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diff --git a/28307-h/28307-h.htm b/28307-h/28307-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c16c8e5 --- /dev/null +++ b/28307-h/28307-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7113 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Christmas Accident, by Annie Eliot Trumbull. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + text-indent: 1.25em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + img {border: 0;} + .tnote {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + ins {text-decoration:none; border-bottom: thin dotted gray;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + .copyright {text-align: center; font-size: 70%;} + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: justify;} + + .bbox {border: solid 2px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold; font-size: 70%;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .unindent {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + .right {text-align: right;} + .poem {margin-left: 30%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: left;} + .poem2 {margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: left;} + .sig {margin-right: 10%; text-align: right;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + .cap:first-letter {float: left; clear: left; margin: -0.2em 0.1em 0; margin-top: 0%; + padding: 0; line-height: .75em; font-size: 300%; text-align: justify;} + .cap {text-align: justify;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Christmas Accident and Other Stories, by +Annie Eliot Trumbull + +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: A Christmas Accident and Other Stories + +Author: Annie Eliot Trumbull + +Release Date: March 11, 2009 [EBook #28307] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CHRISTMAS ACCIDENT *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards, Emmy and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + + +<h1>A CHRISTMAS ACCIDENT</h1> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="400" height="500" alt="Cover" title="" /> +</div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1>A Christmas Accident</h1> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class='bbox'><div class='center'> +<small>STORIES BY</small><br /> + +ANNIE ELIOT TRUMBULL</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 34px;"> +<img src="images/leaf.png" width="34" height="51" alt="Leaf" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Other books"> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Christmas Accident and Other Stories</span>. 16mo. Cloth </td><td align='right'>$1.00</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Rod's Salvation and Other Stories</span>. 16mo. Cloth</td><td align='right'>1.00</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Cape Cod Week</span>. 16mo. Cloth</td><td align='right'>1.00</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Mistress Content Cradock</span>. Cloth. 16mo.</td><td align='right'>1.00</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 34px;"> +<img src="images/leaf.png" width="34" height="51" alt="Leaf" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'> +A. S. BARNES & CO., <span class="smcap">Publishers</span>,<br /> +<i>New York</i>.<br /> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1>A Christmas Accident</h1> + +<h2><i>And Other Stories</i></h2> + +<h3>By</h3> + +<h2>Annie Eliot Trumbull</h2> + +<div class='center'>Author of "White Birches," "A Masque<br /> +of Culture," etc.<br /><br /><br /></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 49px;"> +<img src="images/emblem.png" width="49" height="50" alt="Emblem" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><br /> +New York<br /> +A. S. Barnes and Company<br /> +1900<br /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class='copyright'> +<i>Copyright, 1897</i>,<br /> +<span class="smcap">By A. S. Barnes and Company.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<b>University Press:</b><br /> +<span class="smcap">John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A.</span><br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="smcap">Of</span> the stories included in this volume, the +first originally appeared in the <i>Hartford Courant;</i> +"After—the Deluge," in the <i>Atlantic +Monthly;</i> "Mary A. Twining," in the <i>Home +Maker;</i> "A Postlude" and "Her Neighbor's +Landmark," in the <i>Outlook;</i> "The 'Daily +Morning Chronicle,'" in <i>The New England +Magazine;</i> and "Hearts Unfortified," in +<i>McClure's Magazine</i>. To the courtesy of the +editors of these periodicals I am indebted for +permission to reprint them.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +A. E. T.<br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>Contents</h2> + + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='right'>Page</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Christmas Accident</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">After—the Deluge</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Memoir of Mary Twining</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Postlude</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_99">99</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The "Daily Morning Chronicle"</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Hearts Unfortified</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_177">177</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Her Neighbor's Landmark</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_210">210</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> +<h2>A Christmas Accident</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 34px;"> +<img src="images/leaf.png" width="34" height="51" alt="Leaf" title="" /> +</div> + + +<div class='cap'>AT first the two yards were as much +alike as the two houses, each house +being the exact copy of the other. They +were just two of those little red brick +dwellings that one is always seeing side +by side in the outskirts of a city, and +looking as if the occupants must be alike +too. But these two families were quite +different. Mr. Gilton, who lived in one, +was a pretty cross sort of man, and was +quite well-to-do, as cross people sometimes +are. He and his wife lived alone, +and they did not have much going out +and coming in, either. Mrs. Gilton +would have liked more of it, but she had +given up thinking about it, for her husband +had said so many times that it was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> +women's tomfoolery to want to have +people, whom you weren't anything to +and who weren't anything to you, ringing +your doorbell all the time and bothering +around in your dining-room,—which +of course it was; and she would have +believed it if a woman ever did believe +anything a man says a great many times.</div> + +<p>In the other house there were five children, +and, as Mr. Gilton said, they made +too large a family, and they ought to have +gone somewhere else. Possibly they +would have gone had it not been for +the fence; but when Mr. Gilton put it up +and Mr. Bilton told him it was three +inches too far on his land, and Mr. Gilton +said he could go to law about it, expressing +the idea forcibly, Mr. Bilton was +foolish enough to take his advice. The +decision went against him, and a good deal +of his money went with it, for it was a +long, teasing lawsuit, and instead of being +three inches of made ground it might have +been three degrees of the Arctic Circle for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> +the trouble there was in getting at it. So +Mr. Bilton had to stay where he was.</p> + +<p>It was then that the yards began to take +on those little differences that soon grew +to be very marked. Neither family would +plant any vines because they would have +been certain to heedlessly beautify the +other side, and consequently the fence, in +all its primitive boldness, stood out uncompromisingly, +and the one or two little +bits of trees grew carefully on the farther +side of the enclosure so as not to be mixed +up in the trouble at all. But Mr. Gilton's +grass was cut smoothly by the man who +made the fires, while Mr. Bilton only +found a chance to cut his himself once in +two weeks. Then, by and by, Mr. Gilton +bought a red garden bench and put it +under the tree that was nearest to the +fence. No one ever went out and sat on +it, to be sure, but to the Bilton children it +represented the visible flush of prosperity. +Particularly was Cora Cordelia wont to +peer through the fence and gaze upon that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> +red bench, thinking it a charming place in +which to play house, ignorant of the fact +that much of the red paint would have +come off on her back. Cora Cordelia was +the youngest of the five. All the rest had +very simple names,—John, Walter, Fanny, +and Susan,—but when it came to Cora +Cordelia, luxuries were beginning to get +very scarce in the Bilton family, and Mrs. +Bilton felt that she must make up for it +by being lavish, in one direction or another. +She had wished to name Fanny, +Cora, and Susan, Cordelia, but she had +yielded to her husband, and called one +after his mother and one after herself, and +then gave both her favorite names to the +youngest of all. Cora Cordelia was a +pretty little girl, prettier even than both +her names put together.</p> + +<p>After the red bench came a quicksilver +ball, that was put in the middle of the +yard and reflected all the glory of its +owner, albeit in a somewhat distorted +form. This effort of human ingenuity<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> +filled the Bilton children with admiration +bordering on awe; Cora Cordelia spent +hours gazing at it, until called in and +reproved by her mother for admiring so +much things she could not afford to have. +After this, she only admired it covertly.</p> + +<p>Small distinctions like these barbed the +arrows of contrast and comparison and +kept the disadvantages of neighborhood +ever present.</p> + +<p>Then, it was a constant annoyance to +have their surnames so much alike. Matters +were made more unpleasant by mistakes +of the butcher, the grocer, and so +on,—Gilton, 79 Holmes Avenue, was so +much like Bilton, 77 Holmes Avenue. +Gilton changed his butcher every time +he sent his dinner to Bilton; and though +the mistakes were generally rectified, neither +of the two families ever forgot the time +the Biltons ate, positively ate, the Gilton +dinner, under a misapprehension. Mrs. +Bilton apologized, and Mrs. Gilton boldly +told her husband that she was glad they'd<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> +had it, and she hoped they'd enjoyed it, +which only made matters worse; and altogether +it was a dark day, the only joy of +it being that fearful one snatched by John, +Walter, Susan, Fanny, and Cora Cordelia +from the undoubted excellence of the roast.</p> + +<p>Of course there was an assortment of +minor difficulties. The smoke from the +Biltons' kitchen blew in through the windows +of the Giltons' sitting-room when the +wind was in one direction, and, when it was +in the other, many of the clothes from the +Giltons' clothesline were blown into the +Biltons' yard, and Fanny, Susan, or Cora +Cordelia had to be sent out to pick them +up and drop them over the fence again, +which Mrs. Bilton said was very wearing, +as of course it must have been. Things +like this were always happening, but +matters reached a climax when it came +to the dog. It wasn't a large dog, but +it was a tiresome one. It got up early +in the morning and barked. Now we all +know that early rising is a good thing and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> +honorable among all men, but it is something +that ought to be done quietly, out of +regard to the weaker vessels; and a dog +that barks between five and seven in the +morning, continuously, certainly ought to +be suppressed, even if it be necessary to +use force. Everybody agreed with the +Biltons about that,—everybody except +the Giltons themselves, who, by some one +of nature's freaks, didn't mind it. Mrs. +Bilton often said she wished Mrs. Gilton +could be a light sleeper for a week and +see what it was like. So, too, everybody +thought that Mr. Bilton had right on his +side when he complained that this same +dog came into his yard, being apparently +indifferent to any coolness between the +estate owners, and ran over a bed of +geraniums and one thing and another, that +was the small Bilton offset to the Gilton +bench and ball. But when one morning, +for the first time, that dog remained quiet +and restful, and was found cold and poisoned, +and Mr. Gilton was loud in his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> +accusations of the Bilton boys and their +father, public opinion wavered for a +moment. After that accident, no member +of either family spoke to any member +of the other. That was the way matters +stood the day before Christmas.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It was snowing hard, and the afternoon +grew dark rapidly, and the whirling flakes +pursued a blinding career. In spite of +that, everybody was out doing the last +thing. Mrs. Gilton was not, to be sure. +Of course they would have a big dinner, +but even that was all arranged for, although +the turkey hadn't come and her +husband was going to stop and see about +it on his way home. She shuddered as +the possibility of its having gone to the +Biltons occurred to her. But she didn't +believe it had,—they hadn't the same +butcher any longer. Meanwhile there +was so little to do. It was too dark to +read or sew, and she sat idly at the window +looking out at the passers and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> +driving snow. Everybody else was in a +hurry. She wished she, too, had occasion +to hasten down for a last purchase, or to +light the lamp in order to finish a last bit +of dainty sewing, as she used to do when +she was a girl. She seemed to have so +few friends now with whom she exchanged +Christmas greetings. Was it then only +for children and youth, this Christmas +cheer? And must she necessarily have +left it behind her with her girlhood? No, +she knew better than that. She felt that +there was a deeper significance in the +Christmas-tide than can come home to +the hearts of children and unthoughtfulness, +and yet it had grown to be so painfully +like other days,—an occasion for a little +bigger dinner, that was about all. With +an unconscious sigh she looked across to +the Bilton house. Plenty of people over +there to make merry. Five stockings to +hang up. She wished she might have sent +something in. To be sure, there was the +dog, but that was some time ago. Very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> +likely the dog would have been dead now, +anyhow. She felt, herself, that this logic +was not irrefutable, but she wished she +could have sent some paper parcels just +the same. So strong had this impulse +been that she had said to her husband +somewhat timidly that morning,—</p> + +<p>"There are a good many of those +Bilton children to get presents for."</p> + +<p>"More fools they that get 'em presents, +then," he had pleasantly replied.</p> + +<p>"I don't suppose he has much to buy +them with," she continued.</p> + +<p>"He had enough to buy poison for my +dog," exclaimed her husband, giving his +newspaper an angry shake.</p> + +<p>"I'd almost like to send them in some +cheap little toys."</p> + +<p>"Well, as long as you don't quite like +to, it won't do any harm," he said with +some violence, laying down his newspaper, +and looking at her in a manner not to be +misunderstood. "But you see that the +liking doesn't get any farther."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's Christmas, you know," said his +plucky wife.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, I don't know it!" he replied +gruffly. "I haven't fallen over forty +children a minute in the street with their +ridiculous parcels, and I haven't had +women drop brown-paper bundles that +come undone all over me when they +crowd into the horse car, and I haven't +found it impossible to get to the shirt-collar +counter on account of Christmas +novelties! Oh, no, I didn't know it +was Christmas!"</p> + +<p>After that there was really not much to +be said, for we all know Christmas is +dreadfully annoying, and the last thing a +man in this sort of temper wants to hear +about is peace and good will.</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding the fact that Mrs. +Gilton looked over to her neighbors' with +an envious feeling this dark afternoon, +their Christmas cheer was not so abounding +as it had been in more prosperous +times. There was not very much money<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +to be spent this year, and they were +obliged to give up something. Mr. and +Mrs. Bilton had decided that it should +be the Christmas dinner; they would +have a simple luncheon, and let all the +money that could be spared go for the +stockings. Each child had its own sum +to invest for others, and there was still +a small amount for the older members +of the family. That it was a small +amount Mrs. Bilton felt strongly, as +she went from shop to shop. But when +she reached home again she was somewhat +encouraged; there was such an air +of joyous expectation in the house, and +her purchases looked larger now that +they were away from the glittering counters. +Then each of the five children +came to her separately and confided to her +the nothing less than wonderful results of +judicious bargaining which had enabled +them to buy useful and beautiful presents +for each of the others out of the sums +intrusted to their care, ranging in amount<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +from the two dollars of John to the fifty +cents of Cora Cordelia. She felt sure +that there were further secrets yet; secrets +attended by brown paper and string, +which she had taken the greatest care for +the last two weeks not heedlessly to expose,—riddles +of which the solution lay +perilously near her eyes, which would be +revealed to her astonished gaze the next +morning.</p> + +<p>She had reason to believe that even +Cora Cordelia was making something for +her, and though it was difficult for her to +ignore the fact that it was a knit washcloth, +she had hitherto avoided absolute +certainty on the subject. So that altogether +it was a pretty cheerful afternoon +at the Biltons'.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, down in the main street +of the city it was a confusing scene. It +was darker there than where the streets +were more open; and although there were +several daring spirits of that adventurous +turn of mind which leads people into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +byways of discovery, who asserted that +the street lamps were lighted, it was +not generally believed. The snow was +blowing down and up and across, and +getting more and more unmanageable +under the feet of foot passengers every +moment. It was cold and windy and +blinding and crowded, and a good many +other disconcerting things, all of which +Mr. Gilton felt the full force of as he +stood on the corner where he had just +bought his turkey. It was a fine turkey, +and had been a good bargain, and though +he had to carry it home himself, there was +nothing derogatory in that. If it had been +anybody else he would have been thrilled +with a glow of satisfaction, but Mr. Gilton +was long past glows of satisfaction—it +was years since he had permitted himself +to have such things.</p> + +<p>"Jour—our—nal! fi-i-i-ve cents!" +screamed an intermittent newsboy in his +ear.</p> + +<p>"Get out!" replied Mr. Gilton, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +uncompromising nature of his language +being intensified by the fact that he +jumped nearly two feet from the suddenness +of the newsboy's attack. Even the +newsboy, inured to the short words of an +unfriendly world, and usually quite indifferent +thereto, was impressed by the asperity +of the suggestion and moved somewhat +hastily on. Possibly his cold, wet little +existence had been rendered morbidly susceptible +by the general good feeling of the +hour, one lady having even spontaneously +given him five cents.</p> + +<p>After this exchange of amenities Mr. +Gilton stepped into his horse car. It +was crowded, of course, as horse cars +that are small and run once in half an +hour are apt to be, and he had to stand +up, and the turkey legs stuck out of +the brown paper in a very conspicuous +way. If Mr. Gilton had been anybody +else he would have been chaffed about his +turkey, because to make up for the conveniences +that the horse car line did not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +furnish the public, the large-hearted public +furnished the horse car line with an unusual +amount of friendliness. There was +almost always something going on in these +horse cars. Their social privileges were +quite a feature. To-night they were in +unusual force on account of the season. +But nobody said anything to Mr. Gilton. +Only when he jerked the bell and stepped +off, one stout man with his overcoat collar +turned up to his ears said, without turning +his head:—</p> + +<p>"I supposed of course he was going to +give the turkey to the conductor."</p> + +<p>Everybody laughed in that end of the +car except one small old lady in the corner, +who was a stranger and visiting, and who +was left with the impression that the gentleman +who got off must be a very kind +man. It was darker and blowier and +snowier than when he had left the corner, +and Mr. Gilton floundered through the +unbroken drifts up the little path to the +door with increasing grudges in his heart<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +against the difficulties of Christmas. The +lock was off, and he went in slamming +the door after him. There was no light +in the hall, and he murmured loudly +against the inconvenience.</p> + +<p>"Confound it!" he said, "why didn't +they light the gas? I'm not one of those +confounded Biltons; I can afford to pay +for what I don't get;" and, without pausing +to take off his hat and coat, he strode +to the sitting-room door and flung it open. +That was an awful moment. The sudden +change from the cold and darkness almost +blinded him, and confirmed the impression +that he was the victim of an illusion. The +sound of many voices, and then the hush +of sudden consternation, was in his ears. +There was a lamp and there was a fire, +and there between them sat Mr. Bilton on +one side and Mrs. Bilton on the other, +and round about, in various unconventional +attitudes, sat four Bilton children. And +there in the very midst of them, in his +heavy overcoat, with snow melting on his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +hat, his beard, and his shoulders, stood +Mr. Gilton. The unexpected scene, the +amazed faces gazing into his, rendered +him speechless; he wondered vaguely if +he were losing his reason. Then, in a +flush of enlightenment, he realized what +had happened; thanks to the storm outside, +he had come into the wrong house. Naturally +his first impulse was towards flight, +but as his bewildered gaze slipped about +the room it fell upon five stockings hung +against the mantelpiece, and stayed there +fascinated. Five foolish, limp, expressionless +stockings,—it was long since he had +seen such an unreasonable spectacle. Then +he recollected himself and looked around +him. Perhaps even then, if he had made +a dash for the door, he might have escaped +and matters have been none the +worse. But in that instant of hesitation +caused by the sudden sight of those five +stockings something dreadful occurred. It +must be premised that Cora Cordelia did +not know Mr. Gilton very well by sight,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +being in the first place small and not noticing, +and in the second, filled with an +unreasoning fear that caused her to flee +whenever she had seen him approach. This +is the only excuse for what she did; for +while her mother was feebly murmuring, +as if in extenuation, "We thought it was +John coming in," Cora Cordelia clasped +her hands in delirious delight, and cried +aloud, "It's Santa Claus! Oh, it's Santa +Claus!" Could anything more awful +happen to a cross man, a very cross man, +than to be taken for Santa Claus!</p> + +<p>Mr. Gilton looked at Cora Cordelia, +and wondered why she had not been +slaughtered in her cradle.</p> + +<p>"And," exclaimed Susan Bilton, with +sudden communicative fervor, "he has +come and brought us a turkey for to-morrow's +dinner!"</p> + +<p>The truth was that Susan had been +coming to the age that is sceptical about +Santa Claus, but she could not resist this +sudden appearance.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> + +<p>No one could appreciate the nonsense +of the whole situation better than Mr. +Gilton; and yet, strangely enough, together +with his annoyance was mingled a touch +of the strange feeling that had dawned +upon him first when he saw the stockings. +To be sure, it only added to his annoyance, +but it was there. By this time—it +was really a very short time—Mrs. Bilton +had recovered herself and risen, and +Mr. Bilton had risen too.</p> + +<p>"Hush, children; it is not Santa Claus," +she said, "it is Mr. Gilton. We are glad +to see you, Mr. Gilton;" and she held +out her hand to him. "Won't you sit +down?" She felt that he had come in +the Christmas spirit, and she was anxious +to meet him half-way.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said her husband, coming forward, +and instantly taking his cue from his +wife,—for he was really a very nice man,—"we +are very glad." To be sure, in +his manner there was a certain stiffness, +for a man cannot always change completely<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> +in a moment, as a woman can; +but Mr. Gilton was too perplexed to notice +this. In the incomprehensible way +that one's mind has of clinging to unimportant +things at great crises, while he was +fuming with rage and bothered with this +strange feeling which was not precisely +rage, he was wondering how in the world +he was going to sit down with that ridiculous +turkey, with its ridiculous legs, in his +arms, and not look more absurd than he +did now. In this moment of absentmindedness +he had mechanically taken +Mrs. Bilton's hand and shaken it, and +after that of course there was nothing to +do except to shake Mr. Bilton's. Then +he began to know it was all up. He had +not spoken yet, but now he made a frantic +effort to save what might be left besides +honor. "I came—" he began, "I came—came +to your house—" There he +paused a moment, and that unlucky child +with that tendency to be possessed by one +idea, which is characteristic of small and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +trivial minds, and for which she should +have been shaken, burst in with, "And +did the reindeer bring you, and are they +outside?"</p> + +<p>He almost groaned, so overwhelmed +was he by this new idiocy. Reindeer! +If those overworked, struggling car-horses +could have heard that! Then Mrs. +Bilton, pitying his evident confusion, +came to his assistance.</p> + +<p>"Don't mind the children, Mr. Gilton," +she said, her cheeks flushing, and looking +very pretty with the excitement of the +unusual circumstances, "we are glad you +came, however you made your way here. +I think we may thank Christmas Eve for +it. Now do take off your overcoat and sit +down."</p> + +<p>Oh, mispraised woman's tact! What +complications you may produce! That +finished it, of course. He sat down. In +those few moments that strange feeling +had grown marvellously stronger. It +seemed to be made up of the most diverse<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +elements,—a mixture of green wreaths and +his own childhood, and his mother, and a +top he had not thought of for years, and +the wide fireplace at home, and a stable +with a child in it, and a picture, in a book +he used to read, of a lot of angels in the +sky, one particular one in the middle, and +underneath it some words—what were +the words? He'd forgotten they had anything +to do with Christmas, anyway.</p> + +<p>"But you <i>did</i> bring us the turkey, didn't +you?" said Cora Cordelia, helping her +mother on.</p> + +<p>To do the child justice,—for even Cora +Cordelia has a right to demand justice,—her +manners were corrupted by Christmas +expectancy.</p> + +<p>"Cora Cordelia, I'm ashamed of you," +said Mrs. Bilton.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mr. Gilton, the words +wrung from his lips, while beads stood on +his forehead,—"yes, I brought you the +turkey."</p> + +<p>"Did you really?" exclaimed Mrs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +Bilton, who thought he had all the time. +"That was very kind of you."</p> + +<p>"Will you please take it—take it +away?" he said, with that wish to have +something over which we associate with +the dentist. So Mrs. Bilton took the turkey +and thanked him, and gave it to Fanny, +who carried it out to the kitchen, and Mr. +Gilton gave one last look at its legs as it +went through the door, feeling that now +he must wake up from this nightmare. +But things only went farther and became +more incredible and upsetting, only that, +strangely enough, that feeling of horror +began to wear off, and that singular strain +of association with all sorts of Christmas +things to grow stronger. He himself could +hardly believe that it was no worse, when +he found himself seated by the littered +table, with Mrs. Bilton near and Mr. +Bilton over by the fire again, listening to +first one and then the other, and occasionally +letting fall a word himself, his conversational +powers seeming to thaw out along<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +with the snow on his greatcoat. These +words themselves were a surprise to him. +He was quite sure that he started them +with a creditable gruffness, but the Christmas +air mellowed them in a highly unsatisfactory +fashion, so that they fell on his +own ears quite otherwise than as he had +meant they should sound. Moreover the +general tenor of the conversation was exceedingly +perplexing. It was all about +how fine it was of him to come this +evening, and how they had often regretted +the hard feeling, and how things always +did get exaggerated. Of course he would +not have believed a word of it, if he had +been able to get any grip on the situation, +but he wasn't, and he just went on assenting +to it all as if it were true. There +came a time when Mr. Bilton cleared his +throat, hesitated a moment, and then said +boldly,—</p> + +<p>"I think I ought to tell you, Mr. Gilton, +that I had nothing whatever to do with the +death of your dog." Mr. Gilton felt the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +ground slipping away from under his very +feet. That dog had been his piece of +resistance, as it were. "I wouldn't have +poisoned him," went on Mr. Bilton, "for +a hundred dollars. But," he added, with +a queer little smile, "I wasn't going to +tell you so, you know."</p> + +<p>"Of course you wasn't," exclaimed +Mr. Gilton, hurriedly, with a touch of that +unholy excitement that a lapse from grammar +imparts.</p> + +<p>"We wouldn't any of us," asserted +Walter.</p> + +<p>"No," said Susan, Fanny, and Cora +Cordelia.</p> + +<p>Then it came out that the whole family +had rather admired the dog than otherwise. +It was here that John did really come in, +his entrance sounding very much as had +Mr. Gilton's. He nearly fell over when +he saw the visitor, but he had time to pull +himself together, for Cora Cordelia had +snatched that moment for showing Mr. +Gilton her gifts for the family, and he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +was bound hand and foot with helplessness. +Then they all came and showed +him their gifts. While he examined them +Mr. and Mrs. Bilton carefully averted +their eyes and gazed hard at the opposite +wall, while Cora Cordelia urged him, in +stage whispers, not to let them suspect. +It was pitiable the state to which he was +reduced. Of course resisting this Christmas +enthusiasm was out of the question. +To be sure it came over him once with +startling force, as she showed him a toy +water-wheel, that went by sand,—which +she had purchased for her father at a +phenomenally low rate because the wheel +could not be made to go,—that Cora Cordelia +was the very child that he had fallen +over as she came hastening out of a toy-shop +with a queerly shaped bundle, the day +before, and so been further imbittered +towards Christmas. Susan had purchased +a cup and ball for her mother, and as she +went out of the room for a moment, insisted +upon Mr. Gilton's trying to do it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> +and see what fun it was. If Mr. Gilton +lives to be a hundred he will never forget +the mingled feelings with which he +awkwardly tried to get that senseless ball +into that idiotic cup. At last he stood +up to go—it was after six o'clock—and +they went with him to the door, +and wished him Merry Christmas, and +sent Merry Christmas to Mrs. Gilton, +and said good-night several times, and he +stumbled on through the snow, this time +towards his own door. It had stopped +snowing as suddenly and quietly as it had +begun, and the stars had come out. He +gazed up at them,—something he very +rarely did. They seemed a part of Christmas. +Just before he turned in at his own +gate, he looked back at the Bilton house +and shook his fist at it, but the expression +on his face was such that the very same +newsboy who had accosted him earlier +failed utterly to recognize him and was +emboldened to offer him a paper. He +too was pushing his way home with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +two papers left, in a somewhat dispirited +way.</p> + +<p>"I'll take 'em both," said this singular +customer. "Here's a quarter—never +mind the change. It's Christmas Eve, I +believe—" and this when he knew perfectly +well that a copy of that very same +journal was waiting for him on his +table. The boy looked at his quarter +and looked again at his customer, and +recognized him, and made up his mind +to buy a couple of hot sausages on the +corner, and went on his way feeling that +there was a new heaven and a new earth. +Mrs. Gilton was standing at the parlor +window, peering out anxiously as he +came up the path. She was in the hall +as he entered.</p> + +<p>"Why, Reuben," she said, "I was afraid +something had happened."</p> + +<p>Goodness gracious! As if something +hadn't happened! He turned away to +hang up his overcoat and tried to speak +crossly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well," he said, "I've lost my turkey. +That's happened."</p> + +<p>"Never mind," said Mrs. Gilton, +quickly; "the other one came later, the +first one, you know—so—so the Biltons +didn't get it this time."</p> + +<p>"They got the second one, though," +said Reuben, hanging up his hat.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear, did they!" said Mrs. Gilton. +Then she went on, "Well, I don't care +if they did, so there! I guess they need +it for their Christmas dinner."</p> + +<p>"No, they don't," said Reuben, turning +around and facing her, "because they +are going to eat part of ours. They are +coming in to-morrow to have dinner with +us,—every one of them!" he asserted +more loudly, on account of the expression +on his wife's face. "Bilton, and his wife, +and all the five children, down to Cora +Cordelia! So we'll have to have something +for them to eat."</p> + +<p>If Mr. Gilton will never forget the cup +and ball, Mrs. Gilton will never forget<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +that moment. She went all over it in her +mind whether she could manage him herself +to-night, or whether to send Bridget +right away then for the doctor, and if she +hadn't better say a policeman too, and +whether he could be kept for the future in +a private house, or would have to be confined +in an asylum. She was inclining +towards the asylum when he, who was +going into the sitting-room before her, +turned round and laughed an odd little +laugh. She began to think then that a +private house would do.</p> + +<p>The next day they all dined together, +which proved that it was not all a Christmas +Eve illusion. There is a report in +the neighborhood that the fence between +the houses is to be taken down to make +room for a tennis court for the Bilton +children, but of course this may not be true. +It would have to be done in the summer, +and if the effect of Christmas could be +depended upon to last into the summer this +would be a very different sort of world.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p> +<h2>After—the Deluge</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>THE sombre tints of Grayhead were +slightly suffused by a pink light +sifting from the west through the clear air. +The yachts in the harbor lay idly beneath +the mellow influences of the passing of +the summer day,—idly as only sailboats +can lie, a bit of loose sail or cordage now +and then flapping inconsistently in a breath +of wind, which seemed to come out of +the west for no other purpose, and to retire +into the east afterward, its whole duty +done. On board, men were moving +about, hanging lanterns, making taut here, +setting free there, all with an air of utter +peace and repose such as is found only on +placid waterways beneath a setting sun. +Occasionally an oar dipped in the still +water, a hint of action, modified, softened<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +into repose. Along one of the quaint +streets of the irregular town, winding +where it would, climbing where it climbed, +hurried an angular figure,—that of a +woman of about fifty years, whose tense +expression suggested an unrest at variance +with the keen calmness of that +of the other faces about the streets and +doorways. Not that it was feverish in +its intensity; rather, it was an expression +of resolution, undeviating and persistent, +but not sure of sympathy or support.</div> + +<p>"They've gone down yonder, t'other +side of the wharf, Mis' Pember," said a +middle-aged sea captain, whose interest in +his kind had not been obliterated by the +forced loneliness of northern voyages.</p> + +<p>The woman paused and glanced doubtfully +down one of the byways that led +between small, weather-beaten houses and +around disconcerting abutments to the +water, and then forward, straight along +the way she had been travelling, which led +out of the town.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'd rather fixed on their going down +Point-ways this evening," she said.</p> + +<p>"Well, they ain't," rejoined Captain +Phippeny, with that absence of mere rhetoric +characteristic of people whose solid +work is done otherwise than by speech.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pember nodded, at once in acknowledgment +and farewell, and, turning +about, followed the path he had indicated, +her gait acquiring a certain precipitancy +as she went down the rough, stony slope. +At the foot of the descent she paused +again, and looked to the right and left. +Captain Phippeny was watching her from +his vantage ground above. His figure +was one unmistakably of the seaboard. +His trousers were of a singular cut, probably +after a pattern evolved in all its +originality by Mrs. Phippeny, her active +imagination working towards practical effect. +In addition, he wore a yellow flannel +shirt ribbed with purple, which would +hopelessly have jaundiced a rose-leaf complexion, +but which, having exhausted its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> +malignancy without producing any particular +effect, ended by gently harmonizing +with the captain's sandy hair, reddish +beard, and tanned skin. His mouth was +like a badly made buttonhole, which gaped +a little when he smiled. He had a nose +like a parrot's beak, and his eyes were +blue, kindly, and wise in their straightforwardness. +When he would render his +costume absolutely <i>de rigueur</i>, he wore a +leathern jacket with manifold pockets, +from one to another of which trailed a +gold watch-chain with a dangling horseshoe +charm.</p> + +<p>"I wonder the old woman don't take a +dog with her and trace 'em out, she spends +so much time on the hunt," he said to himself. +"I declare for't, it's a sing'lar thing +the way she everlastin' does get onto them +'prentices; ain't old enough to talk about +settin' sail by themselves."</p> + +<p>His quid of tobacco again resumed its +claim to his undivided attention, and he +leaned back against the fence and waited<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +as idly as the drooping sails for a breath of +something stirring. By and by it appeared +in the shape of another old sailor, between +whom and himself there was the likeness +of two peas, save for a slight discrepancy +of feature useful for purposes of identification.</p> + +<p>"You told her where they'd gone, +I reckon," he remarked, with a slight +chuckle, as he too leaned up against the +fence and looked out over the harbor.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I did," replied Captain Phippeny. +"I didn't have no call to tell her a lie."</p> + +<p>"Kinder hard on the young uns," observed +the new-comer.</p> + +<p>"They ain't ever anythin' as hard on +the young uns as on the old uns," asserted +Captain Phippeny, "because—well, because +they're <i>young</i>, I guess. That's +Chivy's yacht that came in just at sundown, +ain't it?"</p> + +<p>"Yare. They say she's seen dirty +weather since she was here last."</p> + +<p>"Has? Well, you can't stay in harbor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +allers, and git your livin' at the same time. +She's got toler'ble good men to handle +her."</p> + +<p>There was a pause. The soft twilight +was battening down the hatches of the +day, to drop into the parlance of the +locality.</p> + +<p>"Well, I do suppose old Pember warn't +an easy shipmate, blow or no blow," observed +Captain Smart. He was a small, +keen-eyed, quickly moving old man, seasoned +with salt.</p> + +<p>"I reckon he warn't. And she thinks +she can keep that girl of hers out of the +same kind of discipline that she had to +take,—that's the truth of it."</p> + +<p>"Cur'ous, ain't it?" ruminated Captain +Smart. "A woman's bound to take it one +way or 'nother; there seems to be more +sorts of belayin' pins to knock 'em over +with than they, any on 'em, kinder cal'late +on at first."</p> + +<p>"So there be," assented Captain Phippeny.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p> + +<p>Near the water, with its fading, rose-colored +reflections, not so far from the +anchored vessels but they might, had they +chosen, have spoken across to those on +board, the monotonous, austere, and yet +vaguely soft gray of the old town rising +behind them against the melting sky, sat +Mellony Pember and Ira Baldwin.</p> + +<p>"If you'd only make up your mind, +Mellony," urged the young man.</p> + +<p>"I can't, Ira; don't ask me." The +young girl's face, which was delicate in +outline, was troubled, and the sensitive +curves of her lips trembled. The faded +blue of her dress harmonized with the +soft tones of the scene; her hat lay beside +her, an uncurled, articulated ostrich feather +standing up in it like an exclamation point +of brilliant red.</p> + +<p>The young man pulled his hat over his +eyes and looked over to the nearest boat. +Mellony glanced at him timidly.</p> + +<p>"You see, I'm all she's got," she +said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I ain't goin' to take you away from +her, unless you want to go," he replied, +without looking at her.</p> + +<p>"She thinks I'll be happier if I don't—if +I don't marry."</p> + +<p>"Happier!"—he paused in scorn—"and +she badgerin' you all the time if you +take a walk with me, and watchin' us as +if we were thieves! You ain't happy +now, are you?"</p> + +<p>"No." Mellony's eyes filled, and a +sigh caught and became almost a sob.</p> + +<p>"Well, I wish she'd give me a try at +makin' you happy, that's all." His +would-be sulkiness softened into a tender +sense of injury. Mellony twisted her +hands together, and looked over beyond +the vessels to the long, narrow neck of +land with its clustering houses, beyond +which again, unseen, were booming the +waves of the Atlantic.</p> + +<p>"Oh, if I only knew what to do!" +she exclaimed,—"if I only knew what +to do!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what to do, Mellony," +he began.</p> + +<p>"There's ma, now," she interrupted.</p> + +<p>Ira turned quickly and looked over his +shoulder. Across the uneven ground, +straight towards them, came the figure +of Mrs. Pember. The tenseness of her +expression had further yielded to resolution, +which had in turn taken on a stolidity +which declared itself unassailable. +No one of the three spoke as she seated +herself on a bit of timber near them, +and, folding her hands, waited with the +immobility and the apparent impartiality +of Fate itself. At last Mellony spoke, +for of the three she was the most +acutely sensitive to the situation, and the +least capable of enduring it silently.</p> + +<p>"Which way did you come, ma?" she +asked.</p> + +<p>"I come down Rosaly's Lane," Mrs. +Pember answered. "I met Cap'n Phippeny, +and he told me you was down +here."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm obligated to Cap'n Phippeny," +observed Ira, bitterly.</p> + +<p>"I dono as he's partickler to have +you," remarked Mrs. Pember, imperturbably.</p> + +<p>There was another silence. Mrs. +Pember's voice had a marked sweetness +when she spoke to her daughter, which +it lost entirely when she addressed her +daughter's companion, but always it was +penetrated by the timbre of a certain +inflexibility.</p> + +<p>The shadows grew deeper on the water, +the glow-worms of lanterns glimmered +more sharply, and the softness of the +night grew more palpable.</p> + +<p>"I guess I may as well go back, ma," +said Mellony, rising.</p> + +<p>"I was wonderin' when you cal'lated +on going," remarked her mother, as +she rose too, more slowly and stiffly, +and straightened her decent black +bonnet.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you was afraid Mellony<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +wouldn't get back safe without you came +after her," broke out Ira.</p> + +<p>"I guess I can look after Mellony +better than anybody else can, and I count +on doing it, and doing it right along," she +replied.</p> + +<p>"Come, ma," said Mellony, impatiently; +but she waited a moment and +let her mother pass her, while she looked +back at Ira, who stood, angry and helpless, +kicking at the rusted timbers.</p> + +<p>"Are you coming, too, Ira?" she +asked in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"No," he exclaimed, "I ain't coming! +I don't want to go along back with your +mother and you, as if we weren't old +enough to be out by ourselves. I might +as well be handcuffed, and so might you! +If you'll come round with me the way we +came, and let her go the way she came, +I'll go with you fast enough."</p> + +<p>Mellony's eyes grew wet again, as +she looked from him to her mother, and +again at him. Mrs. Pember had paused,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> +also, and stood a little in advance of them. +Her stolidity showed no anxiety; she was +too sure of the result.</p> + +<p>"No,"—Mellony's lips framed the +words with an accustomed but grievous +patience,—"I can't to-night, Ira; I +must go with ma."</p> + +<p>"It's to-night that'll be the last chance +there'll be, maybe," he muttered, as he +flung himself off in the other direction.</p> + +<p>The two women walked together up +the rough ascent, and turned into Rosaly's +Lane. Mellony walked wearily, her eyes +down, the red feather, in its uncurled, unlovely +assertiveness, looking more like the +oriflamme of a forlorn hope than ever. +But Mrs. Pember held herself erect, and +as if she were obliged carefully to repress +what might have been the signs of an ill-judged +triumph.</p> + +<p>Ira prolonged his walk beyond the limits +of the little gray town, goaded by the irritating +pricks of resentment. He would +bear it no longer, so he told himself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +Mellony could take him or leave him. +He would be a laughing-stock not another +week, not another day. If Mellony +would not assert herself against her tyrannical +old mother, he would go away and +leave her! And then he paused, as he had +paused so often in the flood of his anger, +faced by the realization that this was just +what Mrs. Pember wanted, just what +would satisfy her, what she had been +waiting for,—that he should go away +and leave Mellony alone. It was an exasperating +dilemma, his abdication and her +triumph, or his uncertainty and her anxiety.</p> + +<p>Mellony and her mother passed Captain +Phippeny and Captain Smart, who still +stood talking in the summer evening, the +fence continuing to supply all the support +their stalwart frames needed in this their +hour of ease. Captain Smart nudged +Captain Phippeny as the two figures +turned the corner of Rosaly's Lane.</p> + +<p>"So you found 'em, Mis' Pember," +remarked Captain Phippeny. He spoke<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> +to the mother, but he looked, not without +sympathy at the daughter.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I found 'em."</p> + +<p>"You reckoned on fetchin' only one of +'em home, I take it," said Captain Smart.</p> + +<p>"I ain't responsible but for one of +'em," replied Mrs. Pember with some +grimness, but with her eyes averted from +Mellony's crimsoning face.</p> + +<p>"Come, ma," said Mellony again, and +they passed on.</p> + +<p>"Mis' Pember is likely enough lookin' +woman herself," observed Captain Smart; +"it's kind of cur'ous she should be so set +agen marryin,' just <i>as</i> marryin'."</p> + +<p>"'Tis so," assented Captain Phippeny, +thoughtfully, looking after the two women.</p> + +<p>Without speaking, Mellony and her +mother entered the little house where they +lived, and the young girl sank down in the +stiff, high-backed rocker, with its thin +calico-covered cushion tied with red braid, +that stood by the window. Outside, the +summer night buzzed and hummed, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +breathed sweet odors. Mrs. Pember moved +about the room, slightly altering its arrangements, +now and then looking at her daughter +half furtively, as if waiting for her to +speak; but Mellony's head was not turned +from the open window, and she was utterly +silent. At last this immobility had a sympathetic +effect upon the mother, and she +seated herself not far from the girl, her +hands, with their prominent knuckles and +shrunken flesh, folded in unaccustomed +idleness, and waited, while in the room dusk +grew to dark. To Mellony the hour was +filled with suggestions that emphasized +and defined her misery. In her not turbulent +or passionate nature, the acme of +its capacity for emotional suffering had been +reached. Hitherto this suffering had been +of the perplexed, patient, submissive kind; +to-night, the beauty of the softly descending +gloom, the gentle freedom of the placid +harbor, the revolt of her usually yielding +lover, deepened it into something more +acute.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mellony," said her mother, with a +touch of that timidity which appeared only +in her speech with her daughter, "did you +count on going over to the Neck to-morrow, +as you promised?"</p> + +<p>"I'll never count on doing anything +again," said Mellony, in a voice she tried +to make cold and even, but which vibrated +notwithstanding,—"never, so long as I +live. I'll never think, or plan, or—or +speak, if I can help it—of what I mean +to do. I'll never do anything but just +work and shut my eyes and—and live, if +I've got to!" Her voice broke, and she +turned her head away from the open window +and looked straight before her into the +shadowed room. Her mother moved uneasily, +and her knotted hands grasped the +arms of the stiff chair in which she sat.</p> + +<p>"Mellony," she said again, "you've no +call to talk so."</p> + +<p>"I've no call to talk at all. I've no +place anywhere. I'm not anybody. I +haven't any life of my own." The keen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> +brutality of the thoughtlessness of youth, +and its ignoring of all claims but those of +its own happiness, came oddly from the +lips of submissive Mellony. Mrs. Pember +quivered under it.</p> + +<p>"You know you're my girl, Mellony," +she answered gently. "You're all I've +got."</p> + +<p>"Yes," the other answered indifferently, +"that's all I am,—Mellony Pember, Mrs. Pember's +girl,—just that."</p> + +<p>"Ain't that enough? Ain't that something +to be,—all I plan for and work +for? Ain't that enough for a girl to be?"</p> + +<p>Mellony turned her eyes from emptiness, +and fixed them upon her mother's +face, dimly outlined in the vagueness.</p> + +<p>"Is that all you've been," she asked, +"just somebody's daughter?"</p> + +<p>It was as if a heavy weight fell from +her lips and settled upon her mother's +heart. There was a silence. Mellony's +eyes, though she could not see them, +seemed to Mrs. Pember to demand an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> +answer in an imperative fashion unlike +their usual mildness.</p> + +<p>"It's because I've been,—it's because +I'd save you from what I have been that +I—do as I do. You know that," she +said.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to be saved," returned +the other, quickly and sharply.</p> + +<p>The older woman was faced by a situation +she had never dreamed of,—a +demand to be allowed to suffer! The +guardian had not expected this from her +carefully shielded charge.</p> + +<p>"I want you to have a happy life," she +added.</p> + +<p>"A happy life!" flashed the girl. "And +you're keeping me from any life at all! +That's what I want,—life, my own life, +not what anybody else gives me of theirs. +Why shouldn't I have what they have, +even if it's bad now and then? Don't +save me in spite of myself! Nobody likes +to be saved in spite of themselves."</p> + +<p>It was a long speech for Mellony. A<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> +large moon had risen, and from the low +horizon sent golden shafts of light almost +into the room; it was as if the placidity +of the night were suddenly penetrated by +something more glowing. Mellony stood +looking down at her mother, like a judge. +Mrs. Pember gazed at her steadily.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to save you, Mellony," +she said, her indomitable will making her +voice harsher than it had been, "whether +you want to be saved or not. I'm not +going to have you marry, and be sworn at +and cuffed." Mellony moved to protest, +but her strength was futility beside her +mother's at a time like this. "I'm not +going to have you slave and grub, and get +blows for your pains. I'm going to follow +you about and set wherever you be, +whenever you go off with Ira Baldwin, if +that'll stop it; and if that won't, I'll try +some other way,—I know other ways. +I'm not going to have you marry! I'm +going to have you stay along with me!"</p> + +<p>With a slight gesture of despair, Mellony<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> +turned away. The flash had burned +itself out. The stronger nature had reasserted +itself. Silently, feeling her helplessness, +frightened at her own rebellion +now that it was over, she went out of the +room to her own smaller one, and closed +the door.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pember sat silent in her turn, reviewing +her daughter's resentment, but +the matter admitted no modifications in +her mind; her duty was clear, and her +determination had been taken long ago. +Neither did she fear anything like persistent +opposition; she knew her daughter's +submissive nature well.</p> + +<p>Brought up in a country village, an earnest +and somewhat apprehensive member +of the church, Mrs. Pember had married +the captain early in life, under what she +had since grown to consider a systematic +illusion conceived and maintained by the +Evil One, but which was, perhaps, more +logically due to the disconcerting good +looks and decorously restrained impetuosity<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> +of Captain Pember himself. Possibly he +had been the victim of an illusion too, not +believing that austerity of principle could +exist with such bright eyes and red cheeks +as charmed him in the country girl. At +least, he never hesitated subsequently, not +only to imply, but to state baldly, a sense +of the existence of injury. Captain Phippeny +was one of those sailors whom the +change of scene, the wide knowledge of +men and of things, the hardships and dangers +of a sea life, broaden and render tolerant +and somewhat wise. Pember had +been brutalized by these same things.</p> + +<p>The inhabitants of Grayhead were distinguished +by the breadth and suggestiveness +of their profanity, and Captain Pember +had been a past master of the accomplishment. +Praise from Sir Hubert Stanley +could have been no more discriminating +than the local acknowledgment of his +proficiency in this line. No wonder Mrs. +Pember looked back at the ten years of +her married life with a shudder. With<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +the rigid training of her somewhat dogmatic +communion still potent, she listened +in a horrified expectancy, rather actual +than figurative, for the heavens to strike +or the earth to swallow up her nonchalant +husband. Nor was this all. The weakness +for grog, unfortunately supposed to +be inherent in a nautical existence, was +carried by Captain Pember to an extent +inconsiderate even in the eyes of a seafaring +public; and when, under its genial +influence, he knocked his wife down and +tormented Mellony, the opinion of this +same public declared itself on the side of +the victims with a unanimity which is not +always to be counted upon in such cases.</p> + +<p>In fact, her married life had, as it were, +formalized many hitherto somewhat vague +details of Mrs. Pember's conception of the +place of future punishment; and when +her husband died in an appropriate and indecorous +fashion as the result of a brawl, +he continued to mitigate the relief of the +event by leaving in his wife's heart a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +haunting fear, begotten of New England +conscientiousness, that perhaps she ought +not to be so unmistakably glad of it. It +was thus that, with Mellony's growth +from childhood to womanhood, the burning +regret for her former unmarried state, +whose difficulties had been mainly theological, +had become a no less burning resolve +that her child should never suffer as she +had suffered, but should be guarded from +matrimony as from death. That she +failed to distinguish between individuals, +that she failed to see that young Baldwin +was destitute of those traits which her +sharpened vision would now have detected +in Pember's youth, was both the fault of +her perceptive qualities and the fruit of +her impregnable resolve. She had been +hurt by Mellony's rebellion, but not influenced +by so much as a hair's-breadth.</p> + +<p>Early one morning, two or three days +later, Mrs. Pember, lying awake waiting +for the light to grow brighter that she +might begin her day, heard a slight sound<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +outside, of a certain incisiveness out of +proportion to its volume. With an idleness +that visited her only at early day-break, +she wondered what it was. It was +repeated, and this time, moved by an insistent +curiosity blended with the recognition +of its probable cause, she rose and +looked out of the window which was close +to the head of her bed. A little pier was +a stone's throw from the house on that +side, at which were moored several boats +belonging to the fishermen about. It was +as she thought; a stooping figure, dim and +hazy in the morning fog, which blurred +the nearest outlines and veiled the more +distant, was untying one of the boats, and +had slipped the oars into the rowlocks.</p> + +<p>"Going fishing early," she said to herself. +"I wonder which of 'em it is. +They are all alike in this light."</p> + +<p>Then she stood and looked out upon +the morning world. It would soon be +sunrise. Meanwhile, the earth was silent, +save for the soft rippling of the untired<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +waves that scarcely rose and fell in this +sheltered harbor; the land had been at +rest through the short night, but they had +climbed and lapsed again steadily through +its hours; the paling stars would soon +have faded into the haze. The expectation +of the creature waited for the +manifestation.</p> + +<p>Softly the boat floated away from its +moorings. It seemed propelled without +effort, so quietly it slipped through the +water. In the bottom lay the sail and the +nets, a shadowy mass; the boat itself was +little more than a shadow, as it glided on +into the thicker fog which received and +enveloped it, as into an unknown vague +future which concealed and yet held +promise and welcome.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pember glanced at the clock. It +was very early, but to go back to bed +was hardly worth while. The sun was +already beginning to glint through the +fog. She dressed, and, passing softly the +door of the room where Mellony slept,—rather<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> +fitfully of late,—began to make +the fire.</p> + +<p>The morning broadened and blazed +into the day, and the whole town was +making ready for its breakfast. Mellony +was later than usual,—her mother did not +hear her moving about, even; but she +was unwilling to disturb her; she would +wait a while longer before calling her. +At last, however, the conviction of the +immorality of late rising could no longer +be ignored, and she turned the knob of +Mellony's door and stepped into the +room.</p> + +<p>She had been mistaken in supposing +that Mellony was asleep; the girl must +have risen early and slipped out, for the +room was empty, and Mrs. Pember +paused, surprised that she had not heard +her go. It must have been while she was +getting kindling-wood in the yard that +Mellony had left by the street door. And +what could she have wanted so early in +the village?—for to the village she must<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> +have gone; she was nowhere about the +little place, whose flatness dropped, treeless, +to the shore. Her mother went +again to the kitchen, and glanced up and +down the waterside. There was no one +on the little wooden pier, and the boats +swung gently by its side, their own among +them, so Mellony had not gone out in +that. Yes, she must have gone to the +village, and Mrs. Pember opened the front +door and scanned the wandering little +street. It was almost empty; the early +morning activity of the place was in other +directions.</p> + +<p>With the vague uneasiness that unaccustomed +and unexplained absence always +produces, but with no actual apprehension, +Mrs. Pember went back to her work. +Mellony had certain mild whims of her +own, but it was surprising that she should +have left her room in disorder, the bed +unmade; that was not like her studious +neatness. With a certain grimness Mrs. +Pember ate her breakfast alone. Of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +course no harm had come to Mellony, but +where was she? Unacknowledged, the +shadow of Ira Baldwin fell across her +wonder. Had Mellony cared so much for +him that her disappointment had driven +her to something wild and fatal? She did +not ask the question, but her lips grew +white and stiff at the faintest suggestion +of it. Several times she went to the door, +meaning to go out, and up the street to +look for her daughter, but each time something +withheld her. Instead, with that +determination that distinguished her, she +busied herself with trifling duties. It was +quite nine o'clock when she saw Captain +Phippeny coming up the street. She +stood still and watched him approach. +His gait was more rolling than ever, as he +came slowly towards her, and he glanced +furtively ahead at her house, and then +dropped his eyes and pretended not to +have seen her. She grew impatient to +have him reach her, but she only pressed +her lips together and stood the more rigidly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> +still. At last he stood in front of +her doorstone, his hat in his hand. The +yellow shirt and the leathern jacket were +more succinctly audacious than ever, but +doubt and irresolution in every turn of +his blue eyes and line of his weather-beaten +face had taken the place of the +tolerant kindliness.</p> + +<p>"It's a warm mornin', Mis' Pember," +he observed, more disconcerted than ever +by her unsmiling alertness.</p> + +<p>"You came a good ways to tell me +that, Captain Phippeny."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I did. Leastways I didn't," he +responded. "I come to tell you about—about +Mellony."</p> + +<p>"What about Mellony, Captain Phippeny?" +she demanded, pale, but uncompromising. +"What have you got to tell +me about Mellony Pember?" she reiterated +as he paused.</p> + +<p>"Not Mellony Pember," gasped the +captain, a three-cornered smile trying to +make headway against his embarrassment<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +as he recalled the ancient tale of breaking +the news to the Widow Smith; "Mellony +Baldwin."</p> + +<p>"Mellony Baldwin!" repeated Mrs. +Pember, stonily, not yet fully comprehending.</p> + +<p>The captain grew more and more +nervous.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he proceeded, with the haste of +despair, "yes. Mis' Pember, you see Mellony—Mellony's +married."</p> + +<p>"Mellony married!" Strangely enough +she had not thought of that. She grasped +the doorpost for support.</p> + +<p>"Yes, she up and married him," went +on the captain more blithely. "I hardly +thought it of Mellony," he added in not +unpleasurable reflection, "nor yet of Ira."</p> + +<p>"Nor I either." Mrs. Pember's lips +moved with difficulty. Mellony married! +The structure reared with tears and +prayers, the structure of Mellony's happiness, +seemed to crumble before her eyes.</p> + +<p>"And I was to give you this;" and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +from the lining of his hat the captain drew +forth a folded paper.</p> + +<p>"Then you knew about it?" said Mrs. +Pember, in a flash of cold wrath.</p> + +<p>"No, no, I didn't. My daughter's +boy brought this to me, and I was to tell +you they was married. And why they +set the job onto me the Lord he only +knows!" and Captain Phippeny wiped his +heated forehead with feeling; "but that's +all <i>I</i> know."</p> + +<p>Slowly, her fingers trembling, she unfolded +the note.</p> + +<p>"I have married Ira, mother," she read. +"He took me away in a boat early this +morning. It was the only way. I will +come back when you want me. If I am +to be unhappy, I'd rather be unhappy this +way. I can't be unhappy your way any +longer. I'm sorry to go against you, +mother; but it's my life, after all, not +yours,</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Mellony.</span>"<br /> +</div> + +<p>As Mrs. Pember's hands fell to her side +and the note slipped from her fingers, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +daily tragedy of her married life seemed to +pass before her eyes. She saw Captain +Pember reel into the house, she shuddered +at his blasphemy, she felt the sting of the +first blow he had given her, she cowered +as he roughly shook Mellony's little frame +by her childish arm.</p> + +<p>"She'd better be dead!" she murmured. +"I wish she was dead."</p> + +<p>Captain Phippeny pulled himself together. +"No, she hadn't,—no, you +don't, Mis' Pember," he declared stoutly. +"You're making a mistake. You don't +want to see Mellony dead any more'n I +do. She's only got married, when all's +said and done, and there's a sight of folks +gets married and none the worse for it. +Ira Baldwin ain't any great shakes,—I +dono as he is; he's kinder light complected +and soft spoken,—but he ain't a +born fool, and that's a good deal, Mis' +Pember." He paused impressively, but +she did not speak. "And he ain't goin' +to beat Mellony, either; he ain't that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> +sort. I guess Mellony could tackle him, +if it came to that, anyhow. I tell you, +Mis' Pember, there's one thing you don't +take no reckonin' on,—there's a difference +in husbands, there's a ter'ble difference +in 'em!" Mrs. Pember looked at +him vaguely. Why did he go on talking? +Mellony was married. "Mellony's got +one kind, and you—well," he went on, +with cautious delicacy, "somehow you got +another. I tell you it's husbands as +makes the difference to a woman when it +comes to marryin'."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pember stooped, picked up the +note, turned and walked into the living-room +and sat down. She looked about +her with that sense of unreality that visits +us at times. There was the chair in which +Mellony sat the night of her rebellious +outbreak,—Mellony, her daughter, her +married daughter. Other women talked +about their "married daughters" easily +enough, and she had pitied them; now she +would have to talk so, too. She felt unutterably<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> +lonely. Her household, like her +hope, was shattered. She looked up and +saw that Captain Phippeny had followed +her in and was standing before her, turning +his hat in his brown, tattooed hands.</p> + +<p>"Mis' Pember," he said, "I thought, +mebbe, now Mellony was married, you'd +be thinkin' of matrimony yourself agen." +As Mrs. Pember gazed at him dumbly it +seemed as if she must all at once have +become another person. Matrimony had +suddenly become domesticated, as it were. +Her eyes travelled over the horseshoe +charm and the long gold chain, as she listened, +and from pocket to pocket. "And +so I wanted to say that I'd like to have +you think of me, if you was making out +the papers for another v'yage. The first +mate I sailed with, she says to me when +she died, 'You've been a good husband, +Phippeny,' says she. I wouldn't say +anythin' to you, I wouldn't take the resk, +if she hadn't said that to me. Mis' +Pember, and I'm tellin' it to you now<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> +because there's such a difference; and I +feel kinder encouraged by it to ask you +to try me. I'd like to have you marry +me, Mis' Pember."</p> + +<p>It was a long speech, and the captain +was near to suffocation when it was finished, +but he watched her with anxious +keenness as he waited for her to reply. +The stern lines of her mouth relaxed +slowly. A brilliant red geranium in the +window glowed in the sunlight which had +just reached it. The world was not all +dark. The room seemed less lonely with +the captain in it, as she glanced around it +a second time. She scanned his face: the +buttonhole of a mouth had a kindly twist; +he did not look in the least like handsome +Dick Pember. Mellony had married, and +her world was in fragments, and something +must come after.</p> + +<p>"I never heard as you weren't a good +husband to Mis' Phippeny," she said +calmly, "and I dono as anybody'll make any +objection if I marry you, Captain Phippeny."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> +<h2>Memoir of Mary Twining</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>THE other day I spent several hours +in looking over a lot of dusty volumes +which had fallen to me in the way +of inheritance. In the somewhat heterogeneous +collection I came upon a brief +memoir which, after a glance within, I +laid aside as worthy, at least, of perusal. +The other books were of little value of +any sort—an orthodox commentary, an +odd volume of a county history, one or +two cook-books, a worn and broken set +of certain standard British authors,—the +usual assortment to be found in a country +farmhouse, whose occupants soon ceased +to keep up with the times. But this +little book seemed to me unusual,—an +opinion subsequently confirmed by examination. +I had long ago discovered the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +fallacy of that tradition of early youth +that a memoir is, of necessity, dull, and I +was in nowise unfavorably affected by +the title, "Memoir of Mary Twining." +There proved to be something to me singularly +quaint and charming in this little +sketch, something fresh and new in this +voice from bygone years. The subject +of the memoir attracted me powerfully, +both from the simplicity and naturalness +of her own words, and the freedom +and occasional depth of both thought and +expression, in a day when freedom and +thinking for one's self were less the fashion +of New England maidens than they have +since become. Or, it may be that the +Editor, notwithstanding an occasional stiffness +and apparent want of sympathy, +has so well done his work, has understood +so well what to give us and what +to keep from us, that the reader's interest +is skilfully fostered from the start. Be +this as it may, I have not been able to +resist the temptation to write, myself, a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +little of this memoir and its subject, to +make a little wider, if I may, the public who +have been told the story of this life. Not +that it was an exciting or an eventful one, +though lived in stirring times, but as I have +already said, it seems to have a certain +charm which should not be left forgotten +in country garrets or unnoticed in second-hand +bookstores. With no further apology +for this review of it, I shall let the book, +as far as possible, speak for itself.</div> + +<p>Mary Twining was born in Middleport, +Massachusetts, June 27, 1757. +Her father fought with Colonel Washington +in the French and Indian War, and +subsequently under General Washington +in a later disturbance. Her mother was a +granddaughter of one of the early colonial +governors. Mary seems to have come +naturally enough by fine impulses and +good breeding.</p> + +<p>"It is not," says the conscientious +biographer, "from any vain Partiality for +high-sounding names, or any poor Pretense<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> +of good blood, which were most out of +place in this our Republic, made so by the +Genius and enduring Fortitude of all +classes of Men, that I claim for Mary +Twining stately Lineage, but that when +such Accidents fall in the lives of Human +Beings, it is not a thing to make light of, +but worthy of study in its Results. Besides +which is General Washington none +the less a Good Soldier in that he is a +Gentleman."</p> + +<p>I suspect the traditions of a loyal Englishman +had not been wholly eradicated +from the mind of this biographer by a few +years of plebeian institutions. With equal +truth he goes on, however, to say that +what was "of an Importance swallowing +up the Lesser Matter of Lineage and Station, +Richard Twining was an upright and +a God-fearing man, and Mary, his wife, +patterned in all things after the Behaviour +of her godly Ancestor." Either Richard +or Mary, his wife, must have something +"patterned" after a liberal and occasionally<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> +self-willed model, else whence came +the spice of independence in the little +Mary's character? She was an only child, +and only children were probably in the +middle of the eighteenth very much what +they are in the close of the nineteenth +century,—little beings allowed greater liberties, +and burdened with heavier accountabilities, +than where there are more to divide +both. There are several incidents told of +her childhood, not particularly remarkable, +perhaps, but showing that her mind and +her imagination were alive. She was not +by any means a precocious child; her +mind was but little, if at all, in advance of +her years. If one may judge from detached +anecdotes and descriptions, she +showed no more than the receptivity and +quickness natural to a bright and somewhat +unusually clear intellect. Through +all these anecdotes there runs a vein denoting +what is less common in childhood +than a certain precocity,—a keen sense of +justice. She appears to have reasoned of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +many things, usually taken by childhood +for granted, and assented to their results +only if they seemed to her childishness just. +If after life showed her that the affairs of +this life can be but seldom regulated according +to the ideas of finite justice, she never +seems to have lost a certain fairness of +judgment and opinion, which is rare in one +of her sex and circumstances. When five +years old, her mother, wishing her to give +up a pet doll to a little crippled friend, +told her that sympathy should suggest her +doing it; that it was a privilege to make +another happy; that it was selfishness to +prefer her own pleasure of possession to +that of another. But Mary listened unmoved +to these arguments. Nevertheless +the struggle was not a long one. With a +good grace, after a few moments of silence, +she carried the doll to her unfortunate +friend. "Mamma," she said soberly, +"she shall have it, for it is right that she +should. I feel it. I shall have many +things that she can never have."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> + +<p>For the logic of five years it was no +small thing to have settled this question in +this way. It would take too much time +and too much space to dwell on the anecdotes +of her childhood. Indeed, the +biographer does not linger on them long +himself.</p> + +<p>"It is meet," he says, "to speak of +these early Years, not from a desire to +show that there was aught in the Childhood +of Mary Twining remarkable or +unnatural, that should be the Cause of +Wonder or Admiration. But the rather +that there may be evinced the Presence, +even in the Germ, of certain Qualities of +Soundness of Judgment and of Thoughtfulness +unusual in a Female, which grew +with her Growth, and which were in later +Years, developed into stronger Traits by +no unnatural means."</p> + +<p>In 1773 she was sent away to a school +in which she remained three years, varied +by occasional visits at home. She made +several friends here, and here, for the first<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> +time, kept a methodical and somewhat +extended diary. From this diary her biographer +makes copious extracts. In fact, +from this period the memoir is chiefly made +up from her several journals, in whose continuity +there are now and then large gaps, +with occasional notes. I shall make less +copious extracts, principally those bearing +upon that matter of which we always, +more or less consciously, seek traces in +the lives of individuals, distinguished or +obscure, the love story. But first for her +school life, into which few whispers of +sentiment penetrated. It was no fashionable +boarding-school to which she was sent, +attended by young ladies whose dreams of +what they will soon be doing in society +monopolize the hours nominally devoted +to literature and the sciences. An old +friend of her mother opened her house to +a few representatives of those families with +whom she was acquainted, where, under +the best teachers the country afforded, they +were trained in such acquirements as were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +prescribed by the canons of the day. On +the fifteenth of September she says:—</p> + +<p>"I have been something more than a +week at the good School which my kind +Parents have chosen for me. There seems, +after all, to be little doing here. The few +exercises in Mathematics, and the selections +from the works of the most Highly +Endowed of the Authors of England appear +to me to be the most Profitable. As +for the matter of Embroidery, I worked +with Patience, ten years ago, a Sampler +which was not considered discreditable, and +it seems to me that of the multiplying of +Stitches there is no end, and it were, perhaps, +as well to go no farther. My daily +Practice on the Spinet, may, perhaps, be +the means of giving Pleasure at some +Future Time, but it is the Occasion of but +little Benefit in the Present, and of the +Future can we be never certain."</p> + +<p>The question of profitableness of a good +many of her employments was often in her +mind during these three years. She cannot<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +help feeling that there are times when +it is hard to contentedly fold the hands +over even the worsted marvels of a "not +discreditable" sampler. A year later, she +says again:—</p> + +<p>"More Practice and more Embroidery +this afternoon. There are those of my +Companions who ask nothing better than +such unvarying Exercises. In them they +find room for the employing of their Imagination +and their Spirit. I wonder if it be +so great a Fault in me, that I find them +wearying. It is not that they are in themselves +so distasteful, as it is that there +seemeth much work waiting to be done, +which a woman's Hands might well do, +were it not reckoned somewhat unseemly."</p> + +<p>"Her's was a somewhat restless Soul," +says her biographer, "perplexing itself with +Questions which it was not for her to +answer."</p> + +<p>Yes, with questions with which many a +restless woman's soul has since perplexed +itself, and which are now only beginning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +to attain solution. It is pleasant to find, +in these early times, when we fancy New +England maidens well content with their +spinning and bread-making, hints that there +were enterprising spirits who thought the +prescribed round a too narrow one.</p> + +<p>She finds some fault with one of her +teachers for being too lenient with her.</p> + +<p>"I received no Reproof," she says, +"to-day when I most Richly deserved +it. A Disturbance in the Hour for Study +was entirely of my own making, but the +Person who is Master at that Hour refused, +with Persistence, to see it. I made +it most evident, but he remarked, with a +frown for a less Offender, that he should +hold Mistress Twining excused. I shall +find Occasion to address him on this Subject, +for if I receive due Credit for that +which I do that is Well Done, I shall show +no unwillingness to bear the Brunt of my +Superior's Displeasure for what is Ill Done. +Moreover, I will not have it otherwise."</p> + +<p>"It were better," is the brief comment,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +"it were better had Mary Twining shown +more Regret for what she herself confesses +was ill done, rather than that she should +take upon herself to correct the Faults of +those towards whom she was somewhat +lacking in Reverence." But it is droll +enough to fancy the scene—the pretty +schoolgirl gravely rebuking her delinquent +master for the too great partiality her own +bright eyes had won for her. Poor man! +His was no sinecure. To hold rule over +a parcel of unruly girls, with the graces +of one so tugging at his heartstrings! His +path might at least have been spared the +thorn of having his fault denounced by the +very voice that had done the mischief.</p> + +<p>During the last year of her stay she +writes less. Did the objectlessness of this +education of hers pall upon the energy of +her nature more and more? Or was her +woman's heart preparing the way for the +answer to this restless questioning? It is +only now and then that we catch a glimpse +of this development, which was singularly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +mature and singularly free from restriction.</p> + +<p>"I have read many Tales," she says, +"how true, in my small Experience, I +know not, of the aptitude of Women, particularly +those young women whose characters +are in a state of most Imperfect +Development, to yield in matters essential +to their best Happiness to the Opposing +Wishes of Parents and Guardians. I speak +of those Matters, perhaps not the most +fitting for the Speculations of a but Partially-schooled +Maiden—Love, and the +Choosing of a Husband. While in these +matters, as in all others, the Wishes of +Wise and Fond Parents and Guardians +are the only safe Guides for a young and +Untrained Spirit, there are other Cases +where Injustice and a Desire to Rule are +but slender Grounds for the exercise of +Authority. I know that my Boldness in +this Opinion cannot pass even my own +mind unchallenged, but when I read of +Unwilling Maids forced to the very Church<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> +Door or Languishing under unmerited +sternness, and Yielding up their own Happiness, +and that of another (though he be +a Man) into the Hands of an unwise +Judge through inability to resist such unloving +Pressure, my Nature rebels against +it. It would seem to me cause for a +Glad and an Unfaltering Resistance. For +a Husband is, after all, a Matter for a +Maid's own choosing."</p> + +<p>"The beaten path," says the biographer, +"had ever but little attraction for Mary +Twining. It had been well had she been +less fain to seek Opportunity for a Lawful +Resistance to Bonds. It seemeth ever +to the Young that such opportunities are +not long in coming."</p> + +<p>It was not only from the consciences +of the colonial fathers that the stirrings +of independence went forth. Apparently +there was a spirit abroad that breathed +now and then from the lips of but partially-schooled +maidens. Still, it is not +unruliness, this protest of a young and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +independent spirit against the slavishness +now and then upheld in certain forms of +literature. There is little revolutionary, +after all, in Mary's sentiment that "a +Husband is a matter for a Maid's own +choosing."</p> + +<p>But we must pass over the last few +notes of her school life. At nineteen she +left school forever.</p> + +<p>"I am about to leave this little Life of +School," she writes, "for a larger Life of +Home, and mayhap a Taste of that Life +which is called of the World. And if I +be not now, at the age of Nineteen years, +equipped for the change and able to comport +myself with a becoming Discretion +and Dignity, then such equipment is not +to be found within these Four Walls or in +daily Practice of Music and Mathematics. +Which, though I be filled with no over-weening +Distrust of my own Capabilities, +seemeth to my eyes of some Doubt and +Difference of Opinion."</p> + +<p>"On a certain day of June," her biographer<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> +goes on to state, "Mistress Mary +Twining was placed in the Coach which +should take her a Two Days' Journey to +her Father's House. She was in Company +with an old and Reverend Gentleman of +friendly Disposition, who was well known +to her Father and held in excellent esteem +of him. The Fairness of a Maid is but a +vain Toy, but," declares this most staid +biographer, with a refreshing candor, "as +it is a matter which is not without its +effect on the Fortunes of many, it is not +always to be passed over in the Silence +which would befit a Sober Pen. Mary +Twining's Hair was of a golden Colour and +wound itself in small, and not always tidy, +Rings about her Neck and Forehead. Her +eyes were of a darker appearance than is +common, and her Mouth, though not without +a certain Winsomeness, gave Promise +of a Firmness of Opinion and an Independence +which was perhaps but a Sign of the +Times, which her small and shrewdly-set +Nose did not deny."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p> + +<p>I more than suspect that, disclaim it as +he may, our discreet biographer was in +nowise loath to dwell a little on this vain +toy of Mary's personal appearance. I even +fancy that he was tempted to employ +greater latitude of expression, which only +his stern sense of his responsibilities led +him to reject, in the description of that +uncompromising mouth, not to mention +the spice of naughtiness involved in that +nose so "shrewdly set."</p> + +<p>Not an unattractive picture in the coach +window, this June day, is this of Mary +Twining, in her big poke bonnet, white +kerchief and short-waisted gown. And +who is this, who, coming at the last +moment, springs into a vacant place at her +side, under the very eyes of the reverend +old gentleman, her father's friend? The +three-cornered hat which he doffs with +ceremonious courtesy to the fair vision +before him, the powdered queue, the high +boots with jingling spurs, the sword at +his side, are not unpicturesque items in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> +our nineteenth-century eyes. Were they +likely to be so in the eyes of this nineteen-year-old +maiden just out of boarding-school?</p> + +<p>"As it happened," says the biographer, +"there went down the same day, and by +the same Coach, one of the young Aids of +our General. He was a personable Youth, +and the Arrangement of the many Fripperies +of the Costume of a young Gallant +did naught to take away from the Face and +Figure which Providence had accorded him. +It were better had he or Mary Twining +chosen another Time for the Journey."</p> + +<p>Neither, probably, did a natural timidity +of disposition do aught to lessen the impression +which a personable young man +has it in his power in any century to make +upon a fair and observing girl. Mary +herself says:—</p> + +<p>"There rode down with us a young +gallant of most holiday Appearance, but +not ignorant withal of the working days +of a Soldier. It was not long before he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> +had entered into Conversation with Mr. +Edwards, who had knowledge of the +young Man's Parents, from which Conversation +I learned something of himself, +though most modestly told. He would +fain have opened the Way for me to join +in my Guardian's Questioning, but I bore in +Mind the Unseemliness of an unwarranted +Acquaintanceship, and sought rather to +avoid than to court the Glances which he +was not over cautious in sending in my +Direction."</p> + +<p>"A Maid's avoidance," observes the +biographer, "of a Youth's Glances, is not +of that Nature that is the Cutting off of all +Hope."</p> + +<p>And Fortune, too, was not of so perverse +a disposition in this June weather as +she is sometimes. For, on the second +day, when probably glances, so conscientiously +evaded, had become but the accompaniment +of spoken words, there was an +accident. The coach, as coaches are apt +to do, was upset, and its occupants "made<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +haste rather as they could than as they +would," to leave it. In the confusion and +tumbling about of heavy boxes Mary might +have been badly hurt, had not the young +gallant, quickly springing to his feet, caught +her as she was thrown forward by a second +lurch of the unwieldy thing, and, lifting her +up, carried her out of the way of falling +luggage and struggling horses to a place of +safety.</p> + +<p>"He lifted me as though I had been +but a Feather's weight, showing a Strength +which is indeed Goodly in the Sons of +Men," says Mary demurely, "and which +was most grateful in the Stress and Confusion, +and in its display most Timely, though +perhaps," she adds, with delicious frankness, +"he was not over ready to put me +down that he might hasten back to be of +further help."</p> + +<p>"My Bonnet was awry," she continues, +"my Hair in sad confusion, and my Face a +Milkmaid Red, so that I said with but little +Grace, 'Sir, I fear you have found me a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +grievous Weight.' Whereupon he answered +me that so light was my weight, +that his Heart was the Heavier for the +Putting of me down, which was a Conceit +not reasonable but most kindly intended. +Whereon I thanked him, and he vowed +such a Burden would he gladly carry to +the World's End had he but Leave +given."</p> + +<p>Another picture not unpleasant to the +mind's eye, the overturned coach, the +esteemed guardian of the youthful beauty +delaying a little in its immediate neighborhood, +perhaps to secure the safety of +some precious package, the farm laborers +in the green adjacent fields dropping their +tools and running forward to help, the +outcry and confusion, and apart, in the +summer sunshine, the handsome fellow +with the flashing sword by his side, listening +with bent head and admiring eyes to +the thanks which Mistress Mary, with +her untidy hair and lifted eyes, was tendering +with "but little Grace."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Such chance meeting of the Sexes," +says our astute commentator, "where appear +what is most commanding in the One +and most dependent in the Other, are but +ill advised. The Uttering of such vain +proffers as the carrying the Burden of +Mary Twining to the World's End, and +other Foolishness, hath then a Savour of +Reality which concealeth the vain Delusion."</p> + +<p>We have delayed too long over these +extracts, and though I am tempted to delay +yet longer, so quaint is the contrast +between Mary Twining's youthful and +feminine pen and that of her critical +biographer, I pass on to a time some +months after her arrival home. Indeed, +she writes little in the interval. The +coming into a new and wider circle, the +adapting herself to new conditions, leave +her scant time for writing. There is a +rapid noting of events, for it was an +eventful time,—the mention of a few distinguished +names, and that is all. But in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +order to follow the thread of Mary Twining's +romance, we must pause at the account +of a ball given to one of General +Washington's regiments at a time before +the rigor of war had quenched all thoughts +of merry-making. It was not her first +ball. She had mixed freely in society, +and had measured herself with the men +and women about her,—always an interesting +experience to the free, unprejudiced +and thoughtful girl.</p> + +<p>"It was a joyous Scene enough," she +writes, "but I myself not quite in the +Humour for such Junketing. I had a +gloomy Fancy that Reason would not dismiss, +that in these Troublous Times there +were Things outside of the Ball room +Door, striving to enter, which having +done, they would have proved of singular +Inappositeness. None the less I danced +with those who solicited me in due Form, +and gave Heed to little else than the manner +of the Solicitation. Not that there +was Lack of Goodly Partners, but I was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +mindful of nothing beyond the Observance +of the Courtesies of the Occasion. +The only Annoyance of which I was +sensible was the marked Attention of my +Cousin Eustace Fleming, who is but recently +come into this our Part of the +Country, and claimeth Relationship. He +is a most excellent Young Gentleman, but +one who is likely to weary me with his +over Appreciation of my own Qualities. +It is but a Sign of my Stubbornness and +Unregeneracy of Heart that, in that he is +most approved and commended of my +Parents, he wearieth me the more. I was +fain to tell him, when he asked me a third +Time to join the Dance, that there were +fairer Maidens in the Hall who would be +less loth to accord him the Favour, but as +this would but have drawn from him a +laboured compliment to my own Person, I +prudently refrained."</p> + +<p>It was in the weariness of this very +encounter that, looking up, she saw approaching +her the hero of her adventure<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +in the coach, the impulsive youth whose +former foolishness had won for him the +semi-disapproval of our commentator. It +seems possible that the gloomy fancies of +shadowy things outside lightened a little, +and the war ceased to be a background +only for shapes of evil.</p> + +<p>"It required not the space of a moment +for me to recognize him, though his Attire +had changed with the Circumstance, but +as my Father's Friend, Mr. Edwards, had +not deemed it of sufficient Importance to +mention our former Rencontre, it now +seemed to me useless to publicly recall +that Incident. Particularly as being now +duly presented to me in the Presence of +my Parents, and with due Vouchers of +his Credit, our Acquaintance could make +such Progress as we should mutually consider +profitable."</p> + +<p>Prudent Mistress Mary and delinquent +Mr. Edwards!</p> + +<p>"After the Cotillion for which he had +asked the Honour of my Hand, he led me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> +to my Seat, but by a somewhat indirect +Route. Upon my remarking upon which, +he found Occasion to say that all Ways +were short to him now after traversing +the long and difficult one which he had +followed that he might gain Admission to +my Presence. I, laughing, said that my +Presence were hardly worth such effort in +Gaining, and that it was generally attained +with more Ease, and he, replying with a +Grace of Manner it were impossible not +to remark, said hastily that he was well +aware that he had found it easier to enter +than he should to again forsake it."</p> + +<p>"And so on with such Vanities," says +the biographer, "as pass Current with +young Men and Maidens in their shortsighted +Enjoyment of the moment, and +with which Mary Twining was but too +fain to dally."</p> + +<p>Yes, and so on, the old story. For +there follow the frequent meetings, known +and not unapproved of by the watchful +parents, the half confessions, the vague<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +wonderment, and at last the pledge given +and received, and Mary Twining became +the affianced wife of the handsome young +officer. All this we trace in her journal, +with satiric comments, now and then, of +the Editor; but it is all so familiar that we +will not dwell on it, pretty as it is. Only +one shadow seems to have fallen on the lovers,—that +of Mr. Eustace Fleming, the +worthy cousin, whose importunities in the +ball-room so tired the patience of Mistress +Mary. The parentally favored candidate +for Mary's hand, he finds it, evidently, +too hard to give it up without a struggle. +With a lack of that wisdom unfortunate +lovers find it so hard to supply, he disturbed +their interviews, forced himself on +Mary's society, yet with no insolence and +no self-betrayal that could lead to an outbreak. +He is apparently a self-contained, +and not a bad man, who finds it impossible +to see that he is beaten. Of this period +I make one or two extracts from Mary's +journal, and then go on to the end.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p> + +<p>"If I once marvelled at the yielding of +those weak Women who find it easier to +relinquish the Happiness that they find in +the Love of Those bound to them by +mutual attraction, than to contest the +matter with all Dignity, Forbearance, +Firmness and Patience, how much the +more do I marvel now at their Shortsightedness! +Were he, whom I gladly +call my Betrothed, to be the Victim of +Oppression or of Malice, it would seem +to me but the throwing down of the +Glove—a challenge to Battle, rather +than a demand for Submission. Methinks +it were not as a Suppliant that I should +stoop to pick it up. But why talk of +fighting, who am a peaceful Maid, who +would labour, were it but Honourable +towards her dear Country, to remove the +Sound of Battle far from her Lover. For +indeed he is more ready to fight than am I +to have him. He would see an Opportunity +to strike a Blow in my Cause +where is none, so anxious is he to draw<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +his Sword in my Behalf. Indeed so excellent +an Opinion doth he entertain of +my Person and my Mind and my Conditions, +that he would not be long in finding +one who should most justly contest +the same. Heaven send that he may hold +to the Opinion and forget the Wish to +make Proselytes!</p> + +<p>"It would seem that some men were +created but as a sort of Makeweight, who, +without active Hindrance, make it more +difficult to row one's Boat up the Stream +of Life. Of such kind is my Cousin +Eustace Fleming. His most mistaken +Admiration of me (for that in him is a +Mistake which in Another is but a most +fitting and a most reverenced Creed) serves +but to make a Let and Hindrance where +my satisfaction is concerned. I would +that he could more easily learn the Lesson +I have been at such Pains to mark out for +him."</p> + +<p>"It were vain," is the comment on the +last passage, "to expect a Recognition of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +sober worth in the Day of Love and Ambition. +And Mistress Twining, after the +manner of her kind, pays but little Heed +to lasting Affection before the Time comes +when it shall be of Use to Her."</p> + +<p>The wedding day approaches. Mary +Twining does not lose her independence, +though, woman like, she seems to enjoy +losing herself in the love lavished upon +her. Here and there are passages which +show that in the warmth of her romance +she thinks and judges and acts for herself, +as she did in her school days. Mary +Twining will never merge her individuality +in that of another, however dear to her.</p> + +<p>The entries grow briefer and more infrequent, +as the month fixed upon for the +marriage draws near. It is to be in June,—two +years from that June when she rode +down by coach, in the care of her father's +friend.</p> + +<p>"The day is fixed for the twenty-seventh +of June," is the last entry but +two in her journal. "Two years ago,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> +Fate gave my Life into his Hands. At +least, in giving it to him a second Time, +Fate and I are at one."</p> + +<p>The next entry is a month later. It is +simply the statement,—</p> + +<p>"May 24th. I have done my Cousin +Eustace wrong." Then on—</p> + +<p>"July 27th. And I am but twenty-one!"</p> + +<p>And June comes and goes, and there is +no word on her bridal day, no breathings +of her new happiness from her ready pen. +Is the book closed? Yes, but her biographer +has a word to say.</p> + +<p>"On the twenty-seventh of June, Mary +A. Twining became the wife of her Cousin +Eustace Fleming. Their Betrothal was +but a short one, but in the eyes of her +judicious Parents, there was no unseemly +Haste. It had long been a cherished wish +of their Hearts, and Eustace Fleming was +a young man of Promise and of rare Discretion."</p> + +<p>There it ends. The record of Mary<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +Twining is finished. With Mary Fleming +he has nothing to do. But where is the +girl of ripened understanding, of freedom +of thought, of directness of purpose? +We do not know, for our biographer does +not tell us. Was there a tragedy, and +were the details too heart-breaking for +even the stoical Editor to maintain his +critical attitude?</p> + +<p>Where is the gallant cavalier with his +picturesque devotion, and his vain toys of +pretty speech and gesture and his fiery +and over-weening love and admiration for +Mistress Mary Twining? He seemed to +me a brave and loyal sort of young fellow +enough. I cannot tell. Put the quaint +old book back on the shelf, and let her +romance rest again. But notwithstanding +her husband of such promise and rare +discretion, I cannot help sighing, "Poor +Mary Twining!"</p> + +<p>Fate and she had a difference, after all. +And she was but twenty-one!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p> +<h2>A Postlude</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>IT was almost time for the train to leave +the station, and the seats were filling +rapidly. The Irishwoman, with four children +so near of a size that they seemed to +be distinguished only by the variety of eatable +each one was consuming, had entered +the car and deposited her large newspaper +bundle just inside the door, and driven her +flock all into the little end seat, where they +were stowed uncomfortably, one on top +of another, gazing stolidly about the car. +The young girl from the country who had +been spending Sunday in town, and who +was, consequently, somewhat overdressed +for Monday morning, was wandering elegantly +up and down the aisle, losing each +possible place for a prospective better one, +which became impossible before she reached<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> +it. The woman with a bag too large for +her to carry, rested it on the arm of an occupied +seat while she gazed vaguely about, +indifferent to the fact that a crowd of +impatient travellers of more concrete intentions +were being delayed by her indecision. +Meanwhile, among these disturbers +of travel the man with a large bag passed +rapidly along, found a place, put the bag in +the rack, seated himself, and took out his +newspaper. There is something in a man's +management of a large travelling-bag in a +railway train that leads the most unwilling +to grudgingly yield him a certain superiority +of sex.</div> + +<p>An exchange of good-bys, low-voiced +but with a decided note of hilarity, took +place at the door, and two women entered +the car, one looking back and nodding a +final smiling farewell before she gave her +mind to the matter in hand. They were +attractive women, of late middle age, perhaps, +not yet to be called old. One was +large, with fine curves, gray bands of hair<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +under her autumnal bonnet, and a dignity +of bearing which suited her ample figure +and melodious, rather deep voice; the other +was paler, more fragile, her light hair only +streaked with gray, and her blue eyes still +shaded with a half-wistful uncertainty of +what might be before her, which the years +had not been able to turn altogether into +self-confidence.</p> + +<p>"You go on, Lucy," said the former, in +her full, decided tones, pausing at the first +vacant seat, "and see if there's a place for +us to sit together farther down. I'll hold +this for one of us. You take up less room +than I do, you know, and it's easier for +you to slip about;" and she laughed a little. +There was a suggestion of laughter in the +eyes and around the mouth of each of them. +It indicated a subdued exhilaration unusual +in the setting forth of women of their years +and dignity. Lucy hesitated a moment, +and then moved on somewhat timidly; but +she had taken only a step when the man +near whom they stood rose, and, lifting his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +hat, said: "Allow me, madam, to give +you this seat for yourself and your friend. +I can easily find another."</p> + +<p>"Thank you; you are very good," +replied the larger of the two women, her +kindly gray eyes meeting his with an expression +that led him to pause and put their +umbrellas in the rack and depart, wondering +what it was about some women that +made a man always glad to do anything +for them,—and it didn't make any difference +how old they were, either.</p> + +<p>"How nice people are!" said the one +who had already spoken as they settled +themselves. "That man, now—there +wasn't any need of his doing that."</p> + +<p>"He seemed to really want to," rejoined +Lucy. "People always like to do things +for you, Mary Leonard, I believe," she +added, looking at her companion with +affectionate admiration.</p> + +<p>"I like to hear you talk," returned +Mary Leonard, laughing. "If there ever +was anybody that just went through the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +world having people do things for 'em, +it's you, Lucy Eastman, and you know +it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but I know so few people," said +the other, hastily. "I'm not ungrateful—I'm +sure I've no call to be; but I know +so few people, and they've known me all +my life; it's not like strangers."</p> + +<p>"That hasn't anything to do with it," +affirmed Mary Leonard, stoutly; "if there +were more, it would be the same way. +But I will say," she went on, "that I never +could see why a woman travelling alone +should ever have any trouble—officials +and everybody are so polite about telling +you the same thing over. I don't know +why it is, but I always seem to expect the +next one I ask to tell me something different +about a train; and then everybody you +meet seems just as pleasant as can be."</p> + +<p>"Yes," assented Lucy Eastman, "like +that baggageman. Did you notice how +polite the baggageman was?"</p> + +<p>"Notice it! Why, of course I did.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> +And our trunks <i>were</i> late, and it was my +fault, and so I told him, and he just hurried +to pull them around and check them, +and I was so confused, you know, that I +made him check the wrong ones twice."</p> + +<p>"Well, they were just like ours," said +Lucy Eastman, sympathetically.</p> + +<p>"Well, they were, weren't they? But +of course I ought to have known. And +he never swore at all. I was dreadfully +afraid he'd swear, Lucy."</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Lucy Eastman, +distressed, "what would you have done if +he'd sworn?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I don't know," asserted +Mary Leonard, with conviction, "but +fortunately he didn't."</p> + +<p>"He got very warm," said Lucy, reminiscently. +"I saw him wiping his brow +as we came away."</p> + +<p>"I don't blame him the least in the +world. I think he was a wonderfully +nice baggageman, for men of that class +are so apt to swear when they get very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> +warm,—at least, so I've heard. And did +you hear—"</p> + +<p>"Tickets, ma'am," observed the conductor.</p> + +<p>"There, I didn't mean to keep you +waiting a minute;" and Mary Leonard +opened her pocketbook, "but I forgot +all about the tickets. Oh, Lucy, I gave +you the tickets, and I took the checks."</p> + +<p>"Yes, to be sure," said Lucy, opening +her pocketbook.</p> + +<p>"I'll put them in the seat for you, +ladies, like this," said the conductor, smiling, +"and then you won't have any more +trouble."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, thank you," said Lucy +Eastman.</p> + +<p>"What a nice conductor!" observed +Mary Leonard.</p> + +<p>"Did I hear what, Mary?—you were +telling me something."</p> + +<p>"Oh, about the baggageman. I heard +him say to his assistant, 'Don't you ever +git mad with women, Bobby. It ain't no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> +use. If it was always the same woman +and the same trunk, perhaps you could +learn her sometime; but it ain't, and +you've got to take 'em just as they come, +and get rid of 'em the best way you can—they +don't bear instruction.'"</p> + +<p>Mary Leonard and Lucy Eastman threw +back their heads and laughed; it was +genuine, low, fresh laughter, and a good +thing to hear. After that there was silence +for a few moments as the train sped on its +way.</p> + +<p>"I declare," said Mary Leonard, at +last, "I don't know when I've been in +the cars before."</p> + +<p>"I was just thinking I haven't been in +the cars since Sister Eliza died, and we all +went to the funeral," said Lucy Eastman.</p> + +<p>"Why, that's—let me see—eight +years ago, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Eight and a half."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm glad you'll have a pleasanter +trip to look back on after this."</p> + +<p>"So am I; and I am enjoying this—every<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +minute of it. Only there's so +much to see. Just look at the people +looking out of the windows of that manufactory! +Shouldn't you think they'd +roast?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, they must be hotter than a +fritter such a day as this."</p> + +<p>"How long is it since you've been to +Englefield, Mary?" asked Lucy Eastman, +after another pause.</p> + +<p>"Why, that's what I meant to tell +you. Do you know, after I saw you, and +we decided to go there for our holiday, I +began to think it over, and I haven't been +there since we went together the last +time."</p> + +<p>"Why, Mary Leonard! I had an idea +you'd been there time and again, though +you said you hadn't seen the old place for +a long time."</p> + +<p>"Well, I was surprised myself when I +realized it. But the next year my cousins +all moved away, and I've thought of it +over and over, but I haven't <i>been</i>. I dare<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> +say if we'd lived in the same town we'd +have gone together before this, but we +haven't, and there it is."</p> + +<p>"That's thirty-five years ago, Mary," +said Lucy Eastman, thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"Thirty-five years! I declare, it still +makes me jump to hear about thirty-five +years—just as if I hadn't known all +about 'em!" and Mary Leonard laughed +her comfortable laugh again. "You don't +say it's thirty-five years, Lucy! I guess +you're right, though."</p> + +<p>There was a moment's pause, and the +laugh died away into a little sigh.</p> + +<p>"We <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'did'nt'">didn't</ins> think then—we didn't +really <i>think</i>—we'd ever be talking about +what <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'appened'">happened</ins> thirty-five years ago, did +we, Lucy? We didn't think we'd +have interest enough to care."</p> + +<p>"No," said Lucy, soberly, "we didn't."</p> + +<p>"And I care just as much as I ever did +about things," went on the other, thoughtfully, +"only there seem more doors for +satisfaction to come in at nowadays. It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> +isn't quite the same sort of satisfaction, +perhaps, that it used to be, not so pressed +down and running over, but there's more +of it, after all, and it doesn't slip out so +easily."</p> + +<p>"No, the bottom of things doesn't fall +out at once, as it used to, and leave nothing +in our empty hands."</p> + +<p>"That sounds almost sad. Don't you +be melancholy, Lucy Eastman."</p> + +<p>"I'm not, Mary—I'm not a bit. I'm +only remembering that I used to be."</p> + +<p>"We used to go to the well with a sieve +instead of a pitcher; that's really the difference," +said Mary Leonard. "We've +learned not to be wasteful, that's all."</p> + +<p>"What fun we used to have," said +Lucy, her eyes shining, "visiting your +cousins!"</p> + +<p>"It <i>was</i> fun!" said the other. "Do +you remember the husking party at the +Kendals' barn?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I do, and the red ears that +that Chickering girl was always finding!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> +I think she picked them out on purpose, so +that Tom Endover would kiss her. It was +just like those Chickerings!" There was +a gentle venom in Lucy Eastman's tones +that made Mary Leonard laugh till the +tears came into her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Minnie Chickering wasn't the only +girl that Tom Endover kissed, if I remember +right," she said, with covert intention.</p> + +<p>"Well, he put the red ear into my +hands himself, and I just husked it without +thinking anything about it," retorted Lucy +Eastman, with spirit.</p> + +<p>"Of course you did, of course you did," +asseverated Mary Leonard, whereupon the +other laughed too, but with reservation.</p> + +<p>"And do you remember old Miss +Pinsett's, where we used to go to act +charades?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed, in the old white house at +the foot of the hill, with a cupola. She +seemed so old; I wonder how old she +was?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps we shouldn't think her so old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> +to-day. People used to wear caps earlier +then than they do now. I think when they +were disappointed in love they put on +caps! Miss Pinsett had been disappointed +in love, so they said."</p> + +<p>"They will have old maids disappointed +in love," said Lucy, with some asperity. +"They will have me—some people—and +I never was."</p> + +<p>"I know you weren't. But I don't +think it's as usual as it was to say that +about old maids. It's more the fashion +now to be disappointed in marriage."</p> + +<p>There had been several stops at the +stations along the road. The day was +wearing on. Suddenly Lucy Eastman +turned to her companion.</p> + +<p>"Mary," she said, "let's play we were +girls again, and going to Englefield just as +we used to go—thirty-five years ago. +Let's pretend that we're going to do the +same things and see the same people and +have the same fun. We're off by ourselves, +just you and I, and why shouldn't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> +we? We're the same girls, after all," +and she smiled apologetically.</p> + +<p>"Of course we are. We'll do it," +said Mary Leonard, decidedly; "let's +pretend."</p> + +<p>But, having made the agreement, it was +not so easy to begin. The stream of +reminiscence had been checked, and a +chasm of thirty-five years is not instantly +bridged, even in thought.</p> + +<p>"I hope they won't meet us at the station," +said Mary Leonard, after a while, +in a matter-of-fact voice. "We know +the way so well there is no need of it."</p> + +<p>"I hope not. I feel just like walking +up myself," answered Lucy. "We can +send our trunks by the man that comes +from the hotel, just as usual, and it'll be +cool walking toward evening."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad we put off coming till the +fall. The country's beautiful, and there +isn't so much dust in case we"—she +hesitated a moment—"in case we go on +a picnic."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Lucy, readily; "to the +old fort. I hope we'll have a picnic to +the old fort. I guess all the girls will +like to go. It's just the time to take that +drive over the hill."</p> + +<p>"If we go," said Mary Leonard, slowly +and impressively, "you'll have to drive +with Samuel Hatt."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I went with him last time," +broke in Lucy, apprehensively. "It's +your turn."</p> + +<p>"But you know I just won't," said +Mary Leonard, her eyes sparkling, and the +dimples that, like Miss Jessie Brown, she +had not left off, appearing and disappearing. +"And somebody <i>has</i> to go with him."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps they won't ask him."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but they will. They always do, +on account of his horses. It wouldn't be +a picnic without Samuel Hatt."</p> + +<p>Just then the train drew up at a small +station. Lucy Eastman started as she +read the name of the place as it passed +before her eyes.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mary," said she, "this is where Mr. +Hatt always used to get on the train. +There are the Hatt Mills, and he goes up +and down every day,—don't you remember? +And how we were—we are—always +afraid we'll meet him on the +train."</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Mary Leonard, leaning +forward and scanning the platform +with its row of idlers and its few travellers. +"Well, he isn't here now. We +are going to escape him this time. But +my heart was in my mouth! I don't +want Samuel Hatt to be the first Englefield +person we meet."</p> + +<p>They looked up with careless curiosity +at the people who entered the train. +There was a little girl with a bunch of +common garden flowers following close +behind a tired-looking woman, who had +been, obviously, "spending the day;" a +florid old gentleman with gold spectacles, +who revealed a bald head as he removed +his hat and used it for a fan,—they had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> +seen him hurrying to the platform just +before the train moved out; a commercial +traveller, and a schoolboy.</p> + +<p>"No," said Mary Leonard, "he isn't +here this time."</p> + +<p>The florid old gentleman took a seat in +front of them and continued to fan himself. +The conductor came through the car.</p> + +<p>"Warm spell we're having for October, +Mr. Hatt," he said, as he punched +the commutation-ticket that was offered +him.</p> + +<p>Mary Leonard and Lucy Eastman gazed +spellbound at the back of Mr. Hatt's bald +head. They were too amazed to look +away from it at each other.</p> + +<p>"It—it must be his father," gasped +Lucy Eastman. "He looks—a little—like +him."</p> + +<p>"Then it's his father come back!" +returned Mary in an impatient whisper. +"His father died before we ever went to +Englefield; and, don't you remember, he +was always fanning himself?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> + +<p>Their fascinated gaze left the shiny +pink surface of Samuel Hatt's head, and +their eyes met.</p> + +<p>"I hope he won't see us," giggled +Lucy.</p> + +<p>"I hope not. Let's look the other +way."</p> + +<p>In a few minutes Mr. Hatt rose slowly +and portentously, and, turning, made a +solemn but wavering way down the car to +greet a man who sat just across the aisle +from Mary Leonard. Both the women +avoided his eyes, blushing a little and with +the fear of untimely mirth about their lips.</p> + +<p>As he talked with their neighbor, however, +they ventured to look at him, and as +he turned to go back his slow, deliberate +glance fell upon them, rested a moment, +and, without a flicker of recognition, +passed on, and he resumed his place.</p> + +<p>There was almost a shadow in the +eyes that met again, as the women turned +towards one another.</p> + +<p>"I—I know it's funny," said Lucy, a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> +little tremulously, "but I don't quite like +it that we look to him just as he does to us."</p> + +<p>"We have hair on our heads," said +Mary Leonard. "But," she added, less +aggressively, "we needn't have worried +about his speaking to us."</p> + +<p>"Englefield," shouted the brakeman, +and the train rumbled into a covered station. +Mary Leonard started to her feet, and then +paused and looked down at her companion. +This Englefield! This the quiet little place +where the man from the hotel consented to +look after their trunks while their cousins +drove them up in the wagon—this noisy +station with two or three hotel stages and +shouting drivers of public carriages!</p> + +<p>"Lucy," said she, sitting down again +in momentary despair, "we've gone back +thirty-five years, but we forgot to take +Englefield with us!"</p> + +<p>It did not take long, however, to adapt +themselves to the new conditions. They +arranged to stay at the inn that was farthest +from the centre of things, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> +drive out restored some of the former look +of the place. It was near sunset; the +road looked pink before them as they left +the city. The boys had set fire to little +piles of early fallen leaves along the sides +of the streets, and a faint, pungent smoke +hung about and melted into the twilight, +and the flame leaped forth vividly now +and then from the dusky heaps. As they +left the paved city for the old inn which +modern travel and enterprise had left on +the outskirts, the sky showed lavender +through a mistiness that was hardly palpable +enough for haze. The browns and +reds of the patches of woods in the near +distance seemed the paler, steadier reproduction +of the flames behind them. Low on +the horizon the clouds lay in purple waves, +deepening and darkening into brown.</p> + +<p>"Mary," said Lucy Eastman, in a low +tone, laying her hand on her companion's +arm, "it's just the way it looked when +we came the first time of all; do you +remember?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Remember? It's as if it were yesterday! +Oh, Lucy, I don't know about +a new heaven, but I'm glad, I'm glad it +isn't a 'new earth' quite yet!" There +was a mistiness in the eyes of the women +that none of the changes they had marked +had brought there. They were moved by +the sudden sweet recognition that seemed +sadder than any change.</p> + +<p>The next morning they left the house +early, that they might have long hours in +which to hunt up old haunts and renew +former associations. Again the familiar +look of things departed as they wandered +about the wider, gayer streets. The house +in which Mary Leonard's cousins had +lived had been long in other hands, and +the occupants had cut down the finest of +the old trees to make room for an addition, +and a woman whose face seemed +provokingly foreign to the scene came out +with the air of a proprietor and entered +her carriage as they passed.</p> + +<p>At another place which they used to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> +visit on summer afternoons, and which had +been approached by a little lane, making +it seem isolated and distant, the beautiful +turf had been removed to prepare a bald +and barren tennis court, and they reached +it by an electric car. Even the little +candy-shop had become a hardware store.</p> + +<p>"Of course, when one thinks of the +Gibraltars and Jackson balls, it does not +seem such a revolution," said Mary +Leonard; but she spoke forlornly, and +did not care much for her own joke. It +looked almost as if their holiday was to be +turned into a day of mourning; there was +depression in the air of the busy, bustling +active streets, through which the gray-haired +women wandered, handsome, alert, +attentive, but haunted by the sense of +familiarity that made things unfamiliar +and the knowledge of every turn and +direction that yet was not knowledge, but +ignorance.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Lucy Eastman," said +Mary Leonard at last, stopping decisively<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> +in front of what used to be the Baptist +Church, but which was now a business +block and a drug-store where you could +get peach phosphate, "we can't stand this +any longer. Let's get into a carriage +right away and go to the old fort; that +can't have changed much; it used to be +dismantled, and I don't believe they've +had time, with all they've done here, to—to +mantle it again."</p> + +<p>They moved towards a cab-stand—of +course it was an added grievance that +there was a cab-stand—but the wisdom +of the prudent is to understand his way.</p> + +<p>"Mary," said Lucy Eastman, detaining +her, "wait a minute. Do you think we +might—it's a lovely day—and—there's +a grocer right there—and dinner is late +at the hotel"—She checked her incoherence +and looked wistfully at Mary +Leonard.</p> + +<p>"Lucy, I think we might do anything, +if you don't lose your mind first. What +is it, for pity's sake, that you want to do?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Take our luncheon; we always used +to, you know. And we can have a hot +dinner at the hotel when we come back."</p> + +<p>Without replying, Mary Leonard led +the way to the grocer's, and they bought +lavish supplies there and at the bakery +opposite. Then they called the cab.</p> + +<p>"Do you remember, Lucy, we used to +have to think twice about calling a cab, +when we used to travel together, on account +of the expense," said Mary Leonard, +as they waited for it to draw up at the +curbstone.</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Lucy; "we don't +have to now." And then they both +sighed a little.</p> + +<p>But their smiles returned as they drove +into the enclosure of the old fort. There +they lay in the peaceful sun—the gray +stones, the few cannon-balls, sunk in the +caressing grass, with here and there a rusty +gun, like a once grim, sharp-tongued, +cruel man who has fallen somehow into +an amiable senility.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I read an article in one of the magazines +about our coast defences," said Lucy +Eastman, breathlessly; "how they ought +to be strengthened and repaired and all, +and I was quite excited about it and +wanted to give a little money towards it, +but I wouldn't for anything now, enemy +or no enemy."</p> + +<p>"Nor I, either," said Mary Leonard, +after she had dismissed the driver with +orders to call for them later in the day. +They walked on over the crisp dry grass, +and seated themselves on a bit of the +fallen masonry. The reaches of the +placid river lay before them, and the hum +of the alert cricket was in their ears. +Now and then a bird flew surreptitiously +from one bush to another, with the stealthy, +swift motion of flight in autumn, so different +from the heedless, fluttering, hither-and-yon +vagaries of the spring and early +summer. The time for frivolity is over; +the flashes of wings have a purpose now; +the possibility of cold is in the air,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> +and what is to be done must be done +quickly.</p> + +<p>"We almost always used to come in +summer," said Lucy Eastman, "but I +think it's every bit as pretty in the fall."</p> + +<p>"So do I," assented Mary Leonard, as +she looked down into a hollow where the +purple asters grew so thick that in the +half-dusk of the shadow they looked like +magnified snowflakes powdered thickly on +the sward. "And it hasn't changed an +atom," she went on, as her eyes roamed +over the unevenness of this combination +of man's and nature's handiwork. "It's +just as quiet and disorderly and upset and +peaceful as it was then."</p> + +<p>"Yes, look up there;" and Lucy Eastman +pointed to the higher ramparts, on +the edge of which the long grass wavered +in the wind with the glancing uncertainty +of a conflagration. "The last time I was +here I remember saying that that looked +like a fire."</p> + +<p>After they had eaten their luncheon,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +which brought with it echoes of the +laughter which had accompanied the picnic +supper eaten in that very corner years +ago, they seated themselves in a sheltered +spot to wait. It really seemed as if the +old gray walls retained some of the spirit +of those earlier days, so gentle, so mirth-inspiring +was the sunshine that warmed +them.</p> + +<p>"I'm so glad we came," said Mary,—they +had both said it before,—as the sunny +peace penetrated their very souls.</p> + +<p>Four o'clock brought the cab, and they +drove down the long hills, looking back +often for a final glimpse of the waving +grass and the gray stones. As they turned +a sharp corner and lost sight of the old +fort, Mary Leonard glanced furtively at +her companion. Her own eyes for the +second time that day were not quite clear, +and she was not sorry to detect an added +wistfulness in Lucy Eastman's gaze.</p> + +<p>"Lucy," said she, and her voice shook +a little, "I'm tired."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p> + +<p>"So am I," murmured Lucy.</p> + +<p>"And I don't ever remember to have +been tired after a picnic at the old fort +before."</p> + +<p>"No more do I," said Lucy; and it +was a moment before their sadness, as +usual, trembled into laughter.</p> + +<p>"Lucy Eastman," said Mary Leonard, +suddenly, "this is the street that old Miss +Pinsett used to live on—lives on, I mean. +What do you say? Shall we stop and see +Miss Pinsett?" The dimples had come +back again, and her eyes danced.</p> + +<p>Lucy caught her breath.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mary, if only she—" her sentence +was left unfinished.</p> + +<p>"I'll find out," said Mary Leonard, and +put her head out of the window. "Driver," +she called out, "stop at Miss Pinsett's."</p> + +<p>The driver nodded and drove on, and +she sank back pleased with her own +temerity.</p> + +<p>The cab stopped in front of the same +square white house, with the cupola, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +the same great trees in the front yard. +Mary Leonard and Lucy Eastman clasped +each other's hands in silent delight as they +walked up the box-bordered path.</p> + +<p>"Tell Miss Pinsett that Lucy Eastman +and—and Mary Greenleaf have come to +see her," they said to the elderly respectable +maid. Then they went into the dim +shaded parlor and waited. There were +the old piano and the Japanese vases, and +the picture of Washington which they had +always laughed at because he looked as if +he were on stilts and could step right +across the Delaware, and they could hear +their hearts beat, for there was a rustle +outside the door—old Miss Pinsett's +gowns always rustled—and it opened.</p> + +<p>"Why, <i>girls!</i>" exclaimed old Miss +Pinsett as she glided into the room.</p> + +<p>Mary Leonard and Lucy Eastman declared, +then and afterward, that she wasn't +a day older than when they said good-by +to her thirty-five years ago. She wore +the same gray curls and the same kind<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> +of cap. Also, they both declared that this +was the climax, and that they should have +wept aloud if it had not been so evident that +to Miss Pinsett there was nothing in the +meeting but happiness and good fortune, +so they did not.</p> + +<p>"Why, girls," said old Miss Pinsett +again, clasping both their hands, "how +glad I am to see you, and how well you +are both looking!"</p> + +<p>Then she insisted on their laying off +their things, and they laid them off because +they always had when she asked them.</p> + +<p>"You've grown stout, Mary Greenleaf," +said old Miss Pinsett.</p> + +<p>"I know I have," she answered, "and +I'm not Mary Greenleaf, though I sent +that name up to you—I'm Mary Leonard."</p> + +<p>"I wondered if neither of you were +married."</p> + +<p>"I'm a widow, Miss Pinsett," said +Mary Leonard, soberly. "My husband +only lived three years."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Poor girl, poor girl!" said Miss Pinsett, +patting her hand, and then she looked +at the other.</p> + +<p>"I'm Lucy Eastman still," she said; +"just the same Lucy Eastman."</p> + +<p>"And a very good thing to be, too," +said Miss Pinsett, nodding her delicate old +head kindly. "But," and she scanned +her face, "but, now that I look at you, +not quite the same Lucy Eastman—not +quite the same."</p> + +<p>"Older and plainer," she sighed.</p> + +<p>"Of all the nonsense!" exclaimed +old Miss Pinsett. "You're not quite so +shy, that's all, my dear."</p> + +<p>"I'm shy now," asserted Lucy.</p> + +<p>"Very likely, but not quite so shy as +you were, for all that. Don't tell me! +I've a quick eye for changes, and so I +can see changes in you two when it may +be another wouldn't."</p> + +<p>Before the excitement of her welcome +had been subdued into mere gladness, +there was a discreet tap at the door, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> +the respectable maid came in with a tray +of sherry-glasses and cake. Mary Leonard +and Lucy Eastman looked at each +other brimming over with smiles. It was +the same kind of cake, and might have +been cut off the same loaf.</p> + +<p>"Never any cake like yours," said +Mary Leonard.</p> + +<p>"I remember you like my cake," said +old Miss Pinsett, smiling; "take a bigger +piece, child."</p> + +<p>They wanted to know many things +about the people and the town, all of +which Miss Pinsett could tell them.</p> + +<p>The shadows grew longer, the room +dimmer, and Miss Pinsett had the maid +throw open the blinds to let in the western +sunlight. A shaft of illumination fell +across one of the Japanese vases, and a +dragon blinked, and the smooth round +head of a mandarin gleamed. There was +an old-fashioned trumpet-creeper outside +the window.</p> + +<p>"But we must go," exclaimed Mary<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> +Leonard at last, rising and taking up her +bonnet. "Oh, no, thank you, we must +not stay. Miss Pinsett; we are going to-morrow, +and we are tired with all the +pleasure of to-day, and we have so much—so +much to talk over. We shall +talk all night, as we used to, I am +afraid."</p> + +<p>"But before you go, girls," said Miss +Pinsett, laying a fragile, white slender +hand on each, "you must sing for me +some of the songs you used to sing—you +know some very pretty duets."</p> + +<p>Mary Leonard and Lucy Eastman +paused, amazed, and looked into each +other's faces in dismay. Sing?—had +they ever sung duets? They had not +sung a note for years, except in church.</p> + +<p>"But I don't know any songs, Miss +Pinsett," stammered Mary Leonard.</p> + +<p>"I have forgotten all I ever knew," +echoed Lucy Eastman.</p> + +<p>"No excuses, now—no excuses! +You were always great for excuses, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> +you would always sing for me. I want +'County Guy,' to begin with."</p> + +<p>By a common impulse the visitors +moved slowly towards the piano; they +would try, at least, since Miss Pinsett +wanted them to. Lucy seated herself +and struck a few uncertain chords. Possibly +the once familiar room, Mary Leonard +at her side, Miss Pinsett listening in +her own high-backed chair, the scent of +the mignonette in the blue bowl—possibly +one or all of these things brought back +the old tune.</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"Ah, County Guy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The hour is nigh,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The sun has left the lea."</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>The sweet, slender voice floated through +the room, and Mary Leonard's deeper +contralto joined and strengthened it.</p> + +<p>"Now, I will have 'Flow Gently, +Sweet Afton,'" said Miss Pinsett, quite as +if it were a matter of course. And they +sang "Flow Gently, Sweet Afton." It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +was during the last verse that the parlor +door opened softly, and a tall, fine-looking +man, erect, with beautiful silver curling +hair, and firm lines about the handsome, +clean-shaven mouth, appeared on the threshold +and stood waiting. As the singing +finished, Miss Pinsett shook her head at +him.</p> + +<p>"You were always coming in and +breaking up the singing, Tom Endover," +she said.</p> + +<p>The two women left the piano and +came forward.</p> + +<p>"You used to know Mary Greenleaf,—she's +Mrs. Leonard now,—and Lucy +Eastman, Tom," she went on.</p> + +<p>Apparently Mr. Endover was not heeding +the introduction, but was coming +towards them with instant recognition and +outstretched hand. They often discussed +afterward if he would have known them +without Miss Pinsett. Mary Leonard +thought he would, but Lucy Eastman did +not always agree with her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You don't have to tell me who they +are," he said, grasping their hands cordially. +"Telling Tom Endover who +Mary Greenleaf and Lucy Eastman are, +indeed!" There was a mingling of courteous +deference and frank, not to be repressed, +good comradeship in his manner +which was delightful. Mary Leonard's +dimples came and went, and delicate waves +of color flowed and ebbed in Lucy Eastman's +soft cheeks.</p> + +<p>"I'm too old always to remember that +there's no telling a United States senator +anything," retorted Miss Pinsett, with a +keen glance from her dimmed but penetrating +eyes.</p> + +<p>"As to that, I don't believe I'd ever +have been a United States senator if it +wasn't for what you've told me, Miss Pinsett," +laughed Endover. "I'm always +coming here to be taken down, Mary," he +went on; "she does it just as she used +to."</p> + +<p>Mary Leonard caught her breath a little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +at the sound of her Christian name, but +"I didn't know there was any taking you +down, Tom Endover," she retorted before +she thought; and they all laughed.</p> + +<p>They found many things to say in the +few minutes longer that <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'hey'">they</ins> stayed, before +Mr. Endover took them out and put them +in their cab. He insisted upon coming the +next morning to take them to the station +in his own carriage, and regretted very +much that his wife was out of town, so +that she could not have the pleasure of +meeting his old friends.</p> + +<p>"He's just the same, isn't he?" exclaimed +Mary Leonard, delightedly, as +they drove away.</p> + +<p>"Yes," assented Lucy Eastman, slowly; +"I think he is; and yet he's different."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, he's different," replied Mary +Leonard, readily. Both were quite unconscious +of any discrepancy in their statements +as they silently thought over the +impression he had made. He was the +same handsome, confident Tom Endover,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +but there was something gone,—and was +there not something in its place? Had +that gay courtesy, that debonair good fellowship, +changed into something more +finished, but harder and more conscious? +Was there a suggestion that his old careless +charm had become a calculated and a +clearly appreciated facility? Lucy Eastman +did not formulate the question, and +it did not even vaguely present itself to +Mary Leonard, so it troubled the pleasure +of neither.</p> + +<p>"What a day we have had!" they +sighed in concert as they drove up again to +the entrance of the inn.</p> + +<p>"Lucy," called Mary Leonard, a little +later, from one of their connecting rooms +to the other, "I'm going to put on my +best black net, because Tom Endover +may call to-night." Then she paused to +catch Lucy Eastman's prompt reply.</p> + +<p>"And I shall put on my lavender +lawn, but it'll be just our luck to have +it Samuel Hatt."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> + +<p>The next morning Mr. Endover called +for them, and they were driven to the station +in his brougham.</p> + +<p>He put them on the train, and bought +the magazines for them, and waved his +hand to the car window.</p> + +<p>"You know, Lucy," said Mary Leonard, +as the train pulled out, "Tom Endover +always used to come to see us off."</p> + +<p>"Of course he did," said Lucy.</p> + +<p>"Do you know, I'm rather glad his +wife was out of town," went on Mary +Leonard, after a pause. "I should like +to have seen her well enough, but you +know she wasn't an Englefield girl."</p> + +<p>"What can she know about old Englefield!" +said Lucy, with mild contempt. +"I'm very glad she was out of town."</p> + +<p>As they left the city behind them, the +early morning sun shone forth with vivid +brilliancy. Against the western sky the +buildings stood out with a peculiar distinctness, +as if the yellow light shining +upon them was an illumination inherent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +in themselves, singling them out of the +landscape, and leaving untouched the cold +gray behind them. The lines of brick +and stone had the clearness and precision +of a photograph, and yet were idealized, +so that in the yellow, mellow, transparent +light a tall, smoke-begrimed chimney of a +distant furnace looked airy and delicate as +an Italian tower.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p> +<h2>The "Daily Morning Chronicle"</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>THE village lay still and silent under +the observant sun. The village +street stretched in one direction down the +hill to the two-miles-off railway station, +and in the other to the large white house +with pillared portico, from which there was +a fine view of the sunset, and beyond which +it still continued, purposeful but lonely, +until it came suddenly upon half a dozen +houses which turned out to be another +village.</div> + +<p>Not a man, woman, or child crossed +from one house to another; not a dog or +a cat wandered about in the sunshine. +The white houses looked as if no one +lived in them; the white church, with its +sloping approach, looked as if no one ever<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +preached in it and no one ever came to +it to listen. It seemed to Lucyet Stevens, +as she sat at the little window of the post-office, +behind which her official face +looked so much more important than it +ever did anywhere else, as if the village +street itself were listening for the arrival of +the noon mail. For it was nearly time for +the daily period of almost feverish activity. +By and by from the station would come +Truman Hanks with the leather bag which, +in village and city alike, is the outward and +visible sign of the fidelity of the government. +It is probable that he will bring it +up in a single carriage, for though sometimes +he takes the two-seated one, in +case there should be a human arrival who +would like to be driven up, this possibility +was so slight a one at this time of year +that it was hardly worth considering. +Then the village will awake; the two +little girls who live down below the saw-mill +will come up together, confiding +on the way a secret or two, for which the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +past twenty-four hours would seem to have +afforded slender material. Then old John +Thomas will come limping across from his +small house back of the church, to see if +there is a letter for "her,"—she being +his wife, and in occasional communication +with their daughter in the city. Then +the good-looking, roughly clad young +farmer who takes care of the fine place +with the pillared portico on the hill will +saunter down to see if "the folks have +sent any word about coming up for the +summer." Then Miss Granger, who +lives almost next door, will throw a shawl +over her head and run in to see who has +letters and, incidentally, if she has any +herself; and then one or two wagons will +draw up in front of the little store, and +the men will come in for their daily +papers.</p> + +<p>As Lucyet came around to the daily +papers she flushed and looked impatiently +out of the door down the street. Not +that the thought of the daily paper had not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +been all the time in the background of her +mind, but having allowed her fancy to +wander towards the attitude of the village +and its prospective disturbance, she returned +to the imminence of the daily paper +again with a thrill of emotion. It was +not one of the metropolitan journals which, +as a body, the village subscribed for, nor +was it one of the more widely known of +those issued in smaller cities; it was an +unpretentious sheet, neither very ably +edited nor extensively circulated,—the +chief spokesman of the nearest county +town. But with all its limitations, its +readers represented to Lucyet the great +harsh, unknowing, and yet irresistibly +attractive public.</p> + +<p>It was not the first time that she had +thus watched for it with mute excitement. +Such episodes, though infrequent, had +marked her otherwise uneventful existence +at irregular intervals for more than a year. +It would be more correct to say that they +had altered its entire course; that such<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +episodes had given to her life a double +character,—one side of calmness, secrecy, +indifference, and the other of delight, +absorption, thrilled with a breathless excitement +and uncertainty. But this time there +was a greater than ordinary interest. The +verses that she had sent last were more +ambitious in conception; they had description +in them, and mental analysis, and +several other things which very likely she +would not have called by their right names, +though she felt their presence: her other +contributions had belonged rather to the +poetry of comment. She was sure, almost +sure, that they had accepted these.</p> + +<p>Unsophisticated Lucyet never dreamed +of enclosing postage for return, so she +could only breathlessly search the printed +page to discover whether her lines were +there or in the waste-basket. Friday's +edition of the "Daily Morning Chronicle" +was more or less given over to the feeble +claims of general literature. To-day was +Friday. Lucyet glanced through her little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +window—the tastefully disposed corner +of which was dedicated to the postal service—at +the tin of animal crackers, the +jar of prunes, the suspended bacon, and +the box of Spanish licorice, and pondered, +half contemptuously, half pitifully, on what +had been her life before she had written +poems and sent them to the "Daily Morning +Chronicle." Then her outlook had +seemed scarcely wider than that of the +animal crackers with their counterfeit vitality; +now it seemed extended to the +horizon of all humanity.</p> + +<p>There was the sound of horses' feet +coming over the hill. Was it the mail +wagon? No, it was a heavier vehicle; +and the voice of the farmer, slow and +lumbering as the animals it encouraged, +sounded down the village street. Over +the crest of the hill appeared the summit +of a load of hay going to the scales in +front of the tavern to be weighed. So +silent were the place and the hour, that +it was like a commotion when the cart<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> +drew up, and the horses were unhitched +and weighed, and then the load driven +on, and the owner and the hotel-keeper +exchanged observations of a genial nature. +Finally the horses and the wagon +creaked along the hot street down the road +which led by the pillared white house, and +again the village was at peace. Lucyet +glanced at the clock. Was the mail going +to be late this morning? No. The creaking +of the hay wagon had but just lost +itself in the silence, when her quick ear +caught the rattle of the lighter carriage. +Her first impulse was to step to the door +and wait for it there, but she did not yield +to it; she would do just as usual, neither +more nor less. She would not for worlds +have Truman Hanks suspect any special +interest on her part. He might try to +find out its cause; and a hot blush enveloped +Lucyet as she contemplated the +possibility of his assigning it to the true +one. Only one person in all the village +knew that Lucyet Stevens wrote poetry.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Most time for the mail to be gittin' +heavy," said Truman, as he handed over +the limp receptacle; "the summer boarders +'ll be along now, before long."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I s'pose they will," answered +Lucyet, her fingers trembling as they unlocked +the bag.</p> + +<p>"It's a backward season, though," he +went on, watching her.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is uncommon backward; the +apple blossoms aren't but just beginning +to come out."</p> + +<p>It seemed to her that there was suspicion +in his observation. He leaned +lazily over the counter, while she took out +the mail within the little office with its +front of letter-boxes.</p> + +<p>"This hot spell 'll bring 'em out. It's +the first <i>hot</i> spell we've had."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she assented, blushing again, +"it will."</p> + +<p>She had spoken of the tardy apple +blossoms in her poem,—it was entitled +"Spring." Two or three people, having<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> +seen the mail go by, dropped in and disposed +themselves in various attitudes to +wait for it to be distributed. She hurried +through the work, her fingers tingling to +open each copy of the newspaper as she +laid it in its place. At last it was done; +the little window which had been shut to +produce official seclusion was reopened; +and the people came up, one by one, without +much haste, and received the papers +and now and then a letter. It did not +take long; and afterward they stood about +and talked and traded a little, their papers +unopened in their hands. It was not +likely that the news from outside was +going to affect any one of them very +much; they could wait for it; and reading +matter was for careful attention at home, +not for skimming over in public places.</p> + +<p>Lucyet found their indifference phenomenal; +they did not know what might be +waiting for them in the first column of +the third page. Was it waiting for them? +The suspense was almost overwhelming;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> +and yet she did not like to open the copy +which lay at her disposal until the store +was empty; she had a nervous feeling that +they would all know what she was looking +for. Slowly the group melted away, till +there was no one left except the proprietor, +who had gone into the back room to look +after some seed corn, and Silas, the young +farmer, who had thrown himself down into +a chair to read his paper at his leisure, and +was not noticing Lucyet. Eagerly she +opened the printed sheet. She caught her +breath in the joy of assurance. There it +was—"Spring." It stood out as if it +were printed all in capitals. After a furtive +look out at the quiet street, where, in +a rusty wagon, an old man was just picking +up his reins and preparing to jog away +from the post-office door, and a side glance +at Silas's broad back over by the farther +window, Lucyet read over her own lines. +How different they looked from the copy +in her own distinct, formal little handwriting! +They had gained something,—but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> +they had lost something too. They +seemed unabashed, almost declamatory, in +their sentiment. They had <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'aquired'">acquired</ins> a new +and positive importance; it was as if the +assertions they made had all at once become +truths, had ceased to be tentative. +She read them over again. No, they did +not tell it all, all that she meant to say; +but they brought back the day, and she was +glad she had written them,—glad with an +agitated, inexpressible gladness. She would +like to know what people said of them; for +a moment it seemed to her that she would +not mind if they knew that she wrote them.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Silas, laying down his +paper and standing up, "there isn't a +blamed thing in that paper!"</p> + +<p>Lucyet looked up at him startled. Had +she heard aright? Then the color slowly +receded from her face and left it pale. +Silas was quite unconscious of having +made an unusual statement.</p> + +<p>"Well, Lucyet," he went on, "going +to the Christian Endeavor to-night?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't know," she stammered. +"No," she added suddenly, "I am not." +All endeavor was a mockery to her stunned +soul.</p> + +<p>"I dunno as I will either," he observed +carelessly as he lounged out.</p> + +<p>It was nothing to her whether he went +or not, though once it might have been. +She sat still for some minutes after he had +gone, looking blankly at the paper. The +page which a few minutes ago had seemed +fairly to glow with interest had become +mere columns of print concerning trivial +things; for an instant she saw it with +Silas's eyes. John Thomas came limping +for his mail. He had been detained on +the way, he explained, and was late. She +handed him his paper through the window, +dully, indifferently. She was suffering a +measure of that disappointment which +comes with what we have grown to believe +attainment, and is so much more bitter +than that of failure. But the revolt against +this unnatural state of mind came before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> +long. The elasticity of her own enthusiasm +reasserted itself. It could not be +that there was nothing in her poem. She +read the lines over again. Two or three +were not quite what they ought to be, +somehow; but the rest of them the world +would lay hold of,—that big sympathetic +world which knew so much more than +Silas Stevens.</p> + +<p>When the hour came to close the office +at noon, she locked the drawer and passed +out of the door to the footpath with a +sense of triumph under the habitual shyness +of her manner. She still shrank from +the publicity she had achieved, but she +was conscious of an undercurrent of desire +that her achievement, since it was real, +should be recognized.</p> + +<p>When the old postmaster died, leaving +Lucyet, his only child, alone in the world, +and interest in official quarters had procured +for her the appointment in her +father's place, a home had also been offered +her at Miss Flood's; and it was thither<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> +that Lucyet now went for her noonday +meal. Miss Delia Flood was of most +kindly disposition and literary tastes. +That these tastes were somewhat prescribed +in their manifestation was no +witness against their genuineness. It +must be confessed that Miss Delia's +preference was for the sentimental,—though +she would have modestly shrunk +from hearing it thus baldly stated,—and, +naturally, for poetry above prose. The +modern respect for "strength" in literature +would have impressed her most painfully +had she known of it. The mind turns +aside from the contemplation of the effect +that a story or two of Kipling's would +have produced upon her could she have +grasped their vocabulary; she would +probably have taken to her bed in sheer +fright, as she did in a thunderstorm. +Poetry of the heart and emotions, which +never verged, even most distantly, upon +what her traditions and her susceptibilities +told her was the indecorous, satisfied her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> +highest demands, and the less said about +nature, except by way of an occasional +willow, or the sad, sweet scent of a +jasmine flower, the better. Miss Delia +had fostered Lucyet's love for literature; +and it was to Miss Delia that Lucyet +hastened with the great news of the publication +of her poem. It was for this acute +pleasure that she had hitherto kept the +knowledge of her attempt from her,—and, +too, that her joy might be full, and that +she would not have to suffer the alternating +phases of hope and fear through which +Lucyet herself had passed.</p> + +<p>As she entered the room where dinner +stood on the table and Miss Delia waited +to eat it with her, she suppressed the +trembling excitement which threatened to +make itself visible in her manner now +that the words were upon her very lips. +They seated themselves at the table. +Miss Delia was small and wiry and grave, +and never spilled anything on the tablecloth +when helping.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Miss Delia," said Lucyet, "I've +written a poem."</p> + +<p>Her companion looked at her and +smiled a shrewd little smile. "I've +guessed as much before now," she said.</p> + +<p>"But," said Lucyet, laying down her +knife and fork, "it has been printed."</p> + +<p>"Printed, child!" exclaimed Miss +Delia, almost dropping hers. At last +the cup of satisfaction was at Lucyet's +lips; at least she had not overestimated +the purport of the event to one human +being.</p> + +<p>"Printed," repeated Lucyet, smiling +softly. "Here it is in the paper."</p> + +<p>Miss Delia pushed aside her plate, +seized the paper, and, opening it, searched +its columns. She had not to look long; +there was but one poem. Lucyet watched +with shining eyes. This is what it meant; +this was the realization of her dreams—to +see the reader pass over the rest of the +page as trivial, to be arrested with spellbound +interest at the word "Spring," to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> +know that the words that held that absorbed +attention were her words—her own.</p> + +<p>As Miss Delia read, gradually her expression +changed; from eagerness it faded +into perplexity. Lucyet watched her +breathlessly, her hands clasped, her thin +arms and somewhat angular elbows resting +on the coarse tablecloth. From perplexity +Miss Delia's look was chilled into +what the observant girl recognized, with +a dull pain at her heart, as disappointment. +Lucyet averted her gaze to a dish +of ill-shaped boiled potatoes; there was no +need of watching longer the face opposite. +Miss Delia read it all through again, +dwelling on certain lines, which she indicated +by her forefinger, with special attention; +then she looked up timidly. +She met Lucyet's unsmiling eyes for a +moment; then she, too, looked away, +hurriedly, helplessly, to the dish of boiled +potatoes.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure it is very nice—very nice +indeed, Lucyet," she said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But you don't like it," said Lucyet.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I do," poor Miss Delia hastened +to say. "I do like it; the rhymes +are in the right places, and all, and it looks +so nice in the <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'colyum'">column</ins>." Mechanically +she pulled her plate back again, and Lucyet +did the same. "I'm proud of you, +Lucyet," she went on with a forced little +smile, "that you can write real poetry like +that."</p> + +<p>"But what if it isn't real poetry?" +said Lucyet.</p> + +<p>The doubt was wrung from her by the +overwhelming bitterness of her disappointment. +A rush of tears was smarting behind +her rather inexpressive eyes; but she +held them back. Miss Delia was thoroughly +distressed. She put aside her own +serious misgivings.</p> + +<p>"But it must be," she argued eagerly, +"or they wouldn't have printed it."</p> + +<p>Lucyet shook her head as she forced +herself to eat a morsel of bread. How +unconvincing sounded the argument from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> +another's lips! and yet she knew now that +secretly it had carried with it more weight +than she had realized. Miss Delia glanced +apprehensively at the folded paper as it lay +on the table. She herself was disappointed, +deeply disappointed; she had expected +much, and this,—why, this was, +most of it, just what any one could find +out for herself. But she must say something +more. Lucyet's patient silence as +she went on with her dinner, never raising +the eyes which had so shone when she first +spoke, demanded speech from her more +urgently than louder claims.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I thought perhaps there +would be more about—about misfortune, +and scattered leaves, and dells,"—poor +Miss Delia smiled deprecatingly, while she +felt wildly about for more tangible reminiscences +of her favorite poets, that she +might respond to the unuttered questioning +of Lucyet,—"and"—she dropped her +eyes—"lovers."</p> + +<p>"I don't know anything about dells<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> +and lovers," said Lucyet, simply; "how +should I?"</p> + +<p>Miss Delia started a little. It had never +occurred to her that one must know about +things personally in order to write poetry +about them. If it had, she would never +have dreamed of mentioning lovers.</p> + +<p>"No, of course not," she said hastily; +"but writing about a thing isn't like +knowing about it."</p> + +<p>Lucyet was not experienced enough to +detect any fallacy in this, and she dumbly +acquiesced.</p> + +<p>"You have in all the grass and trees +and—and such things as you have in—very +nicely, I'm sure," went on Miss +Delia; "only next time"—and she +smiled brightly—"next time you must +put in what we don't see every day—like +islands and reefs and such things. I know +you could write a beautiful poem about a +reef—a coral reef."</p> + +<p>Lucyet tried to smile hopefully in return, +but the attempt was a failure. She<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> +had finished her dinner, and she longed to +get away; she was so hurt that she must +be alone to see how it was to be borne. +She helped Miss Delia clear the table and +wash the dishes, almost in silence. Two +or three times they exchanged words on +indifferent subjects; Miss Delia asked who +had had letters, and Lucyet told her, but +it was hard work for both. When it was +over, Lucyet paused in the doorway, putting +on her straw hat to go back to the +post-office.</p> + +<p>Miss Delia stood a moment irresolute, +and then stepped to her side. "Lucyet," +she said, her voice trembling, "I don't +understand it exactly. It isn't like the +poetry I've been used to. There are +things in it that I don't know what they +mean. To be sure, that's so with all +poetry that we do like,"—the tears were +in her eyes; it is not an easy thing to disappoint +one's best friend and to be conscious +of it,—"but it isn't like what I +thought it was going to be, just about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> +what we see out of the window. But it's +my fault, just as likely as not,"—she laid +her hand on Lucyet's arm,—"that's what +I want to say; you mustn't take it to heart—just +'s likely 's not, it's my fault."</p> + +<p>Miss Delia did not believe a word of +what she was saying, which made it difficult +for her to articulate; but she was making +a brave effort in her sensitive loyalty.</p> + +<p>"I know," said Lucyet, gently; "but I +guess it isn't your fault;" and she slipped +out to the road on her way to the post-office. +Miss Delia went back, picked up +the paper, and, seating herself at the window, +she read "Spring" all through again, +word by word; then she laid it aside again, +shaking her head sadly.</p> + +<p>Lucyet went quietly behind her little +window. Her disappointment amounted +to actual physical pain. She found no +comfort, as a wiser person might have +done, in certain of Miss Delia's expressions; +she only realized that her best +friend and her most generous critic could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +find nothing good in what she had done. +Her duty this afternoon was only to make +up the mail for the down train; then her +time was her own till the next mail train +came up at half-past five. At two o'clock +she closed the office again and started on a +long walk. She longed for the comfort of +the solitary hillsides, where warm patches +of sunlight lay at the foot of ragged stone +walls, and there were long stretches of +plain and meadow to be looked over, and +rolling hills to comfort the soul. As she +climbed a hill just before the place where +a weedy untravelled road turned off from +the highway leading between closely +growing underbrush and stone walls, +where now and then a shy bird rustled +suddenly and invisibly among last year's +dried leaves, she saw three countrymen +standing by the wayside and talking +with as near an approach to earnestness +as ever visits the colloquies of +the ordinary unemotional New Englander. +One of them held a copy of the "Daily<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +Chronicle," gesturing with it somewhat +jerkily as he spoke.</p> + +<p>For a moment the hope that it is hard +to make away with revived in Lucyet's +breast. Were they talking of the poem, +she wondered, with a certain weary interest. +She dreaded a fresh disappointment +so keenly that it pained her to speculate +much on the chance of it. It was not +impossible that they were saying such +meaningless stuff ought never to have +been printed. As the pale girl drew near +with the plodding, patient step which so +often proclaims that walking is not a +pleasure, but a necessity, of country life, +the men did not lower their voices, which +she heard distinctly as she passed.</p> + +<p>"Wal, I tell you, 't was that," said one +of them. "He didn't live more'n a little +time after he took it."</p> + +<p>"Mebbe he wouldn't have lived anyhow."</p> + +<p>"Wal, mebbe he wouldn't. 'T ain't +for me to say," responded the first speaker,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> +evincing a certain piety, which, however, +was not to be construed as at variance with +his first statement.</p> + +<p>"Wal, 't wa'n't this he took, was it?" +demanded the man with the "Chronicle," +waving it wildly.</p> + +<p>"Wal, no, 't wa'n't," responded the +other, reasonably. The third member of +the party maintained an air of not being in +a position to judge, and regarded Lucyet +stolidly as she approached.</p> + +<p>"Do, Lucyet?" he observed, unnoticed +of the other two.</p> + +<p>"I tell you this'll cure him. It'll cure +anybody. Just read them testimonies,"—and +he pressed the paper into the other's +meagre hand. "Read that one, 'Rheumatiz +of thirty years' standin',—it'll +interest ye."</p> + +<p>Lucyet went on up the hill, and turned +into the weedy road. She had not a keen +sense of the ridiculous. It did not strike +her as funny that they should have been +discussing a patent medicine instead of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +verses on "Spring;" but her shrinking +sense of defeat was deepened, and she +felt, with an unconscious resentment, that +most people cared very little about poetry. +She wondered, without bitterness, and with +a saddened distrust of her own power, if +she could write an advertisement. Once +within the precincts of the tangled road, +her disquieted soul rejoiced in the freedom +from observation. She felt as bruised and +sore from the unsympathetic contact of her +world as if it had been a larger one; and +with the depression had come a startled +sense of the irrevocableness of what she +had done. Those printed words seemed +so swift, so tangible. They would go so +far, and afford such opportunity for the +grasp of indifference, of ridicule! If she +could only have them again, spoken, perhaps, +but unheard!</p> + +<p>Yet here, at least, where the enterprising +grass grew in the rugged cart track, +and the branches drooped impertinently +before the face of the wayfarer, no one but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> +herself need know that she was very near to +tears. And as she came out of the shut-in +portion of the road to a stretch of open +country, where the warm light lay on the +hillsides, and the air was sweetened by the +breath of pines, her depression gave way to +a keen sense of elation. She turned aside +and, crossing a bit of elastic, dry grass, +climbed to the top of the stone wall and +looked about her. Her heart throbbed +with confidence, doubly grateful for the +previous distrust. Her own lines came +back to her; it was this that somehow, +imperfectly, but somehow, she had put into +words. It was still spring, a late New +England spring, though the unseasonable +warmth of the day made it seem summer. +The landscape bore the coloring of autumn +rather than that of the earlier year. The +trees were red and brown and yellow in +their incipient leafage. Now and then, +among the sere fields, there was a streak +of vivid green, or a mound of rich brown, +freshly turned earth; but for the most part<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +they were bare. Here and there was the +crimson of a new maple; in the distance +were the reds and brown of new, not old, +life. Only the birds sang as they never +sing in autumn, a burst of clear, joyous +anticipation—the trill of the meadowlark, +the "sweet, sweet, piercing sweet" +of the flashing oriole, the call of the catbird, +and the melody of the white-bosomed +thrush. And here and there a fountain of +white bloom showed itself amid the sombreness +of the fields, a pear or cherry tree +decked from head to foot in bridal white, +like a bit of fleecy cloud dropped from the +floating masses above to the discouraged +earth; along the wayside the white stars +of the anemone, the wasteful profusion of +the eyebright, and the sweet blue of the +violet; and in solemn little clusters, the +curled up fronds of the ferns, uttering a +protest against longer imprisonment—let +wind and sun look out! they would uncurl +to-morrow! All these things set +the barely blossomed branches, the barely<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> +clothed hillsides, at defiance. It was the +beginning, not the end, the promise, not +the regret—it was life, not death. Summer +was afoot, not winter.</p> + +<p>It was worth a longer walk, that half +hour on the hillside; for it restored, in a +measure, her sense of enjoyment, and substituted +for the burden of defeat the exultation +of expression, however faulty and +however limited. But like other moods, +this one was temporary; and as she retraced +her steps and turned into the village +street, she felt again the lassitude which +follows the extinction of hope and the +inexorable narrowing of the horizon which +she had fancied extended.</p> + +<p>It was usual for her at this hour to stop +at the tavern for the mail which might be +ready there, and herself take it to the post-office. +In midsummer this mail was quite +an important item, but at this time of year +it amounted to little; nevertheless, she +followed what had become the custom. +She found one of the daughters of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> +the house in the throes of composition.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lucyet," she exclaimed, "you +don't say that's you! I want this to go +to-night the worst way. Ain't you early?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I guess I am," said Lucyet, rather +wearily.</p> + +<p>"If you'll set on the piazzer and wait, +I'll finish up in just a minute. You see +we had to get dinner for two gentlemen as +came down to go fishin' to-morrer, and it +sorter put me back. I wish you'd wait."</p> + +<p>"Well, I guess I can wait a few minutes," +said Lucyet, the line between her +personal and her official capacity being +sometimes a difficult one to maintain +rigidly. She seated herself on the piazza, +not observing that she was just outside of +the window of the room within which the +two fishermen were smoking and talking +in a desultory fashion. Later their voices +fell idly on her ear, speaking a language +she only half understood, blending with +the few lazy sounds of the afternoon.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +The conversation was really extremely +desultory, being chiefly maintained by the +younger man of the two, who lounged on +the sofa of unoriental luxury with a thorough-going +perversion of the maker's plan,—his +head being where his feet ought to +have been and his feet hanging over the +portion originally intended for the back of +his head. The other man wore the frown +of absorption as, a pencil in his hand, he +worried through some pages of manuscript.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say," observed the idler, "ain't +you 'most through slaughtering the innocents? +I want to take that walk."</p> + +<p>"I told you half an hour ago that if I +could have a few uninterrupted minutes +I'd be with you," answered the other +man, without looking up. "They haven't +fallen in my way yet."</p> + +<p>"It's pity that moves me to speech," +rejoined the first speaker, rising and sauntering +to the window,—not that one outside +of which Lucyet was sitting,—"pity +for those young souls throbbing with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> +consciousness of power who may have +forgotten to enclose a stamp for return. I +feel when I interrupt you as if I were +holding back the remorseless wheel of +fate."</p> + +<p>His companion allowed this speculative +remark to pass without reply. The idler +sauntered back to the table.</p> + +<p>"What'll you bet, now, before you go +any further, that it'll go into the waste-basket?"</p> + +<p>"Stamped and addressed envelope enclosed," +observed the patient editor, absently.</p> + +<p>"Well, what odds will you give me of +its being not necessarily devoid of literary +merit, but unfitted for the special uses of +your magazine?"</p> + +<p>The other was still silent as he laid +aside another page.</p> + +<p>"Half the time," continued the idler, +"to look at you, you wouldn't believe +that you speak the truth when you express +your thanks for the pleasure of reading<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> +their manuscripts. It would seem that +that, too, was simulated."</p> + +<p>The older man picked up a soft felt hat +and threw it across the room at his companion, +without taking his eyes from the +page.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," went on the other, "I +can read the newspaper. I can read what +is printed, while you're reading what ought +to be. Of course you and I know the +things are never the same."</p> + +<p>Picking up the paper, he resumed, approximately, +his former attitude, and applied +himself to its columns for a few moments +of silence. Outside Lucyet sat quietly, +her head resting against the white wooden +wall of the house; and the editor made a +mark or two.</p> + +<p>"Now this is what the public want to +know," resumed the idler, with a gratuitous +air of having been pressed for his +opinion. "You editors have a ridiculous +way of talking about the public—"</p> + +<p>"It strikes me that it is not I who have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> +been making myself ridiculous talking +about anything."</p> + +<p>"The public! You just tell the great +innocent public that you are giving them +the sort of thing they like, and half the +time they believe you, and half the time +they don't. Now this man"—and he +tapped the "Chronicle"—"knows an +editor's business."</p> + +<p>"Which is more than you do," interpolated +the goaded man.</p> + +<p>"'The frame for William Brown's +new house is up. William may be trusted +to finish as well as he has begun,'" read +the idler, imperturbably. "'Miss Sophie +Brown is visiting friends in Albany. The +boys will be glad to see her back.' 'Fruit +of all kinds will be scarce, though berries +will be abundant.'"</p> + +<p>The older man stood up, his pencil in +his mouth. "Confound you, Richards! +Either you keep still or I go to my room +and lock the door."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'll keep still," said Richards, as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> +if it was the first time it had been suggested. +Again there was a silence.</p> + +<p>The letter must be to Ada's young +man, who was doing a good business in +cash registers, it took so long to write it. +It was within five minutes of the time +Lucyet should be at the office. She +moved to leave the piazza, when a not +loud exclamation from Richards fell on +her ear with unusual distinctness.</p> + +<p>"By Jove! I say, just listen to this."</p> + +<p>The editor looked up threateningly, and +went back to his work again without a +word.</p> + +<p>"No, but really—it's quite in your +line. Listen."</p> + +<p>Lucyet had moved forward a step or +two, when she stood motionless. The +words that floated through the window +were her own. Richards had an unusually +sweet voice, and he was reading in a +way entirely different from that in which +he had rattled off the "personals." +There seemed a new sweetness in every<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> +syllable; the warmth of the hillside, +the perfume of opening apple blossoms, +breathed between the lines. He read +slowly, and the words fell on the still air +that seemed waiting breathless to hear +them. When he finished, Lucyet was +leaning against the side of the house, her +hand on her heart, her eyes shining,—and +the editor was looking at the +reader.</p> + +<p>"There," he concluded, "ain't there +something of the 'blackbird's tune and +the beanflower's boon' in that?"</p> + +<p>"Copied, of course?" inquired the +editor, briefly.</p> + +<p>"No. 'Written for the Daily Chronicle,' +and signed 'L.' Not bad, are they? +Of course I don't know," Richards +scoffed, "and the public wouldn't know +if it read them, but you know—"</p> + +<p>"Read 'em again."</p> + +<p>A second time, with increased expression, +half mischievous now in its fervor, +the lines on Spring fell in musical tones<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +from Richards's lips. Still Lucyet stood +breathless, her whole being thrilled with +an impulse of exultant, inexpressible delight, +listening as she had never listened +before. It was as if she stood in the +midst of a shining mist.</p> + +<p>"She's got it in her, hasn't she?" +Richards added, after a pause.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said his companion, slowly. +"She's got it in her fast enough;" and +he returned to his page of manuscript. +"Much good may it do her!" he added, +with weary cynicism.</p> + +<p>Richards laughed, and pulled a pack of +cards out of his pocket. "I'll play solitaire," +he said.</p> + +<p>"Thank Heaven!" murmured the +other, devoutly.</p> + +<p>Ada arrived breathless. "Here 'tis," +said she. "Did you think I was never +comin'? You've got time enough; they +ain't very prompt. There ain't anythin' +the matter, is there?" she asked.</p> + +<p>Lucyet took the letter mechanically.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> +"No," she said, "there isn't anything +the matter."</p> + +<p>As she went swiftly toward the little +post-office the rhythm of those lines was +in her ears; the assured, incisive tones of +that man's voice pulsed through her very +soul. She was conscious of no hope for +the future; she had no regret for the past; +the present was a glory. In that moment +Lucyet had taken a long, dizzying draught +from the cup of success.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p> +<h2>Hearts Unfortified</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>THE observation train wound its way +in clumsy writhings along the bank +of the river, upon which the afternoon light +fell in modified brilliancy as the west +kindled towards the sunset. But if the +sheen and sparkle of the earlier day had +passed into something more subdued and +less exhilarating, the difference was made +up in the shifting action and color that +moved and glowed and flashed on, above +and beside the soft clearness of the stream. +The sunlight caught the turn of the wet +oars and outlined the brown muscular +backs of the young athletes who were +pulling the narrow shells. The Yale blue +spread itself in blocks and patches along +the train, and the Harvard crimson burned +in vivid stretches by its side, and all the blue<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> +and crimson seemed instinct with animation +as they floated, quivered, and waved in the +thrilled interest of hundreds of men and +women who followed with eager eyes the +knife-blades of boats cleaving the water in +a quick, silent ripple of foam. The crowd +of launches, tugs, yachts, and steamers +pushed up the river, keeping their distance +with difficulty, and from them as well as +from the banks sounded the fluctuating +yet unbroken cheers of encouragement +and exhortation, rising and falling in +rhythmic measure, guided by public-spirited +enthusiasts, or breaking out in purely individual +tribute to the grand chorus of partisanship. +It had been a close start, and +the furor of excitement had spent itself, +somewhat, during the first seconds, and +now made itself felt more like the quick +heart-beats of restrained emotion as the +issue seemed to grow less doubtful, though +reaching now and then climaxes of renewed +expression.</div> + +<p>"Alas for advancing age!" sighed a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> +woman into the ear of her neighbor, as +their eyes followed the crews, but without +that fevered intensity which marked some +other glances.</p> + +<p>"By all means," he answered. "But +why, particularly, just now? I was beginning +to fancy myself young under the +stress of present circumstances."</p> + +<p>"Because even if one continues to keep +one's emotions creditably—effervescent—one +loses early the single-minded glow of +contest."</p> + +<p>"A single-minded glow is a thing that +should be retained, even at considerable +cost."</p> + +<p>"And what is worse yet, one grows +critical about language," she continued +calmly, "and gives free rein to a naturally +unpleasant disposition under cover of a +refined and sensitive taste."</p> + +<p>Ellis Arnold smiled tolerantly.</p> + +<p>"They are pretty sure to keep their lead +now," he said. "The other boat is more +than a length behind, and losing. They<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> +are not pulling badly, either," he added. +"You were saying?"—and he turned +towards her for the first time since the +start.</p> + +<p>She was a handsome blonde-haired +woman, perfectly dressed, with the seal of +distinction set upon features, figure, and +expression.</p> + +<p>"That was what I was saying," she +replied, "that the ones that are behind are +not pulling badly."</p> + +<p>"More sphinx-like than ever," he murmured. +"I perceive that you speak in +parables."</p> + +<p>Miss Normaine laughed a little. The +conversation was decidedly intermittent. +They dropped it entirely at times, and then +took it up as if there had been no pause. +It was after a brief silence that she went +on: "But you and I can see both boats—the +success, and the disappointment too. +And we can't, for the life of us, help feeling +that it's hard on those who have put +forth all their strength for defeat."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But it isn't so bad as if it were our +boat that was behind," he said sensibly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no; of course not. But I maintain +that it injures the <i>fine fleur</i> of enjoyment +to remember that there are two +participants in a contest."</p> + +<p>"I suppose it is useless to expect you to +be logical—"</p> + +<p>"Quite. I know enough to be entirely +sure I'd rather be picturesque."</p> + +<p>"But let me assure you, that in desiring +that there should be but one participant +in a contest, you are striking at the +very root of all successful athletic exhibitions."</p> + +<p>She shrugged her shoulders a little.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, if you like to air your powers +of irony at the expense of such painful +literalness!"</p> + +<p>"The exuberance of my style has been +pruned down to literalness by the relentless +shears of a cold world. With you, +of course,"—but he was interrupted by +the shouts of the crowd, as the winning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +boat neared the goal. The former +enthusiasm had been the soft breathings +of approval compared to this outbreak of +the victorious. Flags, hats, handkerchiefs +rose in the air, and the university cheer +echoed, re-echoed, and began again.</p> + +<p>Arnold cheered also, with an energy +not to be deduced from his hitherto calm +exterior, standing up on the seat and +shouting with undivided attention; and +Miss Normaine waved her silk handkerchief +and laughed in response to the +bursts of youthful joy from the seat in +front of her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," said Arnold, sitting down +again, "sport is sport for both sides, +whoever wins—or else it isn't sport at +all."</p> + +<p>"Ah, how many crimes have been committed +in thy name!" murmured Miss +Normaine.</p> + +<p>"Katharine, I think you have turned +sentimentalist."</p> + +<p>"No, it's age, I tell you. I'm thinking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> +more now of the accessories than I +am of the race. That's a sure sign of +age, to have time to notice the accessories."</p> + +<p>Arnold nodded.</p> + +<p>"There's compensation in it, though. +If we lose a little of the drama of conflict +on these occasions, we gain something +in recognizing the style of presentation."</p> + +<p>"Yes," and she glanced down at her +niece, whose pretty eyes were making +short work of the sunburned, broad-shouldered, +smooth-faced, handsome boy, +who was entirely willing to close the festivities +of Commencement week subjected +to the ravages of a grand, even if a hopeless, +passion.</p> + +<p>From her she looked out upon the now +darkening river. There had been some +delay before the train could begin to move +back, and the summer twilight had fallen; +for the race had been at the last available +moment. Though it was far from quiet, +the relief from the tension of the previous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> +moments added to the placidity of the +scene. The opposite banks were dim and +shadowy, and the water was growing +vague; there were lights on some of the +craft; a star came out, and then another; +there were no hard suggestions, no sordid +reminders. It was a beautiful world, filled +with happy people, united in a common +healthy interest; the outlines of separation +were softened into ambiguity and the differences +veiled by good breeding.</p> + +<p>"It is only a mimic struggle, after all," +she said at last. "The stage is well set, +and now that the curtain is down, there is +no special bitterness at the way the play +ended."</p> + +<p>"There you exaggerate, as usual," he +replied, "and of course in another direction +from that in which you exaggerated +last time."</p> + +<p>"The pursuit of literature has made +you not only precise but didactic," she +observed.</p> + +<p>"There is a good deal, if not of bitterness,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> +of very real disappointment, and +some depression."</p> + +<p>"Which will be all gone long before +the curtain goes up for the next performance."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes, to be sure; but nevertheless +you underrate the disappointments of +youth,—because they are not tragic you +think they are not bitter,—you have +always underrated them."</p> + +<p>She met his eyes calmly, though he had +spoken with a certain emphasis.</p> + +<p>"We are talking in a circle," she replied. +"That was what I said in the first +place—that as we grow older we have +more sympathy with defeat."</p> + +<p>"You are incorrigible," he said, smiling; +"you will accept neither consolation +nor reproof."</p> + +<p>"Life brings enough of both," she answered; +"it does not need to be supplemented +by one's friends."</p> + +<p>The train was moving very slowly; +people were laughing and talking gayly all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> +about them; more lights had come out on +the water, and a gentle breeze had suddenly +sprung up.</p> + +<p>"Just what do you mean by that, I +wonder?" he said slowly.</p> + +<p>"Not much," she answered lightly. +"But I do mean," she added, as he looked +away from her, "that, whether it be the +consequence of the altruism of the day, +or of advancing age, as I said at first, it +has grown to be provokingly difficult to +ignore those who lose more serious things +than a college championship. Verestchagin +and such people have spoiled history +for us. Who cares who won a great +battle now?—it is such a small thing to +our consciousness compared to the number +of people who were killed—and on one +side as well as the other."</p> + +<p>"Except, of course, where there is a +great principle, not great possessions, at +stake?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she assented, but somewhat +doubtfully, "yes, of course."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But it shows a terrible dearth of interest +when we get down to principles."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said again, laughing. +Meanwhile Miss Normaine's niece was +pursuing her own ends with that directness +which, though lacking the evasive +subtlety of maturer years, is at once effective +and commendable.</p> + +<p>"It was nothing but a box of chocolate +peppermints," she insisted. "I'd +never be so reckless as to wager anything +more without thinking it over. I have an +allowance, and I'm obliged to be careful +what I spend."</p> + +<p>He looked her over with approval.</p> + +<p>"You spend it well," he asserted.</p> + +<p>"I have to," she returned, "or else +boys like you would never look at me +twice."</p> + +<p>"I don't know about that." He spoke +as one who, though convinced, is not a +bigot.</p> + +<p>"It's fortunate that I do," she replied +decidedly. "I'm mortifyingly dependent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> +on my clothes. There's my Aunt Katharine +now,—she has an air in anything."</p> + +<p>"I like you better than your aunt," he +confessed.</p> + +<p>"Of course you do. I've taken pains +to have you. But it was just as much as +ever that you looked at me twice last +night."</p> + +<p>"I was afraid of making you too conspicuous."</p> + +<p>"A lot you were!" she retorted rudely. +"Who was that girl you danced with?"</p> + +<p>He smiled wearily.</p> + +<p>"Tommy Renwick's cousin from the +West."</p> + +<p>"She is pretty."</p> + +<p>"Very good goods."</p> + +<p>"Is she as nice as Tommy?"</p> + +<p>"No. There are not many girls as +nearly right as Tommy."</p> + +<p>"Except me."</p> + +<p>"Well, perhaps, except you."</p> + +<p>"But then, I'm not many."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, separate wrapper, only one in a +box," he admitted handsomely.</p> + +<p>Miss Normaine's niece had dark eyes, +brown hair that curled in small inadvertent +rings, and a rich warm complexion through +which the crimson glowed in her round +cheeks. She was so pretty that she ought +to have been suppressed, and had a way +of speaking that made her charming all +over again.</p> + +<p>"It was not chocolate peppermints, and +you know quite well it wasn't," he said, +with the finished boldness compatible with +hair parted exactly in the middle and a +wide experience. Miss Normaine's niece +opened her eyes wide.</p> + +<p>"What was it?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing but your heart."</p> + +<p>She considered the matter seriously.</p> + +<p>"Was it really?"</p> + +<p>"It was really."</p> + +<p>"And I've lost," she pondered aloud.</p> + +<p>"And you've lost."</p> + +<p>She raised her eyes with a glance in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +which he could read perfect faith, glad +acknowledgment, and entire surrender.</p> + +<p>"Do you want me to keep telling +you?" she demanded with adorable petulance.</p> + +<p>"There is Henry Donald!" exclaimed +Miss Normaine. "I didn't see him before. +He has grown stout, hasn't he?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and bald."</p> + +<p>"Isn't he young to be bald and stout +too? Do tell me that he is," urged Miss +Normaine with pathos. "He seems just +out of college to me, and I don't like to +think that I've lost all sense of proportion."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, you haven't," said Arnold, +consolingly. "It's only he that has lost +his. He doesn't take exercise enough. +He's coming this way to speak to you. +You had better think of something more +flattering to say."</p> + +<p>"I never thought Harry Donald would +get stout and bald," went on Miss Normaine, +to herself. "There was a period<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +when I let my fancy play about him, most +of the time too, but I never thought of +that."</p> + +<p>"Who's that man squeezing through +the crowd to speak to Aunt Katharine?" +asked Alice.</p> + +<p>"That? Oh, that's one of the old +boys."</p> + +<p>"I can see that for myself."</p> + +<p>"He's a Judge Donald of Wisconsin. +He's pretty well on, but he's a Jim-dandy +after-dinner speaker. Made a smooth +speech at his class reunion."</p> + +<p>"They still like to come to the race +and things, don't they?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, and they're right into it all +while they're here too."</p> + +<p>Unhappily unconscious of the kindly +feeling being extended to him from the +bench in front, Judge Donald seated himself +by Katharine, just as they drew slowly +into the station.</p> + +<p>"You haven't been on for some years, +have you?" she asked him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No," he answered, "I've been busy."</p> + +<p>"Oh, we know you've been busy," +she interpolated, smiling.</p> + +<p>"You're the same Katharine Normaine," +he rejoined. "I thought you +were, by the looks, and now I'm sure. +You don't really know that I've ever had +a case, but you make me feel that my +name echoes through two worlds at the +very least."</p> + +<p>"And you are still Harry Donald, suspicious +of the gifts that are tossed into +your lap," and they both laughed.</p> + +<p>"This is the man of the class," went +on Judge Donald, turning to Ellis, who +had taken a seat above them. "Your +books have gotten out to Wisconsin, and +that's fame enough for any man."</p> + +<p>"Have they really?" said Arnold. "I +supposed they only wrote notices of them +in the papers."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," murmured Miss Normaine. +"Ellis has turned out clever,—one never +knows."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I guess they're good, too," went on +Donald; "I tell 'em I used to think you +wrote well in college."</p> + +<p>"I thought I did, too," answered Arnold. +"I don't believe we're either of +us quite so sure I write well now."</p> + +<p>They had delayed their steps to keep +out of the crowd, for the people were +leaving the train, some hurrying to catch +other trains, some stopping to greet friends +and acquaintances; there was a general +rushing to and fro, the clamor of well-bred +voices, the calling out of names in +surprised accost, the frou-frou of gowns +and the fragrance of flowers, in the bare +and untidy station.</p> + +<p>At last the party of which Miss Normaine +was one left the car, and with the +two men she made her way down the platform, +through the midst of the hubbub, +which waxed more insistent every moment.</p> + +<p>"It is with a somewhat fevered anxiety +that I am keeping my eye on Alice," she +said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span></p> + +<p>"She is with a young man," said Judge +Donald.</p> + +<p>"That statement has not the merit of +affording information. She has been with +a young man ever since we left home."</p> + +<p>"It isn't the same one, either," supplemented +Arnold.</p> + +<p>"It never is the same one," said Miss +Normaine, somewhat impatiently. "I +am under no obligation to look after or +even differentiate the young men. I simply +have to see that the child doesn't get +lost with any one of them."</p> + +<p>"She won't get lost with one," said +Arnold, reassuringly, as they were separated +by a cross-current of determined humanity. +"She has three now, and they +are all shaking hands at a terrible +rate."</p> + +<p>Judge Donald departed on a tour of +investigation, and returned to say that +there was no chance just at present of +their getting away. It was a scene of +confusion which only patience and time<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> +could elucidate. The omniscience of officials +had given place to a less satisfactory +if more human ignorance; last come was +first served, and a seat in a train seemed +by no means to insure transportation. It +was as well to wait for a while outside as +in; so with many others they strolled up +and down, until their car should be more +easily accessible.</p> + +<p>"Alice is an example of the profound +truths we have been enunciating, Ellis," +said Miss Normaine. "She has an ardent +admirer on the defeated crew. At one +time I did not know but his devotion +might shake her lifelong allegiance to the +other university; but now that victory has +fairly perched, you observe she has small +thought for the bearers of captured banners. +We were saying, Mr. Arnold and +I," she explained to Donald, "that it is +at our time of life that people begin to +remember that when somebody beats, +there is somebody else beaten."</p> + +<p>Donald grew grave,—as grave as a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> +man can be with the feathers of an unconscious +girl tickling one ear and a +fleeting chorus of the latest "catchy" +song penetrating the other.</p> + +<p>"Arnold and I can appreciate it better +than you, I guess," he said, "because +there have been times when we thought +it highly probable we might get beaten +ourselves."</p> + +<p>"Highly," assented Arnold.</p> + +<p>"But you, Miss Normaine, you've +never had any difficulty in getting in on +the first floor," went on the other. +"You've quaffed the foam of the beaker +and eaten the peach from the sunniest side +of the wall right along—I'm quite sure +of it just to look at you."</p> + +<p>"The Scripture moveth us in sundry +places," said Katharine, with a lightness +that did not entirely veil something serious, +"not to put too much faith in appearances. +Even I am not above learning a +lesson now and then."</p> + +<p>He looked at her curiously.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'd like to know by what right you +haven't changed more," he said.</p> + +<p>"Did you expect to find me in ruins, +after—let me see, how many years?" +she laughed. "The hand of Time is +heavy, but not necessarily obliterating. +<i>What</i> has become of Alice?"</p> + +<p>"She can't have gone far," said Arnold. +"She was with us a moment ago."</p> + +<p>"There she is with some of the rest of +your party—I caught a glimpse of her +just now," added Donald. "She's quite +safe."</p> + +<p>Alice stood talking with a girl of her +own age and two or three undergraduates, +on the outskirts of the crowd. One of +the youths wore in his buttonhole the losing +color, but he bore himself with a +proud dignity that forbade casual condolences. +Alice's eyes were bright, and her +pretty laugh rippled forth with readily +communicated mirth, while the very roses +of her hat nodded with the spirit of unthinking +gayety.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There's the car that belongs to our +fellows," said, half to himself, the person +of sympathies alien to those of his present +companions. "They must be about—yes, +they're getting on," he added, as a +car which had been propelled from a +neighboring switch stopped at the farther +end of the station. Alice's head turned +with a swiftness of motion that set the +roses vibrating as if a sudden breeze had +ruffled their petals.</p> + +<p>"The crew?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes," assented the young man.</p> + +<p>She turned more definitely towards him, +away from the rest of the group, whose +attention was called in another direction.</p> + +<p>"Will you do something for me, Mr. +Francis?"</p> + +<p>"Why, of course."</p> + +<p>Alice had not anticipated refusal, and +her directions were prompt and lucid.</p> + +<p>"Please go into that car and ask Mr. +Herbert to come out to the platform, at +the other end, to speak to me. There<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> +isn't much time to lose, so please be +quick."</p> + +<p>As he lifted his hat and moved away, +she joined in the conversation of the +others, which seemed to be largely metaphorical.</p> + +<p>"So he got it that time," one of the +young men was explaining, "where Katy +wore the beads."</p> + +<p>"Well, it served him quite right," said +Alice, with the generosity of ignorance. +Her whole attention was apparently given +to the matter in hand, but she was standing +so that she could see the somewhat +vague vestibule of the brilliant but curtained +car.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, but it wasn't on the tintype +that the other fellow should have been +there at all."</p> + +<p>"No, to be sure, but that made it all +the better," said Alice's friend, with sympathetic +vision.</p> + +<p>"Why, there's Eugene Herbert!" exclaimed +Alice. "I really must go and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> +tell him that he pulled beautifully, if he +didn't win, and comforting things like +that! Don't go off without me."</p> + +<p>Before comment could be framed upon +their lips, she had left her companions and +was slipping quickly down the platform.</p> + +<p>"She knows him very well," said the +other girl; "she'll be back in a minute."</p> + +<p>"She must have sharp eyes," said another +of the group, as he looked after her. +But too many people were about for fixed +attention to be bestowed upon a single +figure. There was but one light under +the roof of that part of the station where +a young man was standing, looking rather +sulkily up and down. Alice was a little +breathless with her rapid walk when she +reached him.</p> + +<p>"I thought Francis was giving me a +song and dance," he said, as he grasped +the hand she held out.</p> + +<p>"No, I sent him," she explained hurriedly. +"And I wanted to say—" She +paused an instant as she looked up at him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p> + +<p>He was serious, and wore a look of +fatigue, in spite of the superb physical +health of his whole appearance. The +light fell across her face under the dark +brim of her hat, and touched its beauty +into something vividly apart from the +shadows and sordidness of the place, yet +paler than its sunlit brilliancy.</p> + +<p>"I wanted to say," she went on bravely, +"that I've changed my mind. At least, +I didn't really have any mind at all. And +if you still want me to—" she paused +again, but something in his eyes reassured +her—"I will—I'd really <i>like</i> to, you +know, and <i>please</i> be quiet, there isn't but +a minute to say it in—and I'd never +have told you—at least not for years and +<i>years</i>—if you had won the race. Now +let go of my hand—there are <i>hundreds</i> of +people all about—and you can come and +see me to-morrow."</p> + +<p>It was all over in a moment. She had +snatched her hand away, and was speeding +back with a clear-eyed look of conscious<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +rectitude, and he had responded to the +exhortations of divers occupants of the +car, backed by a disinterested brakeman, +and stepped aboard.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, there's another race next +year," he said to somebody who spoke to +him as he sat down in the end seat. It +was early for such optimism, and they +thought Herbert had a disgustingly cheerful +temperament.</p> + +<p>Alice returned just as Miss Normaine +and Arnold came up, and they all went +back together, collecting the rest of the +party as they went to their train. It was +a vivacious progress along the homeward +route. Pæans of victory and the flash of +Roman candles filled the air. At one +time, when some particular demonstration +was absorbing the attention of the men, +Miss Normaine found her niece at her side.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Katharine, you know I've +always adored you," she said, with a repose +of manner that disguised a trifle of +apprehension.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, I know, Alice, but I really can't +promise to take you anywhere to-morrow. +I—"</p> + +<p>"I don't want you to—I only want to +confide in you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear, what have you been doing +now?"</p> + +<p>"I think," replied Alice, while the chorus +of sound about them swelled almost +to sublimity, "that I've been getting engaged—to +Eugene Herbert, you know."</p> + +<p>"Only to Eugene Herbert," breathed +Miss Normaine. "I'm glad it occurred +to you to mention it. But why didn't +you say so before?"</p> + +<p>"It didn't—it wasn't—before," said +Alice, faltering an instant under the calmly +judicial eye of her aunt. "You see," she +went on quickly, "it was because they +lost the race. It wouldn't have been at +all—not anyway for a long time,"—and +again her mental glance swept the vista of +the years she had mentioned to Herbert +himself,—"if it hadn't been for that;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> +but I couldn't let him go back without +either the race or—or me," she concluded +ingenuously.</p> + +<p>Arnold had been talking with a man of +his own age, and hearing things that were +very pleasant to hear about his latest work, +and yet, as he leaned back in his chair +and looked across at Katharine Normaine, +whose own expression was a little pensive, +he sighed. It was a great deal—he told +himself it was nearly everything—to +have what he had now in the line of effort +which he loved and had chosen. It +was not so good as the work itself, of +course, but the recognition was grateful. +And as his eyes dwelt again upon the distinction +of Miss Normaine's profile, with +the knot of blonde hair at the back of her +well-held head, he sighed again, as he rose +and went over to her. She looked up at +him, and her eyes were not quite so calm +as usual.</p> + +<p>"I am sitting," she said, "among the +ruins."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Indeed?" he said. "Is there room +upon a fallen column or a broken plinth +for me?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," she answered, "but it is +not for a successful man like you, whose +name is upon the public lips, to gaze with +me upon demolished theories."</p> + +<p>"I have taken my time in gazing upon +them before now," he observed.</p> + +<p>"Everybody is talking about your +book," she said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, only a very few people. But +about your theories—which of them has +proved itself unable to bear the weight of +experience?"</p> + +<p>"You may remember I dwelt somewhat +at length upon the indifference of +happy youth to the stings of outrageous +fortune when supported by some one +else?"</p> + +<p>"I remember. I regard it as the lesson +for the day."</p> + +<p>"It's early to mention it, but I am +obliged to give you the evidence of my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> +error—honor demands it—and Alice will +not mind, even if she sees fit to contradict +it to-morrow;" and she told him what +had just been told her.</p> + +<p>He smiled as she concluded her statement, +and she, meeting his glance in all +seriousness, broke down into a moment's +laughter.</p> + +<p>"'She does not know anything but that +her side is beating,'" he quoted meditatively.</p> + +<p>"I thought my generosity in confession +might at least forestall sarcasm," she said +severely.</p> + +<p>"It ought to do so," he admitted.</p> + +<p>There was a moment's pause.</p> + +<p>"Has youth itself changed with the +times, I wonder?" he speculated. "Certainly +you did not sympathize overmuch +with defeat at Alice's age."</p> + +<p>She did not answer, and she was looking +away from him through the glass, +beyond which the darkness was pierced +now and then by a shaft of illumination.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> +The pensiveness that had rested on her +face, when he had looked across the +car at her, had deepened almost into +sadness.</p> + +<p>"And now," he went on, "you have +called me successful—which shuts me +out from your more mature sympathy."</p> + +<p>Still she did not answer. He bent a +little nearer to her.</p> + +<p>"Believe me, Katharine," he said, +"my success is not so very intoxicating +after all. I need sympathy of a certain +kind as much as I did twenty years +ago."</p> + +<p>She glanced at him.</p> + +<p>"Is that all you want?" she asked +with a swift smile.</p> + +<p>"No," he returned boldly; and she +looked away again, out into the darkness +through which they were rushing.</p> + +<p>"I had hoped," he went on, "that my +so-called success might be something to +offer you after all this time—something +you would care for—and now I find that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> +your ideals are all reversed. I have not +won much, but I have won a little, and +you tell me to-day that it is only extreme +youth that cares for the winners."</p> + +<p>"And that I have found out that I was +mistaken." Her voice was low, but quite +clear. "Have I not told you that, too?"</p> + +<p>"And about experience of life making +us care the more for those who fail in +everything?"—he waited a moment. +"You have not mentioned that that was a +mistake also. I wish you'd stop looking +out of that confounded window," he added +irritably, "and look at me. Heaven +knows I've failed in some things!"</p> + +<p>She laughed a little at his tone, but she +did not follow his suggestion.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," she said, "you have succeeded."</p> + +<p>"And that means—what?"</p> + +<p>"I told you I was sitting among the +ruins of my theories," she said, while a +faint color, which he saw with sudden +pleasure, rose in her cheek.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That adverse theory—has that gone +too?"</p> + +<p>"I have had enough of theories," she +declared softly. "What I really care for +is success."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p> +<h2>Her Neighbors' Landmark</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>THE sun had not quite disappeared behind +the horizon, though the days +no longer extended themselves into the +long, murmurous twilight of summer; instead, +the evening fell with a certain definiteness, +precursor of the still later year.</div> + +<p>On the step of the door that led directly +into the living-room of his rambling +house sat Reuben Granger, an old man, +bent with laborious seasons, and not untouched +by rheumatism. The wrinkles +on his face were many and curiously intertwined; +his weather-beaten straw hat +seemed to supply any festal deficiency indicated +by the shirt-sleeves; and his dim +eyes blinked with shrewdness upon the +dusty road, along which, at intervals, a +belated wagon passed, clattering. His +days of usefulness were not over, but he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> +had reached the age when one is willing +to spend more time looking on. He had +always been tired at this hour of the day, +but it was only of late that fatigue had +had a certain numbing effect, which disinclined +him to think of the tasks of +tomorrow. He came to this period of +repose rather earlier nowadays, and after +less sturdy labor—somehow, a great deal +of the sturdy labor got itself done without +him; and there was an acquiescence in +even this dispensation perceptible in the +fall of his knotted hands and the tranquil +gaze of his faded eyes.</p> + +<p>About a dozen yards beyond him, on +the doorstep leading directly into the living-room +of a house which joined the +other, midway between two windows (the +union marked by a third doorway unused +and boarded up, around whose stone was +the growth of decades), sat Stephen Granger. +His weather-beaten straw hat shaded +eyes dim also, but still keen; and a network +of curious wrinkles wandered over<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> +his tanned and sun-dried skin. Upon his +features, too, dwelt that look of patient +tolerance that is not indifference, that +only the "wise years" can bring; and +on his face as well as his brother's certain +lines about the puckered mouth went far +to contradict it. If one saw only one of +the old men, there was nothing grim in +the spectacle—that of a weary farmer +looking out upon the highroad from the +shelter of his own doorway; but the sight +of them both together took on suddenly a +forbidding air, a suggestion of sullenness, +of dogged resolution; they were so precisely +alike, and they sat so near one another +on thresholds of the same long, low +building, and they seemed so unconscious +the one of the other. It was impossible +not to believe the unconsciousness wilful +and deliberate. A heavily freighted and +loose-jointed wagon rattled noisily but +slowly along the road.</p> + +<p>"Howaryer?" called out one of its +occupants.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'Are yer?" returned Stephen Granger.</p> + +<p>Reuben had opened his mouth to speak, +but closed it in silence, while he gazed +straight before him, unseeing, apparently, +and unheeding. The leisurely driver +checked his horse, which responded instantly +to the welcome indication. Behind +him in the wagon two calves looked +somewhat perplexedly forth, their mild +eyes, with but slightly accentuated curiosity, +surveying the Grangers and the +landscape from the durance of the cart.</p> + +<p>"Been tradin'?" asked Stephen.</p> + +<p>"Wal, yes, I have," answered the +other, with that lingering intonation that +seems to modify even the most unconditional +assent.</p> + +<p>"Got a good bargain?"</p> + +<p>"Wal, so-so."</p> + +<p>"Many folks down to the store this +evenin'?"</p> + +<p>"Wal, considerable."</p> + +<p>"Ain't any news?"</p> + +<p>"Not any as I know on."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p> + +<p>Stephen nodded his acceptance of this +state of things. The other nodded, too. +There was a pause.</p> + +<p>"G'long," said the trader, as if he +would have said it before if he had thought +of it. But the horse had taken but a few +steps when another voice greeted him.</p> + +<p>"Howaryer, Monroe?" said Reuben +Granger.</p> + +<p>"Whoa," said Monroe. "Howaryer?"</p> + +<p>"Been down to the Centre?" asked +Reuben.</p> + +<p>"Yare."</p> + +<p>"Got some calves in there, I see."</p> + +<p>"Wal, yes; been doin' some tradin'."</p> + +<p>Reuben nodded. "Ain't any news, I +take it?"</p> + +<p>"None in partickler." Another exchange +of nods followed.</p> + +<p>"G'long," said Monroe, after a short +silence, during which the calves looked +more bored than usual. But the shaky +wheels had made but a few revolutions before +the owner of the wagon reined in again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Say," he called back, twisting himself +around and resting his hand on the bar +that confined the calves. "They've took +down the shed back of the meetin'-house. +Said 'twas fallin' to pieces. Might 'a' +come down on the heads of the hosses. +Goin' to put up a new one." Then, as +his steed recommenced its modest substitute +for a trot, unseen of the Grangers he +permitted himself an undemonstrative +chuckle. "They can sorter divide that +piece of news between 'em," he said to +his companion, who had been the silent +auditor of the conversation. A moment +of indecision on the part of the Grangers +had given him time to make this observation, +but it was not concluded when +Reuben's cracked voice sang out cheerfully, +"Ye don't say!" A slight contraction +passed over Stephen's face. +Much as he would have liked to mark the +bit of information for his own, now that +it had been appropriated by another, he +gave no further sign. The noise of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> +wagon died along the road, and still Reuben +and Stephen Granger sat gazing +straight before them at the hill which +faced them from the other side of the +way, at the foot of which the darkness +was falling fast. By and by a lamp was +lighted in one half of the house, and a +moment later there was a flash through +the window of the other, and slowly and +stiffly the two old men rose and went +inside, each closing his door behind +him.</p> + +<p>"Them's the Granger twins," had said +the owner of the calves in answer to his +companion's question as soon as they were +out of hearing. "Yes, they be sort of +odd. Don't have nothin' to say to one +another, and they've lived next door to +each other ever since they haven't lived +<i>with</i> each other. It's goin' on thirty +years since they've spoke. Yes, they do +look alike—I don't see no partickler difference +myself, and it would make it +kinder awk'ard if they expected folks to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> +know which one he's talkin' to. But +they don't. They're kinder sensible about +that. They're real sensible 'bout some +things," he added tolerantly. "Oh, they +was powerful fond of each other at first—twins, +y' know. They was always +together, and when each of 'em set up +housekeepin', nothin' would do for it but +they should jine their houses and live side +by side—they knew enough not to live +together, seein' as how, though they was +twins, their wives wasn't. So they took +and added on to the old homestead, and +each of 'em took an end. Wal, I dunno +how it began—no, it wasn't their wives—it +don't seem hardly human natur', but +it wasn't their wives." The speaker +sighed a little. He was commonly supposed +to have gained more experience than +felicity through matrimony. "I've heard +it said that it was hoss-reddish that begun +it. You see, they used to eat together, +and Stephen he used to like a little hoss-reddish +along with his victuals in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> +spring, and Reuben, he said 't was a pizen +weed. But there! you can never tell; +they're both of 'em just as sot as—as +erysipelas; and when that's so, somethin' +or other is sure to come. I know for a +fact that Reuben always wanted a taste +of molasses in his beans, and Stephen +couldn't abide anythin' but vinegar. So, +bymeby, they took to havin' their meals +separate. You know it ain't in human +natur' to see other folks puttin' things +in their mouths that don't taste good to +yours, and keep still about it."</p> + +<p>His companion admitted the truth of +this statement.</p> + +<p>"Sometimes I think," went on Monroe, +musingly, "that if they'd begun by eatin' +separate they might have got along, 'cause +it's only His saints that the Lord has +made pleasant-tempered enough to stand +bein' pestered with three meals a day, +unless they're busy enough not to have +time to think about anythin' but swallerin'. +Hayin'-time most men is kinder pleasant<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> +'bout their food—so long 's it's ready. +Wal, however it was, after they eat separate +there was other things. There was +the weather. They always read the +weather signs different. And each of 'em +had that way of speakin' 'bout the weather +as if it was a little contrivance of his +own, and he was the only person who +could give a hint how 'twas run, or had +any natural means of findin' out if 'twas +hot, or cold, or middlin', 'less he took hold +and told 'em. It's a powerful tryin' sort +of way, and finally it come so that, if +Reuben said we was in for a wet spell, +Stephen 'd start right off and begin to +mow his medder grass, and if Stephen +'lowed there was a sharp thunder-shower +comin' up, inside of ten minutes, Reuben'd +go and git his waterin'-pot and water +every blamed thing he had in his garden. +I dunno when it was they stopped speakin', +but that was about all there was to it—little +things like that. They didn't +either of 'em have any children; sometimes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> +I've thought if they had, the kids +might sort of brought 'em together—they +couldn't have kep' 'em apart without they +moved away, and of course they wouldn't +either of 'em give in to the other enough +to move away from the old farm. Then +their wives died 'bout a year from each +other. They kep' kind o' friendly to the +last, but they couldn't stir their husbands +no more'n if they was safes—it seems, +sometimes, as if husbands and wives was +sort o' too near one another, when it +comes to movin', to git any kind of a +purchase. When Reuben's wife died, +folks said they'd have to git reconciled +now; and when Stephen's died, there +didn't seem anythin' else for 'em to do; +but folks didn't know 'em. Stephen went +up country where his wife come from and +brought home a little gal, that was her +niece, to keep house for him; and then +what did Reuben do but go down to Zoar, +where <i>his</i> wife come from, and git her +half-sister—both of 'em young, scart<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> +little things, and no kin to one another—and +<i>they</i> can't do nothin' even if they +wanted to. Bad-tempered? Wal, no. +I wouldn't say the Granger twins was +bad-tempered;" and the biographer dexterously +removed a fly from his horse's patient +back. "They're sot, of course, but +they ain't what they used to be—I guess +it's been a sort of discipline to 'em—livin' +next door and never takin' no kind +of notice. They're pleasant folks to +have dealin's with, and I've had both of +'em ask me if I cal'lated it was goin' to +rain, when I've been goin' by—different +times, o' course—but it 'most knocked +the wind out of me when they done it, +'stead of givin' me p'inters. Yes, you +never can speak to 'em both at once, +'cause the other one never hears if ye do; +but there! it ain't much trouble to say a +thing over twice—most of us say it +more'n that 'fore we can git it 'tended to; +and," he added, as he leaned forward and +dropped the whip into its socket preparatory<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> +to turning into his own yard, "most +of us hears it more'n once."</p> + +<p>"Monroe," called a voice from the +porch, "did you bring them calves?"</p> + +<p>"Yare," said Monroe.</p> + +<p>"I told you if you stopped to bring +'em, you wouldn't be home till after +dark."</p> + +<p>"Wal?"</p> + +<p>"I told you 't would be dark and you'd +be late to supper."</p> + +<p>"Wal?" and Monroe took down the +end of the wagon, and persuaded out the +calves.</p> + +<p>The person who was Monroe's companion +and the recipient of his confidences +was a young woman who was an inmate +of his house for the present month +of September.</p> + +<p>Confident and somewhat audacious in +her conduct of life, Cynthia Gardner had +felt that this September existence lacked a +motive for energy before it brought her +into contact with the Granger twins.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span></p> + +<p>"They are so interesting," she said to +Monroe, a day or two later.</p> + +<p>"Wal, I guess they be," answered +Monroe, amiably. The quality of being +interesting did not assume to his vision +the proportions it presented to Cynthia +Gardner's, but he saw no reason to deny +its existence. Cynthia cast a backward +glance from the wagon as she spoke, and +saw Reuben slowly and stiffly gathering +up dry stalks in his garden, while Stephen +propped up the declining side of a water-butt +in his adjoining domain, one man's +back carefully turned to the other.</p> + +<p>She walked back from the Centre, and +stopped to talk with the twins in a casual +manner. But no careful inadvertence +drew them, at this or any later time when +their social relations had become firmly +established, into a triangular conversation. +They greeted her with cordiality, responded +to her advances, talked to her with the +tolerant and humorous shrewdness that +lurked in their dim eyes, but it was always<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> +one at a time. If, with disarming naïveté, +she appealed to Stephen, Reuben turned +into a graven image; and if she chaffed +with Reuben, Stephen became as one who +having eyes seeth not, and having ears +heareth not. But she persisted with a +zeal which, if not according to knowledge, +was the result of a firm belief in +the possibility of a final adjustment of +differences. She did not know, herself, +what led her into such earnestness,—a +caprice, or the lingering pathos of two +lonely, barren lives.</p> + +<p>Monroe watched her proceedings with +tolerant kindliness. It was not his business +to discourage her. He knew what +it was to be discouraged, and he felt that +there was quite enough discouragement +going about in life without his adding +to it.</p> + +<p>"I tell you they would like to be reconciled, +Mr. Monroe," said Cynthia. +"They don't know they would like it, +but they would."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Wal, mebbe they would. They're +gittin' to be old men. And when you +git along as far as that, you don't, perhaps, +worry so much about <i>bein'</i> reconciled, +but neither does it seem as worth +while <i>not</i> to. There's a good deal that's +sort of instructive about gittin' old," he +ruminated.</p> + +<p>"It's very lonely for them both, I +think;" and Cynthia's voice fell into the +ready accents of youthful pity.</p> + +<p>"Their quarrel's been kinder comp'ny +for 'em," suggested Monroe.</p> + +<p>"It's overstayed its time," asserted +Cynthia.</p> + +<p>"Mebbe," answered Monroe.</p> + +<p>The crisis—for Cynthia had been looking +for a crisis—came, after all, unexpectedly. +She had been for the mail, and +as she drove the amenable horse over the +homeward road she strained her eyes to +read the last page of an unusually absorbing +letter, for it was again sundown, and +the Granger twins again sat in their doorways.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> +There was a decided chill in the +air, this late afternoon. The old men, +though they were sturdy still, had put on +their coats, and from behind them the +comfortable glow of two stove doors +promised a later hour of warmth and comfort. +Their aspect was more melancholy +than usual, whether it were that the bleakness +of winter seemed pressing close upon +the bleakness of lonely age, or that there +was an added weariness in the droop of +the thin shoulders and the fixed eyes—it +was certain that the picture had gained a +shadow of depression.</p> + +<p>For once, Cynthia was not thinking of +them as she drew near. The reins were +loose in her hand, and as she bent to catch +the waning light, an open newspaper, +which she had laid carelessly on the seat +beside her, was lifted by a transient gust +of wind and tossed almost over her horse's +head. No horse, of whatever serenity, +can be thus treated without resentment. +He jerked the reins from her heedless<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> +hands, made a sharp turn to avoid the +white, wavering, inconsequent thing at his +feet, a wheel caught in a neighboring +boulder, and Cynthia was spilled out just +in front of the Granger house and midway +between the twins. In a common impulse +of fright the two old men started to +their feet. For an instant they paused to +judge of the situation, but it was no time +for fine distinctions. The accident had, +to all appearances, happened as near one +as the other, and meanwhile a young and +pretty woman lay unsuccored upon the +ground. It became a point of honor to +yield nothing to an ignored companion. +As speedily as their years allowed, Stephen +and Reuben marched to the rescue. The +horse, meanwhile, had dragged the overturned +wagon but a few yards, and had +stopped of his own reasonable accord. +As Cynthia raised herself rather confusedly +and quite convinced that she was +killed, her first impression was that the +angels were older than she had fancied,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> +and looked very much like the Granger +twins. But in a few seconds her balance +of mind was restored, she realized that +while there was life there was hope, and +that for the first time in her experience +the eyes of Reuben and Stephen were +fixed solicitously upon a common object, +that each of them had stretched out to +her a helping hand, and that two voices +with precisely the same anxious intonation +were saying,—</p> + +<p>"Be ye hurt?"</p> + +<p>It was a solemn moment, but Cynthia +Gardner was of the stuff that recognizes +opportunity. She laid a hand upon each +rugged arm, and steadied herself between +them; she perceived that they trembled +under her touch, and she felt that the instant +in which they stood side by side was +dramatic.</p> + +<p>"I declare, 'twas too bad," said Reuben.</p> + +<p>"'Twas too bad," said Stephen.</p> + +<p>"Is the horse all right?" asked Cynthia, +feebly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, Johnny Allen got him," said +Stephen.</p> + +<p>"Johnny Allen came along," said Reuben, +as if Stephen had not spoken, "and +he's got him."</p> + +<p>"I can walk," she said, with not unconscious +pathos, "if you will walk with +me, but I must go in and rest a moment;" +and the three moved slowly straight forward.</p> + +<p>A few steps brought them to the point +at which they must turn aside to reach +either entrance. Before them rose the +old boarded-up, dismal doorway, weather-beaten, +stained, repellent as bitterness. +There was another fateful pause. Cynthia +felt the quiver that ran through the +frames of the old men as for the first time +in long years they stood side by side before +the doorway about which as children +they had played, and through which as +boys they had rushed together. In Cynthia's +drooping head plans were rapidly +forming themselves, but she had time to +be thankful that she did not know which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> +was Reuben and which was Stephen—it +saved her the anxiety of decision; instinctively +she turned to the right, a small +brown hand clutching impartially either +rough and shabby sleeve.</p> + +<p>The man on her right swerved in an +impulse of desertion, but her grasp did +not relax.</p> + +<p>"Is the judgment of Solomon to be +pronounced!" she said to herself, half +hysterically, for her nerves were a little +shaken.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I hope I sha'n't faint!" she exclaimed +aloud.</p> + +<p>Beneath Reuben's rustic exterior beat +the American heart that cannot desert an +elegant female in distress. He followed +the inclination of the other two to Stephen's +door, and in another never-to-be-forgotten +moment he stepped inside his +brother's house.</p> + +<p>Stephen's deceased wife's niece was so +overcome by the spectacle that she retained +barely enough presence of mind to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> +drag forward a wooden chair upon which +Cynthia sank in a condition evidently bordering +upon syncope. It was a critical +moment; she must not give the intruder +an opportunity to escape. She knew the +intruder by that impulse of desertion, and +she clung the tighter to his arm when she +murmured pitifully, "If you could get me +some water, Mr. Granger."</p> + +<p>Stephen hastened towards the kitchen +pump—the sight of Reuben in his side +of the house, after thirty years, set old +chords vibrating with a suddenness that +threatened to snap some disused string, +and his perceptions were not as clear as +usual. He seized the dipper, filled it, and +looked about him.</p> + +<p>"Where's the tumbler, Jenny?" he +called impatiently.</p> + +<p>"It's right there," answered the girl, +with the explicitness of agitation.</p> + +<p>"Whar?" he demanded with asperity.</p> + +<p>"Settin' on the side—right back of +the molasses jug."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Molasses jug!" he exclaimed. "Nice +place for the molasses jug!"</p> + +<p>"We was goin' to have baked beans +for supper," said the trembling Jenny, +feeling that it was best to be tentative +about even a trifling matter within the +area of this convulsion, "and you always +want it handy."</p> + +<p>It was a simple statement, but it laid a +finger upon the past and upon the future. +Cynthia, through her half-closed eyes, saw +one old man with disturbed features, standing +with his hand upon her chair, while +another old man shuffled toward her with +a glass of water, which spilled a little in +his shaking hand as he came across the +humble kitchen. Most inadequate dramatic +elements, yet they held the tragedy +of nearly a lifetime, and the comedy, +though more evident, was cast by it in +the shade, and she neither laughed nor +cried.</p> + +<p>Within a few moments more she was +on her homeward way, a trifling break in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> +the harness tied up with twine, and Johnny +Allen in the seat beside her as guard of +honor.</p> + +<p>The next evening the people, driving +home from the Centre, were saved from +some active demonstration only by the +repression of the New England temperament. +Some of them even, after driving +past, invented an errand to drive back +again, so as to make sure. For the +Granger twins sat side by side in front of +the disused doorway, and their straw hats +were turned sociably towards one another, +now and then, as they exchanged a syllable +or two, and there was a mild luminousness +of pleasure in the recesses of +their pale-blue eyes. The evening darkened +fast into night. The plaintive +half-chirp, half-whistle of a tree-toad +fell in monotonous repetition upon the +ear.</p> + +<p>"Hear them little fellers!" said Stephen, +ruminantly. "I reckon they think +it's goin' to rain."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yare," said Reuben. "And," he +went on, pushing back his straw hat and +looking up into the sky, "I wouldn't +wonder if they was right."</p> + +<p>"Mostly are," said Stephen.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span></p> +<h3><i>Miss Trumbull's New Story</i></h3> + +<div class='center'>——————</div> + +<h2>Mistress Content Cradock</h2> + +<div class='center'>AN HISTORICAL TALE OF NEW ENGLAND<br /> +LIFE IN THE TIME OF GOVERNOR<br /> +WINTHROP AND ROGER WILLIAMS<br /> +<br /> +By ANNIE ELIOT TRUMBULL<br /> +<br /> +<i>Author of "A Cape Cod Week," "Rod's Salvation," "A<br /> +Christmas Accident," etc.</i><br /> +<br /> +<i>1 vol. 12mo., cloth. Illustrated. Price, $1.00.</i></div> + +<div class='center'>——————</div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>A charming colonial romance.—<i>The Congregationalist.</i></p> + +<p>It is in a word a fascinating, strong, well-told story.—<i>The +Church Review.</i></p> + +<p>It is a delightful way to study history—one of the best +of ways—to read a book written by one whose historical +information is accurate.—<i>Boston Advertiser.</i></p> + +<p>The thread of romance and love is rendered most attractive +by the author's well-known bright and attractive style, +her delicately fashioned descriptions, and her entertaining +dialogue.—<i>N. Y. Times.</i></p> + +<p>Winsome and captivating, Content pleases us of to-day as +she did the lover who patiently waited to obtain the gift of +her not too easily engaged heart, and the quiet story of her +fortunes is well worth following.—<i><ins title="Transcriber's Note: This word obscurred in the original">Literature</ins></i></p></div> + +<div class='center'>——————<br /><br /></div> + +<div class='center'><i>For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid, on<br /> +receipt of price, by the Publishers,</i></div> + +<div class='sig'> +A. S. BARNES & CO.<br /> +<span class="smcap">156 Fifth Avenue, New York</span><br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span></p> +<h2>Rod's Salvation.</h2> + +<h4>BY</h4> + +<h3>ANNIE ELIOT TRUMBULL.</h3> + +<div class='center'>Illustrated by Charles Copeland. 12mo, cloth,<br /> +285 pages. $1.00.</div> + +<div class='center'>——————</div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The volume entitled "Rod's Salvation," contains four +short stories, some of which are long enough to be fairly +called novelets.... "Rod's Salvation" is a good picture of +'longshore life, telling of the devotion of a sister to a +scapegrace brother and well worthy a reading.—<i>Springfield +Republican.</i></p> + +<p>Miss Trumbull is blessed by a most delightful and +unpretentious gift of story-telling. Her work suggests a +twilight musician; she has a certain dainty humor in her +touch.—<i>The Citizen.</i></p> + +<p>"Rod's Salvation" appears to us the most interesting +sketch of the four in the present volume. It proves a +thorough comprehension of the noblest characteristics of +the inhabitants of the typical New England fishing village. +The author shows us diamonds in the rough, and with a +most happy talent, suddenly reveals to us the gleaming +beauties beneath their rude exterior. "Rod's Salvation" is +an inspiring story, the pathos of which is accentuated by +the delicate satire, exquisite humor, and touches of kindly +human nature which lead one up to the unexpected climax.—<i>The +Church Review.</i></p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span></p> +<h3>A</h3> + +<h2>Cape Cod Week.</h2> + +<h4>BY</h4> + +<h3>ANNIE ELIOT TRUMBULL.</h3> + +<div class='center'>12mo, cloth, 170 pages. $1.00.</div> + +<div class='center'>——————</div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The keenness, quickness, and acuteness of the New England +mind were, perhaps, never better illustrated than in +her stories. Her conversations are at times almost supernaturally +bright; such talk as one hears from witty, brilliant, +and cultivated American women—talk notable for +insight, subtle discriminations, unexpected and surprised +terms and persuasive humor.</p> + +<p>"A Cape Cod Week" contains an account of the adventures +and achievements of three young women who +sought the seclusion, silence, and scenery of Cape Cod, +and who enlivened that remote and restful country by +flashes of talk often brilliant, almost always entertaining. +Miss Trumbull's work is delightful reading: the sameness +of the commonplace and the obvious is so entirely absent +from it.—<i>The Outlook.</i></p> + +<p>Annie Eliot Trumbull delights in fine descriptions of +nature as it exists. The book is capital reading and its +merits can be appreciated the whole year round.—<i>New +York Times.</i></p> + +<p>A delightful, gossipy little sketch of a week's holiday on +Cape Cod. It is full of bright things, imaginative to a +degree, and yet based on facts as we have all seen them on +the sands of the Cape. The book is beautifully printed and +bound.—<i>Boston Globe.</i></p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span></p> +<div class='center'>The "Annie Eliot" Stories</div> + +<h2>FIVE NEW BOOKS</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> ANNIE ELIOT TRUMBULL</h3> + +<div class="hang1">MISTRESS CONTENT <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'CRADDOCK'">CRADOCK</ins>. Illustrated by +Chas. Copeland. 12mo, cloth, 306 pages. $1.00.</div> + +<div class="hang1">A CHRISTMAS ACCIDENT <span class="smcap">and Other Stories</span>. +12mo, cloth, 234 pages. $1.00.</div> + +<div class="hang1">A CAPE COD WEEK, 12mo, cloth, 170 pages. +$1.00.</div> + +<div class="hang1">ROD'S SALVATION. Illustrated by Charles Copeland. +12mo, cloth, 285 pages. $1.00.</div> + +<div class="hang1">AN HOUR'S PROMISE. <i>New Edition</i>. 12mo, +cloth. $1.00.</div> + +<div class='center'>——————</div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The reader will enjoy the wit, the delicate satire, the +happy bits of nature description.—<i>S. S. Times.</i></p> + +<p>They are New England stories and exhibit a delicate +comprehension of many types of New England character. +They are delightfully readable, and the books ought to be +favorites.—<i>The Congregationalist.</i></p> + +<p>Miss Trumbull's claim to the attention of her readers is +undisputed. Her short stories possess a freshness, a poignancy +and underlying quick-witted penetration into human +feelings, motives and experiences that give them a peculiar +charm. Her choice of themes is such as appeals to a wide +circle and her handling of the persons of her imagination is +exquisite.—<i>Hartford Post.</i></p></div> + +<div class='center'>——————<br /><br /></div> + +<div class='center'><i>For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid, on<br /> +receipt of price, by the Publishers,</i></div> + +<div class='sig'> +A. S. BARNES & CO.<br /> +<span class="smcap">156 Fifth Avenue, New York</span><br /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Notes:</h3> +<p>Obvious punctuation errors repaired.</p> + +<p>The remaining corrections made are indicated by dotted lines under the corrections. Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text will <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'apprear'">appear</ins>.</p></div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Christmas Accident and Other Stories, by +Annie Eliot Trumbull + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CHRISTMAS ACCIDENT *** + +***** This file should be named 28307-h.htm or 28307-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/3/0/28307/ + +Produced by David Edwards, Emmy and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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