diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/tshfr10h.htm')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/tshfr10h.htm | 2747 |
1 files changed, 2747 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/old/tshfr10h.htm b/old/tshfr10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..628608a --- /dev/null +++ b/old/tshfr10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2747 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> +<TITLE>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Shape of Fear, by Elia W. Peattie</TITLE> +<META HTTP-EQUIV="content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> +</HEAD> +<BODY> +<H1>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Shape of Fear, by Elia W. Peattie</H1> + +<PRE> +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Shape of Fear + +Author: Elia W. Peattie + +Release Date: September, 1999 [EBook #1876] +[This file was first posted on February 6, 2003] +[Most recently updated: February 6, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: iso-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE SHAPE OF FEAR *** + + + + +HTML version by Walter Debeuf + + + +</PRE> +This etext was prepared by Judy Boss, Omaha, NE +<p>Note: I have omitted signature indicators and italicization of the <br> + running heads. In addition, I have made the following changes to the <br> + text: </p> +<p>PAGE LINE ORIGINAL CHANGED TO<br> +</p> +<p> 156 1 where as were as<br> + 156 4 mouth mouth.<br> + 165 5 Wedgwood Wedgewood<br> + 166 9 Wedgwood Wedgewood<br> + 167 6 surperfluous superfluous<br> + 172 11 every ever<br> + 173 17 Bogg Boggs</p> +<h2><br> + THE SHAPE OF FEAR</h2> +<h3>And Other Ghostly Tales</h3> +<h3>BY</h3> +<h3>ELIA WILKINSON PEATTIE</h3> +<p>CONTENTS</p> +<p>THE SHAPE OF FEAR</p> +<p>ON THE NORTHERN ICE</p> +<p>THEIR DEAR LITTLE GHOST</p> +<p>A SPECTRAL COLLIE</p> +<p>THE HOUSE THAT WAS NOT</p> +<p>STORY OF AN OBSTINATE CORPSE</p> +<p>A CHILD OF THE RAIN</p> +<p>THE ROOM OF THE EVIL THOUGHT</p> +<p>STORY OF THE VANISHING PATIENT</p> +<p>THE PIANO NEXT DOOR</p> +<p>AN ASTRAL ONION</p> +<p>FROM THE LOOM OF THE DEAD</p> +<p>A GRAMMATICAL GHOST</p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2 align="left">THE SHAPE OF FEAR</h2> +<h2 align="left"> </h2> +<p>TIM O'CONNOR -- who was de- scended from the O'Conors with one N -- <br> + started life as a poet and an enthusiast. His mother had designed him <br> + for the priesthood, and at the age of fifteen, most of his verses had <br> + an ecclesiastical tinge, but, somehow or other, he got into the <br> + newspaper business instead, and became a pessimistic gentleman, with <br> + a literary style of great beauty and an income of modest proportions. <br> + He fell in with men who talked of art for art's sake, -- though what <br> + right they had to speak of art at all nobody knew, -- and little by <br> + little his view of life and love became more or less pro- fane. He <br> + met a woman who sucked his heart's blood, and he knew it and made no <br> + protest; nay, to the great amusement of the fellows who talked of art <br> + for art's sake, he went the length of marrying her. He could not in <br> + decency explain that he had the tra- ditions of fine gentlemen behind <br> + him and so had to do as he did, because his friends might not have <br> + understood. He laughed at the days when he had thought of the priest- <br> + hood, blushed when he ran across any of those tender and exquisite <br> + old verses he had written in his youth, and became addicted to <br> + absinthe and other less peculiar drinks, and to gaming a little to <br> + escape a madness of ennui.</p> + + +<p><br> + As the years went by he avoided, with more and more scorn, that part <br> + of the world which he denominated Philistine, and con- sorted only <br> + with the fellows who flocked about Jim O'Malley's saloon. He was <br> + pleased with solitude, or with these convivial wits, and with not <br> + very much else beside. Jim O'Malley was a sort of Irish poem, set to <br> + inspiring measure. He was, in fact, a Hibernian M&aelig;cenas, who <br> + knew better than to put bad whiskey before a man of talent, or tell a <br> + trite tale in the presence of a wit. The recountal of his <br> + disquisitions on politics and other cur- rent matters had enabled no <br> + less than three men to acquire national reputations; and a number of <br> + wretches, having gone the way of men who talk of art for art's sake, <br> + and dying in foreign lands, or hospitals, or asylums, having no one <br> + else to be homesick for, had been homesick for Jim O'Malley, and wept <br> + for the sound of his voice and the grasp of his hearty hand.</p> +<p>When Tim O'Connor turned his back upon most of the things he was born <br> + to and took up with the life which he consistently lived till the <br> + unspeakable end, he was unable to get rid of certain peculiarities. <br> + For example, in spite of all his debauchery, he continued to look <br> + like the Beloved Apostle. Notwith- standing abject friendships he <br> + wrote limpid and noble English. Purity seemed to dog his heels, no <br> + matter how violently he attempted to escape from her. He was never so <br> + drunk that he was not an exquisite, and even his creditors, who had <br> + become inured to his deceptions, confessed it was a privilege to meet <br> + so perfect a gentleman. The creature who held him in bondage, body <br> + and soul, actually came to love him for his gentleness, and for some <br> + quality which baffled her, and made her ache with a strange longing <br> + which she could not define. Not that she ever de- fined anything, <br> + poor little beast! She had skin the color of pale gold, and yellow <br> + eyes with brown lights in them, and great plaits of straw-colored <br> + hair. About her lips was a fatal and sensuous smile, which, when it <br> + got hold of a man's imagination, would not let it go, but held to it, <br> + and mocked it till the day of his death. She was the incarnation of <br> + the Eternal Feminine, with all the wifeli- ness and the maternity <br> + left out -- she was ancient, yet ever young, and familiar as joy or <br> + tears or sin.</p> +<p>She took good care of Tim in some ways: fed him well, nursed him back <br> + to reason after a period of hard drinking, saw that he put on <br> + overshoes when the walks were wet, and looked after his money. She <br> + even prized his brain, for she discovered that it was a delicate <br> + little machine which produced gold.<br> + By association with him and his friends, she learned that a number of <br> + apparently useless things had value in the eyes of certain con- <br> + venient fools, and so she treasured the auto- graphs of distinguished <br> + persons who wrote to him -- autographs which he disdainfully tossed <br> + in the waste basket. She was careful with presentation copies from <br> + authors, and she went the length of urging Tim to write a book <br> + himself. But at that he balked.<br> + § "Write a book!" he cried to her, his gen- tle face suddenly + white <br> + with passion. "Who am I to commit such a profanation?"</p> +<p>She didn't know what he meant, but she had a theory that it was <br> + dangerous to excite him, and so she sat up till midnight to cook a <br> + chop for him when he came home that night.</p> +<p>He preferred to have her sitting up for him, and he wanted every <br> + electric light in their apartments turned to the full. If, by any <br> + chance, they returned together to a dark house, he would not enter <br> + till she touched the button in the hall, and illuminated the room.<br> + Or if it so happened that the lights were turned off in the night <br> + time, and he awoke to find himself in darkness, he shrieked till the <br> + woman came running to his relief, and, with derisive laughter, turned <br> + them on again. But when she found that after these frights he lay <br> + trembling and white in his bed, she began to be alarmed for the <br> + clever, gold-making little machine, and to renew her assiduities, and <br> + to horde more tenaciously than ever, those valu- able curios on which <br> + she some day expected to realize when he was out of the way, and no <br> + longer in a position to object to their barter.</p> +<p>O'Connor's idiosyncrasy of fear was a source of much amusement among <br> + the boys at the office where he worked. They made open sport of it, <br> + and yet, recognizing him for a sensitive plant, and granting that <br> + genius was entitled to whimsicalities, it was their custom when they <br> + called for him after work hours, to permit him to reach the lighted <br> + cor- ridor before they turned out the gas over his desk. This, they <br> + reasoned, was but a slight service to perform for the most enchanting <br> + beggar in the world.</p> +<p>"Dear fellow," said Rick Dodson, who loved him, "is it the Devil + you <br> + expect to see?<br> + And if so, why are you averse? Surely the Devil is not such a bad old <br> + chap."</p> +<p>"You haven't found him so?"</p> +<p>"Tim, by heaven, you know, you ought to explain to me. A citizen of <br> + the world and a student of its purlieus, like myself, ought to know <br> + what there is to know! Now you're a man of sense, in spite of a few <br> + bad habits -- such as myself, for example. Is this fad of yours <br> + madness? -- which would be quite to your credit, -- for gadzooks, I <br> + like a lunatic!<br> + Or is it the complaint of a man who has gath- ered too much data on <br> + the subject of Old Rye? Or is it, as I suspect, something more <br> + occult, and therefore more interesting?"</p> +<p>"Rick, boy," said Tim, "you're too -- in- quiring!" And + he turned to <br> + his desk with a look of delicate hauteur.</p> +<p>It was the very next night that these two tippling pessimists spent <br> + together talking about certain disgruntled but immortal gentlemen, <br> + who, having said their say and made the world quite uncomfortable, <br> + had now journeyed on to inquire into the nothingness which they <br> + postulated. The dawn was breaking in the muggy east; the bottles were <br> + empty, the cigars burnt out. Tim turned toward his friend with a <br> + sharp breaking of sociable silence.</p> +<p>"Rick," he said, "do you know that Fear has a Shape?"</p> +<p>"And so has my nose!"</p> +<p>"You asked me the other night what I feared. Holy father, I make my <br> + confession to you. What I fear is Fear."</p> +<p>"That's because you've drunk too much -- or not enough.</p> +<p>"'Come, fill the cup, and in the fire of Spring Your winter garment <br> + of repentance fling --'"</p> +<p>"My costume then would be too nebulous for this weather, dear boy. <br> + But it's true what I was saying. I am afraid of ghosts."</p> +<p>"For an agnostic that seems a bit --"</p> +<p>"Agnostic! Yes, so completely an agnostic that I do not even know <br> + that I do not know!<br> + God, man, do you mean you have no ghosts -- no -- no things which <br> + shape themselves?<br> + Why, there are things I have done --"</p> +<p>"Don't think of them, my boy! See, 'night's candles are burnt out, <br> + and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain top.'"</p> +<p>Tim looked about him with a sickly smile.<br> + He looked behind him and there was nothing there; stared at the blank <br> + window, where the smoky dawn showed its offensive face, and there was <br> + nothing there. He pushed away the moist hair from his haggard face -- <br> + that face which would look like the blessed St.<br> + John, and leaned heavily back in his chair.</p> +<p>"'Yon light is not daylight, I know it, I,'"<br> + he murmured drowsily, "'it is some meteor which the sun exhales, to <br> + be to thee this night --'"</p> +<p></p> +<br> +The words floated off in languid nothing- ness, and he slept. Dodson <br> +arose preparatory to stretching himself on his couch. But first he <br> +bent over his friend with a sense of tragic appreciation. +<p>"Damned by the skin of his teeth!" he mut- tered. "A little + more, and <br> + he would have gone right, and the Devil would have lost a good <br> + fellow. As it is" -- he smiled with his usual conceited delight in <br> + his own sayings, even when they were uttered in soliloquy -- "he is <br> + merely one of those splendid gentlemen one will meet with in hell." <br> + Then Dodson had a momentary nostalgia for goodness himself, but he <br> + soon overcame it, and stretching him- self on his sofa, he, too, <br> + slept.</p> +<p>That night he and O'Connor went together to hear "Faust" sung, and + <br> + returning to the office, Dodson prepared to write his criti- cism. <br> + Except for the distant clatter of tele- graph instruments, or the <br> + peremptory cries of "copy" from an upper room, the office was still. + <br> + Dodson wrote and smoked his inter- minable cigarettes; O' Connor <br> + rested his head in his hands on the desk, and sat in perfect silence. <br> + He did not know when Dodson fin- ished, or when, arising, and <br> + absent-mindedly extinguishing the lights, he moved to the door with <br> + his copy in his hands. Dodson gathered up the hats and coats as he <br> + passed them where they lay on a chair, and called:</p> +<p>"It is done, Tim. Come, let's get out of this."</p> +<p>There was no answer, and he thought Tim was following, but after he <br> + had handed his criticism to the city editor, he saw he was still <br> + alone, and returned to the room for his friend. He advanced no <br> + further than the doorway, for, as he stood in the dusky cor- ridor <br> + and looked within the darkened room, he saw before his friend a <br> + Shape, white, of perfect loveliness, divinely delicate and pure and <br> + ethereal, which seemed as the embodi- ment of all goodness. From it <br> + came a soft radiance and a perfume softer than the wind when "it <br> + breathes upon a bank of violets stealing and giving odor." Staring at <br> + it, with eyes immovable, sat his friend.</p> +<p>It was strange that at sight of a thing so unspeakably fair, a <br> + coldness like that which comes from the jewel-blue lips of a Muir <br> + crevasse should have fallen upon Dodson, or that it was only by <br> + summoning all the man- hood that was left in him, that he was able to <br> + restore light to the room, and to rush to his friend. When he reached <br> + poor Tim he was stone-still with paralysis. They took him home to the <br> + woman, who nursed him out of that attack -- and later on worried him <br> + into another.</p> +<p>When he was able to sit up and jeer at things a little again, and <br> + help himself to the quail the woman broiled for him, Dodson, sitting <br> + beside him, said:</p> +<p>"Did you call that little exhibition of yours legerdemain, Tim, you <br> + sweep? Or are you really the Devil's bairn?"</p> +<p>"It was the Shape of Fear," said Tim, quite seriously.</p> +<p>"But it seemed mild as mother's milk."</p> +<p>"It was compounded of the good I might have done. It is that which I <br> + fear."</p> +<p>He would explain no more. Later -- many months later -- he died <br> + patiently and sweetly in the madhouse, praying for rest. The little <br> + beast with the yellow eyes had high mass cele- brated for him, which, <br> + all things considered, was almost as pathetic as it was amusing.</p> +<p>Dodson was in Vienna when he heard of it.</p> +<p>"Sa, sa!" cried he. "I wish it wasn't so dark in the tomb! What + do <br> + you suppose Tim is looking at?"</p> +<p>As for Jim O'Malley, he was with diffi- culty kept from illuminating <br> + the grave with electricity.</p> +<p>ON THE NORTHERN ICE</p> +<p>THE winter nights up at Sault Ste.<br> + Marie are as white and luminous as the Milky Way. The silence which <br> + rests upon the solitude appears to be white also. Even sound has been <br> + included in Nature's arrestment, for, indeed, save the still white <br> + frost, all things seem to be oblit- erated. The stars have a poignant <br> + brightness, but they belong to heaven and not to earth, and between <br> + their immeasurable height and the still ice rolls the ebon ether in <br> + vast, liquid billows.</p> +<p>In such a place it is difficult to believe that the world is actually <br> + peopled. It seems as if it might be the dark of the day after Cain <br> + killed Abel, and as if all of humanity's re- mainder was huddled in <br> + affright away from the awful spaciousness of Creation.</p> +<p>The night Ralph Hagadorn started out for Echo Bay -- bent on a <br> + pleasant duty -- he laughed to himself, and said that he did not at <br> + all object to being the only man in the world, so long as the world <br> + remained as un- speakably beautiful as it was when he buckled on his <br> + skates and shot away into the solitude.<br> + He was bent on reaching his best friend in time to act as groomsman, <br> + and business had delayed him till time was at its briefest. So he <br> + journeyed by night and journeyed alone, and when the tang of the <br> + frost got at his blood, he felt as a spirited horse feels when it <br> + gets free of bit and bridle. The ice was as glass, his skates were <br> + keen, his frame fit, and his venture to his taste! So he laughed, and <br> + cut through the air as a sharp stone cleaves the water. He could hear <br> + the whistling of the air as he cleft it.</p> +<p>As he went on and on in the black stillness, he began to have <br> + fancies. He imagined him- self enormously tall -- a great Viking of <br> + the Northland, hastening over icy fiords to his love.<br> + And that reminded him that he had a love -- though, indeed, that <br> + thought was always present with him as a background for other <br> + thoughts. To be sure, he had not told her that she was his love, for <br> + he had seen her only a few times, and the auspicious occasion had not <br> + yet presented itself. She lived at Echo Bay also, and was to be the <br> + maid of honor to his friend's bride -- which was one more reason why <br> + he skated almost as swiftly as the wind, and why, now and then, he <br> + let out a shout of exultation.</p> +<p>The one cloud that crossed Hagadorn's sun of expectancy was the <br> + knowledge that Marie Beaujeu's father had money, and that Marie lived <br> + in a house with two stories to it, and wore otter skin about her <br> + throat and little satin-lined mink boots on her feet when she went <br> + sledding. Moreover, in the locket in which she treasured a bit of her <br> + dead mother's hair, there was a black pearl as big as a pea.<br> + These things made it difficult -- perhaps im- possible -- for Ralph <br> + Hagadorn to say more than, "I love you." But that much he meant to + <br> + say though he were scourged with chagrin for his temerity.</p> +<p>This determination grew upon him as he swept along the ice under the <br> + starlight.<br> + Venus made a glowing path toward the west and seemed eager to <br> + reassure him. He was sorry he could not skim down that avenue of <br> + light which flowed from the love-star, but he was forced to turn his <br> + back upon it and face the black northeast.</p> +<p>It came to him with a shock that he was not alone. His eyelashes were <br> + frosted and his eyeballs blurred with the cold, so at first he <br> + thought it might be an illusion. But when he had rubbed his eyes <br> + hard, he made sure that not very far in front of him was a long white <br> + skater in fluttering garments who sped over the ice as fast as ever <br> + werewolf went.</p> +<p>He called aloud, but there was no answer.<br> + He shaped his hands and trumpeted through them, but the silence was <br> + as before -- it was complete. So then he gave chase, setting his <br> + teeth hard and putting a tension on his firm young muscles. But go <br> + however he would, the white skater went faster. After a time, as he <br> + glanced at the cold gleam of the north star, he perceived that he was <br> + being led from his direct path. For a moment he hesitated, wondering <br> + if he would not better keep to his road, but his weird companion <br> + seemed to draw him on irresistibly, and finding it sweet to follow, <br> + he followed.</p> +<p>Of course it came to him more than once in that strange pursuit, that <br> + the white skater was no earthly guide. Up in those latitudes men see <br> + curious things when the hoar frost is on the earth. Hagadorn's own <br> + father -- to hark no further than that for an instance!<br> + -- who lived up there with the Lake Superior Indians, and worked in <br> + the copper mines, had welcomed a woman at his hut one bitter night, <br> + who was gone by morning, leaving wolf tracks on the snow! Yes, it was <br> + so, and John Fontanelle, the half-breed, could tell you about it any <br> + day -- if he were alive. (Alack, the snow where the wolf tracks were, <br> + is melted now!)</p> +<p>Well, Hagadorn followed the white skater all the night, and when the <br> + ice flushed pink at dawn, and arrows of lovely light shot up into the <br> + cold heavens, she was gone, and Haga- dorn was at his destination. <br> + The sun climbed arrogantly up to his place above all other things, <br> + and as Hagadorn took off his skates and glanced carelessly lakeward, <br> + he beheld a great wind-rift in the ice, and the waves showing blue <br> + and hungry between white fields.<br> + Had he rushed along his intended path, watching the stars to guide <br> + him, his glance turned upward, all his body at magnificent momentum, <br> + he must certainly have gone into that cold grave.</p> +<p>How wonderful that it had been sweet to follow the white skater, and <br> + that he followed!</p> +<p>His heart beat hard as he hurried to his friend's house. But he <br> + encountered no wed- ding furore. His friend met him as men meet in <br> + houses of mourning.</p> +<p>"Is this your wedding face?" cried Haga- dorn. "Why, man, starved + as <br> + I am, I look more like a bridegroom than you!"</p> +<p>"There's no wedding to-day!"</p> +<p>"No wedding! Why, you're not --"</p> +<p>"Marie Beaujeu died last night --"</p> +<p>"Marie --"</p> +<p>"Died last night. She had been skating in the afternoon, and she came + <br> + home chilled and wandering in her mind, as if the frost had got in it <br> + somehow. She grew worse and worse, and all the time she talked of <br> + you."</p> +<p>"Of me?"</p> +<p>"We wondered what it meant. No one knew you were lovers."</p> +<p>"I didn't know it myself; more's the pity.<br> + At least, I didn't know --"</p> +<p>"She said you were on the ice, and that you didn't know about the big + <br> + breaking-up, and she cried to us that the wind was off shore and the <br> + rift widening. She cried over and over again that you could come in <br> + by the old French creek if you only knew --"</p> +<p>"I came in that way."</p> +<p>"But how did you come to do that? It's out of the path. We thought <br> + perhaps --"</p> +<p>But Hagadorn broke in with his story and told him all as it had come <br> + to pass.</p> +<p>That day they watched beside the maiden, who lay with tapers at her <br> + head and at her feet, and in the little church the bride who might <br> + have been at her wedding said prayers for her friend. They buried <br> + Marie Beaujeu in her bridesmaid white, and Hagadorn was before the <br> + altar with her, as he had intended from the first! Then at midnight <br> + the lovers who were to wed whispered their vows in the gloom of the <br> + cold church, and walked together through the snow to lay their bridal <br> + wreaths upon a grave.</p> +<p>Three nights later, Hagadorn skated back again to his home. They <br> + wanted him to go by sunlight, but he had his way, and went when Venus <br> + made her bright path on the ice.</p> +<p></p> +<p><br> + The truth was, he had hoped for the com- panionship of the white <br> + skater. But he did not have it. His only companion was the wind. The <br> + only voice he heard was the bay- ing of a wolf on the north shore. <br> + The world was as empty and as white as if God had just created it, <br> + and the sun had not yet colored nor man defiled it. </p> +<p> </p> +<h2>THEIR DEAR LITTLE GHOST</h2> +<p>THE first time one looked at Els- beth, one was not prepossessed.<br> + She was thin and brown, her nose turned slightly upward, her toes <br> + went in just a perceptible degree, and her hair was perfectly <br> + straight. But when one looked longer, one perceived that she was a <br> + charming little creature. The straight hair was as fine as silk, and <br> + hung in funny little braids down her back; there was not a flaw in <br> + her soft brown skin, and her mouth was tender and shapely. But her <br> + particular charm lay in a look which she habitually had, of seeming <br> + to know curious things -- such as it is not allotted to ordinary <br> + persons to know.<br> + One felt tempted to say to her:</p> +<p></p> +<p> </p> +<p></p> +<p><br> + "What are these beautiful things which you know, and of which others <br> + are ignorant?<br> + What is it you see with those wise and pel- lucid eyes? Why is it <br> + that everybody loves you?"</p> +<p>Elsbeth was my little godchild, and I knew her better than I knew any <br> + other child in the world. But still I could not truthfully say that I <br> + was familiar with her, for to me her spirit was like a fair and <br> + fragrant road in the midst of which I might walk in peace and joy, <br> + but where I was continually to discover something new. The last time <br> + I saw her quite well and strong was over in the woods where she had <br> + gone with her two little brothers and her nurse to pass the hottest <br> + weeks of summer. I followed her, foolish old creature that I was, <br> + just to be near her, for I needed to dwell where the sweet aroma of <br> + her life could reach me.</p> +<p>One morning when I came from my room, limping a little, because I am <br> + not so young as I used to be, and the lake wind works havoc with me, <br> + my little godchild came dancing to me singing:</p> +<p>"Come with me and I'll show you my places, my places, my places!"</p> +<p>Miriam, when she chanted by the Red Sea might have been more <br> + exultant, but she could not have been more bewitching. Of course I <br> + knew what "places" were, because I had once been a little girl <br> + myself, but unless you are acquainted with the real meaning of <br> + "places," it would be useless to try to ex- plain. Either you know + <br> + "places" or you do not -- just as you understand the meaning of <br> + poetry or you do not. There are things in the world which cannot be <br> + taught.</p> +<p>Elsbeth's two tiny brothers were present, and I took one by each hand <br> + and followed her. No sooner had we got out of doors in the woods than <br> + a sort of mystery fell upon the world and upon us. We were cautioned <br> + to move silently, and we did so, avoiding the crunching of dry twigs.</p> +<p>"The fairies hate noise," whispered my little godchild, her eyes + <br> + narrowing like a cat's.</p> +<p>"I must get my wand first thing I do," she said in an awed undertone. + <br> + "It is useless to try to do anything without a wand."</p> +<p>The tiny boys were profoundly impressed, and, indeed, so was I. I <br> + felt that at last, I should, if I behaved properly, see the fairies, <br> + which had hitherto avoided my materialistic gaze. It was an <br> + enchanting moment, for there appeared, just then, to be nothing <br> + commonplace about life.</p> +<p>There was a swale near by, and into this the little girl plunged. I <br> + could see her red straw hat bobbing about among the tall rushes, and <br> + I wondered if there were snakes.</p> +<p>"Do you think there are snakes?" I asked one of the tiny boys.</p> +<p>"If there are," he said with conviction, "they won't dare hurt + her."</p> +<p>He convinced me. I feared no more.<br> + Presently Elsbeth came out of the swale. In her hand was a brown <br> + "cattail," perfectly full and round. She carried it as queens carry + <br> + their sceptres -- the beautiful queens we dream of in our youth.</p> +<p>"Come," she commanded, and waved the sceptre in a fine manner. So + we <br> + followed, each tiny boy gripping my hand tight. We were all three a <br> + trifle awed. Elsbeth led us into a dark underbrush. The branches, as <br> + they flew back in our faces, left them wet with dew. A wee path, made <br> + by the girl's dear feet, guided our footsteps. Perfumes of elderberry <br> + and wild cucumber scented the air. A bird, frightened from its nest, <br> + made frantic cries above our heads. The under- brush thickened. <br> + Presently the gloom of the hemlocks was over us, and in the midst of <br> + the shadowy green a tulip tree flaunted its leaves. Waves boomed and <br> + broke upon the shore below. There was a growing dampness as we went <br> + on, treading very lightly. A little green snake ran coquettishly from <br> + us. A fat and glossy squirrel chattered at us from a safe height, <br> + stroking his whiskers with a com- plaisant air.</p> +<p>At length we reached the "place." It was a circle of velvet grass, + <br> + bright as the first blades of spring, delicate as fine sea-ferns.<br> + The sunlight, falling down the shaft between the hemlocks, flooded it <br> + with a softened light and made the forest round about look like deep <br> + purple velvet. My little godchild stood in the midst and raised her <br> + wand impressively.</p> +<p>"This is my place," she said, with a sort of wonderful gladness in + <br> + her tone. "This is where I come to the fairy balls. Do you see them?"</p> +<p>"See what?" whispered one tiny boy.</p> +<p>"The fairies."</p> +<p>There was a silence. The older boy pulled at my skirt.</p> +<p>"Do YOU see them?" he asked, his voice trembling with expectancy.</p> +<p>"Indeed," I said, "I fear I am too old and wicked to see fairies, + and <br> + yet -- are their hats red?"</p> +<p>"They are," laughed my little girl. "Their hats are red, and + as small <br> + -- as small!" She held up the pearly nail of her wee finger to give <br> + us the correct idea.</p> +<p>"And their shoes are very pointed at the toes?"</p> +<p>"Oh, very pointed!"</p> +<p>"And their garments are green?"</p> +<p>"As green as grass."</p> +<p>"And they blow little horns?"</p> +<p>"The sweetest little horns!"</p> +<p>"I think I see them," I cried.</p> +<p>"We think we see them too," said the tiny boys, laughing in perfect + <br> + glee.</p> +<p>"And you hear their horns, don't you?" my little godchild asked <br> + somewhat anxiously.</p> +<p>"Don't we hear their horns?" I asked the tiny boys.</p> +<p>"We think we hear their horns," they cried.<br> + "Don't you think we do?"</p> +<p>"It must be we do," I said. "Aren't we very, very happy?"</p> +<p>We all laughed softly. Then we kissed each other and Elsbeth led us <br> + out, her wand high in the air.</p> +<p>And so my feet found the lost path to Arcady.</p> +<p>The next day I was called to the Pacific coast, and duty kept me <br> + there till well into December. A few days before the date set for my <br> + return to my home, a letter came from Elsbeth's mother.</p> +<p>"Our little girl is gone into the Unknown,"<br> + she wrote -- "that Unknown in which she seemed to be forever trying <br> + to pry. We knew she was going, and we told her. She was quite brave, <br> + but she begged us to try some way to keep her till after Christmas. <br> + 'My presents are not finished yet,' she made moan.<br> + 'And I did so want to see what I was going to have. You can't have a <br> + very happy Christ- mas without me, I should think. Can you arrange to <br> + keep me somehow till after then?' We could not 'arrange' either with <br> + God in heaven or science upon earth, and she is gone."</p> +<p>She was only my little godchild, and I am an old maid, with no <br> + business fretting over children, but it seemed as if the medium of <br> + light and beauty had been taken from me.<br> + Through this crystal soul I had perceived whatever was loveliest. <br> + However, what was, was! I returned to my home and took up a course of <br> + Egyptian history, and determined to concern myself with nothing this <br> + side the Ptolemies.</p> +<p>Her mother has told me how, on Christmas eve, as usual, she and <br> + Elsbeth's father filled the stockings of the little ones, and hung <br> + them, where they had always hung, by the fire- place. They had little <br> + heart for the task, but they had been prodigal that year in their <br> + expenditures, and had heaped upon the two tiny boys all the treasures <br> + they thought would appeal to them. They asked them- selves how they <br> + could have been so insane previously as to exercise economy at <br> + Christ- mas time, and what they meant by not getting Elsbeth the <br> + autoharp she had asked for the year before.</p> +<p>"And now --" began her father, thinking of harps. But he could not + <br> + complete this sentence, of course, and the two went on pas- sionately <br> + and almost angrily with their task.<br> + There were two stockings and two piles of toys. Two stockings only, <br> + and only two piles of toys! Two is very little!</p> +<p>They went away and left the darkened room, and after a time they <br> + slept -- after a long time. Perhaps that was about the time the tiny <br> + boys awoke, and, putting on their little dressing gowns and bed <br> + slippers, made a dash for the room where the Christmas things were <br> + always placed. The older one carried a candle which gave out a feeble <br> + light. The other followed behind through the silent house. They were <br> + very impatient and eager, but when they reached the door of the <br> + sitting-room they stopped, for they saw that another child was before <br> + them.</p> +<p>It was a delicate little creature, sitting in her white night gown, <br> + with two rumpled funny braids falling down her back, and she seemed <br> + to be weeping. As they watched, she arose, and putting out one <br> + slender finger as a child does when she counts, she made sure over <br> + and over again -- three sad times -- that there were only two <br> + stockings and two piles of toys! Only those and no more.</p> +<p>The little figure looked so familiar that the boys started toward it, <br> + but just then, putting up her arm and bowing her face in it, as <br> + Elsbeth had been used to do when she wept or was offended, the little <br> + thing glided away and went out. That's what the boys said.<br> + It went out as a candle goes out.</p> +<p>They ran and woke their parents with the tale, and all the house was <br> + searched in a wonderment, and disbelief, and hope, and tumult! But <br> + nothing was found. For nights they watched. But there was only the <br> + silent house. Only the empty rooms. They told the boys they must have <br> + been mistaken. But the boys shook their heads.</p> +<p>"We know our Elsbeth," said they. "It was our Elsbeth, cryin' + 'cause <br> + she hadn't no stockin' an' no toys, and we would have given her all <br> + ours, only she went out -- jus' went out!"</p> +<p>Alack!</p> +<p>The next Christmas I helped with the little festival. It was none of <br> + my affair, but I asked to help, and they let me, and when we were all <br> + through there were three stockings and three piles of toys, and in <br> + the largest one was all the things that I could think of that my dear <br> + child would love. I locked the boys' chamber that night, and I slept <br> + on the divan in the parlor off the sitting-room. I slept but little, <br> + and the night was very still -- so wind- less and white and still <br> + that I think I must have heard the slightest noise. Yet I heard none. <br> + Had I been in my grave I think my ears would not have remained more <br> + unsaluted.</p> +<p>Yet when daylight came and I went to un- lock the boys' bedchamber <br> + door, I saw that the stocking and all the treasures which I had <br> + bought for my little godchild were gone.<br> + There was not a vestige of them remaining!</p> +<p>Of course we told the boys nothing. As for me, after dinner I went <br> + home and buried myself once more in my history, and so inter- ested <br> + was I that midnight came without my knowing it. I should not have <br> + looked up at all, I suppose, to become aware of the time, had it not <br> + been for a faint, sweet sound as of a child striking a stringed <br> + instrument. It was so delicate and remote that I hardly heard it, but <br> + so joyous and tender that I could not but listen, and when I heard it <br> + a second time it seemed as if I caught the echo of a child's laugh. <br> + At first I was puzzled.<br> + Then I remembered the little autoharp I had placed among the other <br> + things in that pile of vanished toys. I said aloud:</p> +<p></p> +<p><br> + "Farewell, dear little ghost. Go rest.<br> + Rest in joy, dear little ghost. Farewell, farewell."</p> +<p>That was years ago, but there has been silence since. Elsbeth was <br> + always an obe- dient little thing.</p> +<p> </p> +<h2>A SPECTRAL COLLIE</h2> +<p>WILLIAM PERCY CECIL happened to be a younger son, so he left home -- <br> + which was England -- and went to Kansas to ranch it. Thousands of <br> + younger sons do the same, only their des- tination is not invariably <br> + Kansas.</p> +<p>An agent at Wichita picked out Cecil's farm for him and sent the <br> + deeds over to Eng- land before Cecil left. He said there was a house <br> + on the place. So Cecil's mother fitted him out for America just as <br> + she had fitted out another superfluous boy for Africa, and parted <br> + from him with an heroic front and big agonies of mother-ache which <br> + she kept to herself.</p> + + + +<p><br> + The boy bore up the way a man of his blood ought, but when he went <br> + out to the kennel to see Nita, his collie, he went to pieces somehow, <br> + and rolled on the grass with her in his arms and wept like a booby. <br> + But the remarkable part of it was that Nita wept too, big, hot dog <br> + tears which her master wiped away. When he went off she howled like a <br> + hungry baby, and had to be switched before she would give any one a <br> + night's sleep.</p> +<p>When Cecil got over on his Kansas place he fitted up the shack as <br> + cosily as he could, and learned how to fry bacon and make soda <br> + biscuits. Incidentally, he did farming, and sunk a heap of money, <br> + finding out how not to do things. Meantime, the Americans laughed at <br> + him, and were inclined to turn the cold shoulder, and his <br> + compatriots, of whom there were a number in the county, did not prove <br> + to his liking. They consoled themselves for their exiled state in <br> + fashions not in keeping with Cecil's traditions. His homesickness <br> + went deeper than theirs, per- haps, and American whiskey could not <br> + make up for the loss of his English home, nor flir- tations with the <br> + gay American village girls quite compensate him for the loss of his <br> + English mother. So he kept to himself and had nostalgia as some men <br> + have consumption.</p> +<p>At length the loneliness got so bad that he had to see some living <br> + thing from home, or make a flunk of it and go back like a cry baby. <br> + He had a stiff pride still, though he sobbed himself to sleep more <br> + than one night, as many a pioneer has done before him. So he wrote <br> + home for Nita, the collie, and got word that she would be sent. <br> + Arrangements were made for her care all along the line, and she was <br> + properly boxed and shipped.</p> +<p>As the time drew near for her arrival, Cecil could hardly eat. He was <br> + too excited to apply himself to anything. The day of her expected <br> + arrival he actually got up at five o'clock to clean the house and <br> + make it look as fine as possible for her inspection. Then he hitched <br> + up and drove fifteen miles to get her. The train pulled out just <br> + before he reached the station, so Nita in her box was waiting for him <br> + on the platform. He could see her in a queer way, as one sees the <br> + purple centre of a revolving circle of light; for, to tell the truth, <br> + with the long ride in the morn- ing sun, and the beating of his <br> + heart, Cecil was only about half-conscious of anything.<br> + He wanted to yell, but he didn't. He kept himself in hand and lifted <br> + up the sliding side of the box and called to Nita, and she came out.</p> +<p>But it wasn't the man who fainted, though he might have done so, <br> + being crazy home- sick as he was, and half-fed and overworked while <br> + he was yet soft from an easy life. No, it was the dog! She looked at <br> + her master's face, gave one cry of inexpressible joy, and fell over <br> + in a real feminine sort of a faint, and had to be brought to like any <br> + other lady, with camphor and water and a few drops of spirit down her <br> + throat. Then Cecil got up on the wagon seat, and she sat beside him <br> + with her head on his arm, and they rode home in absolute silence, <br> + each feeling too much for speech. After they reached home, however, <br> + Cecil showed her all over the place, and she barked out her ideas in <br> + glad sociability.</p> +<p>After that Cecil and Nita were inseparable.<br> + She walked beside him all day when he was out with the cultivator, or <br> + when he was mow- ing or reaping. She ate beside him at table and <br> + slept across his feet at night. Evenings when he looked over the <br> + Graphic from home, or read the books his mother sent him, that he <br> + might keep in touch with the world, Nita was beside him, patient, but <br> + jealous.<br> + Then, when he threw his book or paper down and took her on his knee <br> + and looked into her pretty eyes, or frolicked with her, she fairly <br> + laughed with delight.</p> +<p>In short, she was faithful with that faith of which only a dog is <br> + capable -- that unques- tioning faith to which even the most loving <br> + women never quite attain.</p> +<p>However, Fate was annoyed at this perfect friendship. It didn't give <br> + her enough to do, and Fate is a restless thing with a horrible <br> + appetite for variety. So poor Nita died one day mysteriously, and <br> + gave her last look to Cecil as a matter of course; and he held her <br> + paws till the last moment, as a stanch friend should, and laid her <br> + away decently in a pine box in the cornfield, where he could be <br> + shielded from public view if he chose to go there now and then and <br> + sit beside her grave.</p> +<p>He went to bed very lonely, indeed, the first night. The shack seemed <br> + to him to be removed endless miles from the other habi- tations of <br> + men. He seemed cut off from the world, and ached to hear the cheerful <br> + little barks which Nita had been in the habit of giving him by way of <br> + good night. Her ami- able eye with its friendly light was missing, <br> + the gay wag of her tail was gone; all her ridiculous ways, at which <br> + he was never tired of laughing, were things of the past.</p> +<p>He lay down, busy with these thoughts, yet so habituated to Nita's <br> + presence, that when her weight rested upon his feet, as usual, he <br> + felt no surprise. But after a mo- ment it came to him that as she was <br> + dead the weight he felt upon his feet could not be hers. And yet, <br> + there it was, warm and com- fortable, cuddling down in the familiar <br> + way.<br> + He actually sat up and put his hand down to the foot of the bed to <br> + discover what was there. But there was nothing there, save the <br> + weight. And that stayed with him that night and many nights after.</p> +<p>It happened that Cecil was a fool, as men will be when they are <br> + young, and he worked too hard, and didn't take proper care of him- <br> + self; and so it came about that he fell sick with a low fever. He <br> + struggled around for a few days, trying to work it off, but one morn- <br> + ing he awoke only to the consciousness of absurd dreams. He seemed to <br> + be on the sea, sailing for home, and the boat was tossing and <br> + pitching in a weary circle, and could make no headway. His heart was <br> + burning with impatience, but the boat went round and round in that <br> + endless circle till he shrieked out with agony.</p> +<p>The next neighbors were the Taylors, who lived two miles and a half <br> + away. They were awakened that morning by the howling of a dog before <br> + their door. It was a hideous sound and would give them no peace. So <br> + Charlie Taylor got up and opened the door, discovering there an <br> + excited little collie.</p> +<p>"Why, Tom," he called, "I thought Cecil's collie was dead!"</p> +<p>"She is," called back Tom.</p> +<p>"No, she ain't neither, for here she is, shakin' like an aspin, and a + <br> + beggin' me to go with her. Come out, Tom, and see."</p> +<p>It was Nita, no denying, and the men, per- plexed, followed her to <br> + Cecil's shack, where they found him babbling.</p> +<p>But that was the last of her. Cecil said he never felt her on his <br> + feet again. She had performed her final service for him, he said.<br> + The neighbors tried to laugh at the story at first, but they knew the <br> + Taylors wouldn't take the trouble to lie, and as for Cecil, no one <br> + would have ventured to chaff him.</p> +<p> </p> +<h2>THE HOUSE THAT WAS NOT</h2> +<p>BART FLEMING took his bride out to his ranch on the plains when she <br> + was but seventeen years old, and the two set up housekeeping in three <br> + hundred and twenty acres of corn and rye.<br> + Off toward the west there was an unbroken sea of tossing corn at that <br> + time of the year when the bride came out, and as her sewing window <br> + was on the side of the house which faced the sunset, she passed a <br> + good part of each day looking into that great rustling mass, <br> + breathing in its succulent odors and listening to its sibilant <br> + melody. It was her picture gallery, her opera, her spectacle, and, <br> + being sensible, -- or perhaps, being merely happy, -- she made the <br> + most of it.</p> +<p><br> + When harvesting time came and the corn was cut, she had much <br> + entertainment in dis- covering what lay beyond. The town was east, <br> + and it chanced that she had never rid- den west. So, when the rolling <br> + hills of this newly beholden land lifted themselves for her <br> + contemplation, and the harvest sun, all in an angry and sanguinary <br> + glow sank in the veiled horizon, and at noon a scarf of golden vapor <br> + wavered up and down along the earth line, it was as if a new world <br> + had been made for her. Sometimes, at the coming of a storm, a <br> + whip-lash of purple cloud, full of electric agility, snapped along <br> + the western horizon.</p> +<p>"Oh, you'll see a lot of queer things on these here plains," her + <br> + husband said when she spoke to him of these phenomena. "I guess what <br> + you see is the wind."</p> +<p>"The wind!" cried Flora. "You can't see the wind, Bart."</p> +<p>"Now look here, Flora," returned Bart, with benevolent emphasis, + <br> + "you're a smart one, but you don't know all I know about this here <br> + country. I've lived here three mortal years, waitin' for you to git <br> + up out of your mother's arms and come out to keep me company, and I <br> + know what there is to know. Some things out here is queer -- so queer <br> + folks wouldn't believe 'em unless they saw. An' some's so pig-headed <br> + they don't believe their own eyes. As for th' wind, if you lay down <br> + flat and squint toward th' west, you can see it blowin' along near <br> + th' ground, like a big ribbon; an' sometimes it's th' color of air, <br> + an' sometimes it's silver an' gold, an' some- times, when a storm is <br> + comin', it's purple."</p> +<p>"If you got so tired looking at the wind, why didn't you marry some <br> + other girl, Bart, instead of waiting for me?"</p> +<p>Flora was more interested in the first part of Bart's speech than in <br> + the last.</p> +<p>"Oh, come on!" protested Bart, and he picked her up in his arms and + <br> + jumped her toward the ceiling of the low shack as if she were a <br> + little girl -- but then, to be sure, she wasn't much more.</p> +<p>Of all the things Flora saw when the corn was cut down, nothing <br> + interested her so much as a low cottage, something like her own, <br> + which lay away in the distance. She could not guess how far it might <br> + be, because dis- tances are deceiving out there, where the alti- tude <br> + is high and the air is as clear as one of those mystic balls of glass <br> + in which the sallow mystics of India see the moving shadows of the <br> + future.</p> +<p>She had not known there were neighbors so near, and she wondered for <br> + several days about them before she ventured to say any- thing to Bart <br> + on the subject. Indeed, for some reason which she did not attempt to <br> + ex- plain to herself, she felt shy about broaching the matter. <br> + Perhaps Bart did not want her to know the people. The thought came to <br> + her, as naughty thoughts will come, even to the best of persons, that <br> + some handsome young men might be "baching" it out there by <br> + themselves, and Bart didn't wish her to make their acquaintance. Bart <br> + had flattered her so much that she had actually begun to think <br> + herself beautiful, though as a matter of fact she was only a nice <br> + little girl with a lot of reddish-brown hair, and a bright pair of <br> + reddish-brown eyes in a white face.</p> +<p>"Bart," she ventured one evening, as the sun, at its fiercest, rushed + <br> + toward the great black hollow of the west, "who lives over there in <br> + that shack?"</p> +<p>She turned away from the window where she had been looking at the <br> + incarnadined disk, and she thought she saw Bart turn pale.<br> + But then, her eyes were so blurred with the glory she had been gazing <br> + at, that she might easily have been mistaken.</p> +<p>"I say, Bart, why don't you speak? If there's any one around to <br> + associate with, I should think you'd let me have the benefit of their <br> + company. It isn't as funny as you think, staying here alone days and <br> + days."</p> +<p>"You ain't gettin' homesick, be you, sweet- heart?" cried Bart, <br> + putting his arms around her. "You ain't gettin' tired of my society, <br> + be yeh?"</p> +<p>It took some time to answer this question in a satisfactory manner, <br> + but at length Flora was able to return to her original topic.</p> +<p>"But the shack, Bart! Who lives there, anyway?"</p> +<p>"I'm not acquainted with 'em," said Bart, sharply. "Ain't them + <br> + biscuits done, Flora?"</p> +<p>Then, of course, she grew obstinate.</p> +<p>"Those biscuits will never be done, Bart, till I know about that <br> + house, and why you never spoke of it, and why nobody ever comes down <br> + the road from there. Some one lives there I know, for in the mornings <br> + and at night I see the smoke coming out of the chimney."</p> +<p>"Do you now?" cried Bart, opening his eyes and looking at her with + <br> + unfeigned inter- est. "Well, do you know, sometimes I've fancied I <br> + seen that too?"</p> +<p>"Well, why not," cried Flora, in half anger.<br> + "Why shouldn't you?"</p> +<p>"See here, Flora, take them biscuits out an' listen to me. There <br> + ain't no house there.<br> + Hello! I didn't know you'd go for to drop the biscuits. Wait, I'll <br> + help you pick 'em up.<br> + By cracky, they're hot, ain't they? What you puttin' a towel over 'em <br> + for? Well, you set down here on my knee, so. Now you look over at <br> + that there house. You see it, don't yeh? Well, it ain't there! No! I <br> + saw it the first week I was out here. I was jus' half dyin', thinkin' <br> + of you an' wonderin' why you didn't write. That was the time you was <br> + mad at me. So I rode over there one day -- lookin' up company, so t' <br> + speak -- and there wa'n't no house there. I spent all one Sunday <br> + lookin' for it. Then I spoke to Jim Geary about it.<br> + He laughed an' got a little white about th' gills, an' he said he <br> + guessed I'd have to look a good while before I found it. He said that <br> + there shack was an ole joke."</p> +<p>"Why -- what --"</p> +<p>"Well, this here is th' story he tol' me.<br> + He said a man an' his wife come out here t' live an' put up that <br> + there little place. An' she was young, you know, an' kind o' skeery, <br> + and she got lonesome. It worked on her an' worked on her, an' one day <br> + she up an' killed the baby an' her husband an' herself. Th' folks <br> + found 'em and buried 'em right there on their own ground. Well, about <br> + two weeks after that, th' house was burned down. Don't know how. <br> + Tramps, maybe. Anyhow, it burned. At least, I guess it burned!"</p> +<p>"You guess it burned!"</p> +<p>"Well, it ain't there, you know."</p> +<p>"But if it burned the ashes are there."</p> +<p>"All right, girlie, they're there then. Now let's have tea."</p> +<p>This they proceeded to do, and were happy and cheerful all evening, <br> + but that didn't keep Flora from rising at the first flush of dawn and <br> + stealing out of the house. She looked away over west as she went to <br> + the barn and there, dark and firm against the horizon, stood the <br> + little house against the pellucid sky of morn- ing. She got on <br> + Ginger's back -- Ginger being her own yellow broncho -- and set off <br> + at a hard pace for the house. It didn't appear to come any nearer, <br> + but the objects which had seemed to be beside it came closer into <br> + view, and Flora pressed on, with her mind steeled for anything. But <br> + as she approached the poplar windbreak which stood to the north of <br> + the house, the little shack waned like a shadow before her. It faded <br> + and dimmed before her eyes.</p> +<p>She slapped Ginger's flanks and kept him going, and she at last got <br> + him up to the spot.<br> + But there was nothing there. The bunch grass grew tall and rank and <br> + in the midst of it lay a baby's shoe. Flora thought of picking it up, <br> + but something cold in her veins withheld her. Then she grew angry, <br> + and set Ginger's head toward the place and tried to drive him over <br> + it. But the yellow broncho gave one snort of fear, gathered himself <br> + in a bunch, and then, all tense, leaping muscles, made for home as <br> + only a broncho can.</p> +<p> </p> +<h2>STORY OF AN OBSTINATE CORPSE</h2> +<p>VIRGIL HOYT is a photographer's assistant up at St. Paul, and enjoys <br> + his work without being consumed by it. He has been in search of the <br> + picturesque all over the West and hundreds of miles to the north, in <br> + Canada, and can speak three or four Indian dialects and put a canoe <br> + through the rapids. That is to say, he is a man of adventure, and no <br> + dreamer.<br> + He can fight well and shoot better, and swim so as to put up a <br> + winning race with the Ind- ian boys, and he can sit in the saddle all <br> + day and not worry about it to-morrow.</p> +<p><br> + Wherever he goes, he carries a camera.</p> +<p>"The world," Hoyt is in the habit of say- ing to those who sit with + <br> + him when he smokes his pipe, "was created in six days to be pho- <br> + tographed. Man -- and particularly woman -- was made for the same <br> + purpose. Clouds are not made to give moisture nor trees to cast <br> + shade. They have been created in order to give the camera obscura <br> + something to do."</p> +<p>In short, Virgil Hoyt's view of the world is whimsical, and he likes <br> + to be bothered neither with the disagreeable nor the mysteri- ous. <br> + That is the reason he loathes and detests going to a house of <br> + mourning to photograph a corpse. The bad taste of it offends him, but <br> + above all, he doesn't like the necessity of shouldering, even for a <br> + few moments, a part of the burden of sorrow which belongs to some one <br> + else. He dislikes sorrow, and would willingly canoe five hundred <br> + miles up the cold Canadian rivers to get rid of it.<br> + Nevertheless, as assistant photographer, it is often his duty to do <br> + this very kind of thing.</p> +<p>Not long ago he was sent for by a rich Jew- ish family to photograph <br> + the remains of the mother, who had just died. He was put out, but he <br> + was only an assistant, and he went.<br> + He was taken to the front parlor, where the dead woman lay in her <br> + coffin. It was evident to him that there was some excitement in the <br> + household, and that a discussion was going on.<br> + But Hoyt said to himself that it didn't con- cern him, and he <br> + therefore paid no attention to it.</p> +<p>The daughter wanted the coffin turned on end in order that the corpse <br> + might face the camera properly, but Hoyt said he could over- come the <br> + recumbent attitude and make it ap- pear that the face was taken in <br> + the position it would naturally hold in life, and so they went out <br> + and left him alone with the dead.</p> +<p>The face of the deceased was a strong and positive one, such as may <br> + often be seen among Jewish matrons. Hoyt regarded it with some <br> + admiration, thinking to himself that she was a woman who had known <br> + what she wanted, and who, once having made up her mind, would prove <br> + immovable. Such a character appealed to Hoyt. He reflected that he <br> + might have married if only he could have found a woman with strength <br> + of character sufficient to disagree with him. There was a strand of <br> + hair out of place on the dead woman's brow, and he gently pushed it <br> + back. A bud lifted its head too high from among the roses on her <br> + breast and spoiled the contour of the chin, so he broke it off. He <br> + remembered these things later with keen distinctness, and that his <br> + hand touched her chill face two or three times in the making of his <br> + arrangements.</p> +<p>Then he took the impression, and left the house.</p> +<p>He was busy at the time with some railroad work, and several days <br> + passed before he found opportunity to develop the plates. He took <br> + them from the bath in which they had lain with a number of others, <br> + and went energeti- cally to work upon them, whistling some very saucy <br> + songs he had learned of the guide in the Red River country, and <br> + trying to forget that the face which was presently to appear was that <br> + of a dead woman. He had used three plates as a precaution against <br> + accident, and they came up well. But as they devel- oped, he became <br> + aware of the existence of something in the photograph which had not <br> + been apparent to his eye in the subject. He was irritated, and <br> + without attempting to face the mystery, he made a few prints and laid <br> + them aside, ardently hoping that by some chance they would never be <br> + called for.</p> +<p>However, as luck would have it, -- and Hoyt's luck never had been <br> + good, -- his em- ployer asked one day what had become of those <br> + photographs. Hoyt tried to evade making an answer, but the effort was <br> + futile, and he had to get out the finished prints and exhibit them. <br> + The older man sat staring at them a long time.</p> +<p>"Hoyt," he said, "you're a young man, and very likely you have + never <br> + seen anything like this before. But I have. Not exactly the same <br> + thing, perhaps, but similar phenomena have come my way a number of <br> + times since I went in the business, and I want to tell you there are <br> + things in heaven and earth not dreamt of --"</p> +<p>"Oh, I know all that tommy-rot," cried Hoyt, angrily, "but when + <br> + anything happens I want to know the reason why and how it is done."</p> +<p>"All right," answered his employer, "then you might explain + why and <br> + how the sun rises."</p> +<p>But he humored the young man sufficiently to examine with him the <br> + baths in which the plates were submerged, and the plates them- <br> + selves. All was as it should be; but the mys- tery was there, and <br> + could not be done away with.</p> +<p>Hoyt hoped against hope that the friends of the dead woman would <br> + somehow forget about the photographs; but the idea was un- <br> + reasonable, and one day, as a matter of course, the daughter appeared <br> + and asked to see the pictures of her mother.</p> +<p>"Well, to tell the truth," stammered Hoyt, "they didn't come + out <br> + quite -- quite as well as we could wish."</p> +<p>"But let me see them," persisted the lady.<br> + "I'd like to look at them anyhow."</p> +<p>"Well, now," said Hoyt, trying to be soothing, as he believed it + was <br> + always best to be with women, -- to tell the truth he was an <br> + ignoramus where women were concerned, -- "I think it would be better <br> + if you didn't look at them. There are reasons why --"<br> + he ambled on like this, stupid man that he was, till the lady <br> + naturally insisted upon see- ing the pictures without a moment's <br> + delay.</p> +<p>So poor Hoyt brought them out and placed them in her hand, and then <br> + ran for the water pitcher, and had to be at the bother of bath- ing <br> + her forehead to keep her from fainting.</p> +<p>For what the lady saw was this: Over face and flowers and the head of <br> + the coffin fell a thick veil, the edges of which touched the floor in <br> + some places. It covered the feat- ures so well that not a hint of <br> + them was visible.</p> +<p>"There was nothing over mother's face!"<br> + cried the lady at length.</p> +<p>"Not a thing," acquiesced Hoyt. "I know, because I had occasion + to <br> + touch her face just before I took the picture. I put some of her hair <br> + back from her brow."</p> +<p>"What does it mean, then?" asked the lady.</p> +<p>"You know better than I. There is no ex- planation in science. <br> + Perhaps there is some in -- in psychology."</p> +<p>"Well," said the young woman, stammer- ing a little and coloring, + <br> + "mother was a good woman, but she always wanted her own way, and she <br> + always had it, too."</p> +<p>"Yes."</p> +<p>"And she never would have her picture taken. She didn't admire her <br> + own appear- ance. She said no one should ever see a picture of her."</p> +<p>"So?" said Hoyt, meditatively. "Well, she's kept her word, hasn't + <br> + she?"</p> +<p>The two stood looking at the photographs for a time. Then Hoyt <br> + pointed to the open blaze in the grate.</p> +<p>"Throw them in," he commanded. "Don't let your father see them + -- <br> + don't keep them yourself. They wouldn't be agreeable things to keep."</p> +<p>"That's true enough," admitted the lady.<br> + And she threw them in the fire. Then Vir- gil Hoyt brought out the <br> + plates and broke them before her eyes.</p> +<p>And that was the end of it -- except that Hoyt sometimes tells the <br> + story to those who sit beside him when his pipe is lighted.</p> +<p>A CHILD OF THE RAIN</p> +<p>IT was the night that Mona Meeks, the dressmaker, told him she didn't <br> + love him. He couldn't believe it at first, because he had so long <br> + been accustomed to the idea that she did, and no matter how rough the <br> + weather or how irascible the passengers, he felt a song in his heart <br> + as he punched transfers, and rang his bell punch, and signalled the <br> + driver when to let people off and on.</p> +<p>Now, suddenly, with no reason except a woman's, she had changed her <br> + mind. He dropped in to see her at five o'clock, just before time for <br> + the night shift, and to give her two red apples he had been saving <br> + for her.<br> + She looked at the apples as if they were in- visible and she could <br> + not see them, and stand- ing in her disorderly little dressmaking <br> + parlor, with its cuttings and scraps and litter of fab- rics, she <br> + said:</p> +<p>"It is no use, John. I shall have to work here like this all my life <br> + -- work here alone.<br> + For I don't love you, John. No, I don't. I thought I did, but it is a <br> + mistake."</p> +<p>"You mean it?" asked John, bringing up the words in a great gasp.</p> +<p>"Yes," she said, white and trembling and putting out her hands as + if <br> + to beg for his mercy. And then -- big, lumbering fool -- he turned <br> + around and strode down the stairs and stood at the corner in the <br> + beating rain waiting for his car. It came along at length, <br> + spluttering on the wet rails and spitting out blue fire, and he took <br> + his shift after a gruff "Good night" to Johnson, the man he relieved.</p> +<p>He was glad the rain was bitter cold and drove in his face fiercely. <br> + He rejoiced at the cruelty of the wind, and when it hustled <br> + pedestrians before it, lashing them, twisting their clothes, and <br> + threatening their equilib- rium, he felt amused. He was pleased at <br> + the chill in his bones and at the hunger that tortured him. At least, <br> + at first he thought it was hunger till he remembered that he had just <br> + eaten. The hours passed confusedly.<br> + He had no consciousness of time. But it must have been late, -- near <br> + midnight, -- judging by the fact that there were few per- sons <br> + visible anywhere in the black storm, when he noticed a little figure <br> + sitting at the far end of the car. He had not seen the child when she <br> + got on, but all was so curious and wild to him that evening -- he <br> + himself seemed to himself the most curious and the wildest of all <br> + things -- that it was not surpris- ing that he should not have <br> + observed the little creature.</p> +<p>She was wrapped in a coat so much too large that it had become frayed <br> + at the bottom from dragging on the pavement. Her hair hung in unkempt <br> + stringiness about her bent shoulders, and her feet were covered with <br> + old arctics, many sizes too big, from which the soles hung loose.</p> +<p>Beside the little figure was a chest of dark wood, with curiously <br> + wrought hasps. From this depended a stout strap by which it could be <br> + carried over the shoulders. John Billings stared in, fascinated by <br> + the poor little thing with its head sadly drooping upon its breast, <br> + its thin blue hands relaxed upon its lap, and its whole attitude so <br> + suggestive of hunger, loneliness, and fatigue, that he made up his <br> + mind he would collect no fare from it.</p> +<p>"It will need its nickel for breakfast," he said to himself. "The + <br> + company can stand this for once. Or, come to think of it, I might <br> + celebrate my hard luck. Here's to the brotherhood of failures!" And <br> + he took a nickel from one pocket of his great-coat and dropped it in <br> + another, ringing his bell punch to record the transfer.</p> +<p>The car plunged along in the darkness, and the rain beat more <br> + viciously than ever in his face. The night was full of the rushing <br> + sound of the storm. Owing to some change of tem- perature the glass <br> + of the car became obscured so that the young conductor could no <br> + longer see the little figure distinctly, and he grew anxious about <br> + the child.</p> +<p>"I wonder if it's all right," he said to him- self. "I never + saw <br> + living creature sit so still."</p> +<p>He opened the car door, intending to speak with the child, but just <br> + then something went wrong with the lights. There was a blue and green <br> + flickering, then darkness, a sudden halt- ing of the car, and a great <br> + sweep of wind and rain in at the door. When, after a moment, light <br> + and motion reasserted themselves, and Billings had got the door <br> + together, he turned to look at the little passenger. But the car was <br> + empty.</p> +<p>It was a fact. There was no child there -- not even moisture on the <br> + seat where she had been sitting.</p> +<p>"Bill," said he, going to the front door and addressing the driver, + <br> + "what became of that little kid in the old cloak?"</p> +<p>"I didn't see no kid," said Bill, crossly.<br> + "For Gawd's sake, close the door, John, and git that draught off my <br> + back."</p> +<p>"Draught!" said John, indignantly, "where's the draught?"</p> +<p>"You've left the hind door open," growled Bill, and John saw him + <br> + shivering as a blast struck him and ruffled the fur on his bear-skin <br> + coat. But the door was not open, and yet John had to admit to himself <br> + that the car seemed filled with wind and a strange coldness.</p> +<p>However, it didn't matter. Nothing mat- tered! Still, it was as well <br> + no doubt to look under the seats just to make sure no little <br> + crouching figure was there, and so he did.<br> + But there was nothing. In fact, John said to himself, he seemed to be <br> + getting expert in finding nothing where there ought to be some- <br> + thing.</p> +<p>He might have stayed in the car, for there was no likelihood of more <br> + passengers that evening, but somehow he preferred going out where the <br> + rain could drench him and the wind pommel him. How horribly tired he <br> + was! If there were only some still place away from the blare of the <br> + city where a man could lie down and listen to the sound of the sea or <br> + the storm -- or if one could grow suddenly old and get through with <br> + the bother of living -- or if --</p> +<p>The car gave a sudden lurch as it rounded a curve, and for a moment <br> + it seemed to be a mere chance whether Conductor Billings would stay <br> + on his platform or go off under those fire-spitting wheels. He caught <br> + in- stinctively at his brake, saved himself, and stood still for a <br> + moment, panting.</p> +<p>"I must have dozed," he said to himself.</p> +<p>Just then, dimly, through the blurred win- dow, he saw again the <br> + little figure of the child, its head on its breast as before, its <br> + blue hands lying in its lap and the curious box beside it. John <br> + Billings felt a coldness beyond the coldness of the night run through <br> + his blood. Then, with a half-stifled cry, he threw back the door, and <br> + made a desperate spring at the corner where the eerie thing sat.</p> +<p>And he touched the green carpeting on the seat, which was quite dry <br> + and warm, as if no dripping, miserable little wretch had ever <br> + crouched there.</p> +<p>He rushed to the front door.</p> +<p>"Bill," he roared, "I want to know about that kid."</p> +<p>"What kid?"</p> +<p>"The same kid! The wet one with the old coat and the box with iron <br> + hasps! The one that's been sitting here in the car!"</p> +<p>Bill turned his surly face to confront the young conductor.</p> +<p>"You've been drinking, you fool," said he.<br> + "Fust thing you know you'll be reported."</p> +<p>The conductor said not a word. He went slowly and weakly back to his <br> + post and stood there the rest of the way leaning against the end of <br> + the car for support. Once or twice he muttered:</p> +<p>"The poor little brat!" And again he said, "So you didn't love + me <br> + after all!"</p> +<p>He never knew how he reached home, but he sank to sleep as dying men <br> + sink to death.<br> + All the same, being a hearty young man, he was on duty again next day <br> + but one, and again the night was rainy and cold.</p> +<p>It was the last run, and the car was spin- ning along at its limit, <br> + when there came a sudden soft shock. John Billings knew what that <br> + meant. He had felt something of the kind once before. He turned sick <br> + for a moment, and held on to the brake. Then he summoned his courage <br> + and went around to the side of the car, which had stopped.<br> + Bill, the driver, was before him, and had a limp little figure in his <br> + arms, and was carry- ing it to the gaslight. John gave one look and <br> + cried:</p> +<p>"It's the same kid, Bill! The one I told you of!"</p> +<p>True as truth were the ragged coat dangling from the pitiful body, <br> + the little blue hands, the thin shoulders, the stringy hair, the big <br> + arctics on the feet. And in the road not far off was the curious <br> + chest of dark wood with iron hasps.</p> +<p>"She ran under the car deliberate!" cried Bill. "I yelled to + her, but <br> + she looked at me and ran straight on!"</p> +<p>He was white in spite of his weather-beaten skin.</p> +<p>"I guess you wasn't drunk last night after all, John," said he.</p> +<p>"You -- you are sure the kid is -- is there?"<br> + gasped John.</p> +<p>"Not so damned sure!" said Bill.</p> +<p>But a few minutes later it was taken away in a patrol wagon, and with <br> + it the little box with iron hasps.</p> +<p> </p> +<h2>THE ROOM OF THE EVIL THOUGHT</h2> +<p>THEY called it the room of the Evil Thought. It was really the pleas- <br> + antest room in the house, and when the place had been used as the <br> + rectory, was the minister's study. It looked out on a mournful clump <br> + of larches, such as may often be seen in the old-fash- ioned yards in <br> + Michigan, and these threw a tender gloom over the apartment.</p> +<p>There was a wide fireplace in the room, and it had been the young <br> + minister's habit to sit there hours and hours, staring ahead of him <br> + at the fire, and smoking moodily. The replenishing of the fire and of <br> + his pipe, it was said, would afford him occupation all the day long, <br> + and that was how it came about that his parochial duties were <br> + neglected so that, little by little, the people became dis- satisfied <br> + with him, though he was an eloquent young man, who could send his <br> + congregation away drunk on his influence. However, the calmer pulsed <br> + among his parish began to whisper that it was indeed the influence of <br> + the young minister and not that of the Holy Ghost which they felt, <br> + and it was finally decided that neither animal magnetism nor <br> + hypnotism were good substitutes for religion.<br> + And so they let him go.</p> +<p><br> + The new rector moved into a smart brick house on the other side of <br> + the church, and gave receptions and dinner parties, and was <br> + punctilious about making his calls. The people therefore liked him <br> + very much -- so much that they raised the debt on the church and <br> + bought a chime of bells, in their enthu- siasm. Every one was lighter <br> + of heart than under the ministration of the previous rector.<br> + A burden appeared to be lifted from the com- munity. True, there were <br> + a few who con- fessed the new man did not give them the food for <br> + thought which the old one had done, but, then, the former rector had <br> + made them uncomfortable! He had not only made them conscious of the <br> + sins of which they were already guilty, but also of those for which <br> + they had the latent capacity. A strange and fatal man, whom women <br> + loved to their sor- row, and whom simple men could not under- stand! <br> + It was generally agreed that the parish was well rid of him.</p> +<p>"He was a genius," said the people in commiseration. The word was + an <br> + uncom- plimentary epithet with them.</p> +<p>When the Hanscoms moved in the house which had been the old rectory, <br> + they gave Grandma Hanscom the room with the fire- place. Grandma was <br> + well pleased. The roaring fire warmed her heart as well as her chill <br> + old body, and she wept with weak joy when she looked at the larches, <br> + because they reminded her of the house she had lived in when she was <br> + first married. All the forenoon of the first day she was busy putting <br> + things away in bureau drawers and closets, but by afternoon she was <br> + ready to sit down in her high-backed rocker and enjoy the comforts of <br> + her room.</p> +<p>She nodded a bit before the fire, as she usually did after luncheon, <br> + and then she awoke with an awful start and sat staring before her <br> + with such a look in her gentle, filmy old eyes as had never been <br> + there before.<br> + She did not move, except to rock slightly, and the Thought grew and <br> + grew till her face was disguised as by some hideous mask of tragedy.</p> +<p>By and by the children came pounding at the door.</p> +<p>"Oh, grandma, let us in, please. We want to see your new room, and <br> + mamma gave us some ginger cookies on a plate, and we want to give <br> + some to you."</p> +<p>The door gave way under their assaults, and the three little ones <br> + stood peeping in, wait- ing for permission to enter. But it did not <br> + seem to be their grandma -- their own dear grandma -- who arose and <br> + tottered toward them in fierce haste, crying:</p> +<p>"Away, away! Out of my sight! Out of my sight before I do the thing I + <br> + want to do!<br> + Such a terrible thing! Send some one to me quick, children, children! <br> + Send some one quick!"</p> +<p>They fled with feet shod with fear, and their mother came, and <br> + Grandma Hanscom sank down and clung about her skirts and sobbed:</p> +<p>"Tie me, Miranda. Make me fast to the bed or the wall. Get some one <br> + to watch me.<br> + For I want to do an awful thing!"</p> +<p>They put the trembling old creature in bed, and she raved there all <br> + the night long and cried out to be held, and to be kept from doing <br> + the fearful thing, whatever it was -- for she never said what it was.</p> +<p>The next morning some one suggested tak- ing her in the sitting-room <br> + where she would be with the family. So they laid her on the sofa, <br> + hemmed around with cushions, and before long she was her quiet self <br> + again, though exhausted, naturally, with the tumult of the previous <br> + night. Now and then, as the children played about her, a shadow crept <br> + over her face -- a shadow as of cold remem- brance -- and then the <br> + perplexed tears followed.</p> +<p>When she seemed as well as ever they put her back in her room. But <br> + though the fire glowed and the lamp burned, as soon as ever she was <br> + alone they heard her shrill cries ring- ing to them that the Evil <br> + Thought had come again. So Hal, who was home from col- lege, carried <br> + her up to his room, which she seemed to like very well. Then he went <br> + down to have a smoke before grandma's fire.</p> +<p>The next morning he was absent from break- fast. They thought he <br> + might have gone for an early walk, and waited for him a few min- <br> + utes. Then his sister went to the room that looked upon the larches, <br> + and found him dressed and pacing the floor with a face set and stern. <br> + He had not been in bed at all, as she saw at once. His eyes were <br> + bloodshot, his face stricken as if with old age or sin or -- but she <br> + could not make it out. When he saw her he sank in a chair and covered <br> + his face with his hands, and between the trembling fingers she could <br> + see drops of perspiration on his forehead.</p> +<p>"Hal!" she cried, "Hal, what is it?"</p> +<p>But for answer he threw his arms about the little table and clung to <br> + it, and looked at her with tortured eyes, in which she fancied she <br> + saw a gleam of hate. She ran, screaming, from the room, and her <br> + father came and went up to him and laid his hands on the boy's <br> + shoulders. And then a fearful thing hap- pened. All the family saw <br> + it. There could be no mistake. Hal's hands found their way with <br> + frantic eagerness toward his father's throat as if they would choke <br> + him, and the look in his eyes was so like a madman's that his father <br> + raised his fist and felled him as he used to fell men years before in <br> + the college fights, and then dragged him into the sitting- room and <br> + wept over him.</p> +<p>By evening, however, Hal was all right, and the family said it must <br> + have been a fever, -- perhaps from overstudy, -- at which Hal cov- <br> + ertly smiled. But his father was still too anxious about him to let <br> + him out of his sight, so he put him on a cot in his room, and thus it <br> + chanced that the mother and Grace con- cluded to sleep together <br> + downstairs.</p> +<p>The two women made a sort of festival of it, and drank little cups of <br> + chocolate before the fire, and undid and brushed their brown braids, <br> + and smiled at each other, understand- ingly, with that sweet <br> + intuitive sympathy which women have, and Grace told her mother a <br> + number of things which she had been waiting for just such an <br> + auspicious oc- casion to confide.</p> +<p>But the larches were noisy and cried out with wild voices, and the <br> + flame of the fire grew blue and swirled about in the draught <br> + sinuously, so that a chill crept upon the two.<br> + Something cold appeared to envelop them -- such a chill as pleasure <br> + voyagers feel when a berg steals beyond Newfoundland and glows blue <br> + and threatening upon their ocean path.</p> +<p>Then came something else which was not cold, but hot as the flames of <br> + hell -- and they saw red, and stared at each other with mad- dened <br> + eyes, and then ran together from the room and clasped in close <br> + embrace safe beyond the fatal place, and thanked God they had not <br> + done the thing that they dared not speak of -- the thing which <br> + suddenly came to them to do.</p> +<p>So they called it the room of the Evil Thought. They could not <br> + account for it.<br> + They avoided the thought of it, being healthy and happy folk. But <br> + none entered it more.<br> + The door was locked.</p> +<p>One day, Hal, reading the paper, came across a paragraph concerning <br> + the young min- ister who had once lived there, and who had thought <br> + and written there and so influenced the lives of those about him that <br> + they remem- bered him even while they disapproved.</p> +<p>"He cut a man's throat on board ship for Australia," said he, "and + <br> + then he cut his own, without fatal effect -- and jumped overboard, <br> + and so ended it. What a strange thing!"</p> +<p>Then they all looked at one another with subtle looks, and a shadow <br> + fell upon them and stayed the blood at their hearts.</p> +<p>The next week the room of the Evil Thought was pulled down to make <br> + way for a pansy bed, which is quite gay and innocent, and blooms all <br> + the better because the larches, with their eternal murmuring, have <br> + been laid low and carted away to the sawmill.</p> +<p> </p> +<h2>STORY OF THE VANISHING PATIENT</h2> +<p>THERE had always been strange stories about the house, but it was a <br> + sensible, comfortable sort of a neighborhood, and people took pains <br> + to say to one another that there was nothing in these tales -- of <br> + course not!<br> + Absolutely nothing! How could there be?<br> + It was a matter of common remark, however, that considering the <br> + amount of money the Nethertons had spent on the place, it was curious <br> + they lived there so little. They were nearly always away, -- up North <br> + in the sum- mer and down South in the winter, and over to Paris or <br> + London now and then, -- and when they did come home it was only to <br> + entertain a number of guests from the city. The place was either <br> + plunged in gloom or gayety. The old gardener who kept house by <br> + himself in the cottage at the back of the yard had things much his <br> + own way by far the greater part of the time.</p> +<p><br> + Dr. Block and his wife lived next door to the Nethertons, and he and <br> + his wife, who were so absurd as to be very happy in each other's <br> + company, had the benefit of the beau- tiful yard. They walked there <br> + mornings when the leaves were silvered with dew, and even- ings they <br> + sat beside the lily pond and listened for the whip-poor-will. The <br> + doctor's wife moved her room over to that side of the house which <br> + commanded a view of the yard, and thus made the honeysuckles and <br> + laurel and clematis and all the masses of tossing greenery her own. <br> + Sitting there day after day with her sewing, she speculated about the <br> + mystery which hung impalpably yet undeniably over the house.</p> +<p>It happened one night when she and her husband had gone to their <br> + room, and were congratulating themselves on the fact that he had no <br> + very sick patients and was likely to enjoy a good night's rest, that <br> + a ring came at the door.</p> +<p>"If it's any one wanting you to leave home," warned his wife, "you + <br> + must tell them you are all worn out. You've been disturbed every <br> + night this week, and it's too much!"</p> +<p>The young physician went downstairs. At the door stood a man whom he <br> + had never seen before.</p> +<p>"My wife is lying very ill next door," said the stranger, "so + ill <br> + that I fear she will not live till morning. Will you please come to <br> + her at once?"</p> +<p>"Next door?" cried the physician. "I didn't know the Nethertons + were <br> + home!"</p> +<p>"Please hasten," begged the man. "I must go back to her. Follow + as <br> + quickly as you can."</p> +<p>The doctor went back upstairs to complete his toilet.</p> +<p>"How absurd," protested his wife when she heard the story. "There + is <br> + no one at the Nethertons'. I sit where I can see the front door, and <br> + no one can enter without my know- ing it, and I have been sewing by <br> + the window all day. If there were any one in the house, the gardener <br> + would have the porch lantern lighted. It is some plot. Some one has <br> + designs on you. You must not go."</p> +<p>But he went. As he left the room his wife placed a revolver in his <br> + pocket.</p> +<p>The great porch of the mansion was dark, but the physician made out <br> + that the door was open, and he entered. A feeble light came from the <br> + bronze lamp at the turn of the stairs, and by it he found his way, <br> + his feet sinking noiselessly in the rich carpets. At the head of the <br> + stairs the man met him. The doctor thought himself a tall man, but <br> + the stranger topped him by half a head. He motioned the physician to <br> + follow him, and the two went down the hall to the front room. The <br> + place was flushed with a rose-colored glow from several lamps. On a <br> + silken couch, in the midst of pillows, lay a woman dying with <br> + consumption. She was like a lily, white, shapely, graceful, with <br> + feeble yet charming movements. She looked at the doctor ap- <br> + pealingly, then, seeing in his eyes the in- voluntary verdict that <br> + her hour was at hand, she turned toward her companion with a glance <br> + of anguish. Dr. Block asked a few questions. The man answered them, <br> + the woman remaining silent. The physician ad- ministered something <br> + stimulating, and then wrote a prescription which he placed on the <br> + mantel-shelf.</p> +<p>"The drug store is closed to-night," he said, "and I fear the + <br> + druggist has gone home.<br> + You can have the prescription filled the first thing in the morning, <br> + and I will be over before breakfast."</p> +<p>After that, there was no reason why he should not have gone home. <br> + Yet, oddly enough, he preferred to stay. Nor was it professional <br> + anxiety that prompted this delay.<br> + He longed to watch those mysterious per- sons, who, almost oblivious <br> + of his presence, were speaking their mortal farewells in their <br> + glances, which were impassioned and of un- utterable sadness.</p> +<p>He sat as if fascinated. He watched the glitter of rings on the <br> + woman's long, white hands, he noted the waving of light hair about <br> + her temples, he observed the details of her gown of soft white silk <br> + which fell about her in voluminous folds. Now and then the man gave <br> + her of the stimulant which the doc- tor had provided; sometimes he <br> + bathed her face with water. Once he paced the floor for a moment till <br> + a motion of her hand quieted him.</p> +<p>After a time, feeling that it would be more sensible and considerate <br> + of him to leave, the doctor made his way home. His wife was awake, <br> + impatient to hear of his experiences.<br> + She listened to his tale in silence, and when he had finished she <br> + turned her face to the wall and made no comment.</p> +<p>"You seem to be ill, my dear," he said.<br> + "You have a chill. You are shivering."</p> +<p>"I have no chill," she replied sharply.<br> + "But I -- well, you may leave the light burning."</p> +<p>The next morning before breakfast the doc- tor crossed the dewy sward <br> + to the Netherton house. The front door was locked, and no one <br> + answered to his repeated ringings. The old gardener chanced to be <br> + cutting the grass near at hand, and he came running up.</p> +<p>"What you ringin' that door-bell for, doc- tor?" said he. "The + folks <br> + ain't come home yet. There ain't nobody there."</p> +<p>"Yes, there is, Jim. I was called here last night. A man came for me <br> + to attend his wife. They must both have fallen asleep that the bell <br> + is not answered. I wouldn't be sur- prised to find her dead, as a <br> + matter of fact.<br> + She was a desperately sick woman. Perhaps she is dead and something <br> + has happened to him. You have the key to the door, Jim.<br> + Let me in."</p> +<p>But the old man was shaking in every limb, and refused to do as he <br> + was bid.</p> +<p>"Don't you never go in there, doctor,"<br> + whispered he, with chattering teeth. "Don't you go for to 'tend no <br> + one. You jus' come tell me when you sent for that way. No, I ain't <br> + goin' in, doctor, nohow. It ain't part of my duties to go in. That's <br> + been stipulated by Mr. Netherton. It's my business to look after the <br> + garden."</p> +<p>Argument was useless. Dr. Block took the bunch of keys from the old <br> + man's pocket and himself unlocked the front door and entered.<br> + He mounted the steps and made his way to the upper room. There was no <br> + evidence of occupancy. The place was silent, and, so far as living <br> + creature went, vacant. The dust lay over everything. It covered the <br> + delicate damask of the sofa where he had seen the dying woman. It <br> + rested on the pillows. The place smelled musty and evil, as if it had <br> + not been used for a long time. The lamps of the room held not a drop <br> + of oil.</p> +<p>But on the mantel-shelf was the prescrip- tion which the doctor had <br> + written the night before. He read it, folded it, and put it in his <br> + pocket.</p> +<p>As he locked the outside door the old gar- dener came running to him.</p> +<p>"Don't you never go up there again, will you?" he pleaded, "not + <br> + unless you see all the Nethertons home and I come for you myself.<br> + You won't, doctor?"</p> +<p>"No," said the doctor.</p> +<p>When he told his wife she kissed him, and said:</p> +<p>"Next time when I tell you to stay at home, you must stay!"</p> +<p> </p> +<h2>THE PIANO NEXT DOOR</h2> +<p>BABETTE had gone away for the summer; the furniture was in its summer <br> + linens; the curtains were down, and Babette's husband, John Boyce, <br> + was alone in the house. It was the first year of his marriage, and he <br> + missed Babette. But then, as he often said to him- self, he ought <br> + never to have married her. He did it from pure selfishness, and <br> + because he was determined to possess the most illusive, tantalizing, <br> + elegant, and utterly unmoral little creature that the sun shone upon. <br> + He wanted her because she reminded him of birds, and flowers, and <br> + summer winds, and other exqui- site things created for the <br> + delectation of mankind. He neither expected nor desired her to think. <br> + He had half-frightened her into marrying him, had taken her to a poor <br> + man's home, provided her with no society such as she had been <br> + accustomed to, and he had no reasonable cause of complaint when she <br> + answered the call of summer and flitted away, like a butterfly in the <br> + morning sunshine, to the place where the flowers grew.</p> +<p><br> + He wrote to her every evening, sitting in the stifling, ugly house, <br> + and poured out his soul as if it were a libation to a goddess.<br> + She sometimes answered by telegraph, some- times by a perfumed note. <br> + He schooled him- self not to feel hurt. Why should Babette write? <br> + Does a goldfinch indict epistles; or a humming-bird study <br> + composition; or a glancing, red-scaled fish in summer shallows <br> + consider the meaning of words?</p> +<p>He knew at the beginning what Babette was -- guessed her limitations <br> + -- trembled when he buttoned her tiny glove -- kissed her dainty <br> + slipper when he found it in the closet after she was gone -- thrilled <br> + at the sound of her laugh, or the memory of it! That was all.<br> + A mere case of love. He was in bonds.<br> + Babette was not. Therefore he was in the city, working overhours to <br> + pay for Babette's pretty follies down at the seaside. It was quite <br> + right and proper. He was a grub in the furrow; she a lark in the <br> + blue. Those had always been and always must be their relative <br> + positions.</p> +<p>Having attained a mood of philosophic calm, in which he was prepared <br> + to spend his evenings alone -- as became a grub -- and to await with <br> + dignified patience the return of his wife, it was in the nature of an <br> + inconsist- ency that he should have walked the floor of the dull <br> + little drawing-room like a lion in cage. It did not seem in keeping <br> + with the position of superior serenity which he had assumed, that, <br> + reading Babette's notes, he should have raged with jealousy, or that, <br> + in the loneliness of his unkempt chamber, he should have stretched <br> + out arms of longing.<br> + Even if Babette had been present, she would only have smiled her gay <br> + little smile and co- quetted with him. She could not understand.<br> + He had known, of course, from the first mo- ment, that she could not <br> + understand! And so, why the ache, ache, ache of the heart!<br> + Or WAS it the heart, or the brain, or the soul?</p> +<p>Sometimes, when the evenings were so hot that he could not endure the <br> + close air of the house, he sat on the narrow, dusty front porch and <br> + looked about him at his neighbors. The street had once been smart and <br> + aspiring, but it had fallen into decay and dejection. Pale young men, <br> + with flurried-looking wives, seemed to Boyce to occupy most of the <br> + houses. Some- times three or four couples would live in one house. <br> + Most of these appeared to be child- less. The women made a pretence <br> + at fashion- able dressing, and wore their hair elaborately in <br> + fashions which somehow suggested board- ing-houses to Boyce, though <br> + he could not have told why. Every house in the block needed fresh <br> + paint. Lacking this renovation, the householders tried to make up for <br> + it by a display of lace curtains which, at every window, swayed in <br> + the smoke-weighted breeze.<br> + Strips of carpeting were laid down the front steps of the houses <br> + where the communities of young couples lived, and here, evenings, the <br> + inmates of the houses gathered, committing mild extravagances such as <br> + the treating of each other to ginger ale, or beer, or ice-cream.</p> +<p>Boyce watched these tawdry makeshifts at sociability with bitterness <br> + and loathing. He wondered how he could have been such a fool as to <br> + bring his exquisite Babette to this neighborhood. How could he expect <br> + that she would return to him? It was not reason- able. He ought to go <br> + down on his knees with gratitude that she even condescended to write <br> + him.</p> +<p>Sitting one night till late, -- so late that the fashionable young <br> + wives with their husbands had retired from the strips of stair <br> + carpeting, -- and raging at the loneliness which ate at his heart <br> + like a cancer, he heard, softly creep- ing through the windows of the <br> + house adjoin- ing his own, the sound of comfortable mel- ody.</p> +<p>It breathed upon his ear like a spirit of consolation, speaking of <br> + peace, of love which needs no reward save its own sweetness, of <br> + aspiration which looks forever beyond the thing of the hour to find <br> + attainment in that which is eternal. So insidiously did it whis- per <br> + these things, so delicately did the simple and perfect melodies creep <br> + upon the spirit -- that Boyce felt no resentment, but from the first <br> + listened as one who listens to learn, or as one who, fainting on the <br> + hot road, hears, far in the ferny deeps below, the gurgle of a <br> + spring.</p> +<p>Then came harmonies more intricate: fair fabrics of woven sound, in <br> + the midst of which gleamed golden threads of joy; a tapestry of <br> + sound, multi-tinted, gallant with story and achievement, and <br> + beautiful things. Boyce, sitting on his absurd piazza, with his knees <br> + jambed against the balustrade, and his chair back against the <br> + dun-colored wall of his house, seemed to be walking in the cathedral <br> + of the redwood forest, with blue above him, a vast hymn in his ears, <br> + pungent perfume in his nostrils, and mighty shafts of trees lifting <br> + themselves to heaven, proud and erect as pure men before their Judge. <br> + He stood on a mountain at sunrise, and saw the marvels of the <br> + amethystine clouds below his feet, heard an eternal and white <br> + silence, such as broods among the everlasting snows, and saw an eagle <br> + winging for the sun. He was in a city, and away from him, diverging <br> + like the spokes of a wheel, ran thronging streets, and to his sense <br> + came the beat, beat, beat of the city's heart.<br> + He saw the golden alchemy of a chosen race; saw greed transmitted to <br> + progress; saw that which had enslaved men, work at last to their <br> + liberation; heard the roar of mighty mills, and on the streets all <br> + the peoples of earth walking with common purpose, in fealty and <br> + understanding. And then, from the swelling of this concourse of great <br> + sounds, came a diminuendo, calm as philosophy, and from that, <br> + nothingness.</p> +<p>Boyce sat still for a long time, listening to the echoes which this <br> + music had awakened in his soul. He retired, at length, content, but <br> + determined that upon the morrow he would watch -- the day being <br> + Sunday -- for the musician who had so moved and taught him.</p> +<p>He arose early, therefore, and having pre- pared his own simple <br> + breakfast of fruit and coffee, took his station by the window to <br> + watch for the man. For he felt convinced that the exposition he had <br> + heard was that of a masculine mind. The long, hot hours of the <br> + morning went by, but the front door of the house next to his did not <br> + open.</p> +<p>"These artists sleep late," he complained.<br> + Still he watched. He was too much afraid of losing him to go out for <br> + dinner. By three in the afternoon he had grown impatient. He went to <br> + the house next door and rang the bell. There was no response. He <br> + thun- dered another appeal. An old woman with a cloth about her head <br> + answered the door.<br> + She was very deaf, and Boyce had difficulty in making himself <br> + understood.</p> +<p>"The family is in the country," was all she would say. "The + family <br> + will not be home till September."</p> +<p>"But there is some one living here?"<br> + shouted Boyce.</p> +<p>"_I_ live here," she said with dignity, put- ting back a wisp of + <br> + dirty gray hair behind her ear. "It is my house. I sublet to the <br> + family."</p> +<p>"What family?"</p> +<p>But the old creature was not communica- tive.</p> +<p>"The family that lives here," she said.</p> +<p>"Then who plays the piano in this house?"<br> + roared Boyce. "Do you?"</p> +<p>He thought a shade of pallor showed itself on her ash-colored cheeks. <br> + Yet she smiled a little at the idea of her playing.</p> +<p>"There is no piano," she said, and she put an enigmatical emphasis + to <br> + the words.</p> +<p>"Nonsense," cried Boyce, indignantly. "I heard a piano being + played <br> + in this very house for hours last night!"</p> +<p>"You may enter," said the old woman, with an accent more vicious + than <br> + hospitable.</p> +<p>Boyce almost burst into the drawing-room.<br> + It was a dusty and forbidding place, with ugly furniture and gaudy <br> + walls. No piano nor any other musical instrument stood in it. The <br> + intruder turned an angry and baffled face to the old woman, who was <br> + smiling with ill- concealed exultation.</p> +<p>"I shall see the other rooms," he an- nounced. The old woman did + not <br> + appear to be surprised at his impertinence.</p> +<p>"As you please," she said.</p> +<p>So, with the hobbling creature, with her bandaged head, for a guide, <br> + he explored every room of the house, which being identical with his <br> + own, he could do without fear of leaving any apartment unentered. But <br> + no piano did he find!</p> +<p>"Explain," roared Boyce at length, turning upon the leering old hag + <br> + beside him. "Ex- plain! For surely I heard music more beau- tiful <br> + than I can tell."</p> +<p>"I know nothing," she said. "But it is true I once had a lodger + who <br> + rented the front room, and that he played upon the piano. I am poor <br> + at hearing, but he must have played well, for all the neighbors used <br> + to come in front of the house to listen, and sometimes they applauded <br> + him, and some- times they were still. I could tell by watching their <br> + hands. Sometimes little chil- dren came and danced. Other times young <br> + men and women came and listened. But the young man died. The <br> + neighbors were angry.<br> + They came to look at him and said he had starved to death. It was no <br> + fault of mine.<br> + I sold his piano to pay his funeral ex- penses -- and it took every <br> + cent to pay for them too, I'd have you know. But since then, <br> + sometimes -- still, it must be non- sense, for I never heard it -- <br> + folks say that he plays the piano in my room. It has kept me out of <br> + the letting of it more than once. But the family doesn't seem to mind <br> + -- the family that lives here, you know. They will be back in <br> + September. Yes."</p> +<p>Boyce left her nodding her thanks at what he had placed in her hand, <br> + and went home to write it all to Babette -- Babette who would laugh <br> + so merrily when she read it!</p> +<p> </p> +<h2>AN ASTRAL ONION</h2> +<p>WHEN Tig Braddock came to Nora Finnegan he was red-headed and <br> + freckled, and, truth to tell, he re- mained with these features to <br> + the end of his life -- a life prolonged by a lucky, if somewhat <br> + improbable, incident, as you shall hear.</p> +<p>Tig had shuffled off his parents as saurians, of some sorts, do their <br> + skins. During the temporary absence from home of his mother, who was <br> + at the bridewell, and the more ex- tended vacation of his father, <br> + who, like Vil- lon, loved the open road and the life of it, Tig, who <br> + was not a well-domesticated animal, wandered away. The humane society <br> + never heard of him, the neighbors did not miss him, and the law took <br> + no cognizance of this detached citizen -- this lost pleiad. Tig would <br> + have sunk into that melancholy which is attendant upon hunger, -- the <br> + only form of despair which babyhood knows, -- if he had not wandered <br> + across the path of Nora Finne- gan. Now Nora shone with steady <br> + brightness in her orbit, and no sooner had Tig entered her <br> + atmosphere, than he was warmed and com- forted. Hunger could not live <br> + where Nora was. The basement room where she kept house was redolent <br> + with savory smells; and in the stove in her front room -- which was <br> + also her bedroom -- there was a bright fire glowing when fire was <br> + needed.</p> +<p><br> + Nora went out washing for a living. But she was not a poor <br> + washerwoman. Not at all.<br> + She was a washerwoman triumphant. She had perfect health, an enormous <br> + frame, an abounding enthusiasm for life, and a rich abundance of <br> + professional pride. She be- lieved herself to be the best washer of <br> + white clothes she had ever had the pleasure of knowing, and the value <br> + placed upon her ser- vices, and her long connection with certain <br> + families with large weekly washings, bore out this estimate of <br> + herself -- an estimate which she never endeavored to conceal.</p> +<p>Nora had buried two husbands without being unduly depressed by the <br> + fact. The first hus- band had been a disappointment, and Nora winked <br> + at Providence when an accident in a tunnel carried him off -- that is <br> + to say, carried the husband off. The second husband was not so much <br> + of a disappointment as a sur- prise. He developed ability of a <br> + literary order, and wrote songs which sold and made him a small <br> + fortune. Then he ran away with another woman. The woman spent his <br> + fort- une, drove him to dissipation, and when he was dying he came <br> + back to Nora, who re- ceived him cordially, attended him to the end, <br> + and cheered his last hours by singing his own songs to him. Then she <br> + raised a headstone recounting his virtues, which were quite numerous, <br> + and refraining from any reference to those peculiarities which had <br> + caused him to be such a surprise.</p> +<p>Only one actual chagrin had ever nibbled at the sound heart of Nora <br> + Finnegan -- a cruel chagrin, with long, white teeth, such as rodents <br> + have! She had never held a child to her breast, nor laughed in its <br> + eyes; never bathed the pink form of a little son or daughter; never <br> + felt a tugging of tiny hands at her voluminous calico skirts! Nora <br> + had burnt many candles before the statue of the blessed Virgin <br> + without remedying this deplor- able condition. She had sent up <br> + unavailing prayers -- she had, at times, wept hot tears of longing <br> + and loneliness. Sometimes in her sleep she dreamed that a wee form, <br> + warm and exquisitely soft, was pressed against her firm body, and <br> + that a hand with tiniest pink nails crept within her bosom. But as <br> + she reached out to snatch this delicious little creature closer, she <br> + woke to realize a barren woman's grief, and turned herself in anguish <br> + on her lonely pillow.</p> +<p>So when Tig came along, accompanied by two curs, who had faithfully <br> + followed him from his home, and when she learned the details of his <br> + story, she took him in, curs and all, and, having bathed the three of <br> + them, made them part and parcel of her home. This was after the <br> + demise of the second husband, and at a time when Nora felt that she <br> + had done all a woman could be expected to do for Hymen.</p> +<p>Tig was a preposterous baby. The curs were preposterous curs. Nora <br> + had always been afflicted with a surplus amount of laughter -- <br> + laughter which had difficulty in attaching itself to anything, owing <br> + to the lack of the really comic in the surroundings of the poor. But <br> + with a red-headed and freckled baby boy and two trick dogs in the <br> + house, she found a good and sufficient excuse for her hilarity, and <br> + would have torn the cave where echo lies with her mirth, had that <br> + cave not been at such an immeasurable dis- tance from the crowded <br> + neighborhood where she lived.</p> +<p>At the age of four Tig went to free kinder- garten; at the age of six <br> + he was in school, and made three grades the first year and two the <br> + next. At fifteen he was graduated from the high school and went to <br> + work as errand boy in a newspaper office, with the fixed de- <br> + termination to make a journalist of himself.</p> +<p>Nora was a trifle worried about his morals when she discovered his <br> + intellect, but as time went on, and Tig showed no devotion for any <br> + woman save herself, and no consciousness that there were such things <br> + as bad boys or saloons in the world, she began to have con- fidence. <br> + All of his earnings were brought to her. Every holiday was spent with <br> + her. He told her his secrets and his aspirations. He admitted that he <br> + expected to become a great man, and, though he had not quite decided <br> + upon the nature of his career, -- saving, of course, the makeshift of <br> + journalism, -- it was not unlikely that he would elect to be a <br> + novelist like -- well, probably like Thackeray.</p> +<p>Hope, always a charming creature, put on her most alluring smiles for <br> + Tig, and he made her his mistress, and feasted on the light of her <br> + eyes. Moreover, he was chap- eroned, so to speak, by Nora Finnegan, <br> + who listened to every line Tig wrote, and made a mighty applause, and <br> + filled him up with good Irish stew, many colored as the coat of <br> + Joseph, and pungent with the inimitable perfume of "the rose of the <br> + cellar." Nora Finnegan understood the onion, and used it lovingly.<br> + She perceived the difference between the use and abuse of this <br> + pleasant and obvious friend of hungry man, and employed it with <br> + enthu- siasm, but discretion. Thus it came about that whoever ate of <br> + her dinners, found the meals of other cooks strangely lacking in <br> + savor, and remembered with regret the soups and stews, the broiled <br> + steaks, and stuffed chickens of the woman who appreciated the onion.</p> +<p>When Nora Finnegan came home with a cold one day, she took it in such <br> + a jocular fashion that Tig felt not the least concern about her, and <br> + when, two days later, she died of pneumonia, he almost thought, at <br> + first, that it must be one of her jokes. She had departed with <br> + decision, such as had charac- terized every act of her life, and had <br> + made as little trouble for others as possible. When she was dead the <br> + community had the oppor- tunity of discovering the number of her <br> + friends. Miserable children with faces which revealed two generations <br> + of hunger, homeless boys with vicious countenances, miserable wrecks <br> + of humanity, women with bloated faces, came to weep over Nora's bier, <br> + and to lay a flower there, and to scuttle away, more abjectly lonely <br> + than even sin could make them. If the cats and the dogs, the sparrows <br> + and horses to which she had shown kindness, could also have attended <br> + her funeral, the procession would have been, from a point of numbers, <br> + one of the most imposing the city had ever known. Tig used up all <br> + their sav- ings to bury her, and the next week, by some peculiar <br> + fatality, he had a falling out with the night editor of his paper, <br> + and was discharged.<br> + This sank deep into his sensitive soul, and he swore he would be an <br> + underling no longer -- which foolish resolution was directly trace- <br> + able to his hair, the color of which, it will be recollected, was <br> + red.</p> +<p>Not being an underling, he was obliged to make himself into something <br> + else, and he recurred passionately to his old idea of be- coming a <br> + novelist. He settled down in Nora's basement rooms, went to work on a <br> + battered type-writer, did his own cooking, and occasionally pawned <br> + something to keep him in food. The environment was calcu- lated to <br> + further impress him with the idea of his genius.</p> +<p>A certain magazine offered an alluring prize for a short story, and <br> + Tig wrote one, and rewrote it, making alterations, revisions, an- <br> + notations, and interlineations which would have reflected credit upon <br> + Honor&eacute; Balzac himself. Then he wrought all together, with <br> + splendid brevity and dramatic force, -- Tig's own words, -- and <br> + mailed the same. He was convinced he would get the prize. He was just <br> + as much convinced of it as Nora Finne- gan would have been if she had <br> + been with him.</p> +<p>So he went about doing more fiction, tak- ing no especial care of <br> + himself, and wrapt in rosy dreams, which, not being warm enough for <br> + the weather, permitted him to come down with rheumatic fever.</p> +<p>He lay alone in his room and suffered such torments as the condemned <br> + and rheumatic know, depending on one of Nora's former friends to come <br> + in twice a day and keep up the fire for him. This friend was aged <br> + ten, and looked like a sparrow who had been in a cyclone, but <br> + somewhere inside his bones was a wit which had spelled out devotion.<br> + He found fuel for the cracked stove, some- how or other. He brought <br> + it in a dirty sack which he carried on his back, and he kept warmth <br> + in Tig's miserable body. Moreover, he found food of a sort -- cold, <br> + horrible bits often, and Tig wept when he saw them, remembering the <br> + meals Nora had served him.</p> +<p>Tig was getting better, though he was con- scious of a weak heart and <br> + a lamenting stomach, when, to his amazement, the Spar- row ceased to <br> + visit him. Not for a moment did Tig suspect desertion. He knew that <br> + only something in the nature of an act of Providence, as the <br> + insurance companies would designate it, could keep the little bundle <br> + of bones away from him. As the days went by, he became convinced of <br> + it, for no Sparrow came, and no coal lay upon the hearth. The <br> + basement window fortunately looked toward the south, and the pale <br> + April sunshine was beginning to make itself felt, so that the tem- <br> + perature of the room was not unbearable. But Tig languished; sank, <br> + sank, day by day, and was kept alive only by the conviction that the <br> + letter announcing the award of the thousand- dollar prize would <br> + presently come to him.<br> + One night he reached a place, where, for hunger and dejection, his <br> + mind wandered, and he seemed to be complaining all night to Nora of <br> + his woes. When the chill dawn came, with chittering of little birds <br> + on the dirty pavement, and an agitation of the scrawny willow <br> + "pussies," he was not able to lift his hand to his head. The window + <br> + before his sight was but "a glimmering square." He said to himself + <br> + that the end must be at hand. Yet it was cruel, cruel, with fame and <br> + fortune so near! If only he had some food, he might summon strength <br> + to rally -- just for a little while! Impossible that he should die! <br> + And yet without food there was no choice.</p> +<p>Dreaming so of Nora's dinners, thinking how one spoonful of a stew <br> + such as she often compounded would now be his salvation, he became <br> + conscious of the presence of a strong perfume in the room. It was so <br> + familiar that it seemed like a sub-consciousness, yet he found no <br> + name for this friendly odor for a bewildered minute or two. Little by <br> + little, however, it grew upon him, that it was the onion -- that <br> + fragrant and kindly bulb which had attained its apotheosis in the <br> + cuisine of Nora Finnegan of sacred memory. He opened his languid <br> + eyes, to see if, mayhap, the plant had not attained some more <br> + palpable mate- rialization.</p> +<p>Behold, it was so! Before him, in a brown earthen dish, -- a most <br> + familiar dish, -- was an onion, pearly white, in placid seas of <br> + gravy, smoking and delectable. With unexpected strength he raised <br> + himself, and reached for the dish, which floated before him in a halo <br> + made by its own steam. It moved toward him, offered a spoon to his <br> + hand, and as he ate he heard about the room the rustle of Nora <br> + Finnegan's starched skirts, and now and then a faint, faint echo of <br> + her old-time laugh -- such an echo as one may find of the sea in the <br> + heart of a shell.</p> +<p>The noble bulb disappeared little by little before his voracity, and <br> + in contentment greater than virtue can give, he sank back upon his <br> + pillow and slept.</p> +<p>Two hours later the postman knocked at the door, and receiving no <br> + answer, forced his way in. Tig, half awake, saw him enter with no <br> + surprise. He felt no surprise when he put a letter in his hand <br> + bearing the name of the magazine to which he had sent his short <br> + story.<br> + He was not even surprised, when, tearing it open with suddenly alert <br> + hands, he found within the check for the first prize -- the check he <br> + had expected.</p> +<p>All that day, as the April sunlight spread itself upon his floor, he <br> + felt his strength grow.<br> + Late in the afternoon the Sparrow came back, paler, and more bony <br> + than ever, and sank, breathing hard, upon the floor, with his sack of <br> + coal.</p> +<p>"I've been sick," he said, trying to smile.<br> + "Terrible sick, but I come as soon as I could."</p> +<p>"Build up the fire," cried Tig, in a voice so strong it made the + <br> + Sparrow start as if a stone had struck him. "Build up the fire, and <br> + forget you are sick. For, by the shade of Nora Finnegan, you shall be <br> + hungry no more!"</p> +<p> </p> +<h2>FROM THE LOOM OF THE DEAD</h2> +<p>WHEN Urda Bjarnason tells a tale all the men stop their talking to <br> + lis- ten, for they know her to be wise with the wisdom of the old <br> + people, and that she has more learning than can be got even from the <br> + great schools at Reykjavik.<br> + She is especially prized by them here in this new country where the <br> + Icelandmen are settled -- this America, so new in letters, where the <br> + people speak foolishly and write unthinking books. So the men who <br> + know that it is given to the mothers of earth to be very wise, stop <br> + their six part singing, or their jangles about the free-thinkers, and <br> + give attentive ear when Urda Bjarnason lights her pipe and begins her <br> + tale.</p> +<p><br> + She is very old. Her daughters and sons are all dead, but her <br> + granddaughter, who is most respectable, and the cousin of a phy- <br> + sician, says that Urda is twenty-four and a hundred, and there are <br> + others who say that she is older still. She watches all that the <br> + Iceland people do in the new land; she knows about the building of <br> + the five villages on the North Dakota plain, and of the founding of <br> + the churches and the schools, and the tilling of the wheat farms. She <br> + notes with sus- picion the actions of the women who bring home webs <br> + of cloth from the store, instead of spinning them as their mothers <br> + did before them; and she shakes her head at the wives who run to the <br> + village grocery store every fortnight, imitating the wasteful <br> + American women, who throw butter in the fire faster than it can be <br> + turned from the churn.</p> +<p>She watches yet other things. All winter long the white snows reach <br> + across the gently rolling plains as far as the eye can behold.<br> + In the morning she sees them tinted pink at the east; at noon she <br> + notes golden lights flashing across them; when the sky is gray -- <br> + which is not often -- she notes that they grow as ashen as a face <br> + with the death shadow on it.<br> + Sometimes they glitter with silver-like tips of ocean waves. But at <br> + these things she looks only casually. It is when the blue shadows <br> + dance on the snow that she leaves her corner behind the iron stove, <br> + and stands before the window, resting her two hands on the stout bar <br> + of her cane, and gazing out across the waste with eyes which age has <br> + restored after four decades of decrepitude.</p> +<p>The young Icelandmen say:</p> +<p>"Mother, it is the clouds hurrying across the sky that make the dance + <br> + of the shadows."</p> +<p>"There are no clouds," she replies, and points to the jewel-like + blue <br> + of the arching sky.</p> +<p>"It is the drifting air," explains Fridrik Halldersson, he who has + <br> + been in the North- ern seas. "As the wind buffets the air, it looks <br> + blue against the white of the snow.<br> + 'Tis the air that makes the dancing shadows."</p> +<p>But Urda shakes her head, and points with her dried finger, and those <br> + who stand beside her see figures moving, and airy shapes, and <br> + contortions of strange things, such as are seen in a beryl stone.</p> +<p>"But Urda Bjarnason," says Ingeborg Chris- tianson, the pert young + <br> + wife with the blue- eyed twins, "why is it we see these things only <br> + when we stand beside you and you help us to the sight?"</p> +<p>"Because," says the mother, with a steel- blue flash of her old eyes, + <br> + "having eyes ye will not see!" Then the men laugh. They like to hear + <br> + Ingeborg worsted. For did she not jilt two men from Gardar, and one <br> + from Mountain, and another from Winnipeg?</p> +<p>Not even Ingeborg can deny that Mother Urda tells true things.</p> +<p>"To-day," says Urda, standing by the little window and watching the + <br> + dance of the shadows, "a child breathed thrice on a farm at the West, <br> + and then it died."</p> +<p>The next week at the church gathering, when all the sledges stopped <br> + at the house of Urda's granddaughter, they said it was so -- that <br> + John Christianson's wife Margaret never heard the voice of her son, <br> + but that he breathed thrice in his nurse's arms and died.</p> +<p>"Three sledges run over the snow toward Milton," says Urda; "all + are <br> + laden with wheat, and in one is a stranger. He has with him a strange <br> + engine, but its purpose I do not know."</p> +<p>Six hours later the drivers of three empty sledges stop at the house.</p> +<p>"We have been to Milton with wheat," they say, "and Christian + Johnson <br> + here, carried a photographer from St. Paul."</p> +<p>Now it stands to reason that the farmers like to amuse themselves <br> + through the silent and white winters. And they prefer above all <br> + things to talk or to listen, as has been the fashion of their race <br> + for a thousand years.<br> + Among all the story-tellers there is none like Urda, for she is the <br> + daughter and the grand- daughter and the great-granddaughter of <br> + story- tellers. It is given to her to talk, as it is given to John <br> + Thorlaksson to sing -- he who sings so as his sledge flies over the <br> + snow at night, that the people come out in the bitter air from their <br> + doors to listen, and the dogs put up their noses and howl, not liking <br> + music.</p> +<p>In the little cabin of Peter Christianson, the husband of Urda's <br> + granddaughter, it some- times happens that twenty men will gather <br> + about the stove. They hang their bear-skin coats on the wall, put <br> + their fur gauntlets underneath the stove, where they will keep warm, <br> + and then stretch their stout, felt-covered legs to the wood fire. The <br> + room is fetid; the coffee steams eternally on the stove; and from her <br> + chair in the warmest corner Urda speaks out to the listening men, who <br> + shake their heads with joy as they hear the pure old Icelandic flow <br> + in sweet rhythm from between her lips. Among the many, many tales she <br> + tells is that of the dead weaver, and she tells it in the simplest <br> + language in all the world -- language so simple that even great <br> + scholars could find no simpler, and the children crawling on the <br> + floor can understand.</p> +<p>"Jon and Loa lived with their father and mother far to the north of <br> + the Island of Fire, and when the children looked from their win- dows <br> + they saw only wild scaurs and jagged lava rocks, and a distant, deep <br> + gleam of the sea. They caught the shine of the sea through an <br> + eye-shaped opening in the rocks, and all the long night of winter it <br> + gleamed up at them, like the eye of a dead witch. But when it <br> + sparkled and began to laugh, the children danced about the hut and <br> + sang, for they knew the bright summer time was at hand. Then their <br> + father fished, and their mother was gay.<br> + But it is true that even in the winter and the darkness they were <br> + happy, for they made fish- ing nets and baskets and cloth together, <br> + -- Jon and Loa and their father and mother, -- and the children were <br> + taught to read in the books, and were told the sagas, and given <br> + instruction in the part singing.</p> +<p>"They did not know there was such a thing as sorrow in the world, for + <br> + no one had ever mentioned it to them. But one day their mother died. <br> + Then they had to learn how to keep the fire on the hearth, and to <br> + smoke the fish, and make the black coffee. And also they had to learn <br> + how to live when there is sorrow at the heart.</p> +<p>"They wept together at night for lack of their mother's kisses, and <br> + in the morning they were loath to rise because they could not see her <br> + face. The dead cold eye of the sea watching them from among the lava <br> + rocks made them afraid, so they hung a shawl over the window to keep <br> + it out. And the house, try as they would, did not look clean and <br> + cheerful as it had used to do when their mother sang and worked about <br> + it.</p> +<p>"One day, when a mist rested over the eye of the sea, like that which + <br> + one beholds on the eyes of the blind, a greater sorrow came to them, <br> + for a stepmother crossed the thres- hold. She looked at Jon and Loa, <br> + and made complaint to their father that they were still very small <br> + and not likely to be of much use.<br> + After that they had to rise earlier than ever, and to work as only <br> + those who have their growth should work, till their hearts cracked <br> + for weariness and shame. They had not much to eat, for their <br> + stepmother said she would trust to the gratitude of no other woman's <br> + child, and that she believed in lay- ing up against old age. So she <br> + put the few coins that came to the house in a strong box, and bought <br> + little food. Neither did she buy the children clothes, though those <br> + which their dear mother had made for them were so worn that the warp <br> + stood apart from the woof, and there were holes at the elbows and <br> + little warmth to be found in them anywhere.</p> +<p>"Moreover, the quilts on their beds were too short for their growing <br> + length, so that at night either their purple feet or their thin <br> + shoulders were uncovered, and they wept for the cold, and in the <br> + morning, when they crept into the larger room to build the fire, they <br> + were so stiff they could not stand straight, and there was pain at <br> + their joints.</p> +<p>"The wife scolded all the time, and her brow was like a storm <br> + sweeping down from the Northwest. There was no peace to be had in the <br> + house. The children might not repeat to each other the sagas their <br> + mother had taught them, nor try their part singing, nor make little <br> + doll cradles of rushes. Always they had to work, always they were <br> + scolded, always their clothes grew thinner.</p> +<p>"'Stepmother,' cried Loa one day, -- she whom her mother had called <br> + the little bird, -- 'we are a-cold because of our rags. Our mother <br> + would have woven blue cloth for us and made it into garments.'</p> +<p>"'Your mother is where she will weave no cloth!' said the stepmother, + <br> + and she laughed many times.</p> +<p>"All in the cold and still of that night, the stepmother wakened, and + <br> + she knew not why.<br> + She sat up in her bed, and knew not why.<br> + She knew not why, and she looked into the room, and there, by the <br> + light of a burning fish's tail -- 'twas such a light the folk used in <br> + those days -- was a woman, weaving. She had no loom, and shuttle she <br> + had none. All with her hands she wove a wondrous cloth. Stoop- ing <br> + and bending, rising and swaying with motions beautiful as those the <br> + Northern Lights make in a midwinter sky, she wove a cloth. The warp <br> + was blue and mystical to see, the woof was white, and shone with its <br> + whiteness, so that of all the webs the step- mother had ever seen, <br> + she had seen none like to this.</p> +<p>"Yet the sight delighted her not, for beyond the drifting web, and <br> + beyond the weaver she saw the room and furniture -- aye, saw them <br> + through the body of the weaver and the drift- ing of the cloth. Then <br> + she knew -- as the haunted are made to know -- that 'twas the mother <br> + of the children come to show her she could still weave cloth. The <br> + heart of the stepmother was cold as ice, yet she could not move to <br> + waken her husband at her side, for her hands were as fixed as if they <br> + were crossed on her dead breast. The voice in her was silent, and her <br> + tongue stood to the roof of her mouth.</p> +<p>"After a time the wraith of the dead mother moved toward her -- the <br> + wraith of the weaver moved her way -- and round and about her body <br> + was wound the shining cloth.<br> + Wherever it touched the body of the step- mother, it was as hateful <br> + to her as the touch of a monster out of sea-slime, so that her flesh <br> + crept away from it, and her senses swooned.</p> +<p>"In the early morning she awoke to the voices of the children, <br> + whispering in the inner room as they dressed with half-frozen <br> + fingers. Still about her was the hateful, beau- tiful web, filling <br> + her soul with loathing and with fear. She thought she saw the task <br> + set for her, and when the children crept in to light the fire -- very <br> + purple and thin were their little bodies, and the rags hung from them <br> + -- she arose and held out the shining cloth, and cried:</p> +<p>"'Here is the web your mother wove for you. I will make it into <br> + garments!' But even as she spoke the cloth faded and fell into <br> + nothingness, and the children cried:</p> +<p>"'Stepmother, you have the fever!'</p> +<p>"And then:</p> +<p>"'Stepmother, what makes the strange light in the room?'</p> +<p>"That day the stepmother was too weak to rise from her bed, and the <br> + children thought she must be going to die, for she did not scold as <br> + they cleared the house and braided their baskets, and she did not <br> + frown at them, but looked at them with wistful eyes.</p> +<p>"By fall of night she was as weary as if she had wept all the day, <br> + and so she slept. But again she was awakened and knew not why.<br> + And again she sat up in her bed and knew not why. And again, not <br> + knowing why, she looked and saw a woman weaving cloth. All that had <br> + happened the night before happened this night. Then, when the morning <br> + came, and the children crept in shivering from their beds, she arose <br> + and dressed herself, and from her strong box she took coins, and bade <br> + her husband go with her to the town.</p> +<p>"So that night a web of cloth, woven by one of the best weavers in <br> + all Iceland, was in the house; and on the beds of the children were <br> + blankets of lamb's wool, soft to the touch and fair to the eye. After <br> + that the children slept warm and were at peace; for now, when they <br> + told the sagas their mother had taught them, or tried their part <br> + songs as they sat together on their bench, the stepmother was silent. <br> + For she feared to chide, lest she should wake at night, not knowing <br> + why, and see the mother's wraith."</p> +<p> </p> +<h2>A GRAMMATICAL GHOST</h2> +<p>THERE was only one possible ob- jection to the drawing-room, and that <br> + was the occasional presence of Miss Carew; and only one pos- sible <br> + objection to Miss Carew. And that was, that she was dead.</p> +<p>She had been dead twenty years, as a matter of fact and record, and <br> + to the last of her life sacredly preserved the treasures and <br> + traditions of her family, a family bound up -- as it is quite <br> + unnecessary to explain to any one in good society -- with all that is <br> + most venerable and heroic in the history of the Republic.<br> + Miss Carew never relaxed the proverbial hos- pitality of her house, <br> + even when she remained its sole representative. She continued to <br> + preside at her table with dignity and state, and to set an example of <br> + excessive modesty and gentle decorum to a generation of restless <br> + young women.</p> +<p><br> + It is not likely that having lived a life of such irreproachable <br> + gentility as this, Miss Carew would have the bad taste to die in any <br> + way not pleasant to mention in fastidious society. She could be <br> + trusted to the last, not to outrage those friends who quoted her as <br> + an exemplar of propriety. She died very un- obtrusively of an <br> + affection of the heart, one June morning, while trimming her rose <br> + trellis, and her lavender-colored print was not even rumpled when she <br> + fell, nor were more than the tips of her little bronze slippers <br> + visible.</p> +<p>"Isn't it dreadful," said the Philadelphians, "that the property + <br> + should go to a very, very distant cousin in Iowa or somewhere else on <br> + the frontier, about whom nobody knows any- thing at all?"</p> +<p>The Carew treasures were packed in boxes and sent away into the Iowa <br> + wilderness; the Carew traditions were preserved by the His- torical <br> + Society; the Carew property, standing in one of the most umbrageous <br> + and aristo- cratic suburbs of Philadelphia, was rented to all manner <br> + of folk -- anybody who had money enough to pay the rental -- and <br> + society entered its doors no more.</p> +<p>But at last, after twenty years, and when all save the oldest <br> + Philadelphians had forgotten Miss Lydia Carew, the very, very distant <br> + cousin appeared. He was quite in the prime of life, and so agreeable <br> + and unassuming that nothing could be urged against him save his <br> + patronymic, which, being Boggs, did not commend itself to the <br> + euphemists. With him were two maiden sisters, ladies of excellent <br> + taste and manners, who restored the Carew china to its ancient <br> + cabinets, and replaced the Carew pictures upon the walls, with ad- <br> + ditions not out of keeping with the elegance of these heirlooms. <br> + Society, with a magna- nimity almost dramatic, overlooked the name of <br> + Boggs -- and called.</p> +<p>All was well. At least, to an outsider all seemed to be well. But, in <br> + truth, there was a certain distress in the old mansion, and in the <br> + hearts of the well-behaved Misses Boggs.<br> + It came about most unexpectedly. The sis- ters had been sitting <br> + upstairs, looking out at the beautiful grounds of the old place, and <br> + marvelling at the violets, which lifted their heads from every <br> + possible cranny about the house, and talking over the cordiality <br> + which they had been receiving by those upon whom they had no claim, <br> + and they were filled with amiable satisfaction. Life looked <br> + attractive.<br> + They had often been grateful to Miss Lydia Carew for leaving their <br> + brother her fortune.<br> + Now they felt even more grateful to her. She had left them a Social <br> + Position -- one, which even after twenty years of desuetude, was fit <br> + for use.</p> +<p>They descended the stairs together, with arms clasped about each <br> + other's waists, and as they did so presented a placid and pleasing <br> + sight. They entered their drawing-room with the intention of brewing <br> + a cup of tea, and drinking it in calm sociability in the twilight.<br> + But as they entered the room they became aware of the presence of a <br> + lady, who was already seated at their tea-table, regarding their old <br> + Wedgewood with the air of a con- noisseur.</p> +<p>There were a number of peculiarities about this intruder. To begin <br> + with, she was hatless, quite as if she were a habitu&eacute; of the <br> + house, and was costumed in a prim lilac-colored lawn of the style of <br> + two decades past. But a greater peculiarity was the resemblance this <br> + lady bore to a faded daguerrotype. If looked at one way, she was <br> + perfectly discern- ible; if looked at another, she went out in a sort <br> + of blur. Notwithstanding this compara- tive invisibility, she exhaled <br> + a delicate per- fume of sweet lavender, very pleasing to the nostrils <br> + of the Misses Boggs, who stood look- ing at her in gentle and <br> + unprotesting surprise.</p> +<p>"I beg your pardon," began Miss Pru- dence, the younger of the Misses + <br> + Boggs, "but --"</p> +<p>But at this moment the Daguerrotype be- came a blur, and Miss <br> + Prudence found her- self addressing space. The Misses Boggs were <br> + irritated. They had never encountered any mysteries in Iowa. They <br> + began an im- patient search behind doors and porti&egrave;res, and <br> + even under sofas, though it was quite absurd to suppose that a lady <br> + recognizing the merits of the Carew Wedgewood would so far forget <br> + herself as to crawl under a sofa.</p> +<p>When they had given up all hope of dis- covering the intruder, they <br> + saw her standing at the far end of the drawing-room critically <br> + examining a water-color marine. The elder Miss Boggs started toward <br> + her with stern decision, but the little Daguerrotype turned with a <br> + shadowy smile, became a blur and an imperceptibility.</p> +<p>Miss Boggs looked at Miss Prudence Boggs.</p> +<p>"If there were ghosts," she said, "this would be one."</p> +<p>"If there were ghosts," said Miss Prudence Boggs, "this would + be the <br> + ghost of Lydia Carew."</p> +<p>The twilight was settling into blackness, and Miss Boggs nervously <br> + lit the gas while Miss Prudence ran for other tea-cups, preferring, <br> + for reasons superfluous to mention, not to drink out of the Carew <br> + china that evening.</p> +<p>The next day, on taking up her embroidery frame, Miss Boggs found a <br> + number of old- fashioned cross-stitches added to her Ken- sington. <br> + Prudence, she knew, would never have degraded herself by taking a <br> + cross-stitch, and the parlor-maid was above taking such a liberty. <br> + Miss Boggs mentioned the incident that night at a dinner given by an <br> + ancient friend of the Carews.</p> +<p>"Oh, that's the work of Lydia Carew, with- out a doubt!" cried the + <br> + hostess. "She visits every new family that moves to the house, but <br> + she never remains more than a week or two with any one."</p> +<p>"It must be that she disapproves of them,"<br> + suggested Miss Boggs.</p> +<p>"I think that's it," said the hostess. "She doesn't like their + china, <br> + or their fiction."</p> +<p>"I hope she'll disapprove of us," added Miss Prudence.</p> +<p>The hostess belonged to a very old Philadel- phian family, and she <br> + shook her head.</p> +<p>"I should say it was a compliment for even the ghost of Miss Lydia <br> + Carew to approve of one," she said severely.</p> +<p>The next morning, when the sisters entered their drawing-room there <br> + were numerous evi- dences of an occupant during their absence.<br> + The sofa pillows had been rearranged so that the effect of their <br> + grouping was less bizarre than that favored by the Western women; a <br> + horrid little Buddhist idol with its eyes fixed on its abdomen, had <br> + been chastely hidden behind a Dresden shepherdess, as unfit for the <br> + scrutiny of polite eyes; and on the table where Miss Prudence did <br> + work in water colors, after the fashion of the impressionists, lay a <br> + prim and impossible composition representing a moss-rose and a number <br> + of heartsease, col- ored with that caution which modest spinster <br> + artists instinctively exercise.</p> +<p>"Oh, there's no doubt it's the work of Miss Lydia Carew," said Miss + <br> + Prudence, contemptu- ously. "There's no mistaking the drawing of that <br> + rigid little rose. Don't you remember those wreaths and bouquets <br> + framed, among the pictures we got when the Carew pictures were sent <br> + to us? I gave some of them to an orphan asylum and burned up the <br> + rest."</p> +<p>"Hush!" cried Miss Boggs, involuntarily.<br> + "If she heard you, it would hurt her feelings terribly. Of course, I <br> + mean --" and she blushed. "It might hurt her feelings -- but how <br> + perfectly ridiculous! It's impos- sible!"</p> +<p>Miss Prudence held up the sketch of the moss-rose.</p> +<p>"THAT may be impossible in an artistic sense, but it is a palpable <br> + thing."</p> +<p>"Bosh!" cried Miss Boggs.</p> +<p>"But," protested Miss Prudence, "how do you explain it?"</p> +<p>"I don't," said Miss Boggs, and left the room.</p> +<p>That evening the sisters made a point of being in the drawing-room <br> + before the dusk came on, and of lighting the gas at the first hint of <br> + twilight. They didn't believe in Miss Lydia Carew -- but still they <br> + meant to be beforehand with her. They talked with un- wonted vivacity <br> + and in a louder tone than was their custom. But as they drank their <br> + tea even their utmost verbosity could not make them oblivious to the <br> + fact that the perfume of sweet lavender was stealing insidiously <br> + through the room. They tacitly refused to recognize this odor and all <br> + that it indicated, when sud- denly, with a sharp crash, one of the <br> + old Carew tea-cups fell from the tea-table to the floor and was <br> + broken. The disaster was fol- lowed by what sounded like a sigh of <br> + pain and dismay.</p> +<p>"I didn't suppose Miss Lydia Carew would ever be as awkward as that," + <br> + cried the younger Miss Boggs, petulantly.</p> +<p>"Prudence," said her sister with a stern accent, "please try + not to <br> + be a fool. You brushed the cup off with the sleeve of your dress."</p> +<p>"Your theory wouldn't be so bad," said Miss Prudence, half laughing + <br> + and half crying, "if there were any sleeves to my dress, but, as you <br> + see, there aren't," and then Miss Prudence had something as near <br> + hysterics as a healthy young woman from the West can have.</p> +<p>"I wouldn't think such a perfect lady as Lydia Carew," she ejaculated + <br> + between her sobs, "would make herself so disagreeable!<br> + You may talk about good-breeding all you please, but I call such <br> + intrusion exceedingly bad taste. I have a horrible idea that she <br> + likes us and means to stay with us. She left those other people <br> + because she did not approve of their habits or their grammar. It <br> + would be just our luck to please her."</p> +<p>"Well, I like your egotism," said Miss Boggs.</p> +<p>However, the view Miss Prudence took of the case appeared to be the <br> + right one. Time went by and Miss Lydia Carew still remained.<br> + When the ladies entered their drawing-room they would see the little <br> + lady-like Daguerro- type revolving itself into a blur before one of <br> + the family portraits. Or they noticed that the yellow sofa cushion, <br> + toward which she appeared to feel a peculiar antipathy, had been <br> + dropped behind the sofa upon the floor, or that one of Jane Austen's <br> + novels, which none of the family ever read, had been re- moved from <br> + the book shelves and left open upon the table.</p> +<p>"I cannot become reconciled to it," com- plained Miss Boggs to Miss + <br> + Prudence. "I wish we had remained in Iowa where we belong. Of course <br> + I don't believe in the thing! No sensible person would. But still I <br> + cannot become reconciled."</p> +<p>But their liberation was to come, and in a most unexpected manner.</p> +<p>A relative by marriage visited them from the West. He was a friendly <br> + man and had much to say, so he talked all through dinner, and <br> + afterward followed the ladies to the draw- ing-room to finish his <br> + gossip. The gas in the room was turned very low, and as they entered <br> + Miss Prudence caught sight of Miss Carew, in company attire, sitting <br> + in upright propriety in a stiff-backed chair at the extremity of the <br> + apartment.</p> +<p>Miss Prudence had a sudden idea.</p> +<p>"We will not turn up the gas," she said, with an emphasis intended + to <br> + convey private information to her sister. "It will be more agreeable <br> + to sit here and talk in this soft light."</p> +<p>Neither her brother nor the man from the West made any objection. <br> + Miss Boggs and Miss Prudence, clasping each other's hands, divided <br> + their attention between their corporeal and their incorporeal guests. <br> + Miss Boggs was confident that her sister had an idea, and was willing <br> + to await its development. As the guest from Iowa spoke, Miss Carew <br> + bent a politely attentive ear to what he said.</p> +<p>"Ever since Richards took sick that time,"<br> + he said briskly, "it seemed like he shed all responsibility." (The + <br> + Misses Boggs saw the Daguerrotype put up her shadowy head with a <br> + movement of doubt and apprehension.) "The fact of the matter was, <br> + Richards didn't seem to scarcely get on the way he might have been <br> + expected to." (At this conscienceless split to the infinitive and <br> + misplacing of the preposition, Miss Carew arose trembling per- <br> + ceptibly.) "I saw it wasn't no use for him to count on a quick <br> + recovery --"</p> +<p>The Misses Boggs lost the rest of the sen- tence, for at the <br> + utterance of the double nega- tive Miss Lydia Carew had flashed out, <br> + not in a blur, but with mortal haste, as when life goes out at a <br> + pistol shot!</p> +<p>The man from the West wondered why Miss Prudence should have cried at <br> + so pathetic a part of his story:</p> +<p>"Thank Goodness!"</p> +<p>And their brother was amazed to see Miss Boggs kiss Miss Prudence <br> + with passion and energy.</p> +<p>It was the end. Miss Carew returned no more.</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>End of Project Gutenberg Etext of The Shape of Fear, by Elia W. <br> + Peattie</h3> +<p></p> +<p></p> +<p> </p> +<p></p> +<p></p> +<p></p> +<p></p> +<p></p> +<p></p> +<p></p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p></p> +<p></p> +<p></p> +<BR> +<BR> +<BR> +<BR> +<PRE> +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE SHAPE OF FEAR *** + +This file should be named tshfr10h.htm or tshfr10h.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, tshfr11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, tshfr10ah.htm + + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance +of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. +Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections, +even years after the official publication date. + +Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. + +Most people start at our Web sites at: +http://gutenberg.net or +http://promo.net/pg + +These Web sites include award-winning information about Project +Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new +eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!). + + +Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement +can get to them as follows, and just download by date. This is +also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the +indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an +announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter. + +http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext04 or +ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext04 + +Or /etext03, 02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90 + +Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want, +as it appears in our Newsletters. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours +to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. Our +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If the value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text +files per month: 1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+ +We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002 +If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total +will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks! +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users. + +Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated): + +eBooks Year Month + + 1 1971 July + 10 1991 January + 100 1994 January + 1000 1997 August + 1500 1998 October + 2000 1999 December + 2500 2000 December + 3000 2001 November + 4000 2001 October/November + 6000 2002 December* + 9000 2003 November* +10000 2004 January* + + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created +to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people +and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut, +Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois, +Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts, +Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New +Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio, +Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South +Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West +Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming. + +We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones +that have responded. + +As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list +will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states. +Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state. + +In answer to various questions we have received on this: + +We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally +request donations in all 50 states. If your state is not listed and +you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have, +just ask. + +While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are +not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting +donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to +donate. + +International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about +how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made +deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are +ways. + +Donations by check or money order may be sent to: + +Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +PMB 113 +1739 University Ave. +Oxford, MS 38655-4109 + +Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment +method other than by check or money order. + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by +the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN +[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154. Donations are +tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law. As fund-raising +requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be +made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +You can get up to date donation information online at: + +http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html + + +*** + +If you can't reach Project Gutenberg, +you can always email directly to: + +Michael S. Hart [hart@pobox.com] + +Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message. + +We would prefer to send you information by email. + + +**The Legal Small Print** + + +(Three Pages) + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this eBook, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you may distribute copies of this eBook if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS EBOOK +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +eBook, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this eBook by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this eBook on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM EBOOKS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBooks, +is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart +through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project"). +Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this eBook +under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market +any commercial products without permission. + +To create these eBooks, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's eBooks and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other eBook medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may +receive this eBook from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook) disclaims +all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this eBook within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS EBOOK IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation, +and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated +with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including +legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the +following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this eBook, +[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the eBook, +or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this eBook electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + eBook or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this eBook in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word + processing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The eBook, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The eBook may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the eBook (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + eBook in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the eBook refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the + gross profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation" + the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were + legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent + periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to + let us know your plans and to work out the details. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of +public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed +in machine readable form. + +The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time, +public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses. +Money should be paid to the: +"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or +software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at: +hart@pobox.com + +[Portions of this eBook's header and trailer may be reprinted only +when distributed free of all fees. Copyright (C) 2001, 2002 by +Michael S. Hart. Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be +used in any sales of Project Gutenberg eBooks or other materials be +they hardware or software or any other related product without +express permission.] + +*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END* +</PRE> + +</BODY> +</HTML> |