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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/23695-0.txt b/23695-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9e12a02 --- /dev/null +++ b/23695-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,975 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Little Gray Lady, by F. Hopkinson Smith + +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 Little Gray Lady + 1909 + +Author: F. Hopkinson Smith + +Release Date: December 3, 2007 [EBook #23695] +Last Updated: December 20, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE GRAY LADY *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + + +THE LITTLE GRAY LADY + +By F. Hopkinson Smith + +1909 + + + + +I + +Once in a while there come to me out of the long ago the fragments of a +story I have not thought of for years--one that has been hidden in the +dim lumber-room of my brain where I store my by-gone memories. + +These fragments thrust themselves out of the past as do the cuffs of +an old-fashioned coat, the flutings of a flounce, or the lacings of a +bodice from out a quickly opened bureau drawer. Only when you follow +the cuff along the sleeve to the broad shoulder; smooth out the crushed +frill that swayed about her form, and trace the silken thread to the +waist it tightened, can you determine the fashion of the day in which +they were worn. + +And with the rummaging of this lumber-room come the odors: dry smells +from musty old trunks packed with bundles of faded letters and worthless +deeds tied with red tape; musty smells from dust-covered chests, iron +bound, holding mouldy books, their backs loose; pungent smells +from cracked wardrobes stuffed with moth-eaten hunting-coats, +riding-trousers, and high boots with rusty spurs--cross-country riders +these--roisterers and gamesters--a sorry lot, no doubt. + +Or perhaps it is an old bow-legged high-boy--its club-feet slippered on +easy rollers--the kind with deep drawers kept awake by rattling brass +handles, its outside veneer so highly polished that you are quite sure +it must have been brought up in some distinguished family. The scent of +old lavender and spiced rose leaves, and a stick or two of white orris +root, haunt this relic: my lady’s laces must be kept fresh, and so must +my lady’s long white mitts--they reach from her dainty knuckles quite +to her elbow. And so must her cobwebbed silk stockings and the filmy +kerchief she folds across her bosom: + +It is this kind of a drawer that I am opening now--one belonging to the +Little Gray Lady. + +As I look through its contents my eyes resting on the finger of a glove, +the end of a lace scarf, and the handle of an old fan, my mind goes back +to the last time she wore them. Then I begin turning everything upside +down, lifting the corner of this incident, prying under that no bit of +talk, recalling what he said and who told of it (I shall have the whole +drawer empty before I get through), and whose fault it was that the +match was broken off, and why she, of all women in the world, should +have remained single all those years. Why, too, she should have lost her +identity, so to speak, and become the Little Gray Lady. + +And yet no sobriquet could better express her personality: She was +little--a dainty, elf-like littleness, with tiny feet and wee hands; +she was gray--a soft, silver gray--too gray for her forty years (and +this fragment begins when she was forty); and she was a lady in every +beat of her warm heart; in every pressure of her white hand; in her +voice, speech--in all her thoughts and movements. + +She lived in the quaintest of old houses fronted by a brick path +bordered with fragrant box, which led up to an old-fashioned porch, +its door brightened by a brass knocker. This, together with the +knobs, steps, and slits of windows on each side of the door, was kept +scrupulously clean by old Margaret, who had lived with her for years. + +But it is her personality and not her surroundings that lingers in my +memory. No one ever heard anything sweeter than her voice; in and nobody +ever looked into a lovelier face, even if there were little hollows in +the cheeks and shy, fanlike wrinkles lurking about the corners of her +lambent brown eyes. Nor did her gray hair mar her beauty. It was not +old, dry, and withered--a wispy gray. (That is not the way it happened.) +It was a new, all-of-a-sudden gray, and in less than a week--so +Margaret once told me--bleaching its brown gold to silver. But the +gloss remained, and so did the richness of the folds, and the wealth and +weight of it. + +Inside the green-painted door, with its white trim and brass knocker and +knobs, there was a narrow hall hung with old portraits, opening into a +room literally all fireplace. Here there were gouty sofas, and five or +six big easy-chairs ranged in a half-circle, with arms held out as +if begging somebody to sit in them; and here, too, was an embroidered +worsted fire screen that slid up and down a standard, to shield one’s +face from the blazing logs; and there were queer tables and old-gold +curtains looped back with brass rosettes--ears really--behind which +the tresses of the parted curtains were tucked; and there were more old +portraits in dingy frames, and samplers under glass, and a rug which +some aunt had made with her own hands from odds and ends; and a huge +work-basket spilling worsteds, and last, and by no manner of means +least, a big chintz-covered rocking-chair, the little lady’s very +own--its thin ankles and splay feet hidden by a modest frill. There were +all these things and a lot more--and yet I still maintain that the +room was just one big fireplace. Not alone because of its size (and it +certainly was big: many a doubting curly head, losing its faith in Santa +Claus, has crawled behind the old fire-dogs, the child’s fingers tight +about the Little Gray Lady’s, and been told to look up into the blue--a +lesson never forgotten all their lives), but because of the wonderful +and never-to-be-told-of things which constantly took place before its +blazing embers. + +For this fireplace was the Little Gray Lady’s altar. Here she dispensed +wisdom and cheer and love. Everybody in Pomford village had sat in one +or the other of the chairs grouped about it and had poured out their +hearts to her. All sorts of pourings: love affairs, for instance, that +were hopeless until she would take the girl’s hand in her own and smooth +out the tangle; to-say nothing of bickerings behind closed doors, with +two lives pulling apart until her dear arms brought them together. + +But all this is only the outside of the old mahogany high-boy with its +meerschaum-pipe polish, spraddling legs, and rattling handles. + +Now for the Little Gray Lady’s own particular drawer. + + + + +II + +It was Christmas Eve, and Kate Dayton, one of Pomford’s pretty girls, +had found the Little Gray Lady sitting alone before the fire gazing into +the ashes, her small frame almost hidden in the roomy chair. The winter +twilight had long since settled and only the flickering blaze of the +logs and the dim glow from one lone candle illumined the room. This, +strange to say, was placed on a table in a corner where its rays shed +but little light in the room. + +“Oh! Cousin Annie,” moaned Kate (everybody in Pomford who got close +enough to touch the Little Gray Lady’s hand called her “Cousin +Annie”--it was only the outside world who knew her by her other +sobriquet), “I didn’t mean anything. Mark came in just at the wrong +minute, and--and--” The poor girl’s tears smothered the rest. + +“Don’t let him go, dearie,” came the answer, when she had heard the +whole story, the girl on her knees, her head in her lap, the wee hand +stroking the fluff of golden hair dishevelled in her grief. + +“Oh, but he won’t stay!” moaned Kate. “He says he is going to Rio--way +out to South America to join his Uncle Harry.” + +“He won’t go, dearie--not if you tell him the truth and make him tell +you the truth. Don’t let your pride come in; don’t beat around the bush +or make believe you are hurt or misunderstood, or that you don’t care. +You do care. Better be a little humble now than humble all your life. It +only takes a word. Hold out your hand and say: ‘I’m sorry, Mark--please +forgive me.’ If he loves you--and he does--” + +The girl raised her head: “Oh! Cousin Annie! How do you know?” + +She laughed gently. “Because he was here, dearie, half an hour ago +and told me so. He thought you owed him the dance, and he was a little +jealous of Tom.” + +“But Tom had asked me--” + +“Yes--and so had Mark--” + +“Yes--but he had no right--” She was up in arms again: she wouldn’t--she +couldn’t--and again an outburst of tears choked her words. + +The Little Gray Lady had known Kate’s mother, now dead, and what might +have happened but for a timely word--and she knew to her own sorrow +what had happened for want of one. Kate and Mark should not repeat that +experience if she could help it. She had saved the mother in the old +days by just such a word. She would save the daughter in the same way. +And the two were much alike--same slight, girlish figure; same blond +hair and blue eyes; same expression, and the same impetuous, high-strung +temperament. “If that child’s own mother walked in this minute I +couldn’t tell ‘em apart, they do favor one another so,” old Margaret +had told her mistress when she opened the door for the girl, and she +was right. Pomford village was full of these hereditary likenesses. Mark +Dab-ney, whom all the present trouble was about, was so like his father +at his age that his Uncle Harry had picked Mark out on a crowded dock +when the lad had visited him in Rio the year before, although he had +not seen the boy’s father for twenty years--so strong was the family +likeness. + +If there was to be a quarrel it must not be between the Dabneys and the +Daytons, of all families. There had been suffering enough in the old +days. + +“Listen, dearie,” she said in her gentle, crooning tone, patting the +girl’s cheek as she talked. “A quarrel where there is no love is soon +forgotten, but a difference when both love may, if not quickly healed, +leave a scar that will last through life.” + +“There are as good fish in the sea as were ever caught,” cried the girl +in sheer bravado, brushing away her tears. + +“Don’t believe it, dearie--and don’t ever say it. That has wrecked more +lives than you know. That is what I once knew a girl to say--a girl just +about your age--” + +“But she found somebody else, and that’s just what I’m going to do. +I’m not going to have Mark read me a lecture every time I want to do +something he doesn’t like. Didn’t your girl find somebody else?” + +“No--never. She is still unmarried.” + +“Yes--but it wasn’t her fault, was it?” + +“Yes--although she did not know it at the time. She opened a door +suddenly and found her lover alone with another girl. The two had stolen +off together where they would not be interrupted. He was pleading for +his college friend--straightening out just some such foolish quarrel as +you have had with Mark--but the girl would not understand; nor did she +know the truth until a year afterward. Then it was too late.” + +The Little Gray Lady stopped, lifted her hand from the girl’s head, and +turned her face toward the now dying fire. + +“And what became of him?” asked the girl in a hushed voice, as if she +dared not awaken the memory. + +“He went away and she has never seen him since.” + +For some minutes there was silence, then Kate said in a braver tone: + +“And he married somebody else?” + +“No.” + +“Well, then, she died?” + +“No.” + +The Littie Lady had not moved, nor had she taken her eyes from the +blaze. She seemed to be addressing some invisible body who could hear +and understand. The girl felt its influence and a tremor ran through +her. The fitful blaze casting weird shadows helped this feeling. At +last, with an effort, she asked: + +“You say you know them both, Cousin Annie?” + +“Yes--he was my dear friend. I was just thinking of him when you came +in.” + +The charred logs broke into a heap of coals; the blaze flickered and +died. But for the lone candle in the corner the room would have been in +total darkness. + +“Shall I light another candle, Cousin Annie?” shivered the girl, “or +bring that one nearer?” + +“No, it’s Christmas Eve, and I only light one candle on Christmas Eve.” + +“But what’s one candle! Why, father has the whole house as bright as day +and every fire blazing.” The girl sprang to her feet and stepped nearer +the hearth. She would be less nervous, she thought, if she moved about, +and then the warmth of the fire was somehow reassuring. “Please let me +light them all, Cousin Annie,” she pleaded, reaching out her hand toward +a cluster in an old-fashioned candelabra--“and if there aren’t enough +I’ll get more from Margaret.” + +“No, no--one will do. It is an old custom of mine; I’ve done it for +twenty years.” + +“But don’t you love Christmas?” Kate argued, her nervousness increasing. +The ghostly light and the note of pain in her companion’s voice were +strangely affecting. + +The Little Gray Lady leaned forward in her chair and looked long and +steadily at the heap of smouldering ashes; then she answered slowly, +each word vibrating with the memory of some hidden sorrow: “I’ve had +mine, dearie.” + +“But you can have some more,” urged Kate. + +“Not like those that have gone before, dearie--no, not like those.” + +Something in the tones of her voice and quick droop of the dear head +stirred the girl to her depths. Sinking to her knees she hid her face in +the Little Lady’s lap. + +“And you sit here in the dark with only one candle?” she whispered. + +“Yes, always,” she answered, her fingers stroking the fair hair. “I can +see those I have loved better in the dark. Sometimes the room is full of +people; I have often to strain my eyes to assure myself that the door is +really shut. All sorts of people come--the girls and boys I knew when I +was young. Some are dead; some are far away; some so near that should I +open the window and shout their names many of them could hear. There are +fewer above ground every year--but I welcome all who come. It’s the old +maid’s hour, you know--this twilight hour. The wives are making ready +the supper; the children are romping; lovers are together in the corner +where they can whisper and not be overheard. But none of this disturbs +me--no big man bursts in, letting in the cold. I have my chair, my +candle, my thoughts, and my fire. When you get to be my age, Kate, and +live alone--and you might, dearie, if Mark should leave you--you will +love these twilight hours, too.” + +The girl reached up her hands and touched the Little Gray Lady’s cheek, +whispering: + +“But aren’t you very, _very_ lonely. Cousin Annie?” + +“Yes, sometimes.” + +For a moment Kate remained silent, then she asked in a faltering voice +through which ran a note almost of terror: + +“Do you think I shall ever be like--like--that is--I shall ever be--all +alone?” + +“I don’t know, dearie. No one can ever tell what will happen. I never +thought twenty years ago I should be all alone--but I am.” + +The girl raised her head, and with a cry of pain threw her arms around +the Little Gray Lady’s neck: + +“Oh, no!--no! I can’t bear it!” she sobbed! “I’ll tell Mark! I’ll send +for him--to-night-before I go to bed!” + + + + +III + +It was not until Kate Dayton reached her father’s gate that the spell +wrought by the flickering firelight and the dim glow of the ghostly +candle wore off. The crisp air of the winter night--for it was now quite +dark--had helped, but the sight of Mark’s waiting figure striding along +the snow-covered path to her home and his manly outspoken apology, +“Please forgive me, Kate, I made an awful fool of myself,” followed by +her joyous refrain, “Oh, Mark! I’ve been so wretched!” had done more. It +had all come just as Cousin Annie had said; there had been neither pride +nor anger. Only the Little Gray Lady’s timely word. + +But if the spell was broken the pathetic figure of the dear woman, her +eyes fixed on the dying embers, still lingered in Kate’s mind. + +“Oh, Mark, it is so pitiful to see her!--and I got so frightened; the +whole room seemed filled with ghosts. Christmas seems her loneliest +time. She won’t have but one candle lighted, and she sits and mopes in +the dark. Oh, it’s dreadful! I tried to cheer her up, but she says she +likes to sit in the dark, because then all the dead people she loves can +come to her. Can’t we do something to make her happy? She is so lovely, +and she is so little, and she is so dear!” + +They had entered the house, now a blaze of light. Kate’s father was +standing on the hearth rug, his back to a great fireplace filled with +roaring logs. + +“Where have you two gadabouts been?” he laughed merrily. “What do you +mean by staying out this late? Don’t you know it’s Christmas Eve?” + +“We’ve been to see Cousin Annie, daddy; and it would make your heart +ache to look at her! She’s there all alone. Can’t you go down and bring +her up here?” + +“Yes, I could, but she wouldn’t come, not on Christmas Eve. Did she have +her candle burning?” + +“Yes, just one poor little miserable candle that hardly gave any light +at all.” + +“And it was in the corner on a little table?” + +“Yes, all by itself.” + +“Poor dear, she always lights it. She’s lighted it for almost twenty +years.” + +“Is it for somebody she loved who died?” + +“No--it’s for somebody she loved who is alive, but who never came back +and won’t.” + +He studied them both for a moment, as if in doubt, then he added in a +determined voice, motioning them to a seat beside him: + +“It is about time you two children heard the story straight, for it +concerns you both, so I’ll tell you. Your Uncle Harry, Mark, is the man +who never came back and won’t. He was just your age at the time. He and +Annie were to be married in a few months, then everything went to smash. +And it was your mother, Kate, who was the innocent cause of his exile. +Harry, who was the best friend I had in the world, tried to put in a +good word for me--this was before I and your mother were engaged--and +Annie, coming in and finding them, got it all crooked. Instead of +waiting until Harry could explain, she flared up, and off he went. Her +hair turned white in a week when she found out how she had misjudged +him, but it was too late then--Harry wouldn’t come back, and he never +will. When he told you, Mark, last year in Rio that he was coming home +Christmas I knew he’d change his mind just as soon as you left him, and +he did. Queer boy, Harry. Once he gets an idea in his head it sticks +there. He was that way when he was a boy. He’ll never come back as long +as Annie lives, and that means never.” + +He stopped a moment, spread his fingers to the blazing logs, and +then, with a smile on his face, said: “If ever I catch you two young +turtledoves making such fools of yourselves, I’ll turn you both +outdoors,” and again his hearty laugh rang through the cheery room. + +The girl instinctively leaned closer to her lover. She had heard some +part of the story before--in fact, both of them had, but never in its +entirety. Her heart went out to the Little Gray Lady all the more. + +Mark now spoke up. He, too, had had an hour of his own with the Little +Gray Lady, and the obligation still remained unsettled. + +“Well, if she won’t come up here and have Christmas with us,” he cried, +“why can’t we go down there and have Christmas with her? Let’s surprise +her, Kate; let’s clean out all those dead people. I know she sits in the +dark and imagines they all come back, for I’ve seen her that way many a +time when I drop in on her in the late afternoon. Let’s show her they’re +alive.” + +Kate started up and caught Mark’s arm. “Oh, Mark! I have it!” she +whispered, “and we will--yes--that will be the very thing,” and so with +more mumblings and mutterings, not one word of which could her father +hear, the two raced up-stairs to the top of the house and the garret. + + + + +IV + +Two hours later a group of young people led by Mark Dabney trooped out +of Kate’s gate and turned down the Little Gray Lady’s street. Most of +them wore long cloaks and were muffled in thick veils. + +They were talking in low tones, glancing from side to side, as if +fearing to be seen. The moon had gone under a cloud, but the light of +the stars, aided by an isolated street lamp, showed them the way. So +careful were they to conceal their identity that the whole party--there +were six in all--would dart into an open gate, crouching behind the +snow-laden hedge to avoid even a single passer-by. Only once were they +in any danger, and that was when a sleigh gliding by stopped in front of +them, the driver calling out in a voice which sounded twice as loud +in the white stillness: “Where’s Mr. Dabney’s new house?” (evidently a +stranger, for the town pump was not better known). No one else stopped +them until they reached the Little Gray Lady’s porch. + +Kate crept up first, followed by Mark, and peered in. So far as she +could see everything was just as she had left it. + +“The candle is still burning, Mark, and she’s put more wood on the fire. +But I can’t find her. Oh, yes--there she is--in her big chair--you +can just see the top of her head and her hand. Hush! don’t one of you +breathe. Now, listen, girls! Mark and I will tiptoe in first--the front +door is never fastened--and if she is asleep--and I think she is--we +will all crouch down behind her until she wakes up.” + +“And another thing,” whispered Mark from behind his hand--“everybody +must drop their coats and things in the hall, so we can surprise her all +at once.” + +The strange procession tiptoed in and arranged itself behind the Little +Gray Lady’s chair. Kate was dressed in her mother’s wedding-gown, +flaring poke bonnet, and long, faded gloves clear to her shoulder; +Mark had on a blue coat with brass buttons, a buff waistcoat, and black +stock, the two points of the high collar pinching his ruddy cheeks--the +same dress his father and Uncle Harry had worn, and all the young bloods +of their day, for that matter. The others were in their grandmother’s +or grandfather’s short and long clothes, Tom Fields sporting a +tight-sleeved, high-collared coat, silk-embroidered waistcoat, and +pumps. + +Kate crept up behind her chair, but Mark moved to the fireplace and +rested his elbow on the mantel, so that he would be in full view when +the Little Gray Lady awoke. + +At last her eyes opened, but she made no outcry, nor did she move, +except to lift her head as does a fawn startled by some sudden light, +her wondering eyes drinking in the apparition. Mark, hardly breathing, +stood like a statue, but Kate, bending closer, heard her catch her +breath with a long, indrawn sigh, and next the half-audible words: +“No--it isn’t so--How foolish I am--” Then there came softly: +“Harry”--and again in almost a whisper--as if hope had died in her +heart--“Harry--” + +Kate, half frightened, sprang forward and flung her arms around the +Little Gray Lady. + +“Why, don’t you know him? It’s Mark, Cousin Annie, and here’s Tom +and Nanny Fields, and everybody, and we’re going to light all the +candles--every one of them, and make an awful big fire--and have a real, +real Christmas.” + +The Little Gray Lady was awake now. + +“Oh! you scared me so!” she cried, rising to her feet, rubbing her eyes. +“You foolish Children! I must have been asleep--yes, I know I was!” She +greeted them all, talking and entering into their fun, the spirit of +hospitality now hers, saying over and over again how glad she was they +came, kissing one and another; telling them how happy they made her; +how since they had been kind enough to come, she would let them have a +_real_ Christmas--“Only,” she added quickly, “it will have to be by the +light of one candle; but that won’t make any difference, because you can +pile on just as much wood as you choose. Yes,” she continued, her voice +rising in her effort to meet them on their own joyous plane--“pile +on all the kindling, too, Mark; and Kate, dear, please run and tell +Margaret to bring in every bit of cake she has in the pantry. Oh, how +like your mother you are, Kate! I remember that very dress. And you, +Mark! Why, you’ve got on the same coat I saw your father wear at the +Governor’s ball. And you, too, Tom. Oh, what a good time we will all +have!” + +Soon the lid of the old piano was raised, a spinet, really, and one of +the girls began running her fingers over the keys; and later on it was +agreed that the first dance was to be the Virginia reel, with all the +hospitable chairs and the fire screen and the gouty old sofa rolled back +against the wall. + +This all arranged, Mark took his place with the Little Gray Lady for a +partner. The music struck up a lively tune and as quickly ceased as the +sound of bells rang through the night air. In the hush that followed a +sleigh was heard at the gate. + +Kate sprang up and clapped her hands. + +“Oh, they are just in time! There come the rest of them, Cousin Annie. +Now we are going to have a great party! Let’s be dancing when they come +in; keep on playing!” + +At this instant the door opened and Margaret put in her head. +“Somebody,” she said, with a low bow, “wants to see Mr. Mark on +business.” + +Mark, looking like a gallant of the old school, excused himself with a +great flourish to the Little Gray Lady and strode out. In the hall, with +his back to the light, stood a broad-shouldered man muffled to the chin +in a fur overcoat. The boy was about to apologize for his costume and +then ask the man’s errand, when the stranger turned quickly and gripped +his wrist. + +“Hush--not a word! Where is she?” he cried. + +With a low whistle of surprise Mark pushed open the door. The stranger +stepped in. + +The Little Gray Lady raised her head. + +“And who can this new guest be?” she asked--“and in what a queer +costume, too!” + +The man drew himself up to his full height and threw wide his coat: “And +you don’t know me, Annie?” + +She did not take her eyes from his face, nor did she move except to turn +her head appealingly to the room as if she feared they were playing her +another trick. + +He had reached her side and stood looking down at her. Again came the +voice--a strong, clear voice, with a note of infinite tenderness through +it: + +“How white your hair is, Annie; and your hand is so thin! Have I changed +like this?” + +She leaned forward, scanning him eagerly. + +There was a little cry, then all her soul went out in the one word: + +“Harry!” + +She was inside the big coat now, his strong arms around her, her head +hidden on his breast, only the tips of her toes on the floor. + +When he had kissed her again and again--and he did and before +everybody--he crossed the room, picked up the ghostly candle, and +smothered its flame. + +“I saw it from the road,” he laughed softly, “that’s why I couldn’t +wait. But you’ll never have to light it again, my darling!” + +I saw them both a few years later. Everything in the way of fading and +wrinkling had stopped so far as the Little Gray Lady was concerned. If +there were any lines left in her forehead and around the corners of her +eyes, I could not find them. Joy had planted a crop of dimples instead, +and they had spread out, smoothing the care lines. Margaret even claimed +that her hair was turning brown gold once more, but then Margaret was +always her loyal slave, and believed everything her mistress wished. + +And now, if you don’t mind, dear reader, we will put everything back and +shut the Little Gray Lady’s bureau drawer. + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s The Little Gray Lady, by F. Hopkinson Smith + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE GRAY LADY *** + +***** This file should be named 23695-0.txt or 23695-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/6/9/23695/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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/23695-0.zip b/23695-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4f81c9a --- /dev/null +++ b/23695-0.zip diff --git a/23695-h.zip b/23695-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..03da59e --- /dev/null +++ b/23695-h.zip diff --git a/23695-h/23695-h.htm b/23695-h/23695-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dc50418 --- /dev/null +++ b/23695-h/23695-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1186 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Little Gray Lady, by F. Hopkinson Smith + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Little Gray Lady, by F. Hopkinson Smith + +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 Little Gray Lady + 1909 + +Author: F. Hopkinson Smith + +Release Date: December 3, 2007 [EBook #23695] +Last Updated: December 20, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE GRAY LADY *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE LITTLE GRAY LADY + </h1> + <h2> + By F. Hopkinson Smith <br /><br /> 1909 + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> IV </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + Once in a while there come to me out of the long ago the fragments of a + story I have not thought of for years—one that has been hidden in + the dim lumber-room of my brain where I store my by-gone memories. + </p> + <p> + These fragments thrust themselves out of the past as do the cuffs of an + old-fashioned coat, the flutings of a flounce, or the lacings of a bodice + from out a quickly opened bureau drawer. Only when you follow the cuff + along the sleeve to the broad shoulder; smooth out the crushed frill that + swayed about her form, and trace the silken thread to the waist it + tightened, can you determine the fashion of the day in which they were + worn. + </p> + <p> + And with the rummaging of this lumber-room come the odors: dry smells from + musty old trunks packed with bundles of faded letters and worthless deeds + tied with red tape; musty smells from dust-covered chests, iron bound, + holding mouldy books, their backs loose; pungent smells from cracked + wardrobes stuffed with moth-eaten hunting-coats, riding-trousers, and high + boots with rusty spurs—cross-country riders these—roisterers + and gamesters—a sorry lot, no doubt. + </p> + <p> + Or perhaps it is an old bow-legged high-boy—its club-feet slippered + on easy rollers—the kind with deep drawers kept awake by rattling + brass handles, its outside veneer so highly polished that you are quite + sure it must have been brought up in some distinguished family. The scent + of old lavender and spiced rose leaves, and a stick or two of white orris + root, haunt this relic: my lady’s laces must be kept fresh, and so must my + lady’s long white mitts—they reach from her dainty knuckles quite to + her elbow. And so must her cobwebbed silk stockings and the filmy kerchief + she folds across her bosom: + </p> + <p> + It is this kind of a drawer that I am opening now—one belonging to + the Little Gray Lady. + </p> + <p> + As I look through its contents my eyes resting on the finger of a glove, + the end of a lace scarf, and the handle of an old fan, my mind goes back + to the last time she wore them. Then I begin turning everything upside + down, lifting the corner of this incident, prying under that no bit of + talk, recalling what he said and who told of it (I shall have the whole + drawer empty before I get through), and whose fault it was that the match + was broken off, and why she, of all women in the world, should have + remained single all those years. Why, too, she should have lost her + identity, so to speak, and become the Little Gray Lady. + </p> + <p> + And yet no sobriquet could better express her personality: She was little—a + dainty, elf-like littleness, with tiny feet and wee hands; she was gray—a + soft, silver gray—too gray for her forty years (and this fragment + begins when she was forty); and she was a lady in every beat of her warm + heart; in every pressure of her white hand; in her voice, speech—in + all her thoughts and movements. + </p> + <p> + She lived in the quaintest of old houses fronted by a brick path bordered + with fragrant box, which led up to an old-fashioned porch, its door + brightened by a brass knocker. This, together with the knobs, steps, and + slits of windows on each side of the door, was kept scrupulously clean by + old Margaret, who had lived with her for years. + </p> + <p> + But it is her personality and not her surroundings that lingers in my + memory. No one ever heard anything sweeter than her voice; in and nobody + ever looked into a lovelier face, even if there were little hollows in the + cheeks and shy, fanlike wrinkles lurking about the corners of her lambent + brown eyes. Nor did her gray hair mar her beauty. It was not old, dry, and + withered—a wispy gray. (That is not the way it happened.) It was a + new, all-of-a-sudden gray, and in less than a week—so Margaret once + told me—bleaching its brown gold to silver. But the gloss remained, + and so did the richness of the folds, and the wealth and weight of it. + </p> + <p> + Inside the green-painted door, with its white trim and brass knocker and + knobs, there was a narrow hall hung with old portraits, opening into a + room literally all fireplace. Here there were gouty sofas, and five or six + big easy-chairs ranged in a half-circle, with arms held out as if begging + somebody to sit in them; and here, too, was an embroidered worsted fire + screen that slid up and down a standard, to shield one’s face from the + blazing logs; and there were queer tables and old-gold curtains looped + back with brass rosettes—ears really—behind which the tresses + of the parted curtains were tucked; and there were more old portraits in + dingy frames, and samplers under glass, and a rug which some aunt had made + with her own hands from odds and ends; and a huge work-basket spilling + worsteds, and last, and by no manner of means least, a big chintz-covered + rocking-chair, the little lady’s very own—its thin ankles and splay + feet hidden by a modest frill. There were all these things and a lot more—and + yet I still maintain that the room was just one big fireplace. Not alone + because of its size (and it certainly was big: many a doubting curly head, + losing its faith in Santa Claus, has crawled behind the old fire-dogs, the + child’s fingers tight about the Little Gray Lady’s, and been told to look + up into the blue—a lesson never forgotten all their lives), but + because of the wonderful and never-to-be-told-of things which constantly + took place before its blazing embers. + </p> + <p> + For this fireplace was the Little Gray Lady’s altar. Here she dispensed + wisdom and cheer and love. Everybody in Pomford village had sat in one or + the other of the chairs grouped about it and had poured out their hearts + to her. All sorts of pourings: love affairs, for instance, that were + hopeless until she would take the girl’s hand in her own and smooth out + the tangle; to-say nothing of bickerings behind closed doors, with two + lives pulling apart until her dear arms brought them together. + </p> + <p> + But all this is only the outside of the old mahogany high-boy with its + meerschaum-pipe polish, spraddling legs, and rattling handles. + </p> + <p> + Now for the Little Gray Lady’s own particular drawer. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + It was Christmas Eve, and Kate Dayton, one of Pomford’s pretty girls, had + found the Little Gray Lady sitting alone before the fire gazing into the + ashes, her small frame almost hidden in the roomy chair. The winter + twilight had long since settled and only the flickering blaze of the logs + and the dim glow from one lone candle illumined the room. This, strange to + say, was placed on a table in a corner where its rays shed but little + light in the room. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Cousin Annie,” moaned Kate (everybody in Pomford who got close enough + to touch the Little Gray Lady’s hand called her “Cousin Annie”—it + was only the outside world who knew her by her other sobriquet), “I didn’t + mean anything. Mark came in just at the wrong minute, and—and—” + The poor girl’s tears smothered the rest. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t let him go, dearie,” came the answer, when she had heard the whole + story, the girl on her knees, her head in her lap, the wee hand stroking + the fluff of golden hair dishevelled in her grief. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but he won’t stay!” moaned Kate. “He says he is going to Rio—way + out to South America to join his Uncle Harry.” + </p> + <p> + “He won’t go, dearie—not if you tell him the truth and make him tell + you the truth. Don’t let your pride come in; don’t beat around the bush or + make believe you are hurt or misunderstood, or that you don’t care. You do + care. Better be a little humble now than humble all your life. It only + takes a word. Hold out your hand and say: ‘I’m sorry, Mark—please + forgive me.’ If he loves you—and he does—” + </p> + <p> + The girl raised her head: “Oh! Cousin Annie! How do you know?” + </p> + <p> + She laughed gently. “Because he was here, dearie, half an hour ago and + told me so. He thought you owed him the dance, and he was a little jealous + of Tom.” + </p> + <p> + “But Tom had asked me—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—and so had Mark—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—but he had no right—” She was up in arms again: she + wouldn’t—she couldn’t—and again an outburst of tears choked + her words. + </p> + <p> + The Little Gray Lady had known Kate’s mother, now dead, and what might + have happened but for a timely word—and she knew to her own sorrow + what had happened for want of one. Kate and Mark should not repeat that + experience if she could help it. She had saved the mother in the old days + by just such a word. She would save the daughter in the same way. And the + two were much alike—same slight, girlish figure; same blond hair and + blue eyes; same expression, and the same impetuous, high-strung + temperament. “If that child’s own mother walked in this minute I couldn’t + tell ‘em apart, they do favor one another so,” old Margaret had told her + mistress when she opened the door for the girl, and she was right. Pomford + village was full of these hereditary likenesses. Mark Dab-ney, whom all + the present trouble was about, was so like his father at his age that his + Uncle Harry had picked Mark out on a crowded dock when the lad had visited + him in Rio the year before, although he had not seen the boy’s father for + twenty years—so strong was the family likeness. + </p> + <p> + If there was to be a quarrel it must not be between the Dabneys and the + Daytons, of all families. There had been suffering enough in the old days. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, dearie,” she said in her gentle, crooning tone, patting the + girl’s cheek as she talked. “A quarrel where there is no love is soon + forgotten, but a difference when both love may, if not quickly healed, + leave a scar that will last through life.” + </p> + <p> + “There are as good fish in the sea as were ever caught,” cried the girl in + sheer bravado, brushing away her tears. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t believe it, dearie—and don’t ever say it. That has wrecked + more lives than you know. That is what I once knew a girl to say—a + girl just about your age—” + </p> + <p> + “But she found somebody else, and that’s just what I’m going to do. I’m + not going to have Mark read me a lecture every time I want to do something + he doesn’t like. Didn’t your girl find somebody else?” + </p> + <p> + “No—never. She is still unmarried.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—but it wasn’t her fault, was it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—although she did not know it at the time. She opened a door + suddenly and found her lover alone with another girl. The two had stolen + off together where they would not be interrupted. He was pleading for his + college friend—straightening out just some such foolish quarrel as + you have had with Mark—but the girl would not understand; nor did + she know the truth until a year afterward. Then it was too late.” + </p> + <p> + The Little Gray Lady stopped, lifted her hand from the girl’s head, and + turned her face toward the now dying fire. + </p> + <p> + “And what became of him?” asked the girl in a hushed voice, as if she + dared not awaken the memory. + </p> + <p> + “He went away and she has never seen him since.” + </p> + <p> + For some minutes there was silence, then Kate said in a braver tone: + </p> + <p> + “And he married somebody else?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, she died?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + The Littie Lady had not moved, nor had she taken her eyes from the blaze. + She seemed to be addressing some invisible body who could hear and + understand. The girl felt its influence and a tremor ran through her. The + fitful blaze casting weird shadows helped this feeling. At last, with an + effort, she asked: + </p> + <p> + “You say you know them both, Cousin Annie?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—he was my dear friend. I was just thinking of him when you came + in.” + </p> + <p> + The charred logs broke into a heap of coals; the blaze flickered and died. + But for the lone candle in the corner the room would have been in total + darkness. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I light another candle, Cousin Annie?” shivered the girl, “or bring + that one nearer?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it’s Christmas Eve, and I only light one candle on Christmas Eve.” + </p> + <p> + “But what’s one candle! Why, father has the whole house as bright as day + and every fire blazing.” The girl sprang to her feet and stepped nearer + the hearth. She would be less nervous, she thought, if she moved about, + and then the warmth of the fire was somehow reassuring. “Please let me + light them all, Cousin Annie,” she pleaded, reaching out her hand toward a + cluster in an old-fashioned candelabra—“and if there aren’t enough + I’ll get more from Margaret.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no—one will do. It is an old custom of mine; I’ve done it for + twenty years.” + </p> + <p> + “But don’t you love Christmas?” Kate argued, her nervousness increasing. + The ghostly light and the note of pain in her companion’s voice were + strangely affecting. + </p> + <p> + The Little Gray Lady leaned forward in her chair and looked long and + steadily at the heap of smouldering ashes; then she answered slowly, each + word vibrating with the memory of some hidden sorrow: “I’ve had mine, + dearie.” + </p> + <p> + “But you can have some more,” urged Kate. + </p> + <p> + “Not like those that have gone before, dearie—no, not like those.” + </p> + <p> + Something in the tones of her voice and quick droop of the dear head + stirred the girl to her depths. Sinking to her knees she hid her face in + the Little Lady’s lap. + </p> + <p> + “And you sit here in the dark with only one candle?” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, always,” she answered, her fingers stroking the fair hair. “I can + see those I have loved better in the dark. Sometimes the room is full of + people; I have often to strain my eyes to assure myself that the door is + really shut. All sorts of people come—the girls and boys I knew when + I was young. Some are dead; some are far away; some so near that should I + open the window and shout their names many of them could hear. There are + fewer above ground every year—but I welcome all who come. It’s the + old maid’s hour, you know—this twilight hour. The wives are making + ready the supper; the children are romping; lovers are together in the + corner where they can whisper and not be overheard. But none of this + disturbs me—no big man bursts in, letting in the cold. I have my + chair, my candle, my thoughts, and my fire. When you get to be my age, + Kate, and live alone—and you might, dearie, if Mark should leave you—you + will love these twilight hours, too.” + </p> + <p> + The girl reached up her hands and touched the Little Gray Lady’s cheek, + whispering: + </p> + <p> + “But aren’t you very, <i>very</i> lonely. Cousin Annie?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment Kate remained silent, then she asked in a faltering voice + through which ran a note almost of terror: + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I shall ever be like—like—that is—I shall + ever be—all alone?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know, dearie. No one can ever tell what will happen. I never + thought twenty years ago I should be all alone—but I am.” + </p> + <p> + The girl raised her head, and with a cry of pain threw her arms around the + Little Gray Lady’s neck: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!—no! I can’t bear it!” she sobbed! “I’ll tell Mark! I’ll + send for him—to-night-before I go to bed!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + It was not until Kate Dayton reached her father’s gate that the spell + wrought by the flickering firelight and the dim glow of the ghostly candle + wore off. The crisp air of the winter night—for it was now quite + dark—had helped, but the sight of Mark’s waiting figure striding + along the snow-covered path to her home and his manly outspoken apology, + “Please forgive me, Kate, I made an awful fool of myself,” followed by her + joyous refrain, “Oh, Mark! I’ve been so wretched!” had done more. It had + all come just as Cousin Annie had said; there had been neither pride nor + anger. Only the Little Gray Lady’s timely word. + </p> + <p> + But if the spell was broken the pathetic figure of the dear woman, her + eyes fixed on the dying embers, still lingered in Kate’s mind. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mark, it is so pitiful to see her!—and I got so frightened; the + whole room seemed filled with ghosts. Christmas seems her loneliest time. + She won’t have but one candle lighted, and she sits and mopes in the dark. + Oh, it’s dreadful! I tried to cheer her up, but she says she likes to sit + in the dark, because then all the dead people she loves can come to her. + Can’t we do something to make her happy? She is so lovely, and she is so + little, and she is so dear!” + </p> + <p> + They had entered the house, now a blaze of light. Kate’s father was + standing on the hearth rug, his back to a great fireplace filled with + roaring logs. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you two gadabouts been?” he laughed merrily. “What do you mean + by staying out this late? Don’t you know it’s Christmas Eve?” + </p> + <p> + “We’ve been to see Cousin Annie, daddy; and it would make your heart ache + to look at her! She’s there all alone. Can’t you go down and bring her up + here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I could, but she wouldn’t come, not on Christmas Eve. Did she have + her candle burning?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, just one poor little miserable candle that hardly gave any light at + all.” + </p> + <p> + “And it was in the corner on a little table?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, all by itself.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor dear, she always lights it. She’s lighted it for almost twenty + years.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it for somebody she loved who died?” + </p> + <p> + “No—it’s for somebody she loved who is alive, but who never came + back and won’t.” + </p> + <p> + He studied them both for a moment, as if in doubt, then he added in a + determined voice, motioning them to a seat beside him: + </p> + <p> + “It is about time you two children heard the story straight, for it + concerns you both, so I’ll tell you. Your Uncle Harry, Mark, is the man + who never came back and won’t. He was just your age at the time. He and + Annie were to be married in a few months, then everything went to smash. + And it was your mother, Kate, who was the innocent cause of his exile. + Harry, who was the best friend I had in the world, tried to put in a good + word for me—this was before I and your mother were engaged—and + Annie, coming in and finding them, got it all crooked. Instead of waiting + until Harry could explain, she flared up, and off he went. Her hair turned + white in a week when she found out how she had misjudged him, but it was + too late then—Harry wouldn’t come back, and he never will. When he + told you, Mark, last year in Rio that he was coming home Christmas I knew + he’d change his mind just as soon as you left him, and he did. Queer boy, + Harry. Once he gets an idea in his head it sticks there. He was that way + when he was a boy. He’ll never come back as long as Annie lives, and that + means never.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped a moment, spread his fingers to the blazing logs, and then, + with a smile on his face, said: “If ever I catch you two young turtledoves + making such fools of yourselves, I’ll turn you both outdoors,” and again + his hearty laugh rang through the cheery room. + </p> + <p> + The girl instinctively leaned closer to her lover. She had heard some part + of the story before—in fact, both of them had, but never in its + entirety. Her heart went out to the Little Gray Lady all the more. + </p> + <p> + Mark now spoke up. He, too, had had an hour of his own with the Little + Gray Lady, and the obligation still remained unsettled. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if she won’t come up here and have Christmas with us,” he cried, + “why can’t we go down there and have Christmas with her? Let’s surprise + her, Kate; let’s clean out all those dead people. I know she sits in the + dark and imagines they all come back, for I’ve seen her that way many a + time when I drop in on her in the late afternoon. Let’s show her they’re + alive.” + </p> + <p> + Kate started up and caught Mark’s arm. “Oh, Mark! I have it!” she + whispered, “and we will—yes—that will be the very thing,” and + so with more mumblings and mutterings, not one word of which could her + father hear, the two raced up-stairs to the top of the house and the + garret. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + Two hours later a group of young people led by Mark Dabney trooped out of + Kate’s gate and turned down the Little Gray Lady’s street. Most of them + wore long cloaks and were muffled in thick veils. + </p> + <p> + They were talking in low tones, glancing from side to side, as if fearing + to be seen. The moon had gone under a cloud, but the light of the stars, + aided by an isolated street lamp, showed them the way. So careful were + they to conceal their identity that the whole party—there were six + in all—would dart into an open gate, crouching behind the snow-laden + hedge to avoid even a single passer-by. Only once were they in any danger, + and that was when a sleigh gliding by stopped in front of them, the driver + calling out in a voice which sounded twice as loud in the white stillness: + “Where’s Mr. Dabney’s new house?” (evidently a stranger, for the town pump + was not better known). No one else stopped them until they reached the + Little Gray Lady’s porch. + </p> + <p> + Kate crept up first, followed by Mark, and peered in. So far as she could + see everything was just as she had left it. + </p> + <p> + “The candle is still burning, Mark, and she’s put more wood on the fire. + But I can’t find her. Oh, yes—there she is—in her big chair—you + can just see the top of her head and her hand. Hush! don’t one of you + breathe. Now, listen, girls! Mark and I will tiptoe in first—the + front door is never fastened—and if she is asleep—and I think + she is—we will all crouch down behind her until she wakes up.” + </p> + <p> + “And another thing,” whispered Mark from behind his hand—“everybody + must drop their coats and things in the hall, so we can surprise her all + at once.” + </p> + <p> + The strange procession tiptoed in and arranged itself behind the Little + Gray Lady’s chair. Kate was dressed in her mother’s wedding-gown, flaring + poke bonnet, and long, faded gloves clear to her shoulder; Mark had on a + blue coat with brass buttons, a buff waistcoat, and black stock, the two + points of the high collar pinching his ruddy cheeks—the same dress + his father and Uncle Harry had worn, and all the young bloods of their + day, for that matter. The others were in their grandmother’s or + grandfather’s short and long clothes, Tom Fields sporting a tight-sleeved, + high-collared coat, silk-embroidered waistcoat, and pumps. + </p> + <p> + Kate crept up behind her chair, but Mark moved to the fireplace and rested + his elbow on the mantel, so that he would be in full view when the Little + Gray Lady awoke. + </p> + <p> + At last her eyes opened, but she made no outcry, nor did she move, except + to lift her head as does a fawn startled by some sudden light, her + wondering eyes drinking in the apparition. Mark, hardly breathing, stood + like a statue, but Kate, bending closer, heard her catch her breath with a + long, indrawn sigh, and next the half-audible words: “No—it isn’t so—How + foolish I am—” Then there came softly: “Harry”—and again in + almost a whisper—as if hope had died in her heart—“Harry—” + </p> + <p> + Kate, half frightened, sprang forward and flung her arms around the Little + Gray Lady. + </p> + <p> + “Why, don’t you know him? It’s Mark, Cousin Annie, and here’s Tom and + Nanny Fields, and everybody, and we’re going to light all the candles—every + one of them, and make an awful big fire—and have a real, real + Christmas.” + </p> + <p> + The Little Gray Lady was awake now. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you scared me so!” she cried, rising to her feet, rubbing her eyes. + “You foolish Children! I must have been asleep—yes, I know I was!” + She greeted them all, talking and entering into their fun, the spirit of + hospitality now hers, saying over and over again how glad she was they + came, kissing one and another; telling them how happy they made her; how + since they had been kind enough to come, she would let them have a <i>real</i> + Christmas—“Only,” she added quickly, “it will have to be by the + light of one candle; but that won’t make any difference, because you can + pile on just as much wood as you choose. Yes,” she continued, her voice + rising in her effort to meet them on their own joyous plane—“pile on + all the kindling, too, Mark; and Kate, dear, please run and tell Margaret + to bring in every bit of cake she has in the pantry. Oh, how like your + mother you are, Kate! I remember that very dress. And you, Mark! Why, + you’ve got on the same coat I saw your father wear at the Governor’s ball. + And you, too, Tom. Oh, what a good time we will all have!” + </p> + <p> + Soon the lid of the old piano was raised, a spinet, really, and one of the + girls began running her fingers over the keys; and later on it was agreed + that the first dance was to be the Virginia reel, with all the hospitable + chairs and the fire screen and the gouty old sofa rolled back against the + wall. + </p> + <p> + This all arranged, Mark took his place with the Little Gray Lady for a + partner. The music struck up a lively tune and as quickly ceased as the + sound of bells rang through the night air. In the hush that followed a + sleigh was heard at the gate. + </p> + <p> + Kate sprang up and clapped her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they are just in time! There come the rest of them, Cousin Annie. Now + we are going to have a great party! Let’s be dancing when they come in; + keep on playing!” + </p> + <p> + At this instant the door opened and Margaret put in her head. “Somebody,” + she said, with a low bow, “wants to see Mr. Mark on business.” + </p> + <p> + Mark, looking like a gallant of the old school, excused himself with a + great flourish to the Little Gray Lady and strode out. In the hall, with + his back to the light, stood a broad-shouldered man muffled to the chin in + a fur overcoat. The boy was about to apologize for his costume and then + ask the man’s errand, when the stranger turned quickly and gripped his + wrist. + </p> + <p> + “Hush—not a word! Where is she?” he cried. + </p> + <p> + With a low whistle of surprise Mark pushed open the door. The stranger + stepped in. + </p> + <p> + The Little Gray Lady raised her head. + </p> + <p> + “And who can this new guest be?” she asked—“and in what a queer + costume, too!” + </p> + <p> + The man drew himself up to his full height and threw wide his coat: “And + you don’t know me, Annie?” + </p> + <p> + She did not take her eyes from his face, nor did she move except to turn + her head appealingly to the room as if she feared they were playing her + another trick. + </p> + <p> + He had reached her side and stood looking down at her. Again came the + voice—a strong, clear voice, with a note of infinite tenderness + through it: + </p> + <p> + “How white your hair is, Annie; and your hand is so thin! Have I changed + like this?” + </p> + <p> + She leaned forward, scanning him eagerly. + </p> + <p> + There was a little cry, then all her soul went out in the one word: + </p> + <p> + “Harry!” + </p> + <p> + She was inside the big coat now, his strong arms around her, her head + hidden on his breast, only the tips of her toes on the floor. + </p> + <p> + When he had kissed her again and again—and he did and before + everybody—he crossed the room, picked up the ghostly candle, and + smothered its flame. + </p> + <p> + “I saw it from the road,” he laughed softly, “that’s why I couldn’t wait. + But you’ll never have to light it again, my darling!” + </p> + <p> + I saw them both a few years later. Everything in the way of fading and + wrinkling had stopped so far as the Little Gray Lady was concerned. If + there were any lines left in her forehead and around the corners of her + eyes, I could not find them. Joy had planted a crop of dimples instead, + and they had spread out, smoothing the care lines. Margaret even claimed + that her hair was turning brown gold once more, but then Margaret was + always her loyal slave, and believed everything her mistress wished. + </p> + <p> + And now, if you don’t mind, dear reader, we will put everything back and + shut the Little Gray Lady’s bureau drawer. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s The Little Gray Lady, by F. 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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 Little Gray Lady + 1909 + +Author: F. Hopkinson Smith + +Release Date: December 3, 2007 [EBook #23695] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE GRAY LADY *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + + +THE LITTLE GRAY LADY + +By F. Hopkinson Smith + +1909 + + + + +I + +Once in a while there come to me out of the long ago the fragments of a +story I have not thought of for years--one that has been hidden in the +dim lumber-room of my brain where I store my by-gone memories. + +These fragments thrust themselves out of the past as do the cuffs of +an old-fashioned coat, the flutings of a flounce, or the lacings of a +bodice from out a quickly opened bureau drawer. Only when you follow +the cuff along the sleeve to the broad shoulder; smooth out the crushed +frill that swayed about her form, and trace the silken thread to the +waist it tightened, can you determine the fashion of the day in which +they were worn. + +And with the rummaging of this lumber-room come the odors: dry smells +from musty old trunks packed with bundles of faded letters and worthless +deeds tied with red tape; musty smells from dust-covered chests, iron +bound, holding mouldy books, their backs loose; pungent smells +from cracked wardrobes stuffed with moth-eaten hunting-coats, +riding-trousers, and high boots with rusty spurs--cross-country riders +these--roisterers and gamesters--a sorry lot, no doubt. + +Or perhaps it is an old bow-legged high-boy--its club-feet slippered on +easy rollers--the kind with deep drawers kept awake by rattling brass +handles, its outside veneer so highly polished that you are quite sure +it must have been brought up in some distinguished family. The scent of +old lavender and spiced rose leaves, and a stick or two of white orris +root, haunt this relic: my lady's laces must be kept fresh, and so must +my lady's long white mitts--they reach from her dainty knuckles quite +to her elbow. And so must her cobwebbed silk stockings and the filmy +kerchief she folds across her bosom: + +It is this kind of a drawer that I am opening now--one belonging to the +Little Gray Lady. + +As I look through its contents my eyes resting on the finger of a glove, +the end of a lace scarf, and the handle of an old fan, my mind goes back +to the last time she wore them. Then I begin turning everything upside +down, lifting the corner of this incident, prying under that no bit of +talk, recalling what he said and who told of it (I shall have the whole +drawer empty before I get through), and whose fault it was that the +match was broken off, and why she, of all women in the world, should +have remained single all those years. Why, too, she should have lost her +identity, so to speak, and become the Little Gray Lady. + +And yet no sobriquet could better express her personality: She was +little--a dainty, elf-like littleness, with tiny feet and wee hands; +she was gray--a soft, silver gray--too gray for her forty years (and +this fragment begins when she was forty); and she was a lady in every +beat of her warm heart; in every pressure of her white hand; in her +voice, speech--in all her thoughts and movements. + +She lived in the quaintest of old houses fronted by a brick path +bordered with fragrant box, which led up to an old-fashioned porch, +its door brightened by a brass knocker. This, together with the +knobs, steps, and slits of windows on each side of the door, was kept +scrupulously clean by old Margaret, who had lived with her for years. + +But it is her personality and not her surroundings that lingers in my +memory. No one ever heard anything sweeter than her voice; in and nobody +ever looked into a lovelier face, even if there were little hollows in +the cheeks and shy, fanlike wrinkles lurking about the corners of her +lambent brown eyes. Nor did her gray hair mar her beauty. It was not +old, dry, and withered--a wispy gray. (That is not the way it happened.) +It was a new, all-of-a-sudden gray, and in less than a week--so +Margaret once told me--bleaching its brown gold to silver. But the +gloss remained, and so did the richness of the folds, and the wealth and +weight of it. + +Inside the green-painted door, with its white trim and brass knocker and +knobs, there was a narrow hall hung with old portraits, opening into a +room literally all fireplace. Here there were gouty sofas, and five or +six big easy-chairs ranged in a half-circle, with arms held out as +if begging somebody to sit in them; and here, too, was an embroidered +worsted fire screen that slid up and down a standard, to shield one's +face from the blazing logs; and there were queer tables and old-gold +curtains looped back with brass rosettes--ears really--behind which +the tresses of the parted curtains were tucked; and there were more old +portraits in dingy frames, and samplers under glass, and a rug which +some aunt had made with her own hands from odds and ends; and a huge +work-basket spilling worsteds, and last, and by no manner of means +least, a big chintz-covered rocking-chair, the little lady's very +own--its thin ankles and splay feet hidden by a modest frill. There were +all these things and a lot more--and yet I still maintain that the +room was just one big fireplace. Not alone because of its size (and it +certainly was big: many a doubting curly head, losing its faith in Santa +Claus, has crawled behind the old fire-dogs, the child's fingers tight +about the Little Gray Lady's, and been told to look up into the blue--a +lesson never forgotten all their lives), but because of the wonderful +and never-to-be-told-of things which constantly took place before its +blazing embers. + +For this fireplace was the Little Gray Lady's altar. Here she dispensed +wisdom and cheer and love. Everybody in Pomford village had sat in one +or the other of the chairs grouped about it and had poured out their +hearts to her. All sorts of pourings: love affairs, for instance, that +were hopeless until she would take the girl's hand in her own and smooth +out the tangle; to-say nothing of bickerings behind closed doors, with +two lives pulling apart until her dear arms brought them together. + +But all this is only the outside of the old mahogany high-boy with its +meerschaum-pipe polish, spraddling legs, and rattling handles. + +Now for the Little Gray Lady's own particular drawer. + + + + +II + +It was Christmas Eve, and Kate Dayton, one of Pomford's pretty girls, +had found the Little Gray Lady sitting alone before the fire gazing into +the ashes, her small frame almost hidden in the roomy chair. The winter +twilight had long since settled and only the flickering blaze of the +logs and the dim glow from one lone candle illumined the room. This, +strange to say, was placed on a table in a corner where its rays shed +but little light in the room. + +"Oh! Cousin Annie," moaned Kate (everybody in Pomford who got close +enough to touch the Little Gray Lady's hand called her "Cousin +Annie"--it was only the outside world who knew her by her other +sobriquet), "I didn't mean anything. Mark came in just at the wrong +minute, and--and--" The poor girl's tears smothered the rest. + +"Don't let him go, dearie," came the answer, when she had heard the +whole story, the girl on her knees, her head in her lap, the wee hand +stroking the fluff of golden hair dishevelled in her grief. + +"Oh, but he won't stay!" moaned Kate. "He says he is going to Rio--way +out to South America to join his Uncle Harry." + +"He won't go, dearie--not if you tell him the truth and make him tell +you the truth. Don't let your pride come in; don't beat around the bush +or make believe you are hurt or misunderstood, or that you don't care. +You do care. Better be a little humble now than humble all your life. It +only takes a word. Hold out your hand and say: 'I'm sorry, Mark--please +forgive me.' If he loves you--and he does--" + +The girl raised her head: "Oh! Cousin Annie! How do you know?" + +She laughed gently. "Because he was here, dearie, half an hour ago +and told me so. He thought you owed him the dance, and he was a little +jealous of Tom." + +"But Tom had asked me--" + +"Yes--and so had Mark--" + +"Yes--but he had no right--" She was up in arms again: she wouldn't--she +couldn't--and again an outburst of tears choked her words. + +The Little Gray Lady had known Kate's mother, now dead, and what might +have happened but for a timely word--and she knew to her own sorrow +what had happened for want of one. Kate and Mark should not repeat that +experience if she could help it. She had saved the mother in the old +days by just such a word. She would save the daughter in the same way. +And the two were much alike--same slight, girlish figure; same blond +hair and blue eyes; same expression, and the same impetuous, high-strung +temperament. "If that child's own mother walked in this minute I +couldn't tell 'em apart, they do favor one another so," old Margaret +had told her mistress when she opened the door for the girl, and she +was right. Pomford village was full of these hereditary likenesses. Mark +Dab-ney, whom all the present trouble was about, was so like his father +at his age that his Uncle Harry had picked Mark out on a crowded dock +when the lad had visited him in Rio the year before, although he had +not seen the boy's father for twenty years--so strong was the family +likeness. + +If there was to be a quarrel it must not be between the Dabneys and the +Daytons, of all families. There had been suffering enough in the old +days. + +"Listen, dearie," she said in her gentle, crooning tone, patting the +girl's cheek as she talked. "A quarrel where there is no love is soon +forgotten, but a difference when both love may, if not quickly healed, +leave a scar that will last through life." + +"There are as good fish in the sea as were ever caught," cried the girl +in sheer bravado, brushing away her tears. + +"Don't believe it, dearie--and don't ever say it. That has wrecked more +lives than you know. That is what I once knew a girl to say--a girl just +about your age--" + +"But she found somebody else, and that's just what I'm going to do. +I'm not going to have Mark read me a lecture every time I want to do +something he doesn't like. Didn't your girl find somebody else?" + +"No--never. She is still unmarried." + +"Yes--but it wasn't her fault, was it?" + +"Yes--although she did not know it at the time. She opened a door +suddenly and found her lover alone with another girl. The two had stolen +off together where they would not be interrupted. He was pleading for +his college friend--straightening out just some such foolish quarrel as +you have had with Mark--but the girl would not understand; nor did she +know the truth until a year afterward. Then it was too late." + +The Little Gray Lady stopped, lifted her hand from the girl's head, and +turned her face toward the now dying fire. + +"And what became of him?" asked the girl in a hushed voice, as if she +dared not awaken the memory. + +"He went away and she has never seen him since." + +For some minutes there was silence, then Kate said in a braver tone: + +"And he married somebody else?" + +"No." + +"Well, then, she died?" + +"No." + +The Littie Lady had not moved, nor had she taken her eyes from the +blaze. She seemed to be addressing some invisible body who could hear +and understand. The girl felt its influence and a tremor ran through +her. The fitful blaze casting weird shadows helped this feeling. At +last, with an effort, she asked: + +"You say you know them both, Cousin Annie?" + +"Yes--he was my dear friend. I was just thinking of him when you came +in." + +The charred logs broke into a heap of coals; the blaze flickered and +died. But for the lone candle in the corner the room would have been in +total darkness. + +"Shall I light another candle, Cousin Annie?" shivered the girl, "or +bring that one nearer?" + +"No, it's Christmas Eve, and I only light one candle on Christmas Eve." + +"But what's one candle! Why, father has the whole house as bright as day +and every fire blazing." The girl sprang to her feet and stepped nearer +the hearth. She would be less nervous, she thought, if she moved about, +and then the warmth of the fire was somehow reassuring. "Please let me +light them all, Cousin Annie," she pleaded, reaching out her hand toward +a cluster in an old-fashioned candelabra--"and if there aren't enough +I'll get more from Margaret." + +"No, no--one will do. It is an old custom of mine; I've done it for +twenty years." + +"But don't you love Christmas?" Kate argued, her nervousness increasing. +The ghostly light and the note of pain in her companion's voice were +strangely affecting. + +The Little Gray Lady leaned forward in her chair and looked long and +steadily at the heap of smouldering ashes; then she answered slowly, +each word vibrating with the memory of some hidden sorrow: "I've had +mine, dearie." + +"But you can have some more," urged Kate. + +"Not like those that have gone before, dearie--no, not like those." + +Something in the tones of her voice and quick droop of the dear head +stirred the girl to her depths. Sinking to her knees she hid her face in +the Little Lady's lap. + +"And you sit here in the dark with only one candle?" she whispered. + +"Yes, always," she answered, her fingers stroking the fair hair. "I can +see those I have loved better in the dark. Sometimes the room is full of +people; I have often to strain my eyes to assure myself that the door is +really shut. All sorts of people come--the girls and boys I knew when I +was young. Some are dead; some are far away; some so near that should I +open the window and shout their names many of them could hear. There are +fewer above ground every year--but I welcome all who come. It's the old +maid's hour, you know--this twilight hour. The wives are making ready +the supper; the children are romping; lovers are together in the corner +where they can whisper and not be overheard. But none of this disturbs +me--no big man bursts in, letting in the cold. I have my chair, my +candle, my thoughts, and my fire. When you get to be my age, Kate, and +live alone--and you might, dearie, if Mark should leave you--you will +love these twilight hours, too." + +The girl reached up her hands and touched the Little Gray Lady's cheek, +whispering: + +"But aren't you very, _very_ lonely. Cousin Annie?" + +"Yes, sometimes." + +For a moment Kate remained silent, then she asked in a faltering voice +through which ran a note almost of terror: + +"Do you think I shall ever be like--like--that is--I shall ever be--all +alone?" + +"I don't know, dearie. No one can ever tell what will happen. I never +thought twenty years ago I should be all alone--but I am." + +The girl raised her head, and with a cry of pain threw her arms around +the Little Gray Lady's neck: + +"Oh, no!--no! I can't bear it!" she sobbed! "I'll tell Mark! I'll send +for him--to-night-before I go to bed!" + + + + +III + +It was not until Kate Dayton reached her father's gate that the spell +wrought by the flickering firelight and the dim glow of the ghostly +candle wore off. The crisp air of the winter night--for it was now quite +dark--had helped, but the sight of Mark's waiting figure striding along +the snow-covered path to her home and his manly outspoken apology, +"Please forgive me, Kate, I made an awful fool of myself," followed by +her joyous refrain, "Oh, Mark! I've been so wretched!" had done more. It +had all come just as Cousin Annie had said; there had been neither pride +nor anger. Only the Little Gray Lady's timely word. + +But if the spell was broken the pathetic figure of the dear woman, her +eyes fixed on the dying embers, still lingered in Kate's mind. + +"Oh, Mark, it is so pitiful to see her!--and I got so frightened; the +whole room seemed filled with ghosts. Christmas seems her loneliest +time. She won't have but one candle lighted, and she sits and mopes in +the dark. Oh, it's dreadful! I tried to cheer her up, but she says she +likes to sit in the dark, because then all the dead people she loves can +come to her. Can't we do something to make her happy? She is so lovely, +and she is so little, and she is so dear!" + +They had entered the house, now a blaze of light. Kate's father was +standing on the hearth rug, his back to a great fireplace filled with +roaring logs. + +"Where have you two gadabouts been?" he laughed merrily. "What do you +mean by staying out this late? Don't you know it's Christmas Eve?" + +"We've been to see Cousin Annie, daddy; and it would make your heart +ache to look at her! She's there all alone. Can't you go down and bring +her up here?" + +"Yes, I could, but she wouldn't come, not on Christmas Eve. Did she have +her candle burning?" + +"Yes, just one poor little miserable candle that hardly gave any light +at all." + +"And it was in the corner on a little table?" + +"Yes, all by itself." + +"Poor dear, she always lights it. She's lighted it for almost twenty +years." + +"Is it for somebody she loved who died?" + +"No--it's for somebody she loved who is alive, but who never came back +and won't." + +He studied them both for a moment, as if in doubt, then he added in a +determined voice, motioning them to a seat beside him: + +"It is about time you two children heard the story straight, for it +concerns you both, so I'll tell you. Your Uncle Harry, Mark, is the man +who never came back and won't. He was just your age at the time. He and +Annie were to be married in a few months, then everything went to smash. +And it was your mother, Kate, who was the innocent cause of his exile. +Harry, who was the best friend I had in the world, tried to put in a +good word for me--this was before I and your mother were engaged--and +Annie, coming in and finding them, got it all crooked. Instead of +waiting until Harry could explain, she flared up, and off he went. Her +hair turned white in a week when she found out how she had misjudged +him, but it was too late then--Harry wouldn't come back, and he never +will. When he told you, Mark, last year in Rio that he was coming home +Christmas I knew he'd change his mind just as soon as you left him, and +he did. Queer boy, Harry. Once he gets an idea in his head it sticks +there. He was that way when he was a boy. He'll never come back as long +as Annie lives, and that means never." + +He stopped a moment, spread his fingers to the blazing logs, and +then, with a smile on his face, said: "If ever I catch you two young +turtledoves making such fools of yourselves, I'll turn you both +outdoors," and again his hearty laugh rang through the cheery room. + +The girl instinctively leaned closer to her lover. She had heard some +part of the story before--in fact, both of them had, but never in its +entirety. Her heart went out to the Little Gray Lady all the more. + +Mark now spoke up. He, too, had had an hour of his own with the Little +Gray Lady, and the obligation still remained unsettled. + +"Well, if she won't come up here and have Christmas with us," he cried, +"why can't we go down there and have Christmas with her? Let's surprise +her, Kate; let's clean out all those dead people. I know she sits in the +dark and imagines they all come back, for I've seen her that way many a +time when I drop in on her in the late afternoon. Let's show her they're +alive." + +Kate started up and caught Mark's arm. "Oh, Mark! I have it!" she +whispered, "and we will--yes--that will be the very thing," and so with +more mumblings and mutterings, not one word of which could her father +hear, the two raced up-stairs to the top of the house and the garret. + + + + +IV + +Two hours later a group of young people led by Mark Dabney trooped out +of Kate's gate and turned down the Little Gray Lady's street. Most of +them wore long cloaks and were muffled in thick veils. + +They were talking in low tones, glancing from side to side, as if +fearing to be seen. The moon had gone under a cloud, but the light of +the stars, aided by an isolated street lamp, showed them the way. So +careful were they to conceal their identity that the whole party--there +were six in all--would dart into an open gate, crouching behind the +snow-laden hedge to avoid even a single passer-by. Only once were they +in any danger, and that was when a sleigh gliding by stopped in front of +them, the driver calling out in a voice which sounded twice as loud +in the white stillness: "Where's Mr. Dabney's new house?" (evidently a +stranger, for the town pump was not better known). No one else stopped +them until they reached the Little Gray Lady's porch. + +Kate crept up first, followed by Mark, and peered in. So far as she +could see everything was just as she had left it. + +"The candle is still burning, Mark, and she's put more wood on the fire. +But I can't find her. Oh, yes--there she is--in her big chair--you +can just see the top of her head and her hand. Hush! don't one of you +breathe. Now, listen, girls! Mark and I will tiptoe in first--the front +door is never fastened--and if she is asleep--and I think she is--we +will all crouch down behind her until she wakes up." + +"And another thing," whispered Mark from behind his hand--"everybody +must drop their coats and things in the hall, so we can surprise her all +at once." + +The strange procession tiptoed in and arranged itself behind the Little +Gray Lady's chair. Kate was dressed in her mother's wedding-gown, +flaring poke bonnet, and long, faded gloves clear to her shoulder; +Mark had on a blue coat with brass buttons, a buff waistcoat, and black +stock, the two points of the high collar pinching his ruddy cheeks--the +same dress his father and Uncle Harry had worn, and all the young bloods +of their day, for that matter. The others were in their grandmother's +or grandfather's short and long clothes, Tom Fields sporting a +tight-sleeved, high-collared coat, silk-embroidered waistcoat, and +pumps. + +Kate crept up behind her chair, but Mark moved to the fireplace and +rested his elbow on the mantel, so that he would be in full view when +the Little Gray Lady awoke. + +At last her eyes opened, but she made no outcry, nor did she move, +except to lift her head as does a fawn startled by some sudden light, +her wondering eyes drinking in the apparition. Mark, hardly breathing, +stood like a statue, but Kate, bending closer, heard her catch her +breath with a long, indrawn sigh, and next the half-audible words: +"No--it isn't so--How foolish I am--" Then there came softly: +"Harry"--and again in almost a whisper--as if hope had died in her +heart--"Harry--" + +Kate, half frightened, sprang forward and flung her arms around the +Little Gray Lady. + +"Why, don't you know him? It's Mark, Cousin Annie, and here's Tom +and Nanny Fields, and everybody, and we're going to light all the +candles--every one of them, and make an awful big fire--and have a real, +real Christmas." + +The Little Gray Lady was awake now. + +"Oh! you scared me so!" she cried, rising to her feet, rubbing her eyes. +"You foolish Children! I must have been asleep--yes, I know I was!" She +greeted them all, talking and entering into their fun, the spirit of +hospitality now hers, saying over and over again how glad she was they +came, kissing one and another; telling them how happy they made her; +how since they had been kind enough to come, she would let them have a +_real_ Christmas--"Only," she added quickly, "it will have to be by the +light of one candle; but that won't make any difference, because you can +pile on just as much wood as you choose. Yes," she continued, her voice +rising in her effort to meet them on their own joyous plane--"pile +on all the kindling, too, Mark; and Kate, dear, please run and tell +Margaret to bring in every bit of cake she has in the pantry. Oh, how +like your mother you are, Kate! I remember that very dress. And you, +Mark! Why, you've got on the same coat I saw your father wear at the +Governor's ball. And you, too, Tom. Oh, what a good time we will all +have!" + +Soon the lid of the old piano was raised, a spinet, really, and one of +the girls began running her fingers over the keys; and later on it was +agreed that the first dance was to be the Virginia reel, with all the +hospitable chairs and the fire screen and the gouty old sofa rolled back +against the wall. + +This all arranged, Mark took his place with the Little Gray Lady for a +partner. The music struck up a lively tune and as quickly ceased as the +sound of bells rang through the night air. In the hush that followed a +sleigh was heard at the gate. + +Kate sprang up and clapped her hands. + +"Oh, they are just in time! There come the rest of them, Cousin Annie. +Now we are going to have a great party! Let's be dancing when they come +in; keep on playing!" + +At this instant the door opened and Margaret put in her head. +"Somebody," she said, with a low bow, "wants to see Mr. Mark on +business." + +Mark, looking like a gallant of the old school, excused himself with a +great flourish to the Little Gray Lady and strode out. In the hall, with +his back to the light, stood a broad-shouldered man muffled to the chin +in a fur overcoat. The boy was about to apologize for his costume and +then ask the man's errand, when the stranger turned quickly and gripped +his wrist. + +"Hush--not a word! Where is she?" he cried. + +With a low whistle of surprise Mark pushed open the door. The stranger +stepped in. + +The Little Gray Lady raised her head. + +"And who can this new guest be?" she asked--"and in what a queer +costume, too!" + +The man drew himself up to his full height and threw wide his coat: "And +you don't know me, Annie?" + +She did not take her eyes from his face, nor did she move except to turn +her head appealingly to the room as if she feared they were playing her +another trick. + +He had reached her side and stood looking down at her. Again came the +voice--a strong, clear voice, with a note of infinite tenderness through +it: + +"How white your hair is, Annie; and your hand is so thin! Have I changed +like this?" + +She leaned forward, scanning him eagerly. + +There was a little cry, then all her soul went out in the one word: + +"Harry!" + +She was inside the big coat now, his strong arms around her, her head +hidden on his breast, only the tips of her toes on the floor. + +When he had kissed her again and again--and he did and before +everybody--he crossed the room, picked up the ghostly candle, and +smothered its flame. + +"I saw it from the road," he laughed softly, "that's why I couldn't +wait. But you'll never have to light it again, my darling!" + +I saw them both a few years later. Everything in the way of fading and +wrinkling had stopped so far as the Little Gray Lady was concerned. If +there were any lines left in her forehead and around the corners of her +eyes, I could not find them. Joy had planted a crop of dimples instead, +and they had spread out, smoothing the care lines. Margaret even claimed +that her hair was turning brown gold once more, but then Margaret was +always her loyal slave, and believed everything her mistress wished. + +And now, if you don't mind, dear reader, we will put everything back and +shut the Little Gray Lady's bureau drawer. + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Little Gray Lady, by F. Hopkinson Smith + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE GRAY LADY *** + +***** This file should be named 23695.txt or 23695.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/6/9/23695/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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