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diff --git a/43785-0.txt b/43785-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c3ed9c8 --- /dev/null +++ b/43785-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8722 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43785 *** + + [Illustration: "ERSKINE," SHE SAID EAGERLY, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN?" + _Page 91._] + + + + + RUTH ERSKINE'S SON + + + BY + PANSY + + AUTHOR OF "RUTH ERSKINE'S CROSSES"; "ESTER RIED'S + NAMESAKE"; "ESTER RIED YET SPEAKING"; "ESTER + RIED"; "DORIS FARRAND'S VOCATION"; "DAVID + RANSOM'S WATCH"; ETC., ETC. + + + _ILLUSTRATED BY LOUISE CLARK_ + + + [Illustration] + + + BOSTON + LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. + + + + + PANSY + TRADE-MARK + Registered in U. S. Patent Office. + + + Published, August, 1907. + + + COPYRIGHT, 1906, + BY LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. + + _All Rights Reserved._ + + RUTH ERSKINE'S SON. + + + Norwood Press + J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co. + Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. + + + + + CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER PAGE + + I. WHIMS 1 + + II. "NEVER MIND, MOMMIE" 15 + + III. MAMIE PARKER 29 + + IV. WOULD SHE "DO"? 42 + + V. THE OLD CAT! 55 + + VI. IDEAL CONDITIONS 69 + + VII. "MOTHERS ARE QUEER!" 82 + + VIII. A SPOILED MOTHER 96 + + IX. SENTIMENT AND SACRIFICE 110 + + X. "SENTIMENTAL" PEOPLE 124 + + XI. "PLANS FOR A PURPOSE" 137 + + XII. ACCIDENT OR DESIGN? 151 + + XIII. WAS IRENE RIGHT? 164 + + XIV. THE GENERAL MANAGER 176 + + XV. LOOKING BACKWARD 189 + + XVI. FOR MAYBELLE'S SAKE 203 + + XVII. BUILT ON THE SAND 216 + + XVIII. JUSTICE OR MERCY? 229 + + XIX. ALONE 242 + + XX. THEY HATED MYSTERY 254 + + XXI. "A STUDY" 268 + + XXII. A LOYAL HEART 280 + + XXIII. PUZZLING QUESTIONS 293 + + XXIV. AN ALLY 306 + + XXV. A CRISIS 319 + + XXVI. A STRANGE CHANGE 331 + + XXVII. A RETROGRADE MOVEMENT 344 + + XXVIII. "SOMETHING HAD HAPPENED" 358 + + XXIX. RENUNCIATION 371 + + XXX. "TWO, AND TWO, AND TWO" 383 + + + + + ILLUSTRATIONS + + + "ERSKINE," SHE SAID EAGERLY, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN?" (PAGE 91) + _Frontispiece_ + + FACING PAGE + "WE WILL GIVE THEM ALL THE SLIP, MY DEAR" 62 + + "MY MOTHER ISN'T OLD, IRENE" 166 + + "I AM SORRY THAT I HATED YOU" 354 + + + + + RUTH ERSKINE'S SON + + + CHAPTER I + + WHIMS + + +AS a matter of fact the name of this story should be: Ruth Erskine +Burnham's Son. But there are those living who remember Ruth Erskine and +her memorable summer at the New York Chautauqua; and that name is so +entirely associated with those four girls at Chautauqua, and their after +experiences, that it seems natural to speak of her boy, Erskine, as Ruth +Erskine's son; although, of course, he was also Judge Burnham's son. + +The day on which she is again introduced to her friends was a dull one +in late autumn; the afterglow of sunset was already fading, and the +shadows were gathering fast. It was the hour that Erskine Burnham liked +best for the piano. He was at that moment softly touching the keys, +bringing forth harmonious sounds with the air of one not even hearing +them. + +He was a handsome boy. The promise of his early life,--during which time +the exclamation, "What a beautiful child!" was being continually +heard,--was being fulfilled in his boyhood. Friends of his father were +fond of assuring Ruth that the boy was his father's image; while her +friends were sure that no boy could be more like his mother. + +As for Ruth when she saw her son bending over his books, a lock of hair +continually dropping over his left eye and being continually flung back +with a gesture peculiar to Judge Erskine, she would say:-- + +"He is very much like his grandfather." + +As the boy grew older he laughed at all these opinions, and asked his +mother if she did not think it would be difficult for a fellow to have +any individuality who was strikingly like three people who were all, as +nearly as he could make out, strikingly unlike one another. + +This remark was one of the memories that came back to her as she looked +out at the swift-falling night, and listened to that musical strain +which was being played over and over and _over_. She seemed to be +watching the people who were hurrying homeward, glancing apprehensively +now and then at the sky; for despite the glow of sunset there were +premonitions of a coming storm, and already a few advance snowflakes +were beginning to fall. But Mrs. Burnham saw neither people nor +snowflakes; or rather she saw them without seeing. Her eyes were +swimming in tears that she did not intend to let have their way. Not as +girl or woman had Ruth Erskine Burnham been given to tears, although +there had been reason enough in her life for them. Since she had not +indulged them then, she did not mean to begin now that she was +middle-aged and her hair was being sprinkled with gray. + +She had been going over the story of the years with herself, that +afternoon, which might account in part for the dimmed eyes. It seemed to +her, looking back, that her chief mission in life had been to minister +at dying beds and follow as chief or almost chief mourner in funeral +processions. She had gone away back to the betrothed of her youth, and +added one more heavy sigh to the multitude that stood for a lost +opportunity. How entirely Harold Wayne had been under her influence! how +utterly she had failed him! And she had felt it only when she was +following him to the grave. Then those other graves, her father's and +Judge Burnham's daughters', Seraph and Minta, what strange sad memories +she had connected with both those graves that were not a year apart in +their making. And then their father had been laid beside them and they +two were left alone in the world, she and Erskine. + +He was not yet eighteen, but there were times when it seemed to his +mother that he was much older, and that he and she had been alone +together always. All these memories that, because it was an anniversary +of one of her bereavements, had been more vivid with her than usual that +day, trooped again about her as she stood in the waning light, +apparently intent on watching the outside world, in order to escape +being watched by her world, inside. + +To people who were acquainted with the girl, Ruth Erskine, it will not +seem strange that a look backward over her checkered life brought sombre +thoughts that were close to tears. + +Of the four girls who, years and years before when they were young and +full of courage, went to Chautauqua together and lived their eventful +summer and began their new lives together, hers had had the strangest, +saddest story; it had been marked by experiences so unlike the +commonplace that the world had stopped to look, and express its +astonishment. + +The unusual began with her father's strange revelations about that new +mother who yet was not new, but had been her stepmother for years. Was +ever daughter before called upon to receive a new mother in such way as +that? But why go over all that ground again? She too had been followed +to the grave, and no one of all Mrs. Burnham's friends had been more +sincerely missed and mourned. Then there was her sister, Susan Erskine. +Was ever heavier cross or greater blessing thrust into a life than that +girl represented to the girl Ruth Erskine? It had been one of her later +trials to give Susan up to China. She was sorely missed, but it had been +good for Erskine to have such a missionary Auntie as she made. And those +two strange girls Seraphina and Araminta Burnham. Could some writer put +into print the story of those two lives as it interlaced with hers, the +foolish world would call it fiction, and criticise it as unnatural. + +Over the early days of her widowhood Ruth Burnham knew better than to +linger. Though so many years had intervened that the little boy he left +had grown to young manhood, she still missed his father so sorely that +she could not trust herself to stay among those few precious months +before he went suddenly from her. + +She had been left, without even the warning of an hour, to bring up +their boy alone! It was from this form of her bereavement that she had +shrunken back most fearfully. Judge Burnham, with his life consecrated +to God, had seemed eminently fitted to guide the life of just such a boy +as theirs; but God had planned differently. + +And now, what people call the anxious years were gone, and she had kept +her boy. + +Yet the tears which she did not mean to shed were, in part, for him. She +knew better than most mothers seem to understand that there were still +"anxious years" to be lived through. + +They had lingered over the breakfast table that morning, discussing +certain questions that had been discussed before. + +"Mamma," the boy had said as he served her to fruit, "how came you to +have pronounced ideas about all sorts of things? Were you always so?" + +His mother laughed genially. + +"What a definite question for a lawyer to ask!" for Erskine had already +announced his intention of being a lawyer like his father and +grandfather. + +"What 'things' are supposed to be under consideration?" + +He echoed her laugh. + +"I was thinking aloud then," he said. "It often seems to me as though +you and I knew each other's thoughts. But just now I am thinking of one +of our argumentative subjects. In spite of the horror in which you have +brought me up of those bits of pasteboard called cards, I find that I +cannot feel precisely as you would like to have me, concerning them. I +used to. As a child nobody could be fiercer than I in their +denunciation; but I find that that was merely a reflex influence, and +not judgment. In spite of me nowadays they look meek and harmless; and I +was wondering how you and they came to be in such fierce antagonism. Was +my father of that mind?" + +"Am I fierce, Erskine?" + +He gave her a half-quizzical, wholly loving smile as he said gayly:-- + +"That of course is not the word to apply to the most charming of women, +but you know, dearest, that you are very much in earnest about all such +matters. Were you brought up in that way?" + +Mrs. Burnham shook her head. + +"No, when I was of your age, and younger, we played cards at home; and I +went to card-parties in our set very often. It was your Aunt Flossy who +set a number of us to thinking and studying and praying about such +matters." + +Erskine shook his head with pretended gravity. + +"I might have known it, mamma. Aunt Flossy isn't like people; in fact +she always seems to me a trifle out of place on earth." + +"I thought you were very fond indeed of your Aunt Flossy." + +"So I am; and I think I should be very fond of an angel from heaven; but +you see, when a fellow has to live on the earth, it is a trifle more +convenient to be like the other earth worms. All of which was suggested +by the fact that the Mitchells are to give a card-party next week. Very +select, you understand, only the choice few are bidden and I happen to +be one of them." + +Then, although his mother shrank from it, feeling that it did harm +rather than good to go again over ground that was familiar to both and +that was so clear to her and did not convince her son, he persisted in +arguing, and in trying to prove that her position was narrow and +untenable in these days. Throughout the interview he had been courteous +and winsome, as he always was with her, and had laughingly complimented +her more than once on her skill in argument; but for all that, she knew +he was entirely unconvinced, and felt that her hold on him was weaker +than when they had gone over the same ground before. The fact was, and +this mother knew it well, that the world and all the allurements for +which that phrase stands was making a hard fight for her handsome son +even so early in life, and there were times when she felt fearful that +in a sense it would win. It was not that she believed he would ever be +sorely tempted by any of the amusements or frivolities of life; he was +strong-principled and strong-willed, and certain, that might be called +main, points had been settled by him once for all. Yet none knew better +than did this woman of long and peculiar experience that it was possible +to maintain a high standing in the world and in the church and yet have +almost as little knowledge of that life hid with Christ in God which was +the Christian's rightful heritage as did the gay world around him. She +craved this separated life for Erskine, yet he was social in his tastes +and fond of being looked upon as a leader, and his mother knew it +already irked him to feel that in certain social functions he must +always be counted out. + +"There are so many of them!" he had said to her once, with as much +impatience in his tone as he ever gave to her. + +"A fellow could manage to indulge one or two whims, but you know, +dearest, you have at least half a dozen, and to humor them all will make +a rather conspicuous wallflower, I am afraid." + +Something very like that he had repeated that morning, and it had +colored his mother's day. She knew that the Mitchells were fond of +Erskine and would make vigorous efforts to secure him for their party. +It was hard, she told herself, that one so fitted to shine in cultured +circles of young people must so often be made to feel embarrassed and +out of place, and she wondered for the dozenth time that season if ways +of thinking about these things had changed, along with other changes. +Was she herself what Erskine, if he had made use of the modern slang, +might call a "back number"? "Still, his father, who had no such +prejudices as mine to deal with, grew very positive in his objection to +cards," she reminded herself, and sighed. If his father had lived, he +would have known just how to manage Erskine; this, at least, she pleased +herself by believing, ignoring the fact that in their son's early +boyhood the father had had many ways of managing, of which she did not +approve. This is a habit which we all have with our beloved dead. + +It was the memory of their morning talk that had led Mrs. Burnham to +appeal, that afternoon, to Mr. Conway when he dropped in for a social +chat. Mr. Conway was their new pastor; a brilliant, scholarly man, much +admired by old and young. Erskine in particular had been attracted to +him, and was decidedly of the opinion that in the pulpit he was a great +improvement on Dr. Dennis, even. Of course his mother did not agree with +this verdict, but she was wise enough to remember that the friends of +her girlhood could not be expected to be to her son what they were to +her. Yet Erskine was eminently fair and thoughtful beyond his years for +her. At the very time when he had so heartily indorsed Mr. Conway, he +had made haste to say:-- + +"Of course, mamma, there is a sense in which no one can ever equal Dr. +Dennis to us, and as for Aunt Marian her loss is irreparable." He held +carefully to the boyish custom of claiming his mother's girl friends as +aunts, and she liked it in him:-- + +"Nevertheless," he had added firmly, "as a preacher Mr. Conway is far +superior to Dr. Dennis." + +Despite his careful courtesy Erskine was at the age when wisdom is at +its height, and opinions as a rule are delivered autocratically without +any softening "I think." His mother, having often to make objections +from principle, had learned the art of being silent when she could, and +she had made no objection in words to his estimate of Mr. Conway. To a +degree she was in sympathy with it. She liked Mr. Conway and was glad +that he was so young that Erskine, being old for his years, could find +him almost companionable, and at the same time could be helped by him. + +Because of all these reasons she had been glad that Erskine was in, that +afternoon when Mr. Conway called. He was fond of calling there, and +playfully accused the two of being responsible for many neglected +families in his parish. She had kept herself almost quiet while Erskine +and their guest discussed books and music and men. They had many tastes +in common. Then Erskine had been urged to play, and his selection from +one of the great masters had chanced to be Mr. Conway's special +favorite; and then, Mrs. Erskine having studied how to do it in an +unstudied way, had skilfully turned the conversation into the channel of +her morning talk with Erskine; and before two minutes had passed would +have given much to be able to take back what she had done. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + "NEVER MIND, MOMMIE" + + +YET in thinking it over, this course had seemed to Mrs. Burnham +eminently wise. Mr. Conway was quite as much in touch with the +fashionable world as a clergyman could well be; he had been brought up +in its atmosphere and had turned from what were supposed to be very +alluring prospects to live the comparatively straitened life of a +minister of the gospel. His undoubted scholarship commended him +especially to a young fellow like Erskine who came of a scholarly line. +If, without being directly appealed to for advice, the minister could be +drawn into an expression of opinion about these questionable matters, it +would certainly help; and under her skilful management he expressed +himself; but behold, he was on the wrong side! At least he was not on +the side that Ruth Burnham, having been for years accustomed to the +pastorate of Dr. Dennis, had taken it for granted that he would be. + +There was, he assured her, something to be said on the other side of +that question. Of course he was opposed to all forms of gambling, but a +social game of cards in the parlor of a friend was innocent amusement +enough--much better than certain others he could name that seemed to +have escaped the ban of the over-cautious. He was really in earnest +about this matter. He considered that there was positive danger in +drawing the lines too taut. He knew a fellow in college who had been +very carefully reared in one of those very narrow homes where a card was +never allowed to penetrate, and where they looked in holy horror upon +the idea of his touching one elsewhere; but he hadn't been in college an +entire year before he spent half his nights at cards! and he went to the +bad as fast as he could. That, the clergyman believed, was what often +happened when young people were held too closely. That was by no means +the only instance which had come under his personal knowledge, and +indeed he believed that, of the two extremes, he feared the narrow the +more. Human nature was such that there was sure to be a rebound from +over-strictness, and the clearer, keener brained the victim was, the +more fear of results. There was much more of the same sort. Poor Ruth, +who had not meant to argue, and who had wished of all things to avoid +anything that would look in the least like a personal matter, tried in +vain to change the subject. Erskine, with an occasional mischievous +glance for her alone, led his pastor on to say much more than he had +probably intended at first. Not that he differed from him in the least; +on the contrary he took the rôle of an eager youth to whom it was a +vital matter to have the "narrowness" of his surroundings immediately +widened. + +Mrs. Burnham, disappointed and hurt, became almost entirely silent, and +when she finally walked down the hall with her departing pastor, felt no +wish to consult him about a matter on which she had intended to ask his +advice at the first opportunity. She had a feeling that it made little +difference to her what his advice was on any subject; yet she knew that +that was real narrowness and that she must rise above it. Such was the +condition of things on that evening in late autumn when she stood +looking out of the bay window at the swiftly gathering night and +appeared to be watching the passers-by through a mist of unshed tears, +while Erskine played exquisite strains of harmony. His mother, +listening, or rather letting the music melt unconsciously into her +being, felt peculiarly alone with her responsibilities. Who was she that +she should hope, alone and unaided, to battle successfully with the +temptations of this great wicked world full of yawning pitfalls +especially prepared for the feet of young men? How was she ever to hope +to guide a boy like Erskine successfully through its snares, without +even a pastor to lean upon? What if Erskine should be like that college +boy Mr. Conway had taken such pains to describe graphically and insist +upon going to the bad as soon as he was away from her influence? She +could see that that was just what was being feared for him; it was +probably what Mr. Conway meant. + +Wait, must her boy, her one treasure, be away from her influence? Yes, +of course he must; everybody said so. Why, there were people who were +certain that she was ruining her son by keeping so close to him even +now. Not only now, but away back in his young boyhood. She recalled with +a shiver of pain how her husband had once said to her:-- + +"Have a care, Ruth; you don't want to make a Molly Coddle of the boy, +remember." + +Later, she had heard of one of the Mitchells as declaring that "Mrs. +Burnham was making a regular 'Miss Nancy' of that boy of hers, and if +somebody did not take him in hand, he would be ruined." + +Then, her intimate friends had been as plain with their cautions as they +dared. Had not Marian Dennis pleaded earnestly for a famous boys' school +fifty miles away? "It would be so good for him, Ruth; he would learn +self-reliance and patience; two lessons that a boy never can learn at +home, when there is but one." And Dr. Dennis had added his word: "As a +rule, my friend, a boy learns manliness by being compelled to be manly +and to depend upon himself." + +There was her old friend Eurie, with four rollicking, romping boys of +her own, always looking doubtfully at Ruth's fair-haired, fair-skinned, +rather quiet, always gentlemanly boy. + +"Let him come and spend a summer with us, Ruth," she urged, "and row and +swim and hunt and get almost shot and quite drowned a few times; it will +do him good, body and soul. Boys learn manhood by hairbreadth escapes, +you know." She had laughed at Ruth's shudder and had told Marian +privately that "Ruth was simply idiotic over that poor boy." + +Only Flossy, their dainty, gentle, still beautiful Flossy, had seemed to +understand. Had she too meant a caution? As she kissed Ruth good-by, the +four girls of Chautauqua memory having spent a never-to-be-forgotten +week together at Ruth Burnham's home, she had said gently:-- + +"The best place in the world for a boy, dear Ruth, is as close to his +mother as he wants to be, just as long as he plans to be there. I have +studied boys a good deal, and I think I am sure of so much." + +Ruth's face had flushed over this murmured word. She had been half vexed +with the others, but it had been given to their little Flossy, as often +before, to give her a new thought. She studied over it; she took it to +heart and let it color all her movements. More and more after that, +although Erskine was still quite young, she kept herself in the +background and pushed him forward. On their little trips to the larger +city and in any of their outings indeed, she compelled herself to sit +quietly in the waiting-room, while Erskine went to buy tickets and check +baggage. It is true that every nerve in her body quivered with +apprehension until he was safely beside her again, yet she held firmly +to her purpose. + +Very early in their life alone together she ceased any attempt to drive +the ponies that were Erskine's delight, and sat beside him outwardly +quiet and inwardly quaking until she had learned her lesson--reminding +herself continually that the boy's father had taught him to love and to +manage horses when he was too small to touch his feet to the carriage +floor. + +She gave up early, and with a purpose, the taking Erskine to town with +her for a round of shopping or pleasure-seeking, and learned to say +meekly and in a natural tone of voice:-- + +"Can you take me to town on Saturday, dear? I have many errands to do, +and I don't like to go alone." + +She had lived through all these things, and it was not in any such +directions that either she or her friends had fears any more. Erskine +was self-reliant enough; in fact he was masterful, though so courteous +in his ways that few beside herself suspected it. He had inherited much +from his father. Still, the mother knew that there was a strong sense in +which she dominated his life. That he went to certain places and +refrained from going to certain others simply to please her and not at +all as a matter of principle. She was far from being satisfied with +this, and was always asking herself: "How long will he do this?" and +"Are such concessions worth anything in the way of character?" + +She had many questions, this anxious mother of one child; there were +days, and this was one, when they pressed her sorely. + +The music flowed on; now soft and tender as a caress, now breaking into +great waves of sound that meant energy, and possibly conflict. + +Suddenly it ceased with a great crash of keys, still in harmony, and the +boy wheeled on his stool, looked at his mother, and laughed. + +"You woke up the wrong chap that time, didn't you, mother?" he said. "It +was as good as a play to hear him go on and to watch your face. I +haven't enjoyed anything so much in a long time." + +He laughed again over the memory. His mother did not join in the laugh; +just then she could not. Those tears that she had managed, not allowing +them to fall, had somehow got into her throat. She felt that she should +choke if she attempted to speak, and she could not summon at the moment +more than the ghost of a smile. + +Erskine wheeled back to the piano for a moment, played a few bars of a +popular song with one hand, humming it softly; then, in the midst of a +line, arose and strolled over to the window where his mother stood. + +"Never mind, mommie," he said, bending his tall form low enough to kiss +the tip of one ear--a whimsical little caress peculiar to himself. "She +mustn't go and look at the clouds and the storm and the dark as though +there wasn't any sunshine anywhere. I am not intending to go to the dogs +as soon as I go away from home, merely because my mother did her level +best all her life to keep me right side up with care; and in my opinion +it would be a poor sort of chap who would do any such thing. And I don't +feel the need of a social game of cards now and then as a safeguard, +either. I don't feel especially 'taut,' mommie, honestly; and I don't +care a straw for the Mitchells' card party. Did you really think I cared +for it on that account? How absurd! Don't you worry one least little +mite, mamma, there is absolutely nothing to be troubled over except that +you have a pastor who doesn't know enough to talk a little bit on the +side that you want talked, or else keep still. Wasn't it funny?" He +laughed once more, then added, a trifle more gravely:-- + +"When that man is older, he will understand people better, perhaps. +Don't you hope so? Shall I read to you, mamma, a little while? I have a +delicious book here that I know you will enjoy." + +Did he understand, would he ever understand, what a mountain weight he +had suddenly lifted from his mother's heart? What a gracious, +sweet-spirited, self-sacrificing boy he was! Had there ever been one +just like him? She knew he was fond of the Mitchells, and that they were +eager to have him with them in their social life; they had brought as +much pressure as they could, and he had resisted it for his mother's +sake. + +It was sweet, but--She could not keep back one little sigh. She was a +devoted mother; but she would, oh, so much rather it had been for +Christ's sake. + +There was an unexpected outcome from that interview with Mr. Conway. In +a very short time it became evident that he had lost his hold upon +Erskine. Not that the boy turned against him seriously; but he smiled +over some of his words and purposely misquoted others in a spirit of +mischief. Occasionally there was a curve to the smile that suggested a +sneer; and the strongest feeling he evinced for him might be called +indifference. In his secret heart Erskine knew that he was being +unreasonable, and was really resenting his mother's having been made +uncomfortable; but he could not get away from the feeling that Mr. +Conway, having been weighed in his mother's balance and found wanting, +was not to his mind, however much he himself might differ from her. Of +course all this was mere feeling, not principle. + +Nevertheless, the clergyman, who prided himself on his influence with +young men and who puzzled anxiously over Erskine Burnham's changed +attitude which he vaguely felt and could not define, might have been +helped if some one had been frank enough to explain the situation. +Nobody did. The boy scoffed in secret, assuring himself that a minister +who could not be a comfort to a woman and a widow when she tried to lean +on him was a "poor sort of chap." As for the mother, she told herself +that if she had not been weak and foolish in carrying her anxieties to +others, Mr. Conway would not have lost his influence over Erskine; and +the minister remained perplexed and anxious; he was sincerely eager to +be helpful to young men. + +Outwardly they all went on as before. The Mitchells and others of their +kind made their card parties and their social dances and their theatre +parties and continued to invite eagerly Mrs. Burnham's handsome young +son, who cheerfully declined all invitations and stayed with his mother. +But he argued no more; in fact he declined to do so, setting the whole +matter gayly aside, with a cheerful-- + +"Don't let us argue about these things any more, mommie. We shouldn't +agree, and they are not worth disagreeing over. I don't care a copper +for the whole crowd of entertainments that you think of with +interrogation points attached, and I don't care two straws about what +others think of me in connection with them; so let us taboo the whole +subject and enjoy ourselves." + +His mother would have liked something very different. She would have +been glad if he had given himself to the study of such matters, and +settled them from principle. She harassed herself by imagining what an +unspeakably happy mother she would be if instead of his gay, kind words +he had said:-- + +"I have been looking into this matter carefully and I understand why you +take the position that you do. In fact I do not see how a Christian +could do otherwise. I shall take it with you, and you may consider that +the question is settled with me for all time." + +However, it is something, indeed it is a great deal, for a lone and +lonely mother to have a boy go her way, and go smilingly, merely to +please her. + + + + + CHAPTER III + + MAMIE PARKER + + +ON a bright winter day more than a year after Mr. Conway's deliverance +with regard to cards, Mrs. Burnham's next very distinct milestone was +set up. She was away from the old home and Mr. Conway and all the +associations of her past. She was spending her second winter in a lively +college town, and Erskine was a sophomore. + +The lonely mother of one son had been through much anxiety and +perplexity before the plans for this change in their life were fully +formed. Erskine's gay rendering of the situation was that not only did +every adopted aunt and uncle and grandmother that he had in the world +know best how to plan their life for them, but had each a pet college to +ride as a hobby. He gave this as a reason why it was just as well to +break all their hearts at one fell swoop and choose for himself--which +was what in effect he had done; at least he had gone quite contrary to +the urgings of his other friends and had compromised with his mother. +But he had made quite a compromise. His very first choice had been one +of which she entirely disapproved; nor could she be persuaded despite +his arguments to change her point of view. In vain he held her quite +into the night in a close and eager debate, setting forth his important +reasons with skill and eloquence. In vain he assured her that conditions +had very much changed since his father had expressed disapproval of this +particular centre of learning, and as for his grandfather, why there was +nothing left of his times but the name. + +His mother urged that her opinion, or her feeling--he might call it +feeling if he chose--was not based on his grandfather's or even entirely +on his father's views, but was the result of her own reading and +inquiry, and was unalterable. If he selected that college, it would be +in direct opposition to her strongly expressed wishes. She had been +tempted to add that if he did so, his money, left in her charge and +subject to her decisions until he was of legal age, would not be +forthcoming. She was mercifully preserved from making this mistake. Had +she said so, he would probably have gone to the college of his choice +even though he had to go penniless. As it was, his eyes flashed a +little. But his mother's voice had trembled as she added those last +words, "And I suppose I need not try to tell you how such a course would +hurt me." + +It was that which held the boy. He sprang up suddenly, took two or three +hasty turns up and down the room in a manner so like his father's that +Ruth could hardly bear it, then his face had cleared. + +"You shall not be hurt, mommie," he had said in his usual cheery tone. +"You shall never be hurt by me. I want that college more I presume than +I could make you understand, and the more I think about it the more I +feel that I should like to choose it. But I am not a baby who must have +everything he wants; and I do not care enough for anything on earth to +get it at the expense of hurting you. You know that, don't you? I'll +tell you, mother, we will compromise; this is an age of compromise. I +will drop my first choice from this time forth if you will unite +heartily with me on the second one and help me stop this clamor of +tongues." + +It had not been by any means her second choice, but she felt that having +been treated so well she must meet him halfway; so the vexed question +was settled. + +There had been another anxiety. Marion Dennis had written to her not to +make the mistake of following her boy to college; and Dr. Dennis had +added a few lines to the same effect, saying that in nine cases out of +ten he believed such a course to be a mistake, and even in the tenth, +separation would probably have been better. Moreover, an only son and an +only child needed, as a rule, more than any other to be thrown on his +own resources. All the old arguments over again, and numberless plans +for the disposal of the mother. She was to come to the Dennis home for a +visit of unlimited length; she was to spend the winter with Flossy; she +was to go abroad with Grace and her husband. Eurie, the outspoken, +wrote:-- + +"Now, Ruth, don't, I beg of you, tie that dear boy to your apron-string. +I am the mother of five, and I know all about how they talk, and how +they feel when they don't talk. Besides, I need you this winter as never +before; let me tell you something." Then had followed revelations +intended to prove that it was Ruth's imperative duty to spend the winter +with her old friend. + +Mr. Conway added his courteous hint, and suggested plans. Mrs. Conway +wondered if Mrs. Burnham would not like to join her sister Helen and +their mutual friends, the Hosmers, on an extended Western trip, now that +she was to be alone. The winter was an ideal time for such a tour as +they had planned; and it would be pleasant for Erskine to think of his +mother as travelling with friends instead of being at home alone. Poor +Ruth! her heart turned from them all in almost rebellion. If she must be +separated from Erskine for the first time in his life, couldn't she be +let alone in her own home? To go visiting or sight-seeing without him +she felt would be unbearable. She kept most of these anxieties and +advices to herself, feeling that she must not cloud Erskine's last days +at home with them. Still, she wondered not a little,--and sometimes it +hurt her,--that he had not spoken of her plans at all, but seemed to be +so absorbed in his own as to have forgotten her. At last, when she felt +that some positive decision must be reached, she told him of Mr. +Conway's proposition, and showed him Eurie's letter. He glanced it +through, smiling serenely:-- + +"Aunt Eurie is cool, as usual," he remarked. "They can all save their +time by planning for somebody else, can't they? Of course I am going to +take you with me, mommie. Do they think I would leave you in this big +house alone, or let you go travelling without me!" + +It was all so easy to arrange after that. It sounded so different from +the wording in those letters when Erskine himself replied to them. + +"I am very grateful for your thoughtful kindness about my mother, but I +am going to take her with me; I had not a thought of doing otherwise. I +should not be comfortable to have her away from my care in winter, even +though she were with you. I have so long made her first in my thoughts +and look upon her so entirely as my father's precious charge to me, that +no other plan is to be thought of. I shall find pleasant rooms for her, +and I think she will enjoy the change." + +Ruth smiled proudly as she made her verbal explanations. "Thank you very +much, but Erskine says I am to go with him; he cannot think of trusting +me to myself; he has taken care of me for a long time, you know." There +was not a thought of sarcasm in this suggestion. She knew that the +assumption of authority sat well on her handsome son who could look down +on her from his splendid height; it seemed quite in keeping with his +appearance and character that he was going to take his mother with him +in order to take care of her. + +The scheme had worked well. He "took" his mother and took excellent care +of her, and incidentally she did much, of course, for his comfort, and +they were happy. Early in his college career she had sometimes overheard +explanations like this:-- + +"No, boys, I can't join you to-night. You see, I have my mother with me +and I feel bound to give her what time I can spare. It will never do to +have her feel lonely and deserted after bringing her away out here among +strangers, on purpose to take care of her." + +It was all very pleasant. But she had learned something from those +letters and that volume of advice. She tried steadily not to dominate +her son; indeed, so far as a carefully-watched-over mother could, she +effaced herself, or tried to. Erskine had no thought of such a thing, +and was openly and serenely happy in his mother's society. + +"I pity the other fellows," was a phrase often on his lips. "Most of +them live in pokey rooms all by themselves or with only each other; no +woman to speak to but a cross-grained hostess, and nothing homelike +anywhere; while here it is almost as nice as being at home." + +And he would glance complacently around the handsomely furnished suite +of rooms that showed everywhere the touch of his mother's hand. But of +course there were evenings that were not spent with his mother. It was +in connection with one of these that she reached that distinct milestone +of which mention has been made. Erskine in explaining about it had shown +an unaccountable embarrassment. + +"It is just a kind of spread that one of the boys is getting up in honor +of his sister; she has come to spend the winter with him. It is rather +new business to him and I have promised to help him through, so I must +go early and stay late--not very late, though. Parker's landlady will +look out for that; she is one of the grim and surly kind. I should have +the shivers if I had to get up a spread, with her in charge. Yes, Parker +is the curly-headed one that you don't quite fancy. I don't know why, he +is a good fellow. Haven't I spoken before of his sister? She has been +here for three weeks. Didn't you notice Parker last Wednesday at the +concert? He sat just across from us and had her with him. Yes, she is at +his boarding-house, and the spread is in his room. He has the downstairs +room, mother, in fact it is the back parlor; there is a folding-bed that +does duty as a sort of sideboard during the day. It is very nice, +really. One wouldn't imagine that there was a bed anywhere around. +Parker is one of the fellows who has a good deal of money, I think, but +not the culture that generally goes with such a condition. Sometimes I +fancy that his father must have made his money lately and suddenly; but, +of course, I don't know. Still, everything is very nice and proper about +this spread; of course you know that, or I wouldn't be in it. The +sister? Oh, yes, she is young--younger than Parker. He is older than +most of us, you know. No, there are no women in the house except the +landlady and her sister, a maiden lady. That's a pity; it must be rather +lonely for Ma--for Miss Parker." + +The color flamed in his face and he laughed in an embarrassed way and +spoke apologetically:-- + +"Parker has 'Mamie' so constantly on his tongue that the rest of us are +in danger of forgetting. He is very proud of his sister. Why, no, +mother, of course he could not very well make any other arrangement; why +should he? Of course it is a perfectly proper thing for a young lady to +be in her brother's boarding-house. She isn't obliged to have any more +to do with the other young men than she chooses. Parker wants her to +stay with him all winter. Their father is a mining man, and he and his +wife have gone to the mountains somewhere among the mines to look up +some more of their money, I suppose." + +He spoke almost contemptuously; for some reason the evidence of +abundance of money in the Parker family seemed to annoy him. He went on +quickly with his labored explanations:-- + +"Of course it would be pleasanter for M--for his sister if Parker were +in a house where there are ladies, but he has been there for several +years and has a room that suits him; he doesn't seem to think he can +make a change. Oh, yes, there are to be ladies to-night. Some of the +other boys have sisters, and cousins, or intimate friends; it is a very +informal affair. I fancy that Miss Parker herself is to be hostess. As +for a chaperon, I don't think they have thought of her." He laughed in a +half-embarrassed way as he said that, and added hastily:-- + +"It is really just a frolic, mother; they are not formal people at all, +under any circumstances, I fancy. Is it possible that that clock is +striking seven! I must be off at once; Parker will think I have +forgotten my promise to see him through from beginning to end." + +What had he said to cause his mother to sit, for an hour after his +departure, as still as a stone, her hands clasped over the neglected +book in her lap? What was making that strange stricture around her heart +as though a cold hand had clutched her and was holding on? + +He had kissed her good-by with almost more tenderness than usual, if +that were possible. He had called her "mommie," his special pet name for +her, and had inquired solicitously as to whether there was any special +reason for his getting home early. If there was, why of course--or if +for any reason she would rather not be left to-night, he could excuse +himself to Parker,--of course he could. All his friends knew well enough +that his mother came first. + +But how relieved and pleased he had looked when she made haste to assure +him that there was not, and that she would be quietly happy with her +book all the evening, and there was no need at all for his hastening +home. And besides--she paused over that connecting phrase and tried to +formulate her fears. How had her son conveyed to her heart the feeling +that the time to which it seemed to her she had always looked +forward--the time when he would look upon some other woman with eyes +that were no longer indifferent, had come? + +She could not have put it into words; but though she arose, at last, and +put away her book as something that seemed to have failed her, and sat +down at her desk to spend an hour with Marian Dennis, and abandoned her, +presently, for Flossy Shipley, and gave them both up after the second +page, and selected another book with the firm determination to compel +herself to read it, the simple truth is that she spent the entire +evening, and a large portion of the night as well, with one Mamie +Parker. + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + WOULD SHE "DO"? + + +THE next morning Mrs. Burnham came into her pretty parlor, where a +dainty breakfast table was laid for two, prepared to be as wise as a +serpent over the new situation. She was genial, sympathetic, and not too +penetrative in her questions. Erskine had come home late, much later +than he had ever been before; yet apparently his mother had not noticed +it. + +She did not even ask at what time he had come. In truth she needed no +information, but how was Erskine to know that? + +Did he have a pleasant evening, and was the occasion all that it should +have been? He was not enthusiastic. It was pleasant enough, he said. In +some respects very pleasant; only--well, a few of the boys were noisier +than was agreeable, and two or three of them did not apparently know how +to treat ladies. + +"Oh, nothing objectionable, of course," he said quickly, in response to +her startled look. + +"They are so used to being alone that they grow loud-voiced and careless +about the small proprieties, or at least courtesies; I fancy some of +their ways must have seemed peculiar to Miss Parker." + +"The other girls? Oh, they are used to such things; they were the +sisters and cousins of the boys, and the ways of a lot of fellows +accustomed chiefly to their own society would not seem so strange to +the others; but Miss Parker is--at least I hope, I mean I think +she--" He caught himself and left the sentence unfinished save by a +half-embarrassed laugh, which changed into a slight frown. + +While his mother rang her table bell and gave low-voiced directions to +the maid, she pondered. What was it that Erskine hoped? That Miss Parker +was by nature more refined than the other ladies? And was the hope well +founded? She was slightly acquainted with some of the sisters and +cousins who were probably at this gathering. At least she had met them +once or twice and had felt no fear as to their influence over Erskine. +Was this Mamie Parker different? She felt her face flush a little even +over her thoughts. Must she learn to say "Mamie"? One thing was certain: +she must make the acquaintance of the girl at once. She ventured a move. + +"Is this Mr. Parker so much your friend, Erskine, that he will expect +your mother to call on his sister, or is that unnecessary?" + +Her heart beat in steady thumps while she waited for his answer. If only +he would say in his pleasant, indifferent tone:-- + +"Oh, it isn't necessary, mother; Parker and I are not especially +intimate, and he has no reason to expect such attentions from you." But +there was no indifference in the quick response. + +"Mommie, you know just what, and how, always, don't you? I was wishing +for that very thing and not wanting to trouble you. Parker and I cannot +be said to be inseparable; but he is a good fellow, and I think you +would like him better on closer acquaintance. His sister is very much +alone here; none of those girls who were there last night have homes or +mothers; I mean of course that they are away from home; though I must +admit that some of them acted last night as though they had no mothers +anywhere, worthy of the name. It would mean very much to Miss Parker, +mother, if she could know you; and of course Parker would appreciate it +more than anything else that could be done for her. You don't know how +much the boys admire my mother." + +His mother managed to smile cheerfully, and assure him that she would +make the proposed call. When he went away to his recitation he kissed +her fervently and told her she was the dearest mother in the world; and +as she watched him out of sight, she turned from the window and said +with a kind of strange gravity:-- + +"I think it has come: I must pray for grace to do right." + +For several days thereafter the hours that Mrs. Burnham spent alone were +unusually thoughtful and prayerful. The feeling grew upon her that her +son had reached a critical point in his life. It is true he was very +young, not yet twenty; but none knew better than she that boys of twenty +sometimes glorify and sometimes mar all their future by reason of their +interest in one young woman. Also, she knew that a single false step on +her part, just now, might spoil all her future with her son and hasten a +condition of things that she longed to postpone for him. But she could +not plan her way, could not indeed see a single step before her until +that first one was taken: she must make that call on Mamie Parker. While +she allowed one triviality after another to delay her, the conviction +grew upon her that the step was important. Erskine's interest was keen; +despite the sympathy there had always been between them he had never +before shown such a lively desire to hear about each moment of his +mother's time while they were separated. That he chose not to ask in so +many words whether or not she had yet made that call but emphasized the +situation. When, before, had he hesitated to urge what he desired? +Moreover, he was often absent-minded and constrained; seeming to be +almost embarrassed over his own thoughts. He could not mention the +girl's name without a heightened color, yet he evidently planned ways of +introducing it that would sound accidental. + +All things considered, Mrs. Burnham, as she dressed carefully for +calling, gravely admitted to herself that she was evidently about to +meet one who, for good or ill, had taken a strong hold upon her son's +life. + +As she waited in the large ugly parlor, where the wall-paper was gaudily +angry over the colors in the carpet, and where every article of +furniture or ornament--of which last there were many--seemed ready to +fight with every other one, she wondered what Erskine the fastidious +thought of this room. It seemed almost profane to think of meeting one's +ideal in such a room. Yet she must be reasonable; of course the girl was +not to blame for the taste, or want of taste, displayed in her brother's +boarding-house. + +She had to wait an unreasonable length of time, and despite her furs she +felt the chill of the half-warmed room. There were a few books on the +table, but she tried in vain to find one that would hold her thoughts. +Perhaps no book could have been expected to do that under the +circumstances. + +Presently she became aware that some one else had entered an adjoining +room where there had been brisk moving about ever since her arrival. +With the coming of another, a sharp little voice could be distinctly +heard:-- + +"Oh, say, Lucile, do come here and fasten this waist; I'm scared to +pieces and my fingers all feel like thumbs. Don't you think 'Ma' has +come to look me over and see if I will do! Oh dear! can't you hook it? +It's awful tight, but I've got to be squeezed into it somehow; I'm +keeping her waiting an awful while. I had on that fright of a wrapper +when she came, and my hair in crimps. I didn't get up to breakfast this +morning; we were so horrid late last night, I couldn't." + +"'Ma' who?" said another voice. "Not Erskine Burnham's mother? You don't +say so! My land! I should think you would be scared. They say she's +awful particular who she calls on. You must mind your p's and q's, +Mamie, or you'll never see that handsome boy of hers again. They say she +keeps him right under her thumb all the time." + +Mamie's response was in too low a tone to penetrate into the next room, +but it was followed by explosive giggles from both talkers. Meanwhile, +the caller's face was glowing, not only with shame for them, but with +indignation. What might _not_ those coarse girls--she was sure they were +both coarse--be saying about her son! + +The door opened at last and a mass of fluffy hair entered; behind which +peeped a pert little face with pink cheeks and bright, keen eyes. + +The girl was dressed in the extreme of the prevailing style,--quite too +much dressed for morning, though the material of which her garments were +made was flimsy and cheap-looking. Plainly if she had money she had not +learned how to spend it to advantage. Still the clothes were worn with +an air that hinted at her ability to learn how to play the fine lady if +she were given the opportunity. + +Her manner to her caller suggested a curious mixture of timidity and +bravado. She chattered incessantly and showered slang words and phrases +about her freely; yet all the while kept up a nervous little undertone +of movement and manner that showed she was not at ease. + +"Oh, indeed, she was having an awfully good time. Brother Jim was doing +the best he could to give her a lark. She had never been much away from +home and they lived in a stupid little village where there was nothing +going on. Oh, Jim was an elegant brother; he wanted her to stay all +winter and look after his buttons and things." + +"I expect you have heard a good deal about Jim, haven't you, from your +son? Only he calls him 'Parker' instead of Jim; the boys all do that, +you know. It's 'Parker,' and 'Burnham,' and all the rest of them. Ain't +it funny, instead of using their first names? I s'pose that's the +college of it; but your son has such a pretty name it seems a pity not +to use it. Don't you think Erskine is an awful pretty name? I do. It has +such an aristocratic sound. Ma says I ought to have been born with a +silver spoon in my mouth, I like aristocratic things so well. Not but +what we've got money enough;"--this with an airy toss of the frizzed +head. Then, in a confidential tone: "But I may as well own to you that +it didn't pan out until a little while ago." + +Mrs. Burnham, as she took her thoughtful way home, too much exhausted +with this effort to think of making another call, studied in vain the +problem of her son's enthralment. + +The girl was pretty, certainly, with a kind of garish, unfinished +beauty, not unlike that of a pert doll; and her chatter, if one could +divest one's self of all thought of interest in the chatterer save in +the way of a moment's diversion, was rather entertaining than otherwise, +when it was not too much mixed with slang; but what Erskine, her +cultivated and always fastidious son, could find in the empty little +brain to attract him was beyond the mother's comprehension. But he must +have been pronounced in his attentions. Had she not been reported as +having called to see if the girl would "do"? Ruth's sensitive face +flushed over the memory. Should she tell that to Erskine? What should +she tell to Erskine? How should the place and the interview and her +impressions of the entire scene be described? It required serious +thought. The more the mother considered it, the more sure she felt that +much of Erskine's future might turn on the way in which she, his mother, +conducted herself just now. She puzzled long and reached no clearer +conclusion than that until she saw her way clearer she would take no +steps at all, and would be entirely noncommittal in her statements. This +she found hard; Erskine was curious, more curious than she had ever +before known him to be. He cross-questioned her closely as to her call, +and was openly regretful, almost annoyed, at her having so little to +tell. In the course of the next few days the watching mother, who yet +did not wish to appear to watch, knew of at least two social functions +that included her son and Miss Parker. One was a sleigh-ride which fell +on the evening of the mid-week prayer-meeting in the church they were +attending. Erskine had been scrupulous in his attendance on this +meeting, declining for it social and business engagements alike, +sometimes to his own inconvenience. + +"There was no use in compromising about these matters," he said. "Busy +people can find something important to detain them every week of their +lives if they once admit an exception. The only way is to set one's face +like a flint and march ahead." + +But he came to her with profuse apologies for this exception; Parker had +planned, without knowing anything about the prayer-meeting; he had not +been brought up to think of such things, and it was going to embarrass +him very much if he declined. He wouldn't have had it happen in this way +for a great deal, and he should take care to let Parker know in the +future that Thursday evening belonged to his mother and to no one else. +He himself arranged for her to have agreeable company to and from the +church, and she had grace to be sweet and cheerfully acquiescent in all +his plans. Nevertheless she owned, quite to herself, that she felt in a +strange, new sense alone. She was more straitened in her praying that +evening than she had been for months, almost for years. There was a +miserable undertone question hovering about each petition: Could it be +possible that she must teach herself to pray for Mamie Parker, not as a +passing acquaintance but as one of her very own? and could she learn +such a lesson? She had by no means settled it that such a catastrophe +must come upon them, but she could not keep down her forebodings. + +It was two days afterwards that Mrs. Burnham, having at last reached a +decision, made another very careful move. It was discussed over the +cosey breakfast which she and Erskine took together in her parlor. + +"Would he like to have her ask Mr. Parker and his sister in to dinner on +some evening soon? or would that indicate a greater degree of intimacy +with the young man than he cared to live up to?" + +There was a sudden stricture at her heart over the flash of pleasure on +her son's face. + +"Mommie, you are a jewel!" this was his first outburst. "Parker would be +everlastingly obliged to you for such an attention. You see he knows +very few people here of the sort that he would care to have his sister +visit. Most of his friends are just college boys away from home, and +Parker has ideas about his sister's associates. He is a real good +fellow, Mommie; if he had had one-third of my opportunities, he would +have made more of them, I believe, than I have." + +His mother did not choose to argue that question. She felt a wicked +temptation to say that she would be glad if she need never hear his name +again; but she restrained herself and asked another question. + + + + + CHAPTER V + + THE OLD CAT! + + +"WOULD he like to have one or two young people asked to meet them? Alice +Warder, for instance, and her cousin. How would they do?" Did his face +cloud a little? + +"I don't know," he said slowly, and his voice suggested a cloud, or at +least a diminution of his pleasure. + +"Is that necessary, do you think, mother? It is not as though we were at +home, of course. Several guests at one time would hardly be expected at +a boarding-house." + +His mother reminded him of their hostess's cordial offer of a separate +table for themselves and three or four guests whenever they cared to +give her a half-day's notice; and added that Alice was so used to being +called upon to help entertain their guests, that to count her out would +seem almost strange to her. Besides, wouldn't this be a convenient time +to show her cousin some attention? He was not to be with her long. + +Apparently Erskine had no more arguments to offer. + +"Oh, very well," he said. Those were matters for her to settle, and it +must all be just as she thought, of course. Then he kissed her, +lavishly, and went away; but she felt that she had destroyed much of his +pleasure in the proposed visit. And he used to be so fond of Alice! + +During the next two days she spent much time and thought over her little +boarding-house dinner-party. She had adhered to her resolve to include +Alice and her cousin among the guests, although she had given herself +time to look steadily in the face the reason why she was so insistent +about this when Erskine evidently desired it otherwise. + +Alice Warder was Flossy Shipley's dear friend, and being introduced by +her to the Burnhams was at once established on the footing of an old +friend. It had taken but a very short time to learn to love her for +herself. Even the careful mother of one son of marriageable age would +have found it hard to find flaws in Alice Warder. She was beautiful to +look upon, with regular, well-modelled features and a complexion that +was faultless. Perhaps her great brown eyes were what a stranger noticed +first; they were certainly very expressive. But she was much more than +beautiful. There was about her a charm of manner and movement that are +difficult to define and impossible to describe, but that made their +invariable impression even on those who met her casually. Ruth Burnham, +who in her womanhood was, as she had been in her girlhood, fastidious to +a fault with regard to young women, had yielded to the subtle charm of +this one at their very first meeting; and as the intimacy between them +deepened into friendship she had found graces of heart and mind that +fully harmonized with the lovely exterior. + +The Warders bought a home very near to the Burnham place, and so far as +social life was concerned the two families speedily became as one. + +Mrs. Burnham, singularly enough, as she reflected afterward, had not +once, during the early days of their friendship, coupled the names of +Alice and Erskine in her thoughts, congenial as they were. Although they +were almost to a day of the same age, Alice, who had been for several +years the nominal head of her father's house, appeared much the older, +and more like a mature young woman than a girl still in the charge of a +governess. It might have been this apparent disparity in their ages that +helped Mrs. Burnham to take the girl to her heart and think of her as +the daughter she had often wished for; not by any means as Erskine's +wife, but as his sister. + +Erskine had been from the first of their acquaintance drawn to the young +woman in the frank and brotherly way that his mother desired. When the +plans for college were matured, one of the loudly spoken regrets on the +part of both mother and son was that they must be separated from the +Warders. + +It came to pass, however, in the course of their second year of absence +that Mr. Warder had occasion to make the college town his headquarters +for several months; so Alice and her former governess were installed in +one of the hotels for the winter, that her father might have as much of +her company as possible; and the Burnhams rejoiced greatly thereat. + +Yet here was Erskine, barely six weeks afterwards, considering it not +necessary to invite Alice to dinner! The poor mother sighed over the +perversity and the blindness of young manhood, and knew for the first +time that if Erskine had developed the peculiar interest which Miss +Parker seemed to have awakened, for Alice Warder, instead, she could +have rejoiced with her whole heart. + +They came to dinner, Alice and her Boston cousin, a Harvard student of +marked ability, and Miss Parker and her brother. And Alice was fully as +marked a contrast to the other young woman as Ruth had believed that she +would be. First, in the matter of dress. Alice Warder was an artist in +dress. She wore at this quiet little dinner party a cloth gown of +olive-green, so severely plain in its make-up that its richness of +texture and faultless workmanship were apparent. And Miss Parker +appeared in an elbow-sleeved white dress badly laundered and profusely +trimmed with a quantity of lace that was startling rather than fine. +Moreover, she was adorned with a mass of hothouse blooms to which she +referred so significantly that the little company were at once made +aware that Erskine was the giver. + +But the dress was perfection compared with the poor girl's manner. She +gayly and unblushingly appropriated Erskine to herself and rallied her +brother on the situation. + +"Poor Jim! you haven't any girl at all, have you? Since Miss +Warder--must I call you 'Miss Warder'? it sounds ever so much more +friendly and cosey to say 'Alice.' You must look after your cousin, I +suppose. Are you sure he is your cousin? You know that is a dodge girls +have when--Oh, well, never mind; I won't bother you. This is good for +Jim; he always has half a dozen strings to his bow and can never decide +which one of them he wants the most; so this will be excellent +discipline for him, leaving him out in the cold. Dear me! What am I +talking about? Here is Mrs. Burnham looking young enough this minute to +be one of us." + +All this, while they were making their way through the boarding-house +halls and large dining-room to a cosey little alcove, where a table had +been set for the Burnhams and their guests. Erskine's face had flushed +deeply during the outburst, and he had darted an annoyed look at his +mother to see if she was hearing it. He led the way across the +dining-room much to the irrepressible Mamie's disappointment, though she +chose to seem to ridicule it. + +"Dear me!" she said in a stage whisper to Alice, "do look at that +ridiculous boy walking off alone. Where I come from, the fellows take +the girls out to supper. Can't I borrow your cousin for this evening, +and get even with him?" + +Mrs. Burnham felt the color rising in her face, but Alice was gracious +and lovely. She laughed pleasantly as though used to such jokes, linked +her arm in the girl's, and said merrily:-- + +"We will give them all the slip, my dear, and go in together." + +[Illustration: "WE WILL GIVE THEM ALL THE SLIP, MY DEAR."--_Page 61._] + +Throughout that embarrassing and long-drawn-out dinner Alice was a help +and comfort at least to her hostess, and did steadily and patiently what +she could to cover the blunders of the girl beside her. Utterly +unaccustomed to even the formalities of a fashionable boarding-house +table, Mamie made constant blunders with forks and spoons and other +instruments of torture for the uninitiated; but these were trifles +compared with the blunders of her tongue. She made evident attempts to +cover her ignorance with regard to table formalities by much gay talk. +She laughed incessantly, and told many jokes at her brother's expense. +She said: "him and me," and "her and I," and "you folks," and a dozen +other provincialisms. When they returned to Mrs. Burnham's parlor, it +was almost worse--for then Mamie sang; and it was hard for her hostess +to determine of which she was most ashamed, the bad taste of the girl's +selections or the less than mediocre execution. + +Still, the music was by no means the worst feature of that memorable +hour. Mamie's next startling venture was a pretence of being offended by +what she called Erskine's desertion of her at dinner-time. + +"Oh, you needn't come around," she said rudely, as he rose to arrange +her music. "I can fix things myself, thank you, and Mr. Colchester will +turn the music for me, I know; won't you, Mr. Colchester?" with a jaunty +little smile for the stately Boston cousin. "You can't make up for +rudeness to me, sir, as easy as you think. I make fellows who want my +company mind their p's and q's, don't I, Jim?" + +The stalwart brother thus appealed to replied only by a slight +embarrassed laugh, and the hostess had time out of her own embarrassment +to bestow a swift glance of pity upon him. He had already seen enough of +another sort of world to realize that his pretty, pert little sister, +the idol of his country home, was not making as good an impression on +these new friends of his as he wished she were. If the ladies had but +known it, the poor young fellow was at that moment saying to himself:-- + +"Why can't Mamie act more like that Miss Warder, I wonder? There's an +awful difference between them, and she doesn't catch on, somehow." + +Throughout the interminable evening, Alice Warder proved not only the +excellent foil that Mrs. Burnham had foreseen, but a faithful and +efficient coadjutor. Not a lift of her eyebrows or a stray glance of any +kind betrayed a second's surprise at the character of the guests invited +to meet her dignified cousin and herself. She was gracious and friendly +to such an extent that before the evening was over, Mamie, who was +frankness itself, said admiringly:-- + +"How long you going to stay in this place? Dear me! I wish you was going +to be here all winter; I can see that you and me would be real cronies." + +In the privacy of Mrs. Burnham's bedroom, whither Alice was taken to put +on her wraps, the girl bestowed her closing touch of sweetness and balm +upon her hostess. + +"I had quite a little visit with Mr. Parker while you were entertaining +the others with those pictures; I was much interested in him; he is a +young man of good principle, isn't he? One on whom education will tell. +It is lovely in you and Erskine to open your home to him in this way; it +will be sure to mean much to him; and it ought to help the little +sister, too. It is pleasant to see how fond he is of her." + +"You helped," said Mrs. Burnham, significantly. "I am more grateful for +your help to-night than the mere words will express." + +She kissed her as she spoke, and felt in her heart that she was willing +that Erskine should marry this girl to-morrow, if he would. + +"I was glad of the opportunity," the girl said simply. "And so, I am +sure, was Ranford. He is very much interested in young men of this +type." + +For a full half hour after "Jim" had carried off his pouting +sister,--whose parting shot had been that she considered it "awfully +pokey" for a girl to go home from a dinner-party with "nothing but her +brother"--spoken in a pretended confidence to him, but loud enough for +all to hear,--silence reigned in the Burnham parlor. + +Erskine had a desk in one of its corners, where he kept certain of his +books, and studied, whenever he chose to remain with his mother. He +flung himself down before it the moment the door closed after their +guests, as though work pressed hard. + +His mother took a book and sat silent and apparently absorbed, although +as a matter of fact, instead of reading, she was studying the +half-averted face that was drawn in almost stern lines, and the eyes +that stared at the open page as though they did not see its words. She +did not believe that Erskine was studying Latin. + +What had this terrible evening done for him, and for her? Had that +pretty-faced, ill-dressed, ill-bred girl secured in some unaccountable +way a permanent hold on her son's heart? Might it not be possible that +in giving him this awful view of her in sharp contrast with Alice Warder +she had but alienated him from herself? Perhaps she had blundered, and +perhaps the consequences of her blunder would be fatal to them both. Why +had she done it? Why had she not waited, and watched, and understood +better before she attempted anything? What should she do now? How was +she to bear this silence? And yet, what might not Erskine say when at +last he broke it? + +A half-hour passed and neither mother nor son had turned a page. +Suddenly he wheeled his chair around so that she could get a full view +of his face, and smiled a half-sad, half-whimsical smile, and spoke his +word:-- + +"I don't believe we can do it, Mommie. It was good in you to try, and +you did it royally, as you do things, but--she can't be assimilated. She +doesn't belong. We shall have to wait until she goes home before we can +do much for Parker. All the same, mother, you understand that I thank +you for the effort. Alice was superb to-night, wasn't she?" + +Then Ruth Burnham understood that it was her business to understand that +her son's interest lay solely in the young man Parker, and that in the +desire to help the brother the sister must be thought of as simply +tolerated. Already Erskine had put away his first illusion so utterly +that he did not propose to own it to himself, much less to his mother. + +Poor Mamie Parker spent her fruitless winter in the college town, and +tried by many innocent and a few questionable ways to win back to +interest and special attention her brother's handsome friend, whose +sudden defection she could not understand. She tortured herself in a +vain effort to discover what could have happened on that evening which +she had expected to be memorable to her for other reasons than now +appeared. Why had it so utterly changed the attitude toward her of the +young man who, she had confidently assured Jim, was "caught, all right," +she "knew the signs"? + +By degrees, without any clearly defined reason for doing so, she came to +associate the defection with the young man's mother, and called her +"that old cat!" with a bitterness that had more than mere anger behind +it; there was a lump in her throat and a curious stricture about the +little organ that she called her heart, which was new to the frivolous +girl. + +Jim's handsome college friend had afforded his sister Mamie a glimpse +into a new, strange world, one that she felt she could have loved, and +in which she believed that she could have shone; and in some way, she +did not understand how, his mother had closed the door. + +"The old cat!" she said. "I should like to get even with her!" And then +she cried. + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + IDEAL CONDITIONS + + +ERSKINE BURNHAM'S lesson was short, but sharp, and he seemed to have +learned it thoroughly. He gave himself more persistently to study than +before, and was even more devoted to his mother than ever, if that were +possible. He let the visiting sisters of freshmen and sophomores +dignifiedly alone, and resisted without a sigh numerous attempts to draw +him into local society circles. + +"Haven't time for society just now," was his invariable excuse. "Nor +inclination," he would add privately for his mother's benefit. + +Occasionally the mother urged the acceptance of an invitation and begged +him not to make a recluse of himself for her sake; but he met her +suggestions with his whimsical smile and the gay retort that a society +composed of two entirely congenial people met all his present +requirements. She was not insistent. Why should she be, when Erskine was +undeniably happy in the life he had planned? + +Certainly it was an ideal life for the fond mother; for both of them, +perhaps. It had been unique from the first of Erskine's college course. +They had been settled but a few weeks in their new home when Mrs. +Burnham, finding much time at her disposal, proposed to Erskine that she +take up some of her long-ago-dropped studies and let him introduce her +to modern college ways. The young man laughed as he gave her an admiring +glance and assured her that she knew more than other women, already. +Nevertheless it pleased him to go into careful detail about his work, +and on the following day it surprised as well as pleased him to find +that his mother was quite as well prepared with some of his studies as +he was himself. From that evening a new order of things was established; +Mrs. Burnham, without matriculating as a college student, and without +letting it be known, save to the choice few who were their very intimate +friends, became nevertheless a student. How much of Erskine Burnham's +acknowledged success in college was due to the fact that his mother +studied with him throughout the entire course is something that will +never be known; but her son gave her full credit for the help that she +was to him. From the first he recognized her as a stimulant; he +discovered that he must have his points very fully in his grasp in order +to explain them satisfactorily to his pupil. She always insisted on +being his pupil and kept carefully the subordinate place, although her +keen questionings more than once led him to change his view of a subject +under discussion. + +Altogether, it was a life replete with satisfaction to both mother and +son. Not that they shut themselves away from society. Such of his +friends as Erskine thought his mother would enjoy or could help he +brought freely to their rooms, and between several of the students and +herself there was built up by degrees that kind of friendship which one +occasionally sees between self-respecting young men and certain +middle-aged women. It was a very pleasant experience, and it made Ruth +feel, as she expressed it to Erskine, that she had several sons always +ready to serve her. + +Neither did they wholly neglect the outside world. Both mother and son +held carefully to their resolve not to let college or any other +functions interfere with their Sunday and mid-week engagements in the +church of their choice, and through this channel they made certain +acquaintances that ripened into friendship. But there came a time in the +mother's life when she wished, not that she had enjoyed her studies with +Erskine less, but that both of them had given more time and thought and +enjoyment to distinctively religious themes and duties. + +Meantime their friendship for Alice Warder ripened and deepened, +although there had been an interim during which its very life had seemed +to be threatened. Following that painful episode with Mamie Parker, +Erskine had seemed to shun even Alice Warder. He had not from the first +been entirely sure that he cared to see much of her Boston cousin, and +presently made him an excuse for seeing little of Alice, for the cousin +seemed to be staying indefinitely. This state of things lasted until the +college year closed and they went home, and became again next-door +neighbors to the Warders. At first, it seemed to Mrs. Burnham that the +old friendship was lost. Something very vague and intangible, but +distinctly felt, seemed to have come between them. Then, suddenly, +whatever it was, it passed. On a certain evening that stood out plainly +afterward in the mother's memory Alice had appeared at her window with +an air of decision, and a question. + +"Has Erskine come in yet, Mrs. Burnham? When he comes, will you ask him +if he can give me an uninterrupted half-hour this evening for something +special?" + +Later, the mother wondered, and often wondered what that something +special was, but she had not been told. It was something that made a +marked difference in Erskine's manner. From apparently avoiding Alice +Warder's society as much as possible, he frankly sought it; proposing +her as a third on occasions when his mother would have hesitated, and in +every possible way proclaiming that the old cordial relations were +reestablished. From that time on, the young woman next door became so +entirely identified with the daily life of the Burnhams that the +intimate friends of the family said "Alice and Erskine," quite as a +matter of course. + +In the fall they went back to college, mother and son. At least that was +Erskine's way of putting it. + +"Why not?" he said, laughing at his mother's protest. "You are as much +in college as I am. They ought to give you a diploma. I believe I'll +divide mine; have the sheepskin cut exactly in two, and your name +inserted. Half of my honors belong to you, anyhow." + +During his senior year Erskine and Alice Warder were more inseparable +than ever. Mr. Warder went abroad on an extended business trip, which +was so entirely business that he would have little or no time for Alice, +and she chose to be left behind. But her friend who had lived with her +as a companion, since she had ceased to be a governess, wanted the +winter for her personal friends, so it was decided that Alice should +secure rooms at the same house where the Burnhams boarded and be +chaperoned by Mrs. Burnham. This made them practically one family, +though each adhered to his own programme. Alice gave much time to +correspondence, and interested herself at once in special church work; +while Mrs. Burnham continued to study with her son. But in all social +functions, and indeed, in all their leisure time, they were together +quite as a family. + +It was during this winter that Mrs. Burnham took up a study quite by +herself and made diligent effort in it. This was the study of adjusting +herself to new relations. She was getting acquainted with and growing +used to her daughter, she told herself hopefully; for by this time she +had fully decided that Alice Warder was the one who was to share through +all their future Erskine's love and care. She grew more than reconciled; +she told herself that she was perfectly happy in Erskine's choice; that +of course she wanted him to marry, she had always wanted it; and where +in all the earth could he have found a more lovely character or a more +entirely acceptable person in every way than Alice Warder? It really +seemed as though a special Providence had planned and created them each +for the other. + +As the intimacy deepened, so that the three seemed to think in unison, +the mother told herself cheerfully that it was almost as though the two +were married already; there would be no strange chasm to bridge over +when that time came; nor would they have to readjust themselves in any +way. Alice had not known a mother's love and care since childhood, and +she turned as naturally to Mrs. Burnham for mothering as though they +were really mother and daughter. It was all ideal. + +There were times, of course, when Mrs. Burnham could not help sitting in +secret judgment on certain ways and words of this daughter of hers. She +would allow herself to wish that this or that had been different, and +then would bring herself to order with severity, assuring herself that +she had no right to expect perfection, and where, on this earth, could +there be found another girl so near it as Alice? + +Over one phase of the girl's life this mother in all sincerity rejoiced. +Alice was unquestionably and deeply religious. Her Christian life was +deep-rooted and pervasive, and the perfume of its flowering filled her +days. To come in contact with her for even a short interview was to +discover that religion with her was not merely a duty, but a joy. + +"Alice is very unusual in this respect," Ruth said to Erskine. "It isn't +simply that she is regular and methodical in her Christianity as in +everything else. I have seen girls before who went to prayer-meeting, +for instance, regularly, from a sense of duty; but with Alice it is +this, and something more. She looks forward to it as a pleasure; and she +comes from it uplifted and advanced in her Christian experience." + +Erskine was hearty in his response. + +"Yes, Alice takes hold of life generally with a kind of joyful +enthusiasm that is delicious. And there is contagion in it; I enjoy the +mid-week meetings better myself, since I have learned to plan for them +as she does." + +Everything considered, that last year of college life passed all too +quickly, at least for Mrs. Burnham. There were times when she realized +that the peculiarly close relations which she and her son had sustained +for four beautiful winters could not, in reason, continue, and she +shrank from any change. Yet for the most part she was strong in her +gratitude that her son's college life had been what it had been, and +that the most censorious could not discover any evil results from this +long, close fellowship with his mother. There were still years of study +for him. It had been decided that he would study law in the city where +his father had practised it, and live at the old homestead, making daily +trips to and from the larger city. In due course of time, therefore, +they were once more settled at home for an indefinite period. Alice +Warder had gone to the coast of Maine for a long-promised visit among +her mother's relatives, but on her return, the Warders were again to +become next-door neighbors. + +Already in her letters to Mrs. Burnham, which were quite as frequent as +those to Erskine, Alice Warder was planning certain functions in which +"You and father, and Erskine and I" were in evidence. + +There was one feature of the situation that troubled the mother. As the +days passed the question which it involved grew more and more insistent. +Why did not Erskine, at least, confide in her? Had he not from his very +babyhood been in the habit of bringing to her not only every joy and +sorrow, but every passing emotion or fancy, however trivial, until she +had believed them as nearly one as it was possible for two people to +become? Why then, in this supreme decision of his life, had she in a +sense been counted out? No hint as to his new hopes and plans had been +put into words for her; she had simply been left like the rest of the +world to take things for granted. + +There were times when this question probed her keenly. She struggled to +discover whether she had been in fault. Despite her earnest efforts to +hold herself well in check and give no sign of certain emotions which +every true mother must feel at such an hour, had she failed? Had she +appeared cold, or indifferent, or, worse than either, jealous? Despite +her careful cross-examination of herself she could not lay her finger +upon any word or act that she could make different; and she was obliged +to content herself with redoubling her efforts to show her entire +acceptance of Alice as one of them; but so far as any special +confidences were concerned she did it in vain. Both Erskine and Alice +were entirely frank in their manifest interest in each other, acting at +all times as though they had nothing to conceal. They had even reached +the stage when they claimed each other's time and attention as a matter +of course, and so expressed themselves. + +Erskine, for instance, would glance at a note that had been laid on his +desk a short time before, and explain to his mother:-- + +"I shall have to defer my call on Dr. West, mother, until some other +evening. Alice has to meet her committee at the hall, and wants me to +take her over." + +Could anything, argued the mother, indicate more surely that they two +had already passed the early stages of sentiment, and begun to realize +that they belonged to each other for convenience as well as for love? +Then why did they not confide in his mother, _their_ mother? + +No comparatively small matter had ever troubled Ruth Burnham more than +did this one. There were times when she felt almost indignant, and was +on the verge of saying to them both that she did not think she deserved +such careless treatment at their hands. Why, her very intimate friends +were almost asking when the wedding was to be! There were other times +when she told herself that she would not be the first to speak, even +though they kept silence until the wedding day was come. + +Matters were in this state when she reached another distinct milestone +in the singularly marked journey of her life. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + "MOTHERS ARE QUEER!" + + +IT was but the week before Alice's expected return, and Mrs. Burnham was +out paying afternoon visits. She had confessed to Erskine that she +wanted to get them off of her mind before Alice came, and be able to +give undivided attention to her for a while. + +"I don't suppose you can imagine how I have missed her," she added in a +voice that she intended to express archness, but which was almost +wistful. He felt the wistfulness and mistook its cause, and said +tenderly:-- + +"Poor little mother! you need a daughter, don't you?" + +She had turned from him abruptly to hide the glimmer of tears; and she +had told herself almost angrily afterward that it was time she had +learned self-control. + +At the home of one of her friends she met a Mrs. Carson, with whom she +had also a calling acquaintance. Mrs. Carson had been spending some +weeks in Boston, and had no sooner exchanged greetings with Mrs. Burnham +than she brought out with eager hand from her news budget a choice +morsel. + +"And what do you both think I heard just before I left the city? At +first I could scarcely believe my ears; in fact, I did not credit the +news at all; I said it could not be so; I am sure, dear Mrs. Burnham, +you will understand why. But afterward it was so signally confirmed that +I was obliged to accept it." + +"Dear me!" said the hostess, "this is quite exciting. Do enlighten us, +Mrs. Carson. We have been so humdrum here this fall that news is thrice +welcome." + +"You would never guess my news, I am sure, that is, you would not, Mrs. +Webster; but there sits our dear Mrs. Burnham, looking as calm and +unconcerned as usual, though I presume she has known all about it this +long time." + +"Now you arouse my curiosity, certainly," that lady said with a quiet +smile. "I don't recall any special news from Boston, of late." + +"Oh, well, I don't suppose it is late news to you, but it certainly was +to me. Why, Mrs. Webster, I have it on excellent authority that our +friend Alice Warder is engaged to her cousin, Ranford Colchester, and +the marriage is to take place very soon. Now do you wonder that I was +simply amazed over such an announcement?" + +Mrs. Burnham took her startled nerves into instant and stern check, and +was entirely silent while Mrs. Webster exclaimed and expostulated. + +"I told you you wouldn't be able to believe it," said the gratified +news-dealer. "Such a surprise to us all! and yet you see this naughty +woman doesn't express any, and hasn't a word to say for herself! Dear +Mrs. Burnham, it isn't necessary I suppose for us to confess that we +have been waiting these many weeks for the formal announcement of her +engagement to an entirely different person? Her cousin, indeed! why I +thought they were the same as brother and sister. I was never more +surprised in my life. At first I simply disputed it and assured my +friends that Alice Warder was as good as married, already. But it came +to me too straight to be disputed. It's this way. My aunt has a young +niece living with her this year who is a very intimate friend of Miriam +Stevens, and she, you know, is Mr. Colchester's stepdaughter; and she +told her all about it. It seems, although they have been engaged for a +very long time, years and years, Miriam said, the engagement has just +been announced. Mr. Colchester, the father, of course, has opposed the +match, because it interfered with some of his pet plans. There was an +old love story connected with it, don't you know, and a good deal of +sentiment and obstinacy on the part of the old gentleman, who has always +thought that the world was made for his convenience. But he found that +his son could be obstinate too; he was willing to marry Alice Warder, +and he would never, no never, marry anybody else. Then Alice decided +that she would show a little spirit, and she refused to come into the +family so long as there was a breath of opposition. Nobody knows just +what has happened, at least Miriam doesn't; but she says that her +stepfather has not only withdrawn his opposition, but seems quite as +eager as his son to have the marriage take place. Miriam did not think +that the day had been fixed yet, but she felt sure it would be not later +than Christmas. Now, isn't that a romantic story, and a startling one? +Just think how that girl has stolen a march on us when we thought we +understood all about her future, and were breathlessly awaiting our +invitations to the wedding! And here sits our dear Mrs. Burnham, looking +as unconcerned as possible; though all this while she has been helping +deceive us into the belief that Alice Warder was almost her daughter!" + +How Ruth Burnham got away from their volubility and their playful +accusations and their congratulations she was never afterward able to +clearly explain, even to herself. She knew that her brain felt on fire, +and every nerve in her body seemed to be quivering, but she also knew +that she had one supreme determination, not by word or glance to betray +consternation or surprise or indeed feeling of any sort. Since these +women believed that she had deceived them, let them by all means +continue to do so, at least until she could determine what she thought, +or what she was to say. + +She knew that she preserved her outward calm, and made some commonplace +reply to the eager questioning exclamations showered upon her. She +remembered murmuring something about young people's secrets being sacred +to themselves, and then she got herself away and walked the seven +squares between her and her home, and wished that there were more of +them, that she might have time to steady herself and plan what step to +take next. How, for instance, was she to break this terrible piece of +news to Erskine? + +To her astonishment she found that she was giving full credit to the +story. Although the details had been too minute and the source of +information too terribly reliable to admit of reasonable doubt, yet her +reason told her that she ought to be able to turn in contempt from such +a story. How was it possible for Alice Warder to be guilty of such +long-drawn-out unpardonable hypocrisy as this? Alice Warder of all women +in the world! How had it been possible for her to deceive Erskine in +this way? Why had she done it? What could have been her motive? Had she +simply and deliberately flirted with him, to show that insufferable old +man that there were others besides his son who wanted her? Poor Erskine! +poor trusting, deceived heart! What could his mother do or say to soften +such a revelation as this! Finally she walked quite past her own door, +adding several more blocks to the already long distance, before she had +herself under sufficient control to meet her son. For the first time in +her life she was glad that he was not in when she reached home; and glad +again that when he came a friend was with him, who remained to dinner. +This enabled her to watch Erskine closely, without his observing it, and +to determine whether he might have heard from some other source the +strange news. + +She decided that he had not; he was even more full of good cheer than +usual, and referred several times to Alice, as his guest was also her +friend. + +Mrs. Burnham's unusual quiet finally called forth solicitous inquiries +from her son. Had she overwearied herself that afternoon? Had there been +any accident or detention that had worn upon her? She made haste to +reassure him, and struggled to appear at ease; while all the time her +mind was busy with the problem of how to break her news to Erskine. The +more she thought about it, the more strangely improbable it seemed. +Alice Warder engaged to be married to any one but Erskine! As for the +cruel wickedness of the girl whom she had loved and trusted as a +daughter, the woman who felt herself betrayed could not trust her +thoughts just yet in that direction. She must give all there was of her +to Erskine. + +When their visitor had gone, Erskine gave himself in earnest to anxiety +about his mother. + +"I cannot remember ever to have seen you look so wan and worn. Is it +simply the making calls that has exhausted you? I remember I used to +notice that that was an exhausting function for you. I wouldn't do it +any more, Mommie; let people come to you. Where did you go? and what was +said to tire you so? or was it what they didn't say? I have noticed that +ladies when making calls never seem to really say anything. They talk a +good deal, but then!--" + +If he only knew what they had said that day! How should she tell him? + +They went to the library; Erskine bemoaning the fact that he had some +work which must be done, and could not read to her. But he would +establish her among the cushions where she could rest, and he could look +at her occasionally. So she lay there, outwardly quiet, looking steadily +at him as though she must see his very soul, and going on with her +problem. Was she being cruel, too, lying quietly there concealing a +weapon with which she was presently to stab him? If she could only +decide upon the least terrible way of telling him what she had heard! +She planned and discarded a dozen forms of speech, and finally plunged +headlong into the baldest and most commonplace of them. + +Erskine had risen to close a door, and then had come to adjust her +cushions and ask if she were comfortable. And then--should she like him +by and by, when he had run over two or three more pages, to read to her? +There was a magazine article he had been saving up to enjoy with her. Or +was she too tired to-night for reading? + +And she had caught his hand and held it in a nervous grip while she +exploded her news. + +"I heard something very strange this afternoon, Erskine; something that +I do not in the least understand. I don't know how to credit it, yet it +came to me very straight. Mrs. Carson has just returned from Boston, and +has it, she says, from one of the family that Alice Warder is soon to be +married to her cousin." + +She felt breathless. She did not know whether to look at her victim or +to look mercifully away from him. He was leaning forward in the act of +tucking a refractory cushion into place, and he persisted in conquering +the cushion before he spoke. Then he said cheerfully: + +"That is out at last, is it? Alice must feel relieved." + +His mother pushed all the cushions recklessly and sat upright. + +"Erskine," she said eagerly, "what do you mean? You don't mean, you +_can't_ mean that you knew it all the while!" + +"Why not, mother? have known it for months, might say years. It had to +be a profound secret, though, on account of old Mr. Colchester's state +of mind; he had other plans, you see, and at first he utterly refused to +side with the young people; then Alice refused to enter the family so +long as there was any objection to her, and also refused to have her +engagement made public; it has been a long, wearisome time; I am glad +for both of them that the struggle is over. I have served them to the +best of my abilities, but I can see that the new order of things will be +a comfort to both; to all three of us indeed." + +He laughed a little over that last admission, but his mother had not yet +recovered from her first amazement. + +"Erskine, why didn't you tell me?" + +He laughed again and bent over to kiss her. + +"Mommie, you speak as though at the least I had committed forgery. How +could I tell you, dearest? It was another's secret. Alice was absurdly +sensitive, it is true, but of course I had to respect her wishes. She is +not accustomed to being objected to, you know. There was a sense in +which I came upon their secret at first, by accident, which served to +make me doubly careful; I did not feel that I could speak of it even to +you; though I will own that I thought it extremely foolish in Alice not +to do so. + +"Do you feel like being read to, mamma, or would you rather be entirely +quiet to-night? Do you feel a little bit rested?" + +"Yes, indeed," she told him eagerly. She was very much rested; in fact +she did not feel tired at all; she would like exceedingly to be read to; +or she was ready to do anything that he wished. + +He looked at her curiously, and a trifle anxiously. There was something +about his mother this evening that he did not understand. A few minutes +ago she had looked pale and worn to a degree that was unusual; now her +cheeks were flushed and her eyes were very bright. Could she be +feverish? he wondered. And he mentally vowed vengeance on all formal +calls. + +It was nearly a week afterward that Erskine and Alice, walking home +together from some society function, lapsed into confidential talk. + +"How did you find my mother?" Erskine asked. "Was she able to be as glad +over it all as you could wish?" + +"She was lovely," said Alice, enthusiastically. "An own mother could not +have shown more tenderness and lovingness. I have missed my mother all +my life, Erskine, but I shall miss her less, even during this time when +a girl needs her mother most, because you are so kind in lending me +yours." + +"And yet, do you know, I think she has lately suffered a shock and a +disappointment? I am nearly certain that she had cherished hopes which +included us both. I did not realize until very lately indeed that she +too was being deceived; else I must have insisted on her being taken +into confidence." + +Alice's merry laugh astonished and almost vexed him, her first words +were more surprising still. + +"So you thought she was disappointed? What bats men are, to be sure!" + +"What do you mean? Do you not know that to my mother you are the one +young woman?" + +"Oh, indeed I do, and rejoice in it. But I know also, my dear simpleton, +that she is almost deliriously happy at this moment over her late +discovery. I know she loves me almost as she could a daughter, and I +also know that she loves me more, oh, far more, because her son Erskine +is a brother to me instead of--something else." + +His puzzled look made her laugh again. + +But after that he studied his mother from a new standpoint. Certainly +she was very fond of Alice and was about to lose her; yet certainly she +was happy--happier than he had ever known her to be. + +"Mothers are queer!" was his grave conclusion. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + A SPOILED MOTHER + + +IT had been an ideal October day: one of those ravishing days that come +sometimes in late autumn when, though the air is crisp with the hint of +a coming winter, it is at the same time balmy with the memory of the +departed summer. The hills in the near distance had put on their +glorified autumn dress, and the flowers in the gardens were all of the +gorgeous or deep-toned colorings that tell of summer suns and autumn +crispness. It was, in short, one of those days when it is, or should be, +a delight simply to live. + +The Burnham place had never looked more lovely than it did that +afternoon, bathed in the soft glory of an unusually brilliant +sun-setting. It was customary to speak of this as the old Burnham place; +yet nothing in Ruth Erskine Burnham's changeful life showed more +markedly the effect of change than did this. + +The long, low, rambling, old-fashioned house, much in need of paint, +that Ruth had come to as a bride, was there still, but so altered that +even she had all but forgotten the original. The house and the grounds +had been, like many other things and persons, transformed. No spot +anywhere, for miles around, was such a source of pride and pleasure to +the old friends of that region as the Burnham place. There were those +still living who could tell in minutest detail the story of its +transformation, when the Judge's new wife came out there to live, and +astonished the country by her doings. Some of them had been more than +half afraid of Ruth in those early days; they all believed in her now. + +She had come out to the upper porch for a moment, not so much to get a +view of the wonderful sunset as to get her breath. The house was full of +flowers, and they had seemed to stifle her. + +A handsome woman still was Mrs. Burnham. Stately was one of the words +that people had been wont to use in describing her; she was stately yet, +though her son Erskine would soon celebrate his thirtieth birthday. + +These later years had touched her lightly. They had been spent, for the +most part, in the cheerful quiet of their old home, which, although the +city had grown out to it, had yet not absorbed it, but allowed its +favored residents to have much of the pleasures of country life, with a +rapid transit into the heart of the great city as often as life of that +kind was desired. + +Erskine had for several years been admitted to the bar, and the old firm +name that had meant so much in legal circles had once more the strong +name of Burnham associated with it. That her son was a legal success was +not a surprise to his mother. With such antecedents as his how could it +have been otherwise? She had not kept up with his legal studies as she +had almost done through his college course, but she had kept in touch +with them, and could copy his notes for him, giving him just the points +he needed--better, he told her, than he could do it himself. + +"We will take you into the firm if you say so, dearest," he said gayly +one evening, after a spirited argument between them with regard to a +point of law in which Mrs. Burnham had vindicated her side by an appeal +to an undoubted authority. "I told Judge Hallowell, yesterday, that it +was easier to consult you than to look up a point, and did just as well. +He would agree to the partnership, mother, without hesitation; he +considers you a wonderful woman." + +At which the happy mother laughed, and told him he was a wonderful +flatterer; and then--Did he want her to look up the evidence in that +Brainard case for him? She could do it as well as not. She had been +reading up about it that morning. + +An ideal life they had lived together all these years, this mother and +son. More than once in the years gone by Mrs. Burnham had overheard some +such remark as: "It will be hard on that mother when Erskine marries, +will it not?" It used to annoy her a little. She was conscious of a +feeling very like resentment that people should consider it necessary to +discuss their affairs at all; especially to intimate that there would +ever be anything "hard" between them. + +There had been other talk, too, that she had resented. It had been +noticed that Judge Hallowell, Judge Burnham's lifelong friend, came +often to the old Burnham place, and somebody got up a very sentimental +reason for his never having married; and somebody else objected that +Mrs. Burnham did not believe in second marriages; she had been heard to +go so far as to say she thought they were actually wrong. Then somebody +else looked wise and smiled, and said she had heard of people, before +this, who changed their opinions about such things, on occasion. And-- +How would such a masterful young man as Erskine get on with a +stepfather? This bit of gossip had floated about the Burnhams for a year +or more, while Erskine was studying law, without their having been the +wiser for it. The day for the wedding had almost been set, still without +reference to them, when Judge Hallowell, sixty years old though he was, +suddenly brought home a wife; and that, without an hour's break in the +friendship between himself and the Burnhams. + +By degrees, the form of the question which the talkers asked each other +slightly changed, and they said they were afraid it would be hard on +Mrs. Burnham if Erskine should ever marry, and they added that it wasn't +probable that he ever would. They even ventured, one or two of the more +intimate, or the more rude, to express some such thought to the mother +herself. When they did, she laughed lightly and bade them not be sure of +anything. Her son might astonish them all, yet. She was sure she hoped +so. She was sincere in this. As each year passed she told herself more +and more firmly that of course she wanted him to marry. Why shouldn't +she want him to find that lovely being who must have been foreordained +for him? She was sure now, after all her long years of experience with +him, that she should know the very first moment when he discovered her. +Of course she had not been through the years since Alice Warder was +married without more than once imagining that she had been discovered. +They had numbered some very lovely young women among their friends. +There had been a certain Miriam whom she had admired and liked and +almost loved, and had meant to love in earnest if Erskine really wished +it. And she had gone about the finding out very cautiously. Didn't he +think Miriam was pretty? + +"Very pretty indeed," he had answered promptly. + +And she was so sweet and winsome, so thoughtful of her elders, so +gracious to everybody; quite unlike many others in that respect. + +He was quick to agree with this, also. + +Didn't he think her delightful in conversation? She seemed able to +converse sensibly on any subject that was under discussion, as well as +to talk the most delicious nonsense, on occasion. + +"Well," he said cheerfully. In that respect he must differ from her. He +could not say he thought the young woman especially gifted in +conversation; it seemed to him to be her weak point. If she could talk +as well as her grandmother, she would be charming. + +Mrs. Burnham had argued loyally for her favorite; had assured her son +that Miriam was a charming talker when she chose, and that it was +ridiculous to think of comparing her with her grandmother! But she had +laughed light-heartedly at his folly, and had confessed to her secret +self that she was glad he liked the grandmother better. + +There were several other temporary interests, and then the mother +settled down to restfulness. Erskine was a boy no longer, but a +full-grown man, doing a man's work in the world; she could trust him. He +had always confided in her and of course he would not fail to do so when +this supreme hour of his life came to him. She still wanted him to +marry; she believed that he would, some day. She promised herself that +she would be, when the time came, a perfect mother. She would love the +chosen one with all her heart; she should be second only to Erskine +himself. And she would give herself to helping them both to be so happy, +anticipating their wishes and aiding and abetting all their plans, that +they would be glad to have her with them always. And always she closed +these hours of planning with a long-drawn sigh of satisfaction that they +were all in the dim future. + +Erskine Burnham had passed his thirtieth birthday before he had been +separated from his mother for more than a few days at a time. It was +early in the May following the thirtieth anniversary when the break +came. He went abroad then, on legal business of importance. + +"Shall you take your mother over with you?" Judge Hallowell had asked, +but a short time before he started; and he had answered quickly: "Oh, +yes, indeed; I couldn't think of leaving mother alone, with the ocean +between us; she is too much accustomed to my daily care for that. +Moreover, I think a sea voyage will be good for her." + +But his mother met him at the door, that afternoon, open letter in hand, +and the grave announcement that she had bad news for him. + +"What is it, dearest?" he had asked composedly, as he bent to kiss her. +It occurred to him then there could be no very bad news for either of +them so long as they stood there together, safe and well. + +"It is Alice; she is ill, very ill they are afraid, and her husband +writes that she wants me immediately. They think, Erskine, that there +will have to be an operation, and she feels that she cannot go through +it without me. I fill the place of mother to her, you know, dear." + +Erskine did not take his disappointment easily. He was used to having +his own way, and he had planned a delightful outing for his mother. He +argued the question strenuously, and was loath to admit that his +mother's duty lay elsewhere, and that he must go abroad without her. + +"It is hard on my mother," he said discontentedly to Judge Hallowell. +But he admitted to himself that it was quite as hard for him; he hated +travelling alone. + +For Mrs. Burnham the summer had dragged. For thirty years she had lived +for her son. Why should life without him be called living? It was harder +for her because her sacrifice proved to be unnecessary. The surgical +operation was, after all, postponed; there was some hope that it would +not have to be at all; and Alice herself had gone abroad with her +husband: not by Erskine's route, but on a sailing vessel, making the +ocean trip as long as possible. + +Mrs. Burnham had stayed to do the thousand and one little things for the +invalid that a mother would naturally do, and to see her fairly started +on her journey, and then had come back to her lonely home: what +might-have-been crowding itself discontentedly among her thoughts. She +had lost her summer with Erskine for nothing, she told herself. Still, +the summer was going; it would not be long now. + +Erskine had written to her daily, mailing his letters as opportunity +offered. At first the letters were long, very long and full; it was +almost like seeing the old world with him. Then, as business matters +pressed him, and social functions growing out of business relations +consumed more and more of his time, they shortened, often to a few +hurried lines. + +Sometimes there was only the date at a late hour, and "Good night, +mother dear. This has been my 'busy day.' Interesting things have +happened. Heaps to tell you when I get home, which I hope now will be +soon. Perhaps in my very next I can set the date." + +She had lived on his letters, watching for each as eagerly as a maiden +might watch for word from her lover. Was he not her lover? All she had +in all the world, she told herself proudly, and was satisfied, and +smiled over that word, "Dearest," that fell as naturally from his pen as +from his lips. + +That next letter in which perhaps he would set the date of his return +was waited for in almost feverish impatience. There was so much she +wanted to do just before he came. She had planned to set the house and +grounds in festive array as for the coming of a conqueror. Actually his +first home-coming of any note in which she was there to greet him! +Always before they had come together. + +The watched-for letter was delayed. There occurred a longer interval by +several days than there had been before, between letters. Mrs. Burnham +allowed herself to grow almost nervous over this, and watched the +newspapers hourly, glancing over foreign items in feverish haste. She +talked about the strangeness of this delay with her friends, until the +most sympathetic among them laughed a little and told each other that +that spoiled mother was really absurd! And at last it came. + +She remembered--she will always remember that October evening when, the +shades being drawn close and a brisk fire burning in the grate, she had +seated herself near it in a luxurious reading chair and, merely for +company, had pushed Erskine's favorite easy-chair just opposite and +laughed a little at her folly, and tried to assure herself that young +Ben had returned long ago with the evening mail, which had to be sent +for, if one could not wait until morning. And then--Ben's step had +crunched on the gravel outside, and she had held her breath to listen, +and--in another minute it lay in her lap! A thick letter, when she had +expected only a few hurried lines. It was almost like the steamer letter +that he had written her on going out. It couldn't be a steamer letter! +not yet! She seized it eagerly and studied the postmark. Could he be +coming so soon that this was really her last letter? + +How silly she was! her hand trembled so that the thin foreign paper +rattled in her grasp. There were many sheets written fine and full. + +But it was not a steamer letter; he was still in Paris. + +She made herself wait until she gave careful attention to Ellen, who +appeared just then, answering all her questions, directing her in minute +detail as to a piece of next morning's work, having her add another +block to the fire and rearrange the windows before she finally dismissed +her. + +At last she was fairly into her letter. She read rapidly at first, +devouring the pages with her eyes. Then, more slowly, stopping over one +page, re-reading it, a third, a fourth time; staring at it, with a +strange look in her eyes. Suddenly she dropped them, all the thin +rustling sheets, and covered her face with both hands. + +It seemed to her afterward that she spent a lifetime shut up with that +foreign letter. + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + SENTIMENT AND SACRIFICE + + +THE woman on the upper porch who had come out to get her breath had in a +short time passed through so many phases of feeling as to be hardly able +to recognize herself. She had lived ten days since that bulky foreign +letter had seemed to change the current of her life and set it +flowing--when indeed it flowed again--in another channel. + +In truth, Ruth Erskine Burnham, as she stood there ostensibly watching +the sunset, was reviewing the days in a half-frightened, half-shamefaced +way. She had always, even in young girlhood, been self-controlled. Why +could she not hold herself in better check even though her world had +suddenly turned to--stop! she would not say it! What had happened to +her, after all, but that which fell to the lot of mothers? It was not as +though some terrible calamity had overtaken her, and yet--could she have +done differently if it had been? She went back in thought to that +evening ten days away and looked at herself as though she were another +person looking on. She even smiled faintly at the absurdity of that +foolish woman's first action, before she had finished reading the +letter. She had risen suddenly and turned off the light, and pushed up +every window to its highest, and rolled back the curtains and let in a +whirl of wind that had made the foreign sheets fly about as though they +were things of life. Then, aided only by the firelight, she had stooped +and clutched after them and held them for a second to her breast and +then, suddenly, had thrown them from her with a low cry of pain. The +woman on the upper porch looking at the sunset smiled at that +half-insane woman of ten days ago and wondered that she could have so +far forgotten herself. Why should there have been any such outburst as +that, when Erskine was well and--and happy. She shivered a little even +now over the word, and drew her wrap closer and told herself that as +soon as the sun disappeared the chill came. Then she went back to her +review and reminded herself firmly that there had been no calamity to +any one; there was nothing but joy. Erskine was not only well and happy, +but he was coming home. He was coming to-night! No, she must not say +"he" any more; _they_ were coming. Forever and ever after this it must +be "they": her son and daughter. That to which she had looked forward +for so many years with varying emotions had come upon her. Erskine was a +married man; and to-night he was bringing home his bride. She had said +over the words aloud, that day, when she was quite alone, trying to make +herself feel that she was speaking of her son. It was all so sudden, so +utterly different from any imaginings of hers, and she thought that she +had gone over in her imaginings the whole wide range of possibilities. + +That long letter over which she had spent a strange night, believed that +it was giving her the minutest particulars of this strange thing. + +Erskine had met the woman who was now his wife on his first evening in +Paris, and from the very first had been attracted to her by his sympathy +with her unprotected condition. Her only friend and companion in a +strange land was a maiden aunt who was an invalid. Indeed it was for her +sake that they were lingering in France, because she was not able to +travel; she had been made worse by the ocean voyage, instead of better +as had been hoped. Irene had been very closely confined with her for +many weeks, and welcomed a face and voice from home as only those can +understand who have themselves been cast adrift among foreigners. He had +been able to do a few little things for the comfort of the invalid, and +the gratitude of both ladies was almost embarrassing. They were staying +at the same hotel, and as they chanced at that time to be almost the +only Americans, at least the only ones belonging to their world, they +naturally saw much of each other. As the aunt grew more and more feeble +and Irene became entirely dependent on him not only for what little rest +and recreation she got, but for all those offices which members of the +same family can do for each other in a time of illness, their friendship +made rapid strides. Then, when her aunt was suddenly taken alarmingly +ill, and after a few days of really terrible suffering died, leaving +Irene alone in a strange land, her situation was pitiable. He would have +to confess that he did not know just what she would have done, had he +not been there to care for her. + +"Of course, mother, you do not need to have me tell you that long before +this I knew that I had met the one woman in all the world who could ever +become my wife. The reason that I had not mentioned her in any of my +letters was that I could not, even on paper, speak of her casually, as +of any ordinary acquaintance, and I had no right to speak in any other +way. Then, when I had the right to tell you everything, it was so near +my home-coming that I determined to leave it until you and I were face +to face, and I could answer all your questions and look into your dear +eyes and receive from you the sympathy that has never failed me and I +know never will. Nothing was farther from our thoughts at that time than +immediate marriage. Indeed it would have seemed preposterous to me, as +it would have been under any other circumstances, to be married without +your knowledge and presence. But when this unexpected blow came, I +realized the almost impossibility of any other course, although, even +then, I had the greatest difficulty in persuading Irene to take such a +step. She had to be convinced through some annoying experiences of the +folly of her hesitation. I do not know that even you, with your long +experience, realize the difference between this country and ours in +matters of etiquette. Things which at home would be done as a +matter-of-course are so unusual here as to be almost, if not quite, +questionable; and the number of purely business details that loomed up +to be managed by that lonely homesick girl simply appalled her. She sank +under them, physically, and I plainly saw that she simply must have my +help and care day and night. Why, even the nurse who had attended her +aunt, deserted us! that is, she was summoned away by telegraph. In +short, mamma, there was literally no other course for us than the one we +took; although it had to be taken at the sacrifice of a good deal of +sentiment on the part of both. It is a continual relief to me to +remember that I am writing to a sane and reasonable woman, who is in the +habit of weighing questions carefully, and who, when she decides that a +thing is right, does it without regard to sentiment or adverse opinion. +But oh, mommie, it was hard not to have you with us." + +There was more in the letter, much more. Erskine had exhausted language +and repeated himself again and again in his effort to make everything +very clear and convincing. + +He had been skilful also in his attempt to make his mother see the woman +of his choice with his eyes. + +"She will appeal to your sympathies, mamma," he had written. "Although +she is so young, barely twenty-six, she has been through much trouble +and sorrow. She is an orphan, and has been for four years a widow. I +need hardly add that her short married life was unhappy and so sad that +she can scarcely speak of that year even to me. Of course it is an +experience that I shall do my utmost to make her forget; and I need not +speak of it again. I wanted you to know, dear mother, that you and I +have much to make up to her. She was made fatherless and motherless in a +single day, when she was a child of sixteen. I like to think of what you +will be to her, dearest mother; a revelation, I am sure, of mother-love; +for besides being so young when she lost hers, there are mothers, and +_mothers_, you know, and I am sure Irene does not understand it very +well; Do you know, she is half afraid of you? She has read a few of your +letters, and has caught an idea of what we are to each other, and talks +mournfully about coming between us! as though any one ever could! I have +assured her that I am simply bringing to you the daughter for whom your +heart has always longed." + +It was at that point that Ruth Burnham had flung the sheets away from +her and buried her face in her hands. + +But ten days had passed since then, and she had long known, by heart, +all that that letter could tell her. + +And now, in less than another hour, they would be at home! her son and +daughter! + +She had not gone to New York to meet the incoming steamer, as had been +arranged, or rather, as it had once arranged itself, quite as a matter +of course. + +"Think how delightful it will be, when you stand on the dock watching +the incoming steamer, and straining your eyes to discover which +frantically waved handkerchief is mine!" + +This was what Erskine had said as he gave her one of her good-by kisses. + +She had replied that she would recognize his handkerchief among a +thousand. + +In the earlier letters much had been said about that home-coming, and +elaborate plans had been made as to what they would do together in New +York. But in that last long letter, on the margin of the last page, as +though it had been an afterthought, were these words:-- + +"On the whole, mother, we believe that it would be better for you not to +try to meet us in New York. Irene has no love for that city; it was the +scene of some of her sorrows. She wants to stop there only long enough +to call upon her cousins; and we are both in such frantic haste to be at +home that we shall make the delay as short as possible; so we think it +would be less fatiguing to you to avoid that trip and be at home to +welcome us." + +Ruth Burnham said over that sentence as she stood on that upper veranda, +waiting to welcome them. She had said it a hundred times before. What +was there about it that jarred? She could not have told, in words; yet +the jar was there. + +Could it be that continually recurring "we"? Was she going to be a +jealous woman, with all the rest? So meanly jealous as that? "God +forbid!" she said the words aloud, and solemnly. + +She knew that she needed the help of God in this crisis of her life; +since the news of it came to her she had spent hours on her knees +seeking his strength. She wanted Erskine to say "we" and think "we" and +to be supremely happy,--not only in his married life, but to have that +life all that it could be to two souls. And yet--Would it have been +wrong for him, in that first letter, to have remembered that she had +been used all his life to being the "we" of his thoughts, and to have +said simply "I" once or twice? Of course she could never any more be +"dearest"--his special name for her; but--was he never again for a +little while to be just himself, to her? And must she learn to think +"they" and never "him"? + +Oh, she didn't mean any of this, she told herself nervously, and she +must get her thoughts away at once. Of course she would say "Erskine and +Irene" now, always, and forever. Or should she put it, "Irene and +Erskine"? Could she? Perhaps that would help. Did other mothers, waiting +for the home-coming of their married sons, have such strange thoughts as +haunted her? + +There was Mrs. Adams, for instance, whose three sons had all been +married within a few years. And Mrs. Adams had not seemed to care. Well, +as to that, neither would she seem to; and she drew herself up +instinctively. But Mrs. Adams had four boys; five, indeed; the youngest +of them was almost as tall as his mother, while she--"The only son of +his mother, and she was a widow." The words seemed to repeat themselves +in her brain like a dull undertone refrain. + +Other words that had nothing whatever to do with the situation, but that +had been familiar to her girlhood, came back and stupidly repeated +themselves:-- + +"Dead! One of them shot by the sea in the east." But that was wildness, +and utter folly! Erskine would be ashamed of her and with reason, could +he know--which he never should--that such fancies had been tolerated for +a moment. + +Outwardly Mrs. Burnham was irreproachable. So was her home. In the ten +days following that letter she had given time and thought to its +adorning. She was a model housekeeper, and to have Erskine's rooms +always in spotless order had been one of her pleasures. But they had +been very thoroughly gone over, and whereever it was possible to add a +touch of beauty, it had been done. + +Already she had drawn the shades and lighted up brilliantly, for at this +season the twilights were very brief. She had paused, on her way to the +veranda, to take a final critical survey, and had told herself that she +did not know how to make an added touch. And then she went swiftly to +her own room and brought therefrom a vase of roses and set them on the +dressing-table of the bride. The vase was a costly trifle that Erskine +had brought her just before he went abroad, and the roses were his +special favorites. She had kept that vase filled with them on her table +ever since she reached home. + +For herself, she was dressed in white: Erskine's favorite home dress for +her, summer and winter. Indeed he was almost absurd about it, never +quite liking to see her in any other attire. "I suppose you will want me +to dress in white when I am eighty!" she had said to him once, +laughingly. His reply had been quick. "Of course I shall. What could be +more appropriate for a beautiful old lady? You will be beautiful, +dearest, but I cannot think that you will ever be old." + +So, on this evening, although she had taken down a black silk and looked +at it wistfully, she had resolutely hung it away again, and brought out +a white cashmere richly trimmed with white silk. This was a festive +evening and she must honor it with one of her prettiest dresses. + +All at once as she stood there, waiting, her heart seemed for a moment +to stop its beating. She clutched at the railing to prevent her falling, +and made a stern and effectual protest. "This is ridiculous! I will not +faint, and I shall do nothing to mar his home-coming, or to give him +occasion to be ashamed of me." + +But she stood still, although the carriage that had gone to the station +to meet the bridal party was whirling around the corner, was turning in +at the carriage drive, was stopping before the door. They were getting +out. They were on the porch, they were in the hall; she could hear her +son's voice:-- + +"Where is my mother?" + +And she was not there as she had meant to be to welcome them! she was +still on the upper veranda, steadying herself by the railing and feeling +it impossible to take a single step. + + + + + CHAPTER X + + "SENTIMENTAL" PEOPLE + + +ERSKINE came up the stairs in quick leaps. "Mother!" he was calling. +"Mother! Where are you? Why, mommie!" and he had her in his arms. + +"I thought I should be sure to see you the moment the carriage turned +the corner! Are you ill, mother? What is the matter?" + +Was there reproach in his voice? There was something that gave back his +mother's self-command. + +"It is tardiness," she said lightly. "The carriage came sooner than I +had thought it possible. O Erskine, it is good to hear your voice +again." + +He kept his arms about her and was half smothering her in kisses while +he talked. Yet his tones had that note in them which held her in check. + +"Irene will think this a strange welcome home, I am afraid; I had to +leave her in the hall with the maids while I came in search of you." + +"We will go down at once," said his mother; and she withdrew herself +from his arms and led the way. + +"She is very pretty." This was Mrs. Burnham's mental tribute to her new +daughter, as they stood together on the side porch after breakfast. It +was the morning after the arrival of the bride and groom. They had been +drawn thither by Erskine, who had walked back and forth with an arm +about each, bewailing the fact that he could not spare even one day for +his wife in her new home, but must get at once to business. In the midst +of his regretful sentence his car was heard at the crossing above, and +he had hurried away, calling back to them to take care of themselves, +and get well acquainted while he was gone. + +The two ladies had each returned a gay answer, and then had watched +their opportunity to glance furtively at each other, uncertain how to +begin the formidable task set them. + +Ruth Burnham had it in her heart to be almost sorry for the younger +woman, left thus without Erskine to lean upon, her only companion in +this new, strange home, a woman to whom the place had been home for a +generation. Did this give her a special advantage? Ought she to do +something to make the other woman feel at home? What should it be? What +ideas had they in common? There was Erskine, of course. It was not hard +for the mother to understand why this woman had been attracted to him. +How indeed could she help it? But what was it in her that had won him? + +"She is certainly very pretty," she said again, as she studied the +shapely figure leaning meditatively against one of the porch pillars; +she was looking down into the garden gay with autumn blooms. + +She was rather above medium height, with a fair skin and a wealth of +golden brown hair and eyes that were very blue. Ruth did not like her +eyes. That is, she would not have liked them if they had not belonged to +her daughter-in-law. In the solitude of her strangely solitary room, the +night before, she had fought out again one of her battles, and had +resolved anew that there should be nothing about this new daughter that +she would not like. + +Certainly she was pretty; so was her dress. She was all in white; not a +touch of color anywhere. Was that her taste, or Erskine's fancy? Could +his mother make it a stepping-stone to conversation? + +"You dressed for Erskine, this morning, I fancy," she said with a +winsome smile. "I presume you have already discovered how fond he is of +white?" + +"Oh, yes, he has held forth to me on that subject. Some of his ideas are +absurd, but they serve me very well just now. All white answers as a +substitute for mourning, under the circumstances. I hate black, and I am +glad that Erskine did not want me to wear it." + +This was the first reference that had been made to her bereavement. Mrs. +Burnham had not known how to touch it. Neither had her daughter's words +suggested what should be said. She murmured some commonplace about the +peculiar hardness of the situation. + +"Yes, indeed," said the younger woman. "It was simply dreadful! Aunt +Mary had been an invalid always,--ever since I knew her, at least,--but +nobody supposed that she would ever die. She was one of the nervous +kind, you know, full of aches and pains; a fresh list each morning, and +a detailed description of each. I did get so tired of it! If it hadn't +been for Erskine, I don't know what I should have done. Poor auntie was +very fond of him, and no wonder. He bore with all her stories and her +whims like a hero. I used to tell him that he had not lived with his +mother all his life, for nothing." + +"Her sudden death must have been a great shock to you." + +The new mother made a distinct effort to keep her voice from sounding +cold. Something in the words or the tones of the younger woman had +jarred. + +"Oh yes," she said, and sighed. "You cannot imagine what a perfectly +dreadful time it was! You know when people are always ill and always +fussing, you get used to it, and expect them to go on forever. If I had +had the least idea that she was going to die, I should have planned +differently, of course. What I should have done without Erskine, as +things turned out, it makes me shudder to think. What a queer old place +this is, isn't it? Erskine tells me that he has always lived here and +that the garden looks much as it did when he was a child. Is that so? It +seems so strange to me! I have moved about so much that I cannot imagine +how it would be to live always, anywhere. I don't believe I should like +it. The everlasting sameness, you know, would be such a bore. Don't you +find it so?" + +Ruth tried to smile. "I am very much attached to the place. I came to +it, as you have, a bride; and now I am afraid I should have difficulty +in making any other place seem like home." + +"Yes, that is because you are old. Poor auntie was forever sighing for +home. Nothing in all France or Italy was at all to be compared to the +delights of her room at home with four south windows and long curtains +that she had hemstitched herself." + +She laughed lightly and flitted away from the subject. + +"Is that an oak tree over there by the south gateway? Don't you think +oaks are ugly? They haven't the least bit of grace. I like elm trees +better than any other; every movement of their limbs is graceful. There +isn't one about the place, is there?" + +"Oh, yes, indeed, the other entrance from the east is lined with them +the entire length of the carriage drive. Was your aunt compelled to +remain abroad on account of the climate? It seems sad to think that she +had to be away from her home when she missed it and mourned for it." +Ruth could not keep her thoughts from reverting to the aunt who had been +so large a part of the younger woman's life for many years and had been +so recently removed from it. + +"Oh, I suppose she could have lived at home. In fact she was worse after +leaving it, or thought she was; I didn't see any great difference. It +was a lonesome, poky old house where she lived. Older than this, and +awfully dreary in winter. I couldn't have stayed there a winter, after I +once got away, to have saved her life. It was back in the country, you +know, two miles from town; think of it! I hate the country. Little +cities like this one are bad enough, but the country! Deliver me from +ever having to live in it again. I thought I should die when I was there +as a girl. + +"Is Erskine very much attached to this place, do you suppose, or has he +stayed here just for your sake? I should think it would be much better +for him to live where his business is. Think how much of his time is +consumed in going back and forth! and then, too, it is so disagreeable +for him to never be within call when one wants him." + +"As to the length of time it takes to go back and forth, that is no more +than is taken by those who live in the best residence portions of the +large city; we have rapid transit, and all the business men who can +afford to do so, keep their homes out here. Erskine has never known any +other home than this, and it would be strange indeed if he were not +attached to it. Of course it is associated with his father as no other +place can ever be." + +This time it was not possible for the elder lady to keep her voice from +sounding cold and constrained. The thought of Erskine in any other home +than this one that had been improved from time to time and made +beautiful, always with his interests in view, had not so much as +occurred to her. She recoiled from the mere suggestion, and also from +the easy and careless manner in which it was made. + +The young woman's manner was still careless. + +"Oh, of course; but young people do not feel such attachments much; it +isn't natural. We talk a great deal about sentimental youth, but I think +it is the old who are sentimental, don't you? Auntie was an illustration +of that. She had the greatest quantity of old duds that she carried +about with her wherever she went, just because they were keepsakes, +souvenirs, and all that sort of thing. They were of no real value, you +know, the most of them, and some were mere rubbish. I had the greatest +time when we were packing to go abroad; she wanted to lug ever so much +of that stuff with her! I just had to set my foot down that it couldn't +be done; and it was fortunate that I did, as things turned out. We had a +horrid time getting packed; if Erskine had had all that rubbish to see +to with the rest, I don't know what would have become of him. I don't +believe he has sentimental notions; he is too sensible. He ought to be +in the city; that is the place for a man to rise; and you want him to +rise, don't you? Aren't you ambitious for him? I am. I want him to stand +at the very head of his profession. I tell him that if he doesn't, it +will not be for lack of brains, but on account of a morbid conscience. +Don't you think he is inclined to be over-conscientious, sometimes? What +an odd, old-fashioned plant that is beyond the rose arbor; it looks like +a weed." + +She had a curious fashion of mixing the important and the trivial in a +single sentence. The mother, whose nerves quivered with her desire to +answer that remark about over-conscientiousness, restrained herself and +explained the plant that looked like a weed. + +"It is a very choice variety of begonia and has a lovely blossom in its +season. It is the first thing that Erskine planted quite by himself. He +was a tiny boy then, with yellow curls." + +The mother's voice trembled. A vision of her boy in his childish beauty, +in the long-ago days when he was all her own, came back to her, bringing +with it a strange new pang. + +The wife laughed carelessly. + +"And you have kept it all these years, ugly as it is, on that account? I +told you it was old people who were sentimental." + +Mrs. Burnham turned abruptly away, murmuring something about household +duties. She went to the kitchen and gave the cook some directions that +she did not need; then went swiftly to her room and closed and locked +her door. Then she passed through to her sitting room, the door of which +was opposite her son's, and stood always open, inviting his entrance, +and closed and locked it. She had a feeling that she must be alone. More +alone than closed and locked doors would make her. She must shut out +something that had come in unawares and taken hold of her life. But +could she shut it out, or get away from it? + +"I must pray," she said aloud, clasping both hands over her throbbing +forehead. "I must pray a great deal. I am not alone; God is with me; and +nothing dreadful has happened, or is about to happen. There is nothing +and there must be nothing but peace and joy in our home. I must be quiet +and sensible and not sentimental. Oh, I must not be sentimental at all!" + +She laughed a little over that word--the kind of laugh that does not +help one; but it was followed immediately by tears, and they relieved a +little of the strain. + +Then she went to her knees; and when she arose, was quiet and ready for +life. The thought came to her that it was well that she was acquainted +with God and did not have to seek him at this time as one unknown. He +had kept his everlasting arms underneath her through trying years, +certainly she could trust him now. + +She went out at once in search of her daughter, intending to propose a +drive; but Ellen met her in the hall with a message. + +"I was to tell you, ma'am, that young Mrs. Burnham has gone to lie down +and doesn't want to be disturbed. She doesn't want to be awakened even +for luncheon; she says she has been on a steady strain for weeks, and +has a lot of sleeping to make up; she shouldn't wonder if she slept all +day." + +"Very well, Ellen, we will keep the house quiet and let her rest as long +as she will." + +The mother's voice was quietness itself, yet, despite that phrase "young +Mrs. Burnham," which, some way, jarred, her heart was filled with +compunction. Had the poor young wife, a stranger in a strange home, shut +herself up to sleep, or to cry? She had been through nerve-straining +experiences so recently; death and marriage coming into one short week; +and now, a new home, and Erskine away for the day, and no one within +sight or sound whom she had ever seen before. Would it be any wonder if +the tears wanted to come? Could not her new mother have helped her +through this first strange day? Why had she not put tender arms about +her and kissed her, and called her "daughter," and said how glad she was +to have a daughter? That was what she had meant to do. This morning when +she came from her night vigil, she had almost the words on her lips that +she meant to say as soon as they two were alone. She had meant the words +in their fulness; so at least she believed. They had come to her in +answer to her cry for help. What had kept her from saying them? + +Even while she asked herself the question, a faint weary smile hovered +about her lips. + +Had she done so, would she have been thought "sentimental?" + + + + + CHAPTER XI + + "PLANS FOR A PURPOSE" + + +THE Burnhams were still seated at their dinner table, although Mrs. +Erskine Burnham had just remarked that the evening was too lovely to +spend in eating. + +"Let us take a walk on the porch in the moonlight the minute we are +through dinner," she said to her husband. Apparently she paid no heed to +the slight dry cough which came so frequently from Erskine that his +mother's face took on a shade of anxiety. Erskine's coughs had been his +mother's chief anxiety concerning him through the years; he had never +been able to tamper with them; but his wife laughed at her fears and +frankly told her that Erskine was too old now to be coddled. + +To all outward appearances the Burnham dining room was exhibiting a +perfect home scene. The day had been balmy, with a hint of summer in the +air, and although the evening was cool enough for a bright fire in the +grate, the mantle above it had been banked with violets, whose sweet +spring breath pervaded the air. + +To Erskine Burnham who had been all day in the rush and roar of the +great city, the lovely room with its flower-laden air, and its daintily +appointed dinner table with the two ladies seated thereat in careful +toilets, formed a picture of complete and restful home life. He glanced +from wife to mother with eyes of approval and spoke joyously. + +"I don't suppose you two can fully appreciate what it is to me to get +home to you after a stuffy, snarly day in town. I sit in the car +sometimes with closed eyes after a day of turmoil, to picture how it +will all look. But the reality always exceeds my imagination." + +His wife laughed gayly. + +"That is because you come home hungry," she said. "You want your dinner +and you like the odor of it and make believe that it is sentiment and +violets. In reality it is roast beef and jelly that charm you." + +He echoed her laugh. He thought her gay spirits were charming. "The +roast beef helps, undoubtedly," he said. "Though it was violets I +noticed first, to-night. Aren't they lovely? Did you arrange them, +Irene? Hasn't it been a perfect day? Too pleasant for staying in doors +patiently. I hope you have both been out a great deal? Oh, it is Friday, +isn't it? Then you have, mamma, of course. What have you been about, +Irene?" + +"I went to the lake this morning with the Bensons; and we spent an hour +or more with the Langhams; they are here for a month. It is lovely out +there, Erskine, and there are some charming cottages for rent. Two +simply ideal ones, either of which would suit us. Darling little +bird's-nests of cottages, not a great staring room in one of them. I +wish we could go there for the summer." + +Erskine laughed indulgently, but at the same time shook his head. + +"Too far away, dear. I couldn't get out there at night until seven, or +later. Besides, you wouldn't find it so pleasant as you fancy. Life in +one of those bird's-nest cottages is ideal only on paper. Nothing could +be pleasanter, I am sure, than our own home; and it is a delightful +drive to the lake whenever we want to go there. So the Langhams are +down." + +"Oh, yes, and came to lunch with me. You should see Harry! he has shaved +his mustache, and it changes his face so that I hardly knew him." + +"Oh, Harry is here, is he? His face could bear changing. What did you +think of him, mamma? He is the young man of whom I wrote you, who went +over on the same steamer that I did, last spring." + +Before Mrs. Burnham could reply, his wife's voice chimed in. "She didn't +meet him. I went off with a rush, this morning. I heard through the mail +that the Langhams were down, and I was in such a hurry to see Nettie +that I thought of nothing else. I ran away, don't you think! Never said +where I was going, or anything; and then came back to luncheon so late +that I supposed of course mother had lunched long before, and was lying +down, so I wouldn't have her disturbed. And don't you think she had +waited, and so lost her luncheon altogether." + +Erskine laughed genially and waited to hear his mother say that of +course that was of no consequence; but she did not speak. The cheerful +voice of his wife went on:-- + +"Nettie Langham has the sweetest little home, Erskine. If you could see +it, you would never say again that cottages were only nice on paper. I'm +sure I long to prove to you how perfectly charming one could be. And we +have such a host of pretty things that would fit into it. Will Langham +says he saves ten minutes night and morning by being at that end of the +town instead of this." + +Erskine chose to ignore the cottage. + +"You had an afternoon of calls, had you not? I met the Emersons and the +Stuarts down town and both spoke of having been here." + +"Oh, yes, they were here, with the Needham girls; and Mrs. Easton and +her daughter Faye were here. We met them in New York, you know. And oh, +don't you think, Mrs. Janeway's niece that we used to hear so much about +called this afternoon with a letter of introduction from Mrs. Janeway. +She is lovely, Erskine. I was prepared to dislike her because we heard +such perfection of her; but really she is charming. And she is going to +be at one of the lake cottages for several weeks; that is another reason +for our being out there, you see." + +She seemed bent on holding his attention, but Erskine turned to his +mother with a question. + +"Mamma, don't you think Mrs. Stuart is looking ill? I was shocked at the +change in her. Isn't it marked, or is it because I haven't seen her +lately?" + +"I did not see her to-day, my son. I did not even know she had been +here." + +Mrs. Erskine Burnham pretended to frown at her husband. + +"What a stupid boy you can be when you choose!" she said. "How many +times must I tell you that I thought mother was resting, this afternoon, +and did not disturb her with callers? I'm sure the Stuarts are not such +infrequent guests that one must make a special effort to meet them. I'll +tell you some other people who were here. The Hemingways, don't you +think! The last time we saw them was just as we were leaving Paris. They +came back only last month, and Mrs. Hemingway says she is already +homesick for Paris. That is the worst of living abroad for a time; one +is never afterward quite satisfied with this country." + +"Mamma," said Erskine. "Do I understand that you have not been out, +to-day, Friday, though it is? Aren't you feeling well?" + +There was tender solicitude in his tones, but his mother's voice was +cold. + +"Quite well, Erskine. May I give you some coffee?" This he declined, and +almost immediately his wife made a movement to leave the table. She +linked her arm at once in her husband's and drew him toward the door. + +"Come out on the porch, Erskine, do; this room is stuffy to-night. One +can't breathe in a house with a fire, on such charming days as these. +Why, of course, it's prudent. The air is as mild as it is in midsummer. +Don't go to housing yourself up because you have a tiny little cold; it +is the best way in the world to make it cling. Dear me! don't I know all +about that? Poor auntie was forever hunting about for draughts, and +closing doors and windows and putting shawls on herself and everybody +else. If I had to stay in the house with another invalid of that kind, I +should die." + +They were on the porch by this time; she had overcome Erskine's +half-reluctance and had closed the door behind them. But the window was +open and the mother could distinctly hear the slight dry cough, more +frequent now that they were in the open air. She stood irresolute for a +moment, then turned and went swiftly up to her own rooms and closed and +locked her door. Then she went hurriedly to the front windows and drew +the curtains close; she had a feeling that she must shut out the outside +world very carefully. But she had no tears to shed; on the contrary her +eyes were very dry and bright and seemed almost to burn in their +sockets, and two red spots glowed on her cheeks. + +It was a little more than six months since that October evening when +Erskine Burnham had brought home his bride, and they had been months of +revelation to his mother. + +During that time she had tried--did any woman ever try harder?--to be, +in the true sense of the word, a mother to her daughter-in-law. Her +son's appeal during their first moments of privacy had touched her +deeply. He had ignored any necessity for a further explanation of his +sudden marriage, accepting it as a matter of course that his mother +would fully appreciate the simple statement that, however hard it was +for all three, it seemed to be the only right solution of their +difficulties; and went straight to his point. + +"I want you to be a revelation to Irene, mommie. She knows very little +about mother-love, having had chiefly to imagine it, with, I fancy, +rather poor models on which to build her imaginings. She is singularly +alone in the world, and she doesn't make close friends easily. It is a +joy to me to think how a part of her nature that has heretofore been +starved and dwarfed will blossom out under your love and care." + +Then his mother had kissed him, a long, clinging, self-surrendering +kiss, while she vowed to her secret soul never to disappoint his hopes. +What had she not done and left undone and endured during those six +months in order to try to keep that vow! What an impossible vow it was! +How utterly Erskine had misunderstood his wife in supposing that she +wanted to be loved by his mother! that she wanted anything whatever of +his mother except to efface her. + +By slow degrees Mrs. Burnham was reaching the conclusion that such was +the policy of her daughter-in-law. It had come to her as a surprise. +Whatever else in her checkered life Ruth Erskine Burnham had been called +upon to bear, she had been accustomed to being recognized always as an +important force. Mrs. Erskine Burnham had not planned in that way. She +did not argue, she never openly combated any thing; she simply carried +out her own intentions without the slightest regard to the plans or the +convenience of others; or at least of one other. + +From the first of her coming into this hitherto ideal home she had +assumed that her mother-in-law was a feeble old woman on whom the claims +of society were irksome, and the ordering of her home and servants a +bore. At first, Ruth, with her utterly different experience from which +to judge, did not understand the situation. When her new daughter +assured her that it was too windy or too damp or too chilly or too warm +for her to expose herself, she laughed amusedly and explained that she +was in excellent health and was accustomed to going out in all weather. +When callers came and went without her being notified, she attributed it +at first to forgetfulness, on the part of a bride, or to her ignorance +of the customs of the neighborhood; then to her over-solicitude for an +older woman's comfort, then to carelessness, pure and simple, and +finally, by closely contested steps, to the conviction that it was a +deeply laid, steadily carried-out plan, for a purpose. This day, at the +close of which she had locked herself into her room and vainly tried to +shut out the sounds of laughter on the porch below, had given her +abundant proof of the truth of this conviction. + +It was Friday, the day which, ever since Erskine was graduated and they +were permanently settled in their home, she had devoted to making a +round of calls upon people who had been long ill, or who for any special +reason needed special thought. She took one or another of them for a +drive, she did errands for certain others, she carried flowers and fruit +and reading matter to such as could enjoy them; in short she gave +herself and her carriage and horses in any way that could best meet the +interests of those set apart. So much a feature of their life had this +morning programme become that Erskine was in the habit of referring to +it much as he did to Sunday. + +"We must not plan for guests at luncheon on Fridays, Irene; mamma is +much too tired for social functions after her strenuous mornings." + +"We could not have the carriage for that day, dear; it is Friday, you +remember." + +Numberless times since the advent of the new member of the family, had +such reference to the special custom been made; the mother's eyes being +now opened, she recalled instance after instance in which there had been +in progress some pet scheme for Friday, that would interfere with her +disposal of it. More than once she had tried to enter a protest; had +urged that she could wait until another day, or she could order a +carriage from the livery for that time; but Erskine's negative had been +prompt and emphatic. + +"No, indeed, mamma; we don't want you to do anything of the kind. We are +interested in the Friday programme, too, remember. I consider it almost +in the light of a trust. Why, the very horses would be hurt, Irene, if +they were not allowed to go their Friday rounds, carrying roses, and +jellies, and balm. Nothing not absolutely necessary, mommie, must be +permitted to interfere with that." + +Yet, on that Friday morning when Mrs. Burnham, having studied the +barometer and the sky, had sent word to an especially delicate invalid +that she believed she could safely take a drive, and had come down at +the appointed hour dressed for driving, with a couch pillow in hand and +an extra wrap over her arm, Ellen had met her at the foot of the stairs +with a flushed face and eyes that had dropped their glance to the floor +for very shame, as she said: "The carriage has gone, ma'am; I was coming +to ask you if I should 'phone for another, right away." + +"Gone!" echoed her mistress, standing still on the third step, and +staring at the girl. "What do you mean, Ellen? Gone where?" + +"To the station, ma'am. Jonas said Mrs. Erskine had ordered him to take +her there to meet a friend." + +"Oh," said Mrs. Burnham, reaching for her watch. "Some guest just heard +from who must be met, I presume. Then they will be back very soon, of +course." + +Again the maid's indignant eyes drooped as though unwilling to see her +mistress's discomfiture as she hurried her story. + +"I guess not, ma'am. She ordered luncheon to be late; not earlier than +two or half past, and said there would be company; two anyway, perhaps +more. Will I 'phone for a carriage, ma'am?" + + + + + CHAPTER XII + + ACCIDENT OR DESIGN? + + +MRS. BURNHAM had stood for a full minute irresolute; then she had spoken +in her usual tone, explaining to Ellen that the friend she had intended +to take out would not be able to go in a livery carriage. She would +herself make plain to her why the drive must be deferred until another +time. The mistake had occurred by her neglecting to explain to her +daughter the morning's plans. Then she had turned and slowly retraced +her steps. She had seen and been humiliated by the flush on Ellen's face +and the flash in her eyes. It was humiliating to think that her maid was +indignant over the way she was being treated by her daughter. It is +probably well that she did not hear the maid's exclamation:-- + +"The horrid cat! If I only dared tell Mr. Erskine all about it!" + +Ruth Burnham had gone downstairs again after a time. She had changed her +street dress first, and made a careful at-home toilet. She had given +certain additional directions to the cook, with a view to doing honor to +their unexpected guests. She had made a special effort to have Ellen +understand that all was quite as it should be, and had sternly assured +herself that such was the case. If she could not sympathize with the +sudden movements of young people on hearing of the coming of friends, +she deserved to be set aside as too old to be endurable. It was absurd +in her to be so wedded to an old custom! just as though any other day in +the week would not do as well as Friday. Then she had gone to the living +room which was Erskine's favorite of the entire house. + +"It is such a home-y room, mamma," he used to say, away back in his +early boyhood. When it had been refurnished, or at least renewed, with a +view to Erskine's home-coming, his mother had taken pains to preserve +the sense of homeiness, and had seen to it that his pet luxuries, sofa +pillows, were in lavish evidence. + +It was a charming room. Very long and many windowed, with wide, low +window-seats, and tempting cosy-corners, piled high with cushions so +carefully chosen, as to size and harmony of color, that they were in +themselves studies in art. There was a smaller room opening from this +and nearer the front entrance, which was used as a reception room, and +was furnished more after the fashion of the conventional parlor; but +guests who, as Erskine phrased it, really "belonged," were always +entertained in the living room. + +In the doorway of this room the mistress of the house had stopped short +and looked about her in astonishment. It wore an unfamiliar air. The +easy-chairs, each one of which she had made a study, until it seemed to +have been created for the particular niche in which it was placed, had +every one changed places and to the eyes of the mistress of the house +looked awkward and uncomfortable. But that was foolish, she assured +herself quickly. Chairs, of course, belonged wherever their friends +chose to place them. There were other changes. The window-seats had been +shorn of some of their largest and prettiest cushions, and a little onyx +table that had occupied a quiet corner was gone. It had held a choice +picture of Erskine's father, set in a dainty frame, and near it had +stood a tiny vase which was daily filled with fresh blossoms. Picture +and vase and flowers had disappeared. + +"Ellen," Mrs. Burnham had said, catching sight of the girl in the next +room, "what has happened here? Has there been an accident?" + +"No, m'm," said Ellen, appearing in the opposite doorway, duster in +hand. + +"It wasn't any accident, ma'am, it was orders. She didn't want such a +lot of pillows here, she said. It looked for all the world like a show +room, or as if it had been got ready for a church fair. Those was her +very words." + +"Never mind the pillows, Ellen." Mrs. Burnham had spoken hastily, and +was regretting that she had spoken at all. "It is the table, and +especially the picture about which I am inquiring. I hope the picture is +safe? It is the best one we have." + +"It's all safe, ma'am; I looked out for that; but that was orders, too. +She said the room was too full, and looked cluttery; and she said that +only country folks kept family pictures in their parlors. And she had me +take the table and the picture and the vase up into the back attic. She +said the vase was a nuisance; it was always tipping over and she didn't +want it around in the way. Of course I had to take them; you told me to +obey orders." + +Ellen's indignation was getting the better of her usual discreetness. It +was her tone and manner that recalled the elder woman to her senses. She +spoke with decision and dignity. + +"Certainly, Ellen. Why should there be occasion for mentioning that? Of +course Mrs. Erskine Burnham's orders are to be obeyed equally with my +own; or, if they conflict at any time with my own, give hers the +preference. Especially should the parlors and sitting rooms be arranged +just as she wishes. Young people care more about such little matters +than we older ones do." + +She knew that her voice had been steady, and she took care to make her +movements quiet and her manner natural and at ease. Not for the world +would she have had Ellen know of the turmoil going on inside. It was the +picture that hurt her; or rather that emphasized the hurt. Erskine's +favorite picture of his father; the one that as a child he had daily +kissed good morning; the one that now after all these years he always +stood beside in silence for a moment, after greeting her. And she could +not recall that he had ever forgotten to select from the flowers he +brought home, an offering for the tiny vase. + +How was it possible for his wife to have spent six months in his home +without noting all this? And noting it, how could she possibly have +interfered with that cherished corner? + +The morning had been a distinct advance on former experiences. The new +daughter had evidently misunderstood the spirit in which small +interferences and small slights had heretofore been accepted, and +determined on aggressive effort. Long before this, and as often as she +chose, she had made what changes pleased her in the more pretentious +parlor, and Mrs. Burnham had openly approved some of them and been +pleasantly silent over others. She had also given explicit directions to +the would-be rebel, Ellen, that the "new lady's" slightest hint was to +be obeyed. + +There had been no pettiness in her thoughts about the changes. She was +earnestly anxious to have her son's wife feel so entirely at home that +she would not need to hesitate about carrying out her own tastes. But +was it not to be supposed that a wife would consult her husband's tastes +as well as her own? And his father's picture that he had cherished ever +since he was a child! She had herself told Irene one morning, standing +before that very picture, how Erskine had singled it out from all the +others and said decidedly: "That one is papa." And his wife could banish +it to the attic! + +Ruth Erskine Burnham was used to mental struggles. There had been times +in her life when her strong-willed feelings had got the upper hand and +swayed her for days together; but it is doubtful if a more violent storm +of feeling had ever swept about her than surged that morning. For a +while the pent-up emotions of many weeks were allowed their way. But +only for a little while. The Christian of many years' experience had +herself too well in training for long submission to the enemy's control. +By the time that delayed luncheon hour drew near she believed that she +was her quiet self again; ready to receive and assist in entertaining +her daughter's guests whoever they might be. As was her habit when under +the power of strong feeling that must be held in check she took refuge +with her absent friends, and wrote a long letter to Marian Dennis, +ignoring the immediate present utterly and revelling in certain happy +experiences of their past. When her unusually lengthy epistle was +finished, she was startled at the lateness of the hour, and began to +wonder how certain details of the dinner could be managed if luncheon +were much longer delayed. Just then Ellen knocked at her door. + +"They are 'most through luncheon, ma'am," was her message. "I heard you +moving around and I thought I'd venture to tell you." + +"Why, Ellen, how is this? I did not hear any call to luncheon." + +"You wasn't called, ma'am. She said you was likely asleep, and she +wouldn't let me come up and see. She thinks you don't do anything but +sleep when you are upstairs!" + +This last was muttered, and not supposed to be heard by her mistress. +Ellen had evidently reached the limit of her endurance. Since the +mistress said not a word, she ventured a further statement. "There's +four of them, ma'am, besides Mrs. Burnham; and it's long after three, +and they're on the last course. I thought you would be wanting something +to eat by this time." + +Outwardly, Ruth was herself again. + +"Thank you, Ellen," she said. "Since I am so late, I think I will not go +down until the guests have left the dining room. I am not in the least +hungry; I think on the whole I should prefer to wait until dinner is +served." + +Her tone was gentleness itself; but there was in it that quality which +made Ellen understand that she was dismissed. + +Then Mrs. Burnham went back to her room and sat down near the open +window. The sweet spring air came to her, laden with the breath of the +flowers she loved, but their odor almost sickened her. She had thought +that her battle was fought and victory declared, and behold it was only +a lull! What was she to do? What ought she to do? Should she go down to +the guests, apologize for tardiness, and act as though nothing had +occurred to disturb her? That, of course, would be the sensible way; +but,--could she do it well, with the closely observing and indignant +Ellen to confront? It scarcely seemed possible; and she blushed for +shame over the thought that she was afraid to meet the anxious eyes of +her maid. + +Even while she waited and considered, a carriage swung around the corner +and stopped before her door. Three ladies alighted, evidently with the +intent of paying an afternoon visit. Among them was Mrs. Stuart, her +most intimate acquaintance. Now indeed she would have to go down; but +she would wait for a summons, that would make it appear more natural. So +she waited; but no summons came. The ladies, all of them her friends, +made their call and departed. And others came--a constant succession of +callers; the new spring day had tempted everybody out. Most of the +people Mrs. Burnham knew by sight; some of them were comparative +strangers, paying their first calls. What was being given as the reason +why she was not there to meet them? The words of Ellen recurred to her, +words that she had considered it wisdom not to seem to hear:-- + +"She thinks you don't do anything but sleep when you are upstairs." The +matron's lip curled a little. She was not given to sleeping by daylight; +a fifteen minutes' nap after luncheon was always sufficient, and even +that was frequently omitted. + +It was a strange afternoon, the strangest that she had ever passed. She +kept her seat at the window, almost within view, if the guests had +raised their eyes, and saw friends who rarely got out to make calls, and +whom she had always made special efforts to entertain. What must they +think of her, at home, and well, and not there to meet them? And why was +she not there? What strange freak or whim was this? Could her +daughter-in-law hope to make a prisoner of her in her own house? Why did +she sit there in that inane way as though she were in very deed a +prisoner? Why not go down, as a matter of course, and take her proper +place as usual? But the longer she delayed and watched those groups of +callers come and go, the more impossible it seemed to do this. With each +fresh arrival she felt sure that she would be summoned, and waited +nervously for Ellen's knock. But no Ellen came. + +The day waned and the hour for Erskine and dinner drew near; and still +Mrs. Burnham sat like one dazed at that open window. An entire afternoon +lost. When, before, had she spent a day in such fashion? + +She leaned forward, presently, and watched Erskine's car stop at the +corner, and watched his springing step as he came with glad haste to his +home, and received his bow and smile as he looked up at her window. Now +indeed she must go down; and go before he could come in search of her, +and question her with keen gaze and searching words. Her eyes told no +tales, they were dry, and there were bright spots glowing on her cheeks. +She had not known what she should say, just how she should manage his +solicitous inquiries. She would make no plans, she told herself; things +must just take their course. Matters had so shaped themselves that any +planning of hers was useless. + +Then she had gone down to that cheerful dining room, and listened to the +chatter of her daughter-in-law, and replied to her son as best she +could. Now she was back in her room, and Erskine and his wife were out +on the porch in the moonlight, and that slight, frequent cough was +coming up to her. Presently he would come, and she dreaded it. For +almost the first time in her life she dreaded to meet her son. He would +be insistent, and she was not good at dissembling. And yet, he must not +know, he must never know how she had been treated that day. If only he +would stay away and give her a chance to think, to pray, to grow calm. +Should she lock her door? + +Lock out her son? She could not do that! but she could not talk with him +to-night; she would turn off her light and ask him not to light up again +and not to stay, because she was tired. That at least would be true: she +was tired. For the first time in her life she was tired of life! She +must get into a different spirit from this. After Erskine had kissed her +good-night she would have it out with her heart, or her will. + +Hark! he was coming! they were coming upstairs together, and Irene was +chattering. Out went the lights in the mother's room. She heard the wife +pass on to her own room, she heard her son, stepping lightly, stopping a +moment before her door, then he too passed on, to his own room, and +closed his door. + + + + + CHAPTER XIII + + WAS IRENE RIGHT? + + +IF she could have heard some of the talk that had taken place on the +porch in the moonlight, Mrs. Burnham would have better understood her +son's consideration. They had taken but very few turns on the porch when +Erskine said:-- + +"Mamma has gone upstairs. I think I must run up and see her a few +minutes, Irene. She does not seem to feel quite well to-night; although +in some respects I think I never saw her looking better; her eyes were +very bright, did you notice? Perhaps she is feverish. Did she speak of +having cold?" + +"Not at all; I have no idea that she doesn't feel quite well." + +"There was something peculiar about her. Didn't she really go out at all +to-day? That is certainly unusual; you have seen how particular she is +to keep her Friday programme. Irene, I am really afraid that she is +ill." + +"She isn't ill at all, you fussy boy; I think you are absurd about your +mother. You fuss over her as though she were a spoiled child. That is +just the word for it." + +"Very well," he said good-humouredly. "I must go and 'fuss over' her, +enough to know why she overturned her usual programme," and he moved +toward the door. + +His wife held to his arm and tried to arrest his steps. + +"Don't go in, Erskine; it is stuffy inside, and I haven't seen you since +morning. As for that programme which worries you so much, if you were +not dreadfully stupid to-night you would understand that it is I who +overturned it. I ran away with the carriage, I told you--almost as soon +as you went yourself. I was so charmed with the idea of seeing the +Langhams again that I forgot everything else." + +Her husband turned then to look at her, his face expressing surprise. + +"Did you take our carriage, dear? I supposed you ordered one from the +livery." + +His wife pretended to pout. + +"You are cross to-night, Erskine. I don't see why I should. I thought +'Our' meant mine as much as hers. Why shouldn't she order one if she +wanted it?" + +He laughed, as though he was expected to understand that she was talking +nonsense, but he spoke with an undertone of decision. + +"Oh if it comes to that, the carriage as well as the horses are +undoubtedly my mother's, but she and I have never drawn any hard and +fast lines about 'mine' and 'thine'; I have always found her too willing +to give up her convenience for mine. For that reason, perhaps, I have +been careful to plan systematically for her, and to anticipate and +overrule her personal sacrifices as much as possible, and I know that +you will delight to join me in it. I am afraid that she was much +inconvenienced to-day; still, that cannot be why she did not see any of +her friends. What reason did she give, dear, for not coming down?" + +Irene pouted in earnest this time. + +"Really, Erskine, you are strangely obtuse! I have explained at least +three times that mother spent the afternoon in her room, and that I gave +orders that she should not be disturbed. I thought I should be commended +for it instead of blamed." + +"I haven't had a thought of blaming you, Irene, but I am a trifle +anxious about my mother, and what you say only increases the anxiety. +She has never been given to sleeping much in the daytime." + +"Oh what nonsense! as though you knew what she did all day, while you +are in town! Of course she sleeps; old people always do." + +"My mother isn't old, Irene." + +[Illustration: "MY MOTHER ISN'T OLD, IRENE."--_Page 167._] + +"Why not, I wonder? you ridiculous boy! When should people begin to be +called old, pray, if not at fifty? And she is more than that. She is +within a few years of Auntie's age, and you thought she was an old +woman, and were always preaching to me about how patient I must be with +her on that account." + +Her husband gave her a troubled, half-startled look. His mother nearly +as old as the invalid aunt who had seemed to him old enough to be his +grandmother! + +"Are you sure?" he asked helplessly. + +His wife laughed satirically. + +"Sure of what, my beloved dunce? That your mother is fifty-three? Of +course I am. It was only a few days ago that she showed me her +gold-lined silver cup, that has the imprint of her first teeth and is +dated for her first birthday." + +Then her face sobered. + +"And I'll tell you another way in which I know it, Erskine. She is +growing nervous and over-sensitive, as old people always do. I can see a +great difference in her, even in the short time that I have been here. +It is nothing to worry about, of course; simply something to be expected +as among the infirmities of age. You ought to have married me six or +eight years before you did; it would have been easier for her. She +simply cannot get used to your having a wife. 'My son' has 'lived and +breathed and had his being' so many years for her sake alone, that to +share him with another is a bitter experience. She doesn't love me one +bit, Erskine, and it is not my fault. If I were an angel from heaven, it +wouldn't make any difference, provided I had presumed to marry you. It +makes it hard for both of us; and for that very reason it would be much +better if you and I were in a little house of our own. She would get +used to it much easier if she did not have me continually before her +eyes." + +If she could have seen distinctly the look of pain on her husband's +face, as she got off these sentences with composed voice, it might have +moved her to pity for him. When he spoke, his voice was almost sharp. "I +am sure you are mistaken, Irene; utterly mistaken. My mother wanted me +to marry; she has wanted it for years; at times she was actually +troubled because I did not, and spoke of it very seriously." + +Irene laughed lightly as she gave his arm some half-reproving, +half-caressing pats. + +"Blind as a bat, you are!" she said. "Despite all your supposed wisdom. +On general principles your mother wanted you to marry, of course, +because that is the proper thing for a man to do. But marriage in the +abstract and marriage in the concrete are two very different matters. +There! haven't I put that well? Those are lawyers' terms, aren't they? +They sound learned, anyway." + +He smiled in an absent-minded way at her folly. His thoughts were +elsewhere. Something in the turn of her sentence had carried him +suddenly back to a moon-lighted evening in which he had walked and +talked with Alice Warder, and he could seem to hear her voice again as +she said:-- + +"I know your mother loves me, Erskine, almost as she would a daughter; +and I also know that she loves me a great deal better because her son is +like a brother to me instead of being--something else." He remembered +how he had puzzled over it all, and studied his mother's face, and half +decided that Alice was right. Was Irene right, also? Was his mother +grieved that he had married at all? Was it possible that she could have +stooped to so small a feeling as jealousy! + +His wife laid her head caressingly against his arm and said softly:-- + +"Don't worry about it, Erskine. We can't either of us help it now; and +we must just make the best of it and do as well as we can." + +For the first time in his life, as those low tremulously spoken words +sounded in his ears, a feeling very like resentment toward his mother +swelled in Erskine Burnham's heart, and a torrent of tenderness rushed +over him toward the wife who had no one in all the world but himself. +This was what she had often told him. + +All things considered it is perhaps not strange that he did not visit +his mother's room that evening. + +It is true that when they went upstairs he paused before her door and +listened, and told himself that she was asleep and he would not disturb +her. But there had been nights before, many of them, in which he had +waited at her door and listened, and murmured: "Mommie," and received a +prompt invitation to enter. On this evening, though the hour was not +late, he was not insistent. He made no attempt to knock or to speak. It +was his concession to that new thought about her being an old woman. Or +was it a slight concession, unawares, to that new feeling of resentment? + +His mother, knowing nothing of what had been talked over in the +moonlight, held her breath and waited. Of course Erskine would come to +say good night. She forgot that she had wished he would not come! When +his footsteps moved toward his own room, she waited a minute, then +stepped into the hall. + +"Erskine!" she said; but she said it very softly and he did not hear +her. She could hear his voice. He was talking with his wife. The mother +slipped softly back to her own room and locked her door. It was not +late, and she and her son were only across a hall from each other; yet, +for the first time in her life under like conditions, if she slept at +all it must be without his good-night kiss. There is no true mother but +will appreciate the situation. There are, it is true, mothers who are +not accustomed to good-night kisses from their grown sons, and so would +not miss them, but they are accustomed to a certain atmosphere, and they +can understand what it would be like to be suddenly removed from it. + +Mrs. Burnham went to her bed as usual, after a while, like the sensible +woman that she was. That she did not go to sleep was not her fault, for +she made earnest effort to do so. She told herself repeatedly and with a +calmness which was itself unnatural, that nothing terrible had happened, +and that she was above making herself miserable over trifles. Was her +daughter-in-law's indifference to her only a trifle? She made a distinct +pause over that word "indifference" and selected it with care; of course +it was nothing more; and--yes, it was a trifle. How could one who knew +her so little and had so little in common with her life be expected to +be other than indifferent? Erskine had expected more, very much more, +but Erskine was--was different from other people. + +Then, suddenly, all her heart went out in a great swell of tenderness +for Erskine. She did not stop to reason about it, she did not wait to +ask herself why Erskine, who had everything, should be the subject of +her shielding care; she simply took him metaphorically once more into +her mother-arms and vowed to shield him from even a hint of solicitude +on her account. She would rise above it all; she would treat Irene +exactly as though she were at all times the loving and considerate +daughter that Erskine believed she was; she would let him be blind to +her faults, she would even help him to increased blindness. That was her +work for him now; she would accept it and be diligent in it. The thought +helped to quiet her, but it did not bring her sleep. She was broad +staring awake. She told herself that sleep seemed an impossibility; she +wondered curiously how she had ever slept. + +A low murmur of talk came to her from the room across the hall. They +were not sleeping, either. Could she have heard some of the talk in that +room across the hall it would have made things plainer to her than they +were. + +"There is one thing, dear," Erskine Burnham was saying to his wife, +"which we must look upon as settled. We can have no home apart from my +mother's. You can plan for summer cottages if you will, and where you +will, for a stay of a few weeks, but the real home must always be here. +I have taken care of my mother, practically all my life; and now if she +is, as you say, growing old, it is not the time to make any change." + +"Not even though the change would be a benefit to her?" His wife +intended her words to represent a playful sarcasm, but Erskine's face +had clouded and he had answered quickly: + +"No; not even under such an extraordinary supposition as that. Young as +I was when my father died, he said that to me about my mother which has +always made her seem to me as a trust; and I must be true to my trust in +any case." + +After a moment's constrained silence between them his face had cleared +and he had laughed cheerfully. + +"But we need not be so solemn over it, Irene. I know my mother, and I +have no fears as to her wishes. Nothing that anybody could say would +make me believe that she could be happier away from me than with me. I +would almost not believe it if she said so herself. Quite, indeed. I +should feel that she had over-persuaded herself in some spirit of +sacrifice. There is material in my mother for martyrdom, Irene. It shall +be your and my study to prevent her from indulging in it." + +His wife made no attempt to reply. She was in some respects a wise woman +and she understood that there was a time when silence was golden. When +she spoke again, it was to ask if he did not think curtains lined with +rose color would be an improvement on those now separating their +dressing room from the main apartment. + + + + + CHAPTER XIV + + THE GENERAL MANAGER + + +"MOTHER, don't you think that you are being rather hard on Irene to +undertake to hold her to restrictions to which she has never been +accustomed, and which to her seem narrow and unreasonable?" + +Erskine Burnham had followed his mother to her room evidently with a +view to speaking to her alone, his wife having gone on into her own room +and closed the door. Even though she had not felt it in the tone of his +voice, Mrs. Burnham would have known by her son's opening word that he +was annoyed. + +He rarely used the word "mother" when addressing her directly. As a rule +the habits of his childhood prevailed, and "mamma" was the name in +frequent use; or, oftener still perhaps, when they were quite alone, his +special pet name for her, "mommie," came naturally to his lips. But of +late she had heard, oftener than ever before, what was to him a colder +term "Mother," and had learned to know what it meant. + +She hesitated a moment before replying, and her hesitation seemed to +irritate her son. He spoke quickly, with a note in his voice which she +had never found in it before. + +"I must confess, mother, that I am surprised and not a little +disappointed at the course you are taking. When I brought Irene here, it +was not only in the hope but the assured belief that I was bringing her +to what she had never really had before--a mother,--and that you would +become to her in time, what you have always been to me. I never for a +moment dreamed of your standing coldly at one side, not only indifferent +to her innocent devices for pleasure, but actually blocking her way! If +I could have imagined such a condition of things, I would have better +understood her feeling from the very first that we ought to go into a +house of our own, where she would not feel herself an interloper." + +Mrs. Burnham was ready then with her reply. + +"Erskine, I do not think Irene could have understood me. I made no +attempt to hold her to any restrictions. She asked a direct question +about my own views, which, of course, I answered. But I ought not to +have to explain to my son that I do not try to force my opinions upon +any one." + +He made a movement of impatience. + +"That kind of thing is not necessary, mother, between us; but you know +very well that there are ways of expressing one's opinions that +effectually trammel others of the same household. + +"The simple truth is that Irene has played cards, for amusement, in her +own and her friends' parlors, ever since she was old enough to play +games of any kind; and to her, our ideas concerning cards seem as absurd +as though applied to tennis or golf. Personally, I see no reason why she +should not continue to amuse herself in her own way. It is true I do not +play cards; but she knows, what both you and I understand perfectly, +that this is a concession on my part to the extreme views of my mother, +who could hardly expect my wife to have exactly the same spirit. I have +told Irene that out of deference to your feelings, I do not want her to +entertain her friends with cards, in the parlors, but she certainly +ought to be left free to do in her own rooms what she pleases." + +At almost any other period in Mrs. Burnham's life, a formal and +elaborate expression of her son's views upon any subject, given in a +haughty and almost dictatorial tone, such as he was using, would have +filled his mother with astonishment and pain. She was almost curiously +interested in herself on discovering that she had passed that stage, and +was occupying her mind for the moment with quite a different matter. + +Why had Irene chosen just this line of attack? What did she hope to +accomplish by such a singularly distorted representation of their talk +together? It must have been sadly distorted to have moved Erskine to an +exhibition of annoyance such as he had never before shown to her. Yet +had he been present at the interview, his mother felt confident that it +would not have disturbed him. + +She went swiftly over the talk, in memory, while Erskine waited, and +fingered the books and magazines on her table with the air of a nervous +man who wanted to appear at ease. It had been a brief conversation, not +significant at least to an observer, in any way. Irene had been looking +over the mail, and had exclaimed at an invitation. + +"The Wheelers are giving another card party; what indefatigable +entertainers they are! it isn't a month since their last one. This time +it is a very select few, in Mrs. Harry Wheeler's rooms. That is what +Erskine and I must do, since you won't allow cards in the parlors. Have +you really such queer notions, mother, as Erskine pretends?" + +Mrs. Burnham remembered just how carefully she had watched her words, in +reply. + +"I don't play cards, Irene, if that is what you mean." + +"Oh, I mean a great deal more than that. Erskine says you won't allow +such wicked things in your part of the house. Is that so?" + +"We have never had them in the house since Judge Burnham changed his +views with regard to them." + +"Oh, did he change? how curious, for a lawyer, too! I don't believe +Erskine will get notional as he grows older. He isn't one of that kind." +Whereupon the older woman had turned resolutely away, resolved to speak +no more words on the subject unless they were spoken in Erskine's +presence. It was this conversation, reported, that had brought her son +to her in his new and lofty mood of guardian of his wife's liberties! +Just as he tossed down the magazine with which he had been playing, with +the air of one who meant to wait no longer, his mother spoke with gentle +dignity. + +"Erskine, of course your rooms are your own, to do with as you will. I +made no restrictions and hinted at none. On my desk under the +paper-weight is the quotation you wished looked up, and also the +statistics about which you asked." Then she turned and passed out, to +the hall. + +All this was on a midsummer morning nearly three months removed from +that moonlighted evening on which this mother had renewed her solemn +pledge to be to her son and her son's wife all that they would let her +be. In the face of steady resistance she had been fairly true to the +pledge. It had now become quite plain to her that it was not chance, nor +mere heedlessness, that was working against her, but that Mrs. Erskine +Burnham meant to resist her, meant to look upon her as a force in her +way, to be got rid of if possible; if not by persuading her son to leave +her, then, perhaps by making her so uncomfortable that she would leave +him. The plan was not succeeding. Ruth Erskine Burnham had lived through +too many trying experiences before this time to be easily routed. She +was in the home to which her husband had brought her as a bride, and she +meant that nothing but a stern sense of duty should ever separate her +from it. + +Yet Mrs. Erskine Burnham, if she had but known it, had accomplished +much. The mother no longer turned with a sickening pain from the thought +of Erskine having other home than hers. There were times when she could +almost have joined his wife in pleading for that "cunning little +cottage." There were days wherein she told herself breathlessly and very +secretly, that for Erskine to come home to her for a single half-hour, +_alone_, would compensate for days of absence. + +But if she had changed her point of view, so had Irene. His wife talked +to him no more of a home by themselves. She was growing fond of the +many-roomed, rambling old house whose utter abandonment to luxurious +comfort was the talk and the pride of the neighborhood; and was the +result of years of careful study on the part of a cultured woman +accustomed to luxuries. + +The new Mrs. Burnham developed an interest in the carefully-trained +servants who had been a part of the establishment for so many years that +they said "our" and "ours" in speaking of its belongings. She came to +realize, at least in a measure, that servants like these were hard to +secure, and harder to keep. She began also to like the comfort of +proprietorship, without the accompanying sense of responsibility. The +machinery of this house could move on steadily without break or jar, and +without an hour of care or thought bestowed by her; yet her slightest +order was obeyed promptly and skilfully. + +Her orders were growing more and more frequent, and it was becoming +increasingly apparent to those who had eyes to see that "young Mrs. +Burnham," as some of them called her, was assuming the reins and being +recognized as the head of the house. + +Ellen, the maid who had been with Mrs. Burnham since Erskine's boyhood, +and who was a rebel against other authority than hers, had openly +rebelled, one day, and with blazing eyes that yet softened when the +tears came, assured Ruth that she could not have two mistresses, +especially when the one who wasn't mistress at all took pains to +contradict the orders of the other; and if she had got to be ordered +about all the time by Mrs. Erskine, the sooner she went, the better. + +"Very well, Ellen," Mrs. Burnham had said, holding her tones to cold +dignity. "I shall be sorry to part with you, but it is quite certain +that so long as you remain in the house you must obey Mrs. Erskine +Burnham's slightest wish. If you cannot do this, of course we must +separate." + +So Ellen went. In a perfect storm of tears and sobs and regrets, it is +true; but she went. This arrangement pleased just one person. Erskine +openly complained that her successor was not and never would be a +circumstance to Ellen, and made his mother confess that she missed Ellen +sorely, and asked her why, after being faithfully served for twenty +years, she could not have borne with a few peculiarities. His mother was +thankful that he did not insist upon knowing just what form her +peculiarities took, and his wife's eyes sparkled. She had recognized +Ellen from the first as an enemy, and had meant to be rid of her. + +In short, Mrs. Erskine Burnham had settled down. She told her special +friends with a cheerful sigh that she had sacrificed herself to her +husband's mother, who was growing old and ought not to be burdened with +the care of a house. So, much as they would have enjoyed a home to +themselves, they had determined to stay where they were. + +So steady and skilful were this General's movements toward supremacy +that Ruth herself scarcely realized the fact that when she gave an order +in these days, she did it hesitatingly, often adding as an +afterthought:-- + +"Let that be the arrangement, unless Mrs. Erskine Burnham has other +plans; if she has, remember, I am not at all particular." And she was +never surprised any more by the discovery that there was a totally +different arrangement. It was therefore in exceeding bad taste for +Erskine Burnham to present himself to his mother in lofty mood and +threaten her with a separate home for himself and wife. One of his +mother's chief concerns at this time was to shield him from the +knowledge that she sometimes prayed for solitude as the safest way out +of the thickening clouds. That he did not realize any of this can only +be attributed to the condition of which his wife often accused him; +namely, that he was "as blind as a bat." + +The proposed card-party at the Wheelers' came off in due time, both +Irene and Erskine being among the guests. Within the month, Irene gave +what the next morning's social column called "an exclusive and charming +affair" of the same kind in her own rooms. It is true that she had +schemed for a different result from this. She had meant to give a card +party on a larger scale. Her careful rendering to her husband of the +talk about restrictions had been intended to call from him the +declaration that the parlors were as much theirs as his mother's, and +that if she chose to play cards in them, no one should disturb her. She +miscalculated. Instead of this, his deliverance was more emphatic than +ever before. + +"Remember, Irene, that my mother's sense of the fitness of things must +never be infringed upon in any way that can disturb her. Our rooms are +our castle and we will do with them as we choose; but no cards +downstairs, remember, or anything else that will disturb her--" + +"Prejudices!" his wife had interrupted in a manner that she had intended +should be playful; but he had spoken quickly and with dignity. + +"Very well, prejudices if you will. I was going to say traditions; but +if you prefer the other word, it doesn't matter. Whatever they are, they +are to be respected." + +So Irene, having learned some time before this that such deliverances on +the part of her husband were to be respected, took care to keep within +the limits of their own rooms. But she took a little private revenge +upon her mother-in-law, given in that especially trying would-be playful +tone of hers. + +"I am sorry that your prejudices--oh, no, pardon me, I mean your +traditions--will not allow you to meet our guests this evening; but I +suppose that would be wicked, too? Pray how is your absence to be +accounted for? Must I trump up an attack of mumps, or dumps, or what?" + +As for Erskine, he remained happily unconscious of all these small +stings. He was much engrossed in business cares, and left home early and +returned late, so that in reality he knew little of what took place +during his absence. That all was not quite as he had hoped between his +wife and his mother he could not help seeing, but he told himself that +he must not be unreasonable; that two people as differently reared as +they had been must have time to assimilate; probably they were doing +very well, and it was he who was struggling for the impossible. So he +straightway put aside and forgot the words of dignified reproach that he +had addressed to his mother, and she became "mommie" again, and always +his second kiss of greeting was for her. And the mother during these +days thanked God that she was able to hide her disappointment and her +pain, and meet him always with a smile. + + + + + CHAPTER XV + + LOOKING BACKWARD + + +MRS. BURNHAM came into the room with the air of one in doubt as to whom +she was to meet. Probably it was some one whom she ought to recognize; +and if she did not, it would be embarrassing. + +"She would not give any name, ma'am," the maid had said. "She says she +is an old acquaintance, and she wants to see if you will know her." + +But Ruth did not know her. She had a fairly good memory for faces, yet +as she advanced she told herself that this woman was mistaken in the +person. There must be some other Mrs. Burnham whom she had known. But +the lady who arose to meet her was apparently not disappointed, and was +at her ease and eager. + +"I hope you will forgive this intrusion, dear Mrs. Burnham. I could not +resist the temptation to see if you had a lingering remembrance of the +silly girl to whom you were once very good. It was foolish in me to +fancy such a thing. I was just at the age to change much in a few +years." + +Mrs. Burnham was studying the fair and singularly reposeful face; taking +in unconsciously at the same time the grace of the whole perfect +picture, hair and eyes and dress and form, all in exquisite harmony. + +"A perfect lady!" she told herself. "How rarely the phrase fits, and how +exactly it applies here. Yet where before have I seen that face?" She +was back in the old college town, away back, among the early years. What +had suddenly taken her there? She was--this was not!-- + +"You are surely not," she began, and hesitated. + +The fair face broke into rippling smiles. + +"Yes," she said, "I am. Do you really remember Mamie Parker just a +little bit?" + +"I remember her, perfectly, but--" + +"But I am changed? Yes, fifteen years make changes in young people. I +was not much over eighteen then, and very young for my years. But you +have not changed, Mrs. Burnham; I should have known you anywhere. +Perhaps that is partly because I have carried you around in my heart all +these years. It must be beautiful to be able to do for girls all that +you did for me. If I could do it, if I could be to one young girl what +you became to me, I should know that I had not lived in vain." + +Mrs. Burnham was almost embarrassed. What did the woman mean! + +"My dear friend, I do not understand," she said. "There must be some +strange mistake. Have you not confused me with some other friend? What +could I possibly have done for you in the few, the very few times that +we met?" + +Her caller laughed a low, sweet laugh, and as she spoke made an +inimitable gesture with her hands that emphasized her words. + +"You did everything for me," she said. "Everything! You gave me ideals, +you refashioned my entire view of life; you were the means God used to +breathe into me the spirit of real living. May I claim a little of your +time to-day, and tell you just a little bit of the story, for a purpose? +I had only this one day here, and I felt compelled to intrude without +permission." + +Mrs. Burnham heard her almost as one in a dream. She was struggling with +her memories; trying to find in this fair vision, with her refined voice +and dress, and cultured language and perfect manner, a trace of the +singularly ill-bred, loud-voiced, outspoken Mamie Parker. How had such a +transformation been possible? + +"You have but one day here?" she said, remembering her duties as +hostess. "What does that mean, please? Are you staying in the +neighborhood, and will you not come to us for a visit?" + +"Thank you, I cannot. I am about to leave the country, and am paying a +very brief farewell visit to my friends the Carletons, who are at their +summer home in Carleton Park. I have broken away to-day from the +numerous engagements they have made for me, and run over here alone, in +the hope of securing an interview with you; I have been planning for +this a long time. Dear Mrs. Burnham, may I claim the privilege of an old +acquaintance and ask to see you quite alone where there will be no +danger of interruption? I want to talk fast and put a good deal into a +small space, because my own time is so limited, and I do not want to +take more of yours than is necessary. I have a purpose which I think, +and I hope you will think, justifies my intrusion." + +Still as one under a spell, Mrs. Burnham led the way to her private +sitting room and established her guest in an easy-chair, from which she +looked about her eagerly. + +"This is charming!" she said. "I remember your other room perfectly, +Mrs. Burnham, and I think I should have recognized this as yours without +being told. Rooms have a great deal of individuality, don't you think? +Do you remember that parlor in the house where my dear brother Jim +boarded? No, of course you don't, but I do, and I thought it very +elegant until I was admitted to yours. May I tell you very briefly just +a little of what you have been to me? That winter when I met you and +your son--it was my first flight from home. I was young, you remember, +and unformed in every way; I was, in fact, a young simpleton, with as +little knowledge of the world as a girl reared as I had been would be +likely to have. Up to that time I had cared very little for study of any +kind. My opportunities were limited enough, but I had made very poor use +even of them. My chief idea of a successful life was to marry young, +some one who had plenty of money and who would be good to me and let me +have a good time. I was what is called a popular girl in the little +country village where I lived, and was much sought after because I was +what they called 'lively' and could 'make things go.' When my brother +invited me to visit him, I went in a flutter of anticipation. I had +grown rather tired of the country boys by whom I was surrounded, and I +believed that the fateful hour of my life had at last arrived." + +She stopped to laugh at her folly; then said, apologetically, "I am +giving you the whole crude story, but it is for a purpose. I can laugh +at that silly girl, now, but there have been times in my life when I +cried over her. She knew so little in any direction, and there were such +possibilities of danger, such imminent fear of a wrecked life. She +needed a friend, as every girl does; and I can never cease to be +thankful that she found one. + +"Mrs. Burnham, I presume you have never understood what you did for me +by calling on me and inviting me to your home, and opening to me a new +world. We were very plain people with limited opportunities in every +way, and my father's sudden financial success but a short time before +had almost turned our heads; mine, at least, so that I was ready to be +injured in many ways. Do you remember me sufficiently to realize the +possibilities?" + +"I remember you perfectly, my dear," said her puzzled and charmed +hostess. "But I do not understand in the least why you think, or how you +can think, that I--" + +Miss Parker interrupted her eagerly. + +"Mrs. Burnham, you were a revelation to me. I had never before come into +close contact with a perfect lady. At first, I was afraid of you, which +was a new feeling to me, and in itself good for me; and then, for a +while, I hated you; I thought that you came between me and some of my +ambitions, I called them; now I know that they were utter follies." +There was a heightened color on the fair face, and for a moment her eyes +drooped. Then she laughed softly at her girlish follies. + +"I recovered from them," she said briskly, "and enshrined you in my +heart; made you my idol, and, better than that, my ideal. I had +discovered from you what woman was meant to be. + +"And, dear friend, I learned another lesson also, deeper and more +far-reaching than any other. Up to that time I had always thought of +religion as a very serious but somewhat tiresome experience that came to +the old, or the sick, after they had got all they could out of life. It +was Mr. Erskine Burnham who first showed me my utter misunderstanding of +the whole matter. I do not know that he understood at the time what he +was doing for me, but he gave me a hint of what Jesus Christ was, not +only to you, but to himself, a young man in the first flush of youthful +successes. I could not understand it at first, and it half vexed me by +its strangeness; but there came a time in my life, afterward, when I was +disappointed in all my plans, and unhappy. Then I thought of what had +been said to me about Christ, and, almost as an experiment, I tried it. +Mrs. Burnham, He stooped even to that low plane and revealed Himself to +me, and I have counted it all joy to love and serve Him ever since And +for this, too, I have to thank you and yours." + +"My dear," said Mrs. Burnham, the tears shining in her eyes, "thank you; +thank you very much; it is beautiful, although I do not understand it in +the least--my part of it; I did nothing, _nothing_! I thought of it +afterward with deep regret; what I might have said, and did not." + +"You did better than that," said Miss Parker, gently. "You _lived_. But +now, believe me, I did not intrude upon your leisure merely to talk +about myself. I wanted you to understand the possibility of saving a +girl's life to her, because--" + +She broke off suddenly to introduce what seemed an entirely irrelevant +topic. + +"Mrs. Burnham, I saw your daughter down town to-day, for a moment. I did +not know her, and should not have imagined it was she, if I had not been +told. She has changed very much since I saw her last." + +"Were you acquainted with my daughter, Miss Parker? Is it Miss Parker, +now? I am taking a great deal for granted." + +"Oh, yes; I am still 'Miss Parker'; and expect so to remain. No, I +cannot be said to have been acquainted with your daughter, though I knew +of her; knew a great deal about her, in fact, when she was a young girl. +They were the one great family in our little town, Mrs. Burnham--her +uncle's family, with whom she lived; they had a fine old place, three +miles from the station, and your daughter used to drive to and from the +train in what seemed to me then like royal state. I watched her on all +possible occasions and admired and envied her always, though I do not +suppose she ever heard of me in her life. She was not so very much older +than I, only three years, but I remember I was still counted as a little +girl when her sudden marriage took us all by surprise and overwhelmed me +with jealous envy." + +"Pardon me," said Mrs. Burnham, sitting erect and looking not only +perplexed but troubled. "I am somewhat dazed by this sudden return to +the long ago, and I must be getting things mixed. I thought until a +moment ago that you were speaking of my son's wife." + +"So I am, Mrs. Burnham. She was Irene Carpenter when I was at the +envious stage; and she became Irene Somerville in the autumn that I was +fourteen. I shall never forget the vision I had of her on her wedding +day. It was at the station and the train was late, so I had ample +opportunity to admire and make note of and sigh over the glories of her +bridal travelling outfit. Although I was only fourteen and accounted a +little girl by others, I by no means considered myself such; and the +wild and foolish visions I had already indulged with regard to my own +splendid future, make me blush even now to recall. Girls are so foolish, +Mrs. Burnham, and so easily led! If there were only always some wise, +sweet one at hand to lead them safely!" + +Mrs. Burnham arose suddenly and closed both of the doors opening into +the hall. She knew that her son was in town, and that his wife had gone +by appointment to meet him there; but it seemed to her that such +extraordinary talk as this must be closed away from the hall through +which they must presently pass. What could this woman mean? She but +fourteen when Irene was married? Yet she was at least eighteen when she +visited her brother in the college town, and that was nearly fifteen +years ago! Irene a married woman seventeen or eighteen years ago! She +could see a line in that fateful foreign letter from her son as +distinctly as though she were reading it from the page, 'although she is +so young, barely twenty-six, she has,' etc. Of course there was some +absurd mistake. Irene could not have been more than eight or nine years +old at that time when some one whom Mamie Parker fancied was the same +person, was married. + +"How old do you think my son's wife is?" she asked suddenly. A few +statistics, such as she could furnish, would help to clear up this +absurd blunder. + +"Oh, I know exactly. I have a vivid recollection of the wonderful doings +there were in honor of her sixteenth birthday. It happens that our +birthdays fall on the very same month and day, the eleventh of November; +so that on the day she was sixteen, I was thirteen. I remember how +sorely I took to heart the contrast between the two celebrations. It was +before my father had made his successes, and we were much straitened at +the time." + +Mrs. Burnham's pulses were athrob with her effort at self-control. It +was true that Irene's birthday fell on the eleventh of November. It had +been celebrated with much circumstance that very season; but instead of +its being her twenty-seventh, Miss Parker's story would make it her +thirty-seventh! That was absurd! And yet--how often had the thought +occurred to her that Irene looked much older than her years! Her maiden +name, too, was Carpenter, and her married name had been Somerville. +Still, there must have been a cousin, or some near relative of the same +name. It was an insult to the family to suppose for a moment that Irene +could deceive her husband as to her exact age! + +And then, Miss Parker made a remark before which all else that she had +said sank into insignificance. + +"Mrs. Erskine Burnham as I saw her to-day, seemed to me a very beautiful +woman, though she does not look in the least as she did when a girl. But +her daughter does. At seventeen, Maybelle is really the image of what +her mother was at that age. I wish so much that you could see her just +now, in all her girlish beauty." + + + + + CHAPTER XVI + + FOR MAYBELLE'S SAKE + + +MRS. BURNHAM stared at her guest with a look that was not simply +bewildered, it was frightened. What _could_ the woman mean! + +"Who is Maybelle?" she spoke the words almost fiercely; but her +bewildered guest kept her voice low and gentle. + +"I must ask you to forgive me, dear Mrs. Burnham. I know that my words +must seem very intrusive, perhaps unpardonable; but indeed I thought I +was doing right, and it is for Maybelle's sake alone that I have +ventured." + +The repetition of that name seemed to irritate Mrs. Burnham. "Will you +tell me who she is?" she asked imperiously. + +"My friend, is it possible that you do not understand? or do you mean +that it is your pleasure to ignore her? Of course you know that there +was a child, a little daughter?" + +"Whose daughter?" + +"The daughter of the lady who afterward became your son's wife." Mamie +Parker was growing indignant. However painful the subject might be to +Erskine Burnham's mother, certainly the child was not to blame; nor +could she, who was apparently the child's only friend, be quite beyond +the line of toleration because she had ventured to try to awaken +sympathy for her in the heart of a woman who certainly had reason to be +interested in her story. Whatever had taken place to hurt them, surely +the child ought not to suffer for it. + +Mrs. Burnham struggled for composure. Even at that moment the thought +uppermost in her mind was that she must shield her son; yes, and her +son's wife, if possible. Something terrible had happened somewhere. A +confusion of persons, probably, or--she could not think clearly, but +there was something, some story, which she must ferret out to its +foundation, and must at the same time hide from her son, unless--she +would not complete that thought. + +"You will forgive me I am sure for not being able to quite follow you." +Her voice though cold and constrained was again self-controlled, and she +even forced a smile. + +"I think I must be unusually stupid this afternoon. There is some +misunderstanding that I do not yet quite grasp. This--child? is she?--of +whom you are speaking, she is not,--not alone in the world? Why does she +especially need a friend?" + +Miss Parker's bewildered look returned; they were not getting on. She +hesitated a moment, then said firmly:-- + +"Her father is still living, Mrs. Burnham, but he is seriously ill, and +she will soon be quite alone. At the best, the father, as you probably +know, is not the kind of friend that one would choose for a young girl, +though he has tried to be good to her, in his way." + +Mrs. Burnham suddenly leaned forward and grasped the arm of her caller, +and spoke with more vehemence than before, though this time her voice +was low. + +"What do you mean?" she said. "Isn't it possible for you to speak +plainly? How should I know what you are talking about? Her '_father_'! +Whose father? Who is she? What is she? And what are either of them to +me? I do not understand in the least." + +"Mrs. Burnham," said Mamie Parker, sitting erect, with a bright spot of +color burning on either cheek, "do you mean me to understand that you +are ignorant of the fact that your son married a woman who was divorced +from her first husband in less than three years after her marriage, and +left with him a little child not six months old, who is now a young +woman?" + +It was well for Ruth Burnham that she could do just what she did at that +moment, although it was for her an unprecedented thing. Every vestige of +self-control gave way; she covered her face with her hands and broke +into a perfect passion of weeping. Not the slow quiet weeping natural to +a woman of her years, but a tempestuous outburst that shook her whole +frame with its force. + +The distressed witness of this misery sat for a moment irresolute, then +she came softly to Mrs. Burnham's side and touched the bowed head with a +gentle, caressing movement such as one might give to a little child, and +spoke low and tenderly. + +"Dear friend, forgive me; I am so sorry! I did not for a moment imagine +that I was telling you anything that you did not already know. I felt my +rudeness in coming to you with matters about which I was supposed to +know nothing, but I thought you had, perhaps, been misinformed, and that +if you could once understand, poor Maybelle would--" + +Then she stopped. There seemed nothing that she could say, while that +bowed form was shaken with emotion. + +It passed in a few minutes. The woman who was accustomed to exercising +self-control could not long be under the dominion of her emotions. She +raised her head and spoke quietly. + +"I hope you can forgive me for making your errand so hard. My nerves do +not often play me false in this way. You did right to come to me. Now, +may I ask you to begin at the beginning and tell me all that you know +about this matter? You are correct in your inference; there are some +things that I have not understood." + +It was rather a long story. Miss Parker, feeling herself dismissed from +the place of comforter, went back to her chair and tried to obey +directions and begin at the beginning; held closely to her work by keen +incisive questions. + +Yes, she had known Mr. Somerville before he married Irene Carpenter; or +rather, she had known of him, as girls in country villages always knew +about any people who came their way. He was an Englishman of good +family, a younger son she had heard, though just what significance +attached to that, she had not understood at the time. He had the name +among the young people of being wild. They had heard that Irene's uncle +disapproved of the match, and threatened to lock her up if she tried to +have anything more to do with him. She, Mamie, knowing something of +Irene's temperament, had always thought that this was what precipitated +matters. She knew that Irene was married during her uncle's absence from +home, and that there were some exciting scenes after his return. + +The newly married couple went abroad very soon, but they stayed only a +short time, and rumor had it that they quarrelled with Mr. Somerville's +family and were not invited to stay longer. After that, they lived in +New York in good style for a few months, and Mrs. Somerville went into +society and was said to be very gay. Yes, she had heard a number of +things about that winter, but the stories were contradictory and not +reliable. Oh, yes, some of the stories were ugly, but gossip was always +that; she could not go into details about that period; there was nothing +reliable, and nothing that she cared to talk of. It was when the child +was about six months old that her father and mother quarrelled and +separated. Oh, yes, there was a divorce; she had made an effort to +discover the truth about that, for the little girl's sake, and was sure +of it. The mother went abroad with some friends and remained there for +several years. + +She had heard that she served as nursery governess in an American family +who were living in Berlin, for the purpose of educating their sons. She +knew that this was so, because she had met one of the sons, later, and +he had told her about her; she went by the name of Carpenter--Miss +Carpenter. After leaving that family, Miss Parker did not know what she +had done; knew nothing of her for several years. Then she came back to +the old homestead and lived there for some time with a maiden aunt who +was all that was left of the family, and was an invalid. She had heard +that Irene was not contented there, and knew that after a time she and +the invalid aunt went abroad. It was while they were living in Paris +that Mr. Erskine Burnham met them. Miss Parker had heard of his marriage +almost immediately, because she had friends in Paris at the time who had +met both Miss Carpenter and Mr. Burnham. Indeed all these items had come +to her from time to time by a series of accidents or happenings. She had +admired Irene Carpenter at a distance as a girl, and that had made it +seem natural to inquire after her, as opportunity offered. + +Oh, yes, she had known more or less of Mr. Somerville during all these +years. He had remained in New York much of the time; though he had twice +crossed the ocean, and once had gone to the Pacific coast, always taking +Maybelle with him. + +Her first meeting with him in New York had been at the studio of an +artist friend for whom he was doing some work. She had seen the child +first, a beautiful little girl who had charmed her; then he had come in +and she had been shocked on recognizing him, to think that she must have +been playing with Irene's little girl. He was an amateur artist, never +working steadily enough to make a success for himself, but doing very +good work, and earning his living in that way. Oh, yes, and in music +also, it was much the same story. He was in frail health, was unsteady, +and could not be depended upon; but could play divinely when he chose, +and on occasion earned money in that way, playing the violin, or piano, +or organ. He always took the child with him and seemed devoted to her, +never speaking other than gently to her; and he seemed to try to train +her wisely. It was pathetic to see him making an effort to fill the +place of both father and mother. Oh, yes, she saw a great deal of him, +or rather, of the child, in whom she had been singularly interested from +the first, of course. + +Her father had moved his family to New York about that time, and she was +in school as a real student for the first time in her life. But she gave +most of her leisure to the little Maybelle. Her mother became very fond +of the child, and after a while they kept her with them much of the +time, to the great comfort of the father, who owned that he often had to +go to places where he did not like to take the baby. + +Yes, she came to know the father quite well. Maybelle had been allowed +always to suppose that her mother was dead. She never questioned, having +taken that for granted. Her father, however, during one of his ill turns +when he thought he was going to die, had revealed to her mother and +herself the sorrowful story of his life, and had shown them Irene's +picture. Miss Parker believed that he had a faint hope that when he was +gone, the mother would see that their child was cared for. + +Yes, he had told her only the truth. She had taken pains to corroborate +that part of the story which she had not known before; had gone herself +to see the woman with whom they had been boarding when his wife left +him. The woman said that Mr. Somerville had come home intoxicated the +night before; "not bad," the poor creature said, "only silly," but the +next morning he and his wife had quarrelled, and she went away and never +came back. + +Being closely cross-questioned Miss Parker added, that the woman had +further given it as her opinion that Mrs. Somerville meant all along to +be "that shabby," and was only waiting for a good excuse; that she +didn't care a "toss up" for her husband, nor the baby neither, though he +"just doted" on both of them. + +Yes, Miss Parker had talked with him more than once about his sad, +wrecked life. She considered him a weak man rather than an intentionally +wicked one. He had never spoken ill of his wife. He said frankly that +their marriage was a mistake, and that it was his fault. Irene was too +young to be married to any one, but he was fascinated with her, and +determined to win her at any cost. The truth was, he said, he cheated +her. She was tired of her humdrum life in that dull village where her +people spent much of their time; she longed to get away, to travel; +above all she wanted to go abroad. She had inferred that, because he was +from across the water, and belonged to an old family and could show her +pictures of a fine old estate that had been in the family for +generations, he was therefore wealthy; and he had let her think so. It +was the discovery that she had been deceived in this respect, he said, +that made her begin to really dislike him, he thought, instead of being +simply indifferent to him, as she had been at first. He made no pretence +of believing that she had ever loved him. + +No, he could not say that she had ever seemed to love the child. At +first she had been angry about it, looking at it merely in the light of +a hindrance to the few pleasures she could have, cooped up in a +boarding-house; and the strongest feeling she had ever shown for the +helpless little creature was toleration. + +When they quarrelled, and she threatened to leave him, he had told her +that she could not take the baby, and she had replied that it was the +last thing she wanted to do. But he had not believed her; he had not +thought such a state of mind possible. The little thing, he said, had so +wound itself about his heart that the thought of living without her was +torture; and he had believed that the mother felt the same, but did not +choose to own it. He had taken the baby to a friend of his for the day, +and felt secure all day in the thought that Irene would be drawn +homeward from wherever she went that morning, by the memory of the +clinging arms and smiling baby face. But she had never come back. + +At this point Ruth Erskine Burnham lost her studied self-control and +said the only unguarded word that she had spoken since the interview +began. + +"That is monstrous! I cannot credit it. The woman who would do such a +thing as that would be a fiend!" + +"Oh, no!" said Miss Parker, startled at the feeling she had roused, and +remembering that they were speaking of this woman's son's wife. "He did +not feel it so, the father. He made excuses for her. Even while he was +telling me the story, he stopped to say simply:-- + +"'You see I didn't stop to consider that she disliked and despised me, +by this time, and that the baby was my child; that made all the +difference in the world;' and of course it would, Mrs. Burnham." + + + + + CHAPTER XVII + + BUILT ON THE SAND + + +"YOUR mother has had a very special guest of some sort and was closeted +with her all the afternoon; I suppose she is tired out; she looked so +when I met her in the hall." + +This was Mrs. Erskine Burnham's explanation to her husband of his +mother's absence from the dinner table. They had waited for her a few +minutes, then sent a maid to her room, who had reported that Mrs. +Burnham was tired and did not care for dinner. + +Erskine, on hearing it, had made a movement to rise, a troubled look on +his face, and then had waited for his wife's word. + +"A guest in her own room? That is unusual for mother, isn't it? Who was +it?" + +"How should I know? I wasn't enlightened. When I reached home soon after +luncheon, I asked Nannie who had been here, and among others she +mentioned a young lady who had asked very particularly to see 'Madame +Burnham,' and said that after a while she took the lady to her own +sitting room, and she was there yet. She left but a few minutes before +you came, a very stylish-looking person, indeed, and quite young. It is +fortunate that she did not stay for dinner, as I supposed she would, +having spent the day, or I might have been seized with a fit of +jealousy." + +"Did you say my mother looked worn? Were you in her room?" + +"No, indeed! I did not presume; I all but ran against her in the hall, +and thought she looked older than usual." + +"She may have had some unpleasant news; I think I will run up and see +her." + +"Don't, Erskine! I am sure you annoy your mother by such watchfulness. +Old people don't like that sort of care, it seems to them like spying +upon their movements; they want a chance to do as they please. I found +that out from auntie; she seemed really annoyed when I questioned her +about her movements. She wanted to be left to come to her dinner, or +stay away, as she pleased; and your mother is just like her." + +Erskine opened his lips to speak, then closed them again. He was on the +verge of saying that he could not think of two people more unlike than +his mother and her aunt; then it occurred to him that to make a remark +so manifestly in favor of his own relative would hardly be courteous. Of +course Irene thought of her aunt much as he did of his mother, and +besides, the aunt was gone. + +But he did not go up to his mother. It is true that he told his wife, +presently, that he could not think for a moment that his care of and +solicitude for his mother would ever look to her like espionage; they +understood each other too well for that; but he spoke in a troubled +tone. Despite this perfect understanding, his wife's constancy to the +belief that his mother was growing old, and more or less feeble, and +whimsical, as she believed old people always did, was having its effect +upon him; he was beginning to feel at times that perhaps he did not +understand his mother, after all. + +It was well for his peace of mind that he did not go to her just then; +for the first time in his life he would have been refused admittance to +his mother's room. Ruth Erskine Burnham had shut herself away as much as +she could from her outside world, and was fighting the battle of her +life. A wild temptation was upon her, so strong that in its first +strength she could not have resisted it, had she tried, and she did not +try. It was so transformed that it did not appear to her as a +temptation, but as a duty. Erskine's wife had deceived him; not once, in +a crucial moment, but steadily, deliberately, continuously. Not only had +she posed for him as a widow, but she had given him vivid pictures of +her girlish desolation in her widowhood. His mother knew this, for +Erskine had reproduced some of them in a few delicate touches, with the +evident object of awakening in her a tender sympathy for one who, though +so young, had suffered much. + +"Young!" indeed! she had even stooped to the low and petty deception of +making herself out to be much younger than she was! could an honorable +man condone such small and unnecessary meannesses as that? Especially in +his wife! And Erskine was married to her. Erskine of all men in the +world the husband of a divorced woman! And he was on record in the +public journals as one who had denounced with no gentle tongue the whole +system of legal divorce as permitted in this country; he had +characterized it as unrighteous and infamous. Young as he was, he had +made himself felt in legal circles along this very line, and was +recognized as a strong advocate for better laws and purer living. + +So pronounced had he been on this whole subject that certain of his +brother lawyers who, in the main, agreed with his views, did not +hesitate to tell him that he was too severe, and was trying to +accomplish the impossible. His mother, in the light of her recently +acquired knowledge, laughed, a cruel laugh, then shivered and turned +pale over the memory of a recent conversation which had now grown +significant. + +The pastor of their church, Mr. Conway's successor, was dining with +them, and the talk had turned for a moment on the recent marriage of one +of the parties in a famous divorce suit. Erskine had declared that if he +were a clergyman, he should consider it his privilege as well as duty to +anticipate the law that was surely coming and refuse to perform the +marriage ceremony for a divorced person. + +"Oh, now, brother Burnham," the clergyman had said, good naturedly, +after a brief, keen argument on both sides: "Don't you really draw the +lines too closely? You are not reasonable. Do you think he is, Mrs. +Burnham?"--the appeal was to Erskine's wife--"You see you have made no +allowance for accidents, or misunderstandings of any sort. What would +you have a poor woman do who was caught as an acquaintance of mine was, +a year or so ago? She married a divorced man without having the remotest +idea that he had ever been married before, and did not discover it until +six months afterward. Where would those sweeping assertions you have +been making place her?" + +Erskine had not smiled as he replied:-- + +"I was not speaking, of course, of people who had been the victims of +cruel deception; certainly if I believed in divorce, I should consider +that the woman you mention had sufficient cause." + +"Because she had been deceived!" + +"For just that reason. At least it must be terrible for a woman to spend +her life with a man whose word she cannot trust. I should think it would +be just ground for separation if anything is." + +His mother recalled not only the energy of his tones, but the suddenness +with which his wife introduced another topic. + +Then there flashed upon her the memory of the clergyman's next remark, +addressed to her:-- + +"Mrs. Burnham, is your daughter always as pale as she is to-day, or has +our near approach to a quarrel, just now, frightened her?" Whereupon the +color had flamed into Irene's face until her very forehead was flushed; +and Erskine, looking at her, had said gayly:-- + +"My wife always blushes when she is the subject of conversation." What +terrible significance attached to all these trifles now! + +But, worse than all else, the woman had deserted and disowned her own +child! So impossibly preposterous did this seem to Erskine Burnham's +mother, that although she had detained her guest until a late hour, and +questioned and cross-questioned, and insisted upon yet more proof, and +been shown that there was not a possibility of error, she still shrank +from it as something that could not be. + +"Can a mother forget her child?" It was the question of inspiration, +designed to show the almost impossibility of such a thing; yet +inspiration had answered, "Yes, she may!" and here, under their own +roof, was a living proof of its truth. + +"_How_ could she! How _could_ she!" The mother-nature continually went +back to that awful question. Suppose she had not? Suppose she had taken +the child away with her, and mothered it all these years, and, at last, +Erskine had married her? Then he would have stood in the place of father +to that girl, and she would have been taught to call him so! His poor +mother shivered as though in an ague chill as the strange, and to her +appalling, details of this life-tragedy pressed upon her. A tragedy all +the more terrible and bewildering because they had been--some of +them--living it unawares. + +The possibility that Erskine might have knowledge of this appalling +story did not, even for a moment, occur to his mother. She knew him too +well for that. Erskine had been deceived, fearfully deceived! not only +in great and terrible ways, as one under awful provocation, but in petty +details,--as to her age, for instance; and that this was merely an +instance, Ruth knew only too well. + +By slow degrees the conviction had been forced upon this truth-loving +woman that she had for a daughter one to whom the truth was as a trifle +to be trampled upon a dozen times a day if the fancy seized her. + +Numberless instances of this had been thrust upon a close observer. +"Yes," she would say unhesitatingly and unblushingly to Erskine, when +his mother knew that "No" would have been the truth. Even the servants +had learned to smile over this peculiarity in their young mistress, and +to make efforts to have witnesses for any of her orders that were +important. With the outside world she was so unpardonably careless of +her word that Mrs. Burnham was almost growing used to apologizing for +and blushing over her daughter's society inaccuracies. + +Given a woman like Ruth Erskine Burnham, belonging to a family in whom, +generations back, there had been martyrs for the truth's sake, trained +from her very babyhood to despise every false way, self-trained, through +the years, to hold with almost painful insistence to whatever she had +seemed to promise, perhaps no other fault would have been harder to +condone in others. She was still struggling to try to love her +daughter-in-law, but she knew that she had ceased to respect her. + +It was this condition of things which had made it possible for her to +credit Miss Parker's story. Since Irene's moral twist with regard to +truth was most apparent, why should she be expected to spurn the thought +of other immoralities? + +It was while Ruth Burnham was at this stage of her mental confusion that +the temptation of her life came to her, clad in the white robes of truth +and honor. It came, of course, by way of Erskine. He must know the whole +blighting story and must know it at once. He must be told that the woman +whom he had blessed with his love and whom he was tenderly sheltering +from a rude world was a woman who could trample upon marriage vows, +desert her first-born child, and lie about it all in a colossal manner; +not only once, at first, but through the years! The whole fearful +structure of Erskine's later life, built as it was upon falsehood, must +be made to tumble about him in ruins. What a cruel thing! Erskine, the +soul of honor, with as keen a love for truth as it was possible for +human being to have, must, in spite of himself, be involved in the +meshes of this false and cruel life! And yet, underneath the groan which +she had for his ruined home and his ruined hopes, was a faint little +thrill of exultation. + +When Erskine must cease to respect his wife, he could not continue to +love her with the kind of love that he was giving to her now. At the +best it could be only a pitying, protecting love, and there was a sense +in which she, his mother, would have him back again, at least to a +degree. No one knew better than herself that there was a sense in which +she had lost him. + +What would he be likely to do? Irene was his wife, and he would do his +duty at whatever cost, but just what was his duty? She tried to settle +it for him. There was the child, the young woman rather, Irene's +daughter. Would he not insist that the mother should do her tardy duty +toward the child? But what was the duty of such a mother toward such a +child? And how could anything be arranged for now, under such strange, +such startling circumstances? She did not know. She could not plan, +could not think; Erskine would have to do the thinking; but in the +meantime, where would a boy, trained as he had been, turn naturally for +sympathy but to his mother? She would have him again! She exulted in the +thought; even then, in her first recoil from sin and its consequences, +she exulted. + +And then--just in that moment of exultation--she began to realize what +she was doing, and a kind of terror of herself came upon her. Was it +possible that she was really that despicable thing, a creature so full +of self, and selfish loves, as to be able to thrill with joy, in the +very midst of a ruin that involved her best and dearest, merely because +out of it she was to gain something? + +It was a terrible night. Mrs. Burnham kept her door close locked, though +Erskine came once, and again, to seek admittance and went away puzzled +and pained: locked out from his mother's room for the first time. She +called out to him, trying to speak reassuringly, that she was not ill, +only unusually tired; she was in bed, and did not feel equal to getting +up to let him in. + +"But, mommie," he said, "I did not know that you ever locked your door +at night--not when we are together. What if you should be ill in the +night?" + +She would not be ill, she told him, and she really could not get up now +and unlock the door. + +She knew that he went away with an anxious heart, and that he came on +tiptoe several times during the night and listened; and she hated +herself for her apparent selfishness. But she could not let him in, she +was not ready yet for the questions he would be sure to ask. She had not +been able to plan how to make known to him her terrible secret. + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII + + JUSTICE OR MERCY? + + +IT was just as the silver-tongued clock on her mantel was tolling one, +that the suggestion was suddenly made to Ruth Erskine Burnham that she +was planning wickedness. Instead of trying to arrange how to break the +dreadful news to Erskine, ought she not to be planning how to avoid +having him know anything about it? Two very unreconcilable statements +were in her mind clamoring to be heard. + +"Of course she must tell him!" "No, she must _not_ tell him!" "He ought +to be told!" "He ought _not_ to be told!" These in varying forms +repeated themselves in her brain until she was bewildered. And the +contradictory argument continued:-- + +"That girl, that forsaken, disowned girl--justice to her demanded the +telling." "Justice did no such thing!" "But Irene was her mother, and +had duties toward her that could not be ignored." "Irene was her mother +only in name; there was no sense in which she could, even though she +wished to do so, take the place of mother to her now." "Do not you +know," continued that other voice speaking to the stricken woman, "do +not you feel sure that for a young girl to be brought under the +direction and daily influence of such a woman as Irene, would be almost +the worst fate that could befall her?" "But Erskine has a duty toward +her; he ought--" "Erskine _cannot_! you know he cannot. Have you not +daily proof of the limit of his influence over Irene? Do you not know to +your grief that in some matters she dominates him?" + +"But Erskine ought to know the kind of woman that he is harboring. It is +horrible to have him go on loving and trusting her!" + +"Such knowledge coming to Erskine now, could work only harm. He has done +no wrong; his conscience is clear, his hands are clean. Simply to reveal +to him the former sins of the woman he has promised to love and cherish, +would be to plunge him into depths of misery, without accomplishing +anything for either the girl or his wife." + +"But Irene ought to be exposed; she ought to repent, and confess her +sin; it is monstrous to go on helping her to cover it!" + +"You have nothing to do with Irene's 'oughts.' You cannot make her +either confess or repent. To 'cover' her sin, as you call it, will not +change the moral conditions for her in any way, it will simply bring +unutterable pain and shame upon your son." + +"But ought not sin to be exposed?" + +"Not always. Sometimes to cover sin is God-like. Think, if you can, of +one helpful, hopeful result which might reasonably be expected to follow +such an exposure as you contemplate." + +It was a long-drawn-out controversy; as real to Ruth as though her soul +had separated itself from that other mysterious part of her which was +yet not her body, and stood confronting her, calm, strong, unyielding. +She tossed on her bed from side to side, and turned and re-turned her +pillows, and straightened the disordered bedclothing, and sought in vain +for an hour of rest. At times she resolutely told herself that she would +put it all aside until morning, and wait, like a reasonable being, until +her brain was clear and she was capable of reaching conclusions; then +she would compose herself for sleep, only to find that she was taking up +each minute detail of the story that had been told her and living it +over again. She could not even interest herself in any of the side +issues save for a few minutes at a time. She tried hard to centre her +thoughts about the woman, Miss Parker, and contrast her with that crude +disappointing girl by the same name that she had met years before; it +did not seem to her that they could be one and the same! What a +beautiful woman in every sense of the word this Miss Parker was! What if +she, Erskine's mother, had been gifted with foresight, in those early +years, had been able to conceive of the possibilities hidden in that +uncouth, silly country girl, and had encouraged in Erskine the interest +which she then awakened? Or, failing in that, what if she had simply +kept her hand off and let things take their course? Would this woman +with her beautiful face and gracious ways and cultivated mind and heart +have become Erskine's wife, and her daughter? How extraordinary that it +should have been Mamie Parker who had touched her life again, when she +had labored so hard to be free from her, and had succeeded! And it was +Mamie Parker who had come to the rescue of a desperately friendless girl +who ought at this moment to be sheltered in their own home! And then she +was back in the meshes of it all again! + +She arose at length and began to move softly about her room through the +darkness. She must stay in the darkness, otherwise Erskine might +discover a light and insist upon being admitted. Very softly she drew +back her curtains and looked out upon the moonless night. There were +countless stars, but they gleamed from far away and looked even more +indifferent than usual to what was going on below them. Softly she drew +a chair beside the open casement and sat down to try the effect of the +cool night air upon her throbbing head. If she could only get quiet +enough to think! But those two conflicting thoughts were still pounding +away in her brain: "Erskine must be told." "Erskine must _not_ be told!" + +Yet she made progress, and a discovery. It was beginning to humiliate +her to the very dust to discover that there was a sense in which she +wanted to tell him! No, not that, either; but she wanted him to know; +and she wanted this because she desired to have Irene dethroned! + +There were no tears shed during those hours. The victim had gone beyond +tears. Her throat felt dry and parched and her eyes burned, as one in a +fever. She was beginning to realize that this might be a conflict +between right and wrong, and that her own personality was engaged in it. +The clock struck two, struck three, and still that mother sat gazing out +on the singularly quiet night. Twice during that time she heard Erskine +come with soft footsteps, evidently to listen at her door. + +"Mamma," he said, speaking low, but so distinctly that she knew he +reasoned that if she were awake she would certainly hear him. It seemed +to her that he must hear the throbbing of her heart as she waited. A +wild desire possessed her to fling wide the door and bid him come in and +listen while she said to him: "The woman you have taken to your heart, +to love and cherish forever, is false to the truth, false to every sense +of honor, false even to her own child!" + +She clutched at the arms of her chair, to keep her, and held her breath +that it make no sound. + +Erskine went on tiptoe back to his room, and his mother, who had almost +spent her physical strength, sank limply back into her chair. But before +the clock struck again she had got to her knees. All the while she had +been conscious of a strange reluctance about going to God with this +trouble. Accustomed as she was, and had been ever since she became a +praying woman, to taking all things, small as well as great, to Him, it +had seemed strange even to herself that she held back. + +Not that she had said that she would not pray, she had simply shrunken +back with a half-frightened "Not yet, I am not ready yet; let me think." +But she reached the moment when she understood that she must have help +and must have it at once, and that only God could give it. + +She knelt long; at first speaking no words, not thinking words. Then she +broke into short, half-sobbing ejaculations: "Lord, show me the way. +Christ, son of Mary, son of God, help me!" And then the habit of years +asserted itself and the sorely shaken woman entered wholly within the +refuge and poured out her soul in prayer. + +When she arose from her knees, the rosy tints of a new day were +beginning to flush the east. She drew her shades and went back to her +bed and slept. Some things had been settled for her; she need not think +about them any more. + +The woman who a few hours later appeared at the breakfast table in a +white morning dress and with her hair carefully arranged, showed little +trace of her night's vigil, though her son regarded her searchingly. + +"I am thankful to see you here," he said. "I was quite worried about you +last night. It is so unusual not to meet you at dinner and have a little +chat with you. You did not even give a fellow a chance to say +good-night! I was sure that something was wrong." His wife laughed. + +"Erskine cannot get away from the idea that he is his mother's +nursemaid," she said lightly. "And he is a real 'Miss Nancy' for +worrying. Such a night as he gave me, merely because you did not choose +to come down to dinner! He must have trotted out to your door to listen +twenty times, at least." + +"Twice, anyway," said Erskine, gayly. "Never mind, though; she is all +right this morning, and that is more than I dared to hope." But he +watched her closely. + +"What tired you so, mamma? Or rather, who did? Irene said you had +company all the afternoon." + +"Yes, an old acquaintance. I don't think you could guess who it was." + +"Not at least without seeing her. Was she also an old acquaintance of +mine?" + +"I think you will remember her; at least you will, her brother. It was +Miss Parker." + +"'Miss Parker?' Not Mamie? How interesting! Why didn't you keep her to +dinner? I should like to have met her. Is she 'Miss Parker' still, after +all these years? That is rather surprising, isn't it? She must be thirty +or more. And what about her brother? I haven't heard anything of him to +speak of, since I left college." + +"Who are these interesting people who seem to have just sprung into +existence again?" Irene asked. "I have never heard of Mamie Parker, have +I? Is she an old sweetheart of yours?" + +"Hardly!" Erskine laughed carelessly. "There was a time during my +college life that her brother and I were rather intimate; then we +drifted apart; he was a good fellow, though. What about him, mamma?" + +"Something that greatly surprised me. Had you supposed him to be of the +material that makes missionaries? That is what he has become: a foreign +missionary. He went out to China about seven years ago, purely in a +commercial way. He represented a New York business house, but he carried +letters of introduction to our missionaries located there, and became +intimate with them and so interested in their work that, after a time, +he gave up his business entirely and became a missionary teacher." + +"Is it possible!" said Erskine. "I think he is the last one I should +have chosen for such a future; from our class, I mean. Though he was a +fine fellow with a big unselfish heart. Didn't I always insist upon +that, mamma, in the days when you did not like him very well? Weren't +there such days? I have almost forgotten." + +"I don't think I considered him remarkable," Mrs. Burnham said. "Though +I remember that Alice saw possibilities in him. She liked him for being +so good to his sister." + +"And he is really in China! How does his sister like that?" + +"So well that she is going out to be with him for a year, and perhaps +longer. She is in daily expectation of receiving a summons from a party +of missionaries with whom she is to travel. She is very enthusiastic +about it; sees ways in which she can further the work. I should not be +at all surprised if she remained there and made it her life work." + +Erskine Burnham looked curiously at his mother, as if to determine +whether she was really in earnest, then threw back his head and laughed. + +"Mamie Parker a missionary in China!" he exploded, "or anywhere else! my +imagination isn't equal to such a flight as that." + +"She has changed wonderfully, Erskine. At first I could not make myself +believe that she was really the Mamie Parker we used to know. Yet as I +studied her closely I could see a suggestion of the girlish face. She +was pretty, you remember, but I did not think her face gave promise of +the beauty it has now. However, she is more than beautiful. She is an +educated cultivated woman." + +"Educated?" Erskine repeated the word incredulously. + +"She went back to school, Erskine, the winter after she visited her +brother, and prepared for college. She is a Smith graduate, think of it! +As for culture, I don't think I ever met a more perfect-appearing lady +than she has become." + +"Dear me!" said Irene with a but slightly suppressed yawn, "what a +paragon she must be; I'm glad I didn't meet her. I detest paragons. Now, +if you, sir, can stop talking about her long enough to consider it, have +the goodness to tell me at what time I may expect you in town this +afternoon? We are to be at the Durands' at five, remember. Don't you +dare to tell me you must be excused, for I have simply set my heart on +having you with me." + +But Erskine could not so readily be made to forget his anxieties. He put +off a direct answer to his wife, and followed his mother to her room to +press his inquiries tenderly. + +"Are you sure that you are all right this morning, and that it was only +weariness which kept you so close a prisoner last night? There is +something about you that I don't quite like; there are heavy rings under +your eyes, and you are paler than usual. Did you sleep well?" + +"Not very," she said after a moment's hesitation. "I was--restless." + +He studied her face and spoke with tender reproach. + +"Mommie, something troubles you. Am I not to know it?" + +She had no recourse but to speak truth. + + + + + CHAPTER XIX + + ALONE + + +SHE laid a tender motherly hand on his arm as she said:-- + +"Something has been troubling me, Erskine, something that I cannot +explain, because there is a sense in which it is not my trouble at all, +but has to do with others. For a time I was very much perplexed, but I +have settled it now, what my share in it should be, so that it need not +perplex me any more." + +She knew that the truth was deceiving him, but it satisfied him. He +believed that Mamie Parker's troubles, whatever they were, had been +brought for his mother to share. His face cleared a little, but he felt +it his duty to administer a loving admonition. + +"Remember your one weakness, mamma; there was always in your nature a +temptation to 'bear one another's burdens' too literally. If there is +any way in which I can help without infringing on confidences, you will +let me, of course?" + +She was able to smile as she assured him that she would. Despite her +night of vigil she felt strong. Her part had been revealed to her. She +was to keep Irene's secret, to suffer and to act in her stead; and to +shield her son's name and home as much as lay in her power. A miserable +travesty of a home it looked to her; still, it was all he had, and for a +time at least it could be kept sacred in Erskine's eyes. She had no +faith in a perpetual concealment; such skeletons, she believed, were +always unearthed sooner or later--often in unexpected and mysterious +ways. How remarkable, for instance, it was that, of all the young women +in the world who might have discovered and befriended the deserted child +it should have been their old acquaintance Mamie Parker! Still, this +morning, she could thank God that she need not be the one to unearth +this secret. + +Of course the child must be planned for--there was no danger that Ruth +would forget her--but it had become very clear to her that nothing but +disaster could result from an enforced acknowledgement of her by the +mother at this late day. If Irene wanted her--if her heart had turned +toward her child in the slightest, or, failing in heart, if her +conscience had impelled her to make the least small effort to repair +some of the mischief, then, indeed, Ruth would have braved public +opinion, gossip, Erskine's pain and shame, everything to help her. And +she could do it understandingly. Had not Ruth Erskine, away back in her +girlhood, helped her father in his tardy right-doing? + +It is true that, even at this late day, her face flushed with pain and +shame over the thought of the manner in which she had done this, at +first; still, she had done it. And later, had she not herself taken the +initiative and opened the way for her husband to do his belated duty? +Who could know better than she the cost of such effort? But there was +one infinite difference between past experiences and present problems. +Both her father and her husband, when the crucial test came, had a +foundation of moral strength to build upon; while Irene-- + +Ruth Burnham knew that she had tried very hard to find some lighting up +of the story. She had thoroughly probed Mamie Parker to discover whether +or not through the years the mother had made some sign which proved that +she at least knew of the continued existence of her daughter; but there +had been absolutely no proof that she had ever thought of her six +months' old baby again! Ruth had to turn quickly away from that subject +as one that would not bear dwelling on. The idea that a mother had +actually and deliberately abandoned her baby, roused such a sense of +revolt in this woman's heart that there were times when she told herself +that she could not breathe in the same house with such a creature. + +Miss Parker herself had seemed able to appreciate this feeling. At least +she had given no hint that she expected or hoped anything whatever from +the mother, and frankly owned that she had avoided meeting her on +occasions when there would have been opportunity. She had not felt, she +said simply, that anything could be gained by coming in contact with +her. And all her plea had been that Erskine's mother should in some way +interest herself in the welfare of the lonely girl. + +She was very lonely, now, more so by far than she used to be, Miss +Parker had said in a voice that trembled. Then she had waited a few +minutes to regain self-control before she explained that her mother had +to a very great extent taken the place of mother to the little one. + +"She used to spend her vacations with us," she said, "and mother fell +into the habit of looking after her clothes and her comfort in every +way, just as though she were a daughter; and the child loved mother with +a devotion that is uncommon in one so young. Of course she cannot but +miss her sadly." + +"Have you lately lost your mother?" Ruth had inquired, and her tone had +been so full of tender sympathy that Miss Parker had explained in detail +how it was that she had only her brother left. That was why she was +going out to him, so that they might be together, at least for a time, +since they were all that was left of home. + +Jim had not married; his sister sometimes feared that he never would. +Didn't Mrs. Burnham think that was a calamity for a man? + +"I used to think so," Ruth had replied, as one who did not realize that +she was speaking aloud, and then she had started and flushed over the +thought of what she might thus be revealing; and the flush had deepened +as she remembered what this woman already knew of her son's wife. But +Miss Parker had not once glanced in her direction, and made no sign that +she had heard. She went on, quietly, talking about her brother. Men, she +thought, were different in that respect from women. A woman need never +marry in order to be comfortable, or to be cared for; but there were +ways in which the average man was helpless and almost homeless without +the one woman to care for him, selected from all the world. This was so +different from the usual putting of the subject that Mrs. Burnham had +felt impelled to smile. Yet as she looked at the beautiful woman +opposite her she admitted that her brother's home would certainly be +brightened by her presence. Still, it was a long way to go to make a +home for a brother. + +"Do you have any thought of remaining there," she had asked. "I mean, of +making it a permanent home?" + +Miss Parker did not know. She had not allowed herself to look ahead very +far. There were so many changes in life that it did not seem wise to try +to plan. She should like to remain there, like it very much, she +believed; that is, if she could help in the work. She was sure that she +could help Jim; at least, she could take care of him, and give him more +time to do his work; and Jim was a success. Still, there were times when +she was sorry that she had planned in this way, on Maybelle's account. +Even now, if she could make a change, could delay a little, without +incommoding her brother, she would do so; but Jim had made plans in view +of her coming that would seriously inconvenience him if she did not go. + +Yes, there had been changes, sad changes since her plans were made. Mr. +Somerville, who was a frail man and hopelessly careless of himself, had +contracted a cold, a few months ago, that had settled on his lungs; and +it was now evident to all but that poor little girl that she would, +before long, be fatherless. + +Oh, she would be cared for, no doubt, so far as her body was concerned. +She was at school, and it was a good school, as good, perhaps, as any of +them. At least she, and her mother, had been at infinite pains to +discover it; still, it was school, and not home, and poor Maybelle had +never been quite happy there. The teachers were kind, but cold and +unsympathetic. They did not understand the child, and they almost openly +disapproved of her father. He went every day to see her, but the time +was coming when he would no longer be able to do so, and she dreaded to +think what Maybelle would do when this truth dawned upon her. + +In these and many other ways had Miss Parker made it apparent to Mrs. +Burnham that her hope lay in winning the woman who had been so much to +her, to become this deserted and lonely child's friend and guardian. + +This was the problem therefore which occupied Ruth Burnham's chief +thought for a number of days following Miss Parker's visit. Only one +decision with regard to it had been reached: that she would do what she +could; but what that would be, she was unable to determine. Her way +seemed hedged in with difficulties which had not occurred to her during +those first awful hours. How, for instance, was she, a stranger, with no +claim to other than a stranger's interest that she could press, to +present herself before a young woman who was under the care of her own +father, and beg to be taken as a friend and adviser? + +Then, too, she shrank exceedingly from meeting the father; meeting and +talking with a man who had been Irene's husband! his very presence on +the earth seemed an insult to her son! What explanation could she +possibly make to him as to her interest in his daughter? Would her name +tell him anything? What did he know of the after history of the mother +of his child? If he was acquainted with her present name, might he not +look upon the coming of her husband's mother as an added insult? For, +after all, he was a decent man, decent enough for a woman like Mamie +Parker to acknowledge his acquaintance; and he had done what he could +for his deserted child. She could not even find that he had been +seriously to blame for the child's desertion; therefore he might well +resent this tardy coming to his aid. + +Going back step by step over her interview with Miss Parker, Ruth found +that there were many questions which she had failed to ask; and among +them was this important one as to the father's knowledge of Irene's +present name and home. It seemed almost necessary to wait and write to +Miss Parker before attempting anything. Yet she shrank morbidly from +this; it seemed like opening the whole horror afresh. + +If there were actual need on the part of the girl, such as could be met +by money, her way would have been clearer. But of this she had thought +at once, and Miss Parker had almost dignifiedly declined her help. + +"Dear Mrs. Burnham, I consider it my privilege to look after Maybelle in +all such ways; we have done it for years, mother and I together, and now +it seems almost like her trust to me. It has been a real comfort to see +that the child was provided with such little luxuries of the toilet, for +instance, as I longed for and could not have. We were much straitened in +my girlhood, and I have been living my life over again in this young +girl; though she is much less silly than I was. I must not be deprived +of this privilege, Mrs. Burnham; indeed I have her father's permission +to do for her whatever I think wise; he trusts me fully; and I have no +one else, now, to think about." + +So that avenue seemed closed. Ruth, thinking about it almost irritably +as the complications grew upon her, told herself that it would have been +wiser for Mamie Parker to plan to stay away from China and attend to all +the rest of it; she could do it better than any one else. + +She wrote to Miss Parker at last, a careful letter, re-written several +times lest it tell too much between lines. + +That young woman had evidently taken it for granted that the Burnham +family were supplied with the main facts in this tragedy, and had found +it hard to rally from her astonishment at finding the mother in +ignorance. Ruth knew that she believed that Erskine was not. She longed +to tell her that this was false, yet held her pen. Did not this infringe +upon her solemn covenant with God to shield her daughter-in-law as much +as right would permit? Yet, was it right to let her son's good name be +smirched unnecessarily in the eyes of this woman who had known him in +his spotless youth? + +At last she wrote this:-- + + "Since our interview I have been through a bitter experience + trying to decide as to my duty in certain directions. I believe + now that I have reached a decision, and feel that I am not + called upon to tear down with my own hands the fair home which + my son believes he has begun to build. He is God's own servant, + and God will see to it that he understands all that he must + understand. I believe that I may leave it with Him." + +She waited eagerly for a reply to this letter; it came in the form of a +telegram. + + "I am to sail on Saturday. My poor little girl is alone. Father + buried yesterday. Have written. + "M. M. Parker." + + + + + CHAPTER XX + + THEY HATED MYSTERY + + +MRS. RUTH BURNHAM was settled in a drawing-room car, surrounded by every +comfort and luxury that money and modern ideas can furnish for a long +journey; and her son Erskine stood looking down on her with a face only +half satisfied. + +It occurred to him as a matter of astonishment that, with the single +exception of her one trip homeward, after her ministrations to Alice, +and while he was abroad, his mother had not, since he could remember, +taken a journey without him. And here she was, starting for New York, +and planning for a stay of indefinite length, while he was remaining at +home. He did not wholly like it. + +"It does not seem quite right, mamma," he said, with a smile that had +almost wistfulness in it. "I am not used to seeing you off, you know. It +seems as though I should be going along to look after your comfort." + +"You have already done that, Erskine; I am sure a queen could not be +more carefully provided for." + +"And you have really no idea when you are coming home?" + +"I could not plan for it, dear. Your Aunt Flossy is a woman of many +schemes, you know, and it is long since I visited her; not since you and +I were there together, years ago." + +"It was always 'you and I together,'" he said, discontentedly, as though +he almost resented this sudden independence of him. + +"And this other--person--whoever she is, you will not let her absorb +you? I can see how she will wear you out, without me to manage for you. +She is imperious and selfish, of course." + +His mother smiled on him tenderly, and a little sadly. "How did you +learn that, Erskine?" + +"Oh, by intuition; or common sense. She would not expect an entire +stranger to take a long and tiresome journey in her behalf if she were +not." + +"I don't think she knows anything about the journey, or the stranger, my +son." + +"Then it is all Miss Parker's fault?" and he frowned. "She has not grown +like her brother; not as he used to be, at least. Why doesn't she stay +at home and attend to her own affairs, since they are of so much +importance? That sounds ugly, I know, but I don't like to lend you, +mommie, indeed I don't. You belong to me; and besides, there seems to be +an air of mystery about the whole matter, and I hate mystery; at least +between us." + +It was at that moment that the call of "all aboard" sounded, and Erskine +gave his mother a hasty last kiss and made flying leaps toward the +platform. + +It was a relief to have him go. His mother also hated mystery; and +despite her attempts at frankness, no one was more conscious than she of +the part that she had not told. + +She had shown Erskine the telegram and made at the time the very brief +explanation which it had taken her hours to arrange. + +"It is a protégé of Miss Parker's, Erskine, for whom she has bespoken my +sympathy and help. The girl is quite alone, her father has just died; +and since I have been long promising your Aunt Flossy, and they are in +the same city, I think I ought to take this time for my visit." + +"A protégé," Erskine had repeated with lifted eyebrows. "A relative? Is +she responsible for her? How can one shift such responsibilities as +that, especially upon a stranger?" + +"She is not related to Miss Parker," his mother had replied, and was +glad that at the moment she had been bending over a drawer, so that her +burning face was partially hidden. If Erskine only knew whose +responsibilities had been shifted! It was that thought which burned her +face. + +"She is not!" he had replied in an exclamatory tone. "Then why in the +name of common sense should she,"--and then, his mother had determined +what she would say further. + +"Erskine,"--her face was still bent over that bureau drawer--"the +peculiar circumstances connected with this child were explained to me by +Miss Parker in confidence, and of course I cannot speak of them; further +than to tell you that she considers the girl as a trust." + +"Well," Erskine had said, after waiting a moment for more words that had +not come, "I don't half like it, mamma. I am sure of that; and if it +were not for your making this long-promised visit to Aunt Flossy, I +should not consent to your going. As it is, rushing off at an hour's +notice, in response to an ordinary telegram, as though somebody had a +right to order you around, seems absurd. I shall write to Aunt Flossy +not to let your heart run away with your judgment. I am really afraid +you are being imposed upon, mamma. Remember, we know nothing about these +Parkers." + +After his mother had watched, with the nervous tremors with which one +watches when all that one has is jumping from a moving train--until +Erskine was lifting his hat to her from safe ground, and her train was +gliding away from him, she drew a deep breath of relief; not only from +that immediate tension, but all the hours which had preceded it. Every +moment since the arrival of that telegram had been a nervous strain to +her, because of the things that she must say, and the things that she +must not say. + +Irene, especially, had taxed her honesty and ingenuity to the utmost. +From the first moment, the young woman had been curious and painstaking +in trying to satisfy herself. + +"The idea!" she would exclaim. "It seems to me that is asking a great +deal of an old woman; and Erskine says this Miss Parker is only a +passing acquaintance. What possible claim can she have on you? Why is +she so interested in this girl? Do you understand it? It looks as though +there was a love affair, somewhere, doesn't it? She is an old maid, of +course. You can depend upon it that she was in love with that girl's +father!" + +There was a side to this woman which Ruth in her secret soul called +coarse. So far as she knew, it was a phase of her character that was +never exhibited to Erskine. + +With her fine regard for truth, and her contempt of anything like +subterfuge, Mrs. Burnham found it hard to satisfy the curious +questioner, and yet keep back that part of the truth which she must not +tell. She could not but be glad when the strain was over. + +Not once had she mentioned the name of the girl. It had been a continual +terror to her lest she should be asked it; but though Irene asked every +possible question that might throw light on the mystery, she had been +mercifully preserved from thinking of names. Mrs. Burnham had learned +from Miss Parker that the first name, Maybelle, would reveal nothing; it +had been chosen by the father for his still nameless child, months after +the mother's desertion; and chosen for no better reason than that Baby +had come in the month of May, and was a "little beauty." But the name of +Somerville might at least have startled Irene, had she heard it; and her +mother-in-law determined that she should not. Having resolved upon +silence as the right course, the more absolute it could be, the better +for all concerned. + +So it was not until the train was fairly under way, speeding eastward at +thirty miles an hour, that Ruth felt free to draw a long breath and rest +her overstrained nerves. Her mind wandered back through the years, lured +there by the thought of Flossy. It was years since they two had been +alone together, but just at this time Flossy's husband had taken a +hurried business trip abroad. + +"It is really providential that I am at home," Flossy had written, in +response to her old friend's letter, telling that she might soon visit +her. "Evan wanted me to go with him, brief as his stay is to be; and I +should have done so, but for the illness of a very dear friend who +seemed to need me; to think that if I had gone, I might have missed +you!" + +Dear Flossy! what a rarely wise little woman she had become! astonishing +them all, not by her sweetness,--they had always been sure of that,--but +by her strength and skill as a Christian worker. No young woman left to +herself in a dangerous world could have a safer, more helpful friend +than Flossy Shipley Roberts. Yet Ruth, even as she thought this +comforting thought, remembered that the duty thrust upon her of guarding +the hateful secrets of others must prevent her from speaking plainly +even to Flossy. + +However, she found reticence with Flossy easier than it had been with +Irene. Joyfully glad to get possession of her old friend was Mrs. +Roberts, and athrob with eagerness to hear all that she had to tell her, +and sympathetic about the minutest details; yet in nothing did she show +her perfect breeding and rare tact more distinctly than in the questions +that she did not ask, concerning things that Ruth did not choose to +tell. + +She told very little. + +"You know, Flossy, I have been planning to come to you for a long, long +time." + +"I certainly do!" interrupted Flossy, with an air that obliged Ruth to +stop and laugh. + +"But the reason I am here just at this time is because a protégé of my +friend--the young woman who sailed last week for China--has just lost +her father and is alone in this great city, so far as relatives or very +close friends are concerned, and I am commissioned to try to comfort +her." + +"And I know, dear Ruth, how certainly you will succeed," was Mrs. +Roberts's comment and her only one. + +A little later she asked: "Where do you find your charge, Ruth? Is she a +young girl, did you say? Delightful! I hope you will let me help? Oh, +no, I must not go with you on your first visit, of course. One new face +at a time is enough for the poor child to meet." + +Ruth blessed her in her heart for the delicate reserve which would not +let her question even about the woman who had gone to China. After +Irene's baldly put inference she shrank from trying to explain Miss +Parker's interest in the girl. + +It was on the morning after her arrival in town that Mrs. Burnham sat +waiting in the reception room of a dignified, many-storied house, which, +she told herself, had everywhere about it the unmistakable +boarding-school air. + +She had sent up her card, but was uncertain how much it would tell, or +whether she should be allowed to see the person on whom she had called. +As matters had turned out it seemed unfortunate that she had so long +delayed her visit to Mrs. Roberts. If she could have been introduced +here by Miss Parker in person, it might have been better for all +concerned. As it was, she felt strangely out of place and embarrassed. +She had not been able to decide just how she would account for her +extreme interest in this stranger. It was especially embarrassing to +remember that she must account for it even to the girl herself. While +she waited, she went back in memory to that other waiting, in a +boarding-house parlor, when she had called to see Mamie Parker. What +eventful years had intervened, and what changes they had wrought! How +mistaken she, Ruth Burnham, had been about many things, notably her +estimate of Mamie Parker. Had she been able with prophetic insight to +get a vision of the woman Mamie was to be, would it have made a +difference, a radical difference with all their lives? Then she flushed +to her temples as she remembered that such thoughts were almost an +insult to her son. + +Just then the door opened and there entered Madame Sternheim, the head +of the "Young Ladies' Fashionable School." + +Madame Sternheim was dignified and correct in every movement and word, +and was as cold as ice. + +Yes, Miss Somerville was with them, of course. Her poor father had left +her in their charge, and a serious responsibility she found it. Oh, yes, +Miss Parker, before she left, had spoken of some one by the name of--of +Burnham--she referred to the card which she held in her hand--who might +write, or be heard from in some way. She seemed not to be at all sure +that any one would call. + +Yes, certainly, the circumstances were peculiar and had been all the +time. The poor father--it was by no means a pleasant thing to have to +speak plainly of the dead, but it was sometimes necessary, and perhaps +Mrs.--yes, thank you, Mrs. Burnham, knew that he was not in every +respect the fit guardian for a young woman? + +Oh, yes, Miss Parker had been most kind, most attentive; Miss Somerville +owed her a deep debt of gratitude, certainly. + +It seemed a strange--"Providence--shall we call it?" that took Miss +Parker away to China at just the time when it would appear that her +self-assumed charge needed her the most. She, Madame Sternheim, had +never professed to understand the situation. Miss Parker, she believed, +was not even remotely related to the girl, not even a relative of the +relatives--was she? Yet her interest in the child and her father had +been unaccountably deep. There had always seemed to her to be an air of +mystery about the whole matter. Madame Sternheim did not like mystery; +in fact she might say that she shrank from it. Did Mrs. Burnham +understand that Miss Parker knew personally any of the family +connection? + +Ruth was angry with herself that she must blush and almost stammer over +so simple a question. + +No, that was what Madame Sternheim had been led to infer. The relatives +were all in England, were they not? It seemed strange that the girl was +not to go out to them; but then, her poor father--Had Mrs. Burnham been +personally acquainted with the father? Well, she knew of him probably? +which was perhaps quite enough. Miss Parker's unaccountable interest in +him was beyond understanding, until one remembered that no one could +tell on what the human heart would anchor, especially a woman's heart. +She had never thought that Mr. Somerville was especially--but then he, +poor man, was gone; they need not speak of such things now. And Miss +Parker, too, was gone--to China! That was unaccountable. If love for the +girl had been what had prompted her attentions all these years, why, the +poor child was doubly in need of it now. She had been deeply attached to +her father despite the fact that-- + +"Ah," Madame Sternheim broke off quickly, as the door slowly opened, to +say:-- + +"Here she is, Mrs. Burnham, to speak for herself." + + + + + CHAPTER XXI + + "A STUDY" + + +A TALL, pale girl with delicate features and great brown eyes and a +wealth of gold-brown hair. + +"A study in black and white," was the phrase that floated through Ruth's +mind as she looked at her. The girl was in deep mourning unrelieved even +by a touch of white, and her face was intensely pale. Yet there was +something about her, a nameless something, that claimed instant +interest, and Mrs. Burnham, who, ever since she had heard of the girl's +existence, had been struggling with an unreasonable desire to hate her, +felt instantly drawn toward her. She felt rather than realized that, +whatever might have been Irene's appearance in girlhood, the two had +nothing in common now, for her eyes. + +"I have heard your name," the pale girl said, much as she might have +addressed a book agent, "but I did not know that you were coming to New +York." + +"My dear," broke in Madame Sternheim, reproof in her tone, "I am sure it +is very kind in Mrs.--yes, Mrs. Burnham to take all this trouble for +your sake. She tells me that she is not related to you in any way, and +it is certainly quite unusual for strangers to be so kind." + +"It is very kind," the girl said coldly, and stood irresolute apparently +as to what she should do or say next; while Ruth, sorry for her and for +herself and unreasonably annoyed with Madame Sternheim, was at a loss +how to proceed. + +The Madame came to her aid, addressing the young girl. + +"Do be seated, my dear, and make yourself at least look comfortable." +There was a strong emphasis laid upon the word "look" and the reproof in +the tone was still marked, as she continued:-- + +"Mrs. Burnham will naturally want to have a talk with you, and learn +what little you may be able to explain to her about this sad matter, +although I am too fully aware that it will be very unsatisfactory." Then +she turned to Ruth. + +"With your permission, dear madam, I will retire and leave my charge in +your care for the present. I assure you it is a great relief to me to +find that there is some one willing to share with me this heavy +responsibility." + +The girl turned at this, and with slow, languid steps preceded the +Madame to the door, which she held open for her to pass, and bowed +respectfully as she did so. Then, waiting until a turn in the hall hid +the lady from sight she carefully closed the door. + +Ruth, meantime, was watching her with a half-terrified fascination. She +was so calm, so self-possessed, so utterly without feeling of any sort, +apparently. What was to be said to her? and what good could come in any +way from that which now began to look like interference? She was not in +the least prepared for the sudden change which the closing of that door +seemed to make. + +The girl turned with an impetuous movement and seemed to fly, rather +than walk, over the space between them, and, flinging herself in a +crushed little heap in front of her guest, hid her face on Mrs. +Burnham's lap and burst into a passion of weeping. + +"Poor little girl!" Ruth said softly, and laid her hand tenderly on the +bowed head. There seemed no other word that could be spoken until the +storm of weeping had in a degree subsided. + +"Oh, do forgive me!" the child said, after a minute, but without raising +her head. "I did not mean to cry, I meant to control myself; I thought I +could, through it all, but I am so wretched! and she--she freezes me! +she wants me to be resigned, and to remember how much better off I am +than some other girls who have no one to look after them, and it doesn't +help me one bit. I am so glad that you have come! You are Aunt Mamie's +friend, so you can't be like Madame Sternheim; and you won't tell me +that Aunt Mamie isn't related to me in the most distant degree and in +the nature of things cannot be, will you? I can see that you are not +like the Madame the least bit in the world, and I am glad, _glad_! Oh! I +am a very wicked girl! I ought not to have said that; she is good, she +is _very_ good; and she is patient with my faults and follies; and +yet--there are times when I almost hate her! Oh, dear! what will you +think of me? I don't act like this very often; I don't cry often--I +don't cry at all! but now I must, or I shall die!" + +Then followed another outburst of passionate weeping. + +"Cry as much as you want to, dear child," Ruth said. "It is only +natural, and will do you good." + +All the time her hand was moving over the tumbled masses of hair, making +quiet, soothing passes. + +After a little the girl sat up and brushed away the tears. "I can't +think what made me," she said. "Only you reminded me of Aunt +Mamie, and then--it all came back. I don't know what I am to do; +it seems to me that I cannot live without her, but I have got to; +and without--everybody. It does seem sometimes as though there was never +another girl in the world so utterly alone; but Madame Sternheim says +there are, hundreds of them, even in this city! I am so sorry for them +all! I wish they could die and go to heaven. I wish I could, with papa. +But Madame Sternheim says--" she stopped abruptly and struggled for +self-control, and spoke almost fiercely. + +"I won't tell you what she says about my father, nor think about it. It +isn't true, and if it were, she--" + +Ruth felt a curious feeling of indignation rising against Mamie Parker. +How could she have deserted this child? so soon, at least, after her +bereavement? Surely she needed her more than the brother did, who had +been alone for years! Then came a great gust of shame and shook her +heart. Why should Mamie Parker, a stranger, be expected to show +compassion for this lonely girl when her own family, her own mother--But +that would not bear thinking about. + +"Poor little girl!" she said again, with infinite tenderness. "Will you +take me for a friend? I will do the best I can to be a true one." + +"Oh, thank you," the child said impulsively. "I am so glad, _so glad_ +for you! and only last night I thought I could never be glad about +anything again! Aunt Mamie had to go, of course, at the time appointed. +It isn't like other journeys, you know; they have to sail when they are +told; missionaries do, I mean. That is,--oh, you understand. But Aunt +Mamie felt very badly about leaving me; and she said she thought you +would love me; but of course I couldn't see why you should. It isn't +that I am not cared for, Mrs. Burnham. I have been with Madame Sternheim +for six years and I am sure that I have every care and attention that a +girl possibly could; she has always made that plain to me; but--She did +not like papa, Mrs. Burnham. She never did; and she--almost spoke +against him, even to me! Could a girl ever care very much for one who +talked and felt as she did about the dearest, kindest, most loving papa +that ever lived? oh!" + +She clenched her hands, and the tears threatened to choke her; but she +put them back with a strong will, and even faintly smiled. + +"I shall not cry again," she said. "Madame thinks it is wicked. Mrs. +Burnham, I wish you could have known my papa. He was--I mean he was +not--oh, I don't know how to say it; and I am not sure that I want to +say it, ever. He was good to me always; a girl like me couldn't have had +a better father; and I don't know how to live in this world without him. +It kills me to have to stay all the time among people who say always; +'Your poor father!' and shake their heads and look as though they could +say volumes of ugly things about him if they chose. They shall not! I +will not have people talking about my father! the dearest, the best! a +great deal better than the self-righteous creatures made of icicles that +they admire!" + +Ruth was amazed at the suppressed fury of her tones, and at her eyes +which, but a moment before dim with weeping, now blazed with +indignation. Evidently the child had passed through a severe mental +strain. + +"Don't, dear," she said gently. "No one could be so cruel as to want to +speak against your father. I am glad you love him so dearly; he can +always help you. You will not want to disappoint him in any way, you +know." + +The girl looked at her searchingly as one startled. This was evidently a +new thought; it took hold of her heart. A softened light came into her +unusually expressive eyes and after a moment she said very gently:-- + +"No one ever said anything to me like that, before. It helps." + +They made great strides toward intimacy even in that first morning. So +great that when Ruth, pitying the girl's loneliness and evident dread of +the people by whom she was surrounded, proposed that she send for her to +come and take dinner with Mrs. Roberts and herself, she caught at the +suggestion with an eagerness which showed what a relief it was to her; +and then almost immediately demurred. + +"But I ought not to presume in that way. I am certain the Madame will +think so. Will not your friend think it very strange in me, a stranger, +to intrude upon her home?" + +"Wait until you see her," Ruth said, smiling. "Mrs. Roberts and I are +very old friends, and I am almost as much at home in her house as I am +in my own." + +As she spoke, she felt a sudden stricture at her heart over those +commonplace words. Was she not in these later days almost more at home +in Flossy's house than in her own? + +But Maybelle's face had gloomed over. + +"I think I must not go, Mrs. Burnham," she said. "I suppose I ought not +to wish, or even be willing to go; I am sure Madame Sternheim will be +shocked at the idea. I am in deep mourning, you know, and my loss is so +recent." + +Unconsciously the child had imitated the prim decorum of her Mentor, and +it had changed her entire face. + +Ruth leaned forward impulsively and kissed her, while she spoke with a +smile:-- + +"Dear child, be yourself, and not Madame Sternheim. Adopt me, will you, +and let me attend to the decorum part, and all the rest. Mrs. Roberts is +quite alone, save for me; her husband is away on a business trip, and +her children have scattered for the vacation; so we shall be very quiet, +we three; and there is no reason in the world why you should not come to +us. I want you to know Mrs. Roberts; she is anxious to see you, and +would have come with me this morning, if she had not thought it better +that you and I should make each other's acquaintance first. As for you, +you will love her the first time you look at her. Shall I speak to +Madame Sternheim myself about it?" + +When this was done, Madame Sternheim was discovered to be graciousness +itself. She might be doubtful as to Mrs. Burnham's place in the world, +her knowledge of people being limited and very local, but the name of +Mrs. Evan Roberts called for instant approval, and to know that Mrs. +Burnham was her friend and guest was sufficient passport for her. It was +very kind and thoughtful in dear Mrs. Roberts, she was sure, to send for +the poor child; and very like her too, if all that the Madame had heard +concerning her was true. Did Mrs. Burnham know that her friend had the +name of always doing the most delicate kindnesses that no one else would +have thought of? She was really a wonderful woman? Madame Sternheim had +long wanted to know her. They need not trouble to send the dear child +home, she herself was going out this evening, and would have pleasure in +calling for Miss Somerville at ten o'clock. + +"Isn't it beautiful here?" Maybelle said, a few hours later, as she sank +among the cushions of a "Sleepy Hollow" and feasted her beauty-loving +eyes on the harmonies of Mrs. Roberts's living-room. "It is like a poem, +or no, a picture; that is what it is like, Mrs. Burnham; one of papa's +pictures. How he would have loved this room! He was always making +sketches of sweet, dear, home rooms, and there was always a beautiful +mother in them with a baby in her arms. I think my mother must have been +very beautiful, for it was always the same face, and I know it was +intended for mamma, though he never told me so; I could not talk with +papa about her, ever, it made him cry. Don't you think it is dreadful to +see a man cry? When I started the tears in his dear blue eyes, I always +felt like a wretch! and for that reason I gave up trying to say anything +about mamma, though I should so love to have heard every little thing +about her. Papa must simply have adored her, but I have had to dream her +out for myself. I have spent hours and hours over it, studying papa's +sketches, you know, and trying to clothe them with flesh. I believe I +know just how she looked. Sometimes she would grow so real to me that I +almost expected her to hold out her arms and clasp me to them. I was a +wee baby, you know, when mamma went away." + + + + + CHAPTER XXII + + A LOYAL HEART + + +THE friendship so strangely started between Mrs. Burnham and the girl +thrust upon her conscience, grew apace. As Ruth had surmised, her old +friend Flossy had lost none of her charm with young people, and she won +Maybelle's fascinated interest from the first moment of their meeting; +an interest that developed rapidly into love. + +When Mrs. Roberts's young people came home--an event that Ruth, at +least, had dreaded for Maybelle's sake--it was found that the charm was +increased. Ruth, in writing to Erskine about them, which she did at some +length, had added: "I might have saved you much of this description, by +simply saying that the children are very like their mother. Even +Erskine, tall and muscular as he is, a thorough boy in every sense of +the word, and a manly one, yet has that indefinable indescribable charm +about him that our little Flossy always had and always will have, should +she live to be a hundred, bless her! what a blessing she would be to +this old world if she should. Do you realize, dear, that he is your +namesake, as well as mine? At first I was not sure that I wanted another +Erskine,--there is but one to me, you know,--but Erskine Roberts is such +a splendid repetition of the family name that we cannot but be proud of +him." + +But she gave no description of Maybelle, and mentioned her name as +little as possible. She shrank almost painfully from the thought of +writing about this girl to one who ought to be deeply interested in +her,--as in the nature of the case Erskine should be if he knew,--and +yet looked upon her as an intruder, almost resenting his mother's +efforts in her behalf. + +But if she kept silence about her to Erskine, she atoned for it in the +amount of time and thought that she bestowed upon the child. As the +weeks passed and she grew to better understand this child-woman with +whom she had to deal, she found herself bestowing upon her a wealth of +love and tenderness that she had not supposed any but her very own could +call out. And her love was returned in royal measure. However much +Maybelle might admire and love Mrs. Roberts and enjoy her son and +daughters, she had given the wealth of her heart unreservedly to Mrs. +Burnham. "Next to Aunt Mamie I love you best of all the world," she +would declare as she patted Ruth's shoulder with a loving little touch +that was peculiarly her own. "It ought always to be Aunt Mamie first, +you know, because she--she _mothered_ me all those years when I was +hungry for a mother. Dear Mrs. Burnham, if she were your daughter and I +could be your granddaughter, would not that be perfect? But that +couldn't be, of course, for Aunt Mamie loved her own dear mother better +than any other mother in the world; and she was a _dear_; I loved her +very much, but--how many different kinds of love there can be in the +same heart!" she broke off to say, with the air of a dreamy philosopher, +"Different kinds of loves and different kinds of unloves, ever so many +of them! the heart is a curious country, isn't it?" + +By that time Mrs. Burnham had come to understand Miss Parker's absorbed +interest in the girl, which continued unabated even amid the absorbing +interests of a strange land. She wrote long loving letters to the child +of her adoption, and long earnest ones to Mrs. Burnham about her. + +"There have been times," she wrote, "when I have almost regretted that I +left the dear girl all alone and came away out here where weeks must +intervene before I can hear from her. I felt this especially after I +found that my brother, although very glad indeed to welcome me, had made +interests here about which I knew nothing, one that is to help make a +home for him in the near future, so that so far as care and +companionship are concerned he could have done very well without me. +When I first began to understand the situation here, I was puzzled, and +just a little bit troubled over the question why I had been allowed to +come, or rather left to think that to come was the only right course, +when apparently I was much more needed at home on that dear child's +account, than here. But after reading Maybelle's letter I understood +that it was in order to leave the way clear and plain for her to your +dear heart; you can do so much more for her than I can ever hope to. +How blissful the darling is over her new friendships and interests! I am +glad that you have kidnapped her loyal little heart, just as I knew you +would." + +"Poor girl!" Mrs. Burnham said softly to herself after reading this +letter. "She has one of those hungry hearts that Maybelle talks about; +and she fancied that her brother could fill it, instead of being quite +satisfied with his generous corner of it! I wonder if it can be possible +that she cared for the child's father, as the Madame hints? That would +account for--but there is nothing to be accounted for; one could not +help loving Maybelle. I must tell Miss Parker that she is always to have +the first place in that 'curious' heart, while I am enthroned as second. +Dear simpleton!" Then, as the thought crossed her mind, not for the +first time, that the one who should hold that first place might be named +Erskine, the uneasy conviction shook her that in such event certain ugly +truths would have to be revealed. + +But she put the thought from her as soon as possible. She could not plan +for the future, and for the present, Maybelle and Erskine Roberts were +simply comrades heartily enjoying each other's society, as her own +Erskine and Alice Warder had done, without apparently other thoughts +than those shared with them by Marian Roberts, who was Erskine's twin. + +Ruth wrote to Miss Parker that same evening, giving her a detailed +account of one of her talks with Maybelle. + +"You may well call hers a 'loyal heart,' my friend," she wrote. "You +should hear the pathetic way in which the child talks about you by the +hour! Yesterday she said to me:-- + +"'Sometimes I used to wish that I could call Aunt Mamie, mother. She is +the only woman that I ever had such a thought about; I suppose it was +because she came close enough to give me an idea of what a real mother +would be. I mean to keep her always for my heart-mother. There can be +heart-mothers, you know, and in some ways they are almost as dear as +real ones. Oh, I wonder if you know how a girl like me sometimes longs +and _longs_ for a real mother! I think it is the only possession that I +ever envied. Sometimes, Mrs. Burnham, I have been fiercely jealous for +hours together, so that I almost hated the girls who chattered about +their mothers. Wasn't that dreadful! Oh, I cannot think what would have +become of me long before this, if I had not had Aunt Mamie.'" + +Thus much Ruth Burnham wrote, and stayed her pen. Was it necessary for +her to tell all this? To lay bare even to this woman, who knew so much, +the depths of a suffering young heart, thereby revealing the magnitude +of the mother's sin against it? And that mother was her daughter, her +son's wife! She wanted to write it; there were times when she wanted to +shout it out to all the world, just what manner of woman was being +sheltered by her name and home. She knew that she would never do it, but +ought not Mamie Parker who had mothered the child, to understand? She +thought long, she shed a few struggling tears that seemed to burn her +face; the hurt at her heart was too deep for tears, and then she hid her +face on the writing table and talked with God. + +The end of it was that she tore the sheet across and threw the fragments +into her grate. And wrote again:-- + +"You may well call hers a 'loyal heart,' my friend; she loves with a +depth that seems to me unusual in one so young; and she has enthroned +you at her heart's very centre. I want to say, just here, that I do not +think she overestimates what you have done for her; I believe you have +saved her to herself." + +Meanwhile, the days that Mrs. Burnham, without any definite planning, +had thought might be given to her visit lengthened into weeks, and still +she lingered in the East. + +Erskine was astonished, was bewildered, was half indignant, yet she set +no date for the home-going. One reason for this was the fact that Mr. +Roberts's stay abroad, which was to have been very brief, had been much +lengthened by unexpected business complications, and his wife was +begging her old friend to stay with her until his return. But of course +there was no real excuse for this, as she had her children and +multitudes of home friends about her. The real reason was that Ruth +could not decide to leave Maybelle. The girl clung to her with an ever +increasing abandon to the joy of having for her very own one who knew +how to be in every sense of the word motherly. Certainly she was nearer +real happiness than her confused life had ever been before. From being +one whom some of her schoolmates pitied and patronized because she +seemed to have no friends of her own except a somewhat doubtful father, +she became almost an object of envy. + +All of the girls at Madame Sternheim's knew Mrs. Evan Roberts by +reputation; and highly exaggerated stories of her house and her friends +and her lavish expenditures for certain of them, were afloat in the +school. But it chanced that Maybelle was the first one of the school +girls who had entered the charmed circle of Mrs. Roberts's friendships. + +When it became known that she was being sent for three or four times a +week to take dinner with the Roberts family, that she went on Tuesdays +to luncheon, that she spent most of her Saturdays and Sundays in the +same choice home, interest in her comings and goings became marked. +Then, when she began slowly, and almost reluctantly it must be admitted, +to choose out some especially lonely or homesick or timid girl to take +with her to dine at Mrs. Roberts's, her popularity knew no bounds. + +Madame Sternheim, too, during these days was gracious almost beyond +recognition. It was not that the good woman had not meant to be gracious +always; she had been faithful to her duty as she saw it, and poor +Maybelle, who confessed that she had hours of almost hating her, had in +reality very much for which to thank her. + +But Madame Sternheim was very human indeed, and the daughter of a poor +artist father with a questionable past and a doubtful future, whose only +friend, apparently, was a very fine young woman, it is true, but a woman +without family and with no reasonable way of accounting for her interest +in the girl, and nothing to show how soon the interest might cease--for +that matter she had already gone away off to China for no reason in +particular, unless it was to be well rid of her charge now that the +father was gone--was one person, and a girl who had apparently been +adopted into the inner circle of Mrs. Roberts's family was quite +another; especially now that the poor father had been respectably buried +and all doubtful or uncomfortable things could be forgotten. Madame +Sternheim was relieved and pleased and hopeful. She liked to have Mrs. +Roberts's carriage stand before her door waiting for Maybelle. She liked +to say to certain of her patrons:-- + +"Oh, the coachman is used to waiting; our dear Maybelle is almost +certain to be tardy, but then she is so much at home at Mrs. Roberts's +house that she can take all sorts of liberties. Oh, yes, she dines there +several times a week and often takes some of her classmates with her. +Dear Mrs. Roberts welcomes my girls to her home as though she were their +elder sister. What a charming woman she is! Really when one comes to +know her intimately, one feels that the half has not been told +concerning her." + +And Maybelle was blossoming under this reign of love. Her cheeks were +rounding out a little and taking on a touch of color, and her eyes were +growing less sad. She had by no means forgotten her grief nor put aside +the thought of her father. On the contrary, she liked nothing better +than to talk of him by the hour to a sympathetic listener, while to be +allowed to talk about her mother, was to give free vent to the one +pent-up passion of her life. + +It was to Mrs. Burnham that she talked most freely, though Mrs. +Roberts's young people were sympathetic, and Erskine, especially, liked +nothing better than to hear long stories about the artist and his method +of dealing with a picture. + +"He made them up," Maybelle would say, "composed them, you know, or made +a plot, as you do when you write a story for your college paper. The +picture grew, just as a story does. 'That's an idea!' papa would say, +when I was sitting meekly enough beside him, telling him some story of +my day. 'That's a look I never saw before, let me get it, Maysie'--that +was one of his dear names for me, he had dozens of them--and he would +seize palette and brush and work for a few minutes as hard as he could, +then sit back and gaze at me and think, and I knew that a new picture +was born and would have to be watched over and nourished and developed. +It was very interesting." + +"Yes, indeed! he painted me a hundred times and in a hundred different +ways, but they did him no good; he never would try to sell them, nor +even show them. They are all boxed up with our other things and stored; +Aunt Mamie took charge of them. He told her they were never to be sold. +I think it was because my mother's picture was always mixed in with +them, and he could not bear to sell her. He used to make pictures of me, +sometimes, that he said were like mamma. There would be just little +hints of me about them, not a likeness of me at all, but a beautiful +girl, and the tears would come into papa's dear eyes when he looked at +her, and he would say softly, 'It is her image.'" + +When Maybelle talked in this way to Ruth, she once or twice said +wistfully:-- + +"It must be beautiful to be loved in the way that my father loved my +mother." But Erskine Roberts never heard any words of this kind. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIII + + PUZZLING QUESTIONS + + +"THIS is lovely!" said Maybelle, as she drew the curtains, and pushed +her sewing chair closer to Mrs. Burnham's. "Isn't it nice to be alone +together? Erskine wanted me to go with them to the rehearsal and act as +prompter, but I told him I was going to follow the promptings of my own +heart and stay with you, especially since his mother must also be away. +If we lived all alone in a dear little home, you and I, I could take +care of you all the time." + +"I am afraid I should need something besides lovely rooms and pretty +sewing," Mrs. Burnham said laughingly. + +"Yes, indeed! but I could do them; all sorts of things. I used to do +things for Mrs. Parker, and for papa when he would let me. I was always +coaxing papa to have a little bit of a house just large enough for us +two, and let me take charge of it; I knew I could; I could learn, you +know, and Mrs. Parker taught me a great many things; but he never would. +Poor papa! he didn't want a home; he said that he had one once, and he +wanted it to live in his memory forever. He meant that time--before +mamma died. Do you think it is like most men to be so constant to a +memory?" + +"I do not know," Mrs. Burnham said, with an effort. She never knew what +to say to Maybelle when she was in this mood. It was impossible to join +in the talk about a dead mother, and not feel herself a hypocrite. But +Maybelle was already on another theme. + +"Dear Mrs. Burnham, I am glad we are alone to-night. There are matters +about which I want to talk with you. + +"Do you know, I have been treated always like a little girl? and it +seems to me that the time has come for me to begin to be a woman. I used +to try to get papa to tell me about his affairs, but he never would. +During those last dreadful days, all he would tell me was that he had +left everything to Aunt Mamie, and I was to do just as she said. But I +have a feeling that papa was poor; and that he just made enough by his +pictures to support us, perhaps not always that; I have thought lately +that perhaps a great many of my nice things and--and opportunities, came +through Aunt Mamie. Madame Sternheim has dropped hints more than once +that have made me believe so. And now,--don't you think I ought to know +all about it, and be making plans to support myself?" + +"My dear!" was all that Ruth could say, in an almost dismayed tone. +Maybelle's future and her connection with it were more puzzling to +Erskine Burnham's mother than they could possibly be to this child. The +earnest young voice went on:-- + +"I wrote to Aunt Mamie just how I felt, but she cannot see it as I do. +She says that she is alone in the world, that money is the only thing +she has enough of, and that papa gave me to her to take care of. She +does not understand why I should not be quite happy over such an +arrangement; but dear Mrs. Burnham, I am sure you do. It is not that I +do not love to belong to her, I mean to, always; and sometimes I cannot +sleep for the joy of thinking that she loves me so dearly; I can't think +why she does. But don't you think that a self-respecting girl wants to +support herself just as soon as she possibly can, unless she has a +father and mother who can do it as well as not, and want to?" + +This also was a sore and embarrassing phase of the subject to poor Ruth. +Oh, to be able to say to her that her mother, her own mother, was in a +position to cover for her every need that money could supply and that +the man who now stood in the place of father to her would insist upon so +much tardy justice--if he knew of her existence! Yet Ruth's common sense +told her that even though there were no terrible reasons for silence for +the sake of others, the hardest blow that could be given to a girl like +Maybelle would be to destroy her beautiful illusions of her mother with +the base truth. That mother of sacred memory, alive, well, living in +ease and luxury and ignoring her as utterly as though she had never been +born! Could such a cruel blow as that be borne! Yet any words that this +much-tried woman could arrange in reply to the appeal just made, seemed +false. She hesitated, and knew that her face was flushing under the +girl's earnest gaze. At last, she said the only words there seemed left +for her to say. + +"My dear, I am a little bit on both sides of this question. I certainly +sympathize with your view, and on general principles should agree with +you. But the circumstances are peculiar this time." And as she said the +words she felt like a hypocrite; how peculiar they were, that poor child +had not the least idea! "Miss Parker is, as she says, practically alone +in the world. Her brother's marriage is a coming event; then he will not +need her any more, in the special sense in which she can help him now, +and he does not need her money, for he has plenty of his own. Their +father discovered a gold mine, you know, as well as one of another +metal, almost more valuable than gold. So, if Miss Parker wants to spend +a little of her surplus money upon you, because she loves you, ought you +not to please her in this, and be governed by her advice, at least for +the present? When you are older, and especially when Miss Parker returns +home, which I think she will do before very long, probably some plans +can be made that will please you both. Cannot you wait, dear?" + +Maybelle sat thoughtful for a moment, then she drew a long sigh. + +"I suppose I must," she said. "Indeed, there is no other way for me at +present; only--I am to graduate, you know, in a few days, and I +thought--but of course I ought not, contrary to Aunt Mamie's wishes. But +I do not know what she wants me to do for the summer. She has not seemed +to remember it. I have always spent the summer vacations with her." + +"You are not to forecast anxieties about the summer," Mrs. Burnham said, +trying to make her voice sound cheery and free from all anxiety, though +it struck her like a physical pain, the fact that she could not say to +this girl who was growing dearer to her with every passing day, "Come +home with me, child, of course;" that she could never invite her to her +home, and could never explain to her why she must not. She must simply +be silent and trust to Maybelle's shrewd guessing that there were +reasons why this new friend of hers did not feel at home in her own +home, and was not at liberty to take her friends there. + +It was true that summer was upon them, and the air of the boarding +school was athrob with the plans of eager girls getting ready for the +home-going. Maybelle was almost the only one who had not some sort of +home to plan for. And yet Maybelle was to graduate! If only Mrs. Burnham +could say to her, "Come, we will make home together, and you may do for +me all that your heart prompts." There were hours when she was tempted +to do something of the kind. But her words to Maybelle revealed none of +her pain. + +"There are lovely schemes maturing for the summer. 'Good times,' my +dear, and unlike the illustrious Gloriana McQuirk you are 'in 'em.' I am +not to divulge them before the appointed hour, but I empower you to say +to those envious schoolgirls that your summer plans are a delicious +secret even from yourself, being locked in the heart of that blessed +little schemer, Mrs. Roberts." + +Maybelle's face was still serious, but, after a moment, she laughed +softly. + +"I am the strangest girl!" she said. "I don't think there can be another +girl in the world who lives my kind of life. I have not what Madame +Sternheim calls a 'relative' this side heaven to care what becomes of +me, and I have the dearest company of people, on whom, according to +Madame again, I have not the shadow of a claim, who never weary of doing +for me! What more, for instance, could you and that dear Mrs. Roberts +and those girls and boys of hers do for me, even though I had that +potent charm, some of 'the same blood' in my veins? And yet, do you +know, selfish creature that I am, the Madame has so instilled her +principles into me that if I only had a sister or brother of my very own +to love and care for, I think I could give up joyfully all other +luxuries." + +"Are you not forgetting your aunts in England, my dear?" + +Maybelle shook her head and spoke resolutely. "I want to forget them; I +do not claim them as aunts of mine." Then, in response to Ruth's look +that might have meant reproach, she added:-- + +"They did not like mamma, Mrs. Burnham, and they were not good to her. +Papa told me as much as that. He said she was young, and away from all +her home friends and unhappy, and they led her a hard life. Papa could +not help feeling hard toward them for that. It was the reason why he +never went to England again after Grandmother died. He took me to see +Grandmother, did you know that? But she did not seem like a grandmother. +She wasn't _dear_, you know, and sweet, like the grandmothers in +stories, and in real life too,--some of the girls at school have lovely +ones,--but mine was stately and cold. She and my two aunts used to talk +about mamma right before me. + +"'She looks like _her_,' one of them said, with a strong emphasis on the +'her' a contemptuous emphasis it seemed to me. And the other aunt +replied, 'But she isn't like her in disposition, apparently.' Then +Grandmother said quickly, 'Heaven forbid!' Could one love people who +talked in that way before a child about her dear dead mother? Not that +they meant me to understand," she added thoughtfully, after a moment, as +one who must do full justice even to one's enemies. "I don't think they +did; they were the kind of people who think that a child is deaf and +blind and stupid. I understood hints and shrugs of the shoulders and +curls of the lip and exclamations a great deal better than they thought +I did. I have no relatives, dear Mrs. Burnham, that I care for, but I +have friends whom I love with every bit of me. May I ask just one little +question?--and you need not answer it if it is part of the secret. Do +the summer plans include you? Because if they don't, and there could be +a way for me to have you for just a little piece of the summer, I--" + +The tremble in her voice had grown so marked that she stopped abruptly. +She looked up, after a minute, with her eyes swimming in tears, and said +with a queer little attempt at a laugh:-- + +"I'm not going to cry, Mrs. Burnham, don't you be afraid. And I'm not +going to be selfish and babyish; I mean to be just as glad and happy and +grateful as I can be, even though you have to be away from me all summer +long." + +It was just at that moment that Ruth resolved upon yielding to Flossy's +entreaties and spending at least part of the summer with them at their +new seaside cottage, which was to be a surprise to all the young people, +Maybelle included. Erskine expected her at home, but what were Erskine's +needs compared to this deserted child's?--and the child clung to her. +But she would not tell Maybelle, not just yet; so she spoke lightly, +commending the child's resolve to count her mercies, and then +admonishing her that she had better also count her stitches, as she was +making a mistake in the row she was crocheting. + +There was a thoughtful silence on the part of both for a few minutes, +then Maybelle spoke again in what Mrs. Burnham called her grown-up tone. + +"There is one strange question I have wanted to ask of somebody for a +long time. I tried to talk to Erskine about it without letting him know +that it was really a question in my mind; but Erskine is like all boys, +very wise and very positive, without being always able to give a reason +for what he believes." + +"Which means," said Ruth, smiling, "that Erskine did not agree with +you." + +"Well, he didn't," and Maybelle stopped to laugh at herself; then spoke +earnestly. + +"That is, so far as I may be said to have an opinion on that subject; I +am not sure what I think, or at least I do not know why I think it. Mrs. +Burnham, do Christian people ever pray for their dead? And if they do +not, why not? Does the Bible say we must not? I have tried to find +something in the Bible about it, and I could not." + +Ruth was much startled. This was very different from the question she +had expected. The young people argued vigorously upon every live +question of the day, not excepting interesting theological points, but +this was out of the regular line. While she considered just how best to +answer it, Maybelle explained. + +"I suppose that seems to you a strange question; young people do not +often discuss such things, I suppose; but it interests me very much +because I have such a longing, sometimes, to pray for mamma, that I can +hardly keep her name from my lips; yet I thought perhaps it was wrong. I +began to have that feeling almost as soon as Aunt Mamie taught me to +pray. I had said my prayers before that time; papa taught me to say: +'Now I lay me down to sleep,' and 'Bless thy little lamb to-night.' I +used to like to say them, but I did not understand what praying really +was, until long after that time. But when Aunt Mamie made it plain to +me, and my heart took hold of the fact that I was really talking with +God, and that I could talk to Him about papa, and in that way help him, +I cannot tell you how glad I was! And then, very soon, I wanted to put +mamma in." + +Nothing that the girl had said had ever startled Ruth as much as this. +Was there a woman living who needed prayer more than this child's +mother? Yet how could she counsel her daughter to pray for her? + + + + + CHAPTER XXIV + + AN ALLY + + +"I DO not know that there is any 'thus saith the Lord,' against your +wish, my dear," she said at last, in a hesitating tone, "but the +inference from all gospel teaching seems to be that this life is the +time for prayer." + +Maybelle gave a disappointed sigh. + +"I should think people would study into it," she said, "and find out if +they might. It makes such an awful blank in one's praying to suddenly +leave out a name that has been on one's lips and in one's heart for +years." + +Then Ruth knew that the child was thinking of her father, and that she +must move very carefully in trying to comfort her. + +"I did not have that feeling about my father, Maybelle dear, nor about +my husband. On the contrary I had an almost joyful realization that they +were beyond the need for prayer--were where they could make no mistakes, +where the mistakes of others could never harm them any more, and where +they would be forever in the presence of the Lord. What could one +possibly ask more for them?" + +Maybelle was silent for several minutes, and her eyes were soft with +unshed tears. Then she spoke gently:-- + +"What a lovely thought! thank you." + +After a moment she began again, earnestly. + +"Mrs. Burnham, there is something I want you to know. What I am sure +that Madame Sternheim thinks about my papa isn't true. Papa learned how +to pray; and every afternoon during those last few weeks, he and I used +to read in the Bible together, and pray. And the last time I saw him he +told me that, although he had wasted his life, and been in every way a +different man from what he ought to have been, God had forgiven him, and +was going to take him home. He wasn't a bad man, ever, Mrs. Burnham; at +least--well, I know he did some wrong things, but he was good in many +ways. He had a very low estimate of himself, though, and those were the +words he said. I shall never forget the last sentence he ever spoke; I +can often close my eyes and seem to hear his dear voice with its note of +exultation, 'It is wonderful, but I am going _home_!' He used to speak +that word 'home' in a peculiar manner; his voice seemed to linger over +it lovingly, like a caress. He had no home, you know, after mamma went +away." + +This was Maybelle's way of speaking of death; but the woman, who +realized how literally the phrase "went away" applied to this child's +mother, could never hear it without an inward shudder. Her own eyes had +dimmed with tears as she listened to this pathetic and yet gracious +close of a wasted life. Then she acted upon a sudden resolution. + +"Maybelle, dear, there is one person for whom I want you to pray with +all your soul; that is my son's wife." + +"Your daughter?" said Maybelle, lingering over the word as a sweet +sound, yet with a hint of surprise in her tone, as though she might +almost ask, "Why should any woman so blessed as she need praying for?" +But what she added was:-- + +"I should love to pray for her. Tell me about her, please. She must be a +very happy woman to have the right to call you 'mother.' What is it you +want me to ask for her? Of course she is a Christian?" + +"She is a member of the church," said Ruth. "But I do not think she +knows the Lord Jesus in the way that you and I know Him, or that she +loves and serves Him." + +"Oh!" said Maybelle, and that single mono-syllable from her lips meant +much. Surprise, regret, pity, resolve, were all expressed in it. + +Ruth made haste to finish what she had resolved to say. + +"And she needs to know Him; oh! she needs it more than most women do. If +she could come, even now, into intimate fellowship with the Lord Jesus +Christ, it would make an infinite difference, not only with her life, +but in the lives of others. There are others who--" She stopped +abruptly; excitement was getting the better of discretion. She must have +a care what she said. After a moment she spoke with less intensity. + +"I hope you will pray, too, for Erskine. For my son, I mean." For +Maybelle had made a little startled movement at the mention of this +name, and turned great wondering eyes upon her. + +"My son's name is Erskine, you remember. He is my only one, dear, the +only treasure that I ever had; for years and years he has been all that +I have; and I cry out so for God's best for him! He is a Christian, a +good, true Christian man; he is everything that to other people seems +desirable; but--" + +"I think I know what you mean," Maybelle said gently. "I know that there +can be degrees in living religion. Sometimes I think I know that fact +better than any other; I have had so many illustrations of it in my +life. It must be hard for him that his wife does not always think just +as he does in this. At least I should think it would be very hard indeed +for married people not to be as one in such matters." + +"Yes," said Ruth, "it is very hard." Then she turned suddenly to a +radically different subject, with the conviction strong upon her that +she could talk no more about Erskine and Irene without saying what would +be better left unsaid. + +But she had secured a wonderful ally in Maybelle. The girl knew how to +pray, and her faith was as the faith of a little child: simple, and +literal, and firm. She became intensely interested in Mrs. Burnham's +daughter-in-law. She asked many questions about her, sometimes making +remarks, in her ignorance, that wrung Ruth's heart. + +"I think I love her," she said one day. "There are times when I feel a +curious yearning tenderness for her, as though I must put my arms about +her and kiss her. It seems strange, doesn't it, when I have never seen +her? I do not love a great many people; of course I like ever so many, +but this feeling that I have is different. Still, I suppose it is the +way one feels toward those for whom one prays, definitely and daily. +Isn't it?" + +"Perhaps," said Ruth, unable to add another word, and turning away her +face so that the child could not see what it might express. If only +Irene had loved _her_! + +One noticeable feature of this time was that Maybelle began to speak +confidently regarding the answer to her prayers. + +"You will tell me when your daughter truly begins to serve Jesus Christ, +won't you?" she said. "I think I should like to know it, soon, because +it changes the tone of one's prayers, don't you think, as soon as one +for whom you have been asking just this, recognizes Jesus Christ and +begins to be acquainted with Him?" + +"You speak very confidently, dear," Ruth could not help saying. "Do you +always feel quite sure that the people for whom you pray will +'recognize' Jesus Christ?" + +"Not always," the girl said thoughtfully. "I cannot be sure, because +they may keep on refusing to let Him in, and of course He will not force +an entrance. When I was a little girl, I thought that was very strange. +I wondered why God did not _make_ people love and serve Him, whether +they wanted to, or not. But when I grew old enough to realize what love +really is, I knew better; for what is enforced service worth? and as for +enforced _love_, that couldn't be. But sometimes the feeling comes to me +that the one for whom I am asking, will let him in; and I have it now." + +And then Mrs. Burnham began to desire exceedingly that this girl should +pray mightily for her son. More than all things else, more even than +that the rags of his outward respectability--as regarded his home--might +be preserved to him, did she long for his entire consecration to God. +She knew only too well that, despite his strict integrity and his firm +adherence to the letter of his faith, the world was gripping him with a +mighty hold. She knew, too, how insidiously and how surely Irene's +views, and Irene's feelings, and Irene's wishes were slipping in between +him and that entirely consecrated life which would hold him safe above +all the world's allurements. + +It was not that he was markedly different in word or deed from what his +early manhood had promised. It was rather that he had not grown, +spiritually, with the passing years; and of late years, since his +marriage, his mother could detect a backward movement, as of one +drifting downstream imperceptibly to himself, and losing force. There +were times when she felt almost jealous of the hold which her +daughter-in-law had taken upon the heart of this girl who believed as +well as prayed. + +"You will not forget my Erskine?" she said one day when they had been +talking about it. + +"Oh, no!" Maybelle said quickly. "No, indeed! How could I, dear Mrs. +Burnham, when he is your son, and you asked me to pray for him? I never +forget him; but after all, it isn't so important, you know." + +"Why not?" The mother was almost indignant. From her standpoint nothing +in life seemed quite so important as that Erskine should be the kind of +Christian that the Lord wanted. + +"Why, because," said the child, wonderingly, "he _belongs_, you know, +and--won't the dear Lord take care of his own? But it is different with +her,--why, she may not let Him!" + +There was the most peculiar emphasis of that word "belongs"; and almost +infinite dismay expressed by the last phrase. Maybelle was a literalist. +She believed that when the Lord said, "Ye _will not_ come unto me that +ye might have life," he meant that it was quite within man's power to +refuse it. + +But from that hour Ruth's heart was quieter concerning her son, and she +prayed in stronger faith. Erskine "belonged" and she could trust the +Lord to take care of His own. It seemed strange, but the child was +really helping the Christian of mature years. "Except ye become as +little children," she repeated to her heart with a grateful smile. +Maybelle's faith was as the faith of a little child; that was what made +it so strong. + +The plans for the summer matured and, to the joy of all concerned, Mrs. +Burnham was carried a willing captive to the new seaside home; and, on +one pretext or another, lingered there from week to week. The young +people were fertile in schemes, and vied with one another in pretexts to +hold her just a few days more. + +"You cannot surely go until after the fourteenth!" and "Why, we must +have you for the twenty-first, anyway!" + +Meantime, Erskine was growing almost indignant, at least on paper. His +final argument was put with lawyer-like directness. + +"It seems to be true that you have ceased to care for your son, but +perhaps the advent of your grandson will move you. Erskine Burnham, +Junior, arrived at four this morning, as I have already announced to you +by telegram, and is in excellent health and spirits, and very desirous +of beholding the face of his grandmother; I might remark, in passing, +that his father and mother sympathize with him in this desire, save that +the cruel grandmother seems to be quite dead to all natural affection. +We are hoping that to have a grandson will be something so unnatural as +to arouse her desires for home." + +But if he could have seen his mother during that first hour after the +despatch reached her, he would have been deeply pained as well as +puzzled. Did ever grandmother take such triumphant news in such strange +fashion before? She was alone in her room, and she let the paper drop +away from her while she hid her face in her hands and shook as though in +an ague chill. Her grandson! yes, but Irene's son! born of such a mother +into this dangerous, sin-stricken world! to be trained by such a mother! +and her fair and lovely daughter an outlaw at this moment from her +mother's home and heart! How would it be possible for a boy with such an +inheritance as such a mother would give him, to escape the snares that +would assuredly be set for him? Great waves of pain seemed to have this +woman in its clutches, as she lived over again her own young motherhood, +and thought of all that it had meant to her, and contrasted herself with +that other mother; and remembered that she was the mother of Erskine +Burnham's son. + +But by degrees saner thoughts began to come. Heredity was not +everything, she reminded herself; and even according to it its full +place, had not the boy a father? The thought of Maybelle in this +connection helped to quiet her. Was ever sweeter, purer, more lovable +girl born of woman than she? And was not that same woman her mother? +What of heredity here? + +But the girl was deserted by her mother, and mercifully preserved from +such training as she would have given. What was that promise? "When my +father and mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up." Had not +the Lord made good this word? If only this little new boy, her grandson, +could--And then Ruth turned in stern repellence from herself. What was +this that she was thinking! Could not God take care of his own? + +But she must go home, of course she must go home now, at once. But she +did not. One of Mrs. Roberts's flock fell ill, and before noon of the +following day was very seriously, even desperately ill, and there +followed a long, hard battle with disease; and Ruth, who had lingered +for her pleasure, apparently, could not of course leave them now, when +for the first time there was opportunity to be of real service. The sick +one, even after the battle was fought, was slow in convalescing, and the +mother was worn, and Ruth could see that she held a place in this home +that no one else just then could fill, and she stayed. + +So it came to pass that the summer was gone, and the Roberts household +was established in town again, and Maybelle was entered at Madame +Sternheim's for a year of graduate work, before the Burnham carriage +waited at the station for the belated grandmother, and her son paced the +station platform more eager and impatient for his mother than it seemed +to him he had ever been in his life before, and his son was two months +old that day. + + + + + CHAPTER XXV + + A CRISIS + + +"DO you think I will ever let you go away from us again?" This was +Erskine Burnham's word to his mother when he had her all to himself in +the carriage. His arms were about her, and he was kissing eyes and nose +and hair after the fashion of his childhood. + +"Such a wicked, wicked grandmother! Does she think she deserves the most +beautiful, most intelligent grandson that ever drew breath?" + +Throughout that drive they were very gay; both of them covered under the +semblance of merrymaking, the deep feeling that neither wished just then +to express. + +Only once, as the carriage turned in at the familiar gateway, did +Erskine trust himself to a tender word:-- + +"O mommie, mommie! do you suppose you know anything about how a boy +feels to get his mother again?" + +"My boy!" she began, but her voice broke, and she could not utter +another word. And then the carriage drew up before the side entrance, +and Erskine became very busy with the bags and wraps, and believed that +his mother's emotion was the natural feeling of a grandmother on coming +into her possession. + +The weeks that immediately followed were very far from happy ones, +although one member of the family circle was doing her utmost in the +interests of peace. + +Ruth Burnham had not lingered for months away from her home simply from +dread of facing the situation; nor yet on account entirely of the young +girl whom she had taken to her heart; there had been underneath these, a +determined purpose to leave those two quite to themselves; to try the +effect upon Irene of relieving her for a time of her mother-in-law's +daily presence. It is true she had not planned just how long she could +do this--she had not been sure when she went away that it could be done, +save for a few days; but she had allowed herself to be apparently swayed +by every passing reason for delay, despite Erskine's evident +bewilderment over such action, with an end in view which had to do with +that solemn self-sacrifice she had made. It remained to be seen whether +this phase of it had been of any avail. + +At first, Irene was gracious, or tried to be; but in all her apparent +sweetness, and sometimes even attempts at deference, there was a curious +little undertone sting, which made Ruth feel constrained, and always +uncertain what to say or do next. + +But the baby, toward whom her sore heart turned with a hunger that was +almost pain, was as fair and sweet a creation as ever came from the +thought of God. So like his father--in the eyes of the grandmother, that +there were moments when she could shut herself up alone with him and +live her mother-joy over again. + +Not many of them; her time with him was literally counted by moments, +and grew more and more uncertain each passing day. + +Ruth had schooled herself to see at least indifference on the part of +the mother toward her child, and had planned how she would try to atone +for such unutterable loss by making him the very centre of her own life. +But behold! instead of anything like indifference, Irene developed a +love for the child so passionate, so fierce, indeed, that it suggested +the instinct of wild animals, instead of cultivated motherhood. + +Moreover, the poor mother was jealous of even the nurse who lavished +loving nonsense upon her baby, and intensely jealous of the grandmother, +for whom the baby, even thus early in his life, began to exhibit a +perverse fondness. + +The entire situation was a surprise, and, it must be admitted, an added +blow to Ruth. Instead of being able to rejoice that the maternal +instinct had been at last awakened in this woman, she was dismayed and +heartsick over it. If Irene meant to begin thus early to keep the boy +under her constant care and surveillance, what hope was there for his +future? + +She awakened to the fact that she had been counting upon this mother's +fondness for all sorts of social functions, and expecting to see her +enter with zest upon her former care-free life, thus making it possible +for the baby to be much under his grandmother's supervision. She had +planned prematurely. Irene seemed to have forgotten society; she never +walked, or drove, without her baby; she kept him with her during all his +waking moments, and apparently lived for the purpose of warding off the +attentions of, especially, his grandmother. + +In vain did Ruth try, by utmost deference to the mother's superior +claim, by never presuming to offer even a suggestion as to the child's +care, to disarm the intense dislike that Irene could not help showing--a +dislike of having her even notice the child. + +So marked was this condition of things becoming to the servants that +Ruth, beyond measure distressed and bewildered, stayed much of the time +in her own room, and considered and abandoned a dozen schemes for going +away again. The difficulty was to make any movement that would not +excite Erskine's suspicion; for Erskine, being a man and a very busy +one, continued to be what Irene once told him he was, "as blind as a +bat." He was a very proud, glad father, prepared to believe that his son +was the sweetest, brightest, most beautiful baby who ever blessed the +earth with his presence, and he was unequivocally and blissfully happy +at seeing that baby in his grandmother's arms. In rejoicing over her +home-coming, and in delighting over the thought of having his son grow +up in daily intimacy with her, he said "we" as heartily and jubilantly +as though certain that Irene shared his happiness, and it is certain +that he so believed. + +"We have learned one lesson, anyway," he said gayly, as they sat +together one evening after dinner. "That is that we mustn't let you get +away from home again very soon. A mother who has no conception of when +it is time to come home must not be allowed her freedom. Do you think we +have forgiven you already for those months of indifference to us? What +was the charm, mommie? You have never told us. The truth is, you have +told us very little about that long visit. Irene used to be sure that +there was some attraction that you did not reveal. Have you made her +confess, Irene?" + +Irene made a feint of joining in his gayety, and said something about +not thinking it worth while to attempt what he had failed in +accomplishing. + +"Well," Erskine said, after a moment, puzzled and a trifle hurt because +his mother did not seem to join heartily in the nonsense, "there is one +comfort; I am not afraid of her deserting us again. Erskine Burnham, +Junior, is an attraction that will hold, even though his father's power +seems to have waned." + +It was by random sentences like these, that Ruth was made to realize how +difficult it would be to get away again. + +As the days passed and the situation grew more and more strained, the +mother's only comfort was that Erskine did not understand it. How should +he? The claims of business pressed every day more heavily upon him. From +being the younger partner in a great legal firm, as his decided ability +became known, he had risen steadily, until responsibilities as well as +honors had been thrust upon him, and he was now a recognized power in +his profession. This meant very close attention to business, and he had +scarcely any time that he could call his own. + +How could he know, and, after a little, the resolute mother asked +herself why he should ever know that when he left his beautiful home +each morning for his long, busy day in town, he left jealousy and +suspicion and unreasoning aversion behind him? + +"I think she hates me," Ruth said to herself as she sat in her room with +folded hands and listened to the vigorous protests of the boy across the +hall, and knew that she, his grandmother, who loved every hair of his +dear golden head, must hold herself from going to him. "I am sure she +hates me, and the feeling grows stronger every day. Oh, what shall I do? +what can I do! How is one to endure such a state of things for a +lifetime? I am not an old woman. I may have to stay here for years and +years! If I could _only_ get through with it all and go to my home!" + +It was not often that she indulged herself in such moods, and she felt +always distinctly self-condemned when they were allowed to take hold of +her. She had never been one to indulge herself in what her old friend +Eurie Mitchell used to characterize as "useless whining"; and it would +be beneath the mature Christian to allow it. + +But a crisis was at hand. Erskine surprised his family one afternoon by +coming home several hours earlier than usual. + +"I ran away!" was his gay announcement as he found his wife and mother +in the living-room. They had been entertaining a caller who had asked +first for Ruth, and then had insisted upon seeing the young mother and +the baby. + +"Such tiresome people!" Irene had said impatiently. "Forever trying to +pry into my affairs! I wish they would at least let me have my baby in +peace." + +But she had ordered the nurse to bring him down to her in a few minutes, +for the callers were Erskine's friends of long standing, and she knew +that he meant them to be treated with all deference. + +"This is great luck to find you both here," Erskine said. "It will save +time. I escaped from the office on purpose to enjoy a drive with my +family. It is just the day for Boy Junior," and he tossed the delighted +baby in his arms as he spoke. "It is as balmy as spring. Why, this is a +spring month, isn't it? I had forgotten. Get ready, beloveds, and we +shall have time for a glimpse of the bay before the sun sets." + +"Oh, no!" said Irene, hastily. "Not today, Erskine; I don't want to go. +You can take mother, and baby and I will stay at home." + +Erskine looked surprised and troubled. + +"Why is that, dear? I planned on purpose for you. I don't think you get +out enough in this sweet spring air. I could not help noticing how pale +and worn you looked this morning. Don't you think so, mamma? Come, +dearest, it will do you good; and I have so little time nowadays for +driving with you. I have been planning all the morning to get away." + +"I don't want to go," Irene said fretfully. But her husband took no +notice of the words. + +"We'll go on a lark!" he explained to the delighted baby. "Father and +mother and grandmother and grandson. How does that sound, my boy? I feel +like a boy myself to-day. You and the little boy may have the back seat, +mommie, and your big girl and boy will sit in front, and drive. Don't +you want to drive, Irene? The horses are in fine spirit, just as you +like them to feel when you have the reins. + +"Here, nurse," as that young woman appeared at the moment in the +doorway. "Put this young man into driving attire, while the ladies are +getting on their wraps. We mustn't waste another minute of this glorious +sunshine." + +But at this point the baby asserted himself. The nurse had taken him +from his father's arms and was moving toward the door; as he passed +Ruth, he made a quick, unexpected spring in her direction, and had not +her arms been quick and her grasp firm, there might have been an +accident. As it was, he cuddled in her embrace with a gurgle of +happiness. + +"You young scamp!" said the proud father, with a relieved laugh. "You +knew where you meant to land, didn't you? Showed excellent taste, too. +He is becoming to you, mommie. You look young enough to-day to be +mistaken for his mother. Doesn't she, Irene?" + +For Ruth's cheeks had flushed like a girl's, and her heart was beating +swiftly under the baby's caresses. She bent her head over the golden +one, and murmured some incoherent sentence, while she hid eyes that were +filled with tears. It was so rare a thing in these days to get a chance +to cuddle that baby! + +And then Irene spoke, in a tone of voice that her husband had rarely +heard:-- + +"Rebecca, I did not ring for you. Go away; I will bring the baby myself. +I _wish_ you wouldn't! I don't want him kissed nor fondled. Give him to +me." + +This last, addressed to Ruth, in a tone so sharp and a manner so rude +that Erskine in unbounded astonishment said:-- + +"Irene!" + +Just that word, but not as she had ever before heard it spoken. + +"I don't care!" she said. "Let her leave my baby alone. I don't want her +to touch him, and I won't have it! I _won't_! I say!" + +Her voice had risen almost to a scream. + +Rebecca had disappeared with the swiftness with which this woman's +servants generally obeyed her commands, and Ruth, putting the baby +without a word into his amazed father's arms, fled away also. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVI + + A STRANGE CHANGE + + +THERE was no driving out that day; the Burnham horses were remanded to +the stable with no other explanation to their astonished care taker than +that the ladies had decided not to go out. + +When Ruth, distressed and bewildered as to what course to take, obeyed +the tardy summons to dinner, she found a stranger in the dining room +whom Erskine introduced as a member of the Severn law firm, from town, +who had come out for a business conference. Would she be kind enough to +take Irene's place at table? His wife, he explained to the guest, was +the victim of a severe headache and must be excused. + +Throughout the dinner Erskine was thoughtful for and courteously +attentive to his mother; but of course there was no opportunity for a +personal word. When at last he excused himself for a business conference +and took his guest to the library, Ruth stood where he had left her, +irresolute and distressed. Under normal conditions the proper and +natural thing for a mother whose daughter was suffering with headache +would be to go to her with sympathetic inquiries and offers of help. +Should she attempt this? Would Erskine think it the right step for her +to take? She feared that she knew only too well how Irene would receive +her; but no matter. The question was, What did Erskine want? What did he +think about it all? Did he blame her for the strange exhibition he had +seen that afternoon? True, it was not more than she had endured before, +but it was a strange experience to Erskine, and it would be only natural +for him to think that his wife must have had strong provocation, in +order to make such an outburst possible. If he thought that,--if he +blamed her in any way, how would it be possible ever to undeceive him? +Wait--ought she to undeceive him? Ought she even to exonerate herself? +Could she expect any man to take sides against his wife? What a horrible +question! Could she want him to do such a thing even for her? Oh, the +misery of it all! That she and her son had reached the hour when they +could not explain to each other! + +Only one thing seemed certain. She must go away somewhere, and speedily. +It must now be apparent even to Erskine that they could not continue +longer in this way of living. + +She crept back to her room, at last, and sat in the darkness with hands +closely clasped, so closely that the diamond of her engagement ring cut +into the flesh. She listened for words from across the hall, or for +movements. She went over and over and over the miserable scene of the +afternoon; she listened for Erskine, and wondered if he would stop at +her room, and was afraid to have him come. + +It was late when he came upstairs very quietly and paused at his +mother's door and listened; and she was breathlessly still. Then he went +on, to his own rooms; and Ruth, physically exhausted, went to her bed, +and, in the course of time, fell asleep, not having been able to come to +any decision as to what she could do. + +The gray dawn of another day was beginning to make faint shadows in the +room, when a knock at her door awakened her, and Erskine entered. + +Was she awake? he inquired anxiously. It was too bad to disturb her +rest, but he must. Irene was ill, very ill. Nurse was with her, and the +baby had awakened and was crying. Might he bring him to her, and could +she care for him until they could plan how to manage? + +Even in that moment of haste and anxiety Ruth detected in her son's +voice a kind of solemn relief, almost of satisfaction, and read its +meaning. It was as if he had said:-- + +"Irene is violently ill, is not herself, indeed, and probably has not +been for a long time. It is plain that she was not responsible for what +she said or did yesterday." His mother could understand that even such +an explanation, sad as it was, was balm to his soul. She sprang up and +began to dress in haste, while she answered him. Of course she would +care for Baby; bring him at once; or wait, she would go for him herself. + +"Go back to Irene," she commanded. "She may be needing you this minute; +and you needn't think of Baby again." How glad her hungry arms were to +enfold him, even at such price, she would have been almost ashamed to +have had known. + +In this manner the dreaded day broke for them; with all embarrassments +forgotten and all programmes of possible action swept away. Irene was +desperately ill. Rebecca, the baby's nurse, who was a graduate of a +training school, and had done hospital service, admitted that it looked +like what she called "a case." She was willing to transfer her +attentions entirely to the mother, until other arrangements could be +made. + +Then began in the Burnham household a new and strange but very busy +life. With incredible promptness the house took on that indescribable +and distinctly felt change which serious illness brings in its train. +All ordinary routine was suspended. The eight o'clock car for which +Erskine was almost as sure to be ready as the sun was to rise at a given +moment, halted at the corner for passengers as usual, but went on +without him. He came down to breakfast at any hour when he could best +get away from Irene, and sometimes stood in the doorway, coffee cup in +hand, ready for a summons; for Irene was as imperious in her delirium as +she had been in health. The house seemed to be in the hands of +physicians and nurses. As the illness had from the first assumed a +serious form, a trained nurse had been at once secured, but it proved +necessary for Rebecca, also, to be in almost constant attendance. This +placed the baby entirely in the care of his grandmother, whose thankful +and devoted service was his at any hour of the day or night. While the +machinery of all the rest of the house was more or less thrown out of +gear, the people taking their meals at any hour that chanced to be +convenient for them, and ordering all their movements with a view to the +sick room, Erskine Burnham junior went on his serene and methodical way. +He was bathed and dressed and breakfasted at his usual hours; he went +out in his carriage at the given time; he sat on the porch in the +sunshine at just such and such periods, and was in every respect as +serene and sunny and well-cared-for a baby as though his mother was not +lying upstairs making a desperate fight for life. + +This state of things lasted for about three weeks; then the alarming +character of the illness subsided, and by degrees, the long, slow period +of convalescence was entered upon, and the house adjusted itself again +to changed conditions. + +In kitchen and dining room something like routine could once more be +carried out; and Erskine began to think of business, and even to get +away to his office for an hour or two each day. + +By and by the closely drawn shades below stairs were raised, and flowers +began to appear in the vases. + +But in Baby Erskine's apartments his grandmother still reigned supreme. +The special trained nurse had departed, and Rebecca had sole charge of +the patient. A young nurse girl had been secured at the first, to help +with the care of baby, under Ruth's supervision, and she was proving +herself a comfort. + +Altogether, these days, full of responsibilities though they were, and +not without some anxieties, held much comfort and even happiness for +Ruth. Erskine's baby was in her care, and as often as she chose was in +her arms; she could fondle him as she would, without fear of reproof. +She could bathe and rub and clothe the perfect little body, she could +curl the lovely golden rings of hair about her fingers, she could catch +him up in a transport of bliss and kiss his lovely little neck and +dimpled chin and exquisite arms, and in a thousand tender mother-ways +rest her heart upon him. + +And the baby lavished love without measure upon her, and clung to her +when any attempt was made to take him away, and made wild little +demonstrations of delight at her approach; and all day she was happy. + +It was only at night when he lay in his crib near her bedside, sleeping +quietly, that the spectre of the near future came and sat with her and +set her heart to quivering. The days were passing swiftly; each one was +bringing nearer the hour when she must give back her treasure and banish +herself. Where? She did not know; she had not been able to decide. +Somewhere with Maybelle, if that could be brought about; only--What +could be said to Erskine? + +Was it absolutely necessary? Was it possible that this very serious +illness, whose outcome much of the time had been more than doubtful, had +wrought changes in Irene? Sometimes it almost seemed to her that such +was the case; and yet it might be only physical weakness that made the +difference. + +Daily now, by the doctor's advice, Baby was taken to his mother's room +for a few minutes. At first, Ruth sent the little maid with him, and +avoided going in at the same time, lest the baby's demonstrations of +delight over her would annoy his mother. But one morning as she was +passing through the hall with Baby in her arms, the door of the sick +room opened, and Rebecca called:-- + +"Mrs. Burnham, will you please bring Baby here a minute? His mother +wants to see him." + +So Ruth turned at once and carried him to the bedside, where he, being +in genial mood, chose to smile upon and coo at his mother. + +"He grows rapidly, doesn't he?" Irene said, and it was the first remark +she had volunteered, directed to her mother-in-law. + +Ruth had seen her twice a day ever since there had been any admittance +for other than those in constant attendance, but her visits had +necessarily been very brief, and there had been no attempt at +conversation. + +"Yes, indeed!" she made haste to say. "He is growing finely; you will be +astonished to find how strong he is, and he seems to be perfectly well." + +"He does you credit." His mother's tone was listlessness personified. +Ruth, looking at her closely, began to realize that some strange change +which seemed not to be accounted for by illness had come upon Irene. It +was not simply that the fierceness of her love for her child was gone, +and almost if not quite indifference taken its place, physical weakness +might account for that; but there was an indescribable something about +her that seemed to Ruth like a surrender, as one who had made a fierce +fight and been worsted in the battle and had given up. The troubled +grandmother thought it all over after she and baby were back in his +room. She could not but fear that a new distress was coming upon them. +What if Irene were that abnormal creature, a woman who could not +continue to love a child, even her own! There was no fear that she would +again desert it, her evident and unfailing, even increasing passion for +her husband would hold her, this time, to her home; but--could the +misery of it be borne, if this baby must grow up under the control of an +unloving mother? She strained him to her so suddenly and so closely that +he rebelled, and got off a lovely jargon of talk in protest. + +She went back, later, to Irene's room, carrying the baby who was in a +flutter of delight over just the joy of living. It did not seem possible +that one could look at him without loving him. She could not help +wanting to test Irene and see if her interest in him had indeed waned. + +She smiled languidly on him, and suffered Ruth to place him on the couch +beside her, although she said:-- + +"Two visits in one morning! Hasn't he been here before?" + +"He was so sweet in his new dress," Ruth explained, "that I thought his +mamma ought to see him while it was fresh." Then she began to rehearse +some of his pretty baby ways, making a distinct effort to awaken in his +mother's heart a sense of pride in her child. Irene listened vaguely, as +one who only half heard. Suddenly she made an impatient movement. + +"Here," she said, "take your baby. He is so full of life that the very +sight of him wearies me. Take him away." + +Ruth's heart sank. Better the fiercest, unreasoning passion of love and +jealousy than this! + +Others beside herself began to notice and be puzzled and troubled by +this change in the patient. Rebecca, the nurse, expressed her mind to +Ruth in anxious whispers. + +"Doesn't it seem queer to you, ma'am, that she doesn't notice baby more? +and he growing so smart and cunning! You know how she was just bound up +in the child, and couldn't seem to think of anything else?" + +"It is because she is still so weak that she cannot yet think +connectedly about anything," Ruth replied with a confidence that she was +far from feeling. "You noticed, didn't you, that she said he was so full +of life it wearied her to look at him?" + +But the nurse who had received hospital training, shook her head and +whispered again:-- + +"It isn't right, ma'am, somehow. I'm no croaker but I've seen lots of +sick folks and I don't think things are going just right with her. If I +were Mr. Burnham, I should want another doctor to see her, +or--something." + +Then came Erskine, his face troubled. + +"Mamma, did you ever see any one get well as slowly as Irene does? It +almost seems to me as though she is weaker to-day than she was two weeks +ago; and she seems to take less and less notice of Baby. Last night when +I heard him laughing, I asked her if she did not want me to bring him +for a little good-night visit, and she said: 'No, I don't want him. I've +given him up!'" + +His voice broke with the last word, but he waited for his mother to say +something encouraging; and she had only the merest commonplaces. + +"She has been very ill, Erskine, and I suppose we must be patient. She +cannot be expected to be interested in anything while she is still so +weak." + +"Mamma, you don't think--" and then Ruth was glad that the baby cried, +and she had to go to him, without waiting to tell what she thought. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVII + + A RETROGRADE MOVEMENT + + +ERSKINE, once roused, could not rest. He came to his mother on the next +evening, his face more troubled than before. + +"Mamma, I had a long talk with the doctor this morning. He is not +satisfied with the present state of things. He admits that for some days +there has been a retrograde movement. He has been watching very closely +and has become convinced that there is some mental disturbance, a heavy +mental strain of some kind that must be removed before medicine will be +of any use. Now what possible mental strain could Irene have! + +"I told the doctor that before we were married, she went through very +trying experiences, and lost her nearest relative while she was alone in +a foreign country; but that time was long past, of course, and there had +been absolutely nothing since, to trouble her." + +His mother's start of dismay at hearing the doctor's word, and the +flushing of her face did not escape him, and he added almost sternly:-- + +"Mother, are you keeping something from me that I ought to know?" + +For a moment she did not know how to answer him. Then her mind cleared +and she spoke quietly:-- + +"I am doing right, Erskine; I have no secrets of my own from you. I have +heard of some things that I can conceive of as troubling Irene, but she +did not confide them to me, and I have no right to talk about them even +to you; especially as I can think of no good, but rather harm, to +result." + +He turned from her abruptly. She could see that he was not only sorely +perplexed but hurt; in his hour of deepest need his mother seemed to +have failed him. + +It was a bitter hour for her. Yet she felt that she must be right. Would +any one but a fiend go to Erskine now with the story of his wife's long +years of living a lie! If her duty elsewhere were but as clear as this! +Could it be that this was what was preying upon Irene and causing that +retrograde movement? Had her long-sluggish conscience awakened at last? +Was she perhaps ignorant of the fate of her daughter? Was she afraid +that her former husband was still living, and that he and Erskine might, +sometime, meet? Who could tell what questions of horror and terror were +struggling in her tired brain and wearing out her weakened body? + +Ought she--the woman who knew the whole dread story, knew many details +that the sick one did not--ought she to be the surgeon to probe that +wound? To be able to talk about it all might help. And yet--who could +tell? The knowledge that her husband's mother knew every detail of that +life which had been so carefully hidden from them, might be the last +shock to that already overcharged brain. + +Oh, to be sure of her duty! She told herself that she would perform it +at any cost, she would shrink from nothing, now, if she could but be +sure of the way. Well, why should she not be sure? Where was her Father? +What was that promise: "Thine ears shall hear a word behind thee saying: +'This is the way, walk ye in it.'" + +Sleep did not come to her that night, but perhaps she was given a +strength that was better. She spent much of the time on her knees beside +the quietly sleeping baby; and though, when morning came, she was not +sure which way she was to turn that day, "whether to the right hand or +the left," she found her mind repeating the words: "In quietness and +confidence shall be your strength." + +The day passed without marked changes of any sort. Erskine comforted +himself with the belief that Irene was a trifle stronger. He told his +mother that Dr. Sutherland was coming out to see her on the following +day. The great nerve specialist could not get away from the city before +that time. Irene heard of his expected visit with the same air of +indifference that she had exhibited toward all things of late. She lay +very quiet most of the day, and at evening made no objection whatever to +Erskine's going to an important conference with his firm. + +No sooner was he gone than she herself proposed that Rebecca go at that +time to the kitchen to superintend the making of a new kind of food for +her, instead of waiting until morning. + +"I might want to try it in the night," she said, "and I don't need any +further attention at present. Mother will stay with me." + +This looked like deliberate planning. Irene had never before, of her own +will, arranged to spend five minutes alone with her mother-in-law. That +astonished woman while hastening to agree to the proposition, made a +swift mental claim upon the promise: "Thine ears shall hear a word +behind thee saying, This is the way." + +It was Irene who began conversation as soon as the door closed after +Rebecca. But the topic she chose was a new astonishment. + +"I have been thinking about those two step-daughters of yours, Seraph +and Minta. You must have lived a strange life with them." + +Ruth turned surprised eyes upon her. + +"I did not suppose that you had ever heard of the girls," she said. +"Erskine was so young when they left us that I thought he scarcely +remembered them." + +"Oh, he remembers them very well. He has told me some things; but it was +Mrs. Portland from whom I received their connected history. She was here +for two months while you were away, and was quite intimate with me; she +ran in often, and liked nothing better than to talk about you and those +two girls." + +Now Mrs. Portland was an old resident of the neighborhood who had known +Judge Burnham and his daughters before Ruth had heard of their +existence. What she could reveal of their history if she chose, would +leave nothing for another to tell. The question was, Why had their story +interested this sick woman? Or rather, why was it being brought forward +just now? + +"It seems strange that they both came back to you to die, doesn't it?" + +This was certainly a strange way of putting it! Ruth hesitated how to +reply. At last, she said:-- + +"Seraph never left home, you know; and poor Minta was glad to return to +it. She had been through a very bitter experience." + +"Yes, I heard about it. You have had all sorts of experiences yourself, +haven't you? And to conclude with a good-for-nothing daughter-in-law +seems too bad!" + +Surprise and almost consternation held Ruth silent. This was so utterly +unlike any sentence that she had expected! Irene's tone expressed both +sympathy and regret. Ruth decided to pass it off lightly. She laughed a +little in a way that was intended to express good cheer, as she said:-- + +"You are not to find fault with my daughter-in-law, if you please! I +allow no one to do that." + +"That is because you are not acquainted with her yourself. You don't +know anything about her. You think you do, but you are mistaken." + +There was no excitement in her tone; there was even no indication that +she had a personal interest in the conversation; it seemed to be a mere +statement of fact. + +Ruth's swift thought took hold of the promise and heard the voice: "This +is the way." She spoke with quiet firmness. + +"I know all about her; I know a great deal more than she thinks I do." + +Irene moved on her pillow so as to get a more direct view of the other's +face as she asked:-- + +"What do you mean?" + +"Just that, dear. I know much more than you think, and have known it for +a long time." + +"You don't know what I mean," the tone was still impersonal, "but I am +going to tell you. You think I was a widow when I married your son. I +was not." She raised herself slightly on one elbow as she spoke, using +more strength than she had exerted since her illness. Ruth came swiftly +over to her and slipped a supporting arm under her as she said:-- + +"Don't try to raise yourself up, Irene, and I wouldn't talk any more. I +know all that you want to tell me. You were a divorced wife, and your +husband was living; but he has since died. You see I understand all +about it." + +Irene's eyes fairly pierced her with their keenness; still, her voice +betrayed no emotion. + +"You knew it all the time?" she said. + +"I have known it for a very long time, Irene. Don't talk any more; it is +time for your medicine now, and after it you must be very quiet, you +know." + +Irene was as one who had not heard. + +"You do not know the worst," she said, still speaking as though her +words were about some one else; but she was deathly pale. "There was a +child." + +Ruth hurriedly wet a cloth in a restorative and bathed her face, while +she spoke low and soothingly, as to a child. + +"Yes, I know; there was a dear little girl, who is a young woman +now,--one of the sweetest, dearest girls in the world. I know her and +love her. Irene, for Erskine's sake, won't you try to be careful!" + +For Irene had pushed the soothing hand away and was making a fierce +effort to raise herself to a sitting posture, and her eyes looked to +Ruth for the first time like Maybelle's. + +Ruth hurried her words. + +"I know all that you want to say; you must lie quiet and let me talk. I +am sure there must have been strong provocation, and you were very +young; I know how bitterly you must have regretted it all." + +"You cannot know that, at least," she said. "There is no need for what +you call future punishment, I have had mine here; and I have hated you +for fear you would find me out. How long have you known it?" + +"For a long time, many months. Irene, I _cannot_ let you talk or think +about it now. Won't you try to put it all away for to-night? There is +nothing, you see, that you need to tell me." + +The great solemn eyes that Maybelle's were like when she was troubled +were fixed upon Ruth. + +"Could you put it away?" she asked. "It has never been away from me for +a moment, the fear that Erskine would--would--" + +A convulsive shiver ran through her frame, as of one in physical pain. + +"Oh!" said Ruth, in terror, "this is all wrong! If you are worse, +Erskine will never forgive me." + +Irene made a visible effort to control herself, and lay with closed +eyes, and motionless, allowing Ruth to bathe her face and make hot +applications to her hands and feet. After a little, she spoke, quietly +enough. + +"I will talk quietly, but you must let me talk, now. I have kept it to +myself just as long as I can. Since Baby came, my life has been a daily +terror. Will you tell me how you came to know about me, and why you have +not told Erskine? I am sure you have not, but I do not understand why." + +"Because," said Ruth, solemnly, "Jesus Christ, to whom I belong, told me +not to do so. It is your secret, Irene, yours and His. You must let Him +tell you what to do with it." + +Irene gazed at her. "You are a strange woman," she said at last, "a very +strange woman; but you are good, and I have not understood you. I am +sorry that I hated you. If I had understood, it might have +been--different. I thought you would find it out, sometime, women always +do, and I hated you for that; I dreaded you, you know. Every letter that +came from you while you were away made me faint and sick because of what +might be in it. I was afraid to have Erskine come home at night because +of what he might have heard; and I was afraid to have him go away again +in the morning for fear it would be the last time he would kiss me." + +"Poor child!" The words were wrung from Ruth's heart,--the first words +of real tenderness that she had ever spoken to this woman. + +Again there came that strange new look into Irene's eyes. + +[Illustration: "I'M SORRY THAT I HATED YOU."--_Page 354._] + +"You are a good woman," she said slowly. "I am sorry that I hated you. +Let me talk now, and tell you about it. I have got to! I ought not to +have married that man; I never pretended even to him that I loved him. I +married to get rid of dulness and restraint, and to go to Europe. I was +a young fool! I got rid of nothing, and instead of feeling only +indifference for him I learned to hate him. He was a drunkard, and I +hated him for that. Then--I did not like the baby. You can't quite +control your horror of that, can you? I don't wonder, now that I have +learned what mother-love really is. I could almost hate myself for +having such a feeling. You think a mother couldn't--but she can. I +turned from the child, just as I had from the father, in disgust. Even +so early in her life she looked like him, and I hated him. He was a weak +man, and I never had any patience with weakness. Sometimes he was +maudlin and loving, and then I hated him worst of all. One day I went +away from him and stayed away. That was all I did. Oh, yes, I got a +divorce; that was because I hated his name. At first I meant to do +something for the child, I didn't know what,--he worshipped the +baby,--and then I heard that it died; and I did not know until years +afterward that it lived; but it was too late then to do anything. By +that time I had met Erskine and discovered what love really meant. Oh, +to think how I have loved him! and I have struggled and planned and lied +to keep his love! I have even prayed to keep it! and now it is all +over!" + +"Irene," said her listener, firmly. "If you persist in talking, I shall +have to send for Erskine. You must swallow this sedative and then lie +still and let me talk. I will say in just a minute all I want to, and +then we will both be quiet and you will try to sleep, for Erskine's +sake. It isn't all over; it is just beginning. We cannot undo the past, +but we can make another thing of the present--and the future. I promise +you, before God, and call on Him to witness, that I will never by word +or look reveal to Erskine one word of what we have said or of what I +know, unless you tell me to do so. When you are well and strong again, +you will decide how much or how little you want to tell him. God will +show you what is right and you will want to do right; I am sure of it. +And we will love each other, you and I, and help each other. Two women +who love one man as you and I love Erskine Burnham should be very much +to each other. Now I am not going to say another word." + +She bent her head and kissed the sick woman on her forehead--her first +voluntary caress. + +Irene, who had closed her eyes and was death-like in her stillness, +opened them again and looked steadily at her. Then she said with slow +conviction in her tones:-- + +"You are a good woman." + + + + + CHAPTER XXVIII + + "SOMETHING HAD HAPPENED" + + +BUT Ruth Burnham went to her room that night in a tumult of pain and +self-reproach keener than she had felt for years. + +As plainly as though a book had been opened before her, and a solemn +unseen figure had pointed to the page, she read the story of her +failure. + +She had tried to be good to this woman, she had been outwardly patient +with her faults, she had been long suffering, she had been silent over +wrongs--she had effaced herself in a thousand ways, but she had been as +cold as ice. There had been nothing in her face or voice to invite the +confidence of this younger, weaker woman. There had been nothing in her +daily attitude toward her to suggest the love and sympathy of Christ. + +She cried to Him for forgiveness, for the privilege of beginning again, +for wisdom to know just how to do it. And then she prayed for Irene in a +way that, with all her trying, she had not been able to do before. + +It came to her while on her knees that she would tell Irene of +Maybelle's beautiful faith and daily praying for her mother, without +knowing that it was her mother. + +Were the child's prayers being answered? Was this strange new mood of +Irene's part of the answer? + +But they could not be brought together, that mother and daughter, not +now--it was too late. How could they? What explanation of her existence, +of their intense interest in her, could be given to Erskine? Would Irene +ever be intensely interested in Maybelle? Could she do other than shrink +from her now, after all these strange years? + +Oh! there were depths to this trouble that she must not try to touch. +But one thing was plain: she must help Irene. Whatever would do that, at +whatever sacrifice, must be done. + +The next day, that in some way Ruth had thought would be an eventful +one, passed in even unusual quiet. Irene seemed less restless than +usual, and lay much of the time with closed eyes. The great specialist +came out to see her, and there was a long interview, and a long +conference afterward with the attending physician, but they kept their +own counsel. All that the family knew was that in the main they agreed, +and the specialist wished to withhold his final opinion until he saw the +patient again after thirty-six hours. + +In the evening Irene roused herself from what had for several hours been +almost a stupor, to ask Erskine if he could give the entire evening to +her, and if they could be quite alone. + +"Yes, indeed," he said with a brave attempt at gayety. "We will banish +them all, even Rebecca, and I will be doctor and head nurse and errand +boy combined. See that you get a good sleep, Rebecca, and you need not +come until I ring for you." + +To Ruth this arrangement was somewhat of a disappointment. She had hoped +that Irene would want to see her for a few minutes; there were questions +that it would seem as though she must want to ask, and there were things +that Ruth felt might help her, if she were told them. But Irene gave no +hint that she even remembered what had passed between them, save that, +as Ruth went to bid her good-night, she made a movement with her hand to +draw her down and murmured:-- + +"You are a good woman." + +Erskine held the door open for his mother to pass, then followed her +into the hall. + +"Mamma, don't you think Irene has seemed a little better to-day, more +quiet? And she took a good deal of notice of Baby this afternoon." + +There was such a wistful note in his voice that his mother's eyes filled +with tears; she longed to comfort him, and realized that she did not +know how. + +She was wakeful and alert during the first part of the night, ready for +some emergency which she feared, without knowing just why. But toward +morning she slept heavily, and was wakened by the sunshine and the +prattle of Baby's voice in his crib at her bedside. + +She dressed hurriedly, still with that vague impression upon her that +something had happened or was about to happen. In the hall was Erskine, +standing with folded arms gazing out of the window; gazing at nothing. +The first glimpse she had of him she knew that something had already +happened. His face was gray, not white, with a pallor that was unnatural +and startling; he gave her a strange impression of having grown suddenly +old--years older than he had been the night before. And he looked +strangely like his father. + +"Erskine," his mother said, alarmed, and hurried toward him. + +He turned at once, lifting a warning finger. + +"Hush!" he said; "I think she is sleeping. She has been very quiet since +midnight." + +Then he went without another word into his dressing-room and closed the +door. + +It was a strange long day. The patient lay quiet, not sleeping all the +time, but like one too weak and too indifferent to life to move. The +house was kept very still; although noises did not seem to disturb the +sick one, the different members of the household conversed in +mono-syllables and in whispers when they met. + +Ruth kept the baby out all day in the lovely soft summer air, and he was +happy. When a tear rolled once or twice down the cheeks of his +grandmother, he kissed her lovingly, and patted her face with his soft +hand. The specialist came again, but he did not stay long, and Ruth, who +could not leave her charge at the time, did not know what he said. No +one came to her with any word. One of the maids told her that Mr. +Burnham was sitting beside his wife, and had not left her room for +hours. + +The afternoon shadows were growing long, and Ruth was explaining to the +baby that it was almost time for him to go to his little bed, and that +she did not know whether mamma could kiss him good-night or not, when +Rebecca, her face swollen with weeping, crossed the lawn and touched her +arm. + +"May I take Baby, ma'am? The doctor said perhaps you would want to go to +Mr. Burnham. He went into his dressing-room and closed his door, and the +doctor thinks perhaps you might help him; he was awfully pale." + +"Is any thing wrong?" Ruth asked hurriedly, as she rose up to give her +charge into Rebecca's arms. "Is she worse?" + +But Rebecca was crying. "Oh, ma'am," she said, "she just slipped away! +it was awfully sudden for him! the doctor told him she might live for +hours, I heard him." + +"Rebecca, she is not _dead_!" + +"She just stopped breathing, ma'am, and that was all. Mr. Burnham was +sitting close to her where he has been sitting 'most all day, and she +didn't look any different to me. I thought she was asleep; but he looked +up suddenly at the doctor, poor man, with _such a face_! I never shall +forget it! and the doctor said:-- + +"'Yes, she is gone.'" + +And then Rebecca, who had not loved her mistress devotedly in life, +broke into bitter weeping. + +Ruth was like one paralyzed. She stood gazing at the girl as though +unable to move. It was not Erskine's grief so much as her own +consternation that held her. It seemed to her impossible that Irene was +dead! With all her thinking, and her foreboding, she had not thought of +that. She had felt on the eve of a great calamity, but it had not been +death. Erskine's gray, pale face that morning had not suggested such +trouble. Instead, she had worried herself all day long with the +possibilities connected with that evening conference; of what Irene had +told him, and how he had borne it and what he would feel must be done. + +She went to Erskine at last, utterly in doubt what to say to him. He was +in his private study with his head bowed on the desk. He did not notice +his mother's entrance by so much as a movement. She went over to him and +laid her hand gently on the brown curly locks, with a caressing movement +familiar to him from childhood. He put out a hand and drew her to him, +but neither of them spoke a word. + +A tender memory of the long ago came to Ruth. She was back in the days +of Erskine's childhood, she was in that very study which had been his +father's, with her head bowed in anguish on her husband's desk, while he +lay in the room below dressed for the grave. Her little boy stood beside +her, a longing desire upon him to comfort his mother; and half +frightened because she cried. + +"Mamma," he had said at last, hesitatingly, "Mamma, does God sometimes +make a mistake?" It had come to her like a voice of tender reproof from +God himself, and had helped her as nothing else did. Long afterward she +had told the boy about it, and it had become a sacred memory to them +both. + +"Erskine," she said at last, speaking very tenderly;-- + +"Does God sometimes make a mistake?" + +His strong frame shook. "O mother!" he said. "_O mother!_" and lifted +tearless eyes to her face. How old he looked, and haggard! How like to +his father his face had grown! + +Just then there came one of those commonplace interruptions from which +in times of mortal stress we shrink away. The intrusive world knocked at +his door with its questions, and thrust duties and responsibilities upon +him. + +Did Mr. Burnham wish this, or that, or the other? Could Dr. Cartwright +speak to him a moment? It was a matter of importance. Would he see Miss +Stuart for just a minute about a telegram? + +It was harrowing. His mother's heart ached for him. The interruptions to +his grief seemed impertinent and trivial, and those who were nearest to +him deplored them as they always do, without realizing that the +commonplaces of life are often salvation to desperate souls. + +Erskine rose up to meet the demands upon him, putting back with stern +hand all outward exhibition of his misery save that which his face told +for him. + +He gave careful attention to the thousand details that pressed upon him. +He planned and arranged and carried out, when necessary, saving his +mother all the burdens possible, but it seemed to her that he avoided +seeing her alone. + +It was not until Irene's body had been lying for an entire week in the +family burial ground that Erskine came to his mother's room one +afternoon and asked if she were engaged. + +"Only with Baby," she said eagerly. "Come in, Erskine, and see how sweet +he is. You haven't seen him since morning." + +He took the child in his arms and studied his face intently, smiling +over his pretty motions in a grave, absent-minded way; then he gave him +back with a question:-- + +"Can you banish him, mamma, for a little while? I want to talk with +you." + +"Yes, indeed," she said. "Rebecca can take him for a walk. I will have +him ready in a few minutes." + +He watched the process of robing and kissing, with eyes that seemed not +to see; and that troubled his mother, they were so full of pain. + +When the baby was gone, and Ruth had closed the doors leading into other +rooms and seated herself near to him, he seemed to have forgotten that +he wanted to talk. + +His eyes were fixed on the far-away hills that towered skyward, and were +snow-capped; and yet she was not sure that he saw them. + +"Mother," he said at last, "she told me you were a good woman, and it is +true. I have always been able to anchor to you. We have trusted each +other utterly, you and I, and spoken plainly to each other; we must +always do so. You have something to tell me. Will you begin at the +beginning and let me have all that you know? Don't try to spare me, +please; I want the whole. O mother! If I had only known long ago, it +might have been--different." + +There was no reply that she could make to this. + +After a moment, he said again: "You know that I am not blaming you, +don't you? It was what I might have expected of you, what you did; she +thought it was wonderful. But if she could only have trusted me! + +"Will you tell me the whole, mamma? Irene told me to ask you; she said +you would not tell it without her word. I mean about the man, and--the +child; all the details. How did you hear of it all, and when?" + +He hesitated over the simple words, his face flushing painfully. Ruth +hurried her speech to save him further effort. + +"Do you remember, Erskine, when our old acquaintance Mamie Parker called +upon me? It was then that I heard the story." + +He made a gesture of astonishment. + +"Mamie Parker! Is it possible that she is mixed up in our family +matters?" + +"She found the little girl without other care than a father could give, +and interested herself in her, and loved her. She has been thus far in +the child's life as dear and wise a friend as a girl could have." + +Then she began at the beginning and gave in minutest detail the whole +story, as it had come to her at first, and as she had since lived it +with Maybelle. + +Erskine's amazement at the discovery that the young girl to whom his +mother had been summoned by telegram, and for whom she had cared ever +since, was the one whose life-story he was now hearing, was only +equalled by his pain in it all. But after the first dismayed exclamation +he sat like a statue, his face partially hidden by his hand, +interrupting neither by question nor comment. + +Ruth purposely made her story long that he might have time to get the +control of himself; and she tried to make Maybelle's loveliness of heart +and mind and person glow before him; under the spell of the thought that +it would all be less terrible to him, if he could realize that his dead +wife's strange conduct had not ruined the young life. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIX + + RENUNCIATION + + +WHEN she stopped speaking because there was nothing more to be told, +they sat for a little in utter silence. + +When at last Erskine spoke in a low, carefully controlled voice, he +asked the very last question that his mother expected. + +"How soon do you think she could come to us?" + +"Who?" Ruth's astonishment blurred for the moment her penetration. + +"Mother! whom could I mean? The child. She must be sent for; she must +come at once; or, at least as soon as a suitable escort can be secured. +Would she come? And would she stay, do you think? I mean would she stay +willingly? Oh, mamma, surely you will help me!" + +"Erskine, dear boy, what do you want to do?" + +"My duty." He withdrew his shielding hand and his pallid lips made an +effort to smile; then grew grave again, taking almost stern lines. + +"She is my wife's daughter; and as such I stand now in the place of +father to her. As fully as it is possible for me to do so, now, I want +to fill that place. To provide for her, to take care of her in any and +every way that she may need care; to have my home hers as fully as it is +our little son's." His voice broke there, and for a moment he was still. +Then he went on. + +"You said you loved her; it would not be unpleasant to you to have her +here, would it?" + +Then his mother found her voice. + +"Erskine, Maybelle has a place in my heart second only to Baby's, and I +would like so much to have her with me, that at one time I tried to plan +a little home where we could be together. But--do you realize the +situation, do you think? We cannot live entirely to ourselves, you know, +we have friends; and we have neighbors who ask questions. If Maybelle +comes to us, to remain, what is to be said to them?" + +"The truth, mamma; never anything but truth. She is my wife's daughter +by a former marriage, the half-sister of my boy." + +"Erskine, dear son, I must hurt you, I am afraid; but do you realize +what the truth will be to the child? She loves her dead father with such +love as I believe few girls give, and she cherishes in her inmost heart +an ideal mother who has been invested with more than human qualities; if +you could hear her talk about that dear, dead mother, you would +understand." + +He had shielded his face again, and was quiet so long, that it seemed to +her she could not bear it. At last he spoke, huskily but with firmness. + +"I understand, mamma, more than you think; at least I believe I realize +something of her feeling; but--I cannot help it. Truth must be spoken; +the real must take the place of the ideal. Isn't it so in all our lives? +I promised her dead mother that it should be so. It was perhaps a morbid +feeling,--some might think so,--but in any case, she felt it; she said +that she could not die without my promise that the truth should be made +plain to the girl, and that she should be told the very words that her +mother said, at the last. And I believe she was right," he added firmly +after another moment of silence, "I will speak only truth about it all, +so help me God." + +Never was summons more joyfully received on the part of a young girl +than the one that called Maybelle to the distant home of her newest and, +as she phrased it, "almost" her best friend. + +The night preceding her departure she spent with the Roberts family, +where together they went over the situation as they understood it, for +Erskine Roberts's benefit. + +That young man had just arrived for a few days' vacation and could not +be said to approve of the new plans. + +"Why is Aunt Ruth in such terrific haste?" he grumbled. "She has never +mentioned a visit to you before this, has she?" + +"No," said Maybelle, her bright face shading for a moment. "She never +said a word about it; but you know it is all very different now. She is +alone; I mean there is no other woman, and there is a dear baby to be +thought about; I don't positively know, but I cannot help hoping that +she needs me." + +Maybelle's tones had become so jubilant that they made Erskine gloomy +and sarcastic. + +"For nurse girl you mean, I suppose," he said savagely. "And if that +delightful arrangement should be found convenient for them, I suppose +you would stay on indefinitely?" + +"Erskine," said his mother, smiling, "don't be a bear! she hasn't +promised to stay forever." + +Then Maybelle, her color much heightened, tried to explain further. "The +reason for such haste is so I can have one of Mr. Burnham's partners for +an escort. It was found that he had to come East on a hurried business +trip, and of course it was an unusual opportunity." + +"I should hope so!" grumbled the discontented youth. "And who is there +to escort you back? I'll venture they haven't planned for that!" Then +suddenly he bent toward the girl, ostensibly for the purpose of +returning to her the letter that had dropped to the floor, and spoke for +her ear alone. + +"I'll tell you how we will manage that, Maybelle. I will come for you +myself, if you will let me. Will you let me?" + +A vivid crimson mounted to the very forehead of the fair-faced girl, and +she seemed at a loss how to reply; but she certainly had not been +troubled by his appeal whatever it was, so the indulgent mother slipped +away and left the young people to themselves. + +* * * * * + +"Am I to tell her, Erskine?" Ruth had asked her son, on the day that she +was to go to the station to meet Maybelle. He shook his head. + +"No, mamma, no, I will not make it harder for you than is necessary. +Yes, I know only too well how surely you would do everything for me if +you could; but--I have assumed an obligation, and I do not mean to shirk +it in the slightest particular. Do not tell her anything save that you +wanted her--that is true, is it not?" he broke off to ask anxiously. +"Then, in the evening, when she has had time to become somewhat rested +from her journey, send her to me in my library and I will manage the +rest." + +How he managed it, or what took place during that interview which must +have been strangely tragic some of the time, Ruth never fully knew. She +asked no questions, and what her son and the girl revealed to her in +scraps and detached expressions afterward, suggested a confidence so +sacred that even she must not invade it. + +She had known by the start and the swift look of pain which swept over +Erskine's face when he first met Maybelle at the dinner table, that the +girl in her radiant beauty suggested his dead wife. To Ruth there was a +strange unlikeness to the face that she had not loved; but her heart was +able to understand how Irene had been to one whom she had loved, nay +worshipped, as she had her husband, a very different being, living a +life solely for him, and leaving a memory that the fair girl could +awaken. + +Maybelle was all but overwhelmed with astonishment and a sweet timidity +when Ruth told her that Erskine wanted to see her for a little while in +his library. + +"Not alone!" she said. "Without you, I mean? Oh! Am I not almost afraid? +I mean, I shall not know what to say to him. It is all so recent, you +see. I can see his beautiful character shining through his sorrow; dear +Mrs. Burnham, I admire him almost as much as even his mother could wish, +but I can see that a great crushing sorrow is heavy upon him, and a girl +like me does not know how to touch such wounds without hurting. Does he +mean to talk to me about her, do you think? Does he know that I loved +her and prayed for her all the time? Oh, dear friend, don't you think he +wants you too?" + +Ruth kissed her tenderly, solemnly, and put her away from her. "No, +dear," she said gently. "He wants to see you quite alone. He has +something to tell you. You will know what to say after you have heard +him; God will show you." + +She closed the door after the slowly moving, half-reluctant, serious +girl, and sat alone. It came to her vaguely, as one used to sacrifice, +that here was another. She must sit alone with folded hands while +another, and she a young girl upon whom he had never before set eyes, +went down with her son into the depths of human pain. Was it always so? +Was that forever the lot of motherhood, to stand aside and have some one +else touch the deepest life of her children, whether in joy or pain? + +The interview was long, very long. Sometimes it seemed to the waiting +mother that she could not endure the strain; that she must go to that +closed room and discover for herself what those two were saying to +torture each other. But at last, the door across the hall opened and +Maybelle came with swift feet and knelt in front of her, hid her face in +the older woman's lap, and broke into a passion of weeping. + +At first Ruth let the storm of pain roll on unchecked, only touching the +bowed head with soothing hand and murmuring:-- + +"Poor child! dear little girl!" + +But the girl cried on, and on, as though she would never stop, her whole +slight frame shaken with the force of her sorrow. + +Across the hall Ruth could hear the steady tread of her son's footsteps +as he paced back and forth, fighting his battle alone. Should his mother +go and try to comfort him? But this motherless one was clinging to her. + +"Maybelle," she said at last, "is it a hopeless grief? Is there no One +who can help?" + +Then the girl made a desperate effort to control herself. She reached +for Ruth's hand and gripped it in her young, strong one. Then, after +another moment, she spoke:-- + +"Forgive me. I did not mean to hurt you; I did not mean to cry at all; I +said that I would not; but it was all so new, so--O mamma, mamma!" + +The head, which had been raised a little, went down again; and the +exceeding bitterness of that last wailing cry of renunciation Ruth never +forgot. She had grace to be thankful that the mother was not there to +hear it. + +But the violence of the storm was over, at least so far as its outward +exhibition was concerned. In a few minutes more the girl spoke quietly +enough. + +"He is very, very good. I did not know that any--just human being could +be so good. And he spoke tenderly all the time of--of my mother. I could +feel in his voice the sound of his great love for her. My poor, poor +mother!" + +Later, after much had been said and there had been silence between them +for a few minutes, she spoke suddenly:-- + +"He asked me to call him 'father,' he said he wanted it." Ruth could not +suppress a little start of surprise and--was it pain? In all her hours +of thinking over this whole tragedy, trying to plan how all things would +be, she had not thought of this. Yet it was like Erskine; the utmost +atonement that he could make, in word as well as deed, would be made. + +"What did you say in reply?" she asked the waiting girl. + +"I said that I would try to do in all things just as he advised. I could +not do less, Mrs. Burnham; he is very good. I told him about my own dear +papa, and that I should always, _always_ love and honor him as I had +reason to; and he was good about that, too; he said that the way I felt +about him was not only natural but it was right, and that he honored me +for it. Then he spoke of Baby Erskine and called him my little brother; +and that broke my heart. I have so longed to have some one of my very +own. Mrs. Burnham, do you think perhaps that--that papa understands +about it all, and would want me to--" + +She seemed unable to express her thought in words, but Ruth understood +it, and the yearning wistfulness in the child's voice was not to be +resisted. The older woman put aside her own pain to comfort and counsel +this girl who had certainly in strange ways been thrust upon her care. + +A thought of comfort came to her, that, after a little hesitation, she +gave to the girl. + +"Maybelle dear, if you call my son 'father,' what name does that give to +me as my rightful possession?" + +She had her reward. There was a moment's wondering thought, then a flush +of surprise and a wave of radiance swept over the expressive face. She +spoke the word in a whisper, almost a reverent one, yet the syllables +were like a caress, and thrilled with joy:-- + +"'Grandmother'! Oh! do you mean it? that I may?" And then the caresses +that Ruth received were almost as sweet as any that she was waiting for +Baby Erskine to voluntarily bestow upon her. + + + + + CHAPTER XXX + + "TWO, AND TWO, AND TWO" + + +IT took but a little while for the Burnham household to settle down +quietly to routine living; so easily, after all, does human nature +adjust itself to tremendous strains and changes. Maybelle fitted into +her place as though she had always been an acknowledged daughter of the +house, come home after long absence. And the neighbors, even those +morbidly curious ones, of which there are always a few in every +community, took kindly to the new order of things and to the +bright-faced stranger who rode and drove and walked and appeared in +church with Erskine and his mother, and was introduced with punctilious +care as "My wife's daughter, Miss Somerville." + +They could not help, even from the first, saying kind and complimentary +things about the beautiful young face, and after a few days of +wonderment and conjecture they arranged their own story--with a very +meagre array of facts to build upon--quite to their satisfaction. + +"Oh, yes, I knew she was a widow when he married her; but I never heard +of a child." + +"Well, he married abroad, don't you know, and I suppose the girl just +stayed on, with her relatives. Her mother must have been a mere child +when she was first married; though this girl is very young, and Mrs. +Burnham was probably older than she looked; for that matter, don't you +know, I always said that she looked older than her husband? I suppose +the girl has lived abroad all her life; that's what makes her look +different, some way, from American girls, though her mother was born in +this country, she told me so. Still, the girl would have English ways, +of course, always living there. Did you hear her say the other day that +the Somerville brothers, great English bankers that Ned Lake was asking +her about, were her uncles?" + +"It seems hard that the poor girl couldn't have been with her mother +before she died," said one whose interests ran naturally in other +channels than those of ages and pedigrees. + +"Yes, it does," chimed in another home-keeping and home-loving matron, +"but then her death was awfully sudden. Erskine's mother told me that +they had no idea of her dying up to the very day; and I guess the girl +has been separated from her a good deal. I have heard somewhere, and I +am sure I don't remember where, that there was a fuss of some sort in +the family. Probably her first husband's people didn't like the idea of +her going into society and marrying again, especially marrying an +American; English people are queer about some things, I have heard; I +suppose they held on to the girl as long as they could." + +Thus, with supposition and surmise, and a stray fact now and then, and +vague remembrances, the story was worked over and shaped and pieced +until it suited them. Meantime, the Burnham family went quietly on its +way, having no confidants, and, while they spoke only truth when they +spoke at all, judging it not necessary to tell the whole truth to any. + +So quiet and peace settled once more upon Ruth Burnham's home, and it +was proved again, as it often is, that a new grave in the family burial +ground is more productive of peace than a life has been. + +Erskine was habitually grave, and his mother told herself sorrowfully +that sin, not death, had permanently shadowed his life. But by degrees +his gravity took on a cheerful tone, and Baby Erskine, whom at first he +had almost shunned, became a never failing source of comfort to him. + +As for Maybelle, no grown-up daughter was ever more devoted to a +father's interests than she became. She hovered about his home life with +an air of sweet, grave deference, ministering to his tastes with +unlimited thoughtfulness and tact, until from being to him an infliction +for whose comfort he must be thoughtful from a sense of duty, she became +first an interest, and then almost a necessity. The neighbors said how +lovely it was in her to take her mother's place so beautifully. + +Then, of course, there were some to say that they shouldn't wonder if +she should succeed at last in comforting him entirely for his loss. +Wouldn't it be romantic if he should marry her! Of course she was really +not related to him at all, and great difference in age was much more +common than it used to be. For that matter, Erskine Burnham was still a +young man. For their part, they agreed almost to a woman, that it would +be a nice idea-- + +But all that was before they made the acquaintance of Erskine Roberts. +That young man was true to his word, and in the course of time came +across the continent. That he came after Maybelle, as he had said he +would, was perfectly obvious, but he did not take her back with him, as +at one time he had tried to plan to do. + +He had two more years to spend at the theological seminary, and during +those two years it had been agreed by all concerned that Maybelle was to +continue to bless her new home with her presence. + +Erskine Roberts was one of the very few to whom the whole situation had +been fully and carefully explained. Not only Maybelle, but Ruth herself +had written the story, both to Erskine, and his mother; and then, when +his namesake came out to them, the other Erskine had him into his +private room one evening, and as he believed was his duty toward the man +who was to make Maybelle his wife, went down with him into the lowest +depths of his life tragedy. And Erskine Roberts, who had been half angry +with the man ever since he had heard the strange story--though he +admitted all the time to his secret soul that Erskine Burnham had been +in no wise to blame, went over loyally and royally to his side, and said +to Ruth while his honest eyes filmed with something like tears and his +voice was husky:-- + +"Aunt Ruth, it must be a grand thing for a mother to have a son like +that man across the hall. If I can be half like him in true nobility, my +mother will have reason to be proud." + +And he even admitted to Maybelle that, since he could not have her to +himself yet awhile, he was glad that that man who was worthy that she +should call him father was to have the comfort of her. + +It was noticeable to themselves that they said very little about the +mother. Poor mother! she had forfeited her right to be talked of in the +tender and reverent way that Maybelle would have talked, or with the +passion of longing for something had, and lost, that used to mark her +words to Ruth. She said that word "mamma" no more; the tone in which she +used to speak it had been peculiar, and had marked it as set apart for a +special and sacred use. Evidently it meant more to her than the word +"mother," or at least meant something different. Now, in speaking to +Ruth, she said always: "My mother," and said it in a hesitating, +half-deprecating tone, almost as if she must apologize for her. + +It was not that the girl was bitter; on the contrary she was markedly +tender of her mother's memory and pitiful toward her. + +Ruth, with the reflex influence of this upon her, found herself +searching for all the lovable qualities in Irene that she could by any +possibility recall, and by degrees it appeared that death was having its +inevitable and gracious influence over hearts, softening the past and +casting a halo of excusing pity over that which had at the time seemed +unpardonable. But her daughter never again said in a passion of +exquisite tenderness: "My mamma!" + +She had learned to say "father," and used the word with a shy grace that +was fascinating; she had learned also what was of far more consequence: +to have the utmost respect for and faith in the man to whom she gave the +title. Respect deepened steadily into love, and he became indeed +"father" to her, in her very thought. Yet she never put into the word +the throbbing love that had shone in the words "My papa!" + +They were a peaceful household, with a fair and steadily increasing +measure of happiness. "Baby Erskine," as they still called him and +probably would, his father said, until he was ready for college, lived +his beautiful, carefully ordered life, blossoming into all the graces +and sweetnesses of judiciously trained and sheltered childhood, and +being familiarized with all the sweet interests and excitements that +belong to a baby beloved. His first tooth, his first step, his first +definite word were as eagerly watched for and as joyously heralded as +though a fond mother had been there to lead. Never had child a more +devoted sister and admirer and willing slave than Maybelle; and no words +ever expressed more exultant pride and joy than those in which she +introduced him to transient guests: "My little brother." + +She labored patiently by the hour to teach the boy to shout "Papa!" as +soon as he caught a glimpse from the window of the man who would +presently ride him upstairs on his proud shoulder; but they never tried +to train the baby lips to say "mamma." + +"I am glad," said Maybelle one day, breaking suddenly into speech in a +way she had, over a train of thought, the steps by which she had reached +it being kept to herself: "I am glad that he will always have the +dearest and wisest of grandmothers close at hand." + +Ruth smiled indulgently. + +"By inference," she said, "I am led to believe that you are speaking of +Baby Erskine and his grandmother, and am duly grateful for the +compliment, but the last remark you made was about the climbing roses on +the south porch. Am I to be told or simply be left to imagine the steps +by which you reached from rosebuds to Baby Erskine?" + +Maybelle laughed softly. "The transition was not so very great, dear +doting grandmother! Confess that you think so." Then, the color +deepening a little in her face, she added:-- + +"I was thinking, dear, of our home here, and of the coming changes, and +of other--possibilities. To be entirely frank, I thought of a possible +second mother for Baby Erskine. Father is still so young that one cannot +help thinking sometimes of possibilities. And then, even though I want +you so much, I could not help being glad that in any such event you +would be close to Baby Erskine." + +Ruth held from outward notice any hint of the sudden stricture at her +heart over these quiet words, and said cheerfully:-- + +"The near at hand probabilities are crowding us so hard just now, +darling, that I don't think we have room for remote possibilities; let +us leave the unknown future, dear child, to One who knows." + +It was true that the coming changes were almost beginning to crowd upon +them. The climbing rose bushes over the south porch were even thus early +thinking of budding; which meant that June and Flossy Roberts and her +family would be with them in two months more. + +Time had flown on swift wing after all. It hardly seemed possible that +the young man, who had seemed to begin his theological studies but +yesterday, was already receiving letters addressed to "The Reverend +Erskine Shipley Roberts!" + +One shadow Maybelle had, and Ruth understood it well, although it was +rarely mentioned between them. Erskine Burnham, the very soul of +unselfish thoughtfulness for others, had yet held with unaccountable +tenacity to one strange feeling. He shrank with evident pain from the +thought of Mamie Parker's presence in the house. She had returned from +China early in the previous year, and Maybelle's first eager hope that +"Aunt Mamie would come to them at once" for a stay of indefinite length +had been wonderingly put aside upon the discovery that "father" +apparently shrank from even the mention of her name. + +He made a painful effort to explain to his mother. + +"Of course, mamma, I do not mean for one moment to stand in the way of +anything that you and Maybelle really want, and I do not know that I can +explain to you why I feel as I do; but--she is associated, painfully +associated, as you know, with that which is like the bitterness of death +to me. And I cannot--We will not talk about it, mamma." + +Ruth understood and was sorry for the morbid strain which it revealed. +She made earnest effort to combat it, not vigorously but with suggestive +sentences as occasion offered. It hurt her that Erskine should allow so +comparatively small a matter to retard his progress. He had not only +gone bravely through his peculiar trial, but had made a distinct advance +in his spiritual life. Maybelle's constant prayer for him had assuredly +been answered. The Lord Christ had, manifestly, a stronger grip on his +personality than ever before. All the details of business and literary +life were learning from day to day that they were not to be masters but +servants to this man, and that One was his Master. + +But this sore spot which could not be touched without pain, his mother +felt sure would continue to burn as long as he hid it away. If he could +know Mamie Parker as she now was, it was almost certain that the sting +of pain and shame which her name suggested would lose its power. + +But Maybelle felt sure that Aunt Mamie would never come unless invited +by the host. + +"And I can't want her to, grandmother, much as I long to see her, so +long as her presence is not quite comfortable to father." + +So the grandmother bided her time, and spoke her occasional earnest +words. + +"In short, mamma," Erskine said one morning, turning from the window +where he had been standing a silent listener to what she had to say, "In +short, mamma, you are ashamed of your son, are you not? And I don't +wonder; he is rather ashamed of himself. You have been very patient, you +and Maybelle, but this whole thing must cease. Of course the child must +have her friend with her. Invite her, mamma, in my name, to come at once +and remain through the season. I want it to be so. I do, indeed, now +that I have settled it; make Maybelle understand that I do." + +After he had left the room he turned back to say pointedly:-- + +"Of course, mamma, it will not be necessary for me to see very much of +her; but I shall try to do my duty as host." + +She saw how hard it was for him, but she rejoiced with all her heart at +this triumph over the morbid strain. + +And Mamie Parker came; and was met in due form by her host and treated +in every respect as became an honored guest. + +There came an evening when Ruth sat alone by the open window of her +room. She had turned out the lights, for the room was flooded with +moonlight. It outlined distinctly the little white bed in an alcove +opening from her room, where her darling lay sleeping. She had just been +in to look at him, and had resisted the temptation to kiss once more the +fair cheeks flushed with healthy sleep. Downstairs in the little +reception room she knew that Maybelle and Erskine Roberts were saying a +few last words together; the girl and the boy who, to-morrow, would +begin together the mystery of manhood and womanhood, "until death did +them part." From time to time she could hear Maybelle's soft laughter +float out on the quiet air; they were very happy together, those two. + +From one of the guest chambers near at hand the murmur of voices came to +her occasionally. It was growing late, and most of the guests had +retired early to make ready by rest for the excitements of the morrow; +but sleep had evidently not come yet to Flossy and her husband. They +were talking softly. They were happy together, those two. Downstairs on +the long vine-covered south porch two people were walking; the murmur of +their voices as they walked and talked came up to her, Mamie Parker's +voice, and Erskine's. And the mother knew, almost as well as though she +could hear the words, some of the things they were saying to each other. + +"Mommie," her son had said but a little while before as he bent over and +kissed his boy, and then turned and put both arms about her and kissed +her, using the old name that of late had almost dropped away from him:-- + +"Mommie, can you give me your blessing and wish me Godspeed?" + +She had not pretended to misunderstand him. She had known for days, it +almost seemed to her that she had known before he did, the trend that +his life was taking. There had been no word between them, but Erskine +had told her once, that he believed she knew his thoughts almost as soon +as they were born, and he seemed to take her knowledge for granted. + +She was glad that she had controlled her voice, and that her answer had +been quick and free:-- + +"Yes, indeed, my son; God bless and prosper you." + +She knew he would be prospered. At least a woman knows a woman's heart. +They would be happy together, they two. + +Two, and two, and two, everywhere! the youth and maiden, the mature man +and woman, the father and mother who were smiling together over their +son's espousals, always "they two." + +It had been "they two" once with her. And again, and for many years, +mother and son; but now--It seemed for a moment to the lonely woman as +though the whole world beside was paired and wedded and only herself +left desolate. She pressed her hands firmly against the balls of her +closed eyes. Should she let one tear mar this night of her son's new +joy? + +And then, tenderly, like drops of balm upon an aching wound, came the +echo in her soul of an old, _old_ pledge: "With everlasting +loving-kindness will I have mercy on thee, said the Lord, thy +Redeemer... I will betroth thee unto me in faithfulness." + +"I am a happy woman," she said aloud, in a quiet voice; "I am blessed in +my home, and in my--children, and in the abiding presence of my Lord." + + + + + =THE PANSY BOOKS.= + + =NOTE.--The Books in each of the series marked with a brace are + connected stories.= + + + =Ester Ried Series= + + {Ester Ried Asleep and Awake + {Julia Ried Listening and Led + {The King's Daughter + {Wise and Otherwise + {Ester Ried Yet Speaking + $1.50 each + + + =Chautauqua Series= + + {Four Girls at Chautauqua + {Chautauqua Girls at Home + {Ruth Erskine's Crosses + {Judge Burnham's Daughters + The Hall in the Grove + Eighty-Seven + $1.50 each + + + =General Series= + + {Chrissy's Endeavor + {Her Associate Members + {Household Puzzles + {The Randolphs + An Endless Chain + Three People + Interrupted + A New Graft on the Family Tree + Mrs. Solomon Smith Looking On + Spun from Fact + One Commonplace Day + The Pocket Measure + Links in Rebeeca's Life + Stephen Mitchell's Journey + "Wanted" + $1.50 each + Cunning Workmen + Miss Priscilla Hunter + What She Said and What She Meant + $1.25 each + + Mrs. Harry Harper's Awakening + $1.00 + + + =By Pansy and Mrs. Livingston= + + Divers Women + Profiles + {Aunt Hannah and Martha and John + {John Remington, Martyr + $1.50 each + + + =By Pansy and Faye Huntington= + + From Different Standpoints + Modern Prophets + $1.50 each + + + =By Pansy and + Her Friends= + + A Sevenfold Trouble + $1.50 + + + =Juvenile Books= + + Tip Lewis and His Lamp + Little Fishers and their Nets + The Man of the House + Christie's Christmas + Miss Dee Dunmore Bryant + Sidney Martin's Christmas + Twenty Minutes Late + Only Ten Cents + $1.50 each + + Grandpa's Darlings + $1.25 + + Next Things + At Home and Abroad + In the Woods and Out + $1.00 each + + Bernie's White Chicken + Helen Lester + Docia's Journal + Jessie Wells + Monteagle + Couldn't be Bought + Mary Burton Abroad + Six Little Girls + 75 cents each + + + =Golden Text Stories= + + Her Mother's Bible + We Twelve Girls + Browning Boys + Dozen of Them (A) + Gertrude's Diary + Hedge Fence (A) + Side by Side + Six O'clock in the Evening + Exact Truth + Helen the Historian + Little Card + 50 cents each + + + =The Pansy Primary + Libraries= + + Pansy Primary Library No. 1. 30 vols., $7.50 net. + Pansy Primary Library No. 2. 20 vols., $5.00 net. + Pansy Primary Library No. 3. 12 vols., $3.00 net. + Pansy Primary Library No. 4. 12 vols., $3.00 net. + + + =LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., Boston= + + + + + =BOOKS BY ANNIE H. RYDER.= + + +=Hold up Your Heads, Girls!= + + _12mo, cloth, $1.00._ + +"The author of 'Hold up your Heads, Girls!' has, in the treatment of a +very important subject, invested it with an interest and brightness +which will make it pleasant and even fascinating reading for the class +of young people to whom it is addressed. In the eleven chapters of which +the contents consist there is more sound practical advice, sensibly put, +on points of every-day interest to girls, than we have ever before seen +put into the same number of pages. It is a book for study, for +companionship, and the girl who reads it thoughtfully and with an intent +to profit by it will get more real help and good from it than from a +term at the best boarding-school in the country."--_Boston Transcript._ + + +=Margaret Regis and some other Girls.= + + _12mo, illustrated, $1.25._ + +"The college life of young women is described in this book in a very +entertaining way, and in a spirit the most wholesome and cheerful. +Margaret Regis is a splendid creation of the author's fancy, just such a +young woman as all of us like to read about. In her schooldays she is +not different from others. There is a shade of profound thought in her +description of this period of life: 'She is like the many, many girls, +increasing in numbers every year, who, unfixed and restless, go into +college or the office, with a vague determination to do something that +shall make them independent or superior to the greatest number of girls, +but with no definite idea of how they are to use the knowledge and +experience they gain.' Margaret Regis does not remain long in this +unsettled state. She is emphatically a woman with a purpose. How its +current was turned from the intended course makes an interesting +narrative which the reader will find full of profit."--_Cleveland +Leader._ + + +=New Every Morning.= + + A Year Book for Girls. Edited by Annie H. Ryder. + + _Square 16mo, cloth, $1.00; gilt, $1.25; limp, seal, + $2.50._ + +A book of choice reading for girls for every day in the year. + +"There is a happy blending of practical common sense, pure sentiment and +simple religious fervor."--_Education, Boston._ + + + =BOSTON: + LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.= + + + + + =WHEN GRANDMAMMA + WAS FOURTEEN= + + By MARION HARLAND + + WITH FOUR FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS AND NUMEROUS PICTURES + IN THE TEXT PRICE $1.25 + + _Later adventures of the heroine of + "WHEN GRANDMAMMA WAS NEW."_ + +THOSE who recall this noted author's delightful story, "When Grandmamma +was New," will be glad to hear that in this book are the adventures of +the heroine at a later period. Through the eyes of fourteen-year-old +Molly Burwell, the reader sees much that is quaint, amusing and pathetic +in ante-bellum Richmond, and the story has all the charm of manner and +rich humanity which are characteristic of Marion Harland. All +healthy-hearted children will delight in the story, and so will their +parents. + + + =WHEN GRANDMAMMA WAS NEW= + +_The Story of a Virginia Girlhood in the Forties_ + +By MARION HARLAND 12mo Illustrated Price $1.25 + +=The BOSTON JOURNAL says:= + +"If only one might read it first with the trained enjoyment of the +'grown-up' mind that is 'at leisure from itself,' and then if one might +withdraw into ten-year-old-dom once more and seek the shadow of the +friendly apple-tree, and revel in it all over again, taste it all just +as the child tastes, and find it luscious! For this book has charm and +piquancy. And it is in just this vivid remembrance of a child's mental +workings, in just the avoidance of all 'writing down' to the supposed +level of a child's mind, that this story has its rare attractiveness. It +is bright, winsome, and magnetic." + +=The INTERIOR, Chicago, says:= + +"'Grandmamma' may have charmed other folks,--has charmed them all, +incontrovertibly,--but she has never tried harder to be vivid and +dramatic and entertaining, and to leave a sweet kernel of application, +withal, than in these memory-tales of a sunny childhood on a big +Virginia plantation. It is a book which will delight, not children +alone, but all such as have the child heart and a tender memory of when +they were 'new.'" + + AT ALL BOOKSELLERS, OR SENT POSTPAID ON RECEIPT + OF PRICE BY THE PUBLISHERS + + + =LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON= + + + + + =A Little Maid of Concord + Town= + + A Romance of the American Revolution + + By MARGARET SIDNEY. One volume, 12mo, + illustrated by F. T. Merrill, $1.50 + +A DELIGHTFUL Revolutionary romance of life, love and adventure in old +Concord. The author lived for fifteen years in the home of Hawthorne, in +Concord, and knows the interesting town thoroughly. + +Debby Parlin, the heroine, lived in a little house on the Lexington +Road, still standing, and was surrounded by all the stir and excitement +of the months of preparation and the days of action at the beginning of +our struggle for freedom. + + + =By Way of the Wilderness= + + By "PANSY" (Mrs. G. R. Alden) and MRS. + C. M. LIVINGSTON. 12mo, cloth, illustrated by + Charlotte Harding, $1.50 + +This story of Wayne Pierson and how he evaded or met the tests of +misunderstanding, environment, false position, opportunity and +self-pride; how he lost his father and found him again, almost lost his +home and found it again, almost lost himself and found alike his +manhood, his conscience and his heart is told us in Pansy's best vein, +ably supplemented by Mrs. Livingston's collaboration. + + + + + THE + FAMOUS PEPPER BOOKS + + By Margaret Sidney + + IN ORDER OF PUBLICATION + + +=Five Little Peppers and How they Grew.= Cloth, 12 mo, illustrated, +$1.50, postpaid. + +This was an instantaneous success; it has become a genuine child +classic. + + +=Five Little Peppers Midway.= Cloth, 12mo, illustrated, $1.50, postpaid. + +"A perfect Cheeryble of a book."--_Boston Herald._ + + +=Five Little Peppers Grown Up.= Cloth, 12mo, illustrated, $1.50, +postpaid. + +This shows the Five Little Peppers as "grown up," with all the struggles +and successes of young manhood and womanhood. + + +=Phronsie Pepper.= Cloth, 12mo, illustrated, $1.50, postpaid. + +It is the story of Phronsie, the youngest and dearest of all the +Peppers. + + +=The Stories Polly Pepper Told.= Cloth, 12mo. Illustrated by Jessie +McDermott and Etheldred B. Barry. $1.50, postpaid. + +Wherever there exists a child or a "grown-up," there will be a welcome +for these charming and delightful "Stories Polly Pepper Told." + + +=The Adventures of Joel Pepper.= Cloth, 12mo. Illustrated by Sears +Gallagher. $1.50, postpaid. + +As bright and just as certain to be a child's favorite as the others in +the famous series. Harum-scarum "Joey" is lovable. + + +=Five Little Peppers Abroad.= Cloth, 12mo. Illustrated by Fanny Y. Cory. +$1.50, postpaid. + +The "Peppers Abroad" adds another most delightful book to this famous +series. + + +=Five Little Peppers at School.= Cloth, 12mo. Illustrated by Hermann +Heyer. Price, $1.50; postpaid. + +Of all the fascinating adventures and experiences of the "Peppers," none +will surpass those contained in this volume. + + +=Five Little Peppers and Their Friends.= Illustrated by Eugenie M. +Wireman. Cloth, 12mo, $1.50; postpaid. + +The friends of the Peppers are legion, and the number will be further +increased by this book. + + +=Ben Pepper.= Illustrated by Eugenie M. Wireman. Cloth, 12mo, $1.50. + +This story centres about Ben, "the quiet, steady-as-a-rock boy," while +the rest of the Peppers help to make it as bright and pleasing as its +predecessors. + + + LOTHROP, LEE AND SHEPARD COMPANY + + + + + =THE GIRL WHO KEPT UP= + + By MARY McCRAE CUTLER + + Illustrated by C. Louise Williams. 12mo. Cloth. $1.25 + +[Illustration] + +This is a strong, wholesome story of achievement. The end of a high +school course divides the paths of a boy and girl who have been close +friends and keen rivals. The youth is to go to college, while the girl, +whose family is in humbler circumstances, must remain at home and help. +She sees that her comrade will feel that he is out-growing her, and she +determines to and does _keep up_ with him in obtaining an education. + +"The story is human to the least phase of it, and it is told with such +simple force and vivacity that its effect is strong and positive. The +pictures of college and home life are true bits of realism. It is an +excellent piece of work."--_Bookseller, Newsdealer and Stationer, New +York._ + +"The story is well told, and is thoroughly helpful in every +respect."--_Epworth Herald, Chicago._ + +"The telling of the story is attractive, and will be found helpful to +all readers."--_The Baptist Union, Chicago._ + +"Let us recommend this book for young people for the excellent lesson of +honest striving and noble doing that it clearly conveys."--_Boston +Courier._ + +"It is a healthy and inspiring story."--_Brooklyn Eagle._ + +"The tale is full of good lesson for all young people."--_Boston +Beacon._ + +"The story will be both pleasant and profitable to the youth of both +sexes."--_Louisville Courier-Journal._ + + + _For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by_ + + LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., Boston + + + + + =The Laurel Token= + A Story of the Yamassee Uprising + + By ANNIE M. BARNES + Author of "Little Betty Blew" and "A Lass of Dorchester" + + Illustrated by G. W. Picknell 12mo Cloth $1.25 + +[Illustration] + +This is a book for young people of either sex, for, although the leading +character is a girl of eighteen, her cousins, two boys of sixteen and +fourteen respectively, are prominent throughout the story, which centres +about a beautiful girl, left an orphan, as is supposed, in Barbados, who +goes to live with her uncle, a leading man in the flourishing "Goose +Creek" colony, in the year of the Indian uprising, 1714. The very real +danger from the red men, who have been regarded as friendly, but have +been the victims of selfishness, and thus made ready tools for the +crafty Spanish having their headquarters at St. Augustine, forms the +background to the story, and gives opportunity for the surprising +developments which occur respecting the heroine and others. The +illustrations by Mr. Picknell are very accurate in their composition, +besides being finely executed. + + + =An Honor Girl= + By EVELYN RAYMOND Illustrated by + Bertha G. Davidson 12mo Cloth $1.25 + +[Illustration] + +A bright, helpful story of a girl who, as the valedictorian and "honor +girl" of her class at high school, wins a scholarship which would take +her through Wellesley College. Family reverses bring it home to her that +_duty_ demands that she devote herself to helping her parents and +wayward brother to face the future better than they seem likely to. She +heroically surrenders her prize, with its glowing prospects, to a +jealous rival, and with a brave humor says that she has matriculated in +the College of Life, the hard features of which she happily styles the +"faculty," with "Professor Poverty" prominent among them. These prove +excellent teachers, aided by "Professor Cheerfulness." Kind friends are +won by her courage, her brother achieves manly character, and the family +are finally re-established on the road to prosperity: all better, +happier, and more to each other than had selfishness not been so well +met and overcome by "An Honor Girl." + + _For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by + the publishers._ + + LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., Boston + + + + +=JOY BELLS A Story of Quinnebasset= + +By SOPHIE MAY Illustrated by FRANK T. MERRILL 12mo Cloth $1.25 + +[Illustration] + +The thousands of admirers of the "Quinnebasset" books have had to wait a +long time for another, but this new story is well worth waiting for. All +the delightful wit of the author is here and at its best, and "Persis," +the heroine, is very near to being the most charming of all her gifted +creations. The scene is laid in the fifties. There are thrilling +incidents, and also mysteries and suspicions, but all these are finally +unravelled and allayed by the persistent efforts of the heroine. + + +=PAULINE WYMAN= + +By SOPHIE MAY Cloth Illustrated $1.25 + +In "Pauline Wyman" the author has drawn a typical New England girl whose +strong and beautiful character is developed by her environment. How she +overcomes unfavorable surroundings, her experience in teaching school, +the interesting circumstances in a young girl's life are all told with +the same originality and freshness which have drawn a multitude of young +people to the author's previous work. + + +=MADGE A GIRL IN EARNEST= + +By S. JENNIE SMITH 12mo Cloth Illustrated by JAMES E. MCBURNEY +$1.25 + +Madge is indeed "a girl in earnest." She scorns the patronage of an +aristocratic relative and takes upon her strong young shoulders the +problem of carrying along the family in an independent manner. Her +bravely won success, in spite of the lions in her path, not the least of +which was the fear of social disfavor felt by some of her family, forms +an inspiring tale. An unusual amount of practical information is +presented in a thoroughly entertaining manner, and the character-drawing +is remarkably true and strong. + + + =For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price + by the publishers= + + =LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON= + + + + +[Illustration] + + =We Four Girls= + + By MARY G. DARLING 12mo Cloth Illustrated by BERTHA G. DAVIDSON + $1.25 + +"We Four Girls" is a bright story of a summer vacation in the country, +where these girls were sent for study and recreation. The story has +plenty of natural incidents; and a mild romance, in which they are all +interested, and of which their teacher is the principal person, gives +interest to the tale. They thought it the most delightful summer they +ever passed. + + +[Illustration] + + =A Girl of this Century= + + By MARY G. DARLING Cloth Illustrated by LILIAN CRAWFORD TRUE + $1.25 + +The same characters that appear in "We Four Girls" are retained in this +story, the interest centering around "Marjorie," the natural leader of +the four. She has a brilliant course at Radcliffe, and then comes the +world. A romance, long resisted, but worthy in nature and of happy +termination, crowns this singularly well-drawn life of the noblest of +all princesses--a true American girl. + + + =Beck's Fortune A Story of School and Seminary Life= + + By ADELE E. THOMPSON Cloth Illustrated $1.25 + +The characters in this book seem to live, their remarks are bright and +natural, and the incidental humor delightful. The account of Beck's +narrow and cheerless early life, her sprightly independence, and +unexpected competency that aids her to progress through the medium of +seminary life to noble womanhood, is one that mothers can commend to +their daughters unreservedly. + + + For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price + by the publishers + + =LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON= + + + + + =BRAVE HEART SERIES= + + By Adele E. Thompson + + +=Betty Seldon, Patriot= + + Illustrated 12mo Cloth $1.25 + +A BOOK that is at the same time fascinating and noble. Historical +events are accurately traced leading up to the surrender of Cornwallis +at Yorktown, with reunion and happiness for all who deserve it. + + +=Brave Heart Elizabeth= + + Illustrated 12mo Cloth $1.25 + +IT is a story of the making of the Ohio frontier, much of it taken from +life, and the heroine one of the famous Zane family after which +Zanesville, O., takes its name. An accurate, pleasing, and yet at times +intensely thrilling picture of the stirring period of border settlement. + + +[Illustration] + +=A Lassie of the Isles= + + Illustrated by J. W. Kennedy + 12mo Cloth $1.25 + +THIS is the romantic story of Flora Macdonald, the lassie of Skye, who +aided in the escape of Charles Stuart, otherwise known as the "Young +Pretender," for which she suffered arrest, but which led to signal honor +through her sincerity and attractive personality. + + +=Polly of the Pines= + +[Illustration] + + Illustrated by + Henry Roth Cloth 12mo $1.25 + +"POLLY OF THE PINES" was Mary Dunning, a brave girl of the Carolinas, +and the events of the story occur in the years 1775-82. Polly was an +orphan living with her mother's family, who were Scotch Highlanders, and +for the most part intensely loyal to the Crown. Polly finds the glamor +of royal adherence hard to resist, but her heart turns towards the +patriots and she does much to aid and encourage them. + + + _For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt + of price by the publishers_ + + =LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON= + + + + + Transcriber Notes: + +Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_. + +Passages in bold were indicated by =equal signs=. + +Small caps were replaced with ALL CAPS. + +Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of +the speakers. Those words were retained as-is. + +The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up +paragraphs and so that they are next to the text they illustrate. Thus +the page number of the illustration might not match the page number in +the List of Illustrations, and the order of illustrations may not be the +same in the List of Illustrations and in the book. + +Errors in punctuation and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected +unless otherwise noted. + +On the title page, a quotation mark was added before "Ester +Ried". + +On page 46, "conisdered" was replaced with "considered". + +On page 70, a period was added after "Mrs". + +On page 73, "reëstablished" was replaced with "reestablished". + +On page 228, the quotation mark after "let him in" was deleted. + +On page 240, "Esrkine" was replaced with "Erskine". + +On page 246, the period after "calamity for a man" was replaced with +a question mark. + +On page 284, the quotation mark after "I can ever hope to" was removed. + +On page 327, a quotation mark was added before "It is as balmy as +spring. + +In the advertisement for WHEN GRANDMAMA WAS NEW, kernal was replaced +with kernel. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Ruth Erskine's Son, by +Pansy and Isabella MacDonald Alden + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43785 *** |