diff options
Diffstat (limited to '1876.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 1876.txt | 2976 |
1 files changed, 2976 insertions, 0 deletions
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. |