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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/35300-8.txt b/35300-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..85a50e5 --- /dev/null +++ b/35300-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4573 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Louisiana, by Frances Hodgson Burnett + +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: Louisiana + +Author: Frances Hodgson Burnett + +Release Date: February 17, 2011 [EBook #35300] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOUISIANA *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: "ASK YOUR SISTER," SHE REPLIED. "IT WAS HER PLAN."] + + + + + +LOUISIANA + + +BY + +FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT + + +AUTHOR OF "HAWORTH'S," "THAT LASS O' LOWRIE'S," ETC. + + + + +NEW YORK + +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS + +743 AND 745 BROADWAY + +1880 + + + + +COPYRIGHT BY + +FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT, + +1880. + +(_All rights reserved._) + + + + +TROW'S + +PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING Co., + +201-213 East 12th St., + +NEW YORK. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +CHAPTER I. + +LOUISIANA + + +CHAPTER II. + +WORTH + + +CHAPTER III. + +"HE IS DIFFERENT" + + +CHAPTER IV. + +A NEW TYPE + + +CHAPTER V. + +"I HAVE HURT YOU" + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE ROAD TO THE RIGHT + + +CHAPTER VII. + +"SHE AINT YERE" + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +"NOTHING HAS HURT YOU" + + +CHAPTER IX. + +"DON'T YE, LOUISIANNY?" + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE GREAT WORLD + + +CHAPTER XI. + +A RUSTY NAIL + + +CHAPTER XII. + +"MEBBE" + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +A NEW PLAN + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +CONFESSIONS + + +CHAPTER XV. + +"IANTHY!" + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +"DON'T DO NO ONE A ONJESTICE" + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +A LEAF + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +"HE KNEW THAT I LOVED YOU" + + + + +LOUISIANA. + + + +CHAPTER I. + +LOUISIANA. + +Olivia Ferrol leaned back in her chair, her hands folded upon her lap. +People passed and repassed her as they promenaded the long "gallery," +as it was called; they passed in couples, in trios; they talked with +unnecessary loudness, they laughed at their own and each other's jokes; +they flirted, they sentimentalized, they criticised each other, but +none of them showed any special interest in Olivia Ferrol, nor did Miss +Ferrol, on her part, show much interest in them. + +She had been at Oakvale Springs for two weeks. She was alone, out of +her element, and knew nobody. The fact that she was a New Yorker, and +had never before been so far South, was rather against her. On her +arrival she had been glanced over and commented upon with candor. + +"She is a Yankee," said the pretty and remarkably youthful-looking +mother of an apparently grown-up family from New Orleans. "You can see +it." + +And though the remark was not meant to be exactly severe, Olivia felt +that it was very severe, indeed, under existing circumstances. She +heard it as she was giving her orders for breakfast to her own +particular jet-black and highly excitable waiter, and she felt guilty +at once and blushed, hastily taking a sip of ice-water to conceal her +confusion. When she went upstairs afterward she wrote a very +interesting letter to her brother in New York, and tried to make an +analysis of her sentiments for his edification. + +"You advised me to come here because it would be novel as well as +beneficial," she wrote. "And it certainly is novel. I think I feel +like a Pariah--a little. I am aware that even the best bred and most +intelligent of them, hearing that I have always lived in New York, will +privately regret it if they like me and remember it if they dislike me. +Good-natured and warm-hearted as they seem among themselves, I am sure +it will be I who will have to make the advances--if advances are +made--and I must be very amiable, indeed, if I intend that they shall +like me." + +But she had not been well enough at first to be in the humor to make +the advances, and consequently had not found her position an exciting +one. She had looked on until she had been able to rouse herself to +some pretty active likes and dislikes, but she knew no one. + +She felt this afternoon as if this mild recreation of looking on had +begun rather to pall upon her, and she drew out her watch, glancing at +it with a little yawn. + +"It is five o'clock," she said. "Very soon the band will make its +appearance, and it will bray until the stages come in. Yes, there it +is!" + +The musical combination to which she referred was composed of six or +seven gentlemen of color who played upon brazen instruments, each in +different keys and different time. Three times a day they collected on +a rustic kiosk upon the lawn and played divers popular airs with an +intensity, fervor, and muscular power worthy of a better cause. They +straggled up as she spoke, took their places and began, and before they +had played many minutes the most exciting event of the day occurred, as +it always did somewhere about this hour. In the midst of the gem of +their collection was heard the rattle of wheels and the crack of whips, +and through the rapturous shouts of the juvenile guests, the two +venerable, rickety stages dashed up with a lumbering flourish, and a +spasmodic pretense of excitement, calculated to deceive only the +feeblest mind. + +At the end of the gallery they checked themselves in their mad career, +the drivers making strenuous efforts to restrain the impetuosity of the +four steeds whose harness rattled against their ribs with an unpleasant +bony sound. Half a dozen waiters rushed forward, the doors were flung +open, the steps let down with a bang, the band brayed insanely, and the +passengers alighted.--"One, two, three, four," counted Olivia Ferrol, +mechanically, as the first vehicle unburdened itself. And then, as the +door of the second was opened: "One--only one: and a very young one, +too. Dear me! Poor girl!" + +This exclamation might naturally have fallen from any quick-sighted and +sympathetic person. The solitary passenger of the second stage stood +among the crowd, hesitating, and plainly overwhelmed with timorousness. +Three waiters were wrestling with an ugly shawl, a dreadful shining +valise, and a painted wooden trunk, such as is seen in country stores. +In their enthusiastic desire to dispose creditably of these articles +they temporarily forgot the owner, who, after one desperate, timid +glance at them, looked round her in vain for succor. She was very +pretty and very young and very ill-dressed--her costume a bucolic +travesty on prevailing modes. She did not know where to go, and no one +thought of showing her; the loungers about the office stared at her; +she began to turn pale with embarrassment and timidity. Olivia Ferrol +left her chair and crossed the gallery. She spoke to a servant a +little sharply: + +"Why not show the young lady into the parlor?" she said. + +The girl heard, and looked at her helplessly, but with gratitude. The +waiter darted forward with hospitable rapture. + +"Dis yeah's de way, miss," he said, "right inter de 'ception-room. +Foller me, ma'am." + +Olivia returned to her seat. People were regarding her with curiosity, +but she was entirely oblivious of the fact. + +"That is one of them," she was saying, mentally. "That is one of them, +and a very interesting type it is, too." + +To render the peculiarities of this young woman clearer, it may be well +to reveal here something of her past life and surroundings. Her father +had been a literary man, her mother an illustrator of books and +magazine articles. From her earliest childhood she had been surrounded +by men and women of artistic or literary occupations, some who were +drudges, some who were geniuses, some who balanced between the two +extremes, and she had unconsciously learned the tricks of the trade. +She had been used to people who continually had their eyes open to +anything peculiar and interesting in human nature, who were enraptured +by the discovery of new types of men, women, and emotions. Since she +had been left an orphan she had lived with her brother, who had been +reporter, editor, contributor, critic, one after the other, until at +last he had established a very enviable reputation as a brilliant, +practical young fellow, who knew his business, and had a fine career +open to him. So it was natural that, having become interested in the +general friendly fashion of dissecting and studying every scrap of +human nature within reach, she had followed more illustrious examples, +and had become very critical upon the subject of "types" herself. +During her sojourn at Oakvale she had studied the North Carolinian +mountaineer "type" with the enthusiasm of an amateur. She had talked +to the women in sunbonnets who brought fruit to the hotel, and sat on +the steps and floor of the galleries awaiting the advent of customers +with a composure only to be equaled by the calmness of the noble +savage; she had walked and driven over the mountain roads, stopping at +wayside houses and entering into conversation with the owners until she +had become comparatively well known, even in the space of a fortnight, +and she had taken notes for her brother until she had roused him to +sharing her own interest in her discoveries. + +"I am sure you will find a great deal of material here," she wrote to +him. "You see how I have fallen a victim to that dreadful habit of +looking at everything in the light of material. A man is no longer a +man--he is 'material'; sorrow is not sorrow, joy is not joy--it is +'material.' There is something rather ghoulish in it. I wonder if +anatomists look at people's bodies as we do at their minds, and if to +them every one is a 'subject.' At present I am interested in a species +of girl I have discovered. Sometimes she belongs to the better +class--the farmers, who have a great deal of land and who are the rich +men of the community,--sometimes she lives in a log cabin with a mother +who smokes and chews tobacco, but in either case she is a surprise and +a mystery. She is always pretty, she is occasionally beautiful, and in +spite of her house, her people, her education or want of it, she is +instinctively a refined and delicately susceptible young person. She +has always been to some common school, where she has written +compositions on sentimental or touching subjects, and when she belongs +to the better class she takes a fashion magazine and tries to make her +dresses like those of the ladies in the colored plates, and, I may add, +frequently fails. I could write a volume about her, but I wont. When +your vacation arrives, come and see for yourself." It was of this +class Miss Ferrol was thinking when she said: "That is one of them, and +a very interesting type it is, too." + +When she went in to the dining-room to partake of the six o'clock +supper, she glanced about her in search of the new arrival, but she had +not yet appeared. A few minutes later, however, she entered. She came +in slowly, looking straight before her, and trying very hard to appear +at ease. She was prettier than before, and worse dressed. She wore a +blue, much-ruffled muslin and a wide collar made of imitation lace. +She had tucked her sleeves up to her elbow with a band and bow of black +velvet, and her round, smooth young arms were adorable. She looked for +a vacant place, and, seeing none, stopped short, as if she did not know +what to do. Then some magnetic attraction drew her eye to Olivia +Ferrol's. After a moment's pause, she moved timidly toward her. + +"I--I wish a waiter would come," she faltered. + +At that moment one on the wing stopped in obedience to a gesture of +Miss Ferrol's--a delicate, authoritative movement of the head. + +"Give this young lady that chair opposite me," she said. + +The chair was drawn out with a flourish, the girl was seated, and the +bill of fare was placed in her hands. + +"Thank you," she said, in a low, astonished voice. + +Olivia smiled. + +"That waiter is my own special and peculiar property," she said, "and I +rather pride myself on him." + +But her guest scarcely seemed to comprehend her pleasantry. She looked +somewhat awkward. + +"I--don't know much about waiters," she ventured. "I'm not used to +them, and I suppose they know it. I never was at a hotel before." + +"You will soon get used to them," returned Miss Ferrol. + +The girl fixed her eyes upon her with a questioning appeal. They were +the loveliest eyes she had ever seen, Miss Ferrol +thought--large-irised, and with wonderful long lashes fringing them and +curling upward, giving them a tender, very wide-open look. She seemed +suddenly to gain courage, and also to feel it her duty to account for +herself. + +"I shouldn't have come here alone if I could have got father to come +with me," she revealed. "But he wouldn't come. He said it wasn't the +place for him. I haven't been very well since mother died, and he +thought I'd better try the Springs awhile. I don't think I shall like +it." + +"I don't like it," replied Miss Ferrol, candidly, "but I dare say you +will when you know people." + +The girl glanced rapidly and furtively over the crowded room, and then +her eyes fell. + +"I shall never know them," she said, in a depressed undertone. + +In secret Miss Ferrol felt a conviction that she was right; she had not +been presented under the right auspices. + +"It is rather clever and sensitive in her to find it out so quickly," +she thought. "Some girls would be more sanguine, and be led into +blunders." + +They progressed pretty well during the meal. When it was over, and +Miss Ferrol rose, she became conscious that her companion was troubled +by some new difficulty, and a second thought suggested to her what its +nature was. + +"Are you going to your room?" she asked. + +"I don't know," said the girl, with the look of helpless appeal again. +"I don't know where else to go. I don't like to go out there" +(signifying the gallery) "alone." + +"Why not come with me?" said Miss Ferrol. "Then we can promenade +together." + +"Ah!" she said, with a little gasp of relief and gratitude. "Don't you +mind?" + +"On the contrary, I shall be very glad of your society," Miss Ferrol +answered. "I am alone, too." + +So they went out together and wandered slowly from one end of the +starlit gallery to the other, winding their way through the crowd that +promenaded, and, upon the whole, finding it rather pleasant. + +"I shall have to take care of her," Miss Ferrol was deciding; "but I do +not think I shall mind the trouble." + +The thing that touched her most was the girl's innocent trust in her +sincerity--her taking for granted that this stranger, who had been +polite to her, had been so not for worldly good breeding's sake, but +from true friendliness and extreme generosity of nature. Her first +shyness conquered, she related her whole history with the unreserve of +a child. Her father was a farmer, and she had always lived with him on +his farm. He had been too fond of her to allow her to leave home, and +she had never been "away to school." + +"He has made a pet of me at home," she said. "I was the only one that +lived to be over eight years old. I am the eleventh. Ten died before +I was born, and it made father and mother worry a good deal over +me--and father was worse than mother. He said the time never seemed to +come when he could spare me. He is very good and kind--is father," she +added, in a hurried, soft-voiced way. "He's rough, but he's very good +and kind." + +Before they parted for the night Miss Ferrol had the whole genealogical +tree by heart. They were an amazingly prolific family, it seemed. +There was Uncle Josiah, who had ten children, Uncle Leander, who had +fifteen, Aunt Amanda, who had twelve, and Aunt Nervy, whose belongings +comprised three sets of twins and an unlimited supply of odd numbers. +They went upstairs together and parted at Miss Ferrol's door, their +rooms being near each other. + +The girl held out her hand. + +"Good-night!" she said. "I'm so thankful I've got to know you." + +Her eyes looked bigger and wider-open than ever; she smiled, showing +her even, sound, little white teeth. Under the bright light of the +lamp the freckles the day betrayed on her smooth skin were not to be +seen. + +"Dear me!" thought Miss Ferrol. "How startlingly pretty, in spite of +the cotton lace and the dreadful polonaise!" + +She touched her lightly on the shoulder. + +"Why, you are as tall as I am!" she said. + +"Yes," the girl replied, depressedly; "but I'm twice as broad." + +"Oh no--no such thing." And then, with a delicate glance down over +her, she said--"It is your dress that makes you fancy so. Perhaps your +dressmaker does not understand your figure,"--as if such a failing was +the most natural and simple thing in the world, and needed only the +slightest rectifying. + +"I have no dressmaker," the girl answered. "I make my things myself. +Perhaps that is it." + +"It is a little dangerous, it is true," replied Miss Ferrol. "I have +been bold enough to try it myself, and I never succeeded. I could give +you the address of a very thorough woman if you lived in New York." + +"But I don't live there, you see. I wish I did. I never shall, +though. Father could never spare me." + +Another slight pause ensued, during which she looked admiringly at Miss +Ferrol. Then she said "good-night" again, and turned away. + +But before she had crossed the corridor she stopped. + +"I never told you my name," she said. + +Miss Ferrol naturally expected she would announce it at once, but she +did not. An air of embarrassment fell upon her. She seemed almost +averse to speaking. + +"Well," said Miss Ferrol, smiling, "what is it?" + +She did not raise her eyes from the carpet as she replied, unsteadily: + +"It's Louisiana." + +Miss Ferrol answered her very composedly: + +"The name of the state?" + +"Yes. Father came from there." + +"But you did not tell me your surname." + +"Oh! that is Rogers. You--you didn't laugh. I thought you would." + +"At the first name?" replied Miss Ferrol. "Oh no. It is unusual--but +names often are. And Louise is pretty." + +"So it is," she said, brightening. "I never thought of that. I hate +Louisa. They will call it 'Lowizy,' or 'Lousyanny.' I could sign +myself Louise, couldn't I?" + +"Yes," Miss Ferrol replied. + +And then her _protégée_ said "good-night" for the third time, and +disappeared. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +WORTH. + +She presented herself at the bed-room door with a timid knock the next +morning before breakfast, evidently expecting to be taken charge of. +Miss Ferrol felt sure she would appear, and had, indeed, dressed +herself in momentary expectation of hearing the knock. + +When she heard it she opened the door at once. + +"I am glad to see you," she said. "I thought you might come." + +A slight expression of surprise showed itself in the girl's eyes. It +had never occurred to her that she might not come. + +"Oh, yes," she replied. "I never could go down alone when there was +any one who would go with me." + +There was something on her mind, Miss Ferrol fancied, and presently it +burst forth in a confidential inquiry. + +"Is this dress very short-waisted?" she asked, with great earnestness. + +Merciful delicacy stood in the way of Miss Ferrol's telling her how +short-waisted it was, and how it maltreated her beautiful young body. + +"It is rather short-waisted, it is true." + +"Perhaps," the girl went on, with a touch of guileless melancholy, "I +am naturally this shape." + +Here, it must be confessed, Miss Ferrol forgot herself for the moment, +and expressed her indignation with undue fervor. + +"Perish the thought!" she exclaimed. "Why, child! your figure is a +hundred times better than mine." + +Louisiana wore for a moment a look of absolute fright. + +"Oh, no!" she cried. "Oh, no. Your figure is magnificent." + +"Magnificent!" echoed Miss Ferrol, giving way to her enthusiasm, and +indulging in figures of speech. "Don't you see that I am +thin--absolutely thin. But my things fit me, and my dressmaker +understands me. If you were dressed as I am,"--pausing to look her +over from head to foot--"Ah!" she exclaimed, pathetically, "how I +should like to see you in some of my clothes!" + +A tender chord was touched. A gentle sadness, aroused by this instance +of wasted opportunities, rested upon her. But instantaneously she +brightened, seemingly without any particular cause. A brilliant idea +had occurred to her. But she did not reveal it. + +"I will wait," she thought, "until she is more at her ease with me." + +She really was more at her ease already. Just this one little scrap of +conversation had done that. She became almost affectionate in a shy +way before they reached the dining-room. + +"I want to ask you something," she said, as they neared the door. + +"What is it?" + +She held Miss Ferrol back with a light clasp on her arm. Her air was +quite tragic in a small way. + +"Please say 'Louise,' when you speak to me," she said. "Never say +'Miss Louisiana'--never--never!" + +"No, I shall never say 'Miss Louisiana,'" her companion answered. "How +would you like 'Miss Rogers?'" + +"I would rather have 'Louise,'" she said, disappointedly. + +"Well," returned Miss Ferrol, "'Louise' let it be." + +And "Louise" it was thenceforward. If she had not been so pretty, so +innocent, and so affectionate and humble a young creature, she might +have been troublesome at times (it occurred to Olivia Ferrol), she +clung so pertinaciously to their chance acquaintanceship; she was so +helpless and desolate if left to herself, and so inordinately glad to +be taken in hand again. She made no new friends,--which was perhaps +natural enough, after all. She had nothing in common with the young +women who played ten-pins and croquet and rode out in parties with +their cavaliers. She was not of them, and understood them as little as +they understood her. She knew very well that they regarded her with +scornful tolerance when they were of the ill-natured class, and with +ill-subdued wonder when they were amiable. She could not play ten-pins +or croquet, nor could she dance. + +"What are the men kneeling down for, and why do they keep stopping to +put on those queer little caps and things?" she whispered to Miss +Ferrol one night. + +"They are trying to dance a German," replied Miss Ferrol, "and the man +who is leading them only knows one figure." + +As for the riding, she had been used to riding all her life; but no one +asked her to join them, and if they had done so she would have been too +wise,--unsophisticated as she was,--to accept the invitation. So where +Miss Ferrol was seen she was seen also, and she was never so happy as +when she was invited into her protector's room and allowed to spend the +morning or evening there. She would have been content to sit there +forever and listen to Miss Ferrol's graphic description of life in the +great world: The names of celebrated personages made small impression +upon her. It was revealed gradually to Miss Ferrol that she had +private doubts as to the actual existence of some of them, and the rest +she had never heard of before. + +"You never read 'The Scarlet Letter?'" asked her instructress upon one +occasion. + +She flushed guiltily. + +"No," she answered. "Nor--nor any of the others." + +Miss Ferrol gazed at her silently for a few moments. Then she asked +her a question in a low voice, specially mellowed, so that it might not +alarm her. + +"Do you know who John Stuart Mill is?" she said. + +"No," she replied from the dust of humiliation. + +"Have you never heard--just _heard_--of Ruskin?" + +"No." + +"Nor of Michael Angelo?" + +"N-no--ye-es, I think so--perhaps, but I don't know what he did." + +"Do you," she continued, very slowly, +"do--you--know--anything--about--Worth?" + +"No, nothing." + +Her questioner clasped her hands with repressed emotion. + +"Oh," she cried, "how--how you have been neglected!" + +She was really depressed, but her _protégée_ was so much more deeply so +that she felt it her duty to contain herself and return to cheerfulness. + +"Never mind," she said. "I will tell you all I know about them, +and,"--after a pause for speculative thought upon the +subject,--"by-the-by, it isn't much, and I will lend you some books to +read, and give you a list of some you must persuade your father to buy +for you, and you will be all right. It is rather dreadful not to know +the names of people and things; but, after all, I think there are very +few people who--ahem!" + +She was checked here by rigid conscientious scruples. If she was to +train this young mind in the path of learning and literature, she must +place before her a higher standard of merit than the somewhat shady and +slipshod one her eagerness had almost betrayed her into upholding. She +had heard people talk of "standards" and "ideals," and when she was +kept to the point and in regulation working order, she could be very +eloquent upon these subjects herself. + +"You will have to work very seriously," she remarked, rather +incongruously and with a rapid change of position. "If you wish to--to +acquire anything, you must read conscientiously and--and with a +purpose." She was rather proud of that last clause. + +"Must I?" inquired Louise, humbly. "I should like to--if I knew where +to begin. Who was Worth? Was he a poet?" + +Miss Ferrol acquired a fine, high color very suddenly. + +"Oh," she answered, with some uneasiness, "you--you have no need to +begin with Worth. He doesn't matter so much--really." + +"I thought," Miss Rogers said meekly, "that you were more troubled +about my not having read what he wrote, than about my not knowing any +of the others." + +"Oh, no. You see--the fact is, he--he never wrote anything." + +"What did he do?" she asked, anxious for information. + +"He--it isn't 'did,' it is 'does.' He--makes dresses." + +"Dresses!" + +This single word, but no exclamation point could express its tone of +wild amazement. + +"Yes." + +"A man!" + +"Yes." + +There was a dead silence. It was embarrassing at first. Then the +amazement of the unsophisticated one began to calm itself; it gradually +died down, and became another emotion, merging itself into interest. + +"Does"--guilelessly she inquired--"he make nice ones?" + +"Nice!" echoed Miss Ferrol. "They are works of art! I have got three +in my trunk." + +"O-o h!" sighed Louisiana. "Oh, dear!" + +Miss Ferrol rose from her chair. + +"I will show them to you," she said. "I--I should like you to try them +on." + +"To try them on!" ejaculated the child in an awe-stricken tone. "Me?" + +"Yes," said Miss Ferrol, unlocking the trunk and throwing back the lid. +"I have been wanting to see you in them since the first day you came." + +She took them out and laid them upon the bed on their trays. Louise +got up from the floor and approaching, reverently stood near them. +There was a cream-colored evening-dress of soft, thick, close-clinging +silk of some antique-modern sort; it had golden fringe, and golden +flowers embroidered upon it. + +"Look at that," said Miss Ferrol, softly--even religiously. + +She made a mysterious, majestic gesture. + +"Come here," she said. "You must put it on." + +Louise shrank back a pace. + +"I--oh! I daren't," she cried. "It is too beautiful!" + +"Come here," repeated Miss Ferrol. + +She obeyed timorously, and gave herself into the hands of her +controller. She was so timid and excited that she trembled all the +time her toilette was being performed for her. Miss Ferrol went +through this service with the manner of a priestess officiating at an +altar. She laced up the back of the dress with the slender, golden +cords; she arranged the antique drapery which wound itself around in +close swathing folds. There was not the shadow of a wrinkle from +shoulder to hem: the lovely young figure was revealed in all its beauty +of outline. There were no sleeves at all, there was not very much +bodice, but there was a great deal of effect, and this, it is to be +supposed, was the object. + +"Walk across the floor," commanded Miss Ferrol. + +Louisiana obeyed her. + +"Do it again," said Miss Ferrol. + +Having been obeyed for the second time, her hands fell together. Her +attitude and expression could be said to be significant only of rapture. + +"I said so!" she cried. "I said so! You might have been born in New +York!" + +It was a grand climax. Louisiana felt it to the depths of her reverent +young heart. But she could not believe it. She was sure that it was +too sublime to be true. She shook her head in deprecation. + +"It is no exaggeration," said Miss Ferrol, with renewed fervor. +"Laurence himself, if he were not told that you had lived here, would +never guess it. I should like to try you on him." + +"Who--is he?" inquired Louisiana. "Is he a writer, too?" + +"Well, yes,--but not exactly like the others. He is my brother." + +It was two hours before this episode ended. Only at the sounding of +the second bell did Louisiana escape to her room to prepare for dinner. + +Miss Ferrol began to replace the dresses in her trunk. She performed +her task in an abstracted mood. When she had completed it she stood +upright and paused a moment, with quite a startled air. + +"Dear me!" she exclaimed. "I--actually forgot about Ruskin!" + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +"HE IS DIFFERENT." + +The same evening, as they sat on one of the seats upon the lawn, Miss +Ferrol became aware several times that Louisiana was regarding her with +more than ordinary interest. She sat with her hands folded upon her +lap, her eyes fixed on her face, and her pretty mouth actually a little +open. + +"What are you thinking of?" Olivia asked, at length. + +The girl started, and recovered herself with an effort. + +"I--well, I was thinking about--authors," she stammered. + +"Any particular author?" inquired Olivia, "or authors as a class?" + +"About your brother being one. I never thought I should see any one +who knew an author--and you are related to one!" + +Her companion's smile was significant of immense experience. It was +plain that she was so accustomed to living on terms of intimacy with +any number of authors that she could afford to feel indifferent about +them. + +"My dear," she said, amiably, "they are not in the least different from +other people." + +It sounded something like blasphemy. + +"Not different!" cried Louisiana. "Oh, surely, they must be! +Isn't--isn't your brother different?" + +Miss Ferrol stopped to think. She was very fond of her brother. +Privately she considered him the literary man of his day. She was +simply disgusted when she heard experienced critics only calling him +"clever" and "brilliant" instead of "great" and "world-moving." + +"Yes," she replied at length, "he is different." + +"I thought he must be," said Louisiana, with a sigh of relief. "You +are, you know." + +"Am I?" returned Olivia. "Thank you. But I am not an author--at +least,"--she added, guiltily, "nothing I have written has ever been +published." + +"Oh, why not?" exclaimed Louisiana. + +"Why not?" she repeated, dubiously and thoughtfully. And then, +knitting her brows, she said, "I don't know why not." + +"I am sure if you have ever written anything, it ought to have been +published," protested her adorer. + +"_I_ thought so," said Miss Ferrol. "But--but _they_ didn't." + +"They?" echoed Louisiana. "Who are 'they?'" + +"The editors," she replied, in a rather gloomy manner. "There is a +great deal of wire-pulling, and favoritism, and--even envy and malice, +of which those outside know nothing. You wouldn't understand it if I +should tell you about it." + +For a few moments she wore quite a fell expression, and gloom reigned. +She gave her head a little shake. + +"They regret it afterward," she remarked,--"frequently." + +From which Louisiana gathered that it was the editors who were so +overwhelmed, and she could not help sympathizing with them in secret. +There was something in the picture of their unavailing remorse which +touched her, despite her knowledge of the patent fact that they +deserved it and could expect nothing better. She was quite glad when +Olivia brightened up, as she did presently. + +"Laurence is handsomer than most of them, and has a more distinguished +air," she said. "He is very charming. People always say so." + +"I wish I could see him," ventured Louisiana. + +"You will see him if you stay here much longer," replied Miss Ferrol. +"It is quite likely he will come to Oakvale." + +For a moment Louisiana fluttered and turned pale with pleasure, but as +suddenly she drooped. + +"I forgot," she faltered. "You will have to be with him always, and I +shall have no one. He won't want me." + +Olivia sat and looked at her with deepening interest. She was thinking +again of a certain whimsical idea which had beset her several times +since she had attired her _protégée_ in the cream-colored robe. + +"Louise," she said, in a low, mysterious tone, "how would you like to +wear dresses like mine all the rest of the time you are here?" + +The child stared at her blankly. + +"I haven't got any," she gasped. + +"No," said Miss Ferrol, with deliberation, "but _I_ have." + +She rose from her seat, dropping her mysterious air and smiling +encouragingly. + +"Come with me to my room," she said. "I want to talk to you." + +If she had ordered her to follow her to the stake it is not at all +unlikely that Louisiana would have obeyed. She got up meekly, smiling, +too, and feeling sure something very interesting was going to happen. +She did not understand in the least, but she was quite tractable. And +after they had reached the room and shut themselves in, she found that +it _was_ something very interesting which was to happen. + +"You remember what I said to you this morning?" Miss Ferrol suggested. + +"You said so many things." + +"Oh, but you cannot have forgotten this particular thing. I said you +looked as if you had been born in New York." + +Louisiana remembered with a glow of rapture. + +"Oh, yes," she answered. + +"And I said Laurence himself would not know, if he was not told, that +you had lived all your life here."' + +"Yes." + +"And I said I should like to try you on him." + +"Yes." + +Miss Ferrol kept her eyes fixed on her and watched her closely. + +"I have been thinking of it all the morning," she added. "I should +like to try you on him." + +Louisiana was silent a moment. Then she spoke, hesitatingly: + +"Do you mean that I should pretend----," she began. + +"Oh, no," interrupted Miss Ferrol. "Not pretend either one thing or +the other. Only let me dress you as I choose, and then take care that +you say nothing whatever about your past life. You will have to be +rather quiet, perhaps, and let him talk. He will like that, of +course--men always do--and then you will learn a great many things from +him." + +"It will be--a very strange thing to do," said Louisiana. + +"It will be a very interesting thing," answered Olivia, her enthusiasm +increasing. "How he will admire you!" + +Louisiana indulged in one of her blushes. + +"Have you a picture of him?" + +"Yes. Why?" she asked, in some surprise. + +"Because I should like to see his face." + +"Do you think," Miss Ferrol said, in further bewilderment, "that you +might not like him?" + +"I think he might not like me." + +"Not like you!" cried Miss Ferrol. "You! He will think you are +divine--when you are dressed as I shall dress you." + +She went to her trunk and produced the picture. It was not a +photograph, but a little crayon head--the head of a handsome man, whose +expression was a singular combination of dreaminess and alertness. It +was a fascinating face. + +"One of his friends did it," said Miss Ferrol. "His friends are very +fond of him and admire his good looks very much. They protest against +his being photographed. They like to sketch him. They are always +making 'studies' of his head. What do you think of him?" + +Louisiana hesitated. + +"He is different," she said at last. "I thought he would be." + +She gave the picture back to Miss Ferrol, who replaced it in her trunk. +She sat for a few seconds looking down at the carpet and apparently +seeing very little. Then she looked up at her companion, who was +suddenly a little embarrassed at finding her receive her whimsical +planning so seriously. She herself had not thought of it as being +serious at all. It would be interesting and amusing, and would prove +her theory. + +"I will do what you want me to do," said Louisiana. + +"Then," said Miss Ferrol, wondering at an unexpected sense of +discomfort in herself, "I will dress you for supper now. You must +begin to wear the things, so that you may get used to them." + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +A NEW TYPE. + +When the two entered the supper-room together a little commotion was +caused by their arrival. At first the supple young figure in violet +and gray was not recognized. It was not the figure people had been +used to, it seemed so tall and slenderly round. The reddish-brown hair +was combed high and made into soft puffs; it made the pretty head seem +more delicately shaped, and showed how white and graceful the back of +the slender neck was. It was several minutes before the problem was +solved. Then a sharp young woman exclaimed, _sotto voce_: + +"It's the little country-girl, in new clothes--in clothes that fit. +Would you believe it?" + +"Don't look at your plate so steadily," whispered Miss Ferrol. "Lean +back and fan yourself as if you did not hear. You must never show that +you hear things." + +"I shall be obliged to give her a few hints now and then," she had said +to herself beforehand. "But I feel sure when she once catches the cue +she will take it." + +It really seemed as if she did, too. She had looked at herself long +and steadily after she had been dressed, and when she turned away from +the glass she held her head a trifle more erect, and her cheeks had +reddened. Perhaps what she had recognized in the reflection she had +seen had taught her a lesson. But she said nothing. In a few days +Olivia herself was surprised at the progress she had made. Sanguine as +she was, she had not been quite prepared for the change which had taken +place in her. She had felt sure it would be necessary to teach her to +control her emotions, but suddenly she seemed to have learned to +control them without being told to do so; she was no longer +demonstrative of her affection, she no longer asked innocent questions, +nor did she ever speak of her family. Her reserve was puzzling to +Olivia. + +"You are very clever," she said to her one day, the words breaking from +her in spite of herself, after she had sat regarding her in silence for +a few minutes. "You are even cleverer than I thought you were, Louise." + +"Was that very clever?" the girl asked. + +"Yes, it was," Olivia answered, "but not so clever as you are proving +yourself." + +But Louisiana did not smile or blush, as she had expected she would. +She sat very quietly, showing neither pleasure nor shyness, and seeming +for a moment or so to be absorbed in thought. + +In the evening when the stages came in they were sitting on the front +gallery together. As the old rattletraps bumped and swung themselves +up the gravel drive, Olivia bent forward to obtain a better view of the +passengers. + +"He ought to be among them," she said. + +Louisiana laid her hand on her arm. + +"Who is that sitting with the driver?" she asked, as the second vehicle +passed them. "Isn't that----" + +"To be sure it is!" exclaimed Miss Ferrol. + +She would have left her seat, but she found herself detained. Her +companion had grasped her wrist. + +"Wait a minute!" she said. "Don't leave me! Oh--I wish I had not done +it!" + +Miss Ferrol turned and stared at her in amazement. + +She spoke in her old, uncontrolled, childish fashion. She was pale, +and her eyes were dilated. + +"What is the matter?" said Miss Ferrol, hurriedly, when she found her +voice. "Is it that you really don't like the idea? If you don't, +there is no need of our carrying it out. It was only nonsense--I beg +your pardon for not seeing that it disturbed you. Perhaps, after all, +it was very bad taste in me----" + +But she was not allowed to finish her sentence. As suddenly as it had +altered before, Louisiana's expression altered again. She rose to her +feet with a strange little smile. She looked into Miss Ferrol's +astonished face steadily and calmly. + +"Your brother has seen you and is coming toward us," she said. "I will +leave you. We shall see each other again at supper." + +And with a little bow she moved away with an air of composure which +left her instructress stunned. She could scarcely recover her +equilibrium sufficiently to greet her brother decently when he reached +her side. She had never been so thoroughly at sea in her life. + + +After she had gone to her room that night, her brother came and knocked +at the door. + +When she opened it and let him in he walked to a chair and threw +himself into it, wearing a rather excited look. + +"Olivia," he began at once, "what a bewildering girl!" + +Olivia sat down opposite to him, with a composed smile. + +"Miss Rogers, of course?" she said. + +"Of course," he echoed. And then, after a pause of two or three +seconds, he added, in the tone he had used before: "What a delightfully +mysterious girl!" + +"Mysterious!" repeated Olivia. + +"There is no other word for it! She has such an adorable face, she +looks so young, and she says so little." And then, with serious +delight, he added: "It is a new type!" + +Olivia began to laugh. + +"Why are you laughing?" he demanded. + +"Because I was so sure you would say that," she answered. "I was +waiting for it." + +"But it is true," he replied, quite vehemently. "I never saw anything +like her before. I look at her great soft eyes and I catch glimpses of +expression which don't seem to belong to the rest of her. When I see +her eyes I could fancy for a moment that she had been brought up in a +convent or had lived a very simple, isolated life, but when she speaks +and moves I am bewildered. I want to hear her talk, but she says so +little. She does not even dance. I suppose her relatives are serious +people. I dare say you have not heard much of them from her. Her +reserve is so extraordinary in a girl. I wonder how old she is?" + +"Nineteen, I think." + +"I thought so. I never saw anything prettier than her quiet way when I +asked her to dance with me. She said, simply, 'I do not dance. I have +never learned.' It was as if she had never thought of it as being an +unusual thing." + +He talked of her all the time he remained in the room. Olivia had +never seen him so interested before. + +"The fascination is that she seems to be two creatures at once," he +said. "And one of them is stronger than the other and will break out +and reveal itself one day. I begin by feeling I do not understand her, +and that is the most interesting of all beginnings, I long to discover +which of the two creatures is the real one." + +When he was going away he stopped suddenly to say: + +"How was it you never mentioned her in your letters? I can't +understand that." + +"I wanted you to see her for yourself," Olivia answered. "I thought I +would wait." + +"Well," he said, after thinking a moment, "I am glad, after all, that +you did." + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +"I HAVE HURT YOU." + +From the day of his arrival a new life began for Louisiana. She was no +longer an obscure and unconsidered young person. Suddenly, and for the +first time in her life, she found herself vested with a marvellous +power. It was a power girls of a different class from her own are +vested with from the beginning of their lives. They are used to it and +regard it as their birthright. Louisiana was not used to it. There +had been nothing like it attending her position as "that purty gal o' +Rogerses." She was accustomed to the admiration of men she was +indifferent to--men who wore short-waisted blue-jean coats, and turned +upon their elbows to stare at her as she sat in the little white frame +church. After making an effort to cultivate her acquaintance, they +generally went away disconcerted. "She's mighty still," they said. +"She haint got nothin' to say. Seems like thar aint much to her--but +she's powerful purty though." + +This was nothing like her present experience. She began slowly to +realize that she was a little like a young queen now. Here was a man +such as she had never spoken to before, who was always ready to +endeavor to his utmost to please her: who, without any tendency toward +sentimental nonsense, was plainly the happier for her presence and +favor. What could be more assiduous and gallant than the every-day +behavior of the well-bred, thoroughly experienced young man of the +period toward the young beauty who for the moment reigns over his +fancy! It need only be over his fancy; there is no necessity that the +impression should be any deeper. His suavity, his chivalric air, his +ready wit in her service, are all that could be desired. + +When Louisiana awakened to the fact that all this homage was rendered +to her as being only the natural result of her girlish beauty--as if it +was the simplest thing in the world, and a state of affairs which must +have existed from the first--she experienced a sense of terror. Just +at the very first she would have been glad to escape from it and sink +into her old obscurity. + +"It does not belong to me," she said to herself. "It belongs to some +one else--to the girl he thinks I am. I am not that girl, though; I +will remember that." + +But in a few days she calmed down. She told herself that she always +did remember, but she ceased to feel frightened and was more at ease. +She never talked very much, but she became more familiar with the +subjects she heard discussed. One morning she went to Olivia's room +and asked her for the address of a bookseller. + +"I want to send for some books and--and magazines," she said, +confusedly. "I wish you--if you would tell me what to send for. +Father will give me the money if I ask him for it." + +Olivia sat down and made a list. It was along list, comprising the +best periodicals of the day and several standard books. + +When she handed it to her she regarded her with curiosity. + +"You mean to read them all?" she asked. + +"Isn't it time that I should?" replied her pupil. + +"Well--it is a good plan," returned Olivia, rather absently. + +Truth to tell, she was more puzzled every day. She had begun to be +quite sure that something had happened. It seemed as if a slight +coldness existed between herself and her whilom adorer. The simplicity +of her enthusiasm was gone. Her affection had changed as her outward +bearing. It was a better regulated and less noticeable emotion. Once +or twice Olivia fancied she had seen the girl looking at her even +sadly, as if she felt, for the moment, a sense of some loss. + +"Perhaps it was very clumsy in me," she used to say to herself. +"Perhaps I don't understand her, after all." + +But she could not help looking on with interest. She had never before +seen Laurence enjoy himself so thoroughly. He had been working very +hard during the past year, and was ready for his holiday. He found the +utter idleness, which was the chief feature of the place, a good thing. +There was no town or village within twenty miles, newspapers were a day +or two old when they arrived, there were very few books to be found, +and there was absolutely no excitement. At night the band brayed in +the empty-looking ball-room, and a few very young couples danced, in a +desultory fashion and without any ceremony. The primitive, +domesticated slowness of the place was charming. Most of the guests +had come from the far South at the beginning of the season and would +remain until the close of it; so they had had time to become familiar +with each other and to throw aside restraint. + +"There is nothing to distract one," Ferrol said, "nothing to rouse one, +nothing to inspire one--nothing! It is delicious! Why didn't I know +of it before?" + +He had plenty of time to study his sister's friend. She rode and +walked with him and Olivia when they made their excursions, she +listened while he read aloud to them as he lay on the grass in a quiet +corner of the grounds. He thought her natural reserve held her from +expressing her opinion on what he read very freely; it certainly did +not occur to him that she was beginning her literary education under +his guidance. He could see that the things which pleased him most were +not lost upon her. Her face told him that. One moonlight night, as +they sat on an upper gallery, he began to speak of the novelty of the +aspect of the country as it presented itself to an outsider who saw it +for the first time. + +"It is a new life, and a new people," he said. "And, by the way, +Olivia, where is the new species of young woman I was to see--the +daughter of the people who does not belong to her sphere?" + +He turned to Louisiana. + +"Have you ever seen her?" he asked. "I must confess to a dubiousness +on the subject." + +Before he could add another word Louisiana turned upon him. He could +see her face clearly in the moonlight. It was white, and her eyes were +dilated and full of fire. + +"Why do you speak in that way?" she cried. "As if--as if such people +were so far beneath you. What right have you----" + +She stopped suddenly. Laurence Ferrol was gazing at her in amazement. +She rose from her seat, trembling. + +"I will go away a little," she said. "I beg your pardon--and Miss +Ferrol's." + +She turned her back upon them and went away. Ferrol sat holding her +little round, white-feather fan helplessly, and staring after her until +she disappeared. + +It was several seconds before the silence was broken. It was he who +broke it. + +"I don't know what it means," he said, in a low voice. "I don't know +what I have done!" + +In a little while he got up and began to roam aimlessly about the +gallery. He strolled from one end to the other with his hands thrust +in his coat pockets. Olivia, who had remained seated, knew that he was +waiting in hopes that Louisiana would return. He had been walking to +and fro, looking as miserable as possible, for about half an hour, when +at last she saw him pause and turn half round before the open door of +an upper corridor leading out upon the verandah. A black figure stood +revealed against the inside light. It was Louisiana, and, after +hesitating a moment, she moved slowly forward. + +She had not recovered her color, but her manner was perfectly quiet. + +"I am glad you did not go away," she said. + +Ferrol had only stood still at first, waiting her pleasure, but the +instant she spoke he made a quick step toward her. + +"I should have felt it a very hard thing not to have seen you again +before I slept," he said. + +She made no reply, and they walked together in silence until they +reached the opposite end of the gallery. + +"Miss Ferrol has gone in," she said then. + +He turned to look and saw that such was the case. Suddenly, for some +reason best known to herself, Olivia had disappeared from the scene. + +Louisiana leaned against one of the slender, supporting pillars of the +gallery. She did not look at Ferrol, but at the blackness of the +mountains rising before them. Ferrol could not look away from her. + +"If you had not come out again," he said, after a pause, "I think I +should have remained here, baying at the moon, all night." + +Then, as she made no reply, he began to pour himself forth quite +recklessly. + +"I cannot quite understand how I hurt you," he said. "It seemed to me +that I must have hurt you, but even while I don't understand, there are +no words abject enough to express what I feel now and have felt during +the last half hour. If I only dared ask you to tell me----" + +She stopped him. + +"I can't tell you," she said. "But it is not your fault--it is nothing +you could have understood--it is my fault--all my fault, and--I deserve +it." + +He was terribly discouraged. + +"I am bewildered," he said. "I am very unhappy." + +She turned her pretty, pale face round to him swiftly. + +"It is not you who need be unhappy," she exclaimed. "It is I!" + +The next instant she had checked herself again, just as she had done +before. + +"Let us talk of something else," she said, coldly. + +"It will not be easy for me to do so," he answered, "but I will try." + +Before Olivia went to bed she had a visit from her. + +She received her with some embarrassment, it must be confessed. Day by +day she felt less at ease with her and more deeply self-convicted of +some blundering,--which, to a young woman of her temperament, was a +sharp penalty. + +Louisiana would not sit down. She revealed her purpose in coming at +once. + +"I want to ask you to make me a promise," she said, "and I want to ask +your pardon." + +"Don't do that," said Olivia. + +"I want you to promise that you will not tell your brother the truth +until you have left here and are at home. I shall go away very soon. +I am tired of what I have been doing. It is different from what you +meant it to be. But you must promise that if you stay after I have +gone--as of course you will--you will not tell him. My home is only a +few miles away. You might be tempted, after thinking it over, to come +and see me--and I should not like it. I want it all to stop here--I +mean my part of it. I don't want to know the rest." + +Olivia had never felt so helpless in her life. She had neither +self-poise, nor tact, nor any other daring quality left. + +"I wish," she faltered, gazing at the girl quite pathetically, "I wish +we had never begun it." + +"So do I," said Louisiana. "Do you promise?" + +"Y-yes. I would promise anything. I--I have hurt your feelings," she +confessed, in an outbreak. + +She was destined to receive a fresh shock. All at once the girl was +metamorphosed again. It was her old ignorant, sweet, simple self who +stood there, with trembling lips and dilated eyes. + +"Yes, you have!" she cried. "Yes, you have!" + +And she burst into tears and turned about and ran out of the room. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE ROAD TO THE RIGHT. + +The morning after, Ferrol heard an announcement which came upon him +like a clap of thunder. + +After breakfast, as they walked about the grounds, Olivia, who had +seemed to be in an abstracted mood, said, without any preface: + +"Miss Rogers returns home to-morrow." + +Laurence stopped short in the middle of the path. + +"To-morrow!" he exclaimed. "Oh, no." + +He glanced across at Louisiana with an anxious face. + +"Yes," she said, "I am going home." + +"To New York?" + +"I do not live in New York." + +She spoke quite simply, but the words were a shock to him. They +embarrassed him. There was no coldness in her manner, no displeasure +in her tone, but, of course, he understood that it would be worse than +tactless to inquire further. Was it possible that she did not care +that he should know where she lived? There seemed no other +construction to be placed upon her words. He flushed a little, and for +a few minutes looked rather gloomy, though he quickly recovered himself +afterward and changed the subject with creditable readiness. + +"Did not you tell me she lived in New York?" he asked Olivia, the first +time they were alone together. + +"No," Olivia answered, a trifle sharply. "Why New York, more than +another place?" + +"For no reason whatever,--really," he returned, more bewildered than +ever. "There was no reason why I should choose New York, only when I +spoke to her of certain places there, she--she----" + +He paused and thought the matter over carefully before finishing his +sentence. He ended it at last in a singular manner. + +"She said nothing," he said. "It is actually true--now I think of +it--she said nothing whatever!" + +"And because she said nothing whatever----" began Olivia. + +He drew his hand across his forehead with a puzzled gesture. + +"I fancied she _looked_ as if she knew," he said, slowly. "I am sure +she looked as if she knew what I was talking about--as if she knew the +places, I mean. It is very queer! There seems no reason in it. Why +shouldn't she wish us to know where she lives?" + +"I--I must confess," cried Olivia, "that I am getting a little tired of +her." + +It was treacherous and vicious, and she knew it was; but her guilty +conscience and her increasing sense of having bungled drove her to +desperation. If she had not promised to keep the truth to herself, she +would have been only too glad to unburden herself. It was so stupid, +after all, and she had only herself to blame. + +Laurence drew a long breath. + +"You can not be tired of _her_!" he said. "That is impossible. She +takes firmer hold upon one every hour." + +This was certainly true, as far as he was concerned. He was often even +surprised at his own enthusiasm. He had seen so many pretty women that +it was almost inconsistent that he should be so much moved by the +prettiness of one charming creature, and particularly one who spoke so +little, who, after all, was--but there he always found himself at a +full stop. He could not say what she was, he did not know yet; really, +he seemed no nearer the solution of the mystery than he had been at +first. There lay the fascination. He felt so sure there was an +immense deal for him to discover, if he could only discover it. He had +an ideal in his mind, and this ideal, he felt confident, was the real +creature, if he could only see her. During the episode on the upper +gallery he fancied he had caught a glimpse of what was to be revealed. +The sudden passion on her pale young face, the fire in her eyes, were +what he had dreamed of. + +If he had not been possessed of courage and an honest faith in himself, +born of a goodly amount of success, he would have been far more +depressed than he was. She was going away, and had not encouraged him +to look forward to their meeting again. + +"I own it is rather bad to look at," he said to himself, "if one quite +believed that Fate would serve one such an ill turn. She never played +me such a trick, however, and I won't believe she will. I shall see +her again--sometime. It will turn out fairly enough, surely." + +So with this consolation he supported himself. There was one day left +and he meant to make the best of it. It was to be spent in driving to +a certain mountain, about ten miles distant. All tourists who were +possessed of sufficient energy made this excursion as a matter of duty, +if from no more enthusiastic motive. A strong, light carriage and a +pair of horses were kept in the hotel stables for the express purpose +of conveying guests to this special point. + +This vehicle Ferrol had engaged the day before, and as matters had +developed he had cause to congratulate himself upon the fact. He said +to Louisiana what he had before said to himself: + +"We have one day left, and we will make the best of it." + +Olivia, who stood upon the gallery before which the carriage had been +drawn up, glanced at Louisiana furtively. On her part she felt +privately that it would be rather hard to make the best of it. She +wished that it was well over. But Louisiana did not return her glance. +She was looking at Ferrol and the horses. She had done something new +this morning. She had laid aside her borrowed splendor and attired +herself in one of her own dresses, which she had had the boldness to +remodel. She had seized a hint from some one of Olivia's possessions, +and had given her costume a pretty air of primitive simplicity. It was +a plain white lawn, with a little frilled cape or fichu which crossed +upon her breast, and was knotted loosely behind. She had a black +velvet ribbon around her lithe waist, a rose in her bosom where the +fichu crossed, and a broad Gainsborough hat upon her head. One was +reminded somewhat of the picturesque young woman of the good old colony +times. Ferrol, at least, when he first caught sight of her, was +reminded of pictures he had seen of them. + +There was no trace of her last night's fire in her manner. She was +quieter than usual through the first part of the drive. She was gentle +to submissiveness to Olivia. There was something even tender in her +voice once or twice when she addressed her. Laurence noticed it, and +accounted for it naturally enough. + +"She is really fonder of her than she has seemed," he thought, "and she +is sorry that their parting is so near." + +He was just arriving at this conclusion when Louisiana touched his arm. + +"Don't take that road," she said. + +He drew up his horses and looked at her with surprise. There were two +roads before them, and he had been upon the point of taking the one to +the right. + +"But it is the only road to take," he continued. "The other does not +lead to the mountain. I was told to be sure to take the road to the +right hand." + +"It is a mistake," she said, in a disturbed tone. "The left-hand road +leads to the mountain, too--at least, we can reach it by striking the +wagon-road through the woods. I--yes, I am sure of it." + +"But this is the better road. Is there any reason why you prefer the +other? Could you pilot us? If you can----" + +He stopped and looked at her appealingly. + +He was ready to do anything she wished, but the necessity for his +yielding had passed. Her face assumed a set look. + +"I can't," she answered. "Take the road to the right. Why not?" + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +"SHE AINT YERE." + +Ferrol was obliged to admit when they turned their faces homeward that +the day was hardly a success, after all. Olivia had not been at her +best, for some reason or other, and from the moment they had taken the +right-hand road Louisiana had been wholly incomprehensible. + +In her quietest mood she had never worn a cold air before; to-day she +had been cold and unresponsive. It had struck him that she was +absorbed in thinking of something which was quite beyond him. She was +plainly not thinking of him, nor of Olivia, nor of the journey they +were making. During the drive she had sat with her hands folded upon +her lap, her eyes fixed straight before her. She had paid no attention +to the scenery, only rousing herself to call their attention to one +object. This object was a house they passed--the rambling, low-roofed +white house of some well-to-do farmer. It was set upon a small hill +and had a long front porch, mottled with blue and white paint in a +sanguine attempt at imitating variegated marble. + +She burst into a low laugh when she saw it. + +"Look at that," she said. "That is one of the finest houses in the +country. The man who owns it is counted a rich man among his +neighbors." + +Ferrol put up his eye-glasses to examine it. (It is to be deplored +that he was a trifle near-sighted.) + +"By George!" he said. "That is an idea, isn't it, that marble +business! I wonder who did it? Do you know the man who lives there?" + +"I have heard of him," she answered, "from several people. He is a +namesake of mine. His name is Rogers." + +When they returned to their carriage, after a ramble up the +mountain-side, they became conscious that the sky had suddenly +darkened. Ferrol looked up, and his face assumed a rather serious +expression. + +"If either of you is weather-wise," he said, "I wish you would tell me +what that cloud means. You have been among the mountains longer than I +have." + +Louisiana glanced upward quickly. + +"It means a storm," she said, "and a heavy one. We shall be drenched +in half an hour." + +Ferrol looked at her white dress and the little frilled fichu, which +was her sole protection. + +"Oh, but that won't do!" he exclaimed. "What insanity in me not to +think of umbrellas!" + +"Umbrellas!" echoed Louisiana. "If we had each six umbrellas they +could not save us. We may as well get into the carriage. We are only +losing time." + +They were just getting in when an idea struck Ferrol which caused him +to utter an exclamation of ecstatic relief. + +"Why," he cried, "there is that house we passed! Get in quickly. We +can reach there in twenty minutes." + +Louisiana had her foot upon the step. She stopped short and turned to +face him. She changed from red to white and from white to red again, +as if with actual terror. + +"There!" she exclaimed. "There!" + +"Yes," he answered. "We can reach there in time to save ourselves. Is +there any objection to our going,--in the last extremity?" + +For a second they looked into each other's eyes, and then she turned +and sprang into the carriage. She laughed aloud. + +"Oh, no," she said. "Go there! It will be a nice place to stay--and +the people will amuse you. Go there." + +They reached the house in a quarter of an hour instead of twenty +minutes. They had driven fast and kept ahead of the storm, but when +they drew up before the picket fence the clouds were black and the +thunder was rolling behind them. + +It was Louisiana who got out first. She led the way up the path to the +house and mounted the steps of the variegated porch. She did not knock +at the door, which stood open, but, somewhat to Fermi's amazement, +walked at once into the front room, which was plainly the room of +state. Not to put too fine a point upon it, it was a hideous room. + +The ceiling was so low that Ferrol felt as if he must knock his head +against it; it was papered--ceiling and all--with paper of an +unwholesome yellow enlivened with large blue flowers; there was a +bedstead in one corner, and the walls were ornamented with colored +lithographs of moon-faced houris, with round eyes and round, red +cheeks, and wearing low-necked dresses, and flowers in their bosoms, +and bright yellow gold necklaces. These works of art were the first +things which caught Ferrol's eye, and he went slowly up to the most +remarkable, and stood before it, regarding it with mingled wonderment +and awe. + +He turned from it after a few seconds to look at Louisiana, who stood +near him, and he beheld what seemed to him a phenomenon. He had never +seen her blush before as other women blush--now she was blushing, +burning red from chin to brow. + +"There--there is no one in this part of the house," she said. "I--I +know more of these people than you do. I will go and try to find some +one." + +She was gone before he could interpose. Not that he would have +interposed, perhaps. Somehow--without knowing why--he felt as if she +did know more of the situation than he did--almost as if she were, in a +manner, doing the honors for the time being. + +She crossed the passage with a quick, uneven step, and made her way, as +if well used to the place, into the kitchen at the back of the house. + +A stout negro woman stood at a table, filling a pan with newly made +biscuits. Her back was toward the door and she did not see who entered. + +"Aunt Cassandry," the girl began, when the woman turned toward her. + +"Who's dar?" she exclaimed. "Lor', honey, how ye skeert me! I aint no +C'sandry." + +The face she turned was a strange one, and it showed no sign of +recognition of her visitor. + +It was an odd thing that the sight of her unfamiliar face should have +been a shock to Louisiana; but it was a shock. She put her hand to her +side. + +"Where is my--where is Mr. Rogers?" she asked. "I want to see him." + +"Out on de back po'ch, honey, right now. Dar he goes!" + +The girl heard him, and flew out to meet him. Her heart was throbbing +hard, and she was drawing quick, short breaths. + +"Father!" she cried. "Father! Don't go in the house!" + +And she caught him by both shoulders and drew him round. He did not +know her at first in her fanciful-simple dress and her Gainsborough +hat. He was not used to that style of thing, believing that it +belonged rather to the world of pictures. He stared at her. Then he +broke out with an exclamation, + +"Lo-rd! Louisianny!" + +She kept her eyes on his face. They were feverishly bright, and her +cheeks were hot. She laughed hysterically. + +"Don't speak loud," she said. "There are some strange people in the +house, and--and I want to tell you something." + +He was a slow man, and it took him some time to grasp the fact that she +was really before him in the flesh. He said, again: + +"Lord, Louisianny!" adding, cheerfully, "How ye've serprised me!" + +Then he took in afresh the change in her dress. There was a pile of +stove-wood stacked on the porch to be ready for use, and he sat down on +it to look at her. + +"Why, ye've got a new dress on!" he said. "Thet thar's what made ye +look sorter curis. I hardly knowed ye." + +Then he remembered what she had said on first seeing him. + +"Why don't ye want me to go in the house?" he asked. "What sort o' +folks air they?" + +"They came with me from the Springs," she answered; "and--and I want +to--to play a joke on them." + +She put her hands up to her burning cheeks, and stood so. + +"A joke on 'em?" he repeated. + +"Yes," she said, speaking very fast. "They don't know I live here, +they think I came from some city,--they took the notion +themselves,--and I want to let them think so until we go away from the +house. It will be such a good joke." + +She tried to laugh, but broke off in the middle of a harsh sound. Her +father, with one copperas-colored leg crossed over the other, was +chewing his tobacco slowly, after the manner of a ruminating animal, +while he watched her. + +"Don't you see?" she asked. + +"Wa-al, no," he answered. "Not rightly." + +She actually assumed a kind of spectral gayety. + +"I never thought of it until I saw it was not Cassandry who was in the +kitchen," she said. "The woman who is there didn't know me, and it +came into my mind that--that we might play off on them," using the +phraseology to which he was the most accustomed. + +"Waal, we mought," he admitted, with a speculative deliberateness. +"Thet's so. We mought--if thar was any use in it." + +"It's only for a joke," she persisted, hurriedly. + +"Thet's so," he repeated. "Thet's so." + +He got up slowly and rather lumberingly from his seat and dusted the +chips from his copperas-colored legs. + +"Hev ye ben enjyin' yerself, Louisianny?" he asked. + +"Yes," she answered. "Never better." + +"Ye must hev," he returned, "or ye wouldn't be in sperrits to play +jokes." + +Then he changed his tone so suddenly that she was startled. + +"What do ye want me to do?" he asked. + +She put her hand on his shoulder and tried to laugh again. + +"To pretend you don't know me--to pretend I have never been here +before. That's joke enough, isn't it? They will think so when I tell +them the truth. You slow old father! Why don't you laugh?" + +"P'r'aps," he said, "it's on account o' me bein' slow, Louisianny. +Mebbe I shall begin arter a while." + +"Don't begin at the wrong time," she said, still keeping up her +feverish laugh, "or you'll spoil it all. Now come along in and--and +pretend you don't know me," she continued, drawing him forward by the +arm. "They might suspect something if we stay so long. All you've got +to do is to pretend you don't know me." + +"That's so, Louisianny," with a kindly glance downward at her excited +face as he followed her out. "Thar aint no call fur me to do nothin' +else, is there--just pretend I don't know ye?" + +It was wonderful how well he did it, too. When she preceded him into +the room the girl was quivering with excitement. He might break down, +and it would be all over in a second. But she looked Ferrol boldly in +the face when she made her first speech. + +"This is the gentleman of the house," she said. "I found him on the +back porch. He had just come in. He has been kind enough to say we +may stay until the storm is over." + +"Oh, yes," said he hospitably, "stay an' welcome. Ye aint the first as +has stopped over. Storms come up sorter suddent, an' we haint the kind +as turns folks away." + +Ferrol thanked him, Olivia joining in with a murmur of gratitude. They +were very much indebted to him for his hospitality; they considered +themselves very fortunate. + +Their host received their protestations with much equanimity. + +"If ye'd like to set out on the front porch and watch the storm come +up," he said, "thar's seats thar. Or would ye druther set here? +Women-folks is gen'rally fond o' settin' in-doors whar thar's a parlor." + +But they preferred the porch, and followed him out upon it. + +Having seen them seated, he took a chair himself. It was a +split-seated chair, painted green, and he tilted it back against a +pillar of the porch and applied himself to the full enjoyment of a +position more remarkable for ease than elegance. Ferrol regarded him +with stealthy rapture, and drank in every word he uttered. + +"This," he had exclaimed delightedly to Olivia, in private--"why, this +is delightful! These are the people we have read of. I scarcely +believed in them before. I would not have missed it for the world!" + +"In gin'ral, now," their entertainer proceeded, "wimmin-folk is fonder +o' settin' in parlors. My wife was powerful sot on her parlor. She +wasn't never satisfied till she hed one an' hed it fixed up to her +notion. She was allers tradin' fur picters fur it. She tuk a heap o' +pride in her picters. She allers had it in her mind that her little +gal should have a showy parlor when she growed up." + +"You have a daughter?" said Ferrol. + +Their host hitched his chair a little to one side. He bent forward to +expectorate, and then answered with his eyes fixed upon some distant +point toward the mountains. + +"Wa-al, yes," he said; "but she aint yere, Louisianny aint." + +Miss Ferrol gave a little start, and immediately made an effort to +appear entirely at ease. + +"Did you say," asked Ferrol, "that your daughter's name was----" + +"Louisianny," promptly. "I come from thar." + +Louisiana got up and walked to the opposite end of the porch. + +"The storm will be upon us in a few minutes," she said. "It is +beginning to rain now. Come and look at this cloud driving over the +mountain-top." + +Ferrol rose and went to her. He stood for a moment looking at the +cloud, but plainly not thinking of it. + +"His daughter's name is Louisiana," he said, in an undertone. +"Louisiana! Isn't that delicious?" + +Suddenly, even as he spoke, a new idea occurred to him. + +"Why," he exclaimed, "your name is Louise, isn't it? I think Olivia +said so." + +"Yes," she answered, "my name is Louise." + +"How should you have liked it," he inquired, absent-mindedly, "if it +had been Louisiana?" + +She answered him with a hard coolness which it startled him afterward +to remember. + +"How would you have liked it?" she said. + +They were driven back just then by the rain, which began to beat in +upon their end of the porch. They were obliged to return to Olivia and +Mr. Rogers, who were engaged in an animated conversation. + +The fact was that, in her momentary excitement, Olivia had plunged into +conversation as a refuge. She had suddenly poured forth a stream of +remark and query which had the effect of spurring up her companion to a +like exhibition of frankness. He had been asking questions, too. + +"She's ben tellin' me," he said, as Ferrol approached, "thet you're a +littery man, an' write fur the papers--novel-stories, an' pomes an' +things. I never seen one before--not as I know on." + +"I wonder why not!" remarked Ferrol. "We are plentiful enough." + +"Air ye now?" he asked reflectively. "I had an idee thar was only one +on ye now an' ag'in--jest now an' ag'in." + +He paused there to shake his head. + +"I've often wondered how ye could do it," he said, "_I_ couldn't. +Thar's some as thinks they could if they tried, but I wa'n't never +thataway--I wa'n't never thataway. I haint no idee I could do it, not +if I tried ever so. Seems to me," he went on, with the air of making +an announcement of so novel a nature that he must present it modestly, +"seems to me, now, as if them as does it must hev a kinder gift fur'it, +now. Lord! I couldn't write a novel. I wouldn't know whar to begin." + +"It is difficult to decide where," said Ferrol. + +He did not smile at all. His manner was perfect--so full of interest, +indeed, that Mr. Rogers quite warmed and expanded under it. + +"The scenes on 'em all, now, bein' mostly laid in Bagdad, would be agin +me, if nothin' else war," he proceeded. + +"Being laid----?" queried Ferrol. + +"In Bagdad or--wa-al, furrin parts tharabouts. Ye see I couldn't tell +nothin' much about no place but North Ca'liny, an' folks wouldn't buy +it." + +"But why not?" exclaimed Ferrol. + +"Why, Lord bless ye!" he said, hilariously, "they'd know it wa'n't +true. They'd say in a minnit: 'Why, thar's thet fool Rogers ben a +writin' a pack o' lies thet aint a word on it true. Thar aint no +castles in Hamilton County, an' thar aint no folks like these yere. It +just aint so! I 'lowed thet thar was the reason the novel-writers +allers writ about things a-happenin' in Bagdad. Ye kin say most +anythin' ye like about Bagdad an' no one cayn't contradict ye." + +"I don't seem to remember many novels of--of that particular +description," remarked Ferrol, in a rather low voice. "Perhaps my +memory----" + +"Ye don't?" he queried, in much surprise. "Waal now, jest you notice +an' see if it aint so. I haint read many novels myself. I haint read +but one----" + +"Oh!" interposed Ferrol. "And it was a story of life in Bagdad." + +"Yes; an' I've heard tell of others as was the same. Hance Claiborn, +now, he was a-tellen me of one." + +He checked himself to speak to the negro woman who had presented +herself at a room door. + +"We're a-comin', Nancy," he said, with an air of good-fellowship. +"Now, ladies an' gentlemen," he added, rising from his chair, "walk in +an' have some supper." + +Ferrol and Olivia rose with some hesitation. + +"You are very kind," they said. "We did not intend to give you +trouble." + +"Trouble!" he replied, as if scarcely comprehending. "This yere aint +no trouble. Ye haint ben in North Ca'liny before, hev ye?" he +continued, good-naturedly. "We're bound to hev ye eat, if ye stay with +us long enough. We wouldn't let ye go 'way without eatin', bless ye. +We aint that kind. Walk straight in." + +He led them into a long, low room, half kitchen, half dining-room. It +was not so ugly as the room of state, because it was entirely +unadorned. Its ceiled walls were painted brown and stained with many a +winter's smoke. The pine table was spread with a clean homespun cloth +and heaped with well-cooked, appetizing food. + +"If ye can put up with country fare, ye'll not find it so bad," said +the host. "Nancy prides herself on her way o' doin' things." + +There never was more kindly hospitality, Ferrol thought. The simple +generosity which made them favored guests at once warmed and touched +him. He glanced across at Louisiana to see if she was not as much +pleased as he was himself. But the food upon her plate remained almost +untouched. There was a strange look on her face; she was deadly pale +and her downcast eyes shone under their lashes. She did not look at +their host at all; it struck Ferrol that she avoided looking at him +with a strong effort. Her pallor made him anxious. + +"You are not well," he said to her. "You do not look well at all." + +Their host started and turned toward her. + +"Why, no ye aint!" he exclaimed, quite tremulously. "Lord, no! Ye +cayn't be. Ye haint no color. What--what's the trouble, Lou--Lord! I +was gwine to call ye Louisianny, an'--she aint yere, Louisianny aint." + +He ended with a nervous laugh. + +"I'm used to takin' a heap o' care on her," he said. "I've lost ten on +'em, an' she's all that's left me, an'--an' I think a heap on her. +I--I wish she was yere. Ye musn't git sick, ma'am." + +The girl got up hurriedly. + +"I am not sick, really," she said. "The thunder--I have a little +headache. I will go out on to the porch. It's clearing up now. The +fresh air will do me good." + +The old man rose, too, with rather a flurried manner. + +"If Louisianny was yere," he faltered, "she could give ye something to +help ye. Camphire now--sperrits of camphire--let me git ye some." + +"No--no," said the girl. "No, thank you." + +And she slipped out of the door and was gone. + +Mr. Rogers sat down again with a sigh. + +"I wish she'd let me git her some," he said, wistfully. "I know how it +is with young critters like that. They're dele-cate," anxiously. +"Lord, they're dele-cate. They'd oughter hev' their mothers round 'em. +I know how it is with Louisianny." + +A cloud seemed to settle upon him. He rubbed his grizzled chin with +his hand again and again, glancing at the open door as he did it. It +was evident that his heart was outside with the girl who was like +"Louisianny." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +"NOTHING HAS HURT YOU." + +The storm was quite over, and the sun was setting in flames of gold +when the meal was ended and they went out on the porch again. Mr. +Rogers had scarcely recovered himself, but he had made an effort to do +so, and had so far succeeded as to begin to describe the nature of the +one novel he had read. Still, he had rubbed his chin and kept his eye +uneasily on the door all the time he had been talking. + +"It was about a Frenchman," he said, seriously, "an' his name +was--Frankoyse--F-r-a-n-c-o-i-s, Frankoyse. Thet thar's a French name, +aint it? Me an' Ianthy 'lowed it was common to the country. It don't +belong yere, Frankoyse don't, an' it's got a furrin sound." + +"It--yes, it is a French name," assented Ferrol. + +A few minutes afterward they went out. Louisiana stood at the end of +the porch, leaning against a wooden pillar and twisting an arm around +it. + +"Are ye better?" Mr. Rogers asked. "I am goin' to 'tend to my stock, +an' if ye aint, mebbe the camphire--sperrits of camphire----" + +"I don't need it," she answered. "I am quite well." + +So he went away and left them, promising to return shortly and "gear up +their critters" for them that they might go on their way. + +When he was gone, there was a silence of a few seconds which Ferrol +could not exactly account for. Almost for the first time in his +manhood, he did not know what to say. Gradually there had settled upon +him the conviction that something had gone very wrong indeed, that +there was something mysterious and complicated at work, that somehow he +himself was involved, and that his position was at once a most singular +and delicate one. It was several moments before he could decide that +his best plan seemed to be to try to conceal his bewilderment and +appear at ease. And, very naturally, the speech he chose to begin with +was the most unlucky he could have hit upon. + +"He is charming," he said. "What a lovable old fellow! What a +delicious old fellow! He has been telling me about the novel. It is +the story of a Frenchman, and his name--try to guess his name." + +But Louisiana did not try. + +"You couldn't guess it," he went on. "It is better than all the rest. +His name was--Frankoyse." + +That instant she turned round. She was shaking all over like a leaf. + +"Good heavens!" flashed through his mind. "This is a climax! _This_ +is the real creature!" + +"Don't laugh again!" she cried. "Don't dare to laugh! I wont bear it! +He is my father!" + +For a second or so he had not the breath to speak. + +"Your father!" he said, when he found his voice. "_Your_ father! +_Yours!_" + +"Yes," she answered, "mine. This is my home. I have lived here all my +life--my name is Louisiana. You have laughed at me too!" + +It was the real creature, indeed, whom he saw. She burst into +passionate tears. + +"Do you think that I kept up this pretense to-day because I was ashamed +of him?" she said. "Do you think I did it because I did not love +him--and respect him--and think him better than all the rest of the +world? It was because I loved him so much that I did it--because I +knew so well that you would say to each other that he was not like +me--that he was rougher, and that it was a wonder I belonged to him. +It is a wonder I belong to him! I am not worthy to kiss his shoes. I +have been ashamed--I have been bad enough for that, but not bad enough +to be ashamed of him. I thought at first it would be better to let you +believe what you would--that it would soon be over, and we should never +see each other again, but I did not think that I should have to sit by +and see you laugh because he does not know the world as you do--because +he has always lived his simple, good life in one simple, country place." + +Ferrol had grown as pale as she was herself. He groaned aloud. + +"Oh!" he cried, "what shall I say to you? For heaven's sake try to +understand that it is not at him I have laughed, but----" + +"He has never been away from home," she broke in. "He has worked too +hard to have time to read, and--" she stopped and dropped her hands +with a gesture of unutterable pride. "Why should I tell you that?" she +said. "It sounds as if I were apologizing for him, and there is no +need that I should." + +"If I could understand," began Ferrol,--"if I could realize----" + +"Ask your sister," she replied. "It was her plan. I--I" (with a +little sob) "am only her experiment." + +Olivia came forward, looking wholly subdued. Her eyes were wet, too. + +"It is true," she said. "It is all my fault." + +"May I ask you to explain?" said Ferrol, rather sternly. "I suppose +some of this has been for my benefit." + +"Don't speak in that tone," said Olivia. "It is bad enough as it is. +I--I never was so wretched in my life. I never dreamed of its turning +out in this way. She was so pretty and gentle and quick to take a +hint, and--I wanted to try the experiment--to see if you would guess at +the truth. I--I had a theory, and I was so much interested that--I +forgot to--to think of her very much. I did not think she would care." + +Louisiana broke in. + +"Yes," she said, her eyes bright with pain, "she forgot. I was very +fond of her, and I knew so very little that she forgot to think of me. +I was only a kind of plaything--but I was too proud to remind her. I +thought it would be soon over, and I knew how ignorant I was. I was +afraid to trust my feelings at first. I thought perhaps--it was +vanity, and I ought to crush it down. I was very fond of her." + +"Oh!" cried Olivia, piteously, "don't say 'was,' Louise!" + +"Don't say 'Louise,'" was the reply. "Say 'Louisiana.' I am not +ashamed of it now. I want Mr. Ferrol to hear it." + +"I have nothing to say in self-defense," Laurence replied, hopelessly. + +"There is nothing for any of us to say but good-by," said Louisiana. +"We shall never see each other again. It is all over between us. You +will go your way and I shall go mine. I shall stay here to-night. You +must drive back to the Springs without me. I ought never to have gone +there." + +Laurence threw himself into a chair and sat shading his face with his +hand. He stared from under it at the shining wet grass and leaves. +Even yet he scarcely believed that all this was true. He felt as if he +were walking in a dream. The worst of it was this desperate feeling +that there was nothing for him to say. There was a long silence, but +at last Louisiana left her place and came and stood before him. + +"I am going to meet my father," she said. "I persuaded him that I was +only playing a joke. He thought it was one of my fancies, and he +helped me out because I asked him to do it. I am going to tell him +that I have told you the truth. He wont know why I did it. I will +make it easy for you. I shall not see you again. Good-by." + +Ferrol's misery got the better of him. + +"I can't bear this!" he cried, springing up. "I can't, indeed." + +She drew back. + +"Why not?" she said. "Nothing has hurt _you_." + +The simple coldness of her manner was very hard upon him, indeed. + +"You think I have no right to complain," he answered, "and yet see how +you send me away! You speak as if you did not intend to let me see you +again----" + +"No," she interposed, "you shall not see me again. Why should you? +Ask your sister to tell you how ignorant I am. She knows. Why should +you come here? There would always be as much to laugh at as there has +been to-day. Go where you need not laugh. This is not the place for +you. Good-by!" + +Then he knew he need say no more. She spoke with a child's passion and +with a woman's proud obstinacy. Then she turned to Olivia. He was +thrilled to the heart as he watched her while she did it. Her eyes +were full of tears, but she had put both her hands behind her. + +"Good-by," she said. + +Olivia broke down altogether. + +"Is that the way you are going to say good-by?" she cried. "I did not +think you were so hard. If I had meant any harm--but I didn't--and you +look as if you never would forgive me." + +"I may some time," answered the girl. "I don't yet. I did not think I +was so hard, either." + +Her hands fell at her sides and she stood trembling a second. All at +once she had broken down, too. + +"I loved you," she said; "but you did not love me." + +And then she turned away and walked slowly into the house. + + +It was almost half an hour before their host came to them with the news +that their carriage was ready. + +He looked rather "off color" himself and wore a wearied air, but he was +very uncommunicative. + +"Louisianny 'lowed she'd go to bed an' sleep off her headache, instead +of goin' back to the Springs," he said. "I'll be thar in a day or two +to 'tend to her bill an' the rest on it. I 'low the waters haint done +her much good. She aint at herself rightly. I knowed she wasn't when +she was so notionate this evenin'. She aint notionate when she's at +herself." + +"We are much indebted to you for your kindness," said Ferrol, when he +took the reins. + +"Oh, thet aint nothin'. You're welcome. You'd hev hed a better time +if Louisianny had been at herself. Good-by to ye. Ye'll hev plenty of +moonlight to see ye home." + +Their long ride was a silent one. When they reached the end of it and +Olivia had been helped out of the carriage and stood in the moonlight +upon the deserted gallery, where she had stood with Louisiana in the +morning, she looked very suitably miserable. + +"Laurence," she said, "I don't exactly see why you should feel so very +severe about it. I am sure I am as abject as any one could wish." + +He stood a moment in silence looking absently out on the +moonlight-flooded lawn. Everything was still and wore an air of +desolation. + +"We won't talk about it," he said, at last, "but you have done me an +ill-turn, Olivia." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +"DON'T YE, LOUISIANNY?" + +As he said it, Louisiana was at home in the house-room, sitting on a +low chair at her father's knee and looking into the fire. She had not +gone to bed. When he returned to the house her father had found her +sitting here, and she had not left her place since. A wood fire had +been lighted because the mountain air was cool after the rains, and she +seemed to like to sit and watch it and think. + +Mr. Rogers himself was in a thoughtful mood. After leaving his +departing guests he had settled down with some deliberation. He had +closed the doors and brought forward his favorite wooden-backed, +split-seated chair. Then he had seated himself, and drawing forth his +twist of tobacco had cut off a goodly "chaw." He moved slowly and wore +a serious and somewhat abstracted air. Afterward he tilted backward a +little, crossed his legs, and proceeded to ruminate. + +"Louisianny," he said, "Louisianny, I'd like to hear the rights of it." + +She answered him in a low voice. + +"It is not worth telling," she said. "It was a very poor joke, after +all." + +He gave her a quick side glance, rubbing his crossed legs slowly. + +"Was it?" he remarked. "A poor one, after all? Why, thet's bad." + +The quiet patience of his face was a study. He went on rubbing his leg +even more slowly than before. + +"Thet's bad," he said again. "Now, what d'ye think was the trouble, +Louisianny?" + +"I made a mistake," she answered. "That was all." + +Suddenly she turned to him and laid her folded arms on his knee and her +face upon them, sobbing. + +"I oughtn't to have gone," she cried. "I ought to have stayed at home +with you, father." + +His face flushed, and he was obliged to relieve his feelings by +expectorating into the fire. + +"Louisianny," he said, "I'd like to ask ye one question. Was thar +anybody thar as didn't--well, as didn't show ye respect--as was slighty +or free or--or onconsiderate? Fur instants, any littery man--jest for +instants, now?" + +"No, no!" she answered. "They were very kind to me always." + +"Don't be afeared to tell me, Louisianny," he put it to her. "I only +said 'fur instants,' havin' heern as littery men was sometimes--now an' +again--thataway--now an' ag'in." + +"They were very good to me," she repeated, "always." + +"If they was," he returned, "I'm glad of it. I'm a-gittin' old, +Louisianny, an' I haint much health--dispepsy's what tells on a man," +he went on deliberately. "But if thar'd a bin any one as hed done it, +I'd hev hed to settle it with him--I'd hev hed to hev settled it with +him--liver or no liver." + +He put his hand on her head and gave it a slow little rub, the wrong +way, but tenderly. + +"I aint goin' to ask ye no more questions," he said, "exceptin' one. +Is thar anything ye'd like to hev done in the house--in the parlor, for +instants, now--s'posin' we was to say in the parlor." + +"No, no," she cried. "Let it stay as it is! Let it all stay as it is!" + +"Wa-al," he said, meditatively, "ye know thar aint no reason why it +should, Louisianny, if ye'd like to hev it fixed up more or different. +If ye'd like a new paper--say a floweryer one--or a new set of cheers +an' things. Up to Lawyer Hoskin's I seen 'em with red seats to 'em, +an' seemed like they did set things off sorter. If ye'd like to hev +some, thar aint no reason why ye shouldn't. Things has gone purty well +with me, an'--an' thar aint none left but you, honey. Lord!" he added, +in a queer burst of tenderness. "Why shouldn't ye hev things if ye +want 'em?" + +"I don't want them," she protested. "I want nothing but you." + +For a moment there was a dead silence. He kept his eyes fixed on the +fire. He seemed to be turning something over in his mind. But at last +he spoke: + +"Don't ye, Louisianny?" he said. + +"No," she answered. "Nothing." + +And she drew his hand under her cheek and kissed it. + +He took it very quietly. + +"Ye've got a kind heart, Louisianny," he said. "Young folks gin'rally +has, I think. It's sorter nat'ral, but Lord! thar's other things +besides us old folks, an' it's nat'ral as ye'd want 'em. Thar's things +as kin be altered, an' thar's things as cayn't. Let's alter them as +kin. If ye'd like a cupoly put on the house, or, say a coat of +yaller-buff paint--Sawyer's new house is yaller buff, an' it's mighty +showy; or a organ or a pianny, or more dressin', ye shall have 'em. +Them's things as it aint too late to set right, an' ye shall hev 'em." + +But she only cried the more in a soft, hushed way. + +"Oh, don't be so good to me," she said. "Don't be so good and kind." + +He went on as quietly as before. + +"If--fur instants--it was me as was to be altered, Louisianny, I'm +afeared--I'm afeared we couldn't do it. I'm afeared as I've been let +run too long--jest to put it that way. We mought hev done it if we'd +hev begun airlier--say forty or fifty year back--but I'm afeared we +couldn't do it now. Not as I wouldn't be willin'--I wouldn't hev a +thing agin it, an' I'd try my best--but it's late. Thar's whar it is. +If it was me as hed to be altered--made more moderner, an' to know +more, an' to hev more style--I'm afeared thar'd be a heap o' trouble. +Style didn't never seem to come nat'ral to me, somehow. I'm one o' +them things as cayn't be altered. Let's alter them as kin." + +"I don't want you altered," she protested. "Oh! why should I, when you +are such a good father--such a dear father!" + +And there was a little silence again, and at the end of it he said, in +a gentle, forbearing voice, just as he had said before: + +"Don't ye, Louisianny?" + +They sat silent again for some time afterward--indeed, but little more +was said until they separated for the night. Then, when she kissed him +and clung for a moment round his neck, he suddenly roused himself from +his prolonged reverie. + +"Lord!" he said, quite cheerfully, "it caynt last long, at the longest, +arter all--an' you're young yet, you're young." + +"What can't last long?" she asked, timidly. + +He looked into her eyes and smiled. + +"Nothin'," he answered, "nothin' caynt. Nothin' don't--an' you're +young." + +And he was so far moved by his secret thought that he smoothed her hair +from her forehead the wrong way again with a light touch, before he let +her go. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE GREAT WORLD. + +The next morning he went to the Springs. + +"I'll go an' settle up and bring ye your trunk an' things," he said. +"Mebbe I mayn't git back till to-morrer, so don't ye be oneasy. Ef I +feel tired when I git thar, I'll stay overnight." + +She did not think it likely he would stay. She had never known him to +remain away from home during a night unless he had been compelled to do +so by business. He had always been too childishly fond of his home to +be happy away from it. He liked the routine he had been used to +through forty years, the rising at daylight, the regular common duties +he assumed as his share, his own seat on the hearth or porch and at +table. + +"Folks may be clever enough," he used to say. "They air clever, as a +rule--but it don't come nat'ral to be away. Thar aint nothin' like +home an' home ways." + +But he did not return that night, or even the next morning. It was +dusk the next evening before Louisiana heard the buggy wheels on the +road. + +She had been sitting on the porch and rose to greet him when he drove +up and descended from his conveyence rather stiffly. + +"Ye wasn't oneasy, was ye?" he asked. + +"No," she answered; "only it seemed strange to know you were away." + +"I haint done it but three times since me an' Ianthy was married," he +said. "Two o' them times was Conference to Barnsville, an' one was +when Marcelly died." + +When he mounted the porch steps he looked up at her with a smile on his +weather-beaten face. + +"Was ye lonesome?" he asked. "I bet ye was." + +"A little," she replied. "Not very." + +She gave him his chair against the wooden pillar, and watched him as he +tilted back and balanced himself on its back legs. She saw something +new and disturbed in his face and manner. It was as if the bit of +outside life he had seen had left temporary traces upon him. She +wondered very much how it had impressed him and what he was thinking +about. + +And after a short time he told her. + +"Ye must be lonesome," he said, "arter stayin' down thar. It's +nat'ral. A body don't know until they see it theirselves. It's gay +thar. Lord, yes! it's gay, an' what suits young folks is to be gay." + +"Some of the people who were there did not think it was gay," Louisiana +said, a little listlessly. "They were used to gayer places and they +often called it dull, but it seemed very gay to me." + +"I shouldn't want it no gayer, myself," he returned, seriously. "Not +if I was young folks. Thar must hev bin three hundred on 'em in thet +thar dinin'-room. The names o' the vittles writ down on paper to pick +an' choose from, an' fifty or sixty waiters flyin' round. An' the +dressin'! I sot an' watched 'em as they come in. I sot an' watched +'em all day. Thar was a heap o' cur'osities in the way of dressin' I +never seen before. I went into the dancin'-room at night, too, an' sot +thar a spell an' watched 'em. They played a play. Some on 'em put +little caps an' aperns on, an' rosettes an' fixin's. They sorter +danced in it, an' they hed music while they was doin' it. It was +purty, too, if a body could hev follered it out." + +"It is a dance they call the German," said Louisiana, remembering with +a pang the first night she had seen it, as she sat at her new friend's +side. + +"German, is it?" he said, with evident satisfaction at making the +discovery. "Waal now, I ain't surprised. It hed a kinder Dutch look +to me--kinder Dutch an' furrin." + +Just then Nancy announced that his supper was ready, and he went in, +but on the threshold he stopped and spoke again: + +"Them folks as was here," he said, "they'd gone. They started the next +mornin' arter they was here. They live up North somewhars, an' they've +went thar." + +After he had gone in, Louisiana sat still for a little while. The moon +was rising and she watched it until it climbed above the tree-tops and +shone bright and clear. Then one desperate little sob broke from +her--only one, for she choked the next in its birth, and got up and +turned toward the house and the room in which the kerosene lamp burned +on the supper table. + +"I'll go an' talk to him," she said. "He likes to have me with him, +and it will be better than sitting here." + + +She went in and sat near him, resting her elbows upon the table and her +chin on her hands, and tried to begin to talk. But it was not very +easy. She found that she had a tendency to fall back in long silent +pauses, in which she simply looked at him with sad, tender eyes. + +"I stopped at Casey's as I came on," he said, at last. "Thet thar was +one thing as made me late. Thar's--thar's somethin' I hed on my mind +fur him to do fur me." + +"For Casey to do?" she said. + +He poured his coffee into his saucer and answered with a heavy effort +at speaking unconcernedly. + +"I'm agoin' to hev him fix the house," he said. + +She was going to ask him what he meant to have done, but he did not +give her time. + +"Ianthy an' me," he said, "we'd useder say we'd do it sometime, an' I'm +agoin' to do it now. The rooms, now, they're low--whar they're not to +say small, they're low an'--an' old-timey. Thar aint no style to 'em. +Them rooms to the Springs, now, they've got style to 'em. An' rooms +kin be altered easy enough." + +He drank his coffee slowly, set his saucer down and went on with the +same serious air of having broached an ordinary subject. + +"Goin' to the Springs has sorter started me off," he said. "Seein' +things diff'rent does start a man off. Casey an' his men'll be here +Monday." + +"It seems so--sudden," Louisiana said. She gave a slow, wondering +glance at the old smoke-stained room. "I can hardly fancy it looking +any other way than this. It wont be the same place at all." + +He glanced around, too, with a start. His glance was hurried and +nervous. + +"Why, no," he said, "it wont, but--it'll be stylisher. It'll be kinder +onfamil'ar at first, but I dessay we shall get used to it--an' it'll be +stylisher. An' style--whar thar's young folks, thet's what's +wanted--style." + +She was so puzzled by his manner that she sat regarding him with +wonder. But he went on talking steadily about his plans until the meal +was over. He talked of them when they went back to the porch together +and sat in the moonlight. He scarcely gave her an opportunity to +speak. Once or twice the idea vaguely occurred to her that for some +reason he did not want her to talk. It was a relief to her only to be +called upon to listen, but still she was puzzled. + +"When we git fixed up," he said, "ye kin hev your friends yere. Thar's +them folks, now, as was yere the other day from the Springs--when we're +fixed up ye mought invite 'em--next summer, fur instants. Like as not +I shall be away myself an'--ye'd hev room a plenty. Ye wouldn't need +me, ye see. An', Lord! how it'd serprise 'em to come an' find ye all +fixed." + +"I should never ask them," she cried, impetuously. "And--they wouldn't +come if I did." + +"Mebbe they would," he responded, gravely, "if ye was fixed up." + +"I don't want them," she said, passionately. "Let them keep their +place. I don't want them." + +"Don't ye," he said, in his quiet voice. "Don't ye, Louisianny?" + +And he seemed to sink into a reverie and did not speak again for quite +a long time. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +A RUSTY NAIL. + +On Monday Casey and his men came. Louisiana and her father were at +breakfast when they struck their first blow at the end of the house +which was to be renovated first. + +The old man, hearing it, started violently--so violently that he almost +upset the coffee at his elbow. + +He laughed a tremulous sort of laugh. + +"Why, I'm narvous!" he said. "Now, jest to think o' me a-bein' +narvous!" + +"I suppose," said Louisiana, "I am nervous as well. It made me start +too. It had such a strange sound." + +"Waal, now," he answered, "come to think on it, it hed--sorter. Seems +like it wasn't sca'cely nat'ral. P'r'aps that's it." + +Neither of them ate much breakfast, and when the meal was over they +went out together to look at the workmen. They were very busy tearing +off weather-boarding and wrenching out nails. Louisiana watched them +with regretful eyes. In secret she was wishing that the low ceilings +and painted walls might remain as they were. She had known them so +long. + +"I am afraid he is doing it to please me," she thought. "He does not +believe me when I say I don't want it altered. He would never have had +it done for himself." + +Her father had seated himself on a pile of plank. He was rubbing his +crossed leg as usual, but his hand trembled slightly. + +"I druv them nails in myself," he said. "Ianthy wasn't but nineteen. +She'd set yere an' watch me. It was two or three months arter we was +married. She was mighty proud on it when it was all done. Little Tom +he was born in thet thar room. The rest on 'em was born in the front +room, 'n' they all died thar. Ianthy she died thar. I'd useder think +I should----" + +He stopped and glanced suddenly at Louisiana. He pulled himself up and +smiled. + +"Ye aint in the notion o' hevin' the cupoly," he said. "We kin hev it +as soon as not--'n' seems ter me thar's a heap o' style to 'em." + +"Anything that pleases you will please me, father," she said. + +He gave her a mild, cheerful look. + +"Ye don't take much int'russ in it yet, do ye?" he said. "But ye will +when it gits along kinder. Lord! ye'll be as impatient as Ianthy an' +me war when it gits along." + +She tried to think she would, but without very much success. She +lingered about for a while and at last went to her own room at the +other end of the house and shut herself in. + +Her trunk had been carried upstairs and set in its old place behind the +door. She opened it and began to drag out the dresses and other +adornments she had taken with her to the Springs. There was the blue +muslin. She threw it on the floor and dropped beside it, half sitting, +half kneeling. She laughed quite savagely. + +"I thought it was very nice when I made it," she said. "I wonder how +_she_ would like to wear it?" She pulled out one thing after another +until the floor around her was strewn. Then she got up and left them, +and ran to the bed and threw herself into a chair beside it, hiding her +face in the pillow. + +"Oh, how dull it is, and how lonely!" she said. "What shall I do? +What shall I do?" + +And while she sobbed she heard the blows upon the boards below. + +Before she went down-stairs she replaced the things she had taken from +the trunk. She packed them away neatly, and, having done it, turned +the key upon them. + +"Father," she said, at dinner, "there are some things upstairs I want +to send to Cousin Jenny. I have done with them, and I think she'd like +to have them." + +"Dresses an' things, Louisianny?" he said. + +"Yes," she answered. "I shall not need them any more. I--don't care +for them." + +"Don't--" he began, but stopped short, and, lifting his glass, +swallowed the rest of the sentence in a large glass of milk. + +"I'll tell Leander to send fer it," he said afterward. "Jenny'll be +real sot up, I reckon. Her pappy bein' so onfort'nit, she don't git +much." + +He ate scarcely more dinner than breakfast, and spent the afternoon in +wandering here and there among the workmen. Sometimes he talked to +them, and sometimes sat on his pile of plank and watched them in +silence. Once, when no one was looking, he stooped down and picked up +a rusty nail which had fallen from its place in a piece of board. +After holding it in his hand for a little he furtively thrust it into +his pocket, and seemed to experience a sense of relief after he had +done it. + +"Ye don't do nothin' toward helpin' us, Uncle Elbert," said one of the +young men. (Every youngster within ten miles knew him as "Uncle +Elbert.") "Ye aint as smart as ye was when last ye built, air ye?" + +"No, boys," he answered, "I ain't. That's so. I aint as smart, an'," +he added, rather hurriedly, "it'd sorter go agin me to holp ye at what +ye're doin' now. Not as I don't think it's time it was done, but--it'd +sorter go ag'in me." + +When Louisiana entered the house-room at dusk, she found him sitting by +the fire, his body drooping forward, his head resting listlessly on his +hand. + +"I've got a touch o' dyspepsy, Louisianny," he said, "an' the knockin' +hes kinder giv me a headache. I'll go to bed airly." + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +"MEBBE." + +She had been so full of her own sharp pain and humiliation during the +first few days that perhaps she had not been so quick to see as she +would otherwise have been, but the time soon came when she awakened to +a bewildered sense of new and strange trouble. She scarcely knew when +it was that she first began to fancy that some change had taken place +in her father. It was a change she could not comprehend when she +recognized its presence. It was no alteration of his old, slow, quiet +faithfulness to her. He had never been so faithfully tender. The +first thing which awakened her thought of change was his redoubled +tenderness. She found that he watched her constantly, in a patient, +anxious way. When they were together she often discovered that he kept +his eyes fixed upon her when he thought she was not aware of his gaze. +He seemed reluctant to leave her alone, and continually managed to be +near her, and yet it grew upon her at last that the old, homely +good-fellowship between them had somehow been broken in upon, and +existed no longer. It was not that he loved her any less--she was sure +of that; but she had lost something, without knowing when or how she +had lost it, or even exactly what it was. But his anxiety to please +her grew day by day. He hurried the men who were at work upon the +house. + +"Louisianny, she'll enjoy it when it's done," he said to them. "Hurry +up, boys, an' do yer plum best." + +She had been at home about two weeks when he began to drive over to the +nearest depot every day at "train time." It was about three miles +distant, and he went over for several days in his spring wagon. At +first he said nothing of his reason for making the journey, but one +morning, as he stood at his horses' heads, he said to Louisiana, +without turning to look at her, and affecting to be very busy with some +portion of the harness: + +"I've ben expectin' of some things fer a day or so, an' they haint +come. I wasn't sure when I oughter to look fer 'em--mebbe I've ben +lookin' too soon--fer they haint come yet." + +"Where were they to come from?" she asked. + +"From--from New York City." + +"From New York?" she echoed, trying to show an interest. "I did not +know you sent there, father." + +"I haint never done it afore," he answered. "These yere things--mebbe +they'll come to-day, an' then ye'll see 'em." + +She asked no further questions, fancying that he had been buying some +adornments for the new rooms which were to be a surprise for her. +After he had gone away she thought a little sadly of his kindness to +her, and her unworthiness of it. At noon he came back and brought his +prize with him. + +He drove up slowly with it behind him in the wagon--a large, shining, +new trunk--quite as big and ponderous as any she had seen at the +Springs. + +He got down and came up to her as she stood on the porch. He put his +hand on her shoulder. + +"I'll hev 'em took in an' ye kin look at 'em," he said. "It's some new +things ye was a-needin'." + +She began to guess dimly at what he meant, but she followed the trunk +into the house without speaking. When they set it down she stood near +while her father fumbled for the key and found it, turned it in the +lock and threw back the lid. + +"They're some things ye was a-needin'," he said. "I hope ye'll like +'em, honey." + +She did not know what it was in his voice, or his face, or his simple +manner that moved her so, but she did not look at what he had brought +at all--she ran to him and caught his arm, dropped her face on it, and +burst into tears. + +"Father--father!" she cried. "Oh, father!" + +"Look at 'em, Louisianny," he persisted, gently, "an' see if they suit +ye. Thar aint no reason to cry, honey." + +The words checked her and made her feel uncertain and bewildered again. +She stopped crying and looked up at him, wondering if her emotion +troubled him, but he did not meet her eye, and only seemed anxious that +she should see what he had brought. + +"I didn't tell ye all I hed in my mind when I went to the Springs," he +said. "I hed a notion I'd like to see fer myself how things was. I +knowed ye'd hev an idee thet ye couldn't ask me fer the kind o' things +ye wanted, an' I knowed _I_ knowed nothin' about what they was, so I +ses to myself, 'I'll go an' stay a day an' watch and find out.' An' I +went, an' I found out. Thar was a young woman thar as was dressed +purtier than any of 'em. An' she was clever an' friendly, an' I +managed it so we got a-talkin'. She hed on a dress that took my fancy. +It was mighty black an' thick--ye know it was cold after the rains--an' +when we was talkin' I asked her if she mind a-tellin' me the name of it +an' whar she'd bought it. An' she laughed some, an' said it was +velvet, an' she'd got it to some store in New York City. An' I asked +her if she'd write it down; I'd a little gal at home I wanted a dress +off'n it fer--an' then, someways, we warmed up, an' I ses to her, 'She +aint like me. If ye could see her ye'd never guess we was kin.' She +hadn't never seen ye. She come the night ye left, but when I told her +more about ye, she ses, 'I think I've heern on her. I heern she was +very pretty.' An' I told her what I'd hed in my mind, an' it seemed +like it took her fancy, an' she told me to get a paper an' pencil an' +she'd tell me what to send fer an' whar to send. An' I sent fer 'em, +an' thar they air." + +She could not tell him that they were things not fit for her to wear. +She looked at the rolls of silk and the laces and feminine extras with +a bewildered feeling. + +"They are beautiful things," she said. "I never thought of having such +things for my own." + +"Thar's no reason why ye shouldn't hev 'em," he said. "I'd oughter hev +thought of 'em afore. Do they suit ye, Louisianny?" + +"I should be very hard to please if they didn't," she answered. "They +are only too beautiful for--a girl like me." + +"They cayn't be that," he said, gravely. "I didn't see none no +handsomer than you to the Springs, Louisianny, an' I ses to the lady as +writ it all down fer me, I ses, 'What I want is fer her to hev what the +best on 'em hev. I don't want nothin' no less than what she'd like to +hev if she'd ben raised in New York or Philadelphy City. Thar aint no +reason why she shouldn't hev it. Out of eleven she's all that's left, +an' she desarves it all. She's young an' handsome, and she desarves it +all.'" + +"What did she say to that?" Louisiana asked. + +He hesitated a moment before answering. + +"She looked at me kinder queer fer a minnit," he replied at length. +"An' then she ses, 'She'd oughter be a very happy gal,' ses she, 'with +such a father,' an' I ses, 'I 'low she is--mebbe.'" + +"Only maybe?" said the girl, "only maybe, father?" + +She dropped the roll of silk she had been holding and went to him. She +put her hand on his arm again and shook it a little, laughing in the +same feverish fashion as when she had gone out to him on the porch on +the day of her return. She had suddenly flushed up, and her eyes shone +as he had seen them then. + +"Only maybe," she said. "Why should I be unhappy? There's no reason. +Look at me, with my fine house and my new things! There isn't any one +happier in the world! There is nothing left for me to wish for. I +have got too much!" + +A new mood seemed to have taken possession of her all at once. She +scarcely gave him a chance to speak. She drew him to the trunk's side, +and made him stand near while she took the things out one by one. She +exclaimed and laughed over them as she drew them forth. She held the +dress materials up to her waist and neck to see how the colors became +her; she tried on laces and sacques and furbelows and the hats which +were said to have come from Paris. + +"What will they say when they see me at meeting in them?" she said. +"Brother Horner will forget his sermons. There never were such things +in Bowersville before. I am almost afraid they will think I am putting +on airs." + +When she reached a box of long kid gloves at the bottom, she burst into +such a shrill laugh that her father was startled. There was a tone of +false exhilaration about her which was not what he had expected. + +"See!" she cried, holding one of the longest pairs up, "eighteen +buttons! And cream color! I can wear them with the cream-colored silk +and cashmere at--at a festival!" + +When she had looked at everything, the rag carpet was strewn with her +riches,--with fashionable dress materials, with rich and delicate +colors, with a hundred feminine and pretty whims. + +"How could I help but be happy?" she said. "I am like a queen. I +don't suppose queens have very much more, though we don't know much +about queens, do we?" + +She hung round her father's neck and kissed him in a fervent, excited +way. + +"You good old father!" she said, "you sweet old father!" + +He took one of her soft, supple hands and held it between both his +brown and horny ones. + +"Louisianny," he said, "I _'low _to make ye happy; ef the Lord haint +nothin' agin it, I _'low_ to do it!" + +He went out after that, and left her alone to set her things to rights; +but when he had gone and closed the door, she did not touch them. She +threw herself down flat upon the floor in the midst of them, her +slender arms flung out, her eyes wide open and wild and dry. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +A NEW PLAN. + +At last the day came when the house was finished and stood big and +freshly painted and bare in the sun. Late one afternoon in the Indian +summer, Casey and his men, having bestowed their last touches, +collected their belongings and went away, leaving it a lasting monument +to their ability. Inside, instead of the low ceilings, and painted +wooden walls, there were high rooms and plaster and modern papering; +outside, instead of the variegated piazza, was a substantial portico. +The whole had been painted a warm gray, and Casey considered his job a +neat one and was proud of it. When they were all gone Louisiana went +out into the front yard to look at it. She stood in the grass and +leaned against an apple-tree. It was near sunset, and both trees and +grass were touched with a yellow glow so deep and mellow that it was +almost a golden haze. Now that the long-continued hammering and sawing +was at an end and all traces of its accompaniments removed, the +stillness seemed intense. There was not a breath of wind stirring, or +the piping of a bird to be heard. The girl clasped her slender arms +about the tree's trunk and rested her cheek against the rough bark. +She looked up piteously. + +"I must try to get used to it," she said. "It is very much nicer--and +I must try to get used to it." + +But the strangeness of it was very hard on her at first. When she +looked at it she had a startled feeling--as if when she had expected to +see an old friend she had found herself suddenly face to face with a +stranger. + +Her father had gone to Bowersville early in the day, and she had been +expecting his return for an hour or so. She left her place by the tree +at length and went to the fence to watch for his coming down the road. +But she waited in vain so long that she got tired again and wandered +back to the house and around to the back to where a new barn and stable +had been built, painted and ornamented in accordance with the most +novel designs. There was no other such barn or stable in the country, +and their fame was already wide-spread and of an enviable nature. + +As she approached these buildings Louisiana glanced up and uttered an +exclamation. Her father was sitting upon the door-sill of the barn, +and his horse was turned loose to graze upon the grass before him. + +"Father," the girl cried, "I have been waiting for you. I thought you +had not come." + +"I've been yere a right smart while, Louisianny," he answered. "Ye +wasn't 'round when I come, an' so ye didn't see me, I reckon." + +He was pale, and spoke at first heavily and as if with an effort, but +almost instantly he brightened. + +"I've jest ben a-settin' yere a-steddyin'," he said. "A man wants to +see it a few times an' take it sorter gradual afore he kin do it +jestice. A-lookin' at it from yere, now," with a wide sweep of his +hand toward the improvements, "ye kin see how much style thar is to it. +Seems to me thet the--the mountains now, they look better. It--waal it +kinder sets 'em off--it kinder sets 'em off." + +"It is very much prettier," she answered. + +"Lord, yes! Thar aint no comparison. I was jest a-settin' thinkin' +thet anyone thet'd seed it as it was afore they'd not know it. Ianthy, +fer instants--Ianthy she wouldn't sca'cely know it was home--thar's so +much style to it." + +He suddenly stopped and rested against the door-lintel. He was pale +again, though he kept up a stout air of good cheer. + +"Lord!" he said, after a little pause, "it's a heap stylisher!" + +Presently he bent down and picked up a twig which lay on the ground at +his feet. He began to strip the leaves from it with careful slowness, +and he kept his eyes fixed on it as he went on talking. + +"Ye'll never guess who I've ben a-talkin' to to-day, an' what I've ben +talkin' to 'em about." + +She put her hand on his knee caressingly. + +"Tell me, father," she said. + +He laughed a jerky, high-pitched laugh. + +"I've ben talkin' to Jedge Powers," he said. "He's up yere from +Howelsville, a-runnin' fer senator. He's sot his mind on makin' it, +too, an' he was a-tellin' me what his principles was. He--he's got a +heap o' principles. An' he told me his wife an' family was a-goin' to +Europe. He was mighty sosherble--an' he said they was a-goin' to +Europe." + +He had stripped the last leaf from the twig and had begun upon the +bark. Just at this juncture it slipped from his hand and fell on the +ground. He bent down again to pick it up. + +"Louisianny," he said, "how--would ye like to go to Europe?" + +She started back amazed, but she could not catch even a glimpse of his +face, he was so busy with the twig. + +"I go to Europe--I!" she said. "I don't--I never thought of it. It is +not people like us who go to Europe, father." + +"Louisianny," he said, hurriedly, "what's agin it? Thar aint +nothin'--nothin'! It come in my mind when Powers was a-tellin' me. I +ses to myself, 'Why, here's the very thing fer Louisianny! Travel an' +furrin langwidges an' new ways o' doin'. It's what she'd oughter hed +long ago.' An' Powers he went on a-talkin' right while I was +a-steddyin, an' he ses: 'Whar's that pretty darter o' yourn thet we was +so took with when we passed through Hamilton last summer? Why,' ses +he,--he ses it hisself, Louisianny,--'why don't ye send her to Europe? +Let her go with my wife. She'll take care of her.' An' I stopped him +right thar. 'Do ye mean it, Jedge?' I ses. 'Yes,' ses he. 'Why not? +My wife an' daughter hev talked about her many a time, an' said how +they'd like to see her agin. Send her,' ses he. 'You're a rich man, +an' ye kin afford it, Squire, if ye will.' An' I ses, 'So I kin ef +she'd like to go, an' what's more, I'm a-goin' to ask her ef she +would--fer thar aint nothin' agin it--nothin'.'" + +He paused for a moment and turned to look at her. + +"Thet's what I was steddyin' about mostly, Louisianny," he said, "when +I set yere afore ye come." + +She had been sitting beside him, and she sprang to her feet and stood +before him. + +"Father," she cried, "are you tired of me?" + +"Tired of ye, Louisianny?" he repeated. "Tired of ye?" + +She flung out her hand with a wild gesture and burst into tears. + +"Are you tired of me?" she said again. "Don't you love me any more? +Don't you want me as you used to? Could you do without me for months +and months and know I was far away and couldn't come to you? No, you +couldn't. You couldn't. I know that, though something--I don't know +what--has come between us, and I feel it every minute, and most when +you are kindest. Is there nothing in the way of my going +away--nothing? Think again." + +"Louisianny," he answered, "I cayn't think of nothin'--thet's +partic'lar." + +She slipped down on her knee and threw herself on his breast, clinging +to him with all her young strength. + +"Are _you_ nothing?" she cried. "Is all your love nothing? Are all +your beautiful, good thoughts for my happiness 'nothing'? Is your +loneliness nothing? Shall I leave you here to live by yourself in the +new home which is strange to you--after you have given up the old one +you knew and loved for me? Oh! what has made you think I have no +heart, and no soul, and nothing to be grateful with? Have I ever been +bad and cruel and hard to you that you can think it?" + +She poured forth her love and grief and tender reproach on his breast +with such innocent fervor that he could scarcely bear it. His eyes +were wet too, and his furrowed, sunburnt cheeks, and his breath came +short and fast while he held her close in his arms. + +"Honey," he said, just as he had often spoken to her when she had been +a little child, "Louisianny, honey, no! No, never! I never hed a +thought agin ye, not in my bottermost heart. Did ye think it? Lord, +no! Thar aint nothin' ye've never done in yer life that was meant to +hurt or go agin me. Ye never did go agin me. Ye aint like me, honey; +ye're kinder finer. Ye was borned so. I seed it when ye was in yer +cradle. I've said it to Ianthy (an' sence ye're growed up I've said it +more). Thar's things ye'd oughter hev thet's diff'rent from what most +of us wants--it's through you a-bein' so much finer. Ye mustn't be so +tender-hearted, honey, ye mustn't." + +She clung more closely to him and cried afresh, though more softly. + +"Nothing shall take me away from you," she said, "ever again. I went +away once, and it would have been better if I had stayed at home. The +people did not want me. They meant to be good to me, and they liked +me, but--they hurt me without knowing it, and it would have been better +if I had stayed here. _You_ don't make me feel ashamed, and sad, and +bitter. _You_ love me just as I am, and you would love me if I knew +even less, and was more simple. Let me stay with you! Let us stay +together always--always--always!" + +He let her cry her fill, holding her pretty head tenderly and soothing +her as best he could. Somehow he looked a little brighter himself, and +not quite so pale as he had done when she found him sitting alone +trying to do the new house "jestice." + +When at length they went in to supper it was almost dusk, and he had +his arm still around her. He did not let her go until they sat down at +the table, and then she brought her chair quite close to his, and while +he ate looked at him often with her soft, wet eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +CONFESSIONS. + +They had a long, quiet evening together afterward. They sat before the +fire, and Louisiana drew her low seat near him so that she could rest +her head upon his knee. + +"It's almost like old times," she said. "Let us pretend I never went +away and that everything is as it used to be." + +"Would ye like it to be thataway, Louisianny?" he asked. + +She was going to say "Yes," but she remembered the changes he had made +to please her, and she turned her face and kissed the hand her cheek +rested against. + +"You mustn't fancy I don't think the new house is beautiful," she said. +"It isn't that I mean. What I would like to bring back is--is the +feeling I used to have. That is all--nothing but the old feeling. And +people can't always have the same feelings, can they? Things change so +as we get older." + +He looked at the crackling fire very hard for a minute. + +"Thet's so," he said. "Thet's so. Things changes in gin'ral, an' +feelin's, now, they're cur'us. Thar's things as kin be altered an' +things as cayn't--an' feelin's they cayn't. They're cur'us. Ef ye +hurt 'em, now, thar's money; it aint nowhar--it don't do no good. Thar +aint nothin' ye kin buy as 'll set 'em straight. Ef--fer +instants--money could buy back them feelin's of yourn--them as ye'd +like to hev back--how ready an' willin' I'd be to trade fer' em! Lord! +how ready an' willin'! But it wont do it. Thar's whar it is. When +they're gone a body hez to larn to git along without 'em." + +And they sat silent again for some time, listening to the snapping of +the dry wood burning in the great fire-place. + +When they spoke next it was of a different subject. + +"Ef ye aint a-goin' to Europe--" the old man began. + +"And I'm not, father," Louisiana put in. + +"Ef ye aint, we must set to work fixin' up right away. This mornin' I +was a-layin' out to myself to let it stay tell ye come back an' then +hev it all ready fer ye--cheers an' tables--an' sophias--an' +merrors--an'--ile paintin's. I laid out to do it slow, Louisianny, and +take time, an' steddy a heap, an' to take advice from them es knows, +afore I traded ary time. I 'lowed it'd be a heap better to take advice +from them es knowed. Brown, es owns the Springs, I 'lowed to hev asked +him, now,--he's used to furnishin' up an' knows whar to trade an' what +to trade fer. The paintin's, now--I've heern it takes a heap o' +experience to pick 'em, an' I aint hed no experience. I 'low I +shouldn't know a good un when I seen it, Now, them picters as was in +the parlor--ye know more than I do, I dessay,--now, them picters," he +said, a little uncertainly, "was they to say good, or--or only about +middlin'?" + +She hesitated a second. + +"Mother was fond of them," she broke out, in a burst of simple feeling. + +Remembering how she had stood before the simpering, red-cheeked faces +and hated them; how she had burned with shame before them, she was +stricken with a bitter pang of remorse. + +"Mother was fond of them," she said. + +"Thet's so," he answered, simply. "Thet's so, she was; an' you a-bein' +so soft-hearted an' tender makes it sorter go agin ye to give in as +they wasn't--what she took 'em fer. But ye see, thet--though it's +nat'ral--it's nat'ral--don't make 'em good or bad, Louisianny, an' +Lord! it don't harm _her_. 'Taint what folks knows or what they don't +know thet makes the good in 'em. Ianthy she warn't to say 'complished, +but I don't see how she could hev ben no better than she was--nor more +calculated to wear well--in the p'int o' religion. Not hevin' +experience in ile paintin's aint what'd hurt her, nor make us think no +less of her. It wouldn't hev hurt her when she was livin', an' Lord! +she's past it now--she's past it, Ianthy is." + +He talked a good deal about his plans and of the things he meant to +buy. He was quite eager in his questioning of her and showed such +lavishness as went to her heart. + +"I want to leave ye well fixed," he said. + +"Leave me?" she echoed. + +He made a hurried effort to soften the words. + +"I'd oughtn't to said it," he said. "It was kinder keerless. Thet +thar--it's a long way off--mebbe--an' I'd oughtn't to hev said it. +It's a way old folks hev--but it's a bad way. Things git to seem +sorter near to 'em--an' ordinary." + +The whole day had been to Louisiana a slow approach to a climax. +Sometimes when her father talked she could scarcely bear to look at his +face as the firelight shone on it. + +So, when she had bidden him good-night at last and walked to the door +leaving him standing upon the hearth watching her as she moved away, +she turned round suddenly and faced him again, with her hand upon the +latch. + +"Father," she cried, "I want to tell you--I want to tell you----" + +"What?" he said. "What, Louisianny?" + +She put her hand to her side and leaned against the door--a slender, +piteous figure. + +"Don't look at me kindly," she said. "I don't deserve it. I deserve +nothing. I have been ashamed----" + +He stopped her, putting up his shaking hand and turning pale. + +"Don't say nothin' as ye'll be sorry fer when ye feel better, +Louisianny," he said. "Don't git carried away by yer feelin's into +sayin' nothin' es is hard on yerself. Don't ye do it, Louisianny. +Thar aint no need fer it, honey. Yer kinder wrought up, now, an' ye +cayn't do yerself jestice." + +But she would not be restrained. + +"I _must_ tell you," she said. "It has been on my heart too long. I +ought never to have gone away. Everybody was different from us--and +had new ways. I think they laughed at me, and it made me bad. I began +to ponder over things until at last I hated myself and everything, and +was ashamed that I had been content. When I told you I wanted to play +a joke on the people who came here, it was not true. I wanted them to +go away without knowing that this was my home. It was only a queer +place, to be laughed at, to them, and I was ashamed of it, and bitter +and angry. When they went into the parlor they laughed at it and at +the pictures, and everything in it, and I stood by with my cheeks +burning. When I saw a strange woman in the kitchen it flashed into my +mind that I had no need to tell them that all these things that they +laughed at had been round me all my life. They were not sneering at +them--it was worse than that--they were only interested and amused and +curious, and were not afraid to let me see. The--gentleman had been +led by his sister to think I came from some city. He thought I +was--was pretty and educated,--his equal, and I knew how amazed he +would be and how he would say he could not believe that I had lived +here, and wonder at me and talk me over. And I could not bear it. I +only wanted him to go away without knowing, and never, never see me +again!" + +Remembering the pain and fever and humiliation of the past, and of that +dreadful day above all, she burst into sobbing. + +"You did not think I was that bad, did you?" she said. "But I was! I +was!" + +"Louisianny," he said, huskily, "come yere. Thar aint no need fer ye +to blame yerself thataway. Yer kinder wrought up." + +"Don't be kind to me!" she said. "Don't! I want to tell you +all--every word! I was so bad and proud and angry that I meant to +carry it out to the end, and tried to--only I was not quite bad enough +for one thing, father--I was not bad enough to be ashamed of _you_, or +to bear to sit by and see them cast a slight upon you. They didn't +mean it for a slight--it was only their clever way of looking at +things--but _I_ loved you. You were all I had left, and I knew you +were better than they were a thousand times! Did they think I would +give your warm, good heart--your kind, faithful heart--for all they had +learned, or for all they could ever learn? It killed me to see and +hear them! And it seemed as if I was on fire. And I told them the +truth--that you were _my_ father and that I loved you and was proud of +you--that I might be ashamed of myself and all the rest, but not of +you--never of you--for I wasn't worthy to kiss your feet!" + +For one moment her father watched her, his lips parted and trembling. +It seemed as if he meant to try to speak, but could not. Then his eyes +fell with an humble, bewildered, questioning glance upon his feet, +encased in their large, substantial brogans--the feet she had said she +was not worthy to kiss. What he saw in them to touch him so it would +be hard to tell--for he broke down utterly, put out his hand, groping +to feel for his chair, fell into it with head bowed on his arm, and +burst into sobbing too. + +She left her self-imposed exile in an instant, ran to him, and knelt +down to lean against him. + +"Oh!" she cried, "have I broken your heart? Have I broken your heart? +Will God ever forgive me? I don't ask you to forgive me, father, for I +don't deserve it." + +At first he could not speak, but he put his arm round her and drew her +head up to his breast--and, with all the love and tenderness he had +lavished upon her all her life, she had never known such love and +tenderness as he expressed in this one movement. + +"Louisianny," he said, brokenly, when he had found his voice, "it's you +as should be a-forgivin' me." + +"I!" she exclaimed. + +He held her in his trembling arm so close that she felt his heart +quivering. + +"To think," he almost whispered, "as I should not hev ben doin' ye +jestice! To think as I didn't know ye well enough to do ye jestice! +To think yer own father, thet's knowed ye all yer life, could hev give +in to its bein' likely as ye wasn't--what he'd allers thought, an' what +yer mother 'd thought, an' what ye was, honey." + +"I don't----" she began falteringly. + +"It's me as oughter be a-standin' agin the door," he said. "It's me! +I knowed every word of the first part of what ye've told me, +Louisianny. I've been so sot on ye thet I've got into a kinder +noticin' way with ye, an' I guessed it out. I seen it in yer face when +ye stood thar tryin' to laugh on the porch while them people was +a-waitin'. 'Twa'n't no nat'ral gal's laugh ye laughed, and when ye +thought I wasn't a-noticin' I was a-noticin' an' a-thinkin' all the +time. But I seen more than was thar, honey, an' I didn't do ye +jestice--an' I've ben punished fer it. It come agin me like a +slungshot. I ses to myself, 'She's ashamed o' _me_! It's _me_ she's +ashamed of--an' she wants to pass me off fer a stranger!'" + +The girl drew off from him a little and looked up into his face +wonderingly. + +"You thought that!" she said. "And never told me--and humored me, +and----" + +"I'd oughter knowed ye better," he said; "but I've suffered fer it, +Louisianny. I ses to myself, 'All the years thet we've ben sot on each +other an' nussed each other through our little sick spells, an' keered +fer each other, lies gone fer nothin'. She wants to pass me off fer a +stranger.' Not that I blamed ye, honey. Lord! I knowed the +difference betwixt us! _I_'d knowed it long afore you did. But +somehow it warn't eggsakly what I looked fer an' it was kinder hard on +me right at the start. An' then the folks went away an' ye didn't go +with 'em, an' thar was somethin' workin' on ye as I knowed ye wasn't +ready to tell me about. An' I sot an' steddied it over an' watched ye, +an' I prayed some, an' I laid wake nights a-steddyin'. An' I made up +my mind thet es I'd ben the cause o' trouble to ye I'd oughter try an' +sorter balance the thing. I allers 'lowed parents hed a duty to their +child'en. An' I ses, 'Thar's some things thet kin be altered an' some +thet cayn't. Let's alter them es kin!'" + +She remembered the words well, and now she saw clearly the dreadful +pain they had expressed; they cut her to her soul. + +"Oh! father," she cried. "How could you?" + +"I'd oughter knowed ye better, Louisianny," he repeated. "But I +didn't. I ses, 'What money an' steddyin' an' watchin'll do fer her to +make up, shell be done. I'll try to make up fer the wrong I've did her +onwillin'ly--onwillin'ly.' An' I went to the Springs an' I watched an' +steddied thar, an' I come home an' I watched an' steddied thar--an' I +hed the house fixed, an' I laid out to let ye go to Europe--though what +I'd heern o' the habits o' the people, an' the brigands an' sich, went +powerful agin me makin' up my mind easy. An' I never lost sight nary +minnit o' what I'd laid out fer to do--but I wasn't doin' ye jestice +an' didn't suffer no more than I'd oughter. An' when ye stood up thar +agen the door, honey, with yer tears a-streamin' an' yer eyes +a-shinin', an' told me what ye'd felt an' what ye'd said about--wa'l," +(delicately) "about thet thar as ye thought ye wasn't worthy to do, it +set my blood a-tremblin' in my veins--an' my heart a-shakin' in my +side, an' me a-goin' all over--an' I was struck all of a heap, an' +knowed thet the Lord hed ben better to me than I thought, an'--an' even +when I was fondest on ye, an' proudest on ye, I hadn't done ye no sort +o' jestice in the world--an' never could!" + +There was no danger of their misunderstanding each other again. When +they were calmer they talked their trouble over simply and confidingly, +holding nothing back. + +"When ye told me, Louisianny," said her father, "that ye wanted nothin' +but me, it kinder went agin me more than all the rest, fer I thinks, +ses I to myself, 'It aint true, an' she must be a-gettin' sorter +hardened to it, or she'd never said it.' I seemed like it was kinder +onnecessary. Lord! the onjestice I was a-doin' ye!" + +They bade each other good-night again, at last. + +"Fer ye're a-lookin' pale," he said. "An' I've been kinder out o' +sorts myself these last two or three weeks. My dyspepsy's bin back on +me agin an' thet thar pain in my side's bin a-workin' on me. We must +take keer o' ourselves, bein' es thar's on'y us two, an' we're so sot +on each other." + +He went to the door with her and said his last words to her there. + +"I'm glad it come to-night," he said, in a grateful tone. "Lord! how +glad I am it come to-night! S'posin' somethin' hed happened to ary one +of us an' the other hed ben left not a-knowin' how it was. I'm glad it +didn't last no longer, Louisianny." + +And so they parted for the night. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +"IANTHY!" + +It was later than usual when Louisiana awakened in the morning. She +awakened suddenly and found herself listening to the singing of a bird +on the tree near her window. Its singing was so loud and shrill that +it overpowered her and aroused her to a consciousness of fatigue and +exhaustion. + +It seemed to her at first that no one was stirring in the house below, +but after a few minutes she heard some one talking in her father's +room--talking rapidly in monotonous tone. + +"I wonder who it is," she said, and lay back upon her pillow, feeling +tired out and bewildered between the bird's shrill song and the strange +voice. + +And then she heard heavy feet on the stairs and listened to them +nervously until they reached her door and the door was pushed open +unceremoniously. + +The negro woman Nancy thrust her head into the room. + +"Miss Louisianny, honey," she said. "Ye aint up yet?" + +"No." + +"Ye'd better _git_ up, honey--an' come down stairs." + +But the girl made no movement. + +"Why?" she asked, listlessly. + +"Yer pappy, honey--he's sorter cur'us. He don't seem to be right well. +He didn't seem to be quite at hisself when I went to light his fire. +He----" + +Louisiana sat upright in bed, her great coil of black hair tumbling +over one shoulder and making her look even paler than she was. + +"Father!" she said. "He was quite well late last night. It was after +midnight when we went to bed, and he was well then." + +The woman began to fumble uneasily at the latch. + +"Don't ye git skeered, chile," she said. "Mebbe 'taint nothin'--but +seemed to me like--like he didn't know me." + +Louisiana was out of bed, standing upon the floor and dressing +hurriedly. + +"He was well last night," she said, piteously. "Only a few hours ago. +He was well and talked to me and----" + +She stopped suddenly to listen to the voice down-stairs--a new and +terrible thought flashing upon her. + +"Who is with him?" she asked. "Who is talking to him?" + +"Thar aint no one with him," was the answer. "He's by hisself, honey." + +Louisiana was buttoning her wrapper at the throat. Such a tremor fell +upon her that she could not finish what she was doing. She left the +button unfastened and pushed past Nancy and ran swiftly down the +stairs, the woman following her. + +The door of her father's room stood open and the fire Nancy had lighted +burned and crackled merrily. Mr. Rogers was lying high upon his +pillow, watching the blaze. His face was flushed and he had one hand +upon his chest. He turned his eyes slowly upon Louisiana as she +entered and for a second or so regarded her wonderingly. Then a change +came upon him, his face lighted up--it seemed as if he saw all at once +who had come to him. + +"Ianthy!" he said. "I didn't sca'cely know ye! Ye've bin gone so +long! Whar hev ye bin?" + +But even then she could not realize the truth. It was so short a time +since he had bidden her good-night and kissed her at the door. + +"Father!" she cried. "It is Louisiana! Father, look at me!" + +But he was looking at her, and yet he only smiled again. + +"It's bin such a long time, Ianthy," he said. "Sometimes I've thought +ye wouldn't never come back at all." + +And when she fell upon her knees at the bedside, with a desolate cry of +terror and anguish, he did not seem to hear it at all, but lay fondling +her bent head and smiling still, and saying happily: + +"Lord! I _am_ glad to see ye!" + + +When the doctor came--he was a mountaineer like the rest of them, a +rough good-natured fellow who had "read a course" with somebody and +"'tended lectures in Cincinnatty"--he could tell her easily enough what +the trouble was. + +"Pneumony," he said. "And pretty bad at that. He haint hed no health +fer a right smart while. He haint never got over thet spell he hed +last winter. This yere change in the weather's what's done it. He was +a-complainin' to me the other day about thet thar old pain in his +chist. Things hes bin kinder 'cumylatin' on him." + +"He does not know me!" said Louisiana. "He is very ill--he is very +ill!" + +Doctor Hankins looked at his patient for a moment, dubiously. + +"Wa-al, thet's so," he said, at length. "He's purty bad off--purty +bad!" + +By night the house was full of visitors and volunteer nurses. The fact +that "Uncle Elbert Rogers was down with pneumony, an' Louisianny thar +without a soul anigh her" was enough to rouse sympathy and curiosity. +Aunt 'Mandy, Aunt Ca'line and Aunt 'Nervy came up one after the other. + +"Louisianny now, she aint nothin' but a young thing, an' don't know +nothin'," they said. "An' Elbert bein' sich nigh kin, it'd look +powerful bad if we didn't go." + +They came in wagons or ricketty buggies and brought their favorite +medicines and liniments with them in slab-sided, enamel-cloth valises. +They took the patient under their charge, applied their nostrums and +when they were not busy seemed to enjoy talking his symptoms over in +low tones. They were very good to Louisiana, relieving her of every +responsibility in spite of herself, and shaking their heads at each +other pityingly when her back was turned. + +"She never give him no trouble," they said. "She's got thet to hold +to. An' they was powerful sot on her, both him an' Ianthy. I've heern +'em say she allus was kinder tender an' easy to manage." + +Their husbands came to "sit up" with them at night, and sat by the fire +talking about their crops and the elections, and expectorating with +regularity into the ashes. They tried to persuade Louisiana to go to +bed, but she would not go. + +"Let me sit by him, if there is nothing else I can do," she said. "If +he should come to himself for a minute he would know me if I was near +him." + +In his delirium he seemed to have gone back to a time before her +existence--the time when he was a young man and there was no one in the +new house he had built, but himself and "Ianthy." Sometimes he fancied +himself sitting by the fire on a winter's night and congratulating +himself upon being there. + +"Jest to think," he would say in a quiet, speculative voice, "that two +year ago I didn't know ye--an' thar ye air, a-sittin' sewin', and the +fire a-cracklin', an' the house all fixed. This yere's what I call +solid comfort, Ianthy--jest solid comfort!" + +Once he wakened suddenly from a sleep and finding Louisiana bending +over him, drew her face down and kissed her. + +"I didn't know ye was so nigh, Ianthy," he whispered. "Lord! jest to +think yer allers nigh an' thar cayn't nothin' separate us." + +The desolateness of so living a life outside his, was so terrible to +the poor child who loved him, that at times she could not bear to +remain in the room, but would go out into the yard and ramble about +aimless and heart-broken, looking back now and then at the new, strange +house, with a wild pang. + +"There will be nothing left if he leaves me," she said. "There will be +nothing." + +And then she would hurry back, panting, and sit by him again, her eyes +fastened upon his unconscious face, watching its every shade of +expression and change. + +"She'll take it mighty hard," she heard Aunt Ca'line whisper one day, +"ef----" + +And she put her hands to her ears and buried her face in the pillow, +that she might not hear the rest. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +"DON'T DO NO ONE A ONJESTICE." + +He was not ill very long. Toward the end of the second week the house +was always full of visitors who came to sympathize and inquire and +prescribe, and who, in many cases, came from their farms miles away +attracted by the news that "Uncle Elbert Rogers" was "mighty bad off." +They came on horseback and in wagons or buggies--men in homespun, and +women in sun-bonnets--and they hitched their horses at the fence and +came into the house with an awkwardly subdued air, and stood in silence +by the sick bed for a few minutes, and then rambled towards the hearth +and talked in spectral whispers. + +"The old man's purty low," they always said, "he's purty low." And +then they added among themselves that he had "allers bin mighty clever, +an' a good neighbor." + +When she heard them speak of him in this manner, Louisiana knew what it +meant. She never left the room again after the first day that they +spoke so, and came in bodies to look at him, and turn away and say that +he had been good to them. The men never spoke to her after their first +nod of greeting, and the women but rarely, but they often glanced +hurriedly askance at her as she sat or stood by the sick man's pillow. +Somehow none of them had felt as if they were on very familiar terms +with her, though they all spoke in a friendly way of her as being "a +mighty purty, still, kind o' a harmless young critter." They thought, +when they saw her pallor and the anguish in her eyes, that she was +"takin' it powerful hard, an' no wonder," but they knew nothing of her +desperate loneliness and terror. + +"Uncle Elbert he'll leave a plenty," they said in undertones. "She'll +be well pervided fer, will Louisianny." + +And they watched over their charge and nursed him faithfully, feeling +not a little sad themselves as they remembered his simple good nature +and neighborliness and the kindly prayers for which he had been noted +in "meetin'." + +On the last day of the second week the doctor held a consultation with +Aunt 'Nervy and Aunt Ca'line on the front porch before he went away, +and when they re-entered the room they spoke in whispers even lower +than before and moved about stealthily. The doctor himself rode away +slowly and stopped at a house or so on the wayside, where he had no +patients, to tell the inhabitants what he had told the head nurses. + +"We couldn't hev expected him to stay allers," he said, "but we'll miss +him mightily. He haint a enemy in the county--nary one!" + +That afternoon when the sun was setting, the sick man wakened from a +long, deep sleep. The first thing he saw was the bright pale-yellow of +a tree out in the yard, which had changed color since he had seen it +last. It was a golden tree now as it stood in the sun, its leaves +rustling in a faint, chill wind. The next thing, he knew that there +were people in the room who sat silent and all looked at him with +kindly, even reverent, eyes. Then he turned a little and saw his +child, who bent towards him with dilated eyes and trembling, parted +lips. A strange, vague memory of weary pain and dragging, uncertain +days and nights came to him and he knew, and yet felt no fear. + +"Louisianny!" he said. + +He could only speak in a whisper and tremulously. Those who sat about +him hushed their very breath. + +"Lay yer head--on the piller--nigh me," he said. + +She laid it down and put her hand in his. The great tears were +streaming down her face, but she said not a word. + +"I haint got long--honey," he faltered. "The Lord--He'll keer--fer ye." + +Then for a few minutes he lay breathing faintly, but with his eyes open +and smiling as they rested on the golden foliage of the tree. + +"How yaller--it is!" he whispered. "Like gold. Ianthy was +powerful--sot on it. It--kinder beckons." + +It seemed as if he could not move his eyes from it, and the pause that +followed was so long that Louisiana could bear it no longer, and she +lifted her head and kissed him. + +"Father!" she cried. "Say something to _me_! Say something to _me_!" + +It drew him back and he looked up into her eyes as she bent over him. + +"Ye'll be happy--" he said, "afore long. I kinder--know. Lord! how +I've--loved ye, honey--an' ye've desarved it--all. Don't ye--do no +one--a onjestice." + +And then as she dropped her white face upon the pillow again he saw her +no longer--nor the people, nor the room, but lay quite still with +parted lips and eyes wide open, smiling still at the golden tree waving +and beckoning in the wind. + +This he saw last of all, and seemed still to see even when some one +came silently, though with tears, and laid a hand upon his eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +A LEAF. + +There was a sunny old grave-yard half a mile from the town, where the +people of Bowersville laid their dead under the long grass and tangle +of wild-creeping vines, and the whole country-side gathered there when +they lowered the old man into his place at his wife's side. His +neighbors sang his funeral hymn and performed the last offices for him +with kindly hands, and when they turned away and left him there was not +a man or woman of them who did not feel that they had lost a friend. + +They were very good to Louisiana. Aunt 'Nervy and Aunt Ca'line +deserted their families that they might stay with her until all was +over, doing their best to give her comfort. It was Aunt 'Nervy who +first thought of sending for the girl cousin to whom the trunkful of +clothes had been given. + +"Le's send for Leander's Jenny, Ca'line," she said. "Mebbe it'd help +her some to hev a gal nigh her. Gals kinder onderstands each other, +an' Jenny was allus powerful fond o' Lowizyanny." + +So Jenny was sent for and came. From her lowly position as one of the +fifteen in an "onfort'nit" family she had adored and looked up to +Louisiana all her life. All the brightest days in her experience had +been spent at Uncle Elbert's with her favorite cousin. But there was +no brightness about the house now. When she arrived and was sent +upstairs to the pretty new room Louisiana occupied she found the girl +lying upon the bed. She looked white and slender in her black dress; +her hands were folded palm to palm under her check, and her eyes were +wide open. + +Jenny ran to her and knelt at her side. She kissed her and began to +cry. + +"Oh!" she sobbed, "somehow I didn't ever think I should come here and +not find Uncle Elbert. It don't seem right--it makes it like a strange +place." + +Then Louisiana broke into sobs, too. + +"It is a strange place!" she cried--"a strange place--a strange place! +Oh, if one old room was left--just one that I could go into and not +feel so lonely!" + +But she had no sooner said it than she checked herself. + +"Oh, I oughtn't to say that!" she cried. "I wont say it. He did it +all for _me_, and I didn't deserve it." + +"Yes, you did," said Jenny, fondling her. "He was always saying what a +good child you had been--and that you had never given him any trouble." + +"That was because he was so good," said Louisiana. "No one else in the +whole world was so good. And now he is gone, and I can never make him +know how grateful I was and how I loved him." + +"He did know," said Jenny. + +"No," returned Louisiana. "It would have taken a long, long life to +make him know all I felt, and now when I look back it seems as if we +had been together such a little while. Oh! I thought the last night +we talked that there was a long life before us--that I should be old +before he left me, and we should have had all those years together." + +After the return from the grave-yard there was a prolonged discussion +held among the heads of the different branches of the family. They +gathered at one end of the back porch and talked of Louisiana, who sat +before the log fire in her room upstairs. + +"She aint in the notion o' leavin' the place," said Aunt 'Nervy. "She +cried powerful when I mentioned it to her, an' wouldn't hear to it. +She says over an' over ag'in 'Let me stay in the home he made for me, +Aunt Ca'line.' I reckon she's a kind o' notion Elbert 'lowed fur her +to be yere when he was gone." + +"Wa-al now," said Uncle Leander, "I reckon he did. He talked a heap on +it when he was in a talkin' way. He's said to me 'I want things to be +jest as she'd enjoy 'em most--when she's sorter lonesome, es she will +be, mebbe.' Seemed like he hed it in his mind es he warnt long fur +this world. Don't let us cross her in nothin'. _He_ never did. He +was powerful tender on her, was Elbert." + +"I seed Marthy Lureny Nance this mornin'," put in Aunt Ca'line, "an' I +told her to come up an' kinder overlook things. She haint with no one +now, an' I dessay she'd like to stay an' keep house." + +"I don't see nothin' ag'in it," commented Uncle Steve, "if Louisianny +don't. She's a settled woman, an's bin married, an' haint no family to +pester her sence Nance is dead." + +"She was allers the through-goin' kind," said Aunt 'Nervy. "Things 'll +be well looked to--an' she thought a heap o' Elbert. They was raised +together." + +"S'pos'n ye was to go in an' speak to Louisianny," suggested Uncle +Steve. + +Louisiana, being spoken to, was very tractable. She was willing to do +anything asked of her but go away. + +"I should be very glad to have Mrs. Nance here, Aunt Minerva," she +said. "She was always very kind, and father liked her. It won't be +like having a strange face near me. Please tell her I want her to come +and that I hope she will try to feel as if she was at home." + +So Marthy Lureny Nance came, and was formally installed in her +position. She was a tall, strongly-built woman, with blue eyes, black +hair, and thick black eyebrows. She wore, when she arrived, her best +alpaca gown and a starched and frilled blue sun-bonnet. When she +presented herself to Louisiana she sat down before her, removed this +sun-bonnet with a scientific flap and hung it on the back of her chair. + +"Ye look mighty peak-ed, Louisianny," she said. "Mighty peak-ed." + +"I don't feel very well," Louisiana answered, "but I suppose I shall be +better after a while." + +"Ye're takin' it powerful hard, Louisianny," said Mrs. Nance, "an' I +don't blame ye. I aint gwine to pester ye a-talkin'. I jest come to +say I 'lowed to do my plum best by ye, an' ax ye whether ye liked hop +yeast or salt risin'?" + +At the end of the week Louisiana and Mrs. Nance were left to +themselves. Aunt 'Nervy and Aunt Ca'line and the rest had returned to +their respective homes, even Jenny had gone back to Bowersville where +she boarded with a relation and went to school. + +The days after this seemed so long to Louisiana that she often wondered +how she lived through them. In the first passion of her sorrow she had +not known how they passed, but now that all was silence and order in +the house, and she was alone, she had nothing to do but to count the +hours. There was no work for her, no one came in and out for whom she +might invent some little labor of love; there was no one to watch for, +no one to think of. She used to sit for hours at her window watching +the leaves change their color day by day, and at last flutter down upon +the grass at the least stir of wind. Once she went out and picked up +one of these leaves and taking it back to her room, shut it up in a +book. + +"Everything has happened to me since the day it was first a leaf," she +said. "I have lived just as long as a leaf. That isn't long." + +When the trees were bare, she one day remembered the books she had sent +for when at the Springs, and she went to the place where she had put +them, brought them out and tried to feel interested in them again. + +"I might learn a great deal," she said, "if I persevered. I have so +much time." + +But she had not read many pages before the tears began to roll down her +cheeks. + +"If he had lived," she said, "I might have read them to him and it +would have pleased him so. I might have done it often if I had thought +less about myself. He would have learned, too. He thought he was +slow, but he would have learned, too, in a little while, and he would +have been so proud." + +She was very like her father in the simple tenderness of her nature. +She grieved with the hopeless passion of a child for the unconscious +wrong she had done. + +It was as she sat trying to fix her mind upon these books that there +came to her the first thought of a plan which was afterwards of some +vague comfort to her. She had all the things which had furnished the +old parlor taken into one of the unused rooms--the chairs and tables, +the carpet, the ornaments and pictures. She spent a day in placing +everything as she remembered it, doing all without letting any one +assist her. After it was arranged she left the room, and locked the +door taking the key with her. + +"No one shall go in but myself," she said. "It belongs to me more than +all the rest." + +"I never knowed her to do nothin' notionate but thet," remarked Mrs. +Nance, in speaking of it afterwards. "She's mighty still, an' sits an' +grieves a heap, but she aint never notionate. Thet was kinder +notionate fer a gal to do. She sets store on 'em 'cos they was her +pappy's an' her ma's, I reckon. It cayn't be nothin' else, fur they +aint to say stylish, though they was allers good solid-appearin' +things. The picters was the on'y things es was showy." + +"She's mighty pale an' slender sence her pappy died," said the listener. + +"Wa-al, yes, she's kinder peak-ed," admitted Mrs. Nance. "She's kinder +peak-ed, but she'll git over it. Young folks allers does." + +But she did not get over it as soon as Mrs. Nance had expected, in view +of her youth. The days seemed longer and lonelier to her as the winter +advanced, though they were really so much shorter, and she had at last +been able to read and think of what she read. When the snow was on the +ground and she could not wander about the place she grew paler still. + +"Louisianny," said Mrs. Nance, coming in upon her one day as she stood +at the window, "ye're a-beginnin' to look like ye're Aunt Melissy." + +"Am I?" answered Louisiana. "She died when she was young, didn't she?" + +"She wasn't but nineteen," grimly. "She hed a kind o' love-scrape, an' +when the feller married Emmerline Ruggles she jest give right in. They +hed a quarrel, an' he was a sperrity kind o' thing an' merried +Emmerline when he was mad. He cut off his nose to spite his face, an' +a nice time he hed of it when it was done. Melissy was a pretty gal, +but kinder consumpshony, an' she hedn't backbone enough to hold her up. +She died eight or nine months after they'd quarreled. Mebbe she'd hev +died anyhow, but thet sorter hastened it up. When folks is +consumpshony it don't take much to set 'em off." + +"I don't think I am 'consumpshony,'" said Louisiana. + +"Lord-a-massy, no!" briskly, "an' ye'd best not begin to think it. I +wasn't a meanin' thet. Ye've kinder got into a poor way steddyin' +'bout yere pappy, an' it's tellin' on ye. Ye look as if thar wasn't a +thing of ye--an' ye don't take no int'russ. Ye'd oughter stir round +more." + +"I'm going to 'stir round' a little as soon as Jake brings the buggy +up," said Louisiana. "I'm going out." + +"Whar?" + +"Toward town." + +For a moment Mrs. Nance looked at her charge steadily, but at length +her feelings were too much for her. She had been thinking this matter +over for some time. + +"Louisianny," she said, "you're a-gwine to the grave-yard, thet's whar +ye're a-gwine an' thar aint no sense in it. Young folks hedn't ought +to hold on to trouble thataway--'taint nat'ral. They don't gin'rally. +Elbert 'd be ag'in it himself ef he knowed--an' I s'pose he does. Like +as not him an' Ianthy's a-worryin' about it now, an' Lord knows ef they +air it'll spile all their enjoyment. Kingdom come won't be nothin' to +'em if they're oneasy in their minds 'bout ye. Now an' ag'in it's +'peared to me that mebbe harps an' crowns an' the company o' 'postles +don't set a body up all in a minnit an' make 'em forgit their flesh an' +blood an' nat'ral feelin's teetotally--an' it kinder troubles me to +think o' Elbert an' Ianthy worryin' an' not havin' no pleasure. Seems +to me ef I was you I'd think it over an' try to cheer up an' take +int'russ. Jest think how keerful yer pappy an' ma was on ye an' how +sot they was on hevin' ye well an' happy." + +Louisiana turned toward her. Her eyes were full of tears. + +"Oh!" she whispered, "do you--do you think they know?" + +Mrs. Nance was scandalized. + +"Know!" she echoed. "Wa-al now, Louisianny, ef I didn't know yer +raisin', an' thet ye'd been brought up with members all yer life, it'd +go ag'in me powerful to hear ye talk thetaway. Ye _know_ they know, +an' thet they'll take it hard, ef they aint changed mightily, but, +changed or not, I guess thar's mighty few sperrits es haint sense +enough to see yer a-grievin' more an' longer than's good fur ye." + +Louisiana turned to her window again. She rested her forehead against +the frame-work and looked out for a little while. But at last she +spoke. + +"Perhaps you are right," she said. "It is true it would have hurt them +when they were here. I think--I'll try to--to be happier." + +"It's what'll please 'em best, if ye do, Louisianny," commented Mrs. +Nance. + +"I'll try," Louisiana answered. "I will go out now--the cold air will +do me good, and when I come back you will see that I am--better." + +"Wa-al," advised Mrs. Nance, "ef ye go, mind ye put on a plenty--an' +don't stay long." + +The excellent woman stood on the porch when the buggy was brought up, +and having tucked the girl's wraps round her, watched her driven away. + +"Mebbe me a-speakin's I did'll help her," she said. "Seems like it +kinder teched her an' sot her thinkin'. She was dretfle fond of her +pappy an' she was allers a purty peaceable advise-takin' little +thing--though she aint so little nuther. She's reel tall an' slim." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +"HE KNEW THAT I LOVED YOU." + +It was almost dark when the buggy returned. As Jake drove up to the +gate he bent forward to look at something. + +"Thar's a critter hitched to the fence," he remarked. "'Taint no +critter from round yere. I never seen it afore." + +Mrs. Nance came out upon the porch to meet them. She was gently +excited by an announcement she had to make. + +"Louisianny," she said, "thar's a man in the settin'-room. He's +a-waitin' to see ye. I asked him ef he hed anything to sell, an' he +sed no he hedn't nothin'. He's purty _gen_-teel an' stylish, but not +to say showy, an' he's polite sort o' manners." + +"Has he been waiting long?" Louisiana asked. + +"He's ben thar half a hour, an' I've hed the fire made up sence he +come." + +Louisiana removed her hat and cloak and gave them to Mrs. Nance. She +did it rather slowly, and having done it, crossed the hall to the +sitting-room door, opened it and went in. + +There was no light in the room but the light of the wood fire, but that +was very bright. It was so bright that she had not taken two steps +into the room before she saw clearly the face of the man who waited for +her. + +It was Laurence Ferrol. + +She stopped short and her hands fell at her sides. Her heart beat so +fast that she could not speak. + +His heart beat fast, too, and it beat faster still when he noted her +black dress and saw how pale and slight she looked in it. He advanced +towards her and taking her hand in both his, led her to a chair. + +"I have startled you too much," he said. "Don't make me feel that I +was wrong to come. Don't be angry with me." + +She let him seat her in the chair and then he stood before her and +waited for her to speak. + +"It was rather--sudden," she said, "but I am not--angry." + +There was a silence of a few seconds, because he was so moved by the +new look her face wore that he could not easily command his voice and +words. + +"Have you been ill?" he asked gently, at last. + +He saw that she made an effort to control herself and answer him +quietly, but before she spoke she gave up even the effort. She did not +try to conceal or wipe away the great tears that fell down her cheeks +as she looked up at him. + +"No, I have not been ill," she said. "My father is dead." + +And as she uttered the last words her voice sank almost into a whisper. + +Just for a breath's space they looked at each other and then she turned +in her chair, laid her arm on the top of it and her face on her arm, +with a simple helpless movement. + +"He has been dead three months," she whispered, weeping. + +His own eyes were dim as he watched her. He had not heard of this +before. He walked to the other end of the room and back again twice. +When he neared her the last time he stopped. + +"Must I go away?" he asked unsteadily. "I feel as if I had no right +here." + +But she did not tell him whether he must go or stay. + +"If I stay I must tell you why I came and why I could not remain away," +he said. + +She still drooped against her chair and did not speak, and he drew +still nearer to her. + +"It does not seem the right time," he said, "but I must tell you even +if I go away at once afterwards. I have never been happy an hour since +we parted that wretched day. I have never ceased to think of what I +had begun to hope for. I felt that it was useless to ask for it +then--I feel as if it was useless now, but I must ask for it. Oh!" +desperately, "how miserably I am saying it all! How weak it sounds!" + +In an instant he was kneeling on one knee at her side and had caught +her hand and held it between both his own. + +"I'll say the simplest thing," he said. "I love you. Everything is +against me, but I love you and I am sure I shall never love another +woman." + +He clasped her hand close and she did not draw it away. + +"Won't you say a word to me?" he asked. "If you only tell me that this +is the wrong time and that I must go away now, it will be better than +some things you might say." + +She raised her face and let him see it. + +"No," she said, "it is not that it is the wrong time. It is a better +time than any other, because I am so lonely and my trouble has made my +heart softer than it was when I blamed you so. It is not that it is +the wrong time, but-- + +"Wait a minute," he broke in. "Don't--don't do me an injustice!" + +He could not have said anything else so likely to reach her heart. She +remembered the last faltering words she had heard as she bent over the +pillow when the sun was shining on the golden tree with the wind waving +its branches. + +"Don't do no one a onjestice, honey--don't ye--do no one--a onjestice." + +"Oh," she cried out, "he told me that I must not--he told me, before he +died!" + +"What!" said Ferrol. "He told you not to be unjust to _me_?" + +"It was you he meant," she answered. "He knew I had been hard to +you--and he knew I----" + +She cowered down a little and Ferrol folded her in his arms. + +"Don't be hard to me again," he whispered. "I have been so unhappy--I +love you so tenderly. Did he know that you--speak to me, Louise." + +She put her hand upon his shoulder. + +"He knew that I loved you," she said, with a little sob. + + +She was a great favorite among her husband's friends in New York the +next year. One of her chief attractions for them was that she was a +"new type." They said that of her invariably when they delighted in +her and told each other how gentle she was and how simple and sweet. +The artists made "studies" of her, and adored her, and were +enthusiastic over her beauty; while among the literary ones it was +said, again and again, what a foundation she would be for a heroine of +the order of those who love and suffer for love's sake and grow more +adorable through their pain. + +But these, of course, were only the delightful imaginings of art, +talked over among themselves, and Louisiana did not hear of them. She +was very happy and very busy. There was a gay joke current among them +that she was a most tremendous book-worm, and that her literary +knowledge was something for weak, ordinary mortals to quail before. +The story went, that by some magic process she committed to memory the +most appalling works half an hour after they were issued from the +press, and that, secretly, Laurence stood very much in awe of her and +was constantly afraid of exposing his ignorance in her presence. It +was certainly true that she read a great deal, and showed a wonderful +aptness and memory, and that Laurence's pride and delight in her were +the strongest and tenderest feelings of his heart. + +Almost every summer they spent in North Carolina, filling their house +with those of their friends who would most enjoy the simple quiet of +the life they led. There were numberless pictures painted among them +at such times and numberless new "types" discovered. + +"But you'd scarcely think," it was said sometimes, "that it is here +that Mrs. Laurence is on her native heath." + +And though all the rest of the house was open, there was one room into +which no one but Laurence and Louisiana ever went--a little room, with +strange, ugly furniture in it, and bright-colored lithographs upon the +walls. + + + + +END. + + + + +[Transcriber's note: the source book for this text contained many +punctuation and spelling variants, e.g. wont/won't, dont/don't, +waal/wa'al/w'al, etc. All have been preserved as printed.] + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Louisiana, by Frances Hodgson Burnett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOUISIANA *** + +***** This file should be named 35300-8.txt or 35300-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/3/0/35300/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +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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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: Louisiana + +Author: Frances Hodgson Burnett + +Release Date: February 17, 2011 [EBook #35300] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOUISIANA *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<A NAME="img-front"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-front.jpg" ALT=""ASK YOUR SISTER," SHE REPLIED. "IT WAS HER PLAN."" BORDER="2" WIDTH="668" HEIGHT="487"> +<H4 CLASS="h4center" STYLE="width: 668px"> +"ASK YOUR SISTER," SHE REPLIED. "IT WAS HER PLAN." +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t1"> +LOUISIANA +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="t3"> +BY +</P> + +<P CLASS="t2"> +FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="t4"> +AUTHOR OF "HAWORTH'S," "THAT LASS O' LOWRIE'S," ETC. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3"> +NEW YORK +<BR> +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS +<BR> +743 AND 745 BROADWAY +<BR> +1880 +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t4"> +COPYRIGHT BY +<BR> +FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT, +<BR> +1880. +<BR> +(<I>All rights reserved.</I>) +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t4"> +TROW'S +<BR> +PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING Co., +<BR> +201-213 East 12th St., +<BR> +NEW YORK. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t2"> +CONTENTS. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +CHAPTER I. +</P> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +<A HREF="#chap01">LOUISIANA</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +CHAPTER II. +</P> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +<A HREF="#chap02">WORTH</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +CHAPTER III. +</P> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +<A HREF="#chap03">"HE IS DIFFERENT"</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +CHAPTER IV. +</P> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +<A HREF="#chap04">A NEW TYPE</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +CHAPTER V. +</P> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +<A HREF="#chap05">"I HAVE HURT YOU"</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +CHAPTER VI. +</P> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +<A HREF="#chap06">THE ROAD TO THE RIGHT</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +CHAPTER VII. +</P> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +<A HREF="#chap07">"SHE AINT YERE"</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +CHAPTER VIII. +</P> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +<A HREF="#chap08">"NOTHING HAS HURT YOU"</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +CHAPTER IX. +</P> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +<A HREF="#chap09">"DON'T YE, LOUISIANNY?"</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +CHAPTER X. +</P> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +<A HREF="#chap10">THE GREAT WORLD</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +CHAPTER XI. +</P> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +<A HREF="#chap11">A RUSTY NAIL</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +CHAPTER XII. +</P> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +<A HREF="#chap12">"MEBBE"</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +CHAPTER XIII. +</P> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +<A HREF="#chap13">A NEW PLAN</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +CHAPTER XIV. +</P> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +<A HREF="#chap14">CONFESSIONS</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +CHAPTER XV. +</P> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +<A HREF="#chap15">"IANTHY!"</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +CHAPTER XVI. +</P> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +<A HREF="#chap16">"DON'T DO NO ONE A ONJESTICE"</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +CHAPTER XVII. +</P> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +<A HREF="#chap17">A LEAF</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +CHAPTER XVIII. +</P> + +<P CLASS="contents"> +<A HREF="#chap18">"HE KNEW THAT I LOVED YOU"</A> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> + +<P CLASS="t2"> +LOUISIANA. +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +LOUISIANA. +</H4> + +<P> +Olivia Ferrol leaned back in her chair, her hands folded upon her lap. +People passed and repassed her as they promenaded the long "gallery," +as it was called; they passed in couples, in trios; they talked with +unnecessary loudness, they laughed at their own and each other's jokes; +they flirted, they sentimentalized, they criticised each other, but +none of them showed any special interest in Olivia Ferrol, nor did Miss +Ferrol, on her part, show much interest in them. +</P> + +<P> +She had been at Oakvale Springs for two weeks. She was alone, out of +her element, and knew nobody. The fact that she was a New Yorker, and +had never before been so far South, was rather against her. On her +arrival she had been glanced over and commented upon with candor. +</P> + +<P> +"She is a Yankee," said the pretty and remarkably youthful-looking +mother of an apparently grown-up family from New Orleans. "You can see +it." +</P> + +<P> +And though the remark was not meant to be exactly severe, Olivia felt +that it was very severe, indeed, under existing circumstances. She +heard it as she was giving her orders for breakfast to her own +particular jet-black and highly excitable waiter, and she felt guilty +at once and blushed, hastily taking a sip of ice-water to conceal her +confusion. When she went upstairs afterward she wrote a very +interesting letter to her brother in New York, and tried to make an +analysis of her sentiments for his edification. +</P> + +<P> +"You advised me to come here because it would be novel as well as +beneficial," she wrote. "And it certainly is novel. I think I feel +like a Pariah—a little. I am aware that even the best bred and most +intelligent of them, hearing that I have always lived in New York, will +privately regret it if they like me and remember it if they dislike me. +Good-natured and warm-hearted as they seem among themselves, I am sure +it will be I who will have to make the advances—if advances are +made—and I must be very amiable, indeed, if I intend that they shall +like me." +</P> + +<P> +But she had not been well enough at first to be in the humor to make +the advances, and consequently had not found her position an exciting +one. She had looked on until she had been able to rouse herself to +some pretty active likes and dislikes, but she knew no one. +</P> + +<P> +She felt this afternoon as if this mild recreation of looking on had +begun rather to pall upon her, and she drew out her watch, glancing at +it with a little yawn. +</P> + +<P> +"It is five o'clock," she said. "Very soon the band will make its +appearance, and it will bray until the stages come in. Yes, there it +is!" +</P> + +<P> +The musical combination to which she referred was composed of six or +seven gentlemen of color who played upon brazen instruments, each in +different keys and different time. Three times a day they collected on +a rustic kiosk upon the lawn and played divers popular airs with an +intensity, fervor, and muscular power worthy of a better cause. They +straggled up as she spoke, took their places and began, and before they +had played many minutes the most exciting event of the day occurred, as +it always did somewhere about this hour. In the midst of the gem of +their collection was heard the rattle of wheels and the crack of whips, +and through the rapturous shouts of the juvenile guests, the two +venerable, rickety stages dashed up with a lumbering flourish, and a +spasmodic pretense of excitement, calculated to deceive only the +feeblest mind. +</P> + +<P> +At the end of the gallery they checked themselves in their mad career, +the drivers making strenuous efforts to restrain the impetuosity of the +four steeds whose harness rattled against their ribs with an unpleasant +bony sound. Half a dozen waiters rushed forward, the doors were flung +open, the steps let down with a bang, the band brayed insanely, and the +passengers alighted.—"One, two, three, four," counted Olivia Ferrol, +mechanically, as the first vehicle unburdened itself. And then, as the +door of the second was opened: "One—only one: and a very young one, +too. Dear me! Poor girl!" +</P> + +<P> +This exclamation might naturally have fallen from any quick-sighted and +sympathetic person. The solitary passenger of the second stage stood +among the crowd, hesitating, and plainly overwhelmed with timorousness. +Three waiters were wrestling with an ugly shawl, a dreadful shining +valise, and a painted wooden trunk, such as is seen in country stores. +In their enthusiastic desire to dispose creditably of these articles +they temporarily forgot the owner, who, after one desperate, timid +glance at them, looked round her in vain for succor. She was very +pretty and very young and very ill-dressed—her costume a bucolic +travesty on prevailing modes. She did not know where to go, and no one +thought of showing her; the loungers about the office stared at her; +she began to turn pale with embarrassment and timidity. Olivia Ferrol +left her chair and crossed the gallery. She spoke to a servant a +little sharply: +</P> + +<P> +"Why not show the young lady into the parlor?" she said. +</P> + +<P> +The girl heard, and looked at her helplessly, but with gratitude. The +waiter darted forward with hospitable rapture. +</P> + +<P> +"Dis yeah's de way, miss," he said, "right inter de 'ception-room. +Foller me, ma'am." +</P> + +<P> +Olivia returned to her seat. People were regarding her with curiosity, +but she was entirely oblivious of the fact. +</P> + +<P> +"That is one of them," she was saying, mentally. "That is one of them, +and a very interesting type it is, too." +</P> + +<P> +To render the peculiarities of this young woman clearer, it may be well +to reveal here something of her past life and surroundings. Her father +had been a literary man, her mother an illustrator of books and +magazine articles. From her earliest childhood she had been surrounded +by men and women of artistic or literary occupations, some who were +drudges, some who were geniuses, some who balanced between the two +extremes, and she had unconsciously learned the tricks of the trade. +She had been used to people who continually had their eyes open to +anything peculiar and interesting in human nature, who were enraptured +by the discovery of new types of men, women, and emotions. Since she +had been left an orphan she had lived with her brother, who had been +reporter, editor, contributor, critic, one after the other, until at +last he had established a very enviable reputation as a brilliant, +practical young fellow, who knew his business, and had a fine career +open to him. So it was natural that, having become interested in the +general friendly fashion of dissecting and studying every scrap of +human nature within reach, she had followed more illustrious examples, +and had become very critical upon the subject of "types" herself. +During her sojourn at Oakvale she had studied the North Carolinian +mountaineer "type" with the enthusiasm of an amateur. She had talked +to the women in sunbonnets who brought fruit to the hotel, and sat on +the steps and floor of the galleries awaiting the advent of customers +with a composure only to be equaled by the calmness of the noble +savage; she had walked and driven over the mountain roads, stopping at +wayside houses and entering into conversation with the owners until she +had become comparatively well known, even in the space of a fortnight, +and she had taken notes for her brother until she had roused him to +sharing her own interest in her discoveries. +</P> + +<P> +"I am sure you will find a great deal of material here," she wrote to +him. "You see how I have fallen a victim to that dreadful habit of +looking at everything in the light of material. A man is no longer a +man—he is 'material'; sorrow is not sorrow, joy is not joy—it is +'material.' There is something rather ghoulish in it. I wonder if +anatomists look at people's bodies as we do at their minds, and if to +them every one is a 'subject.' At present I am interested in a species +of girl I have discovered. Sometimes she belongs to the better +class—the farmers, who have a great deal of land and who are the rich +men of the community,—sometimes she lives in a log cabin with a mother +who smokes and chews tobacco, but in either case she is a surprise and +a mystery. She is always pretty, she is occasionally beautiful, and in +spite of her house, her people, her education or want of it, she is +instinctively a refined and delicately susceptible young person. She +has always been to some common school, where she has written +compositions on sentimental or touching subjects, and when she belongs +to the better class she takes a fashion magazine and tries to make her +dresses like those of the ladies in the colored plates, and, I may add, +frequently fails. I could write a volume about her, but I wont. When +your vacation arrives, come and see for yourself." It was of this +class Miss Ferrol was thinking when she said: "That is one of them, and +a very interesting type it is, too." +</P> + +<P> +When she went in to the dining-room to partake of the six o'clock +supper, she glanced about her in search of the new arrival, but she had +not yet appeared. A few minutes later, however, she entered. She came +in slowly, looking straight before her, and trying very hard to appear +at ease. She was prettier than before, and worse dressed. She wore a +blue, much-ruffled muslin and a wide collar made of imitation lace. +She had tucked her sleeves up to her elbow with a band and bow of black +velvet, and her round, smooth young arms were adorable. She looked for +a vacant place, and, seeing none, stopped short, as if she did not know +what to do. Then some magnetic attraction drew her eye to Olivia +Ferrol's. After a moment's pause, she moved timidly toward her. +</P> + +<P> +"I—I wish a waiter would come," she faltered. +</P> + +<P> +At that moment one on the wing stopped in obedience to a gesture of +Miss Ferrol's—a delicate, authoritative movement of the head. +</P> + +<P> +"Give this young lady that chair opposite me," she said. +</P> + +<P> +The chair was drawn out with a flourish, the girl was seated, and the +bill of fare was placed in her hands. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," she said, in a low, astonished voice. +</P> + +<P> +Olivia smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"That waiter is my own special and peculiar property," she said, "and I +rather pride myself on him." +</P> + +<P> +But her guest scarcely seemed to comprehend her pleasantry. She looked +somewhat awkward. +</P> + +<P> +"I—don't know much about waiters," she ventured. "I'm not used to +them, and I suppose they know it. I never was at a hotel before." +</P> + +<P> +"You will soon get used to them," returned Miss Ferrol. +</P> + +<P> +The girl fixed her eyes upon her with a questioning appeal. They were +the loveliest eyes she had ever seen, Miss Ferrol +thought—large-irised, and with wonderful long lashes fringing them and +curling upward, giving them a tender, very wide-open look. She seemed +suddenly to gain courage, and also to feel it her duty to account for +herself. +</P> + +<P> +"I shouldn't have come here alone if I could have got father to come +with me," she revealed. "But he wouldn't come. He said it wasn't the +place for him. I haven't been very well since mother died, and he +thought I'd better try the Springs awhile. I don't think I shall like +it." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't like it," replied Miss Ferrol, candidly, "but I dare say you +will when you know people." +</P> + +<P> +The girl glanced rapidly and furtively over the crowded room, and then +her eyes fell. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall never know them," she said, in a depressed undertone. +</P> + +<P> +In secret Miss Ferrol felt a conviction that she was right; she had not +been presented under the right auspices. +</P> + +<P> +"It is rather clever and sensitive in her to find it out so quickly," +she thought. "Some girls would be more sanguine, and be led into +blunders." +</P> + +<P> +They progressed pretty well during the meal. When it was over, and +Miss Ferrol rose, she became conscious that her companion was troubled +by some new difficulty, and a second thought suggested to her what its +nature was. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you going to your room?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," said the girl, with the look of helpless appeal again. +"I don't know where else to go. I don't like to go out there" +(signifying the gallery) "alone." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not come with me?" said Miss Ferrol. "Then we can promenade +together." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" she said, with a little gasp of relief and gratitude. "Don't you +mind?" +</P> + +<P> +"On the contrary, I shall be very glad of your society," Miss Ferrol +answered. "I am alone, too." +</P> + +<P> +So they went out together and wandered slowly from one end of the +starlit gallery to the other, winding their way through the crowd that +promenaded, and, upon the whole, finding it rather pleasant. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall have to take care of her," Miss Ferrol was deciding; "but I do +not think I shall mind the trouble." +</P> + +<P> +The thing that touched her most was the girl's innocent trust in her +sincerity—her taking for granted that this stranger, who had been +polite to her, had been so not for worldly good breeding's sake, but +from true friendliness and extreme generosity of nature. Her first +shyness conquered, she related her whole history with the unreserve of +a child. Her father was a farmer, and she had always lived with him on +his farm. He had been too fond of her to allow her to leave home, and +she had never been "away to school." +</P> + +<P> +"He has made a pet of me at home," she said. "I was the only one that +lived to be over eight years old. I am the eleventh. Ten died before +I was born, and it made father and mother worry a good deal over +me—and father was worse than mother. He said the time never seemed to +come when he could spare me. He is very good and kind—is father," she +added, in a hurried, soft-voiced way. "He's rough, but he's very good +and kind." +</P> + +<P> +Before they parted for the night Miss Ferrol had the whole genealogical +tree by heart. They were an amazingly prolific family, it seemed. +There was Uncle Josiah, who had ten children, Uncle Leander, who had +fifteen, Aunt Amanda, who had twelve, and Aunt Nervy, whose belongings +comprised three sets of twins and an unlimited supply of odd numbers. +They went upstairs together and parted at Miss Ferrol's door, their +rooms being near each other. +</P> + +<P> +The girl held out her hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Good-night!" she said. "I'm so thankful I've got to know you." +</P> + +<P> +Her eyes looked bigger and wider-open than ever; she smiled, showing +her even, sound, little white teeth. Under the bright light of the +lamp the freckles the day betrayed on her smooth skin were not to be +seen. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear me!" thought Miss Ferrol. "How startlingly pretty, in spite of +the cotton lace and the dreadful polonaise!" +</P> + +<P> +She touched her lightly on the shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, you are as tall as I am!" she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," the girl replied, depressedly; "but I'm twice as broad." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh no—no such thing." And then, with a delicate glance down over +her, she said—"It is your dress that makes you fancy so. Perhaps your +dressmaker does not understand your figure,"—as if such a failing was +the most natural and simple thing in the world, and needed only the +slightest rectifying. +</P> + +<P> +"I have no dressmaker," the girl answered. "I make my things myself. +Perhaps that is it." +</P> + +<P> +"It is a little dangerous, it is true," replied Miss Ferrol. "I have +been bold enough to try it myself, and I never succeeded. I could give +you the address of a very thorough woman if you lived in New York." +</P> + +<P> +"But I don't live there, you see. I wish I did. I never shall, +though. Father could never spare me." +</P> + +<P> +Another slight pause ensued, during which she looked admiringly at Miss +Ferrol. Then she said "good-night" again, and turned away. +</P> + +<P> +But before she had crossed the corridor she stopped. +</P> + +<P> +"I never told you my name," she said. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Ferrol naturally expected she would announce it at once, but she +did not. An air of embarrassment fell upon her. She seemed almost +averse to speaking. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," said Miss Ferrol, smiling, "what is it?" +</P> + +<P> +She did not raise her eyes from the carpet as she replied, unsteadily: +</P> + +<P> +"It's Louisiana." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Ferrol answered her very composedly: +</P> + +<P> +"The name of the state?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Father came from there." +</P> + +<P> +"But you did not tell me your surname." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! that is Rogers. You—you didn't laugh. I thought you would." +</P> + +<P> +"At the first name?" replied Miss Ferrol. "Oh no. It is unusual—but +names often are. And Louise is pretty." +</P> + +<P> +"So it is," she said, brightening. "I never thought of that. I hate +Louisa. They will call it 'Lowizy,' or 'Lousyanny.' I could sign +myself Louise, couldn't I?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," Miss Ferrol replied. +</P> + +<P> +And then her <I>protégée</I> said "good-night" for the third time, and +disappeared. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +WORTH. +</H4> + +<P> +She presented herself at the bed-room door with a timid knock the next +morning before breakfast, evidently expecting to be taken charge of. +Miss Ferrol felt sure she would appear, and had, indeed, dressed +herself in momentary expectation of hearing the knock. +</P> + +<P> +When she heard it she opened the door at once. +</P> + +<P> +"I am glad to see you," she said. "I thought you might come." +</P> + +<P> +A slight expression of surprise showed itself in the girl's eyes. It +had never occurred to her that she might not come. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes," she replied. "I never could go down alone when there was +any one who would go with me." +</P> + +<P> +There was something on her mind, Miss Ferrol fancied, and presently it +burst forth in a confidential inquiry. +</P> + +<P> +"Is this dress very short-waisted?" she asked, with great earnestness. +</P> + +<P> +Merciful delicacy stood in the way of Miss Ferrol's telling her how +short-waisted it was, and how it maltreated her beautiful young body. +</P> + +<P> +"It is rather short-waisted, it is true." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps," the girl went on, with a touch of guileless melancholy, "I +am naturally this shape." +</P> + +<P> +Here, it must be confessed, Miss Ferrol forgot herself for the moment, +and expressed her indignation with undue fervor. +</P> + +<P> +"Perish the thought!" she exclaimed. "Why, child! your figure is a +hundred times better than mine." +</P> + +<P> +Louisiana wore for a moment a look of absolute fright. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no!" she cried. "Oh, no. Your figure is magnificent." +</P> + +<P> +"Magnificent!" echoed Miss Ferrol, giving way to her enthusiasm, and +indulging in figures of speech. "Don't you see that I am +thin—absolutely thin. But my things fit me, and my dressmaker +understands me. If you were dressed as I am,"—pausing to look her +over from head to foot—"Ah!" she exclaimed, pathetically, "how I +should like to see you in some of my clothes!" +</P> + +<P> +A tender chord was touched. A gentle sadness, aroused by this instance +of wasted opportunities, rested upon her. But instantaneously she +brightened, seemingly without any particular cause. A brilliant idea +had occurred to her. But she did not reveal it. +</P> + +<P> +"I will wait," she thought, "until she is more at her ease with me." +</P> + +<P> +She really was more at her ease already. Just this one little scrap of +conversation had done that. She became almost affectionate in a shy +way before they reached the dining-room. +</P> + +<P> +"I want to ask you something," she said, as they neared the door. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" +</P> + +<P> +She held Miss Ferrol back with a light clasp on her arm. Her air was +quite tragic in a small way. +</P> + +<P> +"Please say 'Louise,' when you speak to me," she said. "Never say +'Miss Louisiana'—never—never!" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I shall never say 'Miss Louisiana,'" her companion answered. "How +would you like 'Miss Rogers?'" +</P> + +<P> +"I would rather have 'Louise,'" she said, disappointedly. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," returned Miss Ferrol, "'Louise' let it be." +</P> + +<P> +And "Louise" it was thenceforward. If she had not been so pretty, so +innocent, and so affectionate and humble a young creature, she might +have been troublesome at times (it occurred to Olivia Ferrol), she +clung so pertinaciously to their chance acquaintanceship; she was so +helpless and desolate if left to herself, and so inordinately glad to +be taken in hand again. She made no new friends,—which was perhaps +natural enough, after all. She had nothing in common with the young +women who played ten-pins and croquet and rode out in parties with +their cavaliers. She was not of them, and understood them as little as +they understood her. She knew very well that they regarded her with +scornful tolerance when they were of the ill-natured class, and with +ill-subdued wonder when they were amiable. She could not play ten-pins +or croquet, nor could she dance. +</P> + +<P> +"What are the men kneeling down for, and why do they keep stopping to +put on those queer little caps and things?" she whispered to Miss +Ferrol one night. +</P> + +<P> +"They are trying to dance a German," replied Miss Ferrol, "and the man +who is leading them only knows one figure." +</P> + +<P> +As for the riding, she had been used to riding all her life; but no one +asked her to join them, and if they had done so she would have been too +wise,—unsophisticated as she was,—to accept the invitation. So where +Miss Ferrol was seen she was seen also, and she was never so happy as +when she was invited into her protector's room and allowed to spend the +morning or evening there. She would have been content to sit there +forever and listen to Miss Ferrol's graphic description of life in the +great world: The names of celebrated personages made small impression +upon her. It was revealed gradually to Miss Ferrol that she had +private doubts as to the actual existence of some of them, and the rest +she had never heard of before. +</P> + +<P> +"You never read 'The Scarlet Letter?'" asked her instructress upon one +occasion. +</P> + +<P> +She flushed guiltily. +</P> + +<P> +"No," she answered. "Nor—nor any of the others." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Ferrol gazed at her silently for a few moments. Then she asked +her a question in a low voice, specially mellowed, so that it might not +alarm her. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know who John Stuart Mill is?" she said. +</P> + +<P> +"No," she replied from the dust of humiliation. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you never heard—just <I>heard</I>—of Ruskin?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor of Michael Angelo?" +</P> + +<P> +"N-no—ye-es, I think so—perhaps, but I don't know what he did." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you," she continued, very slowly, +"do—you—know—anything—about—Worth?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, nothing." +</P> + +<P> +Her questioner clasped her hands with repressed emotion. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh," she cried, "how—how you have been neglected!" +</P> + +<P> +She was really depressed, but her <I>protégée</I> was so much more deeply so +that she felt it her duty to contain herself and return to cheerfulness. +</P> + +<P> +"Never mind," she said. "I will tell you all I know about them, +and,"—after a pause for speculative thought upon the +subject,—"by-the-by, it isn't much, and I will lend you some books to +read, and give you a list of some you must persuade your father to buy +for you, and you will be all right. It is rather dreadful not to know +the names of people and things; but, after all, I think there are very +few people who—ahem!" +</P> + +<P> +She was checked here by rigid conscientious scruples. If she was to +train this young mind in the path of learning and literature, she must +place before her a higher standard of merit than the somewhat shady and +slipshod one her eagerness had almost betrayed her into upholding. She +had heard people talk of "standards" and "ideals," and when she was +kept to the point and in regulation working order, she could be very +eloquent upon these subjects herself. +</P> + +<P> +"You will have to work very seriously," she remarked, rather +incongruously and with a rapid change of position. "If you wish to—to +acquire anything, you must read conscientiously and—and with a +purpose." She was rather proud of that last clause. +</P> + +<P> +"Must I?" inquired Louise, humbly. "I should like to—if I knew where +to begin. Who was Worth? Was he a poet?" +</P> + +<P> +Miss Ferrol acquired a fine, high color very suddenly. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh," she answered, with some uneasiness, "you—you have no need to +begin with Worth. He doesn't matter so much—really." +</P> + +<P> +"I thought," Miss Rogers said meekly, "that you were more troubled +about my not having read what he wrote, than about my not knowing any +of the others." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no. You see—the fact is, he—he never wrote anything." +</P> + +<P> +"What did he do?" she asked, anxious for information. +</P> + +<P> +"He—it isn't 'did,' it is 'does.' He—makes dresses." +</P> + +<P> +"Dresses!" +</P> + +<P> +This single word, but no exclamation point could express its tone of +wild amazement. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"A man!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +There was a dead silence. It was embarrassing at first. Then the +amazement of the unsophisticated one began to calm itself; it gradually +died down, and became another emotion, merging itself into interest. +</P> + +<P> +"Does"—guilelessly she inquired—"he make nice ones?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nice!" echoed Miss Ferrol. "They are works of art! I have got three +in my trunk." +</P> + +<P> +"O-o h!" sighed Louisiana. "Oh, dear!" +</P> + +<P> +Miss Ferrol rose from her chair. +</P> + +<P> +"I will show them to you," she said. "I—I should like you to try them +on." +</P> + +<P> +"To try them on!" ejaculated the child in an awe-stricken tone. "Me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Miss Ferrol, unlocking the trunk and throwing back the lid. +"I have been wanting to see you in them since the first day you came." +</P> + +<P> +She took them out and laid them upon the bed on their trays. Louise +got up from the floor and approaching, reverently stood near them. +There was a cream-colored evening-dress of soft, thick, close-clinging +silk of some antique-modern sort; it had golden fringe, and golden +flowers embroidered upon it. +</P> + +<P> +"Look at that," said Miss Ferrol, softly—even religiously. +</P> + +<P> +She made a mysterious, majestic gesture. +</P> + +<P> +"Come here," she said. "You must put it on." +</P> + +<P> +Louise shrank back a pace. +</P> + +<P> +"I—oh! I daren't," she cried. "It is too beautiful!" +</P> + +<P> +"Come here," repeated Miss Ferrol. +</P> + +<P> +She obeyed timorously, and gave herself into the hands of her +controller. She was so timid and excited that she trembled all the +time her toilette was being performed for her. Miss Ferrol went +through this service with the manner of a priestess officiating at an +altar. She laced up the back of the dress with the slender, golden +cords; she arranged the antique drapery which wound itself around in +close swathing folds. There was not the shadow of a wrinkle from +shoulder to hem: the lovely young figure was revealed in all its beauty +of outline. There were no sleeves at all, there was not very much +bodice, but there was a great deal of effect, and this, it is to be +supposed, was the object. +</P> + +<P> +"Walk across the floor," commanded Miss Ferrol. +</P> + +<P> +Louisiana obeyed her. +</P> + +<P> +"Do it again," said Miss Ferrol. +</P> + +<P> +Having been obeyed for the second time, her hands fell together. Her +attitude and expression could be said to be significant only of rapture. +</P> + +<P> +"I said so!" she cried. "I said so! You might have been born in New +York!" +</P> + +<P> +It was a grand climax. Louisiana felt it to the depths of her reverent +young heart. But she could not believe it. She was sure that it was +too sublime to be true. She shook her head in deprecation. +</P> + +<P> +"It is no exaggeration," said Miss Ferrol, with renewed fervor. +"Laurence himself, if he were not told that you had lived here, would +never guess it. I should like to try you on him." +</P> + +<P> +"Who—is he?" inquired Louisiana. "Is he a writer, too?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, yes,—but not exactly like the others. He is my brother." +</P> + +<P> +It was two hours before this episode ended. Only at the sounding of +the second bell did Louisiana escape to her room to prepare for dinner. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Ferrol began to replace the dresses in her trunk. She performed +her task in an abstracted mood. When she had completed it she stood +upright and paused a moment, with quite a startled air. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear me!" she exclaimed. "I—actually forgot about Ruskin!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"HE IS DIFFERENT." +</H4> + +<P> +The same evening, as they sat on one of the seats upon the lawn, Miss +Ferrol became aware several times that Louisiana was regarding her with +more than ordinary interest. She sat with her hands folded upon her +lap, her eyes fixed on her face, and her pretty mouth actually a little +open. +</P> + +<P> +"What are you thinking of?" Olivia asked, at length. +</P> + +<P> +The girl started, and recovered herself with an effort. +</P> + +<P> +"I—well, I was thinking about—authors," she stammered. +</P> + +<P> +"Any particular author?" inquired Olivia, "or authors as a class?" +</P> + +<P> +"About your brother being one. I never thought I should see any one +who knew an author—and you are related to one!" +</P> + +<P> +Her companion's smile was significant of immense experience. It was +plain that she was so accustomed to living on terms of intimacy with +any number of authors that she could afford to feel indifferent about +them. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear," she said, amiably, "they are not in the least different from +other people." +</P> + +<P> +It sounded something like blasphemy. +</P> + +<P> +"Not different!" cried Louisiana. "Oh, surely, they must be! +Isn't—isn't your brother different?" +</P> + +<P> +Miss Ferrol stopped to think. She was very fond of her brother. +Privately she considered him the literary man of his day. She was +simply disgusted when she heard experienced critics only calling him +"clever" and "brilliant" instead of "great" and "world-moving." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she replied at length, "he is different." +</P> + +<P> +"I thought he must be," said Louisiana, with a sigh of relief. "You +are, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"Am I?" returned Olivia. "Thank you. But I am not an author—at +least,"—she added, guiltily, "nothing I have written has ever been +published." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, why not?" exclaimed Louisiana. +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" she repeated, dubiously and thoughtfully. And then, +knitting her brows, she said, "I don't know why not." +</P> + +<P> +"I am sure if you have ever written anything, it ought to have been +published," protested her adorer. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>I</I> thought so," said Miss Ferrol. "But—but <I>they</I> didn't." +</P> + +<P> +"They?" echoed Louisiana. "Who are 'they?'" +</P> + +<P> +"The editors," she replied, in a rather gloomy manner. "There is a +great deal of wire-pulling, and favoritism, and—even envy and malice, +of which those outside know nothing. You wouldn't understand it if I +should tell you about it." +</P> + +<P> +For a few moments she wore quite a fell expression, and gloom reigned. +She gave her head a little shake. +</P> + +<P> +"They regret it afterward," she remarked,—"frequently." +</P> + +<P> +From which Louisiana gathered that it was the editors who were so +overwhelmed, and she could not help sympathizing with them in secret. +There was something in the picture of their unavailing remorse which +touched her, despite her knowledge of the patent fact that they +deserved it and could expect nothing better. She was quite glad when +Olivia brightened up, as she did presently. +</P> + +<P> +"Laurence is handsomer than most of them, and has a more distinguished +air," she said. "He is very charming. People always say so." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish I could see him," ventured Louisiana. +</P> + +<P> +"You will see him if you stay here much longer," replied Miss Ferrol. +"It is quite likely he will come to Oakvale." +</P> + +<P> +For a moment Louisiana fluttered and turned pale with pleasure, but as +suddenly she drooped. +</P> + +<P> +"I forgot," she faltered. "You will have to be with him always, and I +shall have no one. He won't want me." +</P> + +<P> +Olivia sat and looked at her with deepening interest. She was thinking +again of a certain whimsical idea which had beset her several times +since she had attired her <I>protégée</I> in the cream-colored robe. +</P> + +<P> +"Louise," she said, in a low, mysterious tone, "how would you like to +wear dresses like mine all the rest of the time you are here?" +</P> + +<P> +The child stared at her blankly. +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't got any," she gasped. +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Miss Ferrol, with deliberation, "but <I>I</I> have." +</P> + +<P> +She rose from her seat, dropping her mysterious air and smiling +encouragingly. +</P> + +<P> +"Come with me to my room," she said. "I want to talk to you." +</P> + +<P> +If she had ordered her to follow her to the stake it is not at all +unlikely that Louisiana would have obeyed. She got up meekly, smiling, +too, and feeling sure something very interesting was going to happen. +She did not understand in the least, but she was quite tractable. And +after they had reached the room and shut themselves in, she found that +it <I>was</I> something very interesting which was to happen. +</P> + +<P> +"You remember what I said to you this morning?" Miss Ferrol suggested. +</P> + +<P> +"You said so many things." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, but you cannot have forgotten this particular thing. I said you +looked as if you had been born in New York." +</P> + +<P> +Louisiana remembered with a glow of rapture. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes," she answered. +</P> + +<P> +"And I said Laurence himself would not know, if he was not told, that +you had lived all your life here."' +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"And I said I should like to try you on him." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Ferrol kept her eyes fixed on her and watched her closely. +</P> + +<P> +"I have been thinking of it all the morning," she added. "I should +like to try you on him." +</P> + +<P> +Louisiana was silent a moment. Then she spoke, hesitatingly: +</P> + +<P> +"Do you mean that I should pretend——," she began. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no," interrupted Miss Ferrol. "Not pretend either one thing or +the other. Only let me dress you as I choose, and then take care that +you say nothing whatever about your past life. You will have to be +rather quiet, perhaps, and let him talk. He will like that, of +course—men always do—and then you will learn a great many things from +him." +</P> + +<P> +"It will be—a very strange thing to do," said Louisiana. +</P> + +<P> +"It will be a very interesting thing," answered Olivia, her enthusiasm +increasing. "How he will admire you!" +</P> + +<P> +Louisiana indulged in one of her blushes. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you a picture of him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Why?" she asked, in some surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Because I should like to see his face." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think," Miss Ferrol said, in further bewilderment, "that you +might not like him?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think he might not like me." +</P> + +<P> +"Not like you!" cried Miss Ferrol. "You! He will think you are +divine—when you are dressed as I shall dress you." +</P> + +<P> +She went to her trunk and produced the picture. It was not a +photograph, but a little crayon head—the head of a handsome man, whose +expression was a singular combination of dreaminess and alertness. It +was a fascinating face. +</P> + +<P> +"One of his friends did it," said Miss Ferrol. "His friends are very +fond of him and admire his good looks very much. They protest against +his being photographed. They like to sketch him. They are always +making 'studies' of his head. What do you think of him?" +</P> + +<P> +Louisiana hesitated. +</P> + +<P> +"He is different," she said at last. "I thought he would be." +</P> + +<P> +She gave the picture back to Miss Ferrol, who replaced it in her trunk. +She sat for a few seconds looking down at the carpet and apparently +seeing very little. Then she looked up at her companion, who was +suddenly a little embarrassed at finding her receive her whimsical +planning so seriously. She herself had not thought of it as being +serious at all. It would be interesting and amusing, and would prove +her theory. +</P> + +<P> +"I will do what you want me to do," said Louisiana. +</P> + +<P> +"Then," said Miss Ferrol, wondering at an unexpected sense of +discomfort in herself, "I will dress you for supper now. You must +begin to wear the things, so that you may get used to them." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +A NEW TYPE. +</H4> + +<P> +When the two entered the supper-room together a little commotion was +caused by their arrival. At first the supple young figure in violet +and gray was not recognized. It was not the figure people had been +used to, it seemed so tall and slenderly round. The reddish-brown hair +was combed high and made into soft puffs; it made the pretty head seem +more delicately shaped, and showed how white and graceful the back of +the slender neck was. It was several minutes before the problem was +solved. Then a sharp young woman exclaimed, <I>sotto voce</I>: +</P> + +<P> +"It's the little country-girl, in new clothes—in clothes that fit. +Would you believe it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't look at your plate so steadily," whispered Miss Ferrol. "Lean +back and fan yourself as if you did not hear. You must never show that +you hear things." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall be obliged to give her a few hints now and then," she had said +to herself beforehand. "But I feel sure when she once catches the cue +she will take it." +</P> + +<P> +It really seemed as if she did, too. She had looked at herself long +and steadily after she had been dressed, and when she turned away from +the glass she held her head a trifle more erect, and her cheeks had +reddened. Perhaps what she had recognized in the reflection she had +seen had taught her a lesson. But she said nothing. In a few days +Olivia herself was surprised at the progress she had made. Sanguine as +she was, she had not been quite prepared for the change which had taken +place in her. She had felt sure it would be necessary to teach her to +control her emotions, but suddenly she seemed to have learned to +control them without being told to do so; she was no longer +demonstrative of her affection, she no longer asked innocent questions, +nor did she ever speak of her family. Her reserve was puzzling to +Olivia. +</P> + +<P> +"You are very clever," she said to her one day, the words breaking from +her in spite of herself, after she had sat regarding her in silence for +a few minutes. "You are even cleverer than I thought you were, Louise." +</P> + +<P> +"Was that very clever?" the girl asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it was," Olivia answered, "but not so clever as you are proving +yourself." +</P> + +<P> +But Louisiana did not smile or blush, as she had expected she would. +She sat very quietly, showing neither pleasure nor shyness, and seeming +for a moment or so to be absorbed in thought. +</P> + +<P> +In the evening when the stages came in they were sitting on the front +gallery together. As the old rattletraps bumped and swung themselves +up the gravel drive, Olivia bent forward to obtain a better view of the +passengers. +</P> + +<P> +"He ought to be among them," she said. +</P> + +<P> +Louisiana laid her hand on her arm. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is that sitting with the driver?" she asked, as the second vehicle +passed them. "Isn't that——" +</P> + +<P> +"To be sure it is!" exclaimed Miss Ferrol. +</P> + +<P> +She would have left her seat, but she found herself detained. Her +companion had grasped her wrist. +</P> + +<P> +"Wait a minute!" she said. "Don't leave me! Oh—I wish I had not done +it!" +</P> + +<P> +Miss Ferrol turned and stared at her in amazement. +</P> + +<P> +She spoke in her old, uncontrolled, childish fashion. She was pale, +and her eyes were dilated. +</P> + +<P> +"What is the matter?" said Miss Ferrol, hurriedly, when she found her +voice. "Is it that you really don't like the idea? If you don't, +there is no need of our carrying it out. It was only nonsense—I beg +your pardon for not seeing that it disturbed you. Perhaps, after all, +it was very bad taste in me——" +</P> + +<P> +But she was not allowed to finish her sentence. As suddenly as it had +altered before, Louisiana's expression altered again. She rose to her +feet with a strange little smile. She looked into Miss Ferrol's +astonished face steadily and calmly. +</P> + +<P> +"Your brother has seen you and is coming toward us," she said. "I will +leave you. We shall see each other again at supper." +</P> + +<P> +And with a little bow she moved away with an air of composure which +left her instructress stunned. She could scarcely recover her +equilibrium sufficiently to greet her brother decently when he reached +her side. She had never been so thoroughly at sea in her life. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +After she had gone to her room that night, her brother came and knocked +at the door. +</P> + +<P> +When she opened it and let him in he walked to a chair and threw +himself into it, wearing a rather excited look. +</P> + +<P> +"Olivia," he began at once, "what a bewildering girl!" +</P> + +<P> +Olivia sat down opposite to him, with a composed smile. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Rogers, of course?" she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course," he echoed. And then, after a pause of two or three +seconds, he added, in the tone he had used before: "What a delightfully +mysterious girl!" +</P> + +<P> +"Mysterious!" repeated Olivia. +</P> + +<P> +"There is no other word for it! She has such an adorable face, she +looks so young, and she says so little." And then, with serious +delight, he added: "It is a new type!" +</P> + +<P> +Olivia began to laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"Why are you laughing?" he demanded. +</P> + +<P> +"Because I was so sure you would say that," she answered. "I was +waiting for it." +</P> + +<P> +"But it is true," he replied, quite vehemently. "I never saw anything +like her before. I look at her great soft eyes and I catch glimpses of +expression which don't seem to belong to the rest of her. When I see +her eyes I could fancy for a moment that she had been brought up in a +convent or had lived a very simple, isolated life, but when she speaks +and moves I am bewildered. I want to hear her talk, but she says so +little. She does not even dance. I suppose her relatives are serious +people. I dare say you have not heard much of them from her. Her +reserve is so extraordinary in a girl. I wonder how old she is?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nineteen, I think." +</P> + +<P> +"I thought so. I never saw anything prettier than her quiet way when I +asked her to dance with me. She said, simply, 'I do not dance. I have +never learned.' It was as if she had never thought of it as being an +unusual thing." +</P> + +<P> +He talked of her all the time he remained in the room. Olivia had +never seen him so interested before. +</P> + +<P> +"The fascination is that she seems to be two creatures at once," he +said. "And one of them is stronger than the other and will break out +and reveal itself one day. I begin by feeling I do not understand her, +and that is the most interesting of all beginnings, I long to discover +which of the two creatures is the real one." +</P> + +<P> +When he was going away he stopped suddenly to say: +</P> + +<P> +"How was it you never mentioned her in your letters? I can't +understand that." +</P> + +<P> +"I wanted you to see her for yourself," Olivia answered. "I thought I +would wait." +</P> + +<P> +"Well," he said, after thinking a moment, "I am glad, after all, that +you did." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"I HAVE HURT YOU." +</H4> + +<P> +From the day of his arrival a new life began for Louisiana. She was no +longer an obscure and unconsidered young person. Suddenly, and for the +first time in her life, she found herself vested with a marvellous +power. It was a power girls of a different class from her own are +vested with from the beginning of their lives. They are used to it and +regard it as their birthright. Louisiana was not used to it. There +had been nothing like it attending her position as "that purty gal o' +Rogerses." She was accustomed to the admiration of men she was +indifferent to—men who wore short-waisted blue-jean coats, and turned +upon their elbows to stare at her as she sat in the little white frame +church. After making an effort to cultivate her acquaintance, they +generally went away disconcerted. "She's mighty still," they said. +"She haint got nothin' to say. Seems like thar aint much to her—but +she's powerful purty though." +</P> + +<P> +This was nothing like her present experience. She began slowly to +realize that she was a little like a young queen now. Here was a man +such as she had never spoken to before, who was always ready to +endeavor to his utmost to please her: who, without any tendency toward +sentimental nonsense, was plainly the happier for her presence and +favor. What could be more assiduous and gallant than the every-day +behavior of the well-bred, thoroughly experienced young man of the +period toward the young beauty who for the moment reigns over his +fancy! It need only be over his fancy; there is no necessity that the +impression should be any deeper. His suavity, his chivalric air, his +ready wit in her service, are all that could be desired. +</P> + +<P> +When Louisiana awakened to the fact that all this homage was rendered +to her as being only the natural result of her girlish beauty—as if it +was the simplest thing in the world, and a state of affairs which must +have existed from the first—she experienced a sense of terror. Just +at the very first she would have been glad to escape from it and sink +into her old obscurity. +</P> + +<P> +"It does not belong to me," she said to herself. "It belongs to some +one else—to the girl he thinks I am. I am not that girl, though; I +will remember that." +</P> + +<P> +But in a few days she calmed down. She told herself that she always +did remember, but she ceased to feel frightened and was more at ease. +She never talked very much, but she became more familiar with the +subjects she heard discussed. One morning she went to Olivia's room +and asked her for the address of a bookseller. +</P> + +<P> +"I want to send for some books and—and magazines," she said, +confusedly. "I wish you—if you would tell me what to send for. +Father will give me the money if I ask him for it." +</P> + +<P> +Olivia sat down and made a list. It was along list, comprising the +best periodicals of the day and several standard books. +</P> + +<P> +When she handed it to her she regarded her with curiosity. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean to read them all?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't it time that I should?" replied her pupil. +</P> + +<P> +"Well—it is a good plan," returned Olivia, rather absently. +</P> + +<P> +Truth to tell, she was more puzzled every day. She had begun to be +quite sure that something had happened. It seemed as if a slight +coldness existed between herself and her whilom adorer. The simplicity +of her enthusiasm was gone. Her affection had changed as her outward +bearing. It was a better regulated and less noticeable emotion. Once +or twice Olivia fancied she had seen the girl looking at her even +sadly, as if she felt, for the moment, a sense of some loss. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps it was very clumsy in me," she used to say to herself. +"Perhaps I don't understand her, after all." +</P> + +<P> +But she could not help looking on with interest. She had never before +seen Laurence enjoy himself so thoroughly. He had been working very +hard during the past year, and was ready for his holiday. He found the +utter idleness, which was the chief feature of the place, a good thing. +There was no town or village within twenty miles, newspapers were a day +or two old when they arrived, there were very few books to be found, +and there was absolutely no excitement. At night the band brayed in +the empty-looking ball-room, and a few very young couples danced, in a +desultory fashion and without any ceremony. The primitive, +domesticated slowness of the place was charming. Most of the guests +had come from the far South at the beginning of the season and would +remain until the close of it; so they had had time to become familiar +with each other and to throw aside restraint. +</P> + +<P> +"There is nothing to distract one," Ferrol said, "nothing to rouse one, +nothing to inspire one—nothing! It is delicious! Why didn't I know +of it before?" +</P> + +<P> +He had plenty of time to study his sister's friend. She rode and +walked with him and Olivia when they made their excursions, she +listened while he read aloud to them as he lay on the grass in a quiet +corner of the grounds. He thought her natural reserve held her from +expressing her opinion on what he read very freely; it certainly did +not occur to him that she was beginning her literary education under +his guidance. He could see that the things which pleased him most were +not lost upon her. Her face told him that. One moonlight night, as +they sat on an upper gallery, he began to speak of the novelty of the +aspect of the country as it presented itself to an outsider who saw it +for the first time. +</P> + +<P> +"It is a new life, and a new people," he said. "And, by the way, +Olivia, where is the new species of young woman I was to see—the +daughter of the people who does not belong to her sphere?" +</P> + +<P> +He turned to Louisiana. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you ever seen her?" he asked. "I must confess to a dubiousness +on the subject." +</P> + +<P> +Before he could add another word Louisiana turned upon him. He could +see her face clearly in the moonlight. It was white, and her eyes were +dilated and full of fire. +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you speak in that way?" she cried. "As if—as if such people +were so far beneath you. What right have you——" +</P> + +<P> +She stopped suddenly. Laurence Ferrol was gazing at her in amazement. +She rose from her seat, trembling. +</P> + +<P> +"I will go away a little," she said. "I beg your pardon—and Miss +Ferrol's." +</P> + +<P> +She turned her back upon them and went away. Ferrol sat holding her +little round, white-feather fan helplessly, and staring after her until +she disappeared. +</P> + +<P> +It was several seconds before the silence was broken. It was he who +broke it. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what it means," he said, in a low voice. "I don't know +what I have done!" +</P> + +<P> +In a little while he got up and began to roam aimlessly about the +gallery. He strolled from one end to the other with his hands thrust +in his coat pockets. Olivia, who had remained seated, knew that he was +waiting in hopes that Louisiana would return. He had been walking to +and fro, looking as miserable as possible, for about half an hour, when +at last she saw him pause and turn half round before the open door of +an upper corridor leading out upon the verandah. A black figure stood +revealed against the inside light. It was Louisiana, and, after +hesitating a moment, she moved slowly forward. +</P> + +<P> +She had not recovered her color, but her manner was perfectly quiet. +</P> + +<P> +"I am glad you did not go away," she said. +</P> + +<P> +Ferrol had only stood still at first, waiting her pleasure, but the +instant she spoke he made a quick step toward her. +</P> + +<P> +"I should have felt it a very hard thing not to have seen you again +before I slept," he said. +</P> + +<P> +She made no reply, and they walked together in silence until they +reached the opposite end of the gallery. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Ferrol has gone in," she said then. +</P> + +<P> +He turned to look and saw that such was the case. Suddenly, for some +reason best known to herself, Olivia had disappeared from the scene. +</P> + +<P> +Louisiana leaned against one of the slender, supporting pillars of the +gallery. She did not look at Ferrol, but at the blackness of the +mountains rising before them. Ferrol could not look away from her. +</P> + +<P> +"If you had not come out again," he said, after a pause, "I think I +should have remained here, baying at the moon, all night." +</P> + +<P> +Then, as she made no reply, he began to pour himself forth quite +recklessly. +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot quite understand how I hurt you," he said. "It seemed to me +that I must have hurt you, but even while I don't understand, there are +no words abject enough to express what I feel now and have felt during +the last half hour. If I only dared ask you to tell me——" +</P> + +<P> +She stopped him. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't tell you," she said. "But it is not your fault—it is nothing +you could have understood—it is my fault—all my fault, and—I deserve +it." +</P> + +<P> +He was terribly discouraged. +</P> + +<P> +"I am bewildered," he said. "I am very unhappy." +</P> + +<P> +She turned her pretty, pale face round to him swiftly. +</P> + +<P> +"It is not you who need be unhappy," she exclaimed. "It is I!" +</P> + +<P> +The next instant she had checked herself again, just as she had done +before. +</P> + +<P> +"Let us talk of something else," she said, coldly. +</P> + +<P> +"It will not be easy for me to do so," he answered, "but I will try." +</P> + +<P> +Before Olivia went to bed she had a visit from her. +</P> + +<P> +She received her with some embarrassment, it must be confessed. Day by +day she felt less at ease with her and more deeply self-convicted of +some blundering,—which, to a young woman of her temperament, was a +sharp penalty. +</P> + +<P> +Louisiana would not sit down. She revealed her purpose in coming at +once. +</P> + +<P> +"I want to ask you to make me a promise," she said, "and I want to ask +your pardon." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't do that," said Olivia. +</P> + +<P> +"I want you to promise that you will not tell your brother the truth +until you have left here and are at home. I shall go away very soon. +I am tired of what I have been doing. It is different from what you +meant it to be. But you must promise that if you stay after I have +gone—as of course you will—you will not tell him. My home is only a +few miles away. You might be tempted, after thinking it over, to come +and see me—and I should not like it. I want it all to stop here—I +mean my part of it. I don't want to know the rest." +</P> + +<P> +Olivia had never felt so helpless in her life. She had neither +self-poise, nor tact, nor any other daring quality left. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish," she faltered, gazing at the girl quite pathetically, "I wish +we had never begun it." +</P> + +<P> +"So do I," said Louisiana. "Do you promise?" +</P> + +<P> +"Y-yes. I would promise anything. I—I have hurt your feelings," she +confessed, in an outbreak. +</P> + +<P> +She was destined to receive a fresh shock. All at once the girl was +metamorphosed again. It was her old ignorant, sweet, simple self who +stood there, with trembling lips and dilated eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you have!" she cried. "Yes, you have!" +</P> + +<P> +And she burst into tears and turned about and ran out of the room. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +THE ROAD TO THE RIGHT. +</H4> + +<P> +The morning after, Ferrol heard an announcement which came upon him +like a clap of thunder. +</P> + +<P> +After breakfast, as they walked about the grounds, Olivia, who had +seemed to be in an abstracted mood, said, without any preface: +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Rogers returns home to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +Laurence stopped short in the middle of the path. +</P> + +<P> +"To-morrow!" he exclaimed. "Oh, no." +</P> + +<P> +He glanced across at Louisiana with an anxious face. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she said, "I am going home." +</P> + +<P> +"To New York?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do not live in New York." +</P> + +<P> +She spoke quite simply, but the words were a shock to him. They +embarrassed him. There was no coldness in her manner, no displeasure +in her tone, but, of course, he understood that it would be worse than +tactless to inquire further. Was it possible that she did not care +that he should know where she lived? There seemed no other +construction to be placed upon her words. He flushed a little, and for +a few minutes looked rather gloomy, though he quickly recovered himself +afterward and changed the subject with creditable readiness. +</P> + +<P> +"Did not you tell me she lived in New York?" he asked Olivia, the first +time they were alone together. +</P> + +<P> +"No," Olivia answered, a trifle sharply. "Why New York, more than +another place?" +</P> + +<P> +"For no reason whatever,—really," he returned, more bewildered than +ever. "There was no reason why I should choose New York, only when I +spoke to her of certain places there, she—she——" +</P> + +<P> +He paused and thought the matter over carefully before finishing his +sentence. He ended it at last in a singular manner. +</P> + +<P> +"She said nothing," he said. "It is actually true—now I think of +it—she said nothing whatever!" +</P> + +<P> +"And because she said nothing whatever——" began Olivia. +</P> + +<P> +He drew his hand across his forehead with a puzzled gesture. +</P> + +<P> +"I fancied she <I>looked</I> as if she knew," he said, slowly. "I am sure +she looked as if she knew what I was talking about—as if she knew the +places, I mean. It is very queer! There seems no reason in it. Why +shouldn't she wish us to know where she lives?" +</P> + +<P> +"I—I must confess," cried Olivia, "that I am getting a little tired of +her." +</P> + +<P> +It was treacherous and vicious, and she knew it was; but her guilty +conscience and her increasing sense of having bungled drove her to +desperation. If she had not promised to keep the truth to herself, she +would have been only too glad to unburden herself. It was so stupid, +after all, and she had only herself to blame. +</P> + +<P> +Laurence drew a long breath. +</P> + +<P> +"You can not be tired of <I>her</I>!" he said. "That is impossible. She +takes firmer hold upon one every hour." +</P> + +<P> +This was certainly true, as far as he was concerned. He was often even +surprised at his own enthusiasm. He had seen so many pretty women that +it was almost inconsistent that he should be so much moved by the +prettiness of one charming creature, and particularly one who spoke so +little, who, after all, was—but there he always found himself at a +full stop. He could not say what she was, he did not know yet; really, +he seemed no nearer the solution of the mystery than he had been at +first. There lay the fascination. He felt so sure there was an +immense deal for him to discover, if he could only discover it. He had +an ideal in his mind, and this ideal, he felt confident, was the real +creature, if he could only see her. During the episode on the upper +gallery he fancied he had caught a glimpse of what was to be revealed. +The sudden passion on her pale young face, the fire in her eyes, were +what he had dreamed of. +</P> + +<P> +If he had not been possessed of courage and an honest faith in himself, +born of a goodly amount of success, he would have been far more +depressed than he was. She was going away, and had not encouraged him +to look forward to their meeting again. +</P> + +<P> +"I own it is rather bad to look at," he said to himself, "if one quite +believed that Fate would serve one such an ill turn. She never played +me such a trick, however, and I won't believe she will. I shall see +her again—sometime. It will turn out fairly enough, surely." +</P> + +<P> +So with this consolation he supported himself. There was one day left +and he meant to make the best of it. It was to be spent in driving to +a certain mountain, about ten miles distant. All tourists who were +possessed of sufficient energy made this excursion as a matter of duty, +if from no more enthusiastic motive. A strong, light carriage and a +pair of horses were kept in the hotel stables for the express purpose +of conveying guests to this special point. +</P> + +<P> +This vehicle Ferrol had engaged the day before, and as matters had +developed he had cause to congratulate himself upon the fact. He said +to Louisiana what he had before said to himself: +</P> + +<P> +"We have one day left, and we will make the best of it." +</P> + +<P> +Olivia, who stood upon the gallery before which the carriage had been +drawn up, glanced at Louisiana furtively. On her part she felt +privately that it would be rather hard to make the best of it. She +wished that it was well over. But Louisiana did not return her glance. +She was looking at Ferrol and the horses. She had done something new +this morning. She had laid aside her borrowed splendor and attired +herself in one of her own dresses, which she had had the boldness to +remodel. She had seized a hint from some one of Olivia's possessions, +and had given her costume a pretty air of primitive simplicity. It was +a plain white lawn, with a little frilled cape or fichu which crossed +upon her breast, and was knotted loosely behind. She had a black +velvet ribbon around her lithe waist, a rose in her bosom where the +fichu crossed, and a broad Gainsborough hat upon her head. One was +reminded somewhat of the picturesque young woman of the good old colony +times. Ferrol, at least, when he first caught sight of her, was +reminded of pictures he had seen of them. +</P> + +<P> +There was no trace of her last night's fire in her manner. She was +quieter than usual through the first part of the drive. She was gentle +to submissiveness to Olivia. There was something even tender in her +voice once or twice when she addressed her. Laurence noticed it, and +accounted for it naturally enough. +</P> + +<P> +"She is really fonder of her than she has seemed," he thought, "and she +is sorry that their parting is so near." +</P> + +<P> +He was just arriving at this conclusion when Louisiana touched his arm. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't take that road," she said. +</P> + +<P> +He drew up his horses and looked at her with surprise. There were two +roads before them, and he had been upon the point of taking the one to +the right. +</P> + +<P> +"But it is the only road to take," he continued. "The other does not +lead to the mountain. I was told to be sure to take the road to the +right hand." +</P> + +<P> +"It is a mistake," she said, in a disturbed tone. "The left-hand road +leads to the mountain, too—at least, we can reach it by striking the +wagon-road through the woods. I—yes, I am sure of it." +</P> + +<P> +"But this is the better road. Is there any reason why you prefer the +other? Could you pilot us? If you can——" +</P> + +<P> +He stopped and looked at her appealingly. +</P> + +<P> +He was ready to do anything she wished, but the necessity for his +yielding had passed. Her face assumed a set look. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't," she answered. "Take the road to the right. Why not?" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"SHE AINT YERE." +</H4> + +<P> +Ferrol was obliged to admit when they turned their faces homeward that +the day was hardly a success, after all. Olivia had not been at her +best, for some reason or other, and from the moment they had taken the +right-hand road Louisiana had been wholly incomprehensible. +</P> + +<P> +In her quietest mood she had never worn a cold air before; to-day she +had been cold and unresponsive. It had struck him that she was +absorbed in thinking of something which was quite beyond him. She was +plainly not thinking of him, nor of Olivia, nor of the journey they +were making. During the drive she had sat with her hands folded upon +her lap, her eyes fixed straight before her. She had paid no attention +to the scenery, only rousing herself to call their attention to one +object. This object was a house they passed—the rambling, low-roofed +white house of some well-to-do farmer. It was set upon a small hill +and had a long front porch, mottled with blue and white paint in a +sanguine attempt at imitating variegated marble. +</P> + +<P> +She burst into a low laugh when she saw it. +</P> + +<P> +"Look at that," she said. "That is one of the finest houses in the +country. The man who owns it is counted a rich man among his +neighbors." +</P> + +<P> +Ferrol put up his eye-glasses to examine it. (It is to be deplored +that he was a trifle near-sighted.) +</P> + +<P> +"By George!" he said. "That is an idea, isn't it, that marble +business! I wonder who did it? Do you know the man who lives there?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have heard of him," she answered, "from several people. He is a +namesake of mine. His name is Rogers." +</P> + +<P> +When they returned to their carriage, after a ramble up the +mountain-side, they became conscious that the sky had suddenly +darkened. Ferrol looked up, and his face assumed a rather serious +expression. +</P> + +<P> +"If either of you is weather-wise," he said, "I wish you would tell me +what that cloud means. You have been among the mountains longer than I +have." +</P> + +<P> +Louisiana glanced upward quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"It means a storm," she said, "and a heavy one. We shall be drenched +in half an hour." +</P> + +<P> +Ferrol looked at her white dress and the little frilled fichu, which +was her sole protection. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, but that won't do!" he exclaimed. "What insanity in me not to +think of umbrellas!" +</P> + +<P> +"Umbrellas!" echoed Louisiana. "If we had each six umbrellas they +could not save us. We may as well get into the carriage. We are only +losing time." +</P> + +<P> +They were just getting in when an idea struck Ferrol which caused him +to utter an exclamation of ecstatic relief. +</P> + +<P> +"Why," he cried, "there is that house we passed! Get in quickly. We +can reach there in twenty minutes." +</P> + +<P> +Louisiana had her foot upon the step. She stopped short and turned to +face him. She changed from red to white and from white to red again, +as if with actual terror. +</P> + +<P> +"There!" she exclaimed. "There!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," he answered. "We can reach there in time to save ourselves. Is +there any objection to our going,—in the last extremity?" +</P> + +<P> +For a second they looked into each other's eyes, and then she turned +and sprang into the carriage. She laughed aloud. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no," she said. "Go there! It will be a nice place to stay—and +the people will amuse you. Go there." +</P> + +<P> +They reached the house in a quarter of an hour instead of twenty +minutes. They had driven fast and kept ahead of the storm, but when +they drew up before the picket fence the clouds were black and the +thunder was rolling behind them. +</P> + +<P> +It was Louisiana who got out first. She led the way up the path to the +house and mounted the steps of the variegated porch. She did not knock +at the door, which stood open, but, somewhat to Fermi's amazement, +walked at once into the front room, which was plainly the room of +state. Not to put too fine a point upon it, it was a hideous room. +</P> + +<P> +The ceiling was so low that Ferrol felt as if he must knock his head +against it; it was papered—ceiling and all—with paper of an +unwholesome yellow enlivened with large blue flowers; there was a +bedstead in one corner, and the walls were ornamented with colored +lithographs of moon-faced houris, with round eyes and round, red +cheeks, and wearing low-necked dresses, and flowers in their bosoms, +and bright yellow gold necklaces. These works of art were the first +things which caught Ferrol's eye, and he went slowly up to the most +remarkable, and stood before it, regarding it with mingled wonderment +and awe. +</P> + +<P> +He turned from it after a few seconds to look at Louisiana, who stood +near him, and he beheld what seemed to him a phenomenon. He had never +seen her blush before as other women blush—now she was blushing, +burning red from chin to brow. +</P> + +<P> +"There—there is no one in this part of the house," she said. "I—I +know more of these people than you do. I will go and try to find some +one." +</P> + +<P> +She was gone before he could interpose. Not that he would have +interposed, perhaps. Somehow—without knowing why—he felt as if she +did know more of the situation than he did—almost as if she were, in a +manner, doing the honors for the time being. +</P> + +<P> +She crossed the passage with a quick, uneven step, and made her way, as +if well used to the place, into the kitchen at the back of the house. +</P> + +<P> +A stout negro woman stood at a table, filling a pan with newly made +biscuits. Her back was toward the door and she did not see who entered. +</P> + +<P> +"Aunt Cassandry," the girl began, when the woman turned toward her. +</P> + +<P> +"Who's dar?" she exclaimed. "Lor', honey, how ye skeert me! I aint no +C'sandry." +</P> + +<P> +The face she turned was a strange one, and it showed no sign of +recognition of her visitor. +</P> + +<P> +It was an odd thing that the sight of her unfamiliar face should have +been a shock to Louisiana; but it was a shock. She put her hand to her +side. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is my—where is Mr. Rogers?" she asked. "I want to see him." +</P> + +<P> +"Out on de back po'ch, honey, right now. Dar he goes!" +</P> + +<P> +The girl heard him, and flew out to meet him. Her heart was throbbing +hard, and she was drawing quick, short breaths. +</P> + +<P> +"Father!" she cried. "Father! Don't go in the house!" +</P> + +<P> +And she caught him by both shoulders and drew him round. He did not +know her at first in her fanciful-simple dress and her Gainsborough +hat. He was not used to that style of thing, believing that it +belonged rather to the world of pictures. He stared at her. Then he +broke out with an exclamation, +</P> + +<P> +"Lo-rd! Louisianny!" +</P> + +<P> +She kept her eyes on his face. They were feverishly bright, and her +cheeks were hot. She laughed hysterically. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't speak loud," she said. "There are some strange people in the +house, and—and I want to tell you something." +</P> + +<P> +He was a slow man, and it took him some time to grasp the fact that she +was really before him in the flesh. He said, again: +</P> + +<P> +"Lord, Louisianny!" adding, cheerfully, "How ye've serprised me!" +</P> + +<P> +Then he took in afresh the change in her dress. There was a pile of +stove-wood stacked on the porch to be ready for use, and he sat down on +it to look at her. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, ye've got a new dress on!" he said. "Thet thar's what made ye +look sorter curis. I hardly knowed ye." +</P> + +<P> +Then he remembered what she had said on first seeing him. +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't ye want me to go in the house?" he asked. "What sort o' +folks air they?" +</P> + +<P> +"They came with me from the Springs," she answered; "and—and I want +to—to play a joke on them." +</P> + +<P> +She put her hands up to her burning cheeks, and stood so. +</P> + +<P> +"A joke on 'em?" he repeated. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she said, speaking very fast. "They don't know I live here, +they think I came from some city,—they took the notion +themselves,—and I want to let them think so until we go away from the +house. It will be such a good joke." +</P> + +<P> +She tried to laugh, but broke off in the middle of a harsh sound. Her +father, with one copperas-colored leg crossed over the other, was +chewing his tobacco slowly, after the manner of a ruminating animal, +while he watched her. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you see?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Wa-al, no," he answered. "Not rightly." +</P> + +<P> +She actually assumed a kind of spectral gayety. +</P> + +<P> +"I never thought of it until I saw it was not Cassandry who was in the +kitchen," she said. "The woman who is there didn't know me, and it +came into my mind that—that we might play off on them," using the +phraseology to which he was the most accustomed. +</P> + +<P> +"Waal, we mought," he admitted, with a speculative deliberateness. +"Thet's so. We mought—if thar was any use in it." +</P> + +<P> +"It's only for a joke," she persisted, hurriedly. +</P> + +<P> +"Thet's so," he repeated. "Thet's so." +</P> + +<P> +He got up slowly and rather lumberingly from his seat and dusted the +chips from his copperas-colored legs. +</P> + +<P> +"Hev ye ben enjyin' yerself, Louisianny?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she answered. "Never better." +</P> + +<P> +"Ye must hev," he returned, "or ye wouldn't be in sperrits to play +jokes." +</P> + +<P> +Then he changed his tone so suddenly that she was startled. +</P> + +<P> +"What do ye want me to do?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +She put her hand on his shoulder and tried to laugh again. +</P> + +<P> +"To pretend you don't know me—to pretend I have never been here +before. That's joke enough, isn't it? They will think so when I tell +them the truth. You slow old father! Why don't you laugh?" +</P> + +<P> +"P'r'aps," he said, "it's on account o' me bein' slow, Louisianny. +Mebbe I shall begin arter a while." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't begin at the wrong time," she said, still keeping up her +feverish laugh, "or you'll spoil it all. Now come along in and—and +pretend you don't know me," she continued, drawing him forward by the +arm. "They might suspect something if we stay so long. All you've got +to do is to pretend you don't know me." +</P> + +<P> +"That's so, Louisianny," with a kindly glance downward at her excited +face as he followed her out. "Thar aint no call fur me to do nothin' +else, is there—just pretend I don't know ye?" +</P> + +<P> +It was wonderful how well he did it, too. When she preceded him into +the room the girl was quivering with excitement. He might break down, +and it would be all over in a second. But she looked Ferrol boldly in +the face when she made her first speech. +</P> + +<P> +"This is the gentleman of the house," she said. "I found him on the +back porch. He had just come in. He has been kind enough to say we +may stay until the storm is over." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes," said he hospitably, "stay an' welcome. Ye aint the first as +has stopped over. Storms come up sorter suddent, an' we haint the kind +as turns folks away." +</P> + +<P> +Ferrol thanked him, Olivia joining in with a murmur of gratitude. They +were very much indebted to him for his hospitality; they considered +themselves very fortunate. +</P> + +<P> +Their host received their protestations with much equanimity. +</P> + +<P> +"If ye'd like to set out on the front porch and watch the storm come +up," he said, "thar's seats thar. Or would ye druther set here? +Women-folks is gen'rally fond o' settin' in-doors whar thar's a parlor." +</P> + +<P> +But they preferred the porch, and followed him out upon it. +</P> + +<P> +Having seen them seated, he took a chair himself. It was a +split-seated chair, painted green, and he tilted it back against a +pillar of the porch and applied himself to the full enjoyment of a +position more remarkable for ease than elegance. Ferrol regarded him +with stealthy rapture, and drank in every word he uttered. +</P> + +<P> +"This," he had exclaimed delightedly to Olivia, in private—"why, this +is delightful! These are the people we have read of. I scarcely +believed in them before. I would not have missed it for the world!" +</P> + +<P> +"In gin'ral, now," their entertainer proceeded, "wimmin-folk is fonder +o' settin' in parlors. My wife was powerful sot on her parlor. She +wasn't never satisfied till she hed one an' hed it fixed up to her +notion. She was allers tradin' fur picters fur it. She tuk a heap o' +pride in her picters. She allers had it in her mind that her little +gal should have a showy parlor when she growed up." +</P> + +<P> +"You have a daughter?" said Ferrol. +</P> + +<P> +Their host hitched his chair a little to one side. He bent forward to +expectorate, and then answered with his eyes fixed upon some distant +point toward the mountains. +</P> + +<P> +"Wa-al, yes," he said; "but she aint yere, Louisianny aint." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Ferrol gave a little start, and immediately made an effort to +appear entirely at ease. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you say," asked Ferrol, "that your daughter's name was——" +</P> + +<P> +"Louisianny," promptly. "I come from thar." +</P> + +<P> +Louisiana got up and walked to the opposite end of the porch. +</P> + +<P> +"The storm will be upon us in a few minutes," she said. "It is +beginning to rain now. Come and look at this cloud driving over the +mountain-top." +</P> + +<P> +Ferrol rose and went to her. He stood for a moment looking at the +cloud, but plainly not thinking of it. +</P> + +<P> +"His daughter's name is Louisiana," he said, in an undertone. +"Louisiana! Isn't that delicious?" +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly, even as he spoke, a new idea occurred to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Why," he exclaimed, "your name is Louise, isn't it? I think Olivia +said so." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she answered, "my name is Louise." +</P> + +<P> +"How should you have liked it," he inquired, absent-mindedly, "if it +had been Louisiana?" +</P> + +<P> +She answered him with a hard coolness which it startled him afterward +to remember. +</P> + +<P> +"How would you have liked it?" she said. +</P> + +<P> +They were driven back just then by the rain, which began to beat in +upon their end of the porch. They were obliged to return to Olivia and +Mr. Rogers, who were engaged in an animated conversation. +</P> + +<P> +The fact was that, in her momentary excitement, Olivia had plunged into +conversation as a refuge. She had suddenly poured forth a stream of +remark and query which had the effect of spurring up her companion to a +like exhibition of frankness. He had been asking questions, too. +</P> + +<P> +"She's ben tellin' me," he said, as Ferrol approached, "thet you're a +littery man, an' write fur the papers—novel-stories, an' pomes an' +things. I never seen one before—not as I know on." +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder why not!" remarked Ferrol. "We are plentiful enough." +</P> + +<P> +"Air ye now?" he asked reflectively. "I had an idee thar was only one +on ye now an' ag'in—jest now an' ag'in." +</P> + +<P> +He paused there to shake his head. +</P> + +<P> +"I've often wondered how ye could do it," he said, "<I>I</I> couldn't. +Thar's some as thinks they could if they tried, but I wa'n't never +thataway—I wa'n't never thataway. I haint no idee I could do it, not +if I tried ever so. Seems to me," he went on, with the air of making +an announcement of so novel a nature that he must present it modestly, +"seems to me, now, as if them as does it must hev a kinder gift fur'it, +now. Lord! I couldn't write a novel. I wouldn't know whar to begin." +</P> + +<P> +"It is difficult to decide where," said Ferrol. +</P> + +<P> +He did not smile at all. His manner was perfect—so full of interest, +indeed, that Mr. Rogers quite warmed and expanded under it. +</P> + +<P> +"The scenes on 'em all, now, bein' mostly laid in Bagdad, would be agin +me, if nothin' else war," he proceeded. +</P> + +<P> +"Being laid——?" queried Ferrol. +</P> + +<P> +"In Bagdad or—wa-al, furrin parts tharabouts. Ye see I couldn't tell +nothin' much about no place but North Ca'liny, an' folks wouldn't buy +it." +</P> + +<P> +"But why not?" exclaimed Ferrol. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Lord bless ye!" he said, hilariously, "they'd know it wa'n't +true. They'd say in a minnit: 'Why, thar's thet fool Rogers ben a +writin' a pack o' lies thet aint a word on it true. Thar aint no +castles in Hamilton County, an' thar aint no folks like these yere. It +just aint so! I 'lowed thet thar was the reason the novel-writers +allers writ about things a-happenin' in Bagdad. Ye kin say most +anythin' ye like about Bagdad an' no one cayn't contradict ye." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't seem to remember many novels of—of that particular +description," remarked Ferrol, in a rather low voice. "Perhaps my +memory——" +</P> + +<P> +"Ye don't?" he queried, in much surprise. "Waal now, jest you notice +an' see if it aint so. I haint read many novels myself. I haint read +but one——" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" interposed Ferrol. "And it was a story of life in Bagdad." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; an' I've heard tell of others as was the same. Hance Claiborn, +now, he was a-tellen me of one." +</P> + +<P> +He checked himself to speak to the negro woman who had presented +herself at a room door. +</P> + +<P> +"We're a-comin', Nancy," he said, with an air of good-fellowship. +"Now, ladies an' gentlemen," he added, rising from his chair, "walk in +an' have some supper." +</P> + +<P> +Ferrol and Olivia rose with some hesitation. +</P> + +<P> +"You are very kind," they said. "We did not intend to give you +trouble." +</P> + +<P> +"Trouble!" he replied, as if scarcely comprehending. "This yere aint +no trouble. Ye haint ben in North Ca'liny before, hev ye?" he +continued, good-naturedly. "We're bound to hev ye eat, if ye stay with +us long enough. We wouldn't let ye go 'way without eatin', bless ye. +We aint that kind. Walk straight in." +</P> + +<P> +He led them into a long, low room, half kitchen, half dining-room. It +was not so ugly as the room of state, because it was entirely +unadorned. Its ceiled walls were painted brown and stained with many a +winter's smoke. The pine table was spread with a clean homespun cloth +and heaped with well-cooked, appetizing food. +</P> + +<P> +"If ye can put up with country fare, ye'll not find it so bad," said +the host. "Nancy prides herself on her way o' doin' things." +</P> + +<P> +There never was more kindly hospitality, Ferrol thought. The simple +generosity which made them favored guests at once warmed and touched +him. He glanced across at Louisiana to see if she was not as much +pleased as he was himself. But the food upon her plate remained almost +untouched. There was a strange look on her face; she was deadly pale +and her downcast eyes shone under their lashes. She did not look at +their host at all; it struck Ferrol that she avoided looking at him +with a strong effort. Her pallor made him anxious. +</P> + +<P> +"You are not well," he said to her. "You do not look well at all." +</P> + +<P> +Their host started and turned toward her. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, no ye aint!" he exclaimed, quite tremulously. "Lord, no! Ye +cayn't be. Ye haint no color. What—what's the trouble, Lou—Lord! I +was gwine to call ye Louisianny, an'—she aint yere, Louisianny aint." +</P> + +<P> +He ended with a nervous laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm used to takin' a heap o' care on her," he said. "I've lost ten on +'em, an' she's all that's left me, an'—an' I think a heap on her. +I—I wish she was yere. Ye musn't git sick, ma'am." +</P> + +<P> +The girl got up hurriedly. +</P> + +<P> +"I am not sick, really," she said. "The thunder—I have a little +headache. I will go out on to the porch. It's clearing up now. The +fresh air will do me good." +</P> + +<P> +The old man rose, too, with rather a flurried manner. +</P> + +<P> +"If Louisianny was yere," he faltered, "she could give ye something to +help ye. Camphire now—sperrits of camphire—let me git ye some." +</P> + +<P> +"No—no," said the girl. "No, thank you." +</P> + +<P> +And she slipped out of the door and was gone. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Rogers sat down again with a sigh. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish she'd let me git her some," he said, wistfully. "I know how it +is with young critters like that. They're dele-cate," anxiously. +"Lord, they're dele-cate. They'd oughter hev' their mothers round 'em. +I know how it is with Louisianny." +</P> + +<P> +A cloud seemed to settle upon him. He rubbed his grizzled chin with +his hand again and again, glancing at the open door as he did it. It +was evident that his heart was outside with the girl who was like +"Louisianny." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"NOTHING HAS HURT YOU." +</H4> + +<P> +The storm was quite over, and the sun was setting in flames of gold +when the meal was ended and they went out on the porch again. Mr. +Rogers had scarcely recovered himself, but he had made an effort to do +so, and had so far succeeded as to begin to describe the nature of the +one novel he had read. Still, he had rubbed his chin and kept his eye +uneasily on the door all the time he had been talking. +</P> + +<P> +"It was about a Frenchman," he said, seriously, "an' his name +was—Frankoyse—F-r-a-n-c-o-i-s, Frankoyse. Thet thar's a French name, +aint it? Me an' Ianthy 'lowed it was common to the country. It don't +belong yere, Frankoyse don't, an' it's got a furrin sound." +</P> + +<P> +"It—yes, it is a French name," assented Ferrol. +</P> + +<P> +A few minutes afterward they went out. Louisiana stood at the end of +the porch, leaning against a wooden pillar and twisting an arm around +it. +</P> + +<P> +"Are ye better?" Mr. Rogers asked. "I am goin' to 'tend to my stock, +an' if ye aint, mebbe the camphire—sperrits of camphire——" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't need it," she answered. "I am quite well." +</P> + +<P> +So he went away and left them, promising to return shortly and "gear up +their critters" for them that they might go on their way. +</P> + +<P> +When he was gone, there was a silence of a few seconds which Ferrol +could not exactly account for. Almost for the first time in his +manhood, he did not know what to say. Gradually there had settled upon +him the conviction that something had gone very wrong indeed, that +there was something mysterious and complicated at work, that somehow he +himself was involved, and that his position was at once a most singular +and delicate one. It was several moments before he could decide that +his best plan seemed to be to try to conceal his bewilderment and +appear at ease. And, very naturally, the speech he chose to begin with +was the most unlucky he could have hit upon. +</P> + +<P> +"He is charming," he said. "What a lovable old fellow! What a +delicious old fellow! He has been telling me about the novel. It is +the story of a Frenchman, and his name—try to guess his name." +</P> + +<P> +But Louisiana did not try. +</P> + +<P> +"You couldn't guess it," he went on. "It is better than all the rest. +His name was—Frankoyse." +</P> + +<P> +That instant she turned round. She was shaking all over like a leaf. +</P> + +<P> +"Good heavens!" flashed through his mind. "This is a climax! <I>This</I> +is the real creature!" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't laugh again!" she cried. "Don't dare to laugh! I wont bear it! +He is my father!" +</P> + +<P> +For a second or so he had not the breath to speak. +</P> + +<P> +"Your father!" he said, when he found his voice. "<I>Your</I> father! +<I>Yours!</I>" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she answered, "mine. This is my home. I have lived here all my +life—my name is Louisiana. You have laughed at me too!" +</P> + +<P> +It was the real creature, indeed, whom he saw. She burst into +passionate tears. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think that I kept up this pretense to-day because I was ashamed +of him?" she said. "Do you think I did it because I did not love +him—and respect him—and think him better than all the rest of the +world? It was because I loved him so much that I did it—because I +knew so well that you would say to each other that he was not like +me—that he was rougher, and that it was a wonder I belonged to him. +It is a wonder I belong to him! I am not worthy to kiss his shoes. I +have been ashamed—I have been bad enough for that, but not bad enough +to be ashamed of him. I thought at first it would be better to let you +believe what you would—that it would soon be over, and we should never +see each other again, but I did not think that I should have to sit by +and see you laugh because he does not know the world as you do—because +he has always lived his simple, good life in one simple, country place." +</P> + +<P> +Ferrol had grown as pale as she was herself. He groaned aloud. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" he cried, "what shall I say to you? For heaven's sake try to +understand that it is not at him I have laughed, but——" +</P> + +<P> +"He has never been away from home," she broke in. "He has worked too +hard to have time to read, and—" she stopped and dropped her hands +with a gesture of unutterable pride. "Why should I tell you that?" she +said. "It sounds as if I were apologizing for him, and there is no +need that I should." +</P> + +<P> +"If I could understand," began Ferrol,—"if I could realize——" +</P> + +<P> +"Ask your sister," she replied. "It was her plan. I—I" (with a +little sob) "am only her experiment." +</P> + +<P> +Olivia came forward, looking wholly subdued. Her eyes were wet, too. +</P> + +<P> +"It is true," she said. "It is all my fault." +</P> + +<P> +"May I ask you to explain?" said Ferrol, rather sternly. "I suppose +some of this has been for my benefit." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't speak in that tone," said Olivia. "It is bad enough as it is. +I—I never was so wretched in my life. I never dreamed of its turning +out in this way. She was so pretty and gentle and quick to take a +hint, and—I wanted to try the experiment—to see if you would guess at +the truth. I—I had a theory, and I was so much interested that—I +forgot to—to think of her very much. I did not think she would care." +</P> + +<P> +Louisiana broke in. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she said, her eyes bright with pain, "she forgot. I was very +fond of her, and I knew so very little that she forgot to think of me. +I was only a kind of plaything—but I was too proud to remind her. I +thought it would be soon over, and I knew how ignorant I was. I was +afraid to trust my feelings at first. I thought perhaps—it was +vanity, and I ought to crush it down. I was very fond of her." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" cried Olivia, piteously, "don't say 'was,' Louise!" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't say 'Louise,'" was the reply. "Say 'Louisiana.' I am not +ashamed of it now. I want Mr. Ferrol to hear it." +</P> + +<P> +"I have nothing to say in self-defense," Laurence replied, hopelessly. +</P> + +<P> +"There is nothing for any of us to say but good-by," said Louisiana. +"We shall never see each other again. It is all over between us. You +will go your way and I shall go mine. I shall stay here to-night. You +must drive back to the Springs without me. I ought never to have gone +there." +</P> + +<P> +Laurence threw himself into a chair and sat shading his face with his +hand. He stared from under it at the shining wet grass and leaves. +Even yet he scarcely believed that all this was true. He felt as if he +were walking in a dream. The worst of it was this desperate feeling +that there was nothing for him to say. There was a long silence, but +at last Louisiana left her place and came and stood before him. +</P> + +<P> +"I am going to meet my father," she said. "I persuaded him that I was +only playing a joke. He thought it was one of my fancies, and he +helped me out because I asked him to do it. I am going to tell him +that I have told you the truth. He wont know why I did it. I will +make it easy for you. I shall not see you again. Good-by." +</P> + +<P> +Ferrol's misery got the better of him. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't bear this!" he cried, springing up. "I can't, indeed." +</P> + +<P> +She drew back. +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" she said. "Nothing has hurt <I>you</I>." +</P> + +<P> +The simple coldness of her manner was very hard upon him, indeed. +</P> + +<P> +"You think I have no right to complain," he answered, "and yet see how +you send me away! You speak as if you did not intend to let me see you +again——" +</P> + +<P> +"No," she interposed, "you shall not see me again. Why should you? +Ask your sister to tell you how ignorant I am. She knows. Why should +you come here? There would always be as much to laugh at as there has +been to-day. Go where you need not laugh. This is not the place for +you. Good-by!" +</P> + +<P> +Then he knew he need say no more. She spoke with a child's passion and +with a woman's proud obstinacy. Then she turned to Olivia. He was +thrilled to the heart as he watched her while she did it. Her eyes +were full of tears, but she had put both her hands behind her. +</P> + +<P> +"Good-by," she said. +</P> + +<P> +Olivia broke down altogether. +</P> + +<P> +"Is that the way you are going to say good-by?" she cried. "I did not +think you were so hard. If I had meant any harm—but I didn't—and you +look as if you never would forgive me." +</P> + +<P> +"I may some time," answered the girl. "I don't yet. I did not think I +was so hard, either." +</P> + +<P> +Her hands fell at her sides and she stood trembling a second. All at +once she had broken down, too. +</P> + +<P> +"I loved you," she said; "but you did not love me." +</P> + +<P> +And then she turned away and walked slowly into the house. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +It was almost half an hour before their host came to them with the news +that their carriage was ready. +</P> + +<P> +He looked rather "off color" himself and wore a wearied air, but he was +very uncommunicative. +</P> + +<P> +"Louisianny 'lowed she'd go to bed an' sleep off her headache, instead +of goin' back to the Springs," he said. "I'll be thar in a day or two +to 'tend to her bill an' the rest on it. I 'low the waters haint done +her much good. She aint at herself rightly. I knowed she wasn't when +she was so notionate this evenin'. She aint notionate when she's at +herself." +</P> + +<P> +"We are much indebted to you for your kindness," said Ferrol, when he +took the reins. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, thet aint nothin'. You're welcome. You'd hev hed a better time +if Louisianny had been at herself. Good-by to ye. Ye'll hev plenty of +moonlight to see ye home." +</P> + +<P> +Their long ride was a silent one. When they reached the end of it and +Olivia had been helped out of the carriage and stood in the moonlight +upon the deserted gallery, where she had stood with Louisiana in the +morning, she looked very suitably miserable. +</P> + +<P> +"Laurence," she said, "I don't exactly see why you should feel so very +severe about it. I am sure I am as abject as any one could wish." +</P> + +<P> +He stood a moment in silence looking absently out on the +moonlight-flooded lawn. Everything was still and wore an air of +desolation. +</P> + +<P> +"We won't talk about it," he said, at last, "but you have done me an +ill-turn, Olivia." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"DON'T YE, LOUISIANNY?" +</H4> + +<P> +As he said it, Louisiana was at home in the house-room, sitting on a +low chair at her father's knee and looking into the fire. She had not +gone to bed. When he returned to the house her father had found her +sitting here, and she had not left her place since. A wood fire had +been lighted because the mountain air was cool after the rains, and she +seemed to like to sit and watch it and think. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Rogers himself was in a thoughtful mood. After leaving his +departing guests he had settled down with some deliberation. He had +closed the doors and brought forward his favorite wooden-backed, +split-seated chair. Then he had seated himself, and drawing forth his +twist of tobacco had cut off a goodly "chaw." He moved slowly and wore +a serious and somewhat abstracted air. Afterward he tilted backward a +little, crossed his legs, and proceeded to ruminate. +</P> + +<P> +"Louisianny," he said, "Louisianny, I'd like to hear the rights of it." +</P> + +<P> +She answered him in a low voice. +</P> + +<P> +"It is not worth telling," she said. "It was a very poor joke, after +all." +</P> + +<P> +He gave her a quick side glance, rubbing his crossed legs slowly. +</P> + +<P> +"Was it?" he remarked. "A poor one, after all? Why, thet's bad." +</P> + +<P> +The quiet patience of his face was a study. He went on rubbing his leg +even more slowly than before. +</P> + +<P> +"Thet's bad," he said again. "Now, what d'ye think was the trouble, +Louisianny?" +</P> + +<P> +"I made a mistake," she answered. "That was all." +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly she turned to him and laid her folded arms on his knee and her +face upon them, sobbing. +</P> + +<P> +"I oughtn't to have gone," she cried. "I ought to have stayed at home +with you, father." +</P> + +<P> +His face flushed, and he was obliged to relieve his feelings by +expectorating into the fire. +</P> + +<P> +"Louisianny," he said, "I'd like to ask ye one question. Was thar +anybody thar as didn't—well, as didn't show ye respect—as was slighty +or free or—or onconsiderate? Fur instants, any littery man—jest for +instants, now?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no!" she answered. "They were very kind to me always." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be afeared to tell me, Louisianny," he put it to her. "I only +said 'fur instants,' havin' heern as littery men was sometimes—now an' +again—thataway—now an' ag'in." +</P> + +<P> +"They were very good to me," she repeated, "always." +</P> + +<P> +"If they was," he returned, "I'm glad of it. I'm a-gittin' old, +Louisianny, an' I haint much health—dispepsy's what tells on a man," +he went on deliberately. "But if thar'd a bin any one as hed done it, +I'd hev hed to settle it with him—I'd hev hed to hev settled it with +him—liver or no liver." +</P> + +<P> +He put his hand on her head and gave it a slow little rub, the wrong +way, but tenderly. +</P> + +<P> +"I aint goin' to ask ye no more questions," he said, "exceptin' one. +Is thar anything ye'd like to hev done in the house—in the parlor, for +instants, now—s'posin' we was to say in the parlor." +</P> + +<P> +"No, no," she cried. "Let it stay as it is! Let it all stay as it is!" +</P> + +<P> +"Wa-al," he said, meditatively, "ye know thar aint no reason why it +should, Louisianny, if ye'd like to hev it fixed up more or different. +If ye'd like a new paper—say a floweryer one—or a new set of cheers +an' things. Up to Lawyer Hoskin's I seen 'em with red seats to 'em, +an' seemed like they did set things off sorter. If ye'd like to hev +some, thar aint no reason why ye shouldn't. Things has gone purty well +with me, an'—an' thar aint none left but you, honey. Lord!" he added, +in a queer burst of tenderness. "Why shouldn't ye hev things if ye +want 'em?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't want them," she protested. "I want nothing but you." +</P> + +<P> +For a moment there was a dead silence. He kept his eyes fixed on the +fire. He seemed to be turning something over in his mind. But at last +he spoke: +</P> + +<P> +"Don't ye, Louisianny?" he said. +</P> + +<P> +"No," she answered. "Nothing." +</P> + +<P> +And she drew his hand under her cheek and kissed it. +</P> + +<P> +He took it very quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye've got a kind heart, Louisianny," he said. "Young folks gin'rally +has, I think. It's sorter nat'ral, but Lord! thar's other things +besides us old folks, an' it's nat'ral as ye'd want 'em. Thar's things +as kin be altered, an' thar's things as cayn't. Let's alter them as +kin. If ye'd like a cupoly put on the house, or, say a coat of +yaller-buff paint—Sawyer's new house is yaller buff, an' it's mighty +showy; or a organ or a pianny, or more dressin', ye shall have 'em. +Them's things as it aint too late to set right, an' ye shall hev 'em." +</P> + +<P> +But she only cried the more in a soft, hushed way. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, don't be so good to me," she said. "Don't be so good and kind." +</P> + +<P> +He went on as quietly as before. +</P> + +<P> +"If—fur instants—it was me as was to be altered, Louisianny, I'm +afeared—I'm afeared we couldn't do it. I'm afeared as I've been let +run too long—jest to put it that way. We mought hev done it if we'd +hev begun airlier—say forty or fifty year back—but I'm afeared we +couldn't do it now. Not as I wouldn't be willin'—I wouldn't hev a +thing agin it, an' I'd try my best—but it's late. Thar's whar it is. +If it was me as hed to be altered—made more moderner, an' to know +more, an' to hev more style—I'm afeared thar'd be a heap o' trouble. +Style didn't never seem to come nat'ral to me, somehow. I'm one o' +them things as cayn't be altered. Let's alter them as kin." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't want you altered," she protested. "Oh! why should I, when you +are such a good father—such a dear father!" +</P> + +<P> +And there was a little silence again, and at the end of it he said, in +a gentle, forbearing voice, just as he had said before: +</P> + +<P> +"Don't ye, Louisianny?" +</P> + +<P> +They sat silent again for some time afterward—indeed, but little more +was said until they separated for the night. Then, when she kissed him +and clung for a moment round his neck, he suddenly roused himself from +his prolonged reverie. +</P> + +<P> +"Lord!" he said, quite cheerfully, "it caynt last long, at the longest, +arter all—an' you're young yet, you're young." +</P> + +<P> +"What can't last long?" she asked, timidly. +</P> + +<P> +He looked into her eyes and smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothin'," he answered, "nothin' caynt. Nothin' don't—an' you're +young." +</P> + +<P> +And he was so far moved by his secret thought that he smoothed her hair +from her forehead the wrong way again with a light touch, before he let +her go. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +THE GREAT WORLD. +</H4> + +<P> +The next morning he went to the Springs. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll go an' settle up and bring ye your trunk an' things," he said. +"Mebbe I mayn't git back till to-morrer, so don't ye be oneasy. Ef I +feel tired when I git thar, I'll stay overnight." +</P> + +<P> +She did not think it likely he would stay. She had never known him to +remain away from home during a night unless he had been compelled to do +so by business. He had always been too childishly fond of his home to +be happy away from it. He liked the routine he had been used to +through forty years, the rising at daylight, the regular common duties +he assumed as his share, his own seat on the hearth or porch and at +table. +</P> + +<P> +"Folks may be clever enough," he used to say. "They air clever, as a +rule—but it don't come nat'ral to be away. Thar aint nothin' like +home an' home ways." +</P> + +<P> +But he did not return that night, or even the next morning. It was +dusk the next evening before Louisiana heard the buggy wheels on the +road. +</P> + +<P> +She had been sitting on the porch and rose to greet him when he drove +up and descended from his conveyence rather stiffly. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye wasn't oneasy, was ye?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No," she answered; "only it seemed strange to know you were away." +</P> + +<P> +"I haint done it but three times since me an' Ianthy was married," he +said. "Two o' them times was Conference to Barnsville, an' one was +when Marcelly died." +</P> + +<P> +When he mounted the porch steps he looked up at her with a smile on his +weather-beaten face. +</P> + +<P> +"Was ye lonesome?" he asked. "I bet ye was." +</P> + +<P> +"A little," she replied. "Not very." +</P> + +<P> +She gave him his chair against the wooden pillar, and watched him as he +tilted back and balanced himself on its back legs. She saw something +new and disturbed in his face and manner. It was as if the bit of +outside life he had seen had left temporary traces upon him. She +wondered very much how it had impressed him and what he was thinking +about. +</P> + +<P> +And after a short time he told her. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye must be lonesome," he said, "arter stayin' down thar. It's +nat'ral. A body don't know until they see it theirselves. It's gay +thar. Lord, yes! it's gay, an' what suits young folks is to be gay." +</P> + +<P> +"Some of the people who were there did not think it was gay," Louisiana +said, a little listlessly. "They were used to gayer places and they +often called it dull, but it seemed very gay to me." +</P> + +<P> +"I shouldn't want it no gayer, myself," he returned, seriously. "Not +if I was young folks. Thar must hev bin three hundred on 'em in thet +thar dinin'-room. The names o' the vittles writ down on paper to pick +an' choose from, an' fifty or sixty waiters flyin' round. An' the +dressin'! I sot an' watched 'em as they come in. I sot an' watched +'em all day. Thar was a heap o' cur'osities in the way of dressin' I +never seen before. I went into the dancin'-room at night, too, an' sot +thar a spell an' watched 'em. They played a play. Some on 'em put +little caps an' aperns on, an' rosettes an' fixin's. They sorter +danced in it, an' they hed music while they was doin' it. It was +purty, too, if a body could hev follered it out." +</P> + +<P> +"It is a dance they call the German," said Louisiana, remembering with +a pang the first night she had seen it, as she sat at her new friend's +side. +</P> + +<P> +"German, is it?" he said, with evident satisfaction at making the +discovery. "Waal now, I ain't surprised. It hed a kinder Dutch look +to me—kinder Dutch an' furrin." +</P> + +<P> +Just then Nancy announced that his supper was ready, and he went in, +but on the threshold he stopped and spoke again: +</P> + +<P> +"Them folks as was here," he said, "they'd gone. They started the next +mornin' arter they was here. They live up North somewhars, an' they've +went thar." +</P> + +<P> +After he had gone in, Louisiana sat still for a little while. The moon +was rising and she watched it until it climbed above the tree-tops and +shone bright and clear. Then one desperate little sob broke from +her—only one, for she choked the next in its birth, and got up and +turned toward the house and the room in which the kerosene lamp burned +on the supper table. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll go an' talk to him," she said. "He likes to have me with him, +and it will be better than sitting here." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +She went in and sat near him, resting her elbows upon the table and her +chin on her hands, and tried to begin to talk. But it was not very +easy. She found that she had a tendency to fall back in long silent +pauses, in which she simply looked at him with sad, tender eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"I stopped at Casey's as I came on," he said, at last. "Thet thar was +one thing as made me late. Thar's—thar's somethin' I hed on my mind +fur him to do fur me." +</P> + +<P> +"For Casey to do?" she said. +</P> + +<P> +He poured his coffee into his saucer and answered with a heavy effort +at speaking unconcernedly. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm agoin' to hev him fix the house," he said. +</P> + +<P> +She was going to ask him what he meant to have done, but he did not +give her time. +</P> + +<P> +"Ianthy an' me," he said, "we'd useder say we'd do it sometime, an' I'm +agoin' to do it now. The rooms, now, they're low—whar they're not to +say small, they're low an'—an' old-timey. Thar aint no style to 'em. +Them rooms to the Springs, now, they've got style to 'em. An' rooms +kin be altered easy enough." +</P> + +<P> +He drank his coffee slowly, set his saucer down and went on with the +same serious air of having broached an ordinary subject. +</P> + +<P> +"Goin' to the Springs has sorter started me off," he said. "Seein' +things diff'rent does start a man off. Casey an' his men'll be here +Monday." +</P> + +<P> +"It seems so—sudden," Louisiana said. She gave a slow, wondering +glance at the old smoke-stained room. "I can hardly fancy it looking +any other way than this. It wont be the same place at all." +</P> + +<P> +He glanced around, too, with a start. His glance was hurried and +nervous. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, no," he said, "it wont, but—it'll be stylisher. It'll be kinder +onfamil'ar at first, but I dessay we shall get used to it—an' it'll be +stylisher. An' style—whar thar's young folks, thet's what's +wanted—style." +</P> + +<P> +She was so puzzled by his manner that she sat regarding him with +wonder. But he went on talking steadily about his plans until the meal +was over. He talked of them when they went back to the porch together +and sat in the moonlight. He scarcely gave her an opportunity to +speak. Once or twice the idea vaguely occurred to her that for some +reason he did not want her to talk. It was a relief to her only to be +called upon to listen, but still she was puzzled. +</P> + +<P> +"When we git fixed up," he said, "ye kin hev your friends yere. Thar's +them folks, now, as was yere the other day from the Springs—when we're +fixed up ye mought invite 'em—next summer, fur instants. Like as not +I shall be away myself an'—ye'd hev room a plenty. Ye wouldn't need +me, ye see. An', Lord! how it'd serprise 'em to come an' find ye all +fixed." +</P> + +<P> +"I should never ask them," she cried, impetuously. "And—they wouldn't +come if I did." +</P> + +<P> +"Mebbe they would," he responded, gravely, "if ye was fixed up." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't want them," she said, passionately. "Let them keep their +place. I don't want them." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't ye," he said, in his quiet voice. "Don't ye, Louisianny?" +</P> + +<P> +And he seemed to sink into a reverie and did not speak again for quite +a long time. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XI. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +A RUSTY NAIL. +</H4> + +<P> +On Monday Casey and his men came. Louisiana and her father were at +breakfast when they struck their first blow at the end of the house +which was to be renovated first. +</P> + +<P> +The old man, hearing it, started violently—so violently that he almost +upset the coffee at his elbow. +</P> + +<P> +He laughed a tremulous sort of laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, I'm narvous!" he said. "Now, jest to think o' me a-bein' +narvous!" +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose," said Louisiana, "I am nervous as well. It made me start +too. It had such a strange sound." +</P> + +<P> +"Waal, now," he answered, "come to think on it, it hed—sorter. Seems +like it wasn't sca'cely nat'ral. P'r'aps that's it." +</P> + +<P> +Neither of them ate much breakfast, and when the meal was over they +went out together to look at the workmen. They were very busy tearing +off weather-boarding and wrenching out nails. Louisiana watched them +with regretful eyes. In secret she was wishing that the low ceilings +and painted walls might remain as they were. She had known them so +long. +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid he is doing it to please me," she thought. "He does not +believe me when I say I don't want it altered. He would never have had +it done for himself." +</P> + +<P> +Her father had seated himself on a pile of plank. He was rubbing his +crossed leg as usual, but his hand trembled slightly. +</P> + +<P> +"I druv them nails in myself," he said. "Ianthy wasn't but nineteen. +She'd set yere an' watch me. It was two or three months arter we was +married. She was mighty proud on it when it was all done. Little Tom +he was born in thet thar room. The rest on 'em was born in the front +room, 'n' they all died thar. Ianthy she died thar. I'd useder think +I should——" +</P> + +<P> +He stopped and glanced suddenly at Louisiana. He pulled himself up and +smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye aint in the notion o' hevin' the cupoly," he said. "We kin hev it +as soon as not—'n' seems ter me thar's a heap o' style to 'em." +</P> + +<P> +"Anything that pleases you will please me, father," she said. +</P> + +<P> +He gave her a mild, cheerful look. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye don't take much int'russ in it yet, do ye?" he said. "But ye will +when it gits along kinder. Lord! ye'll be as impatient as Ianthy an' +me war when it gits along." +</P> + +<P> +She tried to think she would, but without very much success. She +lingered about for a while and at last went to her own room at the +other end of the house and shut herself in. +</P> + +<P> +Her trunk had been carried upstairs and set in its old place behind the +door. She opened it and began to drag out the dresses and other +adornments she had taken with her to the Springs. There was the blue +muslin. She threw it on the floor and dropped beside it, half sitting, +half kneeling. She laughed quite savagely. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought it was very nice when I made it," she said. "I wonder how +<I>she</I> would like to wear it?" She pulled out one thing after another +until the floor around her was strewn. Then she got up and left them, +and ran to the bed and threw herself into a chair beside it, hiding her +face in the pillow. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, how dull it is, and how lonely!" she said. "What shall I do? +What shall I do?" +</P> + +<P> +And while she sobbed she heard the blows upon the boards below. +</P> + +<P> +Before she went down-stairs she replaced the things she had taken from +the trunk. She packed them away neatly, and, having done it, turned +the key upon them. +</P> + +<P> +"Father," she said, at dinner, "there are some things upstairs I want +to send to Cousin Jenny. I have done with them, and I think she'd like +to have them." +</P> + +<P> +"Dresses an' things, Louisianny?" he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she answered. "I shall not need them any more. I—don't care +for them." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't—" he began, but stopped short, and, lifting his glass, +swallowed the rest of the sentence in a large glass of milk. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll tell Leander to send fer it," he said afterward. "Jenny'll be +real sot up, I reckon. Her pappy bein' so onfort'nit, she don't git +much." +</P> + +<P> +He ate scarcely more dinner than breakfast, and spent the afternoon in +wandering here and there among the workmen. Sometimes he talked to +them, and sometimes sat on his pile of plank and watched them in +silence. Once, when no one was looking, he stooped down and picked up +a rusty nail which had fallen from its place in a piece of board. +After holding it in his hand for a little he furtively thrust it into +his pocket, and seemed to experience a sense of relief after he had +done it. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye don't do nothin' toward helpin' us, Uncle Elbert," said one of the +young men. (Every youngster within ten miles knew him as "Uncle +Elbert.") "Ye aint as smart as ye was when last ye built, air ye?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, boys," he answered, "I ain't. That's so. I aint as smart, an'," +he added, rather hurriedly, "it'd sorter go agin me to holp ye at what +ye're doin' now. Not as I don't think it's time it was done, but—it'd +sorter go ag'in me." +</P> + +<P> +When Louisiana entered the house-room at dusk, she found him sitting by +the fire, his body drooping forward, his head resting listlessly on his +hand. +</P> + +<P> +"I've got a touch o' dyspepsy, Louisianny," he said, "an' the knockin' +hes kinder giv me a headache. I'll go to bed airly." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XII. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"MEBBE." +</H4> + +<P> +She had been so full of her own sharp pain and humiliation during the +first few days that perhaps she had not been so quick to see as she +would otherwise have been, but the time soon came when she awakened to +a bewildered sense of new and strange trouble. She scarcely knew when +it was that she first began to fancy that some change had taken place +in her father. It was a change she could not comprehend when she +recognized its presence. It was no alteration of his old, slow, quiet +faithfulness to her. He had never been so faithfully tender. The +first thing which awakened her thought of change was his redoubled +tenderness. She found that he watched her constantly, in a patient, +anxious way. When they were together she often discovered that he kept +his eyes fixed upon her when he thought she was not aware of his gaze. +He seemed reluctant to leave her alone, and continually managed to be +near her, and yet it grew upon her at last that the old, homely +good-fellowship between them had somehow been broken in upon, and +existed no longer. It was not that he loved her any less—she was sure +of that; but she had lost something, without knowing when or how she +had lost it, or even exactly what it was. But his anxiety to please +her grew day by day. He hurried the men who were at work upon the +house. +</P> + +<P> +"Louisianny, she'll enjoy it when it's done," he said to them. "Hurry +up, boys, an' do yer plum best." +</P> + +<P> +She had been at home about two weeks when he began to drive over to the +nearest depot every day at "train time." It was about three miles +distant, and he went over for several days in his spring wagon. At +first he said nothing of his reason for making the journey, but one +morning, as he stood at his horses' heads, he said to Louisiana, +without turning to look at her, and affecting to be very busy with some +portion of the harness: +</P> + +<P> +"I've ben expectin' of some things fer a day or so, an' they haint +come. I wasn't sure when I oughter to look fer 'em—mebbe I've ben +lookin' too soon—fer they haint come yet." +</P> + +<P> +"Where were they to come from?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"From—from New York City." +</P> + +<P> +"From New York?" she echoed, trying to show an interest. "I did not +know you sent there, father." +</P> + +<P> +"I haint never done it afore," he answered. "These yere things—mebbe +they'll come to-day, an' then ye'll see 'em." +</P> + +<P> +She asked no further questions, fancying that he had been buying some +adornments for the new rooms which were to be a surprise for her. +After he had gone away she thought a little sadly of his kindness to +her, and her unworthiness of it. At noon he came back and brought his +prize with him. +</P> + +<P> +He drove up slowly with it behind him in the wagon—a large, shining, +new trunk—quite as big and ponderous as any she had seen at the +Springs. +</P> + +<P> +He got down and came up to her as she stood on the porch. He put his +hand on her shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll hev 'em took in an' ye kin look at 'em," he said. "It's some new +things ye was a-needin'." +</P> + +<P> +She began to guess dimly at what he meant, but she followed the trunk +into the house without speaking. When they set it down she stood near +while her father fumbled for the key and found it, turned it in the +lock and threw back the lid. +</P> + +<P> +"They're some things ye was a-needin'," he said. "I hope ye'll like +'em, honey." +</P> + +<P> +She did not know what it was in his voice, or his face, or his simple +manner that moved her so, but she did not look at what he had brought +at all—she ran to him and caught his arm, dropped her face on it, and +burst into tears. +</P> + +<P> +"Father—father!" she cried. "Oh, father!" +</P> + +<P> +"Look at 'em, Louisianny," he persisted, gently, "an' see if they suit +ye. Thar aint no reason to cry, honey." +</P> + +<P> +The words checked her and made her feel uncertain and bewildered again. +She stopped crying and looked up at him, wondering if her emotion +troubled him, but he did not meet her eye, and only seemed anxious that +she should see what he had brought. +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't tell ye all I hed in my mind when I went to the Springs," he +said. "I hed a notion I'd like to see fer myself how things was. I +knowed ye'd hev an idee thet ye couldn't ask me fer the kind o' things +ye wanted, an' I knowed <I>I</I> knowed nothin' about what they was, so I +ses to myself, 'I'll go an' stay a day an' watch and find out.' An' I +went, an' I found out. Thar was a young woman thar as was dressed +purtier than any of 'em. An' she was clever an' friendly, an' I +managed it so we got a-talkin'. She hed on a dress that took my fancy. +It was mighty black an' thick—ye know it was cold after the rains—an' +when we was talkin' I asked her if she mind a-tellin' me the name of it +an' whar she'd bought it. An' she laughed some, an' said it was +velvet, an' she'd got it to some store in New York City. An' I asked +her if she'd write it down; I'd a little gal at home I wanted a dress +off'n it fer—an' then, someways, we warmed up, an' I ses to her, 'She +aint like me. If ye could see her ye'd never guess we was kin.' She +hadn't never seen ye. She come the night ye left, but when I told her +more about ye, she ses, 'I think I've heern on her. I heern she was +very pretty.' An' I told her what I'd hed in my mind, an' it seemed +like it took her fancy, an' she told me to get a paper an' pencil an' +she'd tell me what to send fer an' whar to send. An' I sent fer 'em, +an' thar they air." +</P> + +<P> +She could not tell him that they were things not fit for her to wear. +She looked at the rolls of silk and the laces and feminine extras with +a bewildered feeling. +</P> + +<P> +"They are beautiful things," she said. "I never thought of having such +things for my own." +</P> + +<P> +"Thar's no reason why ye shouldn't hev 'em," he said. "I'd oughter hev +thought of 'em afore. Do they suit ye, Louisianny?" +</P> + +<P> +"I should be very hard to please if they didn't," she answered. "They +are only too beautiful for—a girl like me." +</P> + +<P> +"They cayn't be that," he said, gravely. "I didn't see none no +handsomer than you to the Springs, Louisianny, an' I ses to the lady as +writ it all down fer me, I ses, 'What I want is fer her to hev what the +best on 'em hev. I don't want nothin' no less than what she'd like to +hev if she'd ben raised in New York or Philadelphy City. Thar aint no +reason why she shouldn't hev it. Out of eleven she's all that's left, +an' she desarves it all. She's young an' handsome, and she desarves it +all.'" +</P> + +<P> +"What did she say to that?" Louisiana asked. +</P> + +<P> +He hesitated a moment before answering. +</P> + +<P> +"She looked at me kinder queer fer a minnit," he replied at length. +"An' then she ses, 'She'd oughter be a very happy gal,' ses she, 'with +such a father,' an' I ses, 'I 'low she is—mebbe.'" +</P> + +<P> +"Only maybe?" said the girl, "only maybe, father?" +</P> + +<P> +She dropped the roll of silk she had been holding and went to him. She +put her hand on his arm again and shook it a little, laughing in the +same feverish fashion as when she had gone out to him on the porch on +the day of her return. She had suddenly flushed up, and her eyes shone +as he had seen them then. +</P> + +<P> +"Only maybe," she said. "Why should I be unhappy? There's no reason. +Look at me, with my fine house and my new things! There isn't any one +happier in the world! There is nothing left for me to wish for. I +have got too much!" +</P> + +<P> +A new mood seemed to have taken possession of her all at once. She +scarcely gave him a chance to speak. She drew him to the trunk's side, +and made him stand near while she took the things out one by one. She +exclaimed and laughed over them as she drew them forth. She held the +dress materials up to her waist and neck to see how the colors became +her; she tried on laces and sacques and furbelows and the hats which +were said to have come from Paris. +</P> + +<P> +"What will they say when they see me at meeting in them?" she said. +"Brother Horner will forget his sermons. There never were such things +in Bowersville before. I am almost afraid they will think I am putting +on airs." +</P> + +<P> +When she reached a box of long kid gloves at the bottom, she burst into +such a shrill laugh that her father was startled. There was a tone of +false exhilaration about her which was not what he had expected. +</P> + +<P> +"See!" she cried, holding one of the longest pairs up, "eighteen +buttons! And cream color! I can wear them with the cream-colored silk +and cashmere at—at a festival!" +</P> + +<P> +When she had looked at everything, the rag carpet was strewn with her +riches,—with fashionable dress materials, with rich and delicate +colors, with a hundred feminine and pretty whims. +</P> + +<P> +"How could I help but be happy?" she said. "I am like a queen. I +don't suppose queens have very much more, though we don't know much +about queens, do we?" +</P> + +<P> +She hung round her father's neck and kissed him in a fervent, excited +way. +</P> + +<P> +"You good old father!" she said, "you sweet old father!" +</P> + +<P> +He took one of her soft, supple hands and held it between both his +brown and horny ones. +</P> + +<P> +"Louisianny," he said, "I <I>'low </I>to make ye happy; ef the Lord haint +nothin' agin it, I <I>'low</I> to do it!" +</P> + +<P> +He went out after that, and left her alone to set her things to rights; +but when he had gone and closed the door, she did not touch them. She +threw herself down flat upon the floor in the midst of them, her +slender arms flung out, her eyes wide open and wild and dry. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIII. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +A NEW PLAN. +</H4> + +<P> +At last the day came when the house was finished and stood big and +freshly painted and bare in the sun. Late one afternoon in the Indian +summer, Casey and his men, having bestowed their last touches, +collected their belongings and went away, leaving it a lasting monument +to their ability. Inside, instead of the low ceilings, and painted +wooden walls, there were high rooms and plaster and modern papering; +outside, instead of the variegated piazza, was a substantial portico. +The whole had been painted a warm gray, and Casey considered his job a +neat one and was proud of it. When they were all gone Louisiana went +out into the front yard to look at it. She stood in the grass and +leaned against an apple-tree. It was near sunset, and both trees and +grass were touched with a yellow glow so deep and mellow that it was +almost a golden haze. Now that the long-continued hammering and sawing +was at an end and all traces of its accompaniments removed, the +stillness seemed intense. There was not a breath of wind stirring, or +the piping of a bird to be heard. The girl clasped her slender arms +about the tree's trunk and rested her cheek against the rough bark. +She looked up piteously. +</P> + +<P> +"I must try to get used to it," she said. "It is very much nicer—and +I must try to get used to it." +</P> + +<P> +But the strangeness of it was very hard on her at first. When she +looked at it she had a startled feeling—as if when she had expected to +see an old friend she had found herself suddenly face to face with a +stranger. +</P> + +<P> +Her father had gone to Bowersville early in the day, and she had been +expecting his return for an hour or so. She left her place by the tree +at length and went to the fence to watch for his coming down the road. +But she waited in vain so long that she got tired again and wandered +back to the house and around to the back to where a new barn and stable +had been built, painted and ornamented in accordance with the most +novel designs. There was no other such barn or stable in the country, +and their fame was already wide-spread and of an enviable nature. +</P> + +<P> +As she approached these buildings Louisiana glanced up and uttered an +exclamation. Her father was sitting upon the door-sill of the barn, +and his horse was turned loose to graze upon the grass before him. +</P> + +<P> +"Father," the girl cried, "I have been waiting for you. I thought you +had not come." +</P> + +<P> +"I've been yere a right smart while, Louisianny," he answered. "Ye +wasn't 'round when I come, an' so ye didn't see me, I reckon." +</P> + +<P> +He was pale, and spoke at first heavily and as if with an effort, but +almost instantly he brightened. +</P> + +<P> +"I've jest ben a-settin' yere a-steddyin'," he said. "A man wants to +see it a few times an' take it sorter gradual afore he kin do it +jestice. A-lookin' at it from yere, now," with a wide sweep of his +hand toward the improvements, "ye kin see how much style thar is to it. +Seems to me thet the—the mountains now, they look better. It—waal it +kinder sets 'em off—it kinder sets 'em off." +</P> + +<P> +"It is very much prettier," she answered. +</P> + +<P> +"Lord, yes! Thar aint no comparison. I was jest a-settin' thinkin' +thet anyone thet'd seed it as it was afore they'd not know it. Ianthy, +fer instants—Ianthy she wouldn't sca'cely know it was home—thar's so +much style to it." +</P> + +<P> +He suddenly stopped and rested against the door-lintel. He was pale +again, though he kept up a stout air of good cheer. +</P> + +<P> +"Lord!" he said, after a little pause, "it's a heap stylisher!" +</P> + +<P> +Presently he bent down and picked up a twig which lay on the ground at +his feet. He began to strip the leaves from it with careful slowness, +and he kept his eyes fixed on it as he went on talking. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye'll never guess who I've ben a-talkin' to to-day, an' what I've ben +talkin' to 'em about." +</P> + +<P> +She put her hand on his knee caressingly. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me, father," she said. +</P> + +<P> +He laughed a jerky, high-pitched laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"I've ben talkin' to Jedge Powers," he said. "He's up yere from +Howelsville, a-runnin' fer senator. He's sot his mind on makin' it, +too, an' he was a-tellin' me what his principles was. He—he's got a +heap o' principles. An' he told me his wife an' family was a-goin' to +Europe. He was mighty sosherble—an' he said they was a-goin' to +Europe." +</P> + +<P> +He had stripped the last leaf from the twig and had begun upon the +bark. Just at this juncture it slipped from his hand and fell on the +ground. He bent down again to pick it up. +</P> + +<P> +"Louisianny," he said, "how—would ye like to go to Europe?" +</P> + +<P> +She started back amazed, but she could not catch even a glimpse of his +face, he was so busy with the twig. +</P> + +<P> +"I go to Europe—I!" she said. "I don't—I never thought of it. It is +not people like us who go to Europe, father." +</P> + +<P> +"Louisianny," he said, hurriedly, "what's agin it? Thar aint +nothin'—nothin'! It come in my mind when Powers was a-tellin' me. I +ses to myself, 'Why, here's the very thing fer Louisianny! Travel an' +furrin langwidges an' new ways o' doin'. It's what she'd oughter hed +long ago.' An' Powers he went on a-talkin' right while I was +a-steddyin, an' he ses: 'Whar's that pretty darter o' yourn thet we was +so took with when we passed through Hamilton last summer? Why,' ses +he,—he ses it hisself, Louisianny,—'why don't ye send her to Europe? +Let her go with my wife. She'll take care of her.' An' I stopped him +right thar. 'Do ye mean it, Jedge?' I ses. 'Yes,' ses he. 'Why not? +My wife an' daughter hev talked about her many a time, an' said how +they'd like to see her agin. Send her,' ses he. 'You're a rich man, +an' ye kin afford it, Squire, if ye will.' An' I ses, 'So I kin ef +she'd like to go, an' what's more, I'm a-goin' to ask her ef she +would—fer thar aint nothin' agin it—nothin'.'" +</P> + +<P> +He paused for a moment and turned to look at her. +</P> + +<P> +"Thet's what I was steddyin' about mostly, Louisianny," he said, "when +I set yere afore ye come." +</P> + +<P> +She had been sitting beside him, and she sprang to her feet and stood +before him. +</P> + +<P> +"Father," she cried, "are you tired of me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Tired of ye, Louisianny?" he repeated. "Tired of ye?" +</P> + +<P> +She flung out her hand with a wild gesture and burst into tears. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you tired of me?" she said again. "Don't you love me any more? +Don't you want me as you used to? Could you do without me for months +and months and know I was far away and couldn't come to you? No, you +couldn't. You couldn't. I know that, though something—I don't know +what—has come between us, and I feel it every minute, and most when +you are kindest. Is there nothing in the way of my going +away—nothing? Think again." +</P> + +<P> +"Louisianny," he answered, "I cayn't think of nothin'—thet's +partic'lar." +</P> + +<P> +She slipped down on her knee and threw herself on his breast, clinging +to him with all her young strength. +</P> + +<P> +"Are <I>you</I> nothing?" she cried. "Is all your love nothing? Are all +your beautiful, good thoughts for my happiness 'nothing'? Is your +loneliness nothing? Shall I leave you here to live by yourself in the +new home which is strange to you—after you have given up the old one +you knew and loved for me? Oh! what has made you think I have no +heart, and no soul, and nothing to be grateful with? Have I ever been +bad and cruel and hard to you that you can think it?" +</P> + +<P> +She poured forth her love and grief and tender reproach on his breast +with such innocent fervor that he could scarcely bear it. His eyes +were wet too, and his furrowed, sunburnt cheeks, and his breath came +short and fast while he held her close in his arms. +</P> + +<P> +"Honey," he said, just as he had often spoken to her when she had been +a little child, "Louisianny, honey, no! No, never! I never hed a +thought agin ye, not in my bottermost heart. Did ye think it? Lord, +no! Thar aint nothin' ye've never done in yer life that was meant to +hurt or go agin me. Ye never did go agin me. Ye aint like me, honey; +ye're kinder finer. Ye was borned so. I seed it when ye was in yer +cradle. I've said it to Ianthy (an' sence ye're growed up I've said it +more). Thar's things ye'd oughter hev thet's diff'rent from what most +of us wants—it's through you a-bein' so much finer. Ye mustn't be so +tender-hearted, honey, ye mustn't." +</P> + +<P> +She clung more closely to him and cried afresh, though more softly. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing shall take me away from you," she said, "ever again. I went +away once, and it would have been better if I had stayed at home. The +people did not want me. They meant to be good to me, and they liked +me, but—they hurt me without knowing it, and it would have been better +if I had stayed here. <I>You</I> don't make me feel ashamed, and sad, and +bitter. <I>You</I> love me just as I am, and you would love me if I knew +even less, and was more simple. Let me stay with you! Let us stay +together always—always—always!" +</P> + +<P> +He let her cry her fill, holding her pretty head tenderly and soothing +her as best he could. Somehow he looked a little brighter himself, and +not quite so pale as he had done when she found him sitting alone +trying to do the new house "jestice." +</P> + +<P> +When at length they went in to supper it was almost dusk, and he had +his arm still around her. He did not let her go until they sat down at +the table, and then she brought her chair quite close to his, and while +he ate looked at him often with her soft, wet eyes. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIV. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +CONFESSIONS. +</H4> + +<P> +They had a long, quiet evening together afterward. They sat before the +fire, and Louisiana drew her low seat near him so that she could rest +her head upon his knee. +</P> + +<P> +"It's almost like old times," she said. "Let us pretend I never went +away and that everything is as it used to be." +</P> + +<P> +"Would ye like it to be thataway, Louisianny?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +She was going to say "Yes," but she remembered the changes he had made +to please her, and she turned her face and kissed the hand her cheek +rested against. +</P> + +<P> +"You mustn't fancy I don't think the new house is beautiful," she said. +"It isn't that I mean. What I would like to bring back is—is the +feeling I used to have. That is all—nothing but the old feeling. And +people can't always have the same feelings, can they? Things change so +as we get older." +</P> + +<P> +He looked at the crackling fire very hard for a minute. +</P> + +<P> +"Thet's so," he said. "Thet's so. Things changes in gin'ral, an' +feelin's, now, they're cur'us. Thar's things as kin be altered an' +things as cayn't—an' feelin's they cayn't. They're cur'us. Ef ye +hurt 'em, now, thar's money; it aint nowhar—it don't do no good. Thar +aint nothin' ye kin buy as 'll set 'em straight. Ef—fer +instants—money could buy back them feelin's of yourn—them as ye'd +like to hev back—how ready an' willin' I'd be to trade fer' em! Lord! +how ready an' willin'! But it wont do it. Thar's whar it is. When +they're gone a body hez to larn to git along without 'em." +</P> + +<P> +And they sat silent again for some time, listening to the snapping of +the dry wood burning in the great fire-place. +</P> + +<P> +When they spoke next it was of a different subject. +</P> + +<P> +"Ef ye aint a-goin' to Europe—" the old man began. +</P> + +<P> +"And I'm not, father," Louisiana put in. +</P> + +<P> +"Ef ye aint, we must set to work fixin' up right away. This mornin' I +was a-layin' out to myself to let it stay tell ye come back an' then +hev it all ready fer ye—cheers an' tables—an' sophias—an' +merrors—an'—ile paintin's. I laid out to do it slow, Louisianny, and +take time, an' steddy a heap, an' to take advice from them es knows, +afore I traded ary time. I 'lowed it'd be a heap better to take advice +from them es knowed. Brown, es owns the Springs, I 'lowed to hev asked +him, now,—he's used to furnishin' up an' knows whar to trade an' what +to trade fer. The paintin's, now—I've heern it takes a heap o' +experience to pick 'em, an' I aint hed no experience. I 'low I +shouldn't know a good un when I seen it, Now, them picters as was in +the parlor—ye know more than I do, I dessay,—now, them picters," he +said, a little uncertainly, "was they to say good, or—or only about +middlin'?" +</P> + +<P> +She hesitated a second. +</P> + +<P> +"Mother was fond of them," she broke out, in a burst of simple feeling. +</P> + +<P> +Remembering how she had stood before the simpering, red-cheeked faces +and hated them; how she had burned with shame before them, she was +stricken with a bitter pang of remorse. +</P> + +<P> +"Mother was fond of them," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Thet's so," he answered, simply. "Thet's so, she was; an' you a-bein' +so soft-hearted an' tender makes it sorter go agin ye to give in as +they wasn't—what she took 'em fer. But ye see, thet—though it's +nat'ral—it's nat'ral—don't make 'em good or bad, Louisianny, an' +Lord! it don't harm <I>her</I>. 'Taint what folks knows or what they don't +know thet makes the good in 'em. Ianthy she warn't to say 'complished, +but I don't see how she could hev ben no better than she was—nor more +calculated to wear well—in the p'int o' religion. Not hevin' +experience in ile paintin's aint what'd hurt her, nor make us think no +less of her. It wouldn't hev hurt her when she was livin', an' Lord! +she's past it now—she's past it, Ianthy is." +</P> + +<P> +He talked a good deal about his plans and of the things he meant to +buy. He was quite eager in his questioning of her and showed such +lavishness as went to her heart. +</P> + +<P> +"I want to leave ye well fixed," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Leave me?" she echoed. +</P> + +<P> +He made a hurried effort to soften the words. +</P> + +<P> +"I'd oughtn't to said it," he said. "It was kinder keerless. Thet +thar—it's a long way off—mebbe—an' I'd oughtn't to hev said it. +It's a way old folks hev—but it's a bad way. Things git to seem +sorter near to 'em—an' ordinary." +</P> + +<P> +The whole day had been to Louisiana a slow approach to a climax. +Sometimes when her father talked she could scarcely bear to look at his +face as the firelight shone on it. +</P> + +<P> +So, when she had bidden him good-night at last and walked to the door +leaving him standing upon the hearth watching her as she moved away, +she turned round suddenly and faced him again, with her hand upon the +latch. +</P> + +<P> +"Father," she cried, "I want to tell you—I want to tell you——" +</P> + +<P> +"What?" he said. "What, Louisianny?" +</P> + +<P> +She put her hand to her side and leaned against the door—a slender, +piteous figure. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't look at me kindly," she said. "I don't deserve it. I deserve +nothing. I have been ashamed——" +</P> + +<P> +He stopped her, putting up his shaking hand and turning pale. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't say nothin' as ye'll be sorry fer when ye feel better, +Louisianny," he said. "Don't git carried away by yer feelin's into +sayin' nothin' es is hard on yerself. Don't ye do it, Louisianny. +Thar aint no need fer it, honey. Yer kinder wrought up, now, an' ye +cayn't do yerself jestice." +</P> + +<P> +But she would not be restrained. +</P> + +<P> +"I <I>must</I> tell you," she said. "It has been on my heart too long. I +ought never to have gone away. Everybody was different from us—and +had new ways. I think they laughed at me, and it made me bad. I began +to ponder over things until at last I hated myself and everything, and +was ashamed that I had been content. When I told you I wanted to play +a joke on the people who came here, it was not true. I wanted them to +go away without knowing that this was my home. It was only a queer +place, to be laughed at, to them, and I was ashamed of it, and bitter +and angry. When they went into the parlor they laughed at it and at +the pictures, and everything in it, and I stood by with my cheeks +burning. When I saw a strange woman in the kitchen it flashed into my +mind that I had no need to tell them that all these things that they +laughed at had been round me all my life. They were not sneering at +them—it was worse than that—they were only interested and amused and +curious, and were not afraid to let me see. The—gentleman had been +led by his sister to think I came from some city. He thought I +was—was pretty and educated,—his equal, and I knew how amazed he +would be and how he would say he could not believe that I had lived +here, and wonder at me and talk me over. And I could not bear it. I +only wanted him to go away without knowing, and never, never see me +again!" +</P> + +<P> +Remembering the pain and fever and humiliation of the past, and of that +dreadful day above all, she burst into sobbing. +</P> + +<P> +"You did not think I was that bad, did you?" she said. "But I was! I +was!" +</P> + +<P> +"Louisianny," he said, huskily, "come yere. Thar aint no need fer ye +to blame yerself thataway. Yer kinder wrought up." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be kind to me!" she said. "Don't! I want to tell you +all—every word! I was so bad and proud and angry that I meant to +carry it out to the end, and tried to—only I was not quite bad enough +for one thing, father—I was not bad enough to be ashamed of <I>you</I>, or +to bear to sit by and see them cast a slight upon you. They didn't +mean it for a slight—it was only their clever way of looking at +things—but <I>I</I> loved you. You were all I had left, and I knew you +were better than they were a thousand times! Did they think I would +give your warm, good heart—your kind, faithful heart—for all they had +learned, or for all they could ever learn? It killed me to see and +hear them! And it seemed as if I was on fire. And I told them the +truth—that you were <I>my</I> father and that I loved you and was proud of +you—that I might be ashamed of myself and all the rest, but not of +you—never of you—for I wasn't worthy to kiss your feet!" +</P> + +<P> +For one moment her father watched her, his lips parted and trembling. +It seemed as if he meant to try to speak, but could not. Then his eyes +fell with an humble, bewildered, questioning glance upon his feet, +encased in their large, substantial brogans—the feet she had said she +was not worthy to kiss. What he saw in them to touch him so it would +be hard to tell—for he broke down utterly, put out his hand, groping +to feel for his chair, fell into it with head bowed on his arm, and +burst into sobbing too. +</P> + +<P> +She left her self-imposed exile in an instant, ran to him, and knelt +down to lean against him. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" she cried, "have I broken your heart? Have I broken your heart? +Will God ever forgive me? I don't ask you to forgive me, father, for I +don't deserve it." +</P> + +<P> +At first he could not speak, but he put his arm round her and drew her +head up to his breast—and, with all the love and tenderness he had +lavished upon her all her life, she had never known such love and +tenderness as he expressed in this one movement. +</P> + +<P> +"Louisianny," he said, brokenly, when he had found his voice, "it's you +as should be a-forgivin' me." +</P> + +<P> +"I!" she exclaimed. +</P> + +<P> +He held her in his trembling arm so close that she felt his heart +quivering. +</P> + +<P> +"To think," he almost whispered, "as I should not hev ben doin' ye +jestice! To think as I didn't know ye well enough to do ye jestice! +To think yer own father, thet's knowed ye all yer life, could hev give +in to its bein' likely as ye wasn't—what he'd allers thought, an' what +yer mother 'd thought, an' what ye was, honey." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't——" she began falteringly. +</P> + +<P> +"It's me as oughter be a-standin' agin the door," he said. "It's me! +I knowed every word of the first part of what ye've told me, +Louisianny. I've been so sot on ye thet I've got into a kinder +noticin' way with ye, an' I guessed it out. I seen it in yer face when +ye stood thar tryin' to laugh on the porch while them people was +a-waitin'. 'Twa'n't no nat'ral gal's laugh ye laughed, and when ye +thought I wasn't a-noticin' I was a-noticin' an' a-thinkin' all the +time. But I seen more than was thar, honey, an' I didn't do ye +jestice—an' I've ben punished fer it. It come agin me like a +slungshot. I ses to myself, 'She's ashamed o' <I>me</I>! It's <I>me</I> she's +ashamed of—an' she wants to pass me off fer a stranger!'" +</P> + +<P> +The girl drew off from him a little and looked up into his face +wonderingly. +</P> + +<P> +"You thought that!" she said. "And never told me—and humored me, +and——" +</P> + +<P> +"I'd oughter knowed ye better," he said; "but I've suffered fer it, +Louisianny. I ses to myself, 'All the years thet we've ben sot on each +other an' nussed each other through our little sick spells, an' keered +fer each other, lies gone fer nothin'. She wants to pass me off fer a +stranger.' Not that I blamed ye, honey. Lord! I knowed the +difference betwixt us! <I>I</I>'d knowed it long afore you did. But +somehow it warn't eggsakly what I looked fer an' it was kinder hard on +me right at the start. An' then the folks went away an' ye didn't go +with 'em, an' thar was somethin' workin' on ye as I knowed ye wasn't +ready to tell me about. An' I sot an' steddied it over an' watched ye, +an' I prayed some, an' I laid wake nights a-steddyin'. An' I made up +my mind thet es I'd ben the cause o' trouble to ye I'd oughter try an' +sorter balance the thing. I allers 'lowed parents hed a duty to their +child'en. An' I ses, 'Thar's some things thet kin be altered an' some +thet cayn't. Let's alter them es kin!'" +</P> + +<P> +She remembered the words well, and now she saw clearly the dreadful +pain they had expressed; they cut her to her soul. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! father," she cried. "How could you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'd oughter knowed ye better, Louisianny," he repeated. "But I +didn't. I ses, 'What money an' steddyin' an' watchin'll do fer her to +make up, shell be done. I'll try to make up fer the wrong I've did her +onwillin'ly—onwillin'ly.' An' I went to the Springs an' I watched an' +steddied thar, an' I come home an' I watched an' steddied thar—an' I +hed the house fixed, an' I laid out to let ye go to Europe—though what +I'd heern o' the habits o' the people, an' the brigands an' sich, went +powerful agin me makin' up my mind easy. An' I never lost sight nary +minnit o' what I'd laid out fer to do—but I wasn't doin' ye jestice +an' didn't suffer no more than I'd oughter. An' when ye stood up thar +agen the door, honey, with yer tears a-streamin' an' yer eyes +a-shinin', an' told me what ye'd felt an' what ye'd said about—wa'l," +(delicately) "about thet thar as ye thought ye wasn't worthy to do, it +set my blood a-tremblin' in my veins—an' my heart a-shakin' in my +side, an' me a-goin' all over—an' I was struck all of a heap, an' +knowed thet the Lord hed ben better to me than I thought, an'—an' even +when I was fondest on ye, an' proudest on ye, I hadn't done ye no sort +o' jestice in the world—an' never could!" +</P> + +<P> +There was no danger of their misunderstanding each other again. When +they were calmer they talked their trouble over simply and confidingly, +holding nothing back. +</P> + +<P> +"When ye told me, Louisianny," said her father, "that ye wanted nothin' +but me, it kinder went agin me more than all the rest, fer I thinks, +ses I to myself, 'It aint true, an' she must be a-gettin' sorter +hardened to it, or she'd never said it.' I seemed like it was kinder +onnecessary. Lord! the onjestice I was a-doin' ye!" +</P> + +<P> +They bade each other good-night again, at last. +</P> + +<P> +"Fer ye're a-lookin' pale," he said. "An' I've been kinder out o' +sorts myself these last two or three weeks. My dyspepsy's bin back on +me agin an' thet thar pain in my side's bin a-workin' on me. We must +take keer o' ourselves, bein' es thar's on'y us two, an' we're so sot +on each other." +</P> + +<P> +He went to the door with her and said his last words to her there. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm glad it come to-night," he said, in a grateful tone. "Lord! how +glad I am it come to-night! S'posin' somethin' hed happened to ary one +of us an' the other hed ben left not a-knowin' how it was. I'm glad it +didn't last no longer, Louisianny." +</P> + +<P> +And so they parted for the night. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XV. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"IANTHY!" +</H4> + +<P> +It was later than usual when Louisiana awakened in the morning. She +awakened suddenly and found herself listening to the singing of a bird +on the tree near her window. Its singing was so loud and shrill that +it overpowered her and aroused her to a consciousness of fatigue and +exhaustion. +</P> + +<P> +It seemed to her at first that no one was stirring in the house below, +but after a few minutes she heard some one talking in her father's +room—talking rapidly in monotonous tone. +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder who it is," she said, and lay back upon her pillow, feeling +tired out and bewildered between the bird's shrill song and the strange +voice. +</P> + +<P> +And then she heard heavy feet on the stairs and listened to them +nervously until they reached her door and the door was pushed open +unceremoniously. +</P> + +<P> +The negro woman Nancy thrust her head into the room. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Louisianny, honey," she said. "Ye aint up yet?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"Ye'd better <I>git</I> up, honey—an' come down stairs." +</P> + +<P> +But the girl made no movement. +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" she asked, listlessly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yer pappy, honey—he's sorter cur'us. He don't seem to be right well. +He didn't seem to be quite at hisself when I went to light his fire. +He——" +</P> + +<P> +Louisiana sat upright in bed, her great coil of black hair tumbling +over one shoulder and making her look even paler than she was. +</P> + +<P> +"Father!" she said. "He was quite well late last night. It was after +midnight when we went to bed, and he was well then." +</P> + +<P> +The woman began to fumble uneasily at the latch. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't ye git skeered, chile," she said. "Mebbe 'taint nothin'—but +seemed to me like—like he didn't know me." +</P> + +<P> +Louisiana was out of bed, standing upon the floor and dressing +hurriedly. +</P> + +<P> +"He was well last night," she said, piteously. "Only a few hours ago. +He was well and talked to me and——" +</P> + +<P> +She stopped suddenly to listen to the voice down-stairs—a new and +terrible thought flashing upon her. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is with him?" she asked. "Who is talking to him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Thar aint no one with him," was the answer. "He's by hisself, honey." +</P> + +<P> +Louisiana was buttoning her wrapper at the throat. Such a tremor fell +upon her that she could not finish what she was doing. She left the +button unfastened and pushed past Nancy and ran swiftly down the +stairs, the woman following her. +</P> + +<P> +The door of her father's room stood open and the fire Nancy had lighted +burned and crackled merrily. Mr. Rogers was lying high upon his +pillow, watching the blaze. His face was flushed and he had one hand +upon his chest. He turned his eyes slowly upon Louisiana as she +entered and for a second or so regarded her wonderingly. Then a change +came upon him, his face lighted up—it seemed as if he saw all at once +who had come to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Ianthy!" he said. "I didn't sca'cely know ye! Ye've bin gone so +long! Whar hev ye bin?" +</P> + +<P> +But even then she could not realize the truth. It was so short a time +since he had bidden her good-night and kissed her at the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Father!" she cried. "It is Louisiana! Father, look at me!" +</P> + +<P> +But he was looking at her, and yet he only smiled again. +</P> + +<P> +"It's bin such a long time, Ianthy," he said. "Sometimes I've thought +ye wouldn't never come back at all." +</P> + +<P> +And when she fell upon her knees at the bedside, with a desolate cry of +terror and anguish, he did not seem to hear it at all, but lay fondling +her bent head and smiling still, and saying happily: +</P> + +<P> +"Lord! I <I>am</I> glad to see ye!" +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +When the doctor came—he was a mountaineer like the rest of them, a +rough good-natured fellow who had "read a course" with somebody and +"'tended lectures in Cincinnatty"—he could tell her easily enough what +the trouble was. +</P> + +<P> +"Pneumony," he said. "And pretty bad at that. He haint hed no health +fer a right smart while. He haint never got over thet spell he hed +last winter. This yere change in the weather's what's done it. He was +a-complainin' to me the other day about thet thar old pain in his +chist. Things hes bin kinder 'cumylatin' on him." +</P> + +<P> +"He does not know me!" said Louisiana. "He is very ill—he is very +ill!" +</P> + +<P> +Doctor Hankins looked at his patient for a moment, dubiously. +</P> + +<P> +"Wa-al, thet's so," he said, at length. "He's purty bad off—purty +bad!" +</P> + +<P> +By night the house was full of visitors and volunteer nurses. The fact +that "Uncle Elbert Rogers was down with pneumony, an' Louisianny thar +without a soul anigh her" was enough to rouse sympathy and curiosity. +Aunt 'Mandy, Aunt Ca'line and Aunt 'Nervy came up one after the other. +</P> + +<P> +"Louisianny now, she aint nothin' but a young thing, an' don't know +nothin'," they said. "An' Elbert bein' sich nigh kin, it'd look +powerful bad if we didn't go." +</P> + +<P> +They came in wagons or ricketty buggies and brought their favorite +medicines and liniments with them in slab-sided, enamel-cloth valises. +They took the patient under their charge, applied their nostrums and +when they were not busy seemed to enjoy talking his symptoms over in +low tones. They were very good to Louisiana, relieving her of every +responsibility in spite of herself, and shaking their heads at each +other pityingly when her back was turned. +</P> + +<P> +"She never give him no trouble," they said. "She's got thet to hold +to. An' they was powerful sot on her, both him an' Ianthy. I've heern +'em say she allus was kinder tender an' easy to manage." +</P> + +<P> +Their husbands came to "sit up" with them at night, and sat by the fire +talking about their crops and the elections, and expectorating with +regularity into the ashes. They tried to persuade Louisiana to go to +bed, but she would not go. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me sit by him, if there is nothing else I can do," she said. "If +he should come to himself for a minute he would know me if I was near +him." +</P> + +<P> +In his delirium he seemed to have gone back to a time before her +existence—the time when he was a young man and there was no one in the +new house he had built, but himself and "Ianthy." Sometimes he fancied +himself sitting by the fire on a winter's night and congratulating +himself upon being there. +</P> + +<P> +"Jest to think," he would say in a quiet, speculative voice, "that two +year ago I didn't know ye—an' thar ye air, a-sittin' sewin', and the +fire a-cracklin', an' the house all fixed. This yere's what I call +solid comfort, Ianthy—jest solid comfort!" +</P> + +<P> +Once he wakened suddenly from a sleep and finding Louisiana bending +over him, drew her face down and kissed her. +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't know ye was so nigh, Ianthy," he whispered. "Lord! jest to +think yer allers nigh an' thar cayn't nothin' separate us." +</P> + +<P> +The desolateness of so living a life outside his, was so terrible to +the poor child who loved him, that at times she could not bear to +remain in the room, but would go out into the yard and ramble about +aimless and heart-broken, looking back now and then at the new, strange +house, with a wild pang. +</P> + +<P> +"There will be nothing left if he leaves me," she said. "There will be +nothing." +</P> + +<P> +And then she would hurry back, panting, and sit by him again, her eyes +fastened upon his unconscious face, watching its every shade of +expression and change. +</P> + +<P> +"She'll take it mighty hard," she heard Aunt Ca'line whisper one day, +"ef——" +</P> + +<P> +And she put her hands to her ears and buried her face in the pillow, +that she might not hear the rest. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVI. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"DON'T DO NO ONE A ONJESTICE." +</H4> + +<P> +He was not ill very long. Toward the end of the second week the house +was always full of visitors who came to sympathize and inquire and +prescribe, and who, in many cases, came from their farms miles away +attracted by the news that "Uncle Elbert Rogers" was "mighty bad off." +They came on horseback and in wagons or buggies—men in homespun, and +women in sun-bonnets—and they hitched their horses at the fence and +came into the house with an awkwardly subdued air, and stood in silence +by the sick bed for a few minutes, and then rambled towards the hearth +and talked in spectral whispers. +</P> + +<P> +"The old man's purty low," they always said, "he's purty low." And +then they added among themselves that he had "allers bin mighty clever, +an' a good neighbor." +</P> + +<P> +When she heard them speak of him in this manner, Louisiana knew what it +meant. She never left the room again after the first day that they +spoke so, and came in bodies to look at him, and turn away and say that +he had been good to them. The men never spoke to her after their first +nod of greeting, and the women but rarely, but they often glanced +hurriedly askance at her as she sat or stood by the sick man's pillow. +Somehow none of them had felt as if they were on very familiar terms +with her, though they all spoke in a friendly way of her as being "a +mighty purty, still, kind o' a harmless young critter." They thought, +when they saw her pallor and the anguish in her eyes, that she was +"takin' it powerful hard, an' no wonder," but they knew nothing of her +desperate loneliness and terror. +</P> + +<P> +"Uncle Elbert he'll leave a plenty," they said in undertones. "She'll +be well pervided fer, will Louisianny." +</P> + +<P> +And they watched over their charge and nursed him faithfully, feeling +not a little sad themselves as they remembered his simple good nature +and neighborliness and the kindly prayers for which he had been noted +in "meetin'." +</P> + +<P> +On the last day of the second week the doctor held a consultation with +Aunt 'Nervy and Aunt Ca'line on the front porch before he went away, +and when they re-entered the room they spoke in whispers even lower +than before and moved about stealthily. The doctor himself rode away +slowly and stopped at a house or so on the wayside, where he had no +patients, to tell the inhabitants what he had told the head nurses. +</P> + +<P> +"We couldn't hev expected him to stay allers," he said, "but we'll miss +him mightily. He haint a enemy in the county—nary one!" +</P> + +<P> +That afternoon when the sun was setting, the sick man wakened from a +long, deep sleep. The first thing he saw was the bright pale-yellow of +a tree out in the yard, which had changed color since he had seen it +last. It was a golden tree now as it stood in the sun, its leaves +rustling in a faint, chill wind. The next thing, he knew that there +were people in the room who sat silent and all looked at him with +kindly, even reverent, eyes. Then he turned a little and saw his +child, who bent towards him with dilated eyes and trembling, parted +lips. A strange, vague memory of weary pain and dragging, uncertain +days and nights came to him and he knew, and yet felt no fear. +</P> + +<P> +"Louisianny!" he said. +</P> + +<P> +He could only speak in a whisper and tremulously. Those who sat about +him hushed their very breath. +</P> + +<P> +"Lay yer head—on the piller—nigh me," he said. +</P> + +<P> +She laid it down and put her hand in his. The great tears were +streaming down her face, but she said not a word. +</P> + +<P> +"I haint got long—honey," he faltered. "The Lord—He'll keer—fer ye." +</P> + +<P> +Then for a few minutes he lay breathing faintly, but with his eyes open +and smiling as they rested on the golden foliage of the tree. +</P> + +<P> +"How yaller—it is!" he whispered. "Like gold. Ianthy was +powerful—sot on it. It—kinder beckons." +</P> + +<P> +It seemed as if he could not move his eyes from it, and the pause that +followed was so long that Louisiana could bear it no longer, and she +lifted her head and kissed him. +</P> + +<P> +"Father!" she cried. "Say something to <I>me</I>! Say something to <I>me</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +It drew him back and he looked up into her eyes as she bent over him. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye'll be happy—" he said, "afore long. I kinder—know. Lord! how +I've—loved ye, honey—an' ye've desarved it—all. Don't ye—do no +one—a onjestice." +</P> + +<P> +And then as she dropped her white face upon the pillow again he saw her +no longer—nor the people, nor the room, but lay quite still with +parted lips and eyes wide open, smiling still at the golden tree waving +and beckoning in the wind. +</P> + +<P> +This he saw last of all, and seemed still to see even when some one +came silently, though with tears, and laid a hand upon his eyes. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVII. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +A LEAF. +</H4> + +<P> +There was a sunny old grave-yard half a mile from the town, where the +people of Bowersville laid their dead under the long grass and tangle +of wild-creeping vines, and the whole country-side gathered there when +they lowered the old man into his place at his wife's side. His +neighbors sang his funeral hymn and performed the last offices for him +with kindly hands, and when they turned away and left him there was not +a man or woman of them who did not feel that they had lost a friend. +</P> + +<P> +They were very good to Louisiana. Aunt 'Nervy and Aunt Ca'line +deserted their families that they might stay with her until all was +over, doing their best to give her comfort. It was Aunt 'Nervy who +first thought of sending for the girl cousin to whom the trunkful of +clothes had been given. +</P> + +<P> +"Le's send for Leander's Jenny, Ca'line," she said. "Mebbe it'd help +her some to hev a gal nigh her. Gals kinder onderstands each other, +an' Jenny was allus powerful fond o' Lowizyanny." +</P> + +<P> +So Jenny was sent for and came. From her lowly position as one of the +fifteen in an "onfort'nit" family she had adored and looked up to +Louisiana all her life. All the brightest days in her experience had +been spent at Uncle Elbert's with her favorite cousin. But there was +no brightness about the house now. When she arrived and was sent +upstairs to the pretty new room Louisiana occupied she found the girl +lying upon the bed. She looked white and slender in her black dress; +her hands were folded palm to palm under her check, and her eyes were +wide open. +</P> + +<P> +Jenny ran to her and knelt at her side. She kissed her and began to +cry. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" she sobbed, "somehow I didn't ever think I should come here and +not find Uncle Elbert. It don't seem right—it makes it like a strange +place." +</P> + +<P> +Then Louisiana broke into sobs, too. +</P> + +<P> +"It is a strange place!" she cried—"a strange place—a strange place! +Oh, if one old room was left—just one that I could go into and not +feel so lonely!" +</P> + +<P> +But she had no sooner said it than she checked herself. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I oughtn't to say that!" she cried. "I wont say it. He did it +all for <I>me</I>, and I didn't deserve it." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you did," said Jenny, fondling her. "He was always saying what a +good child you had been—and that you had never given him any trouble." +</P> + +<P> +"That was because he was so good," said Louisiana. "No one else in the +whole world was so good. And now he is gone, and I can never make him +know how grateful I was and how I loved him." +</P> + +<P> +"He did know," said Jenny. +</P> + +<P> +"No," returned Louisiana. "It would have taken a long, long life to +make him know all I felt, and now when I look back it seems as if we +had been together such a little while. Oh! I thought the last night +we talked that there was a long life before us—that I should be old +before he left me, and we should have had all those years together." +</P> + +<P> +After the return from the grave-yard there was a prolonged discussion +held among the heads of the different branches of the family. They +gathered at one end of the back porch and talked of Louisiana, who sat +before the log fire in her room upstairs. +</P> + +<P> +"She aint in the notion o' leavin' the place," said Aunt 'Nervy. "She +cried powerful when I mentioned it to her, an' wouldn't hear to it. +She says over an' over ag'in 'Let me stay in the home he made for me, +Aunt Ca'line.' I reckon she's a kind o' notion Elbert 'lowed fur her +to be yere when he was gone." +</P> + +<P> +"Wa-al now," said Uncle Leander, "I reckon he did. He talked a heap on +it when he was in a talkin' way. He's said to me 'I want things to be +jest as she'd enjoy 'em most—when she's sorter lonesome, es she will +be, mebbe.' Seemed like he hed it in his mind es he warnt long fur +this world. Don't let us cross her in nothin'. <I>He</I> never did. He +was powerful tender on her, was Elbert." +</P> + +<P> +"I seed Marthy Lureny Nance this mornin'," put in Aunt Ca'line, "an' I +told her to come up an' kinder overlook things. She haint with no one +now, an' I dessay she'd like to stay an' keep house." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't see nothin' ag'in it," commented Uncle Steve, "if Louisianny +don't. She's a settled woman, an's bin married, an' haint no family to +pester her sence Nance is dead." +</P> + +<P> +"She was allers the through-goin' kind," said Aunt 'Nervy. "Things 'll +be well looked to—an' she thought a heap o' Elbert. They was raised +together." +</P> + +<P> +"S'pos'n ye was to go in an' speak to Louisianny," suggested Uncle +Steve. +</P> + +<P> +Louisiana, being spoken to, was very tractable. She was willing to do +anything asked of her but go away. +</P> + +<P> +"I should be very glad to have Mrs. Nance here, Aunt Minerva," she +said. "She was always very kind, and father liked her. It won't be +like having a strange face near me. Please tell her I want her to come +and that I hope she will try to feel as if she was at home." +</P> + +<P> +So Marthy Lureny Nance came, and was formally installed in her +position. She was a tall, strongly-built woman, with blue eyes, black +hair, and thick black eyebrows. She wore, when she arrived, her best +alpaca gown and a starched and frilled blue sun-bonnet. When she +presented herself to Louisiana she sat down before her, removed this +sun-bonnet with a scientific flap and hung it on the back of her chair. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye look mighty peak-ed, Louisianny," she said. "Mighty peak-ed." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't feel very well," Louisiana answered, "but I suppose I shall be +better after a while." +</P> + +<P> +"Ye're takin' it powerful hard, Louisianny," said Mrs. Nance, "an' I +don't blame ye. I aint gwine to pester ye a-talkin'. I jest come to +say I 'lowed to do my plum best by ye, an' ax ye whether ye liked hop +yeast or salt risin'?" +</P> + +<P> +At the end of the week Louisiana and Mrs. Nance were left to +themselves. Aunt 'Nervy and Aunt Ca'line and the rest had returned to +their respective homes, even Jenny had gone back to Bowersville where +she boarded with a relation and went to school. +</P> + +<P> +The days after this seemed so long to Louisiana that she often wondered +how she lived through them. In the first passion of her sorrow she had +not known how they passed, but now that all was silence and order in +the house, and she was alone, she had nothing to do but to count the +hours. There was no work for her, no one came in and out for whom she +might invent some little labor of love; there was no one to watch for, +no one to think of. She used to sit for hours at her window watching +the leaves change their color day by day, and at last flutter down upon +the grass at the least stir of wind. Once she went out and picked up +one of these leaves and taking it back to her room, shut it up in a +book. +</P> + +<P> +"Everything has happened to me since the day it was first a leaf," she +said. "I have lived just as long as a leaf. That isn't long." +</P> + +<P> +When the trees were bare, she one day remembered the books she had sent +for when at the Springs, and she went to the place where she had put +them, brought them out and tried to feel interested in them again. +</P> + +<P> +"I might learn a great deal," she said, "if I persevered. I have so +much time." +</P> + +<P> +But she had not read many pages before the tears began to roll down her +cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +"If he had lived," she said, "I might have read them to him and it +would have pleased him so. I might have done it often if I had thought +less about myself. He would have learned, too. He thought he was +slow, but he would have learned, too, in a little while, and he would +have been so proud." +</P> + +<P> +She was very like her father in the simple tenderness of her nature. +She grieved with the hopeless passion of a child for the unconscious +wrong she had done. +</P> + +<P> +It was as she sat trying to fix her mind upon these books that there +came to her the first thought of a plan which was afterwards of some +vague comfort to her. She had all the things which had furnished the +old parlor taken into one of the unused rooms—the chairs and tables, +the carpet, the ornaments and pictures. She spent a day in placing +everything as she remembered it, doing all without letting any one +assist her. After it was arranged she left the room, and locked the +door taking the key with her. +</P> + +<P> +"No one shall go in but myself," she said. "It belongs to me more than +all the rest." +</P> + +<P> +"I never knowed her to do nothin' notionate but thet," remarked Mrs. +Nance, in speaking of it afterwards. "She's mighty still, an' sits an' +grieves a heap, but she aint never notionate. Thet was kinder +notionate fer a gal to do. She sets store on 'em 'cos they was her +pappy's an' her ma's, I reckon. It cayn't be nothin' else, fur they +aint to say stylish, though they was allers good solid-appearin' +things. The picters was the on'y things es was showy." +</P> + +<P> +"She's mighty pale an' slender sence her pappy died," said the listener. +</P> + +<P> +"Wa-al, yes, she's kinder peak-ed," admitted Mrs. Nance. "She's kinder +peak-ed, but she'll git over it. Young folks allers does." +</P> + +<P> +But she did not get over it as soon as Mrs. Nance had expected, in view +of her youth. The days seemed longer and lonelier to her as the winter +advanced, though they were really so much shorter, and she had at last +been able to read and think of what she read. When the snow was on the +ground and she could not wander about the place she grew paler still. +</P> + +<P> +"Louisianny," said Mrs. Nance, coming in upon her one day as she stood +at the window, "ye're a-beginnin' to look like ye're Aunt Melissy." +</P> + +<P> +"Am I?" answered Louisiana. "She died when she was young, didn't she?" +</P> + +<P> +"She wasn't but nineteen," grimly. "She hed a kind o' love-scrape, an' +when the feller married Emmerline Ruggles she jest give right in. They +hed a quarrel, an' he was a sperrity kind o' thing an' merried +Emmerline when he was mad. He cut off his nose to spite his face, an' +a nice time he hed of it when it was done. Melissy was a pretty gal, +but kinder consumpshony, an' she hedn't backbone enough to hold her up. +She died eight or nine months after they'd quarreled. Mebbe she'd hev +died anyhow, but thet sorter hastened it up. When folks is +consumpshony it don't take much to set 'em off." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think I am 'consumpshony,'" said Louisiana. +</P> + +<P> +"Lord-a-massy, no!" briskly, "an' ye'd best not begin to think it. I +wasn't a meanin' thet. Ye've kinder got into a poor way steddyin' +'bout yere pappy, an' it's tellin' on ye. Ye look as if thar wasn't a +thing of ye—an' ye don't take no int'russ. Ye'd oughter stir round +more." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going to 'stir round' a little as soon as Jake brings the buggy +up," said Louisiana. "I'm going out." +</P> + +<P> +"Whar?" +</P> + +<P> +"Toward town." +</P> + +<P> +For a moment Mrs. Nance looked at her charge steadily, but at length +her feelings were too much for her. She had been thinking this matter +over for some time. +</P> + +<P> +"Louisianny," she said, "you're a-gwine to the grave-yard, thet's whar +ye're a-gwine an' thar aint no sense in it. Young folks hedn't ought +to hold on to trouble thataway—'taint nat'ral. They don't gin'rally. +Elbert 'd be ag'in it himself ef he knowed—an' I s'pose he does. Like +as not him an' Ianthy's a-worryin' about it now, an' Lord knows ef they +air it'll spile all their enjoyment. Kingdom come won't be nothin' to +'em if they're oneasy in their minds 'bout ye. Now an' ag'in it's +'peared to me that mebbe harps an' crowns an' the company o' 'postles +don't set a body up all in a minnit an' make 'em forgit their flesh an' +blood an' nat'ral feelin's teetotally—an' it kinder troubles me to +think o' Elbert an' Ianthy worryin' an' not havin' no pleasure. Seems +to me ef I was you I'd think it over an' try to cheer up an' take +int'russ. Jest think how keerful yer pappy an' ma was on ye an' how +sot they was on hevin' ye well an' happy." +</P> + +<P> +Louisiana turned toward her. Her eyes were full of tears. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" she whispered, "do you—do you think they know?" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Nance was scandalized. +</P> + +<P> +"Know!" she echoed. "Wa-al now, Louisianny, ef I didn't know yer +raisin', an' thet ye'd been brought up with members all yer life, it'd +go ag'in me powerful to hear ye talk thetaway. Ye <I>know</I> they know, +an' thet they'll take it hard, ef they aint changed mightily, but, +changed or not, I guess thar's mighty few sperrits es haint sense +enough to see yer a-grievin' more an' longer than's good fur ye." +</P> + +<P> +Louisiana turned to her window again. She rested her forehead against +the frame-work and looked out for a little while. But at last she +spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps you are right," she said. "It is true it would have hurt them +when they were here. I think—I'll try to—to be happier." +</P> + +<P> +"It's what'll please 'em best, if ye do, Louisianny," commented Mrs. +Nance. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll try," Louisiana answered. "I will go out now—the cold air will +do me good, and when I come back you will see that I am—better." +</P> + +<P> +"Wa-al," advised Mrs. Nance, "ef ye go, mind ye put on a plenty—an' +don't stay long." +</P> + +<P> +The excellent woman stood on the porch when the buggy was brought up, +and having tucked the girl's wraps round her, watched her driven away. +</P> + +<P> +"Mebbe me a-speakin's I did'll help her," she said. "Seems like it +kinder teched her an' sot her thinkin'. She was dretfle fond of her +pappy an' she was allers a purty peaceable advise-takin' little +thing—though she aint so little nuther. She's reel tall an' slim." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap18"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVIII. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"HE KNEW THAT I LOVED YOU." +</H4> + +<P> +It was almost dark when the buggy returned. As Jake drove up to the +gate he bent forward to look at something. +</P> + +<P> +"Thar's a critter hitched to the fence," he remarked. "'Taint no +critter from round yere. I never seen it afore." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Nance came out upon the porch to meet them. She was gently +excited by an announcement she had to make. +</P> + +<P> +"Louisianny," she said, "thar's a man in the settin'-room. He's +a-waitin' to see ye. I asked him ef he hed anything to sell, an' he +sed no he hedn't nothin'. He's purty <I>gen</I>-teel an' stylish, but not +to say showy, an' he's polite sort o' manners." +</P> + +<P> +"Has he been waiting long?" Louisiana asked. +</P> + +<P> +"He's ben thar half a hour, an' I've hed the fire made up sence he +come." +</P> + +<P> +Louisiana removed her hat and cloak and gave them to Mrs. Nance. She +did it rather slowly, and having done it, crossed the hall to the +sitting-room door, opened it and went in. +</P> + +<P> +There was no light in the room but the light of the wood fire, but that +was very bright. It was so bright that she had not taken two steps +into the room before she saw clearly the face of the man who waited for +her. +</P> + +<P> +It was Laurence Ferrol. +</P> + +<P> +She stopped short and her hands fell at her sides. Her heart beat so +fast that she could not speak. +</P> + +<P> +His heart beat fast, too, and it beat faster still when he noted her +black dress and saw how pale and slight she looked in it. He advanced +towards her and taking her hand in both his, led her to a chair. +</P> + +<P> +"I have startled you too much," he said. "Don't make me feel that I +was wrong to come. Don't be angry with me." +</P> + +<P> +She let him seat her in the chair and then he stood before her and +waited for her to speak. +</P> + +<P> +"It was rather—sudden," she said, "but I am not—angry." +</P> + +<P> +There was a silence of a few seconds, because he was so moved by the +new look her face wore that he could not easily command his voice and +words. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you been ill?" he asked gently, at last. +</P> + +<P> +He saw that she made an effort to control herself and answer him +quietly, but before she spoke she gave up even the effort. She did not +try to conceal or wipe away the great tears that fell down her cheeks +as she looked up at him. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I have not been ill," she said. "My father is dead." +</P> + +<P> +And as she uttered the last words her voice sank almost into a whisper. +</P> + +<P> +Just for a breath's space they looked at each other and then she turned +in her chair, laid her arm on the top of it and her face on her arm, +with a simple helpless movement. +</P> + +<P> +"He has been dead three months," she whispered, weeping. +</P> + +<P> +His own eyes were dim as he watched her. He had not heard of this +before. He walked to the other end of the room and back again twice. +When he neared her the last time he stopped. +</P> + +<P> +"Must I go away?" he asked unsteadily. "I feel as if I had no right +here." +</P> + +<P> +But she did not tell him whether he must go or stay. +</P> + +<P> +"If I stay I must tell you why I came and why I could not remain away," +he said. +</P> + +<P> +She still drooped against her chair and did not speak, and he drew +still nearer to her. +</P> + +<P> +"It does not seem the right time," he said, "but I must tell you even +if I go away at once afterwards. I have never been happy an hour since +we parted that wretched day. I have never ceased to think of what I +had begun to hope for. I felt that it was useless to ask for it +then—I feel as if it was useless now, but I must ask for it. Oh!" +desperately, "how miserably I am saying it all! How weak it sounds!" +</P> + +<P> +In an instant he was kneeling on one knee at her side and had caught +her hand and held it between both his own. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll say the simplest thing," he said. "I love you. Everything is +against me, but I love you and I am sure I shall never love another +woman." +</P> + +<P> +He clasped her hand close and she did not draw it away. +</P> + +<P> +"Won't you say a word to me?" he asked. "If you only tell me that this +is the wrong time and that I must go away now, it will be better than +some things you might say." +</P> + +<P> +She raised her face and let him see it. +</P> + +<P> +"No," she said, "it is not that it is the wrong time. It is a better +time than any other, because I am so lonely and my trouble has made my +heart softer than it was when I blamed you so. It is not that it is +the wrong time, but— +</P> + +<P> +"Wait a minute," he broke in. "Don't—don't do me an injustice!" +</P> + +<P> +He could not have said anything else so likely to reach her heart. She +remembered the last faltering words she had heard as she bent over the +pillow when the sun was shining on the golden tree with the wind waving +its branches. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't do no one a onjestice, honey—don't ye—do no one—a onjestice." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh," she cried out, "he told me that I must not—he told me, before he +died!" +</P> + +<P> +"What!" said Ferrol. "He told you not to be unjust to <I>me</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +"It was you he meant," she answered. "He knew I had been hard to +you—and he knew I——" +</P> + +<P> +She cowered down a little and Ferrol folded her in his arms. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be hard to me again," he whispered. "I have been so unhappy—I +love you so tenderly. Did he know that you—speak to me, Louise." +</P> + +<P> +She put her hand upon his shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"He knew that I loved you," she said, with a little sob. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +She was a great favorite among her husband's friends in New York the +next year. One of her chief attractions for them was that she was a +"new type." They said that of her invariably when they delighted in +her and told each other how gentle she was and how simple and sweet. +The artists made "studies" of her, and adored her, and were +enthusiastic over her beauty; while among the literary ones it was +said, again and again, what a foundation she would be for a heroine of +the order of those who love and suffer for love's sake and grow more +adorable through their pain. +</P> + +<P> +But these, of course, were only the delightful imaginings of art, +talked over among themselves, and Louisiana did not hear of them. She +was very happy and very busy. There was a gay joke current among them +that she was a most tremendous book-worm, and that her literary +knowledge was something for weak, ordinary mortals to quail before. +The story went, that by some magic process she committed to memory the +most appalling works half an hour after they were issued from the +press, and that, secretly, Laurence stood very much in awe of her and +was constantly afraid of exposing his ignorance in her presence. It +was certainly true that she read a great deal, and showed a wonderful +aptness and memory, and that Laurence's pride and delight in her were +the strongest and tenderest feelings of his heart. +</P> + +<P> +Almost every summer they spent in North Carolina, filling their house +with those of their friends who would most enjoy the simple quiet of +the life they led. There were numberless pictures painted among them +at such times and numberless new "types" discovered. +</P> + +<P> +"But you'd scarcely think," it was said sometimes, "that it is here +that Mrs. Laurence is on her native heath." +</P> + +<P> +And though all the rest of the house was open, there was one room into +which no one but Laurence and Louisiana ever went—a little room, with +strange, ugly furniture in it, and bright-colored lithographs upon the +walls. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="finis"> +END. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="transnote"> +[Transcriber's note: the source book for this text contained many +punctuation and spelling variants, e.g. wont/won't, dont/don't, +waal/wa'al/w'al, etc. All have been preserved as printed.] +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Louisiana, by Frances Hodgson Burnett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOUISIANA *** + +***** This file should be named 35300-h.htm or 35300-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/3/0/35300/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + +</BODY> + +</HTML> + diff --git a/35300-h/images/img-front.jpg b/35300-h/images/img-front.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f570f26 --- /dev/null +++ b/35300-h/images/img-front.jpg diff --git a/35300.txt b/35300.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0c43738 --- /dev/null +++ b/35300.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4573 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Louisiana, by Frances Hodgson Burnett + +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: Louisiana + +Author: Frances Hodgson Burnett + +Release Date: February 17, 2011 [EBook #35300] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOUISIANA *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: "ASK YOUR SISTER," SHE REPLIED. "IT WAS HER PLAN."] + + + + + +LOUISIANA + + +BY + +FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT + + +AUTHOR OF "HAWORTH'S," "THAT LASS O' LOWRIE'S," ETC. + + + + +NEW YORK + +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS + +743 AND 745 BROADWAY + +1880 + + + + +COPYRIGHT BY + +FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT, + +1880. + +(_All rights reserved._) + + + + +TROW'S + +PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING Co., + +201-213 East 12th St., + +NEW YORK. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +CHAPTER I. + +LOUISIANA + + +CHAPTER II. + +WORTH + + +CHAPTER III. + +"HE IS DIFFERENT" + + +CHAPTER IV. + +A NEW TYPE + + +CHAPTER V. + +"I HAVE HURT YOU" + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE ROAD TO THE RIGHT + + +CHAPTER VII. + +"SHE AINT YERE" + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +"NOTHING HAS HURT YOU" + + +CHAPTER IX. + +"DON'T YE, LOUISIANNY?" + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE GREAT WORLD + + +CHAPTER XI. + +A RUSTY NAIL + + +CHAPTER XII. + +"MEBBE" + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +A NEW PLAN + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +CONFESSIONS + + +CHAPTER XV. + +"IANTHY!" + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +"DON'T DO NO ONE A ONJESTICE" + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +A LEAF + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +"HE KNEW THAT I LOVED YOU" + + + + +LOUISIANA. + + + +CHAPTER I. + +LOUISIANA. + +Olivia Ferrol leaned back in her chair, her hands folded upon her lap. +People passed and repassed her as they promenaded the long "gallery," +as it was called; they passed in couples, in trios; they talked with +unnecessary loudness, they laughed at their own and each other's jokes; +they flirted, they sentimentalized, they criticised each other, but +none of them showed any special interest in Olivia Ferrol, nor did Miss +Ferrol, on her part, show much interest in them. + +She had been at Oakvale Springs for two weeks. She was alone, out of +her element, and knew nobody. The fact that she was a New Yorker, and +had never before been so far South, was rather against her. On her +arrival she had been glanced over and commented upon with candor. + +"She is a Yankee," said the pretty and remarkably youthful-looking +mother of an apparently grown-up family from New Orleans. "You can see +it." + +And though the remark was not meant to be exactly severe, Olivia felt +that it was very severe, indeed, under existing circumstances. She +heard it as she was giving her orders for breakfast to her own +particular jet-black and highly excitable waiter, and she felt guilty +at once and blushed, hastily taking a sip of ice-water to conceal her +confusion. When she went upstairs afterward she wrote a very +interesting letter to her brother in New York, and tried to make an +analysis of her sentiments for his edification. + +"You advised me to come here because it would be novel as well as +beneficial," she wrote. "And it certainly is novel. I think I feel +like a Pariah--a little. I am aware that even the best bred and most +intelligent of them, hearing that I have always lived in New York, will +privately regret it if they like me and remember it if they dislike me. +Good-natured and warm-hearted as they seem among themselves, I am sure +it will be I who will have to make the advances--if advances are +made--and I must be very amiable, indeed, if I intend that they shall +like me." + +But she had not been well enough at first to be in the humor to make +the advances, and consequently had not found her position an exciting +one. She had looked on until she had been able to rouse herself to +some pretty active likes and dislikes, but she knew no one. + +She felt this afternoon as if this mild recreation of looking on had +begun rather to pall upon her, and she drew out her watch, glancing at +it with a little yawn. + +"It is five o'clock," she said. "Very soon the band will make its +appearance, and it will bray until the stages come in. Yes, there it +is!" + +The musical combination to which she referred was composed of six or +seven gentlemen of color who played upon brazen instruments, each in +different keys and different time. Three times a day they collected on +a rustic kiosk upon the lawn and played divers popular airs with an +intensity, fervor, and muscular power worthy of a better cause. They +straggled up as she spoke, took their places and began, and before they +had played many minutes the most exciting event of the day occurred, as +it always did somewhere about this hour. In the midst of the gem of +their collection was heard the rattle of wheels and the crack of whips, +and through the rapturous shouts of the juvenile guests, the two +venerable, rickety stages dashed up with a lumbering flourish, and a +spasmodic pretense of excitement, calculated to deceive only the +feeblest mind. + +At the end of the gallery they checked themselves in their mad career, +the drivers making strenuous efforts to restrain the impetuosity of the +four steeds whose harness rattled against their ribs with an unpleasant +bony sound. Half a dozen waiters rushed forward, the doors were flung +open, the steps let down with a bang, the band brayed insanely, and the +passengers alighted.--"One, two, three, four," counted Olivia Ferrol, +mechanically, as the first vehicle unburdened itself. And then, as the +door of the second was opened: "One--only one: and a very young one, +too. Dear me! Poor girl!" + +This exclamation might naturally have fallen from any quick-sighted and +sympathetic person. The solitary passenger of the second stage stood +among the crowd, hesitating, and plainly overwhelmed with timorousness. +Three waiters were wrestling with an ugly shawl, a dreadful shining +valise, and a painted wooden trunk, such as is seen in country stores. +In their enthusiastic desire to dispose creditably of these articles +they temporarily forgot the owner, who, after one desperate, timid +glance at them, looked round her in vain for succor. She was very +pretty and very young and very ill-dressed--her costume a bucolic +travesty on prevailing modes. She did not know where to go, and no one +thought of showing her; the loungers about the office stared at her; +she began to turn pale with embarrassment and timidity. Olivia Ferrol +left her chair and crossed the gallery. She spoke to a servant a +little sharply: + +"Why not show the young lady into the parlor?" she said. + +The girl heard, and looked at her helplessly, but with gratitude. The +waiter darted forward with hospitable rapture. + +"Dis yeah's de way, miss," he said, "right inter de 'ception-room. +Foller me, ma'am." + +Olivia returned to her seat. People were regarding her with curiosity, +but she was entirely oblivious of the fact. + +"That is one of them," she was saying, mentally. "That is one of them, +and a very interesting type it is, too." + +To render the peculiarities of this young woman clearer, it may be well +to reveal here something of her past life and surroundings. Her father +had been a literary man, her mother an illustrator of books and +magazine articles. From her earliest childhood she had been surrounded +by men and women of artistic or literary occupations, some who were +drudges, some who were geniuses, some who balanced between the two +extremes, and she had unconsciously learned the tricks of the trade. +She had been used to people who continually had their eyes open to +anything peculiar and interesting in human nature, who were enraptured +by the discovery of new types of men, women, and emotions. Since she +had been left an orphan she had lived with her brother, who had been +reporter, editor, contributor, critic, one after the other, until at +last he had established a very enviable reputation as a brilliant, +practical young fellow, who knew his business, and had a fine career +open to him. So it was natural that, having become interested in the +general friendly fashion of dissecting and studying every scrap of +human nature within reach, she had followed more illustrious examples, +and had become very critical upon the subject of "types" herself. +During her sojourn at Oakvale she had studied the North Carolinian +mountaineer "type" with the enthusiasm of an amateur. She had talked +to the women in sunbonnets who brought fruit to the hotel, and sat on +the steps and floor of the galleries awaiting the advent of customers +with a composure only to be equaled by the calmness of the noble +savage; she had walked and driven over the mountain roads, stopping at +wayside houses and entering into conversation with the owners until she +had become comparatively well known, even in the space of a fortnight, +and she had taken notes for her brother until she had roused him to +sharing her own interest in her discoveries. + +"I am sure you will find a great deal of material here," she wrote to +him. "You see how I have fallen a victim to that dreadful habit of +looking at everything in the light of material. A man is no longer a +man--he is 'material'; sorrow is not sorrow, joy is not joy--it is +'material.' There is something rather ghoulish in it. I wonder if +anatomists look at people's bodies as we do at their minds, and if to +them every one is a 'subject.' At present I am interested in a species +of girl I have discovered. Sometimes she belongs to the better +class--the farmers, who have a great deal of land and who are the rich +men of the community,--sometimes she lives in a log cabin with a mother +who smokes and chews tobacco, but in either case she is a surprise and +a mystery. She is always pretty, she is occasionally beautiful, and in +spite of her house, her people, her education or want of it, she is +instinctively a refined and delicately susceptible young person. She +has always been to some common school, where she has written +compositions on sentimental or touching subjects, and when she belongs +to the better class she takes a fashion magazine and tries to make her +dresses like those of the ladies in the colored plates, and, I may add, +frequently fails. I could write a volume about her, but I wont. When +your vacation arrives, come and see for yourself." It was of this +class Miss Ferrol was thinking when she said: "That is one of them, and +a very interesting type it is, too." + +When she went in to the dining-room to partake of the six o'clock +supper, she glanced about her in search of the new arrival, but she had +not yet appeared. A few minutes later, however, she entered. She came +in slowly, looking straight before her, and trying very hard to appear +at ease. She was prettier than before, and worse dressed. She wore a +blue, much-ruffled muslin and a wide collar made of imitation lace. +She had tucked her sleeves up to her elbow with a band and bow of black +velvet, and her round, smooth young arms were adorable. She looked for +a vacant place, and, seeing none, stopped short, as if she did not know +what to do. Then some magnetic attraction drew her eye to Olivia +Ferrol's. After a moment's pause, she moved timidly toward her. + +"I--I wish a waiter would come," she faltered. + +At that moment one on the wing stopped in obedience to a gesture of +Miss Ferrol's--a delicate, authoritative movement of the head. + +"Give this young lady that chair opposite me," she said. + +The chair was drawn out with a flourish, the girl was seated, and the +bill of fare was placed in her hands. + +"Thank you," she said, in a low, astonished voice. + +Olivia smiled. + +"That waiter is my own special and peculiar property," she said, "and I +rather pride myself on him." + +But her guest scarcely seemed to comprehend her pleasantry. She looked +somewhat awkward. + +"I--don't know much about waiters," she ventured. "I'm not used to +them, and I suppose they know it. I never was at a hotel before." + +"You will soon get used to them," returned Miss Ferrol. + +The girl fixed her eyes upon her with a questioning appeal. They were +the loveliest eyes she had ever seen, Miss Ferrol +thought--large-irised, and with wonderful long lashes fringing them and +curling upward, giving them a tender, very wide-open look. She seemed +suddenly to gain courage, and also to feel it her duty to account for +herself. + +"I shouldn't have come here alone if I could have got father to come +with me," she revealed. "But he wouldn't come. He said it wasn't the +place for him. I haven't been very well since mother died, and he +thought I'd better try the Springs awhile. I don't think I shall like +it." + +"I don't like it," replied Miss Ferrol, candidly, "but I dare say you +will when you know people." + +The girl glanced rapidly and furtively over the crowded room, and then +her eyes fell. + +"I shall never know them," she said, in a depressed undertone. + +In secret Miss Ferrol felt a conviction that she was right; she had not +been presented under the right auspices. + +"It is rather clever and sensitive in her to find it out so quickly," +she thought. "Some girls would be more sanguine, and be led into +blunders." + +They progressed pretty well during the meal. When it was over, and +Miss Ferrol rose, she became conscious that her companion was troubled +by some new difficulty, and a second thought suggested to her what its +nature was. + +"Are you going to your room?" she asked. + +"I don't know," said the girl, with the look of helpless appeal again. +"I don't know where else to go. I don't like to go out there" +(signifying the gallery) "alone." + +"Why not come with me?" said Miss Ferrol. "Then we can promenade +together." + +"Ah!" she said, with a little gasp of relief and gratitude. "Don't you +mind?" + +"On the contrary, I shall be very glad of your society," Miss Ferrol +answered. "I am alone, too." + +So they went out together and wandered slowly from one end of the +starlit gallery to the other, winding their way through the crowd that +promenaded, and, upon the whole, finding it rather pleasant. + +"I shall have to take care of her," Miss Ferrol was deciding; "but I do +not think I shall mind the trouble." + +The thing that touched her most was the girl's innocent trust in her +sincerity--her taking for granted that this stranger, who had been +polite to her, had been so not for worldly good breeding's sake, but +from true friendliness and extreme generosity of nature. Her first +shyness conquered, she related her whole history with the unreserve of +a child. Her father was a farmer, and she had always lived with him on +his farm. He had been too fond of her to allow her to leave home, and +she had never been "away to school." + +"He has made a pet of me at home," she said. "I was the only one that +lived to be over eight years old. I am the eleventh. Ten died before +I was born, and it made father and mother worry a good deal over +me--and father was worse than mother. He said the time never seemed to +come when he could spare me. He is very good and kind--is father," she +added, in a hurried, soft-voiced way. "He's rough, but he's very good +and kind." + +Before they parted for the night Miss Ferrol had the whole genealogical +tree by heart. They were an amazingly prolific family, it seemed. +There was Uncle Josiah, who had ten children, Uncle Leander, who had +fifteen, Aunt Amanda, who had twelve, and Aunt Nervy, whose belongings +comprised three sets of twins and an unlimited supply of odd numbers. +They went upstairs together and parted at Miss Ferrol's door, their +rooms being near each other. + +The girl held out her hand. + +"Good-night!" she said. "I'm so thankful I've got to know you." + +Her eyes looked bigger and wider-open than ever; she smiled, showing +her even, sound, little white teeth. Under the bright light of the +lamp the freckles the day betrayed on her smooth skin were not to be +seen. + +"Dear me!" thought Miss Ferrol. "How startlingly pretty, in spite of +the cotton lace and the dreadful polonaise!" + +She touched her lightly on the shoulder. + +"Why, you are as tall as I am!" she said. + +"Yes," the girl replied, depressedly; "but I'm twice as broad." + +"Oh no--no such thing." And then, with a delicate glance down over +her, she said--"It is your dress that makes you fancy so. Perhaps your +dressmaker does not understand your figure,"--as if such a failing was +the most natural and simple thing in the world, and needed only the +slightest rectifying. + +"I have no dressmaker," the girl answered. "I make my things myself. +Perhaps that is it." + +"It is a little dangerous, it is true," replied Miss Ferrol. "I have +been bold enough to try it myself, and I never succeeded. I could give +you the address of a very thorough woman if you lived in New York." + +"But I don't live there, you see. I wish I did. I never shall, +though. Father could never spare me." + +Another slight pause ensued, during which she looked admiringly at Miss +Ferrol. Then she said "good-night" again, and turned away. + +But before she had crossed the corridor she stopped. + +"I never told you my name," she said. + +Miss Ferrol naturally expected she would announce it at once, but she +did not. An air of embarrassment fell upon her. She seemed almost +averse to speaking. + +"Well," said Miss Ferrol, smiling, "what is it?" + +She did not raise her eyes from the carpet as she replied, unsteadily: + +"It's Louisiana." + +Miss Ferrol answered her very composedly: + +"The name of the state?" + +"Yes. Father came from there." + +"But you did not tell me your surname." + +"Oh! that is Rogers. You--you didn't laugh. I thought you would." + +"At the first name?" replied Miss Ferrol. "Oh no. It is unusual--but +names often are. And Louise is pretty." + +"So it is," she said, brightening. "I never thought of that. I hate +Louisa. They will call it 'Lowizy,' or 'Lousyanny.' I could sign +myself Louise, couldn't I?" + +"Yes," Miss Ferrol replied. + +And then her _protegee_ said "good-night" for the third time, and +disappeared. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +WORTH. + +She presented herself at the bed-room door with a timid knock the next +morning before breakfast, evidently expecting to be taken charge of. +Miss Ferrol felt sure she would appear, and had, indeed, dressed +herself in momentary expectation of hearing the knock. + +When she heard it she opened the door at once. + +"I am glad to see you," she said. "I thought you might come." + +A slight expression of surprise showed itself in the girl's eyes. It +had never occurred to her that she might not come. + +"Oh, yes," she replied. "I never could go down alone when there was +any one who would go with me." + +There was something on her mind, Miss Ferrol fancied, and presently it +burst forth in a confidential inquiry. + +"Is this dress very short-waisted?" she asked, with great earnestness. + +Merciful delicacy stood in the way of Miss Ferrol's telling her how +short-waisted it was, and how it maltreated her beautiful young body. + +"It is rather short-waisted, it is true." + +"Perhaps," the girl went on, with a touch of guileless melancholy, "I +am naturally this shape." + +Here, it must be confessed, Miss Ferrol forgot herself for the moment, +and expressed her indignation with undue fervor. + +"Perish the thought!" she exclaimed. "Why, child! your figure is a +hundred times better than mine." + +Louisiana wore for a moment a look of absolute fright. + +"Oh, no!" she cried. "Oh, no. Your figure is magnificent." + +"Magnificent!" echoed Miss Ferrol, giving way to her enthusiasm, and +indulging in figures of speech. "Don't you see that I am +thin--absolutely thin. But my things fit me, and my dressmaker +understands me. If you were dressed as I am,"--pausing to look her +over from head to foot--"Ah!" she exclaimed, pathetically, "how I +should like to see you in some of my clothes!" + +A tender chord was touched. A gentle sadness, aroused by this instance +of wasted opportunities, rested upon her. But instantaneously she +brightened, seemingly without any particular cause. A brilliant idea +had occurred to her. But she did not reveal it. + +"I will wait," she thought, "until she is more at her ease with me." + +She really was more at her ease already. Just this one little scrap of +conversation had done that. She became almost affectionate in a shy +way before they reached the dining-room. + +"I want to ask you something," she said, as they neared the door. + +"What is it?" + +She held Miss Ferrol back with a light clasp on her arm. Her air was +quite tragic in a small way. + +"Please say 'Louise,' when you speak to me," she said. "Never say +'Miss Louisiana'--never--never!" + +"No, I shall never say 'Miss Louisiana,'" her companion answered. "How +would you like 'Miss Rogers?'" + +"I would rather have 'Louise,'" she said, disappointedly. + +"Well," returned Miss Ferrol, "'Louise' let it be." + +And "Louise" it was thenceforward. If she had not been so pretty, so +innocent, and so affectionate and humble a young creature, she might +have been troublesome at times (it occurred to Olivia Ferrol), she +clung so pertinaciously to their chance acquaintanceship; she was so +helpless and desolate if left to herself, and so inordinately glad to +be taken in hand again. She made no new friends,--which was perhaps +natural enough, after all. She had nothing in common with the young +women who played ten-pins and croquet and rode out in parties with +their cavaliers. She was not of them, and understood them as little as +they understood her. She knew very well that they regarded her with +scornful tolerance when they were of the ill-natured class, and with +ill-subdued wonder when they were amiable. She could not play ten-pins +or croquet, nor could she dance. + +"What are the men kneeling down for, and why do they keep stopping to +put on those queer little caps and things?" she whispered to Miss +Ferrol one night. + +"They are trying to dance a German," replied Miss Ferrol, "and the man +who is leading them only knows one figure." + +As for the riding, she had been used to riding all her life; but no one +asked her to join them, and if they had done so she would have been too +wise,--unsophisticated as she was,--to accept the invitation. So where +Miss Ferrol was seen she was seen also, and she was never so happy as +when she was invited into her protector's room and allowed to spend the +morning or evening there. She would have been content to sit there +forever and listen to Miss Ferrol's graphic description of life in the +great world: The names of celebrated personages made small impression +upon her. It was revealed gradually to Miss Ferrol that she had +private doubts as to the actual existence of some of them, and the rest +she had never heard of before. + +"You never read 'The Scarlet Letter?'" asked her instructress upon one +occasion. + +She flushed guiltily. + +"No," she answered. "Nor--nor any of the others." + +Miss Ferrol gazed at her silently for a few moments. Then she asked +her a question in a low voice, specially mellowed, so that it might not +alarm her. + +"Do you know who John Stuart Mill is?" she said. + +"No," she replied from the dust of humiliation. + +"Have you never heard--just _heard_--of Ruskin?" + +"No." + +"Nor of Michael Angelo?" + +"N-no--ye-es, I think so--perhaps, but I don't know what he did." + +"Do you," she continued, very slowly, +"do--you--know--anything--about--Worth?" + +"No, nothing." + +Her questioner clasped her hands with repressed emotion. + +"Oh," she cried, "how--how you have been neglected!" + +She was really depressed, but her _protegee_ was so much more deeply so +that she felt it her duty to contain herself and return to cheerfulness. + +"Never mind," she said. "I will tell you all I know about them, +and,"--after a pause for speculative thought upon the +subject,--"by-the-by, it isn't much, and I will lend you some books to +read, and give you a list of some you must persuade your father to buy +for you, and you will be all right. It is rather dreadful not to know +the names of people and things; but, after all, I think there are very +few people who--ahem!" + +She was checked here by rigid conscientious scruples. If she was to +train this young mind in the path of learning and literature, she must +place before her a higher standard of merit than the somewhat shady and +slipshod one her eagerness had almost betrayed her into upholding. She +had heard people talk of "standards" and "ideals," and when she was +kept to the point and in regulation working order, she could be very +eloquent upon these subjects herself. + +"You will have to work very seriously," she remarked, rather +incongruously and with a rapid change of position. "If you wish to--to +acquire anything, you must read conscientiously and--and with a +purpose." She was rather proud of that last clause. + +"Must I?" inquired Louise, humbly. "I should like to--if I knew where +to begin. Who was Worth? Was he a poet?" + +Miss Ferrol acquired a fine, high color very suddenly. + +"Oh," she answered, with some uneasiness, "you--you have no need to +begin with Worth. He doesn't matter so much--really." + +"I thought," Miss Rogers said meekly, "that you were more troubled +about my not having read what he wrote, than about my not knowing any +of the others." + +"Oh, no. You see--the fact is, he--he never wrote anything." + +"What did he do?" she asked, anxious for information. + +"He--it isn't 'did,' it is 'does.' He--makes dresses." + +"Dresses!" + +This single word, but no exclamation point could express its tone of +wild amazement. + +"Yes." + +"A man!" + +"Yes." + +There was a dead silence. It was embarrassing at first. Then the +amazement of the unsophisticated one began to calm itself; it gradually +died down, and became another emotion, merging itself into interest. + +"Does"--guilelessly she inquired--"he make nice ones?" + +"Nice!" echoed Miss Ferrol. "They are works of art! I have got three +in my trunk." + +"O-o h!" sighed Louisiana. "Oh, dear!" + +Miss Ferrol rose from her chair. + +"I will show them to you," she said. "I--I should like you to try them +on." + +"To try them on!" ejaculated the child in an awe-stricken tone. "Me?" + +"Yes," said Miss Ferrol, unlocking the trunk and throwing back the lid. +"I have been wanting to see you in them since the first day you came." + +She took them out and laid them upon the bed on their trays. Louise +got up from the floor and approaching, reverently stood near them. +There was a cream-colored evening-dress of soft, thick, close-clinging +silk of some antique-modern sort; it had golden fringe, and golden +flowers embroidered upon it. + +"Look at that," said Miss Ferrol, softly--even religiously. + +She made a mysterious, majestic gesture. + +"Come here," she said. "You must put it on." + +Louise shrank back a pace. + +"I--oh! I daren't," she cried. "It is too beautiful!" + +"Come here," repeated Miss Ferrol. + +She obeyed timorously, and gave herself into the hands of her +controller. She was so timid and excited that she trembled all the +time her toilette was being performed for her. Miss Ferrol went +through this service with the manner of a priestess officiating at an +altar. She laced up the back of the dress with the slender, golden +cords; she arranged the antique drapery which wound itself around in +close swathing folds. There was not the shadow of a wrinkle from +shoulder to hem: the lovely young figure was revealed in all its beauty +of outline. There were no sleeves at all, there was not very much +bodice, but there was a great deal of effect, and this, it is to be +supposed, was the object. + +"Walk across the floor," commanded Miss Ferrol. + +Louisiana obeyed her. + +"Do it again," said Miss Ferrol. + +Having been obeyed for the second time, her hands fell together. Her +attitude and expression could be said to be significant only of rapture. + +"I said so!" she cried. "I said so! You might have been born in New +York!" + +It was a grand climax. Louisiana felt it to the depths of her reverent +young heart. But she could not believe it. She was sure that it was +too sublime to be true. She shook her head in deprecation. + +"It is no exaggeration," said Miss Ferrol, with renewed fervor. +"Laurence himself, if he were not told that you had lived here, would +never guess it. I should like to try you on him." + +"Who--is he?" inquired Louisiana. "Is he a writer, too?" + +"Well, yes,--but not exactly like the others. He is my brother." + +It was two hours before this episode ended. Only at the sounding of +the second bell did Louisiana escape to her room to prepare for dinner. + +Miss Ferrol began to replace the dresses in her trunk. She performed +her task in an abstracted mood. When she had completed it she stood +upright and paused a moment, with quite a startled air. + +"Dear me!" she exclaimed. "I--actually forgot about Ruskin!" + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +"HE IS DIFFERENT." + +The same evening, as they sat on one of the seats upon the lawn, Miss +Ferrol became aware several times that Louisiana was regarding her with +more than ordinary interest. She sat with her hands folded upon her +lap, her eyes fixed on her face, and her pretty mouth actually a little +open. + +"What are you thinking of?" Olivia asked, at length. + +The girl started, and recovered herself with an effort. + +"I--well, I was thinking about--authors," she stammered. + +"Any particular author?" inquired Olivia, "or authors as a class?" + +"About your brother being one. I never thought I should see any one +who knew an author--and you are related to one!" + +Her companion's smile was significant of immense experience. It was +plain that she was so accustomed to living on terms of intimacy with +any number of authors that she could afford to feel indifferent about +them. + +"My dear," she said, amiably, "they are not in the least different from +other people." + +It sounded something like blasphemy. + +"Not different!" cried Louisiana. "Oh, surely, they must be! +Isn't--isn't your brother different?" + +Miss Ferrol stopped to think. She was very fond of her brother. +Privately she considered him the literary man of his day. She was +simply disgusted when she heard experienced critics only calling him +"clever" and "brilliant" instead of "great" and "world-moving." + +"Yes," she replied at length, "he is different." + +"I thought he must be," said Louisiana, with a sigh of relief. "You +are, you know." + +"Am I?" returned Olivia. "Thank you. But I am not an author--at +least,"--she added, guiltily, "nothing I have written has ever been +published." + +"Oh, why not?" exclaimed Louisiana. + +"Why not?" she repeated, dubiously and thoughtfully. And then, +knitting her brows, she said, "I don't know why not." + +"I am sure if you have ever written anything, it ought to have been +published," protested her adorer. + +"_I_ thought so," said Miss Ferrol. "But--but _they_ didn't." + +"They?" echoed Louisiana. "Who are 'they?'" + +"The editors," she replied, in a rather gloomy manner. "There is a +great deal of wire-pulling, and favoritism, and--even envy and malice, +of which those outside know nothing. You wouldn't understand it if I +should tell you about it." + +For a few moments she wore quite a fell expression, and gloom reigned. +She gave her head a little shake. + +"They regret it afterward," she remarked,--"frequently." + +From which Louisiana gathered that it was the editors who were so +overwhelmed, and she could not help sympathizing with them in secret. +There was something in the picture of their unavailing remorse which +touched her, despite her knowledge of the patent fact that they +deserved it and could expect nothing better. She was quite glad when +Olivia brightened up, as she did presently. + +"Laurence is handsomer than most of them, and has a more distinguished +air," she said. "He is very charming. People always say so." + +"I wish I could see him," ventured Louisiana. + +"You will see him if you stay here much longer," replied Miss Ferrol. +"It is quite likely he will come to Oakvale." + +For a moment Louisiana fluttered and turned pale with pleasure, but as +suddenly she drooped. + +"I forgot," she faltered. "You will have to be with him always, and I +shall have no one. He won't want me." + +Olivia sat and looked at her with deepening interest. She was thinking +again of a certain whimsical idea which had beset her several times +since she had attired her _protegee_ in the cream-colored robe. + +"Louise," she said, in a low, mysterious tone, "how would you like to +wear dresses like mine all the rest of the time you are here?" + +The child stared at her blankly. + +"I haven't got any," she gasped. + +"No," said Miss Ferrol, with deliberation, "but _I_ have." + +She rose from her seat, dropping her mysterious air and smiling +encouragingly. + +"Come with me to my room," she said. "I want to talk to you." + +If she had ordered her to follow her to the stake it is not at all +unlikely that Louisiana would have obeyed. She got up meekly, smiling, +too, and feeling sure something very interesting was going to happen. +She did not understand in the least, but she was quite tractable. And +after they had reached the room and shut themselves in, she found that +it _was_ something very interesting which was to happen. + +"You remember what I said to you this morning?" Miss Ferrol suggested. + +"You said so many things." + +"Oh, but you cannot have forgotten this particular thing. I said you +looked as if you had been born in New York." + +Louisiana remembered with a glow of rapture. + +"Oh, yes," she answered. + +"And I said Laurence himself would not know, if he was not told, that +you had lived all your life here."' + +"Yes." + +"And I said I should like to try you on him." + +"Yes." + +Miss Ferrol kept her eyes fixed on her and watched her closely. + +"I have been thinking of it all the morning," she added. "I should +like to try you on him." + +Louisiana was silent a moment. Then she spoke, hesitatingly: + +"Do you mean that I should pretend----," she began. + +"Oh, no," interrupted Miss Ferrol. "Not pretend either one thing or +the other. Only let me dress you as I choose, and then take care that +you say nothing whatever about your past life. You will have to be +rather quiet, perhaps, and let him talk. He will like that, of +course--men always do--and then you will learn a great many things from +him." + +"It will be--a very strange thing to do," said Louisiana. + +"It will be a very interesting thing," answered Olivia, her enthusiasm +increasing. "How he will admire you!" + +Louisiana indulged in one of her blushes. + +"Have you a picture of him?" + +"Yes. Why?" she asked, in some surprise. + +"Because I should like to see his face." + +"Do you think," Miss Ferrol said, in further bewilderment, "that you +might not like him?" + +"I think he might not like me." + +"Not like you!" cried Miss Ferrol. "You! He will think you are +divine--when you are dressed as I shall dress you." + +She went to her trunk and produced the picture. It was not a +photograph, but a little crayon head--the head of a handsome man, whose +expression was a singular combination of dreaminess and alertness. It +was a fascinating face. + +"One of his friends did it," said Miss Ferrol. "His friends are very +fond of him and admire his good looks very much. They protest against +his being photographed. They like to sketch him. They are always +making 'studies' of his head. What do you think of him?" + +Louisiana hesitated. + +"He is different," she said at last. "I thought he would be." + +She gave the picture back to Miss Ferrol, who replaced it in her trunk. +She sat for a few seconds looking down at the carpet and apparently +seeing very little. Then she looked up at her companion, who was +suddenly a little embarrassed at finding her receive her whimsical +planning so seriously. She herself had not thought of it as being +serious at all. It would be interesting and amusing, and would prove +her theory. + +"I will do what you want me to do," said Louisiana. + +"Then," said Miss Ferrol, wondering at an unexpected sense of +discomfort in herself, "I will dress you for supper now. You must +begin to wear the things, so that you may get used to them." + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +A NEW TYPE. + +When the two entered the supper-room together a little commotion was +caused by their arrival. At first the supple young figure in violet +and gray was not recognized. It was not the figure people had been +used to, it seemed so tall and slenderly round. The reddish-brown hair +was combed high and made into soft puffs; it made the pretty head seem +more delicately shaped, and showed how white and graceful the back of +the slender neck was. It was several minutes before the problem was +solved. Then a sharp young woman exclaimed, _sotto voce_: + +"It's the little country-girl, in new clothes--in clothes that fit. +Would you believe it?" + +"Don't look at your plate so steadily," whispered Miss Ferrol. "Lean +back and fan yourself as if you did not hear. You must never show that +you hear things." + +"I shall be obliged to give her a few hints now and then," she had said +to herself beforehand. "But I feel sure when she once catches the cue +she will take it." + +It really seemed as if she did, too. She had looked at herself long +and steadily after she had been dressed, and when she turned away from +the glass she held her head a trifle more erect, and her cheeks had +reddened. Perhaps what she had recognized in the reflection she had +seen had taught her a lesson. But she said nothing. In a few days +Olivia herself was surprised at the progress she had made. Sanguine as +she was, she had not been quite prepared for the change which had taken +place in her. She had felt sure it would be necessary to teach her to +control her emotions, but suddenly she seemed to have learned to +control them without being told to do so; she was no longer +demonstrative of her affection, she no longer asked innocent questions, +nor did she ever speak of her family. Her reserve was puzzling to +Olivia. + +"You are very clever," she said to her one day, the words breaking from +her in spite of herself, after she had sat regarding her in silence for +a few minutes. "You are even cleverer than I thought you were, Louise." + +"Was that very clever?" the girl asked. + +"Yes, it was," Olivia answered, "but not so clever as you are proving +yourself." + +But Louisiana did not smile or blush, as she had expected she would. +She sat very quietly, showing neither pleasure nor shyness, and seeming +for a moment or so to be absorbed in thought. + +In the evening when the stages came in they were sitting on the front +gallery together. As the old rattletraps bumped and swung themselves +up the gravel drive, Olivia bent forward to obtain a better view of the +passengers. + +"He ought to be among them," she said. + +Louisiana laid her hand on her arm. + +"Who is that sitting with the driver?" she asked, as the second vehicle +passed them. "Isn't that----" + +"To be sure it is!" exclaimed Miss Ferrol. + +She would have left her seat, but she found herself detained. Her +companion had grasped her wrist. + +"Wait a minute!" she said. "Don't leave me! Oh--I wish I had not done +it!" + +Miss Ferrol turned and stared at her in amazement. + +She spoke in her old, uncontrolled, childish fashion. She was pale, +and her eyes were dilated. + +"What is the matter?" said Miss Ferrol, hurriedly, when she found her +voice. "Is it that you really don't like the idea? If you don't, +there is no need of our carrying it out. It was only nonsense--I beg +your pardon for not seeing that it disturbed you. Perhaps, after all, +it was very bad taste in me----" + +But she was not allowed to finish her sentence. As suddenly as it had +altered before, Louisiana's expression altered again. She rose to her +feet with a strange little smile. She looked into Miss Ferrol's +astonished face steadily and calmly. + +"Your brother has seen you and is coming toward us," she said. "I will +leave you. We shall see each other again at supper." + +And with a little bow she moved away with an air of composure which +left her instructress stunned. She could scarcely recover her +equilibrium sufficiently to greet her brother decently when he reached +her side. She had never been so thoroughly at sea in her life. + + +After she had gone to her room that night, her brother came and knocked +at the door. + +When she opened it and let him in he walked to a chair and threw +himself into it, wearing a rather excited look. + +"Olivia," he began at once, "what a bewildering girl!" + +Olivia sat down opposite to him, with a composed smile. + +"Miss Rogers, of course?" she said. + +"Of course," he echoed. And then, after a pause of two or three +seconds, he added, in the tone he had used before: "What a delightfully +mysterious girl!" + +"Mysterious!" repeated Olivia. + +"There is no other word for it! She has such an adorable face, she +looks so young, and she says so little." And then, with serious +delight, he added: "It is a new type!" + +Olivia began to laugh. + +"Why are you laughing?" he demanded. + +"Because I was so sure you would say that," she answered. "I was +waiting for it." + +"But it is true," he replied, quite vehemently. "I never saw anything +like her before. I look at her great soft eyes and I catch glimpses of +expression which don't seem to belong to the rest of her. When I see +her eyes I could fancy for a moment that she had been brought up in a +convent or had lived a very simple, isolated life, but when she speaks +and moves I am bewildered. I want to hear her talk, but she says so +little. She does not even dance. I suppose her relatives are serious +people. I dare say you have not heard much of them from her. Her +reserve is so extraordinary in a girl. I wonder how old she is?" + +"Nineteen, I think." + +"I thought so. I never saw anything prettier than her quiet way when I +asked her to dance with me. She said, simply, 'I do not dance. I have +never learned.' It was as if she had never thought of it as being an +unusual thing." + +He talked of her all the time he remained in the room. Olivia had +never seen him so interested before. + +"The fascination is that she seems to be two creatures at once," he +said. "And one of them is stronger than the other and will break out +and reveal itself one day. I begin by feeling I do not understand her, +and that is the most interesting of all beginnings, I long to discover +which of the two creatures is the real one." + +When he was going away he stopped suddenly to say: + +"How was it you never mentioned her in your letters? I can't +understand that." + +"I wanted you to see her for yourself," Olivia answered. "I thought I +would wait." + +"Well," he said, after thinking a moment, "I am glad, after all, that +you did." + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +"I HAVE HURT YOU." + +From the day of his arrival a new life began for Louisiana. She was no +longer an obscure and unconsidered young person. Suddenly, and for the +first time in her life, she found herself vested with a marvellous +power. It was a power girls of a different class from her own are +vested with from the beginning of their lives. They are used to it and +regard it as their birthright. Louisiana was not used to it. There +had been nothing like it attending her position as "that purty gal o' +Rogerses." She was accustomed to the admiration of men she was +indifferent to--men who wore short-waisted blue-jean coats, and turned +upon their elbows to stare at her as she sat in the little white frame +church. After making an effort to cultivate her acquaintance, they +generally went away disconcerted. "She's mighty still," they said. +"She haint got nothin' to say. Seems like thar aint much to her--but +she's powerful purty though." + +This was nothing like her present experience. She began slowly to +realize that she was a little like a young queen now. Here was a man +such as she had never spoken to before, who was always ready to +endeavor to his utmost to please her: who, without any tendency toward +sentimental nonsense, was plainly the happier for her presence and +favor. What could be more assiduous and gallant than the every-day +behavior of the well-bred, thoroughly experienced young man of the +period toward the young beauty who for the moment reigns over his +fancy! It need only be over his fancy; there is no necessity that the +impression should be any deeper. His suavity, his chivalric air, his +ready wit in her service, are all that could be desired. + +When Louisiana awakened to the fact that all this homage was rendered +to her as being only the natural result of her girlish beauty--as if it +was the simplest thing in the world, and a state of affairs which must +have existed from the first--she experienced a sense of terror. Just +at the very first she would have been glad to escape from it and sink +into her old obscurity. + +"It does not belong to me," she said to herself. "It belongs to some +one else--to the girl he thinks I am. I am not that girl, though; I +will remember that." + +But in a few days she calmed down. She told herself that she always +did remember, but she ceased to feel frightened and was more at ease. +She never talked very much, but she became more familiar with the +subjects she heard discussed. One morning she went to Olivia's room +and asked her for the address of a bookseller. + +"I want to send for some books and--and magazines," she said, +confusedly. "I wish you--if you would tell me what to send for. +Father will give me the money if I ask him for it." + +Olivia sat down and made a list. It was along list, comprising the +best periodicals of the day and several standard books. + +When she handed it to her she regarded her with curiosity. + +"You mean to read them all?" she asked. + +"Isn't it time that I should?" replied her pupil. + +"Well--it is a good plan," returned Olivia, rather absently. + +Truth to tell, she was more puzzled every day. She had begun to be +quite sure that something had happened. It seemed as if a slight +coldness existed between herself and her whilom adorer. The simplicity +of her enthusiasm was gone. Her affection had changed as her outward +bearing. It was a better regulated and less noticeable emotion. Once +or twice Olivia fancied she had seen the girl looking at her even +sadly, as if she felt, for the moment, a sense of some loss. + +"Perhaps it was very clumsy in me," she used to say to herself. +"Perhaps I don't understand her, after all." + +But she could not help looking on with interest. She had never before +seen Laurence enjoy himself so thoroughly. He had been working very +hard during the past year, and was ready for his holiday. He found the +utter idleness, which was the chief feature of the place, a good thing. +There was no town or village within twenty miles, newspapers were a day +or two old when they arrived, there were very few books to be found, +and there was absolutely no excitement. At night the band brayed in +the empty-looking ball-room, and a few very young couples danced, in a +desultory fashion and without any ceremony. The primitive, +domesticated slowness of the place was charming. Most of the guests +had come from the far South at the beginning of the season and would +remain until the close of it; so they had had time to become familiar +with each other and to throw aside restraint. + +"There is nothing to distract one," Ferrol said, "nothing to rouse one, +nothing to inspire one--nothing! It is delicious! Why didn't I know +of it before?" + +He had plenty of time to study his sister's friend. She rode and +walked with him and Olivia when they made their excursions, she +listened while he read aloud to them as he lay on the grass in a quiet +corner of the grounds. He thought her natural reserve held her from +expressing her opinion on what he read very freely; it certainly did +not occur to him that she was beginning her literary education under +his guidance. He could see that the things which pleased him most were +not lost upon her. Her face told him that. One moonlight night, as +they sat on an upper gallery, he began to speak of the novelty of the +aspect of the country as it presented itself to an outsider who saw it +for the first time. + +"It is a new life, and a new people," he said. "And, by the way, +Olivia, where is the new species of young woman I was to see--the +daughter of the people who does not belong to her sphere?" + +He turned to Louisiana. + +"Have you ever seen her?" he asked. "I must confess to a dubiousness +on the subject." + +Before he could add another word Louisiana turned upon him. He could +see her face clearly in the moonlight. It was white, and her eyes were +dilated and full of fire. + +"Why do you speak in that way?" she cried. "As if--as if such people +were so far beneath you. What right have you----" + +She stopped suddenly. Laurence Ferrol was gazing at her in amazement. +She rose from her seat, trembling. + +"I will go away a little," she said. "I beg your pardon--and Miss +Ferrol's." + +She turned her back upon them and went away. Ferrol sat holding her +little round, white-feather fan helplessly, and staring after her until +she disappeared. + +It was several seconds before the silence was broken. It was he who +broke it. + +"I don't know what it means," he said, in a low voice. "I don't know +what I have done!" + +In a little while he got up and began to roam aimlessly about the +gallery. He strolled from one end to the other with his hands thrust +in his coat pockets. Olivia, who had remained seated, knew that he was +waiting in hopes that Louisiana would return. He had been walking to +and fro, looking as miserable as possible, for about half an hour, when +at last she saw him pause and turn half round before the open door of +an upper corridor leading out upon the verandah. A black figure stood +revealed against the inside light. It was Louisiana, and, after +hesitating a moment, she moved slowly forward. + +She had not recovered her color, but her manner was perfectly quiet. + +"I am glad you did not go away," she said. + +Ferrol had only stood still at first, waiting her pleasure, but the +instant she spoke he made a quick step toward her. + +"I should have felt it a very hard thing not to have seen you again +before I slept," he said. + +She made no reply, and they walked together in silence until they +reached the opposite end of the gallery. + +"Miss Ferrol has gone in," she said then. + +He turned to look and saw that such was the case. Suddenly, for some +reason best known to herself, Olivia had disappeared from the scene. + +Louisiana leaned against one of the slender, supporting pillars of the +gallery. She did not look at Ferrol, but at the blackness of the +mountains rising before them. Ferrol could not look away from her. + +"If you had not come out again," he said, after a pause, "I think I +should have remained here, baying at the moon, all night." + +Then, as she made no reply, he began to pour himself forth quite +recklessly. + +"I cannot quite understand how I hurt you," he said. "It seemed to me +that I must have hurt you, but even while I don't understand, there are +no words abject enough to express what I feel now and have felt during +the last half hour. If I only dared ask you to tell me----" + +She stopped him. + +"I can't tell you," she said. "But it is not your fault--it is nothing +you could have understood--it is my fault--all my fault, and--I deserve +it." + +He was terribly discouraged. + +"I am bewildered," he said. "I am very unhappy." + +She turned her pretty, pale face round to him swiftly. + +"It is not you who need be unhappy," she exclaimed. "It is I!" + +The next instant she had checked herself again, just as she had done +before. + +"Let us talk of something else," she said, coldly. + +"It will not be easy for me to do so," he answered, "but I will try." + +Before Olivia went to bed she had a visit from her. + +She received her with some embarrassment, it must be confessed. Day by +day she felt less at ease with her and more deeply self-convicted of +some blundering,--which, to a young woman of her temperament, was a +sharp penalty. + +Louisiana would not sit down. She revealed her purpose in coming at +once. + +"I want to ask you to make me a promise," she said, "and I want to ask +your pardon." + +"Don't do that," said Olivia. + +"I want you to promise that you will not tell your brother the truth +until you have left here and are at home. I shall go away very soon. +I am tired of what I have been doing. It is different from what you +meant it to be. But you must promise that if you stay after I have +gone--as of course you will--you will not tell him. My home is only a +few miles away. You might be tempted, after thinking it over, to come +and see me--and I should not like it. I want it all to stop here--I +mean my part of it. I don't want to know the rest." + +Olivia had never felt so helpless in her life. She had neither +self-poise, nor tact, nor any other daring quality left. + +"I wish," she faltered, gazing at the girl quite pathetically, "I wish +we had never begun it." + +"So do I," said Louisiana. "Do you promise?" + +"Y-yes. I would promise anything. I--I have hurt your feelings," she +confessed, in an outbreak. + +She was destined to receive a fresh shock. All at once the girl was +metamorphosed again. It was her old ignorant, sweet, simple self who +stood there, with trembling lips and dilated eyes. + +"Yes, you have!" she cried. "Yes, you have!" + +And she burst into tears and turned about and ran out of the room. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE ROAD TO THE RIGHT. + +The morning after, Ferrol heard an announcement which came upon him +like a clap of thunder. + +After breakfast, as they walked about the grounds, Olivia, who had +seemed to be in an abstracted mood, said, without any preface: + +"Miss Rogers returns home to-morrow." + +Laurence stopped short in the middle of the path. + +"To-morrow!" he exclaimed. "Oh, no." + +He glanced across at Louisiana with an anxious face. + +"Yes," she said, "I am going home." + +"To New York?" + +"I do not live in New York." + +She spoke quite simply, but the words were a shock to him. They +embarrassed him. There was no coldness in her manner, no displeasure +in her tone, but, of course, he understood that it would be worse than +tactless to inquire further. Was it possible that she did not care +that he should know where she lived? There seemed no other +construction to be placed upon her words. He flushed a little, and for +a few minutes looked rather gloomy, though he quickly recovered himself +afterward and changed the subject with creditable readiness. + +"Did not you tell me she lived in New York?" he asked Olivia, the first +time they were alone together. + +"No," Olivia answered, a trifle sharply. "Why New York, more than +another place?" + +"For no reason whatever,--really," he returned, more bewildered than +ever. "There was no reason why I should choose New York, only when I +spoke to her of certain places there, she--she----" + +He paused and thought the matter over carefully before finishing his +sentence. He ended it at last in a singular manner. + +"She said nothing," he said. "It is actually true--now I think of +it--she said nothing whatever!" + +"And because she said nothing whatever----" began Olivia. + +He drew his hand across his forehead with a puzzled gesture. + +"I fancied she _looked_ as if she knew," he said, slowly. "I am sure +she looked as if she knew what I was talking about--as if she knew the +places, I mean. It is very queer! There seems no reason in it. Why +shouldn't she wish us to know where she lives?" + +"I--I must confess," cried Olivia, "that I am getting a little tired of +her." + +It was treacherous and vicious, and she knew it was; but her guilty +conscience and her increasing sense of having bungled drove her to +desperation. If she had not promised to keep the truth to herself, she +would have been only too glad to unburden herself. It was so stupid, +after all, and she had only herself to blame. + +Laurence drew a long breath. + +"You can not be tired of _her_!" he said. "That is impossible. She +takes firmer hold upon one every hour." + +This was certainly true, as far as he was concerned. He was often even +surprised at his own enthusiasm. He had seen so many pretty women that +it was almost inconsistent that he should be so much moved by the +prettiness of one charming creature, and particularly one who spoke so +little, who, after all, was--but there he always found himself at a +full stop. He could not say what she was, he did not know yet; really, +he seemed no nearer the solution of the mystery than he had been at +first. There lay the fascination. He felt so sure there was an +immense deal for him to discover, if he could only discover it. He had +an ideal in his mind, and this ideal, he felt confident, was the real +creature, if he could only see her. During the episode on the upper +gallery he fancied he had caught a glimpse of what was to be revealed. +The sudden passion on her pale young face, the fire in her eyes, were +what he had dreamed of. + +If he had not been possessed of courage and an honest faith in himself, +born of a goodly amount of success, he would have been far more +depressed than he was. She was going away, and had not encouraged him +to look forward to their meeting again. + +"I own it is rather bad to look at," he said to himself, "if one quite +believed that Fate would serve one such an ill turn. She never played +me such a trick, however, and I won't believe she will. I shall see +her again--sometime. It will turn out fairly enough, surely." + +So with this consolation he supported himself. There was one day left +and he meant to make the best of it. It was to be spent in driving to +a certain mountain, about ten miles distant. All tourists who were +possessed of sufficient energy made this excursion as a matter of duty, +if from no more enthusiastic motive. A strong, light carriage and a +pair of horses were kept in the hotel stables for the express purpose +of conveying guests to this special point. + +This vehicle Ferrol had engaged the day before, and as matters had +developed he had cause to congratulate himself upon the fact. He said +to Louisiana what he had before said to himself: + +"We have one day left, and we will make the best of it." + +Olivia, who stood upon the gallery before which the carriage had been +drawn up, glanced at Louisiana furtively. On her part she felt +privately that it would be rather hard to make the best of it. She +wished that it was well over. But Louisiana did not return her glance. +She was looking at Ferrol and the horses. She had done something new +this morning. She had laid aside her borrowed splendor and attired +herself in one of her own dresses, which she had had the boldness to +remodel. She had seized a hint from some one of Olivia's possessions, +and had given her costume a pretty air of primitive simplicity. It was +a plain white lawn, with a little frilled cape or fichu which crossed +upon her breast, and was knotted loosely behind. She had a black +velvet ribbon around her lithe waist, a rose in her bosom where the +fichu crossed, and a broad Gainsborough hat upon her head. One was +reminded somewhat of the picturesque young woman of the good old colony +times. Ferrol, at least, when he first caught sight of her, was +reminded of pictures he had seen of them. + +There was no trace of her last night's fire in her manner. She was +quieter than usual through the first part of the drive. She was gentle +to submissiveness to Olivia. There was something even tender in her +voice once or twice when she addressed her. Laurence noticed it, and +accounted for it naturally enough. + +"She is really fonder of her than she has seemed," he thought, "and she +is sorry that their parting is so near." + +He was just arriving at this conclusion when Louisiana touched his arm. + +"Don't take that road," she said. + +He drew up his horses and looked at her with surprise. There were two +roads before them, and he had been upon the point of taking the one to +the right. + +"But it is the only road to take," he continued. "The other does not +lead to the mountain. I was told to be sure to take the road to the +right hand." + +"It is a mistake," she said, in a disturbed tone. "The left-hand road +leads to the mountain, too--at least, we can reach it by striking the +wagon-road through the woods. I--yes, I am sure of it." + +"But this is the better road. Is there any reason why you prefer the +other? Could you pilot us? If you can----" + +He stopped and looked at her appealingly. + +He was ready to do anything she wished, but the necessity for his +yielding had passed. Her face assumed a set look. + +"I can't," she answered. "Take the road to the right. Why not?" + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +"SHE AINT YERE." + +Ferrol was obliged to admit when they turned their faces homeward that +the day was hardly a success, after all. Olivia had not been at her +best, for some reason or other, and from the moment they had taken the +right-hand road Louisiana had been wholly incomprehensible. + +In her quietest mood she had never worn a cold air before; to-day she +had been cold and unresponsive. It had struck him that she was +absorbed in thinking of something which was quite beyond him. She was +plainly not thinking of him, nor of Olivia, nor of the journey they +were making. During the drive she had sat with her hands folded upon +her lap, her eyes fixed straight before her. She had paid no attention +to the scenery, only rousing herself to call their attention to one +object. This object was a house they passed--the rambling, low-roofed +white house of some well-to-do farmer. It was set upon a small hill +and had a long front porch, mottled with blue and white paint in a +sanguine attempt at imitating variegated marble. + +She burst into a low laugh when she saw it. + +"Look at that," she said. "That is one of the finest houses in the +country. The man who owns it is counted a rich man among his +neighbors." + +Ferrol put up his eye-glasses to examine it. (It is to be deplored +that he was a trifle near-sighted.) + +"By George!" he said. "That is an idea, isn't it, that marble +business! I wonder who did it? Do you know the man who lives there?" + +"I have heard of him," she answered, "from several people. He is a +namesake of mine. His name is Rogers." + +When they returned to their carriage, after a ramble up the +mountain-side, they became conscious that the sky had suddenly +darkened. Ferrol looked up, and his face assumed a rather serious +expression. + +"If either of you is weather-wise," he said, "I wish you would tell me +what that cloud means. You have been among the mountains longer than I +have." + +Louisiana glanced upward quickly. + +"It means a storm," she said, "and a heavy one. We shall be drenched +in half an hour." + +Ferrol looked at her white dress and the little frilled fichu, which +was her sole protection. + +"Oh, but that won't do!" he exclaimed. "What insanity in me not to +think of umbrellas!" + +"Umbrellas!" echoed Louisiana. "If we had each six umbrellas they +could not save us. We may as well get into the carriage. We are only +losing time." + +They were just getting in when an idea struck Ferrol which caused him +to utter an exclamation of ecstatic relief. + +"Why," he cried, "there is that house we passed! Get in quickly. We +can reach there in twenty minutes." + +Louisiana had her foot upon the step. She stopped short and turned to +face him. She changed from red to white and from white to red again, +as if with actual terror. + +"There!" she exclaimed. "There!" + +"Yes," he answered. "We can reach there in time to save ourselves. Is +there any objection to our going,--in the last extremity?" + +For a second they looked into each other's eyes, and then she turned +and sprang into the carriage. She laughed aloud. + +"Oh, no," she said. "Go there! It will be a nice place to stay--and +the people will amuse you. Go there." + +They reached the house in a quarter of an hour instead of twenty +minutes. They had driven fast and kept ahead of the storm, but when +they drew up before the picket fence the clouds were black and the +thunder was rolling behind them. + +It was Louisiana who got out first. She led the way up the path to the +house and mounted the steps of the variegated porch. She did not knock +at the door, which stood open, but, somewhat to Fermi's amazement, +walked at once into the front room, which was plainly the room of +state. Not to put too fine a point upon it, it was a hideous room. + +The ceiling was so low that Ferrol felt as if he must knock his head +against it; it was papered--ceiling and all--with paper of an +unwholesome yellow enlivened with large blue flowers; there was a +bedstead in one corner, and the walls were ornamented with colored +lithographs of moon-faced houris, with round eyes and round, red +cheeks, and wearing low-necked dresses, and flowers in their bosoms, +and bright yellow gold necklaces. These works of art were the first +things which caught Ferrol's eye, and he went slowly up to the most +remarkable, and stood before it, regarding it with mingled wonderment +and awe. + +He turned from it after a few seconds to look at Louisiana, who stood +near him, and he beheld what seemed to him a phenomenon. He had never +seen her blush before as other women blush--now she was blushing, +burning red from chin to brow. + +"There--there is no one in this part of the house," she said. "I--I +know more of these people than you do. I will go and try to find some +one." + +She was gone before he could interpose. Not that he would have +interposed, perhaps. Somehow--without knowing why--he felt as if she +did know more of the situation than he did--almost as if she were, in a +manner, doing the honors for the time being. + +She crossed the passage with a quick, uneven step, and made her way, as +if well used to the place, into the kitchen at the back of the house. + +A stout negro woman stood at a table, filling a pan with newly made +biscuits. Her back was toward the door and she did not see who entered. + +"Aunt Cassandry," the girl began, when the woman turned toward her. + +"Who's dar?" she exclaimed. "Lor', honey, how ye skeert me! I aint no +C'sandry." + +The face she turned was a strange one, and it showed no sign of +recognition of her visitor. + +It was an odd thing that the sight of her unfamiliar face should have +been a shock to Louisiana; but it was a shock. She put her hand to her +side. + +"Where is my--where is Mr. Rogers?" she asked. "I want to see him." + +"Out on de back po'ch, honey, right now. Dar he goes!" + +The girl heard him, and flew out to meet him. Her heart was throbbing +hard, and she was drawing quick, short breaths. + +"Father!" she cried. "Father! Don't go in the house!" + +And she caught him by both shoulders and drew him round. He did not +know her at first in her fanciful-simple dress and her Gainsborough +hat. He was not used to that style of thing, believing that it +belonged rather to the world of pictures. He stared at her. Then he +broke out with an exclamation, + +"Lo-rd! Louisianny!" + +She kept her eyes on his face. They were feverishly bright, and her +cheeks were hot. She laughed hysterically. + +"Don't speak loud," she said. "There are some strange people in the +house, and--and I want to tell you something." + +He was a slow man, and it took him some time to grasp the fact that she +was really before him in the flesh. He said, again: + +"Lord, Louisianny!" adding, cheerfully, "How ye've serprised me!" + +Then he took in afresh the change in her dress. There was a pile of +stove-wood stacked on the porch to be ready for use, and he sat down on +it to look at her. + +"Why, ye've got a new dress on!" he said. "Thet thar's what made ye +look sorter curis. I hardly knowed ye." + +Then he remembered what she had said on first seeing him. + +"Why don't ye want me to go in the house?" he asked. "What sort o' +folks air they?" + +"They came with me from the Springs," she answered; "and--and I want +to--to play a joke on them." + +She put her hands up to her burning cheeks, and stood so. + +"A joke on 'em?" he repeated. + +"Yes," she said, speaking very fast. "They don't know I live here, +they think I came from some city,--they took the notion +themselves,--and I want to let them think so until we go away from the +house. It will be such a good joke." + +She tried to laugh, but broke off in the middle of a harsh sound. Her +father, with one copperas-colored leg crossed over the other, was +chewing his tobacco slowly, after the manner of a ruminating animal, +while he watched her. + +"Don't you see?" she asked. + +"Wa-al, no," he answered. "Not rightly." + +She actually assumed a kind of spectral gayety. + +"I never thought of it until I saw it was not Cassandry who was in the +kitchen," she said. "The woman who is there didn't know me, and it +came into my mind that--that we might play off on them," using the +phraseology to which he was the most accustomed. + +"Waal, we mought," he admitted, with a speculative deliberateness. +"Thet's so. We mought--if thar was any use in it." + +"It's only for a joke," she persisted, hurriedly. + +"Thet's so," he repeated. "Thet's so." + +He got up slowly and rather lumberingly from his seat and dusted the +chips from his copperas-colored legs. + +"Hev ye ben enjyin' yerself, Louisianny?" he asked. + +"Yes," she answered. "Never better." + +"Ye must hev," he returned, "or ye wouldn't be in sperrits to play +jokes." + +Then he changed his tone so suddenly that she was startled. + +"What do ye want me to do?" he asked. + +She put her hand on his shoulder and tried to laugh again. + +"To pretend you don't know me--to pretend I have never been here +before. That's joke enough, isn't it? They will think so when I tell +them the truth. You slow old father! Why don't you laugh?" + +"P'r'aps," he said, "it's on account o' me bein' slow, Louisianny. +Mebbe I shall begin arter a while." + +"Don't begin at the wrong time," she said, still keeping up her +feverish laugh, "or you'll spoil it all. Now come along in and--and +pretend you don't know me," she continued, drawing him forward by the +arm. "They might suspect something if we stay so long. All you've got +to do is to pretend you don't know me." + +"That's so, Louisianny," with a kindly glance downward at her excited +face as he followed her out. "Thar aint no call fur me to do nothin' +else, is there--just pretend I don't know ye?" + +It was wonderful how well he did it, too. When she preceded him into +the room the girl was quivering with excitement. He might break down, +and it would be all over in a second. But she looked Ferrol boldly in +the face when she made her first speech. + +"This is the gentleman of the house," she said. "I found him on the +back porch. He had just come in. He has been kind enough to say we +may stay until the storm is over." + +"Oh, yes," said he hospitably, "stay an' welcome. Ye aint the first as +has stopped over. Storms come up sorter suddent, an' we haint the kind +as turns folks away." + +Ferrol thanked him, Olivia joining in with a murmur of gratitude. They +were very much indebted to him for his hospitality; they considered +themselves very fortunate. + +Their host received their protestations with much equanimity. + +"If ye'd like to set out on the front porch and watch the storm come +up," he said, "thar's seats thar. Or would ye druther set here? +Women-folks is gen'rally fond o' settin' in-doors whar thar's a parlor." + +But they preferred the porch, and followed him out upon it. + +Having seen them seated, he took a chair himself. It was a +split-seated chair, painted green, and he tilted it back against a +pillar of the porch and applied himself to the full enjoyment of a +position more remarkable for ease than elegance. Ferrol regarded him +with stealthy rapture, and drank in every word he uttered. + +"This," he had exclaimed delightedly to Olivia, in private--"why, this +is delightful! These are the people we have read of. I scarcely +believed in them before. I would not have missed it for the world!" + +"In gin'ral, now," their entertainer proceeded, "wimmin-folk is fonder +o' settin' in parlors. My wife was powerful sot on her parlor. She +wasn't never satisfied till she hed one an' hed it fixed up to her +notion. She was allers tradin' fur picters fur it. She tuk a heap o' +pride in her picters. She allers had it in her mind that her little +gal should have a showy parlor when she growed up." + +"You have a daughter?" said Ferrol. + +Their host hitched his chair a little to one side. He bent forward to +expectorate, and then answered with his eyes fixed upon some distant +point toward the mountains. + +"Wa-al, yes," he said; "but she aint yere, Louisianny aint." + +Miss Ferrol gave a little start, and immediately made an effort to +appear entirely at ease. + +"Did you say," asked Ferrol, "that your daughter's name was----" + +"Louisianny," promptly. "I come from thar." + +Louisiana got up and walked to the opposite end of the porch. + +"The storm will be upon us in a few minutes," she said. "It is +beginning to rain now. Come and look at this cloud driving over the +mountain-top." + +Ferrol rose and went to her. He stood for a moment looking at the +cloud, but plainly not thinking of it. + +"His daughter's name is Louisiana," he said, in an undertone. +"Louisiana! Isn't that delicious?" + +Suddenly, even as he spoke, a new idea occurred to him. + +"Why," he exclaimed, "your name is Louise, isn't it? I think Olivia +said so." + +"Yes," she answered, "my name is Louise." + +"How should you have liked it," he inquired, absent-mindedly, "if it +had been Louisiana?" + +She answered him with a hard coolness which it startled him afterward +to remember. + +"How would you have liked it?" she said. + +They were driven back just then by the rain, which began to beat in +upon their end of the porch. They were obliged to return to Olivia and +Mr. Rogers, who were engaged in an animated conversation. + +The fact was that, in her momentary excitement, Olivia had plunged into +conversation as a refuge. She had suddenly poured forth a stream of +remark and query which had the effect of spurring up her companion to a +like exhibition of frankness. He had been asking questions, too. + +"She's ben tellin' me," he said, as Ferrol approached, "thet you're a +littery man, an' write fur the papers--novel-stories, an' pomes an' +things. I never seen one before--not as I know on." + +"I wonder why not!" remarked Ferrol. "We are plentiful enough." + +"Air ye now?" he asked reflectively. "I had an idee thar was only one +on ye now an' ag'in--jest now an' ag'in." + +He paused there to shake his head. + +"I've often wondered how ye could do it," he said, "_I_ couldn't. +Thar's some as thinks they could if they tried, but I wa'n't never +thataway--I wa'n't never thataway. I haint no idee I could do it, not +if I tried ever so. Seems to me," he went on, with the air of making +an announcement of so novel a nature that he must present it modestly, +"seems to me, now, as if them as does it must hev a kinder gift fur'it, +now. Lord! I couldn't write a novel. I wouldn't know whar to begin." + +"It is difficult to decide where," said Ferrol. + +He did not smile at all. His manner was perfect--so full of interest, +indeed, that Mr. Rogers quite warmed and expanded under it. + +"The scenes on 'em all, now, bein' mostly laid in Bagdad, would be agin +me, if nothin' else war," he proceeded. + +"Being laid----?" queried Ferrol. + +"In Bagdad or--wa-al, furrin parts tharabouts. Ye see I couldn't tell +nothin' much about no place but North Ca'liny, an' folks wouldn't buy +it." + +"But why not?" exclaimed Ferrol. + +"Why, Lord bless ye!" he said, hilariously, "they'd know it wa'n't +true. They'd say in a minnit: 'Why, thar's thet fool Rogers ben a +writin' a pack o' lies thet aint a word on it true. Thar aint no +castles in Hamilton County, an' thar aint no folks like these yere. It +just aint so! I 'lowed thet thar was the reason the novel-writers +allers writ about things a-happenin' in Bagdad. Ye kin say most +anythin' ye like about Bagdad an' no one cayn't contradict ye." + +"I don't seem to remember many novels of--of that particular +description," remarked Ferrol, in a rather low voice. "Perhaps my +memory----" + +"Ye don't?" he queried, in much surprise. "Waal now, jest you notice +an' see if it aint so. I haint read many novels myself. I haint read +but one----" + +"Oh!" interposed Ferrol. "And it was a story of life in Bagdad." + +"Yes; an' I've heard tell of others as was the same. Hance Claiborn, +now, he was a-tellen me of one." + +He checked himself to speak to the negro woman who had presented +herself at a room door. + +"We're a-comin', Nancy," he said, with an air of good-fellowship. +"Now, ladies an' gentlemen," he added, rising from his chair, "walk in +an' have some supper." + +Ferrol and Olivia rose with some hesitation. + +"You are very kind," they said. "We did not intend to give you +trouble." + +"Trouble!" he replied, as if scarcely comprehending. "This yere aint +no trouble. Ye haint ben in North Ca'liny before, hev ye?" he +continued, good-naturedly. "We're bound to hev ye eat, if ye stay with +us long enough. We wouldn't let ye go 'way without eatin', bless ye. +We aint that kind. Walk straight in." + +He led them into a long, low room, half kitchen, half dining-room. It +was not so ugly as the room of state, because it was entirely +unadorned. Its ceiled walls were painted brown and stained with many a +winter's smoke. The pine table was spread with a clean homespun cloth +and heaped with well-cooked, appetizing food. + +"If ye can put up with country fare, ye'll not find it so bad," said +the host. "Nancy prides herself on her way o' doin' things." + +There never was more kindly hospitality, Ferrol thought. The simple +generosity which made them favored guests at once warmed and touched +him. He glanced across at Louisiana to see if she was not as much +pleased as he was himself. But the food upon her plate remained almost +untouched. There was a strange look on her face; she was deadly pale +and her downcast eyes shone under their lashes. She did not look at +their host at all; it struck Ferrol that she avoided looking at him +with a strong effort. Her pallor made him anxious. + +"You are not well," he said to her. "You do not look well at all." + +Their host started and turned toward her. + +"Why, no ye aint!" he exclaimed, quite tremulously. "Lord, no! Ye +cayn't be. Ye haint no color. What--what's the trouble, Lou--Lord! I +was gwine to call ye Louisianny, an'--she aint yere, Louisianny aint." + +He ended with a nervous laugh. + +"I'm used to takin' a heap o' care on her," he said. "I've lost ten on +'em, an' she's all that's left me, an'--an' I think a heap on her. +I--I wish she was yere. Ye musn't git sick, ma'am." + +The girl got up hurriedly. + +"I am not sick, really," she said. "The thunder--I have a little +headache. I will go out on to the porch. It's clearing up now. The +fresh air will do me good." + +The old man rose, too, with rather a flurried manner. + +"If Louisianny was yere," he faltered, "she could give ye something to +help ye. Camphire now--sperrits of camphire--let me git ye some." + +"No--no," said the girl. "No, thank you." + +And she slipped out of the door and was gone. + +Mr. Rogers sat down again with a sigh. + +"I wish she'd let me git her some," he said, wistfully. "I know how it +is with young critters like that. They're dele-cate," anxiously. +"Lord, they're dele-cate. They'd oughter hev' their mothers round 'em. +I know how it is with Louisianny." + +A cloud seemed to settle upon him. He rubbed his grizzled chin with +his hand again and again, glancing at the open door as he did it. It +was evident that his heart was outside with the girl who was like +"Louisianny." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +"NOTHING HAS HURT YOU." + +The storm was quite over, and the sun was setting in flames of gold +when the meal was ended and they went out on the porch again. Mr. +Rogers had scarcely recovered himself, but he had made an effort to do +so, and had so far succeeded as to begin to describe the nature of the +one novel he had read. Still, he had rubbed his chin and kept his eye +uneasily on the door all the time he had been talking. + +"It was about a Frenchman," he said, seriously, "an' his name +was--Frankoyse--F-r-a-n-c-o-i-s, Frankoyse. Thet thar's a French name, +aint it? Me an' Ianthy 'lowed it was common to the country. It don't +belong yere, Frankoyse don't, an' it's got a furrin sound." + +"It--yes, it is a French name," assented Ferrol. + +A few minutes afterward they went out. Louisiana stood at the end of +the porch, leaning against a wooden pillar and twisting an arm around +it. + +"Are ye better?" Mr. Rogers asked. "I am goin' to 'tend to my stock, +an' if ye aint, mebbe the camphire--sperrits of camphire----" + +"I don't need it," she answered. "I am quite well." + +So he went away and left them, promising to return shortly and "gear up +their critters" for them that they might go on their way. + +When he was gone, there was a silence of a few seconds which Ferrol +could not exactly account for. Almost for the first time in his +manhood, he did not know what to say. Gradually there had settled upon +him the conviction that something had gone very wrong indeed, that +there was something mysterious and complicated at work, that somehow he +himself was involved, and that his position was at once a most singular +and delicate one. It was several moments before he could decide that +his best plan seemed to be to try to conceal his bewilderment and +appear at ease. And, very naturally, the speech he chose to begin with +was the most unlucky he could have hit upon. + +"He is charming," he said. "What a lovable old fellow! What a +delicious old fellow! He has been telling me about the novel. It is +the story of a Frenchman, and his name--try to guess his name." + +But Louisiana did not try. + +"You couldn't guess it," he went on. "It is better than all the rest. +His name was--Frankoyse." + +That instant she turned round. She was shaking all over like a leaf. + +"Good heavens!" flashed through his mind. "This is a climax! _This_ +is the real creature!" + +"Don't laugh again!" she cried. "Don't dare to laugh! I wont bear it! +He is my father!" + +For a second or so he had not the breath to speak. + +"Your father!" he said, when he found his voice. "_Your_ father! +_Yours!_" + +"Yes," she answered, "mine. This is my home. I have lived here all my +life--my name is Louisiana. You have laughed at me too!" + +It was the real creature, indeed, whom he saw. She burst into +passionate tears. + +"Do you think that I kept up this pretense to-day because I was ashamed +of him?" she said. "Do you think I did it because I did not love +him--and respect him--and think him better than all the rest of the +world? It was because I loved him so much that I did it--because I +knew so well that you would say to each other that he was not like +me--that he was rougher, and that it was a wonder I belonged to him. +It is a wonder I belong to him! I am not worthy to kiss his shoes. I +have been ashamed--I have been bad enough for that, but not bad enough +to be ashamed of him. I thought at first it would be better to let you +believe what you would--that it would soon be over, and we should never +see each other again, but I did not think that I should have to sit by +and see you laugh because he does not know the world as you do--because +he has always lived his simple, good life in one simple, country place." + +Ferrol had grown as pale as she was herself. He groaned aloud. + +"Oh!" he cried, "what shall I say to you? For heaven's sake try to +understand that it is not at him I have laughed, but----" + +"He has never been away from home," she broke in. "He has worked too +hard to have time to read, and--" she stopped and dropped her hands +with a gesture of unutterable pride. "Why should I tell you that?" she +said. "It sounds as if I were apologizing for him, and there is no +need that I should." + +"If I could understand," began Ferrol,--"if I could realize----" + +"Ask your sister," she replied. "It was her plan. I--I" (with a +little sob) "am only her experiment." + +Olivia came forward, looking wholly subdued. Her eyes were wet, too. + +"It is true," she said. "It is all my fault." + +"May I ask you to explain?" said Ferrol, rather sternly. "I suppose +some of this has been for my benefit." + +"Don't speak in that tone," said Olivia. "It is bad enough as it is. +I--I never was so wretched in my life. I never dreamed of its turning +out in this way. She was so pretty and gentle and quick to take a +hint, and--I wanted to try the experiment--to see if you would guess at +the truth. I--I had a theory, and I was so much interested that--I +forgot to--to think of her very much. I did not think she would care." + +Louisiana broke in. + +"Yes," she said, her eyes bright with pain, "she forgot. I was very +fond of her, and I knew so very little that she forgot to think of me. +I was only a kind of plaything--but I was too proud to remind her. I +thought it would be soon over, and I knew how ignorant I was. I was +afraid to trust my feelings at first. I thought perhaps--it was +vanity, and I ought to crush it down. I was very fond of her." + +"Oh!" cried Olivia, piteously, "don't say 'was,' Louise!" + +"Don't say 'Louise,'" was the reply. "Say 'Louisiana.' I am not +ashamed of it now. I want Mr. Ferrol to hear it." + +"I have nothing to say in self-defense," Laurence replied, hopelessly. + +"There is nothing for any of us to say but good-by," said Louisiana. +"We shall never see each other again. It is all over between us. You +will go your way and I shall go mine. I shall stay here to-night. You +must drive back to the Springs without me. I ought never to have gone +there." + +Laurence threw himself into a chair and sat shading his face with his +hand. He stared from under it at the shining wet grass and leaves. +Even yet he scarcely believed that all this was true. He felt as if he +were walking in a dream. The worst of it was this desperate feeling +that there was nothing for him to say. There was a long silence, but +at last Louisiana left her place and came and stood before him. + +"I am going to meet my father," she said. "I persuaded him that I was +only playing a joke. He thought it was one of my fancies, and he +helped me out because I asked him to do it. I am going to tell him +that I have told you the truth. He wont know why I did it. I will +make it easy for you. I shall not see you again. Good-by." + +Ferrol's misery got the better of him. + +"I can't bear this!" he cried, springing up. "I can't, indeed." + +She drew back. + +"Why not?" she said. "Nothing has hurt _you_." + +The simple coldness of her manner was very hard upon him, indeed. + +"You think I have no right to complain," he answered, "and yet see how +you send me away! You speak as if you did not intend to let me see you +again----" + +"No," she interposed, "you shall not see me again. Why should you? +Ask your sister to tell you how ignorant I am. She knows. Why should +you come here? There would always be as much to laugh at as there has +been to-day. Go where you need not laugh. This is not the place for +you. Good-by!" + +Then he knew he need say no more. She spoke with a child's passion and +with a woman's proud obstinacy. Then she turned to Olivia. He was +thrilled to the heart as he watched her while she did it. Her eyes +were full of tears, but she had put both her hands behind her. + +"Good-by," she said. + +Olivia broke down altogether. + +"Is that the way you are going to say good-by?" she cried. "I did not +think you were so hard. If I had meant any harm--but I didn't--and you +look as if you never would forgive me." + +"I may some time," answered the girl. "I don't yet. I did not think I +was so hard, either." + +Her hands fell at her sides and she stood trembling a second. All at +once she had broken down, too. + +"I loved you," she said; "but you did not love me." + +And then she turned away and walked slowly into the house. + + +It was almost half an hour before their host came to them with the news +that their carriage was ready. + +He looked rather "off color" himself and wore a wearied air, but he was +very uncommunicative. + +"Louisianny 'lowed she'd go to bed an' sleep off her headache, instead +of goin' back to the Springs," he said. "I'll be thar in a day or two +to 'tend to her bill an' the rest on it. I 'low the waters haint done +her much good. She aint at herself rightly. I knowed she wasn't when +she was so notionate this evenin'. She aint notionate when she's at +herself." + +"We are much indebted to you for your kindness," said Ferrol, when he +took the reins. + +"Oh, thet aint nothin'. You're welcome. You'd hev hed a better time +if Louisianny had been at herself. Good-by to ye. Ye'll hev plenty of +moonlight to see ye home." + +Their long ride was a silent one. When they reached the end of it and +Olivia had been helped out of the carriage and stood in the moonlight +upon the deserted gallery, where she had stood with Louisiana in the +morning, she looked very suitably miserable. + +"Laurence," she said, "I don't exactly see why you should feel so very +severe about it. I am sure I am as abject as any one could wish." + +He stood a moment in silence looking absently out on the +moonlight-flooded lawn. Everything was still and wore an air of +desolation. + +"We won't talk about it," he said, at last, "but you have done me an +ill-turn, Olivia." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +"DON'T YE, LOUISIANNY?" + +As he said it, Louisiana was at home in the house-room, sitting on a +low chair at her father's knee and looking into the fire. She had not +gone to bed. When he returned to the house her father had found her +sitting here, and she had not left her place since. A wood fire had +been lighted because the mountain air was cool after the rains, and she +seemed to like to sit and watch it and think. + +Mr. Rogers himself was in a thoughtful mood. After leaving his +departing guests he had settled down with some deliberation. He had +closed the doors and brought forward his favorite wooden-backed, +split-seated chair. Then he had seated himself, and drawing forth his +twist of tobacco had cut off a goodly "chaw." He moved slowly and wore +a serious and somewhat abstracted air. Afterward he tilted backward a +little, crossed his legs, and proceeded to ruminate. + +"Louisianny," he said, "Louisianny, I'd like to hear the rights of it." + +She answered him in a low voice. + +"It is not worth telling," she said. "It was a very poor joke, after +all." + +He gave her a quick side glance, rubbing his crossed legs slowly. + +"Was it?" he remarked. "A poor one, after all? Why, thet's bad." + +The quiet patience of his face was a study. He went on rubbing his leg +even more slowly than before. + +"Thet's bad," he said again. "Now, what d'ye think was the trouble, +Louisianny?" + +"I made a mistake," she answered. "That was all." + +Suddenly she turned to him and laid her folded arms on his knee and her +face upon them, sobbing. + +"I oughtn't to have gone," she cried. "I ought to have stayed at home +with you, father." + +His face flushed, and he was obliged to relieve his feelings by +expectorating into the fire. + +"Louisianny," he said, "I'd like to ask ye one question. Was thar +anybody thar as didn't--well, as didn't show ye respect--as was slighty +or free or--or onconsiderate? Fur instants, any littery man--jest for +instants, now?" + +"No, no!" she answered. "They were very kind to me always." + +"Don't be afeared to tell me, Louisianny," he put it to her. "I only +said 'fur instants,' havin' heern as littery men was sometimes--now an' +again--thataway--now an' ag'in." + +"They were very good to me," she repeated, "always." + +"If they was," he returned, "I'm glad of it. I'm a-gittin' old, +Louisianny, an' I haint much health--dispepsy's what tells on a man," +he went on deliberately. "But if thar'd a bin any one as hed done it, +I'd hev hed to settle it with him--I'd hev hed to hev settled it with +him--liver or no liver." + +He put his hand on her head and gave it a slow little rub, the wrong +way, but tenderly. + +"I aint goin' to ask ye no more questions," he said, "exceptin' one. +Is thar anything ye'd like to hev done in the house--in the parlor, for +instants, now--s'posin' we was to say in the parlor." + +"No, no," she cried. "Let it stay as it is! Let it all stay as it is!" + +"Wa-al," he said, meditatively, "ye know thar aint no reason why it +should, Louisianny, if ye'd like to hev it fixed up more or different. +If ye'd like a new paper--say a floweryer one--or a new set of cheers +an' things. Up to Lawyer Hoskin's I seen 'em with red seats to 'em, +an' seemed like they did set things off sorter. If ye'd like to hev +some, thar aint no reason why ye shouldn't. Things has gone purty well +with me, an'--an' thar aint none left but you, honey. Lord!" he added, +in a queer burst of tenderness. "Why shouldn't ye hev things if ye +want 'em?" + +"I don't want them," she protested. "I want nothing but you." + +For a moment there was a dead silence. He kept his eyes fixed on the +fire. He seemed to be turning something over in his mind. But at last +he spoke: + +"Don't ye, Louisianny?" he said. + +"No," she answered. "Nothing." + +And she drew his hand under her cheek and kissed it. + +He took it very quietly. + +"Ye've got a kind heart, Louisianny," he said. "Young folks gin'rally +has, I think. It's sorter nat'ral, but Lord! thar's other things +besides us old folks, an' it's nat'ral as ye'd want 'em. Thar's things +as kin be altered, an' thar's things as cayn't. Let's alter them as +kin. If ye'd like a cupoly put on the house, or, say a coat of +yaller-buff paint--Sawyer's new house is yaller buff, an' it's mighty +showy; or a organ or a pianny, or more dressin', ye shall have 'em. +Them's things as it aint too late to set right, an' ye shall hev 'em." + +But she only cried the more in a soft, hushed way. + +"Oh, don't be so good to me," she said. "Don't be so good and kind." + +He went on as quietly as before. + +"If--fur instants--it was me as was to be altered, Louisianny, I'm +afeared--I'm afeared we couldn't do it. I'm afeared as I've been let +run too long--jest to put it that way. We mought hev done it if we'd +hev begun airlier--say forty or fifty year back--but I'm afeared we +couldn't do it now. Not as I wouldn't be willin'--I wouldn't hev a +thing agin it, an' I'd try my best--but it's late. Thar's whar it is. +If it was me as hed to be altered--made more moderner, an' to know +more, an' to hev more style--I'm afeared thar'd be a heap o' trouble. +Style didn't never seem to come nat'ral to me, somehow. I'm one o' +them things as cayn't be altered. Let's alter them as kin." + +"I don't want you altered," she protested. "Oh! why should I, when you +are such a good father--such a dear father!" + +And there was a little silence again, and at the end of it he said, in +a gentle, forbearing voice, just as he had said before: + +"Don't ye, Louisianny?" + +They sat silent again for some time afterward--indeed, but little more +was said until they separated for the night. Then, when she kissed him +and clung for a moment round his neck, he suddenly roused himself from +his prolonged reverie. + +"Lord!" he said, quite cheerfully, "it caynt last long, at the longest, +arter all--an' you're young yet, you're young." + +"What can't last long?" she asked, timidly. + +He looked into her eyes and smiled. + +"Nothin'," he answered, "nothin' caynt. Nothin' don't--an' you're +young." + +And he was so far moved by his secret thought that he smoothed her hair +from her forehead the wrong way again with a light touch, before he let +her go. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE GREAT WORLD. + +The next morning he went to the Springs. + +"I'll go an' settle up and bring ye your trunk an' things," he said. +"Mebbe I mayn't git back till to-morrer, so don't ye be oneasy. Ef I +feel tired when I git thar, I'll stay overnight." + +She did not think it likely he would stay. She had never known him to +remain away from home during a night unless he had been compelled to do +so by business. He had always been too childishly fond of his home to +be happy away from it. He liked the routine he had been used to +through forty years, the rising at daylight, the regular common duties +he assumed as his share, his own seat on the hearth or porch and at +table. + +"Folks may be clever enough," he used to say. "They air clever, as a +rule--but it don't come nat'ral to be away. Thar aint nothin' like +home an' home ways." + +But he did not return that night, or even the next morning. It was +dusk the next evening before Louisiana heard the buggy wheels on the +road. + +She had been sitting on the porch and rose to greet him when he drove +up and descended from his conveyence rather stiffly. + +"Ye wasn't oneasy, was ye?" he asked. + +"No," she answered; "only it seemed strange to know you were away." + +"I haint done it but three times since me an' Ianthy was married," he +said. "Two o' them times was Conference to Barnsville, an' one was +when Marcelly died." + +When he mounted the porch steps he looked up at her with a smile on his +weather-beaten face. + +"Was ye lonesome?" he asked. "I bet ye was." + +"A little," she replied. "Not very." + +She gave him his chair against the wooden pillar, and watched him as he +tilted back and balanced himself on its back legs. She saw something +new and disturbed in his face and manner. It was as if the bit of +outside life he had seen had left temporary traces upon him. She +wondered very much how it had impressed him and what he was thinking +about. + +And after a short time he told her. + +"Ye must be lonesome," he said, "arter stayin' down thar. It's +nat'ral. A body don't know until they see it theirselves. It's gay +thar. Lord, yes! it's gay, an' what suits young folks is to be gay." + +"Some of the people who were there did not think it was gay," Louisiana +said, a little listlessly. "They were used to gayer places and they +often called it dull, but it seemed very gay to me." + +"I shouldn't want it no gayer, myself," he returned, seriously. "Not +if I was young folks. Thar must hev bin three hundred on 'em in thet +thar dinin'-room. The names o' the vittles writ down on paper to pick +an' choose from, an' fifty or sixty waiters flyin' round. An' the +dressin'! I sot an' watched 'em as they come in. I sot an' watched +'em all day. Thar was a heap o' cur'osities in the way of dressin' I +never seen before. I went into the dancin'-room at night, too, an' sot +thar a spell an' watched 'em. They played a play. Some on 'em put +little caps an' aperns on, an' rosettes an' fixin's. They sorter +danced in it, an' they hed music while they was doin' it. It was +purty, too, if a body could hev follered it out." + +"It is a dance they call the German," said Louisiana, remembering with +a pang the first night she had seen it, as she sat at her new friend's +side. + +"German, is it?" he said, with evident satisfaction at making the +discovery. "Waal now, I ain't surprised. It hed a kinder Dutch look +to me--kinder Dutch an' furrin." + +Just then Nancy announced that his supper was ready, and he went in, +but on the threshold he stopped and spoke again: + +"Them folks as was here," he said, "they'd gone. They started the next +mornin' arter they was here. They live up North somewhars, an' they've +went thar." + +After he had gone in, Louisiana sat still for a little while. The moon +was rising and she watched it until it climbed above the tree-tops and +shone bright and clear. Then one desperate little sob broke from +her--only one, for she choked the next in its birth, and got up and +turned toward the house and the room in which the kerosene lamp burned +on the supper table. + +"I'll go an' talk to him," she said. "He likes to have me with him, +and it will be better than sitting here." + + +She went in and sat near him, resting her elbows upon the table and her +chin on her hands, and tried to begin to talk. But it was not very +easy. She found that she had a tendency to fall back in long silent +pauses, in which she simply looked at him with sad, tender eyes. + +"I stopped at Casey's as I came on," he said, at last. "Thet thar was +one thing as made me late. Thar's--thar's somethin' I hed on my mind +fur him to do fur me." + +"For Casey to do?" she said. + +He poured his coffee into his saucer and answered with a heavy effort +at speaking unconcernedly. + +"I'm agoin' to hev him fix the house," he said. + +She was going to ask him what he meant to have done, but he did not +give her time. + +"Ianthy an' me," he said, "we'd useder say we'd do it sometime, an' I'm +agoin' to do it now. The rooms, now, they're low--whar they're not to +say small, they're low an'--an' old-timey. Thar aint no style to 'em. +Them rooms to the Springs, now, they've got style to 'em. An' rooms +kin be altered easy enough." + +He drank his coffee slowly, set his saucer down and went on with the +same serious air of having broached an ordinary subject. + +"Goin' to the Springs has sorter started me off," he said. "Seein' +things diff'rent does start a man off. Casey an' his men'll be here +Monday." + +"It seems so--sudden," Louisiana said. She gave a slow, wondering +glance at the old smoke-stained room. "I can hardly fancy it looking +any other way than this. It wont be the same place at all." + +He glanced around, too, with a start. His glance was hurried and +nervous. + +"Why, no," he said, "it wont, but--it'll be stylisher. It'll be kinder +onfamil'ar at first, but I dessay we shall get used to it--an' it'll be +stylisher. An' style--whar thar's young folks, thet's what's +wanted--style." + +She was so puzzled by his manner that she sat regarding him with +wonder. But he went on talking steadily about his plans until the meal +was over. He talked of them when they went back to the porch together +and sat in the moonlight. He scarcely gave her an opportunity to +speak. Once or twice the idea vaguely occurred to her that for some +reason he did not want her to talk. It was a relief to her only to be +called upon to listen, but still she was puzzled. + +"When we git fixed up," he said, "ye kin hev your friends yere. Thar's +them folks, now, as was yere the other day from the Springs--when we're +fixed up ye mought invite 'em--next summer, fur instants. Like as not +I shall be away myself an'--ye'd hev room a plenty. Ye wouldn't need +me, ye see. An', Lord! how it'd serprise 'em to come an' find ye all +fixed." + +"I should never ask them," she cried, impetuously. "And--they wouldn't +come if I did." + +"Mebbe they would," he responded, gravely, "if ye was fixed up." + +"I don't want them," she said, passionately. "Let them keep their +place. I don't want them." + +"Don't ye," he said, in his quiet voice. "Don't ye, Louisianny?" + +And he seemed to sink into a reverie and did not speak again for quite +a long time. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +A RUSTY NAIL. + +On Monday Casey and his men came. Louisiana and her father were at +breakfast when they struck their first blow at the end of the house +which was to be renovated first. + +The old man, hearing it, started violently--so violently that he almost +upset the coffee at his elbow. + +He laughed a tremulous sort of laugh. + +"Why, I'm narvous!" he said. "Now, jest to think o' me a-bein' +narvous!" + +"I suppose," said Louisiana, "I am nervous as well. It made me start +too. It had such a strange sound." + +"Waal, now," he answered, "come to think on it, it hed--sorter. Seems +like it wasn't sca'cely nat'ral. P'r'aps that's it." + +Neither of them ate much breakfast, and when the meal was over they +went out together to look at the workmen. They were very busy tearing +off weather-boarding and wrenching out nails. Louisiana watched them +with regretful eyes. In secret she was wishing that the low ceilings +and painted walls might remain as they were. She had known them so +long. + +"I am afraid he is doing it to please me," she thought. "He does not +believe me when I say I don't want it altered. He would never have had +it done for himself." + +Her father had seated himself on a pile of plank. He was rubbing his +crossed leg as usual, but his hand trembled slightly. + +"I druv them nails in myself," he said. "Ianthy wasn't but nineteen. +She'd set yere an' watch me. It was two or three months arter we was +married. She was mighty proud on it when it was all done. Little Tom +he was born in thet thar room. The rest on 'em was born in the front +room, 'n' they all died thar. Ianthy she died thar. I'd useder think +I should----" + +He stopped and glanced suddenly at Louisiana. He pulled himself up and +smiled. + +"Ye aint in the notion o' hevin' the cupoly," he said. "We kin hev it +as soon as not--'n' seems ter me thar's a heap o' style to 'em." + +"Anything that pleases you will please me, father," she said. + +He gave her a mild, cheerful look. + +"Ye don't take much int'russ in it yet, do ye?" he said. "But ye will +when it gits along kinder. Lord! ye'll be as impatient as Ianthy an' +me war when it gits along." + +She tried to think she would, but without very much success. She +lingered about for a while and at last went to her own room at the +other end of the house and shut herself in. + +Her trunk had been carried upstairs and set in its old place behind the +door. She opened it and began to drag out the dresses and other +adornments she had taken with her to the Springs. There was the blue +muslin. She threw it on the floor and dropped beside it, half sitting, +half kneeling. She laughed quite savagely. + +"I thought it was very nice when I made it," she said. "I wonder how +_she_ would like to wear it?" She pulled out one thing after another +until the floor around her was strewn. Then she got up and left them, +and ran to the bed and threw herself into a chair beside it, hiding her +face in the pillow. + +"Oh, how dull it is, and how lonely!" she said. "What shall I do? +What shall I do?" + +And while she sobbed she heard the blows upon the boards below. + +Before she went down-stairs she replaced the things she had taken from +the trunk. She packed them away neatly, and, having done it, turned +the key upon them. + +"Father," she said, at dinner, "there are some things upstairs I want +to send to Cousin Jenny. I have done with them, and I think she'd like +to have them." + +"Dresses an' things, Louisianny?" he said. + +"Yes," she answered. "I shall not need them any more. I--don't care +for them." + +"Don't--" he began, but stopped short, and, lifting his glass, +swallowed the rest of the sentence in a large glass of milk. + +"I'll tell Leander to send fer it," he said afterward. "Jenny'll be +real sot up, I reckon. Her pappy bein' so onfort'nit, she don't git +much." + +He ate scarcely more dinner than breakfast, and spent the afternoon in +wandering here and there among the workmen. Sometimes he talked to +them, and sometimes sat on his pile of plank and watched them in +silence. Once, when no one was looking, he stooped down and picked up +a rusty nail which had fallen from its place in a piece of board. +After holding it in his hand for a little he furtively thrust it into +his pocket, and seemed to experience a sense of relief after he had +done it. + +"Ye don't do nothin' toward helpin' us, Uncle Elbert," said one of the +young men. (Every youngster within ten miles knew him as "Uncle +Elbert.") "Ye aint as smart as ye was when last ye built, air ye?" + +"No, boys," he answered, "I ain't. That's so. I aint as smart, an'," +he added, rather hurriedly, "it'd sorter go agin me to holp ye at what +ye're doin' now. Not as I don't think it's time it was done, but--it'd +sorter go ag'in me." + +When Louisiana entered the house-room at dusk, she found him sitting by +the fire, his body drooping forward, his head resting listlessly on his +hand. + +"I've got a touch o' dyspepsy, Louisianny," he said, "an' the knockin' +hes kinder giv me a headache. I'll go to bed airly." + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +"MEBBE." + +She had been so full of her own sharp pain and humiliation during the +first few days that perhaps she had not been so quick to see as she +would otherwise have been, but the time soon came when she awakened to +a bewildered sense of new and strange trouble. She scarcely knew when +it was that she first began to fancy that some change had taken place +in her father. It was a change she could not comprehend when she +recognized its presence. It was no alteration of his old, slow, quiet +faithfulness to her. He had never been so faithfully tender. The +first thing which awakened her thought of change was his redoubled +tenderness. She found that he watched her constantly, in a patient, +anxious way. When they were together she often discovered that he kept +his eyes fixed upon her when he thought she was not aware of his gaze. +He seemed reluctant to leave her alone, and continually managed to be +near her, and yet it grew upon her at last that the old, homely +good-fellowship between them had somehow been broken in upon, and +existed no longer. It was not that he loved her any less--she was sure +of that; but she had lost something, without knowing when or how she +had lost it, or even exactly what it was. But his anxiety to please +her grew day by day. He hurried the men who were at work upon the +house. + +"Louisianny, she'll enjoy it when it's done," he said to them. "Hurry +up, boys, an' do yer plum best." + +She had been at home about two weeks when he began to drive over to the +nearest depot every day at "train time." It was about three miles +distant, and he went over for several days in his spring wagon. At +first he said nothing of his reason for making the journey, but one +morning, as he stood at his horses' heads, he said to Louisiana, +without turning to look at her, and affecting to be very busy with some +portion of the harness: + +"I've ben expectin' of some things fer a day or so, an' they haint +come. I wasn't sure when I oughter to look fer 'em--mebbe I've ben +lookin' too soon--fer they haint come yet." + +"Where were they to come from?" she asked. + +"From--from New York City." + +"From New York?" she echoed, trying to show an interest. "I did not +know you sent there, father." + +"I haint never done it afore," he answered. "These yere things--mebbe +they'll come to-day, an' then ye'll see 'em." + +She asked no further questions, fancying that he had been buying some +adornments for the new rooms which were to be a surprise for her. +After he had gone away she thought a little sadly of his kindness to +her, and her unworthiness of it. At noon he came back and brought his +prize with him. + +He drove up slowly with it behind him in the wagon--a large, shining, +new trunk--quite as big and ponderous as any she had seen at the +Springs. + +He got down and came up to her as she stood on the porch. He put his +hand on her shoulder. + +"I'll hev 'em took in an' ye kin look at 'em," he said. "It's some new +things ye was a-needin'." + +She began to guess dimly at what he meant, but she followed the trunk +into the house without speaking. When they set it down she stood near +while her father fumbled for the key and found it, turned it in the +lock and threw back the lid. + +"They're some things ye was a-needin'," he said. "I hope ye'll like +'em, honey." + +She did not know what it was in his voice, or his face, or his simple +manner that moved her so, but she did not look at what he had brought +at all--she ran to him and caught his arm, dropped her face on it, and +burst into tears. + +"Father--father!" she cried. "Oh, father!" + +"Look at 'em, Louisianny," he persisted, gently, "an' see if they suit +ye. Thar aint no reason to cry, honey." + +The words checked her and made her feel uncertain and bewildered again. +She stopped crying and looked up at him, wondering if her emotion +troubled him, but he did not meet her eye, and only seemed anxious that +she should see what he had brought. + +"I didn't tell ye all I hed in my mind when I went to the Springs," he +said. "I hed a notion I'd like to see fer myself how things was. I +knowed ye'd hev an idee thet ye couldn't ask me fer the kind o' things +ye wanted, an' I knowed _I_ knowed nothin' about what they was, so I +ses to myself, 'I'll go an' stay a day an' watch and find out.' An' I +went, an' I found out. Thar was a young woman thar as was dressed +purtier than any of 'em. An' she was clever an' friendly, an' I +managed it so we got a-talkin'. She hed on a dress that took my fancy. +It was mighty black an' thick--ye know it was cold after the rains--an' +when we was talkin' I asked her if she mind a-tellin' me the name of it +an' whar she'd bought it. An' she laughed some, an' said it was +velvet, an' she'd got it to some store in New York City. An' I asked +her if she'd write it down; I'd a little gal at home I wanted a dress +off'n it fer--an' then, someways, we warmed up, an' I ses to her, 'She +aint like me. If ye could see her ye'd never guess we was kin.' She +hadn't never seen ye. She come the night ye left, but when I told her +more about ye, she ses, 'I think I've heern on her. I heern she was +very pretty.' An' I told her what I'd hed in my mind, an' it seemed +like it took her fancy, an' she told me to get a paper an' pencil an' +she'd tell me what to send fer an' whar to send. An' I sent fer 'em, +an' thar they air." + +She could not tell him that they were things not fit for her to wear. +She looked at the rolls of silk and the laces and feminine extras with +a bewildered feeling. + +"They are beautiful things," she said. "I never thought of having such +things for my own." + +"Thar's no reason why ye shouldn't hev 'em," he said. "I'd oughter hev +thought of 'em afore. Do they suit ye, Louisianny?" + +"I should be very hard to please if they didn't," she answered. "They +are only too beautiful for--a girl like me." + +"They cayn't be that," he said, gravely. "I didn't see none no +handsomer than you to the Springs, Louisianny, an' I ses to the lady as +writ it all down fer me, I ses, 'What I want is fer her to hev what the +best on 'em hev. I don't want nothin' no less than what she'd like to +hev if she'd ben raised in New York or Philadelphy City. Thar aint no +reason why she shouldn't hev it. Out of eleven she's all that's left, +an' she desarves it all. She's young an' handsome, and she desarves it +all.'" + +"What did she say to that?" Louisiana asked. + +He hesitated a moment before answering. + +"She looked at me kinder queer fer a minnit," he replied at length. +"An' then she ses, 'She'd oughter be a very happy gal,' ses she, 'with +such a father,' an' I ses, 'I 'low she is--mebbe.'" + +"Only maybe?" said the girl, "only maybe, father?" + +She dropped the roll of silk she had been holding and went to him. She +put her hand on his arm again and shook it a little, laughing in the +same feverish fashion as when she had gone out to him on the porch on +the day of her return. She had suddenly flushed up, and her eyes shone +as he had seen them then. + +"Only maybe," she said. "Why should I be unhappy? There's no reason. +Look at me, with my fine house and my new things! There isn't any one +happier in the world! There is nothing left for me to wish for. I +have got too much!" + +A new mood seemed to have taken possession of her all at once. She +scarcely gave him a chance to speak. She drew him to the trunk's side, +and made him stand near while she took the things out one by one. She +exclaimed and laughed over them as she drew them forth. She held the +dress materials up to her waist and neck to see how the colors became +her; she tried on laces and sacques and furbelows and the hats which +were said to have come from Paris. + +"What will they say when they see me at meeting in them?" she said. +"Brother Horner will forget his sermons. There never were such things +in Bowersville before. I am almost afraid they will think I am putting +on airs." + +When she reached a box of long kid gloves at the bottom, she burst into +such a shrill laugh that her father was startled. There was a tone of +false exhilaration about her which was not what he had expected. + +"See!" she cried, holding one of the longest pairs up, "eighteen +buttons! And cream color! I can wear them with the cream-colored silk +and cashmere at--at a festival!" + +When she had looked at everything, the rag carpet was strewn with her +riches,--with fashionable dress materials, with rich and delicate +colors, with a hundred feminine and pretty whims. + +"How could I help but be happy?" she said. "I am like a queen. I +don't suppose queens have very much more, though we don't know much +about queens, do we?" + +She hung round her father's neck and kissed him in a fervent, excited +way. + +"You good old father!" she said, "you sweet old father!" + +He took one of her soft, supple hands and held it between both his +brown and horny ones. + +"Louisianny," he said, "I _'low _to make ye happy; ef the Lord haint +nothin' agin it, I _'low_ to do it!" + +He went out after that, and left her alone to set her things to rights; +but when he had gone and closed the door, she did not touch them. She +threw herself down flat upon the floor in the midst of them, her +slender arms flung out, her eyes wide open and wild and dry. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +A NEW PLAN. + +At last the day came when the house was finished and stood big and +freshly painted and bare in the sun. Late one afternoon in the Indian +summer, Casey and his men, having bestowed their last touches, +collected their belongings and went away, leaving it a lasting monument +to their ability. Inside, instead of the low ceilings, and painted +wooden walls, there were high rooms and plaster and modern papering; +outside, instead of the variegated piazza, was a substantial portico. +The whole had been painted a warm gray, and Casey considered his job a +neat one and was proud of it. When they were all gone Louisiana went +out into the front yard to look at it. She stood in the grass and +leaned against an apple-tree. It was near sunset, and both trees and +grass were touched with a yellow glow so deep and mellow that it was +almost a golden haze. Now that the long-continued hammering and sawing +was at an end and all traces of its accompaniments removed, the +stillness seemed intense. There was not a breath of wind stirring, or +the piping of a bird to be heard. The girl clasped her slender arms +about the tree's trunk and rested her cheek against the rough bark. +She looked up piteously. + +"I must try to get used to it," she said. "It is very much nicer--and +I must try to get used to it." + +But the strangeness of it was very hard on her at first. When she +looked at it she had a startled feeling--as if when she had expected to +see an old friend she had found herself suddenly face to face with a +stranger. + +Her father had gone to Bowersville early in the day, and she had been +expecting his return for an hour or so. She left her place by the tree +at length and went to the fence to watch for his coming down the road. +But she waited in vain so long that she got tired again and wandered +back to the house and around to the back to where a new barn and stable +had been built, painted and ornamented in accordance with the most +novel designs. There was no other such barn or stable in the country, +and their fame was already wide-spread and of an enviable nature. + +As she approached these buildings Louisiana glanced up and uttered an +exclamation. Her father was sitting upon the door-sill of the barn, +and his horse was turned loose to graze upon the grass before him. + +"Father," the girl cried, "I have been waiting for you. I thought you +had not come." + +"I've been yere a right smart while, Louisianny," he answered. "Ye +wasn't 'round when I come, an' so ye didn't see me, I reckon." + +He was pale, and spoke at first heavily and as if with an effort, but +almost instantly he brightened. + +"I've jest ben a-settin' yere a-steddyin'," he said. "A man wants to +see it a few times an' take it sorter gradual afore he kin do it +jestice. A-lookin' at it from yere, now," with a wide sweep of his +hand toward the improvements, "ye kin see how much style thar is to it. +Seems to me thet the--the mountains now, they look better. It--waal it +kinder sets 'em off--it kinder sets 'em off." + +"It is very much prettier," she answered. + +"Lord, yes! Thar aint no comparison. I was jest a-settin' thinkin' +thet anyone thet'd seed it as it was afore they'd not know it. Ianthy, +fer instants--Ianthy she wouldn't sca'cely know it was home--thar's so +much style to it." + +He suddenly stopped and rested against the door-lintel. He was pale +again, though he kept up a stout air of good cheer. + +"Lord!" he said, after a little pause, "it's a heap stylisher!" + +Presently he bent down and picked up a twig which lay on the ground at +his feet. He began to strip the leaves from it with careful slowness, +and he kept his eyes fixed on it as he went on talking. + +"Ye'll never guess who I've ben a-talkin' to to-day, an' what I've ben +talkin' to 'em about." + +She put her hand on his knee caressingly. + +"Tell me, father," she said. + +He laughed a jerky, high-pitched laugh. + +"I've ben talkin' to Jedge Powers," he said. "He's up yere from +Howelsville, a-runnin' fer senator. He's sot his mind on makin' it, +too, an' he was a-tellin' me what his principles was. He--he's got a +heap o' principles. An' he told me his wife an' family was a-goin' to +Europe. He was mighty sosherble--an' he said they was a-goin' to +Europe." + +He had stripped the last leaf from the twig and had begun upon the +bark. Just at this juncture it slipped from his hand and fell on the +ground. He bent down again to pick it up. + +"Louisianny," he said, "how--would ye like to go to Europe?" + +She started back amazed, but she could not catch even a glimpse of his +face, he was so busy with the twig. + +"I go to Europe--I!" she said. "I don't--I never thought of it. It is +not people like us who go to Europe, father." + +"Louisianny," he said, hurriedly, "what's agin it? Thar aint +nothin'--nothin'! It come in my mind when Powers was a-tellin' me. I +ses to myself, 'Why, here's the very thing fer Louisianny! Travel an' +furrin langwidges an' new ways o' doin'. It's what she'd oughter hed +long ago.' An' Powers he went on a-talkin' right while I was +a-steddyin, an' he ses: 'Whar's that pretty darter o' yourn thet we was +so took with when we passed through Hamilton last summer? Why,' ses +he,--he ses it hisself, Louisianny,--'why don't ye send her to Europe? +Let her go with my wife. She'll take care of her.' An' I stopped him +right thar. 'Do ye mean it, Jedge?' I ses. 'Yes,' ses he. 'Why not? +My wife an' daughter hev talked about her many a time, an' said how +they'd like to see her agin. Send her,' ses he. 'You're a rich man, +an' ye kin afford it, Squire, if ye will.' An' I ses, 'So I kin ef +she'd like to go, an' what's more, I'm a-goin' to ask her ef she +would--fer thar aint nothin' agin it--nothin'.'" + +He paused for a moment and turned to look at her. + +"Thet's what I was steddyin' about mostly, Louisianny," he said, "when +I set yere afore ye come." + +She had been sitting beside him, and she sprang to her feet and stood +before him. + +"Father," she cried, "are you tired of me?" + +"Tired of ye, Louisianny?" he repeated. "Tired of ye?" + +She flung out her hand with a wild gesture and burst into tears. + +"Are you tired of me?" she said again. "Don't you love me any more? +Don't you want me as you used to? Could you do without me for months +and months and know I was far away and couldn't come to you? No, you +couldn't. You couldn't. I know that, though something--I don't know +what--has come between us, and I feel it every minute, and most when +you are kindest. Is there nothing in the way of my going +away--nothing? Think again." + +"Louisianny," he answered, "I cayn't think of nothin'--thet's +partic'lar." + +She slipped down on her knee and threw herself on his breast, clinging +to him with all her young strength. + +"Are _you_ nothing?" she cried. "Is all your love nothing? Are all +your beautiful, good thoughts for my happiness 'nothing'? Is your +loneliness nothing? Shall I leave you here to live by yourself in the +new home which is strange to you--after you have given up the old one +you knew and loved for me? Oh! what has made you think I have no +heart, and no soul, and nothing to be grateful with? Have I ever been +bad and cruel and hard to you that you can think it?" + +She poured forth her love and grief and tender reproach on his breast +with such innocent fervor that he could scarcely bear it. His eyes +were wet too, and his furrowed, sunburnt cheeks, and his breath came +short and fast while he held her close in his arms. + +"Honey," he said, just as he had often spoken to her when she had been +a little child, "Louisianny, honey, no! No, never! I never hed a +thought agin ye, not in my bottermost heart. Did ye think it? Lord, +no! Thar aint nothin' ye've never done in yer life that was meant to +hurt or go agin me. Ye never did go agin me. Ye aint like me, honey; +ye're kinder finer. Ye was borned so. I seed it when ye was in yer +cradle. I've said it to Ianthy (an' sence ye're growed up I've said it +more). Thar's things ye'd oughter hev thet's diff'rent from what most +of us wants--it's through you a-bein' so much finer. Ye mustn't be so +tender-hearted, honey, ye mustn't." + +She clung more closely to him and cried afresh, though more softly. + +"Nothing shall take me away from you," she said, "ever again. I went +away once, and it would have been better if I had stayed at home. The +people did not want me. They meant to be good to me, and they liked +me, but--they hurt me without knowing it, and it would have been better +if I had stayed here. _You_ don't make me feel ashamed, and sad, and +bitter. _You_ love me just as I am, and you would love me if I knew +even less, and was more simple. Let me stay with you! Let us stay +together always--always--always!" + +He let her cry her fill, holding her pretty head tenderly and soothing +her as best he could. Somehow he looked a little brighter himself, and +not quite so pale as he had done when she found him sitting alone +trying to do the new house "jestice." + +When at length they went in to supper it was almost dusk, and he had +his arm still around her. He did not let her go until they sat down at +the table, and then she brought her chair quite close to his, and while +he ate looked at him often with her soft, wet eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +CONFESSIONS. + +They had a long, quiet evening together afterward. They sat before the +fire, and Louisiana drew her low seat near him so that she could rest +her head upon his knee. + +"It's almost like old times," she said. "Let us pretend I never went +away and that everything is as it used to be." + +"Would ye like it to be thataway, Louisianny?" he asked. + +She was going to say "Yes," but she remembered the changes he had made +to please her, and she turned her face and kissed the hand her cheek +rested against. + +"You mustn't fancy I don't think the new house is beautiful," she said. +"It isn't that I mean. What I would like to bring back is--is the +feeling I used to have. That is all--nothing but the old feeling. And +people can't always have the same feelings, can they? Things change so +as we get older." + +He looked at the crackling fire very hard for a minute. + +"Thet's so," he said. "Thet's so. Things changes in gin'ral, an' +feelin's, now, they're cur'us. Thar's things as kin be altered an' +things as cayn't--an' feelin's they cayn't. They're cur'us. Ef ye +hurt 'em, now, thar's money; it aint nowhar--it don't do no good. Thar +aint nothin' ye kin buy as 'll set 'em straight. Ef--fer +instants--money could buy back them feelin's of yourn--them as ye'd +like to hev back--how ready an' willin' I'd be to trade fer' em! Lord! +how ready an' willin'! But it wont do it. Thar's whar it is. When +they're gone a body hez to larn to git along without 'em." + +And they sat silent again for some time, listening to the snapping of +the dry wood burning in the great fire-place. + +When they spoke next it was of a different subject. + +"Ef ye aint a-goin' to Europe--" the old man began. + +"And I'm not, father," Louisiana put in. + +"Ef ye aint, we must set to work fixin' up right away. This mornin' I +was a-layin' out to myself to let it stay tell ye come back an' then +hev it all ready fer ye--cheers an' tables--an' sophias--an' +merrors--an'--ile paintin's. I laid out to do it slow, Louisianny, and +take time, an' steddy a heap, an' to take advice from them es knows, +afore I traded ary time. I 'lowed it'd be a heap better to take advice +from them es knowed. Brown, es owns the Springs, I 'lowed to hev asked +him, now,--he's used to furnishin' up an' knows whar to trade an' what +to trade fer. The paintin's, now--I've heern it takes a heap o' +experience to pick 'em, an' I aint hed no experience. I 'low I +shouldn't know a good un when I seen it, Now, them picters as was in +the parlor--ye know more than I do, I dessay,--now, them picters," he +said, a little uncertainly, "was they to say good, or--or only about +middlin'?" + +She hesitated a second. + +"Mother was fond of them," she broke out, in a burst of simple feeling. + +Remembering how she had stood before the simpering, red-cheeked faces +and hated them; how she had burned with shame before them, she was +stricken with a bitter pang of remorse. + +"Mother was fond of them," she said. + +"Thet's so," he answered, simply. "Thet's so, she was; an' you a-bein' +so soft-hearted an' tender makes it sorter go agin ye to give in as +they wasn't--what she took 'em fer. But ye see, thet--though it's +nat'ral--it's nat'ral--don't make 'em good or bad, Louisianny, an' +Lord! it don't harm _her_. 'Taint what folks knows or what they don't +know thet makes the good in 'em. Ianthy she warn't to say 'complished, +but I don't see how she could hev ben no better than she was--nor more +calculated to wear well--in the p'int o' religion. Not hevin' +experience in ile paintin's aint what'd hurt her, nor make us think no +less of her. It wouldn't hev hurt her when she was livin', an' Lord! +she's past it now--she's past it, Ianthy is." + +He talked a good deal about his plans and of the things he meant to +buy. He was quite eager in his questioning of her and showed such +lavishness as went to her heart. + +"I want to leave ye well fixed," he said. + +"Leave me?" she echoed. + +He made a hurried effort to soften the words. + +"I'd oughtn't to said it," he said. "It was kinder keerless. Thet +thar--it's a long way off--mebbe--an' I'd oughtn't to hev said it. +It's a way old folks hev--but it's a bad way. Things git to seem +sorter near to 'em--an' ordinary." + +The whole day had been to Louisiana a slow approach to a climax. +Sometimes when her father talked she could scarcely bear to look at his +face as the firelight shone on it. + +So, when she had bidden him good-night at last and walked to the door +leaving him standing upon the hearth watching her as she moved away, +she turned round suddenly and faced him again, with her hand upon the +latch. + +"Father," she cried, "I want to tell you--I want to tell you----" + +"What?" he said. "What, Louisianny?" + +She put her hand to her side and leaned against the door--a slender, +piteous figure. + +"Don't look at me kindly," she said. "I don't deserve it. I deserve +nothing. I have been ashamed----" + +He stopped her, putting up his shaking hand and turning pale. + +"Don't say nothin' as ye'll be sorry fer when ye feel better, +Louisianny," he said. "Don't git carried away by yer feelin's into +sayin' nothin' es is hard on yerself. Don't ye do it, Louisianny. +Thar aint no need fer it, honey. Yer kinder wrought up, now, an' ye +cayn't do yerself jestice." + +But she would not be restrained. + +"I _must_ tell you," she said. "It has been on my heart too long. I +ought never to have gone away. Everybody was different from us--and +had new ways. I think they laughed at me, and it made me bad. I began +to ponder over things until at last I hated myself and everything, and +was ashamed that I had been content. When I told you I wanted to play +a joke on the people who came here, it was not true. I wanted them to +go away without knowing that this was my home. It was only a queer +place, to be laughed at, to them, and I was ashamed of it, and bitter +and angry. When they went into the parlor they laughed at it and at +the pictures, and everything in it, and I stood by with my cheeks +burning. When I saw a strange woman in the kitchen it flashed into my +mind that I had no need to tell them that all these things that they +laughed at had been round me all my life. They were not sneering at +them--it was worse than that--they were only interested and amused and +curious, and were not afraid to let me see. The--gentleman had been +led by his sister to think I came from some city. He thought I +was--was pretty and educated,--his equal, and I knew how amazed he +would be and how he would say he could not believe that I had lived +here, and wonder at me and talk me over. And I could not bear it. I +only wanted him to go away without knowing, and never, never see me +again!" + +Remembering the pain and fever and humiliation of the past, and of that +dreadful day above all, she burst into sobbing. + +"You did not think I was that bad, did you?" she said. "But I was! I +was!" + +"Louisianny," he said, huskily, "come yere. Thar aint no need fer ye +to blame yerself thataway. Yer kinder wrought up." + +"Don't be kind to me!" she said. "Don't! I want to tell you +all--every word! I was so bad and proud and angry that I meant to +carry it out to the end, and tried to--only I was not quite bad enough +for one thing, father--I was not bad enough to be ashamed of _you_, or +to bear to sit by and see them cast a slight upon you. They didn't +mean it for a slight--it was only their clever way of looking at +things--but _I_ loved you. You were all I had left, and I knew you +were better than they were a thousand times! Did they think I would +give your warm, good heart--your kind, faithful heart--for all they had +learned, or for all they could ever learn? It killed me to see and +hear them! And it seemed as if I was on fire. And I told them the +truth--that you were _my_ father and that I loved you and was proud of +you--that I might be ashamed of myself and all the rest, but not of +you--never of you--for I wasn't worthy to kiss your feet!" + +For one moment her father watched her, his lips parted and trembling. +It seemed as if he meant to try to speak, but could not. Then his eyes +fell with an humble, bewildered, questioning glance upon his feet, +encased in their large, substantial brogans--the feet she had said she +was not worthy to kiss. What he saw in them to touch him so it would +be hard to tell--for he broke down utterly, put out his hand, groping +to feel for his chair, fell into it with head bowed on his arm, and +burst into sobbing too. + +She left her self-imposed exile in an instant, ran to him, and knelt +down to lean against him. + +"Oh!" she cried, "have I broken your heart? Have I broken your heart? +Will God ever forgive me? I don't ask you to forgive me, father, for I +don't deserve it." + +At first he could not speak, but he put his arm round her and drew her +head up to his breast--and, with all the love and tenderness he had +lavished upon her all her life, she had never known such love and +tenderness as he expressed in this one movement. + +"Louisianny," he said, brokenly, when he had found his voice, "it's you +as should be a-forgivin' me." + +"I!" she exclaimed. + +He held her in his trembling arm so close that she felt his heart +quivering. + +"To think," he almost whispered, "as I should not hev ben doin' ye +jestice! To think as I didn't know ye well enough to do ye jestice! +To think yer own father, thet's knowed ye all yer life, could hev give +in to its bein' likely as ye wasn't--what he'd allers thought, an' what +yer mother 'd thought, an' what ye was, honey." + +"I don't----" she began falteringly. + +"It's me as oughter be a-standin' agin the door," he said. "It's me! +I knowed every word of the first part of what ye've told me, +Louisianny. I've been so sot on ye thet I've got into a kinder +noticin' way with ye, an' I guessed it out. I seen it in yer face when +ye stood thar tryin' to laugh on the porch while them people was +a-waitin'. 'Twa'n't no nat'ral gal's laugh ye laughed, and when ye +thought I wasn't a-noticin' I was a-noticin' an' a-thinkin' all the +time. But I seen more than was thar, honey, an' I didn't do ye +jestice--an' I've ben punished fer it. It come agin me like a +slungshot. I ses to myself, 'She's ashamed o' _me_! It's _me_ she's +ashamed of--an' she wants to pass me off fer a stranger!'" + +The girl drew off from him a little and looked up into his face +wonderingly. + +"You thought that!" she said. "And never told me--and humored me, +and----" + +"I'd oughter knowed ye better," he said; "but I've suffered fer it, +Louisianny. I ses to myself, 'All the years thet we've ben sot on each +other an' nussed each other through our little sick spells, an' keered +fer each other, lies gone fer nothin'. She wants to pass me off fer a +stranger.' Not that I blamed ye, honey. Lord! I knowed the +difference betwixt us! _I_'d knowed it long afore you did. But +somehow it warn't eggsakly what I looked fer an' it was kinder hard on +me right at the start. An' then the folks went away an' ye didn't go +with 'em, an' thar was somethin' workin' on ye as I knowed ye wasn't +ready to tell me about. An' I sot an' steddied it over an' watched ye, +an' I prayed some, an' I laid wake nights a-steddyin'. An' I made up +my mind thet es I'd ben the cause o' trouble to ye I'd oughter try an' +sorter balance the thing. I allers 'lowed parents hed a duty to their +child'en. An' I ses, 'Thar's some things thet kin be altered an' some +thet cayn't. Let's alter them es kin!'" + +She remembered the words well, and now she saw clearly the dreadful +pain they had expressed; they cut her to her soul. + +"Oh! father," she cried. "How could you?" + +"I'd oughter knowed ye better, Louisianny," he repeated. "But I +didn't. I ses, 'What money an' steddyin' an' watchin'll do fer her to +make up, shell be done. I'll try to make up fer the wrong I've did her +onwillin'ly--onwillin'ly.' An' I went to the Springs an' I watched an' +steddied thar, an' I come home an' I watched an' steddied thar--an' I +hed the house fixed, an' I laid out to let ye go to Europe--though what +I'd heern o' the habits o' the people, an' the brigands an' sich, went +powerful agin me makin' up my mind easy. An' I never lost sight nary +minnit o' what I'd laid out fer to do--but I wasn't doin' ye jestice +an' didn't suffer no more than I'd oughter. An' when ye stood up thar +agen the door, honey, with yer tears a-streamin' an' yer eyes +a-shinin', an' told me what ye'd felt an' what ye'd said about--wa'l," +(delicately) "about thet thar as ye thought ye wasn't worthy to do, it +set my blood a-tremblin' in my veins--an' my heart a-shakin' in my +side, an' me a-goin' all over--an' I was struck all of a heap, an' +knowed thet the Lord hed ben better to me than I thought, an'--an' even +when I was fondest on ye, an' proudest on ye, I hadn't done ye no sort +o' jestice in the world--an' never could!" + +There was no danger of their misunderstanding each other again. When +they were calmer they talked their trouble over simply and confidingly, +holding nothing back. + +"When ye told me, Louisianny," said her father, "that ye wanted nothin' +but me, it kinder went agin me more than all the rest, fer I thinks, +ses I to myself, 'It aint true, an' she must be a-gettin' sorter +hardened to it, or she'd never said it.' I seemed like it was kinder +onnecessary. Lord! the onjestice I was a-doin' ye!" + +They bade each other good-night again, at last. + +"Fer ye're a-lookin' pale," he said. "An' I've been kinder out o' +sorts myself these last two or three weeks. My dyspepsy's bin back on +me agin an' thet thar pain in my side's bin a-workin' on me. We must +take keer o' ourselves, bein' es thar's on'y us two, an' we're so sot +on each other." + +He went to the door with her and said his last words to her there. + +"I'm glad it come to-night," he said, in a grateful tone. "Lord! how +glad I am it come to-night! S'posin' somethin' hed happened to ary one +of us an' the other hed ben left not a-knowin' how it was. I'm glad it +didn't last no longer, Louisianny." + +And so they parted for the night. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +"IANTHY!" + +It was later than usual when Louisiana awakened in the morning. She +awakened suddenly and found herself listening to the singing of a bird +on the tree near her window. Its singing was so loud and shrill that +it overpowered her and aroused her to a consciousness of fatigue and +exhaustion. + +It seemed to her at first that no one was stirring in the house below, +but after a few minutes she heard some one talking in her father's +room--talking rapidly in monotonous tone. + +"I wonder who it is," she said, and lay back upon her pillow, feeling +tired out and bewildered between the bird's shrill song and the strange +voice. + +And then she heard heavy feet on the stairs and listened to them +nervously until they reached her door and the door was pushed open +unceremoniously. + +The negro woman Nancy thrust her head into the room. + +"Miss Louisianny, honey," she said. "Ye aint up yet?" + +"No." + +"Ye'd better _git_ up, honey--an' come down stairs." + +But the girl made no movement. + +"Why?" she asked, listlessly. + +"Yer pappy, honey--he's sorter cur'us. He don't seem to be right well. +He didn't seem to be quite at hisself when I went to light his fire. +He----" + +Louisiana sat upright in bed, her great coil of black hair tumbling +over one shoulder and making her look even paler than she was. + +"Father!" she said. "He was quite well late last night. It was after +midnight when we went to bed, and he was well then." + +The woman began to fumble uneasily at the latch. + +"Don't ye git skeered, chile," she said. "Mebbe 'taint nothin'--but +seemed to me like--like he didn't know me." + +Louisiana was out of bed, standing upon the floor and dressing +hurriedly. + +"He was well last night," she said, piteously. "Only a few hours ago. +He was well and talked to me and----" + +She stopped suddenly to listen to the voice down-stairs--a new and +terrible thought flashing upon her. + +"Who is with him?" she asked. "Who is talking to him?" + +"Thar aint no one with him," was the answer. "He's by hisself, honey." + +Louisiana was buttoning her wrapper at the throat. Such a tremor fell +upon her that she could not finish what she was doing. She left the +button unfastened and pushed past Nancy and ran swiftly down the +stairs, the woman following her. + +The door of her father's room stood open and the fire Nancy had lighted +burned and crackled merrily. Mr. Rogers was lying high upon his +pillow, watching the blaze. His face was flushed and he had one hand +upon his chest. He turned his eyes slowly upon Louisiana as she +entered and for a second or so regarded her wonderingly. Then a change +came upon him, his face lighted up--it seemed as if he saw all at once +who had come to him. + +"Ianthy!" he said. "I didn't sca'cely know ye! Ye've bin gone so +long! Whar hev ye bin?" + +But even then she could not realize the truth. It was so short a time +since he had bidden her good-night and kissed her at the door. + +"Father!" she cried. "It is Louisiana! Father, look at me!" + +But he was looking at her, and yet he only smiled again. + +"It's bin such a long time, Ianthy," he said. "Sometimes I've thought +ye wouldn't never come back at all." + +And when she fell upon her knees at the bedside, with a desolate cry of +terror and anguish, he did not seem to hear it at all, but lay fondling +her bent head and smiling still, and saying happily: + +"Lord! I _am_ glad to see ye!" + + +When the doctor came--he was a mountaineer like the rest of them, a +rough good-natured fellow who had "read a course" with somebody and +"'tended lectures in Cincinnatty"--he could tell her easily enough what +the trouble was. + +"Pneumony," he said. "And pretty bad at that. He haint hed no health +fer a right smart while. He haint never got over thet spell he hed +last winter. This yere change in the weather's what's done it. He was +a-complainin' to me the other day about thet thar old pain in his +chist. Things hes bin kinder 'cumylatin' on him." + +"He does not know me!" said Louisiana. "He is very ill--he is very +ill!" + +Doctor Hankins looked at his patient for a moment, dubiously. + +"Wa-al, thet's so," he said, at length. "He's purty bad off--purty +bad!" + +By night the house was full of visitors and volunteer nurses. The fact +that "Uncle Elbert Rogers was down with pneumony, an' Louisianny thar +without a soul anigh her" was enough to rouse sympathy and curiosity. +Aunt 'Mandy, Aunt Ca'line and Aunt 'Nervy came up one after the other. + +"Louisianny now, she aint nothin' but a young thing, an' don't know +nothin'," they said. "An' Elbert bein' sich nigh kin, it'd look +powerful bad if we didn't go." + +They came in wagons or ricketty buggies and brought their favorite +medicines and liniments with them in slab-sided, enamel-cloth valises. +They took the patient under their charge, applied their nostrums and +when they were not busy seemed to enjoy talking his symptoms over in +low tones. They were very good to Louisiana, relieving her of every +responsibility in spite of herself, and shaking their heads at each +other pityingly when her back was turned. + +"She never give him no trouble," they said. "She's got thet to hold +to. An' they was powerful sot on her, both him an' Ianthy. I've heern +'em say she allus was kinder tender an' easy to manage." + +Their husbands came to "sit up" with them at night, and sat by the fire +talking about their crops and the elections, and expectorating with +regularity into the ashes. They tried to persuade Louisiana to go to +bed, but she would not go. + +"Let me sit by him, if there is nothing else I can do," she said. "If +he should come to himself for a minute he would know me if I was near +him." + +In his delirium he seemed to have gone back to a time before her +existence--the time when he was a young man and there was no one in the +new house he had built, but himself and "Ianthy." Sometimes he fancied +himself sitting by the fire on a winter's night and congratulating +himself upon being there. + +"Jest to think," he would say in a quiet, speculative voice, "that two +year ago I didn't know ye--an' thar ye air, a-sittin' sewin', and the +fire a-cracklin', an' the house all fixed. This yere's what I call +solid comfort, Ianthy--jest solid comfort!" + +Once he wakened suddenly from a sleep and finding Louisiana bending +over him, drew her face down and kissed her. + +"I didn't know ye was so nigh, Ianthy," he whispered. "Lord! jest to +think yer allers nigh an' thar cayn't nothin' separate us." + +The desolateness of so living a life outside his, was so terrible to +the poor child who loved him, that at times she could not bear to +remain in the room, but would go out into the yard and ramble about +aimless and heart-broken, looking back now and then at the new, strange +house, with a wild pang. + +"There will be nothing left if he leaves me," she said. "There will be +nothing." + +And then she would hurry back, panting, and sit by him again, her eyes +fastened upon his unconscious face, watching its every shade of +expression and change. + +"She'll take it mighty hard," she heard Aunt Ca'line whisper one day, +"ef----" + +And she put her hands to her ears and buried her face in the pillow, +that she might not hear the rest. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +"DON'T DO NO ONE A ONJESTICE." + +He was not ill very long. Toward the end of the second week the house +was always full of visitors who came to sympathize and inquire and +prescribe, and who, in many cases, came from their farms miles away +attracted by the news that "Uncle Elbert Rogers" was "mighty bad off." +They came on horseback and in wagons or buggies--men in homespun, and +women in sun-bonnets--and they hitched their horses at the fence and +came into the house with an awkwardly subdued air, and stood in silence +by the sick bed for a few minutes, and then rambled towards the hearth +and talked in spectral whispers. + +"The old man's purty low," they always said, "he's purty low." And +then they added among themselves that he had "allers bin mighty clever, +an' a good neighbor." + +When she heard them speak of him in this manner, Louisiana knew what it +meant. She never left the room again after the first day that they +spoke so, and came in bodies to look at him, and turn away and say that +he had been good to them. The men never spoke to her after their first +nod of greeting, and the women but rarely, but they often glanced +hurriedly askance at her as she sat or stood by the sick man's pillow. +Somehow none of them had felt as if they were on very familiar terms +with her, though they all spoke in a friendly way of her as being "a +mighty purty, still, kind o' a harmless young critter." They thought, +when they saw her pallor and the anguish in her eyes, that she was +"takin' it powerful hard, an' no wonder," but they knew nothing of her +desperate loneliness and terror. + +"Uncle Elbert he'll leave a plenty," they said in undertones. "She'll +be well pervided fer, will Louisianny." + +And they watched over their charge and nursed him faithfully, feeling +not a little sad themselves as they remembered his simple good nature +and neighborliness and the kindly prayers for which he had been noted +in "meetin'." + +On the last day of the second week the doctor held a consultation with +Aunt 'Nervy and Aunt Ca'line on the front porch before he went away, +and when they re-entered the room they spoke in whispers even lower +than before and moved about stealthily. The doctor himself rode away +slowly and stopped at a house or so on the wayside, where he had no +patients, to tell the inhabitants what he had told the head nurses. + +"We couldn't hev expected him to stay allers," he said, "but we'll miss +him mightily. He haint a enemy in the county--nary one!" + +That afternoon when the sun was setting, the sick man wakened from a +long, deep sleep. The first thing he saw was the bright pale-yellow of +a tree out in the yard, which had changed color since he had seen it +last. It was a golden tree now as it stood in the sun, its leaves +rustling in a faint, chill wind. The next thing, he knew that there +were people in the room who sat silent and all looked at him with +kindly, even reverent, eyes. Then he turned a little and saw his +child, who bent towards him with dilated eyes and trembling, parted +lips. A strange, vague memory of weary pain and dragging, uncertain +days and nights came to him and he knew, and yet felt no fear. + +"Louisianny!" he said. + +He could only speak in a whisper and tremulously. Those who sat about +him hushed their very breath. + +"Lay yer head--on the piller--nigh me," he said. + +She laid it down and put her hand in his. The great tears were +streaming down her face, but she said not a word. + +"I haint got long--honey," he faltered. "The Lord--He'll keer--fer ye." + +Then for a few minutes he lay breathing faintly, but with his eyes open +and smiling as they rested on the golden foliage of the tree. + +"How yaller--it is!" he whispered. "Like gold. Ianthy was +powerful--sot on it. It--kinder beckons." + +It seemed as if he could not move his eyes from it, and the pause that +followed was so long that Louisiana could bear it no longer, and she +lifted her head and kissed him. + +"Father!" she cried. "Say something to _me_! Say something to _me_!" + +It drew him back and he looked up into her eyes as she bent over him. + +"Ye'll be happy--" he said, "afore long. I kinder--know. Lord! how +I've--loved ye, honey--an' ye've desarved it--all. Don't ye--do no +one--a onjestice." + +And then as she dropped her white face upon the pillow again he saw her +no longer--nor the people, nor the room, but lay quite still with +parted lips and eyes wide open, smiling still at the golden tree waving +and beckoning in the wind. + +This he saw last of all, and seemed still to see even when some one +came silently, though with tears, and laid a hand upon his eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +A LEAF. + +There was a sunny old grave-yard half a mile from the town, where the +people of Bowersville laid their dead under the long grass and tangle +of wild-creeping vines, and the whole country-side gathered there when +they lowered the old man into his place at his wife's side. His +neighbors sang his funeral hymn and performed the last offices for him +with kindly hands, and when they turned away and left him there was not +a man or woman of them who did not feel that they had lost a friend. + +They were very good to Louisiana. Aunt 'Nervy and Aunt Ca'line +deserted their families that they might stay with her until all was +over, doing their best to give her comfort. It was Aunt 'Nervy who +first thought of sending for the girl cousin to whom the trunkful of +clothes had been given. + +"Le's send for Leander's Jenny, Ca'line," she said. "Mebbe it'd help +her some to hev a gal nigh her. Gals kinder onderstands each other, +an' Jenny was allus powerful fond o' Lowizyanny." + +So Jenny was sent for and came. From her lowly position as one of the +fifteen in an "onfort'nit" family she had adored and looked up to +Louisiana all her life. All the brightest days in her experience had +been spent at Uncle Elbert's with her favorite cousin. But there was +no brightness about the house now. When she arrived and was sent +upstairs to the pretty new room Louisiana occupied she found the girl +lying upon the bed. She looked white and slender in her black dress; +her hands were folded palm to palm under her check, and her eyes were +wide open. + +Jenny ran to her and knelt at her side. She kissed her and began to +cry. + +"Oh!" she sobbed, "somehow I didn't ever think I should come here and +not find Uncle Elbert. It don't seem right--it makes it like a strange +place." + +Then Louisiana broke into sobs, too. + +"It is a strange place!" she cried--"a strange place--a strange place! +Oh, if one old room was left--just one that I could go into and not +feel so lonely!" + +But she had no sooner said it than she checked herself. + +"Oh, I oughtn't to say that!" she cried. "I wont say it. He did it +all for _me_, and I didn't deserve it." + +"Yes, you did," said Jenny, fondling her. "He was always saying what a +good child you had been--and that you had never given him any trouble." + +"That was because he was so good," said Louisiana. "No one else in the +whole world was so good. And now he is gone, and I can never make him +know how grateful I was and how I loved him." + +"He did know," said Jenny. + +"No," returned Louisiana. "It would have taken a long, long life to +make him know all I felt, and now when I look back it seems as if we +had been together such a little while. Oh! I thought the last night +we talked that there was a long life before us--that I should be old +before he left me, and we should have had all those years together." + +After the return from the grave-yard there was a prolonged discussion +held among the heads of the different branches of the family. They +gathered at one end of the back porch and talked of Louisiana, who sat +before the log fire in her room upstairs. + +"She aint in the notion o' leavin' the place," said Aunt 'Nervy. "She +cried powerful when I mentioned it to her, an' wouldn't hear to it. +She says over an' over ag'in 'Let me stay in the home he made for me, +Aunt Ca'line.' I reckon she's a kind o' notion Elbert 'lowed fur her +to be yere when he was gone." + +"Wa-al now," said Uncle Leander, "I reckon he did. He talked a heap on +it when he was in a talkin' way. He's said to me 'I want things to be +jest as she'd enjoy 'em most--when she's sorter lonesome, es she will +be, mebbe.' Seemed like he hed it in his mind es he warnt long fur +this world. Don't let us cross her in nothin'. _He_ never did. He +was powerful tender on her, was Elbert." + +"I seed Marthy Lureny Nance this mornin'," put in Aunt Ca'line, "an' I +told her to come up an' kinder overlook things. She haint with no one +now, an' I dessay she'd like to stay an' keep house." + +"I don't see nothin' ag'in it," commented Uncle Steve, "if Louisianny +don't. She's a settled woman, an's bin married, an' haint no family to +pester her sence Nance is dead." + +"She was allers the through-goin' kind," said Aunt 'Nervy. "Things 'll +be well looked to--an' she thought a heap o' Elbert. They was raised +together." + +"S'pos'n ye was to go in an' speak to Louisianny," suggested Uncle +Steve. + +Louisiana, being spoken to, was very tractable. She was willing to do +anything asked of her but go away. + +"I should be very glad to have Mrs. Nance here, Aunt Minerva," she +said. "She was always very kind, and father liked her. It won't be +like having a strange face near me. Please tell her I want her to come +and that I hope she will try to feel as if she was at home." + +So Marthy Lureny Nance came, and was formally installed in her +position. She was a tall, strongly-built woman, with blue eyes, black +hair, and thick black eyebrows. She wore, when she arrived, her best +alpaca gown and a starched and frilled blue sun-bonnet. When she +presented herself to Louisiana she sat down before her, removed this +sun-bonnet with a scientific flap and hung it on the back of her chair. + +"Ye look mighty peak-ed, Louisianny," she said. "Mighty peak-ed." + +"I don't feel very well," Louisiana answered, "but I suppose I shall be +better after a while." + +"Ye're takin' it powerful hard, Louisianny," said Mrs. Nance, "an' I +don't blame ye. I aint gwine to pester ye a-talkin'. I jest come to +say I 'lowed to do my plum best by ye, an' ax ye whether ye liked hop +yeast or salt risin'?" + +At the end of the week Louisiana and Mrs. Nance were left to +themselves. Aunt 'Nervy and Aunt Ca'line and the rest had returned to +their respective homes, even Jenny had gone back to Bowersville where +she boarded with a relation and went to school. + +The days after this seemed so long to Louisiana that she often wondered +how she lived through them. In the first passion of her sorrow she had +not known how they passed, but now that all was silence and order in +the house, and she was alone, she had nothing to do but to count the +hours. There was no work for her, no one came in and out for whom she +might invent some little labor of love; there was no one to watch for, +no one to think of. She used to sit for hours at her window watching +the leaves change their color day by day, and at last flutter down upon +the grass at the least stir of wind. Once she went out and picked up +one of these leaves and taking it back to her room, shut it up in a +book. + +"Everything has happened to me since the day it was first a leaf," she +said. "I have lived just as long as a leaf. That isn't long." + +When the trees were bare, she one day remembered the books she had sent +for when at the Springs, and she went to the place where she had put +them, brought them out and tried to feel interested in them again. + +"I might learn a great deal," she said, "if I persevered. I have so +much time." + +But she had not read many pages before the tears began to roll down her +cheeks. + +"If he had lived," she said, "I might have read them to him and it +would have pleased him so. I might have done it often if I had thought +less about myself. He would have learned, too. He thought he was +slow, but he would have learned, too, in a little while, and he would +have been so proud." + +She was very like her father in the simple tenderness of her nature. +She grieved with the hopeless passion of a child for the unconscious +wrong she had done. + +It was as she sat trying to fix her mind upon these books that there +came to her the first thought of a plan which was afterwards of some +vague comfort to her. She had all the things which had furnished the +old parlor taken into one of the unused rooms--the chairs and tables, +the carpet, the ornaments and pictures. She spent a day in placing +everything as she remembered it, doing all without letting any one +assist her. After it was arranged she left the room, and locked the +door taking the key with her. + +"No one shall go in but myself," she said. "It belongs to me more than +all the rest." + +"I never knowed her to do nothin' notionate but thet," remarked Mrs. +Nance, in speaking of it afterwards. "She's mighty still, an' sits an' +grieves a heap, but she aint never notionate. Thet was kinder +notionate fer a gal to do. She sets store on 'em 'cos they was her +pappy's an' her ma's, I reckon. It cayn't be nothin' else, fur they +aint to say stylish, though they was allers good solid-appearin' +things. The picters was the on'y things es was showy." + +"She's mighty pale an' slender sence her pappy died," said the listener. + +"Wa-al, yes, she's kinder peak-ed," admitted Mrs. Nance. "She's kinder +peak-ed, but she'll git over it. Young folks allers does." + +But she did not get over it as soon as Mrs. Nance had expected, in view +of her youth. The days seemed longer and lonelier to her as the winter +advanced, though they were really so much shorter, and she had at last +been able to read and think of what she read. When the snow was on the +ground and she could not wander about the place she grew paler still. + +"Louisianny," said Mrs. Nance, coming in upon her one day as she stood +at the window, "ye're a-beginnin' to look like ye're Aunt Melissy." + +"Am I?" answered Louisiana. "She died when she was young, didn't she?" + +"She wasn't but nineteen," grimly. "She hed a kind o' love-scrape, an' +when the feller married Emmerline Ruggles she jest give right in. They +hed a quarrel, an' he was a sperrity kind o' thing an' merried +Emmerline when he was mad. He cut off his nose to spite his face, an' +a nice time he hed of it when it was done. Melissy was a pretty gal, +but kinder consumpshony, an' she hedn't backbone enough to hold her up. +She died eight or nine months after they'd quarreled. Mebbe she'd hev +died anyhow, but thet sorter hastened it up. When folks is +consumpshony it don't take much to set 'em off." + +"I don't think I am 'consumpshony,'" said Louisiana. + +"Lord-a-massy, no!" briskly, "an' ye'd best not begin to think it. I +wasn't a meanin' thet. Ye've kinder got into a poor way steddyin' +'bout yere pappy, an' it's tellin' on ye. Ye look as if thar wasn't a +thing of ye--an' ye don't take no int'russ. Ye'd oughter stir round +more." + +"I'm going to 'stir round' a little as soon as Jake brings the buggy +up," said Louisiana. "I'm going out." + +"Whar?" + +"Toward town." + +For a moment Mrs. Nance looked at her charge steadily, but at length +her feelings were too much for her. She had been thinking this matter +over for some time. + +"Louisianny," she said, "you're a-gwine to the grave-yard, thet's whar +ye're a-gwine an' thar aint no sense in it. Young folks hedn't ought +to hold on to trouble thataway--'taint nat'ral. They don't gin'rally. +Elbert 'd be ag'in it himself ef he knowed--an' I s'pose he does. Like +as not him an' Ianthy's a-worryin' about it now, an' Lord knows ef they +air it'll spile all their enjoyment. Kingdom come won't be nothin' to +'em if they're oneasy in their minds 'bout ye. Now an' ag'in it's +'peared to me that mebbe harps an' crowns an' the company o' 'postles +don't set a body up all in a minnit an' make 'em forgit their flesh an' +blood an' nat'ral feelin's teetotally--an' it kinder troubles me to +think o' Elbert an' Ianthy worryin' an' not havin' no pleasure. Seems +to me ef I was you I'd think it over an' try to cheer up an' take +int'russ. Jest think how keerful yer pappy an' ma was on ye an' how +sot they was on hevin' ye well an' happy." + +Louisiana turned toward her. Her eyes were full of tears. + +"Oh!" she whispered, "do you--do you think they know?" + +Mrs. Nance was scandalized. + +"Know!" she echoed. "Wa-al now, Louisianny, ef I didn't know yer +raisin', an' thet ye'd been brought up with members all yer life, it'd +go ag'in me powerful to hear ye talk thetaway. Ye _know_ they know, +an' thet they'll take it hard, ef they aint changed mightily, but, +changed or not, I guess thar's mighty few sperrits es haint sense +enough to see yer a-grievin' more an' longer than's good fur ye." + +Louisiana turned to her window again. She rested her forehead against +the frame-work and looked out for a little while. But at last she +spoke. + +"Perhaps you are right," she said. "It is true it would have hurt them +when they were here. I think--I'll try to--to be happier." + +"It's what'll please 'em best, if ye do, Louisianny," commented Mrs. +Nance. + +"I'll try," Louisiana answered. "I will go out now--the cold air will +do me good, and when I come back you will see that I am--better." + +"Wa-al," advised Mrs. Nance, "ef ye go, mind ye put on a plenty--an' +don't stay long." + +The excellent woman stood on the porch when the buggy was brought up, +and having tucked the girl's wraps round her, watched her driven away. + +"Mebbe me a-speakin's I did'll help her," she said. "Seems like it +kinder teched her an' sot her thinkin'. She was dretfle fond of her +pappy an' she was allers a purty peaceable advise-takin' little +thing--though she aint so little nuther. She's reel tall an' slim." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +"HE KNEW THAT I LOVED YOU." + +It was almost dark when the buggy returned. As Jake drove up to the +gate he bent forward to look at something. + +"Thar's a critter hitched to the fence," he remarked. "'Taint no +critter from round yere. I never seen it afore." + +Mrs. Nance came out upon the porch to meet them. She was gently +excited by an announcement she had to make. + +"Louisianny," she said, "thar's a man in the settin'-room. He's +a-waitin' to see ye. I asked him ef he hed anything to sell, an' he +sed no he hedn't nothin'. He's purty _gen_-teel an' stylish, but not +to say showy, an' he's polite sort o' manners." + +"Has he been waiting long?" Louisiana asked. + +"He's ben thar half a hour, an' I've hed the fire made up sence he +come." + +Louisiana removed her hat and cloak and gave them to Mrs. Nance. She +did it rather slowly, and having done it, crossed the hall to the +sitting-room door, opened it and went in. + +There was no light in the room but the light of the wood fire, but that +was very bright. It was so bright that she had not taken two steps +into the room before she saw clearly the face of the man who waited for +her. + +It was Laurence Ferrol. + +She stopped short and her hands fell at her sides. Her heart beat so +fast that she could not speak. + +His heart beat fast, too, and it beat faster still when he noted her +black dress and saw how pale and slight she looked in it. He advanced +towards her and taking her hand in both his, led her to a chair. + +"I have startled you too much," he said. "Don't make me feel that I +was wrong to come. Don't be angry with me." + +She let him seat her in the chair and then he stood before her and +waited for her to speak. + +"It was rather--sudden," she said, "but I am not--angry." + +There was a silence of a few seconds, because he was so moved by the +new look her face wore that he could not easily command his voice and +words. + +"Have you been ill?" he asked gently, at last. + +He saw that she made an effort to control herself and answer him +quietly, but before she spoke she gave up even the effort. She did not +try to conceal or wipe away the great tears that fell down her cheeks +as she looked up at him. + +"No, I have not been ill," she said. "My father is dead." + +And as she uttered the last words her voice sank almost into a whisper. + +Just for a breath's space they looked at each other and then she turned +in her chair, laid her arm on the top of it and her face on her arm, +with a simple helpless movement. + +"He has been dead three months," she whispered, weeping. + +His own eyes were dim as he watched her. He had not heard of this +before. He walked to the other end of the room and back again twice. +When he neared her the last time he stopped. + +"Must I go away?" he asked unsteadily. "I feel as if I had no right +here." + +But she did not tell him whether he must go or stay. + +"If I stay I must tell you why I came and why I could not remain away," +he said. + +She still drooped against her chair and did not speak, and he drew +still nearer to her. + +"It does not seem the right time," he said, "but I must tell you even +if I go away at once afterwards. I have never been happy an hour since +we parted that wretched day. I have never ceased to think of what I +had begun to hope for. I felt that it was useless to ask for it +then--I feel as if it was useless now, but I must ask for it. Oh!" +desperately, "how miserably I am saying it all! How weak it sounds!" + +In an instant he was kneeling on one knee at her side and had caught +her hand and held it between both his own. + +"I'll say the simplest thing," he said. "I love you. Everything is +against me, but I love you and I am sure I shall never love another +woman." + +He clasped her hand close and she did not draw it away. + +"Won't you say a word to me?" he asked. "If you only tell me that this +is the wrong time and that I must go away now, it will be better than +some things you might say." + +She raised her face and let him see it. + +"No," she said, "it is not that it is the wrong time. It is a better +time than any other, because I am so lonely and my trouble has made my +heart softer than it was when I blamed you so. It is not that it is +the wrong time, but-- + +"Wait a minute," he broke in. "Don't--don't do me an injustice!" + +He could not have said anything else so likely to reach her heart. She +remembered the last faltering words she had heard as she bent over the +pillow when the sun was shining on the golden tree with the wind waving +its branches. + +"Don't do no one a onjestice, honey--don't ye--do no one--a onjestice." + +"Oh," she cried out, "he told me that I must not--he told me, before he +died!" + +"What!" said Ferrol. "He told you not to be unjust to _me_?" + +"It was you he meant," she answered. "He knew I had been hard to +you--and he knew I----" + +She cowered down a little and Ferrol folded her in his arms. + +"Don't be hard to me again," he whispered. "I have been so unhappy--I +love you so tenderly. Did he know that you--speak to me, Louise." + +She put her hand upon his shoulder. + +"He knew that I loved you," she said, with a little sob. + + +She was a great favorite among her husband's friends in New York the +next year. One of her chief attractions for them was that she was a +"new type." They said that of her invariably when they delighted in +her and told each other how gentle she was and how simple and sweet. +The artists made "studies" of her, and adored her, and were +enthusiastic over her beauty; while among the literary ones it was +said, again and again, what a foundation she would be for a heroine of +the order of those who love and suffer for love's sake and grow more +adorable through their pain. + +But these, of course, were only the delightful imaginings of art, +talked over among themselves, and Louisiana did not hear of them. She +was very happy and very busy. There was a gay joke current among them +that she was a most tremendous book-worm, and that her literary +knowledge was something for weak, ordinary mortals to quail before. +The story went, that by some magic process she committed to memory the +most appalling works half an hour after they were issued from the +press, and that, secretly, Laurence stood very much in awe of her and +was constantly afraid of exposing his ignorance in her presence. It +was certainly true that she read a great deal, and showed a wonderful +aptness and memory, and that Laurence's pride and delight in her were +the strongest and tenderest feelings of his heart. + +Almost every summer they spent in North Carolina, filling their house +with those of their friends who would most enjoy the simple quiet of +the life they led. There were numberless pictures painted among them +at such times and numberless new "types" discovered. + +"But you'd scarcely think," it was said sometimes, "that it is here +that Mrs. Laurence is on her native heath." + +And though all the rest of the house was open, there was one room into +which no one but Laurence and Louisiana ever went--a little room, with +strange, ugly furniture in it, and bright-colored lithographs upon the +walls. + + + + +END. + + + + +[Transcriber's note: the source book for this text contained many +punctuation and spelling variants, e.g. wont/won't, dont/don't, +waal/wa'al/w'al, etc. All have been preserved as printed.] + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Louisiana, by Frances Hodgson Burnett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOUISIANA *** + +***** This file should be named 35300.txt or 35300.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/3/0/35300/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +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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