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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40366 ***</div>
<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Mary Ware in Texas, by Annie F. Johnston,
Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill</h1>
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Note:
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Images of the original pages are available through
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<div class="figcenter" style="width: 398px;">
<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="398" height="600" alt="Cover" />
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<h1>MARY WARE IN TEXAS</h1>
<hr class="chap" />
<div class='bbox'>
<div class='adtitle2'>Works of<br />
ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON</div><div class='center'><br /><i><b>The Little Colonel Series</b></i><br />
(<i>Trade Mark, Reg. U. S. Pat. Of.</i>)<br />
Each one vol., large 12mo, cloth, illustrated<br />
The Little Colonel Stories $1.50<br /></div>
<div class='center'>(Containing in one volume the three stories, "The<br />
Little Colonel," "The Giant Scissors," and "Two<br />
Little Knights of Kentucky.")<br /><br /></div>
<div class="center">
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Little Colonel books">
<tr><td align="left">The Little Colonel's House Party</td><td align="right">1.50</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">The Little Colonel's Holidays</td><td align="right">1.50</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">The Little Colonel's Hero</td><td align="right">1.50</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">The Little Colonel at Boarding-School</td><td align="right">1.50</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">The Little Colonel in Arizona</td><td align="right">1.50</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">The Little Colonel's Christmas Vacation</td><td align="right">1.50</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">The Little Colonel: Maid of Honor</td><td align="right">1.50</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">The Little Colonel's Knight Comes Riding </td><td align="right">1.50</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">Mary Ware: The Little Colonel's Chum</td><td align="right">1.50</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">Mary Ware in Texas</td><td align="right">1.50</td></tr>
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The above 11 vols., <i>boxed</i> with The Little Colonel Good Times Book, as a set of 12 vols. 18.00<br />
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<tr><td align="left">Big Brother</td><td align="right">1.25</td></tr>
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<tr><td align="left">The Three Weavers</td><td align="right">.50</td></tr>
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<hr class="chap" />
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 286px;"><a id="frontis"></a>
<img src="images/frontis.jpg" width="286" height="500" alt=" It would have been joy to her soul could she have seen herself" />
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<div class='center'> <table class="title" summary="title">
<tr><td align='left'><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> <br />
<h1>Mary Ware<br />
in Texas</h1>
<div class='center'><span class='author'>By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON</span><br />
<span class='small'>Author of "The Little Colonel Series," "Big Brother,"</span><br />
<span class='small'>"Ole Mammy's Torment," "Joel: A Boy of</span><br />
<span class='small'>Galilee," "Asa Holmes," etc.</span><br />
<br /><br />
Illustrated by FRANK T. MERRILL<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 84px;">
<img src="images/emblem.png" width="84" height="84" alt="Emblem" />
</div>
<div class='center'><br /><br /><br />
BOSTON * L. C. PAGE<br />
& COMPANY * MDCCCCX<br /><br /><br />
</div>
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></td>
</tr></table></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<div class='copyright'>
<i>Copyright, 1910</i>,<br />
<span class="smcap"> By L. C. Page & Company</span><br />
(INCORPORATED)<br />
—————<br />
<i>Entered at Stationer's Hall, London</i><br />
—————<br />
<i>All rights reserved</i><br />
<br />
First Impression, October, 1910<br />
<br /><br /><br />
<i>Electrotyped and Printed by<br />
THE COLONIAL PRESS<br />
C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, U.S.A.</i><br />
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<div class='center'>
TO<br />
<span class='big'>F. V. P.</span><br />
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
<div class="center">
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents">
<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class='small'>CHAPTER</span></td><td align="right"><span class='small'>PAGE</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">I. </td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">In San Antonio</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">II. </td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">In Search of a Home</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">III. </td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Little Town of Bauer</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">IV. </td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Mary Finds Gay</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">V. </td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">At Fort Sam Houston</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VI. </td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">On the Creek-bank</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VII. </td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Christmas</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VIII. </td><td align="left">"<span class="smcap">Die Kleinen Teufel</span>"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">IX. </td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">At the Barnaby Ranch</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_198">198</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">X. </td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">In Joyce's Studio</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_230">230</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XI. </td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Phil Goes to Warwick Hall</span> </td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_259">259</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XII. </td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">In "Blue-bonnet" Time</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_284">284</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XIII. </td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Jack</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_308">308</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XIV. </td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">San Jacinto Day</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_329">329</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XV. </td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">New Trails</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_353">353</a></td></tr>
</table></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>
<div class="center">
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="List of Illustrations">
<tr><td align="left"> </td><td align="right"><span class='small'>PAGE</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">"<span class="smcap">It would have been joy to her soul could she have seen herself</span>" (<i>See <a href="#Page_308">page 308</a></i>)</td><td align="right"><i><a href="#frontis">Frontispiece</a></i></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">"'<span class="smcap">What an adorable little curl!</span>'"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">"<span class="smcap">A dashing girl in khaki and a cowboy hat, astride a fiery little mustang</span>"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">"<span class="smcap">He . . . seated himself beside her, coffee-cup in hand</span>"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">"<span class="smcap">She sent the boat down stream with long, swift strokes</span>"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">"<span class="smcap">Three alert and expectant little figures sat in a row on the steps</span>"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_198">198</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">"<span class="smcap">Leaning against the mantel, looked down at her, thoughtfully</span>"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_263">263</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">"'<span class="smcap">Well, I'm going away and I may not see you again</span>'"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_375">375</a></td></tr>
</table></div>
<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>
<h2>MARY WARE IN TEXAS</h2>
<h2>CHAPTER I</h2>
<div class='chaptertitle'>IN SAN ANTONIO</div>
<p><span class="smcap">The</span> musicians were tuning their instruments
somewhere behind the palms in the hotel courtyard.
It was one of the older hotels of San Antonio, much
sought by Northern tourists on account of that
same inner garden, around which the big building
stretched itself. The rooms opening on to it had
vine-covered balconies, and, looking down from
them into the tropical growth of palms and banana
trees and roses, one felt that it was summer time,
no matter what the calendar said.</p>
<p>It was on one of the second floor balconies at
the close of a November day that Mary Ware stood
looking around her with eager eyes. Queen's
wreath and moon-vines made such a thick screen
that no one could see her, so she might lean over
the railing as far as she pleased to watch the brilliantly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span>
lighted scene below. Electric bulbs were
strung through the cacti and devil's ivy like elfin
lamps. There was a shine of brass buttons as colored
bell boys scudded across the open space with
clinking ice-pitchers or jingling keys, and through
the glass doors beyond came the gleam of silver
and flowers where the waiters were arranging the
tables for dinner.</p>
<p>There was to be a military banquet in one of the
private dining-rooms, and already the guests were
beginning to arrive for the reception which was to
precede it. So much bunting was draped over the
arch between the office corridors and this inner
court, that the view was somewhat obscured, but,
by leaning dangerously far over the railing, Mary
could catch a glimpse of the legs of a uniform now
and then, strolling along beside the trailing skirt
of a dainty evening gown.</p>
<p>All this warmth and life and color was in sharp
contrast to the dreary solitudes of the snow covered
mining camp which she had just left. It had been
winter for nearly a month up in the hills of Arizona,
and Lone Rock in the winter was such a barren
waste socially that her present surroundings seemed
wildly exciting. In Lone Rock it was a matter of
comment whenever a human being passed the house,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span>
and even a stray mule, stumbling along with a bell
on its neck, was enough to call one to the windows.</p>
<p>The orchestra behind the palms having finished
its tuning, swung into a gay two-step. At the sudden
burst of music Mary drew a long breath and
stood up straight, her pulses a-tingle. Something
delightful was beginning to happen. Two girls,
one in white and one in pale lemon-yellow, attended
by a young lieutenant and a still younger man in
civilian's evening dress, came out under the bunting-draped
arch and strolled along past the banana
trees to the garden seat just below her.</p>
<p>From her hiding place behind the moon-vines,
Mary watched them as only a sociable little soul
could watch, who for months had been hungering
for such companionship. She clutched the railing
with both hands, hoping fervently that they would
stop.</p>
<p>They did pause for a few moments, just under
the balcony, so near that for the little while they
stood there she could almost feel herself to be one
of the party. She could even smell the white violets
that the girl in white wore on her corsage, and
was close enough to see that an amber comb was
slipping out of the soft auburn-bronze hair arranged<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span>
so becomingly on the graceful little head. Each
laugh and gesture sent it slipping lower and lower
till involuntarily Mary's hand went out to stop it.
Then she drew back in confusion. She had almost
called attention to herself by speaking aloud.</p>
<p>"Let's go into the other court," insisted the girl
in yellow. "I want to show you the alligators in
the fountain, Mr. Wade, to convince you that you're
really in the sunny South. Some people can't appreciate
alligators—Bogey there, for instance."</p>
<p>Her disdainful glance indicated the lieutenant.
"He jeers at me for liking them, but I think they
are more interesting than half the people one
meets."</p>
<p>"<i>Bogey!</i> What a nickname for such a dignified
officer," thought Mary, peeping over the railing to
see how such banter was received. Evidently the
lieutenant was accustomed to it, for he smiled indulgently
as one would at a spoiled child.</p>
<p>"'Birds of a feather,' you know," was his answer.
"Go on, Roberta. <i>I</i> don't care to flock with
alligators myself, but if you do we'll follow and see
it done."</p>
<p>Roberta deigned no reply but a glance intended
to be withering, which failed in its purpose because
it was only counterfeit. Her eyes were as dark as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>
a gypsy's and she had the curliest lashes Mary had
ever seen. A boyish straightforwardness of manner
contradicted their coquettish curliness, however.
She had an air that comes only from being brought
up in a houseful of teasing brothers. The man in
civilian dress, whom she called Mr. Wade, watched
her as if he had found a new species of girl, uncertain
what she might say or do next. He was familiar
with the coquettish kind and with the tom-boy
kind, but this combination puzzled him.</p>
<p>Mary longed to follow as the four went slowly
away together into the adjoining court, wholly unconscious
that they had left an indelible memory
behind them, or that they had revealed anything of
themselves and their affairs to an unseen listener.
But to Mary it was as if a new book had been
opened before her and she had been allowed a
glimpse of one page and the attractive picture that
illustrated it. It was never necessary for her to
begin at the first chapter of a book. Often, attracted
by some paragraph in the middle, she would
plunge into a story, only turning back for the beginning
after she had pursued it eagerly through to
the last word and found "how it all ended."</p>
<div class="figleft" style="width: 321px;">
<img src="images/i001.jpg" width="321" height="500" alt="What an adorable little curl" />
</div>
<p>Now as the interesting group walked away she
fervently hoped that fate would send them across<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>
her path sometime again during her sojourn in San
Antonio, that she might piece together the rest of
the story. All that she knew now was that the girl
in white was a daughter of one of the majors at
Fort Sam Houston, that the lieutenant had known
Roberta ever since he was a cadet at the West Texas
Military School, and that it was her brothers who
had dubbed him Bogey. She had learned also that
this was Mr. Wade's first visit to Texas, and that
Roberta was trying to impress him with it by marvelous
tales, so that he would decide to spend the
winter in San Antonio instead of going on to Mexico.</p>
<p>But if the conversation revealed little, the picture
they made as they stood against the tropical background
of palms and banana trees held many suggestions.
Mary felt that she knew all about lieutenants,
having met two at a Kentucky house-party
where she had gone to be flower-girl at a wedding
when she was only fourteen. Fashions evidently
had not changed in lieutenants, since these looked
as if they might have been taken out of the same
box that furnished the first soldiers of her acquaintance;
but the girls—there had been many changes
in girls since she last saw any of this kind. It was
eight months since she had left school at the end<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>
of the Easter vacation, and none of the girls at
Warwick Hall were doing their hair then as Roberta
and the Major's daughter were doing theirs.
Each had a very elaborate coiffure with a cluster
of little short curls escaping to nestle against their
white necks.</p>
<p>Her attention was especially called to this new
style by Roberta's escort, whom Mary had classified
in her mind as a "callow youth with a habit of
making gallant little personal speeches."</p>
<p>When they first stepped into the court Roberta
had thrown a white scarf about her, almost as light
as thistledown, and glistening with crystal beads
which spangled its soft meshes like dewdrops. As
they turned to go it slipped from her shoulders, and
Mr. Wade sprang forward to replace it. Drawing
it around her shoulders he said with a melting
glance at her dark hair, "What an adorable little
curl!</p>
<div class='poem'>
"'Ringlet, O Ringlet, she blushed a rosy red,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">When Ringlet, O Ringlet, she clipped you from her head!'"</span><br />
</div>
<p>Mary, who knew her Tennyson like her multiplication
table, recalled the next lines,</p>
<div class='poem'>
"Ringlet, O Ringlet, she gave you me and said,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">'Come kiss it, love, and put it by,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">If this can change, why, so can I.'"</span><br />
</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p>
<p>Roberta only laughed, not in the least impressed
by his manner nor embarrassed by the inference of
his quotation. Mary knew that she could not copy
the curls, but she decided to try the rest of the coiffure
in the morning. Not a single twist or wave
had escaped her sharp eyes. In the darkness of her
retreat, after they had gone, she put her hands to
her head, rehearsing in pantomime each move she
would have to make to produce the result she admired.</p>
<p>Suddenly her hands dropped and one clutched the
railing, as the window shutters of the next room
were thrown open with a bang and some one stepped
out on to the balcony adjoining hers. The intruder
was a large and elderly woman in a rustling black
dress. The light from the room streaming out
behind her showed that she was portly and gray-haired,
and the way she peered through the vines,
changing quickly from one view-point to another,
showed that she was impatient.</p>
<p>When she turned, Mary saw that her dress, which
was made to fasten in the back, was open from collar
to belt, and she readily guessed the trouble.
Forgetting that her presence was unknown to the
anxious watcher, she leaned forward through the
dark, saying politely, "Can I help you, Madam?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p>
<p>If a hand had reached out and grabbed her, the
old lady could not have been more startled. With
a stifled shriek she backed up against the wall to
hide her open bodice, and stood there limp and
panting.</p>
<p>"Merciful <i>fathers!</i> how you scared me!" she
breathed as Mary's face appeared in the full light.
When she saw only a little school-girl of seventeen
or thereabouts her relief found vent in a hysterical
giggle. It shook her plump shoulders until they
both started to laughing so hard that she could
barely find voice to explain, or Mary to apologize.</p>
<p>"I just couldn't get my dress hooked up the
back," she finally managed to say. "I rang half a
dozen times for a chambermaid, but the ones on
this floor all seem to be off duty this time of evening,
and I won't ask a bell-boy as some of the ladies
do. I don't think it's decent. So I just thought
I'd look down into the court and see if I couldn't
catch sight of James. He did it yesterday and I
vowed I'd never ask him again. He's willing
enough, but he kept me standing a solid half hour
by the clock, and we were both tuckered out when
he got through."</p>
<p>"Let me come and do it for you," said Mary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>
with her usual alacrity for following up promising
beginnings.</p>
<p>"Oh, if you only would!" was the grateful answer.
"I'll go in and unlock the door—"</p>
<p>Before she could finish her sentence Mary had
climbed lightly over the railing which divided their
balconies, and was following her into her room
through the long windows that opened to the floor.</p>
<p>"Do you know," confided the old lady while
Mary deftly fastened the hooks, "I think a hotel is
the lonesomest place on the face of the globe for a
woman. I come down here once a year or so with
my husband, and he has a good time sitting around
in the lobby smoking and making friends with
stockmen like himself, but by the end of the second
day I'm homesick for the ranch. Of course I enjoy
the stores and the crowds on the street, and seeing
all the finely dressed tourists at meal-times, but
we've been down here three days now, and you're
the first person I've spoken to besides the chambermaid
and James. It's all right for strangers to
keep themselves to themselves I suppose, but I must
say it's a sort of strain when it comes to being the
stranger yourself. I want somebody to neighbor
with."</p>
<p>"So do I," responded Mary with such heartiness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>
that the old lady instantly expanded into warm
friendliness. Before she was fairly fastened into
her rustling black and purple gown she had confided
to Mary that it was her very best one, and that it
just wouldn't wear out, because it was too fine for
church and she had no occasion to put it on save
when she made her rare visits to San Antonio. The
sleeves had been changed so many times to keep it
in fashion, that her dressmaker had refused to alter
it another time, even if the lace on it did cost five
dollars a yard. James said why didn't she wear it
at home and get done with it. But she told him
much comfort a body would take around home in
the tight gear a dressmaker boned you up in. But
she'd have to do something, for full skirts were
clear out now, and she felt like a balloon when other
people were going around as slim and lank as
starved snakes.</p>
<p>"It doesn't take long to get out of date," she
added, "when you're living up in the hills in the
back-woods."</p>
<p>"Oh, I know that," agreed Mary. "I've been
living in a lonesome little spot out in Arizona for
so long that I've nearly forgotten what civilization
is like."</p>
<p>"You don't look like it," was the frank comment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>
as the still franker gaze of her listener travelled
over her dress from top to bottom, noting every
detail.</p>
<p>"Oh, this," answered Mary, as if the eyes had
spoken. "This is a dress that I got in New York
last Easter vacation. I was in school at Washington,
but as I had to leave at the end of the term
and go back home I've had no occasion to wear it
since. That's why it looks so new."</p>
<p>"Now do sit down and tell me about it," urged
her hostess hospitably. "I've always wanted to go
to Washington."</p>
<p>She pushed forward a low rocker, and took the
arm chair opposite with such a look of pleasurable
anticipation on her kindly old face, that Mary
obeyed. She knew how it felt to be fairly bursting
with a sociability for which there was no outlet.
She had experienced that same sensation a few
minutes before when she watched Roberta and the
Major's daughter go by with their friends. Besides,
she felt a real liking for this companionable old
lady who introduced herself as Mrs. Barnaby of
Bauer, Texas. Mrs. James Barnaby.</p>
<p>"She's the real, comfortable, homey sort,"
thought Mary, who had been much given of late
to classifying people. "She's like mission furniture—plain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>
and simple and genuine. She'd be her
simple unpretentious self no matter what gilt and
veneer she found herself among."</p>
<p>Mary was proud of her insight afterward when
she learned more about Mrs. Barnaby's family.
They had come out from Ohio over fifty years before
when she was so young that she could barely
remember the great prairie schooner that brought
them. They had suffered all the hardships of the
early Texas settlers, gone through the horrors of
the Indian uprisings, and fought their way through
with sturdy pioneer fortitude to the place where
they could fold their hands and enjoy the comforts
of the civilization they had helped to establish.</p>
<p>She told Mary little of this now, however, but
led her on with many questions to talk of herself.
Mrs. Barnaby had a lively curiosity and always
took the most straightforward means to gratify it.</p>
<p>"She's interested in people, no matter who they
are, just as I am," thought Mary, instantly recognizing
the spirit which prompted the questions, and
for that reason was led on to tell more than she
would have told to most strangers. She did not
take the world at large into her confidence now as
she had done in her chatterbox days. In just a
few moments Mrs. Barnaby had a very fair snapshot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>
picture of the Ware family in her mind. Mary
had given it very simply.</p>
<p>"I had gone from school at Warwick Hall to
New York, to spend the Easter vacation with my
sister Joyce. She's an artist and has her studio
there. And we got word that my oldest brother,
Jack, had been dreadfully hurt in an accident at
the mines where he was manager—that it had made
him a cripple for life. We all just adore Jack, so
of course I packed up and went straight back to
Arizona. It wasn't possible for Joyce to leave just
then, and my brother Holland is in the navy, and
of course he couldn't get away. Except the trained
nurse there was nobody with mamma at the time
but my youngest brother Norman, and as he is only
fourteen I felt that I had to go."</p>
<p>"I hope he got better right away," interrupted
Mrs. Barnaby eagerly.</p>
<p>"Yes, he did for awhile. He even got so that
he could wheel himself around in his chair and go
down to the office awhile every morning. But as
soon as the cold weather set in he began to have
such dreadful rheumatism that the doctor said the
only thing to do was to take him to a milder climate.
So we got ready right away and brought him down
here."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p>
<p>"It must have been a hard trip for him," commented
Mrs. Barnaby with a sympathetic shake of
the head. "Arizona always did seem to me like
the jumping-off place. I don't see how you managed
it, him in a wheeled chair and so helpless."</p>
<p>"Oh, we came in a private car," Mary made haste
to explain, "and Jack really enjoyed the trip.
Waffles, the old colored cook on the car, you know,
just laid himself out to please him, and the porter
was so strong and helpful."</p>
<p>"H'm!" exclaimed her interested listener.
"I've always thought I'd like to travel in a private
car. It must be such a nice way to get over the
country. But it isn't everybody that can afford it."</p>
<p>It was on the tip of Mary's honest little tongue
to explain that it was not their car. They had come
as guests of Mr. Robeson, one of the mine owners.
But Mrs. Barnaby interrupted her with a question.</p>
<p>"Didn't you all go out in a big red automobile
this afternoon? I've been trying to think ever since
you came in here where it was I'd seen you before,
and I believe it was with that party. There was a
little lady in black and a boy and a rather heavy-set
man with iron gray whiskers. I heard him giving
orders to the chauffeur to go out to the missions."</p>
<p>"Yes," agreed Mary, "that was Mr. Robeson,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>
one of the owners of the mine. He's so fond of
Jack and has been so lovely to all of us on his account.
His valet stayed with Jack while we went
out to see the town. He's going on to Mexico this
afternoon."</p>
<p>Again she was on the point of saying that it was
as Mr. Robeson's guests they had enjoyed the outing
in the expensive car, but another question
switched her off to another subject and left Mrs.
Barnaby with the impression that the Wares were
wealthy beyond computation. Mary had the manner
of one always accustomed to luxury, and her
easy way of referring to the studio in New York
and the private car and the valet made one think
she was born to purple and fine linen.</p>
<p>The impression was deepened later, when the
Barnabys found themselves at the same table with
Mary and Norman in the dining-room. "Mrs.
Ware was having dinner in her rooms with Jack,"
Mary explained. He was sensitive about being
wheeled into a public dining-room, so she and her
mother would take turns staying with him.</p>
<p>With a brief glance at the menu card Mary ordered
dinner for herself and brother before Mr.
Barnaby had adjusted his glasses on his long nose
and stumbled half-way through the menu. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>
always read the bill of fare aloud to his wife, pronouncing
the French words exactly as they were
spelled, and they paused to discuss the nature of
each unfamiliar dish with the amused waiter before
ordering.</p>
<p>The ease with which Mary ordered gave further
evidence to Mrs. Barnaby that the Wares had always
been accustomed to sumptuous living, and to
being "waited on, hand and foot." And it was
proof to Mary that "James" was as genuine and
primitive as his wife when he made no attempt to
cover his ignorance of French menus. Looking up
with a twinkle in his eyes he said to the waiter,
"Just bring me the same as my wife ordered."
Then he added with an odd one-sided smile that
gave an irresistible expression of humor to his face,
"I always take the blazed trail when there is one.
It's a heap sight safer than striking out for yourself
when you're in tall timber."</p>
<p>Evidently Mrs. Barnaby had told him all that she
had learned of the Ware family, for he at once began
making minute inquiries about Arizona and the
mines, with the interest of a shrewd, genial old man
who kept pace with the times and liked the companionship
of young people. They were warm friends
before the meal was over, and Mary hurried up-stairs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>
afterward, to report all she could remember
to Jack. She had fallen into the habit of making
the most of everything she saw and heard, for his
entertainment.</p>
<p>She found him in his chair, out on the balcony
with her mother, looking down on the same scene
she had watched earlier in the evening. Mrs. Ware
had just tucked a lap-robe around him and drawn
a wrap over her own shoulders when Mary opened
the door of the room behind them, and started
across the floor to join them.</p>
<p>Some letters had been sent up while she was at
dinner and seeing one on the table addressed to
herself, she paused to read it before joining them.
It was just a note from one of the girls at Warwick
Hall, who, knowing Mary's fondness for the beautiful
old garden there, always enclosed some leaf or
flower from it every time she wrote. This time
several violets fell out, withered but still sweet. As
Mary stooped to pick them up she heard Jack say
in a voice so full of hearty enjoyment that she
scarcely recognized it for his: "This certainly is
great! What a world of things we've been missing
all these years, little mother! I never realized
just how much we have missed till I went East last
year. Then afterwards the days were so full of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>
work and the new responsibilities that I didn't have
time to think about it much. But I can see now
what a dull gray existence <i>you've</i> had, for as far
back as I can remember there's only been three
backgrounds for you: a little Kansas village, a tent
on the edge of the Arizona desert, and a lonely
mining camp. How long has it been since you've
seen a sight like this?"</p>
<p>The scattered violets were all picked up now, but
Mary still stood by the table, waiting for her
mother's reply.</p>
<p>"It's so long ago I'll have to stop and count up.
Let me see. You're twenty-two and Joyce twenty-three—really
it's almost a quarter of a century
since I've been in a large city, and seen anything
like this in the way of illuminations, with music
and crowds. Your father took me to New York
the winter after we were married. Before that I'd
always had my full share. I'd visited a great deal
and travelled with Cousin Kate and her father.
And I'm sure that no one could want anything
brighter and sweeter and more complete than life
as I found it as a girl, in 'my old Kentucky home.'
As I had so much more than most people the first
part of my life I couldn't complain when I had less
afterwards. But I certainly do enjoy this," she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>
added earnestly, as the orchestra began the haunting
air of the Mexican "Swallow Song," <i>La Golondrina</i>,
and the odor of roses stole up from below.
The court was filled now with gay little
groups of people who had the air of finding life one
continual holiday.</p>
<p>The cheeriness of the reply almost brought tears
to Mary's eyes, as she realized for the first time
how much more than any of them her mother must
have suffered from the hardships of their early
poverty, because it was in such sharp contrast to
what she had known before. To hide the little
quiver that wanted to creep into her voice Mary
laughed as she joined them, dragging a chair
through the French window after her.</p>
<p>"Here you sit like two comfortable cats in the
lap of luxury," she said. "You'll begin to purr
soon."</p>
<p>"That's exactly what we're doing now," answered
Jack. "We're congratulating ourselves on
being in this land of summer with every comfort
at hand and a free show to entertain us. This is
as good as being in a box-party at the opera."</p>
<p>Mary settled herself with her chair tipped back
on its rockers, and looked down on the court below.
"I wish we could stay at this hotel all winter," she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>
exclaimed. "I wish we could be as rich all the
time as I feel to-night. Ever since we started
South in Mr. Robeson's car I've felt as opulent and
as elegant as if we owned the earth, and I've
noticed that you and mamma take to luxury quite
as readily as I do—like ducks to water. Norman
is learning fast, too, for one of his opportunities.
He's having the time of his life now, down in the
lobby, just 'seein' things at night.' He asked me
for a quarter when I left him, to get some postcards
of the Alamo and the plaza to send home."</p>
<p>"Well?" queried <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Jask'">Jack</ins> as she paused. Mary
had had the family finances in hand since his illness,
and her economical clutch had earned her the title
of "Watch-dog of the Treasury."</p>
<p>"Oh, I gave it to him," she answered. "Gave it
with a lordly sweep of the hand, as if bestowing
millions were a daily habit of mine. But to-morrow
it will be a different story. To-morrow a copper
cent may be too great a boon for my family to
ask me to part with. To-morrow we go house-hunting,
with the sad realization that we're all as
poor as Job's old blue turkey hen."</p>
<p>"What's the odds so long as you're happy,"
quoted Jack. There was a long pause in which they
listened to the music, each enjoying to the fullest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>
the novelty of being in such a place. Then Jack
asked, "Didn't you have any adventures down in
the dining-room? We rather expected that you'd
have a series of them to report."</p>
<p>"Mercy, yes! I've had half a dozen since I saw
you last, very mild ones though. I've seen some
most interesting people, a major's daughter and a
lieutenant from the Post, called Bogey, and I overheard
the beginning of a romance, a most sentimental
request for an 'adorable little curl,' and I've
hooked Mrs. James Barnaby of Bauer, Texas, up
in her best black and purple gown, and James himself
has invited me to take 'pot luck' with them
up at the Barnaby ranch any time I choose to
go. He's a dear and so is she, and if you'd
only—"</p>
<p>Her chatter was stopped by a sudden exclamation
from Jack, and following his gaze into the
court below she saw two of the group in which she
had been so interested earlier in the evening.</p>
<p>"That's the lieutenant I told you about!" she exclaimed
excitedly. "That's Bogey, and the other
is the major's daughter. I don't wonder that
you're stunned at the sight of a pretty girl like that
when it's been such ages since you have seen one."</p>
<p>"I'm stunned because it happens to be a girl I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>
know," exclaimed Jack in a tone almost as excited
as her own. "That's Gay Melville, and I met her
at The Locusts the night I stopped in Lloydsboro
Valley with the Shermans."</p>
<p>"Are you sure?" gasped Mary.</p>
<p>"Dead sure! She played the violin that evening,
and you can't take your eyes off her face when she
plays, it's so sweet, and you could never forget it
after you'd watched her through one performance.
Then her hair—there's no mistaking <i>that</i>, and
that little trick of lifting her chin. Besides, it's no
surprising matter to see her. She lives here and
she's a popular girl."</p>
<p>"Oh, I know it!" exclaimed Mary, "and I've
known all the time that her home is in San Antonio.
Haven't I heard the Warwick Hall seniors talk of
her by the hour? But somehow I never put two
and two together and got it through my head that
we're in the same town. Really I'd forgotten her
in the excitement of our sudden coming. But now
it just takes me off my feet to know that we're
under the same roof, and to remember that she
lived a whole summer in Lloydsboro Valley and
is such a dear friend of the Little Colonel and Betty.
Why, we're <i>bound</i> to meet her some time this winter.
Oh, I know we're going to have a good time<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>
here, and I think that San Antonio is just the dearest,
most charming old place in the world."</p>
<p>"It is certainly a good place to be to-night,"
answered Jack, following with intent gaze the vanishing
figure of the major's pretty daughter. "And
to-morrow—"</p>
<p>He did not finish the sentence, for the violins
were throbbing through that last refrain of <i>La
Golondrina</i> so softly and sweetly that he did not
want to lose a note. When it was done Mary took
up his last word, quoting with a dramatic sweep
of the hand, "To-morrow do thy worst, for I have
lived to-day!"</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER II</h2>
<div class='chaptertitle'>IN SEARCH OF A HOME</div>
<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was with the vision of a charming little
bungalow in her mind that Mary started on her
search for a house next morning; a little white
bungalow half hidden in vines, and set among
heuisach and mesquite trees, or maybe in the shelter
of one giant pecan. As they had whirled
around the city in the touring car the day before,
she had seen several of that kind which she thought
would suit both their taste and their purse.</p>
<p>She had not yet reached the point of picturing
to herself the inside furnishings. They would have
to be of the simplest sort, of course. But one
picture seemed to rise up of its own accord whenever
she thought of the new home. She saw a big
living-room, the centre of a cheery hospitality,
where girls fluttered in and out at all hours of the
day. Bright, fun-loving, interesting girls like Gay
Melville and Roberta. Her wistful little face grew
very sweet and eager at the mere thought of such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>
companionship, and there was such a dancing light
in her gray eyes and such a happy glow of expectancy
on her cheeks that more than one passer-by
took a second glance and felt the morning brighter
because of it.</p>
<p>Mrs. Ware had expected to accompany her, leaving
Jack to Norman's care for the morning, but
a neuralgic headache, an old enemy of hers, seized
her on awakening, and she was obliged to shift
the responsibility to Mary's willing shoulders.
Although it doubled the car-fare, Mary took Norman
with her for company. Armed with a map
of the city and a list of houses, clipped from the
morning paper, they started gaily out on their
quest. It was good just to be alive on such a
morning, and out in the brilliant sunshine, with
the air so fresh and sweet, and the plaza as green
and flowery as if it were mid-summer instead of
the week before Thanksgiving.</p>
<p>They walked at first, wanting a closer view than
the cars afforded of the fascinating old curio shops.
Mexicans were no novelty to them as they were
to Northern tourists. They had seen too many in
Phoenix and at the mining camp to care for a
second look at the tall, peaked hats of the men or
the rebosa-draped heads of the women. But the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>
narrow streets of the Mexican quarter with their
chili and tamale stands interested them. It was
some kind of a fête day, and flags were flying and
a festive spirit was in the air; a spirit that seems
to belong peculiarly to this alluring old Spanish
city, where fête days come often and one soon
learns to say "mañana" with the rest.</p>
<p>Norman, who picked up bits of information here
and there as a magnet draws needles and nails,
imparted some of it to Mary as he trudged along
beside her. Everything was making a deep impression
on his mind because this was his first journey
of any consequence.</p>
<p>"This is the third oldest city in the United States,
the guide book says," he began, then paused before
a shop window, attracted by the sign, "Dressed
Fleas, 35 cents," to exclaim, scornfully, "Who'd
be fool enough to want one of <i>those</i> things, dead
or alive!" With a skip or two to catch up with
Mary, he continued, "And there's thirteen miles of
river twisting in and out among the streets, with
seventeen bridges over it."</p>
<p>"It surely is the twistiest, crookedest river that
I ever saw on a map," answered Mary, "but that's
what makes the town so lovely—all those graceful
bends with the green banks and tropical foliage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>
and the little boats tied up here and there to the
landings. I wish we could find the kind of a place
we want somewhere along the river. Maybe we
could manage to get a boat. Anyhow, if we
couldn't do any better we could make a raft. I'd
love to pole one, and it would be just like doing
it in our own back yard if the river ran right
behind our place."</p>
<p>"Say! Let's!" exclaimed Norman, explosively.
"Mary Ware, you've got a head on you
that's worth something! And I'll tell you something
else I wish we could manage to do,—that's
to get a house out near Brackenridge park. They've
got antelope and buffalo and elk, and all sorts
of wild animals out there. I'd like to see them
often."</p>
<p>"We'd better get down to business, then," said
Mary, "instead of loitering along this way. We
can look at the shops after we've found a house."</p>
<p>"Stop just a minute at the Alamo," begged
Norman. "I want to see the place where Travis
and Davy Crockett and Bowie put up such a desperate
fight against Santa Anna. This is just as
interesting a place to me as Bunker Hill or
Plymouth Rock would be, and I want to write
home to Billy Downs about it."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p>
<p>"But it isn't the <i>exact</i> spot," objected Mary,
who wanted to lose no more time and was sometimes
provokingly literal. "This is only the little
chapel, and the real fight took place in a court that
was away over yonder, and the walls were pulled
down long ago."</p>
<p>Norman planted himself at the entrance and proceeded
to argue the matter. "But the chapel was
part of it, and it stands for the whole thing now—a
sort of monument, you know, and there's relics
inside and—"</p>
<p>"Oh, well, come on, then," said Mary, "if you're
<i>that</i> anxious, but just for a minute. You can come
here some other time by yourself and prowl around
all day."</p>
<p>She followed him into the dim interior, still insisting
at every step that they must hurry. It was
so early no one but the care-taker was in sight. She
knew how Norman liked history, and what enthusiastic
admiration he had for the heroes of frontier
times, but she was surprised to see how deeply he
was impressed by the venerable building. He took
off his hat as they entered and walked around as
reverently as if they were in a church. As they
gazed up at the narrow, iron-barred windows which
had witnessed such a desperate struggle for liberty,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
he said, in an awed tone, which made even Mary
feel solemn:</p>
<p>"'Here, for ten days, took place the most memorable,
thrilling, tragic, and bloody siege in American
history. One hundred and seventy-nine indomitable
American frontier riflemen against an army
of six thousand brave and disciplined troops led by
veteran officers!'"</p>
<p>"<i>Where</i> did you get all that?" demanded Mary,
in surprise.</p>
<p>"I saw it in a little pamphlet, in the reading-room
last night, and it told about the Comanche Indians
that came here about seventy years ago. The
fiercest fighting you ever heard of—thirty-two
Indian warriors killed right out there in the street
that we came across just now, and seven Texans."</p>
<p>"Goodness, Norman!" she answered, with a
shrug. "What do you want to resurrect all those
old horrors for? It doesn't make the place any
more attractive to me to know that its streets once
ran red with blood. I'd rather think of them as
they will be in the Spring on San Jacinto Day, red
with roses after the Battle of Flowers. Think of
our being here to see that!" she added, exultingly.</p>
<p>As they emerged from the dimly-lighted chapel
into the blinding sunshine of the street, Norman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>
remarked thoughtfully, "Of course I'm sorry that
Jack had the rheumatism so badly that he had to
get out of Lone Rock, but as long as we did have
to leave home, I'm jolly glad it brought us to San
Antonio. Think of the times we'll have going out
to Fort Sam Houston to guard-mounts and parade.
It's something just to be within walking distance
of the largest army post of the United States."</p>
<p>"I'm thinking of the public library," was her
rejoinder. "Jack can have all the books he wants
to read this winter; and I'm thinking of the friends
we'll have; the real, satisfying kind, that do things,
and go places, and think, and keep you from sinking
to the level of a cabbage. I've always wanted to
live in the thick of things, and here we are at
last!"</p>
<p>They paused on the curb to wait for a long
string of vehicles to pass. An army ambulance
came first, drawn by sleek mules, driven by a
soldier in khaki and carrying several ladies and
children from the Post. Close behind it came a
riding party, clattering in on horseback from a
breakfast at the Country Club. Then followed
close on each other's heels, a dilapidated prairie
schooner, three boys on a burro, a huckster's
wagon, and a carriage with liveried coachman and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>
prancing, thoroughbred horses. The clang of a
long line of electric cars whizzing past, the honk
of many automobiles, and the warning sound of
bicycle bells, as their owners wheeled in and out
through the bewildering maze of vehicles and
pedestrians, made Norman exclaim, joyfully,
"Gee! I'm glad we're out of Lone Rock! There's
something to see here every single minute."</p>
<p>Mary signalled a passing car, and as soon as
they were seated, drew out her newspaper clippings.
"Mrs. Barnaby said for us to go to Laurel Heights
first," she remarked, "so I believe we'll find it best
to try this one. It sounds all right."</p>
<p>She read the advertisement aloud: "A five-room
bungalow, never been occupied, all modern
conveniences, one block from car-line, rent reasonable,
inquire next door."</p>
<p>Then she unfolded the map and studied it as
they whirled along, now and then repeating the
name of a street as she came across one which
sounded particularly pleasing and story-bookish, as
she called it, to Norman: "King William Street,
Mistletoe Avenue, Dolorosa and San Pedro."</p>
<p>When a little later they alighted from the car
and found the place described in the advertisement,
it was almost the bungalow of Mary's dreams.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>
The vines were lacking and the lawn was still
strewn with the débris of building, but that could
soon be remedied.</p>
<p>"What good, wide porches to hang a hammock
on!" exclaimed Norman, as they mounted the steps
and walked around, peering through the windows.</p>
<p>"You'll have to say gallery," corrected Mary.
"Everybody down here calls a porch a gallery.
They won't know what you mean."</p>
<p>They walked all around the house, exclaiming
over each attractive feature, as each window revealed
a new one. The electric lights, the convenient
little bathroom, the open fire-place in the
living-room, the built-in china closet. Norman's
only complaint was that the house was nowhere
near the river. That was a drawback in Mary's
eyes also, for ever since they had thought of a boat
it had begun to take its place in that mental picture
in which those alluring girls were always fluttering
in and out.</p>
<p>"Of course we'll look farther," she said. "It
wouldn't do to take the first one we came to when
there are so many to choose from. I'll just run
in next door and inquire the price, and tell them
we'll make up our minds later."</p>
<p>But when she had made her inquiries her decision<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>
followed immediately. What might seem reasonable
rent to the owner and to the people of that
neighborhood was entirely out of the reach of the
Ware pocket-book. "You won't find anything
cheaper in this part of town," the woman assured
her, and after several more experiences of the same
kind, Mary believed her.</p>
<p>They passed all sorts of beautiful homes in their
wanderings; stately Colonial mansions, comfortable
wide-spreading houses with broad galleries and hospitable
doors, picturesque bungalows in the mission
style, little white-winged cottages over-run with
tangles of Maréchal Niel roses, their fragrant buds
swinging from the very eaves. The farther they
searched the more Mary longed to find a home
among them, and it was with a feeling of deep
disappointment that she turned back to the hotel
for lunch.</p>
<p>Mrs. Ware had spent part of the morning telephoning
to different real estate offices recommended
by Mr. Barnaby, and had a small list of houses
sifted down from those offered her.</p>
<p>"They tell me we are too late to get much of
a choice," she reported. "People have been pouring
into the city for a month, and the freight stations
and ware-houses are piled up with household goods.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>
It is this way every fall, they say. No matter how
many homes they build there are always more families
clamoring to occupy them than can be accommodated.
It would be easier for us to find one
if we could afford to pay more, but I had to cut
out all the high-priced ones from the lists that they
gave me."</p>
<p>Mary took the slip of paper from her mother,
saying, "So far the ones we have seen have been
too big or too expensive, or else far too small. I
wonder what will be the matter with these?"</p>
<p>She began to find out almost as soon as she and
Norman resumed their search again after lunch.
The lists they had led them into older parts of
the town, where the rented houses had seen several
generations of transitory occupants. Some of the
places they visited made her shrink back in dismay.
A long procession of careless tenants had passed
through, each leaving some contribution to the evidences
of their slack housekeeping. Nearly every
family had had its share of disease and death, and
Mary hurried away with a wry face and the single
exclamation, "germs!" Mrs. Barnaby had spoken
of that class of houses. "You want to be careful,"
she told her. "Even the nicest looking may have
had dreadfully sick tenants in them, and although<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>
there is a law requiring landlords to fumigate, and
all that sort of thing, you can't be sure that it has
been done as thoroughly as it should."</p>
<p>"This is getting monotonous," Mary exclaimed,
wearily, when they had walked block after block
to no purpose, and the end of the day found them
with nothing accomplished. The morning freshness
of the atmosphere had given place to such
enervating heat that she had been carrying her coat
on her arm for several hours. The sky was overcast
with clouds, when fagged and inwardly cross she
climbed on the car that was to take them back to
the hotel, vowing that she couldn't drag herself
another step.</p>
<p>At the next corner half a dozen people hurried
down the street, waving frantically for the car to
wait. As they crowded into the aisle, laughing and
out of breath, Mary heard a lady exclaim, "We
certainly were lucky to catch this car. If we'd had
to wait for the next one the 'Norther' surely would
have caught us, and this is going to be a nasty, wet
one, too."</p>
<p>Even as she spoke there was a sense of sudden
chill in the air. A cold gale swept down the street,
setting flags and awnings to flapping, and blinding
pedestrians with whirling clouds of dust. The conductor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>
hurried to close the car windows, and the
passengers began struggling into their wraps.</p>
<p>The sudden freshening of the air had such a
bracing effect that Mary straightened up, feeling
that after all she might be able to walk the half
block from the car to the hotel. When the time
came, she found that she could even run the distance,
for the few big drops of rain that splashed
in her face were the fore-runner of a downpour,
and they had no umbrella. Just as they reached the
entrance such a mighty deluge began that Mary's
disappointment in house-hunting was somewhat
softened by the fact that her beloved hat had escaped
a wetting which must have ruined it.</p>
<p>"Never mind, little Vicar," said Jack, consolingly,
when she had made her report to the assembled
family. "The proverbial turn in our
fortune is bound to come. It's never failed us yet,
you know."</p>
<p>"But we've simply got to get out of this expensive
hotel," she answered, desperately. "Do you
realize that we could keep house for a week on
what it costs the four of us to stay here just one
day?"</p>
<p>Mrs. Ware broke the long silence that followed,
by suggesting, "Maybe for the present we'd better<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>
try to get a few rooms somewhere, just for light
housekeeping. It's a last resort, I know, but Mary
is right. Every day we spend here is taking a big
mouthful out of our little capital."</p>
<p>Nobody liked the suggestion, for whatever else
they had lacked in their Arizona homes there had
been no lack of space, but they all saw the wisdom
of Mrs. Ware's suggestion, and agreed to try it
until they could look around and do better.</p>
<p>"How lovely it must be to have an ancestral
roof-tree," thought Mary that night, as she tossed,
restlessly, kept awake by the noises of the big hotel.
"I can't think of anything more heavenly than to
always live in the house where you were born, and
your fathers and grandfathers before you, as the
Lloyds do at The Locusts. It must be so delightful
to feel that you've got an attic full of heirlooms
and that everything about the place is connected
with some old family tradition, and to know that
you can take root there, and not have to go wandering
around from pillar to post as we Wares
have always had to do. I wonder if Lloyd Sherman
knows how much she has to be thankful
for!"</p>
<p>Next day in her shortest skirt and rain-coat, and
under a dripping umbrella, Mary started to look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>
for rooms. She was alone this time. Company
was too expensive a luxury to afford more than
one day, since it meant extra car-fare. She paddled
blithely off, however, never minding the weather.
This rain made the little home she was seeking
seem all the more desirable. Whenever a window
showed her a cozy interior with the light of an
open fire shining cheerily over it, she thought it
would not be long till she would be making afternoon
tea over just such a fire, or popping corn or
toasting marsh-mallows. She could think of a
dozen ways to make it attractive for the girls when
they dropped in of rainy afternoons.</p>
<p>Occupied with such plans she tramped along
through the mud and slush as happily as she had
gone through the sunshine the day before. But by
the end of the morning repeated failures began to
bring a worried line between her eyes and a sharp
note of anxiety into her voice when she made her
inquiries. Once, finding herself in the neighborhood
of a house which she had refused the day
before because it did not quite measure up to the
standards she had set, she went to look at it again,
thinking, after all, they might manage to be more
comfortable in it than in a few rooms. To her
disappointment she found a family already moving<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>
in. It had been rented almost immediately after
her refusal to take it.</p>
<p>In her search for rooms a new difficulty faced
her. Invariably one of the first questions asked
her was, "Anyone sick in your family?"</p>
<p>"Yes, my brother," she would say. "He has
rheumatism. That is why we are particular about
getting a sunny south room for him."</p>
<p>"Well, we can't take sick people," would be the
positive answer, and she would turn away with an
ache in her throat and a dull wonder why Jack's
rheumatism could make him objectionable in the
slightest degree as a tenant. The morning was
nearly gone before she found the reason. She was
shown into a dingy parlor by a child of the family,
and asked to wait a few moments. Its mother had
gone around the corner to the bakery, but would
be right back.</p>
<p>There were two others already waiting when
Mary entered the room, a stout, middle-aged woman
and a delicate-looking girl. The woman looked up
with a nod as Mary took a chair near the stove and
spread out her damp skirts to dry.</p>
<p>"I reckon you're on the same errand as us," said
the woman, "but it's first come, first served, and
we're ahead of you."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p>
<p>"Yes," answered Mary, distantly polite, and
wondering at the aggressive tone. When the child
left the room the woman rose and shut the door
behind it, and then came back to Mary, lowering
her voice confidentially.</p>
<p>"It's just this way. We're getting desperate.
We came down here for my daughter's health—the
doctor sent us, and we've gone all over town
trying to get some kind of roof over our heads.
We can't get in anywhere because Maudie has lung
trouble. People have been coming down here for
forty years to get cured of it, and folks were glad
enough to rent 'em rooms and take their money,
till all this talk was stirred up in the papers about
lung trouble being a great white plague, and catching,
and all that. Now you can't get in anywhere
at a price that poor folks can pay. I've come to
the end of my rope. The landlady at the boarding-house
where we've been stopping, told me this
morning that she couldn't keep us another day, because
the boarders complained when they found
what ailed Maudie. I was a fool to tell 'em, for
she doesn't cough much. It's only in the first stages.
After this I'm just going to say that I came down
here to look for work, and goodness knows, <i>that's</i>
the truth! What I want to ask of you is that you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>
won't stand in the way of our getting in here by
offering more rent or anything like that."</p>
<p>"Certainly not," Mary answered, drawing back
a little, almost intimidated by the fierceness which
desperation gave to the other's manner.</p>
<p>The landlady bustled in at that moment, and as
she threw the rooms open for inspection, she asked
the question that Mary had heard so often that
morning,—"Any sick in your family?"</p>
<p>"No," answered the woman, glibly. "I'm down
in the city looking for work. I do plain sewing,
and if you know of any likely customers I'd be glad
if you'd mention me."</p>
<p>The landlady glanced shrewdly at Maudie, who
kept in the background.</p>
<p>"She does embroidery," explained her mother.
"Needle-work makes her a little pale and peaked,
sitting over it so long. I ain't going to let her do
so much after I once get a good start."</p>
<p>"Well, a person in my place can't be too careful,"
complained the landlady. "We get taken in
so often letting our rooms to strangers. They have
all sorts of names for lung trouble nowadays,
malaria and a weak heart and such things. The
couple I had in here last said it was just indigestion
and shortness of breath, but she died all the same<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>
six weeks later, in this very room, and he had to
acknowledge it was her lungs all the time, and he
knew it."</p>
<p>Mary looked around the room with a shiver. Its
old wallpaper, dingy paint and worn carpet proclaimed
too plainly that its renovation since the last
lodgers' departure had been only a superficial one,
barely what the law demanded.</p>
<p>"No, thank you," she replied to the landlady,
who had turned to her with the hope of finding a
more desirable tenant. "I couldn't consider these
rooms at all. There are only two, and we need
three at least."</p>
<p>Out on the street again a tear or two splashed
down and mingled with the rain on her face as she
walked away. She was growing desperate herself.
If two rooms had been all they needed, she could
have found them a number of times over. Or, if
they could have afforded some of the flats or the
sunny suites she discovered on pleasant streets, her
search would have been soon over. But it was the
same old circle she kept coming back to. When
the rooms were large enough and within their
means, either they were unsanitary or the owners
objected to invalids. In vain she explained that
Jack's helplessness was due to an accident, and that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>
rheumatism is not contagious. Too many people
like Maudie's mother had been ahead of her and
bred suspicion of all strangers in quest of rooms
for light housekeeping.</p>
<p>Mary had told her mother not to expect her back
for lunch. She would go into some tea-room or
restaurant wherever she happened to be. But one
o'clock found her in a part of the town where
nothing of the kind was in sight. She bought an
apple and some crackers at a grocery, and ate them
under cover of her umbrella while she stood on a
corner, waiting for a car to take her to another
part of the city.</p>
<p>What a different place it seemed to be from the
one they had seen the day of their arrival! Then
it was a world of hospitable homes and sunshine
and kindly faces. The very shop windows looked
friendly and inviting. Now, plodding along in the
wet, to the tired, homesick girl it seemed only a
great, desolate place full of lonely, discouraged
strangers and sick people and dingy boarding-houses,
whose doors shut coldly in anxious
faces.</p>
<p>All afternoon she kept up the search. The electric
lights were beginning to gleam through the rain,
throwing long, quivering reflections in the puddles<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>
when she finally turned back to the hotel, bedraggled
and utterly discouraged.</p>
<p>"I <i>won't</i> cry!" she said, fiercely, to herself. "I
can't! For Jack would see that I had been at it,
and he is getting so sensitive lately. It would
hurt him dreadfully to know that we are barred
out of all the desirable places because he is an invalid."</p>
<p>The habit of years is strong. Mary had persisted
so long in applying the good Vicar of Wakefield's
motto to her childish difficulties and disappointments,
that it had taught her remarkable self-control.
Instead of bursting impulsively into the
room as so many girls of her age would have done,
and giving vent to her over-taxed nerves and discouragement
in a tearful report of the day's adventures,
she walked slowly from the elevator to her
room, trying to think of some careless way in which
to announce her failure. She paused with her hand
on the knob, thinking, "I'll just tell them that I've
come back like Noah's dove did the first time it
was sent out from the ark, because I could find no
rest for the sole of my foot; at least a rest which
fitted both our ideas and our income."</p>
<p>To her relief, the room was empty when she
entered. The only light streamed through the transom<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>
and keyhole from Jack's room, where a low
murmur told that her mother was reading aloud.
Opening the door just a crack so that her face was
not visible, she called, gaily, "I'm back, mamma, but
you can just go on with your reading; I'll not tell a
single thing till I'm all dried and dressed. I'm as
wet as a frog."</p>
<p>"Oh, I was afraid you'd be," came the anxious
answer. "I'll come and get—"</p>
<p>"No," interrupted Mary, decidedly. "I don't
want anything but time." Closing the door between
the rooms, she switched on the light and began
slipping out of her wet clothes into dry ones. In
a moment or two she was in her soft, warm kimona
and Turkish slippers, standing on the threshold of
the bathroom, intending to plunge her face into a
basin of hot water. It was the best thing she could
think of to remove the traces of tears, and she was
so tired that now she was safe in the harbor of her
own room the tears <i>would</i> come, no matter how
hard she tried to keep them back.</p>
<p>But before she could turn the faucet, a tap at
the hall door made her dab her handkerchief hastily
across her eyes, for Mrs. Barnaby's voice followed
the tap.</p>
<p>"I surely hate to trouble you," she began, apologetically,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>
as soon as Mary had admitted her, "but
if you could only hook me up this one more time—I've
been waiting for James with this shawl over
my shoulders for nearly half an hour. Then I
heard you come in and I thought maybe you
wouldn't mind doing it once more. We're going
home in the morning."</p>
<p>Then with a keen look into Mary's face, she
added, kindly, "Why, you poor child, what's the
matter? Your brother isn't worse, I hope!"</p>
<p>There was such a note of real concern in the
sympathetic voice that Mary's lip trembled and her
eyes brimmed over again. When the next moment
she found herself drawn into Mrs. Barnaby's capacious
embrace with a plump hand patting her
soothingly on the back, the story of her discouragement
seemed to sob itself out of its own accord.
The performance left Mary's eyes very red and
tear-swollen, but the outburst brought such relief
that she could laugh the moment it was over. It
was Mrs. Barnaby's surprise which brought the
laugh.</p>
<p>"I can't get over it!" she kept exclaiming. "To
think that all this time I supposed that you were
enormously wealthy—actually rolling in riches!
Well, well!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p>
<p>"I didn't know that my 'short and simple annals
of the poor' would be so upsetting," giggled Mary,
hysterically. "You were so sweet and sympathetic
I couldn't help telling you. But don't take it to
heart, please. We Wares never stay discouraged
long. I'll be all right now after I get my face
washed. As soon as I fasten your dress I'll run
in and turn on the hot water."</p>
<p>The hooking proceeded in silence, Mrs. Barnaby
so absorbed in thought that she forgot her usual
sigh of relief and expression of thanks at the end.
Instead she said, abruptly, "You come and go up
on the train with us in the morning to Bauer. It's
only thirty miles from here and it's up in the hills,
high and dry, and there's the Metz cottage I'm
sure you can get, all freshly scrubbed and ready
to move into. Mrs. Metz is the cleanest little German
woman you ever saw,—scrubs even the under
sides of her tables as white as the tops. It wasn't
rented when we came down here last Saturday. Let
me talk to your mother about it. I'm sure it is
just the place for you."</p>
<p>"Oh, no," began Mary. "We couldn't possibly
go there! We've counted so much on living here
in San Antonio this winter and meeting some of
our friends' friends—"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p>
<p>Then she stopped with a little gasp, and after
an instant's pause said, apologetically, "I didn't
mean to refuse so abruptly, and now I take it all
back. Changing plans so suddenly is somewhat of
a shock to one's system, isn't it! After all, I'm
like a drowning man catching at straws, and I'd
be very glad, indeed, if you would talk to mamma
about it. You can go right in now while I finish
dressing, if you like."</p>
<p>It was not the first time Mrs. Barnaby had been
ushered into Jack's room. Their acquaintance had
begun over the railing of their adjoining balconies
the first day of Mary's house-hunting, and had
rapidly deepened into a mutual liking. So strongly
had Mrs. Barnaby been attracted to the young fellow
who bore his crippled condition so lightly that
he made others forget it, that she induced James
to go in and make his acquaintance also. The two
men had spent several hours of the long, rainy
morning together, each greatly interested in the
other's conversation.</p>
<p>Mary, who had been gone all day, did not know
of this, but she knew that her mother had met and
liked Mrs. Barnaby, and that the story of the day's
unsuccessful search would not sound half so serious
if that cheerful old lady told it, especially if it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>
were followed immediately by her offer to find
them a home in Bauer.</p>
<p>Bauer was an uncharted country on Mary's map,
but if Mrs. Barnaby thought of it as their desired
haven, she could trust her capable hands to take
them safely into it. So it was with a sigh of relief
that she opened the door between the rooms, saying,
"Here's Mrs. Barnaby, mamma," and left her to
make explanations while she finished dressing.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER III</h2>
<div class='chaptertitle'>THE LITTLE TOWN OF BAUER</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span> was the only one to whom the change
of plans made a vital difference. She had built
such lovely dream-castles of their winter in San
Antonio that it was hard to see them destroyed
at one breath.</p>
<p>"Of course it's the only thing to do," she said,
in a mournful aside to Norman, "but did you ever
dream that there was a dish of rare, delicious fruit
set down in front of you, so tempting that you
could hardly wait to taste it, and just as you put
out your hand it was suddenly snatched away?
That's the way I feel about leaving here. And
I've dreamed of getting letters, too; big, fat letters,
that were somehow going to change my whole
life for the better, and then just as I started to
read them I always woke up, and so never found
out the secret that would make such a change in
my fortunes."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p>
<p>"Maybe it won't be so bad after all," encouraged
Norman. "Maybe we can have a boat.
There's a creek running through the town and the
Barnaby ranch is only seven miles out in the country.
We'll see them often."</p>
<p>Mary wanted to wail out, "Oh, it isn't boats,
and ranches, and old people I want! It's girls,
and boys, and something doing! Being in the heart
of things, as we would be if we could only stay
here in this beautiful old city!"</p>
<p>The wail found no voice, however, for even in
the midst of her disappointment Mary remembered
Jack, and could not let him feel that this change
in their plans meant any sacrifice for her. Besides,
she had to acknowledge that the creek and the
ranch <i>did</i> hold out some compensations, and she
was deeply grateful to these two kind old people
who had come to their rescue in such cordial, neighborly
fashion. Mr. Barnaby had been called into
the family council also, and had spent the evening
with them discussing prices and prospects.</p>
<p>Even Norman was impressed by their offers of
assistance, and spoke of it as he sat slowly unlacing
his shoes after they had gone. Mary was
in the next room, repacking her trunk, for it had
been decided that she and Norman were to go<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>
to Bauer on the early accommodation train when
the Barnabys left for home. The door between
the rooms was still open, and she heard him say,
thoughtfully:</p>
<p>"What do you suppose makes them so rattling
good to us when we're just strangers?"</p>
<p>Jack laughed and quoted, teasingly:</p>
<div class='poem'>
"'What makes the lamb love Mary so?'<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The eager children cry.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">'Oh, Mary loves the lamb, you know,'</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The teacher did reply."</span><br />
</div>
<p>"Aw, talk sense!" was Norman's disgusted answer.
"I don't know what you mean by that."</p>
<p>An understanding smile flashed between Jack
and his mother, who had stayed to help him prepare
for the night, and she answered for him.</p>
<p>"Jack only means that we get just what we
give in this world, dear. From the days of Solomon
it's been a proverb that the man who would
have friends 'must show himself friendly.' And
that's what you and Mary did the first night you
met the Barnabys. You made them feel that you
found them genuinely interesting, and that awakened
a liking for you."</p>
<p>"But anybody'd find that old man interesting,"
Norman explained, gravely. "You never heard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>
such Indian stories as he can tell,—true ones that
he's been in himself,—and hunting—Gee! you
ought to hear him! I bid to sit next to him going
up on the train."</p>
<p>"You're welcome to him!" called Mary. "I'll
take Mrs. B." Then she came to the doorway,
a pile of folded garments in her hands. "I declare,
she's just an old dear! She's thought of
so many ways to save us expense since she found
out that we have to economize. She even offered
to have our two extra trunks checked on their
tickets. They only brought suit-cases. So we'll
have no extra baggage to pay for."</p>
<p>The sun was shining next morning, and although
the chill of the Norther was still in the air, the
rain-washed plazas were greener than ever, and
new roses were opening to take the places of the
old ones that the storm had beaten off the day
before. Mary's spirits seemed to have passed
through the same freshening process, for there was
no trace of tears or regrets on the bright face that
greeted her travelling companions.</p>
<p>The only morning train was an accommodation,
which carried much freight and took its own time
for the journey. This happened to be a day when
it was four hours on the road, but none of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>
little party felt that time dragged. Ordinarily,
Mary would have enjoyed keeping close to the old
ranchman, as Norman did, hopping off the car
every time they stopped on a side-track, to investigate
everything along the way,—the lime works,
the rock quarry, the station where the mail was
put off for the soldiers who were camped at
the Government reservation for target practise.
Even the little oil-burning engine would have
been of as much interest to her as it was to Norman,
had she not been so busily occupied otherwise.</p>
<p>As they wound higher and higher into the hills
she looked out now and then with a quick exclamation
of pleasure at the view, but for the most part
she was "visiting" with Mrs. Barnaby, as that
good soul expressed it. Their acquaintance took
long strides forward that morning. Part of the
time Mary chattered along just as if her listener
had been one of the Warwick Hall girls, and part
of the time she listened to elderly views and confidences
with the seeming sympathy of middle age.
A bit of personal history from one called out a
corresponding scrap from the other, and they had
exchanged views on many subjects, ranging from
young turkeys to unhappy marriages, when the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>
porter passed through the train calling, "Bauer!
All out for Bauer!"</p>
<p>Mrs. Barnaby glanced out the window, saying
in surprise, "I had no idea we were so near home!"
Then she gave Mary's sleeve an affectionate little
pat with her plump hand, exclaiming cordially, "I
declare, it's been a real treat to have you along."
And Mary, as she helped Mrs. Barnaby struggle
into her coat, responded, "Well, I've enjoyed every
inch of the way. Somehow you make me feel that
you're just my age or I'm just yours,—I don't
know which. You can't imagine how 'little and
lorn' I feel at the thought of leaving you."</p>
<p>"Oh, but I'm not going to leave you until you're
safely settled," was the comforting assurance.
"James has some business at the court-house that
will keep him in town for an hour or so. As
soon as we drop him there I'll drive around with
you to make arrangements about the cottage.
There's Pedro now."</p>
<p>They were on the platform by this time, and she
indicated by a nod the slim young Mexican who
had driven the carriage from the ranch to meet
them. It was a roomy, old-fashioned carriage
drawn by two big gray mules, with much shining
nickel-plating on their stout black harness. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>
station was half a mile away from the village,
and as they swung down the sunny white road
towards it, at a rapid gait, both Norman and Mary
looked out eagerly at the place that was to be their
home for a whole long winter, and maybe more.</p>
<p>From a distance it looked almost like a toy village,
with its red roofs, blue barns and flashing
windmills nestled against the background of misty
hills. Low mountain peaks rose here and there
on the far horizon beyond.</p>
<p>"This is distinctly a German village, you know,"
explained Mrs. Barnaby, as they passed a group
of little flaxen-haired Teutons on the roadside,
who were calling to each other and their dog in
a tongue which Mary could not understand.</p>
<p>"Bauer was settled by an old German count and
a baron or two, who came over here with their
families and followers. They made it as much
like a corner of the Fatherland as they could, and
their descendants still cling to their language and
customs. They don't want any disturbing, aggressive
Americans in their midst, so they never
call on new-comers, and never return their visits
if any of them try to make the advances. They
will welcome you to their shops, but not to their
homes. Even the English and Scotch people who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>
have owned the out-lying ranches as long as they
have owned the town are looked upon as aliens
and strangers, in a way."</p>
<div class="figright" style="width: 375px;">
<img src="images/i002.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="A dashing girl in khaki and a cowboy hat
astride of a fiery little mustang" />
</div>
<p>Mary gave an exclamation of dismay. "Texas
certainly is full of surprises," she said, in a disappointed
tone. "One thinks of it as being young
and crude, and with the proverbial hospitality of
a new country. I've always thought of it as having
the latch-string out for everybody."</p>
<p>"Oh, <i>Texas</i> has," Mrs. Barnaby hastened to
assure her. "Its doors are wide open, and its
welcome corresponds to its size, the biggest in the
Union. But Bauer is different. It has a few
families who will not look on you with suspicion.
The old couple who own the cottage which I hope
to get for you will be good neighbors, and if you
were to live here a long time there are others who
would be friendly. Then there are several American
families who have found a foothold in the
town, and as I said, English-speaking people on
the ranches hereabout. They are cultured, refined
people, interesting to know, but strangers coming
here rarely make their acquaintance. You see we
have so many transients coming for their health,
staying just a few weeks or months and going
on again—it's hardly to be expected we'd—"</p>
<p>Her sentence was interrupted by a dashing girl
in khaki and a cowboy hat, astride a fiery little
mustang. She rode past the carriage, calling out
a greeting as she passed. Norman turned around
exclaiming, "Did you see that? A cartridge belt
around her waist and a six-shooter in her holster!
That's the wild West for you."</p>
<p>"That's the sheriff's daughter," explained Mrs.
Barnaby. "She's his deputy, and meets the trains
when it's necessary and he's out of town."</p>
<p>"I'd like to know her," said Mary. "I'm glad
that there's something to give one the kind of a
thrill you naturally expect to have out here. I
was beginning to have such a foreign, far-away
feeling, seeing all these picturesque little German
gardens with old women weeding in them. We
can imagine we are abroad this winter in Cologne
or Pottsdam or Bingen on the Rhine. Oh, <i>oh!</i>
How quaint and dear!"</p>
<p>The exclamation escaped her as the gray mules
stopped at the gate of an old garden, over whose
stone walls arched a row of great pecan trees. A
straight path ran from the gate to the kitchen door,
stiffly bordered by coxcombs and princes' feather,
while on each side chrysanthemums and roses and a
host of old-fashioned autumn flowers made the little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a><br /><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>
plot a tangle of colors and sweet smells. There
were some bee-hives under the bare peach trees,
and at one side beyond them, a small vineyard
where the mockingbirds still sang noisily although
the grapes had all been gathered and pressed into
wine. An old man with a flowing white beard
and a high black hat sat on a bench by the kitchen
door placidly smoking a long pipe.</p>
<p>"That's Mr. Metz," said Mrs. Barnaby, preparing
to alight. "Come in with me."</p>
<p>"It's all just like one of the pictures in Joyce's
studio," commented Mary, as they followed the
straight walk to the door, "and this is just like
one of those lovely old-master, Dutch interiors," she
added, in a whisper, as Mr. Metz ushered them into
the big, clean kitchen, where his wife sat knitting.</p>
<p>On the deep window-sill a cat lay asleep in the
sun beside a pot of glowing red geraniums, and
there was such an air of cleanliness and thrift
and repose about the room that Mary could not
help exclaiming aloud over it. As she glanced
around with admiring glances her bright face
showed its appreciation also, and Mrs. Metz
watched it shrewdly while she talked with Mrs.
Barnaby, in English so broken as to be almost
unintelligible.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p>
<p>What the old woman saw must have satisfied
her, for she accepted Mrs. Barnaby's offer after
a very short parley with her husband in German,
and when they rose to go she bade them wait
while she made a stiff little nosegay for each of
them, culled from her garden borders and edged
with strong-smelling mint. In the center of Mary's
was one of her handsomest coxcombs. Mrs. Barnaby
smiled meaningly when she saw it, and when
they had climbed back into the carriage, said in
a pleased tone, "That shows that she has weighed
you in the balance and is satisfied with the result.
You'll get along famously with her, I'm sure, and
we'll soon have you settled now, in fine shape."</p>
<p>An hour later Mary stood on the threshold of
the cottage she had rented, with the keys of possession
in her hand. Thanks to Mrs. Barnaby and
the rapid gait of the gray mules, much had been
accomplished in that time. The groceries they had
ordered were already piled on the table in the
kitchen. A load of wood was on its way. The
new mattresses they had bought at the furniture
shop (kept by the undertaker of the village) were
promised for delivery early in the afternoon, and
they had been introduced at each place as friends
of the Barnabys, who were to be charged home<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>
prices, and not the ones usually asked of strangers.
Mrs. Barnaby was what she called plain-spoken,
and although she made a jest of her demands they
carried weight.</p>
<p>Their trunks, three of which contained bedclothes
and dishes, stood on the front gallery waiting
to be unpacked. Inside, the house looked as
clean as soapsuds and fresh paint could make it.
Mrs. Metz herself had attended to the scrubbing
after the last tenant left. But Mary decided that
she would feel more comfortable, moving in after
strangers, if she should give the furniture a personal
washing before they began to use it. While
Norman built a fire in the kitchen stove, she unlocked
one of the trunks and changed her travelling
suit for a gingham dress and apron.</p>
<p>"Let's eat picnic fashion," called Norman, "and
unpack afterward. It's nearly one o'clock, and
I'm too hungry to wait. I've found a cup I can
boil some eggs in, and if we don't use any dishes
we won't have any to wash afterwards."</p>
<p>"That's a bright suggestion," Mary called back.
"We haven't any time to lose if we are to get
everything ready for mamma and Jack by to-morrow
afternoon."</p>
<p>When she came dancing out into the kitchen a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>
few minutes later Norman had already begun his
luncheon, and was walking around with a cheese
sandwich in one hand and a pickle in the other,
investigating the premises while he ate. Mary
followed his example, and wandered from the open
doorway to the open windows, looking at the view
from each, and exclaiming over each new discovery.
The house was on a slight knoll with a
wide cotton-field stretching down between it and
the little village. From this distance it looked
more than ever like a toy village, against the background
of low hills.</p>
<p>"You ought to see it from the top of the windmill,"
said Norman. "I climbed up while you
and Mrs. Barnaby were talking so long at the
gate. I'm glad we've got a windmill. It'll save
me a lot of pumping, and it makes such a fine
watch-tower. You ought to see how far you can
look across the country. You can see the creek.
It's just a little way back of our place."</p>
<p>"I'm going up this minute!" answered Mary.
Slipping her unfinished sandwiches into her apron
pocket, she ran out to the windmill and began to
swing herself from one cross-piece of the tower
to another, as lightly as Norman had done.</p>
<p>"It's perfectly lovely!" she called back from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>
the top. "I'd like to perch up here all afternoon
if there wasn't so much to do. I'm going to come
up here often. It gives you such a high-up-above-all-your-earthly-ills
feeling! There's St. Peter's,"
she called, "over at the south end of town. I
recognize the little stone belfry. What do you
suppose that square tower is at the other end
of town?"</p>
<p>Norman came out and climbed half-way up the
windmill, swinging there below her by one arm,
as he slowly munched a ginger-snap.</p>
<p>"Oh, that," he said, as he looked in the direction
which she pointed. "That's the Sisters'
school. I asked Pedro this morning. It's the
Academy of the Holy Angels."</p>
<p>Mary's face glowed as she shook back the hair
which the wind kept blowing into her eyes.
"That's perfectly fascinating!" she declared.
"There's something beautiful to me in the thought
that the little town we've come to lies between
two such guardians. It's a good omen, and I'm
not sorry now that we had to come."</p>
<p>She stayed perched on the windmill, enjoying
the view and eating her sandwiches until Norman
called her that the wash-water was boiling over on
the stove. Then she climbed nimbly down and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>
started towards the kitchen door. The kitchen
was in an ell of the house, and from its front
window she could see the road which ran in front
of the house. Just across it, half hidden by a
row of bushy umbrella trees, stood two little blue
cottages. They were within easy calling distance,
and the voices of half a dozen children at play
came cheerfully across to her. Although they
spoke in a foreign tongue the chatter gave her a
sense of companionship.</p>
<p>"Norman," she suddenly suggested, "let's stay
here to-night, instead of going to the boarding-house
as mamma and Mrs. Barnaby arranged. I'm not
afraid with neighbors so near, and I'm sure mamma
wouldn't care if she could see how quiet and peaceful
it is here. We'd be saving considerable—a
night's lodging for two, and we can make this
real comfortable and homey by bedtime."</p>
<p>With the promise of hot biscuit and honey for
supper Norman agreed to her plan. He was to
call at the boarding-house and cancel the arrangements
Mrs. Barnaby had made for them, when
he went for the milk which Mr. Metz had promised
to sell them. It was from the Metz bee-hives
they were to have the honey, too. She had engaged
it as a special treat for Jack.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p>
<p>Under her direction Norman fell to work making
a kitchen cabinet out of two old boxes, while she
scrubbed away at the chairs and tables.</p>
<p>"Isn't it funny the way history repeats itself?"
she remarked. "This makes me think of the time
that Joyce and Jack had getting settled in the
Wigwam. I felt so defrauded then because I
couldn't have a hand in it, and this seems a sort
of compensation for what I missed then."</p>
<p>The exercise seemed to loosen her tongue, for
as she worked she went on, "I'm truly glad that
I can enjoy both the top and bottom crusts of
things. Nobody, I am sure, could have squeezed
more pleasure out of this last week than I did.
I fairly revelled in all the luxuries we had as Mr.
Robeson's guests. It comes so easy to be waited
on and to be the fine lady. And on the other
hand, it is a real joy to be working this way,
blacking stoves and filling lamps and making things
look spick and span. I can spend like a lord and
I can skimp like a scrubwoman, and I really don't
know which I enjoy most."</p>
<p>She did not attempt to put any finishing touches
to the house that day, but left such things as
the hanging of curtains and the few pictures they
had brought until next morning. But before she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>
stopped everything was shining, her room was
ready for the night, and a cot was made up for
Norman in the room which he was to share with
Jack. Later, while she waited for the biscuits to
bake and for him to come home with the milk
and honey, she wrote a letter to Joyce. She did
not take time to go to the bottom of her trunk
for writing material, but emptying the sugar from
a large paper sack, cut it into several square sheets.
With a big tin pan turned bottom upwards in her
lap for a desk, she hastily scribbled the events of
the day with a lead-pencil, which she sharpened
with the carving-knife.</p>
<p>Joyce has that letter yet. It was scribbled in
the most careless, commonplace way, just as Mary
would have told it had they been together; but
Joyce, who could read her little sister like a book,
read between the lines and divined the disappointments
she had conquered, and saw the courage it
took to make the most of every amusing incident
in such a cheery way, while she touched only
lightly on the serious ones.</p>
<p>"We had a visitor a little while ago," wrote
Mary, in closing. "The Reverend Paul Rochester
came to call, and where, of all awkward impossible
places, do you suppose he found me? Up on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>
windmill tower. I had gone up again to watch
the sunset,—for just a minute. The glow on the
roofs of the town and the hills beyond was so
lovely! If Norman had had any sense he would
have ignored my high perch. He was splitting
kindling by the back door, making such a noise
that we could not hear Mr. Rochester's knock at
the front door, so he came around.</p>
<p>"Mrs. Barnaby had stopped at the rectory on
her way home to tell them about our coming to
town, and Mrs. Rochester thought that we were
all here, and that we would be so busy getting settled
that we wouldn't have much time to cook
things for an invalid, and she had sent the most
tempting basketful of good things you ever saw.
There was orange gelatine and charlotte russe, and
some delicious nut sandwiches. The rector had
walked all the way up here and carried the basket
himself. You know I've always stood in awe
of clergymen. At first this one seemed fully as
dignified and reverend as all the others, and I
nearly fell off my perch with <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'embarassment'">embarrassment</ins> when
he looked up and saw me hanging there like a
monkey on a stick. But the next moment we both
laughed, and he seemed almost as young and boyish
as Jack.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p>
<p>"I scuttled down in a hurry, I assure you. He
only stayed a minute, just long enough to deliver
the basket and his wife's message, but you've no
idea how that little incident changed the whole
atmosphere. I'd been looking down the white road
that leads from our place into the town, thinking
how lonely and foreign everything was, and how
hard it would be to live all winter in a place where
nobody wanted to be neighborly, and where the
only people we knew were slightly old like the
Barnabys or awfully old like the Metzes, and then
Mr. Rochester appeared, young and so nice-looking
and with a jolly twinkle in his eyes that makes
you forget the clerical cut of his clothes.</p>
<p>"His wife must be young, too, or she couldn't
be married to him, and she must be dear or she
wouldn't have sent such a dainty, altogether charming
basket with her message of greeting. You've
no idea how their cordial welcome changed everything.
Now as I look through the open door at
the same road leading to the town, it doesn't look
lonely and foreign any more. It makes me think
of a verse that dear old Grandmother Ware taught
me once. You remember how she used to take us
up in her lap and make us spell the words out
to her from her big Bible with the terrible pictures.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>
'<i>The crooked shall be made straight, and
the rough ways shall be made smooth!</i>'</p>
<p>"Well, grandmother's verse is coming true. It
was all so crooked and uncertain and rough yesterday.
But now everything is being smoothed out
for us so beautifully. I have just looked out to
see if Norman is coming. I can hear him whistling
away down the road.</p>
<p>"I wish you, with your artist's eye for effect,
could see the little town now, spread out below
the hills in the twilight, with the windmills silhouetted
against the sky. At one end is the little
stone belfry of St. Peter's, at the other the square
gray tower of the Academy of the Holy Angels;
and just between, swinging low over the hills in
the faint afterglow, the pale golden crescent of the
new moon. After all, it's a good old world, Joyce,
and I 'feel it in my bones' that little old Bauer
is going to bring us some great good that shall
make us thankful always for having come. In
some way, I am sure, all our '<i>rough ways shall be
made smooth</i>.'"</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2>
<div class='chaptertitle'>MARY FINDS GAY</div>
<p><span class="smcap">The</span> day before Thanksgiving saw the Ware
family fully settled in their new home. The trunks
had been unpacked and their contents disposed of
to make the little cottage look as homelike as possible.
Even the preparations for their Thanksgiving
dinner were all made. They had been simplified
by Mrs. Barnaby's gift of a jar of mince-meat,
and the plump hen, which was to take the place of
a turkey, had been bought already dressed.</p>
<p>Now at only nine o'clock the morning work was
all done, and Mrs. Ware sat sewing on the south
gallery where Jack had wheeled himself into the
sunshine. Mary came and stood in the doorway.</p>
<p>"Things stay so clean here," she grumbled in a
laughing way. "I could do everything there is to
be done with one hand and not half try, and when
you all help we get through so fast it makes me
dizzy. Then there's nothing left to do but sit in
the sun and wait till time to get the next meal ready.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>
I wish I hadn't been in such a hurry to put everything
in order. I wouldn't be so restless and idle
now. It makes me fidgety to have nothing to do."</p>
<p>"Take the basket and dishes back to the rectory,"
suggested Mrs. Ware, after Jack had proposed
several occupations to no purpose.</p>
<p>"But I've never met Mrs. Rochester yet," objected
Mary, "and it would be sort of awkward, going
in and introducing myself."</p>
<p>"No more awkward than it was for Mr. Rochester
to come here and introduce himself," said Jack.
"You can tell her for me that that charlotte russe
was perfection."</p>
<p>"I wonder what she is like," mused Mary, half
persuaded to go and see. "If I thought she'd be
approachable and easy to talk to—but—"</p>
<p>"Oh, you know she's all right," urged Jack, "or
she never would have been so good to a family of
strangers. I'll bet she's a dear, motherly old soul,
in a checked apron, with gray hair and a double
chin."</p>
<p>"Why, she couldn't be!" cried Mary. "Not and
be Mr. Rochester's wife. He doesn't look much
older than you do, and for all he's so dignified
there's something so boyish and likable about him
that I felt chummy with him right away."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p>
<p>"Well, the things she cooked tasted as if she were
the kind of woman I said," persisted Jack, "and I
shall keep on thinking of her as that kind until it's
proved that my guess is wrong. I should think
that anybody with as much curiosity as you have
would go just to satisfy it."</p>
<p>"You mean you want yours satisfied," retorted
Mary. "Well, she'll do it herself in a few days.
She sent word that she'd call soon, so I believe that
I'll wait."</p>
<p>Coming out she stood leaning idly against one
of the gallery posts, a restless, dissatisfied little figure.
Then she strolled out to the front gate and
stood there awhile, looking down the deserted road.
Jack's gaze followed her sympathetically, and he
said to his mother in a low tone, "Poor little kid,
it's going to be a dull winter for her I'm afraid.
She was never cut out for solitude. She'd 'rather
dwell in the midst of alarms,' and this place isn't
much more diverting than a country graveyard."</p>
<p>Mrs. Ware's glance followed his, then she replied
confidently as she looked down to thread her needle,
"Oh, she'll soon adjust herself. She'll find something
that will not only keep her busy but will amuse
all the rest of us."</p>
<p>Jack picked up the magazine from which he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>
been reading aloud the evening before and resumed
the story, but he was conscious all the time of the
little figure at the gate, and saw her without seeming
to notice when she slipped around the corner of
the house presently to the back yard. Then he
looked up with a smile when he heard the creaking
of the windmill crank at the back of the house.</p>
<p>"She's stopping the wheel," said Mrs. Ware, "so
that she can climb to the top of the tower again. It
seems to have some sort of fascination for her."</p>
<p>Jack went on with his story, and Mary, perched
on her watch-tower, clung to the bar above and
looked down over the town. The currents of air
were stronger up at the height to which she had
climbed. Down below scarcely a breath was stirring,
but here a fresh breeze blew the hair into her
eyes and began to blow the discontent out of her
mind. Her wish that Jack could see the view was
followed instantly by the thought that he could
never, never have any other outlook than the one
the wheeled chair afforded.</p>
<p>"It's wicked of me to be discontented one single
minute," she thought remorsefully. "There I was
fussing right before him about having nothing to
do, when he'd give worlds just to be foot loose—to
climb up here and walk about the place. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>
he was so dear and considerate, never once reminded
me how much harder it is for him than me, and
that he has nothing else to look forward to as long
as he lives."</p>
<p>The yellow walls of the rectory gleamed through
the trees at the north end of the little hamlet,
reminding her of Jack's laughing wish to know what
Mrs. Rochester was like.</p>
<p>"It's as little as I can do to go and find out for
him," she thought, "even if he did ask it in a joke.
I ought to be willing to do anything in the world
he expresses a wish for, poor boy. There's little
enough here to amuse him."</p>
<p>A few minutes later, in her travelling suit and
hat, with Mrs. Rochester's basket on her arm, she
interrupted the reading on the gallery.</p>
<p>"I'm going to see your motherly friend," she
announced—"to find out if she is gray-haired and
double-chinned. Maybe I'll tell her how you
described her."</p>
<p>"Don't you dare," warned Jack, laughingly.
"I'll get even with you if you do."</p>
<p>"You've already done that on a dozen old
scores," answered Mary gaily. "Good-bye, my
friends and kinsmen dear! As the story books say,
'we shall see what we shall see.'"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p>
<p>What she saw when she rang the bell at the
rectory was the exact opposite of the motherly
creature whom Jack had pictured; for Mrs.
Rochester, who came to the door herself, was tall
and slim and very young, with the delicate, spirituelle
kind of beauty that had always been plump
little Mary's greatest admiration and desire. One
part of Jack's guess was correct, however. She
wore a big checked apron, for she was making
cake, and she invited Mary into the dining-room
where the materials were all spread out on the
table.</p>
<p>With the girlish cordiality that had won her so
many friends even in unsociable Bauer, she made
Mary feel so much at home, that in a few moments
she was insisting on helping with the cake. It
seemed a matter of course that Mrs. Rochester
should hand her the egg-beater, and before the eggs
were whipped into a stiff white mountain of snow,
they were exchanging experiences like old friends.
Mrs. Rochester had found Bauer a lonely place too,
at first.</p>
<p>"Jack says there was some great mix-up made
when I alighted on this planet," said Mary. "I
should have dropped down some place where 'the
breaking waves dashed high on a stern and rock-bound<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>
coast.' He says I wasn't meant for a quiet
fish-pond existence."</p>
<p>"I know," laughed her hostess. "You feel as
if you were bound into the wrong book. You'd
be perfectly satisfied to find yourself in one of
Scott's novels, in a jumble of knights and tourneys
and border wars, but you would be bored beyond
endurance to have to be one of the characters in
Jane Austen's stories."</p>
<p>"Oh, you <i>do</i> know," cried Mary eagerly, emphasizing
her pleasure with a harder bang of the egg-beater.
"You understand exactly. There's nothing
tamer than Miss Austen's stories. Why, there's
pages and pages taken up with just discussing the
weather and each other's health; and they do such
trivial, inane things and go around and around in
such a deadly monotonous circle that sometimes I've
been so out of patience with them that I wanted
to throw the book into a corner."</p>
<p>"But you never did throw it down," answered
Mrs. Rochester, "you read on to the end and in
spite of yourself you were interested in those same
commonplace happenings and conversations, just as
readers before you have been interested in them
and always will be as long as those books live. And
I'll tell you why. You read them to the end because<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>
they are true pictures of the lives of average people.
The majority of us have to put up with the humdrum,
no matter how much we long for the heroic,
and it's a good thing to read such books as 'Emma'
and 'Pride and Prejudice' every now and then, as
a sort of spirit-level. We're more satisfied to amble
along the road if everybody else drives a slow nag
too."</p>
<p>"I'm not," declared Mary. "I want to whizz
past everything in sight that is poky and slow. I
know it would be lots easier for me if I could only
make up my mind to the fact that nothing exciting
and important is ever going to happen to me, but
I can't break myself of the habit of expecting it.
I've felt that way as far back as I can remember.
I'm always looking for something grand and unexpected,
and every morning when I wake up it gives
me a sort of thrill to think, maybe it will come
to-day."</p>
<p>"Well, if you're going to stay in Bauer for awhile
you certainly do need another dose of 'Emma,'"
answered Mrs. Rochester, nodding to the shelves
in the adjoining library, where stood a well
thumbed edition of Miss Austen's works. "Take her
home with you, and any of the books you think<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>
your brother would like. We are glad to make our
library a circulating one."</p>
<p>Mary's face showed her pleasure quite as much
as her words, as she left her seat by the table to
slip into the great book-lined room and glance
around it.</p>
<p>"You've made up for one of my disappointments,"
she called back. "I had counted so much
on having the library in San Antonio to draw on
this winter, and this is even better, for I'm sure
that they haven't all these rare old prints and first
editions that I see here."</p>
<p>Her five minutes' call stretched into an hour,
when she found that Mrs. Rochester had been
brought up in Washington and had spent her school
days there. Then it stretched into two, for some
one drove in from the country with a carriage load
of autumn leaves, and Mary stayed to help arrange
them in the little church for the Thanksgiving service
next day. It was nearly noon when she finally
started home with several books under her arm,
her usual hopefulness and buoyancy of spirits quite
restored.</p>
<p>"Mamma and I can't both be away from Jack
at the same time," she said in response to Mrs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>
Rochester's invitation to attend the service next
day. "I want her to come. I've already had my
share of Thanksgiving. I've been thankful every
minute while I've been here that I discovered you.
It's been a beautiful morning."</p>
<p>"Come over often," urged Mrs. Rochester cordially.
"I can always find something for you to do,
and I'd love to have you come."</p>
<p>Mary's wave of the hand as she turned to latch
the gate at the end of the walk was answered by a
flutter of Mrs. Rochester's apron in the doorway,
and each went her way smiling over the recollection
of the other.</p>
<p>"She's a diverting little piece," Mrs. Rochester
reported to her husband at noon. "I laughed all
the time she was here."</p>
<p>"She's a darling," Mary reported at home, and
quoted her at intervals for several days.</p>
<p>"She's promised to take me with her sometime
when she drives out to call at the ranches. Nearly
all the members of St. Boniface are out-of-town
people, so they'll probably not call on us she says.
But she's coming as soon as she can get around to
it. I saw our name on a list she has hanging beside
her calendar. But there's nearly a week full of
things for her to do before she gets to us. I wish<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>
that I had a list of duties and engagements that
would keep me going every minute, the way she
has to go."</p>
<p>"You can easily fill out a list that will keep you
busy for awhile," answered her mother. "While
you were gone Jack and I got to discussing dates,
and it was somewhat of a shock to find that Christmas
will be here so soon. One forgets the calendar
in this summer-like climate. Whatever we send
to Holland and Joyce must be started from here
in less than three weeks, and as our gifts must be
all home-made we cannot afford to lose any time
in beginning."</p>
<p>The problem of Christmas giving had always
been a knotty one in the Ware household, but it
was especially hard this year. Mary spent nearly
all afternoon making her list of names with the
accompanying list of gifts that seemed suitable for
each one. There were so many to whom she longed
to send little remembrances that the length of it
was appalling. Then she revised it, putting in one
column such people as Madam Chartley and Mrs.
Lee, to whom she decided to write letters—the
gayest, brightest greetings she could think of. Still
there were a goodly number left to provide with
gifts, no matter how simple, and she was busy till<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>
bed-time measuring and figuring over the amount
of material she would need for each, and how much
it would cost. It had been decided that she should
go to San Antonio for a day to attend to the family
shopping.</p>
<p>"The trouble is," she sighed next morning, "it's
the simplest things that are always the hardest to
get. Don't you remember, in the story of Beauty
and the Beast, the father had no difficulty in buying
ropes of jewels and costly things for his oldest
daughters, but it almost cost him his life to get
the one common little white rose that his youngest
daughter so modestly asked for. I could do this
shopping in a few hours if I did not have to stop
to consider pennies, but there are several little
things that may take me all day to find. I'm sure
that that particular kind of narrow beading that I
need for Lloyd's present will prove to be the fatal
white rose. I can't make it without and there isn't
time to send back East for it."</p>
<p>"Maybe you'd better arrange to stay over night,"
suggested her mother, "and take two days to look
around for what you want. Of course you couldn't
go to a hotel alone, and it would be too expensive
even if you had company, but Mrs. Rochester might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>
be able to recommend some private family who has
rooms for transients."</p>
<p>Mary caught at the idea so eagerly that had it
not been Thanksgiving Day and she feared to
intrude, she would have gone that very hour to
ask if the Rochesters knew of such a place. She
remembered that they were to have guests to dinner.
Fortunately for her peace of mind the rector and
his wife called for a few moments just before dusk.
Mrs. Rochester did know of a quiet inexpensive
place where she could spend the night, and then
and there slipped off her gloves to write a cordial
note of introduction.</p>
<p>It rained the Friday after Thanksgiving, but the
next day was fair, and Mary insisted on doing the
week's washing Saturday morning, and as much of
the ironing as she could accomplish in the afternoon,
in order to be able to start early Monday morning.
Several times she left her tubs to run into the house
and jot down some small items on her memorandum,
which she remembered would be indispensable in
making up their Christmas packages. Once she
thought of something in the night, when the barking
of a neighbor's dog awakened her.</p>
<p>If she had been alone in the room she would have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>
lighted a candle and made a note of it. As it was
she was afraid to do so lest she waken her mother,
and afraid not to lest it should slip her mind before
morning. Finally she settled the difficulty by putting
her hand to her head and pulling out several
hairs which she twisted together and tied around
her finger.</p>
<p>"There!" she said to herself. "Hair will make
me think of herring, and then ring will make me
think of the little white celluloid rings that I must
get for those safety-pin holders."</p>
<p>Armed with Mrs. Rochester's letter she started
off gaily on the Monday morning train. It was not
due in the city till nearly ten, so she decided that
it would save time to go at once to the largest
department store, check her suit-case and wait until
shopping hours were over before going out to the
boarding-house which Mrs. Rochester had recommended.</p>
<p>She had thought San Antonio charming the first
time she saw it, but it seemed doubly so now that
she came back to it, as one familiar with its principal
streets and landmarks. The life, the color,
the holiday air of the crowds, the fête day atmosphere
of the old town itself, exhilarated her till
her cheeks glowed like roses, and several times,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>
both on the street and in the stores, she caught herself
whistling half under her breath.</p>
<p>Although the usual Monday morning bargain
hunters were out in throngs, she found no trouble
in making her purchases. Everything seemed to
be in her favor this morning. The shop girls were
unusually responsive and helpful, showed her just
what she wanted or suggested something better
than she had thought of. Only once or twice did
the prices go above the limit she had set for them,
and several times they were lower. By quarter to
twelve she had checked off two thirds of the articles
on her list.</p>
<p>Elated by this success, she stood waiting at the
transfer desk for her change, looking around with
unabated interest. Suddenly her attention was
attracted to a girl in a brown tailor suit, standing
in the next aisle. Her back was turned towards
Mary, but there was something familiar looking in
the poise of the graceful head; something very
familiar looking in the puffs of soft auburn-bronze
hair held by amber combs, and arranged so becomingly
under the big brown hat.</p>
<p>Mary had been on the look-out all morning for
the girl whom Jack had recognized at the hotel as
Gay Melville. She might have missed her had Gay<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>
been an ordinary blonde or brunette, but as Jack
said, there was no mistaking that glorious hair.
Snatching up the proffered change, which the
cashier put through the cage window, she pushed
her way into the next aisle. The girl turned. The
big plumed hat drooped over her face, still Mary
recognized the delicate profile, the slight tilt of the
slender chin. It was an opportunity which she
could not afford to lose, and as the girl turned her
back again to receive a package held out to her by
a clerk, and started slowly to the door, Mary hurried
after her.</p>
<p>Almost breathless in her eagerness she exclaimed
impulsively, "I beg your pardon—but aren't you
<i>Gay</i>?"</p>
<p>There was an instant of freezing silence as the
eyes of the girl in brown swept Mary from head
to foot.</p>
<p>"Well, not particularly," was the indignant
reply.</p>
<p>The roll of her r's emphasized Mary's mistake.
It was evidently some stranger from the North
whom she had accosted. One glance into her full
face made Mary see how dire her mistake had been.
There was no resemblance whatever in that to Gay.
Wishing that she could drop out of sight through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>
the floor, she hastily apologized and hurried out
into the street, her cheeks burning, as she smarted
under the recollection of the stranger's supercilious
glance.</p>
<p>"She needn't have been so snippy," Mary
thought. "<i>Any</i>body is liable to make such mistakes."</p>
<p>Not until she had crossed the street and was
stopped short by her own reflection in a mirror in
the show window opposite, did she realize how her
question might have sounded.</p>
<p>"Oh, she must have thought that I was asking
her if she wasn't <i>gay!</i> <i>Gay with a little g!</i>" she
gasped. "No wonder she looked at me so freezingly."</p>
<p>She was so perturbed by this discovery, that she
walked on, unmindful of the direction. When a
group of children crowded past her on the narrow
pavement, she turned into a side street to avoid
being jostled, and walked aimlessly for some distance.
It was the sight of a green kettle swinging
above a door which she was approaching that
brought her to herself with a start. Mrs. Rochester
had told her to stop at the Sign of the Green Kettle
for lunch, and had given her directions for finding
it. Here she had stumbled upon it unaware,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>
just as the city bells were beginning to clang for
noon.</p>
<p>At the next glance her heart went to thumping so
hard that she could plainly hear it. There on the
step leading up to the door of the Green Kettle,
stood Gay Melville; the real Gay this time. There
was no shadow of doubt about it. As she looked,
Mary wondered how she ever could have mistaken
the other girl for her, although each had hair wonderfully
like the other.</p>
<p>This one carried a violin case. She had paused
on her way in to call back something to the girl
in the carriage, who had brought her down town.
And the girl in the carriage was Roberta—Roberta
of the boyish speech and coquettish eyelashes, whose
laughing question held the girl on the step long
enough for Mary to reach it too, and stand there
beside her while she gathered courage to speak.</p>
<p>It was the little pin thrust through Gay's tie
which finally brought the words trembling to Mary's
lips, for it was the Warwick Hall pin which only
its alumni might wear; those who had kept the
four years' tryst with all its requirements. It was
a mailed hand rising from a heart to grasp a spear,
the motto and the crest of Edryn.</p>
<p>All diffidence fled at that familiar sight, but this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>
time Mary did not ask if the girl were gay. With
a gesture toward the pin she cried breathlessly,
"Oh, I know by <i>that</i> that you are Miss Melville.
<i>Aren't</i> you!" Gay after one look into the eager
gray eyes said quite as cordially, "And you're
Mary Ware! I had a letter from Betty Lewis
this very morning telling me to be sure to find
you."</p>
<p>She gave a quick glance at the chatelaine watch
she wore. "I haven't a minute to stop—I'm to
play an obligato for the great prima donna, Madame
de Martel, and she has a beast of a temper which
she lets loose if a person is one second late at rehearsal.
But I must take time to say one thing if
she wipes me off the face of the earth for it. The
girls' letters have made me wild to know you. At
what hotel can I find you? I'll call this very
day."</p>
<p>"We've taken a cottage in Bauer," Mary
answered hastily. "I came down on a little shopping
expedition, and am on my way in here for
luncheon."</p>
<p>The heavy chords of a piano accompaniment
rolled threateningly through the music rooms up-stairs,
and Gay shrugged her shoulders impatiently.
"Do be a long time over it," she begged as she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>
turned towards the stairs. "I'll get through as
quickly as possible and hurry back for another word
with you."</p>
<p>Mary watched her out of sight before starting
into the dining-room of the Green Kettle, and then
deliberately pinched herself to make sure that she
was awake. It was a good hard nip, which hurt,
and smiling to herself because it proved that she
was not dreaming, she sat down at a table near
the window to gloat over the fact that one of her
best dreams had come true at last. She had met
Gay Melville.</p>
<p>The lunch was a good one, but it would have
made no difference to Mary what was put before
her that day. Anything would have been nectar
and ambrosia served to the accompaniment of the
music overhead. A chorus of cherubim and seraphim
could not have left her more uplifted.
Madame de Martel might have the temper of a
beast at times, but she had a voice of rare sweetness
and power, and the knowledge that it was Gay's
violin pouring out that tremulous, tender, heartbreaking
obligato, enhanced Mary's enjoyment of
every note.</p>
<p>The rehearsal was a short one. All that the
famous visiting singer wanted was to make sure,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>
since her own accompanists had failed her, that the
local ones were satisfactory. It came to an end
just as Mary began her dessert, and almost instantly
it seemed Gay was at her elbow, and seating herself
in the chair beside her.</p>
<p>"Isn't it a shame I haven't more than two
minutes to stay," she began. "This is like having
Warwick Hall and Lloydsboro Valley rolled into
one, to find somebody who loves them both as much
as I do. I could talk a week without stopping about
each place, and ask a thousand questions, but I'm
due at a luncheon out on Government Hill by the
time the next car can put me there. Immediately
after that is over we're all going to the polo tournament.
All during rehearsal I kept trying to think
of some way I could arrange to see you, and there's
only one. You've simply got to come home with
me to stay all night. Go on and finish your shopping,
and I'll come down for you after the tournament
and meet you anywhere you say."</p>
<p>The invitation, as cordial as it was sudden, was
gladly accepted and Gay exclaimed, "Oh, I'm so
delighted to think I've found you at last! You've
no idea how often you were quoted the summer I
was in the Valley. Lloyd and Betty and the old
Colonel and Dr. Alex Shelby were always saying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>
'as little Mary Ware says.' I feel as if I'd known
you from babyhood up."</p>
<p>"And I know all about your past," laughed Mary.
She was about to mention several incidents to prove
her claim, when Gay stopped her by a glance at the
clock and the question: "Wouldn't you like to
see the dress parade at the Post this evening?
Most people do, and it's well worth seeing."</p>
<p>Would she <i>like</i> it! Mary's beaming face
answered the question before her usually ready
tongue found a word, and Gay smiled as she hastily
drew on her gloves and picked up her violin case.</p>
<p>"I'd like to keep you all to myself to-night," she
said, "but I do want you to meet some of the people
that Kitty Walton liked best when she visited me
last year. I'll pick up Roberta and Lieutenant Boglin
to take dinner with us if I can get them. They're
always so nice to my Warwick Hall friends. They
were both wild about Kitty. Well, at quarter to
five, then, I'll meet you—where?"</p>
<p>Finally the glove counter at Joske's was agreed
upon as a meeting place, and with a friendly pat on
the shoulder in passing, Gay hurried away to keep
her engagement. Smiling blissfully after her, Mary
whispered to herself with one of her old childish
wriggles of pleasure, "And <i>Bogey</i>, too."</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER V</h2>
<div class='chaptertitle'>AT FORT SAM HOUSTON</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Promptly</span> at the time agreed upon, Mary took
her station by the glove counter, almost sure that
Gay would be late. It was one of the Warwick
Hall traditions that something tragic always happened
to Gay's clothes at the last moment, to delay
her departure. But she had scarcely seated herself
and deposited her suit-case on the floor beside
her when the door opened and Gay came breezily
into the store. Her hat was awry and her hair
disheveled.</p>
<p>"On time for once," she exclaimed triumphantly
with a glance at the clock. "But I couldn't have
been if Roberta hadn't come to the rescue. She
brought me down in their carriage. It's Roberta
Mayrell," she explained, as they made their way
as rapidly as possible down the crowded aisle.</p>
<p>"She isn't really one of the Army girls, but she
lives just outside the Post and has always been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>
counted in everything there, since she was old
enough to talk. I've been telling her all about you
on the way down."</p>
<p>"Well, I hope she'll find me as interesting as
the alligators," began Mary, remembering the
speech she had overheard from the hotel balcony.
But Gay was stopping to apologize to an old lady
whom she had bumped into, and did not hear the
remark. The next moment they were outside and
at the curbstone, where a carriage drawn by two
Kentucky horses was in waiting, and Roberta was
stepping down with outstretched hands to welcome
her.</p>
<p>Roberta at close range was even more fascinating
than when seen from a hotel balcony, and Mary,
sitting between the two girls as they drove along
towards Government Hill, had much the same feeling
that a thirsty Bedouin has when after miles of
desert journeying he finds himself beside the well
of a green oasis.</p>
<p>They were fairly bubbling over with high spirits,
and it was impossible to be with them and not
share their exhilaration. Before they had gone two
blocks the weight of care and anxiety that had
been resting on Mary's shoulders ever since Jack's
accident, began to slip off. It almost gave her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>
a sense of having wings, to be so light and care
free.</p>
<p>The last eight months with their constant association
with suffering and anxiety about finances had
been like a hard march through the sands. Now
the sudden substitution of something frivolous and
young was so refreshing that she giggled almost
hysterically in her enjoyment of it.</p>
<p>"Oh, we forgot to tell you," exclaimed Gay as
they came in sight of the parade grounds. "There's
to be a hop at the gymnasium to-night for the visiting
polo team. They got it up on short notice.
Lieutenant Boglin told me about it when I invited
him to come to dinner. He asked if he might take
you, and I said he might, for of course you won't
want to miss it, and old Bogey is quite the nicest
officer in the bunch when it comes to giving a girl
a good time."</p>
<p>Mary's face wore such a comical expression of
blended delight and dismay that Roberta laughed,
and Gay stopped the refusal that Mary was beginning
to stammer out by putting both hands over
her ears.</p>
<p>"No, I won't listen," she declared. "Of course
you didn't expect to do anything like this, and
didn't bring the proper clothes, but it is such an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>
informal affair that it doesn't make any difference.
Roberta and I can rig you out in something of
mine. It will be all the more fun."</p>
<p>"Oh, it's just the larkiest lark that ever was!"
exclaimed Mary so excited over the prospect that
her cheeks were growing redder and redder, and
her eyes shining with happy anticipation.</p>
<p>"This day has been full of thrills, and—oo, oo!
There goes another!" she added with a little shiver
of delight as the band began to play. The carriage
had stopped at the end of the parade ground, where
the usual crowd of spectators was gathered.</p>
<p>"Martial music always sends cold shivers up and
down my back," she said gravely. "It makes me
want to cheer and march right off to do something
big and brave—'storm the heights,' or bleed and
die for my country, or something of that sort. I've
always thought that I'd have been a soldier if I
hadn't been born a girl."</p>
<p>She laughed as she said it, but there was a quiver
of earnestness in her voice. Parade was a matter-of-course
affair to Gay and Roberta, a part of the
weekly routine of Post life, which familiarity made
ordinary. They exchanged amused glances which
Mary did not see, and made remarks and criticisms
on the manœuvres which she did not hear. Wholly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>
absorbed, she leaned forward in the carriage, watching
every movement of the drill.</p>
<p>It is always an inspiring sight, even to one who
looks no farther than the outward show, admiring
the clock-like precision which makes a battalion
move as one man; but to Mary every khaki coat
in the regiment clothed a hero. Lexington and
Valley Forge, Gettysburg and Chickamauga called
to her through every drum-beat and bugle note.</p>
<p>She had loved her old dog-eared copy of the
History of the United States, and many a time had
spread it out on her desk to re-read, when she should
have been studying other things. She had pored
over its stories of war till the black and white of
its printed pages had transformed her into a little
fire-ball of a patriot. Now as she saw for the first
time these men who stood as the guardians of "Old
Glory," everything she had ever read of heroism
and blood-stained battle-fields and glorious dying,
came back to her in a flood of enthusiasm which
nearly lifted her to her feet. When at last the
band struck into "The Star-spangled Banner" and
the guns fired the signal which heralded the lowering
of the colors, her plain little face was almost
transfigured with the exalted emotions of the
moment.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p>
<div class='poem'>
"Aye, call it holy ground,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The soil that they have trod,"</span><br />
</div>
<div class='unindent'>she was repeating to herself, when she became aware
that Roberta was trying to attract her attention,
and was holding out a box of candy.</div>
<p>"Come down to earth!" she exclaimed laughingly.
"I tried to get you to take some earlier in
the action, but you hadn't eyes for anything but
the brass buttons. I don't believe you would have
heard thunder!"</p>
<p>"It wasn't brass buttons I was seeing," began
Mary. "It was—" Then realizing the utter hopelessness
of trying to explain what soul-stirring
visions had been hers for that little space of time
that the band played and the heroes of the past as
well as the present passed before her, she did as
Roberta advised, came down to earth and took a
caramel.</p>
<p>When they reached Major Melville's house in
the officers' quarters, Roberta dismissed the carriage
and went in with Gay and Mary. She had decided
not to change her dress for the hop, she said as
she threw off her long cloak in the hall, revealing
the pretty frock of pink and gray foulard which
she had worn at the luncheon.</p>
<p>Mrs. Melville came out to meet them, a large<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>
sandy-haired woman with a certain faded fairness
and enough of a resemblance to Gay to suggest what
she might have looked like in her teens. Her cordial
welcome put Mary at ease at once, and she followed
the girls up the broad staircase, feeling that this
visit was quite the most delightful thing which had
happened to her since she left Warwick Hall.</p>
<p>While Gay rummaged through trunks and wardrobes
to find party raiment for her guest, Mary
walked about the room, experiencing more thrills
at every turn; for on each wall and book-shelf and
bracket was some picture or souvenir of Warwick
Hall or Lloydsboro Valley.</p>
<p>"Oh, there's Lloyd and Betty and the Walton
girls!" she cried. "I have this same picture at
home, and one like this of Madam Chartley too, in
her high-back chair with the carved griffins on it.</p>
<p>"What a splendid picture this is of Dr. Alex
Shelby," she called a moment later. Then catching
sight of a larger one on the mantel in a silver frame,
she exclaimed in surprise, "Why, you have two of
Doctor Alex."</p>
<p>Gay was deep in a closet, her head between rows
of dress-skirts, and she made no answer; but
Roberta, perching in the window-seat, cleared her
throat to attract Mary's attention, and then with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>
an impish smile held up seven fingers and pointed
in different directions to five other photographs
that Mary had not yet discovered.</p>
<p>"One for each day in the week," she said in a
low tone. "I'd give a good deal to see that man.
He was here last spring, but I was down on the
coast and missed him. I intend to make a point
of staying at home next time he comes. I want
to see for myself what's up. Gay pretends there
isn't anything, but I have my own ideas."</p>
<p>"Oh, is he coming again?" cried Mary.</p>
<p>Roberta's only answer was a significant nod, for
Gay emerged from the closet just then.</p>
<p>"There's nothing in there," she announced, "but
I've just thought of one that Lucy left here this
spring. I'll ask mother where it is."</p>
<p>"You see," said Roberta as the door closed
behind Gay, "I wouldn't tease her if she'd confess
anything, but she won't. Kitty Walton thinks I've
guessed right too. She said that from the moment
she heard about their romantic meeting she was sure
something would come of it."</p>
<p>"Oh, tell me about it," urged Mary. "I know
Doctor Alex so well that I can't help being interested."</p>
<p>"And do you know a place in Lloydsboro Valley<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>
called the Log Cabin?" asked Roberta. "A fine
country home built of logs and furnished with
beautiful old heirlooms? Gay's sister, Mrs. Harcourt,
rented it one summer."</p>
<p>"Indeed I do know it," assented Mary. "It is
a fascinating place, with a big outside fire-place on
the porch, and the front is covered with a climbing
rose. We used to pass it often."</p>
<p>"Well, Kitty says that the day after the Harcourts
took possession, Gay put a ladder against
the front of the house and climbed up on it to hang
a mirror on the outside of her window-sill, the way
they do in Holland. It was one she had brought
all the way from Amsterdam. And while she was
up on the ladder, looking like a picture, of course,
with the roses all about her and the sunshine turning
her hair to gold, Dr. Shelby came by on horseback.
She saw him in the mirror and the girls
teased her about it—called it her Lady of Shalott
mirror and him her Knight of the Looking-glass.
Kitty says he was devotion itself to her all summer."</p>
<p>What more she might have revealed was interrupted
by Gay's return. She tossed an armful of
dainty muslin and lace on the bed, and for a few
moments all three gave their undivided attention
to the trying-on process.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p>
<p>"I must confess it doesn't look as if it were
fitted to you in perfect health," confessed Roberta,
"but it's one of those soft clinging things that
doesn't have to fit like a glove. I can pin it up on
you to make it look all right, and it's so pretty with
all that fine lace and embroidery that it'll pass
muster anywhere."</p>
<p>Gay sat down to make some slight alteration
in the girdle, while Roberta invited Mary to a seat
in front of the dressing-table, proposing to try her
skill on her as a hair-dresser. It was all so delightfully
intimate and friendly, just such a situation as
Mary had longed for in her dream-castle building,
that she even felt at liberty to grow a little personal
with Roberta. She peeped out through the hair
which now hung over her face, to watch Roberta's
face reflected in the mirror opposite.</p>
<p>"Do you know," she remarked with a mischievous
glance, like a skye terrier peeping through
its bangs, "that I've actually lain awake nights,
wondering if you'd been persuaded yet to give up
that 'adorable little curl.'"</p>
<p>Roberta's mouth opened wide in astonishment,
and she dropped the comb with which she was parting
Mary's hair.</p>
<p>"How spooky!" she cried. "I was just thinking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>
about that myself. Who in the world told you
anything about that?"</p>
<p>"Oh, I overheard the remark," confessed Mary.
"I was on one of those hotel balconies all hidden
by moon-vines when you and Gay and Mr. Wade
and the officer you call Bogey came out into the
court. I was so lonesome for some young person
to talk to, and so close to you all that I could see
the comb slipping out of Gay's hair. I didn't know
who she was then. If I had I should have leaned
over the railing and called to her. Wouldn't it
have made a sensation?</p>
<p>"I'll never forget how either of you looked. She
was in white with white violets, and you were in
pale lemon yellow with a scarf over your shoulders
that looked like a white moonbeam spangled with
dewdrops. It slipped down as you started to go
and see the alligators, and that Mr. Wade drew
it up for you and said what he did about the
curl."</p>
<p>"That was the first time he ever mentioned it,"
explained Roberta. "I thought when you spoke
that you meant last night. I was going to tell Gay
about it, and as long as you're so interested I don't
mind telling you, too. You know Mr. Wade has
been very nice to me, and I thought he was great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>
fun until he began to get sentimental. My brother
William knew him at college, and he told me what
I might expect. He said 'that chap always gets
sentimental with every girl he goes with.' It's a
great thing to have plenty of brothers to put you
wise.</p>
<p>"When Mr. Wade began that nonsense about
wanting one of those little curls and its being the
most fetching thing he had ever seen I laughed at
him. But it only made him the more determined.
He wrote some poetry about wearing it over his
heart forever and all that sort of thing. If he only
could have known how Billy and I shrieked over
it! Of course I hadn't given him the slightest
encouragement, or it would have been different—"</p>
<p>"Roberta," interrupted Gay sternly, "how can
you say that? You know you looked at him. I
saw you do it. And when you look out at anybody
from under those lashes, whether you mean
it or not you <i>do</i> look flirtatious, and you know
it."</p>
<p>"I don't!" contradicted Roberta hotly, with
boyish directness. "I can't help the way my lashes
are kinked, and I'm very sure I'm not going to
pull them out to keep people from getting a wrong
impression. Anyhow there's no kink in my tongue!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>
I told him straight enough what I thought of his
silly speeches. I put a stop to them last night, all
right."</p>
<p>"How?" demanded Gay.</p>
<p>"Well," began Roberta, plaiting Mary's hair so
energetically that it pulled dreadfully. "He went
over the same performance again, begging me for
that little curl in token that I'd be his'n forevermore,
etc. And after he'd spun it out into a most
romantic proposal I said very sweetly, 'Really, Mr.
Wade, to be honest with you, I can't afford to give
away a seventy-five cent curl to every man who
asks for one. You see I'm always financially
embarrassed, for papa won't let me borrow after
I've spent my monthly allowance, and I never by
any chance have a cent left over after the second
of the month. But if you must have a curl I'll give
you Madame Main's address on Houston Street,
where you can get an exact duplicate. I'm sure
it will be just as good to wear over your heart as
mine would.'"</p>
<p>"Roberta, you little beast!" laughed Gay.
"How could you give him the impression they were
false, when you know very well they grow tight
on your own scalp?"</p>
<p>"I wanted to see if he would say 'with all thy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>
faults I love thee still.' But he didn't. He got
very stiff and red and walked away, and spent the
rest of the evening flirting with Louie Rowan to
show that he didn't care."</p>
<p>Gay continuing to shake her head in a shocked
and disapproving way, Roberta cried out, "I don't
care! It's no worse than what you said to a certain
freshman who proposed to you."</p>
<p>"I don't call that a proposal," calmly disagreed
Gay. "He didn't ask anything. He simply took
it for granted that I'd fall all over myself to accept
him. Mary, what would you say to a boy, one
whom you'd always known but who'd never been
particularly nice to you, who would march up to
you some day and say: 'You suit me better than
any girl I know, and I'd like to talk over arrangements
with you now. Of course we couldn't marry
till a year after my graduation, but I want to have it
settled before I go away, so that I'll know what
to depend on. My family all tell me that it's risky
business, choosing a wife with red hair, but I'm
willing to take the chances.'"</p>
<p>"Now, Gay, you know it wasn't as bald as that,"
protested Roberta. "He put in all sorts of 'long
and short sweetenin'.'"</p>
<p>"It amounted to the same thing," persisted Gay,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>
and in answer to Mary's gasping question, "What
<i>did</i> you say?" she replied:</p>
<p>"I couldn't speak at first, I was so furious at his
speech about red hair. But I managed to tell him
several things before I finished, and nothing can be
frostier and snippier than a sixteen year old girl
when she tries to appear very dignified. That was
my age then. The thing that made him maddest
however, was that I told him that even the 'frog
who would a-wooing go' knew how to go about
such a matter in a much better way than he did.
That he'd better wait till he was older, and
amounted to something more than a mere silly boy.
My snubbing almost gave him apoplexy, but it did
him good in the long run."</p>
<p>"A proposal, and she was a year younger than
I am now," thought Mary, wishing with a queer
little throb of envy that she had some such experience
to confess. Roberta was only nineteen now,
and to judge by Gay's teasing remarks had had any
number of romantic affairs. Lloyd was only fourteen
when Phil first began to care so much for her.</p>
<p>Roberta was putting the finishing touches to her
hair now, and as Mary's eyes met their wistful reflection
in the mirror, she wondered if there would
ever be a time when any one would care enough for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>
her to come to her with the momentous question.
She wouldn't mind so much being an old maid if she
could only have some such experience to lay away
in her memory, as people lay away treasures in rose-leaves
and lavender. But so far she couldn't count
even a susceptible youth like young Mr. Wade, or
a conceited freshman like Gay's early admirer. She
wanted to ask how it felt to be proposed to, and
thus keep the conversation rolling along in the same
interesting groove. But Roberta suddenly switched
off to saddles. She was about to buy a new one,
and saddles, as Roberta presented the topic, became
so vastly important that Mary did not have the
courage to attempt to turn the talk back to the subject
of mere men.</p>
<p>It was one of Roberta's chief characteristics that
she swept everything before her by the sheer force
of her personality. She dominated whatever company
she was in, and the most frivolous things she
said carried weight and made people listen because
of the way she said them. She made statements
in the same manner she was now thrusting the
safety-pins into Mary's skirt-bands, in a direct,
forcible way that made people feel that they might
be depended upon.</p>
<p>"Roberta's pins always stay where they are put,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>
Gay remarked admiringly, as she watched the capable
way in which Mary was being fastened into
her borrowed gown. "There's no danger of your
coming to pieces, when she fixes you. Sometimes
I think that she must hypnotize things. It's a gift
with her. There! You look perfectly fine. Come
on down stairs and let's try that piece of new
music before dinner."</p>
<p>Mary had her doubts about looking perfectly fine.
She was uncomfortably conscious that the dress was
not a good fit. It was too tight in the arm-holes
and too short in the waist. But the girls seemed
proud of the costume they had evolved for her, the
parting glance in the mirror showed that the general
effect was becoming, and their compliments
were most reassuring. So she followed them down
stairs in a very elated and "partified" state of
mind.</p>
<p>The old Major's affable greeting as she entered
the living-room was as cordial as his wife's had
been, and seemed to place her at once on the footing
of an old friend. She sank into the comfortable
chair he pushed forward for her with the sensation
that she was coming back to a familiar
hearthstone, where she had been a guest many
times. It was very queer, but it was decidedly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>
pleasant to have it all seem so homelike and familiar.</p>
<p>With such surroundings Mary ought to have appeared
at her best, but Roberta's dominating presence
made her silent and shy. It had not had that
effect when they were up-stairs together, but now
in the presence of older people Roberta gave the
effect of a lamp that has suddenly been turned up
to a brighter flame. She was positively brilliant,
Mary thought, and made everybody else in the room
seem of secondary interest. Roberta, who ran in
and out every day, felt the same freedom that a
daughter of the house would have. She laughingly
pushed Mrs. Melville into a chair and ordered her
to sit still while <i>she</i> ran up-stairs for the forgotten
spectacles. She joked with the Major about numberless
things which were meaningless to Mary because
she had not shared their beginnings, and when
she sat down at the piano and played with strong
masterful touches, it really seemed that what Gay
had jokingly said about her having hypnotic powers
was true.</p>
<p>Mary felt as if she had been thrust into a corner
and deprived of power to come out. At first she
was so absorbed in her enjoyment of the music
that she was not conscious of that sensation, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>
it oppressed her when Lieutenant Boglin and the
Captain of the polo team, a Mr. Mills, came in.
They were strangers to her but old friends of all
the others, and she suddenly felt herself as self-conscious
and shy as the bashful little country
mouse of the fable. She began to contrast herself
with the other girls, and try to find a reason for the
difference which she felt existed.</p>
<p>"It's partly because they've always lived in the
heart of things," she thought, a trifle enviously.
"They're used to meeting strangers, and they're
pretty and gifted and accomplished; a very different
thing from being just 'plain little Mary Ware,'
with no talents or <i>anything</i>. I can't even play
Yankee Doodle with one finger, as Norman does."</p>
<p>When they went out to dinner the uneven number
and the small size of the company made the conversation
general around the table. If it had been
a larger party with only her immediate neighbors
to give ear, Mary was sure that she could have
found plenty to say to the Major on one side, or to
Lieutenant Boglin on the other. But Roberta kept
the conversational ball rolling, and always in directions
that Mary could not follow. She knew nothing
of polo or golf or the people of the Post, and
the funny stories and quick-witted replies which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>
circled around the table gave her no opportunity
to rise to the occasion as the others did.</p>
<div class="figleft" style="width: 331px;">
<img src="images/i003.jpg" width="331" height="500" alt="He seated himself beside her, coffee-cup in hand" />
</div>
<p>They were all so vastly entertained and entertaining
themselves that no one seemed to notice
Mary's silence. She was angry with herself because
she could not chime in with the others, and thought
with flaming cheeks that they must think her dreadfully
stupid and unresponsive; just a bread-and-butter
miss, not yet out of the nursery. Once there
came a place where an anecdote about Hawkins
and a new school-girl would have fitted in beautifully
if she could only have mustered up courage
to tell it. She had a conundrum too, when the
others were propounding them, and had opened her
mouth to tell it—in fact had said "Did you ever
hear—" when somebody else who had not heard
her tremulous beginning captured the attention of
the table with one of his own. The sound of her
voice thus suddenly stopped made her blush, choke,
take a drink of water and subside into silence
again.</p>
<p>It was not until coffee was being served afterward
in the living-room, that Mary found her tongue.
Roberta did not take coffee, and at the Major's request
had gone to the piano to play a dashing fantasie
that he always called for on such occasions.
The lieutenant, who, as Mary had feared, had classed
her as a callow little school-girl who couldn't talk
except in embarrassed monosyllables, had been wondering
why Gay had made such a point of his meeting
her. Now as he looked across the room at her
animated face, responsive to every chord of the
brilliantly executed music, he decided that there
might be some reason for Gay's interest in her
which he had not yet fathomed, and he at once
proceeded to find out.</p>
<p>He started towards her, stopping to say in an
aside to Gay, "What's the little girl's name? I've
forgotten. Oh, thank you." Then he deliberately
pulled up a chair, tête-à-tête wise, and seated himself
beside her, coffee-cup in hand.</p>
<p>"Miss Ware," he began in a flatteringly confidential
tone, "it is an old saying that the 'shallows
murmur, but the deeps are dumb.' Is that why you
are so silent this evening?"</p>
<p>It was easy now, under cover of the music, and
in response to such deferential attention to make a
reply, and Mary began at a rate that made Bogey
"sit up and take notice," as he expressed it afterward.</p>
<p>"No, I was only like the fox in Æsop's fables,
the one that went to dine with the stork, you know.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a><br /><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>
Don't you remember, the stork put the soup into
such a slender-necked deep vase that only a long-beaked
bird like himself could reach it. You see
the people you talked about to-night were utter
strangers to me, and I never saw a polo game, so
I couldn't very well dip into the conversation."</p>
<p>"By George!" exclaimed Bogey. "That wasn't
very considerate of us, <i>was</i> it?"</p>
<p>"Oh, I enjoyed it!" Mary hastened to add.
"Only I was afraid you'd think I was dreadfully
stupid. It made me think of the time I used that
same fable to get rid of an unwelcome caller when
I was at a house-party in Kentucky. I wanted to
be with the older girls who were to be bridesmaids,
and watch their preparations for the wedding, and
this child tagged after me so persistently that I lay
awake nights trying to plan some way to get rid of
her. It was the fable that finally suggested it. I
had lots of fun playing the stork, but I never realized
before just how <i>she</i> must have felt, till I took
the part of fox to-night."</p>
<p>"Tell me how you did it," insisted the lieutenant.
He liked the way Mary's face lighted up when she
talked, and the way her dimples flashed in and out
as she chattered on. Gay looked over approvingly
a little later when his hearty laugh showed that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span>
was thoroughly amused by something that she had
said.</p>
<p>The tête-à-tête was ended by the stopping of the
music and the arrival of the man who was to be
Gay's escort, and almost immediately after it
seemed, although in fact it was half an hour, the
'bus whistle sounded outside, and Mary was being
hurried into her borrowed party cloak and helped
into the waiting 'bus.</p>
<p>"It always goes around the Post collecting passengers
on such occasions as this," Bogey told her.
"You can imagine we sometimes have a jolly
crowd."</p>
<p>It was an old story to the other passengers, but
as they passed the sally port where the sentinel
stood attention, Mary nearly fell out in her eagerness
to see all the novel sights. The lieutenant
smiled at her enthusiasm. Visiting girls always
exhibited it in some degree, but never in quite such
a precipitate manner as Mary.</p>
<p>"She's a funny little piece," he thought as the
whole 'bus load laughed at her naïve comment on
the sentinel, "but there is something genuine and
likeable about her. She shall have the time of her
life to-night if I can give it to her."</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2>
<div class='chaptertitle'>ON THE CREEK-BANK</div>
<p><span class="smcap">There</span> is only a partial account of that evening
in Mary's Good Times book. She recorded the fact
that the General himself came and talked to her a
few minutes, and laughed several times at her replies
till people turned to see who it was that he
found so amusing. The handsome officer of the day
in sword and spurs was brought up to be introduced,
and there was a most gratifying list of names on
her well-filled program. Lieutenant Boglin had
dutifully seen to that.</p>
<p>Had it not been for one circumstance the evening
would have been a succession of thrills, and she
could have filled several pages with enthusiastic
recollections of it. That one little happening, however,
marred the whole occasion. She made no
record of it in her Good Times book, and she made
up her mind never to speak of it, but to seal it up
in its particular memory cell as the bees do any intruding
object which threatens to poison their honey.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p>
<p>There was so much else to tell about her visit,
that for several days after her return she kept the
family amused by her lively descriptions. She and
Gay had had a whole string of adventures the
morning after the hop, when they went down town
together to finish her shopping. There had been
some interesting guests from New Zealand at
luncheon, who had vied with each other in telling
marvelous yarns, and Mary had stored them all
away to repeat at home.</p>
<p>With so much else to talk about she might have
succeeded in keeping her resolution, had not she
and Jack gone off to the creek one afternoon, instead
of taking their usual excursion towards the
village. The spot where they paused was a place
which seemed to invite confidences. She wheeled
his chair along the bank, close to the water's edge,
until they came to a secluded circle of shade under
an ancient cypress tree. There she sat down opposite
him on a big boulder.</p>
<p>They were some distance from the main road.
Except when a wagon rattled down the hill and
across the ford it was so very still that the rush of
water over the pebbles sounded almost brawling.
The constant gurgle and swish seemed to have a
sort of hypnotic effect on them both, for neither of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>
them spoke for a long time. Then Jack broke the
silence.</p>
<p>"This monotony is getting on my nerves," he
said in a low tense voice. "You're a wonder to
me, Mary. I don't see how you can come back to
such a deadly stupid place as this is, after the taste
of gay times you've had, and settle down again as
cheerfully as you do. It makes me desperate whenever
I think that if it wasn't for my being in such
a fix you needn't be tied here. You could be where
you'd have the social opportunities you ought to
have."</p>
<p>Mary looked up quickly. This tone of bitterness
was a new note in Jack's speech. He had drawn
his hat down over his eyes, and was gripping the
arms of his chair with both hands, as if trying to
keep his resentment against fate in check.</p>
<p>"Just let me tell you something," cried Mary, so
anxious to smooth the grim lines of suffering out
of the beloved face that she recklessly broke her
resolution. "<i>I didn't have as good a time at that
hop as I made out! The last part of it was perfectly
ghastly, and I never want to go to another
as long as I live!</i>"</p>
<p>Then, seeing the look of blank amazement that
spread over Jack's face, she hastened to explain.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p>
<p>"Oh, it started out beautifully. I was simply
ecstatic when we climbed out of the 'bus and were
ushered into that long room with the flags and the
evergreens, and the military music. And you already
know how much it meant to me to have the
General so nice to me and the officer of the day so
attentive and complimentary; and how happy I was
to have my programme filled up so that there was no
danger of my being a wall-flower. I was having
the loveliest time imaginable, when I went up to
Gay to ask if any of the safety-pins showed below
my girdle. The polo man I had met at dinner, that
Mr. Mills, had been dancing with me, and, when he
left me with Gay, went over to speak to a pretty
butterfly sort of girl, a little brunette all in frilly
pink and white; I'd been admiring her at a distance.
Of course he didn't know his voice carried so far.
He was protesting because she had left no place for
him on her programme, and I heard him say:</p>
<p>"'It wasn't <i>my</i> fault that I didn't get to you in
time. Bogey roped me in first thing for a turn
with that kindergarten kid he's got in tow. She's
Miss Melville's guest and I couldn't get out of it,
but really, Juliet—<i>that was punishment enough</i>
without your—'"</p>
<p>"I didn't hear the rest of it. Some people beside<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>
me laughed just then and drowned his voice, but
the girl looked over at me, and gave me a long,
searching glance, sort of out of the corner of her
eye, and then turned away with a little shrug of her
shoulders and smiled up at him quite as if she
agreed with him and had forgiven him because he
had such a good excuse.</p>
<p>"I never had anything make me so uncomfortable
in all my life as his speech and then her sidelong
look and nasty little shrug. It was the <i>way</i> he said
it, and the <i>way</i> she answered, that hurt. After that
I never forgot for a moment that my dress was a
borrowed one and that it didn't fit, and that I was
the plain little country mouse that they were polite
to, merely because I was Gay's guest and Lieutenant
Boglin asked them to be. And I couldn't help feeling
that every man who danced with me was as
bored as Mr. Mills had been; even more so, for I
had been perfectly natural and at ease when I was
talking to him, and after I overheard his remark
I was so stiff and self-conscious that such a state
of mind was bound to have its effect all the rest of
the evening. I was perfectly aware that I was boring
my partners."</p>
<p>"But that was such a little thing to let spoil your
whole evening," interrupted Jack. "It was awfully<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>
rude of the fellow to make such a speech, but he
probably said it just to square himself with the
other girl. 'All's fair in love and war,' they say,
and you don't know how much it might have meant
to him to keep in her good graces. I don't believe
he really meant it."</p>
<p>"Oh, I know better!" insisted Mary dismally.
"He <i>did</i> mean it! I felt it!"</p>
<p>She slowly gathered up a handful of pebbles and
sent them skipping across the water at intervals as
she continued:</p>
<p>"It gave me the same sensation that I had years
ago, when I had my first toy balloon. That is one
of my earliest and most vivid recollections. One
moment I was hugging it to me because it was such
a dear, gay, red bubble, fairly entranced with the
beauty of it. The next I was looking down in a
scared, puzzled way at what was left—just a dull
scrap of wrinkled rubber. That one remark and
glance and shrug made all the pleasure ooze out of
the evening as quickly as my hugging squeezed the
air out of that collapsed balloon."</p>
<p>Jack smiled at her comparison. He remembered
that time, and how they had all laughed at her bewildered
expression when the balloon burst in her
hands. She could not be convinced at first that her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>
beautiful, red bubble had ceased to be, and hopefully
peered under tables and chairs, even while she held
the wreck of it in her hands.</p>
<p>Jack had always been her comforter. He had
dried her tears then with the promise of another
balloon as soon as he could find the man who sold
them, and now he hurried to lift the gloom that had
settled down on her usually cheerful features.
Having thrown away all her pebbles, she bunched
herself up into a disconsolate little heap, on the
boulder, her elbows on her knees, and her chin in
her hand.</p>
<p>"No, it's no use your trying to comfort me," she
said presently in response to his repeated attempts.
"Every time I think about that evening I'm so
mortified that I could cry. My mind's made up. I
am a dead failure socially, and I never want to go
to another function as long as I live!"</p>
<p>"You're a little goose! That's what you are,"
said Jack. "And I know what's at the root of the
whole trouble. You've done a lot of imagining
about your social career at one time and another.
You've looked forward to it and seen yourself in
the rôle of an irresistible charmer. You've felt like
a dowager duchess inwardly, and forgotten that
you've no marks outwardly to show that you've<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>
grown up to take such a part. You have your own
individual charm, but so far it is only the charm
of an unsophisticated little school-girl, and naturally
grown men find older girls more interesting, just
as you would prefer Phil Tremont's company for
instance, to that of little Billy Downs. But that's
not saying that you dislike Billy Downs, or that he
won't grow up to be a social lion some day. So
may you. Now own up. You always have pictured
yourself as cutting quite a wide swath on your first
appearance in society, haven't you? That's one
reason you were so disappointed at the hop."</p>
<p>"Well," admitted Mary, smiling in spite of herself,
"I own I did expect to once, a long time ago,
and maybe that had a sort of sub-conscious influence
on me. It was when we first moved to Arizona.
Hazel Lee and I found a book that a boarder had
left behind in his tent. It was called 'The Lady
Agatha's Career; A Novel.' We took it out on
the desert, a little way, and spelled it out between
us, sitting on the sand behind a clump of grease-wood
bushes, that hid us from view of the ranch
house. Hazel was allowed only juvenile books, and
she knew her mother would take this away from us
on account of the word novel.</p>
<p>"It was such a horribly sentimental story that we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>
found it embarrassing to read the tenderest parts
of it aloud, and I suppose because it was the first
one of the kind we had ever come across, it made
a deeper impression on us than it would have done
otherwise. We fairly devoured it. For days we
thought and talked of nothing else, and we used to
take turns playing we were the Lady Agatha, about
to burst on society like a dazzling star, and win the
heart of the proud scion of the House of de Hoverly."</p>
<p>Jack threw back his head and laughed so heartily
that Mary was forced to smile again herself, as she
went on with her confession.</p>
<p>"That all came back to me the other night when
we climbed out of the 'bus, and I almost giggled
when I remembered that this was what Hazel and
I had looked forward to as such a grand event—being
escorted for the first time by a grown man.
It was on a similar occasion that the Lady Agatha
made such a hit in society. Our ideas of society
were so crude and funny then," Mary went on,
beginning to relish her own reminiscences. "All
we knew about it we gathered from that book. It
seemed to be made up principally of haughty earls
and dowager duchesses who lived in castles and
wore coronets. I didn't know what a dowager was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>
then, but I privately resolved to be one when I was
grown. The name seemed so grand and high-sounding,
and in the story they always had everything
their own way. I couldn't help laughing a
bit ago when you used the word, for you had hit
the nail on the head."</p>
<p>"Then you won't mind when I say 'I told you
so'" laughed Jack. "If you hadn't gone that night
expecting to create a sensation, you'd have been
satisfied to have people nice to you simply because
you were their friend's friend, and wouldn't
have been so cut up over that remark you overheard."</p>
<p>"I'm not so sure about the last part," Mary insisted,
her face clouding again. "It <i>was</i> nasty of
him to say it, and the mere thought of that man will
always be an abomination to me."</p>
<p>There was silence for a little while. Everything
was so still that a bird hopped fearlessly out on a
limb above them, and began to call to its mate.
When Mary spoke again there was a whimsical
expression on her face that soon reflected itself in
Jack's.</p>
<p>"I can't help picturing things out beforehand,
the way I'd like to have them be. I've done it all
my life. The rehearsing is always more fun, though,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>
than the actual happening. Now when I went
away to school last year, every time I'd wake up
that last night in the sleeping-car, I'd plan just what
I'd say and how I'd act to make my entrance to
Warwick Hall imposing. I could actually see myself
sweeping in to make a good impression on
Madam Chartley, and you know what happened!
My hat was cocked over one ear, the wire sticking
out through the loops of ribbon, and Madam caught
me jumping up and down to try every seat in the
reception-room, one after the other."</p>
<p>Jack chuckled, glad to see some of Mary's cheerfulness
returning.</p>
<p>"And then," she continued, "you remember
when we met Phil and Elsie Tremont on the train,
as we were going out to Arizona to live?"</p>
<p>Jack nodded.</p>
<p>"I was only nine years old then, but for weeks
I thought of Phil as a sort of young god—a regular
Apollo, and I pictured all sorts of scenes in
which I should be a prominent personage at our
next meeting. And when he <i>did</i> come I was sprinting
down the road in a cloud of dust, hatless and
breathless and purple in the face, crying, and crazy
with fright, because I thought that a harmless old
Indian who chanced to be riding down the same<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>
road, was chasing me. How Phil does laugh every
time that is mentioned!"</p>
<p>Mary was sitting up straight on the boulder now,
her face dimpling as she recalled these various predicaments.</p>
<p>"Then there's the time the Little Colonel visited
us at the Wigwam. Hadn't I dreamed of that first
meeting for weeks—what we'd say and what she'd
say? Me in my rosebud sash and best embroidered
white gown. But she caught you and Joyce at the
wash-tub, and I had to take my first peep at her,
crouched down in an irrigating ditch on my
way home from school, all inky and dirty and
torn.</p>
<p>"But I don't think I've done quite so much romancing
since Betty gave me my Good Times book
and preached me that little sermon on being self-conscious,"
Mary chattered on. "She said that my
always thinking of the impression I was making on
people, and being so eager to please was what made
me miserable when I fell short of my expectations.
She said that I ought to copy Lloyd. That her
greatest charm was her utter unconsciousness of
self. I think that is Betty's too. She's <i>such</i> a
darling."</p>
<p>There was no response to this. The mention of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>
Betty's name brought up so many pleasing scenes
to Mary, that she sat living them over, unmindful
of the long silence that fell between her and Jack.
He sat with his hat pulled still farther over his eyes,
in a revery as deep as hers. Betty's name recalled
the picture that was often before him in these long,
idle days. He was seeing her as he had seen her
the first time, now over a year ago, when he made
his memorable visit to Kentucky. She was standing
at the end of the long locust avenue, all in white,
between the stately white pillars, with her godmother's
arm about her, as they awaited his approach.</p>
<p>Slim and girlish and winsomely sweet she was,
and when he looked into her wistful brown eyes, he
felt in some strange way that he had come to the
end of all pilgrimage. The world held nothing
beyond worth seeking for.</p>
<p>After a long time the swirl of the water past them
was lost in the sound of a wagon, rattling noisily
down the hill and across the ford. Then a long
line of cattle passed down the same road, accompanied
by the hoarse calls of their drivers on horseback.
Mary looked up.</p>
<p>"Jack," she said hesitatingly, "did you ever
hear this verse?</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p>
<div class='poem'>
"'For should he come not by the road, and come not by the hill,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And come not by the far sea-way, yet come he surely will.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Close all the roads of all the world—<i>Love's road is open still</i>.'</span><br />
</div>
<p>"Do you believe that is true?"</p>
<p>"Not for me," he answered in a hoarse voice, so
bitter, so resentful that it startled her, coming as it
did after long silence. He gripped the arms of his
chair again, as if in pain too great to endure, and
then burst out vehemently, "<i>Every</i> road is closed
to me now! It wouldn't be so hard if there was
any prospect of the end coming soon, but I may
have to hang on this way for years—just a living
death! Caged in this helpless hulk of a body, a
drag on every one and a misery to myself!
<i>Heavens!</i> If I could only end it all!"</p>
<p>"Oh, Jack!" begged Mary, starting up, tears in
her eyes. "Don't talk that way! You're not a
drag on anybody! We couldn't live without you!
You've been so brave—just like Aldebaran in the
Jester's Sword. '<i>So bravely did he bear his lot, it
seemed a kingly spirit dwelt among us!</i>' Don't
you know that just having you with us is more to
us than anything else in the whole world?"</p>
<p>She was fairly wringing her hands in her distress
over this revelation of the overwhelming bitterness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>
of Jack's soul. For months he had been so cheerful,
hiding his real feelings under a playfulness of
manner, that it was a shock to her to find that his
cheerfulness was only assumed. Because he "had
met his hurt so bravely and made no sign" she,
like the Jester, thought "the struggle had grown
easier with time, and that he really felt the gladness
that he feigned." Like the Jester, too, she was "at
her wit's end for a reply." She could think of no
word of comfort.</p>
<p>The loud halloo which sounded just then in a
familiar voice from up the creek, was a welcome
interruption. The next instant Norman came in
sight around the curve. He was standing up in a
flat-bottomed boat, poling down stream towards
them, with the vigor and skill of a young Indian.
It was a clumsy, home-made affair, with "The
Swan" painted in blue letters on the side.</p>
<p>"She's mine for the winter!" he announced joyfully,
as soon as he was within speaking distance.
"A man who lives up past Klein's crossing rented
it to me. I'm to chop wood awhile every Saturday
to pay for the use of it."</p>
<p>Norman was so interested in his new possession
that he could not see that he had interrupted a conversation
of tragic seriousness.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p>
<p>"Come on and get in, Mary," he urged. "It's
great. Beats those old rafts you used to pole at
Lee's ranch, all hollow. Don't you want to try
it?"</p>
<p>Mary hesitated. To go off and leave Jack sitting
on the creek-bank, unable to accompany her,
would emphasize his crippled condition. To refuse
to leave him would only be added proof in his present
sensitive mood that he was a "drag on every
one."</p>
<p>"The sun is dropping so low we ought to be
starting home before it begins to get chilly," she
said with a meaning glance towards Jack, which to
her relief Norman interpreted aright. He answered
cheerfully,</p>
<p>"Oh, go on! It's a cinch <i>you</i> won't get chilly if
you push that old boat along as fast as I did, and
if we get cold waiting for you, it won't be many
minutes till we'll be 'seen, a-rolling down the Bowling
Green' towards home."</p>
<p>"All right, then," said Mary, climbing in as he
climbed out to hold the boat steady for her. "I
won't go far, but I'm surely glad to get out on the
water again."</p>
<p>She took the oar he handed her, and with a skilful
push against the bank she sent the boat gliding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>
out into the stream. As she went off she thought:
"That was considerate of Norman, to put it the
way he did—to include Jack with himself as a
matter of course, and not to remind him of his
helplessness by saying he'd stay and take care of
him. Norman has lots of tact for a boy of his age;
more than I have. I must have hurt Jack many a
time by my inconsiderate speeches, but I had no
idea he felt so horribly sensitive about being dependent."</p>
<p>All the way up the creek she was so occupied
with thinking of what Jack had said, and so depressed
over the depths of mental suffering which
his exclamations revealed, that she plied her oar
mechanically, only partly awake to the scenes about
her. But the long even strokes, first on one side
and then the other, sent her darting forward
through the water so rapidly that she soon reached
a turn in the creek which she had never passed before,
and as she rounded the curve such a beautiful
sight greeted her that she cried out in pleased surprise,
"How perfectly <i>heavenly!</i>"</p>
<p>On one side the bank towered up into a high,
steep cliff, straight as a wall. It was completely
covered with ferns; delicate, feathery maiden-hair
ferns, as luxuriantly green as in mid-summer. In<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>
this sheltered spot they were still left untouched
by the frost, although it was now December.
Everywhere else vegetation was dry and sere, but
the green freshness of this bank was accounted for
by a number of tiny water-falls splashing down from
unseen springs above, and sending a light spray in
every direction, as fine as mist.</p>
<p>"I'm coming straight back here in the morning,"
she said to herself, "and dig up a lot of these ferns
before the frost gets them. I can't think of anything
lovelier to send to Gay for a Christmas greeting
than a clump of them growing in a box—a
rustic box covered with bark and dainty lichens.
One would be nice for Mrs. Rochester, too. She's
just the kind that would appreciate such a gift.
Well, that solves two of my hardest problems of
what to give." That trip up the creek in <i>The Swan</i>
was a voyage of discovery in more ways than one,
for Mary came upon the fact that she had grown
older in the last quarter of an hour, quite as suddenly
and unexpectedly as she had come upon the
fern-bank. That cry of Jack's, "Heavens! If I
could only end it all!" had shocked her into a
deeper understanding of pain, and human limits of
endurance.</p>
<p>She had always prided herself on her ability to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>
imagine herself in other people's places, and until
now had believed that she fully understood and
appreciated the depths of Jack's suffering. Now she
saw that she had not even begun to fathom it. His
bravery had deceived her. All the while that she
had been thinking that he was growing accustomed
to his lot and that time was making it easier for
him to bear, a fire of rebellion was smouldering
fiercely within him, making each day one of new
torture.</p>
<div class="figright" style="width: 299px;">
<img src="images/i004.jpg" width="299" height="500" alt="She sent the boat down stream with long swift strokes." />
</div>
<p>Because she could plaster up her own small hurts
with platitudes and proverbs, and ease her disappointments
by counting her blessings "as one would
count the beads upon a rosary" she had vainly imagined
that all this would be balm for him. How
many times she had offered him such comfort, feeling
with childish complacency that she was helping
to ease his pain. She understood now. A sugarplum
may help one to forget a bee-sting, but a
death-thrust is another matter.</p>
<p>Absorbed in her thoughts, she sent the boat down
stream with long, swift strokes, not noticing how
fast it was going. Helped by the current, she came
in sight of Jack and Norman before she had mentally
adjusted herself to her new view-point. She
was afraid that as soon as she and Jack were left
alone again they would find themselves facing the
same wall of blank despair, and she dreaded it. So
to gain time, she began calling to them about the
wonderful bank of ferns she had discovered, and
made several awkward thrusts of the oar in an attempt
to land, before she finally ran the boat up on
the bank.</p>
<p>But Norman did not leave them alone. Deciding
that that secluded spot would be a good place to
chain the boat, and that it was time to be doing
his evening chores, he slipped the padlock key
in his pocket and handed the oar over to Mary,
saying, "You carry this and I'll wheel the
chair."</p>
<p>Jack had taken a new grip on his courage, and
if Mary could have but known it, it was by the help
of one of the very means she had branded as futile,
a few moments before. The sight of the bloodstone
on his watch-fob, as he glanced at the time,
recalled the story of the poor Jester who had been
born in Mars month, like himself, and for that reason
had cause to claim undaunted courage as the
"jewel of his soul." The merest flicker of a smile
crossed Jack's grimly-set lips as he looked down at
the bloodstone and thought of all it stood for; and
pulling himself together he whispered the Jester's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a><br /><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>
vow between clenched teeth: "I'll keep my oath
until the going down of one more sun."</p>
<p>When Mary joined them he was chaffing Norman
quite as usual, and immediately began to joke about
the awkward landing she had made. On the way
home Norman laughed often, thinking that Jack
was in one of his jolliest moods; but Mary walked
beside them, the oar over her shoulder, saying to
herself, "And under all this brave show, <i>he's feeling
every minute that he'd be glad to die!</i>"</p>
<p>When she reached the house Mrs. Ware met
them at the door, and Mary, passing in quietly as
Norman began telling about the boat, suddenly remembered
that that was not the natural way for
her to come home. Whenever she had any news
she fairly tumbled into the house in her haste to
tell it. The boys knew that she had discovered the
bank of ferns, and that it was as exciting as Norman's
discovery of a boat, because it would provide
some of her Christmas presents without cost. Yet
here she was walking in as calmly as if she were
fifty years old and had outgrown her girlish enthusiasms.
It certainly was not natural.</p>
<p>So she turned back and interrupted Norman, because
that was what she always did when she was
in a hurry to tell things, and she tried to make her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>
description as full of life and color as she usually
did; but all the time she had a feeling that she was
acting.</p>
<p>Mrs. Ware expressed her interest with many
pleased exclamations as she always did when Mary
came to her with any new-found cause for rejoicing,
but Mary, suddenly grown keen of vision, saw
the look of anxiety and weariness that seemed to
lie in the back of her eyes behind the smile. "I
wonder," she mused, "if mamma is acting, too, if
her gladness is only on the surface, and she smiles
to keep up her courage and ours, as they say little
boys whistle in the dark. Oh, it's dreadful to grow
up if one has to lose faith in this being a good old
world. It used to seem so happy all the time, and
now it's all so sorrowful and out of joint."</p>
<p>She went into her room to wash her hands and
get an apron before going out into the kitchen to
help prepare supper. As she stood tying the apron-strings,
she looked up at Lloyd Sherman's picture
which hung over her bed, as it used to hang in
Warwick Hall and at Lone Rock, when she pretended
that it was Lloyd's <i>shadow-self</i>, the chum to
whom she could carry all her troubles, sure of silent
sympathy. But somehow, while the beautiful eyes
smiled down into hers as kindly as they had always<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>
done, they did not bring the sense of her presence.
They did not speak to her as they had done those
other times when she turned to them for the imagined
communion that always brightened her spirits.</p>
<p>"It's never seemed the same since I knew she was
engaged," Mary thought with a sigh. "Of course
I know she's just as fond of me as she was before,
but I can't help feeling that she's so taken up with
other things now, her life so heavenly full since she
has found her prince, that she <i>can't</i> take the same
interest in my affairs."</p>
<p>As she passed the mirror she turned back for a
second glance. The first had shown her the fresh
unlined face of a girl of seventeen, but judging by
the way she felt she was sure there should be wrinkles.
The weight of world-weariness and disillusionment
and foreboding which depressed her, certainly
could not belong to youth. They must be the
property of an old woman, in her sixties at least.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2>
<div class='chaptertitle'>CHRISTMAS</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Ten</span> days before Christmas Mary opened the
bottom drawer of her bureau, in which she had
placed each gift as soon as it was finished, and sitting
down on the floor beside it, proceeded to take
an inventory of the packages within. They were
all wrapped, stamped and addressed, but she had
made them ready without a single Christmas thrill.
There was nothing in the climate or surroundings
to suggest the holiday season, and she compared this
year's preparations with the year before at Warwick
Hall, when the very air seemed charged with
a spirit of delightful expectancy; when everybody
had secrets and went around smiling and humming
snatches of carols which the choir-girls were practising
for the service in the chapel.</p>
<p>Mechanically she counted the bundles and
checked them off her list: the ones for Holland,
for Joyce, for Eugenia, the bunny doll with the
chamois skin head which she had made for little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>
Patricia. She was very well satisfied with them all,
as well as with the fancy trifles she had made for
Lloyd and Betty and the girls at school, with whom
she still kept up a correspondence. They were inexpensive,
but they were original and appropriate.</p>
<p>Allowing for the crowded condition of the mails,
she decided that the packages which had the longest
distance to go should be started that very day.
These she took from the drawer and piled on her
bed, and then got out her pen to begin the writing
of her Christmas letters.</p>
<p>Now one may make all sorts of dainty gifts, and
tie them with holly ribbon, and send them away in
Christmasy looking packages which will bring a
glow to the heart of the one who opens them, and
yet do it all without one spark of festal feeling herself.
But it is impossible to write a Christmas letter
and put the proper zest into its greetings, unless
one is a-tingle with it. When Mary discovered that
fact, she tore up the sheets on which she had made
various beginnings, and put the cork in her ink-bottle.</p>
<p>"I can't do it any more than I could keep
Thanksgiving on the Fourth of July or New Year's
on April Fool's day," she thought. "Luckily the
letters travel faster than second-class mail, so I'll<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>
take my packages to the post-office now, and then
go out in the boat awhile, and think about snow and
sleigh-bells and holly berries till I work myself up
to the proper mood."</p>
<p>As she started out of the door her mother called
to her to remind her that they needed eggs. That
meant that Mary was to go around by the Metz
place to get them on her way home, which would
take so much longer that there wouldn't be much
time for meditation in the boat. But it was in
going for the eggs that she came across the very
inspiration of which she was in quest.</p>
<p>Mr. Metz and his wife were sitting on a bench
in the sunny garden near the kitchen door, when
Mary opened the gate. Looking up the path between
the stiff rows of coxcombs and prince's feather,
she could see that the old lady was knitting, as
usual. He sat with a newspaper across his knees,
and his spectacles folded in one hand. The other
grasped the end of his long white beard which
flowed almost to his lap.</p>
<p>They were both singing; singing with the
quavering voices of age, a song which they had
brought with them from their far away youth in
the beloved Fatherland. It was a song of Christmas
joy which they had carolled many a time<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>
around a candle-lighted tree. Their voices were
thin and tremulous, and broke now and then on the
high notes, but it was a gay little tune, very sweet
and full of cheer; and Mary, who stopped to listen
just inside the gate, was thankful that they had not
heard the latch click. When it came to an end she
waited a moment, hoping there would be another
verse, but they began to talk, and she started on
up the path. But halfway to the house she paused
again, for they had begun another song.</p>
<p>"<i>Am Weinachtsbaum die Lichter brennen!</i>"</p>
<p>Their voices came to a sudden stop at the end
of that line, however, as they became aware of an
approaching visitor. Mary hurried forward saying,
"Oh, I understood one word of it. You were
singing about a Christmas tree, weren't you? The
children in the blue cottages across from us have
been talking about a 'Weinachtsbaum' all week.
Please don't stop. It sounded so sweet as I came
in at the gate."</p>
<p>At some other time the old couple might have
been hard to persuade, but the holiday season was
their high-tide of the year, and its return always
swept them along with a rush of happy memories,
to a state of enjoyment that was almost childish
in its outward manifestation. Finding that Mary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>
was really interested in hearing them talk of the
customs of their youth, they began a series of reminiscences
so interesting that she could have
listened all day.</p>
<p>Seventy Christmases they could remember distinctly,
besides the dim impressions of several
earlier ones. In the course of describing them it
came about quite naturally that they should sing
her the interrupted song.</p>
<p>The old man, because he spoke better English
than his wife, interpreted the verses first. But even
his speech was halting and broken, and he pulled
his white beard desperately, and used many despairing
gestures when he could not find the right word.
She, clicking her needles, kept up a constant nodding
while he explained.</p>
<p>"On the Christmas tree the lights are burning.
The children gaze at the what you call it—picture—scene—till
the eye laughs and the heart laughs
and the old look Himmelwartz, heavenwards that
means, with blessed rapture."</p>
<p>"Yah, yah!" nodded the old wife, prompting
him as he paused. "Zwei Engel"—</p>
<p>"Two angels appear," he repeated, going haltingly
on with the next verse. Mary could not
understand all that he tried to convey, but she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>
caught the meaning of the last part, that the day
brings God's blessing to young and old alike, to
the white as well as the brown hair.</p>
<p>"It is the same all over the world," he said,
clearing his throat preparatory to singing the lines
he had just translated.</p>
<p>"We will be alone this year. We cannot go to
our children and they cannot come to us. But we
shall not feel alone. We will make ready one little
tree, and in our hearts we will join hands with all
the happy ones who greet the <i>Weinachtsbaum</i>. We
will be part of that circle which reaches around the
whole wide world."</p>
<p>The quavering old voices took up the tune, and
although Mary recognized only three words,
Christmas-tree, angels and heavenward, there was
something in the zest with which they sung it,
something in the expression of the wrinkled old
faces, which gave her the inspiration she was in
search of. It was as if she had brought to them
a little unlighted candle, and they had kindled it
at the flame of their own glowing ones.</p>
<p>When Mary went home she was more like her
accustomed self than she had been for days. She
went dancing into the house with the eggs, and
immediately set about the writing of her Christmas<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>
letters in her usual resourceful way. Mrs. Ware
looked up, much amused, to see her piling some
fresh orange peel and bits of broken cedar on the
table beside her ink-bottle.</p>
<p>"There's nothing like that combination of smells
to make you think that Santa Claus is coming
straight down the chimney," exclaimed Mary
gravely, catching her mother's amused glance. "You
may think it is foolish, but really it makes all the
Christmases I have ever known stand right up in
a row in front of me, whenever I smell that
smell."</p>
<p>She rubbed a bit of the fresh peel and then a
piece of the cedar between her palms to bring out
the pungent fragrance, and afterwards, from time
to time, bent over it for another whiff to bring her
new inspiration.</p>
<p>By the twentieth of December the last letter and
the last out-of-town package but one was started
on its way. Gay's box of ferns, a mass of luxuriant,
feathery greenness, sat on a window-sill, waiting for
its time to go. The crate in which it was to be
shipped stood ready in the wood-shed, even to the
address on the express-tag. Then time began to
drag. The next two days, although the shortest
in the year, seemed many times longer than usual.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p>
<p>"It's like trying to keep things hot when somebody
is late and keeps dinner waiting," complained
Mary. "If you can't eat when it's all ready, some
of the things are sure to dry up and some to get
cold. I was worked up to quite a festive state of
mind day before yesterday, but my enthusiasm is
all drying up and cooling off now."</p>
<p>"Here's something to warm it over again,"
announced Norman, coming in from the express
office with a box on his shoulder. "Here's the
first gift to arrive. Let's open up right now, and
open each thing that comes after this <i>when</i> it comes
instead of waiting for one grand surprise on Christmas
morning. You never will try my way, and
it would spread the pleasure out and make it last
lots longer if you only would. You're bound to
get more enjoyment out of each thing if you give
your undivided attention to it."</p>
<p>For once Norman's suggestion, made yearly, was
not opposed, and as he pried the lid off the box
Mary flopped down on the floor beside it, Jack
wheeled his chair closer, and Mrs. Ware came in
from the next room in answer to their eager calls
that it was from Joyce.</p>
<p>Each one of the studio family had contributed
to the filling of the box. The holly-wreaths on top,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span>
tied with great bows of wide red ribbon, were from
Miss Henrietta Robbins.</p>
<p>"Don't you know," exclaimed Mary, as she
lifted them out and held them up for them all to
admire, "that Miss Henrietta has turned that
studio into a perfect bower of Christmas greens?
She gives it all the elegant costly touches that Joyce
never could afford, just as she's put the finishing
touch on these wreaths with this beautiful ribbon.
It's wide enough and satiny enough for a
sash."</p>
<p>"And isn't it just like little Mrs. Boyd to send
<i>this!</i>" she cried a moment later, when the opening
of a fancy pasteboard box revealed a doll about six
inches long, dressed like a ballet dancer. Its fluffy
scarlet skirts hid the leaves of a needle-book, concealed
among its folds, and from the ends of the
sash, by which it was intended to dangle, hung a
tiny emery bag in the shape of a strawberry, and
a little silk thimble-case.</p>
<p>"She got the idea for that from the Ladies' Home
Magazine, I am sure. She adores the pages that
tell how to evolve your entire spring outfit from
a shoe-string and a strip of left-over embroidery.
It's not that she's trying to economize. Joyce says
she has the piece-bag habit. The girls tease her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>
about not being able to see a scrap of goods without
wishing to find some way to use it, but they
love the homey flavor her home-made things give
to the house. She is as old-fashioned and dear in
her ways as she is in her ideas of art."</p>
<p>"That is an unusually pretty doll," remarked
Mrs. Ware as Mary swung it around by its sash.</p>
<p>"Yes," she answered, "it's the kind Hazel Lee
and I were always wishing for. Ours were flaxen
haired, and this has raven curls. We would have
called her 'Lady Agatha' if we had had her then.
I believe I'll name her that now," she added with
a glance towards Jack to see if he understood the
allusion.</p>
<p>But Jack was not noticing. He was turning the
pages of a handsomely illustrated work on Geology,
a book he had long wanted to own. Joyce had had
little to spend this year compared with last, but
in her hurried shopping expeditions, she had considered
the tastes and needs of each one so well
that every gift was hailed with delight.</p>
<p>"Norman's way is a dandy one," acknowledged
Mary, as she opened a box of fine stationery engraved
with her monogram, the first she had ever
owned. "Now I can write my note to Gay on this.
If we had waited I should have had to use the common<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>
paper that we buy at the drug-store by the
pound, because it is cheap. And it's so nice too,
to have these holly-wreaths beforehand."</p>
<p>She danced away to hang them in the windows,
and to swing the Lady Agatha from a corner of
the mirror over her bureau, where her hidden
needle-book could readily be reached. Then she
thriftily gathered up every bit of ribbon and tinsel
from the discarded wrappings, smoothed out the
tissue paper and picked loose from it all the adhering
seals that had not been broken in the process
of tearing open the packages.</p>
<p>"Here's seven whole seals with holly on them,"
she announced to her mother, "six with Santa
Claus heads and four with the greeting Merry
Christmas. I'm going to use them over again in
doing up the rest of my packages. That box that
the doll came in is exactly what I want to put the
candy in that I made for the Barnabys. And that
plain one that holds the stuffed dates that Lucy
Boyd sent will do for the candy I'm going to send
Mr. and Mrs. Metz. All I'll need to do is to cover
it with some of this holly paper and tie it with the
same gold cord. I'll find a use for nearly everything
I've saved before the week is over."</p>
<p>She said it in a tone of such deep satisfaction<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>
that Norman looked up from the book and other
gifts in which he had seemed absorbed, to laugh
at her.</p>
<p>"Mary is like that old woman who wrote those
recipes for cheap pies in that old New England
cook-book we have at home," he said to his mother.
"She thinks 'a little Ingenuity added to almost any
material that comes to hand will make a tasty pie!'
You ought to send the Ladies' Home Magazine
some pointers, Mary, on '<i>How to make Christmas
gifts for others on the wrappings of those sent you</i>.'
Didn't some one say something about the <i>scrap-bag</i>
habit awhile ago?"</p>
<p>Mary's only answer was a saucy grimace. She
could afford to let him tease her about her squirrel
instinct for hoarding, when it gave her so much
satisfaction to add to her store of scraps. She had
all sorts of things to draw on in emergencies. In
the one month they had been in Bauer she had
nearly filled a shoe-box with odds and ends. She
had sheets of tin-foil, saved from packages of chocolate,
picture cards, little bottles and boxes and
various samples of toilet articles sent out by firms
who advertise their goods in that way.</p>
<p>For the next two days every mail brought greetings
and remembrances to some one of the family,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>
sometimes to all, so that the hours slipped by at
a fairly rapid pace. One of the gifts which gave
Mary most pleasure was the chiffon scarf that
Lloyd sent. It was like the one Roberta wore
the first evening Mary had seen her, and which
she rapturously compared to "a moonbeam spangled
with dew-drops," only she thought hers far lovelier
than Roberta's. A dozen times a day she slipped
into her room to take the floating, filmy web from
its box, and spread it out to gloat over it. She
had to try the effects of different lights on it, sunshine
and moonlight and the rays of the lamp. She
spread it over different dresses, white, pink and
green, to see which produced the prettiest glimmers,
and Norman caught her once posing before a mirror
with it draped over head, and teased her all the
rest of the evening.</p>
<p>Betty's gift was a simple, inexpensive one, intended
merely as a greeting. It was only a green
bay-berry candle, but the card tied to it by a scarlet
bow bore the verse:</p>
<div class='poem'>
"This bay-berry candle's tongue of flame<br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Bears message. Prithee hear it!</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;"><i>While it burns mid your Christmas greens</i></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;"><i>I'm with you all in spirit!</i>"</span><br />
</div>
<p>"I'm glad that it's a big fat candle," said
Mary, passing it around for each one to enjoy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>
the spicy, aromatic fragrance. "It'll burn a long
time."</p>
<p>She lighted it Christmas eve and put it in the
centre of the table with one of the holly-wreaths
laid around the base, and the tongue of flame did
seem to "bear message." It started Mary to talking
of her absent friend; of the bloodstone and
the Good Times book Betty had given her. Of
Betty's clear brown eyes and dearer ways, of Betty's
sweet consideration for others, of her talent for
writing which was sure to make her famous some
day. She talked of her all during supper, not noticing
that Jack was unusually silent, and that his
eyes rested oftener on the candle than it did on
his plate.</p>
<p>As they left the table Mr. Metz appeared at the
door like a veritable old Santa Claus, with his long
white beard and eyes a-twinkle. In one arm he
carried a big round hat-box full of nuts, in the
other two bottles of home-made wine. His own
pecan trees and vineyard had furnished his offering.
He thanked them so volubly in his broken
way for the little gifts that Norman had carried
over when he went for the milk, and delivered his
nuts and wine with such benign smiles and a flow
of good wishes from his wife and himself, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>
Mary gave a skip of pleasure when she closed the
door after him. She went back to the kitchen
singing:</p>
<p>"'Now jingle, jingle, come Kris Kringle!' Oh,
I feel as if the old fellow himself had really been
here. He and Betty's candle have given me a real
Night-before-Christmas-and-all-through-the-house
feeling. It's lovely!"</p>
<p>They had had supper so early that it was barely
dusk outdoors when she and Norman started to
take the box of ferns to the rectory. When they
had passed the cotton field, the bend in the road
soon brought them to the edge of the village, and
the beginning of the short thoroughfare which led
to the main street, past the cotton-gin and the Free
Camp-yard.</p>
<p>The Free Camp-yard was always an interesting
place to both of them, and they never passed it without
looking in. It was a large lot surrounded by
a high board fence. Low sheds were built along
one side within the enclosure, in which both men
and beasts might find shelter in time of storm.
Usually they slept in the open, however, with little
campfires here and there to boil their coffee and
give them light. Peddlers, hucksters and belated
country people were its usual patrons. But sometimes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>
one saw a family of armadillo hunters on
their way to the curio dealers, with crates full of
the queer nine-banded shells which can be made into
baskets, simply by tying the head and tail together.</p>
<p>One evening Mary saw two country belles, putting
the finishing touches to their toilets behind a
wagon, by the aid of a pocket-mirror. They had
come in for one of the Saturday night balls, held
regularly in the town hall. The week before, part
of a disbanded freak show had taken refuge in the
camp-yard. Norman, peeping through a knot-hole,
the gate being shut, had seen the Armless Man
scratch a match and light a fire with his toes.</p>
<p>It was deserted to-night, except for a dilapidated
covered wagon which had driven in a few minutes
before. It was drawn by a big bony horse and a
dejected little burro, and piled high with household
goods. A gaunt, rough-looking man with a week's
stubble of red beard on his chin, was beginning to
unhitch. His wife, who was only a young thing,
and pretty in a worn, faded way, put down the
sleeping baby that she had been holding, and
stretched her arms wearily. She seemed too tired
and listless to move till one of the two children,
who were climbing down over the wheel, fell and
began to whimper. A pair of hounds that had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>
trailed along behind dropped down under the wagon
as if they had followed a long way and were utterly
exhausted.</p>
<p>"Did you ever see anything so forlorn in all your
life!" exclaimed Norman as they passed on. "And
Christmas eve, too. I don't suppose those poor
little kids will have a thing."</p>
<p>"No, I suppose not," answered Mary. "It seems
a shame, too, when there'll probably be a tree in
every house in Bauer. Mrs. Metz says that is one
custom that they keep up here as faithfully as they
do in the old country. Even the poorest families
will manage to get one somehow."</p>
<p>"Those were cute kids," Norman went on, too
much interested in what he had just seen to put the
subject by. "That oldest little girl with the yellow
curls looked like a big doll, and the little one is
almost as pretty."</p>
<p>He spoke of them again on the way back, after
they had left the ferns at the rectory, and turned
homeward. The lights were beginning to twinkle
all down the long street. In every house they
passed, where the shades had not been drawn, they
could see a tree, standing all ready for the lighting,
from gift-laden base to top-most taper. As they
drew near the camp-yard again they saw the red-whiskered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>
man going into the corner grocery with
a tin pail on his arm. At the camp-yard gate they
looked in. A small fire had been started, over which
a battered coffee-pot had been set to boil. The
burro and the bony horse were munching fodder
near the wagon, but the woman and the children
had disappeared.</p>
<p>"There they are," whispered Mary, pointing
down the road a little way to a group standing in
front of the pretty green and white cottage next to
the cotton gin. The lace curtains had been dropped
over the windows, but they did not hide the gay
scene within. The family was having its celebration
early, because the two small lads for whom it
was designed were so young that their bedtime came
early. They were handsome little fellows, one in
kilts and the other just promoted to trousers. The
gifts hanging from the lighted boughs were many
and costly. The two little ones outside looking in,
had never seen anything so fine and beautiful before,
and stood gazing in round-eyed wonder. Attracted
by the music they had strayed down from the camp-yard,
and their mother had followed with the sleeping
baby thrown across her shoulder, to bring them
back. Now she, too, stood and stared.</p>
<p>The phonograph was still playing when Mary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>
and Norman reached the gate, so they paused to
listen, also, more interested in the watchers outside
however, than the revellers within.</p>
<p>Presently Mary turned to the woman, saying,
"It's pretty, <i>isn't</i> it?" in such a friendly way that
her remark called out an equally friendly response,
and in a few moments she had learned what she
wanted most to know about the strangers. They
were moving on to the next county, having already
been two days and a night on the road. Her man
thought he could find work in the cedar brakes.</p>
<p>They stood talking until the phonograph stopped,
then a glance over her shoulder told the woman that
her husband was returning to the wagon, and she
turned to go. The children were loath to leave,
however.</p>
<p>"It's their first sight of Sandy Claws," she remarked
as if to explain their unwillingness. Then
as one of them stumbled and caught at her skirts
she added impatiently, "I reckon it's likely to be
your last. He don't care anything for the likes of
<i>us</i>."</p>
<p>It was said so bitterly, that as Norman trudged
on in the opposite direction with his sister, he exclaimed
in a regretful tone, "It's too bad that we
didn't find out about them sooner, in time to fix<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>
something for them. It sort of spoils my own
Christmas to think of those kids going without."</p>
<p>"They are not going without," replied Mary
promptly, who had been thinking rapidly as she
walked. "We've got to get something ready for
them before they shut their eyes to-night."</p>
<p>"Huh, I'd like to know how you'll do it this
late," Norman answered.</p>
<p>She laughed in reply, saying teasingly, "Who
was it said that 'A little Ingenuity added to almost
any material that comes to hand will make a tasty
pie?' Well, it will make a tasty tree too. If you'll
help I'll have one ready in an hour."</p>
<p>His skeptical "I don't believe it! Why, you
<i>can't!</i>" was all she needed to start her to working
out her resolution with the force of a young whirlwind.
She could plan with lightning-like rapidity
when any need arose.</p>
<p>"I said if you'd all help," she reminded him.</p>
<p>As soon as he had expressed a hearty willingness
to do anything he could to carry "Sandy Claws"
to the camp-yard, she began.</p>
<p>"The minute we get home, you hack off one of
the bottom branches of that cedar tree outside the
gate; a good bushy one about three feet high. Put
it into the box that Joyce's presents came in, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span>
nail it in place with cleats made from the lid. Better
weight it with some stones in the bottom, and
we can tack green crêpe paper all over the base.
We've nothing but ordinary white candles, but we
can cut them in two, and wire them on with hairpins,
and cover the pins with tinfoil out of my
scrap-box that you make so much fun of. That
will be <i>your</i> part.</p>
<p>"There's some corn already popped, waiting till
I get back, to be made into balls. I'll get mamma
to string it instead, and Jack to make a lot of little
gilt cornucopias out of some stuff I've saved. I'm
sure he'll donate the candy cane Joyce sent as a
joke, although he is so fond of old-fashioned striped
peppermint sticks. We'll break it up into short
pieces and hang that on. And we can tie up a few
dates and nuts into tiny packages. There are fancy
papers and ribbons galore in that aforesaid scrap-box.
I'll think of more after we get started. Come
on, let's race the rest of the way. The one who gets
there first can tell the others."</p>
<p>Norman reached the front door several yards
ahead of Mary, but he did not claim his privilege.
He merely rushed into the kitchen for a hatchet,
calling as he dashed out again, "Sixty minutes to
make a Christmas tree in! Everybody get to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>
work." Mary did not stop to take off her hat.
Throwing off her coat, she began talking "on the
bounce" as Jack said, for she hurried from one
room to the other, explaining at the top of her voice,
while she gathered up pop-corn, scrap-box, paste-tube
and scissors. Her enthusiasm was so contagious,
her description of the camp-yard pilgrims so
appealing, that by the time she had finished her
breathless account of them Jack had begun cutting
squares of gilt paper and Mrs. Ware was
stringing corn as if they were working to win a
wager.</p>
<p>The race against time was the most exciting
experience they had had in Bauer. They watched
the clock with many laughing exclamations, but
were working too fast to talk much. In twenty
minutes Norman brought in a shapely little tree
firmly fastened on a green base. In thirty minutes
more the candles were wired in place; a few skilful
twists had turned part of the tinfoil into silvery
ornaments to hang beneath, while the rest had gone
to the making of a great star to blaze on the top-most
bough. White strings of pop-corn were festooned
around it like garlands of snow. Every
branch was bright with gilt and silver and blue
and red packages, holding only a nut or a sweetmeat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>
it is true, but adding much to the gay attire
of the tree.</p>
<p>A little pocket-mirror flashed from one bough, a
fancy sample bottle of perfume hung from another.
A miniature cake of scented soap and many fluttering
picture cards bore witness to the resources of
the scrap-box. Then exclaiming over a sudden
happy thought Mary darted into the bedroom and
took down Lady Agatha. Three snips of the scissors
robbed her of the needle book hidden under
her fluffy scarlet skirts and of the emery bag and
thimble case tied to her sash ends, and left her no
longer useful; only so ornamental that any little
girl would have been glad to take her to her arms
and affection.</p>
<p>"I know Mrs. Boyd wouldn't mind my passing
it on to those children," Mary said as she tied it
to one of the highest branches, "if she knew that
it makes me happy as well as them."</p>
<p>"But," asked Norman, "what if Goldilocks and
her sister both want to play with it at the same
time? What will the left-out one do?"</p>
<p>Mary thought an instant and then flew to the
tray of her trunk to snatch out a woolly toy lamb,
that had fallen to her lot from the mock Christmas
tree at Warwick Hall.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p>
<p>"I brought it down to Texas with me because
Dorene said that 'everywhere that Mary went the
lamb was sure to go.' I expected to keep it always
as a reminder of that lovely evening, but—" with
a half stifled sigh, "it will do them more good than
me."</p>
<p>When that was in place she gave one last glance
around the room to see what else she could appropriate.
Her eyes fell on the holly wreaths.</p>
<p>"Those red bows will make lovely hair-ribbons,"
she cried. "We can spare two of them. Hurry,
mamma, and help me untie them! The needle-book
may as well go <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'to'">too</ins>. Pin it on, Norman, and stick
a date in the thimble bag and swing it up, Jack."</p>
<p>In the meantime Norman had been lighting the
candles in order that they might see how it looked
when it was all ashine, and it stood now, a very
creditable and a very bright little tree. There were
none of the spun-glass birds and crystal icicles and
artificial fruits that had made little Patricia's tree
such a gorgeous affair the year before, and were
probably making it beautiful to-night, but there was
sparkle and color and glow and charm of beribboned
packages, enough to make little eyes who saw
such a sight for the first time believe that it was
the work of magic hands.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p>
<p>"Done!" cried Mary triumphantly, "and in
only fifty-eight minutes!"</p>
<p>"Well, I didn't believe it would be possible," acknowledged
Norman. "I'll bet it's the only tree
in Texas trimmed in such short order."</p>
<p>When he and Mary reached the camp-yard again,
they found the family sitting around the smouldering
fire, listening to the phonograph which was still
playing in the cottage down the road. The quilts
were spread out in the wagon, ready for the night,
but the children, who had slept most of the afternoon
on their tiresome journey, could not be induced to
climb in while the music lasted.</p>
<p>The two bearers of Yule-tide cheer set the tree
down and reconnoitered through cracks in the
fence. "The man looks awfully down in the
mouth," whispered Norman. "So does she. Shall
we tell them 'Sandy Claws' sent it?"</p>
<p>"No," Mary whispered back. "They look so
forlorn and friendless, and the woman seemed to
feel so left out of everything, that it might do them
good to tell them we brought it because the angels
sang peace on earth, good-will to men, and that
it's a sort of sign that they're <i>not</i> left out. They're
to have a part in it too."</p>
<p>Norman turned his eye from the knot-hole to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>
gape at her. "Well!" was his whispered ejaculation.
"If you want all <i>that</i> said you'll have to say
it yourself. I'm no preacher."</p>
<p>"Come on then," said Mary boldly. She knew
what she wanted to convey to them but the words
stuck in her throat, and she never could remember
afterwards exactly what she blurted out as they
put the tree down in front of the astonished family
and then turned and ran. However, her words
must have carried some of the good cheer she intended,
for when she and Norman paused again
outside, she at the knot-hole this time and he at the
crack, it gave them each a queer little flutter inside
to see the expression on the pleased faces and hear
their exclamations of wonder.</p>
<p>"They couldn't be more surprised if it had
dropped right down out of the sky," whispered Norman.
"Now the kids are getting over their daze
a bit. They're hopping around just like they saw
the Kramer boys do."</p>
<p>"See, they've found Lady Agatha," answered
Mary. "Just <i>look</i> at Goldilocks now! Did you
ever see such an ecstatic little face. I wouldn't
have missed it for anything. Now they've got the
lamb. I'm so glad I thought of it, for the Kramers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>
had a whole bunch of little white sheep around the
base of their tree."</p>
<p>They were both very quiet when they finally
turned away from the fence and started home.
They did not speak till they reached the white moonlighted
road, stretching past the cotton field. Then
Mary looked up at the stars saying reverently,
"Somehow I feel as if we'd been taking part in
the <i>first</i> Christmas. It was a sort of camp-yard that
the Star of Bethlehem led to. Don't you remember,
'there was no room in the inn' for the Child and
His mother? It was a manger the gold and frankincense
and myrrh were carried to. I feel as if we'd
been following along—a little way at least—on
the trail of the Wise Men."</p>
<p>"Me too," confessed Norman. Then nothing
more was said for a long time. Mary could find
no words for the next thoughts which puzzled her.
She was picturing all the Christmas trees of the
world brought together in one place, and trying to
imagine the enormous forest they would make.
Then she fell to wondering what it was about them
that should make "the eye laugh and the heart
laugh, and bring a blessing to the silver hair as
well as brown" as the old couple had sung in the
garden. All over the world it was so.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p>
<p>Since looking into the windows at other peoples'
trees, and then causing one to bloom and bear fruit
herself for the homeless campers, she felt that she
had joined hands with that circle which reaches
around the world. She was no longer an alien and
stranger among the people of Bauer. The
"Weinachtsbaum" had given her a happy bond of
understanding and kinship. It had taken the hard,
hopeless look out of the older faces around the
camp-fire, for awhile at least, and made the little
ones radiant. And at home—she remembered
gratefully how Jack had burst out whistling several
times while he helped to trim it. And the tune that
came in such lusty, rollicking outbursts was one
which he never whistled except when he was in high
good humor with himself and all the universe. She
was sure that he wasn't acting then—he couldn't
have been just pretending that he was glad, for it
sounded as it always used to do back at the Wigwam.
She wondered why the tree had had that
effect.</p>
<p>And then, like an answer, a verse popped into
her thoughts; one that she had spelled out long
ago for Grandmother Ware, letter by letter, one
little finger pointing to each in turn. It was a verse
from Revelation, about the tree that stands on either<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>
side of the river, clear as crystal, "<i>which bare
twelve manner of fruit, and the leaves were for the
healing of the nations</i>."</p>
<p>Then all of a sudden she understood why those
shining boughs with their strange fruitage of gifts
have power to bring hope and good cheer to lonely
hearts the world over. They are the symbols, which
the Spirit of Christmas sets ashine, of that Tree
of Life. And the Spirit of Christmas is only another
name for Love, and it is Love alone, the
human and divine together, which can bring about
the healing needed by hearts in every nation.</p>
<p>All this did not come to Mary in words. She
could not have expressed it to any one else, but it
sent her on her way, deeply, quietly glad.</p>
<p>Next morning while she was stooping before the
oven, basting the turkey which the Barnabys had
sent with their greetings, Jack called her to the
front window where he was sitting.</p>
<p>A covered wagon was creaking slowly by, drawn
by a big horse and a little burro. The cover was
looped up, and in the back end, carefully tied to the
tail-gate, stood the tree which had taken them fifty-eight
minutes to prepare, but whose memory would
not be effaced in that many years from the minds
of the two children, seated on the quilts beside it.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span></p>
<p>"I'm so glad you got to see them," said Mary.
"Aren't they dear? And oh, look! Goldilocks is
still holding Lady Agatha, and the other one's hugging
the woolly lamb!"</p>
<p>When the wagon was entirely out of sight Mary
started back to her turkey basting, but stopped a
moment to take another look at the gifts spread
out on the side table. Several things had been
added to them that morning; a dissected puzzle
picture which Norman had made for her, a spool
case that Jack had whittled out, and a strip of exquisitely
embroidered rosebuds that Mrs. Ware had
wrought to be put into a white dress. There was
also a pot of white hyacinths from the rectory, and
Mary held her face down against the cool snow of
their blossoms, taking in their sweetness in long
breaths.</p>
<p>"It's been a pretty full Christmas, hasn't it!"
exclaimed Jack as he watched her.</p>
<p>"It's really been one of the nicest I ever had,"
she answered, "for one reason because it's lasted
so long. Norman's plan is a success."</p>
<p>That night after supper Norman insisted on
taking his mother down into the village to look at
the lighted windows. After they had gone Mary
took out her Good Times book to record the happenings<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>
of the day. She had a few more notes of
acknowledgment to write also, and was glad that
Jack was busy with his own writing. She noticed
that he was using India ink and a crow-quill pen,
but thought nothing of that as he was always experimenting
with them.</p>
<p>Joyce was not the only one of the children who
had inherited artistic ability. Jack never attempted
pictures, but he did beautiful lettering; odd initials
and old English script, and had copied verses for
calendars and fly-leaf inscriptions. Joyce said
some of his pen-and-ink work was as beautifully
done as the letters she had seen in old missals, made
by the monks.</p>
<p>Nearly an hour went by. Mary addressed her
last envelope. He laid down his pen and pushed
a narrow strip of cardboard towards her.</p>
<p>"I've made you one more present to end the
day with, Mary," he said jokingly. "It's a bookmark."</p>
<p>Inside a narrow border of conventional scrollwork
was one line, and the line was from the verse
which she had quoted so disastrously that day at
the creek-bank:</p>
<p>"Close all the roads of all the world, <i>Love's</i> road
is open still!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p>
<p>As she looked up to speak he interrupted her
hurriedly:</p>
<p>"Yes, I know how miserable I made you that
day with my outburst against fate, and I've felt
that you've never believed me since when I laughed
and joked and said that I enjoyed things. But
that was only one time that I gave way, just once
that I got down in the dumps and I don't want you
to think that is my usual state of feelings. Really
I'm getting more out of life than you imagine. I'm
putting up the best fight I can. I just wanted you
to know that although every other road in the world
is closed against me I can still scrape along pretty
comfortably because that last line is true. Love's
road is open still. You all have made it a good
wide one for me, and made it worth while for me
to travel it with you cheerfully to the end. I'm
perfectly willing to, <i>now</i>."</p>
<p>"Oh, Jack!" cried Mary in a voice that trembled
with both joy and tears. "I've had a happy Christmas,
but knowing you feel that way is the very best
part of all!"</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2>
<div class='chaptertitle'>"DIE KLEINEN TEUFEL"</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Christmas</span> was followed by a week of small
calamities. Some of them would have been laughable,
counted singly, but taken all together they
assumed a seriousness not to be considered lightly.</p>
<p>In the first place, Mary, attempting to tie the
boat at the usual landing, slipped on the muddy
bank and dropped the chain. In her effort to recover
it she stepped into the water. Her shoes
were soaking wet when she reached home, and as
they were her only good ones she stuffed them carefully
with paper and hung them over the little drum
stove in the living room to dry. That evening Jack
read aloud while they washed the dishes, so they
were all in the kitchen when the smouldering log
in the drum stove, having reached the blazing point,
suddenly burst into flame.</p>
<p>Presently a smell of burning leather made them
all begin to sniff inquiringly, and Mary rushed in
to find that one of her shoes had dropped from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>
string to which she had tied it by the laces, and
was scorching to a crisp on the red-hot stove. Her
old shoes were so shabby that the immediate need
of new ones, left her figuring over the family accounts
until bed-time. It was hard to cut down a
list of expenses already reduced to low water
mark.</p>
<p>The next day a wet "Norther" blew up, bringing
the first cold weather of the winter. After
weeks of almost summer-like heat, the mercury
dropped to freezing point in just a few hours, and
roaring fires in both the kitchen and drum stoves
failed to warm the little cottage. Like most houses
in that section it had not been built with a view
to excluding the cold. The wind blew in under the
north door, lifting the rugs until they shifted with
a wave-like motion across the floor. Jack had to
have a blanket hung behind his chair, and when Mrs.
Ware sat down to write her weekly letter to Joyce
the draughts that rattled the windows set her to
sneezing as if she never could stop.</p>
<p>Mary, full of resources, brought her pink sunbonnet
and perched it on her mother's head, pulling
its ruffled cape well down on her shoulders.</p>
<p>"There!" she exclaimed, laughing at the jaunty
effect. "That will keep 'the cauld blasts' from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>
giving you a stiff neck. Do look in the mirror and
then draw a picture of yourself for Joyce. Tell her
that the Sunny South is a delusion. The mercury
is only down to freezing, but I am sure that there
isn't an Esquimau in all the Arctic Circle as cold as
we are this blessed minute. That wind goes through
a body like a fine-pointed needle."</p>
<p>"These little stoves fairly eat up the wood," she
grumbled a few minutes later, glancing into the
empty wood-box which Norman had piled to the
top before he left that morning.</p>
<p>"Norman will be back soon," said Mrs. Ware,
looking out from her aureole of pink ruffles, which
she had found such a comfortable shield from the
draughts that she left it as Mary had placed it.
"He'll fill the box again as soon as he comes."</p>
<p>But Mary had slipped into a coat and was tying
a veil over her ears. "It isn't safe to wait," she
answered. "We'd be stiff and stark as icicles in
no time if we were to let the fires go out. I don't
mind being stoker. It's good exercise."</p>
<p>She skipped out to the wood-pile gaily enough,
but the tune she was whistling changed to a long-drawn
note of surprise and dismay when she saw
what inroads they had made on it since the last
time she had noticed it.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p>
<p>"We'll have to have another cord right away,"
she thought. "I never dreamed that fuel would
be such a big item of expense, away down here so
far South. But if we have much more weather
like this it will be a very serious item."</p>
<p>The discovery sent her back to her account book
again, but this time she took it to her own room
where Jack could not see her figuring. The butcher
raised the price of meat that week. Both butter
and eggs went higher, and Jack's rubber air-cushion
sprung such a leak that it collapsed hopelessly. A
new one was a necessity. Then the cold Norther
made Jack's rheumatism so much worse that he
had to stay in bed, and several visits from the doctor
and a druggist's bill had to be added to the list
of the week's calamities.</p>
<p>The last straw was reached when Joyce's letter
came, deploring the fact that the check which she
was enclosing was only half the size which she
usually sent. She had some unexpected expenses
at the studio which she was obliged to meet, but
she hoped to send the customary amount next
month. This information was not in the letter
which Mrs. Ware promptly sent in to Jack by
Norman, but in a separate postscript, folded inside
the check. Mary read it with startled eyes.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p>
<p>"Whatever are we going to do?" she asked in
a despairing whisper.</p>
<p>Mrs. Ware shook her head and sat folding and
unfolding the check in an absent-minded way for
several minutes. Then she went into her room for
pen and ink to endorse it, so that Mary, who was
going down into the town that afternoon, could
cash it. She was gone a long time and when she
came back she had two letters ready to post.</p>
<p>As Mary went down the road a while later, she
glanced at the first envelope which was addressed
to Joyce, admiring as she always did her mother's
penmanship.</p>
<p>"It's just like her," she thought, "so fine and
even and ladylike." Then she gave an exclamation
of surprise as she saw that the second envelope was
addressed to Mrs. Barnaby.</p>
<p>"Whatever can she be writing to <i>her</i> about?"
she wondered. "It's queer she never said anything
about it, when we always talk over everything together,
even the tiniest trifles."</p>
<p>She puzzled over it nearly all the way to the post-office
till she remembered that she had heard her
mother say that she was not altogether satisfied
with the new doctor's treatment for Jack, and that
she wanted to ask Mrs. Barnaby whom to call in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>
consultation. Satisfied with that solution, Mary
thought no more about the matter till the following
Friday, when she came back from a short call at
the rectory, to find that Mrs. Barnaby had just
driven away from the house. She was disappointed,
for these visits were always hailed as joyful
events by the entire household.</p>
<p>"I wouldn't have missed her for <i>anything!</i>" exclaimed
Mary, following her mother into their bedroom.
"She's so diverting. What particularly
funny things did she say this time? <i>What's that?</i>"</p>
<p>Her glance and question indicated a bundle that
her mother had brought in from the back doorstep
and laid on the bed. Mrs. Ware shook her
head meaningly, and closed the door into Jack's
room before she answered. Then she said in a low
tone:</p>
<p>"It's some linen and lace that Mrs. Barnaby
brought this afternoon. I wrote to her asking her
if she had any fine hand-sewing that I could do.
Sh!" she whispered, lifting a warning finger, as
Mary's cry of "Why, Mamma Ware!" interrupted
her.</p>
<p>"Jack will hear you, and he is not to know.
That's why I had Pedro take the bundle to the back
door. Mrs. Barnaby understands. Something had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>
to be done, and under the circumstances sewing is
the only thing I can turn my hand to at home."</p>
<p>"But mamma!" exclaimed Mary, so distressed
that she was almost crying. "Your eyes are not
strong enough for that any more. You nearly wore
yourself out trying to support us when we were
little, and I'm very sure we're not going to allow
it now. Joyce would be terribly distressed, and as
for Jack—I know perfectly well that he'd just
rather lie down and die than have you do it. We'll
bundle that stuff right back to Mrs. Barnaby, and
I'll go down town and see if I can't get a position
in one of the stores."</p>
<p>Mrs. Ware's answer was in such a low voice that
it went no farther than the closed door, but it
silenced Mary's protests. Only a few times in her
remembrance had the gentle little woman used that
tone of authority with her children, but on those
rare occasions they recognized the force of her
determination and the uselessness of opposing it.
Mary turned away distressed and sore over the situation.
She said nothing more, but as she went
about her work she kept wiping away the tears, and
a fierce rebellion raged inwardly.</p>
<p>There would have been little said at the supper-table
that night if Norman had not come home in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>
a talkative mood. He was to start to the public
High School the following Monday, at the beginning
of the new term, and had recently made the
acquaintance of a boy lately come to Bauer, who
would enter with him.</p>
<p>"Ed Masters is his name," Norman reported,
raising his voice a trifle, so that Jack, who was
taking his supper at the same time from a bedside
table in the next room, might be included in the
conversation.</p>
<p>"I like him first rate, and it will make it lots
easier for me at school, not to be the only new boy.
The only trouble is, he doesn't know whether his
folks are going to stay in Bauer long enough to
make it worth while for him to start or not. They
came for the whole winter, but they say that they
can't stand it at the hotel many more days if something
isn't done to those Mallory kids. Ed says
they're regular little imps for mischief. They've
been here only two weeks, but they're known all
over Bauer as 'die kleinen teufel.'"</p>
<p>"Which being interpreted," laughed Jack from
the next room, "means the little devils. What have
they done to earn such a name?"</p>
<p>"It might be easier to tell what they haven't
done," answered Norman. "There's two of them,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span>
the boy seven and the girl eight, but they're exactly
the same size, and look so much alike everybody
takes them for twins. They put a puppy in the ice-cream
freezer yesterday morning, Ed says, and Miss
Edna, the landlady's daughter, almost had a spasm
when she went to make ice-cream for dinner and
found it in the can.</p>
<p>"Yesterday afternoon the delivery wagon
stopped at the side entrance of the hotel (it's the
Williams House where Ed is staying), and those
children waited until the boy had gone in with a
basket of groceries. Then they climbed up into the
delivery wagon and changed the things all around
in the other baskets so that the orders were hopelessly
mixed up, and nobody got what he had
bought. There was a ten gallon can of kerosene in
the wagon, the kind that has a pump attachment.
The boy stopped to talk a minute to Mrs. Williams,
and by the time he got back they had pumped all
the kerosene out into the road, and were making
regular gatling guns of themselves with a bushel
of potatoes. They were firing them out of the
basket as fast as they could throw, in a wild race
to see which would be first to grab the last potato.</p>
<p>"Ed says they ride up and down the hotel galleries
on their tricycles till it sounds like thunder,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>
when the other boarders are trying to take a nap,
or they'll chase up and down hooting and slashing
the air with switches. If people don't dodge and
scrooge back against the wall they'll get slashed
too.</p>
<p>"I suppose every merchant on Main Street has
some grievance against them, for they haven't the
slightest regard for other people's rights or property,
and they're not afraid of anything. The little
girl went into the livery stable the other day and
swung onto the tail of one of those big white 'bus
horses, and pulled a handful of hairs out of it. It's
a favorite trick of theirs to climb into any automobile
left at the curbstone, and honk the horn till the
owner comes out. Then they calmly sit still and
demand a ride."</p>
<p>"They must be the children that Doctor Mackay
was telling me about," spoke up Jack. "He came
in here one day, furious with them. He had caught
them smearing soap over the glass wind shield of
his new machine. They had climbed all over the
cushions with their muddy feet, and tinkered with
the clock till it couldn't run. He threatened to tell
their father, and all they did was to put their
thumbs to their noses and say: 'Yah! Tattle-tale!
You <i>can't</i> tell! He's a thousand miles away!'"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p>
<p>"Isn't any one responsible for them?" asked
Mrs. Ware.</p>
<p>"Yes," said Norman, "there is a colored girl at
their heels whenever they don't give her the slip.
But their mother is ill—came here for her health,
Ed says, and their grandmother who tries to look
after them is so deaf that she can't hear their noise
and their saucy speeches. They're so quick that
she never sees them making faces and sticking their
tongues out at people. They do it behind her back.
She thinks they are little angels, but she'll find out
when they're asked to leave the Hotel. Ed says
it's coming to that very soon—either the Mallorys
will have to go, or everybody else will.
They got into his box of fishing tackle, and you
never saw such a mess as they made. He is
furious."</p>
<p>With her mind intent on her own troubles, Mary
did not listen to the recital of other people's with
her usual interest, although what she heard that
night was recalled very clearly afterward. All evening
she brooded over her grievance, trying to discover
some remedy. She could not take the sewing
away from her mother and do it herself, for while
fairly skilful with her needle, she had not learned
to make a fine art of her handiwork. The garments<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>
Mrs. Ware made were as beautifully wrought as
those fashioned and embroidered by the French
nuns.</p>
<p>"I <i>know</i> Mrs. Barnaby never would order anything
so fine and expensive," thought Mary bitterly,
"if she didn't know that we need the money
so badly. She did it because mamma asked her,
and felt that she couldn't refuse. That is a sort
of charity that kills me to accept, and I sha'n't do
it one minute longer than I have to."</p>
<p>It was easier to make such a resolution, however,
than to carry it out. A short call on Mrs. Metz next
morning, showed her that her first plan was not
feasible. The old woman being related to nearly
half of Bauer by birth or marriage, and knowing
the other half with the intimacy of an "oldest inhabitant,"
was in a position to know each merchant's
needs and requirements, also what wages he paid
each employee. Most of them had no occasion to
hire outside help. Their own families furnished
enough. It was a necessary requirement of course,
that any one applying for a position must speak
German. That one thing alone barred Mary out,
and she went home anxious and disheartened. Still,
even if she could have spoken a dozen tongues, the
position she had coveted did not seem so desirable,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>
after she learned the small amount the clerks received.</p>
<p>All that day and the next she worried over the
matter, and finally decided to go to Mrs. Rochester
and ask her advice. On the way up to the rectory
she stopped at the post-office. The mail was being
distributed, and while she stood waiting for the
delivery window to open, the rector himself came
in. As he turned away from his locked box, in
which only papers had been deposited so far, he
saw Mary and went over to her with a cordial
greeting.</p>
<p>"I'm looking for something," he said with a
twinkle of fun in his eyes. "Maybe you can help
me. It is as hard to find as the proverbial needle
in the haystack, but I must have it before sundown
if possible. Some one as patient as Job, as tactful
as a diplomat, with the nerve of a lion-tamer and
the resources of a sleight-of-hand performer—the
kind who can draw rabbits out of a silk hat if necessary."</p>
<p>Mary laughed. "What are you going to do with
such a wonderful creature when you find it?"</p>
<p>"Turn it loose on those Mallory children,"
answered Mr. Rochester, lowering his tone. "I was
sent for yesterday, presumably to see their mother<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span>
who is an invalid, but I found that the real reason
was to give some advice to Mr. Mallory about the
children. The hotel refused to harbor them any
longer, and he had been summoned hastily by telegraph.
He has moved his family to a furnished
cottage near the hotel. Their meals will be sent in
to them, and his mother can look after his wife, but
he is desperate about the children.</p>
<p>"He acknowledges he could not cope with them
even if he could stay here all the time away from his
business. His wife has never allowed them to be
punished, and has foolishly humored them till they
are past being controlled. He besought me to find
some one who could take them in hand for a part
of the day at least."</p>
<p>"But what could an outsider do with them if
their own family has failed?" queried Mary.</p>
<p>"Ah, that's where the lion-tamer and the sleight-of-hand
performer combination gets in his work.
He must quell them with his eye, and draw ways
and means out of his silk hat. Mrs. Mallory would
like to have them taught to read and write if it can
be done without crossing the little dears, but I
inferred that their father would be glad simply to
have them taken in hand and tamed sufficiently to
keep them from being public nuisances."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p>
<p>Mary's pulses began to pound with the excitement
of a daring thought, but she managed to
appear unconcerned, and asked him in a joking
way, "And if you can't find this Job-like, diplomatic
lion-tamer they want, they'll have to take
some ordinary person?"</p>
<p>"They'll be obliged to. But I'm afraid that a
quest even in that direction will prove fruitless. It's
a field for real missionary effort, though. Some
one might be willing to approach it in that
spirit."</p>
<p>The delivery window flew up, and as the waiting
line began moving along towards it, Mr. Rochester
lifted his hat and turned away. But before he
could fit his key in the lock of his box, Mary was
at his side.</p>
<p>"One moment, please," she exclaimed, her face
flushing. She spoke very fast. "If you think that
<i>I</i> can fill that position will you tell them about me?
I've really got lots of patience with children, and"—laughing
nervously—"last summer I partly tamed
a young wild-cat. I could at least tell the children
stories, and teach them all sorts of wood-lore that
would keep them busy and interested out of doors.
Besides," she flushed still deeper, "I <i>must</i> find some
way to earn some money soon. My very need of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>
it would make me try all the harder to fill the place.
I am on my way now to see Mrs. Rochester and ask
her advice about what to do."</p>
<p>A few minutes later she and Mr. Rochester were
walking rapidly along the road in the direction
of the Williams House. As they crossed the wide
foot-bridge which spans the creek, and climbed the
hill on the other side, she told him of the work she
had done the previous summer under the noted
naturalist, Professor Carnes.</p>
<p>"He had arranged to send his fifteen-year-old
niece to Lone Rock this winter," she added, "but
her physicians decided at the last moment that she
needed a milder climate. She was to have boarded
near us, and I had promised to devote my mornings
to keeping her out of doors and teaching her in an
indirect way that would not suggest books or study
hours. Maybe the fact that such a man as Professor
Carnes thought me competent to do that, and was
willing to pay me a grown teacher's salary, might
have some weight with the Mallorys. Oh, I <i>hope</i>
they won't think seventeen and a half is too young,"
she exclaimed, with an anxious glance at her companion,
as if to discover his opinion.</p>
<p>"If I'd only known such an important interview
was ahead of me I'd have worn my blue suit. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span>
look lots older in that because it's longer than this
one."</p>
<p>"I don't think you need worry about that," the
rector answered. He spoke gravely, but the face
he turned away from her twitched with suppressed
amusement.</p>
<p>They passed the Williams House, and turned in
at the gate of a gray cottage, where Mr. Mallory
himself met them at the door. He was a prosperous
young broker with an affable manner and the self-confident
air that some people acquire from the
carrying of a fat bank-book. He ushered them into
the room where Mrs. Mallory was lying on a couch.
She was very young and blue-eyed and soft-haired.
Curled up among the cushions under a blue and
white afghan, she made Mary think of a kitten.
She seemed so helpless and incapable, as if she had
never known anything but cushions and cream,
all her life.</p>
<p>Two children were playing quietly under a table,
in the corner. Mary could not see what they were
doing, for they were lying on their stomachs with
their heads towards the wall. Only their little
black-stockinged legs and slippered feet protruded
from under the table, and they were waving back
and forth in mid-air above their backs.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p>
<p>When Mr. Rochester introduced Mary as the
young lady they were so desirous of finding, one
pair of small legs stopped waving, and their owner
backed hastily out into the room. Humping along
on all fours until she reached her mother's couch,
she sat on the floor beside it and began studying
the visitors with a quiet intense gaze. She was an
attractive child, with rather a wistful little face.
Her hair was cut short in Buster Brown fashion,
and she was remarkably strong and sturdy looking
for a girl. Otherwise there was nothing in her
appearance to justify one's belief that she had done
all the tom-boy things ascribed to her.</p>
<p>To Mary's surprise Mrs. Mallory discussed the
children as freely as if they were not present, repeating
their pranks and smart sayings as if they
were too young to understand what was being said,
and frankly admitting her inability to control them.</p>
<p>"Mr. Mallory and I agree on every subject but
the proper way to rear children, and we almost
come to blows over that," she said, smiling up at
him till the dimples in her cheeks made her seem
more childish and appealing than ever.</p>
<p>"I believe in letting children do exactly as they
please as far as possible. The time will come soon
enough when they can't, poor little dears. We have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>
not imposed our wishes on them even in the matter
of names. It has been a life-long regret with me
that my mother burdened me with a name that I
despised, and I made up my mind that <i>my</i> children
should be allowed to choose their own. Little
brother, there, has chosen his father's name, Herbert.
But we're slow about adopting it. We've
called him Brud so long, his sister's baby name
for him, when she was learning to talk, that it is
hard to break the habit."</p>
<p>"And the little girl?" asked Mary politely, beginning
to feel that she had hastened to shoulder a
load which she might not be able to carry.</p>
<p>"Really it's too cunning the way Little Sister
does," exclaimed Mrs. Mallory. "One week she
announces she's Genevive and the next <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'that's'">that</ins> she's
Bessie or Maud or Irma—whatever happens to
strike her fancy, and she gets simply furious if we
don't remember every time she changes. That was
one thing that Miss Edna fell out with us about.
She kept calling her Bessie the week that she wished
to be known as Marion. Of course the child naturally
resented it, and Miss Edna actually caught her
and shook her, when she hadn't done a thing but
throw a biscuit or some little article like that in her
direction."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span></p>
<p>Mary cast a half-frightened glance at Mr. Rochester,
aghast at the prospect before her. The soft
voice went on.</p>
<p>"<i>We</i> don't believe in being harsh with children,
<i>do</i> we, Beautiful?" She reached down to stroke the
little head nestled against her couch. "I want my
children to have it to remember of their mother
that she never scolded or punished them. <i>You</i>
can say that. <i>Can't</i> you, pet?"</p>
<p>Pet only nodded in reply, but she caught the
slim white hand in both her own and pressed it
lovingly against her cheek. It made a pretty tableau,
and Mary found it hard to realize that this
affectionate little creature was one of the "kleinen
teufel" of Norman's report. But she noticed the
satisfied gleam in the child's eyes when her mother
went on to retail other instances of Miss Edna's
harshness.</p>
<p>Mr. Rochester saw the expression also, and the
shrewd, knowing glance that followed when he
finally broached the terms of a settlement, asking
them to specify exactly what would be expected
of Mary and what salary would be paid in return.
He mildly suggested that it might be wiser to dispense
with a juvenile audience at this point.</p>
<p>He had chosen words that he thought far beyond<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>
Little Sister's comprehension, and there was something
startling as well as uncanny in the way she
spoke up for the first time since his entrance.</p>
<p>"<i>I aren't a-going to leave this room! Nobody
can make me!</i>"</p>
<p>Mrs. Mallory looked up at her husband with an
amused simper and shook her head as if to say,
"Now, isn't that the smartest thing you <i>ever</i> saw?"
and Mr. Rochester's suggestion was ignored.</p>
<p>When they rose to go it had been arranged that
Mary was to take the children in charge every
afternoon, except Sundays, from one o'clock till
five, at the same salary Professor Carnes had offered
her. She was to teach them anything she could
in any way she chose, provided her methods did
not conflict with their happiness. The chief thing
was that they should be kept interested and amused.</p>
<p>"Then to-morrow at one," said Mr. Mallory, rising
with them, "they will take their first lesson.
Come out from under that table, Brud, and get acquainted
with your new teacher."</p>
<p>Brud waved one leg in token that he heard, but
made no further response. Suddenly Sister found
her voice again.</p>
<p>"<i>What you going to teach us first? 'Cause if
we don't like it we won't go.</i>"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p>
<p>Taken thus suddenly, without having had a moment
in which to form any plan of action, Mary
groped wildly around in her mind for an answer.
She recognized this as a crucial moment. She could
not hesitate long, for Mrs. Mallory's appealing blue
eyes were fixed on her also, the while she patted the
child's cheek and purred, "Why, of <i>course</i> little
Sister will go when the nice lady is planning to give
her such a happy time."</p>
<p>"Happy time adoing <i>what</i>?" was the persistent
question.</p>
<p>Just then, Meliss, the colored nurse-girl, opened
the side door, and there floated in from the hotel
kitchen the appetizing smell of pies—hot mince
pies just being lifted from the oven. Mary caught
eagerly at the straw of suggestion which the odor
offered. At the same time some instinct prompted
her that it was foolishness to address this child of
eight as if she were an infant, or to talk down to
her as her family made a practise of doing. So
speaking directly to her as if she were addressing
an intelligent and reasonable being she said
gravely:</p>
<p>"The kind of school we are going to have is so
different from any you've ever heard of, that I can't
explain it beforehand. I can only tell you this,—it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>
is somewhat like a Jack Horner pie. Each day you'll
put in your thumb and pull out a plum. But what
that particular plum will be depends on so many
things that I could not possibly give it a name
before it actually happens. It will be a surprise
school."</p>
<p>At the mention of pies the legs under the table
hastily came down out of the air, and the small
boy attached hastily backed out into general view.
Planting himself in front of Mary with a swaggering
air, his feet wide apart, he announced aggressively:</p>
<p>"I'll bring my new hatchet if I want to, and
nobody can make me leave it at home!"</p>
<p>There was something so impertinent in his
manner that Mary longed to shake him and say,
"Don't be so sure of that, Mr. Smarty!" But remembering
the dignified position she now had to
maintain, she only remarked in a matter of fact
tone:</p>
<p>"If your hatchet has a good sharp edge it will
probably be one of the first things you'll need. And
you'll find use for a pocket full of medium sized
nails, too."</p>
<p>"What for?" he demanded, drawing a little
closer to begin a thorough cross examination. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>
Mary, who had turned to listen to a question of
Mr. Mallory's, paid no heed.</p>
<p>"I say," Brud repeated, calling as if she were
deaf. "What for? <i>What for?</i> WHAT FOR?"</p>
<p>Mary paid not the slightest attention until she
had answered his father, then said deliberately,
"I've already explained that in a surprise school
you can't know what is going to happen till the
time comes."</p>
<p>"Why?" he whined.</p>
<p>"Because," she said, pausing impressively, and
then lowering her voice as if she were imparting
a mysterious secret, "<i>it's the Law of the
Jungle</i>."</p>
<p>The unexpectedness of this mystifying answer
and the sepulchral voice in which she gave it, was
so different from anything Brud had ever encountered
before, that it took him some seconds to recover, and
she was gone before he could think of
another question.</p>
<p>Mr. Mallory walked to the gate with them.
"You've certainly started out well, Miss Ware,"
he remarked admiringly. "At first I thought we
might have some difficulty in getting their consent
to go, but they'll be on hand to-morrow all right.
You've aroused their curiosity to such a pitch that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>
a regiment armed to the teeth couldn't keep them
from satisfying it now." After an instant's pause
he added a trifle awkwardly, seeming to feel some
explanation was due, "Their mother never sees
a fault in them, and my business keeps me away
from them so much that—well, you see yourself
how it is."</p>
<p>On the way home neither Mary nor Mr. Rochester
spoke till they were halfway down the hill.
Then they looked at each other and laughed.</p>
<p>"I hope I haven't got you into <i>too</i> deep water,
Miss Mary," he said. "It's a big undertaking. I
must confess to a curiosity as great as Brud's.
What <i>are</i> you going to do with them?"</p>
<p>"Oh, I don't know!" exclaimed Mary desperately.
"Did you see me fencing for time when
Little Sister demanded to be told what I'd teach
them first? Things had happened so fast that I
hadn't had a moment to think, so I had to say the
first thing that came into my head. I tremble to
think what a long pause there might have been if
the smell of those pies had not suggested an answer.
I think the first week I'll just play with them as
hard as I can. Play Indian maybe, so that if they
get too obstreperous it will be part of the game to
tie them to a tree and torture them. But after all I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>
can't help being sorry for the little things after
hearing their mother talk to them and about
them."</p>
<p>At the end of the foot-bridge where she turned
to take the lower road which was the short cut
home, she started to thank him, but he stopped her
earnest words with an uplifted hand and an amused
protest.</p>
<p>"Wait and see how it turns out before you thank
me. You may want to wreak dire vengeance on
me before the week's over, for getting you into such
a predicament."</p>
<p>With a cordial word of parting Mary hurried
down the road, and burst into the house with the
breathless announcement that she'd consented to go
as a missionary; that Mr. Rochester had persuaded
her to take the step. She waited a moment to
give them a chance to guess what special field it
was she was about to enter, but was so eager to tell
that she had to burst out with the answer herself:</p>
<p>"It's to the heathen at home I am going, I'm to
be an apostle to 'die kleinen teufel'!"</p>
<p>Jack gave a loud whistle of surprise and then
burst out laughing, but Mrs. Ware looked across
at him soberly, with a triumphant nod of the head.</p>
<p>"There! What did I tell you?" she asked.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>
"Didn't I say that she'd soon adjust herself—find
something to amuse herself and all the rest of us
as well?"</p>
<p>Mary, who had been wondering all the way home
how her news would be received, had never imagined
this—that her venture would be looked upon merely
as an outlet for her surplus energy, but after one
gasp of surprise she was glad that her mother had
put it that way.</p>
<p>"She did it on purpose," Mary thought. "So
that Jack need not have added to his other ills the
tormenting thought that he had driven his little
sister to a disagreeable task, in order that she might
help support him."</p>
<p>An understanding glance from her mother, full
of approval and tender appreciation, flashed on her
as she drew her chair up to the stove, but all she
said was, "I'm sure you had an amusing interview."
Then Mary proceeded to recount it, giving a graphic
and laughable description of her half hour in the
gray cottage. But all the time she was talking and
mimicking she was looking forward to the moment
when she could escape to a corner of the kitchen,
and calculate with pencil and paper what she could
never do in her head, the height of prosperity to
which this tidal wave of a salary would lift them.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2>
<div class='chaptertitle'>AT THE BARNABY RANCH</div>
<div class="figright" style="width: 302px;">
<img src="images/i005.jpg" width="302" height="500" alt="Three alert and expectant little figures
sat in a row on the step" />
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Three</span> alert and expectant little figures sat in
a row on the steps of the gray cottage, and watched
for Mary's coming the next afternoon. Brud, sawing
his hatchet blade up and down on the edge of
the step below him, made deep notches in the paint
while he waited. Little Sister, fuming with impatience,
sat with one arm around the young hunting
dog which squatted beside her, and made dire
threats as to her conduct, in case the new teacher
should refuse to let him go with them.</p>
<p>He was a brown English pointer, with a white
vest, and the silver plate on his collar bore the
name by which he was registered among the aristocracy
of dogs. The name was "Uncle August."
Strangers always laughed when they read that on
his collar, but as Brud usually began to explain
about that time that he was a "peggydreed" dog,
his sister thought that they were laughing at the
way he pronounced pedigreed. Therefore, she
would gravely correct him and add the information
that one of his great gram'pas was the King of
Kent and another was Rip-rap; that he was the
finest bird-dog in the United States,—her pappy
said so,—and that he had been to a dog college
and learned all that there was for a dog <i>to</i> know.</p>
<p>The moment Mary appeared, the usual formula
was gone through with before they gave her a
chance for more than a bare word of greeting,
and she never knew how much her reception of
Uncle August counted in her favor with the two
watching children.</p>
<p>Like everybody else, she laughed when she heard
his name, and put out her hand to shake the brown
paw which he gravely offered. But when he continued
to hold it out to her, and plainly showed by
every way in a dog's power that he liked her and
wanted to emphasize his friendliness, she took his
silky ears in her hands, and looking down into his
wistful eyes, praised and petted him till he wriggled
all over for joy.</p>
<p>Brud immediately gave her his full approval,
but Little Sister, while impressed favorably, was
not in a mood to approve anything fully. According
to Meliss, "she'd done got out of bed crosswise
of herself that mawnin'" and had continued
so ever since. There was a pout on her lips when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a><br /><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>
her mother called her in to kiss her good-bye, and
there was a defiant light in her eyes as she listened
to the farewell instructions delivered to Mary
through the window. She lagged behind when the
others started briskly off, and halfway down the
hill began to drag and scrape her feet annoyingly
through the gravel. Although she hadn't the
faintest intention of turning back, she stood still
when they reached the foot-bridge, and announced
with a whine:</p>
<p>"I'm going home! I aren't a having a happy
time like mommey said I would!"</p>
<p>Mary, who was a few steps ahead, never stopped,
even to glance back over her shoulder, and Sister
was obliged to follow in order to hear what she
was saying.</p>
<p>"You can hardly expect to enjoy a thing before it
<i>begins</i>," explained Mary, politely, in that grown-up
tone that was such a novelty to Sister when
employed towards herself. "You've never seen
the place where Mr. Metz has given us permission
to build. It's where a branch of the creek curves
up through his place. It's dry now, but it is full
of big, flat rocks where we can build the fire when
we get to that part of the school. Maybe we'll
be ready for one as soon as next week."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p>
<p>There was no response save a stifled sniffle and
the patter of small feet which had to move briskly
in order to keep up with the procession. But
Brud's questions opened the way for further information
which was not lost on the reluctant follower.</p>
<p>"There's a little spring that comes bubbling out
below, so that we won't have to go far to fill our
kettle. He said we might trim off some of the
smallest shoots of his willows, and he marked the
trees we could chop. That's where you will find
use for your hatchet. Willow switches woven
together make a fine covering for a wigwam or
a Robinson Crusoe shack. I learned how to weave
them the way the Indians do when I first went to
Arizona."</p>
<p>It was the novelty of being talked to in that
dignified, grown-up way that drew Sister slowly
but surely along after the others. As they followed
the creek, Uncle August, dashing on ahead, scared
a rabbit out of the underbrush. He was too well
trained to give chase to it, so the frightened little
cotton-tail loped away unhurt. It served its mission
in life, however, as far as Mary was concerned,
for it reminded her of a story which she proceeded
to tell as they walked along. Sister listened, suspiciously,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>
expecting a personal application at the
end, about a sulky little girl who never wanted to
do anything that other people did. That was the
kind Meliss always told. So did mommey, in vivacious,
kindergarten style, when they had been especially
naughty. Sister hated stories, since those
with a moral attached were the only kind she had
ever known.</p>
<p>When this tale turned out to be one of Br'er
Rabbit's funny adventures in outwitting Mr. Fox,
and ended with a laugh instead of a personal application,
she was bewildered for a moment. Then
she remembered that this was a surprise school,
and determined not to miss anything that seemed
to start out with such promise for further entertainment,
she stopped dragging her feet and took
up a more cheerful pace along the creek bank, in
the trail of Brud and Uncle August.</p>
<p>It would have been a determined soul indeed
who could have stayed morose very long, out-of-doors
in the perfect weather that had followed the
Norther. It was like late October in Kentucky—sunny,
yet with a crystal-like coolness that made
exercise a delight.</p>
<p>It had been such a short time since Mary had
stepped out of her own play days that she found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>
herself stepping into the children's with an <i>abandon</i>
which almost equalled theirs. There was no pretense
about her enjoyment at first. With a pleasure
almost as deep and unalloyed as when she and
Hazel Lee built wigwams on the edge of the Arizona
desert, she went about the building of a shack
on the side of this Texas creek bank.</p>
<p>The energy with which she brought things to
pass was contagious. Brud and Little Sister
worked like beavers to keep up with this rare,
new playfellow, who had something better than a
Midas touch,—something which not only put a
golden glamour over everything she said and did,
but turned their little world of mimic sports into
a real world of tremendous meaning and importance.
For the first time in his life Brud found
himself where there were things lawful for his
hatchet to cut. For the first time Sister was kept
so busy doing delightful things that there was no
necessity for anyone to say "don't."</p>
<p>Before the week was over Mary had opened so
many windows for them into the Land of Make-believe
that they began to look upon her resources
for entertainment as boundless. The more she
gave, the more they demanded. They never
wanted to go home and would have hung on to her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>
until dark every evening, had it not been for the
alarm-clock which she brought with her each day.
She had no watch and was afraid to accept Jack's
offer of his, lest she should lose it in the woods.
It was a little, round clock, with a bell on top, the
dollar and a half kind sold in country groceries
and cross-roads stores.</p>
<p>She always wound the alarm just before she
hung the clock on a bush, muttering over it a
mysterious charm that the children listened to
with skeptical grins, yet with furtive side-glances
at each other. To her surprise they accepted the
whirr and bang of the alarm-bell at five o'clock
as the voice of Fate, which must be promptly
obeyed. She often wondered why they did. To
Mary the muttering of the abracadabra charm was
only a part of the game, one of the many little
embellishments which made her plays more picturesque
than ordinary people's, and she had no
thought of the children attaching any superstitious
import to it. She did not take into account their
long association with Meliss, who was wise on the
subject of hoodoos. But the fact remained that
her alarm-clock was the only timepiece within their
reach which they never tampered with, and the
only one whose summons they ever obeyed.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p>
<p>It was probably because she had set such a hard
pace for herself that first week that she found it
so difficult to go on afterward. A surprise school
was a greater tax on her inventive genius than she
had anticipated. She had promised them a different
plum in their pie each day, and she lay
awake at night to plan games that were instructive
as well as interesting, for she was conscientiously
carrying out her agreement to teach them as well
as to amuse them. By the end of the second week
the strain was almost unendurable.</p>
<p>One evening she went home to find the Barnaby
carriage and the gray mules standing at the gate.
Mrs. Barnaby had brought in some venison for
them, and waited to see Mary before taking her
leave.</p>
<p>"I'm waiting to hear about those little savages
of yours," she said, as Mary greeted her and sank
limply down into a chair. "Why, you look all
tuckered out. They must be even worse than people
say."</p>
<p>"No, they're not!" protested Mary, warmly.
"I'm really proud of the way I succeeded. The
only thing is, I have to keep them busy and interested
every moment, and they're so hungry for
stories they never get enough. The poor little souls<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>
have never heard any before, and it is really pathetic
the way they listen. They'll sit as still as graven
images, so interested they scarcely breathe, till the
last word is out. Then they'll begin, 'Oh, tell us
another, Miss Mayry! Just <i>one</i> more! Please, Miss
Mayry!' They cling to me like burrs. We nearly
always have a small campfire every day now, for
either we're Indians or gypsies, cooking our meals,
or we're witches brewing spells, or elves gathering
magic fires for our midnight revels. They play so
hard that the last hour they always want to sit down
by the embers and listen to stories. But they've
nearly drained me dry now. Sometimes I come
home so limp and exhausted I can scarcely move
my tongue. I'm glad that to-morrow is Sunday,
for I've surely earned one day of rest."</p>
<p>"Come out and spend it at the ranch," urged
Mrs. Barnaby, hospitably. "It happens that there
is no service to-morrow at St. Boniface, but James
will be coming in for the mail, and will be glad
to bring you out in time for dinner."</p>
<p>Mary had spent two afternoons at the Barnaby
ranch, driving out with Mrs. Rochester, and she
enjoyed them so much that she welcomed the
thought of a return to the homelike old place, with
its air of thrift and comfort. Jack had been better<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>
the last few days, so she eagerly accepted the invitation.</p>
<p>Next morning Mr. Barnaby drove in for her
himself with the gray mules and the roomy old
carriage. Mary, comfortably stowed away on the
back seat, because it had the best springs, leaned
forward to hold the reins while he went into the
post-office. She had risen early and hurried through
as much of the work as she could in order that
her holiday might not mean extra work for her
mother. Now with an easy conscience she settled
herself to enjoy a care-free day, and looked forward
with keen enjoyment to the seven miles'
drive along the smooth country road.</p>
<p>She had been sitting in a pleasant reverie some
four or five minutes, when a familiar little voice
close by the wheel piped out:</p>
<p>"Why, there's Miss Mayry! <i>Where</i> are you
going?"</p>
<p>Before she could reply, Brud and Sister and
Uncle August came swarming into the carriage,
stepping on her toes, climbing up on the seat, and
showing such joy over having discovered her that
it was impossible not to give them a gracious reception,
even though she groaned inwardly at the sight
of them. Their prompt demand for a story the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>
moment they were seated was followed by the appearance
of Mr. Barnaby.</p>
<p>"I can't tell you any stories to-day," Mary explained,
pleasantly, "because I am going visiting.
But I'll tell you a lovely one to-morrow, about Ali
Baba and the Forty Thieves. You'll have to hop
out now. Mr. Barnaby is ready to start."</p>
<p>"I aren't going to hop out!" declared Sister,
winding her arms around Mary's neck in a choking
clasp. Brud immediately threw his arms around
Uncle August and held him tight, regardless of the
fact that Mr. Barnaby was whistling to the dog
and motioning him to jump out.</p>
<p>"We are a-going with you," Brud announced.</p>
<p>"But you are not invited," Mary answered, in
a provoked tone. "You surely don't care to go
where you're neither asked nor wanted!"</p>
<p>"Come on, Bub. I'm in a hurry," said Mr.
Barnaby, kindly. He took hold of the child's arms
to lift him out, but Brud, seizing the back of the
seat with both hands, stiffened himself and began
to cry, shrieking out between sobs, "I want
to go with Miss Mayry! <i>Please</i> don't put me
out! Aw, Miss Mayry! <i>Don't</i> let him put me
out!"</p>
<p>Immediately Sister added her tearful wails to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span>
his. Meliss, sauntering down the street in search
of the children, heard the familiar cries, and quickened
her pace to a run. A crowd was gathering
around the carriage. She came up in time to hear
Mr. Barnaby say, good-naturedly, "Oh, well, if
they're going to break their little hearts over it,
let 'em come along. <i>I</i> don't mind!"</p>
<p>"But their mother will think that something has
happened to them," protested Mary. "She'll be
frantic."</p>
<p>Meliss pushed her way through the crowd to the
carriage. "No'm, she won't, Miss Ma'y. She
won't worry none. Her haid aches fit to bus' this
mawnin'. I'll tell her <i>you's</i> takin' keer of 'em,
and she'll be only too thankful to you-all for a
free day."</p>
<p>"It's Meliss who will be thankful for a free
day," thought Mary, still hesitating. She rebelled
at the thought of her own day being spoiled, and
realized that for discipline's sake the children ought
not to be allowed to carry their point. Mr. Barnaby
settled the question by stepping into the carriage
and gathering up the reins.</p>
<p>"Tell their mother I'll bring them back before
night," he said to Meliss.</p>
<p>The sobs and tears stopped as suddenly as they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span>
had begun. Presently Mr. Barnaby glanced back
over his shoulder, saying:</p>
<p>"This load doesn't seem equally divided. Here,
one of you kids climb over into the front seat with
me." At the invitation both children threw themselves
violently on Mary and clung to her, beginning
to sniffle again. He looked back at her with
the humorous one-sided smile that she always found
irresistibly droll.</p>
<p>"First time I ever came across that particular
brand of youngsters. Strikes me the old Nick has
put his ear marks on 'em pretty plain. You're
crowded back there, aren't you, with that dog sitting
on your feet? Here, sir! Come over here
with me!"</p>
<p>With one bound Uncle August sprang over on
the front seat, and sat up beside his host, looking
so dignified and so humanly interested in everything
they passed that Mr. Barnaby laughed. He
laid a caressing hand on him, saying, "So you're
the dog that's been to college. Well, it has made
a gentleman of you, sir! I admire your manners.
It's a pity you can't pass them around the family."</p>
<p>Charmed by the novelty of the drive, the children
cuddled up against Mary, and were so quiet
all the way to the ranch that she felt remorseful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>
when she remembered how near she had come to
depriving them of the pleasure.</p>
<p>Mrs. Barnaby threw up her hands in surprise
when she saw the three self-invited guests who
calmly followed Mary out of the carriage, but when
the situation had been explained in a laughing
aside, she said in her whole-souled, motherly way,
"Now, my dear, don't you worry one mite! We
are used to children, and we'll find some way to
keep them from spoiling your day."</p>
<p>Her first step in that direction was to take them
out to the kitchen and fill their hands with cookies,
and send them outdoors to eat them. She also
gave them instructions to stay out and play. A
low swing and a seesaw between the kitchen and
the garden gate showed where her grand-children
amused themselves hours at a time on their annual
visits. When she went back into the living-room
Mary had seated herself in a rocking-chair with a
sigh of content.</p>
<p>"What a dear old room this is," she said, looking
up with a smile. "It makes me think of Grandmother
Ware's. I love its low ceiling and little,
deep-set windows and wide fireplace. I could sit
here all day and do nothing but listen to the clock
tick and the fire crackle, and rest."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p>
<p>"Well, you do just that," insisted Mrs. Barnaby,
hospitably. "I have to be out in the kitchen for
a while. I've got pretty fair help, but she needs
a good deal of oversight, so you sit here and enjoy
the quiet while you can."</p>
<p>The early rising and the drive had made Mary
drowsy, and as soon as she was left alone the deep
stillness of the country Sabbath that filled the room
seemed to fold about her like a mantle of restfulness.
She closed her eyes, making believe that she
really was back at her Grandmother Ware's; that
the sunshine streaming in at the open door was the
sunshine of a Northern June instead of a Texas
January; and that the odor of lemon verbena which
reached her now and then came from an outside
garden instead of the potted plant on the deep window-sill
at her elbow. The old place was so associated
in Mary's memory with a feeling of perpetual,
unbroken calm, that she had never lost one
of her earliest impressions that it was the place
of "green pastures and still waters" mentioned
in the Psalms.</p>
<p>"Jack always said that I'll have my innings when
I'm a grandmother," she said, drowsily, to herself.
"I wonder if I'll ever get to a place where I can
always be as serene of spirit as she was, no matter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>
what happens. I wonder if she ever had anything
as upsetting as Brud and Sister to try her nerves
in her young days."</p>
<p>As if in answer to her mere thought of them,
the two children came racing around the house.
They fairly fell into the room, and, throwing themselves
across her lap, demanded that she come out
at once and see the peacocks. Had they said any
other kind of fowl she would have resented the
intrusion more than she did, but peacocks recalled
Warwick Hall so pleasantly that she got up at once
and went with them. She had seen none since
leaving school. These had not been near the house
on her former visits to the ranch. The stately birds
strutted up and down in the sunshine, their tails
spread in dazzling gorgeousness.</p>
<p>"They're Sammy's," called Mrs. Barnaby from
the kitchen door. "He takes the greatest pride in
them. That cock took a prize at the last San
Antonio fair."</p>
<p>Mary had met "Sammy" the last time she was
at the ranch, and had heard of him ever since her
first conversation with Mrs. Barnaby. He was an
elderly cousin of her husband's who had made his
home with them for years. A few minutes later
she came upon the old man in the barnyard. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>
children, having once obtained possession of her, had
dragged her down there to see a colt that they
had discovered.</p>
<p>Sammy was sitting on the fence in his Sunday
clothes, busy with his usual Sunday occupation of
whittling. His bushy gray beard made him look
older than Mr. Barnaby, and the keen glance he
gave the children from under his shaggy eyebrows
made them sidle away from him. They, too, had
met him before, under circumstances which they
did not take pleasure in recalling. Only a few
moments before he had caught them chasing the
ducks until they were dizzy, and stopped them with
a sternness that made them wary of him. They
had had an encounter with him one day in town
also, soon after their arrival in Bauer. They had
climbed into the wagon, which he left hitched in
front of the grocery, and had poked holes into
every package he had piled on the seat, in order
to discover what they held. When he came out
little streams of rice and sugar and meal were
dribbling out all over the wagon. When he started
after them with a threatening crack of his whip
they escaped by darting into the front door of the
butcher shop and out of the back, but they always
felt that it was one of the narrowest escapes they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>
ever made, and that a day of reckoning would
come if he ever got close enough to them to reach
them with his whip.</p>
<p>It was a trifling disconcerting to come across him
suddenly on this peaceful ranch, and they pulled
Mary away as soon as they could. She was enjoying
the conversation they had drifted into, starting
with the colt. He spoke with a strong New England
twang, and his quaint sayings and homely
comparisons suggested the types and times portrayed
in the Bigelow Papers.</p>
<p>Despite her determination not to have her day
taken up by the children, Mary found herself devoting
the entire morning to their entertainment.
Country sights and sounds were so new and strange
to them that it seemed selfish not to answer their
eager questions, and when their wanderings around
the place led them to a deserted cabin where the
Indians had once killed two Mexican shepherds,
she repeated the thrilling story as she had heard
it from Mrs. Barnaby, with all its hair-raising details.
When they went in to dinner she had been
answering questions and entertaining her pupils for
two hours, as diligently as on any week-day.</p>
<p>It was an old-fashioned "turkey dinner" to
which they were summoned, and the variety and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>
deliciousness of the dishes may have had much to
do with the children's conduct. They were so quiet
and well behaved that Mary watched them in surprise.
Beyond yes and no and politely expressed
thanks, Brud spoke not at all, and Sister only once.
That was to say, when Mrs. Barnaby addressed
her as Sister, "Call me Nancy. I'm trying that
name now."</p>
<p>Seeing the look of surprise that circled around
the table, Mary explained, feeling that Sister, as
usual, was enjoying the limelight that this peculiar
custom of hers called her into.</p>
<p>"Hump!" exclaimed old Sammy. "Something
of a chameleon, eh? If she changes her nature to
suit her name it must keep her family busy getting
acquainted with her."</p>
<p>"I think it does have some slight influence,"
answered Mary. "Then she'd better drop the
name of Nancy," said old Sammy, with a solemn
wag of the head. "In an old blue poetry book that
I used to read back in Vermont, it said,</p>
<div class='poem'>
"'Little Nancy would never her mother obey,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">But always did choose to have her own way.'</span><br />
</div>
<p>"She came to a frightful end, jumping up and
down in her chair.</p>
<div class='poem'>
"'In vain did her mother command her to stop.<br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Nan only laughed louder and higher did hop,'</span><br />
</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p>
<div class='unindent'>till she fell over and cracked her head. The only
Nancys I have ever known have all been self-willed
like that."</div>
<p>Garrulous Cousin Sammy was only indulging in
reminiscence. He had not intended to tease the
child, but she resented his remarks, and thrusting
out her tongue at him, screwed up her face into
the ugliest grimace possible for her to make. Fortunately
the arrival of a huge pumpkin pie turned
his eyes away from her just then, for Sammy
Bradford, old bachelor though he was, had strict
New England notions about the rearing of children,
which he sometimes burned to put into practice
for the good of the general public.</p>
<p>After dinner Mr. Barnaby retired to his room
for his usual Sunday nap. Cousin Sammy took
his pipe to the sunny bench outside the open door,
and Mrs. Barnaby provided for the children's entertainment
by bringing out a box of toys that had
been left behind at different times by various grand-children.
She arranged them on a side table in the
dining-room, with some colored pencils, paper and
scissors.</p>
<p>Brud and "Nancy," ever ready to investigate
anything new, seated themselves at her bidding, and
began to paw over the games and pictures with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>
apparent interest. Thereupon Mrs. Barnaby and
Mary went into the next room, and drawing two
big easy chairs into the chimney corner, they settled
themselves for a long, cosy <i>tête-à-tête</i>. It was the
first opportunity Mary had had to explain to Mrs.
Barnaby that she had undertaken to teach the children
in order to prevent her mother from sewing
for other people.</p>
<p>They had had about ten minutes of uninterrupted
quiet, when the door opened and "Nancy"
walked in with her hat and coat on. Her lips were
drawn into a dissatisfied pout, and she threw herself
across Mary's lap, whining, "I don't like those
old things in there! Tell us about the Forty Thieves
<i>now!</i>"</p>
<p>"No, Nancy," said Mary, firmly, hoping to appease
her by remembering to use the new name.
"I told you before you came out here that I'd not
tell you a single story to-day."</p>
<p>"But you already have," cried Brud, triumphantly,
appearing in the doorway also in coat and
hat. "You told us about the Indians killing the
shepherds."</p>
<p>"Oh, but that was just a true happening that
I told to explain about the cabin we were looking
at," was the patient answer. "That was different<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span>
from sitting down on purpose to tell you a story,
and I shall <i>not</i> do that to-day."</p>
<p>"Then come and play with us," demanded Sister,
seizing her by the hands, after one keen glance
at her to see if she really was in earnest. "Come
on, Brud, and help me pull. We'll <i>make</i> her
come!"</p>
<p>"Sh!" warned Mary, attempting to free herself,
as they began shouting and tugging at her. "I
came out here to visit Mrs. Barnaby, and I'll not
play with you till to-morrow. If you don't want
to make pictures or cut paper or work the puzzle
games you'll have to go outdoors and amuse yourselves.
But you must not make such a noise. Mr.
Barnaby is asleep."</p>
<p>"Then if you don't want us to wake him up
you've <i>got</i> to play with us to keep us still!" cried
Brud. "Hasn't she, Sister?"</p>
<p>"Call me Nancy when I tell you!" screamed
Sister, in an exasperated tone, stamping her foot.
Then, fired by Brud's suggestion, she dropped
Mary's hands and darted across the room to the
piano, which was standing open in the corner. It
was an old-fashioned one, its rosewood case inlaid
above the keyboard with mother-of-pearl. The
yellow keys were out of tune, but they had never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>
been touched save by careful fingers, for it was
one of Mrs. Barnaby's cherished treasures. Now
she rose as if she had been struck herself, as both
children began pounding upon it ruthlessly with
their fists, making a hideous, discordant din.</p>
<p>"Stop, children! Stop, I say!" she demanded.
But her commands fell on unheeding ears, and they
pounded away until she laid vigorous hands on
them and forcibly dragged them away from the
piano. Instantly they struggled out of her grasp,
and rushing back, pounded the keys harder than
before. Mary, who had never seen them act like
this, was distressed beyond measure that she had
been the cause, even though the unwilling one, of
such an invasion. She started to the rescue, thinking
savagely that they would have to be gagged
and tied, hand and foot, and that she would take
pleasure in helping do it.</p>
<p>Old Sammy reached them first, however, his
Puritanical soul resenting both the disobedience
and the Sabbath-breaking uproar. With one swoop
he caught up a child under each arm, and carried
them kicking and struggling out-of-doors.</p>
<p>"Here ye'll stay the rest of the afternoon!" he
announced, in a gruff voice, as he put them down.
"There's all out-of-doors to play in, and if you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span>
so much as step over the door-sill into that room
until I give ye leave, I'll <i>withe</i> ye!"</p>
<p>It was a mysterious threat, since neither child
had ever heard the word <i>withe</i> before, and he said
it in a deep, awful voice that made Brud think
creepily of the Fee-fi-fo-fum giant in his picture-book
at home, who went about smelling blood and
saying, "<i>Dead or alive, I will have some!</i>"</p>
<p>For a moment they stood in awed silence, gaping
at the only person who had ever intimidated them;
then Sister, in a blind rage, seized his clay pipe
that he had put down on the bench, and threw it
with all her force on the stone floor of the porch.</p>
<p>"You let me alone!" she shrieked, as she darted
away from him. "You—you—you old <i>Billygoat</i>,
you!" It was the sight of his gray beard that
finally suggested to her choking wrath a name ugly
enough to hurl at him. Then she took to her heels
down the grassy lane, Brud following as fast as
possible.</p>
<p>"There's nothing for me to do but follow them,"
said Mary, starting into the bedroom for her hat
and coat, which had been laid away in there. "I'd
feel so responsible if they should get hurt, and
there are so many things on a big place like this
that they are not used to."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p>
<p>"Now, don't you worry," interrupted old Sammy.
"I'll keep <i>my</i> eye on them."</p>
<p>He was quite red in the face with vexation
over the loss of his pipe, which lay in several
pieces on the floor, and Mrs. Barnaby, knowing
him well, prevailed on Mary to come back to her
easy-chair.</p>
<p>"You leave them to him," she insisted, in a
laughing aside. "He's so mad that he'll watch
them like a hawk, just for the pleasure of pouncing
down on them again if they cut up any more
didoes; but his bark is worse than his bite, and
they'll be perfectly safe with him."</p>
<p>So Mary allowed herself to be drawn back to
their interrupted conversation, but she could not
rid herself of an uneasy feeling that kept obtruding
itself into her thoughts, even when she was most
interested.</p>
<p>If Brud and Sister had deliberately planned a
revenge on the old man who had forced them into
exile and temporary obedience, they could not have
chosen anything which would have hurt him worse
than their next prank. Their wild chase down the
lane had been brought to a sudden stop by the sight
of the lordly peacock, strutting back and forth in
the barn-yard, his beautiful tail spread wide in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>
sun. They climbed up on the gate to watch it, and,
hanging over the top bar, admired it in almost
breathless ecstasy for several minutes. The <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'irridescent'">iridescent</ins>
shimmer of the gorgeous eyes in its tail
started a dispute.</p>
<p>"That's why you can't ever catch a peacock,"
Brud asserted, "'cause with all those eyes in its
tail it can see you coming up behind it."</p>
<p>"Aw, goosey," contradicted Nancy, "it sees
with its two little <i>head</i> eyes. Those feather eyes
in its tail can't see."</p>
<p>"They can!"</p>
<p>"They can't!"</p>
<p>The two words were bandied back and forth,
the dispute promising to go on indefinitely, till
Brud's triumphant, "Ten million times <i>can</i>," was
answered by Nancy's final, "Million billion times
<i>can't!</i> So there."</p>
<p>"We'll prove it," was Brud's next taunt. "Try
and see if you can catch him."</p>
<p>"All right," was the willing assent. "And if the
feathers come out of his tail as easy as they did out
of Mis' Williams' red rooster, won't that old man
be mad!"</p>
<p>In the meantime Sammy had gone into the house
to hunt among his possessions for a certain corncob<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>
pipe, to take the place of the clay one just
broken. The mantel-shelf in his room was as
crowded as the corner of an old junk shop, so it
took some time for him to find what he was searching
for. He had taken it down and was slowly
filling it, when the sound of a wild commotion in
the barn-yard made him hurry to the door. Turkeys,
guineas, ducks, hens,—everything that could
gobble or flutter or squawk, were doing their utmost
to attract someone's attention. And the cause of
it all, or, rather, the two causes, were standing by
the watering-trough, comparing the spoils of the
chase. They had crept up behind the peacock,
despite his thousand eyes, and caught him by the
tail. Each proudly clutched a handful of long,
trailing feathers, and the bird, miserably conscious
that his glory had been torn from him, had taken
refuge under the corn-crib.</p>
<p>"You outrageous little Hittites!" roared old
Sammy, coming upon them suddenly and seeing
the feathers. Then a real chase began.</p>
<p>A little while later, Mary paused in the middle
of a sentence to say, "Listen! Didn't that sound
like the children crying or calling?"</p>
<p>Mrs. Barnaby, who was slightly deaf, shook her
head. "No, I think not. Anyhow, Sammy is looking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>
after them. He won't let them come to any
real harm. What was it we were talking about?
Oh, yes! Those heirloom candlesticks."</p>
<p>More than an hour afterward a shadow darkened
the doorway for an instant as Sammy strode
past it on his way across the porch.</p>
<p>"Mr. Bradford," called Mary. "Do you know
where the children are?"</p>
<p>At her call he turned back to the door, holding
out a great handful of peacock feathers which he
was taking sorrowfully to his room.</p>
<p>"Those pesky little varmints!" he exclaimed,
still wrathful, "They've teetotally ruined that
cock's looks. Yes, I know where they are. I've
had them shut up in the corn-crib till a minute
ago."</p>
<p>"Shut up in the corn-crib!" echoed Mary and
Mrs. Barnaby in the same breath.</p>
<p>"Yes, as I told 'em, they haven't any more idea
of other people's rights than weasels, and it's high
time they are being taught."</p>
<p>"Well, do you think they've learned their lesson
in one dose, Sammy?" asked Mr. Barnaby, dryly,
coming out from his room in time to hear his
cousin's speech.</p>
<p>"That remains to be seen," spluttered Sammy,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span>
as he strode on to his room. "They were sniffling
and snubbing considerable when I let them out. I
don't think they'll chase <i>my</i> peacock any more."</p>
<p>The "sniffling and snubbing" changed into out-and-out
crying as soon as they reached Mary's side,
and that was followed by heart-broken wails and
demands to be taken home. Nothing comforted
them. Nothing could turn them aside from their
belief that they had been abused and must be taken
back immediately to mommey.</p>
<p>After nearly half an hour spent in vain attempts
to silence them, Mrs. Barnaby said in sheer desperation,
"Well, James, you'll just have to hitch
up and take them back, even if it is so early. I
hate to have Mary's visit cut short, but they'd spoil
it worse if they stayed. If I only felt free to give
them a good sound spanking now—"</p>
<p>She did not finish the sentence, but looked over
her spectacles so sternly that the children backed
away, lest a feeling of liberty might suddenly descend
upon her.</p>
<p>As Mary pinned on her hat before the mirror
in the bedroom, she turned to her hostess with a
hunted look in her eyes.</p>
<p>"Do you ever get desperate over things?" she
asked. "That's the way I am now. I'm so tired<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span>
of those children that the very sound of their
voices sets my teeth on edge. If I only could have
had this one whole day away from them I might
have been able to go on with them to-morrow, but
now it seems as if I can't! I just <i>can't!</i>"</p>
<p>"I don't wonder, you poor child," was the sympathetic
answer.</p>
<p>"The worst of it is, I'm utterly discouraged,"
confessed Mary, almost tearfully. "I've been
pluming myself on the fact that my two weeks'
work had amounted to something; that I'd really
made an impression, and given them all sorts of
good ideas. But you see it isn't worth a row of
pins. They are good only so long as I'm exercising
like an acrobat, mind and body, to keep them
entertained. The minute I stop they don't pay the
slightest attention to my wishes."</p>
<p>"Maybe you've done too much for them," said
Mrs. Barnaby, shrewdly guessing the root of the
trouble. "You told them it was a surprise school.
Let the next surprise be a different sort. Turn
them loose and make them hunt their own entertainment."</p>
<p>"As they did to-day," Mary answered, with a
shrug. "They'd run home howling and their
mother would think I was incapable and give my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span>
place to someone else. No, we must have the
money, so I'll have to go on and put in my best
licks, no matter how I detest it."</p>
<p>When she drew on her gloves she was so near
to tears that the little bloodstone ring on her hand
looked so dim she could scarcely see it. But it
made her glance up with a smile into the benevolent
old face above her, and she stripped back the glove
from her finger with a dramatic gesture.</p>
<p>"See?" she said, brightly, exhibiting the ring.
"By the bloodstone on my finger, I'll keep my oath
until the going down of one more sun."</p>
<p>"You're a brave little girl. That's what you
are!" said Mrs. Barnaby, stooping to kiss her
good-bye. Only that week she had read <i>The Jester's
Sword</i>, from which Mary was quoting, and she
knew what grim determination lay beneath the light
tone.</p>
<p>"I guess it will help you the same way it did
the poor Jester, to remember that it's only one day
at a time you're called on to endure. And another
thing," she added, trying to put as many consoling
thoughts into their parting as possible, "If you <i>do</i>
succeed in teaching them anything that'll help to
snatch them as brands from the burning, it will
count for a star in your crown just as much as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span>
if you'd gone out and converted the heathen on
'India's coral strand.'"</p>
<p>"It's not stars in my crown I'm working for,"
laughed Mary. "It's for pence in my purse."
Nevertheless the suggestion stayed with her all the
way home. When conversation flagged, she filled
the silences with pleasant snatches of day-dreams,
in which she saw herself becoming to these benighted
little creatures, asleep on either side of her,
the inspiration that Madam Chartley was to everyone
who crossed the threshold of Warwick Hall.</p>
<p>"I've just <i>got</i> to do something to make them
see themselves as they look to other people," she
thought, desperately. "But the question is, <i>what</i>?"</p>
<p>A hard problem indeed for one who, in many
ways, was still only a child herself.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER X</h2>
<div class='chaptertitle'>IN JOYCE'S STUDIO</div>
<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was a wild, blustery day in March, two months
after Mary's interrupted visit at the ranch. Joyce
Ware, sitting before the glowing wood fire in the
studio, high up on the top floor of a New York
apartment house, had never known such a lonesome
Sunday. The winds that rattled the casements and
sent alternate dashes of rain and snow against the
panes had kept her house-bound all day.</p>
<p>Usually she was glad to have one of these shut-in
days, after a busy week, when she could sit and
do nothing with a clear conscience. Every moan
of the wind in the chimney and every glimpse of the
snow-whitened roofs below her windows, emphasized
the luxurious comfort of the big room. She
had had a hard week, trying to crowd into it some
special orders for Easter cards. A year ago she
would not have added them to her regular work,
but now she was afraid to turn anything away
which might help to swell the size of the check<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span>
she must send home every month. If the
days were not long enough to do the tasks she
set for herself at a comfortable pace, she simply
worked harder—feverishly, if need be, to finish
them.</p>
<p>She had been practically alone the entire day,
for the two members of the household who were
at home were staying in their own rooms. Lucy
Boyd had a cold, and her devoted little aunt was
nursing her with the care of the traditional hen
for its one chicken. Mrs. Boyd had not allowed
Lucy to leave her room even for her Sunday dinner,
but had carried it in to her with her own on
a tray. As Miss Henrietta Robbins was spending
the week-end in the country, Joyce did not take
the trouble to set the table for herself, but ate her
own dinner in the little kitchenette.</p>
<p>Afterward, to make the day as different as possible
from the six others in the week, in which she
sat at her easel from morning till night in a long-sleeved
gingham apron, she went into her room and
put on a dress of her own designing, soft and trailing
and of a warm wine-red. Pushing a great
sleepy-hollow chair close enough to the hearth for
the tips of her slippers to rest on the shining brass
fender-rail, she settled herself among the cushions<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span>
with a book which she had long been trying to find
time to read.</p>
<p>The story, like the bleak outdoor world, seemed
to accentuate her sense of shelter and comfort, but
at the same time it somehow emphasized her loneliness.
Now and then, when her eyes grew tired,
she paused for a moment to look around her.
There were several things which gave her keen
pleasure every time her attention was called to them,
which she felt ought to be enough of themselves
to dispel her vague depression: the odor of growing
mignonette, the sunny yellow of the pot of
daffodils on the black teakwood table, the gleam of
firelight on the brasses, and the warm shadows it
cast on the trailing folds of her wine-red dress.</p>
<p>That lighting was exactly what she wanted for
some drapery folds which she would be putting on
a magazine cover next week. She studied the
effect, thinking lazily that if it were not her one
day of rest, she would get out <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'palate'">palette</ins> and brushes,
and make a sketch of what she wanted to keep,
while it was before her.</p>
<p>She read for over two hours. When the story
came to an unhappy ending she dropped the book,
wishing she had never come across such a tale of
misfortune and misunderstanding. It depressed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span>
her strangely, and presently, as she sat looking
into the fire, the unbroken quiet of the big room
gave her an overwhelming sense of loneliness that
was like an ache.</p>
<p>"I'd give anything to walk in and see what
they're all doing at home right now," she thought,
as she stared into the red embers, "but I can't even
picture them as they really are, because they are no
longer living in any place that I ever called home."</p>
<p>The thought of their being off in a strange
little Texas town that she had never seen made her
feel far more forlorn and apart than she would
have felt could she have imagined them with any
of the familiar backgrounds she had once shared
with them. They seemed as far away and out of
reach as they had been that winter in France, when
she used to climb up in Monsieur Greyville's pear
tree and cry for sheer homesickness. That was
years ago, and before the Gate of the Giant Scissors
had opened to give her a playmate, but she recalled,
as if it were but yesterday, the performance that
often took place in the pear tree.</p>
<p>She began by repeating that couplet from <i>Snowbound</i>,—</p>
<div class='poem'>
"The dear home faces, whereupon<br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The fitful firelight paled and shone."</span><br />
</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span></p>
<p>It was like a charm, for it always brought a blur
of tears through which she could see, as in a
magic mirror, each home face as she had seen it
oftenest in the little brown house in Plainsville.
There was her mother, so patient and gentle and
tired, bending over the sewing which never came
to an end; and Jack, charging home from school
like a young whirlwind to do his chores and get
out to play. She could see Mary, with her dear
earnest little freckled face and beribboned pigtails,
always so eager to help, even when she was so
small that she had to stand on a soap-box to reach
the dish-pan. Such a capable, motherly little atom
she was then, looking after the wants of Holland
and the baby untiringly.</p>
<p>Despite the ache in her throat, a smile crossed
Joyce's face now and then, as she went on calling
up other scenes. They had had hard work at the
Wigwam, and had felt the pinch of poverty, but
she had never known a family who found more
to laugh over and enjoy when they looked back
over their hard times. But now—the change was
more than she could bear to think of. Jack a
hopeless cripple, Mary tied down to the uncongenial
work that she had to take up as a breadwinner,
when she ought to be free to enjoy the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span>
best part of her girlhood as other girls were doing.
Tears came into Joyce's eyes as she brooded
over the pictures she had conjured up. Then she
rose, and trailing into her bedroom, came back
with a lapful of letters; all that the family had
written her since leaving Lone Rock four months
ago. Dropping on the hearth-rug, she arranged
them in little piles beside her, according to their
dates, and beginning at the first, proceeded to read
them through in order. They did bring the family
nearer, as she had expected them to do, but the
later ones brought such a weight of foreboding
with their second reading, that presently she buried
her face in the cushions of the chair against which
she was leaning, and began to cry as she had not
cried for nearly a year. Not since the first news of
Jack's accident, had she given way to such a storm
of tears.</p>
<p>It was some time before she sobbed herself quiet,
and then she still sat with her head in the cushions,
till she heard the faint buzz of an electric doorbell.
It sounded so far away that she thought it
was the bell of the adjoining apartment, and gave
it no more than a passing thought. So, too, the
sound of an opening door, of an umbrella dropped
into a hat-rack, of voices, seemed to have but a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span>
vague connection with her world. Then she was
startled by hearing Mrs. Boyd's voice at the portière
saying:</p>
<p>"Joyce, dear, here is Mr. Tremont to see you.
Ah! I <i>knew</i> you were asleep. He rang twice, so
I answered the bell."</p>
<p>Phil Tremont, pausing between the portières as
Mrs. Boyd slipped back to Lucy, caught only a
glimpse of Joyce's red dress trailing through the
opposite doorway. The scattered letters on the
rug bore witness to her hurried flight.</p>
<p>"Come on in to the fire, Phil," she called,
through the partly closed door. "Poke it up and
make yourself at home. I'll be out in a minute. I
never dreamed of such joy as a caller on this
dreadful day, or I should have been sitting up in
state, waiting to receive you!"</p>
<p>The laughing reply he sent back brightened her
spirits as if by magic. The next best thing to
having one of her own family suddenly appear,
was the pleasure of seeing the friend who had
made one of their home circle so often and so
intimately in the old Wigwam days which she had
just been crying over. Hastily smoothing her
rumpled hair, bathing her eyes and fluffing a powder-puff
over her nose to take away the shine which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span>
her tear-sopped handkerchief had left on it, she
came out to find him standing before the fire,
looking down suspiciously at the scattered letters.</p>
<p>As he stepped forward with a hearty hand-clasp,
she felt that the keen glance he gave her was a
question, and answered as if he had spoken aloud.</p>
<p>"No, I wasn't asleep, as Mrs. Boyd thought.
I was just having a good old-fashioned cry—a
regular bawl! I don't get a chance to indulge in
such an orgy of weeps often, but now the storm
is over and it has cleared the atmosphere for
another year or so."</p>
<p>"What is it, Joyce? Bad news from home?
Is Jack worse?"</p>
<p>Phil's voice was so sympathetic, his real concern
so evident, that Joyce could not trust herself to
answer immediately. She stooped and began to
pick up the letters.</p>
<p>"I—I'm afraid I boasted too soon about the
storm being over. You'll have to talk about something
else for awhile, or I might tune up again."</p>
<p>"All right," he answered, in a soothing tone,
reaching down to help her gather up the letters.
"That suits me, anyhow, for I came on purpose
to bring you a rare bit of news concerning the
Tremont family."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span></p>
<p>In her present mood the mere sight of Phil's
broad shoulders was a comfort. They might not
be able to lift her actual burdens, but she felt their
willingness, and his unspoken sympathy steadied
her like an outstretched hand. Now with the consideration
that was one of his most lovable traits,
he gave her time to compose herself, by rattling
on in a joking way about himself.</p>
<p>"I've come a long distance in the rain and snow
to tell my news. I've torn myself away from all
the wiles of Stuart and Eugenia to keep their only
brother with them. I've braved the dangers of
Greater New York and defied the elements in order
to be the bearer of such important tidings, and
you needn't think I'm going to give it to you as
if it were any common bit of information. I tell
you what I'll do. You may have three guesses.
If you fail you pay a forfeit, say—an invitation
to supper, with the privilege of my helping get it
ready in that tabloid kitchen of yours."</p>
<p>"That is highly satisfactory," agreed Joyce,
whose voice was under control by this time. She
drew her chair a trifle closer to the fire, and, leaning
her elbows on her knees, looked into the embers
for inspiration.</p>
<p>"It concerns the Tremont family," she mused.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span>
"That means all of you. Well, it must be that the
old tangle about your great-aunt Patricia's holdings
in England has been settled and you're coming
into some money after all these years."</p>
<p>"No; guess again."</p>
<p>Picking up the long brass tongs, she began to
trace pictures on the sooty background of the
chimney while she tried to think of a better answer.</p>
<p>"It concerns <i>all</i> of you!"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>With his hands in his pockets, Phil walked over
to the window and stood looking out over the wide
stretch of city roofs below, now almost hidden by
the rapidly deepening twilight. He was smiling
while he waited, and humming half under his
breath a song that his old English nurse used to
sing to him and his sister Elsie: "Maid Elsie
roams by lane and lea." He had whistled it almost
constantly the last few days:</p>
<div class='poem'>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Kling! lang-ling!</span><br />
She seems to hear her bride-bells ring,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Her bonnie bride-bells ring!"</span><br />
</div>
<p>He hummed it again when Joyce's second guess
was wrong, while he waited for the third. Then,
when it, too, was wide of the mark and she demanded
to be told, he began it again; but this time<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>
he sang it meaningly, and loud enough to fill the
room with the deep, sweet notes:</p>
<div class='poem'>
"A year by seas, a year by lands,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">A year since then has died,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And Elsie at the altar stands,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Her sailor at her side.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">While kling! lang! ling!</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Their bonnie bride-bells gaily ring!"</span><br />
</div>
<p>Joyce's face grew bright with sudden understanding
as he finished, and she cried, "Elsie is to be
married! Is <i>that</i> what you came to tell me?"</p>
<p>"Yes, my littlest, onliest sister is to be married,
immediately after Easter, out in California, in the
Gold-of-Ophir rose-garden you have heard so much
about. We are all going—Daddy and Stuart and
Eugenia and little Patricia and your obedient
servant, 'Pat's Pill,' himself."</p>
<p>He left the window, and stretching himself out
in the big chair opposite hers, gave her the details
that she instantly demanded.</p>
<p>"Elsie's sailor lad is a navy surgeon. The wedding
is to be in the rose-garden, because there is
where they first met, and there is where Elsie has
had all the best times of her life. She has always
lived with mother's people, you know, since our
home was broken up, and even before mother's
death, we used to spend our winters there. Yes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>
Daddy opposed the marriage at first, but you know
Daddy. He'd hardly think an archangel good
enough for Elsie."</p>
<p>The news had the effect which Phil had foreseen,
and Joyce's own affairs retired into the background,
while she discussed the matter which was
of such vital importance to the whole Tremont
family. Later, he asked her to name all the things
she considered the most desirable and unique as
wedding gifts, and they were still adding to the
list from which he was to make his choice, when
they heard Mrs. Boyd come out into the hall to
turn on the light. In the bright firelight, they had
not noticed how dark it had grown outside. Joyce
looked at the clock and sprang up, exclaiming:</p>
<p>"Lucy will be wanting her cream toast, and it's
time also for me to pay my forfeit to you. How
much of a supper are you going to claim, young
man?"</p>
<p>"That depends on how many good left-overs
there are in the pantry and ice-box," said Phil,
rising also. "I'll come and investigate, myself,
thank you."</p>
<p>Pinning up the train of her red gown and tying
on a big apron, Joyce made quick work of her supper
preparations, and the long, lonely day ended<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span>
in a jolly little feast, which completely restored her
to her usual cheerful outlook on life. Mrs. Boyd
joined them, despite the fact that she must leave
Lucy to eat alone, in order to do so. It was always
a red-letter day in her drab existence when Phil
Tremont came into it. She was such a literal little
body, that she never joked herself. She was mentally
incapable of the repartee that always flew
back and forth across the table when Phil was a
guest, but she considered his tamest sallies as positively
brilliant. When she went back to Lucy she
had enough material to furnish conversation all the
rest of the evening.</p>
<p>"Now," said Phil, when he and Joyce were back
in the studio again, before the fire, "I don't want
to upset your equanimity, but if you can talk about
it calmly, I'd like to hear exactly how things are
going with Jack and Aunt Emily and that little
brick of a Mary. I had one letter from Jack the
first of the winter, and I've had the casual reports
you've given me at long intervals, but I've no
adequate idea of their whereabouts or their present
sayings and doings."</p>
<p>"Suppose I read you some of Mary's letters,"
proposed Joyce. "I've been surprised at the gift
she's developed lately for describing her surroundings.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>
Really, she's done some first-class word-pictures."</p>
<p>In answer to his pleased assent, Joyce turned
over the letters till she came to the first one that
Mary had written from Bauer.</p>
<p>"It was written on pieces of a paper sugar-sack
while she was getting supper," explained Joyce.
"But you can fairly see the little town spread out
between the spire of St. Peter's and the tower of
the Holy Angels' Academy, with the windmills in
between and the new moon low on the horizon."</p>
<p>Phil, lounging back in the big chair, sat with a
smile on his face as he listened to Mary's account
of the rector's call, while she was perched up on
the windmill. But when Joyce reached the closing
paragraph about its being a good old world after
all, and her belief in Grandmother Ware's verse
that the crooked should be made straight and the
rough places smooth, a very tender light shone in
his keen eyes. He said in a low tone, "The dear
little Vicar! She's game to the core!"</p>
<p>Urged to read more, Joyce went on, sometimes
choosing only an extract here and there, sometimes
reading an entire letter, till he had heard all about
her visit to Gay, her first experience at a military
hop, their brave attempt to make a merry Christmas<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span>
among strangers, and finally her experience
with the Mallory children, because of their desperate
need of money.</p>
<p>"Don't skip!" insisted Phil, still laughing over
her account of her "day of rest" at the Barnaby
ranch, when the peacock lost its tail.</p>
<p>"The next one isn't funny," replied Joyce, "but
it is especially interesting to me because it shows
how Mary is growing up."</p>
<p>She hunted through the disordered pile until
she found one dated two months ago.</p>
<p>"'The night after I brought Brud and Sister
back from the ranch I lay awake for hours, trying
to think what to do next to find the vulnerable spot
in my <i>kleinen teufel</i>. I couldn't think of a thing,
but decided to begin telling them Kipling's jungle
stories instead of any more fairy-tales, and to try
Mrs. Barnaby's suggestion of making them responsible
for their own entertainment part of the time.'</p>
<p>"Oh, this isn't the one I thought," exclaimed
Joyce. "It goes on to tell about the last news from
Holland, instead of the children. Here is the one
I wanted, written two weeks later:</p>
<p>"'Hail, Columbia, happy land! I've found the
"open sesame," thanks to Kipling, and in a way I
little expected. The children showed a breathless<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>
interest in the Jungle stories from the start, and
began dramatizing them of their own accord. They
have thrown themselves into the play with a zest
which nothing of my proposing has ever called out.
For two weeks I have been old Baloo, the Brown
Bear, and Father Wolf by turns. There are two
little hairless man-cubs in our version, however,
for a Mowglina divides honors with Mowgli.
Sister says she has chosen the name of Mowglina
"for keeps," and I sincerely hope she has, if what
Mr. Sammy Bradford said about names having a
moral effect on her is true.</p>
<p>"'We have our Council Rock up on the high hill
back of St. Peter's, where Meliss sometimes plays
the part of the Black Panther. We no longer greet
each other with "Good morning." It is "Good
Hunting" now, and when we part, it is with the
benediction, "Jungle favor go with thee!" You
remember Baloo taught the wood and water laws
to Mowgli, how to tell a rotten branch from a
sound one, how to speak politely to the wild bees
when he came upon a hive of them, etc. But more
than all he taught the Master Words of the Jungle,
that turned every bird, beast and snake into a
friend. It is simply amazing to me the way they
seemed to be charmed by that idea, and it is strange<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span>
that such utterly lawless children should be not
only willing but eager to abide by the rules laid
down for animals. It does my soul good to hear
Brud, who has never obeyed anyone, gravely declaim:</p>
<div class='poem'>
"'"Now these are the laws of the Jungle,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And many and mighty are they,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">But the head and the hoof of the law</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And the haunch and the hump is—<i>obey!</i>"</span><br />
</div>
<p>"'Or to hear saucy little Sister in the <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'role'">rôle</ins> of
Mowglina, repeating Kaa's words to Uncle August,
"A brave heart <i>and a courteous tongue</i>, they will
carry thee far through the Jungle, manling."</p>
<p>"'It was Uncle August, bless his old brown
body, who helped me to make my first personal
application of the play. I had just heard of their
latest prank down-town. (Sad to say, the more
angelic they are as little wolves, the more annoying
they are when they return to the Man-pack.)
They had dropped a live garter snake, a good-sized
one, through the slit of the package box, and the
postmistress had picked it up with a bundle of
newspapers. She was so frightened that she yelled
like a Comanche, and then had a nervous chill that
lasted for a quarter of an hour. That same day
they filled all the keyholes of the private letterboxes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span>
with chewing-gum, as far up as they could
reach, and everybody who had to stop to pry it out
was <i>so</i> cross.</p>
<p>"'I didn't say anything to them about it till
after they had told me about Uncle August's chasing
the calves out of Mrs. Williams' garden, and
how she had petted and praised him for it. We
talked a few minutes about the way Uncle August
is beloved by everybody who knows him, and how
even strangers on the street stop to pat his head
or say something kind about him.</p>
<p>"'"It's because he keeps every Law of the
Jungle, for dogs," I told them, and then I said,
quite mercilessly, "but the whole town looks on
you two children as <i>Banderlogs!</i> Mere, senseless
monkey-folks, outcasts who have no leaders and
no laws!" Really, it hurt them dreadfully and
I felt almost cruel for saying it. I could see that
the shot told when I reminded them how they had
been turned out of the hotel and chased out of
every store in town. I told them that people said
ugly things about them behind their backs, just
as Kaa and Baloo did about the silly gray Apes
who threw dirt and sticks and made mischief wherever
they went.</p>
<p>"'That was the climax. They both threw themselves<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span>
across my lap and began to cry, protesting
that they were <i>not</i> Banderlogs. They didn't want
people to call them that. I think my good angel
must have inspired me to make the little sermon
that I gave them then, for I certainly had never
thought of the analogy before—how the same
thing that is true in the Jungle holds good in the
Man-world; that we must learn the Master Words
for each person we meet, so that every heart will
understand when we call out, "We be of one blood,
ye and I." That just as the elephants and kites and
snakes became friendly to Mowgli as soon as he
learned the Master Words of their speech, so Miss
Edna and the postmistress and old Mr. Sammy
would be friendly to them, when they showed that
they not only had brave hearts, which scorned to
play little, mean, silly tricks, but <i>courteous tongues</i>
as well.</p>
<p>"'The amazing part of it is that they understood
me perfectly, and right then and there had a
sort of spiritual awakening to the fact that they
really are "of one blood" with these people they
have been tormenting. It is pathetic to watch how
hard they have been trying ever since, to convince
people that they are <i>not</i> Banderlogs, but are sensible
children, willing to be governed by laws that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span>
they never understood before. Now, at parting,
they insist on my repeating <i>all</i> the verse:</p>
<div class='poem'>
"'"Wood and water, wind and tree,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>Wisdom</i>, <i>strength and courtesy</i>,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Jungle favor go with thee."</span><br />
</div>
<div class='unindent'>They seem to believe that it verily holds some
sort of hoodoo spell which will armor them with
magic power to make friends.</div>
<p>"'Already Sister has made peace with the postmistress
by the gift of a crude little willow basket
of her own weaving, filled with wildflowers. It met
with such a gracious reception (due principally to
private explanation beforehand) that Sister fairly
squirmed with the blessedness of giving,—her first
real experience of that sort. Brud used his hatchet
to split a pine box into kindling, and presented the
same, tied in neat bundles, to Mrs. Williams. Her
surprise and voluble thanks (also solicited beforehand)
were so gratifying that Brud came home
so satisfied with the new application of the game
that he burns to play it with everyone in Bauer,
proving with actions, if not words, that he has a
right to say, "We be of one blood, ye and I," and
that he is <i>not</i> a Banderlog.'"</p>
<p>As Joyce slipped the letter back into its envelope,
Phil leaned forward to put another log on the fire,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span>
saying, as he did so, "Good for Mary! She always
manages to find some way out, and it is always
a way no one else would think of. But somehow I
can't quite place her in these letters. She's the
same little bunch of energy that I've always known,
and yet there's a difference. I can't quite make
out what."</p>
<p>"She's growing up, I tell you," answered Joyce.
"That's what makes the difference. Listen to this
one:</p>
<p>"'Yesterday being Valentine's day, we had a
picnic at the Council Rock. The hill rises straight
up from the public road, just back of the Mallory
cottage and St. Peter's. There is a roundabout
road to the top, leading in from a back lane, which
is easy to climb, but, of course, the children chose
the steep trail starting near their gate. Nothing but
a goat could walk up it with perfect ease and safety.</p>
<p>"'Once at the top, the view is lovely. You can
see over half the county, and look right down into
the chimneys of the town. The whole hilltop is
covered with wildflowers; strange, beautiful things
I have never seen before—so many exquisite
colors, you'd think a rainbow had been broken to
bits and scattered over the ground.</p>
<p>"'At one o'clock we started out of the Mallory<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span>
gate, the most grotesque procession that ever went
down the pike of Bauer. You see, we'd dropped
the Jungle game for the day, and they were doing
St. Valentine honor. I went first in my oldest
dress, on account of the climb, my Mexican hat
on my head, my alarm-clock, as usual, in one hand
and a thermos bottle in the other. I was taking
some boiling water along to make them tea, as a
great treat. They don't like it particularly, but they
wanted to use a little Japanese tea-set that had just
been sent to them.</p>
<p>"'Sister, fired by some of my descriptions of
Valentine costumes, had elected to attend the picnic
as the Queen of Hearts, and had dressed herself
for the part with the assistance of Meliss. She
looked perfectly ridiculous, spotted all over with
turkey-red calico hearts. They were sewed on her
dress, her hat, and even her black stockings. She
was as badly broken out with them as a measles
patient would have been with a red rash.</p>
<p>"'Brud wouldn't let her dike him out in the
same way. She wanted him to go as Cupid. He
consented to let her call him Cupid and he carried a
bow and arrow, and wore some of the trimmings,
but he wore them in his own way. The white
turkey-wings, which she tried to attach to his shoulderblades,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span>
he wore bound to his brow like an Indian
chieftain's war-bonnet. Long-suffering Uncle
August frisked about in a most remarkable costume.
I think it must have been made of the top
section of Brud's pajamas, with the sleeves pulled
up over his front paws, and buttoned in the back.
It was sprinkled with big hearts, some blue and
some yellow.</p>
<p>"'But, funny as they looked, Meliss was the
comic Valentine of the occasion. The front of her
was covered with an old lace window curtain.
Across her bosom, carefully fastened with a gilt
paper arrow, was the lithographed picture of a big
red heart, as fat and red and shiny as a ripe tomato.
She carried the lunch basket.</p>
<p>"'I must confess it staggered me a trifle when
the procession came out to meet me, but they were
so pleased with themselves I hadn't the heart to
suggest a single change. I led on, hoping that we
wouldn't meet anyone. Well, we hadn't gone a
hundred paces till we heard hoof-beats, and a solitary
horseman came riding along behind us. Brud
looked back and then piped up in his shrill little
voice:</p>
<p>"'"Oh, look, Miss Mayry! Look at the soldier
man coming!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span></p>
<p>"'Naturally, I glanced back, and my blood fairly
ran cold, for there, riding along with a broad grin
on his face at sight of our ridiculous turnout, was
Lieutenant Boglin! I was so amazed at seeing him
that I just stood still in the road and stared, feeling
my face get redder and redder. Somehow I
had no power to move. He didn't recognize me
till he was opposite us, but the instant he did, he
was off his horse and coming up to shake hands,
and I was trying to account for our appearance.
It seems he had been with the troops up at Leon
Springs for target practice, and was taking a day
off while they were breaking camp. He had been
commissioned to look at a polo pony somebody had
for sale in Bauer, and thought while he was about it
he would call and see the Ware family, after he had
had dinner at the hotel. He was on his way there.</p>
<p>"'Well, there I was! I couldn't ask him to go
on such a babyfied lark as our Valentine picnic. I
couldn't leave the children and take him over home,
because my time is Mrs. Mallory's. Even if she
had excused me, the children would have raised
an unstoppable howl, and probably would have followed
us. They are making grand strides in the
courtesy business, but they are still far from being
models of propriety.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span></p>
<p>"'When I had explained to the best of my ability,
I told him I would be through at five, and asked
him to wait and take supper with us. I could see
that he was inwardly convulsed, and I do believe it
was because we all looked so ridiculous and he
wanted to see the show a second time that he accepted
my invitation with alacrity. As soon as
he started on to the Williams House, I stopped under
a tree and wrote a scrawl to mamma on the margin
of the newspaper that was spread on top of
the lunch-basket. Then I gave Meliss a dime to
run over home with it, so that the family needn't be
taken by surprise if Bogey happened to get there
before I did.</p>
<p>"'But it seems that he forgot the directions I
gave him for finding the house, and about ten
minutes to five, as the children and Meliss were
finishing the lunch which was spread out on the
Council Rock, he came climbing up the side of the
hill. The children had been angelic before his
arrival and they were good after he came, except—I
can't explain it—there was something almost
impish in the way they sat and watched us, listening
to everything we said, as if they were committing
it to memory to repeat afterward. Even Uncle
August, in his heart-covered pajamas, squatted solemnly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span>
on the rock beside them and seemed to be
stowing away something to remember.</p>
<p>"'The lieutenant couldn't glance in their direction
without laughing out loud; they looked so
utterly comical. So he turned his back on them
and began to admire the view, which certainly was
magnificent. As the sun began to go down the wind
came up, and the veil I had tied around my hat got
loose, and streamed out like a comet's tail. I
couldn't tie it down and I couldn't find a pin to
fasten it, and first thing I knew he had taken one
of those fancy bronze pins from the collar of his
uniform, those crossed guns that officers wear, you
know, and he gave me that to fasten my veil with.</p>
<p>"'Now, there was nothing remarkable in that.
Gay and Roberta have whole rows of such pins that
different officers have given them. But Sister
pointed her finger at me and shrilled out like a
katydid, as if they had been discussing the subject
before, "No, sir, Brud! You can't fool <i>me!</i> He
<i>is</i> Miss Mayry's valentine. He's her <i>beau!</i>"</p>
<p>"'Unless you could have heard the elfish way
she said it, you couldn't understand why it should
have embarrassed me so dreadfully. My face felt
as hot as a fiery furnace. He sort of smiled and
pretended not to hear, and I couldn't think of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span>
word to break the awful pause. But just then
the alarm-clock, hanging on a bush behind us, went
off with a whang and clatter that sent us both
springing to our feet.</p>
<p>"'They had finished their lunch by that time,
so I helped Meliss hustle the dishes into the basket
and headed the party for home as soon as possible.
You can imagine the deep breath of thankfulness
I drew when I finally left them at their own gate.
But I drew it too soon. I should have waited
until we were out of earshot. For as they went
racing up the path to meet their mother, we could
hear them shrieking to her about Miss Mayry's
valentine beau who gave her two teeny, weeny guns
to pin her veil with.</p>
<p>"'The wind wasn't blowing so hard down where
we were then, so as we went along I said in a careless
sort of way, "Oh,—'lest we forget'—I'll
return this now," and started to take it out of my
veil. But he only laughed and said, with such a
mischievous glance, "No, keep it, 'Miss Mayry,'
lest you forget—your valentine."</p>
<p>"'Fortunately, it was one of Jack's good days,
and he was able to be out in the sitting-room, and
the two took to each other at once. You know nobody
can give people quite such a gentle, gracious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span>
reception as mamma can, and much as I had
dreaded taking him into such a barely furnished
little house, and serving him from our motley collection
of dishes, I didn't mind it at all after she
had made him welcome. Such things don't matter
so much when you've a family you can be proud of.</p>
<p>"'We had a delicious supper, and he ate and ate,
and said nothing had tasted so good since he left
home years ago to enlist. He stayed till ten o'clock,
and then went down to the livery stable to get his
horse and ride back to camp by moonlight. We
sat up for nearly an hour after he left, comparing
notes on how we had enjoyed the evening, and
talking over all he had said. Jack said it was like
coming across a well in a thirsty desert to meet a
fellow like that, and mamma said she was sure he
had enjoyed his little taste of simple home life quite
as much as we had enjoyed having him. He quite
captivated her, especially when he asked permission
to come again. Norman was so impressed that
he has been talking ever since about the advantages
of being an army man. As for me, I found him
lots more interesting than he was the night of the
hop, although I must say I'll always remember him
as a sort of guardian angel that night, for being so
kind and saving me from being a wall-flower.'"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span></p>
<p>There was a peculiar expression on Phil's face
as Joyce laid down that letter.</p>
<p>"Do you know," he said, gravely, "I feel as if
I'd been seeing the little Vicar grow up right under
my very eyes. I'd never before thought of her as
being old enough to have 'affairs,' but this seems to
give promise of blossoming into one. Of course,
it's what one might naturally expect, but somehow
I can't quite get used to the idea, and—"</p>
<p>He did not finish the sentence aloud, but as he
scowled into the fire, he added to himself, "<i>I don't
like it!</i>"</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2>
<div class='chaptertitle'>PHIL GOES TO WARWICK HALL</div>
<p>Had it not been for that package of letters read
aloud before the fire on that stormy March night,
this story might have had a very different ending.
But for them Phil never would have known what
a winsome, unselfish character the little Vicar had
grown up to be. The casual meetings of years
could not have revealed her to him as did these
intimate glimpses of her daily life and thought,
through her letters to Joyce.</p>
<p>They showed her childishly jubilant in her delight
when the first month's salary was paid into
her hands, and yet practical and womanly in her
plans for spending it. Like a child she was, too,
in her laments over some of the mistakes which
her inexperience led her into with Brud and Sister,
yet he could see plainly underneath her whimsical
words her deep earnestness of purpose. At last
she had recognized that this opportunity to impress
them with her high ideals was one of the King's
calls, and she was bending every energy to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span>
keeping of that tryst. It was this development
of character which interested Phil, even more than
the news of the letters. Still there were a number
of items which gave him something to think about.
Lieutenant Boglin had made a second visit. Once
she mentioned a book he had sent her, and another
time a rare butterfly to add to the new collection
she was starting. Evidently they had found several
interests in common.</p>
<p>On his last visit she had taken him to Fernbank
in the boat, and he had captured a fine big
hairy tarantula for her from among the roots of
a clump of maidenhair ferns. She had been able
to enjoy the boat a great deal more since the children
had learned the meaning of the word obey.
She could take them with her now without fear
of their rocking the boat, and in consequence they
had had many a delightful hour on the water that
had not been possible before.</p>
<p>"Do you know," said Phil, slowly, when he had
listened awhile longer, "it doesn't strike me that
those are particularly doleful letters; at any rate,
anything to send you into an 'orgy of weeps.'
I believe it is nothing but the weather which gave
you the spell of doldrums that you were in when
I came."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span></p>
<p>"Oh, but you haven't heard the latest ones,"
Joyce exclaimed. "Mamma's reports of Jack's
condition and Jack's own little pencilled scrawls.
I can read between the lines just what a desperate
fight he is making, and this last one from Mary
simply knocked all the props out from under the
hope I had been clinging to."</p>
<p>She picked up the last envelope on the pile, postmarked
March first, and turned to the closing pages:</p>
<p>"'Jack is so much worse that I can scarcely think
of anything else. We are <i>so</i> worried about him.
He is in bed all the time now, and is growing so
thin and weak. He is very despondent,—something
new for him. It keeps us busy trying to think
of things to tempt his appetite or to arouse him
out of his listlessness. He has always been so
cheerful before—so full of jokes and so responsive
to any attempt to amuse him. But now he
doesn't seem to want to talk or to be read to or
anything. Once in a while he'll smile a wan little
sort of smile when I repeat some of the children's
doings, but he isn't like himself any more. Sometimes
I believe he's just worn out with the long
effort he's made to be brave and keep up for our
sake.</p>
<p>"'It is hard for me to keep my interest in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span>
children keyed up to the proper pitch any more,
when all the time I am thinking how pitiful and
white he looks, lying back on his pillows. I am
telling you exactly how things are because I would
want you to tell me if I were in your place and
you in mine. I can understand how hard it is
for you to be so far away where you can't see
for yourself how he is, every hour. I'll try to
send a note or postal each day.</p>
<div class="figleft" style="width: 356px;">
<img src="images/i006.jpg" width="356" height="500" alt="Leaning against the mantel looked down at her thoughtfully" />
</div>
<p>"'He's talked about you a lot, lately. Says you
have the pioneer spirit of all our old Colonial grandmothers,
to stick to your post the way you are
doing for our sakes. He's constantly referring to
things that happened at the Wigwam, and to the
people who used to come there,—Mr. Ellested and
the Lees and Phil,—especially Phil. I wish he
could drop in here to see us daily as he used to
do in Arizona. Maybe Jack would rouse up and
take some interest in <i>him</i>. He doesn't take any
now in the people we have met here, although no
one could be kinder than the Rochesters and the
Barnabys have been to us.'"</p>
<p>Joyce finished reading, and Phil rose to his feet
and began pacing up and down the long room,
his hands in his pockets and his eyes fixed on the
floor as if he were considering some weighty problem.
Finally he stopped, and leaning against the
mantel, looked down at her, thoughtfully, saying,
"Joyce, I've about thought out a way to manage
it—to take in Bauer on my way to California, I
mean. You told me once that Aunt Emily calls
me her 'other boy.' Well, you all are my other
family, and these glimpses you've given me of it
make me homesick to see them. I might be able
to help matters some way. I'm almost sure I can
arrange to start several days before the rest of
the party and go around that way, so if you have
any messages or things to send, get them ready."</p>
<p>"Oh, Phil!" she cried, thankfully. "They'll
be so glad—I know it will do them a world of
good to see you. Maybe you can cheer Jack up
a bit. So much depends on keeping him hopeful."
Then she added, wistfully, "I only wish you could
put me in your pocket and take me along."</p>
<p>"I wish I could," he answered, cordially. Then
more cordially still after a moment's thought,
"Why, that's the very thing! Come and go along!
Just cut loose for a short visit and let things here
go hang! It would mean more to them at home
to see you again than the few dollars you could
pile up if you stayed on here."</p>
<p>"No," she contradicted, sadly, the light dying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a><br /><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span>
out of her eyes, which had brightened at the mere
thought of such a visit. "It's too long a trip and
too expensive, and—"</p>
<p>"But we can easily arrange all that," he interrupted,
eagerly. "Under the circumstances you
ought to let me do for Jack's sister what Jack
would gladly do for mine were the circumstances
reversed. <i>Please</i>, Joyce."</p>
<p>She shook her head as he urged his plan, but
her eyes filled with tears and she said, brokenly,
"You are a dear, generous boy to offer it, and
I'll remember it always, but Phil—don't you see—there's
too much at stake. I <i>can't</i> leave now.
Not only my work in hand would stop, but I'd
lose the orders that are constantly coming in, and
I can't afford to miss a penny that would add
to Jack's comfort in any way. He may be helpless
for years and years, and Mary's salary will
stop as soon as the Mallorys leave Bauer this summer."</p>
<p>"Well, think about it, anyway," urged Phil,
hopefully. "Maybe you'll see things differently
by daylight, and change your mind. I'll ring you
up in the morning."</p>
<p>"By the way," he said, a few minutes later,
when he was slipping into his overcoat, "don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span>
write to Mary that there is a possibility of my
going to Bauer. If I should go I want to surprise
her."</p>
<p>"Very well," agreed Joyce. "But I may write
about Elsie's wedding and say that you'll all be
going West?"</p>
<p>"Oh, yes, she'll probably have cards herself
soon, for Elsie has never forgotten her one encounter
with the little Vicar, and she wrote for
her address some time ago."</p>
<p>It was several days before Joyce saw Phil again.
When he did come he was in such a hurry that
he did not wait for the elevator, which seemed
to be stuck somewhere in the basement. After
several impatient rings he started up the stairs,
two steps at a time, and had reached the fifth
floor before the elevator overtook him. He was
slightly out of breath, but so intent on his errand
that he never would have thought to step in and
ride the rest of the way, had it not stopped on
the landing for another passenger, as he was about
to pass the cage.</p>
<p>The janitor was cleaning the halls of the top
floor apartments, and the door into Joyce's studio
being open, Phil walked in without waiting to
ring. Joyce was at her easel hard at work. Her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span>
face lighted up when she saw his, for it showed
so plainly he was the bearer of good news.</p>
<p>"Daddy's going with me," were his first breathless
words of greeting. "We—" Then he
paused as if some sudden recollection warned him
to ask, "What have you heard from home lately?"</p>
<p>She thought the question was prompted by his
fear that it might not be convenient for them to
have guests in the house if Jack were so ill, so
she hastened to reassure him.</p>
<p>"Oh, I had the cheerfulest sort of letter from
Mamma this morning, written last Sunday, the very
day I was crying my eyes out over them. Isn't
that always the way? Here it was so bleak and
blustery that I couldn't help imagining that they
were as dismal as I. And all the time it was as
warm as summer in Bauer, the country a mass
of wildflowers, and they were having a perfectly
delightful time with Gay Melville. And guess who
had gone up with her to spend the day there!
Alex Shelby of Kentucky!" she added, without
an instant's pause for him to answer.</p>
<p>"Mamma wrote that she didn't know when she
had had such an enjoyable day. Dr. Shelby insisted
on her going for a little outing with the girls while
he and Norman took care of Jack. Mary poled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span>
them up to Fernbank in the boat, and when they
got back they found that, in some unaccountable
way, Jack had been wonderfully cheered up. He
seemed more like himself than he had been for
weeks. Mamma was so happy over that, for even
if he can never be any better physically it is a lot
to be thankful for to have his spirits kept up."</p>
<p>"Is that all?" asked Phil, when she paused at
last.</p>
<p>"Yes. Why? Isn't that <i>enough</i>?"</p>
<p>"I only wanted to find out how much you knew
before I broke <i>my</i> news. Now, listen to this!
Alex Shelby wrote to Daddy that same night. You
know they met at Eugenia's wedding, and Shelby
who was just beginning to practise medicine then
seemed to develop a case of hero-worship for
father. Shelby has taken a great interest in Jack's
case ever since he heard of the accident, and the
reason he sent Aunt Emily out that afternoon was
that he might have a chance to examine Jack without
her knowing it. He didn't want to raise anybody's
hopes if nothing can be done. He thinks
that the first operation did not go quite far enough.
There is still a pressure on the spinal cord which
may be removed by a very delicate bit of surgery.
<i>I</i> don't understand his technical terms, but it's one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span>
of the most difficult things known to the medical
profession.</p>
<p>"Daddy says there are very few cases on record
of its having been done successfully, although it
has been attempted several times. Personally he
knows of two cases. One was a football player
in this country who had his back broken, and one
was a man in Germany who was injured in exactly
the same vertebræ where Jack's trouble lies. And—mark
this now—<i>Daddy helped with that
operation</i>. The surgeon who performed it was a
friend of his, and called him in because it was such
a rare and peculiar case."</p>
<p>Joyce was scarcely breathing now, as she listened.
She was white to the lips in her intense excitement.</p>
<p>"Oh, go <i>on!</i>" she exclaimed, unable to endure
the suspense when he paused. "Doctor Tremont
thinks he can cure him?"</p>
<p>"No—" was the guarded response. "He is
not sure. He doesn't say that. But there is a
chance, just one chance, and he is going to take it.
We're leaving in a few hours, so I haven't another
moment to stay!"</p>
<p>Joyce, who had risen in her first excitement,
dropped back on her stool again, limp and trembling.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span>
She had thought so long of Jack's illness
as being hopeless that the possibility of a cure
almost unnerved her with the great joy of it. Phil
went on, rapidly:</p>
<p>"Shelby told Jack of his hope, but evidently he
said nothing to the rest of the family, or they would
have known the reason for Jack's return to cheerfulness.
Now, don't go to getting upset like that,"
he added, holding out his hands for a cordial leave-taking.
"I don't want to get your hopes up too
high, but I've always felt that Daddy could come
as near to working miracles as anyone living, and
you just remember this—he's going to work one
this time, if mortal man can do it! You see, he
knows what the Wares were to me that year on the
desert. He hasn't forgotten how you all saved his
motherless boy for him. That's the way he puts it.
Saved me from my besetting temptation and sent
me away to make a man of myself. If he can put
Jack on his feet again he will feel that he is only
paying back a small part of his obligation to you
all—to say nothing of <i>my</i> debt. Lord! I can't
even talk about that now! It's too big for me ever
to tackle myself. But I just wanted you to know
how we both feel about it—"</p>
<p>He did not attempt to finish, but with a final<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span>
strong handclasp he was gone before Joyce could
find her voice for more than a faltering good-by.</p>
<p>For a little while after he left she sat before her
easel, gazing vacantly at the canvas with eyes which
saw nothing. She could not settle down to work
again with so many exciting mental pictures rising
up before her: Jack, undergoing the operation at
home. The awful suspense and tension of that time
of waiting until they could know the result, and
then—Jack, strong and well and swinging along
with the vigorous stride she remembered so well.
Or would it be—She shut her eyes and shuddered,
putting away from her with an exclamation of
horror the other scene that persisted in presenting
itself. She had never forgotten the tramp of feet
across the threshold of the little brown house in
Plainsville the day they carried her father away.</p>
<p>Presently she could bear it no longer, and pushing
back her easel she slipped off her apron and
called to Mrs. Boyd that she was going out for
awhile. In her present tremor of nervousness she
could not trust herself to stop and explain. She
felt that she could not bear to listen to the little
woman's platitudes, no matter how sympathetic they
might be.</p>
<p>It was not till she was on the car, half-way out to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span>
Central Park, that she remembered she had not told
Phil of one other item of news in her mother's letter.
She wondered if he knew that Gay and Alex
Shelby were engaged. The reason that they had
gone to Bauer was to announce it themselves to the
only people in that part of the world who knew and
loved Lloydsboro Valley. It was in that happy
valley that their romance had begun, and they both
knew that Mrs. Ware had spent her girlhood there,
that Mary regarded it as her "Promised Land,"
and that Jack, although his visit there had been limited
to one day, had seen the rose-covered cabin
where Gay and her Knight of the Looking-glass had
first caught sight of each other, and where their
married life was to begin.</p>
<p>It was several hours before Joyce got back to the
studio. The long car-ride and the brisk walk in the
park had helped her to regain her usual outward
composure, but she was far from being as calm as
she seemed. Alternate moods of hopefulness and
foreboding kept her swinging like a pendulum from
exhilaration to a sickening sense of fear. She could
hardly fix her mind on her work, although her hands
moved feverishly.</p>
<p>Before starting back to work she hunted up one
of Henrietta's railroad time-tables, and fastened it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span>
to a corner of her canvas, so that she could follow
the course of the Texas-bound travellers. At intervals
she glanced from the clock to the card, thinking,
"Now they are just leaving the New York station,"
or, "Now they are pulling into Washington."
Later she found the time when they would be going
aboard the New Orleans sleeper, and from then on
a thousand times her thoughts ran on ahead to
picture their reception in Bauer, and the events that
would follow there in quick succession. Her waking
hours were filled with only one thought till
Phil's first telegram announced their arrival. Then
she scarcely ate or slept, so great was her anxiety
as she waited his second message.</p>
<p>As Doctor Tremont and Phil pushed through the
crowds at the New York station, hurrying to reach
the Washington-bound train, steaming on the track,
Phil recalled the last time he had passed through. It
was in March of the previous year, but later in the
month, that he had come down with Joyce to put
Mary and Betty aboard the train, the morning after
they had heard about Jack's accident. It was at that
stand that he bought the fruit for them, here he had
snatched up the magazines, and there was where he
had stood while the train pulled out, waiting for the
last glimpse of the little Vicar's face at the window,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span>
bravely smiling in her efforts to "keep inflexible"
for Joyce's sake.</p>
<p>The scene had been impressed vividly upon his
memory, because of the way the whole affair had
touched his sympathies, and now he found himself,
after a year, recalling things that at the time he
had barely noticed. It was like taking a second look
at a snapshot picture, and finding details in the background
to which he had paid no attention when first
focussing the camera. There was that wistful look
in Betty's brown eyes, for instance. They had been
almost as full of trouble as Mary's. Their appealing
sadness came back to him now quite as forcibly
as Mary's tearful good-by smile.</p>
<p>He remembered the protecting way she had put
her arm around her little pupil. They had been
such good comrades all through the vacation pleasures
which they had shared, that Christmas and
Easter. He remembered now how far back Betty's
friendship with Joyce dated. Suddenly it occurred
to him that Betty, of all people, would be most interested
in what was about to occur in the Ware
family. Whatever followed the operation, whether
it were grief or joy, she would share with them.</p>
<p>Doctor Tremont had some business to attend
to which would keep him busy during the few<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span>
hours they were obliged to stop over in Washington,
and, after a few moments' deliberation, Phil
decided to go out to Warwick Hall while he waited,
instead of spending his time looking up an old
acquaintance, as he had intended doing.</p>
<p>There was another reason for calling on Betty,
which he did not acknowledge to himself as a reason,
but it carried weight in helping him to make
a decision. That was the knowledge that she would
have the latest news of Lloyd Sherman. He had
had six months in which to grow accustomed to
the idea that the little unset turquoise he had once
given her could never stand for anything more
between them than the "true-blue friendship stone."
He had been so determined to make it more, that his
whole world seemed jolted out of its orbit when
he heard of her engagement to Rob Moore. He
could not talk of it at first. Lately, however, he
had come to take a more philosophical view of the
situation.</p>
<p>Several hours later, when Phil found himself in
front of Warwick Hall, the great castle-like building
and beautifully kept grounds seemed as familiar
as if he had visited it before. The Lloydsboro
valley girls had sung its praises ever since he had
known them. Lloyd herself had talked much of it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span>
in the days when every subject she mentioned was
interesting, simply because she chose to talk about
it. Mary Ware had pictured it to him as a veritable
paradise, and he had been pressed to admire
so many photographs of it on so many occasions
that it was no wonder it had a familiar look, every
way he turned.</p>
<p>He would have been highly amused could he
have known what a sensation he was creating in
the school, as he stood on the highest terrace, looking
down the flight of stately marble steps that
led to the river. In the first place, the sight of
such an unusually attractive man, young, handsome,
and with an air of distinction, was a rarity
in those parts. That he should loiter down the
walk instead of striding straight up to the massive
portal, aroused the curiosity of every girl who
happened to be near a window, and why he should
pluck a leaf from the Abbotsford ivy, overhanging
the pergola, and then walk along the hedge of
the wonderful old garden until he could lean over
and read the motto on the ancient sun-dial, was
more than any of them could fathom. There was
a flutter among those who had seen him, when
presently the great knocker, echoing through the
hall, announced that he was ready to enter.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span></p>
<p>The pompous butler opened the door, and for
the second time in his history nearly fell backward,
for the dignified young stranger who stood there
with the easy grace of at least a viscount, called
out as if he had known him always, "Oh, it's
Hawkins."</p>
<p>When Phil raised his hand to the knocker he
was smiling over Mary's account of her first entrance
through that door. He had teased her unmercifully
when he heard of her rehearsals for
the purpose of impressing the butler, and when
the man instantly appeared just as Mary had pictured
him, he was so much like a stiff old portrait
bowing from the frame of the doorway, that the
exclamation slipped from Phil in surprise. Then
he smiled again, thinking how inadvertently he had
copied Mary.</p>
<p>At first glance Hawkins thought he must be one
of Madam Chartley's relatives from England, and
bowed again, obsequiously this time. But the
card laid on his silver tray was not for Madam.
It was for Miss Elizabeth Lewis, the youngest and
most popular teacher in the Hall.</p>
<p>It was after recitation hours and Betty was not
in her room, but she came in presently from a
walk, looking as girlish and rosy as the little freshman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span>
who had been her companion. The March
winds had given her color, and blown her brown
hair about her face in soft little curls. Phil could
see her through the curtained arch as she came
into the hall and took the card Hawkins presented
on his tray. Her face lighted up with pleasure,
and she gave an exclamation of surprise, both of
which items Hawkins noticed. When she hurried
into the reception-room he cast a look of discreet
curiosity after her. Then he turned away with a
wise wag of the head. Of course, one knew what
to expect when the young stranger called her by
her first name in such a joyful tone as that, and
she responded cordially that it was such a lovely
surprise to see "the Best Man!"</p>
<p>All the wedding party had called Phil the Best
Man, ever since Mary had emphasized the name
by her comically reverent use of it, and it seemed
quite natural that the next remark should be about
her. Phil thought to surprise Betty by saying,
casually, "I've just stopped by to ask if you want
to send any message to Mary Ware. I'm on my
own way to Bauer now."</p>
<p>But he was the one to be surprised, for her
face paled and she exclaimed, in a voice tense with
suppressed excitement, "Oh, is your father going,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span>
too? Has he really consented to attempt the operation?"</p>
<p>Then, in answer to his exclamation of astonishment
that she should know anything about it, she
explained, while the color returned in a rush. She
had had a note from Jack that morning, just a
scribbled line, telling what Alex Shelby had written
to Doctor Tremont, and what they hoped would
be the answer.</p>
<p>"He hasn't told the family yet," she explained,
seeing from Phil's face that he thought it queer
she should know of it. "He didn't want them
to suffer the cruel disappointment it would be should
they discover they had been cherishing a false hope.
But he just <i>had</i> to tell somebody, and he knew
I'd understand how much recovery would mean
to him, for he used to write me so fully of his
plans and ambitions before he was hurt."</p>
<p>She closed her hands so tightly that the pink
nails pressed into the tender palms. "Oh, I <i>hope</i>
Alex hasn't been mistaken," she exclaimed. "I
can't think of anything so cruel as to hold out
the heaven of such a hope to him, only to have
it dashed away."</p>
<p>"Daddy says there is one chance," answered
Phil, "and he is going to take it." Then, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span>
a sudden understanding of the situation as he
watched her face, he began to comfort her with
the same words he had spoken to Joyce. "Daddy
can come as near to working miracles as any man
living, and you just remember this, little girl.
He's going to work one this time if mortal man
can do it!"</p>
<p>The ring of certainty in his voice made her look
up at him with a smile that was like an April day,
such joy shone through the brown eyes, which
a moment before had been misty with tears. She
did not know how much she had revealed, but
as she turned away Phil said to himself, "So
<i>that's</i> the way the land lies! I must give Daddy
a hint of how much is at stake. If he saves Jack
it won't be for the Ware family alone."</p>
<p>Betty had been called aside a moment to speak
to a visiting parent, and when she came back to
Phil, had fully recovered her composure.</p>
<p>"Come on," she said, gaily. "There are a few
things I must show you. It will never do for
anybody to confess to Mary Ware that he has
been to Warwick Hall and missed seeing the things
that she particularly adores."</p>
<p>It was a short pilgrimage she led him on; to
meet Madam Chartley first, then to see the great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span>
stained-glass window where the motto of Edryn,
"I keep tryste," flaunted itself in letters of light
above the ruby heart and the mailed hand, clasping
the spear. Then outdoors they went, past the peacocks
on the terraces, down the marble steps to
the river, where pretty girls were walking arm
in arm, and Phil was conscious of many curious
glances cast in his direction. Then they strolled
through the garden, where the crocuses and early
March flowers were making a brave showing, and
out towards the golf links a little way. Betty's
cheeks were almost as red as the bright Tam
O'Shanter cap she wore, and her eyes shone with
a happy, tender light as she talked of Mary and
what the school had meant to her. The pilgrimage,
like the bundle of letters which Joyce had
read, was eloquent with suggestions of Mary at
every turn. He understood now as he had not
before how much she had renounced when she
left without finishing the year. He began to appreciate
the greatness of her sacrifice, and, guided
by Betty at his elbow, he began to perceive what
an influence such a place, with its ideals and its
refined, old-world fashion of living might exert
on a girl like Mary Ware.</p>
<p>There was not much opportunity to lead the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span>
conversation towards Lloyd, with Betty constantly
breaking off to say, "Oh, don't forget to mention
this to Mary," or, "Tell her you saw this and
that." He learned very little about her, save that
she was well and happy. Betty had always known,
she said, that Rob was the one written in the
stars for the Princess Winsome. They knew each
other so thoroughly and had such a happy childhood
in common, and in her opinion they had
always been meant for each other from the beginning.</p>
<p>It was growing late when they came back to
the front door, but Betty insisted on his coming
in for a moment for a cup of tea, "Served from
an ancestral teacup," she insisted, "so that you
can brag to Mary of it." While they waited for
it to be brought, Betty hastily summoned several
of the girls whom she wanted him to meet.</p>
<p>"You'll never remember their names," she said,
laughingly, "and Mary will make your life a burden
with questions if you can't answer. Give me
a pencil and I'll scribble them down for you.
Elise Walton, you'll remember, of course, for
she was the pretty child with the long, dark curls,
whom you used to meet so many times at The
Beeches, the summer Eugenia was married. You'll<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span>
quite fall in love with her, I am sure, for she
is getting prettier every day, and you'll not need
any memorandum to keep her in mind when you've
once heard her talk. A. O. Miggs will be the
little roly-poly dumpling of a girl, and Dorene Derwent,
the one who giggles so gurglingly. Cornie
Dean you'll remember for the elaborate way she
does her hair, and the coy way she has of casting
melting side-glances. That's a habit she has acquired
just in this last year, so you might mention
it to Mary. She'll be immensely interested in
hearing it. See, I have made marginal notes for
each one, if you can understand my abbreviations."</p>
<p>As she handed him the slip of paper the girls
came in, all pleased to meet "such a fascinating,
Lord-Lochinvar looking man," as A. O. described
him afterward, and all overjoyed to find that he
would be the bearer of messages to Mary Ware.
They sent so many that he laughingly disclaimed
all responsibility in case he should get them mixed
in transit. He had an odd feeling that he was
on exhibition to these girls as Mary's friend, and
that he must do her credit. The few moments
he stayed with them he used to such advantage that
he was straightway written down in their opinion
as the most fascinating man they had ever met.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span>
When he took his leave it was with a flattering
regret that made each girl feel that she was the
one who inspired it, and they went back to their
rooms to compare notes and to "rave over him,"
as Dorene expressed it, for days.</p>
<p>The twilight was falling when he started back
to the station. Betty walked part of the way with
him. Only once they referred to Jack again, and
that was not till they reached the bend in the driveway,
where Betty turned back. She put out her
hand with wishes for a safe journey, and he held
it an instant to say, "I'm sure it's all going to
end happily, and you shall have the first telegram."</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2>
<div class='chaptertitle'>IN "BLUE-BONNET" TIME</div>
<p><span class="smcap">The</span> time of "blue-bonnets" had come. No
matter where else in Texas the lupin may grow,
one thing is certain; there is enough of it in the
meadows around Bauer nearly every spring to justify
its choice as the State flower. This particular
March, acres and acres of it, blue as the Mediterranean,
stretched away on either side of the high-roads.
Viewed from a distance when the wind,
blowing across it, made waves of bloom, it almost
seemed as if a wide blue sea were rolling in across
the land.</p>
<p>From his bed near the window Jack Ware could
catch a glimpse of one of these meadows, where
the cattle stood buried up to their bodies in the
fragrant blossoms. Now and then the breeze, fluttering
his curtains, brought the odor to him almost
as heavy and sweet as the smell of locusts. He
watched the picture with languid eyes which closed
weakly at intervals. They were shut when Mary
tiptoed into the room, to see if there was anything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span>
she could do for his comfort before starting out
on her usual afternoon excursion with her pupils,
but they opened with an expression of greater interest
than they had held for some days as he saw
her standing there in a freshly laundered gingham.
It was so blue and white that she suggested a
blooming blue-bonnet herself.</p>
<p>"Hullo, Finnigan," he said, with an attempt at
his old-time pleasantry. "'Off agin, gone agin,'
are you? Which way this time?"</p>
<p>Touched almost to tears by this evidence of returning
interest, Mary explained eagerly that they
were still studying about bees. She had found a
bee-tree in the Herdt pasture, and the lupin was
all a-buzz with specimens to illustrate the lesson.
That was for the Wisdom part of it. For the
Strength there were some new exercises in climbing
and hanging from a low limb. The practical
application of their Courtesy lesson would be the
gathering of a great basketful of blue-bonnets for
the ladies of the Guild, who wanted to decorate
the parish house with them for an entertainment
to be given there.</p>
<p>"Oh, they're making long strides," she assured
him. "Mrs. Mallory told me that the time it
rained so hard last week, and I couldn't get across<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span>
the foot-bridge at the ford to give them their usual
lesson, Brud sat down at bedtime and howled,
because he said he'd have to 'count that day lost.'
The sun was down and he hadn't 'any worvey
action done.' It took the combined wits of the
family to think of some worthy action he could
do at that late hour, and he finally went to bed
happy. So you see my labor hasn't been all in
vain."</p>
<p>There was a faint gleam of amusement in Jack's
eyes, but seeing that she was about to leave him,
he turned the subject by motioning toward the
table beside his bed, where Elsie Tremont's wedding
invitations lay.</p>
<p>"Mary," he said, slowly, "would you be surprised
if Phil were to come by Bauer on his way
to California?"</p>
<p>To her vehement avowal that such a happening
would certainly surprise her out of a year's growth,
at least, he answered:</p>
<p>"Well, I am a good deal more than half-way
looking for him. 'I feel it in my bones' that he
is coming, and coming very soon."</p>
<p>"Oh, Jack!" she cried in distress. "Don't look
for him. Don't set your heart on seeing him! I
couldn't bear for you to be disappointed."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span></p>
<p>"Don't you worry about that," he answered,
soothingly. "You run along and pick your blue-bonnets,
and if Phil <i>should</i> happen to come walking
down the road towards you one of these days,
remember the feeling in my bones warned you.
The poor old things have been so full of aches
and pains that you might allow them one pleasant
sensation at least."</p>
<p>"But, Jack," she began again, a wrinkle of distress
deepening between her eyes. "If he shouldn't
come you'd be so awfully disappointed!"</p>
<p>Jack's thin hand waved both her and her objections
aside.</p>
<p>"Hike along," he insisted, cheerfully, "I merely
said <i>if!</i>"</p>
<p>Considerably worried by what she thought was
a groundless hope of Jack's, Mary started out of
the gate. His suggestion seemed to change the
entire landscape, and instead of seeing it as it had
grown to look to her accustomed eyes, she saw it
as she imagined it would appear to Phil; the cottage
she was leaving behind her, the wide blue
lupin meadows ahead, the white of the wild plum
blossoms mingled with the glowing branches of the
red-bud trees, in every lane and stretch of woodland.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span></p>
<p>With her old childish propensity for day-dreaming
unabated, she made pictures for herself as she
walked along towards the foot-bridge. Suppose he
really would come, and she, by some intuition of
his approach, could divine the day and hour. She
would like to be all in white when he met her,
emerging from the edge of the woods with her
arms heaped up with snowy masses of wild plum
blossoms, and a spray of red-bud in her hair. Or,
maybe, it would be more picturesque for her to be
standing in the boat, poling slowly towards the
landing, a cargo of wild flowers at her feet like
a picture of the Spirit of Spring.</p>
<p>Here she broke off from her musings, saying,
half aloud, "But as sure as I posed to look like a
Spring goddess I'd be looking like a young goose.
It doesn't pay for me to plan impressive entrances
and meetings; they always turn out with my looking
perfectly ridiculous."</p>
<p>She had reached the first turn in the road by
this time, and, stooping to tie her shoe, suddenly
became aware of the fact that her hands were
empty. She had started off without the alarm-clock
and the magnifying glass which she always
carried on these trips. In addition she had intended
to bring a large market-basket to-day, in which to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span>
put the flowers. The basket, with the clock and
glass inside, was in her hand before she started.
She remembered she had set it down for a moment
on the front step while she went back into Jack's
room, and it was what he said about Phil's coming
that made her go off without it. There was
no time to lose, so she started back, running all the
way.</p>
<p>Snatching up the basket from the step where
she found it still undisturbed, she was starting off
again, when a little bird-like cry stopped her. It
was like the softest notes of a mocking-bird.</p>
<p>"That provoking little wildcat is out of her
cage again!" she exclaimed, stopping to look all
around. "Here, Matilda, kitty, kitty, where are
you?"</p>
<p>In response to her call, what seemed to be the
gentlest of house-kittens came bounding through
the grass. Thinking it would be less trouble to
take it along than to carry it back to its cage in
the woodshed when she was in such a great hurry,
Mary caught it up in her arms, and once more
started down the road, one hand slipped through
the handle of the basket. It snuggled down against
her shoulder, purring loudly.</p>
<p>"You ridiculous little atom!" laughed Mary.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span>
"I wonder what the girls at Warwick Hall would
say if they could see me going along carrying a
live <i>wildcat</i>. That will be something wild and
Texasy for me to put in my next letters. I needn't
say that it weighs only twenty ounces, and that if
it wasn't for its bow legs and funny little bobbed
tail and spotted stomach one would think it was
just a tame, ordinary, domestic pussy. But you'll
be savage enough by and bye, won't you? When
the tassels grow on your ear-tips and your whiskers
spread out wide and your spots get big and tigery!"</p>
<p>Two soft paws reached up to tap her face, and
she gave the furry ball in her arms an affectionate
squeeze. She had never cared especially for kittens,
but this little wild one with its coquettish ways
had wonderfully ingratiated itself into her affections
in the week she had owned it. Mrs. Barnaby
had brought it in from the ranch. Cousin Sammy
had found eight of them in the woods after Pedro
had killed the old mother cat, caught in the act of
carrying off one of the turkeys. This was the
only one that lived. Mrs. Barnaby could not keep
it, because, tiny as it was, it toddled around after
the chickens and put even the big Plymouth Rock
hens to flight. So she brought it in to Mary, and
Mary, feeling particularly forlorn that day, welcomed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span>
the little orphan, because its lonely state
gave them a bond in common.</p>
<p>The day it came happened to be her eighteenth
birthday, with nothing to mark it as a gala occasion
except a handkerchief from her mother and
a string of trout from Norman. He had gone out
before daylight to catch them for her breakfast.
Joyce's present did not arrive until the next day,
and the round-robin letter from Warwick Hall was
nearly a week late. Not until after the sorority
was seated at its annual St. Patrick's Day dinner,
did they recall the double celebration they had had
the year before. The letter was written then and
there, passing around the table with the bonbons,
that each one present might add a birthday greeting.
Then Dorene, to whom it was entrusted, forgot
to post it for several days. It was a joy
when it did come, but the anniversary itself, before
the letter reached her, was a disappointing
day.</p>
<p>She had always looked forward to her eighteenth
birthday as being one of the most important milestones
of her life; not so important, of course, as
one's graduation or début or wedding, but still a
day that should be made memorable by something
unusually nice. Years ago Jack had promised her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span>
a watch on her eighteenth birthday, a little chatelaine
watch with a mother-of-pearl case, like the
one the old Colonel had given to Lloyd. But when
the time came Jack did not even know that it was
her birthday. He never looked at the calendar
since their weary, monotonous days had grown
to be all alike. She did not show him the handkerchief
or tell him that the delicious fish which
they had for breakfast was in honor of any especial
occasion. In no way did she refer to its being
the seventeenth of March.</p>
<p>She ironed all morning and took the children out
in the afternoon, as usual, and nothing made the
day different from an ordinary one, only that she
felt very old and grown up, and thought now and
then a little pityingly of her early expectations and
the way they had turned out. In a vague sort of
way she was sorry for herself, till Mrs. Barnaby
came in with the baby wildcat, which she jokingly
offered as a St. Patrick's day greeting.</p>
<p>Mary immediately named it Matilda, for Mrs.
Barnaby, and for the civilizing effect such a tame,
gentle sort of name ought to have on a wild creature.
In watching it and laughing over its playful
antics she forgot to feel middle-aged and sorry for
herself.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span></p>
<p>As long as someone could keep an eye on it to
prevent its straying away after any animal that
passed the house, it could be allowed the liberty
of the place, but whenever Mary went off for a
long time it had to be fastened in its cage. This
was the first time she had taken it with her for
an afternoon's outing, and as she hurried down the
road with it in her arms, the knowledge of what
she was carrying gave her the first feeling of adventure
that she had had since coming to Texas.
"It's all been as tame as an old Tabby and a teapot,"
she thought. She had pictured Texas as a
land of cowboys and round-ups and thrilling frontier
experiences. She had found only the commonplace
and conventional, so that there was a source
of satisfaction in the fact that, at last, she had
captured something untamed and savage.</p>
<p>As she reached the foot-bridge a party on horseback
came down the opposite bank to cross the
ford. She recognized the young fellow in the lead
as a boy from the East who had been staying at
the Williams House several months. Evidently he
also had expected to find Texas a land of adventure.
Soon after his arrival he appeared in the
quiet streets of Bauer attired like the cowboy of
a Wild West show. That he was a tenderfoot was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span>
amusingly apparent to the natives. Everything
proclaimed it, from his awkward seat in his creaking
new saddle to the new rope coiled around the
horn of it. He could have no more use for a
lariat than for a tomahawk, but he never rode without
it. He had his picture taken in full paraphernalia,
from his spurs to the rattlesnake skin band
on his rakish sombrero, to send back home to show
what a sport he had become; and his cup of satisfaction
brimmed over when a still more recent
tenderfoot took a snapshot of him, evidently considering
him the "real thing."</p>
<p>He had three Eastern girls with him this morning,
whom he was trying to impress with stories
of his recklessness and prowess, and of the dangers
one daily encountered in a new country. He had
met Norman and he knew Mary by sight, and had
heard of her odd pet. As they approached her he
said, in a tone which she could not fail to hear,
although he lowered his voice:</p>
<p>"There's mighty little out here that is tame.
Lots of people keep foxes running around their
premises instead of rat-terriers, and when they can
get a wildcat they always prefer them to tame
mousers."</p>
<p>"Now, Dexter, stop stuffing us," one of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span>
girls exclaimed. "I don't believe a word of
it!"</p>
<p>"It's the truth," he insisted. "That very young
lady over yonder on the foot-bridge could tell you
so. That isn't a kitten she is carrying. It is a
young wildcat."</p>
<p>The next instant the girl was splashing through
the water across to Mary, calling, "Excuse me,
but <i>is</i> that a wildcat? I can't believe it!"</p>
<p>Mary had heard the conversation, and her face
dimpled with amusement as she held Matilda up to
view, saying, "Certainly. See how beautifully she
is marked." She pointed out the various signs
which proved her claim.</p>
<p>The girl gave a little shriek. "For mercy
sakes!" she exclaimed. "Suppose it should get
loose! What a dreadful country! Aren't you
afraid?"</p>
<p>Assured that Mary was not in the least afraid,
she dashed up the bank after her laughing escort,
who thereafter had no trouble in convincing her
that his most daring tales were true, since Matilda
had proved the truth of his first one.</p>
<p>Mary looked after them almost enviously. When
she first came to Bauer she had had faint hopes
of sometime being able to join a riding party like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span>
that. She had seen girls going by often from the
hotel, and had told herself that, before the winter
was over, she intended to find some way to earn
enough to hire a horse one afternoon of every
week. And that time when she visited Gay, and
Roberta talked of saddles while she combed Mary's
hair, Roberta had said that she would ride up to
Bauer sometime after Christmas; all her "crowd"
would go, and they would stay several days at the
Williams House, and Mary was to show them the
country.</p>
<p>Gay had promised several visits, and Mary had
looked forward to them more eagerly than she
knew, till word came soon after New Year that
the Bauer trips would have to be postponed indefinitely.
Roberta had gone to the coast for the rest
of the winter, and Gay expected to spend several
months with her sister Lucy, Mrs. Jameson Harcourt,
in Florida.</p>
<p>It seemed to Mary that there had been disappointment
for her in her Texas winter every way
she turned. True, Gay was home now, and they
had had two pleasant days with her, once when she
and Alex Shelby came up to announce their engagement,
and cheered Jack up so wonderfully. But
Gay wasn't interested in horseback riding with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span>
"the crowd" any longer. Besides, the Ware fortunes
had taken such a turn that the money she
had succeeded in earning had to go for more necessary
things than saddles and horse-hire and a pretty
habit.</p>
<p>As Mary glanced after the departing cavalcade
once more the sight of them suggested a new picture
that appealed to her as an interesting way to
meet Phil in case he should come. It would be so
picturesque to be galloping down the road on a mettlesome
black horse in a pretty white riding habit
like those girls were wearing. White, with a scarlet
four-in-hand and a soft fold of scarlet silk
around the crown of her wide-brimmed white hat.
Phil had been such a dashing horseman himself,
and had owned such a beautiful animal when they
were out on the desert, that maybe he would be
more interested in an approach made that way, than
one in a boat with a cargo of wild flowers. She
walked along slowly, considering the question, till
Brud and Sister hailed her.</p>
<p>Meanwhile Jack was saying to his mother that
it wouldn't have been fair to the kid to let her
get away without some inkling of the truth.</p>
<p>"She'd have been terribly upset if I'd have told
her that they are due here this afternoon, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span>
she'd have been equally upset if they had walked
in on her without any warning. But the hint I
gave her will start her to thinking about them, so
she will not be altogether surprised when she sees
them."</p>
<p>He had waited until Mary left the house before
breaking the news to his mother that he expected
Alex Shelby to come sometime during the afternoon,
bringing Doctor Tremont and Phil. But even
then he did not mention the faint hope which had
buoyed him up night and day since Alex's first
visit. He had faith in the young physician's
ability, but not until the older one confirmed his
opinion would he allow himself to share that
hope with any one else, lest it prove without foundation.</p>
<p>With his eyes on the clock he lay counting the
minutes until their arrival. He was deliberately
forcing himself to be calm; to take slow, even
breaths, to think of everything under the sun save
the one thing which set his pulses to beating wildly
and sent a thrill like fire tingling through him.
He lay there like a prisoner in his dungeon who
hears footsteps and new voices approaching. They
might mean that deliverance is at hand, or they
might pass on, leaving him to the blackness and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span>
despair of his dungeon for the rest of his life.
In a like agony of apprehension he watched the
pendulum swing back and forth, and listened to the
slow tick! tock! till his suspense grew almost unendurable.</p>
<p>One hand clasped and unclasped a corner of the
counterpane in a paroxysm of nervousness. He
lay with his face turned away from his mother,
and she, busy with her endless sewing over by the
side window, did not guess what great effort he
was making to retain his outward composure. She
saw his eyes fixed on the clock, however, when she
rose to get a spool that had rolled away, and feeling
his restrained restlessness she tried to think of
something to talk about which would make him
forget how slowly time was passing. Subjects of
that kind are rare, when two people have been constantly
shut in together for a year, and while she
considered, a long silence fell between them. It
was broken by a demand, almost querulous, from
Jack; the same cry that had aroused her in the
night, when he was a little boy, suddenly awakening
from a scary dream.</p>
<p>"<i>Sing to me, mother!</i>"</p>
<p>It had been years since she had heard that cry,
and the long form stretched out under the white<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span>
covers bore small resemblance to the little one that
had summoned her then, but she answered in the
same soothing way:</p>
<p>"All right, little son, what shall I sing?"</p>
<p>She smiled as the same tremulous answer came
now as it had then.</p>
<p>"Why, sing <i>my</i> song! Of course!"</p>
<p>She did not rise as had been her custom, to go
to his bedside and hold his hand while she lulled
him back to sleep with her low humming, and the
blessed consciousness of her nearness. He was a
grown man now, and it was broad daylight. But
instinctively she felt his need was greater than it
had ever been, and her voice took on its tenderest
soothing quality as she began to croon the old
hymn that had always been his chosen lullaby,
when he was tucked to sleep in a little crib bed.
"Pilgrims of the Night," she sang:</p>
<div class='poem'>
"'Hark, hark, my soul! Angelic songs are swelling,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">O'er earth's green fields and ocean's wave-beat shore.'"</span><br />
</div>
<p>Glancing across, she saw his drawn face relax
a trifle, and he snuggled his thin cheek contentedly
against the pillow. High and sweet her voice rose
tremulously:</p>
<div class='poem'>
<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"'Angels of light,</span><br />
Singing to welcome the pilgrims of the night.'"<br />
</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span></p>
<p>The song had many associations for them both.
What he was thinking about she could not guess,
but when she began the third verse:</p>
<div class='poem'>
"'Far, far away like bells at evening pealing,'"<br />
</div>
<div class='unindent'>her own thoughts were back in that time when she
rocked in her arms the dearest little son that ever
cuddled against a mother's shoulder. She was recalling
time after time when she had held him so,
telling him good-night stories, listening to his funny
little questions and baby confidences, and kissing the
dimpled fingers clasped in her own when he knelt
to lisp his evening prayer.</div>
<p>He had always been a comfort to her, even in
the boisterous outbreaking days that are the most
trying in a boy's growing-up time. There had
never been a noisier boy, or one who threw himself
into his play with more headlong vigor, but, in a
flash, scene after scene passed through her mind,
showing him both at work and play as she had
prayed he might be, strong and manly and clean
and absolutely fearless either of fists or opinions.
Then she thought of his touching consideration of
her when he tried "to take father's place behind
the plow." He had been a tower of strength to
her from that day on. What a future she had
dreamed for him, and now in the high tide of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span>
his young manhood, when he should have years of
conquest and achievement ahead of him, here he
was a helpless cripple!</p>
<div class='poem'>
"Rest comes at last, though life be long and dreary,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The day must dawn, and darksome night be passed."</span><br />
</div>
<p>Her voice faltered almost to breaking now, as
she sang on, rebelling at the thought that his life
which promised so fair, should have been made
long and dreary, changed so hopelessly and so suddenly
into darksome night. It seemed so cruel, she
thought, with a tightening of the throat which made
it almost impossible to finish the song. But supposing
from the peaceful expression of Jack's face
that he was falling asleep, she sang bravely on to
the end, although the tears were dropping down on
the seam in her now idle hands.</p>
<div class='poem'>
"Angels sing on, your faithful watches keeping,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Sing us sweet fragments of the song above,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Till morning's joy shall end the night of weeping,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And life's long shadows break in cloudless love.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Angels of Jesus,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Angels of light,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Singing to welcome</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">The pilgrims of the night."</span><br />
</div>
<p>Looking across as the last note died away, she
thought he was asleep, and rose to draw down the
window-shade. But as she tiptoed past him he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span>
opened his eyes and held out his hand to draw
her to him.</p>
<p>"Little mother," he said with a wistful smile
that made her bend hastily over him and kiss his
forehead to hide the trembling of her lips. "I'd
like you to know in case anything should happen—sooner
than we expect—that that's the way I
think of death. It's a going out into the dark—but
it's only going as a 'Pilgrim of the night.' I
don't mind it. It'll not be lonesome. They'll be
singing to welcome me."</p>
<p>In answer to her cry, "Oh, Jack! Don't!" he
drew her cheek down against his, and as he felt
it wet with tears he said, lightly:</p>
<p>"Why, mother mine, that's nothing to cry about.
I've always looked forward in a way to that ever
since I can remember. That song always brings
up the most comforting picture to me—a procession
of friendly white angels coming down the dark
road to meet a frightened little boy and lead him
home!"</p>
<p>She held him close a moment, not finding words
wherewith to answer him, but feeling that he understood
all that was left unspoken in her heart.
She wanted to hold him thus, always, so tightly
that he could not slip away on that pilgrimage he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span>
faced so confidently, that pilgrimage from which
he could never return to her.</p>
<p>While she clung to him thus, a noise outside
brought them back to the things of earth. An
automobile, speeding up the road, had stopped at
the gate. Mrs. Ware glanced out hastily. As she
saw the three men striding up the path her first
thought was one of housewifely dismay. She wondered
how she could stretch the simple supper she
had planned for that evening, into enough for these
unexpected guests. If Jack had only given her a
little longer notice—</p>
<p>But that thought was immediately thrust aside
in her pleasure at seeing Phil again. It was the
first time since the day she bade him good-bye in
the little wigwam sitting-room, and sent him out
with her Godspeed to make a man of himself. His
waywardness had given her a motherly interest in
him, and now, her quick glance showed that he had
not disappointed her, that he had kept every promise.
She welcomed him with a welcome that made
him feel that this was a real home-coming, so that
he called out to the distinguished-looking, gray-haired
old doctor just behind him, "Now, Daddy,
you see for yourself how it was!"</p>
<p>Mrs. Ware ushered them at once into Jack's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span>
room. She knew he was waiting impatiently to
see them, but did not dream how much was at
stake. It was nearly half an hour later when Phil
discovered that he was thirsty, and asked the way
to the well. Mrs. Ware led him out through the
kitchen, picking up a pitcher and tumbler as she
went. The windmill was in motion, and while the
water was gushing from the pump spout into the
pitcher Phil said, meaningly, "Well, Aunt Emily,
your prodigal has come back."</p>
<p>"Yes," she responded. "It makes me glad and
proud to see how my faith in him has been justified.
But, oh, boy, why didn't you give me a
little warning, so that we might have had time to
make ready a 'fine, fatted calf?' Jack never told
me until a few minutes before you arrived that
he expected you."</p>
<p>"I'd rather have the pleasure of surprising you
all than to share in a fatted calf, any day. Besides,
there won't be an occasion for trotting out
such a commodity. Alex will be going back to
San Antonio in less than an hour. You see he
has only a few more days to spend with his lady
love, as he is due in Kentucky the last of this week.
He can't afford to miss even one of these gorgeous
moonlight nights. Daddy is so tired with his trip<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span>
and thinking of the strain ahead of him that he
is in no trim for visiting. On the way here we
stopped at the Williams House and engaged rooms
for to-night. I promised him that he needn't stay
up for supper, could take it in his room and turn
in soon after we had made a short call here. You
see he didn't sleep at all coming out here, so he
is considerably worse for wear. He's very much
interested in Jack's case, and thinks something may
be done to relieve his suffering, so maybe it will
be as well for us to stay out here a bit and give
them a chance to look him over."</p>
<p>From the quick lighting up of Mrs. Ware's face
it was evident that such a hope was a new one
to her. Jack had not mentioned the prospect of
an operation, so Phil left the subject as quickly
as possible, beginning to tell her of his last visit
to Joyce. As he had come directly from her Mrs.
Ware found so much to question him about, that
she was surprised, when Alex Shelby joined them,
to find that they had been leaning against the
windmill tower for more than half an hour, too
interested to think of finding a seat.</p>
<p>Alex's face was glowing, and he looked across
at Phil with a nod of elation. "Your father confirms<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span>
my opinion, Phil, so I'll be starting back
at once."</p>
<p>When Mrs. Ware found out Doctor Tremont's
real purpose in coming, she was thankful that Jack
had spared her all those days of anxiety and apprehension
that would have been hers had she known
of the operation earlier. As it was there would
be only one night in which to dread it. Alex was
coming back in the morning with a nurse and it
would all be over by noon of the next day. Now
she understood their consideration in going to a
hotel. It was not so much that Doctor Tremont
was in no condition for visiting, as that they knew
that any guests, no matter how much desired, would
be a burden on the eve of such an event.</p>
<p>Jack's room was already nearly as bare and
clean as a hospital ward, but there would still be
much to do before the surgeons could begin their
delicate and vital task. So when Alex Shelby
went away, Doctor Tremont went with him as
far as the hotel. Phil was to follow later after
he had seen Mary and had the pleasure of "surprising"
her.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2>
<div class='chaptertitle'>JACK</div>
<p><span class="smcap">A huisache</span> tree leaned over the old stone wall
which separated the Herdt pasture from the road,
and here Phil took his stand. He had started to
find the bee-tree, following Mrs. Ware's directions,
but shrill little voices floating across the meadow,
made him pause. It was evident that Mary and
her small charges were somewhere near.</p>
<p>A moment later they came in sight, and for once
in her life Mary moved on towards a meeting, often
rehearsed in thought, which did not end ridiculously.
It would have been joy to her soul could she have
seen herself as she looked to Phil, coming across
the field of blue-bonnets. The fresh blue and white
dress she wore, repeated the color of the waves of
bloom through which she waded. Sister had
twined a wreath of the same flowers around the
crown of her Mexican hat, and she carried a great
sheaf of them across one arm. The inevitable alarm
clock swung from the other hand.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span></p>
<p>Brud was carrying a butterfly net, Sister as a
great favor held Matilda, and Meliss brought up
the rear with the big basket of blue-bonnets, which
they had gathered as a special act of courtesy for
the Guild ladies. Their voices blended happily as
they drew nearer, but when they were close enough
for Phil to distinguish their words the procession
stood still. They had reached the place where a
path crossed the one they were following, and the
cross-path was a short cut to the foot-bridge.</p>
<p>"Here's the parting of the ways," called Mary
gaily. "So run along with Meliss, now, and be
sure to give Mrs. Rochester my message."</p>
<p>"We will," answered Brud, in a voice that was
almost a happy little squeal it was so high and eager,
"and we'll have another good time to-morrow!
<i>Won't</i> we, Miss Mayry?"</p>
<p>"Indeed we will," was the answer, given so
heartily and convincingly, that it was easy to see
how she had obtained her hold on the two little
friends who seemed so loath to leave her. They
stood talking a moment, then Sister deposited the
kitten on Mary's armful of flowers, with a farewell
squeeze, and the parting ceremony began.
Four voices, for Meliss was taking the part of the
Black Panther this afternoon, repeated gravely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span>
and distinctly the words of their daily benediction:</p>
<div class='poem'>
"Wind and water, wood and tree,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Wisdom, strength and courtesy,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;"><i>Jungle favor go with thee!</i>"</span><br />
</div>
<p>Then Mary called as they started down the path,
"Good-bye, Mowgli and Mowglina! Good-bye,
Panther," and a trio of happy voices answered,
"Good-bye, Baloo!"</p>
<p>It was a childish performance, but Brud and
Sister went through their part so seriously, as if it
had been an incantation of some kind, that Phil did
not smile as he watched the little by play. It was
proof to him that Mary had accomplished what she
had set out to do. She had inspired them with an
ambition to always "keep tryst" just as Edryn's
window had inspired her.</p>
<p>Feeling that she had had a particularly satisfactory
afternoon, Mary answered their last wave with
a swing of the hand that held the clock, and started
on towards the stone wall. If her attention had
not been engrossed by her efforts to hold the big
armful of blue-bonnets, the clock and the squirming
kitten without dropping one of the three, she would
have seen Phil stepping out from the shadow of the
huisache to meet her. But the kitten struggled out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span>
of her arms and climbed up on her shoulder, catching
its claws in her collar, and biting playfully at
her chin.</p>
<p>"Matilda, you little mischief!" scolded Mary
affectionately, "How am I ever going to get over
this stone wall with you acting so?"</p>
<p>"Come on! I'll help you!" spoke up Phil from
the other side.</p>
<p>The expression of utter amazement which spread
over her face when she looked up and saw him
standing in front of her was even more amusing
than he had anticipated it would be. Despite Jack's
hints and the fact that they had set her to picturing
Phil's possible coming, the surprise of his actual
presence was so overwhelming that she could
scarcely speak.</p>
<p>She let him take the clock and the wildcat from
her, and put them down on his side of the wall with
the flowers, but not until she had climbed to the
top of the wall and felt the firm clasp of his hands,
outstretched to help her down, did she persuade
herself that she was not dreaming. Then the face
that she turned towards him fairly beamed, and he
thought as he looked down at her that it was well
worth the long journey, to find some one so genuinely
glad to see him.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span></p>
<p>"When did you come? Have you been to the
house? Was Jack very much surprised?"</p>
<p>The questions poured out in a steady stream as
soon as she found her voice, and if he had not been
looking at her, he could have well believed that she
was the same amusing child she was when he found
her running away from the Indian on the desert
road to Lee's ranch. But he could not look away
long enough to keep up the illusion. There was a
charm about her face which drew his eyes irresistibly
back to it. He tried to determine just what
that charm was. It was not of feature, for much
as she had improved, she did not at all measure up
to his standard of beauty.</p>
<p>Presently he decided that it was just Mary's
own self, her interesting, original personality shining
out through her eyes and speaking through
every movement of her mobile lips, which made her
so attractive. Her years of effort to grow up to
her ideal of all that was sweet and maidenly had
left their imprint on her face. Naturally unselfish,
trouble and hard times had broadened her sympathies
and taught her a still deeper consideration for
others. Loneliness and a dearth of amusement had
developed her own resources for entertainment, and
taught her to find something of interest in every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span>
object and person about her. As he looked at her
he thought it a pity that more of the girls of his
acquaintance couldn't have a course in the same hard
school of experience which had developed Mary into
such a lovable and interesting character. He felt
that in the one year since he had seen her last, she
had grown so far past his knowledge of her, that
it would be well worth while to cultivate her acquaintance
further.</p>
<p>It was some distance from the pasture to the cottage,
and as they walked, Phil had time to tell her
of his trip to Warwick Hall, and to deliver the
mixture of messages from the girls, which by this
time had resolved into a ridiculous hotch-potch,
despite his effort to keep them separate, and his
reference to the memorandum that Betty had given
him. Then he presented the ivy leaf which he had
plucked for her, as proof that he had actually walked
in her beloved garden.</p>
<p>Up to that time there had been so much to say
that Mary had not discovered that Doctor Tremont
was in Bauer also. The explanation came about
when they reached the gate, and Phil, after opening
it for her to pass through, stayed on the outside
himself. Her surprise at his not coming in was
fully as great as it had been when she first saw him.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span></p>
<p>"The idea of your going to a hotel when you've
come all the way from New York to Texas to see
us!" she exclaimed. "And then not even staying
to supper! Jack will be <i>so</i> disappointed."</p>
<p>"No," answered Phil. "He knows the reason
why Daddy and I are putting up at the hotel. So
does your mother, and they both think it is a good
one. You run along in and ask them, and they'll
convince you that I am right. I'll come over for a
few minutes after supper though, just to show you
that there's no hard feeling between us."</p>
<p>He laughed as he said it, lifting his hat and turning
away. Thoroughly mystified by his manner,
Mary stood a moment looking after him. It was all
so strange and unreal, his sudden appearance, and
then his walking off in such a mysterious way. She
could hardly believe the evidence of her own eyes.
Yet the tall, handsome figure striding down the
road was not "of such stuff as dreams are made
on." Her fingers still tingled with the warm clasp
of the strong hands that had helped her over the
wall.</p>
<p>When she went into the house it was Jack who
told her of his coming ordeal, and he told her in
a way to make it seem of little consequence. He
said that Doctor Tremont wanted to experiment on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span>
him. He had known of a man injured in the same
way, whose suffering had been entirely relieved by
the removal of a fragment of bone which pressed
on the spinal cord. It would be worth while to go
through almost anything to be rid of the excruciating
pain he had suffered at times, and Doctor Tremont
assured him that it would pass away entirely
if the operation proved successful.</p>
<p>Not a word did he say about the greater hope that
had been held out to him. As the time drew near
he was beginning to lose faith in its being possible.
It seemed too great a miracle for him to expect it
to be wrought for him.</p>
<p>Mary went out to find her mother in a daze of
mingled emotions. The prospect of Jack's being
freed from the pain that had racked him for months
made her inexpressibly happy, but she had a horror
of operations. The nurse they had in Lone Rock
after Jack's first one, had spent hours telling grewsome
details of those she had known which were
not successful. Or if they were successful from
the surgeon's viewpoint, the patients usually died
from shock, later.</p>
<p>She wanted to stay in Jack's room every minute
of the time after she heard what was to be done,
for she had a sickening foreboding that it might be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span>
the last evening he would be able to talk to them.
Still she was so nervous that she was afraid her
frame of mind might be contagious. She wondered
how her mother could sit there so calmly, talking
of the trivial things that filled the round of their
days, just as if to-morrow were going to be like all
the commonplace yesterdays.</p>
<p>It was a relief to her when Phil came back, according
to promise, and turned their thoughts into other
channels for awhile. As he rose to go, Jack
motioned to a letter lying on the table beside him,
and asked Phil to post it on his way back to the
hotel. Phil slipped it into his pocket, barely glancing
at the envelope as he did so. It was addressed
in such a big plain hand that the "Miss Elizabeth
Lewis" on it, caught his attention as if the words
had called out to him. Several other letters lying
on the edge of the table fell to the floor as Phil's
coat brushed them in passing. He stooped mechanically
to pick them up, for he was busy talking, and
without being conscious of having noted the address,
laid them back on the table. But afterwards it
occurred to him that they were all addressed to
Jack, and by the same hand that had made the memorandum
for him, about the girls whom he met at
Warwick Hall.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span></p>
<p>Mary wondered afterwards how she ever could
have lived through the next morning had it not
been for Phil. She was all right as long as there
was anything to do, or while she sat listening to
Doctor Tremont talk to her mother and the local
physician, Doctor Mackay. But as soon as Alex
Shelby arrived with the nurse she fell into such a
tremor of nervousness that she could scarcely keep
from shaking as if she had a chill.</p>
<p>There was a cluster of umbrella trees in the
farthest corner of the yard, and carrying some
chairs out to their dense shade Phil called her to
come and sit with him there. He had a glove that
was ripped and he hoped she would take pity on
him and sew it up. She understood perfectly well
his object in putting her to work, and although her
hands trembled at first so that she could barely
thread a needle, she had to acknowledge inwardly
that it was easier to compose herself when her hands
were busy. One finger was ripped the entire length,
so it took a long time to mend it neatly; to buttonhole
the edges on each side, and then draw the
stitches together in a seam that was stronger than
the original one.</p>
<p>Gradually she became so interested in her task
and what Phil was telling her of his adventures in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span>
the past year, that she stopped glancing every moment
towards the house, and no longer jumped
nervously at every sound. Once or twice she smiled
at something he told her; something that would
have been uproariously funny if she had heard it
at any other time. Just now she could not forget
the fact that Jack was lying unconscious under the
surgeon's knife, and the stories the Lone Rock nurse
had told her came back to haunt her with terrifying
suggestions.</p>
<p>"I am to meet your friend, Miss Gay Melville,"
Phil said, when they had been sitting there a long
time. "Shelby is to take Daddy and me up to the
Post to-night, to dine at her house. The Major
came down to the train with him when he met us
yesterday morning, and delivered the invitation in
person. He's a hospitable old duck, the Major. He's
kin to some people that are intimate friends of
Daddy's and he's almost ready to adopt us both
into his family on the strength of it. Alex told me
on the side that I am invited specially to meet a very
particular chum of his fiancée's, Miss Roberta somebody,
I can't remember the name. Miss Melville
thinks I will find her my affinity, judging by what
she knows of her and has heard of me."</p>
<p>"Roberta Mayrell," prompted Mary. "Oh, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span>
don't think you'll find her <i>that!</i> She's a fascinating
sort of girl, but she's such a different type from—I
mean—I think. Well—" She was floundering
desperately to turn her sentence. "I can't
imagine you'd care for her to the <i>affinity</i> point."</p>
<p>What she had almost said was, "She's such a
different type from the Little Colonel." She had
remembered just in time that she was not supposed
to know about that affair. Had she not been an
unintentional eaves-dropper she could not have
heard his offer to Lloyd of the unset turquoise, and
all that followed.</p>
<p>Phil noticed her embarrassment and wondered
what caused it, but the subject was immediately forgotten.
The door they had been watching so long
opened at last, and Doctor Tremont came out and
stood on the step. Phil beckoned, and he came
across to the clump of umbrella trees where they
were sitting. One glance at his face showed Mary
that she had nothing to fear. He stood with his
hand on Phil's shoulder as he said kindly,</p>
<p>"It's all good news, Mary. We found exactly
the state of affairs that I expected. If he follows
the other case on record, it will not be long till he
is as strong and husky and active as this young rascal
here."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span></p>
<p>He gave Phil's shoulder an affectionate grip.
Mary looked up at him trying to comprehend all
she had heard.</p>
<p>"Strong—and husky and active—as Phil?"
she repeated in dull wonder. "You can't mean that
he—will ever be able—to <i>walk</i>?"</p>
<p>The question came in dry, sobbing gasps.</p>
<p>"Yes, just that."</p>
<p>She stood up. The news was so stupendous, the
reaction so great that everything turned black. She
sat down again giddily. The sympathetic faces, the
trees, everything seemed to be whirling around and
around. She heard Phil's voice, but it sounded as if
it were miles away.</p>
<p>"Brace up, little Vicar! You're surely not going
limp now, just when fortune is making such a tremendous
turn in your favor."</p>
<p>"No," she said, shaking herself and fighting off
the faintness. Such a feeling had never assailed her
before, and she did not know what to make of it.
"You see, nobody ever told me—I didn't know
such a heavenly thing was possible! I can't believe
it yet. Oh, are you <i>sure</i>?"</p>
<p>She looked up into the strong, calm face of the
gray-haired old surgeon, as if his answer meant
life or death.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span></p>
<p>"As sure as any one can be about any operation,"
he answered. "He has everything in his favor;
there is the clean life he has always led, back of
him; his splendid constitution, the fine aseptic air
of these hills. Everything is favorable. The paralysis
and all the other trouble was caused by one
thing. We have removed the cause, and I see no
reason why he should not recover completely in
time. He has rallied from the anesthetic, and is
so happy over the result, so buoyantly hopeful, that
that of itself, with his dogged determination to get
well, will go a long distance toward pulling him
through."</p>
<p>The tears were rolling down Mary's cheeks, but
she did not know it, nor did she know that her face
was ashine at the same time with the inward light
of a joy too great for telling.</p>
<p>"To think that he'll be able to <i>walk</i> again!" she
exclaimed over and over, as if trying to grasp the
greatness of such a fact. "And <i>you</i> did it! Oh,
Doctor Tremont! There isn't anything good enough
in heaven or earth, for the hand that could bring a
happiness like that to my brother Jack!"</p>
<p>As she tried brokenly to express her gratitude,
and the good old doctor tried as hard to deny any
obligation on her part, saying he had only partly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span>
squared himself with the Wares, Phil slipped away.
The scene was coming near to upsetting his own
equanimity. Besides he had some telegrams to send.
There were three and save for the address they
were identically the same:</p>
<p>"Operation successful. Every reason to expect
complete and rapid recovery."</p>
<p>Stuart Tremont received his just as he was driving
in at the gate of his country place. A messenger
boy on a wheel handed him the yellow envelope. He
hurried into the house, catching up little Patricia,
and swinging her to his shoulder as she ran to meet
him. Eugenia was coming down the stairs.</p>
<p>"Good news!" he cried boyishly. "Hurrah for
Daddy! He's brought the year of jubilee to the
Ware family, root and branch."</p>
<p>"To say nothing of the professional laurels he
has added to the house of Tremont," Eugenia
answered. "Sometimes I'm tempted to wish you
hadn't followed in his footsteps, Stuart, and chosen
such a hard life. But when I think what just one
cure like that means, I wouldn't have you anything
else in the world than what you are, for all the kingdoms
of the earth. Oh, I'm so glad for all of them!
Joyce will be nearly wild with joy. She has been
so broken up over Jack's condition ever since the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span>
accident, that now her happiness will be something
good to see. I must try to go in to the city for a
short call before we start West."</p>
<p>Joyce's happiness <i>was</i> good to see. When her
telegram came she was starting out of the studio
on her way to an interview with the art editor of a
magazine that had published one of her sketches.
She could not turn back because the appointed hour
was too near at hand and the interview too important.
So she stood in the <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'corrider'">corridor</ins> after she left
the elevator, wiping away her happy tears until she
was composed enough to go out on the street. And
because she had to share her good news with some
one, she told the janitor's wife. The hearty sympathy
of that motherly Irish woman sent her away
as if she were treading on air.</p>
<p>The art editor, who dimly remembered her as a
very quiet, reserved young girl, wondered at the
transformation when she came into his office, looking
like the very incarnation of Joy. She had been
afraid of the stern, forbidding man before, saying
to Henrietta that she always expected him to bark
at her. But to-day, to her own surprise as well as
his, she found herself telling him her good news,
just as she had poured it out to the janitor's wife,
because she couldn't help it. That his congratulations<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span>
should be quite as hearty as Mrs. Phelan's
caused her no surprise then, for at the moment
Jack's recovery seemed such a miracle that she felt
the whole world must be interested in hearing of it.
But she wondered afterwards what he must have
thought of her for pouring out her confidences to
him about Jack as impulsively as if he had been an
old friend instead of a stranger.</p>
<p>Had she only known it, that impulsive outburst
aroused a friendly interest in her that the reserved
man rarely felt in struggling young artists, and he
bought all the sketches she had with her. An hour
before, that of itself would have been enough to
send her back to the studio rejoicing; but now it
seemed such a drop in the bucket compared to the
news she had for Mrs. Boyd and Lucy and Henrietta,
that she forgot to mention the little matter of
the sale for several days.</p>
<p>There was some delay in the transmission of
Betty's message. It did not reach her until nearly
sundown. She was passing through the lower hall
on the way to the drawing-room, when the envelope
was put into her hands. The house suddenly seemed
to grow stifling. She needed all out of doors to
breathe in. So running down the marble steps to
the river, she walked along to the circular <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'sea'">seat</ins> surrounding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span>
the old willow. With the tree between
herself and the Hall, she looked out across the
Potomac, that a gorgeous sunset was turning into a
river of gold.</p>
<p>The slip of paper fluttered in her fingers but she
feared to read it. Such life-long tragedies can be
told sometimes in the short space of ten words. But
at last she summoned courage to glance at the message,
after which she read it through slowly, several
times.</p>
<p>Then looking up above the shining of the river
to the glory of the sunset sky beyond, she whispered
softly, as she had always done since she was a little
child, in the great moments of her life, "<i>Thank
you, dear God!</i>"</p>
<p>The same afternoon Doctor Tremont and Phil
and Alex went to San Antonio, leaving the nurse
and Doctor Mackay in charge of Jack. The Tremonts,
after dining at Major Melville's, were to
take the night train for California. They had
promised Elsie to be with her as long as possible
before her wedding. She had seen little of Phil
for several years. He was taking a month's vacation;
the first long one since he started to work, in
order to spend the most of it with her in the old
Gold-of-Ophir rose-garden, that had been their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span>
earliest playground. Doctor Tremont did not expect
to come back to Bauer, but Phil promised to
stop off for a few days on his return trip, which
would be in a little less than three weeks.</p>
<p>After the departure of their guests the family
settled down to wait patiently and happily for time
to finish the process of healing. Since such great
cause for thanksgiving had come to them, the small
ills that every one is heir to, almost lost the power
to annoy. When Mary burned herself badly with
a hot iron, when she ruined her best dress by spilling
a bottle of ink, when the little wildcat, which
grew dearer every day, was crippled so badly by a
falling wood-pile that it had to be put out of its
misery, there were some tears and regrets; but the
unfailing balm for everything was the thought:
"<i>But Jack's getting well!</i> Nothing else matters
much."</p>
<p>As Spring deepened, the wild flowers grew still
more abundant. Acres of wild verbenas spread
their royal purple underfoot, and the china-berry
trees hung answering pennons overhead of the
same kingly color. Spider-wort starred the grass.
Wine-cups held up their crimson chalices along
every lane. Mexican blankets sported their
gaudy stripes of red and yellow, and even the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span>
cacti, thorny and forbidding, burst into gorgeous
bloom.</p>
<p>And then, just at Easter, a waxen blossom, snow-white,
and sweet-breathed as the narcissus, sprang
up all over the hills. Rain lilies, Miss Edna called
them. Norman and Mary gathered great armfuls
of them and carried them to Mrs. Rochester to put
around the chancel. They seemed to suit the little
country church far better than the florists' lilies
would have done. The casement windows stood
open, and Mary sat looking out through one of
them, listening to the reading of the account of the
first Easter:</p>
<p>"<i>And very early in the morning, the first day of
the week, they came unto the sepulchre at the rising
of the sun.</i>"</p>
<p>But it was not the green Spring-time world outside
she saw. It was Jack's face as she had caught
a glimpse of it, earlier in the morning, when he lay
listening to his mother read those same words. She
had heard him say in one of the pauses:</p>
<p>"Mother, sometimes I am so happy I don't see
how I can endure such blessedness! I've dreamed
so many times that I was well, only to waken and
find it all a cruel mistake, that now when I realize
it's really going to be true—that life still holds<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span>
everything for me—oh, I can't tell you!" He
broke off, a smile of ineffable happiness spreading
over his face. "Now I know how Lazarus felt
when the stone was rolled away and he heard the
call 'Come forth!'"</p>
<p>That smile was still before Mary's eyes when the
white-robed choir rose to sing, and she joined with
all her heart in the chant, which swelled forth at
the end of every line into a glad "<i>Alleluia!</i>"</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2>
<div class='chaptertitle'>SAN JACINTO DAY.</div>
<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was the twentieth of April when Phil returned
to Bauer, and for the second time his visit was cut
disappointingly short. The reason was that he had
promised Major Melville the night he dined with
him, to be back in San Antonio in time for the
Carnival. The Major wanted to take him to a
Mexican restaurant for a typical Mexican supper
the night of the twenty-first. On the twenty-second
there would be an entertainment for the Queen of
the Carnival at her Court of the Roses; something
too unique and beautiful for him to miss, they all
said. Then, on the twenty-third, San Jacinto Day,
which all loyal Texans keep as a state holiday, the
annual Battle of Flowers would take place in the
plaza in front of the Alamo, which they call their
"Cradle of Liberty."</p>
<p>The Flower Battle was an old institution, the
Major explained. But this was only the second
year for the Queen's Court, and it was something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span>
so surpassingly beautiful that he thought it ought
to become a regular feature of every carnival.</p>
<p>Roberta, who was also at the dinner, added her
persuasions.</p>
<p>"You'll think you're back in the time 'when
knighthood was in flower,'" she insisted. "I wish
every Easterner accustomed to poking fun at our
state could see it. Nobody knows what I suffered
at school from having people talk as if all Texans
are 'long-horns.'"</p>
<p>"Roberta was one of the duchesses last year,"
explained Lieutenant Boglin. "You should have
seen her sweep up to the throne when they announced,
'Her Grace, the Lady Roberta of the
House of Mayrell!' She certainly looked the real
article, and was a far cry from a long-horn then."</p>
<p>"Don't emphasize the <i>then</i> so pointedly, Bogey,"
ordered Roberta.</p>
<p>When Phil hesitated to accept because his time
in Bauer would be shortened so much thereby, Gay
insisted that she was going to invite Mary down
for the Queen's entertainment and the Flower
Battle anyhow, and that if he refused to come
Mary would be cut out of the pleasure of coming,
for, of course, she couldn't leave a guest behind,
under the circumstances.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span></p>
<p>So presently the Major's programme was arranged
to his partial satisfaction. It was not complete,
because he could not persuade the old doctor,
who intended spending several months in California,
to return also.</p>
<p>Gay went up to Bauer that same week, directly
after Alex Shelby's departure. She wanted to deliver
her invitation in person, and to spend the day
with the Ware family. She liked to hear them
sing Alex's praises. <i>He</i> was the one who discovered
that something could be done for Jack, and
he it was who had summoned Doctor Tremont, and
every discussion of the subject always brought out
the gratifying fact that had it not been for him,
Jack would not now be on the high road to recovery.
She had found, too, that Mary made a most
satisfactory little confidante; much better than
Roberta, for she seemed really interested in Alex
and all that pertained to him, and never laughed
at Gay's rhapsodies and made cynical remarks about
"before and after taking" as the worldly-wise
Roberta did.</p>
<p>Two thoughts gave Mary the utmost satisfaction
in accepting the invitation. One was, there would
be time before San Jacinto Day to make up the
white dress for which her mother had embroidered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span>
the lovely rosebuds. The other was, that an occasion
had come at last when it would be appropriate
for her to wear Lloyd's gift, the beautiful chiffon
scarf, spangled with the crystal beads which
sparkled like dewdrops.</p>
<p>With only a day and a half to spend in Bauer,
Phil could do few of the things she had planned
for his entertainment. Now that Jack was better,
she did not like to take him away from the house
long enough to ride out to the Barnaby ranch and
pole up to Fernbank, and such things. Instead, all
the time was spent so that Jack could have his full
share of the visit. She would have been greatly
disappointed had she not known she was going to
see Phil several times during her visit to Gay.</p>
<p>He went down to the Mexican supper on the
twenty-first, and she followed next morning. He
was to take luncheon with the Mayrells that day,
so she did not see him till night, when they all
went in the same party to the entertainment, Phil
and Roberta, Gay and Billy Mayrell, Mary and
Lieutenant Boglin.</p>
<p>The stage of Beethoven Hall was turned into a
bower of roses on this eve of San Jacinto Day, and
a great audience, assembling early, awaited the
coming of the Queen of the Carnival and her royal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span>
court. In the patent of nobility given by her gracious
majesty to her attendants, was the command:</p>
<p>"We bid you to join with all of our loyal subjects
in the Mirth and Merriment of this Festival
of Flowers, which doth commemorate the glorious
freedom of this, our Texas, won by the deathless
heroism of the defenders of the Alamo, and the
Victory of San Jacinto."</p>
<p>This call for Mirth and Merriment struck the
keynote of the carnival, and everyone in the great
assembly seemed to be responding with the proper
festival spirit.</p>
<p>Back in the crowded house in a seat next the
aisle and almost at the entrance door, sat Mary
Ware, completely entranced by all that was going
on about her. Lieutenant Boglin was beside her,
and in the chairs directly behind them were Gay
and Billy Mayrell. Roberta and Phil were in front
of them. They had come early to secure these
chairs, and the men had given the girls the end
seats in order that they might have unobstructed
view of both aisle and stage. They all turned so
that conversation was general until the house was
nearly filled, then Roberta said something which
drew Phil's attention wholly to herself, and he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span>
turned his back on the others, beginning to talk
exclusively to her.</p>
<p>Gay, who appeared to know at least every fourth
person who came down the aisle, sat, like most
of the audience, with her head turned expectantly
towards the door, and kept up a running comment
to Mary on the acquaintances who passed her with
nods of recognition or brief words of greeting.
The thrum of the orchestra, the sight of so many
smiling faces, although they were strange to her,
and the blended colors of fashionable evening
gowns would have furnished Mary ample entertainment
after her dull winter in the country; but
it was doubly entertaining with Gay to point out
distinguished people and give her bits of information,
supplemented by Billy and Bogey about
this one from the Post and that one from the
town.</p>
<p>She wished that Phil could hear too. She wanted
him to know what prominent personages he was
in the midst of. Once when some world-known
celebrity was escorted up the aisle she leaned over
and called his attention to the procession. He
looked up with a smile to follow her glance, and
made a joking response, but returned so quickly to
the fascinating Roberta, that Mary felt that his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span>
interest in everything else just then was merely
perfunctory.</p>
<p>She remembered what Gay had said about his
finding his affinity, and stole a side glance at
Roberta to study her in the new light which Phil's
interest threw upon her. Now in the days when
Phil worshipped at the Little Colonel's shrine, Mary
was perfectly content to have it so. She would
have walked over hot plowshares to have brought
his romance to a happy consummation. It seemed
so eminently fitting that the two people in the
world whom she had invested with halos, should
stand together on the same pedestal in her affections.
To her doting eyes, Lloyd was such an
angel that she knew Phil must be happy with her,
and Phil measured so fully up to the notch on the
sterling yard-stick which indicated the inches and
ells that a true prince should be, that she was sure
no girl who wove her Clotho-web for him could
fail to find the happiness that was written for her
in the stars.</p>
<p>Mary had grown accustomed to the fact by this
time that she had made a mistake in her reading
of the stars. Lloyd was destined for someone else.
But it had not occurred to her before that maybe
Phil was, too. The thought that he would carry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span>
a secret sorrow with him to the grave, invested
him with a melancholy charm that made him all
the more interesting. It was somewhat of a shock
to her to see him watch the downward sweep and
swift upward glance of Roberta's pretty eyes in
such an admiring way, although Mary herself had
heretofore found pleasure in watching them. Of
course she didn't want him to go on suffering
always, still—she didn't want him to forget.</p>
<p>In her passionate loyalty to Lloyd she resented
his bestowing a second glance on any girl who was
any less of an angel than she; and yet her loyalty
to Phil made her want him to have whatever he
wanted. Knowing how many men had fallen victims
to Roberta's flirtatious little ways, she longed
to save Phil from the same fate. The growing
alarm with which she watched them was almost
comical for one of her years. It was comical because
it was so motherly. Not a particle of jealousy
or a thought of self entered into it.</p>
<p>A hush fell on the great audience, and the curtain
rose on a tableau of surpassing loveliness. The
stage seemed to be one mass of American Beauty
roses. The walls were festooned and garlanded
with them. They covered the high throne in the
centre and bordered the steps leading up to it. They<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span>
hung in long streamers on either side from ceiling
to floor. Grouped against this glowing background,
stood the noble dukes, the lords-in-waiting
and their esquires. The gay-colored satins and
brocades of their old-time court costumes, the
gleam of jewelled sword-hilts, the shine of powdered
perukes, transported one from prosaic times
and lands to the old days of chivalry and romance.</p>
<p>The jester shook his bells, the trumpeters in their
plumed helmets raised their long, shining trumpets,
and sounded the notes that heralded the first approach.
Then the Lord Chamberlain stepped forth
in a brave array of pink satin, carrying the gold
stick that was his insignia of office.</p>
<p>"That's me friend," whispered Gay, "the man
who originated this affair. I tell him I think he
must be one of the Knights of the Round Table
re-incarnated, or else the wizard Merlin come to
life again, to bring such a beautiful old court scene
into being in the way he has done."</p>
<p>She stopped whispering to hear the impressive
announcement he was making, in a voice that rang
through the hall:</p>
<p>"Her Grace, Lady Elizabeth, of the House of
Lancaster!"</p>
<p>Immediately every eye turned from the stage to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span>
look at the rose-trimmed entrance door. The orchestra
struck into an inspiring march and the
stately beauty, first to arrive at the Court of Roses,
began her triumphal entry up the long aisle. She
passed so near to Mary that the tulle bow on the
directoire stick she carried almost touched her
cheek with its long floating ends, light as gossamer
web. And Mary, clasping her hands together in
an ecstasy of admiration, noted every detail of the
beautiful costume in its slow passing.</p>
<p>"It's like the Princess Olga's," she thought, recalling
the old fairy-tale of the enchanted necklace.
"Whiter than the whiteness of the fairest lily, fine,
like the finest lace that the frost-elves weave, and
softer than the softest ermine of the snow."</p>
<p>The long court train that swept behind her was
all aglisten, as if embroidered with dewdrops and
pearls. Mary watched her, scarcely breathing till
she had ascended the steps to the stage. Then her
appointed duke came forward to meet her and led
her to the steps of the throne.</p>
<p>The music stopped. Again the heralds sounded
their trumpets and the Lord Chamberlain announced
the next duchess.</p>
<p>"You see," explained Gay, hastily, as all necks
craned toward the door again, "each girl is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span>
duchess of some rose or other, like Killarney or
Malmaison or Maréchal Niel."</p>
<p>One after another they passed by to take their
places beside the throne, all in such exquisitely
beautiful costumes that Mary thought that each
one must be indelibly photographed on her memory.
But when they had passed, all she could
remember of so many was a spangled procession
of court trains, covered with cascades of crystal
and silver and pearls and strung jewels.</p>
<p>Each time a new duchess swept slowly and
majestically by, Mary turned a quick glance toward
Phil to see if he were properly impressed; but when
the Queen was announced, she had no eyes for anything
but the regal figure proceeding slowly up the
aisle, amid the admiring applause which almost
drowned the music of the march.</p>
<p>It was at this juncture that Phil glanced back
at Mary. Her face so plainly showed the admiration
which filled her that he continued to watch her
with an amused smile, saying to Roberta in an
undertone:</p>
<p>"Look at Mary's rapt expression! She's always
adored queens and such things, and now she feels
that she's up against the real article."</p>
<p>"I don't wonder," answered Roberta, herself so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span>
interested that she turned her back on Phil until
the royal party had passed by. Two little pages
in costumes of white and gold, with plumed hats
and spangled capes, bore the royal train, and
Roberta tried to upset the dignity of one of them,
who was a little friend of hers, by whispering,
"Hello, Gerald, where did you get that feather?"</p>
<p>In Mary's estimation it was not the diamond
crown that marked the Queen as especially regal,
not the jewelled sceptre nor the white satin gown,
heavily embroidered in gold roses and gleaming
with brilliants; it was the fact that the long train
borne by the little pages was of <i>cloth-of-gold</i>. To
Mary, cloth-of-gold was more royal than ermine or
purple velvet, and lovingly associated in her thought
with the white samite of Tennyson's idyls. It was
cloth-of-gold that the Lily Maid of Astolat had
worn to her burying, and the only piece that Mary
had ever seen was the drapery over the bier of the
fair Elaine, when Lloyd took the part of the Lily
Maid, in the tableaux at The Beeches. When she
caught sight of it she clasped her hands still tighter,
and never took her eyes from it until the Queen
was seated on her throne, and the long, shining
folds swept down beside her, the full length of the
steps.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span></p>
<p>The presentation scene followed. In the name
of The Order of the Alamo, the Queen was given
a magnificent necklace, with a jewelled pendant.
After that the visiting duchesses were received,
representing many towns of Texas, from El Paso
to the gulf. They came with their maids of honor,
and when they had been met by their lords-in-waiting
and their esquires, the entertainment for the
Queen began.</p>
<p>Grecian maidens bearing garlands of roses
danced before her. The second group was of seven
little barefoot girls, carrying golden lyres, and
forming a rainbow background for another small
maid who gave a cymbal dance. The Grecian
dances were followed by a gavotte of the time of
Louis XIII, in which all the dukes and duchesses
took part.</p>
<p>"They danced the minuet last year," commented
Gay. "This is the end of the performance, but
we'll wait to watch them go out, on their way to
the Queen's ball. I went to that too, last year.
These are good seats; we catch them coming and
going."</p>
<p>The audience remaining seated until all the members
of the Court had passed out two by two, had
ample time for comment and observation. Bogey,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span>
who, seeing Mary's absorbing interest in the scene,
had considerately left her undisturbed most of the
time, now leaned over and began to talk. As Gay
had once said, "When it comes to giving a girl
a good time, Bogey is quite the nicest officer in
the bunch," and Phil, overhearing scraps of their
conversation, concluded that Mary was finding her
escort as entertaining as the pageant. A backward
glance now and then showed that she was not
watching the recessional as closely as she was listening
to him.</p>
<p>As they all started out of the hall together, moving
slowly along with the crowd, barely an inch
at a time, they talked over arrangements for the
next day. Lieutenant Boglin could not be counted
in. He had to ride in the procession with the rest
of the troops from the Post who were to take part
in the parade. Billy Mayrell had another engagement,
so Phil proposed to take all three of the girls
under his wing. It was too late to secure seats
in the plaza from which to watch the flower battle.
The Major had been able to get only two. So
Phil said the Major and his wife should occupy
those. He would come around for the girls in an
automobile and they could watch the parade seated
in that.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span></p>
<p>There was a blockade near the door, but as soon
as they could get through it, they all walked up
the street to a building in which the Major had
secured the use of a second-story window, from
which they could watch the parade of the Queen
and her court on their way to the ball. The time
spent in waiting was well worth while, when it
finally appeared. The horses of the chariots were
led by Nubian servants, and each chariot represented
a rose, wherein sat the duchess who had
made it her choice.</p>
<p>The Queen's chariot was surmounted by a mammoth
American Beauty rose, and as she smiled out
from the midst of its petals, Mary had one more
entrancing view of the royal robes. This time they
were lit up by the red gleam of torches, for eight
torch-bearers, four on a side, accompanied each
chariot, and added their light to the brilliant illuminations
of the streets.</p>
<p>"You must see the river," said Billy Mayrell,
after the procession had passed by. "Nobody can
describe it, with the lights strung across it from
shore to shore all down its winding course. It
makes you think of Venice."</p>
<p>He led them to a place where they could look
across a bend and see one of the bridges. It was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span>
strung so thickly with red lights which outlined
every part, that it seemed to be made of glowing
rubies, and its reflection in the water made another
shining ruby bridge below, wavering on the dark
current.</p>
<p>Mary leaned over the rail watching the shimmering
lights, and feeling dreamily that this City
of the Alamo was an enchanted city; that the
buildings looming up on every side were not for
the purpose of barter and trade. They were thrown
up simply as backgrounds for the dazzling illuminations
which outlined them against the night sky.
The horns of the revellers answering each other
down every street, the music of distant bands, the
laughter of the jostling throngs, all deepened the
illusion.</p>
<p>It did not seem possible that this could be the
city through which she had once tramped in the
rain, discouraged and forlorn, in search of a home.
It was a realm given over utterly to "Mirth and
Merriment," where a gracious young queen held
sway, where illness and trouble and grief had no
part.</p>
<p>"I don't wonder that the Major wants everybody
not already a loyal Texan to see this," she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span>
said to the Lieutenant. "It's enough to make one
want to live here always."</p>
<p>She made the same remark to Gay next afternoon,
as she sat beside her on the back seat of the
automobile. Roberta was on the front seat with
Phil. He had ordered a machine which he could
drive himself, and they had taken a run through
the principal streets to see all the decorations, before
coming to a standstill to wait for the procession.
It was an inspiring scene, the grandstand
packed with applauding spectators, the plaza
crowded from park to curbstone. Shops and offices
had closed for the day, schools were dismissed and
all work abandoned as far as possible, in order
that everyone might share in the Carnival play-time.
The wise old town knows the full worth of
holidays, and makes the most of each one.</p>
<p>The chariots Mary had seen in the brilliantly-lighted
streets the night before, lost some of their
glamour seen by day; but the duchesses and their
ladies-in-waiting were dressed now in the colors
of their chosen roses instead of the court-robes,
and there were many new features in this parade;
floats and handsomely decorated carriages, and a
long line of troops from the post with the famous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span>
military bands. It was hard to sit still when they
played so inspiringly.</p>
<p>Back and forth in front of the Alamo went the
two divisions of the parade, meeting and passing
and turning to meet and pass again, all the while
pelting each other with flowers, till the plaza where
they rode was covered deep with them. And the
bands played and the people cheered, till the smallest
schoolboy in their midst felt a thrill of gratitude
to the heroes whose deeds they were commemorating.
He might miss the deeper meaning of it all,
but he grasped one fact clearly enough: that had
it not been for the grim battle which those brave
fellows fought to the death, there would have been
no San Jacinto Day for him. No pageant-filled
holiday to make one feel that it is a great and
glorious thing to be a son of the Lone Star State.</p>
<p>Phil dined at the Major's again that night, and
Roberta was the only other guest beside Mary.
Gay had objected when her father proposed others,
saying that they intended to devote the entire evening
to music. Since they had discovered what a
magnificent voice Mr. Tremont had, and he had
discovered what proficient accompanists she and
Roberta were, they had decided to treat themselves
to a musicale given by the three, with only Mary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span>
for audience. The family could listen, of course,
but with the understanding that there was to be
no conversation. As the Major had an engagement
which took him out immediately after dinner
and Mrs. Melville had some friends drop in to call
soon after, it happened that their audience was
limited to one.</p>
<p>Now the one thing that Mary enjoyed above all
others was hearing Phil sing, and quite the pleasantest
part of her whole visit was that last evening
spent in listening to him, with Roberta at the piano,
and Gay improvising wonderfully soft and lovely
accompaniments on her violin. Mary had heard
two celebrated opera singers while in Washington,
but in her opinion neither one equalled Phil.</p>
<p>Phil's surprise would have been unbounded could
he have known that she was comparing his singing
to the angel Israfel's, "whose heartstrings were
a lute, and who had the sweetest voice of all God's
creatures." It would have been a matter of still
greater surprise if he could have known the exalted
opinion that Mary had of him. Not that any sentimental
interest entered into her regard for him.
Despite her eighteen years and her womanly attitude
towards the world in general, she was still
a little girl, and a very humble little girl in her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span>
own estimation, as far as he was concerned. He
was her ideal; the man whose good opinion she
valued above all things, whose approval made her
inexpressibly happy, and whose advice she eagerly
followed.</p>
<p>She had adored him for years as little girls do
sometimes look up to and adore grown men, and
had stored away in her memory many a remark
that he forgot as soon as it was uttered. There
was the time she confided to him her grief at being
so fat and her ambition to be an "airy, fairy
Lillian," like Lloyd. He did not even smile, and
he answered so gravely and kindly that she remembered
even yet the consolation that his words
gave her. Another time she overheard him referring
to her as an "angel unawares," because she
had unknowingly done him a service by repeating
something Lloyd had said about him.</p>
<p>From that time on, that was the part she longed
to play in his life. She burned to be the "angel
unawares" who could help him to the attainment
of everything he wanted. That was why she had
been so bitterly disappointed when Lloyd's engagement
to Rob Moore had been announced. She
wanted Lloyd to marry Phil because she knew that
was what Phil wanted. Now that that was not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span>
possible she was just as ready to help him if he
should ever love again. She hardly thought that
he could do <i>that</i>, though. It seemed so incredible
that he should ever find another as fine and high
and sweet as the Princess Winsome; it was still
more incredible that once having set his mark that
high he could ever look at anything less.</p>
<p>His powerful, well-trained voice filled the room
with a sweetness that brought an ache to her throat
and sometimes tears to her eyes. Presently Roberta
rummaged out some old, old melodies—"Drink
to me only with thine eyes," and the "Bedouin
Love-song."</p>
<p>When she asked for that last one, Mary cringed
inwardly, as if she had been hurt herself, so sure
was she that it must bring up painful memories to
Phil. She fully expected to see him lay it aside
with some excuse for not singing it. She remembered
as vividly as if it were only last night how
she had sat on the floor of the library at The
Locusts, listening to the notes of his guitar as he
sang to Lloyd outside on the porch:</p>
<div class='poem'>
"Till the stars are old<br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And the sun grows cold</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And the leaves of the Judgment</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Book unfold."</span><br />
</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span></p>
<p>For the life of her, she couldn't see how Lloyd
ever listened to any other wooing after that. Had
any one sung that to <i>her</i> in that voice it would have
won her so completely that she would have risen
like the Sleeping Beauty at the call of the prince.</p>
<div class='poem'>
"Beyond the night—across the day—<br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Through all the world she followed him."</span><br />
</div>
<p>To her surprise, Phil took up the sheet of music
as nonchalantly as if he had never seen it before.
But when he began to sing it seemed to her anxious
ear that he sang it more feelingly than anything
she had ever heard. It was plain enough to her
now that he had not ceased to care. It wrung her
heart to hear him sing it so, pouring out his soul
in a flood of noble devotion which he knew could
never be requited, but which would live on till the
sun lost its heat and the stars their light.</p>
<p>"I love that song," said Roberta, laying it aside
to pick up another. "But I'd like to meet that
fiery old duck of a Bedouin when the leaves of
the Judgment Book <i>do</i> unfold, and find out how
long his devotion kept up to high-water mark."
Then she trilled airily, "Men are gay deceivers
ever."</p>
<p>Under the circumstances the remark seemed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span>
flippant, almost sacrilegious, to Mary. She gave
Roberta a disapproving glance behind her back,
thinking, "Little <i>you</i> know about it. If you could
see as I do now, how Phil is hiding his real feelings,
you'd realize that there's <i>one</i> man, at least,
capable of the deathless devotion you scoff at."</p>
<p>The evening was over all too soon. Phil was to
take Roberta home on his way back to the hotel,
and when he rose to go said, "I'll not make my
farewells now. My train doesn't leave till nearly
noon to-morrow, so I'll call some time during the
morning to pay my respects to the Major and see
you all again."</p>
<p>"You'll have to say good-by to Mary now,"
said Gay. "She insists on taking that horrid
freight car back to Bauer, at seven in the morning."</p>
<p>"I must," said Mary. "You know they need
me, now that the nurse is gone, and I've already
been away two days."</p>
<p>Roberta went out into the hall for her hat, and
Gay followed as far as the door, talking as she
went.</p>
<p>"And I haven't had any visit with <i>you</i> at all,"
said Phil, who was standing, hat in hand, looking
down at Mary. "I haven't had a word with you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span>
by yourself, and you haven't confided once in me
or asked me a single scrap of advice. It doesn't
seem natural. But I'm not going to let you escape
me this way; I'm going down to the train in the
morning to see you off."</p>
<p>Gay turned in time to hear the last part of his
sentence. "That is," she corrected, "if you are
called in time. They don't always do it at hotels
when they say they will. I've had some bad experiences
that way. So if he doesn't appear, Mary,
you can console yourself with the thought that
he's like Kathleen Mavourneen—'slumbering
still.'"</p>
<p>"I'll be there," was the confident reply, as he
smiled down into Mary's wistful eyes and held out
his hand to say good-night. "Electric bells are
not as romantic as the 'horn of the hunter heard
on the hill,' but they're more effective when it
comes to getting a fellow up in the morning; you'll
see me sure."</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2>
<div class='chaptertitle'>NEW TRAILS</div>
<p><span class="smcap">The</span> train to Bauer left so early that Mary had
to take the first street-car passing the Post, in order
to reach the station in time. Gay had announced
her intention of going down with her, but did not
awaken until Mary, who occupied an adjoining
room, was nearly dressed and the maid was bringing
up a hastily-prepared breakfast, on a tray. But
Mary could not honestly share Gay's regrets at being
late. She had dressed noiselessly on purpose not to
waken her. She wanted to go alone in order to have
those last moments with Phil all to herself, and she
was so elated when she finally got away from the
house unaccompanied that she could have sung
aloud.</p>
<p>Her route took her through Alamo plaza again,
and the streets which still bore witness to the presence
of the Carnival. All the buildings were still
gay with bunting, and flags flapped merrily in the
morning sunshine. She wondered which would be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span>
first to reach the station, and all the way down, Phil's
face was before her. She could see just the way he
would look, coming towards her through the crowd,
tall and distinguished and with such a jolly twinkle
in his handsome eyes. And he would call out,
"Hullo, little Vicar; I beat you to it!" or some
such friendly greeting as that.</p>
<p>She did not know that she was smiling to herself,
but it made no difference. There was no one to see,
for the men on the car were all hidden behind their
morning papers. When she reached the station only
a few people were in sight, and when she climbed
into the coach at the end of the long line of freight-cars,
there were not more than half a dozen passengers
aboard. All of them looked sleepy, and a
series of gentle snores attracted her attention to an
old countryman, curled up on a back seat with his
valise for a pillow.</p>
<p>On her way in she had passed through the waiting-room
and given a hasty look around to see if
Phil were ahead of her. Glancing up at the clock she
found that she had ten minutes to spare. Three of
these passed in getting settled and in taking an inventory
of her fellow-passengers. Then she began
to hang out of the window and anxiously watch the
waiting-room door. She was growing uneasy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span>
Maybe the clerk <i>had</i> forgotten to call him. Maybe
he <i>was</i> "slumbering still," as Gay had prophesied.
He might have missed the car he should have taken,
or there might be a tie-up somewhere along the line.</p>
<p>A colored man hurried into the coach with a chunk
of ice for the water cooler. The conductor came
down the platform looking at his watch, and signalled
something to a brakeman. Mary put her head
out of the window again and looked anxiously up
and down, whispering in a flutter of nervousness,
"Oh, <i>why</i> doesn't he come? Why <i>doesn't</i> he
come? There's only a minute or two left and there
won't be time for a word."</p>
<p>She would not admit the possibility of his not
coming at all, until she heard the warning, "All
aboard!" the ringing of the engine bell, and felt the
jerk and jar which proclaimed all too plainly that
the car was in motion. She was so disappointed that
she could hardly keep the tears back. Her last
thought before falling asleep the night before and
the first one on awakening had been that she was
going to see the "Best Man" by himself a few moments,
without any talkative Roberta to absorb his
attention, or any other people to run away with the
conversation.</p>
<p>It was a very disconsolate little face that turned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span>
towards the open window to hide its disappointment
from possibly curious neighbors. She found it hard
to wink the tears back when she was so deeply,
grievously disappointed. Her back was turned resolutely
towards the aisle and her arms were crossed
on the window-sill. In that position she could not
see the rear door of the car open and some one come
in from the back platform. He stood a moment, his
hat in one hand and a suit-case in the other, breathing
fast as if he had been running. Then after a
searching glance through the car, he went directly
down the aisle and stopped beside Mary's seat. Her
attitude, even to the droop of her hat-brim, proclaimed
her dejection so clearly that a smile twitched
the corners of his mouth. Then he said in a deep
voice, so deep that it was fairly sepulchral, "I beg
pardon, Miss. May I occupy this end of the seat?"</p>
<p>Startled by the strange voice so near, she turned
a very sober and unsmiling face to see what manner
of person had accosted her. Then she exclaimed,
in astonishment, "Why, Phil Tremont! How ever
did you get on without my seeing you? I looked and
looked and thought you must have gotten left!"</p>
<p>Then realizing that the train was well under way
and they had been carried some distance past the
station, she cried in alarm, "But you can't get off!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[357]</a></span>
They're carrying you away!" She was almost
wringing her hands in her excitement.</p>
<p>"Well, I don't mind it if you don't," said Phil,
sitting down beside her and laughing at her concern.
"I'm going along with you. Something Miss
Roberta said last night on her way home started
me to thinking, and—the result was, I decided to
spend another day and night in Bauer. It's positively
my last appearance, however. I'll leave for
good in the morning."</p>
<p>What Roberta could have said to make such a
change in his plans was more than Mary could imagine.
She almost had to bite her tongue to keep
from asking, and Phil, knowing that he had aroused
her wildest curiosity, laughed again. But he wasted
no more time in teasing her.</p>
<p>"No, really," he said, "I was joking. A telegram
from my firm routed me out about six o'clock this
morning. They want me to go to St. Louis to see
some parties before returning to New York. I
figured it out that I could double things up there
so as to give me one more day here. But it took
me so long to figure it, that, by the time I had made
up my mind, there was only a moment to stuff my
things into my suit-case and call a taxicab. When
I got down to the station I saw I had about three<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[358]</a></span>
minutes in which to snatch a sandwich and a cup
of coffee at the lunch counter; but the coffee was
so hot I came near missing my train. Had to run
a block and swing up on the rear platform. If it
had been the regular express I couldn't have caught
it. Luckily it was a freight, so here I am."</p>
<p>He did not add that an unaccountable impulse to
go back to Bauer had seized him the night before
when he bade her good-night, or that the impulse
had been strengthened afterward by a casual remark
of Roberta's about Lieutenant Boglin. Roberta
thought she saw the first symptoms of a budding
romance on Bogey's part.</p>
<p>Not being given to the practice of analyzing his
feelings, Phil did not stop to ask himself why it
should make any difference to him what the lieutenant
thought of little Mary Ware, nor did he
realize at the time how much that remark influenced
his decision to spend one more day with her. Afterwards
he used to say that it was Fate and not himself
that was responsible for that journey; that it
was destined from the beginning he should chase
madly after that freight-train, catch it, and thereby
give himself four long uninterrupted hours in which
to grow better acquainted with her than he had ever
been before.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[359]</a></span></p>
<p>At the end of that time he knew why he had been
drawn back. It was that her real self, the depth
of whose charm he had not even half suspected,
should be revealed to him in the intimacy of this
conversation. It changed his whole attitude toward
her to find how much she had changed herself; how
she had grown and developed. In some ways she
was still the amusing child whose unexpected sayings
had first attracted him. She would always be
that, but she was so much more now; and, again, as
on the day he met her in the field of blue-bonnets, he
found himself watching her, trying to decide just
wherein her charm lay, and how it made her different
from any other girl he had ever known. Sometimes
he would almost lose what she was saying, puzzling
over the problem.</p>
<p>At the stone quarry, while they waited a long
time for the engine to switch off some empty cars,
and pick up some loaded ones, they left the coach
and walked up and down beside the track. They
were talking about Gay and Alex, and he laughed
at her outspoken honesty in expressing her opinion
about their delayed wedding.</p>
<p>"I think it's so sensible for them to wait till he's
got something saved up for a rainy day, when he's
nothing now but his practice. It's like providing a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[360]</a></span>
sort of financial umbrella. Really, it is just like
starting out without a sign of an umbrella when
you know it's going to rain, and trusting to luck to
keep you dry, for people to marry with nothing to
depend on but an uncertain salary."</p>
<p>Phil laughed, as he answered, "What a little
pessimist you are, Mary. It <i>doesn't</i> always rain,
and people <i>have</i> married without such a provision
who lived happily ever after."</p>
<p>"But it does oftener than it doesn't," she insisted.
"Papa and mamma lived happily, and he
had only his practice as a young lawyer. But look
what we've been through since he died. Things
wouldn't have come to such a pass when his health
broke down if there had been something laid away
for such emergencies. Joyce and I have often talked
about it when we've had to pinch and work and
economize down to the last cent."</p>
<p>"So you'll never marry a man who has only the
shelter of a salary to offer you?" said Phil, teasingly.</p>
<p>"I didn't say that," answered Mary, her face
puckered up into a puzzled expression. "I don't
want to, and I don't <i>think</i> I would, but, honestly, I
don't know what I would do. I'm afraid that if I
loved a man as much as you ought to to be his wife<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[361]</a></span>
that I'd be every bit as foolish as anybody else, and
that I'd marry him even if I had to take in back
stairs to scrub for a living. But I do hope I'll have
more sense, or else he won't be that kind of a man.
It isn't that I mind work," she added, "but I'm so
tired of doing without and making over, and tugging
and pulling to make both ends meet. Do you know
what they call me at home? The Watch-dog of the
Treasury, and you can guess what I've had to be
like to earn such a name. I earned it, too, all right.
I fought over every penny, and I'd hate to keep
on in the same old rut all the rest of my days. It
would be so nice to look forward to a luxurious
old age."</p>
<p>She laughed when she had said it, but such a tired
little sigh came first, and that wistful look again in
her honest, straightforward eyes as she glanced up
at him, that he was seized with a sudden desire such
as no one else had ever inspired before, to pick
her up and carry her away from all her troubles;
to surround her with all the girlish pleasures and
pretty things she loved, and to humor every whim
all the rest of her life. But all he said was:</p>
<p>"And if you were a man I suppose you would
feel the same way about it."</p>
<p>"Oh, more so!" she cried. "The more I thought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[362]</a></span>
of a girl the surer I'd want to be that she need
never face that rainy day unprotected."</p>
<p>She stooped to pick a tiny yellow star from a
clump of broom growing alongside the track, and
they walked on in silence a moment. Then he said,
with an amused side-glance at her:</p>
<p>"You can't imagine how funny it seems to hear
such common-sense, practical 'side talks on matrimony'
from an eighteen-year-old girl like you. I
feel as if I'd had a scolding from my grandmother,
and that I'll have to own up that I did it, but I'm
sorry and I'll never do it again."</p>
<p>"Did what?" queried Mary in surprise.</p>
<p>"Spent everything as fast as I made it. Had
money to burn and burnt it. I don't ask any better
salary than I've been receiving for several years.
Of course, when I go in by myself, that'll be another
matter. But I'll have to own up; out of it all, I've
saved practically nothing. I haven't spent it in
riotous living, and it doesn't seem that I've been
particularly extravagant, but it's gone. It just
slipped through my fingers."</p>
<p>"Oh, well, <i>you</i>," began Mary. "That's different."</p>
<p>"In what way is it different?" he persisted, when
she did not go on.</p>
<p>"Well, if a man doesn't mind getting wet himself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[363]</a></span>
it's nobody's business if he takes chances. It's the
man who expects to—to have some one else to protect—who
ought to be ready for the possible
storms."</p>
<p>"But what makes you think that I'll always go
it alone?" insisted Phil. "That I'll never have any
one to—protect? That's what you seem to insinuate."</p>
<p>He was looking directly into her eyes, laughingly,
teasingly, and a wave of color swept over her face.
Roberta would have evaded the question, and turned
it off with a laugh. Mary was too simple and direct.
It was the moment she had long felt must confront
her some time. Her day of reckoning had come for
playing eavesdropper. No matter how hard she
fought against doing so, she knew she was going
to confess that she had been one, albeit unintentionally.</p>
<p>As he repeated his question with smiling insistence,
the words stuck in her throat, but the thought
uppermost in her mind called out to him by some
strange, telepathic power, and he understood as if
she had spoken.</p>
<p>"You think," he said slowly, looking into her
eyes as if the written words were actually before him
there and he was reading them aloud, "you think<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[364]</a></span>
that it is on Lloyd's account. How did you know
about—<i>that</i>?"</p>
<p>It startled her so that he should read her thought
in such a way that she could only stammer in reply:</p>
<p>"I—I—heard you singing to her once at The
Locusts, that song you sang last night, 'Till the
stars are old,' and I thought if you cared for her as
it sounded both times, that there <i>couldn't</i> be anybody
else, <i>ever!</i>"</p>
<p>Phil turned partly away from her, and stared
off towards the hills a moment, his eyes narrowed
into a thoughtful, musing expression. Finally he
said, "I thought so, too, Mary, once. I thought it
for a number of years. That time will always be
one of the sweetest and most sacred of my memories.
One's earliest love always is, they say, like the
first white violet in the spring."</p>
<p>There was a long pause, then he finished the sentence
by turning around to her to say, significantly,
"But there's always a summer after every spring,
you know. Come on, we'd better be getting aboard
again. It looks as if they're about ready to start."</p>
<p>He helped her up the steps and followed her down
the aisle. While adjusting the window-shade before
she took her seat, he began to talk of other things,
and the subject was dropped between them. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[365]</a></span>
it was not dropped in Mary's mind. She had been
called on to adjust herself to a new viewpoint of
him so quickly that it left her mentally gasping.
With his own hand he had ruthlessly swept away
one of her dearest illusions. She had always believed
that no matter who else might forget, <i>he</i>
would always stand as a model of manly constancy.
What surprised her now was not his change of view.
It was her own. By that one sentence he had made
it perfectly clear to her that it was not reasonable to
expect him to go on mourning always for the "first
white violet." It was only natural that summer
should follow the spring.</p>
<p>But the puzzle now was, who was good enough
and sweet and high and fine enough to follow Lloyd?
Mary was positive that there was nobody. He might
hunt the whole world over, but she was sure he
would be doomed to disappointment in the end. Her
motherly concern over that was almost as great as
her sympathy had been when she thought of him as
doomed to carry a secret sorrow with him to the
grave.</p>
<p>After that the conversation was not so personal.
It was nearly noon when they reached Bauer, and in
that time they had exchanged views on enough subjects
to have filled an encyclopædia. Twice after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[366]</a></span>
that they talked together alone. The first time was
when they went out in the boat just before sunset.
Mary wanted him to see Fernbank in all its glory
of fresh April greenness, with the little waterfalls
splashing their fine mist over the walls of delicate
maiden-hair.</p>
<p>She insisted on poling the boat, although he protested
that it made him uncomfortable to sit still
and see her doing the work. He refused to go at all,
until she compromised by saying he might pole on
the way back.</p>
<p>"It isn't work," she insisted. "It's one of the
greatest pleasures I have, and about the only one
I've had in this benighted place."</p>
<p>"You always did love to 'paddle your own canoe'
and strike out and do things for yourself," he remarked,
as they shot swiftly up the stream. "By
the way, what are you going to do next? Will
you be starting back to Warwick Hall again in
September, now that Jack is sure of taking his old
position in the mines then?"</p>
<p>"No," was her decided answer. "We've scrapped
about that a lot lately. He insists that I must. But
it's this way. He's lost a whole year out of his life,
and although he's never said so, I know the time is
coming when he'll want to settle down and have a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[367]</a></span>
home of his own. And <i>he's</i> the kind who'd never
ask a girl to marry him until he'd provided for
her future in case anything should happen to him.
Joyce's plans have been put back a year, too. She
has her heart set on going to Paris with Miss Henrietta
to study, just as soon as she can afford it. Of
course, Jack will pay back his part of what she's
spent on us this winter, but it will take a good while
for him to do it. I've made up my mind I'm not
going to stand in their way. I'll not be a drag on
either one of them. There's lots of things that I
can do. The summer is already provided for.
When Mrs. Mallory found that we are going to stay
on here till September, till Jack is strong enough to
go back to work, she made up her mind to stay, too,
no matter how hot it gets, because the children are
so happy here. They can't bear the idea of stopping
their lessons. They're beginning to learn to
read now, and are as wild over that as if it were a
new game. Mrs. Rochester says it does get frightfully
hot here in the summers, but that we can stand
it if we have the lessons in the morning instead of
afternoon."</p>
<p>"And then," asked Phil, "after that?"</p>
<p>"After that I don't know, but there'll be something.
It's all uncertain, but it's interesting just to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[368]</a></span>
wonder what will come next. I'm like the wolf in
the last of the Mowgli stories."</p>
<p>She turned to glance over her shoulder as she
quoted, laughingly, "'<i>The stars are thin,' said Gray
Brother, sniffing at the dawn wind. 'Where shall
we lair to-day? For, from now, we follow new
trails.</i>' I don't know where the new trails will lead,
but from all that's happened in the past, I've faith
to believe that there'll be 'good hunting' in them."</p>
<p>"There will always be that for you," said Phil,
warmly. "You'll never strike one where you'll not
find friends and interests and—"</p>
<p>He started to say more, but checked himself, and
after an instant's pause, stood up, almost upsetting
the boat, and laughingly took the oar away from her,
insisting that he couldn't sit still another minute.
He had to work off some of his surplus energy.</p>
<p>What he had come near saying when he checked
himself was, "And you'll never strike a trail where
you won't be the bravest, jolliest, dearest little comrade
a man could have; one that he would never
tire of, one who could inspire him to do and be his
best."</p>
<p>The impulse to say all this came upon him so
suddenly that it startled him. Then a sober second
thought told him that after all she was scarcely more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[369]</a></span>
than a child, that she had always looked upon him as
an elderly brother, and that it would be better not to
destroy that old intimate relationship until he was
sure of being able to establish a new one. A strange
feeling of humility took possession of him. It
suddenly seemed that he had so little to offer one
who could give so much. Even her opinion which
he had laughed at at the stone quarry, about providing
a financial umbrella, carried weight now, and
made him hesitate, no longer confidant of himself.</p>
<p>His strong, quick sweeps of the oar sent the boat
upstream at twice the speed it had been going before,
and Mary, from her seat in the stern, called out
that it was as good as flying, and that she'd have to
acknowledge that she'd never known before how
delightful it was to sit still and let somebody else
do the paddling. But that was because nobody else
had taken her along so fast.</p>
<p>At Fernbank they did not get out of the boat.
Phil took the seat facing her, while they drifted
around the deep pool for a little while. It was
almost twilight there, for the high bank shut out the
glow of the sunset, and it was deliciously cool and
green and still. Presently some remark of Phil's
made Mary exclaim:</p>
<p>"That reminds me, although I don't know why it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[370]</a></span>
should, of something I've been intending to tell you,
that Joyce wrote recently. You've heard her talk
of little Jules Ciseaux, the boy who played such an
important part in her winter in France. He lived
in the house with the giant scissors on the gables,
and over the great gate, you know. Well, he's over
here in America now. He's always wanted to come
ever since Joyce told him so much about it. His
mother was an American and I think he was born
in this country. At any rate, he's here now, sightseeing
and trying to hunt up his mother's family.</p>
<p>"He's come into quite a large fortune lately, ever
so many hundred thousand francs. As he is of age,
he can do as he pleases. Joyce says he wants to come
out to Lone Rock to see us, because she used to entertain
him by the hour with tales of us, and he used
to envy us our good times together in the little
brown house at Plainsville. He never knew any
home life like ours. I'm wild to see him. Joyce
says he is charming! Such lovely manners, and such
a sensitive, refined face, like one's ideal of a young
poet. He's really something of an artist. Joyce
says he's done some really creditable work, and all
her friends have taken him up and are making it nice
for him while he is in New York."</p>
<p>"That <i>is</i> interesting," said Phil. "I'll look him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[371]</a></span>
up as soon as I get back. Wouldn't it be romantic
if the friendship that started between them as children
should grow into something more? All those
inherited francs would provide the fine, large umbrella
which you seem to think is necessary."</p>
<p>"Oh, it never can be anything but friendship in
this case," exclaimed Mary. "Jules is two years
younger than Joyce."</p>
<p>"By the same token he is three years older than
you. Maybe it's Joyce's little sister he will be taking
an interest in."</p>
<p>"Humph! You're as bad as Norman!" replied
Mary, calmly. "That's what <i>he</i> said. He
thought he had something new to tease me about, but
he soon found out that it wouldn't work."</p>
<p>Despite her indifference, Phil thought of the possibility
again many times that night before he fell
asleep. Knowing the limited space of the cottage,
he had taken a room at the Williams House, despite
Mrs. Ware's protests, saying he would be over early
in the morning for breakfast. But it seemed for
awhile that breakfast-time would arrive before he
could fall asleep.</p>
<p>Things assume formidable proportions in the darkness
and dead quiet of the night that they never have
by day. Away after midnight he was still thinking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[372]</a></span>
of what Mary had said about the young Frenchman
who had lately come into his fortune, and of
what Roberta had said about Lieutenant Boglin.
The face of the latter rose up before him. Not a
particularly good-looking face, he thought, but it
was a strong, likable one, and he had a sense of
humor which made him good company, and a
blarney-stone turn of the tongue that would take
with any girl. As for Jules Ciseaux, who had envied
the Wares their home life, Phil knew all about the
childhood of the lonely little lad left to the mercies
of a brutal caretaker. Jules would only need to see
Mary once, dear little home-maker that she was, to
want to carry her away with him to his chateau
beside the Loire.</p>
<p>Before Phil finally fell asleep he had decided just
what he would say to Mary next morning, and that
he would go early enough to make an opportunity to
say it. It <i>was</i> early when he went striding down
the road, across the foot-bridge, and took the short
cut through a meadow to the back of the Ware
cottage; but the preparations for breakfast were
well under way. When he reached the back porch,
screened by morning-glory vines, he saw the table set
out there, with fresh strawberries at each place,
wreathed in their own green leaves.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[373]</a></span></p>
<p>Judging from the odors wafted through the door,
chickens were broiling within to exactly the right
degree of delectable crispness, and coffee which
would be of amber clearness, was in the making.
But the noises within the kitchen were not to be interpreted
as easily as the odors. There was a banging
and scuffling over the floor, muffled shrieks and
broken sentences in high voices, choking with
laughter. Not till he reached the open window and
looked in could he imagine the cause of the uproar.
Norman and Mary were wrestling and romping all
over the kitchen, having a tug-of-war over something
he was trying to take away from her.</p>
<p>Unconscious of a spectator, they dragged each
other around, bumping against walls amid a clatter
of falling tinware, stumbling over chairs and coming
to a deadlock in each others' arms in a corner, so
full of laughter they could scarcely hold their grip.</p>
<p>"Dare me again! will you?" gasped Norman,
thinking he had her pinned to the wall. But wrenching
one hand free, she began to tickle him until he
writhed away from her with a whoop, and dashed
out of the door.</p>
<p>"Yah! 'Fraid cat!" she jeered after him.
"Afraid of a tickle!"</p>
<p>"You just wait till I get back with the milk," he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[374]</a></span>
cried, catching up a shining tin pail that stood on
the bench, and starting down the path over which
Phil had just come.</p>
<div class="figright" style="width: 353px;">
<img src="images/i007.jpg" width="353" height="500" alt="Well, I'm going away and I may not see you again." />
</div>
<p>"You'll have to hurry," she called after him.
"Breakfast is almost ready."</p>
<p>She stooped to open the oven door and peep at
the pan of biscuit within, just beginning to turn a
delicate brown. Then she looked up and caught
sight of Phil. He was leaning against the window
looking in, his arms crossed on the sill as if he had
been enjoying the spectacle for some time.</p>
<p>"For mercy sakes!" she exclaimed. "How long
have you been there?"</p>
<p>The coast was clear. Norman was well on his
way to the Metz place, and Mrs. Ware was helping
Jack get ready for breakfast. It was as good an
opportunity as Phil could have hoped for, to repeat
the speech he had rehearsed so many times the night
before. And she looked so fresh and wholesome
and sweet, standing there in her pink morning dress
with the big white apron, that she was more like
an apple-blossom than anything else he could think
of. He wanted to tell her so; to tell her she had
never seemed so dear and desirable as she did at
this moment, when he must be going away to leave
her.</p>
<p>Yet how could he tell her, when she was all
a-giggle and a-dimple and aglow from her romp
with Norman? Clearly she was too far from his
state of mind to share it now, or even to understand
it. After all, she was only a little girl at heart—only
eighteen. It wasn't fair to her to awaken
her quite yet—to hurry her into giving a promise
when she couldn't possibly know her own mind.
He would wait—</p>
<p>So he only leaned on the window-sill and laughed
at her for having been caught in such an undignified
romp, and asked her when she intended to grow
up, and if she ever expected to outgrow her propensity
for scrapping. But when he had joked
thus a few minutes, he said, quite suddenly and
seriously, "Mary, I want you to promise me something."</p>
<p>She was taking the chickens from the broiler and
did not look at him until they were safely landed in
the hot platter awaiting them, but she said lightly,
"Yes, your 'ighness. To the 'arf of me kingdom.
Wot is it?"</p>
<p>"Well, I'm going away and I may not see you
again for a long time. The chief wants me to take
a position, engineering the construction of a big dam
down in Mexico. It would keep me down there two<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[375]</a><br /><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[376]</a></span>
years, but it would be the biggest thing I've had yet,
in every way. Last night I just about made up my
mind I'd take it.</p>
<p>"While I'm gone you will be striking out into all
sorts of new trails, and I am afraid that on some of
them somebody will come along and try to persuade
you to join him on his, even if you are such a little
girl. Now I want to have a hand in choosing the
right man, and I want you to promise me that you
won't let anybody persuade you to do that till I
come back. Or at least if they do try, that you'll
send me word that they're trying, and give me a
chance to come back and have a look at the fellow,
and see if I think he is good enough to carry you
off."</p>
<p>"Why, the idea!" she laughed, a trifle embarrassed,
but immensely pleased that he should think
it possible for her to have numerous suitors or to
have them soon, and flattered that he should take
enough interest in her future to want to be called
back from Mexico to direct her choice.</p>
<p>"But will you promise?" he urged.</p>
<p>"Yes; that is not much to promise."</p>
<p>"And you'll give me your hand on it?" he persisted.</p>
<p>"Yes, and cross my heart and body in the bargain,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[377]</a></span>
she added, lightly, "if that'll please you any
better."</p>
<p>For all his gravity, she thought he was jesting
until she reached her hand through the window to
seal the compact.</p>
<p>"You know," he said, as his warm fingers closed
over it, "I've never yet seen anybody whom I considered
good enough for little Mary Ware."</p>
<p>Her eyes fell before the seriousness of his steady
glance, and she turned away all in a flutter of
pleasure that the "Best Man" should have said such
a lovely thing about <i>her</i>. It was the very thing she
had always thought about him.</p>
<p>Mrs. Ware came out just then, wheeling Jack in
his chair, and soon after Norman was back with the
milk, and breakfast was served out on the porch
among the morning-glories. "A perfect breakfast
and a perfect morning," Phil said. The 'bus which
was to call for him came while they were still lingering
around the table, and there was only time for
a hasty good-by all around.</p>
<p>"Come and walk out to the gate with me, Mary,
and give me a good send-off," he said, hurriedly
snatching up his suit-case.</p>
<p>Now in this last moment, when there was much to
say, neither had a word, and they walked along in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[378]</a></span>
silence until they reached the gate. There he turned
for one more hand-clasp.</p>
<p>"Remember your promise," he said, gravely, as
his fingers closed warmly over hers. "I meant every
word I said."</p>
<p>"I'll remember," she answered, dimpling again as
if he had reminded her of a good joke; "and I'll
keep my word. Honest, I will!"</p>
<p>With that he went away, carrying with him a
picture which he recalled a thousand times in the
months that followed; Mary, standing at the gate
in the pink and white dress that had the freshness of
a spring blossom, with her sweet, sincere eyes and
her dear little mouth saying, "I'll keep my word!
Honest, I will!"</p>
<p>It was a long, long, hot summer that followed.
The drought dried up the creek so that the boat lay
idle on the bank. The dust grew deeper and deeper
in the roads and lay thick on the wayside weeds.
Even the trees were powdered with it; all the green
of the landscape took on an ashen grayness.
Meadows lay parched and sere. Walking ceased to
be a pleasure, and as they gasped through the tropical
heat of the endless afternoons, they longed for the
dense shade of the pines at Lone Rock, and counted
the days till they could go back.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[379]</a></span></p>
<p>But as soon as the sun dropped behind the hills
each day, and the breeze started up from the far-away
Gulf, their discomfort was forgotten. In the
wonderful brilliance of the starry nights when there
was no moon, or in the times when one hung like
a luminous pearl above a silver world, the air grew
fresh and cool, and they sat late in the open, making
the most of every minute. In the early mornings
there was that same crisp freshness of the hills
again, so one could endure the merciless, yellow glare
and the panting heat of the afternoons, for the sake
of the nights and dawns.</p>
<p>Even without that, however, they would have been
content to stay on, enduring it gladly, for Jack was
daily growing stronger; and to see him moving
about the house on his own feet, no matter how
falteringly at first, was a cause for hourly rejoicing.</p>
<p>Mary still played the part of Baloo with Brud and
Sister, starting early in the morning and taking them
over to the old mill-dam, in the shade of some big
cypress and sycamore trees. She was teaching them
to read and write, but there was little poring over
books for them. They built their letters out of
stones, and fashioned whole sentences of twigs;
wrote them in the sand and modelled them in mud,
scratched them on rocks with bits of flint, as Indians<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[380]</a></span>
do their picture language, and pricked them in the
broad sycamore leaves with thorns. By the end of
the summer they had enough of a vocabulary to write
a brief letter to their father, and their pride knew no
bounds when each had achieved one entirely alone,
from date to stamp, and dropped it into the box at
the post-office. His pride in them was equally great,
and the letter that he sent Mary with her final
check was one of the few things which she carried
away from Texas as a cherished memento.</p>
<p>She did not write often in her Good Times book.
There was so little to chronicle. An occasional
visit from the Barnaby's, a call at the rectory, a few
minutes spent in neighborly gossip in the Metz
garden; never once in the whole summer a happening
more exciting than that, except when the troops
from Fort Sam Houston were ordered out on their
annual "hike" and passed through Bauer in July.
Each of the different divisions camped a day and
a night in the grove back of the cottage, near enough
for the Wares to watch every manœuvre. The
Artillery band played at sunset when it was in camp,
and gave a concert that night in the plaza. When
the Cavalry passed through, Lieutenant Boglin
came to supper and spent the evening. Gay was
up for a day twice, and Mary went once to San<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[381]</a></span>
Antonio. That was all. Yet stupid as it was for
a girl of her age, and much as she missed young
companionship, Mary managed to get through the
summer very happily. All its unpleasantness was
atoned for one day in early September, when she
looked out to see Jack going down the road, straight
and strong, pushing his own wheeled chair in front
of him. He was taking it down to Doctor Mackay's
office to leave "for the first poor devil who needs
it," he said.</p>
<p>In the last few weeks he had discovered what he
had not known before, that the town was full of
invalids in quest of health, attracted from all over
the country by the life-giving air of its hills. He
had made the acquaintance of a number of them
since he had been able to ride around with the doctor.
Now, as he went off down the road with the
chair, with all of the family at the window to see
the happy sight, Mrs. Ware repeated to Mary what
the doctor had said about Jack's effect on his other
patients, and what the rector had told her of the
regard all the villagers had for Jack.</p>
<p>"The dear boy's year of suffering has done one
thing for the world," she added. "It has given it
another Aldebaran. Don't you remember in <i>The
Jester's Sword</i>—" She quoted it readily, because<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[382]</a></span>
ever since she had first seen it she had always read
Jack's name in place of Aldebaran's:</p>
<p>"'<i>It came to pass whenever he went by, men felt
a strange, strength-giving influence radiating from
his presence, a sense of hope. One could not say
exactly what it was, it was so fleeting, so intangible,
like warmth that circles from a brazier, or perfume
that is wafted from an unseen rose.</i>' That's what
one feels whenever Jack comes near."</p>
<p>"Yes, I know," assented Mary. "Even old Mr.
Metz tried to say as much to me about him. He
didn't choose those words, of course, but in his own
broken way he meant the same thing."</p>
<p>When the day came to leave, there was no one
to go with them to the station. The Rochesters
were away on their vacation, and it was too early
in the morning for the Barnabys to come in from
the ranch. They had bidden each other good-by
the day before, with deep regrets on both sides. It
seemed so good to both Mary and her mother to
see Jack attending to the tickets and the trunks in
his old way, so quick and capable. While he was
getting the checks, Mary walked down the track a
little piece to a place where she could look back at
the town for one more picture to carry away in
her memory.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[383]</a></span></p>
<p>How friendly and homelike and dear it seemed
now. Between the belfry of St. Peter's and the
gray tower of Holy Angels, rose the smoke from
many breakfast fires, and the windmills twirled merrily
in the morning sun. For all its dreariness she
was carrying away the recollection of a score of
happy times.</p>
<p>Over there was the free camp-yard, where their
little Christmas tree had spread such cheer. Further
on shone the spire of St. Boniface. She would
always think of it as she saw it Easter morning,
its casement windows set wide, and its altar white
with the snowy beauty of the rain lilies. There was
the meadow through which she had gone in blue-bonnet
time, to find Phil waiting under the <i>huisache</i>
tree, and there the creek, running on to Fernbank.
Nearer by she could see the windmill tower she had
so often climbed, sticking up over the roof that had
sheltered them during the ten months they had been
in Bauer. "Dear little old Bauer," she thought,
gratefully. She wouldn't have believed it in the
beginning if anyone had told her, that there would
be any regrets in her leave-taking when the time
came to go. How wonderfully it had all turned
out. The crooked <i>had</i> been made straight, and the
rough places smooth. She could face the future<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[384]</a></span>
gladly, buoyantly, now, no matter what it held, since
Jack was well again.</p>
<p>"Come on, Mary, it's time to go aboard!" called
Norman.</p>
<p>"You go on in, and save me a seat," she called
back. "Here come the children. I must wait to
speak to them."</p>
<p>She had bidden them good-by the night before,
and had not expected to see them again. They came
running, out of breath. Sister had a little bag of
animal crackers she had brought as a farewell offering,
and Brud proffered a companion-piece, a sack
of sticky red cinnamon drops. They had cried the
night before, and they were close to tears now, realizing
that something very rare and precious was
passing out of their lives. She took their offerings
with thanks that brought smiles to their dejected
little faces, then once more stooped to kiss them
good-by.</p>
<p>"From now, it's new trails for all of us," she
said, lightly, "and you'll write and tell me what you
find in yours, and I'll write and tell you about mine."</p>
<p>On the platform of the car she turned for a
last look at the three disconsolate little figures, waiting
to watch her start off towards those new trails.
There were three, for Uncle August had joined<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[385]</a></span>
them now, squatting mournfully beside them as if
he, too, were losing his best playfellow. The train
began to move slowly out. As she clung to the
railing to wave to them one more time, a mournful
little pipe followed her shrilly down the track. It
was Brud's voice:</p>
<p>"Good hunting, Miss Mayry! Good hunting!"</p>
<div class='center'>
THE END.<br />
</div><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1_ad" id="Page_1_ad">[1]</a></span></p>
<div class='adtitle2'><span class='u'>BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE</span></div>
<div class='adtitle1'>THE LITTLE COLONEL BOOKS</div>
<div class='center'><span class='small'>(Trade Mark)</span><br />
<i>By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON</i><br />
<i>Each 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth, illustrated, per vol.</i> $1.50<br />
</div>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE LITTLE COLONEL STORIES</div>
<div class='trademark1'>(Trade Mark)</div>
<p>Being three "Little Colonel" stories in the Cosy Corner
Series, "The Little Colonel," "Two Little Knights of
Kentucky," and "The Great Scissors," put into a single
volume.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE LITTLE COLONEL'S HOUSE PARTY</div>
<div class='trademark1'>(Trade Mark)</div>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE LITTLE COLONEL'S HOLIDAYS</div>
<div class='trademark1'>(Trade Mark)</div>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE LITTLE COLONEL'S HERO</div>
<div class='trademark1'>(Trade Mark)</div>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE LITTLE COLONEL AT BOARDING-SCHOOL</div>
<div class='trademark1'>(Trade Mark)</div>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA</div>
<div class='trademark1'>(Trade Mark)</div>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE LITTLE COLONEL'S CHRISTMAS VACATION</div>
<div class='trademark1'>(Trade Mark)</div>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE LITTLE COLONEL, MAID OF HONOR</div>
<div class='trademark1'>(Trade Mark)</div>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE LITTLE COLONEL'S KNIGHT COMES RIDING </div>
<div class='trademark1'>(Trade Mark)</div>
<div class='adtitle3'>MARY WARE: THE LITTLE COLONEL'S CHUM </div>
<div class='trademark1'>(Trade Mark)</div>
<div class='adtitle3'>MARY WARE IN TEXAS</div>
<p><i>These eleven volumes, boxed as an eleven-volume set</i> $16.50</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2_ad" id="Page_2_ad">[2]</a></span></p>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE LITTLE COLONEL</div>
<div class='trademark1'>(Trade Mark)</div>
<div class='adtitle3'>TWO LITTLE KNIGHTS OF KENTUCKY</div>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE GIANT SCISSORS</div>
<div class='adtitle3'>BIG BROTHER</div>
<p>Special Holiday Editions</p>
<p>Each one volume, cloth decorative, small quarto, $1.25</p>
<p>New plates, handsomely illustrated with eight full-page
drawings in color, and many marginal sketches.</p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>IN THE DESERT OF WAITING:</span> <span class="smcap">The Legend
of Camelback Mountain.</span></div>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>THE THREE WEAVERS:</span> <span class="smcap">A Fairy Tale for
Fathers and Mothers as Well as for Their
Daughters.</span></div>
<div class='adtitle3'>KEEPING TRYST</div>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE LEGEND OF THE BLEEDING HEART</div>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>THE RESCUE OF PRINCESS WINSOME:</span>
<span class="smcap">A Fairy Play for Old and Young.</span></div>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE JESTER'S SWORD</div>
<div class="center">
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="book prices">
<tr><td align="left">Each one volume, tall 16mo, cloth decorative </td><td align="right">$0.50</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">Paper boards</td><td align="right">.35</td></tr>
</table></div>
<p>There has been a constant demand for publication in
separate form of these six stories which were originally
included in six of the "Little Colonel" books.</p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>JOEL: A BOY OF GALILEE:</span> <span class="smcap">By Annie Fellows
Johnston.</span> Illustrated by L. J. Bridgman.</div>
<div class='center'>
New illustrated edition, uniform with the Little Colonel Books, 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>A story of the time of Christ, which is one of the author's
best-known books.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3_ad" id="Page_3_ad">[3]</a></span></p>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE LITTLE COLONEL GOOD TIMES
BOOK</div>
<div class="center">
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="book prices">
<tr><td align="left">Uniform in size with the Little Colonel Series </td><td align="right">$1.50</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">Bound in white kid (morocco) and gold</td><td align="right">3.00</td></tr>
</table></div>
<p>Cover design and decorations by Peter Verberg.</p>
<p>Published in response to many inquiries from readers
of the Little Colonel books as to where they could obtain
a "Good Times Book" such as Betty kept.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE LITTLE COLONEL DOLL BOOK</div>
<div class='center'>
Large quarto, boards $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>A series of "Little Colonel" dolls,—not only the
Little Colonel herself, but Betty and Kitty and Mary
Ware, yes, and Rob, Phil, and many another of the well-loved
characters,—even Mom' Beck herself. There are
many of them and each has several changes of costume, so
that the happy group can be appropriately clad for the
rehearsal of any scene or incident in the series.</p>
<p>The large, cumbersome sheets of most of the so-called
doll "books" have been discarded, and instead each
character, each costume, occupies a sheet by itself, the
dolls and costumes being cut out only as they are wanted.</p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>ASA HOLMES:</span> <span class="smcap">Or, At the Cross-Roads</span>. A sketch
of Country Life and Country Humor. By <span class="smcap">Annie
Fellows Johnston</span>.</div>
<p>With a frontispiece by Ernest Fosbery.</p>
<div class='center'>
Large 16mo, cloth, gilt top $1.00<br />
</div>
<p>"'Asa Holmes; or, At the Cross-Roads' is the most
delightful, most sympathetic and wholesome book that
has been published in a long while."—<i>Boston Times.</i></p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>THE RIVAL CAMPERS;</span> <span class="smcap">Or, The Adventures of
Henry Burns</span>. By <span class="smcap">Ruel Perley Smith</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>A story of a party of typical American lads, courageous,
alert, and athletic, who spend a summer camping on an
island off the Maine coast.</p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>THE RIVAL CAMPERS AFLOAT;</span> <span class="smcap">Or, The
Prize Yacht Viking</span>. By <span class="smcap">Ruel Perley Smith</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>This book is a continuation of the adventures of "The
Rival Campers" on their prize yacht <i>Viking</i>.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4_ad" id="Page_4_ad">[4]</a></span></p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>THE RIVAL CAMPERS ASHORE</span>
By <span class="smcap">Ruel Perley Smith</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>"As interesting ashore as when afloat."—<i>The Interior.</i></p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>THE RIVAL CAMPERS AMONG THE
OYSTER PIRATES;</span> <span class="smcap">Or, Jack Harvey's Adventures</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
By <span class="smcap">Ruel Perley Smith</span>. Illustrated $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>"Just the type of book which is most popular with lads
who are in their early teens."—<i>The Philadelphia Item.</i></p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>PRISONERS OF FORTUNE:</span> A Tale of the Massachusetts
Bay Colony. By <span class="smcap">Ruel Perley Smith</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>"There is an atmosphere of old New England in the
book, the humor of the born raconteur about the hero,
who tells his story with the gravity of a preacher, but with
a solemn humor that is irresistible."—<i>Courier-Journal.</i></p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>FAMOUS CAVALRY LEADERS.</span> By <span class="smcap">Charles H.
L. Johnston</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Large 12mo, With 24 illustrations $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>Biographical sketches, with interesting anecdotes and
reminiscences of the heroes of history who were leaders
of cavalry.</p>
<p>"More of such books should be written, books that
acquaint young readers with historical personages in a
pleasant informal way."—<i>N. Y. Sun.</i></p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>FAMOUS INDIAN CHIEFS.</span> By <span class="smcap">Charles H. L.
Johnston</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Large 12mo, illustrated $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>In this book Mr. Johnston gives interesting sketches of
the Indian braves who have figured with prominence in
the history of our own land, including Powhatan, the
Indian Cæsar; Massasoit, the friend of the Puritans;
Pontiac, the red Napoleon; Tecumseh, the famous war
chief of the Shawnees; Sitting Bull, the famous war chief
of the Sioux; <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Ceronimo'">Geronimo</ins>, the renowned Apache Chief, <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'atc.'">etc.</ins>,
etc.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5_ad" id="Page_5_ad">[5]</a></span></p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>FAMOUS SCOUTS.</span> By <span class="smcap">Charles H. L. Johnston</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Large 12mo, illustrated $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>Mr. Johnston gives us historical facts and biographical
sketches and interesting anecdotes of those heroes of early
pioneer days who made names for themselves among the
hardy adventurers who thronged the border. There are
tales of Gen. Israel Putnam; the celebrated Daniel Boone;
Kit Carson, the noted scout; Lewis and Clarke, the hardy
explorers; the world-renowned Buffalo Bill, and of many
other famous scouts, trappers and pioneers.</p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>BEAUTIFUL JOE'S PARADISE:</span> <span class="smcap">Or, The
Island of Brotherly Love</span>. A sequel to "Beautiful Joe."
By <span class="smcap">Marshall Saunders</span>, author of "Beautiful Joe."</div>
<div class='center'>
One vol., library 12mo, cloth, illustrated $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>"This book revives the spirit of 'Beautiful Joe' capitally.
It is fairly riotous with fun, and is about as unusual
as anything in the animal book line that has seen the
light."—<i>Philadelphia Item.</i></p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>'TILDA JANE.</span> By <span class="smcap">Marshall Saunders</span>.</div>
<p>One vol., 12mo, fully illustrated, cloth decorative, $1.50</p>
<p>"I cannot think of any better book for children than
this. I commend it unreservedly."—<i>Cyrus Townsend
Brady.</i></p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>'TILDA JANE'S ORPHANS.</span> A sequel to "'Tilda
Jane." By <span class="smcap">Marshall Saunders</span>.</div>
<p>One vol., 12mo, fully illustrated, cloth decorative, $1.50</p>
<p>'Tilda Jane is the same original, delightful girl, and as
fond of her animal pets as ever.</p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>THE STORY OF THE GRAVELEYS.</span> By <span class="smcap">Marshall
Saunders</span>, author of "Beautiful Joe's Paradise,"
"'Tilda Jane," etc.</div>
<div class='center'>
Library 12mo, cloth decorative. Illustrated by E. B. Barry $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>Here we have the haps and mishaps, the trials and
triumphs, of a delightful New England family, of whose
devotion and sturdiness it will do the reader good to hear.</p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>BORN TO THE BLUE.</span> By <span class="smcap">Florence Kimball
Russel</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.25<br />
</div>
<p>The atmosphere of army life on the plains breathes on
every page of this delightful tale. The boy is the son of a
captain of U. S. cavalry stationed at a frontier post in the
days when our regulars earned the gratitude of a nation.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6_ad" id="Page_6_ad">[6]</a></span></p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>IN WEST POINT GRAY</span><br />
By <span class="smcap">Florence Kimball Russel</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>"Singularly enough one of the best books of the year
for boys is written by a woman and deals with life at West
Point. The presentment of life in the famous military
academy whence so many heroes have graduated is realistic
and enjoyable."—<i>New York Sun.</i></p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>THE SANDMAN: HIS FARM STORIES</span><br />
By <span class="smcap">William J. Hopkins</span>. With fifty illustrations by
Ada Clendenin Williamson.</div>
<div class='center'>
Large 12mo, decorative cover $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>"An amusing, original book, written for the benefit of
very small children. It should be one of the most popular
of the year's books for reading to small children."—<i>Buffalo
Express.</i></p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>THE SANDMAN: MORE FARM STORIES</span><br />
By <span class="smcap">William J. Hopkins</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Large 12mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>Mr. Hopkins's first essay at bedtime stories met with
such approval that this second book of "Sandman" tales
was issued for scores of eager children. Life on the farm,
and out-of-doors, is portrayed in his inimitable manner.</p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>THE SANDMAN: HIS SHIP STORIES</span><br />
By <span class="smcap">William J. Hopkins</span>, author of "The Sandman:
His Farm Stories," etc.</div>
<div class='center'>
Large 12mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>"Children call for these stories over and over again."—<i>Chicago
Evening Post.</i></p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>THE SANDMAN: HIS SEA STORIES</span><br />
By <span class="smcap">William J. Hopkins</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Large 12mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>Each year adds to the popularity of this unique series
of stories to be read to the little ones at bed time and at
other times.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7_ad" id="Page_7_ad">[7]</a></span></p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>A TEXAS BLUE BONNET</span><br />
By <span class="smcap">Emilia Elliott</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>This is the story of a warm-hearted, impulsive and breezy
girl of the Southwest, who has lived all her life on a big
ranch. She comes to the far East for a long visit, and her
experiences "up North" are indeed delightful reading.
Blue Bonnet is sure to win the hearts of all girl readers.</p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>THE DOCTOR'S LITTLE GIRL</span><br />
By <span class="smcap">Marion Ames Taggart</span>, author of "Pussy-Cat
Town," etc.</div>
<div class='center'>
One vol., library 12mo, illustrated $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>A thoroughly enjoyable tale of a little girl and her comrade
father, written in a delightful vein of sympathetic
comprehension of the child's point of view.</p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>SWEET NANCY</span><br />
<span class="smcap">The Further Adventures of the Doctor's Little
Girl.</span> By <span class="smcap">Marion Ames Taggart</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
One vol., library, 12mo, illustrated $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>In the new book, the author tells how Nancy becomes
in fact "the doctor's assistant," and continues to shed
happiness around her.</p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>CARLOTA</span><br />
<span class="smcap">A Story of the San Gabriel Mission.</span> By <span class="smcap">Frances
Margaret Fox</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by Ethelind Ridgway $1.00<br />
</div>
<p>"It is a pleasure to recommend this little story as an
entertaining contribution to juvenile literature."—<i>The
New York Sun.</i></p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>THE SEVEN CHRISTMAS CANDLES</span><br />
By <span class="smcap">Frances Margaret Fox</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by E. B. Barry $1.00<br />
</div>
<p>Miss Fox's new book deals with the fortunes of the delightful
Mulvaney children.</p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>SEVEN LITTLE WISE MEN</span><br />
By <span class="smcap">Frances Margaret Fox</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated in colors by E. B. Barry $1.00<br />
</div>
<p>In this new story Miss Fox relates how seven little children,
who lived in Sunny California, prepared for the great
Christmas Festival.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8_ad" id="Page_8_ad">[8]</a></span></p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>PUSSY-CAT TOWN</span><br />
By <span class="smcap">Marion Ames Taggart</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors $1.00<br />
</div>
<p>"Anything more interesting than the doings of the cats
in this story, their humor, their wisdom, their patriotism,
would be hard to imagine."—<i>Chicago Post.</i></p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>THE ROSES OF SAINT ELIZABETH</span><br />
By <span class="smcap">Jane Scott Woodruff</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by Adelaide Everhart $1.00<br />
</div>
<p>This is a charming little story of a child whose father was
caretaker of the great castle of the Wartburg.</p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>GABRIEL AND THE HOUR BOOK</span><br />
By <span class="smcap">Evaleen Stein</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by Adelaide Everhart $1.00<br />
</div>
<p>Gabriel was a loving, patient, little French lad, who
assisted the monks in the long ago days, when all the books
were written and illuminated by hand, in the monasteries.</p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>A LITTLE SHEPHERD OF PROVENCE</span><br />
By <span class="smcap">Evaleen Stein</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated in colors by Diantha Horne Marlowe $1.00<br />
</div>
<p>This is the story of Little lame Jean, a goatherd of
Provence, and of the "golden goat" who is supposed
to guard a hidden treasure.</p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>THE ENCHANTED AUTOMOBILE</span><br />
Translated from the French by <span class="smcap">Mary J Safford</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by Edna M. Sawyer $1.00<br />
</div>
<p>"An up-to-date French fairy-tale which fairly radiates
the spirit of the hour,—unceasing diligence."—<i>Chicago
Record-Herald.</i></p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>O-HEART-SAN</span><br />
<span class="smcap">The Story of a Japanese Girl.</span> By <span class="smcap">Helen Eggleston
Haskell</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by Frank P. Fairbanks $1.00<br />
</div>
<p>"The story comes straight from the heart of Japan.
From every page breathes the fragrance of tea leaves,
cherry blossoms and chrysanthemums."—<i>The Chicago
Inter-Ocean.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9_ad" id="Page_9_ad">[9]</a></span></i></p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>THE YOUNG SECTION-HAND;</span> <span class="smcap">Or, The Adventures
of Allan West</span>. By <span class="smcap">Burton E. Stevenson</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>Mr. Stevenson's hero is a manly lad of sixteen, who is
given a chance as a section-hand on a big Western railroad,
and whose experiences are as real as they are thrilling.</p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>THE YOUNG TRAIN DISPATCHER.</span> By <span class="smcap">Burton
E. Stevenson</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>"A better book for boys has never left an American
press."—<i>Springfield Union.</i></p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER.</span> By <span class="smcap">Burton E.
Stevenson</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>"Nothing better in the way of a book of adventure for
boys in which the actualities of life are set forth in a practical
way could be devised or written."—<i>Boston Herald.</i></p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>CAPTAIN JACK LORIMER.</span> By <span class="smcap">Winn Standish</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>Jack is a fine example of the all-around American high-school
boy.</p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>JACK LORIMER'S CHAMPIONS;</span> <span class="smcap">Or, Sports
on Land and Lake</span>. By <span class="smcap">Winn Standish</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>"It is exactly the sort of book to give a boy interested
in athletics, for it shows him what it means to always
'play fair.'"—<i>Chicago Tribune.</i></p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>JACK LORIMER'S HOLIDAYS;</span> <span class="smcap">Or, Millvale
High in Camp</span>. By <span class="smcap">Winn Standish</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Illustrated $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>Full of just the kind of fun, sports and adventure to
excite the healthy minded youngster to emulation.</p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>JACK LORIMER'S SUBSTITUTE;</span> <span class="smcap">Or, The Acting
Captain of the Team</span>. By <span class="smcap">Winn Standish</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Illustrated $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>On the sporting side, this book takes up football, wrestling,
tobogganing, but it is more of a <i>school</i> story perhaps
than any of its predecessors.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10_ad" id="Page_10_ad">[10]</a></span></p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>THE RED FEATHERS.</span> By <span class="smcap">Theodore Roberts</span></div>
<div class='center'>
Cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>"The Red Feathers" tells of the remarkable adventures
of an Indian boy who lived in the Stone Age, many years
ago, when the world was young.</p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>FLYING PLOVER.</span> By <span class="smcap">Theodore Roberts</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Cloth decorative. Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull $1.00<br />
</div>
<p>Squat-By-The-Fire is a very old and wise Indian who
lives alone with her grandson, "Flying Plover," to whom
she tells the stories each evening.</p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>COMRADES OF THE TRAILS.</span> By <span class="smcap">G. E.
Theodore Roberts</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Cloth decorative. Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>The story of a fearless young English lad, Dick Ramsey,
who, after the death of his father, crosses the seas and
takes up the life of a hunter and trapper in the Canadian
forests.</p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>LITTLE WHITE INDIANS.</span> By <span class="smcap">Fannie E. Ostrander</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Cloth decorative, illustrated $1.25<br />
</div>
<p>"A bright, interesting story which will appeal strongly
to the 'make-believe' instinct in children, and will give
them a healthy, active interest in 'the simple life.'"</p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>THE BOY WHO WON</span><br />
By <span class="smcap">Fannie E. Ostrander</span>, author of "Little White
Indians."</div>
<div class='center'>
12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by R. Farrington Elwell $1.25<br />
</div>
<p>A companion volume to "Little White Indians" continuing
the adventures of the different "tribes," whose
"doings" were so interestingly told in the earlier volume.</p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>MARCHING WITH MORGAN.</span> <span class="smcap">How Donald
Lovell Became a Soldier of the Revolution.</span>
By <span class="smcap">John V. Lane</span>.</div>
<div class='center'>
Cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50<br />
</div>
<p>This is a splendid boy's story of the expedition of
Montgomery and Arnold against Quebec.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11_ad" id="Page_11_ad">[11]</a></span></p>
<div class='adtitle1'>COSY CORNER SERIES</div>
<p>It is the intention of the publishers that this series shall
contain only the very highest and purest literature,—stories
that shall not only appeal to the children themselves,
but be appreciated by all those who feel with
them in their joys and sorrows.</p>
<p>The numerous illustrations in each book are by well-known
artists, and each volume has a separate attractive
cover design.</p>
<div class='center'>
Each 1 vol., 16mo, cloth $0.50<br />
</div>
<div class='center'><br /><br /><i>By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON</i></div>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>THE LITTLE COLONEL</span> <span class='small'>(Trade Mark.)</span></div>
<p>The scene of this story is laid in Kentucky. Its heroine
is a small girl, who is known as the Little Colonel,
on account of her fancied resemblance to an old-school
Southern gentleman, whose fine estate and old family
are famous in the region.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE GIANT SCISSORS</div>
<p>This is the story of Joyce and of her adventures in
France. Joyce is a great friend of the Little Colonel,
and in later volumes shares with her the delightful experiences
of the "House Party" and the "Holidays."</p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>TWO LITTLE KNIGHTS OF KENTUCKY</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Who Were the Little Colonel's Neighbors</span>.</div>
<p>In this volume the Little Colonel returns to us like an
old friend, but with added grace and charm. She is not,
however, the central figure of the story, that place being
taken by the "two little knights."</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>MILDRED'S INHERITANCE</div>
<p>A delightful little story of a lonely English girl who
comes to America and is befriended by a sympathetic
American family who are attracted by her beautiful
speaking voice. By means of this one gift she is enabled
to help a school-girl who has temporarily lost the
use of her eyes, and thus finally her life becomes a busy,
happy one.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12_ad" id="Page_12_ad">[12]</a></span></p>
<div class='adtitle3'>CICELY AND OTHER STORIES FOR GIRLS</div>
<p>The readers of Mrs. Johnston's charming juveniles
will be glad to learn of the issue of this volume for young
people.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>AUNT 'LIZA'S HERO AND OTHER STORIES</div>
<p>A collection of six bright little stories, which will appeal
to all boys and most girls.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>BIG BROTHER</div>
<p>A story of two boys. The devotion and care of Stephen,
himself a small boy, for his baby brother, is the theme of
the simple tale.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>OLE MAMMY'S TORMENT</div>
<p>"Ole Mammy's Torment" has been fitly called "a
classic of Southern life." It relates the haps and mishaps
of a small negro lad, and tells how he was led by
love and kindness to a knowledge of the right.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE STORY OF DAGO</div>
<p>In this story Mrs. Johnston relates the story of Dago,
a pet monkey, owned jointly by two brothers. Dago
tells his own story, and the account of his haps and mishaps
is both interesting and amusing.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE QUILT THAT JACK BUILT</div>
<p>A pleasant little story of a boy's labor of love, and how
it changed the course of his life many years after it was
accomplished.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>FLIP'S ISLANDS OF PROVIDENCE</div>
<p>A story of a boy's life battle, his early defeat, and his
final triumph, well worth the reading.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13_ad" id="Page_13_ad">[13]</a></span></p>
<div class='center'><br /><br /><i>By EDITH ROBINSON</i></div>
<div class='adtitle3'>A LITTLE PURITAN'S FIRST CHRISTMAS</div>
<p>A story of Colonial times in Boston, telling how Christmas
was invented by Betty Sewall, a typical child of the
Puritans, aided by her brother Sam.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>A LITTLE DAUGHTER OF LIBERTY</div>
<p>The author introduces this story as follows:</p>
<p>"One ride is memorable in the early history of the
American Revolution, the well-known ride of Paul
Revere. Equally deserving of commendation is another
ride,—the ride of Anthony Severn,—which was no less
historic in its action or memorable in its consequences."</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>A LOYAL LITTLE MAID</div>
<p>A delightful and interesting story of Revolutionary
days, in which the child heroine, Betsey Schuyler, renders
important services to George Washington.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>A LITTLE PURITAN REBEL</div>
<p>This is an historical tale of a real girl, during the time
when the gallant Sir Harry Vane was governor of Massachusetts.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>A LITTLE PURITAN PIONEER</div>
<p>The scene of this story is laid in the Puritan settlement
at Charlestown.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>A LITTLE PURITAN BOUND GIRL</div>
<p>A story of Boston in Puritan days, which is of great
interest to youthful readers.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>A LITTLE PURITAN CAVALIER</div>
<p>The story of a "Little Puritan Cavalier" who tried
with all his boyish enthusiasm to emulate the spirit and
ideals of the dead Crusaders.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>A PURITAN KNIGHT ERRANT</div>
<p>The story tells of a young lad in Colonial times who
endeavored to carry out the high ideals of the knights
of olden days.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14_ad" id="Page_14_ad">[14]</a></span></p>
<div><br /><i>By OUIDA</i> (<i>Louise de la Ramee</i>)</div>
<div class='adtitle3'>A DOG OF FLANDERS</div>
<p><span class="smcap">A Christmas Story</span></p>
<p>Too well and favorably known to require description.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE NURNBERG STOVE</div>
<p>This beautiful story has never before been published
at a popular price.</p>
<div class='unindent'><br /><i>By FRANCES MARGARET FOX</i></div>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE LITTLE GIANT'S NEIGHBOURS</div>
<p>A charming nature story of a "little giant" whose
neighbors were the creatures of the field and garden.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>FARMER BROWN AND THE BIRDS</div>
<p>A little story which teaches children that the birds are
man's best friends.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>BETTY OF OLD MACKINAW</div>
<p>A charming story of child life.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>BROTHER BILLY</div>
<p>The story of Betty's brother, and some further adventures
of Betty herself.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>MOTHER NATURE'S LITTLE ONES</div>
<p>Curious little sketches <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'd scribing'">describing</ins> the early lifetime, or
"childhood," of the little creatures out-of-doors.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>HOW CHRISTMAS CAME TO THE MULVANEYS</div>
<p>A bright, lifelike little story of a family of poor children
with an unlimited capacity for fun and mischief.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE COUNTRY CHRISTMAS</div>
<p>Miss Fox has vividly described the happy surprises that
made the occasion so memorable to the Mulvaneys, and
the funny things the children did in their new environment.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15_ad" id="Page_15_ad">[15]</a></span></p>
<div class='unindent'><br /><i>By MISS MULOCK</i></div>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE LITTLE LAME PRINCE</div>
<p>A delightful story of a little boy who has many adventures
by means of the magic gifts of his fairy godmother.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE</div>
<p>The story of a household elf who torments the cook
and gardener, but is a constant joy and delight to the
children who love and trust him.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>HIS LITTLE MOTHER</div>
<p>Miss Mulock's short stories for children are a constant
source of delight to them, and "His Little Mother," in
this new and attractive dress, will be welcomed by hosts
of youthful readers.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY</div>
<p>An attractive story of a summer outing. "Little Sunshine"
is another of those beautiful child-characters for
which Miss Mulock is so justly famous.</p>
<div class='unindent'><br /><i>By MARSHALL SAUNDERS</i></div>
<div class='adtitle3'>FOR HIS COUNTRY</div>
<p>A sweet and graceful story of a little boy who loved
his country; written with that charm which has endeared
Miss Saunders to hosts of readers.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>NITA, THE STORY OF AN IRISH SETTER</div>
<p>In this touching little book, Miss Saunders shows how
dear to her heart are all of God's dumb creatures.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>ALPATOK, THE STORY OF AN ESKIMO DOG</div>
<p>Alpatok, an Eskimo dog from the far north, was stolen
from his master and left to starve in a strange city, but
was befriended and cared for, until he was able to return
to his owner.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16_ad" id="Page_16_ad">[16]</a></span></p>
<div class='unindent'><br /><i>By WILL ALLEN DROMGOOLE</i></div>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE FARRIER'S DOG AND HIS FELLOW</div>
<p>This story, written by the gifted young Southern
woman, will appeal to all that is best in the natures of
the many admirers of her graceful and piquant style.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE FORTUNES OF THE FELLOW</div>
<p>Those who read and enjoyed the pathos and charm
of "The Farrier's Dog and His Fellow" will welcome
the further account 01 the adventures of Baydaw and
the Fellow at the home of the kindly smith.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE BEST OF FRIENDS</div>
<p>This continues the experiences of the Farrier's dog
and his Fellow, written in Mr. Dromgoole's well-known
charming style.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>DOWN IN DIXIE</div>
<p>A fascinating story for boys and girls, of a family of
Alabama children who move to Florida and grow up in
the South.</p>
<div class='unindent'><br /><i>By MARIAN W. WILDMAN</i></div>
<div class='adtitle3'>LOYALTY ISLAND</div>
<p>An account of the adventures of four children and
their pet dog on an island, and how they cleared their
brother from the suspicion of dishonesty.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>THEODORE AND THEODORA</div>
<p>This is a story of the exploits and mishaps of two mischievous
twins, and continues the adventures of the
interesting group of children in "Loyalty Island."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17_ad" id="Page_17_ad">[17]</a></span></p>
<div class='unindent'><br /><i>By CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS</i></div>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE CRUISE OF THE YACHT DIDO</div>
<p>The story of two boys who turned their yacht into a
fishing boat to earn money.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE YOUNG ACADIAN</div>
<p>The story of a young lad of Acadia who rescued a little
English girl from the hands of savages.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE LORD OF THE AIR</div>
<p><span class="smcap">The Story of the Eagle.</span></p>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE KING OF THE MAMOZEKEL</div>
<p><span class="smcap">The Story of the Moose.</span></p>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE WATCHERS OF THE CAMP-FIRE</div>
<p><span class="smcap">The Story of the Panther.</span></p>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE HAUNTER OF THE PINE GLOOM</div>
<p><span class="smcap">The Story of the Lynx.</span></p>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE RETURN TO THE TRAILS</div>
<p><span class="smcap">The Story of the Bear.</span></p>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SYCAMORE</div>
<p><span class="smcap">The Story of the Raccoon.</span></p>
<div class='unindent'><br /><i>By JULIANA HORATIO EWING</i></div>
<div class='adtitle3'>STORY OF A SHORT LIFE</div>
<p>This beautiful and pathetic story will never grow old.
It is a part of the world's literature, and will never die.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>JACKANAPES</div>
<p>A new edition, with new illustrations, of this exquisite
and touching story, dear alike to young and old.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>A GREAT EMERGENCY</div>
<p>A bright little story of a happy, mischievous family
of children.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18_ad" id="Page_18_ad">[18]</a></span></p>
<div class='center'><br /><i>By OTHER AUTHORS</i></div>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE GREAT SCOOP</div>
<div class='unindent'><i>By MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL</i></div>
<p>A capital tale of newspaper life in a big city, and of a
bright, enterprising, likable youngster employed thereon.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>JOHN WHOPPER</div>
<div class='unindent'><i>By BISHOP CLARK</i></div>
<p>The late Bishop Clark's popular story of the boy who
fell through the earth and came out in China, with a new
introduction by Bishop Potter.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>RAB AND HIS FRIENDS</div>
<div class='unindent'><i>By DR. JOHN BROWN</i></div>
<p>Doctor Brown's little masterpiece is too well known
to need description. The dog Rab is already known and
loved by all.</p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>THE SLEEPING BEAUTY:</span> <span class="smcap">A Modern Version</span>.</div>
<div class='unindent'><i>By MARTHA B. DUNN</i></div>
<p>This charming story of a little fishermaid of Maine,
intellectually "asleep" until she meets the "Fairy
Prince," reminds us of "Ouida" at her best.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>SUSANNE</div>
<div class='unindent'><i>By FRANCES J. DELANO</i></div>
<p>Susanne is a story of a motherless little girl with a wonderful
voice who is taken to the city to be educated by a
rich aunt, but runs away from the city and returns home.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>A CHILD'S DREAM OF A STAR</div>
<div class='unindent'><i>By CHARLES DICKENS</i></div>
<p>One of those beautiful, fanciful little allegories which
Dickens alone knew how to write.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19_ad" id="Page_19_ad">[19]</a></span></p>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE DOLE TWINS</div>
<div class='unindent'><i>By KATE UPSON CLARK</i></div>
<p>The adventures of two little people who tried to earn
money to buy crutches for a lame aunt. An excellent
description of child-life about 1812, which will greatly
interest and amuse the children of to-day, whose life is
widely different.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>LARRY HUDSON'S AMBITION</div>
<div class='unindent'><i>By JAMES OTIS</i>, author of "Tobey Tyler," etc.</div>
<p>Larry Hudson is a typical American boy, whose hard
work and enterprise gain him his ambition,—an education
and a start in the world.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>THE LITTLE CHRISTMAS SHOE</div>
<div class='unindent'><i>By JANE P. SCOTT WOODRUFF</i></div>
<p>A touching story of Yule-tide.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>WEE DOROTHY</div>
<div class='unindent'><i>By LAURA UPDEGRAFF</i></div>
<p>A story of two orphan children, the tender devotion
of the eldest, a boy, for his sister being its theme and
setting. With a bit of sadness at the beginning, the
story is otherwise bright and sunny, and altogether
wholesome in every way.</p>
<div class='adtitle4'><span class='adtitlein'>THE KING OF THE GOLDEN RIVER</span><br />
<span class="smcap">A Legend of Stiria.</span> <i>By JOHN RUSKIN</i></div>
<p>Written fifty years or more ago, and not originally
intended for publication, this little fairy-tale soon became
known and made a place for itself.</p>
<div class='adtitle3'>A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES</div>
<div><i>By R. L. STEVENSON</i></div>
<p>Mr. Stevenson's little volume is too well known to need
description.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20_ad" id="Page_20_ad">[20]</a></span></p>
<div class='adtitle1'>THE LITTLE COUSIN SERIES</div>
<p>The most delightful and interesting accounts possible
of child life in other lands, filled with quaint sayings,
doings, and adventures.</p>
<p>Each one vol., 12mo, decorative cover, cloth, with six or
more full-page illustrations in color.</p>
<div class='center'>
Price per volume $0.60<br />
<br />
<i>By MARY HAZELTON WADE unless otherwise indicated</i><br /><br /></div>
<div class="center">
<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="Little Cousin books">
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little African Cousin</b></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Alaskan Cousin</b></td><td align="left">By Mary F. Nixon-<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Roule'">Roulet</ins></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Arabian Cousin</b></td><td align="left">By Blanche McManus</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Armenian Cousin</b></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Australian Cousin</b> </td><td align="left">By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Brazilian Cousin</b></td><td align="left">By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Brown Cousin</b></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Canadian Cousin</b></td><td align="left">By Elizabeth R. Macdonald</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Chinese Cousin</b></td><td align="left">By Isaac Taylor Headland</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Cuban Cousin</b></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Dutch Cousin</b></td><td align="left">By Blanche McManus</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Egyptian Cousin</b></td><td align="left">By Blanche McManus</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little English Cousin</b></td><td align="left">By Blanche McManus</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Eskimo Cousin</b></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little French Cousin</b></td><td align="left">By Blanche McManus</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little German Cousin</b></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Grecian Cousin</b></td><td align="left">By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Hawaiian Cousin</b></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Hindu Cousin</b></td><td align="left">By Blanche McManus</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Hungarian Cousin</b></td><td align="left">By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Indian Cousin</b></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Irish Cousin</b></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Italian Cousin</b></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Japanese Cousin</b></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Jewish Cousin</b></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Korean Cousin</b></td><td align="left">By H. Lee M. Pike</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Mexican Cousin</b></td><td align="left">By Edward C. Butler</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Norwegian Cousin</b></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Panama Cousin</b></td><td align="left">By H. Lee M. Pike</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Persian Cousin</b></td><td align="left">By E. C. Shedd</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Philippine Cousin</b></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Porto Rican Cousin</b></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Russian Cousin</b></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Scotch Cousin</b></td><td align="left">By Blanche McManus</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Siamese Cousin</b></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Spanish Cousin</b></td><td align="left">By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Swedish Cousin</b></td><td align="left">By Claire M. Coburn</td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Swiss Cousin</b></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><b>Our Little Turkish Cousin</b></td></tr>
</table></div>
<hr class="tb" />
<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Note:</h3>
<p>Obvious punctuation errors were corrected.</p>
<p>This text uses "Weinachtsbaum" instead of
"Weihnachtsbaum" many times and was left as printed.</p>
<p>The remaining corrections made are listed below and also indicated by dotted lines under the corrections. Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text will <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'apprear'">appear</ins>.</p>
<p>Page 21, "Jask" changed to "Jack" ("Well?" queried Jack as)</p>
<p>Page 68, "embarassment" changed to "embarrassment" (my perch with embarrassment)</p>
<p>Page 162, "to" changed to "too" (may as well go too)</p>
<p>Page 189, "that's" changed to "that" (and the next that she's)</p>
<p>Page 223, "irridescent" changed to "iridescent" (minutes. The iridescent)</p>
<p>Page 232, "palate" changed to "palette" (get out palette and brushes)</p>
<p>Page 246, "role" changed to "rôle" (in the rôle of)</p>
<p>Page 323, "corrider" changed to "corridor" (stood in the corridor)</p>
<p>Page 324, "sea" changed to "seat" (circular seat surrounding)</p>
<p>Advertising Pages:</p>
<p>Page 4, "Ceronimo" changed to "Geronimo" (Geronimo, the renowned Apache)</p>
<p>Page 4, "atc." changed to "etc." (Apache chief, etc.)</p>
<p>Page 14, "d scribing" changed to "describing" (sketches describing the early)</p>
<p>Page 20, Our Little Alaskan Cousins, "Nixon-Roule" changed to "Nixon-Roulet"
(Mary F. Nixon-Roulet)</p></div>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40366 ***</div>
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