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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1907 to
+1908, by Lucy Maud Montgomery
+
+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: Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1907 to 1908
+
+Author: Lucy Maud Montgomery
+
+Release Date: March 19, 2008 [EBook #24877]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MONTGOMERY STORIES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Alicia Williams, Jeannie Howse and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1907 to 1908
+
+
+Lucy Maud Montgomery was born at Clifton (now New London), Prince
+Edward Island, Canada, on November 30, 1874. She achieved
+international fame in her lifetime, putting Prince Edward Island and
+Canada on the world literary map. Best known for her "Anne of Green
+Gables" books, she was also a prolific writer of short stories and
+poetry. She published some 500 short stories and poems and twenty
+novels before her death in 1942. The Project Gutenberg collection of
+her short stories was gathered from numerous sources and is presented
+in chronological publishing order:
+
+Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1896 to 1901
+Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1902 to 1903
+Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1904
+Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1905 to 1906
+Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1907 to 1908
+Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1909 to 1922
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Short Stories 1907 to 1908
+
+    Millionaire's Proposal                                   1907
+    A Substitute Journalist                                  1907
+    Anna's Love Letters                                      1908
+    Aunt Caroline's Silk Dress                               1907
+    Aunt Susanna's Thanksgiving Dinner                       1907
+    By Grace of Julius Caesar                                1908
+    By the Rule of Contrary                                  1908
+    Fair Exchange and No Robbery                             1907
+    Four Winds                                               1908
+    Marcella's Reward                                        1907
+    Margaret's Patient                                       1908
+    Matthew Insists on Puffed Sleeves                        1908
+    Missy's Room                                             1907
+    Ted's Afternoon Off                                      1907
+    The Girl Who Drove the Cows                              1908
+    The Doctor's Sweetheart                                  1908
+    The End of the Young Family Feud                         1907
+    The Genesis of the Doughnut Club                         1907
+    The Growing Up of Cornelia                               1908
+    The Old Fellow's Letter                                  1907
+    The Parting of the Ways                                  1907
+    The Promissory Note                                      1907
+    The Revolt of Mary Isabel                                1908
+    The Twins and a Wedding                                  1908
+
+
+
+
+A Millionaire's Proposal
+
+
+                                  Thrush Hill, Oct. 5, 18--.
+
+It is all settled at last, and in another week I shall have left
+Thrush Hill. I am a little bit sorry and a great bit glad. I am going
+to Montreal to spend the winter with Alicia.
+
+Alicia--it used to be plain Alice when she lived at Thrush Hill and
+made her own dresses and trimmed her own hats--is my half-sister. She
+is eight years older than I am. We are both orphans, and Aunt
+Elizabeth brought us up here at Thrush Hill, the most delightful old
+country place in the world, half smothered in big willows and poplars,
+every one of which I have climbed in the early tomboy days of gingham
+pinafores and sun-bonnets.
+
+When Alicia was eighteen she married Roger Gresham, a man of forty.
+The world said that she married him for his money. I dare say she did.
+Alicia was tired of poverty.
+
+I don't blame her. Very likely I shall do the same thing one of these
+days, if I get the chance--for I too am tired of poverty.
+
+When Alicia went to Montreal she wanted to take me with her, but I
+wanted to be outdoors, romping in the hay or running wild in the woods
+with Jack.
+
+Jack Willoughby--Dr. John H. Willoughby, it reads on his office
+door--was the son of our nearest neighbour. We were chums always, and
+when he went away to college I was heartbroken.
+
+The vacations were the only joy of my life then.
+
+I don't know just when I began to notice a change in Jack, but when he
+came home two years ago, a full-fledged M.D.--a great, tall,
+broad-shouldered fellow, with the sweetest moustache, and lovely thick
+black hair, just made for poking one's fingers through--I realized it
+to the full. Jack was grown up. The dear old days of bird-nesting and
+nutting and coasting and fishing and general delightful goings-on were
+over forever.
+
+I was sorry at first. I wanted "Jack." "Dr. Willoughby" seemed too
+distinguished and far away.
+
+I suppose he found a change in me, too. I had put on long skirts and
+wore my hair up. I had also found out that I had a complexion, and
+that sunburn was not becoming. I honestly thought I looked pretty, but
+Jack surveyed me with decided disapprobation.
+
+"What have you done to yourself? You don't look like the same girl.
+I'd never know you in that rig-out, with all those flippery-trippery
+curls all over your head. Why don't you comb your hair straight back,
+and let it hang in a braided tail, like you used to?"
+
+This didn't suit me at all. When I expect a compliment and get
+something quite different I always get snippy. So I said, with what I
+intended to be crushing dignity, "that I supposed I wasn't the same
+girl; I had grown up, and if he didn't like my curls he needn't look
+at them. For my part, I thought them infinitely preferable to that
+horrid, conceited-looking moustache he had grown."
+
+"I'll shave it off if it doesn't suit you," said Jack amiably.
+
+Jack is always so provokingly good-humoured. When you've taken pains
+and put yourself out--even to the extent of fibbing about a
+moustache--to exasperate a person, there is nothing more annoying than
+to have him keep perfectly angelic.
+
+But after a while Jack and I adjusted ourselves to the change in each
+other and became very good friends again. It was quite a different
+friendship from the old, but it was very pleasant. Yes, it was; I
+_will_ admit that much.
+
+I was provoked at Jack's determination to settle down for life in
+Valleyfield, a horrible, humdrum, little country village.
+
+"You'll never make your fortune there, Jack," I said spitefully.
+"You'll just be a poor, struggling country doctor all your life, and
+you'll be grey at forty."
+
+"I don't expect to make a fortune, Kitty," said Jack quietly. "Do you
+think that is the one desirable thing? I shall never be a rich man.
+But riches are not the only thing that makes life pleasant."
+
+"Well, I think they have a good deal to do with it, anyhow," I
+retorted. "It's all very well to pretend to despise wealth, but it's
+generally a case of sour grapes. _I_ will own up honestly that I'd
+_love_ to be rich."
+
+It always seems to make Jack blue and grumpy when I talk like that. I
+suppose that is one reason why he never asked me to settle down in
+life as a country doctor's wife. Another was, no doubt, that I always
+nipped his sentimental sproutings religiously in the bud.
+
+Three weeks ago Alicia wrote to me, asking me to spend the winter with
+her. Her letters always make me just gasp with longing for the life
+they describe.
+
+Jack's face, when I told him about it, was so woebegone that I felt a
+stab of remorse, even in the heyday of my delight.
+
+"Do you really mean it, Kitty? Are you going away to leave me?"
+
+"You won't miss me much," I said flippantly--I had a creepy, crawly
+presentiment that a scene of some kind was threatening--"and I'm
+awfully tired of Thrush Hill and country life, Jack. I suppose it is
+horribly ungrateful of me to say so, but it is the truth."
+
+"I shall miss you," he said soberly.
+
+Somehow he had my hands in his. _How_ did he ever get them? I was sure
+I had them safely tucked out of harm's way behind me. "You know,
+Kitty, that I love you. I am a poor man--perhaps I may never be
+anything else--and this may seem to you very presumptuous. But I
+cannot let you go like this. Will you be my wife, dear?"
+
+Wasn't it horribly straightforward and direct? So like Jack! I tried
+to pull my hands away, but he held them fast. There was nothing to do
+but answer him. That "no" I had determined to say must be said, but,
+oh! how woefully it did stick in my throat!
+
+And I honestly believe that by the time I got it out it would have
+been transformed into a "yes," in spite of me, had it not been for a
+certain paragraph in Alicia's letter which came providentially to my
+mind:
+
+    Not to flatter you, Katherine, you are a beauty, my dear--if
+    your photo is to be trusted. If you have not discovered that
+    fact before--how should you, indeed, in a place like Thrush
+    Hill?--you soon will in Montreal. With your face and figure
+    you will make a sensation.
+
+    There is to be a nephew of the Sinclairs here this winter. He
+    is an American, immensely wealthy, and will be the catch of
+    the season. A word to the wise, etc. Don't get into any
+    foolish entanglement down there. I have heard some gossip of
+    you and our old playfellow, Jack Willoughby. I hope it is
+    nothing but gossip. You can do better than that, Katherine.
+
+That settled Jack's fate, if there ever had been any doubt.
+
+"Don't talk like that, Jack," I said hurriedly. "It is all nonsense. I
+think a great deal of you as a friend and--and--all that, you know.
+But I can never marry you."
+
+"Are you sure, Kitty?" said Jack earnestly. "Don't you care for me at
+all?"
+
+It was horrid of Jack to ask that question!
+
+"No," I said miserably, "not--not in that way, Jack. Oh, don't ever
+say anything like this to me again."
+
+He let go of my hands then, white to the lips.
+
+"Oh, don't look like that, Jack," I entreated.
+
+"I can't help it," he said in a low voice. "But I won't bother you
+again, dear. It was foolish of me to expect--to hope for anything of
+the sort. You are a thousand times too good for me, I know."
+
+"Oh, indeed I'm not, Jack," I protested. "If you knew how horrid I am,
+really, you'd be glad and thankful for your escape. Oh, Jack, I wish
+people never grew up."
+
+Jack smiled sadly.
+
+"Don't feel badly over this, Kitty. It isn't your fault. Good night,
+dear."
+
+He turned my face up and kissed me squarely on the mouth. He had never
+kissed me since the summer before he went away to college. Somehow it
+didn't seem a bit the same as it used to; it was--nicer now.
+
+After he went away I came upstairs and had a good, comfortable howl.
+Then I buried the whole affair decently. I am not going to think of it
+any more.
+
+I shall always have the highest esteem for Jack, and I hope he will
+soon find some nice girl who will make him happy. Mary Carter would
+jump at him, I know. To be sure, she is as homely as she can be and
+live. But, then, Jack is always telling me how little he cares for
+beauty, so I have no doubt she will suit him admirably.
+
+As for myself--well, I am ambitious. I don't suppose my ambition is a
+very lofty one, but such as it is I mean to hunt it down. Come. Let me
+put it down in black and white, once for all, and see how it looks:
+
+I mean to marry the rich nephew of the Sinclairs.
+
+There! It is out, and I feel better. How mercenary and awful it looks
+written out in cold blood like that. I wouldn't have Jack or Aunt
+Elizabeth--dear, unworldly old soul--see it for the world. But I
+wouldn't mind Alicia.
+
+Poor dear Jack!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+                                    Montreal, Dec. 16, 18--.
+
+This is a nice way to keep a journal. But the days when I could write
+regularly are gone by. That was when I was at Thrush Hill.
+
+I am having a simply divine time. How in the world did I ever contrive
+to live at Thrush Hill?
+
+To be sure, I felt badly enough that day in October when I left it.
+When the train left Valleyfield I just cried like a baby.
+
+Alicia and Roger welcomed me very heartily, and after the first week
+of homesickness--I shiver yet when I think of it--was over, I settled
+down to my new life as if I had been born to it.
+
+Alicia has a magnificent home and everything heart could wish
+for--jewels, carriages, servants, opera boxes, and social position.
+Roger is a model husband apparently. I must also admit that he is a
+model brother-in-law.
+
+I could feel Alicia looking me over critically the moment we met. I
+trembled with suspense, but I was soon relieved.
+
+"Do you know, Katherine, I am glad to see that your photograph didn't
+flatter you. Photographs so often do, I am positively surprised at the
+way you have developed, my dear; you used to be such a scrawny little
+brown thing. By the way, I hope there is nothing between you and Jack
+Willoughby?"
+
+"No, of course not," I answered hurriedly. I had intended to tell
+Alicia all about Jack, but when it came to the point I couldn't.
+
+"I am glad of that," said Alicia, with a relieved air. "Of course,
+I've no doubt Jack is a good fellow enough. He was a nice boy. But he
+would not be a suitable husband for you, Katherine."
+
+I knew that very well. That was just why I had refused him. But it
+made me wince to hear Alicia say it. I instantly froze up--Alicia says
+dignity is becoming to me--and Jack's name has never been mentioned
+between us since.
+
+I made my bow to society at an "At Home" which Alicia gave for that
+purpose. She drilled me well beforehand, and I think I acquitted
+myself decently. Charlie Vankleek, whose verdict makes or mars every
+debutante in his set, has approved of me. He called me a beauty, and
+everybody now believes that I am one, and greets me accordingly.
+
+I met Gus Sinclair at Mrs. Brompton's dinner. Alicia declares it was a
+case of love at first sight. If so, I must confess that it was all on
+one side.
+
+Mr. Sinclair is undeniably ugly--even Alicia has to admit that--and
+can't hold a candle to Jack in point of looks, for Jack, poor boy, was
+handsome, if he were nothing else. But, as Alicia does not fail to
+remind me, Mr. Sinclair's homeliness is well gilded.
+
+Apart from his appearance, I really liked him very much. He is a
+gentlemanly little fellow--his head reaches about to my
+shoulder--cultured and travelled, and can talk splendidly, which Jack
+never could.
+
+He took me into dinner at Mrs. Brompton's, and was very attentive. You
+may imagine how many angelic glances I received from the other
+candidates for his favour.
+
+Since then I have been having the gayest time imaginable. Dances,
+dinners, luncheons, afternoon teas, "functions" to no end, and all
+delightful.
+
+Aunt Elizabeth writes to me, but I have never heard a word from Jack.
+He seems to have forgotten my existence completely. No doubt he has
+consoled himself with Mary Carter.
+
+Well, that is all for the best, but I must say I did not think Jack
+could have forgotten me so soon or so absolutely. Of course it does
+not make the least difference to me.
+
+The Sinclairs and the Bromptons and the Curries are to dine here
+tonight. I can see myself reflected in the long mirror before me, and
+I really think my appearance will satisfy even Gus Sinclair's critical
+eye. I am pale, as usual, I never have any colour. That used to be one
+of Jack's grievances. He likes pink and white milkmaidish girls. My
+"magnificent pallor" didn't suit him at all.
+
+But, what is more to the purpose, it suits Gus Sinclair. He admires
+the statuesque style.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+                                    Montreal, Jan. 20, 18--.
+
+Here it is a whole month since my last entry. I am sitting here decked
+out in "gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls" for Mrs. Currie's dance.
+These few minutes, after I emerge from the hands of my maid and before
+the carriage is announced, are almost the only ones I ever have to
+myself.
+
+I am having a good time still. Somehow, though, it isn't as exciting
+as it used to be. I'm afraid I'm very changeable. I believe I must be
+homesick.
+
+I'd love to get a glimpse of dear old Thrush Hill and Aunt Elizabeth,
+and J--but, no! I will not write that.
+
+Mr. Sinclair has not spoken yet, but there is no doubt that he soon
+will. Of course, I shall accept him when he does, and I coolly told
+Alicia so when she just as coolly asked me what I meant to do.
+
+"Certainly, I shall marry him," I said crossly, for the subject always
+irritates me. "Haven't I been laying myself out all winter to catch
+him? That is the bold, naked truth, and ugly enough it is. My dearly
+beloved sister, I mean to accept Mr. Sinclair, without any hesitation,
+whenever I get the chance."
+
+"I give you credit for more sense than to dream of doing anything
+else," said Alicia in relieved tones. "Katherine, you are a very lucky
+girl."
+
+"Because I am going to marry a rich man for his money?" I said coldly.
+
+Sometimes I get snippy with Alicia these days.
+
+"No," said my half-sister in an exasperated way. "Why will you persist
+in speaking in that way? You are very provoking. It is not likely I
+would wish to see you throw yourself away on a poor man, and I'm sure
+you must like Gus."
+
+"Oh, yes, I like him well enough," I said listlessly. "To be sure, I
+did think once, in my salad days, that liking wasn't quite all in an
+affair of this kind. I was absurd enough to imagine that love had
+something to do with it."
+
+"Don't talk so nonsensically," said Alicia sharply. "Love! Well, of
+course, you ought to love your husband, and you will. He loves you
+enough, at all events."
+
+"Alicia," I said earnestly, looking her straight in the face and
+speaking bluntly enough to have satisfied even Jack's love of
+straightforwardness, "you married for money and position, so people
+say. Are you happy?"
+
+For the first time that I remembered, Alicia blushed. She was very
+angry.
+
+"Yes, I did marry for money," she said sharply, "and I don't regret
+it. Thank heaven, I never was a fool."
+
+"Don't be vexed, Alicia," I entreated. "I only asked because--well, it
+is no matter."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+                                    Montreal, Jan. 25, 18--.
+
+It is bedtime, but I am too excited and happy and miserable to sleep.
+Jack has been here--dear old Jack! How glad I was to see him.
+
+His coming was so unexpected. I was sitting alone in my room this
+afternoon--I believe I was moping--when Bessie brought up his card. I
+gave it one rapturous look and tore downstairs, passing Alicia in the
+hall like a whirlwind, and burst into the drawing-room in a most
+undignified way.
+
+"Jack!" I cried, holding out both hands to him in welcome.
+
+There he was, just the same old Jack, with his splendid big shoulders
+and his lovely brown eyes. And his necktie was crooked, too; as soon
+as I could get my hands free I put them up and straightened it out for
+him. How nice and old-timey that was!
+
+"So you are glad to see me, Kitty?" he said as he squeezed my hands in
+his big strong paws.
+
+"'Deed and 'deed I am, Jack. I thought you had forgotten me
+altogether. And I've been so homesick and so--so everything," I said
+incoherently. "And, oh, Jack, I've so many questions to ask I don't
+know where to begin. Tell me all the Thrush Hill and Valleyfield news,
+tell me everything that has happened since I left. How many people
+have you killed off? And, oh, why didn't you come to see me before?"
+
+"I didn't think I should be wanted, Kitty," Jack answered quietly.
+"You seemed to be so absorbed in your new life that old friends and
+interests were crowded out."
+
+"So I was at first," I answered penitently. "I was dazzled, you know.
+The glare was too much for my Thrush Hill brown. But it's different
+now. How did you happen to come, Jack?"
+
+"I had to come to Montreal on business, and I thought it would be too
+bad if I went back without coming to see what they had been doing in
+Vanity Fair to my little playmate."
+
+"Well, what do you think they have been doing?" I asked saucily.
+
+I had on a particularly fetching gown and knew I was looking my best.
+Jack, however, looked me over with his head on one side.
+
+"Well, I don't know, Kitty," he said slowly. "That is a stunning sort
+of dress you have on--not so pretty, though, as that old blue muslin
+you used to wear last summer--and your hair is pretty good. But you
+look rather disdainful and, after all, I believe I prefer Thrush Hill
+Kitty."
+
+How like Jack that was. He never thought me really pretty, and he is
+too honest to pretend he does.
+
+But I didn't care. I just laughed, and we sat down together and had a
+long, delightful, chummy talk.
+
+Jack told me all the Valleyfield gossip, not forgetting to mention
+that Mary Carter was going to be married to a minister in June. Jack
+didn't seem to mind it a bit, so I guess he couldn't have been
+particularly interested in Mary.
+
+In due time Alicia sailed in. I suppose she had found out from Bessie
+who my caller was, and felt rather worried over the length of our
+tête-à-tête.
+
+She greeted Jack very graciously, but with a certain polite
+condescension of which she is past mistress. I am sure Jack felt it,
+for, as soon as he decently could, he got up to go. Alicia asked him
+to remain to dinner.
+
+"We are having a few friends to dine with us, but it is quite an
+informal affair," she said sweetly.
+
+I felt that Jack glanced at me for the fraction of a second. But I
+remembered that Gus Sinclair was coming too, and I did not look at
+him.
+
+Then he declined quietly. He had a business engagement, he said.
+
+I suppose Alicia had noticed that look at me, for she showed her
+claws.
+
+"Don't forget to call any time you are in Montreal," she said more
+sweetly than ever. "I am sure Katherine will always be glad to see any
+of her old friends, although some of her new ones _are_ proving very
+absorbing--one, in especial. Don't blush, Katherine, I am sure Mr.
+Willoughby won't tell any tales out of school to your old Valleyfield
+friends."
+
+I was not blushing, and I was furious. It was really too bad of
+Alicia, although I don't see why I need have cared.
+
+Alicia kept her eye on us both until Jack was fairly gone. Then she
+remarked in the patronizing tone which I detest:
+
+"Really, Katherine, Jack Willoughby has developed into quite a
+passable-looking fellow, although he is rather shabby. But I suppose
+he is poor."
+
+"Yes," I answered curtly, "he is poor, in everything except youth and
+manhood and goodness and truth! But I suppose those don't count for
+anything."
+
+Whereupon Alicia lifted her eyebrows and looked me over.
+
+Just at dusk a box arrived with Jack's compliments. It was full of
+lovely white carnations, and must have cost the extravagant fellow
+more than he has any business to waste on flowers. I was beast enough
+to put them on when I went down to listen to another man's
+love-making.
+
+This evening I sparkled and scintillated with unusual brilliancy, for
+Jack's visit and my consequent crossing of swords with Alicia had
+produced a certain elation of spirits. When Gus Sinclair was leaving
+he asked if he might see me alone tomorrow afternoon.
+
+I knew what that meant, and a cold shiver went up and down my
+backbone. But I looked down at him--spick-and-span and glossy--_his_
+neckties are never crooked--and said, yes, he might come at three
+o'clock.
+
+Alicia had noticed our aside--when did anything ever escape her?--and
+when he was gone she asked, significantly, what secret he had been
+telling me.
+
+"He wants to see me alone tomorrow afternoon. I suppose you know what
+that means, Alicia?"
+
+"Ah," purred Alicia, "I congratulate you, my dear."
+
+"Aren't your congratulations a little premature?" I asked coldly. "I
+haven't accepted him yet."
+
+"But you will?"
+
+"Oh, certainly. Isn't it what we've schemed and angled for? I'm very
+well satisfied."
+
+And so I am. But I wish it hadn't come so soon after Jack's visit,
+because I feel rather upset yet. Of course I like Gus Sinclair very
+much, and I am sure I shall be very fond of him.
+
+Well, I must go to bed now and get my beauty sleep. I don't want to be
+haggard and hollow-eyed at that important interview tomorrow--an
+interview that will decide my destiny.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+                                   Thrush Hill, May 6, 18--.
+
+Well, it did decide it, but not exactly in the way I anticipated. I
+can look back on the whole affair quite calmly now, but I wouldn't
+live it over again for all the wealth of Ind.
+
+That day when Gus Sinclair came I was all ready for him. I had put on
+my very prettiest new gown to do honour to the occasion, and Alicia
+smilingly assured me I was looking very well.
+
+"And _so_ cool and composed. Will you be able to keep that up? Don't
+you really feel a little nervous, Katherine?"
+
+"Not in the least," I said. "I suppose I ought to be, according to
+traditions, but I never felt less flustered in my life."
+
+When Bessie brought up Gus Sinclair's card Alicia dropped a pecky
+little kiss on my cheek, and pushed me toward the door. I went down
+calmly, although I'll admit that my heart _was_ beating wildly. Gus
+Sinclair was plainly nervous, but I was composed enough for both. You
+would really have thought that I was in the habit of being proposed to
+by a millionaire every day.
+
+"I suppose you know what I have come to say," he said, standing before
+me, as I leaned gracefully back in a big chair, having taken care that
+the folds of my dress fell just as they should.
+
+And then he proceeded to say it in a rather jumbled-up fashion, but
+very sincerely.
+
+I remember thinking at the time that he must have composed the speech
+in his head the night before, and rehearsed it several times, but was
+forgetting it in spots.
+
+When he ended with the self-same question that Jack had asked me three
+months before at Thrush Hill he stopped and took my hands.
+
+I looked up at him. His good, homely face was close to mine, and in
+his eyes was an unmistakable look of love and tenderness.
+
+I opened my mouth to say yes.
+
+And then there came over me in one rush the most awful realization of
+the sacrilege I was going to commit.
+
+I forgot everything except that I loved Jack Willoughby, and that I
+could never, never marry anybody in the world except him.
+
+Then I pulled my hands away and burst into hysterical, undignified
+tears.
+
+"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Sinclair. "I did not mean to startle
+you. Have I been too abrupt? Surely you must have known--you must have
+expected--"
+
+"Yes--yes--I knew," I cried miserably, "and I intended right up to
+this very minute to marry you. I'm so sorry--but I can't--I can't."
+
+"I don't understand," he said in a bewildered tone. "If you expected
+it, then why--why--don't you care for me?"
+
+"No, that's just it," I sobbed. "I don't love you at all--and I do
+love somebody else. But he is poor, and I hate poverty. So I refused
+him, and I meant to marry you just because you are rich."
+
+Such a pained look came over his face. "I did not think this of you,"
+he said in a low tone.
+
+"Oh, I know I have acted shamefully," I said. "You can't think any
+worse of me than I do of myself. How you must despise me!"
+
+"No," he said, with a grim smile, "if I did it would be easier for me.
+I might not love you then. Don't distress yourself, Katherine. I do
+not deny that I feel greatly hurt and disappointed, but I am glad you
+have been true to yourself at last. Don't cry, dear."
+
+"You're very good," I answered disconsolately, "but all the same the
+fact remains that I have behaved disgracefully to you, and I know you
+think so. Oh, Mr. Sinclair, please, please, go away. I feel so
+miserably ashamed of myself that I cannot look you in the face."
+
+"I am going, dear," he said gently. "I know all this must be very
+painful to you, but it is not easy for me, either."
+
+"Can you forgive me?" I said wistfully.
+
+"Yes, my dear, completely. Do not let yourself be unhappy over this.
+Remember that I will always be your friend. Goodbye."
+
+He held out his hand and gave mine an earnest clasp. Then he went
+away.
+
+I remained in the drawing-room, partly because I wanted to finish out
+my cry, and partly because, miserable coward that I was, I didn't dare
+face Alicia. Finally she came in, her face wreathed with anticipatory
+smiles. But when her eyes fell on my forlorn, crumpled self she fairly
+jumped.
+
+"Katherine, what is the matter?" she asked sharply. "Didn't Mr.
+Sinclair--"
+
+"Yes, he did," I said desperately. "And I've refused him. There now,
+Alicia!"
+
+Then I waited for the storm to burst. It didn't all at once. The shock
+was too great, and at first quite paralyzed my half-sister.
+
+"Katherine," she gasped, "are you crazy? Have you lost your senses?"
+
+"No, I've just come to them. It's true enough, Alicia. You can scold
+all you like. I know I deserve it, and I won't flinch. I did really
+intend to take him, but when it came to the point I couldn't. I didn't
+love him."
+
+Then, indeed, the storm burst. I never saw Alicia so angry before, and
+I never got so roundly abused. But even Alicia has her limits, and at
+last she grew calmer.
+
+"You have behaved disgracefully," she concluded. "I am disgusted with
+you. You have encouraged Gus Sinclair markedly right along, and now
+you throw him over like this. I never dreamed that you were capable of
+such unwomanly behaviour."
+
+"That's a hard word, Alicia," I protested feebly.
+
+She dealt me a withering glance. "It does not begin to be as hard as
+your shameful conduct merits. To think of losing a fortune like that
+for the sake of sentimental folly! I didn't think you were such a
+consummate fool."
+
+"I suppose you absorbed all the sense of our family," I said drearily.
+"There now, Alicia, do leave me alone. I'm down in the very depths
+already."
+
+"What do you mean to do now?" said Alicia scornfully. "Go back to
+Valleyfield and marry that starving country doctor of yours, I
+suppose?"
+
+I flared up then; Alicia might abuse me all she liked, but I wasn't
+going to hear a word against Jack.
+
+"Yes, I will, if he'll have me," I said, and I marched out of the room
+and upstairs, with my head very high.
+
+Of course I decided to leave Montreal as soon as I could. But I
+couldn't get away within a week, and it was a very unpleasant one.
+Alicia treated me with icy indifference, and I knew I should never be
+reinstated in her good graces.
+
+To my surprise, Roger took my part. "Let the girl alone," he told
+Alicia. "If she doesn't love Sinclair, she was right in refusing him.
+I, for one, am glad that she has got enough truth and womanliness in
+her to keep her from selling herself."
+
+Then he came to the library where I was moping, and laid his hand on
+my head.
+
+"Little girl," he said earnestly, "no matter what anyone says to you,
+never marry a man for his money or for any other reason on earth
+except because you love him."
+
+This comforted me greatly, and I did not cry myself to sleep that
+night as usual.
+
+At last I got away. I had telegraphed to Jack: "Am coming home
+Wednesday; meet me at train," and I knew he would be there. How I
+longed to see him again--dear, old, badly treated Jack.
+
+I got to Valleyfield just at dusk. It was a rainy evening, and
+everything was slush and fog and gloom. But away up I saw the home
+light at Thrush Hill, and Jack was waiting for me on the platform.
+
+"Oh, Jack!" I said, clinging to him, regardless of appearances. "Oh,
+I'm so glad to be back."
+
+"That's right, Kitty. I knew you wouldn't forget us. How well you are
+looking!"
+
+"I suppose I ought to be looking wretched," I said penitently. "I've
+been behaving very badly, Jack. Wait till we get away from the crowd
+and I'll tell you all about it."
+
+And I did.
+
+I didn't gloss over anything, but just confessed the whole truth. Jack
+heard me through in silence, and then he kissed me.
+
+"Can you forgive me, Jack, and take me back?" I whispered, cuddling up
+to him.
+
+And he said--but, on second thought, I will not write down what he
+said.
+
+We are to be married in June.
+
+
+
+
+A Substitute Journalist
+
+
+Clifford Baxter came into the sitting-room where Patty was darning
+stockings and reading a book at the same time. Patty could do things
+like that. The stockings were well darned too, and Patty understood
+and remembered what she read.
+
+Clifford flung himself into a chair with a sigh of weariness. "Tired?"
+queried Patty sympathetically.
+
+"Yes, rather. I've been tramping about the wharves all day gathering
+longshore items. But, Patty, I've got a chance at last. Tonight as I
+was leaving the office Mr. Harmer gave me a real assignment for
+tomorrow--two of them in fact, but only one of importance. I'm to go
+and interview Mr. Keefe on this new railroad bill that's up before the
+legislature. He's in town, visiting his old college friend, Mr. Reid,
+and he's quite big game. I wouldn't have had the assignment, of
+course, if there'd been anyone else to send, but most of the staff
+will be away all day tomorrow to see about that mine explosion at
+Midbury or the teamsters' strike at Bainsville, and I'm the only one
+available. Harmer gave me a pretty broad hint that it was my chance to
+win my spurs, and that if I worked up a good article out of it I'd
+stand a fair show of being taken on permanently next month when Alsop
+leaves. There'll be a shuffle all round then, you know. Everybody on
+the staff will be pushed up a peg, and that will leave a vacant space
+at the foot."
+
+Patty threw down her darning needle and clapped her hands with
+delight. Clifford gazed at her admiringly, thinking that he had the
+prettiest sister in the world--she was so bright, so eager, so rosy.
+
+"Oh, Clifford, how splendid!" she exclaimed. "Just as we'd begun to
+give up hope too. Oh, you must get the position! You must hand in a
+good write-up. Think what it means to us."
+
+"Yes, I know." Clifford dropped his head on his hand and stared
+rather moodily at the lamp. "But my joy is chastened, Patty. Of course
+I want to get the permanency, since it seems to be the only possible
+thing, but you know my heart isn't really in newspaper work. The plain
+truth is I don't like it, although I do my best. You know Father
+always said I was a born mechanic. If I only could get a position
+somewhere among machinery--that would be my choice. There's one vacant
+in the Steel and Iron Works at Bancroft--but of course I've no chance
+of getting it."
+
+"I know. It's too bad," said Patty, returning to her stockings with a
+sigh. "I wish I were a boy with a foothold on the _Chronicle_. I
+firmly believe that I'd make a good newspaper woman, if such a thing
+had ever been heard of in Aylmer."
+
+"That you would. You've twice as much knack in that line as I have.
+You seem to know by instinct just what to leave out and put in. I
+never do, and Harmer has to blue-pencil my copy mercilessly. Well,
+I'll do my best with this, as it's very necessary I should get the
+permanency, for I fear our family purse is growing very slim. Mother's
+face has a new wrinkle of worry every day. It hurts me to see it."
+
+"And me," sighed Patty. "I do wish I could find something to do too.
+If only we both could get positions, everything would be all right.
+Mother wouldn't have to worry so. Don't say anything about this chance
+to her until you see what comes of it. She'd only be doubly
+disappointed if nothing did. What is your other assignment?"
+
+"Oh, I've got to go out to Bancroft on the morning train and write up
+old Mr. Moreland's birthday celebration. He is a hundred years old,
+and there's going to be a presentation and speeches and that sort of
+thing. Nothing very exciting about it. I'll have to come back on the
+three o'clock train and hurry out to catch my politician before he
+leaves at five. Take a stroll down to meet my train, Patty. We can go
+out as far as Mr. Reid's house together, and the walk will do you
+good."
+
+The Baxters lived in Aylmer, a lively little town with two
+newspapers, the _Chronicle_ and the _Ledger_. Between these two was a
+sharp journalistic rivalry in the matter of "beats" and "scoops." In
+the preceding spring Clifford had been taken on the _Chronicle_ on
+trial, as a sort of general handyman. There was no pay attached to the
+position, but he was getting training and there was the possibility of
+a permanency in September if he proved his mettle. Mr. Baxter had died
+two years before, and the failure of the company in which Mrs.
+Baxter's money was invested had left the little family dependent on
+their own resources. Clifford, who had cherished dreams of a course in
+mechanical engineering, knew that he must give them up and go to the
+first work that offered itself, which he did staunchly and
+uncomplainingly. Patty, who hitherto had had no designs on a "career,"
+but had been sunnily content to be a home girl and Mother's right
+hand, also realized that it would be well to look about her for
+something to do. She was not really needed so far as the work of the
+little house went, and the whole burden must not be allowed to fall on
+Clifford's eighteen-year-old shoulders. Patty was his senior by a
+year, and ready to do her part unflinchingly.
+
+The next afternoon Patty went down to meet Clifford's train. When it
+came, no Clifford appeared. Patty stared about her at the hurrying
+throngs in bewilderment. Where was Clifford? Hadn't he come on the
+train? Surely he must have, for there was no other until seven
+o'clock. She must have missed him somehow. Patty waited until
+everybody had left the station, then she walked slowly homeward. As
+the _Chronicle_ office was on her way, she dropped in to see if
+Clifford had reported there.
+
+She found nobody in the editorial offices except the office boy, Larry
+Brown, who promptly informed her that not only had Clifford not
+arrived, but that there was a telegram from him saying that he had
+missed his train. Patty gasped in dismay. It was dreadful!
+
+"Where is Mr. Harmer?" she asked.
+
+"He went home as soon as the afternoon edition came out. He left
+before the telegram came. He'll be furious when he finds out that
+nobody has gone to interview that foxy old politician," said Larry,
+who knew all about Clifford's assignment and its importance.
+
+"Isn't there anyone else here to go?" queried Patty desperately.
+
+Larry shook his head. "No, there isn't a soul in. We're mighty
+short-handed just now on account of the explosion and the strike."
+
+Patty went downstairs and stood for a moment in the hall, rapt in
+reflection. If she had been at home, she verily believed she would
+have sat down and cried. Oh, it was too bad, too disappointing!
+Clifford would certainly lose all chance of the permanency, even if
+the irate news editor did not discharge him at once. What could she
+do? Could she do anything? She _must_ do something.
+
+"If I only could go in his place," moaned Patty softly to herself.
+
+Then she started. Why not? Why not go and interview the big man
+herself? To be sure, she did not know a great deal about interviewing,
+still less about railroad bills, and nothing at all about politics.
+But if she did her best it might be better than nothing, and might at
+least save Clifford his present hold.
+
+With Patty, to decide was to act. She flew back to the reporters'
+room, pounced on a pencil and tablet, and hurried off, her breath
+coming quickly, and her eyes shining with excitement. It was quite a
+long walk out to Mr. Reid's place and Patty was tired when she got
+there, but her courage was not a whit abated. She mounted the steps
+and rang the bell undauntedly.
+
+"Can I see Mr.--Mr.--Mr.--" Patty paused for a moment in dismay. She
+had forgotten the name. The maid who had come to the door looked her
+over so superciliously that Patty flushed with indignation. "The
+gentleman who is visiting Mr. Reid," she said crisply. "I can't
+remember his name, but I've come to interview him on behalf of the
+_Chronicle_. Is he in?"
+
+"If you mean Mr. Reefer, he is," said the maid quite respectfully.
+Evidently the _Chronicle_'s name carried weight in the Reid
+establishment. "Please come into the library. I'll go and tell him."
+
+Patty had just time to seat herself at the table, spread out her paper
+imposingly, and assume a businesslike air when Mr. Reefer came in. He
+was a tall, handsome old man with white hair, jet-black eyes, and a
+mouth that made Patty hope she wouldn't stumble on any questions he
+wouldn't want to answer. Patty knew she would waste her breath if she
+did. A man with a mouth like that would never tell anything he didn't
+want to tell.
+
+"Good afternoon. What can I do for you, madam?" inquired Mr. Reefer
+with the air and tone of a man who means to be courteous, but has no
+time or information to waste.
+
+Patty was almost overcome by the "Madam." For a moment, she quailed.
+She couldn't ask that masculine sphinx questions! Then the thought of
+her mother's pale, careworn face flashed across her mind, and all her
+courage came back with an inspiriting rush. She bent forward to look
+eagerly into Mr. Reefer's carved, granite face, and said with a frank
+smile:
+
+"I have come to interview you on behalf of the _Chronicle_ about the
+railroad bill. It was my brother who had the assignment, but he has
+missed his train and I have come in his place because, you see, it is
+so important to us. So much depends on this assignment. Perhaps Mr.
+Harmer will give Clifford a permanent place on the staff if he turns
+in a good article about you. He is only handyman now. I just couldn't
+let him miss the chance--he might never have another. And it means so
+much to us and Mother."
+
+"Are you a member of the _Chronicle_ staff yourself?" inquired Mr.
+Reefer with a shade more geniality in his tone.
+
+"Oh, no! I've nothing to do with it, so you won't mind my being
+inexperienced, will you? I don't know just what I should ask you, so
+won't you please just tell me everything about the bill, and Mr.
+Harmer can cut out what doesn't matter?"
+
+Mr. Reefer looked at Patty for a few moments with a face about as
+expressive as a graven image. Perhaps he was thinking about the bill,
+and perhaps he was thinking what a bright, vivid, plucky little girl
+this was with her waiting pencil and her air that strove to be
+businesslike, and only succeeded in being eager and hopeful and
+anxious.
+
+"I'm not used to being interviewed myself," he said slowly, "so I
+don't know very much about it. We're both green hands together, I
+imagine. But I'd like to help you out, so I don't mind telling you
+what I think about this bill, and its bearing on certain important
+interests."
+
+Mr. Reefer proceeded to tell her, and Patty's pencil flew as she
+scribbled down his terse, pithy sentences. She found herself asking
+questions too, and enjoying it. For the first time, Patty thought she
+might rather like politics if she understood them--and they did not
+seem so hard to understand when a man like Mr. Reefer explained them.
+For half an hour he talked to her, and at the end of that time Patty
+was in full possession of his opinion on the famous railroad bill in
+all its aspects.
+
+"There now, I'm talked out," said Mr. Reefer. "You can tell your news
+editor that you know as much about the railroad bill as Andrew Reefer
+knows. I hope you'll succeed in pleasing him, and that your brother
+will get the position he wants. But he shouldn't have missed that
+train. You tell him that. Boys with important things to do mustn't
+miss trains. Perhaps it's just as well he did in this case though,
+but tell him not to let it happen again."
+
+Patty went straight home, wrote up her interview in ship-shape form,
+and took it down to the _Chronicle_ office. There she found Mr.
+Harmer, scowling blackly. The little news editor looked to be in a
+rather bad temper, but he nodded not unkindly to Patty. Mr. Harmer
+knew the Baxters well and liked them, although he would have
+sacrificed them all without a qualm for a "scoop."
+
+"Good evening, Patty. Take a chair. That brother of yours hasn't
+turned up yet. The next time I give him an assignment, he'll manage to
+be on hand in time to do it."
+
+"Oh," cried Patty breathlessly, "please, Mr. Harmer, I have the
+interview here. I thought perhaps I could do it in Clifford's place,
+and I went out to Mr. Reid's and saw Mr. Reefer. He was very kind
+and--"
+
+"Mr. who?" fairly shouted Mr. Harmer.
+
+"Mr. Reefer--Mr. Andrew Reefer. He told me to tell you that this
+article contained all he knew or thought about the railroad bill
+and--"
+
+But Mr. Harmer was no longer listening. He had snatched the neatly
+written sheets of Patty's report and was skimming over them with a
+practised eye. Then Patty thought he must have gone crazy. He danced
+around the office, waving the sheets in the air, and then he dashed
+frantically up the stairs to the composing room.
+
+Ten minutes later, he returned and shook the mystified Patty by the
+hand.
+
+"Patty, it's the biggest beat we've ever had! We've scooped not only
+the _Ledger_, but every other newspaper in the country. How did you do
+it? How did you ever beguile or bewitch Andrew Reefer into giving you
+an interview?"
+
+"Why," said Patty in utter bewilderment, "I just went out to Mr.
+Reid's and asked for the gentleman who was visiting there--I'd
+forgotten his name--and Mr. Reefer came down and I told him my
+brother had been detailed to interview him on behalf of the
+_Chronicle_ about the bill, and that Clifford had missed his train,
+and wouldn't he let me interview him in his place and excuse my
+inexperience--and he did."
+
+"It wasn't Andrew Reefer I told Clifford to interview," laughed Mr.
+Harmer. "It was John C. Keefe. I didn't know Reefer was in town, but
+even if I had I wouldn't have thought it a particle of use to send a
+man to him. He has never consented to be interviewed before on any
+known subject, and he's been especially close-mouthed about this bill,
+although men from all the big papers in the country have been after
+him. He is notorious on that score. Why, Patty, it's the biggest
+journalistic fish that has ever been landed in this office. Andrew
+Reefer's opinion on the bill will have a tremendous influence. We'll
+run the interview as a leader in a special edition that is under way
+already. Of course, he must have been ready to give the information to
+the public or nothing would have induced him to open his mouth. But to
+think that we should be the first to get it! Patty, you're a brick!"
+
+Clifford came home on the seven o'clock train, and Patty was there to
+meet him, brimful of her story. But Clifford also had a story to tell
+and got his word in first.
+
+"Now, Patty, don't scold until you hear why I missed the train. I met
+Mr. Peabody of the Steel and Iron Company at Mr. Moreland's and got
+into conversation with him. When he found out who I was, he was
+greatly interested and said Father had been one of his best friends
+when they were at college together. I told him about wanting to get
+the position in the company, and he had me go right out to the works
+and see about it. And, Patty, I have the place. Goodbye to the grind
+of newspaper items and fillers. I tried to get back to the station at
+Bancroft in time to catch the train but I couldn't, and it was just as
+well, for Mr. Keefe was suddenly summoned home this afternoon, and
+when the three-thirty train from town stopped at Bancroft he was on
+it. I found that out and I got on, going to the next station with him
+and getting my interview after all. It's here in my notebook, and I
+must hurry up to the office and hand it in. I suppose Mr. Harmer will
+be very much vexed until he finds that I have it."
+
+"Oh, no. Mr. Harmer is in a very good humour," said Patty with dancing
+eyes. Then she told her story.
+
+The interview with Mr. Reefer came out with glaring headlines, and the
+_Chronicle_ had its hour of fame and glory. The next day Mr. Harmer
+sent word to Patty that he wanted to see her.
+
+"So Clifford is leaving," he said abruptly when she entered the
+office. "Well, do you want his place?"
+
+"Mr. Harmer, are you joking?" demanded Patty in amazement.
+
+"Not I. That stuff you handed in was splendidly written--I didn't have
+to use the pencil more than once or twice. You have the proper
+journalist instinct all right. We need a lady on the staff anyhow, and
+if you'll take the place it's yours for saying so, and the permanency
+next month."
+
+"I'll take it," said Patty promptly and joyfully.
+
+"Good. Go down to the Symphony Club rehearsal this afternoon and
+report it. You've just ten minutes to get there," and Patty joyfully
+and promptly departed.
+
+
+
+
+Anna's Love Letters
+
+
+"Are you going to answer Gilbert's letter tonight, Anna?" asked Alma
+Williams, standing in the pantry doorway, tall, fair, and grey-eyed,
+with the sunset light coming down over the dark firs, through the
+window behind her, and making a primrose nimbus around her shapely
+head.
+
+Anna, dark, vivid, and slender, was perched on the edge of the table,
+idly swinging her slippered foot at the cat's head. She smiled
+wickedly at Alma before replying.
+
+"I am not going to answer it tonight or any other night," she said,
+twisting her full, red lips in a way that Alma had learned to dread.
+Mischief was ripening in Anna's brain when that twist was out.
+
+"What do you mean?" asked Alma anxiously.
+
+"Just what I say, dear," responded Anna, with deceptive meekness.
+"Poor Gilbert is gone, and I don't intend to bother my head about him
+any longer. He was amusing while he lasted, but of what use is a beau
+two thousand miles away, Alma?"
+
+Alma was patient--outwardly. It was never of any avail to show
+impatience with Anna.
+
+"Anna, you are talking foolishly. Of course you are going to answer
+his letter. You are as good as engaged to him. Wasn't that practically
+understood when he left?"
+
+"No, no, dear," and Anna shook her sleek black head with the air of
+explaining matters to an obtuse child. "_I_ was the only one who
+understood. Gil _mis_understood. He thought that I would really wait
+for him until he should have made enough money to come home and pay
+off the mortgage. I let him think so, because I hated to hurt his
+little feelings. But now it's off with the old love and on with a new
+one for me."
+
+"Anna, you cannot be in earnest!" exclaimed Alma.
+
+But she was afraid that Anna was in earnest. Anna had a wretched
+habit of being in earnest when she said flippant things.
+
+"You don't mean that you are not going to write to Gilbert at
+all--after all you promised?"
+
+Anna placed her elbows daintily on the top of the rocking chair,
+dropped her pointed chin in her hands, and looked at Alma with black
+demure eyes.
+
+"I--do--mean--just--that," she said slowly. "I never mean to marry
+Gilbert Murray. This is final, Alma, and you need not scold or coax,
+because it would be a waste of breath. Gilbert is safely out of the
+way, and now I am going to have a good time with a few other
+delightful men creatures in Exeter."
+
+Anna nodded decisively, flashed a smile at Alma, picked up her cat,
+and went out. At the door she turned and looked back, with the big
+black cat snuggled under her chin.
+
+"If you think Gilbert will feel very badly over his letter not being
+answered, you might answer it yourself, Alma," she said teasingly.
+"There it is"--she took the letter from the pocket of her ruffled
+apron and threw it on a chair. "You may read it if you want to; it
+isn't really a love letter. I told Gilbert he wasn't to write silly
+letters. Come, pussy, I'm going to get ready for prayer meeting. We've
+got a nice, new, young, good-looking minister in Exeter, pussy, and
+that makes prayer meeting _very_ interesting."
+
+Anna shut the door, her departing laugh rippling mockingly through the
+dusk. Alma picked up Gilbert Murray's letter and went to her room. She
+wanted to cry, since she could not shake Anna. Even if she could have
+shook her, it would only have made her more perverse. Anna was in
+earnest; Alma knew that, even while she hoped and believed that it was
+but the earnestness of a freak that would pass in time. Anna had had
+one like it a year ago, when she had cast Gilbert off for three
+months, driving him distracted by flirting with Charlie Moore. Then
+she had suddenly repented and taken him back. Alma thought that this
+whim would run its course likewise and leave a repentant Anna. But
+meanwhile everything might be spoiled. Gilbert might not prove
+forgiving a second time.
+
+Alma would have given much if she could only have induced Anna to
+answer Gilbert's letter, but coaxing Anna to do anything was a very
+sure and effective way of preventing her from doing it.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Alma and Anna had lived alone at the old Williams homestead ever since
+their mother's death four years before. Exeter matrons thought this
+hardly proper, since Alma, in spite of her grave ways, was only
+twenty-four. The farm was rented, so that Alma's only responsibilities
+were the post office which she kept, and that harum-scarum beauty of
+an Anna.
+
+The Murray homestead adjoined theirs. Gilbert Murray had grown up with
+Alma; they had been friends ever since she could remember. Alma loved
+Gilbert with a love which she herself believed to be purely sisterly,
+and which nobody else doubted could be, since she had been at pains to
+make a match--Exeter matrons' phrasing--between Gil and Anna, and was
+manifestly delighted when Gilbert obligingly fell in love with the
+latter.
+
+There was a small mortgage on the Murray place which Mr. Murray senior
+had not been able to pay off. Gilbert determined to get rid of it, and
+his thoughts turned to the west. His father was an active, hale old
+man, quite capable of managing the farm in Gilbert's absence.
+Alexander MacNair had gone to the west two years previously and got
+work on a new railroad. He wrote to Gilbert to come too, promising him
+plenty of work and good pay. Gilbert went, but before going he had
+asked Anna to marry him.
+
+It was the first proposal Anna had ever had, and she managed it quite
+cleverly, from her standpoint. She told Gilbert that he must wait
+until he came home again before settling that, meanwhile, they would
+be _very_ good friends--emphasized with a blush--and that he might
+write to her. She kissed him goodbye, and Gilbert, honest fellow, was
+quite satisfied. When an Exeter girl had allowed so much to be
+inferred, it was understood to be equivalent to an engagement. Gilbert
+had never discerned that Anna was not like the other Exeter girls, but
+was a law unto herself.
+
+Alma sat down by her window and looked out over the lane where the
+slim wild cherry trees were bronzing under the autumn frosts. Her lips
+were very firmly set. Something must be done. But what?
+
+Alma's heart was set on this marriage for two reasons. Firstly, if
+Anna married Gilbert she would be near her all her life. She could not
+bear the thought that some day Anna might leave her and go far away to
+live. In the second and largest place, she desired the marriage
+because Gilbert did. She had always been desirous, even in the old,
+childish play-days, that Gilbert should get just exactly what he
+wanted. She had always taken a keen, strange delight in furthering his
+wishes.
+
+Anna's falseness would surely break his heart, and Alma winced at the
+thought of his pain.
+
+There was one thing she could do. Anna's tormenting suggestion had
+fallen on fertile soil. Alma balanced pros and cons, admitting the
+risk. But she would have taken a tenfold larger risk in the hope of
+holding secure Anna's place in Gilbert's affections until Anna herself
+should come to her senses.
+
+When it grew quite dark and Anna had gone lilting down the lane on her
+way to prayer meeting, Alma lighted her lamp, read Gilbert's
+letter--and answered it. Her handwriting was much like Anna's. She
+signed the letter "A. Williams," and there was nothing in it that
+might not have been written by her to Gilbert; but she knew that
+Gilbert would believe Anna had written it, and she intended him so to
+believe. Alma never did a thing halfway when she did it at all. At
+first she wrote rather constrainedly but, reflecting that in any case
+Anna would have written a merely friendly letter, she allowed her
+thoughts to run freely, and the resulting epistle was an excellent one
+of its kind. Alma had the gift of expression and more brains than
+Exeter people had ever imagined she possessed. When Gilbert read that
+letter a fortnight later he was surprised to find that Anna was so
+clever. He had always, with a secret regret, thought her much inferior
+to Alma in this respect, but that delightful letter, witty, wise,
+fanciful, was the letter of a clever woman.
+
+When a year had passed Alma was still writing to Gilbert the letters
+signed "A. Williams." She had ceased to fear being found out, and she
+took a strange pleasure in the correspondence for its own sake. At
+first she had been quakingly afraid of discovery. When she smuggled
+the letters addressed in Gilbert's handwriting to Miss Anna Williams
+out of the letter packet and hid them from Anna's eyes, she felt as
+guilty as if she were breaking all the laws of the land at once. To be
+sure, she knew that she would have to confess to Anna some day, when
+the latter repented and began to wish she had written to Gilbert, but
+that was a very different thing from premature disclosure.
+
+But Anna had as yet given no sign of such repentance, although Alma
+looked for it anxiously. Anna was having the time of her life. She was
+the acknowledged beauty of five settlements, and she went forward on
+her career of conquest quite undisturbed by the jealousies and
+heart-burnings she provoked on every side.
+
+One moonlight night she went for a sleigh-drive with Charlie Moore of
+East Exeter--and returned to tell Alma that they were married!
+
+"I knew you would make a fuss, Alma, because you don't like Charlie,
+so we just took matters into our own hands. It was so much more
+romantic, too. I'd always said I'd never be married in any of your
+dull, commonplace ways. You might as well forgive me and be nice right
+off, Alma, because you'd have to do it anyway, in time. Well, you do
+look surprised!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Alma accepted the situation with an apathy that amazed Anna. The truth
+was that Alma was stunned by a thought that had come to her even while
+Anna was speaking.
+
+"Gilbert will find out about the letters now, and despise me."
+
+Nothing else, not even the fact that Anna had married shiftless
+Charlie Moore, seemed worth while considering beside this. The fear
+and shame of it haunted her like a nightmare; she shrank every morning
+from the thought of all the mail that was coming that day, fearing
+that there would be an angry, puzzled letter from Gilbert. He must
+certainly soon hear of Anna's marriage; he would see it in the home
+paper, other correspondents in Exeter would write him of it. Alma grew
+sick at heart thinking of the complications in front of her.
+
+When Gilbert's letter came she left it for a whole day before she
+could summon courage to open it. But it was a harmless epistle after
+all; he had not yet heard of Anna's marriage. Alma had at first no
+thought of answering it, yet her fingers ached to do so. Now that Anna
+was gone, her loneliness was unbearable. She realized how much
+Gilbert's letters had meant to her, even when written to another
+woman. She could bear her life well enough, she thought, if she only
+had his letters to look forward to.
+
+No more letters came from Gilbert for six weeks. Then came one,
+alarmed at Anna's silence, anxiously asking the reason for it; Gilbert
+had heard no word of the marriage. He was working in a remote district
+where newspapers seldom penetrated. He had no other correspondent in
+Exeter now; except his mother, and she, not knowing that he supposed
+himself engaged to Anna had forgotten to mention it.
+
+Alma answered that letter. She told herself recklessly that she would
+keep on writing to him until he found out. She would lose his
+friendship anyhow, when that occurred, but meanwhile she would have
+the letters a little longer. She could not learn to live without them
+until she had to.
+
+The correspondence slipped back into its old groove. The harassed look
+which Alma's face had worn, and which Exeter people had attributed to
+worry over Anna, disappeared. She did not even feel lonely, and
+reproached herself for lack of proper feeling in missing Anna so
+little. Besides, to her horror and dismay, she detected in herself a
+strange undercurrent of relief at the thought that Gilbert could never
+marry Anna now! She could not understand it. Had not that marriage
+been her dearest wish for years? Why then should she feel this strange
+gladness at the impossibility of its fulfilment? Altogether, Alma
+feared that her condition of mind and morals must be sadly askew.
+Perhaps, she thought mournfully, this perversion of proper feeling was
+her punishment for the deception she had practised. She had
+deliberately done evil that good might come, and now the very
+imaginations of her heart were stained by that evil. Alma cried
+herself to sleep many a night in her repentance, but she kept on
+writing to Gilbert, for all that.
+
+The winter passed, and the spring and summer waned, and Alma's outward
+life flowed as smoothly as the currents of the seasons, broken only by
+vivid eruptions from Anna, who came over often from East Exeter,
+glorying in her young matronhood, "to cheer Alma up." Alma, so said
+Exeter people, was becoming unsociable and old maidish. She lost her
+liking for company, and seldom went anywhere among her neighbours. Her
+once frequent visits across the yard to chat with old Mrs. Murray
+became few and far between. She could not bear to hear the old lady
+talking about Gilbert, and she was afraid that some day she would be
+told that he was coming home. Gilbert's home-coming was the nightmare
+dread that darkened poor Alma's whole horizon.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+One October day, two years after Gilbert's departure, Alma, standing
+at her window in the reflected glow of a red maple outside, looked
+down the lane and saw him striding up it! She had had no warning of
+his coming. His last letter, dated three weeks back, had not hinted at
+it. Yet there he was--and with him Alma's Nemesis.
+
+She was very calm. Now that the worst had come, she felt quite strong
+to meet it. She would tell Gilbert the truth, and he would go away in
+anger and never forgive her, but she deserved it. As she went
+downstairs, the only thing that really worried her was the thought of
+the pain Gilbert would suffer when she told him of Anna's
+faithlessness. She had seen his face as he passed under her window,
+and it was the face of a blithe man who had not heard any evil
+tidings. It was left to her to tell him; surely, she thought
+apathetically, that was punishment enough for what she had done.
+
+With her hand on the doorknob, she paused to wonder what she should
+say when he asked her why she had not told him of Anna's marriage when
+it occurred--why she had still continued the deception when it had no
+longer an end to serve. Well, she would tell him the truth--that it
+was because she could not bear the thought of giving up writing to
+him. It was a humiliating thing to confess, but that did not
+matter--nothing mattered now. She opened the door.
+
+Gilbert was standing on the big round door-stone under the red
+maple--a tall, handsome young fellow with a bronzed face and laughing
+eyes. His exile had improved him. Alma found time and ability to
+reflect that she had never known Gilbert was so fine-looking.
+
+He put his arm around her and kissed her cheek in his frank delight at
+seeing her again. Alma coldly asked him in. Her face was still as pale
+as when she came downstairs, but a curious little spot of fiery red
+blossomed out where Gilbert's lips had touched it.
+
+Gilbert followed her into the sitting-room and looked about eagerly.
+
+"When did you come home?" she said slowly. "I did not know you were
+expected."
+
+"Got homesick, and just came! I wanted to surprise you all," he
+answered, laughing. "I arrived only a few minutes ago. Just took time
+to hug my mother, and here I am. Where's Anna?"
+
+The pent-up retribution of two years descended on Alma's head in the
+last question of Gilbert's. But she did not flinch. She stood straight
+before him, tall and fair and pale, with the red maple light streaming
+in through the open door behind her, staining her light house-dress
+and mellowing the golden sheen of her hair. Gilbert reflected that
+Alma Williams was really a very handsome girl. These two years had
+improved her. What splendid big grey eyes she had! He had always
+wished that Anna's eyes had not been quite so black.
+
+"Anna is not here," said Alma. "She is married."
+
+"Married!"
+
+Gilbert sat down suddenly on a chair and looked at Alma in
+bewilderment.
+
+"She has been married for a year," said Alma steadily. "She married
+Charlie Moore of East Exeter, and has been living there ever since."
+
+"Then," said Gilbert, laying hold of the one solid fact that loomed
+out of the mist of his confused understanding, "why did she keep on
+writing letters to me after she was married?"
+
+"She never wrote to you at all. It was I that wrote the letters."
+
+Gilbert looked at Alma doubtfully. Was she crazy? There was something
+odd about her, now that he noticed, as she stood rigidly there, with
+that queer red spot on her face, a strange fire in her eyes, and that
+weird reflection from the maple enveloping her like an immaterial
+flame.
+
+"I don't understand," he said helplessly.
+
+Still standing there, Alma told the whole story, giving full
+explanations, but no excuses. She told it clearly and simply, for she
+had often pictured this scene to herself and thought out what she must
+say. Her memory worked automatically, and her tongue obeyed it
+promptly. To herself she seemed like a machine, talking mechanically,
+while her soul stood on one side and listened.
+
+When she had finished there was a silence lasting perhaps ten seconds.
+To Alma it seemed like hours. Would Gilbert overwhelm her with angry
+reproaches, or would he simply rise up and leave her in unutterable
+contempt? It was the most tragic moment of her life, and her whole
+personality was strung up to meet it and withstand it.
+
+"Well, they were good letters, anyhow," said Gilbert finally;
+"interesting letters," he added, as if by way of a meditative
+afterthought.
+
+It was so anti-climactic that Alma broke into an hysterical giggle,
+cut short by a sob. She dropped into a chair by the table and flung
+her hands over her face, laughing and sobbing softly to herself.
+Gilbert rose and walked to the door, where he stood with his back to
+her until she regained her self-control. Then he turned and looked
+down at her quizzically.
+
+Alma's hands lay limply in her lap, and her eyes were cast down, with
+tears glistening on the long fair lashes. She felt his gaze on her.
+
+"Can you ever forgive me, Gilbert?" she said humbly.
+
+"I don't know that there is much to forgive," he answered. "I have
+some explanations to make too and, since we're at it, we might as well
+get them all over and have done with them. Two years ago I did
+honestly think I was in love with Anna--at least when I was round
+where she was. She had a taking way with her. But, somehow, even then,
+when I wasn't with her she seemed to kind of grow dim and not count
+for so awful much after all. I used to wish she was more like
+you--quieter, you know, and not so sparkling. When I parted from her
+that last night before I went west, I did feel very bad, and she
+seemed very dear to me, but it was six weeks from that before
+her--your--letter came, and in that time she seemed to have faded out
+of my thoughts. Honestly, I wasn't thinking much about her at all.
+Then came the letter--and it was a splendid one, too. I had never
+thought that Anna could write a letter like that, and I was as pleased
+as Punch about it. The letters kept coming, and I kept on looking for
+them more and more all the time. I fell in love all over again--with
+the writer of those letters. I thought it was Anna, but since you
+wrote the letters, it must have been with you, Alma. I thought it was
+because she was growing more womanly that she could write such
+letters. That was why I came home. I wanted to get acquainted all over
+again, before she grew beyond me altogether--I wanted to find the real
+Anna the letters showed me. I--I--didn't expect this. But I don't care
+if Anna is married, so long as the girl who wrote those letters isn't.
+It's you I love, Alma."
+
+He bent down and put his arm about her, laying his cheek against hers.
+The little red spot where his kiss had fallen was now quite drowned
+out in the colour that rushed over her face.
+
+"If you'll marry me, Alma, I'll forgive you," he said.
+
+A little smile escaped from the duress of Alma's lips and twitched her
+dimples.
+
+"I'm willing to do anything that will win your forgiveness, Gilbert,"
+she said meekly.
+
+
+
+
+Aunt Caroline's Silk Dress
+
+
+Patty came in from her walk to the post office with cheeks finely
+reddened by the crisp air. Carry surveyed her with pleasure. Of late
+Patty's cheeks had been entirely too pale to please Carry, and Patty
+had not had a very good appetite. Once or twice she had even
+complained of a headache. So Carry had sent her to the office for a
+walk that night, although the post office trip was usually Carry's own
+special constitutional, always very welcome to her after a weary day
+of sewing on other people's pretty dresses.
+
+Carry never sewed on pretty dresses for herself, for the simple reason
+that she never had any pretty dresses. Carry was twenty-two--and
+feeling forty, her last pretty dress had been when she was a girl of
+twelve, before her father had died. To be sure, there was the silk
+organdie Aunt Kathleen had sent her, but that was fit only for
+parties, and Carry never went to any parties.
+
+"Did you get any mail, Patty?" she asked unexpectantly. There was
+never much mail for the Lea girls.
+
+"Yes'm," said Patty briskly. "Here's the _Weekly Advocate_, and a
+patent medicine almanac with all your dreams expounded, _and_ a letter
+for Miss Carry M. Lea. It's postmarked Enfield, and has a suspiciously
+matrimonial look. I'm sure it's an invitation to Chris Fairley's
+wedding. Hurry up and see, Caddy."
+
+Carry, with a little flush of excitement on her face, opened her
+letter. Sure enough, it contained an invitation "to be present at the
+marriage of Christine Fairley."
+
+"How jolly!" exclaimed Patty. "Of course you'll go, Caddy. You'll have
+a chance to wear that lovely organdie of yours at last."
+
+"It was sweet of Chris to invite me," said Carry. "I really didn't
+expect it."
+
+"Well, I did. Wasn't she your most intimate friend when she lived in
+Enderby?"
+
+"Oh, yes, but it is four years since she left, and some people might
+forget in four years. But I might have known Chris wouldn't. Of course
+I'll go."
+
+"And you'll make up your organdie?"
+
+"I shall have to," laughed Carry, forgetting all her troubles for a
+moment, and feeling young and joyous over the prospect of a festivity.
+"I haven't another thing that would do to wear to a wedding. If I
+hadn't that blessed organdie I couldn't go, that's all."
+
+"But you have it, and it will look lovely made up with a tucked skirt.
+Tucks are so fashionable now. And there's that lace of mine you can
+have for a bertha. I want you to look just right, you see. Enfield is
+a big place, and there will be lots of grandees at the wedding. Let's
+get the last fashion sheet and pick out a design right away. Here's
+one on the very first page that would be nice. You could wear it to
+perfection, Caddy you're so tall and slender. It wouldn't suit a plump
+and podgy person like myself at all."
+
+Carry liked the pattern, and they had an animated discussion over it.
+But, in the end, Carry sighed, and pushed the sheet away from her,
+with all the brightness gone out of face.
+
+"It's no use, Patty. I'd forgotten for a few minutes, but it's all
+come back now. I can't think of weddings and new dresses, when the
+thought of that interest crowds everything else out. It's due next
+month--fifty dollars--and I've only ten saved up. I can't make forty
+dollars in a month, even if I had any amount of sewing, and you know
+hardly anyone wants sewing done just now. I don't know what we shall
+do. Oh, I suppose we can rent a couple of rooms in the village and
+_exist_ in them. But it breaks my heart to think of leaving our old
+home."
+
+"Perhaps Mr. Kerr will let us have more time," suggested Patty, not
+very hopefully. The sparkle had gone out of her face too. Patty loved
+their little home as much as Carry did.
+
+"You know he won't. He has been only too anxious for an excuse to
+foreclose, this long time. He wants the land the house is on. Oh, if I
+only hadn't been sick so long in the summer--just when everybody had
+sewing to do. I've tried so hard to catch up, but I couldn't." Carry's
+voice broke in a sob.
+
+Patty leaned over the table and patted her sister's glossy dark hair
+gently.
+
+"You've worked too hard, dearie. You've just gone to skin and bone.
+Oh, I know how hard it is! I can't bear to think of leaving this dear
+old spot either. If we could only induce Mr. Kerr to give us a year's
+grace! I'd be teaching then, and we could easily pay the interest and
+some of the principal too. Perhaps he will if we both go to him and
+coax very hard. Anyway, don't worry over it till after the wedding. I
+want you to go and have a good time. You never have good times,
+Carry."
+
+"Neither do you," said Carry rebelliously. "You never have anything
+that other girls have, Patty--not even pretty clothes."
+
+"Deed, and I've lots of things to be thankful for," said Patty
+cheerily. "Don't you fret about me. I'm vain enough to think I've got
+some brains anyway, and I'm a-meaning to do something with them too.
+Now I think I'll go upstairs and study this evening. It will be warm
+enough there tonight, and the noise of the machine rather bothers me."
+
+Patty whisked out, and Carry knew she should go to her sewing. But she
+sat a long while at the table in dismal thought. She was so tired, and
+so hopeless. It had been such a hard struggle, and it seemed now as if
+it would all come to naught. For five years, ever since her mother's
+death, Carry had supported herself and Patty by dressmaking. They had
+been a hard five years of pinching and economizing and going without,
+for Enderby was only a small place, and there were two other
+dressmakers. Then there was always the mortgage to devour everything.
+Carry had kept it at bay till now, but at last she was conquered. She
+had had typhoid fever in the spring and had not been able to work for
+a long time. Indeed, she had gone to work before she should. The
+doctor's bill was yet unpaid, but Dr. Hamilton had told her to take
+her time. Carry knew she would not be pressed for that, and next year
+Patty would be able to help her. But next year would be too late. The
+dear little home would be lost then.
+
+When Carry roused herself from her sad reflections, she saw a crumpled
+note lying on the floor. She picked it up and absently smoothed it
+out. Seeing Patty's name at the top she was about to lay it aside
+without reading it, but the lines were few, and the sense of them
+flashed into Carry's brain. The note was an invitation to Clare
+Forbes's party! The Lea girls had known that the Forbes girls were
+going to give a party, but they had not expected that Patty would be
+invited. Of course, Clare Forbes was in Patty's class at school and
+was always very nice and friendly with her. But then the Forbes set
+was not the Lea set.
+
+Carry ran upstairs to Patty's room. "Patty, you dropped this on the
+floor. I couldn't help seeing what it was. Why didn't you tell me
+Clare had invited you?"
+
+"Because I knew I couldn't go, and I thought you would feel badly over
+that. Caddy, I wish you hadn't seen it."
+
+"Oh, Patty, I _do_ wish you could go to the party. It was so sweet of
+Clare to invite you, and perhaps she will be offended if you don't
+go--she won't understand. Clare Forbes isn't a girl whose friendship
+is to be lightly thrown away when it is offered."
+
+"I know that. But, Caddy dear, it is impossible. I don't think that I
+have any foolish pride about clothes, but you know it is out of the
+question to think of going to Clare Forbes's party in my last winter's
+plaid dress, which is a good two inches too short and skimpy in
+proportion. Putting my own feelings aside, it would be an insult to
+Clare. There, don't think any more about it."
+
+But Carry did think about it. She lay awake half the night wondering
+if there might not be some way for Patty to go to that party. She knew
+it was impossible, unless Patty had a new dress, and how could a new
+dress be had? Yet she did so want Patty to go. Patty never had any
+good times, and she was studying so hard. Then, all at once, Carry
+thought of a way by which Patty might have a new dress. She had been
+tossing restlessly, but now she lay very still, staring with wide-open
+eyes at the moonlit window, with the big willow boughs branching
+darkly across it. Yes, it was a way, but could she? _Could_ she? Yes,
+she could, and she would. Carry buried her face in her pillow with a
+sob and a gulp. But she had decided what must be done, and how it must
+be done.
+
+"Are you going to begin on your organdie today?" asked Patty in the
+morning, before she started for school.
+
+"I must finish Mrs. Pidgeon's suit first," Carry answered. "Next week
+will be time enough to think about my wedding garments."
+
+She tried to laugh and failed. Patty thought with a pang that Carry
+looked horribly pale and tired--probably she had worried most of the
+night over the interest. "I'm so glad she's going to Chris's wedding,"
+thought Patty, as she hurried down the street. "It will take her out
+of herself and give her something nice to think of for ever so long."
+
+Nothing more was said that week about the organdie, or the wedding, or
+the Forbes's party. Carry sewed fiercely, and sat at her machine for
+hours after Patty had gone to bed. The night before the party she said
+to Patty, "Braid your hair tonight, Patty. You'll want it nice and
+wavy to go to the Forbes's tomorrow night."
+
+Patty thought that Carry was actually trying to perpetrate a weak
+joke, and endeavoured to laugh. But it was a rather dreary laugh.
+Patty, after a hard evening's study, felt tired and discouraged, and
+she was really dreadfully disappointed about the party, although she
+wouldn't have let Carry suspect it for the world.
+
+"You're going, you know," said Carry, as serious as a judge, although
+there was a little twinkle in her eyes.
+
+"In a faded plaid two inches too short?" Patty smiled as brightly as
+possible.
+
+"Oh, no. I have a dress all ready for you." Carry opened the wardrobe
+door and took out--the loveliest girlish dress of creamy organdie,
+with pale pink roses scattered over it, made with the daintiest of
+ruffles and tucks, with a bertha of soft creamy lace, and a girdle of
+white silk. "This is for you," said Carry.
+
+Patty gazed at the dress with horror-stricken eyes. "Caroline Lea,
+_that is your organdie!_ And you've gone and made it up for _me_!
+Carry Lea, what are you going to wear to the wedding?"
+
+"Nothing. I'm not going."
+
+"You are--you must--you shall. I won't take the organdie."
+
+"You'll have to now, because it's made to fit you. Come, Patty dear,
+I've set my heart on your going to that party. You mustn't disappoint
+me--you _can't_, for what good would it do? I can never wear the dress
+now."
+
+Patty realized that. She knew she might as well go to the party, but
+she did not feel much pleasure in the prospect. Nevertheless, when she
+was ready for it the next evening, she couldn't help a little thrill
+of delight. The dress was so pretty, and dainty, and becoming.
+
+"You look sweet," exclaimed Carry admiringly. "There, I hear the
+Browns' carriage. Patty, I want you to promise me this--that you'll
+not let any thought of me, or my not going to the wedding, spoil your
+enjoyment this evening. I gave you the dress that you might have a
+good time, so don't make my gift of no effect."
+
+"I'll try," promised Patty, flying downstairs, where her next-door
+neighbours were waiting for her.
+
+At two o'clock that night Carry was awakened to see Patty bending over
+her, flushed and radiant. Carry sat sleepily up. "I hope you had a
+good time," she said.
+
+"I had--oh, I had--but I didn't waken you out of your hard-earned
+slumbers at this wee sma' hour to tell you that. Carry, I've thought
+of a way for you to go to the wedding. It just came to me at supper.
+Mrs. Forbes was sitting opposite to me, and her dress suggested it.
+You must make over Aunt Caroline's silk dress."
+
+"Nonsense," said Carry, a little crossly; even sweet-tempered people
+are sometimes cross when they are wakened up for--as it
+seemed--nothing.
+
+"It's good plain sense. Of course, you must make it over and--"
+
+"Patty Lea, you're crazy. I wouldn't dream of wearing that hideous
+thing. Bright green silk, with huge yellow brocade flowers as big as
+cabbages all over it! I think I see myself in it."
+
+"Caddy, listen to me. You know there's enough of that black lace of
+mother's for the waist, and the big black lace shawl of Grandmother
+Lea's will do for the skirt. Make it over--"
+
+"A plain slip of the silk," gasped Carry, her quick brain seizing on
+all the possibilities of the plan. "Why didn't I think of it before?
+It will be just the thing, the greens and yellow will be toned down to
+a nice shimmer under the black lace. And I'll make cuffs of black
+velvet with double puffs above--and just cut out a wee bit at the
+throat with a frill of lace and a band of black velvet ribbon around
+my neck. Patty Lea, it's an inspiration."
+
+Carry was out of bed by daylight the next morning and, while Patty
+still slumbered, she mounted to the garret, and took Aunt Caroline's
+silk dress from the chest where it had lain forgotten for three
+years. Carry held it up at arm's length, and looked at it with
+amusement.
+
+"It is certainly ugly, but with the lace over it it will look very
+different. There's enough of it, anyway, and that skirt is stiff
+enough to stand alone. Poor Aunt Caroline, I'm afraid I wasn't
+particularly grateful for her gift at the time, but I really am now."
+
+Aunt Caroline, who had given the dress to Carry three years before,
+was, an old lady of eighty, the aunt of Carry's father. She had once
+possessed a snug farm but in an evil hour she had been persuaded to
+deed it to her nephew, Edward Curry, whom she had brought up. Poor
+Aunt Caroline had lived to regret this step, for everyone in Enderby
+knew that Edward Curry and his wife had repaid her with ingratitude
+and greed.
+
+Carry, who was named for her, was her favourite grandniece and often
+went to see her, though such visits were coldly received by the
+Currys, who always took especial care never to leave Aunt Caroline
+alone with any of her relatives. On one occasion, when Carry was
+there, Aunt Caroline had brought out this silk dress.
+
+"I'm going to give this to you, Carry," she said timidly. "It's a good
+silk, and not so very old. Mr. Greenley gave it to me for a birthday
+present fifteen years ago. Maybe you can make it over for yourself."
+
+Mrs. Edward, who was on duty at the time, sniffed disagreeably, but
+she said nothing. The dress was of no value in her eyes, for the
+pattern was so ugly and old-fashioned that none of her smart daughters
+would have worn it. Had it been otherwise, Aunt Caroline would
+probably not have been allowed to give it away.
+
+Carry had thanked Aunt Caroline sincerely. If she did not care much
+for the silk, she at least prized the kindly motive behind the gift.
+Perhaps she and Patty laughed a little over it as they packed it away
+in the garret. It was so very ugly, but Carry thought it was sweet of
+Aunt Caroline to have given her something. Poor old Aunt Caroline had
+died soon after, and Carry had not thought about the silk dress again.
+She had too many other things to think of, this poor worried Carry.
+
+After breakfast Carry began to rip the skirt breadths apart. Snip,
+snip, went her scissors, while her thoughts roamed far afield--now
+looking forward with renewed pleasure to Christine's wedding, now
+dwelling dolefully on the mortgage. Patty, who was washing the dishes,
+knew just what her thoughts were by the light and shadow on her
+expressive face.
+
+"Why!--what?" exclaimed Carry suddenly. Patty wheeled about to see
+Carry staring at the silk dress like one bewitched. Between the silk
+and the lining which she had just ripped apart was a twenty-dollar
+bill, and beside it a sheet of letter paper covered with writing in a
+cramped angular hand, both secured very carefully to the silk.
+
+"Carry Lea!" gasped Patty.
+
+With trembling fingers Carry snipped away the stitches that held the
+letter, and read it aloud.
+
+    "My dear Caroline," it ran, "I do not know when you will find
+    this letter and this money, but when you do it belongs to you.
+    I have a hundred dollars which I always meant to give you
+    because you were named for me. But Edward and his wife do not
+    know I have it, and I don't want them to find out. They would
+    not let me give it to you if they knew, so I have thought of
+    this way of getting it to you. I have sewed five twenty-dollar
+    bills under the lining of this skirt, and they are all yours,
+    with your Aunt Caroline's best love. You were always a good
+    girl, Carry, and you've worked hard, and I've given Edward
+    enough. Just take this money and use it as you like.
+
+                                   "Aunt Caroline Greenley."
+
+
+"Carry Lea, are we both dreaming?" gasped Patty.
+
+With crimson cheeks Carry ripped the other breadths apart, and there
+were the other four bills. Then she slipped down in a little heap on
+the sofa cushions and began to cry--happy tears of relief and
+gladness.
+
+"We can pay the interest," said Patty, dancing around the room, "and
+get yourself a nice new dress for the wedding."
+
+"Indeed I won't," said Carry, sitting up and laughing through her
+tears. "I'll make over this dress and wear it out of gratitude to the
+memory of dear Aunt Caroline."
+
+
+
+
+Aunt Susanna's Thanksgiving Dinner.
+
+BY L.M. MONTGOMERY
+
+
+"Here's Aunt Susanna, girls," said Laura who was sitting by the north
+window--nothing but north light does for Laura who is the artist of
+our talented family.
+
+Each of us has a little pet new-fledged talent which we are faithfully
+cultivating in the hope that it will amount to something and soar
+highly some day. But it is difficult to cultivate four talents on our
+tiny income. If Laura wasn't such a good manager we never could do it.
+
+Laura's words were a signal for Kate to hang up her violin and for me
+to push my pen and portfolio out of sight. Laura had hidden her
+brushes and water colors as she spoke. Only Margaret continued to bend
+serenely over her Latin grammar. Aunt Susanna frowns on musical and
+literary and artistic ambitions but she accords a faint approval to
+Margaret's desire for an education. A college course, with a tangible
+diploma at the end, and a sensible pedagogic aspiration is something
+Aunt Susanna can understand when she tries hard. But she cannot
+understand messing with paints, fiddling, or scribbling, and she has
+only unmeasured contempt for messers, fiddlers, and scribblers. Time
+was when we had paid no attention to Aunt Susanna's views on these
+points; but ever since she had, on one incautious day when she was in
+high good humor, dropped a pale, anemic little hint that she might
+send Margaret to college if she were a good girl we had been bending
+all our energies towards securing Aunt Susanna's approval. It was not
+enough that Aunt Susanna should approve of Margaret; she must approve
+of the whole four of us or she would not help Margaret. That is Aunt
+Susanna's way. Of late we had been growing a little discouraged. Aunt
+Susanna had recently read a magazine article which stated that the
+higher education of women was ruining our country and that a woman who
+was a B.A. couldn't, in the very nature of things, ever be a
+housewifely, cookly creature. Consequently, Margaret's chances looked
+a little foggy; but we hadn't quite given up hope. A very little thing
+might sway Aunt Susanna one way or the other, so that we walked very
+softly and tried to mingle serpents' wisdom and doves' harmlessness in
+practical portions.
+
+When Aunt Susanna came in Laura was crocheting, Kate was sewing, and I
+was poring over a recipe book. That was not deception at all, since we
+did all these things frequently--much more frequently, in fact, than
+we painted or fiddled or wrote. But Aunt Susanna would never believe
+it. Nor did she believe it now.
+
+She threw back her lovely new sealskin cape, looked around the
+sitting-room and then smiled--a truly Aunt Susannian smile.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"What a pity you forgot to wipe that smudge of paint off your nose,
+Laura," she said sarcastically. "You don't seem to get on very fast
+with your lace. How long is it since you began it? Over three months,
+isn't it?"
+
+"This is the third piece of the same pattern I've done in three
+months, Aunt Susanna," said Laura presently. Laura is an old duck. She
+never gets cross and snaps back. I do; and it's so hard not to with
+Aunt Susanna sometimes. But I generally manage it for I'd do anything
+for Margaret. Laura did not tell Aunt Susanna that she sold her lace
+at the Women's Exchange in town and made enough to buy her new hats.
+She makes enough out of her water colors to dress herself.
+
+Aunt Susanna took a second breath and started in again.
+
+"I notice your violin hasn't quite as much dust on it as the rest of
+the things in this room, Kate. It's a pity you stopped playing just as
+I came in. I don't enjoy fiddling much but I'd prefer it to seeing
+anyone using a needle who isn't accustomed to it."
+
+Kate is really a most dainty needlewoman and does all the fine sewing
+in our family. She colored and said nothing--that being the highest
+pitch of virtue to which our Katie, like myself, can attain.
+
+"And there's Margaret ruining her eyes over books," went on Aunt
+Susanna severely. "Will you kindly tell me, Margaret Thorne, what good
+you ever expect Latin to do you?"
+
+"Well, you see, Aunt Susanna," said Margaret gently--Magsie and Laura
+are birds of a feather--"I want to be a teacher if I can manage to get
+through, and I shall need Latin for that."
+
+All the girls except me had now got their accustomed rap, but I knew
+better than to hope I should escape.
+
+"So you're reading a recipe book, Agnes? Well, that's better than
+poring over a novel. I'm afraid you haven't been at it very long
+though. People generally don't read recipes upside down--and besides,
+you didn't quite cover up your portfolio. I see a corner of it
+sticking out. Was genius burning before I came in? It's too bad if I
+quenched the flame."
+
+"A cookery book isn't such a novelty to me as you seem to think, Aunt
+Susanna," I said, as meekly as it was possible for me. "Why I'm a real
+good cook--'if I do say it as hadn't orter.'"
+
+I am, too.
+
+"Well, I'm glad to hear it," said Aunt Susanna skeptically, "because
+that has to do with my errand her to-day. I'm in a peck of troubles.
+Firstly, Miranda Mary's mother has had to go and get sick and Miranda
+Mary must go home to wait on her. Secondly, I've just had a telegram
+from my sister-in-law who has been ordered west for her health, and
+I'll have to leave on to-night's train to see her before she goes. I
+can't get back until the noon train Thursday, and that is
+Thanksgiving, and I've invited Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert to dinner that
+day. They'll come on the same train. I'm dreadfully worried. There
+doesn't seem to be anything I can do except get on of you girls to go
+up to the Pinery Thursday morning and cook the dinner for us. Do you
+think you can manage it?"
+
+We all felt rather dismayed, and nobody volunteered with a rush. But
+as I had just boasted that I could cook it was plainly my duty to step
+into the breach, and I did it with fear and trembling.
+
+"I'll go, Aunt Susanna," I said.
+
+"And I'll help you," said Kate.
+
+"Well, I suppose I'll have to try you," said Aunt Susanna with the air
+of a woman determined to make the best of a bad business. "Here is the
+key of the kitchen door. You'll find everything in the pantry, turkey
+and all. The mince pies are all ready made so you'll only have to warm
+them up. I want dinner sharp at twelve for the train is due at 11:50.
+Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert are very particular and I do hope you will have
+things right. Oh, if I could only be home myself! Why will people get
+sick at such inconvenient times?"
+
+"Don't worry, Aunt Susanna," I said comfortingly. "Kate and I will
+have your Thanksgiving dinner ready for you in tiptop style."
+
+"Well I'm sure I hope so. Don't get to mooning over a story, Agnes.
+I'll lock the library up and fortunately there are no fiddles at the
+Pinery. Above all, don't let any of the McGinnises in. They'll be sure
+to be prowling around when I'm not home. Don't give that dog of theirs
+any scraps either. That is Miranda Mary's one fault. She will feed
+that dog in spite of all I can do and I can't walk out of my own back
+door without falling over him."
+
+We promise to eschew the McGinnises and all their works, including
+the dog, and when Aunt Susanna had gone we looked at each other with
+mingled hope and fear.
+
+"Girls, this is the chance of your lives," said Laura. "If you can
+only please Aunt Susanna with this dinner it will convince her that
+you are good cooks in spite of your nefarious bent for music and
+literature. I consider the illness of Miranda Mary's mother a
+Providential interposition--that is, if she isn't too sick."
+
+"It's all very well for you to be pleased, Lolla," I said dolefully.
+"But I don't feel jubilant over the prospect at all. Something will
+probably go wrong. And then there's our own nice little Thanksgiving
+celebration we've planned, and pinched and economized for weeks to
+provide. That is half spoiled now."
+
+"Oh, what is that compared to Margaret's chance of going to college?"
+exclaimed Kate. "Cheer up, Aggie. You know we can cook. I feel that it
+is now or never with Aunt Susanna."
+
+I cheered up accordingly. We are not given to pessimism which is
+fortunate. Ever since father died four years ago we have struggled on
+here, content to give up a good deal just to keep our home and be
+together. This little gray house--oh, how we do love it and its apple
+trees--is ours and we have, as aforesaid, a tiny income and our
+ambitions; not very big ambitions but big enough to give zest to our
+lives and hope to the future. We've been very happy as a rule. Aunt
+Susanna has a big house and lots of money but she isn't as happy as
+we are. She nags us a good deal--just as she used to nag father--but
+we don't mind it very much after all. Indeed, I sometimes suspect that
+we really like Aunt Susanna tremendously if she'd only leave us alone
+long enough to find it out.
+
+Thursday morning was an ideal Thanksgiving morning--bright, crisp and
+sparkling. There had been a white frost in the night, and the orchard
+and the white birch wood behind it looked like fairyland. We were all
+up early. None of us had slept well, and both Kate and I had had the
+most fearful dreams of spoiling Aunt Susanna's Thanksgiving dinner.
+
+"Never mind, dreams always go by contraries, you know," said Laura
+cheerfully. "You'd better go up to the Pinery early and get the fires
+on, for the house will be cold. Remember the McGinnises and the dog.
+Weigh the turkey so that you'll know exactly how long to cook it. Put
+the pies in the oven in time to get piping hot--lukewarm mince pies
+are an abomination. Be sure--"
+
+"Laura, don't confuse us with any more cautions," I groaned, "or we
+shall get hopelessly fuddled. Come on, Kate, before she has time to."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+It wasn't very far up to the Pinery--just ten minutes' walk, and such
+a delightful walk on that delightful morning. We went through the
+orchard and then through the white birch wood where the loveliness of
+the frosted boughs awed us. Beyond that there was a lane between ranks
+of young, balsamy, white-misted firs and then an open pasture field,
+sere and crispy. Just across it was the Pinery, a lovely old house
+with dormer windows in the roof, surrounded by pines that were dark
+and glorious against the silvery morning sky.
+
+The McGinnis dog was sitting on the back-door steps when we arrived.
+He wagged his tail ingratiatingly, but we ruthlessly pushed him off,
+went in and shut the door in his face. All the little McGinnises were
+sitting in a row on their fence, and they whooped derisively. The
+McGinnis manners are not those which appertain to the caste of Vere de
+Vere; but we rather like the urchins--there are eight of them--and we
+would probably have gone over to talk to them if we had not had the
+fear of Aunt Susanna before our eyes.
+
+We kindled the fires, weighed the turkey, put it in the oven and
+prepared the vegetables. Then we set the dining-room table and
+decorated it with Aunt Susanna's potted ferns and dishes of lovely red
+apples. Everything went so smoothly that we soon forgot to be nervous.
+When the turkey was done, we took it out, set it on the back of the
+range to keep warm and put the mince pies in. The potatoes, cabbage
+and turnips were bubbling away cheerfully, and everything was going as
+merrily as a marriage bell. Then, all at once, things happened.
+
+In an evil hour we went to the yard window and looked out. We saw a
+quiet scene. The McGinnis dog was still sitting on his haunches by the
+steps, just as he had been sitting all the morning. Down in the
+McGinnis yard everything wore an unusually peaceful aspect. Only one
+McGinnis was in sight--Tony, aged eight, who was perched up on the
+edge of the well box, swinging his legs and singing at the top of his
+melodious Irish voice. All at once, just as we were looking at him,
+Tony went over backward and apparently tumbled head foremost down his
+father's well.
+
+Kate and I screamed simultaneously. We tore across the kitchen, flung
+open the door, plunged down over Aunt Susanna's yard, scrambled over
+the fence and flew to the well. Just as we reached it, Tony's red head
+appeared as he climbed serenely out over the box. I don't know whether
+I felt more relieved or furious. He had merely fallen on the blank
+guard inside the box: and there are times when I am tempted to think
+he fell on purpose because he saw Kate and me looking out at the
+window. At least he didn't seem at all frightened, and grinned most
+impishly at us.
+
+Kate and I turned on our heels and marched back in as dignified a
+manner as was possible under the circumstances. Half way up Aunt
+Susanna's yard we forgot dignity and broke into a run. We had left the
+door open and the McGinnis dog had disappeared.
+
+Never shall I forget the sight we saw or the smell we smelled when we
+burst into that kitchen. There on the floor was the McGinnis dog and
+what was left of Aunt Susanna's Thanksgiving turkey. As for the smell,
+imagine a commingled odor of scorching turnips and burning mince pies,
+and you have it.
+
+The dog fled out with a guilty yelp. I groaned and snatched the
+turnips off. Kate threw open the oven door and dragged out the pies.
+Pies and turnips were ruined as irretrievably as the turkey.
+
+"Oh, what shall we do?" I cried miserably. I knew Margaret's chance of
+college was gone forever.
+
+"Do!" Kate was superb. She didn't lose her wits for a second. "We'll
+go home and borrow the girls' dinner. Quick--there's just ten minutes
+before train time. Throw those pies and turnips into this basket--the
+turkey too--we'll carry them with us to hide them."
+
+I might not be able to evolve an idea like that on the spur of the
+moment, but I can at least act up to it when it is presented. Without
+a moment's delay we shut the door and ran. As we went I saw the
+McGinnis dog licking his chops over in their yard. I have been ashamed
+ever since of my feelings toward that dog. They were murderous.
+Fortunately I had no time to indulge them.
+
+It is ten minutes walk from the Pinery to our house, but you can run
+it in five. Kate and I burst into the kitchen just as Laura and
+Margaret were sitting down to dinner. We had neither time nor breath
+for explanations. Without a word I grasped the turkey platter and the
+turnip tureen. Kate caught one hot mince pie from the oven and whisked
+a cold one out of the pantry.
+
+"We've--got--to have--them," was all she said.
+
+I've always said that Laura and Magsie would rise to any occasion.
+They saw us carry their Thanksgiving dinner off under their very eyes
+and they never interfered by word or motion. They didn't even worry us
+with questions. They realized that something desperate had happened
+and that the emergency called for deed not words.
+
+"Aggie," gasped Kate behind me as we tore through the birch wood, "the
+border--of these pies--is crimped--differently--from Aunt Susanna's."
+
+"She--won't know--the difference," I panted. "Miranda--Mary--crimps
+them."
+
+We got back to the Pinery just as the train whistle blew. We had ten
+minutes to transfer turkey and turnips to Aunt Susanna's dishes, hide
+our own, air the kitchen, and get back our breath. We accomplished it.
+When Aunt Susanna and her guests came we were prepared for them: we
+were calm--outwardly--and the second mince pie was getting hot in the
+oven. It was ready by the time it was needed. Fortunately our turkey
+was the same size as Aunt Susanna's, and Laura had cooked a double
+supply of turnips, intending to warm them up the next day. Still, all
+things considered, Kate and I didn't enjoy that dinner much. We kept
+thinking of poor Laura and Magsie at home, dining off potatoes on
+Thanksgiving!
+
+But at least Aunt Susanna was satisfied. When Kate and I were washing
+the dishes she came out quite beamingly.
+
+"Well, my dears, I must admit that you made a very good job of the
+dinner, indeed. The turkey was done to perfection. As for the mince
+pies--well, of course Miranda Mary made them, but she must have had
+extra good luck with them, for they were excellent and heated to just
+the right degree. You didn't give anything to the McGinnis dog, I
+hope?"
+
+"No, we didn't give him anything," said Kate.
+
+Aunt Susanna did not notice the emphasis.
+
+When we had finished the dishes we smuggled our platter and tureen out
+of the house and went home. Laura and Margaret were busy painting and
+studying and were just as sweet-tempered as if we hadn't robbed them
+of their dinner. But we had to tell them the whole story before we
+even took off our hats.
+
+"There is a special Providence for children and idiots," said Laura
+gently. We didn't ask her whether she meant us or Tony McGinnis or
+both. There are some things better left in obscurity. I'd have
+probably said something much sharper than that if anybody had made off
+with my Thanksgiving turkey so unceremoniously.
+
+Aunt Susanna came down the next day and told Margaret that she would
+send her to college. Also she commissioned Laura to paint her a
+water-color for her dining-room and said she'd pay her five dollars
+for it.
+
+Kate and I were rather left out in the cold in this distribution of
+favors, but when you come to reflect that Laura and Magsie had really
+cooked that dinner, it was only just.
+
+Anyway, Aunt Susanna has never since insinuated that we can't cook,
+and that is as much as we deserve.
+
+
+
+
+By Grace of Julius Caesar
+
+
+Melissa sent word on Monday evening that she thought we had better go
+round with the subscription list for cushioning the church pews on
+Tuesday. I sent back word that I thought we had better go on Thursday.
+I had no particular objection to Tuesday, but Melissa is rather fond
+of settling things without consulting anyone else, and I don't believe
+in always letting her have her own way. Melissa is my cousin and we
+have always been good friends, and I am really very fond of her; but
+there's no sense in lying down and letting yourself be walked over. We
+finally compromised on Wednesday.
+
+I always have a feeling of dread when I hear of any new church-project
+for which money will be needed, because I know perfectly well that
+Melissa and I will be sent round to collect for it. People say we seem
+to be able to get more than anybody else; and they appear to think
+that because Melissa is an unencumbered old maid, and I am an
+unencumbered widow, we can spare the time without any inconvenience to
+ourselves. Well, we have been canvassing for building funds, and
+socials, and suppers for years, but it is needed now; at least, I have
+had enough of it, and I should think Melissa has, too.
+
+We started out bright and early on Wednesday morning, for Jersey Cove
+is a big place and we knew we should need the whole day. We had to
+walk because neither of us owned a horse, and anyway it's more
+nuisance getting out to open and shut gates than it is worth while. It
+was a lovely day then, though promising to be hot, and our hearts
+were as light as could be expected, considering the disagreeable
+expedition we were on.
+
+I was waiting at my gate for Melissa when she came, and she looked me
+over with wonder and disapproval. I could see she thought I was a fool
+to dress up in my second best flowered muslin and my very best hat
+with the pale pink roses in it to walk about in the heat and dust; but
+I wasn't. All my experience in canvassing goes to show that the better
+dressed and better looking you are the more money you'll get--that is,
+when it's the men you have to tackle, as in this case. If it had been
+the women, however, I would have put on the oldest and ugliest things,
+consistent with decency, I had. This was what Melissa had done, as it
+was, and she did look fearfully prim and dowdy, except for her front
+hair, which was as soft and fluffy and elaborate as usual. I never
+could understand how Melissa always got it arranged so beautifully.
+
+Nothing particular happened the first part of the day. Some few
+growled and wouldn't subscribe anything, but on the whole we did
+pretty well. If it had been a missionary subscription we should have
+fared worse; but when it was something touching their own comfort,
+like cushioning the pews, they came down handsomely. We reached Daniel
+Wilson's by noon, and had to have dinner there. We didn't eat much,
+although we were hungry enough--Mary Wilson's cooking is a by-word in
+Jersey Cove. No wonder Daniel is dyspeptic; but dyspeptic or not, he
+gave us a big subscription for our cushions and told us we looked
+younger than ever. Daniel is always very complimentary, and they say
+Mary is jealous.
+
+When we left the Wilson's Melissa said, with an air of a woman nerving
+herself to a disagreeable duty:
+
+"I suppose we might as well go to Isaac Appleby's now and get it
+over."
+
+I agreed with her. I had been dreading that call all day. It isn't a
+very pleasant thing to go to a man you have recently refused to marry
+and ask him for money; and Melissa and I were both in that
+predicament.
+
+Isaac was a well-to-do old bachelor who had never had any notion of
+getting married until his sister died in the winter. And then, as soon
+as the spring planting was over, he began to look round for a wife. He
+came to me first and I said "No" good and hard. I liked Isaac well
+enough; but I was snug and comfortable, and didn't feel like pulling
+up my roots and moving into another lot; besides, Isaac's courting
+seemed to me a shade too business-like. I can't get along without a
+little romance; it's my nature.
+
+Isaac was disappointed and said so, but intimated that it wasn't
+crushing and that the next best would do very well. The next best was
+Melissa, and he proposed to her after the decent interval of a
+fortnight. Melissa also refused him. I admit I was surprised at this,
+for I knew Melissa was rather anxious to marry; but she has always
+been down on Isaac Appleby, from principle, because of a family feud
+on her mother's side; besides, an old beau of hers, a widower at
+Kingsbridge, was just beginning to take notice again, and I suspected
+Melissa had hopes concerning him. Finally, I imagine Melissa did not
+fancy being second choice.
+
+Whatever her reasons were, she refused poor Isaac, and that finished
+his matrimonial prospects as far as Jersey Cove was concerned, for
+there wasn't another eligible woman in it--that is, for a man of
+Isaac's age. I was the only widow, and the other old maids besides
+Melissa were all hopelessly old-maiden.
+
+This was all three months ago, and Isaac had been keeping house for
+himself ever since. Nobody knew much about how he got along, for the
+Appleby house is half a mile from anywhere, down near the shore at the
+end of a long lane--the lonesomest place, as I did not fail to
+remember when I was considering Isaac's offer.
+
+"I heard Jarvis Aldrich say Isaac had got a dog lately," said Melissa,
+when we finally came in sight of the house--a handsome new one, by the
+way, put up only ten years ago. "Jarvis said it was an imported
+breed. I do hope it isn't cross."
+
+I have a mortal horror of dogs, and I followed Melissa into the big
+farmyard with fear and trembling. We were halfway across the yard when
+Melissa shrieked:
+
+"Anne, there's the dog!"
+
+There was the dog; and the trouble was that he didn't stay there, but
+came right down the slope at a steady, business-like trot. He was a
+bull-dog and big enough to bite a body clean in two, and he was the
+ugliest thing in dogs I had ever seen.
+
+Melissa and I both lost our heads. We screamed, dropped our parasols,
+and ran instinctively to the only refuge that was in sight--a ladder
+leaning against the old Appleby house. I am forty-five and something
+more than plump, so that climbing ladders is not my favorite form of
+exercise. But I went up that one with the agility and grace of
+sixteen. Melissa followed me, and we found ourselves on the
+roof--fortunately it was a flat one--panting and gasping, but safe,
+unless that diabolical dog could climb a ladder.
+
+I crept cautiously to the edge and peered over. The beast was sitting
+on his haunches at the foot of the ladder, and it was quite evident he
+was not short on time. The gleam in his eye seemed to say:
+
+"I've got you two unprincipled subscription hunters beautifully treed
+and it's treed you're going to stay. That is what I call satisfying."
+
+I reported the state of the case to Melissa.
+
+"What shall we do?" I asked.
+
+"Do?" said Melissa, snappishly. "Why, stay here till Isaac Appleby
+comes out and takes that brute away? What else can we do?"
+
+"What if he isn't at home?" I suggested.
+
+"We'll stay here till he comes home. Oh, this is a nice predicament.
+This is what comes of cushioning churches!"
+
+"It might be worse," I said comfortingly. "Suppose the roof hadn't
+been flat?"
+
+"Call Isaac," said Melissa shortly.
+
+I didn't fancy calling Isaac, but call him I did, and when that failed
+to bring him Melissa condescended to call, too; but scream as we
+might, no Isaac appeared, and that dog sat there and smiled
+internally.
+
+"It's no use," said Melissa sulkily at last. "Isaac Appleby is dead or
+away."
+
+Half an hour passed; it seemed as long as a day. The sun just boiled
+down on that roof and we were nearly melted. We were dreadfully
+thirsty, and the heat made our heads ache, and I could see my muslin
+dress fading before my very eyes. As for the roses on my best hat--but
+that was too harrowing to think about.
+
+Then we saw a welcome sight--Isaac Appleby coming through the yard
+with a hoe over his shoulder. He had probably been working in his
+field at the back of the house. I never thought I should have been so
+glad to see him.
+
+"Isaac, oh, Isaac!" I called joyfully, leaning over as far as I dared.
+
+Isaac looked up in amazement at me and Melissa craning our necks over
+the edge of the roof. Then he saw the dog and took in the situation.
+The creature actually grinned.
+
+"Won't you call off your dog and let us get down, Isaac?" I said
+pleadingly.
+
+Isaac stood and reflected for a moment or two. Then he came slowly
+forward and, before we realized what he was going to do, he took that
+ladder down and laid it on the ground.
+
+"Isaac Appleby, what do you mean?" demanded Melissa wrathfully.
+
+Isaac folded his arms and looked up. It would be hard to say which
+face was the more determined, his or the dog's. But Isaac had the
+advantage in point of looks, I will say that for him.
+
+"I mean that you two women will stay up on that roof until one of you
+agrees to marry me," said Isaac solemnly.
+
+I gasped.
+
+"Isaac Appleby, you can't be in earnest?" I cried incredulously. "You
+couldn't be so mean?"
+
+"I am in earnest. I want a wife, and I am going to have one. You two
+will stay up there, and Julius Caesar here will watch you until one of
+you makes up her mind to take me. You can settle it between
+yourselves, and let me know when you have come to a decision."
+
+And with that Isaac walked jauntily into his new house.
+
+"The man can't mean it!" said Melissa. "He is trying to play a joke on
+us."
+
+"He does mean it," I said gloomily. "An Appleby never says anything he
+doesn't mean. He will keep us here until one of us consents to marry
+him."
+
+"It won't be me, then," said Melissa in a calm sort of rage. "I won't
+marry him if I have to sit on this roof for the rest of my life. You
+can take him. It's really you he wants, anyway; he asked you first."
+
+I always knew that rankled with Melissa.
+
+I thought the situation over before I said anything more. We certainly
+couldn't get off that roof, and if we could, there was Julius Caesar.
+The place was out of sight of every other house in Jersey Cove, and
+nobody might come near it for a week. To be sure, when Melissa and I
+didn't turn up the Covites might get out and search for us; but that
+wouldn't be for two or three days anyhow.
+
+Melissa had turned her back on me and was sitting with her elbows
+propped up on her knees, looking gloomily out to sea. I was afraid I
+couldn't coax her into marrying Isaac. As for me, I hadn't any real
+objection to marrying him, after all, for if he was short of romance
+he was good-natured and has a fat bank account; but I hated to be
+driven into it that way.
+
+"You'd better take him, Melissa," I said entreatingly. "I've had one
+husband and that is enough."
+
+"More than enough for me, thank you," said Melissa sarcastically.
+
+"Isaac is a fine man and has a lovely house; and you aren't sure the
+Kingsbridge man really means anything," I went on.
+
+"I would rather," said Melissa, with the same awful calmness, "jump
+down from this roof and break my neck, or be devoured piecemeal by
+that fiend down there than marry Isaac Appleby."
+
+It didn't seem worth while to say anything more after that. We sat
+there in stony silence and the time dragged by. I was hot, hungry,
+thirsty, cross; and besides, I felt that I was in a ridiculous
+position, which was worse than all the rest. We could see Isaac
+sitting in the shade of one of his apple trees in the front orchard
+comfortably reading a newspaper. I think if he hadn't aggravated me by
+doing that I'd have given in sooner. But as it was, I was determined
+to be as stubborn as everybody else. We were four obstinate
+creatures--Isaac and Melissa and Julius Caesar and I.
+
+At four o'clock Isaac got up and went into the house; in a few minutes
+he came out again with a basket in one hand and a ball of cord in the
+other.
+
+"I don't intend to starve you, of course, ladies," he said politely,
+"I will throw this ball up to you and you can then draw up the
+basket."
+
+I caught the ball, for Melissa never turned her head. I would have
+preferred to be scornful, too, and reject the food altogether; but I
+was so dreadfully thirsty that I put my pride in my pocket and hauled
+the basket up. Besides, I thought it might enable us to hold out until
+some loophole of escape presented itself.
+
+Isaac went back into the house and I unpacked the basket. There was a
+bottle of milk, some bread and butter, and a pie. Melissa wouldn't
+take a morsel of the food, but she was so thirsty she had to take a
+drink of milk.
+
+She tried to lift her veil--and something caught; Melissa gave it a
+savage twitch, and off came veil and hat--and all her front hair!
+
+You never saw such a sight. I'd always suspected Melissa wore a false
+front, but I'd never had any proof before.
+
+Melissa pinned on her hair again and put on her hat and drank the
+milk, all without a word; but she was purple. I felt sorry for her.
+
+And I felt sorry for Isaac when I tried to eat that bread. It was sour
+and dreadful. As for the pie, it was hopeless. I tasted it, and then
+threw it down to Julius Caesar. Julius Caesar, not being over
+particular, ate it up. I thought perhaps it would kill him, for
+anything might come of eating such a concoction. That pie was a strong
+argument for Isaac. I thought a man who had to live on such cookery
+did indeed need a wife and might be pardoned for taking desperate
+measures to get one. I was dreadfully tired of broiling on the roof
+anyhow.
+
+But it was the thunderstorm that decided me. When I saw it coming up,
+black and quick, from the northwest, I gave in at once. I had endured
+a good deal and was prepared to endure more; but I had paid ten
+dollars for my hat and I was not going to have it ruined by a
+thunderstorm. I called to Isaac and out he came.
+
+"If you will let us down and promise to dispose of that dog before I
+come here I will marry you, Isaac," I said, "but I'll make you sorry
+for it afterwards, though."
+
+"I'll take the risk of that, Anne," he said; "and, of course, I'll
+sell the dog. I won't need him when I have you."
+
+Isaac meant to be complimentary, though you mightn't have thought so
+if you had seen the face of that dog.
+
+Isaac ordered Julius Caesar away and put up the ladder, and turned his
+back, real considerately, while we climbed down. We had to go in his
+house and stay till the shower was over. I didn't forget the object of
+our call and I produced our subscription list at once.
+
+"How much have you got?" asked Isaac.
+
+"Seventy dollars and we want a hundred and fifty," I said.
+
+"You may put me down for the remaining eighty, then," said Isaac
+calmly.
+
+The Applebys are never mean where money is concerned, I must say.
+
+Isaac offered to drive us home when it cleared up, but I said "No." I
+wanted to settle Melissa before she got a chance to talk.
+
+On the way home I said to her:
+
+"I hope you won't mention this to anyone, Melissa. I don't mind
+marrying Isaac, but I don't want people to know how it came about."
+
+"Oh, I won't say anything about it," said Melissa, laughing a little
+disagreeably.
+
+"Because," I said, to clinch the matter, looking significantly at her
+front hair as I said it, "I have something to tell, too."
+
+Melissa will hold her tongue.
+
+
+
+
+By the Rule of Contrary
+
+
+"Look here, Burton," said old John Ellis in an ominous tone of voice,
+"I want to know if what that old busybody of a Mary Keane came here
+today gossiping about is true. If it is--well, I've something to say
+about the matter! Have you been courting that niece of Susan Oliver's
+all summer on the sly?"
+
+Burton Ellis's handsome, boyish face flushed darkly crimson to the
+roots of his curly black hair. Something in the father's tone roused
+anger and rebellion in the son. He straightened himself up from the
+turnip row he was hoeing, looked his father squarely in the face, and
+said quietly,
+
+"Not on the sly, sir, I never do things that way. But I have been
+going to see Madge Oliver for some time, and we are engaged. We are
+thinking of being married this fall, and we hope you will not object."
+
+Burton's frankness nearly took away his father's breath. Old John
+fairly choked with rage.
+
+"You young fool," he spluttered, bringing down his hoe with such
+energy that he sliced off half a dozen of his finest young turnip
+plants, "have you gone clean crazy? No, sir, I'll never consent to
+your marrying an Oliver, and you needn't have any idea that I will."
+
+"Then I'll marry her without your consent," retorted Burton angrily,
+losing the temper he had been trying to keep.
+
+"Oh, will you indeed! Well, if you do, out you go, and not a cent of
+my money or a rod of my land do you ever get."
+
+"What have you got against Madge?" asked Burton, forcing himself to
+speak calmly, for he knew his father too well to doubt for a minute
+that he meant and would do just what he said.
+
+"She's an Oliver," said old John crustily, "and that's enough." And
+considering that he had settled the matter, John Ellis threw down his
+hoe and left the field in a towering rage.
+
+Burton hoed away savagely until his anger had spent itself on the
+weeds. Give up Madge--dear, sweet little Madge? Not he! Yet if his
+father remained of the same mind, their marriage was out of the
+question at present. And Burton knew quite well that his father would
+remain of the same mind. Old John Ellis had the reputation of being
+the most contrary man in Greenwood.
+
+When Burton had finished his row he left the turnip field and went
+straight across lots to see Madge and tell her his dismal story. An
+hour later Miss Susan Oliver went up the stairs of her little brown
+house to Madge's room and found her niece lying on the bed, her pretty
+curls tumbled, her soft cheeks flushed crimson, crying as if her heart
+would break.
+
+Miss Susan was a tall, grim, angular spinster who looked like the last
+person in the world to whom a love affair might be confided. But never
+were appearances more deceptive than in this case. Behind her
+unprepossessing exterior Miss Susan had a warm, sympathetic heart
+filled to the brim with kindly affection for her pretty niece. She had
+seen Burton Ellis going moodily across the fields homeward and guessed
+that something had gone wrong.
+
+"Now, dearie, what is the matter?" she said, tenderly patting the
+brown head.
+
+Madge sobbed out the whole story disconsolately. Burton's father would
+not let him marry her because she was an Oliver. And, oh, what would
+she do?
+
+"Don't worry, Madge," said Miss Susan comfortingly. "I'll soon settle
+old John Ellis."
+
+"Why, what can you do?" asked Madge forlornly.
+
+Miss Susan squared her shoulders and looked amused.
+
+"You'll see. I know old John Ellis better than he knows himself. He is
+the most contrary man the Lord ever made. I went to school with him. I
+learned how to manage him then, and I haven't forgotten how. I'm going
+straight up to interview him."
+
+"Are you sure that will do any good?" said Madge doubtfully. "If you
+go to him and take Burton's and my part, won't it only make him
+worse?"
+
+"Madge, dear," said Miss Susan, busily twisting her scanty, iron-grey
+hair up into a hard little knob at the back of her head before Madge's
+glass, "you just wait. I'm not young, and I'm not pretty, and I'm not
+in love, but I've more gumption than you and Burton have or ever will
+have. You keep your eyes open and see if you can learn something.
+You'll need it if you go up to live with old John Ellis."
+
+Burton had returned to the turnip field, but old John Ellis was taking
+his ease with a rampant political newspaper on the cool verandah of
+his house. Looking up from a bitter editorial to chuckle over a
+cutting sarcasm contained therein, he saw a tall, angular figure
+coming up the lane with aggressiveness written large in every fold and
+flutter of shawl and skirt.
+
+"Old Susan Oliver, as sure as a gun," said old John with another
+chuckle. "She looks mad clean through. I suppose she's coming here to
+blow me up for refusing to let Burton take that girl of hers. She's
+been angling and scheming for it for years, but she will find who she
+has to deal with. Come on, Miss Susan."
+
+John Ellis laid down his paper and stood up with a sarcastic smile.
+
+Miss Susan reached the steps and skimmed undauntedly up them. She did
+indeed look angry and disturbed. Without any preliminary greeting she
+burst out into a tirade that simply took away her complacent foe's
+breath.
+
+"Look here, John Ellis, I want to know what this means. I've
+discovered that that young upstart of a son of yours, who ought to be
+in short trousers yet, has been courting my niece, Madge Oliver, all
+summer. He has had the impudence to tell me that he wants to marry
+her. I won't have it, I tell you, and you can tell your son so. Marry
+my niece indeed! A pretty pass the world is coming to! I'll never
+consent to it."
+
+Perhaps if you had searched Greenwood and all the adjacent districts
+thoroughly you might have found a man who was more astonished and
+taken aback than old John Ellis was at that moment, but I doubt it.
+The wind was completely taken out of his sails and every bit of the
+Ellis contrariness was roused.
+
+"What have you got to say against my son?" he fairly shouted in his
+rage. "Isn't he good enough for your girl, Susan Oliver, I'd like to
+know?"
+
+"No, he isn't," retorted Miss Susan deliberately and unflinchingly.
+"He's well enough in his place, but you'll please to remember, John
+Ellis, that my niece is an Oliver, and the Olivers don't marry beneath
+them."
+
+Old John was furious. "Beneath them indeed! Why, woman, it is
+condescension in my son to so much as look at your niece--condescension,
+that is what it is. You are as poor as church mice."
+
+"We come of good family, though," retorted Miss Susan. "You Ellises
+are nobodies. Your grandfather was a hired man! And yet you have the
+presumption to think you're fit to marry into an old, respectable
+family like the Olivers. But talking doesn't signify. I simply won't
+allow this nonsense to go on. I came here today to tell you so plump
+and plain. It's your duty to stop it; if you don't I will, that's
+all."
+
+"Oh, will you?" John Ellis was at a white heat of rage and
+stubbornness now. "We'll see, Miss Susan, we'll see. My son shall
+marry whatever girl he pleases, and I'll back him up in it--do you
+hear that? Come here and tell me my son isn't good enough for your
+niece indeed! I'll show you he can get her anyway."
+
+"You've heard what I've said," was the answer, "and you'd better go by
+it, that's all. I shan't stay to bandy words with you, John Ellis. I'm
+going home to talk to my niece and tell her her duty plain, and what I
+want her to do, and she'll do it, I haven't a fear."
+
+Miss Susan was halfway down the steps, but John Ellis ran to the
+railing of the verandah to get the last word.
+
+"I'll send Burton down this evening to talk to her and tell her what
+_he_ wants her to do, and we'll see whether she'll sooner listen to
+you than to him," he shouted.
+
+Miss Susan deigned no reply. Old John strode out to the turnip field.
+Burton saw him coming and looked for another outburst of wrath, but
+his father's first words almost took away his breath.
+
+"See here, Burt, I take back all I said this afternoon. I want you to
+marry Madge Oliver now, and the sooner, the better. That old cat of a
+Susan had the face to come up and tell me you weren't good enough for
+her niece. I told her a few plain truths. Don't you mind the old
+crosspatch. I'll back you up."
+
+By this time Burton had begun hoeing vigorously, to hide the amused
+twinkle of comprehension in his eyes. He admired Miss Susan's tactics,
+but he did not say so.
+
+"All right, Father," he answered dutifully.
+
+When Miss Susan reached home she told Madge to bathe her eyes and put
+on her new pink muslin, because she guessed Burton would be down that
+evening.
+
+"Oh, Auntie, how did you manage it?" cried Madge.
+
+"Madge," said Miss Susan solemnly, but with dancing eyes, "do you know
+how to drive a pig? Just try to make it go in the opposite direction
+and it will bolt the way you want it. Remember that, my dear."
+
+
+
+
+Fair Exchange and No Robbery
+
+
+Katherine Rangely was packing up. Her chum and roommate, Edith Wilmer,
+was sitting on the bed watching her in that calm disinterested fashion
+peculiarly maddening to a bewildered packer.
+
+"It does seem too provoking," said Katherine, as she tugged at an
+obstinate shawl strap, "that Ned should be transferred here now, just
+when I'm going away. The powers that be might have waited until
+vacation was over. Ned won't know a soul here and he'll be horribly
+lonesome."
+
+"I'll do my best to befriend him, with your permission," said Edith
+consolingly.
+
+"Oh, I know. You're a special Providence, Ede. Ned will be up tonight
+first thing, of course, and I'll introduce him. Try to keep the poor
+fellow amused until I get back. Two months! Just fancy! And Aunt
+Elizabeth won't abate one jot or tittle of the time I promised to stay
+with her. Harbour Hill is so frightfully dull, too."
+
+Then the talk drifted around to Edith's affairs. She was engaged to a
+certain Sidney Keith, who was a professor in some college.
+
+"I don't expect to see much of Sidney this summer," said Edith. "He's
+writing another book. He is so terribly addicted to literature."
+
+"How lovely," sighed Katherine, who had aspirations in that line
+herself. "If only Ned were like him I should be perfectly happy. But
+Ned is so prosaic. He doesn't care a rap for poetry, and he laughs
+when I enthuse. It makes him quite furious when I talk of taking up
+writing seriously. He says women writers are an abomination on the
+face of the earth. Did you ever hear anything so ridiculous?"
+
+"He is very handsome, though," said Edith, with a glance at his
+photograph on Katherine's dressing table. "And that is what Sid is
+not. He is rather distinguished looking, but as plain as he can
+possibly be."
+
+Edith sighed. She had a weakness for handsome men and thought it
+rather hard that fate should have allotted her so plain a lover.
+
+"He has lovely eyes," said Katherine comfortingly, "and handsome men
+are always vain. Even Ned is. I have to snub him regularly. But I
+think you'll like him."
+
+Edith thought so too when Ned Ellison appeared that night. He was a
+handsome off-handed young fellow, who seemed to admire Katherine
+immensely, and be a little afraid of her into the bargain.
+
+"Edith will try to make Riverton pleasant for you while I am away,"
+she told him in their good-bye chat. "She is a dear girl--you'll like
+her, I know. It's really too bad I have to go away now, but it can't
+be helped."
+
+"I shall be awfully lonesome," grumbled Ned. "Don't you forget to
+write regularly, Kitty."
+
+"Of course I'll write, but for pity's sake, Ned, don't call me Kitty.
+It sounds so childish. Well, bye-bye, dear boy. I'll be back in two
+months and then we'll have a lovely time."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When Katherine had been at Harbour Hill for a week she wondered how
+upon earth she was going to put in the remaining seven. Harbour Hill
+was noted for its beauty, but not every woman can live by scenery
+alone.
+
+"Aunt Elizabeth," said Katherine one day, "does anybody ever die in
+Harbour Hill? Because it doesn't seem to me it would be any change for
+them if they did."
+
+Aunt Elizabeth's only reply to this was a shocked look.
+
+To pass the time Katherine took to collecting seaweeds, and this
+involved long tramps along the shore. On one of these occasions she
+met with an adventure. The place was a remote spot far up the shore.
+Katherine had taken off her shoes and stockings, tucked up her skirt,
+rolled her sleeves high above her dimpled elbows, and was deep in the
+absorbing process of fishing up seaweeds off a craggy headland. She
+looked anything but dignified while so employed, but under the
+circumstances dignity did not matter.
+
+Presently she heard a shout from the shore and, turning around in
+dismay, she beheld a man on the rocks behind her. He was evidently
+shouting at her. What on earth could the creature want?
+
+"Come in," he called, gesticulating wildly. "You'll be in the
+bottomless pit in another moment if you don't look out."
+
+"He certainly must be a lunatic," said Katherine to herself, "or else
+he's drunk. What am I to do?"
+
+"Come in, I tell you," insisted the stranger. "What in the world do
+you mean by wading out to such a place? Why, it's madness."
+
+Katherine's indignation got the better of her fear.
+
+"I do not think I am trespassing," she called back as icily as
+possible.
+
+The stranger did not seem to be snubbed at all. He came down to the
+very edge of the rocks where Katherine could see him plainly. He was
+dressed in a somewhat well-worn grey suit and wore spectacles. He did
+not look like a lunatic, and he did not seem to be drunk.
+
+"I implore you to come in," he said earnestly. "You must be standing
+on the very brink of the bottomless pit."
+
+He is certainly off his balance, thought Katherine. He must be some
+revivalist who has gone insane on one point. I suppose I'd better go
+in. He looks quite capable of wading out here after me if I don't.
+
+She picked her steps carefully back with her precious specimens. The
+stranger eyed her severely as she stepped on the rocks.
+
+"I should think you would have more sense than to risk your life in
+that fashion for a handful of seaweeds," he said.
+
+"I haven't the faintest idea what you mean," said Miss Rangely. "You
+don't look crazy, but you talk as if you were."
+
+"Do you mean to say you don't know that what the people hereabouts
+call the Bottomless Pit is situated right off that point--the most
+dangerous spot along the whole coast?"
+
+"No, I didn't," said Katherine, horrified. She remembered now that
+Aunt Elizabeth had warned her to be careful of some bad hole along
+shore, but she had not been paying much attention and had supposed it
+to be in quite another direction. "I am a stranger here."
+
+"Well, I hardly thought you'd be foolish enough to be out there if you
+knew," said the other in mollified accents. "The place ought not to be
+left without warning, anyhow. It is the most careless thing I ever
+heard of. There is a big hole right off that point and nobody has ever
+been able to find the bottom of it. A person who got into it would
+never be heard of again. The rocks there form an eddy that sucks
+everything right down."
+
+"I am very grateful to you for calling me in," said Katherine humbly.
+"I had no idea I was in such danger."
+
+"You have a very fine bunch of seaweeds, I see," said the unknown.
+
+But Katherine was in no mood to converse on seaweeds. She suddenly
+realized what she must look like--bare feet, draggled skirts, dripping
+arms. And this creature whom she had taken for a lunatic was
+undoubtedly a gentleman. Oh, if he would only go and give her a chance
+to put on her shoes and stockings!
+
+Nothing seemed further from his intentions. When Katherine had picked
+up the aforesaid articles and turned homeward, he walked beside her,
+still discoursing on seaweeds as eloquently as if he were commonly
+accustomed to walking with barefooted young women. In spite of
+herself, Katherine couldn't help listening to him, for he managed to
+invest seaweeds with an absorbing interest. She finally decided that
+as he didn't seem to mind her bare feet, she wouldn't either.
+
+He knew so much about seaweeds that Katherine felt decidedly
+amateurish beside him. He looked over her specimens and pointed out
+the valuable ones. He explained the best method of preserving and
+mounting them, and told her of other and less dangerous places along
+the shore where she might get some new varieties.
+
+When they came in sight of Harbour Hill, Katherine began to wonder
+what on earth she would do with him. It wasn't exactly permissible to
+snub a man who had practically saved your life, but, on the other
+hand, the prospect of walking through the principal street of Harbour
+Hill barefooted and escorted by a scholarly looking gentleman
+discoursing on seaweeds was not to be calmly contemplated.
+
+The unknown cut the Gordian knot himself. He said that he must really
+go back or he would be late for dinner, lifted his hat politely, and
+departed. Katherine waited until he was out of sight, then sat down on
+the sand and put on her shoes and stockings.
+
+"Who on earth can he be?" she said to herself. "And where have I seen
+him before? There was certainly something familiar about his
+appearance. He is very nice, but he must have thought me crazy. I
+wonder if he belongs to Harbour Hill."
+
+The mystery was solved when she got home and found a letter from Edith
+awaiting her.
+
+"I see Ned quite often," wrote the latter, "and I think he is
+perfectly splendid. You are a lucky girl, Kate. But oh, do you know
+that Sidney is actually at Harbour Hill, too, or at least quite near
+it? I had a letter from him yesterday. He has gone down there to spend
+his vacation, because it is so quiet, and to finish up some horrid
+scientific book he is working at. He's boarding at some little
+farmhouse up the shore. I've written to him today to hunt you up and
+consider himself introduced to you. I think you'll like him, for he's
+just your style."
+
+Katherine smiled when Sidney Keith's card was brought up to her that
+evening and went down to meet him. Her companion of the morning rose
+to meet her.
+
+"You!" he said.
+
+"Yes, me," said Miss Rangely cheerfully and ungrammatically. "You
+didn't expect it, did you? I was sure I had seen you before--only it
+wasn't you but your photograph."
+
+When Professor Keith went away it was with a cordial invitation to
+call again. He did not fail to avail himself of it--in fact, he became
+a constant visitor at Sycamore Villa. Katherine wrote all about it to
+Edith and cultivated Professor Keith with a dear conscience.
+
+They got on capitally together. They went on long expeditions up shore
+after seaweeds, and when seaweeds were exhausted they began to make a
+collection of the Harbour Hill flora. This involved more long,
+companionable expeditions. Katherine sometimes wondered when Professor
+Keith found time to work on his book, but as he made no reference to
+the subject, neither did she.
+
+Once in a while, when she had time to think of them, she wondered how
+Ned and Edith were getting on. At first Edith's letters had been full
+of Ned, but in her last two or three she had said little about him.
+Katherine wrote and jokingly asked Edith if she and Ned had quarreled.
+Edith wrote back and said, "What nonsense." She and Ned were as good
+friends as ever, but he was getting acquainted in Riverton now and
+wasn't so dependent on her society, etc.
+
+Katherine sighed and went on a fern hunt with Professor Keith. It was
+getting near the end of her vacation and she had only two weeks more.
+They were sitting down to rest on the side of the road when she
+mentioned this fact inconsequently. The professor prodded the harmless
+dust with his cane. Well, he supposed she would find a return to work
+pleasant and would doubtless be glad to see her Riverton friends
+again.
+
+"I'm dying to see Edith," said Katherine.
+
+"And Ned?" suggested Professor Keith.
+
+"Oh yes. Ned, of course," assented Katherine without enthusiasm. There
+didn't seem to be anything more to say. One cannot talk everlastingly
+about ferns, so they got up and went home.
+
+Katherine wrote a particularly affectionate letter to Ned that night.
+Then she went to bed and cried.
+
+When Professor Keith came up to bid Miss Rangely good-bye on the eve
+of her departure from Harbour Hill, he looked like a man who was being
+led to execution without benefit of clergy. But he kept himself well
+in hand and talked calmly on impersonal subjects. After all, it was
+Katherine who made the first break when she got up to say good-bye.
+She was in the middle of some conventional sentence when she suddenly
+stopped short, and her voice trailed off in a babyish quiver.
+
+The professor put out his arm and drew her close to him. His hat
+dropped under their feet and was trampled on, but I doubt if Professor
+Keith knows the difference to this day, for he was fully absorbed in
+kissing Katherine's hair. When she became cognizant of this fact, she
+drew herself away.
+
+"Oh, Sidney, don't!--think of Edith! I feel like a traitor."
+
+"Do you think she would care very much if I--if you--if we--"
+hesitated the professor.
+
+"Oh, it would break her heart," cried Katherine with convincing
+earnestness. "I know it would--and Ned's too. They must never know."
+
+The professor stooped and began hunting for his maltreated hat. He was
+a long time finding it, and when he did he went softly to the door.
+With his hand on the knob, he paused and looked back.
+
+"Good-bye, Miss Rangely," he said softly.
+
+But Katherine, whose face was buried in the cushions of the lounge,
+did not hear him and when she looked up he was gone.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Katharine felt that life was stale, flat and unprofitable when she
+alighted at Riverton station in the dusk of the next evening. She was
+not expected until a later train and there was no one to meet her. She
+walked drearily through the streets to her boarding house and entered
+her room unannounced. Edith, who was lying on the bed, sprang up with
+a surprised greeting. It was too dark to be sure, but Katherine had an
+uncomfortable suspicion that her friend had been crying, and her heart
+quaked guiltily. Could Edith have suspected anything?
+
+"Why, we didn't think you'd be up till the 8:30 train, and Ned and I
+were going to meet you."
+
+"I found I could catch an earlier train, so I took it," said
+Katherine, as she dropped listlessly into a chair. "I am tired to
+death and I have such a headache. I can't see anyone tonight, not even
+Ned."
+
+"You poor dear," said Edith sympathetically, beginning a search for
+the cologne. "Lie down on the bed and I'll bathe your poor head. Did
+you have a good time at Harbour Hill? And how did you leave Sid? Did
+he say anything about coming up?"
+
+"Oh, he was quite well," said Katherine wearily. "I didn't hear him
+say if he intended to come up or not. There, thanks--that will do
+nicely."
+
+After Edith had gone down, Katherine tossed about restlessly. She knew
+Ned had come and she did not want to see him. But, after all, it was
+only putting off the evil day, and it was treating him rather
+shabbily. She would go down for a minute.
+
+There were two doors to the parlour, and Katherine went by way of the
+library one, over which a portiere was hanging. Her hand was lifted to
+draw it back when she heard something that arrested the movement.
+
+A woman was crying in the room beyond. It was Edith--and what was she
+saying?
+
+"Oh, Ned, it is all perfectly dreadful! I couldn't look Catherine in
+the face when she came home. I'm so ashamed of myself and I never
+meant to be so false. We must never let her suspect for a minute."
+
+"It's pretty rough on a fellow," said another voice--Ned's voice--in a
+choked sort of a way. "Upon my word, Edith, I don't see how I'm going
+to keep it up."
+
+"You must," sobbed Edith. "It would break her heart--and Sidney's too.
+We must just make up our minds to forget each other, Ned, and you must
+marry Katherine."
+
+Just at this point Katherine became aware that she was eavesdropping
+and she went away noiselessly. She did not look in the least like a
+person who has received a mortal blow, and she had forgotten her
+headache altogether.
+
+When Edith came up half an hour later, she found the worn-out invalid
+sitting up and reading a novel.
+
+"How is your headache, dear?" she asked, carefully keeping her face
+turned away from Katherine.
+
+"Oh, it's all gone," said Miss Rangely cheerfully.
+
+"Why didn't you come down then? Ned was here."
+
+"Well, Ede, I did go down, but I thought I wasn't particularly wanted,
+so I came back."
+
+Edith faced her friend in dismay, forgetful of swollen lids and
+tear-stained cheeks.
+
+"Katherine!"
+
+"Don't look so conscience stricken, my dear child. There is no harm
+done."
+
+"You heard--"
+
+"Some surprising speeches. So you and Ned have gone and fallen in love
+with one another?"
+
+"Oh, Katherine," sobbed Edith, "we--we--couldn't help it--but it's all
+over. Oh, don't be angry with me!"
+
+"Angry? My dear, I'm delighted."
+
+"Delighted?"
+
+"Yes, you dear goose. Can't you guess, or must I tell you? Sidney and
+I did the very same, and had just such a melancholy parting last night
+as I suspect you and Ned had tonight."
+
+"Katherine!"
+
+"Yes, it's quite true. And of course we made up our minds to sacrifice
+ourselves on the altar of duty and all that. But now, thank goodness,
+there is no need of such wholesale immolation. So just let's forgive
+each other."
+
+"Oh," sighed Edith happily, "it is almost too good to be true."
+
+"It is really providentially ordered, isn't it?" said Katherine. "Ned
+and I would never have got on together in the world, and you and
+Sidney would have bored each other to death. As it is, there will be
+four perfectly happy people instead of four miserable ones. I'll tell
+Ned so tomorrow."
+
+
+
+
+Four Winds
+
+
+Alan Douglas threw down his pen with an impatient exclamation. It was
+high time his next Sunday's sermon was written, but he could not
+concentrate his thoughts on his chosen text. For one thing he did not
+like it and had selected it only because Elder Trewin, in his call of
+the evening before, had hinted that it was time for a good stiff
+doctrinal discourse, such as his predecessor in Rexton, the Rev. Jabez
+Strong, had delighted in. Alan hated doctrines--"the soul's
+staylaces," he called them--but Elder Trewin was a man to be reckoned
+with and Alan preached an occasional sermon to please him.
+
+"It's no use," he said wearily. "I could have written a sermon in
+keeping with that text in November or midwinter, but now, when the
+whole world is reawakening in a miracle of beauty and love, I can't do
+it. If a northeast rainstorm doesn't set in before next Sunday, Mr.
+Trewin will not have his sermon. I shall take as my text instead,
+'The flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing of birds has
+come.'"
+
+He rose and went to his study window, outside of which a young vine
+was glowing in soft tender green tints, its small dainty leaves
+casting quivering shadows on the opposite wall where the portrait of
+Alan's mother hung. She had a fine, strong, sweet face; the same face,
+cast in a masculine mould, was repeated in her son, and the
+resemblance was striking as he stood in the searching evening
+sunshine. The black hair grew around his forehead in the same way; his
+eyes were steel blue, like hers, with a similar expression, half
+brooding, half tender, in their depths. He had the mobile, smiling
+mouth of the picture, but his chin was deeper and squarer, dented with
+a dimple which, combined with a certain occasional whimsicality of
+opinion and glance, had caused Elder Trewin some qualms of doubt
+regarding the fitness of this young man for his high and holy
+vocation. The Rev. Jabez Strong had never indulged in dimples or
+jokes; but then, as Elder Trewin, being a just man, had to admit, the
+Rev. Jabez Strong had preached many a time and oft to more empty pews
+than full ones, while now the church was crowded to its utmost
+capacity on Sundays and people came to hear Mr. Douglas who had not
+darkened a church door for years. All things considered, Elder Trewin
+decided to overlook the dimple. There was sure to be some drawback in
+every minister.
+
+Alan from his study looked down on all the length of the Rexton
+valley, at the head of which the manse was situated, and thought that
+Eden might have looked so in its innocence, for all the orchards were
+abloom and the distant hills were tremulous and aerial in springtime
+gauzes of pale purple and pearl. But in any garden, despite its
+beauty, is an element of tameness and domesticity, and Alan's eyes,
+after a moment's delighted gazing, strayed wistfully off to the north
+where the hills broke away into a long sloping lowland of pine and
+fir. Beyond it stretched the wide expanse of the lake, flashing in the
+molten gold and crimson of evening. Its lure was irresistible. Alan
+had been born and bred beside a faraway sea and the love of it was
+strong in his heart--so strong that he knew he must go back to it
+sometime. Meanwhile, the great lake, mimicking the sea in its vast
+expanse and the storms that often swept over it, was his comfort and
+solace. As often as he could he stole away to its wild and lonely
+shore, leaving the snug bounds of cultivated home lands behind him
+with something like a sense of relief. Down there by the lake was a
+primitive wilderness where man was as naught and man-made doctrines
+had no place. There one might walk hand in hand with nature and so
+come very close to God. Many of Alan's best sermons were written after
+he had come home, rapt-eyed, from some long shore tramp where the
+wilderness had opened its heart to him and the pines had called to him
+in their soft, sibilant speech.
+
+With a half guilty glance at the futile sermon, he took his hat and
+went out. The sun of the cool spring evening was swinging low over the
+lake as he turned into the unfrequented, deep-rutted road leading to
+the shore. It was two miles to the lake, but half way there Alan came
+to where another road branched off and struck down through the pines
+in a northeasterly direction. He had sometimes wondered where it led
+but he had never explored it. Now he had a sudden whim to do so and
+turned into it. It was even rougher and lonelier than the other;
+between the ruts the grasses grew long and thickly; sometimes the pine
+boughs met overhead; again, the trees broke away to reveal wonderful
+glimpses of gleaming water, purple islets, dark feathery coasts.
+Still, the road seemed to lead nowhere and Alan was half repenting the
+impulse which had led him to choose it when he suddenly came out from
+the shadow of the pines and found himself gazing on a sight which
+amazed him.
+
+Before him was a small peninsula running out into the lake and
+terminating in a long sandy point. Beyond it was a glorious sweep of
+sunset water. The peninsula itself seemed barren and sandy, covered
+for the most part with scrub firs and spruces, through which the
+narrow road wound on to what was the astonishing; feature in the
+landscape--a grey and weather-beaten house built almost at the
+extremity of the point and shadowed from the western light by a thick
+plantation of tall pines behind it.
+
+It was the house which puzzled Alan. He had never known there was any
+house near the lake shore--had never heard mention made of any; yet
+here was one, and one which was evidently occupied, for a slender
+spiral of smoke was curling upward from it on the chilly spring air.
+It could not be a fisherman's dwelling, for it was large and built
+after a quaint tasteful design. The longer Alan looked at it the more
+his wonder grew. The people living here were in the bounds of his
+congregation. How then was it that he had never seen or heard of them?
+
+He sauntered slowly down the road until he saw that it led directly to
+the house and ended in the yard. Then he turned off in a narrow path
+to the shore. He was not far from the house now and he scanned it
+observantly as he went past. The barrens swept almost up to its door
+in front but at the side, sheltered from the lake winds by the pines,
+was a garden where there was a fine show of gay tulips and golden
+daffodils. No living creature was visible and, in spite of the
+blossoming geraniums and muslin curtains at the windows and the homely
+spiral of smoke, the place had a lonely, almost untenanted, look.
+
+When Alan reached the shore he found that it was of a much more open
+and less rocky nature than the part which he had been used to
+frequent. The beach was of sand and the scrub barrens dwindled down to
+it almost insensibly. To right and left fir-fringed points ran out
+into the lake, shaping a little cove with the house in its curve.
+
+Alan walked slowly towards the left headland, intending to follow the
+shore around to the other road. As he passed the point he stopped
+short in astonishment. The second surprise and mystery of the evening
+confronted him.
+
+A little distance away a girl was standing--a girl who turned a
+startled face at his unexpected appearance. Alan Douglas had thought
+he knew all the girls in Rexton, but this lithe, glorious creature was
+a stranger to him. She stood with her hand on the head of a huge,
+tawny collie dog; another dog was sitting on his haunches beside her.
+
+She was tall, with a great braid of shining chestnut hair, showing
+ruddy burnished tints where the sunlight struck it, hanging over her
+shoulder. The plain dark dress she wore emphasized the grace and
+strength of her supple form. Her face was oval and pale, with straight
+black brows and a finely cut crimson mouth--a face whose beauty bore
+the indefinable stamp of race and breeding mingled with a wild
+sweetness, as of a flower growing in some lonely and inaccessible
+place. None of the Rexton girls looked like that. Who, in the name of
+all that was amazing, could she be?
+
+As the thought crossed Alan's mind the girl turned, with an air of
+indifference that might have seemed slightly overdone to a calmer
+observer than was the young minister at that moment and, with a
+gesture of command to her dogs, walked quickly away into the scrub
+spruces. She was so tall that her uncovered head was visible over them
+as she followed some winding footpath, and Alan stood like a man
+rooted to the ground until he saw her enter the grey house. Then he
+went homeward in a maze, all thought of sermons, doctrinal or
+otherwise, for the moment knocked out of his head.
+
+She is the most beautiful woman I ever saw, he thought. How is it
+possible that I have lived in Rexton for six months and never heard of
+her or of that house? Well, I daresay there's some simple explanation
+of it all. The place may have been unoccupied until lately--probably
+it is the summer residence of people who have only recently come to
+it. I'll ask Mrs. Danby. She'll know if anybody will. That good woman
+knows everything about everybody in Rexton for three generations back.
+
+Alan found Isabel King with his housekeeper when he got home. His
+greeting was tinged with a slight constraint. He was not a vain man,
+but he could not help knowing that Isabel looked upon him with a
+favour that had in it much more than professional interest. Isabel
+herself showed it with sufficient distinctness. Moreover, he felt a
+certain personal dislike of her and of her hard, insistent beauty,
+which seemed harder and more insistent than ever contrasted with his
+recollection of the girl of the lake shore.
+
+Isabel had a trick of coming to the manse on plausible errands to Mrs.
+Danby and lingering until it was so dark that Alan was in courtesy
+bound to see her home. The ruse was a little too patent and amused
+Alan, although he carefully hid his amusement and treated Isabel with
+the fine unvarying deference which his mother had engrained into him
+for womanhood--a deference that flattered Isabel even while it annoyed
+her with the sense of a barrier which she could not break down or
+pass. She was the daughter of the richest man in Rexton and inclined
+to give herself airs on that account, but Alan's gentle indifference
+always brought home to her an unwelcome feeling of inferiority.
+
+"You've been tiring yourself out again tramping that lake shore, I
+suppose," said Mrs. Danby, who had kept house for three bachelor
+ministers and consequently felt entitled to hector them in a somewhat
+maternal fashion.
+
+"Not tiring myself--resting and refreshing myself rather," smiled
+Alan. "I was tired when I went out but now I feel like a strong man
+rejoicing to run a race. By the way, Mrs. Danby, who lives in that
+quaint old house away down at the very shore? I never knew of its
+existence before."
+
+Alan's "by the way" was not quite so indifferent as he tried to make
+it. Isabel King, leaning back posingly among the cushions of the
+lounge, sat quickly up as he asked his question.
+
+"Dear me, you don't mean to say you've never heard of Captain
+Anthony--Captain Anthony Oliver?" said Mrs. Danby. "He lives down
+there at Four Winds, as they call it--he and his daughter and an old
+cousin."
+
+Isabel King bent forward, her brown eyes on Alan's face.
+
+"Did you see Lynde Oliver?" she asked with suppressed eagerness.
+
+Alan ignored the question--perhaps he did not hear it.
+
+"Have they lived there long?" he asked.
+
+"For eighteen years," said Mrs. Danby placidly. "It's funny you
+haven't heard them mentioned. But people don't talk much about the
+Captain now--he's an old story--and of course they never go anywhere,
+not even to church. The Captain is a rank infidel and they say his
+daughter is just as bad. To be sure, nobody knows much about her, but
+it stands to reason that a girl who's had her bringing up must be odd,
+to say no worse of her. It's not really her fault, I suppose--her
+wicked old scalawag of a father is to blame for it. She's never
+darkened a church or school door in her life and they say she's always
+been a regular tomboy--running wild outdoors with dogs, and fishing
+and shooting like a man. Nobody ever goes there--the Captain doesn't
+want visitors. He must have done something dreadful in his time, if it
+was only known, when he's so set on living like a hermit away down on
+that jumping-off place. Did you see any of them?"
+
+"I saw Miss Oliver, I suppose," said Alan briefly. "At least I met a
+young lady on the shore. But where did these people come from? Surely
+more is known of them than this."
+
+"Precious little. The truth is, Mr. Douglas, folks don't think the
+Olivers respectable and don't want to have anything to do with them.
+Eighteen years ago Captain Anthony came from goodness knows where,
+bought the Four Winds point, and built that house. He said he'd been a
+sailor all his life and couldn't live away from the water. He brought
+his wife and child and an old cousin of his with him. This Lynde
+wasn't more than two years old then. People went to call but they
+never saw any of the women and the Captain let them see they weren't
+wanted. Some of the men who'd been working round the place saw his
+wife and said she was sickly but real handsome and like a lady, but
+she never seemed to want to see anyone or be seen herself. There was
+a story that the Captain had been a smuggler and that if he was caught
+he'd be sent to prison. Oh, there were all sorts of yarns, mostly
+coming from the men who worked there, for nobody else ever got inside
+the house. Well, four years ago his wife disappeared--it wasn't known
+how or when. She just wasn't ever seen again, that's all. Whether she
+died or was murdered or went away nobody ever knew. There was some
+talk of an investigation but nothing came of it. As for the girl,
+she's always lived there with her father. She must be a perfect
+heathen. He never goes anywhere, but there used to be talk of
+strangers visiting him--queer sort of characters who came up the lake
+in vessels from the American side. I haven't heard any reports of such
+these past few years, though--not since his wife disappeared. He keeps
+a yacht and goes sailing in it--sometimes he cruises about for
+weeks--that's about all he ever does. And now you know as much about
+the Olivers as I do, Mr. Douglas."
+
+Alan had listened to this gossipy narrative with an interest that did
+not escape Isabel King's observant eyes. Much of it he mentally
+dismissed as improbable surmise, but the basic facts were probably as
+Mrs. Danby had reported them. He had known that the girl of the shore
+could be no commonplace, primly nurtured young woman.
+
+"Has no effort ever been made to bring these people into touch with
+the church?" he asked absently.
+
+"Bless you, yes. Every minister that's ever been in Rexton has had a
+try at it. The old cousin met every one of them at the door and told
+him nobody was at home. Mr. Strong was the most persistent--he didn't
+like being beaten. He went again and again and finally the Captain
+sent him word that when he wanted parsons or pill-dosers he'd send
+for them, and till he did he'd thank them to mind their own business.
+They say Mr. Strong met Lynde once along shore and wanted to know if
+she wouldn't come to church, and she laughed in his face and told him
+she knew more about God now than he did or ever would. Perhaps the
+story isn't true. Or if it was maybe he provoked her into saying it.
+Mr. Strong wasn't overly tactful. I believe in judging the poor girl
+as charitably as possible and making allowances for her, seeing how
+she's been brought up. You couldn't expect her to know how to behave."
+
+Somehow, Alan resented Mrs. Danby's charity. Then, his sense of humour
+being strongly developed, he smiled to think of this commonplace old
+lady "making allowances" for the splendid bit of femininity he had
+seen on the shore. A plump barnyard fowl might as well have talked of
+making allowances for a seagull!
+
+Alan walked home with Isabel King but he was very silent as they went
+together down the long, dark, sweet-smelling country road bordered by
+its white orchards. Isabel put her own construction on his absent
+replies to her remarks and presently she asked him, "Did you think
+Lynde Oliver handsome?"
+
+The question gave Alan an annoyance out of all proportion to its
+significance. He felt an instinctive reluctance to discuss Lynde
+Oliver with Isabel King.
+
+"I saw her only for a moment," he said coldly, "but she impressed me
+as being a beautiful woman."
+
+"They tell queer stories about her--but maybe they're not all true,"
+said Isabel, unable to keep the sneer of malice out of her voice. At
+that moment Alan's secret contempt for her crystallized into
+pronounced aversion. He made no reply and they went the rest of the
+way in silence. At her gate Isabel said, "You haven't been over to see
+us very lately, Mr. Douglas."
+
+"My congregation is a large one and I cannot visit all my people as
+often as I might wish," Alan answered, all the more coldly for the
+personal note in her tone. "A minister's time is not his own, you
+know."
+
+"Shall you be going to see the Olivers?" asked Isabel bluntly.
+
+"I have not considered that question. Good-night, Miss King."
+
+On his way back to the manse Alan did consider the question. Should he
+make any attempt to establish friendly relations with the residents of
+Four Winds? It surprised him to find how much he wanted to, but he
+finally concluded that he would not. They were not adherents of his
+church and he did not believe that even a minister had any right to
+force himself upon people who plainly wished to be let alone.
+
+When he got home, although it was late, he went to his study and began
+work on a new text--for Elder Trewin's seemed utterly out of the
+question. Even with the new one he did not get on very well. At last
+in exasperation he leaned back in his chair.
+
+Why can't I stop thinking of those Four Winds people? Here, let me put
+these haunting thoughts into words and see if that will lay them. That
+girl had a beautiful face but a cold one. Would I like to see it
+lighted up with the warmth of her soul set free? Yes, frankly, I would.
+She looked upon me with indifference. Would I like to see her welcome
+me as a friend? I have a conviction that I would, although no doubt
+everybody in my congregation would look upon her as a most unsuitable
+friend for me. Do I believe that she is wild, unwomanly, heathenish, as
+Mrs. Danby says? No, I do not, most emphatically. I believe she is a
+lady in the truest sense of that much abused word, though she is
+doubtless unconventional. Having said all this, I do not see what more
+there is to be said. And--I--am--going--to--write--this--sermon.
+
+Alan wrote it, putting all thought of Lynde Oliver sternly out of his
+mind for the time being. He had no notion of falling in love with her.
+He knew nothing of love and imagined that it counted for nothing in
+his life. He admitted that his curiosity was aflame about the girl,
+but it never occurred to him that she meant or could mean anything to
+him but an attractive enigma which once solved would lose its
+attraction. The young women he knew in Rexton, whose simple, pleasant
+friendship he valued, had the placid, domestic charm of their own
+sweet-breathed, windless orchards. Lynde Oliver had the fascination of
+the lake shore--wild, remote, untamed--the lure of the wilderness and
+the primitive. There was nothing more personal in his thought of her,
+and yet when he recalled Isabel King's sneer he felt an almost
+personal resentment.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+During the following fortnight Alan made many trips to the shore--and
+he always went by the branch road to the Four Winds point. He did not
+attempt to conceal from himself that he hoped to meet Lynde Oliver
+again. In this he was unsuccessful. Sometimes he saw her at a distance
+along the shore but she always disappeared as soon as seen.
+Occasionally as he crossed the point he saw her working in her garden
+but he never went very near the house, feeling that he had no right to
+spy on it or her in any way. He soon became convinced that she avoided
+him purposely and the conviction piqued him. He felt an odd masterful
+desire to meet her face to face and make her look at him. Sometimes he
+called himself a fool and vowed he would go no more to the Four Winds
+shore. Yet he inevitably went. He did not find in the shore the
+comfort and inspiration he had formerly found. Something had come
+between his soul and the soul of the wilderness--something he did not
+recognize or formulate--a nameless, haunting longing that shaped
+itself about the memory of a cold sweet face and starry, indifferent
+eyes, grey as the lake at dawn.
+
+Of Captain Anthony he never got even a glimpse, but he saw the old
+cousin several times, going and coming about the yard and its
+environs. Finally one day he met her, coming up a path which led to a
+spring down in a firry hollow. She was carrying two heavy pails of
+water and Alan asked permission to help her.
+
+He half expected a repulse, for the tall, grim old woman had a rather
+stern and forbidding look, but after gazing at him a moment in a
+somewhat scrutinizing manner she said briefly, "You may, if you like."
+
+Alan took the pails and followed her, the path not being wide enough
+for two. She strode on before him at a rapid, vigorous pace until they
+came out into the yard by the house. Alan felt his heart beating
+foolishly. Would he see Lynde Oliver? Would--
+
+"You may carry the water there," the old woman said, pointing to a
+little outhouse near the pines. "I'm washing--the spring water is
+softer than the well water. Thank you"--as Alan set the pails down on
+a bench--"I'm not so young as I was and bringing the water so far
+tires me. Lynde always brings it for me when she's home."
+
+She stood before him in the narrow doorway, blocking his exit, and
+looked at him with keen, deep-set dark eyes. In spite of her withered
+aspect and wrinkled face, she was not an uncomely old woman and there
+was about her a dignity of carriage and manner that pleased Alan. It
+did not occur to him to wonder why it should please him. If he had
+hunted that feeling down he might have been surprised to discover that
+it had its origin in a curious gratification over the thought that the
+woman who lived with Lynde had a certain refinement about her. He
+preferred her unsmiling dourness to vulgar garrulity.
+
+"Are you the young minister up at Rexton?" she asked bluntly.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I thought so. Lynde said she had seen you on the shore once.
+Well"--she cast an uncertain glance over her shoulder at the
+house--"I'm much obliged to you."
+
+Alan had an idea that that was not what she had thought of saying, but
+as she had turned aside and was busying herself with the pails, there
+seemed nothing for him to do but to go.
+
+"Wait a moment." She faced him again, and if Alan had been a vain man
+he might have thought that admiration looked from her piercing eyes.
+"What do you think of us? I suppose they've told you tales of us up
+there?"--with a scornful gesture of her hand in the direction of
+Rexton. "Do you believe them?"
+
+"I believe no ill of anyone until I have absolute proof of it," said
+Alan, smiling--he was quite unconscious what a winning smile he had,
+which was the best of it--"and I never put faith in gossip. Of course
+you are gossipped about--you know that."
+
+"Yes, I know it"--grimly--"and I don't care what they say about the
+Captain and me. We are a queer pair--just as queer as they make us
+out. You can believe what you like about us, but don't you believe a
+word they say against Lynde. She's sweet and good and beautiful. It's
+not her fault that she never went to church--it's her father's. Don't
+you hold that against her."
+
+The fierce yet repressed energy of her tone prevented Alan from
+feeling any amusement over her simple defence of Lynde. Moreover, it
+sounded unreasonably sweet in his ears.
+
+"I won't," he promised, "but I don't suppose it would matter much to
+Miss Oliver if I did. She did not strike me as a young lady who would
+worry very much about other people's opinions."
+
+If his object were to prolong the conversation about Lynde, he was
+disappointed, for the old woman had turned abruptly to her work again
+and, though Alan lingered for a few moments longer, she took no
+further notice of him. But when he had gone she peered stealthily
+after him from the door until he was lost to sight among the pines.
+
+"A well-looking man," she muttered. "I wish Lynde had been home. I
+didn't dare ask him to the house for I knew Anthony was in one of his
+moods. But it's time something was done. She's woman grown and this is
+no life for her. And there's nobody to do anything but me and I'm not
+able, even if I knew what to do. I wonder why she hates men so.
+Perhaps it's because she never knew any that were real gentlemen. This
+man is--but then he's a minister and that makes a wide gulf between
+them in another way. I've seen the love of man and woman bridge some
+wider gulfs though. But it can't with Lynde, I'm fearing. She's so
+bitter at the mere speaking of love and marriage. I can't think why.
+I'm sure her mother and Anthony were happy together, and that was all
+she's ever seen of marriage. But I thought when she told me of meeting
+this young man on the shore there was something in her look I'd never
+noticed before--as if she'd found something in herself she'd never
+known was there. But she'll never make friends with him and I can't.
+If the Captain wasn't so queer--"
+
+She stopped abruptly, for a tall lithe figure was coming up from the
+shore. Lynde waved her hand as she drew near.
+
+"Oh, Emily, I've had such a splendid sail. It was glorious. Bad Emily,
+you've been carrying water. Didn't I tell you never to do that when I
+was away?"
+
+"I didn't have to do it. That young minister up at Rexton met me and
+brought it up. He's nice, Lynde."
+
+Lynde's brow darkened. She turned and walked away to the house without
+a word.
+
+On his way home that night Alan met Isabel King on the main shore
+road. She carried an armful of pine boughs and said she wanted the
+needles for a cushion. Yet the thought came into Alan's mind that she
+was spying on him and, although he tried to dismiss it as unworthy, it
+continued to lurk there.
+
+For a week he avoided the shore, but there came a day when its
+inexplicable lure drew him to it again irresistibly. It was a warm,
+windy evening and the air was sweet and resinous, the lake misty and
+blue. There was no sign of life about Four Winds and the shore seemed
+as lonely and virgin as if human foot had never trodden it. The
+Captain's yacht was gone from the little harbour where it was
+generally anchored and, though every flutter of wind in the scrub firs
+made Alan's heart beat expectantly, he saw nothing of Lynde Oliver. He
+was on the point of turning homeward, with an unreasoning sense of
+disappointment, when one of Lynde's dogs broke down through the hedge
+of spruces, barking loudly.
+
+Alan looked for Lynde to follow, but she did not, and he speedily saw
+that there was something unusual about the dog's behaviour. The animal
+circled around him, still barking excitedly, then ran off for a short
+distance, stopped, barked again, and returned, repeating the
+manoeuvre. It was plain that he wanted Alan to follow him, and it
+occurred to the young minister that the dog's mistress must be in
+danger of some kind. Instantly he set off after him; and the dog, with
+a final sharp bark of satisfaction, sprang up the low bank into the
+spruces.
+
+Alan followed him across the peninsula and then along the further
+shore, which rapidly grew steep and high. Half a mile down the cliffs
+were rocky and precipitous, while the beach beneath them was heaped
+with huge boulders. Alan followed the dog along one of the narrow
+paths with which the barrens abounded until nearly a mile from Four
+Winds. Then the animal halted, ran to the edge of the cliff and
+barked.
+
+It was an ugly-looking place where a portion of the soil had evidently
+broken away recently, and Alan stepped cautiously out to the brink and
+looked down. He could not repress an exclamation of dismay and alarm.
+
+A few feet below him Lynde Oliver was lying on a mass of mossy soil
+which was apparently on the verge of slipping over a sloping shelf of
+rock, below which was a sheer drop of thirty feet to the cruel
+boulders below. The extreme danger of her position was manifest at a
+glance; the soil on which she lay was stationary, yet it seemed as if
+the slightest motion on her part would send it over the brink.
+
+Lynde lay movelessly; her face was white, and both fear and appeal
+were visible in her large dilated eyes. Yet she was quite calm and a
+faint smile crossed her pale lips as she saw the man and the dog.
+
+"Good faithful Pat, so you did bring help," she said.
+
+"But how can I help you, Miss Oliver?" said Alan hoarsely. "I cannot
+reach you--and it looks as if the slightest touch or jar would send
+that broken earth over the brink."
+
+"I fear it would. You must go back to Four Winds and get a rope."
+
+"And leave you here alone--in such danger?"
+
+"Pat will stay with me. Besides, there is nothing else to do. You will
+find a rope in that little house where you put the water for Emily.
+Father and Emily are away. I think I am quite safe here if I don't
+move at all."
+
+Alan's own common sense told him that, as she said, there was nothing
+else to do and, much as he hated to leave her alone thus, he realized
+that he must lose no time in doing it.
+
+"I'll be back as quickly as possible," he said hurriedly.
+
+Alan had been a noted runner at college and his muscles had not
+forgotten their old training. Yet it seemed to him an age ere he
+reached Four Winds, secured the rope, and returned. At every flying
+step he was haunted by the thought of the girl lying on the brink of
+the precipice and the fear that she might slip over it before he could
+rescue her. When he reached the scene of the accident he dreaded to
+look over the broken edge, but she was lying there safely and she
+smiled when she saw him--a brave smile that softened her tense white
+face into the likeness of a frightened child's.
+
+"If I drop the rope down to you, are you strong enough to hold to it
+while the earth goes and then draw yourself up the slope hand over
+hand?" asked Alan anxiously.
+
+"Yes," she answered fearlessly.
+
+Alan passed down one end of the rope and then braced himself firmly to
+hold it, for there was no tree near enough to be of any assistance.
+The next moment the full weight of her body swung from it, for at her
+first movement the soil beneath her slipped away. Alan's heart
+sickened; what if she went with it? Could she cling to the rope while
+he drew her up?
+
+Then he saw she was still safe on the sloping shelf. Carefully and
+painfully she drew herself to her knees and, dinging to the rope,
+crept up the rock hand over hand. When she came within his reach he
+grasped her arms and lifted her up into safety beside him.
+
+"Thank God," he said, with whiter lips than her own.
+
+For a few moments Lynde sat silent on the sod, exhausted with fright
+and exertion, while her dog fawned on her in an ecstasy of joy.
+Finally she looked up into Alan's anxious face and their eyes met. It
+was something more than the physical reaction that suddenly flushed
+the girl's cheeks. She sprang lithely to her feet.
+
+"Can you walk back home?" Alan asked.
+
+"Oh, yes, I am all right now. It was very foolish of me to get into
+such a predicament. Father and Emily went down the lake in the yacht
+this afternoon and I started out for a ramble. When I came here I saw
+some junebells growing right out on the ledge and I crept out to
+gather them. I should have known better. It broke away under me and
+the more I tried to scramble back the faster it slid down, carrying me
+with it. I thought it would go right over the brink"--she gave a
+little involuntary shudder--"but just at the very edge it stopped. I
+knew I must lie very still or it would go right over. It seemed like
+days. Pat was with me and I told him to go for help, but I knew there
+was no one at home--and I was horribly afraid," she concluded with
+another shiver. "I never was afraid in my life before--at least not
+with that kind of fear."
+
+"You have had a terrible experience and a narrow escape," said Alan
+lamely. He could think of nothing more to say; his usual readiness of
+utterance seemed to have failed him.
+
+"You saved my life," she said, "you and Pat--for doggie must have his
+share of credit."
+
+"A much larger share than mine," said Alan, smiling. "If Pat had not
+come for me, I would not have known of your danger. What a magnificent
+fellow he is!"
+
+"Isn't he?" she agreed proudly. "And so is Laddie, my other dog. He
+went with Father today. I love my dogs more than people." She looked
+at him with a little defiance in her eyes. "I suppose you think that
+terrible."
+
+"I think many dogs are much more lovable--and worthy of love--than
+many people," said Alan, laughing.
+
+How childlike she was in some ways! That trace of defiance--it was so
+like a child who expected to be scolded for some wrong attitude of
+mind. And yet there were moments when she looked the tall proud queen.
+Sometimes, when the path grew narrow, she walked before him, her hand
+on the dog's head. Alan liked this, since it left him free to watch
+admiringly the swinging grace of her step and the white curves of her
+neck beneath the thick braid of hair, which today was wound about her
+head. When she dropped back beside him in the wider spaces, he could
+only have stolen glances at her profile, delicately, strongly cut,
+virginal in its soft curves, childlike in its purity. Once she looked
+around and caught his glance; again she flushed, and something strange
+and exultant stirred in Alan's heart. It was as if that maiden blush
+were the involuntary, unconscious admission of some power he had over
+her--a power which her hitherto unfettered spirit had never before
+felt. The cold indifference he had seen in her face at their first
+meeting was gone, and something told him it was gone forever.
+
+When they came in sight of Four Winds they saw two people walking up
+the road from the harbour and a few further steps brought them face to
+face with Captain Anthony Oliver and his old housekeeper.
+
+The Captain's appearance was a fresh surprise to Alan. He had expected
+to meet a rough, burly sailor, loud of voice and forbidding of manner.
+Instead, Captain Anthony was a tall, well-built man of perhaps fifty.
+His face, beneath its shock of iron-grey hair, was handsome but wore a
+somewhat forbidding expression, and there was something in it, apart
+from line or feature, which did not please Alan. He had no time to
+analyze this impression, for Lynde said hurriedly, "Father, this is
+Mr. Douglas. He has just done me a great service."
+
+She briefly explained her accident; when she had finished, the Captain
+turned to Alan and held out his hand, a frank smile replacing the
+rather suspicious and contemptuous scowl which had previously
+overshadowed it.
+
+"I am much obliged to you, Mr. Douglas," he said cordially. "You must
+come up to the house and let me thank you at leisure. As a rule I'm
+not very partial to the cloth, as you may have heard. In this case it
+is the man, not the minister, I invite."
+
+The front door of Four Winds opened directly into a wide,
+low-ceilinged living room, furnished with simplicity and good taste.
+Leaving the two men there, Lynde and the old cousin vanished, and Alan
+found himself talking freely with the Captain who could, as it
+appeared, talk well on many subjects far removed from Four Winds. He
+was evidently a clever, self-educated man, somewhat opinionated and
+given to sarcasm; he never made any references to his own past life or
+experiences, but Alan discovered him to be surprisingly well read in
+politics and science. Sometimes in the pauses of the conversation Alan
+found the older man looking at him in a furtive way he did not like,
+but the Captain was such an improvement on what he had been led to
+expect that he was not inclined to be over critical. At least, this
+was what he honestly thought. He did not suspect that it was because
+this man was Lynde's father that he wished to think as well as
+possible of him.
+
+Presently Lynde came in. She had changed her outdoor dress, stained
+with moss and soil in her fall, for a soft clinging garment of some
+pale yellow material, and her long, thick braid of hair hung over her
+shoulder. She sat mutely down in a dim corner and took no part in the
+conversation except to answer briefly the remarks which Alan addressed
+to her. Emily came in and lighted the lamp on the table. She was as
+grim and unsmiling as ever, yet she cast a look of satisfaction on
+Alan as she passed out. One dog lay down at Lynde's feet, the other
+sat on his haunches by her side and laid his head on her lap. Rexton
+and its quiet round of parish duties seemed thousands of miles away
+from Alan, and he wondered a little if this were not all a dream.
+
+When he went away the Captain invited him back.
+
+"If you like to come, that is," he said brusquely, "and always as the
+man, not the priest, remember. I don't want you by and by to be slyly
+slipping in the thin end of any professional wedges. You'll waste your
+time if you do. Come as man to man and you'll be welcome, for I like
+you--and it's few men I like. But don't try to talk religion to me."
+
+"I never talk religion," said Alan emphatically. "I try to live it.
+I'll not come to your house as a self-appointed missionary, sir, but I
+shall certainly act and speak at all times as my conscience and my
+reverence for my vocation demands. If I respect your beliefs, whatever
+they may be, I shall expect you to respect mine, Captain Oliver."
+
+"Oh, I won't insult your God," said the Captain with a faint sneer.
+
+Alan went home in a tumult of contending feelings. He did not
+altogether like Captain Anthony--that was very clear to him, and yet
+there was something about the man that attracted him. Intellectually
+he was a worthy foeman, and Alan had often longed for such since
+coming to Rexton. He missed the keen, stimulating debates of his
+college days and, now there seemed a chance of renewing them, he was
+eager to grasp it. And Lynde--how beautiful she was! What though she
+shared--as was not unlikely--in her father's lack of belief? She could
+not be essentially irreligious--that were impossible in a true woman.
+Might not this be his opportunity to help her--to lead her into dearer
+light? Alan Douglas was a sincere man, with himself as well as with
+others, yet there are some motives that lie, in their first inception,
+too deep even for the probe of self-analysis. He had not as yet the
+faintest suspicion as to the real source of his interest in Lynde
+Oliver--in his sudden forceful desire to be of use and service to
+her--to rescue her from spiritual peril as he had that day rescued her
+from bodily danger.
+
+She must have a lonely, unsatisfying life, he thought. It is my duty
+to help her if I can.
+
+It did not then occur to him that duty in this instance wore a much
+more pleasing aspect than it had sometimes worn in his experience.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Alan did not mean to be oversoon in going back to Four Winds, but
+three days later a book came to him which Captain Anthony had
+expressed a wish to see. It furnished an excuse for an earlier call.
+After that he went often. He always found the Captain courteous and
+affable, old Emily grimly cordial, Lynde sometimes remote and demure,
+sometimes frankly friendly. Occasionally, when the Captain was away in
+his yacht, he went for a walk with her and her dogs along the shore or
+through the sweet-smelling pinelands up the lake. He found that she
+loved books and was avid for more of them than she could obtain; he
+was glad to take her several and discuss them with her. She liked
+history and travels best. With novels she had no patience, she said
+disdainfully. She seldom spoke of herself or her past life and Alan
+fancied she avoided any personal reference. But once she said
+abruptly, "Why do you never ask me to go to church? I've always been
+afraid you would."
+
+"Because I do not think it would do you any good to go if you didn't
+want to," said Alan gravely. "Souls should not be rudely handled any
+more than bodies."
+
+She looked at him reflectively, her finger denting her chin in a
+meditative fashion she had.
+
+"You are not at all like Mr. Strong. He always scolded me, when he got
+a chance, for not going to church. I would have hated him if it had
+been worthwhile. I told him one day that I was nearer to God under
+these pines than I could be in any building fashioned by human hands.
+He was very much shocked. But I don't want you to misunderstand me.
+Father does not go to church because he does not believe there is a
+God. But I know there is. Mother taught me so. I have never gone to
+church because Father would not allow me, and I could not go now in
+Rexton where the people talk about me so. Oh, I know they do--you know
+it, too--but I do not care for them. I know I'm not like other girls.
+I would like to be but I can't be--I never can be--now."
+
+There was some strange passion in her voice that Alan did not quite
+understand--a bitterness and a revolt which he took to be against the
+circumstances that hedged her in.
+
+"Is not some other life possible for you if your present life does not
+content you?" he said gently.
+
+"But it does content me," said Lynde imperiously. "I want no other--I
+wish this life to go on forever--forever, do you understand? If I were
+sure that it would--if I were sure that no change would ever come to
+me, I would be perfectly content. It is the fear that a change will
+come that makes me wretched. Oh!" She shuddered and put her hands over
+her eyes.
+
+Alan thought she must mean that when her father died she would be
+alone in the world. He wanted to comfort her--reassure her--but he did
+not know how.
+
+One evening when he went to Four Winds he found the door open and,
+seeing the Captain in the living room, he stepped in unannounced.
+Captain Anthony was sitting by the table, his head in his hands; at
+Alan's entrance he turned upon him a haggard face, blackened by a
+furious scowl beneath which blazed eyes full of malevolence.
+
+"What do you want here?" he said, following up the demand with a
+string of vile oaths.
+
+Before Alan could summon his scattered wits, Lynde glided in with a
+white, appealing face. Wordlessly she grasped Alan's arm, drew him
+out, and shut the door.
+
+"Oh, I've been watching for you," she said breathlessly. "I was afraid
+you might come tonight--but I missed you."
+
+"But your father?" said Alan in amazement. "How have I angered him?"
+
+"Hush. Come into the garden. I will explain there."
+
+He followed her into the little enclosure where the red and white
+roses were now in full blow.
+
+"Father isn't angry with you," said Lynde in a low shamed voice. "It's
+just--he takes strange moods sometimes. Then he seems to hate us
+all--even me--and he is like that for days. He seems to suspect and
+dread everybody as if they were plotting against him. You--perhaps you
+think he has been drinking? No, that is not the trouble. These
+terrible moods come on without any cause that we know of. Even Mother
+could not do anything with him when he was like that. You must go away
+now--and do not come back until his dark mood has passed. He will be
+just as glad to see you as ever then, and this will not make any
+difference with him. Don't come back for a week at least."
+
+"I do not like to leave you in such trouble, Miss Oliver."
+
+"Oh, it doesn't matter about me--I have Emily. And there is nothing
+you could do. Please go at once. Father knows I am talking to you and
+that will vex him still more."
+
+Alan, realizing that he could not help her and that his presence only
+made matters worse, went away perplexedly. The following week was a
+miserable one for him. His duties were distasteful to him and meeting
+his people a positive torture. Sometimes Mrs. Danby looked dubiously
+at him and seemed on the point of saying something--but never said it.
+Isabel King watched him when they met, with bold probing eyes. In his
+abstraction he did not notice this any more than he noticed a certain
+subtle change which had come over the members of his congregation--as
+if a breath of suspicion had blown across them and troubled their
+confidence and trust. Once Alan would have been keenly and instantly
+conscious of this slight chill; now he was not even aware of it.
+
+When he ventured to go back to Four Winds he found the Captain on the
+point of starting off for a cruise in his yacht. He was urbane and
+friendly, utterly ignoring the incident of Alan's last visit and
+regretting that business compelled him to go down the lake. Alan saw
+him off with small regret and turned joyfully to Lynde, who was
+walking under the pines with her dogs. She looked pale and tired and
+her eyes were still troubled, but she smiled proudly and made no
+reference to what had happened.
+
+"I'm going to put these flowers on Mother's grave," she said, lifting
+her slender hands filled with late white roses. "Mother loved flowers
+and I always keep them near her when I can. You may come with me if
+you like."
+
+Alan had known Lynde's mother was buried under the pines but he had
+never visited the spot before. The grave was at the westernmost end of
+the pine wood, where it gave out on the lake, a beautiful spot, given
+over to silence and shadow.
+
+"Mother wished to be buried here," Lynde said, kneeling to arrange her
+flowers. "Father would have taken her anywhere but she said she wanted
+to be near us and near the lake she had loved so well. Father buried
+her himself. He wouldn't have anyone else do anything for her. I am so
+glad she is here. It would have been terrible to have seen her taken
+far away--my sweet little mother."
+
+"A mother is the best thing in the world--I realized that when I lost
+mine," said Alan gently. "How long is it since your mother died?"
+
+"Three years. Oh, I thought I should die too when she did. She was
+very ill--she was never strong, you know--but I never thought she
+could die. There was a year then--part of the time I didn't believe in
+God at all and the rest I hated Him. I was very wicked but I was so
+unhappy. Father had so many dreadful moods and--there was something
+else. I used to wish to die."
+
+She bowed her head on her hands and gazed moodily on the ground. Alan,
+leaning against a pine tree, looked down at her. The sunlight fell
+through the swaying boughs on her glory of burnished hair and lighted
+up the curve of cheek and chin against the dark background of wood
+brown. All the defiance and wildness had gone from her for the time
+and she seemed like a helpless, weary child. He wanted to take her in
+his arms and comfort her.
+
+"You must resemble your mother," he said absently, as if thinking
+aloud. "You don't look at all like your father."
+
+Lynde shook her head.
+
+"No, I don't look like Mother either. She was tiny and dark--she had a
+sweet little face and velvet-brown eyes and soft curly dark hair. Oh,
+I remember her look so well. I wish I did resemble her. I loved her
+so--I would have done anything to save her suffering and trouble. At
+least, she died in peace."
+
+There was a curious note of fierce self-gratulation in the girl's voice
+as she spoke the last sentence. Again Alan felt the unpleasant
+impression that there was much in her that he did not understand--might
+never understand--although such understanding was necessary to perfect
+friendship. She had never spoken so freely of her past life to him
+before, yet he felt somehow that something was being kept back in
+jealous repression. It must be something connected with her father,
+Alan thought. Doubtless, Captain Anthony's past would not bear
+inspection, and his daughter knew it and dwelt in the shadow of her
+knowledge. His heart filled with aching pity for her; he raged secretly
+because he was so powerless to help her. Her girlhood had been
+blighted, robbed of its meed of happiness and joy. Was she likewise to
+miss her womanhood? Alan's hands clenched involuntarily at the
+unuttered question.
+
+On his way home that evening he again met Isabel King. She turned and
+walked back with him but she made no reference to Four Winds or its
+inhabitants. If Alan had troubled himself to look, he would have seen
+a malicious glow in her baleful brown eyes. But the only eyes which
+had any meaning for him just then were the grey ones of Lynde Oliver.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+During Alan's next three visits to Four Winds he saw nothing of Lynde,
+either in the house or out of it. This surprised and worried him.
+There was no apparent difference in Captain Anthony, who continued to
+be suave and friendly. Alan always enjoyed his conversations with the
+Captain, who was witty, incisive, and pungent; yet he disliked the man
+himself more at every visit. If he had been compelled to define his
+impression, he would have said the Captain was a charming scoundrel.
+
+But it occurred to him that Emily was disturbed about something.
+Sometimes he caught her glance, full of perplexity and--it almost
+seemed--distrust. She looked as if she felt hostile towards him. But
+Alan dismissed the idea as absurd. She had been friendly from the
+first and he had done nothing to excite her disapproval. Lynde's
+mysterious absence was a far more perplexing problem. She had not gone
+away, for when Alan asked the Captain concerning her, he responded
+indifferently that she was out walking. Alan caught a glint of
+amusement in the older man's eyes as he spoke. He could have sworn it
+was malicious amusement.
+
+One evening he went to Four Winds around the shore. As he turned the
+headland of the cove, he saw Lynde and her dogs not a hundred feet
+away. The moment she saw him she darted up the bank and disappeared
+among the firs.
+
+Alan was thunderstruck. There was no room for doubt that she meant to
+avoid him. He walked up to the house in a tumult of mingled feelings
+which he did not even then understand. He only realized that he felt
+bitterly hurt and grieved--puzzled as well. What did it all mean?
+
+He met Emily in the yard of Four Winds on her way to the spring and
+stopped her resolutely.
+
+"Miss Oliver," he said bluntly, "is Miss Lynde angry with me? And
+why?"
+
+Emily looked at him piercingly.
+
+"Have you no idea why?" she asked shortly.
+
+"None in the world."
+
+She looked at him through and through a moment longer. Then, seeming
+satisfied with her scrutiny, she picked up her pail.
+
+"Come down to the spring with me," she said.
+
+As soon as they were out of sight of the house, Emily began abruptly.
+
+"If you don't know why Lynde is acting so, I can't tell you, for I
+don't know either. I don't even know if she is angry. I only thought
+perhaps she was--that you had done or said something to vex
+her--plaguing her to go to church maybe. But if you didn't, it may not
+be anger at all. I don't understand that girl. She's been different
+ever since her mother died. She used to tell me everything before
+that. You must go and ask her right out yourself what is wrong. But
+maybe I can tell you something. Did you write her a letter a
+fortnight ago?"
+
+"A letter? No."
+
+"Well, she got one then. I thought it came from you--I didn't know who
+else would be writing to her. A boy brought it and gave it to her at
+the door. She's been acting strange ever since. She cries at
+night--something Lynde never did before except when her mother died.
+And in daytime she roams the shore and woods like one possessed. You
+must find out what was in that letter, Mr. Douglas."
+
+"Have you any idea who the boy was?" Alan asked, feeling somewhat
+relieved. The mystery was clearing up, he thought. No doubt it was the
+old story of some cowardly anonymous letter. His thoughts flew
+involuntarily to Isabel King.
+
+Emily shook her head.
+
+"No. He was just a half-grown fellow with reddish hair and he limped a
+little."
+
+"Oh, that is the postmaster's son," said Alan disappointedly. "That
+puts us further off the scent than ever. The letter was probably
+dropped in the box at the office and there will consequently be no way
+of tracing the writer."
+
+"Well, I can't tell you anything more," said Emily. "You'll have to
+ask Lynde for the truth."
+
+This Alan was determined to do whenever he should meet her. He did not
+go to the house with Emily but wandered about the shore, watching for
+Lynde and not seeing her. At length he went home, a prey to stormy
+emotions. He realized at last that he loved Lynde Oliver. He wondered
+how he could have been so long blind to it. He knew that he must have
+loved her ever since he had first seen her. The discovery amazed but
+did not shock him. There was no reason why he should not love
+her--should not woo and win her for his wife if she cared for him. She
+was good and sweet and true. Anything of doubt in her antecedents
+could not touch her. Probably the world would look upon Captain
+Anthony as a somewhat undesirable father-in-law for a minister, but
+that aspect of the question did not disturb Alan. As for the trouble
+of the letter, he felt sure he would easily be able to clear it away.
+Probably some malicious busybody had become aware of his frequent
+calls at Four Winds and chose to interfere in his private affairs
+thus. For the first time it occurred to him that there had been a
+certain lack of cordiality among his people of late. If it were really
+so, doubtless this was the reason. At any other time this would have
+been of moment to him. But now his thoughts were too wholly taken up
+with Lynde and the estrangement on her part to attach much importance
+to anything else. What she thought mattered incalculably more to Alan
+than what all the people in Rexton put together thought. He had the
+right, like any other man, to woo the woman of his choice and he would
+certainly brook no outside interference in the matter.
+
+After a sleepless night he went back to Four Winds in the morning.
+Lynde would not expect him at that time and he would have more chance
+of finding her. The result justified his idea, for he met her by the
+spring.
+
+Alan felt shocked at the change in her appearance. She looked as if
+years of suffering had passed over her. Her lips were pallid, and
+hollow circles under her eyes made them appear unnaturally large. He
+had last left the girl in the bloom of her youth; he found her again a
+woman on whom life had laid its heavy hand.
+
+A burning flood of colour swept over her face as they met, then
+receded as quickly, leaving her whiter than before. Without any waste
+of words, Alan plunged abruptly into the subject.
+
+"Miss Oliver, why have you avoided me so of late? Have I done anything
+to offend you?"
+
+"No." She spoke as if the word hurt her, her eyes persistently cast
+down.
+
+"Then what is the trouble?"
+
+There was no answer. She gave an unvoluntary glance around as if
+seeking some way of escape. There was none, for the spring was set
+about with thick young firs and Alan blocked the only path.
+
+He leaned forward and took her hands in his.
+
+"Miss Oliver, you must tell me what the trouble is," he said firmly.
+
+She pulled her hands away and flung them up to her face, her form
+shaken by stormy sobs. In distress he put his arm about her and drew
+her closer.
+
+"Tell me, Lynde," he whispered tenderly.
+
+She broke away from him, saying passionately, "You must not come to
+Four Winds any more. You must not have anything more to do with
+us--any of us. We have done you enough harm already. But I never
+thought it could hurt you--oh, I am sorry, sorry!"
+
+"Miss Oliver, I want to see that letter you received the other
+evening. Oh"--as she started with surprise--"I know about it--Emily
+told me. Who wrote it?"
+
+"There was no name signed to it," she faltered.
+
+"Just as I thought. Well, you must let me see it."
+
+"I cannot--I burned it."
+
+"Then tell me what was in it. You must. This matter must be cleared
+up--I am not going to have our beautiful friendship spoiled by the
+malice of some coward. What did that letter say?"
+
+"It said that everybody in your congregation was talking about your
+frequent visits here--that it had made a great scandal--that it was
+doing you a great deal of injury and would probably end in your having
+to leave Rexton."
+
+"That would be a catastrophe indeed," said Alan drily. "Well, what
+else?"
+
+"Nothing more--at least, nothing about you. The rest was about
+myself--I did not mind it--much. But I was so sorry to think that I
+had done you harm. It is not too late to undo it. You must not come
+here any more. Then they will forget."
+
+"Perhaps--but I should not forget. It's a little too late for me.
+Lynde, you must not let this venomous letter come between us. I love
+you, dear--I've loved you ever since I met you and I want you for my
+wife."
+
+Alan had not intended to say that just then, but the words came to his
+lips in spite of himself. She looked so sad and appealing and weary
+that he wanted to have the right to comfort and protect her.
+
+She turned her eyes full upon him with no hint of maidenly shyness or
+shrinking in them. Instead, they were full of a blank, incredulous
+horror that swallowed up every other feeling. There was no mistaking
+their expression and it struck an icy chill to Alan's heart. He had
+certainly not expected a too ready response on her part--he knew that
+even if she cared for him he might find it a matter of time to win her
+avowal of it--but he certainly had not expected to see such evident
+abject dismay as her blanched face betrayed. She put up her hand as if
+warding a blow.
+
+"Don't--don't," she gasped. "You must not say that--you must never say
+it. Oh, I never dreamed of this. If I had thought it possible you
+could--love me, I would never have been friends with you. Oh, I've
+made a terrible mistake."
+
+She wrung her hands piteously together, looking like a soul in
+torment. Alan could not bear to see her pain.
+
+"Don't feel such distress," he implored. "I suppose I've spoken too
+abruptly--but I'll be so patient, dear, if you'll only try to care for
+me a little. Can't you, dear?"
+
+"I can't marry you," said Lynde desperately. She leaned against a slim
+white bole of a young birch behind her and looked at him wretchedly.
+"Won't you please go away and forget me?"
+
+"I can't forget you," Alan said, smiling a little in spite of his
+suffering. "You are the only woman I can ever love--and I can't give
+you up unless I have to. Won't you be frank with me, dear? Do you
+honestly think you can never learn to love me?"
+
+"It is not that," said Lynde in a hard, unnatural voice. "I am married
+already."
+
+Alan stared at her, not in the least comprehending the meaning of her
+words. Everything--pain, hope, fear, passion--had slipped away from
+him for a moment, as if he had been stunned by a physical blow. He
+could not have heard aright.
+
+"Married?" he said dully. "Lynde, you cannot mean it?"
+
+"Yes, I do. I was married three years ago."
+
+"Why was I not told this?" Alan's voice was stern, although he did not
+mean it to be so, and she shrank and shivered. Then she began in a low
+monotonous tone from which all feeling of any sort seemed to have
+utterly faded.
+
+"Three years ago Mother was very ill--so ill that any shock would kill
+her, so the doctor Father brought from the lake told us. A man--a
+young sea captain--came here to see Father. His name was Frank Harmon
+and he had known Father well in the past. They had sailed together.
+Father seemed to be afraid of him--I had never seen him afraid of
+anybody before. I could not think much about anybody except Mother
+then, but I knew I did not quite like Captain Harmon, although he was
+very polite to me and I suppose might have been called handsome. One
+day Father came to me and told me I must marry Captain Harmon. I
+laughed at the idea at first but when I looked at Father's face I did
+not laugh. It was all white and drawn. He implored me to marry Captain
+Harmon. He said if I did not it would mean shame and disgrace for us
+all--that Captain Harmon had some hold on him and would tell what he
+knew if I did not marry him. I don't know what it was but it must have
+been something dreadful. And he said it would kill Mother. I knew it
+would, and that was what drove me to consent at last. Oh, I can't tell
+you what I suffered. I was only seventeen and there was nobody to
+advise me. One day Father and Captain Harmon and I went down the lake
+to Crosse Harbour and we were married there. As soon as the ceremony
+was over, Captain Harmon had to sail in his vessel. He was going to
+China. Father and I came back home. Nobody knew--not even Emily. He
+said we must not tell Mother until she was better. But she was never
+better. She only lived three months more--she lived them happily and
+at rest. When I think of that, I am not sorry for what I did. Captain
+Harmon said he would be back in the fall to claim me. I waited, sick
+at heart. But he did not come--he has never come. We have never heard
+a word of or about him since. Sometimes I feel sure he cannot be still
+living. But never a day dawns that I don't say to myself, 'Perhaps he
+will come today'--and, oh--"
+
+She broke down again, sobbing bitterly. Amid all the daze of his own
+pain Alan realized that, at any cost, he must not make it harder for
+her by showing his suffering. He tried to speak calmly, wisely, as a
+disinterested friend.
+
+"Could it not be discovered whether your--this man--is or is not
+living? Surely your father could find out."
+
+Lynde shook her head.
+
+"No, he says he has no way of doing so. We do not know if Captain
+Harmon had any relatives or even where his home was, and it was his
+own ship in which he sailed. Father would be glad to think that Frank
+Harmon was dead, but he does not think he is. He says he was always a
+fickle-minded fellow, one fancy driving another out of his mind. Oh, I
+can bear my own misery--but to think what I have brought on you! I
+never dreamed that you could care for me. I was so lonely and your
+friendship was so pleasant--can you ever forgive me?"
+
+"There is nothing to forgive, as far as you are concerned, Lynde,"
+said Alan steadily. "You have done me no wrong. I have loved you
+sincerely and such love can be nothing but a blessing to me. I only
+wish that I could help you. It wrings my heart to think of your
+position. But I can do nothing--nothing. I must not even come here any
+more. You understand that?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+There was an unconscious revelation in the girl's mournful eyes as she
+turned them on Alan. It thrilled him to the core of his being. She
+loved him. If it were not for that empty marriage form, he could win
+her, but the knowledge was only an added mocking torment. Alan had not
+known a man could endure such misery and live. A score of wild
+questions rushed to his lips but he crushed them back for Lynde's sake
+and held out his hand.
+
+"Good-bye, dear," he said almost steadily, daring to say no more lest
+he should say too much.
+
+"Good-bye," Lynde answered faintly.
+
+When he had gone she flung herself down on the moss by the spring and
+lay there in an utter abandonment of misery and desolation.
+
+Pain and indignation struggled for mastery in Alan's stormy soul as he
+walked homeward. So this was Captain Anthony's doings! He had
+sacrificed his daughter to some crime of his dubious past. Alan never
+dreamed of blaming Lynde for having kept her marriage a secret; he put
+the blame where it belonged--on the Captain's shoulders. Captain
+Anthony had never warned him by so much as a hint that Lynde was not
+free to be won. It had all probably seemed a good joke to him. Alan
+thought the furtive amusement he had so often detected in the
+Captain's eyes was explained now.
+
+He found Elder Trewin in his study when he got home. The good Elder's
+face was stern and anxious; he had called on a distasteful errand--to
+tell the young minister of the scandal his intimacy with the Four
+Winds people was making in the congregation and remonstrate with him
+concerning it. Alan listened absently, with none of the resentment he
+would have felt at the interference a day previously. A man does not
+mind a pin-prick when a limb is being wrenched away.
+
+"I can promise you that my objectionable calls at Four Winds will
+cease," he said sarcastically, when the Elder had finished. Elder
+Trewin got himself away, feeling snubbed but relieved.
+
+"Took it purty quiet," he reflected. "Don't believe there was much in
+the yarns after all. Isabel King started them and probably she
+exaggerated a lot. I suppose he's had some notion like as not of
+bringing the Captain over to the church. But that's foolish, for he'd
+never manage it, and meanwhile was giving occasion for gossip. It's
+just as well to stop it. He's a good pastor and he works hard--too
+hard, mebbe. He looked real careworn and worried today."
+
+The Rexton gossip soon ceased with the cessation of the young
+minister's visits to Four Winds. A month later it suffered a brief
+revival when a tall grim-faced old woman, whom a few recognized as
+Captain Anthony's housekeeper, was seen to walk down the Rexton road
+and enter the manse. She did not stay there long--watchers from a
+dozen different windows were agreed upon that--and nobody, not even
+Mrs. Danby, who did her best to find out, ever knew why she had
+called.
+
+Emily looked at Alan with grim reproach when she was shown into his
+study, and as soon as they were alone she began with her usual
+abruptness, "Mr. Douglas, why have you given up coming to Four Winds?"
+
+Alan flinched.
+
+"You must ask Lynde that, Miss Oliver," he said quietly.
+
+"I have asked her--and she says nothing."
+
+"Then I cannot tell you."
+
+Anger glowed in Emily's eyes.
+
+"I thought you were a gentleman," she said bitterly. "You are not. You
+are breaking Lynde's heart. She's gone to a shadow of herself and
+she's fretting night and day. You went there and made her like
+you--oh, I've eyes--and then you left her."
+
+Alan bent over his desk and looked the old woman in the face
+unflinchingly.
+
+"You are mistaken, Miss Oliver," he said earnestly. "I love Lynde and
+would be only too happy if it were possible that I could marry her. I
+am not to blame for what has come about--she will tell you that
+herself if you ask her."
+
+His look and tone convinced Emily.
+
+"Who is to blame then? Lynde herself?"
+
+"No, no."
+
+"The Captain then?"
+
+"Not in the sense you mean. I can tell you nothing more."
+
+A baffled expression crossed the old woman's face. "There's a mystery
+here--there always has been--and I'm shut out of it. Lynde won't
+confide in me--in me who'd give my life's blood to help her. Perhaps I
+can help her--I could tell you something. Have you stopped coming to
+Four Winds--has she made you stop coming--because she's got such a
+wicked old scamp for a father? Is that the reason?"
+
+Alan shook his head.
+
+"No, that has nothing to do with it."
+
+"And you won't come back?"
+
+"It is not a question of will. I cannot--must not go."
+
+"Lynde will break her heart then," said Emily in a tone of despair.
+
+"I think not. She is too strong and fine for that. Help her all you
+can with sympathy but don't torment her with any questions. You may
+tell her if you like that I advise her to confide the whole story to
+you, but if she cannot don't tease her to. Be very gentle with her."
+
+"You don't need to tell me that. I'd rather die than hurt her. I came
+here full of anger against you--but I see now you are not to blame.
+You are suffering too--your face tells that. All the same, I wish
+you'd never set foot in Four Winds. She wasn't happy before but she
+wasn't so miserable as she is now. Oh, I know Anthony is at the bottom
+of it all in some way but I won't ask you any more questions since you
+don't feel free to answer them. But are you sure that nothing can be
+done to clear up the trouble?"
+
+"Too sure," said Alan's white lips.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The autumn dragged away. Alan found out how much a man may suffer and
+yet go on living and working. As for that, his work was all that made
+life possible for him now and he flung himself into it with feverish
+energy, growing so thin and hollow-eyed over it that even Elder Trewin
+remonstrated and suggested a vacation--a suggestion at which Alan
+merely smiled. A vacation which would take him away from Lynde's
+neighbourhood--the thought was not to be entertained.
+
+He never saw Lynde, for he never went to any part of the shore now;
+yet he hungered constantly for the sight of her, the sound of her
+voice, the glance of her luminous eyes. When he pictured her eating
+her heart out in the solitude of Four Winds, he clenched his hands in
+despair. As for the possibility of Harmon's return, Alan could never
+face it for a moment. When it thrust its ugly presence into his
+thoughts, he put it away desperately. The man was dead--or his fickle
+fancy had veered elsewhere. Nothing else could explain his absence.
+But they could never know, and the uncertainty would forever stand
+between him and Lynde like a spectre. But he thought more of Lynde's
+pain than his own. He would have elected to bear any suffering if by
+so doing he could have freed her from the nightmare dread of Harmon's
+returning to claim her. That dread had always hung over her and now it
+must be intensified to agony by her love for another man. And he could
+do nothing--nothing. He groaned aloud in his helplessness.
+
+One evening in late November Alan flung aside his pen and yielded to
+the impulse that urged him to the lake shore. He did not mean to seek
+Lynde--he would go to a part of the shore where there would be no
+likelihood of meeting her. But get away by himself he must. A November
+storm was raging and there would be a certain satisfaction in
+breasting its buffets and fighting his way through it. Besides, he
+knew that Isabel King was in the house and he dreaded meeting her.
+Since his conviction that she had written that letter to Lynde, he
+could not tolerate the girl and it tasked his self-control to keep
+from showing his contempt openly. Perhaps Isabel felt it beneath all
+his outward courtesy. At least she did not seek his society as she had
+formerly done.
+
+It was the second day of the storm; a wild northeast gale was blowing
+and cold rain and freezing sleet fell in frequent showers. Alan
+shivered as he came out into its full fury on the lake shore. At first
+he could not see the water through the driving mist. Then it cleared
+away for a moment and he stopped short, aghast at the sight which met
+his eyes.
+
+Opposite him was a long low island known as Philip's Point, dwindling
+down at its northeastern side to two long narrow bars of quicksand.
+Alan's horrified eyes saw a small schooner sunk between the bars; her
+hull was entirely under water and in the rigging clung one solitary
+figure. So much he saw before the Point was blotted out in a renewed
+downpour of sleet.
+
+Without a moment's hesitation Alan turned and ran for Four Winds,
+which was only about a quarter of a mile away around a headland. With
+the Captain's assistance, something might be done. Other help could
+not be obtained before darkness would fall and then it would be
+impossible to do anything. He dashed up the steps of Four Winds and
+met Emily, who had flung the door open. Behind her was Lynde's pale
+face with its alarmed questioning eyes.
+
+"Where is the Captain?" gasped Alan. "There's a vessel on Philip's
+Point and one man at least on her."
+
+"The Captain's away on a cruise," said Emily blankly. "He went three
+days ago."
+
+"Then nothing can be done," said Alan despairingly. "It will be dark
+long before I can get to the village."
+
+Lynde stepped out, tying a shawl around her head.
+
+"Let us go around to the Point," she said. "Have you matches? No?
+Emily, get some. We must light a bonfire at least. And bring Father's
+glass."
+
+"It is not a fit night for you to be out," said Alan anxiously. "You
+are sheltered here--you don't feel it--but it's a fearful storm down
+there."
+
+"I am not afraid of the storm. It will not hurt me. Let us hurry. It
+is growing dark already."
+
+In silence they breasted their way to the shore and around the
+headland. Arriving opposite Philip's Point, a lull in the sleet
+permitted them to see the sunken schooner and the clinging figure.
+Lynde waved her hand to him and they saw him wave back.
+
+"It won't be necessary to light a fire now that he has seen us," said
+Lynde. "Nothing can be done with village help till morning and that
+man can never cling there so long. He will freeze to death, for it is
+growing colder every minute. His only chance is to swim ashore if he
+can swim. The danger will be when he comes near shore; the undertow of
+the backwater on the quicksand will sweep him away and in his probably
+exhausted condition he may not be able to make head against it."
+
+"He knows that, doubtless, and that is why he hasn't attempted to swim
+ashore before this," said Alan. "But I'll meet him in the backwater
+and drag him in."
+
+"You--you'll risk your own life," cried Lynde.
+
+"There is a little risk certainly, but I don't think there is a great
+one. Anyhow, the attempt must be made," said Alan quietly.
+
+Suddenly Lynde's composure forsook her. She wrung her hands.
+
+"I can't let you do it," she cried wildly. "You might be
+drowned--there's every risk. You don't know the force of that
+backwater. Alan, Alan, don't think of it."
+
+She caught his arm in her white wet hands and looked into his face
+with passionate pleading.
+
+Emily, who had said nothing, now spoke harshly.
+
+"Lynde is right, Mr. Douglas. You have no right to risk your life for
+a stranger. My advice is to go to the village for help, and Lynde and
+I will make a fire and watch here. That is all that can be expected of
+you or us."
+
+Alan paid no heed to Emily. Very tenderly he loosened Lynde's hold on
+his arm and looked into her quivering face.
+
+"You know it is my duty, Lynde," he said gently. "If anything can be
+done for that poor man, I am the only one who can do it. I will come
+back safe, please God. Be brave, dear."
+
+Lynde, with a little moan of resignation, turned away. Old Emily
+looked on with a face of grim disapproval as Alan waded out into the
+surf that boiled and swirled around him in a mad whirl of foam. The
+shower of sleet had again slackened, and the wreck half a mile away,
+with its solitary figure, was dearly visible. Alan beckoned to the man
+to jump overboard and swim ashore, enforcing his appeal by gestures
+that commanded haste before the next shower should come. For a few
+moments it seemed as if the seaman did not understand or lacked the
+courage or power to obey. The next minute he had dropped from the
+rigging on the crest of a mighty wave and was being borne onward to
+the shore.
+
+Speedily the backwater was reached and the man, sucked down by the
+swirl of the wave, threw up his arms and disappeared. Alan dashed in,
+groping, swimming; it seemed an eternity before his hand clutched the
+drowning man and wrenched him from the undertow. And, with the seaman
+in his arms, he staggered back through the foam and dropped his
+burden on the sand at Lynde's feet. Alan was reeling from exhaustion
+and chilled to the marrow, but he thought only of the man he had
+rescued. The latter was unconscious and, as Alan bent over him, he
+heard Lynde give a choking little cry.
+
+"He is living still," said Alan. "We must get him up to the house as
+soon as possible. How shall we manage it?"
+
+"Lynde and I can go and bring the Captain's mattress down," said
+Emily. Now that Alan was safe she was eager to do all she could. "Then
+you and I can carry him up to the house."
+
+"That will be best," said Alan. "Go quickly."
+
+He did not look at Lynde or he would have been shocked by the agony on
+her face. She cast one glance at the prostrate man and followed Emily.
+In a short time they returned with the mattress, and Alan and Emily
+carried the sailor on it to Four Winds. Lynde walked behind them,
+seemingly unconscious of both. She watched the stranger's face as one
+fascinated.
+
+At Four Winds they carried the man to a room where Emily and Alan
+worked over him, while Lynde heated water and hunted out stimulants in
+a mechanical fashion. When Alan came down she asked no questions but
+looked at him with the same strained horror on her face which it had
+borne ever since Alan had dropped his burden at her feet.
+
+"Is he--conscious?" asked Lynde, as if she forced herself to ask the
+question.
+
+"Yes, he has come back to life. But he is delirious and doesn't
+realize his surroundings at all. He thinks he is still on board the
+vessel. He'll probably come round all right. Emily is going to watch
+him and I'll go up to Rexton and send Dr. Ames down."
+
+"Do you know who that man you have saved is?" asked Lynde.
+
+"No. I asked him his name but could not get any sensible answer."
+
+"I can tell you who he is--he is Frank Harmon."
+
+Alan stared at her. "Frank Harmon. Your--your--the man you married?
+Impossible!"
+
+"It is he. Do you think I could be mistaken?"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Dr. Ames came to Four Winds that night and again the next day. He
+found Harmon delirious in a high fever.
+
+"It will be several days before he comes to his senses," he said.
+"Shall I send you help to nurse him?"
+
+"It isn't necessary," said Emily stiffly. "I can look after him--and
+the Captain ought to be back tomorrow."
+
+"You've no idea who he is, I suppose?" asked the doctor.
+
+"No." Emily was quite sincere. Lynde had not told her, and Emily did
+not recognize him.
+
+"Well, Mr. Douglas did a brave thing in rescuing him," said Dr. Ames.
+"I'll be back tomorrow."
+
+Harmon remained delirious for a week. Alan went every day to Four
+Winds, his interest in a man he had rescued explaining his visits to
+the Rexton people. The Captain had returned and, though not absolutely
+uncivil, was taciturn and moody. Alan reflected grimly that Captain
+Anthony probably owed him a grudge for saving Harmon's life. He never
+saw Lynde alone, but her strained, tortured face made his heart ache.
+Old Emily only seemed her natural self. She waited on Harmon and Dr.
+Ames considered her a paragon of a nurse. Alan thought it was well
+that Emily knew nothing more of Harmon than that he was an old friend
+of Captain Anthony's. He felt sure that she would have walked out of
+the sick room and never reentered it had she guessed that the patient
+was the man whom, above all others, Lynde dreaded and feared.
+
+One afternoon when Alan went to Four Winds Emily met him at the door.
+
+"He's better," she announced. "He had a good sleep this afternoon and
+when he woke he was quite himself. You'd better go up and see him. I
+told him all I could but he wants to see you. Anthony and Lynde are
+away to Crosse Harbour. Go up and talk to him."
+
+Harmon turned his head as the minister approached and held out his
+hand with a smile.
+
+"You're the preacher, I reckon. They tell me you were the man who
+pulled me out of that hurly-burly. I wasn't hardly worth saving but
+I'm as grateful to you as if I was."
+
+"I only--did--what any man would have done," said Alan, taking the
+offered hand.
+
+"I don't know about that. Anyhow, it's not every man could have done
+it. I'd been hanging in that rigging all day and most of the night
+before. There were five more of us but they dropped off. I knew it was
+no use to try to swim ashore alone--the backwater would be too much
+for me. I must have been a lot of trouble. That old woman says I've
+been raving for a week. And, by the way I feel, I fancy I'll be
+stretched out here another week before I'll be able to use my pins.
+Who are these Olivers anyhow? The old woman wouldn't talk about the
+family."
+
+"Don't you know them?" asked Alan in astonishment. "Isn't your name
+Harmon?"
+
+"That's right--Harmon--Alfred Harmon, first mate of the schooner,
+_Annie M._"
+
+"Alfred! I thought your name was Frank!"
+
+"Frank was my twin brother. We were so much alike our own mammy
+couldn't tell us apart. Did you know Frank?"
+
+"No. This family did. Miss Oliver thought you were Frank when she saw
+you."
+
+"I don't feel much like myself but I'm not Frank anyway. He's dead,
+poor chap--got shot in a spat with Chinese pirates three years ago."
+
+"Dead! Man, are you speaking the truth? Are you certain?"
+
+"Pop sure. His mate told me the whole story. Say, preacher, what's the
+matter? You look as if you were going to keel over."
+
+Alan hastily drank a glass of water.
+
+"I--I am all right now. I haven't been feeling well of late."
+
+"Guess you didn't do yourself any good going out into that freezing
+water and dragging me in."
+
+"I shall thank God every day of my life that I did do it," said Alan
+gravely, new light in his eyes, as Emily entered the room. "Miss
+Oliver, when will the Captain and Lynde be back?"
+
+"They said they would be home by four."
+
+She looked at Alan curiously.
+
+"I will go and meet her," he said quickly.
+
+He came upon Lynde, sitting on a grey boulder under the shadow of an
+overhanging fir coppice, with her dogs beside her.
+
+She turned her head indifferently as Alan's footsteps sounded on the
+pebbles, and then stood slowly up.
+
+"Are you looking for me?" she asked.
+
+"I have some news for you, Lynde," Alan said.
+
+"Has he--has he come to himself?" she whispered.
+
+"Yes, he has come to himself. Lynde, he is not Frank Harmon--he is his
+twin brother. He says Frank Harmon was killed three years ago in the
+China seas."
+
+For a moment Lynde's great grey eyes stared into Alan's, questioning.
+Then, as the truth seized on her comprehension, she sat down on the
+boulder and put her hands over her face without a word. Alan walked
+down to the water's edge to give her time to recover herself. When he
+came back he took her hands and said quietly, "Lynde, do you realize
+what this means for us--for us? You are free--free to love me--to be
+my wife."
+
+Lynde shook her head.
+
+"Oh, that can't be. I am not fit to be your wife."
+
+"Don't talk nonsense, dear," he smiled.
+
+"It isn't nonsense. You are a minister and it would ruin you to marry
+a girl like me. Think what the Rexton people would say of it."
+
+"Rexton isn't the world, dearest. Last week I had a letter from home
+asking me to go to a church there. I did not think of accepting
+then--now I will go--we will both go--and a new life will begin for
+you, clear of the shadows of the old."
+
+"That isn't possible. No, Alan, listen--I love you too well to do you
+the wrong of marrying you. It would injure you. There is Father. I
+love him and he has always been very kind to me. But--but--there's
+something wrong--you know it--some crime in his past--"
+
+"The only man who knew that is dead."
+
+"We do not know that he was the only man. I am the daughter of a
+criminal and I am no fit wife for Alan Douglas. No, Alan, don't plead,
+please. I won't think differently--I never can."
+
+There was a ring of finality in her tone that struck dismay to Alan's
+heart. He prepared to entreat and argue, but before he could utter a
+word, the boughs behind them parted and Captain Anthony stepped down
+from the bank.
+
+"I've been listening," he announced coolly, "and I think it high time
+I took a share in the conversation. You seem to have run up against a
+snag, Mr. Douglas. You say Frank Harmon is dead. That's good riddance
+if it's true. Is it true?"
+
+"His brother declares it is."
+
+"Well, then, I'll help you all I can. I like you, Mr. Douglas, and I
+happen to be fond of Lynde, too--though you mayn't believe it. I'm
+fond of her for her mother's sake and I'd like to see her happy. I
+didn't want to give her to Harmon that time three years ago but I
+couldn't help myself. He had the upper hand, curse him. It wasn't for
+my own sake, though--it was for my wife's. However, that's all over
+and done with and I'll do the best I can to atone for it. So you won't
+marry your minister because your father was not a good man, Lynde?
+Well, I don't suppose he was a very good man--a man who makes his
+wife's life a hell, even in a refined way, isn't exactly a saint, to
+my way of thinking. But that's the worst that could be said of him and
+it doesn't entail any indelible disgrace on his family, I suppose. I
+am not your father, Lynde."
+
+"Not my father?" Lynde echoed the words blankly.
+
+"No. Your father was your mother's first husband. She never told you
+of him. When I said he made her life a hell, I said the truth, no
+more, no less. I had loved your mother ever since I was a boy, Lynde.
+But she was far above me in station and I never dreamed it was
+possible to win her love. She married James Ashley. He was a
+gentleman, so called--and he didn't kick or beat her. Oh no, he just
+tormented her refined womanhood to the verge of frenzy, that was all.
+He died when you were a baby. And a year later I found out your mother
+could love me, rough sailor and all as I was. I married her and
+brought her here. We had fifteen years of happiness together. I'm not
+a good man--but I made your mother happy in spite of her wrecked
+health and her dark memories. It was her wish that you should be known
+as my daughter, but under the present circumstances I know she would
+wish that you should be told the truth. Marry your man, Lynde, and go
+away with him. Emily will go with you if you like. I'm going back to
+the sea. I've been hankering for it ever since your mother died. I'll
+go out of your life. There, don't cry--I hate to see a woman cry. Mr.
+Douglas, I'll leave you to dry her tears and I'll go up to the house
+and have a talk with Harmon."
+
+When Captain Anthony had disappeared behind the Point, Alan turned to
+Lynde. She was sobbing softly and her face was wet with tears. Alan
+drew her head down on his shoulder.
+
+"Sweetheart, the dark past is all put by. Our future begins with
+promise. All is well with us, dear Lynde."
+
+Like a child, she put her arms about his neck and their lips met.
+
+
+
+
+Marcella's Reward
+
+
+Dr. Clark shook his head gravely. "She is not improving as fast as I
+should like to see," he said. "In fact--er--she seems to have gone
+backward the past week. You must send her to the country, Miss
+Langley. The heat here is too trying for her."
+
+Dr. Clark might as well have said, "You must send her to the moon"--or
+so Marcella thought bitterly. Despair filled her heart as she looked
+at Patty's white face and transparent hands and listened to the
+doctor's coolly professional advice. Patty's illness had already swept
+away the scant savings of three years. Marcella had nothing left with
+which to do anything more for her.
+
+She did not make any answer to the doctor--she could not. Besides,
+what could she say, with Patty's big blue eyes, bigger and bluer than
+ever in her thin face, looking at her so wistfully? She dared not say
+it was impossible. But Aunt Emma had no such scruples. With a great
+clatter and racket, that lady fell upon the dishes that held Patty's
+almost untasted dinner and whisked them away while her tongue kept
+time to her jerky movements.
+
+"Goodness me, doctor, do you think you're talking to millionaires?
+Where do you suppose the money is to come from to send Patty to the
+country? _I_ can't afford it, that is certain. I think I do pretty
+well to give Marcella and Patty their board free, and I have to work
+my fingers to the bone to do _that_. It's all nonsense about Patty,
+anyhow. What she ought to do is to make an effort to get better. She
+doesn't--she just mopes and pines. She won't eat a thing I cook for
+her. How can anyone expect to get better if she doesn't eat?"
+
+Aunt Emma glared at the doctor as if she were triumphantly sure that
+she had propounded an unanswerable question. A dull red flush rose to
+Marcella's face.
+
+"Oh, Aunt Emma, I _can't_ eat!" said Patty wearily. "It isn't because
+I won't--indeed, I can't."
+
+"Humph! I suppose my cooking isn't fancy enough for you--that's the
+trouble. Well, I haven't the time to put any frills on it. I think I
+do pretty well to wait on you at all with all that work piling up
+before me. But some people imagine that they were born to be waited
+on."
+
+Aunt Emma whirled the last dish from the table and left the room,
+slamming the door behind her.
+
+The doctor shrugged his shoulders. He had become used to Miss Gibson's
+tirades during Patty's illness. But Marcella had never got used to
+them--never, in all the three years she had lived with her aunt. They
+flicked on the raw as keenly as ever. This morning it seemed
+unbearable. It took every atom of Marcella's self-control to keep her
+from voicing her resentful thoughts. It was only for Patty's sake that
+she was able to restrain herself. It was only for Patty's sake, too,
+that she did not, as soon as the doctor had gone, give way to tears.
+Instead, she smiled bravely into the little sister's eyes.
+
+"Let me brush your hair now, dear, and bathe your face."
+
+"Have you time?" said Patty anxiously.
+
+"Yes, I think so."
+
+Patty gave a sigh of content.
+
+"I'm so glad! Aunt Emma always hurts me when she brushes my hair--she
+is in such a hurry. You're so gentle, Marcella, you don't make my head
+ache at all. But oh! I'm so tired of being sick. I wish I could get
+well faster. Marcy, do you think I can be sent to the country?"
+
+"I--I don't know, dear. I'll see if I can think of any way to manage
+it," said Marcella, striving to speak hopefully.
+
+Patty drew a long breath.
+
+"Oh, Marcy, it would be lovely to see the green fields again, and the
+woods and brooks, as we did that summer we spent in the country
+before Father died. I wish we could live in the country always. I'm
+sure I would soon get better if I could go--if it was only for a
+little while. It's so hot here--and the factory makes such a noise--my
+head seems to go round and round all the time. And Aunt Emma scolds
+so."
+
+"You mustn't mind Aunt Emma, dear," said Marcella. "You know she
+doesn't really mean it--it is just a habit she has got into. She was
+really very good to you when you were so sick. She sat up night after
+night with you, and made me go to bed. There now, dearie, you're fresh
+and sweet, and I must hurry to the store, or I'll be late. Try and
+have a little nap, and I'll bring you home some oranges tonight."
+
+Marcella dropped a kiss on Patty's cheek, put on her hat and went out.
+As soon as she left the house, she quickened her steps almost to a
+run. She feared she would be late, and that meant a ten-cent fine. Ten
+cents loomed as large as ten dollars now to Marcella's eyes when every
+dime meant so much. But fast as she went, her distracted thoughts went
+faster. She could not send Patty to the country. There was no way,
+think, plan, worry as she might. And if she could not! Marcella
+remembered Patty's face and the doctor's look, and her heart sank like
+lead. Patty was growing weaker every day instead of stronger, and the
+weather was getting hotter. Oh, if Patty were to--to--but Marcella
+could not complete the sentence even in thought.
+
+If they were not so desperately poor! Marcella's bitterness overflowed
+her soul at the thought. Everywhere around her were evidences of
+wealth--wealth often lavishly and foolishly spent--and she could not
+get money enough anywhere to save her sister's life! She almost felt
+that she hated all those smiling, well-dressed people who thronged the
+streets. By the time she reached the store, poor Marcella's heart was
+seething with misery and resentment.
+
+Three years before, when Marcella had been sixteen and Patty nine,
+their parents had died, leaving them absolutely alone in the world
+except for their father's half-sister, Miss Gibson, who lived in
+Canning and earned her livelihood washing and mending for the hands
+employed in the big factory nearby. She had grudgingly offered the
+girls a home, which Marcella had accepted because she must. She
+obtained a position in one of the Canning stores at three dollars a
+week, out of which she contrived to dress herself and Patty and send
+the latter to school. Her life for three years was one of absolute
+drudgery, yet until now she had never lost courage, but had struggled
+bravely on, hoping for better times in the future when she should get
+promotion and Patty would be old enough to teach school.
+
+But now Marcella's courage and hopefulness had gone out like a spent
+candle. She was late at the store, and that meant a fine; her head
+ached, and her feet felt like lead as she climbed the stairs to her
+department--a hot, dark, stuffy corner behind the shirtwaist counter.
+It was warm and close at any time, but today it was stifling, and
+there was already a crowd of customers, for it was the day of a
+bargain sale. The heat and noise and chatter got on Marcella's
+tortured nerves. She felt that she wanted to scream, but instead she
+turned calmly to a waiting customer--a big, handsome, richly dressed
+woman. Marcella noted with an ever-increasing bitterness that the
+woman wore a lace collar the price of which would have kept Patty in
+the country for a year.
+
+She was Mrs. Liddell--Marcella knew her by sight--and she was in a
+very bad temper because she had been kept waiting. For the next half
+hour she badgered and worried Marcella to the point of distraction.
+Nothing suited her. Pile after pile, box after box, of shirtwaists
+did Marcella take down for her, only to have them flung aside with
+sarcastic remarks. Mrs. Liddell seemed to hold Marcella responsible
+for the lack of waists that suited her; her tongue grew sharper and
+sharper and her comments more trying. Then she mislaid her purse, and
+was disagreeable about that until it turned up.
+
+Marcella shut her lips so tightly that they turned white to keep back
+the impatient retort that rose momentarily to her lips. The insolence
+of some customers was always trying to the sensitive, high-spirited
+girl, but today it seemed unbearable. Her head throbbed fiercely with
+the pain of the ever-increasing ache, and--what was the lady on her
+right saying to a friend?
+
+"Yes, she had typhoid, you know--a very bad form. She rallied from it,
+but she was so exhausted that she couldn't really recover, and the
+doctor said--"
+
+"Really," interrupted Mrs. Liddell's sharp voice, "may I ask you to
+attend to me, if you please? No doubt gossip may be very interesting
+to you, but I am accustomed to having a clerk pay _some_ small
+attention to my requirements. If you cannot attend to your business, I
+shall go to the floor walker and ask him to direct me to somebody who
+can. The laziness and disobligingness of the girls in this store is
+really getting beyond endurance."
+
+A passionate answer was on the point of Marcella's tongue. All her
+bitterness and suffering and resentment flashed into her face and
+eyes. For one moment she was determined to speak out, to repay Mrs.
+Liddell's insolence in kind. A retort was ready to her hand. Everyone
+knew that Mrs. Liddell, before her marriage to a wealthy man, had been
+a working girl. What could be easier than to say contemptuously: "You
+should be a judge of a clerk's courtesy and ability, madam. You were a
+shop girl yourself once?"
+
+But if she said it, what would follow? Prompt and instant dismissal.
+And Patty? The thought of the little sister quelled the storm in
+Marcella's soul. For Patty's sake she must control her temper--and she
+did. With an effort that left her white and tremulous she crushed back
+the hot words and said quietly: "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Liddell. I
+did not mean to be inattentive. Let me show you some of our new
+lingerie waists, I think you will like them."
+
+But Mrs. Liddell did not like the new lingerie waists which Marcella
+brought to her in her trembling hands. For another half hour she
+examined and found fault and sneered. Then she swept away with the
+scornful remark that she didn't see a thing there that was fit to
+wear, and she would go to Markwell Bros. and see if they had anything
+worth looking at.
+
+When she had gone, Marcella leaned against the counter, pale and
+exhausted. She must have a breathing spell. Oh, how her head ached!
+How hot and stifling and horrible everything was! She longed for the
+country herself. Oh, if she and Patty could only go away to some place
+where there were green clover meadows and cool breezes and great hills
+where the air was sweet and pure!
+
+During all this time a middle-aged woman had been sitting on a stool
+beside the bargain counter. When a clerk asked her if she wished to be
+waited on, she said, "No, I'm just waiting here for a friend who
+promised to meet me."
+
+She was tall and gaunt and grey haired. She had square jaws and cold
+grey eyes and an aggressive nose, but there was something attractive
+in her plain face, a mingling of common sense and kindliness. She
+watched Marcella and Mrs. Liddell closely and lost nothing of all that
+was said and done on both sides. Now and then she smiled grimly and
+nodded.
+
+When Mrs. Liddell had gone, she rose and leaned over the counter.
+Marcella opened her burning eyes and pulled herself wearily together.
+
+"What can I do for you?" she said.
+
+"Nothing. I ain't looking for to have anything done for me. You need
+to have something done for you, I guess, by the looks of you. You seem
+dead beat out. Aren't you awful tired? I've been listening to that
+woman jawing you till I felt like rising up and giving her a large and
+wholesome piece of my mind. I don't know how you kept your patience
+with her, but I can tell you I admired you for it, and I made up my
+mind I'd tell you so."
+
+The kindness and sympathy in her tone broke Marcella down. Tears
+rushed to her eyes. She bowed her head on her hands and said
+sobbingly, "Oh, I _am_ tired! But it's not that. I'm--I'm in such
+trouble."
+
+"I knew you were," said the other, with a nod of her head. "I could
+tell that right off by your face. Do you know what I said to myself? I
+said, 'That girl has got somebody at home awful sick.' _That's_ what I
+said. Was I right?"
+
+"Yes, indeed you were," said Marcella.
+
+"I knew it"--another triumphant nod. "Now, you just tell me all about
+it. It'll do you good to talk it over with somebody. Here, I'll
+pretend I'm looking at shirtwaists, so that floor walker won't be
+coming down on you, and I'll be as hard to please as that other woman
+was, so's you can take your time. Who's sick--and what's the matter?"
+
+Marcella told the whole story, choking back her sobs and forcing
+herself to speak calmly, having the fear of the floor walker before
+her eyes.
+
+"And I can't afford to send Patty to the country--I _can't_--and I
+know she won't get better if she doesn't go," she concluded.
+
+"Dear, dear, but that's too bad! Something must be done. Let me
+see--let me put on my thinking cap. What is your name?"
+
+"Marcella Langley."
+
+The older woman dropped the lingerie waist she was pretending to
+examine and stared at Marcella.
+
+"You don't say! Look here, what was your mother's name before she was
+married?"
+
+"Mary Carvell."
+
+"Well, I _have_ heard of coincidences, but this beats all! Mary
+Carvell! Well, did you ever hear your mother speak of a girl friend of
+hers called Josephine Draper?"
+
+"I should think I did! You don't mean--"
+
+"I _do_ mean it. I'm Josephine Draper. Your mother and I went to
+school together, and we were as much as sisters to each other until
+she got married. Then she went away, and after a few years I lost
+trace of her. I didn't even know she was dead. Poor Mary! Well, _my_
+duty is plain--that's one comfort--my duty and my pleasure, too. Your
+sister is coming out to Dalesboro to stay with me. Yes, and you are
+too, for the whole summer. You needn't say you're not, because you
+_are_. I've said so. There's room at Fir Cottage for you both. Yes,
+Fir Cottage--I guess you've heard your mother speak of _that_. There's
+her old room out there that we always slept in when she came to stay
+all night with me. It's all ready for you. What's that? You can't
+afford to lose your place here? Bless your heart, child, you won't
+lose it! The owner of this store is my nephew, and he'll do
+considerable to oblige me, as well he might, seeing as I brought him
+up. To think that Mary Carvell's daughter has been in his store for
+three years, and me never suspecting it! And I might never have found
+you out at all if you hadn't been so patient with that woman. If you'd
+sassed her back, I'd have thought she deserved it and wouldn't have
+blamed you a mite, but I wouldn't have bothered coming to talk to you
+either. Well, well well! Poor child, don't cry. You just pick up and
+go home. I'll make it all right with Tom. You're pretty near played
+out yourself, I can see that. But a summer in Fir Cottage, with plenty
+of cream and eggs and _my_ cookery, will soon make another girl of
+you. Don't you dare to _thank_ me. It's a privilege to be able to do
+something for Mary Carvell's girls. I just loved Mary."
+
+The upshot of the whole matter was that Marcella and Patty went, two
+days later, to Dalesboro, where Miss Draper gave them a hearty welcome
+to Fir Cottage--a quaint, delightful little house circled by big
+Scotch firs and overgrown with vines. Never were such delightful weeks
+as those that followed. Patty came rapidly back to health and
+strength. As for Marcella, Miss Draper's prophecy was also fulfilled;
+she soon looked and felt like another girl. The dismal years of
+drudgery behind her were forgotten like a dream, and she lived wholly
+in the beautiful present, in the walks and drives, the flowers and
+grass slopes, and in the pleasant household duties which she shared
+with Miss Draper.
+
+"I love housework," she exclaimed one September day. "I don't like the
+thought of going back to the store a bit."
+
+"Well, you're not going back," calmly said Miss Draper, who had a
+habit of arranging other people's business for them that might have
+been disconcerting had it not been for her keen insight and hearty
+good sense. "You're going to stay here with me--you and Patty. I don't
+propose to die of lonesomeness losing you, and I need somebody to help
+me about the house. I've thought it all out. You are to call me Aunt
+Josephine, and Patty is to go to school. I had this scheme in mind
+from the first, but I thought I'd wait to see how we got along living
+in the same house, and how you liked it here, before I spoke out. No,
+you needn't thank me this time either. I'm doing this every bit as
+much for my sake as yours. Well, that's all settled. Patty won't
+object, bless her rosy cheeks!"
+
+"Oh!" said Marcella, with eyes shining through her tears. "I'm so
+happy, dear Miss Draper--I mean Aunt Josephine. I'll love to stay
+here--and I _will_ thank you."
+
+"Fudge!" remarked Miss Draper, who felt uncomfortably near crying
+herself. "You might go out and pick a basket of Golden Gems. I want to
+make some jelly for Patty."
+
+
+
+
+Margaret's Patient
+
+
+[Illustration: "DID DR. FORBES THINK SHE OUGHT TO GIVE UP HER TRIP?"]
+
+Margaret paused a moment at the gate and looked back at the quaint old
+house under its snowy firs with a thrill of proprietary affection. It
+was her home; for the first time in her life she had a real home, and
+the long, weary years of poorly paid drudgery were all behind her.
+Before her was a prospect of independence and many of the delights she
+had always craved; in the immediate future was a trip to Vancouver
+with Mrs. Boyd.
+
+For I shall go, of course, thought Margaret, as she walked briskly
+down the snowy road. I've always wanted to see the Rockies, and to go
+there with Mrs. Boyd will double the pleasure. She is such a
+delightful companion.
+
+Margaret Campbell had been an orphan ever since she could remember.
+She had been brought up by a distant relative of her father's--that
+is, she had been given board, lodging, some schooling and indifferent
+clothes for the privilege of working like a little drudge in the house
+of the grim cousin who sheltered her. The death of this cousin flung
+Margaret on her own resources. A friend had procured her employment as
+the "companion" of a rich, eccentric old lady, infirm of health and
+temper. Margaret lived with her for five years, and to the young girl
+they seemed treble the time. Her employer was fault-finding, peevish,
+unreasonable, and many a time Margaret's patience almost failed
+her--almost, but not quite. In the end it brought her a more tangible
+reward than sometimes falls to the lot of the toiler. Mrs. Constance
+died, and in her will she left to Margaret her little up-country
+cottage and enough money to provide her an income for the rest of her
+life.
+
+Margaret took immediate possession of her little house and, with the
+aid of a capable old servant, soon found herself very comfortable. She
+realized that her days of drudgery were over, and that henceforth
+life would be a very different thing from what it had been. Margaret
+meant to have "a good time." She had never had any pleasure and now
+she was resolved to garner in all she could of the joys of existence.
+
+"I'm not going to do a single useful thing for a year," she had told
+Mrs. Boyd gaily. "Just think of it--a whole delightful year of
+vacation, to go and come at will, to read, travel, dream, rest. After
+that, I mean to see if I can find something to do for other folks, but
+I'm going to have this one golden year. And the first thing in it is
+our trip to Vancouver. I'm so glad I have the chance to go with you.
+It's a wee bit short notice, but I'll be ready when you want to
+start."
+
+Altogether, Margaret felt pretty well satisfied with life as she
+tripped blithely down the country road between the ranks of snow-laden
+spruces, with the blue sky above and the crisp, exhilarating air all
+about. There was only one drawback, but it was a pretty serious one.
+
+It's so lonely by spells, Margaret sometimes thought wistfully. All
+the joys my good fortune has brought me can't quite fill my heart.
+There's always one little empty, aching spot. Oh, if I had somebody of
+my very own to love and care for, a mother, a sister, even a cousin.
+But there's nobody. I haven't a relative in the world, and there are
+times when I'd give almost anything to have one. Well, I must try to
+be satisfied with friendship, instead.
+
+Margaret's meditations were interrupted by a brisk footstep behind
+her, and presently Dr. Forbes came up.
+
+"Good afternoon, Miss Campbell. Taking a constitutional?"
+
+"Yes. Isn't it a lovely day? I suppose you are on your professional
+rounds. How are all your patients?"
+
+"Most of them are doing well. But I'm sorry to say I have a new one
+and am very much worried about her. Do you know Freda Martin?"
+
+"The little teacher in the Primary Department who boards with the
+Wayes? Yes, I've met her once or twice. Is she ill?"
+
+"Yes, seriously. It's typhoid, and she has been going about longer
+than she should. I don't know what is to be done with her. It seems
+she is like yourself in one respect, Miss Campbell; she is utterly
+alone in the world. Mrs. Waye is crippled with rheumatism and can't
+nurse her, and I fear it will be impossible to get a nurse in
+Blythefield. She ought to be taken from the Wayes'. The house is
+overrun with children, is right next door to that noisy factory, and
+in other respects is a poor place for a sick girl."
+
+"It is too bad, I am very sorry," said Margaret sympathetically.
+
+Dr. Forbes shot a keen look at her from his deep-set eyes. "Are you
+willing to show your sympathy in a practical form, Miss Campbell?" he
+said bluntly. "You told me the other day you meant to begin work for
+others next year. Why not begin now? Here's a splendid chance to
+befriend a friendless girl. Will you take Freda Martin into your home
+during her illness?"
+
+"Oh, I couldn't," cried Margaret blankly. "Why, I'm going away next
+week. I'm going with Mrs. Boyd to Vancouver, and my house will be shut
+up."
+
+"Oh, I did not know. That settles it, I suppose," said the doctor with
+a sigh of regret. "Well, I must see what else I can do for poor Freda.
+If I had a home of my own, the problem would be easily solved, but as
+I'm only a boarder myself, I'm helpless in that respect. I'm very much
+afraid she will have a hard time to pull through, but I'll do the best
+I can for her. Well, I must run in here and have a look at Tommy
+Griggs' eyes. Good morning, Miss Campbell."
+
+Margaret responded rather absently and walked on with her eyes fixed
+on the road. Somehow all the joy had gone out of the day for her, and
+out of her prospective trip. She stopped on the little bridge and
+gazed unseeingly at the ice-bound creek. Did Dr. Forbes really think
+she ought to give up her trip in order to take Freda Martin into her
+home and probably nurse her as well, since skilled nursing of any kind
+was almost unobtainable in Blythefield? No, of course, Dr. Forbes did
+not mean anything of the sort. He had not known she intended to go
+away. Margaret tried to put the thought out of her mind, but it came
+insistently back.
+
+She knew--none better--what it was to be alone and friendless. Once
+she had been ill, too, and left to the ministration of careless
+servants. Margaret shuddered whenever she thought of that time. She
+was very, very sorry for Freda Martin, but she certainly couldn't give
+up her plans for her.
+
+"Why, I'd never have the chance to go with Mrs. Boyd again," she
+argued with her troublesome inward promptings.
+
+Altogether, Margaret's walk was spoiled. But when she went to bed that
+night, she was firmly resolved to dismiss all thought of Freda Martin.
+In the middle of the night she woke up. It was calm and moonlight and
+frosty. The world was very still, and Margaret's heart and conscience
+spoke to her out of that silence, where all worldly motives were
+hushed and shamed. She listened, and knew that in the morning she must
+send for Dr. Forbes and tell him to bring his patient to Fir Cottage.
+
+The evening of the next day found Freda in Margaret's spare room and
+Margaret herself installed as nurse, for as Dr. Forbes had feared, he
+had found it impossible to obtain anyone else. Margaret had a natural
+gift for nursing, and she had had a good deal of experience in sick
+rooms. She was skilful, gentle and composed, and Dr. Forbes nodded his
+head with satisfaction as he watched her.
+
+A week later Mrs. Boyd left for Vancouver, and Margaret, bending over
+her delirious patient, could not even go to the station to see her
+off. But she thought little about it. All her hopes were centred on
+pulling Freda Martin through; and when, after a long, doubtful
+fortnight, Dr. Forbes pronounced her on the way to recovery, Margaret
+felt as if she had given the gift of life to a fellow creature. "Oh, I
+am so glad I stayed," she whispered to herself.
+
+During Freda's convalescence Margaret learned to love her dearly. She
+was such a sweet, brave little creature, full of a fine courage to
+face the loneliness and trials of her lot.
+
+"I can never repay you for your kindness, Miss Campbell," she said
+wistfully.
+
+"I am more than repaid already," said Margaret sincerely. "Haven't I
+found a dear little friend?"
+
+One day Freda asked Margaret to write a note for her to a certain
+school chum.
+
+"She will like to know I am getting better. You will find her address
+in my writing desk."
+
+Freda's modest trunk had been brought to Fir Cottage, and Margaret
+went to it for the desk. As she turned over the loose papers in search
+of the address, her eye was caught by a name signed to a faded and
+yellowed letter--Worth Spencer. Her mother's name!
+
+Margaret gave a little exclamation of astonishment. Could her mother
+have written that letter? It was not likely another woman would have
+that uncommon name. Margaret caught up the letter and ran to Freda's
+room.
+
+"Freda, I couldn't help seeing the name signed to this letter, it is
+my mother's. To whom was it written?"
+
+"That is one of my mother's old letters," said Freda. "She had a
+sister, my Aunt Worth. She was a great deal older than Mother. Their
+parents died when Mother was a baby. Aunt Worth went to her father's
+people, while Mother's grandmother took her. There was not very good
+feeling between the two families, I think. Mother said she lost trace
+of her sister after her sister married, and then, long after, she saw
+Aunt Worth's death in the papers."
+
+"Can you tell me where your mother and her sister lived before they
+were separated?" asked Margaret excitedly.
+
+"Ridgetown."
+
+"Then my mother must have been your mother's sister, and, oh, Freda,
+Freda, you are my cousin."
+
+Eventually this was proved to be the fact. Margaret investigated the
+matter and discovered beyond a doubt that she and Freda were cousins.
+It would be hard to say which of the two girls was the more delighted.
+
+"Anyhow, we'll never be parted again," said Margaret happily. "Fir
+Cottage is your home henceforth, Freda. Oh, how rich I am. I have got
+somebody who really belongs to me. And I owe it all to Dr. Forbes. If
+he hadn't suggested you coming here, I should never have found out
+that we were cousins."
+
+"And I don't think I should ever have got better at all," whispered
+Freda, slipping her hand into Margaret's.
+
+"I think we are going to be the two happiest girls in the world," said
+Margaret. "And Freda, do you know what we are going to do when your
+summer vacation comes? We are going to have a trip through the
+Rockies, yes, indeedy. It would have been nice going with Mrs. Boyd,
+but it will be ten times nicer to go with you."
+
+
+
+
+Matthew Insists on Puffed Sleeves
+
+
+Matthew was having a bad ten minutes of it. He had come into the
+kitchen, in the twilight of a cold, grey December evening, and had sat
+down in the wood-box corner to take off his heavy boots, unconscious
+of the fact that Anne and a bevy of her schoolmates were having a
+practice of "The Fairy Queen" in the sitting-room. Presently they came
+trooping through the hall and out into the kitchen, laughing and
+chattering gaily. They did not see Matthew, who shrank bashfully back
+into the shadows beyond the wood-box with a boot in one hand and a
+bootjack in the other, and he watched them shyly for the aforesaid ten
+minutes as they put on caps and jackets and talked about the dialogue
+and the concert. Anne stood among them, bright eyed and animated as
+they; but Matthew suddenly became conscious that there was something
+about her different from her mates. And what worried Matthew was that
+the difference impressed him as being something that should not exist.
+Anne had a brighter face, and bigger, starrier eyes, and more delicate
+features than the others; even shy, unobservant Matthew had learned to
+take note of these things; but the difference that disturbed him did
+not consist in any of these respects. Then in what did it consist?
+
+Matthew was haunted by this question long after the girls had gone,
+arm in arm, down the long, hard-frozen lane and Anne had betaken
+herself to her books. He could not refer it to Marilla, who, he felt,
+would be quite sure to sniff scornfully and remark that the only
+difference she saw between Anne and the other girls was that they
+sometimes kept their tongues quiet while Anne never did. This, Matthew
+felt, would be no great help.
+
+He had recourse to his pipe that evening to help him study it out,
+much to Marilla's disgust. After two hours of smoking and hard
+reflection Matthew arrived at a solution of his problem. Anne was not
+dressed like the other girls!
+
+The more Matthew thought about the matter the more he was convinced
+that Anne never had been dressed like the other girls--never since she
+had come to Green Gables. Marilla kept her clothed in plain, dark
+dresses, all made after the same unvarying pattern. If Matthew knew
+there was such a thing as fashion in dress it is as much as he did;
+but he was quite sure that Anne's sleeves did not look at all like the
+sleeves the other girls wore. He recalled the cluster of little girls
+he had seen around her that evening--all gay in waists of red and blue
+and pink and white--and he wondered why Marilla always kept her so
+plainly and soberly gowned.
+
+Of course, it must be all right. Marilla knew best and Marilla was
+bringing her up. Probably some wise, inscrutable motive was to be
+served thereby. But surely it would do no harm to let the child have
+one pretty dress--something like Diana Barry always wore. Matthew
+decided that he would give her one; that surely could not be objected
+to as an unwarranted putting in of his oar. Christmas was only a
+fortnight off. A nice new dress would be the very thing for a present.
+Matthew, with a sigh of satisfaction, put away his pipe and went to
+bed, while Marilla opened all the doors and aired the house.
+
+The very next evening Matthew betook himself to Carmody to buy the
+dress, determined to get the worst over and have done with it. It
+would be, he felt assured, no trifling ordeal. There were some things
+Matthew could buy and prove himself no mean bargainer; but he knew he
+would be at the mercy of shopkeepers when it came to buying a girl's
+dress.
+
+After much cogitation Matthew resolved to go to Samuel Lawson's store
+instead of William Blair's. To be sure, the Cuthberts always had gone
+to William Blair's; it was almost as much a matter of conscience with
+them as to attend the Presbyterian church and vote Conservative. But
+William Blair's two daughters frequently waited on customers there and
+Matthew held them in absolute dread. He could contrive to deal with
+them when he knew exactly what he wanted and could point it out; but
+in such a matter as this, requiring explanation and consultation,
+Matthew felt that he must be sure of a man behind the counter. So he
+would go to Lawson's, where Samuel or his son would wait on him.
+
+Alas! Matthew did not know that Samuel, in the recent expansion of his
+business, had set up a lady clerk also; she was a niece of his wife's
+and a very dashing young person indeed, with a huge, drooping
+pompadour, big, rolling brown eyes, and a most extensive and
+bewildering smile. She was dressed with exceeding smartness and wore
+several bangle bracelets that glittered and rattled and tinkled with
+every movement of her hands. Matthew was covered with confusion at
+finding her there at all; and those bangles completely wrecked his
+wits at one fell swoop.
+
+"What can I do for you this evening. Mr. Cuthbert?" Miss Lucilla
+Harris inquired, briskly and ingratiatingly, tapping the counter with
+both hands.
+
+"Have you any--any--any--well now, say any garden rakes?" stammered
+Matthew.
+
+Miss Harris looked somewhat surprised, as well she might, to hear a
+man inquiring for garden rakes in the middle of December.
+
+"I believe we have one or two left over," she said, "but they're
+upstairs in the lumber-room. I'll go and see."
+
+During her absence Matthew collected his scattered senses for another
+effort.
+
+When Miss Harris returned with the rake and cheerfully inquired:
+"Anything else tonight, Mr. Cuthbert?" Matthew took his courage in
+both hands and replied: "Well now, since you suggest it, I might as
+well--take--that is--look at--buy some--some hayseed."
+
+Miss Harris had heard Matthew Cuthbert called odd. She now concluded
+that he was entirely crazy.
+
+"We only keep hayseed in the spring," she explained loftily. "We've
+none on hand just now."
+
+"Oh, certainly--certainly--just as you say," stammered unhappy
+Matthew, seizing the rake and making for the door. At the threshold he
+recollected that he had not paid for it and he turned miserably back.
+While Miss Harris was counting out his change he rallied his powers
+for a final desperate attempt.
+
+"Well now--if it isn't too much trouble--I might as well--that is--I'd
+like to look at--at--some sugar."
+
+"White or brown?" queried Miss Harris patiently.
+
+"Oh--well now--brown," said Matthew feebly.
+
+"There's a barrel of it over there," said Miss Harris, shaking her
+bangles at it. "It's the only kind we have."
+
+"I'll--I'll take twenty pounds of it," said Matthew, with beads of
+perspiration standing on his forehead.
+
+Matthew had driven halfway home before he was his own man again. It
+had been a gruesome experience, but it served him right, he thought,
+for committing the heresy of going to a strange store. When he reached
+home he hid the rake in the tool-house, but the sugar he carried in to
+Marilla.
+
+"Brown sugar!" exclaimed Marilla. "Whatever possessed you to get so
+much? You know I never use it except for the hired man's porridge or
+black fruit-cake. Jerry's gone and I've made my cake long ago. It's
+not good sugar, either--it's coarse and dark--William Blair doesn't
+usually keep sugar like that."
+
+"I--I thought it might come in handy sometime," said Matthew, making
+good his escape.
+
+When Matthew came to think the matter over he decided that a woman was
+required to cope with the situation. Marilla was out of the question.
+Matthew felt sure she would throw cold water on his project at once.
+Remained only Mrs. Lynde; for of no other woman in Avonlea would
+Matthew have dared to ask advice. To Mrs. Lynde he went accordingly,
+and that good lady promptly took the matter out of the harassed man's
+hands.
+
+"Pick out a dress for you to give Anne? To be sure I will. I'm going
+to Carmody tomorrow and I'll attend to it. Have you something
+particular in mind? No? Well, I'll just go by my own judgment then. I
+believe a nice rich brown would just suit Anne, and William Blair has
+some new gloria in that's real pretty. Perhaps you'd like me to make
+it up for her, too, seeing that if Marilla was to make it Anne would
+probably get wind of it before the time and spoil the surprise? Well,
+I'll do it. No, it isn't a mite of trouble. I like sewing. I'll make
+it to fit my niece, Jenny Gillis, for she and Anne are as like as two
+peas as far as figure goes."
+
+"Well now, I'm much obliged," said Matthew, "and--and--I dunno--but
+I'd like--I think they make the sleeves different nowadays to what
+they used to be. If it wouldn't be asking too much I--I'd like them
+made in the new way."
+
+"Puffs? Of course. You needn't worry a speck more about it, Matthew.
+I'll make it up in the very latest fashion," said Mrs. Lynde. To
+herself she added when Matthew had gone:
+
+"It'll be a real satisfaction to see that poor child wearing something
+decent for once. The way Marilla dresses her is positively ridiculous,
+that's what, and I've ached to tell her so plainly a dozen times. I've
+held my tongue though, for I can see Marilla doesn't want advice and
+she thinks she knows more about bringing children up than I do for all
+she's an old maid. But that's always the way. Folks that has brought
+up children know that there's no hard and fast method in the world
+that'll suit every child. But them as never have think it's all as
+plain and easy as Rule of Three--just set your three terms down so
+fashion, and the sum'll work out correct. But flesh and blood don't
+come under the head of arithmetic and that's where Marilla Cuthbert
+makes her mistake. I suppose she's trying to cultivate a spirit of
+humility in Anne by dressing her as she does: but it's more likely to
+cultivate envy and discontent. I'm sure the child must feel the
+difference between her clothes and the other girls'. But to think of
+Matthew taking notice of it! That man is waking up after being asleep
+for over sixty years."
+
+Marilla knew all the following fortnight that Matthew had something on
+his mind, but what it was she could not guess, until Christmas Eve,
+when Mrs. Lynde brought up the new dress. Marilla behaved pretty well
+on the whole, although it is very likely she distrusted Mrs. Lynde's
+diplomatic explanation that she had made the dress because Matthew was
+afraid Anne would find out about it too soon if Marilla made it.
+
+"So this is what Matthew has been looking so mysterious over and
+grinning about to himself for two weeks, is it?" she said a little
+stiffly but tolerantly. "I knew he was up to some foolishness. Well, I
+must say I don't think Anne needed any more dresses. I made her three
+good, warm, serviceable ones this fall, and anything more is sheer
+extravagance. There's enough material in those sleeves alone to make a
+waist, I declare there is. You'll just pamper Anne's vanity, Matthew,
+and she's as vain as a peacock now. Well, I hope she'll be satisfied
+at last, for I know she's been hankering after those silly sleeves
+ever since they came in, although she never said a word after the
+first. The puffs have been getting bigger and more ridiculous right
+along; they're as big as balloons now. Next year anybody who wears
+them will have to go through a door sideways."
+
+Christmas morning broke on a beautiful white world. It had been a very
+mild December and people had looked forward to a green Christmas; but
+just enough snow fell softly in the night to transfigure Avonlea. Anne
+peeped out from her frosted gable window with delighted eyes. The firs
+in the Haunted Wood were all feathery and wonderful; the birches and
+wild cherry trees were outlined in pearl; the ploughed fields were
+stretches of snowy dimples; and there was a crisp tang in the air that
+was glorious. Anne ran downstairs singing until her voice re-echoed
+through Green Gables.
+
+"Merry Christmas, Marilla! Merry Christmas, Matthew! Isn't it a lovely
+Christmas? I'm so glad it's white. Any other kind of Christmas doesn't
+seem real, does it? I don't like green Christmases. They're _not_
+green--they're just nasty faded browns and greys. What makes people
+call them green? Why--why--Matthew, is that for me? Oh, Matthew!"
+
+Matthew had sheepishly unfolded the dress from its paper swathings and
+held it out with a deprecatory glance at Marilla, who feigned to be
+contemptuously filling the teapot, but nevertheless watched the scene
+out of the corner of her eye with a rather interested air.
+
+Anne took the dress and looked at it in reverent silence. Oh, how
+pretty it was--a lovely soft brown gloria with all the gloss of silk;
+a skirt with dainty frills and shirrings; a waist elaborately
+pin-tucked in the most fashionable way, with a little ruffle of filmy
+lace at the neck. But the sleeves--they were the crowning glory! Long
+elbow cuffs, and above them two beautiful puffs divided by rows of
+shirring and bows of brown silk ribbon.
+
+"That's a Christmas present for you, Anne," said Matthew shyly.
+"Why--why--Anne, don't you like it? Well now--well now."
+
+For Anne's eyes had suddenly filled with tears.
+
+"_Like_ it! Oh, Matthew!" Anne laid the dress over a chair and clasped
+her hands. "Matthew, it's perfectly exquisite. Oh, I can never thank
+you enough. Look at those sleeves! Oh, it seems to me this must be a
+happy dream."
+
+"Well, well, let us have breakfast," interrupted Marilla. "I must say,
+Anne, I don't think you needed the dress; but since Matthew has got it
+for you, see that you take good care of it. There's a hair ribbon Mrs.
+Lynde left for you. It's brown, to match the dress. Come now, sit in."
+
+"I don't see how I'm going to eat breakfast," said Anne rapturously.
+"Breakfast seems so commonplace at such an exciting moment. I'd rather
+feast my eyes on that dress. I'm so glad that puffed sleeves are
+still fashionable. It did seem to me that I'd never get over it if
+they went out before I had a dress with them. I'd never have felt
+quite satisfied, you see. It was lovely of Mrs. Lynde to give me the
+ribbon, too. I feel that I ought to be a very good girl indeed. It's
+at times like this I'm sorry I'm not a model little girl; and I always
+resolve that I will be in future. But somehow it's hard to carry out
+your resolutions when irresistible temptations come. Still, I really
+will make an extra effort after this."
+
+When the commonplace breakfast was over Diana appeared, crossing the
+white log bridge in the hollow, a gay little figure in her crimson
+ulster. Anne flew down the slope to meet her.
+
+"Merry Christmas, Diana! And oh, it's a wonderful Christmas. I've
+something splendid to show you. Matthew has given me the loveliest
+dress, with _such_ sleeves. I couldn't even imagine any nicer."
+
+"I've got something more for you," said Diana breathlessly.
+"Here--this box. Aunt Josephine sent us out a big box with ever so
+many things in it--and this is for you. I'd have brought it over last
+night, but it didn't come until after dark, and I never feel very
+comfortable coming through the Haunted Wood in the dark now."
+
+Anne opened the box and peeped in. First a card with "For the
+Anne-girl and Merry Christmas," written on it; and then, a pair of the
+daintiest little kid slippers, with beaded toes and satin bows and
+glistening buckles.
+
+"Oh," said Anne, "Diana, this is too much, I must be dreaming."
+
+"_I_ call it providential," said Diana. "You won't have to borrow
+Ruby's slippers now, and that's a blessing, for they're two sizes too
+big for you, and it would be awful to hear a fairy shuffling. Josie
+Pye would be delighted. Mind you, Rob Wright went home with Gertie Pye
+from the practice night before last. Did you ever hear anything equal
+to that?"
+
+All the Avonlea scholars were in a fever of excitement that day, for
+the hall had to be decorated and a last grand rehearsal held.
+
+The concert came off in the evening and was a pronounced success. The
+little hall was crowded; all the performers did excellently well, but
+Anne was the bright particular star of the occasion, as even envy, in
+the shape of Josie Pye, dared not deny.
+
+"Oh, hasn't it been a brilliant evening?" sighed Anne, when it was all
+over and she and Diana were walking home together under a dark, starry
+sky.
+
+"Everything went off very well," said Diana practically. "I guess we
+must have made as much as ten dollars. Mind you, Mr. Allan is going to
+send an account of it to the Charlottetown papers."
+
+"Oh, Diana, will we really see our names in print? It makes me thrill
+to think of it. Your solo was perfectly elegant, Diana. I felt prouder
+than you did when it was encored. I just said to myself, 'It is my
+dear bosom friend who is so honoured.'"
+
+"Well, your recitations just brought down the house, Anne. That sad
+one was simply splendid."
+
+"Oh, I was so nervous, Diana. When Mr. Allan called out my name I
+really cannot tell how I ever got up on that platform. I felt as if a
+million eyes were looking at me and through me, and for one dreadful
+moment I was sure I couldn't begin at all. Then I thought of my lovely
+puffed sleeves and took courage. I knew that I must live up to those
+sleeves, Diana. So I started in, and my voice seemed to be coming from
+ever so far away. I just felt like a parrot. It's providential that I
+practised those recitations so often up in the garret, or I'd never
+have been able to get through. Did I groan all right?"
+
+"Yes, indeed, you groaned lovely," assured Diana.
+
+"I saw old Mrs. Sloane wiping away tears when I sat down. It was
+splendid to think I had touched somebody's heart. It's so romantic to
+take part in a concert isn't it? Oh, it's been a very memorable
+occasion indeed."
+
+"Wasn't the boys' dialogue fine?" said Diana. "Gilbert Blythe was just
+splendid. Anne, I do think it's awful mean the way you treat Gil. Wait
+till I tell you. When you ran off the platform after the fairy
+dialogue one of your roses fell out of your hair. I saw Gil pick it up
+and put it in his breast pocket. There now. You're so romantic that
+I'm sure you ought to be pleased at that."
+
+"It's nothing to me what that person does," said Anne loftily. "I
+simply never waste a thought on him, Diana."
+
+That night Marilla and Matthew, who had been out to a concert for the
+first time in twenty years, sat for awhile by the kitchen fire after
+Anne had gone to bed.
+
+"Well now, I guess our Anne did as well as any of them," said Matthew
+proudly.
+
+"Yes, she did," admitted Marilla. "She's a bright child, Matthew. And
+she looked real nice, too. I've been kind of opposed to this concert
+scheme, but I suppose there's no real harm in it after all. Anyhow, I
+was proud of Anne tonight, although I'm not going to tell her so."
+
+"Well now, I was proud of her and I did tell her so 'fore she went
+upstairs," said Matthew. "We must see what we can do for her some of
+these days, Marilla. I guess she'll need something more than Avonlea
+school by and by."
+
+"There's time enough to think of that," said Marilla. "She's only
+thirteen in March. Though tonight it struck me she was growing quite a
+big girl. Mrs. Lynde made that dress a mite too long, and it makes
+Anne look so tall. She's quick to learn and I guess the best thing we
+can do for her will be to send her to Queen's after a spell. But
+nothing need be said about that for a year or two yet."
+
+"Well now, it'll do no harm to be thinking it over off and on," said
+Matthew. "Things like that are all the better for lots of thinking
+over."
+
+
+
+
+Missy's Room
+
+
+Mrs. Falconer and Miss Bailey walked home together through the fine
+blue summer afternoon from the Ladies' Aid meeting at Mrs. Robinson's.
+They were talking earnestly; that is to say, Miss Bailey was talking
+earnestly and volubly, and Mrs. Falconer was listening. Mrs. Falconer
+had reduced the practice of listening to a fine art. She was a thin,
+wistful-faced mite of a woman, with sad brown eyes, and with
+snow-white hair that was a libel on her fifty-five years and girlish
+step. Nobody in Lindsay ever felt very well acquainted with Mrs.
+Falconer, in spite of the fact that she had lived among them forty
+years. She kept between her and her world a fine, baffling reserve
+which no one had ever been able to penetrate. It was known that she
+had had a bitter sorrow in her life, but she never made any reference
+to it, and most people in Lindsay had forgotten it. Some foolish ones
+even supposed that Mrs. Falconer had forgotten it.
+
+"Well, I do not know what on earth is to be done with Camilla Clark,"
+said Miss Bailey, with a prodigious sigh. "I suppose that we will
+simply have to trust the whole matter to Providence."
+
+Miss Bailey's tone and sigh really seemed to intimate to the world at
+large that Providence was a last resort and a very dubious one. Not
+that Miss Bailey meant anything of the sort; her faith was as
+substantial as her works, which were many and praiseworthy and
+seasonable.
+
+The case of Camilla Clark was agitating the Ladies' Aid of one of the
+Lindsay churches. They had talked about it through the whole of that
+afternoon session while they sewed for their missionary box--talked
+about it, and come to no conclusion.
+
+In the preceding spring James Clark, one of the hands in the lumber
+mill at Lindsay, had been killed in an accident. The shock had proved
+nearly fatal to his young wife. The next day Camilla Clark's baby was
+born dead, and the poor mother hovered for weeks between life and
+death. Slowly, very slowly, life won the battle, and Camilla came back
+from the valley of the shadow. But she was still an invalid, and would
+be so for a long time.
+
+The Clarks had come to Lindsay only a short time before the accident.
+They were boarding at Mrs. Barry's when it happened, and Mrs. Barry
+had shown every kindness and consideration to the unhappy young widow.
+But now the Barrys were very soon to leave Lindsay for the West, and
+the question was, what was to be done with Camilla Clark? She could
+not go west; she could not even do work of any sort yet in Lindsay;
+she had no relatives or friends in the world; and she was absolutely
+penniless. As she and her husband had joined the church to which the
+aforesaid Ladies' Aid belonged, the members thereof felt themselves
+bound to take up her case and see what could be done for her.
+
+The obvious solution was for some of them to offer her a home until
+such time as she would be able to go to work. But there did not seem
+to be anyone who could offer to do this--unless it was Mrs. Falconer.
+The church was small, and the Ladies' Aid smaller. There were only
+twelve members in it; four of these were unmarried ladies who boarded,
+and so were helpless in the matter; of the remaining eight seven had
+large families, or sick husbands, or something else that prevented
+them from offering Camilla Clark an asylum. Their excuses were all
+valid; they were good, sincere women who would have taken her in if
+they could, but they could not see their way clear to do so. However,
+it was probable they would eventually manage it in some way if Mrs.
+Falconer did not rise to the occasion.
+
+Nobody liked to ask Mrs. Falconer outright to take Camilla Clark in,
+yet everyone thought she might offer. She was comfortably off, and
+though her house was small, there was nobody to live in it except
+herself and her husband. But Mrs. Falconer sat silent through all the
+discussion of the Ladies' Aid, and never opened her lips on the
+subject of Camilla Clark despite the numerous hints which she
+received.
+
+Miss Bailey made one more effort as aforesaid. When her despairing
+reference to Providence brought forth no results, she wished she dared
+ask Mrs. Falconer openly to take Camilla Clark, but somehow she did
+not dare. There were not many things that could daunt Miss Bailey, but
+Mrs. Falconer's reserve and gentle aloofness always could.
+
+When Miss Bailey had gone on down the village street, Mrs. Falconer
+paused for a few moments at her gate, apparently lost in deep thought.
+She was perfectly well aware of all the hints that had been thrown out
+for her benefit that afternoon. She knew that the Aids, one and all,
+thought that she ought to take Camilla Clark. But she had no room to
+give her--for it was out of the question to think of putting her in
+Missy's room.
+
+"I couldn't do such a thing," she said to herself piteously. "They
+don't understand--they can't understand--but I _couldn't_ give her
+Missy's room. I'm sorry for poor Camilla, and I wish I could help her.
+But I can't give her Missy's room, and I have no other."
+
+The little Falconer cottage, set back from the road in the green
+seclusion of an apple orchard and thick, leafy maples, was a very tiny
+one. There were just two rooms downstairs and two upstairs. When Mrs.
+Falconer entered the kitchen an old-looking man with long white hair
+and mild blue eyes looked up with a smile from the bright-coloured
+blocks before him.
+
+"Have you been lonely, Father?" said Mrs. Falconer tenderly.
+
+He shook his head, still smiling.
+
+"No, not lonely. These"--pointing to the blocks--"are so pretty. See
+my house, Mother."
+
+This man was Mrs. Falconer's husband. Once he had been one of the
+smartest, most intelligent men in Lindsay, and one of the most trusted
+employees of the railroad company. Then there had been a train
+collision. Malcolm Falconer was taken out of the wreck fearfully
+injured. He eventually recovered physical health, but he was from that
+time forth merely a child in intellect--a harmless, kindly creature,
+docile and easily amused.
+
+Mrs. Falconer tried to dismiss the thought of Camilla Clark from her
+mind, but it would not be dismissed. Her conscience reproached her
+continually. She tried to compromise with it by saying that she would
+go down and see Camilla that evening and take her some nice fresh
+Irish moss jelly. It was so good for delicate people.
+
+She found Camilla alone in the Barry sitting-room, and noticed with a
+feeling that was almost like self-reproach how thin and frail and
+white the poor young creature looked. Why, she seemed little more
+than a child! Her great dark eyes were far too big for her wasted
+face, and her hands were almost transparent.
+
+"I'm not much better yet," said Camilla tremulously, in response to
+Mrs. Falconer's inquiries. "Oh, I'm so slow getting well! And I
+know--I feel that I'm a burden to everybody."
+
+"But you mustn't think that, dear," said Mrs. Falconer, feeling more
+uncomfortable than ever. "We are all glad to do all we can for you."
+
+Mrs. Falconer paused suddenly. She was a very truthful woman and she
+instantly realized that that last sentence was not true. She was not
+doing all she could for Camilla--she would not be glad, she feared, to
+do all she could.
+
+"If I were only well enough to go to work," sighed Camilla. "Mr. Marks
+says I can have a place in the shoe factory whenever I'm able to. But
+it will be so long yet. Oh, I'm so tired and discouraged!"
+
+She put her hands over her face and sobbed. Mrs. Falconer caught her
+breath. What if Missy were somewhere alone in the world--ill,
+friendless, with never a soul to offer her a refuge or a shelter? It
+was so very, very probable. Before she could check herself Mrs.
+Falconer spoke. "My dear, don't cry! I want you to come and stay with
+me until you get perfectly well. You won't be a speck of trouble, and
+I'll be glad to have you for company."
+
+Mrs. Falconer's Rubicon was crossed. She could not draw back now if
+she wanted to. But she was not at all sure that she did want to. By
+the time she reached home she was sure she didn't want to. And yet--to
+give Missy's room to Camilla! It seemed a great sacrifice to Mrs.
+Falconer.
+
+She went up to it the next morning with firmly set lips to air and
+dust it. It was just the same as when Missy had left it long ago.
+Nothing had ever been moved or changed, but everything had always been
+kept beautifully neat and clean. Snow-white muslin curtains hung
+before the small square window. In one corner was a little white bed.
+Missy's pictures hung on the walls; Missy's books and work-basket were
+lying on the square stand; there was a bit of half-finished fancy
+work, yellow from age, lying in the basket. On a small bureau before
+the gilt-framed mirror were several little girlish knick-knacks and
+boxes whose contents had never been disturbed since Missy went away.
+One of Missy's gay pink ribbons--Missy had been so fond of pink
+ribbons--hung over the top of the mirror. On a chair lay Missy's hat,
+bright with ribbons and roses, just as Missy had laid it there on the
+night before she left her home.
+
+Mrs. Falconer's lips quivered as she looked about the room, and tears
+came to her eyes. Oh, how could she put these things away and bring a
+stranger here--here, where no one save herself had entered for fifteen
+years, here in this room, sacred to Missy's memory, waiting for her
+return when she should be weary of wandering? It almost seemed to the
+mother's vague fancy, distorted by long, silent brooding, that her
+daughter's innocent girlhood had been kept here for her and would be
+lost forever if the room were given to another.
+
+"I suppose it's dreadful foolishness," said Mrs. Falconer, wiping her
+eyes. "I know it is, but I can't help it. It just goes to my heart to
+think of putting these things away. But I must do it. Camilla is
+coming here today, and this room must be got ready for her. Oh, Missy,
+my poor lost child, it's for your sake I'm doing this--because you may
+be suffering somewhere as Camilla is now, and I'd wish the same
+kindness to be shown to you."
+
+She opened the window and put fresh linen on the bed. One by one
+Missy's little belongings were removed and packed carefully away. On
+the gay, foolish little hat with its faded wreath of roses the
+mother's tears fell as she put it in a box. She remembered so plainly
+the first time Missy had worn it. She could see the pretty, delicately
+tinted face, the big shining brown eyes, and the riotous golden curls
+under the drooping, lace-edged brim. Oh, where was Missy now? What
+roof sheltered her? Did she ever think of her mother and the little
+white cottage under the maples, and the low-ceilinged, dim room where
+she had knelt to say her childhood's prayer?
+
+Camilla Clark came that afternoon.
+
+"Oh, it is lovely here," she said gratefully, looking out into the
+rustling shade of the maples. "I'm sure I shall soon get well here.
+Mrs. Barry was so kind to me--I shall never forget her kindness--but
+the house is so close to the factory, and there was such a whirring
+of wheels all the time, it seemed to get into my head and make me wild
+with nervousness. I'm so weak that sounds like that worry me. But it
+is so still and green and peaceful here. It just rests me."
+
+When bedtime came, Mrs. Falconer took Camilla up to Missy's room. It
+was not as hard as she had expected it to be after all. The wrench was
+over with the putting away of Missy's things, and it did not hurt the
+mother to see the frail, girlish Camilla in her daughter's place.
+
+"What a dear little room!" said Camilla, glancing around. "It is so
+white and sweet. Oh, I know I am going to sleep well here, and dream
+sweet dreams."
+
+"It was my daughter's room," said Mrs. Falconer, sitting down on the
+chintz-covered seat by the open window.
+
+Camilla looked surprised.
+
+"I did not know you had a daughter," she said.
+
+"Yes--I had just the one child," said Mrs. Falconer dreamily.
+
+For fifteen years she had never spoken of Missy to a living soul
+except her husband. But now she felt a sudden impulse to tell Camilla
+about her, and about the room.
+
+"Her name was Isabella, after her father's mother, but we never called
+her anything but Missy. That was the little name she gave herself when
+she began to talk. Oh, I've missed her so!"
+
+"When did she die?" asked Camilla softly, sympathy shining, starlike,
+in her dark eyes.
+
+"She--she didn't die," said Mrs. Falconer. "She went away. She was a
+pretty girl and gay and fond of fun--but such a good girl. Oh, Missy
+was always a good girl! Her father and I were so proud of her--too
+proud, I suppose. She had her little faults--she was too fond of dress
+and gaiety, but then she was so young, and we indulged her. Then Bert
+Williams came to Lindsay to work in the factory. He was a handsome
+fellow, with taking ways about him, but he was drunken and profane,
+and nobody knew anything about his past life. He fascinated Missy. He
+kept coming to see her until her father forbade him the house. Then
+our poor, foolish child used to meet him elsewhere. We found this out
+afterwards. And at last she ran away with him, and they were married
+over at Peterboro and went there to live, for Bert had got work there.
+We--we were too hard on Missy. But her father was so dreadful hurt
+about it. He'd been so fond and proud of her, and he felt that she had
+disgraced him. He disowned her, and sent her word never to show her
+face here again, for he'd never forgive her. And I was angry too. I
+didn't send her any word at all. Oh, how I've wept over that! If I had
+just sent her one little word of forgiveness, everything might have
+been different. But Father forbade me to.
+
+"Then in a little while there was a dreadful trouble. A woman came to
+Peterboro and claimed to be Bert Williams's wife--and she was--she
+proved it. Bert cleared out and was never seen again in these parts.
+As soon as we heard about it Father relented, and I went right down
+to Peterboro to see Missy and bring her home. But she wasn't
+there--she had gone, nobody knew where. I got a letter from her the
+next week. She said her heart was broken, and she knew we would never
+forgive her, and she couldn't face the disgrace, so she was going away
+where nobody would ever find her. We did everything we could to trace
+her, but we never could. We've never heard from her since, and it is
+fifteen years ago. Sometimes I am afraid she is dead, but then again I
+feel sure she isn't. Oh, Camilla, if I could only find my poor child
+and bring her home!
+
+"This was her room. And when she went away I made up my mind I would
+keep it for her just as she left it, and I have up to now. Nobody has
+ever been inside the door but myself. I've always hoped that Missy
+would come home, and I would lead her up here and say, 'Missy, here is
+your room just as you left it, and here is your place in your mother's
+heart just as you left it,' But she never came. I'm afraid she never
+will."
+
+Mrs. Falconer dropped her face in her hands and sobbed softly. Camilla
+came over to her and put her arms about her.
+
+"I think she will," she said. "I think--I am sure your love and
+prayers will bring Missy home yet. And I understand how good you have
+been in giving me her room--oh, I know what it must have cost you! I
+will pray tonight that God will bring Missy back to you."
+
+When Mrs. Falconer returned to the kitchen to close the house for the
+night, her husband being already sound asleep; she heard a low, timid
+knock at the door. Wondering who it could be so late, she opened it.
+The light fell on a shrinking, shabby figure on the step, and on a
+pale, pinched face in which only a mother could have recognized the
+features of her child. Mrs. Falconer gave a cry.
+
+"Missy! Missy! Missy!"
+
+She caught the poor wanderer to her heart and drew her in.
+
+"Oh, Missy, Missy, have you come back at last? Thank God! Oh, thank
+God!"
+
+"I _had_ to come back. I was starving for a glimpse of your face and
+of the old home, Mother," sobbed Missy. "But I didn't mean you should
+know--I never meant to show myself to you. I've been sick, and just as
+soon as I got better I came here. I meant to creep home after dark and
+look at the dear old house, and perhaps get a glimpse of you and
+Father through the window if you were still here. I didn't know if you
+were. And then I meant to go right away on the night train. I was
+under the window and I heard you telling my story to someone. Oh,
+Mother, when I knew that you had forgiven me, that you loved me still
+and had always kept my room for me, I made up my mind that I'd show
+myself to you."
+
+The mother had got her child into a rocking-chair and removed the
+shabby hat and cloak. How ill and worn and faded Missy looked! Yet her
+face was pure and fine, and there was in it something sweeter than had
+ever been there in her beautiful girlhood.
+
+"I'm terribly changed, am I not, Mother?" said Missy, with a faint
+smile. "I've had a hard life--but an honest one, Mother. When I went
+away I was almost mad with the disgrace my wilfulness had brought on
+you and Father and myself. I went as far as I could get away from you,
+and I got work in a factory. I've worked there ever since, just making
+enough to keep body and soul together. Oh, I've starved for a word
+from you--the sight of your face! But I thought Father would spurn me
+from his door if I should ever dare to come back."
+
+"Oh, Missy!" sobbed the mother. "Your poor father is just like a
+child. He got a terrible hurt ten years ago, and never got over it. I
+don't suppose he'll even know you--he's clean forgot everything. But
+he forgave you before it happened. You poor child, you're done right
+out. You're too weak to be travelling. But never mind, you're home
+now, and I'll soon nurse you up. I'll put on the kettle and get you a
+good cup of tea first thing. And you're not to do any more talking
+till the morning. But, oh, Missy, I can't take you to your own room
+after all. Camilla Clark has it, and she'll be asleep by now; we
+mustn't disturb her, for she's been real sick. I'll fix up a bed for
+you on the sofa, though. Missy, Missy, let us kneel down here and
+thank God for His mercy!"
+
+Late that night, when Missy had fallen asleep in her improvised bed,
+the wakeful mother crept in to gloat over her.
+
+"Just to think," she whispered, "if I hadn't taken Camilla Clark in,
+Missy wouldn't have heard me telling about the room, and she'd have
+gone away again and never have known. Oh, I don't deserve such a
+blessing when I was so unwilling to take Camilla! But I know one
+thing: this is going to be Camilla's home. There'll be no leaving it
+even when she does get well. She shall be my daughter, and I'll love
+her next to Missy."
+
+
+
+
+Ted's Afternoon Off
+
+
+Ted was up at five that morning, as usual. He always had to rise early
+to kindle the fire and go for the cows, but on this particular morning
+there was no "had to" about it. He had awakened at four o'clock and
+had sprung eagerly to the little garret window facing the east, to see
+what sort of a day was being born. Thrilling with excitement, he saw
+that it was going to be a glorious day. The sky was all rosy and
+golden and clear beyond the sharp-pointed, dark firs on Lee's Hill.
+Out to the north the sea was shimmering and sparkling gaily, with
+little foam crests here and there ruffled up by the cool morning
+breeze. Oh, it would be a splendid day!
+
+And he, Ted Melvin, was to have a half holiday for the first time
+since he had come to live in Brookdale four years ago--a whole
+afternoon off to go to the Sunday School picnic at the beach beyond
+the big hotel. It almost seemed too good to be true!
+
+The Jacksons, with whom he had lived ever since his mother had died,
+did not think holidays were necessities for boys. Hard work and
+cast-off clothes, and three grudgingly allowed months of school in the
+winter, made up Ted's life year in and year out--his outer life at
+least. He had an inner life of dreams, but nobody knew or suspected
+anything about that. To everybody in Brookdale he was simply Ted
+Melvin, a shy, odd-looking little fellow with big dreamy black eyes
+and a head of thick tangled curls which could never be made to look
+tidy and always annoyed Mrs. Jackson exceedingly.
+
+It was as yet too early to light the fire or go for the cows. Ted
+crept softly to a corner in the garret and took from the wall an old
+brown fiddle. It had been his father's. He loved to play on it, and
+his few rare spare moments were always spent in the garret corner or
+the hayloft, with his precious fiddle. It was his one link with the
+old life he had lived in a little cottage far away, with a mother who
+had loved him and a merry young father who had made wonderful music on
+the old brown violin.
+
+Ted pushed open his garret window and, seating himself on the sill,
+began to play, with his eyes fixed on the glowing eastern sky. He
+played very softly, since Mrs. Jackson had a pronounced dislike to
+being wakened by "fiddling at all unearthly hours."
+
+The music he made was beautiful and would have astonished anybody who
+knew enough to know how wonderful it really was. But there was nobody
+to hear this little neglected urchin of all work, and he fiddled away
+happily, the music floating out of the garret window, over the
+treetops and the dew-wet clover fields, until it mingled with the
+winds and was lost in the silver skies of the morning.
+
+Ted worked doubly hard all that forenoon, since there was a double
+share of work to do if, as Mrs. Jackson said, he was to be gadding to
+picnics in the afternoon. But he did it all cheerily and whistled for
+joy as he worked.
+
+After dinner Mrs. Ross came in. Mrs. Ross lived down on the shore road
+and made a living for herself and her two children by washing and
+doing days' work out. She was not a very cheerful person and generally
+spoke as if on the point of bursting into tears. She looked more
+doleful than ever today, and lost no time in explaining why.
+
+"I've just got word that my sister over at White Sands is sick with
+pendikis"--this was the nearest Mrs. Ross could get to
+appendicitis--"and has to go to the hospital. I've got to go right over
+and see her, Mrs. Jackson, and I've run in to ask if Ted can go and
+stay with Jimmy till I get back. There's no one else I can get, and
+Amelia is away. I'll be back this evening. I don't like leaving Jimmy
+alone."
+
+"Ted's been promised that he could go to the picnic this afternoon,"
+said Mrs. Jackson shortly. "Mr. Jackson said he could go, so he'll
+have to please himself. If he's willing to stay with Jimmy instead, he
+can. _I_ don't care."
+
+"Oh, I've _got_ to go to the picnic," cried Ted impulsively. "I'm
+awful sorry for Jimmy--but I _must_ go to the picnic."
+
+"I s'pose you feel so," said Mrs. Ross, sighing heavily. "I dunno's I
+blame you. Picnics is more cheerful than staying with a poor little
+lame boy, I don't doubt. Well, I s'pose I can put Jimmy's supper on
+the table clost to him, and shut the cat in with him, and mebbe he'll
+worry through. He was counting on having you to fiddle for him,
+though. Jimmy's crazy about music, and he don't never hear much of it.
+Speaking of fiddling, there's a great fiddler stopping at the hotel
+now. His name is Blair Milford, and he makes his living fiddling at
+concerts. I knew him well when he was a child--I was nurse in his
+father's family. He was a taking little chap, and I was real fond of
+him. Well, I must be getting. Jimmy'll feel bad at staying alone, but
+I'll tell him he'll just have to put up with it."
+
+Mrs. Ross sighed herself away, and Ted flew up to his garret corner
+with a choking in his throat. He couldn't go to stay with Jimmy--he
+couldn't give up the picnic! Why, he had never been at a picnic; and
+they were going to drive to the hotel beach in wagons, and have
+swings, and games, and ice cream, and a boat sail to Curtain Island!
+He had been looking forward to it, waking and dreaming, for a
+fortnight. He _must_ go. But poor little Jimmy! It was too bad for him
+to be left all alone.
+
+"I wouldn't like it myself," said Ted miserably, trying to swallow a
+lump that persisted in coming up in his throat. "It must be dreadful
+to have to lie on the sofa all the time and never be able to run,
+climb trees or play, or do a single thing. And Jimmy doesn't like
+reading much. He'll be dreadful lonesome. I'll be thinking of him all
+the time at the picnic--I know I will. I suppose I _could_ go and
+stay with him, if I just made up my mind to it."
+
+Making up his mind to it was a slow and difficult process. But when
+Ted was finally dressed in his shabby, "skimpy" Sunday best, he tucked
+his precious fiddle under his arm and slipped downstairs. "Please, I
+think I'll go and stay with Jimmy," he said to Mrs. Jackson timidly,
+as he always spoke to her.
+
+"Well, if you're to waste the afternoon, I s'pose it's better to waste
+it that way than in going to a picnic and eating yourself sick," was
+Mrs. Jackson's ungracious response.
+
+Ted reached Mrs. Ross's little house just as that good lady was
+locking the door on Jimmy and the cat. "Well, I'm real glad," she
+said, when Ted told her he had come to stay. "I'd have worried most
+awful if I'd had to leave Jimmy all alone. He's crying in there this
+minute. Come now, Jimmy, dry up. Here's Ted come to stop with you
+after all, and he's brought his fiddle, too."
+
+Jimmy's tears were soon dried, and he welcomed Ted joyfully. "I've
+been thinking awful long to hear you fiddling," said Jimmy, with a
+sigh of content. "Seems like the ache ain't never half so bad when I'm
+listening to music--and when it's your music, I forget there's any
+ache at all."
+
+Ted took his violin and began to play. After all, it was almost as
+good as a picnic to have a whole afternoon for his music. The stuffy
+little room, with its dingy plaster and shabby furniture, was filled
+with wonderful harmonies. Once he began, Ted could play for hours at a
+stretch and never be conscious of fatigue. Jimmy lay and listened in
+rapturous content while Ted's violin sang and laughed and dreamed and
+rippled.
+
+There was another listener besides Jimmy. Outside, on the red
+sandstone doorstep, a man was sitting--a tall, well-dressed man with a
+pale, beautiful face and long, supple white hands. Motionless, he sat
+there and listened to the music until at last it stopped. Then he rose
+and knocked at the door. Ted, violin in hand, opened it.
+
+An expression of amazement flashed into the stranger's face, but he
+only said, "Is Mrs. Ross at home?"
+
+"No, sir," said Ted shyly. "She went over to White Sands and she won't
+be back till night. But Jimmy is here--Jimmy is her little boy. Will
+you come in?"
+
+"I'm sorry Mrs. Ross is away," said the stranger, entering. "She was
+an old nurse of mine. I must confess I've been sitting on the step out
+there for some time, listening to your music. Who taught you to play,
+my boy?"
+
+"Nobody," said Ted simply. "I've always been able to play."
+
+"He makes it up himself out of his own head, sir," said Jimmy eagerly.
+
+"No, I don't make it--it makes itself--it just _comes_," said Ted, a
+dreamy gaze coming into his big black eyes.
+
+The caller looked at him closely. "I know a little about music
+myself," he said. "My name is Blair Milford and I am a professional
+violinist. Your playing is wonderful. What is your name?"
+
+"Ted Melvin."
+
+"Well, Ted, I think that you have a great talent, and it ought to be
+cultivated. You should have competent instruction. Come, you must tell
+me all about yourself."
+
+Ted told what little he thought there was to tell. Blair Milford
+listened and nodded, guessing much that Ted didn't tell and, indeed,
+didn't know himself. Then he made Ted play for him again. "Amazing!"
+he said softly, under his breath.
+
+Finally he took the violin and played himself. Ted and Jimmy listened
+breathlessly. "Oh, if I could only play like that!" said Ted
+wistfully.
+
+Blair Milford smiled. "You will play much better some day if you get
+the proper training," he said. "You have a wonderful talent, my boy,
+and you should have it cultivated. It will never in the world do to
+waste such genius. Yes, that is the right word," he went on musingly,
+as if talking to himself, "'genius.' Nature is always taking us by
+surprise. This child has what I have never had and would make any
+sacrifice for. And yet in him it may come to naught for lack of
+opportunity. But it must not, Ted. You must have a musical training."
+
+"I can't take lessons, if that is what you mean, sir," said Ted
+wonderingly. "Mr. Jackson wouldn't pay for them."
+
+"I think we needn't worry about the question of payment if you can
+find time to practise," said Blair Milford. "I am to be at the beach
+for two months yet. For once I'll take a music pupil. But will you
+have time to practise?"
+
+"Yes, sir, I'll make time," said Ted, as soon as he could speak at all
+for the wonder of it. "I'll get up at four in the morning and have an
+hour's practising before the time for the cows. But I'm afraid it'll
+be too much trouble for you, sir, I'm afraid--"
+
+Blair Milford laughed and put his slim white hand on Ted's curly head.
+"It isn't much trouble to train an artist. It is a privilege. Ah, Ted,
+you have what I once hoped I had, what I know now I never can have.
+You don't understand me. You will some day."
+
+"Ain't he an awful nice man?" said Jimmy, when Blair Milford had gone.
+"But what did he mean by all that talk?"
+
+"I don't know exactly," said Ted dreamily. "That is, I seem to _feel_
+what he meant but I can't quite put it into words. But, oh, Jimmy, I'm
+so happy. I'm to have lessons--I have always longed to have them."
+
+"I guess you're glad you didn't go to the picnic?" said Jimmy.
+
+"Yes, but I was glad before, Jimmy, honest I was."
+
+Blair Milford kept his promise. He interviewed Mr. and Mrs. Jackson
+and, by means best known to himself, induced them to consent that Ted
+should take music lessons every Saturday afternoon. He was a pupil to
+delight a teacher's heart and, after every lesson, Blair Milford
+looked at him with kindly eyes and murmured, "Amazing," under his
+breath. Finally he went again to the Jacksons, and the next day he
+said to Ted, "Ted, would you like to come away with me--live with
+me--be my boy and have your gift for music thoroughly cultivated?"
+
+"What do you mean, sir?" said Ted tremblingly.
+
+"I mean that I want you--that I must have you, Ted. I've talked to Mr.
+Jackson, and he has consented to let you come. You shall be educated,
+you shall have the best masters in your art that the world affords,
+you shall have the career I once dreamed of. Will you come, Ted?"
+
+Ted drew a long breath. "Yes, sir," he said. "But it isn't so much
+because of the music--it's because I love you, Mr. Milford, and I'm so
+glad I'm to be always with you."
+
+
+
+
+The Doctor's Sweetheart
+
+
+Just because I am an old woman outwardly it doesn't follow that I am
+one inwardly. Hearts don't grow old--or shouldn't. Mine hasn't, I am
+thankful to say. It bounded like a girl's with delight when I saw
+Doctor John and Marcella Barry drive past this afternoon. If the
+doctor had been my own son I couldn't have felt more real pleasure in
+his happiness. I'm only an old lady who can do little but sit by her
+window and knit, but eyes were made for seeing, and I use mine for
+that purpose. When I see the good and beautiful things--and a body
+need never look for the other kind, you know--the things God planned
+from the beginning and brought about in spite of the counter plans and
+schemes of men, I feel such a deep joy that I'm glad, even at
+seventy-five, to be alive in a world where such things come to pass.
+And if ever God meant and made two people for each other, those people
+were Doctor John and Marcella Barry; and that is what I always tell
+folk who come here commenting on the difference in their ages. "Old
+enough to be her father," sniffed Mrs. Riddell to me the other day. I
+didn't say anything to Mrs. Riddell. I just looked at her. I presume
+my face expressed what I felt pretty clearly. How any woman can live
+for sixty years in the world, as Mrs. Riddell has, a wife and mother
+at that, and not get some realization of the beauty and general
+satisfactoriness of a real and abiding love, is something I cannot
+understand and never shall be able to.
+
+Nobody in Bridgeport believed that Marcella would ever come back,
+except Doctor John and me--not even her Aunt Sara. I've heard people
+laugh at me when I said I knew she would; but nobody minds being
+laughed at when she is sure of a thing and I was sure that Marcella
+Barry would come back as that the sun rose and set. I hadn't lived
+beside her for eight years to know so little about her as to doubt
+her. Neither had Doctor John.
+
+Marcella was only eight years old when she came to live in Bridgeport.
+Her father, Chester Barry, had just died. Her mother, who was a sister
+of Miss Sara Bryant, my next door neighbor, had been dead for four
+years. Marcella's father left her to the guardianship of his brother,
+Richard Barry; but Miss Sara pleaded so hard to have the little girl
+that the Barrys consented to let Marcella live with her aunt until she
+was sixteen. Then, they said, she would have to go back to them, to be
+properly educated and take the place of her father's daughter in _his_
+world. For, of course, it is a fact that Miss Sara Bryant's world was
+and is a very different one from Chester Barry's world. As to which
+side the difference favors, that isn't for me to say. It all depends
+on your standard of what is really worth while, you know.
+
+So Marcella came to live with us in Bridgeport. I say "us" advisedly.
+She slept and ate in her aunt's house, but every house in the village
+was a home to her; for, with all our little disagreements and diverse
+opinions, we are really all one big family, and everybody feels an
+interest in and a good working affection for everybody else. Besides,
+Marcella was one of those children whom everybody loves at sight, and
+keeps on loving. One long, steady gaze from those big grayish-blue
+black-lashed eyes of hers went right into your heart and stayed there.
+
+She was a pretty child and as good as she was pretty. It was the right
+sort of goodness, too, with just enough spice of original sin in it to
+keep it from spoiling by reason of over-sweetness. She was a frank,
+loyal, brave little thing, even at eight, and wouldn't have said or
+done a mean or false thing to save her life.
+
+She and I were right good friends from the beginning. She loved me and
+she loved her Aunt Sara; but from the very first her best and deepest
+affection went out to Doctor John Haven, who lived in the big brick
+house on the other side of Miss Sara's.
+
+Doctor John was a Bridgeport boy, and when he got through college he
+came right home and settled down here, with his widowed mother. The
+Bridgeport girls were fluttered, for eligible young men were scarce in
+our village; there was considerable setting of caps, I must say that,
+although I despise ill-natured gossip; but neither the caps nor the
+wearers thereof seemed to make any impression on Doctor John. Mrs.
+Riddell said that he was a born old bachelor; I suppose she based her
+opinion on the fact that Doctor John was always a quiet, bookish
+fellow, who didn't care a button for society, and had never been
+guilty of a flirtation in his life. I knew Doctor John's heart far
+better than Martha Riddell could know anybody's; and I knew there was
+nothing of the old bachelor in his nature. He just had to wait for the
+right woman, that was all, not being able to content himself with less
+as some men can and do. If she never came Doctor John would never
+marry; but he wouldn't be an old bachelor for all that.
+
+He was thirty when Marcella came to Bridgeport--a tall,
+broad-shouldered man with a mane of thick brown curls and level, dark
+hazel eyes. He walked with a little stoop, his hands clasped behind
+him; and he had the sweetest, deepest voice. Spoken music, if ever a
+voice was. He was kind and brave and gentle, but a little distant and
+reserved with most people. Everybody in Bridgeport liked him, but only
+a very few ever passed the inner gates of his confidence or were
+admitted to any share in his real life. I am proud to say I was one; I
+think it is something for an old woman to boast of.
+
+Doctor John was always fond of children, and they of him. It was
+natural that he and little Marcella should take to each other. He had
+the most to do with bringing her up, for Miss Sara consulted him in
+everything. Marcella was not hard to manage for the most part; but she
+had a will of her own, and when she did set it up in opposition to
+the powers that were, nobody but the doctor could influence her at
+all; she never resisted him or disobeyed his wishes.
+
+Marcella was one of those girls who develop early. I suppose her
+constant association with us elderly folks had something to do with
+it, too. But, at fifteen, she was a woman, loving, beautiful, and
+spirited.
+
+And Doctor John loved her--loved the woman, not the child. I knew it
+before he did--but not, as I think, before Marcella did, for those
+young, straight-gazing eyes of hers were wonderfully quick to read
+into other people's hearts. I watched them together and saw the love
+growing between them, like a strong, fair, perfect flower, whose
+fragrance was to endure for eternity. Miss Sara saw it, too, and was
+half-pleased and half-worried; even Miss Sara thought the Doctor too
+old for Marcella; and besides, there were the Barrys to be reckoned
+with. Those Barrys were the nightmare dread of poor Miss Sara's life.
+
+The time came when Doctor John's eyes were opened. He looked into his
+own heart and read there what life had written for him. As he told me
+long afterwards, it came to him with a shock that left him
+white-lipped. But he was a brave, sensible fellow and he looked the
+matter squarely in the face. First of all, he put away to one side all
+that the world might say; the thing concerned solely him and Marcella,
+and the world had nothing to do with it. That disposed of, he asked
+himself soberly if he had a right to try to win Marcella's love. He
+decided that he had not; it would be taking an unfair advantage of her
+youth and inexperience. He knew that she must soon go to her father's
+people--she must not go bound by any ties of his making. Doctor John,
+for Marcella's sake, gave the decision against his own heart.
+
+So much did Doctor John tell me, his old friend and confidant. I said
+nothing and gave no advice, not having lived seventy-five years for
+nothing. I knew that Doctor John's decision was manly and right and
+fair; but I also knew it was all nullified by the fact that Marcella
+already loved him.
+
+So much I knew; the rest I was left to suppose. The Doctor and
+Marcella told me much, but there were some things too sacred to be
+told, even to me. So that to this day I don't know how the doctor
+found out that Marcella loved him. All I know is that one day, just a
+month before her sixteenth birthday, the two came hand in hand to Miss
+Sara and me, as we sat on Miss Sara's veranda in the twilight, and
+told us simply that they had plighted their troth to each other.
+
+I looked at them standing there with that wonderful sunrise of life
+and love on their faces--the doctor, tall and serious, with a sprinkle
+of silver in his brown hair and the smile of a happy man on his
+lips--Marcella, such a slip of a girl, with her black hair in a long
+braid and her lovely face all dewed over with tears and sunned over
+with smiles--I, an old woman, looked at them and thanked the good God
+for them and their delight.
+
+Miss Sara laughed and cried and kissed--and forboded what the Barrys
+would do. Her forebodings proved only too true. When the doctor wrote
+to Richard Barry, Marcella's guardian, asking his consent to their
+engagement, Richard Barry promptly made trouble--the very worst kind
+of trouble. He descended on Bridgeport and completely overwhelmed poor
+Miss Sara in his wrath. He laughed at the idea of countenancing an
+engagement between a child like Marcella and an obscure country
+doctor. And he carried Marcella off with him!
+
+She had to go, of course. He was her legal guardian and he would
+listen to no pleadings. He didn't know anything about Marcella's
+character, and he thought that a new life out in the great world would
+soon blot out her fancy.
+
+After the first outburst of tears and prayers Marcella took it very
+calmly, as far as outward eye could see. She was as cool and dignified
+and stately as a young queen. On the night before she went away she
+came over to say good-bye to me. She did not even shed any tears, but
+the look in her eyes told of bitter hurt. "It is goodbye for five
+years, Miss Tranquil," she said steadily. "When I am twenty-one I will
+come back. That is the only promise I can make. They will not let me
+write to John or Aunt Sara and I will do nothing underhanded. But I
+will not forget and I will come back."
+
+Richard Barry would not even let her see Doctor John alone again. She
+had to bid him good-bye beneath the cold, contemptuous eyes of the man
+of the world. So there was just a hand-clasp and one long deep look
+between them that was tenderer than any kiss and more eloquent than
+any words.
+
+"I will come back when I am twenty-one," said Marcella. And I saw
+Richard Barry smile.
+
+So Marcella went away and in all Bridgeport there were only two people
+who believed she would ever return. There is no keeping a secret in
+Bridgeport, and everybody knew all about the love affair between
+Marcella and the doctor and about the promise she had made. Everybody
+sympathized with the doctor because everybody believed he had lost his
+sweetheart.
+
+"For of course she'll never come back," said Mrs. Riddell to me.
+"She's only a child and she'll soon forget him. She's to be sent to
+school and taken abroad and between times she'll live with the Richard
+Barrys; and they move, as everyone knows, in the very highest and
+gayest circles. I'm sorry for the doctor, though. A man of his age
+doesn't get over a thing like that in a hurry and he was perfectly
+silly over Marcella. But it really serves him right for falling in
+love with a child."
+
+There are times when Martha Riddell gets on my nerves. She's a
+good-hearted woman, and she means well; but she rasps--rasps terribly.
+
+Even Miss Sara exasperated me. But then she had her excuse. The child
+she loved as her own had been torn from her and it almost broke her
+heart. But even so, I thought she ought to have had a little more
+faith in Marcella.
+
+"Oh, no, she'll never come back," sobbed Miss Sara. "Yes, I know she
+promised. But they'll wean her away from me. She'll have such a gay,
+splendid life she'll not want to come back. Five years is a lifetime
+at her age. No, don't try to comfort me, Miss Tranquil, because I
+_won't_ be comforted!"
+
+When a person has made up her mind to be miserable you just have to
+_let_ her be miserable.
+
+I almost dreaded to see Doctor John for fear he would be in despair,
+too, without any confidence in Marcella. But when he came I saw I
+needn't have worried. The light had all gone out of his eyes, but
+there was a calm, steady patience in them.
+
+"She will come back to me, Miss Tranquil," he said. "I know what
+people are saying, but that does not trouble me. They do not know
+Marcella as I do. She promised and she will keep her word--keep it
+joyously and gladly, too. If I did not know that I would not wish its
+fulfilment. When she is free she will turn her back on that brilliant
+world and all it offers her and come back to me. My part is to wait
+and believe."
+
+So Doctor John waited and believed. After a little while the
+excitement died away and people forgot Marcella. We never heard from
+or about her, except a paragraph now and then in the society columns
+of the city paper the doctor took. We knew she was sent to school for
+three years; then the Barrys took her abroad. She was presented at
+court. When the doctor read this--he was with me at the time--he put
+his hand over his eyes and sat very silent for a long time. I wondered
+if at last some momentary doubt had crept into his mind--if he did not
+fear that Marcella must have forgotten him. The paper told of her
+triumph and her beauty and hinted at a titled match. Was it probable
+or even possible that she would be faithful to him after all this?
+
+The doctor must have guessed my thoughts, for at last he looked up
+with a smile.
+
+"She will come back," was all he said. But I saw that the doubt, if
+doubt it were, had gone. I watched him as he went away, that tall,
+gentle, kindly-eyed man, and I prayed that his trust might not be
+misplaced; for if it should be it would break his heart.
+
+Five years seems a long time in looking forward. But they pass
+quickly. One day I remembered that it was Marcella's twenty-first
+birthday. Only one other person thought of it. Even Miss Sara did not.
+Miss Sara remembered Marcella only as a child that had been loved and
+lost. Nobody else in Bridgeport thought about her at all. The doctor
+came in that evening. He had a rose in his buttonhole and he walked
+with a step as light as a boy's.
+
+"She is free to-day," he said. "We shall soon have her again, Miss
+Tranquil."
+
+"Do you think she will be the same?" I said.
+
+I don't know what made me say it. I hate to be one of those people who
+throw cold water on other peoples' hopes. But it slipped out before I
+thought. I suppose the doubt had been vaguely troubling me always,
+under all my faith in Marcella, and now made itself felt in spite of
+me.
+
+But the doctor only laughed.
+
+"How could she be changed?" he said. "Some women might be--most women
+would be--but not Marcella. Dear Miss Tranquil, don't spoil your
+beautiful record of confidence by doubting her now. We shall have her
+again soon--how soon I don't know, for I don't even know where she is,
+whether in the old world or the new--but just as soon as she can come
+to us."
+
+We said nothing more--neither of us. But every day the light in the
+doctor's eyes grew brighter and deeper and tenderer. He never spoke of
+Marcella, but I knew she was in his thoughts every moment. He was much
+calmer than I was. I trembled when the postman knocked, jumped when
+the gate latch clicked, and fairly had a cold chill if I saw a
+telegraph boy running down the street.
+
+One evening, a fortnight later, I went over to see Miss Sara. She was
+out somewhere, so I sat down in her little sitting room to wait for
+her. Presently the doctor came in and we sat in the soft twilight,
+talking a little now and then, but silent when we wanted to be, as
+becomes real friendship. It was such a beautiful evening. Outside in
+Miss Sara's garden the roses were white and red, and sweet with dew;
+the honeysuckle at the window sent in delicious breaths now and again;
+a few sleepy birds were twittering; between the trees the sky was all
+pink and silvery blue and there was an evening star over the elm in my
+front yard. We heard somebody come through the door and down the hall.
+I turned, expecting to see Miss Sara--and I saw Marcella! She was
+standing in the doorway, tall and beautiful, with a ray of sunset
+light falling athwart her black hair under her travelling hat. She was
+looking past me at Doctor John and in her splendid eyes was the look
+of the exile who had come home to her own.
+
+"Marcella!" said the doctor.
+
+I went out by the dining-room door and shut it behind me, leaving them
+alone together.
+
+The wedding is to be next month. Miss Sara is beside herself with
+delight. The excitement has been really terrible, and the way people
+have talked and wondered and exclaimed has almost worn my patience
+clean out. I've snubbed more persons in the last ten days than I ever
+did in all my life before.
+
+Nothing of this worries Doctor John or Marcella. They are too happy to
+care for gossip or outside curiosity. The Barrys are not coming to the
+wedding, I understand. They refuse to forgive Marcella or countenance
+her folly, as they call it, in any way. Folly! When I see those two
+together and realize what they mean to each other I have some humble,
+reverent idea of what true wisdom is.
+
+
+
+
+The End of the Young Family Feud
+
+
+A week before Christmas, Aunt Jean wrote to Elizabeth, inviting her
+and Alberta and me to eat our Christmas dinner at Monkshead. We
+accepted with delight. Aunt Jean and Uncle Norman were delightful
+people, and we knew we should have a jolly time at their house.
+Besides, we wanted to see Monkshead, where Father had lived in his
+boyhood, and the old Young homestead where he had been born and
+brought up and where Uncle William still lived. Father never said much
+about it, but we knew he loved it very dearly, and we had always
+greatly desired to get at least a glimpse of what Alberta liked to
+call "our ancestral halls."
+
+Since Monkshead was only sixty miles away, and Uncle William lived
+there as aforesaid, it may be pertinently asked what there was to
+prevent us from visiting it and the homestead as often as we wished.
+We answer promptly: the family feud.
+
+Father and Uncle William were on bad terms, or rather on no terms at
+all, and had been ever since we could remember. After Grandfather
+Young's death there had been a wretched quarrel over the property.
+Father always said that he had been as much to blame as Uncle William,
+but Great-aunt Emily told us that Uncle William had been by far the
+most to blame, and that he had behaved scandalously to Father.
+Moreover, she said that Father had gone to him when cooling-down time
+came, apologized for what he had said, and asked Uncle William to be
+friends again; and that William, simply turned his back on Father and
+walked into the house without saying a word, but, as Great-aunt Emily
+said, with the Young temper sticking out of every kink and curve of
+his figure. Great-aunt Emily is our aunt on Mother's side, and she
+does not like any of the Youngs except Father and Uncle Norman.
+
+This was why we had never visited Monkshead. We had never seen Uncle
+William, and we always thought of him as a sort of ogre when we
+thought of him at all. When we were children, our old nurse, Margaret
+Hannah, used to frighten us into good behaviour by saying ominously,
+"If you 'uns aint good your Uncle William'll cotch you."
+
+What he would do to us when he "cotched" us she never specified,
+probably reasoning that the unknown was always more terrible than the
+known. My private opinion in those days was that he would boil us in
+oil and pick our bones.
+
+Uncle Norman and Aunt Jean had been living out west for years. Three
+months before this Christmas they had come east, bought a house in
+Monkshead, and settled there. They had been down to see us, and Father
+and Mother and the boys had been up to see them, but we three girls
+had not; so we were pleasantly excited at the thought of spending
+Christmas there.
+
+Christmas morning was fine, white as a pearl and clear as a diamond.
+We had to go by the seven o'clock train, since there was no other
+before eleven, and we reached Monkshead at eight-thirty.
+
+When we stepped from the train the stationmaster asked us if we were
+the three Miss Youngs. Alberta pleaded guilty, and he said, "Well,
+here's a letter for you then."
+
+We took the letter and went into the waiting room with sundry
+misgivings. What had happened? Were Uncle Norman and Aunt Jean
+quarantined for scarlet fever, or had burglars raided the pantry and
+carried off the Christmas supplies? Elizabeth opened and read the
+letter aloud. It was from Aunt Jean to the following effect:
+
+    DEAR GIRLS: I am so sorry to disappoint you, but I cannot help
+    it. Word has come from Streatham that my sister has met with a
+    serious accident and is in a very critical condition. Your
+    uncle and I must go to Streatham immediately and are leaving
+    on the eight o'clock express. I know you have started before
+    this, so there is no use in telegraphing. We want you to go
+    right to the house and make yourself at home. You will find
+    the key under the kitchen doorstep, and the dinner in the
+    pantry all ready to cook. There are two mince pies on the
+    third shelf, and the plum pudding only needs to be warmed up.
+    You will find a little Christmas remembrance for each of you
+    on the dining-room table. I hope you will make as merry as you
+    possibly can and we will have you down again as soon as we
+    come back.
+
+                              Your hurried and affectionate,
+                                               AUNT JEAN
+
+
+We looked at each other somewhat dolefully. But, as Alberta pointed
+out, we might as well make the best of it, since there was no way of
+getting home before the five o'clock train. So we trailed out to the
+stationmaster, and asked him limply if he could direct us to Mr.
+Norman Young's house.
+
+He was a rather grumpy individual, very busy with pencil and notebook
+over some freight; but he favoured us with his attention long enough
+to point with his pencil and say jerkily, "Young's? See that red house
+on the hill? That's it."
+
+The red house was about a quarter of a mile from the station, and we
+saw it plainly. Accordingly, to the red house we betook ourselves. On
+nearer view it proved to be a trim, handsome place, with nice grounds
+and very fine old trees.
+
+We found the key under the kitchen doorstep and went in. The fire was
+black out, and somehow things wore a more cheerless look than I had
+expected to find. I may as well admit that we marched into the dining
+room first of all, to find our presents.
+
+There were three parcels, two very small and one pretty big, lying on
+the table, but when we came to look for names there were none.
+
+"Evidently Aunt Jean, in her hurry and excitement, forgot to label
+them," said Elizabeth. "Let us open them. We may be able to guess from
+the contents which belongs to whom."
+
+I must say we were surprised when we opened those parcels. "We had
+known that Aunt Jean's gifts would be nice, but we had not expected
+anything like this. There was a magnificent stone marten collar, a
+dear little gold watch and pearl chatelaine, and a gold chain bracelet
+set with turquoises.
+
+"The collar must be for you, Elizabeth, because Mary and I have one
+already, and Aunt Jean knows it," said Alberta; "the watch must be for
+you, Mary, because I have one; and by the process of exhaustion the
+bracelet must be for me. Well, they are all perfectly sweet."
+
+Elizabeth put on her collar and paraded in front of the sideboard
+mirror. It was so dusty she had to take her handkerchief and wipe it
+before she could see herself properly. Everything in the room was
+equally dusty. As for the lace curtains, they looked as if they hadn't
+been washed for years, and one of them had a long ragged hole in it. I
+couldn't help feeling secretly surprised, for Aunt Jean had the
+reputation of being a perfect housekeeper. However, I didn't say
+anything, and neither did the other girls. Mother had always impressed
+upon us that it was the height of bad manners to criticize anything we
+might not like in a house where we were guests.
+
+"Well, let's see about dinner," said Alberta, practically, snapping
+her bracelet on her wrist and admiring the effect.
+
+We went to the kitchen, where Elizabeth proceeded to light the fire,
+that being one of her specialties, while Alberta and I explored the
+pantry. We found the dinner supplies laid out as Aunt Jean had
+explained. There was a nice fat turkey all stuffed, and vegetables
+galore. The mince pies were in their place, but they were almost the
+only things about which that could be truthfully said, for the
+disorder of that pantry was enough to give a tidy person nightmares
+for a month. "I never in all my life saw--" began Alberta, and then
+stopped short, evidently remembering Mother's teaching.
+
+"Where is the plum pudding?" said I, to turn the conversation into
+safer channels.
+
+It was nowhere to be seen, so we concluded it must be in the cellar.
+But we found the cellar door padlocked good and fast.
+
+"Never mind," said Elizabeth. "You know none of us really likes plum
+pudding. We only eat it because it is the proper traditional dessert.
+The mince pies will suit us better."
+
+We hurried the turkey into the oven, and soon everything was going
+merrily. We had lots of fun getting up that dinner, and we made
+ourselves perfectly at home, as Aunt Jean had commanded. We kindled a
+fire in the dining room and dusted everything in sight. We couldn't
+find anything remotely resembling a duster, so we used our
+handkerchiefs. When we got through, the room looked like something, for
+the furnishings were really very handsome, but our handkerchiefs--well!
+
+Then we set the table with all the nice dishes we could find. There
+was only one long tablecloth in the sideboard drawer, and there were
+three holes in it, but we covered them with dishes and put a little
+potted palm in the middle for a centrepiece. At one o'clock dinner was
+ready for us and we for it. Very nice that table looked, too, as we
+sat down to it.
+
+Just as Alberta was about to spear the turkey with a fork and begin
+carving, that being one of _her_ specialties, the kitchen door opened
+and somebody walked in. Before we could move, a big, handsome,
+bewhiskered man in a fur coat appeared in the dining-room doorway.
+
+I wasn't frightened. He seemed quite respectable, I thought, and I
+supposed he was some intimate friend of Uncle Norman's. I rose
+politely and said, "Good day."
+
+You never saw such an expression of amazement as was on that poor
+man's face. He looked from me to Alberta and from Alberta to Elizabeth
+and from Elizabeth to me again as if he doubted the evidence of his
+eyes.
+
+"Mr. and Mrs. Norman Young are not at home," I explained, pitying him.
+"They went to Streatham this morning because Mrs. Young's sister is
+very ill."
+
+"What does all this mean?" said the big man gruffly. "This isn't
+Norman Young's house ... it is mine. I'm William Young. Who are you?
+And what are you doing here?"
+
+I fell back into my chair, speechless. My very first impulse was to
+put up my hand and cover the gold watch. Alberta had dropped the
+carving knife and was trying desperately to get the gold bracelet off
+under the table. In a flash we had realized our mistake and its
+awfulness. As for me, I felt positively frightened; Margaret Hannah's
+warnings of old had left an ineffaceable impression.
+
+Elizabeth rose to the occasion. Rising to the occasion is another of
+Elizabeth's specialties. Besides, she was not hampered by the tingling
+consciousness that she was wearing a gift that had not been intended
+for her.
+
+"We have made a mistake, I fear," she said, with a dignity which I
+appreciated even in my panic, "and we are very sorry for it. We were
+invited to spend Christmas with Mr. and Mrs. Norman Young. When we got
+off the train we were given a letter from them stating that they were
+summoned away but telling us to go to their house and make ourselves
+at home. The stationmaster told us that this was the house, so we came
+here. We have never been in Monkshead, so we did not know the
+difference. Please pardon us."
+
+I had got off the watch by this time and laid it on the table,
+unobserved, as I thought. Alberta, not having the key of the
+bracelet, had not been able to get it off, and she sat there crimson
+with shame. As for Uncle William, there was positively a twinkle in
+his eye. He did not look in the least ogreish.
+
+"Well, it has been quite a fortunate mistake for me," he said. "I came
+home expecting to find a cold house and a raw dinner, and I find this
+instead. I'm very much obliged to you."
+
+Alberta rose, went to the mantel piece, took the key of the bracelet
+therefrom, and unlocked it. Then she faced Uncle William. "Mrs. Young
+told us in her letter that we would find our Christmas gifts on the
+table, so we took it for granted that these things belonged to us,"
+she said desperately. "And now, if you will kindly tell us where Mr.
+Norman Young does live, we won't intrude on you any longer. Come,
+girls."
+
+Elizabeth and I rose with a sigh. There was nothing else to be done,
+of course, but we were fearfully hungry, and we did not feel
+enthusiastic over the prospect of going to another empty house and
+cooking another dinner.
+
+"Wait a bit," said Uncle William. "I think since you have gone to all
+the trouble of cooking the dinner it's only fair you should stay and
+help to eat it. Accidents seem to be rather fashionable just now. My
+housekeeper's son broke his leg down at Weston, and I had to take her
+there early this morning. Come, introduce yourselves. To whom am I
+indebted for this pleasant surprise?"
+
+"We are Elizabeth, Alberta, and Mary Young of Green Village," I said;
+and then I looked to see the ogre creep out if it were ever going to.
+
+But Uncle William merely looked amazed for the first moment, foolish
+for the second, and the third he was himself again.
+
+"Robert's daughters?" he said, as if it were the most natural thing in
+the world that Robert's daughters should be there in his house. "So
+you are my nieces? Well, I'm very glad to make your acquaintance. Sit
+down and we'll have dinner as soon as I can get my coat off. I want to
+see if you are as good cooks as your mother used to be long ago."
+
+We sat down, and so did Uncle William. Alberta had her chance to show
+what she could do at carving, for Uncle William said it was something
+he never did; he kept a housekeeper just for that. At first we felt a
+bit stiff and awkward; but that soon wore off, for Uncle William was
+genial, witty, and entertaining. Soon, to our surprise, we found that
+we were enjoying ourselves. Uncle William seemed to be, too. When we
+had finished he leaned back and looked at us.
+
+"I suppose you've been brought up to abhor me and all my works?" he
+said abruptly.
+
+"Not by Father and Mother," I said frankly. "They never said anything
+against you. Margaret Hannah did, though. She brought us up in the way
+we should go through fear of you."
+
+Uncle William laughed.
+
+"Margaret Hannah was a faithful old enemy of mine," he said. "Well, I
+acted like a fool--and worse. I've been sorry for it ever since. I was
+in the wrong. I couldn't have said this to your father, but I don't
+mind saying it to you, and you can tell him if you like."
+
+"He'll be delighted to hear that you are no longer angry with him,"
+said Alberta. "He has always longed to be friends with you again,
+Uncle William. But he thought you were still bitter against him."
+
+"No--no--nothing but stubborn pride," said Uncle William. "Now, girls,
+since you are my guests I must try to give you a good time. We'll take
+the double sleigh and have a jolly drive this afternoon. And about
+those trinkets there--they are yours. I did get them for some young
+friends of mine here, but I'll give them something else. I want you to
+have these. That watch looked very nice on your blouse, Mary, and the
+bracelet became Alberta's pretty wrist very well. Come and give your
+cranky old uncle a hug for them."
+
+Uncle William got his hugs heartily; then we washed up the dishes and
+went for our drive. We got back just in time to catch the evening
+train home. Uncle William saw us off at the station, under promise to
+come back and stay a week with him when his housekeeper came home.
+
+"One of you will have to come and stay with me altogether, pretty
+soon," he said. "Tell your father he must be prepared to hand over one
+of his girls to me as a token of his forgiveness. I'll be down to talk
+it over with him shortly."
+
+When we got home and told our story, Father said, "Thank God!" very
+softly. There were tears in his eyes. He did not wait for Uncle
+William to come down, but went to Monkshead himself the next day.
+
+In the spring Alberta is to go and live with Uncle William. She is
+making a supply of dusters now. And next Christmas we are going to
+have a grand family reunion at the old homestead. Mistakes are not
+always bad.
+
+
+
+
+The Genesis of the Doughnut Club
+
+
+When John Henry died there seemed to be nothing for me to do but pack
+up and go back east. I didn't want to do it, but forty-five years of
+sojourning in this world have taught me that a body has to do a good
+many things she doesn't want to do, and that most of them turn out to
+be for the best in the long run. But I knew perfectly well that it
+wasn't best for me or anybody else that I should go back to live with
+William and Susanna, and I couldn't think what Providence was about
+when things seemed to point that way.
+
+I wanted to stay in Carleton. I loved the big, straggling, bustling
+little town that always reminded me of a lanky, overgrown schoolboy,
+all arms and legs, but full to the brim with enthusiasm and splendid
+ideas. I knew Carleton was bound to grow into a magnificent city, and
+I wanted to be there and see it grow and watch it develop; and I loved
+the whole big, breezy golden west, with the rush and tingle of its
+young life. And, more than all, I loved my boys, and what I was going
+to do without them or they without me was more than I knew, though I
+tried to think Providence might know.
+
+But there was no place in Carleton for me; the only thing to do was to
+go back east, and I knew that all the time, even when I was
+desperately praying that I might find a way to remain. There's not
+much comfort, or help either, praying one way and believing another.
+
+I'd lived down east in Northfield all my life--until five years
+ago--lived with my brother William and his wife. Northfield was a
+little pinched-up village where everybody knew more about you than you
+did about yourself, and you couldn't turn around without being
+commented upon. William and Susanna were kind to me, but I was just
+the old maid sister, of no importance to anybody, and I never felt as
+if I were really living. I was simply vegetating on, and wouldn't be
+missed by a single soul if I died. It is a horrible feeling, but I
+didn't expect it would ever be any different, and I had made up my
+mind that when I died I would have the word "Wasted" carved on my
+tombstone. It wouldn't be conventional at all, but I'd been
+conventional all my life, and I was determined I'd have something done
+out of the common even if I had to wait until I was dead to have it.
+
+Then all at once the letter came from John Henry, my brother out west.
+He wrote that his wife had died and he wanted me to go out and keep
+house for him. I sat right down and wrote him I'd go and in a week's
+time I started.
+
+It made quite a commotion; I had that much satisfaction out of it to
+begin with. Susanna wasn't any too well pleased. I was only the old
+maid sister, but I was a good cook, and help was scarce in Northfield.
+All the neighbours shook their heads, and warned me I wouldn't like
+it. I was too old to change my ways, and I'd be dreadfully homesick,
+and I'd find the west too rough and boisterous. I just smiled and said
+nothing.
+
+Well, I came out here to Carleton, and from the time I got here I was
+perfectly happy. John Henry had a little rented house, and he was as
+poor as a church mouse, being the ne'er-do-well of our family, and the
+best loved, as ne'er-do-wells are so apt to be. He'd nearly died of
+lonesomeness since his wife's death, and he was so glad to see me.
+That was delightful in itself, and I was just in my element getting
+that little house fixed up cosy and homelike, and cooking the most
+elegant meals. There wasn't much work to do, just for me and him, and
+I got a squaw in to wash and scrub. I never thought about Northfield
+except to thank goodness I'd escaped from it, and John Henry and I
+were as happy as a king and queen.
+
+Then after awhile my activities began to sprout and branch out, and
+the direction they took was _boys_. Carleton was full of boys, like
+all the western towns, overflowing with them as you might say, young
+fellows just let loose from home and mother, some of them dying of
+homesickness and some of them beginning to run wild and get into
+risky ways, some of them smart and some of them lazy, some ugly and
+some handsome; but all of them boys, lovable, rollicking boys, with
+the makings of good men in them if there was anybody to take hold of
+them and cut the pattern right, but liable to be spoiled just because
+there wasn't anybody.
+
+Well, I did what I could. It began with John Henry bringing home some
+of them that worked in his office to spend the evening now and again,
+and they told other fellows and asked leave to bring them in too. And
+before long it got to be that there never was an evening there wasn't
+some of them there, "Aunt-Pattying" me. I told them from the start I
+would _not_ be called Miss. When a woman has been Miss for forty-five
+years she gets tired of it.
+
+So Aunt Patty it was, and Aunt Patty it remained, and I loved all
+those dear boys as if they'd been my own. They told me all their
+troubles, and I mothered them and cheered them up and scolded them,
+and finally topped off with a jolly good supper; for, talk as you
+like, you can't preach much good into a boy if he's got an aching void
+in his stomach. Fill _that_ up with tasty victuals, and then you can
+do something with his spiritual nature. If a boy is well stuffed with
+good things and then won't listen to advice, you might as well stop
+wasting your breath on him, because there is something radically wrong
+with him. Probably his grandfather had dyspepsia. And a dyspeptic
+ancestor is worse for a boy than predestination, in my opinion.
+
+Anyway, most of my boys took to going to church and Bible class of
+their own accord, after I'd been their aunt for awhile. The young
+minister thought it was all his doings, and I let him think so to keep
+him cheered up. He was a nice boy himself, and often dropped in of an
+evening too; but I never would let him talk theology until after
+supper. His views always seemed so much mellower then, and didn't
+puzzle the other boys more than was wholesome for them.
+
+This went on for five glorious years, the only years of my life I'd
+ever _lived_, and then came, as I thought, the end of everything. John
+Henry took typhoid and died. At first that was all I could think of;
+and when I got so that I could think of other things, there was, as I
+have said, nothing for me to do but go back east.
+
+The boys, who had been as good as gold to me all through my trouble,
+felt dreadfully bad over this, and coaxed me hard to stay. They said
+if I'd start a boarding house I'd have all the boarders I could
+accommodate; but I knew it was no use to think of that, because I
+wasn't strong enough, and help was so hard to get. No, there was
+nothing for it but Northfield and stagnation again, with not a stray
+boy anywhere to mother. I looked the dismal prospect square in the
+face and made up my mind to it.
+
+But I was determined to give my boys one good celebration before I
+went, anyway. It was near Thanksgiving, and I resolved they should
+have a dinner that would keep my memory green for awhile, a real
+old-fashioned Thanksgiving dinner such as they used to have at home. I
+knew it would cost more than I could really afford, but I shut my eyes
+to that aspect of the question. I was going back to strict eastern
+economy for the rest of my days, and I meant to indulge in one wild,
+blissful riot of extravagance before I was cooped up again.
+
+I counted up the boys I must have, and there were fifteen, including
+the minister. I invited them a fortnight ahead to make sure of getting
+them, though I needn't have worried, for they all said they would have
+broken an engagement to dine with the king for one of my dinners. The
+minister said he had been feeling so homesick he was afraid he
+wouldn't be able to preach a real thankful sermon, but now he was
+comfortably sure that his sermon would be overflowing with gratitude.
+
+I just threw myself heart and soul into the preparations for that
+dinner. I had three turkeys and two sucking pigs, and mince pies and
+pumpkin pies and apple pies, and doughnuts and fruit cake and
+cranberry sauce and brown bread, and ever so many other things to fill
+up the chinks. The night before Thanksgiving everything was ready, and
+I was so tired I could hardly talk to Jimmy Nelson when he dropped in.
+
+Jimmy had something on his mind, I saw that. So I said, "'Fess up,
+Jimmy, and then you'll be able to enjoy your call."
+
+"I want to ask a favour of you, Aunt Patty," said Jimmy.
+
+I knew I should have to grant it; nobody could refuse Jimmy anything,
+he looked so much like a nice, clean, pink-and-white little schoolboy
+whose mother had just scrubbed his face and told him to be good. At
+the same time he was one of the wildest young scamps in Carleton, or
+had been until a year ago. I'd got him well set on the road to
+reformation, and I felt worse about leaving him than any of the rest
+of them. I knew he was just at the critical point. With somebody to
+tide him over the next half year he'd probably go straight for the
+rest of his life, but if he were left to himself he'd likely just slip
+back to his old set and ways.
+
+"I want you to let me bring my Uncle Joe to dinner tomorrow," said
+Jimmy. "The poor old fellow is stranded here for Thanksgiving, and he
+hates hotels. May I?"
+
+"Of course," I said heartily, wondering why Jimmy seemed to think I
+mightn't want his Uncle Joe. "Bring him right along."
+
+"Thanks," said Jimmy. "He'll be more than pleased. Your sublime
+cookery will delight him. He adores the west, but he can't endure its
+cooking. He's always harping on his mother's pantry and the good old
+down-east dinners. He's dyspeptic and pessimistic most of the time,
+and he's got half a dozen cronies just like himself. All they think of
+is railroads and bills of fare."
+
+"Railroads!" I cried. And then an awful thought assailed me. "Jimmy
+Nelson, your uncle isn't--isn't--he can't be Joseph P. Nelson, the
+_rich_ Joseph P. Nelson!"
+
+"Oh, he's rich enough," said Jimmy; getting up and reaching for his
+hat. "In dollars, that is. Some ways he's poor enough. Well, I must be
+going. Thanks ever so much for letting me bring Uncle Joe."
+
+And that rascal was gone, leaving me crushed. Joseph Nelson was coming
+to my house to dinner--Joseph P. Nelson, the millionaire railroad
+king, who kept his own chef and was accustomed to dining with the
+great ones of the earth!
+
+I was afraid I should never be able to forgive Jimmy. I couldn't sleep
+a wink that night, and I cooked that dinner next day in a terrible
+state of mind. Every ring that came at the door made my heart
+jump,--but in the end Jimmy didn't ring at all, but just walked in
+with his uncle in tow. The minute I saw Joseph P. I knew I needn't be
+scared of _him_; he just looked real common. He was little and thin
+and kind of bored-looking, with grey hair and whiskers, and his
+clothes were next door to downright shabbiness. If it hadn't been for
+the thought of that chef, I wouldn't have felt a bit ashamed of my
+old-fashioned Thanksgiving spread.
+
+When Joseph P. sat down to that table he stopped looking bored. All
+the time the minister was saying grace that man simply stared at a big
+plate of doughnuts near my end of the table, as if he'd never seen
+anything like them before.
+
+All the boys talked and laughed while they were eating, but Joseph P.
+just _ate_, tucking away turkey and vegetables and keeping an anxious
+eye on those doughnuts, as if he was afraid somebody else would get
+hold of them before his turn came. I wished I was sure it was
+etiquette to tell him not to worry because there were plenty more in
+the pantry. By the time he'd been helped three times to mince pie I
+gave up feeling bad about the chef. He finished off with the
+doughnuts, and I shan't tell how many of them he devoured, because I
+would not be believed.
+
+Most of the boys had to go away soon after dinner. Joseph P. shook
+hands with me absently and merely said, "Good afternoon, Miss
+Porter." I didn't think he seemed at all grateful for his dinner, but
+that didn't worry me because it was for my boys I'd got it up, and not
+for dyspeptic millionaires whose digestion had been spoiled by private
+chefs. And my boys had appreciated it, there wasn't any doubt about
+that. Peter Crockett and Tommy Gray stayed to help me wash the dishes,
+and we had the jolliest time ever. Afterward we picked the turkey
+bones.
+
+But that night I realized that I was once more a useless, lonely old
+woman. I cried myself to sleep, and next morning I hadn't spunk enough
+to cook myself a dinner. I dined off some crackers and the remnants of
+the apple pies, and I was sitting staring at the crumbs when the bell
+rang. I wiped away my tears and went to the door. Joseph P. Nelson was
+standing there, and he said, without wasting any words--it was easy to
+see how that man managed to get railroads built where nobody else
+could manage it--that he had called to see me on a little matter of
+business.
+
+He took just ten minutes to make it clear to me, and when I saw the
+whole project I was the happiest woman in Carleton or out of it. He
+said he had never eaten such a Thanksgiving dinner as mine, and that I
+was the woman he'd been looking for for years. He said that he had a
+few business friends who had been brought up on a down-east farm like
+himself, and never got over their hankering for old-fashioned cookery.
+
+"That is something we can't get here, with all our money," he said.
+"Now, Miss Porter, my nephew tells me that you wish to remain in
+Carleton, if you can find some way of supporting yourself. I have a
+proposition to make to you. These aforesaid friends of mine and I
+expect to spend most of our time in Carleton for the next few years.
+In fact we shall probably make it our home eventually. It's going to
+be _the_ city of the west after awhile, and the centre of a dozen
+railroads. Well, we mean to equip a small private restaurant for
+ourselves and we want you to take charge of it. You won't have to do
+much except oversee the business and arrange the bills of fare. We
+want plain, substantial old-time meals and cookery. When we have a
+hankering for doughnuts and apple pies and cranberry tarts, we want to
+know just where to get them and have them the right kind. We're all
+horribly tired of hotel fare and fancy fol-de-rols with French names.
+A place where we could get a dinner such as you served yesterday would
+be a boon to us. We'd have started the restaurant long ago if we could
+have got a suitable person to take charge of it."
+
+He named the salary the club would pay and the very sound of it made
+me feel rich. You may be sure I didn't take long to decide. That was a
+year ago, and today the Doughnut Club, as they call themselves, is a
+huge success, and the fame of it has gone abroad in the land, although
+they are pretty exclusive and keep all their good things close enough
+to themselves. Joseph P. took a Scotch peer there to dinner one day
+last week. Jimmy Nelson told me afterward that the man said it was the
+only satisfying meal he'd had since he left the old country.
+
+As for me, I have my little house, my very own and no rented one, and
+all my dear boys, and I'm a happy old busybody. You see, Providence
+did answer my prayers in spite of my lack of faith; but of course He
+used means, and that Thanksgiving dinner of mine was the earthly
+instrument of it all.
+
+
+
+
+The Girl Who Drove the Cows
+
+
+"I wonder who that pleasant-looking girl who drives cows down the
+beech lane every morning and evening is," said Pauline Palmer, at the
+tea table of the country farmhouse where she and her aunt were
+spending the summer. Mrs. Wallace had wanted to go to some fashionable
+watering place, but her husband had bluntly told her he couldn't
+afford it. Stay in the city when all her set were out she would not,
+and the aforesaid farmhouse had been the compromise.
+
+"I shouldn't suppose it could make any difference to you who she is,"
+said Mrs. Wallace impatiently. "I do wish, Pauline, that you were more
+careful in your choice of associates. You hobnob with everyone, even
+that old man who comes around buying eggs. It is very bad form."
+
+Pauline hid a rather undutiful smile behind her napkin. Aunt Olivia's
+snobbish opinions always amused her.
+
+"You've no idea what an interesting old man he is," she said. "He can
+talk more entertainingly than any other man I know. What is the use of
+being so exclusive, Aunt Olivia? You miss so much fun. You wouldn't be
+so horribly bored as you are if you fraternized a little with the
+'natives,' as you call them."
+
+"No, thank you," said Mrs. Wallace disdainfully.
+
+"Well, I am going to try to get acquainted with that girl," said
+Pauline resolutely. "She looks nice and jolly."
+
+"I don't know where you get your low tastes from," groaned Mrs.
+Wallace. "I'm sure it wasn't from your poor mother. What do you
+suppose the Morgan Knowles would think if they saw you taking up with
+some tomboy girl on a farm?"
+
+"I don't see why it should make a great deal of difference what they
+would think, since they don't seem to be aware of my existence, or
+even of yours, Aunty," said Pauline, with twinkling eyes. She knew it
+was her aunt's dearest desire to get in with the Morgan Knowles'
+"set"--a desire that seemed as far from being realized as ever. Mrs.
+Wallace could never understand why the Morgan Knowles shut her from
+their charmed circle. They certainly associated with people much
+poorer and of more doubtful worldly station than hers--the Markhams,
+for instance, who lived on an unfashionable street and wore quite
+shabby clothes. Just before she had left Colchester, Mrs. Wallace had
+seen Mrs. Knowles and Mrs. Markham together in the former's
+automobile. James Wallace and Morgan Knowles were associated in
+business dealings; but in spite of Mrs. Wallace's schemings and
+aspirations and heart burnings, the association remained a purely
+business one and never advanced an inch in the direction of
+friendship.
+
+As for Pauline, she was hopelessly devoid of social ambitions and she
+did not in the least mind the Morgan Knowles' remote attitude.
+
+"Besides," continued Pauline, "she isn't a tomboy at all. She looks
+like a very womanly, well-bred sort of girl. Why should you think her
+a tomboy because she drives cows? Cows are placid, useful
+animals--witness this delicious cream which I am pouring over my
+blueberries. And they have to be driven. It's an honest occupation."
+
+"I daresay she is someone's servant," said Mrs. Wallace
+contemptuously. "But I suppose even that wouldn't matter to you,
+Pauline?"
+
+"Not a mite," said Pauline cheerfully. "One of the very nicest girls I
+ever knew was a maid Mother had the last year of her dear life. I
+loved that girl, Aunt Olivia, and I correspond with her. She writes
+letters that are ten times more clever and entertaining than those
+stupid epistles Clarisse Gray sends me--and Clarisse Gray is a rich
+man's daughter and is being educated in Paris."
+
+"You are incorrigible, Pauline," said Mrs. Wallace hopelessly.
+
+"Mrs. Boyd," said Pauline to their landlady, who now made her
+appearance, "who is that girl who drives the cows along the beech lane
+mornings and evenings?"
+
+"Ada Cameron, I guess," was Mrs. Boyd's response. "She lives with the
+Embrees down on the old Embree place just below here. They're
+pasturing their cows on the upper farm this summer. Mrs. Embree is her
+father's half-sister."
+
+"Is she as nice as she looks?"
+
+"Yes, Ada's a real nice sensible girl," said Mrs. Boyd. "There is no
+nonsense about her."
+
+"That doesn't sound very encouraging," murmured Pauline, as Mrs. Boyd
+went out. "I like people with a little nonsense about them. But I hope
+better things of Ada, Mrs. Boyd to the contrary notwithstanding. She
+has a pair of grey eyes that can't possibly always look sensible. I
+think they must mellow occasionally into fun and jollity and wholesome
+nonsense. Well, I'm off to the shore. I want to get that photograph of
+the Cove this evening, if possible. I've set my heart on taking first
+prize at the Amateur Photographers' Exhibition this fall, and if I can
+only get that Cove with all its beautiful lights and shadows, it will
+be the gem of my collection."
+
+Pauline, on her return from the shore, reached the beech lane just as
+the Embree cows were swinging down it. Behind them came a tall,
+brown-haired, brown-faced girl in a neat print dress. Her hat was hung
+over her arm, and the low evening sunlight shone redly over her smooth
+glossy head. She carried herself with a pretty dignity, but when her
+eyes met Pauline's, she looked as if she would smile on the slightest
+provocation.
+
+Pauline promptly gave her the provocation.
+
+"Good evening, Miss Cameron," she called blithely. "Won't you please
+stop a few moments and look me over? I want to see if you think me a
+likely person for a summer chum."
+
+Ada Cameron did more than smile. She laughed outright and went over to
+the fence where Pauline was sitting on a stump. She looked down into
+the merry black eyes of the town girl she had been half envying for a
+week and said humorously: "Yes, I think you very likely, indeed. But
+it takes two to make a friendship--like a bargain. If I'm one, you'll
+have to be the other."
+
+"I'm the other. Shake," said Pauline, holding out her hand.
+
+That was the beginning of a friendship that made poor Mrs. Wallace
+groan outwardly as well as inwardly. Pauline and Ada found that they
+liked each other even more than they had expected to. They walked,
+rowed, berried and picnicked together. Ada did not go to Mrs. Boyd's a
+great deal, for some instinct told her that Mrs. Wallace did not look
+favourably on her, but Pauline spent half her time at the little,
+brown, orchard-embowered house at the end of the beech lane where the
+Embrees lived. She had never met any girl she thought so nice as Ada.
+
+"She is nice every way," she told the unconvinced Aunt Olivia. "She's
+clever and well read. She is sensible and frank. She has a sense of
+humour and a great deal of insight into character--witness her liking
+for your niece! She can talk interestingly and she can also be silent
+when silence is becoming. And she has the finest profile I ever saw.
+Aunt Olivia, may I ask her to visit me next winter?"
+
+"No, indeed," said Mrs. Wallace, with crushing emphasis. "You surely
+don't expect to continue this absurd intimacy past the summer,
+Pauline?"
+
+"I expect to be Ada's friend all my life," said Pauline laughingly,
+but with a little ring of purpose in her voice. "Oh, Aunty, dear,
+can't you see that Ada is just the same girl in cotton print that she
+would be in silk attire? She is really far more distinguished looking
+than any girl in the Knowles' set."
+
+"Pauline!" said Aunt Olivia, looking as shocked as if Pauline had
+committed blasphemy.
+
+Pauline laughed again, but she sighed as she went to her room. Aunt
+Olivia has the kindest heart in the world, she thought. What a pity
+she isn't able to see things as they really are! My friendship with
+Ada can't be perfect if I can't invite her to my home. And she is such
+a dear girl--the first real friend after my own heart that I've ever
+had.
+
+The summer waned, and August burned itself out.
+
+"I suppose you will be going back to town next week? I shall miss you
+dreadfully," said Ada.
+
+The two girls were in the Embree garden, where Pauline was preparing
+to take a photograph of Ada standing among the asters, with a great
+sheaf of them in her arms. Pauline wished she could have said: But you
+must come and visit me in the winter. Since she could not, she had to
+content herself with saying: "You won't miss me any more than I shall
+miss you. But we'll correspond, and I hope Aunt Olivia will come to
+Marwood again next summer."
+
+"I don't think I shall be here then," said Ada with a sigh. "You see,
+it is time I was doing something for myself, Pauline. Aunt Jane and
+Uncle Robert have always been very kind to me, but they have a large
+family and are not very well off. So I think I'll try for a situation
+in one of the Remington stores this fall."
+
+"It's such a pity you couldn't have gone to the Academy and studied
+for a teacher's licence," said Pauline, who knew what Ada's ambitions
+were.
+
+"I should have liked that better, of course," said Ada quietly. "But
+it is not possible, so I must do my best at the next best thing. Don't
+let's talk of it. It might make me feel blueish and I want to look
+especially pleasant if I'm going to have my photo taken."
+
+"You couldn't look anything else," laughed Pauline. "Don't smile too
+broadly--I want you to be looking over the asters with a bit of a
+dream on your face and in your eyes. If the picture turns out as
+beautiful as I fondly expect, I mean to put it in my exhibition
+collection under the title 'A September Dream.' There, that's the very
+expression. When you look like that, you remind me of somebody I have
+seen, but I can't remember who it is. All ready now--don't
+move--there, dearie, it is all over."
+
+When Pauline went back to Colchester, she was busy for a month
+preparing her photographs for the exhibition, while Aunt Olivia
+renewed her spinning of all the little social webs in which she fondly
+hoped to entangle the Morgan Knowles and other desirable flies.
+
+When the exhibition was opened, Pauline Palmer's collection won first
+prize, and the prettiest picture in it was one called "A September
+Dream"--a tall girl with a wistful face, standing in an old-fashioned
+garden with her arms full of asters.
+
+The very day after the exhibition was opened the Morgan Knowles'
+automobile stopped at the Wallace door. Mrs. Wallace was out, but it
+was Pauline whom stately Mrs. Morgan Knowles asked for. Pauline was at
+that moment buried in her darkroom developing photographs, and she ran
+down just as she was--a fact which would have mortified Mrs. Wallace
+exceedingly if she had ever known it. But Mrs. Morgan Knowles did not
+seem to mind at all. She liked Pauline's simplicity of manner. It was
+more than she had expected from the aunt's rather vulgar
+affectations.
+
+"I have called to ask you who the original of the photograph 'A
+September Dream' in your exhibit was, Miss Palmer," she said
+graciously. "The resemblance to a very dear childhood friend of mine
+is so startling that I am sure it cannot be accidental."
+
+"That is a photograph of Ada Cameron, a friend whom I met this summer
+up in Marwood," said Pauline.
+
+"Ada Cameron! She must be Ada Frame's daughter, then," exclaimed Mrs.
+Knowles in excitement. Then, seeing Pauline's puzzled face, she
+explained: "Years ago, when I was a child, I always spent my summers
+on the farm of my uncle, John Frame. My cousin, Ada Frame, was the
+dearest friend I ever had, but after we grew up we saw nothing of each
+other, for I went with my parents to Europe for several years, and Ada
+married a neighbour's son, Alec Cameron, and went out west. Her
+father, who was my only living relative other than my parents, died,
+and I never heard anything more of Ada until about eight years ago,
+when somebody told me she was dead and had left no family. That part
+of the report cannot have been true if this girl is her daughter."
+
+"I believe she is," said Pauline quickly. "Ada was born out west and
+lived there until she was eight years old, when her parents died and
+she was sent east to her father's half-sister. And Ada looks like
+you--she always reminded me of somebody I had seen, but I never could
+decide who it was before. Oh, I hope it is true, for Ada is such a
+sweet girl, Mrs. Knowles."
+
+"She couldn't be anything else if she is Ada Frame's daughter," said
+Mrs. Knowles. "My husband will investigate the matter at once, and if
+this girl is Ada's child we shall hope to find a daughter in her, as
+we have none of our own."
+
+"What will Aunt Olivia say!" said Pauline with wickedly dancing eyes
+when Mrs. Knowles had gone.
+
+Aunt Olivia was too much overcome to say anything. That good lady felt
+rather foolish when it was proved that the girl she had so despised
+was Mrs. Morgan Knowles' cousin and was going to be adopted by her.
+But to hear Aunt Olivia talk now, you would suppose that she and not
+Pauline had discovered Ada.
+
+The latter sought Pauline out as soon as she came to Colchester, and
+the summer friendship proved a life-long one and was, for the
+Wallaces, the open sesame to the enchanted ground of the Knowles'
+"set."
+
+"So everybody concerned is happy," said Pauline. "Ada is going to
+college and so am I, and Aunt Olivia is on the same committee as Mrs.
+Knowles for the big church bazaar. What about my 'low tastes' now,
+Aunt Olivia?"
+
+"Well, who would ever have supposed that a girl who drove cows to
+pasture was connected with the Morgan Knowles?" said poor Aunt Olivia
+piteously.
+
+
+
+
+The Growing Up of Cornelia
+
+
+                                              January First.
+
+Aunt Jemima gave me this diary for a Christmas present. It's just the
+sort of gift a person named Jemima would be likely to make.
+
+I can't imagine why Aunt Jemima thought I should like a diary.
+Probably she didn't think about it at all. I suppose it happened to be
+the first thing she saw when she started out to do her Christmas duty
+by me, and so she bought it. I'm sure I'm the last girl in the world
+to keep a diary. I'm not a bit sentimental and I never have time for
+soul outpourings. It's jollier to be out skating or snowshoeing or
+just tramping around. And besides, nothing ever happens to me worth
+writing in a diary.
+
+Still, since Aunt Jemima gave it to me, I'm going to get the good out
+of it. I don't believe in wasting even a diary. Father ... it would be
+easier to write "Dad," but Dad sounds disrespectful in a diary ...
+says I have a streak of old Grandmother Marshall's economical nature
+in me. So I'm going to write in this book whenever I have anything
+that might, by any stretch of imagination, be supposed worth while.
+
+Jen and Alice and Sue would have plenty to write about, I dare say.
+They certainly seem to have jolly times ... and as for the men ... but
+there! People say men are interesting. They may be. But I shall never
+get well enough acquainted with any of them to find out.
+
+Mother says it is high time I gave up my tomboy ways and came "out"
+too, because I am eighteen. I coaxed off this winter. It wasn't very
+hard, because no mother with three older unmarried girls on her hands
+would be very anxious to bring out a fourth. The girls took my part
+and advised Mother to let me be a child as long as possible. Mother
+yielded for this time, but said I must be brought out next winter or
+people would talk. Oh, I hate the thought of it! People might talk
+about my not being brought out, but they will talk far more about the
+blunders I shall make.
+
+The doleful fact is, I'm too wretchedly shy and awkward to live. It
+fills my soul with terror to think of donning long dresses and putting
+my hair up and going into society. I can't talk and men frighten me to
+death. I fall over things as it is, and what will it be with long
+dresses? As far back as I can remember it has been my one aim and
+object in life to escape company. Oh, if only one need never grow up!
+If I could only go back four years and stay there!
+
+Mother laments over it muchly. She says she doesn't know what she has
+done to have such a shy, unpresentable daughter. _I_ know. She married
+Grandmother Marshall's son, and Grandmother Marshall was as shy as she
+was economical. Mother triumphed over heredity with Jen and Sue and
+Alice, but it came off best with me. The other girls are noted for
+their grace and tact. But I'm the black sheep and always will be. It
+wouldn't worry me so much if they'd leave me alone and stop nagging
+me. "Oh, for a lodge in some vast wilderness," where there were no
+men, no parties, no dinners ... just quantities of dogs and horses and
+skating ponds and woods! I need never put on long dresses then, but
+just be a jolly little girl forever.
+
+However, I've got one beautiful year before me yet, and I mean to make
+the most of it.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+                                              January Tenth.
+
+It is rather good to have a diary to pour out your woes in when you
+feel awfully bad and have no one to sympathize with you. I've been
+used to shutting them all up in my soul and then they sometimes
+fermented and made trouble.
+
+We had a lot of people here to dinner tonight, and that made me
+miserable to begin with. I had to dress up in a stiff white dress
+_with a sash_, and Jen tied two big white fly-away bows on my hair
+that kept rasping my neck and tickling my ears in a most exasperating
+way. Then an old lady whom I detest tried to make me talk before
+everybody, and all I could do was to turn as red as a beet and
+stammer: "Yes, ma'am," "no, ma'am." It made Mother furious, because it
+is so old-fashioned to say "ma'am." Our old nurse taught me to say it
+when I was small, and though it has been pretty well governessed out
+of me since then, it's sure to pop up when I get confused and nervous.
+
+Sue ... may it be accounted unto her for righteousness ... contrived
+that I should go out to dinner with old Mr. Grant, because she knew he
+goes to dinners for the sake of eating and never talks or wants
+anybody else to. But when we were crossing the hall I stepped on Mrs.
+Burnett's train and something tore. Mrs. Burnett gave me a furious
+look and glowered all through dinner. The meal was completely spoiled
+for me and I could find no comfort, even in the Nesselrode pudding,
+which is my favourite dessert.
+
+It was just when the pudding came on that I got the most unkindest cut
+of all. Mrs. Allardyce remarked that Sidney Elliot was coming home to
+Stillwater.
+
+Everybody exclaimed and questioned and seemed delighted. I saw Mother
+give one quick, involuntary look at Jen, and then gaze steadfastly at
+Mr. Grant to atone for it. Jen is twenty-six, and Stillwater is next
+door to our place!
+
+As for me, I was so vexed that I might as well have been eating chips
+for all the good that Nesselrode pudding was to me. If Sidney Elliot
+were coming home everything would be spoiled. There would be no more
+ramblings in the Stillwater woods, no more delightful skating on the
+Stillwater lake. Stillwater has been the only place in the world where
+I could find the full joy of solitude, and now this, too, was to be
+taken from me. We had no woods, no lake. I hated Sidney Elliot.
+
+It is ten years since Sidney Elliot closed Stillwater and went abroad.
+He has stayed abroad ever since and nobody has missed him, I'm sure. I
+remember him dimly as a tall dark man who used to lounge about alone
+in his garden and was always reading books. Sometimes he came into our
+garden and teased us children. He is said to be a cynic and to detest
+society. If this latter item be a fact I almost feel a grim pity for
+him. He may detest it, but he will be dragged into it. Rich bachelors
+are few and far between in Riverton, and the mammas will hunt him
+down.
+
+I feel like crying. If Sidney Elliot comes home I shall be debarred
+from Stillwater. I have roamed its demesnes for ten beautiful years,
+and I'm sure I love them a hundredfold better than he does, or can. It
+is flagrantly unfair. Oh, I hate him!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+                                          January Twentieth.
+
+No, I don't. I believe I like him. Yet it's almost unbelievable. I've
+always thought men so detestable.
+
+I'm tingling all over with the surprise and pleasure of a little
+unexpected adventure. For the first time I have something really worth
+writing in a diary ... and I'm glad I have a diary to write it in.
+Blessings on Aunt Jemima! May her shadow never grow less.
+
+This evening I started out for a last long lingering ramble in my
+beloved Stillwater woods. The last, I thought, because I knew Sidney
+Elliot was expected home next week, and after that I'd have to be
+cooped up on our lawn. I dressed myself comfortably for climbing
+fences and skimming over snowy wastes. That is, I put on the shortest
+old tweed skirt I have and a red jacket with sleeves three years
+behind the fashion, but jolly pockets to put your hands in, and a
+still redder tam. Thus accoutred, I sallied forth.
+
+It was such a lovely evening that I couldn't help enjoying myself in
+spite of my sorrows. The sun was low and creamy, and the snow was so
+white and the shadows so slender and blue. All through the lovely
+Stillwater woods was a fine frosty stillness. It was splendid to skim
+down those long wonderful avenues of crusted snow, with the mossy grey
+boles on either hand, and overhead the lacing, leafless boughs, I
+just drank in the air and the beauty until my very soul was thrilling,
+and I went on and on and on until I was most delightfully lost. That
+is, I didn't know just where I was, but the woods weren't so big but
+that I'd be sure to come out safely somewhere; and, oh, it was so
+glorious to be there all alone and never a creature to worry me.
+
+At last I turned into a long aisle that seemed to lead right out into
+the very heart of a deep-red overflowing winter sunset. At its end I
+found a fence, and I climbed up on that fence and sat there, so
+comfortably, with my back against a big beech and my feet dangling.
+
+Then I saw him!
+
+I knew it was Sidney Elliot in a moment. He was just as tall and just
+as black-eyed; he was still given to lounging evidently, for he was
+leaning against the fence a panel away from me and looking at me with
+an amused smile. After my first mad impulse to rush away and bury
+myself in the wilderness that smile put me at ease. If he had looked
+grave or polite I would have been as miserably shy as I've always been
+in a man's presence. But it was the smile of a grandfather for a
+child, and I just grinned cheerfully back at him.
+
+He ploughed along through the thick drift that was soft and spongy by
+the fence and came close up to me.
+
+"You must be little Cornelia," he said with another aged smile. "Or
+rather, you _were_ little Cornelia. I suppose you are big Cornelia now
+and want to be treated like a young lady?"
+
+"Indeed, I don't," I protested. "I'm not grown up and I don't want to
+be. You are Mr. Elliot, I suppose. Nobody expected you till next week.
+What made you come so soon?"
+
+"A whim of mine," he said. "I'm full of whims and crotchets. Old
+bachelors always are. But why did you ask that question in a tone
+which seemed to imply that you resented my coming so soon, Miss
+Cornelia?"
+
+"Oh, don't tack the Miss on," I implored. "Call me Cornelia ... or
+better still, Nic, as Dad does. I _do_ resent your coming so soon. I
+resent your coming at all. And, oh, it is such a satisfaction to tell
+you so."
+
+He smiled with his eyes ... a deep, black, velvety smile. But he shook
+his head sorrowfully.
+
+"I must be getting very old," he said. "It's a sign of age when a
+person finds himself unwelcome and superfluous."
+
+"Your age has nothing to do with it," I retorted. "It is because
+Stillwater is the only place I have to run wild in ... and running
+wild is all I'm fit for. It's so lovely and roomy I can lose myself in
+it. I shall die or go mad if I'm cooped up on our little pocket
+handkerchief of a lawn."
+
+"But why should you be?" he inquired gravely.
+
+I reflected ... and was surprised.
+
+"After all, I don't know ... now ... why I should be," I admitted. "I
+thought you wouldn't want me prowling about your domains. Besides, I
+was afraid I'd meet you ... and I don't like meeting men. I hate to
+have them around ... I'm so shy and awkward."
+
+"Do you find me very dreadful?" he asked.
+
+I reflected again ... and was again surprised.
+
+"No, I don't. I don't mind you a bit ... any more than if you were
+Dad."
+
+"Then you mustn't consider yourself an exile from Stillwater. The
+woods are yours to roam in at will, and if you want to roam them alone
+you may, and if you'd like a companion once in a while command me.
+Let's be good friends, little lass. Shake hands on it."
+
+I slipped down from the fence and shook hands with him. I did like him
+very much ... he was so nice and unaffected and brotherly ... just as
+if I'd known him all my life. We walked down the long white avenue,
+where everything was growing dusky, and I had told him all my troubles
+before we got to the end of it. He was so sympathetic and agreed with
+me that it was a pity people had to grow up. He promised to come over
+tomorrow and look at Don's leg. Don is one of my dogs, and he has got
+a bad leg. I've been doctoring it myself, but it doesn't get any
+better. Sidney thinks he can cure it. He says I must call him Sidney
+if I want him to call me Nic.
+
+When we got to the lake, there it lay all gleaming and smooth as glass
+... the most tempting thing.
+
+"What a glorious possible slide," he said. "Let us have it, little
+lass."
+
+He took my hand and we ran down the slope and went skimming over the
+ice. It _was_ glorious. The house came in sight as we reached the
+other side. It was big and dark and silent.
+
+"So the old place is still standing," said Sidney, looking up at it.
+In the dusk I thought his face had a tender, reverent look instead of
+the rather mocking expression it had worn all along.
+
+"Haven't you been there yet?" I asked quickly.
+
+"No. I'm stopping at the hotel over in Croyden. The house will need
+some fixing up before it's fit to live in. I just came down tonight to
+look at it and took a short cut through the woods. I'm glad I did. It
+was worth while to see you come tramping down that long white avenue
+when you thought yourself alone with the silence. I thought I had
+never seen a child so full of the pure joy of existence. Hold fast to
+that, little lass, as long as you can. You'll never find anything to
+take its place after it goes. You jolly little child!"
+
+"I'm eighteen," I said suddenly. I don't know what made me say it.
+
+He laughed and pulled his coat collar up around his ears.
+
+"Never," he mocked. "You're about twelve ... stay twelve, and always
+wear red caps and jackets, you vivid thing: Good night."
+
+He was off across the lake, and I came home. Yes, I do like him, even
+if he is a man.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+                                         February Twentieth.
+
+I've found out what diaries are for ... to work off blue moods in,
+moods that come on without any reason whatever and therefore can't be
+confided to any fellow creature. You scribble away for a while ... and
+then it's all gone ... and your soul feels clear as crystal once more.
+
+I always go to Sidney now in a blue mood that has a real cause. He can
+cheer me up in five minutes. But in such a one as this, which is quite
+unaccountable, there's nothing for it but a diary.
+
+Sidney has been living at Stillwater for a month. It seems as if he
+must have lived there always.
+
+He came to our place the next day after I met him in the woods.
+Everybody made a fuss over him, but he shook them off with an ease I
+envied and whisked me out to see Don's leg. He has fixed it up so that
+it is as good as new now, and the dogs like him almost better than
+they like me.
+
+We have had splendid times since then. We are just the jolliest chums
+and we tramp about everywhere together and go skating and snowshoeing
+and riding. We read a lot of books together too, and Sidney always
+explains everything I don't understand. I'm not a bit shy and I can
+always find plenty to say to him. He isn't at all like any other man I
+know.
+
+Everybody likes him, but the women seem to be a little afraid of him.
+They say he is so terribly cynical and satirical. He goes into society
+a good bit, although he says it bores him. He says he only goes
+because it would bore him worse to stay home alone.
+
+There's only one thing about Sidney that I hardly like. I think he
+rather overdoes it in the matter of treating me as if I were a little
+girl. Of course, I don't want him to look upon me as grown up. But
+there is a medium in all things, and he really needn't talk as if he
+thought I was a child of ten and had no earthly interest in anything
+but sports and dogs. These _are_ the best things ... I suppose ... but
+I understand lots of other things too, only I can't convince Sidney
+that I do. I know he is laughing at me when I try to show him I'm not
+so childish as he thinks me. He's indulgent and whimsical, just as he
+would be with a little girl who was making believe to be grown up.
+Perhaps next winter, when I put on long dresses and come out, he'll
+stop regarding me as a child. But next winter is so horribly far off.
+
+The day we were fussing with Don's leg I told Sidney that Mother said
+I'd have to be grown up next winter and how I hated it, and I made him
+promise that when the time came he would use all his influence to beg
+me off for another year. He said he would, because it was a shame to
+worry children about society. But somehow I've concluded not to bother
+making a fuss. I have to come out some time, and I might as well take
+the plunge and get it over.
+
+Mrs. Burnett was here this evening fixing up some arrangements for a
+charity bazaar she and Jen are interested in, and she talked most of
+the time about Sidney ... for Jen's benefit, I suppose, although Jen
+and Sid don't get on at all. They fight every time they meet, so I
+don't see why Mrs. Burnett should think things.
+
+"I wonder what he'll do when Mrs. Rennie comes to the Glasgows' next
+month," said Mrs. Burnett.
+
+"Why should he do anything?" asked Jen.
+
+"Oh, well, you know there was something between them ... an
+understanding if not an engagement ... before she married Rennie. They
+met abroad ... my sister told me all about it ... and Mr. Elliot was
+quite infatuated with her. She was a very handsome and fascinating
+girl. Then she threw him over and married old Jacob Rennie ... for his
+millions, of course, for he certainly had nothing else to recommend
+him. Amy says Mr. Elliot was never the same man again. But Jacob died
+obligingly two years ago and Mrs. Rennie is free now; so I dare say
+they'll make it up. No doubt that is why she is coming to Riverton.
+Well, it would be a very suitable match."
+
+I'm so glad I never liked Mrs. Burnett.
+
+I wonder if it is true that Sidney did care for that horrid woman ...
+of course she is horrid! Didn't she marry an old man for his money?...
+and cares for her still. It is no business of mine, of course, and it
+doesn't matter to me at all. But I rather hope he doesn't ... because
+it would spoil everything if he got married. He wouldn't have time to
+be chums with me then.
+
+I don't know why I feel so dull tonight. Writing in this diary doesn't
+seem to have helped me as much as I thought it would, either. I dare
+say it's the weather. It must be the weather. It is a wet, windy night
+and the rain is thudding against the window. I hate rainy nights.
+
+I wonder if Mrs. Rennie is really as handsome as Mrs. Burnett says. I
+wonder how old she is. I wonder if she ever cared for Sidney ... no,
+she didn't. No woman who cared for Sidney could ever have thrown him
+over for an old moneybag. I wonder if I shall like her. No, I won't.
+I'm sure I shan't like her.
+
+My head is aching and I'm going to bed.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+                                                March Tenth.
+
+Mrs. Rennie was here to dinner tonight. My head was aching again, and
+Mother said I needn't go down to dinner if I'd rather not; but a dozen
+headaches could not have kept me back, or a dozen men either, even
+supposing I'd have to talk to them all. I wanted to see Mrs. Rennie.
+Nothing has been talked of in Riverton for the last fortnight but Mrs.
+Rennie. I've heard of her beauty and charm and costumes until I'm sick
+of the subject. Today I spoke to Sidney about her. Before I thought I
+said right out, "Mrs. Rennie is to dine with us tonight."
+
+"Yes?" he said in a quiet voice.
+
+"I'm dying to see her," I went on recklessly. "I've heard so much
+about her. They say she's so beautiful and fascinating. _Is_ she?
+_You_ ought to know."
+
+Sidney swung the sled around and put it in position for another coast.
+
+"Yes, I know her," he admitted tranquilly. "She is a very handsome
+woman, and I suppose most people would consider her fascinating. Come,
+Nic, get on the sled. We have just time for one more coast, and then
+you must go in."
+
+"You were once a good friend ... a very good friend ... of Mrs.
+Rennie's, weren't you, Sid?" I said.
+
+A little mocking gleam crept into his eyes, and I instantly realized
+that he was looking upon me as a rather impertinent child.
+
+"You've been listening to gossip, Nic," he said. "It's a bad habit,
+child. Don't let it grow on you. Come."
+
+I went, feeling crushed and furious and ashamed.
+
+I knew her at once when I went down to the drawing-room. There were
+three other strange women there, but I knew she was the only one who
+could be Mrs. Rennie. I felt such a horrible queer sinking feeling at
+my heart when I saw her. Oh, she was beautiful ... I had never seen
+anyone so beautiful. And Sidney was standing beside her, talking to
+her, with a smile on his face, but none in his eyes ... I noticed
+_that_ at a glance.
+
+She was so tall and slender and willowy. Her dress was wonderful, and
+her bare throat and shoulders were like pearls. Her hair was pale,
+pale gold, and her eyes long-lashed and sweet, and her mouth like a
+scarlet blossom against her creamy face. I thought of how I must look
+beside her ... an awkward little girl in a short skirt with my hair in
+a braid and too many hands and feet, and I would have given anything
+then to be tall and grown-up and graceful.
+
+I watched her all the evening and the queer feeling in me somewhere
+grew worse and worse. I couldn't eat anything. Sidney took Mrs. Rennie
+in; they sat opposite to me and talked all the time.
+
+I was so glad when the dinner was over and everybody gone. The first
+thing I did when I escaped to my room was to go to the glass and look
+myself over just as critically and carefully as if I were somebody
+else. I saw a great rope of dark brown hair ... a brown skin with red
+cheeks ... a big red mouth ... a pair of grey eyes. That was all. And
+when I thought of that shimmering witch woman with her white skin and
+shining hair I wanted to put out the light and cry in the dark. Only
+I've never cried since I was a child and broke my last doll, and I've
+got so out of the habit that I don't know how to go about it.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+                                                April Fifth.
+
+Aunt Jemima would not think I was getting the good out of my diary. A
+whole month and not a word! But there was nothing to write, and I've
+felt too miserable to write if there had been. I don't know what is
+the matter with me. I'm just cross and horrid to everyone, even to
+poor Sidney.
+
+Mrs. Rennie has been queening it in Riverton society for the past
+month. People rave over her and I admire her horribly, although I
+don't like her. Mrs. Burnett says that a match between her and Sidney
+Elliot is a foregone conclusion.
+
+It's plain to be seen that Mrs. Rennie loves Sidney. Even I can see
+that, and I don't know much about such things. But it puzzles me to
+know how Sidney regards her. I have never thought he showed any sign
+of really caring for her. But then, he isn't the kind that would.
+
+"Nic, I wonder if you will ever grow up," he said to me today,
+laughing, when he caught me racing over the lawn with the dogs.
+
+"I'm grown up now," I said crossly. "Why, I'm eighteen and a half and
+I'm two inches taller than any of the other girls."
+
+Sidney laughed, as if he were heartily amused at something.
+
+"You're a blessed baby," he said, "and the dearest, truest, jolliest
+little chum ever a fellow had. I don't know what I'd do without you,
+Nic. You keep me sane and wholesome. I'm a tenfold better man for
+knowing you, little girl."
+
+I was rather pleased. It was nice to think I was some good to Sidney.
+
+"Are you going to the Trents' dinner tonight?" I asked.
+
+"Yes," he said briefly.
+
+"Mrs. Rennie will be there," I said.
+
+Sidney nodded.
+
+"Do you think her so very handsome, Sidney?" I said. I had never
+mentioned Mrs. Rennie to him since the day we were coasting, and I
+didn't mean to now. The question just asked itself.
+
+"Yes, very; but not as handsome as you will be ten years from now,
+Nic," said Sidney lightly.
+
+"Do you think I'm handsome, Sidney?" I cried.
+
+"You will be when you're grown up," he answered, looking at me
+critically.
+
+"Will you be going to Mrs. Greaves' reception after the dinner?" I
+asked.
+
+"Yes, I suppose so," said Sidney absently. I could see he wasn't
+thinking of me at all. I wondered if he were thinking of Mrs. Rennie.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+                                                April Sixth.
+
+Oh, something so wonderful has happened. I can hardly believe it.
+There are moments when I quake with the fear that it is all a dream. I
+wonder if I can really be the same Cornelia Marshall I was yesterday.
+No, I'm _not_ the same ... and the difference is so blessed.
+
+Oh, I'm so happy! My heart bubbles over with happiness and song. It's
+so wonderful and lovely to be a woman and know it and know that other
+people know it.
+
+You dear diary, you were made for this moment ... I shall write all
+about it in you and so fulfil your destiny. And then I shall put you
+away and never write anything more in you, because I shall not need
+you ... I shall have Sidney.
+
+Last night I was all alone in the house ... and I was so lonely and
+miserable. I put my chin on my hands and I thought ... and thought ...
+and thought. I imagined Sidney at the Greaves', talking to Mrs. Rennie
+with that velvety smile in his eyes. I could see her, graceful and
+white, in her trailing, clinging gown, with diamonds about her smooth
+neck and in her hair. I suddenly wondered what I would look like in
+evening dress with my hair up. I wondered if Sidney would like me in
+it.
+
+All at once I got up and rushed to Sue's room. I lighted the gas,
+rummaged, and went to work. I piled my hair on top of my head, pinned
+it there, and thrust a long silver dagger through it to hold a couple
+of pale white roses she had left on her table. Then I put on her last
+winter's party dress. It was such a pretty pale yellow thing, with
+touches of black lace, and it didn't matter about its being a little
+old-fashioned, since it fitted me like a glove. Finally I stepped back
+and looked at myself.
+
+I saw a woman in that glass ... a tall, straight creature with crimson
+cheeks and glowing eyes ... and the thought in my mind was so
+insistent that it said itself aloud: "Oh, I wish Sidney could see me
+now!"
+
+At that very moment the maid knocked at the door to tell me that Mr.
+Elliot was downstairs asking for me. I did not hesitate a second. With
+my heart beating wildly I trailed downstairs to Sidney.
+
+He was standing by the fireplace when I went in, and looked very
+tired. When he heard me he turned his head and our eyes met.
+
+All at once a terrible thing happened ... at least, I thought it a
+terrible thing then. _I knew why I had wanted Sidney to realize that
+I was no longer a child._ It was because I loved him! I knew it the
+moment I saw that strange, new expression leap into his eyes.
+
+"Cornelia," he said in a stunned sort of voice. "Why ... Nic ... why,
+little girl ... you're a woman! How blind I've been! And now I've lost
+my little chum."
+
+"Oh, no, no," I said wildly. I was so miserable and confused I didn't
+know what I said. "Never, Sidney. I'd rather be a little girl and have
+you for a friend ... I'll always be a little girl! It's all this
+hateful dress. I'll go and take it off ... I'll...."
+
+And then I just put my hands up to my burning face and the tears that
+would never come before came in a flood.
+
+All at once I felt Sidney's arms about me and felt my head drawn to
+his shoulder.
+
+"Don't cry, dearest," I heard him say softly. "You can never be a
+little girl to me again ... my eyes are opened ... but I didn't want
+you to be. I want you to be my big girl ... mine, all mine, forever."
+
+What happened after that isn't to be written in a diary. I won't even
+write down the things he said about how I looked, because it would
+seem so terribly vain, but I can't help thinking of them, for I am so
+happy.
+
+
+
+
+The Old Fellow's Letter
+
+
+Ruggles and I were down on the Old Fellow. It doesn't matter why and,
+since in a story of this kind we must tell the truth no matter what
+happens--or else where is the use of writing a story at all?--I'll
+have to confess that we had deserved all we got and that the Old
+Fellow did no more than his duty by us. Both Ruggles and I see that
+now, since we have had time to cool off, but at the moment we were in
+a fearful wax at the Old Fellow and were bound to hatch up something
+to get even with him.
+
+Of course, the Old Fellow had another name, just as Ruggles has
+another name. He is principal of the Frampton Academy--the Old Fellow,
+not Ruggles--and his name is George Osborne. We have to call him Mr.
+Osborne to his face, but he is the Old Fellow everywhere else. He is
+quite old--thirty-six if he's a day, and whatever possessed Sylvia
+Grant--but there, I'm getting ahead of my story.
+
+Most of the Cads like the Old Fellow. Even Ruggles and I like him on
+the average. The girls are always a little provoked at him because he
+is so shy and absent-minded, but when it comes to the point, they like
+him too. I heard Emma White say once that he was "so handsome"; I
+nearly whooped. Ruggles was mad because he's gone on Em. For the idea
+of calling a thin, pale, dark, dreamy-looking chap like the Old Fellow
+"handsome" was more than I could stand without guffawing. Em probably
+said it to provoke Ruggles; she couldn't really have thought it.
+"Micky," the English professor, now--if she had called him handsome
+there would have been some sense in it. He is splendid: big six-footer
+with magnificent muscles, red cheeks, and curly yellow hair. I can't
+see how he can be contented to sit down and teach mushy English
+literature and poetry and that sort of thing. It would have been more
+in keeping with the Old Fellow. There was a rumour running at large in
+the Academy that the Old Fellow wrote poetry, but he ran the
+mathematics and didn't make such a foozle of it as you might suppose,
+either.
+
+Ruggles and I meant to get square with the Old Fellow, if it took all
+the term; at least, we said so. But if Providence hadn't sent Sylvia
+Grant walking down the street past our boarding house that afternoon,
+we should probably have cooled off before we thought of any working
+plan of revenge.
+
+Sylvia Grant did go down the street, however. Ruggles, hanging halfway
+out of the window as usual, saw her, and called me to go and look. Of
+course I went. Sylvia Grant was always worth looking at. There was no
+girl in Frampton who could hold a candle to her when it came to
+beauty. As for brains, that is another thing altogether. My private
+opinion is that Sylvia hadn't any, or she would never have
+preferred--but there, I'm getting on too fast again. Ruggles should
+have written this story; he can concentrate better.
+
+Sylvia was the Latin professor's daughter; she wasn't a Cad girl, of
+course. She was over twenty and had graduated from it two years ago,
+but she was in all the social things that went on in the Academy; and
+all the unmarried professors, except the Old Fellow, were in love with
+her. Micky had it the worst, and we had all made up our minds that
+Sylvia would marry Micky. He was so handsome, we didn't see how she
+could help it. I tell you, they made a dandy-looking couple when they
+were together.
+
+Well, as I said before, I toddled to the window to have a look at the
+fair Sylvia. She was all togged out in some new fall duds, and I guess
+she'd come out to show them off. They were brownish, kind of, and
+she'd a spanking hat on with feathers and things in it. Her hair was
+shining under it, all purply-black, and she looked sweet enough to
+eat. Then she saw Ruggles and me and she waved her hand and laughed,
+and her big blackish-blue eyes sparkled; but she hadn't been laughing
+before, or sparkling either.
+
+I'd thought she looked kind of glum, and I wondered if she and Micky
+had had a falling out. I rather suspected it, for at the Senior Prom,
+three nights before, she had hardly looked at Micky, but had sat in a
+corner and talked to the Old Fellow. He didn't do much talking; he was
+too shy, and he looked mighty uncomfortable. I thought it kind of mean
+of Sylvia to torment him so, when she knew he hated to have to talk to
+girls, but when I saw Micky scowling at the corner, I knew she was
+doing it to make him jealous. Girls won't stick at anything when they
+want to provoke a chap; I know it to my cost, for Jennie Price--but
+that has nothing to do with this story.
+
+Just across the square Sylvia met the Old Fellow and bowed. He lifted
+his hat and passed on, but after a few steps he turned and looked
+back; he caught Sylvia doing the same thing, so he wheeled and came
+on, looking mighty foolish. As he passed beneath our window Ruggles
+chuckled fiendishly.
+
+"I've thought of something, Polly," he said--my name is Paul. "Bet you
+it will make the Old Fellow squirm. Let's write a letter to Sylvia
+Grant--a love letter--and sign the Old Fellow's name to it. She'll
+give him a fearful snubbing, and we'll be revenged."
+
+"But who'll write it?" I said doubtfully. "I can't. You'll have to,
+Ruggles. You've had more practice."
+
+Ruggles turned red. I know he writes to Em White in vacations.
+
+"I'll do my best," he said, quite meekly. "That is, I'll compose it.
+But you'll have to copy it. You can imitate the Old Fellow's
+handwriting so well."
+
+"But look here," I said, an uncomfortable idea striking me, "what
+about Sylvia? Won't she feel kind of flattish when she finds out he
+didn't write it? For of course he'll tell her. We haven't anything
+against her, you know."
+
+"Oh, Sylvia won't care," said Ruggles serenely. "She's the sort of
+girl who can take a joke. I've seen her eyes shine over tricks we've
+played on the professors before now. She'll just laugh. Besides, she
+doesn't like the Old Fellow a bit. I know from the way she acts with
+him. She's always so cool and stiff when he's about, not a bit like
+she is with the other professors."
+
+Well, Ruggles wrote the letter. At first he tried to pass it off on me
+as his own composition. But I know a few little things, and one of
+them is that Ruggles couldn't have made up that letter any more than
+he could have written a sonnet. I told him so, and made him own up. He
+had a copy of an old letter that had been written to his sister by her
+young man. I suppose Ruggles had stolen it, but there is no use
+inquiring too closely into these things. Anyhow, that letter just
+filled the bill. It was beautifully expressed. Ruggles's sister's
+young man must have possessed lots of ability. He was an English
+professor, something like Micky, so I suppose he was extra good at it.
+He started in by telling her how much he loved her, and what an angel
+of beauty and goodness he had always thought her; how unworthy he felt
+himself of her and how little hope he had that she could ever care for
+him; and he wound up by imploring her to tell him if she could
+possibly love him a little bit and all that sort of thing.
+
+I copied the letter out on heliotrope paper in my best imitation of
+the Old Fellow's handwriting and signed it, "Yours devotedly and
+imploringly, George Osborne." Then we mailed it that very evening.
+
+The next evening the Cad girls gave a big reception in the Assembly
+Hall to an Academy alumna who was visiting the Greek professor's wife.
+It was the smartest event of the term and everybody was
+there--students and faculty and, of course, Sylvia Grant. Sylvia
+looked stunning. She was all in white, with a string of pearls about
+her pretty round throat and a couple of little pink roses in her black
+hair. I never saw her so smiling and bright; but she seemed quieter
+than usual, and avoided poor Micky so skilfully that it was really a
+pleasure to watch her. The Old Fellow came in late, with his tie all
+crooked, as it always was; I saw Sylvia blush and nudged Ruggles to
+look.
+
+"She's thinking of the letter," he said.
+
+Ruggles and I never meant to listen, upon my word we didn't. It was
+pure accident. We were in behind the flags and palms in the Modern
+Languages Room, fixing up a plan how to get Em and Jennie off for a
+moonlit stroll in the grounds--these things require diplomacy I can
+tell you, for there are always so many other fellows hanging
+about--when in came Sylvia Grant and the Old Fellow arm in arm. The
+room was quite empty, or they thought it was, and they sat down just
+on the other side of the flags. They couldn't see us, but we could see
+them quite plainly. Sylvia still looked smiling and happy, not a bit
+mad as we had expected, but just kind of shy and radiant. As for the
+Old Fellow, he looked, as Em White would say, as Sphinx-like as ever.
+I'd defy any man alive to tell from the Old Fellow's expression what
+he was thinking about or what he felt like at any time.
+
+Then all at once Sylvia said softly, with her eyes cast down, "I
+received your letter, Mr. Osborne."
+
+Any other man in the world would have jumped, or said, "My letter!!!"
+or shown surprise in some way. But the Old Fellow has a nerve. He
+looked sideways at Sylvia for a moment and then he said kind of drily,
+"Ah, did you?"
+
+"Yes," said Sylvia, not much above a whisper. "It--it surprised me
+very much. I never supposed that you--you cared for me in that way."
+
+"Can you tell me how I could help caring?" said the Old Fellow in the
+strangest way. His voice actually trembled.
+
+"I--I don't think I would tell you if I knew," said Sylvia, turning
+her head away. "You see--I don't want you to help caring."
+
+"Sylvia!"
+
+You never saw such a transformation as came over the Old Fellow. His
+eyes just blazed, but his face went white. He bent forward and took
+her hand.
+
+"Sylvia, do you mean that you--you actually care a little for me,
+dearest? Oh, Sylvia, do you mean that?"
+
+"Of course I do," said Sylvia right out. "I've always cared--ever
+since I was a little girl coming here to school and breaking my heart
+over mathematics, although I hated them, just to be in your class.
+Why--why--I've treasured up old geometry exercises you wrote out for
+me just because you wrote them. But I thought I could never make you
+care for me. I was the happiest girl in the world when your letter
+came today."
+
+"Sylvia," said the Old Fellow, "I've loved you for years. But I never
+dreamed that you could care for me. I thought it quite useless to tell
+you of my love--before. Will you--can you be my wife, darling?"
+
+At this point Ruggles and I differ as to what came next. He asserts
+that Sylvia turned square around and kissed the Old Fellow. But I'm
+sure she just turned her face and gave him a look and then he kissed
+her.
+
+Anyhow, there they both were, going on at the silliest rate about how
+much they loved each other and how the Old Fellow thought she loved
+Micky and all that sort of thing. It was awful. I never thought the
+Old Fellow or Sylvia either could be so spooney. Ruggles and I would
+have given anything on earth to be out of that. We knew we'd no
+business to be there and we felt as foolish as flatfish. It was a
+tremendous relief when the Old Fellow and Sylvia got up at last and
+trailed away, both of them looking idiotically happy.
+
+"Well, did you ever?" said Ruggles.
+
+It was a girl's exclamation, but nothing else would have expressed his
+feelings.
+
+"No, I never," I said. "To think that Sylvia Grant should be sweet on
+the Old Fellow when she could have Micky! It passes comprehension. Did
+she--did she really promise to marry him, Ruggles?"
+
+"She did," said Ruggles gloomily. "But, I say, isn't that Old Fellow
+game? Tumbled to the trick in a jiff; never let on but what he wrote
+the letter, never will let on, I bet. Where does the joke come in,
+Polly, my boy?"
+
+"It's on us," I said, "but nobody will know of it if we hold our
+tongues. We'll have to hold them anyhow, for Sylvia's sake, since
+she's been goose enough to go and fall in love with the Old Fellow.
+She'd go wild if she ever found out the letter was a hoax. We have
+made that match, Ruggles. He'd never have got up enough spunk to tell
+her he wanted her, and she'd probably have married Micky out of
+spite."
+
+"Well, you know the Old Fellow isn't a bad sort after all," said
+Ruggles, "and he's really awfully gone on her. So it's all right.
+Let's go and find the girls."
+
+
+
+
+The Parting of The Ways
+
+
+Mrs. Longworth crossed the hotel piazza, descended the steps, and
+walked out of sight down the shore road with all the grace of motion
+that lent distinction to her slightest movement. Her eyes were very
+bright, and an unusual flush stained the pallor of her cheek. Two men
+who were lounging in one corner of the hotel piazza looked admiringly
+after her.
+
+"She is a beautiful woman," said one.
+
+"Wasn't there some talk about Mrs. Longworth and Cunningham last
+winter?" asked the other.
+
+"Yes. They were much together. Still, there may have been nothing
+wrong. She was old Judge Carmody's daughter, you know. Longworth got
+Carmody under his thumb in money matters and put the screws on. They
+say he made Carmody's daughter the price of the old man's redemption.
+The girl herself was a mere child, I shall never forget her face on
+her wedding day. But she's been plucky since then, I must say. If she
+has suffered, she hasn't shown it. I don't suppose Longworth ever
+ill-treats her. He isn't that sort. He's simply a grovelling
+cad--that's all. Nobody would sympathise much with the poor devil if
+his wife did run off with Cunningham."
+
+Meanwhile, Beatrice Longworth walked quickly down the shore road, her
+white skirt brushing over the crisp golden grasses by the way. In a
+sunny hollow among the sandhills she came upon Stephen Gordon,
+sprawled out luxuriously in the warm, sea-smelling grasses. The youth
+sprang to his feet at sight of her, and his big brown eyes kindled to
+a glow.
+
+Mrs. Longworth smiled to him. They had been great friends all summer.
+He was a lanky, overgrown lad of fifteen or sixteen, odd and shy and
+dreamy, scarcely possessing a speaking acquaintance with others at the
+hotel. But he and Mrs. Longworth had been congenial from their first
+meeting. In many ways, he was far older than his years, but there was
+a certain inerradicable boyishness about him to which her heart
+warmed.
+
+"You are the very person I was just going in search of. I've news to
+tell. Sit down."
+
+He spoke eagerly, patting the big gray boulder beside him with his
+slim, brown hand. For a moment Beatrice hesitated. She wanted to be
+alone just then. But his clever, homely face was so appealing that she
+yielded and sat down.
+
+Stephen flung himself down again contentedly in the grasses at her
+feet, pillowing his chin in his palms and looking up at her,
+adoringly.
+
+"You are so beautiful, dear lady. I love to look at you. Will you tilt
+that hat a little more over the left eye-brow? Yes--so--some day I
+shall paint you."
+
+His tone and manner were all simplicity.
+
+"When you are a great artist," said Beatrice, indulgently.
+
+He nodded.
+
+"Yes, I mean to be that. I've told you all my dreams, you know. Now
+for my news. I'm going away to-morrow. I had a telegram from father
+to-day."
+
+He drew the message from his pocket and flourished it up at her.
+
+"I'm to join him in Europe at once. He is in Rome. Think of it--in
+Rome! I'm to go on with my art studies there. And I leave to-morrow."
+
+"I'm glad--and I'm sorry--and you know which is which," said Beatrice,
+patting the shaggy brown head. "I shall miss you dreadfully, Stephen."
+
+"We _have_ been splendid chums, haven't we?" he said, eagerly.
+
+Suddenly his face changed. He crept nearer to her, and bowed his head
+until his lips almost touched the hem of her dress.
+
+"I'm glad you came down to-day," he went on in a low, diffident voice.
+"I want to tell you something, and I can tell it better here. I
+couldn't go away without thanking you. I'll make a mess of it--I can
+never explain things. But you've been so much to me--you mean so much
+to me. You've made me believe in things I never believed in before.
+You--you--I know now that there is such a thing as a good woman, a
+woman who could make a man better, just because he breathed the same
+air with her."
+
+He paused for a moment; then went on in a still lower tone:
+
+"It's hard when a fellow can't speak of his mother because he can't
+say anything good of her, isn't it? My mother wasn't a good woman.
+When I was eight years old she went away with a scoundrel. It broke
+father's heart. Nobody thought I understood, I was such a little
+fellow. But I did. I heard them talking. I knew she had brought shame
+and disgrace on herself and us. And I had loved her so! Then, somehow,
+as I grew up, it was my misfortune that all the women I had to do with
+were mean and base. They were hirelings, and I hated and feared them.
+There was an aunt of mine--she tried to be good to me in her way. But
+she told me a lie, and I never cared for her after I found it out. And
+then, father--we loved each other and were good chums. But he didn't
+believe in much either. He was bitter, you know. He said all women
+were alike. I grew up with that notion. I didn't care much for
+anything--nothing seemed worth while. Then I came here and met you."
+
+He paused again. Beatrice had listened with a gray look on her face.
+It would have startled him had he glanced up, but he did not, and
+after a moment's silence the halting boyish voice went on:
+
+"You have changed everything for me. I was nothing but a clod before.
+You are not the mother of my body, but you are of my soul. It was
+born of you. I shall always love and reverence you for it. You will
+always be my ideal. If I ever do anything worth while it will be
+because of you. In everything I shall ever attempt I shall try to do
+it as if you were to pass judgment upon it. You will be a lifelong
+inspiration to me. Oh, I am bungling this! I can't tell you what I
+feel--you are so pure, so good, so noble! I shall reverence all women
+for your sake henceforth."
+
+"And if," said Beatrice, in a very low voice, "if I were false to your
+ideal of me--if I were to do anything that would destroy your faith in
+me--something weak or wicked--"
+
+"But you couldn't," he interrupted, flinging up his head and looking
+at her with his great dog-like eyes, "you couldn't!"
+
+"But if I could?" she persisted, gently, "and if I did--what then?"
+
+"I should hate you," he said, passionately. "You would be worse than a
+murderess. You would kill every good impulse and belief in me. I would
+never trust anything or anybody again--but there," he added, his voice
+once more growing tender, "you will never fail me, I feel sure of
+that."
+
+"Thank you," said Beatrice, almost in a whisper. "Thank you," she
+repeated, after a moment. She stood up and held out her hand. "I think
+I must go now. Good-bye, dear laddie. Write to me from Rome. I shall
+always be glad to hear from you wherever you are. And--and--I shall
+always try to live up to your ideal of me, Stephen."
+
+He sprang to his feet and took her hand, lifting it to his lips with
+boyish reverence. "I know that," he said, slowly. "Good-bye, my sweet
+lady."
+
+When Mrs. Longworth found herself in her room again, she unlocked her
+desk and took out a letter. It was addressed to Mr. Maurice
+Cunningham. She slowly tore it twice across, laid the fragments on a
+tray, and touched them with a lighted match. As they blazed up one
+line came out in writhing redness across the page: "I will go away
+with you as you ask." Then it crumbled into gray ashes.
+
+She drew a long breath and hid her face in her hands.
+
+
+
+
+The Promissory Note
+
+
+Ernest Duncan swung himself off the platform of David White's store
+and walked whistling up the street. Life seemed good to Ernest just
+then. Mr. White had given him a rise in salary that day, and had told
+him that he was satisfied with him. Mr. White was not easy to please
+in the matter of clerks, and it had been with fear and trembling that
+Ernest had gone into his store six months before. He had thought
+himself fortunate to secure such a chance. His father had died the
+preceding year, leaving nothing in the way of worldly goods except the
+house he had lived in. For several years before his death he had been
+unable to do much work, and the finances of the little family had
+dwindled steadily. After his father's death Ernest, who had been going
+to school and expecting to go to college, found that he must go to
+work at once instead to support himself and his mother.
+
+If George Duncan had not left much of worldly wealth behind him, he at
+least bequeathed to his son the interest of a fine, upright character
+and a reputation for honesty and integrity. None knew this better than
+David White, and it was on this account that he took Ernest as his
+clerk, over the heads of several other applicants who seemed to have a
+stronger "pull."
+
+"I don't know anything about _you_, Ernest," he said bluntly. "You're
+only sixteen, and you may not have an ounce of real grit or worth in
+you. But it will be a queer thing if your father's son hasn't. I knew
+him all his life. A better man never lived nor, before his accident, a
+smarter one. I'll give his son a chance, anyhow. If you take after
+your dad you'll get on all right."
+
+Ernest had not been in the store very long before Mr. White concluded,
+with a gratified chuckle, that he did take after his father. He was
+hard-working, conscientious, and obliging. Customers of all sorts,
+from the rough fishermen who came up from the harbour to the old
+Irishwomen from the back country roads, liked him. Mr. White was
+satisfied. He was beginning to grow old. This lad had the makings of a
+good partner in him by and by. No hurry; he must serves long
+apprenticeship first and prove his mettle; no use spoiling him by
+hinting at future partnerships before need was. That would all come in
+due time. David White was a shrewd man.
+
+Ernest was unconscious of his employer's plans regarding him; but he
+knew that he stood well with him and, much to his surprise, he found
+that he liked the work, and was beginning to take a personal interest
+and pleasure in the store. Hence, he went home to tea on this
+particular afternoon with buoyant step and smiling eyes. It was a good
+world, and he was glad to be alive in it, glad to have work to do and
+a dear little mother to work for. Most of the folks who met him smiled
+in friendly fashion at the bright-eyed, frank-faced lad. Only old
+Jacob Patterson scowled grimly as he passed him, emitting merely a
+surly grunt in response to Ernest's greeting. But then, old Jacob
+Patterson was noted as much for his surliness as for his miserliness.
+Nobody had ever heard him speak pleasantly to anyone; therefore his
+unfriendliness did not at all dash Ernest's high spirits.
+
+"I'm sorry for him," the lad thought. "He has no interest in life save
+accumulating money. He has no other pleasure or affection or ambition.
+When he dies I don't suppose a single regret will follow him. Father
+died a poor man, but what love and respect went with him to his
+grave--aye, and beyond it. Jacob Patterson, I'm sorry for you. You
+have chosen the poorer part, and you are a poor man in spite of your
+thousands."
+
+Ernest and his mother lived up on the hill, at the end of the
+straggling village street. The house was a small, old-fashioned one,
+painted white, set in the middle of a small but beautiful lawn. George
+Duncan, during the last rather helpless years of his life, had devoted
+himself to the cultivation of flowers, shrubs, and trees and, as a
+result, his lawn was the prettiest in Conway. Ernest worked hard in
+his spare moments to keep it looking as well as in his father's
+lifetime, for he loved his little home dearly, and was proud of its
+beauty.
+
+He ran gaily into the sitting-room.
+
+"Tea ready, lady mother? I'm hungry as a wolf. Good news gives one an
+appetite. Mr. White has raised my salary a couple of dollars per week.
+We must celebrate the event somehow this evening. What do you say to a
+sail on the river and an ice cream at Taylor's afterwards? When a
+little woman can't outlive her schoolgirl hankering for ice
+cream--why, Mother, what's the matter? Mother, dear!"
+
+Mrs. Duncan had been standing before the window with her back to the
+room when Ernest entered. When she turned he saw that she had been
+crying.
+
+"Oh, Ernest," she said brokenly, "Jacob Patterson has just been
+here--and he says--he says--"
+
+"What has that old miser been saying to trouble you?" demanded Ernest
+angrily, taking her hands in his.
+
+"He says he holds your father's promissory note for nine hundred
+dollars, overdue for several years," answered Mrs. Duncan. "Yes--and
+he showed me the note, Ernest."
+
+"Father's promissory note for nine hundred!" exclaimed Ernest in
+bewilderment. "But Father paid that note to James Patterson five years
+ago, Mother--just before his accident. Didn't you tell me he did?"
+
+"Yes, he did," said Mrs. Duncan, "but--"
+
+"Then where is it?" interrupted Ernest. "Father would keep the
+receipted note, of course. We must look among his papers."
+
+"You won't find it there, Ernest. We--we don't know where the note is.
+It--it was lost."
+
+"Lost! That is unfortunate. But you say that Jacob Patterson showed
+you a promissory note of Father's still in existence? How can that be?
+It can't possibly be the note he paid. And there couldn't have been
+another note we knew nothing of?"
+
+"I understand how this note came to be in Jacob Patterson's
+possession," said Mrs. Duncan more firmly, "but he laughed in my face
+when I told him. I must tell you the whole story, Ernest. But sit down
+and get your tea first."
+
+"I haven't any appetite for tea now, Mother," said Ernest soberly.
+"Let me hear the whole truth about the matter."
+
+"Seven years ago your father gave his note to old James Patterson,
+Jacob's brother," said Mrs. Duncan. "It was for nine hundred dollars.
+Two years afterwards the note fell due and he paid James Patterson the
+full amount with interest. I remember the day well. I have only too
+good reason to. He went up to the Patterson place in the afternoon
+with the money. It was a very hot day. James Patterson receipted the
+note and gave it to your father. Your father always remembered that
+much; he was also sure that he had the note with him when he left the
+house. He then went over to see Paul Sinclair. A thunderstorm came up
+while he was on the road. Then, as you know, Ernest, just as he turned
+in at Paul Sinclair's gate the lightning flash struck and stunned him.
+It was weeks before he came to himself at all. He never did come
+completely to himself again. When, weeks afterwards, I thought of the
+note and asked him about it, we could not find it; and, search as we
+did, we never found it. Your father could never remember what he did
+with it when he left James Patterson's. Neither Mr. Sinclair nor his
+wife could recollect seeing anything of it at the time of the
+accident. James Patterson had left for California the very morning
+after, and he never came back. We did not worry much about the loss of
+the note then; it did not seem of much moment, and your father was not
+in a condition to be troubled about the matter."
+
+"But, Mother, this note that Jacob Patterson holds--I don't understand
+about this."
+
+"I'm coming to that. I remember distinctly that on the evening when
+your father came home after signing the note he said that James
+Patterson drew up a note and he signed it, but just as he did so the
+old man's pet cat, which was sitting on the table, upset an ink bottle
+and the ink ran all over the table and stained one end of the note.
+Old James Patterson was the fussiest man who ever lived, and a
+stickler for neatness. 'Tut, tut,' he said, 'this won't do. Here, I'll
+draw up another note and tear this blotted one up.' He did so and your
+father signed it. He always supposed James Patterson destroyed the
+first one, and certainly he must have intended to, for there never was
+an honester man. But he must have neglected to do so for, Ernest, it
+was that blotted note Jacob Patterson showed me today. He said he
+found it among his brother's papers. I suppose it has been in the desk
+up at the Patterson place ever since James went to California. He died
+last winter and Jacob is his sole heir. Ernest, that note with the
+compound interest on it for seven years amounts to over eleven hundred
+dollars. How can we pay it?"
+
+"I'm afraid that this is a very serious business, Mother," said
+Ernest, rising and pacing the floor with agitated strides. "We shall
+have to pay the note if we cannot find the other--and even if we
+could, perhaps. Your story of the drawing up of the second note would
+not be worth anything as evidence in a court of law--and we have
+nothing to hope from Jacob Patterson's clemency. No doubt he believes
+that he really holds Father's unpaid note. He is not a dishonest man;
+in fact, he rather prides himself on having made all his money
+honestly. He will exact every penny of the debt. The first thing to do
+is to have another thorough search for the lost note--although I am
+afraid that it is a forlorn hope."
+
+A forlorn hope it proved to be. The note did not turn up. Old Jacob
+Patterson proved obdurate. He laughed to scorn the tale of the blotted
+note and, indeed, Ernest sadly admitted to himself that it was not a
+story anybody would be in a hurry to believe.
+
+"There's nothing for it but to sell our house and pay the debt,
+Mother," he said at last. Ernest had grown old in the days that had
+followed Jacob Patterson's demand. His boyish face was pale and
+haggard. "Jacob Patterson will take the case into the law courts if we
+don't settle at once. Mr. White offered to lend me the money on a
+mortgage on the place, but I could never pay the interest out of my
+salary when we have nothing else to live on. I would only get further
+and further behind. I'm not afraid of hard work, but I dare not borrow
+money with so little prospect of ever being able to repay it. We must
+sell the place and rent that little four-roomed cottage of Mr. Percy's
+down by the river to live in. Oh, Mother, it half kills me to think of
+your being turned out of your home like this!"
+
+It was a bitter thing for Mrs. Duncan also, but for Ernest's sake she
+concealed her feelings and affected cheerfulness. The house and lot
+were sold, Mr. White being the purchaser thereof; and Ernest and his
+mother removed to the little riverside cottage with such of their
+household belongings as had not also to be sold to make up the
+required sum. Even then, Ernest had to borrow two hundred dollars from
+Mr. White, and he foresaw that the repayal of this sum would cost him
+much self-denial and privation. It would be necessary to cut their
+modest expenses down severely. For himself Ernest did not mind, but it
+hurt him keenly that his mother should lack the little luxuries and
+comforts to which she had been accustomed. He saw too, in spite of her
+efforts to hide it, that leaving her old home was a terrible blow to
+her. Altogether, Ernest felt bitter and disheartened; his step lacked
+spring and his face its smile. He did his work with dogged
+faithfulness, but he no longer found pleasure in it. He knew that his
+mother secretly pined after her lost home where she had gone as a
+bride, and the knowledge rendered him very unhappy.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Paul Sinclair, his father's friend and cousin, died that winter,
+leaving two small children. His wife had died the previous year. When
+his business affairs came to be settled they were found to be sadly
+involved. There were debts on all sides, and it was soon only too
+evident that nothing was left for the little boys. They were homeless
+and penniless.
+
+"What will become of them, poor little fellows?" said Mrs. Duncan
+pityingly. "We are their only relatives, Ernest. We must give them a
+home at least."
+
+"Mother, how can we!" exclaimed Ernest. "We are so poor. It's as much
+as we can do to get along now, and there is that two hundred to pay
+Mr. White. I'm sorry for Danny and Frank, but I don't see how we can
+possibly do anything for them."
+
+Mrs. Duncan sighed.
+
+"I know it isn't right to ask you to add to your burden," she said
+wistfully.
+
+"It is of _you_ I am thinking, Mother," said Ernest tenderly. "I can't
+have your burden added to. You deny yourself too much and work too
+hard now. What would it be if you took the care of those children upon
+yourself?"
+
+"Don't think of me, Ernest," said Mrs. Duncan eagerly. "I wouldn't
+mind. I'd be glad to do anything I could for them, poor little souls.
+Their father was your father's best friend, and I feel as if it were
+our duty to do all we can for them. They're such little fellows. Who
+knows how they would be treated if they were taken by strangers? And
+they'd most likely be separated, and that would be a shame. But I
+leave it for you to decide, Ernest. It is your right, for the heaviest
+part will fall on you."
+
+Ernest did not decide at once. For a week he thought the matter over,
+weighing pros and cons carefully. To take the two Sinclair boys meant
+a double portion of toil and self-denial. Had he not enough to bear
+now? But, on the other side, was it not his duty, nay, his privilege,
+to help the children if he could? In the end he said to his mother:
+
+"We'll take the little fellows, Mother. I'll do the best I can for
+them. We'll manage a corner and a crust for them."
+
+So Danny and Frank Sinclair came to the little cottage. Frank was
+eight and Danny six, and they were small and lively and mischievous.
+They worshipped Mrs. Duncan, and thought Ernest the finest fellow in
+the world. When his birthday came around in March, the two little
+chaps put their heads together in a grave consultation as to what they
+could give him.
+
+"You know he gave us presents on our birthdays," said Frank. "So we
+must give him something."
+
+"I'll div him my pottet-knife," said Danny, taking the somewhat
+battered and loose-jointed affair from his pocket, and gazing at it
+affectionately.
+
+"I'll give him one of Papa's books," said Frank. "That pretty one with
+the red covers and the gold letters."
+
+A few of Mr. Sinclair's books had been saved for the boys, and were
+stored in a little box in their room. The book Frank referred to was
+an old _History of the Turks_, and its gay cover was probably the best
+of it, since its contents were of no particular merit.
+
+On Ernest's birthday both boys gave him their offerings after
+breakfast.
+
+"Here's a pottet-knife for you," said Danny graciously. "It's a bully
+pottet-knife. It'll cut real well if you hold it dust the wight way.
+I'll show you."
+
+"And here's a book for you," said Frank. "It's a real pretty book, and
+I guess it's pretty interesting reading too. It's all about the
+Turks."
+
+Ernest accepted both gifts gravely, and after the children had gone
+out he and his mother had a hearty laugh.
+
+"The dear, kind-hearted little lads!" said Mrs. Duncan. "It must have
+been a real sacrifice on Danny's part to give you his beloved
+'pottet-knife.' I was afraid you were going to refuse it at first, and
+that would have hurt his little feelings terribly. I don't think the
+_History of the Turks_ will keep you up burning the midnight oil. I
+remember that book of old--I could never forget that gorgeous cover.
+Mr. Sinclair lent it to your father once, and he said it was absolute
+trash. Why, Ernest, what's the matter?"
+
+Ernest had been turning the book's leaves over carelessly. Suddenly he
+sprang to his feet with an exclamation, his face turning white as
+marble.
+
+"Mother!" he gasped, holding out a yellowed slip of paper. "Look! It's
+the lost promissory note."
+
+Mother and son looked at each other for a moment. Then Mrs. Duncan
+began to laugh and cry together.
+
+"Your father took that book with him when he went to pay the note,"
+she said. "He intended to return it to Mr. Sinclair. I remember seeing
+the gleam of the red binding in his hand as he went out of the gate.
+He must have slipped the note into it and I suppose the book has never
+been opened since. Oh, Ernest--do you think--will Jacob Patterson--"
+
+"I don't know, Mother. I must see Mr. White about this. Don't be too
+sanguine. This doesn't prove that the note Jacob Patterson found
+wasn't a genuine note also, you know--that is, I don't think it would
+serve as proof in law. We'll have to leave it to his sense of justice.
+If he refuses to refund the money I'm afraid we can't compel him to do
+so."
+
+But Jacob Patterson did not any longer refuse belief to Mrs.
+Patterson's story of the blotted note. He was a harsh, miserly man,
+but he prided himself on his strict honesty; he had been fairly well
+acquainted with his brother's business transactions, and knew that
+George Duncan had given only one promissory note.
+
+"I'll admit, ma'am, since the receipted note has turned up, that your
+story about the blotted one must be true," he said surlily. "I'll pay
+your money back. Nobody can ever say Jacob Patterson cheated. I took
+what I believed to be my due. Since I'm convinced it wasn't I'll hand
+every penny over. Though, mind you, you couldn't make me do it by law.
+It's my honesty, ma'am, it's my honesty."
+
+Since Jacob Patterson was so well satisfied with the fibre of his
+honesty, neither Mrs. Duncan nor Ernest was disposed to quarrel with
+it. Mr. White readily agreed to sell the old Duncan place back to
+them, and by spring they were settled again in their beloved little
+home. Danny and Frank were with them, of course.
+
+"We can't be too good to them, Mother," said Ernest. "We really owe
+all our happiness to them."
+
+"Yes, but, Ernest, if you had not consented to take the homeless
+little lads in their time of need this wouldn't have come about."
+
+"I've been well rewarded, Mother," said Ernest quietly, "but, even if
+nothing of the sort had happened, I would be glad that I did the best
+I could for Frank and Danny. I'm ashamed to think that I was unwilling
+to do it at first. If it hadn't been for what you said, I wouldn't
+have. So it is your unselfishness we have to thank for it all, Mother
+dear."
+
+
+
+
+The Revolt of Mary Isabel
+
+
+"For a woman of forty, Mary Isabel, you have the least sense of any
+person I have ever known," said Louisa Irving.
+
+Louisa had said something similar in spirit to Mary Isabel almost
+every day of her life. Mary Isabel had never resented it, even when it
+hurt her bitterly. Everybody in Latimer knew that Louisa Irving ruled
+her meek little sister with a rod of iron and wondered why Mary Isabel
+never rebelled. It simply never occurred to Mary Isabel to do so; all
+her life she had given in to Louisa and the thought of refusing
+obedience to her sister's Mede-and-Persian decrees never crossed her
+mind. Mary Isabel had only one secret from Louisa and she lived in
+daily dread that Louisa would discover it. It was a very harmless
+little secret, but Mary Isabel felt rightly sure that Louisa would not
+tolerate it for a moment.
+
+They were sitting together in the dim living room of their quaint old
+cottage down by the shore. The window was open and the sea-breeze blew
+in, stirring the prim white curtains fitfully, and ruffling the little
+rings of dark hair on Mary Isabel's forehead--rings which always
+annoyed Louisa. She thought Mary Isabel ought to brush them straight
+back, and Mary Isabel did so faithfully a dozen times a day; and in
+ten minutes they crept down again, kinking defiance to Louisa, who
+might make Mary Isabel submit to her in all things but had no power
+over naturally curly hair. Louisa had never had any trouble with her
+own hair; it was straight and sleek and mouse-coloured--what there was
+of it.
+
+Mary Isabel's face was flushed and her wood-brown eyes looked grieved
+and pleading. Mary Isabel was still pretty, and vanity is the last
+thing to desert a properly constructed woman.
+
+"I can't wear a bonnet yet, Louisa," she protested. "Bonnets have gone
+out for everybody except really old ladies. I want a hat: one of
+those pretty, floppy ones with pale blue forget-me-nots."
+
+Then it was that Louisa made the remark quoted above.
+
+"I wore a bonnet before I was forty," she went on ruthlessly, "and so
+should every decent woman. It is absurd to be thinking so much of
+dress at your age, Mary Isabel. I don't know what sort of a way you'd
+bedizen yourself out if I'd let you, I'm sure. It's fortunate you have
+somebody to keep you from making a fool of yourself. I'm going to town
+tomorrow and I'll pick you out a suitable black bonnet. You'd look
+nice starring round in leghorn and forget-me-nots, now, wouldn't you?"
+
+Mary Isabel privately thought she would, but she gave in, of course,
+although she did hate bitterly that unbought, unescapable bonnet.
+
+"Well, do as you think best, Louisa," she said with a sigh. "I suppose
+it doesn't matter much. Nobody cares how I look anyhow. But can't I go
+to town with you? I want to pick out my new silk."
+
+"I'm as good a judge of black silk as you," said Louisa shortly. "It
+isn't safe to leave the house alone."
+
+"But I don't want a black silk," cried Mary Isabel. "I've worn black
+so long; both my silk dresses have been black. I want a pretty
+silver-grey, something like Mrs. Chester Ford's."
+
+"Did anyone ever hear such nonsense?" Louisa wanted to know, in
+genuine amazement. "Silver-grey silk is the most unserviceable thing
+in the world. There's nothing like black for wear and real elegance.
+No, no, Mary Isabel, don't be foolish. You must let me choose for you;
+you know you never had any judgment. Mother told you so often enough.
+Now, get your sunbonnet and take a walk to the shore. You look tired.
+I'll get the tea."
+
+Louisa's tone was kind though firm. She Was really good to Mary Isabel
+as long as Mary Isabel gave her her own way peaceably. But if she had
+known Mary Isabel's secret she would never have permitted those walks
+to the shore.
+
+Mary Isabel sighed again, yielded, and went out. Across a green field
+from the Irving cottage Dr. Donald Hamilton's big house was hooding
+itself in the shadows of the thick fir grove that enabled the doctor
+to have a garden. There was no shelter at the cottage, so the Irving
+"girls" never tried to have a garden. Soon after Dr. Hamilton had come
+there to live he had sent a bouquet of early daffodils over by his
+housekeeper. Louisa had taken them gingerly in her extreme fingertips,
+carried them across the field to the lawn fence, and cast them over
+it, under the amused grey eyes of portly Dr. Hamilton, who was looking
+out of his office window. Then Louisa had come back to the porch door
+and ostentatiously washed her hands.
+
+"I guess that will settle Donald Hamilton," she told the secretly
+sorry Mary Isabel triumphantly, and it did settle him--at least as far
+as any farther social advances were concerned.
+
+Dr. Hamilton was an excellent physician and an equally excellent man.
+Louisa Irving could not have picked a flaw in his history or
+character. Indeed, against Dr. Hamilton himself she had no grudge, but
+he was the brother of a man she hated and whose relatives were
+consequently taboo in Louisa's eyes. Not that the brother was a bad
+man either; he had simply taken the opposite side to the Irvings in a
+notable church feud of a dozen years ago, and Louisa had never since
+held any intercourse with him or his fellow sinners.
+
+Mary Isabel did not look at the Hamilton house. She kept her head
+resolutely turned away as she went down the shore lane with its wild
+sweet loneliness of salt-withered grasses and piping sea-winds. Only
+when she turned the corner of the fir-wood, which shut her out from
+view of the houses, did she look timidly over the line-fence. Dr.
+Hamilton was standing there, where the fence ran out to the sandy
+shingle, smoking his little black pipe, which he took out and put away
+when Mary Isabel came around the firs. Men did things like that
+instinctively in Mary Isabel's company. There was something so
+delicately virginal about her, in spite of her forty years, that they
+gave her the reverence they would have paid to a very young, pure
+girl.
+
+Dr. Hamilton smiled at the little troubled face under the big
+sunbonnet. Mary Isabel had to wear a sunbonnet. She would never have
+done it from choice.
+
+"What is the matter?" asked the doctor, in his big, breezy,
+old-bachelor voice. He had another voice for sick-beds and rooms of
+bereavement, but this one suited best with the purring of the waves
+and winds.
+
+"How do you know that anything is the matter?" Mary Isabel parried
+demurely.
+
+"By your face. Come now, tell me what it is."
+
+"It is really nothing. I have just been foolish, that is all. I wanted
+a hat with forget-me-nots and a grey silk, and Louisa says I must have
+black and a bonnet."
+
+The doctor looked indignant but held his peace. He and Mary Isabel had
+tacitly agreed never to discuss Louisa, because such discussion would
+not make for harmony. Mary Isabel's conscience would not let the
+doctor say anything uncomplimentary of Louisa, and the doctor's
+conscience would not let him say anything complimentary. So they left
+her out of the question and talked about the sea and the boats and
+poetry and flowers and similar non-combustible subjects.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+These clandestine meetings had been going on for two months, ever
+since the day they had just happened to meet below the firs. It never
+occurred to Mary Isabel that the doctor meant anything but friendship;
+and if it had occurred to the doctor, he did not think there would be
+much use in saying so. Mary Isabel was too hopelessly under Louisa's
+thumb. She might keep tryst below the firs occasionally--so long as
+Louisa didn't know--but to no farther lengths would she dare go.
+Besides, the doctor wasn't quite sure that he really wanted anything
+more. Mary Isabel was a sweet little woman, but Dr. Hamilton had been
+a bachelor so long that it would be very difficult for him to get out
+of the habit; so difficult that it was hardly worth while trying when
+such an obstacle as Louisa Irving's tyranny loomed in the way. So he
+never tried to make love to Mary Isabel, though he probably would have
+if he had thought it of any use. This does not sound very romantic, of
+course, but when a man is fifty, romance, while it may be present in
+the fruit, is assuredly absent in blossom.
+
+"I suppose you won't be going to the induction of my nephew Thursday
+week?" said the doctor in the course of the conversation.
+
+"No. Louisa will not permit it. I had hoped," said Mary Isabel with a
+sigh, as she braided some silvery shore-grasses nervously together,
+"that when old Mr. Moody went away she would go back to the church
+here. And I think she would if--if--"
+
+"If Jim hadn't come in Mr. Moody's place," finished the doctor with
+his jolly laugh.
+
+Mary Isabel coloured prettily. "It is not because he is your nephew,
+doctor. It is because--because--"
+
+"Because he is the nephew of my brother who was on the other side in
+that ancient church fracas? Bless you, I understand. What a good hater
+your sister is! Such a tenacity in holding bitterness from one
+generation to another commands admiration of a certain sort. As for
+Jim, he's a nice little chap, and he is coming to live with me until
+the manse is repaired."
+
+"I am sure you will find that pleasant," said Mary Isabel primly.
+
+She wondered if the young minister's advent would make any difference
+in regard to these shore-meetings; then decided quickly that it would
+not; then more quickly still that it wouldn't matter if it did.
+
+"He will be company," admitted the doctor, who liked company and found
+the shore road rather lonesome. "I had a letter from him today saying
+that he'd come home with me from the induction. By the way, they're
+tearing down the old post office today. And that reminds me--by Jove,
+I'd all but forgotten. I promised to go up and see Mollie Marr this
+evening; Mollie's nerves are on the rampage again. I must rush."
+
+With a wave of his hand the doctor hurried off. Mary Isabel lingered
+for some time longer, leaning against the fence, looking dreamily out
+to sea. The doctor was a very pleasant companion. If only Louisa would
+allow neighbourliness! Mary Isabel felt a faint, impotent resentment.
+She had never had anything other girls had: friends, dresses, beaus,
+and it was all Louisa's fault--Louisa who was going to make her wear a
+bonnet for the rest of her life. The more Mary Isabel thought of that
+bonnet the more she hated it.
+
+That evening Warren Marr rode down to the shore cottage on horseback
+and handed Mary Isabel a letter; a strange, scrumpled, soiled, yellow
+letter. When Mary Isabel saw the handwriting on the envelope she
+trembled and turned as deadly pale as if she had seen a ghost:
+
+"Here's a letter for you," said Warren, grinning. "It's been a long
+time on the way--nigh fifteen years. Guess the news'll be rather
+stale. We found it behind the old partition when we tore it down
+today."
+
+"It is my brother Tom's writing," said Mary Isabel faintly. She went
+into the room trembling, holding the letter tightly in her clasped
+hands. Louisa had gone up to the village on an errand; Mary Isabel
+almost wished she were home; she hardly felt equal to the task of
+opening Tom's letter alone. Tom had been dead for ten years and this
+letter gave her an uncanny sensation; as of a message from the
+spirit-land.
+
+Fifteen years, ago Thomas Irving had gone to California and five years
+later he had died there. Mary Isabel, who had idolized her brother,
+almost grieved herself to death at the time.
+
+Finally she opened the letter with ice-cold fingers. It had been
+written soon after Tom reached California. The first two pages were
+filled with descriptions of the country and his "job."
+
+On the third Tom began abruptly:
+
+    Look here, Mary Isabel, you are not to let Louisa boss you
+    about as she was doing when I was at home. I was going to
+    speak to you about it before I came away, but I forgot. Lou is
+    a fine girl, but she is too domineering, and the more you give
+    in to her the worse it makes her. You're far too easy-going
+    for your own welfare, Mary Isabel, and for your own sake I
+    Wish you had more spunk. Don't let Louisa live your life for
+    you; just you live it yourself. Never mind if there is some
+    friction at first; Lou will give in when she finds she has to,
+    and you'll both be the better for it, I want you to be real
+    happy, Mary Isabel, but you won't be if you don't assert your
+    independence. Giving in the way you do is bad for both you and
+    Louisa. It will make her a tyrant and you a poor-spirited
+    creature of no account in the world. Just brace up and stand
+    firm.
+
+When she had read the letter through Mary Isabel took it to her own
+room and locked it in her bureau drawer. Then she sat by her window,
+looking out into a sea-sunset, and thought it over. Coming in the
+strange way it had, the letter seemed a message from the dead, and
+Mary Isabel had a superstitious conviction that she must obey it. She
+had always had a great respect for Tom's opinion. He was right--oh,
+she felt that he was right. What a pity she had not received the
+letter long ago, before the shackles of habit had become so firmly
+riveted. But it was not too late yet. She would rebel at last
+and--how had Tom phrased it--oh, yes, assert her independence. She
+owed it to Tom; It had been his wish--and he was dead--and she would
+do her best to fulfil it.
+
+"I shan't get a bonnet," thought Mary Isabel determinedly. "Tom
+wouldn't have liked me in a bonnet. From this out I'm just going to do
+exactly as Tom would have liked me to do, no matter how afraid I am of
+Louisa. And, oh, I am horribly afraid of her."
+
+Mary Isabel was every whit as much afraid the next morning after
+breakfast but she did not look it, by reason of the flush on her
+cheeks and the glint in her brown eyes. She had put Tom's letter in
+the bosom of her dress and she pressed her fingertips on it that the
+crackle might give her courage.
+
+"Louisa," she said firmly, "I am going to town with you."
+
+"Nonsense," said Louisa shortly.
+
+"You may call it nonsense if you like, but I am going," said Mary
+Isabel unquailingly. "I have made up my mind on that point, Louisa,
+and nothing you can say will alter it."
+
+Louisa looked amazed. Never before had Mary Isabel set her decrees at
+naught.
+
+"Are you crazy, Mary Isabel?" she demanded.
+
+"No, I am not crazy. But I am going to town and I am going to get a
+silver-grey silk for myself and a new hat. I will not wear a bonnet
+and you need never mention it to me again, Louisa."
+
+"If you are going to town I shall stay home," said Louisa in a cold,
+ominous tone that almost made Mary Isabel quake. If it had not been
+for that reassuring crackle of Tom's letter I fear Mary Isabel would
+have given in. "This house can't be left alone. If you go, I'll stay."
+
+Louisa honestly thought that would bring the rebel to terms. Mary
+Isabel had never gone to town alone in her life. Louisa did not
+believe she would dare to go. But Mary Isabel did not quail. Defiance
+was not so hard after all, once you had begun.
+
+Mary Isabel went to town and she went alone. She spent the whole
+delightful day in the shops, unhampered by Louisa's scorn and
+criticism in her examination of all the pretty things displayed. She
+selected a hat she felt sure Tom would like--a pretty crumpled grey
+straw with forget-me-nots and ribbons. Then she bought a grey silk of
+a lovely silvery shade.
+
+When she got back home she unwrapped her packages and showed her
+purchases to Louisa. But Louisa neither looked at them nor spoke to
+Mary Isabel. Mary Isabel tossed her head and went to her own room. Her
+draught of freedom had stimulated her, and she did not mind Louisa's
+attitude half as much as she would have expected. She read Tom's
+letter over again to fortify herself and then she dressed her hair in
+a fashion she had seen that day in town and pulled out all the little
+curls on her forehead.
+
+The next day she took the silver-grey silk to the Latimer dressmaker
+and picked out a fashionable design for it. When the silk dress came
+home, Louisa, who had thawed out somewhat in the meantime, unbent
+sufficiently to remark that it fitted very well.
+
+"I am going to wear it to the induction tomorrow," Mary Isabel said,
+boldly to all appearances, quakingly in reality. She knew that she was
+throwing down the gauntlet for good and all. If she could assert and
+maintain her independence in this matter Louisa's power would be
+broken forever.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Twelve years before this, the previously mentioned schism had broken
+out in the Latimer church. The minister had sided with the faction
+which Louisa Irving opposed. She had promptly ceased going to his
+church and withdrew all financial support. She paid to the Marwood
+church, fifteen miles away, and occasionally she hired a team and
+drove over there to service. But she never entered the Latimer church
+again nor allowed Mary Isabel to do so. For that matter, Mary Isabel
+did not wish to go. She had resented the minister's attitude almost as
+bitterly as Louisa. But when Mr. Moody accepted a call elsewhere Mary
+Isabel hoped that she and Louisa might return to their old church
+home. Possibly they might have done so had not the congregation called
+the young, newly fledged James Anderson. Mary Isabel would not have
+cared for this, but Louisa sternly said that neither she nor any of
+hers should ever darken the doors of a church where the nephew of
+Martin Hamilton preached. Mary Isabel had regretfully acquiesced at
+the time, but now she had made up her mind to go to church and she
+meant to begin with the induction service.
+
+Louisa stared at her sister incredulously.
+
+"Have you taken complete leave of your senses, Mary Isabel?"
+
+"No. I've just come to them," retorted Mary Isabel recklessly,
+gripping a chair-back desperately so that Louisa should not see how
+she was trembling. "It is all foolishness to keep away from church
+just because of an old grudge. I'm tired of staying home Sundays or
+driving fifteen miles to Marwood to hear poor old Mr. Grattan.
+Everybody says Mr. Anderson is a splendid young man and an excellent
+preacher, and I'm going to attend his services regularly."
+
+Louisa had taken Mary Isabel's first defiance in icy disdain. Now she
+lost her temper and raged. The storm of angry words beat on Mary
+Isabel like hail, but she fronted it staunchly. She seemed to hear
+Tom's voice saying, "Live your own life, Mary Isabel; don't let Louisa
+live it for you," and she meant to obey him.
+
+"If you go to that man's induction I'll never forgive you," Louisa
+concluded.
+
+Mary Isabel said nothing. She just primmed up her lips very
+determinedly, picked up the silk dress, and carried it to her room.
+
+The next day was fine and warm. Louisa said no word all the morning.
+She worked fiercely and slammed things around noisily. After dinner
+Mary Isabel went to her room and came down presently, fine and dainty
+in her grey silk, with the forget-me-not hat resting on the soft loose
+waves of her hair. Louisa was blacking the kitchen stove.
+
+She shot one angry glance at Mary Isabel, then gave a short,
+contemptuous laugh, the laugh of an angry woman who finds herself
+robbed of all weapons except ridicule.
+
+Mary Isabel flushed and walked with an unfaltering step out of the
+house and up the lane. She resented Louisa's laughter. She was sure
+there was nothing so very ridiculous about her appearance. Women far
+older than she, even in Latimer, wore light dresses and fashionable
+hats. Really, Louisa was very disagreeable.
+
+"I have put up with her ways too long," thought Mary Isabel, with a
+quick, unwonted rush of anger. "But I never shall again--no, never,
+let her be as vexed and scornful as she pleases."
+
+The induction services were interesting, and Mary Isabel enjoyed them.
+Doctor Hamilton was sitting across from her and once or twice she
+caught him looking at her admiringly. The doctor noticed the hat and
+the grey silk and wondered how Mary Isabel had managed to get her own
+way concerning them. What a pretty woman she was! Really, he had never
+realized before how very pretty she was. But then, he had never seen
+her except in a sunbonnet or with her hair combed primly back.
+
+But when the service was over Mary Isabel was dismayed to see that the
+sky had clouded over and looked very much like rain. Everybody hurried
+home, and Mary Isabel tripped along the shore road filled with
+anxious thoughts about her dress. That kind of silk always spotted,
+and her hat would be ruined if it got wet. How foolish she had been
+not to bring an umbrella!
+
+She reached her own doorstep panting just as the first drop of rain
+fell.
+
+"Thank goodness," she breathed.
+
+Then she tried to open the door. It would not open.
+
+She could see Louisa sitting by the kitchen window, calmly reading.
+
+"Louisa, open the door quick," she called impatiently.
+
+Louisa never moved a muscle, although Mary Isabel knew she must have
+heard.
+
+"Louisa, do you hear what I say?" she cried, reaching over and tapping
+on the pane imperiously. "Open the door at once. It is going to
+rain--it is raining now. Be quick."
+
+Louisa might as well have been a graven image for all the response she
+gave. Then did Mary Isabel realize her position. Louisa had locked her
+out purposely, knowing the rain was coming. Louisa had no intention of
+letting her in; she meant to keep her out until the dress and hat of
+her rebellion were spoiled. This was Louisa's revenge.
+
+Mary Isabel turned with a gasp. What should she do? The padlocked
+doors of hen-house and well-house and wood-house: revealed the
+thoroughness of Louisa's vindictive design. Where should she go? She
+would go somewhere. She would not have her lovely new dress and hat
+spoiled!
+
+She caught her ruffled skirts up in her hand and ran across the yard.
+She climbed the fence into the field and ran across that. Another drop
+of rain struck her cheek. She never glanced back or she would have
+seen a horrified face peering from the cottage kitchen window. Louisa
+had never dreamed that Mary Isabel would seek refuge over at Dr.
+Hamilton's.
+
+Dr. Hamilton, who had driven home from church with the young minister,
+saw her coming and ran to open the door for her. Mary Isabel dashed
+up the verandah steps, breathless, crimson-cheeked, trembling with
+pent-up indignation and sense of outrage.
+
+"Louisa locked me out, Dr. Hamilton," she cried almost hysterically.
+"She locked me out on purpose to spoil my dress. I'll never forgive
+her, I'll never go back to her, never, never, unless she asks me to. I
+had to come here. I was not going to have my dress ruined to please
+Louisa."
+
+"Of course not--of course not," said Dr. Hamilton soothingly, drawing
+her into his big cosy living room. "You did perfectly right to come
+here, and you are just in time. There is the rain now in good
+earnest."
+
+Mary Isabel sank into a chair and looked at Dr. Hamilton with tears in
+her eyes.
+
+"Wasn't it an unkind, unsisterly thing to do?" she asked piteously.
+"Oh, I shall never feel the same towards Louisa again. Tom was
+right--I didn't tell you about Tom's letter but I will by and by. I
+shall not go back to Louisa after her locking me out. When it stops
+raining I'll go straight up to my cousin Ella's and stay with her
+until I arrange my plans. But one thing is certain, I shall not go
+back to Louisa."
+
+"I wouldn't," said the doctor recklessly. "Now, don't cry and don't
+worry. Take off your hat--you can go to the spare room across the
+hall, if you like. Jim has gone upstairs to lie down; he has a bad
+headache and says he doesn't want any tea. So I was going to get up a
+bachelor's snack for myself. My housekeeper is away. She heard, at
+church that her mother was ill and went over to Marwood."
+
+When Mary Isabel came back from the spare room, a little calmer but
+with traces of tears on her pink cheeks, the doctor had as good a
+tea-table spread as any woman could have had. Mary Isabel thought it
+was fortunate that the little errand boy, Tommy Brewster, was there,
+or she certainly would have been dreadfully embarrassed, now that the
+flame of her anger had blown out. But later on, when tea was over and
+she and the doctor were left alone, she did not feel embarrassed
+after all. Instead, she felt delightfully happy and at home. Dr.
+Hamilton put one so at ease.
+
+She told him all about Tom's letter and her subsequent revolt. Dr.
+Hamilton never once made the mistake of smiling. He listened and
+approved and sympathized.
+
+"So I'm determined I won't go back," concluded Mary Isabel, "unless
+she asks me to--and Louisa will never do that. Ella will be glad
+enough to have me for a while; she has five children and can't get any
+help."
+
+The doctor shrugged his shoulders. He thought of Mary Isabel as
+unofficial drudge to Ella Kemble and her family. Then he looked at the
+little silvery figure by the window.
+
+"I think I can suggest a better plan," he said gently and tenderly.
+"Suppose you stay here--as my wife. I've always wanted to ask you that
+but I feared it was no use because I knew Louisa would oppose it and I
+did not think you would consent if she did not. I think," the doctor
+leaned forward and took Mary Isabel's fluttering hand in his, "I think
+we can be very happy here, dear."
+
+Mary Isabel flushed crimson and her heart beat wildly. She knew now
+that she loved Dr. Hamilton--and Tom would have liked it--yes, Tom
+would. She remembered how Tom hated the thought of his sisters being
+old maids.
+
+"I--think--so--too," she faltered shyly.
+
+"Then," said the doctor briskly, "what is the matter with our being
+married right here and now?"
+
+"Married!"
+
+"Yes, of course. Here we are in a state where no licence is required,
+a minister in the house, and you all dressed in the most beautiful
+wedding silk imaginable. You must see, if you just look at it calmly,
+how much better it will be than going up to Mrs. Kemble's and thereby
+publishing your difference with Louisa to all the village. I'll give
+you fifteen minutes to get used to the idea and then I'll call Jim
+down."
+
+Mary Isabel put her hands to her face.
+
+"You--you're like a whirlwind," she gasped. "You take away my breath."
+
+"Think it over," said the doctor in a businesslike voice.
+
+Mary Isabel thought--thought very hard for a few moments.
+
+What would Tom have said?
+
+Was it probable that Tom would have approved of such marrying in
+haste?
+
+Mary Isabel came to the decision that he would have preferred it to
+having family jars bruited abroad. Moreover, Mary Isabel had never
+liked Ella Kemble very much. Going to her was only one degree better
+than going back to Louisa.
+
+At last Mary Isabel took her hands down from her face. "Well?" said
+the doctor persuasively as she did so.
+
+"I will consent on one condition," said Mary Isabel firmly. "And that
+is, that you will let me send word over to Louisa that I am going to
+be married and that she may come and see the ceremony if she will.
+Louisa has behaved very unkindly in this matter, but after all she is
+my sister--and she has been good to me in some ways--and I am not
+going to give her a chance to say that I got married in this--this
+headlong-fashion and never let her know."
+
+"Tommy can take the word over," said the doctor.
+
+Mary Isabel went to the doctor's desk and wrote a very brief note.
+
+    Dear Louisa:
+
+    I am going to be married to Dr. Hamilton right away. I've seen
+    him often at the shore this summer. I would like you to be
+    present at the ceremony if you choose.
+
+                                                Mary Isabel.
+
+
+Tommy ran across the field with the note.
+
+It had now ceased raining and the clouds were breaking. Mary Isabel
+thought that a good omen. She and the doctor watched Tommy from the
+window. They saw Louisa come to the door, take the note, and shut the
+door in Tommy's face. Ten minutes later she reappeared, habited in her
+mackintosh, with her second-best bonnet on.
+
+"She's--coming," said Mary Isabel, trembling.
+
+The doctor put his arm protectingly about the little lady.
+
+Mary Isabel tossed her head. "Oh, I'm not--I'm only excited. I shall
+never be afraid of Louisa again."
+
+Louisa came grimly over the field, up the verandah steps, and into the
+room without knocking.
+
+"Mary Isabel," she said, glaring at her sister and ignoring the doctor
+entirely, "did you mean what you said in that letter?"
+
+"Yes, I did," said Mary Isabel firmly.
+
+"You are going to be married to that man in this shameless, indecent
+haste?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And nothing I can say will have the least effect on you?"
+
+"Not the slightest."
+
+"Then," said Louisa, more grimly than ever, "all I ask of you is to
+come home and be married from under your father's roof. Do have that
+much respect for your parents' memory, at least."
+
+"Of course I will," cried Mary Isabel impulsively, softening at once.
+"Of course we will--won't we?" she asked, turning prettily to the
+doctor.
+
+"Just as you say," he answered gallantly.
+
+Louisa snorted. "I'll go home and air the parlour," she said. "It's
+lucky I baked that fruitcake Monday. You can come when you're ready."
+
+She stalked home across the field. In a few minutes the doctor and
+Mary Isabel followed, and behind them came the young minister,
+carrying his blue book under his arm, and trying hard and not
+altogether successfully to look grave.
+
+
+
+
+The Twins and a Wedding
+
+
+Sometimes Johnny and I wonder what would really have happened if we
+had never started for Cousin Pamelia's wedding. I think that Ted would
+have come back some time; but Johnny says he doesn't believe he ever
+would, and Johnny ought to know, because Johnny's a boy. Anyhow, he
+couldn't have come back for four years. However, we _did_ start for
+the wedding and so things came out all right, and Ted said we were a
+pair of twin special Providences.
+
+Johnny and I fully expected to go to Cousin Pamelia's wedding because
+we had always been such chums with her. And she did write to Mother to
+be sure and bring us, but Father and Mother didn't want to be bothered
+with us. That is the plain truth of the matter. They are good parents,
+as parents go in this world; I don't think we could have picked out
+much better, all things considered; but Johnny and I have always known
+that they never want to take us with them anywhere if they can get out
+of it. Uncle Fred says that it is no wonder, since we are a pair of
+holy terrors for getting into mischief and keeping everybody in hot
+water. But I think we are pretty good, considering all the temptations
+we have to be otherwise. And, of course, twins have just twice as many
+as ordinary children.
+
+Anyway, Father and Mother said we would have to stay home with Hannah
+Jane. This decision came upon us, as Johnny says, like a bolt from the
+blue. At first we couldn't believe they were not joking. Why, we felt
+that we simply _had_ to go to Pamelia's wedding. We had never been to
+a wedding in our lives and we were just aching to see what it would be
+like. Besides, we had written a marriage ode to Pamelia and we wanted
+to present it to her. Johnny was to recite it, and he had been
+practising it out behind the carriage house for a week. I wrote the
+most of it. I can write poetry as slick as anything. Johnny helped me
+hunt out the rhymes. That is the hardest thing about writing poetry,
+it is so difficult to find rhymes. Johnny would find me a rhyme and
+then I would write a line to suit it, and we got on swimmingly.
+
+When we realized that Father and Mother meant what they said we were
+just too miserable to live. When I went to bed that night I simply
+pulled the clothes over my face and howled quietly. I couldn't help it
+when I thought of Pamelia's white silk dress and tulle veil and flower
+girls and all the rest. Johnny said it was the wedding dinner _he_
+thought about. Boys are like that, you know.
+
+Father and Mother went away on the early morning train, telling us to
+be good twins and not bother Hannah Jane. It would have been more to
+the point if they had told Hannah Jane not to bother us. She worries
+more about our bringing up than Mother does.
+
+I was sitting on the front doorstep after they had gone when Johnny
+came around the corner, looking so mysterious and determined that I
+knew he had thought of something splendid.
+
+"Sue," said Johnny impressively, "if you have any real sporting blood
+in you now is the time to show it. If you've enough grit we'll get to
+Pamelia's wedding after all."
+
+"How?" I said as soon as I was able to say anything.
+
+"We'll just go. We'll take the ten o'clock train. It will get to
+Marsden by eleven-thirty and that'll be in plenty of time. The wedding
+isn't until twelve."
+
+"But we've never been on the train alone, and we've never been to
+Marsden at all!" I gasped.
+
+"Oh, of course, if you're going to hatch up all sorts of
+difficulties!" said Johnny scornfully. "I thought you had more spunk!"
+
+"Oh, I have, Johnny," I said eagerly. "I'm _all_ spunk. And I'll do
+anything you'll do. But won't Father and Mother be perfectly savage?"
+
+"Of course. But we'll be there and they can't send us home again, so
+we'll see the wedding. We'll be punished afterwards all right, but
+we'll have had the fun, don't you see?"
+
+I saw. I went right upstairs to dress, trusting everything blindly to
+Johnny. I put on my best pale blue shirred silk hat and my blue
+organdie dress and my high-heeled slippers. Johnny whistled when he
+saw me, but he never said a word; there are times when Johnny is a
+duck.
+
+We slipped away when Hannah Jane was feeding the hens.
+
+"I'll buy the tickets," explained Johnny. "I've got enough money left
+out of my last month's allowance because I didn't waste it all on
+candy as you did. You'll have to pay me back when you get your next
+month's jink, remember. I'll ask the conductor to tell us when we get
+to Marsden. Uncle Fred's house isn't far from the station, and we'll
+be sure to know it by all the cherry trees round it."
+
+It sounded easy, and it _was_ easy. We had a jolly ride, and finally
+the conductor came along and said, "Here's your jumping-off place,
+kiddies."
+
+Johnny didn't like being called a kiddy, but I saw the conductor's eye
+resting admiringly on my blue silk hat and I forgave him.
+
+Marsden was a pretty little village, and away up the road we saw Uncle
+Fred's place, for it was fairly smothered in cherry trees all white
+with lovely bloom. We started for it as fast as we could go, for we
+knew we had no time to lose. It is perfectly dreadful trying to hurry
+when you have on high-heeled shoes, but I said nothing and just tore
+along, for I knew Johnny would have no sympathy for me. We finally
+reached the house and turned in at the open gate of the lawn. I
+thought everything looked very peaceful and quiet for a wedding to be
+under way and I had a sickening idea that it was too late and it was
+all over.
+
+"Nonsense!" said Johnny, cross as a bear, because he was really
+afraid of it too. "I suppose everybody is inside the house. No, there
+are two people over there by that bench. Let us go and ask them if
+this is the right place, because if it isn't we have no time to lose."
+
+We ran across the lawn to the two people. One of them was a young
+lady, the very prettiest young lady I had ever seen. She was tall and
+stately, just like the heroine in a book, and she had lovely curly
+brown hair and big blue eyes and the most dazzling complexion. But she
+looked very cross and disdainful and I knew the minute I saw her that
+she had been quarrelling with the young man. He was standing in front
+of her and he was as handsome as a prince. But he looked angry too.
+Altogether, you never saw a crosser-looking couple. Just as we came up
+we heard the young lady say, "What you ask is ridiculous and
+impossible, Ted. I _can't_ get married at two days' notice and I don't
+mean to be."
+
+And he said, "Very well, Una, I am sorry you think so. You would not
+think so if you really cared anything for me. It is just as well I
+have found out you don't. I am going away in two days' time and I
+shall not return in a hurry, Una."
+
+"I do not care if you never return," she said.
+
+That was a fib and well I knew it. But the young man didn't--men are
+so stupid at times. He swung around on one foot without replying and
+he would have gone in another second if he had not nearly fallen over
+Johnny and me.
+
+"Please, sir," said Johnny respectfully, but hurriedly. "We're looking
+for Mr. Frederick Murray's place. Is this it?"
+
+"No," said the young man a little gruffly. "This is Mrs. Franklin's
+place. Frederick Murray lives at Marsden, ten miles away."
+
+My heart gave a jump and then stopped beating. I know it did, although
+Johnny says it is impossible.
+
+"Isn't this Marsden?" cried Johnny chokily.
+
+"No, this is Harrowsdeane," said the young man, a little more mildly.
+
+I couldn't help it. I was tired and warm and so disappointed. I sat
+right down on the rustic seat behind me and burst into tears, as the
+story-books say.
+
+"Oh, don't cry, dearie," said the young lady in a very different voice
+from the one she had used before. She sat down beside me and put her
+arms around me. "We'll take you over to Marsden if you've got off at
+the wrong station."
+
+"But it will be too late," I sobbed wildly. "The wedding is to be at
+twelve--and it's nearly that now--and oh, Johnny, I do think you might
+try to comfort me!"
+
+For Johnny had stuck his hands in his pockets and turned his back
+squarely on me. I thought it so unkind of him. I didn't know then that
+it was because he was afraid he was going to cry right there before
+everybody, and I felt deserted by all the world.
+
+"Tell me all about it," said the young lady.
+
+So I told her as well as I could all about the wedding and how wild we
+were to see it and why we were running away to it.
+
+"And now it's all no use," I wailed. "And we'll be punished when they
+find out just the same. I wouldn't mind being punished if we hadn't
+missed the wedding. We've never seen a wedding--and Pamelia was to
+wear a white silk dress--and have flower girls--and oh, my heart is
+just broken. I shall never get over this--never--if I live to be as
+old as Methuselah."
+
+"What can we do for them?" said the young lady, looking up at the
+young man and smiling a little. She seemed to have forgotten that they
+had just quarrelled. "I can't bear to see children disappointed. I
+remember my own childhood too well."
+
+"I really don't know what we can do," said the young man, smiling
+back, "unless we get married right here and now for their sakes. If it
+is a wedding they want to see and nothing else will do them, that is
+the only idea I can suggest."
+
+"Nonsense!" said the young lady. But she said it as if she would
+rather like to be persuaded it wasn't nonsense.
+
+I looked up at her. "Oh, if you have any notion of being married I
+wish you would right off," I said eagerly. "Any wedding would do just
+as well as Pamelia's. Please do."
+
+The young lady laughed.
+
+"One might just as well be married at two hours' notice as two days',"
+she said.
+
+"Una," said the young man, bending towards her, "will you marry me
+here and now? Don't send me away alone to the other side of the world,
+Una."
+
+"What on earth would Auntie say?" said Una helplessly.
+
+"Mrs. Franklin wouldn't object if you told her you were going to be
+married in a balloon."
+
+"I don't see how we could arrange--oh, Ted, it's absurd."
+
+"'Tisn't. It's highly sensible. I'll go straight to town on my wheel
+for the licence and ring and I'll be back in an hour. You can be ready
+by that time."
+
+For a moment Una hesitated. Then she said suddenly to me, "What is
+your name, dearie?"
+
+"Sue Murray," I said, "and this is my brother, Johnny. We're twins.
+We've been twins for ten years."
+
+"Well, Sue, I'm going to let you decide for me. This gentleman here,
+whose name is Theodore Prentice, has to start for Japan in two days
+and will have to remain there for four years. He received his orders
+only yesterday. He wants me to marry him and go with him. Now, I shall
+leave it to you to consent or refuse for me. Shall I marry him or
+shall I not?"
+
+"Marry him, of course," said I promptly. Johnny says she knew I would
+say that when she left it to me.
+
+"Very well," said Una calmly. "Ted, you may go for the necessaries.
+Sue, you must be my bridesmaid and Johnny shall be best man. Come,
+we'll go into the house and break the news to Auntie."
+
+I never felt so interested and excited in my life. It seemed too good
+to be true. Una and I went into the house and there we found the
+sweetest, pinkest, plumpest old lady asleep in an easy-chair. Una
+wakened her and said, "Auntie, I'm going to be married to Mr. Prentice
+in an hour's time."
+
+That was a most wonderful old lady! All she said was, "Dear me!" You'd
+have thought Una had simply told her she was going out for a walk.
+
+"Ted has gone for licence and ring and minister," Una went on. "We
+shall be married out under the cherry trees and I'll wear my new white
+organdie. We shall leave for Japan in two days. These children are Sue
+and Johnny Murray who have come out to see a wedding--_any_ wedding.
+Ted and I are getting married just to please them."
+
+"Dear me!" said the old lady again. "This is rather sudden. Still--if
+you must. Well, I'll go and see what there is in the house to eat."
+
+She toddled away, smiling, and Una turned to me. She was laughing, but
+there were tears in her eyes.
+
+"You blessed accidents!" she said, with a little tremble in her voice.
+"If you hadn't happened just then Ted would have gone away in a rage
+and I might never have seen him again. Come now, Sue, and help me
+dress."
+
+Johnny stayed in the hall and I went upstairs with Una. We had such an
+exciting time getting her dressed. She had the sweetest white organdie
+you ever saw, all frills and laces. I'm sure Pamelia's silk couldn't
+have been half so pretty. But she had no veil, and I felt rather
+disappointed about that. Then there was a knock at the door and Mrs.
+Franklin came in, with her arms full of something all fine and misty
+like a lacy cobweb.
+
+"I've brought you my wedding veil, dearie," she said. "I wore it forty
+years ago. And God bless you, dearie. I can't stop a minute. The boy
+is killing the chickens and Bridget is getting ready to broil them.
+Mrs. Jenner's son across the road has just gone down to the bakery for
+a wedding cake."
+
+With that she toddled off again. She was certainly a wonderful old
+lady. I just thought of Mother in her place. Well, Mother would simply
+have gone wild entirely.
+
+When Una was dressed she looked as beautiful as a dream. The boy had
+finished killing the chickens, and Mrs. Franklin had sent him up with
+a basket of roses for us, and we had each the loveliest bouquet.
+Before long Ted came back with the minister, and the next thing we
+knew we were all standing out on the lawn under the cherry trees and
+Una and Ted were being married.
+
+I was too happy to speak. I had never thought of being a bridesmaid in
+my wildest dreams and here I was one. How thankful I was that I had
+put on my blue organdie and my shirred hat! I wasn't a bit nervous and
+I don't believe Una was either. Mrs. Franklin stood at one side with a
+smudge of flour on her nose, and she had forgotten to take off her
+apron. Bridget and the boy watched us from the kitchen garden. It was
+all like a beautiful, bewildering dream. But the ceremony was horribly
+solemn. I am sure I shall never have the courage to go through with
+anything of the sort, but Johnny says I will change my mind when I
+grow up.
+
+When it was all over I nudged Johnny and said "Ode" in a fierce
+whisper. Johnny immediately stepped out before Una and recited it.
+Pamelia's name was mentioned three times and of course he should have
+put Una in place of it, but he forgot. You can't remember everything.
+
+"You dear funny darlings!" said Una, kissing us both. Johnny didn't
+like _that_, but he said he didn't mind it in a bride.
+
+Then we had dinner, and I thought Mrs. Franklin more wonderful than
+ever. I couldn't have believed any woman could have got up such a
+spread at two hours' notice. Of course, some credit must be given to
+Bridget and the boy. Johnny and I were hungry enough by this time and
+we enjoyed that repast to the full.
+
+We went home on the evening train. Ted and Una came to the station
+with us, and Una said she would write me when she got to Japan, and
+Ted said he would be obliged to us forever and ever.
+
+When we got home we found Hannah Jane and Father and Mother--who had
+arrived there an hour before us--simply distracted. They were so glad
+to see us safe and sound that they didn't even scold us, and when
+Father heard our story he laughed until the tears came into his eyes.
+
+"Some are born to luck, some achieve luck, and some have luck thrust
+upon them," he said.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories,
+1907 to 1908, by Lucy Maud Montgomery
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MONTGOMERY STORIES ***
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+  <head>
+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" />
+    <title>
+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of Short Stories 1907 to 1908, by Lucy Maud Montgomery.
+    </title>
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1907 to
+1908, by Lucy Maud Montgomery
+
+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: Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1907 to 1908
+
+Author: Lucy Maud Montgomery
+
+Release Date: March 19, 2008 [EBook #24877]
+Last updated: February 1, 2009
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MONTGOMERY STORIES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Alicia Williams, Jeannie Howse and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<br />
+<hr />
+<br />
+
+<h2>Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1907 to 1908</h2>
+<br />
+
+<div class="block2">
+<p>Lucy Maud Montgomery was born at Clifton (now New London), Prince
+Edward Island, Canada, on November 30, 1874. She achieved
+international fame in her lifetime, putting Prince Edward Island and
+Canada on the world literary map. Best known for her "Anne of Green
+Gables" books, she was also a prolific writer of short stories and
+poetry. She published some 500 short stories and poems and twenty
+novels before her death in 1942. The Project Gutenberg collection of
+her short stories was gathered from numerous sources and is presented
+in chronological publishing order:</p>
+
+<br />
+
+<p class="noin">Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1896 to 1901<br />
+Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1902 to 1903<br />
+Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1904<br />
+Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1905 to 1906<br />
+Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1907 to 1908<br />
+Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1909 to 1922</p>
+</div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="toc" id="toc"></a><hr />
+<br />
+
+<h2>Short Stories 1907 to 1908</h2>
+<br />
+
+<div class="centered">
+<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" width="50%" summary="List of Stories">
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl" width="80%"><a href="#A_Millionaires_Proposal">A Millionaire's Proposal</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr" width="20%">1907</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#A_Substitute_Journalist">A Substitute Journalist</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">1907</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#Annas_Love_Letters">Anna's Love Letters</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">1908</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#Aunt_Carolines_Silk_Dress">Aunt Caroline's Silk Dress</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">1907</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#Aunt_Susannas_Thanksgiving_Dinner">Aunt Susanna's Thanksgiving Dinner</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">1907</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#By_Grace_of_Julius_Caesar">By Grace of Julius Caesar</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">1908</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#By_the_Rule_of_Contrary">By the Rule of Contrary</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">1908</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#Fair_Exchange_and_No_Robbery">Fair Exchange and No Robbery</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">1907</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#Four_Winds">Four Winds</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">1908</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#Marcellas_Reward">Marcella's Reward</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">1907</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#Margarets_Patient">Margaret's Patient</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">1908</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#Matthew_Insists_on_Puffed_Sleeves">Matthew Insists on Puffed Sleeves</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">1908</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#Missys_Room">Missy's Room</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">1907</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#Teds_Afternoon_Off">Ted's Afternoon Off</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">1907</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#The_Girl_Who_Drove_the_Cows">The Girl Who Drove the Cows</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">1908</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#The_Doctors_Sweetheart">The Doctor's Sweetheart</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">1908</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#The_End_of_the_Young_Family_Feud">The End of the Young Family Feud</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">1907</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#The_Genesis_of_the_Doughnut_Club">The Genesis of the Doughnut Club</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">1907</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#The_Growing_Up_of_Cornelia">The Growing Up of Cornelia</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">1908</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#The_Old_Fellows_Letter">The Old Fellow's Letter</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">1907</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#The_Parting_of_The_Ways">The Parting of the Ways</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">1907</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#The_Promissory_Note">The Promissory Note</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">1907</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#The_Revolt_of_Mary_Isabel">The Revolt of Mary Isabel</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">1908</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#The_Twins_and_a_Wedding">The Twins and a Wedding</a></td>
+  <td class="tdr">1908</td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="A_Millionaires_Proposal" id="A_Millionaires_Proposal"></a><hr />
+<br />
+
+<h2>A Millionaire's Proposal<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h2>
+<br />
+
+<p class="right">Thrush Hill, Oct. 5, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<p>It is all settled at last, and in another week I shall have left
+Thrush Hill. I am a little bit sorry and a great bit glad. I am going
+to Montreal to spend the winter with Alicia.</p>
+
+<p>Alicia&mdash;it used to be plain Alice when she lived at Thrush Hill and
+made her own dresses and trimmed her own hats&mdash;is my half-sister. She
+is eight years older than I am. We are both orphans, and Aunt
+Elizabeth brought us up here at Thrush Hill, the most delightful old
+country place in the world, half smothered in big willows and poplars,
+every one of which I have climbed in the early tomboy days of gingham
+pinafores and sun-bonnets.</p>
+
+<p>When Alicia was eighteen she married Roger Gresham, a man of forty.
+The world said that she married him for his money. I dare say she did.
+Alicia was tired of poverty.</p>
+
+<p>I don't blame her. Very likely I shall do the same thing one of these
+days, if I get the chance&mdash;for I too am tired of poverty.</p>
+
+<p>When Alicia went to Montreal she wanted to take me with her, but I
+wanted to be outdoors, romping in the hay or running wild in the woods
+with Jack.</p>
+
+<p>Jack Willoughby&mdash;Dr. John H. Willoughby, it reads on his office
+door&mdash;was the son of our nearest neighbour. We were chums always, and
+when he went away to college I was heartbroken.</p>
+
+<p>The vacations were the only joy of my life then.</p>
+
+<p>I don't know just when I began to notice a change in Jack, but when he
+came home two years ago, a full-fledged M.D.&mdash;a great, tall,
+broad-shouldered fellow, with the sweetest moustache, and lovely thick
+black hair, just made for poking one's fingers through&mdash;I realized it
+to the full. Jack was grown up. The dear old days of bird-nesting and
+nutting and coasting and fishing and general delightful goings-on were
+over forever.</p>
+
+<p>I was sorry at first. I wanted "Jack." "Dr. Willoughby" seemed too
+distinguished and far away.</p>
+
+<p>I suppose he found a change in me, too. I had put on long skirts and
+wore my hair up. I had also found out that I had a complexion, and
+that sunburn was not becoming. I honestly thought I looked pretty, but
+Jack surveyed me with decided disapprobation.</p>
+
+<p>"What have you done to yourself? You don't look like the same girl.
+I'd never know you in that rig-out, with all those flippery-trippery
+curls all over your head. Why don't you comb your hair straight back,
+and let it hang in a braided tail, like you used to?"</p>
+
+<p>This didn't suit me at all. When I expect a compliment and get
+something quite different I always get snippy. So I said, with what I
+intended to be crushing dignity, "that I supposed I wasn't the same
+girl; I had grown up, and if he didn't like my curls he needn't look
+at them. For my part, I thought them infinitely preferable to that
+horrid, conceited-looking moustache he had grown."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll shave it off if it doesn't suit you," said Jack amiably.</p>
+
+<p>Jack is always so provokingly good-humoured. When you've taken pains
+and put yourself out&mdash;even to the extent of fibbing about a
+moustache&mdash;to exasperate a person, there is nothing more annoying than
+to have him keep perfectly angelic.</p>
+
+<p>But after a while Jack and I adjusted ourselves to the change in each
+other and became very good friends again. It was quite a different
+friendship from the old, but it was very pleasant. Yes, it was; I
+<i>will</i> admit that much.</p>
+
+<p>I was provoked at Jack's determination to settle down for life in
+Valleyfield, a horrible, humdrum, little country village.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll never make your fortune there, Jack," I said spitefully.
+"You'll just be a poor, struggling country doctor all your life, and
+you'll be grey at forty."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't expect to make a fortune, Kitty," said Jack quietly. "Do you
+think that is the one desirable thing? I shall never be a rich man.
+But riches are not the only thing that makes life pleasant."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I think they have a good deal to do with it, anyhow," I
+retorted. "It's all very well to pretend to despise wealth, but it's
+generally a case of sour grapes. <i>I</i> will own up honestly that I'd
+<i>love</i> to be rich."</p>
+
+<p>It always seems to make Jack blue and grumpy when I talk like that. I
+suppose that is one reason why he never asked me to settle down in
+life as a country doctor's wife. Another was, no doubt, that I always
+nipped his sentimental sproutings religiously in the bud.</p>
+
+<p>Three weeks ago Alicia wrote to me, asking me to spend the winter with
+her. Her letters always make me just gasp with longing for the life
+they describe.</p>
+
+<p>Jack's face, when I told him about it, was so woebegone that I felt a
+stab of remorse, even in the heyday of my delight.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you really mean it, Kitty? Are you going away to leave me?"</p>
+
+<p>"You won't miss me much," I said flippantly&mdash;I had a creepy, crawly
+presentiment that a scene of some kind was threatening&mdash;"and I'm
+awfully tired of Thrush Hill and country life, Jack. I suppose it is
+horribly ungrateful of me to say so, but it is the truth."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall miss you," he said soberly.</p>
+
+<p>Somehow he had my hands in his. <i>How</i> did he ever get them? I was sure
+I had them safely tucked out of harm's way behind me. "You know,
+Kitty, that I love you. I am a poor man&mdash;perhaps I may never be
+anything else&mdash;and this may seem to you very presumptuous. But I
+cannot let you go like this. Will you be my wife, dear?"</p>
+
+<p>Wasn't it horribly straightforward and direct? So like Jack! I tried
+to pull my hands away, but he held them fast. There was nothing to do
+but answer him. That "no" I had determined to say must be said, but,
+oh! how woefully it did stick in my throat!</p>
+
+<p>And I honestly believe that by the time I got it out it would have
+been transformed into a "yes," in spite of me, had it not been for a
+certain paragraph in Alicia's letter which came providentially to my
+mind:</p>
+
+<div class="block"><p>Not to flatter you, Katherine, you are a beauty, my dear&mdash;if
+your photo is to be trusted. If you have not discovered that
+fact before&mdash;how should you, indeed, in a place like Thrush
+Hill?&mdash;you soon will in Montreal. With your face and figure
+you will make a sensation.</p>
+
+<p>There is to be a nephew of the Sinclairs here this winter. He
+is an American, immensely wealthy, and will be the catch of
+the season. A word to the wise, etc. Don't get into any
+foolish entanglement down there. I have heard some gossip of
+you and our old playfellow, Jack Willoughby. I hope it is
+nothing but gossip. You can do better than that, Katherine.</p></div>
+
+<p>That settled Jack's fate, if there ever had been any doubt.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't talk like that, Jack," I said hurriedly. "It is all nonsense. I
+think a great deal of you as a friend and&mdash;and&mdash;all that, you know.
+But I can never marry you."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you sure, Kitty?" said Jack earnestly. "Don't you care for me at
+all?"</p>
+
+<p>It was horrid of Jack to ask that question!</p>
+
+<p>"No," I said miserably, "not&mdash;not in that way, Jack. Oh, don't ever
+say anything like this to me again."</p>
+
+<p>He let go of my hands then, white to the lips.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, don't look like that, Jack," I entreated.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't help it," he said in a low voice. "But I won't bother you
+again, dear. It was foolish of me to expect&mdash;to hope for anything of
+the sort. You are a thousand times too good for me, I know."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, indeed I'm not, Jack," I protested. "If you knew how horrid I am,
+really, you'd be glad and thankful for your escape. Oh, Jack, I wish
+people never grew up."</p>
+
+<p>Jack smiled sadly.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't feel badly over this, Kitty. It isn't your fault. Good night,
+dear."</p>
+
+<p>He turned my face up and kissed me squarely on the mouth. He had never
+kissed me since the summer before he went away to college. Somehow it
+didn't seem a bit the same as it used to; it was&mdash;nicer now.</p>
+
+<p>After he went away I came upstairs and had a good, comfortable howl.
+Then I buried the whole affair decently. I am not going to think of it
+any more.</p>
+
+<p>I shall always have the highest esteem for Jack, and I hope he will
+soon find some nice girl who will make him happy. Mary Carter would
+jump at him, I know. To be sure, she is as homely as she can be and
+live. But, then, Jack is always telling me how little he cares for
+beauty, so I have no doubt she will suit him admirably.</p>
+
+<p>As for myself&mdash;well, I am ambitious. I don't suppose my ambition is a
+very lofty one, but such as it is I mean to hunt it down. Come. Let me
+put it down in black and white, once for all, and see how it looks:</p>
+
+<p>I mean to marry the rich nephew of the Sinclairs.</p>
+
+<p>There! It is out, and I feel better. How mercenary and awful it looks
+written out in cold blood like that. I wouldn't have Jack or Aunt
+Elizabeth&mdash;dear, unworldly old soul&mdash;see it for the world. But I
+wouldn't mind Alicia.</p>
+
+<p>Poor dear Jack!</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style="width: 15%;" />
+<br />
+
+<p class="right">Montreal, Dec. 16, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<p>This is a nice way to keep a journal. But the days when I could write
+regularly are gone by. That was when I was at Thrush Hill.</p>
+
+<p>I am having a simply divine time. How in the world did I ever contrive
+to live at Thrush Hill?</p>
+
+<p>To be sure, I felt badly enough that day in October when I left it.
+When the train left Valleyfield I just cried like a baby.</p>
+
+<p>Alicia and Roger welcomed me very heartily, and after the first week
+of homesickness&mdash;I shiver yet when I think of it&mdash;was over, I settled
+down to my new life as if I had been born to it.</p>
+
+<p>Alicia has a magnificent home and everything heart could wish
+for&mdash;jewels, carriages, servants, opera boxes, and social position.
+Roger is a model husband apparently. I must also admit that he is a
+model brother-in-law.</p>
+
+<p>I could feel Alicia looking me over critically the moment we met. I
+trembled with suspense, but I was soon relieved.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know, Katherine, I am glad to see that your photograph didn't
+flatter you. Photographs so often do, I am positively surprised at the
+way you have developed, my dear; you used to be such a scrawny little
+brown thing. By the way, I hope there is nothing between you and Jack
+Willoughby?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, of course not," I answered hurriedly. I had intended to tell
+Alicia all about Jack, but when it came to the point I couldn't.</p>
+
+<p>"I am glad of that," said Alicia, with a relieved air. "Of course,
+I've no doubt Jack is a good fellow enough. He was a nice boy. But he
+would not be a suitable husband for you, Katherine."</p>
+
+<p>I knew that very well. That was just why I had refused him. But it
+made me wince to hear Alicia say it. I instantly froze up&mdash;Alicia says
+dignity is becoming to me&mdash;and Jack's name has never been mentioned
+between us since.</p>
+
+<p>I made my bow to society at an "At Home" which Alicia gave for that
+purpose. She drilled me well beforehand, and I think I acquitted
+myself decently. Charlie Vankleek, whose verdict makes or mars every
+debutante in his set, has approved of me. He called me a beauty, and
+everybody now believes that I am one, and greets me accordingly.</p>
+
+<p>I met Gus Sinclair at Mrs. Brompton's dinner. Alicia declares it was a
+case of love at first sight. If so, I must confess that it was all on
+one side.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Sinclair is undeniably ugly&mdash;even Alicia has to admit that&mdash;and
+can't hold a candle to Jack in point of looks, for Jack, poor boy, was
+handsome, if he were nothing else. But, as Alicia does not fail to
+remind me, Mr. Sinclair's homeliness is well gilded.</p>
+
+<p>Apart from his appearance, I really liked him very much. He is a
+gentlemanly little fellow&mdash;his head reaches about to my
+shoulder&mdash;cultured and travelled, and can talk splendidly, which Jack
+never could.</p>
+
+<p>He took me into dinner at Mrs. Brompton's, and was very attentive. You
+may imagine how many angelic glances I received from the other
+candidates for his favour.</p>
+
+<p>Since then I have been having the gayest time imaginable. Dances,
+dinners, luncheons, afternoon teas, "functions" to no end, and all
+delightful.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Elizabeth writes to me, but I have never heard a word from Jack.
+He seems to have forgotten my existence completely. No doubt he has
+consoled himself with Mary Carter.</p>
+
+<p>Well, that is all for the best, but I must say I did not think Jack
+could have forgotten me so soon or so absolutely. Of course it does
+not make the least difference to me.</p>
+
+<p>The Sinclairs and the Bromptons and the Curries are to dine here
+tonight. I can see myself reflected in the long mirror before me, and
+I really think my appearance will satisfy even Gus Sinclair's critical
+eye. I am pale, as usual, I never have any colour. That used to be one
+of Jack's grievances. He likes pink and white milkmaidish girls. My
+"magnificent pallor" didn't suit him at all.</p>
+
+<p>But, what is more to the purpose, it suits Gus Sinclair. He admires
+the statuesque style.</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style="width: 15%;" />
+<br />
+
+<p class="right">Montreal, Jan. 20, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<p>Here it is a whole month since my last entry. I am sitting here decked
+out in "gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls" for Mrs. Currie's dance.
+These few minutes, after I emerge from the hands of my maid and before
+the carriage is announced, are almost the only ones I ever have to
+myself.</p>
+
+<p>I am having a good time still. Somehow, though, it isn't as exciting
+as it used to be. I'm afraid I'm very changeable. I believe I must be
+homesick.</p>
+
+<p>I'd love to get a glimpse of dear old Thrush Hill and Aunt Elizabeth,
+and J&mdash;but, no! I will not write that.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Sinclair has not spoken yet, but there is no doubt that he soon
+will. Of course, I shall accept him when he does, and I coolly told
+Alicia so when she just as coolly asked me what I meant to do.</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly, I shall marry him," I said crossly, for the subject always
+irritates me. "Haven't I been laying myself out all winter to catch
+him? That is the bold, naked truth, and ugly enough it is. My dearly
+beloved sister, I mean to accept Mr. Sinclair, without any hesitation,
+whenever I get the chance."</p>
+
+<p>"I give you credit for more sense than to dream of doing anything
+else," said Alicia in relieved tones. "Katherine, you are a very lucky
+girl."</p>
+
+<p>"Because I am going to marry a rich man for his money?" I said coldly.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes I get snippy with Alicia these days.</p>
+
+<p>"No," said my half-sister in an exasperated way. "Why will you persist
+in speaking in that way? You are very provoking. It is not likely I
+would wish to see you throw yourself away on a poor man, and I'm sure
+you must like Gus."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, I like him well enough," I said listlessly. "To be sure, I
+did think once, in my salad days, that liking wasn't quite all in an
+affair of this kind. I was absurd enough to imagine that love had
+something to do with it."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't talk so nonsensically," said Alicia sharply. "Love! Well, of
+course, you ought to love your husband, and you will. He loves you
+enough, at all events."</p>
+
+<p>"Alicia," I said earnestly, looking her straight in the face and
+speaking bluntly enough to have satisfied even Jack's love of
+straightforwardness, "you married for money and position, so people
+say. Are you happy?"</p>
+
+<p>For the first time that I remembered, Alicia blushed. She was very
+angry.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I did marry for money," she said sharply, "and I don't regret
+it. Thank heaven, I never was a fool."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be vexed, Alicia," I entreated. "I only asked because&mdash;well, it
+is no matter."</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style="width: 15%;" />
+<br />
+
+<p class="right">Montreal, Jan. 25, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<p>It is bedtime, but I am too excited and happy and miserable to sleep.
+Jack has been here&mdash;dear old Jack! How glad I was to see him.</p>
+
+<p>His coming was so unexpected. I was sitting alone in my room this
+afternoon&mdash;I believe I was moping&mdash;when Bessie brought up his card. I
+gave it one rapturous look and tore downstairs, passing Alicia in the
+hall like a whirlwind, and burst into the drawing-room in a most
+undignified way.</p>
+
+<p>"Jack!" I cried, holding out both hands to him in welcome.</p>
+
+<p>There he was, just the same old Jack, with his splendid big shoulders
+and his lovely brown eyes. And his necktie was crooked, too; as soon
+as I could get my hands free I put them up and straightened it out for
+him. How nice and old-timey that was!</p>
+
+<p>"So you are glad to see me, Kitty?" he said as he squeezed my hands in
+his big strong paws.</p>
+
+<p>"'Deed and 'deed I am, Jack. I thought you had forgotten me
+altogether. And I've been so homesick and so&mdash;so everything," I said
+incoherently. "And, oh, Jack, I've so many questions to ask I don't
+know where to begin. Tell me all the Thrush Hill and Valleyfield news,
+tell me everything that has happened since I left. How many people
+have you killed off? And, oh, why didn't you come to see me before?"</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't think I should be wanted, Kitty," Jack answered quietly.
+"You seemed to be so absorbed in your new life that old friends and
+interests were crowded out."</p>
+
+<p>"So I was at first," I answered penitently. "I was dazzled, you know.
+The glare was too much for my Thrush Hill brown. But it's different
+now. How did you happen to come, Jack?"</p>
+
+<p>"I had to come to Montreal on business, and I thought it would be too
+bad if I went back without coming to see what they had been doing in
+Vanity Fair to my little playmate."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, what do you think they have been doing?" I asked saucily.</p>
+
+<p>I had on a particularly fetching gown and knew I was looking my best.
+Jack, however, looked me over with his head on one side.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I don't know, Kitty," he said slowly. "That is a stunning sort
+of dress you have on&mdash;not so pretty, though, as that old blue muslin
+you used to wear last summer&mdash;and your hair is pretty good. But you
+look rather disdainful and, after all, I believe I prefer Thrush Hill
+Kitty."</p>
+
+<p>How like Jack that was. He never thought me really pretty, and he is
+too honest to pretend he does.</p>
+
+<p>But I didn't care. I just laughed, and we sat down together and had a
+long, delightful, chummy talk.</p>
+
+<p>Jack told me all the Valleyfield gossip, not forgetting to mention
+that Mary Carter was going to be married to a minister in June. Jack
+didn't seem to mind it a bit, so I guess he couldn't have been
+particularly interested in Mary.</p>
+
+<p>In due time Alicia sailed in. I suppose she had found out from Bessie
+who my caller was, and felt rather worried over the length of our
+t&ecirc;te-&agrave;-t&ecirc;te.</p>
+
+<p>She greeted Jack very graciously, but with a certain polite
+condescension of which she is past mistress. I am sure Jack felt it,
+for, as soon as he decently could, he got up to go. Alicia asked him
+to remain to dinner.</p>
+
+<p>"We are having a few friends to dine with us, but it is quite an
+informal affair," she said sweetly.</p>
+
+<p>I felt that Jack glanced at me for the fraction of a second. But I
+remembered that Gus Sinclair was coming too, and I did not look at
+him.</p>
+
+<p>Then he declined quietly. He had a business engagement, he said.</p>
+
+<p>I suppose Alicia had noticed that look at me, for she showed her
+claws.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't forget to call any time you are in Montreal," she said more
+sweetly than ever. "I am sure Katherine will always be glad to see any
+of her old friends, although some of her new ones <i>are</i> proving very
+absorbing&mdash;one, in especial. Don't blush, Katherine, I am sure Mr.
+Willoughby won't tell any tales out of school to your old Valleyfield
+friends."</p>
+
+<p>I was not blushing, and I was furious. It was really too bad of
+Alicia, although I don't see why I need have cared.</p>
+
+<p>Alicia kept her eye on us both until Jack was fairly gone. Then she
+remarked in the patronizing tone which I detest:</p>
+
+<p>"Really, Katherine, Jack Willoughby has developed into quite a
+passable-looking fellow, although he is rather shabby. But I suppose
+he is poor."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," I answered curtly, "he is poor, in everything except youth and
+manhood and goodness and truth! But I suppose those don't count for
+anything."</p>
+
+<p>Whereupon Alicia lifted her eyebrows and looked me over.</p>
+
+<p>Just at dusk a box arrived with Jack's compliments. It was full of
+lovely white carnations, and must have cost the extravagant fellow
+more than he has any business to waste on flowers. I was beast enough
+to put them on when I went down to listen to another man's
+love-making.</p>
+
+<p>This evening I sparkled and scintillated with unusual brilliancy, for
+Jack's visit and my consequent crossing of swords with Alicia had
+produced a certain elation of spirits. When Gus Sinclair was leaving
+he asked if he might see me alone tomorrow afternoon.</p>
+
+<p>I knew what that meant, and a cold shiver went up and down my
+backbone. But I looked down at him&mdash;spick-and-span and glossy&mdash;<i>his</i>
+neckties are never crooked&mdash;and said, yes, he might come at three
+o'clock.</p>
+
+<p>Alicia had noticed our aside&mdash;when did anything ever escape her?&mdash;and
+when he was gone she asked, significantly, what secret he had been
+telling me.</p>
+
+<p>"He wants to see me alone tomorrow afternoon. I suppose you know what
+that means, Alicia?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah," purred Alicia, "I congratulate you, my dear."</p>
+
+<p>"Aren't your congratulations a little premature?" I asked coldly. "I
+haven't accepted him yet."</p>
+
+<p>"But you will?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, certainly. Isn't it what we've schemed and angled for? I'm very
+well satisfied."</p>
+
+<p>And so I am. But I wish it hadn't come so soon after Jack's visit,
+because I feel rather upset yet. Of course I like Gus Sinclair very
+much, and I am sure I shall be very fond of him.</p>
+
+<p>Well, I must go to bed now and get my beauty sleep. I don't want to be
+haggard and hollow-eyed at that important interview tomorrow&mdash;an
+interview that will decide my destiny.</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style="width: 15%;" />
+<br />
+
+<p class="right">Thrush Hill, May 6, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<p>Well, it did decide it, but not exactly in the way I anticipated. I
+can look back on the whole affair quite calmly now, but I wouldn't
+live it over again for all the wealth of Ind.</p>
+
+<p>That day when Gus Sinclair came I was all ready for him. I had put on
+my very prettiest new gown to do honour to the occasion, and Alicia
+smilingly assured me I was looking very well.</p>
+
+<p>"And <i>so</i> cool and composed. Will you be able to keep that up? Don't
+you really feel a little nervous, Katherine?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not in the least," I said. "I suppose I ought to be, according to
+traditions, but I never felt less flustered in my life."</p>
+
+<p>When Bessie brought up Gus Sinclair's card Alicia dropped a pecky
+little kiss on my cheek, and pushed me toward the door. I went down
+calmly, although I'll admit that my heart <i>was</i> beating wildly. Gus
+Sinclair was plainly nervous, but I was composed enough for both. You
+would really have thought that I was in the habit of being proposed to
+by a millionaire every day.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you know what I have come to say," he said, standing before
+me, as I leaned gracefully back in a big chair, having taken care that
+the folds of my dress fell just as they should.</p>
+
+<p>And then he proceeded to say it in a rather jumbled-up fashion, but
+very sincerely.</p>
+
+<p>I remember thinking at the time that he must have composed the speech
+in his head the night before, and rehearsed it several times, but was
+forgetting it in spots.</p>
+
+<p>When he ended with the self-same question that Jack had asked me three
+months before at Thrush Hill he stopped and took my hands.</p>
+
+<p>I looked up at him. His good, homely face was close to mine, and in
+his eyes was an unmistakable look of love and tenderness.</p>
+
+<p>I opened my mouth to say yes.</p>
+
+<p>And then there came over me in one rush the most awful realization of
+the sacrilege I was going to commit.</p>
+
+<p>I forgot everything except that I loved Jack Willoughby, and that I
+could never, never marry anybody in the world except him.</p>
+
+<p>Then I pulled my hands away and burst into hysterical, undignified
+tears.</p>
+
+<p>"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Sinclair. "I did not mean to startle
+you. Have I been too abrupt? Surely you must have known&mdash;you must have
+expected&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes&mdash;yes&mdash;I knew," I cried miserably, "and I intended right up to
+this very minute to marry you. I'm so sorry&mdash;but I can't&mdash;I can't."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't understand," he said in a bewildered tone. "If you expected
+it, then why&mdash;why&mdash;don't you care for me?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, that's just it," I sobbed. "I don't love you at all&mdash;and I do
+love somebody else. But he is poor, and I hate poverty. So I refused
+him, and I meant to marry you just because you are rich."</p>
+
+<p>Such a pained look came over his face. "I did not think this of you,"
+he said in a low tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I know I have acted shamefully," I said. "You can't think any
+worse of me than I do of myself. How you must despise me!"</p>
+
+<p>"No," he said, with a grim smile, "if I did it would be easier for me.
+I might not love you then. Don't distress yourself, Katherine. I do
+not deny that I feel greatly hurt and disappointed, but I am glad you
+have been true to yourself at last. Don't cry, dear."</p>
+
+<p>"You're very good," I answered disconsolately, "but all the same the
+fact remains that I have behaved disgracefully to you, and I know you
+think so. Oh, Mr. Sinclair, please, please, go away. I feel so
+miserably ashamed of myself that I cannot look you in the face."</p>
+
+<p>"I am going, dear," he said gently. "I know all this must be very
+painful to you, but it is not easy for me, either."</p>
+
+<p>"Can you forgive me?" I said wistfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my dear, completely. Do not let yourself be unhappy over this.
+Remember that I will always be your friend. Goodbye."</p>
+
+<p>He held out his hand and gave mine an earnest clasp. Then he went
+away.</p>
+
+<p>I remained in the drawing-room, partly because I wanted to finish out
+my cry, and partly because, miserable coward that I was, I didn't dare
+face Alicia. Finally she came in, her face wreathed with anticipatory
+smiles. But when her eyes fell on my forlorn, crumpled self she fairly
+jumped.</p>
+
+<p>"Katherine, what is the matter?" she asked sharply. "Didn't Mr.
+Sinclair&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, he did," I said desperately. "And I've refused him. There now,
+Alicia!"</p>
+
+<p>Then I waited for the storm to burst. It didn't all at once. The shock
+was too great, and at first quite paralyzed my half-sister.</p>
+
+<p>"Katherine," she gasped, "are you crazy? Have you lost your senses?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I've just come to them. It's true enough, Alicia. You can scold
+all you like. I know I deserve it, and I won't flinch. I did really
+intend to take him, but when it came to the point I couldn't. I didn't
+love him."</p>
+
+<p>Then, indeed, the storm burst. I never saw Alicia so angry before, and
+I never got so roundly abused. But even Alicia has her limits, and at
+last she grew calmer.</p>
+
+<p>"You have behaved disgracefully," she concluded. "I am disgusted with
+you. You have encouraged Gus Sinclair markedly right along, and now
+you throw him over like this. I never dreamed that you were capable of
+such unwomanly behaviour."</p>
+
+<p>"That's a hard word, Alicia," I protested feebly.</p>
+
+<p>She dealt me a withering glance. "It does not begin to be as hard as
+your shameful conduct merits. To think of losing a fortune like that
+for the sake of sentimental folly! I didn't think you were such a
+consummate fool."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you absorbed all the sense of our family," I said drearily.
+"There now, Alicia, do leave me alone. I'm down in the very depths
+already."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean to do now?" said Alicia scornfully. "Go back to
+Valleyfield and marry that starving country doctor of yours, I
+suppose?"</p>
+
+<p>I flared up then; Alicia might abuse me all she liked, but I wasn't
+going to hear a word against Jack.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I will, if he'll have me," I said, and I marched out of the room
+and upstairs, with my head very high.</p>
+
+<p>Of course I decided to leave Montreal as soon as I could. But I
+couldn't get away within a week, and it was a very unpleasant one.
+Alicia treated me with icy indifference, and I knew I should never be
+reinstated in her good graces.</p>
+
+<p>To my surprise, Roger took my part. "Let the girl alone," he told
+Alicia. "If she doesn't love Sinclair, she was right in refusing him.
+I, for one, am glad that she has got enough truth and womanliness in
+her to keep her from selling herself."</p>
+
+<p>Then he came to the library where I was moping, and laid his hand on
+my head.</p>
+
+<p>"Little girl," he said earnestly, "no matter what anyone says to you,
+never marry a man for his money or for any other reason on earth
+except because you love him."</p>
+
+<p>This comforted me greatly, and I did not cry myself to sleep that
+night as usual.</p>
+
+<p>At last I got away. I had telegraphed to Jack: "Am coming home
+Wednesday; meet me at train," and I knew he would be there. How I
+longed to see him again&mdash;dear, old, badly treated Jack.</p>
+
+<p>I got to Valleyfield just at dusk. It was a rainy evening, and
+everything was slush and fog and gloom. But away up I saw the home
+light at Thrush Hill, and Jack was waiting for me on the platform.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Jack!" I said, clinging to him, regardless of appearances. "Oh,
+I'm so glad to be back."</p>
+
+<p>"That's right, Kitty. I knew you wouldn't forget us. How well you are
+looking!"</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose I ought to be looking wretched," I said penitently. "I've
+been behaving very badly, Jack. Wait till we get away from the crowd
+and I'll tell you all about it."</p>
+
+<p>And I did.</p>
+
+<p>I didn't gloss over anything, but just confessed the whole truth. Jack
+heard me through in silence, and then he kissed me.</p>
+
+<p>"Can you forgive me, Jack, and take me back?" I whispered, cuddling up
+to him.</p>
+
+<p>And he said&mdash;but, on second thought, I will not write down what he
+said.</p>
+
+<p>We are to be married in June.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="A_Substitute_Journalist" id="A_Substitute_Journalist"></a><hr />
+<br />
+
+<h2>A Substitute Journalist<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>Clifford Baxter came into the sitting-room where Patty was darning
+stockings and reading a book at the same time. Patty could do things
+like that. The stockings were well darned too, and Patty understood
+and remembered what she read.</p>
+
+<p>Clifford flung himself into a chair with a sigh of weariness. "Tired?"
+queried Patty sympathetically.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, rather. I've been tramping about the wharves all day gathering
+longshore items. But, Patty, I've got a chance at last. Tonight as I
+was leaving the office Mr. Harmer gave me a real assignment for
+tomorrow&mdash;two of them in fact, but only one of importance. I'm to go
+and interview Mr. Keefe on this new railroad bill that's up before the
+legislature. He's in town, visiting his old college friend, Mr. Reid,
+and he's quite big game. I wouldn't have had the assignment, of
+course, if there'd been anyone else to send, but most of the staff
+will be away all day tomorrow to see about that mine explosion at
+Midbury or the teamsters' strike at Bainsville, and I'm the only one
+available. Harmer gave me a pretty broad hint that it was my chance to
+win my spurs, and that if I worked up a good article out of it I'd
+stand a fair show of being taken on permanently next month when Alsop
+leaves. There'll be a shuffle all round then, you know. Everybody on
+the staff will be pushed up a peg, and that will leave a vacant space
+at the foot."</p>
+
+<p>Patty threw down her darning needle and clapped her hands with
+delight. Clifford gazed at her admiringly, thinking that he had the
+prettiest sister in the world&mdash;she was so bright, so eager, so rosy.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Clifford, how splendid!" she exclaimed. "Just as we'd begun to
+give up hope too. Oh, you must get the position! You must hand in a
+good write-up. Think what it means to us."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I know." Clifford dropped his head on his hand and stared
+rather moodily at the lamp. "But my joy is chastened, Patty. Of course
+I want to get the permanency, since it seems to be the only possible
+thing, but you know my heart isn't really in newspaper work. The plain
+truth is I don't like it, although I do my best. You know Father
+always said I was a born mechanic. If I only could get a position
+somewhere among machinery&mdash;that would be my choice. There's one vacant
+in the Steel and Iron Works at Bancroft&mdash;but of course I've no chance
+of getting it."</p>
+
+<p>"I know. It's too bad," said Patty, returning to her stockings with a
+sigh. "I wish I were a boy with a foothold on the <i>Chronicle</i>. I
+firmly believe that I'd make a good newspaper woman, if such a thing
+had ever been heard of in Aylmer."</p>
+
+<p>"That you would. You've twice as much knack in that line as I have.
+You seem to know by instinct just what to leave out and put in. I
+never do, and Harmer has to blue-pencil my copy mercilessly. Well,
+I'll do my best with this, as it's very necessary I should get the
+permanency, for I fear our family purse is growing very slim. Mother's
+face has a new wrinkle of worry every day. It hurts me to see it."</p>
+
+<p>"And me," sighed Patty. "I do wish I could find something to do too.
+If only we both could get positions, everything would be all right.
+Mother wouldn't have to worry so. Don't say anything about this chance
+to her until you see what comes of it. She'd only be doubly
+disappointed if nothing did. What is your other assignment?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I've got to go out to Bancroft on the morning train and write up
+old Mr. Moreland's birthday celebration. He is a hundred years old,
+and there's going to be a presentation and speeches and that sort of
+thing. Nothing very exciting about it. I'll have to come back on the
+three o'clock train and hurry out to catch my politician before he
+leaves at five. Take a stroll down to meet my train, Patty. We can go
+out as far as Mr. Reid's house together, and the walk will do you
+good."</p>
+
+<p>The Baxters lived in Aylmer, a lively little town with two
+newspapers, the <i>Chronicle</i> and the <i>Ledger</i>. Between these two was a
+sharp journalistic rivalry in the matter of "beats" and "scoops." In
+the preceding spring Clifford had been taken on the <i>Chronicle</i> on
+trial, as a sort of general handyman. There was no pay attached to the
+position, but he was getting training and there was the possibility of
+a permanency in September if he proved his mettle. Mr. Baxter had died
+two years before, and the failure of the company in which Mrs.
+Baxter's money was invested had left the little family dependent on
+their own resources. Clifford, who had cherished dreams of a course in
+mechanical engineering, knew that he must give them up and go to the
+first work that offered itself, which he did staunchly and
+uncomplainingly. Patty, who hitherto had had no designs on a "career,"
+but had been sunnily content to be a home girl and Mother's right
+hand, also realized that it would be well to look about her for
+something to do. She was not really needed so far as the work of the
+little house went, and the whole burden must not be allowed to fall on
+Clifford's eighteen-year-old shoulders. Patty was his senior by a
+year, and ready to do her part unflinchingly.</p>
+
+<p>The next afternoon Patty went down to meet Clifford's train. When it
+came, no Clifford appeared. Patty stared about her at the hurrying
+throngs in bewilderment. Where was Clifford? Hadn't he come on the
+train? Surely he must have, for there was no other until seven
+o'clock. She must have missed him somehow. Patty waited until
+everybody had left the station, then she walked slowly homeward. As
+the <i>Chronicle</i> office was on her way, she dropped in to see if
+Clifford had reported there.</p>
+
+<p>She found nobody in the editorial offices except the office boy, Larry
+Brown, who promptly informed her that not only had Clifford not
+arrived, but that there was a telegram from him saying that he had
+missed his train. Patty gasped in dismay. It was dreadful!</p>
+
+<p>"Where is Mr. Harmer?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"He went home as soon as the afternoon edition came out. He left
+before the telegram came. He'll be furious when he finds out that
+nobody has gone to interview that foxy old politician," said Larry,
+who knew all about Clifford's assignment and its importance.</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't there anyone else here to go?" queried Patty desperately.</p>
+
+<p>Larry shook his head. "No, there isn't a soul in. We're mighty
+short-handed just now on account of the explosion and the strike."</p>
+
+<p>Patty went downstairs and stood for a moment in the hall, rapt in
+reflection. If she had been at home, she verily believed she would
+have sat down and cried. Oh, it was too bad, too disappointing!
+Clifford would certainly lose all chance of the permanency, even if
+the irate news editor did not discharge him at once. What could she
+do? Could she do anything? She <i>must</i> do something.</p>
+
+<p>"If I only could go in his place," moaned Patty softly to herself.</p>
+
+<p>Then she started. Why not? Why not go and interview the big man
+herself? To be sure, she did not know a great deal about interviewing,
+still less about railroad bills, and nothing at all about politics.
+But if she did her best it might be better than nothing, and might at
+least save Clifford his present hold.</p>
+
+<p>With Patty, to decide was to act. She flew back to the reporters'
+room, pounced on a pencil and tablet, and hurried off, her breath
+coming quickly, and her eyes shining with excitement. It was quite a
+long walk out to Mr. Reid's place and Patty was tired when she got
+there, but her courage was not a whit abated. She mounted the steps
+and rang the bell undauntedly.</p>
+
+<p>"Can I see Mr.&mdash;Mr.&mdash;Mr.&mdash;" Patty paused for a moment in dismay. She
+had forgotten the name. The maid who had come to the door looked her
+over so superciliously that Patty flushed with indignation. "The
+gentleman who is visiting Mr. Reid," she said crisply. "I can't
+remember his name, but I've come to interview him on behalf of the
+<i>Chronicle</i>. Is he in?"</p>
+
+<p>"If you mean Mr. Reefer, he is," said the maid quite respectfully.
+Evidently the <i>Chronicle</i>'s name carried weight in the Reid
+establishment. "Please come into the library. I'll go and tell him."</p>
+
+<p>Patty had just time to seat herself at the table, spread out her paper
+imposingly, and assume a businesslike air when Mr. Reefer came in. He
+was a tall, handsome old man with white hair, jet-black eyes, and a
+mouth that made Patty hope she wouldn't stumble on any questions he
+wouldn't want to answer. Patty knew she would waste her breath if she
+did. A man with a mouth like that would never tell anything he didn't
+want to tell.</p>
+
+<p>"Good afternoon. What can I do for you, madam?" inquired Mr. Reefer
+with the air and tone of a man who means to be courteous, but has no
+time or information to waste.</p>
+
+<p>Patty was almost overcome by the "Madam." For a moment, she quailed.
+She couldn't ask that masculine sphinx questions! Then the thought of
+her mother's pale, careworn face flashed across her mind, and all her
+courage came back with an inspiriting rush. She bent forward to look
+eagerly into Mr. Reefer's carved, granite face, and said with a frank
+smile:</p>
+
+<p>"I have come to interview you on behalf of the <i>Chronicle</i> about the
+railroad bill. It was my brother who had the assignment, but he has
+missed his train and I have come in his place because, you see, it is
+so important to us. So much depends on this assignment. Perhaps Mr.
+Harmer will give Clifford a permanent place on the staff if he turns
+in a good article about you. He is only handyman now. I just couldn't
+let him miss the chance&mdash;he might never have another. And it means so
+much to us and Mother."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you a member of the <i>Chronicle</i> staff yourself?" inquired Mr.
+Reefer with a shade more geniality in his tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no! I've nothing to do with it, so you won't mind my being
+inexperienced, will you? I don't know just what I should ask you, so
+won't you please just tell me everything about the bill, and Mr.
+Harmer can cut out what doesn't matter?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Reefer looked at Patty for a few moments with a face about as
+expressive as a graven image. Perhaps he was thinking about the bill,
+and perhaps he was thinking what a bright, vivid, plucky little girl
+this was with her waiting pencil and her air that strove to be
+businesslike, and only succeeded in being eager and hopeful and
+anxious.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not used to being interviewed myself," he said slowly, "so I
+don't know very much about it. We're both green hands together, I
+imagine. But I'd like to help you out, so I don't mind telling you
+what I think about this bill, and its bearing on certain important
+interests."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Reefer proceeded to tell her, and Patty's pencil flew as she
+scribbled down his terse, pithy sentences. She found herself asking
+questions too, and enjoying it. For the first time, Patty thought she
+might rather like politics if she understood them&mdash;and they did not
+seem so hard to understand when a man like Mr. Reefer explained them.
+For half an hour he talked to her, and at the end of that time Patty
+was in full possession of his opinion on the famous railroad bill in
+all its aspects.</p>
+
+<p>"There now, I'm talked out," said Mr. Reefer. "You can tell your news
+editor that you know as much about the railroad bill as Andrew Reefer
+knows. I hope you'll succeed in pleasing him, and that your brother
+will get the position he wants. But he shouldn't have missed that
+train. You tell him that. Boys with important things to do mustn't
+miss trains. Perhaps it's just as well he did in this case though,
+but tell him not to let it happen again."</p>
+
+<p>Patty went straight home, wrote up her interview in ship-shape form,
+and took it down to the <i>Chronicle</i> office. There she found Mr.
+Harmer, scowling blackly. The little news editor looked to be in a
+rather bad temper, but he nodded not unkindly to Patty. Mr. Harmer
+knew the Baxters well and liked them, although he would have
+sacrificed them all without a qualm for a "scoop."</p>
+
+<p>"Good evening, Patty. Take a chair. That brother of yours hasn't
+turned up yet. The next time I give him an assignment, he'll manage to
+be on hand in time to do it."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," cried Patty breathlessly, "please, Mr. Harmer, I have the
+interview here. I thought perhaps I could do it in Clifford's place,
+and I went out to Mr. Reid's and saw Mr. Reefer. He was very kind
+and&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. who?" fairly shouted Mr. Harmer.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Reefer&mdash;Mr. Andrew Reefer. He told me to tell you that this
+article contained all he knew or thought about the railroad bill
+and&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>But Mr. Harmer was no longer listening. He had snatched the neatly
+written sheets of Patty's report and was skimming over them with a
+practised eye. Then Patty thought he must have gone crazy. He danced
+around the office, waving the sheets in the air, and then he dashed
+frantically up the stairs to the composing room.</p>
+
+<p>Ten minutes later, he returned and shook the mystified Patty by the
+hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Patty, it's the biggest beat we've ever had! We've scooped not only
+the <i>Ledger</i>, but every other newspaper in the country. How did you do
+it? How did you ever beguile or bewitch Andrew Reefer into giving you
+an interview?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why," said Patty in utter bewilderment, "I just went out to Mr.
+Reid's and asked for the gentleman who was visiting there&mdash;I'd
+forgotten his name&mdash;and Mr. Reefer came down and I told him my
+brother had been detailed to interview him on behalf of the
+<i>Chronicle</i> about the bill, and that Clifford had missed his train,
+and wouldn't he let me interview him in his place and excuse my
+inexperience&mdash;and he did."</p>
+
+<p>"It wasn't Andrew Reefer I told Clifford to interview," laughed Mr.
+Harmer. "It was John C. Keefe. I didn't know Reefer was in town, but
+even if I had I wouldn't have thought it a particle of use to send a
+man to him. He has never consented to be interviewed before on any
+known subject, and he's been especially close-mouthed about this bill,
+although men from all the big papers in the country have been after
+him. He is notorious on that score. Why, Patty, it's the biggest
+journalistic fish that has ever been landed in this office. Andrew
+Reefer's opinion on the bill will have a tremendous influence. We'll
+run the interview as a leader in a special edition that is under way
+already. Of course, he must have been ready to give the information to
+the public or nothing would have induced him to open his mouth. But to
+think that we should be the first to get it! Patty, you're a brick!"</p>
+
+<p>Clifford came home on the seven o'clock train, and Patty was there to
+meet him, brimful of her story. But Clifford also had a story to tell
+and got his word in first.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Patty, don't scold until you hear why I missed the train. I met
+Mr. Peabody of the Steel and Iron Company at Mr. Moreland's and got
+into conversation with him. When he found out who I was, he was
+greatly interested and said Father had been one of his best friends
+when they were at college together. I told him about wanting to get
+the position in the company, and he had me go right out to the works
+and see about it. And, Patty, I have the place. Goodbye to the grind
+of newspaper items and fillers. I tried to get back to the station at
+Bancroft in time to catch the train but I couldn't, and it was just as
+well, for Mr. Keefe was suddenly summoned home this afternoon, and
+when the three-thirty train from town stopped at Bancroft he was on
+it. I found that out and I got on, going to the next station with him
+and getting my interview after all. It's here in my notebook, and I
+must hurry up to the office and hand it in. I suppose Mr. Harmer will
+be very much vexed until he finds that I have it."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no. Mr. Harmer is in a very good humour," said Patty with dancing
+eyes. Then she told her story.</p>
+
+<p>The interview with Mr. Reefer came out with glaring headlines, and the
+<i>Chronicle</i> had its hour of fame and glory. The next day Mr. Harmer
+sent word to Patty that he wanted to see her.</p>
+
+<p>"So Clifford is leaving," he said abruptly when she entered the
+office. "Well, do you want his place?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Harmer, are you joking?" demanded Patty in amazement.</p>
+
+<p>"Not I. That stuff you handed in was splendidly written&mdash;I didn't have
+to use the pencil more than once or twice. You have the proper
+journalist instinct all right. We need a lady on the staff anyhow, and
+if you'll take the place it's yours for saying so, and the permanency
+next month."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll take it," said Patty promptly and joyfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Good. Go down to the Symphony Club rehearsal this afternoon and
+report it. You've just ten minutes to get there," and Patty joyfully
+and promptly departed.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="Annas_Love_Letters" id="Annas_Love_Letters"></a><hr />
+<br />
+
+<h2>Anna's Love Letters<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>"Are you going to answer Gilbert's letter tonight, Anna?" asked Alma
+Williams, standing in the pantry doorway, tall, fair, and grey-eyed,
+with the sunset light coming down over the dark firs, through the
+window behind her, and making a primrose nimbus around her shapely
+head.</p>
+
+<p>Anna, dark, vivid, and slender, was perched on the edge of the table,
+idly swinging her slippered foot at the cat's head. She smiled
+wickedly at Alma before replying.</p>
+
+<p>"I am not going to answer it tonight or any other night," she said,
+twisting her full, red lips in a way that Alma had learned to dread.
+Mischief was ripening in Anna's brain when that twist was out.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean?" asked Alma anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>"Just what I say, dear," responded Anna, with deceptive meekness.
+"Poor Gilbert is gone, and I don't intend to bother my head about him
+any longer. He was amusing while he lasted, but of what use is a beau
+two thousand miles away, Alma?"</p>
+
+<p>Alma was patient&mdash;outwardly. It was never of any avail to show
+impatience with Anna.</p>
+
+<p>"Anna, you are talking foolishly. Of course you are going to answer
+his letter. You are as good as engaged to him. Wasn't that practically
+understood when he left?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, dear," and Anna shook her sleek black head with the air of
+explaining matters to an obtuse child. "<i>I</i> was the only one who
+understood. Gil <i>mis</i>understood. He thought that I would really wait
+for him until he should have made enough money to come home and pay
+off the mortgage. I let him think so, because I hated to hurt his
+little feelings. But now it's off with the old love and on with a new
+one for me."</p>
+
+<p>"Anna, you cannot be in earnest!" exclaimed Alma.</p>
+
+<p>But she was afraid that Anna was in earnest. Anna had a wretched
+habit of being in earnest when she said flippant things.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't mean that you are not going to write to Gilbert at
+all&mdash;after all you promised?"</p>
+
+<p>Anna placed her elbows daintily on the top of the rocking chair,
+dropped her pointed chin in her hands, and looked at Alma with black
+demure eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;do&mdash;mean&mdash;just&mdash;that," she said slowly. "I never mean to marry
+Gilbert Murray. This is final, Alma, and you need not scold or coax,
+because it would be a waste of breath. Gilbert is safely out of the
+way, and now I am going to have a good time with a few other
+delightful men creatures in Exeter."</p>
+
+<p>Anna nodded decisively, flashed a smile at Alma, picked up her cat,
+and went out. At the door she turned and looked back, with the big
+black cat snuggled under her chin.</p>
+
+<p>"If you think Gilbert will feel very badly over his letter not being
+answered, you might answer it yourself, Alma," she said teasingly.
+"There it is"&mdash;she took the letter from the pocket of her ruffled
+apron and threw it on a chair. "You may read it if you want to; it
+isn't really a love letter. I told Gilbert he wasn't to write silly
+letters. Come, pussy, I'm going to get ready for prayer meeting. We've
+got a nice, new, young, good-looking minister in Exeter, pussy, and
+that makes prayer meeting <i>very</i> interesting."</p>
+
+<p>Anna shut the door, her departing laugh rippling mockingly through the
+dusk. Alma picked up Gilbert Murray's letter and went to her room. She
+wanted to cry, since she could not shake Anna. Even if she could have
+shook her, it would only have made her more perverse. Anna was in
+earnest; Alma knew that, even while she hoped and believed that it was
+but the earnestness of a freak that would pass in time. Anna had had
+one like it a year ago, when she had cast Gilbert off for three
+months, driving him distracted by flirting with Charlie Moore. Then
+she had suddenly repented and taken him back. Alma thought that this
+whim would run its course likewise and leave a repentant Anna. But
+meanwhile everything might be spoiled. Gilbert might not prove
+forgiving a second time.</p>
+
+<p>Alma would have given much if she could only have induced Anna to
+answer Gilbert's letter, but coaxing Anna to do anything was a very
+sure and effective way of preventing her from doing it.</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style="width: 15%;" />
+<br />
+
+<p>Alma and Anna had lived alone at the old Williams homestead ever since
+their mother's death four years before. Exeter matrons thought this
+hardly proper, since Alma, in spite of her grave ways, was only
+twenty-four. The farm was rented, so that Alma's only responsibilities
+were the post office which she kept, and that harum-scarum beauty of
+an Anna.</p>
+
+<p>The Murray homestead adjoined theirs. Gilbert Murray had grown up with
+Alma; they had been friends ever since she could remember. Alma loved
+Gilbert with a love which she herself believed to be purely sisterly,
+and which nobody else doubted could be, since she had been at pains to
+make a match&mdash;Exeter matrons' phrasing&mdash;between Gil and Anna, and was
+manifestly delighted when Gilbert obligingly fell in love with the
+latter.</p>
+
+<p>There was a small mortgage on the Murray place which Mr. Murray senior
+had not been able to pay off. Gilbert determined to get rid of it, and
+his thoughts turned to the west. His father was an active, hale old
+man, quite capable of managing the farm in Gilbert's absence.
+Alexander MacNair had gone to the west two years previously and got
+work on a new railroad. He wrote to Gilbert to come too, promising him
+plenty of work and good pay. Gilbert went, but before going he had
+asked Anna to marry him.</p>
+
+<p>It was the first proposal Anna had ever had, and she managed it quite
+cleverly, from her standpoint. She told Gilbert that he must wait
+until he came home again before settling that, meanwhile, they would
+be <i>very</i> good friends&mdash;emphasized with a blush&mdash;and that he might
+write to her. She kissed him goodbye, and Gilbert, honest fellow, was
+quite satisfied. When an Exeter girl had allowed so much to be
+inferred, it was understood to be equivalent to an engagement. Gilbert
+had never discerned that Anna was not like the other Exeter girls, but
+was a law unto herself.</p>
+
+<p>Alma sat down by her window and looked out over the lane where the
+slim wild cherry trees were bronzing under the autumn frosts. Her lips
+were very firmly set. Something must be done. But what?</p>
+
+<p>Alma's heart was set on this marriage for two reasons. Firstly, if
+Anna married Gilbert she would be near her all her life. She could not
+bear the thought that some day Anna might leave her and go far away to
+live. In the second and largest place, she desired the marriage
+because Gilbert did. She had always been desirous, even in the old,
+childish play-days, that Gilbert should get just exactly what he
+wanted. She had always taken a keen, strange delight in furthering his
+wishes.</p>
+
+<p>Anna's falseness would surely break his heart, and Alma winced at the
+thought of his pain.</p>
+
+<p>There was one thing she could do. Anna's tormenting suggestion had
+fallen on fertile soil. Alma balanced pros and cons, admitting the
+risk. But she would have taken a tenfold larger risk in the hope of
+holding secure Anna's place in Gilbert's affections until Anna herself
+should come to her senses.</p>
+
+<p>When it grew quite dark and Anna had gone lilting down the lane on her
+way to prayer meeting, Alma lighted her lamp, read Gilbert's
+letter&mdash;and answered it. Her handwriting was much like Anna's. She
+signed the letter "A. Williams," and there was nothing in it that
+might not have been written by her to Gilbert; but she knew that
+Gilbert would believe Anna had written it, and she intended him so to
+believe. Alma never did a thing halfway when she did it at all. At
+first she wrote rather constrainedly but, reflecting that in any case
+Anna would have written a merely friendly letter, she allowed her
+thoughts to run freely, and the resulting epistle was an excellent one
+of its kind. Alma had the gift of expression and more brains than
+Exeter people had ever imagined she possessed. When Gilbert read that
+letter a fortnight later he was surprised to find that Anna was so
+clever. He had always, with a secret regret, thought her much inferior
+to Alma in this respect, but that delightful letter, witty, wise,
+fanciful, was the letter of a clever woman.</p>
+
+<p>When a year had passed Alma was still writing to Gilbert the letters
+signed "A. Williams." She had ceased to fear being found out, and she
+took a strange pleasure in the correspondence for its own sake. At
+first she had been quakingly afraid of discovery. When she smuggled
+the letters addressed in Gilbert's handwriting to Miss Anna Williams
+out of the letter packet and hid them from Anna's eyes, she felt as
+guilty as if she were breaking all the laws of the land at once. To be
+sure, she knew that she would have to confess to Anna some day, when
+the latter repented and began to wish she had written to Gilbert, but
+that was a very different thing from premature disclosure.</p>
+
+<p>But Anna had as yet given no sign of such repentance, although Alma
+looked for it anxiously. Anna was having the time of her life. She was
+the acknowledged beauty of five settlements, and she went forward on
+her career of conquest quite undisturbed by the jealousies and
+heart-burnings she provoked on every side.</p>
+
+<p>One moonlight night she went for a sleigh-drive with Charlie Moore of
+East Exeter&mdash;and returned to tell Alma that they were married!</p>
+
+<p>"I knew you would make a fuss, Alma, because you don't like Charlie,
+so we just took matters into our own hands. It was so much more
+romantic, too. I'd always said I'd never be married in any of your
+dull, commonplace ways. You might as well forgive me and be nice right
+off, Alma, because you'd have to do it anyway, in time. Well, you do
+look surprised!"</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style="width: 15%;" />
+<br />
+
+<p>Alma accepted the situation with an apathy that amazed Anna. The truth
+was that Alma was stunned by a thought that had come to her even while
+Anna was speaking.</p>
+
+<p>"Gilbert will find out about the letters now, and despise me."</p>
+
+<p>Nothing else, not even the fact that Anna had married shiftless
+Charlie Moore, seemed worth while considering beside this. The fear
+and shame of it haunted her like a nightmare; she shrank every morning
+from the thought of all the mail that was coming that day, fearing
+that there would be an angry, puzzled letter from Gilbert. He must
+certainly soon hear of Anna's marriage; he would see it in the home
+paper, other correspondents in Exeter would write him of it. Alma grew
+sick at heart thinking of the complications in front of her.</p>
+
+<p>When Gilbert's letter came she left it for a whole day before she
+could summon courage to open it. But it was a harmless epistle after
+all; he had not yet heard of Anna's marriage. Alma had at first no
+thought of answering it, yet her fingers ached to do so. Now that Anna
+was gone, her loneliness was unbearable. She realized how much
+Gilbert's letters had meant to her, even when written to another
+woman. She could bear her life well enough, she thought, if she only
+had his letters to look forward to.</p>
+
+<p>No more letters came from Gilbert for six weeks. Then came one,
+alarmed at Anna's silence, anxiously asking the reason for it; Gilbert
+had heard no word of the marriage. He was working in a remote district
+where newspapers seldom penetrated. He had no other correspondent in
+Exeter now; except his mother, and she, not knowing that he supposed
+himself engaged to Anna had forgotten to mention it.</p>
+
+<p>Alma answered that letter. She told herself recklessly that she would
+keep on writing to him until he found out. She would lose his
+friendship anyhow, when that occurred, but meanwhile she would have
+the letters a little longer. She could not learn to live without them
+until she had to.</p>
+
+<p>The correspondence slipped back into its old groove. The harassed look
+which Alma's face had worn, and which Exeter people had attributed to
+worry over Anna, disappeared. She did not even feel lonely, and
+reproached herself for lack of proper feeling in missing Anna so
+little. Besides, to her horror and dismay, she detected in herself a
+strange undercurrent of relief at the thought that Gilbert could never
+marry Anna now! She could not understand it. Had not that marriage
+been her dearest wish for years? Why then should she feel this strange
+gladness at the impossibility of its fulfilment? Altogether, Alma
+feared that her condition of mind and morals must be sadly askew.
+Perhaps, she thought mournfully, this perversion of proper feeling was
+her punishment for the deception she had practised. She had
+deliberately done evil that good might come, and now the very
+imaginations of her heart were stained by that evil. Alma cried
+herself to sleep many a night in her repentance, but she kept on
+writing to Gilbert, for all that.</p>
+
+<p>The winter passed, and the spring and summer waned, and Alma's outward
+life flowed as smoothly as the currents of the seasons, broken only by
+vivid eruptions from Anna, who came over often from East Exeter,
+glorying in her young matronhood, "to cheer Alma up." Alma, so said
+Exeter people, was becoming unsociable and old maidish. She lost her
+liking for company, and seldom went anywhere among her neighbours. Her
+once frequent visits across the yard to chat with old Mrs. Murray
+became few and far between. She could not bear to hear the old lady
+talking about Gilbert, and she was afraid that some day she would be
+told that he was coming home. Gilbert's home-coming was the nightmare
+dread that darkened poor Alma's whole horizon.</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style="width: 15%;" />
+<br />
+
+<p>One October day, two years after Gilbert's departure, Alma, standing
+at her window in the reflected glow of a red maple outside, looked
+down the lane and saw him striding up it! She had had no warning of
+his coming. His last letter, dated three weeks back, had not hinted at
+it. Yet there he was&mdash;and with him Alma's Nemesis.</p>
+
+<p>She was very calm. Now that the worst had come, she felt quite strong
+to meet it. She would tell Gilbert the truth, and he would go away in
+anger and never forgive her, but she deserved it. As she went
+downstairs, the only thing that really worried her was the thought of
+the pain Gilbert would suffer when she told him of Anna's
+faithlessness. She had seen his face as he passed under her window,
+and it was the face of a blithe man who had not heard any evil
+tidings. It was left to her to tell him; surely, she thought
+apathetically, that was punishment enough for what she had done.</p>
+
+<p>With her hand on the doorknob, she paused to wonder what she should
+say when he asked her why she had not told him of Anna's marriage when
+it occurred&mdash;why she had still continued the deception when it had no
+longer an end to serve. Well, she would tell him the truth&mdash;that it
+was because she could not bear the thought of giving up writing to
+him. It was a humiliating thing to confess, but that did not
+matter&mdash;nothing mattered now. She opened the door.</p>
+
+<p>Gilbert was standing on the big round door-stone under the red
+maple&mdash;a tall, handsome young fellow with a bronzed face and laughing
+eyes. His exile had improved him. Alma found time and ability to
+reflect that she had never known Gilbert was so fine-looking.</p>
+
+<p>He put his arm around her and kissed her cheek in his frank delight at
+seeing her again. Alma coldly asked him in. Her face was still as pale
+as when she came downstairs, but a curious little spot of fiery red
+blossomed out where Gilbert's lips had touched it.</p>
+
+<p>Gilbert followed her into the sitting-room and looked about eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>"When did you come home?" she said slowly. "I did not know you were
+expected."</p>
+
+<p>"Got homesick, and just came! I wanted to surprise you all," he
+answered, laughing. "I arrived only a few minutes ago. Just took time
+to hug my mother, and here I am. Where's Anna?"</p>
+
+<p>The pent-up retribution of two years descended on Alma's head in the
+last question of Gilbert's. But she did not flinch. She stood straight
+before him, tall and fair and pale, with the red maple light streaming
+in through the open door behind her, staining her light house-dress
+and mellowing the golden sheen of her hair. Gilbert reflected that
+Alma Williams was really a very handsome girl. These two years had
+improved her. What splendid big grey eyes she had! He had always
+wished that Anna's eyes had not been quite so black.</p>
+
+<p>"Anna is not here," said Alma. "She is married."</p>
+
+<p>"Married!"</p>
+
+<p>Gilbert sat down suddenly on a chair and looked at Alma in
+bewilderment.</p>
+
+<p>"She has been married for a year," said Alma steadily. "She married
+Charlie Moore of East Exeter, and has been living there ever since."</p>
+
+<p>"Then," said Gilbert, laying hold of the one solid fact that loomed
+out of the mist of his confused understanding, "why did she keep on
+writing letters to me after she was married?"</p>
+
+<p>"She never wrote to you at all. It was I that wrote the letters."</p>
+
+<p>Gilbert looked at Alma doubtfully. Was she crazy? There was something
+odd about her, now that he noticed, as she stood rigidly there, with
+that queer red spot on her face, a strange fire in her eyes, and that
+weird reflection from the maple enveloping her like an immaterial
+flame.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't understand," he said helplessly.</p>
+
+<p>Still standing there, Alma told the whole story, giving full
+explanations, but no excuses. She told it clearly and simply, for she
+had often pictured this scene to herself and thought out what she must
+say. Her memory worked automatically, and her tongue obeyed it
+promptly. To herself she seemed like a machine, talking mechanically,
+while her soul stood on one side and listened.</p>
+
+<p>When she had finished there was a silence lasting perhaps ten seconds.
+To Alma it seemed like hours. Would Gilbert overwhelm her with angry
+reproaches, or would he simply rise up and leave her in unutterable
+contempt? It was the most tragic moment of her life, and her whole
+personality was strung up to meet it and withstand it.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, they were good letters, anyhow," said Gilbert finally;
+"interesting letters," he added, as if by way of a meditative
+afterthought.</p>
+
+<p>It was so anti-climactic that Alma broke into an hysterical giggle,
+cut short by a sob. She dropped into a chair by the table and flung
+her hands over her face, laughing and sobbing softly to herself.
+Gilbert rose and walked to the door, where he stood with his back to
+her until she regained her self-control. Then he turned and looked
+down at her quizzically.</p>
+
+<p>Alma's hands lay limply in her lap, and her eyes were cast down, with
+tears glistening on the long fair lashes. She felt his gaze on her.</p>
+
+<p>"Can you ever forgive me, Gilbert?" she said humbly.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know that there is much to forgive," he answered. "I have
+some explanations to make too and, since we're at it, we might as well
+get them all over and have done with them. Two years ago I did
+honestly think I was in love with Anna&mdash;at least when I was round
+where she was. She had a taking way with her. But, somehow, even then,
+when I wasn't with her she seemed to kind of grow dim and not count
+for so awful much after all. I used to wish she was more like
+you&mdash;quieter, you know, and not so sparkling. When I parted from her
+that last night before I went west, I did feel very bad, and she
+seemed very dear to me, but it was six weeks from that before
+her&mdash;your&mdash;letter came, and in that time she seemed to have faded out
+of my thoughts. Honestly, I wasn't thinking much about her at all.
+Then came the letter&mdash;and it was a splendid one, too. I had never
+thought that Anna could write a letter like that, and I was as pleased
+as Punch about it. The letters kept coming, and I kept on looking for
+them more and more all the time. I fell in love all over again&mdash;with
+the writer of those letters. I thought it was Anna, but since you
+wrote the letters, it must have been with you, Alma. I thought it was
+because she was growing more womanly that she could write such
+letters. That was why I came home. I wanted to get acquainted all over
+again, before she grew beyond me altogether&mdash;I wanted to find the real
+Anna the letters showed me. I&mdash;I&mdash;didn't expect this. But I don't care
+if Anna is married, so long as the girl who wrote those letters isn't.
+It's you I love, Alma."</p>
+
+<p>He bent down and put his arm about her, laying his cheek against hers.
+The little red spot where his kiss had fallen was now quite drowned
+out in the colour that rushed over her face.</p>
+
+<p>"If you'll marry me, Alma, I'll forgive you," he said.</p>
+
+<p>A little smile escaped from the duress of Alma's lips and twitched her
+dimples.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm willing to do anything that will win your forgiveness, Gilbert,"
+she said meekly.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="Aunt_Carolines_Silk_Dress" id="Aunt_Carolines_Silk_Dress"></a><hr />
+<br />
+
+<h2>Aunt Caroline's Silk Dress<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>Patty came in from her walk to the post office with cheeks finely
+reddened by the crisp air. Carry surveyed her with pleasure. Of late
+Patty's cheeks had been entirely too pale to please Carry, and Patty
+had not had a very good appetite. Once or twice she had even
+complained of a headache. So Carry had sent her to the office for a
+walk that night, although the post office trip was usually Carry's own
+special constitutional, always very welcome to her after a weary day
+of sewing on other people's pretty dresses.</p>
+
+<p>Carry never sewed on pretty dresses for herself, for the simple reason
+that she never had any pretty dresses. Carry was twenty-two&mdash;and
+feeling forty, her last pretty dress had been when she was a girl of
+twelve, before her father had died. To be sure, there was the silk
+organdie Aunt Kathleen had sent her, but that was fit only for
+parties, and Carry never went to any parties.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you get any mail, Patty?" she asked unexpectantly. There was
+never much mail for the Lea girls.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes'm," said Patty briskly. "Here's the <i>Weekly Advocate</i>, and a
+patent medicine almanac with all your dreams expounded, <i>and</i> a letter
+for Miss Carry M. Lea. It's postmarked Enfield, and has a suspiciously
+matrimonial look. I'm sure it's an invitation to Chris Fairley's
+wedding. Hurry up and see, Caddy."</p>
+
+<p>Carry, with a little flush of excitement on her face, opened her
+letter. Sure enough, it contained an invitation "to be present at the
+marriage of Christine Fairley."</p>
+
+<p>"How jolly!" exclaimed Patty. "Of course you'll go, Caddy. You'll have
+a chance to wear that lovely organdie of yours at last."</p>
+
+<p>"It was sweet of Chris to invite me," said Carry. "I really didn't
+expect it."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I did. Wasn't she your most intimate friend when she lived in
+Enderby?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, but it is four years since she left, and some people might
+forget in four years. But I might have known Chris wouldn't. Of course
+I'll go."</p>
+
+<p>"And you'll make up your organdie?"</p>
+
+<p>"I shall have to," laughed Carry, forgetting all her troubles for a
+moment, and feeling young and joyous over the prospect of a festivity.
+"I haven't another thing that would do to wear to a wedding. If I
+hadn't that blessed organdie I couldn't go, that's all."</p>
+
+<p>"But you have it, and it will look lovely made up with a tucked skirt.
+Tucks are so fashionable now. And there's that lace of mine you can
+have for a bertha. I want you to look just right, you see. Enfield is
+a big place, and there will be lots of grandees at the wedding. Let's
+get the last fashion sheet and pick out a design right away. Here's
+one on the very first page that would be nice. You could wear it to
+perfection, Caddy you're so tall and slender. It wouldn't suit a plump
+and podgy person like myself at all."</p>
+
+<p>Carry liked the pattern, and they had an animated discussion over it.
+But, in the end, Carry sighed, and pushed the sheet away from her,
+with all the brightness gone out of face.</p>
+
+<p>"It's no use, Patty. I'd forgotten for a few minutes, but it's all
+come back now. I can't think of weddings and new dresses, when the
+thought of that interest crowds everything else out. It's due next
+month&mdash;fifty dollars&mdash;and I've only ten saved up. I can't make forty
+dollars in a month, even if I had any amount of sewing, and you know
+hardly anyone wants sewing done just now. I don't know what we shall
+do. Oh, I suppose we can rent a couple of rooms in the village and
+<i>exist</i> in them. But it breaks my heart to think of leaving our old
+home."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps Mr. Kerr will let us have more time," suggested Patty, not
+very hopefully. The sparkle had gone out of her face too. Patty loved
+their little home as much as Carry did.</p>
+
+<p>"You know he won't. He has been only too anxious for an excuse to
+foreclose, this long time. He wants the land the house is on. Oh, if I
+only hadn't been sick so long in the summer&mdash;just when everybody had
+sewing to do. I've tried so hard to catch up, but I couldn't." Carry's
+voice broke in a sob.</p>
+
+<p>Patty leaned over the table and patted her sister's glossy dark hair
+gently.</p>
+
+<p>"You've worked too hard, dearie. You've just gone to skin and bone.
+Oh, I know how hard it is! I can't bear to think of leaving this dear
+old spot either. If we could only induce Mr. Kerr to give us a year's
+grace! I'd be teaching then, and we could easily pay the interest and
+some of the principal too. Perhaps he will if we both go to him and
+coax very hard. Anyway, don't worry over it till after the wedding. I
+want you to go and have a good time. You never have good times,
+Carry."</p>
+
+<p>"Neither do you," said Carry rebelliously. "You never have anything
+that other girls have, Patty&mdash;not even pretty clothes."</p>
+
+<p>"Deed, and I've lots of things to be thankful for," said Patty
+cheerily. "Don't you fret about me. I'm vain enough to think I've got
+some brains anyway, and I'm a-meaning to do something with them too.
+Now I think I'll go upstairs and study this evening. It will be warm
+enough there tonight, and the noise of the machine rather bothers me."</p>
+
+<p>Patty whisked out, and Carry knew she should go to her sewing. But she
+sat a long while at the table in dismal thought. She was so tired, and
+so hopeless. It had been such a hard struggle, and it seemed now as if
+it would all come to naught. For five years, ever since her mother's
+death, Carry had supported herself and Patty by dressmaking. They had
+been a hard five years of pinching and economizing and going without,
+for Enderby was only a small place, and there were two other
+dressmakers. Then there was always the mortgage to devour everything.
+Carry had kept it at bay till now, but at last she was conquered. She
+had had typhoid fever in the spring and had not been able to work for
+a long time. Indeed, she had gone to work before she should. The
+doctor's bill was yet unpaid, but Dr. Hamilton had told her to take
+her time. Carry knew she would not be pressed for that, and next year
+Patty would be able to help her. But next year would be too late. The
+dear little home would be lost then.</p>
+
+<p>When Carry roused herself from her sad reflections, she saw a crumpled
+note lying on the floor. She picked it up and absently smoothed it
+out. Seeing Patty's name at the top she was about to lay it aside
+without reading it, but the lines were few, and the sense of them
+flashed into Carry's brain. The note was an invitation to Clare
+Forbes's party! The Lea girls had known that the Forbes girls were
+going to give a party, but they had not expected that Patty would be
+invited. Of course, Clare Forbes was in Patty's class at school and
+was always very nice and friendly with her. But then the Forbes set
+was not the Lea set.</p>
+
+<p>Carry ran upstairs to Patty's room. "Patty, you dropped this on the
+floor. I couldn't help seeing what it was. Why didn't you tell me
+Clare had invited you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because I knew I couldn't go, and I thought you would feel badly over
+that. Caddy, I wish you hadn't seen it."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Patty, I <i>do</i> wish you could go to the party. It was so sweet of
+Clare to invite you, and perhaps she will be offended if you don't
+go&mdash;she won't understand. Clare Forbes isn't a girl whose friendship
+is to be lightly thrown away when it is offered."</p>
+
+<p>"I know that. But, Caddy dear, it is impossible. I don't think that I
+have any foolish pride about clothes, but you know it is out of the
+question to think of going to Clare Forbes's party in my last winter's
+plaid dress, which is a good two inches too short and skimpy in
+proportion. Putting my own feelings aside, it would be an insult to
+Clare. There, don't think any more about it."</p>
+
+<p>But Carry did think about it. She lay awake half the night wondering
+if there might not be some way for Patty to go to that party. She knew
+it was impossible, unless Patty had a new dress, and how could a new
+dress be had? Yet she did so want Patty to go. Patty never had any
+good times, and she was studying so hard. Then, all at once, Carry
+thought of a way by which Patty might have a new dress. She had been
+tossing restlessly, but now she lay very still, staring with wide-open
+eyes at the moonlit window, with the big willow boughs branching
+darkly across it. Yes, it was a way, but could she? <i>Could</i> she? Yes,
+she could, and she would. Carry buried her face in her pillow with a
+sob and a gulp. But she had decided what must be done, and how it must
+be done.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you going to begin on your organdie today?" asked Patty in the
+morning, before she started for school.</p>
+
+<p>"I must finish Mrs. Pidgeon's suit first," Carry answered. "Next week
+will be time enough to think about my wedding garments."</p>
+
+<p>She tried to laugh and failed. Patty thought with a pang that Carry
+looked horribly pale and tired&mdash;probably she had worried most of the
+night over the interest. "I'm so glad she's going to Chris's wedding,"
+thought Patty, as she hurried down the street. "It will take her out
+of herself and give her something nice to think of for ever so long."</p>
+
+<p>Nothing more was said that week about the organdie, or the wedding, or
+the Forbes's party. Carry sewed fiercely, and sat at her machine for
+hours after Patty had gone to bed. The night before the party she said
+to Patty, "Braid your hair tonight, Patty. You'll want it nice and
+wavy to go to the Forbes's tomorrow night."</p>
+
+<p>Patty thought that Carry was actually trying to perpetrate a weak
+joke, and endeavoured to laugh. But it was a rather dreary laugh.
+Patty, after a hard evening's study, felt tired and discouraged, and
+she was really dreadfully disappointed about the party, although she
+wouldn't have let Carry suspect it for the world.</p>
+
+<p>"You're going, you know," said Carry, as serious as a judge, although
+there was a little twinkle in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"In a faded plaid two inches too short?" Patty smiled as brightly as
+possible.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no. I have a dress all ready for you." Carry opened the wardrobe
+door and took out&mdash;the loveliest girlish dress of creamy organdie,
+with pale pink roses scattered over it, made with the daintiest of
+ruffles and tucks, with a bertha of soft creamy lace, and a girdle of
+white silk. "This is for you," said Carry.</p>
+
+<p>Patty gazed at the dress with horror-stricken eyes. "Caroline Lea,
+<i>that is your organdie!</i> And you've gone and made it up for <i>me</i>!
+Carry Lea, what are you going to wear to the wedding?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing. I'm not going."</p>
+
+<p>"You are&mdash;you must&mdash;you shall. I won't take the organdie."</p>
+
+<p>"You'll have to now, because it's made to fit you. Come, Patty dear,
+I've set my heart on your going to that party. You mustn't disappoint
+me&mdash;you <i>can't</i>, for what good would it do? I can never wear the dress
+now."</p>
+
+<p>Patty realized that. She knew she might as well go to the party, but
+she did not feel much pleasure in the prospect. Nevertheless, when she
+was ready for it the next evening, she couldn't help a little thrill
+of delight. The dress was so pretty, and dainty, and becoming.</p>
+
+<p>"You look sweet," exclaimed Carry admiringly. "There, I hear the
+Browns' carriage. Patty, I want you to promise me this&mdash;that you'll
+not let any thought of me, or my not going to the wedding, spoil your
+enjoyment this evening. I gave you the dress that you might have a
+good time, so don't make my gift of no effect."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll try," promised Patty, flying downstairs, where her next-door
+neighbours were waiting for her.</p>
+
+<p>At two o'clock that night Carry was awakened to see Patty bending over
+her, flushed and radiant. Carry sat sleepily up. "I hope you had a
+good time," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"I had&mdash;oh, I had&mdash;but I didn't waken you out of your hard-earned
+slumbers at this wee sma' hour to tell you that. Carry, I've thought
+of a way for you to go to the wedding. It just came to me at supper.
+Mrs. Forbes was sitting opposite to me, and her dress suggested it.
+You must make over Aunt Caroline's silk dress."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense," said Carry, a little crossly; even sweet-tempered people
+are sometimes cross when they are wakened up for&mdash;as it
+seemed&mdash;nothing.</p>
+
+<p>"It's good plain sense. Of course, you must make it over and&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Patty Lea, you're crazy. I wouldn't dream of wearing that hideous
+thing. Bright green silk, with huge yellow brocade flowers as big as
+cabbages all over it! I think I see myself in it."</p>
+
+<p>"Caddy, listen to me. You know there's enough of that black lace of
+mother's for the waist, and the big black lace shawl of Grandmother
+Lea's will do for the skirt. Make it over&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"A plain slip of the silk," gasped Carry, her quick brain seizing on
+all the possibilities of the plan. "Why didn't I think of it before?
+It will be just the thing, the greens and yellow will be toned down to
+a nice shimmer under the black lace. And I'll make cuffs of black
+velvet with double puffs above&mdash;and just cut out a wee bit at the
+throat with a frill of lace and a band of black velvet ribbon around
+my neck. Patty Lea, it's an inspiration."</p>
+
+<p>Carry was out of bed by daylight the next morning and, while Patty
+still slumbered, she mounted to the garret, and took Aunt Caroline's
+silk dress from the chest where it had lain forgotten for three
+years. Carry held it up at arm's length, and looked at it with
+amusement.</p>
+
+<p>"It is certainly ugly, but with the lace over it it will look very
+different. There's enough of it, anyway, and that skirt is stiff
+enough to stand alone. Poor Aunt Caroline, I'm afraid I wasn't
+particularly grateful for her gift at the time, but I really am now."</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Caroline, who had given the dress to Carry three years before,
+was, an old lady of eighty, the aunt of Carry's father. She had once
+possessed a snug farm but in an evil hour she had been persuaded to
+deed it to her nephew, Edward Curry, whom she had brought up. Poor
+Aunt Caroline had lived to regret this step, for everyone in Enderby
+knew that Edward Curry and his wife had repaid her with ingratitude
+and greed.</p>
+
+<p>Carry, who was named for her, was her favourite grandniece and often
+went to see her, though such visits were coldly received by the
+Currys, who always took especial care never to leave Aunt Caroline
+alone with any of her relatives. On one occasion, when Carry was
+there, Aunt Caroline had brought out this silk dress.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going to give this to you, Carry," she said timidly. "It's a good
+silk, and not so very old. Mr. Greenley gave it to me for a birthday
+present fifteen years ago. Maybe you can make it over for yourself."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Edward, who was on duty at the time, sniffed disagreeably, but
+she said nothing. The dress was of no value in her eyes, for the
+pattern was so ugly and old-fashioned that none of her smart daughters
+would have worn it. Had it been otherwise, Aunt Caroline would
+probably not have been allowed to give it away.</p>
+
+<p>Carry had thanked Aunt Caroline sincerely. If she did not care much
+for the silk, she at least prized the kindly motive behind the gift.
+Perhaps she and Patty laughed a little over it as they packed it away
+in the garret. It was so very ugly, but Carry thought it was sweet of
+Aunt Caroline to have given her something. Poor old Aunt Caroline had
+died soon after, and Carry had not thought about the silk dress again.
+She had too many other things to think of, this poor worried Carry.</p>
+
+<p>After breakfast Carry began to rip the skirt breadths apart. Snip,
+snip, went her scissors, while her thoughts roamed far afield&mdash;now
+looking forward with renewed pleasure to Christine's wedding, now
+dwelling dolefully on the mortgage. Patty, who was washing the dishes,
+knew just what her thoughts were by the light and shadow on her
+expressive face.</p>
+
+<p>"Why!&mdash;what?" exclaimed Carry suddenly. Patty wheeled about to see
+Carry staring at the silk dress like one bewitched. Between the silk
+and the lining which she had just ripped apart was a twenty-dollar
+bill, and beside it a sheet of letter paper covered with writing in a
+cramped angular hand, both secured very carefully to the silk.</p>
+
+<p>"Carry Lea!" gasped Patty.</p>
+
+<p>With trembling fingers Carry snipped away the stitches that held the
+letter, and read it aloud.</p>
+
+<div class="block"><p>"My dear Caroline," it ran, "I do not know when you will find
+this letter and this money, but when you do it belongs to you.
+I have a hundred dollars which I always meant to give you
+because you were named for me. But Edward and his wife do not
+know I have it, and I don't want them to find out. They would
+not let me give it to you if they knew, so I have thought of
+this way of getting it to you. I have sewed five twenty-dollar
+bills under the lining of this skirt, and they are all yours,
+with your Aunt Caroline's best love. You were always a good
+girl, Carry, and you've worked hard, and I've given Edward
+enough. Just take this money and use it as you like.</p>
+
+<p class="right">"Aunt Caroline Greenley."</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>"Carry Lea, are we both dreaming?" gasped Patty.</p>
+
+<p>With crimson cheeks Carry ripped the other breadths apart, and there
+were the other four bills. Then she slipped down in a little heap on
+the sofa cushions and began to cry&mdash;happy tears of relief and
+gladness.</p>
+
+<p>"We can pay the interest," said Patty, dancing around the room, "and
+get yourself a nice new dress for the wedding."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed I won't," said Carry, sitting up and laughing through her
+tears. "I'll make over this dress and wear it out of gratitude to the
+memory of dear Aunt Caroline."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="Aunt_Susannas_Thanksgiving_Dinner" id="Aunt_Susannas_Thanksgiving_Dinner"></a><hr />
+<br />
+
+<h2>Aunt Susanna's Thanksgiving Dinner.<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>"Here's Aunt Susanna, girls," said Laura who was sitting by the north
+window&mdash;nothing but north light does for Laura who is the artist of
+our talented family.</p>
+
+<p>Each of us has a little pet new-fledged talent which we are faithfully
+cultivating in the hope that it will amount to something and soar
+highly some day. But it is difficult to cultivate four talents on our
+tiny income. If Laura wasn't such a good manager we never could do it.</p>
+
+<p>Laura's words were a signal for Kate to hang up her violin and for me
+to push my pen and portfolio out of sight. Laura had hidden her
+brushes and water colors as she spoke. Only Margaret continued to bend
+serenely over her Latin grammar. Aunt Susanna frowns on musical and
+literary and artistic ambitions but she accords a faint approval to
+Margaret's desire for an education. A college course, with a tangible
+diploma at the end, and a sensible pedagogic aspiration is something
+Aunt Susanna can understand when she tries hard. But she cannot
+understand messing with paints, fiddling, or scribbling, and she has
+only unmeasured contempt for messers, fiddlers, and scribblers. Time
+was when we had paid no attention to Aunt Susanna's views on these
+points; but ever since she had, on one incautious day when she was in
+high good humor, dropped a pale, anemic little hint that she might
+send Margaret to college if she were a good girl we had been bending
+all our energies towards securing Aunt Susanna's approval. It was not
+enough that Aunt Susanna should approve of Margaret; she must approve
+of the whole four of us or she would not help Margaret. That is Aunt
+Susanna's way. Of late we had been growing a little discouraged. Aunt
+Susanna had recently read a magazine article which stated that the
+higher education of women was ruining our country and that a woman who
+was a B.A. couldn't, in the very nature of things, ever be a
+housewifely, cookly creature. Consequently, Margaret's chances looked
+a little foggy; but we hadn't quite given up hope. A very little thing
+might sway Aunt Susanna one way or the other, so that we walked very
+softly and tried to mingle serpents' wisdom and doves' harmlessness in
+practical portions.</p>
+
+<p>When Aunt Susanna came in Laura was crocheting, Kate was sewing, and I
+was poring over a recipe book. That was not deception at all, since we
+did all these things frequently&mdash;much more frequently, in fact, than
+we painted or fiddled or wrote. But Aunt Susanna would never believe
+it. Nor did she believe it now.</p>
+
+<p>She threw back her lovely new sealskin cape, looked around the
+sitting-room and then smiled&mdash;a truly Aunt Susannian smile.</p>
+
+<div class="img">
+<img border="0" src="images/illus01.jpg" width="40%" alt="Aunt Susanna's Dinner" />
+</div>
+
+<p>"What a pity you forgot to wipe that smudge of paint off your nose,
+Laura," she said sarcastically. "You don't seem to get on very fast
+with your lace. How long is it since you began it? Over three months,
+isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"This is the third piece of the same pattern I've done in three
+months, Aunt Susanna," said Laura presently. Laura is an old duck. She
+never gets cross and snaps back. I do; and it's so hard not to with
+Aunt Susanna sometimes. But I generally manage it for I'd do anything
+for Margaret. Laura did not tell Aunt Susanna that she sold her lace
+at the Women's Exchange in town and made enough to buy her new hats.
+She makes enough out of her water colors to dress herself.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Susanna took a second breath and started in again.</p>
+
+<p>"I notice your violin hasn't quite as much dust on it as the rest of
+the things in this room, Kate. It's a pity you stopped playing just as
+I came in. I don't enjoy fiddling much but I'd prefer it to seeing
+anyone using a needle who isn't accustomed to it."</p>
+
+<p>Kate is really a most dainty needlewoman and does all the fine sewing
+in our family. She colored and said nothing&mdash;that being the highest
+pitch of virtue to which our Katie, like myself, can attain.</p>
+
+<p>"And there's Margaret ruining her eyes over books," went on Aunt
+Susanna severely. "Will you kindly tell me, Margaret Thorne, what good
+you ever expect Latin to do you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you see, Aunt Susanna," said Margaret gently&mdash;Magsie and Laura
+are birds of a feather&mdash;"I want to be a teacher if I can manage to get
+through, and I shall need Latin for that."</p>
+
+<p>All the girls except me had now got their accustomed rap, but I knew
+better than to hope I should escape.</p>
+
+<p>"So you're reading a recipe book, Agnes? Well, that's better than
+poring over a novel. I'm afraid you haven't been at it very long
+though. People generally don't read recipes upside down&mdash;and besides,
+you didn't quite cover up your portfolio. I see a corner of it
+sticking out. Was genius burning before I came in? It's too bad if I
+quenched the flame."</p>
+
+<p>"A cookery book isn't such a novelty to me as you seem to think, Aunt
+Susanna," I said, as meekly as it was possible for me. "Why I'm a real
+good cook&mdash;'if I do say it as hadn't orter.'"</p>
+
+<p>I am, too.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I'm glad to hear it," said Aunt Susanna skeptically, "because
+that has to do with my errand her to-day. I'm in a peck of troubles.
+Firstly, Miranda Mary's mother has had to go and get sick and Miranda
+Mary must go home to wait on her. Secondly, I've just had a telegram
+from my sister-in-law who has been ordered west for her health, and
+I'll have to leave on to-night's train to see her before she goes. I
+can't get back until the noon train Thursday, and that is
+Thanksgiving, and I've invited Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert to dinner that
+day. They'll come on the same train. I'm dreadfully worried. There
+doesn't seem to be anything I can do except get on of you girls to go
+up to the Pinery Thursday morning and cook the dinner for us. Do you
+think you can manage it?"</p>
+
+<p>We all felt rather dismayed, and nobody volunteered with a rush. But
+as I had just boasted that I could cook it was plainly my duty to step
+into the breach, and I did it with fear and trembling.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll go, Aunt Susanna," I said.</p>
+
+<p>"And I'll help you," said Kate.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I suppose I'll have to try you," said Aunt Susanna with the air
+of a woman determined to make the best of a bad business. "Here is the
+key of the kitchen door. You'll find everything in the pantry, turkey
+and all. The mince pies are all ready made so you'll only have to warm
+them up. I want dinner sharp at twelve for the train is due at 11:50.
+Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert are very particular and I do hope you will have
+things right. Oh, if I could only be home myself! Why will people get
+sick at such inconvenient times?"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't worry, Aunt Susanna," I said comfortingly. "Kate and I will
+have your Thanksgiving dinner ready for you in tiptop style."</p>
+
+<p>"Well I'm sure I hope so. Don't get to mooning over a story, Agnes.
+I'll lock the library up and fortunately there are no fiddles at the
+Pinery. Above all, don't let any of the McGinnises in. They'll be sure
+to be prowling around when I'm not home. Don't give that dog of theirs
+any scraps either. That is Miranda Mary's one fault. She will feed
+that dog in spite of all I can do and I can't walk out of my own back
+door without falling over him."</p>
+
+<p>We promise to eschew the McGinnises and all their works, including
+the dog, and when Aunt Susanna had gone we looked at each other with
+mingled hope and fear.</p>
+
+<p>"Girls, this is the chance of your lives," said Laura. "If you can
+only please Aunt Susanna with this dinner it will convince her that
+you are good cooks in spite of your nefarious bent for music and
+literature. I consider the illness of Miranda Mary's mother a
+Providential interposition&mdash;that is, if she isn't too sick."</p>
+
+<p>"It's all very well for you to be pleased, Lolla," I said dolefully.
+"But I don't feel jubilant over the prospect at all. Something will
+probably go wrong. And then there's our own nice little Thanksgiving
+celebration we've planned, and pinched and economized for weeks to
+provide. That is half spoiled now."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, what is that compared to Margaret's chance of going to college?"
+exclaimed Kate. "Cheer up, Aggie. You know we can cook. I feel that it
+is now or never with Aunt Susanna."</p>
+
+<p>I cheered up accordingly. We are not given to pessimism which is
+fortunate. Ever since father died four years ago we have struggled on
+here, content to give up a good deal just to keep our home and be
+together. This little gray house&mdash;oh, how we do love it and its apple
+trees&mdash;is ours and we have, as aforesaid, a tiny income and our
+ambitions; not very big ambitions but big enough to give zest to our
+lives and hope to the future. We've been very happy as a rule. Aunt
+Susanna has a big house and lots of money but she isn't as happy as
+we are. She nags us a good deal&mdash;just as she used to nag father&mdash;but
+we don't mind it very much after all. Indeed, I sometimes suspect that
+we really like Aunt Susanna tremendously if she'd only leave us alone
+long enough to find it out.</p>
+
+<p>Thursday morning was an ideal Thanksgiving morning&mdash;bright, crisp and
+sparkling. There had been a white frost in the night, and the orchard
+and the white birch wood behind it looked like fairyland. We were all
+up early. None of us had slept well, and both Kate and I had had the
+most fearful dreams of spoiling Aunt Susanna's Thanksgiving dinner.</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind, dreams always go by contraries, you know," said Laura
+cheerfully. "You'd better go up to the Pinery early and get the fires
+on, for the house will be cold. Remember the McGinnises and the dog.
+Weigh the turkey so that you'll know exactly how long to cook it. Put
+the pies in the oven in time to get piping hot&mdash;lukewarm mince pies
+are an abomination. Be sure&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Laura, don't confuse us with any more cautions," I groaned, "or we
+shall get hopelessly fuddled. Come on, Kate, before she has time to."</p>
+
+<div class="img">
+<img border="0" src="images/illus02.jpg" width="45%" alt="Aunt Susanna's Dinner" />
+</div>
+
+<p>It wasn't very far up to the Pinery&mdash;just ten minutes' walk, and such
+a delightful walk on that delightful morning. We went through the
+orchard and then through the white birch wood where the loveliness of
+the frosted boughs awed us. Beyond that there was a lane between ranks
+of young, balsamy, white-misted firs and then an open pasture field,
+sere and crispy. Just across it was the Pinery, a lovely old house
+with dormer windows in the roof, surrounded by pines that were dark
+and glorious against the silvery morning sky.</p>
+
+<p>The McGinnis dog was sitting on the back-door steps when we arrived.
+He wagged his tail ingratiatingly, but we ruthlessly pushed him off,
+went in and shut the door in his face. All the little McGinnises were
+sitting in a row on their fence, and they whooped derisively. The
+McGinnis manners are not those which appertain to the caste of Vere de
+Vere; but we rather like the urchins&mdash;there are eight of them&mdash;and we
+would probably have gone over to talk to them if we had not had the
+fear of Aunt Susanna before our eyes.</p>
+
+<p>We kindled the fires, weighed the turkey, put it in the oven and
+prepared the vegetables. Then we set the dining-room table and
+decorated it with Aunt Susanna's potted ferns and dishes of lovely red
+apples. Everything went so smoothly that we soon forgot to be nervous.
+When the turkey was done, we took it out, set it on the back of the
+range to keep warm and put the mince pies in. The potatoes, cabbage
+and turnips were bubbling away cheerfully, and everything was going as
+merrily as a marriage bell. Then, all at once, things happened.</p>
+
+<p>In an evil hour we went to the yard window and looked out. We saw a
+quiet scene. The McGinnis dog was still sitting on his haunches by the
+steps, just as he had been sitting all the morning. Down in the
+McGinnis yard everything wore an unusually peaceful aspect. Only one
+McGinnis was in sight&mdash;Tony, aged eight, who was perched up on the
+edge of the well box, swinging his legs and singing at the top of his
+melodious Irish voice. All at once, just as we were looking at him,
+Tony went over backward and apparently tumbled head foremost down his
+father's well.</p>
+
+<p>Kate and I screamed simultaneously. We tore across the kitchen, flung
+open the door, plunged down over Aunt Susanna's yard, scrambled over
+the fence and flew to the well. Just as we reached it, Tony's red head
+appeared as he climbed serenely out over the box. I don't know whether
+I felt more relieved or furious. He had merely fallen on the blank
+guard inside the box: and there are times when I am tempted to think
+he fell on purpose because he saw Kate and me looking out at the
+window. At least he didn't seem at all frightened, and grinned most
+impishly at us.</p>
+
+<p>Kate and I turned on our heels and marched back in as dignified a
+manner as was possible under the circumstances. Half way up Aunt
+Susanna's yard we forgot dignity and broke into a run. We had left the
+door open and the McGinnis dog had disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>Never shall I forget the sight we saw or the smell we smelled when we
+burst into that kitchen. There on the floor was the McGinnis dog and
+what was left of Aunt Susanna's Thanksgiving turkey. As for the smell,
+imagine a commingled odor of scorching turnips and burning mince pies,
+and you have it.</p>
+
+<p>The dog fled out with a guilty yelp. I groaned and snatched the
+turnips off. Kate threw open the oven door and dragged out the pies.
+Pies and turnips were ruined as irretrievably as the turkey.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, what shall we do?" I cried miserably. I knew Margaret's chance of
+college was gone forever.</p>
+
+<p>"Do!" Kate was superb. She didn't lose her wits for a second. "We'll
+go home and borrow the girls' dinner. Quick&mdash;there's just ten minutes
+before train time. Throw those pies and turnips into this basket&mdash;the
+turkey too&mdash;we'll carry them with us to hide them."</p>
+
+<p>I might not be able to evolve an idea like that on the spur of the
+moment, but I can at least act up to it when it is presented. Without
+a moment's delay we shut the door and ran. As we went I saw the
+McGinnis dog licking his chops over in their yard. I have been ashamed
+ever since of my feelings toward that dog. They were murderous.
+Fortunately I had no time to indulge them.</p>
+
+<p>It is ten minutes walk from the Pinery to our house, but you can run
+it in five. Kate and I burst into the kitchen just as Laura and
+Margaret were sitting down to dinner. We had neither time nor breath
+for explanations. Without a word I grasped the turkey platter and the
+turnip tureen. Kate caught one hot mince pie from the oven and whisked
+a cold one out of the pantry.</p>
+
+<p>"We've&mdash;got&mdash;to have&mdash;them," was all she said.</p>
+
+<p>I've always said that Laura and Magsie would rise to any occasion.
+They saw us carry their Thanksgiving dinner off under their very eyes
+and they never interfered by word or motion. They didn't even worry us
+with questions. They realized that something desperate had happened
+and that the emergency called for deed not words.</p>
+
+<p>"Aggie," gasped Kate behind me as we tore through the birch wood, "the
+border&mdash;of these pies&mdash;is crimped&mdash;differently&mdash;from Aunt Susanna's."</p>
+
+<p>"She&mdash;won't know&mdash;the difference," I panted. "Miranda&mdash;Mary&mdash;crimps
+them."</p>
+
+<p>We got back to the Pinery just as the train whistle blew. We had ten
+minutes to transfer turkey and turnips to Aunt Susanna's dishes, hide
+our own, air the kitchen, and get back our breath. We accomplished it.
+When Aunt Susanna and her guests came we were prepared for them: we
+were calm&mdash;outwardly&mdash;and the second mince pie was getting hot in the
+oven. It was ready by the time it was needed. Fortunately our turkey
+was the same size as Aunt Susanna's, and Laura had cooked a double
+supply of turnips, intending to warm them up the next day. Still, all
+things considered, Kate and I didn't enjoy that dinner much. We kept
+thinking of poor Laura and Magsie at home, dining off potatoes on
+Thanksgiving!</p>
+
+<p>But at least Aunt Susanna was satisfied. When Kate and I were washing
+the dishes she came out quite beamingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, my dears, I must admit that you made a very good job of the
+dinner, indeed. The turkey was done to perfection. As for the mince
+pies&mdash;well, of course Miranda Mary made them, but she must have had
+extra good luck with them, for they were excellent and heated to just
+the right degree. You didn't give anything to the McGinnis dog, I
+hope?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, we didn't give him anything," said Kate.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Susanna did not notice the emphasis.</p>
+
+<p>When we had finished the dishes we smuggled our platter and tureen out
+of the house and went home. Laura and Margaret were busy painting and
+studying and were just as sweet-tempered as if we hadn't robbed them
+of their dinner. But we had to tell them the whole story before we
+even took off our hats.</p>
+
+<p>"There is a special Providence for children and idiots," said Laura
+gently. We didn't ask her whether she meant us or Tony McGinnis or
+both. There are some things better left in obscurity. I'd have
+probably said something much sharper than that if anybody had made off
+with my Thanksgiving turkey so unceremoniously.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Susanna came down the next day and told Margaret that she would
+send her to college. Also she commissioned Laura to paint her a
+water-color for her dining-room and said she'd pay her five dollars
+for it.</p>
+
+<p>Kate and I were rather left out in the cold in this distribution of
+favors, but when you come to reflect that Laura and Magsie had really
+cooked that dinner, it was only just.</p>
+
+<p>Anyway, Aunt Susanna has never since insinuated that we can't cook,
+and that is as much as we deserve.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="By_Grace_of_Julius_Caesar" id="By_Grace_of_Julius_Caesar"></a><hr />
+<br />
+
+<h2>By Grace of Julius Caesar<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>Melissa sent word on Monday evening that she thought we had better go
+round with the subscription list for cushioning the church pews on
+Tuesday. I sent back word that I thought we had better go on Thursday.
+I had no particular objection to Tuesday, but Melissa is rather fond
+of settling things without consulting anyone else, and I don't believe
+in always letting her have her own way. Melissa is my cousin and we
+have always been good friends, and I am really very fond of her; but
+there's no sense in lying down and letting yourself be walked over. We
+finally compromised on Wednesday.</p>
+
+<p>I always have a feeling of dread when I hear of any new church-project
+for which money will be needed, because I know perfectly well that
+Melissa and I will be sent round to collect for it. People say we seem
+to be able to get more than anybody else; and they appear to think
+that because Melissa is an unencumbered old maid, and I am an
+unencumbered widow, we can spare the time without any inconvenience to
+ourselves. Well, we have been canvassing for building funds, and
+socials, and suppers for years, but it is needed now; at least, I have
+had enough of it, and I should think Melissa has, too.</p>
+
+<p>We started out bright and early on Wednesday morning, for Jersey Cove
+is a big place and we knew we should need the whole day. We had to
+walk because neither of us owned a horse, and anyway it's more
+nuisance getting out to open and shut gates than it is worth while. It
+was a lovely day then, though promising to be hot, and our hearts
+were as light as could be expected, considering the disagreeable
+expedition we were on.</p>
+
+<p>I was waiting at my gate for Melissa when she came, and she looked me
+over with wonder and disapproval. I could see she thought I was a fool
+to dress up in my second best flowered muslin and my very best hat
+with the pale pink roses in it to walk about in the heat and dust; but
+I wasn't. All my experience in canvassing goes to show that the better
+dressed and better looking you are the more money you'll get&mdash;that is,
+when it's the men you have to tackle, as in this case. If it had been
+the women, however, I would have put on the oldest and ugliest things,
+consistent with decency, I had. This was what Melissa had done, as it
+was, and she did look fearfully prim and dowdy, except for her front
+hair, which was as soft and fluffy and elaborate as usual. I never
+could understand how Melissa always got it arranged so beautifully.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing particular happened the first part of the day. Some few
+growled and wouldn't subscribe anything, but on the whole we did
+pretty well. If it had been a missionary subscription we should have
+fared worse; but when it was something touching their own comfort,
+like cushioning the pews, they came down handsomely. We reached Daniel
+Wilson's by noon, and had to have dinner there. We didn't eat much,
+although we were hungry enough&mdash;Mary Wilson's cooking is a by-word in
+Jersey Cove. No wonder Daniel is dyspeptic; but dyspeptic or not, he
+gave us a big subscription for our cushions and told us we looked
+younger than ever. Daniel is always very complimentary, and they say
+Mary is jealous.</p>
+
+<p>When we left the Wilson's Melissa said, with an air of a woman nerving
+herself to a disagreeable duty:</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose we might as well go to Isaac Appleby's now and get it
+over."</p>
+
+<p>I agreed with her. I had been dreading that call all day. It isn't a
+very pleasant thing to go to a man you have recently refused to marry
+and ask him for money; and Melissa and I were both in that
+predicament.</p>
+
+<p>Isaac was a well-to-do old bachelor who had never had any notion of
+getting married until his sister died in the winter. And then, as soon
+as the spring planting was over, he began to look round for a wife. He
+came to me first and I said "No" good and hard. I liked Isaac well
+enough; but I was snug and comfortable, and didn't feel like pulling
+up my roots and moving into another lot; besides, Isaac's courting
+seemed to me a shade too business-like. I can't get along without a
+little romance; it's my nature.</p>
+
+<p>Isaac was disappointed and said so, but intimated that it wasn't
+crushing and that the next best would do very well. The next best was
+Melissa, and he proposed to her after the decent interval of a
+fortnight. Melissa also refused him. I admit I was surprised at this,
+for I knew Melissa was rather anxious to marry; but she has always
+been down on Isaac Appleby, from principle, because of a family feud
+on her mother's side; besides, an old beau of hers, a widower at
+Kingsbridge, was just beginning to take notice again, and I suspected
+Melissa had hopes concerning him. Finally, I imagine Melissa did not
+fancy being second choice.</p>
+
+<p>Whatever her reasons were, she refused poor Isaac, and that finished
+his matrimonial prospects as far as Jersey Cove was concerned, for
+there wasn't another eligible woman in it&mdash;that is, for a man of
+Isaac's age. I was the only widow, and the other old maids besides
+Melissa were all hopelessly old-maiden.</p>
+
+<p>This was all three months ago, and Isaac had been keeping house for
+himself ever since. Nobody knew much about how he got along, for the
+Appleby house is half a mile from anywhere, down near the shore at the
+end of a long lane&mdash;the lonesomest place, as I did not fail to
+remember when I was considering Isaac's offer.</p>
+
+<p>"I heard Jarvis Aldrich say Isaac had got a dog lately," said Melissa,
+when we finally came in sight of the house&mdash;a handsome new one, by the
+way, put up only ten years ago. "Jarvis said it was an imported
+breed. I do hope it isn't cross."</p>
+
+<p>I have a mortal horror of dogs, and I followed Melissa into the big
+farmyard with fear and trembling. We were halfway across the yard when
+Melissa shrieked:</p>
+
+<p>"Anne, there's the dog!"</p>
+
+<p>There was the dog; and the trouble was that he didn't stay there, but
+came right down the slope at a steady, business-like trot. He was a
+bull-dog and big enough to bite a body clean in two, and he was the
+ugliest thing in dogs I had ever seen.</p>
+
+<p>Melissa and I both lost our heads. We screamed, dropped our parasols,
+and ran instinctively to the only refuge that was in sight&mdash;a ladder
+leaning against the old Appleby house. I am forty-five and something
+more than plump, so that climbing ladders is not my favorite form of
+exercise. But I went up that one with the agility and grace of
+sixteen. Melissa followed me, and we found ourselves on the
+roof&mdash;fortunately it was a flat one&mdash;panting and gasping, but safe,
+unless that diabolical dog could climb a ladder.</p>
+
+<p>I crept cautiously to the edge and peered over. The beast was sitting
+on his haunches at the foot of the ladder, and it was quite evident he
+was not short on time. The gleam in his eye seemed to say:</p>
+
+<p>"I've got you two unprincipled subscription hunters beautifully treed
+and it's treed you're going to stay. That is what I call satisfying."</p>
+
+<p>I reported the state of the case to Melissa.</p>
+
+<p>"What shall we do?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Do?" said Melissa, snappishly. "Why, stay here till Isaac Appleby
+comes out and takes that brute away? What else can we do?"</p>
+
+<p>"What if he isn't at home?" I suggested.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll stay here till he comes home. Oh, this is a nice predicament.
+This is what comes of cushioning churches!"</p>
+
+<p>"It might be worse," I said comfortingly. "Suppose the roof hadn't
+been flat?"</p>
+
+<p>"Call Isaac," said Melissa shortly.</p>
+
+<p>I didn't fancy calling Isaac, but call him I did, and when that failed
+to bring him Melissa condescended to call, too; but scream as we
+might, no Isaac appeared, and that dog sat there and smiled
+internally.</p>
+
+<p>"It's no use," said Melissa sulkily at last. "Isaac Appleby is dead or
+away."</p>
+
+<p>Half an hour passed; it seemed as long as a day. The sun just boiled
+down on that roof and we were nearly melted. We were dreadfully
+thirsty, and the heat made our heads ache, and I could see my muslin
+dress fading before my very eyes. As for the roses on my best hat&mdash;but
+that was too harrowing to think about.</p>
+
+<p>Then we saw a welcome sight&mdash;Isaac Appleby coming through the yard
+with a hoe over his shoulder. He had probably been working in his
+field at the back of the house. I never thought I should have been so
+glad to see him.</p>
+
+<p>"Isaac, oh, Isaac!" I called joyfully, leaning over as far as I dared.</p>
+
+<p>Isaac looked up in amazement at me and Melissa craning our necks over
+the edge of the roof. Then he saw the dog and took in the situation.
+The creature actually grinned.</p>
+
+<p>"Won't you call off your dog and let us get down, Isaac?" I said
+pleadingly.</p>
+
+<p>Isaac stood and reflected for a moment or two. Then he came slowly
+forward and, before we realized what he was going to do, he took that
+ladder down and laid it on the ground.</p>
+
+<p>"Isaac Appleby, what do you mean?" demanded Melissa wrathfully.</p>
+
+<p>Isaac folded his arms and looked up. It would be hard to say which
+face was the more determined, his or the dog's. But Isaac had the
+advantage in point of looks, I will say that for him.</p>
+
+<p>"I mean that you two women will stay up on that roof until one of you
+agrees to marry me," said Isaac solemnly.</p>
+
+<p>I gasped.</p>
+
+<p>"Isaac Appleby, you can't be in earnest?" I cried incredulously. "You
+couldn't be so mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am in earnest. I want a wife, and I am going to have one. You two
+will stay up there, and Julius Caesar here will watch you until one of
+you makes up her mind to take me. You can settle it between
+yourselves, and let me know when you have come to a decision."</p>
+
+<p>And with that Isaac walked jauntily into his new house.</p>
+
+<p>"The man can't mean it!" said Melissa. "He is trying to play a joke on
+us."</p>
+
+<p>"He does mean it," I said gloomily. "An Appleby never says anything he
+doesn't mean. He will keep us here until one of us consents to marry
+him."</p>
+
+<p>"It won't be me, then," said Melissa in a calm sort of rage. "I won't
+marry him if I have to sit on this roof for the rest of my life. You
+can take him. It's really you he wants, anyway; he asked you first."</p>
+
+<p>I always knew that rankled with Melissa.</p>
+
+<p>I thought the situation over before I said anything more. We certainly
+couldn't get off that roof, and if we could, there was Julius Caesar.
+The place was out of sight of every other house in Jersey Cove, and
+nobody might come near it for a week. To be sure, when Melissa and I
+didn't turn up the Covites might get out and search for us; but that
+wouldn't be for two or three days anyhow.</p>
+
+<p>Melissa had turned her back on me and was sitting with her elbows
+propped up on her knees, looking gloomily out to sea. I was afraid I
+couldn't coax her into marrying Isaac. As for me, I hadn't any real
+objection to marrying him, after all, for if he was short of romance
+he was good-natured and has a fat bank account; but I hated to be
+driven into it that way.</p>
+
+<p>"You'd better take him, Melissa," I said entreatingly. "I've had one
+husband and that is enough."</p>
+
+<p>"More than enough for me, thank you," said Melissa sarcastically.</p>
+
+<p>"Isaac is a fine man and has a lovely house; and you aren't sure the
+Kingsbridge man really means anything," I went on.</p>
+
+<p>"I would rather," said Melissa, with the same awful calmness, "jump
+down from this roof and break my neck, or be devoured piecemeal by
+that fiend down there than marry Isaac Appleby."</p>
+
+<p>It didn't seem worth while to say anything more after that. We sat
+there in stony silence and the time dragged by. I was hot, hungry,
+thirsty, cross; and besides, I felt that I was in a ridiculous
+position, which was worse than all the rest. We could see Isaac
+sitting in the shade of one of his apple trees in the front orchard
+comfortably reading a newspaper. I think if he hadn't aggravated me by
+doing that I'd have given in sooner. But as it was, I was determined
+to be as stubborn as everybody else. We were four obstinate
+creatures&mdash;Isaac and Melissa and Julius Caesar and I.</p>
+
+<p>At four o'clock Isaac got up and went into the house; in a few minutes
+he came out again with a basket in one hand and a ball of cord in the
+other.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't intend to starve you, of course, ladies," he said politely,
+"I will throw this ball up to you and you can then draw up the
+basket."</p>
+
+<p>I caught the ball, for Melissa never turned her head. I would have
+preferred to be scornful, too, and reject the food altogether; but I
+was so dreadfully thirsty that I put my pride in my pocket and hauled
+the basket up. Besides, I thought it might enable us to hold out until
+some loophole of escape presented itself.</p>
+
+<p>Isaac went back into the house and I unpacked the basket. There was a
+bottle of milk, some bread and butter, and a pie. Melissa wouldn't
+take a morsel of the food, but she was so thirsty she had to take a
+drink of milk.</p>
+
+<p>She tried to lift her veil&mdash;and something caught; Melissa gave it a
+savage twitch, and off came veil and hat&mdash;and all her front hair!</p>
+
+<p>You never saw such a sight. I'd always suspected Melissa wore a false
+front, but I'd never had any proof before.</p>
+
+<p>Melissa pinned on her hair again and put on her hat and drank the
+milk, all without a word; but she was purple. I felt sorry for her.</p>
+
+<p>And I felt sorry for Isaac when I tried to eat that bread. It was sour
+and dreadful. As for the pie, it was hopeless. I tasted it, and then
+threw it down to Julius Caesar. Julius Caesar, not being over
+particular, ate it up. I thought perhaps it would kill him, for
+anything might come of eating such a concoction. That pie was a strong
+argument for Isaac. I thought a man who had to live on such cookery
+did indeed need a wife and might be pardoned for taking desperate
+measures to get one. I was dreadfully tired of broiling on the roof
+anyhow.</p>
+
+<p>But it was the thunderstorm that decided me. When I saw it coming up,
+black and quick, from the northwest, I gave in at once. I had endured
+a good deal and was prepared to endure more; but I had paid ten
+dollars for my hat and I was not going to have it ruined by a
+thunderstorm. I called to Isaac and out he came.</p>
+
+<p>"If you will let us down and promise to dispose of that dog before I
+come here I will marry you, Isaac," I said, "but I'll make you sorry
+for it afterwards, though."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll take the risk of that, Anne," he said; "and, of course, I'll
+sell the dog. I won't need him when I have you."</p>
+
+<p>Isaac meant to be complimentary, though you mightn't have thought so
+if you had seen the face of that dog.</p>
+
+<p>Isaac ordered Julius Caesar away and put up the ladder, and turned his
+back, real considerately, while we climbed down. We had to go in his
+house and stay till the shower was over. I didn't forget the object of
+our call and I produced our subscription list at once.</p>
+
+<p>"How much have you got?" asked Isaac.</p>
+
+<p>"Seventy dollars and we want a hundred and fifty," I said.</p>
+
+<p>"You may put me down for the remaining eighty, then," said Isaac
+calmly.</p>
+
+<p>The Applebys are never mean where money is concerned, I must say.</p>
+
+<p>Isaac offered to drive us home when it cleared up, but I said "No." I
+wanted to settle Melissa before she got a chance to talk.</p>
+
+<p>On the way home I said to her:</p>
+
+<p>"I hope you won't mention this to anyone, Melissa. I don't mind
+marrying Isaac, but I don't want people to know how it came about."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I won't say anything about it," said Melissa, laughing a little
+disagreeably.</p>
+
+<p>"Because," I said, to clinch the matter, looking significantly at her
+front hair as I said it, "I have something to tell, too."</p>
+
+<p>Melissa will hold her tongue.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="By_the_Rule_of_Contrary" id="By_the_Rule_of_Contrary"></a><hr />
+<br />
+
+<h2>By the Rule of Contrary<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>"Look here, Burton," said old John Ellis in an ominous tone of voice,
+"I want to know if what that old busybody of a Mary Keane came here
+today gossiping about is true. If it is&mdash;well, I've something to say
+about the matter! Have you been courting that niece of Susan Oliver's
+all summer on the sly?"</p>
+
+<p>Burton Ellis's handsome, boyish face flushed darkly crimson to the
+roots of his curly black hair. Something in the father's tone roused
+anger and rebellion in the son. He straightened himself up from the
+turnip row he was hoeing, looked his father squarely in the face, and
+said quietly,</p>
+
+<p>"Not on the sly, sir, I never do things that way. But I have been
+going to see Madge Oliver for some time, and we are engaged. We are
+thinking of being married this fall, and we hope you will not object."</p>
+
+<p>Burton's frankness nearly took away his father's breath. Old John
+fairly choked with rage.</p>
+
+<p>"You young fool," he spluttered, bringing down his hoe with such
+energy that he sliced off half a dozen of his finest young turnip
+plants, "have you gone clean crazy? No, sir, I'll never consent to
+your marrying an Oliver, and you needn't have any idea that I will."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I'll marry her without your consent," retorted Burton angrily,
+losing the temper he had been trying to keep.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, will you indeed! Well, if you do, out you go, and not a cent of
+my money or a rod of my land do you ever get."</p>
+
+<p>"What have you got against Madge?" asked Burton, forcing himself to
+speak calmly, for he knew his father too well to doubt for a minute
+that he meant and would do just what he said.</p>
+
+<p>"She's an Oliver," said old John crustily, "and that's enough." And
+considering that he had settled the matter, John Ellis threw down his
+hoe and left the field in a towering rage.</p>
+
+<p>Burton hoed away savagely until his anger had spent itself on the
+weeds. Give up Madge&mdash;dear, sweet little Madge? Not he! Yet if his
+father remained of the same mind, their marriage was out of the
+question at present. And Burton knew quite well that his father would
+remain of the same mind. Old John Ellis had the reputation of being
+the most contrary man in Greenwood.</p>
+
+<p>When Burton had finished his row he left the turnip field and went
+straight across lots to see Madge and tell her his dismal story. An
+hour later Miss Susan Oliver went up the stairs of her little brown
+house to Madge's room and found her niece lying on the bed, her pretty
+curls tumbled, her soft cheeks flushed crimson, crying as if her heart
+would break.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Susan was a tall, grim, angular spinster who looked like the last
+person in the world to whom a love affair might be confided. But never
+were appearances more deceptive than in this case. Behind her
+unprepossessing exterior Miss Susan had a warm, sympathetic heart
+filled to the brim with kindly affection for her pretty niece. She had
+seen Burton Ellis going moodily across the fields homeward and guessed
+that something had gone wrong.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, dearie, what is the matter?" she said, tenderly patting the
+brown head.</p>
+
+<p>Madge sobbed out the whole story disconsolately. Burton's father would
+not let him marry her because she was an Oliver. And, oh, what would
+she do?</p>
+
+<p>"Don't worry, Madge," said Miss Susan comfortingly. "I'll soon settle
+old John Ellis."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, what can you do?" asked Madge forlornly.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Susan squared her shoulders and looked amused.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll see. I know old John Ellis better than he knows himself. He is
+the most contrary man the Lord ever made. I went to school with him. I
+learned how to manage him then, and I haven't forgotten how. I'm going
+straight up to interview him."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you sure that will do any good?" said Madge doubtfully. "If you
+go to him and take Burton's and my part, won't it only make him
+worse?"</p>
+
+<p>"Madge, dear," said Miss Susan, busily twisting her scanty, iron-grey
+hair up into a hard little knob at the back of her head before Madge's
+glass, "you just wait. I'm not young, and I'm not pretty, and I'm not
+in love, but I've more gumption than you and Burton have or ever will
+have. You keep your eyes open and see if you can learn something.
+You'll need it if you go up to live with old John Ellis."</p>
+
+<p>Burton had returned to the turnip field, but old John Ellis was taking
+his ease with a rampant political newspaper on the cool verandah of
+his house. Looking up from a bitter editorial to chuckle over a
+cutting sarcasm contained therein, he saw a tall, angular figure
+coming up the lane with aggressiveness written large in every fold and
+flutter of shawl and skirt.</p>
+
+<p>"Old Susan Oliver, as sure as a gun," said old John with another
+chuckle. "She looks mad clean through. I suppose she's coming here to
+blow me up for refusing to let Burton take that girl of hers. She's
+been angling and scheming for it for years, but she will find who she
+has to deal with. Come on, Miss Susan."</p>
+
+<p>John Ellis laid down his paper and stood up with a sarcastic smile.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Susan reached the steps and skimmed undauntedly up them. She did
+indeed look angry and disturbed. Without any preliminary greeting she
+burst out into a tirade that simply took away her complacent foe's
+breath.</p>
+
+<p>"Look here, John Ellis, I want to know what this means. I've
+discovered that that young upstart of a son of yours, who ought to be
+in short trousers yet, has been courting my niece, Madge Oliver, all
+summer. He has had the impudence to tell me that he wants to marry
+her. I won't have it, I tell you, and you can tell your son so. Marry
+my niece indeed! A pretty pass the world is coming to! I'll never
+consent to it."</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps if you had searched Greenwood and all the adjacent districts
+thoroughly you might have found a man who was more astonished and
+taken aback than old John Ellis was at that moment, but I doubt it.
+The wind was completely taken out of his sails and every bit of the
+Ellis contrariness was roused.</p>
+
+<p>"What have you got to say against my son?" he fairly shouted in his
+rage. "Isn't he good enough for your girl, Susan Oliver, I'd like to
+know?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, he isn't," retorted Miss Susan deliberately and unflinchingly.
+"He's well enough in his place, but you'll please to remember, John
+Ellis, that my niece is an Oliver, and the Olivers don't marry beneath
+them."</p>
+
+<p>Old John was furious. "Beneath them indeed! Why, woman, it is
+condescension in my son to so much as look at your niece&mdash;condescension,
+that is what it is. You are as poor as church mice."</p>
+
+<p>"We come of good family, though," retorted Miss Susan. "You Ellises
+are nobodies. Your grandfather was a hired man! And yet you have the
+presumption to think you're fit to marry into an old, respectable
+family like the Olivers. But talking doesn't signify. I simply won't
+allow this nonsense to go on. I came here today to tell you so plump
+and plain. It's your duty to stop it; if you don't I will, that's
+all."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, will you?" John Ellis was at a white heat of rage and
+stubbornness now. "We'll see, Miss Susan, we'll see. My son shall
+marry whatever girl he pleases, and I'll back him up in it&mdash;do you
+hear that? Come here and tell me my son isn't good enough for your
+niece indeed! I'll show you he can get her anyway."</p>
+
+<p>"You've heard what I've said," was the answer, "and you'd better go by
+it, that's all. I shan't stay to bandy words with you, John Ellis. I'm
+going home to talk to my niece and tell her her duty plain, and what I
+want her to do, and she'll do it, I haven't a fear."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Susan was halfway down the steps, but John Ellis ran to the
+railing of the verandah to get the last word.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll send Burton down this evening to talk to her and tell her what
+<i>he</i> wants her to do, and we'll see whether she'll sooner listen to
+you than to him," he shouted.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Susan deigned no reply. Old John strode out to the turnip field.
+Burton saw him coming and looked for another outburst of wrath, but
+his father's first words almost took away his breath.</p>
+
+<p>"See here, Burt, I take back all I said this afternoon. I want you to
+marry Madge Oliver now, and the sooner, the better. That old cat of a
+Susan had the face to come up and tell me you weren't good enough for
+her niece. I told her a few plain truths. Don't you mind the old
+crosspatch. I'll back you up."</p>
+
+<p>By this time Burton had begun hoeing vigorously, to hide the amused
+twinkle of comprehension in his eyes. He admired Miss Susan's tactics,
+but he did not say so.</p>
+
+<p>"All right, Father," he answered dutifully.</p>
+
+<p>When Miss Susan reached home she told Madge to bathe her eyes and put
+on her new pink muslin, because she guessed Burton would be down that
+evening.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Auntie, how did you manage it?" cried Madge.</p>
+
+<p>"Madge," said Miss Susan solemnly, but with dancing eyes, "do you know
+how to drive a pig? Just try to make it go in the opposite direction
+and it will bolt the way you want it. Remember that, my dear."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="Fair_Exchange_and_No_Robbery" id="Fair_Exchange_and_No_Robbery"></a><hr />
+<br />
+
+<h2>Fair Exchange and No Robbery<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>Katherine Rangely was packing up. Her chum and roommate, Edith Wilmer,
+was sitting on the bed watching her in that calm disinterested fashion
+peculiarly maddening to a bewildered packer.</p>
+
+<p>"It does seem too provoking," said Katherine, as she tugged at an
+obstinate shawl strap, "that Ned should be transferred here now, just
+when I'm going away. The powers that be might have waited until
+vacation was over. Ned won't know a soul here and he'll be horribly
+lonesome."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll do my best to befriend him, with your permission," said Edith
+consolingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I know. You're a special Providence, Ede. Ned will be up tonight
+first thing, of course, and I'll introduce him. Try to keep the poor
+fellow amused until I get back. Two months! Just fancy! And Aunt
+Elizabeth won't abate one jot or tittle of the time I promised to stay
+with her. Harbour Hill is so frightfully dull, too."</p>
+
+<p>Then the talk drifted around to Edith's affairs. She was engaged to a
+certain Sidney Keith, who was a professor in some college.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't expect to see much of Sidney this summer," said Edith. "He's
+writing another book. He is so terribly addicted to literature."</p>
+
+<p>"How lovely," sighed Katherine, who had aspirations in that line
+herself. "If only Ned were like him I should be perfectly happy. But
+Ned is so prosaic. He doesn't care a rap for poetry, and he laughs
+when I enthuse. It makes him quite furious when I talk of taking up
+writing seriously. He says women writers are an abomination on the
+face of the earth. Did you ever hear anything so ridiculous?"</p>
+
+<p>"He is very handsome, though," said Edith, with a glance at his
+photograph on Katherine's dressing table. "And that is what Sid is
+not. He is rather distinguished looking, but as plain as he can
+possibly be."</p>
+
+<p>Edith sighed. She had a weakness for handsome men and thought it
+rather hard that fate should have allotted her so plain a lover.</p>
+
+<p>"He has lovely eyes," said Katherine comfortingly, "and handsome men
+are always vain. Even Ned is. I have to snub him regularly. But I
+think you'll like him."</p>
+
+<p>Edith thought so too when Ned Ellison appeared that night. He was a
+handsome off-handed young fellow, who seemed to admire Katherine
+immensely, and be a little afraid of her into the bargain.</p>
+
+<p>"Edith will try to make Riverton pleasant for you while I am away,"
+she told him in their good-bye chat. "She is a dear girl&mdash;you'll like
+her, I know. It's really too bad I have to go away now, but it can't
+be helped."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall be awfully lonesome," grumbled Ned. "Don't you forget to
+write regularly, Kitty."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I'll write, but for pity's sake, Ned, don't call me Kitty.
+It sounds so childish. Well, bye-bye, dear boy. I'll be back in two
+months and then we'll have a lovely time."</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style="width: 15%;" />
+<br />
+
+<p>When Katherine had been at Harbour Hill for a week she wondered how
+upon earth she was going to put in the remaining seven. Harbour Hill
+was noted for its beauty, but not every woman can live by scenery
+alone.</p>
+
+<p>"Aunt Elizabeth," said Katherine one day, "does anybody ever die in
+Harbour Hill? Because it doesn't seem to me it would be any change for
+them if they did."</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Elizabeth's only reply to this was a shocked look.</p>
+
+<p>To pass the time Katherine took to collecting seaweeds, and this
+involved long tramps along the shore. On one of these occasions she
+met with an adventure. The place was a remote spot far up the shore.
+Katherine had taken off her shoes and stockings, tucked up her skirt,
+rolled her sleeves high above her dimpled elbows, and was deep in the
+absorbing process of fishing up seaweeds off a craggy headland. She
+looked anything but dignified while so employed, but under the
+circumstances dignity did not matter.</p>
+
+<p>Presently she heard a shout from the shore and, turning around in
+dismay, she beheld a man on the rocks behind her. He was evidently
+shouting at her. What on earth could the creature want?</p>
+
+<p>"Come in," he called, gesticulating wildly. "You'll be in the
+bottomless pit in another moment if you don't look out."</p>
+
+<p>"He certainly must be a lunatic," said Katherine to herself, "or else
+he's drunk. What am I to do?"</p>
+
+<p>"Come in, I tell you," insisted the stranger. "What in the world do
+you mean by wading out to such a place? Why, it's madness."</p>
+
+<p>Katherine's indignation got the better of her fear.</p>
+
+<p>"I do not think I am trespassing," she called back as icily as
+possible.</p>
+
+<p>The stranger did not seem to be snubbed at all. He came down to the
+very edge of the rocks where Katherine could see him plainly. He was
+dressed in a somewhat well-worn grey suit and wore spectacles. He did
+not look like a lunatic, and he did not seem to be drunk.</p>
+
+<p>"I implore you to come in," he said earnestly. "You must be standing
+on the very brink of the bottomless pit."</p>
+
+<p>He is certainly off his balance, thought Katherine. He must be some
+revivalist who has gone insane on one point. I suppose I'd better go
+in. He looks quite capable of wading out here after me if I don't.</p>
+
+<p>She picked her steps carefully back with her precious specimens. The
+stranger eyed her severely as she stepped on the rocks.</p>
+
+<p>"I should think you would have more sense than to risk your life in
+that fashion for a handful of seaweeds," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't the faintest idea what you mean," said Miss Rangely. "You
+don't look crazy, but you talk as if you were."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean to say you don't know that what the people hereabouts
+call the Bottomless Pit is situated right off that point&mdash;the most
+dangerous spot along the whole coast?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I didn't," said Katherine, horrified. She remembered now that
+Aunt Elizabeth had warned her to be careful of some bad hole along
+shore, but she had not been paying much attention and had supposed it
+to be in quite another direction. "I am a stranger here."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I hardly thought you'd be foolish enough to be out there if you
+knew," said the other in mollified accents. "The place ought not to be
+left without warning, anyhow. It is the most careless thing I ever
+heard of. There is a big hole right off that point and nobody has ever
+been able to find the bottom of it. A person who got into it would
+never be heard of again. The rocks there form an eddy that sucks
+everything right down."</p>
+
+<p>"I am very grateful to you for calling me in," said Katherine humbly.
+"I had no idea I was in such danger."</p>
+
+<p>"You have a very fine bunch of seaweeds, I see," said the unknown.</p>
+
+<p>But Katherine was in no mood to converse on seaweeds. She suddenly
+realized what she must look like&mdash;bare feet, draggled skirts, dripping
+arms. And this creature whom she had taken for a lunatic was
+undoubtedly a gentleman. Oh, if he would only go and give her a chance
+to put on her shoes and stockings!</p>
+
+<p>Nothing seemed further from his intentions. When Katherine had picked
+up the aforesaid articles and turned homeward, he walked beside her,
+still discoursing on seaweeds as eloquently as if he were commonly
+accustomed to walking with barefooted young women. In spite of
+herself, Katherine couldn't help listening to him, for he managed to
+invest seaweeds with an absorbing interest. She finally decided that
+as he didn't seem to mind her bare feet, she wouldn't either.</p>
+
+<p>He knew so much about seaweeds that Katherine felt decidedly
+amateurish beside him. He looked over her specimens and pointed out
+the valuable ones. He explained the best method of preserving and
+mounting them, and told her of other and less dangerous places along
+the shore where she might get some new varieties.</p>
+
+<p>When they came in sight of Harbour Hill, Katherine began to wonder
+what on earth she would do with him. It wasn't exactly permissible to
+snub a man who had practically saved your life, but, on the other
+hand, the prospect of walking through the principal street of Harbour
+Hill barefooted and escorted by a scholarly looking gentleman
+discoursing on seaweeds was not to be calmly contemplated.</p>
+
+<p>The unknown cut the Gordian knot himself. He said that he must really
+go back or he would be late for dinner, lifted his hat politely, and
+departed. Katherine waited until he was out of sight, then sat down on
+the sand and put on her shoes and stockings.</p>
+
+<p>"Who on earth can he be?" she said to herself. "And where have I seen
+him before? There was certainly something familiar about his
+appearance. He is very nice, but he must have thought me crazy. I
+wonder if he belongs to Harbour Hill."</p>
+
+<p>The mystery was solved when she got home and found a letter from Edith
+awaiting her.</p>
+
+<p>"I see Ned quite often," wrote the latter, "and I think he is
+perfectly splendid. You are a lucky girl, Kate. But oh, do you know
+that Sidney is actually at Harbour Hill, too, or at least quite near
+it? I had a letter from him yesterday. He has gone down there to spend
+his vacation, because it is so quiet, and to finish up some horrid
+scientific book he is working at. He's boarding at some little
+farmhouse up the shore. I've written to him today to hunt you up and
+consider himself introduced to you. I think you'll like him, for he's
+just your style."</p>
+
+<p>Katherine smiled when Sidney Keith's card was brought up to her that
+evening and went down to meet him. Her companion of the morning rose
+to meet her.</p>
+
+<p>"You!" he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, me," said Miss Rangely cheerfully and ungrammatically. "You
+didn't expect it, did you? I was sure I had seen you before&mdash;only it
+wasn't you but your photograph."</p>
+
+<p>When Professor Keith went away it was with a cordial invitation to
+call again. He did not fail to avail himself of it&mdash;in fact, he became
+a constant visitor at Sycamore Villa. Katherine wrote all about it to
+Edith and cultivated Professor Keith with a dear conscience.</p>
+
+<p>They got on capitally together. They went on long expeditions up shore
+after seaweeds, and when seaweeds were exhausted they began to make a
+collection of the Harbour Hill flora. This involved more long,
+companionable expeditions. Katherine sometimes wondered when Professor
+Keith found time to work on his book, but as he made no reference to
+the subject, neither did she.</p>
+
+<p>Once in a while, when she had time to think of them, she wondered how
+Ned and Edith were getting on. At first Edith's letters had been full
+of Ned, but in her last two or three she had said little about him.
+Katherine wrote and jokingly asked Edith if she and Ned had quarreled.
+Edith wrote back and said, "What nonsense." She and Ned were as good
+friends as ever, but he was getting acquainted in Riverton now and
+wasn't so dependent on her society, etc.</p>
+
+<p>Katherine sighed and went on a fern hunt with Professor Keith. It was
+getting near the end of her vacation and she had only two weeks more.
+They were sitting down to rest on the side of the road when she
+mentioned this fact inconsequently. The professor prodded the harmless
+dust with his cane. Well, he supposed she would find a return to work
+pleasant and would doubtless be glad to see her Riverton friends
+again.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm dying to see Edith," said Katherine.</p>
+
+<p>"And Ned?" suggested Professor Keith.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh yes. Ned, of course," assented Katherine without enthusiasm. There
+didn't seem to be anything more to say. One cannot talk everlastingly
+about ferns, so they got up and went home.</p>
+
+<p>Katherine wrote a particularly affectionate letter to Ned that night.
+Then she went to bed and cried.</p>
+
+<p>When Professor Keith came up to bid Miss Rangely good-bye on the eve
+of her departure from Harbour Hill, he looked like a man who was being
+led to execution without benefit of clergy. But he kept himself well
+in hand and talked calmly on impersonal subjects. After all, it was
+Katherine who made the first break when she got up to say good-bye.
+She was in the middle of some conventional sentence when she suddenly
+stopped short, and her voice trailed off in a babyish quiver.</p>
+
+<p>The professor put out his arm and drew her close to him. His hat
+dropped under their feet and was trampled on, but I doubt if Professor
+Keith knows the difference to this day, for he was fully absorbed in
+kissing Katherine's hair. When she became cognizant of this fact, she
+drew herself away.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Sidney, don't!&mdash;think of Edith! I feel like a traitor."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think she would care very much if I&mdash;if you&mdash;if we&mdash;"
+hesitated the professor.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it would break her heart," cried Katherine with convincing
+earnestness. "I know it would&mdash;and Ned's too. They must never know."</p>
+
+<p>The professor stooped and began hunting for his maltreated hat. He was
+a long time finding it, and when he did he went softly to the door.
+With his hand on the knob, he paused and looked back.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye, Miss Rangely," he said softly.</p>
+
+<p>But Katherine, whose face was buried in the cushions of the lounge,
+did not hear him and when she looked up he was gone.</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style="width: 15%;" />
+<br />
+
+<p>Katharine felt that life was stale, flat and unprofitable when she
+alighted at Riverton station in the dusk of the next evening. She was
+not expected until a later train and there was no one to meet her. She
+walked drearily through the streets to her boarding house and entered
+her room unannounced. Edith, who was lying on the bed, sprang up with
+a surprised greeting. It was too dark to be sure, but Katherine had an
+uncomfortable suspicion that her friend had been crying, and her heart
+quaked guiltily. Could Edith have suspected anything?</p>
+
+<p>"Why, we didn't think you'd be up till the 8:30 train, and Ned and I
+were going to meet you."</p>
+
+<p>"I found I could catch an earlier train, so I took it," said
+Katherine, as she dropped listlessly into a chair. "I am tired to
+death and I have such a headache. I can't see anyone tonight, not even
+Ned."</p>
+
+<p>"You poor dear," said Edith sympathetically, beginning a search for
+the cologne. "Lie down on the bed and I'll bathe your poor head. Did
+you have a good time at Harbour Hill? And how did you leave Sid? Did
+he say anything about coming up?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, he was quite well," said Katherine wearily. "I didn't hear him
+say if he intended to come up or not. There, thanks&mdash;that will do
+nicely."</p>
+
+<p>After Edith had gone down, Katherine tossed about restlessly. She knew
+Ned had come and she did not want to see him. But, after all, it was
+only putting off the evil day, and it was treating him rather
+shabbily. She would go down for a minute.</p>
+
+<p>There were two doors to the parlour, and Katherine went by way of the
+library one, over which a portiere was hanging. Her hand was lifted to
+draw it back when she heard something that arrested the movement.</p>
+
+<p>A woman was crying in the room beyond. It was Edith&mdash;and what was she
+saying?</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Ned, it is all perfectly dreadful! I couldn't look Catherine in
+the face when she came home. I'm so ashamed of myself and I never
+meant to be so false. We must never let her suspect for a minute."</p>
+
+<p>"It's pretty rough on a fellow," said another voice&mdash;Ned's voice&mdash;in a
+choked sort of a way. "Upon my word, Edith, I don't see how I'm going
+to keep it up."</p>
+
+<p>"You must," sobbed Edith. "It would break her heart&mdash;and Sidney's too.
+We must just make up our minds to forget each other, Ned, and you must
+marry Katherine."</p>
+
+<p>Just at this point Katherine became aware that she was eavesdropping
+and she went away noiselessly. She did not look in the least like a
+person who has received a mortal blow, and she had forgotten her
+headache altogether.</p>
+
+<p>When Edith came up half an hour later, she found the worn-out invalid
+sitting up and reading a novel.</p>
+
+<p>"How is your headache, dear?" she asked, carefully keeping her face
+turned away from Katherine.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it's all gone," said Miss Rangely cheerfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Why didn't you come down then? Ned was here."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Ede, I did go down, but I thought I wasn't particularly wanted,
+so I came back."</p>
+
+<p>Edith faced her friend in dismay, forgetful of swollen lids and
+tear-stained cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"Katherine!"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't look so conscience stricken, my dear child. There is no harm
+done."</p>
+
+<p>"You heard&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Some surprising speeches. So you and Ned have gone and fallen in love
+with one another?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Katherine," sobbed Edith, "we&mdash;we&mdash;couldn't help it&mdash;but it's all
+over. Oh, don't be angry with me!"</p>
+
+<p>"Angry? My dear, I'm delighted."</p>
+
+<p>"Delighted?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you dear goose. Can't you guess, or must I tell you? Sidney and
+I did the very same, and had just such a melancholy parting last night
+as I suspect you and Ned had tonight."</p>
+
+<p>"Katherine!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it's quite true. And of course we made up our minds to sacrifice
+ourselves on the altar of duty and all that. But now, thank goodness,
+there is no need of such wholesale immolation. So just let's forgive
+each other."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," sighed Edith happily, "it is almost too good to be true."</p>
+
+<p>"It is really providentially ordered, isn't it?" said Katherine. "Ned
+and I would never have got on together in the world, and you and
+Sidney would have bored each other to death. As it is, there will be
+four perfectly happy people instead of four miserable ones. I'll tell
+Ned so tomorrow."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="Four_Winds" id="Four_Winds"></a><hr />
+<br />
+
+<h2>Four Winds<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>Alan Douglas threw down his pen with an impatient exclamation. It was
+high time his next Sunday's sermon was written, but he could not
+concentrate his thoughts on his chosen text. For one thing he did not
+like it and had selected it only because Elder Trewin, in his call of
+the evening before, had hinted that it was time for a good stiff
+doctrinal discourse, such as his predecessor in Rexton, the Rev. Jabez
+Strong, had delighted in. Alan hated doctrines&mdash;"the soul's
+staylaces," he called them&mdash;but Elder Trewin was a man to be reckoned
+with and Alan preached an occasional sermon to please him.</p>
+
+<p>"It's no use," he said wearily. "I could have written a sermon in
+keeping with that text in November or midwinter, but now, when the
+whole world is reawakening in a miracle of beauty and love, I can't do
+it. If a northeast rainstorm doesn't set in before next Sunday, Mr.
+Trewin will not have his sermon. I shall take as my text instead,
+'The flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing of birds has
+come.'"</p>
+
+<p>He rose and went to his study window, outside of which a young vine
+was glowing in soft tender green tints, its small dainty leaves
+casting quivering shadows on the opposite wall where the portrait of
+Alan's mother hung. She had a fine, strong, sweet face; the same face,
+cast in a masculine mould, was repeated in her son, and the
+resemblance was striking as he stood in the searching evening
+sunshine. The black hair grew around his forehead in the same way; his
+eyes were steel blue, like hers, with a similar expression, half
+brooding, half tender, in their depths. He had the mobile, smiling
+mouth of the picture, but his chin was deeper and squarer, dented with
+a dimple which, combined with a certain occasional whimsicality of
+opinion and glance, had caused Elder Trewin some qualms of doubt
+regarding the fitness of this young man for his high and holy
+vocation. The Rev. Jabez Strong had never indulged in dimples or
+jokes; but then, as Elder Trewin, being a just man, had to admit, the
+Rev. Jabez Strong had preached many a time and oft to more empty pews
+than full ones, while now the church was crowded to its utmost
+capacity on Sundays and people came to hear Mr. Douglas who had not
+darkened a church door for years. All things considered, Elder Trewin
+decided to overlook the dimple. There was sure to be some drawback in
+every minister.</p>
+
+<p>Alan from his study looked down on all the length of the Rexton
+valley, at the head of which the manse was situated, and thought that
+Eden might have looked so in its innocence, for all the orchards were
+abloom and the distant hills were tremulous and aerial in springtime
+gauzes of pale purple and pearl. But in any garden, despite its
+beauty, is an element of tameness and domesticity, and Alan's eyes,
+after a moment's delighted gazing, strayed wistfully off to the north
+where the hills broke away into a long sloping lowland of pine and
+fir. Beyond it stretched the wide expanse of the lake, flashing in the
+molten gold and crimson of evening. Its lure was irresistible. Alan
+had been born and bred beside a faraway sea and the love of it was
+strong in his heart&mdash;so strong that he knew he must go back to it
+sometime. Meanwhile, the great lake, mimicking the sea in its vast
+expanse and the storms that often swept over it, was his comfort and
+solace. As often as he could he stole away to its wild and lonely
+shore, leaving the snug bounds of cultivated home lands behind him
+with something like a sense of relief. Down there by the lake was a
+primitive wilderness where man was as naught and man-made doctrines
+had no place. There one might walk hand in hand with nature and so
+come very close to God. Many of Alan's best sermons were written after
+he had come home, rapt-eyed, from some long shore tramp where the
+wilderness had opened its heart to him and the pines had called to him
+in their soft, sibilant speech.</p>
+
+<p>With a half guilty glance at the futile sermon, he took his hat and
+went out. The sun of the cool spring evening was swinging low over the
+lake as he turned into the unfrequented, deep-rutted road leading to
+the shore. It was two miles to the lake, but half way there Alan came
+to where another road branched off and struck down through the pines
+in a northeasterly direction. He had sometimes wondered where it led
+but he had never explored it. Now he had a sudden whim to do so and
+turned into it. It was even rougher and lonelier than the other;
+between the ruts the grasses grew long and thickly; sometimes the pine
+boughs met overhead; again, the trees broke away to reveal wonderful
+glimpses of gleaming water, purple islets, dark feathery coasts.
+Still, the road seemed to lead nowhere and Alan was half repenting the
+impulse which had led him to choose it when he suddenly came out from
+the shadow of the pines and found himself gazing on a sight which
+amazed him.</p>
+
+<p>Before him was a small peninsula running out into the lake and
+terminating in a long sandy point. Beyond it was a glorious sweep of
+sunset water. The peninsula itself seemed barren and sandy, covered
+for the most part with scrub firs and spruces, through which the
+narrow road wound on to what was the astonishing; feature in the
+landscape&mdash;a grey and weather-beaten house built almost at the
+extremity of the point and shadowed from the western light by a thick
+plantation of tall pines behind it.</p>
+
+<p>It was the house which puzzled Alan. He had never known there was any
+house near the lake shore&mdash;had never heard mention made of any; yet
+here was one, and one which was evidently occupied, for a slender
+spiral of smoke was curling upward from it on the chilly spring air.
+It could not be a fisherman's dwelling, for it was large and built
+after a quaint tasteful design. The longer Alan looked at it the more
+his wonder grew. The people living here were in the bounds of his
+congregation. How then was it that he had never seen or heard of them?</p>
+
+<p>He sauntered slowly down the road until he saw that it led directly to
+the house and ended in the yard. Then he turned off in a narrow path
+to the shore. He was not far from the house now and he scanned it
+observantly as he went past. The barrens swept almost up to its door
+in front but at the side, sheltered from the lake winds by the pines,
+was a garden where there was a fine show of gay tulips and golden
+daffodils. No living creature was visible and, in spite of the
+blossoming geraniums and muslin curtains at the windows and the homely
+spiral of smoke, the place had a lonely, almost untenanted, look.</p>
+
+<p>When Alan reached the shore he found that it was of a much more open
+and less rocky nature than the part which he had been used to
+frequent. The beach was of sand and the scrub barrens dwindled down to
+it almost insensibly. To right and left fir-fringed points ran out
+into the lake, shaping a little cove with the house in its curve.</p>
+
+<p>Alan walked slowly towards the left headland, intending to follow the
+shore around to the other road. As he passed the point he stopped
+short in astonishment. The second surprise and mystery of the evening
+confronted him.</p>
+
+<p>A little distance away a girl was standing&mdash;a girl who turned a
+startled face at his unexpected appearance. Alan Douglas had thought
+he knew all the girls in Rexton, but this lithe, glorious creature was
+a stranger to him. She stood with her hand on the head of a huge,
+tawny collie dog; another dog was sitting on his haunches beside her.</p>
+
+<p>She was tall, with a great braid of shining chestnut hair, showing
+ruddy burnished tints where the sunlight struck it, hanging over her
+shoulder. The plain dark dress she wore emphasized the grace and
+strength of her supple form. Her face was oval and pale, with straight
+black brows and a finely cut crimson mouth&mdash;a face whose beauty bore
+the indefinable stamp of race and breeding mingled with a wild
+sweetness, as of a flower growing in some lonely and inaccessible
+place. None of the Rexton girls looked like that. Who, in the name of
+all that was amazing, could she be?</p>
+
+<p>As the thought crossed Alan's mind the girl turned, with an air of
+indifference that might have seemed slightly overdone to a calmer
+observer than was the young minister at that moment and, with a
+gesture of command to her dogs, walked quickly away into the scrub
+spruces. She was so tall that her uncovered head was visible over them
+as she followed some winding footpath, and Alan stood like a man
+rooted to the ground until he saw her enter the grey house. Then he
+went homeward in a maze, all thought of sermons, doctrinal or
+otherwise, for the moment knocked out of his head.</p>
+
+<p>She is the most beautiful woman I ever saw, he thought. How is it
+possible that I have lived in Rexton for six months and never heard of
+her or of that house? Well, I daresay there's some simple explanation
+of it all. The place may have been unoccupied until lately&mdash;probably
+it is the summer residence of people who have only recently come to
+it. I'll ask Mrs. Danby. She'll know if anybody will. That good woman
+knows everything about everybody in Rexton for three generations back.</p>
+
+<p>Alan found Isabel King with his housekeeper when he got home. His
+greeting was tinged with a slight constraint. He was not a vain man,
+but he could not help knowing that Isabel looked upon him with a
+favour that had in it much more than professional interest. Isabel
+herself showed it with sufficient distinctness. Moreover, he felt a
+certain personal dislike of her and of her hard, insistent beauty,
+which seemed harder and more insistent than ever contrasted with his
+recollection of the girl of the lake shore.</p>
+
+<p>Isabel had a trick of coming to the manse on plausible errands to Mrs.
+Danby and lingering until it was so dark that Alan was in courtesy
+bound to see her home. The ruse was a little too patent and amused
+Alan, although he carefully hid his amusement and treated Isabel with
+the fine unvarying deference which his mother had engrained into him
+for womanhood&mdash;a deference that flattered Isabel even while it annoyed
+her with the sense of a barrier which she could not break down or
+pass. She was the daughter of the richest man in Rexton and inclined
+to give herself airs on that account, but Alan's gentle indifference
+always brought home to her an unwelcome feeling of inferiority.</p>
+
+<p>"You've been tiring yourself out again tramping that lake shore, I
+suppose," said Mrs. Danby, who had kept house for three bachelor
+ministers and consequently felt entitled to hector them in a somewhat
+maternal fashion.</p>
+
+<p>"Not tiring myself&mdash;resting and refreshing myself rather," smiled
+Alan. "I was tired when I went out but now I feel like a strong man
+rejoicing to run a race. By the way, Mrs. Danby, who lives in that
+quaint old house away down at the very shore? I never knew of its
+existence before."</p>
+
+<p>Alan's "by the way" was not quite so indifferent as he tried to make
+it. Isabel King, leaning back posingly among the cushions of the
+lounge, sat quickly up as he asked his question.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear me, you don't mean to say you've never heard of Captain
+Anthony&mdash;Captain Anthony Oliver?" said Mrs. Danby. "He lives down
+there at Four Winds, as they call it&mdash;he and his daughter and an old
+cousin."</p>
+
+<p>Isabel King bent forward, her brown eyes on Alan's face.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you see Lynde Oliver?" she asked with suppressed eagerness.</p>
+
+<p>Alan ignored the question&mdash;perhaps he did not hear it.</p>
+
+<p>"Have they lived there long?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"For eighteen years," said Mrs. Danby placidly. "It's funny you
+haven't heard them mentioned. But people don't talk much about the
+Captain now&mdash;he's an old story&mdash;and of course they never go anywhere,
+not even to church. The Captain is a rank infidel and they say his
+daughter is just as bad. To be sure, nobody knows much about her, but
+it stands to reason that a girl who's had her bringing up must be odd,
+to say no worse of her. It's not really her fault, I suppose&mdash;her
+wicked old scalawag of a father is to blame for it. She's never
+darkened a church or school door in her life and they say she's always
+been a regular tomboy&mdash;running wild outdoors with dogs, and fishing
+and shooting like a man. Nobody ever goes there&mdash;the Captain doesn't
+want visitors. He must have done something dreadful in his time, if it
+was only known, when he's so set on living like a hermit away down on
+that jumping-off place. Did you see any of them?"</p>
+
+<p>"I saw Miss Oliver, I suppose," said Alan briefly. "At least I met a
+young lady on the shore. But where did these people come from? Surely
+more is known of them than this."</p>
+
+<p>"Precious little. The truth is, Mr. Douglas, folks don't think the
+Olivers respectable and don't want to have anything to do with them.
+Eighteen years ago Captain Anthony came from goodness knows where,
+bought the Four Winds point, and built that house. He said he'd been a
+sailor all his life and couldn't live away from the water. He brought
+his wife and child and an old cousin of his with him. This Lynde
+wasn't more than two years old then. People went to call but they
+never saw any of the women and the Captain let them see they weren't
+wanted. Some of the men who'd been working round the place saw his
+wife and said she was sickly but real handsome and like a lady, but
+she never seemed to want to see anyone or be seen herself. There was
+a story that the Captain had been a smuggler and that if he was caught
+he'd be sent to prison. Oh, there were all sorts of yarns, mostly
+coming from the men who worked there, for nobody else ever got inside
+the house. Well, four years ago his wife disappeared&mdash;it wasn't known
+how or when. She just wasn't ever seen again, that's all. Whether she
+died or was murdered or went away nobody ever knew. There was some
+talk of an investigation but nothing came of it. As for the girl,
+she's always lived there with her father. She must be a perfect
+heathen. He never goes anywhere, but there used to be talk of
+strangers visiting him&mdash;queer sort of characters who came up the lake
+in vessels from the American side. I haven't heard any reports of such
+these past few years, though&mdash;not since his wife disappeared. He keeps
+a yacht and goes sailing in it&mdash;sometimes he cruises about for
+weeks&mdash;that's about all he ever does. And now you know as much about
+the Olivers as I do, Mr. Douglas."</p>
+
+<p>Alan had listened to this gossipy narrative with an interest that did
+not escape Isabel King's observant eyes. Much of it he mentally
+dismissed as improbable surmise, but the basic facts were probably as
+Mrs. Danby had reported them. He had known that the girl of the shore
+could be no commonplace, primly nurtured young woman.</p>
+
+<p>"Has no effort ever been made to bring these people into touch with
+the church?" he asked absently.</p>
+
+<p>"Bless you, yes. Every minister that's ever been in Rexton has had a
+try at it. The old cousin met every one of them at the door and told
+him nobody was at home. Mr. Strong was the most persistent&mdash;he didn't
+like being beaten. He went again and again and finally the Captain
+sent him word that when he wanted parsons or pill-dosers he'd send
+for them, and till he did he'd thank them to mind their own business.
+They say Mr. Strong met Lynde once along shore and wanted to know if
+she wouldn't come to church, and she laughed in his face and told him
+she knew more about God now than he did or ever would. Perhaps the
+story isn't true. Or if it was maybe he provoked her into saying it.
+Mr. Strong wasn't overly tactful. I believe in judging the poor girl
+as charitably as possible and making allowances for her, seeing how
+she's been brought up. You couldn't expect her to know how to behave."</p>
+
+<p>Somehow, Alan resented Mrs. Danby's charity. Then, his sense of humour
+being strongly developed, he smiled to think of this commonplace old
+lady "making allowances" for the splendid bit of femininity he had
+seen on the shore. A plump barnyard fowl might as well have talked of
+making allowances for a seagull!</p>
+
+<p>Alan walked home with Isabel King but he was very silent as they went
+together down the long, dark, sweet-smelling country road bordered by
+its white orchards. Isabel put her own construction on his absent
+replies to her remarks and presently she asked him, "Did you think
+Lynde Oliver handsome?"</p>
+
+<p>The question gave Alan an annoyance out of all proportion to its
+significance. He felt an instinctive reluctance to discuss Lynde
+Oliver with Isabel King.</p>
+
+<p>"I saw her only for a moment," he said coldly, "but she impressed me
+as being a beautiful woman."</p>
+
+<p>"They tell queer stories about her&mdash;but maybe they're not all true,"
+said Isabel, unable to keep the sneer of malice out of her voice. At
+that moment Alan's secret contempt for her crystallized into
+pronounced aversion. He made no reply and they went the rest of the
+way in silence. At her gate Isabel said, "You haven't been over to see
+us very lately, Mr. Douglas."</p>
+
+<p>"My congregation is a large one and I cannot visit all my people as
+often as I might wish," Alan answered, all the more coldly for the
+personal note in her tone. "A minister's time is not his own, you
+know."</p>
+
+<p>"Shall you be going to see the Olivers?" asked Isabel bluntly.</p>
+
+<p>"I have not considered that question. Good-night, Miss King."</p>
+
+<p>On his way back to the manse Alan did consider the question. Should he
+make any attempt to establish friendly relations with the residents of
+Four Winds? It surprised him to find how much he wanted to, but he
+finally concluded that he would not. They were not adherents of his
+church and he did not believe that even a minister had any right to
+force himself upon people who plainly wished to be let alone.</p>
+
+<p>When he got home, although it was late, he went to his study and began
+work on a new text&mdash;for Elder Trewin's seemed utterly out of the
+question. Even with the new one he did not get on very well. At last
+in exasperation he leaned back in his chair.</p>
+
+<p>Why can't I stop thinking of those Four Winds people? Here, let me put
+these haunting thoughts into words and see if that will lay them. That
+girl had a beautiful face but a cold one. Would I like to see it lighted
+up with the warmth of her soul set free? Yes, frankly, I would. She
+looked upon me with indifference. Would I like to see her welcome me as
+a friend? I have a conviction that I would, although no doubt everybody
+in my congregation would look upon her as a most unsuitable friend for
+me. Do I believe that she is wild, unwomanly, heathenish, as Mrs. Danby
+says? No, I do not, most emphatically. I believe she is a lady in the
+truest sense of that much abused word, though she is doubtless
+unconventional. Having said all this, I do not see what more there is
+to be said. And&mdash;I&mdash;am&mdash;going&mdash;to&mdash;write&mdash;this&mdash;sermon.</p>
+
+<p>Alan wrote it, putting all thought of Lynde Oliver sternly out of his
+mind for the time being. He had no notion of falling in love with her.
+He knew nothing of love and imagined that it counted for nothing in
+his life. He admitted that his curiosity was aflame about the girl,
+but it never occurred to him that she meant or could mean anything to
+him but an attractive enigma which once solved would lose its
+attraction. The young women he knew in Rexton, whose simple, pleasant
+friendship he valued, had the placid, domestic charm of their own
+sweet-breathed, windless orchards. Lynde Oliver had the fascination of
+the lake shore&mdash;wild, remote, untamed&mdash;the lure of the wilderness and
+the primitive. There was nothing more personal in his thought of her,
+and yet when he recalled Isabel King's sneer he felt an almost
+personal resentment.</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style="width: 15%;" />
+<br />
+
+<p>During the following fortnight Alan made many trips to the shore&mdash;and
+he always went by the branch road to the Four Winds point. He did not
+attempt to conceal from himself that he hoped to meet Lynde Oliver
+again. In this he was unsuccessful. Sometimes he saw her at a distance
+along the shore but she always disappeared as soon as seen.
+Occasionally as he crossed the point he saw her working in her garden
+but he never went very near the house, feeling that he had no right to
+spy on it or her in any way. He soon became convinced that she avoided
+him purposely and the conviction piqued him. He felt an odd masterful
+desire to meet her face to face and make her look at him. Sometimes he
+called himself a fool and vowed he would go no more to the Four Winds
+shore. Yet he inevitably went. He did not find in the shore the
+comfort and inspiration he had formerly found. Something had come
+between his soul and the soul of the wilderness&mdash;something he did not
+recognize or formulate&mdash;a nameless, haunting longing that shaped
+itself about the memory of a cold sweet face and starry, indifferent
+eyes, grey as the lake at dawn.</p>
+
+<p>Of Captain Anthony he never got even a glimpse, but he saw the old
+cousin several times, going and coming about the yard and its
+environs. Finally one day he met her, coming up a path which led to a
+spring down in a firry hollow. She was carrying two heavy pails of
+water and Alan asked permission to help her.</p>
+
+<p>He half expected a repulse, for the tall, grim old woman had a rather
+stern and forbidding look, but after gazing at him a moment in a
+somewhat scrutinizing manner she said briefly, "You may, if you like."</p>
+
+<p>Alan took the pails and followed her, the path not being wide enough
+for two. She strode on before him at a rapid, vigorous pace until they
+came out into the yard by the house. Alan felt his heart beating
+foolishly. Would he see Lynde Oliver? Would&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"You may carry the water there," the old woman said, pointing to a
+little outhouse near the pines. "I'm washing&mdash;the spring water is
+softer than the well water. Thank you"&mdash;as Alan set the pails down on
+a bench&mdash;"I'm not so young as I was and bringing the water so far
+tires me. Lynde always brings it for me when she's home."</p>
+
+<p>She stood before him in the narrow doorway, blocking his exit, and
+looked at him with keen, deep-set dark eyes. In spite of her withered
+aspect and wrinkled face, she was not an uncomely old woman and there
+was about her a dignity of carriage and manner that pleased Alan. It
+did not occur to him to wonder why it should please him. If he had
+hunted that feeling down he might have been surprised to discover that
+it had its origin in a curious gratification over the thought that the
+woman who lived with Lynde had a certain refinement about her. He
+preferred her unsmiling dourness to vulgar garrulity.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you the young minister up at Rexton?" she asked bluntly.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"I thought so. Lynde said she had seen you on the shore once.
+Well"&mdash;she cast an uncertain glance over her shoulder at the
+house&mdash;"I'm much obliged to you."</p>
+
+<p>Alan had an idea that that was not what she had thought of saying, but
+as she had turned aside and was busying herself with the pails, there
+seemed nothing for him to do but to go.</p>
+
+<p>"Wait a moment." She faced him again, and if Alan had been a vain man
+he might have thought that admiration looked from her piercing eyes.
+"What do you think of us? I suppose they've told you tales of us up
+there?"&mdash;with a scornful gesture of her hand in the direction of
+Rexton. "Do you believe them?"</p>
+
+<p>"I believe no ill of anyone until I have absolute proof of it," said
+Alan, smiling&mdash;he was quite unconscious what a winning smile he had,
+which was the best of it&mdash;"and I never put faith in gossip. Of course
+you are gossipped about&mdash;you know that."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I know it"&mdash;grimly&mdash;"and I don't care what they say about the
+Captain and me. We are a queer pair&mdash;just as queer as they make us
+out. You can believe what you like about us, but don't you believe a
+word they say against Lynde. She's sweet and good and beautiful. It's
+not her fault that she never went to church&mdash;it's her father's. Don't
+you hold that against her."</p>
+
+<p>The fierce yet repressed energy of her tone prevented Alan from
+feeling any amusement over her simple defence of Lynde. Moreover, it
+sounded unreasonably sweet in his ears.</p>
+
+<p>"I won't," he promised, "but I don't suppose it would matter much to
+Miss Oliver if I did. She did not strike me as a young lady who would
+worry very much about other people's opinions."</p>
+
+<p>If his object were to prolong the conversation about Lynde, he was
+disappointed, for the old woman had turned abruptly to her work again
+and, though Alan lingered for a few moments longer, she took no
+further notice of him. But when he had gone she peered stealthily
+after him from the door until he was lost to sight among the pines.</p>
+
+<p>"A well-looking man," she muttered. "I wish Lynde had been home. I
+didn't dare ask him to the house for I knew Anthony was in one of his
+moods. But it's time something was done. She's woman grown and this is
+no life for her. And there's nobody to do anything but me and I'm not
+able, even if I knew what to do. I wonder why she hates men so.
+Perhaps it's because she never knew any that were real gentlemen. This
+man is&mdash;but then he's a minister and that makes a wide gulf between
+them in another way. I've seen the love of man and woman bridge some
+wider gulfs though. But it can't with Lynde, I'm fearing. She's so
+bitter at the mere speaking of love and marriage. I can't think why.
+I'm sure her mother and Anthony were happy together, and that was all
+she's ever seen of marriage. But I thought when she told me of meeting
+this young man on the shore there was something in her look I'd never
+noticed before&mdash;as if she'd found something in herself she'd never
+known was there. But she'll never make friends with him and I can't.
+If the Captain wasn't so queer&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>She stopped abruptly, for a tall lithe figure was coming up from the
+shore. Lynde waved her hand as she drew near.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Emily, I've had such a splendid sail. It was glorious. Bad Emily,
+you've been carrying water. Didn't I tell you never to do that when I
+was away?"</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't have to do it. That young minister up at Rexton met me and
+brought it up. He's nice, Lynde."</p>
+
+<p>Lynde's brow darkened. She turned and walked away to the house without
+a word.</p>
+
+<p>On his way home that night Alan met Isabel King on the main shore
+road. She carried an armful of pine boughs and said she wanted the
+needles for a cushion. Yet the thought came into Alan's mind that she
+was spying on him and, although he tried to dismiss it as unworthy, it
+continued to lurk there.</p>
+
+<p>For a week he avoided the shore, but there came a day when its
+inexplicable lure drew him to it again irresistibly. It was a warm,
+windy evening and the air was sweet and resinous, the lake misty and
+blue. There was no sign of life about Four Winds and the shore seemed
+as lonely and virgin as if human foot had never trodden it. The
+Captain's yacht was gone from the little harbour where it was
+generally anchored and, though every flutter of wind in the scrub firs
+made Alan's heart beat expectantly, he saw nothing of Lynde Oliver. He
+was on the point of turning homeward, with an unreasoning sense of
+disappointment, when one of Lynde's dogs broke down through the hedge
+of spruces, barking loudly.</p>
+
+<p>Alan looked for Lynde to follow, but she did not, and he speedily saw
+that there was something unusual about the dog's behaviour. The animal
+circled around him, still barking excitedly, then ran off for a short
+distance, stopped, barked again, and returned, repeating the
+manoeuvre. It was plain that he wanted Alan to follow him, and it
+occurred to the young minister that the dog's mistress must be in
+danger of some kind. Instantly he set off after him; and the dog, with
+a final sharp bark of satisfaction, sprang up the low bank into the
+spruces.</p>
+
+<p>Alan followed him across the peninsula and then along the further
+shore, which rapidly grew steep and high. Half a mile down the cliffs
+were rocky and precipitous, while the beach beneath them was heaped
+with huge boulders. Alan followed the dog along one of the narrow
+paths with which the barrens abounded until nearly a mile from Four
+Winds. Then the animal halted, ran to the edge of the cliff and
+barked.</p>
+
+<p>It was an ugly-looking place where a portion of the soil had evidently
+broken away recently, and Alan stepped cautiously out to the brink and
+looked down. He could not repress an exclamation of dismay and alarm.</p>
+
+<p>A few feet below him Lynde Oliver was lying on a mass of mossy soil
+which was apparently on the verge of slipping over a sloping shelf of
+rock, below which was a sheer drop of thirty feet to the cruel
+boulders below. The extreme danger of her position was manifest at a
+glance; the soil on which she lay was stationary, yet it seemed as if
+the slightest motion on her part would send it over the brink.</p>
+
+<p>Lynde lay movelessly; her face was white, and both fear and appeal
+were visible in her large dilated eyes. Yet she was quite calm and a
+faint smile crossed her pale lips as she saw the man and the dog.</p>
+
+<p>"Good faithful Pat, so you did bring help," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"But how can I help you, Miss Oliver?" said Alan hoarsely. "I cannot
+reach you&mdash;and it looks as if the slightest touch or jar would send
+that broken earth over the brink."</p>
+
+<p>"I fear it would. You must go back to Four Winds and get a rope."</p>
+
+<p>"And leave you here alone&mdash;in such danger?"</p>
+
+<p>"Pat will stay with me. Besides, there is nothing else to do. You will
+find a rope in that little house where you put the water for Emily.
+Father and Emily are away. I think I am quite safe here if I don't
+move at all."</p>
+
+<p>Alan's own common sense told him that, as she said, there was nothing
+else to do and, much as he hated to leave her alone thus, he realized
+that he must lose no time in doing it.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll be back as quickly as possible," he said hurriedly.</p>
+
+<p>Alan had been a noted runner at college and his muscles had not
+forgotten their old training. Yet it seemed to him an age ere he
+reached Four Winds, secured the rope, and returned. At every flying
+step he was haunted by the thought of the girl lying on the brink of
+the precipice and the fear that she might slip over it before he could
+rescue her. When he reached the scene of the accident he dreaded to
+look over the broken edge, but she was lying there safely and she
+smiled when she saw him&mdash;a brave smile that softened her tense white
+face into the likeness of a frightened child's.</p>
+
+<p>"If I drop the rope down to you, are you strong enough to hold to it
+while the earth goes and then draw yourself up the slope hand over
+hand?" asked Alan anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," she answered fearlessly.</p>
+
+<p>Alan passed down one end of the rope and then braced himself firmly to
+hold it, for there was no tree near enough to be of any assistance.
+The next moment the full weight of her body swung from it, for at her
+first movement the soil beneath her slipped away. Alan's heart
+sickened; what if she went with it? Could she cling to the rope while
+he drew her up?</p>
+
+<p>Then he saw she was still safe on the sloping shelf. Carefully and
+painfully she drew herself to her knees and, dinging to the rope,
+crept up the rock hand over hand. When she came within his reach he
+grasped her arms and lifted her up into safety beside him.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank God," he said, with whiter lips than her own.</p>
+
+<p>For a few moments Lynde sat silent on the sod, exhausted with fright
+and exertion, while her dog fawned on her in an ecstasy of joy.
+Finally she looked up into Alan's anxious face and their eyes met. It
+was something more than the physical reaction that suddenly flushed
+the girl's cheeks. She sprang lithely to her feet.</p>
+
+<p>"Can you walk back home?" Alan asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, I am all right now. It was very foolish of me to get into
+such a predicament. Father and Emily went down the lake in the yacht
+this afternoon and I started out for a ramble. When I came here I saw
+some junebells growing right out on the ledge and I crept out to
+gather them. I should have known better. It broke away under me and
+the more I tried to scramble back the faster it slid down, carrying me
+with it. I thought it would go right over the brink"&mdash;she gave a
+little involuntary shudder&mdash;"but just at the very edge it stopped. I
+knew I must lie very still or it would go right over. It seemed like
+days. Pat was with me and I told him to go for help, but I knew there
+was no one at home&mdash;and I was horribly afraid," she concluded with
+another shiver. "I never was afraid in my life before&mdash;at least not
+with that kind of fear."</p>
+
+<p>"You have had a terrible experience and a narrow escape," said Alan
+lamely. He could think of nothing more to say; his usual readiness of
+utterance seemed to have failed him.</p>
+
+<p>"You saved my life," she said, "you and Pat&mdash;for doggie must have his
+share of credit."</p>
+
+<p>"A much larger share than mine," said Alan, smiling. "If Pat had not
+come for me, I would not have known of your danger. What a magnificent
+fellow he is!"</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't he?" she agreed proudly. "And so is Laddie, my other dog. He
+went with Father today. I love my dogs more than people." She looked
+at him with a little defiance in her eyes. "I suppose you think that
+terrible."</p>
+
+<p>"I think many dogs are much more lovable&mdash;and worthy of love&mdash;than
+many people," said Alan, laughing.</p>
+
+<p>How childlike she was in some ways! That trace of defiance&mdash;it was so
+like a child who expected to be scolded for some wrong attitude of
+mind. And yet there were moments when she looked the tall proud queen.
+Sometimes, when the path grew narrow, she walked before him, her hand
+on the dog's head. Alan liked this, since it left him free to watch
+admiringly the swinging grace of her step and the white curves of her
+neck beneath the thick braid of hair, which today was wound about her
+head. When she dropped back beside him in the wider spaces, he could
+only have stolen glances at her profile, delicately, strongly cut,
+virginal in its soft curves, childlike in its purity. Once she looked
+around and caught his glance; again she flushed, and something strange
+and exultant stirred in Alan's heart. It was as if that maiden blush
+were the involuntary, unconscious admission of some power he had over
+her&mdash;a power which her hitherto unfettered spirit had never before
+felt. The cold indifference he had seen in her face at their first
+meeting was gone, and something told him it was gone forever.</p>
+
+<p>When they came in sight of Four Winds they saw two people walking up
+the road from the harbour and a few further steps brought them face to
+face with Captain Anthony Oliver and his old housekeeper.</p>
+
+<p>The Captain's appearance was a fresh surprise to Alan. He had expected
+to meet a rough, burly sailor, loud of voice and forbidding of manner.
+Instead, Captain Anthony was a tall, well-built man of perhaps fifty.
+His face, beneath its shock of iron-grey hair, was handsome but wore a
+somewhat forbidding expression, and there was something in it, apart
+from line or feature, which did not please Alan. He had no time to
+analyze this impression, for Lynde said hurriedly, "Father, this is
+Mr. Douglas. He has just done me a great service."</p>
+
+<p>She briefly explained her accident; when she had finished, the Captain
+turned to Alan and held out his hand, a frank smile replacing the
+rather suspicious and contemptuous scowl which had previously
+overshadowed it.</p>
+
+<p>"I am much obliged to you, Mr. Douglas," he said cordially. "You must
+come up to the house and let me thank you at leisure. As a rule I'm
+not very partial to the cloth, as you may have heard. In this case it
+is the man, not the minister, I invite."</p>
+
+<p>The front door of Four Winds opened directly into a wide,
+low-ceilinged living room, furnished with simplicity and good taste.
+Leaving the two men there, Lynde and the old cousin vanished, and Alan
+found himself talking freely with the Captain who could, as it
+appeared, talk well on many subjects far removed from Four Winds. He
+was evidently a clever, self-educated man, somewhat opinionated and
+given to sarcasm; he never made any references to his own past life or
+experiences, but Alan discovered him to be surprisingly well read in
+politics and science. Sometimes in the pauses of the conversation Alan
+found the older man looking at him in a furtive way he did not like,
+but the Captain was such an improvement on what he had been led to
+expect that he was not inclined to be over critical. At least, this
+was what he honestly thought. He did not suspect that it was because
+this man was Lynde's father that he wished to think as well as
+possible of him.</p>
+
+<p>Presently Lynde came in. She had changed her outdoor dress, stained
+with moss and soil in her fall, for a soft clinging garment of some
+pale yellow material, and her long, thick braid of hair hung over her
+shoulder. She sat mutely down in a dim corner and took no part in the
+conversation except to answer briefly the remarks which Alan addressed
+to her. Emily came in and lighted the lamp on the table. She was as
+grim and unsmiling as ever, yet she cast a look of satisfaction on
+Alan as she passed out. One dog lay down at Lynde's feet, the other
+sat on his haunches by her side and laid his head on her lap. Rexton
+and its quiet round of parish duties seemed thousands of miles away
+from Alan, and he wondered a little if this were not all a dream.</p>
+
+<p>When he went away the Captain invited him back.</p>
+
+<p>"If you like to come, that is," he said brusquely, "and always as the
+man, not the priest, remember. I don't want you by and by to be slyly
+slipping in the thin end of any professional wedges. You'll waste your
+time if you do. Come as man to man and you'll be welcome, for I like
+you&mdash;and it's few men I like. But don't try to talk religion to me."</p>
+
+<p>"I never talk religion," said Alan emphatically. "I try to live it.
+I'll not come to your house as a self-appointed missionary, sir, but I
+shall certainly act and speak at all times as my conscience and my
+reverence for my vocation demands. If I respect your beliefs, whatever
+they may be, I shall expect you to respect mine, Captain Oliver."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I won't insult your God," said the Captain with a faint sneer.</p>
+
+<p>Alan went home in a tumult of contending feelings. He did not
+altogether like Captain Anthony&mdash;that was very clear to him, and yet
+there was something about the man that attracted him. Intellectually
+he was a worthy foeman, and Alan had often longed for such since
+coming to Rexton. He missed the keen, stimulating debates of his
+college days and, now there seemed a chance of renewing them, he was
+eager to grasp it. And Lynde&mdash;how beautiful she was! What though she
+shared&mdash;as was not unlikely&mdash;in her father's lack of belief? She could
+not be essentially irreligious&mdash;that were impossible in a true woman.
+Might not this be his opportunity to help her&mdash;to lead her into dearer
+light? Alan Douglas was a sincere man, with himself as well as with
+others, yet there are some motives that lie, in their first inception,
+too deep even for the probe of self-analysis. He had not as yet the
+faintest suspicion as to the real source of his interest in Lynde
+Oliver&mdash;in his sudden forceful desire to be of use and service to
+her&mdash;to rescue her from spiritual peril as he had that day rescued her
+from bodily danger.</p>
+
+<p>She must have a lonely, unsatisfying life, he thought. It is my duty
+to help her if I can.</p>
+
+<p>It did not then occur to him that duty in this instance wore a much
+more pleasing aspect than it had sometimes worn in his experience.</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style="width: 15%;" />
+<br />
+
+<p>Alan did not mean to be oversoon in going back to Four Winds, but
+three days later a book came to him which Captain Anthony had
+expressed a wish to see. It furnished an excuse for an earlier call.
+After that he went often. He always found the Captain courteous and
+affable, old Emily grimly cordial, Lynde sometimes remote and demure,
+sometimes frankly friendly. Occasionally, when the Captain was away in
+his yacht, he went for a walk with her and her dogs along the shore or
+through the sweet-smelling pinelands up the lake. He found that she
+loved books and was avid for more of them than she could obtain; he
+was glad to take her several and discuss them with her. She liked
+history and travels best. With novels she had no patience, she said
+disdainfully. She seldom spoke of herself or her past life and Alan
+fancied she avoided any personal reference. But once she said
+abruptly, "Why do you never ask me to go to church? I've always been
+afraid you would."</p>
+
+<p>"Because I do not think it would do you any good to go if you didn't
+want to," said Alan gravely. "Souls should not be rudely handled any
+more than bodies."</p>
+
+<p>She looked at him reflectively, her finger denting her chin in a
+meditative fashion she had.</p>
+
+<p>"You are not at all like Mr. Strong. He always scolded me, when he got
+a chance, for not going to church. I would have hated him if it had
+been worthwhile. I told him one day that I was nearer to God under
+these pines than I could be in any building fashioned by human hands.
+He was very much shocked. But I don't want you to misunderstand me.
+Father does not go to church because he does not believe there is a
+God. But I know there is. Mother taught me so. I have never gone to
+church because Father would not allow me, and I could not go now in
+Rexton where the people talk about me so. Oh, I know they do&mdash;you know
+it, too&mdash;but I do not care for them. I know I'm not like other girls.
+I would like to be but I can't be&mdash;I never can be&mdash;now."</p>
+
+<p>There was some strange passion in her voice that Alan did not quite
+understand&mdash;a bitterness and a revolt which he took to be against the
+circumstances that hedged her in.</p>
+
+<p>"Is not some other life possible for you if your present life does not
+content you?" he said gently.</p>
+
+<p>"But it does content me," said Lynde imperiously. "I want no other&mdash;I
+wish this life to go on forever&mdash;forever, do you understand? If I were
+sure that it would&mdash;if I were sure that no change would ever come to
+me, I would be perfectly content. It is the fear that a change will
+come that makes me wretched. Oh!" She shuddered and put her hands over
+her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Alan thought she must mean that when her father died she would be
+alone in the world. He wanted to comfort her&mdash;reassure her&mdash;but he did
+not know how.</p>
+
+<p>One evening when he went to Four Winds he found the door open and,
+seeing the Captain in the living room, he stepped in unannounced.
+Captain Anthony was sitting by the table, his head in his hands; at
+Alan's entrance he turned upon him a haggard face, blackened by a
+furious scowl beneath which blazed eyes full of malevolence.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you want here?" he said, following up the demand with a
+string of vile oaths.</p>
+
+<p>Before Alan could summon his scattered wits, Lynde glided in with a
+white, appealing face. Wordlessly she grasped Alan's arm, drew him
+out, and shut the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I've been watching for you," she said breathlessly. "I was afraid
+you might come tonight&mdash;but I missed you."</p>
+
+<p>"But your father?" said Alan in amazement. "How have I angered him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hush. Come into the garden. I will explain there."</p>
+
+<p>He followed her into the little enclosure where the red and white
+roses were now in full blow.</p>
+
+<p>"Father isn't angry with you," said Lynde in a low shamed voice. "It's
+just&mdash;he takes strange moods sometimes. Then he seems to hate us
+all&mdash;even me&mdash;and he is like that for days. He seems to suspect and
+dread everybody as if they were plotting against him. You&mdash;perhaps you
+think he has been drinking? No, that is not the trouble. These
+terrible moods come on without any cause that we know of. Even Mother
+could not do anything with him when he was like that. You must go away
+now&mdash;and do not come back until his dark mood has passed. He will be
+just as glad to see you as ever then, and this will not make any
+difference with him. Don't come back for a week at least."</p>
+
+<p>"I do not like to leave you in such trouble, Miss Oliver."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it doesn't matter about me&mdash;I have Emily. And there is nothing
+you could do. Please go at once. Father knows I am talking to you and
+that will vex him still more."</p>
+
+<p>Alan, realizing that he could not help her and that his presence only
+made matters worse, went away perplexedly. The following week was a
+miserable one for him. His duties were distasteful to him and meeting
+his people a positive torture. Sometimes Mrs. Danby looked dubiously
+at him and seemed on the point of saying something&mdash;but never said it.
+Isabel King watched him when they met, with bold probing eyes. In his
+abstraction he did not notice this any more than he noticed a certain
+subtle change which had come over the members of his congregation&mdash;as
+if a breath of suspicion had blown across them and troubled their
+confidence and trust. Once Alan would have been keenly and instantly
+conscious of this slight chill; now he was not even aware of it.</p>
+
+<p>When he ventured to go back to Four Winds he found the Captain on the
+point of starting off for a cruise in his yacht. He was urbane and
+friendly, utterly ignoring the incident of Alan's last visit and
+regretting that business compelled him to go down the lake. Alan saw
+him off with small regret and turned joyfully to Lynde, who was
+walking under the pines with her dogs. She looked pale and tired and
+her eyes were still troubled, but she smiled proudly and made no
+reference to what had happened.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going to put these flowers on Mother's grave," she said, lifting
+her slender hands filled with late white roses. "Mother loved flowers
+and I always keep them near her when I can. You may come with me if
+you like."</p>
+
+<p>Alan had known Lynde's mother was buried under the pines but he had
+never visited the spot before. The grave was at the westernmost end of
+the pine wood, where it gave out on the lake, a beautiful spot, given
+over to silence and shadow.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother wished to be buried here," Lynde said, kneeling to arrange her
+flowers. "Father would have taken her anywhere but she said she wanted
+to be near us and near the lake she had loved so well. Father buried
+her himself. He wouldn't have anyone else do anything for her. I am so
+glad she is here. It would have been terrible to have seen her taken
+far away&mdash;my sweet little mother."</p>
+
+<p>"A mother is the best thing in the world&mdash;I realized that when I lost
+mine," said Alan gently. "How long is it since your mother died?"</p>
+
+<p>"Three years. Oh, I thought I should die too when she did. She was
+very ill&mdash;she was never strong, you know&mdash;but I never thought she
+could die. There was a year then&mdash;part of the time I didn't believe in
+God at all and the rest I hated Him. I was very wicked but I was so
+unhappy. Father had so many dreadful moods and&mdash;there was something
+else. I used to wish to die."</p>
+
+<p>She bowed her head on her hands and gazed moodily on the ground. Alan,
+leaning against a pine tree, looked down at her. The sunlight fell
+through the swaying boughs on her glory of burnished hair and lighted
+up the curve of cheek and chin against the dark background of wood
+brown. All the defiance and wildness had gone from her for the time
+and she seemed like a helpless, weary child. He wanted to take her in
+his arms and comfort her.</p>
+
+<p>"You must resemble your mother," he said absently, as if thinking
+aloud. "You don't look at all like your father."</p>
+
+<p>Lynde shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I don't look like Mother either. She was tiny and dark&mdash;she had a
+sweet little face and velvet-brown eyes and soft curly dark hair. Oh,
+I remember her look so well. I wish I did resemble her. I loved her
+so&mdash;I would have done anything to save her suffering and trouble. At
+least, she died in peace."</p>
+
+<p>There was a curious note of fierce self-gratulation in the girl's voice
+as she spoke the last sentence. Again Alan felt the unpleasant
+impression that there was much in her that he did not understand&mdash;might
+never understand&mdash;although such understanding was necessary to perfect
+friendship. She had never spoken so freely of her past life to him
+before, yet he felt somehow that something was being kept back in
+jealous repression. It must be something connected with her father,
+Alan thought. Doubtless, Captain Anthony's past would not bear
+inspection, and his daughter knew it and dwelt in the shadow of her
+knowledge. His heart filled with aching pity for her; he raged secretly
+because he was so powerless to help her. Her girlhood had been
+blighted, robbed of its meed of happiness and joy. Was she likewise to
+miss her womanhood? Alan's hands clenched involuntarily at the
+unuttered question.</p>
+
+<p>On his way home that evening he again met Isabel King. She turned and
+walked back with him but she made no reference to Four Winds or its
+inhabitants. If Alan had troubled himself to look, he would have seen
+a malicious glow in her baleful brown eyes. But the only eyes which
+had any meaning for him just then were the grey ones of Lynde Oliver.</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style="width: 15%;" />
+<br />
+
+<p>During Alan's next three visits to Four Winds he saw nothing of Lynde,
+either in the house or out of it. This surprised and worried him.
+There was no apparent difference in Captain Anthony, who continued to
+be suave and friendly. Alan always enjoyed his conversations with the
+Captain, who was witty, incisive, and pungent; yet he disliked the man
+himself more at every visit. If he had been compelled to define his
+impression, he would have said the Captain was a charming scoundrel.</p>
+
+<p>But it occurred to him that Emily was disturbed about something.
+Sometimes he caught her glance, full of perplexity and&mdash;it almost
+seemed&mdash;distrust. She looked as if she felt hostile towards him. But
+Alan dismissed the idea as absurd. She had been friendly from the
+first and he had done nothing to excite her disapproval. Lynde's
+mysterious absence was a far more perplexing problem. She had not gone
+away, for when Alan asked the Captain concerning her, he responded
+indifferently that she was out walking. Alan caught a glint of
+amusement in the older man's eyes as he spoke. He could have sworn it
+was malicious amusement.</p>
+
+<p>One evening he went to Four Winds around the shore. As he turned the
+headland of the cove, he saw Lynde and her dogs not a hundred feet
+away. The moment she saw him she darted up the bank and disappeared
+among the firs.</p>
+
+<p>Alan was thunderstruck. There was no room for doubt that she meant to
+avoid him. He walked up to the house in a tumult of mingled feelings
+which he did not even then understand. He only realized that he felt
+bitterly hurt and grieved&mdash;puzzled as well. What did it all mean?</p>
+
+<p>He met Emily in the yard of Four Winds on her way to the spring and
+stopped her resolutely.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Oliver," he said bluntly, "is Miss Lynde angry with me? And
+why?"</p>
+
+<p>Emily looked at him piercingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you no idea why?" she asked shortly.</p>
+
+<p>"None in the world."</p>
+
+<p>She looked at him through and through a moment longer. Then, seeming
+satisfied with her scrutiny, she picked up her pail.</p>
+
+<p>"Come down to the spring with me," she said.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as they were out of sight of the house, Emily began abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>"If you don't know why Lynde is acting so, I can't tell you, for I
+don't know either. I don't even know if she is angry. I only thought
+perhaps she was&mdash;that you had done or said something to vex
+her&mdash;plaguing her to go to church maybe. But if you didn't, it may not
+be anger at all. I don't understand that girl. She's been different
+ever since her mother died. She used to tell me everything before
+that. You must go and ask her right out yourself what is wrong. But
+maybe I can tell you something. Did you write her a letter a
+fortnight ago?"</p>
+
+<p>"A letter? No."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, she got one then. I thought it came from you&mdash;I didn't know who
+else would be writing to her. A boy brought it and gave it to her at
+the door. She's been acting strange ever since. She cries at
+night&mdash;something Lynde never did before except when her mother died.
+And in daytime she roams the shore and woods like one possessed. You
+must find out what was in that letter, Mr. Douglas."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you any idea who the boy was?" Alan asked, feeling somewhat
+relieved. The mystery was clearing up, he thought. No doubt it was the
+old story of some cowardly anonymous letter. His thoughts flew
+involuntarily to Isabel King.</p>
+
+<p>Emily shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>"No. He was just a half-grown fellow with reddish hair and he limped a
+little."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that is the postmaster's son," said Alan disappointedly. "That
+puts us further off the scent than ever. The letter was probably
+dropped in the box at the office and there will consequently be no way
+of tracing the writer."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I can't tell you anything more," said Emily. "You'll have to
+ask Lynde for the truth."</p>
+
+<p>This Alan was determined to do whenever he should meet her. He did not
+go to the house with Emily but wandered about the shore, watching for
+Lynde and not seeing her. At length he went home, a prey to stormy
+emotions. He realized at last that he loved Lynde Oliver. He wondered
+how he could have been so long blind to it. He knew that he must have
+loved her ever since he had first seen her. The discovery amazed but
+did not shock him. There was no reason why he should not love
+her&mdash;should not woo and win her for his wife if she cared for him. She
+was good and sweet and true. Anything of doubt in her antecedents
+could not touch her. Probably the world would look upon Captain
+Anthony as a somewhat undesirable father-in-law for a minister, but
+that aspect of the question did not disturb Alan. As for the trouble
+of the letter, he felt sure he would easily be able to clear it away.
+Probably some malicious busybody had become aware of his frequent
+calls at Four Winds and chose to interfere in his private affairs
+thus. For the first time it occurred to him that there had been a
+certain lack of cordiality among his people of late. If it were really
+so, doubtless this was the reason. At any other time this would have
+been of moment to him. But now his thoughts were too wholly taken up
+with Lynde and the estrangement on her part to attach much importance
+to anything else. What she thought mattered incalculably more to Alan
+than what all the people in Rexton put together thought. He had the
+right, like any other man, to woo the woman of his choice and he would
+certainly brook no outside interference in the matter.</p>
+
+<p>After a sleepless night he went back to Four Winds in the morning.
+Lynde would not expect him at that time and he would have more chance
+of finding her. The result justified his idea, for he met her by the
+spring.</p>
+
+<p>Alan felt shocked at the change in her appearance. She looked as if
+years of suffering had passed over her. Her lips were pallid, and
+hollow circles under her eyes made them appear unnaturally large. He
+had last left the girl in the bloom of her youth; he found her again a
+woman on whom life had laid its heavy hand.</p>
+
+<p>A burning flood of colour swept over her face as they met, then
+receded as quickly, leaving her whiter than before. Without any waste
+of words, Alan plunged abruptly into the subject.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Oliver, why have you avoided me so of late? Have I done anything
+to offend you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No." She spoke as if the word hurt her, her eyes persistently cast
+down.</p>
+
+<p>"Then what is the trouble?"</p>
+
+<p>There was no answer. She gave an unvoluntary glance around as if
+seeking some way of escape. There was none, for the spring was set
+about with thick young firs and Alan blocked the only path.</p>
+
+<p>He leaned forward and took her hands in his.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Oliver, you must tell me what the trouble is," he said firmly.</p>
+
+<p>She pulled her hands away and flung them up to her face, her form
+shaken by stormy sobs. In distress he put his arm about her and drew
+her closer.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me, Lynde," he whispered tenderly.</p>
+
+<p>She broke away from him, saying passionately, "You must not come to
+Four Winds any more. You must not have anything more to do with
+us&mdash;any of us. We have done you enough harm already. But I never
+thought it could hurt you&mdash;oh, I am sorry, sorry!"</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Oliver, I want to see that letter you received the other
+evening. Oh"&mdash;as she started with surprise&mdash;"I know about it&mdash;Emily
+told me. Who wrote it?"</p>
+
+<p>"There was no name signed to it," she faltered.</p>
+
+<p>"Just as I thought. Well, you must let me see it."</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot&mdash;I burned it."</p>
+
+<p>"Then tell me what was in it. You must. This matter must be cleared
+up&mdash;I am not going to have our beautiful friendship spoiled by the
+malice of some coward. What did that letter say?"</p>
+
+<p>"It said that everybody in your congregation was talking about your
+frequent visits here&mdash;that it had made a great scandal&mdash;that it was
+doing you a great deal of injury and would probably end in your having
+to leave Rexton."</p>
+
+<p>"That would be a catastrophe indeed," said Alan drily. "Well, what
+else?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing more&mdash;at least, nothing about you. The rest was about
+myself&mdash;I did not mind it&mdash;much. But I was so sorry to think that I
+had done you harm. It is not too late to undo it. You must not come
+here any more. Then they will forget."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps&mdash;but I should not forget. It's a little too late for me.
+Lynde, you must not let this venomous letter come between us. I love
+you, dear&mdash;I've loved you ever since I met you and I want you for my
+wife."</p>
+
+<p>Alan had not intended to say that just then, but the words came to his
+lips in spite of himself. She looked so sad and appealing and weary
+that he wanted to have the right to comfort and protect her.</p>
+
+<p>She turned her eyes full upon him with no hint of maidenly shyness or
+shrinking in them. Instead, they were full of a blank, incredulous
+horror that swallowed up every other feeling. There was no mistaking
+their expression and it struck an icy chill to Alan's heart. He had
+certainly not expected a too ready response on her part&mdash;he knew that
+even if she cared for him he might find it a matter of time to win her
+avowal of it&mdash;but he certainly had not expected to see such evident
+abject dismay as her blanched face betrayed. She put up her hand as if
+warding a blow.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't&mdash;don't," she gasped. "You must not say that&mdash;you must never say
+it. Oh, I never dreamed of this. If I had thought it possible you
+could&mdash;love me, I would never have been friends with you. Oh, I've
+made a terrible mistake."</p>
+
+<p>She wrung her hands piteously together, looking like a soul in
+torment. Alan could not bear to see her pain.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't feel such distress," he implored. "I suppose I've spoken too
+abruptly&mdash;but I'll be so patient, dear, if you'll only try to care for
+me a little. Can't you, dear?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can't marry you," said Lynde desperately. She leaned against a slim
+white bole of a young birch behind her and looked at him wretchedly.
+"Won't you please go away and forget me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can't forget you," Alan said, smiling a little in spite of his
+suffering. "You are the only woman I can ever love&mdash;and I can't give
+you up unless I have to. Won't you be frank with me, dear? Do you
+honestly think you can never learn to love me?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is not that," said Lynde in a hard, unnatural voice. "I am married
+already."</p>
+
+<p>Alan stared at her, not in the least comprehending the meaning of her
+words. Everything&mdash;pain, hope, fear, passion&mdash;had slipped away from
+him for a moment, as if he had been stunned by a physical blow. He
+could not have heard aright.</p>
+
+<p>"Married?" he said dully. "Lynde, you cannot mean it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I do. I was married three years ago."</p>
+
+<p>"Why was I not told this?" Alan's voice was stern, although he did not
+mean it to be so, and she shrank and shivered. Then she began in a low
+monotonous tone from which all feeling of any sort seemed to have
+utterly faded.</p>
+
+<p>"Three years ago Mother was very ill&mdash;so ill that any shock would kill
+her, so the doctor Father brought from the lake told us. A man&mdash;a
+young sea captain&mdash;came here to see Father. His name was Frank Harmon
+and he had known Father well in the past. They had sailed together.
+Father seemed to be afraid of him&mdash;I had never seen him afraid of
+anybody before. I could not think much about anybody except Mother
+then, but I knew I did not quite like Captain Harmon, although he was
+very polite to me and I suppose might have been called handsome. One
+day Father came to me and told me I must marry Captain Harmon. I
+laughed at the idea at first but when I looked at Father's face I did
+not laugh. It was all white and drawn. He implored me to marry Captain
+Harmon. He said if I did not it would mean shame and disgrace for us
+all&mdash;that Captain Harmon had some hold on him and would tell what he
+knew if I did not marry him. I don't know what it was but it must have
+been something dreadful. And he said it would kill Mother. I knew it
+would, and that was what drove me to consent at last. Oh, I can't tell
+you what I suffered. I was only seventeen and there was nobody to
+advise me. One day Father and Captain Harmon and I went down the lake
+to Crosse Harbour and we were married there. As soon as the ceremony
+was over, Captain Harmon had to sail in his vessel. He was going to
+China. Father and I came back home. Nobody knew&mdash;not even Emily. He
+said we must not tell Mother until she was better. But she was never
+better. She only lived three months more&mdash;she lived them happily and
+at rest. When I think of that, I am not sorry for what I did. Captain
+Harmon said he would be back in the fall to claim me. I waited, sick
+at heart. But he did not come&mdash;he has never come. We have never heard
+a word of or about him since. Sometimes I feel sure he cannot be still
+living. But never a day dawns that I don't say to myself, 'Perhaps he
+will come today'&mdash;and, oh&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>She broke down again, sobbing bitterly. Amid all the daze of his own
+pain Alan realized that, at any cost, he must not make it harder for
+her by showing his suffering. He tried to speak calmly, wisely, as a
+disinterested friend.</p>
+
+<p>"Could it not be discovered whether your&mdash;this man&mdash;is or is not
+living? Surely your father could find out."</p>
+
+<p>Lynde shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>"No, he says he has no way of doing so. We do not know if Captain
+Harmon had any relatives or even where his home was, and it was his
+own ship in which he sailed. Father would be glad to think that Frank
+Harmon was dead, but he does not think he is. He says he was always a
+fickle-minded fellow, one fancy driving another out of his mind. Oh, I
+can bear my own misery&mdash;but to think what I have brought on you! I
+never dreamed that you could care for me. I was so lonely and your
+friendship was so pleasant&mdash;can you ever forgive me?"</p>
+
+<p>"There is nothing to forgive, as far as you are concerned, Lynde,"
+said Alan steadily. "You have done me no wrong. I have loved you
+sincerely and such love can be nothing but a blessing to me. I only
+wish that I could help you. It wrings my heart to think of your
+position. But I can do nothing&mdash;nothing. I must not even come here any
+more. You understand that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>There was an unconscious revelation in the girl's mournful eyes as she
+turned them on Alan. It thrilled him to the core of his being. She
+loved him. If it were not for that empty marriage form, he could win
+her, but the knowledge was only an added mocking torment. Alan had not
+known a man could endure such misery and live. A score of wild
+questions rushed to his lips but he crushed them back for Lynde's sake
+and held out his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye, dear," he said almost steadily, daring to say no more lest
+he should say too much.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye," Lynde answered faintly.</p>
+
+<p>When he had gone she flung herself down on the moss by the spring and
+lay there in an utter abandonment of misery and desolation.</p>
+
+<p>Pain and indignation struggled for mastery in Alan's stormy soul as he
+walked homeward. So this was Captain Anthony's doings! He had
+sacrificed his daughter to some crime of his dubious past. Alan never
+dreamed of blaming Lynde for having kept her marriage a secret; he put
+the blame where it belonged&mdash;on the Captain's shoulders. Captain
+Anthony had never warned him by so much as a hint that Lynde was not
+free to be won. It had all probably seemed a good joke to him. Alan
+thought the furtive amusement he had so often detected in the
+Captain's eyes was explained now.</p>
+
+<p>He found Elder Trewin in his study when he got home. The good Elder's
+face was stern and anxious; he had called on a distasteful errand&mdash;to
+tell the young minister of the scandal his intimacy with the Four
+Winds people was making in the congregation and remonstrate with him
+concerning it. Alan listened absently, with none of the resentment he
+would have felt at the interference a day previously. A man does not
+mind a pin-prick when a limb is being wrenched away.</p>
+
+<p>"I can promise you that my objectionable calls at Four Winds will
+cease," he said sarcastically, when the Elder had finished. Elder
+Trewin got himself away, feeling snubbed but relieved.</p>
+
+<p>"Took it purty quiet," he reflected. "Don't believe there was much in
+the yarns after all. Isabel King started them and probably she
+exaggerated a lot. I suppose he's had some notion like as not of
+bringing the Captain over to the church. But that's foolish, for he'd
+never manage it, and meanwhile was giving occasion for gossip. It's
+just as well to stop it. He's a good pastor and he works hard&mdash;too
+hard, mebbe. He looked real careworn and worried today."</p>
+
+<p>The Rexton gossip soon ceased with the cessation of the young
+minister's visits to Four Winds. A month later it suffered a brief
+revival when a tall grim-faced old woman, whom a few recognized as
+Captain Anthony's housekeeper, was seen to walk down the Rexton road
+and enter the manse. She did not stay there long&mdash;watchers from a
+dozen different windows were agreed upon that&mdash;and nobody, not even
+Mrs. Danby, who did her best to find out, ever knew why she had
+called.</p>
+
+<p>Emily looked at Alan with grim reproach when she was shown into his
+study, and as soon as they were alone she began with her usual
+abruptness, "Mr. Douglas, why have you given up coming to Four Winds?"</p>
+
+<p>Alan flinched.</p>
+
+<p>"You must ask Lynde that, Miss Oliver," he said quietly.</p>
+
+<p>"I have asked her&mdash;and she says nothing."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I cannot tell you."</p>
+
+<p>Anger glowed in Emily's eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you were a gentleman," she said bitterly. "You are not. You
+are breaking Lynde's heart. She's gone to a shadow of herself and
+she's fretting night and day. You went there and made her like
+you&mdash;oh, I've eyes&mdash;and then you left her."</p>
+
+<p>Alan bent over his desk and looked the old woman in the face
+unflinchingly.</p>
+
+<p>"You are mistaken, Miss Oliver," he said earnestly. "I love Lynde and
+would be only too happy if it were possible that I could marry her. I
+am not to blame for what has come about&mdash;she will tell you that
+herself if you ask her."</p>
+
+<p>His look and tone convinced Emily.</p>
+
+<p>"Who is to blame then? Lynde herself?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no."</p>
+
+<p>"The Captain then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not in the sense you mean. I can tell you nothing more."</p>
+
+<p>A baffled expression crossed the old woman's face. "There's a mystery
+here&mdash;there always has been&mdash;and I'm shut out of it. Lynde won't
+confide in me&mdash;in me who'd give my life's blood to help her. Perhaps I
+can help her&mdash;I could tell you something. Have you stopped coming to
+Four Winds&mdash;has she made you stop coming&mdash;because she's got such a
+wicked old scamp for a father? Is that the reason?"</p>
+
+<p>Alan shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"No, that has nothing to do with it."</p>
+
+<p>"And you won't come back?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is not a question of will. I cannot&mdash;must not go."</p>
+
+<p>"Lynde will break her heart then," said Emily in a tone of despair.</p>
+
+<p>"I think not. She is too strong and fine for that. Help her all you
+can with sympathy but don't torment her with any questions. You may
+tell her if you like that I advise her to confide the whole story to
+you, but if she cannot don't tease her to. Be very gentle with her."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't need to tell me that. I'd rather die than hurt her. I came
+here full of anger against you&mdash;but I see now you are not to blame.
+You are suffering too&mdash;your face tells that. All the same, I wish
+you'd never set foot in Four Winds. She wasn't happy before but she
+wasn't so miserable as she is now. Oh, I know Anthony is at the bottom
+of it all in some way but I won't ask you any more questions since you
+don't feel free to answer them. But are you sure that nothing can be
+done to clear up the trouble?"</p>
+
+<p>"Too sure," said Alan's white lips.</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style="width: 15%;" />
+<br />
+
+<p>The autumn dragged away. Alan found out how much a man may suffer and
+yet go on living and working. As for that, his work was all that made
+life possible for him now and he flung himself into it with feverish
+energy, growing so thin and hollow-eyed over it that even Elder Trewin
+remonstrated and suggested a vacation&mdash;a suggestion at which Alan
+merely smiled. A vacation which would take him away from Lynde's
+neighbourhood&mdash;the thought was not to be entertained.</p>
+
+<p>He never saw Lynde, for he never went to any part of the shore now;
+yet he hungered constantly for the sight of her, the sound of her
+voice, the glance of her luminous eyes. When he pictured her eating
+her heart out in the solitude of Four Winds, he clenched his hands in
+despair. As for the possibility of Harmon's return, Alan could never
+face it for a moment. When it thrust its ugly presence into his
+thoughts, he put it away desperately. The man was dead&mdash;or his fickle
+fancy had veered elsewhere. Nothing else could explain his absence.
+But they could never know, and the uncertainty would forever stand
+between him and Lynde like a spectre. But he thought more of Lynde's
+pain than his own. He would have elected to bear any suffering if by
+so doing he could have freed her from the nightmare dread of Harmon's
+returning to claim her. That dread had always hung over her and now it
+must be intensified to agony by her love for another man. And he could
+do nothing&mdash;nothing. He groaned aloud in his helplessness.</p>
+
+<p>One evening in late November Alan flung aside his pen and yielded to
+the impulse that urged him to the lake shore. He did not mean to seek
+Lynde&mdash;he would go to a part of the shore where there would be no
+likelihood of meeting her. But get away by himself he must. A November
+storm was raging and there would be a certain satisfaction in
+breasting its buffets and fighting his way through it. Besides, he
+knew that Isabel King was in the house and he dreaded meeting her.
+Since his conviction that she had written that letter to Lynde, he
+could not tolerate the girl and it tasked his self-control to keep
+from showing his contempt openly. Perhaps Isabel felt it beneath all
+his outward courtesy. At least she did not seek his society as she had
+formerly done.</p>
+
+<p>It was the second day of the storm; a wild northeast gale was blowing
+and cold rain and freezing sleet fell in frequent showers. Alan
+shivered as he came out into its full fury on the lake shore. At first
+he could not see the water through the driving mist. Then it cleared
+away for a moment and he stopped short, aghast at the sight which met
+his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Opposite him was a long low island known as Philip's Point, dwindling
+down at its northeastern side to two long narrow bars of quicksand.
+Alan's horrified eyes saw a small schooner sunk between the bars; her
+hull was entirely under water and in the rigging clung one solitary
+figure. So much he saw before the Point was blotted out in a renewed
+downpour of sleet.</p>
+
+<p>Without a moment's hesitation Alan turned and ran for Four Winds,
+which was only about a quarter of a mile away around a headland. With
+the Captain's assistance, something might be done. Other help could
+not be obtained before darkness would fall and then it would be
+impossible to do anything. He dashed up the steps of Four Winds and
+met Emily, who had flung the door open. Behind her was Lynde's pale
+face with its alarmed questioning eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Where is the Captain?" gasped Alan. "There's a vessel on Philip's
+Point and one man at least on her."</p>
+
+<p>"The Captain's away on a cruise," said Emily blankly. "He went three
+days ago."</p>
+
+<p>"Then nothing can be done," said Alan despairingly. "It will be dark
+long before I can get to the village."</p>
+
+<p>Lynde stepped out, tying a shawl around her head.</p>
+
+<p>"Let us go around to the Point," she said. "Have you matches? No?
+Emily, get some. We must light a bonfire at least. And bring Father's
+glass."</p>
+
+<p>"It is not a fit night for you to be out," said Alan anxiously. "You
+are sheltered here&mdash;you don't feel it&mdash;but it's a fearful storm down
+there."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not afraid of the storm. It will not hurt me. Let us hurry. It
+is growing dark already."</p>
+
+<p>In silence they breasted their way to the shore and around the
+headland. Arriving opposite Philip's Point, a lull in the sleet
+permitted them to see the sunken schooner and the clinging figure.
+Lynde waved her hand to him and they saw him wave back.</p>
+
+<p>"It won't be necessary to light a fire now that he has seen us," said
+Lynde. "Nothing can be done with village help till morning and that
+man can never cling there so long. He will freeze to death, for it is
+growing colder every minute. His only chance is to swim ashore if he
+can swim. The danger will be when he comes near shore; the undertow of
+the backwater on the quicksand will sweep him away and in his probably
+exhausted condition he may not be able to make head against it."</p>
+
+<p>"He knows that, doubtless, and that is why he hasn't attempted to swim
+ashore before this," said Alan. "But I'll meet him in the backwater
+and drag him in."</p>
+
+<p>"You&mdash;you'll risk your own life," cried Lynde.</p>
+
+<p>"There is a little risk certainly, but I don't think there is a great
+one. Anyhow, the attempt must be made," said Alan quietly.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly Lynde's composure forsook her. She wrung her hands.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't let you do it," she cried wildly. "You might be
+drowned&mdash;there's every risk. You don't know the force of that
+backwater. Alan, Alan, don't think of it."</p>
+
+<p>She caught his arm in her white wet hands and looked into his face
+with passionate pleading.</p>
+
+<p>Emily, who had said nothing, now spoke harshly.</p>
+
+<p>"Lynde is right, Mr. Douglas. You have no right to risk your life for
+a stranger. My advice is to go to the village for help, and Lynde and
+I will make a fire and watch here. That is all that can be expected of
+you or us."</p>
+
+<p>Alan paid no heed to Emily. Very tenderly he loosened Lynde's hold on
+his arm and looked into her quivering face.</p>
+
+<p>"You know it is my duty, Lynde," he said gently. "If anything can be
+done for that poor man, I am the only one who can do it. I will come
+back safe, please God. Be brave, dear."</p>
+
+<p>Lynde, with a little moan of resignation, turned away. Old Emily
+looked on with a face of grim disapproval as Alan waded out into the
+surf that boiled and swirled around him in a mad whirl of foam. The
+shower of sleet had again slackened, and the wreck half a mile away,
+with its solitary figure, was dearly visible. Alan beckoned to the man
+to jump overboard and swim ashore, enforcing his appeal by gestures
+that commanded haste before the next shower should come. For a few
+moments it seemed as if the seaman did not understand or lacked the
+courage or power to obey. The next minute he had dropped from the
+rigging on the crest of a mighty wave and was being borne onward to
+the shore.</p>
+
+<p>Speedily the backwater was reached and the man, sucked down by the
+swirl of the wave, threw up his arms and disappeared. Alan dashed in,
+groping, swimming; it seemed an eternity before his hand clutched the
+drowning man and wrenched him from the undertow. And, with the seaman
+in his arms, he staggered back through the foam and dropped his
+burden on the sand at Lynde's feet. Alan was reeling from exhaustion
+and chilled to the marrow, but he thought only of the man he had
+rescued. The latter was unconscious and, as Alan bent over him, he
+heard Lynde give a choking little cry.</p>
+
+<p>"He is living still," said Alan. "We must get him up to the house as
+soon as possible. How shall we manage it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Lynde and I can go and bring the Captain's mattress down," said
+Emily. Now that Alan was safe she was eager to do all she could. "Then
+you and I can carry him up to the house."</p>
+
+<p>"That will be best," said Alan. "Go quickly."</p>
+
+<p>He did not look at Lynde or he would have been shocked by the agony on
+her face. She cast one glance at the prostrate man and followed Emily.
+In a short time they returned with the mattress, and Alan and Emily
+carried the sailor on it to Four Winds. Lynde walked behind them,
+seemingly unconscious of both. She watched the stranger's face as one
+fascinated.</p>
+
+<p>At Four Winds they carried the man to a room where Emily and Alan
+worked over him, while Lynde heated water and hunted out stimulants in
+a mechanical fashion. When Alan came down she asked no questions but
+looked at him with the same strained horror on her face which it had
+borne ever since Alan had dropped his burden at her feet.</p>
+
+<p>"Is he&mdash;conscious?" asked Lynde, as if she forced herself to ask the
+question.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, he has come back to life. But he is delirious and doesn't
+realize his surroundings at all. He thinks he is still on board the
+vessel. He'll probably come round all right. Emily is going to watch
+him and I'll go up to Rexton and send Dr. Ames down."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know who that man you have saved is?" asked Lynde.</p>
+
+<p>"No. I asked him his name but could not get any sensible answer."</p>
+
+<p>"I can tell you who he is&mdash;he is Frank Harmon."</p>
+
+<p>Alan stared at her. "Frank Harmon. Your&mdash;your&mdash;the man you married?
+Impossible!"</p>
+
+<p>"It is he. Do you think I could be mistaken?"</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style="width: 15%;" />
+<br />
+
+<p>Dr. Ames came to Four Winds that night and again the next day. He
+found Harmon delirious in a high fever.</p>
+
+<p>"It will be several days before he comes to his senses," he said.
+"Shall I send you help to nurse him?"</p>
+
+<p>"It isn't necessary," said Emily stiffly. "I can look after him&mdash;and
+the Captain ought to be back tomorrow."</p>
+
+<p>"You've no idea who he is, I suppose?" asked the doctor.</p>
+
+<p>"No." Emily was quite sincere. Lynde had not told her, and Emily did
+not recognize him.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Mr. Douglas did a brave thing in rescuing him," said Dr. Ames.
+"I'll be back tomorrow."</p>
+
+<p>Harmon remained delirious for a week. Alan went every day to Four
+Winds, his interest in a man he had rescued explaining his visits to
+the Rexton people. The Captain had returned and, though not absolutely
+uncivil, was taciturn and moody. Alan reflected grimly that Captain
+Anthony probably owed him a grudge for saving Harmon's life. He never
+saw Lynde alone, but her strained, tortured face made his heart ache.
+Old Emily only seemed her natural self. She waited on Harmon and Dr.
+Ames considered her a paragon of a nurse. Alan thought it was well
+that Emily knew nothing more of Harmon than that he was an old friend
+of Captain Anthony's. He felt sure that she would have walked out of
+the sick room and never reentered it had she guessed that the patient
+was the man whom, above all others, Lynde dreaded and feared.</p>
+
+<p>One afternoon when Alan went to Four Winds Emily met him at the door.</p>
+
+<p>"He's better," she announced. "He had a good sleep this afternoon and
+when he woke he was quite himself. You'd better go up and see him. I
+told him all I could but he wants to see you. Anthony and Lynde are
+away to Crosse Harbour. Go up and talk to him."</p>
+
+<p>Harmon turned his head as the minister approached and held out his
+hand with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>"You're the preacher, I reckon. They tell me you were the man who
+pulled me out of that hurly-burly. I wasn't hardly worth saving but
+I'm as grateful to you as if I was."</p>
+
+<p>"I only&mdash;did&mdash;what any man would have done," said Alan, taking the
+offered hand.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know about that. Anyhow, it's not every man could have done
+it. I'd been hanging in that rigging all day and most of the night
+before. There were five more of us but they dropped off. I knew it was
+no use to try to swim ashore alone&mdash;the backwater would be too much
+for me. I must have been a lot of trouble. That old woman says I've
+been raving for a week. And, by the way I feel, I fancy I'll be
+stretched out here another week before I'll be able to use my pins.
+Who are these Olivers anyhow? The old woman wouldn't talk about the
+family."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you know them?" asked Alan in astonishment. "Isn't your name
+Harmon?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's right&mdash;Harmon&mdash;Alfred Harmon, first mate of the schooner,
+<i>Annie M.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"Alfred! I thought your name was Frank!"</p>
+
+<p>"Frank was my twin brother. We were so much alike our own mammy
+couldn't tell us apart. Did you know Frank?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. This family did. Miss Oliver thought you were Frank when she saw
+you."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't feel much like myself but I'm not Frank anyway. He's dead,
+poor chap&mdash;got shot in a spat with Chinese pirates three years ago."</p>
+
+<p>"Dead! Man, are you speaking the truth? Are you certain?"</p>
+
+<p>"Pop sure. His mate told me the whole story. Say, preacher, what's the
+matter? You look as if you were going to keel over."</p>
+
+<p>Alan hastily drank a glass of water.</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;I am all right now. I haven't been feeling well of late."</p>
+
+<p>"Guess you didn't do yourself any good going out into that freezing
+water and dragging me in."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall thank God every day of my life that I did do it," said Alan
+gravely, new light in his eyes, as Emily entered the room. "Miss
+Oliver, when will the Captain and Lynde be back?"</p>
+
+<p>"They said they would be home by four."</p>
+
+<p>She looked at Alan curiously.</p>
+
+<p>"I will go and meet her," he said quickly.</p>
+
+<p>He came upon Lynde, sitting on a grey boulder under the shadow of an
+overhanging fir coppice, with her dogs beside her.</p>
+
+<p>She turned her head indifferently as Alan's footsteps sounded on the
+pebbles, and then stood slowly up.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you looking for me?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I have some news for you, Lynde," Alan said.</p>
+
+<p>"Has he&mdash;has he come to himself?" she whispered.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, he has come to himself. Lynde, he is not Frank Harmon&mdash;he is his
+twin brother. He says Frank Harmon was killed three years ago in the
+China seas."</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Lynde's great grey eyes stared into Alan's, questioning.
+Then, as the truth seized on her comprehension, she sat down on the
+boulder and put her hands over her face without a word. Alan walked
+down to the water's edge to give her time to recover herself. When he
+came back he took her hands and said quietly, "Lynde, do you realize
+what this means for us&mdash;for us? You are free&mdash;free to love me&mdash;to be
+my wife."</p>
+
+<p>Lynde shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that can't be. I am not fit to be your wife."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't talk nonsense, dear," he smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"It isn't nonsense. You are a minister and it would ruin you to marry
+a girl like me. Think what the Rexton people would say of it."</p>
+
+<p>"Rexton isn't the world, dearest. Last week I had a letter from home
+asking me to go to a church there. I did not think of accepting
+then&mdash;now I will go&mdash;we will both go&mdash;and a new life will begin for
+you, clear of the shadows of the old."</p>
+
+<p>"That isn't possible. No, Alan, listen&mdash;I love you too well to do you
+the wrong of marrying you. It would injure you. There is Father. I
+love him and he has always been very kind to me. But&mdash;but&mdash;there's
+something wrong&mdash;you know it&mdash;some crime in his past&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"The only man who knew that is dead."</p>
+
+<p>"We do not know that he was the only man. I am the daughter of a
+criminal and I am no fit wife for Alan Douglas. No, Alan, don't plead,
+please. I won't think differently&mdash;I never can."</p>
+
+<p>There was a ring of finality in her tone that struck dismay to Alan's
+heart. He prepared to entreat and argue, but before he could utter a
+word, the boughs behind them parted and Captain Anthony stepped down
+from the bank.</p>
+
+<p>"I've been listening," he announced coolly, "and I think it high time
+I took a share in the conversation. You seem to have run up against a
+snag, Mr. Douglas. You say Frank Harmon is dead. That's good riddance
+if it's true. Is it true?"</p>
+
+<p>"His brother declares it is."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then, I'll help you all I can. I like you, Mr. Douglas, and I
+happen to be fond of Lynde, too&mdash;though you mayn't believe it. I'm
+fond of her for her mother's sake and I'd like to see her happy. I
+didn't want to give her to Harmon that time three years ago but I
+couldn't help myself. He had the upper hand, curse him. It wasn't for
+my own sake, though&mdash;it was for my wife's. However, that's all over
+and done with and I'll do the best I can to atone for it. So you won't
+marry your minister because your father was not a good man, Lynde?
+Well, I don't suppose he was a very good man&mdash;a man who makes his
+wife's life a hell, even in a refined way, isn't exactly a saint, to
+my way of thinking. But that's the worst that could be said of him and
+it doesn't entail any indelible disgrace on his family, I suppose. I
+am not your father, Lynde."</p>
+
+<p>"Not my father?" Lynde echoed the words blankly.</p>
+
+<p>"No. Your father was your mother's first husband. She never told you
+of him. When I said he made her life a hell, I said the truth, no
+more, no less. I had loved your mother ever since I was a boy, Lynde.
+But she was far above me in station and I never dreamed it was
+possible to win her love. She married James Ashley. He was a
+gentleman, so called&mdash;and he didn't kick or beat her. Oh no, he just
+tormented her refined womanhood to the verge of frenzy, that was all.
+He died when you were a baby. And a year later I found out your mother
+could love me, rough sailor and all as I was. I married her and
+brought her here. We had fifteen years of happiness together. I'm not
+a good man&mdash;but I made your mother happy in spite of her wrecked
+health and her dark memories. It was her wish that you should be known
+as my daughter, but under the present circumstances I know she would
+wish that you should be told the truth. Marry your man, Lynde, and go
+away with him. Emily will go with you if you like. I'm going back to
+the sea. I've been hankering for it ever since your mother died. I'll
+go out of your life. There, don't cry&mdash;I hate to see a woman cry. Mr.
+Douglas, I'll leave you to dry her tears and I'll go up to the house
+and have a talk with Harmon."</p>
+
+<p>When Captain Anthony had disappeared behind the Point, Alan turned to
+Lynde. She was sobbing softly and her face was wet with tears. Alan
+drew her head down on his shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"Sweetheart, the dark past is all put by. Our future begins with
+promise. All is well with us, dear Lynde."</p>
+
+<p>Like a child, she put her arms about his neck and their lips met.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="Marcellas_Reward" id="Marcellas_Reward"></a><hr />
+<br />
+
+<h2>Marcella's Reward<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>Dr. Clark shook his head gravely. "She is not improving as fast as I
+should like to see," he said. "In fact&mdash;er&mdash;she seems to have gone
+backward the past week. You must send her to the country, Miss
+Langley. The heat here is too trying for her."</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Clark might as well have said, "You must send her to the moon"&mdash;or
+so Marcella thought bitterly. Despair filled her heart as she looked
+at Patty's white face and transparent hands and listened to the
+doctor's coolly professional advice. Patty's illness had already swept
+away the scant savings of three years. Marcella had nothing left with
+which to do anything more for her.</p>
+
+<p>She did not make any answer to the doctor&mdash;she could not. Besides,
+what could she say, with Patty's big blue eyes, bigger and bluer than
+ever in her thin face, looking at her so wistfully? She dared not say
+it was impossible. But Aunt Emma had no such scruples. With a great
+clatter and racket, that lady fell upon the dishes that held Patty's
+almost untasted dinner and whisked them away while her tongue kept
+time to her jerky movements.</p>
+
+<p>"Goodness me, doctor, do you think you're talking to millionaires?
+Where do you suppose the money is to come from to send Patty to the
+country? <i>I</i> can't afford it, that is certain. I think I do pretty
+well to give Marcella and Patty their board free, and I have to work
+my fingers to the bone to do <i>that</i>. It's all nonsense about Patty,
+anyhow. What she ought to do is to make an effort to get better. She
+doesn't&mdash;she just mopes and pines. She won't eat a thing I cook for
+her. How can anyone expect to get better if she doesn't eat?"</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Emma glared at the doctor as if she were triumphantly sure that
+she had propounded an unanswerable question. A dull red flush rose to
+Marcella's face.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Aunt Emma, I <i>can't</i> eat!" said Patty wearily. "It isn't because
+I won't&mdash;indeed, I can't."</p>
+
+<p>"Humph! I suppose my cooking isn't fancy enough for you&mdash;that's the
+trouble. Well, I haven't the time to put any frills on it. I think I
+do pretty well to wait on you at all with all that work piling up
+before me. But some people imagine that they were born to be waited
+on."</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Emma whirled the last dish from the table and left the room,
+slamming the door behind her.</p>
+
+<p>The doctor shrugged his shoulders. He had become used to Miss Gibson's
+tirades during Patty's illness. But Marcella had never got used to
+them&mdash;never, in all the three years she had lived with her aunt. They
+flicked on the raw as keenly as ever. This morning it seemed
+unbearable. It took every atom of Marcella's self-control to keep her
+from voicing her resentful thoughts. It was only for Patty's sake that
+she was able to restrain herself. It was only for Patty's sake, too,
+that she did not, as soon as the doctor had gone, give way to tears.
+Instead, she smiled bravely into the little sister's eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me brush your hair now, dear, and bathe your face."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you time?" said Patty anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I think so."</p>
+
+<p>Patty gave a sigh of content.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm so glad! Aunt Emma always hurts me when she brushes my hair&mdash;she
+is in such a hurry. You're so gentle, Marcella, you don't make my head
+ache at all. But oh! I'm so tired of being sick. I wish I could get
+well faster. Marcy, do you think I can be sent to the country?"</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;I don't know, dear. I'll see if I can think of any way to manage
+it," said Marcella, striving to speak hopefully.</p>
+
+<p>Patty drew a long breath.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Marcy, it would be lovely to see the green fields again, and the
+woods and brooks, as we did that summer we spent in the country
+before Father died. I wish we could live in the country always. I'm
+sure I would soon get better if I could go&mdash;if it was only for a
+little while. It's so hot here&mdash;and the factory makes such a noise&mdash;my
+head seems to go round and round all the time. And Aunt Emma scolds
+so."</p>
+
+<p>"You mustn't mind Aunt Emma, dear," said Marcella. "You know she
+doesn't really mean it&mdash;it is just a habit she has got into. She was
+really very good to you when you were so sick. She sat up night after
+night with you, and made me go to bed. There now, dearie, you're fresh
+and sweet, and I must hurry to the store, or I'll be late. Try and
+have a little nap, and I'll bring you home some oranges tonight."</p>
+
+<p>Marcella dropped a kiss on Patty's cheek, put on her hat and went out.
+As soon as she left the house, she quickened her steps almost to a
+run. She feared she would be late, and that meant a ten-cent fine. Ten
+cents loomed as large as ten dollars now to Marcella's eyes when every
+dime meant so much. But fast as she went, her distracted thoughts went
+faster. She could not send Patty to the country. There was no way,
+think, plan, worry as she might. And if she could not! Marcella
+remembered Patty's face and the doctor's look, and her heart sank like
+lead. Patty was growing weaker every day instead of stronger, and the
+weather was getting hotter. Oh, if Patty were to&mdash;to&mdash;but Marcella
+could not complete the sentence even in thought.</p>
+
+<p>If they were not so desperately poor! Marcella's bitterness overflowed
+her soul at the thought. Everywhere around her were evidences of
+wealth&mdash;wealth often lavishly and foolishly spent&mdash;and she could not
+get money enough anywhere to save her sister's life! She almost felt
+that she hated all those smiling, well-dressed people who thronged the
+streets. By the time she reached the store, poor Marcella's heart was
+seething with misery and resentment.</p>
+
+<p>Three years before, when Marcella had been sixteen and Patty nine,
+their parents had died, leaving them absolutely alone in the world
+except for their father's half-sister, Miss Gibson, who lived in
+Canning and earned her livelihood washing and mending for the hands
+employed in the big factory nearby. She had grudgingly offered the
+girls a home, which Marcella had accepted because she must. She
+obtained a position in one of the Canning stores at three dollars a
+week, out of which she contrived to dress herself and Patty and send
+the latter to school. Her life for three years was one of absolute
+drudgery, yet until now she had never lost courage, but had struggled
+bravely on, hoping for better times in the future when she should get
+promotion and Patty would be old enough to teach school.</p>
+
+<p>But now Marcella's courage and hopefulness had gone out like a spent
+candle. She was late at the store, and that meant a fine; her head
+ached, and her feet felt like lead as she climbed the stairs to her
+department&mdash;a hot, dark, stuffy corner behind the shirtwaist counter.
+It was warm and close at any time, but today it was stifling, and
+there was already a crowd of customers, for it was the day of a
+bargain sale. The heat and noise and chatter got on Marcella's
+tortured nerves. She felt that she wanted to scream, but instead she
+turned calmly to a waiting customer&mdash;a big, handsome, richly dressed
+woman. Marcella noted with an ever-increasing bitterness that the
+woman wore a lace collar the price of which would have kept Patty in
+the country for a year.</p>
+
+<p>She was Mrs. Liddell&mdash;Marcella knew her by sight&mdash;and she was in a
+very bad temper because she had been kept waiting. For the next half
+hour she badgered and worried Marcella to the point of distraction.
+Nothing suited her. Pile after pile, box after box, of shirtwaists
+did Marcella take down for her, only to have them flung aside with
+sarcastic remarks. Mrs. Liddell seemed to hold Marcella responsible
+for the lack of waists that suited her; her tongue grew sharper and
+sharper and her comments more trying. Then she mislaid her purse, and
+was disagreeable about that until it turned up.</p>
+
+<p>Marcella shut her lips so tightly that they turned white to keep back
+the impatient retort that rose momentarily to her lips. The insolence
+of some customers was always trying to the sensitive, high-spirited
+girl, but today it seemed unbearable. Her head throbbed fiercely with
+the pain of the ever-increasing ache, and&mdash;what was the lady on her
+right saying to a friend?</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, she had typhoid, you know&mdash;a very bad form. She rallied from it,
+but she was so exhausted that she couldn't really recover, and the
+doctor said&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Really," interrupted Mrs. Liddell's sharp voice, "may I ask you to
+attend to me, if you please? No doubt gossip may be very interesting
+to you, but I am accustomed to having a clerk pay <i>some</i> small
+attention to my requirements. If you cannot attend to your business, I
+shall go to the floor walker and ask him to direct me to somebody who
+can. The laziness and disobligingness of the girls in this store is
+really getting beyond endurance."</p>
+
+<p>A passionate answer was on the point of Marcella's tongue. All her
+bitterness and suffering and resentment flashed into her face and
+eyes. For one moment she was determined to speak out, to repay Mrs.
+Liddell's insolence in kind. A retort was ready to her hand. Everyone
+knew that Mrs. Liddell, before her marriage to a wealthy man, had been
+a working girl. What could be easier than to say contemptuously: "You
+should be a judge of a clerk's courtesy and ability, madam. You were a
+shop girl yourself once?"</p>
+
+<p>But if she said it, what would follow? Prompt and instant dismissal.
+And Patty? The thought of the little sister quelled the storm in
+Marcella's soul. For Patty's sake she must control her temper&mdash;and she
+did. With an effort that left her white and tremulous she crushed back
+the hot words and said quietly: "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Liddell. I
+did not mean to be inattentive. Let me show you some of our new
+lingerie waists, I think you will like them."</p>
+
+<p>But Mrs. Liddell did not like the new lingerie waists which Marcella
+brought to her in her trembling hands. For another half hour she
+examined and found fault and sneered. Then she swept away with the
+scornful remark that she didn't see a thing there that was fit to
+wear, and she would go to Markwell Bros. and see if they had anything
+worth looking at.</p>
+
+<p>When she had gone, Marcella leaned against the counter, pale and
+exhausted. She must have a breathing spell. Oh, how her head ached!
+How hot and stifling and horrible everything was! She longed for the
+country herself. Oh, if she and Patty could only go away to some place
+where there were green clover meadows and cool breezes and great hills
+where the air was sweet and pure!</p>
+
+<p>During all this time a middle-aged woman had been sitting on a stool
+beside the bargain counter. When a clerk asked her if she wished to be
+waited on, she said, "No, I'm just waiting here for a friend who
+promised to meet me."</p>
+
+<p>She was tall and gaunt and grey haired. She had square jaws and cold
+grey eyes and an aggressive nose, but there was something attractive
+in her plain face, a mingling of common sense and kindliness. She
+watched Marcella and Mrs. Liddell closely and lost nothing of all that
+was said and done on both sides. Now and then she smiled grimly and
+nodded.</p>
+
+<p>When Mrs. Liddell had gone, she rose and leaned over the counter.
+Marcella opened her burning eyes and pulled herself wearily together.</p>
+
+<p>"What can I do for you?" she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing. I ain't looking for to have anything done for me. You need
+to have something done for you, I guess, by the looks of you. You seem
+dead beat out. Aren't you awful tired? I've been listening to that
+woman jawing you till I felt like rising up and giving her a large and
+wholesome piece of my mind. I don't know how you kept your patience
+with her, but I can tell you I admired you for it, and I made up my
+mind I'd tell you so."</p>
+
+<p>The kindness and sympathy in her tone broke Marcella down. Tears
+rushed to her eyes. She bowed her head on her hands and said
+sobbingly, "Oh, I <i>am</i> tired! But it's not that. I'm&mdash;I'm in such
+trouble."</p>
+
+<p>"I knew you were," said the other, with a nod of her head. "I could
+tell that right off by your face. Do you know what I said to myself? I
+said, 'That girl has got somebody at home awful sick.' <i>That's</i> what I
+said. Was I right?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, indeed you were," said Marcella.</p>
+
+<p>"I knew it"&mdash;another triumphant nod. "Now, you just tell me all about
+it. It'll do you good to talk it over with somebody. Here, I'll
+pretend I'm looking at shirtwaists, so that floor walker won't be
+coming down on you, and I'll be as hard to please as that other woman
+was, so's you can take your time. Who's sick&mdash;and what's the matter?"</p>
+
+<p>Marcella told the whole story, choking back her sobs and forcing
+herself to speak calmly, having the fear of the floor walker before
+her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"And I can't afford to send Patty to the country&mdash;I <i>can't</i>&mdash;and I
+know she won't get better if she doesn't go," she concluded.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear, dear, but that's too bad! Something must be done. Let me
+see&mdash;let me put on my thinking cap. What is your name?"</p>
+
+<p>"Marcella Langley."</p>
+
+<p>The older woman dropped the lingerie waist she was pretending to
+examine and stared at Marcella.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't say! Look here, what was your mother's name before she was
+married?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mary Carvell."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I <i>have</i> heard of coincidences, but this beats all! Mary
+Carvell! Well, did you ever hear your mother speak of a girl friend of
+hers called Josephine Draper?"</p>
+
+<p>"I should think I did! You don't mean&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I <i>do</i> mean it. I'm Josephine Draper. Your mother and I went to
+school together, and we were as much as sisters to each other until
+she got married. Then she went away, and after a few years I lost
+trace of her. I didn't even know she was dead. Poor Mary! Well, <i>my</i>
+duty is plain&mdash;that's one comfort&mdash;my duty and my pleasure, too. Your
+sister is coming out to Dalesboro to stay with me. Yes, and you are
+too, for the whole summer. You needn't say you're not, because you
+<i>are</i>. I've said so. There's room at Fir Cottage for you both. Yes,
+Fir Cottage&mdash;I guess you've heard your mother speak of <i>that</i>. There's
+her old room out there that we always slept in when she came to stay
+all night with me. It's all ready for you. What's that? You can't
+afford to lose your place here? Bless your heart, child, you won't
+lose it! The owner of this store is my nephew, and he'll do
+considerable to oblige me, as well he might, seeing as I brought him
+up. To think that Mary Carvell's daughter has been in his store for
+three years, and me never suspecting it! And I might never have found
+you out at all if you hadn't been so patient with that woman. If you'd
+sassed her back, I'd have thought she deserved it and wouldn't have
+blamed you a mite, but I wouldn't have bothered coming to talk to you
+either. Well, well well! Poor child, don't cry. You just pick up and
+go home. I'll make it all right with Tom. You're pretty near played
+out yourself, I can see that. But a summer in Fir Cottage, with plenty
+of cream and eggs and <i>my</i> cookery, will soon make another girl of
+you. Don't you dare to <i>thank</i> me. It's a privilege to be able to do
+something for Mary Carvell's girls. I just loved Mary."</p>
+
+<p>The upshot of the whole matter was that Marcella and Patty went, two
+days later, to Dalesboro, where Miss Draper gave them a hearty welcome
+to Fir Cottage&mdash;a quaint, delightful little house circled by big
+Scotch firs and overgrown with vines. Never were such delightful weeks
+as those that followed. Patty came rapidly back to health and
+strength. As for Marcella, Miss Draper's prophecy was also fulfilled;
+she soon looked and felt like another girl. The dismal years of
+drudgery behind her were forgotten like a dream, and she lived wholly
+in the beautiful present, in the walks and drives, the flowers and
+grass slopes, and in the pleasant household duties which she shared
+with Miss Draper.</p>
+
+<p>"I love housework," she exclaimed one September day. "I don't like the
+thought of going back to the store a bit."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you're not going back," calmly said Miss Draper, who had a
+habit of arranging other people's business for them that might have
+been disconcerting had it not been for her keen insight and hearty
+good sense. "You're going to stay here with me&mdash;you and Patty. I don't
+propose to die of lonesomeness losing you, and I need somebody to help
+me about the house. I've thought it all out. You are to call me Aunt
+Josephine, and Patty is to go to school. I had this scheme in mind
+from the first, but I thought I'd wait to see how we got along living
+in the same house, and how you liked it here, before I spoke out. No,
+you needn't thank me this time either. I'm doing this every bit as
+much for my sake as yours. Well, that's all settled. Patty won't
+object, bless her rosy cheeks!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said Marcella, with eyes shining through her tears. "I'm so
+happy, dear Miss Draper&mdash;I mean Aunt Josephine. I'll love to stay
+here&mdash;and I <i>will</i> thank you."</p>
+
+<p>"Fudge!" remarked Miss Draper, who felt uncomfortably near crying
+herself. "You might go out and pick a basket of Golden Gems. I want to
+make some jelly for Patty."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="Margarets_Patient" id="Margarets_Patient"></a><hr />
+<br />
+
+<h2>Margaret's Patient<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h2>
+<br />
+
+<div class="img">
+<img border="0" src="images/illus03.jpg" width="45%" alt="&quot;DID DR. FORBES THINK SHE OUGHT TO GIVE UP HER TRIP?&quot;" /><br />
+<p class="cen" style="margin-top: .2em;">"DID DR. FORBES THINK SHE OUGHT TO GIVE UP HER TRIP?"</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Margaret paused a moment at the gate and looked back at the quaint old
+house under its snowy firs with a thrill of proprietary affection. It
+was her home; for the first time in her life she had a real home, and
+the long, weary years of poorly paid drudgery were all behind her.
+Before her was a prospect of independence and many of the delights she
+had always craved; in the immediate future was a trip to Vancouver
+with Mrs. Boyd.</p>
+
+<p>For I shall go, of course, thought Margaret, as she walked briskly
+down the snowy road. I've always wanted to see the Rockies, and to go
+there with Mrs. Boyd will double the pleasure. She is such a
+delightful companion.</p>
+
+<p>Margaret Campbell had been an orphan ever since she could remember.
+She had been brought up by a distant relative of her father's&mdash;that
+is, she had been given board, lodging, some schooling and indifferent
+clothes for the privilege of working like a little drudge in the house
+of the grim cousin who sheltered her. The death of this cousin flung
+Margaret on her own resources. A friend had procured her employment as
+the "companion" of a rich, eccentric old lady, infirm of health and
+temper. Margaret lived with her for five years, and to the young girl
+they seemed treble the time. Her employer was fault-finding, peevish,
+unreasonable, and many a time Margaret's patience almost failed
+her&mdash;almost, but not quite. In the end it brought her a more tangible
+reward than sometimes falls to the lot of the toiler. Mrs. Constance
+died, and in her will she left to Margaret her little up-country
+cottage and enough money to provide her an income for the rest of her
+life.</p>
+
+<p>Margaret took immediate possession of her little house and, with the
+aid of a capable old servant, soon found herself very comfortable. She
+realized that her days of drudgery were over, and that henceforth
+life would be a very different thing from what it had been. Margaret
+meant to have "a good time." She had never had any pleasure and now
+she was resolved to garner in all she could of the joys of existence.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not going to do a single useful thing for a year," she had told
+Mrs. Boyd gaily. "Just think of it&mdash;a whole delightful year of
+vacation, to go and come at will, to read, travel, dream, rest. After
+that, I mean to see if I can find something to do for other folks, but
+I'm going to have this one golden year. And the first thing in it is
+our trip to Vancouver. I'm so glad I have the chance to go with you.
+It's a wee bit short notice, but I'll be ready when you want to
+start."</p>
+
+<p>Altogether, Margaret felt pretty well satisfied with life as she
+tripped blithely down the country road between the ranks of snow-laden
+spruces, with the blue sky above and the crisp, exhilarating air all
+about. There was only one drawback, but it was a pretty serious one.</p>
+
+<p>It's so lonely by spells, Margaret sometimes thought wistfully. All
+the joys my good fortune has brought me can't quite fill my heart.
+There's always one little empty, aching spot. Oh, if I had somebody of
+my very own to love and care for, a mother, a sister, even a cousin.
+But there's nobody. I haven't a relative in the world, and there are
+times when I'd give almost anything to have one. Well, I must try to
+be satisfied with friendship, instead.</p>
+
+<p>Margaret's meditations were interrupted by a brisk footstep behind
+her, and presently Dr. Forbes came up.</p>
+
+<p>"Good afternoon, Miss Campbell. Taking a constitutional?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Isn't it a lovely day? I suppose you are on your professional
+rounds. How are all your patients?"</p>
+
+<p>"Most of them are doing well. But I'm sorry to say I have a new one
+and am very much worried about her. Do you know Freda Martin?"</p>
+
+<p>"The little teacher in the Primary Department who boards with the
+Wayes? Yes, I've met her once or twice. Is she ill?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, seriously. It's typhoid, and she has been going about longer
+than she should. I don't know what is to be done with her. It seems
+she is like yourself in one respect, Miss Campbell; she is utterly
+alone in the world. Mrs. Waye is crippled with rheumatism and can't
+nurse her, and I fear it will be impossible to get a nurse in
+Blythefield. She ought to be taken from the Wayes'. The house is
+overrun with children, is right next door to that noisy factory, and
+in other respects is a poor place for a sick girl."</p>
+
+<p>"It is too bad, I am very sorry," said Margaret sympathetically.</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Forbes shot a keen look at her from his deep-set eyes. "Are you
+willing to show your sympathy in a practical form, Miss Campbell?" he
+said bluntly. "You told me the other day you meant to begin work for
+others next year. Why not begin now? Here's a splendid chance to
+befriend a friendless girl. Will you take Freda Martin into your home
+during her illness?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I couldn't," cried Margaret blankly. "Why, I'm going away next
+week. I'm going with Mrs. Boyd to Vancouver, and my house will be shut
+up."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I did not know. That settles it, I suppose," said the doctor with
+a sigh of regret. "Well, I must see what else I can do for poor Freda.
+If I had a home of my own, the problem would be easily solved, but as
+I'm only a boarder myself, I'm helpless in that respect. I'm very much
+afraid she will have a hard time to pull through, but I'll do the best
+I can for her. Well, I must run in here and have a look at Tommy
+Griggs' eyes. Good morning, Miss Campbell."</p>
+
+<p>Margaret responded rather absently and walked on with her eyes fixed
+on the road. Somehow all the joy had gone out of the day for her, and
+out of her prospective trip. She stopped on the little bridge and
+gazed unseeingly at the ice-bound creek. Did Dr. Forbes really think
+she ought to give up her trip in order to take Freda Martin into her
+home and probably nurse her as well, since skilled nursing of any kind
+was almost unobtainable in Blythefield? No, of course, Dr. Forbes did
+not mean anything of the sort. He had not known she intended to go
+away. Margaret tried to put the thought out of her mind, but it came
+insistently back.</p>
+
+<p>She knew&mdash;none better&mdash;what it was to be alone and friendless. Once
+she had been ill, too, and left to the ministration of careless
+servants. Margaret shuddered whenever she thought of that time. She
+was very, very sorry for Freda Martin, but she certainly couldn't give
+up her plans for her.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, I'd never have the chance to go with Mrs. Boyd again," she
+argued with her troublesome inward promptings.</p>
+
+<p>Altogether, Margaret's walk was spoiled. But when she went to bed that
+night, she was firmly resolved to dismiss all thought of Freda Martin.
+In the middle of the night she woke up. It was calm and moonlight and
+frosty. The world was very still, and Margaret's heart and conscience
+spoke to her out of that silence, where all worldly motives were
+hushed and shamed. She listened, and knew that in the morning she must
+send for Dr. Forbes and tell him to bring his patient to Fir Cottage.</p>
+
+<p>The evening of the next day found Freda in Margaret's spare room and
+Margaret herself installed as nurse, for as Dr. Forbes had feared, he
+had found it impossible to obtain anyone else. Margaret had a natural
+gift for nursing, and she had had a good deal of experience in sick
+rooms. She was skilful, gentle and composed, and Dr. Forbes nodded his
+head with satisfaction as he watched her.</p>
+
+<p>A week later Mrs. Boyd left for Vancouver, and Margaret, bending over
+her delirious patient, could not even go to the station to see her
+off. But she thought little about it. All her hopes were centred on
+pulling Freda Martin through; and when, after a long, doubtful
+fortnight, Dr. Forbes pronounced her on the way to recovery, Margaret
+felt as if she had given the gift of life to a fellow creature. "Oh, I
+am so glad I stayed," she whispered to herself.</p>
+
+<p>During Freda's convalescence Margaret learned to love her dearly. She
+was such a sweet, brave little creature, full of a fine courage to
+face the loneliness and trials of her lot.</p>
+
+<p>"I can never repay you for your kindness, Miss Campbell," she said
+wistfully.</p>
+
+<p>"I am more than repaid already," said Margaret sincerely. "Haven't I
+found a dear little friend?"</p>
+
+<p>One day Freda asked Margaret to write a note for her to a certain
+school chum.</p>
+
+<p>"She will like to know I am getting better. You will find her address
+in my writing desk."</p>
+
+<p>Freda's modest trunk had been brought to Fir Cottage, and Margaret
+went to it for the desk. As she turned over the loose papers in search
+of the address, her eye was caught by a name signed to a faded and
+yellowed letter&mdash;Worth Spencer. Her mother's name!</p>
+
+<p>Margaret gave a little exclamation of astonishment. Could her mother
+have written that letter? It was not likely another woman would have
+that uncommon name. Margaret caught up the letter and ran to Freda's
+room.</p>
+
+<p>"Freda, I couldn't help seeing the name signed to this letter, it is
+my mother's. To whom was it written?"</p>
+
+<p>"That is one of my mother's old letters," said Freda. "She had a
+sister, my Aunt Worth. She was a great deal older than Mother. Their
+parents died when Mother was a baby. Aunt Worth went to her father's
+people, while Mother's grandmother took her. There was not very good
+feeling between the two families, I think. Mother said she lost trace
+of her sister after her sister married, and then, long after, she saw
+Aunt Worth's death in the papers."</p>
+
+<p>"Can you tell me where your mother and her sister lived before they
+were separated?" asked Margaret excitedly.</p>
+
+<p>"Ridgetown."</p>
+
+<p>"Then my mother must have been your mother's sister, and, oh, Freda,
+Freda, you are my cousin."</p>
+
+<p>Eventually this was proved to be the fact. Margaret investigated the
+matter and discovered beyond a doubt that she and Freda were cousins.
+It would be hard to say which of the two girls was the more delighted.</p>
+
+<p>"Anyhow, we'll never be parted again," said Margaret happily. "Fir
+Cottage is your home henceforth, Freda. Oh, how rich I am. I have got
+somebody who really belongs to me. And I owe it all to Dr. Forbes. If
+he hadn't suggested you coming here, I should never have found out
+that we were cousins."</p>
+
+<p>"And I don't think I should ever have got better at all," whispered
+Freda, slipping her hand into Margaret's.</p>
+
+<p>"I think we are going to be the two happiest girls in the world," said
+Margaret. "And Freda, do you know what we are going to do when your
+summer vacation comes? We are going to have a trip through the
+Rockies, yes, indeedy. It would have been nice going with Mrs. Boyd,
+but it will be ten times nicer to go with you."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="Matthew_Insists_on_Puffed_Sleeves" id="Matthew_Insists_on_Puffed_Sleeves"></a><hr />
+<br />
+
+<h2>Matthew Insists on Puffed Sleeves<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>Matthew was having a bad ten minutes of it. He had come into the
+kitchen, in the twilight of a cold, grey December evening, and had sat
+down in the wood-box corner to take off his heavy boots, unconscious
+of the fact that Anne and a bevy of her schoolmates were having a
+practice of "The Fairy Queen" in the sitting-room. Presently they came
+trooping through the hall and out into the kitchen, laughing and
+chattering gaily. They did not see Matthew, who shrank bashfully back
+into the shadows beyond the wood-box with a boot in one hand and a
+bootjack in the other, and he watched them shyly for the aforesaid ten
+minutes as they put on caps and jackets and talked about the dialogue
+and the concert. Anne stood among them, bright eyed and animated as
+they; but Matthew suddenly became conscious that there was something
+about her different from her mates. And what worried Matthew was that
+the difference impressed him as being something that should not exist.
+Anne had a brighter face, and bigger, starrier eyes, and more delicate
+features than the others; even shy, unobservant Matthew had learned to
+take note of these things; but the difference that disturbed him did
+not consist in any of these respects. Then in what did it consist?</p>
+
+<p>Matthew was haunted by this question long after the girls had gone,
+arm in arm, down the long, hard-frozen lane and Anne had betaken
+herself to her books. He could not refer it to Marilla, who, he felt,
+would be quite sure to sniff scornfully and remark that the only
+difference she saw between Anne and the other girls was that they
+sometimes kept their tongues quiet while Anne never did. This, Matthew
+felt, would be no great help.</p>
+
+<p>He had recourse to his pipe that evening to help him study it out,
+much to Marilla's disgust. After two hours of smoking and hard
+reflection Matthew arrived at a solution of his problem. Anne was not
+dressed like the other girls!</p>
+
+<p>The more Matthew thought about the matter the more he was convinced
+that Anne never had been dressed like the other girls&mdash;never since she
+had come to Green Gables. Marilla kept her clothed in plain, dark
+dresses, all made after the same unvarying pattern. If Matthew knew
+there was such a thing as fashion in dress it is as much as he did;
+but he was quite sure that Anne's sleeves did not look at all like the
+sleeves the other girls wore. He recalled the cluster of little girls
+he had seen around her that evening&mdash;all gay in waists of red and blue
+and pink and white&mdash;and he wondered why Marilla always kept her so
+plainly and soberly gowned.</p>
+
+<p>Of course, it must be all right. Marilla knew best and Marilla was
+bringing her up. Probably some wise, inscrutable motive was to be
+served thereby. But surely it would do no harm to let the child have
+one pretty dress&mdash;something like Diana Barry always wore. Matthew
+decided that he would give her one; that surely could not be objected
+to as an unwarranted putting in of his oar. Christmas was only a
+fortnight off. A nice new dress would be the very thing for a present.
+Matthew, with a sigh of satisfaction, put away his pipe and went to
+bed, while Marilla opened all the doors and aired the house.</p>
+
+<p>The very next evening Matthew betook himself to Carmody to buy the
+dress, determined to get the worst over and have done with it. It
+would be, he felt assured, no trifling ordeal. There were some things
+Matthew could buy and prove himself no mean bargainer; but he knew he
+would be at the mercy of shopkeepers when it came to buying a girl's
+dress.</p>
+
+<p>After much cogitation Matthew resolved to go to Samuel Lawson's store
+instead of William Blair's. To be sure, the Cuthberts always had gone
+to William Blair's; it was almost as much a matter of conscience with
+them as to attend the Presbyterian church and vote Conservative. But
+William Blair's two daughters frequently waited on customers there and
+Matthew held them in absolute dread. He could contrive to deal with
+them when he knew exactly what he wanted and could point it out; but
+in such a matter as this, requiring explanation and consultation,
+Matthew felt that he must be sure of a man behind the counter. So he
+would go to Lawson's, where Samuel or his son would wait on him.</p>
+
+<p>Alas! Matthew did not know that Samuel, in the recent expansion of his
+business, had set up a lady clerk also; she was a niece of his wife's
+and a very dashing young person indeed, with a huge, drooping
+pompadour, big, rolling brown eyes, and a most extensive and
+bewildering smile. She was dressed with exceeding smartness and wore
+several bangle bracelets that glittered and rattled and tinkled with
+every movement of her hands. Matthew was covered with confusion at
+finding her there at all; and those bangles completely wrecked his
+wits at one fell swoop.</p>
+
+<p>"What can I do for you this evening. Mr. Cuthbert?" Miss Lucilla
+Harris inquired, briskly and ingratiatingly, tapping the counter with
+both hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you any&mdash;any&mdash;any&mdash;well now, say any garden rakes?" stammered
+Matthew.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Harris looked somewhat surprised, as well she might, to hear a
+man inquiring for garden rakes in the middle of December.</p>
+
+<p>"I believe we have one or two left over," she said, "but they're
+upstairs in the lumber-room. I'll go and see."</p>
+
+<p>During her absence Matthew collected his scattered senses for another
+effort.</p>
+
+<p>When Miss Harris returned with the rake and cheerfully inquired:
+"Anything else tonight, Mr. Cuthbert?" Matthew took his courage in
+both hands and replied: "Well now, since you suggest it, I might as
+well&mdash;take&mdash;that is&mdash;look at&mdash;buy some&mdash;some hayseed."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Harris had heard Matthew Cuthbert called odd. She now concluded
+that he was entirely crazy.</p>
+
+<p>"We only keep hayseed in the spring," she explained loftily. "We've
+none on hand just now."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, certainly&mdash;certainly&mdash;just as you say," stammered unhappy
+Matthew, seizing the rake and making for the door. At the threshold he
+recollected that he had not paid for it and he turned miserably back.
+While Miss Harris was counting out his change he rallied his powers
+for a final desperate attempt.</p>
+
+<p>"Well now&mdash;if it isn't too much trouble&mdash;I might as well&mdash;that is&mdash;I'd
+like to look at&mdash;at&mdash;some sugar."</p>
+
+<p>"White or brown?" queried Miss Harris patiently.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh&mdash;well now&mdash;brown," said Matthew feebly.</p>
+
+<p>"There's a barrel of it over there," said Miss Harris, shaking her
+bangles at it. "It's the only kind we have."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll&mdash;I'll take twenty pounds of it," said Matthew, with beads of
+perspiration standing on his forehead.</p>
+
+<p>Matthew had driven halfway home before he was his own man again. It
+had been a gruesome experience, but it served him right, he thought,
+for committing the heresy of going to a strange store. When he reached
+home he hid the rake in the tool-house, but the sugar he carried in to
+Marilla.</p>
+
+<p>"Brown sugar!" exclaimed Marilla. "Whatever possessed you to get so
+much? You know I never use it except for the hired man's porridge or
+black fruit-cake. Jerry's gone and I've made my cake long ago. It's
+not good sugar, either&mdash;it's coarse and dark&mdash;William Blair doesn't
+usually keep sugar like that."</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;I thought it might come in handy sometime," said Matthew, making
+good his escape.</p>
+
+<p>When Matthew came to think the matter over he decided that a woman was
+required to cope with the situation. Marilla was out of the question.
+Matthew felt sure she would throw cold water on his project at once.
+Remained only Mrs. Lynde; for of no other woman in Avonlea would
+Matthew have dared to ask advice. To Mrs. Lynde he went accordingly,
+and that good lady promptly took the matter out of the harassed man's
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Pick out a dress for you to give Anne? To be sure I will. I'm going
+to Carmody tomorrow and I'll attend to it. Have you something
+particular in mind? No? Well, I'll just go by my own judgment then. I
+believe a nice rich brown would just suit Anne, and William Blair has
+some new gloria in that's real pretty. Perhaps you'd like me to make
+it up for her, too, seeing that if Marilla was to make it Anne would
+probably get wind of it before the time and spoil the surprise? Well,
+I'll do it. No, it isn't a mite of trouble. I like sewing. I'll make
+it to fit my niece, Jenny Gillis, for she and Anne are as like as two
+peas as far as figure goes."</p>
+
+<p>"Well now, I'm much obliged," said Matthew, "and&mdash;and&mdash;I dunno&mdash;but
+I'd like&mdash;I think they make the sleeves different nowadays to what
+they used to be. If it wouldn't be asking too much I&mdash;I'd like them
+made in the new way."</p>
+
+<p>"Puffs? Of course. You needn't worry a speck more about it, Matthew.
+I'll make it up in the very latest fashion," said Mrs. Lynde. To
+herself she added when Matthew had gone:</p>
+
+<p>"It'll be a real satisfaction to see that poor child wearing something
+decent for once. The way Marilla dresses her is positively ridiculous,
+that's what, and I've ached to tell her so plainly a dozen times. I've
+held my tongue though, for I can see Marilla doesn't want advice and
+she thinks she knows more about bringing children up than I do for all
+she's an old maid. But that's always the way. Folks that has brought
+up children know that there's no hard and fast method in the world
+that'll suit every child. But them as never have think it's all as
+plain and easy as Rule of Three&mdash;just set your three terms down so
+fashion, and the sum'll work out correct. But flesh and blood don't
+come under the head of arithmetic and that's where Marilla Cuthbert
+makes her mistake. I suppose she's trying to cultivate a spirit of
+humility in Anne by dressing her as she does: but it's more likely to
+cultivate envy and discontent. I'm sure the child must feel the
+difference between her clothes and the other girls'. But to think of
+Matthew taking notice of it! That man is waking up after being asleep
+for over sixty years."</p>
+
+<p>Marilla knew all the following fortnight that Matthew had something on
+his mind, but what it was she could not guess, until Christmas Eve,
+when Mrs. Lynde brought up the new dress. Marilla behaved pretty well
+on the whole, although it is very likely she distrusted Mrs. Lynde's
+diplomatic explanation that she had made the dress because Matthew was
+afraid Anne would find out about it too soon if Marilla made it.</p>
+
+<p>"So this is what Matthew has been looking so mysterious over and
+grinning about to himself for two weeks, is it?" she said a little
+stiffly but tolerantly. "I knew he was up to some foolishness. Well, I
+must say I don't think Anne needed any more dresses. I made her three
+good, warm, serviceable ones this fall, and anything more is sheer
+extravagance. There's enough material in those sleeves alone to make a
+waist, I declare there is. You'll just pamper Anne's vanity, Matthew,
+and she's as vain as a peacock now. Well, I hope she'll be satisfied
+at last, for I know she's been hankering after those silly sleeves
+ever since they came in, although she never said a word after the
+first. The puffs have been getting bigger and more ridiculous right
+along; they're as big as balloons now. Next year anybody who wears
+them will have to go through a door sideways."</p>
+
+<p>Christmas morning broke on a beautiful white world. It had been a very
+mild December and people had looked forward to a green Christmas; but
+just enough snow fell softly in the night to transfigure Avonlea. Anne
+peeped out from her frosted gable window with delighted eyes. The firs
+in the Haunted Wood were all feathery and wonderful; the birches and
+wild cherry trees were outlined in pearl; the ploughed fields were
+stretches of snowy dimples; and there was a crisp tang in the air that
+was glorious. Anne ran downstairs singing until her voice re-echoed
+through Green Gables.</p>
+
+<p>"Merry Christmas, Marilla! Merry Christmas, Matthew! Isn't it a lovely
+Christmas? I'm so glad it's white. Any other kind of Christmas doesn't
+seem real, does it? I don't like green Christmases. They're <i>not</i>
+green&mdash;they're just nasty faded browns and greys. What makes people
+call them green? Why&mdash;why&mdash;Matthew, is that for me? Oh, Matthew!"</p>
+
+<p>Matthew had sheepishly unfolded the dress from its paper swathings and
+held it out with a deprecatory glance at Marilla, who feigned to be
+contemptuously filling the teapot, but nevertheless watched the scene
+out of the corner of her eye with a rather interested air.</p>
+
+<p>Anne took the dress and looked at it in reverent silence. Oh, how
+pretty it was&mdash;a lovely soft brown gloria with all the gloss of silk;
+a skirt with dainty frills and shirrings; a waist elaborately
+pin-tucked in the most fashionable way, with a little ruffle of filmy
+lace at the neck. But the sleeves&mdash;they were the crowning glory! Long
+elbow cuffs, and above them two beautiful puffs divided by rows of
+shirring and bows of brown silk ribbon.</p>
+
+<p>"That's a Christmas present for you, Anne," said Matthew shyly.
+"Why&mdash;why&mdash;Anne, don't you like it? Well now&mdash;well now."</p>
+
+<p>For Anne's eyes had suddenly filled with tears.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Like</i> it! Oh, Matthew!" Anne laid the dress over a chair and clasped
+her hands. "Matthew, it's perfectly exquisite. Oh, I can never thank
+you enough. Look at those sleeves! Oh, it seems to me this must be a
+happy dream."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well, let us have breakfast," interrupted Marilla. "I must say,
+Anne, I don't think you needed the dress; but since Matthew has got it
+for you, see that you take good care of it. There's a hair ribbon Mrs.
+Lynde left for you. It's brown, to match the dress. Come now, sit in."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't see how I'm going to eat breakfast," said Anne rapturously.
+"Breakfast seems so commonplace at such an exciting moment. I'd rather
+feast my eyes on that dress. I'm so glad that puffed sleeves are
+still fashionable. It did seem to me that I'd never get over it if
+they went out before I had a dress with them. I'd never have felt
+quite satisfied, you see. It was lovely of Mrs. Lynde to give me the
+ribbon, too. I feel that I ought to be a very good girl indeed. It's
+at times like this I'm sorry I'm not a model little girl; and I always
+resolve that I will be in future. But somehow it's hard to carry out
+your resolutions when irresistible temptations come. Still, I really
+will make an extra effort after this."</p>
+
+<p>When the commonplace breakfast was over Diana appeared, crossing the
+white log bridge in the hollow, a gay little figure in her crimson
+ulster. Anne flew down the slope to meet her.</p>
+
+<p>"Merry Christmas, Diana! And oh, it's a wonderful Christmas. I've
+something splendid to show you. Matthew has given me the loveliest
+dress, with <i>such</i> sleeves. I couldn't even imagine any nicer."</p>
+
+<p>"I've got something more for you," said Diana breathlessly.
+"Here&mdash;this box. Aunt Josephine sent us out a big box with ever so
+many things in it&mdash;and this is for you. I'd have brought it over last
+night, but it didn't come until after dark, and I never feel very
+comfortable coming through the Haunted Wood in the dark now."</p>
+
+<p>Anne opened the box and peeped in. First a card with "For the
+Anne-girl and Merry Christmas," written on it; and then, a pair of the
+daintiest little kid slippers, with beaded toes and satin bows and
+glistening buckles.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," said Anne, "Diana, this is too much, I must be dreaming."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>I</i> call it providential," said Diana. "You won't have to borrow
+Ruby's slippers now, and that's a blessing, for they're two sizes too
+big for you, and it would be awful to hear a fairy shuffling. Josie
+Pye would be delighted. Mind you, Rob Wright went home with Gertie Pye
+from the practice night before last. Did you ever hear anything equal
+to that?"</p>
+
+<p>All the Avonlea scholars were in a fever of excitement that day, for
+the hall had to be decorated and a last grand rehearsal held.</p>
+
+<p>The concert came off in the evening and was a pronounced success. The
+little hall was crowded; all the performers did excellently well, but
+Anne was the bright particular star of the occasion, as even envy, in
+the shape of Josie Pye, dared not deny.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, hasn't it been a brilliant evening?" sighed Anne, when it was all
+over and she and Diana were walking home together under a dark, starry
+sky.</p>
+
+<p>"Everything went off very well," said Diana practically. "I guess we
+must have made as much as ten dollars. Mind you, Mr. Allan is going to
+send an account of it to the Charlottetown papers."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Diana, will we really see our names in print? It makes me thrill
+to think of it. Your solo was perfectly elegant, Diana. I felt prouder
+than you did when it was encored. I just said to myself, 'It is my
+dear bosom friend who is so honoured.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, your recitations just brought down the house, Anne. That sad
+one was simply splendid."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I was so nervous, Diana. When Mr. Allan called out my name I
+really cannot tell how I ever got up on that platform. I felt as if a
+million eyes were looking at me and through me, and for one dreadful
+moment I was sure I couldn't begin at all. Then I thought of my lovely
+puffed sleeves and took courage. I knew that I must live up to those
+sleeves, Diana. So I started in, and my voice seemed to be coming from
+ever so far away. I just felt like a parrot. It's providential that I
+practised those recitations so often up in the garret, or I'd never
+have been able to get through. Did I groan all right?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, indeed, you groaned lovely," assured Diana.</p>
+
+<p>"I saw old Mrs. Sloane wiping away tears when I sat down. It was
+splendid to think I had touched somebody's heart. It's so romantic to
+take part in a concert isn't it? Oh, it's been a very memorable
+occasion indeed."</p>
+
+<p>"Wasn't the boys' dialogue fine?" said Diana. "Gilbert Blythe was just
+splendid. Anne, I do think it's awful mean the way you treat Gil. Wait
+till I tell you. When you ran off the platform after the fairy
+dialogue one of your roses fell out of your hair. I saw Gil pick it up
+and put it in his breast pocket. There now. You're so romantic that
+I'm sure you ought to be pleased at that."</p>
+
+<p>"It's nothing to me what that person does," said Anne loftily. "I
+simply never waste a thought on him, Diana."</p>
+
+<p>That night Marilla and Matthew, who had been out to a concert for the
+first time in twenty years, sat for awhile by the kitchen fire after
+Anne had gone to bed.</p>
+
+<p>"Well now, I guess our Anne did as well as any of them," said Matthew
+proudly.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, she did," admitted Marilla. "She's a bright child, Matthew. And
+she looked real nice, too. I've been kind of opposed to this concert
+scheme, but I suppose there's no real harm in it after all. Anyhow, I
+was proud of Anne tonight, although I'm not going to tell her so."</p>
+
+<p>"Well now, I was proud of her and I did tell her so 'fore she went
+upstairs," said Matthew. "We must see what we can do for her some of
+these days, Marilla. I guess she'll need something more than Avonlea
+school by and by."</p>
+
+<p>"There's time enough to think of that," said Marilla. "She's only
+thirteen in March. Though tonight it struck me she was growing quite a
+big girl. Mrs. Lynde made that dress a mite too long, and it makes
+Anne look so tall. She's quick to learn and I guess the best thing we
+can do for her will be to send her to Queen's after a spell. But
+nothing need be said about that for a year or two yet."</p>
+
+<p>"Well now, it'll do no harm to be thinking it over off and on," said
+Matthew. "Things like that are all the better for lots of thinking
+over."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="Missys_Room" id="Missys_Room"></a><hr />
+<br />
+
+<h2>Missy's Room<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>Mrs. Falconer and Miss Bailey walked home together through the fine
+blue summer afternoon from the Ladies' Aid meeting at Mrs. Robinson's.
+They were talking earnestly; that is to say, Miss Bailey was talking
+earnestly and volubly, and Mrs. Falconer was listening. Mrs. Falconer
+had reduced the practice of listening to a fine art. She was a thin,
+wistful-faced mite of a woman, with sad brown eyes, and with
+snow-white hair that was a libel on her fifty-five years and girlish
+step. Nobody in Lindsay ever felt very well acquainted with Mrs.
+Falconer, in spite of the fact that she had lived among them forty
+years. She kept between her and her world a fine, baffling reserve
+which no one had ever been able to penetrate. It was known that she
+had had a bitter sorrow in her life, but she never made any reference
+to it, and most people in Lindsay had forgotten it. Some foolish ones
+even supposed that Mrs. Falconer had forgotten it.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I do not know what on earth is to be done with Camilla Clark,"
+said Miss Bailey, with a prodigious sigh. "I suppose that we will
+simply have to trust the whole matter to Providence."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Bailey's tone and sigh really seemed to intimate to the world at
+large that Providence was a last resort and a very dubious one. Not
+that Miss Bailey meant anything of the sort; her faith was as
+substantial as her works, which were many and praiseworthy and
+seasonable.</p>
+
+<p>The case of Camilla Clark was agitating the Ladies' Aid of one of the
+Lindsay churches. They had talked about it through the whole of that
+afternoon session while they sewed for their missionary box&mdash;talked
+about it, and come to no conclusion.</p>
+
+<p>In the preceding spring James Clark, one of the hands in the lumber
+mill at Lindsay, had been killed in an accident. The shock had proved
+nearly fatal to his young wife. The next day Camilla Clark's baby was
+born dead, and the poor mother hovered for weeks between life and
+death. Slowly, very slowly, life won the battle, and Camilla came back
+from the valley of the shadow. But she was still an invalid, and would
+be so for a long time.</p>
+
+<p>The Clarks had come to Lindsay only a short time before the accident.
+They were boarding at Mrs. Barry's when it happened, and Mrs. Barry
+had shown every kindness and consideration to the unhappy young widow.
+But now the Barrys were very soon to leave Lindsay for the West, and
+the question was, what was to be done with Camilla Clark? She could
+not go west; she could not even do work of any sort yet in Lindsay;
+she had no relatives or friends in the world; and she was absolutely
+penniless. As she and her husband had joined the church to which the
+aforesaid Ladies' Aid belonged, the members thereof felt themselves
+bound to take up her case and see what could be done for her.</p>
+
+<p>The obvious solution was for some of them to offer her a home until
+such time as she would be able to go to work. But there did not seem
+to be anyone who could offer to do this&mdash;unless it was Mrs. Falconer.
+The church was small, and the Ladies' Aid smaller. There were only
+twelve members in it; four of these were unmarried ladies who boarded,
+and so were helpless in the matter; of the remaining eight seven had
+large families, or sick husbands, or something else that prevented
+them from offering Camilla Clark an asylum. Their excuses were all
+valid; they were good, sincere women who would have taken her in if
+they could, but they could not see their way clear to do so. However,
+it was probable they would eventually manage it in some way if Mrs.
+Falconer did not rise to the occasion.</p>
+
+<p>Nobody liked to ask Mrs. Falconer outright to take Camilla Clark in,
+yet everyone thought she might offer. She was comfortably off, and
+though her house was small, there was nobody to live in it except
+herself and her husband. But Mrs. Falconer sat silent through all the
+discussion of the Ladies' Aid, and never opened her lips on the
+subject of Camilla Clark despite the numerous hints which she
+received.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Bailey made one more effort as aforesaid. When her despairing
+reference to Providence brought forth no results, she wished she dared
+ask Mrs. Falconer openly to take Camilla Clark, but somehow she did
+not dare. There were not many things that could daunt Miss Bailey, but
+Mrs. Falconer's reserve and gentle aloofness always could.</p>
+
+<p>When Miss Bailey had gone on down the village street, Mrs. Falconer
+paused for a few moments at her gate, apparently lost in deep thought.
+She was perfectly well aware of all the hints that had been thrown out
+for her benefit that afternoon. She knew that the Aids, one and all,
+thought that she ought to take Camilla Clark. But she had no room to
+give her&mdash;for it was out of the question to think of putting her in
+Missy's room.</p>
+
+<p>"I couldn't do such a thing," she said to herself piteously. "They
+don't understand&mdash;they can't understand&mdash;but I <i>couldn't</i> give her
+Missy's room. I'm sorry for poor Camilla, and I wish I could help her.
+But I can't give her Missy's room, and I have no other."</p>
+
+<p>The little Falconer cottage, set back from the road in the green
+seclusion of an apple orchard and thick, leafy maples, was a very tiny
+one. There were just two rooms downstairs and two upstairs. When Mrs.
+Falconer entered the kitchen an old-looking man with long white hair
+and mild blue eyes looked up with a smile from the bright-coloured
+blocks before him.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you been lonely, Father?" said Mrs. Falconer tenderly.</p>
+
+<p>He shook his head, still smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"No, not lonely. These"&mdash;pointing to the blocks&mdash;"are so pretty. See
+my house, Mother."</p>
+
+<p>This man was Mrs. Falconer's husband. Once he had been one of the
+smartest, most intelligent men in Lindsay, and one of the most trusted
+employees of the railroad company. Then there had been a train
+collision. Malcolm Falconer was taken out of the wreck fearfully
+injured. He eventually recovered physical health, but he was from that
+time forth merely a child in intellect&mdash;a harmless, kindly creature,
+docile and easily amused.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Falconer tried to dismiss the thought of Camilla Clark from her
+mind, but it would not be dismissed. Her conscience reproached her
+continually. She tried to compromise with it by saying that she would
+go down and see Camilla that evening and take her some nice fresh
+Irish moss jelly. It was so good for delicate people.</p>
+
+<p>She found Camilla alone in the Barry sitting-room, and noticed with a
+feeling that was almost like self-reproach how thin and frail and
+white the poor young creature looked. Why, she seemed little more
+than a child! Her great dark eyes were far too big for her wasted
+face, and her hands were almost transparent.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not much better yet," said Camilla tremulously, in response to
+Mrs. Falconer's inquiries. "Oh, I'm so slow getting well! And I
+know&mdash;I feel that I'm a burden to everybody."</p>
+
+<p>"But you mustn't think that, dear," said Mrs. Falconer, feeling more
+uncomfortable than ever. "We are all glad to do all we can for you."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Falconer paused suddenly. She was a very truthful woman and she
+instantly realized that that last sentence was not true. She was not
+doing all she could for Camilla&mdash;she would not be glad, she feared, to
+do all she could.</p>
+
+<p>"If I were only well enough to go to work," sighed Camilla. "Mr. Marks
+says I can have a place in the shoe factory whenever I'm able to. But
+it will be so long yet. Oh, I'm so tired and discouraged!"</p>
+
+<p>She put her hands over her face and sobbed. Mrs. Falconer caught her
+breath. What if Missy were somewhere alone in the world&mdash;ill,
+friendless, with never a soul to offer her a refuge or a shelter? It
+was so very, very probable. Before she could check herself Mrs.
+Falconer spoke. "My dear, don't cry! I want you to come and stay with
+me until you get perfectly well. You won't be a speck of trouble, and
+I'll be glad to have you for company."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Falconer's Rubicon was crossed. She could not draw back now if
+she wanted to. But she was not at all sure that she did want to. By
+the time she reached home she was sure she didn't want to. And yet&mdash;to
+give Missy's room to Camilla! It seemed a great sacrifice to Mrs.
+Falconer.</p>
+
+<p>She went up to it the next morning with firmly set lips to air and
+dust it. It was just the same as when Missy had left it long ago.
+Nothing had ever been moved or changed, but everything had always been
+kept beautifully neat and clean. Snow-white muslin curtains hung
+before the small square window. In one corner was a little white bed.
+Missy's pictures hung on the walls; Missy's books and work-basket were
+lying on the square stand; there was a bit of half-finished fancy
+work, yellow from age, lying in the basket. On a small bureau before
+the gilt-framed mirror were several little girlish knick-knacks and
+boxes whose contents had never been disturbed since Missy went away.
+One of Missy's gay pink ribbons&mdash;Missy had been so fond of pink
+ribbons&mdash;hung over the top of the mirror. On a chair lay Missy's hat,
+bright with ribbons and roses, just as Missy had laid it there on the
+night before she left her home.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Falconer's lips quivered as she looked about the room, and tears
+came to her eyes. Oh, how could she put these things away and bring a
+stranger here&mdash;here, where no one save herself had entered for fifteen
+years, here in this room, sacred to Missy's memory, waiting for her
+return when she should be weary of wandering? It almost seemed to the
+mother's vague fancy, distorted by long, silent brooding, that her
+daughter's innocent girlhood had been kept here for her and would be
+lost forever if the room were given to another.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose it's dreadful foolishness," said Mrs. Falconer, wiping her
+eyes. "I know it is, but I can't help it. It just goes to my heart to
+think of putting these things away. But I must do it. Camilla is
+coming here today, and this room must be got ready for her. Oh, Missy,
+my poor lost child, it's for your sake I'm doing this&mdash;because you may
+be suffering somewhere as Camilla is now, and I'd wish the same
+kindness to be shown to you."</p>
+
+<p>She opened the window and put fresh linen on the bed. One by one
+Missy's little belongings were removed and packed carefully away. On
+the gay, foolish little hat with its faded wreath of roses the
+mother's tears fell as she put it in a box. She remembered so plainly
+the first time Missy had worn it. She could see the pretty, delicately
+tinted face, the big shining brown eyes, and the riotous golden curls
+under the drooping, lace-edged brim. Oh, where was Missy now? What
+roof sheltered her? Did she ever think of her mother and the little
+white cottage under the maples, and the low-ceilinged, dim room where
+she had knelt to say her childhood's prayer?</p>
+
+<p>Camilla Clark came that afternoon.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it is lovely here," she said gratefully, looking out into the
+rustling shade of the maples. "I'm sure I shall soon get well here.
+Mrs. Barry was so kind to me&mdash;I shall never forget her kindness&mdash;but
+the house is so close to the factory, and there was such a whirring
+of wheels all the time, it seemed to get into my head and make me wild
+with nervousness. I'm so weak that sounds like that worry me. But it
+is so still and green and peaceful here. It just rests me."</p>
+
+<p>When bedtime came, Mrs. Falconer took Camilla up to Missy's room. It
+was not as hard as she had expected it to be after all. The wrench was
+over with the putting away of Missy's things, and it did not hurt the
+mother to see the frail, girlish Camilla in her daughter's place.</p>
+
+<p>"What a dear little room!" said Camilla, glancing around. "It is so
+white and sweet. Oh, I know I am going to sleep well here, and dream
+sweet dreams."</p>
+
+<p>"It was my daughter's room," said Mrs. Falconer, sitting down on the
+chintz-covered seat by the open window.</p>
+
+<p>Camilla looked surprised.</p>
+
+<p>"I did not know you had a daughter," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes&mdash;I had just the one child," said Mrs. Falconer dreamily.</p>
+
+<p>For fifteen years she had never spoken of Missy to a living soul
+except her husband. But now she felt a sudden impulse to tell Camilla
+about her, and about the room.</p>
+
+<p>"Her name was Isabella, after her father's mother, but we never called
+her anything but Missy. That was the little name she gave herself when
+she began to talk. Oh, I've missed her so!"</p>
+
+<p>"When did she die?" asked Camilla softly, sympathy shining, starlike,
+in her dark eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"She&mdash;she didn't die," said Mrs. Falconer. "She went away. She was a
+pretty girl and gay and fond of fun&mdash;but such a good girl. Oh, Missy
+was always a good girl! Her father and I were so proud of her&mdash;too
+proud, I suppose. She had her little faults&mdash;she was too fond of dress
+and gaiety, but then she was so young, and we indulged her. Then Bert
+Williams came to Lindsay to work in the factory. He was a handsome
+fellow, with taking ways about him, but he was drunken and profane,
+and nobody knew anything about his past life. He fascinated Missy. He
+kept coming to see her until her father forbade him the house. Then
+our poor, foolish child used to meet him elsewhere. We found this out
+afterwards. And at last she ran away with him, and they were married
+over at Peterboro and went there to live, for Bert had got work there.
+We&mdash;we were too hard on Missy. But her father was so dreadful hurt
+about it. He'd been so fond and proud of her, and he felt that she had
+disgraced him. He disowned her, and sent her word never to show her
+face here again, for he'd never forgive her. And I was angry too. I
+didn't send her any word at all. Oh, how I've wept over that! If I had
+just sent her one little word of forgiveness, everything might have
+been different. But Father forbade me to.</p>
+
+<p>"Then in a little while there was a dreadful trouble. A woman came to
+Peterboro and claimed to be Bert Williams's wife&mdash;and she was&mdash;she
+proved it. Bert cleared out and was never seen again in these parts.
+As soon as we heard about it Father relented, and I went right down
+to Peterboro to see Missy and bring her home. But she wasn't
+there&mdash;she had gone, nobody knew where. I got a letter from her the
+next week. She said her heart was broken, and she knew we would never
+forgive her, and she couldn't face the disgrace, so she was going away
+where nobody would ever find her. We did everything we could to trace
+her, but we never could. We've never heard from her since, and it is
+fifteen years ago. Sometimes I am afraid she is dead, but then again I
+feel sure she isn't. Oh, Camilla, if I could only find my poor child
+and bring her home!</p>
+
+<p>"This was her room. And when she went away I made up my mind I would
+keep it for her just as she left it, and I have up to now. Nobody has
+ever been inside the door but myself. I've always hoped that Missy
+would come home, and I would lead her up here and say, 'Missy, here is
+your room just as you left it, and here is your place in your mother's
+heart just as you left it,' But she never came. I'm afraid she never
+will."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Falconer dropped her face in her hands and sobbed softly. Camilla
+came over to her and put her arms about her.</p>
+
+<p>"I think she will," she said. "I think&mdash;I am sure your love and
+prayers will bring Missy home yet. And I understand how good you have
+been in giving me her room&mdash;oh, I know what it must have cost you! I
+will pray tonight that God will bring Missy back to you."</p>
+
+<p>When Mrs. Falconer returned to the kitchen to close the house for the
+night, her husband being already sound asleep; she heard a low, timid
+knock at the door. Wondering who it could be so late, she opened it.
+The light fell on a shrinking, shabby figure on the step, and on a
+pale, pinched face in which only a mother could have recognized the
+features of her child. Mrs. Falconer gave a cry.</p>
+
+<p>"Missy! Missy! Missy!"</p>
+
+<p>She caught the poor wanderer to her heart and drew her in.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Missy, Missy, have you come back at last? Thank God! Oh, thank
+God!"</p>
+
+<p>"I <i>had</i> to come back. I was starving for a glimpse of your face and
+of the old home, Mother," sobbed Missy. "But I didn't mean you should
+know&mdash;I never meant to show myself to you. I've been sick, and just as
+soon as I got better I came here. I meant to creep home after dark and
+look at the dear old house, and perhaps get a glimpse of you and
+Father through the window if you were still here. I didn't know if you
+were. And then I meant to go right away on the night train. I was
+under the window and I heard you telling my story to someone. Oh,
+Mother, when I knew that you had forgiven me, that you loved me still
+and had always kept my room for me, I made up my mind that I'd show
+myself to you."</p>
+
+<p>The mother had got her child into a rocking-chair and removed the
+shabby hat and cloak. How ill and worn and faded Missy looked! Yet her
+face was pure and fine, and there was in it something sweeter than had
+ever been there in her beautiful girlhood.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm terribly changed, am I not, Mother?" said Missy, with a faint
+smile. "I've had a hard life&mdash;but an honest one, Mother. When I went
+away I was almost mad with the disgrace my wilfulness had brought on
+you and Father and myself. I went as far as I could get away from you,
+and I got work in a factory. I've worked there ever since, just making
+enough to keep body and soul together. Oh, I've starved for a word
+from you&mdash;the sight of your face! But I thought Father would spurn me
+from his door if I should ever dare to come back."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Missy!" sobbed the mother. "Your poor father is just like a
+child. He got a terrible hurt ten years ago, and never got over it. I
+don't suppose he'll even know you&mdash;he's clean forgot everything. But
+he forgave you before it happened. You poor child, you're done right
+out. You're too weak to be travelling. But never mind, you're home
+now, and I'll soon nurse you up. I'll put on the kettle and get you a
+good cup of tea first thing. And you're not to do any more talking
+till the morning. But, oh, Missy, I can't take you to your own room
+after all. Camilla Clark has it, and she'll be asleep by now; we
+mustn't disturb her, for she's been real sick. I'll fix up a bed for
+you on the sofa, though. Missy, Missy, let us kneel down here and
+thank God for His mercy!"</p>
+
+<p>Late that night, when Missy had fallen asleep in her improvised bed,
+the wakeful mother crept in to gloat over her.</p>
+
+<p>"Just to think," she whispered, "if I hadn't taken Camilla Clark in,
+Missy wouldn't have heard me telling about the room, and she'd have
+gone away again and never have known. Oh, I don't deserve such a
+blessing when I was so unwilling to take Camilla! But I know one
+thing: this is going to be Camilla's home. There'll be no leaving it
+even when she does get well. She shall be my daughter, and I'll love
+her next to Missy."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="Teds_Afternoon_Off" id="Teds_Afternoon_Off"></a><hr />
+<br />
+
+<h2>Ted's Afternoon Off<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>Ted was up at five that morning, as usual. He always had to rise early
+to kindle the fire and go for the cows, but on this particular morning
+there was no "had to" about it. He had awakened at four o'clock and
+had sprung eagerly to the little garret window facing the east, to see
+what sort of a day was being born. Thrilling with excitement, he saw
+that it was going to be a glorious day. The sky was all rosy and
+golden and clear beyond the sharp-pointed, dark firs on Lee's Hill.
+Out to the north the sea was shimmering and sparkling gaily, with
+little foam crests here and there ruffled up by the cool morning
+breeze. Oh, it would be a splendid day!</p>
+
+<p>And he, Ted Melvin, was to have a half holiday for the first time
+since he had come to live in Brookdale four years ago&mdash;a whole
+afternoon off to go to the Sunday School picnic at the beach beyond
+the big hotel. It almost seemed too good to be true!</p>
+
+<p>The Jacksons, with whom he had lived ever since his mother had died,
+did not think holidays were necessities for boys. Hard work and
+cast-off clothes, and three grudgingly allowed months of school in the
+winter, made up Ted's life year in and year out&mdash;his outer life at
+least. He had an inner life of dreams, but nobody knew or suspected
+anything about that. To everybody in Brookdale he was simply Ted
+Melvin, a shy, odd-looking little fellow with big dreamy black eyes
+and a head of thick tangled curls which could never be made to look
+tidy and always annoyed Mrs. Jackson exceedingly.</p>
+
+<p>It was as yet too early to light the fire or go for the cows. Ted
+crept softly to a corner in the garret and took from the wall an old
+brown fiddle. It had been his father's. He loved to play on it, and
+his few rare spare moments were always spent in the garret corner or
+the hayloft, with his precious fiddle. It was his one link with the
+old life he had lived in a little cottage far away, with a mother who
+had loved him and a merry young father who had made wonderful music on
+the old brown violin.</p>
+
+<p>Ted pushed open his garret window and, seating himself on the sill,
+began to play, with his eyes fixed on the glowing eastern sky. He
+played very softly, since Mrs. Jackson had a pronounced dislike to
+being wakened by "fiddling at all unearthly hours."</p>
+
+<p>The music he made was beautiful and would have astonished anybody who
+knew enough to know how wonderful it really was. But there was nobody
+to hear this little neglected urchin of all work, and he fiddled away
+happily, the music floating out of the garret window, over the
+treetops and the dew-wet clover fields, until it mingled with the
+winds and was lost in the silver skies of the morning.</p>
+
+<p>Ted worked doubly hard all that forenoon, since there was a double
+share of work to do if, as Mrs. Jackson said, he was to be gadding to
+picnics in the afternoon. But he did it all cheerily and whistled for
+joy as he worked.</p>
+
+<p>After dinner Mrs. Ross came in. Mrs. Ross lived down on the shore road
+and made a living for herself and her two children by washing and
+doing days' work out. She was not a very cheerful person and generally
+spoke as if on the point of bursting into tears. She looked more
+doleful than ever today, and lost no time in explaining why.</p>
+
+<p>"I've just got word that my sister over at White Sands is sick with
+pendikis"&mdash;this was the nearest Mrs. Ross could get to
+appendicitis&mdash;"and has to go to the hospital. I've got to go right over
+and see her, Mrs. Jackson, and I've run in to ask if Ted can go and
+stay with Jimmy till I get back. There's no one else I can get, and
+Amelia is away. I'll be back this evening. I don't like leaving Jimmy
+alone."</p>
+
+<p>"Ted's been promised that he could go to the picnic this afternoon,"
+said Mrs. Jackson shortly. "Mr. Jackson said he could go, so he'll
+have to please himself. If he's willing to stay with Jimmy instead, he
+can. <i>I</i> don't care."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I've <i>got</i> to go to the picnic," cried Ted impulsively. "I'm
+awful sorry for Jimmy&mdash;but I <i>must</i> go to the picnic."</p>
+
+<p>"I s'pose you feel so," said Mrs. Ross, sighing heavily. "I dunno's I
+blame you. Picnics is more cheerful than staying with a poor little
+lame boy, I don't doubt. Well, I s'pose I can put Jimmy's supper on
+the table clost to him, and shut the cat in with him, and mebbe he'll
+worry through. He was counting on having you to fiddle for him,
+though. Jimmy's crazy about music, and he don't never hear much of it.
+Speaking of fiddling, there's a great fiddler stopping at the hotel
+now. His name is Blair Milford, and he makes his living fiddling at
+concerts. I knew him well when he was a child&mdash;I was nurse in his
+father's family. He was a taking little chap, and I was real fond of
+him. Well, I must be getting. Jimmy'll feel bad at staying alone, but
+I'll tell him he'll just have to put up with it."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Ross sighed herself away, and Ted flew up to his garret corner
+with a choking in his throat. He couldn't go to stay with Jimmy&mdash;he
+couldn't give up the picnic! Why, he had never been at a picnic; and
+they were going to drive to the hotel beach in wagons, and have
+swings, and games, and ice cream, and a boat sail to Curtain Island!
+He had been looking forward to it, waking and dreaming, for a
+fortnight. He <i>must</i> go. But poor little Jimmy! It was too bad for him
+to be left all alone.</p>
+
+<p>"I wouldn't like it myself," said Ted miserably, trying to swallow a
+lump that persisted in coming up in his throat. "It must be dreadful
+to have to lie on the sofa all the time and never be able to run,
+climb trees or play, or do a single thing. And Jimmy doesn't like
+reading much. He'll be dreadful lonesome. I'll be thinking of him all
+the time at the picnic&mdash;I know I will. I suppose I <i>could</i> go and
+stay with him, if I just made up my mind to it."</p>
+
+<p>Making up his mind to it was a slow and difficult process. But when
+Ted was finally dressed in his shabby, "skimpy" Sunday best, he tucked
+his precious fiddle under his arm and slipped downstairs. "Please, I
+think I'll go and stay with Jimmy," he said to Mrs. Jackson timidly,
+as he always spoke to her.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, if you're to waste the afternoon, I s'pose it's better to waste
+it that way than in going to a picnic and eating yourself sick," was
+Mrs. Jackson's ungracious response.</p>
+
+<p>Ted reached Mrs. Ross's little house just as that good lady was
+locking the door on Jimmy and the cat. "Well, I'm real glad," she
+said, when Ted told her he had come to stay. "I'd have worried most
+awful if I'd had to leave Jimmy all alone. He's crying in there this
+minute. Come now, Jimmy, dry up. Here's Ted come to stop with you
+after all, and he's brought his fiddle, too."</p>
+
+<p>Jimmy's tears were soon dried, and he welcomed Ted joyfully. "I've
+been thinking awful long to hear you fiddling," said Jimmy, with a
+sigh of content. "Seems like the ache ain't never half so bad when I'm
+listening to music&mdash;and when it's your music, I forget there's any
+ache at all."</p>
+
+<p>Ted took his violin and began to play. After all, it was almost as
+good as a picnic to have a whole afternoon for his music. The stuffy
+little room, with its dingy plaster and shabby furniture, was filled
+with wonderful harmonies. Once he began, Ted could play for hours at a
+stretch and never be conscious of fatigue. Jimmy lay and listened in
+rapturous content while Ted's violin sang and laughed and dreamed and
+rippled.</p>
+
+<p>There was another listener besides Jimmy. Outside, on the red
+sandstone doorstep, a man was sitting&mdash;a tall, well-dressed man with a
+pale, beautiful face and long, supple white hands. Motionless, he sat
+there and listened to the music until at last it stopped. Then he rose
+and knocked at the door. Ted, violin in hand, opened it.</p>
+
+<p>An expression of amazement flashed into the stranger's face, but he
+only said, "Is Mrs. Ross at home?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir," said Ted shyly. "She went over to White Sands and she won't
+be back till night. But Jimmy is here&mdash;Jimmy is her little boy. Will
+you come in?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry Mrs. Ross is away," said the stranger, entering. "She was
+an old nurse of mine. I must confess I've been sitting on the step out
+there for some time, listening to your music. Who taught you to play,
+my boy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nobody," said Ted simply. "I've always been able to play."</p>
+
+<p>"He makes it up himself out of his own head, sir," said Jimmy eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I don't make it&mdash;it makes itself&mdash;it just <i>comes</i>," said Ted, a
+dreamy gaze coming into his big black eyes.</p>
+
+<p>The caller looked at him closely. "I know a little about music
+myself," he said. "My name is Blair Milford and I am a professional
+violinist. Your playing is wonderful. What is your name?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ted Melvin."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Ted, I think that you have a great talent, and it ought to be
+cultivated. You should have competent instruction. Come, you must tell
+me all about yourself."</p>
+
+<p>Ted told what little he thought there was to tell. Blair Milford
+listened and nodded, guessing much that Ted didn't tell and, indeed,
+didn't know himself. Then he made Ted play for him again. "Amazing!"
+he said softly, under his breath.</p>
+
+<p>Finally he took the violin and played himself. Ted and Jimmy listened
+breathlessly. "Oh, if I could only play like that!" said Ted
+wistfully.</p>
+
+<p>Blair Milford smiled. "You will play much better some day if you get
+the proper training," he said. "You have a wonderful talent, my boy,
+and you should have it cultivated. It will never in the world do to
+waste such genius. Yes, that is the right word," he went on musingly,
+as if talking to himself, "'genius.' Nature is always taking us by
+surprise. This child has what I have never had and would make any
+sacrifice for. And yet in him it may come to naught for lack of
+opportunity. But it must not, Ted. You must have a musical training."</p>
+
+<p>"I can't take lessons, if that is what you mean, sir," said Ted
+wonderingly. "Mr. Jackson wouldn't pay for them."</p>
+
+<p>"I think we needn't worry about the question of payment if you can
+find time to practise," said Blair Milford. "I am to be at the beach
+for two months yet. For once I'll take a music pupil. But will you
+have time to practise?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir, I'll make time," said Ted, as soon as he could speak at all
+for the wonder of it. "I'll get up at four in the morning and have an
+hour's practising before the time for the cows. But I'm afraid it'll
+be too much trouble for you, sir, I'm afraid&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Blair Milford laughed and put his slim white hand on Ted's curly head.
+"It isn't much trouble to train an artist. It is a privilege. Ah, Ted,
+you have what I once hoped I had, what I know now I never can have.
+You don't understand me. You will some day."</p>
+
+<p>"Ain't he an awful nice man?" said Jimmy, when Blair Milford had gone.
+"But what did he mean by all that talk?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know exactly," said Ted dreamily. "That is, I seem to <i>feel</i>
+what he meant but I can't quite put it into words. But, oh, Jimmy, I'm
+so happy. I'm to have lessons&mdash;I have always longed to have them."</p>
+
+<p>"I guess you're glad you didn't go to the picnic?" said Jimmy.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but I was glad before, Jimmy, honest I was."</p>
+
+<p>Blair Milford kept his promise. He interviewed Mr. and Mrs. Jackson
+and, by means best known to himself, induced them to consent that Ted
+should take music lessons every Saturday afternoon. He was a pupil to
+delight a teacher's heart and, after every lesson, Blair Milford
+looked at him with kindly eyes and murmured, "Amazing," under his
+breath. Finally he went again to the Jacksons, and the next day he
+said to Ted, "Ted, would you like to come away with me&mdash;live with
+me&mdash;be my boy and have your gift for music thoroughly cultivated?"</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean, sir?" said Ted tremblingly.</p>
+
+<p>"I mean that I want you&mdash;that I must have you, Ted. I've talked to Mr.
+Jackson, and he has consented to let you come. You shall be educated,
+you shall have the best masters in your art that the world affords,
+you shall have the career I once dreamed of. Will you come, Ted?"</p>
+
+<p>Ted drew a long breath. "Yes, sir," he said. "But it isn't so much
+because of the music&mdash;it's because I love you, Mr. Milford, and I'm so
+glad I'm to be always with you."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="The_Doctors_Sweetheart" id="The_Doctors_Sweetheart"></a><hr />
+<br />
+
+<h2>The Doctor's Sweetheart<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>Just because I am an old woman outwardly it doesn't follow that I am
+one inwardly. Hearts don't grow old&mdash;or shouldn't. Mine hasn't, I am
+thankful to say. It bounded like a girl's with delight when I saw
+Doctor John and Marcella Barry drive past this afternoon. If the
+doctor had been my own son I couldn't have felt more real pleasure in
+his happiness. I'm only an old lady who can do little but sit by her
+window and knit, but eyes were made for seeing, and I use mine for
+that purpose. When I see the good and beautiful things&mdash;and a body
+need never look for the other kind, you know&mdash;the things God planned
+from the beginning and brought about in spite of the counter plans and
+schemes of men, I feel such a deep joy that I'm glad, even at
+seventy-five, to be alive in a world where such things come to pass.
+And if ever God meant and made two people for each other, those people
+were Doctor John and Marcella Barry; and that is what I always tell
+folk who come here commenting on the difference in their ages. "Old
+enough to be her father," sniffed Mrs. Riddell to me the other day. I
+didn't say anything to Mrs. Riddell. I just looked at her. I presume
+my face expressed what I felt pretty clearly. How any woman can live
+for sixty years in the world, as Mrs. Riddell has, a wife and mother
+at that, and not get some realization of the beauty and general
+satisfactoriness of a real and abiding love, is something I cannot
+understand and never shall be able to.</p>
+
+<p>Nobody in Bridgeport believed that Marcella would ever come back,
+except Doctor John and me&mdash;not even her Aunt Sara. I've heard people
+laugh at me when I said I knew she would; but nobody minds being
+laughed at when she is sure of a thing and I was sure that Marcella
+Barry would come back as that the sun rose and set. I hadn't lived
+beside her for eight years to know so little about her as to doubt
+her. Neither had Doctor John.</p>
+
+<p>Marcella was only eight years old when she came to live in Bridgeport.
+Her father, Chester Barry, had just died. Her mother, who was a sister
+of Miss Sara Bryant, my next door neighbor, had been dead for four
+years. Marcella's father left her to the guardianship of his brother,
+Richard Barry; but Miss Sara pleaded so hard to have the little girl
+that the Barrys consented to let Marcella live with her aunt until she
+was sixteen. Then, they said, she would have to go back to them, to be
+properly educated and take the place of her father's daughter in <i>his</i>
+world. For, of course, it is a fact that Miss Sara Bryant's world was
+and is a very different one from Chester Barry's world. As to which
+side the difference favors, that isn't for me to say. It all depends
+on your standard of what is really worth while, you know.</p>
+
+<p>So Marcella came to live with us in Bridgeport. I say "us" advisedly.
+She slept and ate in her aunt's house, but every house in the village
+was a home to her; for, with all our little disagreements and diverse
+opinions, we are really all one big family, and everybody feels an
+interest in and a good working affection for everybody else. Besides,
+Marcella was one of those children whom everybody loves at sight, and
+keeps on loving. One long, steady gaze from those big grayish-blue
+black-lashed eyes of hers went right into your heart and stayed there.</p>
+
+<p>She was a pretty child and as good as she was pretty. It was the right
+sort of goodness, too, with just enough spice of original sin in it to
+keep it from spoiling by reason of over-sweetness. She was a frank,
+loyal, brave little thing, even at eight, and wouldn't have said or
+done a mean or false thing to save her life.</p>
+
+<p>She and I were right good friends from the beginning. She loved me and
+she loved her Aunt Sara; but from the very first her best and deepest
+affection went out to Doctor John Haven, who lived in the big brick
+house on the other side of Miss Sara's.</p>
+
+<p>Doctor John was a Bridgeport boy, and when he got through college he
+came right home and settled down here, with his widowed mother. The
+Bridgeport girls were fluttered, for eligible young men were scarce in
+our village; there was considerable setting of caps, I must say that,
+although I despise ill-natured gossip; but neither the caps nor the
+wearers thereof seemed to make any impression on Doctor John. Mrs.
+Riddell said that he was a born old bachelor; I suppose she based her
+opinion on the fact that Doctor John was always a quiet, bookish
+fellow, who didn't care a button for society, and had never been
+guilty of a flirtation in his life. I knew Doctor John's heart far
+better than Martha Riddell could know anybody's; and I knew there was
+nothing of the old bachelor in his nature. He just had to wait for the
+right woman, that was all, not being able to content himself with less
+as some men can and do. If she never came Doctor John would never
+marry; but he wouldn't be an old bachelor for all that.</p>
+
+<p>He was thirty when Marcella came to Bridgeport&mdash;a tall,
+broad-shouldered man with a mane of thick brown curls and level, dark
+hazel eyes. He walked with a little stoop, his hands clasped behind
+him; and he had the sweetest, deepest voice. Spoken music, if ever a
+voice was. He was kind and brave and gentle, but a little distant and
+reserved with most people. Everybody in Bridgeport liked him, but only
+a very few ever passed the inner gates of his confidence or were
+admitted to any share in his real life. I am proud to say I was one; I
+think it is something for an old woman to boast of.</p>
+
+<p>Doctor John was always fond of children, and they of him. It was
+natural that he and little Marcella should take to each other. He had
+the most to do with bringing her up, for Miss Sara consulted him in
+everything. Marcella was not hard to manage for the most part; but she
+had a will of her own, and when she did set it up in opposition to
+the powers that were, nobody but the doctor could influence her at
+all; she never resisted him or disobeyed his wishes.</p>
+
+<p>Marcella was one of those girls who develop early. I suppose her
+constant association with us elderly folks had something to do with
+it, too. But, at fifteen, she was a woman, loving, beautiful, and
+spirited.</p>
+
+<p>And Doctor John loved her&mdash;loved the woman, not the child. I knew it
+before he did&mdash;but not, as I think, before Marcella did, for those
+young, straight-gazing eyes of hers were wonderfully quick to read
+into other people's hearts. I watched them together and saw the love
+growing between them, like a strong, fair, perfect flower, whose
+fragrance was to endure for eternity. Miss Sara saw it, too, and was
+half-pleased and half-worried; even Miss Sara thought the Doctor too
+old for Marcella; and besides, there were the Barrys to be reckoned
+with. Those Barrys were the nightmare dread of poor Miss Sara's life.</p>
+
+<p>The time came when Doctor John's eyes were opened. He looked into his
+own heart and read there what life had written for him. As he told me
+long afterwards, it came to him with a shock that left him
+white-lipped. But he was a brave, sensible fellow and he looked the
+matter squarely in the face. First of all, he put away to one side all
+that the world might say; the thing concerned solely him and Marcella,
+and the world had nothing to do with it. That disposed of, he asked
+himself soberly if he had a right to try to win Marcella's love. He
+decided that he had not; it would be taking an unfair advantage of her
+youth and inexperience. He knew that she must soon go to her father's
+people&mdash;she must not go bound by any ties of his making. Doctor John,
+for Marcella's sake, gave the decision against his own heart.</p>
+
+<p>So much did Doctor John tell me, his old friend and confidant. I said
+nothing and gave no advice, not having lived seventy-five years for
+nothing. I knew that Doctor John's decision was manly and right and
+fair; but I also knew it was all nullified by the fact that Marcella
+already loved him.</p>
+
+<p>So much I knew; the rest I was left to suppose. The Doctor and
+Marcella told me much, but there were some things too sacred to be
+told, even to me. So that to this day I don't know how the doctor
+found out that Marcella loved him. All I know is that one day, just a
+month before her sixteenth birthday, the two came hand in hand to Miss
+Sara and me, as we sat on Miss Sara's veranda in the twilight, and
+told us simply that they had plighted their troth to each other.</p>
+
+<p>I looked at them standing there with that wonderful sunrise of life
+and love on their faces&mdash;the doctor, tall and serious, with a sprinkle
+of silver in his brown hair and the smile of a happy man on his
+lips&mdash;Marcella, such a slip of a girl, with her black hair in a long
+braid and her lovely face all dewed over with tears and sunned over
+with smiles&mdash;I, an old woman, looked at them and thanked the good God
+for them and their delight.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Sara laughed and cried and kissed&mdash;and forboded what the Barrys
+would do. Her forebodings proved only too true. When the doctor wrote
+to Richard Barry, Marcella's guardian, asking his consent to their
+engagement, Richard Barry promptly made trouble&mdash;the very worst kind
+of trouble. He descended on Bridgeport and completely overwhelmed poor
+Miss Sara in his wrath. He laughed at the idea of countenancing an
+engagement between a child like Marcella and an obscure country
+doctor. And he carried Marcella off with him!</p>
+
+<p>She had to go, of course. He was her legal guardian and he would
+listen to no pleadings. He didn't know anything about Marcella's
+character, and he thought that a new life out in the great world would
+soon blot out her fancy.</p>
+
+<p>After the first outburst of tears and prayers Marcella took it very
+calmly, as far as outward eye could see. She was as cool and dignified
+and stately as a young queen. On the night before she went away she
+came over to say good-bye to me. She did not even shed any tears, but
+the look in her eyes told of bitter hurt. "It is goodbye for five
+years, Miss Tranquil," she said steadily. "When I am twenty-one I will
+come back. That is the only promise I can make. They will not let me
+write to John or Aunt Sara and I will do nothing underhanded. But I
+will not forget and I will come back."</p>
+
+<p>Richard Barry would not even let her see Doctor John alone again. She
+had to bid him good-bye beneath the cold, contemptuous eyes of the man
+of the world. So there was just a hand-clasp and one long deep look
+between them that was tenderer than any kiss and more eloquent than
+any words.</p>
+
+<p>"I will come back when I am twenty-one," said Marcella. And I saw
+Richard Barry smile.</p>
+
+<p>So Marcella went away and in all Bridgeport there were only two people
+who believed she would ever return. There is no keeping a secret in
+Bridgeport, and everybody knew all about the love affair between
+Marcella and the doctor and about the promise she had made. Everybody
+sympathized with the doctor because everybody believed he had lost his
+sweetheart.</p>
+
+<p>"For of course she'll never come back," said Mrs. Riddell to me.
+"She's only a child and she'll soon forget him. She's to be sent to
+school and taken abroad and between times she'll live with the Richard
+Barrys; and they move, as everyone knows, in the very highest and
+gayest circles. I'm sorry for the doctor, though. A man of his age
+doesn't get over a thing like that in a hurry and he was perfectly
+silly over Marcella. But it really serves him right for falling in
+love with a child."</p>
+
+<p>There are times when Martha Riddell gets on my nerves. She's a
+good-hearted woman, and she means well; but she rasps&mdash;rasps terribly.</p>
+
+<p>Even Miss Sara exasperated me. But then she had her excuse. The child
+she loved as her own had been torn from her and it almost broke her
+heart. But even so, I thought she ought to have had a little more
+faith in Marcella.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, she'll never come back," sobbed Miss Sara. "Yes, I know she
+promised. But they'll wean her away from me. She'll have such a gay,
+splendid life she'll not want to come back. Five years is a lifetime
+at her age. No, don't try to comfort me, Miss Tranquil, because I
+<i>won't</i> be comforted!"</p>
+
+<p>When a person has made up her mind to be miserable you just have to
+<i>let</i> her be miserable.</p>
+
+<p>I almost dreaded to see Doctor John for fear he would be in despair,
+too, without any confidence in Marcella. But when he came I saw I
+needn't have worried. The light had all gone out of his eyes, but
+there was a calm, steady patience in them.</p>
+
+<p>"She will come back to me, Miss Tranquil," he said. "I know what
+people are saying, but that does not trouble me. They do not know
+Marcella as I do. She promised and she will keep her word&mdash;keep it
+joyously and gladly, too. If I did not know that I would not wish its
+fulfilment. When she is free she will turn her back on that brilliant
+world and all it offers her and come back to me. My part is to wait
+and believe."</p>
+
+<p>So Doctor John waited and believed. After a little while the
+excitement died away and people forgot Marcella. We never heard from
+or about her, except a paragraph now and then in the society columns
+of the city paper the doctor took. We knew she was sent to school for
+three years; then the Barrys took her abroad. She was presented at
+court. When the doctor read this&mdash;he was with me at the time&mdash;he put
+his hand over his eyes and sat very silent for a long time. I wondered
+if at last some momentary doubt had crept into his mind&mdash;if he did not
+fear that Marcella must have forgotten him. The paper told of her
+triumph and her beauty and hinted at a titled match. Was it probable
+or even possible that she would be faithful to him after all this?</p>
+
+<p>The doctor must have guessed my thoughts, for at last he looked up
+with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>"She will come back," was all he said. But I saw that the doubt, if
+doubt it were, had gone. I watched him as he went away, that tall,
+gentle, kindly-eyed man, and I prayed that his trust might not be
+misplaced; for if it should be it would break his heart.</p>
+
+<p>Five years seems a long time in looking forward. But they pass
+quickly. One day I remembered that it was Marcella's twenty-first
+birthday. Only one other person thought of it. Even Miss Sara did not.
+Miss Sara remembered Marcella only as a child that had been loved and
+lost. Nobody else in Bridgeport thought about her at all. The doctor
+came in that evening. He had a rose in his buttonhole and he walked
+with a step as light as a boy's.</p>
+
+<p>"She is free to-day," he said. "We shall soon have her again, Miss
+Tranquil."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think she will be the same?" I said.</p>
+
+<p>I don't know what made me say it. I hate to be one of those people who
+throw cold water on other peoples' hopes. But it slipped out before I
+thought. I suppose the doubt had been vaguely troubling me always,
+under all my faith in Marcella, and now made itself felt in spite of
+me.</p>
+
+<p>But the doctor only laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"How could she be changed?" he said. "Some women might be&mdash;most women
+would be&mdash;but not Marcella. Dear Miss Tranquil, don't spoil your
+beautiful record of confidence by doubting her now. We shall have her
+again soon&mdash;how soon I don't know, for I don't even know where she is,
+whether in the old world or the new&mdash;but just as soon as she can come
+to us."</p>
+
+<p>We said nothing more&mdash;neither of us. But every day the light in the
+doctor's eyes grew brighter and deeper and tenderer. He never spoke of
+Marcella, but I knew she was in his thoughts every moment. He was much
+calmer than I was. I trembled when the postman knocked, jumped when
+the gate latch clicked, and fairly had a cold chill if I saw a
+telegraph boy running down the street.</p>
+
+<p>One evening, a fortnight later, I went over to see Miss Sara. She was
+out somewhere, so I sat down in her little sitting room to wait for
+her. Presently the doctor came in and we sat in the soft twilight,
+talking a little now and then, but silent when we wanted to be, as
+becomes real friendship. It was such a beautiful evening. Outside in
+Miss Sara's garden the roses were white and red, and sweet with dew;
+the honeysuckle at the window sent in delicious breaths now and again;
+a few sleepy birds were twittering; between the trees the sky was all
+pink and silvery blue and there was an evening star over the elm in my
+front yard. We heard somebody come through the door and down the hall.
+I turned, expecting to see Miss Sara&mdash;and I saw Marcella! She was
+standing in the doorway, tall and beautiful, with a ray of sunset
+light falling athwart her black hair under her travelling hat. She was
+looking past me at Doctor John and in her splendid eyes was the look
+of the exile who had come home to her own.</p>
+
+<p>"Marcella!" said the doctor.</p>
+
+<p>I went out by the dining-room door and shut it behind me, leaving them
+alone together.</p>
+
+<p>The wedding is to be next month. Miss Sara is beside herself with
+delight. The excitement has been really terrible, and the way people
+have talked and wondered and exclaimed has almost worn my patience
+clean out. I've snubbed more persons in the last ten days than I ever
+did in all my life before.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing of this worries Doctor John or Marcella. They are too happy to
+care for gossip or outside curiosity. The Barrys are not coming to the
+wedding, I understand. They refuse to forgive Marcella or countenance
+her folly, as they call it, in any way. Folly! When I see those two
+together and realize what they mean to each other I have some humble,
+reverent idea of what true wisdom is.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="The_End_of_the_Young_Family_Feud" id="The_End_of_the_Young_Family_Feud"></a><hr />
+<br />
+
+<h2>The End of the Young Family Feud<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>A week before Christmas, Aunt Jean wrote to Elizabeth, inviting her
+and Alberta and me to eat our Christmas dinner at Monkshead. We
+accepted with delight. Aunt Jean and Uncle Norman were delightful
+people, and we knew we should have a jolly time at their house.
+Besides, we wanted to see Monkshead, where Father had lived in his
+boyhood, and the old Young homestead where he had been born and
+brought up and where Uncle William still lived. Father never said much
+about it, but we knew he loved it very dearly, and we had always
+greatly desired to get at least a glimpse of what Alberta liked to
+call "our ancestral halls."</p>
+
+<p>Since Monkshead was only sixty miles away, and Uncle William lived
+there as aforesaid, it may be pertinently asked what there was to
+prevent us from visiting it and the homestead as often as we wished.
+We answer promptly: the family feud.</p>
+
+<p>Father and Uncle William were on bad terms, or rather on no terms at
+all, and had been ever since we could remember. After Grandfather
+Young's death there had been a wretched quarrel over the property.
+Father always said that he had been as much to blame as Uncle William,
+but Great-aunt Emily told us that Uncle William had been by far the
+most to blame, and that he had behaved scandalously to Father.
+Moreover, she said that Father had gone to him when cooling-down time
+came, apologized for what he had said, and asked Uncle William to be
+friends again; and that William, simply turned his back on Father and
+walked into the house without saying a word, but, as Great-aunt Emily
+said, with the Young temper sticking out of every kink and curve of
+his figure. Great-aunt Emily is our aunt on Mother's side, and she
+does not like any of the Youngs except Father and Uncle Norman.</p>
+
+<p>This was why we had never visited Monkshead. We had never seen Uncle
+William, and we always thought of him as a sort of ogre when we
+thought of him at all. When we were children, our old nurse, Margaret
+Hannah, used to frighten us into good behaviour by saying ominously,
+"If you 'uns aint good your Uncle William'll cotch you."</p>
+
+<p>What he would do to us when he "cotched" us she never specified,
+probably reasoning that the unknown was always more terrible than the
+known. My private opinion in those days was that he would boil us in
+oil and pick our bones.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Norman and Aunt Jean had been living out west for years. Three
+months before this Christmas they had come east, bought a house in
+Monkshead, and settled there. They had been down to see us, and Father
+and Mother and the boys had been up to see them, but we three girls
+had not; so we were pleasantly excited at the thought of spending
+Christmas there.</p>
+
+<p>Christmas morning was fine, white as a pearl and clear as a diamond.
+We had to go by the seven o'clock train, since there was no other
+before eleven, and we reached Monkshead at eight-thirty.</p>
+
+<p>When we stepped from the train the stationmaster asked us if we were
+the three Miss Youngs. Alberta pleaded guilty, and he said, "Well,
+here's a letter for you then."</p>
+
+<p>We took the letter and went into the waiting room with sundry
+misgivings. What had happened? Were Uncle Norman and Aunt Jean
+quarantined for scarlet fever, or had burglars raided the pantry and
+carried off the Christmas supplies? Elizabeth opened and read the
+letter aloud. It was from Aunt Jean to the following effect:</p>
+
+<div class="block"><p><span class="sc">Dear Girls</span>: I am so sorry to disappoint you, but I
+cannot help it. Word has come from Streatham that my sister
+has met with a serious accident and is in a very critical
+condition. Your uncle and I must go to Streatham immediately
+and are leaving on the eight o'clock express. I know you have
+started before this, so there is no use in telegraphing. We
+want you to go right to the house and make yourself at home.
+You will find the key under the kitchen doorstep, and the
+dinner in the pantry all ready to cook. There are two mince
+pies on the third shelf, and the plum pudding only needs to be
+warmed up. You will find a little Christmas remembrance for
+each of you on the dining-room table. I hope you will make as
+merry as you possibly can and we will have you down again as
+soon as we come back.</p>
+
+<p class="right">Your hurried and affectionate,<br />
+<span class="sc">Aunt Jean</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>We looked at each other somewhat dolefully. But, as Alberta pointed
+out, we might as well make the best of it, since there was no way of
+getting home before the five o'clock train. So we trailed out to the
+stationmaster, and asked him limply if he could direct us to Mr.
+Norman Young's house.</p>
+
+<p>He was a rather grumpy individual, very busy with pencil and notebook
+over some freight; but he favoured us with his attention long enough
+to point with his pencil and say jerkily, "Young's? See that red house
+on the hill? That's it."</p>
+
+<p>The red house was about a quarter of a mile from the station, and we
+saw it plainly. Accordingly, to the red house we betook ourselves. On
+nearer view it proved to be a trim, handsome place, with nice grounds
+and very fine old trees.</p>
+
+<p>We found the key under the kitchen doorstep and went in. The fire was
+black out, and somehow things wore a more cheerless look than I had
+expected to find. I may as well admit that we marched into the dining
+room first of all, to find our presents.</p>
+
+<p>There were three parcels, two very small and one pretty big, lying on
+the table, but when we came to look for names there were none.</p>
+
+<p>"Evidently Aunt Jean, in her hurry and excitement, forgot to label
+them," said Elizabeth. "Let us open them. We may be able to guess from
+the contents which belongs to whom."</p>
+
+<p>I must say we were surprised when we opened those parcels. "We had
+known that Aunt Jean's gifts would be nice, but we had not expected
+anything like this. There was a magnificent stone marten collar, a
+dear little gold watch and pearl chatelaine, and a gold chain bracelet
+set with turquoises.</p>
+
+<p>"The collar must be for you, Elizabeth, because Mary and I have one
+already, and Aunt Jean knows it," said Alberta; "the watch must be for
+you, Mary, because I have one; and by the process of exhaustion the
+bracelet must be for me. Well, they are all perfectly sweet."</p>
+
+<p>Elizabeth put on her collar and paraded in front of the sideboard
+mirror. It was so dusty she had to take her handkerchief and wipe it
+before she could see herself properly. Everything in the room was
+equally dusty. As for the lace curtains, they looked as if they hadn't
+been washed for years, and one of them had a long ragged hole in it. I
+couldn't help feeling secretly surprised, for Aunt Jean had the
+reputation of being a perfect housekeeper. However, I didn't say
+anything, and neither did the other girls. Mother had always impressed
+upon us that it was the height of bad manners to criticize anything we
+might not like in a house where we were guests.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, let's see about dinner," said Alberta, practically, snapping
+her bracelet on her wrist and admiring the effect.</p>
+
+<p>We went to the kitchen, where Elizabeth proceeded to light the fire,
+that being one of her specialties, while Alberta and I explored the
+pantry. We found the dinner supplies laid out as Aunt Jean had
+explained. There was a nice fat turkey all stuffed, and vegetables
+galore. The mince pies were in their place, but they were almost the
+only things about which that could be truthfully said, for the
+disorder of that pantry was enough to give a tidy person nightmares
+for a month. "I never in all my life saw&mdash;" began Alberta, and then
+stopped short, evidently remembering Mother's teaching.</p>
+
+<p>"Where is the plum pudding?" said I, to turn the conversation into
+safer channels.</p>
+
+<p>It was nowhere to be seen, so we concluded it must be in the cellar.
+But we found the cellar door padlocked good and fast.</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind," said Elizabeth. "You know none of us really likes plum
+pudding. We only eat it because it is the proper traditional dessert.
+The mince pies will suit us better."</p>
+
+<p>We hurried the turkey into the oven, and soon everything was going
+merrily. We had lots of fun getting up that dinner, and we made
+ourselves perfectly at home, as Aunt Jean had commanded. We kindled a
+fire in the dining room and dusted everything in sight. We couldn't
+find anything remotely resembling a duster, so we used our
+handkerchiefs. When we got through, the room looked like something, for
+the furnishings were really very handsome, but our handkerchiefs&mdash;well!</p>
+
+<p>Then we set the table with all the nice dishes we could find. There
+was only one long tablecloth in the sideboard drawer, and there were
+three holes in it, but we covered them with dishes and put a little
+potted palm in the middle for a centrepiece. At one o'clock dinner was
+ready for us and we for it. Very nice that table looked, too, as we
+sat down to it.</p>
+
+<p>Just as Alberta was about to spear the turkey with a fork and begin
+carving, that being one of <i>her</i> specialties, the kitchen door opened
+and somebody walked in. Before we could move, a big, handsome,
+bewhiskered man in a fur coat appeared in the dining-room doorway.</p>
+
+<p>I wasn't frightened. He seemed quite respectable, I thought, and I
+supposed he was some intimate friend of Uncle Norman's. I rose
+politely and said, "Good day."</p>
+
+<p>You never saw such an expression of amazement as was on that poor
+man's face. He looked from me to Alberta and from Alberta to Elizabeth
+and from Elizabeth to me again as if he doubted the evidence of his
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. and Mrs. Norman Young are not at home," I explained, pitying him.
+"They went to Streatham this morning because Mrs. Young's sister is
+very ill."</p>
+
+<p>"What does all this mean?" said the big man gruffly. "This isn't
+Norman Young's house ... it is mine. I'm William Young. Who are you?
+And what are you doing here?"</p>
+
+<p>I fell back into my chair, speechless. My very first impulse was to
+put up my hand and cover the gold watch. Alberta had dropped the
+carving knife and was trying desperately to get the gold bracelet off
+under the table. In a flash we had realized our mistake and its
+awfulness. As for me, I felt positively frightened; Margaret Hannah's
+warnings of old had left an ineffaceable impression.</p>
+
+<p>Elizabeth rose to the occasion. Rising to the occasion is another of
+Elizabeth's specialties. Besides, she was not hampered by the tingling
+consciousness that she was wearing a gift that had not been intended
+for her.</p>
+
+<p>"We have made a mistake, I fear," she said, with a dignity which I
+appreciated even in my panic, "and we are very sorry for it. We were
+invited to spend Christmas with Mr. and Mrs. Norman Young. When we got
+off the train we were given a letter from them stating that they were
+summoned away but telling us to go to their house and make ourselves
+at home. The stationmaster told us that this was the house, so we came
+here. We have never been in Monkshead, so we did not know the
+difference. Please pardon us."</p>
+
+<p>I had got off the watch by this time and laid it on the table,
+unobserved, as I thought. Alberta, not having the key of the
+bracelet, had not been able to get it off, and she sat there crimson
+with shame. As for Uncle William, there was positively a twinkle in
+his eye. He did not look in the least ogreish.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, it has been quite a fortunate mistake for me," he said. "I came
+home expecting to find a cold house and a raw dinner, and I find this
+instead. I'm very much obliged to you."</p>
+
+<p>Alberta rose, went to the mantel piece, took the key of the bracelet
+therefrom, and unlocked it. Then she faced Uncle William. "Mrs. Young
+told us in her letter that we would find our Christmas gifts on the
+table, so we took it for granted that these things belonged to us,"
+she said desperately. "And now, if you will kindly tell us where Mr.
+Norman Young does live, we won't intrude on you any longer. Come,
+girls."</p>
+
+<p>Elizabeth and I rose with a sigh. There was nothing else to be done,
+of course, but we were fearfully hungry, and we did not feel
+enthusiastic over the prospect of going to another empty house and
+cooking another dinner.</p>
+
+<p>"Wait a bit," said Uncle William. "I think since you have gone to all
+the trouble of cooking the dinner it's only fair you should stay and
+help to eat it. Accidents seem to be rather fashionable just now. My
+housekeeper's son broke his leg down at Weston, and I had to take her
+there early this morning. Come, introduce yourselves. To whom am I
+indebted for this pleasant surprise?"</p>
+
+<p>"We are Elizabeth, Alberta, and Mary Young of Green Village," I said;
+and then I looked to see the ogre creep out if it were ever going to.</p>
+
+<p>But Uncle William merely looked amazed for the first moment, foolish
+for the second, and the third he was himself again.</p>
+
+<p>"Robert's daughters?" he said, as if it were the most natural thing in
+the world that Robert's daughters should be there in his house. "So
+you are my nieces? Well, I'm very glad to make your acquaintance. Sit
+down and we'll have dinner as soon as I can get my coat off. I want to
+see if you are as good cooks as your mother used to be long ago."</p>
+
+<p>We sat down, and so did Uncle William. Alberta had her chance to show
+what she could do at carving, for Uncle William said it was something
+he never did; he kept a housekeeper just for that. At first we felt a
+bit stiff and awkward; but that soon wore off, for Uncle William was
+genial, witty, and entertaining. Soon, to our surprise, we found that
+we were enjoying ourselves. Uncle William seemed to be, too. When we
+had finished he leaned back and looked at us.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you've been brought up to abhor me and all my works?" he
+said abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>"Not by Father and Mother," I said frankly. "They never said anything
+against you. Margaret Hannah did, though. She brought us up in the way
+we should go through fear of you."</p>
+
+<p>Uncle William laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Margaret Hannah was a faithful old enemy of mine," he said. "Well, I
+acted like a fool&mdash;and worse. I've been sorry for it ever since. I was
+in the wrong. I couldn't have said this to your father, but I don't
+mind saying it to you, and you can tell him if you like."</p>
+
+<p>"He'll be delighted to hear that you are no longer angry with him,"
+said Alberta. "He has always longed to be friends with you again,
+Uncle William. But he thought you were still bitter against him."</p>
+
+<p>"No&mdash;no&mdash;nothing but stubborn pride," said Uncle William. "Now, girls,
+since you are my guests I must try to give you a good time. We'll take
+the double sleigh and have a jolly drive this afternoon. And about
+those trinkets there&mdash;they are yours. I did get them for some young
+friends of mine here, but I'll give them something else. I want you to
+have these. That watch looked very nice on your blouse, Mary, and the
+bracelet became Alberta's pretty wrist very well. Come and give your
+cranky old uncle a hug for them."</p>
+
+<p>Uncle William got his hugs heartily; then we washed up the dishes and
+went for our drive. We got back just in time to catch the evening
+train home. Uncle William saw us off at the station, under promise to
+come back and stay a week with him when his housekeeper came home.</p>
+
+<p>"One of you will have to come and stay with me altogether, pretty
+soon," he said. "Tell your father he must be prepared to hand over one
+of his girls to me as a token of his forgiveness. I'll be down to talk
+it over with him shortly."</p>
+
+<p>When we got home and told our story, Father said, "Thank God!" very
+softly. There were tears in his eyes. He did not wait for Uncle
+William to come down, but went to Monkshead himself the next day.</p>
+
+<p>In the spring Alberta is to go and live with Uncle William. She is
+making a supply of dusters now. And next Christmas we are going to
+have a grand family reunion at the old homestead. Mistakes are not
+always bad.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="The_Genesis_of_the_Doughnut_Club" id="The_Genesis_of_the_Doughnut_Club"></a><hr />
+<br />
+
+<h2>The Genesis of the Doughnut Club<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>When John Henry died there seemed to be nothing for me to do but pack
+up and go back east. I didn't want to do it, but forty-five years of
+sojourning in this world have taught me that a body has to do a good
+many things she doesn't want to do, and that most of them turn out to
+be for the best in the long run. But I knew perfectly well that it
+wasn't best for me or anybody else that I should go back to live with
+William and Susanna, and I couldn't think what Providence was about
+when things seemed to point that way.</p>
+
+<p>I wanted to stay in Carleton. I loved the big, straggling, bustling
+little town that always reminded me of a lanky, overgrown schoolboy,
+all arms and legs, but full to the brim with enthusiasm and splendid
+ideas. I knew Carleton was bound to grow into a magnificent city, and
+I wanted to be there and see it grow and watch it develop; and I loved
+the whole big, breezy golden west, with the rush and tingle of its
+young life. And, more than all, I loved my boys, and what I was going
+to do without them or they without me was more than I knew, though I
+tried to think Providence might know.</p>
+
+<p>But there was no place in Carleton for me; the only thing to do was to
+go back east, and I knew that all the time, even when I was
+desperately praying that I might find a way to remain. There's not
+much comfort, or help either, praying one way and believing another.</p>
+
+<p>I'd lived down east in Northfield all my life&mdash;until five years
+ago&mdash;lived with my brother William and his wife. Northfield was a
+little pinched-up village where everybody knew more about you than you
+did about yourself, and you couldn't turn around without being
+commented upon. William and Susanna were kind to me, but I was just
+the old maid sister, of no importance to anybody, and I never felt as
+if I were really living. I was simply vegetating on, and wouldn't be
+missed by a single soul if I died. It is a horrible feeling, but I
+didn't expect it would ever be any different, and I had made up my
+mind that when I died I would have the word "Wasted" carved on my
+tombstone. It wouldn't be conventional at all, but I'd been
+conventional all my life, and I was determined I'd have something done
+out of the common even if I had to wait until I was dead to have it.</p>
+
+<p>Then all at once the letter came from John Henry, my brother out west.
+He wrote that his wife had died and he wanted me to go out and keep
+house for him. I sat right down and wrote him I'd go and in a week's
+time I started.</p>
+
+<p>It made quite a commotion; I had that much satisfaction out of it to
+begin with. Susanna wasn't any too well pleased. I was only the old
+maid sister, but I was a good cook, and help was scarce in Northfield.
+All the neighbours shook their heads, and warned me I wouldn't like
+it. I was too old to change my ways, and I'd be dreadfully homesick,
+and I'd find the west too rough and boisterous. I just smiled and said
+nothing.</p>
+
+<p>Well, I came out here to Carleton, and from the time I got here I was
+perfectly happy. John Henry had a little rented house, and he was as
+poor as a church mouse, being the ne'er-do-well of our family, and the
+best loved, as ne'er-do-wells are so apt to be. He'd nearly died of
+lonesomeness since his wife's death, and he was so glad to see me.
+That was delightful in itself, and I was just in my element getting
+that little house fixed up cosy and homelike, and cooking the most
+elegant meals. There wasn't much work to do, just for me and him, and
+I got a squaw in to wash and scrub. I never thought about Northfield
+except to thank goodness I'd escaped from it, and John Henry and I
+were as happy as a king and queen.</p>
+
+<p>Then after awhile my activities began to sprout and branch out, and
+the direction they took was <i>boys</i>. Carleton was full of boys, like
+all the western towns, overflowing with them as you might say, young
+fellows just let loose from home and mother, some of them dying of
+homesickness and some of them beginning to run wild and get into
+risky ways, some of them smart and some of them lazy, some ugly and
+some handsome; but all of them boys, lovable, rollicking boys, with
+the makings of good men in them if there was anybody to take hold of
+them and cut the pattern right, but liable to be spoiled just because
+there wasn't anybody.</p>
+
+<p>Well, I did what I could. It began with John Henry bringing home some
+of them that worked in his office to spend the evening now and again,
+and they told other fellows and asked leave to bring them in too. And
+before long it got to be that there never was an evening there wasn't
+some of them there, "Aunt-Pattying" me. I told them from the start I
+would <i>not</i> be called Miss. When a woman has been Miss for forty-five
+years she gets tired of it.</p>
+
+<p>So Aunt Patty it was, and Aunt Patty it remained, and I loved all
+those dear boys as if they'd been my own. They told me all their
+troubles, and I mothered them and cheered them up and scolded them,
+and finally topped off with a jolly good supper; for, talk as you
+like, you can't preach much good into a boy if he's got an aching void
+in his stomach. Fill <i>that</i> up with tasty victuals, and then you can
+do something with his spiritual nature. If a boy is well stuffed with
+good things and then won't listen to advice, you might as well stop
+wasting your breath on him, because there is something radically wrong
+with him. Probably his grandfather had dyspepsia. And a dyspeptic
+ancestor is worse for a boy than predestination, in my opinion.</p>
+
+<p>Anyway, most of my boys took to going to church and Bible class of
+their own accord, after I'd been their aunt for awhile. The young
+minister thought it was all his doings, and I let him think so to keep
+him cheered up. He was a nice boy himself, and often dropped in of an
+evening too; but I never would let him talk theology until after
+supper. His views always seemed so much mellower then, and didn't
+puzzle the other boys more than was wholesome for them.</p>
+
+<p>This went on for five glorious years, the only years of my life I'd
+ever <i>lived</i>, and then came, as I thought, the end of everything. John
+Henry took typhoid and died. At first that was all I could think of;
+and when I got so that I could think of other things, there was, as I
+have said, nothing for me to do but go back east.</p>
+
+<p>The boys, who had been as good as gold to me all through my trouble,
+felt dreadfully bad over this, and coaxed me hard to stay. They said
+if I'd start a boarding house I'd have all the boarders I could
+accommodate; but I knew it was no use to think of that, because I
+wasn't strong enough, and help was so hard to get. No, there was
+nothing for it but Northfield and stagnation again, with not a stray
+boy anywhere to mother. I looked the dismal prospect square in the
+face and made up my mind to it.</p>
+
+<p>But I was determined to give my boys one good celebration before I
+went, anyway. It was near Thanksgiving, and I resolved they should
+have a dinner that would keep my memory green for awhile, a real
+old-fashioned Thanksgiving dinner such as they used to have at home. I
+knew it would cost more than I could really afford, but I shut my eyes
+to that aspect of the question. I was going back to strict eastern
+economy for the rest of my days, and I meant to indulge in one wild,
+blissful riot of extravagance before I was cooped up again.</p>
+
+<p>I counted up the boys I must have, and there were fifteen, including
+the minister. I invited them a fortnight ahead to make sure of getting
+them, though I needn't have worried, for they all said they would have
+broken an engagement to dine with the king for one of my dinners. The
+minister said he had been feeling so homesick he was afraid he
+wouldn't be able to preach a real thankful sermon, but now he was
+comfortably sure that his sermon would be overflowing with gratitude.</p>
+
+<p>I just threw myself heart and soul into the preparations for that
+dinner. I had three turkeys and two sucking pigs, and mince pies and
+pumpkin pies and apple pies, and doughnuts and fruit cake and
+cranberry sauce and brown bread, and ever so many other things to fill
+up the chinks. The night before Thanksgiving everything was ready, and
+I was so tired I could hardly talk to Jimmy Nelson when he dropped in.</p>
+
+<p>Jimmy had something on his mind, I saw that. So I said, "'Fess up,
+Jimmy, and then you'll be able to enjoy your call."</p>
+
+<p>"I want to ask a favour of you, Aunt Patty," said Jimmy.</p>
+
+<p>I knew I should have to grant it; nobody could refuse Jimmy anything,
+he looked so much like a nice, clean, pink-and-white little schoolboy
+whose mother had just scrubbed his face and told him to be good. At
+the same time he was one of the wildest young scamps in Carleton, or
+had been until a year ago. I'd got him well set on the road to
+reformation, and I felt worse about leaving him than any of the rest
+of them. I knew he was just at the critical point. With somebody to
+tide him over the next half year he'd probably go straight for the
+rest of his life, but if he were left to himself he'd likely just slip
+back to his old set and ways.</p>
+
+<p>"I want you to let me bring my Uncle Joe to dinner tomorrow," said
+Jimmy. "The poor old fellow is stranded here for Thanksgiving, and he
+hates hotels. May I?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course," I said heartily, wondering why Jimmy seemed to think I
+mightn't want his Uncle Joe. "Bring him right along."</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks," said Jimmy. "He'll be more than pleased. Your sublime
+cookery will delight him. He adores the west, but he can't endure its
+cooking. He's always harping on his mother's pantry and the good old
+down-east dinners. He's dyspeptic and pessimistic most of the time,
+and he's got half a dozen cronies just like himself. All they think of
+is railroads and bills of fare."</p>
+
+<p>"Railroads!" I cried. And then an awful thought assailed me. "Jimmy
+Nelson, your uncle isn't&mdash;isn't&mdash;he can't be Joseph P. Nelson, the
+<i>rich</i> Joseph P. Nelson!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, he's rich enough," said Jimmy; getting up and reaching for his
+hat. "In dollars, that is. Some ways he's poor enough. Well, I must be
+going. Thanks ever so much for letting me bring Uncle Joe."</p>
+
+<p>And that rascal was gone, leaving me crushed. Joseph Nelson was coming
+to my house to dinner&mdash;Joseph P. Nelson, the millionaire railroad
+king, who kept his own chef and was accustomed to dining with the
+great ones of the earth!</p>
+
+<p>I was afraid I should never be able to forgive Jimmy. I couldn't sleep
+a wink that night, and I cooked that dinner next day in a terrible
+state of mind. Every ring that came at the door made my heart
+jump,&mdash;but in the end Jimmy didn't ring at all, but just walked in
+with his uncle in tow. The minute I saw Joseph P. I knew I needn't be
+scared of <i>him</i>; he just looked real common. He was little and thin
+and kind of bored-looking, with grey hair and whiskers, and his
+clothes were next door to downright shabbiness. If it hadn't been for
+the thought of that chef, I wouldn't have felt a bit ashamed of my
+old-fashioned Thanksgiving spread.</p>
+
+<p>When Joseph P. sat down to that table he stopped looking bored. All
+the time the minister was saying grace that man simply stared at a big
+plate of doughnuts near my end of the table, as if he'd never seen
+anything like them before.</p>
+
+<p>All the boys talked and laughed while they were eating, but Joseph P.
+just <i>ate</i>, tucking away turkey and vegetables and keeping an anxious
+eye on those doughnuts, as if he was afraid somebody else would get
+hold of them before his turn came. I wished I was sure it was
+etiquette to tell him not to worry because there were plenty more in
+the pantry. By the time he'd been helped three times to mince pie I
+gave up feeling bad about the chef. He finished off with the
+doughnuts, and I shan't tell how many of them he devoured, because I
+would not be believed.</p>
+
+<p>Most of the boys had to go away soon after dinner. Joseph P. shook
+hands with me absently and merely said, "Good afternoon, Miss
+Porter." I didn't think he seemed at all grateful for his dinner, but
+that didn't worry me because it was for my boys I'd got it up, and not
+for dyspeptic millionaires whose digestion had been spoiled by private
+chefs. And my boys had appreciated it, there wasn't any doubt about
+that. Peter Crockett and Tommy Gray stayed to help me wash the dishes,
+and we had the jolliest time ever. Afterward we picked the turkey
+bones.</p>
+
+<p>But that night I realized that I was once more a useless, lonely old
+woman. I cried myself to sleep, and next morning I hadn't spunk enough
+to cook myself a dinner. I dined off some crackers and the remnants of
+the apple pies, and I was sitting staring at the crumbs when the bell
+rang. I wiped away my tears and went to the door. Joseph P. Nelson was
+standing there, and he said, without wasting any words&mdash;it was easy to
+see how that man managed to get railroads built where nobody else
+could manage it&mdash;that he had called to see me on a little matter of
+business.</p>
+
+<p>He took just ten minutes to make it clear to me, and when I saw the
+whole project I was the happiest woman in Carleton or out of it. He
+said he had never eaten such a Thanksgiving dinner as mine, and that I
+was the woman he'd been looking for for years. He said that he had a
+few business friends who had been brought up on a down-east farm like
+himself, and never got over their hankering for old-fashioned cookery.</p>
+
+<p>"That is something we can't get here, with all our money," he said.
+"Now, Miss Porter, my nephew tells me that you wish to remain in
+Carleton, if you can find some way of supporting yourself. I have a
+proposition to make to you. These aforesaid friends of mine and I
+expect to spend most of our time in Carleton for the next few years.
+In fact we shall probably make it our home eventually. It's going to
+be <i>the</i> city of the west after awhile, and the centre of a dozen
+railroads. Well, we mean to equip a small private restaurant for
+ourselves and we want you to take charge of it. You won't have to do
+much except oversee the business and arrange the bills of fare. We
+want plain, substantial old-time meals and cookery. When we have a
+hankering for doughnuts and apple pies and cranberry tarts, we want to
+know just where to get them and have them the right kind. We're all
+horribly tired of hotel fare and fancy fol-de-rols with French names.
+A place where we could get a dinner such as you served yesterday would
+be a boon to us. We'd have started the restaurant long ago if we could
+have got a suitable person to take charge of it."</p>
+
+<p>He named the salary the club would pay and the very sound of it made
+me feel rich. You may be sure I didn't take long to decide. That was a
+year ago, and today the Doughnut Club, as they call themselves, is a
+huge success, and the fame of it has gone abroad in the land, although
+they are pretty exclusive and keep all their good things close enough
+to themselves. Joseph P. took a Scotch peer there to dinner one day
+last week. Jimmy Nelson told me afterward that the man said it was the
+only satisfying meal he'd had since he left the old country.</p>
+
+<p>As for me, I have my little house, my very own and no rented one, and
+all my dear boys, and I'm a happy old busybody. You see, Providence
+did answer my prayers in spite of my lack of faith; but of course He
+used means, and that Thanksgiving dinner of mine was the earthly
+instrument of it all.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="The_Girl_Who_Drove_the_Cows" id="The_Girl_Who_Drove_the_Cows"></a><hr />
+<br />
+
+<h2>The Girl Who Drove the Cows<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>"I wonder who that pleasant-looking girl who drives cows down the
+beech lane every morning and evening is," said Pauline Palmer, at the
+tea table of the country farmhouse where she and her aunt were
+spending the summer. Mrs. Wallace had wanted to go to some fashionable
+watering place, but her husband had bluntly told her he couldn't
+afford it. Stay in the city when all her set were out she would not,
+and the aforesaid farmhouse had been the compromise.</p>
+
+<p>"I shouldn't suppose it could make any difference to you who she is,"
+said Mrs. Wallace impatiently. "I do wish, Pauline, that you were more
+careful in your choice of associates. You hobnob with everyone, even
+that old man who comes around buying eggs. It is very bad form."</p>
+
+<p>Pauline hid a rather undutiful smile behind her napkin. Aunt Olivia's
+snobbish opinions always amused her.</p>
+
+<p>"You've no idea what an interesting old man he is," she said. "He can
+talk more entertainingly than any other man I know. What is the use of
+being so exclusive, Aunt Olivia? You miss so much fun. You wouldn't be
+so horribly bored as you are if you fraternized a little with the
+'natives,' as you call them."</p>
+
+<p>"No, thank you," said Mrs. Wallace disdainfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I am going to try to get acquainted with that girl," said
+Pauline resolutely. "She looks nice and jolly."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know where you get your low tastes from," groaned Mrs.
+Wallace. "I'm sure it wasn't from your poor mother. What do you
+suppose the Morgan Knowles would think if they saw you taking up with
+some tomboy girl on a farm?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't see why it should make a great deal of difference what they
+would think, since they don't seem to be aware of my existence, or
+even of yours, Aunty," said Pauline, with twinkling eyes. She knew it
+was her aunt's dearest desire to get in with the Morgan Knowles'
+"set"&mdash;a desire that seemed as far from being realized as ever. Mrs.
+Wallace could never understand why the Morgan Knowles shut her from
+their charmed circle. They certainly associated with people much
+poorer and of more doubtful worldly station than hers&mdash;the Markhams,
+for instance, who lived on an unfashionable street and wore quite
+shabby clothes. Just before she had left Colchester, Mrs. Wallace had
+seen Mrs. Knowles and Mrs. Markham together in the former's
+automobile. James Wallace and Morgan Knowles were associated in
+business dealings; but in spite of Mrs. Wallace's schemings and
+aspirations and heart burnings, the association remained a purely
+business one and never advanced an inch in the direction of
+friendship.</p>
+
+<p>As for Pauline, she was hopelessly devoid of social ambitions and she
+did not in the least mind the Morgan Knowles' remote attitude.</p>
+
+<p>"Besides," continued Pauline, "she isn't a tomboy at all. She looks
+like a very womanly, well-bred sort of girl. Why should you think her
+a tomboy because she drives cows? Cows are placid, useful
+animals&mdash;witness this delicious cream which I am pouring over my
+blueberries. And they have to be driven. It's an honest occupation."</p>
+
+<p>"I daresay she is someone's servant," said Mrs. Wallace
+contemptuously. "But I suppose even that wouldn't matter to you,
+Pauline?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not a mite," said Pauline cheerfully. "One of the very nicest girls I
+ever knew was a maid Mother had the last year of her dear life. I
+loved that girl, Aunt Olivia, and I correspond with her. She writes
+letters that are ten times more clever and entertaining than those
+stupid epistles Clarisse Gray sends me&mdash;and Clarisse Gray is a rich
+man's daughter and is being educated in Paris."</p>
+
+<p>"You are incorrigible, Pauline," said Mrs. Wallace hopelessly.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Boyd," said Pauline to their landlady, who now made her
+appearance, "who is that girl who drives the cows along the beech lane
+mornings and evenings?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ada Cameron, I guess," was Mrs. Boyd's response. "She lives with the
+Embrees down on the old Embree place just below here. They're
+pasturing their cows on the upper farm this summer. Mrs. Embree is her
+father's half-sister."</p>
+
+<p>"Is she as nice as she looks?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Ada's a real nice sensible girl," said Mrs. Boyd. "There is no
+nonsense about her."</p>
+
+<p>"That doesn't sound very encouraging," murmured Pauline, as Mrs. Boyd
+went out. "I like people with a little nonsense about them. But I hope
+better things of Ada, Mrs. Boyd to the contrary notwithstanding. She
+has a pair of grey eyes that can't possibly always look sensible. I
+think they must mellow occasionally into fun and jollity and wholesome
+nonsense. Well, I'm off to the shore. I want to get that photograph of
+the Cove this evening, if possible. I've set my heart on taking first
+prize at the Amateur Photographers' Exhibition this fall, and if I can
+only get that Cove with all its beautiful lights and shadows, it will
+be the gem of my collection."</p>
+
+<p>Pauline, on her return from the shore, reached the beech lane just as
+the Embree cows were swinging down it. Behind them came a tall,
+brown-haired, brown-faced girl in a neat print dress. Her hat was hung
+over her arm, and the low evening sunlight shone redly over her smooth
+glossy head. She carried herself with a pretty dignity, but when her
+eyes met Pauline's, she looked as if she would smile on the slightest
+provocation.</p>
+
+<p>Pauline promptly gave her the provocation.</p>
+
+<p>"Good evening, Miss Cameron," she called blithely. "Won't you please
+stop a few moments and look me over? I want to see if you think me a
+likely person for a summer chum."</p>
+
+<p>Ada Cameron did more than smile. She laughed outright and went over to
+the fence where Pauline was sitting on a stump. She looked down into
+the merry black eyes of the town girl she had been half envying for a
+week and said humorously: "Yes, I think you very likely, indeed. But
+it takes two to make a friendship&mdash;like a bargain. If I'm one, you'll
+have to be the other."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm the other. Shake," said Pauline, holding out her hand.</p>
+
+<p>That was the beginning of a friendship that made poor Mrs. Wallace
+groan outwardly as well as inwardly. Pauline and Ada found that they
+liked each other even more than they had expected to. They walked,
+rowed, berried and picnicked together. Ada did not go to Mrs. Boyd's a
+great deal, for some instinct told her that Mrs. Wallace did not look
+favourably on her, but Pauline spent half her time at the little,
+brown, orchard-embowered house at the end of the beech lane where the
+Embrees lived. She had never met any girl she thought so nice as Ada.</p>
+
+<p>"She is nice every way," she told the unconvinced Aunt Olivia. "She's
+clever and well read. She is sensible and frank. She has a sense of
+humour and a great deal of insight into character&mdash;witness her liking
+for your niece! She can talk interestingly and she can also be silent
+when silence is becoming. And she has the finest profile I ever saw.
+Aunt Olivia, may I ask her to visit me next winter?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, indeed," said Mrs. Wallace, with crushing emphasis. "You surely
+don't expect to continue this absurd intimacy past the summer,
+Pauline?"</p>
+
+<p>"I expect to be Ada's friend all my life," said Pauline laughingly,
+but with a little ring of purpose in her voice. "Oh, Aunty, dear,
+can't you see that Ada is just the same girl in cotton print that she
+would be in silk attire? She is really far more distinguished looking
+than any girl in the Knowles' set."</p>
+
+<p>"Pauline!" said Aunt Olivia, looking as shocked as if Pauline had
+committed blasphemy.</p>
+
+<p>Pauline laughed again, but she sighed as she went to her room. Aunt
+Olivia has the kindest heart in the world, she thought. What a pity
+she isn't able to see things as they really are! My friendship with
+Ada can't be perfect if I can't invite her to my home. And she is such
+a dear girl&mdash;the first real friend after my own heart that I've ever
+had.</p>
+
+<p>The summer waned, and August burned itself out.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you will be going back to town next week? I shall miss you
+dreadfully," said Ada.</p>
+
+<p>The two girls were in the Embree garden, where Pauline was preparing
+to take a photograph of Ada standing among the asters, with a great
+sheaf of them in her arms. Pauline wished she could have said: But you
+must come and visit me in the winter. Since she could not, she had to
+content herself with saying: "You won't miss me any more than I shall
+miss you. But we'll correspond, and I hope Aunt Olivia will come to
+Marwood again next summer."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think I shall be here then," said Ada with a sigh. "You see,
+it is time I was doing something for myself, Pauline. Aunt Jane and
+Uncle Robert have always been very kind to me, but they have a large
+family and are not very well off. So I think I'll try for a situation
+in one of the Remington stores this fall."</p>
+
+<p>"It's such a pity you couldn't have gone to the Academy and studied
+for a teacher's licence," said Pauline, who knew what Ada's ambitions
+were.</p>
+
+<p>"I should have liked that better, of course," said Ada quietly. "But
+it is not possible, so I must do my best at the next best thing. Don't
+let's talk of it. It might make me feel blueish and I want to look
+especially pleasant if I'm going to have my photo taken."</p>
+
+<p>"You couldn't look anything else," laughed Pauline. "Don't smile too
+broadly&mdash;I want you to be looking over the asters with a bit of a
+dream on your face and in your eyes. If the picture turns out as
+beautiful as I fondly expect, I mean to put it in my exhibition
+collection under the title 'A September Dream.' There, that's the very
+expression. When you look like that, you remind me of somebody I have
+seen, but I can't remember who it is. All ready now&mdash;don't
+move&mdash;there, dearie, it is all over."</p>
+
+<p>When Pauline went back to Colchester, she was busy for a month
+preparing her photographs for the exhibition, while Aunt Olivia
+renewed her spinning of all the little social webs in which she fondly
+hoped to entangle the Morgan Knowles and other desirable flies.</p>
+
+<p>When the exhibition was opened, Pauline Palmer's collection won first
+prize, and the prettiest picture in it was one called "A September
+Dream"&mdash;a tall girl with a wistful face, standing in an old-fashioned
+garden with her arms full of asters.</p>
+
+<p>The very day after the exhibition was opened the Morgan Knowles'
+automobile stopped at the Wallace door. Mrs. Wallace was out, but it
+was Pauline whom stately Mrs. Morgan Knowles asked for. Pauline was at
+that moment buried in her darkroom developing photographs, and she ran
+down just as she was&mdash;a fact which would have mortified Mrs. Wallace
+exceedingly if she had ever known it. But Mrs. Morgan Knowles did not
+seem to mind at all. She liked Pauline's simplicity of manner. It was
+more than she had expected from the aunt's rather vulgar
+affectations.</p>
+
+<p>"I have called to ask you who the original of the photograph 'A
+September Dream' in your exhibit was, Miss Palmer," she said
+graciously. "The resemblance to a very dear childhood friend of mine
+is so startling that I am sure it cannot be accidental."</p>
+
+<p>"That is a photograph of Ada Cameron, a friend whom I met this summer
+up in Marwood," said Pauline.</p>
+
+<p>"Ada Cameron! She must be Ada Frame's daughter, then," exclaimed Mrs.
+Knowles in excitement. Then, seeing Pauline's puzzled face, she
+explained: "Years ago, when I was a child, I always spent my summers
+on the farm of my uncle, John Frame. My cousin, Ada Frame, was the
+dearest friend I ever had, but after we grew up we saw nothing of each
+other, for I went with my parents to Europe for several years, and Ada
+married a neighbour's son, Alec Cameron, and went out west. Her
+father, who was my only living relative other than my parents, died,
+and I never heard anything more of Ada until about eight years ago,
+when somebody told me she was dead and had left no family. That part
+of the report cannot have been true if this girl is her daughter."</p>
+
+<p>"I believe she is," said Pauline quickly. "Ada was born out west and
+lived there until she was eight years old, when her parents died and
+she was sent east to her father's half-sister. And Ada looks like
+you&mdash;she always reminded me of somebody I had seen, but I never could
+decide who it was before. Oh, I hope it is true, for Ada is such a
+sweet girl, Mrs. Knowles."</p>
+
+<p>"She couldn't be anything else if she is Ada Frame's daughter," said
+Mrs. Knowles. "My husband will investigate the matter at once, and if
+this girl is Ada's child we shall hope to find a daughter in her, as
+we have none of our own."</p>
+
+<p>"What will Aunt Olivia say!" said Pauline with wickedly dancing eyes
+when Mrs. Knowles had gone.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Olivia was too much overcome to say anything. That good lady felt
+rather foolish when it was proved that the girl she had so despised
+was Mrs. Morgan Knowles' cousin and was going to be adopted by her.
+But to hear Aunt Olivia talk now, you would suppose that she and not
+Pauline had discovered Ada.</p>
+
+<p>The latter sought Pauline out as soon as she came to Colchester, and
+the summer friendship proved a life-long one and was, for the
+Wallaces, the open sesame to the enchanted ground of the Knowles'
+"set."</p>
+
+<p>"So everybody concerned is happy," said Pauline. "Ada is going to
+college and so am I, and Aunt Olivia is on the same committee as Mrs.
+Knowles for the big church bazaar. What about my 'low tastes' now,
+Aunt Olivia?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, who would ever have supposed that a girl who drove cows to
+pasture was connected with the Morgan Knowles?" said poor Aunt Olivia
+piteously.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="The_Growing_Up_of_Cornelia" id="The_Growing_Up_of_Cornelia"></a><hr />
+<br />
+
+<h2>The Growing Up of Cornelia<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h2>
+<br />
+
+<p class="right">January First.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jemima gave me this diary for a Christmas present. It's just the
+sort of gift a person named Jemima would be likely to make.</p>
+
+<p>I can't imagine why Aunt Jemima thought I should like a diary.
+Probably she didn't think about it at all. I suppose it happened to be
+the first thing she saw when she started out to do her Christmas duty
+by me, and so she bought it. I'm sure I'm the last girl in the world
+to keep a diary. I'm not a bit sentimental and I never have time for
+soul outpourings. It's jollier to be out skating or snowshoeing or
+just tramping around. And besides, nothing ever happens to me worth
+writing in a diary.</p>
+
+<p>Still, since Aunt Jemima gave it to me, I'm going to get the good out
+of it. I don't believe in wasting even a diary. Father ... it would be
+easier to write "Dad," but Dad sounds disrespectful in a diary ...
+says I have a streak of old Grandmother Marshall's economical nature
+in me. So I'm going to write in this book whenever I have anything
+that might, by any stretch of imagination, be supposed worth while.</p>
+
+<p>Jen and Alice and Sue would have plenty to write about, I dare say.
+They certainly seem to have jolly times ... and as for the men ... but
+there! People say men are interesting. They may be. But I shall never
+get well enough acquainted with any of them to find out.</p>
+
+<p>Mother says it is high time I gave up my tomboy ways and came "out"
+too, because I am eighteen. I coaxed off this winter. It wasn't very
+hard, because no mother with three older unmarried girls on her hands
+would be very anxious to bring out a fourth. The girls took my part
+and advised Mother to let me be a child as long as possible. Mother
+yielded for this time, but said I must be brought out next winter or
+people would talk. Oh, I hate the thought of it! People might talk
+about my not being brought out, but they will talk far more about the
+blunders I shall make.</p>
+
+<p>The doleful fact is, I'm too wretchedly shy and awkward to live. It
+fills my soul with terror to think of donning long dresses and putting
+my hair up and going into society. I can't talk and men frighten me to
+death. I fall over things as it is, and what will it be with long
+dresses? As far back as I can remember it has been my one aim and
+object in life to escape company. Oh, if only one need never grow up!
+If I could only go back four years and stay there!</p>
+
+<p>Mother laments over it muchly. She says she doesn't know what she has
+done to have such a shy, unpresentable daughter. <i>I</i> know. She married
+Grandmother Marshall's son, and Grandmother Marshall was as shy as she
+was economical. Mother triumphed over heredity with Jen and Sue and
+Alice, but it came off best with me. The other girls are noted for
+their grace and tact. But I'm the black sheep and always will be. It
+wouldn't worry me so much if they'd leave me alone and stop nagging
+me. "Oh, for a lodge in some vast wilderness," where there were no
+men, no parties, no dinners ... just quantities of dogs and horses and
+skating ponds and woods! I need never put on long dresses then, but
+just be a jolly little girl forever.</p>
+
+<p>However, I've got one beautiful year before me yet, and I mean to make
+the most of it.</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style="width: 15%;" />
+<br />
+
+<p class="right">January Tenth.</p>
+
+<p>It is rather good to have a diary to pour out your woes in when you
+feel awfully bad and have no one to sympathize with you. I've been
+used to shutting them all up in my soul and then they sometimes
+fermented and made trouble.</p>
+
+<p>We had a lot of people here to dinner tonight, and that made me
+miserable to begin with. I had to dress up in a stiff white dress
+<i>with a sash</i>, and Jen tied two big white fly-away bows on my hair
+that kept rasping my neck and tickling my ears in a most exasperating
+way. Then an old lady whom I detest tried to make me talk before
+everybody, and all I could do was to turn as red as a beet and
+stammer: "Yes, ma'am," "no, ma'am." It made Mother furious, because it
+is so old-fashioned to say "ma'am." Our old nurse taught me to say it
+when I was small, and though it has been pretty well governessed out
+of me since then, it's sure to pop up when I get confused and nervous.</p>
+
+<p>Sue ... may it be accounted unto her for righteousness ... contrived
+that I should go out to dinner with old Mr. Grant, because she knew he
+goes to dinners for the sake of eating and never talks or wants
+anybody else to. But when we were crossing the hall I stepped on Mrs.
+Burnett's train and something tore. Mrs. Burnett gave me a furious
+look and glowered all through dinner. The meal was completely spoiled
+for me and I could find no comfort, even in the Nesselrode pudding,
+which is my favourite dessert.</p>
+
+<p>It was just when the pudding came on that I got the most unkindest cut
+of all. Mrs. Allardyce remarked that Sidney Elliot was coming home to
+Stillwater.</p>
+
+<p>Everybody exclaimed and questioned and seemed delighted. I saw Mother
+give one quick, involuntary look at Jen, and then gaze steadfastly at
+Mr. Grant to atone for it. Jen is twenty-six, and Stillwater is next
+door to our place!</p>
+
+<p>As for me, I was so vexed that I might as well have been eating chips
+for all the good that Nesselrode pudding was to me. If Sidney Elliot
+were coming home everything would be spoiled. There would be no more
+ramblings in the Stillwater woods, no more delightful skating on the
+Stillwater lake. Stillwater has been the only place in the world where
+I could find the full joy of solitude, and now this, too, was to be
+taken from me. We had no woods, no lake. I hated Sidney Elliot.</p>
+
+<p>It is ten years since Sidney Elliot closed Stillwater and went abroad.
+He has stayed abroad ever since and nobody has missed him, I'm sure. I
+remember him dimly as a tall dark man who used to lounge about alone
+in his garden and was always reading books. Sometimes he came into our
+garden and teased us children. He is said to be a cynic and to detest
+society. If this latter item be a fact I almost feel a grim pity for
+him. He may detest it, but he will be dragged into it. Rich bachelors
+are few and far between in Riverton, and the mammas will hunt him
+down.</p>
+
+<p>I feel like crying. If Sidney Elliot comes home I shall be debarred
+from Stillwater. I have roamed its demesnes for ten beautiful years,
+and I'm sure I love them a hundredfold better than he does, or can. It
+is flagrantly unfair. Oh, I hate him!</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style="width: 15%;" />
+<br />
+
+<p class="right">January Twentieth.</p>
+
+<p>No, I don't. I believe I like him. Yet it's almost unbelievable. I've
+always thought men so detestable.</p>
+
+<p>I'm tingling all over with the surprise and pleasure of a little
+unexpected adventure. For the first time I have something really worth
+writing in a diary ... and I'm glad I have a diary to write it in.
+Blessings on Aunt Jemima! May her shadow never grow less.</p>
+
+<p>This evening I started out for a last long lingering ramble in my
+beloved Stillwater woods. The last, I thought, because I knew Sidney
+Elliot was expected home next week, and after that I'd have to be
+cooped up on our lawn. I dressed myself comfortably for climbing
+fences and skimming over snowy wastes. That is, I put on the shortest
+old tweed skirt I have and a red jacket with sleeves three years
+behind the fashion, but jolly pockets to put your hands in, and a
+still redder tam. Thus accoutred, I sallied forth.</p>
+
+<p>It was such a lovely evening that I couldn't help enjoying myself in
+spite of my sorrows. The sun was low and creamy, and the snow was so
+white and the shadows so slender and blue. All through the lovely
+Stillwater woods was a fine frosty stillness. It was splendid to skim
+down those long wonderful avenues of crusted snow, with the mossy grey
+boles on either hand, and overhead the lacing, leafless boughs, I
+just drank in the air and the beauty until my very soul was thrilling,
+and I went on and on and on until I was most delightfully lost. That
+is, I didn't know just where I was, but the woods weren't so big but
+that I'd be sure to come out safely somewhere; and, oh, it was so
+glorious to be there all alone and never a creature to worry me.</p>
+
+<p>At last I turned into a long aisle that seemed to lead right out into
+the very heart of a deep-red overflowing winter sunset. At its end I
+found a fence, and I climbed up on that fence and sat there, so
+comfortably, with my back against a big beech and my feet dangling.</p>
+
+<p>Then I saw him!</p>
+
+<p>I knew it was Sidney Elliot in a moment. He was just as tall and just
+as black-eyed; he was still given to lounging evidently, for he was
+leaning against the fence a panel away from me and looking at me with
+an amused smile. After my first mad impulse to rush away and bury
+myself in the wilderness that smile put me at ease. If he had looked
+grave or polite I would have been as miserably shy as I've always been
+in a man's presence. But it was the smile of a grandfather for a
+child, and I just grinned cheerfully back at him.</p>
+
+<p>He ploughed along through the thick drift that was soft and spongy by
+the fence and came close up to me.</p>
+
+<p>"You must be little Cornelia," he said with another aged smile. "Or
+rather, you <i>were</i> little Cornelia. I suppose you are big Cornelia now
+and want to be treated like a young lady?"</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed, I don't," I protested. "I'm not grown up and I don't want to
+be. You are Mr. Elliot, I suppose. Nobody expected you till next week.
+What made you come so soon?"</p>
+
+<p>"A whim of mine," he said. "I'm full of whims and crotchets. Old
+bachelors always are. But why did you ask that question in a tone
+which seemed to imply that you resented my coming so soon, Miss
+Cornelia?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, don't tack the Miss on," I implored. "Call me Cornelia ... or
+better still, Nic, as Dad does. I <i>do</i> resent your coming so soon. I
+resent your coming at all. And, oh, it is such a satisfaction to tell
+you so."</p>
+
+<p>He smiled with his eyes ... a deep, black, velvety smile. But he shook
+his head sorrowfully.</p>
+
+<p>"I must be getting very old," he said. "It's a sign of age when a
+person finds himself unwelcome and superfluous."</p>
+
+<p>"Your age has nothing to do with it," I retorted. "It is because
+Stillwater is the only place I have to run wild in ... and running
+wild is all I'm fit for. It's so lovely and roomy I can lose myself in
+it. I shall die or go mad if I'm cooped up on our little pocket
+handkerchief of a lawn."</p>
+
+<p>"But why should you be?" he inquired gravely.</p>
+
+<p>I reflected ... and was surprised.</p>
+
+<p>"After all, I don't know ... now ... why I should be," I admitted. "I
+thought you wouldn't want me prowling about your domains. Besides, I
+was afraid I'd meet you ... and I don't like meeting men. I hate to
+have them around ... I'm so shy and awkward."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you find me very dreadful?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>I reflected again ... and was again surprised.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I don't. I don't mind you a bit ... any more than if you were
+Dad."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you mustn't consider yourself an exile from Stillwater. The
+woods are yours to roam in at will, and if you want to roam them alone
+you may, and if you'd like a companion once in a while command me.
+Let's be good friends, little lass. Shake hands on it."</p>
+
+<p>I slipped down from the fence and shook hands with him. I did like him
+very much ... he was so nice and unaffected and brotherly ... just as
+if I'd known him all my life. We walked down the long white avenue,
+where everything was growing dusky, and I had told him all my troubles
+before we got to the end of it. He was so sympathetic and agreed with
+me that it was a pity people had to grow up. He promised to come over
+tomorrow and look at Don's leg. Don is one of my dogs, and he has got
+a bad leg. I've been doctoring it myself, but it doesn't get any
+better. Sidney thinks he can cure it. He says I must call him Sidney
+if I want him to call me Nic.</p>
+
+<p>When we got to the lake, there it lay all gleaming and smooth as glass
+... the most tempting thing.</p>
+
+<p>"What a glorious possible slide," he said. "Let us have it, little
+lass."</p>
+
+<p>He took my hand and we ran down the slope and went skimming over the
+ice. It <i>was</i> glorious. The house came in sight as we reached the
+other side. It was big and dark and silent.</p>
+
+<p>"So the old place is still standing," said Sidney, looking up at it.
+In the dusk I thought his face had a tender, reverent look instead of
+the rather mocking expression it had worn all along.</p>
+
+<p>"Haven't you been there yet?" I asked quickly.</p>
+
+<p>"No. I'm stopping at the hotel over in Croyden. The house will need
+some fixing up before it's fit to live in. I just came down tonight to
+look at it and took a short cut through the woods. I'm glad I did. It
+was worth while to see you come tramping down that long white avenue
+when you thought yourself alone with the silence. I thought I had
+never seen a child so full of the pure joy of existence. Hold fast to
+that, little lass, as long as you can. You'll never find anything to
+take its place after it goes. You jolly little child!"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm eighteen," I said suddenly. I don't know what made me say it.</p>
+
+<p>He laughed and pulled his coat collar up around his ears.</p>
+
+<p>"Never," he mocked. "You're about twelve ... stay twelve, and always
+wear red caps and jackets, you vivid thing: Good night."</p>
+
+<p>He was off across the lake, and I came home. Yes, I do like him, even
+if he is a man.</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style="width: 15%;" />
+<br />
+
+<p class="right">February Twentieth.</p>
+
+<p>I've found out what diaries are for ... to work off blue moods in,
+moods that come on without any reason whatever and therefore can't be
+confided to any fellow creature. You scribble away for a while ... and
+then it's all gone ... and your soul feels clear as crystal once more.</p>
+
+<p>I always go to Sidney now in a blue mood that has a real cause. He can
+cheer me up in five minutes. But in such a one as this, which is quite
+unaccountable, there's nothing for it but a diary.</p>
+
+<p>Sidney has been living at Stillwater for a month. It seems as if he
+must have lived there always.</p>
+
+<p>He came to our place the next day after I met him in the woods.
+Everybody made a fuss over him, but he shook them off with an ease I
+envied and whisked me out to see Don's leg. He has fixed it up so that
+it is as good as new now, and the dogs like him almost better than
+they like me.</p>
+
+<p>We have had splendid times since then. We are just the jolliest chums
+and we tramp about everywhere together and go skating and snowshoeing
+and riding. We read a lot of books together too, and Sidney always
+explains everything I don't understand. I'm not a bit shy and I can
+always find plenty to say to him. He isn't at all like any other man I
+know.</p>
+
+<p>Everybody likes him, but the women seem to be a little afraid of him.
+They say he is so terribly cynical and satirical. He goes into society
+a good bit, although he says it bores him. He says he only goes
+because it would bore him worse to stay home alone.</p>
+
+<p>There's only one thing about Sidney that I hardly like. I think he
+rather overdoes it in the matter of treating me as if I were a little
+girl. Of course, I don't want him to look upon me as grown up. But
+there is a medium in all things, and he really needn't talk as if he
+thought I was a child of ten and had no earthly interest in anything
+but sports and dogs. These <i>are</i> the best things ... I suppose ... but
+I understand lots of other things too, only I can't convince Sidney
+that I do. I know he is laughing at me when I try to show him I'm not
+so childish as he thinks me. He's indulgent and whimsical, just as he
+would be with a little girl who was making believe to be grown up.
+Perhaps next winter, when I put on long dresses and come out, he'll
+stop regarding me as a child. But next winter is so horribly far off.</p>
+
+<p>The day we were fussing with Don's leg I told Sidney that Mother said
+I'd have to be grown up next winter and how I hated it, and I made him
+promise that when the time came he would use all his influence to beg
+me off for another year. He said he would, because it was a shame to
+worry children about society. But somehow I've concluded not to bother
+making a fuss. I have to come out some time, and I might as well take
+the plunge and get it over.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Burnett was here this evening fixing up some arrangements for a
+charity bazaar she and Jen are interested in, and she talked most of
+the time about Sidney ... for Jen's benefit, I suppose, although Jen
+and Sid don't get on at all. They fight every time they meet, so I
+don't see why Mrs. Burnett should think things.</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder what he'll do when Mrs. Rennie comes to the Glasgows' next
+month," said Mrs. Burnett.</p>
+
+<p>"Why should he do anything?" asked Jen.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, well, you know there was something between them ... an
+understanding if not an engagement ... before she married Rennie. They
+met abroad ... my sister told me all about it ... and Mr. Elliot was
+quite infatuated with her. She was a very handsome and fascinating
+girl. Then she threw him over and married old Jacob Rennie ... for his
+millions, of course, for he certainly had nothing else to recommend
+him. Amy says Mr. Elliot was never the same man again. But Jacob died
+obligingly two years ago and Mrs. Rennie is free now; so I dare say
+they'll make it up. No doubt that is why she is coming to Riverton.
+Well, it would be a very suitable match."</p>
+
+<p>I'm so glad I never liked Mrs. Burnett.</p>
+
+<p>I wonder if it is true that Sidney did care for that horrid woman ...
+of course she is horrid! Didn't she marry an old man for his money?...
+and cares for her still. It is no business of mine, of course, and it
+doesn't matter to me at all. But I rather hope he doesn't ... because
+it would spoil everything if he got married. He wouldn't have time to
+be chums with me then.</p>
+
+<p>I don't know why I feel so dull tonight. Writing in this diary doesn't
+seem to have helped me as much as I thought it would, either. I dare
+say it's the weather. It must be the weather. It is a wet, windy night
+and the rain is thudding against the window. I hate rainy nights.</p>
+
+<p>I wonder if Mrs. Rennie is really as handsome as Mrs. Burnett says. I
+wonder how old she is. I wonder if she ever cared for Sidney ... no,
+she didn't. No woman who cared for Sidney could ever have thrown him
+over for an old moneybag. I wonder if I shall like her. No, I won't.
+I'm sure I shan't like her.</p>
+
+<p>My head is aching and I'm going to bed.</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style="width: 15%;" />
+<br />
+
+<p class="right">March Tenth.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Rennie was here to dinner tonight. My head was aching again, and
+Mother said I needn't go down to dinner if I'd rather not; but a dozen
+headaches could not have kept me back, or a dozen men either, even
+supposing I'd have to talk to them all. I wanted to see Mrs. Rennie.
+Nothing has been talked of in Riverton for the last fortnight but Mrs.
+Rennie. I've heard of her beauty and charm and costumes until I'm sick
+of the subject. Today I spoke to Sidney about her. Before I thought I
+said right out, "Mrs. Rennie is to dine with us tonight."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes?" he said in a quiet voice.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm dying to see her," I went on recklessly. "I've heard so much
+about her. They say she's so beautiful and fascinating. <i>Is</i> she?
+<i>You</i> ought to know."</p>
+
+<p>Sidney swung the sled around and put it in position for another coast.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I know her," he admitted tranquilly. "She is a very handsome
+woman, and I suppose most people would consider her fascinating. Come,
+Nic, get on the sled. We have just time for one more coast, and then
+you must go in."</p>
+
+<p>"You were once a good friend ... a very good friend ... of Mrs.
+Rennie's, weren't you, Sid?" I said.</p>
+
+<p>A little mocking gleam crept into his eyes, and I instantly realized
+that he was looking upon me as a rather impertinent child.</p>
+
+<p>"You've been listening to gossip, Nic," he said. "It's a bad habit,
+child. Don't let it grow on you. Come."</p>
+
+<p>I went, feeling crushed and furious and ashamed.</p>
+
+<p>I knew her at once when I went down to the drawing-room. There were
+three other strange women there, but I knew she was the only one who
+could be Mrs. Rennie. I felt such a horrible queer sinking feeling at
+my heart when I saw her. Oh, she was beautiful ... I had never seen
+anyone so beautiful. And Sidney was standing beside her, talking to
+her, with a smile on his face, but none in his eyes ... I noticed
+<i>that</i> at a glance.</p>
+
+<p>She was so tall and slender and willowy. Her dress was wonderful, and
+her bare throat and shoulders were like pearls. Her hair was pale,
+pale gold, and her eyes long-lashed and sweet, and her mouth like a
+scarlet blossom against her creamy face. I thought of how I must look
+beside her ... an awkward little girl in a short skirt with my hair in
+a braid and too many hands and feet, and I would have given anything
+then to be tall and grown-up and graceful.</p>
+
+<p>I watched her all the evening and the queer feeling in me somewhere
+grew worse and worse. I couldn't eat anything. Sidney took Mrs. Rennie
+in; they sat opposite to me and talked all the time.</p>
+
+<p>I was so glad when the dinner was over and everybody gone. The first
+thing I did when I escaped to my room was to go to the glass and look
+myself over just as critically and carefully as if I were somebody
+else. I saw a great rope of dark brown hair ... a brown skin with red
+cheeks ... a big red mouth ... a pair of grey eyes. That was all. And
+when I thought of that shimmering witch woman with her white skin and
+shining hair I wanted to put out the light and cry in the dark. Only
+I've never cried since I was a child and broke my last doll, and I've
+got so out of the habit that I don't know how to go about it.</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style="width: 15%;" />
+<br />
+
+<p class="right">April Fifth.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jemima would not think I was getting the good out of my diary. A
+whole month and not a word! But there was nothing to write, and I've
+felt too miserable to write if there had been. I don't know what is
+the matter with me. I'm just cross and horrid to everyone, even to
+poor Sidney.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Rennie has been queening it in Riverton society for the past
+month. People rave over her and I admire her horribly, although I
+don't like her. Mrs. Burnett says that a match between her and Sidney
+Elliot is a foregone conclusion.</p>
+
+<p>It's plain to be seen that Mrs. Rennie loves Sidney. Even I can see
+that, and I don't know much about such things. But it puzzles me to
+know how Sidney regards her. I have never thought he showed any sign
+of really caring for her. But then, he isn't the kind that would.</p>
+
+<p>"Nic, I wonder if you will ever grow up," he said to me today,
+laughing, when he caught me racing over the lawn with the dogs.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm grown up now," I said crossly. "Why, I'm eighteen and a half and
+I'm two inches taller than any of the other girls."</p>
+
+<p>Sidney laughed, as if he were heartily amused at something.</p>
+
+<p>"You're a blessed baby," he said, "and the dearest, truest, jolliest
+little chum ever a fellow had. I don't know what I'd do without you,
+Nic. You keep me sane and wholesome. I'm a tenfold better man for
+knowing you, little girl."</p>
+
+<p>I was rather pleased. It was nice to think I was some good to Sidney.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you going to the Trents' dinner tonight?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he said briefly.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Rennie will be there," I said.</p>
+
+<p>Sidney nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think her so very handsome, Sidney?" I said. I had never
+mentioned Mrs. Rennie to him since the day we were coasting, and I
+didn't mean to now. The question just asked itself.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, very; but not as handsome as you will be ten years from now,
+Nic," said Sidney lightly.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think I'm handsome, Sidney?" I cried.</p>
+
+<p>"You will be when you're grown up," he answered, looking at me
+critically.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you be going to Mrs. Greaves' reception after the dinner?" I
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I suppose so," said Sidney absently. I could see he wasn't
+thinking of me at all. I wondered if he were thinking of Mrs. Rennie.</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style="width: 15%;" />
+<br />
+
+<p class="right">April Sixth.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, something so wonderful has happened. I can hardly believe it.
+There are moments when I quake with the fear that it is all a dream. I
+wonder if I can really be the same Cornelia Marshall I was yesterday.
+No, I'm <i>not</i> the same ... and the difference is so blessed.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, I'm so happy! My heart bubbles over with happiness and song. It's
+so wonderful and lovely to be a woman and know it and know that other
+people know it.</p>
+
+<p>You dear diary, you were made for this moment ... I shall write all
+about it in you and so fulfil your destiny. And then I shall put you
+away and never write anything more in you, because I shall not need
+you ... I shall have Sidney.</p>
+
+<p>Last night I was all alone in the house ... and I was so lonely and
+miserable. I put my chin on my hands and I thought ... and thought ...
+and thought. I imagined Sidney at the Greaves', talking to Mrs. Rennie
+with that velvety smile in his eyes. I could see her, graceful and
+white, in her trailing, clinging gown, with diamonds about her smooth
+neck and in her hair. I suddenly wondered what I would look like in
+evening dress with my hair up. I wondered if Sidney would like me in
+it.</p>
+
+<p>All at once I got up and rushed to Sue's room. I lighted the gas,
+rummaged, and went to work. I piled my hair on top of my head, pinned
+it there, and thrust a long silver dagger through it to hold a couple
+of pale white roses she had left on her table. Then I put on her last
+winter's party dress. It was such a pretty pale yellow thing, with
+touches of black lace, and it didn't matter about its being a little
+old-fashioned, since it fitted me like a glove. Finally I stepped back
+and looked at myself.</p>
+
+<p>I saw a woman in that glass ... a tall, straight creature with crimson
+cheeks and glowing eyes ... and the thought in my mind was so
+insistent that it said itself aloud: "Oh, I wish Sidney could see me
+now!"</p>
+
+<p>At that very moment the maid knocked at the door to tell me that Mr.
+Elliot was downstairs asking for me. I did not hesitate a second. With
+my heart beating wildly I trailed downstairs to Sidney.</p>
+
+<p>He was standing by the fireplace when I went in, and looked very
+tired. When he heard me he turned his head and our eyes met.</p>
+
+<p>All at once a terrible thing happened ... at least, I thought it a
+terrible thing then. <i>I knew why I had wanted Sidney to realize that
+I was no longer a child.</i> It was because I loved him! I knew it the
+moment I saw that strange, new expression leap into his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Cornelia," he said in a stunned sort of voice. "Why ... Nic ... why,
+little girl ... you're a woman! How blind I've been! And now I've lost
+my little chum."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, no," I said wildly. I was so miserable and confused I didn't
+know what I said. "Never, Sidney. I'd rather be a little girl and have
+you for a friend ... I'll always be a little girl! It's all this
+hateful dress. I'll go and take it off ... I'll...."</p>
+
+<p>And then I just put my hands up to my burning face and the tears that
+would never come before came in a flood.</p>
+
+<p>All at once I felt Sidney's arms about me and felt my head drawn to
+his shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't cry, dearest," I heard him say softly. "You can never be a
+little girl to me again ... my eyes are opened ... but I didn't want
+you to be. I want you to be my big girl ... mine, all mine, forever."</p>
+
+<p>What happened after that isn't to be written in a diary. I won't even
+write down the things he said about how I looked, because it would
+seem so terribly vain, but I can't help thinking of them, for I am so
+happy.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="The_Old_Fellows_Letter" id="The_Old_Fellows_Letter"></a><hr />
+<br />
+
+<h2>The Old Fellow's Letter<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>Ruggles and I were down on the Old Fellow. It doesn't matter why and,
+since in a story of this kind we must tell the truth no matter what
+happens&mdash;or else where is the use of writing a story at all?&mdash;I'll
+have to confess that we had deserved all we got and that the Old
+Fellow did no more than his duty by us. Both Ruggles and I see that
+now, since we have had time to cool off, but at the moment we were in
+a fearful wax at the Old Fellow and were bound to hatch up something
+to get even with him.</p>
+
+<p>Of course, the Old Fellow had another name, just as Ruggles has
+another name. He is principal of the Frampton Academy&mdash;the Old Fellow,
+not Ruggles&mdash;and his name is George Osborne. We have to call him Mr.
+Osborne to his face, but he is the Old Fellow everywhere else. He is
+quite old&mdash;thirty-six if he's a day, and whatever possessed Sylvia
+Grant&mdash;but there, I'm getting ahead of my story.</p>
+
+<p>Most of the Cads like the Old Fellow. Even Ruggles and I like him on
+the average. The girls are always a little provoked at him because he
+is so shy and absent-minded, but when it comes to the point, they like
+him too. I heard Emma White say once that he was "so handsome"; I
+nearly whooped. Ruggles was mad because he's gone on Em. For the idea
+of calling a thin, pale, dark, dreamy-looking chap like the Old Fellow
+"handsome" was more than I could stand without guffawing. Em probably
+said it to provoke Ruggles; she couldn't really have thought it.
+"Micky," the English professor, now&mdash;if she had called him handsome
+there would have been some sense in it. He is splendid: big six-footer
+with magnificent muscles, red cheeks, and curly yellow hair. I can't
+see how he can be contented to sit down and teach mushy English
+literature and poetry and that sort of thing. It would have been more
+in keeping with the Old Fellow. There was a rumour running at large in
+the Academy that the Old Fellow wrote poetry, but he ran the
+mathematics and didn't make such a foozle of it as you might suppose,
+either.</p>
+
+<p>Ruggles and I meant to get square with the Old Fellow, if it took all
+the term; at least, we said so. But if Providence hadn't sent Sylvia
+Grant walking down the street past our boarding house that afternoon,
+we should probably have cooled off before we thought of any working
+plan of revenge.</p>
+
+<p>Sylvia Grant did go down the street, however. Ruggles, hanging halfway
+out of the window as usual, saw her, and called me to go and look. Of
+course I went. Sylvia Grant was always worth looking at. There was no
+girl in Frampton who could hold a candle to her when it came to
+beauty. As for brains, that is another thing altogether. My private
+opinion is that Sylvia hadn't any, or she would never have
+preferred&mdash;but there, I'm getting on too fast again. Ruggles should
+have written this story; he can concentrate better.</p>
+
+<p>Sylvia was the Latin professor's daughter; she wasn't a Cad girl, of
+course. She was over twenty and had graduated from it two years ago,
+but she was in all the social things that went on in the Academy; and
+all the unmarried professors, except the Old Fellow, were in love with
+her. Micky had it the worst, and we had all made up our minds that
+Sylvia would marry Micky. He was so handsome, we didn't see how she
+could help it. I tell you, they made a dandy-looking couple when they
+were together.</p>
+
+<p>Well, as I said before, I toddled to the window to have a look at the
+fair Sylvia. She was all togged out in some new fall duds, and I guess
+she'd come out to show them off. They were brownish, kind of, and
+she'd a spanking hat on with feathers and things in it. Her hair was
+shining under it, all purply-black, and she looked sweet enough to
+eat. Then she saw Ruggles and me and she waved her hand and laughed,
+and her big blackish-blue eyes sparkled; but she hadn't been laughing
+before, or sparkling either.</p>
+
+<p>I'd thought she looked kind of glum, and I wondered if she and Micky
+had had a falling out. I rather suspected it, for at the Senior Prom,
+three nights before, she had hardly looked at Micky, but had sat in a
+corner and talked to the Old Fellow. He didn't do much talking; he was
+too shy, and he looked mighty uncomfortable. I thought it kind of mean
+of Sylvia to torment him so, when she knew he hated to have to talk to
+girls, but when I saw Micky scowling at the corner, I knew she was
+doing it to make him jealous. Girls won't stick at anything when they
+want to provoke a chap; I know it to my cost, for Jennie Price&mdash;but
+that has nothing to do with this story.</p>
+
+<p>Just across the square Sylvia met the Old Fellow and bowed. He lifted
+his hat and passed on, but after a few steps he turned and looked
+back; he caught Sylvia doing the same thing, so he wheeled and came
+on, looking mighty foolish. As he passed beneath our window Ruggles
+chuckled fiendishly.</p>
+
+<p>"I've thought of something, Polly," he said&mdash;my name is Paul. "Bet you
+it will make the Old Fellow squirm. Let's write a letter to Sylvia
+Grant&mdash;a love letter&mdash;and sign the Old Fellow's name to it. She'll
+give him a fearful snubbing, and we'll be revenged."</p>
+
+<p>"But who'll write it?" I said doubtfully. "I can't. You'll have to,
+Ruggles. You've had more practice."</p>
+
+<p>Ruggles turned red. I know he writes to Em White in vacations.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll do my best," he said, quite meekly. "That is, I'll compose it.
+But you'll have to copy it. You can imitate the Old Fellow's
+handwriting so well."</p>
+
+<p>"But look here," I said, an uncomfortable idea striking me, "what
+about Sylvia? Won't she feel kind of flattish when she finds out he
+didn't write it? For of course he'll tell her. We haven't anything
+against her, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Sylvia won't care," said Ruggles serenely. "She's the sort of
+girl who can take a joke. I've seen her eyes shine over tricks we've
+played on the professors before now. She'll just laugh. Besides, she
+doesn't like the Old Fellow a bit. I know from the way she acts with
+him. She's always so cool and stiff when he's about, not a bit like
+she is with the other professors."</p>
+
+<p>Well, Ruggles wrote the letter. At first he tried to pass it off on me
+as his own composition. But I know a few little things, and one of
+them is that Ruggles couldn't have made up that letter any more than
+he could have written a sonnet. I told him so, and made him own up. He
+had a copy of an old letter that had been written to his sister by her
+young man. I suppose Ruggles had stolen it, but there is no use
+inquiring too closely into these things. Anyhow, that letter just
+filled the bill. It was beautifully expressed. Ruggles's sister's
+young man must have possessed lots of ability. He was an English
+professor, something like Micky, so I suppose he was extra good at it.
+He started in by telling her how much he loved her, and what an angel
+of beauty and goodness he had always thought her; how unworthy he felt
+himself of her and how little hope he had that she could ever care for
+him; and he wound up by imploring her to tell him if she could
+possibly love him a little bit and all that sort of thing.</p>
+
+<p>I copied the letter out on heliotrope paper in my best imitation of
+the Old Fellow's handwriting and signed it, "Yours devotedly and
+imploringly, George Osborne." Then we mailed it that very evening.</p>
+
+<p>The next evening the Cad girls gave a big reception in the Assembly
+Hall to an Academy alumna who was visiting the Greek professor's wife.
+It was the smartest event of the term and everybody was
+there&mdash;students and faculty and, of course, Sylvia Grant. Sylvia
+looked stunning. She was all in white, with a string of pearls about
+her pretty round throat and a couple of little pink roses in her black
+hair. I never saw her so smiling and bright; but she seemed quieter
+than usual, and avoided poor Micky so skilfully that it was really a
+pleasure to watch her. The Old Fellow came in late, with his tie all
+crooked, as it always was; I saw Sylvia blush and nudged Ruggles to
+look.</p>
+
+<p>"She's thinking of the letter," he said.</p>
+
+<p>Ruggles and I never meant to listen, upon my word we didn't. It was
+pure accident. We were in behind the flags and palms in the Modern
+Languages Room, fixing up a plan how to get Em and Jennie off for a
+moonlit stroll in the grounds&mdash;these things require diplomacy I can
+tell you, for there are always so many other fellows hanging
+about&mdash;when in came Sylvia Grant and the Old Fellow arm in arm. The
+room was quite empty, or they thought it was, and they sat down just
+on the other side of the flags. They couldn't see us, but we could see
+them quite plainly. Sylvia still looked smiling and happy, not a bit
+mad as we had expected, but just kind of shy and radiant. As for the
+Old Fellow, he looked, as Em White would say, as Sphinx-like as ever.
+I'd defy any man alive to tell from the Old Fellow's expression what
+he was thinking about or what he felt like at any time.</p>
+
+<p>Then all at once Sylvia said softly, with her eyes cast down, "I
+received your letter, Mr. Osborne."</p>
+
+<p>Any other man in the world would have jumped, or said, "My letter!!!"
+or shown surprise in some way. But the Old Fellow has a nerve. He
+looked sideways at Sylvia for a moment and then he said kind of drily,
+"Ah, did you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Sylvia, not much above a whisper. "It&mdash;it surprised me
+very much. I never supposed that you&mdash;you cared for me in that way."</p>
+
+<p>"Can you tell me how I could help caring?" said the Old Fellow in the
+strangest way. His voice actually trembled.</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;I don't think I would tell you if I knew," said Sylvia, turning
+her head away. "You see&mdash;I don't want you to help caring."</p>
+
+<p>"Sylvia!"</p>
+
+<p>You never saw such a transformation as came over the Old Fellow. His
+eyes just blazed, but his face went white. He bent forward and took
+her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Sylvia, do you mean that you&mdash;you actually care a little for me,
+dearest? Oh, Sylvia, do you mean that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I do," said Sylvia right out. "I've always cared&mdash;ever
+since I was a little girl coming here to school and breaking my heart
+over mathematics, although I hated them, just to be in your class.
+Why&mdash;why&mdash;I've treasured up old geometry exercises you wrote out for
+me just because you wrote them. But I thought I could never make you
+care for me. I was the happiest girl in the world when your letter
+came today."</p>
+
+<p>"Sylvia," said the Old Fellow, "I've loved you for years. But I never
+dreamed that you could care for me. I thought it quite useless to tell
+you of my love&mdash;before. Will you&mdash;can you be my wife, darling?"</p>
+
+<p>At this point Ruggles and I differ as to what came next. He asserts
+that Sylvia turned square around and kissed the Old Fellow. But I'm
+sure she just turned her face and gave him a look and then he kissed
+her.</p>
+
+<p>Anyhow, there they both were, going on at the silliest rate about how
+much they loved each other and how the Old Fellow thought she loved
+Micky and all that sort of thing. It was awful. I never thought the
+Old Fellow or Sylvia either could be so spooney. Ruggles and I would
+have given anything on earth to be out of that. We knew we'd no
+business to be there and we felt as foolish as flatfish. It was a
+tremendous relief when the Old Fellow and Sylvia got up at last and
+trailed away, both of them looking idiotically happy.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, did you ever?" said Ruggles.</p>
+
+<p>It was a girl's exclamation, but nothing else would have expressed his
+feelings.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I never," I said. "To think that Sylvia Grant should be sweet on
+the Old Fellow when she could have Micky! It passes comprehension. Did
+she&mdash;did she really promise to marry him, Ruggles?"</p>
+
+<p>"She did," said Ruggles gloomily. "But, I say, isn't that Old Fellow
+game? Tumbled to the trick in a jiff; never let on but what he wrote
+the letter, never will let on, I bet. Where does the joke come in,
+Polly, my boy?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's on us," I said, "but nobody will know of it if we hold our
+tongues. We'll have to hold them anyhow, for Sylvia's sake, since
+she's been goose enough to go and fall in love with the Old Fellow.
+She'd go wild if she ever found out the letter was a hoax. We have
+made that match, Ruggles. He'd never have got up enough spunk to tell
+her he wanted her, and she'd probably have married Micky out of
+spite."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you know the Old Fellow isn't a bad sort after all," said
+Ruggles, "and he's really awfully gone on her. So it's all right.
+Let's go and find the girls."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="The_Parting_of_The_Ways" id="The_Parting_of_The_Ways"></a><hr />
+<br />
+
+<h2>The Parting of The Ways<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>Mrs. Longworth crossed the hotel piazza, descended the steps, and
+walked out of sight down the shore road with all the grace of motion
+that lent distinction to her slightest movement. Her eyes were very
+bright, and an unusual flush stained the pallor of her cheek. Two men
+who were lounging in one corner of the hotel piazza looked admiringly
+after her.</p>
+
+<p>"She is a beautiful woman," said one.</p>
+
+<p>"Wasn't there some talk about Mrs. Longworth and Cunningham last
+winter?" asked the other.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. They were much together. Still, there may have been nothing
+wrong. She was old Judge Carmody's daughter, you know. Longworth got
+Carmody under his thumb in money matters and put the screws on. They
+say he made Carmody's daughter the price of the old man's redemption.
+The girl herself was a mere child, I shall never forget her face on
+her wedding day. But she's been plucky since then, I must say. If she
+has suffered, she hasn't shown it. I don't suppose Longworth ever
+ill-treats her. He isn't that sort. He's simply a grovelling
+cad&mdash;that's all. Nobody would sympathise much with the poor devil if
+his wife did run off with Cunningham."</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, Beatrice Longworth walked quickly down the shore road, her
+white skirt brushing over the crisp golden grasses by the way. In a
+sunny hollow among the sandhills she came upon Stephen Gordon,
+sprawled out luxuriously in the warm, sea-smelling grasses. The youth
+sprang to his feet at sight of her, and his big brown eyes kindled to
+a glow.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Longworth smiled to him. They had been great friends all summer.
+He was a lanky, overgrown lad of fifteen or sixteen, odd and shy and
+dreamy, scarcely possessing a speaking acquaintance with others at the
+hotel. But he and Mrs. Longworth had been congenial from their first
+meeting. In many ways, he was far older than his years, but there was
+a certain inerradicable boyishness about him to which her heart
+warmed.</p>
+
+<p>"You are the very person I was just going in search of. I've news to
+tell. Sit down."</p>
+
+<p>He spoke eagerly, patting the big gray boulder beside him with his
+slim, brown hand. For a moment Beatrice hesitated. She wanted to be
+alone just then. But his clever, homely face was so appealing that she
+yielded and sat down.</p>
+
+<p>Stephen flung himself down again contentedly in the grasses at her
+feet, pillowing his chin in his palms and looking up at her,
+adoringly.</p>
+
+<p>"You are so beautiful, dear lady. I love to look at you. Will you tilt
+that hat a little more over the left eye-brow? Yes&mdash;so&mdash;some day I
+shall paint you."</p>
+
+<p>His tone and manner were all simplicity.</p>
+
+<p>"When you are a great artist," said Beatrice, indulgently.</p>
+
+<p>He nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I mean to be that. I've told you all my dreams, you know. Now
+for my news. I'm going away to-morrow. I had a telegram from father
+to-day."</p>
+
+<p>He drew the message from his pocket and flourished it up at her.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm to join him in Europe at once. He is in Rome. Think of it&mdash;in
+Rome! I'm to go on with my art studies there. And I leave to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm glad&mdash;and I'm sorry&mdash;and you know which is which," said Beatrice,
+patting the shaggy brown head. "I shall miss you dreadfully, Stephen."</p>
+
+<p>"We <i>have</i> been splendid chums, haven't we?" he said, eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly his face changed. He crept nearer to her, and bowed his head
+until his lips almost touched the hem of her dress.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm glad you came down to-day," he went on in a low, diffident voice.
+"I want to tell you something, and I can tell it better here. I
+couldn't go away without thanking you. I'll make a mess of it&mdash;I can
+never explain things. But you've been so much to me&mdash;you mean so much
+to me. You've made me believe in things I never believed in before.
+You&mdash;you&mdash;I know now that there is such a thing as a good woman, a
+woman who could make a man better, just because he breathed the same
+air with her."</p>
+
+<p>He paused for a moment; then went on in a still lower tone:</p>
+
+<p>"It's hard when a fellow can't speak of his mother because he can't
+say anything good of her, isn't it? My mother wasn't a good woman.
+When I was eight years old she went away with a scoundrel. It broke
+father's heart. Nobody thought I understood, I was such a little
+fellow. But I did. I heard them talking. I knew she had brought shame
+and disgrace on herself and us. And I had loved her so! Then, somehow,
+as I grew up, it was my misfortune that all the women I had to do with
+were mean and base. They were hirelings, and I hated and feared them.
+There was an aunt of mine&mdash;she tried to be good to me in her way. But
+she told me a lie, and I never cared for her after I found it out. And
+then, father&mdash;we loved each other and were good chums. But he didn't
+believe in much either. He was bitter, you know. He said all women
+were alike. I grew up with that notion. I didn't care much for
+anything&mdash;nothing seemed worth while. Then I came here and met you."</p>
+
+<p>He paused again. Beatrice had listened with a gray look on her face.
+It would have startled him had he glanced up, but he did not, and
+after a moment's silence the halting boyish voice went on:</p>
+
+<p>"You have changed everything for me. I was nothing but a clod before.
+You are not the mother of my body, but you are of my soul. It was
+born of you. I shall always love and reverence you for it. You will
+always be my ideal. If I ever do anything worth while it will be
+because of you. In everything I shall ever attempt I shall try to do
+it as if you were to pass judgment upon it. You will be a lifelong
+inspiration to me. Oh, I am bungling this! I can't tell you what I
+feel&mdash;you are so pure, so good, so noble! I shall reverence all women
+for your sake henceforth."</p>
+
+<p>"And if," said Beatrice, in a very low voice, "if I were false to your
+ideal of me&mdash;if I were to do anything that would destroy your faith in
+me&mdash;something weak or wicked&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"But you couldn't," he interrupted, flinging up his head and looking
+at her with his great dog-like eyes, "you couldn't!"</p>
+
+<p>"But if I could?" she persisted, gently, "and if I did&mdash;what then?"</p>
+
+<p>"I should hate you," he said, passionately. "You would be worse than a
+murderess. You would kill every good impulse and belief in me. I would
+never trust anything or anybody again&mdash;but there," he added, his voice
+once more growing tender, "you will never fail me, I feel sure of
+that."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," said Beatrice, almost in a whisper. "Thank you," she
+repeated, after a moment. She stood up and held out her hand. "I think
+I must go now. Good-bye, dear laddie. Write to me from Rome. I shall
+always be glad to hear from you wherever you are. And&mdash;and&mdash;I shall
+always try to live up to your ideal of me, Stephen."</p>
+
+<p>He sprang to his feet and took her hand, lifting it to his lips with
+boyish reverence. "I know that," he said, slowly. "Good-bye, my sweet
+lady."</p>
+
+<p>When Mrs. Longworth found herself in her room again, she unlocked her
+desk and took out a letter. It was addressed to Mr. Maurice
+Cunningham. She slowly tore it twice across, laid the fragments on a
+tray, and touched them with a lighted match. As they blazed up one
+line came out in writhing redness across the page: "I will go away
+with you as you ask." Then it crumbled into gray ashes.</p>
+
+<p>She drew a long breath and hid her face in her hands.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="The_Promissory_Note" id="The_Promissory_Note"></a><hr />
+<br />
+
+<h2>The Promissory Note<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>Ernest Duncan swung himself off the platform of David White's store
+and walked whistling up the street. Life seemed good to Ernest just
+then. Mr. White had given him a rise in salary that day, and had told
+him that he was satisfied with him. Mr. White was not easy to please
+in the matter of clerks, and it had been with fear and trembling that
+Ernest had gone into his store six months before. He had thought
+himself fortunate to secure such a chance. His father had died the
+preceding year, leaving nothing in the way of worldly goods except the
+house he had lived in. For several years before his death he had been
+unable to do much work, and the finances of the little family had
+dwindled steadily. After his father's death Ernest, who had been going
+to school and expecting to go to college, found that he must go to
+work at once instead to support himself and his mother.</p>
+
+<p>If George Duncan had not left much of worldly wealth behind him, he at
+least bequeathed to his son the interest of a fine, upright character
+and a reputation for honesty and integrity. None knew this better than
+David White, and it was on this account that he took Ernest as his
+clerk, over the heads of several other applicants who seemed to have a
+stronger "pull."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know anything about <i>you</i>, Ernest," he said bluntly. "You're
+only sixteen, and you may not have an ounce of real grit or worth in
+you. But it will be a queer thing if your father's son hasn't. I knew
+him all his life. A better man never lived nor, before his accident, a
+smarter one. I'll give his son a chance, anyhow. If you take after
+your dad you'll get on all right."</p>
+
+<p>Ernest had not been in the store very long before Mr. White concluded,
+with a gratified chuckle, that he did take after his father. He was
+hard-working, conscientious, and obliging. Customers of all sorts,
+from the rough fishermen who came up from the harbour to the old
+Irishwomen from the back country roads, liked him. Mr. White was
+satisfied. He was beginning to grow old. This lad had the makings of a
+good partner in him by and by. No hurry; he must serves long
+apprenticeship first and prove his mettle; no use spoiling him by
+hinting at future partnerships before need was. That would all come in
+due time. David White was a shrewd man.</p>
+
+<p>Ernest was unconscious of his employer's plans regarding him; but he
+knew that he stood well with him and, much to his surprise, he found
+that he liked the work, and was beginning to take a personal interest
+and pleasure in the store. Hence, he went home to tea on this
+particular afternoon with buoyant step and smiling eyes. It was a good
+world, and he was glad to be alive in it, glad to have work to do and
+a dear little mother to work for. Most of the folks who met him smiled
+in friendly fashion at the bright-eyed, frank-faced lad. Only old
+Jacob Patterson scowled grimly as he passed him, emitting merely a
+surly grunt in response to Ernest's greeting. But then, old Jacob
+Patterson was noted as much for his surliness as for his miserliness.
+Nobody had ever heard him speak pleasantly to anyone; therefore his
+unfriendliness did not at all dash Ernest's high spirits.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry for him," the lad thought. "He has no interest in life save
+accumulating money. He has no other pleasure or affection or ambition.
+When he dies I don't suppose a single regret will follow him. Father
+died a poor man, but what love and respect went with him to his
+grave&mdash;aye, and beyond it. Jacob Patterson, I'm sorry for you. You
+have chosen the poorer part, and you are a poor man in spite of your
+thousands."</p>
+
+<p>Ernest and his mother lived up on the hill, at the end of the
+straggling village street. The house was a small, old-fashioned one,
+painted white, set in the middle of a small but beautiful lawn. George
+Duncan, during the last rather helpless years of his life, had devoted
+himself to the cultivation of flowers, shrubs, and trees and, as a
+result, his lawn was the prettiest in Conway. Ernest worked hard in
+his spare moments to keep it looking as well as in his father's
+lifetime, for he loved his little home dearly, and was proud of its
+beauty.</p>
+
+<p>He ran gaily into the sitting-room.</p>
+
+<p>"Tea ready, lady mother? I'm hungry as a wolf. Good news gives one an
+appetite. Mr. White has raised my salary a couple of dollars per week.
+We must celebrate the event somehow this evening. What do you say to a
+sail on the river and an ice cream at Taylor's afterwards? When a
+little woman can't outlive her schoolgirl hankering for ice
+cream&mdash;why, Mother, what's the matter? Mother, dear!"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Duncan had been standing before the window with her back to the
+room when Ernest entered. When she turned he saw that she had been
+crying.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Ernest," she said brokenly, "Jacob Patterson has just been
+here&mdash;and he says&mdash;he says&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What has that old miser been saying to trouble you?" demanded Ernest
+angrily, taking her hands in his.</p>
+
+<p>"He says he holds your father's promissory note for nine hundred
+dollars, overdue for several years," answered Mrs. Duncan. "Yes&mdash;and
+he showed me the note, Ernest."</p>
+
+<p>"Father's promissory note for nine hundred!" exclaimed Ernest in
+bewilderment. "But Father paid that note to James Patterson five years
+ago, Mother&mdash;just before his accident. Didn't you tell me he did?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, he did," said Mrs. Duncan, "but&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Then where is it?" interrupted Ernest. "Father would keep the
+receipted note, of course. We must look among his papers."</p>
+
+<p>"You won't find it there, Ernest. We&mdash;we don't know where the note is.
+It&mdash;it was lost."</p>
+
+<p>"Lost! That is unfortunate. But you say that Jacob Patterson showed
+you a promissory note of Father's still in existence? How can that be?
+It can't possibly be the note he paid. And there couldn't have been
+another note we knew nothing of?"</p>
+
+<p>"I understand how this note came to be in Jacob Patterson's
+possession," said Mrs. Duncan more firmly, "but he laughed in my face
+when I told him. I must tell you the whole story, Ernest. But sit down
+and get your tea first."</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't any appetite for tea now, Mother," said Ernest soberly.
+"Let me hear the whole truth about the matter."</p>
+
+<p>"Seven years ago your father gave his note to old James Patterson,
+Jacob's brother," said Mrs. Duncan. "It was for nine hundred dollars.
+Two years afterwards the note fell due and he paid James Patterson the
+full amount with interest. I remember the day well. I have only too
+good reason to. He went up to the Patterson place in the afternoon
+with the money. It was a very hot day. James Patterson receipted the
+note and gave it to your father. Your father always remembered that
+much; he was also sure that he had the note with him when he left the
+house. He then went over to see Paul Sinclair. A thunderstorm came up
+while he was on the road. Then, as you know, Ernest, just as he turned
+in at Paul Sinclair's gate the lightning flash struck and stunned him.
+It was weeks before he came to himself at all. He never did come
+completely to himself again. When, weeks afterwards, I thought of the
+note and asked him about it, we could not find it; and, search as we
+did, we never found it. Your father could never remember what he did
+with it when he left James Patterson's. Neither Mr. Sinclair nor his
+wife could recollect seeing anything of it at the time of the
+accident. James Patterson had left for California the very morning
+after, and he never came back. We did not worry much about the loss of
+the note then; it did not seem of much moment, and your father was not
+in a condition to be troubled about the matter."</p>
+
+<p>"But, Mother, this note that Jacob Patterson holds&mdash;I don't understand
+about this."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm coming to that. I remember distinctly that on the evening when
+your father came home after signing the note he said that James
+Patterson drew up a note and he signed it, but just as he did so the
+old man's pet cat, which was sitting on the table, upset an ink bottle
+and the ink ran all over the table and stained one end of the note.
+Old James Patterson was the fussiest man who ever lived, and a
+stickler for neatness. 'Tut, tut,' he said, 'this won't do. Here, I'll
+draw up another note and tear this blotted one up.' He did so and your
+father signed it. He always supposed James Patterson destroyed the
+first one, and certainly he must have intended to, for there never was
+an honester man. But he must have neglected to do so for, Ernest, it
+was that blotted note Jacob Patterson showed me today. He said he
+found it among his brother's papers. I suppose it has been in the desk
+up at the Patterson place ever since James went to California. He died
+last winter and Jacob is his sole heir. Ernest, that note with the
+compound interest on it for seven years amounts to over eleven hundred
+dollars. How can we pay it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid that this is a very serious business, Mother," said
+Ernest, rising and pacing the floor with agitated strides. "We shall
+have to pay the note if we cannot find the other&mdash;and even if we
+could, perhaps. Your story of the drawing up of the second note would
+not be worth anything as evidence in a court of law&mdash;and we have
+nothing to hope from Jacob Patterson's clemency. No doubt he believes
+that he really holds Father's unpaid note. He is not a dishonest man;
+in fact, he rather prides himself on having made all his money
+honestly. He will exact every penny of the debt. The first thing to do
+is to have another thorough search for the lost note&mdash;although I am
+afraid that it is a forlorn hope."</p>
+
+<p>A forlorn hope it proved to be. The note did not turn up. Old Jacob
+Patterson proved obdurate. He laughed to scorn the tale of the blotted
+note and, indeed, Ernest sadly admitted to himself that it was not a
+story anybody would be in a hurry to believe.</p>
+
+<p>"There's nothing for it but to sell our house and pay the debt,
+Mother," he said at last. Ernest had grown old in the days that had
+followed Jacob Patterson's demand. His boyish face was pale and
+haggard. "Jacob Patterson will take the case into the law courts if we
+don't settle at once. Mr. White offered to lend me the money on a
+mortgage on the place, but I could never pay the interest out of my
+salary when we have nothing else to live on. I would only get further
+and further behind. I'm not afraid of hard work, but I dare not borrow
+money with so little prospect of ever being able to repay it. We must
+sell the place and rent that little four-roomed cottage of Mr. Percy's
+down by the river to live in. Oh, Mother, it half kills me to think of
+your being turned out of your home like this!"</p>
+
+<p>It was a bitter thing for Mrs. Duncan also, but for Ernest's sake she
+concealed her feelings and affected cheerfulness. The house and lot
+were sold, Mr. White being the purchaser thereof; and Ernest and his
+mother removed to the little riverside cottage with such of their
+household belongings as had not also to be sold to make up the
+required sum. Even then, Ernest had to borrow two hundred dollars from
+Mr. White, and he foresaw that the repayal of this sum would cost him
+much self-denial and privation. It would be necessary to cut their
+modest expenses down severely. For himself Ernest did not mind, but it
+hurt him keenly that his mother should lack the little luxuries and
+comforts to which she had been accustomed. He saw too, in spite of her
+efforts to hide it, that leaving her old home was a terrible blow to
+her. Altogether, Ernest felt bitter and disheartened; his step lacked
+spring and his face its smile. He did his work with dogged
+faithfulness, but he no longer found pleasure in it. He knew that his
+mother secretly pined after her lost home where she had gone as a
+bride, and the knowledge rendered him very unhappy.</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style="width: 15%;" />
+<br />
+
+<p>Paul Sinclair, his father's friend and cousin, died that winter,
+leaving two small children. His wife had died the previous year. When
+his business affairs came to be settled they were found to be sadly
+involved. There were debts on all sides, and it was soon only too
+evident that nothing was left for the little boys. They were homeless
+and penniless.</p>
+
+<p>"What will become of them, poor little fellows?" said Mrs. Duncan
+pityingly. "We are their only relatives, Ernest. We must give them a
+home at least."</p>
+
+<p>"Mother, how can we!" exclaimed Ernest. "We are so poor. It's as much
+as we can do to get along now, and there is that two hundred to pay
+Mr. White. I'm sorry for Danny and Frank, but I don't see how we can
+possibly do anything for them."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Duncan sighed.</p>
+
+<p>"I know it isn't right to ask you to add to your burden," she said
+wistfully.</p>
+
+<p>"It is of <i>you</i> I am thinking, Mother," said Ernest tenderly. "I can't
+have your burden added to. You deny yourself too much and work too
+hard now. What would it be if you took the care of those children upon
+yourself?"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't think of me, Ernest," said Mrs. Duncan eagerly. "I wouldn't
+mind. I'd be glad to do anything I could for them, poor little souls.
+Their father was your father's best friend, and I feel as if it were
+our duty to do all we can for them. They're such little fellows. Who
+knows how they would be treated if they were taken by strangers? And
+they'd most likely be separated, and that would be a shame. But I
+leave it for you to decide, Ernest. It is your right, for the heaviest
+part will fall on you."</p>
+
+<p>Ernest did not decide at once. For a week he thought the matter over,
+weighing pros and cons carefully. To take the two Sinclair boys meant
+a double portion of toil and self-denial. Had he not enough to bear
+now? But, on the other side, was it not his duty, nay, his privilege,
+to help the children if he could? In the end he said to his mother:</p>
+
+<p>"We'll take the little fellows, Mother. I'll do the best I can for
+them. We'll manage a corner and a crust for them."</p>
+
+<p>So Danny and Frank Sinclair came to the little cottage. Frank was
+eight and Danny six, and they were small and lively and mischievous.
+They worshipped Mrs. Duncan, and thought Ernest the finest fellow in
+the world. When his birthday came around in March, the two little
+chaps put their heads together in a grave consultation as to what they
+could give him.</p>
+
+<p>"You know he gave us presents on our birthdays," said Frank. "So we
+must give him something."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll div him my pottet-knife," said Danny, taking the somewhat
+battered and loose-jointed affair from his pocket, and gazing at it
+affectionately.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll give him one of Papa's books," said Frank. "That pretty one with
+the red covers and the gold letters."</p>
+
+<p>A few of Mr. Sinclair's books had been saved for the boys, and were
+stored in a little box in their room. The book Frank referred to was
+an old <i>History of the Turks</i>, and its gay cover was probably the best
+of it, since its contents were of no particular merit.</p>
+
+<p>On Ernest's birthday both boys gave him their offerings after
+breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>"Here's a pottet-knife for you," said Danny graciously. "It's a bully
+pottet-knife. It'll cut real well if you hold it dust the wight way.
+I'll show you."</p>
+
+<p>"And here's a book for you," said Frank. "It's a real pretty book, and
+I guess it's pretty interesting reading too. It's all about the
+Turks."</p>
+
+<p>Ernest accepted both gifts gravely, and after the children had gone
+out he and his mother had a hearty laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"The dear, kind-hearted little lads!" said Mrs. Duncan. "It must have
+been a real sacrifice on Danny's part to give you his beloved
+'pottet-knife.' I was afraid you were going to refuse it at first, and
+that would have hurt his little feelings terribly. I don't think the
+<i>History of the Turks</i> will keep you up burning the midnight oil. I
+remember that book of old&mdash;I could never forget that gorgeous cover.
+Mr. Sinclair lent it to your father once, and he said it was absolute
+trash. Why, Ernest, what's the matter?"</p>
+
+<p>Ernest had been turning the book's leaves over carelessly. Suddenly he
+sprang to his feet with an exclamation, his face turning white as
+marble.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother!" he gasped, holding out a yellowed slip of paper. "Look! It's
+the lost promissory note."</p>
+
+<p>Mother and son looked at each other for a moment. Then Mrs. Duncan
+began to laugh and cry together.</p>
+
+<p>"Your father took that book with him when he went to pay the note,"
+she said. "He intended to return it to Mr. Sinclair. I remember seeing
+the gleam of the red binding in his hand as he went out of the gate.
+He must have slipped the note into it and I suppose the book has never
+been opened since. Oh, Ernest&mdash;do you think&mdash;will Jacob Patterson&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, Mother. I must see Mr. White about this. Don't be too
+sanguine. This doesn't prove that the note Jacob Patterson found
+wasn't a genuine note also, you know&mdash;that is, I don't think it would
+serve as proof in law. We'll have to leave it to his sense of justice.
+If he refuses to refund the money I'm afraid we can't compel him to do
+so."</p>
+
+<p>But Jacob Patterson did not any longer refuse belief to Mrs.
+Patterson's story of the blotted note. He was a harsh, miserly man,
+but he prided himself on his strict honesty; he had been fairly well
+acquainted with his brother's business transactions, and knew that
+George Duncan had given only one promissory note.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll admit, ma'am, since the receipted note has turned up, that your
+story about the blotted one must be true," he said surlily. "I'll pay
+your money back. Nobody can ever say Jacob Patterson cheated. I took
+what I believed to be my due. Since I'm convinced it wasn't I'll hand
+every penny over. Though, mind you, you couldn't make me do it by law.
+It's my honesty, ma'am, it's my honesty."</p>
+
+<p>Since Jacob Patterson was so well satisfied with the fibre of his
+honesty, neither Mrs. Duncan nor Ernest was disposed to quarrel with
+it. Mr. White readily agreed to sell the old Duncan place back to
+them, and by spring they were settled again in their beloved little
+home. Danny and Frank were with them, of course.</p>
+
+<p>"We can't be too good to them, Mother," said Ernest. "We really owe
+all our happiness to them."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but, Ernest, if you had not consented to take the homeless
+little lads in their time of need this wouldn't have come about."</p>
+
+<p>"I've been well rewarded, Mother," said Ernest quietly, "but, even if
+nothing of the sort had happened, I would be glad that I did the best
+I could for Frank and Danny. I'm ashamed to think that I was unwilling
+to do it at first. If it hadn't been for what you said, I wouldn't
+have. So it is your unselfishness we have to thank for it all, Mother
+dear."</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="The_Revolt_of_Mary_Isabel" id="The_Revolt_of_Mary_Isabel"></a><hr />
+<br />
+
+<h2>The Revolt of Mary Isabel<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>"For a woman of forty, Mary Isabel, you have the least sense of any
+person I have ever known," said Louisa Irving.</p>
+
+<p>Louisa had said something similar in spirit to Mary Isabel almost
+every day of her life. Mary Isabel had never resented it, even when it
+hurt her bitterly. Everybody in Latimer knew that Louisa Irving ruled
+her meek little sister with a rod of iron and wondered why Mary Isabel
+never rebelled. It simply never occurred to Mary Isabel to do so; all
+her life she had given in to Louisa and the thought of refusing
+obedience to her sister's Mede-and-Persian decrees never crossed her
+mind. Mary Isabel had only one secret from Louisa and she lived in
+daily dread that Louisa would discover it. It was a very harmless
+little secret, but Mary Isabel felt rightly sure that Louisa would not
+tolerate it for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>They were sitting together in the dim living room of their quaint old
+cottage down by the shore. The window was open and the sea-breeze blew
+in, stirring the prim white curtains fitfully, and ruffling the little
+rings of dark hair on Mary Isabel's forehead&mdash;rings which always
+annoyed Louisa. She thought Mary Isabel ought to brush them straight
+back, and Mary Isabel did so faithfully a dozen times a day; and in
+ten minutes they crept down again, kinking defiance to Louisa, who
+might make Mary Isabel submit to her in all things but had no power
+over naturally curly hair. Louisa had never had any trouble with her
+own hair; it was straight and sleek and mouse-coloured&mdash;what there was
+of it.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Isabel's face was flushed and her wood-brown eyes looked grieved
+and pleading. Mary Isabel was still pretty, and vanity is the last
+thing to desert a properly constructed woman.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't wear a bonnet yet, Louisa," she protested. "Bonnets have gone
+out for everybody except really old ladies. I want a hat: one of
+those pretty, floppy ones with pale blue forget-me-nots."</p>
+
+<p>Then it was that Louisa made the remark quoted above.</p>
+
+<p>"I wore a bonnet before I was forty," she went on ruthlessly, "and so
+should every decent woman. It is absurd to be thinking so much of
+dress at your age, Mary Isabel. I don't know what sort of a way you'd
+bedizen yourself out if I'd let you, I'm sure. It's fortunate you have
+somebody to keep you from making a fool of yourself. I'm going to town
+tomorrow and I'll pick you out a suitable black bonnet. You'd look
+nice starring round in leghorn and forget-me-nots, now, wouldn't you?"</p>
+
+<p>Mary Isabel privately thought she would, but she gave in, of course,
+although she did hate bitterly that unbought, unescapable bonnet.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, do as you think best, Louisa," she said with a sigh. "I suppose
+it doesn't matter much. Nobody cares how I look anyhow. But can't I go
+to town with you? I want to pick out my new silk."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm as good a judge of black silk as you," said Louisa shortly. "It
+isn't safe to leave the house alone."</p>
+
+<p>"But I don't want a black silk," cried Mary Isabel. "I've worn black
+so long; both my silk dresses have been black. I want a pretty
+silver-grey, something like Mrs. Chester Ford's."</p>
+
+<p>"Did anyone ever hear such nonsense?" Louisa wanted to know, in
+genuine amazement. "Silver-grey silk is the most unserviceable thing
+in the world. There's nothing like black for wear and real elegance.
+No, no, Mary Isabel, don't be foolish. You must let me choose for you;
+you know you never had any judgment. Mother told you so often enough.
+Now, get your sunbonnet and take a walk to the shore. You look tired.
+I'll get the tea."</p>
+
+<p>Louisa's tone was kind though firm. She Was really good to Mary Isabel
+as long as Mary Isabel gave her her own way peaceably. But if she had
+known Mary Isabel's secret she would never have permitted those walks
+to the shore.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Isabel sighed again, yielded, and went out. Across a green field
+from the Irving cottage Dr. Donald Hamilton's big house was hooding
+itself in the shadows of the thick fir grove that enabled the doctor
+to have a garden. There was no shelter at the cottage, so the Irving
+"girls" never tried to have a garden. Soon after Dr. Hamilton had come
+there to live he had sent a bouquet of early daffodils over by his
+housekeeper. Louisa had taken them gingerly in her extreme fingertips,
+carried them across the field to the lawn fence, and cast them over
+it, under the amused grey eyes of portly Dr. Hamilton, who was looking
+out of his office window. Then Louisa had come back to the porch door
+and ostentatiously washed her hands.</p>
+
+<p>"I guess that will settle Donald Hamilton," she told the secretly
+sorry Mary Isabel triumphantly, and it did settle him&mdash;at least as far
+as any farther social advances were concerned.</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Hamilton was an excellent physician and an equally excellent man.
+Louisa Irving could not have picked a flaw in his history or
+character. Indeed, against Dr. Hamilton himself she had no grudge, but
+he was the brother of a man she hated and whose relatives were
+consequently taboo in Louisa's eyes. Not that the brother was a bad
+man either; he had simply taken the opposite side to the Irvings in a
+notable church feud of a dozen years ago, and Louisa had never since
+held any intercourse with him or his fellow sinners.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Isabel did not look at the Hamilton house. She kept her head
+resolutely turned away as she went down the shore lane with its wild
+sweet loneliness of salt-withered grasses and piping sea-winds. Only
+when she turned the corner of the fir-wood, which shut her out from
+view of the houses, did she look timidly over the line-fence. Dr.
+Hamilton was standing there, where the fence ran out to the sandy
+shingle, smoking his little black pipe, which he took out and put away
+when Mary Isabel came around the firs. Men did things like that
+instinctively in Mary Isabel's company. There was something so
+delicately virginal about her, in spite of her forty years, that they
+gave her the reverence they would have paid to a very young, pure
+girl.</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Hamilton smiled at the little troubled face under the big
+sunbonnet. Mary Isabel had to wear a sunbonnet. She would never have
+done it from choice.</p>
+
+<p>"What is the matter?" asked the doctor, in his big, breezy,
+old-bachelor voice. He had another voice for sick-beds and rooms of
+bereavement, but this one suited best with the purring of the waves
+and winds.</p>
+
+<p>"How do you know that anything is the matter?" Mary Isabel parried
+demurely.</p>
+
+<p>"By your face. Come now, tell me what it is."</p>
+
+<p>"It is really nothing. I have just been foolish, that is all. I wanted
+a hat with forget-me-nots and a grey silk, and Louisa says I must have
+black and a bonnet."</p>
+
+<p>The doctor looked indignant but held his peace. He and Mary Isabel had
+tacitly agreed never to discuss Louisa, because such discussion would
+not make for harmony. Mary Isabel's conscience would not let the
+doctor say anything uncomplimentary of Louisa, and the doctor's
+conscience would not let him say anything complimentary. So they left
+her out of the question and talked about the sea and the boats and
+poetry and flowers and similar non-combustible subjects.</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style="width: 15%;" />
+<br />
+
+<p>These clandestine meetings had been going on for two months, ever
+since the day they had just happened to meet below the firs. It never
+occurred to Mary Isabel that the doctor meant anything but friendship;
+and if it had occurred to the doctor, he did not think there would be
+much use in saying so. Mary Isabel was too hopelessly under Louisa's
+thumb. She might keep tryst below the firs occasionally&mdash;so long as
+Louisa didn't know&mdash;but to no farther lengths would she dare go.
+Besides, the doctor wasn't quite sure that he really wanted anything
+more. Mary Isabel was a sweet little woman, but Dr. Hamilton had been
+a bachelor so long that it would be very difficult for him to get out
+of the habit; so difficult that it was hardly worth while trying when
+such an obstacle as Louisa Irving's tyranny loomed in the way. So he
+never tried to make love to Mary Isabel, though he probably would have
+if he had thought it of any use. This does not sound very romantic, of
+course, but when a man is fifty, romance, while it may be present in
+the fruit, is assuredly absent in blossom.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you won't be going to the induction of my nephew Thursday
+week?" said the doctor in the course of the conversation.</p>
+
+<p>"No. Louisa will not permit it. I had hoped," said Mary Isabel with a
+sigh, as she braided some silvery shore-grasses nervously together,
+"that when old Mr. Moody went away she would go back to the church
+here. And I think she would if&mdash;if&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"If Jim hadn't come in Mr. Moody's place," finished the doctor with
+his jolly laugh.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Isabel coloured prettily. "It is not because he is your nephew,
+doctor. It is because&mdash;because&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Because he is the nephew of my brother who was on the other side in
+that ancient church fracas? Bless you, I understand. What a good hater
+your sister is! Such a tenacity in holding bitterness from one
+generation to another commands admiration of a certain sort. As for
+Jim, he's a nice little chap, and he is coming to live with me until
+the manse is repaired."</p>
+
+<p>"I am sure you will find that pleasant," said Mary Isabel primly.</p>
+
+<p>She wondered if the young minister's advent would make any difference
+in regard to these shore-meetings; then decided quickly that it would
+not; then more quickly still that it wouldn't matter if it did.</p>
+
+<p>"He will be company," admitted the doctor, who liked company and found
+the shore road rather lonesome. "I had a letter from him today saying
+that he'd come home with me from the induction. By the way, they're
+tearing down the old post office today. And that reminds me&mdash;by Jove,
+I'd all but forgotten. I promised to go up and see Mollie Marr this
+evening; Mollie's nerves are on the rampage again. I must rush."</p>
+
+<p>With a wave of his hand the doctor hurried off. Mary Isabel lingered
+for some time longer, leaning against the fence, looking dreamily out
+to sea. The doctor was a very pleasant companion. If only Louisa would
+allow neighbourliness! Mary Isabel felt a faint, impotent resentment.
+She had never had anything other girls had: friends, dresses, beaus,
+and it was all Louisa's fault&mdash;Louisa who was going to make her wear a
+bonnet for the rest of her life. The more Mary Isabel thought of that
+bonnet the more she hated it.</p>
+
+<p>That evening Warren Marr rode down to the shore cottage on horseback
+and handed Mary Isabel a letter; a strange, scrumpled, soiled, yellow
+letter. When Mary Isabel saw the handwriting on the envelope she
+trembled and turned as deadly pale as if she had seen a ghost:</p>
+
+<p>"Here's a letter for you," said Warren, grinning. "It's been a long
+time on the way&mdash;nigh fifteen years. Guess the news'll be rather
+stale. We found it behind the old partition when we tore it down
+today."</p>
+
+<p>"It is my brother Tom's writing," said Mary Isabel faintly. She went
+into the room trembling, holding the letter tightly in her clasped
+hands. Louisa had gone up to the village on an errand; Mary Isabel
+almost wished she were home; she hardly felt equal to the task of
+opening Tom's letter alone. Tom had been dead for ten years and this
+letter gave her an uncanny sensation; as of a message from the
+spirit-land.</p>
+
+<p>Fifteen years, ago Thomas Irving had gone to California and five years
+later he had died there. Mary Isabel, who had idolized her brother,
+almost grieved herself to death at the time.</p>
+
+<p>Finally she opened the letter with ice-cold fingers. It had been
+written soon after Tom reached California. The first two pages were
+filled with descriptions of the country and his "job."</p>
+
+<p>On the third Tom began abruptly:</p>
+
+<div class="block"><p class="noin">Look here, Mary Isabel, you are not to let Louisa boss you
+about as she was doing when I was at home. I was going to
+speak to you about it before I came away, but I forgot. Lou is
+a fine girl, but she is too domineering, and the more you give
+in to her the worse it makes her. You're far too easy-going
+for your own welfare, Mary Isabel, and for your own sake I
+Wish you had more spunk. Don't let Louisa live your life for
+you; just you live it yourself. Never mind if there is some
+friction at first; Lou will give in when she finds she has to,
+and you'll both be the better for it, I want you to be real
+happy, Mary Isabel, but you won't be if you don't assert your
+independence. Giving in the way you do is bad for both you and
+Louisa. It will make her a tyrant and you a poor-spirited
+creature of no account in the world. Just brace up and stand
+firm.</p></div>
+
+<p>When she had read the letter through Mary Isabel took it to her own
+room and locked it in her bureau drawer. Then she sat by her window,
+looking out into a sea-sunset, and thought it over. Coming in the
+strange way it had, the letter seemed a message from the dead, and
+Mary Isabel had a superstitious conviction that she must obey it. She
+had always had a great respect for Tom's opinion. He was right&mdash;oh,
+she felt that he was right. What a pity she had not received the
+letter long ago, before the shackles of habit had become so firmly
+riveted. But it was not too late yet. She would rebel at last
+and&mdash;how had Tom phrased it&mdash;oh, yes, assert her independence. She
+owed it to Tom; It had been his wish&mdash;and he was dead&mdash;and she would
+do her best to fulfil it.</p>
+
+<p>"I shan't get a bonnet," thought Mary Isabel determinedly. "Tom
+wouldn't have liked me in a bonnet. From this out I'm just going to do
+exactly as Tom would have liked me to do, no matter how afraid I am of
+Louisa. And, oh, I am horribly afraid of her."</p>
+
+<p>Mary Isabel was every whit as much afraid the next morning after
+breakfast but she did not look it, by reason of the flush on her
+cheeks and the glint in her brown eyes. She had put Tom's letter in
+the bosom of her dress and she pressed her fingertips on it that the
+crackle might give her courage.</p>
+
+<p>"Louisa," she said firmly, "I am going to town with you."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense," said Louisa shortly.</p>
+
+<p>"You may call it nonsense if you like, but I am going," said Mary
+Isabel unquailingly. "I have made up my mind on that point, Louisa,
+and nothing you can say will alter it."</p>
+
+<p>Louisa looked amazed. Never before had Mary Isabel set her decrees at
+naught.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you crazy, Mary Isabel?" she demanded.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I am not crazy. But I am going to town and I am going to get a
+silver-grey silk for myself and a new hat. I will not wear a bonnet
+and you need never mention it to me again, Louisa."</p>
+
+<p>"If you are going to town I shall stay home," said Louisa in a cold,
+ominous tone that almost made Mary Isabel quake. If it had not been
+for that reassuring crackle of Tom's letter I fear Mary Isabel would
+have given in. "This house can't be left alone. If you go, I'll stay."</p>
+
+<p>Louisa honestly thought that would bring the rebel to terms. Mary
+Isabel had never gone to town alone in her life. Louisa did not
+believe she would dare to go. But Mary Isabel did not quail. Defiance
+was not so hard after all, once you had begun.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Isabel went to town and she went alone. She spent the whole
+delightful day in the shops, unhampered by Louisa's scorn and
+criticism in her examination of all the pretty things displayed. She
+selected a hat she felt sure Tom would like&mdash;a pretty crumpled grey
+straw with forget-me-nots and ribbons. Then she bought a grey silk of
+a lovely silvery shade.</p>
+
+<p>When she got back home she unwrapped her packages and showed her
+purchases to Louisa. But Louisa neither looked at them nor spoke to
+Mary Isabel. Mary Isabel tossed her head and went to her own room. Her
+draught of freedom had stimulated her, and she did not mind Louisa's
+attitude half as much as she would have expected. She read Tom's
+letter over again to fortify herself and then she dressed her hair in
+a fashion she had seen that day in town and pulled out all the little
+curls on her forehead.</p>
+
+<p>The next day she took the silver-grey silk to the Latimer dressmaker
+and picked out a fashionable design for it. When the silk dress came
+home, Louisa, who had thawed out somewhat in the meantime, unbent
+sufficiently to remark that it fitted very well.</p>
+
+<p>"I am going to wear it to the induction tomorrow," Mary Isabel said,
+boldly to all appearances, quakingly in reality. She knew that she was
+throwing down the gauntlet for good and all. If she could assert and
+maintain her independence in this matter Louisa's power would be
+broken forever.</p>
+
+<br />
+<hr style="width: 15%;" />
+<br />
+
+<p>Twelve years before this, the previously mentioned schism had broken
+out in the Latimer church. The minister had sided with the faction
+which Louisa Irving opposed. She had promptly ceased going to his
+church and withdrew all financial support. She paid to the Marwood
+church, fifteen miles away, and occasionally she hired a team and
+drove over there to service. But she never entered the Latimer church
+again nor allowed Mary Isabel to do so. For that matter, Mary Isabel
+did not wish to go. She had resented the minister's attitude almost as
+bitterly as Louisa. But when Mr. Moody accepted a call elsewhere Mary
+Isabel hoped that she and Louisa might return to their old church
+home. Possibly they might have done so had not the congregation called
+the young, newly fledged James Anderson. Mary Isabel would not have
+cared for this, but Louisa sternly said that neither she nor any of
+hers should ever darken the doors of a church where the nephew of
+Martin Hamilton preached. Mary Isabel had regretfully acquiesced at
+the time, but now she had made up her mind to go to church and she
+meant to begin with the induction service.</p>
+
+<p>Louisa stared at her sister incredulously.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you taken complete leave of your senses, Mary Isabel?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. I've just come to them," retorted Mary Isabel recklessly,
+gripping a chair-back desperately so that Louisa should not see how
+she was trembling. "It is all foolishness to keep away from church
+just because of an old grudge. I'm tired of staying home Sundays or
+driving fifteen miles to Marwood to hear poor old Mr. Grattan.
+Everybody says Mr. Anderson is a splendid young man and an excellent
+preacher, and I'm going to attend his services regularly."</p>
+
+<p>Louisa had taken Mary Isabel's first defiance in icy disdain. Now she
+lost her temper and raged. The storm of angry words beat on Mary
+Isabel like hail, but she fronted it staunchly. She seemed to hear
+Tom's voice saying, "Live your own life, Mary Isabel; don't let Louisa
+live it for you," and she meant to obey him.</p>
+
+<p>"If you go to that man's induction I'll never forgive you," Louisa
+concluded.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Isabel said nothing. She just primmed up her lips very
+determinedly, picked up the silk dress, and carried it to her room.</p>
+
+<p>The next day was fine and warm. Louisa said no word all the morning.
+She worked fiercely and slammed things around noisily. After dinner
+Mary Isabel went to her room and came down presently, fine and dainty
+in her grey silk, with the forget-me-not hat resting on the soft loose
+waves of her hair. Louisa was blacking the kitchen stove.</p>
+
+<p>She shot one angry glance at Mary Isabel, then gave a short,
+contemptuous laugh, the laugh of an angry woman who finds herself
+robbed of all weapons except ridicule.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Isabel flushed and walked with an unfaltering step out of the
+house and up the lane. She resented Louisa's laughter. She was sure
+there was nothing so very ridiculous about her appearance. Women far
+older than she, even in Latimer, wore light dresses and fashionable
+hats. Really, Louisa was very disagreeable.</p>
+
+<p>"I have put up with her ways too long," thought Mary Isabel, with a
+quick, unwonted rush of anger. "But I never shall again&mdash;no, never,
+let her be as vexed and scornful as she pleases."</p>
+
+<p>The induction services were interesting, and Mary Isabel enjoyed them.
+Doctor Hamilton was sitting across from her and once or twice she
+caught him looking at her admiringly. The doctor noticed the hat and
+the grey silk and wondered how Mary Isabel had managed to get her own
+way concerning them. What a pretty woman she was! Really, he had never
+realized before how very pretty she was. But then, he had never seen
+her except in a sunbonnet or with her hair combed primly back.</p>
+
+<p>But when the service was over Mary Isabel was dismayed to see that the
+sky had clouded over and looked very much like rain. Everybody hurried
+home, and Mary Isabel tripped along the shore road filled with
+anxious thoughts about her dress. That kind of silk always spotted,
+and her hat would be ruined if it got wet. How foolish she had been
+not to bring an umbrella!</p>
+
+<p>She reached her own doorstep panting just as the first drop of rain
+fell.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank goodness," she breathed.</p>
+
+<p>Then she tried to open the door. It would not open.</p>
+
+<p>She could see Louisa sitting by the kitchen window, calmly reading.</p>
+
+<p>"Louisa, open the door quick," she called impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>Louisa never moved a muscle, although Mary Isabel knew she must have
+heard.</p>
+
+<p>"Louisa, do you hear what I say?" she cried, reaching over and tapping
+on the pane imperiously. "Open the door at once. It is going to
+rain&mdash;it is raining now. Be quick."</p>
+
+<p>Louisa might as well have been a graven image for all the response she
+gave. Then did Mary Isabel realize her position. Louisa had locked her
+out purposely, knowing the rain was coming. Louisa had no intention of
+letting her in; she meant to keep her out until the dress and hat of
+her rebellion were spoiled. This was Louisa's revenge.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Isabel turned with a gasp. What should she do? The padlocked
+doors of hen-house and well-house and wood-house: revealed the
+thoroughness of Louisa's vindictive design. Where should she go? She
+would go somewhere. She would not have her lovely new dress and hat
+spoiled!</p>
+
+<p>She caught her ruffled skirts up in her hand and ran across the yard.
+She climbed the fence into the field and ran across that. Another drop
+of rain struck her cheek. She never glanced back or she would have
+seen a horrified face peering from the cottage kitchen window. Louisa
+had never dreamed that Mary Isabel would seek refuge over at Dr.
+Hamilton's.</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Hamilton, who had driven home from church with the young minister,
+saw her coming and ran to open the door for her. Mary Isabel dashed
+up the verandah steps, breathless, crimson-cheeked, trembling with
+pent-up indignation and sense of outrage.</p>
+
+<p>"Louisa locked me out, Dr. Hamilton," she cried almost hysterically.
+"She locked me out on purpose to spoil my dress. I'll never forgive
+her, I'll never go back to her, never, never, unless she asks me to. I
+had to come here. I was not going to have my dress ruined to please
+Louisa."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course not&mdash;of course not," said Dr. Hamilton soothingly, drawing
+her into his big cosy living room. "You did perfectly right to come
+here, and you are just in time. There is the rain now in good
+earnest."</p>
+
+<p>Mary Isabel sank into a chair and looked at Dr. Hamilton with tears in
+her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Wasn't it an unkind, unsisterly thing to do?" she asked piteously.
+"Oh, I shall never feel the same towards Louisa again. Tom was
+right&mdash;I didn't tell you about Tom's letter but I will by and by. I
+shall not go back to Louisa after her locking me out. When it stops
+raining I'll go straight up to my cousin Ella's and stay with her
+until I arrange my plans. But one thing is certain, I shall not go
+back to Louisa."</p>
+
+<p>"I wouldn't," said the doctor recklessly. "Now, don't cry and don't
+worry. Take off your hat&mdash;you can go to the spare room across the
+hall, if you like. Jim has gone upstairs to lie down; he has a bad
+headache and says he doesn't want any tea. So I was going to get up a
+bachelor's snack for myself. My housekeeper is away. She heard, at
+church that her mother was ill and went over to Marwood."</p>
+
+<p>When Mary Isabel came back from the spare room, a little calmer but
+with traces of tears on her pink cheeks, the doctor had as good a
+tea-table spread as any woman could have had. Mary Isabel thought it
+was fortunate that the little errand boy, Tommy Brewster, was there,
+or she certainly would have been dreadfully embarrassed, now that the
+flame of her anger had blown out. But later on, when tea was over and
+she and the doctor were left alone, she did not feel embarrassed
+after all. Instead, she felt delightfully happy and at home. Dr.
+Hamilton put one so at ease.</p>
+
+<p>She told him all about Tom's letter and her subsequent revolt. Dr.
+Hamilton never once made the mistake of smiling. He listened and
+approved and sympathized.</p>
+
+<p>"So I'm determined I won't go back," concluded Mary Isabel, "unless
+she asks me to&mdash;and Louisa will never do that. Ella will be glad
+enough to have me for a while; she has five children and can't get any
+help."</p>
+
+<p>The doctor shrugged his shoulders. He thought of Mary Isabel as
+unofficial drudge to Ella Kemble and her family. Then he looked at the
+little silvery figure by the window.</p>
+
+<p>"I think I can suggest a better plan," he said gently and tenderly.
+"Suppose you stay here&mdash;as my wife. I've always wanted to ask you that
+but I feared it was no use because I knew Louisa would oppose it and I
+did not think you would consent if she did not. I think," the doctor
+leaned forward and took Mary Isabel's fluttering hand in his, "I think
+we can be very happy here, dear."</p>
+
+<p>Mary Isabel flushed crimson and her heart beat wildly. She knew now
+that she loved Dr. Hamilton&mdash;and Tom would have liked it&mdash;yes, Tom
+would. She remembered how Tom hated the thought of his sisters being
+old maids.</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;think&mdash;so&mdash;too," she faltered shyly.</p>
+
+<p>"Then," said the doctor briskly, "what is the matter with our being
+married right here and now?"</p>
+
+<p>"Married!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, of course. Here we are in a state where no licence is required,
+a minister in the house, and you all dressed in the most beautiful
+wedding silk imaginable. You must see, if you just look at it calmly,
+how much better it will be than going up to Mrs. Kemble's and thereby
+publishing your difference with Louisa to all the village. I'll give
+you fifteen minutes to get used to the idea and then I'll call Jim
+down."</p>
+
+<p>Mary Isabel put her hands to her face.</p>
+
+<p>"You&mdash;you're like a whirlwind," she gasped. "You take away my breath."</p>
+
+<p>"Think it over," said the doctor in a businesslike voice.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Isabel thought&mdash;thought very hard for a few moments.</p>
+
+<p>What would Tom have said?</p>
+
+<p>Was it probable that Tom would have approved of such marrying in
+haste?</p>
+
+<p>Mary Isabel came to the decision that he would have preferred it to
+having family jars bruited abroad. Moreover, Mary Isabel had never
+liked Ella Kemble very much. Going to her was only one degree better
+than going back to Louisa.</p>
+
+<p>At last Mary Isabel took her hands down from her face. "Well?" said
+the doctor persuasively as she did so.</p>
+
+<p>"I will consent on one condition," said Mary Isabel firmly. "And that
+is, that you will let me send word over to Louisa that I am going to
+be married and that she may come and see the ceremony if she will.
+Louisa has behaved very unkindly in this matter, but after all she is
+my sister&mdash;and she has been good to me in some ways&mdash;and I am not
+going to give her a chance to say that I got married in this&mdash;this
+headlong-fashion and never let her know."</p>
+
+<p>"Tommy can take the word over," said the doctor.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Isabel went to the doctor's desk and wrote a very brief note.</p>
+
+<div class="block"><p class="noin">Dear Louisa:</p>
+
+<p>I am going to be married to Dr. Hamilton right away. I've seen
+him often at the shore this summer. I would like you to be
+present at the ceremony if you choose.</p>
+
+<p class="right">Mary Isabel.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Tommy ran across the field with the note.</p>
+
+<p>It had now ceased raining and the clouds were breaking. Mary Isabel
+thought that a good omen. She and the doctor watched Tommy from the
+window. They saw Louisa come to the door, take the note, and shut the
+door in Tommy's face. Ten minutes later she reappeared, habited in her
+mackintosh, with her second-best bonnet on.</p>
+
+<p>"She's&mdash;coming," said Mary Isabel, trembling.</p>
+
+<p>The doctor put his arm protectingly about the little lady.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Isabel tossed her head. "Oh, I'm not&mdash;I'm only excited. I shall
+never be afraid of Louisa again."</p>
+
+<p>Louisa came grimly over the field, up the verandah steps, and into the
+room without knocking.</p>
+
+<p>"Mary Isabel," she said, glaring at her sister and ignoring the doctor
+entirely, "did you mean what you said in that letter?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I did," said Mary Isabel firmly.</p>
+
+<p>"You are going to be married to that man in this shameless, indecent
+haste?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"And nothing I can say will have the least effect on you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not the slightest."</p>
+
+<p>"Then," said Louisa, more grimly than ever, "all I ask of you is to
+come home and be married from under your father's roof. Do have that
+much respect for your parents' memory, at least."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I will," cried Mary Isabel impulsively, softening at once.
+"Of course we will&mdash;won't we?" she asked, turning prettily to the
+doctor.</p>
+
+<p>"Just as you say," he answered gallantly.</p>
+
+<p>Louisa snorted. "I'll go home and air the parlour," she said. "It's
+lucky I baked that fruitcake Monday. You can come when you're ready."</p>
+
+<p>She stalked home across the field. In a few minutes the doctor and
+Mary Isabel followed, and behind them came the young minister,
+carrying his blue book under his arm, and trying hard and not
+altogether successfully to look grave.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<a name="The_Twins_and_a_Wedding" id="The_Twins_and_a_Wedding"></a><hr />
+<br />
+
+<h2>The Twins and a Wedding<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h2>
+<br />
+
+<p>Sometimes Johnny and I wonder what would really have happened if we
+had never started for Cousin Pamelia's wedding. I think that Ted would
+have come back some time; but Johnny says he doesn't believe he ever
+would, and Johnny ought to know, because Johnny's a boy. Anyhow, he
+couldn't have come back for four years. However, we <i>did</i> start for
+the wedding and so things came out all right, and Ted said we were a
+pair of twin special Providences.</p>
+
+<p>Johnny and I fully expected to go to Cousin Pamelia's wedding because
+we had always been such chums with her. And she did write to Mother to
+be sure and bring us, but Father and Mother didn't want to be bothered
+with us. That is the plain truth of the matter. They are good parents,
+as parents go in this world; I don't think we could have picked out
+much better, all things considered; but Johnny and I have always known
+that they never want to take us with them anywhere if they can get out
+of it. Uncle Fred says that it is no wonder, since we are a pair of
+holy terrors for getting into mischief and keeping everybody in hot
+water. But I think we are pretty good, considering all the temptations
+we have to be otherwise. And, of course, twins have just twice as many
+as ordinary children.</p>
+
+<p>Anyway, Father and Mother said we would have to stay home with Hannah
+Jane. This decision came upon us, as Johnny says, like a bolt from the
+blue. At first we couldn't believe they were not joking. Why, we felt
+that we simply <i>had</i> to go to Pamelia's wedding. We had never been to
+a wedding in our lives and we were just aching to see what it would be
+like. Besides, we had written a marriage ode to Pamelia and we wanted
+to present it to her. Johnny was to recite it, and he had been
+practising it out behind the carriage house for a week. I wrote the
+most of it. I can write poetry as slick as anything. Johnny helped me
+hunt out the rhymes. That is the hardest thing about writing poetry,
+it is so difficult to find rhymes. Johnny would find me a rhyme and
+then I would write a line to suit it, and we got on swimmingly.</p>
+
+<p>When we realized that Father and Mother meant what they said we were
+just too miserable to live. When I went to bed that night I simply
+pulled the clothes over my face and howled quietly. I couldn't help it
+when I thought of Pamelia's white silk dress and tulle veil and flower
+girls and all the rest. Johnny said it was the wedding dinner <i>he</i>
+thought about. Boys are like that, you know.</p>
+
+<p>Father and Mother went away on the early morning train, telling us to
+be good twins and not bother Hannah Jane. It would have been more to
+the point if they had told Hannah Jane not to bother us. She worries
+more about our bringing up than Mother does.</p>
+
+<p>I was sitting on the front doorstep after they had gone when Johnny
+came around the corner, looking so mysterious and determined that I
+knew he had thought of something splendid.</p>
+
+<p>"Sue," said Johnny impressively, "if you have any real sporting blood
+in you now is the time to show it. If you've enough grit we'll get to
+Pamelia's wedding after all."</p>
+
+<p>"How?" I said as soon as I was able to say anything.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll just go. We'll take the ten o'clock train. It will get to
+Marsden by eleven-thirty and that'll be in plenty of time. The wedding
+isn't until twelve."</p>
+
+<p>"But we've never been on the train alone, and we've never been to
+Marsden at all!" I gasped.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, of course, if you're going to hatch up all sorts of
+difficulties!" said Johnny scornfully. "I thought you had more spunk!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I have, Johnny," I said eagerly. "I'm <i>all</i> spunk. And I'll do
+anything you'll do. But won't Father and Mother be perfectly savage?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course. But we'll be there and they can't send us home again, so
+we'll see the wedding. We'll be punished afterwards all right, but
+we'll have had the fun, don't you see?"</p>
+
+<p>I saw. I went right upstairs to dress, trusting everything blindly to
+Johnny. I put on my best pale blue shirred silk hat and my blue
+organdie dress and my high-heeled slippers. Johnny whistled when he
+saw me, but he never said a word; there are times when Johnny is a
+duck.</p>
+
+<p>We slipped away when Hannah Jane was feeding the hens.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll buy the tickets," explained Johnny. "I've got enough money left
+out of my last month's allowance because I didn't waste it all on
+candy as you did. You'll have to pay me back when you get your next
+month's jink, remember. I'll ask the conductor to tell us when we get
+to Marsden. Uncle Fred's house isn't far from the station, and we'll
+be sure to know it by all the cherry trees round it."</p>
+
+<p>It sounded easy, and it <i>was</i> easy. We had a jolly ride, and finally
+the conductor came along and said, "Here's your jumping-off place,
+kiddies."</p>
+
+<p>Johnny didn't like being called a kiddy, but I saw the conductor's eye
+resting admiringly on my blue silk hat and I forgave him.</p>
+
+<p>Marsden was a pretty little village, and away up the road we saw Uncle
+Fred's place, for it was fairly smothered in cherry trees all white
+with lovely bloom. We started for it as fast as we could go, for we
+knew we had no time to lose. It is perfectly dreadful trying to hurry
+when you have on high-heeled shoes, but I said nothing and just tore
+along, for I knew Johnny would have no sympathy for me. We finally
+reached the house and turned in at the open gate of the lawn. I
+thought everything looked very peaceful and quiet for a wedding to be
+under way and I had a sickening idea that it was too late and it was
+all over.</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense!" said Johnny, cross as a bear, because he was really
+afraid of it too. "I suppose everybody is inside the house. No, there
+are two people over there by that bench. Let us go and ask them if
+this is the right place, because if it isn't we have no time to lose."</p>
+
+<p>We ran across the lawn to the two people. One of them was a young
+lady, the very prettiest young lady I had ever seen. She was tall and
+stately, just like the heroine in a book, and she had lovely curly
+brown hair and big blue eyes and the most dazzling complexion. But she
+looked very cross and disdainful and I knew the minute I saw her that
+she had been quarrelling with the young man. He was standing in front
+of her and he was as handsome as a prince. But he looked angry too.
+Altogether, you never saw a crosser-looking couple. Just as we came up
+we heard the young lady say, "What you ask is ridiculous and
+impossible, Ted. I <i>can't</i> get married at two days' notice and I don't
+mean to be."</p>
+
+<p>And he said, "Very well, Una, I am sorry you think so. You would not
+think so if you really cared anything for me. It is just as well I
+have found out you don't. I am going away in two days' time and I
+shall not return in a hurry, Una."</p>
+
+<p>"I do not care if you never return," she said.</p>
+
+<p>That was a fib and well I knew it. But the young man didn't&mdash;men are
+so stupid at times. He swung around on one foot without replying and
+he would have gone in another second if he had not nearly fallen over
+Johnny and me.</p>
+
+<p>"Please, sir," said Johnny respectfully, but hurriedly. "We're looking
+for Mr. Frederick Murray's place. Is this it?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said the young man a little gruffly. "This is Mrs. Franklin's
+place. Frederick Murray lives at Marsden, ten miles away."</p>
+
+<p>My heart gave a jump and then stopped beating. I know it did, although
+Johnny says it is impossible.</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't this Marsden?" cried Johnny chokily.</p>
+
+<p>"No, this is Harrowsdeane," said the young man, a little more mildly.</p>
+
+<p>I couldn't help it. I was tired and warm and so disappointed. I sat
+right down on the rustic seat behind me and burst into tears, as the
+story-books say.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, don't cry, dearie," said the young lady in a very different voice
+from the one she had used before. She sat down beside me and put her
+arms around me. "We'll take you over to Marsden if you've got off at
+the wrong station."</p>
+
+<p>"But it will be too late," I sobbed wildly. "The wedding is to be at
+twelve&mdash;and it's nearly that now&mdash;and oh, Johnny, I do think you might
+try to comfort me!"</p>
+
+<p>For Johnny had stuck his hands in his pockets and turned his back
+squarely on me. I thought it so unkind of him. I didn't know then that
+it was because he was afraid he was going to cry right there before
+everybody, and I felt deserted by all the world.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me all about it," said the young lady.</p>
+
+<p>So I told her as well as I could all about the wedding and how wild we
+were to see it and why we were running away to it.</p>
+
+<p>"And now it's all no use," I wailed. "And we'll be punished when they
+find out just the same. I wouldn't mind being punished if we hadn't
+missed the wedding. We've never seen a wedding&mdash;and Pamelia was to
+wear a white silk dress&mdash;and have flower girls&mdash;and oh, my heart is
+just broken. I shall never get over this&mdash;never&mdash;if I live to be as
+old as Methuselah."</p>
+
+<p>"What can we do for them?" said the young lady, looking up at the
+young man and smiling a little. She seemed to have forgotten that they
+had just quarrelled. "I can't bear to see children disappointed. I
+remember my own childhood too well."</p>
+
+<p>"I really don't know what we can do," said the young man, smiling
+back, "unless we get married right here and now for their sakes. If it
+is a wedding they want to see and nothing else will do them, that is
+the only idea I can suggest."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense!" said the young lady. But she said it as if she would
+rather like to be persuaded it wasn't nonsense.</p>
+
+<p>I looked up at her. "Oh, if you have any notion of being married I
+wish you would right off," I said eagerly. "Any wedding would do just
+as well as Pamelia's. Please do."</p>
+
+<p>The young lady laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"One might just as well be married at two hours' notice as two days',"
+she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Una," said the young man, bending towards her, "will you marry me
+here and now? Don't send me away alone to the other side of the world,
+Una."</p>
+
+<p>"What on earth would Auntie say?" said Una helplessly.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Franklin wouldn't object if you told her you were going to be
+married in a balloon."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't see how we could arrange&mdash;oh, Ted, it's absurd."</p>
+
+<p>"'Tisn't. It's highly sensible. I'll go straight to town on my wheel
+for the licence and ring and I'll be back in an hour. You can be ready
+by that time."</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Una hesitated. Then she said suddenly to me, "What is
+your name, dearie?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sue Murray," I said, "and this is my brother, Johnny. We're twins.
+We've been twins for ten years."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Sue, I'm going to let you decide for me. This gentleman here,
+whose name is Theodore Prentice, has to start for Japan in two days
+and will have to remain there for four years. He received his orders
+only yesterday. He wants me to marry him and go with him. Now, I shall
+leave it to you to consent or refuse for me. Shall I marry him or
+shall I not?"</p>
+
+<p>"Marry him, of course," said I promptly. Johnny says she knew I would
+say that when she left it to me.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well," said Una calmly. "Ted, you may go for the necessaries.
+Sue, you must be my bridesmaid and Johnny shall be best man. Come,
+we'll go into the house and break the news to Auntie."</p>
+
+<p>I never felt so interested and excited in my life. It seemed too good
+to be true. Una and I went into the house and there we found the
+sweetest, pinkest, plumpest old lady asleep in an easy-chair. Una
+wakened her and said, "Auntie, I'm going to be married to Mr. Prentice
+in an hour's time."</p>
+
+<p>That was a most wonderful old lady! All she said was, "Dear me!" You'd
+have thought Una had simply told her she was going out for a walk.</p>
+
+<p>"Ted has gone for licence and ring and minister," Una went on. "We
+shall be married out under the cherry trees and I'll wear my new white
+organdie. We shall leave for Japan in two days. These children are Sue
+and Johnny Murray who have come out to see a wedding&mdash;<i>any</i> wedding.
+Ted and I are getting married just to please them."</p>
+
+<p>"Dear me!" said the old lady again. "This is rather sudden. Still&mdash;if
+you must. Well, I'll go and see what there is in the house to eat."</p>
+
+<p>She toddled away, smiling, and Una turned to me. She was laughing, but
+there were tears in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"You blessed accidents!" she said, with a little tremble in her voice.
+"If you hadn't happened just then Ted would have gone away in a rage
+and I might never have seen him again. Come now, Sue, and help me
+dress."</p>
+
+<p>Johnny stayed in the hall and I went upstairs with Una. We had such an
+exciting time getting her dressed. She had the sweetest white organdie
+you ever saw, all frills and laces. I'm sure Pamelia's silk couldn't
+have been half so pretty. But she had no veil, and I felt rather
+disappointed about that. Then there was a knock at the door and Mrs.
+Franklin came in, with her arms full of something all fine and misty
+like a lacy cobweb.</p>
+
+<p>"I've brought you my wedding veil, dearie," she said. "I wore it forty
+years ago. And God bless you, dearie. I can't stop a minute. The boy
+is killing the chickens and Bridget is getting ready to broil them.
+Mrs. Jenner's son across the road has just gone down to the bakery for
+a wedding cake."</p>
+
+<p>With that she toddled off again. She was certainly a wonderful old
+lady. I just thought of Mother in her place. Well, Mother would simply
+have gone wild entirely.</p>
+
+<p>When Una was dressed she looked as beautiful as a dream. The boy had
+finished killing the chickens, and Mrs. Franklin had sent him up with
+a basket of roses for us, and we had each the loveliest bouquet.
+Before long Ted came back with the minister, and the next thing we
+knew we were all standing out on the lawn under the cherry trees and
+Una and Ted were being married.</p>
+
+<p>I was too happy to speak. I had never thought of being a bridesmaid in
+my wildest dreams and here I was one. How thankful I was that I had
+put on my blue organdie and my shirred hat! I wasn't a bit nervous and
+I don't believe Una was either. Mrs. Franklin stood at one side with a
+smudge of flour on her nose, and she had forgotten to take off her
+apron. Bridget and the boy watched us from the kitchen garden. It was
+all like a beautiful, bewildering dream. But the ceremony was horribly
+solemn. I am sure I shall never have the courage to go through with
+anything of the sort, but Johnny says I will change my mind when I
+grow up.</p>
+
+<p>When it was all over I nudged Johnny and said "Ode" in a fierce
+whisper. Johnny immediately stepped out before Una and recited it.
+Pamelia's name was mentioned three times and of course he should have
+put Una in place of it, but he forgot. You can't remember everything.</p>
+
+<p>"You dear funny darlings!" said Una, kissing us both. Johnny didn't
+like <i>that</i>, but he said he didn't mind it in a bride.</p>
+
+<p>Then we had dinner, and I thought Mrs. Franklin more wonderful than
+ever. I couldn't have believed any woman could have got up such a
+spread at two hours' notice. Of course, some credit must be given to
+Bridget and the boy. Johnny and I were hungry enough by this time and
+we enjoyed that repast to the full.</p>
+
+<p>We went home on the evening train. Ted and Una came to the station
+with us, and Una said she would write me when she got to Japan, and
+Ted said he would be obliged to us forever and ever.</p>
+
+<p>When we got home we found Hannah Jane and Father and Mother&mdash;who had
+arrived there an hour before us&mdash;simply distracted. They were so glad
+to see us safe and sound that they didn't even scold us, and when
+Father heard our story he laughed until the tears came into his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Some are born to luck, some achieve luck, and some have luck thrust
+upon them," he said.</p>
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<hr />
+<br />
+<br />
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories,
+1907 to 1908, by Lucy Maud Montgomery
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MONTGOMERY STORIES ***
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+</pre>
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+</body>
+</html>
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1907 to
+1908, by Lucy Maud Montgomery
+
+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: Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1907 to 1908
+
+Author: Lucy Maud Montgomery
+
+Release Date: March 19, 2008 [EBook #24877]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MONTGOMERY STORIES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Alicia Williams, Jeannie Howse and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1907 to 1908
+
+
+Lucy Maud Montgomery was born at Clifton (now New London), Prince
+Edward Island, Canada, on November 30, 1874. She achieved
+international fame in her lifetime, putting Prince Edward Island and
+Canada on the world literary map. Best known for her "Anne of Green
+Gables" books, she was also a prolific writer of short stories and
+poetry. She published some 500 short stories and poems and twenty
+novels before her death in 1942. The Project Gutenberg collection of
+her short stories was gathered from numerous sources and is presented
+in chronological publishing order:
+
+Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1896 to 1901
+Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1902 to 1903
+Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1904
+Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1905 to 1906
+Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1907 to 1908
+Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1909 to 1922
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Short Stories 1907 to 1908
+
+    Millionaire's Proposal                                   1907
+    A Substitute Journalist                                  1907
+    Anna's Love Letters                                      1908
+    Aunt Caroline's Silk Dress                               1907
+    Aunt Susanna's Thanksgiving Dinner                       1907
+    By Grace of Julius Caesar                                1908
+    By the Rule of Contrary                                  1908
+    Fair Exchange and No Robbery                             1907
+    Four Winds                                               1908
+    Marcella's Reward                                        1907
+    Margaret's Patient                                       1908
+    Matthew Insists on Puffed Sleeves                        1908
+    Missy's Room                                             1907
+    Ted's Afternoon Off                                      1907
+    The Girl Who Drove the Cows                              1908
+    The Doctor's Sweetheart                                  1908
+    The End of the Young Family Feud                         1907
+    The Genesis of the Doughnut Club                         1907
+    The Growing Up of Cornelia                               1908
+    The Old Fellow's Letter                                  1907
+    The Parting of the Ways                                  1907
+    The Promissory Note                                      1907
+    The Revolt of Mary Isabel                                1908
+    The Twins and a Wedding                                  1908
+
+
+
+
+A Millionaire's Proposal
+
+
+                                  Thrush Hill, Oct. 5, 18--.
+
+It is all settled at last, and in another week I shall have left
+Thrush Hill. I am a little bit sorry and a great bit glad. I am going
+to Montreal to spend the winter with Alicia.
+
+Alicia--it used to be plain Alice when she lived at Thrush Hill and
+made her own dresses and trimmed her own hats--is my half-sister. She
+is eight years older than I am. We are both orphans, and Aunt
+Elizabeth brought us up here at Thrush Hill, the most delightful old
+country place in the world, half smothered in big willows and poplars,
+every one of which I have climbed in the early tomboy days of gingham
+pinafores and sun-bonnets.
+
+When Alicia was eighteen she married Roger Gresham, a man of forty.
+The world said that she married him for his money. I dare say she did.
+Alicia was tired of poverty.
+
+I don't blame her. Very likely I shall do the same thing one of these
+days, if I get the chance--for I too am tired of poverty.
+
+When Alicia went to Montreal she wanted to take me with her, but I
+wanted to be outdoors, romping in the hay or running wild in the woods
+with Jack.
+
+Jack Willoughby--Dr. John H. Willoughby, it reads on his office
+door--was the son of our nearest neighbour. We were chums always, and
+when he went away to college I was heartbroken.
+
+The vacations were the only joy of my life then.
+
+I don't know just when I began to notice a change in Jack, but when he
+came home two years ago, a full-fledged M.D.--a great, tall,
+broad-shouldered fellow, with the sweetest moustache, and lovely thick
+black hair, just made for poking one's fingers through--I realized it
+to the full. Jack was grown up. The dear old days of bird-nesting and
+nutting and coasting and fishing and general delightful goings-on were
+over forever.
+
+I was sorry at first. I wanted "Jack." "Dr. Willoughby" seemed too
+distinguished and far away.
+
+I suppose he found a change in me, too. I had put on long skirts and
+wore my hair up. I had also found out that I had a complexion, and
+that sunburn was not becoming. I honestly thought I looked pretty, but
+Jack surveyed me with decided disapprobation.
+
+"What have you done to yourself? You don't look like the same girl.
+I'd never know you in that rig-out, with all those flippery-trippery
+curls all over your head. Why don't you comb your hair straight back,
+and let it hang in a braided tail, like you used to?"
+
+This didn't suit me at all. When I expect a compliment and get
+something quite different I always get snippy. So I said, with what I
+intended to be crushing dignity, "that I supposed I wasn't the same
+girl; I had grown up, and if he didn't like my curls he needn't look
+at them. For my part, I thought them infinitely preferable to that
+horrid, conceited-looking moustache he had grown."
+
+"I'll shave it off if it doesn't suit you," said Jack amiably.
+
+Jack is always so provokingly good-humoured. When you've taken pains
+and put yourself out--even to the extent of fibbing about a
+moustache--to exasperate a person, there is nothing more annoying than
+to have him keep perfectly angelic.
+
+But after a while Jack and I adjusted ourselves to the change in each
+other and became very good friends again. It was quite a different
+friendship from the old, but it was very pleasant. Yes, it was; I
+_will_ admit that much.
+
+I was provoked at Jack's determination to settle down for life in
+Valleyfield, a horrible, humdrum, little country village.
+
+"You'll never make your fortune there, Jack," I said spitefully.
+"You'll just be a poor, struggling country doctor all your life, and
+you'll be grey at forty."
+
+"I don't expect to make a fortune, Kitty," said Jack quietly. "Do you
+think that is the one desirable thing? I shall never be a rich man.
+But riches are not the only thing that makes life pleasant."
+
+"Well, I think they have a good deal to do with it, anyhow," I
+retorted. "It's all very well to pretend to despise wealth, but it's
+generally a case of sour grapes. _I_ will own up honestly that I'd
+_love_ to be rich."
+
+It always seems to make Jack blue and grumpy when I talk like that. I
+suppose that is one reason why he never asked me to settle down in
+life as a country doctor's wife. Another was, no doubt, that I always
+nipped his sentimental sproutings religiously in the bud.
+
+Three weeks ago Alicia wrote to me, asking me to spend the winter with
+her. Her letters always make me just gasp with longing for the life
+they describe.
+
+Jack's face, when I told him about it, was so woebegone that I felt a
+stab of remorse, even in the heyday of my delight.
+
+"Do you really mean it, Kitty? Are you going away to leave me?"
+
+"You won't miss me much," I said flippantly--I had a creepy, crawly
+presentiment that a scene of some kind was threatening--"and I'm
+awfully tired of Thrush Hill and country life, Jack. I suppose it is
+horribly ungrateful of me to say so, but it is the truth."
+
+"I shall miss you," he said soberly.
+
+Somehow he had my hands in his. _How_ did he ever get them? I was sure
+I had them safely tucked out of harm's way behind me. "You know,
+Kitty, that I love you. I am a poor man--perhaps I may never be
+anything else--and this may seem to you very presumptuous. But I
+cannot let you go like this. Will you be my wife, dear?"
+
+Wasn't it horribly straightforward and direct? So like Jack! I tried
+to pull my hands away, but he held them fast. There was nothing to do
+but answer him. That "no" I had determined to say must be said, but,
+oh! how woefully it did stick in my throat!
+
+And I honestly believe that by the time I got it out it would have
+been transformed into a "yes," in spite of me, had it not been for a
+certain paragraph in Alicia's letter which came providentially to my
+mind:
+
+    Not to flatter you, Katherine, you are a beauty, my dear--if
+    your photo is to be trusted. If you have not discovered that
+    fact before--how should you, indeed, in a place like Thrush
+    Hill?--you soon will in Montreal. With your face and figure
+    you will make a sensation.
+
+    There is to be a nephew of the Sinclairs here this winter. He
+    is an American, immensely wealthy, and will be the catch of
+    the season. A word to the wise, etc. Don't get into any
+    foolish entanglement down there. I have heard some gossip of
+    you and our old playfellow, Jack Willoughby. I hope it is
+    nothing but gossip. You can do better than that, Katherine.
+
+That settled Jack's fate, if there ever had been any doubt.
+
+"Don't talk like that, Jack," I said hurriedly. "It is all nonsense. I
+think a great deal of you as a friend and--and--all that, you know.
+But I can never marry you."
+
+"Are you sure, Kitty?" said Jack earnestly. "Don't you care for me at
+all?"
+
+It was horrid of Jack to ask that question!
+
+"No," I said miserably, "not--not in that way, Jack. Oh, don't ever
+say anything like this to me again."
+
+He let go of my hands then, white to the lips.
+
+"Oh, don't look like that, Jack," I entreated.
+
+"I can't help it," he said in a low voice. "But I won't bother you
+again, dear. It was foolish of me to expect--to hope for anything of
+the sort. You are a thousand times too good for me, I know."
+
+"Oh, indeed I'm not, Jack," I protested. "If you knew how horrid I am,
+really, you'd be glad and thankful for your escape. Oh, Jack, I wish
+people never grew up."
+
+Jack smiled sadly.
+
+"Don't feel badly over this, Kitty. It isn't your fault. Good night,
+dear."
+
+He turned my face up and kissed me squarely on the mouth. He had never
+kissed me since the summer before he went away to college. Somehow it
+didn't seem a bit the same as it used to; it was--nicer now.
+
+After he went away I came upstairs and had a good, comfortable howl.
+Then I buried the whole affair decently. I am not going to think of it
+any more.
+
+I shall always have the highest esteem for Jack, and I hope he will
+soon find some nice girl who will make him happy. Mary Carter would
+jump at him, I know. To be sure, she is as homely as she can be and
+live. But, then, Jack is always telling me how little he cares for
+beauty, so I have no doubt she will suit him admirably.
+
+As for myself--well, I am ambitious. I don't suppose my ambition is a
+very lofty one, but such as it is I mean to hunt it down. Come. Let me
+put it down in black and white, once for all, and see how it looks:
+
+I mean to marry the rich nephew of the Sinclairs.
+
+There! It is out, and I feel better. How mercenary and awful it looks
+written out in cold blood like that. I wouldn't have Jack or Aunt
+Elizabeth--dear, unworldly old soul--see it for the world. But I
+wouldn't mind Alicia.
+
+Poor dear Jack!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+                                    Montreal, Dec. 16, 18--.
+
+This is a nice way to keep a journal. But the days when I could write
+regularly are gone by. That was when I was at Thrush Hill.
+
+I am having a simply divine time. How in the world did I ever contrive
+to live at Thrush Hill?
+
+To be sure, I felt badly enough that day in October when I left it.
+When the train left Valleyfield I just cried like a baby.
+
+Alicia and Roger welcomed me very heartily, and after the first week
+of homesickness--I shiver yet when I think of it--was over, I settled
+down to my new life as if I had been born to it.
+
+Alicia has a magnificent home and everything heart could wish
+for--jewels, carriages, servants, opera boxes, and social position.
+Roger is a model husband apparently. I must also admit that he is a
+model brother-in-law.
+
+I could feel Alicia looking me over critically the moment we met. I
+trembled with suspense, but I was soon relieved.
+
+"Do you know, Katherine, I am glad to see that your photograph didn't
+flatter you. Photographs so often do, I am positively surprised at the
+way you have developed, my dear; you used to be such a scrawny little
+brown thing. By the way, I hope there is nothing between you and Jack
+Willoughby?"
+
+"No, of course not," I answered hurriedly. I had intended to tell
+Alicia all about Jack, but when it came to the point I couldn't.
+
+"I am glad of that," said Alicia, with a relieved air. "Of course,
+I've no doubt Jack is a good fellow enough. He was a nice boy. But he
+would not be a suitable husband for you, Katherine."
+
+I knew that very well. That was just why I had refused him. But it
+made me wince to hear Alicia say it. I instantly froze up--Alicia says
+dignity is becoming to me--and Jack's name has never been mentioned
+between us since.
+
+I made my bow to society at an "At Home" which Alicia gave for that
+purpose. She drilled me well beforehand, and I think I acquitted
+myself decently. Charlie Vankleek, whose verdict makes or mars every
+debutante in his set, has approved of me. He called me a beauty, and
+everybody now believes that I am one, and greets me accordingly.
+
+I met Gus Sinclair at Mrs. Brompton's dinner. Alicia declares it was a
+case of love at first sight. If so, I must confess that it was all on
+one side.
+
+Mr. Sinclair is undeniably ugly--even Alicia has to admit that--and
+can't hold a candle to Jack in point of looks, for Jack, poor boy, was
+handsome, if he were nothing else. But, as Alicia does not fail to
+remind me, Mr. Sinclair's homeliness is well gilded.
+
+Apart from his appearance, I really liked him very much. He is a
+gentlemanly little fellow--his head reaches about to my
+shoulder--cultured and travelled, and can talk splendidly, which Jack
+never could.
+
+He took me into dinner at Mrs. Brompton's, and was very attentive. You
+may imagine how many angelic glances I received from the other
+candidates for his favour.
+
+Since then I have been having the gayest time imaginable. Dances,
+dinners, luncheons, afternoon teas, "functions" to no end, and all
+delightful.
+
+Aunt Elizabeth writes to me, but I have never heard a word from Jack.
+He seems to have forgotten my existence completely. No doubt he has
+consoled himself with Mary Carter.
+
+Well, that is all for the best, but I must say I did not think Jack
+could have forgotten me so soon or so absolutely. Of course it does
+not make the least difference to me.
+
+The Sinclairs and the Bromptons and the Curries are to dine here
+tonight. I can see myself reflected in the long mirror before me, and
+I really think my appearance will satisfy even Gus Sinclair's critical
+eye. I am pale, as usual, I never have any colour. That used to be one
+of Jack's grievances. He likes pink and white milkmaidish girls. My
+"magnificent pallor" didn't suit him at all.
+
+But, what is more to the purpose, it suits Gus Sinclair. He admires
+the statuesque style.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+                                    Montreal, Jan. 20, 18--.
+
+Here it is a whole month since my last entry. I am sitting here decked
+out in "gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls" for Mrs. Currie's dance.
+These few minutes, after I emerge from the hands of my maid and before
+the carriage is announced, are almost the only ones I ever have to
+myself.
+
+I am having a good time still. Somehow, though, it isn't as exciting
+as it used to be. I'm afraid I'm very changeable. I believe I must be
+homesick.
+
+I'd love to get a glimpse of dear old Thrush Hill and Aunt Elizabeth,
+and J--but, no! I will not write that.
+
+Mr. Sinclair has not spoken yet, but there is no doubt that he soon
+will. Of course, I shall accept him when he does, and I coolly told
+Alicia so when she just as coolly asked me what I meant to do.
+
+"Certainly, I shall marry him," I said crossly, for the subject always
+irritates me. "Haven't I been laying myself out all winter to catch
+him? That is the bold, naked truth, and ugly enough it is. My dearly
+beloved sister, I mean to accept Mr. Sinclair, without any hesitation,
+whenever I get the chance."
+
+"I give you credit for more sense than to dream of doing anything
+else," said Alicia in relieved tones. "Katherine, you are a very lucky
+girl."
+
+"Because I am going to marry a rich man for his money?" I said coldly.
+
+Sometimes I get snippy with Alicia these days.
+
+"No," said my half-sister in an exasperated way. "Why will you persist
+in speaking in that way? You are very provoking. It is not likely I
+would wish to see you throw yourself away on a poor man, and I'm sure
+you must like Gus."
+
+"Oh, yes, I like him well enough," I said listlessly. "To be sure, I
+did think once, in my salad days, that liking wasn't quite all in an
+affair of this kind. I was absurd enough to imagine that love had
+something to do with it."
+
+"Don't talk so nonsensically," said Alicia sharply. "Love! Well, of
+course, you ought to love your husband, and you will. He loves you
+enough, at all events."
+
+"Alicia," I said earnestly, looking her straight in the face and
+speaking bluntly enough to have satisfied even Jack's love of
+straightforwardness, "you married for money and position, so people
+say. Are you happy?"
+
+For the first time that I remembered, Alicia blushed. She was very
+angry.
+
+"Yes, I did marry for money," she said sharply, "and I don't regret
+it. Thank heaven, I never was a fool."
+
+"Don't be vexed, Alicia," I entreated. "I only asked because--well, it
+is no matter."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+                                    Montreal, Jan. 25, 18--.
+
+It is bedtime, but I am too excited and happy and miserable to sleep.
+Jack has been here--dear old Jack! How glad I was to see him.
+
+His coming was so unexpected. I was sitting alone in my room this
+afternoon--I believe I was moping--when Bessie brought up his card. I
+gave it one rapturous look and tore downstairs, passing Alicia in the
+hall like a whirlwind, and burst into the drawing-room in a most
+undignified way.
+
+"Jack!" I cried, holding out both hands to him in welcome.
+
+There he was, just the same old Jack, with his splendid big shoulders
+and his lovely brown eyes. And his necktie was crooked, too; as soon
+as I could get my hands free I put them up and straightened it out for
+him. How nice and old-timey that was!
+
+"So you are glad to see me, Kitty?" he said as he squeezed my hands in
+his big strong paws.
+
+"'Deed and 'deed I am, Jack. I thought you had forgotten me
+altogether. And I've been so homesick and so--so everything," I said
+incoherently. "And, oh, Jack, I've so many questions to ask I don't
+know where to begin. Tell me all the Thrush Hill and Valleyfield news,
+tell me everything that has happened since I left. How many people
+have you killed off? And, oh, why didn't you come to see me before?"
+
+"I didn't think I should be wanted, Kitty," Jack answered quietly.
+"You seemed to be so absorbed in your new life that old friends and
+interests were crowded out."
+
+"So I was at first," I answered penitently. "I was dazzled, you know.
+The glare was too much for my Thrush Hill brown. But it's different
+now. How did you happen to come, Jack?"
+
+"I had to come to Montreal on business, and I thought it would be too
+bad if I went back without coming to see what they had been doing in
+Vanity Fair to my little playmate."
+
+"Well, what do you think they have been doing?" I asked saucily.
+
+I had on a particularly fetching gown and knew I was looking my best.
+Jack, however, looked me over with his head on one side.
+
+"Well, I don't know, Kitty," he said slowly. "That is a stunning sort
+of dress you have on--not so pretty, though, as that old blue muslin
+you used to wear last summer--and your hair is pretty good. But you
+look rather disdainful and, after all, I believe I prefer Thrush Hill
+Kitty."
+
+How like Jack that was. He never thought me really pretty, and he is
+too honest to pretend he does.
+
+But I didn't care. I just laughed, and we sat down together and had a
+long, delightful, chummy talk.
+
+Jack told me all the Valleyfield gossip, not forgetting to mention
+that Mary Carter was going to be married to a minister in June. Jack
+didn't seem to mind it a bit, so I guess he couldn't have been
+particularly interested in Mary.
+
+In due time Alicia sailed in. I suppose she had found out from Bessie
+who my caller was, and felt rather worried over the length of our
+tete-a-tete.
+
+She greeted Jack very graciously, but with a certain polite
+condescension of which she is past mistress. I am sure Jack felt it,
+for, as soon as he decently could, he got up to go. Alicia asked him
+to remain to dinner.
+
+"We are having a few friends to dine with us, but it is quite an
+informal affair," she said sweetly.
+
+I felt that Jack glanced at me for the fraction of a second. But I
+remembered that Gus Sinclair was coming too, and I did not look at
+him.
+
+Then he declined quietly. He had a business engagement, he said.
+
+I suppose Alicia had noticed that look at me, for she showed her
+claws.
+
+"Don't forget to call any time you are in Montreal," she said more
+sweetly than ever. "I am sure Katherine will always be glad to see any
+of her old friends, although some of her new ones _are_ proving very
+absorbing--one, in especial. Don't blush, Katherine, I am sure Mr.
+Willoughby won't tell any tales out of school to your old Valleyfield
+friends."
+
+I was not blushing, and I was furious. It was really too bad of
+Alicia, although I don't see why I need have cared.
+
+Alicia kept her eye on us both until Jack was fairly gone. Then she
+remarked in the patronizing tone which I detest:
+
+"Really, Katherine, Jack Willoughby has developed into quite a
+passable-looking fellow, although he is rather shabby. But I suppose
+he is poor."
+
+"Yes," I answered curtly, "he is poor, in everything except youth and
+manhood and goodness and truth! But I suppose those don't count for
+anything."
+
+Whereupon Alicia lifted her eyebrows and looked me over.
+
+Just at dusk a box arrived with Jack's compliments. It was full of
+lovely white carnations, and must have cost the extravagant fellow
+more than he has any business to waste on flowers. I was beast enough
+to put them on when I went down to listen to another man's
+love-making.
+
+This evening I sparkled and scintillated with unusual brilliancy, for
+Jack's visit and my consequent crossing of swords with Alicia had
+produced a certain elation of spirits. When Gus Sinclair was leaving
+he asked if he might see me alone tomorrow afternoon.
+
+I knew what that meant, and a cold shiver went up and down my
+backbone. But I looked down at him--spick-and-span and glossy--_his_
+neckties are never crooked--and said, yes, he might come at three
+o'clock.
+
+Alicia had noticed our aside--when did anything ever escape her?--and
+when he was gone she asked, significantly, what secret he had been
+telling me.
+
+"He wants to see me alone tomorrow afternoon. I suppose you know what
+that means, Alicia?"
+
+"Ah," purred Alicia, "I congratulate you, my dear."
+
+"Aren't your congratulations a little premature?" I asked coldly. "I
+haven't accepted him yet."
+
+"But you will?"
+
+"Oh, certainly. Isn't it what we've schemed and angled for? I'm very
+well satisfied."
+
+And so I am. But I wish it hadn't come so soon after Jack's visit,
+because I feel rather upset yet. Of course I like Gus Sinclair very
+much, and I am sure I shall be very fond of him.
+
+Well, I must go to bed now and get my beauty sleep. I don't want to be
+haggard and hollow-eyed at that important interview tomorrow--an
+interview that will decide my destiny.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+                                   Thrush Hill, May 6, 18--.
+
+Well, it did decide it, but not exactly in the way I anticipated. I
+can look back on the whole affair quite calmly now, but I wouldn't
+live it over again for all the wealth of Ind.
+
+That day when Gus Sinclair came I was all ready for him. I had put on
+my very prettiest new gown to do honour to the occasion, and Alicia
+smilingly assured me I was looking very well.
+
+"And _so_ cool and composed. Will you be able to keep that up? Don't
+you really feel a little nervous, Katherine?"
+
+"Not in the least," I said. "I suppose I ought to be, according to
+traditions, but I never felt less flustered in my life."
+
+When Bessie brought up Gus Sinclair's card Alicia dropped a pecky
+little kiss on my cheek, and pushed me toward the door. I went down
+calmly, although I'll admit that my heart _was_ beating wildly. Gus
+Sinclair was plainly nervous, but I was composed enough for both. You
+would really have thought that I was in the habit of being proposed to
+by a millionaire every day.
+
+"I suppose you know what I have come to say," he said, standing before
+me, as I leaned gracefully back in a big chair, having taken care that
+the folds of my dress fell just as they should.
+
+And then he proceeded to say it in a rather jumbled-up fashion, but
+very sincerely.
+
+I remember thinking at the time that he must have composed the speech
+in his head the night before, and rehearsed it several times, but was
+forgetting it in spots.
+
+When he ended with the self-same question that Jack had asked me three
+months before at Thrush Hill he stopped and took my hands.
+
+I looked up at him. His good, homely face was close to mine, and in
+his eyes was an unmistakable look of love and tenderness.
+
+I opened my mouth to say yes.
+
+And then there came over me in one rush the most awful realization of
+the sacrilege I was going to commit.
+
+I forgot everything except that I loved Jack Willoughby, and that I
+could never, never marry anybody in the world except him.
+
+Then I pulled my hands away and burst into hysterical, undignified
+tears.
+
+"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Sinclair. "I did not mean to startle
+you. Have I been too abrupt? Surely you must have known--you must have
+expected--"
+
+"Yes--yes--I knew," I cried miserably, "and I intended right up to
+this very minute to marry you. I'm so sorry--but I can't--I can't."
+
+"I don't understand," he said in a bewildered tone. "If you expected
+it, then why--why--don't you care for me?"
+
+"No, that's just it," I sobbed. "I don't love you at all--and I do
+love somebody else. But he is poor, and I hate poverty. So I refused
+him, and I meant to marry you just because you are rich."
+
+Such a pained look came over his face. "I did not think this of you,"
+he said in a low tone.
+
+"Oh, I know I have acted shamefully," I said. "You can't think any
+worse of me than I do of myself. How you must despise me!"
+
+"No," he said, with a grim smile, "if I did it would be easier for me.
+I might not love you then. Don't distress yourself, Katherine. I do
+not deny that I feel greatly hurt and disappointed, but I am glad you
+have been true to yourself at last. Don't cry, dear."
+
+"You're very good," I answered disconsolately, "but all the same the
+fact remains that I have behaved disgracefully to you, and I know you
+think so. Oh, Mr. Sinclair, please, please, go away. I feel so
+miserably ashamed of myself that I cannot look you in the face."
+
+"I am going, dear," he said gently. "I know all this must be very
+painful to you, but it is not easy for me, either."
+
+"Can you forgive me?" I said wistfully.
+
+"Yes, my dear, completely. Do not let yourself be unhappy over this.
+Remember that I will always be your friend. Goodbye."
+
+He held out his hand and gave mine an earnest clasp. Then he went
+away.
+
+I remained in the drawing-room, partly because I wanted to finish out
+my cry, and partly because, miserable coward that I was, I didn't dare
+face Alicia. Finally she came in, her face wreathed with anticipatory
+smiles. But when her eyes fell on my forlorn, crumpled self she fairly
+jumped.
+
+"Katherine, what is the matter?" she asked sharply. "Didn't Mr.
+Sinclair--"
+
+"Yes, he did," I said desperately. "And I've refused him. There now,
+Alicia!"
+
+Then I waited for the storm to burst. It didn't all at once. The shock
+was too great, and at first quite paralyzed my half-sister.
+
+"Katherine," she gasped, "are you crazy? Have you lost your senses?"
+
+"No, I've just come to them. It's true enough, Alicia. You can scold
+all you like. I know I deserve it, and I won't flinch. I did really
+intend to take him, but when it came to the point I couldn't. I didn't
+love him."
+
+Then, indeed, the storm burst. I never saw Alicia so angry before, and
+I never got so roundly abused. But even Alicia has her limits, and at
+last she grew calmer.
+
+"You have behaved disgracefully," she concluded. "I am disgusted with
+you. You have encouraged Gus Sinclair markedly right along, and now
+you throw him over like this. I never dreamed that you were capable of
+such unwomanly behaviour."
+
+"That's a hard word, Alicia," I protested feebly.
+
+She dealt me a withering glance. "It does not begin to be as hard as
+your shameful conduct merits. To think of losing a fortune like that
+for the sake of sentimental folly! I didn't think you were such a
+consummate fool."
+
+"I suppose you absorbed all the sense of our family," I said drearily.
+"There now, Alicia, do leave me alone. I'm down in the very depths
+already."
+
+"What do you mean to do now?" said Alicia scornfully. "Go back to
+Valleyfield and marry that starving country doctor of yours, I
+suppose?"
+
+I flared up then; Alicia might abuse me all she liked, but I wasn't
+going to hear a word against Jack.
+
+"Yes, I will, if he'll have me," I said, and I marched out of the room
+and upstairs, with my head very high.
+
+Of course I decided to leave Montreal as soon as I could. But I
+couldn't get away within a week, and it was a very unpleasant one.
+Alicia treated me with icy indifference, and I knew I should never be
+reinstated in her good graces.
+
+To my surprise, Roger took my part. "Let the girl alone," he told
+Alicia. "If she doesn't love Sinclair, she was right in refusing him.
+I, for one, am glad that she has got enough truth and womanliness in
+her to keep her from selling herself."
+
+Then he came to the library where I was moping, and laid his hand on
+my head.
+
+"Little girl," he said earnestly, "no matter what anyone says to you,
+never marry a man for his money or for any other reason on earth
+except because you love him."
+
+This comforted me greatly, and I did not cry myself to sleep that
+night as usual.
+
+At last I got away. I had telegraphed to Jack: "Am coming home
+Wednesday; meet me at train," and I knew he would be there. How I
+longed to see him again--dear, old, badly treated Jack.
+
+I got to Valleyfield just at dusk. It was a rainy evening, and
+everything was slush and fog and gloom. But away up I saw the home
+light at Thrush Hill, and Jack was waiting for me on the platform.
+
+"Oh, Jack!" I said, clinging to him, regardless of appearances. "Oh,
+I'm so glad to be back."
+
+"That's right, Kitty. I knew you wouldn't forget us. How well you are
+looking!"
+
+"I suppose I ought to be looking wretched," I said penitently. "I've
+been behaving very badly, Jack. Wait till we get away from the crowd
+and I'll tell you all about it."
+
+And I did.
+
+I didn't gloss over anything, but just confessed the whole truth. Jack
+heard me through in silence, and then he kissed me.
+
+"Can you forgive me, Jack, and take me back?" I whispered, cuddling up
+to him.
+
+And he said--but, on second thought, I will not write down what he
+said.
+
+We are to be married in June.
+
+
+
+
+A Substitute Journalist
+
+
+Clifford Baxter came into the sitting-room where Patty was darning
+stockings and reading a book at the same time. Patty could do things
+like that. The stockings were well darned too, and Patty understood
+and remembered what she read.
+
+Clifford flung himself into a chair with a sigh of weariness. "Tired?"
+queried Patty sympathetically.
+
+"Yes, rather. I've been tramping about the wharves all day gathering
+longshore items. But, Patty, I've got a chance at last. Tonight as I
+was leaving the office Mr. Harmer gave me a real assignment for
+tomorrow--two of them in fact, but only one of importance. I'm to go
+and interview Mr. Keefe on this new railroad bill that's up before the
+legislature. He's in town, visiting his old college friend, Mr. Reid,
+and he's quite big game. I wouldn't have had the assignment, of
+course, if there'd been anyone else to send, but most of the staff
+will be away all day tomorrow to see about that mine explosion at
+Midbury or the teamsters' strike at Bainsville, and I'm the only one
+available. Harmer gave me a pretty broad hint that it was my chance to
+win my spurs, and that if I worked up a good article out of it I'd
+stand a fair show of being taken on permanently next month when Alsop
+leaves. There'll be a shuffle all round then, you know. Everybody on
+the staff will be pushed up a peg, and that will leave a vacant space
+at the foot."
+
+Patty threw down her darning needle and clapped her hands with
+delight. Clifford gazed at her admiringly, thinking that he had the
+prettiest sister in the world--she was so bright, so eager, so rosy.
+
+"Oh, Clifford, how splendid!" she exclaimed. "Just as we'd begun to
+give up hope too. Oh, you must get the position! You must hand in a
+good write-up. Think what it means to us."
+
+"Yes, I know." Clifford dropped his head on his hand and stared
+rather moodily at the lamp. "But my joy is chastened, Patty. Of course
+I want to get the permanency, since it seems to be the only possible
+thing, but you know my heart isn't really in newspaper work. The plain
+truth is I don't like it, although I do my best. You know Father
+always said I was a born mechanic. If I only could get a position
+somewhere among machinery--that would be my choice. There's one vacant
+in the Steel and Iron Works at Bancroft--but of course I've no chance
+of getting it."
+
+"I know. It's too bad," said Patty, returning to her stockings with a
+sigh. "I wish I were a boy with a foothold on the _Chronicle_. I
+firmly believe that I'd make a good newspaper woman, if such a thing
+had ever been heard of in Aylmer."
+
+"That you would. You've twice as much knack in that line as I have.
+You seem to know by instinct just what to leave out and put in. I
+never do, and Harmer has to blue-pencil my copy mercilessly. Well,
+I'll do my best with this, as it's very necessary I should get the
+permanency, for I fear our family purse is growing very slim. Mother's
+face has a new wrinkle of worry every day. It hurts me to see it."
+
+"And me," sighed Patty. "I do wish I could find something to do too.
+If only we both could get positions, everything would be all right.
+Mother wouldn't have to worry so. Don't say anything about this chance
+to her until you see what comes of it. She'd only be doubly
+disappointed if nothing did. What is your other assignment?"
+
+"Oh, I've got to go out to Bancroft on the morning train and write up
+old Mr. Moreland's birthday celebration. He is a hundred years old,
+and there's going to be a presentation and speeches and that sort of
+thing. Nothing very exciting about it. I'll have to come back on the
+three o'clock train and hurry out to catch my politician before he
+leaves at five. Take a stroll down to meet my train, Patty. We can go
+out as far as Mr. Reid's house together, and the walk will do you
+good."
+
+The Baxters lived in Aylmer, a lively little town with two
+newspapers, the _Chronicle_ and the _Ledger_. Between these two was a
+sharp journalistic rivalry in the matter of "beats" and "scoops." In
+the preceding spring Clifford had been taken on the _Chronicle_ on
+trial, as a sort of general handyman. There was no pay attached to the
+position, but he was getting training and there was the possibility of
+a permanency in September if he proved his mettle. Mr. Baxter had died
+two years before, and the failure of the company in which Mrs.
+Baxter's money was invested had left the little family dependent on
+their own resources. Clifford, who had cherished dreams of a course in
+mechanical engineering, knew that he must give them up and go to the
+first work that offered itself, which he did staunchly and
+uncomplainingly. Patty, who hitherto had had no designs on a "career,"
+but had been sunnily content to be a home girl and Mother's right
+hand, also realized that it would be well to look about her for
+something to do. She was not really needed so far as the work of the
+little house went, and the whole burden must not be allowed to fall on
+Clifford's eighteen-year-old shoulders. Patty was his senior by a
+year, and ready to do her part unflinchingly.
+
+The next afternoon Patty went down to meet Clifford's train. When it
+came, no Clifford appeared. Patty stared about her at the hurrying
+throngs in bewilderment. Where was Clifford? Hadn't he come on the
+train? Surely he must have, for there was no other until seven
+o'clock. She must have missed him somehow. Patty waited until
+everybody had left the station, then she walked slowly homeward. As
+the _Chronicle_ office was on her way, she dropped in to see if
+Clifford had reported there.
+
+She found nobody in the editorial offices except the office boy, Larry
+Brown, who promptly informed her that not only had Clifford not
+arrived, but that there was a telegram from him saying that he had
+missed his train. Patty gasped in dismay. It was dreadful!
+
+"Where is Mr. Harmer?" she asked.
+
+"He went home as soon as the afternoon edition came out. He left
+before the telegram came. He'll be furious when he finds out that
+nobody has gone to interview that foxy old politician," said Larry,
+who knew all about Clifford's assignment and its importance.
+
+"Isn't there anyone else here to go?" queried Patty desperately.
+
+Larry shook his head. "No, there isn't a soul in. We're mighty
+short-handed just now on account of the explosion and the strike."
+
+Patty went downstairs and stood for a moment in the hall, rapt in
+reflection. If she had been at home, she verily believed she would
+have sat down and cried. Oh, it was too bad, too disappointing!
+Clifford would certainly lose all chance of the permanency, even if
+the irate news editor did not discharge him at once. What could she
+do? Could she do anything? She _must_ do something.
+
+"If I only could go in his place," moaned Patty softly to herself.
+
+Then she started. Why not? Why not go and interview the big man
+herself? To be sure, she did not know a great deal about interviewing,
+still less about railroad bills, and nothing at all about politics.
+But if she did her best it might be better than nothing, and might at
+least save Clifford his present hold.
+
+With Patty, to decide was to act. She flew back to the reporters'
+room, pounced on a pencil and tablet, and hurried off, her breath
+coming quickly, and her eyes shining with excitement. It was quite a
+long walk out to Mr. Reid's place and Patty was tired when she got
+there, but her courage was not a whit abated. She mounted the steps
+and rang the bell undauntedly.
+
+"Can I see Mr.--Mr.--Mr.--" Patty paused for a moment in dismay. She
+had forgotten the name. The maid who had come to the door looked her
+over so superciliously that Patty flushed with indignation. "The
+gentleman who is visiting Mr. Reid," she said crisply. "I can't
+remember his name, but I've come to interview him on behalf of the
+_Chronicle_. Is he in?"
+
+"If you mean Mr. Reefer, he is," said the maid quite respectfully.
+Evidently the _Chronicle_'s name carried weight in the Reid
+establishment. "Please come into the library. I'll go and tell him."
+
+Patty had just time to seat herself at the table, spread out her paper
+imposingly, and assume a businesslike air when Mr. Reefer came in. He
+was a tall, handsome old man with white hair, jet-black eyes, and a
+mouth that made Patty hope she wouldn't stumble on any questions he
+wouldn't want to answer. Patty knew she would waste her breath if she
+did. A man with a mouth like that would never tell anything he didn't
+want to tell.
+
+"Good afternoon. What can I do for you, madam?" inquired Mr. Reefer
+with the air and tone of a man who means to be courteous, but has no
+time or information to waste.
+
+Patty was almost overcome by the "Madam." For a moment, she quailed.
+She couldn't ask that masculine sphinx questions! Then the thought of
+her mother's pale, careworn face flashed across her mind, and all her
+courage came back with an inspiriting rush. She bent forward to look
+eagerly into Mr. Reefer's carved, granite face, and said with a frank
+smile:
+
+"I have come to interview you on behalf of the _Chronicle_ about the
+railroad bill. It was my brother who had the assignment, but he has
+missed his train and I have come in his place because, you see, it is
+so important to us. So much depends on this assignment. Perhaps Mr.
+Harmer will give Clifford a permanent place on the staff if he turns
+in a good article about you. He is only handyman now. I just couldn't
+let him miss the chance--he might never have another. And it means so
+much to us and Mother."
+
+"Are you a member of the _Chronicle_ staff yourself?" inquired Mr.
+Reefer with a shade more geniality in his tone.
+
+"Oh, no! I've nothing to do with it, so you won't mind my being
+inexperienced, will you? I don't know just what I should ask you, so
+won't you please just tell me everything about the bill, and Mr.
+Harmer can cut out what doesn't matter?"
+
+Mr. Reefer looked at Patty for a few moments with a face about as
+expressive as a graven image. Perhaps he was thinking about the bill,
+and perhaps he was thinking what a bright, vivid, plucky little girl
+this was with her waiting pencil and her air that strove to be
+businesslike, and only succeeded in being eager and hopeful and
+anxious.
+
+"I'm not used to being interviewed myself," he said slowly, "so I
+don't know very much about it. We're both green hands together, I
+imagine. But I'd like to help you out, so I don't mind telling you
+what I think about this bill, and its bearing on certain important
+interests."
+
+Mr. Reefer proceeded to tell her, and Patty's pencil flew as she
+scribbled down his terse, pithy sentences. She found herself asking
+questions too, and enjoying it. For the first time, Patty thought she
+might rather like politics if she understood them--and they did not
+seem so hard to understand when a man like Mr. Reefer explained them.
+For half an hour he talked to her, and at the end of that time Patty
+was in full possession of his opinion on the famous railroad bill in
+all its aspects.
+
+"There now, I'm talked out," said Mr. Reefer. "You can tell your news
+editor that you know as much about the railroad bill as Andrew Reefer
+knows. I hope you'll succeed in pleasing him, and that your brother
+will get the position he wants. But he shouldn't have missed that
+train. You tell him that. Boys with important things to do mustn't
+miss trains. Perhaps it's just as well he did in this case though,
+but tell him not to let it happen again."
+
+Patty went straight home, wrote up her interview in ship-shape form,
+and took it down to the _Chronicle_ office. There she found Mr.
+Harmer, scowling blackly. The little news editor looked to be in a
+rather bad temper, but he nodded not unkindly to Patty. Mr. Harmer
+knew the Baxters well and liked them, although he would have
+sacrificed them all without a qualm for a "scoop."
+
+"Good evening, Patty. Take a chair. That brother of yours hasn't
+turned up yet. The next time I give him an assignment, he'll manage to
+be on hand in time to do it."
+
+"Oh," cried Patty breathlessly, "please, Mr. Harmer, I have the
+interview here. I thought perhaps I could do it in Clifford's place,
+and I went out to Mr. Reid's and saw Mr. Reefer. He was very kind
+and--"
+
+"Mr. who?" fairly shouted Mr. Harmer.
+
+"Mr. Reefer--Mr. Andrew Reefer. He told me to tell you that this
+article contained all he knew or thought about the railroad bill
+and--"
+
+But Mr. Harmer was no longer listening. He had snatched the neatly
+written sheets of Patty's report and was skimming over them with a
+practised eye. Then Patty thought he must have gone crazy. He danced
+around the office, waving the sheets in the air, and then he dashed
+frantically up the stairs to the composing room.
+
+Ten minutes later, he returned and shook the mystified Patty by the
+hand.
+
+"Patty, it's the biggest beat we've ever had! We've scooped not only
+the _Ledger_, but every other newspaper in the country. How did you do
+it? How did you ever beguile or bewitch Andrew Reefer into giving you
+an interview?"
+
+"Why," said Patty in utter bewilderment, "I just went out to Mr.
+Reid's and asked for the gentleman who was visiting there--I'd
+forgotten his name--and Mr. Reefer came down and I told him my
+brother had been detailed to interview him on behalf of the
+_Chronicle_ about the bill, and that Clifford had missed his train,
+and wouldn't he let me interview him in his place and excuse my
+inexperience--and he did."
+
+"It wasn't Andrew Reefer I told Clifford to interview," laughed Mr.
+Harmer. "It was John C. Keefe. I didn't know Reefer was in town, but
+even if I had I wouldn't have thought it a particle of use to send a
+man to him. He has never consented to be interviewed before on any
+known subject, and he's been especially close-mouthed about this bill,
+although men from all the big papers in the country have been after
+him. He is notorious on that score. Why, Patty, it's the biggest
+journalistic fish that has ever been landed in this office. Andrew
+Reefer's opinion on the bill will have a tremendous influence. We'll
+run the interview as a leader in a special edition that is under way
+already. Of course, he must have been ready to give the information to
+the public or nothing would have induced him to open his mouth. But to
+think that we should be the first to get it! Patty, you're a brick!"
+
+Clifford came home on the seven o'clock train, and Patty was there to
+meet him, brimful of her story. But Clifford also had a story to tell
+and got his word in first.
+
+"Now, Patty, don't scold until you hear why I missed the train. I met
+Mr. Peabody of the Steel and Iron Company at Mr. Moreland's and got
+into conversation with him. When he found out who I was, he was
+greatly interested and said Father had been one of his best friends
+when they were at college together. I told him about wanting to get
+the position in the company, and he had me go right out to the works
+and see about it. And, Patty, I have the place. Goodbye to the grind
+of newspaper items and fillers. I tried to get back to the station at
+Bancroft in time to catch the train but I couldn't, and it was just as
+well, for Mr. Keefe was suddenly summoned home this afternoon, and
+when the three-thirty train from town stopped at Bancroft he was on
+it. I found that out and I got on, going to the next station with him
+and getting my interview after all. It's here in my notebook, and I
+must hurry up to the office and hand it in. I suppose Mr. Harmer will
+be very much vexed until he finds that I have it."
+
+"Oh, no. Mr. Harmer is in a very good humour," said Patty with dancing
+eyes. Then she told her story.
+
+The interview with Mr. Reefer came out with glaring headlines, and the
+_Chronicle_ had its hour of fame and glory. The next day Mr. Harmer
+sent word to Patty that he wanted to see her.
+
+"So Clifford is leaving," he said abruptly when she entered the
+office. "Well, do you want his place?"
+
+"Mr. Harmer, are you joking?" demanded Patty in amazement.
+
+"Not I. That stuff you handed in was splendidly written--I didn't have
+to use the pencil more than once or twice. You have the proper
+journalist instinct all right. We need a lady on the staff anyhow, and
+if you'll take the place it's yours for saying so, and the permanency
+next month."
+
+"I'll take it," said Patty promptly and joyfully.
+
+"Good. Go down to the Symphony Club rehearsal this afternoon and
+report it. You've just ten minutes to get there," and Patty joyfully
+and promptly departed.
+
+
+
+
+Anna's Love Letters
+
+
+"Are you going to answer Gilbert's letter tonight, Anna?" asked Alma
+Williams, standing in the pantry doorway, tall, fair, and grey-eyed,
+with the sunset light coming down over the dark firs, through the
+window behind her, and making a primrose nimbus around her shapely
+head.
+
+Anna, dark, vivid, and slender, was perched on the edge of the table,
+idly swinging her slippered foot at the cat's head. She smiled
+wickedly at Alma before replying.
+
+"I am not going to answer it tonight or any other night," she said,
+twisting her full, red lips in a way that Alma had learned to dread.
+Mischief was ripening in Anna's brain when that twist was out.
+
+"What do you mean?" asked Alma anxiously.
+
+"Just what I say, dear," responded Anna, with deceptive meekness.
+"Poor Gilbert is gone, and I don't intend to bother my head about him
+any longer. He was amusing while he lasted, but of what use is a beau
+two thousand miles away, Alma?"
+
+Alma was patient--outwardly. It was never of any avail to show
+impatience with Anna.
+
+"Anna, you are talking foolishly. Of course you are going to answer
+his letter. You are as good as engaged to him. Wasn't that practically
+understood when he left?"
+
+"No, no, dear," and Anna shook her sleek black head with the air of
+explaining matters to an obtuse child. "_I_ was the only one who
+understood. Gil _mis_understood. He thought that I would really wait
+for him until he should have made enough money to come home and pay
+off the mortgage. I let him think so, because I hated to hurt his
+little feelings. But now it's off with the old love and on with a new
+one for me."
+
+"Anna, you cannot be in earnest!" exclaimed Alma.
+
+But she was afraid that Anna was in earnest. Anna had a wretched
+habit of being in earnest when she said flippant things.
+
+"You don't mean that you are not going to write to Gilbert at
+all--after all you promised?"
+
+Anna placed her elbows daintily on the top of the rocking chair,
+dropped her pointed chin in her hands, and looked at Alma with black
+demure eyes.
+
+"I--do--mean--just--that," she said slowly. "I never mean to marry
+Gilbert Murray. This is final, Alma, and you need not scold or coax,
+because it would be a waste of breath. Gilbert is safely out of the
+way, and now I am going to have a good time with a few other
+delightful men creatures in Exeter."
+
+Anna nodded decisively, flashed a smile at Alma, picked up her cat,
+and went out. At the door she turned and looked back, with the big
+black cat snuggled under her chin.
+
+"If you think Gilbert will feel very badly over his letter not being
+answered, you might answer it yourself, Alma," she said teasingly.
+"There it is"--she took the letter from the pocket of her ruffled
+apron and threw it on a chair. "You may read it if you want to; it
+isn't really a love letter. I told Gilbert he wasn't to write silly
+letters. Come, pussy, I'm going to get ready for prayer meeting. We've
+got a nice, new, young, good-looking minister in Exeter, pussy, and
+that makes prayer meeting _very_ interesting."
+
+Anna shut the door, her departing laugh rippling mockingly through the
+dusk. Alma picked up Gilbert Murray's letter and went to her room. She
+wanted to cry, since she could not shake Anna. Even if she could have
+shook her, it would only have made her more perverse. Anna was in
+earnest; Alma knew that, even while she hoped and believed that it was
+but the earnestness of a freak that would pass in time. Anna had had
+one like it a year ago, when she had cast Gilbert off for three
+months, driving him distracted by flirting with Charlie Moore. Then
+she had suddenly repented and taken him back. Alma thought that this
+whim would run its course likewise and leave a repentant Anna. But
+meanwhile everything might be spoiled. Gilbert might not prove
+forgiving a second time.
+
+Alma would have given much if she could only have induced Anna to
+answer Gilbert's letter, but coaxing Anna to do anything was a very
+sure and effective way of preventing her from doing it.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Alma and Anna had lived alone at the old Williams homestead ever since
+their mother's death four years before. Exeter matrons thought this
+hardly proper, since Alma, in spite of her grave ways, was only
+twenty-four. The farm was rented, so that Alma's only responsibilities
+were the post office which she kept, and that harum-scarum beauty of
+an Anna.
+
+The Murray homestead adjoined theirs. Gilbert Murray had grown up with
+Alma; they had been friends ever since she could remember. Alma loved
+Gilbert with a love which she herself believed to be purely sisterly,
+and which nobody else doubted could be, since she had been at pains to
+make a match--Exeter matrons' phrasing--between Gil and Anna, and was
+manifestly delighted when Gilbert obligingly fell in love with the
+latter.
+
+There was a small mortgage on the Murray place which Mr. Murray senior
+had not been able to pay off. Gilbert determined to get rid of it, and
+his thoughts turned to the west. His father was an active, hale old
+man, quite capable of managing the farm in Gilbert's absence.
+Alexander MacNair had gone to the west two years previously and got
+work on a new railroad. He wrote to Gilbert to come too, promising him
+plenty of work and good pay. Gilbert went, but before going he had
+asked Anna to marry him.
+
+It was the first proposal Anna had ever had, and she managed it quite
+cleverly, from her standpoint. She told Gilbert that he must wait
+until he came home again before settling that, meanwhile, they would
+be _very_ good friends--emphasized with a blush--and that he might
+write to her. She kissed him goodbye, and Gilbert, honest fellow, was
+quite satisfied. When an Exeter girl had allowed so much to be
+inferred, it was understood to be equivalent to an engagement. Gilbert
+had never discerned that Anna was not like the other Exeter girls, but
+was a law unto herself.
+
+Alma sat down by her window and looked out over the lane where the
+slim wild cherry trees were bronzing under the autumn frosts. Her lips
+were very firmly set. Something must be done. But what?
+
+Alma's heart was set on this marriage for two reasons. Firstly, if
+Anna married Gilbert she would be near her all her life. She could not
+bear the thought that some day Anna might leave her and go far away to
+live. In the second and largest place, she desired the marriage
+because Gilbert did. She had always been desirous, even in the old,
+childish play-days, that Gilbert should get just exactly what he
+wanted. She had always taken a keen, strange delight in furthering his
+wishes.
+
+Anna's falseness would surely break his heart, and Alma winced at the
+thought of his pain.
+
+There was one thing she could do. Anna's tormenting suggestion had
+fallen on fertile soil. Alma balanced pros and cons, admitting the
+risk. But she would have taken a tenfold larger risk in the hope of
+holding secure Anna's place in Gilbert's affections until Anna herself
+should come to her senses.
+
+When it grew quite dark and Anna had gone lilting down the lane on her
+way to prayer meeting, Alma lighted her lamp, read Gilbert's
+letter--and answered it. Her handwriting was much like Anna's. She
+signed the letter "A. Williams," and there was nothing in it that
+might not have been written by her to Gilbert; but she knew that
+Gilbert would believe Anna had written it, and she intended him so to
+believe. Alma never did a thing halfway when she did it at all. At
+first she wrote rather constrainedly but, reflecting that in any case
+Anna would have written a merely friendly letter, she allowed her
+thoughts to run freely, and the resulting epistle was an excellent one
+of its kind. Alma had the gift of expression and more brains than
+Exeter people had ever imagined she possessed. When Gilbert read that
+letter a fortnight later he was surprised to find that Anna was so
+clever. He had always, with a secret regret, thought her much inferior
+to Alma in this respect, but that delightful letter, witty, wise,
+fanciful, was the letter of a clever woman.
+
+When a year had passed Alma was still writing to Gilbert the letters
+signed "A. Williams." She had ceased to fear being found out, and she
+took a strange pleasure in the correspondence for its own sake. At
+first she had been quakingly afraid of discovery. When she smuggled
+the letters addressed in Gilbert's handwriting to Miss Anna Williams
+out of the letter packet and hid them from Anna's eyes, she felt as
+guilty as if she were breaking all the laws of the land at once. To be
+sure, she knew that she would have to confess to Anna some day, when
+the latter repented and began to wish she had written to Gilbert, but
+that was a very different thing from premature disclosure.
+
+But Anna had as yet given no sign of such repentance, although Alma
+looked for it anxiously. Anna was having the time of her life. She was
+the acknowledged beauty of five settlements, and she went forward on
+her career of conquest quite undisturbed by the jealousies and
+heart-burnings she provoked on every side.
+
+One moonlight night she went for a sleigh-drive with Charlie Moore of
+East Exeter--and returned to tell Alma that they were married!
+
+"I knew you would make a fuss, Alma, because you don't like Charlie,
+so we just took matters into our own hands. It was so much more
+romantic, too. I'd always said I'd never be married in any of your
+dull, commonplace ways. You might as well forgive me and be nice right
+off, Alma, because you'd have to do it anyway, in time. Well, you do
+look surprised!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Alma accepted the situation with an apathy that amazed Anna. The truth
+was that Alma was stunned by a thought that had come to her even while
+Anna was speaking.
+
+"Gilbert will find out about the letters now, and despise me."
+
+Nothing else, not even the fact that Anna had married shiftless
+Charlie Moore, seemed worth while considering beside this. The fear
+and shame of it haunted her like a nightmare; she shrank every morning
+from the thought of all the mail that was coming that day, fearing
+that there would be an angry, puzzled letter from Gilbert. He must
+certainly soon hear of Anna's marriage; he would see it in the home
+paper, other correspondents in Exeter would write him of it. Alma grew
+sick at heart thinking of the complications in front of her.
+
+When Gilbert's letter came she left it for a whole day before she
+could summon courage to open it. But it was a harmless epistle after
+all; he had not yet heard of Anna's marriage. Alma had at first no
+thought of answering it, yet her fingers ached to do so. Now that Anna
+was gone, her loneliness was unbearable. She realized how much
+Gilbert's letters had meant to her, even when written to another
+woman. She could bear her life well enough, she thought, if she only
+had his letters to look forward to.
+
+No more letters came from Gilbert for six weeks. Then came one,
+alarmed at Anna's silence, anxiously asking the reason for it; Gilbert
+had heard no word of the marriage. He was working in a remote district
+where newspapers seldom penetrated. He had no other correspondent in
+Exeter now; except his mother, and she, not knowing that he supposed
+himself engaged to Anna had forgotten to mention it.
+
+Alma answered that letter. She told herself recklessly that she would
+keep on writing to him until he found out. She would lose his
+friendship anyhow, when that occurred, but meanwhile she would have
+the letters a little longer. She could not learn to live without them
+until she had to.
+
+The correspondence slipped back into its old groove. The harassed look
+which Alma's face had worn, and which Exeter people had attributed to
+worry over Anna, disappeared. She did not even feel lonely, and
+reproached herself for lack of proper feeling in missing Anna so
+little. Besides, to her horror and dismay, she detected in herself a
+strange undercurrent of relief at the thought that Gilbert could never
+marry Anna now! She could not understand it. Had not that marriage
+been her dearest wish for years? Why then should she feel this strange
+gladness at the impossibility of its fulfilment? Altogether, Alma
+feared that her condition of mind and morals must be sadly askew.
+Perhaps, she thought mournfully, this perversion of proper feeling was
+her punishment for the deception she had practised. She had
+deliberately done evil that good might come, and now the very
+imaginations of her heart were stained by that evil. Alma cried
+herself to sleep many a night in her repentance, but she kept on
+writing to Gilbert, for all that.
+
+The winter passed, and the spring and summer waned, and Alma's outward
+life flowed as smoothly as the currents of the seasons, broken only by
+vivid eruptions from Anna, who came over often from East Exeter,
+glorying in her young matronhood, "to cheer Alma up." Alma, so said
+Exeter people, was becoming unsociable and old maidish. She lost her
+liking for company, and seldom went anywhere among her neighbours. Her
+once frequent visits across the yard to chat with old Mrs. Murray
+became few and far between. She could not bear to hear the old lady
+talking about Gilbert, and she was afraid that some day she would be
+told that he was coming home. Gilbert's home-coming was the nightmare
+dread that darkened poor Alma's whole horizon.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+One October day, two years after Gilbert's departure, Alma, standing
+at her window in the reflected glow of a red maple outside, looked
+down the lane and saw him striding up it! She had had no warning of
+his coming. His last letter, dated three weeks back, had not hinted at
+it. Yet there he was--and with him Alma's Nemesis.
+
+She was very calm. Now that the worst had come, she felt quite strong
+to meet it. She would tell Gilbert the truth, and he would go away in
+anger and never forgive her, but she deserved it. As she went
+downstairs, the only thing that really worried her was the thought of
+the pain Gilbert would suffer when she told him of Anna's
+faithlessness. She had seen his face as he passed under her window,
+and it was the face of a blithe man who had not heard any evil
+tidings. It was left to her to tell him; surely, she thought
+apathetically, that was punishment enough for what she had done.
+
+With her hand on the doorknob, she paused to wonder what she should
+say when he asked her why she had not told him of Anna's marriage when
+it occurred--why she had still continued the deception when it had no
+longer an end to serve. Well, she would tell him the truth--that it
+was because she could not bear the thought of giving up writing to
+him. It was a humiliating thing to confess, but that did not
+matter--nothing mattered now. She opened the door.
+
+Gilbert was standing on the big round door-stone under the red
+maple--a tall, handsome young fellow with a bronzed face and laughing
+eyes. His exile had improved him. Alma found time and ability to
+reflect that she had never known Gilbert was so fine-looking.
+
+He put his arm around her and kissed her cheek in his frank delight at
+seeing her again. Alma coldly asked him in. Her face was still as pale
+as when she came downstairs, but a curious little spot of fiery red
+blossomed out where Gilbert's lips had touched it.
+
+Gilbert followed her into the sitting-room and looked about eagerly.
+
+"When did you come home?" she said slowly. "I did not know you were
+expected."
+
+"Got homesick, and just came! I wanted to surprise you all," he
+answered, laughing. "I arrived only a few minutes ago. Just took time
+to hug my mother, and here I am. Where's Anna?"
+
+The pent-up retribution of two years descended on Alma's head in the
+last question of Gilbert's. But she did not flinch. She stood straight
+before him, tall and fair and pale, with the red maple light streaming
+in through the open door behind her, staining her light house-dress
+and mellowing the golden sheen of her hair. Gilbert reflected that
+Alma Williams was really a very handsome girl. These two years had
+improved her. What splendid big grey eyes she had! He had always
+wished that Anna's eyes had not been quite so black.
+
+"Anna is not here," said Alma. "She is married."
+
+"Married!"
+
+Gilbert sat down suddenly on a chair and looked at Alma in
+bewilderment.
+
+"She has been married for a year," said Alma steadily. "She married
+Charlie Moore of East Exeter, and has been living there ever since."
+
+"Then," said Gilbert, laying hold of the one solid fact that loomed
+out of the mist of his confused understanding, "why did she keep on
+writing letters to me after she was married?"
+
+"She never wrote to you at all. It was I that wrote the letters."
+
+Gilbert looked at Alma doubtfully. Was she crazy? There was something
+odd about her, now that he noticed, as she stood rigidly there, with
+that queer red spot on her face, a strange fire in her eyes, and that
+weird reflection from the maple enveloping her like an immaterial
+flame.
+
+"I don't understand," he said helplessly.
+
+Still standing there, Alma told the whole story, giving full
+explanations, but no excuses. She told it clearly and simply, for she
+had often pictured this scene to herself and thought out what she must
+say. Her memory worked automatically, and her tongue obeyed it
+promptly. To herself she seemed like a machine, talking mechanically,
+while her soul stood on one side and listened.
+
+When she had finished there was a silence lasting perhaps ten seconds.
+To Alma it seemed like hours. Would Gilbert overwhelm her with angry
+reproaches, or would he simply rise up and leave her in unutterable
+contempt? It was the most tragic moment of her life, and her whole
+personality was strung up to meet it and withstand it.
+
+"Well, they were good letters, anyhow," said Gilbert finally;
+"interesting letters," he added, as if by way of a meditative
+afterthought.
+
+It was so anti-climactic that Alma broke into an hysterical giggle,
+cut short by a sob. She dropped into a chair by the table and flung
+her hands over her face, laughing and sobbing softly to herself.
+Gilbert rose and walked to the door, where he stood with his back to
+her until she regained her self-control. Then he turned and looked
+down at her quizzically.
+
+Alma's hands lay limply in her lap, and her eyes were cast down, with
+tears glistening on the long fair lashes. She felt his gaze on her.
+
+"Can you ever forgive me, Gilbert?" she said humbly.
+
+"I don't know that there is much to forgive," he answered. "I have
+some explanations to make too and, since we're at it, we might as well
+get them all over and have done with them. Two years ago I did
+honestly think I was in love with Anna--at least when I was round
+where she was. She had a taking way with her. But, somehow, even then,
+when I wasn't with her she seemed to kind of grow dim and not count
+for so awful much after all. I used to wish she was more like
+you--quieter, you know, and not so sparkling. When I parted from her
+that last night before I went west, I did feel very bad, and she
+seemed very dear to me, but it was six weeks from that before
+her--your--letter came, and in that time she seemed to have faded out
+of my thoughts. Honestly, I wasn't thinking much about her at all.
+Then came the letter--and it was a splendid one, too. I had never
+thought that Anna could write a letter like that, and I was as pleased
+as Punch about it. The letters kept coming, and I kept on looking for
+them more and more all the time. I fell in love all over again--with
+the writer of those letters. I thought it was Anna, but since you
+wrote the letters, it must have been with you, Alma. I thought it was
+because she was growing more womanly that she could write such
+letters. That was why I came home. I wanted to get acquainted all over
+again, before she grew beyond me altogether--I wanted to find the real
+Anna the letters showed me. I--I--didn't expect this. But I don't care
+if Anna is married, so long as the girl who wrote those letters isn't.
+It's you I love, Alma."
+
+He bent down and put his arm about her, laying his cheek against hers.
+The little red spot where his kiss had fallen was now quite drowned
+out in the colour that rushed over her face.
+
+"If you'll marry me, Alma, I'll forgive you," he said.
+
+A little smile escaped from the duress of Alma's lips and twitched her
+dimples.
+
+"I'm willing to do anything that will win your forgiveness, Gilbert,"
+she said meekly.
+
+
+
+
+Aunt Caroline's Silk Dress
+
+
+Patty came in from her walk to the post office with cheeks finely
+reddened by the crisp air. Carry surveyed her with pleasure. Of late
+Patty's cheeks had been entirely too pale to please Carry, and Patty
+had not had a very good appetite. Once or twice she had even
+complained of a headache. So Carry had sent her to the office for a
+walk that night, although the post office trip was usually Carry's own
+special constitutional, always very welcome to her after a weary day
+of sewing on other people's pretty dresses.
+
+Carry never sewed on pretty dresses for herself, for the simple reason
+that she never had any pretty dresses. Carry was twenty-two--and
+feeling forty, her last pretty dress had been when she was a girl of
+twelve, before her father had died. To be sure, there was the silk
+organdie Aunt Kathleen had sent her, but that was fit only for
+parties, and Carry never went to any parties.
+
+"Did you get any mail, Patty?" she asked unexpectantly. There was
+never much mail for the Lea girls.
+
+"Yes'm," said Patty briskly. "Here's the _Weekly Advocate_, and a
+patent medicine almanac with all your dreams expounded, _and_ a letter
+for Miss Carry M. Lea. It's postmarked Enfield, and has a suspiciously
+matrimonial look. I'm sure it's an invitation to Chris Fairley's
+wedding. Hurry up and see, Caddy."
+
+Carry, with a little flush of excitement on her face, opened her
+letter. Sure enough, it contained an invitation "to be present at the
+marriage of Christine Fairley."
+
+"How jolly!" exclaimed Patty. "Of course you'll go, Caddy. You'll have
+a chance to wear that lovely organdie of yours at last."
+
+"It was sweet of Chris to invite me," said Carry. "I really didn't
+expect it."
+
+"Well, I did. Wasn't she your most intimate friend when she lived in
+Enderby?"
+
+"Oh, yes, but it is four years since she left, and some people might
+forget in four years. But I might have known Chris wouldn't. Of course
+I'll go."
+
+"And you'll make up your organdie?"
+
+"I shall have to," laughed Carry, forgetting all her troubles for a
+moment, and feeling young and joyous over the prospect of a festivity.
+"I haven't another thing that would do to wear to a wedding. If I
+hadn't that blessed organdie I couldn't go, that's all."
+
+"But you have it, and it will look lovely made up with a tucked skirt.
+Tucks are so fashionable now. And there's that lace of mine you can
+have for a bertha. I want you to look just right, you see. Enfield is
+a big place, and there will be lots of grandees at the wedding. Let's
+get the last fashion sheet and pick out a design right away. Here's
+one on the very first page that would be nice. You could wear it to
+perfection, Caddy you're so tall and slender. It wouldn't suit a plump
+and podgy person like myself at all."
+
+Carry liked the pattern, and they had an animated discussion over it.
+But, in the end, Carry sighed, and pushed the sheet away from her,
+with all the brightness gone out of face.
+
+"It's no use, Patty. I'd forgotten for a few minutes, but it's all
+come back now. I can't think of weddings and new dresses, when the
+thought of that interest crowds everything else out. It's due next
+month--fifty dollars--and I've only ten saved up. I can't make forty
+dollars in a month, even if I had any amount of sewing, and you know
+hardly anyone wants sewing done just now. I don't know what we shall
+do. Oh, I suppose we can rent a couple of rooms in the village and
+_exist_ in them. But it breaks my heart to think of leaving our old
+home."
+
+"Perhaps Mr. Kerr will let us have more time," suggested Patty, not
+very hopefully. The sparkle had gone out of her face too. Patty loved
+their little home as much as Carry did.
+
+"You know he won't. He has been only too anxious for an excuse to
+foreclose, this long time. He wants the land the house is on. Oh, if I
+only hadn't been sick so long in the summer--just when everybody had
+sewing to do. I've tried so hard to catch up, but I couldn't." Carry's
+voice broke in a sob.
+
+Patty leaned over the table and patted her sister's glossy dark hair
+gently.
+
+"You've worked too hard, dearie. You've just gone to skin and bone.
+Oh, I know how hard it is! I can't bear to think of leaving this dear
+old spot either. If we could only induce Mr. Kerr to give us a year's
+grace! I'd be teaching then, and we could easily pay the interest and
+some of the principal too. Perhaps he will if we both go to him and
+coax very hard. Anyway, don't worry over it till after the wedding. I
+want you to go and have a good time. You never have good times,
+Carry."
+
+"Neither do you," said Carry rebelliously. "You never have anything
+that other girls have, Patty--not even pretty clothes."
+
+"Deed, and I've lots of things to be thankful for," said Patty
+cheerily. "Don't you fret about me. I'm vain enough to think I've got
+some brains anyway, and I'm a-meaning to do something with them too.
+Now I think I'll go upstairs and study this evening. It will be warm
+enough there tonight, and the noise of the machine rather bothers me."
+
+Patty whisked out, and Carry knew she should go to her sewing. But she
+sat a long while at the table in dismal thought. She was so tired, and
+so hopeless. It had been such a hard struggle, and it seemed now as if
+it would all come to naught. For five years, ever since her mother's
+death, Carry had supported herself and Patty by dressmaking. They had
+been a hard five years of pinching and economizing and going without,
+for Enderby was only a small place, and there were two other
+dressmakers. Then there was always the mortgage to devour everything.
+Carry had kept it at bay till now, but at last she was conquered. She
+had had typhoid fever in the spring and had not been able to work for
+a long time. Indeed, she had gone to work before she should. The
+doctor's bill was yet unpaid, but Dr. Hamilton had told her to take
+her time. Carry knew she would not be pressed for that, and next year
+Patty would be able to help her. But next year would be too late. The
+dear little home would be lost then.
+
+When Carry roused herself from her sad reflections, she saw a crumpled
+note lying on the floor. She picked it up and absently smoothed it
+out. Seeing Patty's name at the top she was about to lay it aside
+without reading it, but the lines were few, and the sense of them
+flashed into Carry's brain. The note was an invitation to Clare
+Forbes's party! The Lea girls had known that the Forbes girls were
+going to give a party, but they had not expected that Patty would be
+invited. Of course, Clare Forbes was in Patty's class at school and
+was always very nice and friendly with her. But then the Forbes set
+was not the Lea set.
+
+Carry ran upstairs to Patty's room. "Patty, you dropped this on the
+floor. I couldn't help seeing what it was. Why didn't you tell me
+Clare had invited you?"
+
+"Because I knew I couldn't go, and I thought you would feel badly over
+that. Caddy, I wish you hadn't seen it."
+
+"Oh, Patty, I _do_ wish you could go to the party. It was so sweet of
+Clare to invite you, and perhaps she will be offended if you don't
+go--she won't understand. Clare Forbes isn't a girl whose friendship
+is to be lightly thrown away when it is offered."
+
+"I know that. But, Caddy dear, it is impossible. I don't think that I
+have any foolish pride about clothes, but you know it is out of the
+question to think of going to Clare Forbes's party in my last winter's
+plaid dress, which is a good two inches too short and skimpy in
+proportion. Putting my own feelings aside, it would be an insult to
+Clare. There, don't think any more about it."
+
+But Carry did think about it. She lay awake half the night wondering
+if there might not be some way for Patty to go to that party. She knew
+it was impossible, unless Patty had a new dress, and how could a new
+dress be had? Yet she did so want Patty to go. Patty never had any
+good times, and she was studying so hard. Then, all at once, Carry
+thought of a way by which Patty might have a new dress. She had been
+tossing restlessly, but now she lay very still, staring with wide-open
+eyes at the moonlit window, with the big willow boughs branching
+darkly across it. Yes, it was a way, but could she? _Could_ she? Yes,
+she could, and she would. Carry buried her face in her pillow with a
+sob and a gulp. But she had decided what must be done, and how it must
+be done.
+
+"Are you going to begin on your organdie today?" asked Patty in the
+morning, before she started for school.
+
+"I must finish Mrs. Pidgeon's suit first," Carry answered. "Next week
+will be time enough to think about my wedding garments."
+
+She tried to laugh and failed. Patty thought with a pang that Carry
+looked horribly pale and tired--probably she had worried most of the
+night over the interest. "I'm so glad she's going to Chris's wedding,"
+thought Patty, as she hurried down the street. "It will take her out
+of herself and give her something nice to think of for ever so long."
+
+Nothing more was said that week about the organdie, or the wedding, or
+the Forbes's party. Carry sewed fiercely, and sat at her machine for
+hours after Patty had gone to bed. The night before the party she said
+to Patty, "Braid your hair tonight, Patty. You'll want it nice and
+wavy to go to the Forbes's tomorrow night."
+
+Patty thought that Carry was actually trying to perpetrate a weak
+joke, and endeavoured to laugh. But it was a rather dreary laugh.
+Patty, after a hard evening's study, felt tired and discouraged, and
+she was really dreadfully disappointed about the party, although she
+wouldn't have let Carry suspect it for the world.
+
+"You're going, you know," said Carry, as serious as a judge, although
+there was a little twinkle in her eyes.
+
+"In a faded plaid two inches too short?" Patty smiled as brightly as
+possible.
+
+"Oh, no. I have a dress all ready for you." Carry opened the wardrobe
+door and took out--the loveliest girlish dress of creamy organdie,
+with pale pink roses scattered over it, made with the daintiest of
+ruffles and tucks, with a bertha of soft creamy lace, and a girdle of
+white silk. "This is for you," said Carry.
+
+Patty gazed at the dress with horror-stricken eyes. "Caroline Lea,
+_that is your organdie!_ And you've gone and made it up for _me_!
+Carry Lea, what are you going to wear to the wedding?"
+
+"Nothing. I'm not going."
+
+"You are--you must--you shall. I won't take the organdie."
+
+"You'll have to now, because it's made to fit you. Come, Patty dear,
+I've set my heart on your going to that party. You mustn't disappoint
+me--you _can't_, for what good would it do? I can never wear the dress
+now."
+
+Patty realized that. She knew she might as well go to the party, but
+she did not feel much pleasure in the prospect. Nevertheless, when she
+was ready for it the next evening, she couldn't help a little thrill
+of delight. The dress was so pretty, and dainty, and becoming.
+
+"You look sweet," exclaimed Carry admiringly. "There, I hear the
+Browns' carriage. Patty, I want you to promise me this--that you'll
+not let any thought of me, or my not going to the wedding, spoil your
+enjoyment this evening. I gave you the dress that you might have a
+good time, so don't make my gift of no effect."
+
+"I'll try," promised Patty, flying downstairs, where her next-door
+neighbours were waiting for her.
+
+At two o'clock that night Carry was awakened to see Patty bending over
+her, flushed and radiant. Carry sat sleepily up. "I hope you had a
+good time," she said.
+
+"I had--oh, I had--but I didn't waken you out of your hard-earned
+slumbers at this wee sma' hour to tell you that. Carry, I've thought
+of a way for you to go to the wedding. It just came to me at supper.
+Mrs. Forbes was sitting opposite to me, and her dress suggested it.
+You must make over Aunt Caroline's silk dress."
+
+"Nonsense," said Carry, a little crossly; even sweet-tempered people
+are sometimes cross when they are wakened up for--as it
+seemed--nothing.
+
+"It's good plain sense. Of course, you must make it over and--"
+
+"Patty Lea, you're crazy. I wouldn't dream of wearing that hideous
+thing. Bright green silk, with huge yellow brocade flowers as big as
+cabbages all over it! I think I see myself in it."
+
+"Caddy, listen to me. You know there's enough of that black lace of
+mother's for the waist, and the big black lace shawl of Grandmother
+Lea's will do for the skirt. Make it over--"
+
+"A plain slip of the silk," gasped Carry, her quick brain seizing on
+all the possibilities of the plan. "Why didn't I think of it before?
+It will be just the thing, the greens and yellow will be toned down to
+a nice shimmer under the black lace. And I'll make cuffs of black
+velvet with double puffs above--and just cut out a wee bit at the
+throat with a frill of lace and a band of black velvet ribbon around
+my neck. Patty Lea, it's an inspiration."
+
+Carry was out of bed by daylight the next morning and, while Patty
+still slumbered, she mounted to the garret, and took Aunt Caroline's
+silk dress from the chest where it had lain forgotten for three
+years. Carry held it up at arm's length, and looked at it with
+amusement.
+
+"It is certainly ugly, but with the lace over it it will look very
+different. There's enough of it, anyway, and that skirt is stiff
+enough to stand alone. Poor Aunt Caroline, I'm afraid I wasn't
+particularly grateful for her gift at the time, but I really am now."
+
+Aunt Caroline, who had given the dress to Carry three years before,
+was, an old lady of eighty, the aunt of Carry's father. She had once
+possessed a snug farm but in an evil hour she had been persuaded to
+deed it to her nephew, Edward Curry, whom she had brought up. Poor
+Aunt Caroline had lived to regret this step, for everyone in Enderby
+knew that Edward Curry and his wife had repaid her with ingratitude
+and greed.
+
+Carry, who was named for her, was her favourite grandniece and often
+went to see her, though such visits were coldly received by the
+Currys, who always took especial care never to leave Aunt Caroline
+alone with any of her relatives. On one occasion, when Carry was
+there, Aunt Caroline had brought out this silk dress.
+
+"I'm going to give this to you, Carry," she said timidly. "It's a good
+silk, and not so very old. Mr. Greenley gave it to me for a birthday
+present fifteen years ago. Maybe you can make it over for yourself."
+
+Mrs. Edward, who was on duty at the time, sniffed disagreeably, but
+she said nothing. The dress was of no value in her eyes, for the
+pattern was so ugly and old-fashioned that none of her smart daughters
+would have worn it. Had it been otherwise, Aunt Caroline would
+probably not have been allowed to give it away.
+
+Carry had thanked Aunt Caroline sincerely. If she did not care much
+for the silk, she at least prized the kindly motive behind the gift.
+Perhaps she and Patty laughed a little over it as they packed it away
+in the garret. It was so very ugly, but Carry thought it was sweet of
+Aunt Caroline to have given her something. Poor old Aunt Caroline had
+died soon after, and Carry had not thought about the silk dress again.
+She had too many other things to think of, this poor worried Carry.
+
+After breakfast Carry began to rip the skirt breadths apart. Snip,
+snip, went her scissors, while her thoughts roamed far afield--now
+looking forward with renewed pleasure to Christine's wedding, now
+dwelling dolefully on the mortgage. Patty, who was washing the dishes,
+knew just what her thoughts were by the light and shadow on her
+expressive face.
+
+"Why!--what?" exclaimed Carry suddenly. Patty wheeled about to see
+Carry staring at the silk dress like one bewitched. Between the silk
+and the lining which she had just ripped apart was a twenty-dollar
+bill, and beside it a sheet of letter paper covered with writing in a
+cramped angular hand, both secured very carefully to the silk.
+
+"Carry Lea!" gasped Patty.
+
+With trembling fingers Carry snipped away the stitches that held the
+letter, and read it aloud.
+
+    "My dear Caroline," it ran, "I do not know when you will find
+    this letter and this money, but when you do it belongs to you.
+    I have a hundred dollars which I always meant to give you
+    because you were named for me. But Edward and his wife do not
+    know I have it, and I don't want them to find out. They would
+    not let me give it to you if they knew, so I have thought of
+    this way of getting it to you. I have sewed five twenty-dollar
+    bills under the lining of this skirt, and they are all yours,
+    with your Aunt Caroline's best love. You were always a good
+    girl, Carry, and you've worked hard, and I've given Edward
+    enough. Just take this money and use it as you like.
+
+                                   "Aunt Caroline Greenley."
+
+
+"Carry Lea, are we both dreaming?" gasped Patty.
+
+With crimson cheeks Carry ripped the other breadths apart, and there
+were the other four bills. Then she slipped down in a little heap on
+the sofa cushions and began to cry--happy tears of relief and
+gladness.
+
+"We can pay the interest," said Patty, dancing around the room, "and
+get yourself a nice new dress for the wedding."
+
+"Indeed I won't," said Carry, sitting up and laughing through her
+tears. "I'll make over this dress and wear it out of gratitude to the
+memory of dear Aunt Caroline."
+
+
+
+
+Aunt Susanna's Thanksgiving Dinner.
+
+BY L.M. MONTGOMERY
+
+
+"Here's Aunt Susanna, girls," said Laura who was sitting by the north
+window--nothing but north light does for Laura who is the artist of
+our talented family.
+
+Each of us has a little pet new-fledged talent which we are faithfully
+cultivating in the hope that it will amount to something and soar
+highly some day. But it is difficult to cultivate four talents on our
+tiny income. If Laura wasn't such a good manager we never could do it.
+
+Laura's words were a signal for Kate to hang up her violin and for me
+to push my pen and portfolio out of sight. Laura had hidden her
+brushes and water colors as she spoke. Only Margaret continued to bend
+serenely over her Latin grammar. Aunt Susanna frowns on musical and
+literary and artistic ambitions but she accords a faint approval to
+Margaret's desire for an education. A college course, with a tangible
+diploma at the end, and a sensible pedagogic aspiration is something
+Aunt Susanna can understand when she tries hard. But she cannot
+understand messing with paints, fiddling, or scribbling, and she has
+only unmeasured contempt for messers, fiddlers, and scribblers. Time
+was when we had paid no attention to Aunt Susanna's views on these
+points; but ever since she had, on one incautious day when she was in
+high good humor, dropped a pale, anemic little hint that she might
+send Margaret to college if she were a good girl we had been bending
+all our energies towards securing Aunt Susanna's approval. It was not
+enough that Aunt Susanna should approve of Margaret; she must approve
+of the whole four of us or she would not help Margaret. That is Aunt
+Susanna's way. Of late we had been growing a little discouraged. Aunt
+Susanna had recently read a magazine article which stated that the
+higher education of women was ruining our country and that a woman who
+was a B.A. couldn't, in the very nature of things, ever be a
+housewifely, cookly creature. Consequently, Margaret's chances looked
+a little foggy; but we hadn't quite given up hope. A very little thing
+might sway Aunt Susanna one way or the other, so that we walked very
+softly and tried to mingle serpents' wisdom and doves' harmlessness in
+practical portions.
+
+When Aunt Susanna came in Laura was crocheting, Kate was sewing, and I
+was poring over a recipe book. That was not deception at all, since we
+did all these things frequently--much more frequently, in fact, than
+we painted or fiddled or wrote. But Aunt Susanna would never believe
+it. Nor did she believe it now.
+
+She threw back her lovely new sealskin cape, looked around the
+sitting-room and then smiled--a truly Aunt Susannian smile.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"What a pity you forgot to wipe that smudge of paint off your nose,
+Laura," she said sarcastically. "You don't seem to get on very fast
+with your lace. How long is it since you began it? Over three months,
+isn't it?"
+
+"This is the third piece of the same pattern I've done in three
+months, Aunt Susanna," said Laura presently. Laura is an old duck. She
+never gets cross and snaps back. I do; and it's so hard not to with
+Aunt Susanna sometimes. But I generally manage it for I'd do anything
+for Margaret. Laura did not tell Aunt Susanna that she sold her lace
+at the Women's Exchange in town and made enough to buy her new hats.
+She makes enough out of her water colors to dress herself.
+
+Aunt Susanna took a second breath and started in again.
+
+"I notice your violin hasn't quite as much dust on it as the rest of
+the things in this room, Kate. It's a pity you stopped playing just as
+I came in. I don't enjoy fiddling much but I'd prefer it to seeing
+anyone using a needle who isn't accustomed to it."
+
+Kate is really a most dainty needlewoman and does all the fine sewing
+in our family. She colored and said nothing--that being the highest
+pitch of virtue to which our Katie, like myself, can attain.
+
+"And there's Margaret ruining her eyes over books," went on Aunt
+Susanna severely. "Will you kindly tell me, Margaret Thorne, what good
+you ever expect Latin to do you?"
+
+"Well, you see, Aunt Susanna," said Margaret gently--Magsie and Laura
+are birds of a feather--"I want to be a teacher if I can manage to get
+through, and I shall need Latin for that."
+
+All the girls except me had now got their accustomed rap, but I knew
+better than to hope I should escape.
+
+"So you're reading a recipe book, Agnes? Well, that's better than
+poring over a novel. I'm afraid you haven't been at it very long
+though. People generally don't read recipes upside down--and besides,
+you didn't quite cover up your portfolio. I see a corner of it
+sticking out. Was genius burning before I came in? It's too bad if I
+quenched the flame."
+
+"A cookery book isn't such a novelty to me as you seem to think, Aunt
+Susanna," I said, as meekly as it was possible for me. "Why I'm a real
+good cook--'if I do say it as hadn't orter.'"
+
+I am, too.
+
+"Well, I'm glad to hear it," said Aunt Susanna skeptically, "because
+that has to do with my errand her to-day. I'm in a peck of troubles.
+Firstly, Miranda Mary's mother has had to go and get sick and Miranda
+Mary must go home to wait on her. Secondly, I've just had a telegram
+from my sister-in-law who has been ordered west for her health, and
+I'll have to leave on to-night's train to see her before she goes. I
+can't get back until the noon train Thursday, and that is
+Thanksgiving, and I've invited Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert to dinner that
+day. They'll come on the same train. I'm dreadfully worried. There
+doesn't seem to be anything I can do except get on of you girls to go
+up to the Pinery Thursday morning and cook the dinner for us. Do you
+think you can manage it?"
+
+We all felt rather dismayed, and nobody volunteered with a rush. But
+as I had just boasted that I could cook it was plainly my duty to step
+into the breach, and I did it with fear and trembling.
+
+"I'll go, Aunt Susanna," I said.
+
+"And I'll help you," said Kate.
+
+"Well, I suppose I'll have to try you," said Aunt Susanna with the air
+of a woman determined to make the best of a bad business. "Here is the
+key of the kitchen door. You'll find everything in the pantry, turkey
+and all. The mince pies are all ready made so you'll only have to warm
+them up. I want dinner sharp at twelve for the train is due at 11:50.
+Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert are very particular and I do hope you will have
+things right. Oh, if I could only be home myself! Why will people get
+sick at such inconvenient times?"
+
+"Don't worry, Aunt Susanna," I said comfortingly. "Kate and I will
+have your Thanksgiving dinner ready for you in tiptop style."
+
+"Well I'm sure I hope so. Don't get to mooning over a story, Agnes.
+I'll lock the library up and fortunately there are no fiddles at the
+Pinery. Above all, don't let any of the McGinnises in. They'll be sure
+to be prowling around when I'm not home. Don't give that dog of theirs
+any scraps either. That is Miranda Mary's one fault. She will feed
+that dog in spite of all I can do and I can't walk out of my own back
+door without falling over him."
+
+We promise to eschew the McGinnises and all their works, including
+the dog, and when Aunt Susanna had gone we looked at each other with
+mingled hope and fear.
+
+"Girls, this is the chance of your lives," said Laura. "If you can
+only please Aunt Susanna with this dinner it will convince her that
+you are good cooks in spite of your nefarious bent for music and
+literature. I consider the illness of Miranda Mary's mother a
+Providential interposition--that is, if she isn't too sick."
+
+"It's all very well for you to be pleased, Lolla," I said dolefully.
+"But I don't feel jubilant over the prospect at all. Something will
+probably go wrong. And then there's our own nice little Thanksgiving
+celebration we've planned, and pinched and economized for weeks to
+provide. That is half spoiled now."
+
+"Oh, what is that compared to Margaret's chance of going to college?"
+exclaimed Kate. "Cheer up, Aggie. You know we can cook. I feel that it
+is now or never with Aunt Susanna."
+
+I cheered up accordingly. We are not given to pessimism which is
+fortunate. Ever since father died four years ago we have struggled on
+here, content to give up a good deal just to keep our home and be
+together. This little gray house--oh, how we do love it and its apple
+trees--is ours and we have, as aforesaid, a tiny income and our
+ambitions; not very big ambitions but big enough to give zest to our
+lives and hope to the future. We've been very happy as a rule. Aunt
+Susanna has a big house and lots of money but she isn't as happy as
+we are. She nags us a good deal--just as she used to nag father--but
+we don't mind it very much after all. Indeed, I sometimes suspect that
+we really like Aunt Susanna tremendously if she'd only leave us alone
+long enough to find it out.
+
+Thursday morning was an ideal Thanksgiving morning--bright, crisp and
+sparkling. There had been a white frost in the night, and the orchard
+and the white birch wood behind it looked like fairyland. We were all
+up early. None of us had slept well, and both Kate and I had had the
+most fearful dreams of spoiling Aunt Susanna's Thanksgiving dinner.
+
+"Never mind, dreams always go by contraries, you know," said Laura
+cheerfully. "You'd better go up to the Pinery early and get the fires
+on, for the house will be cold. Remember the McGinnises and the dog.
+Weigh the turkey so that you'll know exactly how long to cook it. Put
+the pies in the oven in time to get piping hot--lukewarm mince pies
+are an abomination. Be sure--"
+
+"Laura, don't confuse us with any more cautions," I groaned, "or we
+shall get hopelessly fuddled. Come on, Kate, before she has time to."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+It wasn't very far up to the Pinery--just ten minutes' walk, and such
+a delightful walk on that delightful morning. We went through the
+orchard and then through the white birch wood where the loveliness of
+the frosted boughs awed us. Beyond that there was a lane between ranks
+of young, balsamy, white-misted firs and then an open pasture field,
+sere and crispy. Just across it was the Pinery, a lovely old house
+with dormer windows in the roof, surrounded by pines that were dark
+and glorious against the silvery morning sky.
+
+The McGinnis dog was sitting on the back-door steps when we arrived.
+He wagged his tail ingratiatingly, but we ruthlessly pushed him off,
+went in and shut the door in his face. All the little McGinnises were
+sitting in a row on their fence, and they whooped derisively. The
+McGinnis manners are not those which appertain to the caste of Vere de
+Vere; but we rather like the urchins--there are eight of them--and we
+would probably have gone over to talk to them if we had not had the
+fear of Aunt Susanna before our eyes.
+
+We kindled the fires, weighed the turkey, put it in the oven and
+prepared the vegetables. Then we set the dining-room table and
+decorated it with Aunt Susanna's potted ferns and dishes of lovely red
+apples. Everything went so smoothly that we soon forgot to be nervous.
+When the turkey was done, we took it out, set it on the back of the
+range to keep warm and put the mince pies in. The potatoes, cabbage
+and turnips were bubbling away cheerfully, and everything was going as
+merrily as a marriage bell. Then, all at once, things happened.
+
+In an evil hour we went to the yard window and looked out. We saw a
+quiet scene. The McGinnis dog was still sitting on his haunches by the
+steps, just as he had been sitting all the morning. Down in the
+McGinnis yard everything wore an unusually peaceful aspect. Only one
+McGinnis was in sight--Tony, aged eight, who was perched up on the
+edge of the well box, swinging his legs and singing at the top of his
+melodious Irish voice. All at once, just as we were looking at him,
+Tony went over backward and apparently tumbled head foremost down his
+father's well.
+
+Kate and I screamed simultaneously. We tore across the kitchen, flung
+open the door, plunged down over Aunt Susanna's yard, scrambled over
+the fence and flew to the well. Just as we reached it, Tony's red head
+appeared as he climbed serenely out over the box. I don't know whether
+I felt more relieved or furious. He had merely fallen on the blank
+guard inside the box: and there are times when I am tempted to think
+he fell on purpose because he saw Kate and me looking out at the
+window. At least he didn't seem at all frightened, and grinned most
+impishly at us.
+
+Kate and I turned on our heels and marched back in as dignified a
+manner as was possible under the circumstances. Half way up Aunt
+Susanna's yard we forgot dignity and broke into a run. We had left the
+door open and the McGinnis dog had disappeared.
+
+Never shall I forget the sight we saw or the smell we smelled when we
+burst into that kitchen. There on the floor was the McGinnis dog and
+what was left of Aunt Susanna's Thanksgiving turkey. As for the smell,
+imagine a commingled odor of scorching turnips and burning mince pies,
+and you have it.
+
+The dog fled out with a guilty yelp. I groaned and snatched the
+turnips off. Kate threw open the oven door and dragged out the pies.
+Pies and turnips were ruined as irretrievably as the turkey.
+
+"Oh, what shall we do?" I cried miserably. I knew Margaret's chance of
+college was gone forever.
+
+"Do!" Kate was superb. She didn't lose her wits for a second. "We'll
+go home and borrow the girls' dinner. Quick--there's just ten minutes
+before train time. Throw those pies and turnips into this basket--the
+turkey too--we'll carry them with us to hide them."
+
+I might not be able to evolve an idea like that on the spur of the
+moment, but I can at least act up to it when it is presented. Without
+a moment's delay we shut the door and ran. As we went I saw the
+McGinnis dog licking his chops over in their yard. I have been ashamed
+ever since of my feelings toward that dog. They were murderous.
+Fortunately I had no time to indulge them.
+
+It is ten minutes walk from the Pinery to our house, but you can run
+it in five. Kate and I burst into the kitchen just as Laura and
+Margaret were sitting down to dinner. We had neither time nor breath
+for explanations. Without a word I grasped the turkey platter and the
+turnip tureen. Kate caught one hot mince pie from the oven and whisked
+a cold one out of the pantry.
+
+"We've--got--to have--them," was all she said.
+
+I've always said that Laura and Magsie would rise to any occasion.
+They saw us carry their Thanksgiving dinner off under their very eyes
+and they never interfered by word or motion. They didn't even worry us
+with questions. They realized that something desperate had happened
+and that the emergency called for deed not words.
+
+"Aggie," gasped Kate behind me as we tore through the birch wood, "the
+border--of these pies--is crimped--differently--from Aunt Susanna's."
+
+"She--won't know--the difference," I panted. "Miranda--Mary--crimps
+them."
+
+We got back to the Pinery just as the train whistle blew. We had ten
+minutes to transfer turkey and turnips to Aunt Susanna's dishes, hide
+our own, air the kitchen, and get back our breath. We accomplished it.
+When Aunt Susanna and her guests came we were prepared for them: we
+were calm--outwardly--and the second mince pie was getting hot in the
+oven. It was ready by the time it was needed. Fortunately our turkey
+was the same size as Aunt Susanna's, and Laura had cooked a double
+supply of turnips, intending to warm them up the next day. Still, all
+things considered, Kate and I didn't enjoy that dinner much. We kept
+thinking of poor Laura and Magsie at home, dining off potatoes on
+Thanksgiving!
+
+But at least Aunt Susanna was satisfied. When Kate and I were washing
+the dishes she came out quite beamingly.
+
+"Well, my dears, I must admit that you made a very good job of the
+dinner, indeed. The turkey was done to perfection. As for the mince
+pies--well, of course Miranda Mary made them, but she must have had
+extra good luck with them, for they were excellent and heated to just
+the right degree. You didn't give anything to the McGinnis dog, I
+hope?"
+
+"No, we didn't give him anything," said Kate.
+
+Aunt Susanna did not notice the emphasis.
+
+When we had finished the dishes we smuggled our platter and tureen out
+of the house and went home. Laura and Margaret were busy painting and
+studying and were just as sweet-tempered as if we hadn't robbed them
+of their dinner. But we had to tell them the whole story before we
+even took off our hats.
+
+"There is a special Providence for children and idiots," said Laura
+gently. We didn't ask her whether she meant us or Tony McGinnis or
+both. There are some things better left in obscurity. I'd have
+probably said something much sharper than that if anybody had made off
+with my Thanksgiving turkey so unceremoniously.
+
+Aunt Susanna came down the next day and told Margaret that she would
+send her to college. Also she commissioned Laura to paint her a
+water-color for her dining-room and said she'd pay her five dollars
+for it.
+
+Kate and I were rather left out in the cold in this distribution of
+favors, but when you come to reflect that Laura and Magsie had really
+cooked that dinner, it was only just.
+
+Anyway, Aunt Susanna has never since insinuated that we can't cook,
+and that is as much as we deserve.
+
+
+
+
+By Grace of Julius Caesar
+
+
+Melissa sent word on Monday evening that she thought we had better go
+round with the subscription list for cushioning the church pews on
+Tuesday. I sent back word that I thought we had better go on Thursday.
+I had no particular objection to Tuesday, but Melissa is rather fond
+of settling things without consulting anyone else, and I don't believe
+in always letting her have her own way. Melissa is my cousin and we
+have always been good friends, and I am really very fond of her; but
+there's no sense in lying down and letting yourself be walked over. We
+finally compromised on Wednesday.
+
+I always have a feeling of dread when I hear of any new church-project
+for which money will be needed, because I know perfectly well that
+Melissa and I will be sent round to collect for it. People say we seem
+to be able to get more than anybody else; and they appear to think
+that because Melissa is an unencumbered old maid, and I am an
+unencumbered widow, we can spare the time without any inconvenience to
+ourselves. Well, we have been canvassing for building funds, and
+socials, and suppers for years, but it is needed now; at least, I have
+had enough of it, and I should think Melissa has, too.
+
+We started out bright and early on Wednesday morning, for Jersey Cove
+is a big place and we knew we should need the whole day. We had to
+walk because neither of us owned a horse, and anyway it's more
+nuisance getting out to open and shut gates than it is worth while. It
+was a lovely day then, though promising to be hot, and our hearts
+were as light as could be expected, considering the disagreeable
+expedition we were on.
+
+I was waiting at my gate for Melissa when she came, and she looked me
+over with wonder and disapproval. I could see she thought I was a fool
+to dress up in my second best flowered muslin and my very best hat
+with the pale pink roses in it to walk about in the heat and dust; but
+I wasn't. All my experience in canvassing goes to show that the better
+dressed and better looking you are the more money you'll get--that is,
+when it's the men you have to tackle, as in this case. If it had been
+the women, however, I would have put on the oldest and ugliest things,
+consistent with decency, I had. This was what Melissa had done, as it
+was, and she did look fearfully prim and dowdy, except for her front
+hair, which was as soft and fluffy and elaborate as usual. I never
+could understand how Melissa always got it arranged so beautifully.
+
+Nothing particular happened the first part of the day. Some few
+growled and wouldn't subscribe anything, but on the whole we did
+pretty well. If it had been a missionary subscription we should have
+fared worse; but when it was something touching their own comfort,
+like cushioning the pews, they came down handsomely. We reached Daniel
+Wilson's by noon, and had to have dinner there. We didn't eat much,
+although we were hungry enough--Mary Wilson's cooking is a by-word in
+Jersey Cove. No wonder Daniel is dyspeptic; but dyspeptic or not, he
+gave us a big subscription for our cushions and told us we looked
+younger than ever. Daniel is always very complimentary, and they say
+Mary is jealous.
+
+When we left the Wilson's Melissa said, with an air of a woman nerving
+herself to a disagreeable duty:
+
+"I suppose we might as well go to Isaac Appleby's now and get it
+over."
+
+I agreed with her. I had been dreading that call all day. It isn't a
+very pleasant thing to go to a man you have recently refused to marry
+and ask him for money; and Melissa and I were both in that
+predicament.
+
+Isaac was a well-to-do old bachelor who had never had any notion of
+getting married until his sister died in the winter. And then, as soon
+as the spring planting was over, he began to look round for a wife. He
+came to me first and I said "No" good and hard. I liked Isaac well
+enough; but I was snug and comfortable, and didn't feel like pulling
+up my roots and moving into another lot; besides, Isaac's courting
+seemed to me a shade too business-like. I can't get along without a
+little romance; it's my nature.
+
+Isaac was disappointed and said so, but intimated that it wasn't
+crushing and that the next best would do very well. The next best was
+Melissa, and he proposed to her after the decent interval of a
+fortnight. Melissa also refused him. I admit I was surprised at this,
+for I knew Melissa was rather anxious to marry; but she has always
+been down on Isaac Appleby, from principle, because of a family feud
+on her mother's side; besides, an old beau of hers, a widower at
+Kingsbridge, was just beginning to take notice again, and I suspected
+Melissa had hopes concerning him. Finally, I imagine Melissa did not
+fancy being second choice.
+
+Whatever her reasons were, she refused poor Isaac, and that finished
+his matrimonial prospects as far as Jersey Cove was concerned, for
+there wasn't another eligible woman in it--that is, for a man of
+Isaac's age. I was the only widow, and the other old maids besides
+Melissa were all hopelessly old-maiden.
+
+This was all three months ago, and Isaac had been keeping house for
+himself ever since. Nobody knew much about how he got along, for the
+Appleby house is half a mile from anywhere, down near the shore at the
+end of a long lane--the lonesomest place, as I did not fail to
+remember when I was considering Isaac's offer.
+
+"I heard Jarvis Aldrich say Isaac had got a dog lately," said Melissa,
+when we finally came in sight of the house--a handsome new one, by the
+way, put up only ten years ago. "Jarvis said it was an imported
+breed. I do hope it isn't cross."
+
+I have a mortal horror of dogs, and I followed Melissa into the big
+farmyard with fear and trembling. We were halfway across the yard when
+Melissa shrieked:
+
+"Anne, there's the dog!"
+
+There was the dog; and the trouble was that he didn't stay there, but
+came right down the slope at a steady, business-like trot. He was a
+bull-dog and big enough to bite a body clean in two, and he was the
+ugliest thing in dogs I had ever seen.
+
+Melissa and I both lost our heads. We screamed, dropped our parasols,
+and ran instinctively to the only refuge that was in sight--a ladder
+leaning against the old Appleby house. I am forty-five and something
+more than plump, so that climbing ladders is not my favorite form of
+exercise. But I went up that one with the agility and grace of
+sixteen. Melissa followed me, and we found ourselves on the
+roof--fortunately it was a flat one--panting and gasping, but safe,
+unless that diabolical dog could climb a ladder.
+
+I crept cautiously to the edge and peered over. The beast was sitting
+on his haunches at the foot of the ladder, and it was quite evident he
+was not short on time. The gleam in his eye seemed to say:
+
+"I've got you two unprincipled subscription hunters beautifully treed
+and it's treed you're going to stay. That is what I call satisfying."
+
+I reported the state of the case to Melissa.
+
+"What shall we do?" I asked.
+
+"Do?" said Melissa, snappishly. "Why, stay here till Isaac Appleby
+comes out and takes that brute away? What else can we do?"
+
+"What if he isn't at home?" I suggested.
+
+"We'll stay here till he comes home. Oh, this is a nice predicament.
+This is what comes of cushioning churches!"
+
+"It might be worse," I said comfortingly. "Suppose the roof hadn't
+been flat?"
+
+"Call Isaac," said Melissa shortly.
+
+I didn't fancy calling Isaac, but call him I did, and when that failed
+to bring him Melissa condescended to call, too; but scream as we
+might, no Isaac appeared, and that dog sat there and smiled
+internally.
+
+"It's no use," said Melissa sulkily at last. "Isaac Appleby is dead or
+away."
+
+Half an hour passed; it seemed as long as a day. The sun just boiled
+down on that roof and we were nearly melted. We were dreadfully
+thirsty, and the heat made our heads ache, and I could see my muslin
+dress fading before my very eyes. As for the roses on my best hat--but
+that was too harrowing to think about.
+
+Then we saw a welcome sight--Isaac Appleby coming through the yard
+with a hoe over his shoulder. He had probably been working in his
+field at the back of the house. I never thought I should have been so
+glad to see him.
+
+"Isaac, oh, Isaac!" I called joyfully, leaning over as far as I dared.
+
+Isaac looked up in amazement at me and Melissa craning our necks over
+the edge of the roof. Then he saw the dog and took in the situation.
+The creature actually grinned.
+
+"Won't you call off your dog and let us get down, Isaac?" I said
+pleadingly.
+
+Isaac stood and reflected for a moment or two. Then he came slowly
+forward and, before we realized what he was going to do, he took that
+ladder down and laid it on the ground.
+
+"Isaac Appleby, what do you mean?" demanded Melissa wrathfully.
+
+Isaac folded his arms and looked up. It would be hard to say which
+face was the more determined, his or the dog's. But Isaac had the
+advantage in point of looks, I will say that for him.
+
+"I mean that you two women will stay up on that roof until one of you
+agrees to marry me," said Isaac solemnly.
+
+I gasped.
+
+"Isaac Appleby, you can't be in earnest?" I cried incredulously. "You
+couldn't be so mean?"
+
+"I am in earnest. I want a wife, and I am going to have one. You two
+will stay up there, and Julius Caesar here will watch you until one of
+you makes up her mind to take me. You can settle it between
+yourselves, and let me know when you have come to a decision."
+
+And with that Isaac walked jauntily into his new house.
+
+"The man can't mean it!" said Melissa. "He is trying to play a joke on
+us."
+
+"He does mean it," I said gloomily. "An Appleby never says anything he
+doesn't mean. He will keep us here until one of us consents to marry
+him."
+
+"It won't be me, then," said Melissa in a calm sort of rage. "I won't
+marry him if I have to sit on this roof for the rest of my life. You
+can take him. It's really you he wants, anyway; he asked you first."
+
+I always knew that rankled with Melissa.
+
+I thought the situation over before I said anything more. We certainly
+couldn't get off that roof, and if we could, there was Julius Caesar.
+The place was out of sight of every other house in Jersey Cove, and
+nobody might come near it for a week. To be sure, when Melissa and I
+didn't turn up the Covites might get out and search for us; but that
+wouldn't be for two or three days anyhow.
+
+Melissa had turned her back on me and was sitting with her elbows
+propped up on her knees, looking gloomily out to sea. I was afraid I
+couldn't coax her into marrying Isaac. As for me, I hadn't any real
+objection to marrying him, after all, for if he was short of romance
+he was good-natured and has a fat bank account; but I hated to be
+driven into it that way.
+
+"You'd better take him, Melissa," I said entreatingly. "I've had one
+husband and that is enough."
+
+"More than enough for me, thank you," said Melissa sarcastically.
+
+"Isaac is a fine man and has a lovely house; and you aren't sure the
+Kingsbridge man really means anything," I went on.
+
+"I would rather," said Melissa, with the same awful calmness, "jump
+down from this roof and break my neck, or be devoured piecemeal by
+that fiend down there than marry Isaac Appleby."
+
+It didn't seem worth while to say anything more after that. We sat
+there in stony silence and the time dragged by. I was hot, hungry,
+thirsty, cross; and besides, I felt that I was in a ridiculous
+position, which was worse than all the rest. We could see Isaac
+sitting in the shade of one of his apple trees in the front orchard
+comfortably reading a newspaper. I think if he hadn't aggravated me by
+doing that I'd have given in sooner. But as it was, I was determined
+to be as stubborn as everybody else. We were four obstinate
+creatures--Isaac and Melissa and Julius Caesar and I.
+
+At four o'clock Isaac got up and went into the house; in a few minutes
+he came out again with a basket in one hand and a ball of cord in the
+other.
+
+"I don't intend to starve you, of course, ladies," he said politely,
+"I will throw this ball up to you and you can then draw up the
+basket."
+
+I caught the ball, for Melissa never turned her head. I would have
+preferred to be scornful, too, and reject the food altogether; but I
+was so dreadfully thirsty that I put my pride in my pocket and hauled
+the basket up. Besides, I thought it might enable us to hold out until
+some loophole of escape presented itself.
+
+Isaac went back into the house and I unpacked the basket. There was a
+bottle of milk, some bread and butter, and a pie. Melissa wouldn't
+take a morsel of the food, but she was so thirsty she had to take a
+drink of milk.
+
+She tried to lift her veil--and something caught; Melissa gave it a
+savage twitch, and off came veil and hat--and all her front hair!
+
+You never saw such a sight. I'd always suspected Melissa wore a false
+front, but I'd never had any proof before.
+
+Melissa pinned on her hair again and put on her hat and drank the
+milk, all without a word; but she was purple. I felt sorry for her.
+
+And I felt sorry for Isaac when I tried to eat that bread. It was sour
+and dreadful. As for the pie, it was hopeless. I tasted it, and then
+threw it down to Julius Caesar. Julius Caesar, not being over
+particular, ate it up. I thought perhaps it would kill him, for
+anything might come of eating such a concoction. That pie was a strong
+argument for Isaac. I thought a man who had to live on such cookery
+did indeed need a wife and might be pardoned for taking desperate
+measures to get one. I was dreadfully tired of broiling on the roof
+anyhow.
+
+But it was the thunderstorm that decided me. When I saw it coming up,
+black and quick, from the northwest, I gave in at once. I had endured
+a good deal and was prepared to endure more; but I had paid ten
+dollars for my hat and I was not going to have it ruined by a
+thunderstorm. I called to Isaac and out he came.
+
+"If you will let us down and promise to dispose of that dog before I
+come here I will marry you, Isaac," I said, "but I'll make you sorry
+for it afterwards, though."
+
+"I'll take the risk of that, Anne," he said; "and, of course, I'll
+sell the dog. I won't need him when I have you."
+
+Isaac meant to be complimentary, though you mightn't have thought so
+if you had seen the face of that dog.
+
+Isaac ordered Julius Caesar away and put up the ladder, and turned his
+back, real considerately, while we climbed down. We had to go in his
+house and stay till the shower was over. I didn't forget the object of
+our call and I produced our subscription list at once.
+
+"How much have you got?" asked Isaac.
+
+"Seventy dollars and we want a hundred and fifty," I said.
+
+"You may put me down for the remaining eighty, then," said Isaac
+calmly.
+
+The Applebys are never mean where money is concerned, I must say.
+
+Isaac offered to drive us home when it cleared up, but I said "No." I
+wanted to settle Melissa before she got a chance to talk.
+
+On the way home I said to her:
+
+"I hope you won't mention this to anyone, Melissa. I don't mind
+marrying Isaac, but I don't want people to know how it came about."
+
+"Oh, I won't say anything about it," said Melissa, laughing a little
+disagreeably.
+
+"Because," I said, to clinch the matter, looking significantly at her
+front hair as I said it, "I have something to tell, too."
+
+Melissa will hold her tongue.
+
+
+
+
+By the Rule of Contrary
+
+
+"Look here, Burton," said old John Ellis in an ominous tone of voice,
+"I want to know if what that old busybody of a Mary Keane came here
+today gossiping about is true. If it is--well, I've something to say
+about the matter! Have you been courting that niece of Susan Oliver's
+all summer on the sly?"
+
+Burton Ellis's handsome, boyish face flushed darkly crimson to the
+roots of his curly black hair. Something in the father's tone roused
+anger and rebellion in the son. He straightened himself up from the
+turnip row he was hoeing, looked his father squarely in the face, and
+said quietly,
+
+"Not on the sly, sir, I never do things that way. But I have been
+going to see Madge Oliver for some time, and we are engaged. We are
+thinking of being married this fall, and we hope you will not object."
+
+Burton's frankness nearly took away his father's breath. Old John
+fairly choked with rage.
+
+"You young fool," he spluttered, bringing down his hoe with such
+energy that he sliced off half a dozen of his finest young turnip
+plants, "have you gone clean crazy? No, sir, I'll never consent to
+your marrying an Oliver, and you needn't have any idea that I will."
+
+"Then I'll marry her without your consent," retorted Burton angrily,
+losing the temper he had been trying to keep.
+
+"Oh, will you indeed! Well, if you do, out you go, and not a cent of
+my money or a rod of my land do you ever get."
+
+"What have you got against Madge?" asked Burton, forcing himself to
+speak calmly, for he knew his father too well to doubt for a minute
+that he meant and would do just what he said.
+
+"She's an Oliver," said old John crustily, "and that's enough." And
+considering that he had settled the matter, John Ellis threw down his
+hoe and left the field in a towering rage.
+
+Burton hoed away savagely until his anger had spent itself on the
+weeds. Give up Madge--dear, sweet little Madge? Not he! Yet if his
+father remained of the same mind, their marriage was out of the
+question at present. And Burton knew quite well that his father would
+remain of the same mind. Old John Ellis had the reputation of being
+the most contrary man in Greenwood.
+
+When Burton had finished his row he left the turnip field and went
+straight across lots to see Madge and tell her his dismal story. An
+hour later Miss Susan Oliver went up the stairs of her little brown
+house to Madge's room and found her niece lying on the bed, her pretty
+curls tumbled, her soft cheeks flushed crimson, crying as if her heart
+would break.
+
+Miss Susan was a tall, grim, angular spinster who looked like the last
+person in the world to whom a love affair might be confided. But never
+were appearances more deceptive than in this case. Behind her
+unprepossessing exterior Miss Susan had a warm, sympathetic heart
+filled to the brim with kindly affection for her pretty niece. She had
+seen Burton Ellis going moodily across the fields homeward and guessed
+that something had gone wrong.
+
+"Now, dearie, what is the matter?" she said, tenderly patting the
+brown head.
+
+Madge sobbed out the whole story disconsolately. Burton's father would
+not let him marry her because she was an Oliver. And, oh, what would
+she do?
+
+"Don't worry, Madge," said Miss Susan comfortingly. "I'll soon settle
+old John Ellis."
+
+"Why, what can you do?" asked Madge forlornly.
+
+Miss Susan squared her shoulders and looked amused.
+
+"You'll see. I know old John Ellis better than he knows himself. He is
+the most contrary man the Lord ever made. I went to school with him. I
+learned how to manage him then, and I haven't forgotten how. I'm going
+straight up to interview him."
+
+"Are you sure that will do any good?" said Madge doubtfully. "If you
+go to him and take Burton's and my part, won't it only make him
+worse?"
+
+"Madge, dear," said Miss Susan, busily twisting her scanty, iron-grey
+hair up into a hard little knob at the back of her head before Madge's
+glass, "you just wait. I'm not young, and I'm not pretty, and I'm not
+in love, but I've more gumption than you and Burton have or ever will
+have. You keep your eyes open and see if you can learn something.
+You'll need it if you go up to live with old John Ellis."
+
+Burton had returned to the turnip field, but old John Ellis was taking
+his ease with a rampant political newspaper on the cool verandah of
+his house. Looking up from a bitter editorial to chuckle over a
+cutting sarcasm contained therein, he saw a tall, angular figure
+coming up the lane with aggressiveness written large in every fold and
+flutter of shawl and skirt.
+
+"Old Susan Oliver, as sure as a gun," said old John with another
+chuckle. "She looks mad clean through. I suppose she's coming here to
+blow me up for refusing to let Burton take that girl of hers. She's
+been angling and scheming for it for years, but she will find who she
+has to deal with. Come on, Miss Susan."
+
+John Ellis laid down his paper and stood up with a sarcastic smile.
+
+Miss Susan reached the steps and skimmed undauntedly up them. She did
+indeed look angry and disturbed. Without any preliminary greeting she
+burst out into a tirade that simply took away her complacent foe's
+breath.
+
+"Look here, John Ellis, I want to know what this means. I've
+discovered that that young upstart of a son of yours, who ought to be
+in short trousers yet, has been courting my niece, Madge Oliver, all
+summer. He has had the impudence to tell me that he wants to marry
+her. I won't have it, I tell you, and you can tell your son so. Marry
+my niece indeed! A pretty pass the world is coming to! I'll never
+consent to it."
+
+Perhaps if you had searched Greenwood and all the adjacent districts
+thoroughly you might have found a man who was more astonished and
+taken aback than old John Ellis was at that moment, but I doubt it.
+The wind was completely taken out of his sails and every bit of the
+Ellis contrariness was roused.
+
+"What have you got to say against my son?" he fairly shouted in his
+rage. "Isn't he good enough for your girl, Susan Oliver, I'd like to
+know?"
+
+"No, he isn't," retorted Miss Susan deliberately and unflinchingly.
+"He's well enough in his place, but you'll please to remember, John
+Ellis, that my niece is an Oliver, and the Olivers don't marry beneath
+them."
+
+Old John was furious. "Beneath them indeed! Why, woman, it is
+condescension in my son to so much as look at your niece--condescension,
+that is what it is. You are as poor as church mice."
+
+"We come of good family, though," retorted Miss Susan. "You Ellises
+are nobodies. Your grandfather was a hired man! And yet you have the
+presumption to think you're fit to marry into an old, respectable
+family like the Olivers. But talking doesn't signify. I simply won't
+allow this nonsense to go on. I came here today to tell you so plump
+and plain. It's your duty to stop it; if you don't I will, that's
+all."
+
+"Oh, will you?" John Ellis was at a white heat of rage and
+stubbornness now. "We'll see, Miss Susan, we'll see. My son shall
+marry whatever girl he pleases, and I'll back him up in it--do you
+hear that? Come here and tell me my son isn't good enough for your
+niece indeed! I'll show you he can get her anyway."
+
+"You've heard what I've said," was the answer, "and you'd better go by
+it, that's all. I shan't stay to bandy words with you, John Ellis. I'm
+going home to talk to my niece and tell her her duty plain, and what I
+want her to do, and she'll do it, I haven't a fear."
+
+Miss Susan was halfway down the steps, but John Ellis ran to the
+railing of the verandah to get the last word.
+
+"I'll send Burton down this evening to talk to her and tell her what
+_he_ wants her to do, and we'll see whether she'll sooner listen to
+you than to him," he shouted.
+
+Miss Susan deigned no reply. Old John strode out to the turnip field.
+Burton saw him coming and looked for another outburst of wrath, but
+his father's first words almost took away his breath.
+
+"See here, Burt, I take back all I said this afternoon. I want you to
+marry Madge Oliver now, and the sooner, the better. That old cat of a
+Susan had the face to come up and tell me you weren't good enough for
+her niece. I told her a few plain truths. Don't you mind the old
+crosspatch. I'll back you up."
+
+By this time Burton had begun hoeing vigorously, to hide the amused
+twinkle of comprehension in his eyes. He admired Miss Susan's tactics,
+but he did not say so.
+
+"All right, Father," he answered dutifully.
+
+When Miss Susan reached home she told Madge to bathe her eyes and put
+on her new pink muslin, because she guessed Burton would be down that
+evening.
+
+"Oh, Auntie, how did you manage it?" cried Madge.
+
+"Madge," said Miss Susan solemnly, but with dancing eyes, "do you know
+how to drive a pig? Just try to make it go in the opposite direction
+and it will bolt the way you want it. Remember that, my dear."
+
+
+
+
+Fair Exchange and No Robbery
+
+
+Katherine Rangely was packing up. Her chum and roommate, Edith Wilmer,
+was sitting on the bed watching her in that calm disinterested fashion
+peculiarly maddening to a bewildered packer.
+
+"It does seem too provoking," said Katherine, as she tugged at an
+obstinate shawl strap, "that Ned should be transferred here now, just
+when I'm going away. The powers that be might have waited until
+vacation was over. Ned won't know a soul here and he'll be horribly
+lonesome."
+
+"I'll do my best to befriend him, with your permission," said Edith
+consolingly.
+
+"Oh, I know. You're a special Providence, Ede. Ned will be up tonight
+first thing, of course, and I'll introduce him. Try to keep the poor
+fellow amused until I get back. Two months! Just fancy! And Aunt
+Elizabeth won't abate one jot or tittle of the time I promised to stay
+with her. Harbour Hill is so frightfully dull, too."
+
+Then the talk drifted around to Edith's affairs. She was engaged to a
+certain Sidney Keith, who was a professor in some college.
+
+"I don't expect to see much of Sidney this summer," said Edith. "He's
+writing another book. He is so terribly addicted to literature."
+
+"How lovely," sighed Katherine, who had aspirations in that line
+herself. "If only Ned were like him I should be perfectly happy. But
+Ned is so prosaic. He doesn't care a rap for poetry, and he laughs
+when I enthuse. It makes him quite furious when I talk of taking up
+writing seriously. He says women writers are an abomination on the
+face of the earth. Did you ever hear anything so ridiculous?"
+
+"He is very handsome, though," said Edith, with a glance at his
+photograph on Katherine's dressing table. "And that is what Sid is
+not. He is rather distinguished looking, but as plain as he can
+possibly be."
+
+Edith sighed. She had a weakness for handsome men and thought it
+rather hard that fate should have allotted her so plain a lover.
+
+"He has lovely eyes," said Katherine comfortingly, "and handsome men
+are always vain. Even Ned is. I have to snub him regularly. But I
+think you'll like him."
+
+Edith thought so too when Ned Ellison appeared that night. He was a
+handsome off-handed young fellow, who seemed to admire Katherine
+immensely, and be a little afraid of her into the bargain.
+
+"Edith will try to make Riverton pleasant for you while I am away,"
+she told him in their good-bye chat. "She is a dear girl--you'll like
+her, I know. It's really too bad I have to go away now, but it can't
+be helped."
+
+"I shall be awfully lonesome," grumbled Ned. "Don't you forget to
+write regularly, Kitty."
+
+"Of course I'll write, but for pity's sake, Ned, don't call me Kitty.
+It sounds so childish. Well, bye-bye, dear boy. I'll be back in two
+months and then we'll have a lovely time."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When Katherine had been at Harbour Hill for a week she wondered how
+upon earth she was going to put in the remaining seven. Harbour Hill
+was noted for its beauty, but not every woman can live by scenery
+alone.
+
+"Aunt Elizabeth," said Katherine one day, "does anybody ever die in
+Harbour Hill? Because it doesn't seem to me it would be any change for
+them if they did."
+
+Aunt Elizabeth's only reply to this was a shocked look.
+
+To pass the time Katherine took to collecting seaweeds, and this
+involved long tramps along the shore. On one of these occasions she
+met with an adventure. The place was a remote spot far up the shore.
+Katherine had taken off her shoes and stockings, tucked up her skirt,
+rolled her sleeves high above her dimpled elbows, and was deep in the
+absorbing process of fishing up seaweeds off a craggy headland. She
+looked anything but dignified while so employed, but under the
+circumstances dignity did not matter.
+
+Presently she heard a shout from the shore and, turning around in
+dismay, she beheld a man on the rocks behind her. He was evidently
+shouting at her. What on earth could the creature want?
+
+"Come in," he called, gesticulating wildly. "You'll be in the
+bottomless pit in another moment if you don't look out."
+
+"He certainly must be a lunatic," said Katherine to herself, "or else
+he's drunk. What am I to do?"
+
+"Come in, I tell you," insisted the stranger. "What in the world do
+you mean by wading out to such a place? Why, it's madness."
+
+Katherine's indignation got the better of her fear.
+
+"I do not think I am trespassing," she called back as icily as
+possible.
+
+The stranger did not seem to be snubbed at all. He came down to the
+very edge of the rocks where Katherine could see him plainly. He was
+dressed in a somewhat well-worn grey suit and wore spectacles. He did
+not look like a lunatic, and he did not seem to be drunk.
+
+"I implore you to come in," he said earnestly. "You must be standing
+on the very brink of the bottomless pit."
+
+He is certainly off his balance, thought Katherine. He must be some
+revivalist who has gone insane on one point. I suppose I'd better go
+in. He looks quite capable of wading out here after me if I don't.
+
+She picked her steps carefully back with her precious specimens. The
+stranger eyed her severely as she stepped on the rocks.
+
+"I should think you would have more sense than to risk your life in
+that fashion for a handful of seaweeds," he said.
+
+"I haven't the faintest idea what you mean," said Miss Rangely. "You
+don't look crazy, but you talk as if you were."
+
+"Do you mean to say you don't know that what the people hereabouts
+call the Bottomless Pit is situated right off that point--the most
+dangerous spot along the whole coast?"
+
+"No, I didn't," said Katherine, horrified. She remembered now that
+Aunt Elizabeth had warned her to be careful of some bad hole along
+shore, but she had not been paying much attention and had supposed it
+to be in quite another direction. "I am a stranger here."
+
+"Well, I hardly thought you'd be foolish enough to be out there if you
+knew," said the other in mollified accents. "The place ought not to be
+left without warning, anyhow. It is the most careless thing I ever
+heard of. There is a big hole right off that point and nobody has ever
+been able to find the bottom of it. A person who got into it would
+never be heard of again. The rocks there form an eddy that sucks
+everything right down."
+
+"I am very grateful to you for calling me in," said Katherine humbly.
+"I had no idea I was in such danger."
+
+"You have a very fine bunch of seaweeds, I see," said the unknown.
+
+But Katherine was in no mood to converse on seaweeds. She suddenly
+realized what she must look like--bare feet, draggled skirts, dripping
+arms. And this creature whom she had taken for a lunatic was
+undoubtedly a gentleman. Oh, if he would only go and give her a chance
+to put on her shoes and stockings!
+
+Nothing seemed further from his intentions. When Katherine had picked
+up the aforesaid articles and turned homeward, he walked beside her,
+still discoursing on seaweeds as eloquently as if he were commonly
+accustomed to walking with barefooted young women. In spite of
+herself, Katherine couldn't help listening to him, for he managed to
+invest seaweeds with an absorbing interest. She finally decided that
+as he didn't seem to mind her bare feet, she wouldn't either.
+
+He knew so much about seaweeds that Katherine felt decidedly
+amateurish beside him. He looked over her specimens and pointed out
+the valuable ones. He explained the best method of preserving and
+mounting them, and told her of other and less dangerous places along
+the shore where she might get some new varieties.
+
+When they came in sight of Harbour Hill, Katherine began to wonder
+what on earth she would do with him. It wasn't exactly permissible to
+snub a man who had practically saved your life, but, on the other
+hand, the prospect of walking through the principal street of Harbour
+Hill barefooted and escorted by a scholarly looking gentleman
+discoursing on seaweeds was not to be calmly contemplated.
+
+The unknown cut the Gordian knot himself. He said that he must really
+go back or he would be late for dinner, lifted his hat politely, and
+departed. Katherine waited until he was out of sight, then sat down on
+the sand and put on her shoes and stockings.
+
+"Who on earth can he be?" she said to herself. "And where have I seen
+him before? There was certainly something familiar about his
+appearance. He is very nice, but he must have thought me crazy. I
+wonder if he belongs to Harbour Hill."
+
+The mystery was solved when she got home and found a letter from Edith
+awaiting her.
+
+"I see Ned quite often," wrote the latter, "and I think he is
+perfectly splendid. You are a lucky girl, Kate. But oh, do you know
+that Sidney is actually at Harbour Hill, too, or at least quite near
+it? I had a letter from him yesterday. He has gone down there to spend
+his vacation, because it is so quiet, and to finish up some horrid
+scientific book he is working at. He's boarding at some little
+farmhouse up the shore. I've written to him today to hunt you up and
+consider himself introduced to you. I think you'll like him, for he's
+just your style."
+
+Katherine smiled when Sidney Keith's card was brought up to her that
+evening and went down to meet him. Her companion of the morning rose
+to meet her.
+
+"You!" he said.
+
+"Yes, me," said Miss Rangely cheerfully and ungrammatically. "You
+didn't expect it, did you? I was sure I had seen you before--only it
+wasn't you but your photograph."
+
+When Professor Keith went away it was with a cordial invitation to
+call again. He did not fail to avail himself of it--in fact, he became
+a constant visitor at Sycamore Villa. Katherine wrote all about it to
+Edith and cultivated Professor Keith with a dear conscience.
+
+They got on capitally together. They went on long expeditions up shore
+after seaweeds, and when seaweeds were exhausted they began to make a
+collection of the Harbour Hill flora. This involved more long,
+companionable expeditions. Katherine sometimes wondered when Professor
+Keith found time to work on his book, but as he made no reference to
+the subject, neither did she.
+
+Once in a while, when she had time to think of them, she wondered how
+Ned and Edith were getting on. At first Edith's letters had been full
+of Ned, but in her last two or three she had said little about him.
+Katherine wrote and jokingly asked Edith if she and Ned had quarreled.
+Edith wrote back and said, "What nonsense." She and Ned were as good
+friends as ever, but he was getting acquainted in Riverton now and
+wasn't so dependent on her society, etc.
+
+Katherine sighed and went on a fern hunt with Professor Keith. It was
+getting near the end of her vacation and she had only two weeks more.
+They were sitting down to rest on the side of the road when she
+mentioned this fact inconsequently. The professor prodded the harmless
+dust with his cane. Well, he supposed she would find a return to work
+pleasant and would doubtless be glad to see her Riverton friends
+again.
+
+"I'm dying to see Edith," said Katherine.
+
+"And Ned?" suggested Professor Keith.
+
+"Oh yes. Ned, of course," assented Katherine without enthusiasm. There
+didn't seem to be anything more to say. One cannot talk everlastingly
+about ferns, so they got up and went home.
+
+Katherine wrote a particularly affectionate letter to Ned that night.
+Then she went to bed and cried.
+
+When Professor Keith came up to bid Miss Rangely good-bye on the eve
+of her departure from Harbour Hill, he looked like a man who was being
+led to execution without benefit of clergy. But he kept himself well
+in hand and talked calmly on impersonal subjects. After all, it was
+Katherine who made the first break when she got up to say good-bye.
+She was in the middle of some conventional sentence when she suddenly
+stopped short, and her voice trailed off in a babyish quiver.
+
+The professor put out his arm and drew her close to him. His hat
+dropped under their feet and was trampled on, but I doubt if Professor
+Keith knows the difference to this day, for he was fully absorbed in
+kissing Katherine's hair. When she became cognizant of this fact, she
+drew herself away.
+
+"Oh, Sidney, don't!--think of Edith! I feel like a traitor."
+
+"Do you think she would care very much if I--if you--if we--"
+hesitated the professor.
+
+"Oh, it would break her heart," cried Katherine with convincing
+earnestness. "I know it would--and Ned's too. They must never know."
+
+The professor stooped and began hunting for his maltreated hat. He was
+a long time finding it, and when he did he went softly to the door.
+With his hand on the knob, he paused and looked back.
+
+"Good-bye, Miss Rangely," he said softly.
+
+But Katherine, whose face was buried in the cushions of the lounge,
+did not hear him and when she looked up he was gone.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Katharine felt that life was stale, flat and unprofitable when she
+alighted at Riverton station in the dusk of the next evening. She was
+not expected until a later train and there was no one to meet her. She
+walked drearily through the streets to her boarding house and entered
+her room unannounced. Edith, who was lying on the bed, sprang up with
+a surprised greeting. It was too dark to be sure, but Katherine had an
+uncomfortable suspicion that her friend had been crying, and her heart
+quaked guiltily. Could Edith have suspected anything?
+
+"Why, we didn't think you'd be up till the 8:30 train, and Ned and I
+were going to meet you."
+
+"I found I could catch an earlier train, so I took it," said
+Katherine, as she dropped listlessly into a chair. "I am tired to
+death and I have such a headache. I can't see anyone tonight, not even
+Ned."
+
+"You poor dear," said Edith sympathetically, beginning a search for
+the cologne. "Lie down on the bed and I'll bathe your poor head. Did
+you have a good time at Harbour Hill? And how did you leave Sid? Did
+he say anything about coming up?"
+
+"Oh, he was quite well," said Katherine wearily. "I didn't hear him
+say if he intended to come up or not. There, thanks--that will do
+nicely."
+
+After Edith had gone down, Katherine tossed about restlessly. She knew
+Ned had come and she did not want to see him. But, after all, it was
+only putting off the evil day, and it was treating him rather
+shabbily. She would go down for a minute.
+
+There were two doors to the parlour, and Katherine went by way of the
+library one, over which a portiere was hanging. Her hand was lifted to
+draw it back when she heard something that arrested the movement.
+
+A woman was crying in the room beyond. It was Edith--and what was she
+saying?
+
+"Oh, Ned, it is all perfectly dreadful! I couldn't look Catherine in
+the face when she came home. I'm so ashamed of myself and I never
+meant to be so false. We must never let her suspect for a minute."
+
+"It's pretty rough on a fellow," said another voice--Ned's voice--in a
+choked sort of a way. "Upon my word, Edith, I don't see how I'm going
+to keep it up."
+
+"You must," sobbed Edith. "It would break her heart--and Sidney's too.
+We must just make up our minds to forget each other, Ned, and you must
+marry Katherine."
+
+Just at this point Katherine became aware that she was eavesdropping
+and she went away noiselessly. She did not look in the least like a
+person who has received a mortal blow, and she had forgotten her
+headache altogether.
+
+When Edith came up half an hour later, she found the worn-out invalid
+sitting up and reading a novel.
+
+"How is your headache, dear?" she asked, carefully keeping her face
+turned away from Katherine.
+
+"Oh, it's all gone," said Miss Rangely cheerfully.
+
+"Why didn't you come down then? Ned was here."
+
+"Well, Ede, I did go down, but I thought I wasn't particularly wanted,
+so I came back."
+
+Edith faced her friend in dismay, forgetful of swollen lids and
+tear-stained cheeks.
+
+"Katherine!"
+
+"Don't look so conscience stricken, my dear child. There is no harm
+done."
+
+"You heard--"
+
+"Some surprising speeches. So you and Ned have gone and fallen in love
+with one another?"
+
+"Oh, Katherine," sobbed Edith, "we--we--couldn't help it--but it's all
+over. Oh, don't be angry with me!"
+
+"Angry? My dear, I'm delighted."
+
+"Delighted?"
+
+"Yes, you dear goose. Can't you guess, or must I tell you? Sidney and
+I did the very same, and had just such a melancholy parting last night
+as I suspect you and Ned had tonight."
+
+"Katherine!"
+
+"Yes, it's quite true. And of course we made up our minds to sacrifice
+ourselves on the altar of duty and all that. But now, thank goodness,
+there is no need of such wholesale immolation. So just let's forgive
+each other."
+
+"Oh," sighed Edith happily, "it is almost too good to be true."
+
+"It is really providentially ordered, isn't it?" said Katherine. "Ned
+and I would never have got on together in the world, and you and
+Sidney would have bored each other to death. As it is, there will be
+four perfectly happy people instead of four miserable ones. I'll tell
+Ned so tomorrow."
+
+
+
+
+Four Winds
+
+
+Alan Douglas threw down his pen with an impatient exclamation. It was
+high time his next Sunday's sermon was written, but he could not
+concentrate his thoughts on his chosen text. For one thing he did not
+like it and had selected it only because Elder Trewin, in his call of
+the evening before, had hinted that it was time for a good stiff
+doctrinal discourse, such as his predecessor in Rexton, the Rev. Jabez
+Strong, had delighted in. Alan hated doctrines--"the soul's
+staylaces," he called them--but Elder Trewin was a man to be reckoned
+with and Alan preached an occasional sermon to please him.
+
+"It's no use," he said wearily. "I could have written a sermon in
+keeping with that text in November or midwinter, but now, when the
+whole world is reawakening in a miracle of beauty and love, I can't do
+it. If a northeast rainstorm doesn't set in before next Sunday, Mr.
+Trewin will not have his sermon. I shall take as my text instead,
+'The flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing of birds has
+come.'"
+
+He rose and went to his study window, outside of which a young vine
+was glowing in soft tender green tints, its small dainty leaves
+casting quivering shadows on the opposite wall where the portrait of
+Alan's mother hung. She had a fine, strong, sweet face; the same face,
+cast in a masculine mould, was repeated in her son, and the
+resemblance was striking as he stood in the searching evening
+sunshine. The black hair grew around his forehead in the same way; his
+eyes were steel blue, like hers, with a similar expression, half
+brooding, half tender, in their depths. He had the mobile, smiling
+mouth of the picture, but his chin was deeper and squarer, dented with
+a dimple which, combined with a certain occasional whimsicality of
+opinion and glance, had caused Elder Trewin some qualms of doubt
+regarding the fitness of this young man for his high and holy
+vocation. The Rev. Jabez Strong had never indulged in dimples or
+jokes; but then, as Elder Trewin, being a just man, had to admit, the
+Rev. Jabez Strong had preached many a time and oft to more empty pews
+than full ones, while now the church was crowded to its utmost
+capacity on Sundays and people came to hear Mr. Douglas who had not
+darkened a church door for years. All things considered, Elder Trewin
+decided to overlook the dimple. There was sure to be some drawback in
+every minister.
+
+Alan from his study looked down on all the length of the Rexton
+valley, at the head of which the manse was situated, and thought that
+Eden might have looked so in its innocence, for all the orchards were
+abloom and the distant hills were tremulous and aerial in springtime
+gauzes of pale purple and pearl. But in any garden, despite its
+beauty, is an element of tameness and domesticity, and Alan's eyes,
+after a moment's delighted gazing, strayed wistfully off to the north
+where the hills broke away into a long sloping lowland of pine and
+fir. Beyond it stretched the wide expanse of the lake, flashing in the
+molten gold and crimson of evening. Its lure was irresistible. Alan
+had been born and bred beside a faraway sea and the love of it was
+strong in his heart--so strong that he knew he must go back to it
+sometime. Meanwhile, the great lake, mimicking the sea in its vast
+expanse and the storms that often swept over it, was his comfort and
+solace. As often as he could he stole away to its wild and lonely
+shore, leaving the snug bounds of cultivated home lands behind him
+with something like a sense of relief. Down there by the lake was a
+primitive wilderness where man was as naught and man-made doctrines
+had no place. There one might walk hand in hand with nature and so
+come very close to God. Many of Alan's best sermons were written after
+he had come home, rapt-eyed, from some long shore tramp where the
+wilderness had opened its heart to him and the pines had called to him
+in their soft, sibilant speech.
+
+With a half guilty glance at the futile sermon, he took his hat and
+went out. The sun of the cool spring evening was swinging low over the
+lake as he turned into the unfrequented, deep-rutted road leading to
+the shore. It was two miles to the lake, but half way there Alan came
+to where another road branched off and struck down through the pines
+in a northeasterly direction. He had sometimes wondered where it led
+but he had never explored it. Now he had a sudden whim to do so and
+turned into it. It was even rougher and lonelier than the other;
+between the ruts the grasses grew long and thickly; sometimes the pine
+boughs met overhead; again, the trees broke away to reveal wonderful
+glimpses of gleaming water, purple islets, dark feathery coasts.
+Still, the road seemed to lead nowhere and Alan was half repenting the
+impulse which had led him to choose it when he suddenly came out from
+the shadow of the pines and found himself gazing on a sight which
+amazed him.
+
+Before him was a small peninsula running out into the lake and
+terminating in a long sandy point. Beyond it was a glorious sweep of
+sunset water. The peninsula itself seemed barren and sandy, covered
+for the most part with scrub firs and spruces, through which the
+narrow road wound on to what was the astonishing; feature in the
+landscape--a grey and weather-beaten house built almost at the
+extremity of the point and shadowed from the western light by a thick
+plantation of tall pines behind it.
+
+It was the house which puzzled Alan. He had never known there was any
+house near the lake shore--had never heard mention made of any; yet
+here was one, and one which was evidently occupied, for a slender
+spiral of smoke was curling upward from it on the chilly spring air.
+It could not be a fisherman's dwelling, for it was large and built
+after a quaint tasteful design. The longer Alan looked at it the more
+his wonder grew. The people living here were in the bounds of his
+congregation. How then was it that he had never seen or heard of them?
+
+He sauntered slowly down the road until he saw that it led directly to
+the house and ended in the yard. Then he turned off in a narrow path
+to the shore. He was not far from the house now and he scanned it
+observantly as he went past. The barrens swept almost up to its door
+in front but at the side, sheltered from the lake winds by the pines,
+was a garden where there was a fine show of gay tulips and golden
+daffodils. No living creature was visible and, in spite of the
+blossoming geraniums and muslin curtains at the windows and the homely
+spiral of smoke, the place had a lonely, almost untenanted, look.
+
+When Alan reached the shore he found that it was of a much more open
+and less rocky nature than the part which he had been used to
+frequent. The beach was of sand and the scrub barrens dwindled down to
+it almost insensibly. To right and left fir-fringed points ran out
+into the lake, shaping a little cove with the house in its curve.
+
+Alan walked slowly towards the left headland, intending to follow the
+shore around to the other road. As he passed the point he stopped
+short in astonishment. The second surprise and mystery of the evening
+confronted him.
+
+A little distance away a girl was standing--a girl who turned a
+startled face at his unexpected appearance. Alan Douglas had thought
+he knew all the girls in Rexton, but this lithe, glorious creature was
+a stranger to him. She stood with her hand on the head of a huge,
+tawny collie dog; another dog was sitting on his haunches beside her.
+
+She was tall, with a great braid of shining chestnut hair, showing
+ruddy burnished tints where the sunlight struck it, hanging over her
+shoulder. The plain dark dress she wore emphasized the grace and
+strength of her supple form. Her face was oval and pale, with straight
+black brows and a finely cut crimson mouth--a face whose beauty bore
+the indefinable stamp of race and breeding mingled with a wild
+sweetness, as of a flower growing in some lonely and inaccessible
+place. None of the Rexton girls looked like that. Who, in the name of
+all that was amazing, could she be?
+
+As the thought crossed Alan's mind the girl turned, with an air of
+indifference that might have seemed slightly overdone to a calmer
+observer than was the young minister at that moment and, with a
+gesture of command to her dogs, walked quickly away into the scrub
+spruces. She was so tall that her uncovered head was visible over them
+as she followed some winding footpath, and Alan stood like a man
+rooted to the ground until he saw her enter the grey house. Then he
+went homeward in a maze, all thought of sermons, doctrinal or
+otherwise, for the moment knocked out of his head.
+
+She is the most beautiful woman I ever saw, he thought. How is it
+possible that I have lived in Rexton for six months and never heard of
+her or of that house? Well, I daresay there's some simple explanation
+of it all. The place may have been unoccupied until lately--probably
+it is the summer residence of people who have only recently come to
+it. I'll ask Mrs. Danby. She'll know if anybody will. That good woman
+knows everything about everybody in Rexton for three generations back.
+
+Alan found Isabel King with his housekeeper when he got home. His
+greeting was tinged with a slight constraint. He was not a vain man,
+but he could not help knowing that Isabel looked upon him with a
+favour that had in it much more than professional interest. Isabel
+herself showed it with sufficient distinctness. Moreover, he felt a
+certain personal dislike of her and of her hard, insistent beauty,
+which seemed harder and more insistent than ever contrasted with his
+recollection of the girl of the lake shore.
+
+Isabel had a trick of coming to the manse on plausible errands to Mrs.
+Danby and lingering until it was so dark that Alan was in courtesy
+bound to see her home. The ruse was a little too patent and amused
+Alan, although he carefully hid his amusement and treated Isabel with
+the fine unvarying deference which his mother had engrained into him
+for womanhood--a deference that flattered Isabel even while it annoyed
+her with the sense of a barrier which she could not break down or
+pass. She was the daughter of the richest man in Rexton and inclined
+to give herself airs on that account, but Alan's gentle indifference
+always brought home to her an unwelcome feeling of inferiority.
+
+"You've been tiring yourself out again tramping that lake shore, I
+suppose," said Mrs. Danby, who had kept house for three bachelor
+ministers and consequently felt entitled to hector them in a somewhat
+maternal fashion.
+
+"Not tiring myself--resting and refreshing myself rather," smiled
+Alan. "I was tired when I went out but now I feel like a strong man
+rejoicing to run a race. By the way, Mrs. Danby, who lives in that
+quaint old house away down at the very shore? I never knew of its
+existence before."
+
+Alan's "by the way" was not quite so indifferent as he tried to make
+it. Isabel King, leaning back posingly among the cushions of the
+lounge, sat quickly up as he asked his question.
+
+"Dear me, you don't mean to say you've never heard of Captain
+Anthony--Captain Anthony Oliver?" said Mrs. Danby. "He lives down
+there at Four Winds, as they call it--he and his daughter and an old
+cousin."
+
+Isabel King bent forward, her brown eyes on Alan's face.
+
+"Did you see Lynde Oliver?" she asked with suppressed eagerness.
+
+Alan ignored the question--perhaps he did not hear it.
+
+"Have they lived there long?" he asked.
+
+"For eighteen years," said Mrs. Danby placidly. "It's funny you
+haven't heard them mentioned. But people don't talk much about the
+Captain now--he's an old story--and of course they never go anywhere,
+not even to church. The Captain is a rank infidel and they say his
+daughter is just as bad. To be sure, nobody knows much about her, but
+it stands to reason that a girl who's had her bringing up must be odd,
+to say no worse of her. It's not really her fault, I suppose--her
+wicked old scalawag of a father is to blame for it. She's never
+darkened a church or school door in her life and they say she's always
+been a regular tomboy--running wild outdoors with dogs, and fishing
+and shooting like a man. Nobody ever goes there--the Captain doesn't
+want visitors. He must have done something dreadful in his time, if it
+was only known, when he's so set on living like a hermit away down on
+that jumping-off place. Did you see any of them?"
+
+"I saw Miss Oliver, I suppose," said Alan briefly. "At least I met a
+young lady on the shore. But where did these people come from? Surely
+more is known of them than this."
+
+"Precious little. The truth is, Mr. Douglas, folks don't think the
+Olivers respectable and don't want to have anything to do with them.
+Eighteen years ago Captain Anthony came from goodness knows where,
+bought the Four Winds point, and built that house. He said he'd been a
+sailor all his life and couldn't live away from the water. He brought
+his wife and child and an old cousin of his with him. This Lynde
+wasn't more than two years old then. People went to call but they
+never saw any of the women and the Captain let them see they weren't
+wanted. Some of the men who'd been working round the place saw his
+wife and said she was sickly but real handsome and like a lady, but
+she never seemed to want to see anyone or be seen herself. There was
+a story that the Captain had been a smuggler and that if he was caught
+he'd be sent to prison. Oh, there were all sorts of yarns, mostly
+coming from the men who worked there, for nobody else ever got inside
+the house. Well, four years ago his wife disappeared--it wasn't known
+how or when. She just wasn't ever seen again, that's all. Whether she
+died or was murdered or went away nobody ever knew. There was some
+talk of an investigation but nothing came of it. As for the girl,
+she's always lived there with her father. She must be a perfect
+heathen. He never goes anywhere, but there used to be talk of
+strangers visiting him--queer sort of characters who came up the lake
+in vessels from the American side. I haven't heard any reports of such
+these past few years, though--not since his wife disappeared. He keeps
+a yacht and goes sailing in it--sometimes he cruises about for
+weeks--that's about all he ever does. And now you know as much about
+the Olivers as I do, Mr. Douglas."
+
+Alan had listened to this gossipy narrative with an interest that did
+not escape Isabel King's observant eyes. Much of it he mentally
+dismissed as improbable surmise, but the basic facts were probably as
+Mrs. Danby had reported them. He had known that the girl of the shore
+could be no commonplace, primly nurtured young woman.
+
+"Has no effort ever been made to bring these people into touch with
+the church?" he asked absently.
+
+"Bless you, yes. Every minister that's ever been in Rexton has had a
+try at it. The old cousin met every one of them at the door and told
+him nobody was at home. Mr. Strong was the most persistent--he didn't
+like being beaten. He went again and again and finally the Captain
+sent him word that when he wanted parsons or pill-dosers he'd send
+for them, and till he did he'd thank them to mind their own business.
+They say Mr. Strong met Lynde once along shore and wanted to know if
+she wouldn't come to church, and she laughed in his face and told him
+she knew more about God now than he did or ever would. Perhaps the
+story isn't true. Or if it was maybe he provoked her into saying it.
+Mr. Strong wasn't overly tactful. I believe in judging the poor girl
+as charitably as possible and making allowances for her, seeing how
+she's been brought up. You couldn't expect her to know how to behave."
+
+Somehow, Alan resented Mrs. Danby's charity. Then, his sense of humour
+being strongly developed, he smiled to think of this commonplace old
+lady "making allowances" for the splendid bit of femininity he had
+seen on the shore. A plump barnyard fowl might as well have talked of
+making allowances for a seagull!
+
+Alan walked home with Isabel King but he was very silent as they went
+together down the long, dark, sweet-smelling country road bordered by
+its white orchards. Isabel put her own construction on his absent
+replies to her remarks and presently she asked him, "Did you think
+Lynde Oliver handsome?"
+
+The question gave Alan an annoyance out of all proportion to its
+significance. He felt an instinctive reluctance to discuss Lynde
+Oliver with Isabel King.
+
+"I saw her only for a moment," he said coldly, "but she impressed me
+as being a beautiful woman."
+
+"They tell queer stories about her--but maybe they're not all true,"
+said Isabel, unable to keep the sneer of malice out of her voice. At
+that moment Alan's secret contempt for her crystallized into
+pronounced aversion. He made no reply and they went the rest of the
+way in silence. At her gate Isabel said, "You haven't been over to see
+us very lately, Mr. Douglas."
+
+"My congregation is a large one and I cannot visit all my people as
+often as I might wish," Alan answered, all the more coldly for the
+personal note in her tone. "A minister's time is not his own, you
+know."
+
+"Shall you be going to see the Olivers?" asked Isabel bluntly.
+
+"I have not considered that question. Good-night, Miss King."
+
+On his way back to the manse Alan did consider the question. Should he
+make any attempt to establish friendly relations with the residents of
+Four Winds? It surprised him to find how much he wanted to, but he
+finally concluded that he would not. They were not adherents of his
+church and he did not believe that even a minister had any right to
+force himself upon people who plainly wished to be let alone.
+
+When he got home, although it was late, he went to his study and began
+work on a new text--for Elder Trewin's seemed utterly out of the
+question. Even with the new one he did not get on very well. At last
+in exasperation he leaned back in his chair.
+
+Why can't I stop thinking of those Four Winds people? Here, let me put
+these haunting thoughts into words and see if that will lay them. That
+girl had a beautiful face but a cold one. Would I like to see it
+lighted up with the warmth of her soul set free? Yes, frankly, I would.
+She looked upon me with indifference. Would I like to see her welcome
+me as a friend? I have a conviction that I would, although no doubt
+everybody in my congregation would look upon her as a most unsuitable
+friend for me. Do I believe that she is wild, unwomanly, heathenish, as
+Mrs. Danby says? No, I do not, most emphatically. I believe she is a
+lady in the truest sense of that much abused word, though she is
+doubtless unconventional. Having said all this, I do not see what more
+there is to be said. And--I--am--going--to--write--this--sermon.
+
+Alan wrote it, putting all thought of Lynde Oliver sternly out of his
+mind for the time being. He had no notion of falling in love with her.
+He knew nothing of love and imagined that it counted for nothing in
+his life. He admitted that his curiosity was aflame about the girl,
+but it never occurred to him that she meant or could mean anything to
+him but an attractive enigma which once solved would lose its
+attraction. The young women he knew in Rexton, whose simple, pleasant
+friendship he valued, had the placid, domestic charm of their own
+sweet-breathed, windless orchards. Lynde Oliver had the fascination of
+the lake shore--wild, remote, untamed--the lure of the wilderness and
+the primitive. There was nothing more personal in his thought of her,
+and yet when he recalled Isabel King's sneer he felt an almost
+personal resentment.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+During the following fortnight Alan made many trips to the shore--and
+he always went by the branch road to the Four Winds point. He did not
+attempt to conceal from himself that he hoped to meet Lynde Oliver
+again. In this he was unsuccessful. Sometimes he saw her at a distance
+along the shore but she always disappeared as soon as seen.
+Occasionally as he crossed the point he saw her working in her garden
+but he never went very near the house, feeling that he had no right to
+spy on it or her in any way. He soon became convinced that she avoided
+him purposely and the conviction piqued him. He felt an odd masterful
+desire to meet her face to face and make her look at him. Sometimes he
+called himself a fool and vowed he would go no more to the Four Winds
+shore. Yet he inevitably went. He did not find in the shore the
+comfort and inspiration he had formerly found. Something had come
+between his soul and the soul of the wilderness--something he did not
+recognize or formulate--a nameless, haunting longing that shaped
+itself about the memory of a cold sweet face and starry, indifferent
+eyes, grey as the lake at dawn.
+
+Of Captain Anthony he never got even a glimpse, but he saw the old
+cousin several times, going and coming about the yard and its
+environs. Finally one day he met her, coming up a path which led to a
+spring down in a firry hollow. She was carrying two heavy pails of
+water and Alan asked permission to help her.
+
+He half expected a repulse, for the tall, grim old woman had a rather
+stern and forbidding look, but after gazing at him a moment in a
+somewhat scrutinizing manner she said briefly, "You may, if you like."
+
+Alan took the pails and followed her, the path not being wide enough
+for two. She strode on before him at a rapid, vigorous pace until they
+came out into the yard by the house. Alan felt his heart beating
+foolishly. Would he see Lynde Oliver? Would--
+
+"You may carry the water there," the old woman said, pointing to a
+little outhouse near the pines. "I'm washing--the spring water is
+softer than the well water. Thank you"--as Alan set the pails down on
+a bench--"I'm not so young as I was and bringing the water so far
+tires me. Lynde always brings it for me when she's home."
+
+She stood before him in the narrow doorway, blocking his exit, and
+looked at him with keen, deep-set dark eyes. In spite of her withered
+aspect and wrinkled face, she was not an uncomely old woman and there
+was about her a dignity of carriage and manner that pleased Alan. It
+did not occur to him to wonder why it should please him. If he had
+hunted that feeling down he might have been surprised to discover that
+it had its origin in a curious gratification over the thought that the
+woman who lived with Lynde had a certain refinement about her. He
+preferred her unsmiling dourness to vulgar garrulity.
+
+"Are you the young minister up at Rexton?" she asked bluntly.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I thought so. Lynde said she had seen you on the shore once.
+Well"--she cast an uncertain glance over her shoulder at the
+house--"I'm much obliged to you."
+
+Alan had an idea that that was not what she had thought of saying, but
+as she had turned aside and was busying herself with the pails, there
+seemed nothing for him to do but to go.
+
+"Wait a moment." She faced him again, and if Alan had been a vain man
+he might have thought that admiration looked from her piercing eyes.
+"What do you think of us? I suppose they've told you tales of us up
+there?"--with a scornful gesture of her hand in the direction of
+Rexton. "Do you believe them?"
+
+"I believe no ill of anyone until I have absolute proof of it," said
+Alan, smiling--he was quite unconscious what a winning smile he had,
+which was the best of it--"and I never put faith in gossip. Of course
+you are gossipped about--you know that."
+
+"Yes, I know it"--grimly--"and I don't care what they say about the
+Captain and me. We are a queer pair--just as queer as they make us
+out. You can believe what you like about us, but don't you believe a
+word they say against Lynde. She's sweet and good and beautiful. It's
+not her fault that she never went to church--it's her father's. Don't
+you hold that against her."
+
+The fierce yet repressed energy of her tone prevented Alan from
+feeling any amusement over her simple defence of Lynde. Moreover, it
+sounded unreasonably sweet in his ears.
+
+"I won't," he promised, "but I don't suppose it would matter much to
+Miss Oliver if I did. She did not strike me as a young lady who would
+worry very much about other people's opinions."
+
+If his object were to prolong the conversation about Lynde, he was
+disappointed, for the old woman had turned abruptly to her work again
+and, though Alan lingered for a few moments longer, she took no
+further notice of him. But when he had gone she peered stealthily
+after him from the door until he was lost to sight among the pines.
+
+"A well-looking man," she muttered. "I wish Lynde had been home. I
+didn't dare ask him to the house for I knew Anthony was in one of his
+moods. But it's time something was done. She's woman grown and this is
+no life for her. And there's nobody to do anything but me and I'm not
+able, even if I knew what to do. I wonder why she hates men so.
+Perhaps it's because she never knew any that were real gentlemen. This
+man is--but then he's a minister and that makes a wide gulf between
+them in another way. I've seen the love of man and woman bridge some
+wider gulfs though. But it can't with Lynde, I'm fearing. She's so
+bitter at the mere speaking of love and marriage. I can't think why.
+I'm sure her mother and Anthony were happy together, and that was all
+she's ever seen of marriage. But I thought when she told me of meeting
+this young man on the shore there was something in her look I'd never
+noticed before--as if she'd found something in herself she'd never
+known was there. But she'll never make friends with him and I can't.
+If the Captain wasn't so queer--"
+
+She stopped abruptly, for a tall lithe figure was coming up from the
+shore. Lynde waved her hand as she drew near.
+
+"Oh, Emily, I've had such a splendid sail. It was glorious. Bad Emily,
+you've been carrying water. Didn't I tell you never to do that when I
+was away?"
+
+"I didn't have to do it. That young minister up at Rexton met me and
+brought it up. He's nice, Lynde."
+
+Lynde's brow darkened. She turned and walked away to the house without
+a word.
+
+On his way home that night Alan met Isabel King on the main shore
+road. She carried an armful of pine boughs and said she wanted the
+needles for a cushion. Yet the thought came into Alan's mind that she
+was spying on him and, although he tried to dismiss it as unworthy, it
+continued to lurk there.
+
+For a week he avoided the shore, but there came a day when its
+inexplicable lure drew him to it again irresistibly. It was a warm,
+windy evening and the air was sweet and resinous, the lake misty and
+blue. There was no sign of life about Four Winds and the shore seemed
+as lonely and virgin as if human foot had never trodden it. The
+Captain's yacht was gone from the little harbour where it was
+generally anchored and, though every flutter of wind in the scrub firs
+made Alan's heart beat expectantly, he saw nothing of Lynde Oliver. He
+was on the point of turning homeward, with an unreasoning sense of
+disappointment, when one of Lynde's dogs broke down through the hedge
+of spruces, barking loudly.
+
+Alan looked for Lynde to follow, but she did not, and he speedily saw
+that there was something unusual about the dog's behaviour. The animal
+circled around him, still barking excitedly, then ran off for a short
+distance, stopped, barked again, and returned, repeating the
+manoeuvre. It was plain that he wanted Alan to follow him, and it
+occurred to the young minister that the dog's mistress must be in
+danger of some kind. Instantly he set off after him; and the dog, with
+a final sharp bark of satisfaction, sprang up the low bank into the
+spruces.
+
+Alan followed him across the peninsula and then along the further
+shore, which rapidly grew steep and high. Half a mile down the cliffs
+were rocky and precipitous, while the beach beneath them was heaped
+with huge boulders. Alan followed the dog along one of the narrow
+paths with which the barrens abounded until nearly a mile from Four
+Winds. Then the animal halted, ran to the edge of the cliff and
+barked.
+
+It was an ugly-looking place where a portion of the soil had evidently
+broken away recently, and Alan stepped cautiously out to the brink and
+looked down. He could not repress an exclamation of dismay and alarm.
+
+A few feet below him Lynde Oliver was lying on a mass of mossy soil
+which was apparently on the verge of slipping over a sloping shelf of
+rock, below which was a sheer drop of thirty feet to the cruel
+boulders below. The extreme danger of her position was manifest at a
+glance; the soil on which she lay was stationary, yet it seemed as if
+the slightest motion on her part would send it over the brink.
+
+Lynde lay movelessly; her face was white, and both fear and appeal
+were visible in her large dilated eyes. Yet she was quite calm and a
+faint smile crossed her pale lips as she saw the man and the dog.
+
+"Good faithful Pat, so you did bring help," she said.
+
+"But how can I help you, Miss Oliver?" said Alan hoarsely. "I cannot
+reach you--and it looks as if the slightest touch or jar would send
+that broken earth over the brink."
+
+"I fear it would. You must go back to Four Winds and get a rope."
+
+"And leave you here alone--in such danger?"
+
+"Pat will stay with me. Besides, there is nothing else to do. You will
+find a rope in that little house where you put the water for Emily.
+Father and Emily are away. I think I am quite safe here if I don't
+move at all."
+
+Alan's own common sense told him that, as she said, there was nothing
+else to do and, much as he hated to leave her alone thus, he realized
+that he must lose no time in doing it.
+
+"I'll be back as quickly as possible," he said hurriedly.
+
+Alan had been a noted runner at college and his muscles had not
+forgotten their old training. Yet it seemed to him an age ere he
+reached Four Winds, secured the rope, and returned. At every flying
+step he was haunted by the thought of the girl lying on the brink of
+the precipice and the fear that she might slip over it before he could
+rescue her. When he reached the scene of the accident he dreaded to
+look over the broken edge, but she was lying there safely and she
+smiled when she saw him--a brave smile that softened her tense white
+face into the likeness of a frightened child's.
+
+"If I drop the rope down to you, are you strong enough to hold to it
+while the earth goes and then draw yourself up the slope hand over
+hand?" asked Alan anxiously.
+
+"Yes," she answered fearlessly.
+
+Alan passed down one end of the rope and then braced himself firmly to
+hold it, for there was no tree near enough to be of any assistance.
+The next moment the full weight of her body swung from it, for at her
+first movement the soil beneath her slipped away. Alan's heart
+sickened; what if she went with it? Could she cling to the rope while
+he drew her up?
+
+Then he saw she was still safe on the sloping shelf. Carefully and
+painfully she drew herself to her knees and, dinging to the rope,
+crept up the rock hand over hand. When she came within his reach he
+grasped her arms and lifted her up into safety beside him.
+
+"Thank God," he said, with whiter lips than her own.
+
+For a few moments Lynde sat silent on the sod, exhausted with fright
+and exertion, while her dog fawned on her in an ecstasy of joy.
+Finally she looked up into Alan's anxious face and their eyes met. It
+was something more than the physical reaction that suddenly flushed
+the girl's cheeks. She sprang lithely to her feet.
+
+"Can you walk back home?" Alan asked.
+
+"Oh, yes, I am all right now. It was very foolish of me to get into
+such a predicament. Father and Emily went down the lake in the yacht
+this afternoon and I started out for a ramble. When I came here I saw
+some junebells growing right out on the ledge and I crept out to
+gather them. I should have known better. It broke away under me and
+the more I tried to scramble back the faster it slid down, carrying me
+with it. I thought it would go right over the brink"--she gave a
+little involuntary shudder--"but just at the very edge it stopped. I
+knew I must lie very still or it would go right over. It seemed like
+days. Pat was with me and I told him to go for help, but I knew there
+was no one at home--and I was horribly afraid," she concluded with
+another shiver. "I never was afraid in my life before--at least not
+with that kind of fear."
+
+"You have had a terrible experience and a narrow escape," said Alan
+lamely. He could think of nothing more to say; his usual readiness of
+utterance seemed to have failed him.
+
+"You saved my life," she said, "you and Pat--for doggie must have his
+share of credit."
+
+"A much larger share than mine," said Alan, smiling. "If Pat had not
+come for me, I would not have known of your danger. What a magnificent
+fellow he is!"
+
+"Isn't he?" she agreed proudly. "And so is Laddie, my other dog. He
+went with Father today. I love my dogs more than people." She looked
+at him with a little defiance in her eyes. "I suppose you think that
+terrible."
+
+"I think many dogs are much more lovable--and worthy of love--than
+many people," said Alan, laughing.
+
+How childlike she was in some ways! That trace of defiance--it was so
+like a child who expected to be scolded for some wrong attitude of
+mind. And yet there were moments when she looked the tall proud queen.
+Sometimes, when the path grew narrow, she walked before him, her hand
+on the dog's head. Alan liked this, since it left him free to watch
+admiringly the swinging grace of her step and the white curves of her
+neck beneath the thick braid of hair, which today was wound about her
+head. When she dropped back beside him in the wider spaces, he could
+only have stolen glances at her profile, delicately, strongly cut,
+virginal in its soft curves, childlike in its purity. Once she looked
+around and caught his glance; again she flushed, and something strange
+and exultant stirred in Alan's heart. It was as if that maiden blush
+were the involuntary, unconscious admission of some power he had over
+her--a power which her hitherto unfettered spirit had never before
+felt. The cold indifference he had seen in her face at their first
+meeting was gone, and something told him it was gone forever.
+
+When they came in sight of Four Winds they saw two people walking up
+the road from the harbour and a few further steps brought them face to
+face with Captain Anthony Oliver and his old housekeeper.
+
+The Captain's appearance was a fresh surprise to Alan. He had expected
+to meet a rough, burly sailor, loud of voice and forbidding of manner.
+Instead, Captain Anthony was a tall, well-built man of perhaps fifty.
+His face, beneath its shock of iron-grey hair, was handsome but wore a
+somewhat forbidding expression, and there was something in it, apart
+from line or feature, which did not please Alan. He had no time to
+analyze this impression, for Lynde said hurriedly, "Father, this is
+Mr. Douglas. He has just done me a great service."
+
+She briefly explained her accident; when she had finished, the Captain
+turned to Alan and held out his hand, a frank smile replacing the
+rather suspicious and contemptuous scowl which had previously
+overshadowed it.
+
+"I am much obliged to you, Mr. Douglas," he said cordially. "You must
+come up to the house and let me thank you at leisure. As a rule I'm
+not very partial to the cloth, as you may have heard. In this case it
+is the man, not the minister, I invite."
+
+The front door of Four Winds opened directly into a wide,
+low-ceilinged living room, furnished with simplicity and good taste.
+Leaving the two men there, Lynde and the old cousin vanished, and Alan
+found himself talking freely with the Captain who could, as it
+appeared, talk well on many subjects far removed from Four Winds. He
+was evidently a clever, self-educated man, somewhat opinionated and
+given to sarcasm; he never made any references to his own past life or
+experiences, but Alan discovered him to be surprisingly well read in
+politics and science. Sometimes in the pauses of the conversation Alan
+found the older man looking at him in a furtive way he did not like,
+but the Captain was such an improvement on what he had been led to
+expect that he was not inclined to be over critical. At least, this
+was what he honestly thought. He did not suspect that it was because
+this man was Lynde's father that he wished to think as well as
+possible of him.
+
+Presently Lynde came in. She had changed her outdoor dress, stained
+with moss and soil in her fall, for a soft clinging garment of some
+pale yellow material, and her long, thick braid of hair hung over her
+shoulder. She sat mutely down in a dim corner and took no part in the
+conversation except to answer briefly the remarks which Alan addressed
+to her. Emily came in and lighted the lamp on the table. She was as
+grim and unsmiling as ever, yet she cast a look of satisfaction on
+Alan as she passed out. One dog lay down at Lynde's feet, the other
+sat on his haunches by her side and laid his head on her lap. Rexton
+and its quiet round of parish duties seemed thousands of miles away
+from Alan, and he wondered a little if this were not all a dream.
+
+When he went away the Captain invited him back.
+
+"If you like to come, that is," he said brusquely, "and always as the
+man, not the priest, remember. I don't want you by and by to be slyly
+slipping in the thin end of any professional wedges. You'll waste your
+time if you do. Come as man to man and you'll be welcome, for I like
+you--and it's few men I like. But don't try to talk religion to me."
+
+"I never talk religion," said Alan emphatically. "I try to live it.
+I'll not come to your house as a self-appointed missionary, sir, but I
+shall certainly act and speak at all times as my conscience and my
+reverence for my vocation demands. If I respect your beliefs, whatever
+they may be, I shall expect you to respect mine, Captain Oliver."
+
+"Oh, I won't insult your God," said the Captain with a faint sneer.
+
+Alan went home in a tumult of contending feelings. He did not
+altogether like Captain Anthony--that was very clear to him, and yet
+there was something about the man that attracted him. Intellectually
+he was a worthy foeman, and Alan had often longed for such since
+coming to Rexton. He missed the keen, stimulating debates of his
+college days and, now there seemed a chance of renewing them, he was
+eager to grasp it. And Lynde--how beautiful she was! What though she
+shared--as was not unlikely--in her father's lack of belief? She could
+not be essentially irreligious--that were impossible in a true woman.
+Might not this be his opportunity to help her--to lead her into dearer
+light? Alan Douglas was a sincere man, with himself as well as with
+others, yet there are some motives that lie, in their first inception,
+too deep even for the probe of self-analysis. He had not as yet the
+faintest suspicion as to the real source of his interest in Lynde
+Oliver--in his sudden forceful desire to be of use and service to
+her--to rescue her from spiritual peril as he had that day rescued her
+from bodily danger.
+
+She must have a lonely, unsatisfying life, he thought. It is my duty
+to help her if I can.
+
+It did not then occur to him that duty in this instance wore a much
+more pleasing aspect than it had sometimes worn in his experience.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Alan did not mean to be oversoon in going back to Four Winds, but
+three days later a book came to him which Captain Anthony had
+expressed a wish to see. It furnished an excuse for an earlier call.
+After that he went often. He always found the Captain courteous and
+affable, old Emily grimly cordial, Lynde sometimes remote and demure,
+sometimes frankly friendly. Occasionally, when the Captain was away in
+his yacht, he went for a walk with her and her dogs along the shore or
+through the sweet-smelling pinelands up the lake. He found that she
+loved books and was avid for more of them than she could obtain; he
+was glad to take her several and discuss them with her. She liked
+history and travels best. With novels she had no patience, she said
+disdainfully. She seldom spoke of herself or her past life and Alan
+fancied she avoided any personal reference. But once she said
+abruptly, "Why do you never ask me to go to church? I've always been
+afraid you would."
+
+"Because I do not think it would do you any good to go if you didn't
+want to," said Alan gravely. "Souls should not be rudely handled any
+more than bodies."
+
+She looked at him reflectively, her finger denting her chin in a
+meditative fashion she had.
+
+"You are not at all like Mr. Strong. He always scolded me, when he got
+a chance, for not going to church. I would have hated him if it had
+been worthwhile. I told him one day that I was nearer to God under
+these pines than I could be in any building fashioned by human hands.
+He was very much shocked. But I don't want you to misunderstand me.
+Father does not go to church because he does not believe there is a
+God. But I know there is. Mother taught me so. I have never gone to
+church because Father would not allow me, and I could not go now in
+Rexton where the people talk about me so. Oh, I know they do--you know
+it, too--but I do not care for them. I know I'm not like other girls.
+I would like to be but I can't be--I never can be--now."
+
+There was some strange passion in her voice that Alan did not quite
+understand--a bitterness and a revolt which he took to be against the
+circumstances that hedged her in.
+
+"Is not some other life possible for you if your present life does not
+content you?" he said gently.
+
+"But it does content me," said Lynde imperiously. "I want no other--I
+wish this life to go on forever--forever, do you understand? If I were
+sure that it would--if I were sure that no change would ever come to
+me, I would be perfectly content. It is the fear that a change will
+come that makes me wretched. Oh!" She shuddered and put her hands over
+her eyes.
+
+Alan thought she must mean that when her father died she would be
+alone in the world. He wanted to comfort her--reassure her--but he did
+not know how.
+
+One evening when he went to Four Winds he found the door open and,
+seeing the Captain in the living room, he stepped in unannounced.
+Captain Anthony was sitting by the table, his head in his hands; at
+Alan's entrance he turned upon him a haggard face, blackened by a
+furious scowl beneath which blazed eyes full of malevolence.
+
+"What do you want here?" he said, following up the demand with a
+string of vile oaths.
+
+Before Alan could summon his scattered wits, Lynde glided in with a
+white, appealing face. Wordlessly she grasped Alan's arm, drew him
+out, and shut the door.
+
+"Oh, I've been watching for you," she said breathlessly. "I was afraid
+you might come tonight--but I missed you."
+
+"But your father?" said Alan in amazement. "How have I angered him?"
+
+"Hush. Come into the garden. I will explain there."
+
+He followed her into the little enclosure where the red and white
+roses were now in full blow.
+
+"Father isn't angry with you," said Lynde in a low shamed voice. "It's
+just--he takes strange moods sometimes. Then he seems to hate us
+all--even me--and he is like that for days. He seems to suspect and
+dread everybody as if they were plotting against him. You--perhaps you
+think he has been drinking? No, that is not the trouble. These
+terrible moods come on without any cause that we know of. Even Mother
+could not do anything with him when he was like that. You must go away
+now--and do not come back until his dark mood has passed. He will be
+just as glad to see you as ever then, and this will not make any
+difference with him. Don't come back for a week at least."
+
+"I do not like to leave you in such trouble, Miss Oliver."
+
+"Oh, it doesn't matter about me--I have Emily. And there is nothing
+you could do. Please go at once. Father knows I am talking to you and
+that will vex him still more."
+
+Alan, realizing that he could not help her and that his presence only
+made matters worse, went away perplexedly. The following week was a
+miserable one for him. His duties were distasteful to him and meeting
+his people a positive torture. Sometimes Mrs. Danby looked dubiously
+at him and seemed on the point of saying something--but never said it.
+Isabel King watched him when they met, with bold probing eyes. In his
+abstraction he did not notice this any more than he noticed a certain
+subtle change which had come over the members of his congregation--as
+if a breath of suspicion had blown across them and troubled their
+confidence and trust. Once Alan would have been keenly and instantly
+conscious of this slight chill; now he was not even aware of it.
+
+When he ventured to go back to Four Winds he found the Captain on the
+point of starting off for a cruise in his yacht. He was urbane and
+friendly, utterly ignoring the incident of Alan's last visit and
+regretting that business compelled him to go down the lake. Alan saw
+him off with small regret and turned joyfully to Lynde, who was
+walking under the pines with her dogs. She looked pale and tired and
+her eyes were still troubled, but she smiled proudly and made no
+reference to what had happened.
+
+"I'm going to put these flowers on Mother's grave," she said, lifting
+her slender hands filled with late white roses. "Mother loved flowers
+and I always keep them near her when I can. You may come with me if
+you like."
+
+Alan had known Lynde's mother was buried under the pines but he had
+never visited the spot before. The grave was at the westernmost end of
+the pine wood, where it gave out on the lake, a beautiful spot, given
+over to silence and shadow.
+
+"Mother wished to be buried here," Lynde said, kneeling to arrange her
+flowers. "Father would have taken her anywhere but she said she wanted
+to be near us and near the lake she had loved so well. Father buried
+her himself. He wouldn't have anyone else do anything for her. I am so
+glad she is here. It would have been terrible to have seen her taken
+far away--my sweet little mother."
+
+"A mother is the best thing in the world--I realized that when I lost
+mine," said Alan gently. "How long is it since your mother died?"
+
+"Three years. Oh, I thought I should die too when she did. She was
+very ill--she was never strong, you know--but I never thought she
+could die. There was a year then--part of the time I didn't believe in
+God at all and the rest I hated Him. I was very wicked but I was so
+unhappy. Father had so many dreadful moods and--there was something
+else. I used to wish to die."
+
+She bowed her head on her hands and gazed moodily on the ground. Alan,
+leaning against a pine tree, looked down at her. The sunlight fell
+through the swaying boughs on her glory of burnished hair and lighted
+up the curve of cheek and chin against the dark background of wood
+brown. All the defiance and wildness had gone from her for the time
+and she seemed like a helpless, weary child. He wanted to take her in
+his arms and comfort her.
+
+"You must resemble your mother," he said absently, as if thinking
+aloud. "You don't look at all like your father."
+
+Lynde shook her head.
+
+"No, I don't look like Mother either. She was tiny and dark--she had a
+sweet little face and velvet-brown eyes and soft curly dark hair. Oh,
+I remember her look so well. I wish I did resemble her. I loved her
+so--I would have done anything to save her suffering and trouble. At
+least, she died in peace."
+
+There was a curious note of fierce self-gratulation in the girl's voice
+as she spoke the last sentence. Again Alan felt the unpleasant
+impression that there was much in her that he did not understand--might
+never understand--although such understanding was necessary to perfect
+friendship. She had never spoken so freely of her past life to him
+before, yet he felt somehow that something was being kept back in
+jealous repression. It must be something connected with her father,
+Alan thought. Doubtless, Captain Anthony's past would not bear
+inspection, and his daughter knew it and dwelt in the shadow of her
+knowledge. His heart filled with aching pity for her; he raged secretly
+because he was so powerless to help her. Her girlhood had been
+blighted, robbed of its meed of happiness and joy. Was she likewise to
+miss her womanhood? Alan's hands clenched involuntarily at the
+unuttered question.
+
+On his way home that evening he again met Isabel King. She turned and
+walked back with him but she made no reference to Four Winds or its
+inhabitants. If Alan had troubled himself to look, he would have seen
+a malicious glow in her baleful brown eyes. But the only eyes which
+had any meaning for him just then were the grey ones of Lynde Oliver.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+During Alan's next three visits to Four Winds he saw nothing of Lynde,
+either in the house or out of it. This surprised and worried him.
+There was no apparent difference in Captain Anthony, who continued to
+be suave and friendly. Alan always enjoyed his conversations with the
+Captain, who was witty, incisive, and pungent; yet he disliked the man
+himself more at every visit. If he had been compelled to define his
+impression, he would have said the Captain was a charming scoundrel.
+
+But it occurred to him that Emily was disturbed about something.
+Sometimes he caught her glance, full of perplexity and--it almost
+seemed--distrust. She looked as if she felt hostile towards him. But
+Alan dismissed the idea as absurd. She had been friendly from the
+first and he had done nothing to excite her disapproval. Lynde's
+mysterious absence was a far more perplexing problem. She had not gone
+away, for when Alan asked the Captain concerning her, he responded
+indifferently that she was out walking. Alan caught a glint of
+amusement in the older man's eyes as he spoke. He could have sworn it
+was malicious amusement.
+
+One evening he went to Four Winds around the shore. As he turned the
+headland of the cove, he saw Lynde and her dogs not a hundred feet
+away. The moment she saw him she darted up the bank and disappeared
+among the firs.
+
+Alan was thunderstruck. There was no room for doubt that she meant to
+avoid him. He walked up to the house in a tumult of mingled feelings
+which he did not even then understand. He only realized that he felt
+bitterly hurt and grieved--puzzled as well. What did it all mean?
+
+He met Emily in the yard of Four Winds on her way to the spring and
+stopped her resolutely.
+
+"Miss Oliver," he said bluntly, "is Miss Lynde angry with me? And
+why?"
+
+Emily looked at him piercingly.
+
+"Have you no idea why?" she asked shortly.
+
+"None in the world."
+
+She looked at him through and through a moment longer. Then, seeming
+satisfied with her scrutiny, she picked up her pail.
+
+"Come down to the spring with me," she said.
+
+As soon as they were out of sight of the house, Emily began abruptly.
+
+"If you don't know why Lynde is acting so, I can't tell you, for I
+don't know either. I don't even know if she is angry. I only thought
+perhaps she was--that you had done or said something to vex
+her--plaguing her to go to church maybe. But if you didn't, it may not
+be anger at all. I don't understand that girl. She's been different
+ever since her mother died. She used to tell me everything before
+that. You must go and ask her right out yourself what is wrong. But
+maybe I can tell you something. Did you write her a letter a
+fortnight ago?"
+
+"A letter? No."
+
+"Well, she got one then. I thought it came from you--I didn't know who
+else would be writing to her. A boy brought it and gave it to her at
+the door. She's been acting strange ever since. She cries at
+night--something Lynde never did before except when her mother died.
+And in daytime she roams the shore and woods like one possessed. You
+must find out what was in that letter, Mr. Douglas."
+
+"Have you any idea who the boy was?" Alan asked, feeling somewhat
+relieved. The mystery was clearing up, he thought. No doubt it was the
+old story of some cowardly anonymous letter. His thoughts flew
+involuntarily to Isabel King.
+
+Emily shook her head.
+
+"No. He was just a half-grown fellow with reddish hair and he limped a
+little."
+
+"Oh, that is the postmaster's son," said Alan disappointedly. "That
+puts us further off the scent than ever. The letter was probably
+dropped in the box at the office and there will consequently be no way
+of tracing the writer."
+
+"Well, I can't tell you anything more," said Emily. "You'll have to
+ask Lynde for the truth."
+
+This Alan was determined to do whenever he should meet her. He did not
+go to the house with Emily but wandered about the shore, watching for
+Lynde and not seeing her. At length he went home, a prey to stormy
+emotions. He realized at last that he loved Lynde Oliver. He wondered
+how he could have been so long blind to it. He knew that he must have
+loved her ever since he had first seen her. The discovery amazed but
+did not shock him. There was no reason why he should not love
+her--should not woo and win her for his wife if she cared for him. She
+was good and sweet and true. Anything of doubt in her antecedents
+could not touch her. Probably the world would look upon Captain
+Anthony as a somewhat undesirable father-in-law for a minister, but
+that aspect of the question did not disturb Alan. As for the trouble
+of the letter, he felt sure he would easily be able to clear it away.
+Probably some malicious busybody had become aware of his frequent
+calls at Four Winds and chose to interfere in his private affairs
+thus. For the first time it occurred to him that there had been a
+certain lack of cordiality among his people of late. If it were really
+so, doubtless this was the reason. At any other time this would have
+been of moment to him. But now his thoughts were too wholly taken up
+with Lynde and the estrangement on her part to attach much importance
+to anything else. What she thought mattered incalculably more to Alan
+than what all the people in Rexton put together thought. He had the
+right, like any other man, to woo the woman of his choice and he would
+certainly brook no outside interference in the matter.
+
+After a sleepless night he went back to Four Winds in the morning.
+Lynde would not expect him at that time and he would have more chance
+of finding her. The result justified his idea, for he met her by the
+spring.
+
+Alan felt shocked at the change in her appearance. She looked as if
+years of suffering had passed over her. Her lips were pallid, and
+hollow circles under her eyes made them appear unnaturally large. He
+had last left the girl in the bloom of her youth; he found her again a
+woman on whom life had laid its heavy hand.
+
+A burning flood of colour swept over her face as they met, then
+receded as quickly, leaving her whiter than before. Without any waste
+of words, Alan plunged abruptly into the subject.
+
+"Miss Oliver, why have you avoided me so of late? Have I done anything
+to offend you?"
+
+"No." She spoke as if the word hurt her, her eyes persistently cast
+down.
+
+"Then what is the trouble?"
+
+There was no answer. She gave an unvoluntary glance around as if
+seeking some way of escape. There was none, for the spring was set
+about with thick young firs and Alan blocked the only path.
+
+He leaned forward and took her hands in his.
+
+"Miss Oliver, you must tell me what the trouble is," he said firmly.
+
+She pulled her hands away and flung them up to her face, her form
+shaken by stormy sobs. In distress he put his arm about her and drew
+her closer.
+
+"Tell me, Lynde," he whispered tenderly.
+
+She broke away from him, saying passionately, "You must not come to
+Four Winds any more. You must not have anything more to do with
+us--any of us. We have done you enough harm already. But I never
+thought it could hurt you--oh, I am sorry, sorry!"
+
+"Miss Oliver, I want to see that letter you received the other
+evening. Oh"--as she started with surprise--"I know about it--Emily
+told me. Who wrote it?"
+
+"There was no name signed to it," she faltered.
+
+"Just as I thought. Well, you must let me see it."
+
+"I cannot--I burned it."
+
+"Then tell me what was in it. You must. This matter must be cleared
+up--I am not going to have our beautiful friendship spoiled by the
+malice of some coward. What did that letter say?"
+
+"It said that everybody in your congregation was talking about your
+frequent visits here--that it had made a great scandal--that it was
+doing you a great deal of injury and would probably end in your having
+to leave Rexton."
+
+"That would be a catastrophe indeed," said Alan drily. "Well, what
+else?"
+
+"Nothing more--at least, nothing about you. The rest was about
+myself--I did not mind it--much. But I was so sorry to think that I
+had done you harm. It is not too late to undo it. You must not come
+here any more. Then they will forget."
+
+"Perhaps--but I should not forget. It's a little too late for me.
+Lynde, you must not let this venomous letter come between us. I love
+you, dear--I've loved you ever since I met you and I want you for my
+wife."
+
+Alan had not intended to say that just then, but the words came to his
+lips in spite of himself. She looked so sad and appealing and weary
+that he wanted to have the right to comfort and protect her.
+
+She turned her eyes full upon him with no hint of maidenly shyness or
+shrinking in them. Instead, they were full of a blank, incredulous
+horror that swallowed up every other feeling. There was no mistaking
+their expression and it struck an icy chill to Alan's heart. He had
+certainly not expected a too ready response on her part--he knew that
+even if she cared for him he might find it a matter of time to win her
+avowal of it--but he certainly had not expected to see such evident
+abject dismay as her blanched face betrayed. She put up her hand as if
+warding a blow.
+
+"Don't--don't," she gasped. "You must not say that--you must never say
+it. Oh, I never dreamed of this. If I had thought it possible you
+could--love me, I would never have been friends with you. Oh, I've
+made a terrible mistake."
+
+She wrung her hands piteously together, looking like a soul in
+torment. Alan could not bear to see her pain.
+
+"Don't feel such distress," he implored. "I suppose I've spoken too
+abruptly--but I'll be so patient, dear, if you'll only try to care for
+me a little. Can't you, dear?"
+
+"I can't marry you," said Lynde desperately. She leaned against a slim
+white bole of a young birch behind her and looked at him wretchedly.
+"Won't you please go away and forget me?"
+
+"I can't forget you," Alan said, smiling a little in spite of his
+suffering. "You are the only woman I can ever love--and I can't give
+you up unless I have to. Won't you be frank with me, dear? Do you
+honestly think you can never learn to love me?"
+
+"It is not that," said Lynde in a hard, unnatural voice. "I am married
+already."
+
+Alan stared at her, not in the least comprehending the meaning of her
+words. Everything--pain, hope, fear, passion--had slipped away from
+him for a moment, as if he had been stunned by a physical blow. He
+could not have heard aright.
+
+"Married?" he said dully. "Lynde, you cannot mean it?"
+
+"Yes, I do. I was married three years ago."
+
+"Why was I not told this?" Alan's voice was stern, although he did not
+mean it to be so, and she shrank and shivered. Then she began in a low
+monotonous tone from which all feeling of any sort seemed to have
+utterly faded.
+
+"Three years ago Mother was very ill--so ill that any shock would kill
+her, so the doctor Father brought from the lake told us. A man--a
+young sea captain--came here to see Father. His name was Frank Harmon
+and he had known Father well in the past. They had sailed together.
+Father seemed to be afraid of him--I had never seen him afraid of
+anybody before. I could not think much about anybody except Mother
+then, but I knew I did not quite like Captain Harmon, although he was
+very polite to me and I suppose might have been called handsome. One
+day Father came to me and told me I must marry Captain Harmon. I
+laughed at the idea at first but when I looked at Father's face I did
+not laugh. It was all white and drawn. He implored me to marry Captain
+Harmon. He said if I did not it would mean shame and disgrace for us
+all--that Captain Harmon had some hold on him and would tell what he
+knew if I did not marry him. I don't know what it was but it must have
+been something dreadful. And he said it would kill Mother. I knew it
+would, and that was what drove me to consent at last. Oh, I can't tell
+you what I suffered. I was only seventeen and there was nobody to
+advise me. One day Father and Captain Harmon and I went down the lake
+to Crosse Harbour and we were married there. As soon as the ceremony
+was over, Captain Harmon had to sail in his vessel. He was going to
+China. Father and I came back home. Nobody knew--not even Emily. He
+said we must not tell Mother until she was better. But she was never
+better. She only lived three months more--she lived them happily and
+at rest. When I think of that, I am not sorry for what I did. Captain
+Harmon said he would be back in the fall to claim me. I waited, sick
+at heart. But he did not come--he has never come. We have never heard
+a word of or about him since. Sometimes I feel sure he cannot be still
+living. But never a day dawns that I don't say to myself, 'Perhaps he
+will come today'--and, oh--"
+
+She broke down again, sobbing bitterly. Amid all the daze of his own
+pain Alan realized that, at any cost, he must not make it harder for
+her by showing his suffering. He tried to speak calmly, wisely, as a
+disinterested friend.
+
+"Could it not be discovered whether your--this man--is or is not
+living? Surely your father could find out."
+
+Lynde shook her head.
+
+"No, he says he has no way of doing so. We do not know if Captain
+Harmon had any relatives or even where his home was, and it was his
+own ship in which he sailed. Father would be glad to think that Frank
+Harmon was dead, but he does not think he is. He says he was always a
+fickle-minded fellow, one fancy driving another out of his mind. Oh, I
+can bear my own misery--but to think what I have brought on you! I
+never dreamed that you could care for me. I was so lonely and your
+friendship was so pleasant--can you ever forgive me?"
+
+"There is nothing to forgive, as far as you are concerned, Lynde,"
+said Alan steadily. "You have done me no wrong. I have loved you
+sincerely and such love can be nothing but a blessing to me. I only
+wish that I could help you. It wrings my heart to think of your
+position. But I can do nothing--nothing. I must not even come here any
+more. You understand that?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+There was an unconscious revelation in the girl's mournful eyes as she
+turned them on Alan. It thrilled him to the core of his being. She
+loved him. If it were not for that empty marriage form, he could win
+her, but the knowledge was only an added mocking torment. Alan had not
+known a man could endure such misery and live. A score of wild
+questions rushed to his lips but he crushed them back for Lynde's sake
+and held out his hand.
+
+"Good-bye, dear," he said almost steadily, daring to say no more lest
+he should say too much.
+
+"Good-bye," Lynde answered faintly.
+
+When he had gone she flung herself down on the moss by the spring and
+lay there in an utter abandonment of misery and desolation.
+
+Pain and indignation struggled for mastery in Alan's stormy soul as he
+walked homeward. So this was Captain Anthony's doings! He had
+sacrificed his daughter to some crime of his dubious past. Alan never
+dreamed of blaming Lynde for having kept her marriage a secret; he put
+the blame where it belonged--on the Captain's shoulders. Captain
+Anthony had never warned him by so much as a hint that Lynde was not
+free to be won. It had all probably seemed a good joke to him. Alan
+thought the furtive amusement he had so often detected in the
+Captain's eyes was explained now.
+
+He found Elder Trewin in his study when he got home. The good Elder's
+face was stern and anxious; he had called on a distasteful errand--to
+tell the young minister of the scandal his intimacy with the Four
+Winds people was making in the congregation and remonstrate with him
+concerning it. Alan listened absently, with none of the resentment he
+would have felt at the interference a day previously. A man does not
+mind a pin-prick when a limb is being wrenched away.
+
+"I can promise you that my objectionable calls at Four Winds will
+cease," he said sarcastically, when the Elder had finished. Elder
+Trewin got himself away, feeling snubbed but relieved.
+
+"Took it purty quiet," he reflected. "Don't believe there was much in
+the yarns after all. Isabel King started them and probably she
+exaggerated a lot. I suppose he's had some notion like as not of
+bringing the Captain over to the church. But that's foolish, for he'd
+never manage it, and meanwhile was giving occasion for gossip. It's
+just as well to stop it. He's a good pastor and he works hard--too
+hard, mebbe. He looked real careworn and worried today."
+
+The Rexton gossip soon ceased with the cessation of the young
+minister's visits to Four Winds. A month later it suffered a brief
+revival when a tall grim-faced old woman, whom a few recognized as
+Captain Anthony's housekeeper, was seen to walk down the Rexton road
+and enter the manse. She did not stay there long--watchers from a
+dozen different windows were agreed upon that--and nobody, not even
+Mrs. Danby, who did her best to find out, ever knew why she had
+called.
+
+Emily looked at Alan with grim reproach when she was shown into his
+study, and as soon as they were alone she began with her usual
+abruptness, "Mr. Douglas, why have you given up coming to Four Winds?"
+
+Alan flinched.
+
+"You must ask Lynde that, Miss Oliver," he said quietly.
+
+"I have asked her--and she says nothing."
+
+"Then I cannot tell you."
+
+Anger glowed in Emily's eyes.
+
+"I thought you were a gentleman," she said bitterly. "You are not. You
+are breaking Lynde's heart. She's gone to a shadow of herself and
+she's fretting night and day. You went there and made her like
+you--oh, I've eyes--and then you left her."
+
+Alan bent over his desk and looked the old woman in the face
+unflinchingly.
+
+"You are mistaken, Miss Oliver," he said earnestly. "I love Lynde and
+would be only too happy if it were possible that I could marry her. I
+am not to blame for what has come about--she will tell you that
+herself if you ask her."
+
+His look and tone convinced Emily.
+
+"Who is to blame then? Lynde herself?"
+
+"No, no."
+
+"The Captain then?"
+
+"Not in the sense you mean. I can tell you nothing more."
+
+A baffled expression crossed the old woman's face. "There's a mystery
+here--there always has been--and I'm shut out of it. Lynde won't
+confide in me--in me who'd give my life's blood to help her. Perhaps I
+can help her--I could tell you something. Have you stopped coming to
+Four Winds--has she made you stop coming--because she's got such a
+wicked old scamp for a father? Is that the reason?"
+
+Alan shook his head.
+
+"No, that has nothing to do with it."
+
+"And you won't come back?"
+
+"It is not a question of will. I cannot--must not go."
+
+"Lynde will break her heart then," said Emily in a tone of despair.
+
+"I think not. She is too strong and fine for that. Help her all you
+can with sympathy but don't torment her with any questions. You may
+tell her if you like that I advise her to confide the whole story to
+you, but if she cannot don't tease her to. Be very gentle with her."
+
+"You don't need to tell me that. I'd rather die than hurt her. I came
+here full of anger against you--but I see now you are not to blame.
+You are suffering too--your face tells that. All the same, I wish
+you'd never set foot in Four Winds. She wasn't happy before but she
+wasn't so miserable as she is now. Oh, I know Anthony is at the bottom
+of it all in some way but I won't ask you any more questions since you
+don't feel free to answer them. But are you sure that nothing can be
+done to clear up the trouble?"
+
+"Too sure," said Alan's white lips.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The autumn dragged away. Alan found out how much a man may suffer and
+yet go on living and working. As for that, his work was all that made
+life possible for him now and he flung himself into it with feverish
+energy, growing so thin and hollow-eyed over it that even Elder Trewin
+remonstrated and suggested a vacation--a suggestion at which Alan
+merely smiled. A vacation which would take him away from Lynde's
+neighbourhood--the thought was not to be entertained.
+
+He never saw Lynde, for he never went to any part of the shore now;
+yet he hungered constantly for the sight of her, the sound of her
+voice, the glance of her luminous eyes. When he pictured her eating
+her heart out in the solitude of Four Winds, he clenched his hands in
+despair. As for the possibility of Harmon's return, Alan could never
+face it for a moment. When it thrust its ugly presence into his
+thoughts, he put it away desperately. The man was dead--or his fickle
+fancy had veered elsewhere. Nothing else could explain his absence.
+But they could never know, and the uncertainty would forever stand
+between him and Lynde like a spectre. But he thought more of Lynde's
+pain than his own. He would have elected to bear any suffering if by
+so doing he could have freed her from the nightmare dread of Harmon's
+returning to claim her. That dread had always hung over her and now it
+must be intensified to agony by her love for another man. And he could
+do nothing--nothing. He groaned aloud in his helplessness.
+
+One evening in late November Alan flung aside his pen and yielded to
+the impulse that urged him to the lake shore. He did not mean to seek
+Lynde--he would go to a part of the shore where there would be no
+likelihood of meeting her. But get away by himself he must. A November
+storm was raging and there would be a certain satisfaction in
+breasting its buffets and fighting his way through it. Besides, he
+knew that Isabel King was in the house and he dreaded meeting her.
+Since his conviction that she had written that letter to Lynde, he
+could not tolerate the girl and it tasked his self-control to keep
+from showing his contempt openly. Perhaps Isabel felt it beneath all
+his outward courtesy. At least she did not seek his society as she had
+formerly done.
+
+It was the second day of the storm; a wild northeast gale was blowing
+and cold rain and freezing sleet fell in frequent showers. Alan
+shivered as he came out into its full fury on the lake shore. At first
+he could not see the water through the driving mist. Then it cleared
+away for a moment and he stopped short, aghast at the sight which met
+his eyes.
+
+Opposite him was a long low island known as Philip's Point, dwindling
+down at its northeastern side to two long narrow bars of quicksand.
+Alan's horrified eyes saw a small schooner sunk between the bars; her
+hull was entirely under water and in the rigging clung one solitary
+figure. So much he saw before the Point was blotted out in a renewed
+downpour of sleet.
+
+Without a moment's hesitation Alan turned and ran for Four Winds,
+which was only about a quarter of a mile away around a headland. With
+the Captain's assistance, something might be done. Other help could
+not be obtained before darkness would fall and then it would be
+impossible to do anything. He dashed up the steps of Four Winds and
+met Emily, who had flung the door open. Behind her was Lynde's pale
+face with its alarmed questioning eyes.
+
+"Where is the Captain?" gasped Alan. "There's a vessel on Philip's
+Point and one man at least on her."
+
+"The Captain's away on a cruise," said Emily blankly. "He went three
+days ago."
+
+"Then nothing can be done," said Alan despairingly. "It will be dark
+long before I can get to the village."
+
+Lynde stepped out, tying a shawl around her head.
+
+"Let us go around to the Point," she said. "Have you matches? No?
+Emily, get some. We must light a bonfire at least. And bring Father's
+glass."
+
+"It is not a fit night for you to be out," said Alan anxiously. "You
+are sheltered here--you don't feel it--but it's a fearful storm down
+there."
+
+"I am not afraid of the storm. It will not hurt me. Let us hurry. It
+is growing dark already."
+
+In silence they breasted their way to the shore and around the
+headland. Arriving opposite Philip's Point, a lull in the sleet
+permitted them to see the sunken schooner and the clinging figure.
+Lynde waved her hand to him and they saw him wave back.
+
+"It won't be necessary to light a fire now that he has seen us," said
+Lynde. "Nothing can be done with village help till morning and that
+man can never cling there so long. He will freeze to death, for it is
+growing colder every minute. His only chance is to swim ashore if he
+can swim. The danger will be when he comes near shore; the undertow of
+the backwater on the quicksand will sweep him away and in his probably
+exhausted condition he may not be able to make head against it."
+
+"He knows that, doubtless, and that is why he hasn't attempted to swim
+ashore before this," said Alan. "But I'll meet him in the backwater
+and drag him in."
+
+"You--you'll risk your own life," cried Lynde.
+
+"There is a little risk certainly, but I don't think there is a great
+one. Anyhow, the attempt must be made," said Alan quietly.
+
+Suddenly Lynde's composure forsook her. She wrung her hands.
+
+"I can't let you do it," she cried wildly. "You might be
+drowned--there's every risk. You don't know the force of that
+backwater. Alan, Alan, don't think of it."
+
+She caught his arm in her white wet hands and looked into his face
+with passionate pleading.
+
+Emily, who had said nothing, now spoke harshly.
+
+"Lynde is right, Mr. Douglas. You have no right to risk your life for
+a stranger. My advice is to go to the village for help, and Lynde and
+I will make a fire and watch here. That is all that can be expected of
+you or us."
+
+Alan paid no heed to Emily. Very tenderly he loosened Lynde's hold on
+his arm and looked into her quivering face.
+
+"You know it is my duty, Lynde," he said gently. "If anything can be
+done for that poor man, I am the only one who can do it. I will come
+back safe, please God. Be brave, dear."
+
+Lynde, with a little moan of resignation, turned away. Old Emily
+looked on with a face of grim disapproval as Alan waded out into the
+surf that boiled and swirled around him in a mad whirl of foam. The
+shower of sleet had again slackened, and the wreck half a mile away,
+with its solitary figure, was dearly visible. Alan beckoned to the man
+to jump overboard and swim ashore, enforcing his appeal by gestures
+that commanded haste before the next shower should come. For a few
+moments it seemed as if the seaman did not understand or lacked the
+courage or power to obey. The next minute he had dropped from the
+rigging on the crest of a mighty wave and was being borne onward to
+the shore.
+
+Speedily the backwater was reached and the man, sucked down by the
+swirl of the wave, threw up his arms and disappeared. Alan dashed in,
+groping, swimming; it seemed an eternity before his hand clutched the
+drowning man and wrenched him from the undertow. And, with the seaman
+in his arms, he staggered back through the foam and dropped his
+burden on the sand at Lynde's feet. Alan was reeling from exhaustion
+and chilled to the marrow, but he thought only of the man he had
+rescued. The latter was unconscious and, as Alan bent over him, he
+heard Lynde give a choking little cry.
+
+"He is living still," said Alan. "We must get him up to the house as
+soon as possible. How shall we manage it?"
+
+"Lynde and I can go and bring the Captain's mattress down," said
+Emily. Now that Alan was safe she was eager to do all she could. "Then
+you and I can carry him up to the house."
+
+"That will be best," said Alan. "Go quickly."
+
+He did not look at Lynde or he would have been shocked by the agony on
+her face. She cast one glance at the prostrate man and followed Emily.
+In a short time they returned with the mattress, and Alan and Emily
+carried the sailor on it to Four Winds. Lynde walked behind them,
+seemingly unconscious of both. She watched the stranger's face as one
+fascinated.
+
+At Four Winds they carried the man to a room where Emily and Alan
+worked over him, while Lynde heated water and hunted out stimulants in
+a mechanical fashion. When Alan came down she asked no questions but
+looked at him with the same strained horror on her face which it had
+borne ever since Alan had dropped his burden at her feet.
+
+"Is he--conscious?" asked Lynde, as if she forced herself to ask the
+question.
+
+"Yes, he has come back to life. But he is delirious and doesn't
+realize his surroundings at all. He thinks he is still on board the
+vessel. He'll probably come round all right. Emily is going to watch
+him and I'll go up to Rexton and send Dr. Ames down."
+
+"Do you know who that man you have saved is?" asked Lynde.
+
+"No. I asked him his name but could not get any sensible answer."
+
+"I can tell you who he is--he is Frank Harmon."
+
+Alan stared at her. "Frank Harmon. Your--your--the man you married?
+Impossible!"
+
+"It is he. Do you think I could be mistaken?"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Dr. Ames came to Four Winds that night and again the next day. He
+found Harmon delirious in a high fever.
+
+"It will be several days before he comes to his senses," he said.
+"Shall I send you help to nurse him?"
+
+"It isn't necessary," said Emily stiffly. "I can look after him--and
+the Captain ought to be back tomorrow."
+
+"You've no idea who he is, I suppose?" asked the doctor.
+
+"No." Emily was quite sincere. Lynde had not told her, and Emily did
+not recognize him.
+
+"Well, Mr. Douglas did a brave thing in rescuing him," said Dr. Ames.
+"I'll be back tomorrow."
+
+Harmon remained delirious for a week. Alan went every day to Four
+Winds, his interest in a man he had rescued explaining his visits to
+the Rexton people. The Captain had returned and, though not absolutely
+uncivil, was taciturn and moody. Alan reflected grimly that Captain
+Anthony probably owed him a grudge for saving Harmon's life. He never
+saw Lynde alone, but her strained, tortured face made his heart ache.
+Old Emily only seemed her natural self. She waited on Harmon and Dr.
+Ames considered her a paragon of a nurse. Alan thought it was well
+that Emily knew nothing more of Harmon than that he was an old friend
+of Captain Anthony's. He felt sure that she would have walked out of
+the sick room and never reentered it had she guessed that the patient
+was the man whom, above all others, Lynde dreaded and feared.
+
+One afternoon when Alan went to Four Winds Emily met him at the door.
+
+"He's better," she announced. "He had a good sleep this afternoon and
+when he woke he was quite himself. You'd better go up and see him. I
+told him all I could but he wants to see you. Anthony and Lynde are
+away to Crosse Harbour. Go up and talk to him."
+
+Harmon turned his head as the minister approached and held out his
+hand with a smile.
+
+"You're the preacher, I reckon. They tell me you were the man who
+pulled me out of that hurly-burly. I wasn't hardly worth saving but
+I'm as grateful to you as if I was."
+
+"I only--did--what any man would have done," said Alan, taking the
+offered hand.
+
+"I don't know about that. Anyhow, it's not every man could have done
+it. I'd been hanging in that rigging all day and most of the night
+before. There were five more of us but they dropped off. I knew it was
+no use to try to swim ashore alone--the backwater would be too much
+for me. I must have been a lot of trouble. That old woman says I've
+been raving for a week. And, by the way I feel, I fancy I'll be
+stretched out here another week before I'll be able to use my pins.
+Who are these Olivers anyhow? The old woman wouldn't talk about the
+family."
+
+"Don't you know them?" asked Alan in astonishment. "Isn't your name
+Harmon?"
+
+"That's right--Harmon--Alfred Harmon, first mate of the schooner,
+_Annie M._"
+
+"Alfred! I thought your name was Frank!"
+
+"Frank was my twin brother. We were so much alike our own mammy
+couldn't tell us apart. Did you know Frank?"
+
+"No. This family did. Miss Oliver thought you were Frank when she saw
+you."
+
+"I don't feel much like myself but I'm not Frank anyway. He's dead,
+poor chap--got shot in a spat with Chinese pirates three years ago."
+
+"Dead! Man, are you speaking the truth? Are you certain?"
+
+"Pop sure. His mate told me the whole story. Say, preacher, what's the
+matter? You look as if you were going to keel over."
+
+Alan hastily drank a glass of water.
+
+"I--I am all right now. I haven't been feeling well of late."
+
+"Guess you didn't do yourself any good going out into that freezing
+water and dragging me in."
+
+"I shall thank God every day of my life that I did do it," said Alan
+gravely, new light in his eyes, as Emily entered the room. "Miss
+Oliver, when will the Captain and Lynde be back?"
+
+"They said they would be home by four."
+
+She looked at Alan curiously.
+
+"I will go and meet her," he said quickly.
+
+He came upon Lynde, sitting on a grey boulder under the shadow of an
+overhanging fir coppice, with her dogs beside her.
+
+She turned her head indifferently as Alan's footsteps sounded on the
+pebbles, and then stood slowly up.
+
+"Are you looking for me?" she asked.
+
+"I have some news for you, Lynde," Alan said.
+
+"Has he--has he come to himself?" she whispered.
+
+"Yes, he has come to himself. Lynde, he is not Frank Harmon--he is his
+twin brother. He says Frank Harmon was killed three years ago in the
+China seas."
+
+For a moment Lynde's great grey eyes stared into Alan's, questioning.
+Then, as the truth seized on her comprehension, she sat down on the
+boulder and put her hands over her face without a word. Alan walked
+down to the water's edge to give her time to recover herself. When he
+came back he took her hands and said quietly, "Lynde, do you realize
+what this means for us--for us? You are free--free to love me--to be
+my wife."
+
+Lynde shook her head.
+
+"Oh, that can't be. I am not fit to be your wife."
+
+"Don't talk nonsense, dear," he smiled.
+
+"It isn't nonsense. You are a minister and it would ruin you to marry
+a girl like me. Think what the Rexton people would say of it."
+
+"Rexton isn't the world, dearest. Last week I had a letter from home
+asking me to go to a church there. I did not think of accepting
+then--now I will go--we will both go--and a new life will begin for
+you, clear of the shadows of the old."
+
+"That isn't possible. No, Alan, listen--I love you too well to do you
+the wrong of marrying you. It would injure you. There is Father. I
+love him and he has always been very kind to me. But--but--there's
+something wrong--you know it--some crime in his past--"
+
+"The only man who knew that is dead."
+
+"We do not know that he was the only man. I am the daughter of a
+criminal and I am no fit wife for Alan Douglas. No, Alan, don't plead,
+please. I won't think differently--I never can."
+
+There was a ring of finality in her tone that struck dismay to Alan's
+heart. He prepared to entreat and argue, but before he could utter a
+word, the boughs behind them parted and Captain Anthony stepped down
+from the bank.
+
+"I've been listening," he announced coolly, "and I think it high time
+I took a share in the conversation. You seem to have run up against a
+snag, Mr. Douglas. You say Frank Harmon is dead. That's good riddance
+if it's true. Is it true?"
+
+"His brother declares it is."
+
+"Well, then, I'll help you all I can. I like you, Mr. Douglas, and I
+happen to be fond of Lynde, too--though you mayn't believe it. I'm
+fond of her for her mother's sake and I'd like to see her happy. I
+didn't want to give her to Harmon that time three years ago but I
+couldn't help myself. He had the upper hand, curse him. It wasn't for
+my own sake, though--it was for my wife's. However, that's all over
+and done with and I'll do the best I can to atone for it. So you won't
+marry your minister because your father was not a good man, Lynde?
+Well, I don't suppose he was a very good man--a man who makes his
+wife's life a hell, even in a refined way, isn't exactly a saint, to
+my way of thinking. But that's the worst that could be said of him and
+it doesn't entail any indelible disgrace on his family, I suppose. I
+am not your father, Lynde."
+
+"Not my father?" Lynde echoed the words blankly.
+
+"No. Your father was your mother's first husband. She never told you
+of him. When I said he made her life a hell, I said the truth, no
+more, no less. I had loved your mother ever since I was a boy, Lynde.
+But she was far above me in station and I never dreamed it was
+possible to win her love. She married James Ashley. He was a
+gentleman, so called--and he didn't kick or beat her. Oh no, he just
+tormented her refined womanhood to the verge of frenzy, that was all.
+He died when you were a baby. And a year later I found out your mother
+could love me, rough sailor and all as I was. I married her and
+brought her here. We had fifteen years of happiness together. I'm not
+a good man--but I made your mother happy in spite of her wrecked
+health and her dark memories. It was her wish that you should be known
+as my daughter, but under the present circumstances I know she would
+wish that you should be told the truth. Marry your man, Lynde, and go
+away with him. Emily will go with you if you like. I'm going back to
+the sea. I've been hankering for it ever since your mother died. I'll
+go out of your life. There, don't cry--I hate to see a woman cry. Mr.
+Douglas, I'll leave you to dry her tears and I'll go up to the house
+and have a talk with Harmon."
+
+When Captain Anthony had disappeared behind the Point, Alan turned to
+Lynde. She was sobbing softly and her face was wet with tears. Alan
+drew her head down on his shoulder.
+
+"Sweetheart, the dark past is all put by. Our future begins with
+promise. All is well with us, dear Lynde."
+
+Like a child, she put her arms about his neck and their lips met.
+
+
+
+
+Marcella's Reward
+
+
+Dr. Clark shook his head gravely. "She is not improving as fast as I
+should like to see," he said. "In fact--er--she seems to have gone
+backward the past week. You must send her to the country, Miss
+Langley. The heat here is too trying for her."
+
+Dr. Clark might as well have said, "You must send her to the moon"--or
+so Marcella thought bitterly. Despair filled her heart as she looked
+at Patty's white face and transparent hands and listened to the
+doctor's coolly professional advice. Patty's illness had already swept
+away the scant savings of three years. Marcella had nothing left with
+which to do anything more for her.
+
+She did not make any answer to the doctor--she could not. Besides,
+what could she say, with Patty's big blue eyes, bigger and bluer than
+ever in her thin face, looking at her so wistfully? She dared not say
+it was impossible. But Aunt Emma had no such scruples. With a great
+clatter and racket, that lady fell upon the dishes that held Patty's
+almost untasted dinner and whisked them away while her tongue kept
+time to her jerky movements.
+
+"Goodness me, doctor, do you think you're talking to millionaires?
+Where do you suppose the money is to come from to send Patty to the
+country? _I_ can't afford it, that is certain. I think I do pretty
+well to give Marcella and Patty their board free, and I have to work
+my fingers to the bone to do _that_. It's all nonsense about Patty,
+anyhow. What she ought to do is to make an effort to get better. She
+doesn't--she just mopes and pines. She won't eat a thing I cook for
+her. How can anyone expect to get better if she doesn't eat?"
+
+Aunt Emma glared at the doctor as if she were triumphantly sure that
+she had propounded an unanswerable question. A dull red flush rose to
+Marcella's face.
+
+"Oh, Aunt Emma, I _can't_ eat!" said Patty wearily. "It isn't because
+I won't--indeed, I can't."
+
+"Humph! I suppose my cooking isn't fancy enough for you--that's the
+trouble. Well, I haven't the time to put any frills on it. I think I
+do pretty well to wait on you at all with all that work piling up
+before me. But some people imagine that they were born to be waited
+on."
+
+Aunt Emma whirled the last dish from the table and left the room,
+slamming the door behind her.
+
+The doctor shrugged his shoulders. He had become used to Miss Gibson's
+tirades during Patty's illness. But Marcella had never got used to
+them--never, in all the three years she had lived with her aunt. They
+flicked on the raw as keenly as ever. This morning it seemed
+unbearable. It took every atom of Marcella's self-control to keep her
+from voicing her resentful thoughts. It was only for Patty's sake that
+she was able to restrain herself. It was only for Patty's sake, too,
+that she did not, as soon as the doctor had gone, give way to tears.
+Instead, she smiled bravely into the little sister's eyes.
+
+"Let me brush your hair now, dear, and bathe your face."
+
+"Have you time?" said Patty anxiously.
+
+"Yes, I think so."
+
+Patty gave a sigh of content.
+
+"I'm so glad! Aunt Emma always hurts me when she brushes my hair--she
+is in such a hurry. You're so gentle, Marcella, you don't make my head
+ache at all. But oh! I'm so tired of being sick. I wish I could get
+well faster. Marcy, do you think I can be sent to the country?"
+
+"I--I don't know, dear. I'll see if I can think of any way to manage
+it," said Marcella, striving to speak hopefully.
+
+Patty drew a long breath.
+
+"Oh, Marcy, it would be lovely to see the green fields again, and the
+woods and brooks, as we did that summer we spent in the country
+before Father died. I wish we could live in the country always. I'm
+sure I would soon get better if I could go--if it was only for a
+little while. It's so hot here--and the factory makes such a noise--my
+head seems to go round and round all the time. And Aunt Emma scolds
+so."
+
+"You mustn't mind Aunt Emma, dear," said Marcella. "You know she
+doesn't really mean it--it is just a habit she has got into. She was
+really very good to you when you were so sick. She sat up night after
+night with you, and made me go to bed. There now, dearie, you're fresh
+and sweet, and I must hurry to the store, or I'll be late. Try and
+have a little nap, and I'll bring you home some oranges tonight."
+
+Marcella dropped a kiss on Patty's cheek, put on her hat and went out.
+As soon as she left the house, she quickened her steps almost to a
+run. She feared she would be late, and that meant a ten-cent fine. Ten
+cents loomed as large as ten dollars now to Marcella's eyes when every
+dime meant so much. But fast as she went, her distracted thoughts went
+faster. She could not send Patty to the country. There was no way,
+think, plan, worry as she might. And if she could not! Marcella
+remembered Patty's face and the doctor's look, and her heart sank like
+lead. Patty was growing weaker every day instead of stronger, and the
+weather was getting hotter. Oh, if Patty were to--to--but Marcella
+could not complete the sentence even in thought.
+
+If they were not so desperately poor! Marcella's bitterness overflowed
+her soul at the thought. Everywhere around her were evidences of
+wealth--wealth often lavishly and foolishly spent--and she could not
+get money enough anywhere to save her sister's life! She almost felt
+that she hated all those smiling, well-dressed people who thronged the
+streets. By the time she reached the store, poor Marcella's heart was
+seething with misery and resentment.
+
+Three years before, when Marcella had been sixteen and Patty nine,
+their parents had died, leaving them absolutely alone in the world
+except for their father's half-sister, Miss Gibson, who lived in
+Canning and earned her livelihood washing and mending for the hands
+employed in the big factory nearby. She had grudgingly offered the
+girls a home, which Marcella had accepted because she must. She
+obtained a position in one of the Canning stores at three dollars a
+week, out of which she contrived to dress herself and Patty and send
+the latter to school. Her life for three years was one of absolute
+drudgery, yet until now she had never lost courage, but had struggled
+bravely on, hoping for better times in the future when she should get
+promotion and Patty would be old enough to teach school.
+
+But now Marcella's courage and hopefulness had gone out like a spent
+candle. She was late at the store, and that meant a fine; her head
+ached, and her feet felt like lead as she climbed the stairs to her
+department--a hot, dark, stuffy corner behind the shirtwaist counter.
+It was warm and close at any time, but today it was stifling, and
+there was already a crowd of customers, for it was the day of a
+bargain sale. The heat and noise and chatter got on Marcella's
+tortured nerves. She felt that she wanted to scream, but instead she
+turned calmly to a waiting customer--a big, handsome, richly dressed
+woman. Marcella noted with an ever-increasing bitterness that the
+woman wore a lace collar the price of which would have kept Patty in
+the country for a year.
+
+She was Mrs. Liddell--Marcella knew her by sight--and she was in a
+very bad temper because she had been kept waiting. For the next half
+hour she badgered and worried Marcella to the point of distraction.
+Nothing suited her. Pile after pile, box after box, of shirtwaists
+did Marcella take down for her, only to have them flung aside with
+sarcastic remarks. Mrs. Liddell seemed to hold Marcella responsible
+for the lack of waists that suited her; her tongue grew sharper and
+sharper and her comments more trying. Then she mislaid her purse, and
+was disagreeable about that until it turned up.
+
+Marcella shut her lips so tightly that they turned white to keep back
+the impatient retort that rose momentarily to her lips. The insolence
+of some customers was always trying to the sensitive, high-spirited
+girl, but today it seemed unbearable. Her head throbbed fiercely with
+the pain of the ever-increasing ache, and--what was the lady on her
+right saying to a friend?
+
+"Yes, she had typhoid, you know--a very bad form. She rallied from it,
+but she was so exhausted that she couldn't really recover, and the
+doctor said--"
+
+"Really," interrupted Mrs. Liddell's sharp voice, "may I ask you to
+attend to me, if you please? No doubt gossip may be very interesting
+to you, but I am accustomed to having a clerk pay _some_ small
+attention to my requirements. If you cannot attend to your business, I
+shall go to the floor walker and ask him to direct me to somebody who
+can. The laziness and disobligingness of the girls in this store is
+really getting beyond endurance."
+
+A passionate answer was on the point of Marcella's tongue. All her
+bitterness and suffering and resentment flashed into her face and
+eyes. For one moment she was determined to speak out, to repay Mrs.
+Liddell's insolence in kind. A retort was ready to her hand. Everyone
+knew that Mrs. Liddell, before her marriage to a wealthy man, had been
+a working girl. What could be easier than to say contemptuously: "You
+should be a judge of a clerk's courtesy and ability, madam. You were a
+shop girl yourself once?"
+
+But if she said it, what would follow? Prompt and instant dismissal.
+And Patty? The thought of the little sister quelled the storm in
+Marcella's soul. For Patty's sake she must control her temper--and she
+did. With an effort that left her white and tremulous she crushed back
+the hot words and said quietly: "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Liddell. I
+did not mean to be inattentive. Let me show you some of our new
+lingerie waists, I think you will like them."
+
+But Mrs. Liddell did not like the new lingerie waists which Marcella
+brought to her in her trembling hands. For another half hour she
+examined and found fault and sneered. Then she swept away with the
+scornful remark that she didn't see a thing there that was fit to
+wear, and she would go to Markwell Bros. and see if they had anything
+worth looking at.
+
+When she had gone, Marcella leaned against the counter, pale and
+exhausted. She must have a breathing spell. Oh, how her head ached!
+How hot and stifling and horrible everything was! She longed for the
+country herself. Oh, if she and Patty could only go away to some place
+where there were green clover meadows and cool breezes and great hills
+where the air was sweet and pure!
+
+During all this time a middle-aged woman had been sitting on a stool
+beside the bargain counter. When a clerk asked her if she wished to be
+waited on, she said, "No, I'm just waiting here for a friend who
+promised to meet me."
+
+She was tall and gaunt and grey haired. She had square jaws and cold
+grey eyes and an aggressive nose, but there was something attractive
+in her plain face, a mingling of common sense and kindliness. She
+watched Marcella and Mrs. Liddell closely and lost nothing of all that
+was said and done on both sides. Now and then she smiled grimly and
+nodded.
+
+When Mrs. Liddell had gone, she rose and leaned over the counter.
+Marcella opened her burning eyes and pulled herself wearily together.
+
+"What can I do for you?" she said.
+
+"Nothing. I ain't looking for to have anything done for me. You need
+to have something done for you, I guess, by the looks of you. You seem
+dead beat out. Aren't you awful tired? I've been listening to that
+woman jawing you till I felt like rising up and giving her a large and
+wholesome piece of my mind. I don't know how you kept your patience
+with her, but I can tell you I admired you for it, and I made up my
+mind I'd tell you so."
+
+The kindness and sympathy in her tone broke Marcella down. Tears
+rushed to her eyes. She bowed her head on her hands and said
+sobbingly, "Oh, I _am_ tired! But it's not that. I'm--I'm in such
+trouble."
+
+"I knew you were," said the other, with a nod of her head. "I could
+tell that right off by your face. Do you know what I said to myself? I
+said, 'That girl has got somebody at home awful sick.' _That's_ what I
+said. Was I right?"
+
+"Yes, indeed you were," said Marcella.
+
+"I knew it"--another triumphant nod. "Now, you just tell me all about
+it. It'll do you good to talk it over with somebody. Here, I'll
+pretend I'm looking at shirtwaists, so that floor walker won't be
+coming down on you, and I'll be as hard to please as that other woman
+was, so's you can take your time. Who's sick--and what's the matter?"
+
+Marcella told the whole story, choking back her sobs and forcing
+herself to speak calmly, having the fear of the floor walker before
+her eyes.
+
+"And I can't afford to send Patty to the country--I _can't_--and I
+know she won't get better if she doesn't go," she concluded.
+
+"Dear, dear, but that's too bad! Something must be done. Let me
+see--let me put on my thinking cap. What is your name?"
+
+"Marcella Langley."
+
+The older woman dropped the lingerie waist she was pretending to
+examine and stared at Marcella.
+
+"You don't say! Look here, what was your mother's name before she was
+married?"
+
+"Mary Carvell."
+
+"Well, I _have_ heard of coincidences, but this beats all! Mary
+Carvell! Well, did you ever hear your mother speak of a girl friend of
+hers called Josephine Draper?"
+
+"I should think I did! You don't mean--"
+
+"I _do_ mean it. I'm Josephine Draper. Your mother and I went to
+school together, and we were as much as sisters to each other until
+she got married. Then she went away, and after a few years I lost
+trace of her. I didn't even know she was dead. Poor Mary! Well, _my_
+duty is plain--that's one comfort--my duty and my pleasure, too. Your
+sister is coming out to Dalesboro to stay with me. Yes, and you are
+too, for the whole summer. You needn't say you're not, because you
+_are_. I've said so. There's room at Fir Cottage for you both. Yes,
+Fir Cottage--I guess you've heard your mother speak of _that_. There's
+her old room out there that we always slept in when she came to stay
+all night with me. It's all ready for you. What's that? You can't
+afford to lose your place here? Bless your heart, child, you won't
+lose it! The owner of this store is my nephew, and he'll do
+considerable to oblige me, as well he might, seeing as I brought him
+up. To think that Mary Carvell's daughter has been in his store for
+three years, and me never suspecting it! And I might never have found
+you out at all if you hadn't been so patient with that woman. If you'd
+sassed her back, I'd have thought she deserved it and wouldn't have
+blamed you a mite, but I wouldn't have bothered coming to talk to you
+either. Well, well well! Poor child, don't cry. You just pick up and
+go home. I'll make it all right with Tom. You're pretty near played
+out yourself, I can see that. But a summer in Fir Cottage, with plenty
+of cream and eggs and _my_ cookery, will soon make another girl of
+you. Don't you dare to _thank_ me. It's a privilege to be able to do
+something for Mary Carvell's girls. I just loved Mary."
+
+The upshot of the whole matter was that Marcella and Patty went, two
+days later, to Dalesboro, where Miss Draper gave them a hearty welcome
+to Fir Cottage--a quaint, delightful little house circled by big
+Scotch firs and overgrown with vines. Never were such delightful weeks
+as those that followed. Patty came rapidly back to health and
+strength. As for Marcella, Miss Draper's prophecy was also fulfilled;
+she soon looked and felt like another girl. The dismal years of
+drudgery behind her were forgotten like a dream, and she lived wholly
+in the beautiful present, in the walks and drives, the flowers and
+grass slopes, and in the pleasant household duties which she shared
+with Miss Draper.
+
+"I love housework," she exclaimed one September day. "I don't like the
+thought of going back to the store a bit."
+
+"Well, you're not going back," calmly said Miss Draper, who had a
+habit of arranging other people's business for them that might have
+been disconcerting had it not been for her keen insight and hearty
+good sense. "You're going to stay here with me--you and Patty. I don't
+propose to die of lonesomeness losing you, and I need somebody to help
+me about the house. I've thought it all out. You are to call me Aunt
+Josephine, and Patty is to go to school. I had this scheme in mind
+from the first, but I thought I'd wait to see how we got along living
+in the same house, and how you liked it here, before I spoke out. No,
+you needn't thank me this time either. I'm doing this every bit as
+much for my sake as yours. Well, that's all settled. Patty won't
+object, bless her rosy cheeks!"
+
+"Oh!" said Marcella, with eyes shining through her tears. "I'm so
+happy, dear Miss Draper--I mean Aunt Josephine. I'll love to stay
+here--and I _will_ thank you."
+
+"Fudge!" remarked Miss Draper, who felt uncomfortably near crying
+herself. "You might go out and pick a basket of Golden Gems. I want to
+make some jelly for Patty."
+
+
+
+
+Margaret's Patient
+
+
+[Illustration: "DID DR. FORBES THINK SHE OUGHT TO GIVE UP HER TRIP?"]
+
+Margaret paused a moment at the gate and looked back at the quaint old
+house under its snowy firs with a thrill of proprietary affection. It
+was her home; for the first time in her life she had a real home, and
+the long, weary years of poorly paid drudgery were all behind her.
+Before her was a prospect of independence and many of the delights she
+had always craved; in the immediate future was a trip to Vancouver
+with Mrs. Boyd.
+
+For I shall go, of course, thought Margaret, as she walked briskly
+down the snowy road. I've always wanted to see the Rockies, and to go
+there with Mrs. Boyd will double the pleasure. She is such a
+delightful companion.
+
+Margaret Campbell had been an orphan ever since she could remember.
+She had been brought up by a distant relative of her father's--that
+is, she had been given board, lodging, some schooling and indifferent
+clothes for the privilege of working like a little drudge in the house
+of the grim cousin who sheltered her. The death of this cousin flung
+Margaret on her own resources. A friend had procured her employment as
+the "companion" of a rich, eccentric old lady, infirm of health and
+temper. Margaret lived with her for five years, and to the young girl
+they seemed treble the time. Her employer was fault-finding, peevish,
+unreasonable, and many a time Margaret's patience almost failed
+her--almost, but not quite. In the end it brought her a more tangible
+reward than sometimes falls to the lot of the toiler. Mrs. Constance
+died, and in her will she left to Margaret her little up-country
+cottage and enough money to provide her an income for the rest of her
+life.
+
+Margaret took immediate possession of her little house and, with the
+aid of a capable old servant, soon found herself very comfortable. She
+realized that her days of drudgery were over, and that henceforth
+life would be a very different thing from what it had been. Margaret
+meant to have "a good time." She had never had any pleasure and now
+she was resolved to garner in all she could of the joys of existence.
+
+"I'm not going to do a single useful thing for a year," she had told
+Mrs. Boyd gaily. "Just think of it--a whole delightful year of
+vacation, to go and come at will, to read, travel, dream, rest. After
+that, I mean to see if I can find something to do for other folks, but
+I'm going to have this one golden year. And the first thing in it is
+our trip to Vancouver. I'm so glad I have the chance to go with you.
+It's a wee bit short notice, but I'll be ready when you want to
+start."
+
+Altogether, Margaret felt pretty well satisfied with life as she
+tripped blithely down the country road between the ranks of snow-laden
+spruces, with the blue sky above and the crisp, exhilarating air all
+about. There was only one drawback, but it was a pretty serious one.
+
+It's so lonely by spells, Margaret sometimes thought wistfully. All
+the joys my good fortune has brought me can't quite fill my heart.
+There's always one little empty, aching spot. Oh, if I had somebody of
+my very own to love and care for, a mother, a sister, even a cousin.
+But there's nobody. I haven't a relative in the world, and there are
+times when I'd give almost anything to have one. Well, I must try to
+be satisfied with friendship, instead.
+
+Margaret's meditations were interrupted by a brisk footstep behind
+her, and presently Dr. Forbes came up.
+
+"Good afternoon, Miss Campbell. Taking a constitutional?"
+
+"Yes. Isn't it a lovely day? I suppose you are on your professional
+rounds. How are all your patients?"
+
+"Most of them are doing well. But I'm sorry to say I have a new one
+and am very much worried about her. Do you know Freda Martin?"
+
+"The little teacher in the Primary Department who boards with the
+Wayes? Yes, I've met her once or twice. Is she ill?"
+
+"Yes, seriously. It's typhoid, and she has been going about longer
+than she should. I don't know what is to be done with her. It seems
+she is like yourself in one respect, Miss Campbell; she is utterly
+alone in the world. Mrs. Waye is crippled with rheumatism and can't
+nurse her, and I fear it will be impossible to get a nurse in
+Blythefield. She ought to be taken from the Wayes'. The house is
+overrun with children, is right next door to that noisy factory, and
+in other respects is a poor place for a sick girl."
+
+"It is too bad, I am very sorry," said Margaret sympathetically.
+
+Dr. Forbes shot a keen look at her from his deep-set eyes. "Are you
+willing to show your sympathy in a practical form, Miss Campbell?" he
+said bluntly. "You told me the other day you meant to begin work for
+others next year. Why not begin now? Here's a splendid chance to
+befriend a friendless girl. Will you take Freda Martin into your home
+during her illness?"
+
+"Oh, I couldn't," cried Margaret blankly. "Why, I'm going away next
+week. I'm going with Mrs. Boyd to Vancouver, and my house will be shut
+up."
+
+"Oh, I did not know. That settles it, I suppose," said the doctor with
+a sigh of regret. "Well, I must see what else I can do for poor Freda.
+If I had a home of my own, the problem would be easily solved, but as
+I'm only a boarder myself, I'm helpless in that respect. I'm very much
+afraid she will have a hard time to pull through, but I'll do the best
+I can for her. Well, I must run in here and have a look at Tommy
+Griggs' eyes. Good morning, Miss Campbell."
+
+Margaret responded rather absently and walked on with her eyes fixed
+on the road. Somehow all the joy had gone out of the day for her, and
+out of her prospective trip. She stopped on the little bridge and
+gazed unseeingly at the ice-bound creek. Did Dr. Forbes really think
+she ought to give up her trip in order to take Freda Martin into her
+home and probably nurse her as well, since skilled nursing of any kind
+was almost unobtainable in Blythefield? No, of course, Dr. Forbes did
+not mean anything of the sort. He had not known she intended to go
+away. Margaret tried to put the thought out of her mind, but it came
+insistently back.
+
+She knew--none better--what it was to be alone and friendless. Once
+she had been ill, too, and left to the ministration of careless
+servants. Margaret shuddered whenever she thought of that time. She
+was very, very sorry for Freda Martin, but she certainly couldn't give
+up her plans for her.
+
+"Why, I'd never have the chance to go with Mrs. Boyd again," she
+argued with her troublesome inward promptings.
+
+Altogether, Margaret's walk was spoiled. But when she went to bed that
+night, she was firmly resolved to dismiss all thought of Freda Martin.
+In the middle of the night she woke up. It was calm and moonlight and
+frosty. The world was very still, and Margaret's heart and conscience
+spoke to her out of that silence, where all worldly motives were
+hushed and shamed. She listened, and knew that in the morning she must
+send for Dr. Forbes and tell him to bring his patient to Fir Cottage.
+
+The evening of the next day found Freda in Margaret's spare room and
+Margaret herself installed as nurse, for as Dr. Forbes had feared, he
+had found it impossible to obtain anyone else. Margaret had a natural
+gift for nursing, and she had had a good deal of experience in sick
+rooms. She was skilful, gentle and composed, and Dr. Forbes nodded his
+head with satisfaction as he watched her.
+
+A week later Mrs. Boyd left for Vancouver, and Margaret, bending over
+her delirious patient, could not even go to the station to see her
+off. But she thought little about it. All her hopes were centred on
+pulling Freda Martin through; and when, after a long, doubtful
+fortnight, Dr. Forbes pronounced her on the way to recovery, Margaret
+felt as if she had given the gift of life to a fellow creature. "Oh, I
+am so glad I stayed," she whispered to herself.
+
+During Freda's convalescence Margaret learned to love her dearly. She
+was such a sweet, brave little creature, full of a fine courage to
+face the loneliness and trials of her lot.
+
+"I can never repay you for your kindness, Miss Campbell," she said
+wistfully.
+
+"I am more than repaid already," said Margaret sincerely. "Haven't I
+found a dear little friend?"
+
+One day Freda asked Margaret to write a note for her to a certain
+school chum.
+
+"She will like to know I am getting better. You will find her address
+in my writing desk."
+
+Freda's modest trunk had been brought to Fir Cottage, and Margaret
+went to it for the desk. As she turned over the loose papers in search
+of the address, her eye was caught by a name signed to a faded and
+yellowed letter--Worth Spencer. Her mother's name!
+
+Margaret gave a little exclamation of astonishment. Could her mother
+have written that letter? It was not likely another woman would have
+that uncommon name. Margaret caught up the letter and ran to Freda's
+room.
+
+"Freda, I couldn't help seeing the name signed to this letter, it is
+my mother's. To whom was it written?"
+
+"That is one of my mother's old letters," said Freda. "She had a
+sister, my Aunt Worth. She was a great deal older than Mother. Their
+parents died when Mother was a baby. Aunt Worth went to her father's
+people, while Mother's grandmother took her. There was not very good
+feeling between the two families, I think. Mother said she lost trace
+of her sister after her sister married, and then, long after, she saw
+Aunt Worth's death in the papers."
+
+"Can you tell me where your mother and her sister lived before they
+were separated?" asked Margaret excitedly.
+
+"Ridgetown."
+
+"Then my mother must have been your mother's sister, and, oh, Freda,
+Freda, you are my cousin."
+
+Eventually this was proved to be the fact. Margaret investigated the
+matter and discovered beyond a doubt that she and Freda were cousins.
+It would be hard to say which of the two girls was the more delighted.
+
+"Anyhow, we'll never be parted again," said Margaret happily. "Fir
+Cottage is your home henceforth, Freda. Oh, how rich I am. I have got
+somebody who really belongs to me. And I owe it all to Dr. Forbes. If
+he hadn't suggested you coming here, I should never have found out
+that we were cousins."
+
+"And I don't think I should ever have got better at all," whispered
+Freda, slipping her hand into Margaret's.
+
+"I think we are going to be the two happiest girls in the world," said
+Margaret. "And Freda, do you know what we are going to do when your
+summer vacation comes? We are going to have a trip through the
+Rockies, yes, indeedy. It would have been nice going with Mrs. Boyd,
+but it will be ten times nicer to go with you."
+
+
+
+
+Matthew Insists on Puffed Sleeves
+
+
+Matthew was having a bad ten minutes of it. He had come into the
+kitchen, in the twilight of a cold, grey December evening, and had sat
+down in the wood-box corner to take off his heavy boots, unconscious
+of the fact that Anne and a bevy of her schoolmates were having a
+practice of "The Fairy Queen" in the sitting-room. Presently they came
+trooping through the hall and out into the kitchen, laughing and
+chattering gaily. They did not see Matthew, who shrank bashfully back
+into the shadows beyond the wood-box with a boot in one hand and a
+bootjack in the other, and he watched them shyly for the aforesaid ten
+minutes as they put on caps and jackets and talked about the dialogue
+and the concert. Anne stood among them, bright eyed and animated as
+they; but Matthew suddenly became conscious that there was something
+about her different from her mates. And what worried Matthew was that
+the difference impressed him as being something that should not exist.
+Anne had a brighter face, and bigger, starrier eyes, and more delicate
+features than the others; even shy, unobservant Matthew had learned to
+take note of these things; but the difference that disturbed him did
+not consist in any of these respects. Then in what did it consist?
+
+Matthew was haunted by this question long after the girls had gone,
+arm in arm, down the long, hard-frozen lane and Anne had betaken
+herself to her books. He could not refer it to Marilla, who, he felt,
+would be quite sure to sniff scornfully and remark that the only
+difference she saw between Anne and the other girls was that they
+sometimes kept their tongues quiet while Anne never did. This, Matthew
+felt, would be no great help.
+
+He had recourse to his pipe that evening to help him study it out,
+much to Marilla's disgust. After two hours of smoking and hard
+reflection Matthew arrived at a solution of his problem. Anne was not
+dressed like the other girls!
+
+The more Matthew thought about the matter the more he was convinced
+that Anne never had been dressed like the other girls--never since she
+had come to Green Gables. Marilla kept her clothed in plain, dark
+dresses, all made after the same unvarying pattern. If Matthew knew
+there was such a thing as fashion in dress it is as much as he did;
+but he was quite sure that Anne's sleeves did not look at all like the
+sleeves the other girls wore. He recalled the cluster of little girls
+he had seen around her that evening--all gay in waists of red and blue
+and pink and white--and he wondered why Marilla always kept her so
+plainly and soberly gowned.
+
+Of course, it must be all right. Marilla knew best and Marilla was
+bringing her up. Probably some wise, inscrutable motive was to be
+served thereby. But surely it would do no harm to let the child have
+one pretty dress--something like Diana Barry always wore. Matthew
+decided that he would give her one; that surely could not be objected
+to as an unwarranted putting in of his oar. Christmas was only a
+fortnight off. A nice new dress would be the very thing for a present.
+Matthew, with a sigh of satisfaction, put away his pipe and went to
+bed, while Marilla opened all the doors and aired the house.
+
+The very next evening Matthew betook himself to Carmody to buy the
+dress, determined to get the worst over and have done with it. It
+would be, he felt assured, no trifling ordeal. There were some things
+Matthew could buy and prove himself no mean bargainer; but he knew he
+would be at the mercy of shopkeepers when it came to buying a girl's
+dress.
+
+After much cogitation Matthew resolved to go to Samuel Lawson's store
+instead of William Blair's. To be sure, the Cuthberts always had gone
+to William Blair's; it was almost as much a matter of conscience with
+them as to attend the Presbyterian church and vote Conservative. But
+William Blair's two daughters frequently waited on customers there and
+Matthew held them in absolute dread. He could contrive to deal with
+them when he knew exactly what he wanted and could point it out; but
+in such a matter as this, requiring explanation and consultation,
+Matthew felt that he must be sure of a man behind the counter. So he
+would go to Lawson's, where Samuel or his son would wait on him.
+
+Alas! Matthew did not know that Samuel, in the recent expansion of his
+business, had set up a lady clerk also; she was a niece of his wife's
+and a very dashing young person indeed, with a huge, drooping
+pompadour, big, rolling brown eyes, and a most extensive and
+bewildering smile. She was dressed with exceeding smartness and wore
+several bangle bracelets that glittered and rattled and tinkled with
+every movement of her hands. Matthew was covered with confusion at
+finding her there at all; and those bangles completely wrecked his
+wits at one fell swoop.
+
+"What can I do for you this evening. Mr. Cuthbert?" Miss Lucilla
+Harris inquired, briskly and ingratiatingly, tapping the counter with
+both hands.
+
+"Have you any--any--any--well now, say any garden rakes?" stammered
+Matthew.
+
+Miss Harris looked somewhat surprised, as well she might, to hear a
+man inquiring for garden rakes in the middle of December.
+
+"I believe we have one or two left over," she said, "but they're
+upstairs in the lumber-room. I'll go and see."
+
+During her absence Matthew collected his scattered senses for another
+effort.
+
+When Miss Harris returned with the rake and cheerfully inquired:
+"Anything else tonight, Mr. Cuthbert?" Matthew took his courage in
+both hands and replied: "Well now, since you suggest it, I might as
+well--take--that is--look at--buy some--some hayseed."
+
+Miss Harris had heard Matthew Cuthbert called odd. She now concluded
+that he was entirely crazy.
+
+"We only keep hayseed in the spring," she explained loftily. "We've
+none on hand just now."
+
+"Oh, certainly--certainly--just as you say," stammered unhappy
+Matthew, seizing the rake and making for the door. At the threshold he
+recollected that he had not paid for it and he turned miserably back.
+While Miss Harris was counting out his change he rallied his powers
+for a final desperate attempt.
+
+"Well now--if it isn't too much trouble--I might as well--that is--I'd
+like to look at--at--some sugar."
+
+"White or brown?" queried Miss Harris patiently.
+
+"Oh--well now--brown," said Matthew feebly.
+
+"There's a barrel of it over there," said Miss Harris, shaking her
+bangles at it. "It's the only kind we have."
+
+"I'll--I'll take twenty pounds of it," said Matthew, with beads of
+perspiration standing on his forehead.
+
+Matthew had driven halfway home before he was his own man again. It
+had been a gruesome experience, but it served him right, he thought,
+for committing the heresy of going to a strange store. When he reached
+home he hid the rake in the tool-house, but the sugar he carried in to
+Marilla.
+
+"Brown sugar!" exclaimed Marilla. "Whatever possessed you to get so
+much? You know I never use it except for the hired man's porridge or
+black fruit-cake. Jerry's gone and I've made my cake long ago. It's
+not good sugar, either--it's coarse and dark--William Blair doesn't
+usually keep sugar like that."
+
+"I--I thought it might come in handy sometime," said Matthew, making
+good his escape.
+
+When Matthew came to think the matter over he decided that a woman was
+required to cope with the situation. Marilla was out of the question.
+Matthew felt sure she would throw cold water on his project at once.
+Remained only Mrs. Lynde; for of no other woman in Avonlea would
+Matthew have dared to ask advice. To Mrs. Lynde he went accordingly,
+and that good lady promptly took the matter out of the harassed man's
+hands.
+
+"Pick out a dress for you to give Anne? To be sure I will. I'm going
+to Carmody tomorrow and I'll attend to it. Have you something
+particular in mind? No? Well, I'll just go by my own judgment then. I
+believe a nice rich brown would just suit Anne, and William Blair has
+some new gloria in that's real pretty. Perhaps you'd like me to make
+it up for her, too, seeing that if Marilla was to make it Anne would
+probably get wind of it before the time and spoil the surprise? Well,
+I'll do it. No, it isn't a mite of trouble. I like sewing. I'll make
+it to fit my niece, Jenny Gillis, for she and Anne are as like as two
+peas as far as figure goes."
+
+"Well now, I'm much obliged," said Matthew, "and--and--I dunno--but
+I'd like--I think they make the sleeves different nowadays to what
+they used to be. If it wouldn't be asking too much I--I'd like them
+made in the new way."
+
+"Puffs? Of course. You needn't worry a speck more about it, Matthew.
+I'll make it up in the very latest fashion," said Mrs. Lynde. To
+herself she added when Matthew had gone:
+
+"It'll be a real satisfaction to see that poor child wearing something
+decent for once. The way Marilla dresses her is positively ridiculous,
+that's what, and I've ached to tell her so plainly a dozen times. I've
+held my tongue though, for I can see Marilla doesn't want advice and
+she thinks she knows more about bringing children up than I do for all
+she's an old maid. But that's always the way. Folks that has brought
+up children know that there's no hard and fast method in the world
+that'll suit every child. But them as never have think it's all as
+plain and easy as Rule of Three--just set your three terms down so
+fashion, and the sum'll work out correct. But flesh and blood don't
+come under the head of arithmetic and that's where Marilla Cuthbert
+makes her mistake. I suppose she's trying to cultivate a spirit of
+humility in Anne by dressing her as she does: but it's more likely to
+cultivate envy and discontent. I'm sure the child must feel the
+difference between her clothes and the other girls'. But to think of
+Matthew taking notice of it! That man is waking up after being asleep
+for over sixty years."
+
+Marilla knew all the following fortnight that Matthew had something on
+his mind, but what it was she could not guess, until Christmas Eve,
+when Mrs. Lynde brought up the new dress. Marilla behaved pretty well
+on the whole, although it is very likely she distrusted Mrs. Lynde's
+diplomatic explanation that she had made the dress because Matthew was
+afraid Anne would find out about it too soon if Marilla made it.
+
+"So this is what Matthew has been looking so mysterious over and
+grinning about to himself for two weeks, is it?" she said a little
+stiffly but tolerantly. "I knew he was up to some foolishness. Well, I
+must say I don't think Anne needed any more dresses. I made her three
+good, warm, serviceable ones this fall, and anything more is sheer
+extravagance. There's enough material in those sleeves alone to make a
+waist, I declare there is. You'll just pamper Anne's vanity, Matthew,
+and she's as vain as a peacock now. Well, I hope she'll be satisfied
+at last, for I know she's been hankering after those silly sleeves
+ever since they came in, although she never said a word after the
+first. The puffs have been getting bigger and more ridiculous right
+along; they're as big as balloons now. Next year anybody who wears
+them will have to go through a door sideways."
+
+Christmas morning broke on a beautiful white world. It had been a very
+mild December and people had looked forward to a green Christmas; but
+just enough snow fell softly in the night to transfigure Avonlea. Anne
+peeped out from her frosted gable window with delighted eyes. The firs
+in the Haunted Wood were all feathery and wonderful; the birches and
+wild cherry trees were outlined in pearl; the ploughed fields were
+stretches of snowy dimples; and there was a crisp tang in the air that
+was glorious. Anne ran downstairs singing until her voice re-echoed
+through Green Gables.
+
+"Merry Christmas, Marilla! Merry Christmas, Matthew! Isn't it a lovely
+Christmas? I'm so glad it's white. Any other kind of Christmas doesn't
+seem real, does it? I don't like green Christmases. They're _not_
+green--they're just nasty faded browns and greys. What makes people
+call them green? Why--why--Matthew, is that for me? Oh, Matthew!"
+
+Matthew had sheepishly unfolded the dress from its paper swathings and
+held it out with a deprecatory glance at Marilla, who feigned to be
+contemptuously filling the teapot, but nevertheless watched the scene
+out of the corner of her eye with a rather interested air.
+
+Anne took the dress and looked at it in reverent silence. Oh, how
+pretty it was--a lovely soft brown gloria with all the gloss of silk;
+a skirt with dainty frills and shirrings; a waist elaborately
+pin-tucked in the most fashionable way, with a little ruffle of filmy
+lace at the neck. But the sleeves--they were the crowning glory! Long
+elbow cuffs, and above them two beautiful puffs divided by rows of
+shirring and bows of brown silk ribbon.
+
+"That's a Christmas present for you, Anne," said Matthew shyly.
+"Why--why--Anne, don't you like it? Well now--well now."
+
+For Anne's eyes had suddenly filled with tears.
+
+"_Like_ it! Oh, Matthew!" Anne laid the dress over a chair and clasped
+her hands. "Matthew, it's perfectly exquisite. Oh, I can never thank
+you enough. Look at those sleeves! Oh, it seems to me this must be a
+happy dream."
+
+"Well, well, let us have breakfast," interrupted Marilla. "I must say,
+Anne, I don't think you needed the dress; but since Matthew has got it
+for you, see that you take good care of it. There's a hair ribbon Mrs.
+Lynde left for you. It's brown, to match the dress. Come now, sit in."
+
+"I don't see how I'm going to eat breakfast," said Anne rapturously.
+"Breakfast seems so commonplace at such an exciting moment. I'd rather
+feast my eyes on that dress. I'm so glad that puffed sleeves are
+still fashionable. It did seem to me that I'd never get over it if
+they went out before I had a dress with them. I'd never have felt
+quite satisfied, you see. It was lovely of Mrs. Lynde to give me the
+ribbon, too. I feel that I ought to be a very good girl indeed. It's
+at times like this I'm sorry I'm not a model little girl; and I always
+resolve that I will be in future. But somehow it's hard to carry out
+your resolutions when irresistible temptations come. Still, I really
+will make an extra effort after this."
+
+When the commonplace breakfast was over Diana appeared, crossing the
+white log bridge in the hollow, a gay little figure in her crimson
+ulster. Anne flew down the slope to meet her.
+
+"Merry Christmas, Diana! And oh, it's a wonderful Christmas. I've
+something splendid to show you. Matthew has given me the loveliest
+dress, with _such_ sleeves. I couldn't even imagine any nicer."
+
+"I've got something more for you," said Diana breathlessly.
+"Here--this box. Aunt Josephine sent us out a big box with ever so
+many things in it--and this is for you. I'd have brought it over last
+night, but it didn't come until after dark, and I never feel very
+comfortable coming through the Haunted Wood in the dark now."
+
+Anne opened the box and peeped in. First a card with "For the
+Anne-girl and Merry Christmas," written on it; and then, a pair of the
+daintiest little kid slippers, with beaded toes and satin bows and
+glistening buckles.
+
+"Oh," said Anne, "Diana, this is too much, I must be dreaming."
+
+"_I_ call it providential," said Diana. "You won't have to borrow
+Ruby's slippers now, and that's a blessing, for they're two sizes too
+big for you, and it would be awful to hear a fairy shuffling. Josie
+Pye would be delighted. Mind you, Rob Wright went home with Gertie Pye
+from the practice night before last. Did you ever hear anything equal
+to that?"
+
+All the Avonlea scholars were in a fever of excitement that day, for
+the hall had to be decorated and a last grand rehearsal held.
+
+The concert came off in the evening and was a pronounced success. The
+little hall was crowded; all the performers did excellently well, but
+Anne was the bright particular star of the occasion, as even envy, in
+the shape of Josie Pye, dared not deny.
+
+"Oh, hasn't it been a brilliant evening?" sighed Anne, when it was all
+over and she and Diana were walking home together under a dark, starry
+sky.
+
+"Everything went off very well," said Diana practically. "I guess we
+must have made as much as ten dollars. Mind you, Mr. Allan is going to
+send an account of it to the Charlottetown papers."
+
+"Oh, Diana, will we really see our names in print? It makes me thrill
+to think of it. Your solo was perfectly elegant, Diana. I felt prouder
+than you did when it was encored. I just said to myself, 'It is my
+dear bosom friend who is so honoured.'"
+
+"Well, your recitations just brought down the house, Anne. That sad
+one was simply splendid."
+
+"Oh, I was so nervous, Diana. When Mr. Allan called out my name I
+really cannot tell how I ever got up on that platform. I felt as if a
+million eyes were looking at me and through me, and for one dreadful
+moment I was sure I couldn't begin at all. Then I thought of my lovely
+puffed sleeves and took courage. I knew that I must live up to those
+sleeves, Diana. So I started in, and my voice seemed to be coming from
+ever so far away. I just felt like a parrot. It's providential that I
+practised those recitations so often up in the garret, or I'd never
+have been able to get through. Did I groan all right?"
+
+"Yes, indeed, you groaned lovely," assured Diana.
+
+"I saw old Mrs. Sloane wiping away tears when I sat down. It was
+splendid to think I had touched somebody's heart. It's so romantic to
+take part in a concert isn't it? Oh, it's been a very memorable
+occasion indeed."
+
+"Wasn't the boys' dialogue fine?" said Diana. "Gilbert Blythe was just
+splendid. Anne, I do think it's awful mean the way you treat Gil. Wait
+till I tell you. When you ran off the platform after the fairy
+dialogue one of your roses fell out of your hair. I saw Gil pick it up
+and put it in his breast pocket. There now. You're so romantic that
+I'm sure you ought to be pleased at that."
+
+"It's nothing to me what that person does," said Anne loftily. "I
+simply never waste a thought on him, Diana."
+
+That night Marilla and Matthew, who had been out to a concert for the
+first time in twenty years, sat for awhile by the kitchen fire after
+Anne had gone to bed.
+
+"Well now, I guess our Anne did as well as any of them," said Matthew
+proudly.
+
+"Yes, she did," admitted Marilla. "She's a bright child, Matthew. And
+she looked real nice, too. I've been kind of opposed to this concert
+scheme, but I suppose there's no real harm in it after all. Anyhow, I
+was proud of Anne tonight, although I'm not going to tell her so."
+
+"Well now, I was proud of her and I did tell her so 'fore she went
+upstairs," said Matthew. "We must see what we can do for her some of
+these days, Marilla. I guess she'll need something more than Avonlea
+school by and by."
+
+"There's time enough to think of that," said Marilla. "She's only
+thirteen in March. Though tonight it struck me she was growing quite a
+big girl. Mrs. Lynde made that dress a mite too long, and it makes
+Anne look so tall. She's quick to learn and I guess the best thing we
+can do for her will be to send her to Queen's after a spell. But
+nothing need be said about that for a year or two yet."
+
+"Well now, it'll do no harm to be thinking it over off and on," said
+Matthew. "Things like that are all the better for lots of thinking
+over."
+
+
+
+
+Missy's Room
+
+
+Mrs. Falconer and Miss Bailey walked home together through the fine
+blue summer afternoon from the Ladies' Aid meeting at Mrs. Robinson's.
+They were talking earnestly; that is to say, Miss Bailey was talking
+earnestly and volubly, and Mrs. Falconer was listening. Mrs. Falconer
+had reduced the practice of listening to a fine art. She was a thin,
+wistful-faced mite of a woman, with sad brown eyes, and with
+snow-white hair that was a libel on her fifty-five years and girlish
+step. Nobody in Lindsay ever felt very well acquainted with Mrs.
+Falconer, in spite of the fact that she had lived among them forty
+years. She kept between her and her world a fine, baffling reserve
+which no one had ever been able to penetrate. It was known that she
+had had a bitter sorrow in her life, but she never made any reference
+to it, and most people in Lindsay had forgotten it. Some foolish ones
+even supposed that Mrs. Falconer had forgotten it.
+
+"Well, I do not know what on earth is to be done with Camilla Clark,"
+said Miss Bailey, with a prodigious sigh. "I suppose that we will
+simply have to trust the whole matter to Providence."
+
+Miss Bailey's tone and sigh really seemed to intimate to the world at
+large that Providence was a last resort and a very dubious one. Not
+that Miss Bailey meant anything of the sort; her faith was as
+substantial as her works, which were many and praiseworthy and
+seasonable.
+
+The case of Camilla Clark was agitating the Ladies' Aid of one of the
+Lindsay churches. They had talked about it through the whole of that
+afternoon session while they sewed for their missionary box--talked
+about it, and come to no conclusion.
+
+In the preceding spring James Clark, one of the hands in the lumber
+mill at Lindsay, had been killed in an accident. The shock had proved
+nearly fatal to his young wife. The next day Camilla Clark's baby was
+born dead, and the poor mother hovered for weeks between life and
+death. Slowly, very slowly, life won the battle, and Camilla came back
+from the valley of the shadow. But she was still an invalid, and would
+be so for a long time.
+
+The Clarks had come to Lindsay only a short time before the accident.
+They were boarding at Mrs. Barry's when it happened, and Mrs. Barry
+had shown every kindness and consideration to the unhappy young widow.
+But now the Barrys were very soon to leave Lindsay for the West, and
+the question was, what was to be done with Camilla Clark? She could
+not go west; she could not even do work of any sort yet in Lindsay;
+she had no relatives or friends in the world; and she was absolutely
+penniless. As she and her husband had joined the church to which the
+aforesaid Ladies' Aid belonged, the members thereof felt themselves
+bound to take up her case and see what could be done for her.
+
+The obvious solution was for some of them to offer her a home until
+such time as she would be able to go to work. But there did not seem
+to be anyone who could offer to do this--unless it was Mrs. Falconer.
+The church was small, and the Ladies' Aid smaller. There were only
+twelve members in it; four of these were unmarried ladies who boarded,
+and so were helpless in the matter; of the remaining eight seven had
+large families, or sick husbands, or something else that prevented
+them from offering Camilla Clark an asylum. Their excuses were all
+valid; they were good, sincere women who would have taken her in if
+they could, but they could not see their way clear to do so. However,
+it was probable they would eventually manage it in some way if Mrs.
+Falconer did not rise to the occasion.
+
+Nobody liked to ask Mrs. Falconer outright to take Camilla Clark in,
+yet everyone thought she might offer. She was comfortably off, and
+though her house was small, there was nobody to live in it except
+herself and her husband. But Mrs. Falconer sat silent through all the
+discussion of the Ladies' Aid, and never opened her lips on the
+subject of Camilla Clark despite the numerous hints which she
+received.
+
+Miss Bailey made one more effort as aforesaid. When her despairing
+reference to Providence brought forth no results, she wished she dared
+ask Mrs. Falconer openly to take Camilla Clark, but somehow she did
+not dare. There were not many things that could daunt Miss Bailey, but
+Mrs. Falconer's reserve and gentle aloofness always could.
+
+When Miss Bailey had gone on down the village street, Mrs. Falconer
+paused for a few moments at her gate, apparently lost in deep thought.
+She was perfectly well aware of all the hints that had been thrown out
+for her benefit that afternoon. She knew that the Aids, one and all,
+thought that she ought to take Camilla Clark. But she had no room to
+give her--for it was out of the question to think of putting her in
+Missy's room.
+
+"I couldn't do such a thing," she said to herself piteously. "They
+don't understand--they can't understand--but I _couldn't_ give her
+Missy's room. I'm sorry for poor Camilla, and I wish I could help her.
+But I can't give her Missy's room, and I have no other."
+
+The little Falconer cottage, set back from the road in the green
+seclusion of an apple orchard and thick, leafy maples, was a very tiny
+one. There were just two rooms downstairs and two upstairs. When Mrs.
+Falconer entered the kitchen an old-looking man with long white hair
+and mild blue eyes looked up with a smile from the bright-coloured
+blocks before him.
+
+"Have you been lonely, Father?" said Mrs. Falconer tenderly.
+
+He shook his head, still smiling.
+
+"No, not lonely. These"--pointing to the blocks--"are so pretty. See
+my house, Mother."
+
+This man was Mrs. Falconer's husband. Once he had been one of the
+smartest, most intelligent men in Lindsay, and one of the most trusted
+employees of the railroad company. Then there had been a train
+collision. Malcolm Falconer was taken out of the wreck fearfully
+injured. He eventually recovered physical health, but he was from that
+time forth merely a child in intellect--a harmless, kindly creature,
+docile and easily amused.
+
+Mrs. Falconer tried to dismiss the thought of Camilla Clark from her
+mind, but it would not be dismissed. Her conscience reproached her
+continually. She tried to compromise with it by saying that she would
+go down and see Camilla that evening and take her some nice fresh
+Irish moss jelly. It was so good for delicate people.
+
+She found Camilla alone in the Barry sitting-room, and noticed with a
+feeling that was almost like self-reproach how thin and frail and
+white the poor young creature looked. Why, she seemed little more
+than a child! Her great dark eyes were far too big for her wasted
+face, and her hands were almost transparent.
+
+"I'm not much better yet," said Camilla tremulously, in response to
+Mrs. Falconer's inquiries. "Oh, I'm so slow getting well! And I
+know--I feel that I'm a burden to everybody."
+
+"But you mustn't think that, dear," said Mrs. Falconer, feeling more
+uncomfortable than ever. "We are all glad to do all we can for you."
+
+Mrs. Falconer paused suddenly. She was a very truthful woman and she
+instantly realized that that last sentence was not true. She was not
+doing all she could for Camilla--she would not be glad, she feared, to
+do all she could.
+
+"If I were only well enough to go to work," sighed Camilla. "Mr. Marks
+says I can have a place in the shoe factory whenever I'm able to. But
+it will be so long yet. Oh, I'm so tired and discouraged!"
+
+She put her hands over her face and sobbed. Mrs. Falconer caught her
+breath. What if Missy were somewhere alone in the world--ill,
+friendless, with never a soul to offer her a refuge or a shelter? It
+was so very, very probable. Before she could check herself Mrs.
+Falconer spoke. "My dear, don't cry! I want you to come and stay with
+me until you get perfectly well. You won't be a speck of trouble, and
+I'll be glad to have you for company."
+
+Mrs. Falconer's Rubicon was crossed. She could not draw back now if
+she wanted to. But she was not at all sure that she did want to. By
+the time she reached home she was sure she didn't want to. And yet--to
+give Missy's room to Camilla! It seemed a great sacrifice to Mrs.
+Falconer.
+
+She went up to it the next morning with firmly set lips to air and
+dust it. It was just the same as when Missy had left it long ago.
+Nothing had ever been moved or changed, but everything had always been
+kept beautifully neat and clean. Snow-white muslin curtains hung
+before the small square window. In one corner was a little white bed.
+Missy's pictures hung on the walls; Missy's books and work-basket were
+lying on the square stand; there was a bit of half-finished fancy
+work, yellow from age, lying in the basket. On a small bureau before
+the gilt-framed mirror were several little girlish knick-knacks and
+boxes whose contents had never been disturbed since Missy went away.
+One of Missy's gay pink ribbons--Missy had been so fond of pink
+ribbons--hung over the top of the mirror. On a chair lay Missy's hat,
+bright with ribbons and roses, just as Missy had laid it there on the
+night before she left her home.
+
+Mrs. Falconer's lips quivered as she looked about the room, and tears
+came to her eyes. Oh, how could she put these things away and bring a
+stranger here--here, where no one save herself had entered for fifteen
+years, here in this room, sacred to Missy's memory, waiting for her
+return when she should be weary of wandering? It almost seemed to the
+mother's vague fancy, distorted by long, silent brooding, that her
+daughter's innocent girlhood had been kept here for her and would be
+lost forever if the room were given to another.
+
+"I suppose it's dreadful foolishness," said Mrs. Falconer, wiping her
+eyes. "I know it is, but I can't help it. It just goes to my heart to
+think of putting these things away. But I must do it. Camilla is
+coming here today, and this room must be got ready for her. Oh, Missy,
+my poor lost child, it's for your sake I'm doing this--because you may
+be suffering somewhere as Camilla is now, and I'd wish the same
+kindness to be shown to you."
+
+She opened the window and put fresh linen on the bed. One by one
+Missy's little belongings were removed and packed carefully away. On
+the gay, foolish little hat with its faded wreath of roses the
+mother's tears fell as she put it in a box. She remembered so plainly
+the first time Missy had worn it. She could see the pretty, delicately
+tinted face, the big shining brown eyes, and the riotous golden curls
+under the drooping, lace-edged brim. Oh, where was Missy now? What
+roof sheltered her? Did she ever think of her mother and the little
+white cottage under the maples, and the low-ceilinged, dim room where
+she had knelt to say her childhood's prayer?
+
+Camilla Clark came that afternoon.
+
+"Oh, it is lovely here," she said gratefully, looking out into the
+rustling shade of the maples. "I'm sure I shall soon get well here.
+Mrs. Barry was so kind to me--I shall never forget her kindness--but
+the house is so close to the factory, and there was such a whirring
+of wheels all the time, it seemed to get into my head and make me wild
+with nervousness. I'm so weak that sounds like that worry me. But it
+is so still and green and peaceful here. It just rests me."
+
+When bedtime came, Mrs. Falconer took Camilla up to Missy's room. It
+was not as hard as she had expected it to be after all. The wrench was
+over with the putting away of Missy's things, and it did not hurt the
+mother to see the frail, girlish Camilla in her daughter's place.
+
+"What a dear little room!" said Camilla, glancing around. "It is so
+white and sweet. Oh, I know I am going to sleep well here, and dream
+sweet dreams."
+
+"It was my daughter's room," said Mrs. Falconer, sitting down on the
+chintz-covered seat by the open window.
+
+Camilla looked surprised.
+
+"I did not know you had a daughter," she said.
+
+"Yes--I had just the one child," said Mrs. Falconer dreamily.
+
+For fifteen years she had never spoken of Missy to a living soul
+except her husband. But now she felt a sudden impulse to tell Camilla
+about her, and about the room.
+
+"Her name was Isabella, after her father's mother, but we never called
+her anything but Missy. That was the little name she gave herself when
+she began to talk. Oh, I've missed her so!"
+
+"When did she die?" asked Camilla softly, sympathy shining, starlike,
+in her dark eyes.
+
+"She--she didn't die," said Mrs. Falconer. "She went away. She was a
+pretty girl and gay and fond of fun--but such a good girl. Oh, Missy
+was always a good girl! Her father and I were so proud of her--too
+proud, I suppose. She had her little faults--she was too fond of dress
+and gaiety, but then she was so young, and we indulged her. Then Bert
+Williams came to Lindsay to work in the factory. He was a handsome
+fellow, with taking ways about him, but he was drunken and profane,
+and nobody knew anything about his past life. He fascinated Missy. He
+kept coming to see her until her father forbade him the house. Then
+our poor, foolish child used to meet him elsewhere. We found this out
+afterwards. And at last she ran away with him, and they were married
+over at Peterboro and went there to live, for Bert had got work there.
+We--we were too hard on Missy. But her father was so dreadful hurt
+about it. He'd been so fond and proud of her, and he felt that she had
+disgraced him. He disowned her, and sent her word never to show her
+face here again, for he'd never forgive her. And I was angry too. I
+didn't send her any word at all. Oh, how I've wept over that! If I had
+just sent her one little word of forgiveness, everything might have
+been different. But Father forbade me to.
+
+"Then in a little while there was a dreadful trouble. A woman came to
+Peterboro and claimed to be Bert Williams's wife--and she was--she
+proved it. Bert cleared out and was never seen again in these parts.
+As soon as we heard about it Father relented, and I went right down
+to Peterboro to see Missy and bring her home. But she wasn't
+there--she had gone, nobody knew where. I got a letter from her the
+next week. She said her heart was broken, and she knew we would never
+forgive her, and she couldn't face the disgrace, so she was going away
+where nobody would ever find her. We did everything we could to trace
+her, but we never could. We've never heard from her since, and it is
+fifteen years ago. Sometimes I am afraid she is dead, but then again I
+feel sure she isn't. Oh, Camilla, if I could only find my poor child
+and bring her home!
+
+"This was her room. And when she went away I made up my mind I would
+keep it for her just as she left it, and I have up to now. Nobody has
+ever been inside the door but myself. I've always hoped that Missy
+would come home, and I would lead her up here and say, 'Missy, here is
+your room just as you left it, and here is your place in your mother's
+heart just as you left it,' But she never came. I'm afraid she never
+will."
+
+Mrs. Falconer dropped her face in her hands and sobbed softly. Camilla
+came over to her and put her arms about her.
+
+"I think she will," she said. "I think--I am sure your love and
+prayers will bring Missy home yet. And I understand how good you have
+been in giving me her room--oh, I know what it must have cost you! I
+will pray tonight that God will bring Missy back to you."
+
+When Mrs. Falconer returned to the kitchen to close the house for the
+night, her husband being already sound asleep; she heard a low, timid
+knock at the door. Wondering who it could be so late, she opened it.
+The light fell on a shrinking, shabby figure on the step, and on a
+pale, pinched face in which only a mother could have recognized the
+features of her child. Mrs. Falconer gave a cry.
+
+"Missy! Missy! Missy!"
+
+She caught the poor wanderer to her heart and drew her in.
+
+"Oh, Missy, Missy, have you come back at last? Thank God! Oh, thank
+God!"
+
+"I _had_ to come back. I was starving for a glimpse of your face and
+of the old home, Mother," sobbed Missy. "But I didn't mean you should
+know--I never meant to show myself to you. I've been sick, and just as
+soon as I got better I came here. I meant to creep home after dark and
+look at the dear old house, and perhaps get a glimpse of you and
+Father through the window if you were still here. I didn't know if you
+were. And then I meant to go right away on the night train. I was
+under the window and I heard you telling my story to someone. Oh,
+Mother, when I knew that you had forgiven me, that you loved me still
+and had always kept my room for me, I made up my mind that I'd show
+myself to you."
+
+The mother had got her child into a rocking-chair and removed the
+shabby hat and cloak. How ill and worn and faded Missy looked! Yet her
+face was pure and fine, and there was in it something sweeter than had
+ever been there in her beautiful girlhood.
+
+"I'm terribly changed, am I not, Mother?" said Missy, with a faint
+smile. "I've had a hard life--but an honest one, Mother. When I went
+away I was almost mad with the disgrace my wilfulness had brought on
+you and Father and myself. I went as far as I could get away from you,
+and I got work in a factory. I've worked there ever since, just making
+enough to keep body and soul together. Oh, I've starved for a word
+from you--the sight of your face! But I thought Father would spurn me
+from his door if I should ever dare to come back."
+
+"Oh, Missy!" sobbed the mother. "Your poor father is just like a
+child. He got a terrible hurt ten years ago, and never got over it. I
+don't suppose he'll even know you--he's clean forgot everything. But
+he forgave you before it happened. You poor child, you're done right
+out. You're too weak to be travelling. But never mind, you're home
+now, and I'll soon nurse you up. I'll put on the kettle and get you a
+good cup of tea first thing. And you're not to do any more talking
+till the morning. But, oh, Missy, I can't take you to your own room
+after all. Camilla Clark has it, and she'll be asleep by now; we
+mustn't disturb her, for she's been real sick. I'll fix up a bed for
+you on the sofa, though. Missy, Missy, let us kneel down here and
+thank God for His mercy!"
+
+Late that night, when Missy had fallen asleep in her improvised bed,
+the wakeful mother crept in to gloat over her.
+
+"Just to think," she whispered, "if I hadn't taken Camilla Clark in,
+Missy wouldn't have heard me telling about the room, and she'd have
+gone away again and never have known. Oh, I don't deserve such a
+blessing when I was so unwilling to take Camilla! But I know one
+thing: this is going to be Camilla's home. There'll be no leaving it
+even when she does get well. She shall be my daughter, and I'll love
+her next to Missy."
+
+
+
+
+Ted's Afternoon Off
+
+
+Ted was up at five that morning, as usual. He always had to rise early
+to kindle the fire and go for the cows, but on this particular morning
+there was no "had to" about it. He had awakened at four o'clock and
+had sprung eagerly to the little garret window facing the east, to see
+what sort of a day was being born. Thrilling with excitement, he saw
+that it was going to be a glorious day. The sky was all rosy and
+golden and clear beyond the sharp-pointed, dark firs on Lee's Hill.
+Out to the north the sea was shimmering and sparkling gaily, with
+little foam crests here and there ruffled up by the cool morning
+breeze. Oh, it would be a splendid day!
+
+And he, Ted Melvin, was to have a half holiday for the first time
+since he had come to live in Brookdale four years ago--a whole
+afternoon off to go to the Sunday School picnic at the beach beyond
+the big hotel. It almost seemed too good to be true!
+
+The Jacksons, with whom he had lived ever since his mother had died,
+did not think holidays were necessities for boys. Hard work and
+cast-off clothes, and three grudgingly allowed months of school in the
+winter, made up Ted's life year in and year out--his outer life at
+least. He had an inner life of dreams, but nobody knew or suspected
+anything about that. To everybody in Brookdale he was simply Ted
+Melvin, a shy, odd-looking little fellow with big dreamy black eyes
+and a head of thick tangled curls which could never be made to look
+tidy and always annoyed Mrs. Jackson exceedingly.
+
+It was as yet too early to light the fire or go for the cows. Ted
+crept softly to a corner in the garret and took from the wall an old
+brown fiddle. It had been his father's. He loved to play on it, and
+his few rare spare moments were always spent in the garret corner or
+the hayloft, with his precious fiddle. It was his one link with the
+old life he had lived in a little cottage far away, with a mother who
+had loved him and a merry young father who had made wonderful music on
+the old brown violin.
+
+Ted pushed open his garret window and, seating himself on the sill,
+began to play, with his eyes fixed on the glowing eastern sky. He
+played very softly, since Mrs. Jackson had a pronounced dislike to
+being wakened by "fiddling at all unearthly hours."
+
+The music he made was beautiful and would have astonished anybody who
+knew enough to know how wonderful it really was. But there was nobody
+to hear this little neglected urchin of all work, and he fiddled away
+happily, the music floating out of the garret window, over the
+treetops and the dew-wet clover fields, until it mingled with the
+winds and was lost in the silver skies of the morning.
+
+Ted worked doubly hard all that forenoon, since there was a double
+share of work to do if, as Mrs. Jackson said, he was to be gadding to
+picnics in the afternoon. But he did it all cheerily and whistled for
+joy as he worked.
+
+After dinner Mrs. Ross came in. Mrs. Ross lived down on the shore road
+and made a living for herself and her two children by washing and
+doing days' work out. She was not a very cheerful person and generally
+spoke as if on the point of bursting into tears. She looked more
+doleful than ever today, and lost no time in explaining why.
+
+"I've just got word that my sister over at White Sands is sick with
+pendikis"--this was the nearest Mrs. Ross could get to
+appendicitis--"and has to go to the hospital. I've got to go right over
+and see her, Mrs. Jackson, and I've run in to ask if Ted can go and
+stay with Jimmy till I get back. There's no one else I can get, and
+Amelia is away. I'll be back this evening. I don't like leaving Jimmy
+alone."
+
+"Ted's been promised that he could go to the picnic this afternoon,"
+said Mrs. Jackson shortly. "Mr. Jackson said he could go, so he'll
+have to please himself. If he's willing to stay with Jimmy instead, he
+can. _I_ don't care."
+
+"Oh, I've _got_ to go to the picnic," cried Ted impulsively. "I'm
+awful sorry for Jimmy--but I _must_ go to the picnic."
+
+"I s'pose you feel so," said Mrs. Ross, sighing heavily. "I dunno's I
+blame you. Picnics is more cheerful than staying with a poor little
+lame boy, I don't doubt. Well, I s'pose I can put Jimmy's supper on
+the table clost to him, and shut the cat in with him, and mebbe he'll
+worry through. He was counting on having you to fiddle for him,
+though. Jimmy's crazy about music, and he don't never hear much of it.
+Speaking of fiddling, there's a great fiddler stopping at the hotel
+now. His name is Blair Milford, and he makes his living fiddling at
+concerts. I knew him well when he was a child--I was nurse in his
+father's family. He was a taking little chap, and I was real fond of
+him. Well, I must be getting. Jimmy'll feel bad at staying alone, but
+I'll tell him he'll just have to put up with it."
+
+Mrs. Ross sighed herself away, and Ted flew up to his garret corner
+with a choking in his throat. He couldn't go to stay with Jimmy--he
+couldn't give up the picnic! Why, he had never been at a picnic; and
+they were going to drive to the hotel beach in wagons, and have
+swings, and games, and ice cream, and a boat sail to Curtain Island!
+He had been looking forward to it, waking and dreaming, for a
+fortnight. He _must_ go. But poor little Jimmy! It was too bad for him
+to be left all alone.
+
+"I wouldn't like it myself," said Ted miserably, trying to swallow a
+lump that persisted in coming up in his throat. "It must be dreadful
+to have to lie on the sofa all the time and never be able to run,
+climb trees or play, or do a single thing. And Jimmy doesn't like
+reading much. He'll be dreadful lonesome. I'll be thinking of him all
+the time at the picnic--I know I will. I suppose I _could_ go and
+stay with him, if I just made up my mind to it."
+
+Making up his mind to it was a slow and difficult process. But when
+Ted was finally dressed in his shabby, "skimpy" Sunday best, he tucked
+his precious fiddle under his arm and slipped downstairs. "Please, I
+think I'll go and stay with Jimmy," he said to Mrs. Jackson timidly,
+as he always spoke to her.
+
+"Well, if you're to waste the afternoon, I s'pose it's better to waste
+it that way than in going to a picnic and eating yourself sick," was
+Mrs. Jackson's ungracious response.
+
+Ted reached Mrs. Ross's little house just as that good lady was
+locking the door on Jimmy and the cat. "Well, I'm real glad," she
+said, when Ted told her he had come to stay. "I'd have worried most
+awful if I'd had to leave Jimmy all alone. He's crying in there this
+minute. Come now, Jimmy, dry up. Here's Ted come to stop with you
+after all, and he's brought his fiddle, too."
+
+Jimmy's tears were soon dried, and he welcomed Ted joyfully. "I've
+been thinking awful long to hear you fiddling," said Jimmy, with a
+sigh of content. "Seems like the ache ain't never half so bad when I'm
+listening to music--and when it's your music, I forget there's any
+ache at all."
+
+Ted took his violin and began to play. After all, it was almost as
+good as a picnic to have a whole afternoon for his music. The stuffy
+little room, with its dingy plaster and shabby furniture, was filled
+with wonderful harmonies. Once he began, Ted could play for hours at a
+stretch and never be conscious of fatigue. Jimmy lay and listened in
+rapturous content while Ted's violin sang and laughed and dreamed and
+rippled.
+
+There was another listener besides Jimmy. Outside, on the red
+sandstone doorstep, a man was sitting--a tall, well-dressed man with a
+pale, beautiful face and long, supple white hands. Motionless, he sat
+there and listened to the music until at last it stopped. Then he rose
+and knocked at the door. Ted, violin in hand, opened it.
+
+An expression of amazement flashed into the stranger's face, but he
+only said, "Is Mrs. Ross at home?"
+
+"No, sir," said Ted shyly. "She went over to White Sands and she won't
+be back till night. But Jimmy is here--Jimmy is her little boy. Will
+you come in?"
+
+"I'm sorry Mrs. Ross is away," said the stranger, entering. "She was
+an old nurse of mine. I must confess I've been sitting on the step out
+there for some time, listening to your music. Who taught you to play,
+my boy?"
+
+"Nobody," said Ted simply. "I've always been able to play."
+
+"He makes it up himself out of his own head, sir," said Jimmy eagerly.
+
+"No, I don't make it--it makes itself--it just _comes_," said Ted, a
+dreamy gaze coming into his big black eyes.
+
+The caller looked at him closely. "I know a little about music
+myself," he said. "My name is Blair Milford and I am a professional
+violinist. Your playing is wonderful. What is your name?"
+
+"Ted Melvin."
+
+"Well, Ted, I think that you have a great talent, and it ought to be
+cultivated. You should have competent instruction. Come, you must tell
+me all about yourself."
+
+Ted told what little he thought there was to tell. Blair Milford
+listened and nodded, guessing much that Ted didn't tell and, indeed,
+didn't know himself. Then he made Ted play for him again. "Amazing!"
+he said softly, under his breath.
+
+Finally he took the violin and played himself. Ted and Jimmy listened
+breathlessly. "Oh, if I could only play like that!" said Ted
+wistfully.
+
+Blair Milford smiled. "You will play much better some day if you get
+the proper training," he said. "You have a wonderful talent, my boy,
+and you should have it cultivated. It will never in the world do to
+waste such genius. Yes, that is the right word," he went on musingly,
+as if talking to himself, "'genius.' Nature is always taking us by
+surprise. This child has what I have never had and would make any
+sacrifice for. And yet in him it may come to naught for lack of
+opportunity. But it must not, Ted. You must have a musical training."
+
+"I can't take lessons, if that is what you mean, sir," said Ted
+wonderingly. "Mr. Jackson wouldn't pay for them."
+
+"I think we needn't worry about the question of payment if you can
+find time to practise," said Blair Milford. "I am to be at the beach
+for two months yet. For once I'll take a music pupil. But will you
+have time to practise?"
+
+"Yes, sir, I'll make time," said Ted, as soon as he could speak at all
+for the wonder of it. "I'll get up at four in the morning and have an
+hour's practising before the time for the cows. But I'm afraid it'll
+be too much trouble for you, sir, I'm afraid--"
+
+Blair Milford laughed and put his slim white hand on Ted's curly head.
+"It isn't much trouble to train an artist. It is a privilege. Ah, Ted,
+you have what I once hoped I had, what I know now I never can have.
+You don't understand me. You will some day."
+
+"Ain't he an awful nice man?" said Jimmy, when Blair Milford had gone.
+"But what did he mean by all that talk?"
+
+"I don't know exactly," said Ted dreamily. "That is, I seem to _feel_
+what he meant but I can't quite put it into words. But, oh, Jimmy, I'm
+so happy. I'm to have lessons--I have always longed to have them."
+
+"I guess you're glad you didn't go to the picnic?" said Jimmy.
+
+"Yes, but I was glad before, Jimmy, honest I was."
+
+Blair Milford kept his promise. He interviewed Mr. and Mrs. Jackson
+and, by means best known to himself, induced them to consent that Ted
+should take music lessons every Saturday afternoon. He was a pupil to
+delight a teacher's heart and, after every lesson, Blair Milford
+looked at him with kindly eyes and murmured, "Amazing," under his
+breath. Finally he went again to the Jacksons, and the next day he
+said to Ted, "Ted, would you like to come away with me--live with
+me--be my boy and have your gift for music thoroughly cultivated?"
+
+"What do you mean, sir?" said Ted tremblingly.
+
+"I mean that I want you--that I must have you, Ted. I've talked to Mr.
+Jackson, and he has consented to let you come. You shall be educated,
+you shall have the best masters in your art that the world affords,
+you shall have the career I once dreamed of. Will you come, Ted?"
+
+Ted drew a long breath. "Yes, sir," he said. "But it isn't so much
+because of the music--it's because I love you, Mr. Milford, and I'm so
+glad I'm to be always with you."
+
+
+
+
+The Doctor's Sweetheart
+
+
+Just because I am an old woman outwardly it doesn't follow that I am
+one inwardly. Hearts don't grow old--or shouldn't. Mine hasn't, I am
+thankful to say. It bounded like a girl's with delight when I saw
+Doctor John and Marcella Barry drive past this afternoon. If the
+doctor had been my own son I couldn't have felt more real pleasure in
+his happiness. I'm only an old lady who can do little but sit by her
+window and knit, but eyes were made for seeing, and I use mine for
+that purpose. When I see the good and beautiful things--and a body
+need never look for the other kind, you know--the things God planned
+from the beginning and brought about in spite of the counter plans and
+schemes of men, I feel such a deep joy that I'm glad, even at
+seventy-five, to be alive in a world where such things come to pass.
+And if ever God meant and made two people for each other, those people
+were Doctor John and Marcella Barry; and that is what I always tell
+folk who come here commenting on the difference in their ages. "Old
+enough to be her father," sniffed Mrs. Riddell to me the other day. I
+didn't say anything to Mrs. Riddell. I just looked at her. I presume
+my face expressed what I felt pretty clearly. How any woman can live
+for sixty years in the world, as Mrs. Riddell has, a wife and mother
+at that, and not get some realization of the beauty and general
+satisfactoriness of a real and abiding love, is something I cannot
+understand and never shall be able to.
+
+Nobody in Bridgeport believed that Marcella would ever come back,
+except Doctor John and me--not even her Aunt Sara. I've heard people
+laugh at me when I said I knew she would; but nobody minds being
+laughed at when she is sure of a thing and I was sure that Marcella
+Barry would come back as that the sun rose and set. I hadn't lived
+beside her for eight years to know so little about her as to doubt
+her. Neither had Doctor John.
+
+Marcella was only eight years old when she came to live in Bridgeport.
+Her father, Chester Barry, had just died. Her mother, who was a sister
+of Miss Sara Bryant, my next door neighbor, had been dead for four
+years. Marcella's father left her to the guardianship of his brother,
+Richard Barry; but Miss Sara pleaded so hard to have the little girl
+that the Barrys consented to let Marcella live with her aunt until she
+was sixteen. Then, they said, she would have to go back to them, to be
+properly educated and take the place of her father's daughter in _his_
+world. For, of course, it is a fact that Miss Sara Bryant's world was
+and is a very different one from Chester Barry's world. As to which
+side the difference favors, that isn't for me to say. It all depends
+on your standard of what is really worth while, you know.
+
+So Marcella came to live with us in Bridgeport. I say "us" advisedly.
+She slept and ate in her aunt's house, but every house in the village
+was a home to her; for, with all our little disagreements and diverse
+opinions, we are really all one big family, and everybody feels an
+interest in and a good working affection for everybody else. Besides,
+Marcella was one of those children whom everybody loves at sight, and
+keeps on loving. One long, steady gaze from those big grayish-blue
+black-lashed eyes of hers went right into your heart and stayed there.
+
+She was a pretty child and as good as she was pretty. It was the right
+sort of goodness, too, with just enough spice of original sin in it to
+keep it from spoiling by reason of over-sweetness. She was a frank,
+loyal, brave little thing, even at eight, and wouldn't have said or
+done a mean or false thing to save her life.
+
+She and I were right good friends from the beginning. She loved me and
+she loved her Aunt Sara; but from the very first her best and deepest
+affection went out to Doctor John Haven, who lived in the big brick
+house on the other side of Miss Sara's.
+
+Doctor John was a Bridgeport boy, and when he got through college he
+came right home and settled down here, with his widowed mother. The
+Bridgeport girls were fluttered, for eligible young men were scarce in
+our village; there was considerable setting of caps, I must say that,
+although I despise ill-natured gossip; but neither the caps nor the
+wearers thereof seemed to make any impression on Doctor John. Mrs.
+Riddell said that he was a born old bachelor; I suppose she based her
+opinion on the fact that Doctor John was always a quiet, bookish
+fellow, who didn't care a button for society, and had never been
+guilty of a flirtation in his life. I knew Doctor John's heart far
+better than Martha Riddell could know anybody's; and I knew there was
+nothing of the old bachelor in his nature. He just had to wait for the
+right woman, that was all, not being able to content himself with less
+as some men can and do. If she never came Doctor John would never
+marry; but he wouldn't be an old bachelor for all that.
+
+He was thirty when Marcella came to Bridgeport--a tall,
+broad-shouldered man with a mane of thick brown curls and level, dark
+hazel eyes. He walked with a little stoop, his hands clasped behind
+him; and he had the sweetest, deepest voice. Spoken music, if ever a
+voice was. He was kind and brave and gentle, but a little distant and
+reserved with most people. Everybody in Bridgeport liked him, but only
+a very few ever passed the inner gates of his confidence or were
+admitted to any share in his real life. I am proud to say I was one; I
+think it is something for an old woman to boast of.
+
+Doctor John was always fond of children, and they of him. It was
+natural that he and little Marcella should take to each other. He had
+the most to do with bringing her up, for Miss Sara consulted him in
+everything. Marcella was not hard to manage for the most part; but she
+had a will of her own, and when she did set it up in opposition to
+the powers that were, nobody but the doctor could influence her at
+all; she never resisted him or disobeyed his wishes.
+
+Marcella was one of those girls who develop early. I suppose her
+constant association with us elderly folks had something to do with
+it, too. But, at fifteen, she was a woman, loving, beautiful, and
+spirited.
+
+And Doctor John loved her--loved the woman, not the child. I knew it
+before he did--but not, as I think, before Marcella did, for those
+young, straight-gazing eyes of hers were wonderfully quick to read
+into other people's hearts. I watched them together and saw the love
+growing between them, like a strong, fair, perfect flower, whose
+fragrance was to endure for eternity. Miss Sara saw it, too, and was
+half-pleased and half-worried; even Miss Sara thought the Doctor too
+old for Marcella; and besides, there were the Barrys to be reckoned
+with. Those Barrys were the nightmare dread of poor Miss Sara's life.
+
+The time came when Doctor John's eyes were opened. He looked into his
+own heart and read there what life had written for him. As he told me
+long afterwards, it came to him with a shock that left him
+white-lipped. But he was a brave, sensible fellow and he looked the
+matter squarely in the face. First of all, he put away to one side all
+that the world might say; the thing concerned solely him and Marcella,
+and the world had nothing to do with it. That disposed of, he asked
+himself soberly if he had a right to try to win Marcella's love. He
+decided that he had not; it would be taking an unfair advantage of her
+youth and inexperience. He knew that she must soon go to her father's
+people--she must not go bound by any ties of his making. Doctor John,
+for Marcella's sake, gave the decision against his own heart.
+
+So much did Doctor John tell me, his old friend and confidant. I said
+nothing and gave no advice, not having lived seventy-five years for
+nothing. I knew that Doctor John's decision was manly and right and
+fair; but I also knew it was all nullified by the fact that Marcella
+already loved him.
+
+So much I knew; the rest I was left to suppose. The Doctor and
+Marcella told me much, but there were some things too sacred to be
+told, even to me. So that to this day I don't know how the doctor
+found out that Marcella loved him. All I know is that one day, just a
+month before her sixteenth birthday, the two came hand in hand to Miss
+Sara and me, as we sat on Miss Sara's veranda in the twilight, and
+told us simply that they had plighted their troth to each other.
+
+I looked at them standing there with that wonderful sunrise of life
+and love on their faces--the doctor, tall and serious, with a sprinkle
+of silver in his brown hair and the smile of a happy man on his
+lips--Marcella, such a slip of a girl, with her black hair in a long
+braid and her lovely face all dewed over with tears and sunned over
+with smiles--I, an old woman, looked at them and thanked the good God
+for them and their delight.
+
+Miss Sara laughed and cried and kissed--and forboded what the Barrys
+would do. Her forebodings proved only too true. When the doctor wrote
+to Richard Barry, Marcella's guardian, asking his consent to their
+engagement, Richard Barry promptly made trouble--the very worst kind
+of trouble. He descended on Bridgeport and completely overwhelmed poor
+Miss Sara in his wrath. He laughed at the idea of countenancing an
+engagement between a child like Marcella and an obscure country
+doctor. And he carried Marcella off with him!
+
+She had to go, of course. He was her legal guardian and he would
+listen to no pleadings. He didn't know anything about Marcella's
+character, and he thought that a new life out in the great world would
+soon blot out her fancy.
+
+After the first outburst of tears and prayers Marcella took it very
+calmly, as far as outward eye could see. She was as cool and dignified
+and stately as a young queen. On the night before she went away she
+came over to say good-bye to me. She did not even shed any tears, but
+the look in her eyes told of bitter hurt. "It is goodbye for five
+years, Miss Tranquil," she said steadily. "When I am twenty-one I will
+come back. That is the only promise I can make. They will not let me
+write to John or Aunt Sara and I will do nothing underhanded. But I
+will not forget and I will come back."
+
+Richard Barry would not even let her see Doctor John alone again. She
+had to bid him good-bye beneath the cold, contemptuous eyes of the man
+of the world. So there was just a hand-clasp and one long deep look
+between them that was tenderer than any kiss and more eloquent than
+any words.
+
+"I will come back when I am twenty-one," said Marcella. And I saw
+Richard Barry smile.
+
+So Marcella went away and in all Bridgeport there were only two people
+who believed she would ever return. There is no keeping a secret in
+Bridgeport, and everybody knew all about the love affair between
+Marcella and the doctor and about the promise she had made. Everybody
+sympathized with the doctor because everybody believed he had lost his
+sweetheart.
+
+"For of course she'll never come back," said Mrs. Riddell to me.
+"She's only a child and she'll soon forget him. She's to be sent to
+school and taken abroad and between times she'll live with the Richard
+Barrys; and they move, as everyone knows, in the very highest and
+gayest circles. I'm sorry for the doctor, though. A man of his age
+doesn't get over a thing like that in a hurry and he was perfectly
+silly over Marcella. But it really serves him right for falling in
+love with a child."
+
+There are times when Martha Riddell gets on my nerves. She's a
+good-hearted woman, and she means well; but she rasps--rasps terribly.
+
+Even Miss Sara exasperated me. But then she had her excuse. The child
+she loved as her own had been torn from her and it almost broke her
+heart. But even so, I thought she ought to have had a little more
+faith in Marcella.
+
+"Oh, no, she'll never come back," sobbed Miss Sara. "Yes, I know she
+promised. But they'll wean her away from me. She'll have such a gay,
+splendid life she'll not want to come back. Five years is a lifetime
+at her age. No, don't try to comfort me, Miss Tranquil, because I
+_won't_ be comforted!"
+
+When a person has made up her mind to be miserable you just have to
+_let_ her be miserable.
+
+I almost dreaded to see Doctor John for fear he would be in despair,
+too, without any confidence in Marcella. But when he came I saw I
+needn't have worried. The light had all gone out of his eyes, but
+there was a calm, steady patience in them.
+
+"She will come back to me, Miss Tranquil," he said. "I know what
+people are saying, but that does not trouble me. They do not know
+Marcella as I do. She promised and she will keep her word--keep it
+joyously and gladly, too. If I did not know that I would not wish its
+fulfilment. When she is free she will turn her back on that brilliant
+world and all it offers her and come back to me. My part is to wait
+and believe."
+
+So Doctor John waited and believed. After a little while the
+excitement died away and people forgot Marcella. We never heard from
+or about her, except a paragraph now and then in the society columns
+of the city paper the doctor took. We knew she was sent to school for
+three years; then the Barrys took her abroad. She was presented at
+court. When the doctor read this--he was with me at the time--he put
+his hand over his eyes and sat very silent for a long time. I wondered
+if at last some momentary doubt had crept into his mind--if he did not
+fear that Marcella must have forgotten him. The paper told of her
+triumph and her beauty and hinted at a titled match. Was it probable
+or even possible that she would be faithful to him after all this?
+
+The doctor must have guessed my thoughts, for at last he looked up
+with a smile.
+
+"She will come back," was all he said. But I saw that the doubt, if
+doubt it were, had gone. I watched him as he went away, that tall,
+gentle, kindly-eyed man, and I prayed that his trust might not be
+misplaced; for if it should be it would break his heart.
+
+Five years seems a long time in looking forward. But they pass
+quickly. One day I remembered that it was Marcella's twenty-first
+birthday. Only one other person thought of it. Even Miss Sara did not.
+Miss Sara remembered Marcella only as a child that had been loved and
+lost. Nobody else in Bridgeport thought about her at all. The doctor
+came in that evening. He had a rose in his buttonhole and he walked
+with a step as light as a boy's.
+
+"She is free to-day," he said. "We shall soon have her again, Miss
+Tranquil."
+
+"Do you think she will be the same?" I said.
+
+I don't know what made me say it. I hate to be one of those people who
+throw cold water on other peoples' hopes. But it slipped out before I
+thought. I suppose the doubt had been vaguely troubling me always,
+under all my faith in Marcella, and now made itself felt in spite of
+me.
+
+But the doctor only laughed.
+
+"How could she be changed?" he said. "Some women might be--most women
+would be--but not Marcella. Dear Miss Tranquil, don't spoil your
+beautiful record of confidence by doubting her now. We shall have her
+again soon--how soon I don't know, for I don't even know where she is,
+whether in the old world or the new--but just as soon as she can come
+to us."
+
+We said nothing more--neither of us. But every day the light in the
+doctor's eyes grew brighter and deeper and tenderer. He never spoke of
+Marcella, but I knew she was in his thoughts every moment. He was much
+calmer than I was. I trembled when the postman knocked, jumped when
+the gate latch clicked, and fairly had a cold chill if I saw a
+telegraph boy running down the street.
+
+One evening, a fortnight later, I went over to see Miss Sara. She was
+out somewhere, so I sat down in her little sitting room to wait for
+her. Presently the doctor came in and we sat in the soft twilight,
+talking a little now and then, but silent when we wanted to be, as
+becomes real friendship. It was such a beautiful evening. Outside in
+Miss Sara's garden the roses were white and red, and sweet with dew;
+the honeysuckle at the window sent in delicious breaths now and again;
+a few sleepy birds were twittering; between the trees the sky was all
+pink and silvery blue and there was an evening star over the elm in my
+front yard. We heard somebody come through the door and down the hall.
+I turned, expecting to see Miss Sara--and I saw Marcella! She was
+standing in the doorway, tall and beautiful, with a ray of sunset
+light falling athwart her black hair under her travelling hat. She was
+looking past me at Doctor John and in her splendid eyes was the look
+of the exile who had come home to her own.
+
+"Marcella!" said the doctor.
+
+I went out by the dining-room door and shut it behind me, leaving them
+alone together.
+
+The wedding is to be next month. Miss Sara is beside herself with
+delight. The excitement has been really terrible, and the way people
+have talked and wondered and exclaimed has almost worn my patience
+clean out. I've snubbed more persons in the last ten days than I ever
+did in all my life before.
+
+Nothing of this worries Doctor John or Marcella. They are too happy to
+care for gossip or outside curiosity. The Barrys are not coming to the
+wedding, I understand. They refuse to forgive Marcella or countenance
+her folly, as they call it, in any way. Folly! When I see those two
+together and realize what they mean to each other I have some humble,
+reverent idea of what true wisdom is.
+
+
+
+
+The End of the Young Family Feud
+
+
+A week before Christmas, Aunt Jean wrote to Elizabeth, inviting her
+and Alberta and me to eat our Christmas dinner at Monkshead. We
+accepted with delight. Aunt Jean and Uncle Norman were delightful
+people, and we knew we should have a jolly time at their house.
+Besides, we wanted to see Monkshead, where Father had lived in his
+boyhood, and the old Young homestead where he had been born and
+brought up and where Uncle William still lived. Father never said much
+about it, but we knew he loved it very dearly, and we had always
+greatly desired to get at least a glimpse of what Alberta liked to
+call "our ancestral halls."
+
+Since Monkshead was only sixty miles away, and Uncle William lived
+there as aforesaid, it may be pertinently asked what there was to
+prevent us from visiting it and the homestead as often as we wished.
+We answer promptly: the family feud.
+
+Father and Uncle William were on bad terms, or rather on no terms at
+all, and had been ever since we could remember. After Grandfather
+Young's death there had been a wretched quarrel over the property.
+Father always said that he had been as much to blame as Uncle William,
+but Great-aunt Emily told us that Uncle William had been by far the
+most to blame, and that he had behaved scandalously to Father.
+Moreover, she said that Father had gone to him when cooling-down time
+came, apologized for what he had said, and asked Uncle William to be
+friends again; and that William, simply turned his back on Father and
+walked into the house without saying a word, but, as Great-aunt Emily
+said, with the Young temper sticking out of every kink and curve of
+his figure. Great-aunt Emily is our aunt on Mother's side, and she
+does not like any of the Youngs except Father and Uncle Norman.
+
+This was why we had never visited Monkshead. We had never seen Uncle
+William, and we always thought of him as a sort of ogre when we
+thought of him at all. When we were children, our old nurse, Margaret
+Hannah, used to frighten us into good behaviour by saying ominously,
+"If you 'uns aint good your Uncle William'll cotch you."
+
+What he would do to us when he "cotched" us she never specified,
+probably reasoning that the unknown was always more terrible than the
+known. My private opinion in those days was that he would boil us in
+oil and pick our bones.
+
+Uncle Norman and Aunt Jean had been living out west for years. Three
+months before this Christmas they had come east, bought a house in
+Monkshead, and settled there. They had been down to see us, and Father
+and Mother and the boys had been up to see them, but we three girls
+had not; so we were pleasantly excited at the thought of spending
+Christmas there.
+
+Christmas morning was fine, white as a pearl and clear as a diamond.
+We had to go by the seven o'clock train, since there was no other
+before eleven, and we reached Monkshead at eight-thirty.
+
+When we stepped from the train the stationmaster asked us if we were
+the three Miss Youngs. Alberta pleaded guilty, and he said, "Well,
+here's a letter for you then."
+
+We took the letter and went into the waiting room with sundry
+misgivings. What had happened? Were Uncle Norman and Aunt Jean
+quarantined for scarlet fever, or had burglars raided the pantry and
+carried off the Christmas supplies? Elizabeth opened and read the
+letter aloud. It was from Aunt Jean to the following effect:
+
+    DEAR GIRLS: I am so sorry to disappoint you, but I cannot help
+    it. Word has come from Streatham that my sister has met with a
+    serious accident and is in a very critical condition. Your
+    uncle and I must go to Streatham immediately and are leaving
+    on the eight o'clock express. I know you have started before
+    this, so there is no use in telegraphing. We want you to go
+    right to the house and make yourself at home. You will find
+    the key under the kitchen doorstep, and the dinner in the
+    pantry all ready to cook. There are two mince pies on the
+    third shelf, and the plum pudding only needs to be warmed up.
+    You will find a little Christmas remembrance for each of you
+    on the dining-room table. I hope you will make as merry as you
+    possibly can and we will have you down again as soon as we
+    come back.
+
+                              Your hurried and affectionate,
+                                               AUNT JEAN
+
+
+We looked at each other somewhat dolefully. But, as Alberta pointed
+out, we might as well make the best of it, since there was no way of
+getting home before the five o'clock train. So we trailed out to the
+stationmaster, and asked him limply if he could direct us to Mr.
+Norman Young's house.
+
+He was a rather grumpy individual, very busy with pencil and notebook
+over some freight; but he favoured us with his attention long enough
+to point with his pencil and say jerkily, "Young's? See that red house
+on the hill? That's it."
+
+The red house was about a quarter of a mile from the station, and we
+saw it plainly. Accordingly, to the red house we betook ourselves. On
+nearer view it proved to be a trim, handsome place, with nice grounds
+and very fine old trees.
+
+We found the key under the kitchen doorstep and went in. The fire was
+black out, and somehow things wore a more cheerless look than I had
+expected to find. I may as well admit that we marched into the dining
+room first of all, to find our presents.
+
+There were three parcels, two very small and one pretty big, lying on
+the table, but when we came to look for names there were none.
+
+"Evidently Aunt Jean, in her hurry and excitement, forgot to label
+them," said Elizabeth. "Let us open them. We may be able to guess from
+the contents which belongs to whom."
+
+I must say we were surprised when we opened those parcels. "We had
+known that Aunt Jean's gifts would be nice, but we had not expected
+anything like this. There was a magnificent stone marten collar, a
+dear little gold watch and pearl chatelaine, and a gold chain bracelet
+set with turquoises.
+
+"The collar must be for you, Elizabeth, because Mary and I have one
+already, and Aunt Jean knows it," said Alberta; "the watch must be for
+you, Mary, because I have one; and by the process of exhaustion the
+bracelet must be for me. Well, they are all perfectly sweet."
+
+Elizabeth put on her collar and paraded in front of the sideboard
+mirror. It was so dusty she had to take her handkerchief and wipe it
+before she could see herself properly. Everything in the room was
+equally dusty. As for the lace curtains, they looked as if they hadn't
+been washed for years, and one of them had a long ragged hole in it. I
+couldn't help feeling secretly surprised, for Aunt Jean had the
+reputation of being a perfect housekeeper. However, I didn't say
+anything, and neither did the other girls. Mother had always impressed
+upon us that it was the height of bad manners to criticize anything we
+might not like in a house where we were guests.
+
+"Well, let's see about dinner," said Alberta, practically, snapping
+her bracelet on her wrist and admiring the effect.
+
+We went to the kitchen, where Elizabeth proceeded to light the fire,
+that being one of her specialties, while Alberta and I explored the
+pantry. We found the dinner supplies laid out as Aunt Jean had
+explained. There was a nice fat turkey all stuffed, and vegetables
+galore. The mince pies were in their place, but they were almost the
+only things about which that could be truthfully said, for the
+disorder of that pantry was enough to give a tidy person nightmares
+for a month. "I never in all my life saw--" began Alberta, and then
+stopped short, evidently remembering Mother's teaching.
+
+"Where is the plum pudding?" said I, to turn the conversation into
+safer channels.
+
+It was nowhere to be seen, so we concluded it must be in the cellar.
+But we found the cellar door padlocked good and fast.
+
+"Never mind," said Elizabeth. "You know none of us really likes plum
+pudding. We only eat it because it is the proper traditional dessert.
+The mince pies will suit us better."
+
+We hurried the turkey into the oven, and soon everything was going
+merrily. We had lots of fun getting up that dinner, and we made
+ourselves perfectly at home, as Aunt Jean had commanded. We kindled a
+fire in the dining room and dusted everything in sight. We couldn't
+find anything remotely resembling a duster, so we used our
+handkerchiefs. When we got through, the room looked like something, for
+the furnishings were really very handsome, but our handkerchiefs--well!
+
+Then we set the table with all the nice dishes we could find. There
+was only one long tablecloth in the sideboard drawer, and there were
+three holes in it, but we covered them with dishes and put a little
+potted palm in the middle for a centrepiece. At one o'clock dinner was
+ready for us and we for it. Very nice that table looked, too, as we
+sat down to it.
+
+Just as Alberta was about to spear the turkey with a fork and begin
+carving, that being one of _her_ specialties, the kitchen door opened
+and somebody walked in. Before we could move, a big, handsome,
+bewhiskered man in a fur coat appeared in the dining-room doorway.
+
+I wasn't frightened. He seemed quite respectable, I thought, and I
+supposed he was some intimate friend of Uncle Norman's. I rose
+politely and said, "Good day."
+
+You never saw such an expression of amazement as was on that poor
+man's face. He looked from me to Alberta and from Alberta to Elizabeth
+and from Elizabeth to me again as if he doubted the evidence of his
+eyes.
+
+"Mr. and Mrs. Norman Young are not at home," I explained, pitying him.
+"They went to Streatham this morning because Mrs. Young's sister is
+very ill."
+
+"What does all this mean?" said the big man gruffly. "This isn't
+Norman Young's house ... it is mine. I'm William Young. Who are you?
+And what are you doing here?"
+
+I fell back into my chair, speechless. My very first impulse was to
+put up my hand and cover the gold watch. Alberta had dropped the
+carving knife and was trying desperately to get the gold bracelet off
+under the table. In a flash we had realized our mistake and its
+awfulness. As for me, I felt positively frightened; Margaret Hannah's
+warnings of old had left an ineffaceable impression.
+
+Elizabeth rose to the occasion. Rising to the occasion is another of
+Elizabeth's specialties. Besides, she was not hampered by the tingling
+consciousness that she was wearing a gift that had not been intended
+for her.
+
+"We have made a mistake, I fear," she said, with a dignity which I
+appreciated even in my panic, "and we are very sorry for it. We were
+invited to spend Christmas with Mr. and Mrs. Norman Young. When we got
+off the train we were given a letter from them stating that they were
+summoned away but telling us to go to their house and make ourselves
+at home. The stationmaster told us that this was the house, so we came
+here. We have never been in Monkshead, so we did not know the
+difference. Please pardon us."
+
+I had got off the watch by this time and laid it on the table,
+unobserved, as I thought. Alberta, not having the key of the
+bracelet, had not been able to get it off, and she sat there crimson
+with shame. As for Uncle William, there was positively a twinkle in
+his eye. He did not look in the least ogreish.
+
+"Well, it has been quite a fortunate mistake for me," he said. "I came
+home expecting to find a cold house and a raw dinner, and I find this
+instead. I'm very much obliged to you."
+
+Alberta rose, went to the mantel piece, took the key of the bracelet
+therefrom, and unlocked it. Then she faced Uncle William. "Mrs. Young
+told us in her letter that we would find our Christmas gifts on the
+table, so we took it for granted that these things belonged to us,"
+she said desperately. "And now, if you will kindly tell us where Mr.
+Norman Young does live, we won't intrude on you any longer. Come,
+girls."
+
+Elizabeth and I rose with a sigh. There was nothing else to be done,
+of course, but we were fearfully hungry, and we did not feel
+enthusiastic over the prospect of going to another empty house and
+cooking another dinner.
+
+"Wait a bit," said Uncle William. "I think since you have gone to all
+the trouble of cooking the dinner it's only fair you should stay and
+help to eat it. Accidents seem to be rather fashionable just now. My
+housekeeper's son broke his leg down at Weston, and I had to take her
+there early this morning. Come, introduce yourselves. To whom am I
+indebted for this pleasant surprise?"
+
+"We are Elizabeth, Alberta, and Mary Young of Green Village," I said;
+and then I looked to see the ogre creep out if it were ever going to.
+
+But Uncle William merely looked amazed for the first moment, foolish
+for the second, and the third he was himself again.
+
+"Robert's daughters?" he said, as if it were the most natural thing in
+the world that Robert's daughters should be there in his house. "So
+you are my nieces? Well, I'm very glad to make your acquaintance. Sit
+down and we'll have dinner as soon as I can get my coat off. I want to
+see if you are as good cooks as your mother used to be long ago."
+
+We sat down, and so did Uncle William. Alberta had her chance to show
+what she could do at carving, for Uncle William said it was something
+he never did; he kept a housekeeper just for that. At first we felt a
+bit stiff and awkward; but that soon wore off, for Uncle William was
+genial, witty, and entertaining. Soon, to our surprise, we found that
+we were enjoying ourselves. Uncle William seemed to be, too. When we
+had finished he leaned back and looked at us.
+
+"I suppose you've been brought up to abhor me and all my works?" he
+said abruptly.
+
+"Not by Father and Mother," I said frankly. "They never said anything
+against you. Margaret Hannah did, though. She brought us up in the way
+we should go through fear of you."
+
+Uncle William laughed.
+
+"Margaret Hannah was a faithful old enemy of mine," he said. "Well, I
+acted like a fool--and worse. I've been sorry for it ever since. I was
+in the wrong. I couldn't have said this to your father, but I don't
+mind saying it to you, and you can tell him if you like."
+
+"He'll be delighted to hear that you are no longer angry with him,"
+said Alberta. "He has always longed to be friends with you again,
+Uncle William. But he thought you were still bitter against him."
+
+"No--no--nothing but stubborn pride," said Uncle William. "Now, girls,
+since you are my guests I must try to give you a good time. We'll take
+the double sleigh and have a jolly drive this afternoon. And about
+those trinkets there--they are yours. I did get them for some young
+friends of mine here, but I'll give them something else. I want you to
+have these. That watch looked very nice on your blouse, Mary, and the
+bracelet became Alberta's pretty wrist very well. Come and give your
+cranky old uncle a hug for them."
+
+Uncle William got his hugs heartily; then we washed up the dishes and
+went for our drive. We got back just in time to catch the evening
+train home. Uncle William saw us off at the station, under promise to
+come back and stay a week with him when his housekeeper came home.
+
+"One of you will have to come and stay with me altogether, pretty
+soon," he said. "Tell your father he must be prepared to hand over one
+of his girls to me as a token of his forgiveness. I'll be down to talk
+it over with him shortly."
+
+When we got home and told our story, Father said, "Thank God!" very
+softly. There were tears in his eyes. He did not wait for Uncle
+William to come down, but went to Monkshead himself the next day.
+
+In the spring Alberta is to go and live with Uncle William. She is
+making a supply of dusters now. And next Christmas we are going to
+have a grand family reunion at the old homestead. Mistakes are not
+always bad.
+
+
+
+
+The Genesis of the Doughnut Club
+
+
+When John Henry died there seemed to be nothing for me to do but pack
+up and go back east. I didn't want to do it, but forty-five years of
+sojourning in this world have taught me that a body has to do a good
+many things she doesn't want to do, and that most of them turn out to
+be for the best in the long run. But I knew perfectly well that it
+wasn't best for me or anybody else that I should go back to live with
+William and Susanna, and I couldn't think what Providence was about
+when things seemed to point that way.
+
+I wanted to stay in Carleton. I loved the big, straggling, bustling
+little town that always reminded me of a lanky, overgrown schoolboy,
+all arms and legs, but full to the brim with enthusiasm and splendid
+ideas. I knew Carleton was bound to grow into a magnificent city, and
+I wanted to be there and see it grow and watch it develop; and I loved
+the whole big, breezy golden west, with the rush and tingle of its
+young life. And, more than all, I loved my boys, and what I was going
+to do without them or they without me was more than I knew, though I
+tried to think Providence might know.
+
+But there was no place in Carleton for me; the only thing to do was to
+go back east, and I knew that all the time, even when I was
+desperately praying that I might find a way to remain. There's not
+much comfort, or help either, praying one way and believing another.
+
+I'd lived down east in Northfield all my life--until five years
+ago--lived with my brother William and his wife. Northfield was a
+little pinched-up village where everybody knew more about you than you
+did about yourself, and you couldn't turn around without being
+commented upon. William and Susanna were kind to me, but I was just
+the old maid sister, of no importance to anybody, and I never felt as
+if I were really living. I was simply vegetating on, and wouldn't be
+missed by a single soul if I died. It is a horrible feeling, but I
+didn't expect it would ever be any different, and I had made up my
+mind that when I died I would have the word "Wasted" carved on my
+tombstone. It wouldn't be conventional at all, but I'd been
+conventional all my life, and I was determined I'd have something done
+out of the common even if I had to wait until I was dead to have it.
+
+Then all at once the letter came from John Henry, my brother out west.
+He wrote that his wife had died and he wanted me to go out and keep
+house for him. I sat right down and wrote him I'd go and in a week's
+time I started.
+
+It made quite a commotion; I had that much satisfaction out of it to
+begin with. Susanna wasn't any too well pleased. I was only the old
+maid sister, but I was a good cook, and help was scarce in Northfield.
+All the neighbours shook their heads, and warned me I wouldn't like
+it. I was too old to change my ways, and I'd be dreadfully homesick,
+and I'd find the west too rough and boisterous. I just smiled and said
+nothing.
+
+Well, I came out here to Carleton, and from the time I got here I was
+perfectly happy. John Henry had a little rented house, and he was as
+poor as a church mouse, being the ne'er-do-well of our family, and the
+best loved, as ne'er-do-wells are so apt to be. He'd nearly died of
+lonesomeness since his wife's death, and he was so glad to see me.
+That was delightful in itself, and I was just in my element getting
+that little house fixed up cosy and homelike, and cooking the most
+elegant meals. There wasn't much work to do, just for me and him, and
+I got a squaw in to wash and scrub. I never thought about Northfield
+except to thank goodness I'd escaped from it, and John Henry and I
+were as happy as a king and queen.
+
+Then after awhile my activities began to sprout and branch out, and
+the direction they took was _boys_. Carleton was full of boys, like
+all the western towns, overflowing with them as you might say, young
+fellows just let loose from home and mother, some of them dying of
+homesickness and some of them beginning to run wild and get into
+risky ways, some of them smart and some of them lazy, some ugly and
+some handsome; but all of them boys, lovable, rollicking boys, with
+the makings of good men in them if there was anybody to take hold of
+them and cut the pattern right, but liable to be spoiled just because
+there wasn't anybody.
+
+Well, I did what I could. It began with John Henry bringing home some
+of them that worked in his office to spend the evening now and again,
+and they told other fellows and asked leave to bring them in too. And
+before long it got to be that there never was an evening there wasn't
+some of them there, "Aunt-Pattying" me. I told them from the start I
+would _not_ be called Miss. When a woman has been Miss for forty-five
+years she gets tired of it.
+
+So Aunt Patty it was, and Aunt Patty it remained, and I loved all
+those dear boys as if they'd been my own. They told me all their
+troubles, and I mothered them and cheered them up and scolded them,
+and finally topped off with a jolly good supper; for, talk as you
+like, you can't preach much good into a boy if he's got an aching void
+in his stomach. Fill _that_ up with tasty victuals, and then you can
+do something with his spiritual nature. If a boy is well stuffed with
+good things and then won't listen to advice, you might as well stop
+wasting your breath on him, because there is something radically wrong
+with him. Probably his grandfather had dyspepsia. And a dyspeptic
+ancestor is worse for a boy than predestination, in my opinion.
+
+Anyway, most of my boys took to going to church and Bible class of
+their own accord, after I'd been their aunt for awhile. The young
+minister thought it was all his doings, and I let him think so to keep
+him cheered up. He was a nice boy himself, and often dropped in of an
+evening too; but I never would let him talk theology until after
+supper. His views always seemed so much mellower then, and didn't
+puzzle the other boys more than was wholesome for them.
+
+This went on for five glorious years, the only years of my life I'd
+ever _lived_, and then came, as I thought, the end of everything. John
+Henry took typhoid and died. At first that was all I could think of;
+and when I got so that I could think of other things, there was, as I
+have said, nothing for me to do but go back east.
+
+The boys, who had been as good as gold to me all through my trouble,
+felt dreadfully bad over this, and coaxed me hard to stay. They said
+if I'd start a boarding house I'd have all the boarders I could
+accommodate; but I knew it was no use to think of that, because I
+wasn't strong enough, and help was so hard to get. No, there was
+nothing for it but Northfield and stagnation again, with not a stray
+boy anywhere to mother. I looked the dismal prospect square in the
+face and made up my mind to it.
+
+But I was determined to give my boys one good celebration before I
+went, anyway. It was near Thanksgiving, and I resolved they should
+have a dinner that would keep my memory green for awhile, a real
+old-fashioned Thanksgiving dinner such as they used to have at home. I
+knew it would cost more than I could really afford, but I shut my eyes
+to that aspect of the question. I was going back to strict eastern
+economy for the rest of my days, and I meant to indulge in one wild,
+blissful riot of extravagance before I was cooped up again.
+
+I counted up the boys I must have, and there were fifteen, including
+the minister. I invited them a fortnight ahead to make sure of getting
+them, though I needn't have worried, for they all said they would have
+broken an engagement to dine with the king for one of my dinners. The
+minister said he had been feeling so homesick he was afraid he
+wouldn't be able to preach a real thankful sermon, but now he was
+comfortably sure that his sermon would be overflowing with gratitude.
+
+I just threw myself heart and soul into the preparations for that
+dinner. I had three turkeys and two sucking pigs, and mince pies and
+pumpkin pies and apple pies, and doughnuts and fruit cake and
+cranberry sauce and brown bread, and ever so many other things to fill
+up the chinks. The night before Thanksgiving everything was ready, and
+I was so tired I could hardly talk to Jimmy Nelson when he dropped in.
+
+Jimmy had something on his mind, I saw that. So I said, "'Fess up,
+Jimmy, and then you'll be able to enjoy your call."
+
+"I want to ask a favour of you, Aunt Patty," said Jimmy.
+
+I knew I should have to grant it; nobody could refuse Jimmy anything,
+he looked so much like a nice, clean, pink-and-white little schoolboy
+whose mother had just scrubbed his face and told him to be good. At
+the same time he was one of the wildest young scamps in Carleton, or
+had been until a year ago. I'd got him well set on the road to
+reformation, and I felt worse about leaving him than any of the rest
+of them. I knew he was just at the critical point. With somebody to
+tide him over the next half year he'd probably go straight for the
+rest of his life, but if he were left to himself he'd likely just slip
+back to his old set and ways.
+
+"I want you to let me bring my Uncle Joe to dinner tomorrow," said
+Jimmy. "The poor old fellow is stranded here for Thanksgiving, and he
+hates hotels. May I?"
+
+"Of course," I said heartily, wondering why Jimmy seemed to think I
+mightn't want his Uncle Joe. "Bring him right along."
+
+"Thanks," said Jimmy. "He'll be more than pleased. Your sublime
+cookery will delight him. He adores the west, but he can't endure its
+cooking. He's always harping on his mother's pantry and the good old
+down-east dinners. He's dyspeptic and pessimistic most of the time,
+and he's got half a dozen cronies just like himself. All they think of
+is railroads and bills of fare."
+
+"Railroads!" I cried. And then an awful thought assailed me. "Jimmy
+Nelson, your uncle isn't--isn't--he can't be Joseph P. Nelson, the
+_rich_ Joseph P. Nelson!"
+
+"Oh, he's rich enough," said Jimmy; getting up and reaching for his
+hat. "In dollars, that is. Some ways he's poor enough. Well, I must be
+going. Thanks ever so much for letting me bring Uncle Joe."
+
+And that rascal was gone, leaving me crushed. Joseph Nelson was coming
+to my house to dinner--Joseph P. Nelson, the millionaire railroad
+king, who kept his own chef and was accustomed to dining with the
+great ones of the earth!
+
+I was afraid I should never be able to forgive Jimmy. I couldn't sleep
+a wink that night, and I cooked that dinner next day in a terrible
+state of mind. Every ring that came at the door made my heart
+jump,--but in the end Jimmy didn't ring at all, but just walked in
+with his uncle in tow. The minute I saw Joseph P. I knew I needn't be
+scared of _him_; he just looked real common. He was little and thin
+and kind of bored-looking, with grey hair and whiskers, and his
+clothes were next door to downright shabbiness. If it hadn't been for
+the thought of that chef, I wouldn't have felt a bit ashamed of my
+old-fashioned Thanksgiving spread.
+
+When Joseph P. sat down to that table he stopped looking bored. All
+the time the minister was saying grace that man simply stared at a big
+plate of doughnuts near my end of the table, as if he'd never seen
+anything like them before.
+
+All the boys talked and laughed while they were eating, but Joseph P.
+just _ate_, tucking away turkey and vegetables and keeping an anxious
+eye on those doughnuts, as if he was afraid somebody else would get
+hold of them before his turn came. I wished I was sure it was
+etiquette to tell him not to worry because there were plenty more in
+the pantry. By the time he'd been helped three times to mince pie I
+gave up feeling bad about the chef. He finished off with the
+doughnuts, and I shan't tell how many of them he devoured, because I
+would not be believed.
+
+Most of the boys had to go away soon after dinner. Joseph P. shook
+hands with me absently and merely said, "Good afternoon, Miss
+Porter." I didn't think he seemed at all grateful for his dinner, but
+that didn't worry me because it was for my boys I'd got it up, and not
+for dyspeptic millionaires whose digestion had been spoiled by private
+chefs. And my boys had appreciated it, there wasn't any doubt about
+that. Peter Crockett and Tommy Gray stayed to help me wash the dishes,
+and we had the jolliest time ever. Afterward we picked the turkey
+bones.
+
+But that night I realized that I was once more a useless, lonely old
+woman. I cried myself to sleep, and next morning I hadn't spunk enough
+to cook myself a dinner. I dined off some crackers and the remnants of
+the apple pies, and I was sitting staring at the crumbs when the bell
+rang. I wiped away my tears and went to the door. Joseph P. Nelson was
+standing there, and he said, without wasting any words--it was easy to
+see how that man managed to get railroads built where nobody else
+could manage it--that he had called to see me on a little matter of
+business.
+
+He took just ten minutes to make it clear to me, and when I saw the
+whole project I was the happiest woman in Carleton or out of it. He
+said he had never eaten such a Thanksgiving dinner as mine, and that I
+was the woman he'd been looking for for years. He said that he had a
+few business friends who had been brought up on a down-east farm like
+himself, and never got over their hankering for old-fashioned cookery.
+
+"That is something we can't get here, with all our money," he said.
+"Now, Miss Porter, my nephew tells me that you wish to remain in
+Carleton, if you can find some way of supporting yourself. I have a
+proposition to make to you. These aforesaid friends of mine and I
+expect to spend most of our time in Carleton for the next few years.
+In fact we shall probably make it our home eventually. It's going to
+be _the_ city of the west after awhile, and the centre of a dozen
+railroads. Well, we mean to equip a small private restaurant for
+ourselves and we want you to take charge of it. You won't have to do
+much except oversee the business and arrange the bills of fare. We
+want plain, substantial old-time meals and cookery. When we have a
+hankering for doughnuts and apple pies and cranberry tarts, we want to
+know just where to get them and have them the right kind. We're all
+horribly tired of hotel fare and fancy fol-de-rols with French names.
+A place where we could get a dinner such as you served yesterday would
+be a boon to us. We'd have started the restaurant long ago if we could
+have got a suitable person to take charge of it."
+
+He named the salary the club would pay and the very sound of it made
+me feel rich. You may be sure I didn't take long to decide. That was a
+year ago, and today the Doughnut Club, as they call themselves, is a
+huge success, and the fame of it has gone abroad in the land, although
+they are pretty exclusive and keep all their good things close enough
+to themselves. Joseph P. took a Scotch peer there to dinner one day
+last week. Jimmy Nelson told me afterward that the man said it was the
+only satisfying meal he'd had since he left the old country.
+
+As for me, I have my little house, my very own and no rented one, and
+all my dear boys, and I'm a happy old busybody. You see, Providence
+did answer my prayers in spite of my lack of faith; but of course He
+used means, and that Thanksgiving dinner of mine was the earthly
+instrument of it all.
+
+
+
+
+The Girl Who Drove the Cows
+
+
+"I wonder who that pleasant-looking girl who drives cows down the
+beech lane every morning and evening is," said Pauline Palmer, at the
+tea table of the country farmhouse where she and her aunt were
+spending the summer. Mrs. Wallace had wanted to go to some fashionable
+watering place, but her husband had bluntly told her he couldn't
+afford it. Stay in the city when all her set were out she would not,
+and the aforesaid farmhouse had been the compromise.
+
+"I shouldn't suppose it could make any difference to you who she is,"
+said Mrs. Wallace impatiently. "I do wish, Pauline, that you were more
+careful in your choice of associates. You hobnob with everyone, even
+that old man who comes around buying eggs. It is very bad form."
+
+Pauline hid a rather undutiful smile behind her napkin. Aunt Olivia's
+snobbish opinions always amused her.
+
+"You've no idea what an interesting old man he is," she said. "He can
+talk more entertainingly than any other man I know. What is the use of
+being so exclusive, Aunt Olivia? You miss so much fun. You wouldn't be
+so horribly bored as you are if you fraternized a little with the
+'natives,' as you call them."
+
+"No, thank you," said Mrs. Wallace disdainfully.
+
+"Well, I am going to try to get acquainted with that girl," said
+Pauline resolutely. "She looks nice and jolly."
+
+"I don't know where you get your low tastes from," groaned Mrs.
+Wallace. "I'm sure it wasn't from your poor mother. What do you
+suppose the Morgan Knowles would think if they saw you taking up with
+some tomboy girl on a farm?"
+
+"I don't see why it should make a great deal of difference what they
+would think, since they don't seem to be aware of my existence, or
+even of yours, Aunty," said Pauline, with twinkling eyes. She knew it
+was her aunt's dearest desire to get in with the Morgan Knowles'
+"set"--a desire that seemed as far from being realized as ever. Mrs.
+Wallace could never understand why the Morgan Knowles shut her from
+their charmed circle. They certainly associated with people much
+poorer and of more doubtful worldly station than hers--the Markhams,
+for instance, who lived on an unfashionable street and wore quite
+shabby clothes. Just before she had left Colchester, Mrs. Wallace had
+seen Mrs. Knowles and Mrs. Markham together in the former's
+automobile. James Wallace and Morgan Knowles were associated in
+business dealings; but in spite of Mrs. Wallace's schemings and
+aspirations and heart burnings, the association remained a purely
+business one and never advanced an inch in the direction of
+friendship.
+
+As for Pauline, she was hopelessly devoid of social ambitions and she
+did not in the least mind the Morgan Knowles' remote attitude.
+
+"Besides," continued Pauline, "she isn't a tomboy at all. She looks
+like a very womanly, well-bred sort of girl. Why should you think her
+a tomboy because she drives cows? Cows are placid, useful
+animals--witness this delicious cream which I am pouring over my
+blueberries. And they have to be driven. It's an honest occupation."
+
+"I daresay she is someone's servant," said Mrs. Wallace
+contemptuously. "But I suppose even that wouldn't matter to you,
+Pauline?"
+
+"Not a mite," said Pauline cheerfully. "One of the very nicest girls I
+ever knew was a maid Mother had the last year of her dear life. I
+loved that girl, Aunt Olivia, and I correspond with her. She writes
+letters that are ten times more clever and entertaining than those
+stupid epistles Clarisse Gray sends me--and Clarisse Gray is a rich
+man's daughter and is being educated in Paris."
+
+"You are incorrigible, Pauline," said Mrs. Wallace hopelessly.
+
+"Mrs. Boyd," said Pauline to their landlady, who now made her
+appearance, "who is that girl who drives the cows along the beech lane
+mornings and evenings?"
+
+"Ada Cameron, I guess," was Mrs. Boyd's response. "She lives with the
+Embrees down on the old Embree place just below here. They're
+pasturing their cows on the upper farm this summer. Mrs. Embree is her
+father's half-sister."
+
+"Is she as nice as she looks?"
+
+"Yes, Ada's a real nice sensible girl," said Mrs. Boyd. "There is no
+nonsense about her."
+
+"That doesn't sound very encouraging," murmured Pauline, as Mrs. Boyd
+went out. "I like people with a little nonsense about them. But I hope
+better things of Ada, Mrs. Boyd to the contrary notwithstanding. She
+has a pair of grey eyes that can't possibly always look sensible. I
+think they must mellow occasionally into fun and jollity and wholesome
+nonsense. Well, I'm off to the shore. I want to get that photograph of
+the Cove this evening, if possible. I've set my heart on taking first
+prize at the Amateur Photographers' Exhibition this fall, and if I can
+only get that Cove with all its beautiful lights and shadows, it will
+be the gem of my collection."
+
+Pauline, on her return from the shore, reached the beech lane just as
+the Embree cows were swinging down it. Behind them came a tall,
+brown-haired, brown-faced girl in a neat print dress. Her hat was hung
+over her arm, and the low evening sunlight shone redly over her smooth
+glossy head. She carried herself with a pretty dignity, but when her
+eyes met Pauline's, she looked as if she would smile on the slightest
+provocation.
+
+Pauline promptly gave her the provocation.
+
+"Good evening, Miss Cameron," she called blithely. "Won't you please
+stop a few moments and look me over? I want to see if you think me a
+likely person for a summer chum."
+
+Ada Cameron did more than smile. She laughed outright and went over to
+the fence where Pauline was sitting on a stump. She looked down into
+the merry black eyes of the town girl she had been half envying for a
+week and said humorously: "Yes, I think you very likely, indeed. But
+it takes two to make a friendship--like a bargain. If I'm one, you'll
+have to be the other."
+
+"I'm the other. Shake," said Pauline, holding out her hand.
+
+That was the beginning of a friendship that made poor Mrs. Wallace
+groan outwardly as well as inwardly. Pauline and Ada found that they
+liked each other even more than they had expected to. They walked,
+rowed, berried and picnicked together. Ada did not go to Mrs. Boyd's a
+great deal, for some instinct told her that Mrs. Wallace did not look
+favourably on her, but Pauline spent half her time at the little,
+brown, orchard-embowered house at the end of the beech lane where the
+Embrees lived. She had never met any girl she thought so nice as Ada.
+
+"She is nice every way," she told the unconvinced Aunt Olivia. "She's
+clever and well read. She is sensible and frank. She has a sense of
+humour and a great deal of insight into character--witness her liking
+for your niece! She can talk interestingly and she can also be silent
+when silence is becoming. And she has the finest profile I ever saw.
+Aunt Olivia, may I ask her to visit me next winter?"
+
+"No, indeed," said Mrs. Wallace, with crushing emphasis. "You surely
+don't expect to continue this absurd intimacy past the summer,
+Pauline?"
+
+"I expect to be Ada's friend all my life," said Pauline laughingly,
+but with a little ring of purpose in her voice. "Oh, Aunty, dear,
+can't you see that Ada is just the same girl in cotton print that she
+would be in silk attire? She is really far more distinguished looking
+than any girl in the Knowles' set."
+
+"Pauline!" said Aunt Olivia, looking as shocked as if Pauline had
+committed blasphemy.
+
+Pauline laughed again, but she sighed as she went to her room. Aunt
+Olivia has the kindest heart in the world, she thought. What a pity
+she isn't able to see things as they really are! My friendship with
+Ada can't be perfect if I can't invite her to my home. And she is such
+a dear girl--the first real friend after my own heart that I've ever
+had.
+
+The summer waned, and August burned itself out.
+
+"I suppose you will be going back to town next week? I shall miss you
+dreadfully," said Ada.
+
+The two girls were in the Embree garden, where Pauline was preparing
+to take a photograph of Ada standing among the asters, with a great
+sheaf of them in her arms. Pauline wished she could have said: But you
+must come and visit me in the winter. Since she could not, she had to
+content herself with saying: "You won't miss me any more than I shall
+miss you. But we'll correspond, and I hope Aunt Olivia will come to
+Marwood again next summer."
+
+"I don't think I shall be here then," said Ada with a sigh. "You see,
+it is time I was doing something for myself, Pauline. Aunt Jane and
+Uncle Robert have always been very kind to me, but they have a large
+family and are not very well off. So I think I'll try for a situation
+in one of the Remington stores this fall."
+
+"It's such a pity you couldn't have gone to the Academy and studied
+for a teacher's licence," said Pauline, who knew what Ada's ambitions
+were.
+
+"I should have liked that better, of course," said Ada quietly. "But
+it is not possible, so I must do my best at the next best thing. Don't
+let's talk of it. It might make me feel blueish and I want to look
+especially pleasant if I'm going to have my photo taken."
+
+"You couldn't look anything else," laughed Pauline. "Don't smile too
+broadly--I want you to be looking over the asters with a bit of a
+dream on your face and in your eyes. If the picture turns out as
+beautiful as I fondly expect, I mean to put it in my exhibition
+collection under the title 'A September Dream.' There, that's the very
+expression. When you look like that, you remind me of somebody I have
+seen, but I can't remember who it is. All ready now--don't
+move--there, dearie, it is all over."
+
+When Pauline went back to Colchester, she was busy for a month
+preparing her photographs for the exhibition, while Aunt Olivia
+renewed her spinning of all the little social webs in which she fondly
+hoped to entangle the Morgan Knowles and other desirable flies.
+
+When the exhibition was opened, Pauline Palmer's collection won first
+prize, and the prettiest picture in it was one called "A September
+Dream"--a tall girl with a wistful face, standing in an old-fashioned
+garden with her arms full of asters.
+
+The very day after the exhibition was opened the Morgan Knowles'
+automobile stopped at the Wallace door. Mrs. Wallace was out, but it
+was Pauline whom stately Mrs. Morgan Knowles asked for. Pauline was at
+that moment buried in her darkroom developing photographs, and she ran
+down just as she was--a fact which would have mortified Mrs. Wallace
+exceedingly if she had ever known it. But Mrs. Morgan Knowles did not
+seem to mind at all. She liked Pauline's simplicity of manner. It was
+more than she had expected from the aunt's rather vulgar
+affectations.
+
+"I have called to ask you who the original of the photograph 'A
+September Dream' in your exhibit was, Miss Palmer," she said
+graciously. "The resemblance to a very dear childhood friend of mine
+is so startling that I am sure it cannot be accidental."
+
+"That is a photograph of Ada Cameron, a friend whom I met this summer
+up in Marwood," said Pauline.
+
+"Ada Cameron! She must be Ada Frame's daughter, then," exclaimed Mrs.
+Knowles in excitement. Then, seeing Pauline's puzzled face, she
+explained: "Years ago, when I was a child, I always spent my summers
+on the farm of my uncle, John Frame. My cousin, Ada Frame, was the
+dearest friend I ever had, but after we grew up we saw nothing of each
+other, for I went with my parents to Europe for several years, and Ada
+married a neighbour's son, Alec Cameron, and went out west. Her
+father, who was my only living relative other than my parents, died,
+and I never heard anything more of Ada until about eight years ago,
+when somebody told me she was dead and had left no family. That part
+of the report cannot have been true if this girl is her daughter."
+
+"I believe she is," said Pauline quickly. "Ada was born out west and
+lived there until she was eight years old, when her parents died and
+she was sent east to her father's half-sister. And Ada looks like
+you--she always reminded me of somebody I had seen, but I never could
+decide who it was before. Oh, I hope it is true, for Ada is such a
+sweet girl, Mrs. Knowles."
+
+"She couldn't be anything else if she is Ada Frame's daughter," said
+Mrs. Knowles. "My husband will investigate the matter at once, and if
+this girl is Ada's child we shall hope to find a daughter in her, as
+we have none of our own."
+
+"What will Aunt Olivia say!" said Pauline with wickedly dancing eyes
+when Mrs. Knowles had gone.
+
+Aunt Olivia was too much overcome to say anything. That good lady felt
+rather foolish when it was proved that the girl she had so despised
+was Mrs. Morgan Knowles' cousin and was going to be adopted by her.
+But to hear Aunt Olivia talk now, you would suppose that she and not
+Pauline had discovered Ada.
+
+The latter sought Pauline out as soon as she came to Colchester, and
+the summer friendship proved a life-long one and was, for the
+Wallaces, the open sesame to the enchanted ground of the Knowles'
+"set."
+
+"So everybody concerned is happy," said Pauline. "Ada is going to
+college and so am I, and Aunt Olivia is on the same committee as Mrs.
+Knowles for the big church bazaar. What about my 'low tastes' now,
+Aunt Olivia?"
+
+"Well, who would ever have supposed that a girl who drove cows to
+pasture was connected with the Morgan Knowles?" said poor Aunt Olivia
+piteously.
+
+
+
+
+The Growing Up of Cornelia
+
+
+                                              January First.
+
+Aunt Jemima gave me this diary for a Christmas present. It's just the
+sort of gift a person named Jemima would be likely to make.
+
+I can't imagine why Aunt Jemima thought I should like a diary.
+Probably she didn't think about it at all. I suppose it happened to be
+the first thing she saw when she started out to do her Christmas duty
+by me, and so she bought it. I'm sure I'm the last girl in the world
+to keep a diary. I'm not a bit sentimental and I never have time for
+soul outpourings. It's jollier to be out skating or snowshoeing or
+just tramping around. And besides, nothing ever happens to me worth
+writing in a diary.
+
+Still, since Aunt Jemima gave it to me, I'm going to get the good out
+of it. I don't believe in wasting even a diary. Father ... it would be
+easier to write "Dad," but Dad sounds disrespectful in a diary ...
+says I have a streak of old Grandmother Marshall's economical nature
+in me. So I'm going to write in this book whenever I have anything
+that might, by any stretch of imagination, be supposed worth while.
+
+Jen and Alice and Sue would have plenty to write about, I dare say.
+They certainly seem to have jolly times ... and as for the men ... but
+there! People say men are interesting. They may be. But I shall never
+get well enough acquainted with any of them to find out.
+
+Mother says it is high time I gave up my tomboy ways and came "out"
+too, because I am eighteen. I coaxed off this winter. It wasn't very
+hard, because no mother with three older unmarried girls on her hands
+would be very anxious to bring out a fourth. The girls took my part
+and advised Mother to let me be a child as long as possible. Mother
+yielded for this time, but said I must be brought out next winter or
+people would talk. Oh, I hate the thought of it! People might talk
+about my not being brought out, but they will talk far more about the
+blunders I shall make.
+
+The doleful fact is, I'm too wretchedly shy and awkward to live. It
+fills my soul with terror to think of donning long dresses and putting
+my hair up and going into society. I can't talk and men frighten me to
+death. I fall over things as it is, and what will it be with long
+dresses? As far back as I can remember it has been my one aim and
+object in life to escape company. Oh, if only one need never grow up!
+If I could only go back four years and stay there!
+
+Mother laments over it muchly. She says she doesn't know what she has
+done to have such a shy, unpresentable daughter. _I_ know. She married
+Grandmother Marshall's son, and Grandmother Marshall was as shy as she
+was economical. Mother triumphed over heredity with Jen and Sue and
+Alice, but it came off best with me. The other girls are noted for
+their grace and tact. But I'm the black sheep and always will be. It
+wouldn't worry me so much if they'd leave me alone and stop nagging
+me. "Oh, for a lodge in some vast wilderness," where there were no
+men, no parties, no dinners ... just quantities of dogs and horses and
+skating ponds and woods! I need never put on long dresses then, but
+just be a jolly little girl forever.
+
+However, I've got one beautiful year before me yet, and I mean to make
+the most of it.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+                                              January Tenth.
+
+It is rather good to have a diary to pour out your woes in when you
+feel awfully bad and have no one to sympathize with you. I've been
+used to shutting them all up in my soul and then they sometimes
+fermented and made trouble.
+
+We had a lot of people here to dinner tonight, and that made me
+miserable to begin with. I had to dress up in a stiff white dress
+_with a sash_, and Jen tied two big white fly-away bows on my hair
+that kept rasping my neck and tickling my ears in a most exasperating
+way. Then an old lady whom I detest tried to make me talk before
+everybody, and all I could do was to turn as red as a beet and
+stammer: "Yes, ma'am," "no, ma'am." It made Mother furious, because it
+is so old-fashioned to say "ma'am." Our old nurse taught me to say it
+when I was small, and though it has been pretty well governessed out
+of me since then, it's sure to pop up when I get confused and nervous.
+
+Sue ... may it be accounted unto her for righteousness ... contrived
+that I should go out to dinner with old Mr. Grant, because she knew he
+goes to dinners for the sake of eating and never talks or wants
+anybody else to. But when we were crossing the hall I stepped on Mrs.
+Burnett's train and something tore. Mrs. Burnett gave me a furious
+look and glowered all through dinner. The meal was completely spoiled
+for me and I could find no comfort, even in the Nesselrode pudding,
+which is my favourite dessert.
+
+It was just when the pudding came on that I got the most unkindest cut
+of all. Mrs. Allardyce remarked that Sidney Elliot was coming home to
+Stillwater.
+
+Everybody exclaimed and questioned and seemed delighted. I saw Mother
+give one quick, involuntary look at Jen, and then gaze steadfastly at
+Mr. Grant to atone for it. Jen is twenty-six, and Stillwater is next
+door to our place!
+
+As for me, I was so vexed that I might as well have been eating chips
+for all the good that Nesselrode pudding was to me. If Sidney Elliot
+were coming home everything would be spoiled. There would be no more
+ramblings in the Stillwater woods, no more delightful skating on the
+Stillwater lake. Stillwater has been the only place in the world where
+I could find the full joy of solitude, and now this, too, was to be
+taken from me. We had no woods, no lake. I hated Sidney Elliot.
+
+It is ten years since Sidney Elliot closed Stillwater and went abroad.
+He has stayed abroad ever since and nobody has missed him, I'm sure. I
+remember him dimly as a tall dark man who used to lounge about alone
+in his garden and was always reading books. Sometimes he came into our
+garden and teased us children. He is said to be a cynic and to detest
+society. If this latter item be a fact I almost feel a grim pity for
+him. He may detest it, but he will be dragged into it. Rich bachelors
+are few and far between in Riverton, and the mammas will hunt him
+down.
+
+I feel like crying. If Sidney Elliot comes home I shall be debarred
+from Stillwater. I have roamed its demesnes for ten beautiful years,
+and I'm sure I love them a hundredfold better than he does, or can. It
+is flagrantly unfair. Oh, I hate him!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+                                          January Twentieth.
+
+No, I don't. I believe I like him. Yet it's almost unbelievable. I've
+always thought men so detestable.
+
+I'm tingling all over with the surprise and pleasure of a little
+unexpected adventure. For the first time I have something really worth
+writing in a diary ... and I'm glad I have a diary to write it in.
+Blessings on Aunt Jemima! May her shadow never grow less.
+
+This evening I started out for a last long lingering ramble in my
+beloved Stillwater woods. The last, I thought, because I knew Sidney
+Elliot was expected home next week, and after that I'd have to be
+cooped up on our lawn. I dressed myself comfortably for climbing
+fences and skimming over snowy wastes. That is, I put on the shortest
+old tweed skirt I have and a red jacket with sleeves three years
+behind the fashion, but jolly pockets to put your hands in, and a
+still redder tam. Thus accoutred, I sallied forth.
+
+It was such a lovely evening that I couldn't help enjoying myself in
+spite of my sorrows. The sun was low and creamy, and the snow was so
+white and the shadows so slender and blue. All through the lovely
+Stillwater woods was a fine frosty stillness. It was splendid to skim
+down those long wonderful avenues of crusted snow, with the mossy grey
+boles on either hand, and overhead the lacing, leafless boughs, I
+just drank in the air and the beauty until my very soul was thrilling,
+and I went on and on and on until I was most delightfully lost. That
+is, I didn't know just where I was, but the woods weren't so big but
+that I'd be sure to come out safely somewhere; and, oh, it was so
+glorious to be there all alone and never a creature to worry me.
+
+At last I turned into a long aisle that seemed to lead right out into
+the very heart of a deep-red overflowing winter sunset. At its end I
+found a fence, and I climbed up on that fence and sat there, so
+comfortably, with my back against a big beech and my feet dangling.
+
+Then I saw him!
+
+I knew it was Sidney Elliot in a moment. He was just as tall and just
+as black-eyed; he was still given to lounging evidently, for he was
+leaning against the fence a panel away from me and looking at me with
+an amused smile. After my first mad impulse to rush away and bury
+myself in the wilderness that smile put me at ease. If he had looked
+grave or polite I would have been as miserably shy as I've always been
+in a man's presence. But it was the smile of a grandfather for a
+child, and I just grinned cheerfully back at him.
+
+He ploughed along through the thick drift that was soft and spongy by
+the fence and came close up to me.
+
+"You must be little Cornelia," he said with another aged smile. "Or
+rather, you _were_ little Cornelia. I suppose you are big Cornelia now
+and want to be treated like a young lady?"
+
+"Indeed, I don't," I protested. "I'm not grown up and I don't want to
+be. You are Mr. Elliot, I suppose. Nobody expected you till next week.
+What made you come so soon?"
+
+"A whim of mine," he said. "I'm full of whims and crotchets. Old
+bachelors always are. But why did you ask that question in a tone
+which seemed to imply that you resented my coming so soon, Miss
+Cornelia?"
+
+"Oh, don't tack the Miss on," I implored. "Call me Cornelia ... or
+better still, Nic, as Dad does. I _do_ resent your coming so soon. I
+resent your coming at all. And, oh, it is such a satisfaction to tell
+you so."
+
+He smiled with his eyes ... a deep, black, velvety smile. But he shook
+his head sorrowfully.
+
+"I must be getting very old," he said. "It's a sign of age when a
+person finds himself unwelcome and superfluous."
+
+"Your age has nothing to do with it," I retorted. "It is because
+Stillwater is the only place I have to run wild in ... and running
+wild is all I'm fit for. It's so lovely and roomy I can lose myself in
+it. I shall die or go mad if I'm cooped up on our little pocket
+handkerchief of a lawn."
+
+"But why should you be?" he inquired gravely.
+
+I reflected ... and was surprised.
+
+"After all, I don't know ... now ... why I should be," I admitted. "I
+thought you wouldn't want me prowling about your domains. Besides, I
+was afraid I'd meet you ... and I don't like meeting men. I hate to
+have them around ... I'm so shy and awkward."
+
+"Do you find me very dreadful?" he asked.
+
+I reflected again ... and was again surprised.
+
+"No, I don't. I don't mind you a bit ... any more than if you were
+Dad."
+
+"Then you mustn't consider yourself an exile from Stillwater. The
+woods are yours to roam in at will, and if you want to roam them alone
+you may, and if you'd like a companion once in a while command me.
+Let's be good friends, little lass. Shake hands on it."
+
+I slipped down from the fence and shook hands with him. I did like him
+very much ... he was so nice and unaffected and brotherly ... just as
+if I'd known him all my life. We walked down the long white avenue,
+where everything was growing dusky, and I had told him all my troubles
+before we got to the end of it. He was so sympathetic and agreed with
+me that it was a pity people had to grow up. He promised to come over
+tomorrow and look at Don's leg. Don is one of my dogs, and he has got
+a bad leg. I've been doctoring it myself, but it doesn't get any
+better. Sidney thinks he can cure it. He says I must call him Sidney
+if I want him to call me Nic.
+
+When we got to the lake, there it lay all gleaming and smooth as glass
+... the most tempting thing.
+
+"What a glorious possible slide," he said. "Let us have it, little
+lass."
+
+He took my hand and we ran down the slope and went skimming over the
+ice. It _was_ glorious. The house came in sight as we reached the
+other side. It was big and dark and silent.
+
+"So the old place is still standing," said Sidney, looking up at it.
+In the dusk I thought his face had a tender, reverent look instead of
+the rather mocking expression it had worn all along.
+
+"Haven't you been there yet?" I asked quickly.
+
+"No. I'm stopping at the hotel over in Croyden. The house will need
+some fixing up before it's fit to live in. I just came down tonight to
+look at it and took a short cut through the woods. I'm glad I did. It
+was worth while to see you come tramping down that long white avenue
+when you thought yourself alone with the silence. I thought I had
+never seen a child so full of the pure joy of existence. Hold fast to
+that, little lass, as long as you can. You'll never find anything to
+take its place after it goes. You jolly little child!"
+
+"I'm eighteen," I said suddenly. I don't know what made me say it.
+
+He laughed and pulled his coat collar up around his ears.
+
+"Never," he mocked. "You're about twelve ... stay twelve, and always
+wear red caps and jackets, you vivid thing: Good night."
+
+He was off across the lake, and I came home. Yes, I do like him, even
+if he is a man.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+                                         February Twentieth.
+
+I've found out what diaries are for ... to work off blue moods in,
+moods that come on without any reason whatever and therefore can't be
+confided to any fellow creature. You scribble away for a while ... and
+then it's all gone ... and your soul feels clear as crystal once more.
+
+I always go to Sidney now in a blue mood that has a real cause. He can
+cheer me up in five minutes. But in such a one as this, which is quite
+unaccountable, there's nothing for it but a diary.
+
+Sidney has been living at Stillwater for a month. It seems as if he
+must have lived there always.
+
+He came to our place the next day after I met him in the woods.
+Everybody made a fuss over him, but he shook them off with an ease I
+envied and whisked me out to see Don's leg. He has fixed it up so that
+it is as good as new now, and the dogs like him almost better than
+they like me.
+
+We have had splendid times since then. We are just the jolliest chums
+and we tramp about everywhere together and go skating and snowshoeing
+and riding. We read a lot of books together too, and Sidney always
+explains everything I don't understand. I'm not a bit shy and I can
+always find plenty to say to him. He isn't at all like any other man I
+know.
+
+Everybody likes him, but the women seem to be a little afraid of him.
+They say he is so terribly cynical and satirical. He goes into society
+a good bit, although he says it bores him. He says he only goes
+because it would bore him worse to stay home alone.
+
+There's only one thing about Sidney that I hardly like. I think he
+rather overdoes it in the matter of treating me as if I were a little
+girl. Of course, I don't want him to look upon me as grown up. But
+there is a medium in all things, and he really needn't talk as if he
+thought I was a child of ten and had no earthly interest in anything
+but sports and dogs. These _are_ the best things ... I suppose ... but
+I understand lots of other things too, only I can't convince Sidney
+that I do. I know he is laughing at me when I try to show him I'm not
+so childish as he thinks me. He's indulgent and whimsical, just as he
+would be with a little girl who was making believe to be grown up.
+Perhaps next winter, when I put on long dresses and come out, he'll
+stop regarding me as a child. But next winter is so horribly far off.
+
+The day we were fussing with Don's leg I told Sidney that Mother said
+I'd have to be grown up next winter and how I hated it, and I made him
+promise that when the time came he would use all his influence to beg
+me off for another year. He said he would, because it was a shame to
+worry children about society. But somehow I've concluded not to bother
+making a fuss. I have to come out some time, and I might as well take
+the plunge and get it over.
+
+Mrs. Burnett was here this evening fixing up some arrangements for a
+charity bazaar she and Jen are interested in, and she talked most of
+the time about Sidney ... for Jen's benefit, I suppose, although Jen
+and Sid don't get on at all. They fight every time they meet, so I
+don't see why Mrs. Burnett should think things.
+
+"I wonder what he'll do when Mrs. Rennie comes to the Glasgows' next
+month," said Mrs. Burnett.
+
+"Why should he do anything?" asked Jen.
+
+"Oh, well, you know there was something between them ... an
+understanding if not an engagement ... before she married Rennie. They
+met abroad ... my sister told me all about it ... and Mr. Elliot was
+quite infatuated with her. She was a very handsome and fascinating
+girl. Then she threw him over and married old Jacob Rennie ... for his
+millions, of course, for he certainly had nothing else to recommend
+him. Amy says Mr. Elliot was never the same man again. But Jacob died
+obligingly two years ago and Mrs. Rennie is free now; so I dare say
+they'll make it up. No doubt that is why she is coming to Riverton.
+Well, it would be a very suitable match."
+
+I'm so glad I never liked Mrs. Burnett.
+
+I wonder if it is true that Sidney did care for that horrid woman ...
+of course she is horrid! Didn't she marry an old man for his money?...
+and cares for her still. It is no business of mine, of course, and it
+doesn't matter to me at all. But I rather hope he doesn't ... because
+it would spoil everything if he got married. He wouldn't have time to
+be chums with me then.
+
+I don't know why I feel so dull tonight. Writing in this diary doesn't
+seem to have helped me as much as I thought it would, either. I dare
+say it's the weather. It must be the weather. It is a wet, windy night
+and the rain is thudding against the window. I hate rainy nights.
+
+I wonder if Mrs. Rennie is really as handsome as Mrs. Burnett says. I
+wonder how old she is. I wonder if she ever cared for Sidney ... no,
+she didn't. No woman who cared for Sidney could ever have thrown him
+over for an old moneybag. I wonder if I shall like her. No, I won't.
+I'm sure I shan't like her.
+
+My head is aching and I'm going to bed.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+                                                March Tenth.
+
+Mrs. Rennie was here to dinner tonight. My head was aching again, and
+Mother said I needn't go down to dinner if I'd rather not; but a dozen
+headaches could not have kept me back, or a dozen men either, even
+supposing I'd have to talk to them all. I wanted to see Mrs. Rennie.
+Nothing has been talked of in Riverton for the last fortnight but Mrs.
+Rennie. I've heard of her beauty and charm and costumes until I'm sick
+of the subject. Today I spoke to Sidney about her. Before I thought I
+said right out, "Mrs. Rennie is to dine with us tonight."
+
+"Yes?" he said in a quiet voice.
+
+"I'm dying to see her," I went on recklessly. "I've heard so much
+about her. They say she's so beautiful and fascinating. _Is_ she?
+_You_ ought to know."
+
+Sidney swung the sled around and put it in position for another coast.
+
+"Yes, I know her," he admitted tranquilly. "She is a very handsome
+woman, and I suppose most people would consider her fascinating. Come,
+Nic, get on the sled. We have just time for one more coast, and then
+you must go in."
+
+"You were once a good friend ... a very good friend ... of Mrs.
+Rennie's, weren't you, Sid?" I said.
+
+A little mocking gleam crept into his eyes, and I instantly realized
+that he was looking upon me as a rather impertinent child.
+
+"You've been listening to gossip, Nic," he said. "It's a bad habit,
+child. Don't let it grow on you. Come."
+
+I went, feeling crushed and furious and ashamed.
+
+I knew her at once when I went down to the drawing-room. There were
+three other strange women there, but I knew she was the only one who
+could be Mrs. Rennie. I felt such a horrible queer sinking feeling at
+my heart when I saw her. Oh, she was beautiful ... I had never seen
+anyone so beautiful. And Sidney was standing beside her, talking to
+her, with a smile on his face, but none in his eyes ... I noticed
+_that_ at a glance.
+
+She was so tall and slender and willowy. Her dress was wonderful, and
+her bare throat and shoulders were like pearls. Her hair was pale,
+pale gold, and her eyes long-lashed and sweet, and her mouth like a
+scarlet blossom against her creamy face. I thought of how I must look
+beside her ... an awkward little girl in a short skirt with my hair in
+a braid and too many hands and feet, and I would have given anything
+then to be tall and grown-up and graceful.
+
+I watched her all the evening and the queer feeling in me somewhere
+grew worse and worse. I couldn't eat anything. Sidney took Mrs. Rennie
+in; they sat opposite to me and talked all the time.
+
+I was so glad when the dinner was over and everybody gone. The first
+thing I did when I escaped to my room was to go to the glass and look
+myself over just as critically and carefully as if I were somebody
+else. I saw a great rope of dark brown hair ... a brown skin with red
+cheeks ... a big red mouth ... a pair of grey eyes. That was all. And
+when I thought of that shimmering witch woman with her white skin and
+shining hair I wanted to put out the light and cry in the dark. Only
+I've never cried since I was a child and broke my last doll, and I've
+got so out of the habit that I don't know how to go about it.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+                                                April Fifth.
+
+Aunt Jemima would not think I was getting the good out of my diary. A
+whole month and not a word! But there was nothing to write, and I've
+felt too miserable to write if there had been. I don't know what is
+the matter with me. I'm just cross and horrid to everyone, even to
+poor Sidney.
+
+Mrs. Rennie has been queening it in Riverton society for the past
+month. People rave over her and I admire her horribly, although I
+don't like her. Mrs. Burnett says that a match between her and Sidney
+Elliot is a foregone conclusion.
+
+It's plain to be seen that Mrs. Rennie loves Sidney. Even I can see
+that, and I don't know much about such things. But it puzzles me to
+know how Sidney regards her. I have never thought he showed any sign
+of really caring for her. But then, he isn't the kind that would.
+
+"Nic, I wonder if you will ever grow up," he said to me today,
+laughing, when he caught me racing over the lawn with the dogs.
+
+"I'm grown up now," I said crossly. "Why, I'm eighteen and a half and
+I'm two inches taller than any of the other girls."
+
+Sidney laughed, as if he were heartily amused at something.
+
+"You're a blessed baby," he said, "and the dearest, truest, jolliest
+little chum ever a fellow had. I don't know what I'd do without you,
+Nic. You keep me sane and wholesome. I'm a tenfold better man for
+knowing you, little girl."
+
+I was rather pleased. It was nice to think I was some good to Sidney.
+
+"Are you going to the Trents' dinner tonight?" I asked.
+
+"Yes," he said briefly.
+
+"Mrs. Rennie will be there," I said.
+
+Sidney nodded.
+
+"Do you think her so very handsome, Sidney?" I said. I had never
+mentioned Mrs. Rennie to him since the day we were coasting, and I
+didn't mean to now. The question just asked itself.
+
+"Yes, very; but not as handsome as you will be ten years from now,
+Nic," said Sidney lightly.
+
+"Do you think I'm handsome, Sidney?" I cried.
+
+"You will be when you're grown up," he answered, looking at me
+critically.
+
+"Will you be going to Mrs. Greaves' reception after the dinner?" I
+asked.
+
+"Yes, I suppose so," said Sidney absently. I could see he wasn't
+thinking of me at all. I wondered if he were thinking of Mrs. Rennie.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+                                                April Sixth.
+
+Oh, something so wonderful has happened. I can hardly believe it.
+There are moments when I quake with the fear that it is all a dream. I
+wonder if I can really be the same Cornelia Marshall I was yesterday.
+No, I'm _not_ the same ... and the difference is so blessed.
+
+Oh, I'm so happy! My heart bubbles over with happiness and song. It's
+so wonderful and lovely to be a woman and know it and know that other
+people know it.
+
+You dear diary, you were made for this moment ... I shall write all
+about it in you and so fulfil your destiny. And then I shall put you
+away and never write anything more in you, because I shall not need
+you ... I shall have Sidney.
+
+Last night I was all alone in the house ... and I was so lonely and
+miserable. I put my chin on my hands and I thought ... and thought ...
+and thought. I imagined Sidney at the Greaves', talking to Mrs. Rennie
+with that velvety smile in his eyes. I could see her, graceful and
+white, in her trailing, clinging gown, with diamonds about her smooth
+neck and in her hair. I suddenly wondered what I would look like in
+evening dress with my hair up. I wondered if Sidney would like me in
+it.
+
+All at once I got up and rushed to Sue's room. I lighted the gas,
+rummaged, and went to work. I piled my hair on top of my head, pinned
+it there, and thrust a long silver dagger through it to hold a couple
+of pale white roses she had left on her table. Then I put on her last
+winter's party dress. It was such a pretty pale yellow thing, with
+touches of black lace, and it didn't matter about its being a little
+old-fashioned, since it fitted me like a glove. Finally I stepped back
+and looked at myself.
+
+I saw a woman in that glass ... a tall, straight creature with crimson
+cheeks and glowing eyes ... and the thought in my mind was so
+insistent that it said itself aloud: "Oh, I wish Sidney could see me
+now!"
+
+At that very moment the maid knocked at the door to tell me that Mr.
+Elliot was downstairs asking for me. I did not hesitate a second. With
+my heart beating wildly I trailed downstairs to Sidney.
+
+He was standing by the fireplace when I went in, and looked very
+tired. When he heard me he turned his head and our eyes met.
+
+All at once a terrible thing happened ... at least, I thought it a
+terrible thing then. _I knew why I had wanted Sidney to realize that
+I was no longer a child._ It was because I loved him! I knew it the
+moment I saw that strange, new expression leap into his eyes.
+
+"Cornelia," he said in a stunned sort of voice. "Why ... Nic ... why,
+little girl ... you're a woman! How blind I've been! And now I've lost
+my little chum."
+
+"Oh, no, no," I said wildly. I was so miserable and confused I didn't
+know what I said. "Never, Sidney. I'd rather be a little girl and have
+you for a friend ... I'll always be a little girl! It's all this
+hateful dress. I'll go and take it off ... I'll...."
+
+And then I just put my hands up to my burning face and the tears that
+would never come before came in a flood.
+
+All at once I felt Sidney's arms about me and felt my head drawn to
+his shoulder.
+
+"Don't cry, dearest," I heard him say softly. "You can never be a
+little girl to me again ... my eyes are opened ... but I didn't want
+you to be. I want you to be my big girl ... mine, all mine, forever."
+
+What happened after that isn't to be written in a diary. I won't even
+write down the things he said about how I looked, because it would
+seem so terribly vain, but I can't help thinking of them, for I am so
+happy.
+
+
+
+
+The Old Fellow's Letter
+
+
+Ruggles and I were down on the Old Fellow. It doesn't matter why and,
+since in a story of this kind we must tell the truth no matter what
+happens--or else where is the use of writing a story at all?--I'll
+have to confess that we had deserved all we got and that the Old
+Fellow did no more than his duty by us. Both Ruggles and I see that
+now, since we have had time to cool off, but at the moment we were in
+a fearful wax at the Old Fellow and were bound to hatch up something
+to get even with him.
+
+Of course, the Old Fellow had another name, just as Ruggles has
+another name. He is principal of the Frampton Academy--the Old Fellow,
+not Ruggles--and his name is George Osborne. We have to call him Mr.
+Osborne to his face, but he is the Old Fellow everywhere else. He is
+quite old--thirty-six if he's a day, and whatever possessed Sylvia
+Grant--but there, I'm getting ahead of my story.
+
+Most of the Cads like the Old Fellow. Even Ruggles and I like him on
+the average. The girls are always a little provoked at him because he
+is so shy and absent-minded, but when it comes to the point, they like
+him too. I heard Emma White say once that he was "so handsome"; I
+nearly whooped. Ruggles was mad because he's gone on Em. For the idea
+of calling a thin, pale, dark, dreamy-looking chap like the Old Fellow
+"handsome" was more than I could stand without guffawing. Em probably
+said it to provoke Ruggles; she couldn't really have thought it.
+"Micky," the English professor, now--if she had called him handsome
+there would have been some sense in it. He is splendid: big six-footer
+with magnificent muscles, red cheeks, and curly yellow hair. I can't
+see how he can be contented to sit down and teach mushy English
+literature and poetry and that sort of thing. It would have been more
+in keeping with the Old Fellow. There was a rumour running at large in
+the Academy that the Old Fellow wrote poetry, but he ran the
+mathematics and didn't make such a foozle of it as you might suppose,
+either.
+
+Ruggles and I meant to get square with the Old Fellow, if it took all
+the term; at least, we said so. But if Providence hadn't sent Sylvia
+Grant walking down the street past our boarding house that afternoon,
+we should probably have cooled off before we thought of any working
+plan of revenge.
+
+Sylvia Grant did go down the street, however. Ruggles, hanging halfway
+out of the window as usual, saw her, and called me to go and look. Of
+course I went. Sylvia Grant was always worth looking at. There was no
+girl in Frampton who could hold a candle to her when it came to
+beauty. As for brains, that is another thing altogether. My private
+opinion is that Sylvia hadn't any, or she would never have
+preferred--but there, I'm getting on too fast again. Ruggles should
+have written this story; he can concentrate better.
+
+Sylvia was the Latin professor's daughter; she wasn't a Cad girl, of
+course. She was over twenty and had graduated from it two years ago,
+but she was in all the social things that went on in the Academy; and
+all the unmarried professors, except the Old Fellow, were in love with
+her. Micky had it the worst, and we had all made up our minds that
+Sylvia would marry Micky. He was so handsome, we didn't see how she
+could help it. I tell you, they made a dandy-looking couple when they
+were together.
+
+Well, as I said before, I toddled to the window to have a look at the
+fair Sylvia. She was all togged out in some new fall duds, and I guess
+she'd come out to show them off. They were brownish, kind of, and
+she'd a spanking hat on with feathers and things in it. Her hair was
+shining under it, all purply-black, and she looked sweet enough to
+eat. Then she saw Ruggles and me and she waved her hand and laughed,
+and her big blackish-blue eyes sparkled; but she hadn't been laughing
+before, or sparkling either.
+
+I'd thought she looked kind of glum, and I wondered if she and Micky
+had had a falling out. I rather suspected it, for at the Senior Prom,
+three nights before, she had hardly looked at Micky, but had sat in a
+corner and talked to the Old Fellow. He didn't do much talking; he was
+too shy, and he looked mighty uncomfortable. I thought it kind of mean
+of Sylvia to torment him so, when she knew he hated to have to talk to
+girls, but when I saw Micky scowling at the corner, I knew she was
+doing it to make him jealous. Girls won't stick at anything when they
+want to provoke a chap; I know it to my cost, for Jennie Price--but
+that has nothing to do with this story.
+
+Just across the square Sylvia met the Old Fellow and bowed. He lifted
+his hat and passed on, but after a few steps he turned and looked
+back; he caught Sylvia doing the same thing, so he wheeled and came
+on, looking mighty foolish. As he passed beneath our window Ruggles
+chuckled fiendishly.
+
+"I've thought of something, Polly," he said--my name is Paul. "Bet you
+it will make the Old Fellow squirm. Let's write a letter to Sylvia
+Grant--a love letter--and sign the Old Fellow's name to it. She'll
+give him a fearful snubbing, and we'll be revenged."
+
+"But who'll write it?" I said doubtfully. "I can't. You'll have to,
+Ruggles. You've had more practice."
+
+Ruggles turned red. I know he writes to Em White in vacations.
+
+"I'll do my best," he said, quite meekly. "That is, I'll compose it.
+But you'll have to copy it. You can imitate the Old Fellow's
+handwriting so well."
+
+"But look here," I said, an uncomfortable idea striking me, "what
+about Sylvia? Won't she feel kind of flattish when she finds out he
+didn't write it? For of course he'll tell her. We haven't anything
+against her, you know."
+
+"Oh, Sylvia won't care," said Ruggles serenely. "She's the sort of
+girl who can take a joke. I've seen her eyes shine over tricks we've
+played on the professors before now. She'll just laugh. Besides, she
+doesn't like the Old Fellow a bit. I know from the way she acts with
+him. She's always so cool and stiff when he's about, not a bit like
+she is with the other professors."
+
+Well, Ruggles wrote the letter. At first he tried to pass it off on me
+as his own composition. But I know a few little things, and one of
+them is that Ruggles couldn't have made up that letter any more than
+he could have written a sonnet. I told him so, and made him own up. He
+had a copy of an old letter that had been written to his sister by her
+young man. I suppose Ruggles had stolen it, but there is no use
+inquiring too closely into these things. Anyhow, that letter just
+filled the bill. It was beautifully expressed. Ruggles's sister's
+young man must have possessed lots of ability. He was an English
+professor, something like Micky, so I suppose he was extra good at it.
+He started in by telling her how much he loved her, and what an angel
+of beauty and goodness he had always thought her; how unworthy he felt
+himself of her and how little hope he had that she could ever care for
+him; and he wound up by imploring her to tell him if she could
+possibly love him a little bit and all that sort of thing.
+
+I copied the letter out on heliotrope paper in my best imitation of
+the Old Fellow's handwriting and signed it, "Yours devotedly and
+imploringly, George Osborne." Then we mailed it that very evening.
+
+The next evening the Cad girls gave a big reception in the Assembly
+Hall to an Academy alumna who was visiting the Greek professor's wife.
+It was the smartest event of the term and everybody was
+there--students and faculty and, of course, Sylvia Grant. Sylvia
+looked stunning. She was all in white, with a string of pearls about
+her pretty round throat and a couple of little pink roses in her black
+hair. I never saw her so smiling and bright; but she seemed quieter
+than usual, and avoided poor Micky so skilfully that it was really a
+pleasure to watch her. The Old Fellow came in late, with his tie all
+crooked, as it always was; I saw Sylvia blush and nudged Ruggles to
+look.
+
+"She's thinking of the letter," he said.
+
+Ruggles and I never meant to listen, upon my word we didn't. It was
+pure accident. We were in behind the flags and palms in the Modern
+Languages Room, fixing up a plan how to get Em and Jennie off for a
+moonlit stroll in the grounds--these things require diplomacy I can
+tell you, for there are always so many other fellows hanging
+about--when in came Sylvia Grant and the Old Fellow arm in arm. The
+room was quite empty, or they thought it was, and they sat down just
+on the other side of the flags. They couldn't see us, but we could see
+them quite plainly. Sylvia still looked smiling and happy, not a bit
+mad as we had expected, but just kind of shy and radiant. As for the
+Old Fellow, he looked, as Em White would say, as Sphinx-like as ever.
+I'd defy any man alive to tell from the Old Fellow's expression what
+he was thinking about or what he felt like at any time.
+
+Then all at once Sylvia said softly, with her eyes cast down, "I
+received your letter, Mr. Osborne."
+
+Any other man in the world would have jumped, or said, "My letter!!!"
+or shown surprise in some way. But the Old Fellow has a nerve. He
+looked sideways at Sylvia for a moment and then he said kind of drily,
+"Ah, did you?"
+
+"Yes," said Sylvia, not much above a whisper. "It--it surprised me
+very much. I never supposed that you--you cared for me in that way."
+
+"Can you tell me how I could help caring?" said the Old Fellow in the
+strangest way. His voice actually trembled.
+
+"I--I don't think I would tell you if I knew," said Sylvia, turning
+her head away. "You see--I don't want you to help caring."
+
+"Sylvia!"
+
+You never saw such a transformation as came over the Old Fellow. His
+eyes just blazed, but his face went white. He bent forward and took
+her hand.
+
+"Sylvia, do you mean that you--you actually care a little for me,
+dearest? Oh, Sylvia, do you mean that?"
+
+"Of course I do," said Sylvia right out. "I've always cared--ever
+since I was a little girl coming here to school and breaking my heart
+over mathematics, although I hated them, just to be in your class.
+Why--why--I've treasured up old geometry exercises you wrote out for
+me just because you wrote them. But I thought I could never make you
+care for me. I was the happiest girl in the world when your letter
+came today."
+
+"Sylvia," said the Old Fellow, "I've loved you for years. But I never
+dreamed that you could care for me. I thought it quite useless to tell
+you of my love--before. Will you--can you be my wife, darling?"
+
+At this point Ruggles and I differ as to what came next. He asserts
+that Sylvia turned square around and kissed the Old Fellow. But I'm
+sure she just turned her face and gave him a look and then he kissed
+her.
+
+Anyhow, there they both were, going on at the silliest rate about how
+much they loved each other and how the Old Fellow thought she loved
+Micky and all that sort of thing. It was awful. I never thought the
+Old Fellow or Sylvia either could be so spooney. Ruggles and I would
+have given anything on earth to be out of that. We knew we'd no
+business to be there and we felt as foolish as flatfish. It was a
+tremendous relief when the Old Fellow and Sylvia got up at last and
+trailed away, both of them looking idiotically happy.
+
+"Well, did you ever?" said Ruggles.
+
+It was a girl's exclamation, but nothing else would have expressed his
+feelings.
+
+"No, I never," I said. "To think that Sylvia Grant should be sweet on
+the Old Fellow when she could have Micky! It passes comprehension. Did
+she--did she really promise to marry him, Ruggles?"
+
+"She did," said Ruggles gloomily. "But, I say, isn't that Old Fellow
+game? Tumbled to the trick in a jiff; never let on but what he wrote
+the letter, never will let on, I bet. Where does the joke come in,
+Polly, my boy?"
+
+"It's on us," I said, "but nobody will know of it if we hold our
+tongues. We'll have to hold them anyhow, for Sylvia's sake, since
+she's been goose enough to go and fall in love with the Old Fellow.
+She'd go wild if she ever found out the letter was a hoax. We have
+made that match, Ruggles. He'd never have got up enough spunk to tell
+her he wanted her, and she'd probably have married Micky out of
+spite."
+
+"Well, you know the Old Fellow isn't a bad sort after all," said
+Ruggles, "and he's really awfully gone on her. So it's all right.
+Let's go and find the girls."
+
+
+
+
+The Parting of The Ways
+
+
+Mrs. Longworth crossed the hotel piazza, descended the steps, and
+walked out of sight down the shore road with all the grace of motion
+that lent distinction to her slightest movement. Her eyes were very
+bright, and an unusual flush stained the pallor of her cheek. Two men
+who were lounging in one corner of the hotel piazza looked admiringly
+after her.
+
+"She is a beautiful woman," said one.
+
+"Wasn't there some talk about Mrs. Longworth and Cunningham last
+winter?" asked the other.
+
+"Yes. They were much together. Still, there may have been nothing
+wrong. She was old Judge Carmody's daughter, you know. Longworth got
+Carmody under his thumb in money matters and put the screws on. They
+say he made Carmody's daughter the price of the old man's redemption.
+The girl herself was a mere child, I shall never forget her face on
+her wedding day. But she's been plucky since then, I must say. If she
+has suffered, she hasn't shown it. I don't suppose Longworth ever
+ill-treats her. He isn't that sort. He's simply a grovelling
+cad--that's all. Nobody would sympathise much with the poor devil if
+his wife did run off with Cunningham."
+
+Meanwhile, Beatrice Longworth walked quickly down the shore road, her
+white skirt brushing over the crisp golden grasses by the way. In a
+sunny hollow among the sandhills she came upon Stephen Gordon,
+sprawled out luxuriously in the warm, sea-smelling grasses. The youth
+sprang to his feet at sight of her, and his big brown eyes kindled to
+a glow.
+
+Mrs. Longworth smiled to him. They had been great friends all summer.
+He was a lanky, overgrown lad of fifteen or sixteen, odd and shy and
+dreamy, scarcely possessing a speaking acquaintance with others at the
+hotel. But he and Mrs. Longworth had been congenial from their first
+meeting. In many ways, he was far older than his years, but there was
+a certain inerradicable boyishness about him to which her heart
+warmed.
+
+"You are the very person I was just going in search of. I've news to
+tell. Sit down."
+
+He spoke eagerly, patting the big gray boulder beside him with his
+slim, brown hand. For a moment Beatrice hesitated. She wanted to be
+alone just then. But his clever, homely face was so appealing that she
+yielded and sat down.
+
+Stephen flung himself down again contentedly in the grasses at her
+feet, pillowing his chin in his palms and looking up at her,
+adoringly.
+
+"You are so beautiful, dear lady. I love to look at you. Will you tilt
+that hat a little more over the left eye-brow? Yes--so--some day I
+shall paint you."
+
+His tone and manner were all simplicity.
+
+"When you are a great artist," said Beatrice, indulgently.
+
+He nodded.
+
+"Yes, I mean to be that. I've told you all my dreams, you know. Now
+for my news. I'm going away to-morrow. I had a telegram from father
+to-day."
+
+He drew the message from his pocket and flourished it up at her.
+
+"I'm to join him in Europe at once. He is in Rome. Think of it--in
+Rome! I'm to go on with my art studies there. And I leave to-morrow."
+
+"I'm glad--and I'm sorry--and you know which is which," said Beatrice,
+patting the shaggy brown head. "I shall miss you dreadfully, Stephen."
+
+"We _have_ been splendid chums, haven't we?" he said, eagerly.
+
+Suddenly his face changed. He crept nearer to her, and bowed his head
+until his lips almost touched the hem of her dress.
+
+"I'm glad you came down to-day," he went on in a low, diffident voice.
+"I want to tell you something, and I can tell it better here. I
+couldn't go away without thanking you. I'll make a mess of it--I can
+never explain things. But you've been so much to me--you mean so much
+to me. You've made me believe in things I never believed in before.
+You--you--I know now that there is such a thing as a good woman, a
+woman who could make a man better, just because he breathed the same
+air with her."
+
+He paused for a moment; then went on in a still lower tone:
+
+"It's hard when a fellow can't speak of his mother because he can't
+say anything good of her, isn't it? My mother wasn't a good woman.
+When I was eight years old she went away with a scoundrel. It broke
+father's heart. Nobody thought I understood, I was such a little
+fellow. But I did. I heard them talking. I knew she had brought shame
+and disgrace on herself and us. And I had loved her so! Then, somehow,
+as I grew up, it was my misfortune that all the women I had to do with
+were mean and base. They were hirelings, and I hated and feared them.
+There was an aunt of mine--she tried to be good to me in her way. But
+she told me a lie, and I never cared for her after I found it out. And
+then, father--we loved each other and were good chums. But he didn't
+believe in much either. He was bitter, you know. He said all women
+were alike. I grew up with that notion. I didn't care much for
+anything--nothing seemed worth while. Then I came here and met you."
+
+He paused again. Beatrice had listened with a gray look on her face.
+It would have startled him had he glanced up, but he did not, and
+after a moment's silence the halting boyish voice went on:
+
+"You have changed everything for me. I was nothing but a clod before.
+You are not the mother of my body, but you are of my soul. It was
+born of you. I shall always love and reverence you for it. You will
+always be my ideal. If I ever do anything worth while it will be
+because of you. In everything I shall ever attempt I shall try to do
+it as if you were to pass judgment upon it. You will be a lifelong
+inspiration to me. Oh, I am bungling this! I can't tell you what I
+feel--you are so pure, so good, so noble! I shall reverence all women
+for your sake henceforth."
+
+"And if," said Beatrice, in a very low voice, "if I were false to your
+ideal of me--if I were to do anything that would destroy your faith in
+me--something weak or wicked--"
+
+"But you couldn't," he interrupted, flinging up his head and looking
+at her with his great dog-like eyes, "you couldn't!"
+
+"But if I could?" she persisted, gently, "and if I did--what then?"
+
+"I should hate you," he said, passionately. "You would be worse than a
+murderess. You would kill every good impulse and belief in me. I would
+never trust anything or anybody again--but there," he added, his voice
+once more growing tender, "you will never fail me, I feel sure of
+that."
+
+"Thank you," said Beatrice, almost in a whisper. "Thank you," she
+repeated, after a moment. She stood up and held out her hand. "I think
+I must go now. Good-bye, dear laddie. Write to me from Rome. I shall
+always be glad to hear from you wherever you are. And--and--I shall
+always try to live up to your ideal of me, Stephen."
+
+He sprang to his feet and took her hand, lifting it to his lips with
+boyish reverence. "I know that," he said, slowly. "Good-bye, my sweet
+lady."
+
+When Mrs. Longworth found herself in her room again, she unlocked her
+desk and took out a letter. It was addressed to Mr. Maurice
+Cunningham. She slowly tore it twice across, laid the fragments on a
+tray, and touched them with a lighted match. As they blazed up one
+line came out in writhing redness across the page: "I will go away
+with you as you ask." Then it crumbled into gray ashes.
+
+She drew a long breath and hid her face in her hands.
+
+
+
+
+The Promissory Note
+
+
+Ernest Duncan swung himself off the platform of David White's store
+and walked whistling up the street. Life seemed good to Ernest just
+then. Mr. White had given him a rise in salary that day, and had told
+him that he was satisfied with him. Mr. White was not easy to please
+in the matter of clerks, and it had been with fear and trembling that
+Ernest had gone into his store six months before. He had thought
+himself fortunate to secure such a chance. His father had died the
+preceding year, leaving nothing in the way of worldly goods except the
+house he had lived in. For several years before his death he had been
+unable to do much work, and the finances of the little family had
+dwindled steadily. After his father's death Ernest, who had been going
+to school and expecting to go to college, found that he must go to
+work at once instead to support himself and his mother.
+
+If George Duncan had not left much of worldly wealth behind him, he at
+least bequeathed to his son the interest of a fine, upright character
+and a reputation for honesty and integrity. None knew this better than
+David White, and it was on this account that he took Ernest as his
+clerk, over the heads of several other applicants who seemed to have a
+stronger "pull."
+
+"I don't know anything about _you_, Ernest," he said bluntly. "You're
+only sixteen, and you may not have an ounce of real grit or worth in
+you. But it will be a queer thing if your father's son hasn't. I knew
+him all his life. A better man never lived nor, before his accident, a
+smarter one. I'll give his son a chance, anyhow. If you take after
+your dad you'll get on all right."
+
+Ernest had not been in the store very long before Mr. White concluded,
+with a gratified chuckle, that he did take after his father. He was
+hard-working, conscientious, and obliging. Customers of all sorts,
+from the rough fishermen who came up from the harbour to the old
+Irishwomen from the back country roads, liked him. Mr. White was
+satisfied. He was beginning to grow old. This lad had the makings of a
+good partner in him by and by. No hurry; he must serves long
+apprenticeship first and prove his mettle; no use spoiling him by
+hinting at future partnerships before need was. That would all come in
+due time. David White was a shrewd man.
+
+Ernest was unconscious of his employer's plans regarding him; but he
+knew that he stood well with him and, much to his surprise, he found
+that he liked the work, and was beginning to take a personal interest
+and pleasure in the store. Hence, he went home to tea on this
+particular afternoon with buoyant step and smiling eyes. It was a good
+world, and he was glad to be alive in it, glad to have work to do and
+a dear little mother to work for. Most of the folks who met him smiled
+in friendly fashion at the bright-eyed, frank-faced lad. Only old
+Jacob Patterson scowled grimly as he passed him, emitting merely a
+surly grunt in response to Ernest's greeting. But then, old Jacob
+Patterson was noted as much for his surliness as for his miserliness.
+Nobody had ever heard him speak pleasantly to anyone; therefore his
+unfriendliness did not at all dash Ernest's high spirits.
+
+"I'm sorry for him," the lad thought. "He has no interest in life save
+accumulating money. He has no other pleasure or affection or ambition.
+When he dies I don't suppose a single regret will follow him. Father
+died a poor man, but what love and respect went with him to his
+grave--aye, and beyond it. Jacob Patterson, I'm sorry for you. You
+have chosen the poorer part, and you are a poor man in spite of your
+thousands."
+
+Ernest and his mother lived up on the hill, at the end of the
+straggling village street. The house was a small, old-fashioned one,
+painted white, set in the middle of a small but beautiful lawn. George
+Duncan, during the last rather helpless years of his life, had devoted
+himself to the cultivation of flowers, shrubs, and trees and, as a
+result, his lawn was the prettiest in Conway. Ernest worked hard in
+his spare moments to keep it looking as well as in his father's
+lifetime, for he loved his little home dearly, and was proud of its
+beauty.
+
+He ran gaily into the sitting-room.
+
+"Tea ready, lady mother? I'm hungry as a wolf. Good news gives one an
+appetite. Mr. White has raised my salary a couple of dollars per week.
+We must celebrate the event somehow this evening. What do you say to a
+sail on the river and an ice cream at Taylor's afterwards? When a
+little woman can't outlive her schoolgirl hankering for ice
+cream--why, Mother, what's the matter? Mother, dear!"
+
+Mrs. Duncan had been standing before the window with her back to the
+room when Ernest entered. When she turned he saw that she had been
+crying.
+
+"Oh, Ernest," she said brokenly, "Jacob Patterson has just been
+here--and he says--he says--"
+
+"What has that old miser been saying to trouble you?" demanded Ernest
+angrily, taking her hands in his.
+
+"He says he holds your father's promissory note for nine hundred
+dollars, overdue for several years," answered Mrs. Duncan. "Yes--and
+he showed me the note, Ernest."
+
+"Father's promissory note for nine hundred!" exclaimed Ernest in
+bewilderment. "But Father paid that note to James Patterson five years
+ago, Mother--just before his accident. Didn't you tell me he did?"
+
+"Yes, he did," said Mrs. Duncan, "but--"
+
+"Then where is it?" interrupted Ernest. "Father would keep the
+receipted note, of course. We must look among his papers."
+
+"You won't find it there, Ernest. We--we don't know where the note is.
+It--it was lost."
+
+"Lost! That is unfortunate. But you say that Jacob Patterson showed
+you a promissory note of Father's still in existence? How can that be?
+It can't possibly be the note he paid. And there couldn't have been
+another note we knew nothing of?"
+
+"I understand how this note came to be in Jacob Patterson's
+possession," said Mrs. Duncan more firmly, "but he laughed in my face
+when I told him. I must tell you the whole story, Ernest. But sit down
+and get your tea first."
+
+"I haven't any appetite for tea now, Mother," said Ernest soberly.
+"Let me hear the whole truth about the matter."
+
+"Seven years ago your father gave his note to old James Patterson,
+Jacob's brother," said Mrs. Duncan. "It was for nine hundred dollars.
+Two years afterwards the note fell due and he paid James Patterson the
+full amount with interest. I remember the day well. I have only too
+good reason to. He went up to the Patterson place in the afternoon
+with the money. It was a very hot day. James Patterson receipted the
+note and gave it to your father. Your father always remembered that
+much; he was also sure that he had the note with him when he left the
+house. He then went over to see Paul Sinclair. A thunderstorm came up
+while he was on the road. Then, as you know, Ernest, just as he turned
+in at Paul Sinclair's gate the lightning flash struck and stunned him.
+It was weeks before he came to himself at all. He never did come
+completely to himself again. When, weeks afterwards, I thought of the
+note and asked him about it, we could not find it; and, search as we
+did, we never found it. Your father could never remember what he did
+with it when he left James Patterson's. Neither Mr. Sinclair nor his
+wife could recollect seeing anything of it at the time of the
+accident. James Patterson had left for California the very morning
+after, and he never came back. We did not worry much about the loss of
+the note then; it did not seem of much moment, and your father was not
+in a condition to be troubled about the matter."
+
+"But, Mother, this note that Jacob Patterson holds--I don't understand
+about this."
+
+"I'm coming to that. I remember distinctly that on the evening when
+your father came home after signing the note he said that James
+Patterson drew up a note and he signed it, but just as he did so the
+old man's pet cat, which was sitting on the table, upset an ink bottle
+and the ink ran all over the table and stained one end of the note.
+Old James Patterson was the fussiest man who ever lived, and a
+stickler for neatness. 'Tut, tut,' he said, 'this won't do. Here, I'll
+draw up another note and tear this blotted one up.' He did so and your
+father signed it. He always supposed James Patterson destroyed the
+first one, and certainly he must have intended to, for there never was
+an honester man. But he must have neglected to do so for, Ernest, it
+was that blotted note Jacob Patterson showed me today. He said he
+found it among his brother's papers. I suppose it has been in the desk
+up at the Patterson place ever since James went to California. He died
+last winter and Jacob is his sole heir. Ernest, that note with the
+compound interest on it for seven years amounts to over eleven hundred
+dollars. How can we pay it?"
+
+"I'm afraid that this is a very serious business, Mother," said
+Ernest, rising and pacing the floor with agitated strides. "We shall
+have to pay the note if we cannot find the other--and even if we
+could, perhaps. Your story of the drawing up of the second note would
+not be worth anything as evidence in a court of law--and we have
+nothing to hope from Jacob Patterson's clemency. No doubt he believes
+that he really holds Father's unpaid note. He is not a dishonest man;
+in fact, he rather prides himself on having made all his money
+honestly. He will exact every penny of the debt. The first thing to do
+is to have another thorough search for the lost note--although I am
+afraid that it is a forlorn hope."
+
+A forlorn hope it proved to be. The note did not turn up. Old Jacob
+Patterson proved obdurate. He laughed to scorn the tale of the blotted
+note and, indeed, Ernest sadly admitted to himself that it was not a
+story anybody would be in a hurry to believe.
+
+"There's nothing for it but to sell our house and pay the debt,
+Mother," he said at last. Ernest had grown old in the days that had
+followed Jacob Patterson's demand. His boyish face was pale and
+haggard. "Jacob Patterson will take the case into the law courts if we
+don't settle at once. Mr. White offered to lend me the money on a
+mortgage on the place, but I could never pay the interest out of my
+salary when we have nothing else to live on. I would only get further
+and further behind. I'm not afraid of hard work, but I dare not borrow
+money with so little prospect of ever being able to repay it. We must
+sell the place and rent that little four-roomed cottage of Mr. Percy's
+down by the river to live in. Oh, Mother, it half kills me to think of
+your being turned out of your home like this!"
+
+It was a bitter thing for Mrs. Duncan also, but for Ernest's sake she
+concealed her feelings and affected cheerfulness. The house and lot
+were sold, Mr. White being the purchaser thereof; and Ernest and his
+mother removed to the little riverside cottage with such of their
+household belongings as had not also to be sold to make up the
+required sum. Even then, Ernest had to borrow two hundred dollars from
+Mr. White, and he foresaw that the repayal of this sum would cost him
+much self-denial and privation. It would be necessary to cut their
+modest expenses down severely. For himself Ernest did not mind, but it
+hurt him keenly that his mother should lack the little luxuries and
+comforts to which she had been accustomed. He saw too, in spite of her
+efforts to hide it, that leaving her old home was a terrible blow to
+her. Altogether, Ernest felt bitter and disheartened; his step lacked
+spring and his face its smile. He did his work with dogged
+faithfulness, but he no longer found pleasure in it. He knew that his
+mother secretly pined after her lost home where she had gone as a
+bride, and the knowledge rendered him very unhappy.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Paul Sinclair, his father's friend and cousin, died that winter,
+leaving two small children. His wife had died the previous year. When
+his business affairs came to be settled they were found to be sadly
+involved. There were debts on all sides, and it was soon only too
+evident that nothing was left for the little boys. They were homeless
+and penniless.
+
+"What will become of them, poor little fellows?" said Mrs. Duncan
+pityingly. "We are their only relatives, Ernest. We must give them a
+home at least."
+
+"Mother, how can we!" exclaimed Ernest. "We are so poor. It's as much
+as we can do to get along now, and there is that two hundred to pay
+Mr. White. I'm sorry for Danny and Frank, but I don't see how we can
+possibly do anything for them."
+
+Mrs. Duncan sighed.
+
+"I know it isn't right to ask you to add to your burden," she said
+wistfully.
+
+"It is of _you_ I am thinking, Mother," said Ernest tenderly. "I can't
+have your burden added to. You deny yourself too much and work too
+hard now. What would it be if you took the care of those children upon
+yourself?"
+
+"Don't think of me, Ernest," said Mrs. Duncan eagerly. "I wouldn't
+mind. I'd be glad to do anything I could for them, poor little souls.
+Their father was your father's best friend, and I feel as if it were
+our duty to do all we can for them. They're such little fellows. Who
+knows how they would be treated if they were taken by strangers? And
+they'd most likely be separated, and that would be a shame. But I
+leave it for you to decide, Ernest. It is your right, for the heaviest
+part will fall on you."
+
+Ernest did not decide at once. For a week he thought the matter over,
+weighing pros and cons carefully. To take the two Sinclair boys meant
+a double portion of toil and self-denial. Had he not enough to bear
+now? But, on the other side, was it not his duty, nay, his privilege,
+to help the children if he could? In the end he said to his mother:
+
+"We'll take the little fellows, Mother. I'll do the best I can for
+them. We'll manage a corner and a crust for them."
+
+So Danny and Frank Sinclair came to the little cottage. Frank was
+eight and Danny six, and they were small and lively and mischievous.
+They worshipped Mrs. Duncan, and thought Ernest the finest fellow in
+the world. When his birthday came around in March, the two little
+chaps put their heads together in a grave consultation as to what they
+could give him.
+
+"You know he gave us presents on our birthdays," said Frank. "So we
+must give him something."
+
+"I'll div him my pottet-knife," said Danny, taking the somewhat
+battered and loose-jointed affair from his pocket, and gazing at it
+affectionately.
+
+"I'll give him one of Papa's books," said Frank. "That pretty one with
+the red covers and the gold letters."
+
+A few of Mr. Sinclair's books had been saved for the boys, and were
+stored in a little box in their room. The book Frank referred to was
+an old _History of the Turks_, and its gay cover was probably the best
+of it, since its contents were of no particular merit.
+
+On Ernest's birthday both boys gave him their offerings after
+breakfast.
+
+"Here's a pottet-knife for you," said Danny graciously. "It's a bully
+pottet-knife. It'll cut real well if you hold it dust the wight way.
+I'll show you."
+
+"And here's a book for you," said Frank. "It's a real pretty book, and
+I guess it's pretty interesting reading too. It's all about the
+Turks."
+
+Ernest accepted both gifts gravely, and after the children had gone
+out he and his mother had a hearty laugh.
+
+"The dear, kind-hearted little lads!" said Mrs. Duncan. "It must have
+been a real sacrifice on Danny's part to give you his beloved
+'pottet-knife.' I was afraid you were going to refuse it at first, and
+that would have hurt his little feelings terribly. I don't think the
+_History of the Turks_ will keep you up burning the midnight oil. I
+remember that book of old--I could never forget that gorgeous cover.
+Mr. Sinclair lent it to your father once, and he said it was absolute
+trash. Why, Ernest, what's the matter?"
+
+Ernest had been turning the book's leaves over carelessly. Suddenly he
+sprang to his feet with an exclamation, his face turning white as
+marble.
+
+"Mother!" he gasped, holding out a yellowed slip of paper. "Look! It's
+the lost promissory note."
+
+Mother and son looked at each other for a moment. Then Mrs. Duncan
+began to laugh and cry together.
+
+"Your father took that book with him when he went to pay the note,"
+she said. "He intended to return it to Mr. Sinclair. I remember seeing
+the gleam of the red binding in his hand as he went out of the gate.
+He must have slipped the note into it and I suppose the book has never
+been opened since. Oh, Ernest--do you think--will Jacob Patterson--"
+
+"I don't know, Mother. I must see Mr. White about this. Don't be too
+sanguine. This doesn't prove that the note Jacob Patterson found
+wasn't a genuine note also, you know--that is, I don't think it would
+serve as proof in law. We'll have to leave it to his sense of justice.
+If he refuses to refund the money I'm afraid we can't compel him to do
+so."
+
+But Jacob Patterson did not any longer refuse belief to Mrs.
+Patterson's story of the blotted note. He was a harsh, miserly man,
+but he prided himself on his strict honesty; he had been fairly well
+acquainted with his brother's business transactions, and knew that
+George Duncan had given only one promissory note.
+
+"I'll admit, ma'am, since the receipted note has turned up, that your
+story about the blotted one must be true," he said surlily. "I'll pay
+your money back. Nobody can ever say Jacob Patterson cheated. I took
+what I believed to be my due. Since I'm convinced it wasn't I'll hand
+every penny over. Though, mind you, you couldn't make me do it by law.
+It's my honesty, ma'am, it's my honesty."
+
+Since Jacob Patterson was so well satisfied with the fibre of his
+honesty, neither Mrs. Duncan nor Ernest was disposed to quarrel with
+it. Mr. White readily agreed to sell the old Duncan place back to
+them, and by spring they were settled again in their beloved little
+home. Danny and Frank were with them, of course.
+
+"We can't be too good to them, Mother," said Ernest. "We really owe
+all our happiness to them."
+
+"Yes, but, Ernest, if you had not consented to take the homeless
+little lads in their time of need this wouldn't have come about."
+
+"I've been well rewarded, Mother," said Ernest quietly, "but, even if
+nothing of the sort had happened, I would be glad that I did the best
+I could for Frank and Danny. I'm ashamed to think that I was unwilling
+to do it at first. If it hadn't been for what you said, I wouldn't
+have. So it is your unselfishness we have to thank for it all, Mother
+dear."
+
+
+
+
+The Revolt of Mary Isabel
+
+
+"For a woman of forty, Mary Isabel, you have the least sense of any
+person I have ever known," said Louisa Irving.
+
+Louisa had said something similar in spirit to Mary Isabel almost
+every day of her life. Mary Isabel had never resented it, even when it
+hurt her bitterly. Everybody in Latimer knew that Louisa Irving ruled
+her meek little sister with a rod of iron and wondered why Mary Isabel
+never rebelled. It simply never occurred to Mary Isabel to do so; all
+her life she had given in to Louisa and the thought of refusing
+obedience to her sister's Mede-and-Persian decrees never crossed her
+mind. Mary Isabel had only one secret from Louisa and she lived in
+daily dread that Louisa would discover it. It was a very harmless
+little secret, but Mary Isabel felt rightly sure that Louisa would not
+tolerate it for a moment.
+
+They were sitting together in the dim living room of their quaint old
+cottage down by the shore. The window was open and the sea-breeze blew
+in, stirring the prim white curtains fitfully, and ruffling the little
+rings of dark hair on Mary Isabel's forehead--rings which always
+annoyed Louisa. She thought Mary Isabel ought to brush them straight
+back, and Mary Isabel did so faithfully a dozen times a day; and in
+ten minutes they crept down again, kinking defiance to Louisa, who
+might make Mary Isabel submit to her in all things but had no power
+over naturally curly hair. Louisa had never had any trouble with her
+own hair; it was straight and sleek and mouse-coloured--what there was
+of it.
+
+Mary Isabel's face was flushed and her wood-brown eyes looked grieved
+and pleading. Mary Isabel was still pretty, and vanity is the last
+thing to desert a properly constructed woman.
+
+"I can't wear a bonnet yet, Louisa," she protested. "Bonnets have gone
+out for everybody except really old ladies. I want a hat: one of
+those pretty, floppy ones with pale blue forget-me-nots."
+
+Then it was that Louisa made the remark quoted above.
+
+"I wore a bonnet before I was forty," she went on ruthlessly, "and so
+should every decent woman. It is absurd to be thinking so much of
+dress at your age, Mary Isabel. I don't know what sort of a way you'd
+bedizen yourself out if I'd let you, I'm sure. It's fortunate you have
+somebody to keep you from making a fool of yourself. I'm going to town
+tomorrow and I'll pick you out a suitable black bonnet. You'd look
+nice starring round in leghorn and forget-me-nots, now, wouldn't you?"
+
+Mary Isabel privately thought she would, but she gave in, of course,
+although she did hate bitterly that unbought, unescapable bonnet.
+
+"Well, do as you think best, Louisa," she said with a sigh. "I suppose
+it doesn't matter much. Nobody cares how I look anyhow. But can't I go
+to town with you? I want to pick out my new silk."
+
+"I'm as good a judge of black silk as you," said Louisa shortly. "It
+isn't safe to leave the house alone."
+
+"But I don't want a black silk," cried Mary Isabel. "I've worn black
+so long; both my silk dresses have been black. I want a pretty
+silver-grey, something like Mrs. Chester Ford's."
+
+"Did anyone ever hear such nonsense?" Louisa wanted to know, in
+genuine amazement. "Silver-grey silk is the most unserviceable thing
+in the world. There's nothing like black for wear and real elegance.
+No, no, Mary Isabel, don't be foolish. You must let me choose for you;
+you know you never had any judgment. Mother told you so often enough.
+Now, get your sunbonnet and take a walk to the shore. You look tired.
+I'll get the tea."
+
+Louisa's tone was kind though firm. She Was really good to Mary Isabel
+as long as Mary Isabel gave her her own way peaceably. But if she had
+known Mary Isabel's secret she would never have permitted those walks
+to the shore.
+
+Mary Isabel sighed again, yielded, and went out. Across a green field
+from the Irving cottage Dr. Donald Hamilton's big house was hooding
+itself in the shadows of the thick fir grove that enabled the doctor
+to have a garden. There was no shelter at the cottage, so the Irving
+"girls" never tried to have a garden. Soon after Dr. Hamilton had come
+there to live he had sent a bouquet of early daffodils over by his
+housekeeper. Louisa had taken them gingerly in her extreme fingertips,
+carried them across the field to the lawn fence, and cast them over
+it, under the amused grey eyes of portly Dr. Hamilton, who was looking
+out of his office window. Then Louisa had come back to the porch door
+and ostentatiously washed her hands.
+
+"I guess that will settle Donald Hamilton," she told the secretly
+sorry Mary Isabel triumphantly, and it did settle him--at least as far
+as any farther social advances were concerned.
+
+Dr. Hamilton was an excellent physician and an equally excellent man.
+Louisa Irving could not have picked a flaw in his history or
+character. Indeed, against Dr. Hamilton himself she had no grudge, but
+he was the brother of a man she hated and whose relatives were
+consequently taboo in Louisa's eyes. Not that the brother was a bad
+man either; he had simply taken the opposite side to the Irvings in a
+notable church feud of a dozen years ago, and Louisa had never since
+held any intercourse with him or his fellow sinners.
+
+Mary Isabel did not look at the Hamilton house. She kept her head
+resolutely turned away as she went down the shore lane with its wild
+sweet loneliness of salt-withered grasses and piping sea-winds. Only
+when she turned the corner of the fir-wood, which shut her out from
+view of the houses, did she look timidly over the line-fence. Dr.
+Hamilton was standing there, where the fence ran out to the sandy
+shingle, smoking his little black pipe, which he took out and put away
+when Mary Isabel came around the firs. Men did things like that
+instinctively in Mary Isabel's company. There was something so
+delicately virginal about her, in spite of her forty years, that they
+gave her the reverence they would have paid to a very young, pure
+girl.
+
+Dr. Hamilton smiled at the little troubled face under the big
+sunbonnet. Mary Isabel had to wear a sunbonnet. She would never have
+done it from choice.
+
+"What is the matter?" asked the doctor, in his big, breezy,
+old-bachelor voice. He had another voice for sick-beds and rooms of
+bereavement, but this one suited best with the purring of the waves
+and winds.
+
+"How do you know that anything is the matter?" Mary Isabel parried
+demurely.
+
+"By your face. Come now, tell me what it is."
+
+"It is really nothing. I have just been foolish, that is all. I wanted
+a hat with forget-me-nots and a grey silk, and Louisa says I must have
+black and a bonnet."
+
+The doctor looked indignant but held his peace. He and Mary Isabel had
+tacitly agreed never to discuss Louisa, because such discussion would
+not make for harmony. Mary Isabel's conscience would not let the
+doctor say anything uncomplimentary of Louisa, and the doctor's
+conscience would not let him say anything complimentary. So they left
+her out of the question and talked about the sea and the boats and
+poetry and flowers and similar non-combustible subjects.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+These clandestine meetings had been going on for two months, ever
+since the day they had just happened to meet below the firs. It never
+occurred to Mary Isabel that the doctor meant anything but friendship;
+and if it had occurred to the doctor, he did not think there would be
+much use in saying so. Mary Isabel was too hopelessly under Louisa's
+thumb. She might keep tryst below the firs occasionally--so long as
+Louisa didn't know--but to no farther lengths would she dare go.
+Besides, the doctor wasn't quite sure that he really wanted anything
+more. Mary Isabel was a sweet little woman, but Dr. Hamilton had been
+a bachelor so long that it would be very difficult for him to get out
+of the habit; so difficult that it was hardly worth while trying when
+such an obstacle as Louisa Irving's tyranny loomed in the way. So he
+never tried to make love to Mary Isabel, though he probably would have
+if he had thought it of any use. This does not sound very romantic, of
+course, but when a man is fifty, romance, while it may be present in
+the fruit, is assuredly absent in blossom.
+
+"I suppose you won't be going to the induction of my nephew Thursday
+week?" said the doctor in the course of the conversation.
+
+"No. Louisa will not permit it. I had hoped," said Mary Isabel with a
+sigh, as she braided some silvery shore-grasses nervously together,
+"that when old Mr. Moody went away she would go back to the church
+here. And I think she would if--if--"
+
+"If Jim hadn't come in Mr. Moody's place," finished the doctor with
+his jolly laugh.
+
+Mary Isabel coloured prettily. "It is not because he is your nephew,
+doctor. It is because--because--"
+
+"Because he is the nephew of my brother who was on the other side in
+that ancient church fracas? Bless you, I understand. What a good hater
+your sister is! Such a tenacity in holding bitterness from one
+generation to another commands admiration of a certain sort. As for
+Jim, he's a nice little chap, and he is coming to live with me until
+the manse is repaired."
+
+"I am sure you will find that pleasant," said Mary Isabel primly.
+
+She wondered if the young minister's advent would make any difference
+in regard to these shore-meetings; then decided quickly that it would
+not; then more quickly still that it wouldn't matter if it did.
+
+"He will be company," admitted the doctor, who liked company and found
+the shore road rather lonesome. "I had a letter from him today saying
+that he'd come home with me from the induction. By the way, they're
+tearing down the old post office today. And that reminds me--by Jove,
+I'd all but forgotten. I promised to go up and see Mollie Marr this
+evening; Mollie's nerves are on the rampage again. I must rush."
+
+With a wave of his hand the doctor hurried off. Mary Isabel lingered
+for some time longer, leaning against the fence, looking dreamily out
+to sea. The doctor was a very pleasant companion. If only Louisa would
+allow neighbourliness! Mary Isabel felt a faint, impotent resentment.
+She had never had anything other girls had: friends, dresses, beaus,
+and it was all Louisa's fault--Louisa who was going to make her wear a
+bonnet for the rest of her life. The more Mary Isabel thought of that
+bonnet the more she hated it.
+
+That evening Warren Marr rode down to the shore cottage on horseback
+and handed Mary Isabel a letter; a strange, scrumpled, soiled, yellow
+letter. When Mary Isabel saw the handwriting on the envelope she
+trembled and turned as deadly pale as if she had seen a ghost:
+
+"Here's a letter for you," said Warren, grinning. "It's been a long
+time on the way--nigh fifteen years. Guess the news'll be rather
+stale. We found it behind the old partition when we tore it down
+today."
+
+"It is my brother Tom's writing," said Mary Isabel faintly. She went
+into the room trembling, holding the letter tightly in her clasped
+hands. Louisa had gone up to the village on an errand; Mary Isabel
+almost wished she were home; she hardly felt equal to the task of
+opening Tom's letter alone. Tom had been dead for ten years and this
+letter gave her an uncanny sensation; as of a message from the
+spirit-land.
+
+Fifteen years, ago Thomas Irving had gone to California and five years
+later he had died there. Mary Isabel, who had idolized her brother,
+almost grieved herself to death at the time.
+
+Finally she opened the letter with ice-cold fingers. It had been
+written soon after Tom reached California. The first two pages were
+filled with descriptions of the country and his "job."
+
+On the third Tom began abruptly:
+
+    Look here, Mary Isabel, you are not to let Louisa boss you
+    about as she was doing when I was at home. I was going to
+    speak to you about it before I came away, but I forgot. Lou is
+    a fine girl, but she is too domineering, and the more you give
+    in to her the worse it makes her. You're far too easy-going
+    for your own welfare, Mary Isabel, and for your own sake I
+    Wish you had more spunk. Don't let Louisa live your life for
+    you; just you live it yourself. Never mind if there is some
+    friction at first; Lou will give in when she finds she has to,
+    and you'll both be the better for it, I want you to be real
+    happy, Mary Isabel, but you won't be if you don't assert your
+    independence. Giving in the way you do is bad for both you and
+    Louisa. It will make her a tyrant and you a poor-spirited
+    creature of no account in the world. Just brace up and stand
+    firm.
+
+When she had read the letter through Mary Isabel took it to her own
+room and locked it in her bureau drawer. Then she sat by her window,
+looking out into a sea-sunset, and thought it over. Coming in the
+strange way it had, the letter seemed a message from the dead, and
+Mary Isabel had a superstitious conviction that she must obey it. She
+had always had a great respect for Tom's opinion. He was right--oh,
+she felt that he was right. What a pity she had not received the
+letter long ago, before the shackles of habit had become so firmly
+riveted. But it was not too late yet. She would rebel at last
+and--how had Tom phrased it--oh, yes, assert her independence. She
+owed it to Tom; It had been his wish--and he was dead--and she would
+do her best to fulfil it.
+
+"I shan't get a bonnet," thought Mary Isabel determinedly. "Tom
+wouldn't have liked me in a bonnet. From this out I'm just going to do
+exactly as Tom would have liked me to do, no matter how afraid I am of
+Louisa. And, oh, I am horribly afraid of her."
+
+Mary Isabel was every whit as much afraid the next morning after
+breakfast but she did not look it, by reason of the flush on her
+cheeks and the glint in her brown eyes. She had put Tom's letter in
+the bosom of her dress and she pressed her fingertips on it that the
+crackle might give her courage.
+
+"Louisa," she said firmly, "I am going to town with you."
+
+"Nonsense," said Louisa shortly.
+
+"You may call it nonsense if you like, but I am going," said Mary
+Isabel unquailingly. "I have made up my mind on that point, Louisa,
+and nothing you can say will alter it."
+
+Louisa looked amazed. Never before had Mary Isabel set her decrees at
+naught.
+
+"Are you crazy, Mary Isabel?" she demanded.
+
+"No, I am not crazy. But I am going to town and I am going to get a
+silver-grey silk for myself and a new hat. I will not wear a bonnet
+and you need never mention it to me again, Louisa."
+
+"If you are going to town I shall stay home," said Louisa in a cold,
+ominous tone that almost made Mary Isabel quake. If it had not been
+for that reassuring crackle of Tom's letter I fear Mary Isabel would
+have given in. "This house can't be left alone. If you go, I'll stay."
+
+Louisa honestly thought that would bring the rebel to terms. Mary
+Isabel had never gone to town alone in her life. Louisa did not
+believe she would dare to go. But Mary Isabel did not quail. Defiance
+was not so hard after all, once you had begun.
+
+Mary Isabel went to town and she went alone. She spent the whole
+delightful day in the shops, unhampered by Louisa's scorn and
+criticism in her examination of all the pretty things displayed. She
+selected a hat she felt sure Tom would like--a pretty crumpled grey
+straw with forget-me-nots and ribbons. Then she bought a grey silk of
+a lovely silvery shade.
+
+When she got back home she unwrapped her packages and showed her
+purchases to Louisa. But Louisa neither looked at them nor spoke to
+Mary Isabel. Mary Isabel tossed her head and went to her own room. Her
+draught of freedom had stimulated her, and she did not mind Louisa's
+attitude half as much as she would have expected. She read Tom's
+letter over again to fortify herself and then she dressed her hair in
+a fashion she had seen that day in town and pulled out all the little
+curls on her forehead.
+
+The next day she took the silver-grey silk to the Latimer dressmaker
+and picked out a fashionable design for it. When the silk dress came
+home, Louisa, who had thawed out somewhat in the meantime, unbent
+sufficiently to remark that it fitted very well.
+
+"I am going to wear it to the induction tomorrow," Mary Isabel said,
+boldly to all appearances, quakingly in reality. She knew that she was
+throwing down the gauntlet for good and all. If she could assert and
+maintain her independence in this matter Louisa's power would be
+broken forever.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Twelve years before this, the previously mentioned schism had broken
+out in the Latimer church. The minister had sided with the faction
+which Louisa Irving opposed. She had promptly ceased going to his
+church and withdrew all financial support. She paid to the Marwood
+church, fifteen miles away, and occasionally she hired a team and
+drove over there to service. But she never entered the Latimer church
+again nor allowed Mary Isabel to do so. For that matter, Mary Isabel
+did not wish to go. She had resented the minister's attitude almost as
+bitterly as Louisa. But when Mr. Moody accepted a call elsewhere Mary
+Isabel hoped that she and Louisa might return to their old church
+home. Possibly they might have done so had not the congregation called
+the young, newly fledged James Anderson. Mary Isabel would not have
+cared for this, but Louisa sternly said that neither she nor any of
+hers should ever darken the doors of a church where the nephew of
+Martin Hamilton preached. Mary Isabel had regretfully acquiesced at
+the time, but now she had made up her mind to go to church and she
+meant to begin with the induction service.
+
+Louisa stared at her sister incredulously.
+
+"Have you taken complete leave of your senses, Mary Isabel?"
+
+"No. I've just come to them," retorted Mary Isabel recklessly,
+gripping a chair-back desperately so that Louisa should not see how
+she was trembling. "It is all foolishness to keep away from church
+just because of an old grudge. I'm tired of staying home Sundays or
+driving fifteen miles to Marwood to hear poor old Mr. Grattan.
+Everybody says Mr. Anderson is a splendid young man and an excellent
+preacher, and I'm going to attend his services regularly."
+
+Louisa had taken Mary Isabel's first defiance in icy disdain. Now she
+lost her temper and raged. The storm of angry words beat on Mary
+Isabel like hail, but she fronted it staunchly. She seemed to hear
+Tom's voice saying, "Live your own life, Mary Isabel; don't let Louisa
+live it for you," and she meant to obey him.
+
+"If you go to that man's induction I'll never forgive you," Louisa
+concluded.
+
+Mary Isabel said nothing. She just primmed up her lips very
+determinedly, picked up the silk dress, and carried it to her room.
+
+The next day was fine and warm. Louisa said no word all the morning.
+She worked fiercely and slammed things around noisily. After dinner
+Mary Isabel went to her room and came down presently, fine and dainty
+in her grey silk, with the forget-me-not hat resting on the soft loose
+waves of her hair. Louisa was blacking the kitchen stove.
+
+She shot one angry glance at Mary Isabel, then gave a short,
+contemptuous laugh, the laugh of an angry woman who finds herself
+robbed of all weapons except ridicule.
+
+Mary Isabel flushed and walked with an unfaltering step out of the
+house and up the lane. She resented Louisa's laughter. She was sure
+there was nothing so very ridiculous about her appearance. Women far
+older than she, even in Latimer, wore light dresses and fashionable
+hats. Really, Louisa was very disagreeable.
+
+"I have put up with her ways too long," thought Mary Isabel, with a
+quick, unwonted rush of anger. "But I never shall again--no, never,
+let her be as vexed and scornful as she pleases."
+
+The induction services were interesting, and Mary Isabel enjoyed them.
+Doctor Hamilton was sitting across from her and once or twice she
+caught him looking at her admiringly. The doctor noticed the hat and
+the grey silk and wondered how Mary Isabel had managed to get her own
+way concerning them. What a pretty woman she was! Really, he had never
+realized before how very pretty she was. But then, he had never seen
+her except in a sunbonnet or with her hair combed primly back.
+
+But when the service was over Mary Isabel was dismayed to see that the
+sky had clouded over and looked very much like rain. Everybody hurried
+home, and Mary Isabel tripped along the shore road filled with
+anxious thoughts about her dress. That kind of silk always spotted,
+and her hat would be ruined if it got wet. How foolish she had been
+not to bring an umbrella!
+
+She reached her own doorstep panting just as the first drop of rain
+fell.
+
+"Thank goodness," she breathed.
+
+Then she tried to open the door. It would not open.
+
+She could see Louisa sitting by the kitchen window, calmly reading.
+
+"Louisa, open the door quick," she called impatiently.
+
+Louisa never moved a muscle, although Mary Isabel knew she must have
+heard.
+
+"Louisa, do you hear what I say?" she cried, reaching over and tapping
+on the pane imperiously. "Open the door at once. It is going to
+rain--it is raining now. Be quick."
+
+Louisa might as well have been a graven image for all the response she
+gave. Then did Mary Isabel realize her position. Louisa had locked her
+out purposely, knowing the rain was coming. Louisa had no intention of
+letting her in; she meant to keep her out until the dress and hat of
+her rebellion were spoiled. This was Louisa's revenge.
+
+Mary Isabel turned with a gasp. What should she do? The padlocked
+doors of hen-house and well-house and wood-house: revealed the
+thoroughness of Louisa's vindictive design. Where should she go? She
+would go somewhere. She would not have her lovely new dress and hat
+spoiled!
+
+She caught her ruffled skirts up in her hand and ran across the yard.
+She climbed the fence into the field and ran across that. Another drop
+of rain struck her cheek. She never glanced back or she would have
+seen a horrified face peering from the cottage kitchen window. Louisa
+had never dreamed that Mary Isabel would seek refuge over at Dr.
+Hamilton's.
+
+Dr. Hamilton, who had driven home from church with the young minister,
+saw her coming and ran to open the door for her. Mary Isabel dashed
+up the verandah steps, breathless, crimson-cheeked, trembling with
+pent-up indignation and sense of outrage.
+
+"Louisa locked me out, Dr. Hamilton," she cried almost hysterically.
+"She locked me out on purpose to spoil my dress. I'll never forgive
+her, I'll never go back to her, never, never, unless she asks me to. I
+had to come here. I was not going to have my dress ruined to please
+Louisa."
+
+"Of course not--of course not," said Dr. Hamilton soothingly, drawing
+her into his big cosy living room. "You did perfectly right to come
+here, and you are just in time. There is the rain now in good
+earnest."
+
+Mary Isabel sank into a chair and looked at Dr. Hamilton with tears in
+her eyes.
+
+"Wasn't it an unkind, unsisterly thing to do?" she asked piteously.
+"Oh, I shall never feel the same towards Louisa again. Tom was
+right--I didn't tell you about Tom's letter but I will by and by. I
+shall not go back to Louisa after her locking me out. When it stops
+raining I'll go straight up to my cousin Ella's and stay with her
+until I arrange my plans. But one thing is certain, I shall not go
+back to Louisa."
+
+"I wouldn't," said the doctor recklessly. "Now, don't cry and don't
+worry. Take off your hat--you can go to the spare room across the
+hall, if you like. Jim has gone upstairs to lie down; he has a bad
+headache and says he doesn't want any tea. So I was going to get up a
+bachelor's snack for myself. My housekeeper is away. She heard, at
+church that her mother was ill and went over to Marwood."
+
+When Mary Isabel came back from the spare room, a little calmer but
+with traces of tears on her pink cheeks, the doctor had as good a
+tea-table spread as any woman could have had. Mary Isabel thought it
+was fortunate that the little errand boy, Tommy Brewster, was there,
+or she certainly would have been dreadfully embarrassed, now that the
+flame of her anger had blown out. But later on, when tea was over and
+she and the doctor were left alone, she did not feel embarrassed
+after all. Instead, she felt delightfully happy and at home. Dr.
+Hamilton put one so at ease.
+
+She told him all about Tom's letter and her subsequent revolt. Dr.
+Hamilton never once made the mistake of smiling. He listened and
+approved and sympathized.
+
+"So I'm determined I won't go back," concluded Mary Isabel, "unless
+she asks me to--and Louisa will never do that. Ella will be glad
+enough to have me for a while; she has five children and can't get any
+help."
+
+The doctor shrugged his shoulders. He thought of Mary Isabel as
+unofficial drudge to Ella Kemble and her family. Then he looked at the
+little silvery figure by the window.
+
+"I think I can suggest a better plan," he said gently and tenderly.
+"Suppose you stay here--as my wife. I've always wanted to ask you that
+but I feared it was no use because I knew Louisa would oppose it and I
+did not think you would consent if she did not. I think," the doctor
+leaned forward and took Mary Isabel's fluttering hand in his, "I think
+we can be very happy here, dear."
+
+Mary Isabel flushed crimson and her heart beat wildly. She knew now
+that she loved Dr. Hamilton--and Tom would have liked it--yes, Tom
+would. She remembered how Tom hated the thought of his sisters being
+old maids.
+
+"I--think--so--too," she faltered shyly.
+
+"Then," said the doctor briskly, "what is the matter with our being
+married right here and now?"
+
+"Married!"
+
+"Yes, of course. Here we are in a state where no licence is required,
+a minister in the house, and you all dressed in the most beautiful
+wedding silk imaginable. You must see, if you just look at it calmly,
+how much better it will be than going up to Mrs. Kemble's and thereby
+publishing your difference with Louisa to all the village. I'll give
+you fifteen minutes to get used to the idea and then I'll call Jim
+down."
+
+Mary Isabel put her hands to her face.
+
+"You--you're like a whirlwind," she gasped. "You take away my breath."
+
+"Think it over," said the doctor in a businesslike voice.
+
+Mary Isabel thought--thought very hard for a few moments.
+
+What would Tom have said?
+
+Was it probable that Tom would have approved of such marrying in
+haste?
+
+Mary Isabel came to the decision that he would have preferred it to
+having family jars bruited abroad. Moreover, Mary Isabel had never
+liked Ella Kemble very much. Going to her was only one degree better
+than going back to Louisa.
+
+At last Mary Isabel took her hands down from her face. "Well?" said
+the doctor persuasively as she did so.
+
+"I will consent on one condition," said Mary Isabel firmly. "And that
+is, that you will let me send word over to Louisa that I am going to
+be married and that she may come and see the ceremony if she will.
+Louisa has behaved very unkindly in this matter, but after all she is
+my sister--and she has been good to me in some ways--and I am not
+going to give her a chance to say that I got married in this--this
+headlong-fashion and never let her know."
+
+"Tommy can take the word over," said the doctor.
+
+Mary Isabel went to the doctor's desk and wrote a very brief note.
+
+    Dear Louisa:
+
+    I am going to be married to Dr. Hamilton right away. I've seen
+    him often at the shore this summer. I would like you to be
+    present at the ceremony if you choose.
+
+                                                Mary Isabel.
+
+
+Tommy ran across the field with the note.
+
+It had now ceased raining and the clouds were breaking. Mary Isabel
+thought that a good omen. She and the doctor watched Tommy from the
+window. They saw Louisa come to the door, take the note, and shut the
+door in Tommy's face. Ten minutes later she reappeared, habited in her
+mackintosh, with her second-best bonnet on.
+
+"She's--coming," said Mary Isabel, trembling.
+
+The doctor put his arm protectingly about the little lady.
+
+Mary Isabel tossed her head. "Oh, I'm not--I'm only excited. I shall
+never be afraid of Louisa again."
+
+Louisa came grimly over the field, up the verandah steps, and into the
+room without knocking.
+
+"Mary Isabel," she said, glaring at her sister and ignoring the doctor
+entirely, "did you mean what you said in that letter?"
+
+"Yes, I did," said Mary Isabel firmly.
+
+"You are going to be married to that man in this shameless, indecent
+haste?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And nothing I can say will have the least effect on you?"
+
+"Not the slightest."
+
+"Then," said Louisa, more grimly than ever, "all I ask of you is to
+come home and be married from under your father's roof. Do have that
+much respect for your parents' memory, at least."
+
+"Of course I will," cried Mary Isabel impulsively, softening at once.
+"Of course we will--won't we?" she asked, turning prettily to the
+doctor.
+
+"Just as you say," he answered gallantly.
+
+Louisa snorted. "I'll go home and air the parlour," she said. "It's
+lucky I baked that fruitcake Monday. You can come when you're ready."
+
+She stalked home across the field. In a few minutes the doctor and
+Mary Isabel followed, and behind them came the young minister,
+carrying his blue book under his arm, and trying hard and not
+altogether successfully to look grave.
+
+
+
+
+The Twins and a Wedding
+
+
+Sometimes Johnny and I wonder what would really have happened if we
+had never started for Cousin Pamelia's wedding. I think that Ted would
+have come back some time; but Johnny says he doesn't believe he ever
+would, and Johnny ought to know, because Johnny's a boy. Anyhow, he
+couldn't have come back for four years. However, we _did_ start for
+the wedding and so things came out all right, and Ted said we were a
+pair of twin special Providences.
+
+Johnny and I fully expected to go to Cousin Pamelia's wedding because
+we had always been such chums with her. And she did write to Mother to
+be sure and bring us, but Father and Mother didn't want to be bothered
+with us. That is the plain truth of the matter. They are good parents,
+as parents go in this world; I don't think we could have picked out
+much better, all things considered; but Johnny and I have always known
+that they never want to take us with them anywhere if they can get out
+of it. Uncle Fred says that it is no wonder, since we are a pair of
+holy terrors for getting into mischief and keeping everybody in hot
+water. But I think we are pretty good, considering all the temptations
+we have to be otherwise. And, of course, twins have just twice as many
+as ordinary children.
+
+Anyway, Father and Mother said we would have to stay home with Hannah
+Jane. This decision came upon us, as Johnny says, like a bolt from the
+blue. At first we couldn't believe they were not joking. Why, we felt
+that we simply _had_ to go to Pamelia's wedding. We had never been to
+a wedding in our lives and we were just aching to see what it would be
+like. Besides, we had written a marriage ode to Pamelia and we wanted
+to present it to her. Johnny was to recite it, and he had been
+practising it out behind the carriage house for a week. I wrote the
+most of it. I can write poetry as slick as anything. Johnny helped me
+hunt out the rhymes. That is the hardest thing about writing poetry,
+it is so difficult to find rhymes. Johnny would find me a rhyme and
+then I would write a line to suit it, and we got on swimmingly.
+
+When we realized that Father and Mother meant what they said we were
+just too miserable to live. When I went to bed that night I simply
+pulled the clothes over my face and howled quietly. I couldn't help it
+when I thought of Pamelia's white silk dress and tulle veil and flower
+girls and all the rest. Johnny said it was the wedding dinner _he_
+thought about. Boys are like that, you know.
+
+Father and Mother went away on the early morning train, telling us to
+be good twins and not bother Hannah Jane. It would have been more to
+the point if they had told Hannah Jane not to bother us. She worries
+more about our bringing up than Mother does.
+
+I was sitting on the front doorstep after they had gone when Johnny
+came around the corner, looking so mysterious and determined that I
+knew he had thought of something splendid.
+
+"Sue," said Johnny impressively, "if you have any real sporting blood
+in you now is the time to show it. If you've enough grit we'll get to
+Pamelia's wedding after all."
+
+"How?" I said as soon as I was able to say anything.
+
+"We'll just go. We'll take the ten o'clock train. It will get to
+Marsden by eleven-thirty and that'll be in plenty of time. The wedding
+isn't until twelve."
+
+"But we've never been on the train alone, and we've never been to
+Marsden at all!" I gasped.
+
+"Oh, of course, if you're going to hatch up all sorts of
+difficulties!" said Johnny scornfully. "I thought you had more spunk!"
+
+"Oh, I have, Johnny," I said eagerly. "I'm _all_ spunk. And I'll do
+anything you'll do. But won't Father and Mother be perfectly savage?"
+
+"Of course. But we'll be there and they can't send us home again, so
+we'll see the wedding. We'll be punished afterwards all right, but
+we'll have had the fun, don't you see?"
+
+I saw. I went right upstairs to dress, trusting everything blindly to
+Johnny. I put on my best pale blue shirred silk hat and my blue
+organdie dress and my high-heeled slippers. Johnny whistled when he
+saw me, but he never said a word; there are times when Johnny is a
+duck.
+
+We slipped away when Hannah Jane was feeding the hens.
+
+"I'll buy the tickets," explained Johnny. "I've got enough money left
+out of my last month's allowance because I didn't waste it all on
+candy as you did. You'll have to pay me back when you get your next
+month's jink, remember. I'll ask the conductor to tell us when we get
+to Marsden. Uncle Fred's house isn't far from the station, and we'll
+be sure to know it by all the cherry trees round it."
+
+It sounded easy, and it _was_ easy. We had a jolly ride, and finally
+the conductor came along and said, "Here's your jumping-off place,
+kiddies."
+
+Johnny didn't like being called a kiddy, but I saw the conductor's eye
+resting admiringly on my blue silk hat and I forgave him.
+
+Marsden was a pretty little village, and away up the road we saw Uncle
+Fred's place, for it was fairly smothered in cherry trees all white
+with lovely bloom. We started for it as fast as we could go, for we
+knew we had no time to lose. It is perfectly dreadful trying to hurry
+when you have on high-heeled shoes, but I said nothing and just tore
+along, for I knew Johnny would have no sympathy for me. We finally
+reached the house and turned in at the open gate of the lawn. I
+thought everything looked very peaceful and quiet for a wedding to be
+under way and I had a sickening idea that it was too late and it was
+all over.
+
+"Nonsense!" said Johnny, cross as a bear, because he was really
+afraid of it too. "I suppose everybody is inside the house. No, there
+are two people over there by that bench. Let us go and ask them if
+this is the right place, because if it isn't we have no time to lose."
+
+We ran across the lawn to the two people. One of them was a young
+lady, the very prettiest young lady I had ever seen. She was tall and
+stately, just like the heroine in a book, and she had lovely curly
+brown hair and big blue eyes and the most dazzling complexion. But she
+looked very cross and disdainful and I knew the minute I saw her that
+she had been quarrelling with the young man. He was standing in front
+of her and he was as handsome as a prince. But he looked angry too.
+Altogether, you never saw a crosser-looking couple. Just as we came up
+we heard the young lady say, "What you ask is ridiculous and
+impossible, Ted. I _can't_ get married at two days' notice and I don't
+mean to be."
+
+And he said, "Very well, Una, I am sorry you think so. You would not
+think so if you really cared anything for me. It is just as well I
+have found out you don't. I am going away in two days' time and I
+shall not return in a hurry, Una."
+
+"I do not care if you never return," she said.
+
+That was a fib and well I knew it. But the young man didn't--men are
+so stupid at times. He swung around on one foot without replying and
+he would have gone in another second if he had not nearly fallen over
+Johnny and me.
+
+"Please, sir," said Johnny respectfully, but hurriedly. "We're looking
+for Mr. Frederick Murray's place. Is this it?"
+
+"No," said the young man a little gruffly. "This is Mrs. Franklin's
+place. Frederick Murray lives at Marsden, ten miles away."
+
+My heart gave a jump and then stopped beating. I know it did, although
+Johnny says it is impossible.
+
+"Isn't this Marsden?" cried Johnny chokily.
+
+"No, this is Harrowsdeane," said the young man, a little more mildly.
+
+I couldn't help it. I was tired and warm and so disappointed. I sat
+right down on the rustic seat behind me and burst into tears, as the
+story-books say.
+
+"Oh, don't cry, dearie," said the young lady in a very different voice
+from the one she had used before. She sat down beside me and put her
+arms around me. "We'll take you over to Marsden if you've got off at
+the wrong station."
+
+"But it will be too late," I sobbed wildly. "The wedding is to be at
+twelve--and it's nearly that now--and oh, Johnny, I do think you might
+try to comfort me!"
+
+For Johnny had stuck his hands in his pockets and turned his back
+squarely on me. I thought it so unkind of him. I didn't know then that
+it was because he was afraid he was going to cry right there before
+everybody, and I felt deserted by all the world.
+
+"Tell me all about it," said the young lady.
+
+So I told her as well as I could all about the wedding and how wild we
+were to see it and why we were running away to it.
+
+"And now it's all no use," I wailed. "And we'll be punished when they
+find out just the same. I wouldn't mind being punished if we hadn't
+missed the wedding. We've never seen a wedding--and Pamelia was to
+wear a white silk dress--and have flower girls--and oh, my heart is
+just broken. I shall never get over this--never--if I live to be as
+old as Methuselah."
+
+"What can we do for them?" said the young lady, looking up at the
+young man and smiling a little. She seemed to have forgotten that they
+had just quarrelled. "I can't bear to see children disappointed. I
+remember my own childhood too well."
+
+"I really don't know what we can do," said the young man, smiling
+back, "unless we get married right here and now for their sakes. If it
+is a wedding they want to see and nothing else will do them, that is
+the only idea I can suggest."
+
+"Nonsense!" said the young lady. But she said it as if she would
+rather like to be persuaded it wasn't nonsense.
+
+I looked up at her. "Oh, if you have any notion of being married I
+wish you would right off," I said eagerly. "Any wedding would do just
+as well as Pamelia's. Please do."
+
+The young lady laughed.
+
+"One might just as well be married at two hours' notice as two days',"
+she said.
+
+"Una," said the young man, bending towards her, "will you marry me
+here and now? Don't send me away alone to the other side of the world,
+Una."
+
+"What on earth would Auntie say?" said Una helplessly.
+
+"Mrs. Franklin wouldn't object if you told her you were going to be
+married in a balloon."
+
+"I don't see how we could arrange--oh, Ted, it's absurd."
+
+"'Tisn't. It's highly sensible. I'll go straight to town on my wheel
+for the licence and ring and I'll be back in an hour. You can be ready
+by that time."
+
+For a moment Una hesitated. Then she said suddenly to me, "What is
+your name, dearie?"
+
+"Sue Murray," I said, "and this is my brother, Johnny. We're twins.
+We've been twins for ten years."
+
+"Well, Sue, I'm going to let you decide for me. This gentleman here,
+whose name is Theodore Prentice, has to start for Japan in two days
+and will have to remain there for four years. He received his orders
+only yesterday. He wants me to marry him and go with him. Now, I shall
+leave it to you to consent or refuse for me. Shall I marry him or
+shall I not?"
+
+"Marry him, of course," said I promptly. Johnny says she knew I would
+say that when she left it to me.
+
+"Very well," said Una calmly. "Ted, you may go for the necessaries.
+Sue, you must be my bridesmaid and Johnny shall be best man. Come,
+we'll go into the house and break the news to Auntie."
+
+I never felt so interested and excited in my life. It seemed too good
+to be true. Una and I went into the house and there we found the
+sweetest, pinkest, plumpest old lady asleep in an easy-chair. Una
+wakened her and said, "Auntie, I'm going to be married to Mr. Prentice
+in an hour's time."
+
+That was a most wonderful old lady! All she said was, "Dear me!" You'd
+have thought Una had simply told her she was going out for a walk.
+
+"Ted has gone for licence and ring and minister," Una went on. "We
+shall be married out under the cherry trees and I'll wear my new white
+organdie. We shall leave for Japan in two days. These children are Sue
+and Johnny Murray who have come out to see a wedding--_any_ wedding.
+Ted and I are getting married just to please them."
+
+"Dear me!" said the old lady again. "This is rather sudden. Still--if
+you must. Well, I'll go and see what there is in the house to eat."
+
+She toddled away, smiling, and Una turned to me. She was laughing, but
+there were tears in her eyes.
+
+"You blessed accidents!" she said, with a little tremble in her voice.
+"If you hadn't happened just then Ted would have gone away in a rage
+and I might never have seen him again. Come now, Sue, and help me
+dress."
+
+Johnny stayed in the hall and I went upstairs with Una. We had such an
+exciting time getting her dressed. She had the sweetest white organdie
+you ever saw, all frills and laces. I'm sure Pamelia's silk couldn't
+have been half so pretty. But she had no veil, and I felt rather
+disappointed about that. Then there was a knock at the door and Mrs.
+Franklin came in, with her arms full of something all fine and misty
+like a lacy cobweb.
+
+"I've brought you my wedding veil, dearie," she said. "I wore it forty
+years ago. And God bless you, dearie. I can't stop a minute. The boy
+is killing the chickens and Bridget is getting ready to broil them.
+Mrs. Jenner's son across the road has just gone down to the bakery for
+a wedding cake."
+
+With that she toddled off again. She was certainly a wonderful old
+lady. I just thought of Mother in her place. Well, Mother would simply
+have gone wild entirely.
+
+When Una was dressed she looked as beautiful as a dream. The boy had
+finished killing the chickens, and Mrs. Franklin had sent him up with
+a basket of roses for us, and we had each the loveliest bouquet.
+Before long Ted came back with the minister, and the next thing we
+knew we were all standing out on the lawn under the cherry trees and
+Una and Ted were being married.
+
+I was too happy to speak. I had never thought of being a bridesmaid in
+my wildest dreams and here I was one. How thankful I was that I had
+put on my blue organdie and my shirred hat! I wasn't a bit nervous and
+I don't believe Una was either. Mrs. Franklin stood at one side with a
+smudge of flour on her nose, and she had forgotten to take off her
+apron. Bridget and the boy watched us from the kitchen garden. It was
+all like a beautiful, bewildering dream. But the ceremony was horribly
+solemn. I am sure I shall never have the courage to go through with
+anything of the sort, but Johnny says I will change my mind when I
+grow up.
+
+When it was all over I nudged Johnny and said "Ode" in a fierce
+whisper. Johnny immediately stepped out before Una and recited it.
+Pamelia's name was mentioned three times and of course he should have
+put Una in place of it, but he forgot. You can't remember everything.
+
+"You dear funny darlings!" said Una, kissing us both. Johnny didn't
+like _that_, but he said he didn't mind it in a bride.
+
+Then we had dinner, and I thought Mrs. Franklin more wonderful than
+ever. I couldn't have believed any woman could have got up such a
+spread at two hours' notice. Of course, some credit must be given to
+Bridget and the boy. Johnny and I were hungry enough by this time and
+we enjoyed that repast to the full.
+
+We went home on the evening train. Ted and Una came to the station
+with us, and Una said she would write me when she got to Japan, and
+Ted said he would be obliged to us forever and ever.
+
+When we got home we found Hannah Jane and Father and Mother--who had
+arrived there an hour before us--simply distracted. They were so glad
+to see us safe and sound that they didn't even scold us, and when
+Father heard our story he laughed until the tears came into his eyes.
+
+"Some are born to luck, some achieve luck, and some have luck thrust
+upon them," he said.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories,
+1907 to 1908, by Lucy Maud Montgomery
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MONTGOMERY STORIES ***
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