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diff --git a/old/tshfr10.txt b/old/tshfr10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d23b4a7 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/tshfr10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3996 @@ +Project Gutenberg Etext of The Shape of Fear, by Elia W. Peattie +#2 in our series by Elia W. Peattie + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. We need your donations. + + +The Shape of Fear + +by Elia W. 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In addition, I have made the following changes to the text: +PAGE LINE ORIGINAL CHANGED TO + 156 1 where as were as + 156 4 mouth mouth. + 165 5 Wedgwood Wedgewood + 166 9 Wedgwood Wedgewood + 167 6 surperfluous superfluous + 172 11 every ever + 173 17 Bogg Boggs + + + + + +THE SHAPE OF FEAR + + +And Other Ghostly Tales + + + +BY + +ELIA WILKINSON PEATTIE + + + + +CONTENTS + + +THE SHAPE OF FEAR + +ON THE NORTHERN ICE + +THEIR DEAR LITTLE GHOST + +A SPECTRAL COLLIE + +THE HOUSE THAT WAS NOT + +STORY OF AN OBSTINATE CORPSE + +A CHILD OF THE RAIN + +THE ROOM OF THE EVIL THOUGHT + +STORY OF THE VANISHING PATIENT + +THE PIANO NEXT DOOR + +AN ASTRAL ONION + +FROM THE LOOM OF THE DEAD + +A GRAMMATICAL GHOST + + + + +THE SHAPE OF FEAR + +TIM O'CONNOR -- who was de- +scended from the O'Conors with +one N -- started life as a poet +and an enthusiast. His mother +had designed him for the priesthood, and at +the age of fifteen, most of his verses had an +ecclesiastical tinge, but, somehow or other, +he got into the newspaper business instead, +and became a pessimistic gentleman, with a +literary style of great beauty and an income +of modest proportions. He fell in with men +who talked of art for art's sake, -- though +what right they had to speak of art at all +nobody knew, -- and little by little his view +of life and love became more or less pro- +fane. He met a woman who sucked his +heart's blood, and he knew it and made no +protest; nay, to the great amusement of the +fellows who talked of art for art's sake, he +went the length of marrying her. He could +not in decency explain that he had the tra- +ditions of fine gentlemen behind him and +so had to do as he did, because his friends +might not have understood. He laughed at +the days when he had thought of the priest- +hood, blushed when he ran across any of +those tender and exquisite old verses he had +written in his youth, and became addicted +to absinthe and other less peculiar drinks, +and to gaming a little to escape a madness +of ennui. + +As the years went by he avoided, with +more and more scorn, that part of the world +which he denominated Philistine, and con- +sorted only with the fellows who flocked about +Jim O'Malley's saloon. He was pleased with +solitude, or with these convivial wits, and with +not very much else beside. Jim O'Malley +was a sort of Irish poem, set to inspiring +measure. He was, in fact, a Hibernian +Mæcenas, who knew better than to put bad +whiskey before a man of talent, or tell a trite +tale in the presence of a wit. The recountal +of his disquisitions on politics and other cur- +rent matters had enabled no less than three +men to acquire national reputations; and a +number of wretches, having gone the way of +men who talk of art for art's sake, and dying +in foreign lands, or hospitals, or asylums, +having no one else to be homesick for, had +been homesick for Jim O'Malley, and wept +for the sound of his voice and the grasp of +his hearty hand. + +When Tim O'Connor turned his back upon +most of the things he was born to and took +up with the life which he consistently lived +till the unspeakable end, he was unable to +get rid of certain peculiarities. For example, +in spite of all his debauchery, he continued +to look like the Beloved Apostle. Notwith- +standing abject friendships he wrote limpid +and noble English. Purity seemed to dog his +heels, no matter how violently he attempted +to escape from her. He was never so drunk +that he was not an exquisite, and even his +creditors, who had become inured to his +deceptions, confessed it was a privilege to +meet so perfect a gentleman. The creature +who held him in bondage, body and soul, +actually came to love him for his gentleness, +and for some quality which baffled her, and +made her ache with a strange longing which +she could not define. Not that she ever de- +fined anything, poor little beast! She had +skin the color of pale gold, and yellow eyes +with brown lights in them, and great plaits +of straw-colored hair. About her lips was a +fatal and sensuous smile, which, when it got +hold of a man's imagination, would not let +it go, but held to it, and mocked it till the +day of his death. She was the incarnation +of the Eternal Feminine, with all the wifeli- +ness and the maternity left out -- she was +ancient, yet ever young, and familiar as joy +or tears or sin. + +She took good care of Tim in some ways: +fed him well, nursed him back to reason after +a period of hard drinking, saw that he put +on overshoes when the walks were wet, and +looked after his money. She even prized +his brain, for she discovered that it was a +delicate little machine which produced gold. +By association with him and his friends, she +learned that a number of apparently useless +things had value in the eyes of certain con- +venient fools, and so she treasured the auto- +graphs of distinguished persons who wrote to +him -- autographs which he disdainfully tossed +in the waste basket. She was careful with +presentation copies from authors, and she +went the length of urging Tim to write a +book himself. But at that he balked. + +"Write a book!" he cried to her, his gen- +tle face suddenly white with passion. "Who +am I to commit such a profanation?" + +She didn't know what he meant, but she +had a theory that it was dangerous to excite +him, and so she sat up till midnight to cook +a chop for him when he came home that night. + +He preferred to have her sitting up for him, +and he wanted every electric light in their +apartments turned to the full. If, by any +chance, they returned together to a dark +house, he would not enter till she touched the +button in the hall, and illuminated the room. +Or if it so happened that the lights were +turned off in the night time, and he awoke to +find himself in darkness, he shrieked till the +woman came running to his relief, and, with +derisive laughter, turned them on again. But +when she found that after these frights he lay +trembling and white in his bed, she began to +be alarmed for the clever, gold-making little +machine, and to renew her assiduities, and to +horde more tenaciously than ever, those valu- +able curios on which she some day expected to +realize when he was out of the way, and no +longer in a position to object to their barter. + +O'Connor's idiosyncrasy of fear was a +source of much amusement among the boys +at the office where he worked. They made +open sport of it, and yet, recognizing him +for a sensitive plant, and granting that genius +was entitled to whimsicalities, it was their +custom when they called for him after work +hours, to permit him to reach the lighted cor- +ridor before they turned out the gas over his +desk. This, they reasoned, was but a slight +service to perform for the most enchanting +beggar in the world. + +"Dear fellow," said Rick Dodson, who +loved him, "is it the Devil you expect to see? +And if so, why are you averse? Surely the +Devil is not such a bad old chap." + +"You haven't found him so?" + +"Tim, by heaven, you know, you ought to +explain to me. A citizen of the world and +a student of its purlieus, like myself, ought to +know what there is to know! Now you're a +man of sense, in spite of a few bad habits -- +such as myself, for example. Is this fad of +yours madness? -- which would be quite to +your credit, -- for gadzooks, I like a lunatic! +Or is it the complaint of a man who has gath- +ered too much data on the subject of Old +Rye? Or is it, as I suspect, something more +occult, and therefore more interesting?" + +"Rick, boy," said Tim, "you're too -- in- +quiring!" And he turned to his desk with a +look of delicate hauteur. + +It was the very next night that these two +tippling pessimists spent together talking about +certain disgruntled but immortal gentlemen, +who, having said their say and made the world +quite uncomfortable, had now journeyed on +to inquire into the nothingness which they +postulated. The dawn was breaking in the +muggy east; the bottles were empty, the cigars +burnt out. Tim turned toward his friend with +a sharp breaking of sociable silence. + +"Rick," he said, "do you know that Fear +has a Shape?" + +"And so has my nose!" + +"You asked me the other night what I +feared. Holy father, I make my confession +to you. What I fear is Fear." + +"That's because you've drunk too much -- +or not enough. + + "'Come, fill the cup, and in the fire of Spring + Your winter garment of repentance fling --'" + +"My costume then would be too nebulous +for this weather, dear boy. But it's true what +I was saying. I am afraid of ghosts." + +"For an agnostic that seems a bit --" + +"Agnostic! Yes, so completely an agnostic +that I do not even know that I do not know! +God, man, do you mean you have no ghosts +-- no -- no things which shape themselves? +Why, there are things I have done --" + +"Don't think of them, my boy! See, +'night's candles are burnt out, and jocund +day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain +top.'" + +Tim looked about him with a sickly smile. +He looked behind him and there was nothing +there; stared at the blank window, where the +smoky dawn showed its offensive face, and +there was nothing there. He pushed away +the moist hair from his haggard face -- that +face which would look like the blessed St. +John, and leaned heavily back in his chair. + +"'Yon light is not daylight, I know it, I,'" +he murmured drowsily, "'it is some meteor +which the sun exhales, to be to thee this +night --'" + +The words floated off in languid nothing- +ness, and he slept. Dodson arose preparatory +to stretching himself on his couch. But first +he bent over his friend with a sense of tragic +appreciation. + +"Damned by the skin of his teeth!" he mut- +tered. "A little more, and he would have +gone right, and the Devil would have lost a +good fellow. As it is" -- he smiled with his +usual conceited delight in his own sayings, +even when they were uttered in soliloquy -- "he +is merely one of those splendid gentlemen one +will meet with in hell." Then Dodson had a +momentary nostalgia for goodness himself, +but he soon overcame it, and stretching him- +self on his sofa, he, too, slept. + +That night he and O'Connor went together +to hear "Faust" sung, and returning to the +office, Dodson prepared to write his criti- +cism. Except for the distant clatter of tele- +graph instruments, or the peremptory cries of +"copy" from an upper room, the office was +still. Dodson wrote and smoked his inter- +minable cigarettes; O' Connor rested his head +in his hands on the desk, and sat in perfect +silence. He did not know when Dodson fin- +ished, or when, arising, and absent-mindedly +extinguishing the lights, he moved to the +door with his copy in his hands. Dodson +gathered up the hats and coats as he passed +them where they lay on a chair, and called: + +"It is done, Tim. Come, let's get out of +this." + +There was no answer, and he thought Tim +was following, but after he had handed his +criticism to the city editor, he saw he was +still alone, and returned to the room for his +friend. He advanced no further than the +doorway, for, as he stood in the dusky cor- +ridor and looked within the darkened room, +he saw before his friend a Shape, white, of +perfect loveliness, divinely delicate and pure +and ethereal, which seemed as the embodi- +ment of all goodness. From it came a soft +radiance and a perfume softer than the wind +when "it breathes upon a bank of violets +stealing and giving odor." Staring at it, +with eyes immovable, sat his friend. + +It was strange that at sight of a thing so +unspeakably fair, a coldness like that which +comes from the jewel-blue lips of a Muir +crevasse should have fallen upon Dodson, or +that it was only by summoning all the man- +hood that was left in him, that he was able +to restore light to the room, and to rush to +his friend. When he reached poor Tim he +was stone-still with paralysis. They took +him home to the woman, who nursed him out +of that attack -- and later on worried him into +another. + +When he was able to sit up and jeer at +things a little again, and help himself to the +quail the woman broiled for him, Dodson, +sitting beside him, said: + +"Did you call that little exhibition of yours +legerdemain, Tim, you sweep? Or are you +really the Devil's bairn?" + +"It was the Shape of Fear," said Tim, quite +seriously. + +"But it seemed mild as mother's milk." + +"It was compounded of the good I might +have done. It is that which I fear." + +He would explain no more. Later -- many +months later -- he died patiently and sweetly +in the madhouse, praying for rest. The little +beast with the yellow eyes had high mass cele- +brated for him, which, all things considered, +was almost as pathetic as it was amusing. + +Dodson was in Vienna when he heard of it. + +"Sa, sa!" cried he. "I wish it wasn't so +dark in the tomb! What do you suppose Tim +is looking at?" + +As for Jim O'Malley, he was with diffi- +culty kept from illuminating the grave with +electricity. + + + + +ON THE NORTHERN ICE + + +THE winter nights up at Sault Ste. +Marie are as white and luminous as +the Milky Way. The silence which +rests upon the solitude appears to +be white also. Even sound has been included +in Nature's arrestment, for, indeed, save the +still white frost, all things seem to be oblit- +erated. The stars have a poignant brightness, +but they belong to heaven and not to earth, +and between their immeasurable height and +the still ice rolls the ebon ether in vast, liquid +billows. + +In such a place it is difficult to believe that +the world is actually peopled. It seems as if +it might be the dark of the day after Cain +killed Abel, and as if all of humanity's re- +mainder was huddled in affright away from +the awful spaciousness of Creation. + +The night Ralph Hagadorn started out for +Echo Bay -- bent on a pleasant duty -- he +laughed to himself, and said that he did not +at all object to being the only man in the +world, so long as the world remained as un- +speakably beautiful as it was when he buckled +on his skates and shot away into the solitude. +He was bent on reaching his best friend in +time to act as groomsman, and business had +delayed him till time was at its briefest. So +he journeyed by night and journeyed alone, +and when the tang of the frost got at his +blood, he felt as a spirited horse feels when it +gets free of bit and bridle. The ice was as +glass, his skates were keen, his frame fit, and +his venture to his taste! So he laughed, and +cut through the air as a sharp stone cleaves the +water. He could hear the whistling of the +air as he cleft it. + +As he went on and on in the black stillness, +he began to have fancies. He imagined him- +self enormously tall -- a great Viking of the +Northland, hastening over icy fiords to his love. +And that reminded him that he had a love +-- though, indeed, that thought was always +present with him as a background for other +thoughts. To be sure, he had not told her +that she was his love, for he had seen her only +a few times, and the auspicious occasion had +not yet presented itself. She lived at Echo +Bay also, and was to be the maid of honor to +his friend's bride -- which was one more +reason why he skated almost as swiftly as the +wind, and why, now and then, he let out a +shout of exultation. + +The one cloud that crossed Hagadorn's sun +of expectancy was the knowledge that Marie +Beaujeu's father had money, and that Marie +lived in a house with two stories to it, and +wore otter skin about her throat and little +satin-lined mink boots on her feet when she +went sledding. Moreover, in the locket in +which she treasured a bit of her dead mother's +hair, there was a black pearl as big as a pea. +These things made it difficult -- perhaps im- +possible -- for Ralph Hagadorn to say more +than, "I love you." But that much he meant +to say though he were scourged with chagrin +for his temerity. + +This determination grew upon him as he +swept along the ice under the starlight. +Venus made a glowing path toward the west +and seemed eager to reassure him. He was +sorry he could not skim down that avenue of +light which flowed from the love-star, but he +was forced to turn his back upon it and face +the black northeast. + +It came to him with a shock that he was +not alone. His eyelashes were frosted and +his eyeballs blurred with the cold, so at first +he thought it might be an illusion. But when +he had rubbed his eyes hard, he made sure +that not very far in front of him was a long +white skater in fluttering garments who sped +over the ice as fast as ever werewolf went. + +He called aloud, but there was no answer. +He shaped his hands and trumpeted through +them, but the silence was as before -- it was +complete. So then he gave chase, setting his +teeth hard and putting a tension on his firm +young muscles. But go however he would, +the white skater went faster. After a time, +as he glanced at the cold gleam of the north +star, he perceived that he was being led from +his direct path. For a moment he hesitated, +wondering if he would not better keep to his +road, but his weird companion seemed to +draw him on irresistibly, and finding it sweet +to follow, he followed. + +Of course it came to him more than once +in that strange pursuit, that the white skater +was no earthly guide. Up in those latitudes +men see curious things when the hoar frost is +on the earth. Hagadorn's own father -- to +hark no further than that for an instance! +-- who lived up there with the Lake Superior +Indians, and worked in the copper mines, had +welcomed a woman at his hut one bitter +night, who was gone by morning, leaving wolf +tracks on the snow! Yes, it was so, and John +Fontanelle, the half-breed, could tell you +about it any day -- if he were alive. (Alack, +the snow where the wolf tracks were, is melted +now!) + +Well, Hagadorn followed the white skater +all the night, and when the ice flushed pink +at dawn, and arrows of lovely light shot up into +the cold heavens, she was gone, and Haga- +dorn was at his destination. The sun climbed +arrogantly up to his place above all other +things, and as Hagadorn took off his skates +and glanced carelessly lakeward, he beheld a +great wind-rift in the ice, and the waves +showing blue and hungry between white fields. +Had he rushed along his intended path, +watching the stars to guide him, his glance +turned upward, all his body at magnificent +momentum, he must certainly have gone into +that cold grave. + +How wonderful that it had been sweet to +follow the white skater, and that he followed! + +His heart beat hard as he hurried to his +friend's house. But he encountered no wed- +ding furore. His friend met him as men +meet in houses of mourning. + +"Is this your wedding face?" cried Haga- +dorn. "Why, man, starved as I am, I look +more like a bridegroom than you!" + +"There's no wedding to-day!" + +"No wedding! Why, you're not --" + +"Marie Beaujeu died last night --" + +"Marie --" + +"Died last night. She had been skating +in the afternoon, and she came home chilled +and wandering in her mind, as if the frost +had got in it somehow. She grew worse and +worse, and all the time she talked of you." + +"Of me?" + +"We wondered what it meant. No one +knew you were lovers." + +"I didn't know it myself; more's the pity. +At least, I didn't know --" + +"She said you were on the ice, and that +you didn't know about the big breaking-up, +and she cried to us that the wind was off shore +and the rift widening. She cried over and +over again that you could come in by the old +French creek if you only knew --" + +"I came in that way." + +"But how did you come to do that? It's +out of the path. We thought perhaps --" + +But Hagadorn broke in with his story and +told him all as it had come to pass. + +That day they watched beside the maiden, +who lay with tapers at her head and at her +feet, and in the little church the bride who +might have been at her wedding said prayers +for her friend. They buried Marie Beaujeu +in her bridesmaid white, and Hagadorn was +before the altar with her, as he had intended +from the first! Then at midnight the lovers +who were to wed whispered their vows in the +gloom of the cold church, and walked together +through the snow to lay their bridal wreaths +upon a grave. + +Three nights later, Hagadorn skated back +again to his home. They wanted him to go +by sunlight, but he had his way, and went +when Venus made her bright path on the ice. + +The truth was, he had hoped for the com- +panionship of the white skater. But he did +not have it. His only companion was the +wind. The only voice he heard was the bay- +ing of a wolf on the north shore. The world +was as empty and as white as if God had just +created it, and the sun had not yet colored +nor man defiled it. + + + + +THEIR DEAR LITTLE GHOST + + +THE first time one looked at Els- +beth, one was not prepossessed. +She was thin and brown, her nose +turned slightly upward, her toes +went in just a perceptible degree, and her +hair was perfectly straight. But when one +looked longer, one perceived that she was a +charming little creature. The straight hair +was as fine as silk, and hung in funny little +braids down her back; there was not a flaw +in her soft brown skin, and her mouth was +tender and shapely. But her particular charm +lay in a look which she habitually had, of +seeming to know curious things -- such as it +is not allotted to ordinary persons to know. +One felt tempted to say to her: + +"What are these beautiful things which +you know, and of which others are ignorant? +What is it you see with those wise and pel- +lucid eyes? Why is it that everybody loves +you?" + +Elsbeth was my little godchild, and I knew +her better than I knew any other child in the +world. But still I could not truthfully say +that I was familiar with her, for to me her +spirit was like a fair and fragrant road in the +midst of which I might walk in peace and +joy, but where I was continually to discover +something new. The last time I saw her +quite well and strong was over in the woods +where she had gone with her two little +brothers and her nurse to pass the hottest +weeks of summer. I followed her, foolish old +creature that I was, just to be near her, for I +needed to dwell where the sweet aroma of her +life could reach me. + +One morning when I came from my room, +limping a little, because I am not so young as +I used to be, and the lake wind works havoc +with me, my little godchild came dancing to +me singing: + +"Come with me and I'll show you my +places, my places, my places!" + +Miriam, when she chanted by the Red Sea +might have been more exultant, but she could +not have been more bewitching. Of course +I knew what "places" were, because I had +once been a little girl myself, but unless you +are acquainted with the real meaning of +"places," it would be useless to try to ex- +plain. Either you know "places" or you do +not -- just as you understand the meaning of +poetry or you do not. There are things in +the world which cannot be taught. + +Elsbeth's two tiny brothers were present, +and I took one by each hand and followed +her. No sooner had we got out of doors in +the woods than a sort of mystery fell upon +the world and upon us. We were cautioned +to move silently, and we did so, avoiding the +crunching of dry twigs. + +"The fairies hate noise," whispered my +little godchild, her eyes narrowing like a +cat's. + +"I must get my wand first thing I do," she +said in an awed undertone. "It is useless to +try to do anything without a wand." + +The tiny boys were profoundly impressed, +and, indeed, so was I. I felt that at last, I +should, if I behaved properly, see the fairies, +which had hitherto avoided my materialistic +gaze. It was an enchanting moment, for +there appeared, just then, to be nothing +commonplace about life. + +There was a swale near by, and into +this the little girl plunged. I could see her +red straw hat bobbing about among the +tall rushes, and I wondered if there were +snakes. + +"Do you think there are snakes?" I asked +one of the tiny boys. + +"If there are," he said with conviction, +"they won't dare hurt her." + +He convinced me. I feared no more. +Presently Elsbeth came out of the swale. In +her hand was a brown "cattail," perfectly +full and round. She carried it as queens +carry their sceptres -- the beautiful queens we +dream of in our youth. + +"Come," she commanded, and waved the +sceptre in a fine manner. So we followed, +each tiny boy gripping my hand tight. We +were all three a trifle awed. Elsbeth led us +into a dark underbrush. The branches, as +they flew back in our faces, left them wet +with dew. A wee path, made by the girl's +dear feet, guided our footsteps. Perfumes +of elderberry and wild cucumber scented the +air. A bird, frightened from its nest, made +frantic cries above our heads. The under- +brush thickened. Presently the gloom of the +hemlocks was over us, and in the midst of +the shadowy green a tulip tree flaunted its +leaves. Waves boomed and broke upon the +shore below. There was a growing dampness +as we went on, treading very lightly. A little +green snake ran coquettishly from us. A fat +and glossy squirrel chattered at us from a safe +height, stroking his whiskers with a com- +plaisant air. + +At length we reached the "place." It was +a circle of velvet grass, bright as the first +blades of spring, delicate as fine sea-ferns. +The sunlight, falling down the shaft between +the hemlocks, flooded it with a softened light +and made the forest round about look like +deep purple velvet. My little godchild stood +in the midst and raised her wand impressively. + +"This is my place," she said, with a sort of +wonderful gladness in her tone. "This is +where I come to the fairy balls. Do you see +them?" + +"See what?" whispered one tiny boy. + +"The fairies." + +There was a silence. The older boy pulled +at my skirt. + +"Do YOU see them?" he asked, his voice +trembling with expectancy. + +"Indeed," I said, "I fear I am too old and +wicked to see fairies, and yet -- are their hats +red?" + +"They are," laughed my little girl. "Their +hats are red, and as small -- as small!" She +held up the pearly nail of her wee finger to +give us the correct idea. + +"And their shoes are very pointed at the +toes?" + +"Oh, very pointed!" + +"And their garments are green?" + +"As green as grass." + +"And they blow little horns?" + +"The sweetest little horns!" + +"I think I see them," I cried. + +"We think we see them too," said the tiny +boys, laughing in perfect glee. + +"And you hear their horns, don't you?" my +little godchild asked somewhat anxiously. + +"Don't we hear their horns?" I asked the +tiny boys. + +"We think we hear their horns," they cried. +"Don't you think we do?" + +"It must be we do," I said. "Aren't we +very, very happy?" + +We all laughed softly. Then we kissed +each other and Elsbeth led us out, her wand +high in the air. + +And so my feet found the lost path to +Arcady. + +The next day I was called to the Pacific +coast, and duty kept me there till well into +December. A few days before the date set +for my return to my home, a letter came from +Elsbeth's mother. + +"Our little girl is gone into the Unknown," +she wrote -- "that Unknown in which she +seemed to be forever trying to pry. We knew +she was going, and we told her. She was +quite brave, but she begged us to try some +way to keep her till after Christmas. 'My +presents are not finished yet,' she made moan. +'And I did so want to see what I was going +to have. You can't have a very happy Christ- +mas without me, I should think. Can you +arrange to keep me somehow till after then?' +We could not 'arrange' either with God in +heaven or science upon earth, and she is +gone." + +She was only my little godchild, and I am +an old maid, with no business fretting over +children, but it seemed as if the medium of +light and beauty had been taken from me. +Through this crystal soul I had perceived +whatever was loveliest. However, what was, +was! I returned to my home and took up a +course of Egyptian history, and determined to +concern myself with nothing this side the +Ptolemies. + +Her mother has told me how, on Christmas +eve, as usual, she and Elsbeth's father filled +the stockings of the little ones, and hung +them, where they had always hung, by the fire- +place. They had little heart for the task, +but they had been prodigal that year in +their expenditures, and had heaped upon the +two tiny boys all the treasures they thought +would appeal to them. They asked them- +selves how they could have been so insane +previously as to exercise economy at Christ- +mas time, and what they meant by not getting +Elsbeth the autoharp she had asked for the +year before. + +"And now --" began her father, thinking +of harps. But he could not complete this +sentence, of course, and the two went on pas- +sionately and almost angrily with their task. +There were two stockings and two piles of +toys. Two stockings only, and only two piles +of toys! Two is very little! + +They went away and left the darkened +room, and after a time they slept -- after a +long time. Perhaps that was about the time +the tiny boys awoke, and, putting on their +little dressing gowns and bed slippers, made +a dash for the room where the Christmas +things were always placed. The older one +carried a candle which gave out a feeble +light. The other followed behind through the +silent house. They were very impatient and +eager, but when they reached the door of the +sitting-room they stopped, for they saw that +another child was before them. + +It was a delicate little creature, sitting in +her white night gown, with two rumpled +funny braids falling down her back, and she +seemed to be weeping. As they watched, she +arose, and putting out one slender finger as +a child does when she counts, she made sure +over and over again -- three sad times -- that +there were only two stockings and two piles +of toys! Only those and no more. + +The little figure looked so familiar that the +boys started toward it, but just then, putting +up her arm and bowing her face in it, as +Elsbeth had been used to do when she wept +or was offended, the little thing glided away +and went out. That's what the boys said. +It went out as a candle goes out. + +They ran and woke their parents with the +tale, and all the house was searched in a +wonderment, and disbelief, and hope, and +tumult! But nothing was found. For nights +they watched. But there was only the silent +house. Only the empty rooms. They told +the boys they must have been mistaken. But +the boys shook their heads. + +"We know our Elsbeth," said they. "It +was our Elsbeth, cryin' 'cause she hadn't no +stockin' an' no toys, and we would have given +her all ours, only she went out -- jus' went +out!" + +Alack! + +The next Christmas I helped with the little +festival. It was none of my affair, but I asked +to help, and they let me, and when we were +all through there were three stockings and +three piles of toys, and in the largest one was +all the things that I could think of that my +dear child would love. I locked the boys' +chamber that night, and I slept on the divan +in the parlor off the sitting-room. I slept but +little, and the night was very still -- so wind- +less and white and still that I think I must +have heard the slightest noise. Yet I heard +none. Had I been in my grave I think my +ears would not have remained more unsaluted. + +Yet when daylight came and I went to un- +lock the boys' bedchamber door, I saw that +the stocking and all the treasures which I had +bought for my little godchild were gone. +There was not a vestige of them remaining! + +Of course we told the boys nothing. As +for me, after dinner I went home and buried +myself once more in my history, and so inter- +ested was I that midnight came without my +knowing it. I should not have looked up at +all, I suppose, to become aware of the time, +had it not been for a faint, sweet sound as of +a child striking a stringed instrument. It +was so delicate and remote that I hardly +heard it, but so joyous and tender that I +could not but listen, and when I heard it a +second time it seemed as if I caught the echo +of a child's laugh. At first I was puzzled. +Then I remembered the little autoharp I had +placed among the other things in that pile of +vanished toys. I said aloud: + +"Farewell, dear little ghost. Go rest. +Rest in joy, dear little ghost. Farewell, +farewell." + +That was years ago, but there has been +silence since. Elsbeth was always an obe- +dient little thing. + + + +A SPECTRAL COLLIE + +WILLIAM PERCY CECIL happened +to be a younger son, so he left home +-- which was England -- and went +to Kansas to ranch it. Thousands +of younger sons do the same, only their des- +tination is not invariably Kansas. + +An agent at Wichita picked out Cecil's +farm for him and sent the deeds over to Eng- +land before Cecil left. He said there was a +house on the place. So Cecil's mother fitted +him out for America just as she had fitted +out another superfluous boy for Africa, and +parted from him with an heroic front and big +agonies of mother-ache which she kept to +herself. + +The boy bore up the way a man of his +blood ought, but when he went out to the +kennel to see Nita, his collie, he went to +pieces somehow, and rolled on the grass with +her in his arms and wept like a booby. But +the remarkable part of it was that Nita wept +too, big, hot dog tears which her master +wiped away. When he went off she howled +like a hungry baby, and had to be switched +before she would give any one a night's sleep. + +When Cecil got over on his Kansas place +he fitted up the shack as cosily as he could, +and learned how to fry bacon and make soda +biscuits. Incidentally, he did farming, and +sunk a heap of money, finding out how not +to do things. Meantime, the Americans +laughed at him, and were inclined to turn +the cold shoulder, and his compatriots, of +whom there were a number in the county, +did not prove to his liking. They consoled +themselves for their exiled state in fashions +not in keeping with Cecil's traditions. His +homesickness went deeper than theirs, per- +haps, and American whiskey could not make +up for the loss of his English home, nor flir- +tations with the gay American village girls +quite compensate him for the loss of his +English mother. So he kept to himself and +had nostalgia as some men have consumption. + +At length the loneliness got so bad that he +had to see some living thing from home, or +make a flunk of it and go back like a cry +baby. He had a stiff pride still, though he +sobbed himself to sleep more than one night, +as many a pioneer has done before him. So +he wrote home for Nita, the collie, and got +word that she would be sent. Arrangements +were made for her care all along the line, and +she was properly boxed and shipped. + +As the time drew near for her arrival, Cecil +could hardly eat. He was too excited to +apply himself to anything. The day of her +expected arrival he actually got up at five +o'clock to clean the house and make it look +as fine as possible for her inspection. Then +he hitched up and drove fifteen miles to get +her. The train pulled out just before he +reached the station, so Nita in her box was +waiting for him on the platform. He could +see her in a queer way, as one sees the purple +centre of a revolving circle of light; for, to +tell the truth, with the long ride in the morn- +ing sun, and the beating of his heart, Cecil +was only about half-conscious of anything. +He wanted to yell, but he didn't. He kept +himself in hand and lifted up the sliding +side of the box and called to Nita, and she +came out. + +But it wasn't the man who fainted, though +he might have done so, being crazy home- +sick as he was, and half-fed and overworked +while he was yet soft from an easy life. No, +it was the dog! She looked at her master's +face, gave one cry of inexpressible joy, and +fell over in a real feminine sort of a faint, +and had to be brought to like any other lady, +with camphor and water and a few drops of +spirit down her throat. Then Cecil got up +on the wagon seat, and she sat beside him +with her head on his arm, and they rode home +in absolute silence, each feeling too much for +speech. After they reached home, however, +Cecil showed her all over the place, and she +barked out her ideas in glad sociability. + +After that Cecil and Nita were inseparable. +She walked beside him all day when he was +out with the cultivator, or when he was mow- +ing or reaping. She ate beside him at table +and slept across his feet at night. Evenings +when he looked over the Graphic from +home, or read the books his mother sent him, +that he might keep in touch with the world, +Nita was beside him, patient, but jealous. +Then, when he threw his book or paper down +and took her on his knee and looked into her +pretty eyes, or frolicked with her, she fairly +laughed with delight. + +In short, she was faithful with that faith of +which only a dog is capable -- that unques- +tioning faith to which even the most loving +women never quite attain. + +However, Fate was annoyed at this perfect +friendship. It didn't give her enough to do, +and Fate is a restless thing with a horrible +appetite for variety. So poor Nita died one +day mysteriously, and gave her last look to +Cecil as a matter of course; and he held her +paws till the last moment, as a stanch friend +should, and laid her away decently in a +pine box in the cornfield, where he could be +shielded from public view if he chose to go +there now and then and sit beside her grave. + +He went to bed very lonely, indeed, the +first night. The shack seemed to him to be +removed endless miles from the other habi- +tations of men. He seemed cut off from the +world, and ached to hear the cheerful little +barks which Nita had been in the habit of +giving him by way of good night. Her ami- +able eye with its friendly light was missing, +the gay wag of her tail was gone; all her +ridiculous ways, at which he was never tired +of laughing, were things of the past. + +He lay down, busy with these thoughts, +yet so habituated to Nita's presence, that +when her weight rested upon his feet, as +usual, he felt no surprise. But after a mo- +ment it came to him that as she was dead the +weight he felt upon his feet could not be +hers. And yet, there it was, warm and com- +fortable, cuddling down in the familiar way. +He actually sat up and put his hand down +to the foot of the bed to discover what was +there. But there was nothing there, save +the weight. And that stayed with him that +night and many nights after. + +It happened that Cecil was a fool, as men +will be when they are young, and he worked +too hard, and didn't take proper care of him- +self; and so it came about that he fell sick +with a low fever. He struggled around for a +few days, trying to work it off, but one morn- +ing he awoke only to the consciousness of +absurd dreams. He seemed to be on the sea, +sailing for home, and the boat was tossing +and pitching in a weary circle, and could +make no headway. His heart was burning +with impatience, but the boat went round and +round in that endless circle till he shrieked +out with agony. + +The next neighbors were the Taylors, who +lived two miles and a half away. They were +awakened that morning by the howling of a +dog before their door. It was a hideous +sound and would give them no peace. So +Charlie Taylor got up and opened the door, +discovering there an excited little collie. + +"Why, Tom," he called, "I thought Cecil's +collie was dead!" + +"She is," called back Tom. + +"No, she ain't neither, for here she is, +shakin' like an aspin, and a beggin' me to +go with her. Come out, Tom, and see." + +It was Nita, no denying, and the men, per- +plexed, followed her to Cecil's shack, where +they found him babbling. + +But that was the last of her. Cecil said he +never felt her on his feet again. She had +performed her final service for him, he said. +The neighbors tried to laugh at the story at +first, but they knew the Taylors wouldn't take +the trouble to lie, and as for Cecil, no one +would have ventured to chaff him. + + + + +THE HOUSE THAT WAS NOT + + +BART FLEMING took his bride out +to his ranch on the plains when she +was but seventeen years old, and the +two set up housekeeping in three +hundred and twenty acres of corn and rye. +Off toward the west there was an unbroken +sea of tossing corn at that time of the year +when the bride came out, and as her sewing +window was on the side of the house which +faced the sunset, she passed a good part of +each day looking into that great rustling mass, +breathing in its succulent odors and listening +to its sibilant melody. It was her picture +gallery, her opera, her spectacle, and, being +sensible, -- or perhaps, being merely happy, +-- she made the most of it. + +When harvesting time came and the corn +was cut, she had much entertainment in dis- +covering what lay beyond. The town was +east, and it chanced that she had never rid- +den west. So, when the rolling hills of this +newly beholden land lifted themselves for her +contemplation, and the harvest sun, all in an +angry and sanguinary glow sank in the veiled +horizon, and at noon a scarf of golden vapor +wavered up and down along the earth line, it +was as if a new world had been made for +her. Sometimes, at the coming of a storm, +a whip-lash of purple cloud, full of electric +agility, snapped along the western horizon. + +"Oh, you'll see a lot of queer things on +these here plains," her husband said when +she spoke to him of these phenomena. "I +guess what you see is the wind." + +"The wind!" cried Flora. "You can't see +the wind, Bart." + +"Now look here, Flora," returned Bart, with +benevolent emphasis, "you're a smart one, +but you don't know all I know about this here +country. I've lived here three mortal years, +waitin' for you to git up out of your mother's +arms and come out to keep me company, +and I know what there is to know. Some +things out here is queer -- so queer folks +wouldn't believe 'em unless they saw. An' +some's so pig-headed they don't believe their +own eyes. As for th' wind, if you lay down +flat and squint toward th' west, you can see +it blowin' along near th' ground, like a big +ribbon; an' sometimes it's th' color of air, +an' sometimes it's silver an' gold, an' some- +times, when a storm is comin', it's purple." + +"If you got so tired looking at the wind, +why didn't you marry some other girl, Bart, +instead of waiting for me?" + +Flora was more interested in the first part +of Bart's speech than in the last. + +"Oh, come on!" protested Bart, and he +picked her up in his arms and jumped her +toward the ceiling of the low shack as if she +were a little girl -- but then, to be sure, she +wasn't much more. + +Of all the things Flora saw when the corn +was cut down, nothing interested her so much +as a low cottage, something like her own, +which lay away in the distance. She could +not guess how far it might be, because dis- +tances are deceiving out there, where the alti- +tude is high and the air is as clear as one of +those mystic balls of glass in which the sallow +mystics of India see the moving shadows of +the future. + +She had not known there were neighbors +so near, and she wondered for several days +about them before she ventured to say any- +thing to Bart on the subject. Indeed, for +some reason which she did not attempt to ex- +plain to herself, she felt shy about broaching +the matter. Perhaps Bart did not want her +to know the people. The thought came to +her, as naughty thoughts will come, even to +the best of persons, that some handsome +young men might be "baching" it out there +by themselves, and Bart didn't wish her to +make their acquaintance. Bart had flattered +her so much that she had actually begun to +think herself beautiful, though as a matter of +fact she was only a nice little girl with a lot +of reddish-brown hair, and a bright pair of +reddish-brown eyes in a white face. + +"Bart," she ventured one evening, as the +sun, at its fiercest, rushed toward the great +black hollow of the west, "who lives over +there in that shack?" + +She turned away from the window where +she had been looking at the incarnadined +disk, and she thought she saw Bart turn pale. +But then, her eyes were so blurred with the +glory she had been gazing at, that she might +easily have been mistaken. + +"I say, Bart, why don't you speak? If +there's any one around to associate with, I +should think you'd let me have the benefit +of their company. It isn't as funny as you +think, staying here alone days and days." + +"You ain't gettin' homesick, be you, sweet- +heart?" cried Bart, putting his arms around +her. "You ain't gettin' tired of my society, +be yeh?" + +It took some time to answer this question +in a satisfactory manner, but at length Flora +was able to return to her original topic. + +"But the shack, Bart! Who lives there, +anyway?" + +"I'm not acquainted with 'em," said Bart, +sharply. "Ain't them biscuits done, Flora?" + +Then, of course, she grew obstinate. + +"Those biscuits will never be done, Bart, +till I know about that house, and why you +never spoke of it, and why nobody ever comes +down the road from there. Some one lives +there I know, for in the mornings and at night +I see the smoke coming out of the chimney." + +"Do you now?" cried Bart, opening his +eyes and looking at her with unfeigned inter- +est. "Well, do you know, sometimes I've +fancied I seen that too?" + +"Well, why not," cried Flora, in half anger. +"Why shouldn't you?" + +"See here, Flora, take them biscuits out an' +listen to me. There ain't no house there. +Hello! I didn't know you'd go for to drop the +biscuits. Wait, I'll help you pick 'em up. +By cracky, they're hot, ain't they? What you +puttin' a towel over 'em for? Well, you set +down here on my knee, so. Now you look +over at that there house. You see it, don't +yeh? Well, it ain't there! No! I saw it the +first week I was out here. I was jus' half +dyin', thinkin' of you an' wonderin' why you +didn't write. That was the time you was mad +at me. So I rode over there one day -- lookin' +up company, so t' speak -- and there wa'n't no +house there. I spent all one Sunday lookin' +for it. Then I spoke to Jim Geary about it. +He laughed an' got a little white about th' +gills, an' he said he guessed I'd have to look +a good while before I found it. He said that +there shack was an ole joke." + +"Why -- what --" + +"Well, this here is th' story he tol' me. +He said a man an' his wife come out here t' +live an' put up that there little place. An' +she was young, you know, an' kind o' skeery, +and she got lonesome. It worked on her an' +worked on her, an' one day she up an' killed +the baby an' her husband an' herself. Th' +folks found 'em and buried 'em right there +on their own ground. Well, about two weeks +after that, th' house was burned down. Don't +know how. Tramps, maybe. Anyhow, it +burned. At least, I guess it burned!" + +"You guess it burned!" + +"Well, it ain't there, you know." + +"But if it burned the ashes are there." + +"All right, girlie, they're there then. Now +let's have tea." + +This they proceeded to do, and were happy +and cheerful all evening, but that didn't keep +Flora from rising at the first flush of dawn and +stealing out of the house. She looked away +over west as she went to the barn and there, +dark and firm against the horizon, stood the +little house against the pellucid sky of morn- +ing. She got on Ginger's back -- Ginger +being her own yellow broncho -- and set off at +a hard pace for the house. It didn't appear +to come any nearer, but the objects which had +seemed to be beside it came closer into view, +and Flora pressed on, with her mind steeled +for anything. But as she approached the +poplar windbreak which stood to the north +of the house, the little shack waned like a +shadow before her. It faded and dimmed +before her eyes. + +She slapped Ginger's flanks and kept him +going, and she at last got him up to the spot. +But there was nothing there. The bunch grass +grew tall and rank and in the midst of it lay +a baby's shoe. Flora thought of picking it +up, but something cold in her veins withheld +her. Then she grew angry, and set Ginger's +head toward the place and tried to drive him +over it. But the yellow broncho gave one +snort of fear, gathered himself in a bunch, +and then, all tense, leaping muscles, made +for home as only a broncho can. + + + +STORY OF AN OBSTINATE CORPSE + + +VIRGIL HOYT is a photographer's +assistant up at St. Paul, and enjoys +his work without being consumed +by it. He has been in search of the +picturesque all over the West and hundreds +of miles to the north, in Canada, and can +speak three or four Indian dialects and put a +canoe through the rapids. That is to say, +he is a man of adventure, and no dreamer. +He can fight well and shoot better, and swim +so as to put up a winning race with the Ind- +ian boys, and he can sit in the saddle all day +and not worry about it to-morrow. + +Wherever he goes, he carries a camera. + +"The world," Hoyt is in the habit of say- +ing to those who sit with him when he smokes +his pipe, "was created in six days to be pho- +tographed. Man -- and particularly woman -- +was made for the same purpose. Clouds are +not made to give moisture nor trees to cast +shade. They have been created in order to +give the camera obscura something to do." + +In short, Virgil Hoyt's view of the world +is whimsical, and he likes to be bothered +neither with the disagreeable nor the mysteri- +ous. That is the reason he loathes and detests +going to a house of mourning to photograph +a corpse. The bad taste of it offends him, +but above all, he doesn't like the necessity of +shouldering, even for a few moments, a part +of the burden of sorrow which belongs to +some one else. He dislikes sorrow, and +would willingly canoe five hundred miles up +the cold Canadian rivers to get rid of it. +Nevertheless, as assistant photographer, it is +often his duty to do this very kind of thing. + +Not long ago he was sent for by a rich Jew- +ish family to photograph the remains of the +mother, who had just died. He was put out, +but he was only an assistant, and he went. +He was taken to the front parlor, where the +dead woman lay in her coffin. It was evident +to him that there was some excitement in the +household, and that a discussion was going on. +But Hoyt said to himself that it didn't con- +cern him, and he therefore paid no attention +to it. + +The daughter wanted the coffin turned on +end in order that the corpse might face the +camera properly, but Hoyt said he could over- +come the recumbent attitude and make it ap- +pear that the face was taken in the position +it would naturally hold in life, and so they +went out and left him alone with the dead. + +The face of the deceased was a strong and +positive one, such as may often be seen among +Jewish matrons. Hoyt regarded it with some +admiration, thinking to himself that she was a +woman who had known what she wanted, and +who, once having made up her mind, would +prove immovable. Such a character appealed +to Hoyt. He reflected that he might have +married if only he could have found a woman +with strength of character sufficient to disagree +with him. There was a strand of hair out of +place on the dead woman's brow, and he +gently pushed it back. A bud lifted its head +too high from among the roses on her breast +and spoiled the contour of the chin, so he +broke it off. He remembered these things +later with keen distinctness, and that his hand +touched her chill face two or three times in +the making of his arrangements. + +Then he took the impression, and left the +house. + +He was busy at the time with some railroad +work, and several days passed before he found +opportunity to develop the plates. He took +them from the bath in which they had lain +with a number of others, and went energeti- +cally to work upon them, whistling some very +saucy songs he had learned of the guide in +the Red River country, and trying to forget +that the face which was presently to appear +was that of a dead woman. He had used +three plates as a precaution against accident, +and they came up well. But as they devel- +oped, he became aware of the existence of +something in the photograph which had not +been apparent to his eye in the subject. He +was irritated, and without attempting to face +the mystery, he made a few prints and laid +them aside, ardently hoping that by some +chance they would never be called for. + +However, as luck would have it, -- and +Hoyt's luck never had been good, -- his em- +ployer asked one day what had become of +those photographs. Hoyt tried to evade +making an answer, but the effort was futile, +and he had to get out the finished prints and +exhibit them. The older man sat staring at +them a long time. + +"Hoyt," he said, "you're a young man, and +very likely you have never seen anything like +this before. But I have. Not exactly the same +thing, perhaps, but similar phenomena have +come my way a number of times since I went in +the business, and I want to tell you there are +things in heaven and earth not dreamt of --" + +"Oh, I know all that tommy-rot," cried +Hoyt, angrily, "but when anything happens I +want to know the reason why and how it is +done." + +"All right," answered his employer, "then +you might explain why and how the sun rises." + +But he humored the young man sufficiently +to examine with him the baths in which the +plates were submerged, and the plates them- +selves. All was as it should be; but the mys- +tery was there, and could not be done away +with. + +Hoyt hoped against hope that the friends +of the dead woman would somehow forget +about the photographs; but the idea was un- +reasonable, and one day, as a matter of +course, the daughter appeared and asked to +see the pictures of her mother. + +"Well, to tell the truth," stammered Hoyt, +"they didn't come out quite -- quite as well +as we could wish." + +"But let me see them," persisted the lady. +"I'd like to look at them anyhow." + +"Well, now," said Hoyt, trying to be +soothing, as he believed it was always best +to be with women, -- to tell the truth he was +an ignoramus where women were concerned, +-- "I think it would be better if you didn't +look at them. There are reasons why --" +he ambled on like this, stupid man that he +was, till the lady naturally insisted upon see- +ing the pictures without a moment's delay. + +So poor Hoyt brought them out and placed +them in her hand, and then ran for the water +pitcher, and had to be at the bother of bath- +ing her forehead to keep her from fainting. + +For what the lady saw was this: Over face +and flowers and the head of the coffin fell a +thick veil, the edges of which touched the +floor in some places. It covered the feat- +ures so well that not a hint of them was +visible. + +"There was nothing over mother's face!" +cried the lady at length. + +"Not a thing," acquiesced Hoyt. "I +know, because I had occasion to touch her +face just before I took the picture. I put +some of her hair back from her brow." + +"What does it mean, then?" asked the +lady. + +"You know better than I. There is no ex- +planation in science. Perhaps there is some +in -- in psychology." + +"Well," said the young woman, stammer- +ing a little and coloring, "mother was a good +woman, but she always wanted her own way, +and she always had it, too." + +"Yes." + +"And she never would have her picture +taken. She didn't admire her own appear- +ance. She said no one should ever see a +picture of her." + +"So?" said Hoyt, meditatively. "Well, +she's kept her word, hasn't she?" + +The two stood looking at the photographs +for a time. Then Hoyt pointed to the open +blaze in the grate. + +"Throw them in," he commanded. "Don't +let your father see them -- don't keep them +yourself. They wouldn't be agreeable things +to keep." + +"That's true enough," admitted the lady. +And she threw them in the fire. Then Vir- +gil Hoyt brought out the plates and broke +them before her eyes. + +And that was the end of it -- except that +Hoyt sometimes tells the story to those who +sit beside him when his pipe is lighted. + + + + +A CHILD OF THE RAIN + + +IT was the night that Mona Meeks, +the dressmaker, told him she +didn't love him. He couldn't +believe it at first, because he had +so long been accustomed to the idea that she +did, and no matter how rough the weather or +how irascible the passengers, he felt a song +in his heart as he punched transfers, and rang +his bell punch, and signalled the driver when +to let people off and on. + +Now, suddenly, with no reason except a +woman's, she had changed her mind. He +dropped in to see her at five o'clock, just +before time for the night shift, and to give +her two red apples he had been saving for her. +She looked at the apples as if they were in- +visible and she could not see them, and stand- +ing in her disorderly little dressmaking parlor, +with its cuttings and scraps and litter of fab- +rics, she said: + +"It is no use, John. I shall have to work +here like this all my life -- work here alone. +For I don't love you, John. No, I don't. I +thought I did, but it is a mistake." + +"You mean it?" asked John, bringing up +the words in a great gasp. + +"Yes," she said, white and trembling and +putting out her hands as if to beg for his +mercy. And then -- big, lumbering fool -- +he turned around and strode down the stairs +and stood at the corner in the beating rain +waiting for his car. It came along at length, +spluttering on the wet rails and spitting out +blue fire, and he took his shift after a +gruff "Good night" to Johnson, the man he +relieved. + +He was glad the rain was bitter cold and +drove in his face fiercely. He rejoiced at +the cruelty of the wind, and when it hustled +pedestrians before it, lashing them, twisting +their clothes, and threatening their equilib- +rium, he felt amused. He was pleased at +the chill in his bones and at the hunger that +tortured him. At least, at first he thought it +was hunger till he remembered that he had +just eaten. The hours passed confusedly. +He had no consciousness of time. But it +must have been late, -- near midnight, -- +judging by the fact that there were few per- +sons visible anywhere in the black storm, +when he noticed a little figure sitting at the +far end of the car. He had not seen the +child when she got on, but all was so curious +and wild to him that evening -- he himself +seemed to himself the most curious and the +wildest of all things -- that it was not surpris- +ing that he should not have observed the little +creature. + +She was wrapped in a coat so much too +large that it had become frayed at the bottom +from dragging on the pavement. Her hair +hung in unkempt stringiness about her bent +shoulders, and her feet were covered with +old arctics, many sizes too big, from which +the soles hung loose. + +Beside the little figure was a chest of dark +wood, with curiously wrought hasps. From +this depended a stout strap by which it could +be carried over the shoulders. John Billings +stared in, fascinated by the poor little thing +with its head sadly drooping upon its breast, +its thin blue hands relaxed upon its lap, and +its whole attitude so suggestive of hunger, +loneliness, and fatigue, that he made up his +mind he would collect no fare from it. + +"It will need its nickel for breakfast," he +said to himself. "The company can stand +this for once. Or, come to think of it, I +might celebrate my hard luck. Here's to the +brotherhood of failures!" And he took a +nickel from one pocket of his great-coat and +dropped it in another, ringing his bell punch +to record the transfer. + +The car plunged along in the darkness, and +the rain beat more viciously than ever in his +face. The night was full of the rushing sound +of the storm. Owing to some change of tem- +perature the glass of the car became obscured +so that the young conductor could no longer +see the little figure distinctly, and he grew +anxious about the child. + +"I wonder if it's all right," he said to him- +self. "I never saw living creature sit so still." + +He opened the car door, intending to speak +with the child, but just then something went +wrong with the lights. There was a blue and +green flickering, then darkness, a sudden halt- +ing of the car, and a great sweep of wind and +rain in at the door. When, after a moment, +light and motion reasserted themselves, and +Billings had got the door together, he turned +to look at the little passenger. But the car +was empty. + +It was a fact. There was no child there -- +not even moisture on the seat where she had +been sitting. + +"Bill," said he, going to the front door and +addressing the driver, "what became of that +little kid in the old cloak?" + +"I didn't see no kid," said Bill, crossly. +"For Gawd's sake, close the door, John, and +git that draught off my back." + +"Draught!" said John, indignantly, "where's +the draught?" + +"You've left the hind door open," growled +Bill, and John saw him shivering as a blast +struck him and ruffled the fur on his bear-skin +coat. But the door was not open, and yet +John had to admit to himself that the car +seemed filled with wind and a strange +coldness. + +However, it didn't matter. Nothing mat- +tered! Still, it was as well no doubt to look +under the seats just to make sure no little +crouching figure was there, and so he did. +But there was nothing. In fact, John said to +himself, he seemed to be getting expert in +finding nothing where there ought to be some- +thing. + +He might have stayed in the car, for there +was no likelihood of more passengers that +evening, but somehow he preferred going out +where the rain could drench him and the +wind pommel him. How horribly tired he +was! If there were only some still place away +from the blare of the city where a man could +lie down and listen to the sound of the sea +or the storm -- or if one could grow suddenly +old and get through with the bother of living +-- or if -- + +The car gave a sudden lurch as it rounded +a curve, and for a moment it seemed to be +a mere chance whether Conductor Billings +would stay on his platform or go off under +those fire-spitting wheels. He caught in- +stinctively at his brake, saved himself, and +stood still for a moment, panting. + +"I must have dozed," he said to himself. + +Just then, dimly, through the blurred win- +dow, he saw again the little figure of the +child, its head on its breast as before, its +blue hands lying in its lap and the curious +box beside it. John Billings felt a coldness +beyond the coldness of the night run through +his blood. Then, with a half-stifled cry, he +threw back the door, and made a desperate +spring at the corner where the eerie thing +sat. + +And he touched the green carpeting on the +seat, which was quite dry and warm, as if no +dripping, miserable little wretch had ever +crouched there. + +He rushed to the front door. + +"Bill," he roared, "I want to know about +that kid." + +"What kid?" + +"The same kid! The wet one with the old +coat and the box with iron hasps! The one +that's been sitting here in the car!" + +Bill turned his surly face to confront the +young conductor. + +"You've been drinking, you fool," said he. +"Fust thing you know you'll be reported." + +The conductor said not a word. He went +slowly and weakly back to his post and stood +there the rest of the way leaning against the +end of the car for support. Once or twice +he muttered: + +"The poor little brat!" And again he +said, "So you didn't love me after all!" + +He never knew how he reached home, but +he sank to sleep as dying men sink to death. +All the same, being a hearty young man, he +was on duty again next day but one, and +again the night was rainy and cold. + +It was the last run, and the car was spin- +ning along at its limit, when there came a +sudden soft shock. John Billings knew what +that meant. He had felt something of the +kind once before. He turned sick for a +moment, and held on to the brake. Then +he summoned his courage and went around +to the side of the car, which had stopped. +Bill, the driver, was before him, and had a +limp little figure in his arms, and was carry- +ing it to the gaslight. John gave one look +and cried: + +"It's the same kid, Bill! The one I told +you of!" + +True as truth were the ragged coat dangling +from the pitiful body, the little blue hands, +the thin shoulders, the stringy hair, the big +arctics on the feet. And in the road not far +off was the curious chest of dark wood with +iron hasps. + +"She ran under the car deliberate!" cried +Bill. "I yelled to her, but she looked at me +and ran straight on!" + +He was white in spite of his weather-beaten +skin. + +"I guess you wasn't drunk last night after +all, John," said he. + +"You -- you are sure the kid is -- is there?" +gasped John. + +"Not so damned sure!" said Bill. + +But a few minutes later it was taken away +in a patrol wagon, and with it the little box +with iron hasps. + + + + +THE ROOM OF THE EVIL THOUGHT + + +THEY called it the room of the Evil +Thought. It was really the pleas- +antest room in the house, and +when the place had been used as +the rectory, was the minister's study. It +looked out on a mournful clump of larches, +such as may often be seen in the old-fash- +ioned yards in Michigan, and these threw a +tender gloom over the apartment. + +There was a wide fireplace in the room, +and it had been the young minister's habit +to sit there hours and hours, staring ahead of +him at the fire, and smoking moodily. The +replenishing of the fire and of his pipe, it +was said, would afford him occupation all +the day long, and that was how it came about +that his parochial duties were neglected so +that, little by little, the people became dis- +satisfied with him, though he was an eloquent +young man, who could send his congregation +away drunk on his influence. However, the +calmer pulsed among his parish began to +whisper that it was indeed the influence of +the young minister and not that of the Holy +Ghost which they felt, and it was finally +decided that neither animal magnetism nor +hypnotism were good substitutes for religion. +And so they let him go. + +The new rector moved into a smart brick +house on the other side of the church, and +gave receptions and dinner parties, and was +punctilious about making his calls. The +people therefore liked him very much -- so +much that they raised the debt on the church +and bought a chime of bells, in their enthu- +siasm. Every one was lighter of heart than +under the ministration of the previous rector. +A burden appeared to be lifted from the com- +munity. True, there were a few who con- +fessed the new man did not give them the +food for thought which the old one had done, +but, then, the former rector had made them +uncomfortable! He had not only made them +conscious of the sins of which they were +already guilty, but also of those for which +they had the latent capacity. A strange and +fatal man, whom women loved to their sor- +row, and whom simple men could not under- +stand! It was generally agreed that the parish +was well rid of him. + +"He was a genius," said the people in +commiseration. The word was an uncom- +plimentary epithet with them. + +When the Hanscoms moved in the house +which had been the old rectory, they gave +Grandma Hanscom the room with the fire- +place. Grandma was well pleased. The +roaring fire warmed her heart as well as her +chill old body, and she wept with weak joy +when she looked at the larches, because they +reminded her of the house she had lived in +when she was first married. All the forenoon +of the first day she was busy putting things +away in bureau drawers and closets, but by +afternoon she was ready to sit down in her +high-backed rocker and enjoy the comforts of +her room. + +She nodded a bit before the fire, as she +usually did after luncheon, and then she +awoke with an awful start and sat staring +before her with such a look in her gentle, +filmy old eyes as had never been there before. +She did not move, except to rock slightly, +and the Thought grew and grew till her face +was disguised as by some hideous mask of +tragedy. + +By and by the children came pounding at +the door. + +"Oh, grandma, let us in, please. We +want to see your new room, and mamma +gave us some ginger cookies on a plate, and +we want to give some to you." + +The door gave way under their assaults, and +the three little ones stood peeping in, wait- +ing for permission to enter. But it did not +seem to be their grandma -- their own dear +grandma -- who arose and tottered toward +them in fierce haste, crying: + +"Away, away! Out of my sight! Out of +my sight before I do the thing I want to do! +Such a terrible thing! Send some one to me +quick, children, children! Send some one +quick!" + +They fled with feet shod with fear, and +their mother came, and Grandma Hanscom +sank down and clung about her skirts and +sobbed: + +"Tie me, Miranda. Make me fast to the +bed or the wall. Get some one to watch me. +For I want to do an awful thing!" + +They put the trembling old creature in bed, +and she raved there all the night long and +cried out to be held, and to be kept from +doing the fearful thing, whatever it was -- for +she never said what it was. + +The next morning some one suggested tak- +ing her in the sitting-room where she would +be with the family. So they laid her on the +sofa, hemmed around with cushions, and +before long she was her quiet self again, +though exhausted, naturally, with the tumult +of the previous night. Now and then, as the +children played about her, a shadow crept +over her face -- a shadow as of cold remem- +brance -- and then the perplexed tears +followed. + +When she seemed as well as ever they put +her back in her room. But though the fire +glowed and the lamp burned, as soon as ever +she was alone they heard her shrill cries ring- +ing to them that the Evil Thought had come +again. So Hal, who was home from col- +lege, carried her up to his room, which +she seemed to like very well. Then he went +down to have a smoke before grandma's +fire. + +The next morning he was absent from break- +fast. They thought he might have gone for +an early walk, and waited for him a few min- +utes. Then his sister went to the room that +looked upon the larches, and found him +dressed and pacing the floor with a face set +and stern. He had not been in bed at all, +as she saw at once. His eyes were bloodshot, +his face stricken as if with old age or sin or +-- but she could not make it out. When he +saw her he sank in a chair and covered his +face with his hands, and between the trembling +fingers she could see drops of perspiration on +his forehead. + +"Hal!" she cried, "Hal, what is it?" + +But for answer he threw his arms about the +little table and clung to it, and looked at her +with tortured eyes, in which she fancied she +saw a gleam of hate. She ran, screaming, +from the room, and her father came and went +up to him and laid his hands on the boy's +shoulders. And then a fearful thing hap- +pened. All the family saw it. There could +be no mistake. Hal's hands found their way +with frantic eagerness toward his father's +throat as if they would choke him, and the +look in his eyes was so like a madman's that +his father raised his fist and felled him as he +used to fell men years before in the college +fights, and then dragged him into the sitting- +room and wept over him. + +By evening, however, Hal was all right, and +the family said it must have been a fever, -- +perhaps from overstudy, -- at which Hal cov- +ertly smiled. But his father was still too +anxious about him to let him out of his sight, +so he put him on a cot in his room, and thus +it chanced that the mother and Grace con- +cluded to sleep together downstairs. + +The two women made a sort of festival of +it, and drank little cups of chocolate before +the fire, and undid and brushed their brown +braids, and smiled at each other, understand- +ingly, with that sweet intuitive sympathy +which women have, and Grace told her +mother a number of things which she had +been waiting for just such an auspicious oc- +casion to confide. + +But the larches were noisy and cried out +with wild voices, and the flame of the fire +grew blue and swirled about in the draught +sinuously, so that a chill crept upon the two. +Something cold appeared to envelop them -- +such a chill as pleasure voyagers feel when +a berg steals beyond Newfoundland and +glows blue and threatening upon their ocean +path. + +Then came something else which was not +cold, but hot as the flames of hell -- and they +saw red, and stared at each other with mad- +dened eyes, and then ran together from the +room and clasped in close embrace safe +beyond the fatal place, and thanked God +they had not done the thing that they dared +not speak of -- the thing which suddenly came +to them to do. + +So they called it the room of the Evil +Thought. They could not account for it. +They avoided the thought of it, being healthy +and happy folk. But none entered it more. +The door was locked. + +One day, Hal, reading the paper, came +across a paragraph concerning the young min- +ister who had once lived there, and who had +thought and written there and so influenced +the lives of those about him that they remem- +bered him even while they disapproved. + +"He cut a man's throat on board ship for +Australia," said he, "and then he cut his own, +without fatal effect -- and jumped overboard, +and so ended it. What a strange thing!" + +Then they all looked at one another with +subtle looks, and a shadow fell upon them +and stayed the blood at their hearts. + +The next week the room of the Evil Thought +was pulled down to make way for a pansy bed, +which is quite gay and innocent, and blooms +all the better because the larches, with their +eternal murmuring, have been laid low and +carted away to the sawmill. + + + + +STORY OF THE VANISHING PATIENT + + +THERE had always been strange +stories about the house, but it +was a sensible, comfortable sort +of a neighborhood, and people +took pains to say to one another that there +was nothing in these tales -- of course not! +Absolutely nothing! How could there be? +It was a matter of common remark, however, +that considering the amount of money the +Nethertons had spent on the place, it was +curious they lived there so little. They were +nearly always away, -- up North in the sum- +mer and down South in the winter, and over +to Paris or London now and then, -- and when +they did come home it was only to entertain +a number of guests from the city. The place +was either plunged in gloom or gayety. The +old gardener who kept house by himself in +the cottage at the back of the yard had things +much his own way by far the greater part of +the time. + +Dr. Block and his wife lived next door to +the Nethertons, and he and his wife, who +were so absurd as to be very happy in each +other's company, had the benefit of the beau- +tiful yard. They walked there mornings when +the leaves were silvered with dew, and even- +ings they sat beside the lily pond and listened +for the whip-poor-will. The doctor's wife +moved her room over to that side of the +house which commanded a view of the yard, +and thus made the honeysuckles and laurel +and clematis and all the masses of tossing +greenery her own. Sitting there day after +day with her sewing, she speculated about the +mystery which hung impalpably yet undeniably +over the house. + +It happened one night when she and her +husband had gone to their room, and were +congratulating themselves on the fact that he +had no very sick patients and was likely to +enjoy a good night's rest, that a ring came at +the door. + +"If it's any one wanting you to leave +home," warned his wife, "you must tell them +you are all worn out. You've been disturbed +every night this week, and it's too much!" + +The young physician went downstairs. At +the door stood a man whom he had never +seen before. + +"My wife is lying very ill next door," said +the stranger, "so ill that I fear she will not +live till morning. Will you please come to +her at once?" + +"Next door?" cried the physician. "I +didn't know the Nethertons were home!" + +"Please hasten," begged the man. "I must +go back to her. Follow as quickly as you +can." + +The doctor went back upstairs to complete +his toilet. + +"How absurd," protested his wife when she +heard the story. "There is no one at the +Nethertons'. I sit where I can see the front +door, and no one can enter without my know- +ing it, and I have been sewing by the window +all day. If there were any one in the house, +the gardener would have the porch lantern +lighted. It is some plot. Some one has +designs on you. You must not go." + +But he went. As he left the room his wife +placed a revolver in his pocket. + +The great porch of the mansion was dark, +but the physician made out that the door was +open, and he entered. A feeble light came +from the bronze lamp at the turn of the stairs, +and by it he found his way, his feet sinking +noiselessly in the rich carpets. At the head +of the stairs the man met him. The doctor +thought himself a tall man, but the stranger +topped him by half a head. He motioned +the physician to follow him, and the two went +down the hall to the front room. The place +was flushed with a rose-colored glow from +several lamps. On a silken couch, in the +midst of pillows, lay a woman dying with +consumption. She was like a lily, white, +shapely, graceful, with feeble yet charming +movements. She looked at the doctor ap- +pealingly, then, seeing in his eyes the in- +voluntary verdict that her hour was at hand, +she turned toward her companion with a +glance of anguish. Dr. Block asked a few +questions. The man answered them, the +woman remaining silent. The physician ad- +ministered something stimulating, and then +wrote a prescription which he placed on the +mantel-shelf. + +"The drug store is closed to-night," he +said, "and I fear the druggist has gone home. +You can have the prescription filled the first +thing in the morning, and I will be over +before breakfast." + +After that, there was no reason why he +should not have gone home. Yet, oddly +enough, he preferred to stay. Nor was it +professional anxiety that prompted this delay. +He longed to watch those mysterious per- +sons, who, almost oblivious of his presence, +were speaking their mortal farewells in their +glances, which were impassioned and of un- +utterable sadness. + +He sat as if fascinated. He watched the +glitter of rings on the woman's long, white +hands, he noted the waving of light hair +about her temples, he observed the details of +her gown of soft white silk which fell about +her in voluminous folds. Now and then the +man gave her of the stimulant which the doc- +tor had provided; sometimes he bathed her +face with water. Once he paced the floor +for a moment till a motion of her hand +quieted him. + +After a time, feeling that it would be more +sensible and considerate of him to leave, the +doctor made his way home. His wife was +awake, impatient to hear of his experiences. +She listened to his tale in silence, and when +he had finished she turned her face to the +wall and made no comment. + +"You seem to be ill, my dear," he said. +"You have a chill. You are shivering." + +"I have no chill," she replied sharply. +"But I -- well, you may leave the light +burning." + +The next morning before breakfast the doc- +tor crossed the dewy sward to the Netherton +house. The front door was locked, and no +one answered to his repeated ringings. The +old gardener chanced to be cutting the grass +near at hand, and he came running up. + +"What you ringin' that door-bell for, doc- +tor?" said he. "The folks ain't come home +yet. There ain't nobody there." + +"Yes, there is, Jim. I was called here last +night. A man came for me to attend his +wife. They must both have fallen asleep that +the bell is not answered. I wouldn't be sur- +prised to find her dead, as a matter of fact. +She was a desperately sick woman. Perhaps +she is dead and something has happened to +him. You have the key to the door, Jim. +Let me in." + +But the old man was shaking in every limb, +and refused to do as he was bid. + +"Don't you never go in there, doctor," +whispered he, with chattering teeth. "Don't +you go for to 'tend no one. You jus' come +tell me when you sent for that way. No, I +ain't goin' in, doctor, nohow. It ain't part +of my duties to go in. That's been stipulated +by Mr. Netherton. It's my business to look +after the garden." + +Argument was useless. Dr. Block took the +bunch of keys from the old man's pocket and +himself unlocked the front door and entered. +He mounted the steps and made his way to +the upper room. There was no evidence of +occupancy. The place was silent, and, so far +as living creature went, vacant. The dust lay +over everything. It covered the delicate +damask of the sofa where he had seen the +dying woman. It rested on the pillows. The +place smelled musty and evil, as if it had not +been used for a long time. The lamps of the +room held not a drop of oil. + +But on the mantel-shelf was the prescrip- +tion which the doctor had written the night +before. He read it, folded it, and put it in +his pocket. + +As he locked the outside door the old gar- +dener came running to him. + +"Don't you never go up there again, will +you?" he pleaded, "not unless you see all the +Nethertons home and I come for you myself. +You won't, doctor?" + +"No," said the doctor. + +When he told his wife she kissed him, and +said: + +"Next time when I tell you to stay at home, +you must stay!" + + + + +THE PIANO NEXT DOOR + + +BABETTE had gone away for the +summer; the furniture was in its +summer linens; the curtains were +down, and Babette's husband, John +Boyce, was alone in the house. It was the +first year of his marriage, and he missed +Babette. But then, as he often said to him- +self, he ought never to have married her. He +did it from pure selfishness, and because he +was determined to possess the most illusive, +tantalizing, elegant, and utterly unmoral little +creature that the sun shone upon. He wanted +her because she reminded him of birds, and +flowers, and summer winds, and other exqui- +site things created for the delectation of +mankind. He neither expected nor desired +her to think. He had half-frightened her into +marrying him, had taken her to a poor man's +home, provided her with no society such as +she had been accustomed to, and he had no +reasonable cause of complaint when she +answered the call of summer and flitted away, +like a butterfly in the morning sunshine, to +the place where the flowers grew. + +He wrote to her every evening, sitting in +the stifling, ugly house, and poured out his +soul as if it were a libation to a goddess. +She sometimes answered by telegraph, some- +times by a perfumed note. He schooled him- +self not to feel hurt. Why should Babette +write? Does a goldfinch indict epistles; or +a humming-bird study composition; or a +glancing, red-scaled fish in summer shallows +consider the meaning of words? + +He knew at the beginning what Babette was +-- guessed her limitations -- trembled when +he buttoned her tiny glove -- kissed her dainty +slipper when he found it in the closet after +she was gone -- thrilled at the sound of her +laugh, or the memory of it! That was all. +A mere case of love. He was in bonds. +Babette was not. Therefore he was in the +city, working overhours to pay for Babette's +pretty follies down at the seaside. It was +quite right and proper. He was a grub in +the furrow; she a lark in the blue. Those +had always been and always must be their +relative positions. + +Having attained a mood of philosophic +calm, in which he was prepared to spend his +evenings alone -- as became a grub -- and to +await with dignified patience the return of +his wife, it was in the nature of an inconsist- +ency that he should have walked the floor of +the dull little drawing-room like a lion in +cage. It did not seem in keeping with the +position of superior serenity which he had +assumed, that, reading Babette's notes, he +should have raged with jealousy, or that, in +the loneliness of his unkempt chamber, he +should have stretched out arms of longing. +Even if Babette had been present, she would +only have smiled her gay little smile and co- +quetted with him. She could not understand. +He had known, of course, from the first mo- +ment, that she could not understand! And +so, why the ache, ache, ache of the heart! +Or WAS it the heart, or the brain, or the +soul? + +Sometimes, when the evenings were so hot +that he could not endure the close air of the +house, he sat on the narrow, dusty front porch +and looked about him at his neighbors. The +street had once been smart and aspiring, but +it had fallen into decay and dejection. Pale +young men, with flurried-looking wives, seemed +to Boyce to occupy most of the houses. Some- +times three or four couples would live in one +house. Most of these appeared to be child- +less. The women made a pretence at fashion- +able dressing, and wore their hair elaborately +in fashions which somehow suggested board- +ing-houses to Boyce, though he could not +have told why. Every house in the block +needed fresh paint. Lacking this renovation, +the householders tried to make up for it by +a display of lace curtains which, at every +window, swayed in the smoke-weighted breeze. +Strips of carpeting were laid down the front +steps of the houses where the communities of +young couples lived, and here, evenings, the +inmates of the houses gathered, committing +mild extravagances such as the treating of each +other to ginger ale, or beer, or ice-cream. + +Boyce watched these tawdry makeshifts at +sociability with bitterness and loathing. He +wondered how he could have been such a +fool as to bring his exquisite Babette to this +neighborhood. How could he expect that +she would return to him? It was not reason- +able. He ought to go down on his knees +with gratitude that she even condescended to +write him. + +Sitting one night till late, -- so late that the +fashionable young wives with their husbands +had retired from the strips of stair carpeting, +-- and raging at the loneliness which ate at +his heart like a cancer, he heard, softly creep- +ing through the windows of the house adjoin- +ing his own, the sound of comfortable mel- +ody. + +It breathed upon his ear like a spirit of +consolation, speaking of peace, of love which +needs no reward save its own sweetness, of +aspiration which looks forever beyond the +thing of the hour to find attainment in that +which is eternal. So insidiously did it whis- +per these things, so delicately did the simple +and perfect melodies creep upon the spirit -- +that Boyce felt no resentment, but from the +first listened as one who listens to learn, or +as one who, fainting on the hot road, hears, far +in the ferny deeps below, the gurgle of a spring. + +Then came harmonies more intricate: fair +fabrics of woven sound, in the midst of which +gleamed golden threads of joy; a tapestry of +sound, multi-tinted, gallant with story and +achievement, and beautiful things. Boyce, +sitting on his absurd piazza, with his knees +jambed against the balustrade, and his chair +back against the dun-colored wall of his +house, seemed to be walking in the cathedral +of the redwood forest, with blue above him, +a vast hymn in his ears, pungent perfume in +his nostrils, and mighty shafts of trees lifting +themselves to heaven, proud and erect as pure +men before their Judge. He stood on a +mountain at sunrise, and saw the marvels of +the amethystine clouds below his feet, heard +an eternal and white silence, such as broods +among the everlasting snows, and saw an eagle +winging for the sun. He was in a city, and +away from him, diverging like the spokes of +a wheel, ran thronging streets, and to his sense +came the beat, beat, beat of the city's heart. +He saw the golden alchemy of a chosen race; +saw greed transmitted to progress; saw that +which had enslaved men, work at last to their +liberation; heard the roar of mighty mills, +and on the streets all the peoples of earth +walking with common purpose, in fealty and +understanding. And then, from the swelling +of this concourse of great sounds, came a +diminuendo, calm as philosophy, and from +that, nothingness. + +Boyce sat still for a long time, listening to +the echoes which this music had awakened +in his soul. He retired, at length, content, +but determined that upon the morrow he +would watch -- the day being Sunday -- for +the musician who had so moved and taught +him. + +He arose early, therefore, and having pre- +pared his own simple breakfast of fruit and +coffee, took his station by the window to +watch for the man. For he felt convinced +that the exposition he had heard was that of +a masculine mind. The long, hot hours of +the morning went by, but the front door +of the house next to his did not open. + +"These artists sleep late," he complained. +Still he watched. He was too much afraid +of losing him to go out for dinner. By three +in the afternoon he had grown impatient. He +went to the house next door and rang the +bell. There was no response. He thun- +dered another appeal. An old woman with +a cloth about her head answered the door. +She was very deaf, and Boyce had difficulty +in making himself understood. + +"The family is in the country," was all she +would say. "The family will not be home +till September." + +"But there is some one living here?" +shouted Boyce. + +"_I_ live here," she said with dignity, put- +ting back a wisp of dirty gray hair behind +her ear. "It is my house. I sublet to the +family." + +"What family?" + +But the old creature was not communica- +tive. + +"The family that lives here," she said. + +"Then who plays the piano in this house?" +roared Boyce. "Do you?" + +He thought a shade of pallor showed itself +on her ash-colored cheeks. Yet she smiled a +little at the idea of her playing. + +"There is no piano," she said, and she put +an enigmatical emphasis to the words. + +"Nonsense," cried Boyce, indignantly. "I +heard a piano being played in this very house +for hours last night!" + +"You may enter," said the old woman, +with an accent more vicious than hospitable. + +Boyce almost burst into the drawing-room. +It was a dusty and forbidding place, with ugly +furniture and gaudy walls. No piano nor any +other musical instrument stood in it. The +intruder turned an angry and baffled face to +the old woman, who was smiling with ill- +concealed exultation. + +"I shall see the other rooms," he an- +nounced. The old woman did not appear to +be surprised at his impertinence. + +"As you please," she said. + +So, with the hobbling creature, with her +bandaged head, for a guide, he explored every +room of the house, which being identical with +his own, he could do without fear of leaving +any apartment unentered. But no piano did +he find! + +"Explain," roared Boyce at length, turning +upon the leering old hag beside him. "Ex- +plain! For surely I heard music more beau- +tiful than I can tell." + +"I know nothing," she said. "But it is +true I once had a lodger who rented the +front room, and that he played upon the +piano. I am poor at hearing, but he must +have played well, for all the neighbors used +to come in front of the house to listen, and +sometimes they applauded him, and some- +times they were still. I could tell by +watching their hands. Sometimes little chil- +dren came and danced. Other times young +men and women came and listened. But the +young man died. The neighbors were angry. +They came to look at him and said he had +starved to death. It was no fault of mine. +I sold his piano to pay his funeral ex- +penses -- and it took every cent to pay for +them too, I'd have you know. But since +then, sometimes -- still, it must be non- +sense, for I never heard it -- folks say that he +plays the piano in my room. It has kept me +out of the letting of it more than once. But +the family doesn't seem to mind -- the family +that lives here, you know. They will be back +in September. Yes." + +Boyce left her nodding her thanks at what +he had placed in her hand, and went home to +write it all to Babette -- Babette who would +laugh so merrily when she read it! + + + + +AN ASTRAL ONION + + +WHEN Tig Braddock came to Nora +Finnegan he was red-headed and +freckled, and, truth to tell, he re- +mained with these features to the +end of his life -- a life prolonged by a lucky, +if somewhat improbable, incident, as you shall +hear. + +Tig had shuffled off his parents as saurians, +of some sorts, do their skins. During the +temporary absence from home of his mother, +who was at the bridewell, and the more ex- +tended vacation of his father, who, like Vil- +lon, loved the open road and the life of it, +Tig, who was not a well-domesticated animal, +wandered away. The humane society never +heard of him, the neighbors did not miss +him, and the law took no cognizance of this +detached citizen -- this lost pleiad. Tig +would have sunk into that melancholy which +is attendant upon hunger, -- the only form of +despair which babyhood knows, -- if he had +not wandered across the path of Nora Finne- +gan. Now Nora shone with steady brightness +in her orbit, and no sooner had Tig entered +her atmosphere, than he was warmed and com- +forted. Hunger could not live where Nora +was. The basement room where she kept +house was redolent with savory smells; and +in the stove in her front room -- which was +also her bedroom -- there was a bright fire +glowing when fire was needed. + +Nora went out washing for a living. But +she was not a poor washerwoman. Not at all. +She was a washerwoman triumphant. She +had perfect health, an enormous frame, an +abounding enthusiasm for life, and a rich +abundance of professional pride. She be- +lieved herself to be the best washer of white +clothes she had ever had the pleasure of +knowing, and the value placed upon her ser- +vices, and her long connection with certain +families with large weekly washings, bore out +this estimate of herself -- an estimate which +she never endeavored to conceal. + +Nora had buried two husbands without being +unduly depressed by the fact. The first hus- +band had been a disappointment, and Nora +winked at Providence when an accident in a +tunnel carried him off -- that is to say, carried +the husband off. The second husband was +not so much of a disappointment as a sur- +prise. He developed ability of a literary +order, and wrote songs which sold and made +him a small fortune. Then he ran away with +another woman. The woman spent his fort- +une, drove him to dissipation, and when he +was dying he came back to Nora, who re- +ceived him cordially, attended him to the +end, and cheered his last hours by singing +his own songs to him. Then she raised a +headstone recounting his virtues, which were +quite numerous, and refraining from any +reference to those peculiarities which had +caused him to be such a surprise. + +Only one actual chagrin had ever nibbled +at the sound heart of Nora Finnegan -- a +cruel chagrin, with long, white teeth, such +as rodents have! She had never held a child +to her breast, nor laughed in its eyes; never +bathed the pink form of a little son or +daughter; never felt a tugging of tiny hands +at her voluminous calico skirts! Nora had +burnt many candles before the statue of the +blessed Virgin without remedying this deplor- +able condition. She had sent up unavailing +prayers -- she had, at times, wept hot tears of +longing and loneliness. Sometimes in her +sleep she dreamed that a wee form, warm and +exquisitely soft, was pressed against her firm +body, and that a hand with tiniest pink nails +crept within her bosom. But as she reached +out to snatch this delicious little creature +closer, she woke to realize a barren woman's +grief, and turned herself in anguish on her +lonely pillow. + +So when Tig came along, accompanied by +two curs, who had faithfully followed him +from his home, and when she learned the +details of his story, she took him in, curs +and all, and, having bathed the three of +them, made them part and parcel of her +home. This was after the demise of the +second husband, and at a time when Nora +felt that she had done all a woman could be +expected to do for Hymen. + +Tig was a preposterous baby. The curs +were preposterous curs. Nora had always +been afflicted with a surplus amount of +laughter -- laughter which had difficulty in +attaching itself to anything, owing to the +lack of the really comic in the surroundings +of the poor. But with a red-headed and +freckled baby boy and two trick dogs in the +house, she found a good and sufficient excuse +for her hilarity, and would have torn the +cave where echo lies with her mirth, had that +cave not been at such an immeasurable dis- +tance from the crowded neighborhood where +she lived. + +At the age of four Tig went to free kinder- +garten; at the age of six he was in school, +and made three grades the first year and two +the next. At fifteen he was graduated from +the high school and went to work as errand +boy in a newspaper office, with the fixed de- +termination to make a journalist of himself. + +Nora was a trifle worried about his morals +when she discovered his intellect, but as time +went on, and Tig showed no devotion for any +woman save herself, and no consciousness +that there were such things as bad boys or +saloons in the world, she began to have con- +fidence. All of his earnings were brought to +her. Every holiday was spent with her. He +told her his secrets and his aspirations. He +admitted that he expected to become a great +man, and, though he had not quite decided +upon the nature of his career, -- saving, of +course, the makeshift of journalism, -- it +was not unlikely that he would elect to be a +novelist like -- well, probably like Thackeray. + +Hope, always a charming creature, put on +her most alluring smiles for Tig, and he +made her his mistress, and feasted on the +light of her eyes. Moreover, he was chap- +eroned, so to speak, by Nora Finnegan, who +listened to every line Tig wrote, and made a +mighty applause, and filled him up with good +Irish stew, many colored as the coat of Joseph, +and pungent with the inimitable perfume of +"the rose of the cellar." Nora Finnegan +understood the onion, and used it lovingly. +She perceived the difference between the use +and abuse of this pleasant and obvious friend +of hungry man, and employed it with enthu- +siasm, but discretion. Thus it came about +that whoever ate of her dinners, found the +meals of other cooks strangely lacking in +savor, and remembered with regret the soups +and stews, the broiled steaks, and stuffed +chickens of the woman who appreciated the +onion. + +When Nora Finnegan came home with a +cold one day, she took it in such a jocular +fashion that Tig felt not the least concern +about her, and when, two days later, she died +of pneumonia, he almost thought, at first, +that it must be one of her jokes. She had +departed with decision, such as had charac- +terized every act of her life, and had made as +little trouble for others as possible. When +she was dead the community had the oppor- +tunity of discovering the number of her +friends. Miserable children with faces +which revealed two generations of hunger, +homeless boys with vicious countenances, +miserable wrecks of humanity, women with +bloated faces, came to weep over Nora's bier, +and to lay a flower there, and to scuttle away, +more abjectly lonely than even sin could make +them. If the cats and the dogs, the sparrows +and horses to which she had shown kindness, +could also have attended her funeral, the +procession would have been, from a point of +numbers, one of the most imposing the city +had ever known. Tig used up all their sav- +ings to bury her, and the next week, by some +peculiar fatality, he had a falling out with the +night editor of his paper, and was discharged. +This sank deep into his sensitive soul, and +he swore he would be an underling no longer +-- which foolish resolution was directly trace- +able to his hair, the color of which, it will be +recollected, was red. + +Not being an underling, he was obliged to +make himself into something else, and he +recurred passionately to his old idea of be- +coming a novelist. He settled down in +Nora's basement rooms, went to work on a +battered type-writer, did his own cooking, +and occasionally pawned something to keep +him in food. The environment was calcu- +lated to further impress him with the idea of +his genius. + +A certain magazine offered an alluring prize +for a short story, and Tig wrote one, and +rewrote it, making alterations, revisions, an- +notations, and interlineations which would +have reflected credit upon Honoré Balzac +himself. Then he wrought all together, with +splendid brevity and dramatic force, -- Tig's +own words, -- and mailed the same. He was +convinced he would get the prize. He was +just as much convinced of it as Nora Finne- +gan would have been if she had been with +him. + +So he went about doing more fiction, tak- +ing no especial care of himself, and wrapt in +rosy dreams, which, not being warm enough +for the weather, permitted him to come down +with rheumatic fever. + +He lay alone in his room and suffered such +torments as the condemned and rheumatic +know, depending on one of Nora's former +friends to come in twice a day and keep up +the fire for him. This friend was aged ten, +and looked like a sparrow who had been in +a cyclone, but somewhere inside his bones +was a wit which had spelled out devotion. +He found fuel for the cracked stove, some- +how or other. He brought it in a dirty sack +which he carried on his back, and he kept +warmth in Tig's miserable body. Moreover, +he found food of a sort -- cold, horrible bits +often, and Tig wept when he saw them, +remembering the meals Nora had served +him. + +Tig was getting better, though he was con- +scious of a weak heart and a lamenting +stomach, when, to his amazement, the Spar- +row ceased to visit him. Not for a moment +did Tig suspect desertion. He knew that +only something in the nature of an act of +Providence, as the insurance companies would +designate it, could keep the little bundle of +bones away from him. As the days went by, +he became convinced of it, for no Sparrow +came, and no coal lay upon the hearth. The +basement window fortunately looked toward +the south, and the pale April sunshine was +beginning to make itself felt, so that the tem- +perature of the room was not unbearable. But +Tig languished; sank, sank, day by day, and +was kept alive only by the conviction that the +letter announcing the award of the thousand- +dollar prize would presently come to him. +One night he reached a place, where, for +hunger and dejection, his mind wandered, +and he seemed to be complaining all night +to Nora of his woes. When the chill dawn +came, with chittering of little birds on the +dirty pavement, and an agitation of the +scrawny willow "pussies," he was not able +to lift his hand to his head. The window +before his sight was but "a glimmering +square." He said to himself that the end +must be at hand. Yet it was cruel, cruel, +with fame and fortune so near! If only he +had some food, he might summon strength to +rally -- just for a little while! Impossible that +he should die! And yet without food there +was no choice. + +Dreaming so of Nora's dinners, thinking +how one spoonful of a stew such as she often +compounded would now be his salvation, he +became conscious of the presence of a strong +perfume in the room. It was so familiar that +it seemed like a sub-consciousness, yet he +found no name for this friendly odor for a +bewildered minute or two. Little by little, +however, it grew upon him, that it was the +onion -- that fragrant and kindly bulb which +had attained its apotheosis in the cuisine of +Nora Finnegan of sacred memory. He opened +his languid eyes, to see if, mayhap, the plant +had not attained some more palpable mate- +rialization. + +Behold, it was so! Before him, in a brown +earthen dish, -- a most familiar dish, -- was an +onion, pearly white, in placid seas of gravy, +smoking and delectable. With unexpected +strength he raised himself, and reached for +the dish, which floated before him in a halo +made by its own steam. It moved toward +him, offered a spoon to his hand, and as he +ate he heard about the room the rustle of +Nora Finnegan's starched skirts, and now and +then a faint, faint echo of her old-time laugh +-- such an echo as one may find of the sea in +the heart of a shell. + +The noble bulb disappeared little by little +before his voracity, and in contentment +greater than virtue can give, he sank back +upon his pillow and slept. + +Two hours later the postman knocked at the +door, and receiving no answer, forced his +way in. Tig, half awake, saw him enter with +no surprise. He felt no surprise when he put +a letter in his hand bearing the name of the +magazine to which he had sent his short story. +He was not even surprised, when, tearing it +open with suddenly alert hands, he found +within the check for the first prize -- the +check he had expected. + +All that day, as the April sunlight spread +itself upon his floor, he felt his strength grow. +Late in the afternoon the Sparrow came back, +paler, and more bony than ever, and sank, +breathing hard, upon the floor, with his sack +of coal. + +"I've been sick," he said, trying to smile. +"Terrible sick, but I come as soon as I could." + +"Build up the fire," cried Tig, in a voice +so strong it made the Sparrow start as if a +stone had struck him. "Build up the fire, +and forget you are sick. For, by the shade of +Nora Finnegan, you shall be hungry no more!" + + + + + +FROM THE LOOM OF THE DEAD + + +WHEN Urda Bjarnason tells a tale all +the men stop their talking to lis- +ten, for they know her to be wise +with the wisdom of the old people, +and that she has more learning than can be +got even from the great schools at Reykjavik. +She is especially prized by them here in this +new country where the Icelandmen are settled +-- this America, so new in letters, where the +people speak foolishly and write unthinking +books. So the men who know that it is given +to the mothers of earth to be very wise, stop +their six part singing, or their jangles about +the free-thinkers, and give attentive ear when +Urda Bjarnason lights her pipe and begins her +tale. + +She is very old. Her daughters and sons +are all dead, but her granddaughter, who is +most respectable, and the cousin of a phy- +sician, says that Urda is twenty-four and a +hundred, and there are others who say that +she is older still. She watches all that the +Iceland people do in the new land; she knows +about the building of the five villages on the +North Dakota plain, and of the founding of +the churches and the schools, and the tilling +of the wheat farms. She notes with sus- +picion the actions of the women who bring +home webs of cloth from the store, instead of +spinning them as their mothers did before +them; and she shakes her head at the wives +who run to the village grocery store every +fortnight, imitating the wasteful American +women, who throw butter in the fire faster +than it can be turned from the churn. + +She watches yet other things. All winter +long the white snows reach across the gently +rolling plains as far as the eye can behold. +In the morning she sees them tinted pink at +the east; at noon she notes golden lights +flashing across them; when the sky is gray -- +which is not often -- she notes that they grow +as ashen as a face with the death shadow on it. +Sometimes they glitter with silver-like tips of +ocean waves. But at these things she looks +only casually. It is when the blue shadows +dance on the snow that she leaves her corner +behind the iron stove, and stands before the +window, resting her two hands on the stout +bar of her cane, and gazing out across the +waste with eyes which age has restored after +four decades of decrepitude. + +The young Icelandmen say: + +"Mother, it is the clouds hurrying across +the sky that make the dance of the shadows." + +"There are no clouds," she replies, and +points to the jewel-like blue of the arching +sky. + +"It is the drifting air," explains Fridrik +Halldersson, he who has been in the North- +ern seas. "As the wind buffets the air, it +looks blue against the white of the snow. +'Tis the air that makes the dancing shadows." + +But Urda shakes her head, and points with +her dried finger, and those who stand beside +her see figures moving, and airy shapes, and +contortions of strange things, such as are seen +in a beryl stone. + +"But Urda Bjarnason," says Ingeborg Chris- +tianson, the pert young wife with the blue- +eyed twins, "why is it we see these things +only when we stand beside you and you help +us to the sight?" + +"Because," says the mother, with a steel- +blue flash of her old eyes, "having eyes ye +will not see!" Then the men laugh. They +like to hear Ingeborg worsted. For did she +not jilt two men from Gardar, and one from +Mountain, and another from Winnipeg? + +Not even Ingeborg can deny that Mother +Urda tells true things. + +"To-day," says Urda, standing by the little +window and watching the dance of the shadows, +"a child breathed thrice on a farm at the +West, and then it died." + +The next week at the church gathering, +when all the sledges stopped at the house of +Urda's granddaughter, they said it was so -- +that John Christianson's wife Margaret never +heard the voice of her son, but that he +breathed thrice in his nurse's arms and died. + +"Three sledges run over the snow toward +Milton," says Urda; "all are laden with wheat, +and in one is a stranger. He has with him +a strange engine, but its purpose I do not +know." + +Six hours later the drivers of three empty +sledges stop at the house. + +"We have been to Milton with wheat," they +say, "and Christian Johnson here, carried a +photographer from St. Paul." + +Now it stands to reason that the farmers +like to amuse themselves through the silent +and white winters. And they prefer above all +things to talk or to listen, as has been the +fashion of their race for a thousand years. +Among all the story-tellers there is none like +Urda, for she is the daughter and the grand- +daughter and the great-granddaughter of story- +tellers. It is given to her to talk, as it is +given to John Thorlaksson to sing -- he who +sings so as his sledge flies over the snow at +night, that the people come out in the bitter +air from their doors to listen, and the dogs +put up their noses and howl, not liking music. + +In the little cabin of Peter Christianson, the +husband of Urda's granddaughter, it some- +times happens that twenty men will gather +about the stove. They hang their bear-skin +coats on the wall, put their fur gauntlets +underneath the stove, where they will keep +warm, and then stretch their stout, felt-covered +legs to the wood fire. The room is fetid; +the coffee steams eternally on the stove; and +from her chair in the warmest corner Urda +speaks out to the listening men, who shake +their heads with joy as they hear the pure old +Icelandic flow in sweet rhythm from between +her lips. Among the many, many tales she +tells is that of the dead weaver, and she tells +it in the simplest language in all the world -- +language so simple that even great scholars +could find no simpler, and the children +crawling on the floor can understand. + +"Jon and Loa lived with their father and +mother far to the north of the Island of Fire, +and when the children looked from their win- +dows they saw only wild scaurs and jagged +lava rocks, and a distant, deep gleam of the +sea. They caught the shine of the sea through +an eye-shaped opening in the rocks, and all +the long night of winter it gleamed up at them, +like the eye of a dead witch. But when it +sparkled and began to laugh, the children +danced about the hut and sang, for they knew +the bright summer time was at hand. Then +their father fished, and their mother was gay. +But it is true that even in the winter and the +darkness they were happy, for they made fish- +ing nets and baskets and cloth together, -- +Jon and Loa and their father and mother, -- +and the children were taught to read in the +books, and were told the sagas, and given +instruction in the part singing. + +"They did not know there was such a thing +as sorrow in the world, for no one had ever +mentioned it to them. But one day their +mother died. Then they had to learn how to +keep the fire on the hearth, and to smoke the +fish, and make the black coffee. And also +they had to learn how to live when there is +sorrow at the heart. + +"They wept together at night for lack of +their mother's kisses, and in the morning they +were loath to rise because they could not see +her face. The dead cold eye of the sea +watching them from among the lava rocks +made them afraid, so they hung a shawl over +the window to keep it out. And the house, +try as they would, did not look clean and +cheerful as it had used to do when their +mother sang and worked about it. + +"One day, when a mist rested over the eye +of the sea, like that which one beholds on +the eyes of the blind, a greater sorrow came +to them, for a stepmother crossed the thres- +hold. She looked at Jon and Loa, and made +complaint to their father that they were still +very small and not likely to be of much use. +After that they had to rise earlier than ever, +and to work as only those who have their +growth should work, till their hearts cracked +for weariness and shame. They had not +much to eat, for their stepmother said she +would trust to the gratitude of no other +woman's child, and that she believed in lay- +ing up against old age. So she put the few +coins that came to the house in a strong box, +and bought little food. Neither did she buy +the children clothes, though those which their +dear mother had made for them were so worn +that the warp stood apart from the woof, and +there were holes at the elbows and little +warmth to be found in them anywhere. + +"Moreover, the quilts on their beds were +too short for their growing length, so that +at night either their purple feet or their +thin shoulders were uncovered, and they +wept for the cold, and in the morning, when +they crept into the larger room to build +the fire, they were so stiff they could not +stand straight, and there was pain at their +joints. + +"The wife scolded all the time, and her +brow was like a storm sweeping down from +the Northwest. There was no peace to be +had in the house. The children might not +repeat to each other the sagas their mother +had taught them, nor try their part singing, +nor make little doll cradles of rushes. Always +they had to work, always they were scolded, +always their clothes grew thinner. + +"'Stepmother,' cried Loa one day, -- she +whom her mother had called the little bird, +-- 'we are a-cold because of our rags. Our +mother would have woven blue cloth for us +and made it into garments.' + +"'Your mother is where she will weave no +cloth!' said the stepmother, and she laughed +many times. + +"All in the cold and still of that night, the +stepmother wakened, and she knew not why. +She sat up in her bed, and knew not why. +She knew not why, and she looked into the +room, and there, by the light of a burning +fish's tail -- 'twas such a light the folk used in +those days -- was a woman, weaving. She had +no loom, and shuttle she had none. All with +her hands she wove a wondrous cloth. Stoop- +ing and bending, rising and swaying with +motions beautiful as those the Northern +Lights make in a midwinter sky, she wove a +cloth. The warp was blue and mystical to +see, the woof was white, and shone with its +whiteness, so that of all the webs the step- +mother had ever seen, she had seen none like +to this. + +"Yet the sight delighted her not, for beyond +the drifting web, and beyond the weaver she +saw the room and furniture -- aye, saw them +through the body of the weaver and the drift- +ing of the cloth. Then she knew -- as the +haunted are made to know -- that 'twas the +mother of the children come to show her she +could still weave cloth. The heart of the +stepmother was cold as ice, yet she could not +move to waken her husband at her side, for +her hands were as fixed as if they were +crossed on her dead breast. The voice in her +was silent, and her tongue stood to the roof +of her mouth. + +"After a time the wraith of the dead +mother moved toward her -- the wraith of the +weaver moved her way -- and round and about +her body was wound the shining cloth. +Wherever it touched the body of the step- +mother, it was as hateful to her as the touch +of a monster out of sea-slime, so that her flesh +crept away from it, and her senses swooned. + +"In the early morning she awoke to the +voices of the children, whispering in the +inner room as they dressed with half-frozen +fingers. Still about her was the hateful, beau- +tiful web, filling her soul with loathing and +with fear. She thought she saw the task set +for her, and when the children crept in to +light the fire -- very purple and thin were +their little bodies, and the rags hung from +them -- she arose and held out the shining +cloth, and cried: + +"'Here is the web your mother wove for +you. I will make it into garments!' But +even as she spoke the cloth faded and fell +into nothingness, and the children cried: + +"'Stepmother, you have the fever!' + +"And then: + +"'Stepmother, what makes the strange light +in the room?' + +"That day the stepmother was too weak to +rise from her bed, and the children thought +she must be going to die, for she did not +scold as they cleared the house and braided +their baskets, and she did not frown at them, +but looked at them with wistful eyes. + +"By fall of night she was as weary as if she +had wept all the day, and so she slept. But +again she was awakened and knew not why. +And again she sat up in her bed and knew +not why. And again, not knowing why, she +looked and saw a woman weaving cloth. All +that had happened the night before happened +this night. Then, when the morning came, +and the children crept in shivering from their +beds, she arose and dressed herself, and from +her strong box she took coins, and bade her +husband go with her to the town. + +"So that night a web of cloth, woven by +one of the best weavers in all Iceland, was in +the house; and on the beds of the children +were blankets of lamb's wool, soft to the touch +and fair to the eye. After that the children +slept warm and were at peace; for now, when +they told the sagas their mother had taught +them, or tried their part songs as they sat +together on their bench, the stepmother was +silent. For she feared to chide, lest she +should wake at night, not knowing why, and +see the mother's wraith." + + + + +A GRAMMATICAL GHOST + + +THERE was only one possible ob- +jection to the drawing-room, and +that was the occasional presence +of Miss Carew; and only one pos- +sible objection to Miss Carew. And that was, +that she was dead. + +She had been dead twenty years, as a matter +of fact and record, and to the last of her life +sacredly preserved the treasures and traditions +of her family, a family bound up -- as it is +quite unnecessary to explain to any one in +good society -- with all that is most venerable +and heroic in the history of the Republic. +Miss Carew never relaxed the proverbial hos- +pitality of her house, even when she remained +its sole representative. She continued to +preside at her table with dignity and state, +and to set an example of excessive modesty +and gentle decorum to a generation of restless +young women. + +It is not likely that having lived a life of +such irreproachable gentility as this, Miss +Carew would have the bad taste to die in any +way not pleasant to mention in fastidious +society. She could be trusted to the last, not +to outrage those friends who quoted her as +an exemplar of propriety. She died very un- +obtrusively of an affection of the heart, one +June morning, while trimming her rose trellis, +and her lavender-colored print was not even +rumpled when she fell, nor were more than +the tips of her little bronze slippers visible. + +"Isn't it dreadful," said the Philadelphians, +"that the property should go to a very, very +distant cousin in Iowa or somewhere else on +the frontier, about whom nobody knows any- +thing at all?" + +The Carew treasures were packed in boxes +and sent away into the Iowa wilderness; the +Carew traditions were preserved by the His- +torical Society; the Carew property, standing +in one of the most umbrageous and aristo- +cratic suburbs of Philadelphia, was rented to +all manner of folk -- anybody who had money +enough to pay the rental -- and society entered +its doors no more. + +But at last, after twenty years, and when all +save the oldest Philadelphians had forgotten +Miss Lydia Carew, the very, very distant +cousin appeared. He was quite in the prime +of life, and so agreeable and unassuming that +nothing could be urged against him save his +patronymic, which, being Boggs, did not +commend itself to the euphemists. With him +were two maiden sisters, ladies of excellent +taste and manners, who restored the Carew +china to its ancient cabinets, and replaced +the Carew pictures upon the walls, with ad- +ditions not out of keeping with the elegance +of these heirlooms. Society, with a magna- +nimity almost dramatic, overlooked the name +of Boggs -- and called. + +All was well. At least, to an outsider all +seemed to be well. But, in truth, there was +a certain distress in the old mansion, and in +the hearts of the well-behaved Misses Boggs. +It came about most unexpectedly. The sis- +ters had been sitting upstairs, looking out at +the beautiful grounds of the old place, and +marvelling at the violets, which lifted their +heads from every possible cranny about the +house, and talking over the cordiality which +they had been receiving by those upon whom +they had no claim, and they were filled with +amiable satisfaction. Life looked attractive. +They had often been grateful to Miss Lydia +Carew for leaving their brother her fortune. +Now they felt even more grateful to her. She +had left them a Social Position -- one, which +even after twenty years of desuetude, was fit +for use. + +They descended the stairs together, with +arms clasped about each other's waists, and as +they did so presented a placid and pleasing +sight. They entered their drawing-room with +the intention of brewing a cup of tea, and +drinking it in calm sociability in the twilight. +But as they entered the room they became +aware of the presence of a lady, who was +already seated at their tea-table, regarding +their old Wedgewood with the air of a con- +noisseur. + +There were a number of peculiarities about +this intruder. To begin with, she was hatless, +quite as if she were a habitué of the house, +and was costumed in a prim lilac-colored +lawn of the style of two decades past. But +a greater peculiarity was the resemblance +this lady bore to a faded daguerrotype. If +looked at one way, she was perfectly discern- +ible; if looked at another, she went out in a +sort of blur. Notwithstanding this compara- +tive invisibility, she exhaled a delicate per- +fume of sweet lavender, very pleasing to the +nostrils of the Misses Boggs, who stood look- +ing at her in gentle and unprotesting surprise. + +"I beg your pardon," began Miss Pru- +dence, the younger of the Misses Boggs, +"but --" + +But at this moment the Daguerrotype be- +came a blur, and Miss Prudence found her- +self addressing space. The Misses Boggs +were irritated. They had never encountered +any mysteries in Iowa. They began an im- +patient search behind doors and portières, +and even under sofas, though it was quite +absurd to suppose that a lady recognizing +the merits of the Carew Wedgewood would +so far forget herself as to crawl under a +sofa. + +When they had given up all hope of dis- +covering the intruder, they saw her standing +at the far end of the drawing-room critically +examining a water-color marine. The elder +Miss Boggs started toward her with stern +decision, but the little Daguerrotype turned +with a shadowy smile, became a blur and an +imperceptibility. + +Miss Boggs looked at Miss Prudence Boggs. + +"If there were ghosts," she said, "this +would be one." + +"If there were ghosts," said Miss Prudence +Boggs, "this would be the ghost of Lydia +Carew." + +The twilight was settling into blackness, and +Miss Boggs nervously lit the gas while Miss +Prudence ran for other tea-cups, preferring, +for reasons superfluous to mention, not to +drink out of the Carew china that evening. + +The next day, on taking up her embroidery +frame, Miss Boggs found a number of old- +fashioned cross-stitches added to her Ken- +sington. Prudence, she knew, would never +have degraded herself by taking a cross-stitch, +and the parlor-maid was above taking such a +liberty. Miss Boggs mentioned the incident +that night at a dinner given by an ancient +friend of the Carews. + +"Oh, that's the work of Lydia Carew, with- +out a doubt!" cried the hostess. "She visits +every new family that moves to the house, but +she never remains more than a week or two +with any one." + +"It must be that she disapproves of them," +suggested Miss Boggs. + +"I think that's it," said the hostess. "She +doesn't like their china, or their fiction." + +"I hope she'll disapprove of us," added +Miss Prudence. + +The hostess belonged to a very old Philadel- +phian family, and she shook her head. + +"I should say it was a compliment for even +the ghost of Miss Lydia Carew to approve of +one," she said severely. + +The next morning, when the sisters entered +their drawing-room there were numerous evi- +dences of an occupant during their absence. +The sofa pillows had been rearranged so that +the effect of their grouping was less bizarre +than that favored by the Western women; a +horrid little Buddhist idol with its eyes fixed +on its abdomen, had been chastely hidden +behind a Dresden shepherdess, as unfit for +the scrutiny of polite eyes; and on the table +where Miss Prudence did work in water colors, +after the fashion of the impressionists, lay a +prim and impossible composition representing +a moss-rose and a number of heartsease, col- +ored with that caution which modest spinster +artists instinctively exercise. + +"Oh, there's no doubt it's the work of Miss +Lydia Carew," said Miss Prudence, contemptu- +ously. "There's no mistaking the drawing of +that rigid little rose. Don't you remember +those wreaths and bouquets framed, among the +pictures we got when the Carew pictures were +sent to us? I gave some of them to an orphan +asylum and burned up the rest." + +"Hush!" cried Miss Boggs, involuntarily. +"If she heard you, it would hurt her feelings +terribly. Of course, I mean --" and she +blushed. "It might hurt her feelings -- +but how perfectly ridiculous! It's impos- +sible!" + +Miss Prudence held up the sketch of the +moss-rose. + +"THAT may be impossible in an artistic +sense, but it is a palpable thing." + +"Bosh!" cried Miss Boggs. + +"But," protested Miss Prudence, "how do +you explain it?" + +"I don't," said Miss Boggs, and left the +room. + +That evening the sisters made a point of +being in the drawing-room before the dusk +came on, and of lighting the gas at the first +hint of twilight. They didn't believe in Miss +Lydia Carew -- but still they meant to be +beforehand with her. They talked with un- +wonted vivacity and in a louder tone than was +their custom. But as they drank their tea +even their utmost verbosity could not make +them oblivious to the fact that the perfume of +sweet lavender was stealing insidiously through +the room. They tacitly refused to recognize +this odor and all that it indicated, when sud- +denly, with a sharp crash, one of the old +Carew tea-cups fell from the tea-table to the +floor and was broken. The disaster was fol- +lowed by what sounded like a sigh of pain and +dismay. + +"I didn't suppose Miss Lydia Carew would +ever be as awkward as that," cried the younger +Miss Boggs, petulantly. + +"Prudence," said her sister with a stern +accent, "please try not to be a fool. You +brushed the cup off with the sleeve of your +dress." + +"Your theory wouldn't be so bad," said Miss +Prudence, half laughing and half crying, "if +there were any sleeves to my dress, but, as you +see, there aren't," and then Miss Prudence +had something as near hysterics as a healthy +young woman from the West can have. + +"I wouldn't think such a perfect lady as +Lydia Carew," she ejaculated between her +sobs, "would make herself so disagreeable! +You may talk about good-breeding all you +please, but I call such intrusion exceedingly +bad taste. I have a horrible idea that she +likes us and means to stay with us. She left +those other people because she did not approve +of their habits or their grammar. It would be +just our luck to please her." + +"Well, I like your egotism," said Miss +Boggs. + +However, the view Miss Prudence took of +the case appeared to be the right one. Time +went by and Miss Lydia Carew still remained. +When the ladies entered their drawing-room +they would see the little lady-like Daguerro- +type revolving itself into a blur before one of +the family portraits. Or they noticed that +the yellow sofa cushion, toward which she +appeared to feel a peculiar antipathy, had +been dropped behind the sofa upon the floor, +or that one of Jane Austen's novels, which +none of the family ever read, had been re- +moved from the book shelves and left open +upon the table. + +"I cannot become reconciled to it," com- +plained Miss Boggs to Miss Prudence. "I +wish we had remained in Iowa where we +belong. Of course I don't believe in the +thing! No sensible person would. But still +I cannot become reconciled." + +But their liberation was to come, and in a +most unexpected manner. + +A relative by marriage visited them from +the West. He was a friendly man and had +much to say, so he talked all through dinner, +and afterward followed the ladies to the draw- +ing-room to finish his gossip. The gas in the +room was turned very low, and as they entered +Miss Prudence caught sight of Miss Carew, in +company attire, sitting in upright propriety +in a stiff-backed chair at the extremity of the +apartment. + +Miss Prudence had a sudden idea. + +"We will not turn up the gas," she said, +with an emphasis intended to convey private +information to her sister. "It will be more +agreeable to sit here and talk in this soft +light." + +Neither her brother nor the man from the +West made any objection. Miss Boggs and +Miss Prudence, clasping each other's hands, +divided their attention between their corporeal +and their incorporeal guests. Miss Boggs was +confident that her sister had an idea, and was +willing to await its development. As the guest +from Iowa spoke, Miss Carew bent a politely +attentive ear to what he said. + +"Ever since Richards took sick that time," +he said briskly, "it seemed like he shed all +responsibility." (The Misses Boggs saw the +Daguerrotype put up her shadowy head with +a movement of doubt and apprehension.) +"The fact of the matter was, Richards didn't +seem to scarcely get on the way he might have +been expected to." (At this conscienceless +split to the infinitive and misplacing of the +preposition, Miss Carew arose trembling per- +ceptibly.) "I saw it wasn't no use for him to +count on a quick recovery --" + +The Misses Boggs lost the rest of the sen- +tence, for at the utterance of the double nega- +tive Miss Lydia Carew had flashed out, not in +a blur, but with mortal haste, as when life +goes out at a pistol shot! + +The man from the West wondered why Miss +Prudence should have cried at so pathetic a +part of his story: + +"Thank Goodness!" + +And their brother was amazed to see Miss Boggs +kiss Miss Prudence with passion and energy. + +It was the end. Miss Carew returned no more. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext of The Shape of Fear, by Elia W. Peattie + |