + few coins that came to the house in a strong box, and bought little food. + Neither did she buy the children clothes, though those which their dear + mother had made for them were so worn that the warp stood apart from the + woof, and there were holes at the elbows and little warmth to be found in + them anywhere. + </p> + <p> + “Moreover, the quilts on their beds were too short for their growing + length, so that at night either their purple feet or their thin shoulders + were uncovered, and they wept for the cold, and in the morning, when they + crept into the larger room to build the fire, they were so stiff they + could not stand straight, and there was pain at their joints. + </p> + <p> + “The wife scolded all the time, and her brow was like a storm sweeping + down from the Northwest. There was no peace to be had in the house. The + children might not repeat to each other the sagas their mother had taught + them, nor try their part singing, nor make little doll cradles of rushes. + Always they had to work, always they were scolded, always their clothes + grew thinner. + </p> + <p> + “'Stepmother,' cried Loa one day,—she whom her mother had called the + little bird,—'we are a-cold because of our rags. Our mother would + have woven blue cloth for us and made it into garments.' + </p> + <p> + “'Your mother is where she will weave no cloth!' said the stepmother, and + she laughed many times. + </p> + <p> + “All in the cold and still of that night, the stepmother wakened, and she + knew not why. She sat up in her bed, and knew not why. She knew not why, + and she looked into the room, and there, by the light of a burning fish's + tail—'twas such a light the folk used in those days—was a + woman, weaving. She had no loom, and shuttle she had none. All with her + hands she wove a wondrous cloth. Stooping and bending, rising and swaying + with motions beautiful as those the Northern Lights make in a midwinter + sky, she wove a cloth. The warp was blue and mystical to see, the woof was + white, and shone with its whiteness, so that of all the webs the + stepmother had ever seen, she had seen none like to this. + </p> + <p> + “Yet the sight delighted her not, for beyond the drifting web, and beyond + the weaver she saw the room and furniture—aye, saw them through the + body of the weaver and the drifting of the cloth. Then she knew—as + the haunted are made to know—that 'twas the mother of the children + come to show her she could still weave cloth. The heart of the stepmother + was cold as ice, yet she could not move to waken her husband at her side, + for her hands were as fixed as if they were crossed on her dead breast. + The voice in her was silent, and her tongue stood to the roof of her + mouth. + </p> + <p> + “After a time the wraith of the dead mother moved toward her—the + wraith of the weaver moved her way—and round and about her body was + wound the shining cloth. Wherever it touched the body of the stepmother, + it was as hateful to her as the touch of a monster out of sea-slime, so + that her flesh crept away from it, and her senses swooned. + </p> + <p> + “In the early morning she awoke to the voices of the children, whispering + in the inner room as they dressed with half-frozen fingers. Still about + her was the hateful, beautiful web, filling her soul with loathing and + with fear. She thought she saw the task set for her, and when the children + crept in to light the fire—very purple and thin were their little + bodies, and the rags hung from them—she arose and held out the + shining cloth, and cried: + </p> + <p> + “'Here is the web your mother wove for you. I will make it into garments!' + But even as she spoke the cloth faded and fell into nothingness, and the + children cried: + </p> + <p> + “'Stepmother, you have the fever!' + </p> + <p> + “And then: + </p> + <p> + “'Stepmother, what makes the strange light in the room?' + </p> + <p> + “That day the stepmother was too weak to rise from her bed, and the + children thought she must be going to die, for she did not scold as they + cleared the house and braided their baskets, and she did not frown at + them, but looked at them with wistful eyes. + </p> + <p> + “By fall of night she was as weary as if she had wept all the day, and so + she slept. But again she was awakened and knew not why. And again she sat + up in her bed and knew not why. And again, not knowing why, she looked and + saw a woman weaving cloth. All that had happened the night before happened + this night. Then, when the morning came, and the children crept in + shivering from their beds, she arose and dressed herself, and from her + strong box she took coins, and bade her husband go with her to the town. + </p> + <p> + “So that night a web of cloth, woven by one of the best weavers in all + Iceland, was in the house; and on the beds of the children were blankets + of lamb's wool, soft to the touch and fair to the eye. After that the + children slept warm and were at peace; for now, when they told the sagas + their mother had taught them, or tried their part songs as they sat + together on their bench, the stepmother was silent. For she feared to + chide, lest she should wake at night, not knowing why, and see the + mother's wraith.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A GRAMMATICAL GHOST + </h2> + <p> + THERE was only one possible objection to the drawing-room, and that was + the occasional presence of Miss Carew; and only one possible objection to + Miss Carew. And that was, that she was dead. + </p> + <p> + She had been dead twenty years, as a matter of fact and record, and to the + last of her life sacredly preserved the treasures and traditions of her + family, a family bound up—as it is quite unnecessary to explain to + any one in good society—with all that is most venerable and heroic + in the history of the Republic. Miss Carew never relaxed the proverbial + hospitality of her house, even when she remained its sole representative. + She continued to preside at her table with dignity and state, and to set + an example of excessive modesty and gentle decorum to a generation of + restless young women. + </p> + <p> + It is not likely that having lived a life of such irreproachable gentility + as this, Miss Carew would have the bad taste to die in any way not + pleasant to mention in fastidious society. She could be trusted to the + last, not to outrage those friends who quoted her as an exemplar of + propriety. She died very unobtrusively of an affection of the heart, one + June morning, while trimming her rose trellis, and her lavender-colored + print was not even rumpled when she fell, nor were more than the tips of + her little bronze slippers visible. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it dreadful,” said the Philadelphians, “that the property should go + to a very, very distant cousin in Iowa or somewhere else on the frontier, + about whom nobody knows anything at all?” + </p> + <p> + The Carew treasures were packed in boxes and sent away into the Iowa + wilderness; the Carew traditions were preserved by the Historical Society; + the Carew property, standing in one of the most umbrageous and + aristocratic suburbs of Philadelphia, was rented to all manner of folk—anybody + who had money enough to pay the rental—and society entered its doors + no more. + </p> + <p> + But at last, after twenty years, and when all save the oldest + Philadelphians had forgotten Miss Lydia Carew, the very, very distant + cousin appeared. He was quite in the prime of life, and so agreeable and + unassuming that nothing could be urged against him save his patronymic, + which, being Boggs, did not commend itself to the euphemists. With him + were two maiden sisters, ladies of excellent taste and manners, who + restored the Carew china to its ancient cabinets, and replaced the Carew + pictures upon the walls, with additions not out of keeping with the + elegance of these heirlooms. Society, with a magnanimity almost dramatic, + overlooked the name of Boggs—and called. + </p> + <p> + All was well. At least, to an outsider all seemed to be well. But, in + truth, there was a certain distress in the old mansion, and in the hearts + of the well-behaved Misses Boggs. It came about most unexpectedly. The + sisters had been sitting upstairs, looking out at the beautiful grounds of + the old place, and marvelling at the violets, which lifted their heads + from every possible cranny about the house, and talking over the + cordiality which they had been receiving by those upon whom they had no + claim, and they were filled with amiable satisfaction. Life looked + attractive. They had often been grateful to Miss Lydia Carew for leaving + their brother her fortune. Now they felt even more grateful to her. She + had left them a Social Position—one, which even after twenty years + of desuetude, was fit for use. + </p> + <p> + They descended the stairs together, with arms clasped about each other's + waists, and as they did so presented a placid and pleasing sight. They + entered their drawing-room with the intention of brewing a cup of tea, and + drinking it in calm sociability in the twilight. But as they entered the + room they became aware of the presence of a lady, who was already seated + at their tea-table, regarding their old Wedgewood with the air of a + connoisseur. + </p> + <p> + There were a number of peculiarities about this intruder. To begin with, + she was hatless, quite as if she were a habitué; of the house, and was + costumed in a prim lilac-colored lawn of the style of two decades past. + But a greater peculiarity was the resemblance this lady bore to a faded + daguerrotype. If looked at one way, she was perfectly discernible; if + looked at another, she went out in a sort of blur. Notwithstanding this + comparative invisibility, she exhaled a delicate perfume of sweet + lavender, very pleasing to the nostrils of the Misses Boggs, who stood + looking at her in gentle and unprotesting surprise. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” began Miss Prudence, the younger of the Misses Boggs, + “but—” + </p> + <p> + But at this moment the Daguerrotype became a blur, and Miss Prudence found + herself addressing space. The Misses Boggs were irritated. They had never + encountered any mysteries in Iowa. They began an impatient search behind + doors and portières, and even under sofas, though it was quite absurd to + suppose that a lady recognizing the merits of the Carew Wedgewood would so + far forget herself as to crawl under a sofa. + </p> + <p> + When they had given up all hope of discovering the intruder, they saw her + standing at the far end of the drawing-room critically examining a + water-color marine. The elder Miss Boggs started toward her with stern + decision, but the little Daguerrotype turned with a shadowy smile, became + a blur and an imperceptibility. + </p> + <p> + Miss Boggs looked at Miss Prudence Boggs. + </p> + <p> + “If there were ghosts,” she said, “this would be one.” + </p> + <p> + “If there were ghosts,” said Miss Prudence Boggs, “this would be the ghost + of Lydia Carew.” + </p> + <p> + The twilight was settling into blackness, and Miss Boggs nervously lit the + gas while Miss Prudence ran for other tea-cups, preferring, for reasons + superfluous to mention, not to drink out of the Carew china that evening. + </p> + <p> + The next day, on taking up her embroidery frame, Miss Boggs found a number + of oldfashioned cross-stitches added to her Kensington. Prudence, she + knew, would never have degraded herself by taking a cross-stitch, and the + parlor-maid was above taking such a liberty. Miss Boggs mentioned the + incident that night at a dinner given by an ancient friend of the Carews. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's the work of Lydia Carew, without a doubt!” cried the hostess. + “She visits every new family that moves to the house, but she never + remains more than a week or two with any one.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be that she disapproves of them,” suggested Miss Boggs. + </p> + <p> + “I think that's it,” said the hostess. “She doesn't like their china, or + their fiction.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope she'll disapprove of us,” added Miss Prudence. + </p> + <p> + The hostess belonged to a very old Philadelphian family, and she shook her + head. + </p> + <p> + “I should say it was a compliment for even the ghost of Miss Lydia Carew + to approve of one,” she said severely. + </p> + <p> + The next morning, when the sisters entered their drawing-room there were + numerous evidences of an occupant during their absence. The sofa pillows + had been rearranged so that the effect of their grouping was less bizarre + than that favored by the Western women; a horrid little Buddhist idol with + its eyes fixed on its abdomen, had been chastely hidden behind a Dresden + shepherdess, as unfit for the scrutiny of polite eyes; and on the table + where Miss Prudence did work in water colors, after the fashion of the + impressionists, lay a prim and impossible composition representing a + moss-rose and a number of heartsease, colored with that caution which + modest spinster artists instinctively exercise. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there's no doubt it's the work of Miss Lydia Carew,” said Miss + Prudence, contemptuously. “There's no mistaking the drawing of that rigid + little rose. Don't you remember those wreaths and bouquets framed, among + the pictures we got when the Carew pictures were sent to us? I gave some + of them to an orphan asylum and burned up the rest.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” cried Miss Boggs, involuntarily. “If she heard you, it would hurt + her feelings terribly. Of course, I mean—” and she blushed. “It + might hurt her feelings—but how perfectly ridiculous! It's + impossible!” + </p> + <p> + Miss Prudence held up the sketch of the moss-rose. + </p> + <p> + “THAT may be impossible in an artistic sense, but it is a palpable thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Bosh!” cried Miss Boggs. + </p> + <p> + “But,” protested Miss Prudence, “how do you explain it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't,” said Miss Boggs, and left the room. + </p> + <p> + That evening the sisters made a point of being in the drawing-room before + the dusk came on, and of lighting the gas at the first hint of twilight. + They didn't believe in Miss Lydia Carew—but still they meant to be + beforehand with her. They talked with unwonted vivacity and in a louder + tone than was their custom. But as they drank their tea even their utmost + verbosity could not make them oblivious to the fact that the perfume of + sweet lavender was stealing insidiously through the room. They tacitly + refused to recognize this odor and all that it indicated, when suddenly, + with a sharp crash, one of the old Carew tea-cups fell from the tea-table + to the floor and was broken. The disaster was followed by what sounded + like a sigh of pain and dismay. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't suppose Miss Lydia Carew would ever be as awkward as that,” + cried the younger Miss Boggs, petulantly. + </p> + <p> + “Prudence,” said her sister with a stern accent, “please try not to be a + fool. You brushed the cup off with the sleeve of your dress.” + </p> + <p> + “Your theory wouldn't be so bad,” said Miss Prudence, half laughing and + half crying, “if there were any sleeves to my dress, but, as you see, + there aren't,” and then Miss Prudence had something as near hysterics as a + healthy young woman from the West can have. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't think such a perfect lady as Lydia Carew,” she ejaculated + between her sobs, “would make herself so disagreeable! You may talk about + good-breeding all you please, but I call such intrusion exceedingly bad + taste. I have a horrible idea that she likes us and means to stay with us. + She left those other people because she did not approve of their habits or + their grammar. It would be just our luck to please her.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I like your egotism,” said Miss Boggs. + </p> + <p> + However, the view Miss Prudence took of the case appeared to be the right + one. Time went by and Miss Lydia Carew still remained. When the ladies + entered their drawing-room they would see the little lady-like + Daguerrotype revolving itself into a blur before one of the family + portraits. Or they noticed that the yellow sofa cushion, toward which she + appeared to feel a peculiar antipathy, had been dropped behind the sofa + upon the floor, or that one of Jane Austen's novels, which none of the + family ever read, had been removed from the book shelves and left open + upon the table. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot become reconciled to it,” complained Miss Boggs to Miss + Prudence. “I wish we had remained in Iowa where we belong. Of course I + don't believe in the thing! No sensible person would. But still I cannot + become reconciled.” + </p> + <p> + But their liberation was to come, and in a most unexpected manner. + </p> + <p> + A relative by marriage visited them from the West. He was a friendly man + and had much to say, so he talked all through dinner, and afterward + followed the ladies to the drawing-room to finish his gossip. The gas in + the room was turned very low, and as they entered Miss Prudence caught + sight of Miss Carew, in company attire, sitting in upright propriety in a + stiff-backed chair at the extremity of the apartment. + </p> + <p> + Miss Prudence had a sudden idea. + </p> + <p> + “We will not turn up the gas,” she said, with an emphasis intended to + convey private information to her sister. “It will be more agreeable to + sit here and talk in this soft light.” + </p> + <p> + Neither her brother nor the man from the West made any objection. Miss + Boggs and Miss Prudence, clasping each other's hands, divided their + attention between their corporeal and their incorporeal guests. Miss Boggs + was confident that her sister had an idea, and was willing to await its + development. As the guest from Iowa spoke, Miss Carew bent a politely + attentive ear to what he said. + </p> + <p> + “Ever since Richards took sick that time,” he said briskly, “it seemed + like he shed all responsibility.” (The Misses Boggs saw the Daguerrotype + put up her shadowy head with a movement of doubt and apprehension.) “The + fact of the matter was, Richards didn't seem to scarcely get on the way he + might have been expected to.” (At this conscienceless split to the + infinitive and misplacing of the preposition, Miss Carew arose trembling + perceptibly.) “I saw it wasn't no use for him to count on a quick recovery—” + </p> + <p> + The Misses Boggs lost the rest of the sentence, for at the utterance of + the double negative Miss Lydia Carew had flashed out, not in a blur, but + with mortal haste, as when life goes out at a pistol shot! + </p> + <p> + The man from the West wondered why Miss Prudence should have cried at so + pathetic a part of his story: + </p> + <p> + “Thank Goodness!” + </p> + <p> + And their brother was amazed to see Miss Boggs kiss Miss Prudence with + passion and energy. + </p> + <p> + It was the end. Miss Carew returned no more. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Shape of Fear, by Elia W. Peattie + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SHAPE OF FEAR *** + +***** This file should be named 1876-h.htm or 1876-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/7/1876/ + +Produced by Judy Boss, and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions 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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + </body> +</html> diff --git a/1876.txt b/1876.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fd3a449 --- /dev/null +++ b/1876.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2976 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Shape of Fear, by Elia W. Peattie + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Shape of Fear + +Author: Elia W. Peattie + +Posting Date: November 20, 2008 [EBook #1876] +Release Date: September, 1999 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SHAPE OF FEAR *** + + + + +Produced by Judy Boss + + + + + +THE SHAPE OF FEAR + +AND OTHER GHOSTLY TALES + + +By Elia Wilkinson Peattie + + + +Original Transcriber's Note: + + I have omitted signature indicators and italicization of the + running heads. In addition, I have made the following changes + to the text: + + PAGE LINE ORIGINAL CHANGED TO + 156 1 where as were as + 156 4 mouth mouth. + 165 5 Wedgwood Wedgewood + 166 9 Wedgwood Wedgewood + 167 6 surperfluous superfluous + 172 11 every ever + 173 17 Bogg Boggs + + +CONTENTS + + + THE SHAPE OF FEAR + + ON THE NORTHERN ICE + + THEIR DEAR LITTLE GHOST + + A SPECTRAL COLLIE + + THE HOUSE THAT WAS NOT + + STORY OF AN OBSTINATE CORPSE + + A CHILD OF THE RAIN + + THE ROOM OF THE EVIL THOUGHT + + STORY OF THE VANISHING PATIENT + + THE PIANO NEXT DOOR + + AN ASTRAL ONION + + FROM THE LOOM OF THE DEAD + + A GRAMMATICAL GHOST + + + + +THE SHAPE OF FEAR + +TIM O'CONNOR--who was descended from the O'Conors with one N---- started +life as a poet and an enthusiast. His mother had designed him for +the priesthood, and at the age of fifteen, most of his verses had an +ecclesiastical tinge, but, somehow or other, he got into the newspaper +business instead, and became a pessimistic gentleman, with a literary +style of great beauty and an income of modest proportions. He fell in +with men who talked of art for art's sake,--though what right they had +to speak of art at all nobody knew,--and little by little his view of +life and love became more or less profane. He met a woman who sucked +his heart's blood, and he knew it and made no protest; nay, to the great +amusement of the fellows who talked of art for art's sake, he went the +length of marrying her. He could not in decency explain that he had +the traditions of fine gentlemen behind him and so had to do as he did, +because his friends might not have understood. He laughed at the days +when he had thought of the priesthood, blushed when he ran across any of +those tender and exquisite old verses he had written in his youth, +and became addicted to absinthe and other less peculiar drinks, and to +gaming a little to escape a madness of ennui. + +As the years went by he avoided, with more and more scorn, that part of +the world which he denominated Philistine, and consorted only with the +fellows who flocked about Jim O'Malley's saloon. He was pleased with +solitude, or with these convivial wits, and with not very much else +beside. Jim O'Malley was a sort of Irish poem, set to inspiring measure. +He was, in fact, a Hibernian Maecenas, who knew better than to put +bad whiskey before a man of talent, or tell a trite tale in the presence +of a wit. The recountal of his disquisitions on politics and other +current matters had enabled no less than three men to acquire national +reputations; and a number of wretches, having gone the way of men who +talk of art for art's sake, and dying in foreign lands, or hospitals, +or asylums, having no one else to be homesick for, had been homesick for +Jim O'Malley, and wept for the sound of his voice and the grasp of his +hearty hand. + +When Tim O'Connor turned his back upon most of the things he was born +to and took up with the life which he consistently lived till the +unspeakable end, he was unable to get rid of certain peculiarities. For +example, in spite of all his debauchery, he continued to look like the +Beloved Apostle. Notwithstanding abject friendships he wrote limpid and +noble English. Purity seemed to dog his heels, no matter how violently +he attempted to escape from her. He was never so drunk that he was +not an exquisite, and even his creditors, who had become inured to his +deceptions, confessed it was a privilege to meet so perfect a gentleman. +The creature who held him in bondage, body and soul, actually came to +love him for his gentleness, and for some quality which baffled her, +and made her ache with a strange longing which she could not define. +Not that she ever defined anything, poor little beast! She had skin the +color of pale gold, and yellow eyes with brown lights in them, and great +plaits of straw-colored hair. About her lips was a fatal and sensuous +smile, which, when it got hold of a man's imagination, would not let it +go, but held to it, and mocked it till the day of his death. She was +the incarnation of the Eternal Feminine, with all the wifeliness and the +maternity left out--she was ancient, yet ever young, and familiar as joy +or tears or sin. + +She took good care of Tim in some ways: fed him well, nursed him back +to reason after a period of hard drinking, saw that he put on overshoes +when the walks were wet, and looked after his money. She even prized his +brain, for she discovered that it was a delicate little machine which +produced gold. By association with him and his friends, she learned that +a number of apparently useless things had value in the eyes of certain +convenient fools, and so she treasured the autographs of distinguished +persons who wrote to him--autographs which he disdainfully tossed in the +waste basket. She was careful with presentation copies from authors, and +she went the length of urging Tim to write a book himself. But at that +he balked. + +"Write a book!" he cried to her, his gentle face suddenly white with +passion. "Who am I to commit such a profanation?" + +She didn't know what he meant, but she had a theory that it was +dangerous to excite him, and so she sat up till midnight to cook a chop +for him when he came home that night. + +He preferred to have her sitting up for him, and he wanted every +electric light in their apartments turned to the full. If, by any +chance, they returned together to a dark house, he would not enter till +she touched the button in the hall, and illuminated the room. Or if it +so happened that the lights were turned off in the night time, and +he awoke to find himself in darkness, he shrieked till the woman came +running to his relief, and, with derisive laughter, turned them on +again. But when she found that after these frights he lay trembling and +white in his bed, she began to be alarmed for the clever, gold-making +little machine, and to renew her assiduities, and to horde more +tenaciously than ever, those valuable curios on which she some day +expected to realize when he was out of the way, and no longer in a +position to object to their barter. + +O'Connor's idiosyncrasy of fear was a source of much amusement among the +boys at the office where he worked. They made open sport of it, and +yet, recognizing him for a sensitive plant, and granting that genius was +entitled to whimsicalities, it was their custom when they called for +him after work hours, to permit him to reach the lighted corridor before +they turned out the gas over his desk. This, they reasoned, was but a +slight service to perform for the most enchanting beggar in the world. + +"Dear fellow," said Rick Dodson, who loved him, "is it the Devil you +expect to see? And if so, why are you averse? Surely the Devil is not +such a bad old chap." + +"You haven't found him so?" + +"Tim, by heaven, you know, you ought to explain to me. A citizen of the +world and a student of its purlieus, like myself, ought to know what +there is to know! Now you're a man of sense, in spite of a few +bad habits--such as myself, for example. Is this fad of yours +madness?--which would be quite to your credit,--for gadzooks, I like a +lunatic! Or is it the complaint of a man who has gathered too much +data on the subject of Old Rye? Or is it, as I suspect, something more +occult, and therefore more interesting?" + +"Rick, boy," said Tim, "you're too--inquiring!" And he turned to his +desk with a look of delicate hauteur. + +It was the very next night that these two tippling pessimists spent +together talking about certain disgruntled but immortal gentlemen, who, +having said their say and made the world quite uncomfortable, had now +journeyed on to inquire into the nothingness which they postulated. The +dawn was breaking in the muggy east; the bottles were empty, the +cigars burnt out. Tim turned toward his friend with a sharp breaking of +sociable silence. + +"Rick," he said, "do you know that Fear has a Shape?" + +"And so has my nose!" + +"You asked me the other night what I feared. Holy father, I make my +confession to you. What I fear is Fear." + +"That's because you've drunk too much--or not enough. + + "'Come, fill the cup, and in the fire of Spring + Your winter garment of repentance fling--'" + +"My costume then would be too nebulous for this weather, dear boy. But +it's true what I was saying. I am afraid of ghosts." + +"For an agnostic that seems a bit--" + +"Agnostic! Yes, so completely an agnostic that I do not even know that +I do not know! God, man, do you mean you have no ghosts--no--no things +which shape themselves? Why, there are things I have done--" + +"Don't think of them, my boy! See, 'night's candles are burnt out, and +jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain top.'" + +Tim looked about him with a sickly smile. He looked behind him and there +was nothing there; stared at the blank window, where the smoky dawn +showed its offensive face, and there was nothing there. He pushed away +the moist hair from his haggard face--that face which would look like +the blessed St. John, and leaned heavily back in his chair. + +"'Yon light is not daylight, I know it, I,'" he murmured drowsily, "'it +is some meteor which the sun exhales, to be to thee this night--'" + +The words floated off in languid nothingness, and he slept. Dodson arose +preparatory to stretching himself on his couch. But first he bent over +his friend with a sense of tragic appreciation. + +"Damned by the skin of his teeth!" he muttered. "A little more, and he +would have gone right, and the Devil would have lost a good fellow. As +it is"--he smiled with his usual conceited delight in his own sayings, +even when they were uttered in soliloquy--"he is merely one of those +splendid gentlemen one will meet with in hell." Then Dodson had a +momentary nostalgia for goodness himself, but he soon overcame it, and +stretching himself on his sofa, he, too, slept. + +That night he and O'Connor went together to hear "Faust" sung, and +returning to the office, Dodson prepared to write his criticism. Except +for the distant clatter of telegraph instruments, or the peremptory +cries of "copy" from an upper room, the office was still. Dodson wrote +and smoked his interminable cigarettes; O' Connor rested his head in +his hands on the desk, and sat in perfect silence. He did not know when +Dodson finished, or when, arising, and absent-mindedly extinguishing the +lights, he moved to the door with his copy in his hands. Dodson gathered +up the hats and coats as he passed them where they lay on a chair, and +called: + +"It is done, Tim. Come, let's get out of this." + +There was no answer, and he thought Tim was following, but after he had +handed his criticism to the city editor, he saw he was still alone, and +returned to the room for his friend. He advanced no further than the +doorway, for, as he stood in the dusky corridor and looked within the +darkened room, he saw before his friend a Shape, white, of perfect +loveliness, divinely delicate and pure and ethereal, which seemed as the +embodiment of all goodness. From it came a soft radiance and a perfume +softer than the wind when "it breathes upon a bank of violets stealing +and giving odor." Staring at it, with eyes immovable, sat his friend. + +It was strange that at sight of a thing so unspeakably fair, a coldness +like that which comes from the jewel-blue lips of a Muir crevasse +should have fallen upon Dodson, or that it was only by summoning all the +manhood that was left in him, that he was able to restore light to +the room, and to rush to his friend. When he reached poor Tim he was +stone-still with paralysis. They took him home to the woman, who nursed +him out of that attack--and later on worried him into another. + +When he was able to sit up and jeer at things a little again, and help +himself to the quail the woman broiled for him, Dodson, sitting beside +him, said: + +"Did you call that little exhibition of yours legerdemain, Tim, you +sweep? Or are you really the Devil's bairn?" + +"It was the Shape of Fear," said Tim, quite seriously. + +"But it seemed mild as mother's milk." + +"It was compounded of the good I might have done. It is that which I +fear." + +He would explain no more. Later--many months later--he died patiently +and sweetly in the madhouse, praying for rest. The little beast with +the yellow eyes had high mass celebrated for him, which, all things +considered, was almost as pathetic as it was amusing. + +Dodson was in Vienna when he heard of it. + +"Sa, sa!" cried he. "I wish it wasn't so dark in the tomb! What do you +suppose Tim is looking at?" + +As for Jim O'Malley, he was with difficulty kept from illuminating the +grave with electricity. + + + + +ON THE NORTHERN ICE + + +THE winter nights up at Sault Ste. Marie are as white and luminous as +the Milky Way. The silence which rests upon the solitude appears to be +white also. Even sound has been included in Nature's arrestment, for, +indeed, save the still white frost, all things seem to be obliterated. +The stars have a poignant brightness, but they belong to heaven and not +to earth, and between their immeasurable height and the still ice rolls +the ebon ether in vast, liquid billows. + +In such a place it is difficult to believe that the world is actually +peopled. It seems as if it might be the dark of the day after Cain +killed Abel, and as if all of humanity's remainder was huddled in +affright away from the awful spaciousness of Creation. + +The night Ralph Hagadorn started out for Echo Bay--bent on a pleasant +duty--he laughed to himself, and said that he did not at all object +to being the only man in the world, so long as the world remained as +unspeakably beautiful as it was when he buckled on his skates and shot +away into the solitude. He was bent on reaching his best friend in time +to act as groomsman, and business had delayed him till time was at its +briefest. So he journeyed by night and journeyed alone, and when the +tang of the frost got at his blood, he felt as a spirited horse feels +when it gets free of bit and bridle. The ice was as glass, his skates +were keen, his frame fit, and his venture to his taste! So he laughed, +and cut through the air as a sharp stone cleaves the water. He could +hear the whistling of the air as he cleft it. + +As he went on and on in the black stillness, he began to have fancies. +He imagined himself enormously tall--a great Viking of the Northland, +hastening over icy fiords to his love. And that reminded him that he had +a love--though, indeed, that thought was always present with him as a +background for other thoughts. To be sure, he had not told her that she +was his love, for he had seen her only a few times, and the auspicious +occasion had not yet presented itself. She lived at Echo Bay also, and +was to be the maid of honor to his friend's bride--which was one more +reason why he skated almost as swiftly as the wind, and why, now and +then, he let out a shout of exultation. + +The one cloud that crossed Hagadorn's sun of expectancy was the +knowledge that Marie Beaujeu's father had money, and that Marie lived in +a house with two stories to it, and wore otter skin about her throat +and little satin-lined mink boots on her feet when she went sledding. +Moreover, in the locket in which she treasured a bit of her dead +mother's hair, there was a black pearl as big as a pea. These things +made it difficult--perhaps impossible--for Ralph Hagadorn to say +more than, "I love you." But that much he meant to say though he were +scourged with chagrin for his temerity. + +This determination grew upon him as he swept along the ice under the +starlight. Venus made a glowing path toward the west and seemed eager to +reassure him. He was sorry he could not skim down that avenue of light +which flowed from the love-star, but he was forced to turn his back upon +it and face the black northeast. + +It came to him with a shock that he was not alone. His eyelashes were +frosted and his eyeballs blurred with the cold, so at first he thought +it might be an illusion. But when he had rubbed his eyes hard, he +made sure that not very far in front of him was a long white skater in +fluttering garments who sped over the ice as fast as ever werewolf went. + +He called aloud, but there was no answer. He shaped his hands and +trumpeted through them, but the silence was as before--it was complete. +So then he gave chase, setting his teeth hard and putting a tension on +his firm young muscles. But go however he would, the white skater went +faster. After a time, as he glanced at the cold gleam of the north star, +he perceived that he was being led from his direct path. For a moment +he hesitated, wondering if he would not better keep to his road, but his +weird companion seemed to draw him on irresistibly, and finding it sweet +to follow, he followed. + +Of course it came to him more than once in that strange pursuit, that +the white skater was no earthly guide. Up in those latitudes men see +curious things when the hoar frost is on the earth. Hagadorn's own +father--to hark no further than that for an instance!--who lived up +there with the Lake Superior Indians, and worked in the copper mines, +had welcomed a woman at his hut one bitter night, who was gone by +morning, leaving wolf tracks on the snow! Yes, it was so, and John +Fontanelle, the half-breed, could tell you about it any day--if he were +alive. (Alack, the snow where the wolf tracks were, is melted now!) + +Well, Hagadorn followed the white skater all the night, and when the ice +flushed pink at dawn, and arrows of lovely light shot up into the cold +heavens, she was gone, and Hagadorn was at his destination. The sun +climbed arrogantly up to his place above all other things, and as +Hagadorn took off his skates and glanced carelessly lakeward, he beheld +a great wind-rift in the ice, and the waves showing blue and hungry +between white fields. Had he rushed along his intended path, watching +the stars to guide him, his glance turned upward, all his body at +magnificent momentum, he must certainly have gone into that cold grave. + +How wonderful that it had been sweet to follow the white skater, and +that he followed! + +His heart beat hard as he hurried to his friend's house. But he +encountered no wedding furore. His friend met him as men meet in houses +of mourning. + +"Is this your wedding face?" cried Hagadorn. "Why, man, starved as I am, +I look more like a bridegroom than you!" + +"There's no wedding to-day!" + +"No wedding! Why, you're not--" + +"Marie Beaujeu died last night--" + +"Marie--" + +"Died last night. She had been skating in the afternoon, and she came +home chilled and wandering in her mind, as if the frost had got in it +somehow. She grew worse and worse, and all the time she talked of you." + +"Of me?" + +"We wondered what it meant. No one knew you were lovers." + +"I didn't know it myself; more's the pity. At least, I didn't know--" + +"She said you were on the ice, and that you didn't know about the big +breaking-up, and she cried to us that the wind was off shore and the +rift widening. She cried over and over again that you could come in by +the old French creek if you only knew--" + +"I came in that way." + +"But how did you come to do that? It's out of the path. We thought +perhaps--" + +But Hagadorn broke in with his story and told him all as it had come to +pass. + +That day they watched beside the maiden, who lay with tapers at her head +and at her feet, and in the little church the bride who might have been +at her wedding said prayers for her friend. They buried Marie Beaujeu in +her bridesmaid white, and Hagadorn was before the altar with her, as he +had intended from the first! Then at midnight the lovers who were to +wed whispered their vows in the gloom of the cold church, and walked +together through the snow to lay their bridal wreaths upon a grave. + +Three nights later, Hagadorn skated back again to his home. They wanted +him to go by sunlight, but he had his way, and went when Venus made her +bright path on the ice. + +The truth was, he had hoped for the companionship of the white skater. +But he did not have it. His only companion was the wind. The only voice +he heard was the baying of a wolf on the north shore. The world was as +empty and as white as if God had just created it, and the sun had not +yet colored nor man defiled it. + + + + +THEIR DEAR LITTLE GHOST + + +THE first time one looked at Elsbeth, one was not prepossessed. She was +thin and brown, her nose turned slightly upward, her toes went in just +a perceptible degree, and her hair was perfectly straight. But when one +looked longer, one perceived that she was a charming little creature. +The straight hair was as fine as silk, and hung in funny little braids +down her back; there was not a flaw in her soft brown skin, and her +mouth was tender and shapely. But her particular charm lay in a look +which she habitually had, of seeming to know curious things--such as it +is not allotted to ordinary persons to know. One felt tempted to say to +her: + +"What are these beautiful things which you know, and of which others are +ignorant? What is it you see with those wise and pellucid eyes? Why is +it that everybody loves you?" + +Elsbeth was my little godchild, and I knew her better than I knew any +other child in the world. But still I could not truthfully say that I +was familiar with her, for to me her spirit was like a fair and fragrant +road in the midst of which I might walk in peace and joy, but where I +was continually to discover something new. The last time I saw her quite +well and strong was over in the woods where she had gone with her two +little brothers and her nurse to pass the hottest weeks of summer. I +followed her, foolish old creature that I was, just to be near her, for +I needed to dwell where the sweet aroma of her life could reach me. + +One morning when I came from my room, limping a little, because I am +not so young as I used to be, and the lake wind works havoc with me, my +little godchild came dancing to me singing: + +"Come with me and I'll show you my places, my places, my places!" + +Miriam, when she chanted by the Red Sea might have been more exultant, +but she could not have been more bewitching. Of course I knew what +"places" were, because I had once been a little girl myself, but unless +you are acquainted with the real meaning of "places," it would be +useless to try to explain. Either you know "places" or you do not--just +as you understand the meaning of poetry or you do not. There are things +in the world which cannot be taught. + +Elsbeth's two tiny brothers were present, and I took one by each hand +and followed her. No sooner had we got out of doors in the woods than +a sort of mystery fell upon the world and upon us. We were cautioned to +move silently, and we did so, avoiding the crunching of dry twigs. + +"The fairies hate noise," whispered my little godchild, her eyes +narrowing like a cat's. + +"I must get my wand first thing I do," she said in an awed undertone. +"It is useless to try to do anything without a wand." + +The tiny boys were profoundly impressed, and, indeed, so was I. I felt +that at last, I should, if I behaved properly, see the fairies, which +had hitherto avoided my materialistic gaze. It was an enchanting moment, +for there appeared, just then, to be nothing commonplace about life. + +There was a swale near by, and into this the little girl plunged. I +could see her red straw hat bobbing about among the tall rushes, and I +wondered if there were snakes. + +"Do you think there are snakes?" I asked one of the tiny boys. + +"If there are," he said with conviction, "they won't dare hurt her." + +He convinced me. I feared no more. Presently Elsbeth came out of the +swale. In her hand was a brown "cattail," perfectly full and round. She +carried it as queens carry their sceptres--the beautiful queens we dream +of in our youth. + +"Come," she commanded, and waved the sceptre in a fine manner. So we +followed, each tiny boy gripping my hand tight. We were all three a +trifle awed. Elsbeth led us into a dark underbrush. The branches, as +they flew back in our faces, left them wet with dew. A wee path, made by +the girl's dear feet, guided our footsteps. Perfumes of elderberry and +wild cucumber scented the air. A bird, frightened from its nest, made +frantic cries above our heads. The underbrush thickened. Presently the +gloom of the hemlocks was over us, and in the midst of the shadowy green +a tulip tree flaunted its leaves. Waves boomed and broke upon the +shore below. There was a growing dampness as we went on, treading very +lightly. A little green snake ran coquettishly from us. A fat and glossy +squirrel chattered at us from a safe height, stroking his whiskers with +a complaisant air. + +At length we reached the "place." It was a circle of velvet grass, +bright as the first blades of spring, delicate as fine sea-ferns. The +sunlight, falling down the shaft between the hemlocks, flooded it with +a softened light and made the forest round about look like deep purple +velvet. My little godchild stood in the midst and raised her wand +impressively. + +"This is my place," she said, with a sort of wonderful gladness in her +tone. "This is where I come to the fairy balls. Do you see them?" + +"See what?" whispered one tiny boy. + +"The fairies." + +There was a silence. The older boy pulled at my skirt. + +"Do YOU see them?" he asked, his voice trembling with expectancy. + +"Indeed," I said, "I fear I am too old and wicked to see fairies, and +yet--are their hats red?" + +"They are," laughed my little girl. "Their hats are red, and as +small--as small!" She held up the pearly nail of her wee finger to give +us the correct idea. + +"And their shoes are very pointed at the toes?" + +"Oh, very pointed!" + +"And their garments are green?" + +"As green as grass." + +"And they blow little horns?" + +"The sweetest little horns!" + +"I think I see them," I cried. + +"We think we see them too," said the tiny boys, laughing in perfect +glee. + +"And you hear their horns, don't you?" my little godchild asked somewhat +anxiously. + +"Don't we hear their horns?" I asked the tiny boys. + +"We think we hear their horns," they cried. "Don't you think we do?" + +"It must be we do," I said. "Aren't we very, very happy?" + +We all laughed softly. Then we kissed each other and Elsbeth led us out, +her wand high in the air. + +And so my feet found the lost path to Arcady. + +The next day I was called to the Pacific coast, and duty kept me there +till well into December. A few days before the date set for my return to +my home, a letter came from Elsbeth's mother. + +"Our little girl is gone into the Unknown," she wrote--"that Unknown in +which she seemed to be forever trying to pry. We knew she was going, and +we told her. She was quite brave, but she begged us to try some way to +keep her till after Christmas. 'My presents are not finished yet,' she +made moan. 'And I did so want to see what I was going to have. You can't +have a very happy Christmas without me, I should think. Can you arrange +to keep me somehow till after then?' We could not 'arrange' either with +God in heaven or science upon earth, and she is gone." + +She was only my little godchild, and I am an old maid, with no business +fretting over children, but it seemed as if the medium of light and +beauty had been taken from me. Through this crystal soul I had perceived +whatever was loveliest. However, what was, was! I returned to my home +and took up a course of Egyptian history, and determined to concern +myself with nothing this side the Ptolemies. + +Her mother has told me how, on Christmas eve, as usual, she and +Elsbeth's father filled the stockings of the little ones, and hung them, +where they had always hung, by the fireplace. They had little heart for +the task, but they had been prodigal that year in their expenditures, +and had heaped upon the two tiny boys all the treasures they thought +would appeal to them. They asked themselves how they could have been +so insane previously as to exercise economy at Christmas time, and what +they meant by not getting Elsbeth the autoharp she had asked for the +year before. + +"And now--" began her father, thinking of harps. But he could not +complete this sentence, of course, and the two went on passionately and +almost angrily with their task. There were two stockings and two piles +of toys. Two stockings only, and only two piles of toys! Two is very +little! + +They went away and left the darkened room, and after a time they +slept--after a long time. Perhaps that was about the time the tiny boys +awoke, and, putting on their little dressing gowns and bed slippers, +made a dash for the room where the Christmas things were always placed. +The older one carried a candle which gave out a feeble light. The other +followed behind through the silent house. They were very impatient and +eager, but when they reached the door of the sitting-room they stopped, +for they saw that another child was before them. + +It was a delicate little creature, sitting in her white night gown, with +two rumpled funny braids falling down her back, and she seemed to be +weeping. As they watched, she arose, and putting out one slender +finger as a child does when she counts, she made sure over and over +again--three sad times--that there were only two stockings and two piles +of toys! Only those and no more. + +The little figure looked so familiar that the boys started toward it, +but just then, putting up her arm and bowing her face in it, as Elsbeth +had been used to do when she wept or was offended, the little thing +glided away and went out. That's what the boys said. It went out as a +candle goes out. + +They ran and woke their parents with the tale, and all the house was +searched in a wonderment, and disbelief, and hope, and tumult! But +nothing was found. For nights they watched. But there was only the +silent house. Only the empty rooms. They told the boys they must have +been mistaken. But the boys shook their heads. + +"We know our Elsbeth," said they. "It was our Elsbeth, cryin' 'cause she +hadn't no stockin' an' no toys, and we would have given her all ours, +only she went out--jus' went out!" + +Alack! + +The next Christmas I helped with the little festival. It was none of +my affair, but I asked to help, and they let me, and when we were all +through there were three stockings and three piles of toys, and in the +largest one was all the things that I could think of that my dear child +would love. I locked the boys' chamber that night, and I slept on the +divan in the parlor off the sitting-room. I slept but little, and the +night was very still--so windless and white and still that I think I +must have heard the slightest noise. Yet I heard none. Had I been in my +grave I think my ears would not have remained more unsaluted. + +Yet when daylight came and I went to unlock the boys' bedchamber door, +I saw that the stocking and all the treasures which I had bought for my +little godchild were gone. There was not a vestige of them remaining! + +Of course we told the boys nothing. As for me, after dinner I went home +and buried myself once more in my history, and so interested was I that +midnight came without my knowing it. I should not have looked up at all, +I suppose, to become aware of the time, had it not been for a faint, +sweet sound as of a child striking a stringed instrument. It was so +delicate and remote that I hardly heard it, but so joyous and tender +that I could not but listen, and when I heard it a second time it seemed +as if I caught the echo of a child's laugh. At first I was puzzled. Then +I remembered the little autoharp I had placed among the other things in +that pile of vanished toys. I said aloud: + +"Farewell, dear little ghost. Go rest. Rest in joy, dear little ghost. +Farewell, farewell." + +That was years ago, but there has been silence since. Elsbeth was always +an obedient little thing. + + + + +A SPECTRAL COLLIE + +WILLIAM PERCY CECIL happened to be a younger son, so he left home--which +was England--and went to Kansas to ranch it. Thousands of younger sons +do the same, only their destination is not invariably Kansas. + +An agent at Wichita picked out Cecil's farm for him and sent the deeds +over to England before Cecil left. He said there was a house on the +place. So Cecil's mother fitted him out for America just as she had +fitted out another superfluous boy for Africa, and parted from him +with an heroic front and big agonies of mother-ache which she kept to +herself. + +The boy bore up the way a man of his blood ought, but when he went out +to the kennel to see Nita, his collie, he went to pieces somehow, and +rolled on the grass with her in his arms and wept like a booby. But the +remarkable part of it was that Nita wept too, big, hot dog tears which +her master wiped away. When he went off she howled like a hungry baby, +and had to be switched before she would give any one a night's sleep. + +When Cecil got over on his Kansas place he fitted up the shack as +cosily as he could, and learned how to fry bacon and make soda biscuits. +Incidentally, he did farming, and sunk a heap of money, finding out +how not to do things. Meantime, the Americans laughed at him, and were +inclined to turn the cold shoulder, and his compatriots, of whom there +were a number in the county, did not prove to his liking. They consoled +themselves for their exiled state in fashions not in keeping with +Cecil's traditions. His homesickness went deeper than theirs, perhaps, +and American whiskey could not make up for the loss of his English home, +nor flirtations with the gay American village girls quite compensate +him for the loss of his English mother. So he kept to himself and had +nostalgia as some men have consumption. + +At length the loneliness got so bad that he had to see some living thing +from home, or make a flunk of it and go back like a cry baby. He had +a stiff pride still, though he sobbed himself to sleep more than one +night, as many a pioneer has done before him. So he wrote home for Nita, +the collie, and got word that she would be sent. Arrangements were made +for her care all along the line, and she was properly boxed and shipped. + +As the time drew near for her arrival, Cecil could hardly eat. He +was too excited to apply himself to anything. The day of her expected +arrival he actually got up at five o'clock to clean the house and make +it look as fine as possible for her inspection. Then he hitched up and +drove fifteen miles to get her. The train pulled out just before he +reached the station, so Nita in her box was waiting for him on the +platform. He could see her in a queer way, as one sees the purple centre +of a revolving circle of light; for, to tell the truth, with the long +ride in the morning sun, and the beating of his heart, Cecil was only +about half-conscious of anything. He wanted to yell, but he didn't. +He kept himself in hand and lifted up the sliding side of the box and +called to Nita, and she came out. + +But it wasn't the man who fainted, though he might have done so, being +crazy homesick as he was, and half-fed and overworked while he was yet +soft from an easy life. No, it was the dog! She looked at her master's +face, gave one cry of inexpressible joy, and fell over in a real +feminine sort of a faint, and had to be brought to like any other lady, +with camphor and water and a few drops of spirit down her throat. Then +Cecil got up on the wagon seat, and she sat beside him with her head on +his arm, and they rode home in absolute silence, each feeling too much +for speech. After they reached home, however, Cecil showed her all over +the place, and she barked out her ideas in glad sociability. + +After that Cecil and Nita were inseparable. She walked beside him +all day when he was out with the cultivator, or when he was mowing or +reaping. She ate beside him at table and slept across his feet at night. +Evenings when he looked over the Graphic from home, or read the books +his mother sent him, that he might keep in touch with the world, Nita +was beside him, patient, but jealous. Then, when he threw his book or +paper down and took her on his knee and looked into her pretty eyes, or +frolicked with her, she fairly laughed with delight. + +In short, she was faithful with that faith of which only a dog is +capable--that unquestioning faith to which even the most loving women +never quite attain. + +However, Fate was annoyed at this perfect friendship. It didn't give her +enough to do, and Fate is a restless thing with a horrible appetite for +variety. So poor Nita died one day mysteriously, and gave her last +look to Cecil as a matter of course; and he held her paws till the last +moment, as a stanch friend should, and laid her away decently in a pine +box in the cornfield, where he could be shielded from public view if he +chose to go there now and then and sit beside her grave. + +He went to bed very lonely, indeed, the first night. The shack seemed +to him to be removed endless miles from the other habitations of men. +He seemed cut off from the world, and ached to hear the cheerful little +barks which Nita had been in the habit of giving him by way of good +night. Her amiable eye with its friendly light was missing, the gay wag +of her tail was gone; all her ridiculous ways, at which he was never +tired of laughing, were things of the past. + +He lay down, busy with these thoughts, yet so habituated to Nita's +presence, that when her weight rested upon his feet, as usual, he felt +no surprise. But after a moment it came to him that as she was dead the +weight he felt upon his feet could not be hers. And yet, there it was, +warm and comfortable, cuddling down in the familiar way. He actually +sat up and put his hand down to the foot of the bed to discover what +was there. But there was nothing there, save the weight. And that stayed +with him that night and many nights after. + +It happened that Cecil was a fool, as men will be when they are young, +and he worked too hard, and didn't take proper care of himself; and so +it came about that he fell sick with a low fever. He struggled around +for a few days, trying to work it off, but one morning he awoke only to +the consciousness of absurd dreams. He seemed to be on the sea, sailing +for home, and the boat was tossing and pitching in a weary circle, and +could make no headway. His heart was burning with impatience, but the +boat went round and round in that endless circle till he shrieked out +with agony. + +The next neighbors were the Taylors, who lived two miles and a half +away. They were awakened that morning by the howling of a dog before +their door. It was a hideous sound and would give them no peace. So +Charlie Taylor got up and opened the door, discovering there an excited +little collie. + +"Why, Tom," he called, "I thought Cecil's collie was dead!" + +"She is," called back Tom. + +"No, she ain't neither, for here she is, shakin' like an aspin, and a +beggin' me to go with her. Come out, Tom, and see." + +It was Nita, no denying, and the men, perplexed, followed her to Cecil's +shack, where they found him babbling. + +But that was the last of her. Cecil said he never felt her on his +feet again. She had performed her final service for him, he said. +The neighbors tried to laugh at the story at first, but they knew the +Taylors wouldn't take the trouble to lie, and as for Cecil, no one would +have ventured to chaff him. + + + + +THE HOUSE THAT WAS NOT + + +BART FLEMING took his bride out to his ranch on the plains when she +was but seventeen years old, and the two set up housekeeping in three +hundred and twenty acres of corn and rye. Off toward the west there was +an unbroken sea of tossing corn at that time of the year when the bride +came out, and as her sewing window was on the side of the house which +faced the sunset, she passed a good part of each day looking into that +great rustling mass, breathing in its succulent odors and listening +to its sibilant melody. It was her picture gallery, her opera, her +spectacle, and, being sensible,--or perhaps, being merely happy,--she +made the most of it. + +When harvesting time came and the corn was cut, she had much +entertainment in discovering what lay beyond. The town was east, and it +chanced that she had never ridden west. So, when the rolling hills of +this newly beholden land lifted themselves for her contemplation, and +the harvest sun, all in an angry and sanguinary glow sank in the veiled +horizon, and at noon a scarf of golden vapor wavered up and down +along the earth line, it was as if a new world had been made for her. +Sometimes, at the coming of a storm, a whip-lash of purple cloud, full +of electric agility, snapped along the western horizon. + +"Oh, you'll see a lot of queer things on these here plains," her husband +said when she spoke to him of these phenomena. "I guess what you see is +the wind." + +"The wind!" cried Flora. "You can't see the wind, Bart." + +"Now look here, Flora," returned Bart, with benevolent emphasis, "you're +a smart one, but you don't know all I know about this here country. I've +lived here three mortal years, waitin' for you to git up out of your +mother's arms and come out to keep me company, and I know what there is +to know. Some things out here is queer--so queer folks wouldn't believe +'em unless they saw. An' some's so pig-headed they don't believe their +own eyes. As for th' wind, if you lay down flat and squint toward th' +west, you can see it blowin' along near th' ground, like a big ribbon; +an' sometimes it's th' color of air, an' sometimes it's silver an' gold, +an' sometimes, when a storm is comin', it's purple." + +"If you got so tired looking at the wind, why didn't you marry some +other girl, Bart, instead of waiting for me?" + +Flora was more interested in the first part of Bart's speech than in the +last. + +"Oh, come on!" protested Bart, and he picked her up in his arms and +jumped her toward the ceiling of the low shack as if she were a little +girl--but then, to be sure, she wasn't much more. + +Of all the things Flora saw when the corn was cut down, nothing +interested her so much as a low cottage, something like her own, which +lay away in the distance. She could not guess how far it might be, +because distances are deceiving out there, where the altitude is high +and the air is as clear as one of those mystic balls of glass in which +the sallow mystics of India see the moving shadows of the future. + +She had not known there were neighbors so near, and she wondered for +several days about them before she ventured to say anything to Bart +on the subject. Indeed, for some reason which she did not attempt to +explain to herself, she felt shy about broaching the matter. Perhaps +Bart did not want her to know the people. The thought came to her, +as naughty thoughts will come, even to the best of persons, that some +handsome young men might be "baching" it out there by themselves, and +Bart didn't wish her to make their acquaintance. Bart had flattered her +so much that she had actually begun to think herself beautiful, though +as a matter of fact she was only a nice little girl with a lot of +reddish-brown hair, and a bright pair of reddish-brown eyes in a white +face. + +"Bart," she ventured one evening, as the sun, at its fiercest, rushed +toward the great black hollow of the west, "who lives over there in that +shack?" + +She turned away from the window where she had been looking at the +incarnadined disk, and she thought she saw Bart turn pale. But then, +her eyes were so blurred with the glory she had been gazing at, that she +might easily have been mistaken. + +"I say, Bart, why don't you speak? If there's any one around to +associate with, I should think you'd let me have the benefit of their +company. It isn't as funny as you think, staying here alone days and +days." + +"You ain't gettin' homesick, be you, sweetheart?" cried Bart, putting +his arms around her. "You ain't gettin' tired of my society, be yeh?" + +It took some time to answer this question in a satisfactory manner, but +at length Flora was able to return to her original topic. + +"But the shack, Bart! Who lives there, anyway?" + +"I'm not acquainted with 'em," said Bart, sharply. "Ain't them biscuits +done, Flora?" + +Then, of course, she grew obstinate. + +"Those biscuits will never be done, Bart, till I know about that house, +and why you never spoke of it, and why nobody ever comes down the road +from there. Some one lives there I know, for in the mornings and at +night I see the smoke coming out of the chimney." + +"Do you now?" cried Bart, opening his eyes and looking at her with +unfeigned interest. "Well, do you know, sometimes I've fancied I seen +that too?" + +"Well, why not," cried Flora, in half anger. "Why shouldn't you?" + +"See here, Flora, take them biscuits out an' listen to me. There ain't +no house there. Hello! I didn't know you'd go for to drop the biscuits. +Wait, I'll help you pick 'em up. By cracky, they're hot, ain't they? +What you puttin' a towel over 'em for? Well, you set down here on my +knee, so. Now you look over at that there house. You see it, don't yeh? +Well, it ain't there! No! I saw it the first week I was out here. I was +jus' half dyin', thinkin' of you an' wonderin' why you didn't +write. That was the time you was mad at me. So I rode over there one +day--lookin' up company, so t' speak--and there wa'n't no house there. I +spent all one Sunday lookin' for it. Then I spoke to Jim Geary about +it. He laughed an' got a little white about th' gills, an' he said he +guessed I'd have to look a good while before I found it. He said that +there shack was an ole joke." + +"Why--what--" + +"Well, this here is th' story he tol' me. He said a man an' his wife +come out here t' live an' put up that there little place. An' she was +young, you know, an' kind o' skeery, and she got lonesome. It worked on +her an' worked on her, an' one day she up an' killed the baby an' her +husband an' herself. Th' folks found 'em and buried 'em right there on +their own ground. Well, about two weeks after that, th' house was burned +down. Don't know how. Tramps, maybe. Anyhow, it burned. At least, I +guess it burned!" + +"You guess it burned!" + +"Well, it ain't there, you know." + +"But if it burned the ashes are there." + +"All right, girlie, they're there then. Now let's have tea." + +This they proceeded to do, and were happy and cheerful all evening, +but that didn't keep Flora from rising at the first flush of dawn and +stealing out of the house. She looked away over west as she went to +the barn and there, dark and firm against the horizon, stood the +little house against the pellucid sky of morning. She got on Ginger's +back--Ginger being her own yellow broncho--and set off at a hard pace +for the house. It didn't appear to come any nearer, but the objects +which had seemed to be beside it came closer into view, and Flora +pressed on, with her mind steeled for anything. But as she approached +the poplar windbreak which stood to the north of the house, the little +shack waned like a shadow before her. It faded and dimmed before her +eyes. + +She slapped Ginger's flanks and kept him going, and she at last got him +up to the spot. But there was nothing there. The bunch grass grew tall +and rank and in the midst of it lay a baby's shoe. Flora thought of +picking it up, but something cold in her veins withheld her. Then she +grew angry, and set Ginger's head toward the place and tried to drive +him over it. But the yellow broncho gave one snort of fear, gathered +himself in a bunch, and then, all tense, leaping muscles, made for home +as only a broncho can. + + + + +STORY OF AN OBSTINATE CORPSE + + +VIRGIL HOYT is a photographer's assistant up at St. Paul, and enjoys +his work without being consumed by it. He has been in search of the +picturesque all over the West and hundreds of miles to the north, in +Canada, and can speak three or four Indian dialects and put a canoe +through the rapids. That is to say, he is a man of adventure, and no +dreamer. He can fight well and shoot better, and swim so as to put up a +winning race with the Indian boys, and he can sit in the saddle all day +and not worry about it to-morrow. + +Wherever he goes, he carries a camera. + +"The world," Hoyt is in the habit of saying to those who sit with him +when he smokes his pipe, "was created in six days to be photographed. +Man--and particularly woman--was made for the same purpose. Clouds +are not made to give moisture nor trees to cast shade. They have been +created in order to give the camera obscura something to do." + +In short, Virgil Hoyt's view of the world is whimsical, and he likes to +be bothered neither with the disagreeable nor the mysterious. That +is the reason he loathes and detests going to a house of mourning to +photograph a corpse. The bad taste of it offends him, but above all, +he doesn't like the necessity of shouldering, even for a few moments, a +part of the burden of sorrow which belongs to some one else. He dislikes +sorrow, and would willingly canoe five hundred miles up the cold +Canadian rivers to get rid of it. Nevertheless, as assistant +photographer, it is often his duty to do this very kind of thing. + +Not long ago he was sent for by a rich Jewish family to photograph the +remains of the mother, who had just died. He was put out, but he was +only an assistant, and he went. He was taken to the front parlor, where +the dead woman lay in her coffin. It was evident to him that there was +some excitement in the household, and that a discussion was going on. +But Hoyt said to himself that it didn't concern him, and he therefore +paid no attention to it. + +The daughter wanted the coffin turned on end in order that the corpse +might face the camera properly, but Hoyt said he could overcome the +recumbent attitude and make it appear that the face was taken in the +position it would naturally hold in life, and so they went out and left +him alone with the dead. + +The face of the deceased was a strong and positive one, such as +may often be seen among Jewish matrons. Hoyt regarded it with some +admiration, thinking to himself that she was a woman who had known +what she wanted, and who, once having made up her mind, would prove +immovable. Such a character appealed to Hoyt. He reflected that he +might have married if only he could have found a woman with strength of +character sufficient to disagree with him. There was a strand of hair +out of place on the dead woman's brow, and he gently pushed it back. +A bud lifted its head too high from among the roses on her breast and +spoiled the contour of the chin, so he broke it off. He remembered these +things later with keen distinctness, and that his hand touched her chill +face two or three times in the making of his arrangements. + +Then he took the impression, and left the house. + +He was busy at the time with some railroad work, and several days passed +before he found opportunity to develop the plates. He took them from +the bath in which they had lain with a number of others, and went +energetically to work upon them, whistling some very saucy songs he had +learned of the guide in the Red River country, and trying to forget that +the face which was presently to appear was that of a dead woman. He had +used three plates as a precaution against accident, and they came +up well. But as they developed, he became aware of the existence of +something in the photograph which had not been apparent to his eye +in the subject. He was irritated, and without attempting to face the +mystery, he made a few prints and laid them aside, ardently hoping that +by some chance they would never be called for. + +However, as luck would have it,--and Hoyt's luck never had been +good,--his employer asked one day what had become of those photographs. +Hoyt tried to evade making an answer, but the effort was futile, and he +had to get out the finished prints and exhibit them. The older man sat +staring at them a long time. + +"Hoyt," he said, "you're a young man, and very likely you have never +seen anything like this before. But I have. Not exactly the same thing, +perhaps, but similar phenomena have come my way a number of times since +I went in the business, and I want to tell you there are things in +heaven and earth not dreamt of--" + +"Oh, I know all that tommy-rot," cried Hoyt, angrily, "but when anything +happens I want to know the reason why and how it is done." + +"All right," answered his employer, "then you might explain why and how +the sun rises." + +But he humored the young man sufficiently to examine with him the baths +in which the plates were submerged, and the plates themselves. All was +as it should be; but the mystery was there, and could not be done away +with. + +Hoyt hoped against hope that the friends of the dead woman would somehow +forget about the photographs; but the idea was unreasonable, and one +day, as a matter of course, the daughter appeared and asked to see the +pictures of her mother. + +"Well, to tell the truth," stammered Hoyt, "they didn't come out +quite--quite as well as we could wish." + +"But let me see them," persisted the lady. "I'd like to look at them +anyhow." + +"Well, now," said Hoyt, trying to be soothing, as he believed it was +always best to be with women,--to tell the truth he was an ignoramus +where women were concerned,--"I think it would be better if you didn't +look at them. There are reasons why--" he ambled on like this, stupid +man that he was, till the lady naturally insisted upon seeing the +pictures without a moment's delay. + +So poor Hoyt brought them out and placed them in her hand, and then +ran for the water pitcher, and had to be at the bother of bathing her +forehead to keep her from fainting. + +For what the lady saw was this: Over face and flowers and the head of +the coffin fell a thick veil, the edges of which touched the floor in +some places. It covered the features so well that not a hint of them was +visible. + +"There was nothing over mother's face!" cried the lady at length. + +"Not a thing," acquiesced Hoyt. "I know, because I had occasion to touch +her face just before I took the picture. I put some of her hair back +from her brow." + +"What does it mean, then?" asked the lady. + +"You know better than I. There is no explanation in science. Perhaps +there is some in--in psychology." + +"Well," said the young woman, stammering a little and coloring, "mother +was a good woman, but she always wanted her own way, and she always had +it, too." + +"Yes." + +"And she never would have her picture taken. She didn't admire her own +appearance. She said no one should ever see a picture of her." + +"So?" said Hoyt, meditatively. "Well, she's kept her word, hasn't she?" + +The two stood looking at the photographs for a time. Then Hoyt pointed +to the open blaze in the grate. + +"Throw them in," he commanded. "Don't let your father see them--don't +keep them yourself. They wouldn't be agreeable things to keep." + +"That's true enough," admitted the lady. And she threw them in the fire. +Then Virgil Hoyt brought out the plates and broke them before her eyes. + +And that was the end of it--except that Hoyt sometimes tells the story +to those who sit beside him when his pipe is lighted. + + + + +A CHILD OF THE RAIN + + +IT was the night that Mona Meeks, the dressmaker, told him she didn't +love him. He couldn't believe it at first, because he had so long been +accustomed to the idea that she did, and no matter how rough the weather +or how irascible the passengers, he felt a song in his heart as he +punched transfers, and rang his bell punch, and signalled the driver +when to let people off and on. + +Now, suddenly, with no reason except a woman's, she had changed her +mind. He dropped in to see her at five o'clock, just before time for the +night shift, and to give her two red apples he had been saving for her. +She looked at the apples as if they were invisible and she could not see +them, and standing in her disorderly little dressmaking parlor, with its +cuttings and scraps and litter of fabrics, she said: + +"It is no use, John. I shall have to work here like this all my +life--work here alone. For I don't love you, John. No, I don't. I +thought I did, but it is a mistake." + +"You mean it?" asked John, bringing up the words in a great gasp. + +"Yes," she said, white and trembling and putting out her hands as if to +beg for his mercy. And then--big, lumbering fool--he turned around +and strode down the stairs and stood at the corner in the beating rain +waiting for his car. It came along at length, spluttering on the wet +rails and spitting out blue fire, and he took his shift after a gruff +"Good night" to Johnson, the man he relieved. + +He was glad the rain was bitter cold and drove in his face fiercely. +He rejoiced at the cruelty of the wind, and when it hustled pedestrians +before it, lashing them, twisting their clothes, and threatening their +equilibrium, he felt amused. He was pleased at the chill in his bones +and at the hunger that tortured him. At least, at first he thought it +was hunger till he remembered that he had just eaten. The hours passed +confusedly. He had no consciousness of time. But it must have been +late,--near midnight,--judging by the fact that there were few persons +visible anywhere in the black storm, when he noticed a little figure +sitting at the far end of the car. He had not seen the child when she +got on, but all was so curious and wild to him that evening--he himself +seemed to himself the most curious and the wildest of all things--that +it was not surprising that he should not have observed the little +creature. + +She was wrapped in a coat so much too large that it had become frayed +at the bottom from dragging on the pavement. Her hair hung in unkempt +stringiness about her bent shoulders, and her feet were covered with old +arctics, many sizes too big, from which the soles hung loose. + +Beside the little figure was a chest of dark wood, with curiously +wrought hasps. From this depended a stout strap by which it could be +carried over the shoulders. John Billings stared in, fascinated by the +poor little thing with its head sadly drooping upon its breast, its thin +blue hands relaxed upon its lap, and its whole attitude so suggestive +of hunger, loneliness, and fatigue, that he made up his mind he would +collect no fare from it. + +"It will need its nickel for breakfast," he said to himself. "The +company can stand this for once. Or, come to think of it, I might +celebrate my hard luck. Here's to the brotherhood of failures!" And +he took a nickel from one pocket of his great-coat and dropped it in +another, ringing his bell punch to record the transfer. + +The car plunged along in the darkness, and the rain beat more viciously +than ever in his face. The night was full of the rushing sound of the +storm. Owing to some change of temperature the glass of the car became +obscured so that the young conductor could no longer see the little +figure distinctly, and he grew anxious about the child. + +"I wonder if it's all right," he said to himself. "I never saw living +creature sit so still." + +He opened the car door, intending to speak with the child, but just +then something went wrong with the lights. There was a blue and green +flickering, then darkness, a sudden halting of the car, and a great +sweep of wind and rain in at the door. When, after a moment, light and +motion reasserted themselves, and Billings had got the door together, he +turned to look at the little passenger. But the car was empty. + +It was a fact. There was no child there--not even moisture on the seat +where she had been sitting. + +"Bill," said he, going to the front door and addressing the driver, +"what became of that little kid in the old cloak?" + +"I didn't see no kid," said Bill, crossly. "For Gawd's sake, close the +door, John, and git that draught off my back." + +"Draught!" said John, indignantly, "where's the draught?" + +"You've left the hind door open," growled Bill, and John saw him +shivering as a blast struck him and ruffled the fur on his bear-skin +coat. But the door was not open, and yet John had to admit to himself +that the car seemed filled with wind and a strange coldness. + +However, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered! Still, it was as well no +doubt to look under the seats just to make sure no little crouching +figure was there, and so he did. But there was nothing. In fact, John +said to himself, he seemed to be getting expert in finding nothing where +there ought to be something. + +He might have stayed in the car, for there was no likelihood of more +passengers that evening, but somehow he preferred going out where the +rain could drench him and the wind pommel him. How horribly tired he +was! If there were only some still place away from the blare of the city +where a man could lie down and listen to the sound of the sea or the +storm--or if one could grow suddenly old and get through with the bother +of living--or if-- + +The car gave a sudden lurch as it rounded a curve, and for a moment it +seemed to be a mere chance whether Conductor Billings would stay on +his platform or go off under those fire-spitting wheels. He caught +instinctively at his brake, saved himself, and stood still for a moment, +panting. + +"I must have dozed," he said to himself. + +Just then, dimly, through the blurred window, he saw again the little +figure of the child, its head on its breast as before, its blue hands +lying in its lap and the curious box beside it. John Billings felt a +coldness beyond the coldness of the night run through his blood. Then, +with a half-stifled cry, he threw back the door, and made a desperate +spring at the corner where the eerie thing sat. + +And he touched the green carpeting on the seat, which was quite dry +and warm, as if no dripping, miserable little wretch had ever crouched +there. + +He rushed to the front door. + +"Bill," he roared, "I want to know about that kid." + +"What kid?" + +"The same kid! The wet one with the old coat and the box with iron +hasps! The one that's been sitting here in the car!" + +Bill turned his surly face to confront the young conductor. + +"You've been drinking, you fool," said he. "Fust thing you know you'll +be reported." + +The conductor said not a word. He went slowly and weakly back to his +post and stood there the rest of the way leaning against the end of the +car for support. Once or twice he muttered: + +"The poor little brat!" And again he said, "So you didn't love me after +all!" + +He never knew how he reached home, but he sank to sleep as dying men +sink to death. All the same, being a hearty young man, he was on duty +again next day but one, and again the night was rainy and cold. + +It was the last run, and the car was spinning along at its limit, when +there came a sudden soft shock. John Billings knew what that meant. He +had felt something of the kind once before. He turned sick for a moment, +and held on to the brake. Then he summoned his courage and went around +to the side of the car, which had stopped. Bill, the driver, was before +him, and had a limp little figure in his arms, and was carrying it to +the gaslight. John gave one look and cried: + +"It's the same kid, Bill! The one I told you of!" + +True as truth were the ragged coat dangling from the pitiful body, the +little blue hands, the thin shoulders, the stringy hair, the big arctics +on the feet. And in the road not far off was the curious chest of dark +wood with iron hasps. + +"She ran under the car deliberate!" cried Bill. "I yelled to her, but +she looked at me and ran straight on!" + +He was white in spite of his weather-beaten skin. + +"I guess you wasn't drunk last night after all, John," said he. + +"You--you are sure the kid is--is there?" gasped John. + +"Not so damned sure!" said Bill. + +But a few minutes later it was taken away in a patrol wagon, and with it +the little box with iron hasps. + + + + +THE ROOM OF THE EVIL THOUGHT + + +THEY called it the room of the Evil Thought. It was really the +pleasantest room in the house, and when the place had been used as the +rectory, was the minister's study. It looked out on a mournful clump +of larches, such as may often be seen in the old-fashioned yards in +Michigan, and these threw a tender gloom over the apartment. + +There was a wide fireplace in the room, and it had been the young +minister's habit to sit there hours and hours, staring ahead of him at +the fire, and smoking moodily. The replenishing of the fire and of his +pipe, it was said, would afford him occupation all the day long, and +that was how it came about that his parochial duties were neglected so +that, little by little, the people became dissatisfied with him, though +he was an eloquent young man, who could send his congregation away drunk +on his influence. However, the calmer pulsed among his parish began to +whisper that it was indeed the influence of the young minister and not +that of the Holy Ghost which they felt, and it was finally decided +that neither animal magnetism nor hypnotism were good substitutes for +religion. And so they let him go. + +The new rector moved into a smart brick house on the other side of the +church, and gave receptions and dinner parties, and was punctilious +about making his calls. The people therefore liked him very much--so +much that they raised the debt on the church and bought a chime of +bells, in their enthusiasm. Every one was lighter of heart than under +the ministration of the previous rector. A burden appeared to be lifted +from the community. True, there were a few who confessed the new man +did not give them the food for thought which the old one had done, but, +then, the former rector had made them uncomfortable! He had not only +made them conscious of the sins of which they were already guilty, but +also of those for which they had the latent capacity. A strange and +fatal man, whom women loved to their sorrow, and whom simple men could +not understand! It was generally agreed that the parish was well rid of +him. + +"He was a genius," said the people in commiseration. The word was an +uncomplimentary epithet with them. + +When the Hanscoms moved in the house which had been the old rectory, +they gave Grandma Hanscom the room with the fireplace. Grandma was well +pleased. The roaring fire warmed her heart as well as her chill old +body, and she wept with weak joy when she looked at the larches, because +they reminded her of the house she had lived in when she was first +married. All the forenoon of the first day she was busy putting things +away in bureau drawers and closets, but by afternoon she was ready to +sit down in her high-backed rocker and enjoy the comforts of her room. + +She nodded a bit before the fire, as she usually did after luncheon, and +then she awoke with an awful start and sat staring before her with such +a look in her gentle, filmy old eyes as had never been there before. +She did not move, except to rock slightly, and the Thought grew and grew +till her face was disguised as by some hideous mask of tragedy. + +By and by the children came pounding at the door. + +"Oh, grandma, let us in, please. We want to see your new room, and mamma +gave us some ginger cookies on a plate, and we want to give some to +you." + +The door gave way under their assaults, and the three little ones stood +peeping in, waiting for permission to enter. But it did not seem to be +their grandma--their own dear grandma--who arose and tottered toward +them in fierce haste, crying: + +"Away, away! Out of my sight! Out of my sight before I do the thing I +want to do! Such a terrible thing! Send some one to me quick, children, +children! Send some one quick!" + +They fled with feet shod with fear, and their mother came, and Grandma +Hanscom sank down and clung about her skirts and sobbed: + +"Tie me, Miranda. Make me fast to the bed or the wall. Get some one to +watch me. For I want to do an awful thing!" + +They put the trembling old creature in bed, and she raved there all +the night long and cried out to be held, and to be kept from doing the +fearful thing, whatever it was--for she never said what it was. + +The next morning some one suggested taking her in the sitting-room +where she would be with the family. So they laid her on the sofa, hemmed +around with cushions, and before long she was her quiet self again, +though exhausted, naturally, with the tumult of the previous night. +Now and then, as the children played about her, a shadow crept over +her face--a shadow as of cold remembrance--and then the perplexed tears +followed. + +When she seemed as well as ever they put her back in her room. But +though the fire glowed and the lamp burned, as soon as ever she was +alone they heard her shrill cries ringing to them that the Evil Thought +had come again. So Hal, who was home from college, carried her up to his +room, which she seemed to like very well. Then he went down to have a +smoke before grandma's fire. + +The next morning he was absent from breakfast. They thought he might +have gone for an early walk, and waited for him a few minutes. Then +his sister went to the room that looked upon the larches, and found him +dressed and pacing the floor with a face set and stern. He had not been +in bed at all, as she saw at once. His eyes were bloodshot, his face +stricken as if with old age or sin or--but she could not make it out. +When he saw her he sank in a chair and covered his face with his hands, +and between the trembling fingers she could see drops of perspiration on +his forehead. + +"Hal!" she cried, "Hal, what is it?" + +But for answer he threw his arms about the little table and clung to +it, and looked at her with tortured eyes, in which she fancied she saw +a gleam of hate. She ran, screaming, from the room, and her father came +and went up to him and laid his hands on the boy's shoulders. And then +a fearful thing happened. All the family saw it. There could be no +mistake. Hal's hands found their way with frantic eagerness toward his +father's throat as if they would choke him, and the look in his eyes was +so like a madman's that his father raised his fist and felled him as he +used to fell men years before in the college fights, and then dragged +him into the sitting-room and wept over him. + +By evening, however, Hal was all right, and the family said it must have +been a fever,--perhaps from overstudy,--at which Hal covertly smiled. +But his father was still too anxious about him to let him out of his +sight, so he put him on a cot in his room, and thus it chanced that the +mother and Grace concluded to sleep together downstairs. + +The two women made a sort of festival of it, and drank little cups of +chocolate before the fire, and undid and brushed their brown braids, +and smiled at each other, understandingly, with that sweet intuitive +sympathy which women have, and Grace told her mother a number of things +which she had been waiting for just such an auspicious occasion to +confide. + +But the larches were noisy and cried out with wild voices, and the flame +of the fire grew blue and swirled about in the draught sinuously, so +that a chill crept upon the two. Something cold appeared to envelop +them--such a chill as pleasure voyagers feel when a berg steals beyond +Newfoundland and glows blue and threatening upon their ocean path. + +Then came something else which was not cold, but hot as the flames of +hell--and they saw red, and stared at each other with maddened eyes, and +then ran together from the room and clasped in close embrace safe beyond +the fatal place, and thanked God they had not done the thing that they +dared not speak of--the thing which suddenly came to them to do. + +So they called it the room of the Evil Thought. They could not account +for it. They avoided the thought of it, being healthy and happy folk. +But none entered it more. The door was locked. + +One day, Hal, reading the paper, came across a paragraph concerning the +young minister who had once lived there, and who had thought and +written there and so influenced the lives of those about him that they +remembered him even while they disapproved. + +"He cut a man's throat on board ship for Australia," said he, "and then +he cut his own, without fatal effect--and jumped overboard, and so ended +it. What a strange thing!" + +Then they all looked at one another with subtle looks, and a shadow fell +upon them and stayed the blood at their hearts. + +The next week the room of the Evil Thought was pulled down to make way +for a pansy bed, which is quite gay and innocent, and blooms all the +better because the larches, with their eternal murmuring, have been laid +low and carted away to the sawmill. + + + + +STORY OF THE VANISHING PATIENT + + +THERE had always been strange stories about the house, but it was a +sensible, comfortable sort of a neighborhood, and people took pains to +say to one another that there was nothing in these tales--of course +not! Absolutely nothing! How could there be? It was a matter of common +remark, however, that considering the amount of money the Nethertons had +spent on the place, it was curious they lived there so little. They +were nearly always away,--up North in the summer and down South in the +winter, and over to Paris or London now and then,--and when they did +come home it was only to entertain a number of guests from the city. The +place was either plunged in gloom or gayety. The old gardener who kept +house by himself in the cottage at the back of the yard had things much +his own way by far the greater part of the time. + +Dr. Block and his wife lived next door to the Nethertons, and he and his +wife, who were so absurd as to be very happy in each other's company, +had the benefit of the beautiful yard. They walked there mornings when +the leaves were silvered with dew, and evenings they sat beside the lily +pond and listened for the whip-poor-will. The doctor's wife moved her +room over to that side of the house which commanded a view of the yard, +and thus made the honeysuckles and laurel and clematis and all the +masses of tossing greenery her own. Sitting there day after day with +her sewing, she speculated about the mystery which hung impalpably yet +undeniably over the house. + +It happened one night when she and her husband had gone to their room, +and were congratulating themselves on the fact that he had no very sick +patients and was likely to enjoy a good night's rest, that a ring came +at the door. + +"If it's any one wanting you to leave home," warned his wife, "you must +tell them you are all worn out. You've been disturbed every night this +week, and it's too much!" + +The young physician went downstairs. At the door stood a man whom he had +never seen before. + +"My wife is lying very ill next door," said the stranger, "so ill that +I fear she will not live till morning. Will you please come to her at +once?" + +"Next door?" cried the physician. "I didn't know the Nethertons were +home!" + +"Please hasten," begged the man. "I must go back to her. Follow as +quickly as you can." + +The doctor went back upstairs to complete his toilet. + +"How absurd," protested his wife when she heard the story. "There is no +one at the Nethertons'. I sit where I can see the front door, and no one +can enter without my knowing it, and I have been sewing by the window +all day. If there were any one in the house, the gardener would have the +porch lantern lighted. It is some plot. Some one has designs on you. You +must not go." + +But he went. As he left the room his wife placed a revolver in his +pocket. + +The great porch of the mansion was dark, but the physician made out that +the door was open, and he entered. A feeble light came from the bronze +lamp at the turn of the stairs, and by it he found his way, his feet +sinking noiselessly in the rich carpets. At the head of the stairs the +man met him. The doctor thought himself a tall man, but the stranger +topped him by half a head. He motioned the physician to follow him, and +the two went down the hall to the front room. The place was flushed with +a rose-colored glow from several lamps. On a silken couch, in the midst +of pillows, lay a woman dying with consumption. She was like a lily, +white, shapely, graceful, with feeble yet charming movements. She looked +at the doctor appealingly, then, seeing in his eyes the involuntary +verdict that her hour was at hand, she turned toward her companion with +a glance of anguish. Dr. Block asked a few questions. The man answered +them, the woman remaining silent. The physician administered something +stimulating, and then wrote a prescription which he placed on the +mantel-shelf. + +"The drug store is closed to-night," he said, "and I fear the druggist +has gone home. You can have the prescription filled the first thing in +the morning, and I will be over before breakfast." + +After that, there was no reason why he should not have gone home. Yet, +oddly enough, he preferred to stay. Nor was it professional anxiety that +prompted this delay. He longed to watch those mysterious persons, who, +almost oblivious of his presence, were speaking their mortal farewells +in their glances, which were impassioned and of unutterable sadness. + +He sat as if fascinated. He watched the glitter of rings on the woman's +long, white hands, he noted the waving of light hair about her temples, +he observed the details of her gown of soft white silk which fell about +her in voluminous folds. Now and then the man gave her of the stimulant +which the doctor had provided; sometimes he bathed her face with water. +Once he paced the floor for a moment till a motion of her hand quieted +him. + +After a time, feeling that it would be more sensible and considerate +of him to leave, the doctor made his way home. His wife was awake, +impatient to hear of his experiences. She listened to his tale in +silence, and when he had finished she turned her face to the wall and +made no comment. + +"You seem to be ill, my dear," he said. "You have a chill. You are +shivering." + +"I have no chill," she replied sharply. "But I--well, you may leave the +light burning." + +The next morning before breakfast the doctor crossed the dewy sward to +the Netherton house. The front door was locked, and no one answered to +his repeated ringings. The old gardener chanced to be cutting the grass +near at hand, and he came running up. + +"What you ringin' that door-bell for, doctor?" said he. "The folks ain't +come home yet. There ain't nobody there." + +"Yes, there is, Jim. I was called here last night. A man came for me to +attend his wife. They must both have fallen asleep that the bell is not +answered. I wouldn't be surprised to find her dead, as a matter of fact. +She was a desperately sick woman. Perhaps she is dead and something has +happened to him. You have the key to the door, Jim. Let me in." + +But the old man was shaking in every limb, and refused to do as he was +bid. + +"Don't you never go in there, doctor," whispered he, with chattering +teeth. "Don't you go for to 'tend no one. You jus' come tell me when you +sent for that way. No, I ain't goin' in, doctor, nohow. It ain't part +of my duties to go in. That's been stipulated by Mr. Netherton. It's my +business to look after the garden." + +Argument was useless. Dr. Block took the bunch of keys from the old +man's pocket and himself unlocked the front door and entered. He mounted +the steps and made his way to the upper room. There was no evidence of +occupancy. The place was silent, and, so far as living creature went, +vacant. The dust lay over everything. It covered the delicate damask of +the sofa where he had seen the dying woman. It rested on the pillows. +The place smelled musty and evil, as if it had not been used for a long +time. The lamps of the room held not a drop of oil. + +But on the mantel-shelf was the prescription which the doctor had +written the night before. He read it, folded it, and put it in his +pocket. + +As he locked the outside door the old gardener came running to him. + +"Don't you never go up there again, will you?" he pleaded, "not unless +you see all the Nethertons home and I come for you myself. You won't, +doctor?" + +"No," said the doctor. + +When he told his wife she kissed him, and said: + +"Next time when I tell you to stay at home, you must stay!" + + + + +THE PIANO NEXT DOOR + + +BABETTE had gone away for the summer; the furniture was in its summer +linens; the curtains were down, and Babette's husband, John Boyce, was +alone in the house. It was the first year of his marriage, and he missed +Babette. But then, as he often said to himself, he ought never to +have married her. He did it from pure selfishness, and because he was +determined to possess the most illusive, tantalizing, elegant, and +utterly unmoral little creature that the sun shone upon. He wanted her +because she reminded him of birds, and flowers, and summer winds, +and other exquisite things created for the delectation of mankind. He +neither expected nor desired her to think. He had half-frightened her +into marrying him, had taken her to a poor man's home, provided her with +no society such as she had been accustomed to, and he had no reasonable +cause of complaint when she answered the call of summer and flitted +away, like a butterfly in the morning sunshine, to the place where the +flowers grew. + +He wrote to her every evening, sitting in the stifling, ugly house, and +poured out his soul as if it were a libation to a goddess. She sometimes +answered by telegraph, sometimes by a perfumed note. He schooled himself +not to feel hurt. Why should Babette write? Does a goldfinch indict +epistles; or a humming-bird study composition; or a glancing, red-scaled +fish in summer shallows consider the meaning of words? + +He knew at the beginning what Babette was--guessed her +limitations--trembled when he buttoned her tiny glove--kissed her dainty +slipper when he found it in the closet after she was gone--thrilled at +the sound of her laugh, or the memory of it! That was all. A mere case +of love. He was in bonds. Babette was not. Therefore he was in the +city, working overhours to pay for Babette's pretty follies down at the +seaside. It was quite right and proper. He was a grub in the furrow; +she a lark in the blue. Those had always been and always must be their +relative positions. + +Having attained a mood of philosophic calm, in which he was prepared to +spend his evenings alone--as became a grub--and to await with +dignified patience the return of his wife, it was in the nature of an +inconsistency that he should have walked the floor of the dull little +drawing-room like a lion in cage. It did not seem in keeping with +the position of superior serenity which he had assumed, that, reading +Babette's notes, he should have raged with jealousy, or that, in the +loneliness of his unkempt chamber, he should have stretched out arms of +longing. Even if Babette had been present, she would only have smiled +her gay little smile and coquetted with him. She could not understand. +He had known, of course, from the first moment, that she could not +understand! And so, why the ache, ache, ache of the heart! Or WAS it the +heart, or the brain, or the soul? + +Sometimes, when the evenings were so hot that he could not endure the +close air of the house, he sat on the narrow, dusty front porch and +looked about him at his neighbors. The street had once been smart and +aspiring, but it had fallen into decay and dejection. Pale young men, +with flurried-looking wives, seemed to Boyce to occupy most of the +houses. Sometimes three or four couples would live in one house. Most of +these appeared to be childless. The women made a pretence at fashionable +dressing, and wore their hair elaborately in fashions which somehow +suggested boarding-houses to Boyce, though he could not have told why. +Every house in the block needed fresh paint. Lacking this renovation, +the householders tried to make up for it by a display of lace curtains +which, at every window, swayed in the smoke-weighted breeze. Strips +of carpeting were laid down the front steps of the houses where the +communities of young couples lived, and here, evenings, the inmates of +the houses gathered, committing mild extravagances such as the treating +of each other to ginger ale, or beer, or ice-cream. + +Boyce watched these tawdry makeshifts at sociability with bitterness and +loathing. He wondered how he could have been such a fool as to bring +his exquisite Babette to this neighborhood. How could he expect that she +would return to him? It was not reasonable. He ought to go down on his +knees with gratitude that she even condescended to write him. + +Sitting one night till late,--so late that the fashionable young wives +with their husbands had retired from the strips of stair carpeting,--and +raging at the loneliness which ate at his heart like a cancer, he heard, +softly creeping through the windows of the house adjoining his own, the +sound of comfortable melody. + +It breathed upon his ear like a spirit of consolation, speaking +of peace, of love which needs no reward save its own sweetness, of +aspiration which looks forever beyond the thing of the hour to find +attainment in that which is eternal. So insidiously did it whisper these +things, so delicately did the simple and perfect melodies creep upon the +spirit--that Boyce felt no resentment, but from the first listened +as one who listens to learn, or as one who, fainting on the hot road, +hears, far in the ferny deeps below, the gurgle of a spring. + +Then came harmonies more intricate: fair fabrics of woven sound, in +the midst of which gleamed golden threads of joy; a tapestry of sound, +multi-tinted, gallant with story and achievement, and beautiful things. +Boyce, sitting on his absurd piazza, with his knees jambed against +the balustrade, and his chair back against the dun-colored wall of his +house, seemed to be walking in the cathedral of the redwood forest, +with blue above him, a vast hymn in his ears, pungent perfume in his +nostrils, and mighty shafts of trees lifting themselves to heaven, proud +and erect as pure men before their Judge. He stood on a mountain at +sunrise, and saw the marvels of the amethystine clouds below his feet, +heard an eternal and white silence, such as broods among the everlasting +snows, and saw an eagle winging for the sun. He was in a city, and away +from him, diverging like the spokes of a wheel, ran thronging streets, +and to his sense came the beat, beat, beat of the city's heart. He saw +the golden alchemy of a chosen race; saw greed transmitted to progress; +saw that which had enslaved men, work at last to their liberation; heard +the roar of mighty mills, and on the streets all the peoples of earth +walking with common purpose, in fealty and understanding. And then, from +the swelling of this concourse of great sounds, came a diminuendo, calm +as philosophy, and from that, nothingness. + +Boyce sat still for a long time, listening to the echoes which this +music had awakened in his soul. He retired, at length, content, +but determined that upon the morrow he would watch--the day being +Sunday--for the musician who had so moved and taught him. + +He arose early, therefore, and having prepared his own simple breakfast +of fruit and coffee, took his station by the window to watch for the +man. For he felt convinced that the exposition he had heard was that of +a masculine mind. The long, hot hours of the morning went by, but the +front door of the house next to his did not open. + +"These artists sleep late," he complained. Still he watched. He was +too much afraid of losing him to go out for dinner. By three in the +afternoon he had grown impatient. He went to the house next door and +rang the bell. There was no response. He thundered another appeal. An +old woman with a cloth about her head answered the door. She was very +deaf, and Boyce had difficulty in making himself understood. + +"The family is in the country," was all she would say. "The family will +not be home till September." + +"But there is some one living here?" shouted Boyce. + +"_I_ live here," she said with dignity, putting back a wisp of dirty +gray hair behind her ear. "It is my house. I sublet to the family." + +"What family?" + +But the old creature was not communicative. + +"The family that lives here," she said. + +"Then who plays the piano in this house?" roared Boyce. "Do you?" + +He thought a shade of pallor showed itself on her ash-colored cheeks. +Yet she smiled a little at the idea of her playing. + +"There is no piano," she said, and she put an enigmatical emphasis to +the words. + +"Nonsense," cried Boyce, indignantly. "I heard a piano being played in +this very house for hours last night!" + +"You may enter," said the old woman, with an accent more vicious than +hospitable. + +Boyce almost burst into the drawing-room. It was a dusty and forbidding +place, with ugly furniture and gaudy walls. No piano nor any other +musical instrument stood in it. The intruder turned an angry and baffled +face to the old woman, who was smiling with ill-concealed exultation. + +"I shall see the other rooms," he announced. The old woman did not +appear to be surprised at his impertinence. + +"As you please," she said. + +So, with the hobbling creature, with her bandaged head, for a guide, he +explored every room of the house, which being identical with his own, he +could do without fear of leaving any apartment unentered. But no piano +did he find! + +"Explain," roared Boyce at length, turning upon the leering old hag +beside him. "Explain! For surely I heard music more beautiful than I can +tell." + +"I know nothing," she said. "But it is true I once had a lodger who +rented the front room, and that he played upon the piano. I am poor at +hearing, but he must have played well, for all the neighbors used to +come in front of the house to listen, and sometimes they applauded him, +and sometimes they were still. I could tell by watching their hands. +Sometimes little children came and danced. Other times young men and +women came and listened. But the young man died. The neighbors were +angry. They came to look at him and said he had starved to death. It was +no fault of mine. I sold his piano to pay his funeral expenses--and it +took every cent to pay for them too, I'd have you know. But since then, +sometimes--still, it must be nonsense, for I never heard it--folks say +that he plays the piano in my room. It has kept me out of the letting of +it more than once. But the family doesn't seem to mind--the family that +lives here, you know. They will be back in September. Yes." + +Boyce left her nodding her thanks at what he had placed in her hand, and +went home to write it all to Babette--Babette who would laugh so merrily +when she read it! + + + + +AN ASTRAL ONION + + +WHEN Tig Braddock came to Nora Finnegan he was red-headed and freckled, +and, truth to tell, he remained with these features to the end of his +life--a life prolonged by a lucky, if somewhat improbable, incident, as +you shall hear. + +Tig had shuffled off his parents as saurians, of some sorts, do their +skins. During the temporary absence from home of his mother, who was at +the bridewell, and the more extended vacation of his father, who, like +Villon, loved the open road and the life of it, Tig, who was not a +well-domesticated animal, wandered away. The humane society never heard +of him, the neighbors did not miss him, and the law took no cognizance +of this detached citizen--this lost pleiad. Tig would have sunk into +that melancholy which is attendant upon hunger,--the only form of +despair which babyhood knows,--if he had not wandered across the path of +Nora Finnegan. Now Nora shone with steady brightness in her orbit, +and no sooner had Tig entered her atmosphere, than he was warmed and +comforted. Hunger could not live where Nora was. The basement room where +she kept house was redolent with savory smells; and in the stove in her +front room--which was also her bedroom--there was a bright fire glowing +when fire was needed. + +Nora went out washing for a living. But she was not a poor washerwoman. +Not at all. She was a washerwoman triumphant. She had perfect health, an +enormous frame, an abounding enthusiasm for life, and a rich abundance +of professional pride. She believed herself to be the best washer of +white clothes she had ever had the pleasure of knowing, and the value +placed upon her services, and her long connection with certain families +with large weekly washings, bore out this estimate of herself--an +estimate which she never endeavored to conceal. + +Nora had buried two husbands without being unduly depressed by the +fact. The first husband had been a disappointment, and Nora winked at +Providence when an accident in a tunnel carried him off--that is to +say, carried the husband off. The second husband was not so much of a +disappointment as a surprise. He developed ability of a literary order, +and wrote songs which sold and made him a small fortune. Then he ran +away with another woman. The woman spent his fortune, drove him to +dissipation, and when he was dying he came back to Nora, who received +him cordially, attended him to the end, and cheered his last hours by +singing his own songs to him. Then she raised a headstone recounting his +virtues, which were quite numerous, and refraining from any reference to +those peculiarities which had caused him to be such a surprise. + +Only one actual chagrin had ever nibbled at the sound heart of Nora +Finnegan--a cruel chagrin, with long, white teeth, such as rodents have! +She had never held a child to her breast, nor laughed in its eyes; never +bathed the pink form of a little son or daughter; never felt a tugging +of tiny hands at her voluminous calico skirts! Nora had burnt many +candles before the statue of the blessed Virgin without remedying this +deplorable condition. She had sent up unavailing prayers--she had, at +times, wept hot tears of longing and loneliness. Sometimes in her sleep +she dreamed that a wee form, warm and exquisitely soft, was pressed +against her firm body, and that a hand with tiniest pink nails crept +within her bosom. But as she reached out to snatch this delicious little +creature closer, she woke to realize a barren woman's grief, and turned +herself in anguish on her lonely pillow. + +So when Tig came along, accompanied by two curs, who had faithfully +followed him from his home, and when she learned the details of his +story, she took him in, curs and all, and, having bathed the three of +them, made them part and parcel of her home. This was after the demise +of the second husband, and at a time when Nora felt that she had done +all a woman could be expected to do for Hymen. + +Tig was a preposterous baby. The curs were preposterous curs. Nora had +always been afflicted with a surplus amount of laughter--laughter which +had difficulty in attaching itself to anything, owing to the lack of the +really comic in the surroundings of the poor. But with a red-headed and +freckled baby boy and two trick dogs in the house, she found a good and +sufficient excuse for her hilarity, and would have torn the cave where +echo lies with her mirth, had that cave not been at such an immeasurable +distance from the crowded neighborhood where she lived. + +At the age of four Tig went to free kindergarten; at the age of six he +was in school, and made three grades the first year and two the next. At +fifteen he was graduated from the high school and went to work as +errand boy in a newspaper office, with the fixed determination to make a +journalist of himself. + +Nora was a trifle worried about his morals when she discovered his +intellect, but as time went on, and Tig showed no devotion for any woman +save herself, and no consciousness that there were such things as bad +boys or saloons in the world, she began to have confidence. All of his +earnings were brought to her. Every holiday was spent with her. He told +her his secrets and his aspirations. He admitted that he expected to +become a great man, and, though he had not quite decided upon the nature +of his career,--saving, of course, the makeshift of journalism,--it was +not unlikely that he would elect to be a novelist like--well, probably +like Thackeray. + +Hope, always a charming creature, put on her most alluring smiles for +Tig, and he made her his mistress, and feasted on the light of her eyes. +Moreover, he was chaperoned, so to speak, by Nora Finnegan, who listened +to every line Tig wrote, and made a mighty applause, and filled him up +with good Irish stew, many colored as the coat of Joseph, and pungent +with the inimitable perfume of "the rose of the cellar." Nora Finnegan +understood the onion, and used it lovingly. She perceived the difference +between the use and abuse of this pleasant and obvious friend of hungry +man, and employed it with enthusiasm, but discretion. Thus it came +about that whoever ate of her dinners, found the meals of other cooks +strangely lacking in savor, and remembered with regret the soups +and stews, the broiled steaks, and stuffed chickens of the woman who +appreciated the onion. + +When Nora Finnegan came home with a cold one day, she took it in such a +jocular fashion that Tig felt not the least concern about her, and when, +two days later, she died of pneumonia, he almost thought, at first, that +it must be one of her jokes. She had departed with decision, such as had +characterized every act of her life, and had made as little trouble for +others as possible. When she was dead the community had the opportunity +of discovering the number of her friends. Miserable children with faces +which revealed two generations of hunger, homeless boys with vicious +countenances, miserable wrecks of humanity, women with bloated faces, +came to weep over Nora's bier, and to lay a flower there, and to scuttle +away, more abjectly lonely than even sin could make them. If the cats +and the dogs, the sparrows and horses to which she had shown kindness, +could also have attended her funeral, the procession would have been, +from a point of numbers, one of the most imposing the city had ever +known. Tig used up all their savings to bury her, and the next week, by +some peculiar fatality, he had a falling out with the night editor of +his paper, and was discharged. This sank deep into his sensitive +soul, and he swore he would be an underling no longer--which foolish +resolution was directly traceable to his hair, the color of which, it +will be recollected, was red. + +Not being an underling, he was obliged to make himself into something +else, and he recurred passionately to his old idea of becoming a +novelist. He settled down in Nora's basement rooms, went to work on +a battered type-writer, did his own cooking, and occasionally pawned +something to keep him in food. The environment was calculated to further +impress him with the idea of his genius. + +A certain magazine offered an alluring prize for a short story, and Tig +wrote one, and rewrote it, making alterations, revisions, annotations, +and interlineations which would have reflected credit upon Honore; +Balzac himself. Then he wrought all together, with splendid brevity and +dramatic force,--Tig's own words,--and mailed the same. He was convinced +he would get the prize. He was just as much convinced of it as Nora +Finnegan would have been if she had been with him. + +So he went about doing more fiction, taking no especial care of himself, +and wrapt in rosy dreams, which, not being warm enough for the weather, +permitted him to come down with rheumatic fever. + +He lay alone in his room and suffered such torments as the condemned +and rheumatic know, depending on one of Nora's former friends to come in +twice a day and keep up the fire for him. This friend was aged ten, and +looked like a sparrow who had been in a cyclone, but somewhere inside +his bones was a wit which had spelled out devotion. He found fuel for +the cracked stove, somehow or other. He brought it in a dirty sack which +he carried on his back, and he kept warmth in Tig's miserable body. +Moreover, he found food of a sort--cold, horrible bits often, and Tig +wept when he saw them, remembering the meals Nora had served him. + +Tig was getting better, though he was conscious of a weak heart and a +lamenting stomach, when, to his amazement, the Sparrow ceased to visit +him. Not for a moment did Tig suspect desertion. He knew that only +something in the nature of an act of Providence, as the insurance +companies would designate it, could keep the little bundle of bones away +from him. As the days went by, he became convinced of it, for no Sparrow +came, and no coal lay upon the hearth. The basement window fortunately +looked toward the south, and the pale April sunshine was beginning +to make itself felt, so that the temperature of the room was not +unbearable. But Tig languished; sank, sank, day by day, and was kept +alive only by the conviction that the letter announcing the award of the +thousand-dollar prize would presently come to him. One night he reached a +place, where, for hunger and dejection, his mind wandered, and he seemed +to be complaining all night to Nora of his woes. When the chill dawn +came, with chittering of little birds on the dirty pavement, and an +agitation of the scrawny willow "pussies," he was not able to lift his +hand to his head. The window before his sight was but "a glimmering +square." He said to himself that the end must be at hand. Yet it was +cruel, cruel, with fame and fortune so near! If only he had some food, +he might summon strength to rally--just for a little while! Impossible +that he should die! And yet without food there was no choice. + +Dreaming so of Nora's dinners, thinking how one spoonful of a stew such +as she often compounded would now be his salvation, he became conscious +of the presence of a strong perfume in the room. It was so familiar +that it seemed like a sub-consciousness, yet he found no name for this +friendly odor for a bewildered minute or two. Little by little, however, +it grew upon him, that it was the onion--that fragrant and kindly bulb +which had attained its apotheosis in the cuisine of Nora Finnegan of +sacred memory. He opened his languid eyes, to see if, mayhap, the plant +had not attained some more palpable materialization. + +Behold, it was so! Before him, in a brown earthen dish,--a most familiar +dish,--was an onion, pearly white, in placid seas of gravy, smoking and +delectable. With unexpected strength he raised himself, and reached for +the dish, which floated before him in a halo made by its own steam. It +moved toward him, offered a spoon to his hand, and as he ate he heard +about the room the rustle of Nora Finnegan's starched skirts, and now +and then a faint, faint echo of her old-time laugh--such an echo as one +may find of the sea in the heart of a shell. + +The noble bulb disappeared little by little before his voracity, and in +contentment greater than virtue can give, he sank back upon his pillow +and slept. + +Two hours later the postman knocked at the door, and receiving no +answer, forced his way in. Tig, half awake, saw him enter with no +surprise. He felt no surprise when he put a letter in his hand bearing +the name of the magazine to which he had sent his short story. He was +not even surprised, when, tearing it open with suddenly alert hands, he +found within the check for the first prize--the check he had expected. + +All that day, as the April sunlight spread itself upon his floor, he +felt his strength grow. Late in the afternoon the Sparrow came back, +paler, and more bony than ever, and sank, breathing hard, upon the +floor, with his sack of coal. + +"I've been sick," he said, trying to smile. "Terrible sick, but I come +as soon as I could." + +"Build up the fire," cried Tig, in a voice so strong it made the Sparrow +start as if a stone had struck him. "Build up the fire, and forget you +are sick. For, by the shade of Nora Finnegan, you shall be hungry no +more!" + + + + + +FROM THE LOOM OF THE DEAD + + +WHEN Urda Bjarnason tells a tale all the men stop their talking to +listen, for they know her to be wise with the wisdom of the old people, +and that she has more learning than can be got even from the great +schools at Reykjavik. She is especially prized by them here in this +new country where the Icelandmen are settled--this America, so new in +letters, where the people speak foolishly and write unthinking books. +So the men who know that it is given to the mothers of earth to be +very wise, stop their six part singing, or their jangles about the +free-thinkers, and give attentive ear when Urda Bjarnason lights her +pipe and begins her tale. + +She is very old. Her daughters and sons are all dead, but her +granddaughter, who is most respectable, and the cousin of a physician, +says that Urda is twenty-four and a hundred, and there are others who +say that she is older still. She watches all that the Iceland people do +in the new land; she knows about the building of the five villages on +the North Dakota plain, and of the founding of the churches and the +schools, and the tilling of the wheat farms. She notes with suspicion +the actions of the women who bring home webs of cloth from the store, +instead of spinning them as their mothers did before them; and she +shakes her head at the wives who run to the village grocery store every +fortnight, imitating the wasteful American women, who throw butter in +the fire faster than it can be turned from the churn. + +She watches yet other things. All winter long the white snows reach +across the gently rolling plains as far as the eye can behold. In the +morning she sees them tinted pink at the east; at noon she notes +golden lights flashing across them; when the sky is gray--which is not +often--she notes that they grow as ashen as a face with the death shadow +on it. Sometimes they glitter with silver-like tips of ocean waves. But +at these things she looks only casually. It is when the blue shadows +dance on the snow that she leaves her corner behind the iron stove, and +stands before the window, resting her two hands on the stout bar of her +cane, and gazing out across the waste with eyes which age has restored +after four decades of decrepitude. + +The young Icelandmen say: + +"Mother, it is the clouds hurrying across the sky that make the dance of +the shadows." + +"There are no clouds," she replies, and points to the jewel-like blue of +the arching sky. + +"It is the drifting air," explains Fridrik Halldersson, he who has +been in the Northern seas. "As the wind buffets the air, it looks blue +against the white of the snow. 'Tis the air that makes the dancing +shadows." + +But Urda shakes her head, and points with her dried finger, and +those who stand beside her see figures moving, and airy shapes, and +contortions of strange things, such as are seen in a beryl stone. + +"But Urda Bjarnason," says Ingeborg Christianson, the pert young wife +with the blue-eyed twins, "why is it we see these things only when we +stand beside you and you help us to the sight?" + +"Because," says the mother, with a steel-blue flash of her old eyes, +"having eyes ye will not see!" Then the men laugh. They like to hear +Ingeborg worsted. For did she not jilt two men from Gardar, and one from +Mountain, and another from Winnipeg? + +Not even Ingeborg can deny that Mother Urda tells true things. + +"To-day," says Urda, standing by the little window and watching the +dance of the shadows, "a child breathed thrice on a farm at the West, +and then it died." + +The next week at the church gathering, when all the sledges stopped +at the house of Urda's granddaughter, they said it was so--that John +Christianson's wife Margaret never heard the voice of her son, but that +he breathed thrice in his nurse's arms and died. + +"Three sledges run over the snow toward Milton," says Urda; "all are +laden with wheat, and in one is a stranger. He has with him a strange +engine, but its purpose I do not know." + +Six hours later the drivers of three empty sledges stop at the house. + +"We have been to Milton with wheat," they say, "and Christian Johnson +here, carried a photographer from St. Paul." + +Now it stands to reason that the farmers like to amuse themselves +through the silent and white winters. And they prefer above all things +to talk or to listen, as has been the fashion of their race for a +thousand years. Among all the story-tellers there is none like Urda, for +she is the daughter and the granddaughter and the great-granddaughter +of storytellers. It is given to her to talk, as it is given to John +Thorlaksson to sing--he who sings so as his sledge flies over the snow +at night, that the people come out in the bitter air from their doors to +listen, and the dogs put up their noses and howl, not liking music. + +In the little cabin of Peter Christianson, the husband of Urda's +granddaughter, it sometimes happens that twenty men will gather about +the stove. They hang their bear-skin coats on the wall, put their fur +gauntlets underneath the stove, where they will keep warm, and then +stretch their stout, felt-covered legs to the wood fire. The room is +fetid; the coffee steams eternally on the stove; and from her chair in +the warmest corner Urda speaks out to the listening men, who shake their +heads with joy as they hear the pure old Icelandic flow in sweet rhythm +from between her lips. Among the many, many tales she tells is that of +the dead weaver, and she tells it in the simplest language in all +the world--language so simple that even great scholars could find no +simpler, and the children crawling on the floor can understand. + +"Jon and Loa lived with their father and mother far to the north of the +Island of Fire, and when the children looked from their windows they saw +only wild scaurs and jagged lava rocks, and a distant, deep gleam of the +sea. They caught the shine of the sea through an eye-shaped opening in +the rocks, and all the long night of winter it gleamed up at them, like +the eye of a dead witch. But when it sparkled and began to laugh, the +children danced about the hut and sang, for they knew the bright summer +time was at hand. Then their father fished, and their mother was gay. +But it is true that even in the winter and the darkness they were happy, +for they made fishing nets and baskets and cloth together,--Jon and Loa +and their father and mother,--and the children were taught to read in +the books, and were told the sagas, and given instruction in the part +singing. + +"They did not know there was such a thing as sorrow in the world, for no +one had ever mentioned it to them. But one day their mother died. Then +they had to learn how to keep the fire on the hearth, and to smoke the +fish, and make the black coffee. And also they had to learn how to live +when there is sorrow at the heart. + +"They wept together at night for lack of their mother's kisses, and in +the morning they were loath to rise because they could not see her face. +The dead cold eye of the sea watching them from among the lava rocks +made them afraid, so they hung a shawl over the window to keep it out. +And the house, try as they would, did not look clean and cheerful as it +had used to do when their mother sang and worked about it. + +"One day, when a mist rested over the eye of the sea, like that which +one beholds on the eyes of the blind, a greater sorrow came to them, for +a stepmother crossed the threshold. She looked at Jon and Loa, and made +complaint to their father that they were still very small and not likely +to be of much use. After that they had to rise earlier than ever, and to +work as only those who have their growth should work, till their hearts +cracked for weariness and shame. They had not much to eat, for their +stepmother said she would trust to the gratitude of no other woman's +child, and that she believed in laying up against old age. So she put +the few coins that came to the house in a strong box, and bought little +food. Neither did she buy the children clothes, though those which their +dear mother had made for them were so worn that the warp stood apart +from the woof, and there were holes at the elbows and little warmth to +be found in them anywhere. + +"Moreover, the quilts on their beds were too short for their growing +length, so that at night either their purple feet or their thin +shoulders were uncovered, and they wept for the cold, and in the +morning, when they crept into the larger room to build the fire, they +were so stiff they could not stand straight, and there was pain at their +joints. + +"The wife scolded all the time, and her brow was like a storm sweeping +down from the Northwest. There was no peace to be had in the house. +The children might not repeat to each other the sagas their mother had +taught them, nor try their part singing, nor make little doll cradles of +rushes. Always they had to work, always they were scolded, always their +clothes grew thinner. + +"'Stepmother,' cried Loa one day,--she whom her mother had called the +little bird,--'we are a-cold because of our rags. Our mother would have +woven blue cloth for us and made it into garments.' + +"'Your mother is where she will weave no cloth!' said the stepmother, +and she laughed many times. + +"All in the cold and still of that night, the stepmother wakened, and +she knew not why. She sat up in her bed, and knew not why. She knew not +why, and she looked into the room, and there, by the light of a burning +fish's tail--'twas such a light the folk used in those days--was a +woman, weaving. She had no loom, and shuttle she had none. All with +her hands she wove a wondrous cloth. Stooping and bending, rising and +swaying with motions beautiful as those the Northern Lights make in a +midwinter sky, she wove a cloth. The warp was blue and mystical to see, +the woof was white, and shone with its whiteness, so that of all the +webs the stepmother had ever seen, she had seen none like to this. + +"Yet the sight delighted her not, for beyond the drifting web, and +beyond the weaver she saw the room and furniture--aye, saw them through +the body of the weaver and the drifting of the cloth. Then she knew--as +the haunted are made to know--that 'twas the mother of the children come +to show her she could still weave cloth. The heart of the stepmother was +cold as ice, yet she could not move to waken her husband at her side, +for her hands were as fixed as if they were crossed on her dead breast. +The voice in her was silent, and her tongue stood to the roof of her +mouth. + +"After a time the wraith of the dead mother moved toward her--the wraith +of the weaver moved her way--and round and about her body was wound the +shining cloth. Wherever it touched the body of the stepmother, it was as +hateful to her as the touch of a monster out of sea-slime, so that her +flesh crept away from it, and her senses swooned. + +"In the early morning she awoke to the voices of the children, +whispering in the inner room as they dressed with half-frozen fingers. +Still about her was the hateful, beautiful web, filling her soul with +loathing and with fear. She thought she saw the task set for her, and +when the children crept in to light the fire--very purple and thin were +their little bodies, and the rags hung from them--she arose and held out +the shining cloth, and cried: + +"'Here is the web your mother wove for you. I will make it into +garments!' But even as she spoke the cloth faded and fell into +nothingness, and the children cried: + +"'Stepmother, you have the fever!' + +"And then: + +"'Stepmother, what makes the strange light in the room?' + +"That day the stepmother was too weak to rise from her bed, and the +children thought she must be going to die, for she did not scold as they +cleared the house and braided their baskets, and she did not frown at +them, but looked at them with wistful eyes. + +"By fall of night she was as weary as if she had wept all the day, and +so she slept. But again she was awakened and knew not why. And again +she sat up in her bed and knew not why. And again, not knowing why, she +looked and saw a woman weaving cloth. All that had happened the night +before happened this night. Then, when the morning came, and the +children crept in shivering from their beds, she arose and dressed +herself, and from her strong box she took coins, and bade her husband go +with her to the town. + +"So that night a web of cloth, woven by one of the best weavers in all +Iceland, was in the house; and on the beds of the children were blankets +of lamb's wool, soft to the touch and fair to the eye. After that the +children slept warm and were at peace; for now, when they told the sagas +their mother had taught them, or tried their part songs as they sat +together on their bench, the stepmother was silent. For she feared +to chide, lest she should wake at night, not knowing why, and see the +mother's wraith." + + + + +A GRAMMATICAL GHOST + + +THERE was only one possible objection to the drawing-room, and that was +the occasional presence of Miss Carew; and only one possible objection +to Miss Carew. And that was, that she was dead. + +She had been dead twenty years, as a matter of fact and record, and to +the last of her life sacredly preserved the treasures and traditions of +her family, a family bound up--as it is quite unnecessary to explain to +any one in good society--with all that is most venerable and heroic in +the history of the Republic. Miss Carew never relaxed the +proverbial hospitality of her house, even when she remained its sole +representative. She continued to preside at her table with dignity and +state, and to set an example of excessive modesty and gentle decorum to +a generation of restless young women. + +It is not likely that having lived a life of such irreproachable +gentility as this, Miss Carew would have the bad taste to die in any way +not pleasant to mention in fastidious society. She could be trusted to +the last, not to outrage those friends who quoted her as an exemplar of +propriety. She died very unobtrusively of an affection of the heart, one +June morning, while trimming her rose trellis, and her lavender-colored +print was not even rumpled when she fell, nor were more than the tips of +her little bronze slippers visible. + +"Isn't it dreadful," said the Philadelphians, "that the property should +go to a very, very distant cousin in Iowa or somewhere else on the +frontier, about whom nobody knows anything at all?" + +The Carew treasures were packed in boxes and sent away into the Iowa +wilderness; the Carew traditions were preserved by the Historical +Society; the Carew property, standing in one of the most umbrageous +and aristocratic suburbs of Philadelphia, was rented to all manner +of folk--anybody who had money enough to pay the rental--and society +entered its doors no more. + +But at last, after twenty years, and when all save the oldest +Philadelphians had forgotten Miss Lydia Carew, the very, very distant +cousin appeared. He was quite in the prime of life, and so agreeable and +unassuming that nothing could be urged against him save his patronymic, +which, being Boggs, did not commend itself to the euphemists. With him +were two maiden sisters, ladies of excellent taste and manners, who +restored the Carew china to its ancient cabinets, and replaced the Carew +pictures upon the walls, with additions not out of keeping with +the elegance of these heirlooms. Society, with a magnanimity almost +dramatic, overlooked the name of Boggs--and called. + +All was well. At least, to an outsider all seemed to be well. But, +in truth, there was a certain distress in the old mansion, and in +the hearts of the well-behaved Misses Boggs. It came about most +unexpectedly. The sisters had been sitting upstairs, looking out at the +beautiful grounds of the old place, and marvelling at the violets, +which lifted their heads from every possible cranny about the house, and +talking over the cordiality which they had been receiving by those upon +whom they had no claim, and they were filled with amiable satisfaction. +Life looked attractive. They had often been grateful to Miss Lydia Carew +for leaving their brother her fortune. Now they felt even more grateful +to her. She had left them a Social Position--one, which even after +twenty years of desuetude, was fit for use. + +They descended the stairs together, with arms clasped about each other's +waists, and as they did so presented a placid and pleasing sight. They +entered their drawing-room with the intention of brewing a cup of tea, +and drinking it in calm sociability in the twilight. But as they entered +the room they became aware of the presence of a lady, who was already +seated at their tea-table, regarding their old Wedgewood with the air of +a connoisseur. + +There were a number of peculiarities about this intruder. To begin with, +she was hatless, quite as if she were a habitue; of the house, and +was costumed in a prim lilac-colored lawn of the style of two decades +past. But a greater peculiarity was the resemblance this lady bore to a +faded daguerrotype. If looked at one way, she was perfectly discernible; +if looked at another, she went out in a sort of blur. Notwithstanding +this comparative invisibility, she exhaled a delicate perfume of sweet +lavender, very pleasing to the nostrils of the Misses Boggs, who stood +looking at her in gentle and unprotesting surprise. + +"I beg your pardon," began Miss Prudence, the younger of the Misses +Boggs, "but--" + +But at this moment the Daguerrotype became a blur, and Miss Prudence +found herself addressing space. The Misses Boggs were irritated. They +had never encountered any mysteries in Iowa. They began an impatient +search behind doors and portieres, and even under sofas, though +it was quite absurd to suppose that a lady recognizing the merits of the +Carew Wedgewood would so far forget herself as to crawl under a sofa. + +When they had given up all hope of discovering the intruder, they saw +her standing at the far end of the drawing-room critically examining a +water-color marine. The elder Miss Boggs started toward her with stern +decision, but the little Daguerrotype turned with a shadowy smile, +became a blur and an imperceptibility. + +Miss Boggs looked at Miss Prudence Boggs. + +"If there were ghosts," she said, "this would be one." + +"If there were ghosts," said Miss Prudence Boggs, "this would be the +ghost of Lydia Carew." + +The twilight was settling into blackness, and Miss Boggs nervously lit +the gas while Miss Prudence ran for other tea-cups, preferring, for +reasons superfluous to mention, not to drink out of the Carew china that +evening. + +The next day, on taking up her embroidery frame, Miss Boggs found a +number of oldfashioned cross-stitches added to her Kensington. Prudence, +she knew, would never have degraded herself by taking a cross-stitch, +and the parlor-maid was above taking such a liberty. Miss Boggs +mentioned the incident that night at a dinner given by an ancient friend +of the Carews. + +"Oh, that's the work of Lydia Carew, without a doubt!" cried the +hostess. "She visits every new family that moves to the house, but she +never remains more than a week or two with any one." + +"It must be that she disapproves of them," suggested Miss Boggs. + +"I think that's it," said the hostess. "She doesn't like their china, or +their fiction." + +"I hope she'll disapprove of us," added Miss Prudence. + +The hostess belonged to a very old Philadelphian family, and she shook +her head. + +"I should say it was a compliment for even the ghost of Miss Lydia Carew +to approve of one," she said severely. + +The next morning, when the sisters entered their drawing-room there were +numerous evidences of an occupant during their absence. The sofa pillows +had been rearranged so that the effect of their grouping was less +bizarre than that favored by the Western women; a horrid little Buddhist +idol with its eyes fixed on its abdomen, had been chastely hidden behind +a Dresden shepherdess, as unfit for the scrutiny of polite eyes; and +on the table where Miss Prudence did work in water colors, after the +fashion of the impressionists, lay a prim and impossible composition +representing a moss-rose and a number of heartsease, colored with that +caution which modest spinster artists instinctively exercise. + +"Oh, there's no doubt it's the work of Miss Lydia Carew," said Miss +Prudence, contemptuously. "There's no mistaking the drawing of that +rigid little rose. Don't you remember those wreaths and bouquets framed, +among the pictures we got when the Carew pictures were sent to us? I +gave some of them to an orphan asylum and burned up the rest." + +"Hush!" cried Miss Boggs, involuntarily. "If she heard you, it would +hurt her feelings terribly. Of course, I mean--" and she blushed. "It +might hurt her feelings--but how perfectly ridiculous! It's impossible!" + +Miss Prudence held up the sketch of the moss-rose. + +"THAT may be impossible in an artistic sense, but it is a palpable +thing." + +"Bosh!" cried Miss Boggs. + +"But," protested Miss Prudence, "how do you explain it?" + +"I don't," said Miss Boggs, and left the room. + +That evening the sisters made a point of being in the drawing-room +before the dusk came on, and of lighting the gas at the first hint of +twilight. They didn't believe in Miss Lydia Carew--but still they meant +to be beforehand with her. They talked with unwonted vivacity and in +a louder tone than was their custom. But as they drank their tea even +their utmost verbosity could not make them oblivious to the fact that +the perfume of sweet lavender was stealing insidiously through the room. +They tacitly refused to recognize this odor and all that it indicated, +when suddenly, with a sharp crash, one of the old Carew tea-cups +fell from the tea-table to the floor and was broken. The disaster was +followed by what sounded like a sigh of pain and dismay. + +"I didn't suppose Miss Lydia Carew would ever be as awkward as that," +cried the younger Miss Boggs, petulantly. + +"Prudence," said her sister with a stern accent, "please try not to be a +fool. You brushed the cup off with the sleeve of your dress." + +"Your theory wouldn't be so bad," said Miss Prudence, half laughing and +half crying, "if there were any sleeves to my dress, but, as you see, +there aren't," and then Miss Prudence had something as near hysterics as +a healthy young woman from the West can have. + +"I wouldn't think such a perfect lady as Lydia Carew," she ejaculated +between her sobs, "would make herself so disagreeable! You may +talk about good-breeding all you please, but I call such intrusion +exceedingly bad taste. I have a horrible idea that she likes us and +means to stay with us. She left those other people because she did not +approve of their habits or their grammar. It would be just our luck to +please her." + +"Well, I like your egotism," said Miss Boggs. + +However, the view Miss Prudence took of the case appeared to be the +right one. Time went by and Miss Lydia Carew still remained. When the +ladies entered their drawing-room they would see the little lady-like +Daguerrotype revolving itself into a blur before one of the family +portraits. Or they noticed that the yellow sofa cushion, toward which +she appeared to feel a peculiar antipathy, had been dropped behind the +sofa upon the floor, or that one of Jane Austen's novels, which none of +the family ever read, had been removed from the book shelves and left +open upon the table. + +"I cannot become reconciled to it," complained Miss Boggs to Miss +Prudence. "I wish we had remained in Iowa where we belong. Of course I +don't believe in the thing! No sensible person would. But still I cannot +become reconciled." + +But their liberation was to come, and in a most unexpected manner. + +A relative by marriage visited them from the West. He was a friendly +man and had much to say, so he talked all through dinner, and afterward +followed the ladies to the drawing-room to finish his gossip. The gas in +the room was turned very low, and as they entered Miss Prudence caught +sight of Miss Carew, in company attire, sitting in upright propriety in +a stiff-backed chair at the extremity of the apartment. + +Miss Prudence had a sudden idea. + +"We will not turn up the gas," she said, with an emphasis intended to +convey private information to her sister. "It will be more agreeable to +sit here and talk in this soft light." + +Neither her brother nor the man from the West made any objection. Miss +Boggs and Miss Prudence, clasping each other's hands, divided their +attention between their corporeal and their incorporeal guests. Miss +Boggs was confident that her sister had an idea, and was willing to +await its development. As the guest from Iowa spoke, Miss Carew bent a +politely attentive ear to what he said. + +"Ever since Richards took sick that time," he said briskly, "it seemed +like he shed all responsibility." (The Misses Boggs saw the Daguerrotype +put up her shadowy head with a movement of doubt and apprehension.) "The +fact of the matter was, Richards didn't seem to scarcely get on the way +he might have been expected to." (At this conscienceless split to the +infinitive and misplacing of the preposition, Miss Carew arose trembling +perceptibly.) "I saw it wasn't no use for him to count on a quick +recovery--" + +The Misses Boggs lost the rest of the sentence, for at the utterance of +the double negative Miss Lydia Carew had flashed out, not in a blur, but +with mortal haste, as when life goes out at a pistol shot! + +The man from the West wondered why Miss Prudence should have cried at so +pathetic a part of his story: + +"Thank Goodness!" + +And their brother was amazed to see Miss Boggs kiss Miss Prudence with +passion and energy. + +It was the end. Miss Carew returned no more. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Shape of Fear, by Elia W. Peattie + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SHAPE OF FEAR *** + +***** This file should be named 1876.txt or 1876.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/7/1876/ + +Produced by Judy Boss + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions 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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/1876.zip b/1876.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ffe1f36 --- /dev/null +++ b/1876.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..171810b --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #1876 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1876) diff --git a/old/1876-h.htm.2021-01-27 b/old/1876-h.htm.2021-01-27 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..486cd09 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1876-h.htm.2021-01-27 @@ -0,0 +1,3505 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!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" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Shape of Fear, by Elia Wilkinson Peattie + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Shape of Fear, by Elia W. Peattie + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Shape of Fear + +Author: Elia W. Peattie + +Release Date: November 20, 2008 [EBook #1876] +Last Updated: March 10, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SHAPE OF FEAR *** + + + + +Produced by Judy Boss, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE SHAPE OF FEAR + </h1> + <h2> + AND OTHER GHOSTLY TALES + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Elia Wilkinson Peattie + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="mynote"> + <p> + Original Transcriber's Note: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I have omitted signature indicators and italicization of the + running heads. In addition, I have made the following changes + to the text: + + PAGE LINE ORIGINAL CHANGED TO + 156 1 where as were as + 156 4 mouth mouth. + 165 5 Wedgwood Wedgewood + 166 9 Wedgwood Wedgewood + 167 6 surperfluous superfluous + 172 11 every ever + 173 17 Bogg Boggs +</pre> + </div> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkfear"> THE SHAPE OF FEAR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> ON THE NORTHERN ICE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> THEIR DEAR LITTLE GHOST </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> A SPECTRAL COLLIE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE HOUSE THAT WAS NOT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> STORY OF AN OBSTINATE CORPSE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> A CHILD OF THE RAIN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> THE ROOM OF THE EVIL THOUGHT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> STORY OF THE VANISHING PATIENT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> THE PIANO NEXT DOOR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> AN ASTRAL ONION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> FROM THE LOOM OF THE DEAD </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> A GRAMMATICAL GHOST </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><a name="linkfear" id="linkfear"></a> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + THE SHAPE OF FEAR + </h2> + <p> + TIM O'CONNOR—who was descended from the O'Conors with one N—— + started life as a poet and an enthusiast. His mother had designed him for + the priesthood, and at the age of fifteen, most of his verses had an + ecclesiastical tinge, but, somehow or other, he got into the newspaper + business instead, and became a pessimistic gentleman, with a literary + style of great beauty and an income of modest proportions. He fell in with + men who talked of art for art's sake,—though what right they had to + speak of art at all nobody knew,—and little by little his view of + life and love became more or less profane. He met a woman who sucked his + heart's blood, and he knew it and made no protest; nay, to the great + amusement of the fellows who talked of art for art's sake, he went the + length of marrying her. He could not in decency explain that he had the + traditions of fine gentlemen behind him and so had to do as he did, + because his friends might not have understood. He laughed at the days when + he had thought of the priesthood, blushed when he ran across any of those + tender and exquisite old verses he had written in his youth, and became + addicted to absinthe and other less peculiar drinks, and to gaming a + little to escape a madness of ennui. + </p> + <p> + As the years went by he avoided, with more and more scorn, that part of + the world which he denominated Philistine, and consorted only with the + fellows who flocked about Jim O'Malley's saloon. He was pleased with + solitude, or with these convivial wits, and with not very much else + beside. Jim O'Malley was a sort of Irish poem, set to inspiring measure. + He was, in fact, a Hibernian Mæcenas, who knew better than to put bad + whiskey before a man of talent, or tell a trite tale in the presence of a + wit. The recountal of his disquisitions on politics and other current + matters had enabled no less than three men to acquire national + reputations; and a number of wretches, having gone the way of men who talk + of art for art's sake, and dying in foreign lands, or hospitals, or + asylums, having no one else to be homesick for, had been homesick for Jim + O'Malley, and wept for the sound of his voice and the grasp of his hearty + hand. + </p> + <p> + When Tim O'Connor turned his back upon most of the things he was born to + and took up with the life which he consistently lived till the unspeakable + end, he was unable to get rid of certain peculiarities. For example, in + spite of all his debauchery, he continued to look like the Beloved + Apostle. Notwithstanding abject friendships he wrote limpid and noble + English. Purity seemed to dog his heels, no matter how violently he + attempted to escape from her. He was never so drunk that he was not an + exquisite, and even his creditors, who had become inured to his + deceptions, confessed it was a privilege to meet so perfect a gentleman. + The creature who held him in bondage, body and soul, actually came to love + him for his gentleness, and for some quality which baffled her, and made + her ache with a strange longing which she could not define. Not that she + ever defined anything, poor little beast! She had skin the color of pale + gold, and yellow eyes with brown lights in them, and great plaits of + straw-colored hair. About her lips was a fatal and sensuous smile, which, + when it got hold of a man's imagination, would not let it go, but held to + it, and mocked it till the day of his death. She was the incarnation of + the Eternal Feminine, with all the wifeliness and the maternity left out—she + was ancient, yet ever young, and familiar as joy or tears or sin. + </p> + <p> + She took good care of Tim in some ways: fed him well, nursed him back to + reason after a period of hard drinking, saw that he put on overshoes when + the walks were wet, and looked after his money. She even prized his brain, + for she discovered that it was a delicate little machine which produced + gold. By association with him and his friends, she learned that a number + of apparently useless things had value in the eyes of certain convenient + fools, and so she treasured the autographs of distinguished persons who + wrote to him—autographs which he disdainfully tossed in the waste + basket. She was careful with presentation copies from authors, and she + went the length of urging Tim to write a book himself. But at that he + balked. + </p> + <p> + “Write a book!” he cried to her, his gentle face suddenly white with + passion. “Who am I to commit such a profanation?” + </p> + <p> + She didn't know what he meant, but she had a theory that it was dangerous + to excite him, and so she sat up till midnight to cook a chop for him when + he came home that night. + </p> + <p> + He preferred to have her sitting up for him, and he wanted every electric + light in their apartments turned to the full. If, by any chance, they + returned together to a dark house, he would not enter till she touched the + button in the hall, and illuminated the room. Or if it so happened that + the lights were turned off in the night time, and he awoke to find himself + in darkness, he shrieked till the woman came running to his relief, and, + with derisive laughter, turned them on again. But when she found that + after these frights he lay trembling and white in his bed, she began to be + alarmed for the clever, gold-making little machine, and to renew her + assiduities, and to horde more tenaciously than ever, those valuable + curios on which she some day expected to realize when he was out of the + way, and no longer in a position to object to their barter. + </p> + <p> + O'Connor's idiosyncrasy of fear was a source of much amusement among the + boys at the office where he worked. They made open sport of it, and yet, + recognizing him for a sensitive plant, and granting that genius was + entitled to whimsicalities, it was their custom when they called for him + after work hours, to permit him to reach the lighted corridor before they + turned out the gas over his desk. This, they reasoned, was but a slight + service to perform for the most enchanting beggar in the world. + </p> + <p> + “Dear fellow,” said Rick Dodson, who loved him, “is it the Devil you + expect to see? And if so, why are you averse? Surely the Devil is not such + a bad old chap.” + </p> + <p> + “You haven't found him so?” + </p> + <p> + “Tim, by heaven, you know, you ought to explain to me. A citizen of the + world and a student of its purlieus, like myself, ought to know what there + is to know! Now you're a man of sense, in spite of a few bad habits—such + as myself, for example. Is this fad of yours madness?—which would be + quite to your credit,—for gadzooks, I like a lunatic! Or is it the + complaint of a man who has gathered too much data on the subject of Old + Rye? Or is it, as I suspect, something more occult, and therefore more + interesting?” + </p> + <p> + “Rick, boy,” said Tim, “you're too—inquiring!” And he turned to his + desk with a look of delicate hauteur. + </p> + <p> + It was the very next night that these two tippling pessimists spent + together talking about certain disgruntled but immortal gentlemen, who, + having said their say and made the world quite uncomfortable, had now + journeyed on to inquire into the nothingness which they postulated. The + dawn was breaking in the muggy east; the bottles were empty, the cigars + burnt out. Tim turned toward his friend with a sharp breaking of sociable + silence. + </p> + <p> + “Rick,” he said, “do you know that Fear has a Shape?” + </p> + <p> + “And so has my nose!” + </p> + <p> + “You asked me the other night what I feared. Holy father, I make my + confession to you. What I fear is Fear.” + </p> + <p> + “That's because you've drunk too much—or not enough. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'Come, fill the cup, and in the fire of Spring + Your winter garment of repentance fling—'” + </pre> + <p> + “My costume then would be too nebulous for this weather, dear boy. But + it's true what I was saying. I am afraid of ghosts.” + </p> + <p> + “For an agnostic that seems a bit—” + </p> + <p> + “Agnostic! Yes, so completely an agnostic that I do not even know that I + do not know! God, man, do you mean you have no ghosts—no—no + things which shape themselves? Why, there are things I have done—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't think of them, my boy! See, 'night's candles are burnt out, and + jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain top.'” + </p> + <p> + Tim looked about him with a sickly smile. He looked behind him and there + was nothing there; stared at the blank window, where the smoky dawn showed + its offensive face, and there was nothing there. He pushed away the moist + hair from his haggard face—that face which would look like the + blessed St. John, and leaned heavily back in his chair. + </p> + <p> + “'Yon light is not daylight, I know it, I,'” he murmured drowsily, “'it is + some meteor which the sun exhales, to be to thee this night—'” + </p> + <p> + The words floated off in languid nothingness, and he slept. Dodson arose + preparatory to stretching himself on his couch. But first he bent over his + friend with a sense of tragic appreciation. + </p> + <p> + “Damned by the skin of his teeth!” he muttered. “A little more, and he + would have gone right, and the Devil would have lost a good fellow. As it + is”—he smiled with his usual conceited delight in his own sayings, + even when they were uttered in soliloquy—“he is merely one of those + splendid gentlemen one will meet with in hell.” Then Dodson had a + momentary nostalgia for goodness himself, but he soon overcame it, and + stretching himself on his sofa, he, too, slept. + </p> + <p> + That night he and O'Connor went together to hear “Faust” sung, and + returning to the office, Dodson prepared to write his criticism. Except + for the distant clatter of telegraph instruments, or the peremptory cries + of “copy” from an upper room, the office was still. Dodson wrote and + smoked his interminable cigarettes; O' Connor rested his head in his hands + on the desk, and sat in perfect silence. He did not know when Dodson + finished, or when, arising, and absent-mindedly extinguishing the lights, + he moved to the door with his copy in his hands. Dodson gathered up the + hats and coats as he passed them where they lay on a chair, and called: + </p> + <p> + “It is done, Tim. Come, let's get out of this.” + </p> + <p> + There was no answer, and he thought Tim was following, but after he had + handed his criticism to the city editor, he saw he was still alone, and + returned to the room for his friend. He advanced no further than the + doorway, for, as he stood in the dusky corridor and looked within the + darkened room, he saw before his friend a Shape, white, of perfect + loveliness, divinely delicate and pure and ethereal, which seemed as the + embodiment of all goodness. From it came a soft radiance and a perfume + softer than the wind when “it breathes upon a bank of violets stealing and + giving odor.” Staring at it, with eyes immovable, sat his friend. + </p> + <p> + It was strange that at sight of a thing so unspeakably fair, a coldness + like that which comes from the jewel-blue lips of a Muir crevasse should + have fallen upon Dodson, or that it was only by summoning all the manhood + that was left in him, that he was able to restore light to the room, and + to rush to his friend. When he reached poor Tim he was stone-still with + paralysis. They took him home to the woman, who nursed him out of that + attack—and later on worried him into another. + </p> + <p> + When he was able to sit up and jeer at things a little again, and help + himself to the quail the woman broiled for him, Dodson, sitting beside + him, said: + </p> + <p> + “Did you call that little exhibition of yours legerdemain, Tim, you sweep? + Or are you really the Devil's bairn?” + </p> + <p> + “It was the Shape of Fear,” said Tim, quite seriously. + </p> + <p> + “But it seemed mild as mother's milk.” + </p> + <p> + “It was compounded of the good I might have done. It is that which I + fear.” + </p> + <p> + He would explain no more. Later—many months later—he died + patiently and sweetly in the madhouse, praying for rest. The little beast + with the yellow eyes had high mass celebrated for him, which, all things + considered, was almost as pathetic as it was amusing. + </p> + <p> + Dodson was in Vienna when he heard of it. + </p> + <p> + “Sa, sa!” cried he. “I wish it wasn't so dark in the tomb! What do you + suppose Tim is looking at?” + </p> + <p> + As for Jim O'Malley, he was with difficulty kept from illuminating the + grave with electricity. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON THE NORTHERN ICE + </h2> + <p> + THE winter nights up at Sault Ste. Marie are as white and luminous as the + Milky Way. The silence which rests upon the solitude appears to be white + also. Even sound has been included in Nature's arrestment, for, indeed, + save the still white frost, all things seem to be obliterated. The stars + have a poignant brightness, but they belong to heaven and not to earth, + and between their immeasurable height and the still ice rolls the ebon + ether in vast, liquid billows. + </p> + <p> + In such a place it is difficult to believe that the world is actually + peopled. It seems as if it might be the dark of the day after Cain killed + Abel, and as if all of humanity's remainder was huddled in affright away + from the awful spaciousness of Creation. + </p> + <p> + The night Ralph Hagadorn started out for Echo Bay—bent on a pleasant + duty—he laughed to himself, and said that he did not at all object + to being the only man in the world, so long as the world remained as + unspeakably beautiful as it was when he buckled on his skates and shot + away into the solitude. He was bent on reaching his best friend in time to + act as groomsman, and business had delayed him till time was at its + briefest. So he journeyed by night and journeyed alone, and when the tang + of the frost got at his blood, he felt as a spirited horse feels when it + gets free of bit and bridle. The ice was as glass, his skates were keen, + his frame fit, and his venture to his taste! So he laughed, and cut + through the air as a sharp stone cleaves the water. He could hear the + whistling of the air as he cleft it. + </p> + <p> + As he went on and on in the black stillness, he began to have fancies. He + imagined himself enormously tall—a great Viking of the Northland, + hastening over icy fiords to his love. And that reminded him that he had a + love—though, indeed, that thought was always present with him as a + background for other thoughts. To be sure, he had not told her that she + was his love, for he had seen her only a few times, and the auspicious + occasion had not yet presented itself. She lived at Echo Bay also, and was + to be the maid of honor to his friend's bride—which was one more + reason why he skated almost as swiftly as the wind, and why, now and then, + he let out a shout of exultation. + </p> + <p> + The one cloud that crossed Hagadorn's sun of expectancy was the knowledge + that Marie Beaujeu's father had money, and that Marie lived in a house + with two stories to it, and wore otter skin about her throat and little + satin-lined mink boots on her feet when she went sledding. Moreover, in + the locket in which she treasured a bit of her dead mother's hair, there + was a black pearl as big as a pea. These things made it difficult—perhaps + impossible—for Ralph Hagadorn to say more than, “I love you.” But + that much he meant to say though he were scourged with chagrin for his + temerity. + </p> + <p> + This determination grew upon him as he swept along the ice under the + starlight. Venus made a glowing path toward the west and seemed eager to + reassure him. He was sorry he could not skim down that avenue of light + which flowed from the love-star, but he was forced to turn his back upon + it and face the black northeast. + </p> + <p> + It came to him with a shock that he was not alone. His eyelashes were + frosted and his eyeballs blurred with the cold, so at first he thought it + might be an illusion. But when he had rubbed his eyes hard, he made sure + that not very far in front of him was a long white skater in fluttering + garments who sped over the ice as fast as ever werewolf went. + </p> + <p> + He called aloud, but there was no answer. He shaped his hands and + trumpeted through them, but the silence was as before—it was + complete. So then he gave chase, setting his teeth hard and putting a + tension on his firm young muscles. But go however he would, the white + skater went faster. After a time, as he glanced at the cold gleam of the + north star, he perceived that he was being led from his direct path. For a + moment he hesitated, wondering if he would not better keep to his road, + but his weird companion seemed to draw him on irresistibly, and finding it + sweet to follow, he followed. + </p> + <p> + Of course it came to him more than once in that strange pursuit, that the + white skater was no earthly guide. Up in those latitudes men see curious + things when the hoar frost is on the earth. Hagadorn's own father—to + hark no further than that for an instance!—who lived up there with + the Lake Superior Indians, and worked in the copper mines, had welcomed a + woman at his hut one bitter night, who was gone by morning, leaving wolf + tracks on the snow! Yes, it was so, and John Fontanelle, the half-breed, + could tell you about it any day—if he were alive. (Alack, the snow + where the wolf tracks were, is melted now!) + </p> + <p> + Well, Hagadorn followed the white skater all the night, and when the ice + flushed pink at dawn, and arrows of lovely light shot up into the cold + heavens, she was gone, and Hagadorn was at his destination. The sun + climbed arrogantly up to his place above all other things, and as Hagadorn + took off his skates and glanced carelessly lakeward, he beheld a great + wind-rift in the ice, and the waves showing blue and hungry between white + fields. Had he rushed along his intended path, watching the stars to guide + him, his glance turned upward, all his body at magnificent momentum, he + must certainly have gone into that cold grave. + </p> + <p> + How wonderful that it had been sweet to follow the white skater, and that + he followed! + </p> + <p> + His heart beat hard as he hurried to his friend's house. But he + encountered no wedding furore. His friend met him as men meet in houses of + mourning. + </p> + <p> + “Is this your wedding face?” cried Hagadorn. “Why, man, starved as I am, I + look more like a bridegroom than you!” + </p> + <p> + “There's no wedding to-day!” + </p> + <p> + “No wedding! Why, you're not—” + </p> + <p> + “Marie Beaujeu died last night—” + </p> + <p> + “Marie—” + </p> + <p> + “Died last night. She had been skating in the afternoon, and she came home + chilled and wandering in her mind, as if the frost had got in it somehow. + She grew worse and worse, and all the time she talked of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Of me?” + </p> + <p> + “We wondered what it meant. No one knew you were lovers.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know it myself; more's the pity. At least, I didn't know—” + </p> + <p> + “She said you were on the ice, and that you didn't know about the big + breaking-up, and she cried to us that the wind was off shore and the rift + widening. She cried over and over again that you could come in by the old + French creek if you only knew—” + </p> + <p> + “I came in that way.” + </p> + <p> + “But how did you come to do that? It's out of the path. We thought perhaps—” + </p> + <p> + But Hagadorn broke in with his story and told him all as it had come to + pass. + </p> + <p> + That day they watched beside the maiden, who lay with tapers at her head + and at her feet, and in the little church the bride who might have been at + her wedding said prayers for her friend. They buried Marie Beaujeu in her + bridesmaid white, and Hagadorn was before the altar with her, as he had + intended from the first! Then at midnight the lovers who were to wed + whispered their vows in the gloom of the cold church, and walked together + through the snow to lay their bridal wreaths upon a grave. + </p> + <p> + Three nights later, Hagadorn skated back again to his home. They wanted + him to go by sunlight, but he had his way, and went when Venus made her + bright path on the ice. + </p> + <p> + The truth was, he had hoped for the companionship of the white skater. But + he did not have it. His only companion was the wind. The only voice he + heard was the baying of a wolf on the north shore. The world was as empty + and as white as if God had just created it, and the sun had not yet + colored nor man defiled it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THEIR DEAR LITTLE GHOST + </h2> + <p> + THE first time one looked at Elsbeth, one was not prepossessed. She was + thin and brown, her nose turned slightly upward, her toes went in just a + perceptible degree, and her hair was perfectly straight. But when one + looked longer, one perceived that she was a charming little creature. The + straight hair was as fine as silk, and hung in funny little braids down + her back; there was not a flaw in her soft brown skin, and her mouth was + tender and shapely. But her particular charm lay in a look which she + habitually had, of seeming to know curious things—such as it is not + allotted to ordinary persons to know. One felt tempted to say to her: + </p> + <p> + “What are these beautiful things which you know, and of which others are + ignorant? What is it you see with those wise and pellucid eyes? Why is it + that everybody loves you?” + </p> + <p> + Elsbeth was my little godchild, and I knew her better than I knew any + other child in the world. But still I could not truthfully say that I was + familiar with her, for to me her spirit was like a fair and fragrant road + in the midst of which I might walk in peace and joy, but where I was + continually to discover something new. The last time I saw her quite well + and strong was over in the woods where she had gone with her two little + brothers and her nurse to pass the hottest weeks of summer. I followed + her, foolish old creature that I was, just to be near her, for I needed to + dwell where the sweet aroma of her life could reach me. + </p> + <p> + One morning when I came from my room, limping a little, because I am not + so young as I used to be, and the lake wind works havoc with me, my little + godchild came dancing to me singing: + </p> + <p> + “Come with me and I'll show you my places, my places, my places!” + </p> + <p> + Miriam, when she chanted by the Red Sea might have been more exultant, but + she could not have been more bewitching. Of course I knew what “places” + were, because I had once been a little girl myself, but unless you are + acquainted with the real meaning of “places,” it would be useless to try + to explain. Either you know “places” or you do not—just as you + understand the meaning of poetry or you do not. There are things in the + world which cannot be taught. + </p> + <p> + Elsbeth's two tiny brothers were present, and I took one by each hand and + followed her. No sooner had we got out of doors in the woods than a sort + of mystery fell upon the world and upon us. We were cautioned to move + silently, and we did so, avoiding the crunching of dry twigs. + </p> + <p> + “The fairies hate noise,” whispered my little godchild, her eyes narrowing + like a cat's. + </p> + <p> + “I must get my wand first thing I do,” she said in an awed undertone. “It + is useless to try to do anything without a wand.” + </p> + <p> + The tiny boys were profoundly impressed, and, indeed, so was I. I felt + that at last, I should, if I behaved properly, see the fairies, which had + hitherto avoided my materialistic gaze. It was an enchanting moment, for + there appeared, just then, to be nothing commonplace about life. + </p> + <p> + There was a swale near by, and into this the little girl plunged. I could + see her red straw hat bobbing about among the tall rushes, and I wondered + if there were snakes. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think there are snakes?” I asked one of the tiny boys. + </p> + <p> + “If there are,” he said with conviction, “they won't dare hurt her.” + </p> + <p> + He convinced me. I feared no more. Presently Elsbeth came out of the + swale. In her hand was a brown “cattail,” perfectly full and round. She + carried it as queens carry their sceptres—the beautiful queens we + dream of in our youth. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” she commanded, and waved the sceptre in a fine manner. So we + followed, each tiny boy gripping my hand tight. We were all three a trifle + awed. Elsbeth led us into a dark underbrush. The branches, as they flew + back in our faces, left them wet with dew. A wee path, made by the girl's + dear feet, guided our footsteps. Perfumes of elderberry and wild cucumber + scented the air. A bird, frightened from its nest, made frantic cries + above our heads. The underbrush thickened. Presently the gloom of the + hemlocks was over us, and in the midst of the shadowy green a tulip tree + flaunted its leaves. Waves boomed and broke upon the shore below. There + was a growing dampness as we went on, treading very lightly. A little + green snake ran coquettishly from us. A fat and glossy squirrel chattered + at us from a safe height, stroking his whiskers with a complaisant air. + </p> + <p> + At length we reached the “place.” It was a circle of velvet grass, bright + as the first blades of spring, delicate as fine sea-ferns. The sunlight, + falling down the shaft between the hemlocks, flooded it with a softened + light and made the forest round about look like deep purple velvet. My + little godchild stood in the midst and raised her wand impressively. + </p> + <p> + “This is my place,” she said, with a sort of wonderful gladness in her + tone. “This is where I come to the fairy balls. Do you see them?” + </p> + <p> + “See what?” whispered one tiny boy. + </p> + <p> + “The fairies.” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence. The older boy pulled at my skirt. + </p> + <p> + “Do YOU see them?” he asked, his voice trembling with expectancy. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed,” I said, “I fear I am too old and wicked to see fairies, and yet—are + their hats red?” + </p> + <p> + “They are,” laughed my little girl. “Their hats are red, and as small—as + small!” She held up the pearly nail of her wee finger to give us the + correct idea. + </p> + <p> + “And their shoes are very pointed at the toes?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very pointed!” + </p> + <p> + “And their garments are green?” + </p> + <p> + “As green as grass.” + </p> + <p> + “And they blow little horns?” + </p> + <p> + “The sweetest little horns!” + </p> + <p> + “I think I see them,” I cried. + </p> + <p> + “We think we see them too,” said the tiny boys, laughing in perfect glee. + </p> + <p> + “And you hear their horns, don't you?” my little godchild asked somewhat + anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Don't we hear their horns?” I asked the tiny boys. + </p> + <p> + “We think we hear their horns,” they cried. “Don't you think we do?” + </p> + <p> + “It must be we do,” I said. “Aren't we very, very happy?” + </p> + <p> + We all laughed softly. Then we kissed each other and Elsbeth led us out, + her wand high in the air. + </p> + <p> + And so my feet found the lost path to Arcady. + </p> + <p> + The next day I was called to the Pacific coast, and duty kept me there + till well into December. A few days before the date set for my return to + my home, a letter came from Elsbeth's mother. + </p> + <p> + “Our little girl is gone into the Unknown,” she wrote—“that Unknown + in which she seemed to be forever trying to pry. We knew she was going, + and we told her. She was quite brave, but she begged us to try some way to + keep her till after Christmas. 'My presents are not finished yet,' she + made moan. 'And I did so want to see what I was going to have. You can't + have a very happy Christmas without me, I should think. Can you arrange to + keep me somehow till after then?' We could not 'arrange' either with God + in heaven or science upon earth, and she is gone.” + </p> + <p> + She was only my little godchild, and I am an old maid, with no business + fretting over children, but it seemed as if the medium of light and beauty + had been taken from me. Through this crystal soul I had perceived whatever + was loveliest. However, what was, was! I returned to my home and took up a + course of Egyptian history, and determined to concern myself with nothing + this side the Ptolemies. + </p> + <p> + Her mother has told me how, on Christmas eve, as usual, she and Elsbeth's + father filled the stockings of the little ones, and hung them, where they + had always hung, by the fireplace. They had little heart for the task, but + they had been prodigal that year in their expenditures, and had heaped + upon the two tiny boys all the treasures they thought would appeal to + them. They asked themselves how they could have been so insane previously + as to exercise economy at Christmas time, and what they meant by not + getting Elsbeth the autoharp she had asked for the year before. + </p> + <p> + “And now—” began her father, thinking of harps. But he could not + complete this sentence, of course, and the two went on passionately and + almost angrily with their task. There were two stockings and two piles of + toys. Two stockings only, and only two piles of toys! Two is very little! + </p> + <p> + They went away and left the darkened room, and after a time they slept—after + a long time. Perhaps that was about the time the tiny boys awoke, and, + putting on their little dressing gowns and bed slippers, made a dash for + the room where the Christmas things were always placed. The older one + carried a candle which gave out a feeble light. The other followed behind + through the silent house. They were very impatient and eager, but when + they reached the door of the sitting-room they stopped, for they saw that + another child was before them. + </p> + <p> + It was a delicate little creature, sitting in her white night gown, with + two rumpled funny braids falling down her back, and she seemed to be + weeping. As they watched, she arose, and putting out one slender finger as + a child does when she counts, she made sure over and over again—three + sad times—that there were only two stockings and two piles of toys! + Only those and no more. + </p> + <p> + The little figure looked so familiar that the boys started toward it, but + just then, putting up her arm and bowing her face in it, as Elsbeth had + been used to do when she wept or was offended, the little thing glided + away and went out. That's what the boys said. It went out as a candle goes + out. + </p> + <p> + They ran and woke their parents with the tale, and all the house was + searched in a wonderment, and disbelief, and hope, and tumult! But nothing + was found. For nights they watched. But there was only the silent house. + Only the empty rooms. They told the boys they must have been mistaken. But + the boys shook their heads. + </p> + <p> + “We know our Elsbeth,” said they. “It was our Elsbeth, cryin' 'cause she + hadn't no stockin' an' no toys, and we would have given her all ours, only + she went out—jus' went out!” + </p> + <p> + Alack! + </p> + <p> + The next Christmas I helped with the little festival. It was none of my + affair, but I asked to help, and they let me, and when we were all through + there were three stockings and three piles of toys, and in the largest one + was all the things that I could think of that my dear child would love. I + locked the boys' chamber that night, and I slept on the divan in the + parlor off the sitting-room. I slept but little, and the night was very + still—so windless and white and still that I think I must have heard + the slightest noise. Yet I heard none. Had I been in my grave I think my + ears would not have remained more unsaluted. + </p> + <p> + Yet when daylight came and I went to unlock the boys' bedchamber door, I + saw that the stocking and all the treasures which I had bought for my + little godchild were gone. There was not a vestige of them remaining! + </p> + <p> + Of course we told the boys nothing. As for me, after dinner I went home + and buried myself once more in my history, and so interested was I that + midnight came without my knowing it. I should not have looked up at all, I + suppose, to become aware of the time, had it not been for a faint, sweet + sound as of a child striking a stringed instrument. It was so delicate and + remote that I hardly heard it, but so joyous and tender that I could not + but listen, and when I heard it a second time it seemed as if I caught the + echo of a child's laugh. At first I was puzzled. Then I remembered the + little autoharp I had placed among the other things in that pile of + vanished toys. I said aloud: + </p> + <p> + “Farewell, dear little ghost. Go rest. Rest in joy, dear little ghost. + Farewell, farewell.” + </p> + <p> + That was years ago, but there has been silence since. Elsbeth was always + an obedient little thing. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A SPECTRAL COLLIE + </h2> + <p> + WILLIAM PERCY CECIL happened to be a younger son, so he left home—which + was England—and went to Kansas to ranch it. Thousands of younger + sons do the same, only their destination is not invariably Kansas. + </p> + <p> + An agent at Wichita picked out Cecil's farm for him and sent the deeds + over to England before Cecil left. He said there was a house on the place. + So Cecil's mother fitted him out for America just as she had fitted out + another superfluous boy for Africa, and parted from him with an heroic + front and big agonies of mother-ache which she kept to herself. + </p> + <p> + The boy bore up the way a man of his blood ought, but when he went out to + the kennel to see Nita, his collie, he went to pieces somehow, and rolled + on the grass with her in his arms and wept like a booby. But the + remarkable part of it was that Nita wept too, big, hot dog tears which her + master wiped away. When he went off she howled like a hungry baby, and had + to be switched before she would give any one a night's sleep. + </p> + <p> + When Cecil got over on his Kansas place he fitted up the shack as cosily + as he could, and learned how to fry bacon and make soda biscuits. + Incidentally, he did farming, and sunk a heap of money, finding out how + not to do things. Meantime, the Americans laughed at him, and were + inclined to turn the cold shoulder, and his compatriots, of whom there + were a number in the county, did not prove to his liking. They consoled + themselves for their exiled state in fashions not in keeping with Cecil's + traditions. His homesickness went deeper than theirs, perhaps, and + American whiskey could not make up for the loss of his English home, nor + flirtations with the gay American village girls quite compensate him for + the loss of his English mother. So he kept to himself and had nostalgia as + some men have consumption. + </p> + <p> + At length the loneliness got so bad that he had to see some living thing + from home, or make a flunk of it and go back like a cry baby. He had a + stiff pride still, though he sobbed himself to sleep more than one night, + as many a pioneer has done before him. So he wrote home for Nita, the + collie, and got word that she would be sent. Arrangements were made for + her care all along the line, and she was properly boxed and shipped. + </p> + <p> + As the time drew near for her arrival, Cecil could hardly eat. He was too + excited to apply himself to anything. The day of her expected arrival he + actually got up at five o'clock to clean the house and make it look as + fine as possible for her inspection. Then he hitched up and drove fifteen + miles to get her. The train pulled out just before he reached the station, + so Nita in her box was waiting for him on the platform. He could see her + in a queer way, as one sees the purple centre of a revolving circle of + light; for, to tell the truth, with the long ride in the morning sun, and + the beating of his heart, Cecil was only about half-conscious of anything. + He wanted to yell, but he didn't. He kept himself in hand and lifted up + the sliding side of the box and called to Nita, and she came out. + </p> + <p> + But it wasn't the man who fainted, though he might have done so, being + crazy homesick as he was, and half-fed and overworked while he was yet + soft from an easy life. No, it was the dog! She looked at her master's + face, gave one cry of inexpressible joy, and fell over in a real feminine + sort of a faint, and had to be brought to like any other lady, with + camphor and water and a few drops of spirit down her throat. Then Cecil + got up on the wagon seat, and she sat beside him with her head on his arm, + and they rode home in absolute silence, each feeling too much for speech. + After they reached home, however, Cecil showed her all over the place, and + she barked out her ideas in glad sociability. + </p> + <p> + After that Cecil and Nita were inseparable. She walked beside him all day + when he was out with the cultivator, or when he was mowing or reaping. She + ate beside him at table and slept across his feet at night. Evenings when + he looked over the Graphic from home, or read the books his mother sent + him, that he might keep in touch with the world, Nita was beside him, + patient, but jealous. Then, when he threw his book or paper down and took + her on his knee and looked into her pretty eyes, or frolicked with her, + she fairly laughed with delight. + </p> + <p> + In short, she was faithful with that faith of which only a dog is capable—that + unquestioning faith to which even the most loving women never quite + attain. + </p> + <p> + However, Fate was annoyed at this perfect friendship. It didn't give her + enough to do, and Fate is a restless thing with a horrible appetite for + variety. So poor Nita died one day mysteriously, and gave her last look to + Cecil as a matter of course; and he held her paws till the last moment, as + a stanch friend should, and laid her away decently in a pine box in the + cornfield, where he could be shielded from public view if he chose to go + there now and then and sit beside her grave. + </p> + <p> + He went to bed very lonely, indeed, the first night. The shack seemed to + him to be removed endless miles from the other habitations of men. He + seemed cut off from the world, and ached to hear the cheerful little barks + which Nita had been in the habit of giving him by way of good night. Her + amiable eye with its friendly light was missing, the gay wag of her tail + was gone; all her ridiculous ways, at which he was never tired of + laughing, were things of the past. + </p> + <p> + He lay down, busy with these thoughts, yet so habituated to Nita's + presence, that when her weight rested upon his feet, as usual, he felt no + surprise. But after a moment it came to him that as she was dead the + weight he felt upon his feet could not be hers. And yet, there it was, + warm and comfortable, cuddling down in the familiar way. He actually sat + up and put his hand down to the foot of the bed to discover what was + there. But there was nothing there, save the weight. And that stayed with + him that night and many nights after. + </p> + <p> + It happened that Cecil was a fool, as men will be when they are young, and + he worked too hard, and didn't take proper care of himself; and so it came + about that he fell sick with a low fever. He struggled around for a few + days, trying to work it off, but one morning he awoke only to the + consciousness of absurd dreams. He seemed to be on the sea, sailing for + home, and the boat was tossing and pitching in a weary circle, and could + make no headway. His heart was burning with impatience, but the boat went + round and round in that endless circle till he shrieked out with agony. + </p> + <p> + The next neighbors were the Taylors, who lived two miles and a half away. + They were awakened that morning by the howling of a dog before their door. + It was a hideous sound and would give them no peace. So Charlie Taylor got + up and opened the door, discovering there an excited little collie. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Tom,” he called, “I thought Cecil's collie was dead!” + </p> + <p> + “She is,” called back Tom. + </p> + <p> + “No, she ain't neither, for here she is, shakin' like an aspin, and a + beggin' me to go with her. Come out, Tom, and see.” + </p> + <p> + It was Nita, no denying, and the men, perplexed, followed her to Cecil's + shack, where they found him babbling. + </p> + <p> + But that was the last of her. Cecil said he never felt her on his feet + again. She had performed her final service for him, he said. The neighbors + tried to laugh at the story at first, but they knew the Taylors wouldn't + take the trouble to lie, and as for Cecil, no one would have ventured to + chaff him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE HOUSE THAT WAS NOT + </h2> + <p> + BART FLEMING took his bride out to his ranch on the plains when she was + but seventeen years old, and the two set up housekeeping in three hundred + and twenty acres of corn and rye. Off toward the west there was an + unbroken sea of tossing corn at that time of the year when the bride came + out, and as her sewing window was on the side of the house which faced the + sunset, she passed a good part of each day looking into that great + rustling mass, breathing in its succulent odors and listening to its + sibilant melody. It was her picture gallery, her opera, her spectacle, + and, being sensible,—or perhaps, being merely happy,—she made + the most of it. + </p> + <p> + When harvesting time came and the corn was cut, she had much entertainment + in discovering what lay beyond. The town was east, and it chanced that she + had never ridden west. So, when the rolling hills of this newly beholden + land lifted themselves for her contemplation, and the harvest sun, all in + an angry and sanguinary glow sank in the veiled horizon, and at noon a + scarf of golden vapor wavered up and down along the earth line, it was as + if a new world had been made for her. Sometimes, at the coming of a storm, + a whip-lash of purple cloud, full of electric agility, snapped along the + western horizon. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you'll see a lot of queer things on these here plains,” her husband + said when she spoke to him of these phenomena. “I guess what you see is + the wind.” + </p> + <p> + “The wind!” cried Flora. “You can't see the wind, Bart.” + </p> + <p> + “Now look here, Flora,” returned Bart, with benevolent emphasis, “you're a + smart one, but you don't know all I know about this here country. I've + lived here three mortal years, waitin' for you to git up out of your + mother's arms and come out to keep me company, and I know what there is to + know. Some things out here is queer—so queer folks wouldn't believe + 'em unless they saw. An' some's so pig-headed they don't believe their own + eyes. As for th' wind, if you lay down flat and squint toward th' west, + you can see it blowin' along near th' ground, like a big ribbon; an' + sometimes it's th' color of air, an' sometimes it's silver an' gold, an' + sometimes, when a storm is comin', it's purple.” + </p> + <p> + “If you got so tired looking at the wind, why didn't you marry some other + girl, Bart, instead of waiting for me?” + </p> + <p> + Flora was more interested in the first part of Bart's speech than in the + last. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come on!” protested Bart, and he picked her up in his arms and jumped + her toward the ceiling of the low shack as if she were a little girl—but + then, to be sure, she wasn't much more. + </p> + <p> + Of all the things Flora saw when the corn was cut down, nothing interested + her so much as a low cottage, something like her own, which lay away in + the distance. She could not guess how far it might be, because distances + are deceiving out there, where the altitude is high and the air is as + clear as one of those mystic balls of glass in which the sallow mystics of + India see the moving shadows of the future. + </p> + <p> + She had not known there were neighbors so near, and she wondered for + several days about them before she ventured to say anything to Bart on the + subject. Indeed, for some reason which she did not attempt to explain to + herself, she felt shy about broaching the matter. Perhaps Bart did not + want her to know the people. The thought came to her, as naughty thoughts + will come, even to the best of persons, that some handsome young men might + be “baching” it out there by themselves, and Bart didn't wish her to make + their acquaintance. Bart had flattered her so much that she had actually + begun to think herself beautiful, though as a matter of fact she was only + a nice little girl with a lot of reddish-brown hair, and a bright pair of + reddish-brown eyes in a white face. + </p> + <p> + “Bart,” she ventured one evening, as the sun, at its fiercest, rushed + toward the great black hollow of the west, “who lives over there in that + shack?” + </p> + <p> + She turned away from the window where she had been looking at the + incarnadined disk, and she thought she saw Bart turn pale. But then, her + eyes were so blurred with the glory she had been gazing at, that she might + easily have been mistaken. + </p> + <p> + “I say, Bart, why don't you speak? If there's any one around to associate + with, I should think you'd let me have the benefit of their company. It + isn't as funny as you think, staying here alone days and days.” + </p> + <p> + “You ain't gettin' homesick, be you, sweetheart?” cried Bart, putting his + arms around her. “You ain't gettin' tired of my society, be yeh?” + </p> + <p> + It took some time to answer this question in a satisfactory manner, but at + length Flora was able to return to her original topic. + </p> + <p> + “But the shack, Bart! Who lives there, anyway?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not acquainted with 'em,” said Bart, sharply. “Ain't them biscuits + done, Flora?” + </p> + <p> + Then, of course, she grew obstinate. + </p> + <p> + “Those biscuits will never be done, Bart, till I know about that house, + and why you never spoke of it, and why nobody ever comes down the road + from there. Some one lives there I know, for in the mornings and at night + I see the smoke coming out of the chimney.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you now?” cried Bart, opening his eyes and looking at her with + unfeigned interest. “Well, do you know, sometimes I've fancied I seen that + too?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, why not,” cried Flora, in half anger. “Why shouldn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “See here, Flora, take them biscuits out an' listen to me. There ain't no + house there. Hello! I didn't know you'd go for to drop the biscuits. Wait, + I'll help you pick 'em up. By cracky, they're hot, ain't they? What you + puttin' a towel over 'em for? Well, you set down here on my knee, so. Now + you look over at that there house. You see it, don't yeh? Well, it ain't + there! No! I saw it the first week I was out here. I was jus' half dyin', + thinkin' of you an' wonderin' why you didn't write. That was the time you + was mad at me. So I rode over there one day—lookin' up company, so + t' speak—and there wa'n't no house there. I spent all one Sunday + lookin' for it. Then I spoke to Jim Geary about it. He laughed an' got a + little white about th' gills, an' he said he guessed I'd have to look a + good while before I found it. He said that there shack was an ole joke.” + </p> + <p> + “Why—what—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, this here is th' story he tol' me. He said a man an' his wife come + out here t' live an' put up that there little place. An' she was young, + you know, an' kind o' skeery, and she got lonesome. It worked on her an' + worked on her, an' one day she up an' killed the baby an' her husband an' + herself. Th' folks found 'em and buried 'em right there on their own + ground. Well, about two weeks after that, th' house was burned down. Don't + know how. Tramps, maybe. Anyhow, it burned. At least, I guess it burned!” + </p> + <p> + “You guess it burned!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it ain't there, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “But if it burned the ashes are there.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, girlie, they're there then. Now let's have tea.” + </p> + <p> + This they proceeded to do, and were happy and cheerful all evening, but + that didn't keep Flora from rising at the first flush of dawn and stealing + out of the house. She looked away over west as she went to the barn and + there, dark and firm against the horizon, stood the little house against + the pellucid sky of morning. She got on Ginger's back—Ginger being + her own yellow broncho—and set off at a hard pace for the house. It + didn't appear to come any nearer, but the objects which had seemed to be + beside it came closer into view, and Flora pressed on, with her mind + steeled for anything. But as she approached the poplar windbreak which + stood to the north of the house, the little shack waned like a shadow + before her. It faded and dimmed before her eyes. + </p> + <p> + She slapped Ginger's flanks and kept him going, and she at last got him up + to the spot. But there was nothing there. The bunch grass grew tall and + rank and in the midst of it lay a baby's shoe. Flora thought of picking it + up, but something cold in her veins withheld her. Then she grew angry, and + set Ginger's head toward the place and tried to drive him over it. But the + yellow broncho gave one snort of fear, gathered himself in a bunch, and + then, all tense, leaping muscles, made for home as only a broncho can. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + STORY OF AN OBSTINATE CORPSE + </h2> + <p> + VIRGIL HOYT is a photographer's assistant up at St. Paul, and enjoys his + work without being consumed by it. He has been in search of the + picturesque all over the West and hundreds of miles to the north, in + Canada, and can speak three or four Indian dialects and put a canoe + through the rapids. That is to say, he is a man of adventure, and no + dreamer. He can fight well and shoot better, and swim so as to put up a + winning race with the Indian boys, and he can sit in the saddle all day + and not worry about it to-morrow. + </p> + <p> + Wherever he goes, he carries a camera. + </p> + <p> + “The world,” Hoyt is in the habit of saying to those who sit with him when + he smokes his pipe, “was created in six days to be photographed. Man—and + particularly woman—was made for the same purpose. Clouds are not + made to give moisture nor trees to cast shade. They have been created in + order to give the camera obscura something to do.” + </p> + <p> + In short, Virgil Hoyt's view of the world is whimsical, and he likes to be + bothered neither with the disagreeable nor the mysterious. That is the + reason he loathes and detests going to a house of mourning to photograph a + corpse. The bad taste of it offends him, but above all, he doesn't like + the necessity of shouldering, even for a few moments, a part of the burden + of sorrow which belongs to some one else. He dislikes sorrow, and would + willingly canoe five hundred miles up the cold Canadian rivers to get rid + of it. Nevertheless, as assistant photographer, it is often his duty to do + this very kind of thing. + </p> + <p> + Not long ago he was sent for by a rich Jewish family to photograph the + remains of the mother, who had just died. He was put out, but he was only + an assistant, and he went. He was taken to the front parlor, where the + dead woman lay in her coffin. It was evident to him that there was some + excitement in the household, and that a discussion was going on. But Hoyt + said to himself that it didn't concern him, and he therefore paid no + attention to it. + </p> + <p> + The daughter wanted the coffin turned on end in order that the corpse + might face the camera properly, but Hoyt said he could overcome the + recumbent attitude and make it appear that the face was taken in the + position it would naturally hold in life, and so they went out and left + him alone with the dead. + </p> + <p> + The face of the deceased was a strong and positive one, such as may often + be seen among Jewish matrons. Hoyt regarded it with some admiration, + thinking to himself that she was a woman who had known what she wanted, + and who, once having made up her mind, would prove immovable. Such a + character appealed to Hoyt. He reflected that he might have married if + only he could have found a woman with strength of character sufficient to + disagree with him. There was a strand of hair out of place on the dead + woman's brow, and he gently pushed it back. A bud lifted its head too high + from among the roses on her breast and spoiled the contour of the chin, so + he broke it off. He remembered these things later with keen distinctness, + and that his hand touched her chill face two or three times in the making + of his arrangements. + </p> + <p> + Then he took the impression, and left the house. + </p> + <p> + He was busy at the time with some railroad work, and several days passed + before he found opportunity to develop the plates. He took them from the + bath in which they had lain with a number of others, and went + energetically to work upon them, whistling some very saucy songs he had + learned of the guide in the Red River country, and trying to forget that + the face which was presently to appear was that of a dead woman. He had + used three plates as a precaution against accident, and they came up well. + But as they developed, he became aware of the existence of something in + the photograph which had not been apparent to his eye in the subject. He + was irritated, and without attempting to face the mystery, he made a few + prints and laid them aside, ardently hoping that by some chance they would + never be called for. + </p> + <p> + However, as luck would have it,—and Hoyt's luck never had been good,—his + employer asked one day what had become of those photographs. Hoyt tried to + evade making an answer, but the effort was futile, and he had to get out + the finished prints and exhibit them. The older man sat staring at them a + long time. + </p> + <p> + “Hoyt,” he said, “you're a young man, and very likely you have never seen + anything like this before. But I have. Not exactly the same thing, + perhaps, but similar phenomena have come my way a number of times since I + went in the business, and I want to tell you there are things in heaven + and earth not dreamt of—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know all that tommy-rot,” cried Hoyt, angrily, “but when anything + happens I want to know the reason why and how it is done.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” answered his employer, “then you might explain why and how + the sun rises.” + </p> + <p> + But he humored the young man sufficiently to examine with him the baths in + which the plates were submerged, and the plates themselves. All was as it + should be; but the mystery was there, and could not be done away with. + </p> + <p> + Hoyt hoped against hope that the friends of the dead woman would somehow + forget about the photographs; but the idea was unreasonable, and one day, + as a matter of course, the daughter appeared and asked to see the pictures + of her mother. + </p> + <p> + “Well, to tell the truth,” stammered Hoyt, “they didn't come out quite—quite + as well as we could wish.” + </p> + <p> + “But let me see them,” persisted the lady. “I'd like to look at them + anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, now,” said Hoyt, trying to be soothing, as he believed it was + always best to be with women,—to tell the truth he was an ignoramus + where women were concerned,—“I think it would be better if you + didn't look at them. There are reasons why—” he ambled on like this, + stupid man that he was, till the lady naturally insisted upon seeing the + pictures without a moment's delay. + </p> + <p> + So poor Hoyt brought them out and placed them in her hand, and then ran + for the water pitcher, and had to be at the bother of bathing her forehead + to keep her from fainting. + </p> + <p> + For what the lady saw was this: Over face and flowers and the head of the + coffin fell a thick veil, the edges of which touched the floor in some + places. It covered the features so well that not a hint of them was + visible. + </p> + <p> + “There was nothing over mother's face!” cried the lady at length. + </p> + <p> + “Not a thing,” acquiesced Hoyt. “I know, because I had occasion to touch + her face just before I took the picture. I put some of her hair back from + her brow.” + </p> + <p> + “What does it mean, then?” asked the lady. + </p> + <p> + “You know better than I. There is no explanation in science. Perhaps there + is some in—in psychology.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the young woman, stammering a little and coloring, “mother + was a good woman, but she always wanted her own way, and she always had + it, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And she never would have her picture taken. She didn't admire her own + appearance. She said no one should ever see a picture of her.” + </p> + <p> + “So?” said Hoyt, meditatively. “Well, she's kept her word, hasn't she?” + </p> + <p> + The two stood looking at the photographs for a time. Then Hoyt pointed to + the open blaze in the grate. + </p> + <p> + “Throw them in,” he commanded. “Don't let your father see them—don't + keep them yourself. They wouldn't be agreeable things to keep.” + </p> + <p> + “That's true enough,” admitted the lady. And she threw them in the fire. + Then Virgil Hoyt brought out the plates and broke them before her eyes. + </p> + <p> + And that was the end of it—except that Hoyt sometimes tells the + story to those who sit beside him when his pipe is lighted. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A CHILD OF THE RAIN + </h2> + <p> + IT was the night that Mona Meeks, the dressmaker, told him she didn't love + him. He couldn't believe it at first, because he had so long been + accustomed to the idea that she did, and no matter how rough the weather + or how irascible the passengers, he felt a song in his heart as he punched + transfers, and rang his bell punch, and signalled the driver when to let + people off and on. + </p> + <p> + Now, suddenly, with no reason except a woman's, she had changed her mind. + He dropped in to see her at five o'clock, just before time for the night + shift, and to give her two red apples he had been saving for her. She + looked at the apples as if they were invisible and she could not see them, + and standing in her disorderly little dressmaking parlor, with its + cuttings and scraps and litter of fabrics, she said: + </p> + <p> + “It is no use, John. I shall have to work here like this all my life—work + here alone. For I don't love you, John. No, I don't. I thought I did, but + it is a mistake.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean it?” asked John, bringing up the words in a great gasp. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, white and trembling and putting out her hands as if to + beg for his mercy. And then—big, lumbering fool—he turned + around and strode down the stairs and stood at the corner in the beating + rain waiting for his car. It came along at length, spluttering on the wet + rails and spitting out blue fire, and he took his shift after a gruff + “Good night” to Johnson, the man he relieved. + </p> + <p> + He was glad the rain was bitter cold and drove in his face fiercely. He + rejoiced at the cruelty of the wind, and when it hustled pedestrians + before it, lashing them, twisting their clothes, and threatening their + equilibrium, he felt amused. He was pleased at the chill in his bones and + at the hunger that tortured him. At least, at first he thought it was + hunger till he remembered that he had just eaten. The hours passed + confusedly. He had no consciousness of time. But it must have been late,—near + midnight,—judging by the fact that there were few persons visible + anywhere in the black storm, when he noticed a little figure sitting at + the far end of the car. He had not seen the child when she got on, but all + was so curious and wild to him that evening—he himself seemed to + himself the most curious and the wildest of all things—that it was + not surprising that he should not have observed the little creature. + </p> + <p> + She was wrapped in a coat so much too large that it had become frayed at + the bottom from dragging on the pavement. Her hair hung in unkempt + stringiness about her bent shoulders, and her feet were covered with old + arctics, many sizes too big, from which the soles hung loose. + </p> + <p> + Beside the little figure was a chest of dark wood, with curiously wrought + hasps. From this depended a stout strap by which it could be carried over + the shoulders. John Billings stared in, fascinated by the poor little + thing with its head sadly drooping upon its breast, its thin blue hands + relaxed upon its lap, and its whole attitude so suggestive of hunger, + loneliness, and fatigue, that he made up his mind he would collect no fare + from it. + </p> + <p> + “It will need its nickel for breakfast,” he said to himself. “The company + can stand this for once. Or, come to think of it, I might celebrate my + hard luck. Here's to the brotherhood of failures!” And he took a nickel + from one pocket of his great-coat and dropped it in another, ringing his + bell punch to record the transfer. + </p> + <p> + The car plunged along in the darkness, and the rain beat more viciously + than ever in his face. The night was full of the rushing sound of the + storm. Owing to some change of temperature the glass of the car became + obscured so that the young conductor could no longer see the little figure + distinctly, and he grew anxious about the child. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if it's all right,” he said to himself. “I never saw living + creature sit so still.” + </p> + <p> + He opened the car door, intending to speak with the child, but just then + something went wrong with the lights. There was a blue and green + flickering, then darkness, a sudden halting of the car, and a great sweep + of wind and rain in at the door. When, after a moment, light and motion + reasserted themselves, and Billings had got the door together, he turned + to look at the little passenger. But the car was empty. + </p> + <p> + It was a fact. There was no child there—not even moisture on the + seat where she had been sitting. + </p> + <p> + “Bill,” said he, going to the front door and addressing the driver, “what + became of that little kid in the old cloak?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't see no kid,” said Bill, crossly. “For Gawd's sake, close the + door, John, and git that draught off my back.” + </p> + <p> + “Draught!” said John, indignantly, “where's the draught?” + </p> + <p> + “You've left the hind door open,” growled Bill, and John saw him shivering + as a blast struck him and ruffled the fur on his bear-skin coat. But the + door was not open, and yet John had to admit to himself that the car + seemed filled with wind and a strange coldness. + </p> + <p> + However, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered! Still, it was as well no + doubt to look under the seats just to make sure no little crouching figure + was there, and so he did. But there was nothing. In fact, John said to + himself, he seemed to be getting expert in finding nothing where there + ought to be something. + </p> + <p> + He might have stayed in the car, for there was no likelihood of more + passengers that evening, but somehow he preferred going out where the rain + could drench him and the wind pommel him. How horribly tired he was! If + there were only some still place away from the blare of the city where a + man could lie down and listen to the sound of the sea or the storm—or + if one could grow suddenly old and get through with the bother of living—or + if— + </p> + <p> + The car gave a sudden lurch as it rounded a curve, and for a moment it + seemed to be a mere chance whether Conductor Billings would stay on his + platform or go off under those fire-spitting wheels. He caught + instinctively at his brake, saved himself, and stood still for a moment, + panting. + </p> + <p> + “I must have dozed,” he said to himself. + </p> + <p> + Just then, dimly, through the blurred window, he saw again the little + figure of the child, its head on its breast as before, its blue hands + lying in its lap and the curious box beside it. John Billings felt a + coldness beyond the coldness of the night run through his blood. Then, + with a half-stifled cry, he threw back the door, and made a desperate + spring at the corner where the eerie thing sat. + </p> + <p> + And he touched the green carpeting on the seat, which was quite dry and + warm, as if no dripping, miserable little wretch had ever crouched there. + </p> + <p> + He rushed to the front door. + </p> + <p> + “Bill,” he roared, “I want to know about that kid.” + </p> + <p> + “What kid?” + </p> + <p> + “The same kid! The wet one with the old coat and the box with iron hasps! + The one that's been sitting here in the car!” + </p> + <p> + Bill turned his surly face to confront the young conductor. + </p> + <p> + “You've been drinking, you fool,” said he. “Fust thing you know you'll be + reported.” + </p> + <p> + The conductor said not a word. He went slowly and weakly back to his post + and stood there the rest of the way leaning against the end of the car for + support. Once or twice he muttered: + </p> + <p> + “The poor little brat!” And again he said, “So you didn't love me after + all!” + </p> + <p> + He never knew how he reached home, but he sank to sleep as dying men sink + to death. All the same, being a hearty young man, he was on duty again + next day but one, and again the night was rainy and cold. + </p> + <p> + It was the last run, and the car was spinning along at its limit, when + there came a sudden soft shock. John Billings knew what that meant. He had + felt something of the kind once before. He turned sick for a moment, and + held on to the brake. Then he summoned his courage and went around to the + side of the car, which had stopped. Bill, the driver, was before him, and + had a limp little figure in his arms, and was carrying it to the gaslight. + John gave one look and cried: + </p> + <p> + “It's the same kid, Bill! The one I told you of!” + </p> + <p> + True as truth were the ragged coat dangling from the pitiful body, the + little blue hands, the thin shoulders, the stringy hair, the big arctics + on the feet. And in the road not far off was the curious chest of dark + wood with iron hasps. + </p> + <p> + “She ran under the car deliberate!” cried Bill. “I yelled to her, but she + looked at me and ran straight on!” + </p> + <p> + He was white in spite of his weather-beaten skin. + </p> + <p> + “I guess you wasn't drunk last night after all, John,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “You—you are sure the kid is—is there?” gasped John. + </p> + <p> + “Not so damned sure!” said Bill. + </p> + <p> + But a few minutes later it was taken away in a patrol wagon, and with it + the little box with iron hasps. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE ROOM OF THE EVIL THOUGHT + </h2> + <p> + THEY called it the room of the Evil Thought. It was really the pleasantest + room in the house, and when the place had been used as the rectory, was + the minister's study. It looked out on a mournful clump of larches, such + as may often be seen in the old-fashioned yards in Michigan, and these + threw a tender gloom over the apartment. + </p> + <p> + There was a wide fireplace in the room, and it had been the young + minister's habit to sit there hours and hours, staring ahead of him at the + fire, and smoking moodily. The replenishing of the fire and of his pipe, + it was said, would afford him occupation all the day long, and that was + how it came about that his parochial duties were neglected so that, little + by little, the people became dissatisfied with him, though he was an + eloquent young man, who could send his congregation away drunk on his + influence. However, the calmer pulsed among his parish began to whisper + that it was indeed the influence of the young minister and not that of the + Holy Ghost which they felt, and it was finally decided that neither animal + magnetism nor hypnotism were good substitutes for religion. And so they + let him go. + </p> + <p> + The new rector moved into a smart brick house on the other side of the + church, and gave receptions and dinner parties, and was punctilious about + making his calls. The people therefore liked him very much—so much + that they raised the debt on the church and bought a chime of bells, in + their enthusiasm. Every one was lighter of heart than under the + ministration of the previous rector. A burden appeared to be lifted from + the community. True, there were a few who confessed the new man did not + give them the food for thought which the old one had done, but, then, the + former rector had made them uncomfortable! He had not only made them + conscious of the sins of which they were already guilty, but also of those + for which they had the latent capacity. A strange and fatal man, whom + women loved to their sorrow, and whom simple men could not understand! It + was generally agreed that the parish was well rid of him. + </p> + <p> + “He was a genius,” said the people in commiseration. The word was an + uncomplimentary epithet with them. + </p> + <p> + When the Hanscoms moved in the house which had been the old rectory, they + gave Grandma Hanscom the room with the fireplace. Grandma was well + pleased. The roaring fire warmed her heart as well as her chill old body, + and she wept with weak joy when she looked at the larches, because they + reminded her of the house she had lived in when she was first married. All + the forenoon of the first day she was busy putting things away in bureau + drawers and closets, but by afternoon she was ready to sit down in her + high-backed rocker and enjoy the comforts of her room. + </p> + <p> + She nodded a bit before the fire, as she usually did after luncheon, and + then she awoke with an awful start and sat staring before her with such a + look in her gentle, filmy old eyes as had never been there before. She did + not move, except to rock slightly, and the Thought grew and grew till her + face was disguised as by some hideous mask of tragedy. + </p> + <p> + By and by the children came pounding at the door. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, grandma, let us in, please. We want to see your new room, and mamma + gave us some ginger cookies on a plate, and we want to give some to you.” + </p> + <p> + The door gave way under their assaults, and the three little ones stood + peeping in, waiting for permission to enter. But it did not seem to be + their grandma—their own dear grandma—who arose and tottered + toward them in fierce haste, crying: + </p> + <p> + “Away, away! Out of my sight! Out of my sight before I do the thing I want + to do! Such a terrible thing! Send some one to me quick, children, + children! Send some one quick!” + </p> + <p> + They fled with feet shod with fear, and their mother came, and Grandma + Hanscom sank down and clung about her skirts and sobbed: + </p> + <p> + “Tie me, Miranda. Make me fast to the bed or the wall. Get some one to + watch me. For I want to do an awful thing!” + </p> + <p> + They put the trembling old creature in bed, and she raved there all the + night long and cried out to be held, and to be kept from doing the fearful + thing, whatever it was—for she never said what it was. + </p> + <p> + The next morning some one suggested taking her in the sitting-room where + she would be with the family. So they laid her on the sofa, hemmed around + with cushions, and before long she was her quiet self again, though + exhausted, naturally, with the tumult of the previous night. Now and then, + as the children played about her, a shadow crept over her face—a + shadow as of cold remembrance—and then the perplexed tears followed. + </p> + <p> + When she seemed as well as ever they put her back in her room. But though + the fire glowed and the lamp burned, as soon as ever she was alone they + heard her shrill cries ringing to them that the Evil Thought had come + again. So Hal, who was home from college, carried her up to his room, + which she seemed to like very well. Then he went down to have a smoke + before grandma's fire. + </p> + <p> + The next morning he was absent from breakfast. They thought he might have + gone for an early walk, and waited for him a few minutes. Then his sister + went to the room that looked upon the larches, and found him dressed and + pacing the floor with a face set and stern. He had not been in bed at all, + as she saw at once. His eyes were bloodshot, his face stricken as if with + old age or sin or—but she could not make it out. When he saw her he + sank in a chair and covered his face with his hands, and between the + trembling fingers she could see drops of perspiration on his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Hal!” she cried, “Hal, what is it?” + </p> + <p> + But for answer he threw his arms about the little table and clung to it, + and looked at her with tortured eyes, in which she fancied she saw a gleam + of hate. She ran, screaming, from the room, and her father came and went + up to him and laid his hands on the boy's shoulders. And then a fearful + thing happened. All the family saw it. There could be no mistake. Hal's + hands found their way with frantic eagerness toward his father's throat as + if they would choke him, and the look in his eyes was so like a madman's + that his father raised his fist and felled him as he used to fell men + years before in the college fights, and then dragged him into the + sitting-room and wept over him. + </p> + <p> + By evening, however, Hal was all right, and the family said it must have + been a fever,—perhaps from overstudy,—at which Hal covertly + smiled. But his father was still too anxious about him to let him out of + his sight, so he put him on a cot in his room, and thus it chanced that + the mother and Grace concluded to sleep together downstairs. + </p> + <p> + The two women made a sort of festival of it, and drank little cups of + chocolate before the fire, and undid and brushed their brown braids, and + smiled at each other, understandingly, with that sweet intuitive sympathy + which women have, and Grace told her mother a number of things which she + had been waiting for just such an auspicious occasion to confide. + </p> + <p> + But the larches were noisy and cried out with wild voices, and the flame + of the fire grew blue and swirled about in the draught sinuously, so that + a chill crept upon the two. Something cold appeared to envelop them—such + a chill as pleasure voyagers feel when a berg steals beyond Newfoundland + and glows blue and threatening upon their ocean path. + </p> + <p> + Then came something else which was not cold, but hot as the flames of hell—and + they saw red, and stared at each other with maddened eyes, and then ran + together from the room and clasped in close embrace safe beyond the fatal + place, and thanked God they had not done the thing that they dared not + speak of—the thing which suddenly came to them to do. + </p> + <p> + So they called it the room of the Evil Thought. They could not account for + it. They avoided the thought of it, being healthy and happy folk. But none + entered it more. The door was locked. + </p> + <p> + One day, Hal, reading the paper, came across a paragraph concerning the + young minister who had once lived there, and who had thought and written + there and so influenced the lives of those about him that they remembered + him even while they disapproved. + </p> + <p> + “He cut a man's throat on board ship for Australia,” said he, “and then he + cut his own, without fatal effect—and jumped overboard, and so ended + it. What a strange thing!” + </p> + <p> + Then they all looked at one another with subtle looks, and a shadow fell + upon them and stayed the blood at their hearts. + </p> + <p> + The next week the room of the Evil Thought was pulled down to make way for + a pansy bed, which is quite gay and innocent, and blooms all the better + because the larches, with their eternal murmuring, have been laid low and + carted away to the sawmill. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + STORY OF THE VANISHING PATIENT + </h2> + <p> + THERE had always been strange stories about the house, but it was a + sensible, comfortable sort of a neighborhood, and people took pains to say + to one another that there was nothing in these tales—of course not! + Absolutely nothing! How could there be? It was a matter of common remark, + however, that considering the amount of money the Nethertons had spent on + the place, it was curious they lived there so little. They were nearly + always away,—up North in the summer and down South in the winter, + and over to Paris or London now and then,—and when they did come + home it was only to entertain a number of guests from the city. The place + was either plunged in gloom or gayety. The old gardener who kept house by + himself in the cottage at the back of the yard had things much his own way + by far the greater part of the time. + </p> + <p> + Dr. Block and his wife lived next door to the Nethertons, and he and his + wife, who were so absurd as to be very happy in each other's company, had + the benefit of the beautiful yard. They walked there mornings when the + leaves were silvered with dew, and evenings they sat beside the lily pond + and listened for the whip-poor-will. The doctor's wife moved her room over + to that side of the house which commanded a view of the yard, and thus + made the honeysuckles and laurel and clematis and all the masses of + tossing greenery her own. Sitting there day after day with her sewing, she + speculated about the mystery which hung impalpably yet undeniably over the + house. + </p> + <p> + It happened one night when she and her husband had gone to their room, and + were congratulating themselves on the fact that he had no very sick + patients and was likely to enjoy a good night's rest, that a ring came at + the door. + </p> + <p> + “If it's any one wanting you to leave home,” warned his wife, “you must + tell them you are all worn out. You've been disturbed every night this + week, and it's too much!” + </p> + <p> + The young physician went downstairs. At the door stood a man whom he had + never seen before. + </p> + <p> + “My wife is lying very ill next door,” said the stranger, “so ill that I + fear she will not live till morning. Will you please come to her at once?” + </p> + <p> + “Next door?” cried the physician. “I didn't know the Nethertons were + home!” + </p> + <p> + “Please hasten,” begged the man. “I must go back to her. Follow as quickly + as you can.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor went back upstairs to complete his toilet. + </p> + <p> + “How absurd,” protested his wife when she heard the story. “There is no + one at the Nethertons'. I sit where I can see the front door, and no one + can enter without my knowing it, and I have been sewing by the window all + day. If there were any one in the house, the gardener would have the porch + lantern lighted. It is some plot. Some one has designs on you. You must + not go.” + </p> + <p> + But he went. As he left the room his wife placed a revolver in his pocket. + </p> + <p> + The great porch of the mansion was dark, but the physician made out that + the door was open, and he entered. A feeble light came from the bronze + lamp at the turn of the stairs, and by it he found his way, his feet + sinking noiselessly in the rich carpets. At the head of the stairs the man + met him. The doctor thought himself a tall man, but the stranger topped + him by half a head. He motioned the physician to follow him, and the two + went down the hall to the front room. The place was flushed with a + rose-colored glow from several lamps. On a silken couch, in the midst of + pillows, lay a woman dying with consumption. She was like a lily, white, + shapely, graceful, with feeble yet charming movements. She looked at the + doctor appealingly, then, seeing in his eyes the involuntary verdict that + her hour was at hand, she turned toward her companion with a glance of + anguish. Dr. Block asked a few questions. The man answered them, the woman + remaining silent. The physician administered something stimulating, and + then wrote a prescription which he placed on the mantel-shelf. + </p> + <p> + “The drug store is closed to-night,” he said, “and I fear the druggist has + gone home. You can have the prescription filled the first thing in the + morning, and I will be over before breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + After that, there was no reason why he should not have gone home. Yet, + oddly enough, he preferred to stay. Nor was it professional anxiety that + prompted this delay. He longed to watch those mysterious persons, who, + almost oblivious of his presence, were speaking their mortal farewells in + their glances, which were impassioned and of unutterable sadness. + </p> + <p> + He sat as if fascinated. He watched the glitter of rings on the woman's + long, white hands, he noted the waving of light hair about her temples, he + observed the details of her gown of soft white silk which fell about her + in voluminous folds. Now and then the man gave her of the stimulant which + the doctor had provided; sometimes he bathed her face with water. Once he + paced the floor for a moment till a motion of her hand quieted him. + </p> + <p> + After a time, feeling that it would be more sensible and considerate of + him to leave, the doctor made his way home. His wife was awake, impatient + to hear of his experiences. She listened to his tale in silence, and when + he had finished she turned her face to the wall and made no comment. + </p> + <p> + “You seem to be ill, my dear,” he said. “You have a chill. You are + shivering.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no chill,” she replied sharply. “But I—well, you may leave + the light burning.” + </p> + <p> + The next morning before breakfast the doctor crossed the dewy sward to the + Netherton house. The front door was locked, and no one answered to his + repeated ringings. The old gardener chanced to be cutting the grass near + at hand, and he came running up. + </p> + <p> + “What you ringin' that door-bell for, doctor?” said he. “The folks ain't + come home yet. There ain't nobody there.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there is, Jim. I was called here last night. A man came for me to + attend his wife. They must both have fallen asleep that the bell is not + answered. I wouldn't be surprised to find her dead, as a matter of fact. + She was a desperately sick woman. Perhaps she is dead and something has + happened to him. You have the key to the door, Jim. Let me in.” + </p> + <p> + But the old man was shaking in every limb, and refused to do as he was + bid. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you never go in there, doctor,” whispered he, with chattering + teeth. “Don't you go for to 'tend no one. You jus' come tell me when you + sent for that way. No, I ain't goin' in, doctor, nohow. It ain't part of + my duties to go in. That's been stipulated by Mr. Netherton. It's my + business to look after the garden.” + </p> + <p> + Argument was useless. Dr. Block took the bunch of keys from the old man's + pocket and himself unlocked the front door and entered. He mounted the + steps and made his way to the upper room. There was no evidence of + occupancy. The place was silent, and, so far as living creature went, + vacant. The dust lay over everything. It covered the delicate damask of + the sofa where he had seen the dying woman. It rested on the pillows. The + place smelled musty and evil, as if it had not been used for a long time. + The lamps of the room held not a drop of oil. + </p> + <p> + But on the mantel-shelf was the prescription which the doctor had written + the night before. He read it, folded it, and put it in his pocket. + </p> + <p> + As he locked the outside door the old gardener came running to him. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you never go up there again, will you?” he pleaded, “not unless you + see all the Nethertons home and I come for you myself. You won't, doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the doctor. + </p> + <p> + When he told his wife she kissed him, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Next time when I tell you to stay at home, you must stay!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PIANO NEXT DOOR + </h2> + <p> + BABETTE had gone away for the summer; the furniture was in its summer + linens; the curtains were down, and Babette's husband, John Boyce, was + alone in the house. It was the first year of his marriage, and he missed + Babette. But then, as he often said to himself, he ought never to have + married her. He did it from pure selfishness, and because he was + determined to possess the most illusive, tantalizing, elegant, and utterly + unmoral little creature that the sun shone upon. He wanted her because she + reminded him of birds, and flowers, and summer winds, and other exquisite + things created for the delectation of mankind. He neither expected nor + desired her to think. He had half-frightened her into marrying him, had + taken her to a poor man's home, provided her with no society such as she + had been accustomed to, and he had no reasonable cause of complaint when + she answered the call of summer and flitted away, like a butterfly in the + morning sunshine, to the place where the flowers grew. + </p> + <p> + He wrote to her every evening, sitting in the stifling, ugly house, and + poured out his soul as if it were a libation to a goddess. She sometimes + answered by telegraph, sometimes by a perfumed note. He schooled himself + not to feel hurt. Why should Babette write? Does a goldfinch indict + epistles; or a humming-bird study composition; or a glancing, red-scaled + fish in summer shallows consider the meaning of words? + </p> + <p> + He knew at the beginning what Babette was—guessed her limitations—trembled + when he buttoned her tiny glove—kissed her dainty slipper when he + found it in the closet after she was gone—thrilled at the sound of + her laugh, or the memory of it! That was all. A mere case of love. He was + in bonds. Babette was not. Therefore he was in the city, working overhours + to pay for Babette's pretty follies down at the seaside. It was quite + right and proper. He was a grub in the furrow; she a lark in the blue. + Those had always been and always must be their relative positions. + </p> + <p> + Having attained a mood of philosophic calm, in which he was prepared to + spend his evenings alone—as became a grub—and to await with + dignified patience the return of his wife, it was in the nature of an + inconsistency that he should have walked the floor of the dull little + drawing-room like a lion in cage. It did not seem in keeping with the + position of superior serenity which he had assumed, that, reading + Babette's notes, he should have raged with jealousy, or that, in the + loneliness of his unkempt chamber, he should have stretched out arms of + longing. Even if Babette had been present, she would only have smiled her + gay little smile and coquetted with him. She could not understand. He had + known, of course, from the first moment, that she could not understand! + And so, why the ache, ache, ache of the heart! Or WAS it the heart, or the + brain, or the soul? + </p> + <p> + Sometimes, when the evenings were so hot that he could not endure the + close air of the house, he sat on the narrow, dusty front porch and looked + about him at his neighbors. The street had once been smart and aspiring, + but it had fallen into decay and dejection. Pale young men, with + flurried-looking wives, seemed to Boyce to occupy most of the houses. + Sometimes three or four couples would live in one house. Most of these + appeared to be childless. The women made a pretence at fashionable + dressing, and wore their hair elaborately in fashions which somehow + suggested boarding-houses to Boyce, though he could not have told why. + Every house in the block needed fresh paint. Lacking this renovation, the + householders tried to make up for it by a display of lace curtains which, + at every window, swayed in the smoke-weighted breeze. Strips of carpeting + were laid down the front steps of the houses where the communities of + young couples lived, and here, evenings, the inmates of the houses + gathered, committing mild extravagances such as the treating of each other + to ginger ale, or beer, or ice-cream. + </p> + <p> + Boyce watched these tawdry makeshifts at sociability with bitterness and + loathing. He wondered how he could have been such a fool as to bring his + exquisite Babette to this neighborhood. How could he expect that she would + return to him? It was not reasonable. He ought to go down on his knees + with gratitude that she even condescended to write him. + </p> + <p> + Sitting one night till late,—so late that the fashionable young + wives with their husbands had retired from the strips of stair carpeting,—and + raging at the loneliness which ate at his heart like a cancer, he heard, + softly creeping through the windows of the house adjoining his own, the + sound of comfortable melody. + </p> + <p> + It breathed upon his ear like a spirit of consolation, speaking of peace, + of love which needs no reward save its own sweetness, of aspiration which + looks forever beyond the thing of the hour to find attainment in that + which is eternal. So insidiously did it whisper these things, so + delicately did the simple and perfect melodies creep upon the spirit—that + Boyce felt no resentment, but from the first listened as one who listens + to learn, or as one who, fainting on the hot road, hears, far in the ferny + deeps below, the gurgle of a spring. + </p> + <p> + Then came harmonies more intricate: fair fabrics of woven sound, in the + midst of which gleamed golden threads of joy; a tapestry of sound, + multi-tinted, gallant with story and achievement, and beautiful things. + Boyce, sitting on his absurd piazza, with his knees jambed against the + balustrade, and his chair back against the dun-colored wall of his house, + seemed to be walking in the cathedral of the redwood forest, with blue + above him, a vast hymn in his ears, pungent perfume in his nostrils, and + mighty shafts of trees lifting themselves to heaven, proud and erect as + pure men before their Judge. He stood on a mountain at sunrise, and saw + the marvels of the amethystine clouds below his feet, heard an eternal and + white silence, such as broods among the everlasting snows, and saw an + eagle winging for the sun. He was in a city, and away from him, diverging + like the spokes of a wheel, ran thronging streets, and to his sense came + the beat, beat, beat of the city's heart. He saw the golden alchemy of a + chosen race; saw greed transmitted to progress; saw that which had + enslaved men, work at last to their liberation; heard the roar of mighty + mills, and on the streets all the peoples of earth walking with common + purpose, in fealty and understanding. And then, from the swelling of this + concourse of great sounds, came a diminuendo, calm as philosophy, and from + that, nothingness. + </p> + <p> + Boyce sat still for a long time, listening to the echoes which this music + had awakened in his soul. He retired, at length, content, but determined + that upon the morrow he would watch—the day being Sunday—for + the musician who had so moved and taught him. + </p> + <p> + He arose early, therefore, and having prepared his own simple breakfast of + fruit and coffee, took his station by the window to watch for the man. For + he felt convinced that the exposition he had heard was that of a masculine + mind. The long, hot hours of the morning went by, but the front door of + the house next to his did not open. + </p> + <p> + “These artists sleep late,” he complained. Still he watched. He was too + much afraid of losing him to go out for dinner. By three in the afternoon + he had grown impatient. He went to the house next door and rang the bell. + There was no response. He thundered another appeal. An old woman with a + cloth about her head answered the door. She was very deaf, and Boyce had + difficulty in making himself understood. + </p> + <p> + “The family is in the country,” was all she would say. “The family will + not be home till September.” + </p> + <p> + “But there is some one living here?” shouted Boyce. + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> live here,” she said with dignity, putting back a wisp of dirty + gray hair behind her ear. “It is my house. I sublet to the family.” + </p> + <p> + “What family?” + </p> + <p> + But the old creature was not communicative. + </p> + <p> + “The family that lives here,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Then who plays the piano in this house?” roared Boyce. “Do you?” + </p> + <p> + He thought a shade of pallor showed itself on her ash-colored cheeks. Yet + she smiled a little at the idea of her playing. + </p> + <p> + “There is no piano,” she said, and she put an enigmatical emphasis to the + words. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense,” cried Boyce, indignantly. “I heard a piano being played in + this very house for hours last night!” + </p> + <p> + “You may enter,” said the old woman, with an accent more vicious than + hospitable. + </p> + <p> + Boyce almost burst into the drawing-room. It was a dusty and forbidding + place, with ugly furniture and gaudy walls. No piano nor any other musical + instrument stood in it. The intruder turned an angry and baffled face to + the old woman, who was smiling with ill-concealed exultation. + </p> + <p> + “I shall see the other rooms,” he announced. The old woman did not appear + to be surprised at his impertinence. + </p> + <p> + “As you please,” she said. + </p> + <p> + So, with the hobbling creature, with her bandaged head, for a guide, he + explored every room of the house, which being identical with his own, he + could do without fear of leaving any apartment unentered. But no piano did + he find! + </p> + <p> + “Explain,” roared Boyce at length, turning upon the leering old hag beside + him. “Explain! For surely I heard music more beautiful than I can tell.” + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing,” she said. “But it is true I once had a lodger who rented + the front room, and that he played upon the piano. I am poor at hearing, + but he must have played well, for all the neighbors used to come in front + of the house to listen, and sometimes they applauded him, and sometimes + they were still. I could tell by watching their hands. Sometimes little + children came and danced. Other times young men and women came and + listened. But the young man died. The neighbors were angry. They came to + look at him and said he had starved to death. It was no fault of mine. I + sold his piano to pay his funeral expenses—and it took every cent to + pay for them too, I'd have you know. But since then, sometimes—still, + it must be nonsense, for I never heard it—folks say that he plays + the piano in my room. It has kept me out of the letting of it more than + once. But the family doesn't seem to mind—the family that lives + here, you know. They will be back in September. Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Boyce left her nodding her thanks at what he had placed in her hand, and + went home to write it all to Babette—Babette who would laugh so + merrily when she read it! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AN ASTRAL ONION + </h2> + <p> + WHEN Tig Braddock came to Nora Finnegan he was red-headed and freckled, + and, truth to tell, he remained with these features to the end of his life—a + life prolonged by a lucky, if somewhat improbable, incident, as you shall + hear. + </p> + <p> + Tig had shuffled off his parents as saurians, of some sorts, do their + skins. During the temporary absence from home of his mother, who was at + the bridewell, and the more extended vacation of his father, who, like + Villon, loved the open road and the life of it, Tig, who was not a + well-domesticated animal, wandered away. The humane society never heard of + him, the neighbors did not miss him, and the law took no cognizance of + this detached citizen—this lost pleiad. Tig would have sunk into + that melancholy which is attendant upon hunger,—the only form of + despair which babyhood knows,—if he had not wandered across the path + of Nora Finnegan. Now Nora shone with steady brightness in her orbit, and + no sooner had Tig entered her atmosphere, than he was warmed and + comforted. Hunger could not live where Nora was. The basement room where + she kept house was redolent with savory smells; and in the stove in her + front room—which was also her bedroom—there was a bright fire + glowing when fire was needed. + </p> + <p> + Nora went out washing for a living. But she was not a poor washerwoman. + Not at all. She was a washerwoman triumphant. She had perfect health, an + enormous frame, an abounding enthusiasm for life, and a rich abundance of + professional pride. She believed herself to be the best washer of white + clothes she had ever had the pleasure of knowing, and the value placed + upon her services, and her long connection with certain families with + large weekly washings, bore out this estimate of herself—an estimate + which she never endeavored to conceal. + </p> + <p> + Nora had buried two husbands without being unduly depressed by the fact. + The first husband had been a disappointment, and Nora winked at Providence + when an accident in a tunnel carried him off—that is to say, carried + the husband off. The second husband was not so much of a disappointment as + a surprise. He developed ability of a literary order, and wrote songs + which sold and made him a small fortune. Then he ran away with another + woman. The woman spent his fortune, drove him to dissipation, and when he + was dying he came back to Nora, who received him cordially, attended him + to the end, and cheered his last hours by singing his own songs to him. + Then she raised a headstone recounting his virtues, which were quite + numerous, and refraining from any reference to those peculiarities which + had caused him to be such a surprise. + </p> + <p> + Only one actual chagrin had ever nibbled at the sound heart of Nora + Finnegan—a cruel chagrin, with long, white teeth, such as rodents + have! She had never held a child to her breast, nor laughed in its eyes; + never bathed the pink form of a little son or daughter; never felt a + tugging of tiny hands at her voluminous calico skirts! Nora had burnt many + candles before the statue of the blessed Virgin without remedying this + deplorable condition. She had sent up unavailing prayers—she had, at + times, wept hot tears of longing and loneliness. Sometimes in her sleep + she dreamed that a wee form, warm and exquisitely soft, was pressed + against her firm body, and that a hand with tiniest pink nails crept + within her bosom. But as she reached out to snatch this delicious little + creature closer, she woke to realize a barren woman's grief, and turned + herself in anguish on her lonely pillow. + </p> + <p> + So when Tig came along, accompanied by two curs, who had faithfully + followed him from his home, and when she learned the details of his story, + she took him in, curs and all, and, having bathed the three of them, made + them part and parcel of her home. This was after the demise of the second + husband, and at a time when Nora felt that she had done all a woman could + be expected to do for Hymen. + </p> + <p> + Tig was a preposterous baby. The curs were preposterous curs. Nora had + always been afflicted with a surplus amount of laughter—laughter + which had difficulty in attaching itself to anything, owing to the lack of + the really comic in the surroundings of the poor. But with a red-headed + and freckled baby boy and two trick dogs in the house, she found a good + and sufficient excuse for her hilarity, and would have torn the cave where + echo lies with her mirth, had that cave not been at such an immeasurable + distance from the crowded neighborhood where she lived. + </p> + <p> + At the age of four Tig went to free kindergarten; at the age of six he was + in school, and made three grades the first year and two the next. At + fifteen he was graduated from the high school and went to work as errand + boy in a newspaper office, with the fixed determination to make a + journalist of himself. + </p> + <p> + Nora was a trifle worried about his morals when she discovered his + intellect, but as time went on, and Tig showed no devotion for any woman + save herself, and no consciousness that there were such things as bad boys + or saloons in the world, she began to have confidence. All of his earnings + were brought to her. Every holiday was spent with her. He told her his + secrets and his aspirations. He admitted that he expected to become a + great man, and, though he had not quite decided upon the nature of his + career,—saving, of course, the makeshift of journalism,—it was + not unlikely that he would elect to be a novelist like—well, + probably like Thackeray. + </p> + <p> + Hope, always a charming creature, put on her most alluring smiles for Tig, + and he made her his mistress, and feasted on the light of her eyes. + Moreover, he was chaperoned, so to speak, by Nora Finnegan, who listened + to every line Tig wrote, and made a mighty applause, and filled him up + with good Irish stew, many colored as the coat of Joseph, and pungent with + the inimitable perfume of “the rose of the cellar.” Nora Finnegan + understood the onion, and used it lovingly. She perceived the difference + between the use and abuse of this pleasant and obvious friend of hungry + man, and employed it with enthusiasm, but discretion. Thus it came about + that whoever ate of her dinners, found the meals of other cooks strangely + lacking in savor, and remembered with regret the soups and stews, the + broiled steaks, and stuffed chickens of the woman who appreciated the + onion. + </p> + <p> + When Nora Finnegan came home with a cold one day, she took it in such a + jocular fashion that Tig felt not the least concern about her, and when, + two days later, she died of pneumonia, he almost thought, at first, that + it must be one of her jokes. She had departed with decision, such as had + characterized every act of her life, and had made as little trouble for + others as possible. When she was dead the community had the opportunity of + discovering the number of her friends. Miserable children with faces which + revealed two generations of hunger, homeless boys with vicious + countenances, miserable wrecks of humanity, women with bloated faces, came + to weep over Nora's bier, and to lay a flower there, and to scuttle away, + more abjectly lonely than even sin could make them. If the cats and the + dogs, the sparrows and horses to which she had shown kindness, could also + have attended her funeral, the procession would have been, from a point of + numbers, one of the most imposing the city had ever known. Tig used up all + their savings to bury her, and the next week, by some peculiar fatality, + he had a falling out with the night editor of his paper, and was + discharged. This sank deep into his sensitive soul, and he swore he would + be an underling no longer—which foolish resolution was directly + traceable to his hair, the color of which, it will be recollected, was + red. + </p> + <p> + Not being an underling, he was obliged to make himself into something + else, and he recurred passionately to his old idea of becoming a novelist. + He settled down in Nora's basement rooms, went to work on a battered + type-writer, did his own cooking, and occasionally pawned something to + keep him in food. The environment was calculated to further impress him + with the idea of his genius. + </p> + <p> + A certain magazine offered an alluring prize for a short story, and Tig + wrote one, and rewrote it, making alterations, revisions, annotations, and + interlineations which would have reflected credit upon Honoré; Balzac + himself. Then he wrought all together, with splendid brevity and dramatic + force,—Tig's own words,—and mailed the same. He was convinced + he would get the prize. He was just as much convinced of it as Nora + Finnegan would have been if she had been with him. + </p> + <p> + So he went about doing more fiction, taking no especial care of himself, + and wrapt in rosy dreams, which, not being warm enough for the weather, + permitted him to come down with rheumatic fever. + </p> + <p> + He lay alone in his room and suffered such torments as the condemned and + rheumatic know, depending on one of Nora's former friends to come in twice + a day and keep up the fire for him. This friend was aged ten, and looked + like a sparrow who had been in a cyclone, but somewhere inside his bones + was a wit which had spelled out devotion. He found fuel for the cracked + stove, somehow or other. He brought it in a dirty sack which he carried on + his back, and he kept warmth in Tig's miserable body. Moreover, he found + food of a sort—cold, horrible bits often, and Tig wept when he saw + them, remembering the meals Nora had served him. + </p> + <p> + Tig was getting better, though he was conscious of a weak heart and a + lamenting stomach, when, to his amazement, the Sparrow ceased to visit + him. Not for a moment did Tig suspect desertion. He knew that only + something in the nature of an act of Providence, as the insurance + companies would designate it, could keep the little bundle of bones away + from him. As the days went by, he became convinced of it, for no Sparrow + came, and no coal lay upon the hearth. The basement window fortunately + looked toward the south, and the pale April sunshine was beginning to make + itself felt, so that the temperature of the room was not unbearable. But + Tig languished; sank, sank, day by day, and was kept alive only by the + conviction that the letter announcing the award of the thousand-dollar + prize would presently come to him. One night he reached a place, where, + for hunger and dejection, his mind wandered, and he seemed to be + complaining all night to Nora of his woes. When the chill dawn came, with + chittering of little birds on the dirty pavement, and an agitation of the + scrawny willow “pussies,” he was not able to lift his hand to his head. + The window before his sight was but “a glimmering square.” He said to + himself that the end must be at hand. Yet it was cruel, cruel, with fame + and fortune so near! If only he had some food, he might summon strength to + rally—just for a little while! Impossible that he should die! And + yet without food there was no choice. + </p> + <p> + Dreaming so of Nora's dinners, thinking how one spoonful of a stew such as + she often compounded would now be his salvation, he became conscious of + the presence of a strong perfume in the room. It was so familiar that it + seemed like a sub-consciousness, yet he found no name for this friendly + odor for a bewildered minute or two. Little by little, however, it grew + upon him, that it was the onion—that fragrant and kindly bulb which + had attained its apotheosis in the cuisine of Nora Finnegan of sacred + memory. He opened his languid eyes, to see if, mayhap, the plant had not + attained some more palpable materialization. + </p> + <p> + Behold, it was so! Before him, in a brown earthen dish,—a most + familiar dish,—was an onion, pearly white, in placid seas of gravy, + smoking and delectable. With unexpected strength he raised himself, and + reached for the dish, which floated before him in a halo made by its own + steam. It moved toward him, offered a spoon to his hand, and as he ate he + heard about the room the rustle of Nora Finnegan's starched skirts, and + now and then a faint, faint echo of her old-time laugh—such an echo + as one may find of the sea in the heart of a shell. + </p> + <p> + The noble bulb disappeared little by little before his voracity, and in + contentment greater than virtue can give, he sank back upon his pillow and + slept. + </p> + <p> + Two hours later the postman knocked at the door, and receiving no answer, + forced his way in. Tig, half awake, saw him enter with no surprise. He + felt no surprise when he put a letter in his hand bearing the name of the + magazine to which he had sent his short story. He was not even surprised, + when, tearing it open with suddenly alert hands, he found within the check + for the first prize—the check he had expected. + </p> + <p> + All that day, as the April sunlight spread itself upon his floor, he felt + his strength grow. Late in the afternoon the Sparrow came back, paler, and + more bony than ever, and sank, breathing hard, upon the floor, with his + sack of coal. + </p> + <p> + “I've been sick,” he said, trying to smile. “Terrible sick, but I come as + soon as I could.” + </p> + <p> + “Build up the fire,” cried Tig, in a voice so strong it made the Sparrow + start as if a stone had struck him. “Build up the fire, and forget you are + sick. For, by the shade of Nora Finnegan, you shall be hungry no more!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FROM THE LOOM OF THE DEAD + </h2> + <p> + WHEN Urda Bjarnason tells a tale all the men stop their talking to listen, + for they know her to be wise with the wisdom of the old people, and that + she has more learning than can be got even from the great schools at + Reykjavik. She is especially prized by them here in this new country where + the Icelandmen are settled—this America, so new in letters, where + the people speak foolishly and write unthinking books. So the men who know + that it is given to the mothers of earth to be very wise, stop their six + part singing, or their jangles about the free-thinkers, and give attentive + ear when Urda Bjarnason lights her pipe and begins her tale. + </p> + <p> + She is very old. Her daughters and sons are all dead, but her + granddaughter, who is most respectable, and the cousin of a physician, + says that Urda is twenty-four and a hundred, and there are others who say + that she is older still. She watches all that the Iceland people do in the + new land; she knows about the building of the five villages on the North + Dakota plain, and of the founding of the churches and the schools, and the + tilling of the wheat farms. She notes with suspicion the actions of the + women who bring home webs of cloth from the store, instead of spinning + them as their mothers did before them; and she shakes her head at the + wives who run to the village grocery store every fortnight, imitating the + wasteful American women, who throw butter in the fire faster than it can + be turned from the churn. + </p> + <p> + She watches yet other things. All winter long the white snows reach across + the gently rolling plains as far as the eye can behold. In the morning she + sees them tinted pink at the east; at noon she notes golden lights + flashing across them; when the sky is gray—which is not often—she + notes that they grow as ashen as a face with the death shadow on it. + Sometimes they glitter with silver-like tips of ocean waves. But at these + things she looks only casually. It is when the blue shadows dance on the + snow that she leaves her corner behind the iron stove, and stands before + the window, resting her two hands on the stout bar of her cane, and gazing + out across the waste with eyes which age has restored after four decades + of decrepitude. + </p> + <p> + The young Icelandmen say: + </p> + <p> + “Mother, it is the clouds hurrying across the sky that make the dance of + the shadows.” + </p> + <p> + “There are no clouds,” she replies, and points to the jewel-like blue of + the arching sky. + </p> + <p> + “It is the drifting air,” explains Fridrik Halldersson, he who has been in + the Northern seas. “As the wind buffets the air, it looks blue against the + white of the snow. 'Tis the air that makes the dancing shadows.” + </p> + <p> + But Urda shakes her head, and points with her dried finger, and those who + stand beside her see figures moving, and airy shapes, and contortions of + strange things, such as are seen in a beryl stone. + </p> + <p> + “But Urda Bjarnason,” says Ingeborg Christianson, the pert young wife with + the blue-eyed twins, “why is it we see these things only when we stand + beside you and you help us to the sight?” + </p> + <p> + “Because,” says the mother, with a steel-blue flash of her old eyes, + “having eyes ye will not see!” Then the men laugh. They like to hear + Ingeborg worsted. For did she not jilt two men from Gardar, and one from + Mountain, and another from Winnipeg? + </p> + <p> + Not even Ingeborg can deny that Mother Urda tells true things. + </p> + <p> + “To-day,” says Urda, standing by the little window and watching the dance + of the shadows, “a child breathed thrice on a farm at the West, and then + it died.” + </p> + <p> + The next week at the church gathering, when all the sledges stopped at the + house of Urda's granddaughter, they said it was so—that John + Christianson's wife Margaret never heard the voice of her son, but that he + breathed thrice in his nurse's arms and died. + </p> + <p> + “Three sledges run over the snow toward Milton,” says Urda; “all are laden + with wheat, and in one is a stranger. He has with him a strange engine, + but its purpose I do not know.” + </p> + <p> + Six hours later the drivers of three empty sledges stop at the house. + </p> + <p> + “We have been to Milton with wheat,” they say, “and Christian Johnson + here, carried a photographer from St. Paul.” + </p> + <p> + Now it stands to reason that the farmers like to amuse themselves through + the silent and white winters. And they prefer above all things to talk or + to listen, as has been the fashion of their race for a thousand years. + Among all the story-tellers there is none like Urda, for she is the + daughter and the granddaughter and the great-granddaughter of + storytellers. It is given to her to talk, as it is given to John + Thorlaksson to sing—he who sings so as his sledge flies over the + snow at night, that the people come out in the bitter air from their doors + to listen, and the dogs put up their noses and howl, not liking music. + </p> + <p> + In the little cabin of Peter Christianson, the husband of Urda's + granddaughter, it sometimes happens that twenty men will gather about the + stove. They hang their bear-skin coats on the wall, put their fur + gauntlets underneath the stove, where they will keep warm, and then + stretch their stout, felt-covered legs to the wood fire. The room is + fetid; the coffee steams eternally on the stove; and from her chair in the + warmest corner Urda speaks out to the listening men, who shake their heads + with joy as they hear the pure old Icelandic flow in sweet rhythm from + between her lips. Among the many, many tales she tells is that of the dead + weaver, and she tells it in the simplest language in all the world—language + so simple that even great scholars could find no simpler, and the children + crawling on the floor can understand. + </p> + <p> + “Jon and Loa lived with their father and mother far to the north of the + Island of Fire, and when the children looked from their windows they saw + only wild scaurs and jagged lava rocks, and a distant, deep gleam of the + sea. They caught the shine of the sea through an eye-shaped opening in the + rocks, and all the long night of winter it gleamed up at them, like the + eye of a dead witch. But when it sparkled and began to laugh, the children + danced about the hut and sang, for they knew the bright summer time was at + hand. Then their father fished, and their mother was gay. But it is true + that even in the winter and the darkness they were happy, for they made + fishing nets and baskets and cloth together,—Jon and Loa and their + father and mother,—and the children were taught to read in the + books, and were told the sagas, and given instruction in the part singing. + </p> + <p> + “They did not know there was such a thing as sorrow in the world, for no + one had ever mentioned it to them. But one day their mother died. Then + they had to learn how to keep the fire on the hearth, and to smoke the + fish, and make the black coffee. And also they had to learn how to live + when there is sorrow at the heart. + </p> + <p> + “They wept together at night for lack of their mother's kisses, and in the + morning they were loath to rise because they could not see her face. The + dead cold eye of the sea watching them from among the lava rocks made them + afraid, so they hung a shawl over the window to keep it out. And the + house, try as they would, did not look clean and cheerful as it had used + to do when their mother sang and worked about it. + </p> + <p> + “One day, when a mist rested over the eye of the sea, like that which one + beholds on the eyes of the blind, a greater sorrow came to them, for a + stepmother crossed the threshold. She looked at Jon and Loa, and made + complaint to their father that they were still very small and not likely + to be of much use. After that they had to rise earlier than ever, and to + work as only those who have their growth should work, till their hearts + cracked for weariness and shame. They had not much to eat, for their + stepmother said she would trust to the gratitude of no other woman's + child, and that she believed in laying up against old age. So she put the + few coins that came to the house in a strong box, and bought little food. + Neither did she buy the children clothes, though those which their dear + mother had made for them were so worn that the warp stood apart from the + woof, and there were holes at the elbows and little warmth to be found in + them anywhere. + </p> + <p> + “Moreover, the quilts on their beds were too short for their growing + length, so that at night either their purple feet or their thin shoulders + were uncovered, and they wept for the cold, and in the morning, when they + crept into the larger room to build the fire, they were so stiff they + could not stand straight, and there was pain at their joints. + </p> + <p> + “The wife scolded all the time, and her brow was like a storm sweeping + down from the Northwest. There was no peace to be had in the house. The + children might not repeat to each other the sagas their mother had taught + them, nor try their part singing, nor make little doll cradles of rushes. + Always they had to work, always they were scolded, always their clothes + grew thinner. + </p> + <p> + “'Stepmother,' cried Loa one day,—she whom her mother had called the + little bird,—'we are a-cold because of our rags. Our mother would + have woven blue cloth for us and made it into garments.' + </p> + <p> + “'Your mother is where she will weave no cloth!' said the stepmother, and + she laughed many times. + </p> + <p> + “All in the cold and still of that night, the stepmother wakened, and she + knew not why. She sat up in her bed, and knew not why. She knew not why, + and she looked into the room, and there, by the light of a burning fish's + tail—'twas such a light the folk used in those days—was a + woman, weaving. She had no loom, and shuttle she had none. All with her + hands she wove a wondrous cloth. Stooping and bending, rising and swaying + with motions beautiful as those the Northern Lights make in a midwinter + sky, she wove a cloth. The warp was blue and mystical to see, the woof was + white, and shone with its whiteness, so that of all the webs the + stepmother had ever seen, she had seen none like to this. + </p> + <p> + “Yet the sight delighted her not, for beyond the drifting web, and beyond + the weaver she saw the room and furniture—aye, saw them through the + body of the weaver and the drifting of the cloth. Then she knew—as + the haunted are made to know—that 'twas the mother of the children + come to show her she could still weave cloth. The heart of the stepmother + was cold as ice, yet she could not move to waken her husband at her side, + for her hands were as fixed as if they were crossed on her dead breast. + The voice in her was silent, and her tongue stood to the roof of her + mouth. + </p> + <p> + “After a time the wraith of the dead mother moved toward her—the + wraith of the weaver moved her way—and round and about her body was + wound the shining cloth. Wherever it touched the body of the stepmother, + it was as hateful to her as the touch of a monster out of sea-slime, so + that her flesh crept away from it, and her senses swooned. + </p> + <p> + “In the early morning she awoke to the voices of the children, whispering + in the inner room as they dressed with half-frozen fingers. Still about + her was the hateful, beautiful web, filling her soul with loathing and + with fear. She thought she saw the task set for her, and when the children + crept in to light the fire—very purple and thin were their little + bodies, and the rags hung from them—she arose and held out the + shining cloth, and cried: + </p> + <p> + “'Here is the web your mother wove for you. I will make it into garments!' + But even as she spoke the cloth faded and fell into nothingness, and the + children cried: + </p> + <p> + “'Stepmother, you have the fever!' + </p> + <p> + “And then: + </p> + <p> + “'Stepmother, what makes the strange light in the room?' + </p> + <p> + “That day the stepmother was too weak to rise from her bed, and the + children thought she must be going to die, for she did not scold as they + cleared the house and braided their baskets, and she did not frown at + them, but looked at them with wistful eyes. + </p> + <p> + “By fall of night she was as weary as if she had wept all the day, and so + she slept. But again she was awakened and knew not why. And again she sat + up in her bed and knew not why. And again, not knowing why, she looked and + saw a woman weaving cloth. All that had happened the night before happened + this night. Then, when the morning came, and the children crept in + shivering from their beds, she arose and dressed herself, and from her + strong box she took coins, and bade her husband go with her to the town. + </p> + <p> + “So that night a web of cloth, woven by one of the best weavers in all + Iceland, was in the house; and on the beds of the children were blankets + of lamb's wool, soft to the touch and fair to the eye. After that the + children slept warm and were at peace; for now, when they told the sagas + their mother had taught them, or tried their part songs as they sat + together on their bench, the stepmother was silent. For she feared to + chide, lest she should wake at night, not knowing why, and see the + mother's wraith.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A GRAMMATICAL GHOST + </h2> + <p> + THERE was only one possible objection to the drawing-room, and that was + the occasional presence of Miss Carew; and only one possible objection to + Miss Carew. And that was, that she was dead. + </p> + <p> + She had been dead twenty years, as a matter of fact and record, and to the + last of her life sacredly preserved the treasures and traditions of her + family, a family bound up—as it is quite unnecessary to explain to + any one in good society—with all that is most venerable and heroic + in the history of the Republic. Miss Carew never relaxed the proverbial + hospitality of her house, even when she remained its sole representative. + She continued to preside at her table with dignity and state, and to set + an example of excessive modesty and gentle decorum to a generation of + restless young women. + </p> + <p> + It is not likely that having lived a life of such irreproachable gentility + as this, Miss Carew would have the bad taste to die in any way not + pleasant to mention in fastidious society. She could be trusted to the + last, not to outrage those friends who quoted her as an exemplar of + propriety. She died very unobtrusively of an affection of the heart, one + June morning, while trimming her rose trellis, and her lavender-colored + print was not even rumpled when she fell, nor were more than the tips of + her little bronze slippers visible. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it dreadful,” said the Philadelphians, “that the property should go + to a very, very distant cousin in Iowa or somewhere else on the frontier, + about whom nobody knows anything at all?” + </p> + <p> + The Carew treasures were packed in boxes and sent away into the Iowa + wilderness; the Carew traditions were preserved by the Historical Society; + the Carew property, standing in one of the most umbrageous and + aristocratic suburbs of Philadelphia, was rented to all manner of folk—anybody + who had money enough to pay the rental—and society entered its doors + no more. + </p> + <p> + But at last, after twenty years, and when all save the oldest + Philadelphians had forgotten Miss Lydia Carew, the very, very distant + cousin appeared. He was quite in the prime of life, and so agreeable and + unassuming that nothing could be urged against him save his patronymic, + which, being Boggs, did not commend itself to the euphemists. With him + were two maiden sisters, ladies of excellent taste and manners, who + restored the Carew china to its ancient cabinets, and replaced the Carew + pictures upon the walls, with additions not out of keeping with the + elegance of these heirlooms. Society, with a magnanimity almost dramatic, + overlooked the name of Boggs—and called. + </p> + <p> + All was well. At least, to an outsider all seemed to be well. But, in + truth, there was a certain distress in the old mansion, and in the hearts + of the well-behaved Misses Boggs. It came about most unexpectedly. The + sisters had been sitting upstairs, looking out at the beautiful grounds of + the old place, and marvelling at the violets, which lifted their heads + from every possible cranny about the house, and talking over the + cordiality which they had been receiving by those upon whom they had no + claim, and they were filled with amiable satisfaction. Life looked + attractive. They had often been grateful to Miss Lydia Carew for leaving + their brother her fortune. Now they felt even more grateful to her. She + had left them a Social Position—one, which even after twenty years + of desuetude, was fit for use. + </p> + <p> + They descended the stairs together, with arms clasped about each other's + waists, and as they did so presented a placid and pleasing sight. They + entered their drawing-room with the intention of brewing a cup of tea, and + drinking it in calm sociability in the twilight. But as they entered the + room they became aware of the presence of a lady, who was already seated + at their tea-table, regarding their old Wedgewood with the air of a + connoisseur. + </p> + <p> + There were a number of peculiarities about this intruder. To begin with, + she was hatless, quite as if she were a habitué; of the house, and was + costumed in a prim lilac-colored lawn of the style of two decades past. + But a greater peculiarity was the resemblance this lady bore to a faded + daguerrotype. If looked at one way, she was perfectly discernible; if + looked at another, she went out in a sort of blur. Notwithstanding this + comparative invisibility, she exhaled a delicate perfume of sweet + lavender, very pleasing to the nostrils of the Misses Boggs, who stood + looking at her in gentle and unprotesting surprise. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” began Miss Prudence, the younger of the Misses Boggs, + “but—” + </p> + <p> + But at this moment the Daguerrotype became a blur, and Miss Prudence found + herself addressing space. The Misses Boggs were irritated. They had never + encountered any mysteries in Iowa. They began an impatient search behind + doors and portières, and even under sofas, though it was quite absurd to + suppose that a lady recognizing the merits of the Carew Wedgewood would so + far forget herself as to crawl under a sofa. + </p> + <p> + When they had given up all hope of discovering the intruder, they saw her + standing at the far end of the drawing-room critically examining a + water-color marine. The elder Miss Boggs started toward her with stern + decision, but the little Daguerrotype turned with a shadowy smile, became + a blur and an imperceptibility. + </p> + <p> + Miss Boggs looked at Miss Prudence Boggs. + </p> + <p> + “If there were ghosts,” she said, “this would be one.” + </p> + <p> + “If there were ghosts,” said Miss Prudence Boggs, “this would be the ghost + of Lydia Carew.” + </p> + <p> + The twilight was settling into blackness, and Miss Boggs nervously lit the + gas while Miss Prudence ran for other tea-cups, preferring, for reasons + superfluous to mention, not to drink out of the Carew china that evening. + </p> + <p> + The next day, on taking up her embroidery frame, Miss Boggs found a number + of oldfashioned cross-stitches added to her Kensington. Prudence, she + knew, would never have degraded herself by taking a cross-stitch, and the + parlor-maid was above taking such a liberty. Miss Boggs mentioned the + incident that night at a dinner given by an ancient friend of the Carews. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's the work of Lydia Carew, without a doubt!” cried the hostess. + “She visits every new family that moves to the house, but she never + remains more than a week or two with any one.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be that she disapproves of them,” suggested Miss Boggs. + </p> + <p> + “I think that's it,” said the hostess. “She doesn't like their china, or + their fiction.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope she'll disapprove of us,” added Miss Prudence. + </p> + <p> + The hostess belonged to a very old Philadelphian family, and she shook her + head. + </p> + <p> + “I should say it was a compliment for even the ghost of Miss Lydia Carew + to approve of one,” she said severely. + </p> + <p> + The next morning, when the sisters entered their drawing-room there were + numerous evidences of an occupant during their absence. The sofa pillows + had been rearranged so that the effect of their grouping was less bizarre + than that favored by the Western women; a horrid little Buddhist idol with + its eyes fixed on its abdomen, had been chastely hidden behind a Dresden + shepherdess, as unfit for the scrutiny of polite eyes; and on the table + where Miss Prudence did work in water colors, after the fashion of the + impressionists, lay a prim and impossible composition representing a + moss-rose and a number of heartsease, colored with that caution which + modest spinster artists instinctively exercise. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there's no doubt it's the work of Miss Lydia Carew,” said Miss + Prudence, contemptuously. “There's no mistaking the drawing of that rigid + little rose. Don't you remember those wreaths and bouquets framed, among + the pictures we got when the Carew pictures were sent to us? I gave some + of them to an orphan asylum and burned up the rest.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” cried Miss Boggs, involuntarily. “If she heard you, it would hurt + her feelings terribly. Of course, I mean—” and she blushed. “It + might hurt her feelings—but how perfectly ridiculous! It's + impossible!” + </p> + <p> + Miss Prudence held up the sketch of the moss-rose. + </p> + <p> + “THAT may be impossible in an artistic sense, but it is a palpable thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Bosh!” cried Miss Boggs. + </p> + <p> + “But,” protested Miss Prudence, “how do you explain it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't,” said Miss Boggs, and left the room. + </p> + <p> + That evening the sisters made a point of being in the drawing-room before + the dusk came on, and of lighting the gas at the first hint of twilight. + They didn't believe in Miss Lydia Carew—but still they meant to be + beforehand with her. They talked with unwonted vivacity and in a louder + tone than was their custom. But as they drank their tea even their utmost + verbosity could not make them oblivious to the fact that the perfume of + sweet lavender was stealing insidiously through the room. They tacitly + refused to recognize this odor and all that it indicated, when suddenly, + with a sharp crash, one of the old Carew tea-cups fell from the tea-table + to the floor and was broken. The disaster was followed by what sounded + like a sigh of pain and dismay. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't suppose Miss Lydia Carew would ever be as awkward as that,” + cried the younger Miss Boggs, petulantly. + </p> + <p> + “Prudence,” said her sister with a stern accent, “please try not to be a + fool. You brushed the cup off with the sleeve of your dress.” + </p> + <p> + “Your theory wouldn't be so bad,” said Miss Prudence, half laughing and + half crying, “if there were any sleeves to my dress, but, as you see, + there aren't,” and then Miss Prudence had something as near hysterics as a + healthy young woman from the West can have. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't think such a perfect lady as Lydia Carew,” she ejaculated + between her sobs, “would make herself so disagreeable! You may talk about + good-breeding all you please, but I call such intrusion exceedingly bad + taste. I have a horrible idea that she likes us and means to stay with us. + She left those other people because she did not approve of their habits or + their grammar. It would be just our luck to please her.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I like your egotism,” said Miss Boggs. + </p> + <p> + However, the view Miss Prudence took of the case appeared to be the right + one. Time went by and Miss Lydia Carew still remained. When the ladies + entered their drawing-room they would see the little lady-like + Daguerrotype revolving itself into a blur before one of the family + portraits. Or they noticed that the yellow sofa cushion, toward which she + appeared to feel a peculiar antipathy, had been dropped behind the sofa + upon the floor, or that one of Jane Austen's novels, which none of the + family ever read, had been removed from the book shelves and left open + upon the table. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot become reconciled to it,” complained Miss Boggs to Miss + Prudence. “I wish we had remained in Iowa where we belong. Of course I + don't believe in the thing! No sensible person would. But still I cannot + become reconciled.” + </p> + <p> + But their liberation was to come, and in a most unexpected manner. + </p> + <p> + A relative by marriage visited them from the West. He was a friendly man + and had much to say, so he talked all through dinner, and afterward + followed the ladies to the drawing-room to finish his gossip. The gas in + the room was turned very low, and as they entered Miss Prudence caught + sight of Miss Carew, in company attire, sitting in upright propriety in a + stiff-backed chair at the extremity of the apartment. + </p> + <p> + Miss Prudence had a sudden idea. + </p> + <p> + “We will not turn up the gas,” she said, with an emphasis intended to + convey private information to her sister. “It will be more agreeable to + sit here and talk in this soft light.” + </p> + <p> + Neither her brother nor the man from the West made any objection. Miss + Boggs and Miss Prudence, clasping each other's hands, divided their + attention between their corporeal and their incorporeal guests. Miss Boggs + was confident that her sister had an idea, and was willing to await its + development. As the guest from Iowa spoke, Miss Carew bent a politely + attentive ear to what he said. + </p> + <p> + “Ever since Richards took sick that time,” he said briskly, “it seemed + like he shed all responsibility.” (The Misses Boggs saw the Daguerrotype + put up her shadowy head with a movement of doubt and apprehension.) “The + fact of the matter was, Richards didn't seem to scarcely get on the way he + might have been expected to.” (At this conscienceless split to the + infinitive and misplacing of the preposition, Miss Carew arose trembling + perceptibly.) “I saw it wasn't no use for him to count on a quick recovery—” + </p> + <p> + The Misses Boggs lost the rest of the sentence, for at the utterance of + the double negative Miss Lydia Carew had flashed out, not in a blur, but + with mortal haste, as when life goes out at a pistol shot! + </p> + <p> + The man from the West wondered why Miss Prudence should have cried at so + pathetic a part of his story: + </p> + <p> + “Thank Goodness!” + </p> + <p> + And their brother was amazed to see Miss Boggs kiss Miss Prudence with + passion and energy. + </p> + <p> + It was the end. Miss Carew returned no more. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Shape of Fear, by Elia W. Peattie + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SHAPE OF FEAR *** + +***** This file should be named 1876-h.htm or 1876-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/7/1876/ + +Produced by Judy Boss, and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions 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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + </body> +</html> diff --git a/old/tshfr10.txt b/old/tshfr10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d23b4a7 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/tshfr10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3996 @@ +Project Gutenberg Etext of The Shape of Fear, by Elia W. Peattie +#2 in our series by Elia W. Peattie + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. We need your donations. + + +The Shape of Fear + +by Elia W. Peattie + +September, 1999 [Etext #1876] + + +Project Gutenberg Etext of The Shape of Fear, by Elia W. Peattie +******This file should be named tshfr10.txt or tshfr10.zip****** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, tshfr11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, tshfr10a.txt + + +This etext was prepared by Judy Boss, Omaha, NE + +Project Gutenberg Etexts are usually created from multiple editions, +all of which are in the Public Domain in the United States, unless a +copyright notice is included. Therefore, we do NOT keep these books +in compliance with any particular paper edition, usually otherwise. + + +We are now trying to release all our books one month in advance +of the official release dates, for time for better editing. + +Please note: neither this list nor its contents are final till +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. To be sure you have an +up to date first edition [xxxxx10x.xxx] please check file sizes +in the first week of the next month. Since our ftp program has +a bug in it that scrambles the date [tried to fix and failed] a +look at the file size will have to do, but we will try to see a +new copy has at least one byte more or less. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +fifty hours is one conservative estimate for how long it we take +to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. This +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If our value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour this year as we release thirty-two text +files per month, or 384 more Etexts in 1998 for a total of 1500+ +If these reach just 10% of the computerized population, then the +total should reach over 150 billion Etexts given away. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext +Files by the December 31, 2001. [10,000 x 100,000,000=Trillion] +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only 10% of the present number of computer users. 2001 +should have at least twice as many computer users as that, so it +will require us reaching less than 5% of the users in 2001. + + +We need your donations more than ever! + + +All donations should be made to "Project Gutenberg/CMU": and are +tax deductible to the extent allowable by law. (CMU = Carnegie- +Mellon University). + +For these and other matters, please mail to: + +Project Gutenberg +P. O. Box 2782 +Champaign, IL 61825 + +When all other email fails try our Executive Director: +Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> + +We would prefer to send you this information by email +(Internet, Bitnet, Compuserve, ATTMAIL or MCImail). + +****** +If you have an FTP program (or emulator), please +FTP directly to the Project Gutenberg archives: +[Mac users, do NOT point and click. . .type] + +ftp uiarchive.cso.uiuc.edu +login: anonymous +password: your@login +cd etext/etext90 through /etext96 +or cd etext/articles [get suggest gut for more information] +dir [to see files] +get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files] +GET INDEX?00.GUT +for a list of books +and +GET NEW GUT for general information +and +MGET GUT* for newsletters. + +**Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor** +(Three Pages) + + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you can distribute copies of this etext if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this etext on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG- +tm etexts, is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor +Michael S. Hart through the Project Gutenberg Association at +Carnegie-Mellon University (the "Project"). Among other +things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext +under the Project's "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] the Project (and any other party you may receive this +etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold the Project, its directors, +officers, members and agents harmless from all liability, cost +and expense, including legal fees, that arise directly or +indirectly from any of the following that you do or cause: +[1] distribution of this etext, [2] alteration, modification, +or addition to the etext, or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + etext or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word pro- + cessing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the etext (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the + net profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association/Carnegie-Mellon + University" within the 60 days following each + date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) + your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association / Carnegie-Mellon University". + +*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +This etext was prepared by Judy Boss, Omaha, NE + + + + + +Note: I have omitted signature indicators and italicization of the +running heads. In addition, I have made the following changes to the text: +PAGE LINE ORIGINAL CHANGED TO + 156 1 where as were as + 156 4 mouth mouth. + 165 5 Wedgwood Wedgewood + 166 9 Wedgwood Wedgewood + 167 6 surperfluous superfluous + 172 11 every ever + 173 17 Bogg Boggs + + + + + +THE SHAPE OF FEAR + + +And Other Ghostly Tales + + + +BY + +ELIA WILKINSON PEATTIE + + + + +CONTENTS + + +THE SHAPE OF FEAR + +ON THE NORTHERN ICE + +THEIR DEAR LITTLE GHOST + +A SPECTRAL COLLIE + +THE HOUSE THAT WAS NOT + +STORY OF AN OBSTINATE CORPSE + +A CHILD OF THE RAIN + +THE ROOM OF THE EVIL THOUGHT + +STORY OF THE VANISHING PATIENT + +THE PIANO NEXT DOOR + +AN ASTRAL ONION + +FROM THE LOOM OF THE DEAD + +A GRAMMATICAL GHOST + + + + +THE SHAPE OF FEAR + +TIM O'CONNOR -- who was de- +scended from the O'Conors with +one N -- started life as a poet +and an enthusiast. His mother +had designed him for the priesthood, and at +the age of fifteen, most of his verses had an +ecclesiastical tinge, but, somehow or other, +he got into the newspaper business instead, +and became a pessimistic gentleman, with a +literary style of great beauty and an income +of modest proportions. He fell in with men +who talked of art for art's sake, -- though +what right they had to speak of art at all +nobody knew, -- and little by little his view +of life and love became more or less pro- +fane. He met a woman who sucked his +heart's blood, and he knew it and made no +protest; nay, to the great amusement of the +fellows who talked of art for art's sake, he +went the length of marrying her. He could +not in decency explain that he had the tra- +ditions of fine gentlemen behind him and +so had to do as he did, because his friends +might not have understood. He laughed at +the days when he had thought of the priest- +hood, blushed when he ran across any of +those tender and exquisite old verses he had +written in his youth, and became addicted +to absinthe and other less peculiar drinks, +and to gaming a little to escape a madness +of ennui. + +As the years went by he avoided, with +more and more scorn, that part of the world +which he denominated Philistine, and con- +sorted only with the fellows who flocked about +Jim O'Malley's saloon. He was pleased with +solitude, or with these convivial wits, and with +not very much else beside. Jim O'Malley +was a sort of Irish poem, set to inspiring +measure. He was, in fact, a Hibernian +Mæcenas, who knew better than to put bad +whiskey before a man of talent, or tell a trite +tale in the presence of a wit. The recountal +of his disquisitions on politics and other cur- +rent matters had enabled no less than three +men to acquire national reputations; and a +number of wretches, having gone the way of +men who talk of art for art's sake, and dying +in foreign lands, or hospitals, or asylums, +having no one else to be homesick for, had +been homesick for Jim O'Malley, and wept +for the sound of his voice and the grasp of +his hearty hand. + +When Tim O'Connor turned his back upon +most of the things he was born to and took +up with the life which he consistently lived +till the unspeakable end, he was unable to +get rid of certain peculiarities. For example, +in spite of all his debauchery, he continued +to look like the Beloved Apostle. Notwith- +standing abject friendships he wrote limpid +and noble English. Purity seemed to dog his +heels, no matter how violently he attempted +to escape from her. He was never so drunk +that he was not an exquisite, and even his +creditors, who had become inured to his +deceptions, confessed it was a privilege to +meet so perfect a gentleman. The creature +who held him in bondage, body and soul, +actually came to love him for his gentleness, +and for some quality which baffled her, and +made her ache with a strange longing which +she could not define. Not that she ever de- +fined anything, poor little beast! She had +skin the color of pale gold, and yellow eyes +with brown lights in them, and great plaits +of straw-colored hair. About her lips was a +fatal and sensuous smile, which, when it got +hold of a man's imagination, would not let +it go, but held to it, and mocked it till the +day of his death. She was the incarnation +of the Eternal Feminine, with all the wifeli- +ness and the maternity left out -- she was +ancient, yet ever young, and familiar as joy +or tears or sin. + +She took good care of Tim in some ways: +fed him well, nursed him back to reason after +a period of hard drinking, saw that he put +on overshoes when the walks were wet, and +looked after his money. She even prized +his brain, for she discovered that it was a +delicate little machine which produced gold. +By association with him and his friends, she +learned that a number of apparently useless +things had value in the eyes of certain con- +venient fools, and so she treasured the auto- +graphs of distinguished persons who wrote to +him -- autographs which he disdainfully tossed +in the waste basket. She was careful with +presentation copies from authors, and she +went the length of urging Tim to write a +book himself. But at that he balked. + +"Write a book!" he cried to her, his gen- +tle face suddenly white with passion. "Who +am I to commit such a profanation?" + +She didn't know what he meant, but she +had a theory that it was dangerous to excite +him, and so she sat up till midnight to cook +a chop for him when he came home that night. + +He preferred to have her sitting up for him, +and he wanted every electric light in their +apartments turned to the full. If, by any +chance, they returned together to a dark +house, he would not enter till she touched the +button in the hall, and illuminated the room. +Or if it so happened that the lights were +turned off in the night time, and he awoke to +find himself in darkness, he shrieked till the +woman came running to his relief, and, with +derisive laughter, turned them on again. But +when she found that after these frights he lay +trembling and white in his bed, she began to +be alarmed for the clever, gold-making little +machine, and to renew her assiduities, and to +horde more tenaciously than ever, those valu- +able curios on which she some day expected to +realize when he was out of the way, and no +longer in a position to object to their barter. + +O'Connor's idiosyncrasy of fear was a +source of much amusement among the boys +at the office where he worked. They made +open sport of it, and yet, recognizing him +for a sensitive plant, and granting that genius +was entitled to whimsicalities, it was their +custom when they called for him after work +hours, to permit him to reach the lighted cor- +ridor before they turned out the gas over his +desk. This, they reasoned, was but a slight +service to perform for the most enchanting +beggar in the world. + +"Dear fellow," said Rick Dodson, who +loved him, "is it the Devil you expect to see? +And if so, why are you averse? Surely the +Devil is not such a bad old chap." + +"You haven't found him so?" + +"Tim, by heaven, you know, you ought to +explain to me. A citizen of the world and +a student of its purlieus, like myself, ought to +know what there is to know! Now you're a +man of sense, in spite of a few bad habits -- +such as myself, for example. Is this fad of +yours madness? -- which would be quite to +your credit, -- for gadzooks, I like a lunatic! +Or is it the complaint of a man who has gath- +ered too much data on the subject of Old +Rye? Or is it, as I suspect, something more +occult, and therefore more interesting?" + +"Rick, boy," said Tim, "you're too -- in- +quiring!" And he turned to his desk with a +look of delicate hauteur. + +It was the very next night that these two +tippling pessimists spent together talking about +certain disgruntled but immortal gentlemen, +who, having said their say and made the world +quite uncomfortable, had now journeyed on +to inquire into the nothingness which they +postulated. The dawn was breaking in the +muggy east; the bottles were empty, the cigars +burnt out. Tim turned toward his friend with +a sharp breaking of sociable silence. + +"Rick," he said, "do you know that Fear +has a Shape?" + +"And so has my nose!" + +"You asked me the other night what I +feared. Holy father, I make my confession +to you. What I fear is Fear." + +"That's because you've drunk too much -- +or not enough. + + "'Come, fill the cup, and in the fire of Spring + Your winter garment of repentance fling --'" + +"My costume then would be too nebulous +for this weather, dear boy. But it's true what +I was saying. I am afraid of ghosts." + +"For an agnostic that seems a bit --" + +"Agnostic! Yes, so completely an agnostic +that I do not even know that I do not know! +God, man, do you mean you have no ghosts +-- no -- no things which shape themselves? +Why, there are things I have done --" + +"Don't think of them, my boy! See, +'night's candles are burnt out, and jocund +day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain +top.'" + +Tim looked about him with a sickly smile. +He looked behind him and there was nothing +there; stared at the blank window, where the +smoky dawn showed its offensive face, and +there was nothing there. He pushed away +the moist hair from his haggard face -- that +face which would look like the blessed St. +John, and leaned heavily back in his chair. + +"'Yon light is not daylight, I know it, I,'" +he murmured drowsily, "'it is some meteor +which the sun exhales, to be to thee this +night --'" + +The words floated off in languid nothing- +ness, and he slept. Dodson arose preparatory +to stretching himself on his couch. But first +he bent over his friend with a sense of tragic +appreciation. + +"Damned by the skin of his teeth!" he mut- +tered. "A little more, and he would have +gone right, and the Devil would have lost a +good fellow. As it is" -- he smiled with his +usual conceited delight in his own sayings, +even when they were uttered in soliloquy -- "he +is merely one of those splendid gentlemen one +will meet with in hell." Then Dodson had a +momentary nostalgia for goodness himself, +but he soon overcame it, and stretching him- +self on his sofa, he, too, slept. + +That night he and O'Connor went together +to hear "Faust" sung, and returning to the +office, Dodson prepared to write his criti- +cism. Except for the distant clatter of tele- +graph instruments, or the peremptory cries of +"copy" from an upper room, the office was +still. Dodson wrote and smoked his inter- +minable cigarettes; O' Connor rested his head +in his hands on the desk, and sat in perfect +silence. He did not know when Dodson fin- +ished, or when, arising, and absent-mindedly +extinguishing the lights, he moved to the +door with his copy in his hands. Dodson +gathered up the hats and coats as he passed +them where they lay on a chair, and called: + +"It is done, Tim. Come, let's get out of +this." + +There was no answer, and he thought Tim +was following, but after he had handed his +criticism to the city editor, he saw he was +still alone, and returned to the room for his +friend. He advanced no further than the +doorway, for, as he stood in the dusky cor- +ridor and looked within the darkened room, +he saw before his friend a Shape, white, of +perfect loveliness, divinely delicate and pure +and ethereal, which seemed as the embodi- +ment of all goodness. From it came a soft +radiance and a perfume softer than the wind +when "it breathes upon a bank of violets +stealing and giving odor." Staring at it, +with eyes immovable, sat his friend. + +It was strange that at sight of a thing so +unspeakably fair, a coldness like that which +comes from the jewel-blue lips of a Muir +crevasse should have fallen upon Dodson, or +that it was only by summoning all the man- +hood that was left in him, that he was able +to restore light to the room, and to rush to +his friend. When he reached poor Tim he +was stone-still with paralysis. They took +him home to the woman, who nursed him out +of that attack -- and later on worried him into +another. + +When he was able to sit up and jeer at +things a little again, and help himself to the +quail the woman broiled for him, Dodson, +sitting beside him, said: + +"Did you call that little exhibition of yours +legerdemain, Tim, you sweep? Or are you +really the Devil's bairn?" + +"It was the Shape of Fear," said Tim, quite +seriously. + +"But it seemed mild as mother's milk." + +"It was compounded of the good I might +have done. It is that which I fear." + +He would explain no more. Later -- many +months later -- he died patiently and sweetly +in the madhouse, praying for rest. The little +beast with the yellow eyes had high mass cele- +brated for him, which, all things considered, +was almost as pathetic as it was amusing. + +Dodson was in Vienna when he heard of it. + +"Sa, sa!" cried he. "I wish it wasn't so +dark in the tomb! What do you suppose Tim +is looking at?" + +As for Jim O'Malley, he was with diffi- +culty kept from illuminating the grave with +electricity. + + + + +ON THE NORTHERN ICE + + +THE winter nights up at Sault Ste. +Marie are as white and luminous as +the Milky Way. The silence which +rests upon the solitude appears to +be white also. Even sound has been included +in Nature's arrestment, for, indeed, save the +still white frost, all things seem to be oblit- +erated. The stars have a poignant brightness, +but they belong to heaven and not to earth, +and between their immeasurable height and +the still ice rolls the ebon ether in vast, liquid +billows. + +In such a place it is difficult to believe that +the world is actually peopled. It seems as if +it might be the dark of the day after Cain +killed Abel, and as if all of humanity's re- +mainder was huddled in affright away from +the awful spaciousness of Creation. + +The night Ralph Hagadorn started out for +Echo Bay -- bent on a pleasant duty -- he +laughed to himself, and said that he did not +at all object to being the only man in the +world, so long as the world remained as un- +speakably beautiful as it was when he buckled +on his skates and shot away into the solitude. +He was bent on reaching his best friend in +time to act as groomsman, and business had +delayed him till time was at its briefest. So +he journeyed by night and journeyed alone, +and when the tang of the frost got at his +blood, he felt as a spirited horse feels when it +gets free of bit and bridle. The ice was as +glass, his skates were keen, his frame fit, and +his venture to his taste! So he laughed, and +cut through the air as a sharp stone cleaves the +water. He could hear the whistling of the +air as he cleft it. + +As he went on and on in the black stillness, +he began to have fancies. He imagined him- +self enormously tall -- a great Viking of the +Northland, hastening over icy fiords to his love. +And that reminded him that he had a love +-- though, indeed, that thought was always +present with him as a background for other +thoughts. To be sure, he had not told her +that she was his love, for he had seen her only +a few times, and the auspicious occasion had +not yet presented itself. She lived at Echo +Bay also, and was to be the maid of honor to +his friend's bride -- which was one more +reason why he skated almost as swiftly as the +wind, and why, now and then, he let out a +shout of exultation. + +The one cloud that crossed Hagadorn's sun +of expectancy was the knowledge that Marie +Beaujeu's father had money, and that Marie +lived in a house with two stories to it, and +wore otter skin about her throat and little +satin-lined mink boots on her feet when she +went sledding. Moreover, in the locket in +which she treasured a bit of her dead mother's +hair, there was a black pearl as big as a pea. +These things made it difficult -- perhaps im- +possible -- for Ralph Hagadorn to say more +than, "I love you." But that much he meant +to say though he were scourged with chagrin +for his temerity. + +This determination grew upon him as he +swept along the ice under the starlight. +Venus made a glowing path toward the west +and seemed eager to reassure him. He was +sorry he could not skim down that avenue of +light which flowed from the love-star, but he +was forced to turn his back upon it and face +the black northeast. + +It came to him with a shock that he was +not alone. His eyelashes were frosted and +his eyeballs blurred with the cold, so at first +he thought it might be an illusion. But when +he had rubbed his eyes hard, he made sure +that not very far in front of him was a long +white skater in fluttering garments who sped +over the ice as fast as ever werewolf went. + +He called aloud, but there was no answer. +He shaped his hands and trumpeted through +them, but the silence was as before -- it was +complete. So then he gave chase, setting his +teeth hard and putting a tension on his firm +young muscles. But go however he would, +the white skater went faster. After a time, +as he glanced at the cold gleam of the north +star, he perceived that he was being led from +his direct path. For a moment he hesitated, +wondering if he would not better keep to his +road, but his weird companion seemed to +draw him on irresistibly, and finding it sweet +to follow, he followed. + +Of course it came to him more than once +in that strange pursuit, that the white skater +was no earthly guide. Up in those latitudes +men see curious things when the hoar frost is +on the earth. Hagadorn's own father -- to +hark no further than that for an instance! +-- who lived up there with the Lake Superior +Indians, and worked in the copper mines, had +welcomed a woman at his hut one bitter +night, who was gone by morning, leaving wolf +tracks on the snow! Yes, it was so, and John +Fontanelle, the half-breed, could tell you +about it any day -- if he were alive. (Alack, +the snow where the wolf tracks were, is melted +now!) + +Well, Hagadorn followed the white skater +all the night, and when the ice flushed pink +at dawn, and arrows of lovely light shot up into +the cold heavens, she was gone, and Haga- +dorn was at his destination. The sun climbed +arrogantly up to his place above all other +things, and as Hagadorn took off his skates +and glanced carelessly lakeward, he beheld a +great wind-rift in the ice, and the waves +showing blue and hungry between white fields. +Had he rushed along his intended path, +watching the stars to guide him, his glance +turned upward, all his body at magnificent +momentum, he must certainly have gone into +that cold grave. + +How wonderful that it had been sweet to +follow the white skater, and that he followed! + +His heart beat hard as he hurried to his +friend's house. But he encountered no wed- +ding furore. His friend met him as men +meet in houses of mourning. + +"Is this your wedding face?" cried Haga- +dorn. "Why, man, starved as I am, I look +more like a bridegroom than you!" + +"There's no wedding to-day!" + +"No wedding! Why, you're not --" + +"Marie Beaujeu died last night --" + +"Marie --" + +"Died last night. She had been skating +in the afternoon, and she came home chilled +and wandering in her mind, as if the frost +had got in it somehow. She grew worse and +worse, and all the time she talked of you." + +"Of me?" + +"We wondered what it meant. No one +knew you were lovers." + +"I didn't know it myself; more's the pity. +At least, I didn't know --" + +"She said you were on the ice, and that +you didn't know about the big breaking-up, +and she cried to us that the wind was off shore +and the rift widening. She cried over and +over again that you could come in by the old +French creek if you only knew --" + +"I came in that way." + +"But how did you come to do that? It's +out of the path. We thought perhaps --" + +But Hagadorn broke in with his story and +told him all as it had come to pass. + +That day they watched beside the maiden, +who lay with tapers at her head and at her +feet, and in the little church the bride who +might have been at her wedding said prayers +for her friend. They buried Marie Beaujeu +in her bridesmaid white, and Hagadorn was +before the altar with her, as he had intended +from the first! Then at midnight the lovers +who were to wed whispered their vows in the +gloom of the cold church, and walked together +through the snow to lay their bridal wreaths +upon a grave. + +Three nights later, Hagadorn skated back +again to his home. They wanted him to go +by sunlight, but he had his way, and went +when Venus made her bright path on the ice. + +The truth was, he had hoped for the com- +panionship of the white skater. But he did +not have it. His only companion was the +wind. The only voice he heard was the bay- +ing of a wolf on the north shore. The world +was as empty and as white as if God had just +created it, and the sun had not yet colored +nor man defiled it. + + + + +THEIR DEAR LITTLE GHOST + + +THE first time one looked at Els- +beth, one was not prepossessed. +She was thin and brown, her nose +turned slightly upward, her toes +went in just a perceptible degree, and her +hair was perfectly straight. But when one +looked longer, one perceived that she was a +charming little creature. The straight hair +was as fine as silk, and hung in funny little +braids down her back; there was not a flaw +in her soft brown skin, and her mouth was +tender and shapely. But her particular charm +lay in a look which she habitually had, of +seeming to know curious things -- such as it +is not allotted to ordinary persons to know. +One felt tempted to say to her: + +"What are these beautiful things which +you know, and of which others are ignorant? +What is it you see with those wise and pel- +lucid eyes? Why is it that everybody loves +you?" + +Elsbeth was my little godchild, and I knew +her better than I knew any other child in the +world. But still I could not truthfully say +that I was familiar with her, for to me her +spirit was like a fair and fragrant road in the +midst of which I might walk in peace and +joy, but where I was continually to discover +something new. The last time I saw her +quite well and strong was over in the woods +where she had gone with her two little +brothers and her nurse to pass the hottest +weeks of summer. I followed her, foolish old +creature that I was, just to be near her, for I +needed to dwell where the sweet aroma of her +life could reach me. + +One morning when I came from my room, +limping a little, because I am not so young as +I used to be, and the lake wind works havoc +with me, my little godchild came dancing to +me singing: + +"Come with me and I'll show you my +places, my places, my places!" + +Miriam, when she chanted by the Red Sea +might have been more exultant, but she could +not have been more bewitching. Of course +I knew what "places" were, because I had +once been a little girl myself, but unless you +are acquainted with the real meaning of +"places," it would be useless to try to ex- +plain. Either you know "places" or you do +not -- just as you understand the meaning of +poetry or you do not. There are things in +the world which cannot be taught. + +Elsbeth's two tiny brothers were present, +and I took one by each hand and followed +her. No sooner had we got out of doors in +the woods than a sort of mystery fell upon +the world and upon us. We were cautioned +to move silently, and we did so, avoiding the +crunching of dry twigs. + +"The fairies hate noise," whispered my +little godchild, her eyes narrowing like a +cat's. + +"I must get my wand first thing I do," she +said in an awed undertone. "It is useless to +try to do anything without a wand." + +The tiny boys were profoundly impressed, +and, indeed, so was I. I felt that at last, I +should, if I behaved properly, see the fairies, +which had hitherto avoided my materialistic +gaze. It was an enchanting moment, for +there appeared, just then, to be nothing +commonplace about life. + +There was a swale near by, and into +this the little girl plunged. I could see her +red straw hat bobbing about among the +tall rushes, and I wondered if there were +snakes. + +"Do you think there are snakes?" I asked +one of the tiny boys. + +"If there are," he said with conviction, +"they won't dare hurt her." + +He convinced me. I feared no more. +Presently Elsbeth came out of the swale. In +her hand was a brown "cattail," perfectly +full and round. She carried it as queens +carry their sceptres -- the beautiful queens we +dream of in our youth. + +"Come," she commanded, and waved the +sceptre in a fine manner. So we followed, +each tiny boy gripping my hand tight. We +were all three a trifle awed. Elsbeth led us +into a dark underbrush. The branches, as +they flew back in our faces, left them wet +with dew. A wee path, made by the girl's +dear feet, guided our footsteps. Perfumes +of elderberry and wild cucumber scented the +air. A bird, frightened from its nest, made +frantic cries above our heads. The under- +brush thickened. Presently the gloom of the +hemlocks was over us, and in the midst of +the shadowy green a tulip tree flaunted its +leaves. Waves boomed and broke upon the +shore below. There was a growing dampness +as we went on, treading very lightly. A little +green snake ran coquettishly from us. A fat +and glossy squirrel chattered at us from a safe +height, stroking his whiskers with a com- +plaisant air. + +At length we reached the "place." It was +a circle of velvet grass, bright as the first +blades of spring, delicate as fine sea-ferns. +The sunlight, falling down the shaft between +the hemlocks, flooded it with a softened light +and made the forest round about look like +deep purple velvet. My little godchild stood +in the midst and raised her wand impressively. + +"This is my place," she said, with a sort of +wonderful gladness in her tone. "This is +where I come to the fairy balls. Do you see +them?" + +"See what?" whispered one tiny boy. + +"The fairies." + +There was a silence. The older boy pulled +at my skirt. + +"Do YOU see them?" he asked, his voice +trembling with expectancy. + +"Indeed," I said, "I fear I am too old and +wicked to see fairies, and yet -- are their hats +red?" + +"They are," laughed my little girl. "Their +hats are red, and as small -- as small!" She +held up the pearly nail of her wee finger to +give us the correct idea. + +"And their shoes are very pointed at the +toes?" + +"Oh, very pointed!" + +"And their garments are green?" + +"As green as grass." + +"And they blow little horns?" + +"The sweetest little horns!" + +"I think I see them," I cried. + +"We think we see them too," said the tiny +boys, laughing in perfect glee. + +"And you hear their horns, don't you?" my +little godchild asked somewhat anxiously. + +"Don't we hear their horns?" I asked the +tiny boys. + +"We think we hear their horns," they cried. +"Don't you think we do?" + +"It must be we do," I said. "Aren't we +very, very happy?" + +We all laughed softly. Then we kissed +each other and Elsbeth led us out, her wand +high in the air. + +And so my feet found the lost path to +Arcady. + +The next day I was called to the Pacific +coast, and duty kept me there till well into +December. A few days before the date set +for my return to my home, a letter came from +Elsbeth's mother. + +"Our little girl is gone into the Unknown," +she wrote -- "that Unknown in which she +seemed to be forever trying to pry. We knew +she was going, and we told her. She was +quite brave, but she begged us to try some +way to keep her till after Christmas. 'My +presents are not finished yet,' she made moan. +'And I did so want to see what I was going +to have. You can't have a very happy Christ- +mas without me, I should think. Can you +arrange to keep me somehow till after then?' +We could not 'arrange' either with God in +heaven or science upon earth, and she is +gone." + +She was only my little godchild, and I am +an old maid, with no business fretting over +children, but it seemed as if the medium of +light and beauty had been taken from me. +Through this crystal soul I had perceived +whatever was loveliest. However, what was, +was! I returned to my home and took up a +course of Egyptian history, and determined to +concern myself with nothing this side the +Ptolemies. + +Her mother has told me how, on Christmas +eve, as usual, she and Elsbeth's father filled +the stockings of the little ones, and hung +them, where they had always hung, by the fire- +place. They had little heart for the task, +but they had been prodigal that year in +their expenditures, and had heaped upon the +two tiny boys all the treasures they thought +would appeal to them. They asked them- +selves how they could have been so insane +previously as to exercise economy at Christ- +mas time, and what they meant by not getting +Elsbeth the autoharp she had asked for the +year before. + +"And now --" began her father, thinking +of harps. But he could not complete this +sentence, of course, and the two went on pas- +sionately and almost angrily with their task. +There were two stockings and two piles of +toys. Two stockings only, and only two piles +of toys! Two is very little! + +They went away and left the darkened +room, and after a time they slept -- after a +long time. Perhaps that was about the time +the tiny boys awoke, and, putting on their +little dressing gowns and bed slippers, made +a dash for the room where the Christmas +things were always placed. The older one +carried a candle which gave out a feeble +light. The other followed behind through the +silent house. They were very impatient and +eager, but when they reached the door of the +sitting-room they stopped, for they saw that +another child was before them. + +It was a delicate little creature, sitting in +her white night gown, with two rumpled +funny braids falling down her back, and she +seemed to be weeping. As they watched, she +arose, and putting out one slender finger as +a child does when she counts, she made sure +over and over again -- three sad times -- that +there were only two stockings and two piles +of toys! Only those and no more. + +The little figure looked so familiar that the +boys started toward it, but just then, putting +up her arm and bowing her face in it, as +Elsbeth had been used to do when she wept +or was offended, the little thing glided away +and went out. That's what the boys said. +It went out as a candle goes out. + +They ran and woke their parents with the +tale, and all the house was searched in a +wonderment, and disbelief, and hope, and +tumult! But nothing was found. For nights +they watched. But there was only the silent +house. Only the empty rooms. They told +the boys they must have been mistaken. But +the boys shook their heads. + +"We know our Elsbeth," said they. "It +was our Elsbeth, cryin' 'cause she hadn't no +stockin' an' no toys, and we would have given +her all ours, only she went out -- jus' went +out!" + +Alack! + +The next Christmas I helped with the little +festival. It was none of my affair, but I asked +to help, and they let me, and when we were +all through there were three stockings and +three piles of toys, and in the largest one was +all the things that I could think of that my +dear child would love. I locked the boys' +chamber that night, and I slept on the divan +in the parlor off the sitting-room. I slept but +little, and the night was very still -- so wind- +less and white and still that I think I must +have heard the slightest noise. Yet I heard +none. Had I been in my grave I think my +ears would not have remained more unsaluted. + +Yet when daylight came and I went to un- +lock the boys' bedchamber door, I saw that +the stocking and all the treasures which I had +bought for my little godchild were gone. +There was not a vestige of them remaining! + +Of course we told the boys nothing. As +for me, after dinner I went home and buried +myself once more in my history, and so inter- +ested was I that midnight came without my +knowing it. I should not have looked up at +all, I suppose, to become aware of the time, +had it not been for a faint, sweet sound as of +a child striking a stringed instrument. It +was so delicate and remote that I hardly +heard it, but so joyous and tender that I +could not but listen, and when I heard it a +second time it seemed as if I caught the echo +of a child's laugh. At first I was puzzled. +Then I remembered the little autoharp I had +placed among the other things in that pile of +vanished toys. I said aloud: + +"Farewell, dear little ghost. Go rest. +Rest in joy, dear little ghost. Farewell, +farewell." + +That was years ago, but there has been +silence since. Elsbeth was always an obe- +dient little thing. + + + +A SPECTRAL COLLIE + +WILLIAM PERCY CECIL happened +to be a younger son, so he left home +-- which was England -- and went +to Kansas to ranch it. Thousands +of younger sons do the same, only their des- +tination is not invariably Kansas. + +An agent at Wichita picked out Cecil's +farm for him and sent the deeds over to Eng- +land before Cecil left. He said there was a +house on the place. So Cecil's mother fitted +him out for America just as she had fitted +out another superfluous boy for Africa, and +parted from him with an heroic front and big +agonies of mother-ache which she kept to +herself. + +The boy bore up the way a man of his +blood ought, but when he went out to the +kennel to see Nita, his collie, he went to +pieces somehow, and rolled on the grass with +her in his arms and wept like a booby. But +the remarkable part of it was that Nita wept +too, big, hot dog tears which her master +wiped away. When he went off she howled +like a hungry baby, and had to be switched +before she would give any one a night's sleep. + +When Cecil got over on his Kansas place +he fitted up the shack as cosily as he could, +and learned how to fry bacon and make soda +biscuits. Incidentally, he did farming, and +sunk a heap of money, finding out how not +to do things. Meantime, the Americans +laughed at him, and were inclined to turn +the cold shoulder, and his compatriots, of +whom there were a number in the county, +did not prove to his liking. They consoled +themselves for their exiled state in fashions +not in keeping with Cecil's traditions. His +homesickness went deeper than theirs, per- +haps, and American whiskey could not make +up for the loss of his English home, nor flir- +tations with the gay American village girls +quite compensate him for the loss of his +English mother. So he kept to himself and +had nostalgia as some men have consumption. + +At length the loneliness got so bad that he +had to see some living thing from home, or +make a flunk of it and go back like a cry +baby. He had a stiff pride still, though he +sobbed himself to sleep more than one night, +as many a pioneer has done before him. So +he wrote home for Nita, the collie, and got +word that she would be sent. Arrangements +were made for her care all along the line, and +she was properly boxed and shipped. + +As the time drew near for her arrival, Cecil +could hardly eat. He was too excited to +apply himself to anything. The day of her +expected arrival he actually got up at five +o'clock to clean the house and make it look +as fine as possible for her inspection. Then +he hitched up and drove fifteen miles to get +her. The train pulled out just before he +reached the station, so Nita in her box was +waiting for him on the platform. He could +see her in a queer way, as one sees the purple +centre of a revolving circle of light; for, to +tell the truth, with the long ride in the morn- +ing sun, and the beating of his heart, Cecil +was only about half-conscious of anything. +He wanted to yell, but he didn't. He kept +himself in hand and lifted up the sliding +side of the box and called to Nita, and she +came out. + +But it wasn't the man who fainted, though +he might have done so, being crazy home- +sick as he was, and half-fed and overworked +while he was yet soft from an easy life. No, +it was the dog! She looked at her master's +face, gave one cry of inexpressible joy, and +fell over in a real feminine sort of a faint, +and had to be brought to like any other lady, +with camphor and water and a few drops of +spirit down her throat. Then Cecil got up +on the wagon seat, and she sat beside him +with her head on his arm, and they rode home +in absolute silence, each feeling too much for +speech. After they reached home, however, +Cecil showed her all over the place, and she +barked out her ideas in glad sociability. + +After that Cecil and Nita were inseparable. +She walked beside him all day when he was +out with the cultivator, or when he was mow- +ing or reaping. She ate beside him at table +and slept across his feet at night. Evenings +when he looked over the Graphic from +home, or read the books his mother sent him, +that he might keep in touch with the world, +Nita was beside him, patient, but jealous. +Then, when he threw his book or paper down +and took her on his knee and looked into her +pretty eyes, or frolicked with her, she fairly +laughed with delight. + +In short, she was faithful with that faith of +which only a dog is capable -- that unques- +tioning faith to which even the most loving +women never quite attain. + +However, Fate was annoyed at this perfect +friendship. It didn't give her enough to do, +and Fate is a restless thing with a horrible +appetite for variety. So poor Nita died one +day mysteriously, and gave her last look to +Cecil as a matter of course; and he held her +paws till the last moment, as a stanch friend +should, and laid her away decently in a +pine box in the cornfield, where he could be +shielded from public view if he chose to go +there now and then and sit beside her grave. + +He went to bed very lonely, indeed, the +first night. The shack seemed to him to be +removed endless miles from the other habi- +tations of men. He seemed cut off from the +world, and ached to hear the cheerful little +barks which Nita had been in the habit of +giving him by way of good night. Her ami- +able eye with its friendly light was missing, +the gay wag of her tail was gone; all her +ridiculous ways, at which he was never tired +of laughing, were things of the past. + +He lay down, busy with these thoughts, +yet so habituated to Nita's presence, that +when her weight rested upon his feet, as +usual, he felt no surprise. But after a mo- +ment it came to him that as she was dead the +weight he felt upon his feet could not be +hers. And yet, there it was, warm and com- +fortable, cuddling down in the familiar way. +He actually sat up and put his hand down +to the foot of the bed to discover what was +there. But there was nothing there, save +the weight. And that stayed with him that +night and many nights after. + +It happened that Cecil was a fool, as men +will be when they are young, and he worked +too hard, and didn't take proper care of him- +self; and so it came about that he fell sick +with a low fever. He struggled around for a +few days, trying to work it off, but one morn- +ing he awoke only to the consciousness of +absurd dreams. He seemed to be on the sea, +sailing for home, and the boat was tossing +and pitching in a weary circle, and could +make no headway. His heart was burning +with impatience, but the boat went round and +round in that endless circle till he shrieked +out with agony. + +The next neighbors were the Taylors, who +lived two miles and a half away. They were +awakened that morning by the howling of a +dog before their door. It was a hideous +sound and would give them no peace. So +Charlie Taylor got up and opened the door, +discovering there an excited little collie. + +"Why, Tom," he called, "I thought Cecil's +collie was dead!" + +"She is," called back Tom. + +"No, she ain't neither, for here she is, +shakin' like an aspin, and a beggin' me to +go with her. Come out, Tom, and see." + +It was Nita, no denying, and the men, per- +plexed, followed her to Cecil's shack, where +they found him babbling. + +But that was the last of her. Cecil said he +never felt her on his feet again. She had +performed her final service for him, he said. +The neighbors tried to laugh at the story at +first, but they knew the Taylors wouldn't take +the trouble to lie, and as for Cecil, no one +would have ventured to chaff him. + + + + +THE HOUSE THAT WAS NOT + + +BART FLEMING took his bride out +to his ranch on the plains when she +was but seventeen years old, and the +two set up housekeeping in three +hundred and twenty acres of corn and rye. +Off toward the west there was an unbroken +sea of tossing corn at that time of the year +when the bride came out, and as her sewing +window was on the side of the house which +faced the sunset, she passed a good part of +each day looking into that great rustling mass, +breathing in its succulent odors and listening +to its sibilant melody. It was her picture +gallery, her opera, her spectacle, and, being +sensible, -- or perhaps, being merely happy, +-- she made the most of it. + +When harvesting time came and the corn +was cut, she had much entertainment in dis- +covering what lay beyond. The town was +east, and it chanced that she had never rid- +den west. So, when the rolling hills of this +newly beholden land lifted themselves for her +contemplation, and the harvest sun, all in an +angry and sanguinary glow sank in the veiled +horizon, and at noon a scarf of golden vapor +wavered up and down along the earth line, it +was as if a new world had been made for +her. Sometimes, at the coming of a storm, +a whip-lash of purple cloud, full of electric +agility, snapped along the western horizon. + +"Oh, you'll see a lot of queer things on +these here plains," her husband said when +she spoke to him of these phenomena. "I +guess what you see is the wind." + +"The wind!" cried Flora. "You can't see +the wind, Bart." + +"Now look here, Flora," returned Bart, with +benevolent emphasis, "you're a smart one, +but you don't know all I know about this here +country. I've lived here three mortal years, +waitin' for you to git up out of your mother's +arms and come out to keep me company, +and I know what there is to know. Some +things out here is queer -- so queer folks +wouldn't believe 'em unless they saw. An' +some's so pig-headed they don't believe their +own eyes. As for th' wind, if you lay down +flat and squint toward th' west, you can see +it blowin' along near th' ground, like a big +ribbon; an' sometimes it's th' color of air, +an' sometimes it's silver an' gold, an' some- +times, when a storm is comin', it's purple." + +"If you got so tired looking at the wind, +why didn't you marry some other girl, Bart, +instead of waiting for me?" + +Flora was more interested in the first part +of Bart's speech than in the last. + +"Oh, come on!" protested Bart, and he +picked her up in his arms and jumped her +toward the ceiling of the low shack as if she +were a little girl -- but then, to be sure, she +wasn't much more. + +Of all the things Flora saw when the corn +was cut down, nothing interested her so much +as a low cottage, something like her own, +which lay away in the distance. She could +not guess how far it might be, because dis- +tances are deceiving out there, where the alti- +tude is high and the air is as clear as one of +those mystic balls of glass in which the sallow +mystics of India see the moving shadows of +the future. + +She had not known there were neighbors +so near, and she wondered for several days +about them before she ventured to say any- +thing to Bart on the subject. Indeed, for +some reason which she did not attempt to ex- +plain to herself, she felt shy about broaching +the matter. Perhaps Bart did not want her +to know the people. The thought came to +her, as naughty thoughts will come, even to +the best of persons, that some handsome +young men might be "baching" it out there +by themselves, and Bart didn't wish her to +make their acquaintance. Bart had flattered +her so much that she had actually begun to +think herself beautiful, though as a matter of +fact she was only a nice little girl with a lot +of reddish-brown hair, and a bright pair of +reddish-brown eyes in a white face. + +"Bart," she ventured one evening, as the +sun, at its fiercest, rushed toward the great +black hollow of the west, "who lives over +there in that shack?" + +She turned away from the window where +she had been looking at the incarnadined +disk, and she thought she saw Bart turn pale. +But then, her eyes were so blurred with the +glory she had been gazing at, that she might +easily have been mistaken. + +"I say, Bart, why don't you speak? If +there's any one around to associate with, I +should think you'd let me have the benefit +of their company. It isn't as funny as you +think, staying here alone days and days." + +"You ain't gettin' homesick, be you, sweet- +heart?" cried Bart, putting his arms around +her. "You ain't gettin' tired of my society, +be yeh?" + +It took some time to answer this question +in a satisfactory manner, but at length Flora +was able to return to her original topic. + +"But the shack, Bart! Who lives there, +anyway?" + +"I'm not acquainted with 'em," said Bart, +sharply. "Ain't them biscuits done, Flora?" + +Then, of course, she grew obstinate. + +"Those biscuits will never be done, Bart, +till I know about that house, and why you +never spoke of it, and why nobody ever comes +down the road from there. Some one lives +there I know, for in the mornings and at night +I see the smoke coming out of the chimney." + +"Do you now?" cried Bart, opening his +eyes and looking at her with unfeigned inter- +est. "Well, do you know, sometimes I've +fancied I seen that too?" + +"Well, why not," cried Flora, in half anger. +"Why shouldn't you?" + +"See here, Flora, take them biscuits out an' +listen to me. There ain't no house there. +Hello! I didn't know you'd go for to drop the +biscuits. Wait, I'll help you pick 'em up. +By cracky, they're hot, ain't they? What you +puttin' a towel over 'em for? Well, you set +down here on my knee, so. Now you look +over at that there house. You see it, don't +yeh? Well, it ain't there! No! I saw it the +first week I was out here. I was jus' half +dyin', thinkin' of you an' wonderin' why you +didn't write. That was the time you was mad +at me. So I rode over there one day -- lookin' +up company, so t' speak -- and there wa'n't no +house there. I spent all one Sunday lookin' +for it. Then I spoke to Jim Geary about it. +He laughed an' got a little white about th' +gills, an' he said he guessed I'd have to look +a good while before I found it. He said that +there shack was an ole joke." + +"Why -- what --" + +"Well, this here is th' story he tol' me. +He said a man an' his wife come out here t' +live an' put up that there little place. An' +she was young, you know, an' kind o' skeery, +and she got lonesome. It worked on her an' +worked on her, an' one day she up an' killed +the baby an' her husband an' herself. Th' +folks found 'em and buried 'em right there +on their own ground. Well, about two weeks +after that, th' house was burned down. Don't +know how. Tramps, maybe. Anyhow, it +burned. At least, I guess it burned!" + +"You guess it burned!" + +"Well, it ain't there, you know." + +"But if it burned the ashes are there." + +"All right, girlie, they're there then. Now +let's have tea." + +This they proceeded to do, and were happy +and cheerful all evening, but that didn't keep +Flora from rising at the first flush of dawn and +stealing out of the house. She looked away +over west as she went to the barn and there, +dark and firm against the horizon, stood the +little house against the pellucid sky of morn- +ing. She got on Ginger's back -- Ginger +being her own yellow broncho -- and set off at +a hard pace for the house. It didn't appear +to come any nearer, but the objects which had +seemed to be beside it came closer into view, +and Flora pressed on, with her mind steeled +for anything. But as she approached the +poplar windbreak which stood to the north +of the house, the little shack waned like a +shadow before her. It faded and dimmed +before her eyes. + +She slapped Ginger's flanks and kept him +going, and she at last got him up to the spot. +But there was nothing there. The bunch grass +grew tall and rank and in the midst of it lay +a baby's shoe. Flora thought of picking it +up, but something cold in her veins withheld +her. Then she grew angry, and set Ginger's +head toward the place and tried to drive him +over it. But the yellow broncho gave one +snort of fear, gathered himself in a bunch, +and then, all tense, leaping muscles, made +for home as only a broncho can. + + + +STORY OF AN OBSTINATE CORPSE + + +VIRGIL HOYT is a photographer's +assistant up at St. Paul, and enjoys +his work without being consumed +by it. He has been in search of the +picturesque all over the West and hundreds +of miles to the north, in Canada, and can +speak three or four Indian dialects and put a +canoe through the rapids. That is to say, +he is a man of adventure, and no dreamer. +He can fight well and shoot better, and swim +so as to put up a winning race with the Ind- +ian boys, and he can sit in the saddle all day +and not worry about it to-morrow. + +Wherever he goes, he carries a camera. + +"The world," Hoyt is in the habit of say- +ing to those who sit with him when he smokes +his pipe, "was created in six days to be pho- +tographed. Man -- and particularly woman -- +was made for the same purpose. Clouds are +not made to give moisture nor trees to cast +shade. They have been created in order to +give the camera obscura something to do." + +In short, Virgil Hoyt's view of the world +is whimsical, and he likes to be bothered +neither with the disagreeable nor the mysteri- +ous. That is the reason he loathes and detests +going to a house of mourning to photograph +a corpse. The bad taste of it offends him, +but above all, he doesn't like the necessity of +shouldering, even for a few moments, a part +of the burden of sorrow which belongs to +some one else. He dislikes sorrow, and +would willingly canoe five hundred miles up +the cold Canadian rivers to get rid of it. +Nevertheless, as assistant photographer, it is +often his duty to do this very kind of thing. + +Not long ago he was sent for by a rich Jew- +ish family to photograph the remains of the +mother, who had just died. He was put out, +but he was only an assistant, and he went. +He was taken to the front parlor, where the +dead woman lay in her coffin. It was evident +to him that there was some excitement in the +household, and that a discussion was going on. +But Hoyt said to himself that it didn't con- +cern him, and he therefore paid no attention +to it. + +The daughter wanted the coffin turned on +end in order that the corpse might face the +camera properly, but Hoyt said he could over- +come the recumbent attitude and make it ap- +pear that the face was taken in the position +it would naturally hold in life, and so they +went out and left him alone with the dead. + +The face of the deceased was a strong and +positive one, such as may often be seen among +Jewish matrons. Hoyt regarded it with some +admiration, thinking to himself that she was a +woman who had known what she wanted, and +who, once having made up her mind, would +prove immovable. Such a character appealed +to Hoyt. He reflected that he might have +married if only he could have found a woman +with strength of character sufficient to disagree +with him. There was a strand of hair out of +place on the dead woman's brow, and he +gently pushed it back. A bud lifted its head +too high from among the roses on her breast +and spoiled the contour of the chin, so he +broke it off. He remembered these things +later with keen distinctness, and that his hand +touched her chill face two or three times in +the making of his arrangements. + +Then he took the impression, and left the +house. + +He was busy at the time with some railroad +work, and several days passed before he found +opportunity to develop the plates. He took +them from the bath in which they had lain +with a number of others, and went energeti- +cally to work upon them, whistling some very +saucy songs he had learned of the guide in +the Red River country, and trying to forget +that the face which was presently to appear +was that of a dead woman. He had used +three plates as a precaution against accident, +and they came up well. But as they devel- +oped, he became aware of the existence of +something in the photograph which had not +been apparent to his eye in the subject. He +was irritated, and without attempting to face +the mystery, he made a few prints and laid +them aside, ardently hoping that by some +chance they would never be called for. + +However, as luck would have it, -- and +Hoyt's luck never had been good, -- his em- +ployer asked one day what had become of +those photographs. Hoyt tried to evade +making an answer, but the effort was futile, +and he had to get out the finished prints and +exhibit them. The older man sat staring at +them a long time. + +"Hoyt," he said, "you're a young man, and +very likely you have never seen anything like +this before. But I have. Not exactly the same +thing, perhaps, but similar phenomena have +come my way a number of times since I went in +the business, and I want to tell you there are +things in heaven and earth not dreamt of --" + +"Oh, I know all that tommy-rot," cried +Hoyt, angrily, "but when anything happens I +want to know the reason why and how it is +done." + +"All right," answered his employer, "then +you might explain why and how the sun rises." + +But he humored the young man sufficiently +to examine with him the baths in which the +plates were submerged, and the plates them- +selves. All was as it should be; but the mys- +tery was there, and could not be done away +with. + +Hoyt hoped against hope that the friends +of the dead woman would somehow forget +about the photographs; but the idea was un- +reasonable, and one day, as a matter of +course, the daughter appeared and asked to +see the pictures of her mother. + +"Well, to tell the truth," stammered Hoyt, +"they didn't come out quite -- quite as well +as we could wish." + +"But let me see them," persisted the lady. +"I'd like to look at them anyhow." + +"Well, now," said Hoyt, trying to be +soothing, as he believed it was always best +to be with women, -- to tell the truth he was +an ignoramus where women were concerned, +-- "I think it would be better if you didn't +look at them. There are reasons why --" +he ambled on like this, stupid man that he +was, till the lady naturally insisted upon see- +ing the pictures without a moment's delay. + +So poor Hoyt brought them out and placed +them in her hand, and then ran for the water +pitcher, and had to be at the bother of bath- +ing her forehead to keep her from fainting. + +For what the lady saw was this: Over face +and flowers and the head of the coffin fell a +thick veil, the edges of which touched the +floor in some places. It covered the feat- +ures so well that not a hint of them was +visible. + +"There was nothing over mother's face!" +cried the lady at length. + +"Not a thing," acquiesced Hoyt. "I +know, because I had occasion to touch her +face just before I took the picture. I put +some of her hair back from her brow." + +"What does it mean, then?" asked the +lady. + +"You know better than I. There is no ex- +planation in science. Perhaps there is some +in -- in psychology." + +"Well," said the young woman, stammer- +ing a little and coloring, "mother was a good +woman, but she always wanted her own way, +and she always had it, too." + +"Yes." + +"And she never would have her picture +taken. She didn't admire her own appear- +ance. She said no one should ever see a +picture of her." + +"So?" said Hoyt, meditatively. "Well, +she's kept her word, hasn't she?" + +The two stood looking at the photographs +for a time. Then Hoyt pointed to the open +blaze in the grate. + +"Throw them in," he commanded. "Don't +let your father see them -- don't keep them +yourself. They wouldn't be agreeable things +to keep." + +"That's true enough," admitted the lady. +And she threw them in the fire. Then Vir- +gil Hoyt brought out the plates and broke +them before her eyes. + +And that was the end of it -- except that +Hoyt sometimes tells the story to those who +sit beside him when his pipe is lighted. + + + + +A CHILD OF THE RAIN + + +IT was the night that Mona Meeks, +the dressmaker, told him she +didn't love him. He couldn't +believe it at first, because he had +so long been accustomed to the idea that she +did, and no matter how rough the weather or +how irascible the passengers, he felt a song +in his heart as he punched transfers, and rang +his bell punch, and signalled the driver when +to let people off and on. + +Now, suddenly, with no reason except a +woman's, she had changed her mind. He +dropped in to see her at five o'clock, just +before time for the night shift, and to give +her two red apples he had been saving for her. +She looked at the apples as if they were in- +visible and she could not see them, and stand- +ing in her disorderly little dressmaking parlor, +with its cuttings and scraps and litter of fab- +rics, she said: + +"It is no use, John. I shall have to work +here like this all my life -- work here alone. +For I don't love you, John. No, I don't. I +thought I did, but it is a mistake." + +"You mean it?" asked John, bringing up +the words in a great gasp. + +"Yes," she said, white and trembling and +putting out her hands as if to beg for his +mercy. And then -- big, lumbering fool -- +he turned around and strode down the stairs +and stood at the corner in the beating rain +waiting for his car. It came along at length, +spluttering on the wet rails and spitting out +blue fire, and he took his shift after a +gruff "Good night" to Johnson, the man he +relieved. + +He was glad the rain was bitter cold and +drove in his face fiercely. He rejoiced at +the cruelty of the wind, and when it hustled +pedestrians before it, lashing them, twisting +their clothes, and threatening their equilib- +rium, he felt amused. He was pleased at +the chill in his bones and at the hunger that +tortured him. At least, at first he thought it +was hunger till he remembered that he had +just eaten. The hours passed confusedly. +He had no consciousness of time. But it +must have been late, -- near midnight, -- +judging by the fact that there were few per- +sons visible anywhere in the black storm, +when he noticed a little figure sitting at the +far end of the car. He had not seen the +child when she got on, but all was so curious +and wild to him that evening -- he himself +seemed to himself the most curious and the +wildest of all things -- that it was not surpris- +ing that he should not have observed the little +creature. + +She was wrapped in a coat so much too +large that it had become frayed at the bottom +from dragging on the pavement. Her hair +hung in unkempt stringiness about her bent +shoulders, and her feet were covered with +old arctics, many sizes too big, from which +the soles hung loose. + +Beside the little figure was a chest of dark +wood, with curiously wrought hasps. From +this depended a stout strap by which it could +be carried over the shoulders. John Billings +stared in, fascinated by the poor little thing +with its head sadly drooping upon its breast, +its thin blue hands relaxed upon its lap, and +its whole attitude so suggestive of hunger, +loneliness, and fatigue, that he made up his +mind he would collect no fare from it. + +"It will need its nickel for breakfast," he +said to himself. "The company can stand +this for once. Or, come to think of it, I +might celebrate my hard luck. Here's to the +brotherhood of failures!" And he took a +nickel from one pocket of his great-coat and +dropped it in another, ringing his bell punch +to record the transfer. + +The car plunged along in the darkness, and +the rain beat more viciously than ever in his +face. The night was full of the rushing sound +of the storm. Owing to some change of tem- +perature the glass of the car became obscured +so that the young conductor could no longer +see the little figure distinctly, and he grew +anxious about the child. + +"I wonder if it's all right," he said to him- +self. "I never saw living creature sit so still." + +He opened the car door, intending to speak +with the child, but just then something went +wrong with the lights. There was a blue and +green flickering, then darkness, a sudden halt- +ing of the car, and a great sweep of wind and +rain in at the door. When, after a moment, +light and motion reasserted themselves, and +Billings had got the door together, he turned +to look at the little passenger. But the car +was empty. + +It was a fact. There was no child there -- +not even moisture on the seat where she had +been sitting. + +"Bill," said he, going to the front door and +addressing the driver, "what became of that +little kid in the old cloak?" + +"I didn't see no kid," said Bill, crossly. +"For Gawd's sake, close the door, John, and +git that draught off my back." + +"Draught!" said John, indignantly, "where's +the draught?" + +"You've left the hind door open," growled +Bill, and John saw him shivering as a blast +struck him and ruffled the fur on his bear-skin +coat. But the door was not open, and yet +John had to admit to himself that the car +seemed filled with wind and a strange +coldness. + +However, it didn't matter. Nothing mat- +tered! Still, it was as well no doubt to look +under the seats just to make sure no little +crouching figure was there, and so he did. +But there was nothing. In fact, John said to +himself, he seemed to be getting expert in +finding nothing where there ought to be some- +thing. + +He might have stayed in the car, for there +was no likelihood of more passengers that +evening, but somehow he preferred going out +where the rain could drench him and the +wind pommel him. How horribly tired he +was! If there were only some still place away +from the blare of the city where a man could +lie down and listen to the sound of the sea +or the storm -- or if one could grow suddenly +old and get through with the bother of living +-- or if -- + +The car gave a sudden lurch as it rounded +a curve, and for a moment it seemed to be +a mere chance whether Conductor Billings +would stay on his platform or go off under +those fire-spitting wheels. He caught in- +stinctively at his brake, saved himself, and +stood still for a moment, panting. + +"I must have dozed," he said to himself. + +Just then, dimly, through the blurred win- +dow, he saw again the little figure of the +child, its head on its breast as before, its +blue hands lying in its lap and the curious +box beside it. John Billings felt a coldness +beyond the coldness of the night run through +his blood. Then, with a half-stifled cry, he +threw back the door, and made a desperate +spring at the corner where the eerie thing +sat. + +And he touched the green carpeting on the +seat, which was quite dry and warm, as if no +dripping, miserable little wretch had ever +crouched there. + +He rushed to the front door. + +"Bill," he roared, "I want to know about +that kid." + +"What kid?" + +"The same kid! The wet one with the old +coat and the box with iron hasps! The one +that's been sitting here in the car!" + +Bill turned his surly face to confront the +young conductor. + +"You've been drinking, you fool," said he. +"Fust thing you know you'll be reported." + +The conductor said not a word. He went +slowly and weakly back to his post and stood +there the rest of the way leaning against the +end of the car for support. Once or twice +he muttered: + +"The poor little brat!" And again he +said, "So you didn't love me after all!" + +He never knew how he reached home, but +he sank to sleep as dying men sink to death. +All the same, being a hearty young man, he +was on duty again next day but one, and +again the night was rainy and cold. + +It was the last run, and the car was spin- +ning along at its limit, when there came a +sudden soft shock. John Billings knew what +that meant. He had felt something of the +kind once before. He turned sick for a +moment, and held on to the brake. Then +he summoned his courage and went around +to the side of the car, which had stopped. +Bill, the driver, was before him, and had a +limp little figure in his arms, and was carry- +ing it to the gaslight. John gave one look +and cried: + +"It's the same kid, Bill! The one I told +you of!" + +True as truth were the ragged coat dangling +from the pitiful body, the little blue hands, +the thin shoulders, the stringy hair, the big +arctics on the feet. And in the road not far +off was the curious chest of dark wood with +iron hasps. + +"She ran under the car deliberate!" cried +Bill. "I yelled to her, but she looked at me +and ran straight on!" + +He was white in spite of his weather-beaten +skin. + +"I guess you wasn't drunk last night after +all, John," said he. + +"You -- you are sure the kid is -- is there?" +gasped John. + +"Not so damned sure!" said Bill. + +But a few minutes later it was taken away +in a patrol wagon, and with it the little box +with iron hasps. + + + + +THE ROOM OF THE EVIL THOUGHT + + +THEY called it the room of the Evil +Thought. It was really the pleas- +antest room in the house, and +when the place had been used as +the rectory, was the minister's study. It +looked out on a mournful clump of larches, +such as may often be seen in the old-fash- +ioned yards in Michigan, and these threw a +tender gloom over the apartment. + +There was a wide fireplace in the room, +and it had been the young minister's habit +to sit there hours and hours, staring ahead of +him at the fire, and smoking moodily. The +replenishing of the fire and of his pipe, it +was said, would afford him occupation all +the day long, and that was how it came about +that his parochial duties were neglected so +that, little by little, the people became dis- +satisfied with him, though he was an eloquent +young man, who could send his congregation +away drunk on his influence. However, the +calmer pulsed among his parish began to +whisper that it was indeed the influence of +the young minister and not that of the Holy +Ghost which they felt, and it was finally +decided that neither animal magnetism nor +hypnotism were good substitutes for religion. +And so they let him go. + +The new rector moved into a smart brick +house on the other side of the church, and +gave receptions and dinner parties, and was +punctilious about making his calls. The +people therefore liked him very much -- so +much that they raised the debt on the church +and bought a chime of bells, in their enthu- +siasm. Every one was lighter of heart than +under the ministration of the previous rector. +A burden appeared to be lifted from the com- +munity. True, there were a few who con- +fessed the new man did not give them the +food for thought which the old one had done, +but, then, the former rector had made them +uncomfortable! He had not only made them +conscious of the sins of which they were +already guilty, but also of those for which +they had the latent capacity. A strange and +fatal man, whom women loved to their sor- +row, and whom simple men could not under- +stand! It was generally agreed that the parish +was well rid of him. + +"He was a genius," said the people in +commiseration. The word was an uncom- +plimentary epithet with them. + +When the Hanscoms moved in the house +which had been the old rectory, they gave +Grandma Hanscom the room with the fire- +place. Grandma was well pleased. The +roaring fire warmed her heart as well as her +chill old body, and she wept with weak joy +when she looked at the larches, because they +reminded her of the house she had lived in +when she was first married. All the forenoon +of the first day she was busy putting things +away in bureau drawers and closets, but by +afternoon she was ready to sit down in her +high-backed rocker and enjoy the comforts of +her room. + +She nodded a bit before the fire, as she +usually did after luncheon, and then she +awoke with an awful start and sat staring +before her with such a look in her gentle, +filmy old eyes as had never been there before. +She did not move, except to rock slightly, +and the Thought grew and grew till her face +was disguised as by some hideous mask of +tragedy. + +By and by the children came pounding at +the door. + +"Oh, grandma, let us in, please. We +want to see your new room, and mamma +gave us some ginger cookies on a plate, and +we want to give some to you." + +The door gave way under their assaults, and +the three little ones stood peeping in, wait- +ing for permission to enter. But it did not +seem to be their grandma -- their own dear +grandma -- who arose and tottered toward +them in fierce haste, crying: + +"Away, away! Out of my sight! Out of +my sight before I do the thing I want to do! +Such a terrible thing! Send some one to me +quick, children, children! Send some one +quick!" + +They fled with feet shod with fear, and +their mother came, and Grandma Hanscom +sank down and clung about her skirts and +sobbed: + +"Tie me, Miranda. Make me fast to the +bed or the wall. Get some one to watch me. +For I want to do an awful thing!" + +They put the trembling old creature in bed, +and she raved there all the night long and +cried out to be held, and to be kept from +doing the fearful thing, whatever it was -- for +she never said what it was. + +The next morning some one suggested tak- +ing her in the sitting-room where she would +be with the family. So they laid her on the +sofa, hemmed around with cushions, and +before long she was her quiet self again, +though exhausted, naturally, with the tumult +of the previous night. Now and then, as the +children played about her, a shadow crept +over her face -- a shadow as of cold remem- +brance -- and then the perplexed tears +followed. + +When she seemed as well as ever they put +her back in her room. But though the fire +glowed and the lamp burned, as soon as ever +she was alone they heard her shrill cries ring- +ing to them that the Evil Thought had come +again. So Hal, who was home from col- +lege, carried her up to his room, which +she seemed to like very well. Then he went +down to have a smoke before grandma's +fire. + +The next morning he was absent from break- +fast. They thought he might have gone for +an early walk, and waited for him a few min- +utes. Then his sister went to the room that +looked upon the larches, and found him +dressed and pacing the floor with a face set +and stern. He had not been in bed at all, +as she saw at once. His eyes were bloodshot, +his face stricken as if with old age or sin or +-- but she could not make it out. When he +saw her he sank in a chair and covered his +face with his hands, and between the trembling +fingers she could see drops of perspiration on +his forehead. + +"Hal!" she cried, "Hal, what is it?" + +But for answer he threw his arms about the +little table and clung to it, and looked at her +with tortured eyes, in which she fancied she +saw a gleam of hate. She ran, screaming, +from the room, and her father came and went +up to him and laid his hands on the boy's +shoulders. And then a fearful thing hap- +pened. All the family saw it. There could +be no mistake. Hal's hands found their way +with frantic eagerness toward his father's +throat as if they would choke him, and the +look in his eyes was so like a madman's that +his father raised his fist and felled him as he +used to fell men years before in the college +fights, and then dragged him into the sitting- +room and wept over him. + +By evening, however, Hal was all right, and +the family said it must have been a fever, -- +perhaps from overstudy, -- at which Hal cov- +ertly smiled. But his father was still too +anxious about him to let him out of his sight, +so he put him on a cot in his room, and thus +it chanced that the mother and Grace con- +cluded to sleep together downstairs. + +The two women made a sort of festival of +it, and drank little cups of chocolate before +the fire, and undid and brushed their brown +braids, and smiled at each other, understand- +ingly, with that sweet intuitive sympathy +which women have, and Grace told her +mother a number of things which she had +been waiting for just such an auspicious oc- +casion to confide. + +But the larches were noisy and cried out +with wild voices, and the flame of the fire +grew blue and swirled about in the draught +sinuously, so that a chill crept upon the two. +Something cold appeared to envelop them -- +such a chill as pleasure voyagers feel when +a berg steals beyond Newfoundland and +glows blue and threatening upon their ocean +path. + +Then came something else which was not +cold, but hot as the flames of hell -- and they +saw red, and stared at each other with mad- +dened eyes, and then ran together from the +room and clasped in close embrace safe +beyond the fatal place, and thanked God +they had not done the thing that they dared +not speak of -- the thing which suddenly came +to them to do. + +So they called it the room of the Evil +Thought. They could not account for it. +They avoided the thought of it, being healthy +and happy folk. But none entered it more. +The door was locked. + +One day, Hal, reading the paper, came +across a paragraph concerning the young min- +ister who had once lived there, and who had +thought and written there and so influenced +the lives of those about him that they remem- +bered him even while they disapproved. + +"He cut a man's throat on board ship for +Australia," said he, "and then he cut his own, +without fatal effect -- and jumped overboard, +and so ended it. What a strange thing!" + +Then they all looked at one another with +subtle looks, and a shadow fell upon them +and stayed the blood at their hearts. + +The next week the room of the Evil Thought +was pulled down to make way for a pansy bed, +which is quite gay and innocent, and blooms +all the better because the larches, with their +eternal murmuring, have been laid low and +carted away to the sawmill. + + + + +STORY OF THE VANISHING PATIENT + + +THERE had always been strange +stories about the house, but it +was a sensible, comfortable sort +of a neighborhood, and people +took pains to say to one another that there +was nothing in these tales -- of course not! +Absolutely nothing! How could there be? +It was a matter of common remark, however, +that considering the amount of money the +Nethertons had spent on the place, it was +curious they lived there so little. They were +nearly always away, -- up North in the sum- +mer and down South in the winter, and over +to Paris or London now and then, -- and when +they did come home it was only to entertain +a number of guests from the city. The place +was either plunged in gloom or gayety. The +old gardener who kept house by himself in +the cottage at the back of the yard had things +much his own way by far the greater part of +the time. + +Dr. Block and his wife lived next door to +the Nethertons, and he and his wife, who +were so absurd as to be very happy in each +other's company, had the benefit of the beau- +tiful yard. They walked there mornings when +the leaves were silvered with dew, and even- +ings they sat beside the lily pond and listened +for the whip-poor-will. The doctor's wife +moved her room over to that side of the +house which commanded a view of the yard, +and thus made the honeysuckles and laurel +and clematis and all the masses of tossing +greenery her own. Sitting there day after +day with her sewing, she speculated about the +mystery which hung impalpably yet undeniably +over the house. + +It happened one night when she and her +husband had gone to their room, and were +congratulating themselves on the fact that he +had no very sick patients and was likely to +enjoy a good night's rest, that a ring came at +the door. + +"If it's any one wanting you to leave +home," warned his wife, "you must tell them +you are all worn out. You've been disturbed +every night this week, and it's too much!" + +The young physician went downstairs. At +the door stood a man whom he had never +seen before. + +"My wife is lying very ill next door," said +the stranger, "so ill that I fear she will not +live till morning. Will you please come to +her at once?" + +"Next door?" cried the physician. "I +didn't know the Nethertons were home!" + +"Please hasten," begged the man. "I must +go back to her. Follow as quickly as you +can." + +The doctor went back upstairs to complete +his toilet. + +"How absurd," protested his wife when she +heard the story. "There is no one at the +Nethertons'. I sit where I can see the front +door, and no one can enter without my know- +ing it, and I have been sewing by the window +all day. If there were any one in the house, +the gardener would have the porch lantern +lighted. It is some plot. Some one has +designs on you. You must not go." + +But he went. As he left the room his wife +placed a revolver in his pocket. + +The great porch of the mansion was dark, +but the physician made out that the door was +open, and he entered. A feeble light came +from the bronze lamp at the turn of the stairs, +and by it he found his way, his feet sinking +noiselessly in the rich carpets. At the head +of the stairs the man met him. The doctor +thought himself a tall man, but the stranger +topped him by half a head. He motioned +the physician to follow him, and the two went +down the hall to the front room. The place +was flushed with a rose-colored glow from +several lamps. On a silken couch, in the +midst of pillows, lay a woman dying with +consumption. She was like a lily, white, +shapely, graceful, with feeble yet charming +movements. She looked at the doctor ap- +pealingly, then, seeing in his eyes the in- +voluntary verdict that her hour was at hand, +she turned toward her companion with a +glance of anguish. Dr. Block asked a few +questions. The man answered them, the +woman remaining silent. The physician ad- +ministered something stimulating, and then +wrote a prescription which he placed on the +mantel-shelf. + +"The drug store is closed to-night," he +said, "and I fear the druggist has gone home. +You can have the prescription filled the first +thing in the morning, and I will be over +before breakfast." + +After that, there was no reason why he +should not have gone home. Yet, oddly +enough, he preferred to stay. Nor was it +professional anxiety that prompted this delay. +He longed to watch those mysterious per- +sons, who, almost oblivious of his presence, +were speaking their mortal farewells in their +glances, which were impassioned and of un- +utterable sadness. + +He sat as if fascinated. He watched the +glitter of rings on the woman's long, white +hands, he noted the waving of light hair +about her temples, he observed the details of +her gown of soft white silk which fell about +her in voluminous folds. Now and then the +man gave her of the stimulant which the doc- +tor had provided; sometimes he bathed her +face with water. Once he paced the floor +for a moment till a motion of her hand +quieted him. + +After a time, feeling that it would be more +sensible and considerate of him to leave, the +doctor made his way home. His wife was +awake, impatient to hear of his experiences. +She listened to his tale in silence, and when +he had finished she turned her face to the +wall and made no comment. + +"You seem to be ill, my dear," he said. +"You have a chill. You are shivering." + +"I have no chill," she replied sharply. +"But I -- well, you may leave the light +burning." + +The next morning before breakfast the doc- +tor crossed the dewy sward to the Netherton +house. The front door was locked, and no +one answered to his repeated ringings. The +old gardener chanced to be cutting the grass +near at hand, and he came running up. + +"What you ringin' that door-bell for, doc- +tor?" said he. "The folks ain't come home +yet. There ain't nobody there." + +"Yes, there is, Jim. I was called here last +night. A man came for me to attend his +wife. They must both have fallen asleep that +the bell is not answered. I wouldn't be sur- +prised to find her dead, as a matter of fact. +She was a desperately sick woman. Perhaps +she is dead and something has happened to +him. You have the key to the door, Jim. +Let me in." + +But the old man was shaking in every limb, +and refused to do as he was bid. + +"Don't you never go in there, doctor," +whispered he, with chattering teeth. "Don't +you go for to 'tend no one. You jus' come +tell me when you sent for that way. No, I +ain't goin' in, doctor, nohow. It ain't part +of my duties to go in. That's been stipulated +by Mr. Netherton. It's my business to look +after the garden." + +Argument was useless. Dr. Block took the +bunch of keys from the old man's pocket and +himself unlocked the front door and entered. +He mounted the steps and made his way to +the upper room. There was no evidence of +occupancy. The place was silent, and, so far +as living creature went, vacant. The dust lay +over everything. It covered the delicate +damask of the sofa where he had seen the +dying woman. It rested on the pillows. The +place smelled musty and evil, as if it had not +been used for a long time. The lamps of the +room held not a drop of oil. + +But on the mantel-shelf was the prescrip- +tion which the doctor had written the night +before. He read it, folded it, and put it in +his pocket. + +As he locked the outside door the old gar- +dener came running to him. + +"Don't you never go up there again, will +you?" he pleaded, "not unless you see all the +Nethertons home and I come for you myself. +You won't, doctor?" + +"No," said the doctor. + +When he told his wife she kissed him, and +said: + +"Next time when I tell you to stay at home, +you must stay!" + + + + +THE PIANO NEXT DOOR + + +BABETTE had gone away for the +summer; the furniture was in its +summer linens; the curtains were +down, and Babette's husband, John +Boyce, was alone in the house. It was the +first year of his marriage, and he missed +Babette. But then, as he often said to him- +self, he ought never to have married her. He +did it from pure selfishness, and because he +was determined to possess the most illusive, +tantalizing, elegant, and utterly unmoral little +creature that the sun shone upon. He wanted +her because she reminded him of birds, and +flowers, and summer winds, and other exqui- +site things created for the delectation of +mankind. He neither expected nor desired +her to think. He had half-frightened her into +marrying him, had taken her to a poor man's +home, provided her with no society such as +she had been accustomed to, and he had no +reasonable cause of complaint when she +answered the call of summer and flitted away, +like a butterfly in the morning sunshine, to +the place where the flowers grew. + +He wrote to her every evening, sitting in +the stifling, ugly house, and poured out his +soul as if it were a libation to a goddess. +She sometimes answered by telegraph, some- +times by a perfumed note. He schooled him- +self not to feel hurt. Why should Babette +write? Does a goldfinch indict epistles; or +a humming-bird study composition; or a +glancing, red-scaled fish in summer shallows +consider the meaning of words? + +He knew at the beginning what Babette was +-- guessed her limitations -- trembled when +he buttoned her tiny glove -- kissed her dainty +slipper when he found it in the closet after +she was gone -- thrilled at the sound of her +laugh, or the memory of it! That was all. +A mere case of love. He was in bonds. +Babette was not. Therefore he was in the +city, working overhours to pay for Babette's +pretty follies down at the seaside. It was +quite right and proper. He was a grub in +the furrow; she a lark in the blue. Those +had always been and always must be their +relative positions. + +Having attained a mood of philosophic +calm, in which he was prepared to spend his +evenings alone -- as became a grub -- and to +await with dignified patience the return of +his wife, it was in the nature of an inconsist- +ency that he should have walked the floor of +the dull little drawing-room like a lion in +cage. It did not seem in keeping with the +position of superior serenity which he had +assumed, that, reading Babette's notes, he +should have raged with jealousy, or that, in +the loneliness of his unkempt chamber, he +should have stretched out arms of longing. +Even if Babette had been present, she would +only have smiled her gay little smile and co- +quetted with him. She could not understand. +He had known, of course, from the first mo- +ment, that she could not understand! And +so, why the ache, ache, ache of the heart! +Or WAS it the heart, or the brain, or the +soul? + +Sometimes, when the evenings were so hot +that he could not endure the close air of the +house, he sat on the narrow, dusty front porch +and looked about him at his neighbors. The +street had once been smart and aspiring, but +it had fallen into decay and dejection. Pale +young men, with flurried-looking wives, seemed +to Boyce to occupy most of the houses. Some- +times three or four couples would live in one +house. Most of these appeared to be child- +less. The women made a pretence at fashion- +able dressing, and wore their hair elaborately +in fashions which somehow suggested board- +ing-houses to Boyce, though he could not +have told why. Every house in the block +needed fresh paint. Lacking this renovation, +the householders tried to make up for it by +a display of lace curtains which, at every +window, swayed in the smoke-weighted breeze. +Strips of carpeting were laid down the front +steps of the houses where the communities of +young couples lived, and here, evenings, the +inmates of the houses gathered, committing +mild extravagances such as the treating of each +other to ginger ale, or beer, or ice-cream. + +Boyce watched these tawdry makeshifts at +sociability with bitterness and loathing. He +wondered how he could have been such a +fool as to bring his exquisite Babette to this +neighborhood. How could he expect that +she would return to him? It was not reason- +able. He ought to go down on his knees +with gratitude that she even condescended to +write him. + +Sitting one night till late, -- so late that the +fashionable young wives with their husbands +had retired from the strips of stair carpeting, +-- and raging at the loneliness which ate at +his heart like a cancer, he heard, softly creep- +ing through the windows of the house adjoin- +ing his own, the sound of comfortable mel- +ody. + +It breathed upon his ear like a spirit of +consolation, speaking of peace, of love which +needs no reward save its own sweetness, of +aspiration which looks forever beyond the +thing of the hour to find attainment in that +which is eternal. So insidiously did it whis- +per these things, so delicately did the simple +and perfect melodies creep upon the spirit -- +that Boyce felt no resentment, but from the +first listened as one who listens to learn, or +as one who, fainting on the hot road, hears, far +in the ferny deeps below, the gurgle of a spring. + +Then came harmonies more intricate: fair +fabrics of woven sound, in the midst of which +gleamed golden threads of joy; a tapestry of +sound, multi-tinted, gallant with story and +achievement, and beautiful things. Boyce, +sitting on his absurd piazza, with his knees +jambed against the balustrade, and his chair +back against the dun-colored wall of his +house, seemed to be walking in the cathedral +of the redwood forest, with blue above him, +a vast hymn in his ears, pungent perfume in +his nostrils, and mighty shafts of trees lifting +themselves to heaven, proud and erect as pure +men before their Judge. He stood on a +mountain at sunrise, and saw the marvels of +the amethystine clouds below his feet, heard +an eternal and white silence, such as broods +among the everlasting snows, and saw an eagle +winging for the sun. He was in a city, and +away from him, diverging like the spokes of +a wheel, ran thronging streets, and to his sense +came the beat, beat, beat of the city's heart. +He saw the golden alchemy of a chosen race; +saw greed transmitted to progress; saw that +which had enslaved men, work at last to their +liberation; heard the roar of mighty mills, +and on the streets all the peoples of earth +walking with common purpose, in fealty and +understanding. And then, from the swelling +of this concourse of great sounds, came a +diminuendo, calm as philosophy, and from +that, nothingness. + +Boyce sat still for a long time, listening to +the echoes which this music had awakened +in his soul. He retired, at length, content, +but determined that upon the morrow he +would watch -- the day being Sunday -- for +the musician who had so moved and taught +him. + +He arose early, therefore, and having pre- +pared his own simple breakfast of fruit and +coffee, took his station by the window to +watch for the man. For he felt convinced +that the exposition he had heard was that of +a masculine mind. The long, hot hours of +the morning went by, but the front door +of the house next to his did not open. + +"These artists sleep late," he complained. +Still he watched. He was too much afraid +of losing him to go out for dinner. By three +in the afternoon he had grown impatient. He +went to the house next door and rang the +bell. There was no response. He thun- +dered another appeal. An old woman with +a cloth about her head answered the door. +She was very deaf, and Boyce had difficulty +in making himself understood. + +"The family is in the country," was all she +would say. "The family will not be home +till September." + +"But there is some one living here?" +shouted Boyce. + +"_I_ live here," she said with dignity, put- +ting back a wisp of dirty gray hair behind +her ear. "It is my house. I sublet to the +family." + +"What family?" + +But the old creature was not communica- +tive. + +"The family that lives here," she said. + +"Then who plays the piano in this house?" +roared Boyce. "Do you?" + +He thought a shade of pallor showed itself +on her ash-colored cheeks. Yet she smiled a +little at the idea of her playing. + +"There is no piano," she said, and she put +an enigmatical emphasis to the words. + +"Nonsense," cried Boyce, indignantly. "I +heard a piano being played in this very house +for hours last night!" + +"You may enter," said the old woman, +with an accent more vicious than hospitable. + +Boyce almost burst into the drawing-room. +It was a dusty and forbidding place, with ugly +furniture and gaudy walls. No piano nor any +other musical instrument stood in it. The +intruder turned an angry and baffled face to +the old woman, who was smiling with ill- +concealed exultation. + +"I shall see the other rooms," he an- +nounced. The old woman did not appear to +be surprised at his impertinence. + +"As you please," she said. + +So, with the hobbling creature, with her +bandaged head, for a guide, he explored every +room of the house, which being identical with +his own, he could do without fear of leaving +any apartment unentered. But no piano did +he find! + +"Explain," roared Boyce at length, turning +upon the leering old hag beside him. "Ex- +plain! For surely I heard music more beau- +tiful than I can tell." + +"I know nothing," she said. "But it is +true I once had a lodger who rented the +front room, and that he played upon the +piano. I am poor at hearing, but he must +have played well, for all the neighbors used +to come in front of the house to listen, and +sometimes they applauded him, and some- +times they were still. I could tell by +watching their hands. Sometimes little chil- +dren came and danced. Other times young +men and women came and listened. But the +young man died. The neighbors were angry. +They came to look at him and said he had +starved to death. It was no fault of mine. +I sold his piano to pay his funeral ex- +penses -- and it took every cent to pay for +them too, I'd have you know. But since +then, sometimes -- still, it must be non- +sense, for I never heard it -- folks say that he +plays the piano in my room. It has kept me +out of the letting of it more than once. But +the family doesn't seem to mind -- the family +that lives here, you know. They will be back +in September. Yes." + +Boyce left her nodding her thanks at what +he had placed in her hand, and went home to +write it all to Babette -- Babette who would +laugh so merrily when she read it! + + + + +AN ASTRAL ONION + + +WHEN Tig Braddock came to Nora +Finnegan he was red-headed and +freckled, and, truth to tell, he re- +mained with these features to the +end of his life -- a life prolonged by a lucky, +if somewhat improbable, incident, as you shall +hear. + +Tig had shuffled off his parents as saurians, +of some sorts, do their skins. During the +temporary absence from home of his mother, +who was at the bridewell, and the more ex- +tended vacation of his father, who, like Vil- +lon, loved the open road and the life of it, +Tig, who was not a well-domesticated animal, +wandered away. The humane society never +heard of him, the neighbors did not miss +him, and the law took no cognizance of this +detached citizen -- this lost pleiad. Tig +would have sunk into that melancholy which +is attendant upon hunger, -- the only form of +despair which babyhood knows, -- if he had +not wandered across the path of Nora Finne- +gan. Now Nora shone with steady brightness +in her orbit, and no sooner had Tig entered +her atmosphere, than he was warmed and com- +forted. Hunger could not live where Nora +was. The basement room where she kept +house was redolent with savory smells; and +in the stove in her front room -- which was +also her bedroom -- there was a bright fire +glowing when fire was needed. + +Nora went out washing for a living. But +she was not a poor washerwoman. Not at all. +She was a washerwoman triumphant. She +had perfect health, an enormous frame, an +abounding enthusiasm for life, and a rich +abundance of professional pride. She be- +lieved herself to be the best washer of white +clothes she had ever had the pleasure of +knowing, and the value placed upon her ser- +vices, and her long connection with certain +families with large weekly washings, bore out +this estimate of herself -- an estimate which +she never endeavored to conceal. + +Nora had buried two husbands without being +unduly depressed by the fact. The first hus- +band had been a disappointment, and Nora +winked at Providence when an accident in a +tunnel carried him off -- that is to say, carried +the husband off. The second husband was +not so much of a disappointment as a sur- +prise. He developed ability of a literary +order, and wrote songs which sold and made +him a small fortune. Then he ran away with +another woman. The woman spent his fort- +une, drove him to dissipation, and when he +was dying he came back to Nora, who re- +ceived him cordially, attended him to the +end, and cheered his last hours by singing +his own songs to him. Then she raised a +headstone recounting his virtues, which were +quite numerous, and refraining from any +reference to those peculiarities which had +caused him to be such a surprise. + +Only one actual chagrin had ever nibbled +at the sound heart of Nora Finnegan -- a +cruel chagrin, with long, white teeth, such +as rodents have! She had never held a child +to her breast, nor laughed in its eyes; never +bathed the pink form of a little son or +daughter; never felt a tugging of tiny hands +at her voluminous calico skirts! Nora had +burnt many candles before the statue of the +blessed Virgin without remedying this deplor- +able condition. She had sent up unavailing +prayers -- she had, at times, wept hot tears of +longing and loneliness. Sometimes in her +sleep she dreamed that a wee form, warm and +exquisitely soft, was pressed against her firm +body, and that a hand with tiniest pink nails +crept within her bosom. But as she reached +out to snatch this delicious little creature +closer, she woke to realize a barren woman's +grief, and turned herself in anguish on her +lonely pillow. + +So when Tig came along, accompanied by +two curs, who had faithfully followed him +from his home, and when she learned the +details of his story, she took him in, curs +and all, and, having bathed the three of +them, made them part and parcel of her +home. This was after the demise of the +second husband, and at a time when Nora +felt that she had done all a woman could be +expected to do for Hymen. + +Tig was a preposterous baby. The curs +were preposterous curs. Nora had always +been afflicted with a surplus amount of +laughter -- laughter which had difficulty in +attaching itself to anything, owing to the +lack of the really comic in the surroundings +of the poor. But with a red-headed and +freckled baby boy and two trick dogs in the +house, she found a good and sufficient excuse +for her hilarity, and would have torn the +cave where echo lies with her mirth, had that +cave not been at such an immeasurable dis- +tance from the crowded neighborhood where +she lived. + +At the age of four Tig went to free kinder- +garten; at the age of six he was in school, +and made three grades the first year and two +the next. At fifteen he was graduated from +the high school and went to work as errand +boy in a newspaper office, with the fixed de- +termination to make a journalist of himself. + +Nora was a trifle worried about his morals +when she discovered his intellect, but as time +went on, and Tig showed no devotion for any +woman save herself, and no consciousness +that there were such things as bad boys or +saloons in the world, she began to have con- +fidence. All of his earnings were brought to +her. Every holiday was spent with her. He +told her his secrets and his aspirations. He +admitted that he expected to become a great +man, and, though he had not quite decided +upon the nature of his career, -- saving, of +course, the makeshift of journalism, -- it +was not unlikely that he would elect to be a +novelist like -- well, probably like Thackeray. + +Hope, always a charming creature, put on +her most alluring smiles for Tig, and he +made her his mistress, and feasted on the +light of her eyes. Moreover, he was chap- +eroned, so to speak, by Nora Finnegan, who +listened to every line Tig wrote, and made a +mighty applause, and filled him up with good +Irish stew, many colored as the coat of Joseph, +and pungent with the inimitable perfume of +"the rose of the cellar." Nora Finnegan +understood the onion, and used it lovingly. +She perceived the difference between the use +and abuse of this pleasant and obvious friend +of hungry man, and employed it with enthu- +siasm, but discretion. Thus it came about +that whoever ate of her dinners, found the +meals of other cooks strangely lacking in +savor, and remembered with regret the soups +and stews, the broiled steaks, and stuffed +chickens of the woman who appreciated the +onion. + +When Nora Finnegan came home with a +cold one day, she took it in such a jocular +fashion that Tig felt not the least concern +about her, and when, two days later, she died +of pneumonia, he almost thought, at first, +that it must be one of her jokes. She had +departed with decision, such as had charac- +terized every act of her life, and had made as +little trouble for others as possible. When +she was dead the community had the oppor- +tunity of discovering the number of her +friends. Miserable children with faces +which revealed two generations of hunger, +homeless boys with vicious countenances, +miserable wrecks of humanity, women with +bloated faces, came to weep over Nora's bier, +and to lay a flower there, and to scuttle away, +more abjectly lonely than even sin could make +them. If the cats and the dogs, the sparrows +and horses to which she had shown kindness, +could also have attended her funeral, the +procession would have been, from a point of +numbers, one of the most imposing the city +had ever known. Tig used up all their sav- +ings to bury her, and the next week, by some +peculiar fatality, he had a falling out with the +night editor of his paper, and was discharged. +This sank deep into his sensitive soul, and +he swore he would be an underling no longer +-- which foolish resolution was directly trace- +able to his hair, the color of which, it will be +recollected, was red. + +Not being an underling, he was obliged to +make himself into something else, and he +recurred passionately to his old idea of be- +coming a novelist. He settled down in +Nora's basement rooms, went to work on a +battered type-writer, did his own cooking, +and occasionally pawned something to keep +him in food. The environment was calcu- +lated to further impress him with the idea of +his genius. + +A certain magazine offered an alluring prize +for a short story, and Tig wrote one, and +rewrote it, making alterations, revisions, an- +notations, and interlineations which would +have reflected credit upon Honoré Balzac +himself. Then he wrought all together, with +splendid brevity and dramatic force, -- Tig's +own words, -- and mailed the same. He was +convinced he would get the prize. He was +just as much convinced of it as Nora Finne- +gan would have been if she had been with +him. + +So he went about doing more fiction, tak- +ing no especial care of himself, and wrapt in +rosy dreams, which, not being warm enough +for the weather, permitted him to come down +with rheumatic fever. + +He lay alone in his room and suffered such +torments as the condemned and rheumatic +know, depending on one of Nora's former +friends to come in twice a day and keep up +the fire for him. This friend was aged ten, +and looked like a sparrow who had been in +a cyclone, but somewhere inside his bones +was a wit which had spelled out devotion. +He found fuel for the cracked stove, some- +how or other. He brought it in a dirty sack +which he carried on his back, and he kept +warmth in Tig's miserable body. Moreover, +he found food of a sort -- cold, horrible bits +often, and Tig wept when he saw them, +remembering the meals Nora had served +him. + +Tig was getting better, though he was con- +scious of a weak heart and a lamenting +stomach, when, to his amazement, the Spar- +row ceased to visit him. Not for a moment +did Tig suspect desertion. He knew that +only something in the nature of an act of +Providence, as the insurance companies would +designate it, could keep the little bundle of +bones away from him. As the days went by, +he became convinced of it, for no Sparrow +came, and no coal lay upon the hearth. The +basement window fortunately looked toward +the south, and the pale April sunshine was +beginning to make itself felt, so that the tem- +perature of the room was not unbearable. But +Tig languished; sank, sank, day by day, and +was kept alive only by the conviction that the +letter announcing the award of the thousand- +dollar prize would presently come to him. +One night he reached a place, where, for +hunger and dejection, his mind wandered, +and he seemed to be complaining all night +to Nora of his woes. When the chill dawn +came, with chittering of little birds on the +dirty pavement, and an agitation of the +scrawny willow "pussies," he was not able +to lift his hand to his head. The window +before his sight was but "a glimmering +square." He said to himself that the end +must be at hand. Yet it was cruel, cruel, +with fame and fortune so near! If only he +had some food, he might summon strength to +rally -- just for a little while! Impossible that +he should die! And yet without food there +was no choice. + +Dreaming so of Nora's dinners, thinking +how one spoonful of a stew such as she often +compounded would now be his salvation, he +became conscious of the presence of a strong +perfume in the room. It was so familiar that +it seemed like a sub-consciousness, yet he +found no name for this friendly odor for a +bewildered minute or two. Little by little, +however, it grew upon him, that it was the +onion -- that fragrant and kindly bulb which +had attained its apotheosis in the cuisine of +Nora Finnegan of sacred memory. He opened +his languid eyes, to see if, mayhap, the plant +had not attained some more palpable mate- +rialization. + +Behold, it was so! Before him, in a brown +earthen dish, -- a most familiar dish, -- was an +onion, pearly white, in placid seas of gravy, +smoking and delectable. With unexpected +strength he raised himself, and reached for +the dish, which floated before him in a halo +made by its own steam. It moved toward +him, offered a spoon to his hand, and as he +ate he heard about the room the rustle of +Nora Finnegan's starched skirts, and now and +then a faint, faint echo of her old-time laugh +-- such an echo as one may find of the sea in +the heart of a shell. + +The noble bulb disappeared little by little +before his voracity, and in contentment +greater than virtue can give, he sank back +upon his pillow and slept. + +Two hours later the postman knocked at the +door, and receiving no answer, forced his +way in. Tig, half awake, saw him enter with +no surprise. He felt no surprise when he put +a letter in his hand bearing the name of the +magazine to which he had sent his short story. +He was not even surprised, when, tearing it +open with suddenly alert hands, he found +within the check for the first prize -- the +check he had expected. + +All that day, as the April sunlight spread +itself upon his floor, he felt his strength grow. +Late in the afternoon the Sparrow came back, +paler, and more bony than ever, and sank, +breathing hard, upon the floor, with his sack +of coal. + +"I've been sick," he said, trying to smile. +"Terrible sick, but I come as soon as I could." + +"Build up the fire," cried Tig, in a voice +so strong it made the Sparrow start as if a +stone had struck him. "Build up the fire, +and forget you are sick. For, by the shade of +Nora Finnegan, you shall be hungry no more!" + + + + + +FROM THE LOOM OF THE DEAD + + +WHEN Urda Bjarnason tells a tale all +the men stop their talking to lis- +ten, for they know her to be wise +with the wisdom of the old people, +and that she has more learning than can be +got even from the great schools at Reykjavik. +She is especially prized by them here in this +new country where the Icelandmen are settled +-- this America, so new in letters, where the +people speak foolishly and write unthinking +books. So the men who know that it is given +to the mothers of earth to be very wise, stop +their six part singing, or their jangles about +the free-thinkers, and give attentive ear when +Urda Bjarnason lights her pipe and begins her +tale. + +She is very old. Her daughters and sons +are all dead, but her granddaughter, who is +most respectable, and the cousin of a phy- +sician, says that Urda is twenty-four and a +hundred, and there are others who say that +she is older still. She watches all that the +Iceland people do in the new land; she knows +about the building of the five villages on the +North Dakota plain, and of the founding of +the churches and the schools, and the tilling +of the wheat farms. She notes with sus- +picion the actions of the women who bring +home webs of cloth from the store, instead of +spinning them as their mothers did before +them; and she shakes her head at the wives +who run to the village grocery store every +fortnight, imitating the wasteful American +women, who throw butter in the fire faster +than it can be turned from the churn. + +She watches yet other things. All winter +long the white snows reach across the gently +rolling plains as far as the eye can behold. +In the morning she sees them tinted pink at +the east; at noon she notes golden lights +flashing across them; when the sky is gray -- +which is not often -- she notes that they grow +as ashen as a face with the death shadow on it. +Sometimes they glitter with silver-like tips of +ocean waves. But at these things she looks +only casually. It is when the blue shadows +dance on the snow that she leaves her corner +behind the iron stove, and stands before the +window, resting her two hands on the stout +bar of her cane, and gazing out across the +waste with eyes which age has restored after +four decades of decrepitude. + +The young Icelandmen say: + +"Mother, it is the clouds hurrying across +the sky that make the dance of the shadows." + +"There are no clouds," she replies, and +points to the jewel-like blue of the arching +sky. + +"It is the drifting air," explains Fridrik +Halldersson, he who has been in the North- +ern seas. "As the wind buffets the air, it +looks blue against the white of the snow. +'Tis the air that makes the dancing shadows." + +But Urda shakes her head, and points with +her dried finger, and those who stand beside +her see figures moving, and airy shapes, and +contortions of strange things, such as are seen +in a beryl stone. + +"But Urda Bjarnason," says Ingeborg Chris- +tianson, the pert young wife with the blue- +eyed twins, "why is it we see these things +only when we stand beside you and you help +us to the sight?" + +"Because," says the mother, with a steel- +blue flash of her old eyes, "having eyes ye +will not see!" Then the men laugh. They +like to hear Ingeborg worsted. For did she +not jilt two men from Gardar, and one from +Mountain, and another from Winnipeg? + +Not even Ingeborg can deny that Mother +Urda tells true things. + +"To-day," says Urda, standing by the little +window and watching the dance of the shadows, +"a child breathed thrice on a farm at the +West, and then it died." + +The next week at the church gathering, +when all the sledges stopped at the house of +Urda's granddaughter, they said it was so -- +that John Christianson's wife Margaret never +heard the voice of her son, but that he +breathed thrice in his nurse's arms and died. + +"Three sledges run over the snow toward +Milton," says Urda; "all are laden with wheat, +and in one is a stranger. He has with him +a strange engine, but its purpose I do not +know." + +Six hours later the drivers of three empty +sledges stop at the house. + +"We have been to Milton with wheat," they +say, "and Christian Johnson here, carried a +photographer from St. Paul." + +Now it stands to reason that the farmers +like to amuse themselves through the silent +and white winters. And they prefer above all +things to talk or to listen, as has been the +fashion of their race for a thousand years. +Among all the story-tellers there is none like +Urda, for she is the daughter and the grand- +daughter and the great-granddaughter of story- +tellers. It is given to her to talk, as it is +given to John Thorlaksson to sing -- he who +sings so as his sledge flies over the snow at +night, that the people come out in the bitter +air from their doors to listen, and the dogs +put up their noses and howl, not liking music. + +In the little cabin of Peter Christianson, the +husband of Urda's granddaughter, it some- +times happens that twenty men will gather +about the stove. They hang their bear-skin +coats on the wall, put their fur gauntlets +underneath the stove, where they will keep +warm, and then stretch their stout, felt-covered +legs to the wood fire. The room is fetid; +the coffee steams eternally on the stove; and +from her chair in the warmest corner Urda +speaks out to the listening men, who shake +their heads with joy as they hear the pure old +Icelandic flow in sweet rhythm from between +her lips. Among the many, many tales she +tells is that of the dead weaver, and she tells +it in the simplest language in all the world -- +language so simple that even great scholars +could find no simpler, and the children +crawling on the floor can understand. + +"Jon and Loa lived with their father and +mother far to the north of the Island of Fire, +and when the children looked from their win- +dows they saw only wild scaurs and jagged +lava rocks, and a distant, deep gleam of the +sea. They caught the shine of the sea through +an eye-shaped opening in the rocks, and all +the long night of winter it gleamed up at them, +like the eye of a dead witch. But when it +sparkled and began to laugh, the children +danced about the hut and sang, for they knew +the bright summer time was at hand. Then +their father fished, and their mother was gay. +But it is true that even in the winter and the +darkness they were happy, for they made fish- +ing nets and baskets and cloth together, -- +Jon and Loa and their father and mother, -- +and the children were taught to read in the +books, and were told the sagas, and given +instruction in the part singing. + +"They did not know there was such a thing +as sorrow in the world, for no one had ever +mentioned it to them. But one day their +mother died. Then they had to learn how to +keep the fire on the hearth, and to smoke the +fish, and make the black coffee. And also +they had to learn how to live when there is +sorrow at the heart. + +"They wept together at night for lack of +their mother's kisses, and in the morning they +were loath to rise because they could not see +her face. The dead cold eye of the sea +watching them from among the lava rocks +made them afraid, so they hung a shawl over +the window to keep it out. And the house, +try as they would, did not look clean and +cheerful as it had used to do when their +mother sang and worked about it. + +"One day, when a mist rested over the eye +of the sea, like that which one beholds on +the eyes of the blind, a greater sorrow came +to them, for a stepmother crossed the thres- +hold. She looked at Jon and Loa, and made +complaint to their father that they were still +very small and not likely to be of much use. +After that they had to rise earlier than ever, +and to work as only those who have their +growth should work, till their hearts cracked +for weariness and shame. They had not +much to eat, for their stepmother said she +would trust to the gratitude of no other +woman's child, and that she believed in lay- +ing up against old age. So she put the few +coins that came to the house in a strong box, +and bought little food. Neither did she buy +the children clothes, though those which their +dear mother had made for them were so worn +that the warp stood apart from the woof, and +there were holes at the elbows and little +warmth to be found in them anywhere. + +"Moreover, the quilts on their beds were +too short for their growing length, so that +at night either their purple feet or their +thin shoulders were uncovered, and they +wept for the cold, and in the morning, when +they crept into the larger room to build +the fire, they were so stiff they could not +stand straight, and there was pain at their +joints. + +"The wife scolded all the time, and her +brow was like a storm sweeping down from +the Northwest. There was no peace to be +had in the house. The children might not +repeat to each other the sagas their mother +had taught them, nor try their part singing, +nor make little doll cradles of rushes. Always +they had to work, always they were scolded, +always their clothes grew thinner. + +"'Stepmother,' cried Loa one day, -- she +whom her mother had called the little bird, +-- 'we are a-cold because of our rags. Our +mother would have woven blue cloth for us +and made it into garments.' + +"'Your mother is where she will weave no +cloth!' said the stepmother, and she laughed +many times. + +"All in the cold and still of that night, the +stepmother wakened, and she knew not why. +She sat up in her bed, and knew not why. +She knew not why, and she looked into the +room, and there, by the light of a burning +fish's tail -- 'twas such a light the folk used in +those days -- was a woman, weaving. She had +no loom, and shuttle she had none. All with +her hands she wove a wondrous cloth. Stoop- +ing and bending, rising and swaying with +motions beautiful as those the Northern +Lights make in a midwinter sky, she wove a +cloth. The warp was blue and mystical to +see, the woof was white, and shone with its +whiteness, so that of all the webs the step- +mother had ever seen, she had seen none like +to this. + +"Yet the sight delighted her not, for beyond +the drifting web, and beyond the weaver she +saw the room and furniture -- aye, saw them +through the body of the weaver and the drift- +ing of the cloth. Then she knew -- as the +haunted are made to know -- that 'twas the +mother of the children come to show her she +could still weave cloth. The heart of the +stepmother was cold as ice, yet she could not +move to waken her husband at her side, for +her hands were as fixed as if they were +crossed on her dead breast. The voice in her +was silent, and her tongue stood to the roof +of her mouth. + +"After a time the wraith of the dead +mother moved toward her -- the wraith of the +weaver moved her way -- and round and about +her body was wound the shining cloth. +Wherever it touched the body of the step- +mother, it was as hateful to her as the touch +of a monster out of sea-slime, so that her flesh +crept away from it, and her senses swooned. + +"In the early morning she awoke to the +voices of the children, whispering in the +inner room as they dressed with half-frozen +fingers. Still about her was the hateful, beau- +tiful web, filling her soul with loathing and +with fear. She thought she saw the task set +for her, and when the children crept in to +light the fire -- very purple and thin were +their little bodies, and the rags hung from +them -- she arose and held out the shining +cloth, and cried: + +"'Here is the web your mother wove for +you. I will make it into garments!' But +even as she spoke the cloth faded and fell +into nothingness, and the children cried: + +"'Stepmother, you have the fever!' + +"And then: + +"'Stepmother, what makes the strange light +in the room?' + +"That day the stepmother was too weak to +rise from her bed, and the children thought +she must be going to die, for she did not +scold as they cleared the house and braided +their baskets, and she did not frown at them, +but looked at them with wistful eyes. + +"By fall of night she was as weary as if she +had wept all the day, and so she slept. But +again she was awakened and knew not why. +And again she sat up in her bed and knew +not why. And again, not knowing why, she +looked and saw a woman weaving cloth. All +that had happened the night before happened +this night. Then, when the morning came, +and the children crept in shivering from their +beds, she arose and dressed herself, and from +her strong box she took coins, and bade her +husband go with her to the town. + +"So that night a web of cloth, woven by +one of the best weavers in all Iceland, was in +the house; and on the beds of the children +were blankets of lamb's wool, soft to the touch +and fair to the eye. After that the children +slept warm and were at peace; for now, when +they told the sagas their mother had taught +them, or tried their part songs as they sat +together on their bench, the stepmother was +silent. For she feared to chide, lest she +should wake at night, not knowing why, and +see the mother's wraith." + + + + +A GRAMMATICAL GHOST + + +THERE was only one possible ob- +jection to the drawing-room, and +that was the occasional presence +of Miss Carew; and only one pos- +sible objection to Miss Carew. And that was, +that she was dead. + +She had been dead twenty years, as a matter +of fact and record, and to the last of her life +sacredly preserved the treasures and traditions +of her family, a family bound up -- as it is +quite unnecessary to explain to any one in +good society -- with all that is most venerable +and heroic in the history of the Republic. +Miss Carew never relaxed the proverbial hos- +pitality of her house, even when she remained +its sole representative. She continued to +preside at her table with dignity and state, +and to set an example of excessive modesty +and gentle decorum to a generation of restless +young women. + +It is not likely that having lived a life of +such irreproachable gentility as this, Miss +Carew would have the bad taste to die in any +way not pleasant to mention in fastidious +society. She could be trusted to the last, not +to outrage those friends who quoted her as +an exemplar of propriety. She died very un- +obtrusively of an affection of the heart, one +June morning, while trimming her rose trellis, +and her lavender-colored print was not even +rumpled when she fell, nor were more than +the tips of her little bronze slippers visible. + +"Isn't it dreadful," said the Philadelphians, +"that the property should go to a very, very +distant cousin in Iowa or somewhere else on +the frontier, about whom nobody knows any- +thing at all?" + +The Carew treasures were packed in boxes +and sent away into the Iowa wilderness; the +Carew traditions were preserved by the His- +torical Society; the Carew property, standing +in one of the most umbrageous and aristo- +cratic suburbs of Philadelphia, was rented to +all manner of folk -- anybody who had money +enough to pay the rental -- and society entered +its doors no more. + +But at last, after twenty years, and when all +save the oldest Philadelphians had forgotten +Miss Lydia Carew, the very, very distant +cousin appeared. He was quite in the prime +of life, and so agreeable and unassuming that +nothing could be urged against him save his +patronymic, which, being Boggs, did not +commend itself to the euphemists. With him +were two maiden sisters, ladies of excellent +taste and manners, who restored the Carew +china to its ancient cabinets, and replaced +the Carew pictures upon the walls, with ad- +ditions not out of keeping with the elegance +of these heirlooms. Society, with a magna- +nimity almost dramatic, overlooked the name +of Boggs -- and called. + +All was well. At least, to an outsider all +seemed to be well. But, in truth, there was +a certain distress in the old mansion, and in +the hearts of the well-behaved Misses Boggs. +It came about most unexpectedly. The sis- +ters had been sitting upstairs, looking out at +the beautiful grounds of the old place, and +marvelling at the violets, which lifted their +heads from every possible cranny about the +house, and talking over the cordiality which +they had been receiving by those upon whom +they had no claim, and they were filled with +amiable satisfaction. Life looked attractive. +They had often been grateful to Miss Lydia +Carew for leaving their brother her fortune. +Now they felt even more grateful to her. She +had left them a Social Position -- one, which +even after twenty years of desuetude, was fit +for use. + +They descended the stairs together, with +arms clasped about each other's waists, and as +they did so presented a placid and pleasing +sight. They entered their drawing-room with +the intention of brewing a cup of tea, and +drinking it in calm sociability in the twilight. +But as they entered the room they became +aware of the presence of a lady, who was +already seated at their tea-table, regarding +their old Wedgewood with the air of a con- +noisseur. + +There were a number of peculiarities about +this intruder. To begin with, she was hatless, +quite as if she were a habitué of the house, +and was costumed in a prim lilac-colored +lawn of the style of two decades past. But +a greater peculiarity was the resemblance +this lady bore to a faded daguerrotype. If +looked at one way, she was perfectly discern- +ible; if looked at another, she went out in a +sort of blur. Notwithstanding this compara- +tive invisibility, she exhaled a delicate per- +fume of sweet lavender, very pleasing to the +nostrils of the Misses Boggs, who stood look- +ing at her in gentle and unprotesting surprise. + +"I beg your pardon," began Miss Pru- +dence, the younger of the Misses Boggs, +"but --" + +But at this moment the Daguerrotype be- +came a blur, and Miss Prudence found her- +self addressing space. The Misses Boggs +were irritated. They had never encountered +any mysteries in Iowa. They began an im- +patient search behind doors and portières, +and even under sofas, though it was quite +absurd to suppose that a lady recognizing +the merits of the Carew Wedgewood would +so far forget herself as to crawl under a +sofa. + +When they had given up all hope of dis- +covering the intruder, they saw her standing +at the far end of the drawing-room critically +examining a water-color marine. The elder +Miss Boggs started toward her with stern +decision, but the little Daguerrotype turned +with a shadowy smile, became a blur and an +imperceptibility. + +Miss Boggs looked at Miss Prudence Boggs. + +"If there were ghosts," she said, "this +would be one." + +"If there were ghosts," said Miss Prudence +Boggs, "this would be the ghost of Lydia +Carew." + +The twilight was settling into blackness, and +Miss Boggs nervously lit the gas while Miss +Prudence ran for other tea-cups, preferring, +for reasons superfluous to mention, not to +drink out of the Carew china that evening. + +The next day, on taking up her embroidery +frame, Miss Boggs found a number of old- +fashioned cross-stitches added to her Ken- +sington. Prudence, she knew, would never +have degraded herself by taking a cross-stitch, +and the parlor-maid was above taking such a +liberty. Miss Boggs mentioned the incident +that night at a dinner given by an ancient +friend of the Carews. + +"Oh, that's the work of Lydia Carew, with- +out a doubt!" cried the hostess. "She visits +every new family that moves to the house, but +she never remains more than a week or two +with any one." + +"It must be that she disapproves of them," +suggested Miss Boggs. + +"I think that's it," said the hostess. "She +doesn't like their china, or their fiction." + +"I hope she'll disapprove of us," added +Miss Prudence. + +The hostess belonged to a very old Philadel- +phian family, and she shook her head. + +"I should say it was a compliment for even +the ghost of Miss Lydia Carew to approve of +one," she said severely. + +The next morning, when the sisters entered +their drawing-room there were numerous evi- +dences of an occupant during their absence. +The sofa pillows had been rearranged so that +the effect of their grouping was less bizarre +than that favored by the Western women; a +horrid little Buddhist idol with its eyes fixed +on its abdomen, had been chastely hidden +behind a Dresden shepherdess, as unfit for +the scrutiny of polite eyes; and on the table +where Miss Prudence did work in water colors, +after the fashion of the impressionists, lay a +prim and impossible composition representing +a moss-rose and a number of heartsease, col- +ored with that caution which modest spinster +artists instinctively exercise. + +"Oh, there's no doubt it's the work of Miss +Lydia Carew," said Miss Prudence, contemptu- +ously. "There's no mistaking the drawing of +that rigid little rose. Don't you remember +those wreaths and bouquets framed, among the +pictures we got when the Carew pictures were +sent to us? I gave some of them to an orphan +asylum and burned up the rest." + +"Hush!" cried Miss Boggs, involuntarily. +"If she heard you, it would hurt her feelings +terribly. Of course, I mean --" and she +blushed. "It might hurt her feelings -- +but how perfectly ridiculous! It's impos- +sible!" + +Miss Prudence held up the sketch of the +moss-rose. + +"THAT may be impossible in an artistic +sense, but it is a palpable thing." + +"Bosh!" cried Miss Boggs. + +"But," protested Miss Prudence, "how do +you explain it?" + +"I don't," said Miss Boggs, and left the +room. + +That evening the sisters made a point of +being in the drawing-room before the dusk +came on, and of lighting the gas at the first +hint of twilight. They didn't believe in Miss +Lydia Carew -- but still they meant to be +beforehand with her. They talked with un- +wonted vivacity and in a louder tone than was +their custom. But as they drank their tea +even their utmost verbosity could not make +them oblivious to the fact that the perfume of +sweet lavender was stealing insidiously through +the room. They tacitly refused to recognize +this odor and all that it indicated, when sud- +denly, with a sharp crash, one of the old +Carew tea-cups fell from the tea-table to the +floor and was broken. The disaster was fol- +lowed by what sounded like a sigh of pain and +dismay. + +"I didn't suppose Miss Lydia Carew would +ever be as awkward as that," cried the younger +Miss Boggs, petulantly. + +"Prudence," said her sister with a stern +accent, "please try not to be a fool. You +brushed the cup off with the sleeve of your +dress." + +"Your theory wouldn't be so bad," said Miss +Prudence, half laughing and half crying, "if +there were any sleeves to my dress, but, as you +see, there aren't," and then Miss Prudence +had something as near hysterics as a healthy +young woman from the West can have. + +"I wouldn't think such a perfect lady as +Lydia Carew," she ejaculated between her +sobs, "would make herself so disagreeable! +You may talk about good-breeding all you +please, but I call such intrusion exceedingly +bad taste. I have a horrible idea that she +likes us and means to stay with us. She left +those other people because she did not approve +of their habits or their grammar. It would be +just our luck to please her." + +"Well, I like your egotism," said Miss +Boggs. + +However, the view Miss Prudence took of +the case appeared to be the right one. Time +went by and Miss Lydia Carew still remained. +When the ladies entered their drawing-room +they would see the little lady-like Daguerro- +type revolving itself into a blur before one of +the family portraits. Or they noticed that +the yellow sofa cushion, toward which she +appeared to feel a peculiar antipathy, had +been dropped behind the sofa upon the floor, +or that one of Jane Austen's novels, which +none of the family ever read, had been re- +moved from the book shelves and left open +upon the table. + +"I cannot become reconciled to it," com- +plained Miss Boggs to Miss Prudence. "I +wish we had remained in Iowa where we +belong. Of course I don't believe in the +thing! No sensible person would. But still +I cannot become reconciled." + +But their liberation was to come, and in a +most unexpected manner. + +A relative by marriage visited them from +the West. He was a friendly man and had +much to say, so he talked all through dinner, +and afterward followed the ladies to the draw- +ing-room to finish his gossip. The gas in the +room was turned very low, and as they entered +Miss Prudence caught sight of Miss Carew, in +company attire, sitting in upright propriety +in a stiff-backed chair at the extremity of the +apartment. + +Miss Prudence had a sudden idea. + +"We will not turn up the gas," she said, +with an emphasis intended to convey private +information to her sister. "It will be more +agreeable to sit here and talk in this soft +light." + +Neither her brother nor the man from the +West made any objection. Miss Boggs and +Miss Prudence, clasping each other's hands, +divided their attention between their corporeal +and their incorporeal guests. Miss Boggs was +confident that her sister had an idea, and was +willing to await its development. As the guest +from Iowa spoke, Miss Carew bent a politely +attentive ear to what he said. + +"Ever since Richards took sick that time," +he said briskly, "it seemed like he shed all +responsibility." (The Misses Boggs saw the +Daguerrotype put up her shadowy head with +a movement of doubt and apprehension.) +"The fact of the matter was, Richards didn't +seem to scarcely get on the way he might have +been expected to." (At this conscienceless +split to the infinitive and misplacing of the +preposition, Miss Carew arose trembling per- +ceptibly.) "I saw it wasn't no use for him to +count on a quick recovery --" + +The Misses Boggs lost the rest of the sen- +tence, for at the utterance of the double nega- +tive Miss Lydia Carew had flashed out, not in +a blur, but with mortal haste, as when life +goes out at a pistol shot! + +The man from the West wondered why Miss +Prudence should have cried at so pathetic a +part of his story: + +"Thank Goodness!" + +And their brother was amazed to see Miss Boggs +kiss Miss Prudence with passion and energy. + +It was the end. Miss Carew returned no more. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext of The Shape of Fear, by Elia W. Peattie + diff --git a/old/tshfr10.zip b/old/tshfr10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e2e9eed --- /dev/null +++ b/old/tshfr10.zip diff --git a/old/tshfr10h.htm b/old/tshfr10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..628608a --- /dev/null +++ b/old/tshfr10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2747 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> +<TITLE>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Shape of Fear, by Elia W. Peattie</TITLE> +<META HTTP-EQUIV="content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> +</HEAD> +<BODY> +<H1>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Shape of Fear, by Elia W. Peattie</H1> + +<PRE> +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Shape of Fear + +Author: Elia W. Peattie + +Release Date: September, 1999 [EBook #1876] +[This file was first posted on February 6, 2003] +[Most recently updated: February 6, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: iso-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE SHAPE OF FEAR *** + + + + +HTML version by Walter Debeuf + + + +</PRE> +This etext was prepared by Judy Boss, Omaha, NE +<p>Note: I have omitted signature indicators and italicization of the <br> + running heads. In addition, I have made the following changes to the <br> + text: </p> +<p>PAGE LINE ORIGINAL CHANGED TO<br> +</p> +<p> 156 1 where as were as<br> + 156 4 mouth mouth.<br> + 165 5 Wedgwood Wedgewood<br> + 166 9 Wedgwood Wedgewood<br> + 167 6 surperfluous superfluous<br> + 172 11 every ever<br> + 173 17 Bogg Boggs</p> +<h2><br> + THE SHAPE OF FEAR</h2> +<h3>And Other Ghostly Tales</h3> +<h3>BY</h3> +<h3>ELIA WILKINSON PEATTIE</h3> +<p>CONTENTS</p> +<p>THE SHAPE OF FEAR</p> +<p>ON THE NORTHERN ICE</p> +<p>THEIR DEAR LITTLE GHOST</p> +<p>A SPECTRAL COLLIE</p> +<p>THE HOUSE THAT WAS NOT</p> +<p>STORY OF AN OBSTINATE CORPSE</p> +<p>A CHILD OF THE RAIN</p> +<p>THE ROOM OF THE EVIL THOUGHT</p> +<p>STORY OF THE VANISHING PATIENT</p> +<p>THE PIANO NEXT DOOR</p> +<p>AN ASTRAL ONION</p> +<p>FROM THE LOOM OF THE DEAD</p> +<p>A GRAMMATICAL GHOST</p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2 align="left">THE SHAPE OF FEAR</h2> +<h2 align="left"> </h2> +<p>TIM O'CONNOR -- who was de- scended from the O'Conors with one N -- <br> + started life as a poet and an enthusiast. His mother had designed him <br> + for the priesthood, and at the age of fifteen, most of his verses had <br> + an ecclesiastical tinge, but, somehow or other, he got into the <br> + newspaper business instead, and became a pessimistic gentleman, with <br> + a literary style of great beauty and an income of modest proportions. <br> + He fell in with men who talked of art for art's sake, -- though what <br> + right they had to speak of art at all nobody knew, -- and little by <br> + little his view of life and love became more or less pro- fane. He <br> + met a woman who sucked his heart's blood, and he knew it and made no <br> + protest; nay, to the great amusement of the fellows who talked of art <br> + for art's sake, he went the length of marrying her. He could not in <br> + decency explain that he had the tra- ditions of fine gentlemen behind <br> + him and so had to do as he did, because his friends might not have <br> + understood. He laughed at the days when he had thought of the priest- <br> + hood, blushed when he ran across any of those tender and exquisite <br> + old verses he had written in his youth, and became addicted to <br> + absinthe and other less peculiar drinks, and to gaming a little to <br> + escape a madness of ennui.</p> + + +<p><br> + As the years went by he avoided, with more and more scorn, that part <br> + of the world which he denominated Philistine, and con- sorted only <br> + with the fellows who flocked about Jim O'Malley's saloon. He was <br> + pleased with solitude, or with these convivial wits, and with not <br> + very much else beside. Jim O'Malley was a sort of Irish poem, set to <br> + inspiring measure. He was, in fact, a Hibernian M&aelig;cenas, who <br> + knew better than to put bad whiskey before a man of talent, or tell a <br> + trite tale in the presence of a wit. The recountal of his <br> + disquisitions on politics and other cur- rent matters had enabled no <br> + less than three men to acquire national reputations; and a number of <br> + wretches, having gone the way of men who talk of art for art's sake, <br> + and dying in foreign lands, or hospitals, or asylums, having no one <br> + else to be homesick for, had been homesick for Jim O'Malley, and wept <br> + for the sound of his voice and the grasp of his hearty hand.</p> +<p>When Tim O'Connor turned his back upon most of the things he was born <br> + to and took up with the life which he consistently lived till the <br> + unspeakable end, he was unable to get rid of certain peculiarities. <br> + For example, in spite of all his debauchery, he continued to look <br> + like the Beloved Apostle. Notwith- standing abject friendships he <br> + wrote limpid and noble English. Purity seemed to dog his heels, no <br> + matter how violently he attempted to escape from her. He was never so <br> + drunk that he was not an exquisite, and even his creditors, who had <br> + become inured to his deceptions, confessed it was a privilege to meet <br> + so perfect a gentleman. The creature who held him in bondage, body <br> + and soul, actually came to love him for his gentleness, and for some <br> + quality which baffled her, and made her ache with a strange longing <br> + which she could not define. Not that she ever de- fined anything, <br> + poor little beast! She had skin the color of pale gold, and yellow <br> + eyes with brown lights in them, and great plaits of straw-colored <br> + hair. About her lips was a fatal and sensuous smile, which, when it <br> + got hold of a man's imagination, would not let it go, but held to it, <br> + and mocked it till the day of his death. She was the incarnation of <br> + the Eternal Feminine, with all the wifeli- ness and the maternity <br> + left out -- she was ancient, yet ever young, and familiar as joy or <br> + tears or sin.</p> +<p>She took good care of Tim in some ways: fed him well, nursed him back <br> + to reason after a period of hard drinking, saw that he put on <br> + overshoes when the walks were wet, and looked after his money. She <br> + even prized his brain, for she discovered that it was a delicate <br> + little machine which produced gold.<br> + By association with him and his friends, she learned that a number of <br> + apparently useless things had value in the eyes of certain con- <br> + venient fools, and so she treasured the auto- graphs of distinguished <br> + persons who wrote to him -- autographs which he disdainfully tossed <br> + in the waste basket. She was careful with presentation copies from <br> + authors, and she went the length of urging Tim to write a book <br> + himself. But at that he balked.<br> + § "Write a book!" he cried to her, his gen- tle face suddenly + white <br> + with passion. "Who am I to commit such a profanation?"</p> +<p>She didn't know what he meant, but she had a theory that it was <br> + dangerous to excite him, and so she sat up till midnight to cook a <br> + chop for him when he came home that night.</p> +<p>He preferred to have her sitting up for him, and he wanted every <br> + electric light in their apartments turned to the full. If, by any <br> + chance, they returned together to a dark house, he would not enter <br> + till she touched the button in the hall, and illuminated the room.<br> + Or if it so happened that the lights were turned off in the night <br> + time, and he awoke to find himself in darkness, he shrieked till the <br> + woman came running to his relief, and, with derisive laughter, turned <br> + them on again. But when she found that after these frights he lay <br> + trembling and white in his bed, she began to be alarmed for the <br> + clever, gold-making little machine, and to renew her assiduities, and <br> + to horde more tenaciously than ever, those valu- able curios on which <br> + she some day expected to realize when he was out of the way, and no <br> + longer in a position to object to their barter.</p> +<p>O'Connor's idiosyncrasy of fear was a source of much amusement among <br> + the boys at the office where he worked. They made open sport of it, <br> + and yet, recognizing him for a sensitive plant, and granting that <br> + genius was entitled to whimsicalities, it was their custom when they <br> + called for him after work hours, to permit him to reach the lighted <br> + cor- ridor before they turned out the gas over his desk. This, they <br> + reasoned, was but a slight service to perform for the most enchanting <br> + beggar in the world.</p> +<p>"Dear fellow," said Rick Dodson, who loved him, "is it the Devil + you <br> + expect to see?<br> + And if so, why are you averse? Surely the Devil is not such a bad old <br> + chap."</p> +<p>"You haven't found him so?"</p> +<p>"Tim, by heaven, you know, you ought to explain to me. A citizen of <br> + the world and a student of its purlieus, like myself, ought to know <br> + what there is to know! Now you're a man of sense, in spite of a few <br> + bad habits -- such as myself, for example. Is this fad of yours <br> + madness? -- which would be quite to your credit, -- for gadzooks, I <br> + like a lunatic!<br> + Or is it the complaint of a man who has gath- ered too much data on <br> + the subject of Old Rye? Or is it, as I suspect, something more <br> + occult, and therefore more interesting?"</p> +<p>"Rick, boy," said Tim, "you're too -- in- quiring!" And + he turned to <br> + his desk with a look of delicate hauteur.</p> +<p>It was the very next night that these two tippling pessimists spent <br> + together talking about certain disgruntled but immortal gentlemen, <br> + who, having said their say and made the world quite uncomfortable, <br> + had now journeyed on to inquire into the nothingness which they <br> + postulated. The dawn was breaking in the muggy east; the bottles were <br> + empty, the cigars burnt out. Tim turned toward his friend with a <br> + sharp breaking of sociable silence.</p> +<p>"Rick," he said, "do you know that Fear has a Shape?"</p> +<p>"And so has my nose!"</p> +<p>"You asked me the other night what I feared. Holy father, I make my <br> + confession to you. What I fear is Fear."</p> +<p>"That's because you've drunk too much -- or not enough.</p> +<p>"'Come, fill the cup, and in the fire of Spring Your winter garment <br> + of repentance fling --'"</p> +<p>"My costume then would be too nebulous for this weather, dear boy. <br> + But it's true what I was saying. I am afraid of ghosts."</p> +<p>"For an agnostic that seems a bit --"</p> +<p>"Agnostic! Yes, so completely an agnostic that I do not even know <br> + that I do not know!<br> + God, man, do you mean you have no ghosts -- no -- no things which <br> + shape themselves?<br> + Why, there are things I have done --"</p> +<p>"Don't think of them, my boy! See, 'night's candles are burnt out, <br> + and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain top.'"</p> +<p>Tim looked about him with a sickly smile.<br> + He looked behind him and there was nothing there; stared at the blank <br> + window, where the smoky dawn showed its offensive face, and there was <br> + nothing there. He pushed away the moist hair from his haggard face -- <br> + that face which would look like the blessed St.<br> + John, and leaned heavily back in his chair.</p> +<p>"'Yon light is not daylight, I know it, I,'"<br> + he murmured drowsily, "'it is some meteor which the sun exhales, to <br> + be to thee this night --'"</p> +<p></p> +<br> +The words floated off in languid nothing- ness, and he slept. Dodson <br> +arose preparatory to stretching himself on his couch. But first he <br> +bent over his friend with a sense of tragic appreciation. +<p>"Damned by the skin of his teeth!" he mut- tered. "A little + more, and <br> + he would have gone right, and the Devil would have lost a good <br> + fellow. As it is" -- he smiled with his usual conceited delight in <br> + his own sayings, even when they were uttered in soliloquy -- "he is <br> + merely one of those splendid gentlemen one will meet with in hell." <br> + Then Dodson had a momentary nostalgia for goodness himself, but he <br> + soon overcame it, and stretching him- self on his sofa, he, too, <br> + slept.</p> +<p>That night he and O'Connor went together to hear "Faust" sung, and + <br> + returning to the office, Dodson prepared to write his criti- cism. <br> + Except for the distant clatter of tele- graph instruments, or the <br> + peremptory cries of "copy" from an upper room, the office was still. + <br> + Dodson wrote and smoked his inter- minable cigarettes; O' Connor <br> + rested his head in his hands on the desk, and sat in perfect silence. <br> + He did not know when Dodson fin- ished, or when, arising, and <br> + absent-mindedly extinguishing the lights, he moved to the door with <br> + his copy in his hands. Dodson gathered up the hats and coats as he <br> + passed them where they lay on a chair, and called:</p> +<p>"It is done, Tim. Come, let's get out of this."</p> +<p>There was no answer, and he thought Tim was following, but after he <br> + had handed his criticism to the city editor, he saw he was still <br> + alone, and returned to the room for his friend. He advanced no <br> + further than the doorway, for, as he stood in the dusky cor- ridor <br> + and looked within the darkened room, he saw before his friend a <br> + Shape, white, of perfect loveliness, divinely delicate and pure and <br> + ethereal, which seemed as the embodi- ment of all goodness. From it <br> + came a soft radiance and a perfume softer than the wind when "it <br> + breathes upon a bank of violets stealing and giving odor." Staring at <br> + it, with eyes immovable, sat his friend.</p> +<p>It was strange that at sight of a thing so unspeakably fair, a <br> + coldness like that which comes from the jewel-blue lips of a Muir <br> + crevasse should have fallen upon Dodson, or that it was only by <br> + summoning all the man- hood that was left in him, that he was able to <br> + restore light to the room, and to rush to his friend. When he reached <br> + poor Tim he was stone-still with paralysis. They took him home to the <br> + woman, who nursed him out of that attack -- and later on worried him <br> + into another.</p> +<p>When he was able to sit up and jeer at things a little again, and <br> + help himself to the quail the woman broiled for him, Dodson, sitting <br> + beside him, said:</p> +<p>"Did you call that little exhibition of yours legerdemain, Tim, you <br> + sweep? Or are you really the Devil's bairn?"</p> +<p>"It was the Shape of Fear," said Tim, quite seriously.</p> +<p>"But it seemed mild as mother's milk."</p> +<p>"It was compounded of the good I might have done. It is that which I <br> + fear."</p> +<p>He would explain no more. Later -- many months later -- he died <br> + patiently and sweetly in the madhouse, praying for rest. The little <br> + beast with the yellow eyes had high mass cele- brated for him, which, <br> + all things considered, was almost as pathetic as it was amusing.</p> +<p>Dodson was in Vienna when he heard of it.</p> +<p>"Sa, sa!" cried he. "I wish it wasn't so dark in the tomb! What + do <br> + you suppose Tim is looking at?"</p> +<p>As for Jim O'Malley, he was with diffi- culty kept from illuminating <br> + the grave with electricity.</p> +<p>ON THE NORTHERN ICE</p> +<p>THE winter nights up at Sault Ste.<br> + Marie are as white and luminous as the Milky Way. The silence which <br> + rests upon the solitude appears to be white also. Even sound has been <br> + included in Nature's arrestment, for, indeed, save the still white <br> + frost, all things seem to be oblit- erated. The stars have a poignant <br> + brightness, but they belong to heaven and not to earth, and between <br> + their immeasurable height and the still ice rolls the ebon ether in <br> + vast, liquid billows.</p> +<p>In such a place it is difficult to believe that the world is actually <br> + peopled. It seems as if it might be the dark of the day after Cain <br> + killed Abel, and as if all of humanity's re- mainder was huddled in <br> + affright away from the awful spaciousness of Creation.</p> +<p>The night Ralph Hagadorn started out for Echo Bay -- bent on a <br> + pleasant duty -- he laughed to himself, and said that he did not at <br> + all object to being the only man in the world, so long as the world <br> + remained as un- speakably beautiful as it was when he buckled on his <br> + skates and shot away into the solitude.<br> + He was bent on reaching his best friend in time to act as groomsman, <br> + and business had delayed him till time was at its briefest. So he <br> + journeyed by night and journeyed alone, and when the tang of the <br> + frost got at his blood, he felt as a spirited horse feels when it <br> + gets free of bit and bridle. The ice was as glass, his skates were <br> + keen, his frame fit, and his venture to his taste! So he laughed, and <br> + cut through the air as a sharp stone cleaves the water. He could hear <br> + the whistling of the air as he cleft it.</p> +<p>As he went on and on in the black stillness, he began to have <br> + fancies. He imagined him- self enormously tall -- a great Viking of <br> + the Northland, hastening over icy fiords to his love.<br> + And that reminded him that he had a love -- though, indeed, that <br> + thought was always present with him as a background for other <br> + thoughts. To be sure, he had not told her that she was his love, for <br> + he had seen her only a few times, and the auspicious occasion had not <br> + yet presented itself. She lived at Echo Bay also, and was to be the <br> + maid of honor to his friend's bride -- which was one more reason why <br> + he skated almost as swiftly as the wind, and why, now and then, he <br> + let out a shout of exultation.</p> +<p>The one cloud that crossed Hagadorn's sun of expectancy was the <br> + knowledge that Marie Beaujeu's father had money, and that Marie lived <br> + in a house with two stories to it, and wore otter skin about her <br> + throat and little satin-lined mink boots on her feet when she went <br> + sledding. Moreover, in the locket in which she treasured a bit of her <br> + dead mother's hair, there was a black pearl as big as a pea.<br> + These things made it difficult -- perhaps im- possible -- for Ralph <br> + Hagadorn to say more than, "I love you." But that much he meant to + <br> + say though he were scourged with chagrin for his temerity.</p> +<p>This determination grew upon him as he swept along the ice under the <br> + starlight.<br> + Venus made a glowing path toward the west and seemed eager to <br> + reassure him. He was sorry he could not skim down that avenue of <br> + light which flowed from the love-star, but he was forced to turn his <br> + back upon it and face the black northeast.</p> +<p>It came to him with a shock that he was not alone. His eyelashes were <br> + frosted and his eyeballs blurred with the cold, so at first he <br> + thought it might be an illusion. But when he had rubbed his eyes <br> + hard, he made sure that not very far in front of him was a long white <br> + skater in fluttering garments who sped over the ice as fast as ever <br> + werewolf went.</p> +<p>He called aloud, but there was no answer.<br> + He shaped his hands and trumpeted through them, but the silence was <br> + as before -- it was complete. So then he gave chase, setting his <br> + teeth hard and putting a tension on his firm young muscles. But go <br> + however he would, the white skater went faster. After a time, as he <br> + glanced at the cold gleam of the north star, he perceived that he was <br> + being led from his direct path. For a moment he hesitated, wondering <br> + if he would not better keep to his road, but his weird companion <br> + seemed to draw him on irresistibly, and finding it sweet to follow, <br> + he followed.</p> +<p>Of course it came to him more than once in that strange pursuit, that <br> + the white skater was no earthly guide. Up in those latitudes men see <br> + curious things when the hoar frost is on the earth. Hagadorn's own <br> + father -- to hark no further than that for an instance!<br> + -- who lived up there with the Lake Superior Indians, and worked in <br> + the copper mines, had welcomed a woman at his hut one bitter night, <br> + who was gone by morning, leaving wolf tracks on the snow! Yes, it was <br> + so, and John Fontanelle, the half-breed, could tell you about it any <br> + day -- if he were alive. (Alack, the snow where the wolf tracks were, <br> + is melted now!)</p> +<p>Well, Hagadorn followed the white skater all the night, and when the <br> + ice flushed pink at dawn, and arrows of lovely light shot up into the <br> + cold heavens, she was gone, and Haga- dorn was at his destination. <br> + The sun climbed arrogantly up to his place above all other things, <br> + and as Hagadorn took off his skates and glanced carelessly lakeward, <br> + he beheld a great wind-rift in the ice, and the waves showing blue <br> + and hungry between white fields.<br> + Had he rushed along his intended path, watching the stars to guide <br> + him, his glance turned upward, all his body at magnificent momentum, <br> + he must certainly have gone into that cold grave.</p> +<p>How wonderful that it had been sweet to follow the white skater, and <br> + that he followed!</p> +<p>His heart beat hard as he hurried to his friend's house. But he <br> + encountered no wed- ding furore. His friend met him as men meet in <br> + houses of mourning.</p> +<p>"Is this your wedding face?" cried Haga- dorn. "Why, man, starved + as <br> + I am, I look more like a bridegroom than you!"</p> +<p>"There's no wedding to-day!"</p> +<p>"No wedding! Why, you're not --"</p> +<p>"Marie Beaujeu died last night --"</p> +<p>"Marie --"</p> +<p>"Died last night. She had been skating in the afternoon, and she came + <br> + home chilled and wandering in her mind, as if the frost had got in it <br> + somehow. She grew worse and worse, and all the time she talked of <br> + you."</p> +<p>"Of me?"</p> +<p>"We wondered what it meant. No one knew you were lovers."</p> +<p>"I didn't know it myself; more's the pity.<br> + At least, I didn't know --"</p> +<p>"She said you were on the ice, and that you didn't know about the big + <br> + breaking-up, and she cried to us that the wind was off shore and the <br> + rift widening. She cried over and over again that you could come in <br> + by the old French creek if you only knew --"</p> +<p>"I came in that way."</p> +<p>"But how did you come to do that? It's out of the path. We thought <br> + perhaps --"</p> +<p>But Hagadorn broke in with his story and told him all as it had come <br> + to pass.</p> +<p>That day they watched beside the maiden, who lay with tapers at her <br> + head and at her feet, and in the little church the bride who might <br> + have been at her wedding said prayers for her friend. They buried <br> + Marie Beaujeu in her bridesmaid white, and Hagadorn was before the <br> + altar with her, as he had intended from the first! Then at midnight <br> + the lovers who were to wed whispered their vows in the gloom of the <br> + cold church, and walked together through the snow to lay their bridal <br> + wreaths upon a grave.</p> +<p>Three nights later, Hagadorn skated back again to his home. They <br> + wanted him to go by sunlight, but he had his way, and went when Venus <br> + made her bright path on the ice.</p> +<p></p> +<p><br> + The truth was, he had hoped for the com- panionship of the white <br> + skater. But he did not have it. His only companion was the wind. The <br> + only voice he heard was the bay- ing of a wolf on the north shore. <br> + The world was as empty and as white as if God had just created it, <br> + and the sun had not yet colored nor man defiled it. </p> +<p> </p> +<h2>THEIR DEAR LITTLE GHOST</h2> +<p>THE first time one looked at Els- beth, one was not prepossessed.<br> + She was thin and brown, her nose turned slightly upward, her toes <br> + went in just a perceptible degree, and her hair was perfectly <br> + straight. But when one looked longer, one perceived that she was a <br> + charming little creature. The straight hair was as fine as silk, and <br> + hung in funny little braids down her back; there was not a flaw in <br> + her soft brown skin, and her mouth was tender and shapely. But her <br> + particular charm lay in a look which she habitually had, of seeming <br> + to know curious things -- such as it is not allotted to ordinary <br> + persons to know.<br> + One felt tempted to say to her:</p> +<p></p> +<p> </p> +<p></p> +<p><br> + "What are these beautiful things which you know, and of which others <br> + are ignorant?<br> + What is it you see with those wise and pel- lucid eyes? Why is it <br> + that everybody loves you?"</p> +<p>Elsbeth was my little godchild, and I knew her better than I knew any <br> + other child in the world. But still I could not truthfully say that I <br> + was familiar with her, for to me her spirit was like a fair and <br> + fragrant road in the midst of which I might walk in peace and joy, <br> + but where I was continually to discover something new. The last time <br> + I saw her quite well and strong was over in the woods where she had <br> + gone with her two little brothers and her nurse to pass the hottest <br> + weeks of summer. I followed her, foolish old creature that I was, <br> + just to be near her, for I needed to dwell where the sweet aroma of <br> + her life could reach me.</p> +<p>One morning when I came from my room, limping a little, because I am <br> + not so young as I used to be, and the lake wind works havoc with me, <br> + my little godchild came dancing to me singing:</p> +<p>"Come with me and I'll show you my places, my places, my places!"</p> +<p>Miriam, when she chanted by the Red Sea might have been more <br> + exultant, but she could not have been more bewitching. Of course I <br> + knew what "places" were, because I had once been a little girl <br> + myself, but unless you are acquainted with the real meaning of <br> + "places," it would be useless to try to ex- plain. Either you know + <br> + "places" or you do not -- just as you understand the meaning of <br> + poetry or you do not. There are things in the world which cannot be <br> + taught.</p> +<p>Elsbeth's two tiny brothers were present, and I took one by each hand <br> + and followed her. No sooner had we got out of doors in the woods than <br> + a sort of mystery fell upon the world and upon us. We were cautioned <br> + to move silently, and we did so, avoiding the crunching of dry twigs.</p> +<p>"The fairies hate noise," whispered my little godchild, her eyes + <br> + narrowing like a cat's.</p> +<p>"I must get my wand first thing I do," she said in an awed undertone. + <br> + "It is useless to try to do anything without a wand."</p> +<p>The tiny boys were profoundly impressed, and, indeed, so was I. I <br> + felt that at last, I should, if I behaved properly, see the fairies, <br> + which had hitherto avoided my materialistic gaze. It was an <br> + enchanting moment, for there appeared, just then, to be nothing <br> + commonplace about life.</p> +<p>There was a swale near by, and into this the little girl plunged. I <br> + could see her red straw hat bobbing about among the tall rushes, and <br> + I wondered if there were snakes.</p> +<p>"Do you think there are snakes?" I asked one of the tiny boys.</p> +<p>"If there are," he said with conviction, "they won't dare hurt + her."</p> +<p>He convinced me. I feared no more.<br> + Presently Elsbeth came out of the swale. In her hand was a brown <br> + "cattail," perfectly full and round. She carried it as queens carry + <br> + their sceptres -- the beautiful queens we dream of in our youth.</p> +<p>"Come," she commanded, and waved the sceptre in a fine manner. So + we <br> + followed, each tiny boy gripping my hand tight. We were all three a <br> + trifle awed. Elsbeth led us into a dark underbrush. The branches, as <br> + they flew back in our faces, left them wet with dew. A wee path, made <br> + by the girl's dear feet, guided our footsteps. Perfumes of elderberry <br> + and wild cucumber scented the air. A bird, frightened from its nest, <br> + made frantic cries above our heads. The under- brush thickened. <br> + Presently the gloom of the hemlocks was over us, and in the midst of <br> + the shadowy green a tulip tree flaunted its leaves. Waves boomed and <br> + broke upon the shore below. There was a growing dampness as we went <br> + on, treading very lightly. A little green snake ran coquettishly from <br> + us. A fat and glossy squirrel chattered at us from a safe height, <br> + stroking his whiskers with a com- plaisant air.</p> +<p>At length we reached the "place." It was a circle of velvet grass, + <br> + bright as the first blades of spring, delicate as fine sea-ferns.<br> + The sunlight, falling down the shaft between the hemlocks, flooded it <br> + with a softened light and made the forest round about look like deep <br> + purple velvet. My little godchild stood in the midst and raised her <br> + wand impressively.</p> +<p>"This is my place," she said, with a sort of wonderful gladness in + <br> + her tone. "This is where I come to the fairy balls. Do you see them?"</p> +<p>"See what?" whispered one tiny boy.</p> +<p>"The fairies."</p> +<p>There was a silence. The older boy pulled at my skirt.</p> +<p>"Do YOU see them?" he asked, his voice trembling with expectancy.</p> +<p>"Indeed," I said, "I fear I am too old and wicked to see fairies, + and <br> + yet -- are their hats red?"</p> +<p>"They are," laughed my little girl. "Their hats are red, and + as small <br> + -- as small!" She held up the pearly nail of her wee finger to give <br> + us the correct idea.</p> +<p>"And their shoes are very pointed at the toes?"</p> +<p>"Oh, very pointed!"</p> +<p>"And their garments are green?"</p> +<p>"As green as grass."</p> +<p>"And they blow little horns?"</p> +<p>"The sweetest little horns!"</p> +<p>"I think I see them," I cried.</p> +<p>"We think we see them too," said the tiny boys, laughing in perfect + <br> + glee.</p> +<p>"And you hear their horns, don't you?" my little godchild asked <br> + somewhat anxiously.</p> +<p>"Don't we hear their horns?" I asked the tiny boys.</p> +<p>"We think we hear their horns," they cried.<br> + "Don't you think we do?"</p> +<p>"It must be we do," I said. "Aren't we very, very happy?"</p> +<p>We all laughed softly. Then we kissed each other and Elsbeth led us <br> + out, her wand high in the air.</p> +<p>And so my feet found the lost path to Arcady.</p> +<p>The next day I was called to the Pacific coast, and duty kept me <br> + there till well into December. A few days before the date set for my <br> + return to my home, a letter came from Elsbeth's mother.</p> +<p>"Our little girl is gone into the Unknown,"<br> + she wrote -- "that Unknown in which she seemed to be forever trying <br> + to pry. We knew she was going, and we told her. She was quite brave, <br> + but she begged us to try some way to keep her till after Christmas. <br> + 'My presents are not finished yet,' she made moan.<br> + 'And I did so want to see what I was going to have. You can't have a <br> + very happy Christ- mas without me, I should think. Can you arrange to <br> + keep me somehow till after then?' We could not 'arrange' either with <br> + God in heaven or science upon earth, and she is gone."</p> +<p>She was only my little godchild, and I am an old maid, with no <br> + business fretting over children, but it seemed as if the medium of <br> + light and beauty had been taken from me.<br> + Through this crystal soul I had perceived whatever was loveliest. <br> + However, what was, was! I returned to my home and took up a course of <br> + Egyptian history, and determined to concern myself with nothing this <br> + side the Ptolemies.</p> +<p>Her mother has told me how, on Christmas eve, as usual, she and <br> + Elsbeth's father filled the stockings of the little ones, and hung <br> + them, where they had always hung, by the fire- place. They had little <br> + heart for the task, but they had been prodigal that year in their <br> + expenditures, and had heaped upon the two tiny boys all the treasures <br> + they thought would appeal to them. They asked them- selves how they <br> + could have been so insane previously as to exercise economy at <br> + Christ- mas time, and what they meant by not getting Elsbeth the <br> + autoharp she had asked for the year before.</p> +<p>"And now --" began her father, thinking of harps. But he could not + <br> + complete this sentence, of course, and the two went on pas- sionately <br> + and almost angrily with their task.<br> + There were two stockings and two piles of toys. Two stockings only, <br> + and only two piles of toys! Two is very little!</p> +<p>They went away and left the darkened room, and after a time they <br> + slept -- after a long time. Perhaps that was about the time the tiny <br> + boys awoke, and, putting on their little dressing gowns and bed <br> + slippers, made a dash for the room where the Christmas things were <br> + always placed. The older one carried a candle which gave out a feeble <br> + light. The other followed behind through the silent house. They were <br> + very impatient and eager, but when they reached the door of the <br> + sitting-room they stopped, for they saw that another child was before <br> + them.</p> +<p>It was a delicate little creature, sitting in her white night gown, <br> + with two rumpled funny braids falling down her back, and she seemed <br> + to be weeping. As they watched, she arose, and putting out one <br> + slender finger as a child does when she counts, she made sure over <br> + and over again -- three sad times -- that there were only two <br> + stockings and two piles of toys! Only those and no more.</p> +<p>The little figure looked so familiar that the boys started toward it, <br> + but just then, putting up her arm and bowing her face in it, as <br> + Elsbeth had been used to do when she wept or was offended, the little <br> + thing glided away and went out. That's what the boys said.<br> + It went out as a candle goes out.</p> +<p>They ran and woke their parents with the tale, and all the house was <br> + searched in a wonderment, and disbelief, and hope, and tumult! But <br> + nothing was found. For nights they watched. But there was only the <br> + silent house. Only the empty rooms. They told the boys they must have <br> + been mistaken. But the boys shook their heads.</p> +<p>"We know our Elsbeth," said they. "It was our Elsbeth, cryin' + 'cause <br> + she hadn't no stockin' an' no toys, and we would have given her all <br> + ours, only she went out -- jus' went out!"</p> +<p>Alack!</p> +<p>The next Christmas I helped with the little festival. It was none of <br> + my affair, but I asked to help, and they let me, and when we were all <br> + through there were three stockings and three piles of toys, and in <br> + the largest one was all the things that I could think of that my dear <br> + child would love. I locked the boys' chamber that night, and I slept <br> + on the divan in the parlor off the sitting-room. I slept but little, <br> + and the night was very still -- so wind- less and white and still <br> + that I think I must have heard the slightest noise. Yet I heard none. <br> + Had I been in my grave I think my ears would not have remained more <br> + unsaluted.</p> +<p>Yet when daylight came and I went to un- lock the boys' bedchamber <br> + door, I saw that the stocking and all the treasures which I had <br> + bought for my little godchild were gone.<br> + There was not a vestige of them remaining!</p> +<p>Of course we told the boys nothing. As for me, after dinner I went <br> + home and buried myself once more in my history, and so inter- ested <br> + was I that midnight came without my knowing it. I should not have <br> + looked up at all, I suppose, to become aware of the time, had it not <br> + been for a faint, sweet sound as of a child striking a stringed <br> + instrument. It was so delicate and remote that I hardly heard it, but <br> + so joyous and tender that I could not but listen, and when I heard it <br> + a second time it seemed as if I caught the echo of a child's laugh. <br> + At first I was puzzled.<br> + Then I remembered the little autoharp I had placed among the other <br> + things in that pile of vanished toys. I said aloud:</p> +<p></p> +<p><br> + "Farewell, dear little ghost. Go rest.<br> + Rest in joy, dear little ghost. Farewell, farewell."</p> +<p>That was years ago, but there has been silence since. Elsbeth was <br> + always an obe- dient little thing.</p> +<p> </p> +<h2>A SPECTRAL COLLIE</h2> +<p>WILLIAM PERCY CECIL happened to be a younger son, so he left home -- <br> + which was England -- and went to Kansas to ranch it. Thousands of <br> + younger sons do the same, only their des- tination is not invariably <br> + Kansas.</p> +<p>An agent at Wichita picked out Cecil's farm for him and sent the <br> + deeds over to Eng- land before Cecil left. He said there was a house <br> + on the place. So Cecil's mother fitted him out for America just as <br> + she had fitted out another superfluous boy for Africa, and parted <br> + from him with an heroic front and big agonies of mother-ache which <br> + she kept to herself.</p> + + + +<p><br> + The boy bore up the way a man of his blood ought, but when he went <br> + out to the kennel to see Nita, his collie, he went to pieces somehow, <br> + and rolled on the grass with her in his arms and wept like a booby. <br> + But the remarkable part of it was that Nita wept too, big, hot dog <br> + tears which her master wiped away. When he went off she howled like a <br> + hungry baby, and had to be switched before she would give any one a <br> + night's sleep.</p> +<p>When Cecil got over on his Kansas place he fitted up the shack as <br> + cosily as he could, and learned how to fry bacon and make soda <br> + biscuits. Incidentally, he did farming, and sunk a heap of money, <br> + finding out how not to do things. Meantime, the Americans laughed at <br> + him, and were inclined to turn the cold shoulder, and his <br> + compatriots, of whom there were a number in the county, did not prove <br> + to his liking. They consoled themselves for their exiled state in <br> + fashions not in keeping with Cecil's traditions. His homesickness <br> + went deeper than theirs, per- haps, and American whiskey could not <br> + make up for the loss of his English home, nor flir- tations with the <br> + gay American village girls quite compensate him for the loss of his <br> + English mother. So he kept to himself and had nostalgia as some men <br> + have consumption.</p> +<p>At length the loneliness got so bad that he had to see some living <br> + thing from home, or make a flunk of it and go back like a cry baby. <br> + He had a stiff pride still, though he sobbed himself to sleep more <br> + than one night, as many a pioneer has done before him. So he wrote <br> + home for Nita, the collie, and got word that she would be sent. <br> + Arrangements were made for her care all along the line, and she was <br> + properly boxed and shipped.</p> +<p>As the time drew near for her arrival, Cecil could hardly eat. He was <br> + too excited to apply himself to anything. The day of her expected <br> + arrival he actually got up at five o'clock to clean the house and <br> + make it look as fine as possible for her inspection. Then he hitched <br> + up and drove fifteen miles to get her. The train pulled out just <br> + before he reached the station, so Nita in her box was waiting for him <br> + on the platform. He could see her in a queer way, as one sees the <br> + purple centre of a revolving circle of light; for, to tell the truth, <br> + with the long ride in the morn- ing sun, and the beating of his <br> + heart, Cecil was only about half-conscious of anything.<br> + He wanted to yell, but he didn't. He kept himself in hand and lifted <br> + up the sliding side of the box and called to Nita, and she came out.</p> +<p>But it wasn't the man who fainted, though he might have done so, <br> + being crazy home- sick as he was, and half-fed and overworked while <br> + he was yet soft from an easy life. No, it was the dog! She looked at <br> + her master's face, gave one cry of inexpressible joy, and fell over <br> + in a real feminine sort of a faint, and had to be brought to like any <br> + other lady, with camphor and water and a few drops of spirit down her <br> + throat. Then Cecil got up on the wagon seat, and she sat beside him <br> + with her head on his arm, and they rode home in absolute silence, <br> + each feeling too much for speech. After they reached home, however, <br> + Cecil showed her all over the place, and she barked out her ideas in <br> + glad sociability.</p> +<p>After that Cecil and Nita were inseparable.<br> + She walked beside him all day when he was out with the cultivator, or <br> + when he was mow- ing or reaping. She ate beside him at table and <br> + slept across his feet at night. Evenings when he looked over the <br> + Graphic from home, or read the books his mother sent him, that he <br> + might keep in touch with the world, Nita was beside him, patient, but <br> + jealous.<br> + Then, when he threw his book or paper down and took her on his knee <br> + and looked into her pretty eyes, or frolicked with her, she fairly <br> + laughed with delight.</p> +<p>In short, she was faithful with that faith of which only a dog is <br> + capable -- that unques- tioning faith to which even the most loving <br> + women never quite attain.</p> +<p>However, Fate was annoyed at this perfect friendship. It didn't give <br> + her enough to do, and Fate is a restless thing with a horrible <br> + appetite for variety. So poor Nita died one day mysteriously, and <br> + gave her last look to Cecil as a matter of course; and he held her <br> + paws till the last moment, as a stanch friend should, and laid her <br> + away decently in a pine box in the cornfield, where he could be <br> + shielded from public view if he chose to go there now and then and <br> + sit beside her grave.</p> +<p>He went to bed very lonely, indeed, the first night. The shack seemed <br> + to him to be removed endless miles from the other habi- tations of <br> + men. He seemed cut off from the world, and ached to hear the cheerful <br> + little barks which Nita had been in the habit of giving him by way of <br> + good night. Her ami- able eye with its friendly light was missing, <br> + the gay wag of her tail was gone; all her ridiculous ways, at which <br> + he was never tired of laughing, were things of the past.</p> +<p>He lay down, busy with these thoughts, yet so habituated to Nita's <br> + presence, that when her weight rested upon his feet, as usual, he <br> + felt no surprise. But after a mo- ment it came to him that as she was <br> + dead the weight he felt upon his feet could not be hers. And yet, <br> + there it was, warm and com- fortable, cuddling down in the familiar <br> + way.<br> + He actually sat up and put his hand down to the foot of the bed to <br> + discover what was there. But there was nothing there, save the <br> + weight. And that stayed with him that night and many nights after.</p> +<p>It happened that Cecil was a fool, as men will be when they are <br> + young, and he worked too hard, and didn't take proper care of him- <br> + self; and so it came about that he fell sick with a low fever. He <br> + struggled around for a few days, trying to work it off, but one morn- <br> + ing he awoke only to the consciousness of absurd dreams. He seemed to <br> + be on the sea, sailing for home, and the boat was tossing and <br> + pitching in a weary circle, and could make no headway. His heart was <br> + burning with impatience, but the boat went round and round in that <br> + endless circle till he shrieked out with agony.</p> +<p>The next neighbors were the Taylors, who lived two miles and a half <br> + away. They were awakened that morning by the howling of a dog before <br> + their door. It was a hideous sound and would give them no peace. So <br> + Charlie Taylor got up and opened the door, discovering there an <br> + excited little collie.</p> +<p>"Why, Tom," he called, "I thought Cecil's collie was dead!"</p> +<p>"She is," called back Tom.</p> +<p>"No, she ain't neither, for here she is, shakin' like an aspin, and a + <br> + beggin' me to go with her. Come out, Tom, and see."</p> +<p>It was Nita, no denying, and the men, per- plexed, followed her to <br> + Cecil's shack, where they found him babbling.</p> +<p>But that was the last of her. Cecil said he never felt her on his <br> + feet again. She had performed her final service for him, he said.<br> + The neighbors tried to laugh at the story at first, but they knew the <br> + Taylors wouldn't take the trouble to lie, and as for Cecil, no one <br> + would have ventured to chaff him.</p> +<p> </p> +<h2>THE HOUSE THAT WAS NOT</h2> +<p>BART FLEMING took his bride out to his ranch on the plains when she <br> + was but seventeen years old, and the two set up housekeeping in three <br> + hundred and twenty acres of corn and rye.<br> + Off toward the west there was an unbroken sea of tossing corn at that <br> + time of the year when the bride came out, and as her sewing window <br> + was on the side of the house which faced the sunset, she passed a <br> + good part of each day looking into that great rustling mass, <br> + breathing in its succulent odors and listening to its sibilant <br> + melody. It was her picture gallery, her opera, her spectacle, and, <br> + being sensible, -- or perhaps, being merely happy, -- she made the <br> + most of it.</p> +<p><br> + When harvesting time came and the corn was cut, she had much <br> + entertainment in dis- covering what lay beyond. The town was east, <br> + and it chanced that she had never rid- den west. So, when the rolling <br> + hills of this newly beholden land lifted themselves for her <br> + contemplation, and the harvest sun, all in an angry and sanguinary <br> + glow sank in the veiled horizon, and at noon a scarf of golden vapor <br> + wavered up and down along the earth line, it was as if a new world <br> + had been made for her. Sometimes, at the coming of a storm, a <br> + whip-lash of purple cloud, full of electric agility, snapped along <br> + the western horizon.</p> +<p>"Oh, you'll see a lot of queer things on these here plains," her + <br> + husband said when she spoke to him of these phenomena. "I guess what <br> + you see is the wind."</p> +<p>"The wind!" cried Flora. "You can't see the wind, Bart."</p> +<p>"Now look here, Flora," returned Bart, with benevolent emphasis, + <br> + "you're a smart one, but you don't know all I know about this here <br> + country. I've lived here three mortal years, waitin' for you to git <br> + up out of your mother's arms and come out to keep me company, and I <br> + know what there is to know. Some things out here is queer -- so queer <br> + folks wouldn't believe 'em unless they saw. An' some's so pig-headed <br> + they don't believe their own eyes. As for th' wind, if you lay down <br> + flat and squint toward th' west, you can see it blowin' along near <br> + th' ground, like a big ribbon; an' sometimes it's th' color of air, <br> + an' sometimes it's silver an' gold, an' some- times, when a storm is <br> + comin', it's purple."</p> +<p>"If you got so tired looking at the wind, why didn't you marry some <br> + other girl, Bart, instead of waiting for me?"</p> +<p>Flora was more interested in the first part of Bart's speech than in <br> + the last.</p> +<p>"Oh, come on!" protested Bart, and he picked her up in his arms and + <br> + jumped her toward the ceiling of the low shack as if she were a <br> + little girl -- but then, to be sure, she wasn't much more.</p> +<p>Of all the things Flora saw when the corn was cut down, nothing <br> + interested her so much as a low cottage, something like her own, <br> + which lay away in the distance. She could not guess how far it might <br> + be, because dis- tances are deceiving out there, where the alti- tude <br> + is high and the air is as clear as one of those mystic balls of glass <br> + in which the sallow mystics of India see the moving shadows of the <br> + future.</p> +<p>She had not known there were neighbors so near, and she wondered for <br> + several days about them before she ventured to say any- thing to Bart <br> + on the subject. Indeed, for some reason which she did not attempt to <br> + ex- plain to herself, she felt shy about broaching the matter. <br> + Perhaps Bart did not want her to know the people. The thought came to <br> + her, as naughty thoughts will come, even to the best of persons, that <br> + some handsome young men might be "baching" it out there by <br> + themselves, and Bart didn't wish her to make their acquaintance. Bart <br> + had flattered her so much that she had actually begun to think <br> + herself beautiful, though as a matter of fact she was only a nice <br> + little girl with a lot of reddish-brown hair, and a bright pair of <br> + reddish-brown eyes in a white face.</p> +<p>"Bart," she ventured one evening, as the sun, at its fiercest, rushed + <br> + toward the great black hollow of the west, "who lives over there in <br> + that shack?"</p> +<p>She turned away from the window where she had been looking at the <br> + incarnadined disk, and she thought she saw Bart turn pale.<br> + But then, her eyes were so blurred with the glory she had been gazing <br> + at, that she might easily have been mistaken.</p> +<p>"I say, Bart, why don't you speak? If there's any one around to <br> + associate with, I should think you'd let me have the benefit of their <br> + company. It isn't as funny as you think, staying here alone days and <br> + days."</p> +<p>"You ain't gettin' homesick, be you, sweet- heart?" cried Bart, <br> + putting his arms around her. "You ain't gettin' tired of my society, <br> + be yeh?"</p> +<p>It took some time to answer this question in a satisfactory manner, <br> + but at length Flora was able to return to her original topic.</p> +<p>"But the shack, Bart! Who lives there, anyway?"</p> +<p>"I'm not acquainted with 'em," said Bart, sharply. "Ain't them + <br> + biscuits done, Flora?"</p> +<p>Then, of course, she grew obstinate.</p> +<p>"Those biscuits will never be done, Bart, till I know about that <br> + house, and why you never spoke of it, and why nobody ever comes down <br> + the road from there. Some one lives there I know, for in the mornings <br> + and at night I see the smoke coming out of the chimney."</p> +<p>"Do you now?" cried Bart, opening his eyes and looking at her with + <br> + unfeigned inter- est. "Well, do you know, sometimes I've fancied I <br> + seen that too?"</p> +<p>"Well, why not," cried Flora, in half anger.<br> + "Why shouldn't you?"</p> +<p>"See here, Flora, take them biscuits out an' listen to me. There <br> + ain't no house there.<br> + Hello! I didn't know you'd go for to drop the biscuits. Wait, I'll <br> + help you pick 'em up.<br> + By cracky, they're hot, ain't they? What you puttin' a towel over 'em <br> + for? Well, you set down here on my knee, so. Now you look over at <br> + that there house. You see it, don't yeh? Well, it ain't there! No! I <br> + saw it the first week I was out here. I was jus' half dyin', thinkin' <br> + of you an' wonderin' why you didn't write. That was the time you was <br> + mad at me. So I rode over there one day -- lookin' up company, so t' <br> + speak -- and there wa'n't no house there. I spent all one Sunday <br> + lookin' for it. Then I spoke to Jim Geary about it.<br> + He laughed an' got a little white about th' gills, an' he said he <br> + guessed I'd have to look a good while before I found it. He said that <br> + there shack was an ole joke."</p> +<p>"Why -- what --"</p> +<p>"Well, this here is th' story he tol' me.<br> + He said a man an' his wife come out here t' live an' put up that <br> + there little place. An' she was young, you know, an' kind o' skeery, <br> + and she got lonesome. It worked on her an' worked on her, an' one day <br> + she up an' killed the baby an' her husband an' herself. Th' folks <br> + found 'em and buried 'em right there on their own ground. Well, about <br> + two weeks after that, th' house was burned down. Don't know how. <br> + Tramps, maybe. Anyhow, it burned. At least, I guess it burned!"</p> +<p>"You guess it burned!"</p> +<p>"Well, it ain't there, you know."</p> +<p>"But if it burned the ashes are there."</p> +<p>"All right, girlie, they're there then. Now let's have tea."</p> +<p>This they proceeded to do, and were happy and cheerful all evening, <br> + but that didn't keep Flora from rising at the first flush of dawn and <br> + stealing out of the house. She looked away over west as she went to <br> + the barn and there, dark and firm against the horizon, stood the <br> + little house against the pellucid sky of morn- ing. She got on <br> + Ginger's back -- Ginger being her own yellow broncho -- and set off <br> + at a hard pace for the house. It didn't appear to come any nearer, <br> + but the objects which had seemed to be beside it came closer into <br> + view, and Flora pressed on, with her mind steeled for anything. But <br> + as she approached the poplar windbreak which stood to the north of <br> + the house, the little shack waned like a shadow before her. It faded <br> + and dimmed before her eyes.</p> +<p>She slapped Ginger's flanks and kept him going, and she at last got <br> + him up to the spot.<br> + But there was nothing there. The bunch grass grew tall and rank and <br> + in the midst of it lay a baby's shoe. Flora thought of picking it up, <br> + but something cold in her veins withheld her. Then she grew angry, <br> + and set Ginger's head toward the place and tried to drive him over <br> + it. But the yellow broncho gave one snort of fear, gathered himself <br> + in a bunch, and then, all tense, leaping muscles, made for home as <br> + only a broncho can.</p> +<p> </p> +<h2>STORY OF AN OBSTINATE CORPSE</h2> +<p>VIRGIL HOYT is a photographer's assistant up at St. Paul, and enjoys <br> + his work without being consumed by it. He has been in search of the <br> + picturesque all over the West and hundreds of miles to the north, in <br> + Canada, and can speak three or four Indian dialects and put a canoe <br> + through the rapids. That is to say, he is a man of adventure, and no <br> + dreamer.<br> + He can fight well and shoot better, and swim so as to put up a <br> + winning race with the Ind- ian boys, and he can sit in the saddle all <br> + day and not worry about it to-morrow.</p> +<p><br> + Wherever he goes, he carries a camera.</p> +<p>"The world," Hoyt is in the habit of say- ing to those who sit with + <br> + him when he smokes his pipe, "was created in six days to be pho- <br> + tographed. Man -- and particularly woman -- was made for the same <br> + purpose. Clouds are not made to give moisture nor trees to cast <br> + shade. They have been created in order to give the camera obscura <br> + something to do."</p> +<p>In short, Virgil Hoyt's view of the world is whimsical, and he likes <br> + to be bothered neither with the disagreeable nor the mysteri- ous. <br> + That is the reason he loathes and detests going to a house of <br> + mourning to photograph a corpse. The bad taste of it offends him, but <br> + above all, he doesn't like the necessity of shouldering, even for a <br> + few moments, a part of the burden of sorrow which belongs to some one <br> + else. He dislikes sorrow, and would willingly canoe five hundred <br> + miles up the cold Canadian rivers to get rid of it.<br> + Nevertheless, as assistant photographer, it is often his duty to do <br> + this very kind of thing.</p> +<p>Not long ago he was sent for by a rich Jew- ish family to photograph <br> + the remains of the mother, who had just died. He was put out, but he <br> + was only an assistant, and he went.<br> + He was taken to the front parlor, where the dead woman lay in her <br> + coffin. It was evident to him that there was some excitement in the <br> + household, and that a discussion was going on.<br> + But Hoyt said to himself that it didn't con- cern him, and he <br> + therefore paid no attention to it.</p> +<p>The daughter wanted the coffin turned on end in order that the corpse <br> + might face the camera properly, but Hoyt said he could over- come the <br> + recumbent attitude and make it ap- pear that the face was taken in <br> + the position it would naturally hold in life, and so they went out <br> + and left him alone with the dead.</p> +<p>The face of the deceased was a strong and positive one, such as may <br> + often be seen among Jewish matrons. Hoyt regarded it with some <br> + admiration, thinking to himself that she was a woman who had known <br> + what she wanted, and who, once having made up her mind, would prove <br> + immovable. Such a character appealed to Hoyt. He reflected that he <br> + might have married if only he could have found a woman with strength <br> + of character sufficient to disagree with him. There was a strand of <br> + hair out of place on the dead woman's brow, and he gently pushed it <br> + back. A bud lifted its head too high from among the roses on her <br> + breast and spoiled the contour of the chin, so he broke it off. He <br> + remembered these things later with keen distinctness, and that his <br> + hand touched her chill face two or three times in the making of his <br> + arrangements.</p> +<p>Then he took the impression, and left the house.</p> +<p>He was busy at the time with some railroad work, and several days <br> + passed before he found opportunity to develop the plates. He took <br> + them from the bath in which they had lain with a number of others, <br> + and went energeti- cally to work upon them, whistling some very saucy <br> + songs he had learned of the guide in the Red River country, and <br> + trying to forget that the face which was presently to appear was that <br> + of a dead woman. He had used three plates as a precaution against <br> + accident, and they came up well. But as they devel- oped, he became <br> + aware of the existence of something in the photograph which had not <br> + been apparent to his eye in the subject. He was irritated, and <br> + without attempting to face the mystery, he made a few prints and laid <br> + them aside, ardently hoping that by some chance they would never be <br> + called for.</p> +<p>However, as luck would have it, -- and Hoyt's luck never had been <br> + good, -- his em- ployer asked one day what had become of those <br> + photographs. Hoyt tried to evade making an answer, but the effort was <br> + futile, and he had to get out the finished prints and exhibit them. <br> + The older man sat staring at them a long time.</p> +<p>"Hoyt," he said, "you're a young man, and very likely you have + never <br> + seen anything like this before. But I have. Not exactly the same <br> + thing, perhaps, but similar phenomena have come my way a number of <br> + times since I went in the business, and I want to tell you there are <br> + things in heaven and earth not dreamt of --"</p> +<p>"Oh, I know all that tommy-rot," cried Hoyt, angrily, "but when + <br> + anything happens I want to know the reason why and how it is done."</p> +<p>"All right," answered his employer, "then you might explain + why and <br> + how the sun rises."</p> +<p>But he humored the young man sufficiently to examine with him the <br> + baths in which the plates were submerged, and the plates them- <br> + selves. All was as it should be; but the mys- tery was there, and <br> + could not be done away with.</p> +<p>Hoyt hoped against hope that the friends of the dead woman would <br> + somehow forget about the photographs; but the idea was un- <br> + reasonable, and one day, as a matter of course, the daughter appeared <br> + and asked to see the pictures of her mother.</p> +<p>"Well, to tell the truth," stammered Hoyt, "they didn't come + out <br> + quite -- quite as well as we could wish."</p> +<p>"But let me see them," persisted the lady.<br> + "I'd like to look at them anyhow."</p> +<p>"Well, now," said Hoyt, trying to be soothing, as he believed it + was <br> + always best to be with women, -- to tell the truth he was an <br> + ignoramus where women were concerned, -- "I think it would be better <br> + if you didn't look at them. There are reasons why --"<br> + he ambled on like this, stupid man that he was, till the lady <br> + naturally insisted upon see- ing the pictures without a moment's <br> + delay.</p> +<p>So poor Hoyt brought them out and placed them in her hand, and then <br> + ran for the water pitcher, and had to be at the bother of bath- ing <br> + her forehead to keep her from fainting.</p> +<p>For what the lady saw was this: Over face and flowers and the head of <br> + the coffin fell a thick veil, the edges of which touched the floor in <br> + some places. It covered the feat- ures so well that not a hint of <br> + them was visible.</p> +<p>"There was nothing over mother's face!"<br> + cried the lady at length.</p> +<p>"Not a thing," acquiesced Hoyt. "I know, because I had occasion + to <br> + touch her face just before I took the picture. I put some of her hair <br> + back from her brow."</p> +<p>"What does it mean, then?" asked the lady.</p> +<p>"You know better than I. There is no ex- planation in science. <br> + Perhaps there is some in -- in psychology."</p> +<p>"Well," said the young woman, stammer- ing a little and coloring, + <br> + "mother was a good woman, but she always wanted her own way, and she <br> + always had it, too."</p> +<p>"Yes."</p> +<p>"And she never would have her picture taken. She didn't admire her <br> + own appear- ance. She said no one should ever see a picture of her."</p> +<p>"So?" said Hoyt, meditatively. "Well, she's kept her word, hasn't + <br> + she?"</p> +<p>The two stood looking at the photographs for a time. Then Hoyt <br> + pointed to the open blaze in the grate.</p> +<p>"Throw them in," he commanded. "Don't let your father see them + -- <br> + don't keep them yourself. They wouldn't be agreeable things to keep."</p> +<p>"That's true enough," admitted the lady.<br> + And she threw them in the fire. Then Vir- gil Hoyt brought out the <br> + plates and broke them before her eyes.</p> +<p>And that was the end of it -- except that Hoyt sometimes tells the <br> + story to those who sit beside him when his pipe is lighted.</p> +<p>A CHILD OF THE RAIN</p> +<p>IT was the night that Mona Meeks, the dressmaker, told him she didn't <br> + love him. He couldn't believe it at first, because he had so long <br> + been accustomed to the idea that she did, and no matter how rough the <br> + weather or how irascible the passengers, he felt a song in his heart <br> + as he punched transfers, and rang his bell punch, and signalled the <br> + driver when to let people off and on.</p> +<p>Now, suddenly, with no reason except a woman's, she had changed her <br> + mind. He dropped in to see her at five o'clock, just before time for <br> + the night shift, and to give her two red apples he had been saving <br> + for her.<br> + She looked at the apples as if they were in- visible and she could <br> + not see them, and stand- ing in her disorderly little dressmaking <br> + parlor, with its cuttings and scraps and litter of fab- rics, she <br> + said:</p> +<p>"It is no use, John. I shall have to work here like this all my life <br> + -- work here alone.<br> + For I don't love you, John. No, I don't. I thought I did, but it is a <br> + mistake."</p> +<p>"You mean it?" asked John, bringing up the words in a great gasp.</p> +<p>"Yes," she said, white and trembling and putting out her hands as + if <br> + to beg for his mercy. And then -- big, lumbering fool -- he turned <br> + around and strode down the stairs and stood at the corner in the <br> + beating rain waiting for his car. It came along at length, <br> + spluttering on the wet rails and spitting out blue fire, and he took <br> + his shift after a gruff "Good night" to Johnson, the man he relieved.</p> +<p>He was glad the rain was bitter cold and drove in his face fiercely. <br> + He rejoiced at the cruelty of the wind, and when it hustled <br> + pedestrians before it, lashing them, twisting their clothes, and <br> + threatening their equilib- rium, he felt amused. He was pleased at <br> + the chill in his bones and at the hunger that tortured him. At least, <br> + at first he thought it was hunger till he remembered that he had just <br> + eaten. The hours passed confusedly.<br> + He had no consciousness of time. But it must have been late, -- near <br> + midnight, -- judging by the fact that there were few per- sons <br> + visible anywhere in the black storm, when he noticed a little figure <br> + sitting at the far end of the car. He had not seen the child when she <br> + got on, but all was so curious and wild to him that evening -- he <br> + himself seemed to himself the most curious and the wildest of all <br> + things -- that it was not surpris- ing that he should not have <br> + observed the little creature.</p> +<p>She was wrapped in a coat so much too large that it had become frayed <br> + at the bottom from dragging on the pavement. Her hair hung in unkempt <br> + stringiness about her bent shoulders, and her feet were covered with <br> + old arctics, many sizes too big, from which the soles hung loose.</p> +<p>Beside the little figure was a chest of dark wood, with curiously <br> + wrought hasps. From this depended a stout strap by which it could be <br> + carried over the shoulders. John Billings stared in, fascinated by <br> + the poor little thing with its head sadly drooping upon its breast, <br> + its thin blue hands relaxed upon its lap, and its whole attitude so <br> + suggestive of hunger, loneliness, and fatigue, that he made up his <br> + mind he would collect no fare from it.</p> +<p>"It will need its nickel for breakfast," he said to himself. "The + <br> + company can stand this for once. Or, come to think of it, I might <br> + celebrate my hard luck. Here's to the brotherhood of failures!" And <br> + he took a nickel from one pocket of his great-coat and dropped it in <br> + another, ringing his bell punch to record the transfer.</p> +<p>The car plunged along in the darkness, and the rain beat more <br> + viciously than ever in his face. The night was full of the rushing <br> + sound of the storm. Owing to some change of tem- perature the glass <br> + of the car became obscured so that the young conductor could no <br> + longer see the little figure distinctly, and he grew anxious about <br> + the child.</p> +<p>"I wonder if it's all right," he said to him- self. "I never + saw <br> + living creature sit so still."</p> +<p>He opened the car door, intending to speak with the child, but just <br> + then something went wrong with the lights. There was a blue and green <br> + flickering, then darkness, a sudden halt- ing of the car, and a great <br> + sweep of wind and rain in at the door. When, after a moment, light <br> + and motion reasserted themselves, and Billings had got the door <br> + together, he turned to look at the little passenger. But the car was <br> + empty.</p> +<p>It was a fact. There was no child there -- not even moisture on the <br> + seat where she had been sitting.</p> +<p>"Bill," said he, going to the front door and addressing the driver, + <br> + "what became of that little kid in the old cloak?"</p> +<p>"I didn't see no kid," said Bill, crossly.<br> + "For Gawd's sake, close the door, John, and git that draught off my <br> + back."</p> +<p>"Draught!" said John, indignantly, "where's the draught?"</p> +<p>"You've left the hind door open," growled Bill, and John saw him + <br> + shivering as a blast struck him and ruffled the fur on his bear-skin <br> + coat. But the door was not open, and yet John had to admit to himself <br> + that the car seemed filled with wind and a strange coldness.</p> +<p>However, it didn't matter. Nothing mat- tered! Still, it was as well <br> + no doubt to look under the seats just to make sure no little <br> + crouching figure was there, and so he did.<br> + But there was nothing. In fact, John said to himself, he seemed to be <br> + getting expert in finding nothing where there ought to be some- <br> + thing.</p> +<p>He might have stayed in the car, for there was no likelihood of more <br> + passengers that evening, but somehow he preferred going out where the <br> + rain could drench him and the wind pommel him. How horribly tired he <br> + was! If there were only some still place away from the blare of the <br> + city where a man could lie down and listen to the sound of the sea or <br> + the storm -- or if one could grow suddenly old and get through with <br> + the bother of living -- or if --</p> +<p>The car gave a sudden lurch as it rounded a curve, and for a moment <br> + it seemed to be a mere chance whether Conductor Billings would stay <br> + on his platform or go off under those fire-spitting wheels. He caught <br> + in- stinctively at his brake, saved himself, and stood still for a <br> + moment, panting.</p> +<p>"I must have dozed," he said to himself.</p> +<p>Just then, dimly, through the blurred win- dow, he saw again the <br> + little figure of the child, its head on its breast as before, its <br> + blue hands lying in its lap and the curious box beside it. John <br> + Billings felt a coldness beyond the coldness of the night run through <br> + his blood. Then, with a half-stifled cry, he threw back the door, and <br> + made a desperate spring at the corner where the eerie thing sat.</p> +<p>And he touched the green carpeting on the seat, which was quite dry <br> + and warm, as if no dripping, miserable little wretch had ever <br> + crouched there.</p> +<p>He rushed to the front door.</p> +<p>"Bill," he roared, "I want to know about that kid."</p> +<p>"What kid?"</p> +<p>"The same kid! The wet one with the old coat and the box with iron <br> + hasps! The one that's been sitting here in the car!"</p> +<p>Bill turned his surly face to confront the young conductor.</p> +<p>"You've been drinking, you fool," said he.<br> + "Fust thing you know you'll be reported."</p> +<p>The conductor said not a word. He went slowly and weakly back to his <br> + post and stood there the rest of the way leaning against the end of <br> + the car for support. Once or twice he muttered:</p> +<p>"The poor little brat!" And again he said, "So you didn't love + me <br> + after all!"</p> +<p>He never knew how he reached home, but he sank to sleep as dying men <br> + sink to death.<br> + All the same, being a hearty young man, he was on duty again next day <br> + but one, and again the night was rainy and cold.</p> +<p>It was the last run, and the car was spin- ning along at its limit, <br> + when there came a sudden soft shock. John Billings knew what that <br> + meant. He had felt something of the kind once before. He turned sick <br> + for a moment, and held on to the brake. Then he summoned his courage <br> + and went around to the side of the car, which had stopped.<br> + Bill, the driver, was before him, and had a limp little figure in his <br> + arms, and was carry- ing it to the gaslight. John gave one look and <br> + cried:</p> +<p>"It's the same kid, Bill! The one I told you of!"</p> +<p>True as truth were the ragged coat dangling from the pitiful body, <br> + the little blue hands, the thin shoulders, the stringy hair, the big <br> + arctics on the feet. And in the road not far off was the curious <br> + chest of dark wood with iron hasps.</p> +<p>"She ran under the car deliberate!" cried Bill. "I yelled to + her, but <br> + she looked at me and ran straight on!"</p> +<p>He was white in spite of his weather-beaten skin.</p> +<p>"I guess you wasn't drunk last night after all, John," said he.</p> +<p>"You -- you are sure the kid is -- is there?"<br> + gasped John.</p> +<p>"Not so damned sure!" said Bill.</p> +<p>But a few minutes later it was taken away in a patrol wagon, and with <br> + it the little box with iron hasps.</p> +<p> </p> +<h2>THE ROOM OF THE EVIL THOUGHT</h2> +<p>THEY called it the room of the Evil Thought. It was really the pleas- <br> + antest room in the house, and when the place had been used as the <br> + rectory, was the minister's study. It looked out on a mournful clump <br> + of larches, such as may often be seen in the old-fash- ioned yards in <br> + Michigan, and these threw a tender gloom over the apartment.</p> +<p>There was a wide fireplace in the room, and it had been the young <br> + minister's habit to sit there hours and hours, staring ahead of him <br> + at the fire, and smoking moodily. The replenishing of the fire and of <br> + his pipe, it was said, would afford him occupation all the day long, <br> + and that was how it came about that his parochial duties were <br> + neglected so that, little by little, the people became dis- satisfied <br> + with him, though he was an eloquent young man, who could send his <br> + congregation away drunk on his influence. However, the calmer pulsed <br> + among his parish began to whisper that it was indeed the influence of <br> + the young minister and not that of the Holy Ghost which they felt, <br> + and it was finally decided that neither animal magnetism nor <br> + hypnotism were good substitutes for religion.<br> + And so they let him go.</p> +<p><br> + The new rector moved into a smart brick house on the other side of <br> + the church, and gave receptions and dinner parties, and was <br> + punctilious about making his calls. The people therefore liked him <br> + very much -- so much that they raised the debt on the church and <br> + bought a chime of bells, in their enthu- siasm. Every one was lighter <br> + of heart than under the ministration of the previous rector.<br> + A burden appeared to be lifted from the com- munity. True, there were <br> + a few who con- fessed the new man did not give them the food for <br> + thought which the old one had done, but, then, the former rector had <br> + made them uncomfortable! He had not only made them conscious of the <br> + sins of which they were already guilty, but also of those for which <br> + they had the latent capacity. A strange and fatal man, whom women <br> + loved to their sor- row, and whom simple men could not under- stand! <br> + It was generally agreed that the parish was well rid of him.</p> +<p>"He was a genius," said the people in commiseration. The word was + an <br> + uncom- plimentary epithet with them.</p> +<p>When the Hanscoms moved in the house which had been the old rectory, <br> + they gave Grandma Hanscom the room with the fire- place. Grandma was <br> + well pleased. The roaring fire warmed her heart as well as her chill <br> + old body, and she wept with weak joy when she looked at the larches, <br> + because they reminded her of the house she had lived in when she was <br> + first married. All the forenoon of the first day she was busy putting <br> + things away in bureau drawers and closets, but by afternoon she was <br> + ready to sit down in her high-backed rocker and enjoy the comforts of <br> + her room.</p> +<p>She nodded a bit before the fire, as she usually did after luncheon, <br> + and then she awoke with an awful start and sat staring before her <br> + with such a look in her gentle, filmy old eyes as had never been <br> + there before.<br> + She did not move, except to rock slightly, and the Thought grew and <br> + grew till her face was disguised as by some hideous mask of tragedy.</p> +<p>By and by the children came pounding at the door.</p> +<p>"Oh, grandma, let us in, please. We want to see your new room, and <br> + mamma gave us some ginger cookies on a plate, and we want to give <br> + some to you."</p> +<p>The door gave way under their assaults, and the three little ones <br> + stood peeping in, wait- ing for permission to enter. But it did not <br> + seem to be their grandma -- their own dear grandma -- who arose and <br> + tottered toward them in fierce haste, crying:</p> +<p>"Away, away! Out of my sight! Out of my sight before I do the thing I + <br> + want to do!<br> + Such a terrible thing! Send some one to me quick, children, children! <br> + Send some one quick!"</p> +<p>They fled with feet shod with fear, and their mother came, and <br> + Grandma Hanscom sank down and clung about her skirts and sobbed:</p> +<p>"Tie me, Miranda. Make me fast to the bed or the wall. Get some one <br> + to watch me.<br> + For I want to do an awful thing!"</p> +<p>They put the trembling old creature in bed, and she raved there all <br> + the night long and cried out to be held, and to be kept from doing <br> + the fearful thing, whatever it was -- for she never said what it was.</p> +<p>The next morning some one suggested tak- ing her in the sitting-room <br> + where she would be with the family. So they laid her on the sofa, <br> + hemmed around with cushions, and before long she was her quiet self <br> + again, though exhausted, naturally, with the tumult of the previous <br> + night. Now and then, as the children played about her, a shadow crept <br> + over her face -- a shadow as of cold remem- brance -- and then the <br> + perplexed tears followed.</p> +<p>When she seemed as well as ever they put her back in her room. But <br> + though the fire glowed and the lamp burned, as soon as ever she was <br> + alone they heard her shrill cries ring- ing to them that the Evil <br> + Thought had come again. So Hal, who was home from col- lege, carried <br> + her up to his room, which she seemed to like very well. Then he went <br> + down to have a smoke before grandma's fire.</p> +<p>The next morning he was absent from break- fast. They thought he <br> + might have gone for an early walk, and waited for him a few min- <br> + utes. Then his sister went to the room that looked upon the larches, <br> + and found him dressed and pacing the floor with a face set and stern. <br> + He had not been in bed at all, as she saw at once. His eyes were <br> + bloodshot, his face stricken as if with old age or sin or -- but she <br> + could not make it out. When he saw her he sank in a chair and covered <br> + his face with his hands, and between the trembling fingers she could <br> + see drops of perspiration on his forehead.</p> +<p>"Hal!" she cried, "Hal, what is it?"</p> +<p>But for answer he threw his arms about the little table and clung to <br> + it, and looked at her with tortured eyes, in which she fancied she <br> + saw a gleam of hate. She ran, screaming, from the room, and her <br> + father came and went up to him and laid his hands on the boy's <br> + shoulders. And then a fearful thing hap- pened. All the family saw <br> + it. There could be no mistake. Hal's hands found their way with <br> + frantic eagerness toward his father's throat as if they would choke <br> + him, and the look in his eyes was so like a madman's that his father <br> + raised his fist and felled him as he used to fell men years before in <br> + the college fights, and then dragged him into the sitting- room and <br> + wept over him.</p> +<p>By evening, however, Hal was all right, and the family said it must <br> + have been a fever, -- perhaps from overstudy, -- at which Hal cov- <br> + ertly smiled. But his father was still too anxious about him to let <br> + him out of his sight, so he put him on a cot in his room, and thus it <br> + chanced that the mother and Grace con- cluded to sleep together <br> + downstairs.</p> +<p>The two women made a sort of festival of it, and drank little cups of <br> + chocolate before the fire, and undid and brushed their brown braids, <br> + and smiled at each other, understand- ingly, with that sweet <br> + intuitive sympathy which women have, and Grace told her mother a <br> + number of things which she had been waiting for just such an <br> + auspicious oc- casion to confide.</p> +<p>But the larches were noisy and cried out with wild voices, and the <br> + flame of the fire grew blue and swirled about in the draught <br> + sinuously, so that a chill crept upon the two.<br> + Something cold appeared to envelop them -- such a chill as pleasure <br> + voyagers feel when a berg steals beyond Newfoundland and glows blue <br> + and threatening upon their ocean path.</p> +<p>Then came something else which was not cold, but hot as the flames of <br> + hell -- and they saw red, and stared at each other with mad- dened <br> + eyes, and then ran together from the room and clasped in close <br> + embrace safe beyond the fatal place, and thanked God they had not <br> + done the thing that they dared not speak of -- the thing which <br> + suddenly came to them to do.</p> +<p>So they called it the room of the Evil Thought. They could not <br> + account for it.<br> + They avoided the thought of it, being healthy and happy folk. But <br> + none entered it more.<br> + The door was locked.</p> +<p>One day, Hal, reading the paper, came across a paragraph concerning <br> + the young min- ister who had once lived there, and who had thought <br> + and written there and so influenced the lives of those about him that <br> + they remem- bered him even while they disapproved.</p> +<p>"He cut a man's throat on board ship for Australia," said he, "and + <br> + then he cut his own, without fatal effect -- and jumped overboard, <br> + and so ended it. What a strange thing!"</p> +<p>Then they all looked at one another with subtle looks, and a shadow <br> + fell upon them and stayed the blood at their hearts.</p> +<p>The next week the room of the Evil Thought was pulled down to make <br> + way for a pansy bed, which is quite gay and innocent, and blooms all <br> + the better because the larches, with their eternal murmuring, have <br> + been laid low and carted away to the sawmill.</p> +<p> </p> +<h2>STORY OF THE VANISHING PATIENT</h2> +<p>THERE had always been strange stories about the house, but it was a <br> + sensible, comfortable sort of a neighborhood, and people took pains <br> + to say to one another that there was nothing in these tales -- of <br> + course not!<br> + Absolutely nothing! How could there be?<br> + It was a matter of common remark, however, that considering the <br> + amount of money the Nethertons had spent on the place, it was curious <br> + they lived there so little. They were nearly always away, -- up North <br> + in the sum- mer and down South in the winter, and over to Paris or <br> + London now and then, -- and when they did come home it was only to <br> + entertain a number of guests from the city. The place was either <br> + plunged in gloom or gayety. The old gardener who kept house by <br> + himself in the cottage at the back of the yard had things much his <br> + own way by far the greater part of the time.</p> +<p><br> + Dr. Block and his wife lived next door to the Nethertons, and he and <br> + his wife, who were so absurd as to be very happy in each other's <br> + company, had the benefit of the beau- tiful yard. They walked there <br> + mornings when the leaves were silvered with dew, and even- ings they <br> + sat beside the lily pond and listened for the whip-poor-will. The <br> + doctor's wife moved her room over to that side of the house which <br> + commanded a view of the yard, and thus made the honeysuckles and <br> + laurel and clematis and all the masses of tossing greenery her own. <br> + Sitting there day after day with her sewing, she speculated about the <br> + mystery which hung impalpably yet undeniably over the house.</p> +<p>It happened one night when she and her husband had gone to their <br> + room, and were congratulating themselves on the fact that he had no <br> + very sick patients and was likely to enjoy a good night's rest, that <br> + a ring came at the door.</p> +<p>"If it's any one wanting you to leave home," warned his wife, "you + <br> + must tell them you are all worn out. You've been disturbed every <br> + night this week, and it's too much!"</p> +<p>The young physician went downstairs. At the door stood a man whom he <br> + had never seen before.</p> +<p>"My wife is lying very ill next door," said the stranger, "so + ill <br> + that I fear she will not live till morning. Will you please come to <br> + her at once?"</p> +<p>"Next door?" cried the physician. "I didn't know the Nethertons + were <br> + home!"</p> +<p>"Please hasten," begged the man. "I must go back to her. Follow + as <br> + quickly as you can."</p> +<p>The doctor went back upstairs to complete his toilet.</p> +<p>"How absurd," protested his wife when she heard the story. "There + is <br> + no one at the Nethertons'. I sit where I can see the front door, and <br> + no one can enter without my know- ing it, and I have been sewing by <br> + the window all day. If there were any one in the house, the gardener <br> + would have the porch lantern lighted. It is some plot. Some one has <br> + designs on you. You must not go."</p> +<p>But he went. As he left the room his wife placed a revolver in his <br> + pocket.</p> +<p>The great porch of the mansion was dark, but the physician made out <br> + that the door was open, and he entered. A feeble light came from the <br> + bronze lamp at the turn of the stairs, and by it he found his way, <br> + his feet sinking noiselessly in the rich carpets. At the head of the <br> + stairs the man met him. The doctor thought himself a tall man, but <br> + the stranger topped him by half a head. He motioned the physician to <br> + follow him, and the two went down the hall to the front room. The <br> + place was flushed with a rose-colored glow from several lamps. On a <br> + silken couch, in the midst of pillows, lay a woman dying with <br> + consumption. She was like a lily, white, shapely, graceful, with <br> + feeble yet charming movements. She looked at the doctor ap- <br> + pealingly, then, seeing in his eyes the in- voluntary verdict that <br> + her hour was at hand, she turned toward her companion with a glance <br> + of anguish. Dr. Block asked a few questions. The man answered them, <br> + the woman remaining silent. The physician ad- ministered something <br> + stimulating, and then wrote a prescription which he placed on the <br> + mantel-shelf.</p> +<p>"The drug store is closed to-night," he said, "and I fear the + <br> + druggist has gone home.<br> + You can have the prescription filled the first thing in the morning, <br> + and I will be over before breakfast."</p> +<p>After that, there was no reason why he should not have gone home. <br> + Yet, oddly enough, he preferred to stay. Nor was it professional <br> + anxiety that prompted this delay.<br> + He longed to watch those mysterious per- sons, who, almost oblivious <br> + of his presence, were speaking their mortal farewells in their <br> + glances, which were impassioned and of un- utterable sadness.</p> +<p>He sat as if fascinated. He watched the glitter of rings on the <br> + woman's long, white hands, he noted the waving of light hair about <br> + her temples, he observed the details of her gown of soft white silk <br> + which fell about her in voluminous folds. Now and then the man gave <br> + her of the stimulant which the doc- tor had provided; sometimes he <br> + bathed her face with water. Once he paced the floor for a moment till <br> + a motion of her hand quieted him.</p> +<p>After a time, feeling that it would be more sensible and considerate <br> + of him to leave, the doctor made his way home. His wife was awake, <br> + impatient to hear of his experiences.<br> + She listened to his tale in silence, and when he had finished she <br> + turned her face to the wall and made no comment.</p> +<p>"You seem to be ill, my dear," he said.<br> + "You have a chill. You are shivering."</p> +<p>"I have no chill," she replied sharply.<br> + "But I -- well, you may leave the light burning."</p> +<p>The next morning before breakfast the doc- tor crossed the dewy sward <br> + to the Netherton house. The front door was locked, and no one <br> + answered to his repeated ringings. The old gardener chanced to be <br> + cutting the grass near at hand, and he came running up.</p> +<p>"What you ringin' that door-bell for, doc- tor?" said he. "The + folks <br> + ain't come home yet. There ain't nobody there."</p> +<p>"Yes, there is, Jim. I was called here last night. A man came for me <br> + to attend his wife. They must both have fallen asleep that the bell <br> + is not answered. I wouldn't be sur- prised to find her dead, as a <br> + matter of fact.<br> + She was a desperately sick woman. Perhaps she is dead and something <br> + has happened to him. You have the key to the door, Jim.<br> + Let me in."</p> +<p>But the old man was shaking in every limb, and refused to do as he <br> + was bid.</p> +<p>"Don't you never go in there, doctor,"<br> + whispered he, with chattering teeth. "Don't you go for to 'tend no <br> + one. You jus' come tell me when you sent for that way. No, I ain't <br> + goin' in, doctor, nohow. It ain't part of my duties to go in. That's <br> + been stipulated by Mr. Netherton. It's my business to look after the <br> + garden."</p> +<p>Argument was useless. Dr. Block took the bunch of keys from the old <br> + man's pocket and himself unlocked the front door and entered.<br> + He mounted the steps and made his way to the upper room. There was no <br> + evidence of occupancy. The place was silent, and, so far as living <br> + creature went, vacant. The dust lay over everything. It covered the <br> + delicate damask of the sofa where he had seen the dying woman. It <br> + rested on the pillows. The place smelled musty and evil, as if it had <br> + not been used for a long time. The lamps of the room held not a drop <br> + of oil.</p> +<p>But on the mantel-shelf was the prescrip- tion which the doctor had <br> + written the night before. He read it, folded it, and put it in his <br> + pocket.</p> +<p>As he locked the outside door the old gar- dener came running to him.</p> +<p>"Don't you never go up there again, will you?" he pleaded, "not + <br> + unless you see all the Nethertons home and I come for you myself.<br> + You won't, doctor?"</p> +<p>"No," said the doctor.</p> +<p>When he told his wife she kissed him, and said:</p> +<p>"Next time when I tell you to stay at home, you must stay!"</p> +<p> </p> +<h2>THE PIANO NEXT DOOR</h2> +<p>BABETTE had gone away for the summer; the furniture was in its summer <br> + linens; the curtains were down, and Babette's husband, John Boyce, <br> + was alone in the house. It was the first year of his marriage, and he <br> + missed Babette. But then, as he often said to him- self, he ought <br> + never to have married her. He did it from pure selfishness, and <br> + because he was determined to possess the most illusive, tantalizing, <br> + elegant, and utterly unmoral little creature that the sun shone upon. <br> + He wanted her because she reminded him of birds, and flowers, and <br> + summer winds, and other exqui- site things created for the <br> + delectation of mankind. He neither expected nor desired her to think. <br> + He had half-frightened her into marrying him, had taken her to a poor <br> + man's home, provided her with no society such as she had been <br> + accustomed to, and he had no reasonable cause of complaint when she <br> + answered the call of summer and flitted away, like a butterfly in the <br> + morning sunshine, to the place where the flowers grew.</p> +<p><br> + He wrote to her every evening, sitting in the stifling, ugly house, <br> + and poured out his soul as if it were a libation to a goddess.<br> + She sometimes answered by telegraph, some- times by a perfumed note. <br> + He schooled him- self not to feel hurt. Why should Babette write? <br> + Does a goldfinch indict epistles; or a humming-bird study <br> + composition; or a glancing, red-scaled fish in summer shallows <br> + consider the meaning of words?</p> +<p>He knew at the beginning what Babette was -- guessed her limitations <br> + -- trembled when he buttoned her tiny glove -- kissed her dainty <br> + slipper when he found it in the closet after she was gone -- thrilled <br> + at the sound of her laugh, or the memory of it! That was all.<br> + A mere case of love. He was in bonds.<br> + Babette was not. Therefore he was in the city, working overhours to <br> + pay for Babette's pretty follies down at the seaside. It was quite <br> + right and proper. He was a grub in the furrow; she a lark in the <br> + blue. Those had always been and always must be their relative <br> + positions.</p> +<p>Having attained a mood of philosophic calm, in which he was prepared <br> + to spend his evenings alone -- as became a grub -- and to await with <br> + dignified patience the return of his wife, it was in the nature of an <br> + inconsist- ency that he should have walked the floor of the dull <br> + little drawing-room like a lion in cage. It did not seem in keeping <br> + with the position of superior serenity which he had assumed, that, <br> + reading Babette's notes, he should have raged with jealousy, or that, <br> + in the loneliness of his unkempt chamber, he should have stretched <br> + out arms of longing.<br> + Even if Babette had been present, she would only have smiled her gay <br> + little smile and co- quetted with him. She could not understand.<br> + He had known, of course, from the first mo- ment, that she could not <br> + understand! And so, why the ache, ache, ache of the heart!<br> + Or WAS it the heart, or the brain, or the soul?</p> +<p>Sometimes, when the evenings were so hot that he could not endure the <br> + close air of the house, he sat on the narrow, dusty front porch and <br> + looked about him at his neighbors. The street had once been smart and <br> + aspiring, but it had fallen into decay and dejection. Pale young men, <br> + with flurried-looking wives, seemed to Boyce to occupy most of the <br> + houses. Some- times three or four couples would live in one house. <br> + Most of these appeared to be child- less. The women made a pretence <br> + at fashion- able dressing, and wore their hair elaborately in <br> + fashions which somehow suggested board- ing-houses to Boyce, though <br> + he could not have told why. Every house in the block needed fresh <br> + paint. Lacking this renovation, the householders tried to make up for <br> + it by a display of lace curtains which, at every window, swayed in <br> + the smoke-weighted breeze.<br> + Strips of carpeting were laid down the front steps of the houses <br> + where the communities of young couples lived, and here, evenings, the <br> + inmates of the houses gathered, committing mild extravagances such as <br> + the treating of each other to ginger ale, or beer, or ice-cream.</p> +<p>Boyce watched these tawdry makeshifts at sociability with bitterness <br> + and loathing. He wondered how he could have been such a fool as to <br> + bring his exquisite Babette to this neighborhood. How could he expect <br> + that she would return to him? It was not reason- able. He ought to go <br> + down on his knees with gratitude that she even condescended to write <br> + him.</p> +<p>Sitting one night till late, -- so late that the fashionable young <br> + wives with their husbands had retired from the strips of stair <br> + carpeting, -- and raging at the loneliness which ate at his heart <br> + like a cancer, he heard, softly creep- ing through the windows of the <br> + house adjoin- ing his own, the sound of comfortable mel- ody.</p> +<p>It breathed upon his ear like a spirit of consolation, speaking of <br> + peace, of love which needs no reward save its own sweetness, of <br> + aspiration which looks forever beyond the thing of the hour to find <br> + attainment in that which is eternal. So insidiously did it whis- per <br> + these things, so delicately did the simple and perfect melodies creep <br> + upon the spirit -- that Boyce felt no resentment, but from the first <br> + listened as one who listens to learn, or as one who, fainting on the <br> + hot road, hears, far in the ferny deeps below, the gurgle of a <br> + spring.</p> +<p>Then came harmonies more intricate: fair fabrics of woven sound, in <br> + the midst of which gleamed golden threads of joy; a tapestry of <br> + sound, multi-tinted, gallant with story and achievement, and <br> + beautiful things. Boyce, sitting on his absurd piazza, with his knees <br> + jambed against the balustrade, and his chair back against the <br> + dun-colored wall of his house, seemed to be walking in the cathedral <br> + of the redwood forest, with blue above him, a vast hymn in his ears, <br> + pungent perfume in his nostrils, and mighty shafts of trees lifting <br> + themselves to heaven, proud and erect as pure men before their Judge. <br> + He stood on a mountain at sunrise, and saw the marvels of the <br> + amethystine clouds below his feet, heard an eternal and white <br> + silence, such as broods among the everlasting snows, and saw an eagle <br> + winging for the sun. He was in a city, and away from him, diverging <br> + like the spokes of a wheel, ran thronging streets, and to his sense <br> + came the beat, beat, beat of the city's heart.<br> + He saw the golden alchemy of a chosen race; saw greed transmitted to <br> + progress; saw that which had enslaved men, work at last to their <br> + liberation; heard the roar of mighty mills, and on the streets all <br> + the peoples of earth walking with common purpose, in fealty and <br> + understanding. And then, from the swelling of this concourse of great <br> + sounds, came a diminuendo, calm as philosophy, and from that, <br> + nothingness.</p> +<p>Boyce sat still for a long time, listening to the echoes which this <br> + music had awakened in his soul. He retired, at length, content, but <br> + determined that upon the morrow he would watch -- the day being <br> + Sunday -- for the musician who had so moved and taught him.</p> +<p>He arose early, therefore, and having pre- pared his own simple <br> + breakfast of fruit and coffee, took his station by the window to <br> + watch for the man. For he felt convinced that the exposition he had <br> + heard was that of a masculine mind. The long, hot hours of the <br> + morning went by, but the front door of the house next to his did not <br> + open.</p> +<p>"These artists sleep late," he complained.<br> + Still he watched. He was too much afraid of losing him to go out for <br> + dinner. By three in the afternoon he had grown impatient. He went to <br> + the house next door and rang the bell. There was no response. He <br> + thun- dered another appeal. An old woman with a cloth about her head <br> + answered the door.<br> + She was very deaf, and Boyce had difficulty in making himself <br> + understood.</p> +<p>"The family is in the country," was all she would say. "The + family <br> + will not be home till September."</p> +<p>"But there is some one living here?"<br> + shouted Boyce.</p> +<p>"_I_ live here," she said with dignity, put- ting back a wisp of + <br> + dirty gray hair behind her ear. "It is my house. I sublet to the <br> + family."</p> +<p>"What family?"</p> +<p>But the old creature was not communica- tive.</p> +<p>"The family that lives here," she said.</p> +<p>"Then who plays the piano in this house?"<br> + roared Boyce. "Do you?"</p> +<p>He thought a shade of pallor showed itself on her ash-colored cheeks. <br> + Yet she smiled a little at the idea of her playing.</p> +<p>"There is no piano," she said, and she put an enigmatical emphasis + to <br> + the words.</p> +<p>"Nonsense," cried Boyce, indignantly. "I heard a piano being + played <br> + in this very house for hours last night!"</p> +<p>"You may enter," said the old woman, with an accent more vicious + than <br> + hospitable.</p> +<p>Boyce almost burst into the drawing-room.<br> + It was a dusty and forbidding place, with ugly furniture and gaudy <br> + walls. No piano nor any other musical instrument stood in it. The <br> + intruder turned an angry and baffled face to the old woman, who was <br> + smiling with ill- concealed exultation.</p> +<p>"I shall see the other rooms," he an- nounced. The old woman did + not <br> + appear to be surprised at his impertinence.</p> +<p>"As you please," she said.</p> +<p>So, with the hobbling creature, with her bandaged head, for a guide, <br> + he explored every room of the house, which being identical with his <br> + own, he could do without fear of leaving any apartment unentered. But <br> + no piano did he find!</p> +<p>"Explain," roared Boyce at length, turning upon the leering old hag + <br> + beside him. "Ex- plain! For surely I heard music more beau- tiful <br> + than I can tell."</p> +<p>"I know nothing," she said. "But it is true I once had a lodger + who <br> + rented the front room, and that he played upon the piano. I am poor <br> + at hearing, but he must have played well, for all the neighbors used <br> + to come in front of the house to listen, and sometimes they applauded <br> + him, and some- times they were still. I could tell by watching their <br> + hands. Sometimes little chil- dren came and danced. Other times young <br> + men and women came and listened. But the young man died. The <br> + neighbors were angry.<br> + They came to look at him and said he had starved to death. It was no <br> + fault of mine.<br> + I sold his piano to pay his funeral ex- penses -- and it took every <br> + cent to pay for them too, I'd have you know. But since then, <br> + sometimes -- still, it must be non- sense, for I never heard it -- <br> + folks say that he plays the piano in my room. It has kept me out of <br> + the letting of it more than once. But the family doesn't seem to mind <br> + -- the family that lives here, you know. They will be back in <br> + September. Yes."</p> +<p>Boyce left her nodding her thanks at what he had placed in her hand, <br> + and went home to write it all to Babette -- Babette who would laugh <br> + so merrily when she read it!</p> +<p> </p> +<h2>AN ASTRAL ONION</h2> +<p>WHEN Tig Braddock came to Nora Finnegan he was red-headed and <br> + freckled, and, truth to tell, he re- mained with these features to <br> + the end of his life -- a life prolonged by a lucky, if somewhat <br> + improbable, incident, as you shall hear.</p> +<p>Tig had shuffled off his parents as saurians, of some sorts, do their <br> + skins. During the temporary absence from home of his mother, who was <br> + at the bridewell, and the more ex- tended vacation of his father, <br> + who, like Vil- lon, loved the open road and the life of it, Tig, who <br> + was not a well-domesticated animal, wandered away. The humane society <br> + never heard of him, the neighbors did not miss him, and the law took <br> + no cognizance of this detached citizen -- this lost pleiad. Tig would <br> + have sunk into that melancholy which is attendant upon hunger, -- the <br> + only form of despair which babyhood knows, -- if he had not wandered <br> + across the path of Nora Finne- gan. Now Nora shone with steady <br> + brightness in her orbit, and no sooner had Tig entered her <br> + atmosphere, than he was warmed and com- forted. Hunger could not live <br> + where Nora was. The basement room where she kept house was redolent <br> + with savory smells; and in the stove in her front room -- which was <br> + also her bedroom -- there was a bright fire glowing when fire was <br> + needed.</p> +<p><br> + Nora went out washing for a living. But she was not a poor <br> + washerwoman. Not at all.<br> + She was a washerwoman triumphant. She had perfect health, an enormous <br> + frame, an abounding enthusiasm for life, and a rich abundance of <br> + professional pride. She be- lieved herself to be the best washer of <br> + white clothes she had ever had the pleasure of knowing, and the value <br> + placed upon her ser- vices, and her long connection with certain <br> + families with large weekly washings, bore out this estimate of <br> + herself -- an estimate which she never endeavored to conceal.</p> +<p>Nora had buried two husbands without being unduly depressed by the <br> + fact. The first hus- band had been a disappointment, and Nora winked <br> + at Providence when an accident in a tunnel carried him off -- that is <br> + to say, carried the husband off. The second husband was not so much <br> + of a disappointment as a sur- prise. He developed ability of a <br> + literary order, and wrote songs which sold and made him a small <br> + fortune. Then he ran away with another woman. The woman spent his <br> + fort- une, drove him to dissipation, and when he was dying he came <br> + back to Nora, who re- ceived him cordially, attended him to the end, <br> + and cheered his last hours by singing his own songs to him. Then she <br> + raised a headstone recounting his virtues, which were quite numerous, <br> + and refraining from any reference to those peculiarities which had <br> + caused him to be such a surprise.</p> +<p>Only one actual chagrin had ever nibbled at the sound heart of Nora <br> + Finnegan -- a cruel chagrin, with long, white teeth, such as rodents <br> + have! She had never held a child to her breast, nor laughed in its <br> + eyes; never bathed the pink form of a little son or daughter; never <br> + felt a tugging of tiny hands at her voluminous calico skirts! Nora <br> + had burnt many candles before the statue of the blessed Virgin <br> + without remedying this deplor- able condition. She had sent up <br> + unavailing prayers -- she had, at times, wept hot tears of longing <br> + and loneliness. Sometimes in her sleep she dreamed that a wee form, <br> + warm and exquisitely soft, was pressed against her firm body, and <br> + that a hand with tiniest pink nails crept within her bosom. But as <br> + she reached out to snatch this delicious little creature closer, she <br> + woke to realize a barren woman's grief, and turned herself in anguish <br> + on her lonely pillow.</p> +<p>So when Tig came along, accompanied by two curs, who had faithfully <br> + followed him from his home, and when she learned the details of his <br> + story, she took him in, curs and all, and, having bathed the three of <br> + them, made them part and parcel of her home. This was after the <br> + demise of the second husband, and at a time when Nora felt that she <br> + had done all a woman could be expected to do for Hymen.</p> +<p>Tig was a preposterous baby. The curs were preposterous curs. Nora <br> + had always been afflicted with a surplus amount of laughter -- <br> + laughter which had difficulty in attaching itself to anything, owing <br> + to the lack of the really comic in the surroundings of the poor. But <br> + with a red-headed and freckled baby boy and two trick dogs in the <br> + house, she found a good and sufficient excuse for her hilarity, and <br> + would have torn the cave where echo lies with her mirth, had that <br> + cave not been at such an immeasurable dis- tance from the crowded <br> + neighborhood where she lived.</p> +<p>At the age of four Tig went to free kinder- garten; at the age of six <br> + he was in school, and made three grades the first year and two the <br> + next. At fifteen he was graduated from the high school and went to <br> + work as errand boy in a newspaper office, with the fixed de- <br> + termination to make a journalist of himself.</p> +<p>Nora was a trifle worried about his morals when she discovered his <br> + intellect, but as time went on, and Tig showed no devotion for any <br> + woman save herself, and no consciousness that there were such things <br> + as bad boys or saloons in the world, she began to have con- fidence. <br> + All of his earnings were brought to her. Every holiday was spent with <br> + her. He told her his secrets and his aspirations. He admitted that he <br> + expected to become a great man, and, though he had not quite decided <br> + upon the nature of his career, -- saving, of course, the makeshift of <br> + journalism, -- it was not unlikely that he would elect to be a <br> + novelist like -- well, probably like Thackeray.</p> +<p>Hope, always a charming creature, put on her most alluring smiles for <br> + Tig, and he made her his mistress, and feasted on the light of her <br> + eyes. Moreover, he was chap- eroned, so to speak, by Nora Finnegan, <br> + who listened to every line Tig wrote, and made a mighty applause, and <br> + filled him up with good Irish stew, many colored as the coat of <br> + Joseph, and pungent with the inimitable perfume of "the rose of the <br> + cellar." Nora Finnegan understood the onion, and used it lovingly.<br> + She perceived the difference between the use and abuse of this <br> + pleasant and obvious friend of hungry man, and employed it with <br> + enthu- siasm, but discretion. Thus it came about that whoever ate of <br> + her dinners, found the meals of other cooks strangely lacking in <br> + savor, and remembered with regret the soups and stews, the broiled <br> + steaks, and stuffed chickens of the woman who appreciated the onion.</p> +<p>When Nora Finnegan came home with a cold one day, she took it in such <br> + a jocular fashion that Tig felt not the least concern about her, and <br> + when, two days later, she died of pneumonia, he almost thought, at <br> + first, that it must be one of her jokes. She had departed with <br> + decision, such as had charac- terized every act of her life, and had <br> + made as little trouble for others as possible. When she was dead the <br> + community had the oppor- tunity of discovering the number of her <br> + friends. Miserable children with faces which revealed two generations <br> + of hunger, homeless boys with vicious countenances, miserable wrecks <br> + of humanity, women with bloated faces, came to weep over Nora's bier, <br> + and to lay a flower there, and to scuttle away, more abjectly lonely <br> + than even sin could make them. If the cats and the dogs, the sparrows <br> + and horses to which she had shown kindness, could also have attended <br> + her funeral, the procession would have been, from a point of numbers, <br> + one of the most imposing the city had ever known. Tig used up all <br> + their sav- ings to bury her, and the next week, by some peculiar <br> + fatality, he had a falling out with the night editor of his paper, <br> + and was discharged.<br> + This sank deep into his sensitive soul, and he swore he would be an <br> + underling no longer -- which foolish resolution was directly trace- <br> + able to his hair, the color of which, it will be recollected, was <br> + red.</p> +<p>Not being an underling, he was obliged to make himself into something <br> + else, and he recurred passionately to his old idea of be- coming a <br> + novelist. He settled down in Nora's basement rooms, went to work on a <br> + battered type-writer, did his own cooking, and occasionally pawned <br> + something to keep him in food. The environment was calcu- lated to <br> + further impress him with the idea of his genius.</p> +<p>A certain magazine offered an alluring prize for a short story, and <br> + Tig wrote one, and rewrote it, making alterations, revisions, an- <br> + notations, and interlineations which would have reflected credit upon <br> + Honor&eacute; Balzac himself. Then he wrought all together, with <br> + splendid brevity and dramatic force, -- Tig's own words, -- and <br> + mailed the same. He was convinced he would get the prize. He was just <br> + as much convinced of it as Nora Finne- gan would have been if she had <br> + been with him.</p> +<p>So he went about doing more fiction, tak- ing no especial care of <br> + himself, and wrapt in rosy dreams, which, not being warm enough for <br> + the weather, permitted him to come down with rheumatic fever.</p> +<p>He lay alone in his room and suffered such torments as the condemned <br> + and rheumatic know, depending on one of Nora's former friends to come <br> + in twice a day and keep up the fire for him. This friend was aged <br> + ten, and looked like a sparrow who had been in a cyclone, but <br> + somewhere inside his bones was a wit which had spelled out devotion.<br> + He found fuel for the cracked stove, some- how or other. He brought <br> + it in a dirty sack which he carried on his back, and he kept warmth <br> + in Tig's miserable body. Moreover, he found food of a sort -- cold, <br> + horrible bits often, and Tig wept when he saw them, remembering the <br> + meals Nora had served him.</p> +<p>Tig was getting better, though he was con- scious of a weak heart and <br> + a lamenting stomach, when, to his amazement, the Spar- row ceased to <br> + visit him. Not for a moment did Tig suspect desertion. He knew that <br> + only something in the nature of an act of Providence, as the <br> + insurance companies would designate it, could keep the little bundle <br> + of bones away from him. As the days went by, he became convinced of <br> + it, for no Sparrow came, and no coal lay upon the hearth. The <br> + basement window fortunately looked toward the south, and the pale <br> + April sunshine was beginning to make itself felt, so that the tem- <br> + perature of the room was not unbearable. But Tig languished; sank, <br> + sank, day by day, and was kept alive only by the conviction that the <br> + letter announcing the award of the thousand- dollar prize would <br> + presently come to him.<br> + One night he reached a place, where, for hunger and dejection, his <br> + mind wandered, and he seemed to be complaining all night to Nora of <br> + his woes. When the chill dawn came, with chittering of little birds <br> + on the dirty pavement, and an agitation of the scrawny willow <br> + "pussies," he was not able to lift his hand to his head. The window + <br> + before his sight was but "a glimmering square." He said to himself + <br> + that the end must be at hand. Yet it was cruel, cruel, with fame and <br> + fortune so near! If only he had some food, he might summon strength <br> + to rally -- just for a little while! Impossible that he should die! <br> + And yet without food there was no choice.</p> +<p>Dreaming so of Nora's dinners, thinking how one spoonful of a stew <br> + such as she often compounded would now be his salvation, he became <br> + conscious of the presence of a strong perfume in the room. It was so <br> + familiar that it seemed like a sub-consciousness, yet he found no <br> + name for this friendly odor for a bewildered minute or two. Little by <br> + little, however, it grew upon him, that it was the onion -- that <br> + fragrant and kindly bulb which had attained its apotheosis in the <br> + cuisine of Nora Finnegan of sacred memory. He opened his languid <br> + eyes, to see if, mayhap, the plant had not attained some more <br> + palpable mate- rialization.</p> +<p>Behold, it was so! Before him, in a brown earthen dish, -- a most <br> + familiar dish, -- was an onion, pearly white, in placid seas of <br> + gravy, smoking and delectable. With unexpected strength he raised <br> + himself, and reached for the dish, which floated before him in a halo <br> + made by its own steam. It moved toward him, offered a spoon to his <br> + hand, and as he ate he heard about the room the rustle of Nora <br> + Finnegan's starched skirts, and now and then a faint, faint echo of <br> + her old-time laugh -- such an echo as one may find of the sea in the <br> + heart of a shell.</p> +<p>The noble bulb disappeared little by little before his voracity, and <br> + in contentment greater than virtue can give, he sank back upon his <br> + pillow and slept.</p> +<p>Two hours later the postman knocked at the door, and receiving no <br> + answer, forced his way in. Tig, half awake, saw him enter with no <br> + surprise. He felt no surprise when he put a letter in his hand <br> + bearing the name of the magazine to which he had sent his short <br> + story.<br> + He was not even surprised, when, tearing it open with suddenly alert <br> + hands, he found within the check for the first prize -- the check he <br> + had expected.</p> +<p>All that day, as the April sunlight spread itself upon his floor, he <br> + felt his strength grow.<br> + Late in the afternoon the Sparrow came back, paler, and more bony <br> + than ever, and sank, breathing hard, upon the floor, with his sack of <br> + coal.</p> +<p>"I've been sick," he said, trying to smile.<br> + "Terrible sick, but I come as soon as I could."</p> +<p>"Build up the fire," cried Tig, in a voice so strong it made the + <br> + Sparrow start as if a stone had struck him. "Build up the fire, and <br> + forget you are sick. For, by the shade of Nora Finnegan, you shall be <br> + hungry no more!"</p> +<p> </p> +<h2>FROM THE LOOM OF THE DEAD</h2> +<p>WHEN Urda Bjarnason tells a tale all the men stop their talking to <br> + lis- ten, for they know her to be wise with the wisdom of the old <br> + people, and that she has more learning than can be got even from the <br> + great schools at Reykjavik.<br> + She is especially prized by them here in this new country where the <br> + Icelandmen are settled -- this America, so new in letters, where the <br> + people speak foolishly and write unthinking books. So the men who <br> + know that it is given to the mothers of earth to be very wise, stop <br> + their six part singing, or their jangles about the free-thinkers, and <br> + give attentive ear when Urda Bjarnason lights her pipe and begins her <br> + tale.</p> +<p><br> + She is very old. Her daughters and sons are all dead, but her <br> + granddaughter, who is most respectable, and the cousin of a phy- <br> + sician, says that Urda is twenty-four and a hundred, and there are <br> + others who say that she is older still. She watches all that the <br> + Iceland people do in the new land; she knows about the building of <br> + the five villages on the North Dakota plain, and of the founding of <br> + the churches and the schools, and the tilling of the wheat farms. She <br> + notes with sus- picion the actions of the women who bring home webs <br> + of cloth from the store, instead of spinning them as their mothers <br> + did before them; and she shakes her head at the wives who run to the <br> + village grocery store every fortnight, imitating the wasteful <br> + American women, who throw butter in the fire faster than it can be <br> + turned from the churn.</p> +<p>She watches yet other things. All winter long the white snows reach <br> + across the gently rolling plains as far as the eye can behold.<br> + In the morning she sees them tinted pink at the east; at noon she <br> + notes golden lights flashing across them; when the sky is gray -- <br> + which is not often -- she notes that they grow as ashen as a face <br> + with the death shadow on it.<br> + Sometimes they glitter with silver-like tips of ocean waves. But at <br> + these things she looks only casually. It is when the blue shadows <br> + dance on the snow that she leaves her corner behind the iron stove, <br> + and stands before the window, resting her two hands on the stout bar <br> + of her cane, and gazing out across the waste with eyes which age has <br> + restored after four decades of decrepitude.</p> +<p>The young Icelandmen say:</p> +<p>"Mother, it is the clouds hurrying across the sky that make the dance + <br> + of the shadows."</p> +<p>"There are no clouds," she replies, and points to the jewel-like + blue <br> + of the arching sky.</p> +<p>"It is the drifting air," explains Fridrik Halldersson, he who has + <br> + been in the North- ern seas. "As the wind buffets the air, it looks <br> + blue against the white of the snow.<br> + 'Tis the air that makes the dancing shadows."</p> +<p>But Urda shakes her head, and points with her dried finger, and those <br> + who stand beside her see figures moving, and airy shapes, and <br> + contortions of strange things, such as are seen in a beryl stone.</p> +<p>"But Urda Bjarnason," says Ingeborg Chris- tianson, the pert young + <br> + wife with the blue- eyed twins, "why is it we see these things only <br> + when we stand beside you and you help us to the sight?"</p> +<p>"Because," says the mother, with a steel- blue flash of her old eyes, + <br> + "having eyes ye will not see!" Then the men laugh. They like to hear + <br> + Ingeborg worsted. For did she not jilt two men from Gardar, and one <br> + from Mountain, and another from Winnipeg?</p> +<p>Not even Ingeborg can deny that Mother Urda tells true things.</p> +<p>"To-day," says Urda, standing by the little window and watching the + <br> + dance of the shadows, "a child breathed thrice on a farm at the West, <br> + and then it died."</p> +<p>The next week at the church gathering, when all the sledges stopped <br> + at the house of Urda's granddaughter, they said it was so -- that <br> + John Christianson's wife Margaret never heard the voice of her son, <br> + but that he breathed thrice in his nurse's arms and died.</p> +<p>"Three sledges run over the snow toward Milton," says Urda; "all + are <br> + laden with wheat, and in one is a stranger. He has with him a strange <br> + engine, but its purpose I do not know."</p> +<p>Six hours later the drivers of three empty sledges stop at the house.</p> +<p>"We have been to Milton with wheat," they say, "and Christian + Johnson <br> + here, carried a photographer from St. Paul."</p> +<p>Now it stands to reason that the farmers like to amuse themselves <br> + through the silent and white winters. And they prefer above all <br> + things to talk or to listen, as has been the fashion of their race <br> + for a thousand years.<br> + Among all the story-tellers there is none like Urda, for she is the <br> + daughter and the grand- daughter and the great-granddaughter of <br> + story- tellers. It is given to her to talk, as it is given to John <br> + Thorlaksson to sing -- he who sings so as his sledge flies over the <br> + snow at night, that the people come out in the bitter air from their <br> + doors to listen, and the dogs put up their noses and howl, not liking <br> + music.</p> +<p>In the little cabin of Peter Christianson, the husband of Urda's <br> + granddaughter, it some- times happens that twenty men will gather <br> + about the stove. They hang their bear-skin coats on the wall, put <br> + their fur gauntlets underneath the stove, where they will keep warm, <br> + and then stretch their stout, felt-covered legs to the wood fire. The <br> + room is fetid; the coffee steams eternally on the stove; and from her <br> + chair in the warmest corner Urda speaks out to the listening men, who <br> + shake their heads with joy as they hear the pure old Icelandic flow <br> + in sweet rhythm from between her lips. Among the many, many tales she <br> + tells is that of the dead weaver, and she tells it in the simplest <br> + language in all the world -- language so simple that even great <br> + scholars could find no simpler, and the children crawling on the <br> + floor can understand.</p> +<p>"Jon and Loa lived with their father and mother far to the north of <br> + the Island of Fire, and when the children looked from their win- dows <br> + they saw only wild scaurs and jagged lava rocks, and a distant, deep <br> + gleam of the sea. They caught the shine of the sea through an <br> + eye-shaped opening in the rocks, and all the long night of winter it <br> + gleamed up at them, like the eye of a dead witch. But when it <br> + sparkled and began to laugh, the children danced about the hut and <br> + sang, for they knew the bright summer time was at hand. Then their <br> + father fished, and their mother was gay.<br> + But it is true that even in the winter and the darkness they were <br> + happy, for they made fish- ing nets and baskets and cloth together, <br> + -- Jon and Loa and their father and mother, -- and the children were <br> + taught to read in the books, and were told the sagas, and given <br> + instruction in the part singing.</p> +<p>"They did not know there was such a thing as sorrow in the world, for + <br> + no one had ever mentioned it to them. But one day their mother died. <br> + Then they had to learn how to keep the fire on the hearth, and to <br> + smoke the fish, and make the black coffee. And also they had to learn <br> + how to live when there is sorrow at the heart.</p> +<p>"They wept together at night for lack of their mother's kisses, and <br> + in the morning they were loath to rise because they could not see her <br> + face. The dead cold eye of the sea watching them from among the lava <br> + rocks made them afraid, so they hung a shawl over the window to keep <br> + it out. And the house, try as they would, did not look clean and <br> + cheerful as it had used to do when their mother sang and worked about <br> + it.</p> +<p>"One day, when a mist rested over the eye of the sea, like that which + <br> + one beholds on the eyes of the blind, a greater sorrow came to them, <br> + for a stepmother crossed the thres- hold. She looked at Jon and Loa, <br> + and made complaint to their father that they were still very small <br> + and not likely to be of much use.<br> + After that they had to rise earlier than ever, and to work as only <br> + those who have their growth should work, till their hearts cracked <br> + for weariness and shame. They had not much to eat, for their <br> + stepmother said she would trust to the gratitude of no other woman's <br> + child, and that she believed in lay- ing up against old age. So she <br> + put the few coins that came to the house in a strong box, and bought <br> + little food. Neither did she buy the children clothes, though those <br> + which their dear mother had made for them were so worn that the warp <br> + stood apart from the woof, and there were holes at the elbows and <br> + little warmth to be found in them anywhere.</p> +<p>"Moreover, the quilts on their beds were too short for their growing <br> + length, so that at night either their purple feet or their thin <br> + shoulders were uncovered, and they wept for the cold, and in the <br> + morning, when they crept into the larger room to build the fire, they <br> + were so stiff they could not stand straight, and there was pain at <br> + their joints.</p> +<p>"The wife scolded all the time, and her brow was like a storm <br> + sweeping down from the Northwest. There was no peace to be had in the <br> + house. The children might not repeat to each other the sagas their <br> + mother had taught them, nor try their part singing, nor make little <br> + doll cradles of rushes. Always they had to work, always they were <br> + scolded, always their clothes grew thinner.</p> +<p>"'Stepmother,' cried Loa one day, -- she whom her mother had called <br> + the little bird, -- 'we are a-cold because of our rags. Our mother <br> + would have woven blue cloth for us and made it into garments.'</p> +<p>"'Your mother is where she will weave no cloth!' said the stepmother, + <br> + and she laughed many times.</p> +<p>"All in the cold and still of that night, the stepmother wakened, and + <br> + she knew not why.<br> + She sat up in her bed, and knew not why.<br> + She knew not why, and she looked into the room, and there, by the <br> + light of a burning fish's tail -- 'twas such a light the folk used in <br> + those days -- was a woman, weaving. She had no loom, and shuttle she <br> + had none. All with her hands she wove a wondrous cloth. Stoop- ing <br> + and bending, rising and swaying with motions beautiful as those the <br> + Northern Lights make in a midwinter sky, she wove a cloth. The warp <br> + was blue and mystical to see, the woof was white, and shone with its <br> + whiteness, so that of all the webs the step- mother had ever seen, <br> + she had seen none like to this.</p> +<p>"Yet the sight delighted her not, for beyond the drifting web, and <br> + beyond the weaver she saw the room and furniture -- aye, saw them <br> + through the body of the weaver and the drift- ing of the cloth. Then <br> + she knew -- as the haunted are made to know -- that 'twas the mother <br> + of the children come to show her she could still weave cloth. The <br> + heart of the stepmother was cold as ice, yet she could not move to <br> + waken her husband at her side, for her hands were as fixed as if they <br> + were crossed on her dead breast. The voice in her was silent, and her <br> + tongue stood to the roof of her mouth.</p> +<p>"After a time the wraith of the dead mother moved toward her -- the <br> + wraith of the weaver moved her way -- and round and about her body <br> + was wound the shining cloth.<br> + Wherever it touched the body of the step- mother, it was as hateful <br> + to her as the touch of a monster out of sea-slime, so that her flesh <br> + crept away from it, and her senses swooned.</p> +<p>"In the early morning she awoke to the voices of the children, <br> + whispering in the inner room as they dressed with half-frozen <br> + fingers. Still about her was the hateful, beau- tiful web, filling <br> + her soul with loathing and with fear. She thought she saw the task <br> + set for her, and when the children crept in to light the fire -- very <br> + purple and thin were their little bodies, and the rags hung from them <br> + -- she arose and held out the shining cloth, and cried:</p> +<p>"'Here is the web your mother wove for you. I will make it into <br> + garments!' But even as she spoke the cloth faded and fell into <br> + nothingness, and the children cried:</p> +<p>"'Stepmother, you have the fever!'</p> +<p>"And then:</p> +<p>"'Stepmother, what makes the strange light in the room?'</p> +<p>"That day the stepmother was too weak to rise from her bed, and the <br> + children thought she must be going to die, for she did not scold as <br> + they cleared the house and braided their baskets, and she did not <br> + frown at them, but looked at them with wistful eyes.</p> +<p>"By fall of night she was as weary as if she had wept all the day, <br> + and so she slept. But again she was awakened and knew not why.<br> + And again she sat up in her bed and knew not why. And again, not <br> + knowing why, she looked and saw a woman weaving cloth. All that had <br> + happened the night before happened this night. Then, when the morning <br> + came, and the children crept in shivering from their beds, she arose <br> + and dressed herself, and from her strong box she took coins, and bade <br> + her husband go with her to the town.</p> +<p>"So that night a web of cloth, woven by one of the best weavers in <br> + all Iceland, was in the house; and on the beds of the children were <br> + blankets of lamb's wool, soft to the touch and fair to the eye. After <br> + that the children slept warm and were at peace; for now, when they <br> + told the sagas their mother had taught them, or tried their part <br> + songs as they sat together on their bench, the stepmother was silent. <br> + For she feared to chide, lest she should wake at night, not knowing <br> + why, and see the mother's wraith."</p> +<p> </p> +<h2>A GRAMMATICAL GHOST</h2> +<p>THERE was only one possible ob- jection to the drawing-room, and that <br> + was the occasional presence of Miss Carew; and only one pos- sible <br> + objection to Miss Carew. And that was, that she was dead.</p> +<p>She had been dead twenty years, as a matter of fact and record, and <br> + to the last of her life sacredly preserved the treasures and <br> + traditions of her family, a family bound up -- as it is quite <br> + unnecessary to explain to any one in good society -- with all that is <br> + most venerable and heroic in the history of the Republic.<br> + Miss Carew never relaxed the proverbial hos- pitality of her house, <br> + even when she remained its sole representative. She continued to <br> + preside at her table with dignity and state, and to set an example of <br> + excessive modesty and gentle decorum to a generation of restless <br> + young women.</p> +<p><br> + It is not likely that having lived a life of such irreproachable <br> + gentility as this, Miss Carew would have the bad taste to die in any <br> + way not pleasant to mention in fastidious society. She could be <br> + trusted to the last, not to outrage those friends who quoted her as <br> + an exemplar of propriety. She died very un- obtrusively of an <br> + affection of the heart, one June morning, while trimming her rose <br> + trellis, and her lavender-colored print was not even rumpled when she <br> + fell, nor were more than the tips of her little bronze slippers <br> + visible.</p> +<p>"Isn't it dreadful," said the Philadelphians, "that the property + <br> + should go to a very, very distant cousin in Iowa or somewhere else on <br> + the frontier, about whom nobody knows any- thing at all?"</p> +<p>The Carew treasures were packed in boxes and sent away into the Iowa <br> + wilderness; the Carew traditions were preserved by the His- torical <br> + Society; the Carew property, standing in one of the most umbrageous <br> + and aristo- cratic suburbs of Philadelphia, was rented to all manner <br> + of folk -- anybody who had money enough to pay the rental -- and <br> + society entered its doors no more.</p> +<p>But at last, after twenty years, and when all save the oldest <br> + Philadelphians had forgotten Miss Lydia Carew, the very, very distant <br> + cousin appeared. He was quite in the prime of life, and so agreeable <br> + and unassuming that nothing could be urged against him save his <br> + patronymic, which, being Boggs, did not commend itself to the <br> + euphemists. With him were two maiden sisters, ladies of excellent <br> + taste and manners, who restored the Carew china to its ancient <br> + cabinets, and replaced the Carew pictures upon the walls, with ad- <br> + ditions not out of keeping with the elegance of these heirlooms. <br> + Society, with a magna- nimity almost dramatic, overlooked the name of <br> + Boggs -- and called.</p> +<p>All was well. At least, to an outsider all seemed to be well. But, in <br> + truth, there was a certain distress in the old mansion, and in the <br> + hearts of the well-behaved Misses Boggs.<br> + It came about most unexpectedly. The sis- ters had been sitting <br> + upstairs, looking out at the beautiful grounds of the old place, and <br> + marvelling at the violets, which lifted their heads from every <br> + possible cranny about the house, and talking over the cordiality <br> + which they had been receiving by those upon whom they had no claim, <br> + and they were filled with amiable satisfaction. Life looked <br> + attractive.<br> + They had often been grateful to Miss Lydia Carew for leaving their <br> + brother her fortune.<br> + Now they felt even more grateful to her. She had left them a Social <br> + Position -- one, which even after twenty years of desuetude, was fit <br> + for use.</p> +<p>They descended the stairs together, with arms clasped about each <br> + other's waists, and as they did so presented a placid and pleasing <br> + sight. They entered their drawing-room with the intention of brewing <br> + a cup of tea, and drinking it in calm sociability in the twilight.<br> + But as they entered the room they became aware of the presence of a <br> + lady, who was already seated at their tea-table, regarding their old <br> + Wedgewood with the air of a con- noisseur.</p> +<p>There were a number of peculiarities about this intruder. To begin <br> + with, she was hatless, quite as if she were a habitu&eacute; of the <br> + house, and was costumed in a prim lilac-colored lawn of the style of <br> + two decades past. But a greater peculiarity was the resemblance this <br> + lady bore to a faded daguerrotype. If looked at one way, she was <br> + perfectly discern- ible; if looked at another, she went out in a sort <br> + of blur. Notwithstanding this compara- tive invisibility, she exhaled <br> + a delicate per- fume of sweet lavender, very pleasing to the nostrils <br> + of the Misses Boggs, who stood look- ing at her in gentle and <br> + unprotesting surprise.</p> +<p>"I beg your pardon," began Miss Pru- dence, the younger of the Misses + <br> + Boggs, "but --"</p> +<p>But at this moment the Daguerrotype be- came a blur, and Miss <br> + Prudence found her- self addressing space. The Misses Boggs were <br> + irritated. They had never encountered any mysteries in Iowa. They <br> + began an im- patient search behind doors and porti&egrave;res, and <br> + even under sofas, though it was quite absurd to suppose that a lady <br> + recognizing the merits of the Carew Wedgewood would so far forget <br> + herself as to crawl under a sofa.</p> +<p>When they had given up all hope of dis- covering the intruder, they <br> + saw her standing at the far end of the drawing-room critically <br> + examining a water-color marine. The elder Miss Boggs started toward <br> + her with stern decision, but the little Daguerrotype turned with a <br> + shadowy smile, became a blur and an imperceptibility.</p> +<p>Miss Boggs looked at Miss Prudence Boggs.</p> +<p>"If there were ghosts," she said, "this would be one."</p> +<p>"If there were ghosts," said Miss Prudence Boggs, "this would + be the <br> + ghost of Lydia Carew."</p> +<p>The twilight was settling into blackness, and Miss Boggs nervously <br> + lit the gas while Miss Prudence ran for other tea-cups, preferring, <br> + for reasons superfluous to mention, not to drink out of the Carew <br> + china that evening.</p> +<p>The next day, on taking up her embroidery frame, Miss Boggs found a <br> + number of old- fashioned cross-stitches added to her Ken- sington. <br> + Prudence, she knew, would never have degraded herself by taking a <br> + cross-stitch, and the parlor-maid was above taking such a liberty. <br> + Miss Boggs mentioned the incident that night at a dinner given by an <br> + ancient friend of the Carews.</p> +<p>"Oh, that's the work of Lydia Carew, with- out a doubt!" cried the + <br> + hostess. "She visits every new family that moves to the house, but <br> + she never remains more than a week or two with any one."</p> +<p>"It must be that she disapproves of them,"<br> + suggested Miss Boggs.</p> +<p>"I think that's it," said the hostess. "She doesn't like their + china, <br> + or their fiction."</p> +<p>"I hope she'll disapprove of us," added Miss Prudence.</p> +<p>The hostess belonged to a very old Philadel- phian family, and she <br> + shook her head.</p> +<p>"I should say it was a compliment for even the ghost of Miss Lydia <br> + Carew to approve of one," she said severely.</p> +<p>The next morning, when the sisters entered their drawing-room there <br> + were numerous evi- dences of an occupant during their absence.<br> + The sofa pillows had been rearranged so that the effect of their <br> + grouping was less bizarre than that favored by the Western women; a <br> + horrid little Buddhist idol with its eyes fixed on its abdomen, had <br> + been chastely hidden behind a Dresden shepherdess, as unfit for the <br> + scrutiny of polite eyes; and on the table where Miss Prudence did <br> + work in water colors, after the fashion of the impressionists, lay a <br> + prim and impossible composition representing a moss-rose and a number <br> + of heartsease, col- ored with that caution which modest spinster <br> + artists instinctively exercise.</p> +<p>"Oh, there's no doubt it's the work of Miss Lydia Carew," said Miss + <br> + Prudence, contemptu- ously. "There's no mistaking the drawing of that <br> + rigid little rose. Don't you remember those wreaths and bouquets <br> + framed, among the pictures we got when the Carew pictures were sent <br> + to us? I gave some of them to an orphan asylum and burned up the <br> + rest."</p> +<p>"Hush!" cried Miss Boggs, involuntarily.<br> + "If she heard you, it would hurt her feelings terribly. Of course, I <br> + mean --" and she blushed. "It might hurt her feelings -- but how <br> + perfectly ridiculous! It's impos- sible!"</p> +<p>Miss Prudence held up the sketch of the moss-rose.</p> +<p>"THAT may be impossible in an artistic sense, but it is a palpable <br> + thing."</p> +<p>"Bosh!" cried Miss Boggs.</p> +<p>"But," protested Miss Prudence, "how do you explain it?"</p> +<p>"I don't," said Miss Boggs, and left the room.</p> +<p>That evening the sisters made a point of being in the drawing-room <br> + before the dusk came on, and of lighting the gas at the first hint of <br> + twilight. They didn't believe in Miss Lydia Carew -- but still they <br> + meant to be beforehand with her. They talked with un- wonted vivacity <br> + and in a louder tone than was their custom. But as they drank their <br> + tea even their utmost verbosity could not make them oblivious to the <br> + fact that the perfume of sweet lavender was stealing insidiously <br> + through the room. They tacitly refused to recognize this odor and all <br> + that it indicated, when sud- denly, with a sharp crash, one of the <br> + old Carew tea-cups fell from the tea-table to the floor and was <br> + broken. The disaster was fol- lowed by what sounded like a sigh of <br> + pain and dismay.</p> +<p>"I didn't suppose Miss Lydia Carew would ever be as awkward as that," + <br> + cried the younger Miss Boggs, petulantly.</p> +<p>"Prudence," said her sister with a stern accent, "please try + not to <br> + be a fool. You brushed the cup off with the sleeve of your dress."</p> +<p>"Your theory wouldn't be so bad," said Miss Prudence, half laughing + <br> + and half crying, "if there were any sleeves to my dress, but, as you <br> + see, there aren't," and then Miss Prudence had something as near <br> + hysterics as a healthy young woman from the West can have.</p> +<p>"I wouldn't think such a perfect lady as Lydia Carew," she ejaculated + <br> + between her sobs, "would make herself so disagreeable!<br> + You may talk about good-breeding all you please, but I call such <br> + intrusion exceedingly bad taste. I have a horrible idea that she <br> + likes us and means to stay with us. She left those other people <br> + because she did not approve of their habits or their grammar. It <br> + would be just our luck to please her."</p> +<p>"Well, I like your egotism," said Miss Boggs.</p> +<p>However, the view Miss Prudence took of the case appeared to be the <br> + right one. Time went by and Miss Lydia Carew still remained.<br> + When the ladies entered their drawing-room they would see the little <br> + lady-like Daguerro- type revolving itself into a blur before one of <br> + the family portraits. Or they noticed that the yellow sofa cushion, <br> + toward which she appeared to feel a peculiar antipathy, had been <br> + dropped behind the sofa upon the floor, or that one of Jane Austen's <br> + novels, which none of the family ever read, had been re- moved from <br> + the book shelves and left open upon the table.</p> +<p>"I cannot become reconciled to it," com- plained Miss Boggs to Miss + <br> + Prudence. "I wish we had remained in Iowa where we belong. Of course <br> + I don't believe in the thing! No sensible person would. But still I <br> + cannot become reconciled."</p> +<p>But their liberation was to come, and in a most unexpected manner.</p> +<p>A relative by marriage visited them from the West. He was a friendly <br> + man and had much to say, so he talked all through dinner, and <br> + afterward followed the ladies to the draw- ing-room to finish his <br> + gossip. The gas in the room was turned very low, and as they entered <br> + Miss Prudence caught sight of Miss Carew, in company attire, sitting <br> + in upright propriety in a stiff-backed chair at the extremity of the <br> + apartment.</p> +<p>Miss Prudence had a sudden idea.</p> +<p>"We will not turn up the gas," she said, with an emphasis intended + to <br> + convey private information to her sister. "It will be more agreeable <br> + to sit here and talk in this soft light."</p> +<p>Neither her brother nor the man from the West made any objection. <br> + Miss Boggs and Miss Prudence, clasping each other's hands, divided <br> + their attention between their corporeal and their incorporeal guests. <br> + Miss Boggs was confident that her sister had an idea, and was willing <br> + to await its development. As the guest from Iowa spoke, Miss Carew <br> + bent a politely attentive ear to what he said.</p> +<p>"Ever since Richards took sick that time,"<br> + he said briskly, "it seemed like he shed all responsibility." (The + <br> + Misses Boggs saw the Daguerrotype put up her shadowy head with a <br> + movement of doubt and apprehension.) "The fact of the matter was, <br> + Richards didn't seem to scarcely get on the way he might have been <br> + expected to." (At this conscienceless split to the infinitive and <br> + misplacing of the preposition, Miss Carew arose trembling per- <br> + ceptibly.) "I saw it wasn't no use for him to count on a quick <br> + recovery --"</p> +<p>The Misses Boggs lost the rest of the sen- tence, for at the <br> + utterance of the double nega- tive Miss Lydia Carew had flashed out, <br> + not in a blur, but with mortal haste, as when life goes out at a <br> + pistol shot!</p> +<p>The man from the West wondered why Miss Prudence should have cried at <br> + so pathetic a part of his story:</p> +<p>"Thank Goodness!"</p> +<p>And their brother was amazed to see Miss Boggs kiss Miss Prudence <br> + with passion and energy.</p> +<p>It was the end. Miss Carew returned no more.</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>End of Project Gutenberg Etext of The Shape of Fear, by Elia W. <br> + Peattie</h3> +<p></p> +<p></p> +<p> </p> +<p></p> +<p></p> +<p></p> +<p></p> +<p></p> +<p></p> +<p></p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p></p> +<p></p> +<p></p> +<BR> +<BR> +<BR> +<BR> +<PRE> +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE SHAPE OF FEAR *** + +This file should be named tshfr10h.htm or tshfr10h.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, tshfr11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, tshfr10ah.htm + + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance +of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. +Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections, +even years after the official publication date. + +Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. + +Most people start at our Web sites at: +http://gutenberg.net or +http://promo.net/pg + +These Web sites include award-winning information about Project +Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new +eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!). + + +Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement +can get to them as follows, and just download by date. This is +also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the +indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an +announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter. + +http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext04 or +ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext04 + +Or /etext03, 02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90 + +Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want, +as it appears in our Newsletters. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours +to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. Our +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If the value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text +files per month: 1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+ +We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002 +If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total +will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks! +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users. + +Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated): + +eBooks Year Month + + 1 1971 July + 10 1991 January + 100 1994 January + 1000 1997 August + 1500 1998 October + 2000 1999 December + 2500 2000 December + 3000 2001 November + 4000 2001 October/November + 6000 2002 December* + 9000 2003 November* +10000 2004 January* + + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created +to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people +and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut, +Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois, +Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts, +Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New +Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio, +Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South +Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West +Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming. + +We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones +that have responded. + +As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list +will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states. +Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state. + +In answer to various questions we have received on this: + +We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally +request donations in all 50 states. If your state is not listed and +you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have, +just ask. + +While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are +not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting +donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to +donate. + +International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about +how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made +deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are +ways. + +Donations by check or money order may be sent to: + +Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +PMB 113 +1739 University Ave. +Oxford, MS 38655-4109 + +Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment +method other than by check or money order. + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by +the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN +[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154. Donations are +tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law. As fund-raising +requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be +made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +You can get up to date donation information online at: + +http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html + + +*** + +If you can't reach Project Gutenberg, +you can always email directly to: + +Michael S. Hart [hart@pobox.com] + +Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message. + +We would prefer to send you information by email. + + +**The Legal Small Print** + + +(Three Pages) + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this eBook, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you may distribute copies of this eBook if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS EBOOK +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +eBook, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this eBook by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this eBook on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM EBOOKS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBooks, +is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart +through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project"). +Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this eBook +under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market +any commercial products without permission. + +To create these eBooks, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's eBooks and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other eBook medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may +receive this eBook from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook) disclaims +all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this eBook within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS EBOOK IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation, +and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated +with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including +legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the +following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this eBook, +[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the eBook, +or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this eBook electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + eBook or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this eBook in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word + processing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The eBook, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The eBook may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the eBook (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + eBook in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the eBook refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the + gross profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation" + the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were + legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent + periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to + let us know your plans and to work out the details. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of +public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed +in machine readable form. + +The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time, +public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses. +Money should be paid to the: +"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or +software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at: +hart@pobox.com + +[Portions of this eBook's header and trailer may be reprinted only +when distributed free of all fees. Copyright (C) 2001, 2002 by +Michael S. Hart. Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be +used in any sales of Project Gutenberg eBooks or other materials be +they hardware or software or any other related product without +express permission.] + +*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END* +</PRE> + +</BODY> +</HTML> diff --git a/old/tshfr10h.zip b/old/tshfr10h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6021b9c --- /dev/null +++ b/old/tshfr10h.zip |