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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/19336-8.txt b/19336-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..20e02b7 --- /dev/null +++ b/19336-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7342 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Tangled Threads, by Eleanor H. Porter + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Tangled Threads + + +Author: Eleanor H. Porter + + + +Release Date: September 19, 2006 [eBook #19336] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TANGLED THREADS*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +THE TANGLED THREADS + +by + +ELEANOR H. PORTER + + + + + + + +New York +The Christian Herald +Bible House + +Copyright, 1919, by Eleanor H. Porter +All Rights Reserved + + + + +Contents + + + A DELAYED HERITAGE + THE FOLLY OF WISDOM + CRUMBS + A FOUR-FOOTED FAITH AND A TWO + A MATTER OF SYSTEM + ANGELUS + THE APPLE OF HER EYE + A MUSHROOM OF COLLINGSVILLE + THAT ANGEL BOY + THE LADY IN BLACK + THE SAVING OF DAD + MILLIONAIRE MIKE'S THANKSGIVING + WHEN MOTHER FELL ILL + THE GLORY AND THE SACRIFICE + THE DALTONS AND THE LEGACY + THE LETTER + THE INDIVISIBLE FIVE + THE ELEPHANT'S BOARD AND KEEP + A PATRON OF ART + WHEN POLLY ANN PLAYED SANTA CLAUS + + +The stories in this volume are here reprinted by the courteous +permission of the publishers of the periodicals in which they first +appeared,--Lippincott's Magazine, The Metropolitan Magazine, McCall's +Magazine, Harper's Magazine, The American Magazine, Progress Magazine, +The Arena, The Christian Endeavor World, The Congregationalist and +Christian World, The Housewife, Harper's Bazar [Transcriber's note: +Bazaar?], Judge's Library Magazine, The New England Magazine, People's +Short Story Magazine, The Christian Herald, The Ladies' World. + + + + +The Tangled Threads + + +A Delayed Heritage + +When Hester was two years old a wheezy hand-organ would set her eyes to +sparkling and her cheeks to dimpling, and when she was twenty the +"Maiden's Prayer," played by a school-girl, would fill her soul with +ecstasy. + +To Hester, all the world seemed full of melody. Even the clouds in the +sky sailed slowly along in time to a stately march in her brain, or +danced to the tune of a merry schottische that sounded for her ears +alone. And when she saw the sunset from the hill behind her home, there +was always music then--low and tender if the colors were soft and +pale-tinted, grand and awful if the wind blew shreds and tatters of +storm-clouds across a purpling sky. All this was within Hester; but +without-- + +There had been but little room in Hester's life for music. Her days were +an endless round of dish-washing and baby-tending--first for her mother, +later for herself. There had been no money for music lessons, no time +for piano practice. Hester's childish heart had swelled with bitter envy +whenever she saw the coveted music roll swinging from some playmate's +hand. At that time her favorite "make-believe" had been to play at going +for a music lesson, with a carefully modeled roll of brown paper +suspended by a string from her fingers. + +Hester was forty now. Two sturdy boys and a girl of nine gave her three +hungry mouths to feed and six active feet to keep in holeless stockings. +Her husband had been dead two years, and life was a struggle and a +problem. The boys she trained rigorously, giving just measure of love +and care; but the girl--ah, Penelope should have that for which she +herself had so longed. Penelope should take music lessons! + +During all those nine years since Penelope had come to her, frequent +dimes and quarters, with an occasional half-dollar, had found their way +into an old stone jar on the top shelf in the pantry. It had been a +dreary and pinching economy that had made possible this horde of silver, +and its effects had been only too visible in Hester's turned and mended +garments, to say nothing of her wasted figure and colorless cheeks. +Penelope was nine now, and Hester deemed it a fitting time to begin the +spending of her treasured wealth. + +First, the instrument: it must be a rented one, of course. Hester went +about the labor of procuring it in a state of exalted bliss that was in a +measure compensation for her long years of sacrifice. + +Her task did not prove to be a hard one. The widow Butler, about to go +South for the winter, was more than glad to leave her piano in Hester's +tender care, and the dollar a month rent which Hester at first insisted +upon paying was finally cut in half, much to the widow Butler's +satisfaction and Hester's grateful delight. This much accomplished, +Hester turned her steps toward the white cottage wherein lived Margaret +Gale, the music teacher. + +Miss Gale, careful, conscientious, but of limited experience, placed her +services at the disposal of all who could pay the price--thirty-five +cents an hour; and she graciously accepted the name of her new pupil, +entering "Penelope Martin" on her books for Saturday mornings at ten +o'clock. Then Hester went home to tell her young daughter of the bliss +in store for her. + +Strange to say, she had cherished the secret of the old stone jar all +these years, and had never told Penelope of her high destiny. She +pictured now the child's joy, unconsciously putting her own nine-year-old +music-hungry self in Penelope's place. + +"Penelope," she called gently. + +There was a scurrying of light feet down the uncarpeted back stairs, and +Penelope, breathless, rosy, and smiling, appeared in the doorway. + +"Yes, mother." + +"Come with me, child," said Hester, her voice sternly solemn in her +effort to keep from shouting her glad tidings before the time. + +The woman led the way through the kitchen and dining-room and threw open +the parlor door, motioning her daughter into the somber room. The +rose-color faded from Penelope's cheeks. + +"Why, mother! what--what is it? Have I been--naughty?" she faltered. + +Mrs. Martin's tense muscles relaxed and she laughed hysterically. + +"No, dearie, no! I--I have something to tell you," she answered, drawing +the child to her and smoothing back the disordered hair. "What would you +rather have--more than anything else in the world?" she asked; then, +unable to keep her secret longer, she burst out, "I've got it, +Penelope!--oh, I've got it!" + +The little girl broke from the restraining arms and danced wildly around +the room. + +"Mother! Really? As big as me? And will it talk--say 'papa' and +'mamma,' you know?" + +"What!" + +Something in Hester's dismayed face brought the prancing feet to a sudden +stop. + +"It--it's a doll, is n't it?" the child stammered. + +Hester's hands grew cold. + +"A--a doll!" she gasped. + +Penelope nodded--the light gone from her eyes. + +For a moment the woman was silent; then she threw back her head with a +little shake and laughed forcedly. + +"A doll!--why, child, it's as much nicer than a doll as--as you can +imagine. It's a piano, dear--a pi-a-no!" she repeated impressively, all +the old enthusiasm coming back at the mere mention of the magic word. + +"Oh!" murmured Penelope, with some show of interest. + +"And you're to learn to play on it!" + +"Oh-h!" said Penelope again, but with less interest. + +"To play on it! Just think, dear, how fine that will be!" The woman's +voice was growing wistful. + +"Take lessons? Like Mamie, you mean?" + +"Yes, dear." + +"But--she has to practice and--" + +"Of course," interrupted Hester eagerly. "That's the best part of +it--the practice." + +"Mamie don't think so," observed Penelope dubiously. + +"Then Mamie can't know," rejoined Hester with decision, bravely combating +the chill that was creeping over her. "Come, dear, help mother to clear +a space, so we may be ready when the piano comes," she finished, crossing +the room and moving a chair to one side. + +But when the piano finally arrived, Penelope was as enthusiastic as even +her mother could wish her to be, and danced about it with proud joy. It +was after the child had left the house, however, that Hester came with +reverent step into the darkened room and feasted her eyes to her heart's +content on the reality of her dreams. + +Half fearfully she extended her hand and softly pressed the tip of her +fourth finger to one of the ivory keys; then with her thumb she touched +another a little below. The resulting dissonance gave her a vague +unrest, and she gently slipped her thumb along until the harmony of a +major sixth filled her eyes with quick tears. + +"Oh, if I only could!" she whispered, and pressed the chord again, +rapturously listening to the vibrations as they died away in the quiet +room. Then she tiptoed out and closed the door behind her. + +During the entire hour of that first Saturday morning lesson Mrs. Martin +hovered near the parlor door, her hands and feet refusing to perform +their accustomed duties. The low murmur of the teacher's voice and an +occasional series of notes were to Hester the mysterious rites before a +sacred shrine, and she listened in reverent awe. When Miss Gale had left +the house, Mrs. Martin hurried to Penelope's side. + +"How did it go? What did she say? Play me what she taught you," she +urged excitedly. + +Penelope tossed a consequential head and gave her mother a scornful +glance. + +"Pooh! mother, the first lesson ain't much. I've got to practice." + +"Of course," acknowledged Hester in conciliation; "but how?--what?" + +"That--and that--and from there to there," said Penelope, indicating with +a pink forefinger certain portions of the page before her. + +"Oh!" breathed Hester, regarding the notes with eager eyes. Then +timidly, "Play--that one." + +With all the importance of absolute certainty Penelope struck _C_. + +"And that one." + +Penelope's second finger hit _F_. + +"And that--and that--and that," swiftly demanded Hester. + +Penelope's cheeks grew pink, but her fingers did not falter. Hester drew +a long breath. + +"Oh, how quick you've learned 'em!" she exclaimed. + +Her daughter hesitated a tempted moment. + +"Well--I--I learned the notes in school," she finally acknowledged, +looking sidewise at her mother. + +But even this admission did not lessen for Hester the halo of glory about +Penelope's head. She drew another long breath. + +"But what else did Miss Gale say? Tell me everything--every single +thing," she reiterated hungrily. + +That was not only Penelope's first lesson, but Hester's. The child, +flushed and important with her sudden promotion from pupil to teacher, +scrupulously repeated each point in the lesson, and the woman, humble and +earnestly attentive, listened with bated breath. Then, Penelope, still +airily consequential, practiced for almost an hour. + +Monday, when the children were at school, Hester stole into the parlor +and timidly seated herself at the piano. + +"I think--I am almost sure I could do it," she whispered, studying with +eager eyes the open book on the music rack. "I--I'm going to try, +anyhow!" she finished resolutely. + +And Hester did try, not only then, but on Tuesday, Wednesday, and thus +until Saturday--that Saturday which brought with it a second lesson. + +The weeks passed swiftly after that. Hester's tasks seemed lighter and +her burdens less grievous since there was now that ever-present +refuge--the piano. It was marvelous what a multitude of headaches and +heartaches five minutes of scales, even, could banish; and when actual +presence at the piano was impossible, there were yet memory and +anticipation left her. + +For two of these weeks Penelope practiced her allotted hour with a +patience born of the novelty of the experience. The third week the +"hour" dwindled perceptibly, and the fourth week it was scarcely thirty +minutes long. + +"Come, dearie, don't forget your practice," Hester sometimes cautioned +anxiously. + +"Oh, dear me suz!" Penelope would sigh, and Hester would watch her with +puzzled eyes as she disconsolately pulled out the piano stool. + +"Penelope," she threatened one day, "I shall certainly stop your +lessons--you don't half appreciate them." But she was shocked and +frightened at the relief that so quickly showed in her young daughter's +eyes. Hester never made that threat again, for if Penelope's lessons +stopped-- + +As the weeks lengthened into months, bits of harmony and snatches of +melody became more and more frequent in Penelope's lessons, and the +"exercises" were supplemented by occasional "pieces"--simple, yet +boasting a name. But when Penelope played "Down by the Mill," one heard +only the notes--accurate, rhythmic, an excellent imitation; when Hester +played it, one might catch the whir of the wheel, the swish of the +foaming brook, and almost the spicy smell of the sawdust, so vividly was +the scene brought to mind. + +Many a time, now, the old childhood dreams came back to Hester, and her +fingers would drift into tender melodies and minor chords not on the +printed page, until all the stifled love and longing of those dreary, +colorless years of the past found voice at her finger-tips. + +The stately marches and the rollicking dances of the cloud music came +easily at her beck and call--now grave, now gay; now slow and measured, +now tripping in weird harmonies and gay melodies. + +Hester's blood quickened and her cheeks grew pink. Her eyes lost their +yearning look and her lips their wistful curves. + +Every week she faithfully took her lesson of Penelope, and she practiced +only that when the children were about. It was when they were at school +and she was alone that the great joy of this new-found treasure of +improvising came to her, and she could set free her heart and soul on the +ivory keys. + +She was playing thus one night--forgetting time, self, and that Penelope +would soon be home from school--when the child entered the house and +stopped, amazed, in the parlor doorway. As the last mellow note died +into silence, Penelope dropped her books and burst into tears. + +"Why, darling, what is it?" cried Hester. "What can be the matter?" + +"I--I don't know," faltered Penelope, looking at her mother with startled +eyes. "Why--why did n't you tell me?" + +"Tell you?" + +"That--that you could--p-play that way! I--I did n't know," she wailed +with another storm of sobs, rushing into her mother's arms. + +Hester's clasp tightened about the quivering little form and her eyes +grew luminous. + +"Dearie," she began very softly, "there was once a little girl--a little +girl like you. She was very, very poor, and all her days were full of +work. She had no piano, no music lessons--but, oh, how she longed for +them! The trees and the grass and the winds and the flowers sang all day +in her ears, but she could n't tell what they said. By and by, after +many, many years, this little girl grew up and a dear little baby +daughter came to her. She was still very, very poor, but she saved and +scrimped, and scrimped and saved, for she meant that this baby girl +should not long and long for the music that never came. _She_ should +have music lessons." + +"Was it--me?" whispered Penelope, with tremulous lips. + +Hester drew a long breath. + +"Yes, dear. I was the little girl long ago, and you are the little girl +of to-day. And when the piano came, Penelope, I found in it all those +songs that the winds and the trees used to sing to me. Now the sun +shines brighter and the birds sing sweeter--and all this beautiful world +is yours--all yours. Oh, Penelope, are n't you glad?" + +Penelope raised a tear-wet face and looked into her mother's shining eyes. + +"Glad?--oh, mother!" she cried fervently. Then very softly, "Mother--do +you think--could you teach _me_?-- Oh, I want to play just like +that--just like that!" + + + + +The Folly of Wisdom + +Until his fiftieth year Jason Hartsorn knew nothing whatever about the +position of his liver, kidneys, lungs, heart, spleen, and stomach except +that they must be somewhere inside of him; then he attended the auction +of old Doctor Hemenway's household effects and bid off for twenty-five +cents a dilapidated clothes basket, filled with books and pamphlets. +Jason's education as to his anatomy began almost at once then, for on the +way home he fished out a coverless volume from the basket and became lost +in awed wonder over a pictured human form covered from scalp to the toes +with scarlet, vine-like tracings. + +"For the land's sake, Jason!" ejaculated Mrs. Hartsorn, as her husband +came puffing into the kitchen with his burden an hour later. "Now, what +trash have you been buyin'?" + +"'Trash'!" panted Jason, carefully setting the basket down. "I guess you +won't call it no 'trash' when you see what 't is! It's books--learnin', +Hitty. I been readin' one of 'em, too. Look a-here," and he pulled up +his shirt sleeve and bared a brawny arm; "that's all full of teeny little +pipes an' cords. Why, if I could only skin it--" + +"Jason!" screamed his wife, backing away. + +"Pooh! 'T ain't nothin' to fret over," retorted Jason airily. "Besides, +you've got 'em too--ev'ry one has; see!" He finished by snatching up the +book and spreading before her horrified eyes the pictured figure with its +scarlet, vine-like tracings. + +"Oh-h!" shivered the woman, and fled from the room. + +Shivers and shudders became almost second nature to Mehitable Hartsorn +during the days that followed. The highly colored, carefully explained +illustrations of the kidneys, liver, heart, and lungs which the books +displayed were to her only a little less terrifying than the thought that +her own body contained the fearsome things in reality; while to her +husband these same illustrations were but the delightful means to a still +more delightful end--finding in his own sturdy frame the position of +every organ shown. + +For a month Jason was happy. Then it was suddenly borne in upon him that +not always were these fascinating new acquaintances of his in a healthy +condition. At once he began to pinch and pummel himself, and to watch +for pains, being careful, meanwhile, to study the books unceasingly, so +that he might know just where to look for the pains when they should +come. He counted his pulse daily--hourly, if he apprehended trouble; and +his tongue he examined critically every morning, being particular to +notice whether or not it were pale, moist, coated, red, raw, cracked, or +tremulous. + +Jason was not at all well that spring. He was threatened successively +with typhoid fever, appendicitis, consumption, and cholera, and only +escaped a serious illness in each case by the prompt application of +remedies prescribed in his books. His wife ran the whole gamut of +emotions from terror, worry, and sympathy down to indifference and +good-natured tolerance, reaching the last only after the repeated failure +of Jason's diseases to materialize. + +It was about a week after Jason had mercifully escaped an attack of the +cholera that he came into the kitchen one morning and dropped heavily +into the nearest chair. + +"I tell ye, my heart ain't right," he announced to his wife. "It's goin' +jest like Jehu--'palpitation,' they call it; an' I've got 'shortness of +breath,' too," he finished triumphantly. + +"Hm-m; did ye catch her at last?" asked Mehitable with mild interest. + +Jason looked up sharply. + +"'Catch her'! Catch who?" he demanded. + +"Why, the colt, of course! How long did ye have ter chase her?" Mrs. +Hartsorn's carefully modulated voice expressed curiosity, and that was +all. + +Jason flushed angrily. + +"Oh, I know what ye mean," he snapped. "Ye think thar don't nothin' ail +me, an' that jest fetchin' Dolly from the pasture did it all. But I know +what them symptoms means; they mean heart disease, woman,--'cardiac +failure,'--that's what 't is." Jason leaned back in his chair and drew a +long breath. When he could remember his "book-learnin'" and give a +high-sounding name to his complaint, his gratification was enhanced. + +"Hm-m; mebbe 't is, Jason," retorted his wife; "but I'm a-thinkin' that +when a man of your heft and years goes kitin' 'round a ten-acre lot at +the tail of a fly-away colt, he'll have all that kind of heart disease he +wants, an' still live ter die of somethin' else!" And Mehitable +cheerfully banged the oven door after making sure that her biscuits were +not getting too brown. + +As it happened, however, there was really no chance for Jason's heart +disease to develop, for that night he scratched his finger, which brought +about the much more imminent danger of blood-poisoning--"toxemia," Jason +said it was. For a time the whole household was upset, and Mehitable was +kept trotting from morning till night with sponges, cloths, cotton, and +bowls of curious-smelling liquids, while Jason discoursed on antiseptics, +germs, bacteria, microbes, and bacilli. + +The finger was nearly well when he suddenly discovered that, after all, +the trouble might have been lock-jaw instead of blood-poisoning. He at +once began studying the subject so that he might be prepared should the +thing occur again. He was glad, later, that he had done so, for the +Fourth of July and a toy pistol brought all his recently acquired +knowledge into instant requisition. + +"If it does come, it's 'most likely ter be fatal," he said excitedly to +his wife, who was calmly bathing a slight graze on his hand. "An' ye +want ter watch me," he added, catching up a book with his uninjured hand +and turning to a much-thumbed page for reference. "Now, listen. Thar's +diff'rent kinds of it. They're all 'te-ta-nus,' but ye got to watch out +ter find out which kind 't is. If I shut my jaws up tight, it's +'lock-jaw.' If I bend backwards, it's 'o-pis-tho-to-nos.' If I bend +forwards, it's 'em-pros-tho-to-nos'; an' if I bend ter one side, it's +'pleu-ro-tho-to-nos,'" he explained, pronouncing the long words after a +fashion of his own. "Now, remember," he finished. "Like enough I shan't +know enough ter tell which kind 't is myself, nor which way I am +a-leanin'." + +"No, of course not, dear," agreed Mehitable cheerfully; "an' I'll +remember," she promised, as she trotted away with her salves and bowls +and bandages. + +For some days Jason "tried" his jaw at regular intervals, coming to the +conclusion at last that fate once more was kind, and that "te-ta-nus" was +to pass him by. + +The summer ended and autumn came. Jason was glad that the cold weather +was approaching. The heat had been trying. He had almost suffered a +sunstroke, and twice a mosquito bite had given him much trouble--he had +feared that he would die of malignant pustule. His relief at the coming +of cool weather was short-lived, however, for one of the neighboring +towns developed a smallpox scare, and as he discovered a slight rash soon +after passing through the place, he thought best to submit to +vaccination. He caught a bad cold, too, and was sure pneumonia was +setting in--that is, he would have been sure, only his throat was so sore +that he could not help thinking it might be diphtheria. + +Realizing the seriousness of the situation, and determining to settle +once for all the vexed question, he pored over his books in an exhaustive +search for symptoms. It was then that he rushed into the presence of his +wife one morning, his face drawn, his eyes wildly staring, and an open +book in his shaking hand. + +"Hitty, Hitty," he cried; "jest listen ter this! How 'm I goin' ter tell +what ails me, I should like ter know, if I don't ache where I'm sick? +Why, Hitty, I can't never tell! Jest listen: + + The location of pain is not always at the seat of disease. In hip + disease the pain is not first felt in the hip, but in the knee-joint. + In chronic inflammation of the liver the pain is generally most + severe in the right shoulder and arm. + +"Only think, Hitty, 'In the right shoulder and arm'! Why, I had a pain +right in that spot only yesterday. So that's what I've +got--'hip-disease'! an'--oh, no," he broke off suddenly, consulting his +book, "'t ain't hip-disease when the shoulder aches--it's the liver, +then." + +"Well, well, Jason, I don't think I should fret," soothed Mehitable. "If +ye don't know, where's the diff'rence? Now I've got a pain right now in +my little toe. Like enough that means I 'm comin' down with the mumps; +eh?" + +"Hitty!" Jason's voice was agonized. He had been paying no attention to +his wife's words, but had been reading on down the page. "Hitty, listen! +It says--'Absence of pain in any disease where ordinarily it should be +present is an unfavorable sign.' An', Hitty, I hain't got an ache--not a +single ache, this minute!" + +There was no possibility of quieting Jason after that, and the days that +followed were hard for all concerned. If he had an ache he was +terrified; if he did not have one, he was more so. He began, also, to +distrust his own powers of diagnosis, and to study all the patent +medicine advertisements he could lay his hands on. He was half +comforted, half appalled, to read them. Far from being able to pick out +his own particular malady from among the lot, he was forced to admit that +as near as he could make out he had one or more symptoms of each and +every disease that was mentioned. + +"Now, Hitty, I'll leave it to you," he submitted plaintively. "Here's +'Dread of impending evil.' Now I've got that, sure; ye know I'm always +thinkin' somethin' dreadful's goin' ter happen. 'Sparks before the +eyes.' There! I had them only jest ter-day. I was sweepin' out the +barn, an' I see 'em hoppin' up an' down in a streak of sunshine that come +through a crack. 'Variable appetite.' Now, Hitty, don't ye remember? +Yesterday I wanted pie awful, an' I ate a whole one; well, this mornin' +seems as if I never wanted ter see an apple pie again. Now, if that +ain't 'variable,' I don't know what is. 'Inquietude.'" + +"Humph! You've got that all right," cut in Mehitable. + +"'Weakness.' I hain't got a mite o' strength, Hitty," he complained. +"An' thar 's dizziness, too,--I can't chase the calf three times round +the barnyard but what my head is jest swimmin'! An' Hitty,"--his voice +grew impressive,--"Hitty, I've got ev'ry one of them six symptoms, ev'ry +blamed one of 'em, an' I picked 'em out of six diff'rent +advertisements--six! Now, Hitty, which disease is it I've got? That's +what I want ter know--which?" + +His wife could not tell him; in fact, no one could tell him, and in sheer +desperation Jason answered all six of the advertisements, determined to +find out for a certainty what ailed him. + +In due course the answers came. Jason read one, then another, then +another, until the contents of the entire six had been mastered. Then he +raised his head and gazed straight into his wife's eyes. + +"Hitty," he gasped. "I've got 'em all! An' I've got ter take the whole +six medicines ter cure me!" + +Even Mehitable was stirred then. For one long minute she was silent, +then she squared her shoulders, and placed her hands on her hips. + +"Jason Hartsorn," she began determinedly, "this thing has gone jest as +fur as I'm goin' to stand it. Do you bundle yourself off ter Boston an' +hunt up the biggest doctor you can find. If he says somethin' ails ye, I +'ll believe him, an' nuss ye ter the best of my ability; but as fur +nussin' ye through six things--an' them all ter once--I won't! So there." + +Twenty-four hours later Jason faced a square-jawed, smooth-shaven man who +looked sharply into his eyes with a curt, "Well, sir?" + +Jason cleared his throat. + +"Well, ye see, doctor," he began, "somethin' ails me, an' I ain't quite +sure what 't is. I 've been poorly since last spring, but it's been kind +of puzzlin'. Now, fur instance: I had a pain in my knee, so I felt sure +'twas hip-disease, but it jumped ter my shoulder, so 'course then I knew +'t was my liver." + +The doctor made a sudden movement. He swung squarely around in his +office chair and faced Jason. + +Jason was pleased--his learning had already made an impression! He +raised his chin and went on with renewed confidence. + +"Ye see I was afraid my liver, or mebbe one o' my kidneys, was hardenin' +or floatin' round loose, or doin' somethin' else they had n't orter. +Lately, thar's been days, lots of 'em, when I hain't had no pain--not a +mite, an' 'course that's the worst symptom of all. Then sometimes thar's +been such shootin' pains that I kind o' worried fur fear 'twas locomotive +ataxia; but mebbe the very next day it would change so's I did n't know +but 'twas appendicitis, an' that my vermi-er-vermicelli appendix was the +trouble." + +The doctor coughed--he not only coughed, but he choked, so that Jason had +to pause for a moment; but it was only for a moment. + +"I 'most had diphtheria, an' pneumonia, an' smallpox this fall," he +resumed complacently; "an' thar's six other diseases that I got symptoms +of--that is, partly, you know:--'Variable appetite,' an' 'Inquietude,' +an' all that." + +"Hm-m," said the doctor, slowly, his eyes averted. "Well, we'll--make an +examination. Come in here, please," he added, leading the way to an +inner room. + +"Gorry!" ejaculated Jason some minutes later, when he was once more back +in his chair, "I should think you might know what ails me now--after all +that thumpin' an' poundin' an' listenin'!" + +"I do," said the doctor. + +"Well, 't ain't six of 'em; is it?" There was mingled hope and fear in +Jason's voice. If it were six--he could see Hitty's face! + +"Any physicians in your family?" asked the doctor, ignoring Jason's +question. + +Jason shook his head. + +"Hm-m," commented the doctor. "Ever been any?" + +"Why, not as I know of, sir," murmured Jason wonderingly. + +"No? Where did you get them, then,--those medical books?" + +Jason stared. + +"Why, how in thunder did you know--" he began. + +But the doctor interrupted him. + +"Never mind that. You have them, have n't you?" + +"Why, yes; I bought 'em at an auction. I bought 'em last--" + +"Spring--eh?" supplied the doctor. + +Jason's mouth fell open. + +"Never mind," laughed the doctor again, his hand upraised. "Now to +business!" And his face grew suddenly grave. "You're in a bad way, my +friend." + +"B-bad way?" stammered Jason. "It--it is n't six that ails me?" + +It was all fear this time in Jason's voice; some way the doctor's face +had carried conviction. + +"No; you are threatened with more than six." + +"Wha-at?" Jason almost sprang from his seat. "But, doctor, they +ain't--dangerous!" + +"But they are, very!" + +"All of them? Why, doctor, how--how many are thar?" + +The doctor shook his head. + +"I could not count them," he replied, not meeting Jason's eyes. + +"Oh-h!" gasped Jason, and shook in his shoes. There was a long silence. +"An' will I--die?" he almost whispered. + +"We all must--sometime," returned the doctor, slowly, as if weighing his +words; "but you will die long before your time--unless you do one thing." + +"I'll do it, doctor, I'll do it--if I have ter mortgage the farm," +chattered Jason frenziedly. "I'll do anythin'--anythin'; only tell me +what it is." + +"I will tell you," declared the doctor briskly, with a sudden change of +manner, whisking about in his chair. "Go home and burn those medical +books--every single one of them." + +"Burn them! Why, doctor, them's the very things that made me know I was +sick. I should n't 'a' come ter you at all if it had n't been fur them." + +"Exactly!" agreed the doctor, rubbing his hands together. "That's just +what I thought. You were well before, were n't you?" + +"Why, yes,--that is, I did n't know I was sick," corrected Jason. + +"Hm-m; well, you won't know it now if you'll go home and burn those +books. If you don't burn them you'll have every disease there is in +them, and some one of them will be the death of you. As it is now, +you're a well man, but I would n't trust one organ of your anatomy within +a rod of those books an hour longer!" + +He said more--much more; and that his words were not without effect was +shown no later than that same evening when Jason burst into the kitchen +at home. + +"Hitty, Hitty, thar ain't six, thar ain't one, thar ain't nothin' that +ails me," he cried jubilantly, still under the sway of the joy that had +been his when the great doctor had told him there was yet one chance for +his life. "Thar ain't a single thing!" + +"Well, now, ain't that nice?" murmured Hitty, as she drew up the chairs. +"Come, Jason, supper's ready." + +"An' Hitty, I'm goin' ter burn 'em up--them books of Hemenway's," +continued Jason confidentially. "They ain't very good readin', after +all, an' like enough they're kind of out of date, bein' so old. I guess +I'll go fetch 'em now," he added as he left the room. "Why, Hitty, +they're--gone!" he cried a minute later from the doorway. + +"Gone? Books?" repeated Mehitable innocently. "Oh, yes, I remember now. +I must 'a' burned 'em this mornin'. Ye see, they cluttered up so. Come, +Jason, set down." + +And Jason sat down. But all the evening he wondered. "Was it possible, +after all, that Hitty--knew?" + + + + +Crumbs + +The Story of a Discontented Woman + +The floor was untidy, the sink full of dirty dishes, and the stove a +variegated thing of gray and dull red. At the table, head bowed on +outstretched arms, was Kate Merton, twenty-one, discouraged, and sole +mistress of the kitchen in which she sat. The pleasant-faced, slender +little woman in the doorway paused irresolutely on the threshold, then +walked with a brisk step into the room. "Is the water hot?" she asked +cheerily. The girl at the table came instantly to her feet. + +"Aunt Ellen!" she cried, aghast. + +"Oh, yes, it's lovely," murmured the lady, peering into the copper +boiler on the stove. + +"But, auntie, you--I"--the girl paused helplessly. + +"Let's see, are these the wipers?" pursued Mrs. Howland, her hand on +one of the towels hanging behind the stove. + +Kate's face hardened. + +"Thank you, Aunt Ellen. You are very kind, but I can do quite well by +myself. You will please go into the living-room. I don't allow +company to do kitchen work." + +"Of course not!" acquiesced Mrs. Howland imperturbably. "But your +father's sister is n't company, you know. Let's see, you put your +clean dishes here?" + +"But, Aunt Ellen, you must n't," protested Kate. "At home you do +nothing--nothing all day." A curious expression came into Mrs. +Howland's face, but Kate Merton did not seem to notice. "You have +servants to do everything, even to dressing you. No, you can't wipe my +dishes." + +For a long minute there was silence in the kitchen. Mrs. Howland, +wiper in hand, stood looking out the window. Her lips parted, then +closed again. When she finally turned and spoke, the old smile had +come back to her face. + +"Then if that is the case, it will be all the more change for me to do +something," she said pleasantly. "I want to do them, Kate. It will be +a pleasure to me." + +"Pleasure!" + +Mrs. Rowland's clear laugh rang through the kitchen at the scorn +expressed in the one word. + +"And is it so bad as that?" she demanded merrily. + +"Worse!" snapped Kate. "I simply loathe dishes!" But a shamed smile +came to her lips, and she got the pans and water, making no further +objection. + +"I like pretty dishes," observed Mrs. Howland, after a time, breaking a +long silence. "There's a certain satisfaction in restoring them to +their shelves in all their dainty, polished beauty." + +"I should like them just as well if they always stayed there, and did +n't come down to get all crumbs and grease in the sink," returned the +other tartly. + +"Oh, of course," agreed Mrs. Howland, with a smile; "but, as long as +they don't, why, we might as well take what satisfaction there is in +putting them in shape again." + +"Don't see it--the satisfaction," retorted Kate, and her aunt dropped +the subject where it was. + +The dishes finished and the kitchen put to rights, the two women +started for the chambers and the bed-making. Kate's protests were +airily waved aside by the energetic little woman who promptly went to +pillow-beating and mattress-turning. + +"How fresh and sweet the air smells!" cried Mrs. Howland, sniffing at +the open window. + +"Lilacs," explained Kate concisely. + +"Hm-m--lovely!" + +"Think so? I don't care for the odor myself," rejoined Kate. + +The other shot a quick look from under lowered lids. Kate's face +expressed mere indifference. The girl evidently had not meant to be +rude. + +"You don't like them?" cried Mrs. Howland. "Oh, I do! My dear, you +don't half appreciate what it is to have such air to breathe. Only +think, if you were shut up in a brick house on a narrow street as I am!" + +"Think!" retorted Kate, with sudden heat. "I 'd like to do something +besides 'think'! I 'd like to try it!" + +"You mean you'd like to leave here?--to go to the city?" + +"I do, certainly. Aunt Ellen, I'm simply sick of chicken-feeding and +meal-getting. Why, if it was n't for keeping house for father I 'd +have been off to New York or Boston years ago!" + +"But your home--your friends!" + +"Commonplace--uninteresting!" declared Kate, disposing of both with a +wave of her two hands. "The one means endless sweeping and baking; the +other means sewing societies, and silly gossip over clothes, beaux, and +crops." + +Mrs. Howland laughed, though she sobered instantly. + +"But there must be something, some one that you enjoy," she suggested. + +Kate shook her head wearily. + +"Not a thing, not a person," she replied; adding with a whimsical +twinkle, "they're all like the dishes, Aunt Ellen,--bound to accumulate +crumbs and scraps, and do nothing but clutter up." + +"Oh, Kate, Kate," remonstrated Mrs. Howland, "what an incorrigible girl +you are!" As she spoke her lips smiled, but her eyes did not--there +was a wistful light in their blue depths that persistently stayed there +all through the day as she watched her niece. + +At ten, and again at half-past, some neighbors dropped in. After they +had gone Kate complained because the forenoon was so broken up. The +next few hours were free from callers, and at the supper table Kate +grumbled because the afternoon was so stupid and lonesome. When Mr. +Merton came in bringing no mail, Kate exclaimed that nobody ever +answered her letters, and that she might just as well not write; yet +when the next day brought three, she sighed over the time "wasted in +reading such long letters." + +The week sped swiftly and Sunday night came. Mrs. Howland's visit was +all but finished. She was going early the next morning. + +Sunday had not been an unalloyed joy. Mrs. Howland and her niece had +attended church, but to Kate the sermon was too long, and the singing +too loud. The girl mentioned both in a listless way, at the same time +saying that it was always like that except when the sermon was +interesting, then it was too short and the choir took up all the time +there was with their tiresome singing. + +Dinner had been long in preparation, and, in spite of Mrs. Rowland's +gladly given assistance, the dish-washing and the kitchen-tidying had +been longer still. All day Kate's step had been more than lagging, and +her face more than discontented. In the twilight, as the two women sat +together, Mrs. Rowland laid hold of her courage with both hands and +spoke. + +"Kate, dear, is n't there something, anything, worth while to you?" + +"Nothing, auntie. I feel simply buried alive." + +"But can't you think of anything--" + +"Think of anything!" interrupted the girl swiftly. "Of course I can! +If I had money--or lived somewhere else--or could go somewhere, or see +something once in a while, it would be different; but here--!" + +Mrs. Howland shook her head. + +"But it would n't be different, my dear," she demurred. + +"Why, of course it would!" laughed Kate bitterly. "It could n't help +it." + +Again Mrs. Howland shook her head. Then a whimsical smile crossed her +face. + +"Kate," she said, "there are crumbs on the plates out in the world just +the same as there are here; and if here you teach yourself to see +nothing but crumbs, you will see nothing but crumbs out there. In +short, dissatisfaction with everyday living is the same joy-killer +whether in town or city, farmhouse or palace. Oh, I 'm preaching, I +know, dear," went on Mrs. Howland hurriedly, as she saw the angry light +in the other's eyes, "but--I had to speak--you don't know how it's +growing on you. Come, let's kiss and make up; then think it over." + +Kate frowned, then laughed constrainedly. + +"Don't worry, aunt," she replied, rising, and just touching her aunt's +lips with her own. "I still think it would be different out there; +but--I suppose you 'll always remain unconvinced, for I shall never +have the chance to prove it. My plates won't belong anywhere but in +Hopkinsville cupboards! Come, will you play to me?" + +When Mrs. Rowland returned from England, one of the first letters she +received after reaching home was a cordial invitation from her dead +brother's daughter, Kate, to visit her. + +In the last five years Mrs. Howland had seen her niece but once. That +was during the sad, hurried days just following Mr. Merton's sudden +death four years before. Since then Mrs. Howland had been abroad and +there had been many changes at the little farmhouse in Hopkinsville. +The farm had been sold, and Kate had married and had gone to Boston to +live. Beyond the facts that Kate's husband was older than she, and was +a man of considerable means, Mrs. Howland knew little of her niece's +present circumstances. It was with curiosity, as well as pleasure, +that she accepted Kate's invitation, and took the train specified. + +At the South Station Mrs. Howland found a stylishly gowned, smiling +young woman with a cordial welcome. An imposing carriage with a +liveried coachman waited to take her to Kate's home. + +"Oh, what handsome horses!" cried Mrs. Howland appreciatively, as she +stepped into the carriage. + +"Yes, are n't they," agreed Kate. "If only they matched better, they'd +be perfect. I wish both had stars on their foreheads!" + +"Let me see, you are on Beacon Street, I believe," remarked Mrs. +Howland, as the carriage left the more congested quarter of the city. + +Kate frowned. "Yes," she answered. "I wanted Commonwealth Avenue, but +Mr. Blake preferred Beacon. All his people live on Beacon, and have +for years." + +"Oh, but Beacon is lovely, I think." + +"Do you? Well, perhaps; but Commonwealth is so much wider and more +roomy. I could breathe on Commonwealth Avenue, I think!" + +"And don't you, where you are?" laughed Mrs. Howland. + +Her niece made a playfully wry face. + +"Just pant--upon my word I do! Not one full breath do I draw," she +asserted. + +"Hm-m; I've always understood that deep breathing was necessary for +health," commented Mrs. Howland, with a critical, comprehensive glance; +"but--you seem to thrive all right! You are looking well, Kate." + +"I don't feel so. I have the most shocking headaches," the other +retorted. "Ah, here we are!" + +Mrs. Howland followed her hostess up a short flight of stone steps into +a handsome hall. A well-trained maid was at once in attendance, and +another, a little later, helped her unpack. + +"My dear," Mrs. Howland said to her niece when she came downstairs, +"what a lucky woman you are to have two such maids! They are +treasures!" + +Kate's hands flew to her head with a gesture of despair. + +"Maids!--Aunt Ellen, don't ever say the word to me, I beg! I never +keep one more than a month, and I'm shaking in my shoes this very +minute. There's a new cook in the kitchen, and I have n't the least +idea what your dinner will be." + +"I 'm not a bit worried," rejoined Mrs. Howland. "What a pretty home +you have, Kate," she added, tactfully changing the subject. + +"Think so? I'm glad you like it. I sometimes wish I could get hold of +the man who built this house, though, and give him a piece of my mind. +The rooms on this floor are so high studded they give me the shivers, +while all the chambers are so low they are absurd. Did n't you notice +it in your room?" + +"Why--no; I don't think I did." + +"Well, you will now." + +"Perhaps so, since you have told me to," returned Mrs. Howland, a +curious smile on her lips. + +The dinner was well planned, well cooked, and well served, in Mrs. +Howland's opinion, though to her niece it was none of the three. +Kate's husband, the Honorable Eben Blake, proved to be a genial, +distinguished-looking man who welcomed Mrs. Howland with the cordiality +that he displayed toward anybody or anything connected in the most +remote degree with his wife. It was evidently with sincere regrets +that he made his apologies after dinner, and left the house with a plea +of business. + +"It's always that way when I want him!" exclaimed Kate petulantly. +"Then night after night when I don't want him he'll stay at home and +read and smoke." + +"But you have friends--you go out," hazarded Mrs. Howland. + +Mrs. Blake raised her eyebrows. + +"Oh, of course! But, after all, what do calls and receptions amount +to? You always meet the same people who say the same things, whether +you go to see them or they come to see you." + +Mrs. Howland laughed; then she said, softly, + +"The old, old story, Kate,--the crumbs on the plates." + +"What?" demanded the younger woman in frank amazement. There was a +moment's pause during which she gazed blankly into her aunt's eyes. +"Oh!--that?" she added, coloring painfully; then she uptilted her chin. +"You are very much mistaken, auntie," she resumed with some dignity. +"It is nothing of the sort. I am very happy--very happy, +indeed!"--positively. "I have a good husband, a pretty home, more +money than is good for me, and--well, everything," she finished a +little breathlessly. + +Again Mrs. Howland laughed, but her face grew almost instantly grave. + +"And yet, my dear," she said gently, "scarcely one thing has been +mentioned since I came that was quite right." + +"Oh, Aunt Ellen, how can you say such a dreadful thing!" + +"Listen," replied Mrs. Howland; "it's little bits of things that you +don't think of. It has grown on you without your realizing it: the +horses did n't both have stars; the house was n't on Commonwealth +Avenue; the rooms are too high or too low studded; the roast was +over-done; your husband could n't"-- + +"Oh, auntie, auntie, I beg of you!"--interrupted Kate hysterically. + +"Are you convinced, then?" + +Kate shook her head. "I can't, auntie--I can't believe it!" she cried. +"It--it can't be like that always. There must have been special things +to-day that plagued me. Auntie, I'm not such a--monster!" + +"Hm-m; well--will you consent to an experiment to--er--find out?" + +"Indeed I will!" returned Kate promptly. + +"Very good! Every time I hear those little dissatisfied +fault-findings, I am going to mention crumbs or plates or china. I +think you'll understand. Is it a bargain?" + +"It's a bargain," agreed Kate, and she smiled confidently. + +The rest of the evening Mrs. Blake kept close guard over her tongue. +Twice a "but" and once an "only" slipped out; but she bit her lips and +completed her sentence in another way in each case, and if Mrs. Howland +noticed, she made no sign. + +It rained the next morning. Kate came into the dining-room with a +frown. + +"I'm so sorry, auntie," she sighed. "I'd planned a drive this morning. +It always rains when I want to do something, but when I don't, it just +shines and shines, week in and week out." + +"Won't the rain wash the--plates?" asked Mrs. Howland in a low voice, +as she passed her niece's chair. + +"Wha-at?" demanded Mrs. Blake; then she flushed scarlet. "Weather +doesn't count," she finished flippantly. + +"No? Oh!" smiled Mrs. Howland. + +"Fine muffins, these!" spoke up Mr. Blake, a little later. "New +cook--eh?" + +"Yes," replied his wife. "But they're graham. I 'd much rather have +had corn-cake." + +"There are not so many--crumbs to graham," observed Mrs. Howland +musingly. + +There was no reply. The man of the house looked slightly dazed. His +wife bit her lip, and choked a little over her coffee. Through the +rest of the meal Mrs. Blake confined herself almost exclusively to +monosyllables, leaving the conversation to her husband and guest. + +At ten the sky cleared, and Mrs. Blake ordered the horses. + +"We can't drive far," she began discontentedly, "for I ordered an early +luncheon as we have tickets for a concert this afternoon. I wanted to +go away out beyond the Newtons, but now we'll have to take a little +snippy one." + +"Oh, I don't mind," rejoined her guest pleasantly. "Where one can't +have the whole cake one must be satisfied with--crumbs." + +"Why, I don't see"--began Kate aggressively; then she stopped, and +nervously tapped her foot. + +"Oh, how pretty that vine is!" cried Mrs. Howland suddenly. The +silence was growing oppressive. + +"It looks very well now, but you should see it in winter," retorted +Kate. "Great, bare, snake-like things all over the--now, don't cudgel +your brains to bring 'plates' or 'crumbs' into that!" she broke off +with sudden sharpness. + +"No, ma'am," answered Mrs. Howland demurely. + +By night the guest, if not the hostess, was in a state of nervous +tension that boded ill for sleep. The day had been one long succession +of "crumbs" and "china plates"--conversationally. According to Kate, +the roads had been muddy; the sun had been too bright; there had been +chops when there should have been croquettes for luncheon; the concert +seats were too far forward; the soprano had a thin voice, and the bass +a faulty enunciation; at dinner the soup was insipid, and the dessert a +disappointment; afterwards, in the evening, callers had stayed too long. + +Mrs. Howland was in her own room, on the point of preparing for bed, +when there came a knock at her chamber door, + +"Please, Aunt Ellen, may I come in?" + +"Certainly, my dear," called Mrs. Howland, hastening across the room. + +Kate stepped inside, closed the door, and placed her back against it. + +"I'll give it up," she began, half laughing, half crying. "I never, +never would have believed it! Don't ever say 'crumbs' or 'plates' to +me again as long as you live--_please_! I believe I never can even +_see_ the things again with any peace or comfort. I am going to +try--try--Oh, how I'm going to try!--but, auntie, I think it's a +hopeless case!" The next instant she had whisked the door open and had +vanished out of sight. + +"'Hopeless'?" Mrs. Howland was whispering to herself the next day, as +she passed through the hall. "'Hopeless'? Oh, no, I think not." And +she smiled as she heard her niece's voice in the drawing-room saying: + +"High studded, Eben?--these rooms? Yes, perhaps; but, after all, it +doesn't matter so much, being a drawing-room--and one does get better +air, you know!" + + + + +A Four-Footed Faith and a Two + +On Monday Rathburn took the dog far up the trail. Stub was no +blue-ribbon, petted dog of records and pedigree; he was a +vicious-looking little yellow cur of mixed ancestry and bad +habits--that is, he had been all this when Rathburn found him six +months before and championed his cause in a quarrel with a crowd of +roughs in Mike Swaney's saloon. Since then he had developed into a +well-behaved little beast with a pair of wistful eyes that looked +unutterable love, and a tail that beat the ground, the floor, or the +air in joyous welcome whenever Rathburn came in sight. He was part +collie, sharp-nosed and prick-eared, and his undersized little body +still bore the marks of the precarious existence that had been his +before Rathburn had befriended him. + +Rathburn had rescued the dog that day in the saloon more to thwart the +designs of Pete Mulligan, the head of the gang and an old enemy, than +for any compassion for the dog itself; but after he had taken the +little animal home he rather enjoyed the slavish devotion which--in the +dog's mind--seemed evidently to be the only fit return for so great a +service as had been done him. For some months, therefore, Rathburn +petted the dog, fed him, taught him to "speak" and to "beg," and made +of him an almost constant companion. At the end of that time, the +novelty having worn thin, he was ready--as he expressed it to +himself--to "call the whole thing off," and great was his disgust that +the dog failed to see the affair in the same light. + +For some time, Rathburn endured the plaintive whines, the questioning +eyes, the frequent thrusts of a cold little nose against his hand; then +he determined to end it all. + +"Stub, come here!" he called sharply, his right hand seeking his pocket. + +With a yelp of joy the dog leaped forward--not for days had his master +voluntarily noticed him. + +Rathburn raised his pistol and took careful aim. His eye was steady +and his hand did not shake. Two feet away the dog had come to a sudden +halt. Something in the eye or in the leveled weapon had stayed his +feet. He whined, then barked, his eyes all the while wistfully +demanding an explanation. Suddenly, his gaze still fixed on his +master's face, he rose upright on his haunches and held before him two +little dangling paws. + +There was a silence, followed by a muttered oath, as the pistol dropped +to the ground. + +"Confound my babyishness!" snarled Rathburn, stooping and pocketing his +weapon. "One would think I'd never seen a gun before!" + +This was on Sunday. On Monday Rathburn took the dog far up the trail. + +"Want a dog?" he said to the low-browed, unkempt man sitting at the +door of a squat cabin. + +"Well, I don't. I ain't buyin' dogs these days." + +"Yer don't have ter buy this one," observed Rathburn meaningly. + +The other glanced up with sharp eyes. + +"Humph! Bite?" he snapped. + +Rathburn shook his head. + +"Sick of him," he returned laconically. "Like his room better'n his +company." + +"Humph!" grunted the other. Then to the dog: "Come here, sir, an' +let's have a look at ye!" + +Five minutes later Rathburn strode down the trail alone, while behind +him, on the other side of the fast-shut cabin door, barked and +scratched a frantic little yellow dog. + +Tuesday night, when Rathburn came home, the first sound that greeted +him was a joyous bark, as a quivering, eager little creature leaped +upon him from out of the dark. + +On Wednesday Stub trotted into town at Rathburn's heels, and all the +way down the straggling street he looked neither to the right nor to +the left, so fearful did he seem that the two great boots he was +following should in some way slip from his sight. And yet, vigilant as +he was, the door of Swaney's saloon got somehow between and left him on +one side barking and whining and running like mad about the room, while +on the other his master stood jingling the two pieces of silver in his +pocket--the price Mike Swaney had paid for his new dog. + +Halfway up the mountain-side Rathburn was still chuckling, still +jingling his coins. + +"When a man pays money," he was saying aloud, as he squared his +shoulders and looked across the valley at the setting sun, "when a man +pays money he watches out. I reckon Stub has gone fer good, sure +thing, this time!" And yet--long before dawn there came a whine and a +gentle scratch at his cabin door; and although four times the dog was +returned to his new owner, four times he escaped and nosed the long +trail that led to the cabin on the mountain-side. + +After Stub's fourth desertion the saloon-keeper refused to take him +again, and for a week the dog lay unmolested in his old place in the +sun outside the cabin door, or dozed before the fireplace at night. +Then Rathburn bestirred himself and made one last effort, taking the +dog quite over the mountain and leaving him tied to a tree. + +At the end of thirty-six hours, Rathburn was congratulating himself; at +the end of thirty-seven he was crying, "Down, sir--down!" to a +joy-crazed little dog which had come leaping down the mountain-side +with eighteen inches of rope dangling at his heels--a rope whose frayed +and tattered end showed the marks of sharp little teeth. + +Rathburn gave it up after that, and Stub stayed on. There was no +petting, no trick-teaching; there were only sharp words and sometimes a +kick or a cuff. Gradually the whines and barks gave way to the more +silent appeal of wistful eyes, and Stub learned that life now was a +thing of little food and less joy, and that existence was a thing of +long motionless watchings of a master who would not understand. + +Weeks passed and a cold wind swept down from the mountains. The line +of snow crept nearer and nearer the clearing about the cabin, and the +sun grew less warm. Rathburn came home each night with a deeper frown +on his face, and a fiercer oath as he caught sight of the dog. Down at +Swaney's the men knew that Bill Rathburn was having a "streak o' poor +luck"; the golden treasure he sought was proving elusive. Stub knew +only that he must hide each night now when his master appeared. + +As the days passed food became scarce in the cabin. It had been some +time since Rathburn had gone to town for supplies. Then came the day +when a great joy came into Stub's life--his master spoke to him. It +was not the old fond greeting, to be sure. It was a command, and a +sharp one; but in Stub's opinion it was a vast improvement on the +snarling oaths or wordless glowerings which had been his portion for +the past weeks, and he responded to it with every sense and muscle +quiveringly alert. + +And so it came about that Stub, in obedience to that sharp command, +frequently scampered off with his master to spend long days in the +foothills, or following the mountain streams. Sometimes it was a +partridge, sometimes it was a squirrel, or a rabbit--whatever it was +that fell a victim to Rathburn's gun, Stub learned very soon that it +must be brought at once to the master and laid at his feet; and so +proud was he to be thus of use and consequence that he was well content +if at the end of the day his master tossed him a discarded bone after +the spoils had been cooked and the man's own appetite satisfied. + +It was on one of the days when work, not hunting, filled the time, that +Rathburn came home after a long day's labor to find Stub waiting for +him with a dead rabbit. After that it came to be a common thing for +the dog to trot off by himself in the morning; and the man fell more +and more in the way of letting him go alone, as it left his own time +the more free for the pursuit of that golden sprite who was ever +promising success just ahead. + +As for Stub--Stub was happy. He spent the long days in the foothills +or on the mountain-side, and soon became expert in his hunting. He +would trail for hours without giving tongue, and would patiently lie +and wait for a glimpse of a venturesome woodchuck or squirrel. So +devoted was he, so well trained, and so keenly alive was he to his +responsibilities that, whether the day had been one of great or small +success, he was always to be found at night crouching before the cabin +door on guard of something limp and motionless--something that a dozen +hours before had been a throbbing, scurrying bit of life in the forest. +To be sure, that "something" did not always have a food value +commensurate with the labor and time Stub had spent to procure it; but +to Stub evidently the unforgivable sin was to return with nothing, +which fact may explain why Rathburn came home one night to find Stub on +guard beside a small dead snake. Both man and dog went supperless that +night--the man inside the cabin before a roaring fire; the dog outside +in the cheerless dark before a fast-closed door whither his master had +promptly consigned him. + +Gradually as the days passed there came still another change in the +life at the cabin. Rathburn's step became slow, and his cheeks sunken. +Sometimes he did not leave home all day, but lay tossing from side to +side on his bunk in the corner. At such times, if the result of Stub's +hunt were eatable, the man would rouse himself enough to stir the fire +and get supper; and always, after such a day at home, Rathburn was +astir the next morning at dawn and off in feverish haste for a long +day's work to make up for the long day of idleness. + +But there came a time when he could not do this--when each day found +him stretched prone on his bunk or moving feebly about the room. Then +came a night when Stub's bark at the door was unanswered. Again and +again Stub demanded admittance only to be met with silence. The door, +though unlatched, was swollen from recent rains, and it took five good +minutes and all the strength of one small dog to push it open a narrow +foot, and then there were only silence and a dying fire by way of +greeting. + +Stub dropped his burden on the floor and whined. He was particularly +proud to-night; he had brought home a partridge--the first he had ever +caught without the aid of his master's gun. + +The figure on the bed did not move. + +The dog picked up the bird he had dropped and walked toward his master. +This time he laid his offering close to the bunk and barked. + +The man stirred and groaned. For long minutes the dog stood +motionless, watching; then he crept to the fire and almost into the hot +ashes in his efforts to warm the blood in his shivering little legs. + +In the morning the fire was quite out. Stub stretched his stiffened +body and gazed about the room. Over on the bed the man did not stir +nor speak. The dead bird lay untouched at his side. There was a +whine, a bark, and a long minute of apparent indecision; then the dog +pattered across the floor, wormed himself through the partly open door, +and took the trail that led to the foothills. + +Three times Stub brought to the fireless, silent cabin the result of +his day's hunt and laid it at his master's side, and always there was +only silence or a low groan to greet him. + +On the third night it snowed--the first storm of the season. A keen +wind swept down the mountain and played hide-and-seek with the cabin +door, so that in the morning a long bar of high-piled snow lay across +the cabin floor. + +When the men from the village had ploughed their way through the snow +and pushed open the door, they stopped amazed upon the threshold, +looking at one another with mingled alarm and pity; then one of them, +conquering his reluctance, strode forward. He stooped for a moment +over the prostrate form of the man before he turned and faced his +companions. + +"Boys, he's--gone," he said huskily; and in the silence that followed, +four men bared their heads. + +It was a dog's low whine that first stirred into action the man by the +bunk. He looked down and his eyes grew luminous. He saw the fireless +hearth, the drifted snow, and the half-dead dog keeping watchful guard +over a pile of inert fur and feathers on the floor--a pile frozen stiff +and mutely witnessing to a daily duty well performed. + +"I reckon I'm needin' a dog," he said, as he stooped and patted Stub's +head. + + + + +A Matter of System + +At the office of Hawkins & Hawkins, system was everything. Even the +trotter-boy was reduced to an orbit that ignored craps and marbles, and +the stenographer went about her work like a well-oiled bit of +machinery. It is not strange, then, that Jasper Hawkins, senior member +of the firm, was particularly incensed at the confusion that Christmas +always brought to his home. + +For years he bore--with such patience as he could muster--the attack of +nervous prostration that regularly, on the 26th day of December, laid +his wife upon a bed of invalidism; then, in the face of the +unmistakable evidence that the malady would this year precede the holy +day of peace and good-will, he burst his bonds of self-control and +spoke his mind. + +It was upon the morning of the 21st. + +"Edith," he began, in what his young daughter called his "now mind" +voice, "this thing has got to stop." + +"What thing?" + +"Christmas." + +"_Jas_-per!"--it was as if she thought he had the power to sweep +good-will itself from the earth. "Christmas--_stop_!" + +"Yes. My dear, how did you spend yesterday?" + +"I was--shopping." + +"Exactly. And the day before?--and the day before that?--and before +that? You need n't answer, for I know. And you were shopping for--" +he paused expectantly. + +"Presents." Something quite outside of herself had forced the answer. + +"Exactly. Now, Edith, surely it need not take all your time for a +month before Christmas to buy a few paltry presents, and all of it for +two months afterward to get over buying them!" + +"But, Jasper, they are n't few, and they're anything but paltry. +Imagine giving Uncle Harold a _paltry_ present!" retorted Edith, with +some spirit. + +The man waved an impatient hand. + +"Very well, we will call them magnificent, then," he conceded. "But +even in that case, surely the countless stores full of beautiful and +useful articles, and with a list properly tabulated, and a sufficiency +of money--" An expressive gesture finished his sentence. + +The woman shook her head. + +"I know; it sounds easy," she sighed, "but it is n't. It's so hard to +think up what to give, and after I 've thought it up and bought it, I +'m just sure I ought to have got the other thing." + +"But you should have some system about it." + +"Oh, I had--a list," she replied dispiritedly. "But I'm so--tired." + +Jasper Hawkins suddenly squared his shoulders. + +"How many names have you left now to buy presents for?" he demanded +briskly. + +"Three--Aunt Harriet, and Jimmy, and Uncle Harold. They always get +left till the last. They're so--impossible." + +"Impossible? Nonsense!--and I'll prove it to you, too. Give yourself +no further concern, Edith, about Christmas, if _that_ is all there is +left to do--just consider it done." + +"Do you mean--you'll get the presents for them?" + +"Most certainly." + +"But, Jasper, you know--" + +An imperative gesture silenced her. + +"My dear, I'm doing this to relieve you, and that means that you are +not even to think of it again." + +"Very well; er--thank you," sighed the woman; but her eyes were +troubled. + +Not so Jasper's; his eyes quite sparkled with anticipation as he left +the house some minutes later. + +On the way downtown he made his plans and arranged his list. He wished +it were longer--that list. Three names were hardly sufficient to +demonstrate his theories and display his ability. As for Aunt Harriet, +Jimmy, and Uncle Harold being "impossible"--that was all nonsense, as +he had said; and before his eyes rose a vision of the three: Aunt +Harriet, a middle-aged spinster, poor, half-sick, and chronically +discontented with the world; Jimmy, a white-faced lad who was always +reading a book; and Uncle Harold, red-faced, red-headed, +and--red-tempered. (Jasper smiled all to himself at this last +thought.) "Red-tempered"--that was good. He would tell Edith--but he +would not tell others. Witticisms at the expense of a rich old +bachelor uncle whose heir was a matter of his own choosing were best +kept pretty much to one's self. Edith was right, however, in one +thing, Jasper decided: Uncle Harold surely could not be given a +"paltry" present. He must be given something fine, expensive, and +desirable--something that one would like one's self. And immediately +there popped into Jasper's mind the thought of a certain exquisitely +carved meerschaum which he had seen in a window and which he had +greatly coveted. As for Aunt Harriet and Jimmy--their case was too +simple for even a second thought: to one he would give a pair of +bed-slippers; to the other, a book. + +Some minutes later Jasper Hawkins tucked into his pocketbook an oblong +bit of paper on which had been neatly written:-- + +Presents to be bought for Christmas, 1908: + +Aunt Harriet, spinster, 58(?) years old--Bed-slippers. + +Uncle Harold, bachelor, 65 years old--Pipe. + +Jimmy, boy, 12 years old--Book. + +In the office of Hawkins & Hawkins that morning, the senior member of +the firm found a man waiting for him. This man was the emissary of his +mighty chief, and upon this chief rested the whole structure of a +"deal" which was just then looming large on the horizon of Hawkins & +Hawkins--and in which the oblong bit of paper in Jasper's pocketbook +had no part. + +Mrs. Jasper Hawkins greeted her husband with palpitating interest that +evening. + +"Well--what did you get?" she asked. + +The man of business lifted his chin triumphantly. + +"Not everything we asked for, to be sure," he began, "but we got more +than we expected to, and--" He stopped abruptly. The expression on +his wife's face had suddenly reminded him that by no possible chance +could she know what he was talking about. "Er--what do you mean?" he +demanded. + +"Why, Jasper, there's only one thing I could mean--the presents, you +know!" + +A curious something clutched at Jasper's breath and held it for a +moment suspended. Then Jasper throttled the something, and raised his +chin even higher. + +"Time enough for that to-morrow," he retorted lightly. "I did n't +promise to get them to-day, you know." + +"But, Jasper, to-morrow 's the 22d!" + +"And three whole days before Christmas." + +"Yes, but they must be sent the 24th." + +"And they'll _be_ sent, my dear," declared Jasper, in a tone of voice +that was a cold dismissal of the subject. + +On the morning of the 22d, Jasper Hawkins told himself that he would +not forget the presents this time. He decided, however, that there was +no need for him to take the whole day to select a pipe, a book, and a +pair of slippers. There would be quite time enough after luncheon. +And he smiled to himself in a superior way as he thought of the +dizzying rush and the early start that always marked his wife's +shopping excursions. He was still smiling happily when he sallied +forth at two o'clock that afternoon, leaving word at the office that he +would return in an hour. + +He decided to buy the meerschaum first, and with unhesitating steps he +sought the tobacco-store in whose window he had seen it. The pipe was +gone, however, and there really was no other in the place that just +suited him, though he spent fully half an hour trying to find one. He +decided then to look elsewhere. He would try the department store in +which he intended to buy the book and the slippers. It was better, +anyway, that he should do all his shopping under one roof--it was more +systematic. + +The great clock in the department-store tower had just struck three +when Jasper stalked through the swinging doors on the street floor. He +had been detained. Window displays had allured him, and dawdling +throngs of Christmas shoppers had forced his feet into a snail's pace. +He drew now a sigh of relief. He had reached his destination; he would +make short work of his purchases. And with a dignified stride he +turned toward the nearest counter. + +At once, however, he found himself caught in a swirl of humanity that +swept him along like a useless chip and flung him against a counter +much farther down the aisle. With what dignity he could summon to his +aid he righted himself and addressed the smiling girl behind it. + +"I'm looking for pipes," he announced, severely. "Perhaps you can tell +me where they are." + +She shook her head. + +"Ask him," she suggested, with a nod and a jerk of her thumb. + +And Jasper, looking in the direction indicated, saw a frock-coated man +standing like a rock where the streams of humanity broke and surged to +the right and to the left. By some maneuvering, Jasper managed in time +to confront this man. + +"Pipes," he panted anxiously--he was reduced now to the single word. + +"Annex; second floor. Elevator to your right." + +"Thanks!" fervently breathed the senior member of the firm of Hawkins & +Hawkins, muttering as he turned away, "Then they have got some system +in this infernal bedlam!" + +The crisp directions had sounded simple, but they proved to be anything +but simple to follow. Like a shuttlecock, Jasper was tossed from clerk +to clerk, until by the time he reached his destination he was confused, +breathless, and cross. + +The pipes, however, were numerous and beautiful, and the girl behind +the counter was both pretty and attentive; moreover, pipes did not +happen to be popular that day, and the corner was a little paradise of +quietness and rest. The man drew a long breath of relief and bent to +his task. + +In his mind was the one thought uppermost--he must select just such a +pipe as he himself would like; and for long minutes he pondered whether +this, that, or another would best please him. So absorbed was he, +indeed, in this phase of the question, that he had made his selection +and taken out his money, when the sickening truth came to him--Uncle +Harold did not smoke. + +To Jasper it seemed incredible that he had not thought of this before. +But not until he pictured his purchase in his uncle's hand had he +realized that the thing was not for himself, after all, but for a man +who not only did not smoke, but who abhorred the habit in others. + +With a muttered something that the righteously indignant pretty girl +could not hear, Jasper Hawkins thrust his money into his pocket and +rushed blindly away from the pipe counter. Long minutes later in the +street, he adjusted his tie, jerked his coat into place, straightened +his hat, and looked at his watch. + +It was four o'clock, and he must go back to the office before starting +for home. There was still another whole day before him, he remembered, +and, after all, it was a very simple matter to buy the book and the +slippers, and then look around a little for something for Uncle Harold. +In the morning he would doubtless light upon the very thing. And with +this comforting thought he dismissed the subject and went back to the +office. + +Mrs. Hawkins did not question her husband that night about what he had +bought. Something in his face stayed the words on her lips. + +Jasper Hawkins went early to the office the next morning, but it was +fully eleven o'clock before he could begin his shopping. He told +himself, however, that there was quite time enough for the little he +had to do, and he stepped off very briskly in the direction of the +department store he had left the night before. He had decided that he +preferred this one to the intricacies of a new one; besides, he was +very sure that there would not now be so many people in it. + +Just here, however, Jasper met with a disappointment. Not only was +every one there who had been there the day before, but most of them had +brought friends, and in dismay Jasper clung to the post near the door +while he tried to rally his courage for the plunge. In the distance +the frock-coated man was still the rock where the stream foamed and +broke; and after a long wait and a longer struggle Jasper stood once +more before him. + +"I want slippers--bed-slippers for women," he muttered. + +"Fourth floor, front. Elevator to your left," declaimed the man. And +Jasper quite glowed with awe at the thought of a brain so stupendous +that it could ticket and tell each shelf and counter in that vast +domain of confusion. + +Jasper himself had been swept to the right on the crest of a +particularly aggressive wave formed by the determined shoulders of a +huge fat woman who wished to go in that direction; so it was some time +before he could stem the current and make an effort to reach the +elevator on the other side of the store. It was then that he suddenly +decided to grasp this opportunity for "looking about a little to find +something for Uncle Harold"--and it was then that he was lost, for no +longer had he compass, captain, or a port in view; but oarless and +rudderless he drifted. + +Then, indeed, did the department store, in all its allurements of +glitter and show and competing attractions, burst on Jasper's eyes, +benumbing his senses and overthrowing his judgment. For long minutes +he hung entranced above a tray of jeweled side combs, and for other +long minutes he critically weighed the charms of a spangled fan against +those of one that was merely painted--before he suddenly awoke to the +realization that he was looking for something for Uncle Harold, and +that Uncle Harold did not wear side combs, nor disport himself with +gauze fans. + +"Where do you keep things for men?" he demanded then, aggrievedly, of +the demure-faced girl behind the counter; and it was while he was on +the ensuing frantic search for "things for men" that he stumbled upon +the book department. + +"To be sure--a book for Jimmy," he muttered, and confidently approached +a girl who already was trying to wait on three customers at once. + +"I want a book for a boy," he observed; and was surprised that no one +answered. + +"I want a book for a boy," he urged, in a louder tone. + +Still no one answered. + +"I want a book--for--a--boy," he reiterated distinctly; and this time +the girl flicked her ear as at the singing of an annoying insect. + +"Juveniles three aisles over to your left," she snapped glibly; and +after a puzzled pondering on her words, Jasper concluded that they were +meant for him. + +In the juvenile department, Jasper wondered why every one in the store +had chosen that particular minute to come there and buy a book for a +child. Everywhere were haste and confusion. Nowhere was there any one +who paid the least attention to himself. At his right a pretty girl +chatted fluently of this, that, and another "series"; and at his left a +severe-faced woman with glasses discoursed on the great responsibility +of selecting reading for the young, and uttered fearsome prophecies of +the dire evil that was sure to result from indiscriminate buying. + +Her words were not meant for Jasper's ears, but they reached them, +nevertheless. The man shuddered and grew pale. With soft steps he +slunk out of the book department. . . . To think that he--_he_, who +knew nothing whatever about books for boys--had nearly bought one of +the risky things for Jimmy! And to Jasper's perverted imagination it +almost seemed that Jimmy, white-faced and sad-eyed, had already gone +wrong--and through him. + +Jasper looked at his watch then, and decided it was time for luncheon. +After that he could look around for something else for Jimmy. + +It was six o'clock when Jasper, flushed, tired, and anxious, looked at +his watch again, and took account of stock. + +He had a string of beads and a pair of skates. + +The skates, of course, were for Jimmy. He was pleased with those. It +was a girl who had helped him in that decision--a very obliging girl +who had found him in the toy department confusedly eyeing an array of +flaxen-haired dolls, and who had gently asked him the age of the boy +for whom he desired a present. He thought of that girl now with +gratitude. + +The string of beads did not so well please him. He was a little +doubtful, anyway, how he happened to buy them. He had a dim +recollection that they looked wonderfully pretty with the light +bringing out sparkles of green and gold, and that the girl who tended +them did not happen to have anything to do but to wait on him. So he +had bought them. They were handsome beads, and not at all cheap. They +would do for some one, he assured himself. And not until he had +dropped them in his pocket did it occur to him that he was buying +presents for only a boy, a bachelor, and a middle-aged spinster. +Manifestly a string of beads would not do for Jimmy or Uncle Harold, so +they must do for Aunt Harriet. He had meant to buy bed-slippers for +her, but, perhaps, after all, she would prefer beads. At all events, +he had bought them, and they would have to go. And with that he +dismissed the beads. + +As yet he had nothing for Uncle Harold. There seemed to be nothing, +really, that he could make up his mind to give. The more he searched, +the more undecided he grew. The affair of the pipe had frightened him, +and had sown distrust in his heart. He would have to buy something +this evening, of course, for it must be sent to-morrow. He would +telephone Edith that he could not be home for dinner--that business +detained him; then he would eat a hasty luncheon and buy Uncle Harold's +present. And with this decision Jasper wearily turned his steps toward +a telephone booth. + +Jasper Hawkins went home at ten o'clock. He still had nothing for +Uncle Harold. The stores had closed before he could find anything. +But there was yet until noon the next day. + +Mrs. Hawkins did not question her husband. In the morning she only +reminded him timidly. + +"You know those things must get off by twelve o'clock, Jasper." + +"Oh, yes, they'll go all right," her husband had replied, in a +particularly cheery voice. Jasper was not cheery, however, within. He +was nervous and anxious. A terrible fear had clutched his heart: what +if he could not--but then, he must find something, he enjoined himself. +And with that he started downtown at once. + +He did not go to the office this time, but sought the stores +immediately. He found conditions now even worse than before. Every +one seemed to have an Uncle Harold for whom was frenziedly being sought +the unattainable. If at nine o'clock Jasper had been nervous, at ten +he was terrified, and at eleven he was nearly frantic. All power of +decision seemed to have left him, and he stumbled vaguely on and on, +scarcely knowing what he was doing. It was then that his eye fell on a +huge sign: + +"Just the thing for Christmas! When in doubt, buy me!" + +There was a crowd before the sign, but Jasper knew now how to use his +elbows. Once at his goal he stared in amazement. Then the tension +snapped, and he laughed outright--before him were half a dozen cages of +waltzing mice. + +For a long time the curious whirls and antics of the odd little +creatures in their black-and-white coats held Jasper's gaze in a +fascinated stare. Then the man, obeying an impulse that he scarcely +understood himself, made his purchase, gave explicit directions where +and when it was to be sent, and left the store. Then, and not until +then, did Jasper Hawkins fully realize that to his Uncle Harold--the +rich old man who must be petted and pampered, and never by any chance +offended--he had sent as a Christmas present a cage of dancing mice! + +That night Mrs. Hawkins fearlessly asked her questions, and as +fearlessly her husband answered them. He had determined to assume a +bold front. However grave might be his own doubts and fears, he had +resolved that she should not know of them. + +"Presents? Of course! They went to-day with our love," he answered +gayly. + +"And what--did you send?" + +"The simplest things in the world; a string of handsome beads to Aunt +Harriet, a pair of skates to Jimmy, and a cage of the funniest little +waltzing mice you ever saw, to Uncle Harold. You see it all resolves +itself down to a mere matter of system," he went on; but at the real +agony in his wife's face he stopped in dismay. "Why, Edith!" + +"Jasper, you didn't--you _did n't_ send _skates_ to Jimmy!" + +"But I did. Why not?" + +"But, Jasper, he's--lame!" + +Jasper fell back limply. All the bravado fled from his face. + +"Edith, how could I--how could I--_forget_--a thing like that!" he +groaned. + +"And beads for Aunt Harriet! Why, Jasper, I never saw a bead on her +neck! You know how poor she is, and how plain she dresses. I always +give her useful, practical things!" + +Jasper said nothing. He was still with Jimmy and the skates. He +wished he had bought a book--a wicked book, if need be; anything would +be better than those skates. + +"And mice--_mice_ for Uncle Harold!" wept Edith. "Why, Jasper, how +could you?--dirty little beasts that Uncle Harold can only feed to his +cat! And I had hoped so much from Uncle Harold. Oh, Jasper, Jasper, +how could you!" + +"I don't know," said Jasper dully, as he got up to leave the room. + +To Jasper it was not a happy Christmas. There were those three letters +of thanks to come; and he did not want to read them. + +As it chanced they all came the same day, the 28th. They were +addressed to Mrs. Hawkins, and naturally she read them first. When +Jasper came home that night they lay waiting for him on his desk. He +saw them, but he decided not to read them until after dinner. He felt +that he needed all the fortification he could obtain. He hoped that +his wife would not mention them, and yet he was conscious of a vague +disappointment when, as time passed, she did not mention them. + +Dinner over, further delay was impossible; and very slowly he picked up +the letters. He singled out Aunt Harriet's first. Dimly he felt that +this might be a sort of preparation for the wrath to follow. + + +_Dear Niece and Nephew_ [he read--and he sat suddenly erect]. How ever +in the world did you guess that it was beads that I wanted more than +anything else in the world? And these are such handsome ones! Ever +since beads and chains have been worn so much I have longed for one all +my own; but I have tried to crush the feeling and hide it, for I feared +it might be silly--and me so old and faded, and out-of-date! But I +know now that it is n't, and that I need n't be ashamed of it any more, +for, of course, you and Jasper would never give me anything silly! And +thank you ever and ever so much! + + +With a slightly dazed expression Jasper Hawkins laid down Aunt +Harriet's letter when he had finished it, and picked up the one from +Uncle Harold. As he did so he glanced at his wife; but she was sewing +and did not appear to be noticing him. + + +Well, well, children, you have done it this time! [read Jasper, with +fearful eyes]. The little beasts came on Christmas morning, and never +have I [Jasper turned the page and relaxed suddenly] stopped laughing +since, I believe! How in the world did you happen to think of a +present so original, so cute, and so everlastingly entertaining? The +whole house, and I might say the whole town, is in a fever over them, +and there is already a constant stream of children past my window--you +see, I 've got the little devils where they can best be seen and +appreciated! + + +There was more, much more, and all in the same strain; and again, as +Jasper laid the letter down he glanced at his wife, only to find a +demure, downcast gaze. + +But one letter now remained, and in spite of what had gone before, +Jasper picked up this with dread. Surely, nothing--nothing could +reconcile Jimmy and those awful skates! He winced as he opened the +letter and saw that Jimmy's mother had written--poor Jimmy's mother! +how her heart must have ached!--and then he stared in unbelieving +wonder at the words, and read them over and over, lest he had in some +way misconstrued their meaning. + + +My dear sister and brother [Jimmy's mother had written], I wish you +could have seen Jimmy when your beautiful skates arrived. He will +write you himself and thank you, but I know he can't half make you +understand just what that present means to him, so I am going to write +you myself and tell you what he said; then maybe you can realize a +little what a great joy you have brought into his life. + +And let me say right here that I myself have been blind all these +years. I have n't understood. And what I want to know is, how did you +find it out--what Jimmy wanted? How did you know? When I, his own +mother, never guessed! Why, even when the skates came on Christmas +Day, I was frightened and angry, because you had been so "thoughtless" +as to send my poor lame boy _skates_! And then--I could hardly believe +my own eyes and ears, for Jimmy, his face one flame of joy, was waving +a skate in each hand. "Mother, mother!" he was shouting. "See, I've +got a _boy_ present, a real boy present--just as if I was--like other +boys. I've always had books and puzzles and girl presents! +Everybody's thought of _them_ when they thought of _me_!" he cried, +thumping the crutches at his side. "But this is a _real_ present-- +Now I've got something to show, and to lend--something that _is_ +something!" And on and on he chattered, with me staring at him as if I +thought he was out of his head. + +But he was n't out of his head. He was happy--happier than I've ever +seen him since he was hurt. And it still lasts. He shows those skates +to every one, and talks and talks about them, and has already made +plans to let his dearest friends try them. Best of all, they have +given him a new interest in life, and he is actually better. The +doctor says at this rate he'll be using the skates himself some day! + +And now, how can I thank you--_you_ who have done this thing, who have +been so wise beyond his mother? I can only thank and thank you, and +send you my dearest love. + +Your affectionate sister, + +BERTHA + + +The senior member of the firm of Hawkins & Hawkins folded the letter +very hurriedly and tucked it into its envelope. There was a mist in +his eyes, and a lump in his throat--two most uncalled-for, unwelcome +phenomena. With a determined effort he cleared his throat and began to +speak. + +"You see, Edith," he observed pompously, "your fears were quite +groundless, after all. This Christmas shopping, if reduced to a +system--" He paused suddenly. His wife had stopped her sewing and was +looking straight into his eyes. + + + + +Angelus + +To Hephzibah the world was a place of weary days and unrestful nights, +and life was a thing of dishes that were never quite washed and of +bread that was never quite baked--leaving something always to be done. + +The sun rose and the sun set, and Hephzibah came to envy the sun. To +her mind, his work extended from the first level ray shot into her room +in the morning to the last rose-flush at night; while as for herself, +there were the supper dishes and the mending-basket yet waiting. To be +sure, she knew, if she stopped to think, that her sunset must be a +sunrise somewhere else; but Hephzibah never stopped to think; she would +have said, had you asked her, that she had no time. + +First there was the breakfast for Theron and the hired man in the chill +gray dawn of each day;--if one were to wrest a living from the stones +and sand of the hillside farm, one must be up and at work betimes. +Then Harry, Tom, and Nellie must be roused, dressed, fed, and made +ready for the half-mile walk to the red schoolhouse at the cross-roads. +After that the day was one blur of steam, dust, heat, and stifling +fumes from the oven and the fat-kettle, broken always at regular +intervals by meal-getting and chicken-feeding. + +What mattered the blue of the heavens or the green of the earth +outside? To Hephzibah the one was "sky" and the other "grass." What +mattered the sheen of silver on the emerald velvet of the valley far +below? Hephzibah would have told you that it was only the sun on Otter +Creek down in Johnson's meadows. + +As for the nights, even sleep brought little relief to Hephzibah; for +her dreams were of hungry mouths that could not be filled, and of +dirt-streaked floors that would not come clean. + +Last summer a visitor had spent a week at the farm--Helen Raymond, +Hephzibah's niece from New York; and now a letter had come from this +same Helen Raymond, telling Hephzibah to look out for a package by +express. + +A package by express! + +Hephzibah laid the letter down, left the dishes cooling in the pan, and +went out into the open yard where she could look far down the road +toward the village. + +When had she received a package before? Even Christmas brought no +fascinating boxes or mysterious bundles to her! It would be +interesting to open it; and yet--it probably held a book which she +would have no time to read, or a pretty waist which she would have no +chance to wear. + +Hephzibah turned and walked listlessly back to her kitchen and her +dish-washing. Twelve hours later her unaccustomed lips were spelling +out the words on a small white card which had come with a handsomely +framed photograph: + +The Angelus. Jean François Millet. 1859. + + +Hephzibah looked from the card to the picture, and from the picture +back again to the card. Gradually an angry light took the place of the +dazed wonder in her eyes. She turned fiercely to her husband. + +"Theron, _why_ did Helen send me that picture?" she demanded. + +"Why, Hetty, I--I dunno," faltered the man, "'nless she--she--wanted +ter please ye." + +"Please me!--_please me_!" scoffed Hephzibah. "Did she expect to +please me with a thing like that? Look here, Theron, look!" she cried, +snatching up the photograph and bringing it close to her husband's +face. "Look at that woman and that man--they're us, Theron,--us, I +tell you!" + +"Oh, come, Hetty," remonstrated Theron; "they ain't jest the same, yer +know. She did n't mean nothin'--Helen did n't." + +"Didn't mean nothing!" repeated Hephzibah scornfully; "then why did n't +she send something pretty?--something that showed up pretty things--not +just fields and farm-folks! Why did n't she, Theron,--why did n't she?" + +"Why, Hetty, don't! She--why, she--" + +"I know," cut in the woman, a bright red flaming into her cheeks. "'T +was 'cause she thought that was all we could understand--dirt, and old +clothes, and folks that look like us! Don't we dig and dig like them? +Ain't our hands twisted and old and--" + +"Hetty--yer ain't yerself! Yer--" + +"Yes, I am--I am! I'm always myself--there's never anything else I can +be, Theron,--never!" And Hephzibah threw her apron over her head and +ran from the room, crying bitterly. + +"Well, by gum!" muttered the man, as he dropped heavily into the +nearest chair. + +For some days the picture stayed on the shelf over the kitchen sink, +where it had been placed by Theron as the quickest means of its +disposal. Hephzibah did not seem to notice it after that first day, +and Theron was most willing to let the matter drop. + +It must have been a week after the picture's arrival that the minister +made his semi-yearly call. + +"Oh, you have an Angelus! That's fine," he cried, appreciatively;--the +minister always begged to stay in Hephzibah's kitchen, that room being +much more to his mind than was the parlor, carefully guarded from sun +and air. + +"'Fine'!--that thing!" laughed Hephzibah. + +"Aye, that thing," returned the man, quick to detect the scorn in her +voice; then, with an appeal to the only side of her nature he thought +could be reached, he added: + +"Why, my dear woman, 'that thing,' as you call it, is a copy of a +picture which in the original was sold only a few years ago for more +than a hundred thousand dollars--a hundred and fifty, I think." + +"Humph! _Who_ could have bought it! That thing!" laughed Hephzibah +again, and changed the subject. But she remembered,--she must have +remembered; for, after the minister had gone, she took the picture from +the shelf and carried it to the light of the window. + +"A hundred and fifty thousand dollars," she murmured; "and to think +what I'd do with that money!" For some minutes she studied the picture +in silence, then she sighed: "Well, they do look natural like; but only +think what a fool to pay a hundred and fifty thousand for a couple of +farm-folks out in a field!" + +And yet--it was not to the kitchen shelf Hephzibah carried the picture +that night, but to the parlor--the somber, sacred parlor. There she +propped it up on the center-table among plush photograph-albums and +crocheted mats--the dearest of Hephzibah's treasures. + +Hephzibah could scarcely have explained it herself, but after the +minister's call that day she fell into the way of going often into the +parlor to look at her picture. At first its famous price graced it +with a halo of gold; but in time this was forgotten, and the picture +itself, with its silent, bowed figures, appealed to her with a power +she could not understand. + +"There's a story to it--I know there's a story to it!" she cried at +last one day; and forthwith she hunted up an old lead-pencil stub and a +bit of yellowed note-paper. + +It was a long hour Hephzibah spent then, an hour of labored thinking +and of careful guiding of cramped fingers along an unfamiliar way; yet +the completed note, when it reached Helen Raymond's hands, was +wonderfully short. + +The return letter was long, and, though Hephzibah did not know it, +represented hours of research in bookstores and in libraries. It +answered not only Hephzibah's questions, but attempted to respond to +the longing and heart-hunger Miss Raymond was sure she detected between +the lines of Hephzibah's note. Twelve hours after it was written, +Hephzibah was on her knees before the picture. + +"I know you now--I know you!" she whispered exultingly. "I know why +you're real and true. Your master who painted you was like us +once--like us, and like you! He knew what it was to dig and dig; he +knew what it was to work and work until his back and his head and his +feet and his hands ached and ached--he knew! And so he painted you! + +"_She_ says you're praying; that you've stopped your work and 'turned +to higher things.' She says we all should have an Angelus in our lives +each day. Good God!--as if she knew!"--Hephzibah was on her feet now, +her hands to her head. + +"An Angelus?--me?" continued the woman scornfully. "And where? The +dish-pan?--the wash-tub?--the chicken-yard? A fine Angelus, that! And +yet"--Hephzibah dropped to her knees again--"you look so quiet, so +peaceful, and, oh, so--rested!" + +"For the land's sake, Hetty, what be you doin'? Have you gone clean +crazy?"--It was Theron in the parlor doorway. + +Hephzibah rose wearily to her feet. "Sometimes I think I have, +Theron," she said. + +"Well,"--he hesitated,--"ain't it 'most--supper-time?" + +"I s'pose 'tis," she assented, listlessly, and dragged herself from the +room. + +It was not long after this that the picture disappeared from the +parlor. Hephzibah had borne it very carefully to her room and hung it +on the wall at the foot of her bed, where her eyes would open upon it +the first thing every morning. Each day she talked to it, and each day +it grew to be more and more a part of her very self. Not until the +picture had been there a week, however, did she suddenly realize that +it represented the twilight hour; then, like a flash of light, came her +inspiration. + +"It's at sunset--I'll go out at sunset! Now my Angelus will come to +me," she cried softly. "I know it will!" + +Then did the little hillside farmhouse see strange sights indeed. Each +night, as the sun dropped behind the far-away hills, Hephzibah left her +work and passed through the kitchen door, her face uplifted, and her +eyes on the distant sky-line. + +Sometimes she would turn to the left to the open field and stand there +motionless, unconsciously falling into the reverent attitude now so +familiar to her; sometimes she would turn to the right and pause at the +brow of the hill, where the valley in all its panorama of loveliness +lay before her; and sometimes she would walk straight ahead to the old +tumble-down gate where she might face the west and watch the rose +change to palest amber in the sky. + +At first her eyes saw but grass, sky, and dull-brown earth, and her +thoughts turned in bitterness to her unfinished tasks; but gradually +the witchery of the summer night entered her soul and left room for +little else. Strange faces, peeping in and out of the clouds, looked +at her from the sky; and fantastic figures, clothed in the evening +mist, swept up the valley to her feet. The grass assumed a deeper +green, and the trees stood out like sentinels along the hilltop behind +the house. Even when she turned and went back to the kitchen, and took +upon herself once more the accustomed tasks, her eyes still faintly +glowed with the memory of what they had seen. + + +"It do beat all," said Theron a month later to Helen Raymond, who was +again a visitor at the farm,--"it do beat all, Helen, what's come over +yer aunt. She used ter be nervous-like, and fretted, an' things never +went ter suit. Now she's calm, an' her eyes kind o' shine--'specially +when she comes in from one of them tramps of hers outdoors. She says +it's her Angelus--if ye know what that is; but it strikes me as mighty +queer--it do, Helen, it do!" + +And Helen smiled, content. + + + + +The Apple of Her Eye + +It rained. It had rained all day. To Helen Raymond, spatting along the +wet slipperiness of the drenched pavements, it seemed as if it had always +rained, and always would rain. + +Helen was tired, blue, and ashamed--ashamed because she was blue; blue +because she was tired; and tired because--wearily her mind reviewed her +day. + +She had dragged herself out of bed at half-past five, but even then her +simple toilet had been hastened to an untidy half completion by the +querulous insistence of her mother's frequent "You know, Helen,--you +_must_ know how utterly impossible it is for me to lift my head until +I've had my coffee! _Are n't_ you nearly ready?" Mrs. Raymond had +wakened earlier than usual that morning, and she could never endure to +lie in bed when not asleep. + +With one shoe unbuttoned and no collar on, Helen had prepared the coffee; +then had come the delicate task of getting the semi-invalid up and +dressed, with hair smoothed to the desired satiny texture. The hair had +refused to smooth, however, this morning; buttons had come off, too, and +strings had perversely knotted until Helen's patience had almost +snapped--almost, but not quite. In the end her own breakfast, and the +tidying of herself and the little four-room flat, had degenerated into a +breathless scramble broken by remorseful apologies to her mother, in +response to which Mrs. Raymond only sighed: + +"Oh, of course, it does n't matter; but you _know_ how haste and +confusion annoy me, and how bad it is for me!" + +It had all resulted as Helen had feared that it would result--she was +late; and tardiness at Henderson & Henderson's meant a sharp reprimand, +and in time, a fine. Helen's place in the huge department store was +behind a counter where spangled nets and embroidered chiffons were sold. +It had seemed to Helen today that half the world must be giving a ball to +which the other half was invited, so constant--in spite of the rain--were +the calls for her wares. The girl told herself bitterly that it would +not be so unendurable were she handling anything but those filmy, +glittering stuffs that spoke so loudly of youth and love and laughter. +If it were only gray socks and kitchen kettles that she tended! At least +she would be spared the sight of those merry, girlish faces, and the +sound of those care-free, laughing voices. At least she would not have +all day before her eyes the slender, gloved fingers which she knew were +as fair and delicate as the fabrics they so ruthlessly tossed from side +to side. + +Annoyances at the counter had been more frequent to-day than usual, Helen +thought. Perhaps the rain had made people cross. Whatever it was, the +hurried woman had been more hurried, and the insolent woman more +unbearable. There had been, too, an irritating repetition of the woman +who was "just looking," and of her sister who "did n't know"; "was n't +quite sure"; but "guessed that would n't do." Consequently Helen's list +of sales had been short in spite of her incessant labor--and the list of +sales was what Henderson & Henderson looked at when a promotion was being +considered. + +And through it all, hour after hour, there had been the shimmer of the +spangles, the light chatter of coming balls and weddings, the merry +voices of care-free girls--the youth, and love, and laughter. + +"Youth, and love, and laughter." Unconsciously Helen repeated the words +aloud; then she smiled bitterly as she applied them to herself. +Youth?--she was twenty-five. Love?--the grocer? the milkman? the +floorwalker? oh, yes, and there was the postman. Laughter?--she could +not remember when she had seen anything funny--really funny enough to +laugh at. + +Of all this Helen thought as she plodded wearily homeward; of this, and +more. At home there would be supper to prepare, her mother to get to +bed, and the noon dishes to clear away. Helen drew in her breath sharply +as she thought of the dinner. She hoped that it had not been +codfish-and-cream to-day. If it had, she must speak to Mrs. Mason. +Codfish twice a week might do, but five times! (Mrs. Mason was the +neighbor who, for a small sum each day, brought Mrs. Raymond her dinner +fully cooked.) There was a waist to iron and some mending to do. Helen +remembered that. There would be time, however, for it all, she thought; +that is, if it should not unfortunately be one of her mother's wakeful +evenings when talking--and on one subject--was the only thing that would +soothe her. + +Helen sighed now. She was almost home, but involuntarily her speed +slackened. She became suddenly more acutely aware of the dreary flapping +of her wet skirts against her ankles, and of the swish of the water as it +sucked itself into the hole at the heel of her left overshoe. The wind +whistled through an alleyway in a startling swoop and nearly wrenched her +umbrella from her half-numbed fingers, but still her step lagged. The +rain slapped her face smartly as the umbrella careened, but even that did +not spur her to haste. Unmistakably she dreaded to go home--and it was +at this realization that Helen's shame deepened into a dull red on her +cheeks; as if any girl, any right-hearted girl, should mind a mother's +talk of her only son! + +At the shabby door of the apartment house Helen half closed her umbrella +and shook it fiercely. Then, as if freeing herself from something as +obnoxious as was the rain, she threw back her head and shook that, too. +A moment later, carefully carrying the dripping umbrella, she hurried up +three flights of stairs and unlocked the door of the rear suite. + +"My, but it sprinkles! Did you know it?" she cried cheerily to the +little woman sitting by the west window. + +"'Sprinkles'! Helen, how can you speak like that when you _know_ what a +dreadful day it is!" fretted the woman. "But then, you don't know. You +never do know. If _you_ had to just sit here and stare and stare and +stare at that rain all day, as I do, perhaps you would know." + +"Perhaps," smiled Helen oddly--she was staring just then at the havoc +that that same rain had wrought in what had been a fairly good hat. + +Her mother's glance followed hers. + +"Helen, that can't be--your hat!" cried the woman, aghast. + +Helen smiled quizzically. "Do you know that's exactly what I was +thinking myself, mother! It can't be--but it is." + +"But it's ruined, utterly ruined!" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"And you have n't any other that's really decent!" + +"No, ma'am." + +The woman sighed impatiently. "Helen, how can you answer like that when +you _know_ what it means to spoil that hat? Can't _anything_ dampen your +absurd high spirits?" + +"'High spirits'!" breathed the girl. A quick flash leaped to her eyes. +Her lips parted angrily; then, as suddenly, they snapped close shut. In +another minute she had turned and left the room quietly. + +Clothed in dry garments a little later, Helen set about the evening's +tasks. At the first turn in the little room that served for both kitchen +and dining-room she found the dinner dishes waiting to be cleared from +the table--and there were unmistakable evidences of codfish-and-cream. +As she expected, she had not long to wait. + +"Helen," called a doleful voice from the sitting-room. + +"Yes, mother." + +"She brought codfish again to-day--five times this week; and you _know_ +how I dislike codfish!" + +"Yes, I know, dear. I'm so sorry!" + +"'Sorry'! But that does n't feed me. You _must_ speak to her, Helen. I +_can't_ eat codfish like that. You must speak to-night when you take the +dishes back." + +"Very well, mother; but--well, you know we don't pay very much." + +"Then pay more. I'm sure I shouldn't think you'd grudge me enough to +eat, Helen." + +"Mother! How can you say a thing like that!" Helen's voice shook. She +paused a moment, a dish half-dried in her hands; but from the other room +came only silence. + +Supper that night was prepared with unusual care. There was hot +corncake, too,--Mrs. Raymond liked hot corncake. It was a little late, +it is true; Helen had not planned for the corncake at first--but there +was the codfish. If the poor dear had had nothing but codfish! . . . +Helen opened a jar of the treasured peach preserves, too; indeed, the +entire supper table from the courageous little fern in the middle to the +"company china" cup at Mrs. Raymond's plate was a remorseful apology for +that midday codfish. If Mrs. Raymond noticed this, she gave no sign. +Without comment, she ate the corncake and the peach preserves, and drank +her tea from the china cup; with Mrs. Raymond only the codfish of one's +daily life merited comment. + +It was at the supper table that Helen's mother brought out the letter. + +"You don't ask, nor seem to care," she began with a curious air of +injured triumph, "but I've got a letter from Herbert." + +The younger woman flushed. + +"Why, of course, I care," she retorted cheerily. "What does he say?" + +"He wrote it several days ago. It got missent. But it's such a nice +letter!" + +"They always are." + +"It asks particularly how I am, and says he's sorry I have to suffer so. +_He_ cares." + +Only the swift red in Helen's cheeks showed that the daughter understood +the emphasis. + +"Of course he cares," she answered smoothly. + +"And he sent me a present, too--money!" Mrs. Raymond's usually fretful +whine carried a ring of exultation. + +Helen lifted her head eagerly. + +"Money?" + +"Yes. A new crisp dollar bill. He told me to get something pretty--some +little trinket that I'd like." + +"But, a dollar--only a dollar," murmured Helen. "Now you're needing a +wrapper, but that--" + +"A wrapper, indeed!" interrupted Mrs. Raymond in fine scorn. "A wrapper +is n't a 'trinket' for me! I'd have wrappers anyway, of course. He said +to buy something pretty; something I'd like. But then, I might have +known. _You_ never think I need anything but wrappers and--and codfish! +I--I'm glad I've got one child that--that appreciates!" And Mrs. Raymond +lifted her handkerchief to her eyes. + +Across the table Helen caught her lower lip between her teeth. For a +moment she did not speak; then very gently she said:-- + +"Mother, you did n't quite mean that, I'm sure. You know very well that +I--I'd dress you in silks and velvets, and feed you on strawberries and +cream, if I could. It's only that--that-- But never mind. Use the +dollar as you please, dear. Is n't there something--some little thing +you would like?" + +Mrs. Raymond lowered her handkerchief. Her grieved eyes looked +reproachfully across at her daughter. + +"I'd thought of--a tie; a lace tie with pretty ends; a _nice_ tie. You +_know_ how I like nice things!" + +"Of course, you do; and you shall have it, too," cried Helen. "I'll +bring some home tomorrow night for you to select from. Now that will be +fine, won't it?" + +The other drew a resigned sigh. + +"'Fine'! That's just like you, Helen. You never appreciate--never +realize. Perhaps you do think it's 'fine' to stay mewed up at home here +and have ties _brought_ to you instead of going out yourself to the store +and buying them, like other women!" + +"Oh, but just don't look at it that way," retorted Helen in a cheerful +voice. "Just imagine you're a queen, or a president's wife, or a +multi-millionairess who is sitting at home in state to do her shopping +just because she wishes to avoid the vulgar crowds in the stores; eh, +mother dear?" + +"Mother dear" sniffed disdainfully. + +"Really, Helen," she complained, "you are impossible. One would think +you might have _some_ sympathy, _some_ consideration for my feelings! +There's your brother, now. He's all sympathy. Look at his letter. +Think of that dollar he sent me--just a little thing to give me +happiness. And he's always doing such things. Did n't he remember how I +loved peppermints, and give me a whole box at Christmas?" + +Helen did not answer. As well she knew, she did not need to. Her +mother, once started on this subject, asked only for a listener. Wearily +the girl rose to her feet and began to clear the table. + +"And it is n't as if he did n't have his hands full, just running over +full with his business and all," continued Mrs. Raymond. "You _know_ how +successful he is, Helen. Now there's that club--what was it, president +or treasurer that they made him? Anyhow, it was _something_; and that +_shows_ how popular he is. And you know every letter tells us of +something new. I 'm sure it is n't any wonder I 'm proud of him; and +relieved, too--I did hope some one of my children would amount to +something; and I 'm sure Herbert has." + +There was a pause. Herbert's sister was washing the dishes now, +hurriedly, nervously. Herbert's mother watched her with dissatisfied +eyes. + +"Now there's you, Helen, and your music," she began again, after a long +sigh. "You _know_ how disappointed I was about that." + +"Oh, but piano practice does n't help to sell goods across the counter," +observed Helen dully. "At least, I never heard that it did." + +"'Sell goods,'" moaned the other. "Always something about selling goods! +Helen, _can't_ you get your mind for one moment off that dreadful store, +and think of something higher?" + +"But it's the store that brings us in our bread and butter--and codfish," +added Helen, half under her breath. + +It was a foolish allusion, born of a much-tried spirit; and Helen +regretted the words the moment they had left her lips. + +"Yes, that's exactly what it brings--codfish," gloomed Mrs. Raymond. +"I'm glad you at least realize that." + +There was no reply. Helen was working faster now. Her cheeks were pink, +and her hands trembled. As soon as possible she piled Mrs. Mason's +dinner dishes neatly on the tray and hurried with them to the outer door +of the suite. + +"Now, Helen, don't stay," called her mother. "You know how much I'm +alone, and I just simply can't go to bed yet. I'm not one bit sleepy." + +"No, mother." The voice was calm, and the door shut quietly; but in the +hall Helen paused at the head of the stairs, flushed and palpitating. + +"I wonder--if it would do any good--if I should--throw them!" she choked +hysterically, the tray raised high in her hands. Then with a little +shamed sob she lowered the tray and hurried downstairs to the apartment +below. + +"It's only me, Mrs. Mason, with the dishes," she said a moment later, as +her neighbor peered out into the hall in answer to the knock at the door. +"I'm a little late to-night." + +"Oh, to be sure, Miss Raymond; come in--come in. Why, child, what ails +you?" cried the woman, as Helen stepped into the light. + +"Ails me? Why, nothing," laughed the girl evasively. "Shall I put the +things here?" + +As she set the tray down and turned to go, the elder woman, by a sudden +movement, confronted her. + +"See here, Miss Helen, it ain't none o' my business, I know, but I've +just got to speak. Your eyes are all teary, and your cheeks have got two +red spots in 'em. You've been cryin'. I know you have. You're so thin +I could just blow you over with a good big breath. And I know what's the +matter. You're all wore out. You 're doin' too much. No mortal woman +can work both day and night!" + +"But I don't--quite," stammered the girl "Besides, there is so much to be +done. You know, mother--though she isn't very sick--can do but little +for herself." + +"Yes, I know she don't--seem to. But is n't there some one else that +could help?" + +The girl stirred restlessly. Her eyes sought for a means of escape. + +"Why, no, of course not. There is n't any one," she murmured. "You are +very kind, really, Mrs. Mason, but I must go--now." + +The other did not move. She was standing directly before the hall door. + +"There 's--your brother." + +The girl lifted her head quickly. A look that was almost fear came into +her eyes. + +"Why, how did you know that I had--a brother?" + +"Know it!" scoffed Mrs. Mason. "I have known your mother for a +year--ever since she moved here; and as if a body could know _her_ and +not hear of _him_! He's the very apple of her eye. Why can't he--help? +Would n't he, if he knew?" + +"Why, Mrs. Mason, of course! He has--he does," declared the girl +quickly, the red deepening in her cheeks. "He--he sent her money only +to-day." + +"Yes, I know; she told me--of that." Mrs. Mason's voice was significant +in its smoothness. "Your mother said she was going to get her--a tie." + +"Yes, a tie," repeated Helen, with feverish lightness; "lace, you know. +Mother does so love pretty things! Oh, and by the way," hurried on the +girl breathlessly, "if you don't mind--about the dinners, you know. +Mother does n't care for codfish-and-cream, and if you could just +substitute something else, I'll pay more, of course! I'd expect to do +that. I've been thinking for some time that you ought to have at least +ten cents a day more--if you could manage--on that. And--thank you; if +you _would_ remember about--the codfish, and now I really must--go!" she +finished. And before Mrs. Mason knew quite what had happened a flying +figure had darted by her through the half-open doorway. + +"Well, of all things! _Now_ what have I said?" muttered the puzzled +woman, staring after her visitor. "Ten cents a day more, indeed! And +where, for the land's sake, is the poor lamb going to find that?" + +Long hours later in the Raymond flat, after the mending was done, the +waist ironed, and the mother's querulous tongue had been silenced by +sleep, the "poor lamb" sat down with her little account book and tried to +discover just that--where she was going to find the extra ten cents a day +to buy off Mrs. Mason's codfish. + +It did not rain the next morning. The sun shone, indeed, as if it never +had rained, and never would rain. In Helen Raymond's soul a deeper shame +than ever sent the blue devils skulking into the farthermost corners--as +if it were anything but a matter for the heartiest congratulations that +one's mother had at least one child who had proved not to be a +disappointment to her! And very blithely, to cheat the last one of the +little indigo spirits, the girl resolutely uptilted her chin, and began +her day. + +It was not unlike the days that had gone before. There was the same +apologetic rush in the morning, the same monotonous succession of buyers +and near-buyers at the counter, the same glitter and sparkle and +chatter--the youth, and love, and laughter. Then at night came the +surprise. + +Helen Raymond went home to find the little flat dominated by a new +presence, a presence so big and breezy that unconsciously she sniffed the +air as if she were entering a pine grove instead of a stuffy, four-room +city flat. + +"Helen, he knows Herbert, my Herbert," announced Mrs. Raymond +rapturously; and as she seemed to think no further introduction was +necessary, the young man rose to his feet and added with a smile:-- + +"My name is Carroll--Jack Carroll; Miss Raymond, I suppose. Your +brother--er--suggested that I call, as I was in the city." + +"Of course you'd call," chirruped Mrs. Raymond. "As if we were n't +always glad to see any friend of my boy's. Helen, why don't you say +something? Why don't you welcome Mr. Carroll?" + +"I have n't had much chance yet, mother," smiled the girl, in some +embarrassment. "Perhaps I--I have n't caught my breath." + +"Not that Mr. Carroll ought to mind, of course," resumed Mrs. Raymond +plaintively. "And he won't when he knows you, and sees how moderate you +are. You know Herbert is so quick," she added, turning to Herbert's +friend. + +"Is he?" murmured the man; and at the odd something in his voice Helen +looked up quickly to find the stranger's eyes full upon her. "You see, +I'm not sure, after all, that I do know Herbert," he continued lightly, +still with that odd something in his voice. "Herbert's mother has been +telling me lots of things--about Herbert." + +"Yes; we've been having such a nice visit together," sighed Mrs. Raymond. +"You see, _he_ understands, Helen,--Mr. Carroll does." + +Again Helen glanced up and met the stranger's eyes. She caught her +breath sharply and looked away. + +"Of course he understands," she cried, in a voice that was not quite +steady. "If he knew you better, mother dear, he would know that there +could n't be any nicer subject than Herbert to talk about--Herbert and +the fine things he has done!" There was no bitterness, no sarcasm, in +tone or manner. There was only a frightened little pleading, a +warding-off, as of some unknown, threatening danger. "Of course, Mr. +Carroll understands," she finished; and this time she turned and looked +straight into the stranger's eyes unswervingly. + +"I understand," he nodded gravely. + +And yet--it was not of Herbert that he talked during the next ten +minutes. It was of Mrs. Raymond and her daughter, of their life at home +and at the store. It was a gay ten minutes, for the man laughed at the +whimsical playfulness with which Miss Raymond set off the pitiful little +tale of the daily struggle for existence. If he detected the nervousness +in the telling, he did not show it. He did frown once; but that was when +Herbert's mother sighed apologetically:-- + +"You must n't mind all she says, Mr. Carroll. Helen never did seem to +realize the serious side of life, nor what I suffer; but that is Helen's +way." + +"After all, it must be a way that helps smooth things over some," he had +retorted warmly. + +And there the matter had ended--except in Helen's memory: there it bade +fair to remain long, indeed. + +At the end of the ten minutes, Herbert's friend rose to his feet and said +that he must go. He added that he would come again, if he might; and to +Miss Raymond he said very low--but very impressively--that she would see +him soon, very soon. It was no surprise, therefore, to Helen, to +encounter the big, tall fellow not twenty feet from her doorway when she +started for the store the next morning. + +His clean-cut face flushed painfully as he advanced; but the girl did not +change color. + +"Good-morning. I thought you'd do this," she began hurriedly. "We can +talk as we walk. Now, tell me, please, quick. What is it +about--Herbert?" + +"Then you--know?" + +"Not much; only suspect. I know everything is n't quite--right." + +"But your mother doesn't know--even that much?" + +"No, no! You saw that, didn't you? I was so glad you did, and did n't +speak! He is her pet, and she's so proud of him!" + +"Yes, I know," nodded the man grimly. "I saw--that." + +The girl lifted her chin. + +"And mother has a right to be proud of him. Herbert is fine. It is only +that--that--" She weakened perceptibly. "Was it--money?" she faltered. + +"Y-yes." Carroll spoke with evident reluctance. His eyes looked down +almost tenderly at the girl with the still bravely uptilted chin. +"It--it is rather serious this time. He asked me to call and--and make +it plain to you. I had told him I was coming up to town on business, and +I promised. But--good Heavens, Miss Raymond, I--I can't tell you!" + +"But you must. I'll have to know," cried the girl sharply. All the +pride had fled now. "And you need n't fear. I know what it is. He +wants money to settle debts. I've sent it before--once. That is +it--that _is_ it?" + +"Yes, only it's--it's a particularly bad job this time," stammered the +other. "You see, it--it's club money--a little club among the boys, of +which he is treasurer--and he sto--used part of the--funds." + +The man choked over the wretched tale, and instinctively laid his hand on +the girl's arm. She would faint or cry, of course, and he wondered what +he could do. But there was no fainting, no crying. There was only the +pitiful whitening of a set little face, and the tense question: + +"How much--was it?" + +Carroll sighed in relief. + +"Miss Raymond, you're a--a brick--to take it like that," he cried +brokenly. "I don't know another girl who-- It was--well, a hundred +dollars will cover it; but he's got to have it--to-morrow." + +"I'll send it." + +"But how--forgive me, Miss Raymond, but last night you were telling me +that--that--" He flushed, and came to a helpless pause. + +"How can I get it?" she supplied wearily. "We've a little in the bank--a +very little laid by for a rainy day; but it will cover that. We never +think of touching it, of course, for--for ordinary things. But--_this_." +She shuddered, and Carroll saw her shabbily gloved hand clinch +spasmodically. "Mr. Carroll, how did he come to--do it?" + +It was a short story, soon told--the usual story of a pleasure-loving, +thoughtless youth, tempted beyond his strength. Carroll softened it +where he could, and ended with:-- + +"I asked Bert to let me make it good, somehow, but he would n't, Miss +Raymond. He--he just would n't!" + +"Of course he would n't," exclaimed the girl sharply. Then, in a softer +voice: "Thank you, just the same. But, don't you see? 'T would have +done no good. I'd have had to pay you. . . . No, no, don't say any +more, please," she begged, in answer to the quick words that leaped to +his lips. "You have been kind--very kind. Now, just one kindness more, +if you will," she hurried on. "Come tonight. I must leave you now--it's +the store, just around the corner. But to-night I 'll have the money. +It's in my name, and I can get it without mother's--knowing. You +understand? Without--mother's--_knowing_." + +"I understand," he nodded gravely, as he wrung her hand and turned +chokingly away. + +When Helen reached home that night she found the little flat dominated +once again by the big, breezy presence of Herbert's friend. + +"I've been telling him more about Herbert," Mrs. Raymond began joyously, +as soon as Helen entered the room. "I've been telling him about his +letters to me, and the peppermints and the lace tie, you know, and how +_good_ Herbert is to me. We've had such a nice visit!" + +"Have you? I'm so glad!" returned Helen, a little unsteadily; and only +the man knew the meaning of the quick look of relieved gratitude that +came to her face. + +At the door some minutes later, Carroll found a small packet thrust into +his fingers. He caught both the hand and the packet in a firm clasp. + +"You're true blue, little girl," he breathed tremulously, "and I'm going +to keep tabs on Bert after this. I 'll _make_ him keep straight for +her--and for _you_. He's only a bit weak, after all. And you'll see me +again soon--very soon," he finished, as he crushed her hand in a grip +that hurt. Then he turned and stumbled away, as if his eyes did not see +quite clearly. + +"Now, wasn't he nice?" murmured Mrs. Raymond, as the girl closed the hall +door. "And--didn't he say that he'd call again sometime?" + +"Yes, mother." + +"Well, I'm sure, I hope he will. He isn't Herbert, of course, but he +_knows_ Herbert." + +"He--does, mother." There was a little break in Helen's voice, but Mrs. +Raymond did not notice it. + +"Dearie me! Well, he's gone now, and I _am_ hungry. My dinner didn't +seem to please, somehow." + +"Why, mother, it was n't--codfish; was it?" + +"N-no. It was chicken. But then, like enough it _will_ be codfish +to-morrow." + +Helen Raymond dreamed that night, and she dreamed of love, and youth, and +laughter. But it was not the shimmer of spangled tulle nor the chatter +of merry girls that called it forth. It was the look in a pair of +steadfast blue eyes, and the grip of a strong man's hand. + + + + +A Mushroom of Collingsville + +There were three men in the hotel office that Monday evening: Jared +Parker, the proprietor; Seth Wilber, town authority on all things past +and present; and John Fletcher, known in Collingsville as "The +Squire"--possibly because of his smattering of Blackstone; probably +because of his silk hat and five-thousand-dollar bank account. Each of +the three men eyed with unabashed curiosity the stranger in the doorway. + +"Good-evening, gentlemen," began a deprecatory voice. "I--er--this is +the hotel?" + +In a trice Jared Parker was behind the short counter. + +"Certainly, sir. Room, sir?" he said suavely, pushing an open book and +a pen halfway across the counter. + +"H'm, yes, I--I suppose so," murmured the stranger, as he hesitatingly +crossed the floor. "H'm; one must sleep, you know," he added, as he +examined the point of the pen. + +"Certainly, sir, certainly," agreed Jared, whose face was somewhat +twisted in his endeavors to smile on the prospective guest and frown at +the two men winking and gesticulating over by the stove. + +"H'm," murmured the stranger a third time, as he signed his name with +painstaking care. "There, that's settled! Now where shall I find +Professor Marvin, please?" + +"Professor Marvin!" repeated Jared stupidly. + +"Yes; Professor George Marvin," bowed the stranger. + +"Why, there ain't no Professor Marvin, that I know of." + +"Mebbe he means old Marvin's son," interposed Seth Wilber with a +chuckle. + +The stranger turned inquiringly. + +"His name's 'George,' all right," continued Seth, with another chuckle, +"but I never heard of his professin' anythin'--'nless 't was laziness." + +The stranger's face showed a puzzled frown. + +"Oh--but--I mean the man who discovered that ants and--" + +"Good gorry!" interrupted Seth, with a groan. "If it's anythin' about +bugs an' snakes, he's yer man! Ain't he?" he added, turning to his +friends for confirmation. + +Jared nodded, and Squire Fletcher cleared his throat. + +"He's done nothing but play with bugs ever since he came into the +world," said the Squire ponderously. "A most unfortunate case of an +utterly worthless son born to honest, hard-working parents. He'll +bring up in the poor-house yet--or in a worse place. Only think of +it--a grown man spending his time flat on his stomach in the woods +counting ants' legs and bugs' eyes!" + +"Oh, but--" The stranger stopped. The hotel-keeper had the floor. + +"It began when he wa'n't more'n a baby. He pestered the life out of +his mother bringing snakes into the sittin'-room, and carrying worms in +his pockets. The poor woman was most mortified to death about it. +Why, once when the parson was there, George used his hat to catch +butterflies with--smashed it, too." + +"Humph!" snapped the Squire. "The little beast filled one of my +overshoes once, to make a swimming-tank for his dirty little fish." + +"They could n't do nothin' with him," chimed in Seth Wilber. "An' when +he was older, 'twas worse. If his father set him ter hoein' pertaters, +the little scamp would be found h'istin' up old rocks an' boards ter +see the critters under 'em crawl." + +"Yes, but--" Again the stranger was silenced. + +"And in school he did n't care nothing about 'rithmetic nor jography," +interrupted Jared. "He was forever scarin' the teacher into fits +bringin' in spiders an' caterpillars, an' asking questions about 'em." + +"Gorry! I guess ye can't tell me no news about George Marvin's +schoolin'," snarled Seth Wilber--"me, that's got a son Tim what was in +the same class with him. Why, once the teacher set 'em in the same +seat; but Tim could n't stand that--what with the worms an' +spiders--an' he kicked so hard the teacher swapped 'round." + +"Yes; well--er--extraordinary, extraordinary--very!--so it is," +murmured the stranger, backing toward the door. The next moment he was +out on the street asking the first person he met for the way to George +Marvin's. + +On Tuesday night a second stranger stopped at the hotel and asked where +he could find Professor Marvin. Jared, Seth, and Squire Fletcher were +there as before; but this time their derisive stories--such as they +managed to tell--fell on deaf ears. The stranger signed his name with +a flourish, engaged his room, laughed good-naturedly at the three +men--and left them still talking. + +On Wednesday two more strangers arrived, and on Thursday, another one. +All, with varying manner but unvarying promptitude, called for +Professor George Marvin. + +Jared, Seth, and the Squire were dumfounded. Their mystification +culminated in one grand chorus of amazement when, on Friday, the Squire +came to the hotel hugging under his arm a daily newspaper. + +"Just listen to this!" he blurted out, banging his paper down on the +desk and spreading it open with shaking hands. As he read, he ran his +finger down the column, singling out a phrase here and there, and +stumbling a little over unfamiliar words. + + +The recent ento-mo-logical discoveries of Professor George Marvin have +set the scientific world in a flurry. . . . Professor Marvin is now +unanimously conceded to be the greatest entomologist living. He knows +his Hex-a-poda and Myri-a-poda as the most of us know our +alphabet. . . . The humble home of the learned man has become a Mecca, +toward which both great and small of the scientific world are bending +eager steps. . . . The career of Marvin reads like a romance, and he +has fought his way to his present enviable position by sheer grit, and +ability, having had to combat with all the narrow criticism and +misconceptions usual in the case of a progressive thinker in a small +town. Indeed, it is said that even now his native village fails to +recognize the honor that is hers. + + +"Jehoshaphat!" exclaimed Seth Wilber faintly. + +Fletcher folded the paper and brought his fist down hard upon it. + +"There's more--a heap more," he cried excitedly. + +"But how--what--" stammered Jared, whose wits were slow on untrodden +paths. + +"It's old Marvin's son--don't you see?" interrupted Squire Fletcher +impatiently. "He 's big!--famous!" + +"'Famous'! What for?" + +"Zounds, man!--did n't you hear?" snarled the Squire. "He's a famous +entomologist. It's his bugs and spiders." + +"Gosh!" ejaculated Jared, his hand seeking the bald spot on the back of +his head. "Who'd ever have thought it? Gorry! Let's have a look at +it." And he opened the paper and peered at the print with near-sighted +eyes. + +It was on Monday, three days later, that Jared, Seth, and the Squire +were once more accosted in the hotel office by a man they did not know. + +"Good-evening, gentlemen, I--" + +"You don't even have to say it," cut in Jared, with a nourish of both +hands. "We know why you're here without your telling." + +"An' you've come ter the right place, sir--the right place," declared +Seth Wilber, pompously. "What Professor Marvin don't know about bugs +an' spiders ain't wuth knowin'. I tell ye, sir, he's the biggest +entymollygist that there is ter be found." + +"That he is," affirmed the Squire, with an indulgently superior smile +toward Wilber--"the very greatest _entomologist_ living," he corrected +carefully. "And no wonder, sir; he's studied bugs from babyhood. +_I've known him all his life--all his life, sir_, and I always said +he'd make his mark in the world." + +"Oh, but--" began the stranger. + +"'Member when he took the parson's hat to catch butterflies in?" +chuckled Jared, speaking to the Squire, but throwing furtive glances +toward the stranger to make sure of his attention. "Gorry--but he was +a cute one! Wish 't had been my hat. I 'd 'a' had it framed an' +labeled, an' hung up on the wall there." + +"Yes, I remember," nodded the Squire; then he added with a complacent +smile: "The mischievous little lad used my overshoe for a fish-pond +once--I have that overshoe yet." + +"Have ye now?" asked Seth Wilber enviously. "I want ter know! Well, +anyhow, my Tim, he went ter school with him, an' set in the same seat," +continued Seth, turning toward the stranger. "Tim's got an old +writin'-book with one leaf all sp'iled 'cause one of young Marvin's +spiders got into the inkwell an' then did a cake-walk across the page. +Tim, he got a lickin' fur it then, but he says he would n't give up +that page now fur forty lickin's." + +The stranger shifted from one foot to the other. + +"Yes, yes," he began, "but--" + +"You'd oughter seen him when old Marvin used ter send him put to hoe +pertaters," cut in Jared gleefully. "Gorry!--young as he was, he was +all bugs then. He was smart enough to know that there was lots of +curious critters under sticks an' stones that had laid still for a long +time. I tell yer, there wa'n't much that got away from his bright +eyes--except the pertaters!--he did n't bother them none." + +A prolonged chuckle and a loud laugh greeted this sally. In the pause +that followed the stranger cleared his throat determinedly. + +"See here, gentlemen," he began pompously, with more than a shade of +irritation in his voice. "_Will_ you allow me to speak? And _will_ +you inform me what all this is about?" + +"About? Why, it's about Professor George Marvin, to be sure," rejoined +Squire Fletcher. "Pray, what else should it be about?" + +"I guess you know what it's about all right, stranger," chuckled Seth +Wilber, with a shrewd wink. "You can't fool us. Mebbe you're one o' +them fellers what thinks we don't know enough ter 'preciate a big man +when we've got him. No, sir-ree! We ain't that kind. Come, ye need +n't play off no longer. We know why you're here, an' we're glad ter +see ye, an' we're proud ter show ye the way ter our Professor's. Come +on--'t ain't fur." + +The stranger drew back. His face grew red, then purple. + +"I should like to know," he sputtered thickly, "I should like to know +if you really think that I--I have come 'way up here to see this old +bug man. Why, man alive, I never even heard of him!" + +"What!" ejaculated three disbelieving voices, their owners too +dumfounded to take exceptions to the sneer in tone and words. "Zounds, +man!--what did you come for, then?" demanded the Squire. + +The stranger raised his chin. + +"See here, who do you think I am?" he demanded pompously, as he squared +himself before them in all his glory of checkered trousers, tall hat, +and flaunting watch-chain. "Who do you think I am? I am Theophilus +Augustus Smythe, sir, advance agent and head manager of the Kalamazoo +None-Like-It Salve Company. I came, sir, to make arrangements for +their arrival to-morrow morning. They show in this town to-morrow +night. Now perhaps you understand, sir, that my business is rather +more important than hunting up any old bug man that ever lived!" And +he strode to the desk and picked up the pen. + +For a moment there was absolute silence; then Seth Wilber spoke. + +"Well, by ginger!--you--you'd oughter have come ter see the Professor, +anyhow," he muttered, weakly, as he fell back in his chair. "Say, +Squire, 'member when Marvin--" + +Over at the desk Theophilus Augustus Smythe crossed his _t_ with so +violent an energy that the pen sputtered and made two blots. + + + + +That Angel Boy + +"I am so glad you consented to stay over until Monday, auntie, for now +you can hear our famous boy choir," Ethel had said at the breakfast +table that Sunday morning. + +"Humph! I've heard of 'em," Ann Wetherby had returned crisply, "but I +never took much stock in 'em. A choir--made o' boys--just as if music +could come from yellin', hootin' boys!" + +An hour later at St. Mark's, the softly swelling music of the organ was +sending curious little thrills tingling to Miss Wetherby's finger tips. +The voluntary had become a mere whisper when she noticed that the great +doors near her were swinging outward. The music ceased, and there was +a moment's breathless hush--then faintly in the distance sounded the +first sweet notes of the processional. + +Ethel stirred slightly and threw a meaning glance at her aunt. The +woman met the look unflinchingly. + +"Them ain't no boys!" she whispered tartly. + +Nearer and nearer swelled the chorus until the leaders reached the open +doors. Miss Wetherby gave one look at the white-robed singers, then +she reached over and clutched Ethel's fingers. + +"They be!--and in their nighties, too!" she added in a horrified +whisper. + +One of the boys had a solo in the anthem that morning, and as the +clear, pure soprano rose higher and higher, Miss Wetherby gazed in +undisguised awe at the young singer. She noted the soulful eyes +uplifted devoutly, and the broad forehead framed in clustering brown +curls. To Miss Wetherby it was the face of an angel; and as the +glorious voice rose and swelled and died away in exquisite melody, two +big tears rolled down her cheeks and splashed on the shining, black +silk gown. + +At dinner that day Miss Wetherby learned that the soloist was "Bobby +Sawyer." She also learned that he was one of Ethel's "fresh-air" +mission children, and that, as yet, there was no place for him to go +for a vacation. + +"That angel child with the heavenly voice--and no one to take him in?" +Miss Wetherby bethought herself of her own airy rooms and flowering +meadows, and snapped her lips together with sudden determination. + +"I'll take him!" she announced tersely, and went home the next day to +prepare for her expected guest. + +Early in the morning of the first Monday in July, Miss Wetherby added +the finishing touches to the dainty white bedroom upstairs. + +"Dear little soul--I hope he'll like it!" she murmured, giving a loving +pat to the spotless, beruffled pillow shams; then her approving eyes +fell upon the "Morning Prayer" hanging at the foot of the bed. "There! +them sweet little cherubs sayin' their prayers is jest the thing fur +the little saint to see when he first wakes ev'ry mornin'. Little +angel!" she finished softly. + +On the table in the comer were hymn books, the great red-and-gold +family Bible, and a "Baxter's Saint's Rest"--the only reading matter +suited to Miss Wetherby's conception of the mind behind those soulful +orbs upraised in devout adoration. + +Just before Ann started for the station Tommy Green came over to leave +his pet dog, Rover, for Miss Wetherby's "fresh-air" boy to play with. + +"Now, Thomas Green," remonstrated Ann severely, "you can take that +dirty dog right home. I won't have him around. Besides, Robert Sawyer +ain't the kind of a boy you be. He don't care fur sech things--I know +he don't." + +Half an hour later, Ann Wetherby, her heart thumping loudly against her +ribs, anxiously scanned the passengers as they alighted at Slocumville +Station. There were not many--an old man, two girls, three or four +women, and a small, dirty boy with a dirtier dog and a brown paper +parcel in his arms. + +He had not come! + +Miss Wetherby held her breath and looked furtively at the small boy. +There was nothing familiar in _his_ appearance, she was thankful to +say! He must be another one for somebody else. Still, perhaps he +might know something about her own angel boy--she would ask. + +Ann advanced warily, with a disapproving eye on the dog. + +"Little boy, can you tell me why Robert Sawyer did n't come?" she asked +severely. + +The result of her cautious question disconcerted her not a little. The +boy dropped the dog and bundle to the platform, threw his hat in the +air, and capered about in wild glee. + +"Hi, there. Bones! We're all right! Golly--but I thought we was +side-tracked, fur sure!" + +Miss Wetherby sank in limp dismay to a box of freight near by--the +bared head disclosed the clustering brown curls and broad forehead, and +the eyes uplifted to the whirling hat completed the tell-tale picture. + +The urchin caught the hat deftly on the back of his head, and pranced +up to Ann with his hands in his pockets. + +"Gee-whiz! marm--but I thought you'd flunked fur sure. I reckoned me +an' Bones was barkin' up the wrong tree this time. It looked as if +we'd come to a jumpin'-off place, an' you'd given us the slip. I'm +Bob, myself, ye see, an' I've come all right!" + +"Are you Robert Sawyer?" she gasped. + +"Jest ye hear that, Bones!" laughed the boy shrilly, capering round and +round the small dog again. "I's 'Robert' now--do ye hear?" Then he +whirled back to his position in front of Miss Wetherby, and made a low +bow. "Robert Sawyer, at yer service," he announced in mock pomposity. +"Oh, I say," he added with a quick change of position, "yer 'd better +call me 'Bob'; I ain't uster nothin' else. I'd fly off the handle +quicker 'n no time, puttin' on airs like that." + +Miss Wetherby's back straightened. She made a desperate attempt to +regain her usual stern self-possession. + +"I shall call ye 'Robert,' boy. I don't like--er--that other name." + +There was a prolonged stare and a low whistle from the boy. Then he +turned to pick up his bundle. + +"Come on, Bones, stir yer stumps; lively, now! This 'ere lady 's +a-goin' ter take us ter her shebang ter stay mos' two weeks. Gee-whiz! +Bones, ain't this great!" And with one bound he was off the platform +and turning a series of somersaults on the soft grass followed by the +skinny, mangy dog which was barking itself nearly wild with joy. + +Ann Wetherby gazed at the revolving mass of heads and legs of boy and +dog in mute despair, then she rose to her feet and started down the +street. + +"You c'n foller me," she said sternly, without turning her head toward +the culprits on the grass. + +The boy came upright instantly. + +"Do ye stump it, marm?" + +"What?" she demanded, stopping short in her stupefaction. + +"Do ye stump it--hoof it--foot it, I mean," he enumerated quickly, in a +praise-worthy attempt to bring his vocabulary to the point where it +touched hers. + +"Oh--yes; 't ain't fur," vouchsafed Ann feebly. + +Bobby trotted alongside of Miss Wetherby, meekly followed by the dog. +Soon the boy gave his trousers an awkward hitch, and glanced sideways +up at the woman. + +"Oh, I say, marm, I think it's bully of yer ter let me an' Bones come," +he began sheepishly. "It looked 's if our case 'd hang fire till the +crack o' doom; there wa'n't no one ter have us. When Miss Ethel, she +told me her aunt 'd take us, it jest struck me all of a heap. I tell +ye, me an' Bones made tracks fur Slocumville 'bout's soon as they 'd +let us." + +"I hain't no doubt of it!" retorted Ann, looking back hopelessly at the +dog. + +"Ye see," continued the boy confidentially, "there ain't ev'ry one what +likes boys, an'--hi, there!--go it, Bones!" he suddenly shrieked, and +scampered wildly after the dog which had dashed into the bushes by the +side of the road. Ann did not see her young charge again until she had +been home half an hour. He came in at the gate, then, cheerfully +smiling, the dog at his heels. + +"Jiminy Christmas!" he exclaimed, "I begun ter think I 'd lost ye, but +I remembered yer last name was the same's Miss Ethel's, an' a +boy--Tommy Green, around the corner--he told me where ye lived. And, +oh, I say, me an' Bones are a-goin' off with him an' Rover after I 've +had somethin' ter eat--'t is mos' grub time, ain't it?" he added +anxiously. + +Ann sighed in a discouraged way. + +"Yes, I s'pose 't is. I left some beans a-bakin', and dinner'll be +ready pretty quick. You can come upstairs with me, Robert, an' I'll +show ye where yer goin' ter sleep," she finished, with a sinking heart, +as she thought of those ruffled pillow shams. + +Bobby followed Miss Wetherby into the dainty chamber. He gave one +look, and puckered up his lips into a long, low whistle. + +"Well, I'll be flabbergasted! Oh, I say, now, ye don't expect me ter +stay in all this fuss an' fixin's!" he exclaimed ruefully. + +"It--it is the room I calculated fur ye," said Ann, with almost a choke +in her voice. + +The boy looked up quickly and something rose within him that he did not +quite understand. + +"Oh, well, ye know, it's slick as a whistle an' all that, but I ain't +uster havin' it laid on so thick. I ain't no great shakes, ye know, +but I'll walk the chalk all right this time. Golly! Ain't it squashy, +though!" he exclaimed, as with a run and a skip he landed straight in +the middle of the puffy bed. + +With one agitated hand Miss Wetherby rescued her pillow shams, and with +the other, forcibly removed the dog which had lost no time in following +his master into the feathery nest. Then she abruptly left the room; +she could not trust herself to speak. + +Miss Wetherby did not see much of her guest that afternoon; he went +away immediately after dinner and did not return until supper time. +Then he was so completely tired out that he had but two words in reply +to Miss Wetherby's question. + +"Did ye have a good time?" she asked wistfully. + +"You bet!" + +After supper he went at once to his room; but it was not until Miss +Wetherby ceased to hear the patter of his feet on the floor above that +she leaned back in her chair with a sigh of relief. + +When Ann went upstairs to make the bed that Tuesday morning, the sight +that met her eyes struck terror to her heart. The bedclothes were +scattered in wild confusion half over the room. The washbowl, with two +long singing-books across it, she discovered to her horror, was serving +as a prison for a small green snake. The Bible and the remaining hymn +books, topped by "Baxter's Saints' Rest," lay in a suspicious-looking +pile on the floor. Under these Miss Wetherby did not look. After her +experience with the snake and the washbowl, her nerves were not strong +enough. She recoiled in dismay, also, from the sight of two yellow, +paper-covered books on the table, flaunting shamelessly the titles: +"Jack; the Pirate of Red Island," and "Haunted by a Headless Ghost." + +She made the bed as rapidly as possible, with many a backward glance at +the book-covered washbowl, then she went downstairs and shook and +brushed herself with little nervous shudders. + +Ann Wetherby never forgot that Fourth of July, nor, for that matter, +the days that immediately followed. She went about with both ears +stuffed with cotton, and eyes that were ever on the alert for all +manner of creeping, crawling things in which Bobby's soul delighted. + +The boy, reinforced by the children of the entire neighborhood, held a +circus in Miss Wetherby's wood-shed, and instituted a Wild Indian Camp +in her attic. The poor woman was quite powerless, and remonstrated all +in vain. The boy was so cheerfully good-tempered under her sharpest +words that the victory was easily his. + +But on Saturday when Miss Wetherby, returning from a neighbor's, found +two cats, four dogs, and two toads tied to her parlor chairs, together +with three cages containing respectively a canary, a parrot, and a +squirrel (collected from obliging households), she rebelled in earnest +and summoned Bobby to her side. + +"Robert, I've stood all I'm a-goin' ter. You've got to go home Monday. +Do you hear?" + +"Oh, come off, Miss Wetherby, 't ain't only a menag'ry, an' you don't +use the room none." + +Miss Wetherby's mouth worked convulsively. + +"Robert!" she gasped, as soon as she could find her voice, "I never, +never heard of such dreadful goin's-on! You certainly can't stay here +no longer," she continued sternly, resolutely trying to combat the +fatal weakness that always overcame her when the boy lifted those +soulful eyes to her face. "Now take them horrid critters out of the +parlor this minute. You go home Monday--now mind what I say!" + +An hour later, Miss Wetherby had a caller. It was the chorister of her +church choir. The man sat down gingerly on one of the slippery +haircloth chairs, and proceeded at once to state his business. + +"I understand, Miss Wetherby, that you have an--er--young singer with +you." + +Miss Wetherby choked, and stammered "Yes." + +"He sings--er--very well, does n't he?" + +The woman was still more visibly embarrassed. + +"I--I don't know," she murmured; then in stronger tones, "The one that +looked like him did." + +"Are there two?" he asked in stupid amazement. + +Miss Wetherby laughed uneasily, then she sighed. + +"Well, ter tell the truth, Mr. Wiggins, I s'pose there ain't; but +sometimes I think there must be. I'll send Robert down ter the +rehearsal to-night, and you can see what ye can do with him." And with +this Mr. Wiggins was forced to be content. + +Bobby sang on Sunday. The little church was full to the doors. Bobby +was already famous in the village, and people had a lively curiosity as +to what this disquieting collector of bugs and snakes might offer in +the way of a sacred song. The "nighty" was, perforce, absent, much to +the sorrow of Ann; but the witchery of the glorious voice entered again +into the woman's soul, and, indeed, sent the entire congregation home +in an awed silence that was the height of admiring homage. + +At breakfast time Monday morning, Bobby came downstairs with his brown +paper parcel under his arm. Ann glanced at his woeful face, then went +out into the kitchen and slammed the oven door sharply. + +"Well, marm, I've had a bully time---sure's a gun," said the boy +wistfully, following her. + +Miss Wetherby opened the oven door and shut it with a second bang; then +she straightened herself and crossed the room to the boy's side. + +"Robert," she began with assumed sternness, trying to hide her depth of +feeling, "you ain't a-goin' home ter-day--now mind what I say! Take +them things upstairs. Quick--breakfast's all ready!" + +A great light transfigured Bobby's face. He tossed his bundle into a +corner and fell upon Miss Wetherby with a bearlike hug. + +"Gee-whiz! marm--but yer are a brick! An' I 'll run yer errands an' +split yer wood, an' I won't take no dogs an' cats in the parlor, an' +I'll do ev'rythin'--ev'rythin' ye want me to! Oh, golly--golly!--I'm +goin' ter stay--I'm goin' ter stay!" And Bobby danced out of the house +into the yard there to turn somersault after somersault in hilarious +glee. + +A queer choking feeling came into Ann Wetherby's throat. She seemed +still to feel the loving clasp of those small young arms. + +"Well, he--he's part angel, anyhow," she muttered, drawing a long +breath and watching with tear-dimmed eyes Bobby's antics on the grass +outside. + +And Bobby stayed--not only Monday, but through four other long +days--days which he filled to the brim with fun and frolic and joyous +shouts as before--and yet with a change. + +The shouts were less shrill and the yells less prolonged when Bobby was +near the house. No toads nor cats graced the parlor floor, and no bugs +nor snakes tortured Miss Wetherby's nerves when Bobby's bed was made +each day. The kitchen woodbox threatened to overflow--so high were its +contents piled--and Miss Wetherby was put to her wits' end to satisfy +Bobby's urgent clamorings for errands to run. + +And when the four long days were over and Saturday came, a note--and +not Bobby--was sent to the city. The note was addressed to "Miss Ethel +Wetherby," and this is what Ethel's amazed eyes read: + +_My Dear Niece_:--You can tell that singer man of Robert's that he is +not going back any more. He is going to live with me and go to school +next winter. I am going to adopt him for my very own. His father and +mother are dead--he said so. + +I must close now, for Robert is hungry, and wants his dinner. + +Love to all, + ANN WETHERBY. + + + + +The Lady in Black + +The house was very still. In the little room over the porch the Lady +in Black sat alone. Near her a child's white dress lay across a chair, +and on the floor at her feet a tiny pair of shoes, stubbed at the toes, +lay where an apparently hasty hand had thrown them. A doll, head +downward, hung over a chair-back, and a toy soldier with drawn sword +dominated the little stand by the bed. And everywhere was silence--the +peculiar silence that comes only to a room where the clock has ceased +to tick. + +The clock--such a foolish little clock of filigree gilt--stood on the +shelf at the foot of the bed; and as the Lady in Black looked at it she +remembered the wave of anger that had surged over her when she had +thrust out her hand and silenced it that night three months before. It +had seemed so monstrous to her that the pulse in that senseless thing +of gilt should throb on unheeding while below, on the little white bed, +that other pulse was so pitiably still. Hence she had thrust out her +hand and stopped it. It had been silent ever since--and it should +remain silent, too. Of what possible use were the hours it would tick +away now? As if anything mattered, with little Kathleen lying out +there white and still under the black earth! + +"Muvver!" + +The Lady in Black stirred restlessly, and glanced toward the closed +door. Behind it she knew was a little lad with wide blue eyes and a +dimpling mouth who wanted her; but she wished he would not call her by +that name. It only reminded her of those other little lips--silent now. + +"_Muvver_!" The voice was more insistent. + +The Lady in Black did not answer. He might go away, she thought, if +she did not reply. + +There was a short silence, then the door-knob rattled and turned half +around under the touch of plainly unskilled fingers. The next moment +the door swung slowly back on its hinges and revealed at full length +the little figure in the Russian suit. + +"Pe-eek!" It was a gurgling cry of joyful discovery, but it was +followed almost instantly by silence. The black-garbed, unsmiling +woman did not invite approach, and the boy fell back at his first step. +He hesitated, then spoke, tentatively, "I's--here." + +It was, perhaps, the worst thing he could have said. To the Lady in +Black it was a yet more bitter reminder of that other one who was not +there. She gave a sharp cry and covered her face with her hands. + +"Bobby, Bobby, how can you taunt me with it?" she moaned, in a frenzy +of unreasoning grief. "Go away--go away! I want to be alone--alone!" + +All the brightness fled from the boy's face. His mouth was no longer +dimpled, and his eyes showed a grieved hurt in their depths. Very +slowly he turned away. At the top of the stairs he stopped and looked +back. The door was still open, and the Lady in Black still sat with +her hands over her face. He waited, but she did not move; then, with a +half-stifled sob, he dropped on the top step and began to bump down the +stairs, one at a time. + +Long minutes afterward the Lady in Black raised her head and saw him +through the window. He was down in the yard with his father, having a +frolic under the apple tree. + +A frolic! + +The Lady in Black looked at them with somber eyes, and her mouth +hardened at the corners. Bobby down there in the yard could laugh and +dance and frolic. Bobby had some one to play with him, some one to +love him and care for him; while out there on the hillside Kathleen was +alone--all alone. Kathleen had no one-- + +With a little cry the Lady in Black sprang to her feet and hurried into +her own room. Her hands shook as she pinned on her hat and shrouded +herself in the long folds of her black veil; but her step was firm as +she swept downstairs and out through the hall. + +The man under the apple tree rose hurriedly and came forward. + +"Helen, dearest,--not again, to-day!" he begged. "Darling, it can't do +any good!" + +"But she's alone--all alone. You don't seem to think! No one +thinks--no one knows how I feel. You don't understand--if you did, +you'd come with me. You wouldn't ask me to stay--here!" choked the +woman. + +"I have been with you, dear," said the man gently. "I 've been with +you to-day, and every day, almost, since--since she left us. But it +can't do any good--this constant brooding over her grave. It only +makes additional sorrow for you, for me, and for Bobby. Bobby +is--here, you know, dear!" + +"No, no, don't say it," sobbed the woman wildly. "You don't +understand--you don't understand!" And she turned and hurried away, a +tall black shadow of grief, followed by the anguished eyes of the man, +and the wistful puzzled eyes of the boy. + +It was not a long walk to the tree-embowered plot of ground where the +marble shafts and slabs glistened in the sunlight, and the Lady in +Black knew the way; yet she stumbled and reached out blindly, and she +fell, as if exhausted, before a little stone marked "Kathleen." Near +her a gray-haired woman, with her hands full of pink and white roses, +watched her sympathetically. She hesitated, and opened her lips as if +she would speak, then she turned slowly and began to arrange her +flowers on a grave near by. + +At the slight stir the Lady in Black raised her head. For a time she +watched in silence; then she threw back her veil and spoke. + +"You care, too," she said softly. "You understand. I've seen you here +before, I'm sure. And was yours--a little girl?" + +The gray-haired woman shook her head. + +"No, dearie, it's a little boy--or he was a little boy forty years ago." + +"Forty years--so long! How could you have lived forty years--without +him?" + +Again the little woman shook her head. + +"One has to--sometimes, dearie; but this little boy was n't mine. He +was none of my kith nor kin." + +"But you care--you understand. I 've seen you here so often before." + +"Yes. You see, there's no one else to care. But there was once, and I +'m caring now--for her." + +"For--her?" + +"His mother." + +"Oh-h!" It was a tender little cry, full of quick sympathy--the eyes +of the Lady in Black were on the stone marked "Kathleen." + +"It ain't as if I did n't know how she'd feel," muttered the +gray-haired little woman musingly, as she patted her work into +completion and turned toward the Lady in Black. "You see, I was nurse +to the boy when it happened, and for years afterward I worked in the +family; so I know. I saw the whole thing from the beginning, from the +very day when the little boy here met with the accident." + +"Accident!" It was a sob of anguished sympathy from Kathleen's mother. + +"Yes. 'T was a runaway; and he did n't live two days." + +"I know--I know!" choked the Lady in Black--yet she was not thinking of +the boy and the runaway. + +"Things stopped then for my mistress," resumed the little gray-haired +woman, after a moment, "and that was the beginning of the end. She had +a husband and a daughter, but they did n't count--not either of 'em. +Nothin' counted but this little grave out here; and she came and spent +hours over it, trimmin' it with flowers and talkin' to it." + +The Lady in Black raised her head suddenly and threw a quick glance +into the other's face; but the gray-haired woman's eyes were turned +away, and after a moment she went on speaking. + +"The house got gloomier and gloomier, but she did n't seem to mind. +She seemed to want it so. She shut out the sunshine and put away lots +of the pictures; and she wouldn't let the pianner be opened at all. +She never sat anywhere in the house only in the boy's room, and there +everything was just as 'twas when he left it. She would n't let a +thing be touched. I wondered afterward that she did n't see where 't +was all leadin' to--but she did n't." + +"'Leading to'?" The voice shook. + +"Yes. I wondered she did n't see she was losin' 'em--that husband and +daughter; but she did n't see it." + +The Lady in Black sat very still. Even the birds seemed to have +stopped their singing. Then the gray-haired woman spoke: + +"So, you see, that's why I come and put flowers here--it's for her +sake. There's no one else now to care," she sighed, rising to her feet. + +"But you haven't told yet--what happened," murmured the Lady in Black, +faintly. + +"I don't know myself--quite. I know the man went away. He got +somethin' to do travelin', so he was n't home much. When he did come +he looked sick and bad. There were stories that he wa'n't quite +straight always--but maybe that wa'n't true. Anyhow, he come less and +less, and he died away--but that was after she died. He's buried over +there, beside her and the boy. The girl--well, nobody knows where the +girl is. Girls like flowers and sunshine and laughter and young folks, +you know, and she did n't get any of them at home. So she went--where +she did get 'em, I suppose. Anyhow, nobody knows just where she is +now. . . . There, and if I have n't gone and tired you all out with my +chatter!" broke off the little gray-haired woman contritely. "I 'm +sure I don't know why I got to runnin' on so!" + +"No, no--I was glad to hear it," faltered the Lady in Black, rising +unsteadily to her feet. Her face had grown white, and her eyes showed +a sudden fear. "But I must go now. Thank you." And she turned and +hurried away. + +The house was very still when the Lady in Black reached home--and she +shivered at its silence. Through the hall and up the stairs she went +hurriedly, almost guiltily. In her own room she plucked at the shadowy +veil with fingers that tore the filmy mesh and found only the points of +the pins. She was crying now--a choking little cry with broken words +running through it; and she was still crying all the while her hands +were fumbling at the fastenings of her somber black dress. + +Long minutes later, the Lady--in Black no longer--trailed slowly down +the stairway. Her eyes showed traces of tears, and her chin quivered, +but her lips were bravely curved in a smile. She wore a white dress +and a single white rose in her hair; while behind her, in the little +room over the porch, a tiny clock of filigree gilt ticked loudly on its +shelf at the foot of the bed. + +There came a sound of running feet in the hall below; then: + +"Muvver!--it's muvver come back!" cried a rapturous voice. + +And with a little sobbing cry Bobby's mother opened her arms to her son. + + + + +The Saving of Dad + +On the boundary fence sat James, known as "Jim"; on the stunted grass +of the neighboring back yard lay Robert, known as "Bob." In age, size, +and frank-faced open-heartedness the boys seemed alike; but there were +a presence of care and an absence of holes in Jim's shirt and +knee-breeches that were quite wanting in those of the boy on the +ground. Jim was the son of James Barlow, lately come into the +possession of the corner grocery. Bob was the son of "Handy Mike," who +worked out by the day, doing "odd jobs" for the neighboring housewives. + +"I hain't no doubt of it," Bob was saying, with mock solemnity. "Yer +dad can eat more an' run faster an' jump higher an' shoot straighter +than any man what walks round." + +"Shucks!" retorted the boy on the fence, with a quick, frown. "That +ain't what I said, and you know it." + +"So?" teased Bob. "Well, now, 'twas all I could remember. There's +lots more, 'course, only I furgit 'em, an'--" + +"Shut up!" snapped Jim tersely. + +"'Course ev'ry one knows he's only a sample," went on Bob +imperturbably. "An' so he's handsomer an'--" + +"Will you quit?" demanded Jim sharply. + +"No, I won't," retorted Bob, with a quick change of manner. "You 've +been here just two weeks, an' it hain't been nothin' but 'Dad says +this,' an' 'Dad says that,' ever since. Jiminy! a feller'd think you'd +made out ter have the only dad that's goin'!" + +There was a pause--so long a pause that the boy on the grass sent a +sideways glance at the motionless figure on the fence. + +"It wa'n't right, of course," began Jim, at last, awkwardly, "crowin' +over dad as I do. I never thought how--how 't would make the rest of +you fellers feel." Bob, on the grass, bridled and opened his lips, but +something in Jim's rapt face kept him from giving voice to his scorn. +"'Course there ain't any one like dad--there can't be," continued Jim +hurriedly. "He treats me white, an' he's straight there every time. +Dad don't dodge. Maybe I should n't say so much about him, only--well, +me an' dad are all alone. There ain't any one else; they're dead." + +The boy on the grass turned over and kicked both heels in the air; then +he dug at the turf with his forefinger. He wished he would not think +of his mother and beloved little sister May just then. He opened his +eyes very wide and winked hard, once, twice, and again. He tried to +speak; failing in that, he puckered his lips for a whistle. But the +lips twitched and would not stay steady, and the whistle, when it came, +sounded like nothing so much as the far-away fog-whistle off the shore +at night. With a snort of shamed terror lest that lump in his throat +break loose, Bob sprang upright and began to turn a handspring with +variations. + +"Bet ye can't do this," he challenged thickly. + +"Bet ye I can," retorted Jim, landing with a thump at Bob's side. + +It was after supper the next night that the two boys again occupied the +fence and the grass-plot. They had fallen into the way of discussing +at this time the day's fires, dog-fights, and parades. To-day, +however, fires had been few, dog-fights fewer, and parades so very +scarce that they numbered none at all. Conversation had come to a dead +pause, when Jim, his eyes on the rod of sidewalk visible from where he +sat, called softly: + +"Hi, Bob, who's the guy with the plug?" + +Bob raised his head. He caught a glimpse of checkered trousers, +tail-coat, and tall hat, then he dropped to the ground with a short +laugh. + +"Yes, who is it?" he scoffed. "Don't ye know?" + +"Would I be askin' if I did?" demanded Jim. + +"Humph!" grunted the other. "Well, you'll know him fast enough one of +these days, sonny, never fear. There don't no one hang out here more'n +a month 'fore he spots 'em." + +"'Spots 'em'!" + +"Sure! He's Danny O'Flannigan." + +"Well?" + +Into Bob's face came a look of pitying derision. + +"'Well,'" he mocked. "Mebbe 't will be 'well,' an' then again mebbe 't +won't. It all depends on yer dad." + +"On _dad_!" + +"Sure! He's Danny O'Flannigan, the boss o' this ward." + +"But what has that got to do with my dad?" + +"Aw, come off--as if ye did n't know! It all depends whether he's +nailed him or not." + +"'Nailed him'!" + +"Sure. If he nails him fur a friend, he gits customers an' picnics an' +boo-kays all the time. If he don't--" Bob made a wry face and an +expressive gesture. + +The frown that had been gathering on Jim's brow fled. + +"Ho!" he laughed. "Don't you worry. Dad always nails folks--never +misses hittin' 'em on the head, either," he added, in reckless triumph, +confident that there was nothing "dad" could not do. + +The boy on the grass sat up and stared; then he lay back and gave a +hoarse laugh--a long, chuckling laugh that brought the frown back to +Jim's face. + +"Well, what you laughin' at?" demanded Jim sharply. + +"Oh, gee, gee!--that's too good!" gurgled the boy on the grass, rolling +from side to side. "The saint, the sample, the pattern, the feller +what treats 'em square, a-sellin' his vote! Oh, gee, gee!" + +The ground suddenly shook with the impact of two sturdy little feet, +and Bob found his throat in the grasp of two strong little hands. + +"Bob Sullivan, quit yer laughin' an' tell me what you're talkin' +about," stormed a shrill treble. "Who's a-sellin' their vote?" + +Bob squirmed and struggled. + +"A feller--can't talk--without--breathin'!" he choked. + +"Well, then,--breathe!" commanded Jim, jerking his companion to a +sitting posture and loosening his clasp on his throat. "Now--who's +a-sellin' their vote?" + +"Ye said it yerself, I didn't," snarled Bob sullenly. + +"Said what?" + +"That yer dad would nail Danny O'Flannigan, sure." + +"And is that sellin' his vote?" + +"What else is it, then?" demanded Bob wrathfully. "He votes as Danny +says, an' Danny sends him trade, an'--oh, oh, q-quit it--q-quit it--I +say!" choked Bob, breath and speech almost cut off by the furious +clutch of Jim's lean little fingers. + +"I won't quit it; I won't!" stormed Jim, shaking his victim with a +force that was as strong as it was sudden. "You know I never meant it +that way; an' dad won't sell his vote; he won't--he won't--he won't!" + +The next instant a wrathful, palpitating Bob lay alone on the grass, +while a no less wrathful and palpitating Jim vaulted the fence at a +bound and disappeared into the next house. + +Jim awoke the next morning with a haunting sense that something had +happened. In a moment he remembered; and with memory came rage and a +defiant up tilting of the chin. + +As if dad--_dad_ could do this thing! Very possibly--even +probably--Handy Mike had long ago gone down before this creature in the +checkered trousers and tall hat; but dad--dad was not Handy Mike! + +The ins and outs, the fine points, the ethics of it all were not quite +clear to Jim; but the derision in Bob's laugh was unmistakable; and on +that derision and on that laugh hung his unfaltering confidence that +dad would not, could not, do anything to merit either. + +For three nights the boys shunned the fence and the back yard. On the +fourth night, as if by common impulse, each took his accustomed place, +wearing an elaborate air of absolute forgetfulness of the past. There +had been two fires and a parade that day, so any embarrassment that the +situation held was easily talked down. Not until Handy Mike on the +side porch of his dilapidated cottage had greeted a visitor did there +come a silence between the two boys. Even then it did not last long, +for Bob broke it with a hoarse whisper. + +"It's Danny O'Flannigan, sure's a gun! It's gittin' mos' +'lection-time, an' he's drummin' 'em up. Now, jest watch pap. He +hain't no use fur Danny. Oh, of course," he added, in hurried +conciliation, "'t ain't as if it made any difference ter pap. Pap +works fur the women-folks, an' women don't cut much ice in pol'tics." + +And Jim did watch--with his eyes wide open and his hands so tightly +clenched they fairly ached. He could not hear the words, but he could +the voices, and he noted that for the first five minutes one was +jovial, the other sullen; and for the next five minutes one was +persuasive, the other contradictory; and for the third five minutes one +was angry and the other back to its old sullenness. Then he saw that +Danny O'Flannigan jerked himself to his feet and strode away, leaving +Handy Mike stolidly smoking on the side porch. + +"Humph!" muttered Bob. "Danny hung to longer 'n I thought he would. +Must be somethin' special's up." + +It was on the next night that Jim, from his perch on the back fence, +saw the checkered trousers and tall hat on his own doorstep. Bob, on +the grass below, could not see, so Jim held his breath while the door +opened and his father admitted Danny O'Flannigan to the house. + +Jim's heart swelled, and his eyes flashed with pride. Now, we should +see how a _man_ dealt with this thing. Surely now there would be no +fifteen minutes' dallying. Danny O'Flannigan would soon find out what +sort of a person he had to deal with. He would see that dad was not +Handy Mike. + +It was on Jim's lips to speak to Bob, that Bob might share with him the +sight of Danny O'Flannigan's discomfiture. He longed to display this +overwhelming proof of the falseness of Bob's assertion that dad would +sell his vote; but--best let by-gones be by-gones; he had punished Bob +for that, and, after all, Handy Mike _was_ Bob's father. He could tell +Bob of it later--how dad had sent Danny O'Flannigan to the right-about +at once. Yes, that was the better way. + +So Jim schooled himself to hide his exultation, and he listened with +well-feigned interest to Bob's animated account of the morning's fire. + +Two, three, five minutes passed, and Danny O'Flannigan had not come +out. Jim hitched about on his narrow perch, and sent furtive glances +across the expanse of yard to his own door. Six, seven, ten minutes +passed; Jim's throat grew dry, and his fingers cold at their tips. His +eyes had long ago ceased to look at Bob; they were fixed in growing +horror on that closed door, behind which were dad--and that man. +Eleven, thirteen, fifteen minutes passed. + +"I--I'm goin' in now," faltered Jim. "I--I reckon I don't feel well," +he finished thickly, as he slipped to the ground and walked unsteadily +across the yard. + +In the woodshed he stopped short at the kitchen door. A murmur of +voices came from far inside, and Jim's knees shook beneath him--it was +not so--it could not be possible that dad was _still_ talking! Jim +stole through the back hallway and out on to the grass beneath the +sitting-room windows on the other side of the house. The voices were +louder now--the visitor's very loud. + +Jim raised his head and tried to smile. + +Of course!--dad was sending him about his business, and the man was +angry--that was it. It had taken longer than he thought, but dad--dad +never did like to hurt folks' feelings. Some men--some men did not +care how they talked; but not dad. Why, dad--dad did not even like to +kill a mouse; he-- + +There came the sound of a laugh--a long, ringing laugh with a gleeful +chuckle at the end. Jim grew faint. That was--_dad_! + +Ten seconds later the two men in the sitting-room were confronted by a +white-faced, shaking boy. + +"Maybe you did n't know, Mr. O'Flannigan," began Jim eagerly, "maybe +you did n't know that dad don't speak sharp. He ain't much for hurtin' +folks' feelings; but he means it just the same--that he won't do what +you want him to do. He's square and straight--dad is, an' he don't +dodge; but maybe you thought 'cause he laughed that he was easy--but he +ain't. Why, dad would n't--" + +"Tut, tut, not so fast, my boy," cut in Danny O'Flannigan pompously. +"Your father has already--" + +A strong hand gripped O'Flannigan's shoulder, and an agonized pair of +eyes arrested his words. + +"For God's sake, man," muttered Barlow, "have you no mercy? +Think--have you no son of your own that believes you 're almost--God +Himself?" + +For a brief instant Danny O'Flannigan's eyebrows and shoulders rose in +an expressive gesture, and his hands made a disdainful sweep; then his +eyes softened strangely. + +"As you please," he said, and reached for his hat with an air that was +meant to show indifference. "Then the deal is off, I suppose." + +"There!" crowed Jim, as the door clicked behind the checkered trousers. +"There, I knew you'd do it, dad. Just as if-- Why, dad, you +'re--_cryin_'! Pooh! who cares for Danny O'Flannigan?" he soothed, +patting the broad shoulders bowed low over the table. "I would n't cry +for him!" + + + + +Millionaire Mike's Thanksgiving + +He was not Mike at first; he was only the Millionaire--a young +millionaire who sat in a wheel chair on the pier waiting for the boat. +He had turned his coat-collar up to shut out the wind, and his hatbrim +down to shut out the sun. For the time being he was alone. He had +sent his attendant back for a forgotten book. + +It was Thanksgiving, but the Millionaire was not thankful. He was not +thinking of what he had, but of what he wanted. He wanted his old +strength of limb, and his old freedom from pain. True, the doctors had +said that he might have them again in time, but he wanted them now. He +wanted the Girl, also. He would have her, to be sure, that very +evening; but he wanted her now. + +The girl had been very sweet and gentle about it, but she had been +firm. As he could recollect it, their conversation had run something +like this: + +"But I want you myself, all day." + +"But, Billy, don't you see? I promised; besides, I ought to do it. I +am the president of the club. If I shirk responsibility, what can I +expect the others to do?" + +"But I need you just as much--yes, more--than those poor families." + +"Oh, Billy, how can you say that, when they are so very poor, and when +every one of them is the proud kind that would simply rather starve +than go after their turkey and things! That's why we girls take them +to them. Don't you see?" + +"Oh, yes, I see. I see I don't count. It could n't be expected that +I'd count--now!" And he patted the crutches at his side. + +It was despicable in him, and he knew it. But he said it. He could +see her eyes now, all hurt and sorrowful as she went away. . . . And +so this morning he sat waiting for the boat, a long, lonely day in +prospect in his bungalow on the island, while behind him he had left +the dearest girl in the world, who, with other petted darlings of +wealth and luxury, was to distribute Thanksgiving baskets to the poor. + +Not that his day needed to be lonely. He knew that. A dozen friends +stood ready and anxious to supply him with a good dinner and plenty of +companionship. But he would have none of them. As if _he_ wanted a +Thanksgiving dinner! + +And thus alone he waited in the wheel chair; and how he abhorred +it--that chair--which was not strange, perhaps, considering the +automobile that he loved. Since the accident, however, his injured +back had forbidden the speed and jar of motor cars, allowing only the +slow but exasperating safety of crutches and a wheel chair. To-day +even that seemed denied him, for the man who wheeled his chair did not +come. + +With a frown the Millionaire twisted himself about and looked behind +him. It was near the time for the boat to start, and there would not +be another for three hours. From the street hurried a jostling throng +of men, women, and children. Longingly the Millionaire watched them. +He had no mind to spend the next three hours where he was. If he could +be pushed on to the boat, he would trust to luck for the other side. +With his still weak left arm he could not propel himself, but if he +could find some one-- + +Twice, with one of the newspapers that lay in his lap, he made a feeble +attempt to attract attention; but the Millionaire was used to +commanding, not begging, and his action passed unnoticed. He saw then +in the crowd the face of a friend, and with a despairing gesture he +waved the paper again. But the friend passed by unheeding. What +happened then was so entirely unexpected that the Millionaire fell back +in his chair dumb with amazement. + +"Here, Mike, ye ain't on ter yer job. Youse can't sell nuttin' dat +way," scoffed a friendly voice. "Here, now, watch!" And before the +Millionaire could collect his wits he saw the four papers he had bought +that morning to help beguile a dreary day, snatched into the grimy +hands of a small boy and promptly made off with. + +The man's angry word of remonstrance died on his lips. The boy was +darting in and out of the crowd, shouting "Poiper, here's yer poiper!" +at the top of his voice. Nor did he return until the last pair of feet +had crossed the gangplank. Then in triumph he hurried back to the +waiting man in the wheel chair and dropped into his lap a tiny heap of +coppers. + +"Sold out, pardner! Dat's what we be," he crowed delighted. "Sold +out!" + +"But--I--you--" gasped the man. + +"Aw, furgit it--'t wa'n't nuttin'," disdained the boy airily. "Ye see, +youse got ter holler." + +"To--to 'holler'!" + +"Sure, Mike, or ye can't sell nuttin'. I been a-watchin' ye, an' I see +right off ye wa'n't on ter yer job. Why, pardner, ye can't sell +poipers like ye was shellin' out free sody-checks at a picnic. Youse +got ter yell at 'em, an' git dere 'tention. 'Course, ye can't run like +I can"--his voice softened awkwardly as his eyes fell to the crutches +at the man's side--"but ye can holler, an' not jest set dere a-shakin' +'em easy at 'em, like ye did a minute ago. Dat ain't no way ter sell +poipers!" + +With a half-smothered exclamation the Millionaire fell back in his +chair. He knew now that he was not a millionaire, but a "Mike" to the +boy. He was not William Seymore Haynes, but a cripple selling papers +for a living. He would not have believed that a turned-up collar, a +turned down soft hat, and a few jerks of a newspaper could have made +such a metamorphosis. + +"Youse'll catch on in no time now, pardner," resumed the boy +soothingly, "an' I'm mighty glad I was here ter set ye goin'. Sure, I +sells poipers meself, I does, an' I knows how 't is. Don't look so +flabbergasted. 'T ain't nuttin'. Shucks! hain't fellers what's +pardners oughter do a turn fur 't odder?" + +The Millionaire bit his lip. He had intended to offer money to this +boy, but with his gaze on that glowing countenance, he knew that he +could not. He had come suddenly face to face with something for which +his gold could not pay. + +"Th-thank you," he stammered embarrassedly. "You--you were very kind." +He paused, and gazed nervously back toward the street. "I--I was +expecting some one. We were going to take that boat." + +"No! Was ye? An' he did n't show up? Say, now, dat's tough--an' +T'anksgivin', too!" + +"As if I cared for Thanksgiving!" The words came tense with bitterness. + +"Aw, come now, furgit it!" There was a look of real concern on the +boy's face. "Dat ain't no way ter talk. It's T'anksgivin'!" + +"Yes, I know--for some." The man's lips snapped shut grimly. + +"Aw, come off! Never mind if yer pal did n't show up. Dere 's odders; +dere 's me now. Tell ye what, youse come home wid me. Dere won't be +no boat now fur a heap o' time, an' I 'm goin' ter T'anksgive. Come +on! 'T ain't fur. I'll wheel ye." + +The man stared frankly. + +"Er--thank you," he murmured, with an odd little laugh; "but--" + +"Shucks! 'Course ye can. What be ye goin' ter do?--set here? What's +the use o' mopin' like dis when youse got a invite out ter +T'anksgivin'? An' ye better catch it while it's goin', too. Ye see, +some days I could n't ask ye--not grub enough; but I can ter-day. We +got a s'prise comin'." + +"Indeed!" The tone was abstracted, almost irritable; but the boy +ignored this. + +"Sure! It's a dinner--a T'anksgivin' dinner bringed in to us. Now +ain't ye comin'?" + +"A dinner, did you say?--brought to you?" + +"Yeaup!" + +"Who brings it?" + +"A lady what comes ter see me an' Kitty sometimes; an' she's a +peacherino, she is! She said she 'd bring it." + +"Do you know--her name?" The words came a little breathlessly. + +"You bet! Why, she's our friend, I tell ye! Her name is Miss Daisy +Carrolton; dat 's what 't is." + +The man relaxed in his chair. It was the dearest girl in the world. + +"Say, ain't ye comin'?" urged the boy, anxiously. + +"Coming? Of course I'm coming," cried the man, with sudden energy. +"Just catch hold of that chair back there, lad, and you'll see." + +"Say, now, dat's sumpin' like," crowed the boy, as he briskly started +the chair. "'T ain't fur, ye know." + +Neither the boy nor the Millionaire talked much on the way. The boy +was busy with his task; the man, with his thoughts. Just why he was +doing this thing was not clear even to the man himself. He suspected +it was because of the girl. He could fancy her face when she should +find that it was to him she was bringing her turkey dinner! He roused +himself with a start. The boy was speaking. + +"My! but I 'm glad I stopped an' watched ye tryin' ter sell poipers. +T'ink o' youse a-settin' dere all dis time a-waitin' fur dat boat--an' +T'anksgivin', too! An' don't ye worry none. Ma an' Kitty 'll be right +glad to see ye. 'T ain't often we can have comp'ny. It's most allers +us what's takin' t'ings give ter us--not givin' ourselves." + +"Oh," replied the man uncertainly. "Is--is that so?" + +With a distinct shock it had come to the millionaire that he was not +merely the disgruntled lover planning a little prank to tease the +dearest girl in the world. He was the honored guest of a family who +were rejoicing that it was in their power to give a lonely cripple a +Thanksgiving dinner. His face grew red at the thought. + +"Ugh-uh. An', oh, I say, what _is_ yer name, pardner?" went on the +boy. "'Course I called ye 'Mike,' but--" + +"Then suppose you still call me 'Mike,'" retorted the man, nervously +wondering if he _could_ play the part. He caught a glimpse of the +beaming face of his benefactor--and decided that he _must_ play it. + +"A' right, den; an' here we be," announced the boy in triumph, stopping +before a flight of steps that led to a basement door. + +With the aid of his crutches the man descended the steps. Behind him +came the boy with the chair. At the foot the boy flung wide the door +and escorted his guest through a dark, evil-smelling hallway, into a +kitchen beyond. + +"Ma! Kitty! look a-here!" he shouted, leaving the chair, and springing +into the room. "I 've bringed home comp'ny ter dinner. Dis is Mike. +He was sellin' poipers down ter de dock, an' he lost his boat. I told +him ter come on here an' eat wid us. I knowed what was comin', ye see!" + +"Why, yes, indeed, of course," fluttered a wan-faced little woman, +plainly trying not to look surprised. "Sit down, Mr. Mike," she +finished, drawing up a chair to the old stove. + +"Thank you, but I--I--" The man looked about for a means of escape. +In the doorway stood the boy with the wheel chair. + +"Here, Mr. Mike, mebbe youse wanted dis. Say, Kitty, ain't dis grand?" +he ended admiringly, wheeling the chair to the middle of the room. + +From the corner came the tap of crutches, and the man saw then what he +had not seen before; a slip of a girl, perhaps twelve years old, with a +helpless little foot hanging limp below the skirt-hem. + +"Oh, oh!" she breathed, her eyes aflame with excitement. "It is--it +is--a _wheel_ one! Oh, sir, how glad and proud you must be--with that!" + +The man sat down, though not in the wheel chair. He dropped a little +helplessly into the one his hostess had brought forward. + +"Perhaps you--you'd like to try it," he managed to stammer. + +"Oh, can I? Thank you!" breathed a rapturous voice. And there, for +the next five minutes, sat the Millionaire watching a slip of a girl +wheeling herself back and forth in his chair--his chair, which he had +never before suspected of being "fine" or "wonderful" or "grand"--as +the girl declared it to be. + +Shrinkingly he looked about him. Nowhere did his eyes fall upon +anything that was whole. He had almost struggled to his feet to flee +from it all when the boy's voice arrested him. + +"Ye see, it's comin' 'bout noon--de grub is; an' it's goin' ter be all +cooked so we can begin ter eat right off. Dere, how's dat?" he +questioned, standing away to admire the propped-up table he and his +mother were setting with a few broken dishes. "Now ain't ye glad youse +ain't down dere a-waitin' fur a boat what don't come?" + +"Sure I am," declared the man, gazing into the happy face before him, +and valiantly determining to be Mike now no matter what happened. + +"An' ain't the table pretty!" exulted the little girl. "I found that +chiny cup with the gold on it. 'Course it don't hold nothin', 'cause +the bottom's fell out; but it looks pretty--an' looks counts when +comp'ny's here!" + +The boy lifted his head suddenly. + +"Look a-here! I'll make it hold sumpin'," he cried, diving his hands +into his pockets, and bringing out five coppers and a dime. "Youse +jest wait. I 'll get a posy up ter de square. 'Course, we 'd ought +ter have a posy, wid comp'ny here." + +"Hold on!" The Millionaire's hand was in his pocket now. His fingers +were on a gold piece, and his eyes--in fancy--were on a glorious riot +of Jacqueminots that filled the little room to overflowing, and brought +a wondrous light to three pairs of unbelieving eyes--then Mike +remembered. "Here," he said a little huskily, "let me help." But the +fingers, when he held them out, carried only the dime that Mike might +give, not the gold piece of the Millionaire. + +"Aw, g'wan," scoffed the boy, jubilantly. "As if we'd let comp'ny pay! +Dis is our show!" And for the second time that day the Millionaire had +found something that money could not buy. + +And thus it happened that the table, a little later, held a centerpiece +of flowers--four near-to-fading pinks in a bottomless, gold-banded +china cup. + +It was the man who heard the honk of a motor-car in the street outside. +Instinctively he braced himself, and none too soon. There was a light +knock, then in the doorway stood the dearest girl in the world, a large +basket and a box in her hands. + +"Oh, how lovely! You have the table all ready," she exclaimed, coming +swiftly forward. "And what a fine--_Billy_!" she gasped, as she +dropped the box and the basket on the table. + +The boy turned sharply. + +"Aw! Why did n't ye tell a feller?" he reproached the man; then to the +Girl: "_Does_ ye know him? He _said_ ter call him 'Mike.'" + +The man rose now. With an odd directness he looked straight into the +Girl's startled eyes. + +"Maybe Miss Carrolton don't remember me much, as I am now," he murmured. + +The Girl flushed. The man, who knew her so well, did not need to be +told that the angry light in her eyes meant that she suspected him of +playing this masquerade for a joke, and that she did not like it. Even +the dearest girl in the world had a temper--at times. + +"But why--are you--here?" she asked in a cold little voice. + +The man's eyes did not swerve. + +"Jimmy asked me to come." + +"He asked you to come!" + +"Sure I did," interposed Jimmy, with all the anxiety of a host who sees +his guest, for some unknown reason, being made uncomfortable. "I +knowed youse would n't mind if we did ask comp'ny ter help eat de +dinner, an' he lost his boat, ye see, an' had a mug on him as long as +me arm, he was that cut up 'bout it. He was sellin' poipers down t' de +dock." + +"Selling papers!" + +"As it happened, I did not _sell_ them," interposed the man, still with +that steady meeting of her eyes. "Jimmy sold them for me. He will +tell you that I was n't on to my job, so he helped me out." + +"Aw, furgit it," grinned Jimmy sheepishly. "Dat wa'n't nuttin'. I +only showed him ye could n't sell no poipers widout hollerin'." + +A curious look of admiration and relief came to the face of the Girl. +Her eyes softened. "You mean--" + +She stopped, and the man nodded his head gravely. + +"Yes, miss. I was alone, waiting for Thompson. He must have got +delayed. I had four papers in my lap, and after Jimmy had sold them +and the boat had gone, he very kindly asked me to dinner, and--I came." + +"Whew! Look at dis!" cried an excited voice. Jimmy was investigating +the contents of the basket. "Say, Mike, we got turkey! Ye see," he +explained, turning to Miss Carrolton, "he kinder hung back fur a while, +an' wa'n't fast on comin'. An' I did hope 't would be turkey--fur +comp'ny. Folks don't have comp'ny ev'ry day!" + +"No, folks don't have company every day," repeated the Girl softly; and +into the longing eyes opposite she threw, before she went away, one +look such as only the dearest girl in the world can give--a look full +of tenderness and love and understanding. + + +Long hours later, in quite a different place, the Girl saw the man +again. He was not Mike now. He was the Millionaire. For a time he +talked eagerly of his curious visit, chatting excitedly of all the +delightful results that were to come from it; rest and ease for the +woman; a wheel chair and the best of surgeons for the little girl; +school and college for the boy. Then, after a long minute of silence, +he said something else. He said it diffidently, and with a rush of +bright color to his face--he was not used to treading quite so near to +his heart. + +"I never thought," he said, just touching the crutches at his side, +"that I 'd ever be thankful for--for these. But I was--almost--to-day. +You see, it was they that--that brought me--my dinner," he finished, +with a whimsicality that did not hide the shake in his voice. + + + + +When Mother Fell Ill + +Tom was eighteen, and was spending the long summer days behind the +village-store counter--Tom hoped to go to college in the fall. + +Carrie was fifteen; the long days found her oftenest down by the brook, +reading--Carrie was a bit romantic, and the book was usually poetry. + +Robert and Rosamond, the twins--known to all their world as "Rob" and +"Rose"--were eight; existence for them meant play, food, and sleep. To +be sure, there were books and school; but those were in the remote past +or dim future together with winter, mittens, and fires. It was summer, +now--summer, and the two filled the hours with rollicking games and +gleeful shouts--and incidentally their mother's workbasket with +numerous torn pinafores and trousers. + +Behind everything, above everything, and beneath everything, with +all-powerful hands and an all-wise brain, was mother. There was +father, of course; but father could not cook the meals, sweep the +rooms, sew on buttons, find lost pencils, bathe bumped foreheads, and +do countless other things. So thought Tom, Carrie, and the twins that +dreadful morning when father came dolefully downstairs and said that +mother was sick. + +_Mother sick_! Tom stared blankly at the sugar bowl, Carrie fell +limply into the nearest chair, and the twins began to cry softly. + +The next thirty-six hours were never forgotten by the Dudleys. The +cool nook in the woods was deserted, and Carrie spent a hot, +discouraged morning in the kitchen--sole mistress where before she had +been an all too seldom helper. At noon Mr. Dudley and Tom came home to +partake of underdone potatoes and overdone meat. The twins, repressed +and admonished into a state of hysterical nervousness, repaired +directly after dinner to the attic. Half an hour later a prolonged +wail told that Rob had cut his finger severely with an old knife; and +it was during the attendant excitement that Rose managed to fall the +entire length of the attic stairs. At night, after a supper of soggy +rolls and burnt omelet, Mr. Dudley sent an appealing telegram to +"Cousin Helen"; and the next afternoon, at five, she came. + +Miss Helen Mortimer was pretty, sweet-tempered, and twenty-five. The +entire family fell captive to her first smile. There was a world of +comfort and relief in her very presence, and in the way she said +cheerily: + +"We shall do very well, I am sure. Carrie can attend to her mother, +and I will take the helm downstairs." + +The doctor said that rest and quiet was what Mrs. Dudley most needed, +so Carrie's task would be comparatively light; and with a stout woman +to come twice a week for the heavy work downstairs, the household gave +promise of being once more on a livable basis. + +It was at breakfast the next morning that the first cloud appeared on +Miss Mortimer's horizon. It came in the shape of the crisply fried +potatoes she was serving. The four children were eating late after +their father had left. + +"Oh, Cousin Helen," began Tom, in an annoyed manner, "I forgot to tell +you; I don't like fried potatoes. I have baked ones." + +"Baked ones?" + +"Yes; mother always baked them for me."' + +"Oh, that's too bad; you can't eat them, then,--they hurt you!" + +Tom laughed. + +"Hurt me? Not a bit of it! I don't like them, that's all. Never +mind; you can do it to-morrow." + +When "to-morrow" came Miss Mortimer had not forgotten. The big round +dish was heaped with potatoes baked to a turn. + +"Thank you, I'll take the fried," said Carrie, as the dish was passed +to her. + +"The f-fried?" stammered Miss Mortimer. + +"Yes; I prefer those." + +"But there _are_ no fried. I baked them." + +"Well, how funny!" laughed Carrie. "I thought we had it all fixed +yesterday. I thought we were to have both fried and baked. Mother +always did, you know. You see, we don't like them the same way. Never +mind," she added with a beaming smile, quite misunderstanding the look +on her cousin's face, "it does n't matter a bit and you must n't feel +so bad. It 'll be all right to-morrow, I'm sure." + +"Yes, and I want buckwheat cakes, please," piped up Rob. + +"All right, you shall have them," agreed Cousin Helen with a smile. + +Tom laughed. + +"Maybe you don't quite know what you 're getting into, Cousin Helen," +he suggested. "If you make buckwheat cakes for Rob--it means graham +muffins for Rose." + +"And she shall have them; the very next morning, too." + +"Oh, no, that will never do. She demands them the same day." + +"What!" + +"Oh, I thought you didn't understand," chuckled Tom. "When you make +one, you have to make both. Mother always did--she had to; 't was the +only way she could suit both the twins, and I don't believe you 'll +find any other way out of it. As for us--we don't mind; we eat them +all!" + +"Oh!" said Cousin Helen faintly. + +"And another thing," resumed Tom, "we might as well settle the drink +question right away--of course you 'll want to know. Father is the +only one who drinks cereal coffee. We (Carrie and I) like the real +thing, every time; and the twins have cocoa--weak, of course, so there +'s not much to it." + +"And you must n't sweeten mine while you 're cooking it," interposed +Rose decidedly. + +"Sure enough--lucky you thought of that," laughed Tom, "or else poor +Cousin Helen would have had another mistake to fret over. You see," he +explained pleasantly, "Rose insists on putting in _all_ the sugar +herself, so hers has to be made unsweetened; but Rob is n't so +particular and prefers his made in the regular way--sweetened while +cooking, you know." + +"Oh, I make two kinds of cocoa, do I?" asked Cousin Helen. + +"Yes--er--that is, in two ways." + +"Hm-m; and coffee and the cereal drink, making four in all?" continued +Cousin Helen, with ominous sweetness. + +Tom stirred uneasily and threw a sharp glance into his cousin's face. + +"Well--er--it does seem a good many; but--well, mother did, you know, +and we might as well have what we want, as something different, I +suppose," he finished, with vague uneasiness. + +"Oh, certainly, who would mind a small thing like that!" laughed Miss +Mortimer, a queer little gleam in her eyes. + +This was but the beginning. On the pantry-shelf were four kinds of +cereals. Carrie explained that all were served each morning, for the +family could n't agree on any particular one. As for eggs; Tom always +had to have his dropped on a slice of toast; the twins liked theirs +scrambled; but Carrie herself preferred hers boiled in the shell. +Apple-pie must always be in the house for Tom, though it so happened, +strangely enough, Carrie said, that no one else cared for it at all. + +"Mother was always making apple-pie," laughed Carrie apologetically. +"You see, they get stale so quickly, and Tom is the only one to eat +them, they have to be made pretty often--one at a time, of course." + +Bread, rolls, pastry, meat, vegetables--each had its own particular +story, backed always by that ever-silencing "mother did," until Miss +Mortimer was almost in despair. Sometimes she made a feeble protest, +but the children were so good-natured, so entirely unaware that they +were asking anything out of the ordinary, and so amazed at any proposed +deviation from the established rules, that her protests fell powerless +at their feet. + +"Mother did"--"mother did"--"mother did," Miss Mortimer would murmur +wearily to herself each day, until she came to think of the tired +little woman upstairs as "Mother Did" instead of "Aunt Maria." "No +wonder 'Mother Did' fell ill," she thought bitterly. "Who wouldn't!" + +The weeks passed, as weeks will--even the dreariest of them--and the +day came for Cousin Helen to go home, Mrs. Dudley being now quite her +old self. Loud were the regrets at her departure, and overwhelming +were the thanks and blessings showered in loving profusion; but it was +two weeks later, when Tom, Carrie, and the twins each sent her a +birthday present, that an idea came to Miss Mortimer. She determined +at once to carry it out, even though the process might cause her some +heartache. + +Thus it came about that Tom, Carrie, Rob, and Rose, each received a +letter (together with the gift each had sent) almost by return mail. + +Tom's ran: + +_My dear Cousin_: Thank you very much for the novel you sent me, but I +am going to ask you to change it for a book of travels. I like that +kind better, and mother and all my friends give me travels whenever +they want to please me. I might as well have something I want as +something different, I suppose, so I am asking you to change. + +Very lovingly + YOUR COUSIN HELEN + + +Carrie read this: + +_My dear Carrie_: Thank you for the pretty little turnover collar and +cuffs you sent me for my birthday; but I think it is so funny you never +noticed that I don't care for pink. Mother found it out even when I +was but little more than a baby. Oh, I can wear it, but I don't care +for it. Don't feel badly, however, my dear Carrie; all you've got to +do is just to take these back and make me some blue ones, and I know +you won't mind doing that. + +Lovingly + COUSIN HELEN + + +Rob's letter ran: + +_My dear Rob_: I am writing to thank you for the box of chocolates you +sent yesterday. I am sending them back to you, though, because I +seldom eat chocolates. Oh, no, they don't hurt me, but I don't like +them as well as I do caramels, so won't you please change them? Mother +gives me a box of candy every Christmas, but it is never chocolates. I +know you would rather give me what I like, Rob, dear. + +Lots of love + COUSIN HELEN + + +Rose had striven early and late over a crocheted tidy, spending long +hours of her playtime in doing work to which her fingers were but +little accustomed. She confidently expected a loving letter of thanks +and praise, and could scarcely wait to open the envelope. This is what +she read: + +_My dear Rose_: Thank you very much for the tidy, dear, but whatever in +the world caused you to make it in that stitch? I like shell-stitch +ever so much better, so would you mind doing it over for me? I am +returning this one, for maybe you will decide to ravel it out; if you +don't, you can just make me a new one. Mother has crocheted several +things for me, but most of them are in shell-stitch, which, after all, +is about the only stitch I care for. + +Lots of love from + YOUR COUSIN HELEN + + +After a dazed five minutes of letter-reading, the four children hurried +to the attic--always their refuge for a conference. There they read +the four letters aloud, one after another. A dumfounded silence +followed the last word. Rose was the first to break it. + +"I think she's a mean old thing--so there!" Rose was almost crying. + +"Hush, dear, hush!" choked Carrie. "She isn't mean; she's good and +kind--we know she is. She--she means something by it; she must. Let's +read them again!" + +Bit by bit they went over the letters. It was at the third mention of +"mother" that Tom raised his head with a jerk. He looked sheepishly +into Carrie's face. + +"I--I guess I know," he said with a shame-faced laugh. + + +It must have been a month later that Miss Mortimer received a letter +from Mrs. Dudley. One paragraph sent a quick wave of color to the +reader's face; and this was the paragraph: + +I am feeling better than for a long time. Some way, the work does n't +seem nearly so hard as it used to. Perhaps it is because I am +stronger, or perhaps it is because the children are not nearly so +particular about their food as they used to be. I am so glad, for it +worried me sometimes--they were so very fussy. I wondered how they +would get along out in the world where "mother" could n't fix +everything to their liking. Perhaps you noticed it when you were here. +At any rate, they are lots better now. Perhaps they have out-grown it. +I hope so, I'm sure. + + + + +The Glory and the Sacrifice + +The Honorable Peter Wentworth was not a church-going man, and when he +appeared at the prayer-meeting on that memorable Friday evening there +was at once a most irreligious interest manifested by every one +present, even to the tired little minister himself. The object of +their amazed glances fortunately did not keep the good people long in +suspense. After a timid prayer--slightly incoherent, but abounding in +petitions for single-mindedness and worshipful reverence--from the +minister's wife, the Honorable Peter Wentworth rose to his feet and +loudly cleared his throat: + +"Ahem! Ladies and gentlemen--er--ah--brethren," he corrected, hastily, +faint memories of a godly youth prompting his now unaccustomed lips; +"I--er--I understand that you are desirous of building a new church. A +very laudable wish--very," with his eyes fixed on a zigzag crack in the +wall across the room; "and I understand that your funds +are--er--insufficient. I am, in fact, informed that you need two +thousand dollars. Ahem! Ladies--er--brethren, I stand here to +announce that on the first day of January I will place in your pastor's +hands the sum of one thousand dollars, provided"--and he paused and put +the tips of his forefingers together impressively--"provided you will +raise an equal amount on your own part. The first day of next January, +remember. You have nearly a year, you will notice, in which to raise +the money. I--er--I hope you will be successful." And he sat down +heavily. + +The remainder of that meeting was not conspicuous for deep +spirituality, and after the benediction the Honorable Peter Wentworth +found himself surrounded by an excited crowd of grateful church +members. The honorable gentleman was distinctly pleased. He had not +given anything away before since--well, he had the same curious choking +feeling in his throat now that he remembered to have felt when he gave +the contents of his dinner pail to the boy across the aisle at the old +red schoolhouse. After all, it was a rather pleasant sensation; he +almost wished it had oftener been his. + +It was not until the silent hours of the night brought a haunting +premonition of evil to the Reverend John Grey that the little minister +began to realize what the church had undertaken. One thousand dollars! +The village was small and the church society smaller. The Honorable +Peter Wentworth was the only man who by even the politest fiction could +be called rich. Where, indeed, was the thousand to be found? + +When morning came, the Reverend John Grey's kindly blue eyes were +troubled, and his forehead drawn into unwonted lines of care; but his +fathers had fought King George and the devil in years long past, and he +was a worthy descendant of a noble race and had no intention of weakly +succumbing, even though King George and the devil now masqueraded as a +two-thousand-dollar debt. + +By the end of the week an urgent appeal for money had entered the door +of every house in Fairville. The minister had spent sleepless nights +and weary days in composing this masterly letter. His faithful +mimeograph had saved the expense of printing, and his youngest boy's +willing feet had obviated the necessity of postage stamps. The First +Congregational Church being the only religious organization in the town +of Fairville, John Grey had no hesitation in asking aid from one and +all alike. + +This was in February, yet by the end of May there was only four hundred +dollars in the fund treasury. The pastor sent out a second appeal, +following it up with a house-to-house visit. The sum grew to six +hundred dollars. + +Then the ladies held a mass-meeting in the damp, ill-smelling vestry. +The result was a series of entertainments varying from a strawberry +festival to the "passion play" illustrated. The entertainers were +indefatigable. They fed their guests with baked beans and "red +flannel" hash, and acted charades from the Bible. They held +innumerable guessing contests, where one might surmise as to the +identity of a baby's photograph or conjecture as to the cook of a mince +pie. These heroic efforts brought the fund up to eight hundred +dollars. Two hundred yet to be found--and it was November! + +With anxious faces and puckered brows, the ladies held another meeting +in that cheerless vestry--then hastened home with new courage and a new +plan. + +Bits of silk and tissue-paper, gay-colored worsteds and knots of ribbon +appeared as by magic in every cottage. Weary fingers fashioned +impossible fancy articles of no earthly use to any one, and tired +housewives sat up till midnight dressing dolls in flimsy muslin. The +church was going to hold a fair! Everything and everybody succumbed +graciously or ungraciously to the inevitable. The prayer-meetings were +neglected, the missionary meetings postponed, the children went ragged +to school, and the men sewed on their own buttons. In time, however, +the men had to forego even that luxury, and were obliged to remain +buttonless, for they themselves were dragged into the dizzy whirl and +set to making patchwork squares. + +The culminating feature of the fair was to be a silk crazy quilt, and +in an evil moment Miss Wiggins, a spinster of uncertain age, had +suggested that it would be "perfectly lovely" to have the gentlemen +contribute a square each. The result would have made the craziest +inmate of a lunatic asylum green with envy. The square made by old +Deacon White, composed of pieces of blue, green, scarlet, and purple +silk fastened together as one would sew the leather on a baseball, came +next to the dainty square of the town milliner's covered with +embroidered butterflies and startling cupids. Nor were the others +found wanting in variety. It was indeed a wonderful quilt. + +The fair and a blizzard began simultaneously the first day of December. +The one lasted a week, and the other three days. The people +conscientiously ploughed through the snow, attended the fair, and +bought recklessly. The children made themselves sick with rich +candies, and Deacon White lost his temper over a tin trumpet he drew in +a grab bag. At the end of the week there were three cases of nervous +prostration, one of pneumonia, two of grippe--and one hundred dollars +and five cents in money. + +The ladies drew a long breath and looked pleased; then their faces went +suddenly white. Where was ninety-nine dollars and ninety-five cents to +come from in the few days yet remaining? Silently and dejectedly they +went home. + +It was then that the Reverend John Grey rose to the occasion and shut +himself in his study all night, struggling with a last appeal to be +copied on his faithful mimeograph and delivered by his patient youngest +born. That appeal was straight from the heart of an all but despairing +man. Was two thousand dollars to be lost--and because of a paltry +ninety-nine dollars and ninety-five cents? + +The man's face had seemed to age a dozen years in the last twelve +months. Little streaks of gray showed above his temples, and his +cheeks had pitiful hollows in them. The minister's family had meat but +twice a week now. The money that might have bought it for the other +five days had gone to add its tiny weight to the minister's +contribution to the fund. + +The pressure was severe and became crushing as the holidays approached. +The tree for the Sunday-School had long since been given up, but +Christmas Eve a forlorn group of wistful-eyed children gathered in the +church and spoke Christmas pieces and sang Christmas carols, with +longing gaze fixed on the empty corner where was wont to be the shining +tree. + +It was on Christmas Day that the widow Blake fought the good fight in +her little six-by-nine room. On the bed lay a black cashmere gown, +faded and rusty and carefully darned; on the table lay a little heap of +bills and silver. The woman gathered the money in her two hands and +dropped it into her lap; then she smoothed the bills neatly one upon +another, and built little pyramids of the dimes and quarters. Fifteen +dollars! It must be five years now that she had been saving that +money, and she did so need a new dress! She needed it to be--why--even +decent!--looking sourly at the frayed folds on the bed. + +It was on Christmas Day, too, that the little cripple who lived across +the bridge received a five-dollar gold piece by registered mail. +Donald's eyes shone and his thin fingers clutched the yellow gold +greedily. Now he could have those books!--his eyes rested on an open +letter on the floor by his chair; a mimeograph letter signed "John W. +Grey." Gradually his fingers relaxed; the bit of money slipped from +the imprisoning clasp, fell to the floor, and rolled in flashing, +gleaming circles round and round the letter, ending in a glistening +disk, like a seal, just at the left of the signature. The lad looked +at the yellow, whirling thing with frightened eyes, then covered his +face with his hands, and burst into a storm of sobs. + +On the 26th of December, the Reverend John Grey entered on his list: +"Mrs. Blake, $15.00; Donald Marsh, $5.00." + +The little minister's face grew pale and drawn. The money came in bit +by bit, but it wanted twenty dollars and ninety-five cents yet to +complete the needed thousand. On the 27th the teacher of the infant +class brought a dollar, the gift of her young pupils. On the 28th, +nothing came; on the 29th, five cents from a small boy who rang the +bell with a peal that brought the Reverend John Grey to the door with a +startled hope in his eyes. He took the five pennies from the small +dirty fingers and opened his mouth to speak his thanks, but his dry +lips refused to frame the words. + +The morning of the 30th dawned raw and cloudy. The little minister +neither ate nor slept now. The doorbell rang at brief intervals +throughout the day, and stray quarters, dimes, and nickels, with an +occasional dollar, were added to the precious store until it amounted +to nine hundred and eighty-nine dollars and eighty-five cents. + +When the Reverend John Grey looked out of his bedroom window on the +last day of that weary year, he found a snow-white world, and the +feathery flakes still falling. Five times that day he swept his steps +and shoveled his path--mute invitations to possible donors; but the +path remained white and smooth in untrodden purity, and the doorbell +was ominously silent. + +He tried to read, to write, to pray; but he haunted the windows like a +maiden awaiting her lover, and he opened the door and looked up and +down the street every fifteen minutes. The poor man had exhausted all +his resources. He himself had given far more than he could afford, and +he had begged of every man, woman and child in the place. And +yet--must two thousand dollars be lost, all for the lack of ten dollars +and fifteen cents? Mechanically he thrust his hands into his pockets +and fingered the few coins therein. + +It was nearly midnight when there came a gentle tap at the study door. +Without waiting for permission the minister's wife turned the knob and +entered the room. Her husband sat with bowed head resting on his +outstretched arms on the desk, and her eyes filled with tears at the +picture of despair before her. + +"John, I suppose we can take this," said she, in a low voice, +reluctantly laying a little pile of silver on the desk; "there's just +ten dollars there." Then she recoiled in terror, so wildly did her +husband clutch the money. + +"Where did you get this?" he gasped. + +"I--I saved it from time to time out of the household money. I meant +you should take it and go out to Cousin Frank's for a rest and vacation +after this was over," said she doggedly. + +"Vacation! Mary--vacation!" he exclaimed, with unutterable scorn. +Then he fumbled in his pocket and brought out a little change. With +trembling fingers he picked out ten pennies and a five-cent piece, +putting a lone quarter back in his empty pocket. + +"Thank God, Mary, we've done it!" and the man's voice broke, and a big +tear rolled down his cheek and splashed on a dingy nickel. + +New Year's night there was a jubilee meeting in the town hall. The +Reverend John Grey hurried through his bread-and-milk supper in some +excitement. He was to preside, and must not be late. + +The hall was full to overflowing. On the platform with the minister +sat the deacons of the First Congregational Church--and the Honorable +Peter Wentworth. The well-fed, well-groomed, honorable gentleman +himself looked about with a complacent smile--this was indeed a most +delightful occasion. + +The Reverend John Grey's address was an eloquent tribute to the great +generosity of their distinguished fellow-townsman. The minister's +voice trembled affectingly, and his thin cheeks flushed with emotion. +The First Congregational Church was deeply indebted to the Honorable +Peter Wentworth, and would fain express its gratitude. + +The minister's wife listened with a far-away look on her face, and +little Donald Marsh gazed with round eyes of awe at the great man who +had been so very generous; while over in an obscure corner of the hall +a pale little woman stealthily rearranged the folds of her gown, that +she might hide from inquisitive eyes the great darn on the front +breadth of her worn black cashmere. + + + + +The Daltons and the Legacy + +The legacy amounted to ten thousand dollars; and coming as it did from +a little known, scarcely remembered relative it seemed even more unreal +than the man who had bequeathed it. Not until lawyers' visits and +numerous official-looking papers had convinced the Daltons beyond the +smallest doubt did the family believe their good fortune genuine; then, +with the conviction, came all the overwhelming ambitions and +unsatisfied longings of past years. + +"There, now we can leave the farm," exulted Mrs. Dalton. + +"Why, Sarah, do--do you think that is quite--wise?" asked her husband. + +"Wise? Of course it is!" she returned decidedly. "Why, Caleb, don't +you know?--we've always wanted to go to the city; and Cousin John said +he 'd give you a place in his store any time, so you'll earn something +to start with right away. We never dared to before, you know, for you +wa'n't sure how you'd do; but now we 've got all this money we shan't +have to worry a mite. Oh, isn't it just splendid, Caleb?" + +"Yes; but--" he hesitated. + +"Why, Caleb, I don't believe you appreciate it a bit!" + +"Oh, I do, indeed I do, Sarah, but--" again he hesitated. + +"But there is n't any 'but,' Caleb," laughed Sarah, and turned to a boy +of twelve and a girl of fourteen who entered the room at that moment. +"We've got it all settled, children. We 're going to Boston, sure, +this fall." + +"Oh, mother!"--Ethel's hands came together in ecstasy, while Fred +whooped in glee. + +"There's the lovely big stores and the people," cried Ethel. + +"And the cars and Bunker Hill Monument," supplemented Fred. + +"And we won't ever have to come back to this snippy little town," +continued Ethel. + +"My, won't Bill Higgins just stare!" interposed Fred. "Oh, I say, sis, +we might come back just once, you know, just to tell them about things." + +"Yes, that's so," agreed Ethel readily; "and--say, let's tell them now +that we're going. Come on!" she finished over her shoulder as she flew +through the door. + +"There, Caleb, I told you how it would be," smiled Mrs. Dalton as the +door banged behind Fred; then, anxiously: "You would n't want to spoil +it all, now, would you?" + +"N-no; but--no, no, of course not," murmured Caleb, rising to his feet +and crossing to the outside door with heavy, slow-moving steps. + +This was in August. By the middle of September such household goods as +the Daltons had planned to take with them were packed, burlapped, +crated, and labeled. It had been Mrs. Dalton's idea to sell the rest +of the furniture and the farm at auction, but just here she encountered +an unexpected but stubborn resistance from her husband. Consequently, +the remainder of the goods were stored in the attic, and the farm was +rented until the first of May--the house being close to the village, it +made a not undesirable winter residence. A longer lease than this +Caleb would not grant, in spite of his wife's remonstrances. + +"Just as if we would want to come back by May, Caleb!" she scoffed. +"Why, by that time we shall be real city folks, and you 'll be a +partner in the business, maybe." + +"Hm-m,--maybe," echoed Caleb imperturbably; "but--we'll see when May +comes." + +"Cousin John" in Boston had received the news of their intended coming +with cordial interest, and had already procured for them a six-room +apartment in Roxbury; and it was in his thriving market and grocery +store on Warren Avenue that Caleb was to have a position as clerk. The +wages, at first, were not large--Cousin John explained when he +good-naturedly ran up to the farm to make arrangements--but the figures +looked fabulous to Sarah until John told her that they must pay +twenty-five dollars every month for their flat. + +"Twenty-five dollars, and not even a spare room!" she gasped. "Why, +John, it's too nice--it must be. We did n't want such a fancy one." + +"Oh, 't is n't fancy," laughed the man, "not a bit! It's clean and +neat and on a respectable street. Land costs something down there, you +know. You have to pay something for rent. Why, I pay fifty, myself." + +"Oh, oh!" moaned Sarah. Then she threw back her head with an assumed +courage. "Never mind, I 'll just have to change my plans a bit. I did +n't intend to keep anything, but I can have just a few hens and a cow +as well as not, and that will help some. Like enough I can sell a +little butter and what eggs I don't use, too, and--" a long, hearty +laugh interrupted her. + +"Oh, Cousin Sarah, Cousin Sarah!" choked John, as soon as he could find +his voice. + +"Well," said Mrs. Dalton, with some dignity, "I'm waiting." + +Cousin John pulled his face into shape and steadied his voice. + +"Sarah, your flat is up three flights, and has n't even a back piazza. +Where are you going to keep hens and cows?" + +Mrs. Dalton's jaw fell. + +"Three flights!" she gasped. + +He nodded. + +"And is n't there a yard, or--or anything?" + +"Not that belongs to you--except the fire escape and a place on the +roof to dry your clothes." His lips were twitching, as Mrs. Dalton was +not slow to see. + +"Never mind," she retorted airily. "I did n't want them, anyhow, and, +after all, we've got the money, so why can't we take a little good in +spending it!" + +Some weeks later when Mrs. Dalton saw her new home, she did n't know +whether to laugh or to cry. The three long flights of stairs and dim, +narrow halls filled her with dismay, but the entrance with its shining +letter-boxes and leaded-glass door-panels overwhelmed her with its +magnificence. The big brick block in which she was to live looked like +a palace to her eyes; but the six rooms in which she was to stow +herself and family amazed and disheartened her with their +diminutiveness. + +"Why, Caleb, I--I can't breathe--they 're so small!" she gasped. Then +she broke off suddenly, as she glanced through the window: "Oh, my, +my--who 'd ever have thought there were so many roofs and chimneys in +the world!" + +Getting settled was a wonderful experience. The Daltons had never +moved before, and it took many days to bring even a semblance of order +out of the chaos into which the six small rooms were thrown by the +unpacking of the boxes and barrels. The delay worried Sarah more than +did the work itself. + +"Oh, dear, Ethel," she moaned each afternoon, "we're so slow in getting +settled, and I just know some one will call before we 're even half +fixed!" + +At last the tiny "parlor" with its mirror-adorned mantel and showy gas +fixtures--the pride of Sarah's heart--was in order; and, after that, +Sarah made sure each day that three o'clock found her dressed in her +best and sitting in solemn state in that same parlor waiting for the +calls that were surely now long overdue. + +Days passed, and her patience was unrewarded save for a sharp ring from +a sewing-machine agent, and another from a book canvasser. + +Sarah could not understand it. Surely, her neighbors in the block must +know of her arrival even if those in her immediate vicinity on the +street did not. Occasionally she met women in the halls, or going in +and out of the big main door. At first she looked at them with a +half-formed smile on her face, waiting for the confidently expected +greeting; later, she eyed them with a distinctly grieved +expression--the greeting had never been given; but at last, her hunger +to talk with some one not of her own family led her to take the +initiative herself. Meeting a tall, slender woman, whom she had +already seen three times, she spoke. + +"How--how d'ye do?" she began timidly. + +The tall woman started, threw a hurried glance around her, then came to +the conclusion that the salutation was meant for herself. + +"Good-morning," she returned, then hurried along through the hall. + +Sarah stood looking after her with dazed eyes. + +"Why, how funny!" she murmured. "She did n't even stop a minute. +Maybe she's sort of bashful, now. I should n't wonder a mite if she +was." + +Three days later the two ladies again met at the outer door. + +"Oh, how d'ye do? Nice day, ain't it?" began Sarah, hurriedly. +"You--you live here, don't you?" + +"Why--yes," said the woman, smiling a little. + +"I do, too--on the top floor. You 're not so high up, are you?" + +The woman shook her head. + +"Not quite," she said. + +"I--I 'm all settled, now," announced Sarah, stumbling over the words a +little. + +"Is that so?" returned the woman politely, but without enthusiasm. + +Sarah nodded. + +"Yes, all ready for callers. I--I hope you'll come soon," she finished +with sudden courage. + +"Thank you; you are very kind," murmured the woman, as she smiled and +turned away. + +The tall woman did not call, and Sarah never asked her again. A few +words from Cousin John's wife at about this time opened Sarah's eyes, +and taught her not to expect to become acquainted with her neighbors. +At first Sarah was more than dismayed; but she quickly brought to bear +the courage with which she fought all the strange things in this new +life. + +"Of course they can't call on every one, Cousin Mary," she said airily +to John's wife; "and like enough they 're not the kind of folks I would +care to know, anyhow." + +Sarah was not the only member of the family who had found trials by the +way. Ethel and Fred had entered school, and at first they came home +each afternoon with woeful faces. New methods of study, recitation, +discipline, and even of recreation puzzled and frightened them. They +regularly begged each morning not to go back; but as regularly their +mother's diplomatic bantering and systematic appeals to their pride +conquered, and they started off at half-past eight, heads high, and +chins bravely up-raised. + +To Caleb, the city was a thing of noise, hurry, and more people than he +had thought existed. Early and late he worked in the store. To the +"early" part he did not object--it even seemed late to his farm-bred +ideas of early rising; but to the evenings--Caleb never understood the +rush and confusion that entered the big market and grocery with the +lighting of the flaring gas jets. To him it was a time for quiet +meditation and sleep--not for haggling over the price of sugar and +beans. + +"I don't like it," he would say sometimes to his wife; "I don't like +it, Sarah. This doling out a peck of potatoes and two quarts of +apples--why, Sarah, just think of the bushels and barrels I 've grown +myself! It's so small, Sarah, so small!" + +"Of course it is now," comforted Sarah, "but only think what 't will be +later on--only think." + +December, January, February, and March passed; and the first of April +brought a letter from the lessee of the farm asking if he was to have +the place through the summer. + +"Of course he can have it," declared Sarah. "Just as if we wanted it +again!" + +"Yes, yes, of course," murmured Caleb. "I--I'll write later on. He +said if he heard by the middle of the month, 't would do." + +It was an early, and a wonderfully beautiful spring that year. Warm, +moist winds came up from the south and stirred the twigs and branches +into life. The grass grew green on sunny slopes, and the tulips and +crocuses turned the dull brown beds into riotous color and bloom. +Caleb went out of his way each day that he might pass a tiny little +park, and he always stopped there a motionless two minutes--he would +have told you that he was listening to the green things growing. Sarah +grew restless indoors. She even crawled out on to the fire escape and +sat there one day; but she never tried that but once. + +Downstairs, on each side of the big front door was a square-yard patch +of puny, straggling grass; and it was these two bits of possibilities +that put a happy thought into Sarah's head. For three days she said +nothing, but she fell into the way of going often in and out of that +door, and always her eyes were hungrily fixed on one or the other of +those squares. On the fourth day she bought a trowel and some flower +seeds and set resolutely to work. She had dug the trowel into the +earth four times, and was delightedly sniffing the odor from the moist +earth when the janitor appeared. + +"Did ye lose something, ma'am?" he asked suspiciously. + +"Lose something?" laughed the woman. "Of course not! I've found +something, William. I 've found a flower bed. I 'm going to have the +prettiest one ever was." + +"Oh, come now," began the man, plainly disturbed, "that ain't going to +do, you know. I'll have to--" + +"Oh, I'll tend it," she interrupted eagerly. "You won't even have to +touch it." + +The man shook his head. + +"'T won't do, ma 'am,--'t won't, really, now. I'm sorry, but the boss +won't stand it." + +"Won't stand it!--not even for flowers!" she gasped. + +"No, ma'am"--the janitor's tone was firm but regretful. A queer +feeling of sympathy came over him for this gentle little woman on the +top floor whom he had always liked. "There hain't none of the tenants +no business with them yards; he said so." + +"Oh!" said Mrs. Dalton, "I--I'll go then." And she picked up the +trowel and rose to her feet. + +She passed the janitor without a word, her head held high, and her eyes +looking straight before her; but once in the seclusion of the halls, +her head drooped, and her eyes rained tears that rolled down her cheeks +unceasingly all the way to the top floor. + +It was that night that Caleb brought out the paper and pen to write the +letter which would lease the farm for another six months. Twice he +dipped his pen in the ink, and paused with no word written. Finally he +spoke. + +"I--I'm going to give him some hints, Sarah. He won't know how to run +some of the things, I 'm sure. If he should plant the meadow lot to +potatoes, now, it--" + +"And, Caleb," cut in Sarah, "be sure and send word to his wife about +the roses; if she don't spray 'em real early, the bugs and worms will +get an awful start. Caleb, don't you remember how lovely that crimson +rambler was last year?" + +Caleb nodded; his eyes were fixed on the wallpaper. + +"I--I wonder if this warm weather has made the leaves start out on it," +resumed Sarah. "I hope not--you know we always have frosts up there." + +"Hm-m," murmured Caleb. + +There was a long silence; then Sarah drew a deep breath. + +"Caleb, do you s'pose it 'll get up to the front-chamber window this +year--that rosebush, I mean?" + +"I don't know, Sarah." Caleb's eyes were still on the wall-paper. + +There was another long silence, broken this time by the children's +entrance. + +"Mother," began Fred discontentedly, "don't they ever go fishing down +here, or swimming, or anything?" + +Sarah sprang to her feet with a nervous little laugh. + +"Caleb, we--we might go up home just for--for a visit," she said. + +"Hurrah!--let's!" crowed Fred; and Ethel clapped her hands. + +"I'll do it," cried Caleb suddenly, bringing his fist down hard on his +knee. "I'll write that we 'll go up next week for three days. There's +lots of room, and they can tuck us away somewhere for just that little +time. We can show 'em things better than we can tell 'em, and I can +close the deal when I get there." + +It was a jubilant four that left the North Station a few days later, +and it was a still more jubilant four that arrived in the village at +the foot of the green hills. The Dalton's intended visit had been +heralded far and near, and the progress from the train to the farmhouse +was a succession of hand-shakes and cordial greetings. + +"Oh, don't it look splendid and roomy!" cried Sarah, as they reached +the turn where they could see the farmhouse. "And don't the air smell +good!" + +"Hm-m," murmured Caleb, and turned his face away with set lips. + +How crowded to overflowing those three days were! Caleb valiantly +tried to give his intended suggestions, but the most of his time was +spent in joyous tramps from one end of the farm to the other, that no +favorite field nor pet pasture should escape his adoring eyes. Sarah, +when not gloating over every tender shoot and starting bud in her +flower garden, was being fêted and fed by the entire neighborhood. + +"Oh, how good it is to just talk!" murmured Sarah, as she went to sleep +that first night. + +As for Fred and Ethel, they were scarcely seen at the farmhouse. + +Just at dusk on the third day Caleb found his wife in the old +summer-house. Wrapped in shawls, she was fastening vines to the +trellis. + +"Well, Sarah, I--I s'pose I'd better settle up with West, now. I +hain't yet, you know." + +Sarah nodded, without speaking. + +"I hain't seemed to amount to much about telling him things," continued +Caleb. "Somehow, I did n't get time. He's careless, too; I'm afraid +he ain't going to do well." + +"She is, too," moaned Sarah. "She don't know a thing about roses. +Caleb, do you think that rosebush will get up to that window?" + +"I don't know," returned Caleb absently. Then, with a choke in his +voice, he said: "Things look first-rate, now, but--I've got my doubts +of West. I--I wish I could handle them myself." + +Sarah threw a quick glance at his averted face. + +"Well--why--don't you?" she almost whispered. + +"Sarah!" exclaimed Caleb. + +"Oh, here you are," cried Fred from the doorway. "Say, is it to-morrow +we go?--just to-morrow? Why, we have n't done half that we wanted to!" +Behind him stood Ethel, her eyes wistful, her mouth drooping at the +corners. + +Sarah drew a quick breath. + +"Ask--ask your father," she faltered. + +"Sarah, would you?--would you come back? Do you mean it?" cried Caleb, +with a swift joy in his eyes. + +Sarah burst into tears, and threw herself into her husband's arms. +"Oh, Caleb, I--just would! I--I 've wanted to ever so long, but--I +just would n't own up." + +"There, there," soothed the man, with loving pats, his face alight, +"we'll come back, so we will; we'll come back right away." + +Ethel and Fred ran shouting from the summer-house, and Sarah raised a +tear-stained face. + +"Well, anyhow," she laughed softly, "now we can see just how high that +rosebush does get!" + + + + +The Letter + +Monday noon the postman gave the letter to twelve-year-old Emily, and +Emily in turn handed it to her young brother. Between the gate and the +door, however, Teddy encountered Rover, and Rover wanted to play. It +ended in the letter disappearing around the corner of the house, being +fast held in the jaws of a small black-and-tan dog. + +Five minutes later the assembled family in the dining-room heard of the +loss and demanded an explanation. + +"'T wasn't t-ten minutes ago, mother," stammered Emily defensively. +"The postman handed it to me and I gave it to Teddy to bring in." + +"But whose letter was it?" demanded several voices. + +Emily shook her head. + +"I don't know," she faltered. + +"Don't know! Why, daughter, how could you be so careless?" cried Mrs. +Clayton. "It is probably that note from the Bixbys--they were to write +if they could not come. But I should like to know what they said." + +"But it might have been to me," cut in Ethel. (Ethel was pretty, +eighteen, and admired.) + +There was a sudden exclamation across the table as James, the +first-born, pushed back his chair. + +"Confound it, Emily, you've got us in a pretty mess! It so happened I +was looking for a letter myself," he snapped, as he jerked himself to +his feet. "See here, Teddy, where did that rascally little dog go to? +Come, let's go find Rover," he finished, stooping and lifting the small +boy to his shoulder. The next moment the dining-room door had banged +behind them. + +"Dear, dear!" laughed Mrs. Clayton, a little hysterically, turning to +her husband. "You don't happen to be expecting a letter, do you, +Charles?" + +"I do happen to be--and a very important one, too," returned the man; +and Mrs. Clayton, after a nervous glance at his frowning face, subsided +into her chair with a murmured word of regret. When luncheon was over +she slipped from the room and joined in the hunt for Rover. + +They scoured the yard, the street, the house, and the woodshed, finding +the culprit at last in the barn asleep under the big automobile. Of +the letter, however, there was not a trace. + +"Dear, dear, if dogs only could talk!" moaned Mrs. Clayton that night +as, restless and full of fancies, she lay on her bed. "If only I knew +where and what that letter was. But then, of course, it's from the +Bixbys; I'm going to think so, anyway," she comforted herself, and +resolutely closed her eyes. + +"If that _should_ be Dennison's letter," mused Mr. Clayton as he locked +up the house; "if that should be--confound it, and I know it is! I 'd +swear it! It serves me right, too, I suppose, for telling him to write +me at the house instead of at the office. Confound that little beast +of a dog!" + +In the south chamber Ethel, sending long, even strokes over the brown +satin of her hair, eyed her image in the glass with a plaintive pout. + +"Now, if that letter _should_ be an invitation from Fred!" she said +aloud. "And when I 'd so much rather go on that ride with him! Oh, +dear! Where can Rover have put it?" + +Across the hall James Clayton paced the room from end to end. + +"Great Scott! What if it _were_ May's letter, after all?" he groaned. +"What a fool I was to leave it that if I did n't hear by Thursday night +I'd understand 'twas 'no'! And now she may have written and be +expecting me to-morrow, Wednesday,--_to-night_, even, and I not know +it--tied hand and foot! Oh, hang that dog!" + +Tuesday morning the family awoke and met at the breakfast table. The +air was electric with unrest, and the food almost untouched. It was +Mrs. Clayton who broke the long silence that followed the morning's +greetings. + +"I--I don't think I 'll do much to get ready for the Bixbys," she +began; "I 'm so sure that letter was from them." + +"You mean that, Julia?" demanded her husband, brightening. "Are you +really positive?" + +"Yes, really positive. They said all the time that they did n't think +they could come, and that without doubt I should get a letter saying +so." + +"Then of course 'twas it," asserted Ethel, her face suddenly clearing. + +"Of course," echoed her brother with a promptitude that hinted at more +than a willingness to be convinced that the letter was the Bixbys' and +none other. + +It was about ten minutes past five that afternoon when the four Bixbys +came. + +"There, we did get here!" they chorused gleefully. + +"Yes, yes, I see, I see," murmured Mrs. Clayton, and signaled to Ethel +to hurry into the kitchen and give the alarm to the cook. "Then +you--you did n't write?" + +"Write? Why, no, of course not! We were n't to, you know, if we could +come." + +"Yes--er--I mean no," stammered Mrs. Clayton, trying to calculate just +how long it would take the maid to put three rooms in order. + +At half-past six the family, with their guests, sat down to a dinner +that showed unmistakable signs of having been started as a simple one +for six, and finished as a would-be elaborate one for ten. To the +faces of Mr. Clayton, Ethel, and James the cloud of the morning had +returned. Mrs. Clayton, confident that the missing letter contained +nothing worse for her than its absence had already brought her, looked +comparatively serene. + +After dinner, as by common consent, Mr. Clayton and his elder son and +daughter met in a secluded comer of the library. + +"Hang it all, dad, _now_ whose letter do you suppose that was?" began +James aggressively. + +"It's mine," groaned the father, with a shake of his head. "I know +it's mine." + +"But it might n't be," demurred Ethel, with a hesitation that showed a +fear lest her suggestion meet with prompt acceptance. + +"I tell you I know it's mine," retorted Mr. Clayton, and Ethel sighed +her relief. "I did hope 't was your mother's," he continued; "but I +might have known better. It's mine, and--and it means dollars to +me--hundreds of them." + +"Why, father!" The two voices were one in shocked surprise. + +"Well, it does. Dennison was going to drop me a line here if certain +things happened. And if they have happened, and I don't sell my P. & +Z. before to-morrow noon, it 'll mean--well, there 'll be something to +pay. On the other hand, if those certain things have n't happened, and +I do sell--it 'll be worse." + +"Well, well," laughed James in a surprisingly buoyant tone, considering +the gloom on his father's face. "I guess the letter was yours all +right. I should take it so, anyhow, and go ahead and sell." + +"Yes, so should I," tossed Ethel over her shoulder as she tripped +happily away. + +"After all," mused James, slowly crossing the hall, "it could n't have +been my letter. May would n't have written so soon; she 'd have waited +until nearer Thursday. She would n't let me have the 'yes' quite so +quickly. Not she!--the little tease of a sweetheart!" + +On Wednesday morning, at half-past eight, the maid brought in the mail +and laid it at her master's plate. There were a paper and two letters. + +"Hm-m," began Mr. Clayton, "one for you, Julia, my dear, and--by Jove, +it's Dennison's letter!" he finished joyfully, thrusting an eager thumb +under the flap of the other envelope. + +Twenty minutes later, with head erect and shoulders squared, the senior +member of the firm of Clayton & Company left his home and hurried down +the street. Behind him, on the veranda steps, were a young man and a +young girl looking into each other's faces in blank dismay. + +"You--you said _you_ were expecting a letter, did n't you?" began Ethel +hopefully. + +"Well, so were you, were n't you?" The tone showed quick irritation. + +"Why, yes, but--" + +"Well, don't you think it is yours?" + +"Why, I--I don't know. It might be, of course; but--" + +"You _said_ you thought it was yours, the very first thing." + +"Yes, I know; but--well, perhaps it is." + +"Of course it is," asserted James, as he ran down the steps. And +Ethel, looking after him, frowned in vague wonder. + +Thursday morning's mail brought four letters, and Ethel blushed +prettily as she tucked them all in her belt. + +"But they aren't all yours," protested her brother James. + +"But they are!" she laughed. + +"All?" + +"All." + +"But _I_ was expecting a letter." + +"Oh-ho!--so you were, were you?" teased the girl merrily. Ethel could +afford to be merry; she had recognized a certain bold handwriting on +one of the envelopes. "I really don't see, then, but you 'll have to +go to Rover. Perhaps he can tell you where it is." + +"Confound that dog!" growled James, turning on his heel. + +"I'm going to accept Fred's invitation," soliloquized Ethel happily, as +she hurried into her own room. "I shall read his first, so, of course, +that will be the first one that I get!" + +The noon delivery brought no letters for any one. James Clayton +fidgeted about the house all the afternoon instead of going down to the +golf club to see the open handicap--the annual club event. He felt +that, in the present state of affairs, he could take no chances of +seeing a certain young woman who was just then very much in his +thoughts. If she _had_ written, and he should meet her as though she +had not!--his blood chilled at the thought; and if she had not written, +and he should meet her as though she had!--To James Clayton, at the +moment, the thought of her precious letter lost forever to his longing +eyes was only a shade worse than that there should have been no letter +at all. + +Five o'clock came, bringing the last mail--and still no letter. In the +Clayton residence that night dinner was served at a table which showed +a vacant place; James Clayton was reported to be indisposed. Yet, two +hours later, after a sharp peal of the doorbell and a hasty knocking at +his chamber door by the maid, James Clayton left the house; and one who +met him on the steps said that his face was certainly not that of a +sick man. + +It was after breakfast the next morning, before the family had +dispersed, that Ethel rushed headlong into the dining-room. + +"Oh, James, James!" she cried breathlessly. "It _was_ your letter that +Rover had, and here 't is!" + +"But it was n't," retorted the young man airily. "I got mine last +night--special delivery." + +"But it is yours. Teddy found it in a hole under the barn. See!" +crowed Ethel; and she thrust into his hand a tattered, chewed, +bedraggled envelope whose seal was yet unbroken. + +"Well, by George--'t is for me," muttered the young man, as he descried +his own name among the marks left by dirt-stained paws and sharp little +teeth. "Humph!" he ejaculated a moment later, eyeing the torn and +crumpled sheet of paper which the envelope had contained. + +"Well?" prompted several voices. + +"It's an advertising letter from the Clover Farm kennels," he +announced, with a slight twitching of his lips. "Do you think +we--er--need another--dog?" + + + + +The Indivisible Five + +At the ages of fifty-four and fifty, respectively, Mr. and Mrs. +Wentworth found themselves possessed of a roomy, old-fashioned +farmhouse near a thriving city, together with large holdings of lands, +mortgages, and bank stock. At the same time they awoke to an +unpleasant realization that many of their fellow creatures were not so +fortunate. + +"James," began Mrs. Wentworth, with some hesitation, one June day, +"I've been thinking--with all our rambling rooms and great big yards, +and we with never a chick nor a child to enjoy them--I 've been +thinking--that is, I went by the orphan asylum in town yesterday and +saw the poor little mites playing in that miserable brick oven they +call a yard, and--well, don't you think we ought to have one--or maybe +two--of them down here for a week or two, just to show them what summer +really is?" + +The man's face beamed. + +"My dear, it's the very thing! We'll take two--they'll be company for +each other; only"--he looked doubtfully at the stout little woman +opposite--"the worst of it will come on you, Mary. Of course Hannah +can manage the work part, I suppose, but the noise--well, we 'll ask +for quiet ones," he finished, with an air that indicated an entirely +satisfactory solution of the problem. + +Life at "Meadowbrook" was a thing of peaceful mornings and long, drowsy +afternoons; a thing of spotless order and methodical routine. In a +long, childless marriage Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth's days had come to be +ordered with a precision that admitted of no frivolous deviations: and +noise and confusion in the household machinery were the unforgivable +offenses. It was into this placid existence that Mr. and Mrs. +Wentworth proposed to introduce two children from the orphan asylum. + +Before the week was out a note was sent to the matron of the +institution, and the prospective host and hostess were making their +plans with unwonted excitement. + +"We 'll rise at six and breakfast at seven," began Mrs. Wentworth. + +"And they must be in bed by eight o'clock," supplemented her husband. + +"I did n't say whether to send boys or girls, and I forgot to say +anything about their being quiet; but if they 're boys, you can teach +them gardening, James, and if they 're girls, they can sew with me a +good deal." + +"Hm-m--yes; I really don't know what we shall do to entertain them. +Perhaps they might like to read," suggested Mr. Wentworth, looking with +some doubt at his big bookcases filled with heavy, calf-bound volumes. + +"Of course; and they can walk in the garden and sit on the piazza," +murmured Mrs. Wentworth happily. + +In the orphan asylum that same evening there was even greater +excitement. Mrs. Wentworth's handwriting was not of the clearest, and +her request for "two" children had been read as "ten"; and since the +asylum--which was only a small branch of a much larger institution--had +recently been depleted until it contained but five children, the matron +was sorely perplexed to know just how to fill so generous an order. It +ended in her writing an apologetic note to Mrs. Wentworth and +dispatching it the next morning by the hand of the eldest girl, Tilly, +who was placed at the head of four other jubilant children, brushed, +scrubbed, and admonished into a state of immaculate primness. + +At half-past nine o'clock the driver of the big carry-all set five +squirming children on to their feet before the front door at +"Meadowbrook," and rang the bell. + +"Here you are," he called gayly, as Hannah opened the door. "I've +washed my hands of 'em--now they're yours!" And he drove briskly out +of the yard. + +Hannah neither moved nor spoke. She simply stared. + +"Here's a note," began Tilly, advancing shyly, "for Mis' Wentworth." + +Mechanically Hannah took the note and, scarcely realizing what she was +doing, threw open the door of the parlor--that parlor which was sacred +to funerals, weddings, and the minister's calls. + +The children filed in slowly and deposited themselves with some skill +upon the slippery haircloth chairs and sofa. Hannah, still dazed, went +upstairs to her mistress. + +"From the asylum, ma'am," she said faintly, holding out the note. + +Mrs. Wentworth's eyes shone. + +"Oh, the children! Where are they, Hannah?" + +"In the parlor, ma'am." + +"The parlor? Why, Hannah, the parlor is no place for those two +children!" Mrs. Wentworth started toward the door. + +Hannah coughed and uptilted her chin. + +"They ain't two, ma'am. There's as much as half a dozen of 'em." + +"What!" + +"There is, ma'am." + +"Why, Hannah, what--" The lady tore open the note with shaking +fingers, and read: + +_My dear Madam_: You very generously asked for ten children, but I hope +you will pardon me for sending only five. That is all we have with us +now, owing to several recent adoptions from our ranks--you know we are +never very large, being only a branch of the Hollingsworth Asylum. The +children were so crazy, though, at the idea of a trip to the country, +that I am sure each child will have fun enough--and make noise enough, +also, I fear--for two, so in the end you may think you've got your ten +children, after all. You must be fond of children to be willing to +give so many a two-weeks' vacation, but you don't know what a lot of +good you are doing. If you could have seen the children when I read +them your note, you would have been well repaid for all your trouble. +I wish there were more like you in the world. Yours respectfully, + +AMANDA HIGGINS. + + +"Hannah," faltered Mrs. Wentworth, dropping into her chair, "they did +n't read my note right. They--they've actually sent us the whole +asylum!" + +"Well, it looks like it--downstairs," returned Hannah grimly. + +"Sure enough, they _are_ downstairs, and I must go to them," murmured +Mrs. Wentworth, rising irresolutely to her feet. "I--I 'll go down. +I'll have to send all but two home, of course," she finished, as she +left the room. + +Downstairs she confronted five pairs of eyes shining out at her from +the gloom. + +"Good-morning, children," she began, trying to steady her voice. +"There is--er--I--well--" She stopped helplessly, and a small girl +slid to the floor from her perch on the sofa and looked longingly +toward the hall. + +"Please, ma'am, there's a kitty out there; may I get it?" she asked +timidly. + +"Please, have you got a dog, too?" piped up a boy's voice. + +"An' chickens an' little pigs? They said you had!" interposed a +brown-eyed girl from the corner. + +"An' there's hammocks an' swings, maybe," broke in Tilly; "an' please, +ma'am, may n't we go outdoors and begin right away? Two weeks is an +awful short time, you know, for all we want to do," she finished +earnestly. + +Four pairs of feet came down to the floor with a thump and eight small +boots danced a tattoo of impatience on the parlor carpet--the small +girl was already out in the hall and on her knees to the cat. + +"Why, yes,--that is--you see, there was a mistake; I--" Mrs. Wentworth +stopped suddenly, for as soon as the "yes" had left her lips the +children had fled like sheep. + +She stepped to the front door and looked out. + +A boy was turning somersaults on the grass. Three girls had started a +game of tag. Watching all this with eager eyes was a boy of eight, one +foot tightly bound into an iron brace. It was on this child that Mrs. +Wentworth's eyes lingered the longest. + +"Poor little fellow! Well, he shall be one of the two," she murmured, +as she hurried out to Hannah. + +"When they going, ma'am?" began Hannah, with an assurance born of long +service. + +"I--I haven't told them; I--well, I waited for Mr. Wentworth," +confessed her mistress hastily. Then, with some dignity: "They can +just as well have to-day outdoors, anyway." + +It was nearly noon when Mr. Wentworth drove into the yard, gave his +horse into the care of Bill, the man-of-all-work, and hurried into the +house. + +"Mary, Mary--where are you?" he called sharply. Never before had James +Wentworth broken the serene calm of his home with a voice like that. + +"Yes, dear, I 'm here--in the dining-room." + +Mrs. Wentworth's cheeks were flushed, her hair was disordered, and her +neck-bow was untied; but she was smiling happily as she hovered over a +large table laden with good things and set for six. + +"You can sit down with them, James," she exclaimed; "I'm going to help +Hannah serve them." + +"Mary, what in the world does this mean? The yard is overrun with +screaming children! Have they sent us the whole asylum?" he demanded. + +Mrs. Wentworth laughed hysterically. + +"That's exactly what they have done, dear. They took my 'two' for a +'ten,' and--and they did the best they could to supply my wants!" + +"Well, but--why don't you send them home? We can't--" + +"Yes, yes; I know, dear," interrupted the woman hastily, the happy look +gone from her eyes. "After dinner I am--that is, you may send all but +two home. I thought I 'd let them play awhile." + +"Humph!" ejaculated the man; "send them home?--I should think so!" he +muttered, as his wife went to call the children to dinner. + +What a wonderful meal that was, and how the good things did vanish down +those five hungry throats! + +The man at the head of the table looked on in dumb amazement, and he +was still speechless when, after dinner, five children set upon him and +dragged him out to see the bird's nest behind the barn. + +"An' we found the pigs an' the chickens, Mister, jest as they said we +would," piped up Tommy eagerly, as they hurried along. + +"An' a teeny little baby cow, too," panted the smaller girl, "an' I fed +him." + +"Well, I guess you could n't 'a' fed him if I had n't held him with the +rope," crowed Bobby. + +"Or if I had n't scared him with my stick!" cut in Tilly. "I guess you +ain't the only pebble on the beach, Bobby Mack!" + +"Good Heavens!" groaned Mr. Wentworth, under his breath. "And have I +got to keep two of these little hoodlums for a whole fortnight? +Er--children," he said aloud, after the bird's nest had been duly +admired; "er--suppose we go and--er--read." + +Into the house trooped the five chattering boys and girls in the wake +of an anxious, perplexed man. Some minutes later the children sat in a +stiff row along the wall, while the man, facing them, read aloud from a +ponderous calf-bound volume on "The Fundamental Causes of the Great +Rebellion." + +For some time Mr. Wentworth read without pausing to look up, his +sonorous voice filling the room, and his mind wholly given to the +subject in hand; then he raised his eyes--and almost dropped the book +in his hand: Tommy, the cripple, sat alone. + +"Why, where--what--" stammered Mr. Wentworth. + +"They've gone out ter the barn, Mister," explained Tommy cheerfully, +pointing to the empty chairs. + +"Oh!" murmured Mr. Wentworth faintly, as he placed the book on the +shelf. "I--er--I think we won't read any more." + +"Come on, then; let's go to the barn," cried Tommy. And to the barn +they went. + +There were no "Fundamental Causes of the Great Rebellion" in the barn, +but there were fundamental causes of lots of other things, and Mr. +Wentworth found that now his words were listened to with more +eagerness; and before he knew it, he was almost as excited as were the +children themselves. + +They were really a very intelligent lot of youngsters, he told himself, +and the prospect of having two of them for guests did not look so +formidable after all. + +From the barn they went to the garden, from the garden to the pond, +from the pond back to the yard; then they all sat down under the apple +trees while Mr. Wentworth built them a miniature boat; in days long +gone by James Wentworth had loved the sea, and boat-making had been one +of his boyhood joys. + +At four o'clock Mrs. Wentworth called from the house: + +"James, will you come here a minute, please?" + +A slow red stole over the man's face as he rose to his feet. The red +was a deep crimson by the time he faced his wife. + +"How are you going to send them home, dear?" she asked. + +He shook his head. + +"But it's four o'clock, and we ought to be thinking of it. Which two +are you going to keep?" + +"I--I don't know," he acknowledged. + +For some unapparent reason Mrs. Wentworth's spirits rose, but she +assumed an air of severity. + +"Why, James!--have n't you told them?" she demanded. + +"Mary, I couldn't; I've been trying to all the afternoon. Er--you tell +them--do!" he urged desperately. "I can't--playing with them as I +have!" + +"Suppose we keep them all, then?" she hazarded. + +"Mary!" + +"Oh, I can manage it! I 've been talking with Hannah--I saw how things +were going with you "--his features relaxed into a shame-faced +smile--"and Hannah says her sister can come to help, and we 've got +beds enough with the cots in the attic." + +He drew a deep breath. + +"Then we won't have to tell them!" he exclaimed. + +"No, we won't have to tell them," she laughed, as she turned back into +the house. + +What a fortnight that was at "Meadowbrook!" The mornings--no longer +peaceful--were full of rollicking games; and the long, drowsy +afternoons became very much awake with gleeful shouts. The spotless +order fled before the bats and balls and books and dolls that Mr. +Wentworth brought home from the store; and the methodical routine of +the household was shattered to atoms by daily picnics and frequent +luncheons of bread and butter. + +No longer were the days ordered with a precision that admitted of no +frivolous deviations, for who could tell in the morning how many bumped +heads, cut fingers, bruised noses and wounded hearts would need +sympathetic attention before night? + +And so it went on until the evening before the two weeks were +completed; then, after the children were abed and asleep, the man and +his wife talked it over. + +"Well, this ends to-morrow, I suppose. You must be tired, Mary; it's +been a hard time for you, dear," he began. + +"Not a bit of it, James," she demurred. "Hannah and Betsey have done +all the work, and you 've been with the children so much I 've not felt +their care at all." + +The man stirred uneasily. + +"Well, I--I wanted to relieve you as much as possible," he exclaimed, +wondering if she knew how many boats he had built for the boys, and how +many jackknives he had broken in the process. + +"Do you know?--I think I shall be actually lonely when they are gone," +declared Mrs. Wentworth, without looking up. + +The man threw a sharp glance at his wife. + +"So shall I," he said. + +"James, I've been wondering, could n't we--adopt one of them?" she +suggested, trying to make it appear as if the thought had but just +entered her head. + +Again the man gave his wife a swift glance. + +"Why--we--might--I suppose," he returned, hoping that his hesitation +would indicate that the idea was quite new to him--instead of having +been almost constantly in his thoughts for a week. + +"We might take two--company for each other, you know!" She looked at +him out of the corner of her eye. + +"Hm-m," he agreed pleasantly. + +"The only trouble is the selecting, James." + +"Yes, that is a drawback," murmured the man, with a vivid recollection +of a certain afternoon under the apple trees. + +"Well, I'll tell you"--Mrs. Wentworth leaned forward in sudden +animation--"to-morrow you pick out the one you want and ask him--or +her--to go into the parlor for a few minutes at nine o'clock in the +morning, and I will do the same." + +"Well, maybe," he began a little doubtfully, "but--" + +"And if there are two, and you are n't real sure which you want, just +ask both of them to go, and we 'll settle it together, later," she +finished. + +To this, with some measure of content, her husband agreed. + +The next morning at ten minutes before nine Mrs. Wentworth began her +search. With no hesitation she accosted the little cripple. + +"Tommy, dear, I want you to go into the parlor for a few minutes. Take +your book in there and read, and I 'll come very soon and tell you what +I want." + +Tommy obeyed at once and Mrs. Wentworth sighed in relief. At that +moment Tilly came into the garden. + +What a dear little woman those two weeks of happiness had caused Tilly +to become! How much she loved Tommy, and what care she took of him! +Really, it was a shame to separate them--they ought to be brought up +together--perhaps Mr. Wentworth would n't find any child that he +wanted; anyway, she believed she should send Tilly in, at a venture. + +A moment later Tilly was following in Tommy's footsteps. On the piazza +steps sat Bobby--homely, unattractive Bobby, crying. + +"Why, my dear!" remonstrated Mrs. Wentworth. + +"Tommy's gone! I can't find him," sobbed the boy. + +Mrs. Wentworth's back straightened. + +Of course Bobby cried--no one was so good to him as Tommy was--no one +seemed to care for him but Tommy. Poor, homely Bobby! He had a hard +row to hoe. He-- + +But she could n't take Bobby! Of course not--she had Tommy and Tilly +already. Still-- + +Mrs. Wentworth stooped and whispered a magic word in Bobby's ear, and +the boy sprang to his feet and trotted through the hall to the parlor +door. + +"I don't care," muttered Mrs. Wentworth recklessly. "I could n't bear +to leave him alone out here. I can settle it later." + +Twice she had evaded her husband during the last fifteen minutes; now, +at nine o'clock, the appointed time, they both reached the parlor door. +Neither one could meet the other's eyes, and with averted faces they +entered the room together; then both gave a cry of amazement. + +In the corner, stiff, uncomfortable, and with faces that expressed +puzzled anxiety, sat five silent children. + +Mrs. Wentworth was the first to recover presence of mind. + +"There, there, dears, it's all right," she began a little hysterically. +"You can call it a little game we were playing. You may all run +outdoors now." + +As the last white apron fluttered through the door she dropped limply +into a chair. + +"James, what in the world are we going to do?" she demanded. + +"Give it up!" said the man, his hands in his pockets--James Wentworth's +vocabulary had grown twenty years younger in the last two weeks. + +"But really, it's serious!" + +"It certainly is." + +"But what _shall_ we do?" + +The man took his hands from his pockets and waved them in a manner that +would indicate entire irresponsibility. + +"We might end it as we did two weeks ago and keep the whole lot of +them," she proposed merrily. + +"Well--why don't you?" he asked calmly. + +"James!" + +His face grew red with a shame-faced laugh. + +"Well--there are families with five children in them, and I guess we +could manage it," he asserted in self-defense. + +She sat up and looked at him with amazement. + +"Surely we have money enough--and I don't know how we could spend it +better," he continued rapidly; "and with plenty of help for you--there +'s nothing to hinder turning ourselves into an orphan asylum if we want +to," he added triumphantly. + +"Oh, James, could we--do you think?" she cried, her eyes shining with a +growing joy. "Tommy, and Tilly, and all? Oh, we will--we will! +And--and--we'll never have to choose any more, will we, James?" she +finished fervently. + + + + +The Elephant's Board and Keep + +On twelve hundred dollars a year the Wheelers had contrived to live +thus far with some comforts and a few luxuries--they had been married +two years. Genial, fun-loving, and hospitable, they had even +entertained occasionally; but Brainerd was a modest town, and its Four +Hundred was not given to lavish display. + +In the bank Herbert Wheeler spent long hours handling money that was +not his, only to hurry home and spend other long hours over a tiny lawn +and a tinier garden, where every blade of grass and every lettuce-head +were marvels of grace and beauty, simply because they were his. + +It was June now, and the lawn and the garden were very important; but +it was on a June morning that the large blue envelope came. Herbert +went home that night and burst into the kitchen like a whirlwind. + +"Jessica, we 've got one at last," he cried. + +"One what?" + +"An automobile." + +Jessica sat down helplessly. In each hand she held an egg--she had +been selecting two big ones for an omelet. + +"Herbert, are you crazy? What are you talking about?" she demanded. + +"About our automobile, to be sure," he retorted. "'T was Cousin +John's. I heard to-day--he's left it to us." + +"To _us_! But we hardly knew him, and he was only a third or fourth +cousin, anyway, was n't he? Why, we never even thought of going to the +funeral!" + +"I know; but he was a queer old codger, and he took a great fancy to +you when he saw you. Don't you remember? Anyhow, the deed is done." + +"And it's ours?--a whole automobile?" + +"That's what they say--and it's a three-thousand-dollar car." + +"Oh, Herbert!" When Jessica was pleased she clapped her hands; she +clapped them now--or rather she clapped the eggs--and in the resulting +disaster even the automobile was for a moment forgetten [Transcriber's +note: forgotten?]. But for only a moment. + +"And to think how we 've wanted an automobile!" she cried, when the +impromptu omelet in her lap had been banished into oblivion. "The +rides we 'll have--and _we_ won't be pigs! _We 'll_ take our friends!" + +"Indeed we will," agreed Herbert. + +"And our trips and vacations, and even down town--why, we won't need +any carfare. We 'll save money, Herbert, lots of money!" + +"Er.--well, an auto costs something to run, you know," ventured Herbert. + +"Gasoline, 'course!--but what's a little gasoline? I fancy we can +afford that when we get the whole car for nothing!" + +"Well, I should say!" chuckled the man. + +"Where is it now?" + +"In the garage on the estate," returned Herbert, consulting his letter. +"I'm requested to take it away." + +"Requested! Only fancy! As if we were n't dying to take it away!" + +"Yes, but--how?" The man's face had grown suddenly perplexed. + +"Why, go and get it, of course." + +"But one can't walk in and pocket a motor-car as one would a package of +greenbacks." + +"Of course not! But you can get it and run it home. It's only fifty +miles, anyhow." + +"I don't know how to run an automobile. Besides, there's licenses and +things that have to be 'tended to first, I think." + +"Well, _somebody_ can run it, can't there?" + +"Well, yes, I suppose so. But--where are we going to keep it?" + +"Herbert Wheeler, one would think you were displeased that we 've been +given this automobile. As if it mattered _where_ we kept it, so long +as we had it to keep!" + +"Yes, but--really, Jessica, we can't keep it here--in the kitchen," he +cried. "It's smashed two eggs already, just the mention of it," he +finished whimsically. + +"But there _are_ places--garages and things, Herbert; you know there +are." + +"Yes, but they--cost something." + +"I know it; but if the car is ours for nothing, seems as if we might be +able to afford its board and keep!" + +"Well, by George! it does, Jessica; that's a fact," cried the man, +starting to his feet. "There 's Dearborn's down to the Square. I 'll +go and see them about it. They 'll know, too, how to get it here. I +'ll go down right after supper. And, by the way, how about that +omelet? Did our new automobile leave any eggs to make one?" + +"Well, a few," laughed Jessica. + +There was no elation in Herbert Wheeler's step when, two hours later, +the young bank teller came home from Dearborn's. + +"Well, I guess we--we're up against it, Jessica," he groaned. + +"What's the matter? Won't they take it? Never mind; there are others." + +"Oh, yes, they 'll take it and take care of it for fifteen or twenty +dollars a month, according to the amount of work I have them do on it." + +"Why, I never heard of such a thing! Does it cost that--all that? But +then, the _car_ does n't cost anything," she added soothingly, after a +pause. + +"Oh, no, the car doesn't cost anything--only eight or ten dollars to +bring it down by train, or else two dollars an hour for a chauffeur to +run it down for us," retorted her husband. + +"Eight or ten dollars! Two dollars an hour to run it!" gasped Jessica. +"Why, Herbert, what shall we do? There is only ten dollars now of the +household money to last the rest of the month; and there 's this week's +grocery bill and a dollar and a half for the laundry to pay!" + +"That's exactly it--what shall we do?" snapped Herbert. This thing was +getting on his nerves. + +"But we must do," laughed Jessica hysterically. "The idea of giving up +a three-thousand-dollar automobile because one owes a grocery bill and +a dollar and a half for laundry!" + +"Well, we can't eat the automobile, and 't won't wash our clothes for +us." + +"Naturally not! Who wants it to?" Jessica's nerves, also, were +feeling the strain. + +"We might--sell it." + +"Sell it! Sell our automobile!" flamed Jessica; and to hear her, one +would think the proposition was to sell an old family heirloom, beloved +for years. + +Her husband sighed. + +"Isn't there something somewhere about selling the pot to get something +to put into it?" he muttered dismally, as he rose to lock up the house +for the night. "Well, I fancy that's what we 'll have to do--sell the +automobile to get money enough to move it!" + +Two days later the automobile came. Perhaps the grocer waited. +Perhaps the laundry bill went unpaid. Perhaps an obliging friend +advanced a loan. Whatever it was, spic and span in Dearborn's garage +stood the three-thousand-dollar automobile, the admired of every eye. + +June had gone, and July was weeks old, however, before the +preliminaries of license and lessons were over, and Mr. and Mrs. +Herbert Wheeler could enter into the full knowledge of what it meant to +be the joyous possessors of an automobile which one could run one's +self. + +"And now we'll take our friends," cried Jessica. "Who'll go first?" + +"Let's begin with the A's--the Arnolds. They 're always doing things +for us." + +"Good! I'll telephone Mrs. Arnold to-night. To-morrow is Saturday, +half-holiday. We'll take them down to the lake and come home by +moonlight. Oh, Herbert, won't it be lovely?" + +"You bet it will," exulted Herbert, as he thought of the Arnolds' +admiring eyes when their car should sweep up to their door. + +At three o'clock Saturday afternoon the Wheelers with their two guests +started for the lake. It was a beautiful day. The road was good and +every one was in excellent spirits--that is, every one but the host. +It had come to him suddenly with overwhelming force that he was +responsible not only for the happiness but for the lives of his wife +and their friends. What if something should go wrong? + +But nothing did go wrong. He stopped twice, it is true, and examined +carefully his car; but the only result of his search was a plentiful +bedaubing of oil and gasoline on his hands and of roadway dust on his +clothing. He was used to this and did not mind it, however--until he +went in to dinner at the Lakeside House beside the fresh daintiness of +his wife and their friends; then he did mind it. + +The ride home was delightful, so the Arnolds said. The Arnolds talked +of it, indeed, to each other, until they fell asleep--but even then +they did not talk of it quite so long as their host worked cleaning up +the car after the trip. Wheeler kept the automobile now in a +neighbor's barn and took care of it himself; it was much cheaper than +keeping it in Dearborn's garage. + +There were several other friends in the A's and B's and two in the C's +who were taken out in the Wheeler automobile before Herbert one day +groaned: + +"Jessica, this alphabet business is killing me. It does seem as if Z +never would be reached!" + +"Why, Herbert!--and they 're all our friends, and you know how much +they think of it." + +"I think of it, too, when the dinner checks and the supper checks come +in. Jessica, we just simply can't stand it!" + +Jessica frowned and sighed. + +"I know, dear; but when the _car_ did n't cost anything--" + +"Well, lobster salads and chicken patties cost something," mentioned +the man grimly. + +"I know it; but it seems so--so selfish to go all by ourselves with +those empty seats behind us. And there are so many I have promised to +take. Herbert, what can we do?" + +"I don't know; but I know what we can't do. We can't feed them to the +tune of a dollar or two a plate any longer." + +There was a long pause; then Jessica clapped her hands. + +"Herbert, I have it! We'll have basket picnics. I 'll take a lunch +from the house every time. And, after all, that'll be lots nicer; +don't you think so?" + +"Well, that might do," acquiesced the man slowly. "Anyhow, there would +n't be any dinner checks a-coming." + +August passed and September came. The Wheelers were in "M" now; they +had been for days, indeed. Even home-prepared luncheons were beyond +the Wheelers' pocketbook now, and no friend had been invited to ride +for a week past. The spoiling of two tires and a rather serious +accident to the machine had necessitated the Wheelers spending every +spare cent for repairs. + +In the eyes of most of the town the Wheelers were objects of envy. +_They_ had an automobile. _They_ could ride while others must plod +along behind them on foot, blinded by their dust and sickened by their +noisome odor of gasoline. + +As long as the Wheelers were "decently hospitable" about sharing their +car, the townspeople added to their envy an interested tolerance based +on a lively speculation as to when one's own turn for a ride would +come; but when a whole week went by, and not one of the many anxious +would-be guests had been invited, the interest and the tolerance fled, +leaving only an angry disdain as destructive to happiness as was the +gasoline smell of the car itself. + +There were some things, however, that the townspeople did not know. +They did not know that, though the Wheelers had a motor-car, they had +almost nothing else; no new clothes, except dust coats and goggles; no +new books and magazines, except such as dealt with "the practical +upkeep and operation of a car"; no leisure, for the car must be kept +repaired and shining; no fresh vegetables to eat, for the garden had +died long ago from want of care, and they could buy only gasoline. But +they did have an automobile. This much the town knew; and there came a +day when this fact loomed large and ominous on the horizon of the +Wheelers' destiny. + +On the first day of October the bank in which young Wheeler worked +closed its doors. There had been a defalcation. A large sum of money +was missing, and the long finger of suspicion pointed to Herbert +Wheeler. + +Did he not sport an automobile? Was he not living far beyond his +means? Had not the Wheelers for weeks past flaunted their ill-gotten +wealth in the very eyes of the whole town? To be sure they had. The +idea, indeed, of a twelve-hundred-dollar-a-year clerk trying to cut a +dash like that! As if every one could not guess just where had gone +that missing sum of money. + +And so the town talked and wagged its head, and back in the tiny house +in the midst of its unkept lawn and garden sat the angry, frightened, +and appalled Herbert Wheeler, and Jessica, his wife. + +In vain did the Wheelers point out that the automobile was a gift. In +vain did they bare to doubting eyes the whole pitiful poverty of their +daily life. The town refused to see or to understand; in the town's +eyes was the vision of the Wheeler automobile flying through the +streets with selfishly empty seats; in the town's nose was the hateful +smell of gasoline. Nothing else signified. + +To the bank examiners, however, something else did signify. But it +took their sworn statement, together with the suicide of Cashier Jewett +(the proved defaulter), to convince the town; and even then the town +shook its head and said: + +"Well, it might have been that automobile, anyhow!" + + +The Wheelers sold their elephant--their motor-car. + +"Yes, I think we 'd better sell it," agreed Jessica tearfully, when her +husband made the proposition. "Of course the car did n't cost us +anything, but we--" + +"Cost us anything!" cut in Herbert Wheeler wrathfully. "Cost us +anything! Why, it's done nothing but cost from the day it smashed +those two eggs in the kitchen to the day it almost smashed my +reputation at the bank. Why, Jessica, it's cost us everything--food, +clothing, fun, friends, and almost life itself! I think we 'll sell +that automobile." + +And they sold it. + + + + +A Patron of Art + +Mrs. Livingstone adored art--Art with a capital A, not the kind whose +sign-manual is a milking-stool or a beribboned picture frame. The +family had lived for some time in a shabby-genteel house on Beacon +Hill, ever since, indeed, Mrs. Livingstone had insisted on her +husband's leaving the town of his birth and moving to Boston--the +center of Art (according to Mrs. Livingstone). + +Here she attended the Symphony Concerts (on twenty-five cent tickets), +and prattled knowingly of Mozart and Beethoven; and here she listened +to Patti or Bernhardt from the third balcony of the Boston Theater. If +she attended an exhibit of modern paintings she saw no beauty in +pictured face or flower, but longed audibly for the masterpieces of +Rubens and of Titian; and she ignored the ordinary books and +periodicals of the day, even to the newspapers, and adorned her +center-table with copies of Shakespeare and of Milton. + +To be sure, she occasionally read a novel or a book of poems a trifle +less ancient in character, but never unless the world had rung with the +author's praises for at least a score of years. The stamp of Time's +approval was absolutely necessary to the aspirant after Mrs. +Livingstone's approbation. Indeed, there was only one of the +present-day celebrities who interested the good lady at all, but that +one attracted with a power that compensated for any lack in the others. +She would have given much--had it been hers to give--to once meet that +man. + +Of course he was famous--he had been for thirty years. She called him +the "Inimitable One," and set him up in her heart and groveled joyfully +at his feet. She bought each of his books when published, whether she +had shoes to her feet or clothes to her back. He was the Prophet--the +High Priest--the embodiment of Art. She occasionally even allowed his +books to rest on the table along with Milton and Shakespeare. + +Mrs. Livingstone's husband was only an ordinary being who knew nothing +whatever of Art; and it was a relief to her--and perhaps to him, poor +man--when he departed this life, and left her to an artistic widowhood +with anything but an artistic income--if size counts in Art. But one +must eat, and one must wear clothes (in chilly, civilized Boston, at +least), and Mrs. Livingstone suddenly realized that something must be +done toward supplying these necessities of life for herself and her +young daughter, Mabel. + +It was at about this time that there came a sharp ring at the doorbell, +and a stout man with small, but very bright, black eyes asked to see +Mrs. Livingstone. + +"I have come, my dear madam, on a matter of business," said he suavely; +"and though I am a stranger to you, you certainly are not one to me. I +said 'business,' madam, yet I and the one for whom I am speaking are so +anxious that you should look favorably upon our proposition that I had +almost said that I had come to ask a favor." + +Mrs. Livingstone relaxed from the forbidding aspect she had assumed, +and looked mildly interested. + +"A gentleman wishes to leave his house in your charge, madam. The +house is advertised for sale, and from time to time parties may wish to +see it. He would like it to be in the care of some one who will +understand how to show it to the best advantage, you see." + +Mrs. Livingstone's back straightened, and her chin rose perceptibly. +Had she come to this--a common caretaker? And yet--there was Mabel. +Something must certainly be done. + +"Who is this man?" she asked aggressively; and then she almost started +from her chair as the name fell from the other's lips--it was that +borne by the Inimitable One. + +"That man!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "That famous creature with the +world at his feet!" + +The stout gentleman opposite smiled, and his little eyes narrowed to +mere slits of light. He had counted on this. His employer was indeed +famous--very famous, though perhaps not in the way this good lady +supposed. It was not the first time he had traded on this convenient +similarity of names. + +"I thought, madam, we had made no mistake. I was sure you would deem +it a privilege. And as for us, your keen appreciative sense of the +fitness of things will--er--will make it a favor to us if you comply +with our request," said he, floundering in helpless confusion for a +moment. + +But Mrs. Livingstone did not notice. She went through the rest of that +interview in a dazed, ecstatic wonder. She only knew at its conclusion +that she was to go up to Vermont to care for His house, to live in the +rooms that He had lived in, to rest where He had rested, to walk where +He had walked, to see what He had seen. And she was to receive +pay--money for this blissful privilege. Incredible! + +It did not take Mrs. Livingstone long to make all necessary +arrangements. The shabby-genteel house in Boston was rented by the +month, all furnished, and the good lady promptly gave her notice and +packed her trunks for departure. The first day of the month found her +and her daughter whirling away from the city toward their destination. + +As they stepped from the train to the platform at the little country +station, Mrs. Livingstone looked about her with awed interest. He had +been here! The jouncing yellow stage coach became a hallowed golden +chariot, and the ride to the house a sacred pilgrimage. She quoted His +poetry on the doorstep, and entered the hall with a reverent obeisance; +whereupon the man who brought the trunks ever after referred to her +with a significant tap on his forehead and the single word "cracked." + +"Only think, Mabel, He walked here, and sat here," said the woman +adoringly, suiting the action to the word and sinking into a great +Morris chair. + +Mabel sniffed her disdain. + +"I presume so; but I should like to know where he ate--maybe he left +something!" + +Mrs. Livingstone rose in despairing resignation. + +"Just like your father, child. No conception of anything but the +material things of life. I did hope my daughter would have some +sympathy with me; but it seems she has n't. Bring me my bag--the black +one; the lunch is in that. Of course we can't have a warm supper until +we get started." + +The next few days were a dream of bliss to Mrs. Livingstone. The house +was a handsome mansion set well back from the street, and surrounded by +beautiful grounds which were kept in order by a man who came two or +three times a week to attend to them. Mrs. Livingstone had but herself +and Mabel to care for, and she performed the work of the house as a +high-priestess might have attended upon the altars of her gods. It was +on the fifth day that a growing wonder in the mind of Mrs. Livingstone +found voice. + +"Mabel, there is n't one of His works in the house--not one. I 've +been everywhere!" said 'the woman plaintively. + +"Well, mother," laughed the girl saucily, "that's the most sensible +thing I ever knew of the man. I don't wonder he did n't want them +round--I should n't!" + +"Mabel!" + +"Well, I shouldn't!" And Mabel laughed wickedly while her mother +sighed at the out-spoken heresy. It was plain that Mabel had no soul. + +Mrs. Livingstone was furthermore surprised at her idol's taste in art; +some of the pictures on the wall were a distinct shock to her. And if +the absence of the Inimitable One's works astonished her, the presence +of some others' books certainly did more than that. + +The house was to be sold completely furnished, with the exception of +the books and pictures. The price was high, and there were but few +prospective purchasers. Occasionally people came to see the property; +such Mrs. Livingstone conducted about the house with reverent +impressiveness, displaying its various charms much as a young mother +would "show off" her baby. + +"It is something to buy a house owned by so famous a man," she +insinuated gently one day, after vainly trying to awaken a proper +enthusiasm in a prim little woman who was talking of purchasing. + +"Indeed!" replied the other, frigidly. "Do you think so? I must +confess it is somewhat of a drawback to me." And from that time Mrs. +Livingstone wore an injured air--the young mother's baby had been +snubbed--grievously snubbed. + +There were times when Mrs. Livingstone was lonely. Only one of her +neighbors had called, and that one had not repeated the visit. Perhaps +the lady's report--together with that of the trunkman--was not +conducive to further acquaintance. It would appear so. + +Toward the last of the summer a wild plan entered Mrs. Livingstone's +brain; and after some days of trembling consideration, she determined +to carry it out. The morning mail bore a letter from her to the +Inimitable One through his publishers. She had learned that he was to +be in Boston, and she had written to beg him to come up to his old home +and see if it was being cared for to his satisfaction. The moments +dragged as though weighted with lead until the answer came. When at +last it was in her hands, she twisted a hairpin under the flap of the +envelope and tore out the letter with shaking fingers. + +It was from the Inimitable One's private secretary. The Inimitable One +did not understand her letter--he was the owner of no house in Vermont; +there was doubtless some mistake. That was all. The communication was +wholly enigmatic. + +The letter fluttered to the floor, and Mrs. Livingstone's dazed eyes +rested on the gardener in the lawn below. In a moment she was at his +side. + +"Peter, isn't this house owned by a very famous man?" + +"Indade it is, ma'am." + +"Who is he?" she demanded shortly, holding her breath until that +familiar name borne by the Inimitable One passed the other's lips. + +"Well, Peter, is n't he the writer? What does he do for a living?" she +faltered, still mystified. + +"Do? He fights, ma'am. He 's the big prize-fighter that won--" He +was talking to empty air. The woman had fled. + + + + +When Polly Ann Played Santa Claus + +The Great Idea and What Came of It + +Margaret Brackett turned her head petulantly from side to side on the +pillow. "I'm sure I don't see why this had to come to me now," she +moaned. + +Polly Ann Brackett, who had been hastily summoned to care for her +stricken relative, patted the pillow hopefully. + +"Sho! now, Aunt Margaret, don't take on so. Just lie still and rest. +You 're all beat out. That's what's the matter." + +The sick woman gave an impatient sigh. + +"But, Polly Ann, it's only the 22d. I ought not to be that--yet! It +never comes until the 26th, and I 'm prepared for it then. Sarah Bird +comes Christmas Day, you know." + +Polly Ann's jaw dropped. Her eyes stared frankly. + +"Sarah Bird!" she cried. "You don't mean you engaged her beforehand--a +_nurse_! That you knew you 'd need her!" + +"Of course. I do every year. Polly Ann, don't stare so! As if +Christmas did n't use every one up--what with the shopping and all the +planning and care it takes!" + +"But I thought Christmas was a--a pleasure," argued Polly Ann feebly; +"something to enjoy. Not to--to get sick over." + +"Enjoy--yes, though not to be taken lightly, understand," returned the +elder woman with dignity. "It is no light thing to select and buy +suitable, appropriate gifts. And now, with half of them to be yet tied +up and labeled, here I am, flat on my back," she finished with a groan. + +"Can't I do it? Of course I can!" cried Polly Ann confidently. + +The sick woman turned with troubled eyes. + +"Why, I suppose you'll have to do it," she sighed, "as long as I can't. +Part of them are done up, anyway; but there's John's family and Mary +and the children left. John's are in the middle drawer of the bureau +in the attic hall, and Mary's are in the big box near it. You'll know +them right away when you see them. There's paper and strings and +ribbons, and cards for the names, besides the big boxes to send them +in. Seems as if you ought to do it right, only--well, you know how +utterly irresponsible and absent-minded you are sometimes." + +"Nonsense!" scoffed Polly Ann. "As if I could n't do up a parcel of +presents as well as you! And I'll prove it, too. I'll go right up +now," she declared, rising to her feet and marching out of the room. + +In the attic hall Polly Ann found the presents easily. She knew which +was for which, too; she knew Margaret and her presents of old. She did +not need the little bits of paper marked, "For Mary," "For Tom," "For +John," "For Julia," to tell her that the woolen gloves and thick socks +went into Mary's box, and the handsomely bound books and the fine +lace-edged handkerchief into John's. + +Mary, as all the Bracketts knew, was the poor relation that had married +shiftless Joe Hemenway, who had died after a time, leaving behind him a +little Joe and three younger girls and a boy. John, if possible even +better known to the Brackett family, was the millionaire Congressman to +whom no Brackett ever failed to claim relationship with a proudly +careless "He's a cousin of ours, you know, Congressman Brackett is." + +At once Polly Ann began her task. And then-- + +It was the French doll that did it. Polly Ann was sure of that, as she +thought it over afterward. From the middle drawer where were John's +presents the doll fell somehow into the box where were Mary's. There +the fluffy gold of the doll's hair rioted gloriously across a pair of +black woolen socks, and the blue satin of its gown swept glistening +folds of sumptuousness across a red flannel petticoat. One rose-tipped +waxen hand, outflung, pointed, almost as if in scorn, to the corner of +the box where lay another doll, a doll in a brown delaine dress, a doll +whose every line from her worsted-capped head to her black-painted feet +spelled durability and lack of charm. + +Polly Ann saw this, and sighed. She was thinking of Mary's little +crippled Nellie for whom the brown delaine doll was designed; and she +was remembering what that same Nellie had said one day, when they had +paused before a window wherein stood another just such a little +satin-clad lady as this interloper from the middle bureau drawer. + +"Oh, Cousin Polly, look--look!" Nellie had breathed. "Is n't she +be-yu-tiful? Oh, Cousin Polly, if--if I had--one--like that, I don't +think I 'd mind even _these_--much," she choked, patting the crutches +that supported her. + +Polly Ann had sighed then, and had almost sobbed aloud as she +disdainfully eyed her own thin little purse, whose contents would +scarcely have bought the gown that Miss Dolly wore. She sighed again +now, as she picked up the doll before her, and gently smoothed into +order the shining hair. If only this were for Nellie!--but it was n't. +It was for Julia's Roselle, Roselle who already possessed a dozen +French dolls, and would probably possess as many more before her doll +days were over, while Nellie-- + +With a swift movement Polly Ann dropped the doll back into the box, and +picked up the other one. The next moment the brown delaine dress was +rubbing elbows with a richly bound book and a Duchesse lace collar in +the middle bureau drawer. Polly Ann cocked her head to one side and +debated; did she dare ask Aunt Margaret to make the change? + +With a slow shake of her head she owned that she did not. She knew her +aunt and her aunt's convictions as to the ethics of present-giving too +well. And, if she were tempted to doubt, there were the two sets of +presents before her, both of which, even down to the hemp twine and +brown paper in one and the red ribbons and white tissue-paper in the +other, proclaimed their donor's belief as to the proper distribution of +usefulness and beauty. + +The two dolls did look odd in their present environment. Polly Ann +admitted that. Reluctantly she picked them up, and was about to return +each to her own place, when suddenly the Great Idea was born. + +With a little cry and a tense biting of her lip Polly Ann fell back +before it. Then excitedly she leaned forward, and examined with +searching eyes the presents. She drew a long breath, and stood erect +again. + +"Well, why not?" she asked herself. Aunt Margaret had said she was +utterly irresponsible and absent-minded. Very well, then; she would be +utterly irresponsible and absent-minded. She would change the labels +and misdirect the boxes. John's should go to Mary, and Mary's to John. +Nellie should have that doll. Incidentally Nellie's mother and sisters +and brother and grandmother should have, too, for once in their starved +lives, a Christmas present that did not shriek durability the moment +the wrappings fell away. + +It was nothing but fun for Polly Ann after this. With unafraid hands +she arranged the two sets of presents on the top of the bureau, and +planned their disposal. Mentally she reviewed the two families. In +Mary's home there were Mary herself; Joe, eighteen; Jennie, sixteen; +Carrie, fourteen; Tom, eleven; and Nellie, six; besides Grandma. In +John's there were John, his wife, Julia; their son Paul, ten; and +daughter Roselle, four; besides John's younger sister Barbara, +eighteen, and his mother. + +It took a little planning to make the presents for six on the one hand +do for seven on the other, and vice versa; but with a little skillful +dividing and combining it was done at last to Polly Ann's huge +satisfaction. Then came the tying-up and the labeling. And here again +Polly Ann's absent-mindedness got in its fine work; for the red ribbons +and the white tissue-paper went into Mary's box, which left, of course, +only the brown paper and hemp twine for John's. + +"There!" sighed Polly Ann when the boxes themselves were at last tied +up and addressed. "Now we 'll see what we shall see!" But even Polly +Ann, in spite of her bravely upheld chin, trembled a little as she +turned toward the room where Margaret Brackett lay sick. + +It was a pity, as matters were, that Polly Ann could not have been a +fly on the wall of Mary's sitting-room at that moment, for Mary's +Jennie was saying gloomily, "I suppose, mother, we'll have Cousin +Margaret's Christmas box as usual." + +"I suppose so," her mother answered. Then with a determined +cheerfulness came the assertion, "Cousin Margaret is always very kind +and thoughtful, you know, Jennie." + +There was a pause, broken at last by a mutinous "I don't think so, +mother." + +"Why, _Jennie_!" + +"Well, I don't. She may be kind, but she isn't--thoughtful." + +"Why, my daughter!" remonstrated the shocked mother again. "I 'm +ashamed of you!" + +"I know; it's awful, of course, but I can't help it," declared the +girl. "If she really were thoughtful, she 'd think sometimes that we +'d like something for presents besides flannel things." + +"But they're so--sensible, Jennie, for--us." + +"That's just what they are--sensible," retorted the girl bitterly. +"But who wants sensible things always? We _have_ to have them the +whole year through. Seems as if at Christmas we might have +something--foolish." + +"Jennie, Jennie, what are you saying? and when Cousin Margaret is so +good to us, too! Besides, she does send us candy always, and--and +that's foolish." + +"It would be if 't was nice candy, the kind we can't hope ever to buy +ourselves. But it isn't. It's the cheap Christmas candy, two pounds +for a quarter, the kind we have to buy when we buy any. Mother, it's +just that; don't you see? Cousin Margaret thinks that's the only sort +of thing that's fit for us! cheap, sensible things, the kind of things +we have to buy. But that does n't mean that we would n't like +something else, or that we have n't any taste, just because we have n't +the means to gratify it," finished the girl chokingly as she hurried +out of the room before her mother could reply. + +All this, however, Polly Ann did not hear, for Polly Ann was not a fly +on Mary's sitting-room wall. + +On Christmas Day Sarah Bird appeared, cheerfully ready to take charge +of her yearly patient; and Polly Ann went home. In less than a week, +however, Polly Ann was peremptorily sent for by the sick woman. Polly +Ann had expected the summons and was prepared; yet she shook in her +shoes when she met her kinswoman's wrathful eyes. + +"Polly Ann, _what_ did you do with those presents?" demanded Margaret +Brackett abruptly. + +"P-presents?" Polly Ann tried to steady her voice. + +"Yes, yes, the ones for Mary and John's family." + +"Why, I did them up and sent them off, to be sure. Did n't they get +'em?" + +"Get them!" groaned Margaret Brackett, "get them! Polly Ann, what did +you do? You must have mixed them awfully somehow!" + +"Mixed them?" In spite of her preparation for this very accusation +Polly Ann was fencing for time. + +"Yes, mixed them. Look at that--and that--and that," cried the irate +woman, thrusting under Polly Ann's nose one after another of the notes +of thanks she had received the day before. + +They were from John and his family, and one by one Polly Ann picked +them up and read them. + +John, who had not for years, probably, worn anything coarser than silk +on his feet, expressed in a few stiff words his thanks for two pairs of +black woolen socks. Julia, famed for the dainty slenderness of her +hands, expressed in even stiffer language her thanks for a pair of gray +woolen gloves. She also begged to thank Cousin Margaret for the doll +so kindly sent Roselle and for the red mittens sent to Paul. John's +mother, always in the minds of those who knew her associated with +perfumed silks and laces, wrote a chilly little note of thanks for a +red flannel petticoat; while John's sister, Barbara, worth a million in +her own right, scrawled on gold-monogrammed paper her thanks for the +dozen handkerchiefs that had been so kindly sent her in the Christmas +box. + +"And there were n't a dozen handkerchiefs, I tell you," groaned +Margaret, "except the cotton ones I sent to Mary's two girls, Jennie +and Carrie, six to each. Think of it--cotton handkerchiefs to Barbara +Marsh! And that red flannel petticoat, and those ridiculous gloves and +socks! Oh, Polly Ann, Polly Ann, how could you have done such a thing, +and got everything so hopelessly mixed? There was n't a thing, not a +single thing right but that doll for Roselle." + +Polly Ann lifted her head suddenly. + +"Have you heard from--Mary?" she asked in a faint voice. + +"Not yet. But I shall, of course. I suppose _they_ got John's things. +Imagine it! Mary Hemenway and a Duchesse lace collar!" + +"Oh, but Mary would like that," interposed Polly Ann feverishly. "You +know she's invited out a good deal in a quiet way, and a bit of nice +lace does dress up a plain frock wonderfully." + +"Nonsense! As if she knew or cared whether it was Duchesse or--or +imitation Val! She 's not used to such things, Polly Ann. She would +n't know what to do with them if she had them. While John and +Julia--dear, dear, what shall I do? Think of it--a red flannel +petticoat to Madam Marsh!" + +Polly Ann laughed. A sudden vision had come to her of Madam Marsh as +she had seen her last at a family wedding clad in white lace and +amethysts, and with an amethyst tiara in her beautifully dressed hair. + +Margaret Brackett frowned. + +"It's no laughing matter, Polly Ann," she said severely. "I shall +write to both families and explain, of course. In fact, I have done +that already to John and Julia. But nothing, nothing can take away my +mortification that such a thing should have occurred at all. And when +I took so much pains in selecting those presents, to get suitable ones +for both boxes. I can't forgive you, Polly Ann; I just can't. And, +what's more, I don't see how in the world you did it. I am positive +that I had each thing marked carefully, and--" + +She did not finish her sentence. Sarah Bird brought in a letter, and +with a petulant exclamation Margaret Brackett tore it open. + +"It's from Mary," she cried as soon as Sarah Bird had left the room; +"and--goodness, look at the length of it! Here, you read it, Polly +Ann. It's lighter by the window." And she passed the letter to her +niece. + + +_Dear Cousin Margaret_ [read Polly Ann aloud]: I wonder if I can +possibly tell you what that Christmas box was to us. I 'm going to +try, anyway; but I don't believe, even then, that you'll quite +understand it, for you never were just as we are, and you'd have to be +to know what that box was to us. + +You see we can't buy nice things, really nice things, ever. There are +always so many "have-to-gets" that there is never anything left for the +"want-to-gets"; and so we had to do without--till your box came. And +then--but just let me tell you what did happen when it did come. + +The expressman brought it Christmas Eve, and Joe opened it at once. +Mother and I and all the children stood around watching him. You +should have heard the "Ohs!" and "Ahs!" of delight when the pretty +white packages all tied with red ribbons were brought to light. By the +way, Nellie has captured all those red ribbons, and her entire family +of dolls is rejoicing in a Merry Christmas of their own in consequence. + +As for the presents themselves--I don't know where to begin or how to +say it; but I'll begin with myself, and try to make you understand. + +That beautiful Duchesse lace collar! I love it already, and I'm +actually vain as a peacock over it. I had made over mother's black +silk for myself this fall, and I did so want some nice lace for it! +You've no idea how beautiful, really beautiful, the dress looks with +that collar. I shan't cry now when I'm invited anywhere. It's a pity, +and I'm ashamed that it is so; but clothes do make such a difference. + +Mother is fairly reveling in that lovely silk and lace workbag. She +has carried it with her all day all over the house, just to look at it, +she says. She has always wanted some such thing, but never thought she +ought to take the money to buy one. She and two or three other old +ladies in the neighborhood have a way of exchanging afternoon visits +with their work; and mother is as pleased as a child now, and is +impatiently awaiting the next "meet" so she can show off her new +treasure. Yet, to see her with it, one would think she had always +carried silk workbags, scented with lavender. + +Joe is more than delighted with his handsome set of books. And really +they do lighten our dull sitting-room wonderfully, and we are all proud +of them. He is planning to read them aloud to us all this winter, and +I am so glad. I am particularly glad, for we not only shall have the +pleasure of hearing the stories themselves, but I shall have the +satisfaction of knowing where my boy is evenings. Joe is a good lad +always, but he has been worrying me a little lately, for he seemed to +like to be away so much. Yet I could n't wonder, for I had so little +to offer him at home for entertainment. Now I have these books. + +Carrie is wild over her necklace of pretty stones. She says they're +"all the rage" at school among the girls, and the very latest thing +out. Dear child! she does so love pretty things, and of course I can't +give them to her. It is the same with Jennie, and she is equally +pleased with that dainty lace-edged handkerchief. It is such a nice +handkerchief, and Jennie, like her mother, does so love nice things! + +Tom was almost speechless with joy when he discovered that sumptuous +knife. But he has n't been speechless since--not a bit of it! There +is n't any one anywhere within the radius of a mile, I guess, to whom +he has n't shown every blade and corkscrew and I don't-know-what-all +that that wonderful knife can unfold. + +I've left Nellie till the last, but not because she is the least. Poor +dear little girlie! My heart aches now that I realize how she has +longed for a beautiful doll, one that could open and shut its eyes, say +"Papa" and "Mamma," and one that was daintily dressed. I had no idea +the little thing would be so overcome. She turned white, then red, and +actually sobbed with joy when the doll was put into her arms, though +since then she has been singing all over the house, and has seemed so +happy. I 'm sure you will believe this when I tell you that I +overheard her last night whisper into dolly's ear that now she did n't +mind half so much not being like other girls who could run and play, +because she had her to love and care for. + +And then the candy that was marked for all of us--and such candy! All +their lives the children have longingly gazed at such candy through +store windows, and dreamed what it might taste like; but to have it +right in their hands--in their mouths! You should have heard their +rapturous sighs of content as it disappeared. + +And now, dear Cousin Margaret, can you see a little what that Christmas +box has been to us? I can't bear to say, "Thank you"; it seems so +commonplace and inadequate. And yet there is n't anything else I can +say. And we do thank you, each and every one of us. We thank you both +for our own gift, and for all the others, for each one's gift is making +all the others happy. Do you see? Oh, I hope you do see and that you +do understand that we appreciate all the care and pains you must have +taken to select just the present that each of us most longed for. + +Lovingly and gratefully yours, + MARY. + + +Polly Ann's voice quivered into silence. It had already broken once or +twice, and it was very husky toward the last. For a moment no one +spoke; then with an evident attempt at carelessness Margaret said: "I +guess, Polly Ann, I won't write to Mary at all that there was any +mistake. We 'll let it--pass." + +There was no answer. Twice Polly Ann opened her lips, but no sound +came. After a moment she got to her feet, and walked slowly across the +room. At the door she turned abruptly. + +"Aunt Margaret," she panted, "I suppose I ought to tell you. There +wa'n't any--mistake. I--I changed those presents on purpose." Then +she went out quickly and shut the door. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TANGLED THREADS*** + + +******* This file should be named 19336-8.txt or 19336-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/9/3/3/19336 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + diff --git a/19336-8.zip b/19336-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..59702c2 --- /dev/null +++ b/19336-8.zip diff --git a/19336.txt b/19336.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5f784df --- /dev/null +++ b/19336.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7342 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Tangled Threads, by Eleanor H. Porter + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Tangled Threads + + +Author: Eleanor H. Porter + + + +Release Date: September 19, 2006 [eBook #19336] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TANGLED THREADS*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +THE TANGLED THREADS + +by + +ELEANOR H. PORTER + + + + + + + +New York +The Christian Herald +Bible House + +Copyright, 1919, by Eleanor H. Porter +All Rights Reserved + + + + +Contents + + + A DELAYED HERITAGE + THE FOLLY OF WISDOM + CRUMBS + A FOUR-FOOTED FAITH AND A TWO + A MATTER OF SYSTEM + ANGELUS + THE APPLE OF HER EYE + A MUSHROOM OF COLLINGSVILLE + THAT ANGEL BOY + THE LADY IN BLACK + THE SAVING OF DAD + MILLIONAIRE MIKE'S THANKSGIVING + WHEN MOTHER FELL ILL + THE GLORY AND THE SACRIFICE + THE DALTONS AND THE LEGACY + THE LETTER + THE INDIVISIBLE FIVE + THE ELEPHANT'S BOARD AND KEEP + A PATRON OF ART + WHEN POLLY ANN PLAYED SANTA CLAUS + + +The stories in this volume are here reprinted by the courteous +permission of the publishers of the periodicals in which they first +appeared,--Lippincott's Magazine, The Metropolitan Magazine, McCall's +Magazine, Harper's Magazine, The American Magazine, Progress Magazine, +The Arena, The Christian Endeavor World, The Congregationalist and +Christian World, The Housewife, Harper's Bazar [Transcriber's note: +Bazaar?], Judge's Library Magazine, The New England Magazine, People's +Short Story Magazine, The Christian Herald, The Ladies' World. + + + + +The Tangled Threads + + +A Delayed Heritage + +When Hester was two years old a wheezy hand-organ would set her eyes to +sparkling and her cheeks to dimpling, and when she was twenty the +"Maiden's Prayer," played by a school-girl, would fill her soul with +ecstasy. + +To Hester, all the world seemed full of melody. Even the clouds in the +sky sailed slowly along in time to a stately march in her brain, or +danced to the tune of a merry schottische that sounded for her ears +alone. And when she saw the sunset from the hill behind her home, there +was always music then--low and tender if the colors were soft and +pale-tinted, grand and awful if the wind blew shreds and tatters of +storm-clouds across a purpling sky. All this was within Hester; but +without-- + +There had been but little room in Hester's life for music. Her days were +an endless round of dish-washing and baby-tending--first for her mother, +later for herself. There had been no money for music lessons, no time +for piano practice. Hester's childish heart had swelled with bitter envy +whenever she saw the coveted music roll swinging from some playmate's +hand. At that time her favorite "make-believe" had been to play at going +for a music lesson, with a carefully modeled roll of brown paper +suspended by a string from her fingers. + +Hester was forty now. Two sturdy boys and a girl of nine gave her three +hungry mouths to feed and six active feet to keep in holeless stockings. +Her husband had been dead two years, and life was a struggle and a +problem. The boys she trained rigorously, giving just measure of love +and care; but the girl--ah, Penelope should have that for which she +herself had so longed. Penelope should take music lessons! + +During all those nine years since Penelope had come to her, frequent +dimes and quarters, with an occasional half-dollar, had found their way +into an old stone jar on the top shelf in the pantry. It had been a +dreary and pinching economy that had made possible this horde of silver, +and its effects had been only too visible in Hester's turned and mended +garments, to say nothing of her wasted figure and colorless cheeks. +Penelope was nine now, and Hester deemed it a fitting time to begin the +spending of her treasured wealth. + +First, the instrument: it must be a rented one, of course. Hester went +about the labor of procuring it in a state of exalted bliss that was in a +measure compensation for her long years of sacrifice. + +Her task did not prove to be a hard one. The widow Butler, about to go +South for the winter, was more than glad to leave her piano in Hester's +tender care, and the dollar a month rent which Hester at first insisted +upon paying was finally cut in half, much to the widow Butler's +satisfaction and Hester's grateful delight. This much accomplished, +Hester turned her steps toward the white cottage wherein lived Margaret +Gale, the music teacher. + +Miss Gale, careful, conscientious, but of limited experience, placed her +services at the disposal of all who could pay the price--thirty-five +cents an hour; and she graciously accepted the name of her new pupil, +entering "Penelope Martin" on her books for Saturday mornings at ten +o'clock. Then Hester went home to tell her young daughter of the bliss +in store for her. + +Strange to say, she had cherished the secret of the old stone jar all +these years, and had never told Penelope of her high destiny. She +pictured now the child's joy, unconsciously putting her own nine-year-old +music-hungry self in Penelope's place. + +"Penelope," she called gently. + +There was a scurrying of light feet down the uncarpeted back stairs, and +Penelope, breathless, rosy, and smiling, appeared in the doorway. + +"Yes, mother." + +"Come with me, child," said Hester, her voice sternly solemn in her +effort to keep from shouting her glad tidings before the time. + +The woman led the way through the kitchen and dining-room and threw open +the parlor door, motioning her daughter into the somber room. The +rose-color faded from Penelope's cheeks. + +"Why, mother! what--what is it? Have I been--naughty?" she faltered. + +Mrs. Martin's tense muscles relaxed and she laughed hysterically. + +"No, dearie, no! I--I have something to tell you," she answered, drawing +the child to her and smoothing back the disordered hair. "What would you +rather have--more than anything else in the world?" she asked; then, +unable to keep her secret longer, she burst out, "I've got it, +Penelope!--oh, I've got it!" + +The little girl broke from the restraining arms and danced wildly around +the room. + +"Mother! Really? As big as me? And will it talk--say 'papa' and +'mamma,' you know?" + +"What!" + +Something in Hester's dismayed face brought the prancing feet to a sudden +stop. + +"It--it's a doll, is n't it?" the child stammered. + +Hester's hands grew cold. + +"A--a doll!" she gasped. + +Penelope nodded--the light gone from her eyes. + +For a moment the woman was silent; then she threw back her head with a +little shake and laughed forcedly. + +"A doll!--why, child, it's as much nicer than a doll as--as you can +imagine. It's a piano, dear--a pi-a-no!" she repeated impressively, all +the old enthusiasm coming back at the mere mention of the magic word. + +"Oh!" murmured Penelope, with some show of interest. + +"And you're to learn to play on it!" + +"Oh-h!" said Penelope again, but with less interest. + +"To play on it! Just think, dear, how fine that will be!" The woman's +voice was growing wistful. + +"Take lessons? Like Mamie, you mean?" + +"Yes, dear." + +"But--she has to practice and--" + +"Of course," interrupted Hester eagerly. "That's the best part of +it--the practice." + +"Mamie don't think so," observed Penelope dubiously. + +"Then Mamie can't know," rejoined Hester with decision, bravely combating +the chill that was creeping over her. "Come, dear, help mother to clear +a space, so we may be ready when the piano comes," she finished, crossing +the room and moving a chair to one side. + +But when the piano finally arrived, Penelope was as enthusiastic as even +her mother could wish her to be, and danced about it with proud joy. It +was after the child had left the house, however, that Hester came with +reverent step into the darkened room and feasted her eyes to her heart's +content on the reality of her dreams. + +Half fearfully she extended her hand and softly pressed the tip of her +fourth finger to one of the ivory keys; then with her thumb she touched +another a little below. The resulting dissonance gave her a vague +unrest, and she gently slipped her thumb along until the harmony of a +major sixth filled her eyes with quick tears. + +"Oh, if I only could!" she whispered, and pressed the chord again, +rapturously listening to the vibrations as they died away in the quiet +room. Then she tiptoed out and closed the door behind her. + +During the entire hour of that first Saturday morning lesson Mrs. Martin +hovered near the parlor door, her hands and feet refusing to perform +their accustomed duties. The low murmur of the teacher's voice and an +occasional series of notes were to Hester the mysterious rites before a +sacred shrine, and she listened in reverent awe. When Miss Gale had left +the house, Mrs. Martin hurried to Penelope's side. + +"How did it go? What did she say? Play me what she taught you," she +urged excitedly. + +Penelope tossed a consequential head and gave her mother a scornful +glance. + +"Pooh! mother, the first lesson ain't much. I've got to practice." + +"Of course," acknowledged Hester in conciliation; "but how?--what?" + +"That--and that--and from there to there," said Penelope, indicating with +a pink forefinger certain portions of the page before her. + +"Oh!" breathed Hester, regarding the notes with eager eyes. Then +timidly, "Play--that one." + +With all the importance of absolute certainty Penelope struck _C_. + +"And that one." + +Penelope's second finger hit _F_. + +"And that--and that--and that," swiftly demanded Hester. + +Penelope's cheeks grew pink, but her fingers did not falter. Hester drew +a long breath. + +"Oh, how quick you've learned 'em!" she exclaimed. + +Her daughter hesitated a tempted moment. + +"Well--I--I learned the notes in school," she finally acknowledged, +looking sidewise at her mother. + +But even this admission did not lessen for Hester the halo of glory about +Penelope's head. She drew another long breath. + +"But what else did Miss Gale say? Tell me everything--every single +thing," she reiterated hungrily. + +That was not only Penelope's first lesson, but Hester's. The child, +flushed and important with her sudden promotion from pupil to teacher, +scrupulously repeated each point in the lesson, and the woman, humble and +earnestly attentive, listened with bated breath. Then, Penelope, still +airily consequential, practiced for almost an hour. + +Monday, when the children were at school, Hester stole into the parlor +and timidly seated herself at the piano. + +"I think--I am almost sure I could do it," she whispered, studying with +eager eyes the open book on the music rack. "I--I'm going to try, +anyhow!" she finished resolutely. + +And Hester did try, not only then, but on Tuesday, Wednesday, and thus +until Saturday--that Saturday which brought with it a second lesson. + +The weeks passed swiftly after that. Hester's tasks seemed lighter and +her burdens less grievous since there was now that ever-present +refuge--the piano. It was marvelous what a multitude of headaches and +heartaches five minutes of scales, even, could banish; and when actual +presence at the piano was impossible, there were yet memory and +anticipation left her. + +For two of these weeks Penelope practiced her allotted hour with a +patience born of the novelty of the experience. The third week the +"hour" dwindled perceptibly, and the fourth week it was scarcely thirty +minutes long. + +"Come, dearie, don't forget your practice," Hester sometimes cautioned +anxiously. + +"Oh, dear me suz!" Penelope would sigh, and Hester would watch her with +puzzled eyes as she disconsolately pulled out the piano stool. + +"Penelope," she threatened one day, "I shall certainly stop your +lessons--you don't half appreciate them." But she was shocked and +frightened at the relief that so quickly showed in her young daughter's +eyes. Hester never made that threat again, for if Penelope's lessons +stopped-- + +As the weeks lengthened into months, bits of harmony and snatches of +melody became more and more frequent in Penelope's lessons, and the +"exercises" were supplemented by occasional "pieces"--simple, yet +boasting a name. But when Penelope played "Down by the Mill," one heard +only the notes--accurate, rhythmic, an excellent imitation; when Hester +played it, one might catch the whir of the wheel, the swish of the +foaming brook, and almost the spicy smell of the sawdust, so vividly was +the scene brought to mind. + +Many a time, now, the old childhood dreams came back to Hester, and her +fingers would drift into tender melodies and minor chords not on the +printed page, until all the stifled love and longing of those dreary, +colorless years of the past found voice at her finger-tips. + +The stately marches and the rollicking dances of the cloud music came +easily at her beck and call--now grave, now gay; now slow and measured, +now tripping in weird harmonies and gay melodies. + +Hester's blood quickened and her cheeks grew pink. Her eyes lost their +yearning look and her lips their wistful curves. + +Every week she faithfully took her lesson of Penelope, and she practiced +only that when the children were about. It was when they were at school +and she was alone that the great joy of this new-found treasure of +improvising came to her, and she could set free her heart and soul on the +ivory keys. + +She was playing thus one night--forgetting time, self, and that Penelope +would soon be home from school--when the child entered the house and +stopped, amazed, in the parlor doorway. As the last mellow note died +into silence, Penelope dropped her books and burst into tears. + +"Why, darling, what is it?" cried Hester. "What can be the matter?" + +"I--I don't know," faltered Penelope, looking at her mother with startled +eyes. "Why--why did n't you tell me?" + +"Tell you?" + +"That--that you could--p-play that way! I--I did n't know," she wailed +with another storm of sobs, rushing into her mother's arms. + +Hester's clasp tightened about the quivering little form and her eyes +grew luminous. + +"Dearie," she began very softly, "there was once a little girl--a little +girl like you. She was very, very poor, and all her days were full of +work. She had no piano, no music lessons--but, oh, how she longed for +them! The trees and the grass and the winds and the flowers sang all day +in her ears, but she could n't tell what they said. By and by, after +many, many years, this little girl grew up and a dear little baby +daughter came to her. She was still very, very poor, but she saved and +scrimped, and scrimped and saved, for she meant that this baby girl +should not long and long for the music that never came. _She_ should +have music lessons." + +"Was it--me?" whispered Penelope, with tremulous lips. + +Hester drew a long breath. + +"Yes, dear. I was the little girl long ago, and you are the little girl +of to-day. And when the piano came, Penelope, I found in it all those +songs that the winds and the trees used to sing to me. Now the sun +shines brighter and the birds sing sweeter--and all this beautiful world +is yours--all yours. Oh, Penelope, are n't you glad?" + +Penelope raised a tear-wet face and looked into her mother's shining eyes. + +"Glad?--oh, mother!" she cried fervently. Then very softly, "Mother--do +you think--could you teach _me_?-- Oh, I want to play just like +that--just like that!" + + + + +The Folly of Wisdom + +Until his fiftieth year Jason Hartsorn knew nothing whatever about the +position of his liver, kidneys, lungs, heart, spleen, and stomach except +that they must be somewhere inside of him; then he attended the auction +of old Doctor Hemenway's household effects and bid off for twenty-five +cents a dilapidated clothes basket, filled with books and pamphlets. +Jason's education as to his anatomy began almost at once then, for on the +way home he fished out a coverless volume from the basket and became lost +in awed wonder over a pictured human form covered from scalp to the toes +with scarlet, vine-like tracings. + +"For the land's sake, Jason!" ejaculated Mrs. Hartsorn, as her husband +came puffing into the kitchen with his burden an hour later. "Now, what +trash have you been buyin'?" + +"'Trash'!" panted Jason, carefully setting the basket down. "I guess you +won't call it no 'trash' when you see what 't is! It's books--learnin', +Hitty. I been readin' one of 'em, too. Look a-here," and he pulled up +his shirt sleeve and bared a brawny arm; "that's all full of teeny little +pipes an' cords. Why, if I could only skin it--" + +"Jason!" screamed his wife, backing away. + +"Pooh! 'T ain't nothin' to fret over," retorted Jason airily. "Besides, +you've got 'em too--ev'ry one has; see!" He finished by snatching up the +book and spreading before her horrified eyes the pictured figure with its +scarlet, vine-like tracings. + +"Oh-h!" shivered the woman, and fled from the room. + +Shivers and shudders became almost second nature to Mehitable Hartsorn +during the days that followed. The highly colored, carefully explained +illustrations of the kidneys, liver, heart, and lungs which the books +displayed were to her only a little less terrifying than the thought that +her own body contained the fearsome things in reality; while to her +husband these same illustrations were but the delightful means to a still +more delightful end--finding in his own sturdy frame the position of +every organ shown. + +For a month Jason was happy. Then it was suddenly borne in upon him that +not always were these fascinating new acquaintances of his in a healthy +condition. At once he began to pinch and pummel himself, and to watch +for pains, being careful, meanwhile, to study the books unceasingly, so +that he might know just where to look for the pains when they should +come. He counted his pulse daily--hourly, if he apprehended trouble; and +his tongue he examined critically every morning, being particular to +notice whether or not it were pale, moist, coated, red, raw, cracked, or +tremulous. + +Jason was not at all well that spring. He was threatened successively +with typhoid fever, appendicitis, consumption, and cholera, and only +escaped a serious illness in each case by the prompt application of +remedies prescribed in his books. His wife ran the whole gamut of +emotions from terror, worry, and sympathy down to indifference and +good-natured tolerance, reaching the last only after the repeated failure +of Jason's diseases to materialize. + +It was about a week after Jason had mercifully escaped an attack of the +cholera that he came into the kitchen one morning and dropped heavily +into the nearest chair. + +"I tell ye, my heart ain't right," he announced to his wife. "It's goin' +jest like Jehu--'palpitation,' they call it; an' I've got 'shortness of +breath,' too," he finished triumphantly. + +"Hm-m; did ye catch her at last?" asked Mehitable with mild interest. + +Jason looked up sharply. + +"'Catch her'! Catch who?" he demanded. + +"Why, the colt, of course! How long did ye have ter chase her?" Mrs. +Hartsorn's carefully modulated voice expressed curiosity, and that was +all. + +Jason flushed angrily. + +"Oh, I know what ye mean," he snapped. "Ye think thar don't nothin' ail +me, an' that jest fetchin' Dolly from the pasture did it all. But I know +what them symptoms means; they mean heart disease, woman,--'cardiac +failure,'--that's what 't is." Jason leaned back in his chair and drew a +long breath. When he could remember his "book-learnin'" and give a +high-sounding name to his complaint, his gratification was enhanced. + +"Hm-m; mebbe 't is, Jason," retorted his wife; "but I'm a-thinkin' that +when a man of your heft and years goes kitin' 'round a ten-acre lot at +the tail of a fly-away colt, he'll have all that kind of heart disease he +wants, an' still live ter die of somethin' else!" And Mehitable +cheerfully banged the oven door after making sure that her biscuits were +not getting too brown. + +As it happened, however, there was really no chance for Jason's heart +disease to develop, for that night he scratched his finger, which brought +about the much more imminent danger of blood-poisoning--"toxemia," Jason +said it was. For a time the whole household was upset, and Mehitable was +kept trotting from morning till night with sponges, cloths, cotton, and +bowls of curious-smelling liquids, while Jason discoursed on antiseptics, +germs, bacteria, microbes, and bacilli. + +The finger was nearly well when he suddenly discovered that, after all, +the trouble might have been lock-jaw instead of blood-poisoning. He at +once began studying the subject so that he might be prepared should the +thing occur again. He was glad, later, that he had done so, for the +Fourth of July and a toy pistol brought all his recently acquired +knowledge into instant requisition. + +"If it does come, it's 'most likely ter be fatal," he said excitedly to +his wife, who was calmly bathing a slight graze on his hand. "An' ye +want ter watch me," he added, catching up a book with his uninjured hand +and turning to a much-thumbed page for reference. "Now, listen. Thar's +diff'rent kinds of it. They're all 'te-ta-nus,' but ye got to watch out +ter find out which kind 't is. If I shut my jaws up tight, it's +'lock-jaw.' If I bend backwards, it's 'o-pis-tho-to-nos.' If I bend +forwards, it's 'em-pros-tho-to-nos'; an' if I bend ter one side, it's +'pleu-ro-tho-to-nos,'" he explained, pronouncing the long words after a +fashion of his own. "Now, remember," he finished. "Like enough I shan't +know enough ter tell which kind 't is myself, nor which way I am +a-leanin'." + +"No, of course not, dear," agreed Mehitable cheerfully; "an' I'll +remember," she promised, as she trotted away with her salves and bowls +and bandages. + +For some days Jason "tried" his jaw at regular intervals, coming to the +conclusion at last that fate once more was kind, and that "te-ta-nus" was +to pass him by. + +The summer ended and autumn came. Jason was glad that the cold weather +was approaching. The heat had been trying. He had almost suffered a +sunstroke, and twice a mosquito bite had given him much trouble--he had +feared that he would die of malignant pustule. His relief at the coming +of cool weather was short-lived, however, for one of the neighboring +towns developed a smallpox scare, and as he discovered a slight rash soon +after passing through the place, he thought best to submit to +vaccination. He caught a bad cold, too, and was sure pneumonia was +setting in--that is, he would have been sure, only his throat was so sore +that he could not help thinking it might be diphtheria. + +Realizing the seriousness of the situation, and determining to settle +once for all the vexed question, he pored over his books in an exhaustive +search for symptoms. It was then that he rushed into the presence of his +wife one morning, his face drawn, his eyes wildly staring, and an open +book in his shaking hand. + +"Hitty, Hitty," he cried; "jest listen ter this! How 'm I goin' ter tell +what ails me, I should like ter know, if I don't ache where I'm sick? +Why, Hitty, I can't never tell! Jest listen: + + The location of pain is not always at the seat of disease. In hip + disease the pain is not first felt in the hip, but in the knee-joint. + In chronic inflammation of the liver the pain is generally most + severe in the right shoulder and arm. + +"Only think, Hitty, 'In the right shoulder and arm'! Why, I had a pain +right in that spot only yesterday. So that's what I've +got--'hip-disease'! an'--oh, no," he broke off suddenly, consulting his +book, "'t ain't hip-disease when the shoulder aches--it's the liver, +then." + +"Well, well, Jason, I don't think I should fret," soothed Mehitable. "If +ye don't know, where's the diff'rence? Now I've got a pain right now in +my little toe. Like enough that means I 'm comin' down with the mumps; +eh?" + +"Hitty!" Jason's voice was agonized. He had been paying no attention to +his wife's words, but had been reading on down the page. "Hitty, listen! +It says--'Absence of pain in any disease where ordinarily it should be +present is an unfavorable sign.' An', Hitty, I hain't got an ache--not a +single ache, this minute!" + +There was no possibility of quieting Jason after that, and the days that +followed were hard for all concerned. If he had an ache he was +terrified; if he did not have one, he was more so. He began, also, to +distrust his own powers of diagnosis, and to study all the patent +medicine advertisements he could lay his hands on. He was half +comforted, half appalled, to read them. Far from being able to pick out +his own particular malady from among the lot, he was forced to admit that +as near as he could make out he had one or more symptoms of each and +every disease that was mentioned. + +"Now, Hitty, I'll leave it to you," he submitted plaintively. "Here's +'Dread of impending evil.' Now I've got that, sure; ye know I'm always +thinkin' somethin' dreadful's goin' ter happen. 'Sparks before the +eyes.' There! I had them only jest ter-day. I was sweepin' out the +barn, an' I see 'em hoppin' up an' down in a streak of sunshine that come +through a crack. 'Variable appetite.' Now, Hitty, don't ye remember? +Yesterday I wanted pie awful, an' I ate a whole one; well, this mornin' +seems as if I never wanted ter see an apple pie again. Now, if that +ain't 'variable,' I don't know what is. 'Inquietude.'" + +"Humph! You've got that all right," cut in Mehitable. + +"'Weakness.' I hain't got a mite o' strength, Hitty," he complained. +"An' thar 's dizziness, too,--I can't chase the calf three times round +the barnyard but what my head is jest swimmin'! An' Hitty,"--his voice +grew impressive,--"Hitty, I've got ev'ry one of them six symptoms, ev'ry +blamed one of 'em, an' I picked 'em out of six diff'rent +advertisements--six! Now, Hitty, which disease is it I've got? That's +what I want ter know--which?" + +His wife could not tell him; in fact, no one could tell him, and in sheer +desperation Jason answered all six of the advertisements, determined to +find out for a certainty what ailed him. + +In due course the answers came. Jason read one, then another, then +another, until the contents of the entire six had been mastered. Then he +raised his head and gazed straight into his wife's eyes. + +"Hitty," he gasped. "I've got 'em all! An' I've got ter take the whole +six medicines ter cure me!" + +Even Mehitable was stirred then. For one long minute she was silent, +then she squared her shoulders, and placed her hands on her hips. + +"Jason Hartsorn," she began determinedly, "this thing has gone jest as +fur as I'm goin' to stand it. Do you bundle yourself off ter Boston an' +hunt up the biggest doctor you can find. If he says somethin' ails ye, I +'ll believe him, an' nuss ye ter the best of my ability; but as fur +nussin' ye through six things--an' them all ter once--I won't! So there." + +Twenty-four hours later Jason faced a square-jawed, smooth-shaven man who +looked sharply into his eyes with a curt, "Well, sir?" + +Jason cleared his throat. + +"Well, ye see, doctor," he began, "somethin' ails me, an' I ain't quite +sure what 't is. I 've been poorly since last spring, but it's been kind +of puzzlin'. Now, fur instance: I had a pain in my knee, so I felt sure +'twas hip-disease, but it jumped ter my shoulder, so 'course then I knew +'t was my liver." + +The doctor made a sudden movement. He swung squarely around in his +office chair and faced Jason. + +Jason was pleased--his learning had already made an impression! He +raised his chin and went on with renewed confidence. + +"Ye see I was afraid my liver, or mebbe one o' my kidneys, was hardenin' +or floatin' round loose, or doin' somethin' else they had n't orter. +Lately, thar's been days, lots of 'em, when I hain't had no pain--not a +mite, an' 'course that's the worst symptom of all. Then sometimes thar's +been such shootin' pains that I kind o' worried fur fear 'twas locomotive +ataxia; but mebbe the very next day it would change so's I did n't know +but 'twas appendicitis, an' that my vermi-er-vermicelli appendix was the +trouble." + +The doctor coughed--he not only coughed, but he choked, so that Jason had +to pause for a moment; but it was only for a moment. + +"I 'most had diphtheria, an' pneumonia, an' smallpox this fall," he +resumed complacently; "an' thar's six other diseases that I got symptoms +of--that is, partly, you know:--'Variable appetite,' an' 'Inquietude,' +an' all that." + +"Hm-m," said the doctor, slowly, his eyes averted. "Well, we'll--make an +examination. Come in here, please," he added, leading the way to an +inner room. + +"Gorry!" ejaculated Jason some minutes later, when he was once more back +in his chair, "I should think you might know what ails me now--after all +that thumpin' an' poundin' an' listenin'!" + +"I do," said the doctor. + +"Well, 't ain't six of 'em; is it?" There was mingled hope and fear in +Jason's voice. If it were six--he could see Hitty's face! + +"Any physicians in your family?" asked the doctor, ignoring Jason's +question. + +Jason shook his head. + +"Hm-m," commented the doctor. "Ever been any?" + +"Why, not as I know of, sir," murmured Jason wonderingly. + +"No? Where did you get them, then,--those medical books?" + +Jason stared. + +"Why, how in thunder did you know--" he began. + +But the doctor interrupted him. + +"Never mind that. You have them, have n't you?" + +"Why, yes; I bought 'em at an auction. I bought 'em last--" + +"Spring--eh?" supplied the doctor. + +Jason's mouth fell open. + +"Never mind," laughed the doctor again, his hand upraised. "Now to +business!" And his face grew suddenly grave. "You're in a bad way, my +friend." + +"B-bad way?" stammered Jason. "It--it is n't six that ails me?" + +It was all fear this time in Jason's voice; some way the doctor's face +had carried conviction. + +"No; you are threatened with more than six." + +"Wha-at?" Jason almost sprang from his seat. "But, doctor, they +ain't--dangerous!" + +"But they are, very!" + +"All of them? Why, doctor, how--how many are thar?" + +The doctor shook his head. + +"I could not count them," he replied, not meeting Jason's eyes. + +"Oh-h!" gasped Jason, and shook in his shoes. There was a long silence. +"An' will I--die?" he almost whispered. + +"We all must--sometime," returned the doctor, slowly, as if weighing his +words; "but you will die long before your time--unless you do one thing." + +"I'll do it, doctor, I'll do it--if I have ter mortgage the farm," +chattered Jason frenziedly. "I'll do anythin'--anythin'; only tell me +what it is." + +"I will tell you," declared the doctor briskly, with a sudden change of +manner, whisking about in his chair. "Go home and burn those medical +books--every single one of them." + +"Burn them! Why, doctor, them's the very things that made me know I was +sick. I should n't 'a' come ter you at all if it had n't been fur them." + +"Exactly!" agreed the doctor, rubbing his hands together. "That's just +what I thought. You were well before, were n't you?" + +"Why, yes,--that is, I did n't know I was sick," corrected Jason. + +"Hm-m; well, you won't know it now if you'll go home and burn those +books. If you don't burn them you'll have every disease there is in +them, and some one of them will be the death of you. As it is now, +you're a well man, but I would n't trust one organ of your anatomy within +a rod of those books an hour longer!" + +He said more--much more; and that his words were not without effect was +shown no later than that same evening when Jason burst into the kitchen +at home. + +"Hitty, Hitty, thar ain't six, thar ain't one, thar ain't nothin' that +ails me," he cried jubilantly, still under the sway of the joy that had +been his when the great doctor had told him there was yet one chance for +his life. "Thar ain't a single thing!" + +"Well, now, ain't that nice?" murmured Hitty, as she drew up the chairs. +"Come, Jason, supper's ready." + +"An' Hitty, I'm goin' ter burn 'em up--them books of Hemenway's," +continued Jason confidentially. "They ain't very good readin', after +all, an' like enough they're kind of out of date, bein' so old. I guess +I'll go fetch 'em now," he added as he left the room. "Why, Hitty, +they're--gone!" he cried a minute later from the doorway. + +"Gone? Books?" repeated Mehitable innocently. "Oh, yes, I remember now. +I must 'a' burned 'em this mornin'. Ye see, they cluttered up so. Come, +Jason, set down." + +And Jason sat down. But all the evening he wondered. "Was it possible, +after all, that Hitty--knew?" + + + + +Crumbs + +The Story of a Discontented Woman + +The floor was untidy, the sink full of dirty dishes, and the stove a +variegated thing of gray and dull red. At the table, head bowed on +outstretched arms, was Kate Merton, twenty-one, discouraged, and sole +mistress of the kitchen in which she sat. The pleasant-faced, slender +little woman in the doorway paused irresolutely on the threshold, then +walked with a brisk step into the room. "Is the water hot?" she asked +cheerily. The girl at the table came instantly to her feet. + +"Aunt Ellen!" she cried, aghast. + +"Oh, yes, it's lovely," murmured the lady, peering into the copper +boiler on the stove. + +"But, auntie, you--I"--the girl paused helplessly. + +"Let's see, are these the wipers?" pursued Mrs. Howland, her hand on +one of the towels hanging behind the stove. + +Kate's face hardened. + +"Thank you, Aunt Ellen. You are very kind, but I can do quite well by +myself. You will please go into the living-room. I don't allow +company to do kitchen work." + +"Of course not!" acquiesced Mrs. Howland imperturbably. "But your +father's sister is n't company, you know. Let's see, you put your +clean dishes here?" + +"But, Aunt Ellen, you must n't," protested Kate. "At home you do +nothing--nothing all day." A curious expression came into Mrs. +Howland's face, but Kate Merton did not seem to notice. "You have +servants to do everything, even to dressing you. No, you can't wipe my +dishes." + +For a long minute there was silence in the kitchen. Mrs. Howland, +wiper in hand, stood looking out the window. Her lips parted, then +closed again. When she finally turned and spoke, the old smile had +come back to her face. + +"Then if that is the case, it will be all the more change for me to do +something," she said pleasantly. "I want to do them, Kate. It will be +a pleasure to me." + +"Pleasure!" + +Mrs. Rowland's clear laugh rang through the kitchen at the scorn +expressed in the one word. + +"And is it so bad as that?" she demanded merrily. + +"Worse!" snapped Kate. "I simply loathe dishes!" But a shamed smile +came to her lips, and she got the pans and water, making no further +objection. + +"I like pretty dishes," observed Mrs. Howland, after a time, breaking a +long silence. "There's a certain satisfaction in restoring them to +their shelves in all their dainty, polished beauty." + +"I should like them just as well if they always stayed there, and did +n't come down to get all crumbs and grease in the sink," returned the +other tartly. + +"Oh, of course," agreed Mrs. Howland, with a smile; "but, as long as +they don't, why, we might as well take what satisfaction there is in +putting them in shape again." + +"Don't see it--the satisfaction," retorted Kate, and her aunt dropped +the subject where it was. + +The dishes finished and the kitchen put to rights, the two women +started for the chambers and the bed-making. Kate's protests were +airily waved aside by the energetic little woman who promptly went to +pillow-beating and mattress-turning. + +"How fresh and sweet the air smells!" cried Mrs. Howland, sniffing at +the open window. + +"Lilacs," explained Kate concisely. + +"Hm-m--lovely!" + +"Think so? I don't care for the odor myself," rejoined Kate. + +The other shot a quick look from under lowered lids. Kate's face +expressed mere indifference. The girl evidently had not meant to be +rude. + +"You don't like them?" cried Mrs. Howland. "Oh, I do! My dear, you +don't half appreciate what it is to have such air to breathe. Only +think, if you were shut up in a brick house on a narrow street as I am!" + +"Think!" retorted Kate, with sudden heat. "I 'd like to do something +besides 'think'! I 'd like to try it!" + +"You mean you'd like to leave here?--to go to the city?" + +"I do, certainly. Aunt Ellen, I'm simply sick of chicken-feeding and +meal-getting. Why, if it was n't for keeping house for father I 'd +have been off to New York or Boston years ago!" + +"But your home--your friends!" + +"Commonplace--uninteresting!" declared Kate, disposing of both with a +wave of her two hands. "The one means endless sweeping and baking; the +other means sewing societies, and silly gossip over clothes, beaux, and +crops." + +Mrs. Howland laughed, though she sobered instantly. + +"But there must be something, some one that you enjoy," she suggested. + +Kate shook her head wearily. + +"Not a thing, not a person," she replied; adding with a whimsical +twinkle, "they're all like the dishes, Aunt Ellen,--bound to accumulate +crumbs and scraps, and do nothing but clutter up." + +"Oh, Kate, Kate," remonstrated Mrs. Howland, "what an incorrigible girl +you are!" As she spoke her lips smiled, but her eyes did not--there +was a wistful light in their blue depths that persistently stayed there +all through the day as she watched her niece. + +At ten, and again at half-past, some neighbors dropped in. After they +had gone Kate complained because the forenoon was so broken up. The +next few hours were free from callers, and at the supper table Kate +grumbled because the afternoon was so stupid and lonesome. When Mr. +Merton came in bringing no mail, Kate exclaimed that nobody ever +answered her letters, and that she might just as well not write; yet +when the next day brought three, she sighed over the time "wasted in +reading such long letters." + +The week sped swiftly and Sunday night came. Mrs. Howland's visit was +all but finished. She was going early the next morning. + +Sunday had not been an unalloyed joy. Mrs. Howland and her niece had +attended church, but to Kate the sermon was too long, and the singing +too loud. The girl mentioned both in a listless way, at the same time +saying that it was always like that except when the sermon was +interesting, then it was too short and the choir took up all the time +there was with their tiresome singing. + +Dinner had been long in preparation, and, in spite of Mrs. Rowland's +gladly given assistance, the dish-washing and the kitchen-tidying had +been longer still. All day Kate's step had been more than lagging, and +her face more than discontented. In the twilight, as the two women sat +together, Mrs. Rowland laid hold of her courage with both hands and +spoke. + +"Kate, dear, is n't there something, anything, worth while to you?" + +"Nothing, auntie. I feel simply buried alive." + +"But can't you think of anything--" + +"Think of anything!" interrupted the girl swiftly. "Of course I can! +If I had money--or lived somewhere else--or could go somewhere, or see +something once in a while, it would be different; but here--!" + +Mrs. Howland shook her head. + +"But it would n't be different, my dear," she demurred. + +"Why, of course it would!" laughed Kate bitterly. "It could n't help +it." + +Again Mrs. Howland shook her head. Then a whimsical smile crossed her +face. + +"Kate," she said, "there are crumbs on the plates out in the world just +the same as there are here; and if here you teach yourself to see +nothing but crumbs, you will see nothing but crumbs out there. In +short, dissatisfaction with everyday living is the same joy-killer +whether in town or city, farmhouse or palace. Oh, I 'm preaching, I +know, dear," went on Mrs. Howland hurriedly, as she saw the angry light +in the other's eyes, "but--I had to speak--you don't know how it's +growing on you. Come, let's kiss and make up; then think it over." + +Kate frowned, then laughed constrainedly. + +"Don't worry, aunt," she replied, rising, and just touching her aunt's +lips with her own. "I still think it would be different out there; +but--I suppose you 'll always remain unconvinced, for I shall never +have the chance to prove it. My plates won't belong anywhere but in +Hopkinsville cupboards! Come, will you play to me?" + +When Mrs. Rowland returned from England, one of the first letters she +received after reaching home was a cordial invitation from her dead +brother's daughter, Kate, to visit her. + +In the last five years Mrs. Howland had seen her niece but once. That +was during the sad, hurried days just following Mr. Merton's sudden +death four years before. Since then Mrs. Howland had been abroad and +there had been many changes at the little farmhouse in Hopkinsville. +The farm had been sold, and Kate had married and had gone to Boston to +live. Beyond the facts that Kate's husband was older than she, and was +a man of considerable means, Mrs. Howland knew little of her niece's +present circumstances. It was with curiosity, as well as pleasure, +that she accepted Kate's invitation, and took the train specified. + +At the South Station Mrs. Howland found a stylishly gowned, smiling +young woman with a cordial welcome. An imposing carriage with a +liveried coachman waited to take her to Kate's home. + +"Oh, what handsome horses!" cried Mrs. Howland appreciatively, as she +stepped into the carriage. + +"Yes, are n't they," agreed Kate. "If only they matched better, they'd +be perfect. I wish both had stars on their foreheads!" + +"Let me see, you are on Beacon Street, I believe," remarked Mrs. +Howland, as the carriage left the more congested quarter of the city. + +Kate frowned. "Yes," she answered. "I wanted Commonwealth Avenue, but +Mr. Blake preferred Beacon. All his people live on Beacon, and have +for years." + +"Oh, but Beacon is lovely, I think." + +"Do you? Well, perhaps; but Commonwealth is so much wider and more +roomy. I could breathe on Commonwealth Avenue, I think!" + +"And don't you, where you are?" laughed Mrs. Howland. + +Her niece made a playfully wry face. + +"Just pant--upon my word I do! Not one full breath do I draw," she +asserted. + +"Hm-m; I've always understood that deep breathing was necessary for +health," commented Mrs. Howland, with a critical, comprehensive glance; +"but--you seem to thrive all right! You are looking well, Kate." + +"I don't feel so. I have the most shocking headaches," the other +retorted. "Ah, here we are!" + +Mrs. Howland followed her hostess up a short flight of stone steps into +a handsome hall. A well-trained maid was at once in attendance, and +another, a little later, helped her unpack. + +"My dear," Mrs. Howland said to her niece when she came downstairs, +"what a lucky woman you are to have two such maids! They are +treasures!" + +Kate's hands flew to her head with a gesture of despair. + +"Maids!--Aunt Ellen, don't ever say the word to me, I beg! I never +keep one more than a month, and I'm shaking in my shoes this very +minute. There's a new cook in the kitchen, and I have n't the least +idea what your dinner will be." + +"I 'm not a bit worried," rejoined Mrs. Howland. "What a pretty home +you have, Kate," she added, tactfully changing the subject. + +"Think so? I'm glad you like it. I sometimes wish I could get hold of +the man who built this house, though, and give him a piece of my mind. +The rooms on this floor are so high studded they give me the shivers, +while all the chambers are so low they are absurd. Did n't you notice +it in your room?" + +"Why--no; I don't think I did." + +"Well, you will now." + +"Perhaps so, since you have told me to," returned Mrs. Howland, a +curious smile on her lips. + +The dinner was well planned, well cooked, and well served, in Mrs. +Howland's opinion, though to her niece it was none of the three. +Kate's husband, the Honorable Eben Blake, proved to be a genial, +distinguished-looking man who welcomed Mrs. Howland with the cordiality +that he displayed toward anybody or anything connected in the most +remote degree with his wife. It was evidently with sincere regrets +that he made his apologies after dinner, and left the house with a plea +of business. + +"It's always that way when I want him!" exclaimed Kate petulantly. +"Then night after night when I don't want him he'll stay at home and +read and smoke." + +"But you have friends--you go out," hazarded Mrs. Howland. + +Mrs. Blake raised her eyebrows. + +"Oh, of course! But, after all, what do calls and receptions amount +to? You always meet the same people who say the same things, whether +you go to see them or they come to see you." + +Mrs. Howland laughed; then she said, softly, + +"The old, old story, Kate,--the crumbs on the plates." + +"What?" demanded the younger woman in frank amazement. There was a +moment's pause during which she gazed blankly into her aunt's eyes. +"Oh!--that?" she added, coloring painfully; then she uptilted her chin. +"You are very much mistaken, auntie," she resumed with some dignity. +"It is nothing of the sort. I am very happy--very happy, +indeed!"--positively. "I have a good husband, a pretty home, more +money than is good for me, and--well, everything," she finished a +little breathlessly. + +Again Mrs. Howland laughed, but her face grew almost instantly grave. + +"And yet, my dear," she said gently, "scarcely one thing has been +mentioned since I came that was quite right." + +"Oh, Aunt Ellen, how can you say such a dreadful thing!" + +"Listen," replied Mrs. Howland; "it's little bits of things that you +don't think of. It has grown on you without your realizing it: the +horses did n't both have stars; the house was n't on Commonwealth +Avenue; the rooms are too high or too low studded; the roast was +over-done; your husband could n't"-- + +"Oh, auntie, auntie, I beg of you!"--interrupted Kate hysterically. + +"Are you convinced, then?" + +Kate shook her head. "I can't, auntie--I can't believe it!" she cried. +"It--it can't be like that always. There must have been special things +to-day that plagued me. Auntie, I'm not such a--monster!" + +"Hm-m; well--will you consent to an experiment to--er--find out?" + +"Indeed I will!" returned Kate promptly. + +"Very good! Every time I hear those little dissatisfied +fault-findings, I am going to mention crumbs or plates or china. I +think you'll understand. Is it a bargain?" + +"It's a bargain," agreed Kate, and she smiled confidently. + +The rest of the evening Mrs. Blake kept close guard over her tongue. +Twice a "but" and once an "only" slipped out; but she bit her lips and +completed her sentence in another way in each case, and if Mrs. Howland +noticed, she made no sign. + +It rained the next morning. Kate came into the dining-room with a +frown. + +"I'm so sorry, auntie," she sighed. "I'd planned a drive this morning. +It always rains when I want to do something, but when I don't, it just +shines and shines, week in and week out." + +"Won't the rain wash the--plates?" asked Mrs. Howland in a low voice, +as she passed her niece's chair. + +"Wha-at?" demanded Mrs. Blake; then she flushed scarlet. "Weather +doesn't count," she finished flippantly. + +"No? Oh!" smiled Mrs. Howland. + +"Fine muffins, these!" spoke up Mr. Blake, a little later. "New +cook--eh?" + +"Yes," replied his wife. "But they're graham. I 'd much rather have +had corn-cake." + +"There are not so many--crumbs to graham," observed Mrs. Howland +musingly. + +There was no reply. The man of the house looked slightly dazed. His +wife bit her lip, and choked a little over her coffee. Through the +rest of the meal Mrs. Blake confined herself almost exclusively to +monosyllables, leaving the conversation to her husband and guest. + +At ten the sky cleared, and Mrs. Blake ordered the horses. + +"We can't drive far," she began discontentedly, "for I ordered an early +luncheon as we have tickets for a concert this afternoon. I wanted to +go away out beyond the Newtons, but now we'll have to take a little +snippy one." + +"Oh, I don't mind," rejoined her guest pleasantly. "Where one can't +have the whole cake one must be satisfied with--crumbs." + +"Why, I don't see"--began Kate aggressively; then she stopped, and +nervously tapped her foot. + +"Oh, how pretty that vine is!" cried Mrs. Howland suddenly. The +silence was growing oppressive. + +"It looks very well now, but you should see it in winter," retorted +Kate. "Great, bare, snake-like things all over the--now, don't cudgel +your brains to bring 'plates' or 'crumbs' into that!" she broke off +with sudden sharpness. + +"No, ma'am," answered Mrs. Howland demurely. + +By night the guest, if not the hostess, was in a state of nervous +tension that boded ill for sleep. The day had been one long succession +of "crumbs" and "china plates"--conversationally. According to Kate, +the roads had been muddy; the sun had been too bright; there had been +chops when there should have been croquettes for luncheon; the concert +seats were too far forward; the soprano had a thin voice, and the bass +a faulty enunciation; at dinner the soup was insipid, and the dessert a +disappointment; afterwards, in the evening, callers had stayed too long. + +Mrs. Howland was in her own room, on the point of preparing for bed, +when there came a knock at her chamber door, + +"Please, Aunt Ellen, may I come in?" + +"Certainly, my dear," called Mrs. Howland, hastening across the room. + +Kate stepped inside, closed the door, and placed her back against it. + +"I'll give it up," she began, half laughing, half crying. "I never, +never would have believed it! Don't ever say 'crumbs' or 'plates' to +me again as long as you live--_please_! I believe I never can even +_see_ the things again with any peace or comfort. I am going to +try--try--Oh, how I'm going to try!--but, auntie, I think it's a +hopeless case!" The next instant she had whisked the door open and had +vanished out of sight. + +"'Hopeless'?" Mrs. Howland was whispering to herself the next day, as +she passed through the hall. "'Hopeless'? Oh, no, I think not." And +she smiled as she heard her niece's voice in the drawing-room saying: + +"High studded, Eben?--these rooms? Yes, perhaps; but, after all, it +doesn't matter so much, being a drawing-room--and one does get better +air, you know!" + + + + +A Four-Footed Faith and a Two + +On Monday Rathburn took the dog far up the trail. Stub was no +blue-ribbon, petted dog of records and pedigree; he was a +vicious-looking little yellow cur of mixed ancestry and bad +habits--that is, he had been all this when Rathburn found him six +months before and championed his cause in a quarrel with a crowd of +roughs in Mike Swaney's saloon. Since then he had developed into a +well-behaved little beast with a pair of wistful eyes that looked +unutterable love, and a tail that beat the ground, the floor, or the +air in joyous welcome whenever Rathburn came in sight. He was part +collie, sharp-nosed and prick-eared, and his undersized little body +still bore the marks of the precarious existence that had been his +before Rathburn had befriended him. + +Rathburn had rescued the dog that day in the saloon more to thwart the +designs of Pete Mulligan, the head of the gang and an old enemy, than +for any compassion for the dog itself; but after he had taken the +little animal home he rather enjoyed the slavish devotion which--in the +dog's mind--seemed evidently to be the only fit return for so great a +service as had been done him. For some months, therefore, Rathburn +petted the dog, fed him, taught him to "speak" and to "beg," and made +of him an almost constant companion. At the end of that time, the +novelty having worn thin, he was ready--as he expressed it to +himself--to "call the whole thing off," and great was his disgust that +the dog failed to see the affair in the same light. + +For some time, Rathburn endured the plaintive whines, the questioning +eyes, the frequent thrusts of a cold little nose against his hand; then +he determined to end it all. + +"Stub, come here!" he called sharply, his right hand seeking his pocket. + +With a yelp of joy the dog leaped forward--not for days had his master +voluntarily noticed him. + +Rathburn raised his pistol and took careful aim. His eye was steady +and his hand did not shake. Two feet away the dog had come to a sudden +halt. Something in the eye or in the leveled weapon had stayed his +feet. He whined, then barked, his eyes all the while wistfully +demanding an explanation. Suddenly, his gaze still fixed on his +master's face, he rose upright on his haunches and held before him two +little dangling paws. + +There was a silence, followed by a muttered oath, as the pistol dropped +to the ground. + +"Confound my babyishness!" snarled Rathburn, stooping and pocketing his +weapon. "One would think I'd never seen a gun before!" + +This was on Sunday. On Monday Rathburn took the dog far up the trail. + +"Want a dog?" he said to the low-browed, unkempt man sitting at the +door of a squat cabin. + +"Well, I don't. I ain't buyin' dogs these days." + +"Yer don't have ter buy this one," observed Rathburn meaningly. + +The other glanced up with sharp eyes. + +"Humph! Bite?" he snapped. + +Rathburn shook his head. + +"Sick of him," he returned laconically. "Like his room better'n his +company." + +"Humph!" grunted the other. Then to the dog: "Come here, sir, an' +let's have a look at ye!" + +Five minutes later Rathburn strode down the trail alone, while behind +him, on the other side of the fast-shut cabin door, barked and +scratched a frantic little yellow dog. + +Tuesday night, when Rathburn came home, the first sound that greeted +him was a joyous bark, as a quivering, eager little creature leaped +upon him from out of the dark. + +On Wednesday Stub trotted into town at Rathburn's heels, and all the +way down the straggling street he looked neither to the right nor to +the left, so fearful did he seem that the two great boots he was +following should in some way slip from his sight. And yet, vigilant as +he was, the door of Swaney's saloon got somehow between and left him on +one side barking and whining and running like mad about the room, while +on the other his master stood jingling the two pieces of silver in his +pocket--the price Mike Swaney had paid for his new dog. + +Halfway up the mountain-side Rathburn was still chuckling, still +jingling his coins. + +"When a man pays money," he was saying aloud, as he squared his +shoulders and looked across the valley at the setting sun, "when a man +pays money he watches out. I reckon Stub has gone fer good, sure +thing, this time!" And yet--long before dawn there came a whine and a +gentle scratch at his cabin door; and although four times the dog was +returned to his new owner, four times he escaped and nosed the long +trail that led to the cabin on the mountain-side. + +After Stub's fourth desertion the saloon-keeper refused to take him +again, and for a week the dog lay unmolested in his old place in the +sun outside the cabin door, or dozed before the fireplace at night. +Then Rathburn bestirred himself and made one last effort, taking the +dog quite over the mountain and leaving him tied to a tree. + +At the end of thirty-six hours, Rathburn was congratulating himself; at +the end of thirty-seven he was crying, "Down, sir--down!" to a +joy-crazed little dog which had come leaping down the mountain-side +with eighteen inches of rope dangling at his heels--a rope whose frayed +and tattered end showed the marks of sharp little teeth. + +Rathburn gave it up after that, and Stub stayed on. There was no +petting, no trick-teaching; there were only sharp words and sometimes a +kick or a cuff. Gradually the whines and barks gave way to the more +silent appeal of wistful eyes, and Stub learned that life now was a +thing of little food and less joy, and that existence was a thing of +long motionless watchings of a master who would not understand. + +Weeks passed and a cold wind swept down from the mountains. The line +of snow crept nearer and nearer the clearing about the cabin, and the +sun grew less warm. Rathburn came home each night with a deeper frown +on his face, and a fiercer oath as he caught sight of the dog. Down at +Swaney's the men knew that Bill Rathburn was having a "streak o' poor +luck"; the golden treasure he sought was proving elusive. Stub knew +only that he must hide each night now when his master appeared. + +As the days passed food became scarce in the cabin. It had been some +time since Rathburn had gone to town for supplies. Then came the day +when a great joy came into Stub's life--his master spoke to him. It +was not the old fond greeting, to be sure. It was a command, and a +sharp one; but in Stub's opinion it was a vast improvement on the +snarling oaths or wordless glowerings which had been his portion for +the past weeks, and he responded to it with every sense and muscle +quiveringly alert. + +And so it came about that Stub, in obedience to that sharp command, +frequently scampered off with his master to spend long days in the +foothills, or following the mountain streams. Sometimes it was a +partridge, sometimes it was a squirrel, or a rabbit--whatever it was +that fell a victim to Rathburn's gun, Stub learned very soon that it +must be brought at once to the master and laid at his feet; and so +proud was he to be thus of use and consequence that he was well content +if at the end of the day his master tossed him a discarded bone after +the spoils had been cooked and the man's own appetite satisfied. + +It was on one of the days when work, not hunting, filled the time, that +Rathburn came home after a long day's labor to find Stub waiting for +him with a dead rabbit. After that it came to be a common thing for +the dog to trot off by himself in the morning; and the man fell more +and more in the way of letting him go alone, as it left his own time +the more free for the pursuit of that golden sprite who was ever +promising success just ahead. + +As for Stub--Stub was happy. He spent the long days in the foothills +or on the mountain-side, and soon became expert in his hunting. He +would trail for hours without giving tongue, and would patiently lie +and wait for a glimpse of a venturesome woodchuck or squirrel. So +devoted was he, so well trained, and so keenly alive was he to his +responsibilities that, whether the day had been one of great or small +success, he was always to be found at night crouching before the cabin +door on guard of something limp and motionless--something that a dozen +hours before had been a throbbing, scurrying bit of life in the forest. +To be sure, that "something" did not always have a food value +commensurate with the labor and time Stub had spent to procure it; but +to Stub evidently the unforgivable sin was to return with nothing, +which fact may explain why Rathburn came home one night to find Stub on +guard beside a small dead snake. Both man and dog went supperless that +night--the man inside the cabin before a roaring fire; the dog outside +in the cheerless dark before a fast-closed door whither his master had +promptly consigned him. + +Gradually as the days passed there came still another change in the +life at the cabin. Rathburn's step became slow, and his cheeks sunken. +Sometimes he did not leave home all day, but lay tossing from side to +side on his bunk in the corner. At such times, if the result of Stub's +hunt were eatable, the man would rouse himself enough to stir the fire +and get supper; and always, after such a day at home, Rathburn was +astir the next morning at dawn and off in feverish haste for a long +day's work to make up for the long day of idleness. + +But there came a time when he could not do this--when each day found +him stretched prone on his bunk or moving feebly about the room. Then +came a night when Stub's bark at the door was unanswered. Again and +again Stub demanded admittance only to be met with silence. The door, +though unlatched, was swollen from recent rains, and it took five good +minutes and all the strength of one small dog to push it open a narrow +foot, and then there were only silence and a dying fire by way of +greeting. + +Stub dropped his burden on the floor and whined. He was particularly +proud to-night; he had brought home a partridge--the first he had ever +caught without the aid of his master's gun. + +The figure on the bed did not move. + +The dog picked up the bird he had dropped and walked toward his master. +This time he laid his offering close to the bunk and barked. + +The man stirred and groaned. For long minutes the dog stood +motionless, watching; then he crept to the fire and almost into the hot +ashes in his efforts to warm the blood in his shivering little legs. + +In the morning the fire was quite out. Stub stretched his stiffened +body and gazed about the room. Over on the bed the man did not stir +nor speak. The dead bird lay untouched at his side. There was a +whine, a bark, and a long minute of apparent indecision; then the dog +pattered across the floor, wormed himself through the partly open door, +and took the trail that led to the foothills. + +Three times Stub brought to the fireless, silent cabin the result of +his day's hunt and laid it at his master's side, and always there was +only silence or a low groan to greet him. + +On the third night it snowed--the first storm of the season. A keen +wind swept down the mountain and played hide-and-seek with the cabin +door, so that in the morning a long bar of high-piled snow lay across +the cabin floor. + +When the men from the village had ploughed their way through the snow +and pushed open the door, they stopped amazed upon the threshold, +looking at one another with mingled alarm and pity; then one of them, +conquering his reluctance, strode forward. He stooped for a moment +over the prostrate form of the man before he turned and faced his +companions. + +"Boys, he's--gone," he said huskily; and in the silence that followed, +four men bared their heads. + +It was a dog's low whine that first stirred into action the man by the +bunk. He looked down and his eyes grew luminous. He saw the fireless +hearth, the drifted snow, and the half-dead dog keeping watchful guard +over a pile of inert fur and feathers on the floor--a pile frozen stiff +and mutely witnessing to a daily duty well performed. + +"I reckon I'm needin' a dog," he said, as he stooped and patted Stub's +head. + + + + +A Matter of System + +At the office of Hawkins & Hawkins, system was everything. Even the +trotter-boy was reduced to an orbit that ignored craps and marbles, and +the stenographer went about her work like a well-oiled bit of +machinery. It is not strange, then, that Jasper Hawkins, senior member +of the firm, was particularly incensed at the confusion that Christmas +always brought to his home. + +For years he bore--with such patience as he could muster--the attack of +nervous prostration that regularly, on the 26th day of December, laid +his wife upon a bed of invalidism; then, in the face of the +unmistakable evidence that the malady would this year precede the holy +day of peace and good-will, he burst his bonds of self-control and +spoke his mind. + +It was upon the morning of the 21st. + +"Edith," he began, in what his young daughter called his "now mind" +voice, "this thing has got to stop." + +"What thing?" + +"Christmas." + +"_Jas_-per!"--it was as if she thought he had the power to sweep +good-will itself from the earth. "Christmas--_stop_!" + +"Yes. My dear, how did you spend yesterday?" + +"I was--shopping." + +"Exactly. And the day before?--and the day before that?--and before +that? You need n't answer, for I know. And you were shopping for--" +he paused expectantly. + +"Presents." Something quite outside of herself had forced the answer. + +"Exactly. Now, Edith, surely it need not take all your time for a +month before Christmas to buy a few paltry presents, and all of it for +two months afterward to get over buying them!" + +"But, Jasper, they are n't few, and they're anything but paltry. +Imagine giving Uncle Harold a _paltry_ present!" retorted Edith, with +some spirit. + +The man waved an impatient hand. + +"Very well, we will call them magnificent, then," he conceded. "But +even in that case, surely the countless stores full of beautiful and +useful articles, and with a list properly tabulated, and a sufficiency +of money--" An expressive gesture finished his sentence. + +The woman shook her head. + +"I know; it sounds easy," she sighed, "but it is n't. It's so hard to +think up what to give, and after I 've thought it up and bought it, I +'m just sure I ought to have got the other thing." + +"But you should have some system about it." + +"Oh, I had--a list," she replied dispiritedly. "But I'm so--tired." + +Jasper Hawkins suddenly squared his shoulders. + +"How many names have you left now to buy presents for?" he demanded +briskly. + +"Three--Aunt Harriet, and Jimmy, and Uncle Harold. They always get +left till the last. They're so--impossible." + +"Impossible? Nonsense!--and I'll prove it to you, too. Give yourself +no further concern, Edith, about Christmas, if _that_ is all there is +left to do--just consider it done." + +"Do you mean--you'll get the presents for them?" + +"Most certainly." + +"But, Jasper, you know--" + +An imperative gesture silenced her. + +"My dear, I'm doing this to relieve you, and that means that you are +not even to think of it again." + +"Very well; er--thank you," sighed the woman; but her eyes were +troubled. + +Not so Jasper's; his eyes quite sparkled with anticipation as he left +the house some minutes later. + +On the way downtown he made his plans and arranged his list. He wished +it were longer--that list. Three names were hardly sufficient to +demonstrate his theories and display his ability. As for Aunt Harriet, +Jimmy, and Uncle Harold being "impossible"--that was all nonsense, as +he had said; and before his eyes rose a vision of the three: Aunt +Harriet, a middle-aged spinster, poor, half-sick, and chronically +discontented with the world; Jimmy, a white-faced lad who was always +reading a book; and Uncle Harold, red-faced, red-headed, +and--red-tempered. (Jasper smiled all to himself at this last +thought.) "Red-tempered"--that was good. He would tell Edith--but he +would not tell others. Witticisms at the expense of a rich old +bachelor uncle whose heir was a matter of his own choosing were best +kept pretty much to one's self. Edith was right, however, in one +thing, Jasper decided: Uncle Harold surely could not be given a +"paltry" present. He must be given something fine, expensive, and +desirable--something that one would like one's self. And immediately +there popped into Jasper's mind the thought of a certain exquisitely +carved meerschaum which he had seen in a window and which he had +greatly coveted. As for Aunt Harriet and Jimmy--their case was too +simple for even a second thought: to one he would give a pair of +bed-slippers; to the other, a book. + +Some minutes later Jasper Hawkins tucked into his pocketbook an oblong +bit of paper on which had been neatly written:-- + +Presents to be bought for Christmas, 1908: + +Aunt Harriet, spinster, 58(?) years old--Bed-slippers. + +Uncle Harold, bachelor, 65 years old--Pipe. + +Jimmy, boy, 12 years old--Book. + +In the office of Hawkins & Hawkins that morning, the senior member of +the firm found a man waiting for him. This man was the emissary of his +mighty chief, and upon this chief rested the whole structure of a +"deal" which was just then looming large on the horizon of Hawkins & +Hawkins--and in which the oblong bit of paper in Jasper's pocketbook +had no part. + +Mrs. Jasper Hawkins greeted her husband with palpitating interest that +evening. + +"Well--what did you get?" she asked. + +The man of business lifted his chin triumphantly. + +"Not everything we asked for, to be sure," he began, "but we got more +than we expected to, and--" He stopped abruptly. The expression on +his wife's face had suddenly reminded him that by no possible chance +could she know what he was talking about. "Er--what do you mean?" he +demanded. + +"Why, Jasper, there's only one thing I could mean--the presents, you +know!" + +A curious something clutched at Jasper's breath and held it for a +moment suspended. Then Jasper throttled the something, and raised his +chin even higher. + +"Time enough for that to-morrow," he retorted lightly. "I did n't +promise to get them to-day, you know." + +"But, Jasper, to-morrow 's the 22d!" + +"And three whole days before Christmas." + +"Yes, but they must be sent the 24th." + +"And they'll _be_ sent, my dear," declared Jasper, in a tone of voice +that was a cold dismissal of the subject. + +On the morning of the 22d, Jasper Hawkins told himself that he would +not forget the presents this time. He decided, however, that there was +no need for him to take the whole day to select a pipe, a book, and a +pair of slippers. There would be quite time enough after luncheon. +And he smiled to himself in a superior way as he thought of the +dizzying rush and the early start that always marked his wife's +shopping excursions. He was still smiling happily when he sallied +forth at two o'clock that afternoon, leaving word at the office that he +would return in an hour. + +He decided to buy the meerschaum first, and with unhesitating steps he +sought the tobacco-store in whose window he had seen it. The pipe was +gone, however, and there really was no other in the place that just +suited him, though he spent fully half an hour trying to find one. He +decided then to look elsewhere. He would try the department store in +which he intended to buy the book and the slippers. It was better, +anyway, that he should do all his shopping under one roof--it was more +systematic. + +The great clock in the department-store tower had just struck three +when Jasper stalked through the swinging doors on the street floor. He +had been detained. Window displays had allured him, and dawdling +throngs of Christmas shoppers had forced his feet into a snail's pace. +He drew now a sigh of relief. He had reached his destination; he would +make short work of his purchases. And with a dignified stride he +turned toward the nearest counter. + +At once, however, he found himself caught in a swirl of humanity that +swept him along like a useless chip and flung him against a counter +much farther down the aisle. With what dignity he could summon to his +aid he righted himself and addressed the smiling girl behind it. + +"I'm looking for pipes," he announced, severely. "Perhaps you can tell +me where they are." + +She shook her head. + +"Ask him," she suggested, with a nod and a jerk of her thumb. + +And Jasper, looking in the direction indicated, saw a frock-coated man +standing like a rock where the streams of humanity broke and surged to +the right and to the left. By some maneuvering, Jasper managed in time +to confront this man. + +"Pipes," he panted anxiously--he was reduced now to the single word. + +"Annex; second floor. Elevator to your right." + +"Thanks!" fervently breathed the senior member of the firm of Hawkins & +Hawkins, muttering as he turned away, "Then they have got some system +in this infernal bedlam!" + +The crisp directions had sounded simple, but they proved to be anything +but simple to follow. Like a shuttlecock, Jasper was tossed from clerk +to clerk, until by the time he reached his destination he was confused, +breathless, and cross. + +The pipes, however, were numerous and beautiful, and the girl behind +the counter was both pretty and attentive; moreover, pipes did not +happen to be popular that day, and the corner was a little paradise of +quietness and rest. The man drew a long breath of relief and bent to +his task. + +In his mind was the one thought uppermost--he must select just such a +pipe as he himself would like; and for long minutes he pondered whether +this, that, or another would best please him. So absorbed was he, +indeed, in this phase of the question, that he had made his selection +and taken out his money, when the sickening truth came to him--Uncle +Harold did not smoke. + +To Jasper it seemed incredible that he had not thought of this before. +But not until he pictured his purchase in his uncle's hand had he +realized that the thing was not for himself, after all, but for a man +who not only did not smoke, but who abhorred the habit in others. + +With a muttered something that the righteously indignant pretty girl +could not hear, Jasper Hawkins thrust his money into his pocket and +rushed blindly away from the pipe counter. Long minutes later in the +street, he adjusted his tie, jerked his coat into place, straightened +his hat, and looked at his watch. + +It was four o'clock, and he must go back to the office before starting +for home. There was still another whole day before him, he remembered, +and, after all, it was a very simple matter to buy the book and the +slippers, and then look around a little for something for Uncle Harold. +In the morning he would doubtless light upon the very thing. And with +this comforting thought he dismissed the subject and went back to the +office. + +Mrs. Hawkins did not question her husband that night about what he had +bought. Something in his face stayed the words on her lips. + +Jasper Hawkins went early to the office the next morning, but it was +fully eleven o'clock before he could begin his shopping. He told +himself, however, that there was quite time enough for the little he +had to do, and he stepped off very briskly in the direction of the +department store he had left the night before. He had decided that he +preferred this one to the intricacies of a new one; besides, he was +very sure that there would not now be so many people in it. + +Just here, however, Jasper met with a disappointment. Not only was +every one there who had been there the day before, but most of them had +brought friends, and in dismay Jasper clung to the post near the door +while he tried to rally his courage for the plunge. In the distance +the frock-coated man was still the rock where the stream foamed and +broke; and after a long wait and a longer struggle Jasper stood once +more before him. + +"I want slippers--bed-slippers for women," he muttered. + +"Fourth floor, front. Elevator to your left," declaimed the man. And +Jasper quite glowed with awe at the thought of a brain so stupendous +that it could ticket and tell each shelf and counter in that vast +domain of confusion. + +Jasper himself had been swept to the right on the crest of a +particularly aggressive wave formed by the determined shoulders of a +huge fat woman who wished to go in that direction; so it was some time +before he could stem the current and make an effort to reach the +elevator on the other side of the store. It was then that he suddenly +decided to grasp this opportunity for "looking about a little to find +something for Uncle Harold"--and it was then that he was lost, for no +longer had he compass, captain, or a port in view; but oarless and +rudderless he drifted. + +Then, indeed, did the department store, in all its allurements of +glitter and show and competing attractions, burst on Jasper's eyes, +benumbing his senses and overthrowing his judgment. For long minutes +he hung entranced above a tray of jeweled side combs, and for other +long minutes he critically weighed the charms of a spangled fan against +those of one that was merely painted--before he suddenly awoke to the +realization that he was looking for something for Uncle Harold, and +that Uncle Harold did not wear side combs, nor disport himself with +gauze fans. + +"Where do you keep things for men?" he demanded then, aggrievedly, of +the demure-faced girl behind the counter; and it was while he was on +the ensuing frantic search for "things for men" that he stumbled upon +the book department. + +"To be sure--a book for Jimmy," he muttered, and confidently approached +a girl who already was trying to wait on three customers at once. + +"I want a book for a boy," he observed; and was surprised that no one +answered. + +"I want a book for a boy," he urged, in a louder tone. + +Still no one answered. + +"I want a book--for--a--boy," he reiterated distinctly; and this time +the girl flicked her ear as at the singing of an annoying insect. + +"Juveniles three aisles over to your left," she snapped glibly; and +after a puzzled pondering on her words, Jasper concluded that they were +meant for him. + +In the juvenile department, Jasper wondered why every one in the store +had chosen that particular minute to come there and buy a book for a +child. Everywhere were haste and confusion. Nowhere was there any one +who paid the least attention to himself. At his right a pretty girl +chatted fluently of this, that, and another "series"; and at his left a +severe-faced woman with glasses discoursed on the great responsibility +of selecting reading for the young, and uttered fearsome prophecies of +the dire evil that was sure to result from indiscriminate buying. + +Her words were not meant for Jasper's ears, but they reached them, +nevertheless. The man shuddered and grew pale. With soft steps he +slunk out of the book department. . . . To think that he--_he_, who +knew nothing whatever about books for boys--had nearly bought one of +the risky things for Jimmy! And to Jasper's perverted imagination it +almost seemed that Jimmy, white-faced and sad-eyed, had already gone +wrong--and through him. + +Jasper looked at his watch then, and decided it was time for luncheon. +After that he could look around for something else for Jimmy. + +It was six o'clock when Jasper, flushed, tired, and anxious, looked at +his watch again, and took account of stock. + +He had a string of beads and a pair of skates. + +The skates, of course, were for Jimmy. He was pleased with those. It +was a girl who had helped him in that decision--a very obliging girl +who had found him in the toy department confusedly eyeing an array of +flaxen-haired dolls, and who had gently asked him the age of the boy +for whom he desired a present. He thought of that girl now with +gratitude. + +The string of beads did not so well please him. He was a little +doubtful, anyway, how he happened to buy them. He had a dim +recollection that they looked wonderfully pretty with the light +bringing out sparkles of green and gold, and that the girl who tended +them did not happen to have anything to do but to wait on him. So he +had bought them. They were handsome beads, and not at all cheap. They +would do for some one, he assured himself. And not until he had +dropped them in his pocket did it occur to him that he was buying +presents for only a boy, a bachelor, and a middle-aged spinster. +Manifestly a string of beads would not do for Jimmy or Uncle Harold, so +they must do for Aunt Harriet. He had meant to buy bed-slippers for +her, but, perhaps, after all, she would prefer beads. At all events, +he had bought them, and they would have to go. And with that he +dismissed the beads. + +As yet he had nothing for Uncle Harold. There seemed to be nothing, +really, that he could make up his mind to give. The more he searched, +the more undecided he grew. The affair of the pipe had frightened him, +and had sown distrust in his heart. He would have to buy something +this evening, of course, for it must be sent to-morrow. He would +telephone Edith that he could not be home for dinner--that business +detained him; then he would eat a hasty luncheon and buy Uncle Harold's +present. And with this decision Jasper wearily turned his steps toward +a telephone booth. + +Jasper Hawkins went home at ten o'clock. He still had nothing for +Uncle Harold. The stores had closed before he could find anything. +But there was yet until noon the next day. + +Mrs. Hawkins did not question her husband. In the morning she only +reminded him timidly. + +"You know those things must get off by twelve o'clock, Jasper." + +"Oh, yes, they'll go all right," her husband had replied, in a +particularly cheery voice. Jasper was not cheery, however, within. He +was nervous and anxious. A terrible fear had clutched his heart: what +if he could not--but then, he must find something, he enjoined himself. +And with that he started downtown at once. + +He did not go to the office this time, but sought the stores +immediately. He found conditions now even worse than before. Every +one seemed to have an Uncle Harold for whom was frenziedly being sought +the unattainable. If at nine o'clock Jasper had been nervous, at ten +he was terrified, and at eleven he was nearly frantic. All power of +decision seemed to have left him, and he stumbled vaguely on and on, +scarcely knowing what he was doing. It was then that his eye fell on a +huge sign: + +"Just the thing for Christmas! When in doubt, buy me!" + +There was a crowd before the sign, but Jasper knew now how to use his +elbows. Once at his goal he stared in amazement. Then the tension +snapped, and he laughed outright--before him were half a dozen cages of +waltzing mice. + +For a long time the curious whirls and antics of the odd little +creatures in their black-and-white coats held Jasper's gaze in a +fascinated stare. Then the man, obeying an impulse that he scarcely +understood himself, made his purchase, gave explicit directions where +and when it was to be sent, and left the store. Then, and not until +then, did Jasper Hawkins fully realize that to his Uncle Harold--the +rich old man who must be petted and pampered, and never by any chance +offended--he had sent as a Christmas present a cage of dancing mice! + +That night Mrs. Hawkins fearlessly asked her questions, and as +fearlessly her husband answered them. He had determined to assume a +bold front. However grave might be his own doubts and fears, he had +resolved that she should not know of them. + +"Presents? Of course! They went to-day with our love," he answered +gayly. + +"And what--did you send?" + +"The simplest things in the world; a string of handsome beads to Aunt +Harriet, a pair of skates to Jimmy, and a cage of the funniest little +waltzing mice you ever saw, to Uncle Harold. You see it all resolves +itself down to a mere matter of system," he went on; but at the real +agony in his wife's face he stopped in dismay. "Why, Edith!" + +"Jasper, you didn't--you _did n't_ send _skates_ to Jimmy!" + +"But I did. Why not?" + +"But, Jasper, he's--lame!" + +Jasper fell back limply. All the bravado fled from his face. + +"Edith, how could I--how could I--_forget_--a thing like that!" he +groaned. + +"And beads for Aunt Harriet! Why, Jasper, I never saw a bead on her +neck! You know how poor she is, and how plain she dresses. I always +give her useful, practical things!" + +Jasper said nothing. He was still with Jimmy and the skates. He +wished he had bought a book--a wicked book, if need be; anything would +be better than those skates. + +"And mice--_mice_ for Uncle Harold!" wept Edith. "Why, Jasper, how +could you?--dirty little beasts that Uncle Harold can only feed to his +cat! And I had hoped so much from Uncle Harold. Oh, Jasper, Jasper, +how could you!" + +"I don't know," said Jasper dully, as he got up to leave the room. + +To Jasper it was not a happy Christmas. There were those three letters +of thanks to come; and he did not want to read them. + +As it chanced they all came the same day, the 28th. They were +addressed to Mrs. Hawkins, and naturally she read them first. When +Jasper came home that night they lay waiting for him on his desk. He +saw them, but he decided not to read them until after dinner. He felt +that he needed all the fortification he could obtain. He hoped that +his wife would not mention them, and yet he was conscious of a vague +disappointment when, as time passed, she did not mention them. + +Dinner over, further delay was impossible; and very slowly he picked up +the letters. He singled out Aunt Harriet's first. Dimly he felt that +this might be a sort of preparation for the wrath to follow. + + +_Dear Niece and Nephew_ [he read--and he sat suddenly erect]. How ever +in the world did you guess that it was beads that I wanted more than +anything else in the world? And these are such handsome ones! Ever +since beads and chains have been worn so much I have longed for one all +my own; but I have tried to crush the feeling and hide it, for I feared +it might be silly--and me so old and faded, and out-of-date! But I +know now that it is n't, and that I need n't be ashamed of it any more, +for, of course, you and Jasper would never give me anything silly! And +thank you ever and ever so much! + + +With a slightly dazed expression Jasper Hawkins laid down Aunt +Harriet's letter when he had finished it, and picked up the one from +Uncle Harold. As he did so he glanced at his wife; but she was sewing +and did not appear to be noticing him. + + +Well, well, children, you have done it this time! [read Jasper, with +fearful eyes]. The little beasts came on Christmas morning, and never +have I [Jasper turned the page and relaxed suddenly] stopped laughing +since, I believe! How in the world did you happen to think of a +present so original, so cute, and so everlastingly entertaining? The +whole house, and I might say the whole town, is in a fever over them, +and there is already a constant stream of children past my window--you +see, I 've got the little devils where they can best be seen and +appreciated! + + +There was more, much more, and all in the same strain; and again, as +Jasper laid the letter down he glanced at his wife, only to find a +demure, downcast gaze. + +But one letter now remained, and in spite of what had gone before, +Jasper picked up this with dread. Surely, nothing--nothing could +reconcile Jimmy and those awful skates! He winced as he opened the +letter and saw that Jimmy's mother had written--poor Jimmy's mother! +how her heart must have ached!--and then he stared in unbelieving +wonder at the words, and read them over and over, lest he had in some +way misconstrued their meaning. + + +My dear sister and brother [Jimmy's mother had written], I wish you +could have seen Jimmy when your beautiful skates arrived. He will +write you himself and thank you, but I know he can't half make you +understand just what that present means to him, so I am going to write +you myself and tell you what he said; then maybe you can realize a +little what a great joy you have brought into his life. + +And let me say right here that I myself have been blind all these +years. I have n't understood. And what I want to know is, how did you +find it out--what Jimmy wanted? How did you know? When I, his own +mother, never guessed! Why, even when the skates came on Christmas +Day, I was frightened and angry, because you had been so "thoughtless" +as to send my poor lame boy _skates_! And then--I could hardly believe +my own eyes and ears, for Jimmy, his face one flame of joy, was waving +a skate in each hand. "Mother, mother!" he was shouting. "See, I've +got a _boy_ present, a real boy present--just as if I was--like other +boys. I've always had books and puzzles and girl presents! +Everybody's thought of _them_ when they thought of _me_!" he cried, +thumping the crutches at his side. "But this is a _real_ present-- +Now I've got something to show, and to lend--something that _is_ +something!" And on and on he chattered, with me staring at him as if I +thought he was out of his head. + +But he was n't out of his head. He was happy--happier than I've ever +seen him since he was hurt. And it still lasts. He shows those skates +to every one, and talks and talks about them, and has already made +plans to let his dearest friends try them. Best of all, they have +given him a new interest in life, and he is actually better. The +doctor says at this rate he'll be using the skates himself some day! + +And now, how can I thank you--_you_ who have done this thing, who have +been so wise beyond his mother? I can only thank and thank you, and +send you my dearest love. + +Your affectionate sister, + +BERTHA + + +The senior member of the firm of Hawkins & Hawkins folded the letter +very hurriedly and tucked it into its envelope. There was a mist in +his eyes, and a lump in his throat--two most uncalled-for, unwelcome +phenomena. With a determined effort he cleared his throat and began to +speak. + +"You see, Edith," he observed pompously, "your fears were quite +groundless, after all. This Christmas shopping, if reduced to a +system--" He paused suddenly. His wife had stopped her sewing and was +looking straight into his eyes. + + + + +Angelus + +To Hephzibah the world was a place of weary days and unrestful nights, +and life was a thing of dishes that were never quite washed and of +bread that was never quite baked--leaving something always to be done. + +The sun rose and the sun set, and Hephzibah came to envy the sun. To +her mind, his work extended from the first level ray shot into her room +in the morning to the last rose-flush at night; while as for herself, +there were the supper dishes and the mending-basket yet waiting. To be +sure, she knew, if she stopped to think, that her sunset must be a +sunrise somewhere else; but Hephzibah never stopped to think; she would +have said, had you asked her, that she had no time. + +First there was the breakfast for Theron and the hired man in the chill +gray dawn of each day;--if one were to wrest a living from the stones +and sand of the hillside farm, one must be up and at work betimes. +Then Harry, Tom, and Nellie must be roused, dressed, fed, and made +ready for the half-mile walk to the red schoolhouse at the cross-roads. +After that the day was one blur of steam, dust, heat, and stifling +fumes from the oven and the fat-kettle, broken always at regular +intervals by meal-getting and chicken-feeding. + +What mattered the blue of the heavens or the green of the earth +outside? To Hephzibah the one was "sky" and the other "grass." What +mattered the sheen of silver on the emerald velvet of the valley far +below? Hephzibah would have told you that it was only the sun on Otter +Creek down in Johnson's meadows. + +As for the nights, even sleep brought little relief to Hephzibah; for +her dreams were of hungry mouths that could not be filled, and of +dirt-streaked floors that would not come clean. + +Last summer a visitor had spent a week at the farm--Helen Raymond, +Hephzibah's niece from New York; and now a letter had come from this +same Helen Raymond, telling Hephzibah to look out for a package by +express. + +A package by express! + +Hephzibah laid the letter down, left the dishes cooling in the pan, and +went out into the open yard where she could look far down the road +toward the village. + +When had she received a package before? Even Christmas brought no +fascinating boxes or mysterious bundles to her! It would be +interesting to open it; and yet--it probably held a book which she +would have no time to read, or a pretty waist which she would have no +chance to wear. + +Hephzibah turned and walked listlessly back to her kitchen and her +dish-washing. Twelve hours later her unaccustomed lips were spelling +out the words on a small white card which had come with a handsomely +framed photograph: + +The Angelus. Jean Francois Millet. 1859. + + +Hephzibah looked from the card to the picture, and from the picture +back again to the card. Gradually an angry light took the place of the +dazed wonder in her eyes. She turned fiercely to her husband. + +"Theron, _why_ did Helen send me that picture?" she demanded. + +"Why, Hetty, I--I dunno," faltered the man, "'nless she--she--wanted +ter please ye." + +"Please me!--_please me_!" scoffed Hephzibah. "Did she expect to +please me with a thing like that? Look here, Theron, look!" she cried, +snatching up the photograph and bringing it close to her husband's +face. "Look at that woman and that man--they're us, Theron,--us, I +tell you!" + +"Oh, come, Hetty," remonstrated Theron; "they ain't jest the same, yer +know. She did n't mean nothin'--Helen did n't." + +"Didn't mean nothing!" repeated Hephzibah scornfully; "then why did n't +she send something pretty?--something that showed up pretty things--not +just fields and farm-folks! Why did n't she, Theron,--why did n't she?" + +"Why, Hetty, don't! She--why, she--" + +"I know," cut in the woman, a bright red flaming into her cheeks. "'T +was 'cause she thought that was all we could understand--dirt, and old +clothes, and folks that look like us! Don't we dig and dig like them? +Ain't our hands twisted and old and--" + +"Hetty--yer ain't yerself! Yer--" + +"Yes, I am--I am! I'm always myself--there's never anything else I can +be, Theron,--never!" And Hephzibah threw her apron over her head and +ran from the room, crying bitterly. + +"Well, by gum!" muttered the man, as he dropped heavily into the +nearest chair. + +For some days the picture stayed on the shelf over the kitchen sink, +where it had been placed by Theron as the quickest means of its +disposal. Hephzibah did not seem to notice it after that first day, +and Theron was most willing to let the matter drop. + +It must have been a week after the picture's arrival that the minister +made his semi-yearly call. + +"Oh, you have an Angelus! That's fine," he cried, appreciatively;--the +minister always begged to stay in Hephzibah's kitchen, that room being +much more to his mind than was the parlor, carefully guarded from sun +and air. + +"'Fine'!--that thing!" laughed Hephzibah. + +"Aye, that thing," returned the man, quick to detect the scorn in her +voice; then, with an appeal to the only side of her nature he thought +could be reached, he added: + +"Why, my dear woman, 'that thing,' as you call it, is a copy of a +picture which in the original was sold only a few years ago for more +than a hundred thousand dollars--a hundred and fifty, I think." + +"Humph! _Who_ could have bought it! That thing!" laughed Hephzibah +again, and changed the subject. But she remembered,--she must have +remembered; for, after the minister had gone, she took the picture from +the shelf and carried it to the light of the window. + +"A hundred and fifty thousand dollars," she murmured; "and to think +what I'd do with that money!" For some minutes she studied the picture +in silence, then she sighed: "Well, they do look natural like; but only +think what a fool to pay a hundred and fifty thousand for a couple of +farm-folks out in a field!" + +And yet--it was not to the kitchen shelf Hephzibah carried the picture +that night, but to the parlor--the somber, sacred parlor. There she +propped it up on the center-table among plush photograph-albums and +crocheted mats--the dearest of Hephzibah's treasures. + +Hephzibah could scarcely have explained it herself, but after the +minister's call that day she fell into the way of going often into the +parlor to look at her picture. At first its famous price graced it +with a halo of gold; but in time this was forgotten, and the picture +itself, with its silent, bowed figures, appealed to her with a power +she could not understand. + +"There's a story to it--I know there's a story to it!" she cried at +last one day; and forthwith she hunted up an old lead-pencil stub and a +bit of yellowed note-paper. + +It was a long hour Hephzibah spent then, an hour of labored thinking +and of careful guiding of cramped fingers along an unfamiliar way; yet +the completed note, when it reached Helen Raymond's hands, was +wonderfully short. + +The return letter was long, and, though Hephzibah did not know it, +represented hours of research in bookstores and in libraries. It +answered not only Hephzibah's questions, but attempted to respond to +the longing and heart-hunger Miss Raymond was sure she detected between +the lines of Hephzibah's note. Twelve hours after it was written, +Hephzibah was on her knees before the picture. + +"I know you now--I know you!" she whispered exultingly. "I know why +you're real and true. Your master who painted you was like us +once--like us, and like you! He knew what it was to dig and dig; he +knew what it was to work and work until his back and his head and his +feet and his hands ached and ached--he knew! And so he painted you! + +"_She_ says you're praying; that you've stopped your work and 'turned +to higher things.' She says we all should have an Angelus in our lives +each day. Good God!--as if she knew!"--Hephzibah was on her feet now, +her hands to her head. + +"An Angelus?--me?" continued the woman scornfully. "And where? The +dish-pan?--the wash-tub?--the chicken-yard? A fine Angelus, that! And +yet"--Hephzibah dropped to her knees again--"you look so quiet, so +peaceful, and, oh, so--rested!" + +"For the land's sake, Hetty, what be you doin'? Have you gone clean +crazy?"--It was Theron in the parlor doorway. + +Hephzibah rose wearily to her feet. "Sometimes I think I have, +Theron," she said. + +"Well,"--he hesitated,--"ain't it 'most--supper-time?" + +"I s'pose 'tis," she assented, listlessly, and dragged herself from the +room. + +It was not long after this that the picture disappeared from the +parlor. Hephzibah had borne it very carefully to her room and hung it +on the wall at the foot of her bed, where her eyes would open upon it +the first thing every morning. Each day she talked to it, and each day +it grew to be more and more a part of her very self. Not until the +picture had been there a week, however, did she suddenly realize that +it represented the twilight hour; then, like a flash of light, came her +inspiration. + +"It's at sunset--I'll go out at sunset! Now my Angelus will come to +me," she cried softly. "I know it will!" + +Then did the little hillside farmhouse see strange sights indeed. Each +night, as the sun dropped behind the far-away hills, Hephzibah left her +work and passed through the kitchen door, her face uplifted, and her +eyes on the distant sky-line. + +Sometimes she would turn to the left to the open field and stand there +motionless, unconsciously falling into the reverent attitude now so +familiar to her; sometimes she would turn to the right and pause at the +brow of the hill, where the valley in all its panorama of loveliness +lay before her; and sometimes she would walk straight ahead to the old +tumble-down gate where she might face the west and watch the rose +change to palest amber in the sky. + +At first her eyes saw but grass, sky, and dull-brown earth, and her +thoughts turned in bitterness to her unfinished tasks; but gradually +the witchery of the summer night entered her soul and left room for +little else. Strange faces, peeping in and out of the clouds, looked +at her from the sky; and fantastic figures, clothed in the evening +mist, swept up the valley to her feet. The grass assumed a deeper +green, and the trees stood out like sentinels along the hilltop behind +the house. Even when she turned and went back to the kitchen, and took +upon herself once more the accustomed tasks, her eyes still faintly +glowed with the memory of what they had seen. + + +"It do beat all," said Theron a month later to Helen Raymond, who was +again a visitor at the farm,--"it do beat all, Helen, what's come over +yer aunt. She used ter be nervous-like, and fretted, an' things never +went ter suit. Now she's calm, an' her eyes kind o' shine--'specially +when she comes in from one of them tramps of hers outdoors. She says +it's her Angelus--if ye know what that is; but it strikes me as mighty +queer--it do, Helen, it do!" + +And Helen smiled, content. + + + + +The Apple of Her Eye + +It rained. It had rained all day. To Helen Raymond, spatting along the +wet slipperiness of the drenched pavements, it seemed as if it had always +rained, and always would rain. + +Helen was tired, blue, and ashamed--ashamed because she was blue; blue +because she was tired; and tired because--wearily her mind reviewed her +day. + +She had dragged herself out of bed at half-past five, but even then her +simple toilet had been hastened to an untidy half completion by the +querulous insistence of her mother's frequent "You know, Helen,--you +_must_ know how utterly impossible it is for me to lift my head until +I've had my coffee! _Are n't_ you nearly ready?" Mrs. Raymond had +wakened earlier than usual that morning, and she could never endure to +lie in bed when not asleep. + +With one shoe unbuttoned and no collar on, Helen had prepared the coffee; +then had come the delicate task of getting the semi-invalid up and +dressed, with hair smoothed to the desired satiny texture. The hair had +refused to smooth, however, this morning; buttons had come off, too, and +strings had perversely knotted until Helen's patience had almost +snapped--almost, but not quite. In the end her own breakfast, and the +tidying of herself and the little four-room flat, had degenerated into a +breathless scramble broken by remorseful apologies to her mother, in +response to which Mrs. Raymond only sighed: + +"Oh, of course, it does n't matter; but you _know_ how haste and +confusion annoy me, and how bad it is for me!" + +It had all resulted as Helen had feared that it would result--she was +late; and tardiness at Henderson & Henderson's meant a sharp reprimand, +and in time, a fine. Helen's place in the huge department store was +behind a counter where spangled nets and embroidered chiffons were sold. +It had seemed to Helen today that half the world must be giving a ball to +which the other half was invited, so constant--in spite of the rain--were +the calls for her wares. The girl told herself bitterly that it would +not be so unendurable were she handling anything but those filmy, +glittering stuffs that spoke so loudly of youth and love and laughter. +If it were only gray socks and kitchen kettles that she tended! At least +she would be spared the sight of those merry, girlish faces, and the +sound of those care-free, laughing voices. At least she would not have +all day before her eyes the slender, gloved fingers which she knew were +as fair and delicate as the fabrics they so ruthlessly tossed from side +to side. + +Annoyances at the counter had been more frequent to-day than usual, Helen +thought. Perhaps the rain had made people cross. Whatever it was, the +hurried woman had been more hurried, and the insolent woman more +unbearable. There had been, too, an irritating repetition of the woman +who was "just looking," and of her sister who "did n't know"; "was n't +quite sure"; but "guessed that would n't do." Consequently Helen's list +of sales had been short in spite of her incessant labor--and the list of +sales was what Henderson & Henderson looked at when a promotion was being +considered. + +And through it all, hour after hour, there had been the shimmer of the +spangles, the light chatter of coming balls and weddings, the merry +voices of care-free girls--the youth, and love, and laughter. + +"Youth, and love, and laughter." Unconsciously Helen repeated the words +aloud; then she smiled bitterly as she applied them to herself. +Youth?--she was twenty-five. Love?--the grocer? the milkman? the +floorwalker? oh, yes, and there was the postman. Laughter?--she could +not remember when she had seen anything funny--really funny enough to +laugh at. + +Of all this Helen thought as she plodded wearily homeward; of this, and +more. At home there would be supper to prepare, her mother to get to +bed, and the noon dishes to clear away. Helen drew in her breath sharply +as she thought of the dinner. She hoped that it had not been +codfish-and-cream to-day. If it had, she must speak to Mrs. Mason. +Codfish twice a week might do, but five times! (Mrs. Mason was the +neighbor who, for a small sum each day, brought Mrs. Raymond her dinner +fully cooked.) There was a waist to iron and some mending to do. Helen +remembered that. There would be time, however, for it all, she thought; +that is, if it should not unfortunately be one of her mother's wakeful +evenings when talking--and on one subject--was the only thing that would +soothe her. + +Helen sighed now. She was almost home, but involuntarily her speed +slackened. She became suddenly more acutely aware of the dreary flapping +of her wet skirts against her ankles, and of the swish of the water as it +sucked itself into the hole at the heel of her left overshoe. The wind +whistled through an alleyway in a startling swoop and nearly wrenched her +umbrella from her half-numbed fingers, but still her step lagged. The +rain slapped her face smartly as the umbrella careened, but even that did +not spur her to haste. Unmistakably she dreaded to go home--and it was +at this realization that Helen's shame deepened into a dull red on her +cheeks; as if any girl, any right-hearted girl, should mind a mother's +talk of her only son! + +At the shabby door of the apartment house Helen half closed her umbrella +and shook it fiercely. Then, as if freeing herself from something as +obnoxious as was the rain, she threw back her head and shook that, too. +A moment later, carefully carrying the dripping umbrella, she hurried up +three flights of stairs and unlocked the door of the rear suite. + +"My, but it sprinkles! Did you know it?" she cried cheerily to the +little woman sitting by the west window. + +"'Sprinkles'! Helen, how can you speak like that when you _know_ what a +dreadful day it is!" fretted the woman. "But then, you don't know. You +never do know. If _you_ had to just sit here and stare and stare and +stare at that rain all day, as I do, perhaps you would know." + +"Perhaps," smiled Helen oddly--she was staring just then at the havoc +that that same rain had wrought in what had been a fairly good hat. + +Her mother's glance followed hers. + +"Helen, that can't be--your hat!" cried the woman, aghast. + +Helen smiled quizzically. "Do you know that's exactly what I was +thinking myself, mother! It can't be--but it is." + +"But it's ruined, utterly ruined!" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"And you have n't any other that's really decent!" + +"No, ma'am." + +The woman sighed impatiently. "Helen, how can you answer like that when +you _know_ what it means to spoil that hat? Can't _anything_ dampen your +absurd high spirits?" + +"'High spirits'!" breathed the girl. A quick flash leaped to her eyes. +Her lips parted angrily; then, as suddenly, they snapped close shut. In +another minute she had turned and left the room quietly. + +Clothed in dry garments a little later, Helen set about the evening's +tasks. At the first turn in the little room that served for both kitchen +and dining-room she found the dinner dishes waiting to be cleared from +the table--and there were unmistakable evidences of codfish-and-cream. +As she expected, she had not long to wait. + +"Helen," called a doleful voice from the sitting-room. + +"Yes, mother." + +"She brought codfish again to-day--five times this week; and you _know_ +how I dislike codfish!" + +"Yes, I know, dear. I'm so sorry!" + +"'Sorry'! But that does n't feed me. You _must_ speak to her, Helen. I +_can't_ eat codfish like that. You must speak to-night when you take the +dishes back." + +"Very well, mother; but--well, you know we don't pay very much." + +"Then pay more. I'm sure I shouldn't think you'd grudge me enough to +eat, Helen." + +"Mother! How can you say a thing like that!" Helen's voice shook. She +paused a moment, a dish half-dried in her hands; but from the other room +came only silence. + +Supper that night was prepared with unusual care. There was hot +corncake, too,--Mrs. Raymond liked hot corncake. It was a little late, +it is true; Helen had not planned for the corncake at first--but there +was the codfish. If the poor dear had had nothing but codfish! . . . +Helen opened a jar of the treasured peach preserves, too; indeed, the +entire supper table from the courageous little fern in the middle to the +"company china" cup at Mrs. Raymond's plate was a remorseful apology for +that midday codfish. If Mrs. Raymond noticed this, she gave no sign. +Without comment, she ate the corncake and the peach preserves, and drank +her tea from the china cup; with Mrs. Raymond only the codfish of one's +daily life merited comment. + +It was at the supper table that Helen's mother brought out the letter. + +"You don't ask, nor seem to care," she began with a curious air of +injured triumph, "but I've got a letter from Herbert." + +The younger woman flushed. + +"Why, of course, I care," she retorted cheerily. "What does he say?" + +"He wrote it several days ago. It got missent. But it's such a nice +letter!" + +"They always are." + +"It asks particularly how I am, and says he's sorry I have to suffer so. +_He_ cares." + +Only the swift red in Helen's cheeks showed that the daughter understood +the emphasis. + +"Of course he cares," she answered smoothly. + +"And he sent me a present, too--money!" Mrs. Raymond's usually fretful +whine carried a ring of exultation. + +Helen lifted her head eagerly. + +"Money?" + +"Yes. A new crisp dollar bill. He told me to get something pretty--some +little trinket that I'd like." + +"But, a dollar--only a dollar," murmured Helen. "Now you're needing a +wrapper, but that--" + +"A wrapper, indeed!" interrupted Mrs. Raymond in fine scorn. "A wrapper +is n't a 'trinket' for me! I'd have wrappers anyway, of course. He said +to buy something pretty; something I'd like. But then, I might have +known. _You_ never think I need anything but wrappers and--and codfish! +I--I'm glad I've got one child that--that appreciates!" And Mrs. Raymond +lifted her handkerchief to her eyes. + +Across the table Helen caught her lower lip between her teeth. For a +moment she did not speak; then very gently she said:-- + +"Mother, you did n't quite mean that, I'm sure. You know very well that +I--I'd dress you in silks and velvets, and feed you on strawberries and +cream, if I could. It's only that--that-- But never mind. Use the +dollar as you please, dear. Is n't there something--some little thing +you would like?" + +Mrs. Raymond lowered her handkerchief. Her grieved eyes looked +reproachfully across at her daughter. + +"I'd thought of--a tie; a lace tie with pretty ends; a _nice_ tie. You +_know_ how I like nice things!" + +"Of course, you do; and you shall have it, too," cried Helen. "I'll +bring some home tomorrow night for you to select from. Now that will be +fine, won't it?" + +The other drew a resigned sigh. + +"'Fine'! That's just like you, Helen. You never appreciate--never +realize. Perhaps you do think it's 'fine' to stay mewed up at home here +and have ties _brought_ to you instead of going out yourself to the store +and buying them, like other women!" + +"Oh, but just don't look at it that way," retorted Helen in a cheerful +voice. "Just imagine you're a queen, or a president's wife, or a +multi-millionairess who is sitting at home in state to do her shopping +just because she wishes to avoid the vulgar crowds in the stores; eh, +mother dear?" + +"Mother dear" sniffed disdainfully. + +"Really, Helen," she complained, "you are impossible. One would think +you might have _some_ sympathy, _some_ consideration for my feelings! +There's your brother, now. He's all sympathy. Look at his letter. +Think of that dollar he sent me--just a little thing to give me +happiness. And he's always doing such things. Did n't he remember how I +loved peppermints, and give me a whole box at Christmas?" + +Helen did not answer. As well she knew, she did not need to. Her +mother, once started on this subject, asked only for a listener. Wearily +the girl rose to her feet and began to clear the table. + +"And it is n't as if he did n't have his hands full, just running over +full with his business and all," continued Mrs. Raymond. "You _know_ how +successful he is, Helen. Now there's that club--what was it, president +or treasurer that they made him? Anyhow, it was _something_; and that +_shows_ how popular he is. And you know every letter tells us of +something new. I 'm sure it is n't any wonder I 'm proud of him; and +relieved, too--I did hope some one of my children would amount to +something; and I 'm sure Herbert has." + +There was a pause. Herbert's sister was washing the dishes now, +hurriedly, nervously. Herbert's mother watched her with dissatisfied +eyes. + +"Now there's you, Helen, and your music," she began again, after a long +sigh. "You _know_ how disappointed I was about that." + +"Oh, but piano practice does n't help to sell goods across the counter," +observed Helen dully. "At least, I never heard that it did." + +"'Sell goods,'" moaned the other. "Always something about selling goods! +Helen, _can't_ you get your mind for one moment off that dreadful store, +and think of something higher?" + +"But it's the store that brings us in our bread and butter--and codfish," +added Helen, half under her breath. + +It was a foolish allusion, born of a much-tried spirit; and Helen +regretted the words the moment they had left her lips. + +"Yes, that's exactly what it brings--codfish," gloomed Mrs. Raymond. +"I'm glad you at least realize that." + +There was no reply. Helen was working faster now. Her cheeks were pink, +and her hands trembled. As soon as possible she piled Mrs. Mason's +dinner dishes neatly on the tray and hurried with them to the outer door +of the suite. + +"Now, Helen, don't stay," called her mother. "You know how much I'm +alone, and I just simply can't go to bed yet. I'm not one bit sleepy." + +"No, mother." The voice was calm, and the door shut quietly; but in the +hall Helen paused at the head of the stairs, flushed and palpitating. + +"I wonder--if it would do any good--if I should--throw them!" she choked +hysterically, the tray raised high in her hands. Then with a little +shamed sob she lowered the tray and hurried downstairs to the apartment +below. + +"It's only me, Mrs. Mason, with the dishes," she said a moment later, as +her neighbor peered out into the hall in answer to the knock at the door. +"I'm a little late to-night." + +"Oh, to be sure, Miss Raymond; come in--come in. Why, child, what ails +you?" cried the woman, as Helen stepped into the light. + +"Ails me? Why, nothing," laughed the girl evasively. "Shall I put the +things here?" + +As she set the tray down and turned to go, the elder woman, by a sudden +movement, confronted her. + +"See here, Miss Helen, it ain't none o' my business, I know, but I've +just got to speak. Your eyes are all teary, and your cheeks have got two +red spots in 'em. You've been cryin'. I know you have. You're so thin +I could just blow you over with a good big breath. And I know what's the +matter. You're all wore out. You 're doin' too much. No mortal woman +can work both day and night!" + +"But I don't--quite," stammered the girl "Besides, there is so much to be +done. You know, mother--though she isn't very sick--can do but little +for herself." + +"Yes, I know she don't--seem to. But is n't there some one else that +could help?" + +The girl stirred restlessly. Her eyes sought for a means of escape. + +"Why, no, of course not. There is n't any one," she murmured. "You are +very kind, really, Mrs. Mason, but I must go--now." + +The other did not move. She was standing directly before the hall door. + +"There 's--your brother." + +The girl lifted her head quickly. A look that was almost fear came into +her eyes. + +"Why, how did you know that I had--a brother?" + +"Know it!" scoffed Mrs. Mason. "I have known your mother for a +year--ever since she moved here; and as if a body could know _her_ and +not hear of _him_! He's the very apple of her eye. Why can't he--help? +Would n't he, if he knew?" + +"Why, Mrs. Mason, of course! He has--he does," declared the girl +quickly, the red deepening in her cheeks. "He--he sent her money only +to-day." + +"Yes, I know; she told me--of that." Mrs. Mason's voice was significant +in its smoothness. "Your mother said she was going to get her--a tie." + +"Yes, a tie," repeated Helen, with feverish lightness; "lace, you know. +Mother does so love pretty things! Oh, and by the way," hurried on the +girl breathlessly, "if you don't mind--about the dinners, you know. +Mother does n't care for codfish-and-cream, and if you could just +substitute something else, I'll pay more, of course! I'd expect to do +that. I've been thinking for some time that you ought to have at least +ten cents a day more--if you could manage--on that. And--thank you; if +you _would_ remember about--the codfish, and now I really must--go!" she +finished. And before Mrs. Mason knew quite what had happened a flying +figure had darted by her through the half-open doorway. + +"Well, of all things! _Now_ what have I said?" muttered the puzzled +woman, staring after her visitor. "Ten cents a day more, indeed! And +where, for the land's sake, is the poor lamb going to find that?" + +Long hours later in the Raymond flat, after the mending was done, the +waist ironed, and the mother's querulous tongue had been silenced by +sleep, the "poor lamb" sat down with her little account book and tried to +discover just that--where she was going to find the extra ten cents a day +to buy off Mrs. Mason's codfish. + +It did not rain the next morning. The sun shone, indeed, as if it never +had rained, and never would rain. In Helen Raymond's soul a deeper shame +than ever sent the blue devils skulking into the farthermost corners--as +if it were anything but a matter for the heartiest congratulations that +one's mother had at least one child who had proved not to be a +disappointment to her! And very blithely, to cheat the last one of the +little indigo spirits, the girl resolutely uptilted her chin, and began +her day. + +It was not unlike the days that had gone before. There was the same +apologetic rush in the morning, the same monotonous succession of buyers +and near-buyers at the counter, the same glitter and sparkle and +chatter--the youth, and love, and laughter. Then at night came the +surprise. + +Helen Raymond went home to find the little flat dominated by a new +presence, a presence so big and breezy that unconsciously she sniffed the +air as if she were entering a pine grove instead of a stuffy, four-room +city flat. + +"Helen, he knows Herbert, my Herbert," announced Mrs. Raymond +rapturously; and as she seemed to think no further introduction was +necessary, the young man rose to his feet and added with a smile:-- + +"My name is Carroll--Jack Carroll; Miss Raymond, I suppose. Your +brother--er--suggested that I call, as I was in the city." + +"Of course you'd call," chirruped Mrs. Raymond. "As if we were n't +always glad to see any friend of my boy's. Helen, why don't you say +something? Why don't you welcome Mr. Carroll?" + +"I have n't had much chance yet, mother," smiled the girl, in some +embarrassment. "Perhaps I--I have n't caught my breath." + +"Not that Mr. Carroll ought to mind, of course," resumed Mrs. Raymond +plaintively. "And he won't when he knows you, and sees how moderate you +are. You know Herbert is so quick," she added, turning to Herbert's +friend. + +"Is he?" murmured the man; and at the odd something in his voice Helen +looked up quickly to find the stranger's eyes full upon her. "You see, +I'm not sure, after all, that I do know Herbert," he continued lightly, +still with that odd something in his voice. "Herbert's mother has been +telling me lots of things--about Herbert." + +"Yes; we've been having such a nice visit together," sighed Mrs. Raymond. +"You see, _he_ understands, Helen,--Mr. Carroll does." + +Again Helen glanced up and met the stranger's eyes. She caught her +breath sharply and looked away. + +"Of course he understands," she cried, in a voice that was not quite +steady. "If he knew you better, mother dear, he would know that there +could n't be any nicer subject than Herbert to talk about--Herbert and +the fine things he has done!" There was no bitterness, no sarcasm, in +tone or manner. There was only a frightened little pleading, a +warding-off, as of some unknown, threatening danger. "Of course, Mr. +Carroll understands," she finished; and this time she turned and looked +straight into the stranger's eyes unswervingly. + +"I understand," he nodded gravely. + +And yet--it was not of Herbert that he talked during the next ten +minutes. It was of Mrs. Raymond and her daughter, of their life at home +and at the store. It was a gay ten minutes, for the man laughed at the +whimsical playfulness with which Miss Raymond set off the pitiful little +tale of the daily struggle for existence. If he detected the nervousness +in the telling, he did not show it. He did frown once; but that was when +Herbert's mother sighed apologetically:-- + +"You must n't mind all she says, Mr. Carroll. Helen never did seem to +realize the serious side of life, nor what I suffer; but that is Helen's +way." + +"After all, it must be a way that helps smooth things over some," he had +retorted warmly. + +And there the matter had ended--except in Helen's memory: there it bade +fair to remain long, indeed. + +At the end of the ten minutes, Herbert's friend rose to his feet and said +that he must go. He added that he would come again, if he might; and to +Miss Raymond he said very low--but very impressively--that she would see +him soon, very soon. It was no surprise, therefore, to Helen, to +encounter the big, tall fellow not twenty feet from her doorway when she +started for the store the next morning. + +His clean-cut face flushed painfully as he advanced; but the girl did not +change color. + +"Good-morning. I thought you'd do this," she began hurriedly. "We can +talk as we walk. Now, tell me, please, quick. What is it +about--Herbert?" + +"Then you--know?" + +"Not much; only suspect. I know everything is n't quite--right." + +"But your mother doesn't know--even that much?" + +"No, no! You saw that, didn't you? I was so glad you did, and did n't +speak! He is her pet, and she's so proud of him!" + +"Yes, I know," nodded the man grimly. "I saw--that." + +The girl lifted her chin. + +"And mother has a right to be proud of him. Herbert is fine. It is only +that--that--" She weakened perceptibly. "Was it--money?" she faltered. + +"Y-yes." Carroll spoke with evident reluctance. His eyes looked down +almost tenderly at the girl with the still bravely uptilted chin. +"It--it is rather serious this time. He asked me to call and--and make +it plain to you. I had told him I was coming up to town on business, and +I promised. But--good Heavens, Miss Raymond, I--I can't tell you!" + +"But you must. I'll have to know," cried the girl sharply. All the +pride had fled now. "And you need n't fear. I know what it is. He +wants money to settle debts. I've sent it before--once. That is +it--that _is_ it?" + +"Yes, only it's--it's a particularly bad job this time," stammered the +other. "You see, it--it's club money--a little club among the boys, of +which he is treasurer--and he sto--used part of the--funds." + +The man choked over the wretched tale, and instinctively laid his hand on +the girl's arm. She would faint or cry, of course, and he wondered what +he could do. But there was no fainting, no crying. There was only the +pitiful whitening of a set little face, and the tense question: + +"How much--was it?" + +Carroll sighed in relief. + +"Miss Raymond, you're a--a brick--to take it like that," he cried +brokenly. "I don't know another girl who-- It was--well, a hundred +dollars will cover it; but he's got to have it--to-morrow." + +"I'll send it." + +"But how--forgive me, Miss Raymond, but last night you were telling me +that--that--" He flushed, and came to a helpless pause. + +"How can I get it?" she supplied wearily. "We've a little in the bank--a +very little laid by for a rainy day; but it will cover that. We never +think of touching it, of course, for--for ordinary things. But--_this_." +She shuddered, and Carroll saw her shabbily gloved hand clinch +spasmodically. "Mr. Carroll, how did he come to--do it?" + +It was a short story, soon told--the usual story of a pleasure-loving, +thoughtless youth, tempted beyond his strength. Carroll softened it +where he could, and ended with:-- + +"I asked Bert to let me make it good, somehow, but he would n't, Miss +Raymond. He--he just would n't!" + +"Of course he would n't," exclaimed the girl sharply. Then, in a softer +voice: "Thank you, just the same. But, don't you see? 'T would have +done no good. I'd have had to pay you. . . . No, no, don't say any +more, please," she begged, in answer to the quick words that leaped to +his lips. "You have been kind--very kind. Now, just one kindness more, +if you will," she hurried on. "Come tonight. I must leave you now--it's +the store, just around the corner. But to-night I 'll have the money. +It's in my name, and I can get it without mother's--knowing. You +understand? Without--mother's--_knowing_." + +"I understand," he nodded gravely, as he wrung her hand and turned +chokingly away. + +When Helen reached home that night she found the little flat dominated +once again by the big, breezy presence of Herbert's friend. + +"I've been telling him more about Herbert," Mrs. Raymond began joyously, +as soon as Helen entered the room. "I've been telling him about his +letters to me, and the peppermints and the lace tie, you know, and how +_good_ Herbert is to me. We've had such a nice visit!" + +"Have you? I'm so glad!" returned Helen, a little unsteadily; and only +the man knew the meaning of the quick look of relieved gratitude that +came to her face. + +At the door some minutes later, Carroll found a small packet thrust into +his fingers. He caught both the hand and the packet in a firm clasp. + +"You're true blue, little girl," he breathed tremulously, "and I'm going +to keep tabs on Bert after this. I 'll _make_ him keep straight for +her--and for _you_. He's only a bit weak, after all. And you'll see me +again soon--very soon," he finished, as he crushed her hand in a grip +that hurt. Then he turned and stumbled away, as if his eyes did not see +quite clearly. + +"Now, wasn't he nice?" murmured Mrs. Raymond, as the girl closed the hall +door. "And--didn't he say that he'd call again sometime?" + +"Yes, mother." + +"Well, I'm sure, I hope he will. He isn't Herbert, of course, but he +_knows_ Herbert." + +"He--does, mother." There was a little break in Helen's voice, but Mrs. +Raymond did not notice it. + +"Dearie me! Well, he's gone now, and I _am_ hungry. My dinner didn't +seem to please, somehow." + +"Why, mother, it was n't--codfish; was it?" + +"N-no. It was chicken. But then, like enough it _will_ be codfish +to-morrow." + +Helen Raymond dreamed that night, and she dreamed of love, and youth, and +laughter. But it was not the shimmer of spangled tulle nor the chatter +of merry girls that called it forth. It was the look in a pair of +steadfast blue eyes, and the grip of a strong man's hand. + + + + +A Mushroom of Collingsville + +There were three men in the hotel office that Monday evening: Jared +Parker, the proprietor; Seth Wilber, town authority on all things past +and present; and John Fletcher, known in Collingsville as "The +Squire"--possibly because of his smattering of Blackstone; probably +because of his silk hat and five-thousand-dollar bank account. Each of +the three men eyed with unabashed curiosity the stranger in the doorway. + +"Good-evening, gentlemen," began a deprecatory voice. "I--er--this is +the hotel?" + +In a trice Jared Parker was behind the short counter. + +"Certainly, sir. Room, sir?" he said suavely, pushing an open book and +a pen halfway across the counter. + +"H'm, yes, I--I suppose so," murmured the stranger, as he hesitatingly +crossed the floor. "H'm; one must sleep, you know," he added, as he +examined the point of the pen. + +"Certainly, sir, certainly," agreed Jared, whose face was somewhat +twisted in his endeavors to smile on the prospective guest and frown at +the two men winking and gesticulating over by the stove. + +"H'm," murmured the stranger a third time, as he signed his name with +painstaking care. "There, that's settled! Now where shall I find +Professor Marvin, please?" + +"Professor Marvin!" repeated Jared stupidly. + +"Yes; Professor George Marvin," bowed the stranger. + +"Why, there ain't no Professor Marvin, that I know of." + +"Mebbe he means old Marvin's son," interposed Seth Wilber with a +chuckle. + +The stranger turned inquiringly. + +"His name's 'George,' all right," continued Seth, with another chuckle, +"but I never heard of his professin' anythin'--'nless 't was laziness." + +The stranger's face showed a puzzled frown. + +"Oh--but--I mean the man who discovered that ants and--" + +"Good gorry!" interrupted Seth, with a groan. "If it's anythin' about +bugs an' snakes, he's yer man! Ain't he?" he added, turning to his +friends for confirmation. + +Jared nodded, and Squire Fletcher cleared his throat. + +"He's done nothing but play with bugs ever since he came into the +world," said the Squire ponderously. "A most unfortunate case of an +utterly worthless son born to honest, hard-working parents. He'll +bring up in the poor-house yet--or in a worse place. Only think of +it--a grown man spending his time flat on his stomach in the woods +counting ants' legs and bugs' eyes!" + +"Oh, but--" The stranger stopped. The hotel-keeper had the floor. + +"It began when he wa'n't more'n a baby. He pestered the life out of +his mother bringing snakes into the sittin'-room, and carrying worms in +his pockets. The poor woman was most mortified to death about it. +Why, once when the parson was there, George used his hat to catch +butterflies with--smashed it, too." + +"Humph!" snapped the Squire. "The little beast filled one of my +overshoes once, to make a swimming-tank for his dirty little fish." + +"They could n't do nothin' with him," chimed in Seth Wilber. "An' when +he was older, 'twas worse. If his father set him ter hoein' pertaters, +the little scamp would be found h'istin' up old rocks an' boards ter +see the critters under 'em crawl." + +"Yes, but--" Again the stranger was silenced. + +"And in school he did n't care nothing about 'rithmetic nor jography," +interrupted Jared. "He was forever scarin' the teacher into fits +bringin' in spiders an' caterpillars, an' asking questions about 'em." + +"Gorry! I guess ye can't tell me no news about George Marvin's +schoolin'," snarled Seth Wilber--"me, that's got a son Tim what was in +the same class with him. Why, once the teacher set 'em in the same +seat; but Tim could n't stand that--what with the worms an' +spiders--an' he kicked so hard the teacher swapped 'round." + +"Yes; well--er--extraordinary, extraordinary--very!--so it is," +murmured the stranger, backing toward the door. The next moment he was +out on the street asking the first person he met for the way to George +Marvin's. + +On Tuesday night a second stranger stopped at the hotel and asked where +he could find Professor Marvin. Jared, Seth, and Squire Fletcher were +there as before; but this time their derisive stories--such as they +managed to tell--fell on deaf ears. The stranger signed his name with +a flourish, engaged his room, laughed good-naturedly at the three +men--and left them still talking. + +On Wednesday two more strangers arrived, and on Thursday, another one. +All, with varying manner but unvarying promptitude, called for +Professor George Marvin. + +Jared, Seth, and the Squire were dumfounded. Their mystification +culminated in one grand chorus of amazement when, on Friday, the Squire +came to the hotel hugging under his arm a daily newspaper. + +"Just listen to this!" he blurted out, banging his paper down on the +desk and spreading it open with shaking hands. As he read, he ran his +finger down the column, singling out a phrase here and there, and +stumbling a little over unfamiliar words. + + +The recent ento-mo-logical discoveries of Professor George Marvin have +set the scientific world in a flurry. . . . Professor Marvin is now +unanimously conceded to be the greatest entomologist living. He knows +his Hex-a-poda and Myri-a-poda as the most of us know our +alphabet. . . . The humble home of the learned man has become a Mecca, +toward which both great and small of the scientific world are bending +eager steps. . . . The career of Marvin reads like a romance, and he +has fought his way to his present enviable position by sheer grit, and +ability, having had to combat with all the narrow criticism and +misconceptions usual in the case of a progressive thinker in a small +town. Indeed, it is said that even now his native village fails to +recognize the honor that is hers. + + +"Jehoshaphat!" exclaimed Seth Wilber faintly. + +Fletcher folded the paper and brought his fist down hard upon it. + +"There's more--a heap more," he cried excitedly. + +"But how--what--" stammered Jared, whose wits were slow on untrodden +paths. + +"It's old Marvin's son--don't you see?" interrupted Squire Fletcher +impatiently. "He 's big!--famous!" + +"'Famous'! What for?" + +"Zounds, man!--did n't you hear?" snarled the Squire. "He's a famous +entomologist. It's his bugs and spiders." + +"Gosh!" ejaculated Jared, his hand seeking the bald spot on the back of +his head. "Who'd ever have thought it? Gorry! Let's have a look at +it." And he opened the paper and peered at the print with near-sighted +eyes. + +It was on Monday, three days later, that Jared, Seth, and the Squire +were once more accosted in the hotel office by a man they did not know. + +"Good-evening, gentlemen, I--" + +"You don't even have to say it," cut in Jared, with a nourish of both +hands. "We know why you're here without your telling." + +"An' you've come ter the right place, sir--the right place," declared +Seth Wilber, pompously. "What Professor Marvin don't know about bugs +an' spiders ain't wuth knowin'. I tell ye, sir, he's the biggest +entymollygist that there is ter be found." + +"That he is," affirmed the Squire, with an indulgently superior smile +toward Wilber--"the very greatest _entomologist_ living," he corrected +carefully. "And no wonder, sir; he's studied bugs from babyhood. +_I've known him all his life--all his life, sir_, and I always said +he'd make his mark in the world." + +"Oh, but--" began the stranger. + +"'Member when he took the parson's hat to catch butterflies in?" +chuckled Jared, speaking to the Squire, but throwing furtive glances +toward the stranger to make sure of his attention. "Gorry--but he was +a cute one! Wish 't had been my hat. I 'd 'a' had it framed an' +labeled, an' hung up on the wall there." + +"Yes, I remember," nodded the Squire; then he added with a complacent +smile: "The mischievous little lad used my overshoe for a fish-pond +once--I have that overshoe yet." + +"Have ye now?" asked Seth Wilber enviously. "I want ter know! Well, +anyhow, my Tim, he went ter school with him, an' set in the same seat," +continued Seth, turning toward the stranger. "Tim's got an old +writin'-book with one leaf all sp'iled 'cause one of young Marvin's +spiders got into the inkwell an' then did a cake-walk across the page. +Tim, he got a lickin' fur it then, but he says he would n't give up +that page now fur forty lickin's." + +The stranger shifted from one foot to the other. + +"Yes, yes," he began, "but--" + +"You'd oughter seen him when old Marvin used ter send him put to hoe +pertaters," cut in Jared gleefully. "Gorry!--young as he was, he was +all bugs then. He was smart enough to know that there was lots of +curious critters under sticks an' stones that had laid still for a long +time. I tell yer, there wa'n't much that got away from his bright +eyes--except the pertaters!--he did n't bother them none." + +A prolonged chuckle and a loud laugh greeted this sally. In the pause +that followed the stranger cleared his throat determinedly. + +"See here, gentlemen," he began pompously, with more than a shade of +irritation in his voice. "_Will_ you allow me to speak? And _will_ +you inform me what all this is about?" + +"About? Why, it's about Professor George Marvin, to be sure," rejoined +Squire Fletcher. "Pray, what else should it be about?" + +"I guess you know what it's about all right, stranger," chuckled Seth +Wilber, with a shrewd wink. "You can't fool us. Mebbe you're one o' +them fellers what thinks we don't know enough ter 'preciate a big man +when we've got him. No, sir-ree! We ain't that kind. Come, ye need +n't play off no longer. We know why you're here, an' we're glad ter +see ye, an' we're proud ter show ye the way ter our Professor's. Come +on--'t ain't fur." + +The stranger drew back. His face grew red, then purple. + +"I should like to know," he sputtered thickly, "I should like to know +if you really think that I--I have come 'way up here to see this old +bug man. Why, man alive, I never even heard of him!" + +"What!" ejaculated three disbelieving voices, their owners too +dumfounded to take exceptions to the sneer in tone and words. "Zounds, +man!--what did you come for, then?" demanded the Squire. + +The stranger raised his chin. + +"See here, who do you think I am?" he demanded pompously, as he squared +himself before them in all his glory of checkered trousers, tall hat, +and flaunting watch-chain. "Who do you think I am? I am Theophilus +Augustus Smythe, sir, advance agent and head manager of the Kalamazoo +None-Like-It Salve Company. I came, sir, to make arrangements for +their arrival to-morrow morning. They show in this town to-morrow +night. Now perhaps you understand, sir, that my business is rather +more important than hunting up any old bug man that ever lived!" And +he strode to the desk and picked up the pen. + +For a moment there was absolute silence; then Seth Wilber spoke. + +"Well, by ginger!--you--you'd oughter have come ter see the Professor, +anyhow," he muttered, weakly, as he fell back in his chair. "Say, +Squire, 'member when Marvin--" + +Over at the desk Theophilus Augustus Smythe crossed his _t_ with so +violent an energy that the pen sputtered and made two blots. + + + + +That Angel Boy + +"I am so glad you consented to stay over until Monday, auntie, for now +you can hear our famous boy choir," Ethel had said at the breakfast +table that Sunday morning. + +"Humph! I've heard of 'em," Ann Wetherby had returned crisply, "but I +never took much stock in 'em. A choir--made o' boys--just as if music +could come from yellin', hootin' boys!" + +An hour later at St. Mark's, the softly swelling music of the organ was +sending curious little thrills tingling to Miss Wetherby's finger tips. +The voluntary had become a mere whisper when she noticed that the great +doors near her were swinging outward. The music ceased, and there was +a moment's breathless hush--then faintly in the distance sounded the +first sweet notes of the processional. + +Ethel stirred slightly and threw a meaning glance at her aunt. The +woman met the look unflinchingly. + +"Them ain't no boys!" she whispered tartly. + +Nearer and nearer swelled the chorus until the leaders reached the open +doors. Miss Wetherby gave one look at the white-robed singers, then +she reached over and clutched Ethel's fingers. + +"They be!--and in their nighties, too!" she added in a horrified +whisper. + +One of the boys had a solo in the anthem that morning, and as the +clear, pure soprano rose higher and higher, Miss Wetherby gazed in +undisguised awe at the young singer. She noted the soulful eyes +uplifted devoutly, and the broad forehead framed in clustering brown +curls. To Miss Wetherby it was the face of an angel; and as the +glorious voice rose and swelled and died away in exquisite melody, two +big tears rolled down her cheeks and splashed on the shining, black +silk gown. + +At dinner that day Miss Wetherby learned that the soloist was "Bobby +Sawyer." She also learned that he was one of Ethel's "fresh-air" +mission children, and that, as yet, there was no place for him to go +for a vacation. + +"That angel child with the heavenly voice--and no one to take him in?" +Miss Wetherby bethought herself of her own airy rooms and flowering +meadows, and snapped her lips together with sudden determination. + +"I'll take him!" she announced tersely, and went home the next day to +prepare for her expected guest. + +Early in the morning of the first Monday in July, Miss Wetherby added +the finishing touches to the dainty white bedroom upstairs. + +"Dear little soul--I hope he'll like it!" she murmured, giving a loving +pat to the spotless, beruffled pillow shams; then her approving eyes +fell upon the "Morning Prayer" hanging at the foot of the bed. "There! +them sweet little cherubs sayin' their prayers is jest the thing fur +the little saint to see when he first wakes ev'ry mornin'. Little +angel!" she finished softly. + +On the table in the comer were hymn books, the great red-and-gold +family Bible, and a "Baxter's Saint's Rest"--the only reading matter +suited to Miss Wetherby's conception of the mind behind those soulful +orbs upraised in devout adoration. + +Just before Ann started for the station Tommy Green came over to leave +his pet dog, Rover, for Miss Wetherby's "fresh-air" boy to play with. + +"Now, Thomas Green," remonstrated Ann severely, "you can take that +dirty dog right home. I won't have him around. Besides, Robert Sawyer +ain't the kind of a boy you be. He don't care fur sech things--I know +he don't." + +Half an hour later, Ann Wetherby, her heart thumping loudly against her +ribs, anxiously scanned the passengers as they alighted at Slocumville +Station. There were not many--an old man, two girls, three or four +women, and a small, dirty boy with a dirtier dog and a brown paper +parcel in his arms. + +He had not come! + +Miss Wetherby held her breath and looked furtively at the small boy. +There was nothing familiar in _his_ appearance, she was thankful to +say! He must be another one for somebody else. Still, perhaps he +might know something about her own angel boy--she would ask. + +Ann advanced warily, with a disapproving eye on the dog. + +"Little boy, can you tell me why Robert Sawyer did n't come?" she asked +severely. + +The result of her cautious question disconcerted her not a little. The +boy dropped the dog and bundle to the platform, threw his hat in the +air, and capered about in wild glee. + +"Hi, there. Bones! We're all right! Golly--but I thought we was +side-tracked, fur sure!" + +Miss Wetherby sank in limp dismay to a box of freight near by--the +bared head disclosed the clustering brown curls and broad forehead, and +the eyes uplifted to the whirling hat completed the tell-tale picture. + +The urchin caught the hat deftly on the back of his head, and pranced +up to Ann with his hands in his pockets. + +"Gee-whiz! marm--but I thought you'd flunked fur sure. I reckoned me +an' Bones was barkin' up the wrong tree this time. It looked as if +we'd come to a jumpin'-off place, an' you'd given us the slip. I'm +Bob, myself, ye see, an' I've come all right!" + +"Are you Robert Sawyer?" she gasped. + +"Jest ye hear that, Bones!" laughed the boy shrilly, capering round and +round the small dog again. "I's 'Robert' now--do ye hear?" Then he +whirled back to his position in front of Miss Wetherby, and made a low +bow. "Robert Sawyer, at yer service," he announced in mock pomposity. +"Oh, I say," he added with a quick change of position, "yer 'd better +call me 'Bob'; I ain't uster nothin' else. I'd fly off the handle +quicker 'n no time, puttin' on airs like that." + +Miss Wetherby's back straightened. She made a desperate attempt to +regain her usual stern self-possession. + +"I shall call ye 'Robert,' boy. I don't like--er--that other name." + +There was a prolonged stare and a low whistle from the boy. Then he +turned to pick up his bundle. + +"Come on, Bones, stir yer stumps; lively, now! This 'ere lady 's +a-goin' ter take us ter her shebang ter stay mos' two weeks. Gee-whiz! +Bones, ain't this great!" And with one bound he was off the platform +and turning a series of somersaults on the soft grass followed by the +skinny, mangy dog which was barking itself nearly wild with joy. + +Ann Wetherby gazed at the revolving mass of heads and legs of boy and +dog in mute despair, then she rose to her feet and started down the +street. + +"You c'n foller me," she said sternly, without turning her head toward +the culprits on the grass. + +The boy came upright instantly. + +"Do ye stump it, marm?" + +"What?" she demanded, stopping short in her stupefaction. + +"Do ye stump it--hoof it--foot it, I mean," he enumerated quickly, in a +praise-worthy attempt to bring his vocabulary to the point where it +touched hers. + +"Oh--yes; 't ain't fur," vouchsafed Ann feebly. + +Bobby trotted alongside of Miss Wetherby, meekly followed by the dog. +Soon the boy gave his trousers an awkward hitch, and glanced sideways +up at the woman. + +"Oh, I say, marm, I think it's bully of yer ter let me an' Bones come," +he began sheepishly. "It looked 's if our case 'd hang fire till the +crack o' doom; there wa'n't no one ter have us. When Miss Ethel, she +told me her aunt 'd take us, it jest struck me all of a heap. I tell +ye, me an' Bones made tracks fur Slocumville 'bout's soon as they 'd +let us." + +"I hain't no doubt of it!" retorted Ann, looking back hopelessly at the +dog. + +"Ye see," continued the boy confidentially, "there ain't ev'ry one what +likes boys, an'--hi, there!--go it, Bones!" he suddenly shrieked, and +scampered wildly after the dog which had dashed into the bushes by the +side of the road. Ann did not see her young charge again until she had +been home half an hour. He came in at the gate, then, cheerfully +smiling, the dog at his heels. + +"Jiminy Christmas!" he exclaimed, "I begun ter think I 'd lost ye, but +I remembered yer last name was the same's Miss Ethel's, an' a +boy--Tommy Green, around the corner--he told me where ye lived. And, +oh, I say, me an' Bones are a-goin' off with him an' Rover after I 've +had somethin' ter eat--'t is mos' grub time, ain't it?" he added +anxiously. + +Ann sighed in a discouraged way. + +"Yes, I s'pose 't is. I left some beans a-bakin', and dinner'll be +ready pretty quick. You can come upstairs with me, Robert, an' I'll +show ye where yer goin' ter sleep," she finished, with a sinking heart, +as she thought of those ruffled pillow shams. + +Bobby followed Miss Wetherby into the dainty chamber. He gave one +look, and puckered up his lips into a long, low whistle. + +"Well, I'll be flabbergasted! Oh, I say, now, ye don't expect me ter +stay in all this fuss an' fixin's!" he exclaimed ruefully. + +"It--it is the room I calculated fur ye," said Ann, with almost a choke +in her voice. + +The boy looked up quickly and something rose within him that he did not +quite understand. + +"Oh, well, ye know, it's slick as a whistle an' all that, but I ain't +uster havin' it laid on so thick. I ain't no great shakes, ye know, +but I'll walk the chalk all right this time. Golly! Ain't it squashy, +though!" he exclaimed, as with a run and a skip he landed straight in +the middle of the puffy bed. + +With one agitated hand Miss Wetherby rescued her pillow shams, and with +the other, forcibly removed the dog which had lost no time in following +his master into the feathery nest. Then she abruptly left the room; +she could not trust herself to speak. + +Miss Wetherby did not see much of her guest that afternoon; he went +away immediately after dinner and did not return until supper time. +Then he was so completely tired out that he had but two words in reply +to Miss Wetherby's question. + +"Did ye have a good time?" she asked wistfully. + +"You bet!" + +After supper he went at once to his room; but it was not until Miss +Wetherby ceased to hear the patter of his feet on the floor above that +she leaned back in her chair with a sigh of relief. + +When Ann went upstairs to make the bed that Tuesday morning, the sight +that met her eyes struck terror to her heart. The bedclothes were +scattered in wild confusion half over the room. The washbowl, with two +long singing-books across it, she discovered to her horror, was serving +as a prison for a small green snake. The Bible and the remaining hymn +books, topped by "Baxter's Saints' Rest," lay in a suspicious-looking +pile on the floor. Under these Miss Wetherby did not look. After her +experience with the snake and the washbowl, her nerves were not strong +enough. She recoiled in dismay, also, from the sight of two yellow, +paper-covered books on the table, flaunting shamelessly the titles: +"Jack; the Pirate of Red Island," and "Haunted by a Headless Ghost." + +She made the bed as rapidly as possible, with many a backward glance at +the book-covered washbowl, then she went downstairs and shook and +brushed herself with little nervous shudders. + +Ann Wetherby never forgot that Fourth of July, nor, for that matter, +the days that immediately followed. She went about with both ears +stuffed with cotton, and eyes that were ever on the alert for all +manner of creeping, crawling things in which Bobby's soul delighted. + +The boy, reinforced by the children of the entire neighborhood, held a +circus in Miss Wetherby's wood-shed, and instituted a Wild Indian Camp +in her attic. The poor woman was quite powerless, and remonstrated all +in vain. The boy was so cheerfully good-tempered under her sharpest +words that the victory was easily his. + +But on Saturday when Miss Wetherby, returning from a neighbor's, found +two cats, four dogs, and two toads tied to her parlor chairs, together +with three cages containing respectively a canary, a parrot, and a +squirrel (collected from obliging households), she rebelled in earnest +and summoned Bobby to her side. + +"Robert, I've stood all I'm a-goin' ter. You've got to go home Monday. +Do you hear?" + +"Oh, come off, Miss Wetherby, 't ain't only a menag'ry, an' you don't +use the room none." + +Miss Wetherby's mouth worked convulsively. + +"Robert!" she gasped, as soon as she could find her voice, "I never, +never heard of such dreadful goin's-on! You certainly can't stay here +no longer," she continued sternly, resolutely trying to combat the +fatal weakness that always overcame her when the boy lifted those +soulful eyes to her face. "Now take them horrid critters out of the +parlor this minute. You go home Monday--now mind what I say!" + +An hour later, Miss Wetherby had a caller. It was the chorister of her +church choir. The man sat down gingerly on one of the slippery +haircloth chairs, and proceeded at once to state his business. + +"I understand, Miss Wetherby, that you have an--er--young singer with +you." + +Miss Wetherby choked, and stammered "Yes." + +"He sings--er--very well, does n't he?" + +The woman was still more visibly embarrassed. + +"I--I don't know," she murmured; then in stronger tones, "The one that +looked like him did." + +"Are there two?" he asked in stupid amazement. + +Miss Wetherby laughed uneasily, then she sighed. + +"Well, ter tell the truth, Mr. Wiggins, I s'pose there ain't; but +sometimes I think there must be. I'll send Robert down ter the +rehearsal to-night, and you can see what ye can do with him." And with +this Mr. Wiggins was forced to be content. + +Bobby sang on Sunday. The little church was full to the doors. Bobby +was already famous in the village, and people had a lively curiosity as +to what this disquieting collector of bugs and snakes might offer in +the way of a sacred song. The "nighty" was, perforce, absent, much to +the sorrow of Ann; but the witchery of the glorious voice entered again +into the woman's soul, and, indeed, sent the entire congregation home +in an awed silence that was the height of admiring homage. + +At breakfast time Monday morning, Bobby came downstairs with his brown +paper parcel under his arm. Ann glanced at his woeful face, then went +out into the kitchen and slammed the oven door sharply. + +"Well, marm, I've had a bully time---sure's a gun," said the boy +wistfully, following her. + +Miss Wetherby opened the oven door and shut it with a second bang; then +she straightened herself and crossed the room to the boy's side. + +"Robert," she began with assumed sternness, trying to hide her depth of +feeling, "you ain't a-goin' home ter-day--now mind what I say! Take +them things upstairs. Quick--breakfast's all ready!" + +A great light transfigured Bobby's face. He tossed his bundle into a +corner and fell upon Miss Wetherby with a bearlike hug. + +"Gee-whiz! marm--but yer are a brick! An' I 'll run yer errands an' +split yer wood, an' I won't take no dogs an' cats in the parlor, an' +I'll do ev'rythin'--ev'rythin' ye want me to! Oh, golly--golly!--I'm +goin' ter stay--I'm goin' ter stay!" And Bobby danced out of the house +into the yard there to turn somersault after somersault in hilarious +glee. + +A queer choking feeling came into Ann Wetherby's throat. She seemed +still to feel the loving clasp of those small young arms. + +"Well, he--he's part angel, anyhow," she muttered, drawing a long +breath and watching with tear-dimmed eyes Bobby's antics on the grass +outside. + +And Bobby stayed--not only Monday, but through four other long +days--days which he filled to the brim with fun and frolic and joyous +shouts as before--and yet with a change. + +The shouts were less shrill and the yells less prolonged when Bobby was +near the house. No toads nor cats graced the parlor floor, and no bugs +nor snakes tortured Miss Wetherby's nerves when Bobby's bed was made +each day. The kitchen woodbox threatened to overflow--so high were its +contents piled--and Miss Wetherby was put to her wits' end to satisfy +Bobby's urgent clamorings for errands to run. + +And when the four long days were over and Saturday came, a note--and +not Bobby--was sent to the city. The note was addressed to "Miss Ethel +Wetherby," and this is what Ethel's amazed eyes read: + +_My Dear Niece_:--You can tell that singer man of Robert's that he is +not going back any more. He is going to live with me and go to school +next winter. I am going to adopt him for my very own. His father and +mother are dead--he said so. + +I must close now, for Robert is hungry, and wants his dinner. + +Love to all, + ANN WETHERBY. + + + + +The Lady in Black + +The house was very still. In the little room over the porch the Lady +in Black sat alone. Near her a child's white dress lay across a chair, +and on the floor at her feet a tiny pair of shoes, stubbed at the toes, +lay where an apparently hasty hand had thrown them. A doll, head +downward, hung over a chair-back, and a toy soldier with drawn sword +dominated the little stand by the bed. And everywhere was silence--the +peculiar silence that comes only to a room where the clock has ceased +to tick. + +The clock--such a foolish little clock of filigree gilt--stood on the +shelf at the foot of the bed; and as the Lady in Black looked at it she +remembered the wave of anger that had surged over her when she had +thrust out her hand and silenced it that night three months before. It +had seemed so monstrous to her that the pulse in that senseless thing +of gilt should throb on unheeding while below, on the little white bed, +that other pulse was so pitiably still. Hence she had thrust out her +hand and stopped it. It had been silent ever since--and it should +remain silent, too. Of what possible use were the hours it would tick +away now? As if anything mattered, with little Kathleen lying out +there white and still under the black earth! + +"Muvver!" + +The Lady in Black stirred restlessly, and glanced toward the closed +door. Behind it she knew was a little lad with wide blue eyes and a +dimpling mouth who wanted her; but she wished he would not call her by +that name. It only reminded her of those other little lips--silent now. + +"_Muvver_!" The voice was more insistent. + +The Lady in Black did not answer. He might go away, she thought, if +she did not reply. + +There was a short silence, then the door-knob rattled and turned half +around under the touch of plainly unskilled fingers. The next moment +the door swung slowly back on its hinges and revealed at full length +the little figure in the Russian suit. + +"Pe-eek!" It was a gurgling cry of joyful discovery, but it was +followed almost instantly by silence. The black-garbed, unsmiling +woman did not invite approach, and the boy fell back at his first step. +He hesitated, then spoke, tentatively, "I's--here." + +It was, perhaps, the worst thing he could have said. To the Lady in +Black it was a yet more bitter reminder of that other one who was not +there. She gave a sharp cry and covered her face with her hands. + +"Bobby, Bobby, how can you taunt me with it?" she moaned, in a frenzy +of unreasoning grief. "Go away--go away! I want to be alone--alone!" + +All the brightness fled from the boy's face. His mouth was no longer +dimpled, and his eyes showed a grieved hurt in their depths. Very +slowly he turned away. At the top of the stairs he stopped and looked +back. The door was still open, and the Lady in Black still sat with +her hands over her face. He waited, but she did not move; then, with a +half-stifled sob, he dropped on the top step and began to bump down the +stairs, one at a time. + +Long minutes afterward the Lady in Black raised her head and saw him +through the window. He was down in the yard with his father, having a +frolic under the apple tree. + +A frolic! + +The Lady in Black looked at them with somber eyes, and her mouth +hardened at the corners. Bobby down there in the yard could laugh and +dance and frolic. Bobby had some one to play with him, some one to +love him and care for him; while out there on the hillside Kathleen was +alone--all alone. Kathleen had no one-- + +With a little cry the Lady in Black sprang to her feet and hurried into +her own room. Her hands shook as she pinned on her hat and shrouded +herself in the long folds of her black veil; but her step was firm as +she swept downstairs and out through the hall. + +The man under the apple tree rose hurriedly and came forward. + +"Helen, dearest,--not again, to-day!" he begged. "Darling, it can't do +any good!" + +"But she's alone--all alone. You don't seem to think! No one +thinks--no one knows how I feel. You don't understand--if you did, +you'd come with me. You wouldn't ask me to stay--here!" choked the +woman. + +"I have been with you, dear," said the man gently. "I 've been with +you to-day, and every day, almost, since--since she left us. But it +can't do any good--this constant brooding over her grave. It only +makes additional sorrow for you, for me, and for Bobby. Bobby +is--here, you know, dear!" + +"No, no, don't say it," sobbed the woman wildly. "You don't +understand--you don't understand!" And she turned and hurried away, a +tall black shadow of grief, followed by the anguished eyes of the man, +and the wistful puzzled eyes of the boy. + +It was not a long walk to the tree-embowered plot of ground where the +marble shafts and slabs glistened in the sunlight, and the Lady in +Black knew the way; yet she stumbled and reached out blindly, and she +fell, as if exhausted, before a little stone marked "Kathleen." Near +her a gray-haired woman, with her hands full of pink and white roses, +watched her sympathetically. She hesitated, and opened her lips as if +she would speak, then she turned slowly and began to arrange her +flowers on a grave near by. + +At the slight stir the Lady in Black raised her head. For a time she +watched in silence; then she threw back her veil and spoke. + +"You care, too," she said softly. "You understand. I've seen you here +before, I'm sure. And was yours--a little girl?" + +The gray-haired woman shook her head. + +"No, dearie, it's a little boy--or he was a little boy forty years ago." + +"Forty years--so long! How could you have lived forty years--without +him?" + +Again the little woman shook her head. + +"One has to--sometimes, dearie; but this little boy was n't mine. He +was none of my kith nor kin." + +"But you care--you understand. I 've seen you here so often before." + +"Yes. You see, there's no one else to care. But there was once, and I +'m caring now--for her." + +"For--her?" + +"His mother." + +"Oh-h!" It was a tender little cry, full of quick sympathy--the eyes +of the Lady in Black were on the stone marked "Kathleen." + +"It ain't as if I did n't know how she'd feel," muttered the +gray-haired little woman musingly, as she patted her work into +completion and turned toward the Lady in Black. "You see, I was nurse +to the boy when it happened, and for years afterward I worked in the +family; so I know. I saw the whole thing from the beginning, from the +very day when the little boy here met with the accident." + +"Accident!" It was a sob of anguished sympathy from Kathleen's mother. + +"Yes. 'T was a runaway; and he did n't live two days." + +"I know--I know!" choked the Lady in Black--yet she was not thinking of +the boy and the runaway. + +"Things stopped then for my mistress," resumed the little gray-haired +woman, after a moment, "and that was the beginning of the end. She had +a husband and a daughter, but they did n't count--not either of 'em. +Nothin' counted but this little grave out here; and she came and spent +hours over it, trimmin' it with flowers and talkin' to it." + +The Lady in Black raised her head suddenly and threw a quick glance +into the other's face; but the gray-haired woman's eyes were turned +away, and after a moment she went on speaking. + +"The house got gloomier and gloomier, but she did n't seem to mind. +She seemed to want it so. She shut out the sunshine and put away lots +of the pictures; and she wouldn't let the pianner be opened at all. +She never sat anywhere in the house only in the boy's room, and there +everything was just as 'twas when he left it. She would n't let a +thing be touched. I wondered afterward that she did n't see where 't +was all leadin' to--but she did n't." + +"'Leading to'?" The voice shook. + +"Yes. I wondered she did n't see she was losin' 'em--that husband and +daughter; but she did n't see it." + +The Lady in Black sat very still. Even the birds seemed to have +stopped their singing. Then the gray-haired woman spoke: + +"So, you see, that's why I come and put flowers here--it's for her +sake. There's no one else now to care," she sighed, rising to her feet. + +"But you haven't told yet--what happened," murmured the Lady in Black, +faintly. + +"I don't know myself--quite. I know the man went away. He got +somethin' to do travelin', so he was n't home much. When he did come +he looked sick and bad. There were stories that he wa'n't quite +straight always--but maybe that wa'n't true. Anyhow, he come less and +less, and he died away--but that was after she died. He's buried over +there, beside her and the boy. The girl--well, nobody knows where the +girl is. Girls like flowers and sunshine and laughter and young folks, +you know, and she did n't get any of them at home. So she went--where +she did get 'em, I suppose. Anyhow, nobody knows just where she is +now. . . . There, and if I have n't gone and tired you all out with my +chatter!" broke off the little gray-haired woman contritely. "I 'm +sure I don't know why I got to runnin' on so!" + +"No, no--I was glad to hear it," faltered the Lady in Black, rising +unsteadily to her feet. Her face had grown white, and her eyes showed +a sudden fear. "But I must go now. Thank you." And she turned and +hurried away. + +The house was very still when the Lady in Black reached home--and she +shivered at its silence. Through the hall and up the stairs she went +hurriedly, almost guiltily. In her own room she plucked at the shadowy +veil with fingers that tore the filmy mesh and found only the points of +the pins. She was crying now--a choking little cry with broken words +running through it; and she was still crying all the while her hands +were fumbling at the fastenings of her somber black dress. + +Long minutes later, the Lady--in Black no longer--trailed slowly down +the stairway. Her eyes showed traces of tears, and her chin quivered, +but her lips were bravely curved in a smile. She wore a white dress +and a single white rose in her hair; while behind her, in the little +room over the porch, a tiny clock of filigree gilt ticked loudly on its +shelf at the foot of the bed. + +There came a sound of running feet in the hall below; then: + +"Muvver!--it's muvver come back!" cried a rapturous voice. + +And with a little sobbing cry Bobby's mother opened her arms to her son. + + + + +The Saving of Dad + +On the boundary fence sat James, known as "Jim"; on the stunted grass +of the neighboring back yard lay Robert, known as "Bob." In age, size, +and frank-faced open-heartedness the boys seemed alike; but there were +a presence of care and an absence of holes in Jim's shirt and +knee-breeches that were quite wanting in those of the boy on the +ground. Jim was the son of James Barlow, lately come into the +possession of the corner grocery. Bob was the son of "Handy Mike," who +worked out by the day, doing "odd jobs" for the neighboring housewives. + +"I hain't no doubt of it," Bob was saying, with mock solemnity. "Yer +dad can eat more an' run faster an' jump higher an' shoot straighter +than any man what walks round." + +"Shucks!" retorted the boy on the fence, with a quick, frown. "That +ain't what I said, and you know it." + +"So?" teased Bob. "Well, now, 'twas all I could remember. There's +lots more, 'course, only I furgit 'em, an'--" + +"Shut up!" snapped Jim tersely. + +"'Course ev'ry one knows he's only a sample," went on Bob +imperturbably. "An' so he's handsomer an'--" + +"Will you quit?" demanded Jim sharply. + +"No, I won't," retorted Bob, with a quick change of manner. "You 've +been here just two weeks, an' it hain't been nothin' but 'Dad says +this,' an' 'Dad says that,' ever since. Jiminy! a feller'd think you'd +made out ter have the only dad that's goin'!" + +There was a pause--so long a pause that the boy on the grass sent a +sideways glance at the motionless figure on the fence. + +"It wa'n't right, of course," began Jim, at last, awkwardly, "crowin' +over dad as I do. I never thought how--how 't would make the rest of +you fellers feel." Bob, on the grass, bridled and opened his lips, but +something in Jim's rapt face kept him from giving voice to his scorn. +"'Course there ain't any one like dad--there can't be," continued Jim +hurriedly. "He treats me white, an' he's straight there every time. +Dad don't dodge. Maybe I should n't say so much about him, only--well, +me an' dad are all alone. There ain't any one else; they're dead." + +The boy on the grass turned over and kicked both heels in the air; then +he dug at the turf with his forefinger. He wished he would not think +of his mother and beloved little sister May just then. He opened his +eyes very wide and winked hard, once, twice, and again. He tried to +speak; failing in that, he puckered his lips for a whistle. But the +lips twitched and would not stay steady, and the whistle, when it came, +sounded like nothing so much as the far-away fog-whistle off the shore +at night. With a snort of shamed terror lest that lump in his throat +break loose, Bob sprang upright and began to turn a handspring with +variations. + +"Bet ye can't do this," he challenged thickly. + +"Bet ye I can," retorted Jim, landing with a thump at Bob's side. + +It was after supper the next night that the two boys again occupied the +fence and the grass-plot. They had fallen into the way of discussing +at this time the day's fires, dog-fights, and parades. To-day, +however, fires had been few, dog-fights fewer, and parades so very +scarce that they numbered none at all. Conversation had come to a dead +pause, when Jim, his eyes on the rod of sidewalk visible from where he +sat, called softly: + +"Hi, Bob, who's the guy with the plug?" + +Bob raised his head. He caught a glimpse of checkered trousers, +tail-coat, and tall hat, then he dropped to the ground with a short +laugh. + +"Yes, who is it?" he scoffed. "Don't ye know?" + +"Would I be askin' if I did?" demanded Jim. + +"Humph!" grunted the other. "Well, you'll know him fast enough one of +these days, sonny, never fear. There don't no one hang out here more'n +a month 'fore he spots 'em." + +"'Spots 'em'!" + +"Sure! He's Danny O'Flannigan." + +"Well?" + +Into Bob's face came a look of pitying derision. + +"'Well,'" he mocked. "Mebbe 't will be 'well,' an' then again mebbe 't +won't. It all depends on yer dad." + +"On _dad_!" + +"Sure! He's Danny O'Flannigan, the boss o' this ward." + +"But what has that got to do with my dad?" + +"Aw, come off--as if ye did n't know! It all depends whether he's +nailed him or not." + +"'Nailed him'!" + +"Sure. If he nails him fur a friend, he gits customers an' picnics an' +boo-kays all the time. If he don't--" Bob made a wry face and an +expressive gesture. + +The frown that had been gathering on Jim's brow fled. + +"Ho!" he laughed. "Don't you worry. Dad always nails folks--never +misses hittin' 'em on the head, either," he added, in reckless triumph, +confident that there was nothing "dad" could not do. + +The boy on the grass sat up and stared; then he lay back and gave a +hoarse laugh--a long, chuckling laugh that brought the frown back to +Jim's face. + +"Well, what you laughin' at?" demanded Jim sharply. + +"Oh, gee, gee!--that's too good!" gurgled the boy on the grass, rolling +from side to side. "The saint, the sample, the pattern, the feller +what treats 'em square, a-sellin' his vote! Oh, gee, gee!" + +The ground suddenly shook with the impact of two sturdy little feet, +and Bob found his throat in the grasp of two strong little hands. + +"Bob Sullivan, quit yer laughin' an' tell me what you're talkin' +about," stormed a shrill treble. "Who's a-sellin' their vote?" + +Bob squirmed and struggled. + +"A feller--can't talk--without--breathin'!" he choked. + +"Well, then,--breathe!" commanded Jim, jerking his companion to a +sitting posture and loosening his clasp on his throat. "Now--who's +a-sellin' their vote?" + +"Ye said it yerself, I didn't," snarled Bob sullenly. + +"Said what?" + +"That yer dad would nail Danny O'Flannigan, sure." + +"And is that sellin' his vote?" + +"What else is it, then?" demanded Bob wrathfully. "He votes as Danny +says, an' Danny sends him trade, an'--oh, oh, q-quit it--q-quit it--I +say!" choked Bob, breath and speech almost cut off by the furious +clutch of Jim's lean little fingers. + +"I won't quit it; I won't!" stormed Jim, shaking his victim with a +force that was as strong as it was sudden. "You know I never meant it +that way; an' dad won't sell his vote; he won't--he won't--he won't!" + +The next instant a wrathful, palpitating Bob lay alone on the grass, +while a no less wrathful and palpitating Jim vaulted the fence at a +bound and disappeared into the next house. + +Jim awoke the next morning with a haunting sense that something had +happened. In a moment he remembered; and with memory came rage and a +defiant up tilting of the chin. + +As if dad--_dad_ could do this thing! Very possibly--even +probably--Handy Mike had long ago gone down before this creature in the +checkered trousers and tall hat; but dad--dad was not Handy Mike! + +The ins and outs, the fine points, the ethics of it all were not quite +clear to Jim; but the derision in Bob's laugh was unmistakable; and on +that derision and on that laugh hung his unfaltering confidence that +dad would not, could not, do anything to merit either. + +For three nights the boys shunned the fence and the back yard. On the +fourth night, as if by common impulse, each took his accustomed place, +wearing an elaborate air of absolute forgetfulness of the past. There +had been two fires and a parade that day, so any embarrassment that the +situation held was easily talked down. Not until Handy Mike on the +side porch of his dilapidated cottage had greeted a visitor did there +come a silence between the two boys. Even then it did not last long, +for Bob broke it with a hoarse whisper. + +"It's Danny O'Flannigan, sure's a gun! It's gittin' mos' +'lection-time, an' he's drummin' 'em up. Now, jest watch pap. He +hain't no use fur Danny. Oh, of course," he added, in hurried +conciliation, "'t ain't as if it made any difference ter pap. Pap +works fur the women-folks, an' women don't cut much ice in pol'tics." + +And Jim did watch--with his eyes wide open and his hands so tightly +clenched they fairly ached. He could not hear the words, but he could +the voices, and he noted that for the first five minutes one was +jovial, the other sullen; and for the next five minutes one was +persuasive, the other contradictory; and for the third five minutes one +was angry and the other back to its old sullenness. Then he saw that +Danny O'Flannigan jerked himself to his feet and strode away, leaving +Handy Mike stolidly smoking on the side porch. + +"Humph!" muttered Bob. "Danny hung to longer 'n I thought he would. +Must be somethin' special's up." + +It was on the next night that Jim, from his perch on the back fence, +saw the checkered trousers and tall hat on his own doorstep. Bob, on +the grass below, could not see, so Jim held his breath while the door +opened and his father admitted Danny O'Flannigan to the house. + +Jim's heart swelled, and his eyes flashed with pride. Now, we should +see how a _man_ dealt with this thing. Surely now there would be no +fifteen minutes' dallying. Danny O'Flannigan would soon find out what +sort of a person he had to deal with. He would see that dad was not +Handy Mike. + +It was on Jim's lips to speak to Bob, that Bob might share with him the +sight of Danny O'Flannigan's discomfiture. He longed to display this +overwhelming proof of the falseness of Bob's assertion that dad would +sell his vote; but--best let by-gones be by-gones; he had punished Bob +for that, and, after all, Handy Mike _was_ Bob's father. He could tell +Bob of it later--how dad had sent Danny O'Flannigan to the right-about +at once. Yes, that was the better way. + +So Jim schooled himself to hide his exultation, and he listened with +well-feigned interest to Bob's animated account of the morning's fire. + +Two, three, five minutes passed, and Danny O'Flannigan had not come +out. Jim hitched about on his narrow perch, and sent furtive glances +across the expanse of yard to his own door. Six, seven, ten minutes +passed; Jim's throat grew dry, and his fingers cold at their tips. His +eyes had long ago ceased to look at Bob; they were fixed in growing +horror on that closed door, behind which were dad--and that man. +Eleven, thirteen, fifteen minutes passed. + +"I--I'm goin' in now," faltered Jim. "I--I reckon I don't feel well," +he finished thickly, as he slipped to the ground and walked unsteadily +across the yard. + +In the woodshed he stopped short at the kitchen door. A murmur of +voices came from far inside, and Jim's knees shook beneath him--it was +not so--it could not be possible that dad was _still_ talking! Jim +stole through the back hallway and out on to the grass beneath the +sitting-room windows on the other side of the house. The voices were +louder now--the visitor's very loud. + +Jim raised his head and tried to smile. + +Of course!--dad was sending him about his business, and the man was +angry--that was it. It had taken longer than he thought, but dad--dad +never did like to hurt folks' feelings. Some men--some men did not +care how they talked; but not dad. Why, dad--dad did not even like to +kill a mouse; he-- + +There came the sound of a laugh--a long, ringing laugh with a gleeful +chuckle at the end. Jim grew faint. That was--_dad_! + +Ten seconds later the two men in the sitting-room were confronted by a +white-faced, shaking boy. + +"Maybe you did n't know, Mr. O'Flannigan," began Jim eagerly, "maybe +you did n't know that dad don't speak sharp. He ain't much for hurtin' +folks' feelings; but he means it just the same--that he won't do what +you want him to do. He's square and straight--dad is, an' he don't +dodge; but maybe you thought 'cause he laughed that he was easy--but he +ain't. Why, dad would n't--" + +"Tut, tut, not so fast, my boy," cut in Danny O'Flannigan pompously. +"Your father has already--" + +A strong hand gripped O'Flannigan's shoulder, and an agonized pair of +eyes arrested his words. + +"For God's sake, man," muttered Barlow, "have you no mercy? +Think--have you no son of your own that believes you 're almost--God +Himself?" + +For a brief instant Danny O'Flannigan's eyebrows and shoulders rose in +an expressive gesture, and his hands made a disdainful sweep; then his +eyes softened strangely. + +"As you please," he said, and reached for his hat with an air that was +meant to show indifference. "Then the deal is off, I suppose." + +"There!" crowed Jim, as the door clicked behind the checkered trousers. +"There, I knew you'd do it, dad. Just as if-- Why, dad, you +'re--_cryin_'! Pooh! who cares for Danny O'Flannigan?" he soothed, +patting the broad shoulders bowed low over the table. "I would n't cry +for him!" + + + + +Millionaire Mike's Thanksgiving + +He was not Mike at first; he was only the Millionaire--a young +millionaire who sat in a wheel chair on the pier waiting for the boat. +He had turned his coat-collar up to shut out the wind, and his hatbrim +down to shut out the sun. For the time being he was alone. He had +sent his attendant back for a forgotten book. + +It was Thanksgiving, but the Millionaire was not thankful. He was not +thinking of what he had, but of what he wanted. He wanted his old +strength of limb, and his old freedom from pain. True, the doctors had +said that he might have them again in time, but he wanted them now. He +wanted the Girl, also. He would have her, to be sure, that very +evening; but he wanted her now. + +The girl had been very sweet and gentle about it, but she had been +firm. As he could recollect it, their conversation had run something +like this: + +"But I want you myself, all day." + +"But, Billy, don't you see? I promised; besides, I ought to do it. I +am the president of the club. If I shirk responsibility, what can I +expect the others to do?" + +"But I need you just as much--yes, more--than those poor families." + +"Oh, Billy, how can you say that, when they are so very poor, and when +every one of them is the proud kind that would simply rather starve +than go after their turkey and things! That's why we girls take them +to them. Don't you see?" + +"Oh, yes, I see. I see I don't count. It could n't be expected that +I'd count--now!" And he patted the crutches at his side. + +It was despicable in him, and he knew it. But he said it. He could +see her eyes now, all hurt and sorrowful as she went away. . . . And +so this morning he sat waiting for the boat, a long, lonely day in +prospect in his bungalow on the island, while behind him he had left +the dearest girl in the world, who, with other petted darlings of +wealth and luxury, was to distribute Thanksgiving baskets to the poor. + +Not that his day needed to be lonely. He knew that. A dozen friends +stood ready and anxious to supply him with a good dinner and plenty of +companionship. But he would have none of them. As if _he_ wanted a +Thanksgiving dinner! + +And thus alone he waited in the wheel chair; and how he abhorred +it--that chair--which was not strange, perhaps, considering the +automobile that he loved. Since the accident, however, his injured +back had forbidden the speed and jar of motor cars, allowing only the +slow but exasperating safety of crutches and a wheel chair. To-day +even that seemed denied him, for the man who wheeled his chair did not +come. + +With a frown the Millionaire twisted himself about and looked behind +him. It was near the time for the boat to start, and there would not +be another for three hours. From the street hurried a jostling throng +of men, women, and children. Longingly the Millionaire watched them. +He had no mind to spend the next three hours where he was. If he could +be pushed on to the boat, he would trust to luck for the other side. +With his still weak left arm he could not propel himself, but if he +could find some one-- + +Twice, with one of the newspapers that lay in his lap, he made a feeble +attempt to attract attention; but the Millionaire was used to +commanding, not begging, and his action passed unnoticed. He saw then +in the crowd the face of a friend, and with a despairing gesture he +waved the paper again. But the friend passed by unheeding. What +happened then was so entirely unexpected that the Millionaire fell back +in his chair dumb with amazement. + +"Here, Mike, ye ain't on ter yer job. Youse can't sell nuttin' dat +way," scoffed a friendly voice. "Here, now, watch!" And before the +Millionaire could collect his wits he saw the four papers he had bought +that morning to help beguile a dreary day, snatched into the grimy +hands of a small boy and promptly made off with. + +The man's angry word of remonstrance died on his lips. The boy was +darting in and out of the crowd, shouting "Poiper, here's yer poiper!" +at the top of his voice. Nor did he return until the last pair of feet +had crossed the gangplank. Then in triumph he hurried back to the +waiting man in the wheel chair and dropped into his lap a tiny heap of +coppers. + +"Sold out, pardner! Dat's what we be," he crowed delighted. "Sold +out!" + +"But--I--you--" gasped the man. + +"Aw, furgit it--'t wa'n't nuttin'," disdained the boy airily. "Ye see, +youse got ter holler." + +"To--to 'holler'!" + +"Sure, Mike, or ye can't sell nuttin'. I been a-watchin' ye, an' I see +right off ye wa'n't on ter yer job. Why, pardner, ye can't sell +poipers like ye was shellin' out free sody-checks at a picnic. Youse +got ter yell at 'em, an' git dere 'tention. 'Course, ye can't run like +I can"--his voice softened awkwardly as his eyes fell to the crutches +at the man's side--"but ye can holler, an' not jest set dere a-shakin' +'em easy at 'em, like ye did a minute ago. Dat ain't no way ter sell +poipers!" + +With a half-smothered exclamation the Millionaire fell back in his +chair. He knew now that he was not a millionaire, but a "Mike" to the +boy. He was not William Seymore Haynes, but a cripple selling papers +for a living. He would not have believed that a turned-up collar, a +turned down soft hat, and a few jerks of a newspaper could have made +such a metamorphosis. + +"Youse'll catch on in no time now, pardner," resumed the boy +soothingly, "an' I'm mighty glad I was here ter set ye goin'. Sure, I +sells poipers meself, I does, an' I knows how 't is. Don't look so +flabbergasted. 'T ain't nuttin'. Shucks! hain't fellers what's +pardners oughter do a turn fur 't odder?" + +The Millionaire bit his lip. He had intended to offer money to this +boy, but with his gaze on that glowing countenance, he knew that he +could not. He had come suddenly face to face with something for which +his gold could not pay. + +"Th-thank you," he stammered embarrassedly. "You--you were very kind." +He paused, and gazed nervously back toward the street. "I--I was +expecting some one. We were going to take that boat." + +"No! Was ye? An' he did n't show up? Say, now, dat's tough--an' +T'anksgivin', too!" + +"As if I cared for Thanksgiving!" The words came tense with bitterness. + +"Aw, come now, furgit it!" There was a look of real concern on the +boy's face. "Dat ain't no way ter talk. It's T'anksgivin'!" + +"Yes, I know--for some." The man's lips snapped shut grimly. + +"Aw, come off! Never mind if yer pal did n't show up. Dere 's odders; +dere 's me now. Tell ye what, youse come home wid me. Dere won't be +no boat now fur a heap o' time, an' I 'm goin' ter T'anksgive. Come +on! 'T ain't fur. I'll wheel ye." + +The man stared frankly. + +"Er--thank you," he murmured, with an odd little laugh; "but--" + +"Shucks! 'Course ye can. What be ye goin' ter do?--set here? What's +the use o' mopin' like dis when youse got a invite out ter +T'anksgivin'? An' ye better catch it while it's goin', too. Ye see, +some days I could n't ask ye--not grub enough; but I can ter-day. We +got a s'prise comin'." + +"Indeed!" The tone was abstracted, almost irritable; but the boy +ignored this. + +"Sure! It's a dinner--a T'anksgivin' dinner bringed in to us. Now +ain't ye comin'?" + +"A dinner, did you say?--brought to you?" + +"Yeaup!" + +"Who brings it?" + +"A lady what comes ter see me an' Kitty sometimes; an' she's a +peacherino, she is! She said she 'd bring it." + +"Do you know--her name?" The words came a little breathlessly. + +"You bet! Why, she's our friend, I tell ye! Her name is Miss Daisy +Carrolton; dat 's what 't is." + +The man relaxed in his chair. It was the dearest girl in the world. + +"Say, ain't ye comin'?" urged the boy, anxiously. + +"Coming? Of course I'm coming," cried the man, with sudden energy. +"Just catch hold of that chair back there, lad, and you'll see." + +"Say, now, dat's sumpin' like," crowed the boy, as he briskly started +the chair. "'T ain't fur, ye know." + +Neither the boy nor the Millionaire talked much on the way. The boy +was busy with his task; the man, with his thoughts. Just why he was +doing this thing was not clear even to the man himself. He suspected +it was because of the girl. He could fancy her face when she should +find that it was to him she was bringing her turkey dinner! He roused +himself with a start. The boy was speaking. + +"My! but I 'm glad I stopped an' watched ye tryin' ter sell poipers. +T'ink o' youse a-settin' dere all dis time a-waitin' fur dat boat--an' +T'anksgivin', too! An' don't ye worry none. Ma an' Kitty 'll be right +glad to see ye. 'T ain't often we can have comp'ny. It's most allers +us what's takin' t'ings give ter us--not givin' ourselves." + +"Oh," replied the man uncertainly. "Is--is that so?" + +With a distinct shock it had come to the millionaire that he was not +merely the disgruntled lover planning a little prank to tease the +dearest girl in the world. He was the honored guest of a family who +were rejoicing that it was in their power to give a lonely cripple a +Thanksgiving dinner. His face grew red at the thought. + +"Ugh-uh. An', oh, I say, what _is_ yer name, pardner?" went on the +boy. "'Course I called ye 'Mike,' but--" + +"Then suppose you still call me 'Mike,'" retorted the man, nervously +wondering if he _could_ play the part. He caught a glimpse of the +beaming face of his benefactor--and decided that he _must_ play it. + +"A' right, den; an' here we be," announced the boy in triumph, stopping +before a flight of steps that led to a basement door. + +With the aid of his crutches the man descended the steps. Behind him +came the boy with the chair. At the foot the boy flung wide the door +and escorted his guest through a dark, evil-smelling hallway, into a +kitchen beyond. + +"Ma! Kitty! look a-here!" he shouted, leaving the chair, and springing +into the room. "I 've bringed home comp'ny ter dinner. Dis is Mike. +He was sellin' poipers down ter de dock, an' he lost his boat. I told +him ter come on here an' eat wid us. I knowed what was comin', ye see!" + +"Why, yes, indeed, of course," fluttered a wan-faced little woman, +plainly trying not to look surprised. "Sit down, Mr. Mike," she +finished, drawing up a chair to the old stove. + +"Thank you, but I--I--" The man looked about for a means of escape. +In the doorway stood the boy with the wheel chair. + +"Here, Mr. Mike, mebbe youse wanted dis. Say, Kitty, ain't dis grand?" +he ended admiringly, wheeling the chair to the middle of the room. + +From the corner came the tap of crutches, and the man saw then what he +had not seen before; a slip of a girl, perhaps twelve years old, with a +helpless little foot hanging limp below the skirt-hem. + +"Oh, oh!" she breathed, her eyes aflame with excitement. "It is--it +is--a _wheel_ one! Oh, sir, how glad and proud you must be--with that!" + +The man sat down, though not in the wheel chair. He dropped a little +helplessly into the one his hostess had brought forward. + +"Perhaps you--you'd like to try it," he managed to stammer. + +"Oh, can I? Thank you!" breathed a rapturous voice. And there, for +the next five minutes, sat the Millionaire watching a slip of a girl +wheeling herself back and forth in his chair--his chair, which he had +never before suspected of being "fine" or "wonderful" or "grand"--as +the girl declared it to be. + +Shrinkingly he looked about him. Nowhere did his eyes fall upon +anything that was whole. He had almost struggled to his feet to flee +from it all when the boy's voice arrested him. + +"Ye see, it's comin' 'bout noon--de grub is; an' it's goin' ter be all +cooked so we can begin ter eat right off. Dere, how's dat?" he +questioned, standing away to admire the propped-up table he and his +mother were setting with a few broken dishes. "Now ain't ye glad youse +ain't down dere a-waitin' fur a boat what don't come?" + +"Sure I am," declared the man, gazing into the happy face before him, +and valiantly determining to be Mike now no matter what happened. + +"An' ain't the table pretty!" exulted the little girl. "I found that +chiny cup with the gold on it. 'Course it don't hold nothin', 'cause +the bottom's fell out; but it looks pretty--an' looks counts when +comp'ny's here!" + +The boy lifted his head suddenly. + +"Look a-here! I'll make it hold sumpin'," he cried, diving his hands +into his pockets, and bringing out five coppers and a dime. "Youse +jest wait. I 'll get a posy up ter de square. 'Course, we 'd ought +ter have a posy, wid comp'ny here." + +"Hold on!" The Millionaire's hand was in his pocket now. His fingers +were on a gold piece, and his eyes--in fancy--were on a glorious riot +of Jacqueminots that filled the little room to overflowing, and brought +a wondrous light to three pairs of unbelieving eyes--then Mike +remembered. "Here," he said a little huskily, "let me help." But the +fingers, when he held them out, carried only the dime that Mike might +give, not the gold piece of the Millionaire. + +"Aw, g'wan," scoffed the boy, jubilantly. "As if we'd let comp'ny pay! +Dis is our show!" And for the second time that day the Millionaire had +found something that money could not buy. + +And thus it happened that the table, a little later, held a centerpiece +of flowers--four near-to-fading pinks in a bottomless, gold-banded +china cup. + +It was the man who heard the honk of a motor-car in the street outside. +Instinctively he braced himself, and none too soon. There was a light +knock, then in the doorway stood the dearest girl in the world, a large +basket and a box in her hands. + +"Oh, how lovely! You have the table all ready," she exclaimed, coming +swiftly forward. "And what a fine--_Billy_!" she gasped, as she +dropped the box and the basket on the table. + +The boy turned sharply. + +"Aw! Why did n't ye tell a feller?" he reproached the man; then to the +Girl: "_Does_ ye know him? He _said_ ter call him 'Mike.'" + +The man rose now. With an odd directness he looked straight into the +Girl's startled eyes. + +"Maybe Miss Carrolton don't remember me much, as I am now," he murmured. + +The Girl flushed. The man, who knew her so well, did not need to be +told that the angry light in her eyes meant that she suspected him of +playing this masquerade for a joke, and that she did not like it. Even +the dearest girl in the world had a temper--at times. + +"But why--are you--here?" she asked in a cold little voice. + +The man's eyes did not swerve. + +"Jimmy asked me to come." + +"He asked you to come!" + +"Sure I did," interposed Jimmy, with all the anxiety of a host who sees +his guest, for some unknown reason, being made uncomfortable. "I +knowed youse would n't mind if we did ask comp'ny ter help eat de +dinner, an' he lost his boat, ye see, an' had a mug on him as long as +me arm, he was that cut up 'bout it. He was sellin' poipers down t' de +dock." + +"Selling papers!" + +"As it happened, I did not _sell_ them," interposed the man, still with +that steady meeting of her eyes. "Jimmy sold them for me. He will +tell you that I was n't on to my job, so he helped me out." + +"Aw, furgit it," grinned Jimmy sheepishly. "Dat wa'n't nuttin'. I +only showed him ye could n't sell no poipers widout hollerin'." + +A curious look of admiration and relief came to the face of the Girl. +Her eyes softened. "You mean--" + +She stopped, and the man nodded his head gravely. + +"Yes, miss. I was alone, waiting for Thompson. He must have got +delayed. I had four papers in my lap, and after Jimmy had sold them +and the boat had gone, he very kindly asked me to dinner, and--I came." + +"Whew! Look at dis!" cried an excited voice. Jimmy was investigating +the contents of the basket. "Say, Mike, we got turkey! Ye see," he +explained, turning to Miss Carrolton, "he kinder hung back fur a while, +an' wa'n't fast on comin'. An' I did hope 't would be turkey--fur +comp'ny. Folks don't have comp'ny ev'ry day!" + +"No, folks don't have company every day," repeated the Girl softly; and +into the longing eyes opposite she threw, before she went away, one +look such as only the dearest girl in the world can give--a look full +of tenderness and love and understanding. + + +Long hours later, in quite a different place, the Girl saw the man +again. He was not Mike now. He was the Millionaire. For a time he +talked eagerly of his curious visit, chatting excitedly of all the +delightful results that were to come from it; rest and ease for the +woman; a wheel chair and the best of surgeons for the little girl; +school and college for the boy. Then, after a long minute of silence, +he said something else. He said it diffidently, and with a rush of +bright color to his face--he was not used to treading quite so near to +his heart. + +"I never thought," he said, just touching the crutches at his side, +"that I 'd ever be thankful for--for these. But I was--almost--to-day. +You see, it was they that--that brought me--my dinner," he finished, +with a whimsicality that did not hide the shake in his voice. + + + + +When Mother Fell Ill + +Tom was eighteen, and was spending the long summer days behind the +village-store counter--Tom hoped to go to college in the fall. + +Carrie was fifteen; the long days found her oftenest down by the brook, +reading--Carrie was a bit romantic, and the book was usually poetry. + +Robert and Rosamond, the twins--known to all their world as "Rob" and +"Rose"--were eight; existence for them meant play, food, and sleep. To +be sure, there were books and school; but those were in the remote past +or dim future together with winter, mittens, and fires. It was summer, +now--summer, and the two filled the hours with rollicking games and +gleeful shouts--and incidentally their mother's workbasket with +numerous torn pinafores and trousers. + +Behind everything, above everything, and beneath everything, with +all-powerful hands and an all-wise brain, was mother. There was +father, of course; but father could not cook the meals, sweep the +rooms, sew on buttons, find lost pencils, bathe bumped foreheads, and +do countless other things. So thought Tom, Carrie, and the twins that +dreadful morning when father came dolefully downstairs and said that +mother was sick. + +_Mother sick_! Tom stared blankly at the sugar bowl, Carrie fell +limply into the nearest chair, and the twins began to cry softly. + +The next thirty-six hours were never forgotten by the Dudleys. The +cool nook in the woods was deserted, and Carrie spent a hot, +discouraged morning in the kitchen--sole mistress where before she had +been an all too seldom helper. At noon Mr. Dudley and Tom came home to +partake of underdone potatoes and overdone meat. The twins, repressed +and admonished into a state of hysterical nervousness, repaired +directly after dinner to the attic. Half an hour later a prolonged +wail told that Rob had cut his finger severely with an old knife; and +it was during the attendant excitement that Rose managed to fall the +entire length of the attic stairs. At night, after a supper of soggy +rolls and burnt omelet, Mr. Dudley sent an appealing telegram to +"Cousin Helen"; and the next afternoon, at five, she came. + +Miss Helen Mortimer was pretty, sweet-tempered, and twenty-five. The +entire family fell captive to her first smile. There was a world of +comfort and relief in her very presence, and in the way she said +cheerily: + +"We shall do very well, I am sure. Carrie can attend to her mother, +and I will take the helm downstairs." + +The doctor said that rest and quiet was what Mrs. Dudley most needed, +so Carrie's task would be comparatively light; and with a stout woman +to come twice a week for the heavy work downstairs, the household gave +promise of being once more on a livable basis. + +It was at breakfast the next morning that the first cloud appeared on +Miss Mortimer's horizon. It came in the shape of the crisply fried +potatoes she was serving. The four children were eating late after +their father had left. + +"Oh, Cousin Helen," began Tom, in an annoyed manner, "I forgot to tell +you; I don't like fried potatoes. I have baked ones." + +"Baked ones?" + +"Yes; mother always baked them for me."' + +"Oh, that's too bad; you can't eat them, then,--they hurt you!" + +Tom laughed. + +"Hurt me? Not a bit of it! I don't like them, that's all. Never +mind; you can do it to-morrow." + +When "to-morrow" came Miss Mortimer had not forgotten. The big round +dish was heaped with potatoes baked to a turn. + +"Thank you, I'll take the fried," said Carrie, as the dish was passed +to her. + +"The f-fried?" stammered Miss Mortimer. + +"Yes; I prefer those." + +"But there _are_ no fried. I baked them." + +"Well, how funny!" laughed Carrie. "I thought we had it all fixed +yesterday. I thought we were to have both fried and baked. Mother +always did, you know. You see, we don't like them the same way. Never +mind," she added with a beaming smile, quite misunderstanding the look +on her cousin's face, "it does n't matter a bit and you must n't feel +so bad. It 'll be all right to-morrow, I'm sure." + +"Yes, and I want buckwheat cakes, please," piped up Rob. + +"All right, you shall have them," agreed Cousin Helen with a smile. + +Tom laughed. + +"Maybe you don't quite know what you 're getting into, Cousin Helen," +he suggested. "If you make buckwheat cakes for Rob--it means graham +muffins for Rose." + +"And she shall have them; the very next morning, too." + +"Oh, no, that will never do. She demands them the same day." + +"What!" + +"Oh, I thought you didn't understand," chuckled Tom. "When you make +one, you have to make both. Mother always did--she had to; 't was the +only way she could suit both the twins, and I don't believe you 'll +find any other way out of it. As for us--we don't mind; we eat them +all!" + +"Oh!" said Cousin Helen faintly. + +"And another thing," resumed Tom, "we might as well settle the drink +question right away--of course you 'll want to know. Father is the +only one who drinks cereal coffee. We (Carrie and I) like the real +thing, every time; and the twins have cocoa--weak, of course, so there +'s not much to it." + +"And you must n't sweeten mine while you 're cooking it," interposed +Rose decidedly. + +"Sure enough--lucky you thought of that," laughed Tom, "or else poor +Cousin Helen would have had another mistake to fret over. You see," he +explained pleasantly, "Rose insists on putting in _all_ the sugar +herself, so hers has to be made unsweetened; but Rob is n't so +particular and prefers his made in the regular way--sweetened while +cooking, you know." + +"Oh, I make two kinds of cocoa, do I?" asked Cousin Helen. + +"Yes--er--that is, in two ways." + +"Hm-m; and coffee and the cereal drink, making four in all?" continued +Cousin Helen, with ominous sweetness. + +Tom stirred uneasily and threw a sharp glance into his cousin's face. + +"Well--er--it does seem a good many; but--well, mother did, you know, +and we might as well have what we want, as something different, I +suppose," he finished, with vague uneasiness. + +"Oh, certainly, who would mind a small thing like that!" laughed Miss +Mortimer, a queer little gleam in her eyes. + +This was but the beginning. On the pantry-shelf were four kinds of +cereals. Carrie explained that all were served each morning, for the +family could n't agree on any particular one. As for eggs; Tom always +had to have his dropped on a slice of toast; the twins liked theirs +scrambled; but Carrie herself preferred hers boiled in the shell. +Apple-pie must always be in the house for Tom, though it so happened, +strangely enough, Carrie said, that no one else cared for it at all. + +"Mother was always making apple-pie," laughed Carrie apologetically. +"You see, they get stale so quickly, and Tom is the only one to eat +them, they have to be made pretty often--one at a time, of course." + +Bread, rolls, pastry, meat, vegetables--each had its own particular +story, backed always by that ever-silencing "mother did," until Miss +Mortimer was almost in despair. Sometimes she made a feeble protest, +but the children were so good-natured, so entirely unaware that they +were asking anything out of the ordinary, and so amazed at any proposed +deviation from the established rules, that her protests fell powerless +at their feet. + +"Mother did"--"mother did"--"mother did," Miss Mortimer would murmur +wearily to herself each day, until she came to think of the tired +little woman upstairs as "Mother Did" instead of "Aunt Maria." "No +wonder 'Mother Did' fell ill," she thought bitterly. "Who wouldn't!" + +The weeks passed, as weeks will--even the dreariest of them--and the +day came for Cousin Helen to go home, Mrs. Dudley being now quite her +old self. Loud were the regrets at her departure, and overwhelming +were the thanks and blessings showered in loving profusion; but it was +two weeks later, when Tom, Carrie, and the twins each sent her a +birthday present, that an idea came to Miss Mortimer. She determined +at once to carry it out, even though the process might cause her some +heartache. + +Thus it came about that Tom, Carrie, Rob, and Rose, each received a +letter (together with the gift each had sent) almost by return mail. + +Tom's ran: + +_My dear Cousin_: Thank you very much for the novel you sent me, but I +am going to ask you to change it for a book of travels. I like that +kind better, and mother and all my friends give me travels whenever +they want to please me. I might as well have something I want as +something different, I suppose, so I am asking you to change. + +Very lovingly + YOUR COUSIN HELEN + + +Carrie read this: + +_My dear Carrie_: Thank you for the pretty little turnover collar and +cuffs you sent me for my birthday; but I think it is so funny you never +noticed that I don't care for pink. Mother found it out even when I +was but little more than a baby. Oh, I can wear it, but I don't care +for it. Don't feel badly, however, my dear Carrie; all you've got to +do is just to take these back and make me some blue ones, and I know +you won't mind doing that. + +Lovingly + COUSIN HELEN + + +Rob's letter ran: + +_My dear Rob_: I am writing to thank you for the box of chocolates you +sent yesterday. I am sending them back to you, though, because I +seldom eat chocolates. Oh, no, they don't hurt me, but I don't like +them as well as I do caramels, so won't you please change them? Mother +gives me a box of candy every Christmas, but it is never chocolates. I +know you would rather give me what I like, Rob, dear. + +Lots of love + COUSIN HELEN + + +Rose had striven early and late over a crocheted tidy, spending long +hours of her playtime in doing work to which her fingers were but +little accustomed. She confidently expected a loving letter of thanks +and praise, and could scarcely wait to open the envelope. This is what +she read: + +_My dear Rose_: Thank you very much for the tidy, dear, but whatever in +the world caused you to make it in that stitch? I like shell-stitch +ever so much better, so would you mind doing it over for me? I am +returning this one, for maybe you will decide to ravel it out; if you +don't, you can just make me a new one. Mother has crocheted several +things for me, but most of them are in shell-stitch, which, after all, +is about the only stitch I care for. + +Lots of love from + YOUR COUSIN HELEN + + +After a dazed five minutes of letter-reading, the four children hurried +to the attic--always their refuge for a conference. There they read +the four letters aloud, one after another. A dumfounded silence +followed the last word. Rose was the first to break it. + +"I think she's a mean old thing--so there!" Rose was almost crying. + +"Hush, dear, hush!" choked Carrie. "She isn't mean; she's good and +kind--we know she is. She--she means something by it; she must. Let's +read them again!" + +Bit by bit they went over the letters. It was at the third mention of +"mother" that Tom raised his head with a jerk. He looked sheepishly +into Carrie's face. + +"I--I guess I know," he said with a shame-faced laugh. + + +It must have been a month later that Miss Mortimer received a letter +from Mrs. Dudley. One paragraph sent a quick wave of color to the +reader's face; and this was the paragraph: + +I am feeling better than for a long time. Some way, the work does n't +seem nearly so hard as it used to. Perhaps it is because I am +stronger, or perhaps it is because the children are not nearly so +particular about their food as they used to be. I am so glad, for it +worried me sometimes--they were so very fussy. I wondered how they +would get along out in the world where "mother" could n't fix +everything to their liking. Perhaps you noticed it when you were here. +At any rate, they are lots better now. Perhaps they have out-grown it. +I hope so, I'm sure. + + + + +The Glory and the Sacrifice + +The Honorable Peter Wentworth was not a church-going man, and when he +appeared at the prayer-meeting on that memorable Friday evening there +was at once a most irreligious interest manifested by every one +present, even to the tired little minister himself. The object of +their amazed glances fortunately did not keep the good people long in +suspense. After a timid prayer--slightly incoherent, but abounding in +petitions for single-mindedness and worshipful reverence--from the +minister's wife, the Honorable Peter Wentworth rose to his feet and +loudly cleared his throat: + +"Ahem! Ladies and gentlemen--er--ah--brethren," he corrected, hastily, +faint memories of a godly youth prompting his now unaccustomed lips; +"I--er--I understand that you are desirous of building a new church. A +very laudable wish--very," with his eyes fixed on a zigzag crack in the +wall across the room; "and I understand that your funds +are--er--insufficient. I am, in fact, informed that you need two +thousand dollars. Ahem! Ladies--er--brethren, I stand here to +announce that on the first day of January I will place in your pastor's +hands the sum of one thousand dollars, provided"--and he paused and put +the tips of his forefingers together impressively--"provided you will +raise an equal amount on your own part. The first day of next January, +remember. You have nearly a year, you will notice, in which to raise +the money. I--er--I hope you will be successful." And he sat down +heavily. + +The remainder of that meeting was not conspicuous for deep +spirituality, and after the benediction the Honorable Peter Wentworth +found himself surrounded by an excited crowd of grateful church +members. The honorable gentleman was distinctly pleased. He had not +given anything away before since--well, he had the same curious choking +feeling in his throat now that he remembered to have felt when he gave +the contents of his dinner pail to the boy across the aisle at the old +red schoolhouse. After all, it was a rather pleasant sensation; he +almost wished it had oftener been his. + +It was not until the silent hours of the night brought a haunting +premonition of evil to the Reverend John Grey that the little minister +began to realize what the church had undertaken. One thousand dollars! +The village was small and the church society smaller. The Honorable +Peter Wentworth was the only man who by even the politest fiction could +be called rich. Where, indeed, was the thousand to be found? + +When morning came, the Reverend John Grey's kindly blue eyes were +troubled, and his forehead drawn into unwonted lines of care; but his +fathers had fought King George and the devil in years long past, and he +was a worthy descendant of a noble race and had no intention of weakly +succumbing, even though King George and the devil now masqueraded as a +two-thousand-dollar debt. + +By the end of the week an urgent appeal for money had entered the door +of every house in Fairville. The minister had spent sleepless nights +and weary days in composing this masterly letter. His faithful +mimeograph had saved the expense of printing, and his youngest boy's +willing feet had obviated the necessity of postage stamps. The First +Congregational Church being the only religious organization in the town +of Fairville, John Grey had no hesitation in asking aid from one and +all alike. + +This was in February, yet by the end of May there was only four hundred +dollars in the fund treasury. The pastor sent out a second appeal, +following it up with a house-to-house visit. The sum grew to six +hundred dollars. + +Then the ladies held a mass-meeting in the damp, ill-smelling vestry. +The result was a series of entertainments varying from a strawberry +festival to the "passion play" illustrated. The entertainers were +indefatigable. They fed their guests with baked beans and "red +flannel" hash, and acted charades from the Bible. They held +innumerable guessing contests, where one might surmise as to the +identity of a baby's photograph or conjecture as to the cook of a mince +pie. These heroic efforts brought the fund up to eight hundred +dollars. Two hundred yet to be found--and it was November! + +With anxious faces and puckered brows, the ladies held another meeting +in that cheerless vestry--then hastened home with new courage and a new +plan. + +Bits of silk and tissue-paper, gay-colored worsteds and knots of ribbon +appeared as by magic in every cottage. Weary fingers fashioned +impossible fancy articles of no earthly use to any one, and tired +housewives sat up till midnight dressing dolls in flimsy muslin. The +church was going to hold a fair! Everything and everybody succumbed +graciously or ungraciously to the inevitable. The prayer-meetings were +neglected, the missionary meetings postponed, the children went ragged +to school, and the men sewed on their own buttons. In time, however, +the men had to forego even that luxury, and were obliged to remain +buttonless, for they themselves were dragged into the dizzy whirl and +set to making patchwork squares. + +The culminating feature of the fair was to be a silk crazy quilt, and +in an evil moment Miss Wiggins, a spinster of uncertain age, had +suggested that it would be "perfectly lovely" to have the gentlemen +contribute a square each. The result would have made the craziest +inmate of a lunatic asylum green with envy. The square made by old +Deacon White, composed of pieces of blue, green, scarlet, and purple +silk fastened together as one would sew the leather on a baseball, came +next to the dainty square of the town milliner's covered with +embroidered butterflies and startling cupids. Nor were the others +found wanting in variety. It was indeed a wonderful quilt. + +The fair and a blizzard began simultaneously the first day of December. +The one lasted a week, and the other three days. The people +conscientiously ploughed through the snow, attended the fair, and +bought recklessly. The children made themselves sick with rich +candies, and Deacon White lost his temper over a tin trumpet he drew in +a grab bag. At the end of the week there were three cases of nervous +prostration, one of pneumonia, two of grippe--and one hundred dollars +and five cents in money. + +The ladies drew a long breath and looked pleased; then their faces went +suddenly white. Where was ninety-nine dollars and ninety-five cents to +come from in the few days yet remaining? Silently and dejectedly they +went home. + +It was then that the Reverend John Grey rose to the occasion and shut +himself in his study all night, struggling with a last appeal to be +copied on his faithful mimeograph and delivered by his patient youngest +born. That appeal was straight from the heart of an all but despairing +man. Was two thousand dollars to be lost--and because of a paltry +ninety-nine dollars and ninety-five cents? + +The man's face had seemed to age a dozen years in the last twelve +months. Little streaks of gray showed above his temples, and his +cheeks had pitiful hollows in them. The minister's family had meat but +twice a week now. The money that might have bought it for the other +five days had gone to add its tiny weight to the minister's +contribution to the fund. + +The pressure was severe and became crushing as the holidays approached. +The tree for the Sunday-School had long since been given up, but +Christmas Eve a forlorn group of wistful-eyed children gathered in the +church and spoke Christmas pieces and sang Christmas carols, with +longing gaze fixed on the empty corner where was wont to be the shining +tree. + +It was on Christmas Day that the widow Blake fought the good fight in +her little six-by-nine room. On the bed lay a black cashmere gown, +faded and rusty and carefully darned; on the table lay a little heap of +bills and silver. The woman gathered the money in her two hands and +dropped it into her lap; then she smoothed the bills neatly one upon +another, and built little pyramids of the dimes and quarters. Fifteen +dollars! It must be five years now that she had been saving that +money, and she did so need a new dress! She needed it to be--why--even +decent!--looking sourly at the frayed folds on the bed. + +It was on Christmas Day, too, that the little cripple who lived across +the bridge received a five-dollar gold piece by registered mail. +Donald's eyes shone and his thin fingers clutched the yellow gold +greedily. Now he could have those books!--his eyes rested on an open +letter on the floor by his chair; a mimeograph letter signed "John W. +Grey." Gradually his fingers relaxed; the bit of money slipped from +the imprisoning clasp, fell to the floor, and rolled in flashing, +gleaming circles round and round the letter, ending in a glistening +disk, like a seal, just at the left of the signature. The lad looked +at the yellow, whirling thing with frightened eyes, then covered his +face with his hands, and burst into a storm of sobs. + +On the 26th of December, the Reverend John Grey entered on his list: +"Mrs. Blake, $15.00; Donald Marsh, $5.00." + +The little minister's face grew pale and drawn. The money came in bit +by bit, but it wanted twenty dollars and ninety-five cents yet to +complete the needed thousand. On the 27th the teacher of the infant +class brought a dollar, the gift of her young pupils. On the 28th, +nothing came; on the 29th, five cents from a small boy who rang the +bell with a peal that brought the Reverend John Grey to the door with a +startled hope in his eyes. He took the five pennies from the small +dirty fingers and opened his mouth to speak his thanks, but his dry +lips refused to frame the words. + +The morning of the 30th dawned raw and cloudy. The little minister +neither ate nor slept now. The doorbell rang at brief intervals +throughout the day, and stray quarters, dimes, and nickels, with an +occasional dollar, were added to the precious store until it amounted +to nine hundred and eighty-nine dollars and eighty-five cents. + +When the Reverend John Grey looked out of his bedroom window on the +last day of that weary year, he found a snow-white world, and the +feathery flakes still falling. Five times that day he swept his steps +and shoveled his path--mute invitations to possible donors; but the +path remained white and smooth in untrodden purity, and the doorbell +was ominously silent. + +He tried to read, to write, to pray; but he haunted the windows like a +maiden awaiting her lover, and he opened the door and looked up and +down the street every fifteen minutes. The poor man had exhausted all +his resources. He himself had given far more than he could afford, and +he had begged of every man, woman and child in the place. And +yet--must two thousand dollars be lost, all for the lack of ten dollars +and fifteen cents? Mechanically he thrust his hands into his pockets +and fingered the few coins therein. + +It was nearly midnight when there came a gentle tap at the study door. +Without waiting for permission the minister's wife turned the knob and +entered the room. Her husband sat with bowed head resting on his +outstretched arms on the desk, and her eyes filled with tears at the +picture of despair before her. + +"John, I suppose we can take this," said she, in a low voice, +reluctantly laying a little pile of silver on the desk; "there's just +ten dollars there." Then she recoiled in terror, so wildly did her +husband clutch the money. + +"Where did you get this?" he gasped. + +"I--I saved it from time to time out of the household money. I meant +you should take it and go out to Cousin Frank's for a rest and vacation +after this was over," said she doggedly. + +"Vacation! Mary--vacation!" he exclaimed, with unutterable scorn. +Then he fumbled in his pocket and brought out a little change. With +trembling fingers he picked out ten pennies and a five-cent piece, +putting a lone quarter back in his empty pocket. + +"Thank God, Mary, we've done it!" and the man's voice broke, and a big +tear rolled down his cheek and splashed on a dingy nickel. + +New Year's night there was a jubilee meeting in the town hall. The +Reverend John Grey hurried through his bread-and-milk supper in some +excitement. He was to preside, and must not be late. + +The hall was full to overflowing. On the platform with the minister +sat the deacons of the First Congregational Church--and the Honorable +Peter Wentworth. The well-fed, well-groomed, honorable gentleman +himself looked about with a complacent smile--this was indeed a most +delightful occasion. + +The Reverend John Grey's address was an eloquent tribute to the great +generosity of their distinguished fellow-townsman. The minister's +voice trembled affectingly, and his thin cheeks flushed with emotion. +The First Congregational Church was deeply indebted to the Honorable +Peter Wentworth, and would fain express its gratitude. + +The minister's wife listened with a far-away look on her face, and +little Donald Marsh gazed with round eyes of awe at the great man who +had been so very generous; while over in an obscure corner of the hall +a pale little woman stealthily rearranged the folds of her gown, that +she might hide from inquisitive eyes the great darn on the front +breadth of her worn black cashmere. + + + + +The Daltons and the Legacy + +The legacy amounted to ten thousand dollars; and coming as it did from +a little known, scarcely remembered relative it seemed even more unreal +than the man who had bequeathed it. Not until lawyers' visits and +numerous official-looking papers had convinced the Daltons beyond the +smallest doubt did the family believe their good fortune genuine; then, +with the conviction, came all the overwhelming ambitions and +unsatisfied longings of past years. + +"There, now we can leave the farm," exulted Mrs. Dalton. + +"Why, Sarah, do--do you think that is quite--wise?" asked her husband. + +"Wise? Of course it is!" she returned decidedly. "Why, Caleb, don't +you know?--we've always wanted to go to the city; and Cousin John said +he 'd give you a place in his store any time, so you'll earn something +to start with right away. We never dared to before, you know, for you +wa'n't sure how you'd do; but now we 've got all this money we shan't +have to worry a mite. Oh, isn't it just splendid, Caleb?" + +"Yes; but--" he hesitated. + +"Why, Caleb, I don't believe you appreciate it a bit!" + +"Oh, I do, indeed I do, Sarah, but--" again he hesitated. + +"But there is n't any 'but,' Caleb," laughed Sarah, and turned to a boy +of twelve and a girl of fourteen who entered the room at that moment. +"We've got it all settled, children. We 're going to Boston, sure, +this fall." + +"Oh, mother!"--Ethel's hands came together in ecstasy, while Fred +whooped in glee. + +"There's the lovely big stores and the people," cried Ethel. + +"And the cars and Bunker Hill Monument," supplemented Fred. + +"And we won't ever have to come back to this snippy little town," +continued Ethel. + +"My, won't Bill Higgins just stare!" interposed Fred. "Oh, I say, sis, +we might come back just once, you know, just to tell them about things." + +"Yes, that's so," agreed Ethel readily; "and--say, let's tell them now +that we're going. Come on!" she finished over her shoulder as she flew +through the door. + +"There, Caleb, I told you how it would be," smiled Mrs. Dalton as the +door banged behind Fred; then, anxiously: "You would n't want to spoil +it all, now, would you?" + +"N-no; but--no, no, of course not," murmured Caleb, rising to his feet +and crossing to the outside door with heavy, slow-moving steps. + +This was in August. By the middle of September such household goods as +the Daltons had planned to take with them were packed, burlapped, +crated, and labeled. It had been Mrs. Dalton's idea to sell the rest +of the furniture and the farm at auction, but just here she encountered +an unexpected but stubborn resistance from her husband. Consequently, +the remainder of the goods were stored in the attic, and the farm was +rented until the first of May--the house being close to the village, it +made a not undesirable winter residence. A longer lease than this +Caleb would not grant, in spite of his wife's remonstrances. + +"Just as if we would want to come back by May, Caleb!" she scoffed. +"Why, by that time we shall be real city folks, and you 'll be a +partner in the business, maybe." + +"Hm-m,--maybe," echoed Caleb imperturbably; "but--we'll see when May +comes." + +"Cousin John" in Boston had received the news of their intended coming +with cordial interest, and had already procured for them a six-room +apartment in Roxbury; and it was in his thriving market and grocery +store on Warren Avenue that Caleb was to have a position as clerk. The +wages, at first, were not large--Cousin John explained when he +good-naturedly ran up to the farm to make arrangements--but the figures +looked fabulous to Sarah until John told her that they must pay +twenty-five dollars every month for their flat. + +"Twenty-five dollars, and not even a spare room!" she gasped. "Why, +John, it's too nice--it must be. We did n't want such a fancy one." + +"Oh, 't is n't fancy," laughed the man, "not a bit! It's clean and +neat and on a respectable street. Land costs something down there, you +know. You have to pay something for rent. Why, I pay fifty, myself." + +"Oh, oh!" moaned Sarah. Then she threw back her head with an assumed +courage. "Never mind, I 'll just have to change my plans a bit. I did +n't intend to keep anything, but I can have just a few hens and a cow +as well as not, and that will help some. Like enough I can sell a +little butter and what eggs I don't use, too, and--" a long, hearty +laugh interrupted her. + +"Oh, Cousin Sarah, Cousin Sarah!" choked John, as soon as he could find +his voice. + +"Well," said Mrs. Dalton, with some dignity, "I'm waiting." + +Cousin John pulled his face into shape and steadied his voice. + +"Sarah, your flat is up three flights, and has n't even a back piazza. +Where are you going to keep hens and cows?" + +Mrs. Dalton's jaw fell. + +"Three flights!" she gasped. + +He nodded. + +"And is n't there a yard, or--or anything?" + +"Not that belongs to you--except the fire escape and a place on the +roof to dry your clothes." His lips were twitching, as Mrs. Dalton was +not slow to see. + +"Never mind," she retorted airily. "I did n't want them, anyhow, and, +after all, we've got the money, so why can't we take a little good in +spending it!" + +Some weeks later when Mrs. Dalton saw her new home, she did n't know +whether to laugh or to cry. The three long flights of stairs and dim, +narrow halls filled her with dismay, but the entrance with its shining +letter-boxes and leaded-glass door-panels overwhelmed her with its +magnificence. The big brick block in which she was to live looked like +a palace to her eyes; but the six rooms in which she was to stow +herself and family amazed and disheartened her with their +diminutiveness. + +"Why, Caleb, I--I can't breathe--they 're so small!" she gasped. Then +she broke off suddenly, as she glanced through the window: "Oh, my, +my--who 'd ever have thought there were so many roofs and chimneys in +the world!" + +Getting settled was a wonderful experience. The Daltons had never +moved before, and it took many days to bring even a semblance of order +out of the chaos into which the six small rooms were thrown by the +unpacking of the boxes and barrels. The delay worried Sarah more than +did the work itself. + +"Oh, dear, Ethel," she moaned each afternoon, "we're so slow in getting +settled, and I just know some one will call before we 're even half +fixed!" + +At last the tiny "parlor" with its mirror-adorned mantel and showy gas +fixtures--the pride of Sarah's heart--was in order; and, after that, +Sarah made sure each day that three o'clock found her dressed in her +best and sitting in solemn state in that same parlor waiting for the +calls that were surely now long overdue. + +Days passed, and her patience was unrewarded save for a sharp ring from +a sewing-machine agent, and another from a book canvasser. + +Sarah could not understand it. Surely, her neighbors in the block must +know of her arrival even if those in her immediate vicinity on the +street did not. Occasionally she met women in the halls, or going in +and out of the big main door. At first she looked at them with a +half-formed smile on her face, waiting for the confidently expected +greeting; later, she eyed them with a distinctly grieved +expression--the greeting had never been given; but at last, her hunger +to talk with some one not of her own family led her to take the +initiative herself. Meeting a tall, slender woman, whom she had +already seen three times, she spoke. + +"How--how d'ye do?" she began timidly. + +The tall woman started, threw a hurried glance around her, then came to +the conclusion that the salutation was meant for herself. + +"Good-morning," she returned, then hurried along through the hall. + +Sarah stood looking after her with dazed eyes. + +"Why, how funny!" she murmured. "She did n't even stop a minute. +Maybe she's sort of bashful, now. I should n't wonder a mite if she +was." + +Three days later the two ladies again met at the outer door. + +"Oh, how d'ye do? Nice day, ain't it?" began Sarah, hurriedly. +"You--you live here, don't you?" + +"Why--yes," said the woman, smiling a little. + +"I do, too--on the top floor. You 're not so high up, are you?" + +The woman shook her head. + +"Not quite," she said. + +"I--I 'm all settled, now," announced Sarah, stumbling over the words a +little. + +"Is that so?" returned the woman politely, but without enthusiasm. + +Sarah nodded. + +"Yes, all ready for callers. I--I hope you'll come soon," she finished +with sudden courage. + +"Thank you; you are very kind," murmured the woman, as she smiled and +turned away. + +The tall woman did not call, and Sarah never asked her again. A few +words from Cousin John's wife at about this time opened Sarah's eyes, +and taught her not to expect to become acquainted with her neighbors. +At first Sarah was more than dismayed; but she quickly brought to bear +the courage with which she fought all the strange things in this new +life. + +"Of course they can't call on every one, Cousin Mary," she said airily +to John's wife; "and like enough they 're not the kind of folks I would +care to know, anyhow." + +Sarah was not the only member of the family who had found trials by the +way. Ethel and Fred had entered school, and at first they came home +each afternoon with woeful faces. New methods of study, recitation, +discipline, and even of recreation puzzled and frightened them. They +regularly begged each morning not to go back; but as regularly their +mother's diplomatic bantering and systematic appeals to their pride +conquered, and they started off at half-past eight, heads high, and +chins bravely up-raised. + +To Caleb, the city was a thing of noise, hurry, and more people than he +had thought existed. Early and late he worked in the store. To the +"early" part he did not object--it even seemed late to his farm-bred +ideas of early rising; but to the evenings--Caleb never understood the +rush and confusion that entered the big market and grocery with the +lighting of the flaring gas jets. To him it was a time for quiet +meditation and sleep--not for haggling over the price of sugar and +beans. + +"I don't like it," he would say sometimes to his wife; "I don't like +it, Sarah. This doling out a peck of potatoes and two quarts of +apples--why, Sarah, just think of the bushels and barrels I 've grown +myself! It's so small, Sarah, so small!" + +"Of course it is now," comforted Sarah, "but only think what 't will be +later on--only think." + +December, January, February, and March passed; and the first of April +brought a letter from the lessee of the farm asking if he was to have +the place through the summer. + +"Of course he can have it," declared Sarah. "Just as if we wanted it +again!" + +"Yes, yes, of course," murmured Caleb. "I--I'll write later on. He +said if he heard by the middle of the month, 't would do." + +It was an early, and a wonderfully beautiful spring that year. Warm, +moist winds came up from the south and stirred the twigs and branches +into life. The grass grew green on sunny slopes, and the tulips and +crocuses turned the dull brown beds into riotous color and bloom. +Caleb went out of his way each day that he might pass a tiny little +park, and he always stopped there a motionless two minutes--he would +have told you that he was listening to the green things growing. Sarah +grew restless indoors. She even crawled out on to the fire escape and +sat there one day; but she never tried that but once. + +Downstairs, on each side of the big front door was a square-yard patch +of puny, straggling grass; and it was these two bits of possibilities +that put a happy thought into Sarah's head. For three days she said +nothing, but she fell into the way of going often in and out of that +door, and always her eyes were hungrily fixed on one or the other of +those squares. On the fourth day she bought a trowel and some flower +seeds and set resolutely to work. She had dug the trowel into the +earth four times, and was delightedly sniffing the odor from the moist +earth when the janitor appeared. + +"Did ye lose something, ma'am?" he asked suspiciously. + +"Lose something?" laughed the woman. "Of course not! I've found +something, William. I 've found a flower bed. I 'm going to have the +prettiest one ever was." + +"Oh, come now," began the man, plainly disturbed, "that ain't going to +do, you know. I'll have to--" + +"Oh, I'll tend it," she interrupted eagerly. "You won't even have to +touch it." + +The man shook his head. + +"'T won't do, ma 'am,--'t won't, really, now. I'm sorry, but the boss +won't stand it." + +"Won't stand it!--not even for flowers!" she gasped. + +"No, ma'am"--the janitor's tone was firm but regretful. A queer +feeling of sympathy came over him for this gentle little woman on the +top floor whom he had always liked. "There hain't none of the tenants +no business with them yards; he said so." + +"Oh!" said Mrs. Dalton, "I--I'll go then." And she picked up the +trowel and rose to her feet. + +She passed the janitor without a word, her head held high, and her eyes +looking straight before her; but once in the seclusion of the halls, +her head drooped, and her eyes rained tears that rolled down her cheeks +unceasingly all the way to the top floor. + +It was that night that Caleb brought out the paper and pen to write the +letter which would lease the farm for another six months. Twice he +dipped his pen in the ink, and paused with no word written. Finally he +spoke. + +"I--I'm going to give him some hints, Sarah. He won't know how to run +some of the things, I 'm sure. If he should plant the meadow lot to +potatoes, now, it--" + +"And, Caleb," cut in Sarah, "be sure and send word to his wife about +the roses; if she don't spray 'em real early, the bugs and worms will +get an awful start. Caleb, don't you remember how lovely that crimson +rambler was last year?" + +Caleb nodded; his eyes were fixed on the wallpaper. + +"I--I wonder if this warm weather has made the leaves start out on it," +resumed Sarah. "I hope not--you know we always have frosts up there." + +"Hm-m," murmured Caleb. + +There was a long silence; then Sarah drew a deep breath. + +"Caleb, do you s'pose it 'll get up to the front-chamber window this +year--that rosebush, I mean?" + +"I don't know, Sarah." Caleb's eyes were still on the wall-paper. + +There was another long silence, broken this time by the children's +entrance. + +"Mother," began Fred discontentedly, "don't they ever go fishing down +here, or swimming, or anything?" + +Sarah sprang to her feet with a nervous little laugh. + +"Caleb, we--we might go up home just for--for a visit," she said. + +"Hurrah!--let's!" crowed Fred; and Ethel clapped her hands. + +"I'll do it," cried Caleb suddenly, bringing his fist down hard on his +knee. "I'll write that we 'll go up next week for three days. There's +lots of room, and they can tuck us away somewhere for just that little +time. We can show 'em things better than we can tell 'em, and I can +close the deal when I get there." + +It was a jubilant four that left the North Station a few days later, +and it was a still more jubilant four that arrived in the village at +the foot of the green hills. The Dalton's intended visit had been +heralded far and near, and the progress from the train to the farmhouse +was a succession of hand-shakes and cordial greetings. + +"Oh, don't it look splendid and roomy!" cried Sarah, as they reached +the turn where they could see the farmhouse. "And don't the air smell +good!" + +"Hm-m," murmured Caleb, and turned his face away with set lips. + +How crowded to overflowing those three days were! Caleb valiantly +tried to give his intended suggestions, but the most of his time was +spent in joyous tramps from one end of the farm to the other, that no +favorite field nor pet pasture should escape his adoring eyes. Sarah, +when not gloating over every tender shoot and starting bud in her +flower garden, was being feted and fed by the entire neighborhood. + +"Oh, how good it is to just talk!" murmured Sarah, as she went to sleep +that first night. + +As for Fred and Ethel, they were scarcely seen at the farmhouse. + +Just at dusk on the third day Caleb found his wife in the old +summer-house. Wrapped in shawls, she was fastening vines to the +trellis. + +"Well, Sarah, I--I s'pose I'd better settle up with West, now. I +hain't yet, you know." + +Sarah nodded, without speaking. + +"I hain't seemed to amount to much about telling him things," continued +Caleb. "Somehow, I did n't get time. He's careless, too; I'm afraid +he ain't going to do well." + +"She is, too," moaned Sarah. "She don't know a thing about roses. +Caleb, do you think that rosebush will get up to that window?" + +"I don't know," returned Caleb absently. Then, with a choke in his +voice, he said: "Things look first-rate, now, but--I've got my doubts +of West. I--I wish I could handle them myself." + +Sarah threw a quick glance at his averted face. + +"Well--why--don't you?" she almost whispered. + +"Sarah!" exclaimed Caleb. + +"Oh, here you are," cried Fred from the doorway. "Say, is it to-morrow +we go?--just to-morrow? Why, we have n't done half that we wanted to!" +Behind him stood Ethel, her eyes wistful, her mouth drooping at the +corners. + +Sarah drew a quick breath. + +"Ask--ask your father," she faltered. + +"Sarah, would you?--would you come back? Do you mean it?" cried Caleb, +with a swift joy in his eyes. + +Sarah burst into tears, and threw herself into her husband's arms. +"Oh, Caleb, I--just would! I--I 've wanted to ever so long, but--I +just would n't own up." + +"There, there," soothed the man, with loving pats, his face alight, +"we'll come back, so we will; we'll come back right away." + +Ethel and Fred ran shouting from the summer-house, and Sarah raised a +tear-stained face. + +"Well, anyhow," she laughed softly, "now we can see just how high that +rosebush does get!" + + + + +The Letter + +Monday noon the postman gave the letter to twelve-year-old Emily, and +Emily in turn handed it to her young brother. Between the gate and the +door, however, Teddy encountered Rover, and Rover wanted to play. It +ended in the letter disappearing around the corner of the house, being +fast held in the jaws of a small black-and-tan dog. + +Five minutes later the assembled family in the dining-room heard of the +loss and demanded an explanation. + +"'T wasn't t-ten minutes ago, mother," stammered Emily defensively. +"The postman handed it to me and I gave it to Teddy to bring in." + +"But whose letter was it?" demanded several voices. + +Emily shook her head. + +"I don't know," she faltered. + +"Don't know! Why, daughter, how could you be so careless?" cried Mrs. +Clayton. "It is probably that note from the Bixbys--they were to write +if they could not come. But I should like to know what they said." + +"But it might have been to me," cut in Ethel. (Ethel was pretty, +eighteen, and admired.) + +There was a sudden exclamation across the table as James, the +first-born, pushed back his chair. + +"Confound it, Emily, you've got us in a pretty mess! It so happened I +was looking for a letter myself," he snapped, as he jerked himself to +his feet. "See here, Teddy, where did that rascally little dog go to? +Come, let's go find Rover," he finished, stooping and lifting the small +boy to his shoulder. The next moment the dining-room door had banged +behind them. + +"Dear, dear!" laughed Mrs. Clayton, a little hysterically, turning to +her husband. "You don't happen to be expecting a letter, do you, +Charles?" + +"I do happen to be--and a very important one, too," returned the man; +and Mrs. Clayton, after a nervous glance at his frowning face, subsided +into her chair with a murmured word of regret. When luncheon was over +she slipped from the room and joined in the hunt for Rover. + +They scoured the yard, the street, the house, and the woodshed, finding +the culprit at last in the barn asleep under the big automobile. Of +the letter, however, there was not a trace. + +"Dear, dear, if dogs only could talk!" moaned Mrs. Clayton that night +as, restless and full of fancies, she lay on her bed. "If only I knew +where and what that letter was. But then, of course, it's from the +Bixbys; I'm going to think so, anyway," she comforted herself, and +resolutely closed her eyes. + +"If that _should_ be Dennison's letter," mused Mr. Clayton as he locked +up the house; "if that should be--confound it, and I know it is! I 'd +swear it! It serves me right, too, I suppose, for telling him to write +me at the house instead of at the office. Confound that little beast +of a dog!" + +In the south chamber Ethel, sending long, even strokes over the brown +satin of her hair, eyed her image in the glass with a plaintive pout. + +"Now, if that letter _should_ be an invitation from Fred!" she said +aloud. "And when I 'd so much rather go on that ride with him! Oh, +dear! Where can Rover have put it?" + +Across the hall James Clayton paced the room from end to end. + +"Great Scott! What if it _were_ May's letter, after all?" he groaned. +"What a fool I was to leave it that if I did n't hear by Thursday night +I'd understand 'twas 'no'! And now she may have written and be +expecting me to-morrow, Wednesday,--_to-night_, even, and I not know +it--tied hand and foot! Oh, hang that dog!" + +Tuesday morning the family awoke and met at the breakfast table. The +air was electric with unrest, and the food almost untouched. It was +Mrs. Clayton who broke the long silence that followed the morning's +greetings. + +"I--I don't think I 'll do much to get ready for the Bixbys," she +began; "I 'm so sure that letter was from them." + +"You mean that, Julia?" demanded her husband, brightening. "Are you +really positive?" + +"Yes, really positive. They said all the time that they did n't think +they could come, and that without doubt I should get a letter saying +so." + +"Then of course 'twas it," asserted Ethel, her face suddenly clearing. + +"Of course," echoed her brother with a promptitude that hinted at more +than a willingness to be convinced that the letter was the Bixbys' and +none other. + +It was about ten minutes past five that afternoon when the four Bixbys +came. + +"There, we did get here!" they chorused gleefully. + +"Yes, yes, I see, I see," murmured Mrs. Clayton, and signaled to Ethel +to hurry into the kitchen and give the alarm to the cook. "Then +you--you did n't write?" + +"Write? Why, no, of course not! We were n't to, you know, if we could +come." + +"Yes--er--I mean no," stammered Mrs. Clayton, trying to calculate just +how long it would take the maid to put three rooms in order. + +At half-past six the family, with their guests, sat down to a dinner +that showed unmistakable signs of having been started as a simple one +for six, and finished as a would-be elaborate one for ten. To the +faces of Mr. Clayton, Ethel, and James the cloud of the morning had +returned. Mrs. Clayton, confident that the missing letter contained +nothing worse for her than its absence had already brought her, looked +comparatively serene. + +After dinner, as by common consent, Mr. Clayton and his elder son and +daughter met in a secluded comer of the library. + +"Hang it all, dad, _now_ whose letter do you suppose that was?" began +James aggressively. + +"It's mine," groaned the father, with a shake of his head. "I know +it's mine." + +"But it might n't be," demurred Ethel, with a hesitation that showed a +fear lest her suggestion meet with prompt acceptance. + +"I tell you I know it's mine," retorted Mr. Clayton, and Ethel sighed +her relief. "I did hope 't was your mother's," he continued; "but I +might have known better. It's mine, and--and it means dollars to +me--hundreds of them." + +"Why, father!" The two voices were one in shocked surprise. + +"Well, it does. Dennison was going to drop me a line here if certain +things happened. And if they have happened, and I don't sell my P. & +Z. before to-morrow noon, it 'll mean--well, there 'll be something to +pay. On the other hand, if those certain things have n't happened, and +I do sell--it 'll be worse." + +"Well, well," laughed James in a surprisingly buoyant tone, considering +the gloom on his father's face. "I guess the letter was yours all +right. I should take it so, anyhow, and go ahead and sell." + +"Yes, so should I," tossed Ethel over her shoulder as she tripped +happily away. + +"After all," mused James, slowly crossing the hall, "it could n't have +been my letter. May would n't have written so soon; she 'd have waited +until nearer Thursday. She would n't let me have the 'yes' quite so +quickly. Not she!--the little tease of a sweetheart!" + +On Wednesday morning, at half-past eight, the maid brought in the mail +and laid it at her master's plate. There were a paper and two letters. + +"Hm-m," began Mr. Clayton, "one for you, Julia, my dear, and--by Jove, +it's Dennison's letter!" he finished joyfully, thrusting an eager thumb +under the flap of the other envelope. + +Twenty minutes later, with head erect and shoulders squared, the senior +member of the firm of Clayton & Company left his home and hurried down +the street. Behind him, on the veranda steps, were a young man and a +young girl looking into each other's faces in blank dismay. + +"You--you said _you_ were expecting a letter, did n't you?" began Ethel +hopefully. + +"Well, so were you, were n't you?" The tone showed quick irritation. + +"Why, yes, but--" + +"Well, don't you think it is yours?" + +"Why, I--I don't know. It might be, of course; but--" + +"You _said_ you thought it was yours, the very first thing." + +"Yes, I know; but--well, perhaps it is." + +"Of course it is," asserted James, as he ran down the steps. And +Ethel, looking after him, frowned in vague wonder. + +Thursday morning's mail brought four letters, and Ethel blushed +prettily as she tucked them all in her belt. + +"But they aren't all yours," protested her brother James. + +"But they are!" she laughed. + +"All?" + +"All." + +"But _I_ was expecting a letter." + +"Oh-ho!--so you were, were you?" teased the girl merrily. Ethel could +afford to be merry; she had recognized a certain bold handwriting on +one of the envelopes. "I really don't see, then, but you 'll have to +go to Rover. Perhaps he can tell you where it is." + +"Confound that dog!" growled James, turning on his heel. + +"I'm going to accept Fred's invitation," soliloquized Ethel happily, as +she hurried into her own room. "I shall read his first, so, of course, +that will be the first one that I get!" + +The noon delivery brought no letters for any one. James Clayton +fidgeted about the house all the afternoon instead of going down to the +golf club to see the open handicap--the annual club event. He felt +that, in the present state of affairs, he could take no chances of +seeing a certain young woman who was just then very much in his +thoughts. If she _had_ written, and he should meet her as though she +had not!--his blood chilled at the thought; and if she had not written, +and he should meet her as though she had!--To James Clayton, at the +moment, the thought of her precious letter lost forever to his longing +eyes was only a shade worse than that there should have been no letter +at all. + +Five o'clock came, bringing the last mail--and still no letter. In the +Clayton residence that night dinner was served at a table which showed +a vacant place; James Clayton was reported to be indisposed. Yet, two +hours later, after a sharp peal of the doorbell and a hasty knocking at +his chamber door by the maid, James Clayton left the house; and one who +met him on the steps said that his face was certainly not that of a +sick man. + +It was after breakfast the next morning, before the family had +dispersed, that Ethel rushed headlong into the dining-room. + +"Oh, James, James!" she cried breathlessly. "It _was_ your letter that +Rover had, and here 't is!" + +"But it was n't," retorted the young man airily. "I got mine last +night--special delivery." + +"But it is yours. Teddy found it in a hole under the barn. See!" +crowed Ethel; and she thrust into his hand a tattered, chewed, +bedraggled envelope whose seal was yet unbroken. + +"Well, by George--'t is for me," muttered the young man, as he descried +his own name among the marks left by dirt-stained paws and sharp little +teeth. "Humph!" he ejaculated a moment later, eyeing the torn and +crumpled sheet of paper which the envelope had contained. + +"Well?" prompted several voices. + +"It's an advertising letter from the Clover Farm kennels," he +announced, with a slight twitching of his lips. "Do you think +we--er--need another--dog?" + + + + +The Indivisible Five + +At the ages of fifty-four and fifty, respectively, Mr. and Mrs. +Wentworth found themselves possessed of a roomy, old-fashioned +farmhouse near a thriving city, together with large holdings of lands, +mortgages, and bank stock. At the same time they awoke to an +unpleasant realization that many of their fellow creatures were not so +fortunate. + +"James," began Mrs. Wentworth, with some hesitation, one June day, +"I've been thinking--with all our rambling rooms and great big yards, +and we with never a chick nor a child to enjoy them--I 've been +thinking--that is, I went by the orphan asylum in town yesterday and +saw the poor little mites playing in that miserable brick oven they +call a yard, and--well, don't you think we ought to have one--or maybe +two--of them down here for a week or two, just to show them what summer +really is?" + +The man's face beamed. + +"My dear, it's the very thing! We'll take two--they'll be company for +each other; only"--he looked doubtfully at the stout little woman +opposite--"the worst of it will come on you, Mary. Of course Hannah +can manage the work part, I suppose, but the noise--well, we 'll ask +for quiet ones," he finished, with an air that indicated an entirely +satisfactory solution of the problem. + +Life at "Meadowbrook" was a thing of peaceful mornings and long, drowsy +afternoons; a thing of spotless order and methodical routine. In a +long, childless marriage Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth's days had come to be +ordered with a precision that admitted of no frivolous deviations: and +noise and confusion in the household machinery were the unforgivable +offenses. It was into this placid existence that Mr. and Mrs. +Wentworth proposed to introduce two children from the orphan asylum. + +Before the week was out a note was sent to the matron of the +institution, and the prospective host and hostess were making their +plans with unwonted excitement. + +"We 'll rise at six and breakfast at seven," began Mrs. Wentworth. + +"And they must be in bed by eight o'clock," supplemented her husband. + +"I did n't say whether to send boys or girls, and I forgot to say +anything about their being quiet; but if they 're boys, you can teach +them gardening, James, and if they 're girls, they can sew with me a +good deal." + +"Hm-m--yes; I really don't know what we shall do to entertain them. +Perhaps they might like to read," suggested Mr. Wentworth, looking with +some doubt at his big bookcases filled with heavy, calf-bound volumes. + +"Of course; and they can walk in the garden and sit on the piazza," +murmured Mrs. Wentworth happily. + +In the orphan asylum that same evening there was even greater +excitement. Mrs. Wentworth's handwriting was not of the clearest, and +her request for "two" children had been read as "ten"; and since the +asylum--which was only a small branch of a much larger institution--had +recently been depleted until it contained but five children, the matron +was sorely perplexed to know just how to fill so generous an order. It +ended in her writing an apologetic note to Mrs. Wentworth and +dispatching it the next morning by the hand of the eldest girl, Tilly, +who was placed at the head of four other jubilant children, brushed, +scrubbed, and admonished into a state of immaculate primness. + +At half-past nine o'clock the driver of the big carry-all set five +squirming children on to their feet before the front door at +"Meadowbrook," and rang the bell. + +"Here you are," he called gayly, as Hannah opened the door. "I've +washed my hands of 'em--now they're yours!" And he drove briskly out +of the yard. + +Hannah neither moved nor spoke. She simply stared. + +"Here's a note," began Tilly, advancing shyly, "for Mis' Wentworth." + +Mechanically Hannah took the note and, scarcely realizing what she was +doing, threw open the door of the parlor--that parlor which was sacred +to funerals, weddings, and the minister's calls. + +The children filed in slowly and deposited themselves with some skill +upon the slippery haircloth chairs and sofa. Hannah, still dazed, went +upstairs to her mistress. + +"From the asylum, ma'am," she said faintly, holding out the note. + +Mrs. Wentworth's eyes shone. + +"Oh, the children! Where are they, Hannah?" + +"In the parlor, ma'am." + +"The parlor? Why, Hannah, the parlor is no place for those two +children!" Mrs. Wentworth started toward the door. + +Hannah coughed and uptilted her chin. + +"They ain't two, ma'am. There's as much as half a dozen of 'em." + +"What!" + +"There is, ma'am." + +"Why, Hannah, what--" The lady tore open the note with shaking +fingers, and read: + +_My dear Madam_: You very generously asked for ten children, but I hope +you will pardon me for sending only five. That is all we have with us +now, owing to several recent adoptions from our ranks--you know we are +never very large, being only a branch of the Hollingsworth Asylum. The +children were so crazy, though, at the idea of a trip to the country, +that I am sure each child will have fun enough--and make noise enough, +also, I fear--for two, so in the end you may think you've got your ten +children, after all. You must be fond of children to be willing to +give so many a two-weeks' vacation, but you don't know what a lot of +good you are doing. If you could have seen the children when I read +them your note, you would have been well repaid for all your trouble. +I wish there were more like you in the world. Yours respectfully, + +AMANDA HIGGINS. + + +"Hannah," faltered Mrs. Wentworth, dropping into her chair, "they did +n't read my note right. They--they've actually sent us the whole +asylum!" + +"Well, it looks like it--downstairs," returned Hannah grimly. + +"Sure enough, they _are_ downstairs, and I must go to them," murmured +Mrs. Wentworth, rising irresolutely to her feet. "I--I 'll go down. +I'll have to send all but two home, of course," she finished, as she +left the room. + +Downstairs she confronted five pairs of eyes shining out at her from +the gloom. + +"Good-morning, children," she began, trying to steady her voice. +"There is--er--I--well--" She stopped helplessly, and a small girl +slid to the floor from her perch on the sofa and looked longingly +toward the hall. + +"Please, ma'am, there's a kitty out there; may I get it?" she asked +timidly. + +"Please, have you got a dog, too?" piped up a boy's voice. + +"An' chickens an' little pigs? They said you had!" interposed a +brown-eyed girl from the corner. + +"An' there's hammocks an' swings, maybe," broke in Tilly; "an' please, +ma'am, may n't we go outdoors and begin right away? Two weeks is an +awful short time, you know, for all we want to do," she finished +earnestly. + +Four pairs of feet came down to the floor with a thump and eight small +boots danced a tattoo of impatience on the parlor carpet--the small +girl was already out in the hall and on her knees to the cat. + +"Why, yes,--that is--you see, there was a mistake; I--" Mrs. Wentworth +stopped suddenly, for as soon as the "yes" had left her lips the +children had fled like sheep. + +She stepped to the front door and looked out. + +A boy was turning somersaults on the grass. Three girls had started a +game of tag. Watching all this with eager eyes was a boy of eight, one +foot tightly bound into an iron brace. It was on this child that Mrs. +Wentworth's eyes lingered the longest. + +"Poor little fellow! Well, he shall be one of the two," she murmured, +as she hurried out to Hannah. + +"When they going, ma'am?" began Hannah, with an assurance born of long +service. + +"I--I haven't told them; I--well, I waited for Mr. Wentworth," +confessed her mistress hastily. Then, with some dignity: "They can +just as well have to-day outdoors, anyway." + +It was nearly noon when Mr. Wentworth drove into the yard, gave his +horse into the care of Bill, the man-of-all-work, and hurried into the +house. + +"Mary, Mary--where are you?" he called sharply. Never before had James +Wentworth broken the serene calm of his home with a voice like that. + +"Yes, dear, I 'm here--in the dining-room." + +Mrs. Wentworth's cheeks were flushed, her hair was disordered, and her +neck-bow was untied; but she was smiling happily as she hovered over a +large table laden with good things and set for six. + +"You can sit down with them, James," she exclaimed; "I'm going to help +Hannah serve them." + +"Mary, what in the world does this mean? The yard is overrun with +screaming children! Have they sent us the whole asylum?" he demanded. + +Mrs. Wentworth laughed hysterically. + +"That's exactly what they have done, dear. They took my 'two' for a +'ten,' and--and they did the best they could to supply my wants!" + +"Well, but--why don't you send them home? We can't--" + +"Yes, yes; I know, dear," interrupted the woman hastily, the happy look +gone from her eyes. "After dinner I am--that is, you may send all but +two home. I thought I 'd let them play awhile." + +"Humph!" ejaculated the man; "send them home?--I should think so!" he +muttered, as his wife went to call the children to dinner. + +What a wonderful meal that was, and how the good things did vanish down +those five hungry throats! + +The man at the head of the table looked on in dumb amazement, and he +was still speechless when, after dinner, five children set upon him and +dragged him out to see the bird's nest behind the barn. + +"An' we found the pigs an' the chickens, Mister, jest as they said we +would," piped up Tommy eagerly, as they hurried along. + +"An' a teeny little baby cow, too," panted the smaller girl, "an' I fed +him." + +"Well, I guess you could n't 'a' fed him if I had n't held him with the +rope," crowed Bobby. + +"Or if I had n't scared him with my stick!" cut in Tilly. "I guess you +ain't the only pebble on the beach, Bobby Mack!" + +"Good Heavens!" groaned Mr. Wentworth, under his breath. "And have I +got to keep two of these little hoodlums for a whole fortnight? +Er--children," he said aloud, after the bird's nest had been duly +admired; "er--suppose we go and--er--read." + +Into the house trooped the five chattering boys and girls in the wake +of an anxious, perplexed man. Some minutes later the children sat in a +stiff row along the wall, while the man, facing them, read aloud from a +ponderous calf-bound volume on "The Fundamental Causes of the Great +Rebellion." + +For some time Mr. Wentworth read without pausing to look up, his +sonorous voice filling the room, and his mind wholly given to the +subject in hand; then he raised his eyes--and almost dropped the book +in his hand: Tommy, the cripple, sat alone. + +"Why, where--what--" stammered Mr. Wentworth. + +"They've gone out ter the barn, Mister," explained Tommy cheerfully, +pointing to the empty chairs. + +"Oh!" murmured Mr. Wentworth faintly, as he placed the book on the +shelf. "I--er--I think we won't read any more." + +"Come on, then; let's go to the barn," cried Tommy. And to the barn +they went. + +There were no "Fundamental Causes of the Great Rebellion" in the barn, +but there were fundamental causes of lots of other things, and Mr. +Wentworth found that now his words were listened to with more +eagerness; and before he knew it, he was almost as excited as were the +children themselves. + +They were really a very intelligent lot of youngsters, he told himself, +and the prospect of having two of them for guests did not look so +formidable after all. + +From the barn they went to the garden, from the garden to the pond, +from the pond back to the yard; then they all sat down under the apple +trees while Mr. Wentworth built them a miniature boat; in days long +gone by James Wentworth had loved the sea, and boat-making had been one +of his boyhood joys. + +At four o'clock Mrs. Wentworth called from the house: + +"James, will you come here a minute, please?" + +A slow red stole over the man's face as he rose to his feet. The red +was a deep crimson by the time he faced his wife. + +"How are you going to send them home, dear?" she asked. + +He shook his head. + +"But it's four o'clock, and we ought to be thinking of it. Which two +are you going to keep?" + +"I--I don't know," he acknowledged. + +For some unapparent reason Mrs. Wentworth's spirits rose, but she +assumed an air of severity. + +"Why, James!--have n't you told them?" she demanded. + +"Mary, I couldn't; I've been trying to all the afternoon. Er--you tell +them--do!" he urged desperately. "I can't--playing with them as I +have!" + +"Suppose we keep them all, then?" she hazarded. + +"Mary!" + +"Oh, I can manage it! I 've been talking with Hannah--I saw how things +were going with you "--his features relaxed into a shame-faced +smile--"and Hannah says her sister can come to help, and we 've got +beds enough with the cots in the attic." + +He drew a deep breath. + +"Then we won't have to tell them!" he exclaimed. + +"No, we won't have to tell them," she laughed, as she turned back into +the house. + +What a fortnight that was at "Meadowbrook!" The mornings--no longer +peaceful--were full of rollicking games; and the long, drowsy +afternoons became very much awake with gleeful shouts. The spotless +order fled before the bats and balls and books and dolls that Mr. +Wentworth brought home from the store; and the methodical routine of +the household was shattered to atoms by daily picnics and frequent +luncheons of bread and butter. + +No longer were the days ordered with a precision that admitted of no +frivolous deviations, for who could tell in the morning how many bumped +heads, cut fingers, bruised noses and wounded hearts would need +sympathetic attention before night? + +And so it went on until the evening before the two weeks were +completed; then, after the children were abed and asleep, the man and +his wife talked it over. + +"Well, this ends to-morrow, I suppose. You must be tired, Mary; it's +been a hard time for you, dear," he began. + +"Not a bit of it, James," she demurred. "Hannah and Betsey have done +all the work, and you 've been with the children so much I 've not felt +their care at all." + +The man stirred uneasily. + +"Well, I--I wanted to relieve you as much as possible," he exclaimed, +wondering if she knew how many boats he had built for the boys, and how +many jackknives he had broken in the process. + +"Do you know?--I think I shall be actually lonely when they are gone," +declared Mrs. Wentworth, without looking up. + +The man threw a sharp glance at his wife. + +"So shall I," he said. + +"James, I've been wondering, could n't we--adopt one of them?" she +suggested, trying to make it appear as if the thought had but just +entered her head. + +Again the man gave his wife a swift glance. + +"Why--we--might--I suppose," he returned, hoping that his hesitation +would indicate that the idea was quite new to him--instead of having +been almost constantly in his thoughts for a week. + +"We might take two--company for each other, you know!" She looked at +him out of the corner of her eye. + +"Hm-m," he agreed pleasantly. + +"The only trouble is the selecting, James." + +"Yes, that is a drawback," murmured the man, with a vivid recollection +of a certain afternoon under the apple trees. + +"Well, I'll tell you"--Mrs. Wentworth leaned forward in sudden +animation--"to-morrow you pick out the one you want and ask him--or +her--to go into the parlor for a few minutes at nine o'clock in the +morning, and I will do the same." + +"Well, maybe," he began a little doubtfully, "but--" + +"And if there are two, and you are n't real sure which you want, just +ask both of them to go, and we 'll settle it together, later," she +finished. + +To this, with some measure of content, her husband agreed. + +The next morning at ten minutes before nine Mrs. Wentworth began her +search. With no hesitation she accosted the little cripple. + +"Tommy, dear, I want you to go into the parlor for a few minutes. Take +your book in there and read, and I 'll come very soon and tell you what +I want." + +Tommy obeyed at once and Mrs. Wentworth sighed in relief. At that +moment Tilly came into the garden. + +What a dear little woman those two weeks of happiness had caused Tilly +to become! How much she loved Tommy, and what care she took of him! +Really, it was a shame to separate them--they ought to be brought up +together--perhaps Mr. Wentworth would n't find any child that he +wanted; anyway, she believed she should send Tilly in, at a venture. + +A moment later Tilly was following in Tommy's footsteps. On the piazza +steps sat Bobby--homely, unattractive Bobby, crying. + +"Why, my dear!" remonstrated Mrs. Wentworth. + +"Tommy's gone! I can't find him," sobbed the boy. + +Mrs. Wentworth's back straightened. + +Of course Bobby cried--no one was so good to him as Tommy was--no one +seemed to care for him but Tommy. Poor, homely Bobby! He had a hard +row to hoe. He-- + +But she could n't take Bobby! Of course not--she had Tommy and Tilly +already. Still-- + +Mrs. Wentworth stooped and whispered a magic word in Bobby's ear, and +the boy sprang to his feet and trotted through the hall to the parlor +door. + +"I don't care," muttered Mrs. Wentworth recklessly. "I could n't bear +to leave him alone out here. I can settle it later." + +Twice she had evaded her husband during the last fifteen minutes; now, +at nine o'clock, the appointed time, they both reached the parlor door. +Neither one could meet the other's eyes, and with averted faces they +entered the room together; then both gave a cry of amazement. + +In the corner, stiff, uncomfortable, and with faces that expressed +puzzled anxiety, sat five silent children. + +Mrs. Wentworth was the first to recover presence of mind. + +"There, there, dears, it's all right," she began a little hysterically. +"You can call it a little game we were playing. You may all run +outdoors now." + +As the last white apron fluttered through the door she dropped limply +into a chair. + +"James, what in the world are we going to do?" she demanded. + +"Give it up!" said the man, his hands in his pockets--James Wentworth's +vocabulary had grown twenty years younger in the last two weeks. + +"But really, it's serious!" + +"It certainly is." + +"But what _shall_ we do?" + +The man took his hands from his pockets and waved them in a manner that +would indicate entire irresponsibility. + +"We might end it as we did two weeks ago and keep the whole lot of +them," she proposed merrily. + +"Well--why don't you?" he asked calmly. + +"James!" + +His face grew red with a shame-faced laugh. + +"Well--there are families with five children in them, and I guess we +could manage it," he asserted in self-defense. + +She sat up and looked at him with amazement. + +"Surely we have money enough--and I don't know how we could spend it +better," he continued rapidly; "and with plenty of help for you--there +'s nothing to hinder turning ourselves into an orphan asylum if we want +to," he added triumphantly. + +"Oh, James, could we--do you think?" she cried, her eyes shining with a +growing joy. "Tommy, and Tilly, and all? Oh, we will--we will! +And--and--we'll never have to choose any more, will we, James?" she +finished fervently. + + + + +The Elephant's Board and Keep + +On twelve hundred dollars a year the Wheelers had contrived to live +thus far with some comforts and a few luxuries--they had been married +two years. Genial, fun-loving, and hospitable, they had even +entertained occasionally; but Brainerd was a modest town, and its Four +Hundred was not given to lavish display. + +In the bank Herbert Wheeler spent long hours handling money that was +not his, only to hurry home and spend other long hours over a tiny lawn +and a tinier garden, where every blade of grass and every lettuce-head +were marvels of grace and beauty, simply because they were his. + +It was June now, and the lawn and the garden were very important; but +it was on a June morning that the large blue envelope came. Herbert +went home that night and burst into the kitchen like a whirlwind. + +"Jessica, we 've got one at last," he cried. + +"One what?" + +"An automobile." + +Jessica sat down helplessly. In each hand she held an egg--she had +been selecting two big ones for an omelet. + +"Herbert, are you crazy? What are you talking about?" she demanded. + +"About our automobile, to be sure," he retorted. "'T was Cousin +John's. I heard to-day--he's left it to us." + +"To _us_! But we hardly knew him, and he was only a third or fourth +cousin, anyway, was n't he? Why, we never even thought of going to the +funeral!" + +"I know; but he was a queer old codger, and he took a great fancy to +you when he saw you. Don't you remember? Anyhow, the deed is done." + +"And it's ours?--a whole automobile?" + +"That's what they say--and it's a three-thousand-dollar car." + +"Oh, Herbert!" When Jessica was pleased she clapped her hands; she +clapped them now--or rather she clapped the eggs--and in the resulting +disaster even the automobile was for a moment forgetten [Transcriber's +note: forgotten?]. But for only a moment. + +"And to think how we 've wanted an automobile!" she cried, when the +impromptu omelet in her lap had been banished into oblivion. "The +rides we 'll have--and _we_ won't be pigs! _We 'll_ take our friends!" + +"Indeed we will," agreed Herbert. + +"And our trips and vacations, and even down town--why, we won't need +any carfare. We 'll save money, Herbert, lots of money!" + +"Er.--well, an auto costs something to run, you know," ventured Herbert. + +"Gasoline, 'course!--but what's a little gasoline? I fancy we can +afford that when we get the whole car for nothing!" + +"Well, I should say!" chuckled the man. + +"Where is it now?" + +"In the garage on the estate," returned Herbert, consulting his letter. +"I'm requested to take it away." + +"Requested! Only fancy! As if we were n't dying to take it away!" + +"Yes, but--how?" The man's face had grown suddenly perplexed. + +"Why, go and get it, of course." + +"But one can't walk in and pocket a motor-car as one would a package of +greenbacks." + +"Of course not! But you can get it and run it home. It's only fifty +miles, anyhow." + +"I don't know how to run an automobile. Besides, there's licenses and +things that have to be 'tended to first, I think." + +"Well, _somebody_ can run it, can't there?" + +"Well, yes, I suppose so. But--where are we going to keep it?" + +"Herbert Wheeler, one would think you were displeased that we 've been +given this automobile. As if it mattered _where_ we kept it, so long +as we had it to keep!" + +"Yes, but--really, Jessica, we can't keep it here--in the kitchen," he +cried. "It's smashed two eggs already, just the mention of it," he +finished whimsically. + +"But there _are_ places--garages and things, Herbert; you know there +are." + +"Yes, but they--cost something." + +"I know it; but if the car is ours for nothing, seems as if we might be +able to afford its board and keep!" + +"Well, by George! it does, Jessica; that's a fact," cried the man, +starting to his feet. "There 's Dearborn's down to the Square. I 'll +go and see them about it. They 'll know, too, how to get it here. I +'ll go down right after supper. And, by the way, how about that +omelet? Did our new automobile leave any eggs to make one?" + +"Well, a few," laughed Jessica. + +There was no elation in Herbert Wheeler's step when, two hours later, +the young bank teller came home from Dearborn's. + +"Well, I guess we--we're up against it, Jessica," he groaned. + +"What's the matter? Won't they take it? Never mind; there are others." + +"Oh, yes, they 'll take it and take care of it for fifteen or twenty +dollars a month, according to the amount of work I have them do on it." + +"Why, I never heard of such a thing! Does it cost that--all that? But +then, the _car_ does n't cost anything," she added soothingly, after a +pause. + +"Oh, no, the car doesn't cost anything--only eight or ten dollars to +bring it down by train, or else two dollars an hour for a chauffeur to +run it down for us," retorted her husband. + +"Eight or ten dollars! Two dollars an hour to run it!" gasped Jessica. +"Why, Herbert, what shall we do? There is only ten dollars now of the +household money to last the rest of the month; and there 's this week's +grocery bill and a dollar and a half for the laundry to pay!" + +"That's exactly it--what shall we do?" snapped Herbert. This thing was +getting on his nerves. + +"But we must do," laughed Jessica hysterically. "The idea of giving up +a three-thousand-dollar automobile because one owes a grocery bill and +a dollar and a half for laundry!" + +"Well, we can't eat the automobile, and 't won't wash our clothes for +us." + +"Naturally not! Who wants it to?" Jessica's nerves, also, were +feeling the strain. + +"We might--sell it." + +"Sell it! Sell our automobile!" flamed Jessica; and to hear her, one +would think the proposition was to sell an old family heirloom, beloved +for years. + +Her husband sighed. + +"Isn't there something somewhere about selling the pot to get something +to put into it?" he muttered dismally, as he rose to lock up the house +for the night. "Well, I fancy that's what we 'll have to do--sell the +automobile to get money enough to move it!" + +Two days later the automobile came. Perhaps the grocer waited. +Perhaps the laundry bill went unpaid. Perhaps an obliging friend +advanced a loan. Whatever it was, spic and span in Dearborn's garage +stood the three-thousand-dollar automobile, the admired of every eye. + +June had gone, and July was weeks old, however, before the +preliminaries of license and lessons were over, and Mr. and Mrs. +Herbert Wheeler could enter into the full knowledge of what it meant to +be the joyous possessors of an automobile which one could run one's +self. + +"And now we'll take our friends," cried Jessica. "Who'll go first?" + +"Let's begin with the A's--the Arnolds. They 're always doing things +for us." + +"Good! I'll telephone Mrs. Arnold to-night. To-morrow is Saturday, +half-holiday. We'll take them down to the lake and come home by +moonlight. Oh, Herbert, won't it be lovely?" + +"You bet it will," exulted Herbert, as he thought of the Arnolds' +admiring eyes when their car should sweep up to their door. + +At three o'clock Saturday afternoon the Wheelers with their two guests +started for the lake. It was a beautiful day. The road was good and +every one was in excellent spirits--that is, every one but the host. +It had come to him suddenly with overwhelming force that he was +responsible not only for the happiness but for the lives of his wife +and their friends. What if something should go wrong? + +But nothing did go wrong. He stopped twice, it is true, and examined +carefully his car; but the only result of his search was a plentiful +bedaubing of oil and gasoline on his hands and of roadway dust on his +clothing. He was used to this and did not mind it, however--until he +went in to dinner at the Lakeside House beside the fresh daintiness of +his wife and their friends; then he did mind it. + +The ride home was delightful, so the Arnolds said. The Arnolds talked +of it, indeed, to each other, until they fell asleep--but even then +they did not talk of it quite so long as their host worked cleaning up +the car after the trip. Wheeler kept the automobile now in a +neighbor's barn and took care of it himself; it was much cheaper than +keeping it in Dearborn's garage. + +There were several other friends in the A's and B's and two in the C's +who were taken out in the Wheeler automobile before Herbert one day +groaned: + +"Jessica, this alphabet business is killing me. It does seem as if Z +never would be reached!" + +"Why, Herbert!--and they 're all our friends, and you know how much +they think of it." + +"I think of it, too, when the dinner checks and the supper checks come +in. Jessica, we just simply can't stand it!" + +Jessica frowned and sighed. + +"I know, dear; but when the _car_ did n't cost anything--" + +"Well, lobster salads and chicken patties cost something," mentioned +the man grimly. + +"I know it; but it seems so--so selfish to go all by ourselves with +those empty seats behind us. And there are so many I have promised to +take. Herbert, what can we do?" + +"I don't know; but I know what we can't do. We can't feed them to the +tune of a dollar or two a plate any longer." + +There was a long pause; then Jessica clapped her hands. + +"Herbert, I have it! We'll have basket picnics. I 'll take a lunch +from the house every time. And, after all, that'll be lots nicer; +don't you think so?" + +"Well, that might do," acquiesced the man slowly. "Anyhow, there would +n't be any dinner checks a-coming." + +August passed and September came. The Wheelers were in "M" now; they +had been for days, indeed. Even home-prepared luncheons were beyond +the Wheelers' pocketbook now, and no friend had been invited to ride +for a week past. The spoiling of two tires and a rather serious +accident to the machine had necessitated the Wheelers spending every +spare cent for repairs. + +In the eyes of most of the town the Wheelers were objects of envy. +_They_ had an automobile. _They_ could ride while others must plod +along behind them on foot, blinded by their dust and sickened by their +noisome odor of gasoline. + +As long as the Wheelers were "decently hospitable" about sharing their +car, the townspeople added to their envy an interested tolerance based +on a lively speculation as to when one's own turn for a ride would +come; but when a whole week went by, and not one of the many anxious +would-be guests had been invited, the interest and the tolerance fled, +leaving only an angry disdain as destructive to happiness as was the +gasoline smell of the car itself. + +There were some things, however, that the townspeople did not know. +They did not know that, though the Wheelers had a motor-car, they had +almost nothing else; no new clothes, except dust coats and goggles; no +new books and magazines, except such as dealt with "the practical +upkeep and operation of a car"; no leisure, for the car must be kept +repaired and shining; no fresh vegetables to eat, for the garden had +died long ago from want of care, and they could buy only gasoline. But +they did have an automobile. This much the town knew; and there came a +day when this fact loomed large and ominous on the horizon of the +Wheelers' destiny. + +On the first day of October the bank in which young Wheeler worked +closed its doors. There had been a defalcation. A large sum of money +was missing, and the long finger of suspicion pointed to Herbert +Wheeler. + +Did he not sport an automobile? Was he not living far beyond his +means? Had not the Wheelers for weeks past flaunted their ill-gotten +wealth in the very eyes of the whole town? To be sure they had. The +idea, indeed, of a twelve-hundred-dollar-a-year clerk trying to cut a +dash like that! As if every one could not guess just where had gone +that missing sum of money. + +And so the town talked and wagged its head, and back in the tiny house +in the midst of its unkept lawn and garden sat the angry, frightened, +and appalled Herbert Wheeler, and Jessica, his wife. + +In vain did the Wheelers point out that the automobile was a gift. In +vain did they bare to doubting eyes the whole pitiful poverty of their +daily life. The town refused to see or to understand; in the town's +eyes was the vision of the Wheeler automobile flying through the +streets with selfishly empty seats; in the town's nose was the hateful +smell of gasoline. Nothing else signified. + +To the bank examiners, however, something else did signify. But it +took their sworn statement, together with the suicide of Cashier Jewett +(the proved defaulter), to convince the town; and even then the town +shook its head and said: + +"Well, it might have been that automobile, anyhow!" + + +The Wheelers sold their elephant--their motor-car. + +"Yes, I think we 'd better sell it," agreed Jessica tearfully, when her +husband made the proposition. "Of course the car did n't cost us +anything, but we--" + +"Cost us anything!" cut in Herbert Wheeler wrathfully. "Cost us +anything! Why, it's done nothing but cost from the day it smashed +those two eggs in the kitchen to the day it almost smashed my +reputation at the bank. Why, Jessica, it's cost us everything--food, +clothing, fun, friends, and almost life itself! I think we 'll sell +that automobile." + +And they sold it. + + + + +A Patron of Art + +Mrs. Livingstone adored art--Art with a capital A, not the kind whose +sign-manual is a milking-stool or a beribboned picture frame. The +family had lived for some time in a shabby-genteel house on Beacon +Hill, ever since, indeed, Mrs. Livingstone had insisted on her +husband's leaving the town of his birth and moving to Boston--the +center of Art (according to Mrs. Livingstone). + +Here she attended the Symphony Concerts (on twenty-five cent tickets), +and prattled knowingly of Mozart and Beethoven; and here she listened +to Patti or Bernhardt from the third balcony of the Boston Theater. If +she attended an exhibit of modern paintings she saw no beauty in +pictured face or flower, but longed audibly for the masterpieces of +Rubens and of Titian; and she ignored the ordinary books and +periodicals of the day, even to the newspapers, and adorned her +center-table with copies of Shakespeare and of Milton. + +To be sure, she occasionally read a novel or a book of poems a trifle +less ancient in character, but never unless the world had rung with the +author's praises for at least a score of years. The stamp of Time's +approval was absolutely necessary to the aspirant after Mrs. +Livingstone's approbation. Indeed, there was only one of the +present-day celebrities who interested the good lady at all, but that +one attracted with a power that compensated for any lack in the others. +She would have given much--had it been hers to give--to once meet that +man. + +Of course he was famous--he had been for thirty years. She called him +the "Inimitable One," and set him up in her heart and groveled joyfully +at his feet. She bought each of his books when published, whether she +had shoes to her feet or clothes to her back. He was the Prophet--the +High Priest--the embodiment of Art. She occasionally even allowed his +books to rest on the table along with Milton and Shakespeare. + +Mrs. Livingstone's husband was only an ordinary being who knew nothing +whatever of Art; and it was a relief to her--and perhaps to him, poor +man--when he departed this life, and left her to an artistic widowhood +with anything but an artistic income--if size counts in Art. But one +must eat, and one must wear clothes (in chilly, civilized Boston, at +least), and Mrs. Livingstone suddenly realized that something must be +done toward supplying these necessities of life for herself and her +young daughter, Mabel. + +It was at about this time that there came a sharp ring at the doorbell, +and a stout man with small, but very bright, black eyes asked to see +Mrs. Livingstone. + +"I have come, my dear madam, on a matter of business," said he suavely; +"and though I am a stranger to you, you certainly are not one to me. I +said 'business,' madam, yet I and the one for whom I am speaking are so +anxious that you should look favorably upon our proposition that I had +almost said that I had come to ask a favor." + +Mrs. Livingstone relaxed from the forbidding aspect she had assumed, +and looked mildly interested. + +"A gentleman wishes to leave his house in your charge, madam. The +house is advertised for sale, and from time to time parties may wish to +see it. He would like it to be in the care of some one who will +understand how to show it to the best advantage, you see." + +Mrs. Livingstone's back straightened, and her chin rose perceptibly. +Had she come to this--a common caretaker? And yet--there was Mabel. +Something must certainly be done. + +"Who is this man?" she asked aggressively; and then she almost started +from her chair as the name fell from the other's lips--it was that +borne by the Inimitable One. + +"That man!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "That famous creature with the +world at his feet!" + +The stout gentleman opposite smiled, and his little eyes narrowed to +mere slits of light. He had counted on this. His employer was indeed +famous--very famous, though perhaps not in the way this good lady +supposed. It was not the first time he had traded on this convenient +similarity of names. + +"I thought, madam, we had made no mistake. I was sure you would deem +it a privilege. And as for us, your keen appreciative sense of the +fitness of things will--er--will make it a favor to us if you comply +with our request," said he, floundering in helpless confusion for a +moment. + +But Mrs. Livingstone did not notice. She went through the rest of that +interview in a dazed, ecstatic wonder. She only knew at its conclusion +that she was to go up to Vermont to care for His house, to live in the +rooms that He had lived in, to rest where He had rested, to walk where +He had walked, to see what He had seen. And she was to receive +pay--money for this blissful privilege. Incredible! + +It did not take Mrs. Livingstone long to make all necessary +arrangements. The shabby-genteel house in Boston was rented by the +month, all furnished, and the good lady promptly gave her notice and +packed her trunks for departure. The first day of the month found her +and her daughter whirling away from the city toward their destination. + +As they stepped from the train to the platform at the little country +station, Mrs. Livingstone looked about her with awed interest. He had +been here! The jouncing yellow stage coach became a hallowed golden +chariot, and the ride to the house a sacred pilgrimage. She quoted His +poetry on the doorstep, and entered the hall with a reverent obeisance; +whereupon the man who brought the trunks ever after referred to her +with a significant tap on his forehead and the single word "cracked." + +"Only think, Mabel, He walked here, and sat here," said the woman +adoringly, suiting the action to the word and sinking into a great +Morris chair. + +Mabel sniffed her disdain. + +"I presume so; but I should like to know where he ate--maybe he left +something!" + +Mrs. Livingstone rose in despairing resignation. + +"Just like your father, child. No conception of anything but the +material things of life. I did hope my daughter would have some +sympathy with me; but it seems she has n't. Bring me my bag--the black +one; the lunch is in that. Of course we can't have a warm supper until +we get started." + +The next few days were a dream of bliss to Mrs. Livingstone. The house +was a handsome mansion set well back from the street, and surrounded by +beautiful grounds which were kept in order by a man who came two or +three times a week to attend to them. Mrs. Livingstone had but herself +and Mabel to care for, and she performed the work of the house as a +high-priestess might have attended upon the altars of her gods. It was +on the fifth day that a growing wonder in the mind of Mrs. Livingstone +found voice. + +"Mabel, there is n't one of His works in the house--not one. I 've +been everywhere!" said 'the woman plaintively. + +"Well, mother," laughed the girl saucily, "that's the most sensible +thing I ever knew of the man. I don't wonder he did n't want them +round--I should n't!" + +"Mabel!" + +"Well, I shouldn't!" And Mabel laughed wickedly while her mother +sighed at the out-spoken heresy. It was plain that Mabel had no soul. + +Mrs. Livingstone was furthermore surprised at her idol's taste in art; +some of the pictures on the wall were a distinct shock to her. And if +the absence of the Inimitable One's works astonished her, the presence +of some others' books certainly did more than that. + +The house was to be sold completely furnished, with the exception of +the books and pictures. The price was high, and there were but few +prospective purchasers. Occasionally people came to see the property; +such Mrs. Livingstone conducted about the house with reverent +impressiveness, displaying its various charms much as a young mother +would "show off" her baby. + +"It is something to buy a house owned by so famous a man," she +insinuated gently one day, after vainly trying to awaken a proper +enthusiasm in a prim little woman who was talking of purchasing. + +"Indeed!" replied the other, frigidly. "Do you think so? I must +confess it is somewhat of a drawback to me." And from that time Mrs. +Livingstone wore an injured air--the young mother's baby had been +snubbed--grievously snubbed. + +There were times when Mrs. Livingstone was lonely. Only one of her +neighbors had called, and that one had not repeated the visit. Perhaps +the lady's report--together with that of the trunkman--was not +conducive to further acquaintance. It would appear so. + +Toward the last of the summer a wild plan entered Mrs. Livingstone's +brain; and after some days of trembling consideration, she determined +to carry it out. The morning mail bore a letter from her to the +Inimitable One through his publishers. She had learned that he was to +be in Boston, and she had written to beg him to come up to his old home +and see if it was being cared for to his satisfaction. The moments +dragged as though weighted with lead until the answer came. When at +last it was in her hands, she twisted a hairpin under the flap of the +envelope and tore out the letter with shaking fingers. + +It was from the Inimitable One's private secretary. The Inimitable One +did not understand her letter--he was the owner of no house in Vermont; +there was doubtless some mistake. That was all. The communication was +wholly enigmatic. + +The letter fluttered to the floor, and Mrs. Livingstone's dazed eyes +rested on the gardener in the lawn below. In a moment she was at his +side. + +"Peter, isn't this house owned by a very famous man?" + +"Indade it is, ma'am." + +"Who is he?" she demanded shortly, holding her breath until that +familiar name borne by the Inimitable One passed the other's lips. + +"Well, Peter, is n't he the writer? What does he do for a living?" she +faltered, still mystified. + +"Do? He fights, ma'am. He 's the big prize-fighter that won--" He +was talking to empty air. The woman had fled. + + + + +When Polly Ann Played Santa Claus + +The Great Idea and What Came of It + +Margaret Brackett turned her head petulantly from side to side on the +pillow. "I'm sure I don't see why this had to come to me now," she +moaned. + +Polly Ann Brackett, who had been hastily summoned to care for her +stricken relative, patted the pillow hopefully. + +"Sho! now, Aunt Margaret, don't take on so. Just lie still and rest. +You 're all beat out. That's what's the matter." + +The sick woman gave an impatient sigh. + +"But, Polly Ann, it's only the 22d. I ought not to be that--yet! It +never comes until the 26th, and I 'm prepared for it then. Sarah Bird +comes Christmas Day, you know." + +Polly Ann's jaw dropped. Her eyes stared frankly. + +"Sarah Bird!" she cried. "You don't mean you engaged her beforehand--a +_nurse_! That you knew you 'd need her!" + +"Of course. I do every year. Polly Ann, don't stare so! As if +Christmas did n't use every one up--what with the shopping and all the +planning and care it takes!" + +"But I thought Christmas was a--a pleasure," argued Polly Ann feebly; +"something to enjoy. Not to--to get sick over." + +"Enjoy--yes, though not to be taken lightly, understand," returned the +elder woman with dignity. "It is no light thing to select and buy +suitable, appropriate gifts. And now, with half of them to be yet tied +up and labeled, here I am, flat on my back," she finished with a groan. + +"Can't I do it? Of course I can!" cried Polly Ann confidently. + +The sick woman turned with troubled eyes. + +"Why, I suppose you'll have to do it," she sighed, "as long as I can't. +Part of them are done up, anyway; but there's John's family and Mary +and the children left. John's are in the middle drawer of the bureau +in the attic hall, and Mary's are in the big box near it. You'll know +them right away when you see them. There's paper and strings and +ribbons, and cards for the names, besides the big boxes to send them +in. Seems as if you ought to do it right, only--well, you know how +utterly irresponsible and absent-minded you are sometimes." + +"Nonsense!" scoffed Polly Ann. "As if I could n't do up a parcel of +presents as well as you! And I'll prove it, too. I'll go right up +now," she declared, rising to her feet and marching out of the room. + +In the attic hall Polly Ann found the presents easily. She knew which +was for which, too; she knew Margaret and her presents of old. She did +not need the little bits of paper marked, "For Mary," "For Tom," "For +John," "For Julia," to tell her that the woolen gloves and thick socks +went into Mary's box, and the handsomely bound books and the fine +lace-edged handkerchief into John's. + +Mary, as all the Bracketts knew, was the poor relation that had married +shiftless Joe Hemenway, who had died after a time, leaving behind him a +little Joe and three younger girls and a boy. John, if possible even +better known to the Brackett family, was the millionaire Congressman to +whom no Brackett ever failed to claim relationship with a proudly +careless "He's a cousin of ours, you know, Congressman Brackett is." + +At once Polly Ann began her task. And then-- + +It was the French doll that did it. Polly Ann was sure of that, as she +thought it over afterward. From the middle drawer where were John's +presents the doll fell somehow into the box where were Mary's. There +the fluffy gold of the doll's hair rioted gloriously across a pair of +black woolen socks, and the blue satin of its gown swept glistening +folds of sumptuousness across a red flannel petticoat. One rose-tipped +waxen hand, outflung, pointed, almost as if in scorn, to the corner of +the box where lay another doll, a doll in a brown delaine dress, a doll +whose every line from her worsted-capped head to her black-painted feet +spelled durability and lack of charm. + +Polly Ann saw this, and sighed. She was thinking of Mary's little +crippled Nellie for whom the brown delaine doll was designed; and she +was remembering what that same Nellie had said one day, when they had +paused before a window wherein stood another just such a little +satin-clad lady as this interloper from the middle bureau drawer. + +"Oh, Cousin Polly, look--look!" Nellie had breathed. "Is n't she +be-yu-tiful? Oh, Cousin Polly, if--if I had--one--like that, I don't +think I 'd mind even _these_--much," she choked, patting the crutches +that supported her. + +Polly Ann had sighed then, and had almost sobbed aloud as she +disdainfully eyed her own thin little purse, whose contents would +scarcely have bought the gown that Miss Dolly wore. She sighed again +now, as she picked up the doll before her, and gently smoothed into +order the shining hair. If only this were for Nellie!--but it was n't. +It was for Julia's Roselle, Roselle who already possessed a dozen +French dolls, and would probably possess as many more before her doll +days were over, while Nellie-- + +With a swift movement Polly Ann dropped the doll back into the box, and +picked up the other one. The next moment the brown delaine dress was +rubbing elbows with a richly bound book and a Duchesse lace collar in +the middle bureau drawer. Polly Ann cocked her head to one side and +debated; did she dare ask Aunt Margaret to make the change? + +With a slow shake of her head she owned that she did not. She knew her +aunt and her aunt's convictions as to the ethics of present-giving too +well. And, if she were tempted to doubt, there were the two sets of +presents before her, both of which, even down to the hemp twine and +brown paper in one and the red ribbons and white tissue-paper in the +other, proclaimed their donor's belief as to the proper distribution of +usefulness and beauty. + +The two dolls did look odd in their present environment. Polly Ann +admitted that. Reluctantly she picked them up, and was about to return +each to her own place, when suddenly the Great Idea was born. + +With a little cry and a tense biting of her lip Polly Ann fell back +before it. Then excitedly she leaned forward, and examined with +searching eyes the presents. She drew a long breath, and stood erect +again. + +"Well, why not?" she asked herself. Aunt Margaret had said she was +utterly irresponsible and absent-minded. Very well, then; she would be +utterly irresponsible and absent-minded. She would change the labels +and misdirect the boxes. John's should go to Mary, and Mary's to John. +Nellie should have that doll. Incidentally Nellie's mother and sisters +and brother and grandmother should have, too, for once in their starved +lives, a Christmas present that did not shriek durability the moment +the wrappings fell away. + +It was nothing but fun for Polly Ann after this. With unafraid hands +she arranged the two sets of presents on the top of the bureau, and +planned their disposal. Mentally she reviewed the two families. In +Mary's home there were Mary herself; Joe, eighteen; Jennie, sixteen; +Carrie, fourteen; Tom, eleven; and Nellie, six; besides Grandma. In +John's there were John, his wife, Julia; their son Paul, ten; and +daughter Roselle, four; besides John's younger sister Barbara, +eighteen, and his mother. + +It took a little planning to make the presents for six on the one hand +do for seven on the other, and vice versa; but with a little skillful +dividing and combining it was done at last to Polly Ann's huge +satisfaction. Then came the tying-up and the labeling. And here again +Polly Ann's absent-mindedness got in its fine work; for the red ribbons +and the white tissue-paper went into Mary's box, which left, of course, +only the brown paper and hemp twine for John's. + +"There!" sighed Polly Ann when the boxes themselves were at last tied +up and addressed. "Now we 'll see what we shall see!" But even Polly +Ann, in spite of her bravely upheld chin, trembled a little as she +turned toward the room where Margaret Brackett lay sick. + +It was a pity, as matters were, that Polly Ann could not have been a +fly on the wall of Mary's sitting-room at that moment, for Mary's +Jennie was saying gloomily, "I suppose, mother, we'll have Cousin +Margaret's Christmas box as usual." + +"I suppose so," her mother answered. Then with a determined +cheerfulness came the assertion, "Cousin Margaret is always very kind +and thoughtful, you know, Jennie." + +There was a pause, broken at last by a mutinous "I don't think so, +mother." + +"Why, _Jennie_!" + +"Well, I don't. She may be kind, but she isn't--thoughtful." + +"Why, my daughter!" remonstrated the shocked mother again. "I 'm +ashamed of you!" + +"I know; it's awful, of course, but I can't help it," declared the +girl. "If she really were thoughtful, she 'd think sometimes that we +'d like something for presents besides flannel things." + +"But they're so--sensible, Jennie, for--us." + +"That's just what they are--sensible," retorted the girl bitterly. +"But who wants sensible things always? We _have_ to have them the +whole year through. Seems as if at Christmas we might have +something--foolish." + +"Jennie, Jennie, what are you saying? and when Cousin Margaret is so +good to us, too! Besides, she does send us candy always, and--and +that's foolish." + +"It would be if 't was nice candy, the kind we can't hope ever to buy +ourselves. But it isn't. It's the cheap Christmas candy, two pounds +for a quarter, the kind we have to buy when we buy any. Mother, it's +just that; don't you see? Cousin Margaret thinks that's the only sort +of thing that's fit for us! cheap, sensible things, the kind of things +we have to buy. But that does n't mean that we would n't like +something else, or that we have n't any taste, just because we have n't +the means to gratify it," finished the girl chokingly as she hurried +out of the room before her mother could reply. + +All this, however, Polly Ann did not hear, for Polly Ann was not a fly +on Mary's sitting-room wall. + +On Christmas Day Sarah Bird appeared, cheerfully ready to take charge +of her yearly patient; and Polly Ann went home. In less than a week, +however, Polly Ann was peremptorily sent for by the sick woman. Polly +Ann had expected the summons and was prepared; yet she shook in her +shoes when she met her kinswoman's wrathful eyes. + +"Polly Ann, _what_ did you do with those presents?" demanded Margaret +Brackett abruptly. + +"P-presents?" Polly Ann tried to steady her voice. + +"Yes, yes, the ones for Mary and John's family." + +"Why, I did them up and sent them off, to be sure. Did n't they get +'em?" + +"Get them!" groaned Margaret Brackett, "get them! Polly Ann, what did +you do? You must have mixed them awfully somehow!" + +"Mixed them?" In spite of her preparation for this very accusation +Polly Ann was fencing for time. + +"Yes, mixed them. Look at that--and that--and that," cried the irate +woman, thrusting under Polly Ann's nose one after another of the notes +of thanks she had received the day before. + +They were from John and his family, and one by one Polly Ann picked +them up and read them. + +John, who had not for years, probably, worn anything coarser than silk +on his feet, expressed in a few stiff words his thanks for two pairs of +black woolen socks. Julia, famed for the dainty slenderness of her +hands, expressed in even stiffer language her thanks for a pair of gray +woolen gloves. She also begged to thank Cousin Margaret for the doll +so kindly sent Roselle and for the red mittens sent to Paul. John's +mother, always in the minds of those who knew her associated with +perfumed silks and laces, wrote a chilly little note of thanks for a +red flannel petticoat; while John's sister, Barbara, worth a million in +her own right, scrawled on gold-monogrammed paper her thanks for the +dozen handkerchiefs that had been so kindly sent her in the Christmas +box. + +"And there were n't a dozen handkerchiefs, I tell you," groaned +Margaret, "except the cotton ones I sent to Mary's two girls, Jennie +and Carrie, six to each. Think of it--cotton handkerchiefs to Barbara +Marsh! And that red flannel petticoat, and those ridiculous gloves and +socks! Oh, Polly Ann, Polly Ann, how could you have done such a thing, +and got everything so hopelessly mixed? There was n't a thing, not a +single thing right but that doll for Roselle." + +Polly Ann lifted her head suddenly. + +"Have you heard from--Mary?" she asked in a faint voice. + +"Not yet. But I shall, of course. I suppose _they_ got John's things. +Imagine it! Mary Hemenway and a Duchesse lace collar!" + +"Oh, but Mary would like that," interposed Polly Ann feverishly. "You +know she's invited out a good deal in a quiet way, and a bit of nice +lace does dress up a plain frock wonderfully." + +"Nonsense! As if she knew or cared whether it was Duchesse or--or +imitation Val! She 's not used to such things, Polly Ann. She would +n't know what to do with them if she had them. While John and +Julia--dear, dear, what shall I do? Think of it--a red flannel +petticoat to Madam Marsh!" + +Polly Ann laughed. A sudden vision had come to her of Madam Marsh as +she had seen her last at a family wedding clad in white lace and +amethysts, and with an amethyst tiara in her beautifully dressed hair. + +Margaret Brackett frowned. + +"It's no laughing matter, Polly Ann," she said severely. "I shall +write to both families and explain, of course. In fact, I have done +that already to John and Julia. But nothing, nothing can take away my +mortification that such a thing should have occurred at all. And when +I took so much pains in selecting those presents, to get suitable ones +for both boxes. I can't forgive you, Polly Ann; I just can't. And, +what's more, I don't see how in the world you did it. I am positive +that I had each thing marked carefully, and--" + +She did not finish her sentence. Sarah Bird brought in a letter, and +with a petulant exclamation Margaret Brackett tore it open. + +"It's from Mary," she cried as soon as Sarah Bird had left the room; +"and--goodness, look at the length of it! Here, you read it, Polly +Ann. It's lighter by the window." And she passed the letter to her +niece. + + +_Dear Cousin Margaret_ [read Polly Ann aloud]: I wonder if I can +possibly tell you what that Christmas box was to us. I 'm going to +try, anyway; but I don't believe, even then, that you'll quite +understand it, for you never were just as we are, and you'd have to be +to know what that box was to us. + +You see we can't buy nice things, really nice things, ever. There are +always so many "have-to-gets" that there is never anything left for the +"want-to-gets"; and so we had to do without--till your box came. And +then--but just let me tell you what did happen when it did come. + +The expressman brought it Christmas Eve, and Joe opened it at once. +Mother and I and all the children stood around watching him. You +should have heard the "Ohs!" and "Ahs!" of delight when the pretty +white packages all tied with red ribbons were brought to light. By the +way, Nellie has captured all those red ribbons, and her entire family +of dolls is rejoicing in a Merry Christmas of their own in consequence. + +As for the presents themselves--I don't know where to begin or how to +say it; but I'll begin with myself, and try to make you understand. + +That beautiful Duchesse lace collar! I love it already, and I'm +actually vain as a peacock over it. I had made over mother's black +silk for myself this fall, and I did so want some nice lace for it! +You've no idea how beautiful, really beautiful, the dress looks with +that collar. I shan't cry now when I'm invited anywhere. It's a pity, +and I'm ashamed that it is so; but clothes do make such a difference. + +Mother is fairly reveling in that lovely silk and lace workbag. She +has carried it with her all day all over the house, just to look at it, +she says. She has always wanted some such thing, but never thought she +ought to take the money to buy one. She and two or three other old +ladies in the neighborhood have a way of exchanging afternoon visits +with their work; and mother is as pleased as a child now, and is +impatiently awaiting the next "meet" so she can show off her new +treasure. Yet, to see her with it, one would think she had always +carried silk workbags, scented with lavender. + +Joe is more than delighted with his handsome set of books. And really +they do lighten our dull sitting-room wonderfully, and we are all proud +of them. He is planning to read them aloud to us all this winter, and +I am so glad. I am particularly glad, for we not only shall have the +pleasure of hearing the stories themselves, but I shall have the +satisfaction of knowing where my boy is evenings. Joe is a good lad +always, but he has been worrying me a little lately, for he seemed to +like to be away so much. Yet I could n't wonder, for I had so little +to offer him at home for entertainment. Now I have these books. + +Carrie is wild over her necklace of pretty stones. She says they're +"all the rage" at school among the girls, and the very latest thing +out. Dear child! she does so love pretty things, and of course I can't +give them to her. It is the same with Jennie, and she is equally +pleased with that dainty lace-edged handkerchief. It is such a nice +handkerchief, and Jennie, like her mother, does so love nice things! + +Tom was almost speechless with joy when he discovered that sumptuous +knife. But he has n't been speechless since--not a bit of it! There +is n't any one anywhere within the radius of a mile, I guess, to whom +he has n't shown every blade and corkscrew and I don't-know-what-all +that that wonderful knife can unfold. + +I've left Nellie till the last, but not because she is the least. Poor +dear little girlie! My heart aches now that I realize how she has +longed for a beautiful doll, one that could open and shut its eyes, say +"Papa" and "Mamma," and one that was daintily dressed. I had no idea +the little thing would be so overcome. She turned white, then red, and +actually sobbed with joy when the doll was put into her arms, though +since then she has been singing all over the house, and has seemed so +happy. I 'm sure you will believe this when I tell you that I +overheard her last night whisper into dolly's ear that now she did n't +mind half so much not being like other girls who could run and play, +because she had her to love and care for. + +And then the candy that was marked for all of us--and such candy! All +their lives the children have longingly gazed at such candy through +store windows, and dreamed what it might taste like; but to have it +right in their hands--in their mouths! You should have heard their +rapturous sighs of content as it disappeared. + +And now, dear Cousin Margaret, can you see a little what that Christmas +box has been to us? I can't bear to say, "Thank you"; it seems so +commonplace and inadequate. And yet there is n't anything else I can +say. And we do thank you, each and every one of us. We thank you both +for our own gift, and for all the others, for each one's gift is making +all the others happy. Do you see? Oh, I hope you do see and that you +do understand that we appreciate all the care and pains you must have +taken to select just the present that each of us most longed for. + +Lovingly and gratefully yours, + MARY. + + +Polly Ann's voice quivered into silence. It had already broken once or +twice, and it was very husky toward the last. For a moment no one +spoke; then with an evident attempt at carelessness Margaret said: "I +guess, Polly Ann, I won't write to Mary at all that there was any +mistake. We 'll let it--pass." + +There was no answer. Twice Polly Ann opened her lips, but no sound +came. After a moment she got to her feet, and walked slowly across the +room. At the door she turned abruptly. + +"Aunt Margaret," she panted, "I suppose I ought to tell you. There +wa'n't any--mistake. I--I changed those presents on purpose." Then +she went out quickly and shut the door. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TANGLED THREADS*** + + +******* This file should be named 19336.txt or 19336.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/9/3/3/19336 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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