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diff --git a/44322.txt b/44322.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a149861..0000000 --- a/44322.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3739 +0,0 @@ - A BIRD OF PASSAGE AND OTHER STORIES - - - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost -no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - - - -Title: A Bird of Passage and Other Stories -Author: Beatrice Harraden -Release Date: November 30, 2013 [EBook #44322] -Language: English -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BIRD OF PASSAGE AND OTHER -STORIES *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - - A BIRD OF PASSAGE AND OTHER STORIES - - - BY BEATRICE HARRADEN - - AUTHOR OF "SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT," - "IN VARYING MOODS," ETC. - - - - CHICAGO - DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & CO. - 407-425 DEARBORN ST. - - 1890 - - - - - *CONTENTS.* - - -A BIRD OF PASSAGE - - - -AT THE GREEN DRAGON - - CHAPTER I. - -HIERONYMUS COMES - - - CHAPTER II. - -HIERONYMUS STAYS - - - CHAPTER III. - -THE PRIMARY GLORY - - - CHAPTER IV. - -THE MAKING OF THE PASTRY - - - CHAPTER V. - -PASTRY AND PERSONAL MONARCHY - - - CHAPTER VI. - -THE EXCISEMAN'S LIBRARY - - - CHAPTER VII. - -AUNTIE LLOYD PROTESTS - - - CHAPTER VIII. - -THE DISTANCE GROWS - - - CHAPTER IX. - -DAVID LAMENTS - - - CHAPTER X. - -HIERONYMUS SPEAKS - - - CHAPTER XI. - -HIERONYMUS GOES - - - -AN IDYLL OF LONDON - - - - - *A BIRD OF PASSAGE.* - - *BY BEATRICE HARRADEN.* - - -It was about four in the afternoon when a young girl came into the salon -of the little hotel at C. in Switzerland, and drew her chair up to the -fire. - -"You are soaked through," said an elderly lady, who was herself trying -to get roasted. "You ought to lose no time in changing your clothes." - -"I have not anything to change," said the young girl, laughing. "Oh, I -shall soon be dry." - -"Have you lost all your luggage?" asked the lady sympathetically. - -"No," said the young girl, "I had none to lose." And she smiled a -little mischievously, as though she knew by instinct that her -companion's sympathy would at once degenerate into suspicion! - -"I don't mean to say that I have not a knapsack," she added -considerately. "I have walked a long distance--in fact from _Z_." - -"And where did you leave your companions?" asked the lady, with a touch -of forgiveness in her voice. - -"I am without companions, just as I am without luggage," laughed the -girl. - -And then she opened the piano, and struck a few notes. There was -something caressing in the way in which she touched the keys; whoever -she was, she knew how to make sweet music; sad music too, full of that -undefinable longing, like the holding out of one's arms to one's friends -in the hopeless distance. - -The lady bending over the fire looked up at the little girl, and forgot -that she had brought neither friends nor luggage with her. She hesitated -for one moment, and then she took the childish face between her hands -and kissed it. - -"Thank you, dear, for your music," she said gently. - -"The piano is terribly out of tune," said the little girl suddenly, and -she ran out of the room and came back carrying her knapsack. - -"What are you going to do?" asked her companion. - -"I am going to tune the piano," the little girl said; and she took a -tuning-hammer out of her knapsack, and began her work in real earnest. -She evidently knew what she was about, and pegged away at the notes as -though her whole life depended on the result. - -The lady by the fire was lost in amazement. Who could she be? Without -luggage and without friends, and with a tuning hammer! - -Meanwhile one of the gentlemen had strolled into the salon; but hearing -the sound of tuning, and being in secret possession of nerves, he fled, -saying, "The tuner, by Jove!" - -A few minutes afterwards, Miss Blake, whose nerves were no secret -possession, hastened into the salon, and in her usual imperious fashion -demanded silence. - -"I have just done," said the little girl. "The piano was so terribly out -of tune, I could not resist the temptation." - -Miss Blake, who never listened to what any one said, took it for granted -that the little girl was the tuner for whom M. le Proprietaire had -promised to send; and having bestowed upon her a condescending nod, -passed out into the garden, where she told some of the visitors that the -piano had been tuned at last, and that the tuner was a young woman of -rather eccentric appearance. - -"Really it is quite abominable how women thrust themselves into every -profession," she remarked in her masculine voice. "It is so unfeminine, -so unseemly." - -There was nothing of the feminine about Miss Blake: her horse-cloth -dress, her waistcoat and high collar, and her billy-cock hat were of the -masculine genus; even her nerves could not be called feminine, since we -learn from two or three doctors (taken off their guard) that nerves are -neither feminine nor masculine, but common. - -"I should like to see this tuner," said one of the tennis players, -leaning against a tree. - -"Here she comes," said Miss Blake, as the little girl was seen -sauntering, into the garden. - -The men put up their eye-glasses, and saw a little lady with a childish -face and soft brown hair, of strictly feminine appearance and bearing. -The goat came toward her and began nibbling at her frock. She seemed to -understand the manner of goats, and played with him to his heart's -content. One of the tennis players, Oswald Everard by name, strolled -down to the bank where she was having her frolic. - -"Good afternoon," he said, raising his cap. "I hope the goat is not -worrying you. Poor little fellow! This is his last day of play. He is -to be killed to-morrow for table d'hote." - -"What a shame!" she said. "Fancy to be killed, and then grumbled at!" - -"That is precisely what we do here," he said, laughing. "We grumble at -everything we eat. And I own to being one of the grumpiest; though the -lady in the horse-cloth dress yonder follows close upon my heels." - -"She was the lady who was annoyed at me because I tuned the piano," the -little girl said. "Still it had to be done. It was plainly my duty. I -seemed to have come for that purpose." - -"It has been confoundedly annoying having it out of tune," he said. -"I've had to give up singing altogether. But what a strange profession -you have chosen! Very unusual, isn't it?" - -"Why, surely not," she answered, amused. "It seems to me that every -other woman has taken to it. The wonder to me is that any one ever -scores a success. Nowadays, however, no one could amass a huge fortune -out of it." - -"No one, indeed!" replied Oswald Everard, laughing. "What on earth made -you take to it?" - -"It took to me," she said simply. "It wrapt me round with enthusiasm. -I could think of nothing else. I vowed that I would rise to the top of -my profession. I worked day and night. But it means incessant toil for -years if one wants to make any headway." - -"Good gracious! I thought it was merely a matter of a few months," he -said, smiling at the little girl. - -"A few months!" she repeated scornfully. "You are speaking the language -of an amateur. No; one has to work faithfully year after year, to grasp -the possibilities and pass on to greater possibilities. You imagine -what it must feel like to touch the notes, and know that you are keeping -the listeners spellbound; that you are taking them into a fairyland of -sound, where petty personality is lost in vague longing and regret." - -"I confess that I had not thought of it in that way," he said humbly. -"I have only regarded it as a necessary everyday evil; and to be quite -honest with you, I fail to see now how it can inspire enthusiasm. I -wish I could see," he added, looking up at the engaging little figure -before him. - -"Never mind," she said, laughing at his distress; "I forgive you. And -after all, you are not the only person who looks upon it as a necessary -evil. My poor guardian abominated it. He made many sacrifices to come -and listen to me. He knew I liked to see his kind old face, and that -the presence of a real friend inspired me with confidence." - -"I should not have thought it was nervous work," he said. - -"Try it and see," she answered. "But surely you spoke of singing. Are -you not nervous when you sing?" - -"Sometimes," he replied, rather stiffly. "But that is slightly -different." (He was very proud of his singing, and made a great fuss -about it.) "Your profession, as I remarked before, is an unavoidable -nuisance. When I think what I have suffered from the gentlemen of your -profession, I only wonder that I have any brains left. But I am -uncourteous." - -"No, no," she said. "Let me hear about your sufferings." - -"Whenever I have specially wanted to be quiet," he said; and then he -glanced at her childish little face, and he hesitated. "It seems so -rude of me," he added. He was the soul of courtesy, although he was an -amateur tenor singer. - -"Please tell me," the little girl said, in her winning way. - -"Well," he said, gathering himself together, "it is the one subject on -which I can be eloquent. Ever since I can remember I have been worried -and tortured by those rascals. I have tried in every way to escape from -them, but there is no hope for me. Yes; I believe that all the tuners -in the universe are in league against me, and have marked me out for -their special prey." - -"_All the what?_" asked the little girl, with a jerk in her voice. - -"All the tuners, of course," he replied, rather snappishly. "I know -that we cannot do without them; but, good heavens! they have no tact, no -consideration, no mercy. Whenever I've wanted to write or read quietly -that fatal knock has come at the door, and I've known by instinct that -all chance of peace was over. Whenever I've been giving a luncheon -party, the tuner has arrived, with his abominable black bag, and his -abominable card, which has to be signed at once. On one occasion I was -just proposing to a girl in her father's library, when the tuner struck -up in the drawing-room. I left off suddenly, and fled from the house. -But there is no escape from these fiends; I believe they are swarming -about in the air like so many bacteria. And how, in the name of -goodness, you should deliberately choose to be one of them, and should -be so enthusiastic over your work, puzzles me beyond all words. Don't -say that you carry a black bag, and present cards that have to be filled -up at the most inconvenient time; don't----" - -He stopped suddenly, for the little girl was convulsed with laughter. -She laughed until the tears rolled down her cheeks; and then she dried -her eyes and laughed again. - -"Excuse me," she said, "I can't help myself; it's so funny." - -"It may be funny to you," he said, laughing in spite of himself; "but it -is not funny to me." - -"Of course it isn't," she replied, making a desperate effort to be -serious. "Well, tell me something more about these tuners." - -"Not another word," he said gallantly. "I am ashamed of myself as it -is. Come to the end of the garden, and let me show you the view down -into the valley." - -She had conquered her fit of merriment, but her face wore a settled look -of mischief, and she was evidently the possessor of some secret joke. -She seemed in capital health and spirits, and had so much to say that -was bright and interesting, that Oswald Everard found himself becoming -reconciled to the whole race of tuners. He was amazed to learn that she -had walked all the way from _Z_, and quite alone too. - -"Oh, I don't think anything of that," she said; "I had a splendid time, -and I caught four rare butterflies. I would not have missed those for -anything. As for the going about by myself, that is a second nature. -Besides, I do not belong to any one. That has its advantages, and I -suppose its disadvantages; but at present I have only discovered the -advantages. The disadvantages will discover themselves!" - -"I believe you are what the novels call an advanced young woman," he -said. "Perhaps you give lectures on Woman's Suffrage or something of -that sort." - -"I have very often mounted the platform," she answered. "In fact, I am -never so happy as when addressing an immense audience. A most unfeminine -thing to do, isn't it? What would the lady yonder in the horse-cloth -dress and billy-cock hat say? Don't you think you ought to go and help -her drive away the goat? She looks so frightened. She interests me -deeply. I wonder whether she has written an essay on the Feminine in -Woman. I should like to read it; it would do me so much good." - -"You are at least a true woman," he said, laughing, "for I see you can -be spiteful. The tuning has not driven that away." - -"Ah, I had forgotten about the tuning," she answered brightly; "but now -you remind me, I have been seized with a great idea." - -"Won't you tell it to me?" he asked. - -"No," she answered. "I keep my great ideas for myself, and work them -out in secret. And this one is particularly amusing. What fun I shall -have!" - -"But why keep the fun to yourself?" he said. "We all want to be amused -here; we all want to be stirred up; a little fun would be a charity." - -"Very well, since you wish it, but you must give me time to work out my -great idea. I do not hurry about things, not even about my professional -duties. For I have a strong feeling that it is vulgar to be always -amassing riches! As I have neither a husband nor a brother to support, -I have chosen less wealth, and more leisure to enjoy all the loveliness -of life! So you see I take my time about everything. And to-morrow I -shall catch butterflies at my leisure, and lie among the dear old pines, -and work at my great idea." - -"I shall catch butterflies," said her companion. "And I too shall lie -among the dear old pines." - -"Just as you please," she said; and at that moment the table d'hote bell -rang. - -The little girl hastened to the bureau and spoke rapidly in German to -the cashier. - -"Ach, Fraeulein!" he said. "You are not really serious?" - -"Yes, I am," she said. "I don't want them to know my name. It will -only worry me. Say I am the young lady who tuned the piano." - -She had scarcely given these directions and mounted to her room, when -Oswald Everard, who was much interested in his mysterious companion, -came to the bureau and asked for the name of the little lady. "Es ist -das Fraeulein welches das Piano gestimmt hat," answered the man, -returning with unusual quickness to his account-book. - - -No one spoke to the little girl at table d'hote; but for all that she -enjoyed her dinner, and gave her serious attention to all the courses. -Being thus solidly occupied, she had not much leisure to bestow on the -conversation of the other guests. Nor was it specially original: it -treated of the shortcomings of the chef, the tastelessness of the soup, -the toughness of the beef, and all the many failings which go to -complete a mountain-hotel dinner. But suddenly, so it seemed to the -little girl, this time-honored talk passed into another phase; she heard -the word music mentioned, and she became at once interested to learn -what these people had to say on a subject which was dearer to her than -any other. - -"For my own part," said a stern-looking old man, "I have no words to -describe what a gracious comfort music has been to me all my life. It -is the noblest language which man may understand and speak. And I -sometimes think that those who know it, or know something of it, are -able at rare moments to find an answer to life's perplexing problems." - -The little girl looked up from her plate. Robert Browning's words rose -to her lips, but she did not give them utterance: - - "God has a few of us whom he whispers in the ear; - The rest may reason, and welcome; 'tis we musicians know." - - -"I have lived through a long life," said another elderly man, "and have -therefore had my share of trouble, but the grief of being obliged to -give up music was the grief which held me longest, or which perhaps has -never left me. I still crave for the gracious pleasure of touching once -more the strings of a violoncello, and hearing the dear tender voice -singing and throbbing and answering even to such poor skill as mine. I -still yearn to take my part in concerted music, and be one of those -privileged to play Beethoven's string quartettes. But that will have to -be in another incarnation, I think." - -He glanced at his shrunken arm, and then, as though ashamed of this -allusion to his own personal infirmity, he added hastily: - -"But when the first pang of such a pain is over, there remains the -comfort of being a listener. At first one does not think it a comfort; -but as time goes on, there is no resisting its magic influence. And -Lowell said rightly that 'one of God's great charities is music.'" - -"I did not know you were musical, Mr. Keith," said an English lady. -"You have never before spoken of music." - -"Perhaps not, madam," he answered. "One does not often speak of what one -cares for most of all. But when I am in London I rarely miss hearing -our best players." - -At this point others joined in, and the various merits of eminent -pianists were warmly discussed. - -"What a wonderful name that little English lady has made for herself!" -said the Major, who was considered an authority on all subjects. "I -would go anywhere to hear Miss Thyra Flowerdew. We all ought to be very -proud of her. She has taken even the German musical world by storm, and -they say her recitals at Paris have been brilliantly successful. I -myself have heard her at New York, Leipsic, London, Berlin, and even -Chicago." - -The little girl stirred uneasily in her chair. - -"I don't think Miss Flowerdew has ever been to Chicago," she said. - -There was a dead silence. The admirer of Miss Thyra Flowerdew looked -much annoyed, and twiddled his watch chain. He had meant to say -Philadelphia, but he did not think it necessary to own to his mistake. - -"What impertinence!" said one of the ladies to Miss Blake. "What can -she know about it? Is she not the young person who tuned the piano?" - -"Perhaps she tunes Miss Thyra Flowerdew's piano!" suggested Miss Blake -in a loud whisper. - -"You are right, madam," said the little girl quietly. "I have often -tuned Miss Flowerdew's piano." - -There was another embarrassing silence, and then a lovely old lady, whom -every one reverenced, came to the rescue. - -"I think her playing is simply superb," she said. "Nothing that I ever -hear satisfies me so entirely. She has all the tenderness of an angel's -touch." - -"Listening to her," said the Major, who had now recovered from his -annoyance at being interrupted, "one becomes unconscious of her -presence, for she _is the music itself_. And that is rare. It is but -seldom nowadays that we are allowed to forget the personality of the -player. And yet her personality is an unusual one; having once seen -her, it would not be easy to forget her. I should recognize her -anywhere." - -As he spoke he glanced at the little tuner, and could not help admiring -her dignified composure under circumstances which might have been -distressing to any one; and when she rose with the others, he followed -her, and said stiffly: - -"I regret that I was the indirect cause of putting you in an awkward -position." - -"It is really of no consequence," she said brightly. "If you think I -was impertinent, I ask your forgiveness. I did not mean to be -officious. The words were spoken before I was aware of them." - -She passed into the salon, where she found a quiet corner for herself, -and read some of the newspapers. No one took the slightest notice of -her; not a word was spoken to her; but when she relieved the company of -her presence her impertinence was commented on. - -"I am sorry that she heard what I said," remarked Miss Blake. "But she -did not seem to mind. These young women who go out into the world lose -the edge of their sensitiveness and femininity. I have always observed -that." - -"How much they are spared then!" answered some one. - - -Meanwhile the little girl slept soundly. She had merry dreams, and -finally woke up laughing. She hurried over her breakfast, and then -stood ready to go for a butterfly hunt. She looked thoroughly happy, -and evidently had found, and was holding tightly the key to life's -enjoyment. - -Oswald Everard was waiting on the balcony, and he reminded her that he -intended to go with her. - -"Come along, then," she answered; "we must not lose a moment." - -They caught butterflies, they picked flowers, they ran; they lingered by -the wayside, they sang; they climbed, and he marveled at her easy speed. -Nothing seemed to tire her, and everything seemed to delight her: the -flowers, the birds, the clouds, the grasses, and the fragrance of the -pine-woods. - -"Is it not good to live?" she cried, "Is it not splendid to take in the -scented air? Draw in as many long breaths as you can. Isn't it good? -Don't you feel now as though you were ready to move mountains? I do. -What a dear old nurse Nature is! How she pets us, and gives us the best -of her treasures!" - -Her happiness invaded Oswald Everard's soul, and he felt like a -schoolboy once more, rejoicing in a fine day and his liberty; with -nothing to spoil the freshness of the air, and nothing to threaten the -freedom of the moment. - -"Is it not good to live?" he cried. "Yes, indeed it is, if we know how -to enjoy." - -They had come upon some haymakers, and the little girl hastened up to -help them. There she was in the midst of them, laughing and talking to -the women, and helping them to pile up the hay on the shoulders of a -broad-backed man, who then conveyed his burden to a pear-shaped stack. -Oswald Everard watched his companion for a moment, and then, quite -forgetting his dignity as an amateur tenor singer, he too, lent his aid, -and did not leave off until his companion sank exhausted on the ground. - -"Oh," she laughed, "what delightful work for a very short time! Come -along; let us go into that brown chalet yonder and ask for some milk. I -am simply parched with thirst. Thank you, but I prefer to carry my own -flowers." - -"What an independent little lady you are!" he said. - -"It is quite necessary in our profession, I can assure you," she said, -with a tone of mischief in her voice. "That reminds me that my -profession is evidently not looked upon with any favor by the visitors -at the hotel. I am heartbroken to think that I have not won the esteem -of that lady in the billy-cock hat. What will she say to you for coming -with me? And what will she say of me for allowing you to come? I -wonder whether she will say, 'How unfeminine!' I wish I could hear -her!" - -"I don't suppose you care," he said. "You seem to be a wild little -bird." - -"I don't care what a person of that description says," replied his -companion. - -"What on earth made you contradict the Major at dinner last night?" he -asked. "I was not at the table, but some one told me of the incident; -and I felt very sorry about it. What could you know of Miss Thyra -Flowerdew?" - -"Well, considering that she is in my profession, of course I know -something about her," said the little girl. - -"Confound it all!" he said, rather rudely. "Surely there is some -difference between the bellows-blower and the organist." - -"Absolutely none," she answered--"merely a variation of the original -theme!" - -As she spoke she knocked at the door of the chalet, and asked the old -dame to give them some milk. They sat in the _Stube_, and the little -girl looked about, and admired the spinning-wheel, and the quaint -chairs, and the queer old jugs, and the pictures on the walls. - -"Ah, but you shall see the other room," the old peasant woman said, and -she led them into a small apartment, which was evidently intended for a -study. It bore evidences of unusual taste and care, and one could see -that some loving hand had been trying to make it a real sanctum of -refinement. There was even a small piano. A carved book-rack was -fastened to the wall. - -The old dame did not speak at first; she gave her guests time to recover -from the astonishment which she felt they must be experiencing; then she -pointed proudly to the piano. - -"I bought that for my daughters," she said, with a strange mixture of -sadness and triumph. "I wanted to keep them at home with me, and I -saved and saved and got enough money to buy the piano. They had always -wanted to have one, and I thought they would then stay with me. They -liked music and books, and I knew they would be glad to have a room of -their own where they might read and play and study; and so I gave them -this corner." - -"Well, mother," asked the little girl, "and where are they this -afternoon?" - -"Ah!" she answered sadly, "they did not care to stay. But it was -natural enough; and I was foolish to grieve. Besides, they come to see -me." - -"And then they play to you?" asked the little girl gently. - -"They say the piano is out of tune," the old dame said "I don't know. -Perhaps you can tell." - -The little girl sat down to the piano, and struck a few chords. - -"Yes," she said. "It is badly out of tune. Give me the tuning-hammer. -I am sorry," she added, smiling at Oswald Everard, "but I cannot neglect -my duty. Don't wait for me." - -"I will wait for you," he said sullenly; and he went into the balcony -and smoked his pipe, and tried to possess his soul in patience. - -When she had faithfully done her work, she played a few simple melodies, -such as she knew the old woman would love and understand; and she turned -away when she saw that the listener's eyes were moist. - -"Play once again," the old woman whispered. "I am dreaming of beautiful -things." - -So the little tuner touched the keys again with all the tenderness of an -angel. - -"Tell your daughters," she said, as she rose to say good-bye, "that the -piano is now in good tune. Then they will play to you the next time -they come." - -"I shall always remember you, mademoiselle," the old woman said; and, -almost unconsciously, she too took the childish face and kissed it. - -Oswald Everard was waiting in the hayfield for his companion; and when -she apologized to him for this little professional intermezzo, as she -called it, he recovered from his sulkiness and readjusted his nerves, -which the noise of the tuning had somewhat disturbed. - -"It was very good of you to tune the old dame's piano," he said, looking -at her with renewed interest. - -"Some one had to do it, of course," she answered brightly, "and I am -glad the chance fell to me. What a comfort it is to think that the next -time those daughters come to see her, they will play to her, and make -her very happy! Poor old dear!" - -"You puzzle me greatly," he said. "I cannot for the life of me think -what made you choose your calling. You must have many gifts; any one -who talks with you must see that at once. And you play quite nicely -too." - -"I am sorry that my profession sticks in your throat," she answered. -"Do be thankful that I am nothing worse than a tuner. For I might be -something worse--a snob, for instance." - -And so speaking, she dashed after a butterfly, and left him to recover -from her words. He was conscious of having deserved a reproof; and when -at last he overtook her, he said as much, and asked for her kind -indulgence. - -"I forgive you," she said, laughing. "You and I are not looking at -things from the same point of view; but we have had a splendid morning -together, and I have enjoyed every minute of it. And to-morrow I go on -my way." - -"And to-morrow you go!" he repeated. "Can it not be the day after -to-morrow?" - -"I am a bird of passage," she said, shaking her head. "You must not -seek to detain me. I have taken my rest, and off I go to other climes." - - -They had arrived at the hotel, and Oswald Everard saw no more of his -companion until the evening, when she came down rather late for table -d'hote. She hurried over her dinner and went into the salon. She -closed the door and sat down to the piano, and lingered there without -touching the keys; once or twice she raised her hands, and then she let -them rest on the notes, and half-unconsciously they began to move and -make sweet music, and then they drifted into Schumann's _Abendlied_, and -then the little girl played some of his _Kinderscenen_, and some of his -_Fantasie Stucke_, and some of his songs. - -Her touch and feeling were exquisite; and her phrasing betrayed the true -musician. The strains of music reached the dining-room, and one by one -the guests came creeping in, moved by the music, and anxious to see the -musician. - -The little girl did not look up; she was in a Schumann mood that -evening, and only the players of Schumann know what enthralling -possession he takes of their very spirit. All the passion and pathos -and wildness and longing had found an inspired interpreter; and those -who listened to her were held by the magic which was her own secret, and -which had won for her such honor as comes only to the few. She -understood Schumann's music, and was at her best with him. - -Had she, perhaps, chosen to play his music this evening because she -wished to be at her best? Or was she merely being impelled by an -overwhelming force within her? Perhaps it was something of both. - -Was she wishing to humiliate these people who had received her so -coldly? This little girl was only human: perhaps there was something of -that feeling too. Who can tell? But she played as she had never played -in London, or Paris, or Berlin, or New York, or Philadelphia. - -At last she arrived at the Carneval, and those who heard her declared -afterward that they had never listened to a more magnificent rendering; -the tenderness was so restrained, the vigor was so refined. When the -last notes of that spirited _Marche des Davidsbundler contre les -Philistins_ had died away, she glanced at Oswald Everard, who was -standing near her, almost dazed. - -"And now my favorite piece of all," she said; and she at once began the -Second Novellette, the finest of the eight, but seldom played in public. - -What can one say of the wild rush of the leading theme, and the pathetic -longing of the Intermezzo? - - "... The murmuring dying notes, - That fall as soft as snow on the sea;" - -and - - "The passionate strain that deeply going, - Refines the bosom it trembles through." - -What can one say of those vague aspirations and finest thoughts which -possess the very dullest among us when such music as that which the -little girl had chosen catches us and keeps us, if only for a passing -moment, but that moment of the rarest worth and loveliness in our -unlovely lives? - -What can one say of the highest music, except that, like death, it is -the great leveler: it gathers us all to its tender keeping--and we rest. - -The little girl ceased playing. There was not a sound to be heard; the -magic was still holding her listeners. When at last they had freed -themselves with a sigh, they pressed forward to greet her. - -"There is only one person who can play like that," cried the Major, with -sudden inspiration; "she is Miss Thyra Flowerdew." - -The little girl smiled. - -"That is my name," she said simply; and she slipped out of the room. - - -The next morning, at an early hour, the Bird of Passage took her flight -onward, but she was not destined to go off unobserved. Oswald Everard -saw the little figure swinging along the road, and he overtook her. - -"You little wild bird!" he said. "And so this was your great idea: to -have your fun out of us all, and then play to us and make us feel, I -don't know how--and then to go." - -"You said the company wanted stirring up," she answered; "and I rather -fancy I have stirred them up." - -"And what do you suppose you have done for me?" he asked. - -"I hope I have proved to you that the bellows-blower and the organist -are sometimes identical," she answered. - -But he shook his head. - -"Little wild bird," he said, "you have given me a great idea, and I will -tell you what it is: _to tame you_. So good-bye for the present." - -"Good-bye," she said. "But wild birds are not so easily tamed." - -Then she waved her hand over her head, and went on her way singing. - - - - THE END. - - - - - * * * * * * * * - - - - - *AT THE GREEN DRAGON.* - - *BY BEATRICE HARRADEN.* - - - - *CHAPTER I.* - - *HIERONYMUS COMES.* - - -It was a pouring September evening when a stranger knocked at the door -of the Crown Inn. Old Mrs. Howells saw that he carried a portmanteau in -his hand. - -"If it's a bedroom you want," she said, "I can't be bothered with you. -What with brewing the beer and cleaning the brass, I've more than I can -manage. I'm that tired!" - -"And so am I," said the stranger pathetically. - -"Go over the way to the Green Dragon," suggested Mrs. Howells. "Mrs. -Benbow may be able to put you up. But what with the brewing and the -cleaning, I can't do with you." - -The stranger stepped across the road to the Green Dragon. He tapped at -the door, and a cheery little woman made her appearance. She was -carrying what they call in Shropshire a devil of hot beer. It smelt -good. - -"Good-evening, ma'am," said the stranger. "Can you house me for the -night? The hostess of the Crown Inn has turned me away. But you surely -will not do the same? You observe what a bad cold I have." - -Mrs. Benbow glanced sharply at the stranger. She had not kept the Green -Dragon for ten years without learning to judge somewhat of character; -and to-night she was particularly on her guard, for her husband had gone -to stay for two days with some relatives in Shrewsbury, so that Mrs. -Benbow and old John of the wooden leg, called _Dot and carry one_, were -left as sole guardians of the little wayside public house. - -"It is not very convenient for me to take you in," she said. - -"And it would not be very convenient for me to be shut out," he replied. -"Besides which, I have had a whiff of that hot beer." - -At that moment a voice from the kitchen cried impatiently. "Here, -missus! where be that beer of your'n. I be feeling quite faint-like!" - -"As though he could call out like that if he was faint!" laughed Mrs. -Benbow, running off into the kitchen. - -When she returned she found the stranger seated at the foot of the -staircase. - -"And what do you propose to do for me?" he asked patiently. - -There was no mistaking the genial manner. Mrs. Benbow was conquered. - -"I propose to fry some eggs and bacon for your supper," she said -cheerily. "And then I propose to make your bedroom ready." - -"Sensible woman!" he said, as he followed her into the parlor, where a -fire was burning brightly. He threw himself into the easychair, and -immediately experienced that sensation of repose and thankfulness which -comes over us when we have found a haven. There he rested, content with -himself and his surroundings. The fire lit up his face, and showed him -to be a man of about forty years. - -There was nothing especially remarkable about him. The face in repose -was sad and thoughtful; and yet when he discovered a yellow cat sleeping -under the table, he smiled as though some great pleasure had come into -his life. - -"Come along, little comrade!" he said, as he captured her. She looked -up into his face so frankly that the stranger was much impressed. "Why, -I do believe you are a dog undergoing a cat incarnation," he continued. -"What qualities did you lack when you were a dog, I wonder? Perhaps you -did not steal sufficiently well; perhaps you had net cultivated -restfulness. And your name? Your name shall be Gamboge. I think that -is a suitable appellation for you--certainly more suitable than most of -the names thrust upon unoffending humanity. My own name, for instance, -Hieronymus! Ah, you may well mew! You are a thoroughly sensible -creature." - -So he amused himself until Mrs. Benbow came with his supper. Then he -pointed to the cat and said quietly: - -"That is a very companionable dog of yours." - -Mrs. Benbow darted a look of suspicion at the stranger. - -"We call that a cat in Shropshire," she said, beginning to regret that -she had agreed to house the stranger. - -"Well, no doubt you are partially right," said the stranger solemnly; -"but, at the same time, you are partially wrong. To use the language of -the theosophists----" - -Mrs. Benbow interrupted him. - -"Eat your supper while it is hot," she said, "then perhaps you'll feel -better. Your cold is rather heavy in your head, isn't it?" - -He laughed good-temperedly, and smiled at her as though to reassure her -that he was quite in his right senses; and then, without further -discussion, he began to make short work of the fried eggs and bacon. -Gamboge, sitting quietly by the fireside, scorned to beg; she preferred -to steal. That is a way some people have. - -The stranger finished his supper, and lit his pipe. Once or twice he -began to doze. The first time he was aroused by Gamboge, who had jumped -on the table, and was seeking what she might devour. - -"Ah, Gamboge," he said sleepily, "I am sorry I have not left anything -appetizing for you. I was so hungry. Pray excuse." - -Then he dozed off again. The second time he was aroused by the sound of -singing. He caught the words of the chorus: - - "I'll gayly sing from day to day, - And do the best I can; - If sorrows meet me on the way, - I'll bear them like a man." - - -"An excellent resolution," murmured the stranger, becoming drowsy once -more. "Only I wish they'd kept their determinations to themselves." - -The third time he was disturbed by the sound of angry voices. There was -some quarreling going on in the kitchen of the Green Dragon. The voices -became louder. There was a clatter of stools and a crash of glasses. - -"You are a pack of lying gypsies!" sang out some one. "You know well -you didn't pay the missus!" - -"Go for him! go for him!" was the cry. - -Then the parlor door was flung open and Mrs. Benbow rushed in. "Oh!" -she cried, "those gypsy men are killing the carpenter!" - -Hieronymus Howard rushed into the kitchen, and threw himself into the -midst of the contest. Three powerful tramps were kicking a figure -prostrate on the ground. One other man, Mr. Greaves, the blacksmith, was -trying in vain to defend his comrade. He had no chance against these -gypsy fellows, and though he fought like a lion, his strength was, of -course, nothing against theirs. Old John of the one leg had been -knocked over, and was picking himself up with difficulty. Everything -depended on the promptness of the stranger. He was nothing of a -warrior, this Hieronymus Howard; he was just a quiet student, who knew -how to tussle with Greek roots rather than with English tramps. But he -threw himself upon the gypsies, fought hand to hand with them, was -blinded with blows, nearly trampled beneath their feet, all but crushed -against the wall. Now he thrust them back. Now they pressed on him -afresh. Now the blacksmith, with desperate effort, attacked them again. -Now the carpenter, bruised and battered, but wild for revenge, dragged -himself from the floor, and aimed a blow at the third gypsy's head. He -fell. Then after a short, sharp contest, the other two gypsies were -driven to the door, which Mrs. Benbow had opened wide, and were thrust -out. The door was bolted safely. - -But they had bolted one gypsy in with them. When they returned to the -kitchen they found him waiting for them. He had recovered himself. - -Mrs. Benbow raised a cry of terror. She had thought herself safe in her -castle. The carpenter and the blacksmith were past fighting. -Hieronymus Howard gazed placidly at the great tramp. - -"I am sorry we had forgotten you," he said courteously. "Perhaps you -will oblige us by following your comrades. I will open the door for -you. I think we are all rather tired--aren't we? So perhaps you will -go at once." - -The man gazed sheepishly at him, and then followed him. Hieronymus -Howard opened the door. - -"Good-evening to you," he said. - -And the gypsy passed out without a word. - -"Well now," said Hieronymus, as he drew the bolt, "that is the end of -that." - -Then he hastened into the parlor. Mrs. Benbow hurried after him, and -was just in time to break his fall. He had swooned away. - - - - - *CHAPTER II.* - - *HIERONYMUS STAYS.* - - -Hieronymus Howard had only intended to pass one night at the Green -Dragon. But his sharp encounter with the gypsies altered his plans. He -was battered and bruised and thoroughly shaken, and quite unable to do -anything else except rest in the arm-chair and converse with Gamboge, -who had attached herself to him, and evidently appreciated his -companionship. His right hand was badly sprained. Mrs. Benbow looked -after him most tenderly, bemoaning all the time that he should be in -such a plight because of her. There was nothing that she was not willing -to do for him; it was a long time since Hieronymus Howard had been so -petted and spoiled. Mrs. Benbow treated every one like a young child -that needed to be taken care of. The very men who came to drink her -famous ale were under her strict motherly authority. "There now, Mr. -Andrew, that's enough for ye," she would say; "not another glass -to-night. No, no, John Curtis; get you gone home. You'll not coax -another half-pint out of me." - -She was generally obeyed; even Hieronymus Howard, who refused rather -peevishly to take a third cup of beef-tea, found himself obliged to -comply. When she told him to lie on the sofa, he did so without a -murmur. When she told him to get up and take his dinner while it was -still hot, he obeyed like a well-trained child. She cut his food, and -then took the knife away. - -"You mustn't try to use your right hand," she said sternly. "Put it -back in the sling at once." - -Hieronymus obeyed. Her kind tyranny pleased and amused him, and he was -not at all sorry to go on staying at the Green Dragon. He was really on -his way to visit some friends just on the border between Shropshire and -Wales, to form one of a large house-party, consisting of people both -interesting and intellectual: qualities, by the way, not necessarily -inseparable. But he was just at the time needing quiet of mind, and he -promised himself some really peaceful hours in this little Shropshire -village, with its hills, some of them bare, and others girt with a belt -of trees, and the brook gurgling past the wayside inn. He was tired, -and here he would find rest. The only vexatious part was that he had -hurt his hand. But for this mishap he would have been quite content. - -He told this to Mr. Benbow, who returned that afternoon, and who -expressed his regret at the whole occurrence. - -"Oh, I am well satisfied here," said Hieronymus cheerily. "Your little -wife is a capital hostess: somewhat of the tyrant, you know. Still, one -likes that; until one gets to the fourth cup of beef-tea! And she is an -excellent cook, and the Green Dragon is most comfortable. I've nothing -to complain of except my hand. That is a nuisance, for I wanted to do -some writing. I suppose there is no one here who could write for me." - -"Well," said Mr. Benbow, "perhaps the missus can. She can do most -things. She's real clever." - -Mrs. Benbow, being consulted on this matter, confessed that she could -not do much in that line. - -"I used to spell pretty well once," she said brightly; "but the brewing -and the scouring and the looking after other things have knocked all -that out of me." - -"You wrote to me finely when I was away," her husband said. He was a -quiet fellow, and proud of his little wife, and liked people to know how -capable she was. - -"Ah, but you aren't over-particular, Ben, bless you," she answered, -laughing, and running away to her many duties. Then she returned to -tell Hieronymus that there was a splendid fire in the kitchen, and that -he was to go and sit there. - -"I'm busy doing the washing in the back-yard," she said. "Ben has gone -to look after the sheep. Perhaps you'll give an eye to the door, and -serve out the ale. It would help me mighty. I'm rather pressed for -time to-day. We shall brew to-morrow, and I must get the washing done -this afternoon." - -She took it for granted that he would obey, and of course he did. He -transferred himself, his pipe, and his book to the front kitchen, and -prepared for customers. Hieronymus Howard had once been an ambitious -man, but never before had he been seized by such an overwhelming -aspiration as now possessed him--to serve out the Green Dragon ale! - -"If only some one would come!" he said to himself scores of times. - -No one came. Hieronymus, becoming impatient, sprang up from his chair -and gazed anxiously out of the window, just in time to see three men -stroll into the opposite inn. - -"Confound them!" he cried; "why don't they come here?" - -The next moment four riders stopped at the rival public-house, and old -Mrs. Howells hurried out to them, as though to prevent any possibility -of them slipping across to the other side of the road. - -This was almost more than Hieronymus could bear quietly. He could -scarcely refrain from opening the Green Dragon door and advertising in a -loud voice the manifold virtues of Mrs. Benbow's ale and spirits. But he -recollected in time that even wayside inns have their fixed code of -etiquette, and that nothing remained for him but to possess his soul in -patience. He was rewarded; in a few minutes a procession of wagons -filed slowly past the Green Dragon; he counted ten horses and five men. -Would they stop? Hieronymus waited in breathless excitement. Yes, they -did stop, and four of the drivers came into the kitchen. "Where is the -fifth?" asked Hieronymus sharply, having a keen eye to business. "He is -minding the horses," they answered, looking at him curiously. But they -seemed to take it for granted that he was there to serve them, and they -leaned back luxuriously in the great oak settle, while Hieronymus poured -out the beer, and received in exchange some grimy coppers. - -After they had gone the fifth man came to have his share of the -refreshments; and then followed a long pause, which seemed to Hieronymus -like whole centuries. - -"It was during a lengthened period like this," he remarked to himself, -as he paced up and down the kitchen--"yes, it was during infinite time -like this that the rugged rocks became waveworn pebbles!" - -Suddenly he heard the sound of horses' feet. - -"It is a rider," he said. "I shall have to go out to him." He hastened -to the door, and saw a young woman on a great white horse. She carried a -market basket on her arm. She wore no riding-habit, but was dressed in -the ordinary way. There was nothing picturesque about her appearance, -but Hieronymus thought her face looked interesting. She glanced at him -as though she wondered what he could possibly be doing at the Green -Dragon. - -"Well, and what may I do for you?" he asked. He did not quite like to -say, "What may I bring for you?" He left her to decide that matter. - -"I wanted to see Mrs. Benbow," she said. - -"She is busy doing the washing," he answered. "But I will go and tell -her, if you will kindly detain any customer who may chance to pass by." - -He hurried away, and came back with the answer that Mrs. Benbow would be -out in a minute. - -"Thank you," the young woman said quietly. Then she added: "You have -hurt your arm, I see." - -"Yes," he answered; "it is a great nuisance. I cannot write. I have -been wondering whether I could get any one to write for me. Do you know -of any one?" - -"No," she said bitterly; "we don't write here. We make butter and -cheese, and we fatten up our poultry, and then we go to market and sell -our butter, cheese, and poultry." - -"Well," said Hieronymus, "and why shouldn't you?" - -He looked up at her, and saw what a discontented expression had come -over her young face. - -She took no notice of his interruption, but just switched the horse's -ears with the end of her whip. - -"That is what we do year after year," she continued, "until I suppose we -have become so dull that we don't care to do anything else. That is -what we have come into the world for: to make butter and cheese, and -fatten up our poultry, and go to market." - -"Yes," he answered cheerily, "and we all have to do it in some form or -other. We all go to market to sell our goods, whether they be brains, or -practical common-sense (which often, you know, has nothing to do with -brains), or butter, or poultry. Now I don't know, of course, what you -have in your basket; but supposing you have eggs, which you are taking -to market. Well, you are precisely in the same condition as the poet -who is on his way to a publisher's, carrying a new poem in his vest -pocket. And yet there is a difference." - -"Of course there is," she jerked out scornfully. - -"Yes, there _is_ a difference," he continued, placidly; "it is this: you -will return without those eggs, but the poet will come back still -carrying his poem in his breast-pocket!" - -Then he laughed at his own remark. - -"That is how things go in the great world, you know," he said. "Out in -the great world there is an odd way of settling matters. Still they must -be settled somehow or other!" - -"Out in the world!" she exclaimed. "That is where I long to go." - -"Then why on earth don't you?" he replied. - -At that moment Mrs. Benbow came running out. - -"I am so sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Hammond," she said to the young -girl; "but what with the washing and the making ready for the brewing -to-morrow, I don't know where to turn." - -Then followed a series of messages to which Hieronymus paid no -attention. And then Miss Hammond cracked her whip, waved her greetings -with it, and the old white horse trotted away. - -"And who is the rider of the horse?" asked Hieronymus. - -"Oh, she is Farmer Hammond's daughter," said Mrs. Benbow. "Her name is -Joan. She is an odd girl, different from the other girls here. They -say she is quite a scholar too. Why, _she_ would be the one to write for -you. The very one, of course! I'll call to her." - -But by that time the old white horse was out of sight. - - - - - *CHAPTER III.* - - *THE PRIMARY GLORY.* - - -The next day at the Green Dragon was a busy one. Mrs. and Mr. Benbow -were up betimes, banging casks about in the cellar. When Hieronymus -Howard came down to breakfast, he found that they had brought three -barrels into the kitchen, and that one was already half full of some -horrible brown liquid, undergoing the process of fermentation. He felt -himself much aggrieved that he was unable to contribute his share of -work to the proceedings. It was but little comfort to him that he was -again allowed to attend to the customers. The pouring out of the beer -had lost its charm for him. - -"It is a secondary glory to pour out the beer," he grumbled. "I aspire -to the primary glory of helping to make the beer." - -Mrs. Benbow was heaping on the coal in the furnace. She turned round -and looked at the disconsolate figure. - -"There is one thing you might do," she said. "I've not half enough -barm. There are two or three places where you might call for some; and -between them all perhaps you'll get enough." - -She then mentioned three houses, Farmer Hammond's being among the -number. - -"Very likely the Hammonds would oblige us," she said. "They are -neighborly folk. They live at the Malt-House Farm, two miles off. You -can't carry the jar, but you can take the perambulator and wheel it -back. I've often done that when I had much to carry." - -Hieronymus Howard looked doubtfully at the perambulator. - -"Very well," he said submissively. "I suppose I shall only look like an -ordinary tramp. It seems to be the fashion to tramp on this road!" - -It never entered his head to rebel. The great jar was lifted into the -perambulator, and Hieronymus wheeled it away, still keeping up his -dignity, though under somewhat trying circumstances. - -"I rather wish I had not mentioned anything about primary glory," he -remarked to himself. "However, I will not faint by the wayside; Mrs. -Benbow is a person not lightly to be disobeyed. In this respect she -reminds me distinctly of Queen Elizabeth, or Margaret of Anjou, with -just a dash of Napoleon Bonaparte!" - -So he walked on along the highroad. Two or three tramps passed him, -wheeling similar perambulators, some heaped up with rags and old tins -and umbrellas, and occasionally a baby; representing the sum total of -their respective possessions in the world. They looked at him with -curiosity, but no pleasantry passed their lips. There was nothing to -laugh at in Hieronymus' appearance; there was a quiet dignity about him -which was never lost on any one. His bearing tallied with his -character, the character of a mellowed human being. There was a -restfulness about him which had soothed more than one tired person; not -the restfulness of stupidity, but the repose only gained by those who -have struggled through a great fever to a great calm. His was a -clean-shaven face; his hair was iron-gray. There was a kind but firm -expression about his mouth, and a suspicion of humor lingering in the -corners. His eyes looked at you frankly. There seemed to be no -self-consciousness in his manner; long ago, perhaps, he had managed to -get away from himself. He enjoyed the country, and stopped more than -once to pick some richly tinted leaf, or some tiny flower nestling in -the hedge. He confided all his treasures to the care of the -perambulator. It was a beautiful morning, and the sun lit up the hills, -which were girt with a belt of many gems: a belt of trees, each rivaling -the other in colored luxuriance. Hieronymus sang. Then he turned down a -lane to the left and found some nuts. He ate these, and went on his way -again, and at last found himself outside a farm of large and important -aspect. A man was stacking a hayrick. Hieronymus watched him keenly. - -"Good gracious!" he exclaimed; "I wish I could do that. How on earth do -you manage it? And did it take you long to learn?" - -The man smiled in the usual yokel fashion, and went on with his work. -Hieronymus plainly did not interest him. - -"Is this the Malt-House Farm?" cried Hieronymus lustily. - -"What else should it be?" answered the man. - -"These rural characters are inclined to be one-sided," thought -Hieronymus, as he opened the gate and wheeled the perambulator into the -pretty garden. "It seems to me that they are almost as narrow-minded as -the people who live in cities and pride themselves on their breadth of -view. Almost--but on reflection, not quite!" - -He knocked at the door of the porch, and a great bustling woman opened -it. He explained his mission to her, and pointed to the jar for the -barm. - -"You would oblige Mrs. Benbow greatly, ma'am," he said. "In fact, we -cannot get on with our beer unless you come to our assistance." - -"Step into the parlor, sir," she said, smiling, "and I'll see how much -we've got. I think you are the gentleman who fought the gypsies. -You've hurt your arm, I see." - -"Yes, a great nuisance," he answered cheerily; "and that reminds me of -my other request. I want some one to write for me an hour or two every -day. Mrs. Benbow mentioned your daughter, the young lady who came to us -on the white horse yesterday." - -He was going to add: "The young lady who wishes to go out into the -world;" but he checked himself, guessing by instinct that the young lady -and her mother had probably very little in common. - -"Perhaps, though," he said, "I take a liberty in making the suggestion. -If so, you have only to reprove me, and that is the end of it." - -"Oh, I daresay she'd like to write for you," said Mrs. Hammond, "if she -can be spared from the butter and the fowls. She likes books and pen -and paper. They're things as I don't favor." - -"No," said Hieronymus, suddenly filled with an overwhelming sense of his -own littleness; "you are occupied with other more useful matters." - -"Yes, indeed," rejoined Mrs. Hammond fervently. "Well, if you'll be -seated, I'll send Joan to you, and I'll see about the barm." - -Hieronymus settled down in an old chair, and took a glance at the -comfortable paneled room. There was every appearance of ease about the -Malt-House Farm, and yet Farmer Hammond and his wife toiled incessantly -from morning to evening, exacting continual labor from their daughter -too. There was a good deal of brass-work in the parlor; it was kept -spotlessly bright. - -In a few minutes Joan came in. She carried the jar. - -"I have filled the jar with barm," she said, without any preliminaries. -"One of the men can take it back if you like." - -"Oh no, thank you," he said cheerily, looking at her with some interest. -"It came in the perambulator; it can return in the same conveyance." - -She bent over the table, leaning against the jar. She smiled at his -words, and the angry look of resentfulness, which seemed to be her -habitual expression, gave way to a more pleasing one. Joan was not -good-looking, but her face was decidedly interesting. She was of middle -stature, slight but strong; not the typical country girl with rosy -cheeks, but pale, though not unhealthy. She was dark of complexion; -soft brown hair, over which she seemed to have no control, was done into -a confused mass at the back, untidy, but pleasing. Her forehead was not -interfered with; you might see it for yourself, and note the great bumps -which those rogues of phrenologists delight to finger. She carried her -head proudly, and from certain determined jerks which she gave to it you -might judge of her decided character. She was dressed in a dark gown, -and wore an apron of coarse linen. At the most she was nineteen years -of age. Hieronymus just glanced at her, and could not help comparing -her with her mother. - -"Well," he said pleasantly, "and now, having settled the affairs of the -Green Dragon, I proceed to my own. Will you come and be my scribbler -for a few days? Or if you wish for a grander title, will you act as my -amanuensis? I am sadly in need of a little help. I have found out that -you can help me." - -"I don't know whether you could read my writing," she said shyly. - -"That does not matter in the least," he answered. "I shan't have to -read it. Some one else will." - -"My spelling is not faultless," she said. - -"Also a trifle!" he replied. "Spelling, like every other virtue, is a -relative thing, depending largely on the character of the individual. -Have you any other objection?" - -She shook her head, and smiled brightly at him. - -"I should like to write for you," she said, "if only I could do it well -enough." - -"I am sure of that," he answered kindly. "Mrs. Benbow tells me you are a -young lady who does good work. I admire that beyond everything. You -fatten up the poultry well, you make butter and pastry well--shouldn't I -just like to taste it! And I am sure you have cleaned this brass-work." - -"Yes," she said, "when I'm tired of every one and everything, I go and -rub up the brasses until they are spotless. When I am utterly weary of -the whole concern, and just burning to get away from this stupid little -village, I polish the candlesticks and handles until my arms are worn -out. I had a good turn at it yesterday." - -"Was yesterday a bad day with you, then?" he asked. - -"Yes," she answered. "When I was riding the old white horse yesterday, -I just felt that I could go on riding, riding forever. But she is such -a slow coach. She won't go quickly!" - -"No, I should think you could walk more quickly," said Hieronymus. -"Your legs would take you out into the world more swiftly than that old -white horse. And being clear of this little village, and being out in -the great world, what do you want to do?" - -"To learn!" she cried; "to learn to know something about life, and to -get to have other interests: something great and big, something worth -wearing one's strength away for." Then she stopped suddenly. "What a -goose I am!" she said, turning away half ashamed. - -"Something great and big," he repeated. "Cynics would tell you that you -have a weary quest before you. But I think it is very easy to find -something great and big. Only it all depends on the strength of your -telescope. You must order the best kind, and unfortunately one can't -afford the best kind when one is very young. You have to pay for your -telescope, not with money, but with years. But when at last it comes -into your possession--ah, how it alters the look of things!" - -He paused a moment, as though lost in thought; and then, with the -brightness so characteristic of him, he added: - -"Well, I must be going home to my humble duties at the Green Dragon, and -you, no doubt, have to return to your task of feeding up the poultry for -the market. When is market-day at Church Stretton?" - -"On Friday," she answered. - -"That is the day I have to send off some of my writing," he said; "my -market-day, also, you see." - -"Are you a poet?" she asked timidly. - -"No," he answered, smiling at her; "I am that poor creature, an -historian: one of those restless persons who furridge among the annals -of the past." - -"Oh," she said enthusiastically, "I have always cared more about history -than anything else!" - -"Well, then, if you come to-morrow to the Green Dragon at eleven -o'clock," he said kindly, "you will have the privilege of writing -history instead of reading it. And now I suppose I must hasten back to -the tyranny of Queen Elizabeth. Can you lift that jar into the -perambulator? You see I can't." - -She hoisted it into the perambulator, and then stood at the gate, -watching him as he pushed it patiently over the rough road. - - - - - *CHAPTER IV.* - - *THE MAKING OF THE PASTRY.* - - -That same afternoon Mrs. Hammond put on her best things and drove in the -dogcart to Minton, where Auntie Lloyd of the Tan-House Farm was giving a -tea-party. Joan had refused to go. She had a profound contempt for -these social gatherings, and Auntie Lloyd and she had no great love, the -one for the other. Auntie Lloyd, who was regarded as the oracle of the -family, summed Joan up in a few sentences: - -"She's a wayward creature, with all her fads about books and book -learning. I've no patience with her. Fowls and butter and such things -have been good enough for us; why does she want to meddle with things -which don't concern her? She's clever at her work, and diligent too. -If it weren't for that, there'd be no abiding her." - -Joan summed Auntie Lloyd up in a few words: - -"Oh, she's Auntie Lloyd," she said, shrugging her shoulders. - -So when her mother urged her to go to Minton to this tea-party, which -was to be something special, Joan said: - -"No, I don't care about going. Auntie Lloyd worries me to death. And -what with her, and the rum in the tea, and those horrid crumpets, I'd -far rather stay at home, and make pastry and read a book." - -So she stayed. There was plenty of pastry in the larder, and there -seemed no particular reason why she should add to the store. But she -evidently thought differently about the matter, for she went into the -kitchen and rolled up her sleeves and began her work. - -"I hope this will be the best pastry I have ever made," she said to -herself, as she prepared several jam-puffs and an open tart. "I should -like him to taste my pastry. An historian. I wonder what we shall -write about to-morrow." - -She put the pastry into the oven, and sat lazily in the ingle, nursing -her knees, and musing. She was thinking the whole time of Hieronymus, -of his kind and genial manner, and his face with the iron-gray hair; she -would remember him always, even if she never saw him again. Once or -twice it crossed her mind that she had been foolish to speak so -impatiently to him of her village life. He would just think her a -silly, discontented girl, and nothing more. And yet it had seemed so -natural to talk to him in that strain; she knew by instinct that he -would understand, and he was the first she had ever met who would be -likely to understand. The others--her father, her mother, David Ellis -the exciseman, who was supposed to be fond of her, these and others in -the neighborhood--what did they care about her desires to improve her -mind, and widen out her life, and multiply her interests? She had been -waiting for months, almost for years indeed, to speak openly to some -one; she could not have let the chance go by, now that it had come to -her. - -The puffs meanwhile were forgotten. When at last she recollected them, -she hastened to their rescue, and found she was only just in time. Two -were burned; she placed the others in a dish, and threw the damaged ones -on the table. As she did so the kitchen door opened, and the exciseman -came in, and seeing the pastry, he exclaimed: - -"Oh, Joan, making pastry! Then I'll test it!" - -"You'll do nothing of the sort," she said half angrily, as she put her -hands over the dish. "I won't have it touched. You can eat the burnt -ones it you like." - -"Not I," he answered. "I want the best. Why, Joan, what's the matter -with you? You're downright cross to-day." - -"I'm no different from usual," she said. - -"Yes, you are," he said; "and what's more, you grow different every -week." - -"I grow more tired of this horrid little village and every one in it, if -that's what you mean," she answered. - -He had thrown his whip on the chair, and stood facing her. He was a -prosperous man, much respected, and much liked for many miles round -Little Stretton. It was an open secret that he loved Joan Hammond, the -only question in the village being whether Joan would have him when the -time came for him to propose to her. No girl in her senses would have -been likely to refuse the exciseman; but then Joan was not in her -senses, so that anything might be expected of her. At least such was the -verdict of Auntie Lloyd, who regarded her niece with the strictest -disapproval. Joan had always been more friendly with David than with -any one else; and it was no doubt this friendliness, remarkable in one -who kept habitually apart from others, which had encouraged David to go -on hoping to win her, not by persuasion but by patience. He loved her, -indeed he had always loved her; and in the old days, when he was a -schoolboy and she was a little baby child, he had left his companions to -go and play with his tiny girl-friend up at the Malt-House Farm. He had -no sister of his own, and he liked to nurse and pet the querulous little -creature who was always quiet in his arms. He could soothe her when no -one else had any influence. But the years had come and gone, and they -had grown apart; not he from her, but she from him. And now he stood in -the kitchen of the old farm, reading in her very manner the answer to -the question which he had not yet asked her. That question was always -on his lips; how many times had he not said it aloud when he rode his -horse over the country? But Joan was forbidding of late months, and -especially of late weeks, and the exciseman had always told himself -sadly that the right moment had not yet come. And to-day, also, it was -not the right moment. A great sorrow seized him, for he longed to tell -her that he loved her, and that he was yearning to make her happy. She -should have books of her own; books, books, books; he had already bought -a few volumes to form the beginning of her library. They were not well -chosen, perhaps, but there they were, locked up in his private drawer. -He was not learned, but he would learn for her sake. All this flashed -through his mind as he stood before her. He looked at her face, and -could not trace one single expression of kindliness or encouragement. - -"Then I must go on waiting," he thought, and he stooped and picked up -his whip. - -"Good-bye, Joan," he said quietly. - -The kitchen door swung on its hinges, and Joan was once more alone. - -"An historian," she said to herself, as she took away the rolling-pin, -and put the pastry into the larder. "I wonder what we shall write about -to-morrow." - - - - - *CHAPTER V.* - - *PASTRY AND PERSONAL MONARCHY.* - - -Joan sat in the parlor of the Green Dragon, waiting until Hieronymus had -finished eating a third jam-puff, and could pronounce himself ready to -begin dictating. A few papers were scattered about on the table, and -Gamboge was curled up on the hearth-rug. Joan was radiant with -pleasure, for this was her nearest approach to intellectuality; a new -world had opened to her as though by magic. And she was radiant with -another kind of pleasure: this was only the third time she had seen the -historian, and each time she was the happier. It was at first a little -shock to her sense of intellectual propriety that the scholar yonder -could condescend to so trivial a matter as pastry; but then Hieronymus -had his own way about him, which carried conviction in the end. - -"Well," he said cheerily. "I think I am ready to begin. Dear me! What -excellent pastry!" - -Joan smiled, and dipped her pen in the ink. - -"And to _think_ that David nearly ate it!" she said to herself. And -that was about the first time she had thought of him since yesterday. - -Then the historian began. His language was simple and dignified, like -the man himself. His subject was "An Introduction to the Personal -Monarchy, which began with the reign of Henry VIII." Everything he said -was crystal-clear. Moreover, he had that rare gift, the power of -condensing and of suggesting too. He was nothing if not an -impressionist. Joan had no difficulty in keeping pace with him, for he -dictated slowly. After nearly two hours he left off, and gave a great -sigh of relief. - -"There now," he said, "that's enough for to-day." And he seemed just -like a schoolboy released from lessons. - -"Come, come," he added, as he looked over the manuscript. "I shall be -quite proud to send that in to the printer. You would make a capital -little secretary. You are so quiet and you don't scratch with your pen: -qualities which are only too rare. Well, we shall be able to go on with -this work, if you can spare the time and will oblige me. And we must -make some arrangements about money matters." - -"As for that," said Joan hastily, "it's such a change from the -never-ending fowls and that everlasting butter." - -"Of course it is," said Hieronymus, as he took his pipe from the -mantel-shelf. "But all the same, we will be business-like. Besides, -consider the advantage; you will be earning a little money with which -you can either buy books to read, or fowls to fatten up. You can take -your choice, you know." - -"I should choose the books," she said, quite fiercely. - -"How spiteful you are to those fowls!" he said. - -"So would you be, if you had been looking after them all your life," -Joan answered, still more fiercely. - -"There is no doubt about you being a volcanic young lady," Hieronymus -remarked thoughtfully. "But I understand. I was also a volcano once. -I am now extinct. You will be extinct after a few years, and you will -be thankful for the repose. But one has to go through a great many -eruptions as preliminaries to peace." - -"Any kind of experience is better than none at all," Joan said, more -gently this time. "You can't think how I dread a life in which nothing -happens. I want to have my days crammed full of interests and events. -Then I shall learn something; but here--what can one learn? You should -just see Auntie Lloyd, and be with her for a quarter of an hour. When -you've seen her, you've seen the whole neighborhood. Oh, how I dislike -her!" - -Her tone of voice expressed so heartily her feelings about Auntie Lloyd -that Hieronymus laughed, and Joan laughed too. - -She had put on her bonnet, and stood ready to go home. The historian -stroked Gamboge, put away his papers, and expressed himself inclined to -accompany Joan part of the way. - -He ran to the kitchen to tell Mrs. Benbow that he would not be long -gone. - -"Dinner won't be ready for quite an hour," she said, "as the butcher -came so late. But here is a cup of beef-tea for you. You look rather -tired." - -"I've had such a lot of pastry," Hieronymus pleaded, and he turned to -Mr. Benbow, who had just come into the kitchen followed by his faithful -collie. "I don't feel as though I could manage the beef-tea." - -"It's no use kicking over the traces," said Mr. Benbow, laughing. "I've -found that out long ago. Sarah is a tyrant." - -But it was evidently a tyranny which suited him very well, for there -seemed to be a kind of settled happiness between the host and hostess of -the Green Dragon. Some such thought passed through Hieronymus' mind as -he gulped down the beef-tea, and then started off happily with Joan. - -"I like both the Benbows," he said to her. "And it is very soothing to -be with people who are happy together. I'm cozily housed there, and not -at all sorry to have had my plans altered by the gypsies; especially now -that I can go on with my work so comfortably. My friends in Wales may -wait for me as long as they choose." - -Joan would have wished to tell him how glad she was that he was going to -stay. But she just smiled happily. He was so bright himself that it -was impossible not to be happy in his company. - -"I'm so pleased I have done some dictating to-day," he said, as he -plucked an autumn leaf and put it into his buttonhole. "And now I can -enjoy myself all the more. You cannot think how I do enjoy the country. -These hills are so wonderfully soothing. I never remember being in a -place where the hills have given me such a sense of repose as here. -Those words constantly recur to me: - - 'His dews drop mutely on the hill, - His cloud above it saileth still, - (Though on its slopes men sow and reap). - More softly than the dew is shed, - Or cloud is floated overhead, - He giveth His beloved sleep.' - - -"It's all so true, you know, and yonder _are_ the slopes cultivated by -men. I am always thinking of these words here. They match with the -hills and they match with my feelings." - -"I have never thought about the hills in that way," she said. - -"No," he answered kindly, "because you are not tired yet. But when you -are tired, not with imaginary battlings, but with the real campaigns of -life, then you will think about the dews falling softly on the hills." - -"Are you tired, then?" she asked. - -"I have been very tired," he answered simply. - -They walked on in silence for a few minutes, and then he added: "You -wished for knowledge, and here you are surrounded by opportunities for -attaining to it." - -"I have never found Auntie Lloyd a specially interesting subject for -study," Joan said obstinately. - -Hieronymus smiled. - -"I was not thinking of Auntie Lloyd," he said. "I was thinking of all -these beautiful hedges, these lanes with their countless treasures, and -this stream with its bed of stones, and those hills yonder; all of them -eloquent with the wonder of the earth's history. You are literally -surrounded with the means of making your minds beautiful, you country -people. And why don't you do it?" - -Joan listened. This was new language to her. - -Hieronymus continued: - -"The sciences are here for you. They offer themselves to you, without -stint, without measure. Nature opens her book to you. Have you ever -tried to read it? From the things which fret and worry our souls, from -the people who worry and fret us, from ourselves who worry and fret -ourselves, we can at least turn to Nature. There we find our right -place, a resting place of intense repose. There we lose that troublesome -part of ourselves, our own sense of importance. Then we rest, and not -until then. - -"Why should you speak to me of rest?" the girl cried, her fund of -patience and control coming suddenly to an end. "I don't want to rest. -I want to live a full, rich life, crammed with interests. I want to -learn about life itself, not about things. It is so absurd to talk to -me of rest. You've had your term of unrest--you said so. I don't care -about peace and repose! I don't----" - -She left off as suddenly as she had begun, fearing to seem too -ill-mannered. - -"Of course you don't," he said gently, "and I'm a goose to think you -should. No, you will have to go out into the world, and to learn for -yourself that it is just the same there as everywhere: butter and cheese -making, prize-winning and prize-losing, and very little satisfaction -either over the winning or the losing; and a great many Auntie Lloyds, -probably a good deal more trying than the Little Stretton Auntie Lloyd. -Only, if I were you, I should not talk about it any more. I should just -go. Saddle the white horse and go! Get your experiences, thick and -quick. Then you will be glad to rest." - -"Are you making fun of me?" she asked half suspiciously, for he had -previously joked about the slow pace of the white horse. - -"No," he answered, in his kind way; "why should I make fun of you? We -cannot all be content to go on living a quiet life in a little village." - -At that moment the exciseman passed by them on horseback. He raised his -hat to Joan, and looked with some curiosity at Hieronymus. Joan -colored. She remembered that she had not behaved kindly to him -yesterday; and after all, he was David, David who had always been good -to her, ever since she could remember. - -"Who was that?" asked Hieronymus. "What a trim, nice-looking man!" - -"He is David Ellis, the exciseman," Joan said, half reluctantly. - -"I wonder when he is going to test the beer at the Green Dragon," said -the historian anxiously. "I wouldn't miss that for anything. Will you -ask him?" - -Joan hesitated. Then she hastened on a few steps, and called "David!" - -David turned in his saddle, and brought his horse to a standstill. He -wondered what Joan would have to say to him. - -"When are you going to test the beer at the Green Dragon?" she asked. - -"Some time this afternoon," he answered. "Why do you want to know?" - -"The gentleman who is staying at the inn wants to know," Joan said. - -"Is that all you have to say to me?" David asked quietly. - -"No," said Joan, looking up at him. "There is something more: about the -pastry--" - -But just then Hieronymus had joined them. - -"If you're talking about pastry," he said cheerily, "I never tasted any -better than Miss Hammond's. I ate a dishful this morning!" - -The exciseman looked at Joan, and at the historian. - -"Yes," he said, as he cracked his whip, "it tastes good to those who can -get it, and it tastes bad to those who can't get it." - -And with that he galloped away, leaving Joan confused, and Hieronymus -mystified. He glanced at his companion, and seemed to expect that she -would explain the situation; but as she did not attempt to do so he -walked quietly along with her until they came to the short cut which led -back to the Green Dragon. There he parted from her, making an -arrangement that she should come and write for him on the morrow. But -as he strolled home he said to himself, "I am much afraid that I have -been eating some one else's pastry! Well, it was very good, especially -the jam-puffs!" - - - - - *CHAPTER VI.* - - *THE EXCISEMAN'S LIBRARY.* - - -David Ellis did not feel genially disposed toward the historian; and yet -when he stood in the kitchen of the Green Dragon, testing the new brew, -and saw Hieronymus eagerly watching the process, he could not but be -amused. There was something about Hieronymus which was altogether -irresistible. He had a power, quite unconscious to himself, of drawing -people over to his side. And yet he never tried to win; he was just -himself, nothing more and nothing less. - -"I am not wishing to pry into the secrets of the profession," he said to -David Ellis; "but I do like to see how everything is done." - -The exciseman good-naturedly taught him how to test the strength of the -beer, and Hieronymus was as pleased as though he had learned some great -secret of the universe, or unearthed some long-forgotten fact in -history. - -"Are you sure the beer comes up to its usual standard?" he asked -mischievously, turning to Mrs. Benbow at the same time. "Are you sure it -has nothing of the beef-tea element about it? We drink beef-tea by the -quart in this establishment. I'm allowed nothing else." - -David laughed, and said it was the best beer in the neighborhood; and -with that he left the kitchen and went into the ale-room to exchange a -few words with Mr. Howells, the proprietor of the rival inn, who always -came to the Green Dragon to have his few glasses of beer in peace, free -from the stormy remonstrances of his wife. Every one in Little Stretton -knew his secret, and respected it. Hieronymus returned to the parlor, -where he was supposed to be deep in study. - -After a few minutes some one knocked at the door, and David Ellis came -in. - -"Excuse me troubling you," he said, rather nervously, "but there is a -little matter I wanted to ask you about." - -"It's about that confounded pastry!" thought Hieronymus, as he drew a -chair to the fireside and welcomed the exciseman to it. - -David sank down into it, twisted his whip, and looked now at Hieronymus -and now at the books which lay scattered on the table. He evidently -wished to say something, but he did not know how to begin. - -"I know what you want to say," said Hieronymus. - -"No, you don't," answered the exciseman. "No one knows except myself." - -Hieronymus retreated, crushed, but rather relieved too. - -Then David, gaining courage, continued: - -"Books are in your line, aren't they?" - -"It just does happen to be my work to know a little about them," the -historian answered. "Are you interested in them too?" - -"Well," said David, hesitating, "I can't say I read them, but I buy -them." - -"Most people do that," said Hieronymus; "it takes less time to buy than -to read, and we are pressed for time in this century." - -"You see," said the exciseman, "I don't buy the books for myself, and -it's rather awkward knowing what to get. Now what would you get for a -person who was really fond of reading: something of a scholar, you -understand? That would help me for my next lot." - -"It all depends on the taste of the person," Hieronymus said kindly. -"Some like poetry, some like novels; others like books about the moon, -and others like books about the north pole, or the tropics." - -David did not know much about the north pole or the tropics, but he had -certainly bought several volumes of poetry, and Hieronymus' words gave -him courage. - -"I bought several books of poetry," he said, lifting his head up with a -kind of triumph which was unmistakable. "Cowper, Mrs. Hemans--" - -"Yes," said Hieronymus patiently. - -"And the other day I bought Milton," continued the exciseman. - -"Ah," said the historian, with a faint smile of cheerfulness. He had -never been able to care for Milton (though he never owned to this). - -"And now I thought of buying this," said David, taking from his pocket a -small slip of paper and showing it to his companion. - -Hieronymus read: "Selections from Robert Browning." - -"Come, come!" he said cheerily, "this is a good choice!" - -"It is not my choice," said David simply. "I don't know one fellow from -another. But the man at the shop in Ludlow told me it was a book to -have. If you say so too, of course that settles the matter." - -"Well," said Hieronymus, "and what about the other books?" - -"I tell you what," said David suddenly, "if you'd come to my lodgings -one day, you could look at the books I've got and advise me about -others. That would be the shortest and pleasantest way." - -"By all means," said the historian. "Then you have not yet given away -your gifts?" - -"Not yet," said David quietly. "I am waiting awhile." - -And then he relapsed into silence and timidity, and went on twisting his -whip. - -Hieronymus was interested, but he had too much delicate feeling to push -the inquiry, and not having a mathematical mind he was quite unable to -put two and two together without help from another source. So he just -went on smoking his pipe, wondering all the time what possible reason -his companion could have for collecting a library beginning with Mrs. -Hemans. - -After a remark about the weather and the crops--Hieronymus was becoming -quite agricultural--David rose in an undecided kind of manner, expressed -his thanks, and took his leave, but there was evidently something more -he wanted to say, and yet he went away without saying it. - -"I'm sure he wants to speak about the pastry," thought Hieronymus. -"Confound him! Why doesn't he?" - -The next moment the door opened, and David put his head in. - -"There's something else I wanted to say," he stammered out. "The fact -is, I don't tell anybody about the books I buy. It's my own affair, and -I like to keep it to myself. But I'm sure I can trust you." - -"I should just think you could," Hieronymus answered cheerily. - -So he promised secrecy, and then followed the exciseman to the door, and -watched him mount his horse and ride off. Mr. Benbow was coming in at -the time, and Hieronymus said some few pleasant words about David Ellis. - -"He's the nicest man in these parts," Mr. Benbow said warmly. "We all -like him. Joan Hammond will be a lucky girl if she gets him for a -husband." - -"Is he fond of her, then?" asked Hieronymus. - -"He has always been fond of her since I can remember," Mr. Benbow -answered. - -Then Hieronymus, having received this valuable assistance, proceeded -carefully to put two and two together. - -"Now I know for whom the exciseman intends his library!" he said to -himself triumphantly. - - - - - *CHAPTER VII.* - - *AUNTIE LLOYD PROTESTS.* - - -Auntie Lloyd was a material, highly prosperous individual, utterly -bereft of all ideas except one; though, to be sure, the one idea which -she did possess was of overwhelming bulk, being, indeed, the sense of -her own superiority over all people of all countries and all centuries. -This was manifest not only in the way she spoke, but also in the way she -folded her hands together on the buckle of her waist-belt, as though she -were murmuring: "Thank heaven, I am Auntie Lloyd, and no one else!" All -her relations, and indeed all her neighbors, bowed down to her -authority; it was recognized by every one that the mistress of the -Tan-House Farm was a personage who must not be disobeyed in the smallest -particular. There had been one rebel in the camp for many years now: -Joan. She alone had dared to raise the standard of revolt. At first -she had lifted it only an inch high; but strength and courage had come -with years, and now the standard floated triumphantly in the air. And -to-day it reached its full height, for Auntie Lloyd had driven over to -the Malt-House Farm to protest with her niece about this dictation, and -Joan, though she did not use the exact words, had plainly told her to -mind her own business. - -Auntie Lloyd had been considerably "worked up" ever since she had heard -the news that Joan went to write for a gentleman at the Green Dragon. -Then she heard that Joan not only wrote for him, but was also seen -walking about with him; for it was not at all likely that an episode of -this description would pass without comment in Little Stretton; and -Auntie Lloyd was not the only person who remarked and criticised. A bad -attack of sciatica had kept her from interfering at the outset; but as -soon as she was even tolerably well she made a descent upon the -Malt-House Farm, having armed herself with the most awe-inspiring bonnet -and mantle which her wardrobe could supply. But Joan was proof against -such terrors. She listened to all Auntie Lloyd had to say, and merely -remarked that she did not consider it was any one's affair but her own. -That was the most overwhelming statement that had ever been made to -Auntie Lloyd. No wonder that she felt faint. - -"It is distinctly a family affair," she said angrily. "If you're not -careful, you'll lose the chance of David Ellis. You can't expect him to -be dangling about your heels all his life. He will soon be tired of -waiting for your pleasure. Do you suppose that he too does not know you -are amusing yourself with this newcomer?" - -Joan was pouring out tea at the time, and her hand trembled as she -filled the cup. - -"I won't have David Ellis thrust down my throat by you or by any one," -she said determinedly. - -And with that she looked at her watch, and calmly said that it was time -for her to be off to the Green Dragon, Mr. Howard having asked her to go -in the afternoon instead of the morning. But though she left Auntie -Lloyd quelled and paralyzed, and was conscious that she had herself won -the battle once and for all, she was very much irritated and distressed -too. Hieronymus noticed that something was wrong with her. - -"What is the matter?" he asked kindly. "Has Auntie Lloyd been paying a -visit to the Malt-House Farm, and exasperated you beyond all powers of -endurance? Or was the butter-making a failure? Or is it the same old -story--general detestation of every one and everything in Little -Stretton, together with an inward determination to massacre the whole -village at the earliest opportunity?" - -Joan smiled, and looked up at the kind face which always had such a -restful influence on her. - -"I suppose that _is_ the root of the whole matter," she said. - -"I am sorry for you," he said gently, as he turned to his papers, "but I -think you are not quite wise to let your discontent grow beyond your -control. Most people, you know, when their lives are paralyzed, are -found to have but sorry material out of which to fashion for themselves -satisfaction and contentment." - -Her face flushed as he spoke, and a great peace fell over her. When she -was with him all was well with her; the irritations at home, the -annoyances either within or without, either real or imaginary, and -indeed all worries passed for the time out of her memory. David Ellis -was forgotten, Auntie Lloyd was forgotten; the narrow, dull, everyday -existence broadened out into many interesting possibilities. Life had -something bright to offer to Joan. She bent happily over the pages, -thoroughly enjoying her congenial task; and now and again during the -long pauses of silence when Hieronymus was thinking out his subject, she -glanced at his kind face and his silvered head. - -And restless little Joan was restful. - - - - - *CHAPTER VIII.* - - *THE DISTANCE GROWS.* - - -So the days slipped away, and Joan came regularly to the Green Dragon to -write to the historian's dictation. These mornings were red-letter days -in her life; she had never before had anything which she could have -called companionship, and now this best of all pleasures was suddenly -granted to her. She knew well that it could not last; that very soon the -historian would go back into his own world, and that she would be left -lonely, lonelier than ever. But meanwhile she was happy. She always -felt after having been with him as though some sort of peace had stolen -over her. It did not hold her long, this sense of peace. It was merely -that quieting influence which a mellowed nature exercises at rare -moments over an unmellowed nature, being indeed a snatch of that -wonderful restfulness which has something divine in its essence. She -did not analyze her feelings for him, she dared not. She just drifted -on, dreaming. And she was grateful to him too, for she had unburdened -her heavy heart to him, and he had not laughed at her aspirations and -ambitions. He had certainly made a little fun over her, but not in the -way that conveyed contempt; on the contrary, his manner of teasing gave -the impression of the kindliest sympathy. He had spoken sensible words -of advice to her, too; not in any formal set lecture--that would have -been impossible to him--but in detached sentences given out at different -times, with words simple in themselves, but able to suggest many good -and noble thoughts. At least that was what Joan gathered, that was her -judgment of him, that was the effect he produced on her. - -Then he was not miserly of his learning. He was not one of those -scholars who keep their wisdom for their narrow and appreciative little -set; he gave of his best to every one with royal generosity, and he gave -of his best to her. He saw that she was really interested in history, -and that it pleased her to hear him talk about it. Out then came his -stores of knowledge, all for her special service! But that was only -half of the process; he taught her by finding out from her what she -knew, and then returning her knowledge to her two-fold enriched. She -was eager to learn, and he was interested in her eagerness. It was his -nature to be kind and chivalrous to every one, and he was therefore kind -and chivalrous to his little secretary. He saw her constantly in -"school hours," as he called the time spent in dictating, and out of -school hours too. He took such an interest in all matters connected -with the village that he was to be found everywhere, now gravely -contemplating the cows and comparing them with Mr. Benbow's herd, now -strolling through the market-place, and now passing stern criticisms on -the butter and poultry, of which he knew nothing. Once he even tried to -sell Joan Hammond's butter to Mrs. Benbow. - -"I assure you, ma'am," he said to the landlady of the Green Dragon, "the -very best cooking butter in the kingdom! Taste and see." - -"But it _isn't_ cooking butter!" interposed Joan hastily. - -But she laughed all the same, and Hieronymus, much humbled by his -mistake, made no more attempts to sell butter. - -He seemed thoroughly contented with his life at Little Stretton, and in -no hurry to join his friends in Wales. He was so genial that every one -liked him and spoke kindly of him. If he was driving in the -pony-carriage and saw any children trudging home after school, he would -find room for four or five of them and take them back to the village in -triumph. If he met an old woman carrying a bundle of wood, he -immediately transferred the load from herself to himself, and walked -along by her side, chatting merrily the while. As for the tramps who -passed on the highroad from Ludlow to Church Stretton, they found in him -a sympathetic friend. His hand was always in his pocket for them. He -listened to their tales of woe, and stroked the "property" baby in the -perambulator, and absolutely refused to be brought to order by Mrs. -Benbow, who declared that she knew more about tramps than he did, and -that the best thing to do with them was to send them about their -business as soon as possible. - -"You will ruin the reputation of the Green Dragon," she said, "if you go -on entertaining tramps outside. Take your friends over to the other -inn!" - -She thought that this would be a strong argument, as Hieronymus was -particularly proud of the Green Dragon, having discovered that it was -patronized by the aristocrats of the village, and considered infinitely -superior to its rival, the Crown Inn opposite. - -But the historian, so yielding in other respects, continued his -intimacies with the tramps, sometimes even leaving his work if he -chanced to see an interesting-looking wanderer slouching past the Green -Dragon. Joan had become accustomed to these interruptions. She just sat -waiting patiently until Hieronymus came back, and plunged once more into -the History of the Dissolution of the Monasteries, or the Attitude of -the Foreign Powers to each other during the latter years of Henry VIII. - -"I'm a troublesome fellow," he would say to her sometimes, "and you are -very patient with me. In fact, you're a regular little brick of a -secretary." - -Then she would flush with pleasure to hear his words of praise. But he -never noticed that, and never thought he was leading her further and -further away from her surroundings and ties, and putting great distances -between herself and the exciseman. - -So little did he guess it that one day he even ventured to joke with -her. He had been talking to her about John Richard Green, the -historian, and he asked her whether she had read "A Short History of the -English People." She told him she had never read it. - -"Oh, you ought to have that book," he said; and he immediately thought -that he would buy it for her. Then he remembered the exciseman's -library, and judged that it would be better to let him buy it for her. - -"I hear you have a very devoted admirer in the exciseman," Hieronymus -said slyly. - -"How do you know that?" Joan said sharply. - -"Oh," he answered, "I was told." But he saw that his volcanic little -companion was not too pleased; and so he began talking about John -Richard Green. He told her about the man himself, his work, his -suffering, his personality. He told her how the young men at Oxford -were advised to travel on the Continent to expand their minds, and if -they could not afford this advantage after their university career, then -they were to read _John Richard Green_. He told her, too, of his grave -at Mentone, with the simple words, "He died learning." - -Thus he would talk to her, taking her always into a new world of -interest. Then she was in an enchanted kingdom, and he was the -magician. - -It was a world in which agriculture and dairy-farming and all the other -wearinesses of her everyday life had no part. Some people might think -it was but a poor enchanted realm which he conjured up for her pleasure. -But enchantment, like every other emotion, is but relative after all. -Some little fragment of intellectuality had been Joan's idea of -enchantment. And now it had come to her in a way altogether unexpected, -and in a measure beyond all her calculations. It had come to her, -bringing with it something else. - -She seemed in a dream during all that time; yes, she was slipping -further away from her own people, and further away from the exciseman. -She had never been very near to him, but lately the distance had become -doubled. When she chanced to meet him her manner was more than -ordinarily cold. If he had chosen to plead for himself, he might well -have asked what he had done to her that he should deserve to be treated -with such bare unfriendliness. - -One day he met her. She was riding the great white horse, and David -rode along beside her. She chatted with him now and again, but there -were long pauses of silence between them. - -"Father has made up his mind to sell old Nance," she said suddenly, as -she stroked the old mare's head. "This is my last ride on her." - -"I am sorry," said David kindly. "She's an old friend, isn't she?" - -"I suppose it is ridiculous to care so much," Joan said; "but you know -we've had her such a time. And I used to hang round her neck, and she -would lift me up and swing me." - -"I remember," said David eagerly. "I've often watched you. I was -always afraid you would have a bad fall." - -"You ran up and caught me once," Joan said, "And I was so angry; for it -wasn't likely that old Nance would have let me fall." - -"But how could I be sure that the little arms were strong enough to -cling firmly to old Nance's neck?" David said. "So I couldn't help -being anxious." - -"Do you remember when I was lost in that mist," Joan said, "and you came -and found me, and carried me home? I was so angry that you would not -let me walk." - -"You have often been angry with me," David said quietly. - -Joan made no answer. She just shrugged her shoulders. - -There they were, these two, riding side by side, and yet they were miles -apart from each other. David knew it, and grieved. - - - - - *CHAPTER IX.* - - *DAVID LAMENTS.* - - -David knew it, and grieved. He knew that Joan's indifference was -growing apace, and that it had taken to itself alarming proportions ever -since the historian had been at the Green Dragon. He had constantly met -Joan and Hieronymus together, and heard of them being together, and of -course he knew that Joan wrote to the historian's dictation. He never -spoke on the subject to any one. Once or twice Auntie Lloyd tried to -begin, but he looked straight before him and appeared not to understand. -Once or twice some other of the folk made mention of the good-fellowship -which existed between Joan and the historian. - -"Well, it's natural enough," he said quietly. "Joan was always fond of -books, and one feels glad she can talk about them with some one who is -real clever." - -But was he glad? Poor David! Time after time he looked at his little -collection of books, handling the volumes just as tenderly as one -handles one's memories, or one's hopes, or one's old affections. He had -not added to the library since he had spoken to Hieronymus and asked his -advice on the choice of suitable subjects. He had no heart to go on -with a hobby which seemed to have no comfort in it. - -To-night he sat in his little sitting-room smoking his pipe. He looked -at his books as usual, and then locked them up in his oak chest. He sat -thinking of Joan and Hieronymus. There was no bitterness in David's -heart; there was only sorrow. He shared with others a strong admiration -for Hieronymus, an admiration which the historian never failed to win, -though it was often quite unconsciously received. So there was only -sorrow in David's heart, and no bitterness. - -The clock was striking seven of the evening when some one knocked at the -door, and Hieronymus came into the room. He was in a particularly -genial mood, and puffed his pipe in great contentment. He settled down -by the fireside as though he had been there all his life, and chatted -away so cheerily that David forgot his own melancholy in his pleasure at -having such a bright companion. A bottle of whisky was produced, and the -coziness was complete. - -"Now for the books!" said Hieronymus. "I am quite anxious to see your -collection. And look here; I have made a list of suitable books which -any one would like to have. Now show me what you have already bought." - -David's misery returned all in a rush, and he hesitated. - -"I don't think I care about the books now," he said. - -"What nonsense!" said Hieronymus. "You are not shy about showing them -to me? I am sure you have bought some capital ones." - -"Oh, it wasn't that," David said quietly, as he unlocked the oak chest -and took out the precious volumes and laid them on the table. In spite -of himself, however, some of the old eagerness came over him, and he -stood by, waiting anxiously for the historian's approval. Hieronymus -groaned over Mrs. Hemans' poetry, and Locke's "Human Understanding," and -Defoe's "History of the Plague," and Cowper, and Hannah More. He groaned -inwardly, but outwardly he gave grunts of encouragement. He patted -David on the shoulder when he found "Selections from Browning," and he -almost caressed him when he proudly produced "Silas Marner." - -Yes, David was proud of his treasures; each one of them represented to -him a whole world of love and hope and consolation. - -Hieronymus knew for whom the books were intended, and he was touched by -the exciseman's quiet devotion and pride. He would not have hurt -David's feelings on any account; he would have praised the books, -however unsuitable they might have seemed to him. - -"My dear fellow," he said, "you've done capitally by yourself. You've -chosen some excellent books. Still, this list may help you to go on, -and I should advise you to begin with 'Green's History of the English -People.'" - -David put the volumes back into the oak chest. - -"I don't think I care about buying any more," he said sadly. "It's no -use." - -"Why?" asked Hieronymus. - -David looked at the historian's frank face, and felt the same confidence -in him which all felt. He looked, and knew that this man was loyal and -good. - -"Well, it's just this," David said, quite simply. "I've loved her ever -since she was a baby-child. She was my own little sweetheart then. I -took care of her when she was a wee thing, and I wanted to look after -her when she was a grown woman. It has just been the hope of my life to -make Joan my wife." - -He paused a moment, and looked straight into the fire. - -"I know she is different from others, and cleverer than any of us here, -and all that. I know she is always longing to get away from Little -Stretton. But I thought that perhaps we might be happy together, and -that then she would not want to go. But I've never been quite sure. -I've just watched and waited. I've loved her all my life. When she was -a wee baby I carried her about, and knew how to stop her crying. She -has always been kinder to me than to any one else. It was perhaps that -which helped me to be patient. At least, I knew she did not care for -any one else. It was just that she didn't seem to turn to any one." - -He had moved away from Hieronymus, and stood knocking out the ashes from -his pipe. - -Hieronymus was silent. - -"At least, I knew she did not care for any one else," continued David, -"until you came. Now she cares for you." - -Hieronymus looked up quickly. - -"Surely, surely, you must be mistaken," he said. David shook his head. - -"No," he answered, "I am not mistaken. And I'm not the only one who has -noticed it. Since you've been here, my little Joan has gone further and -further away from me." - -"I am sorry," said Hieronymus. He had taken his tobacco-pouch from his -pocket, and was slowly filling his pipe. - -"I have never meant to work harm to her or you, or any one," the -historian said sadly. "If I had thought I was going to bring trouble to -any one here, I should not have stayed on. But I've been very happy -among you all, and you've all been good to me; and as the days went on I -found myself becoming attached to this little village. The life was so -simple and refreshing, and I was glad to have the rest and the change. -Your little Joan and I have been much together, it is true. She has -written to my dictation, and I found her so apt that, long after my hand -became well again, I preferred to dictate rather than to write. Then -we've walked together, and we've talked seriously and merrily, and sadly -too. We've just been comrades; nothing more. She seemed to me a little -discontented, and I tried to interest her in things I happen to know, -and so take her out of herself. If I had had any idea that I was doing -more than that, I should have left at once. I hope you don't doubt me." - -"I believe every word you say," David said warmly. - -"I am grateful for that," Hieronymus said, and the two men grasped -hands. - -"If there is anything I could do to repair my thoughtlessness," he said, -"I will gladly do it. But it is difficult to know what to do and what -to say. For perhaps, after all, you may be mistaken." - -The exciseman shook his head. - -"No," he said, "I am not mistaken. It has been getting worse ever since -you came. There is nothing to say about it; it can't be helped. It's -just that sort of thing which sometimes happens: no one to blame, but -the mischief is done all the same. I don't know why I've told you about -it. Perhaps I meant to, perhaps I didn't. It seemed to come naturally -enough when we were talking of the books." - -He was looking mournfully at the list which Hieronymus had drawn out for -him. - -"I don't see that it's any use to me," he said. - -He was going to screw it up and throw it into the fire, but the -historian prevented him. - -"Keep it," he said kindly. "You may yet want it. If I were you, I -should go on patiently adding book after book, and with each book you -buy, buy a little hope too. Who knows? Some day your little Joan may -want you. But she will have to go out into the world first and fight -her battles. She is one of those who _must_ go out into the world and -buy her experiences for herself. Those who hinder her are only hurting -her. Don't try to hinder her. Let her go. Some day when she is tired -she will be glad to lean on some one whom she can trust. But she must -be tired first, and thus find out her necessity. And it is when we find -out our necessity that our heart cries aloud. Then it is that those who -love us will not fail us. They will be to us like the shadow of a great -rock in a weary land." - -David made no answer, but he smoothed out the crumpled piece of paper -and put it carefully into his pocket. - - - - - *CHAPTER X.* - - *HIERONYMUS SPEAKS.* - - -Hieronymus was unhappy; the exciseman might or might not be mistaken, -but the fact remained that some mischief had been done, inasmuch as -David Ellis' feelings were wounded. Hieronymus felt that the best thing -for him to do was to go, though he quite determined to wait until he saw -the hill-ponies gathered together. There was no reason why he should -hasten away as though he were ashamed of himself. He knew that not one -word had been spoken to Joan which he now wished to recall. His -position was a delicate one. He thought seriously over the matter, and -wondered how he might devise a means of telling her a little about his -own life, and thus showing her, without seeming to show her, that his -whole heart was filled with the memories of the past. He could not say -to Joan: "My little Joan, my little secretary, they tell me that I have -been making havoc with your heart. Now listen to me, child. If it is -not true, then I am glad. And if it is true, I am sad; because I have -been wounding you against my knowledge, and putting you through -suffering which I might so easily have spared you. You will recover -from the suffering; but alas! little Joan, that I should have been the -one to wound you." - -He could not say that to her, though he would have wished to speak some -such words. - -But the next morning after his conversation with David Ellis he sat in -the parlor of the Green Dragon fondling the ever faithful Gamboge. - -Joan Hammond looked up once or twice from her paper, wondering when the -historian would begin work. He seemed to be taking a long time this -morning to rouse himself to activity. - -"I shall take Gamboge with me when I go," he said at last. "I've bought -her for half a crown. That is a paltry sum to give for such a precious -creature." - -"Are you thinking of going, then?" asked Joan fearfully. - -"Yes," he answered cheerily. "I must just wait to see those rascals, -the hill-ponies, and then I must go back to the barbarous big world, -into which you are so anxious to penetrate." - -"Father has determined to sell Nance," she said sadly; "so I can't -saddle the white horse and be off." - -"And you are sorry to lose your old friend?" he said kindly. - -"One has to give up everything," she answered. - -"Not everything," Hieronymus said. "Not the nasty things, for -instance--only the nice things!" - -Joan laughed and dipped her pen into the ink. - -"The truth of it is, I'm not in the least inclined to work this -morning," said Hieronymus. - -Joan waited, the pen in her hand. He had said that so many times -before, and yet he had always ended by doing some work after all. - -"I believe that my stern task-mistress, my dear love who died so many -years ago--I believe that even she would give me a holiday to-day," -Hieronymus said. "And she always claimed so much work of me; she was -never satisfied. I think she considered me a lazy fellow, who needed -spurring on. She had great ambitions for me; she believed everything of -me, and wished me to work out her ambitions, not for the sake of the -fame and the name, but for the sake of the good it does us all to -grapple with ourselves." - -He had drawn from his pocket a small miniature of a sweet-looking woman. -It was a spiritual face, with tender eyes; a face to linger in one's -memory. - -"When she first died," Hieronymus continued, as though to himself, "I -could not have written a line without this dear face before me. It -served to remind me that although I was unhappy and lonely, I must work -if only to please her. That is what I had done when she was alive, and -it seemed disloyal not to do so when she was dead. And it was the only -comfort I had; but a strong comfort, filling full the heart. It is ten -years now since she died; but I scarcely need the miniature, the dear -face is always before me. Ten years ago, and I am still alive, and -sometimes, often indeed, very happy; she was always glad when I laughed -cheerily, or I made some fun out of nothing. 'What a stupid boy you -are!' she would say. But she laughed all the same. We were very happy -together, she and I; we had loved each other a long time, in spite of -many difficulties and troubles. But the troubles had cleared, and we -were just going to make our little home together when she died." - -There was no tremor in his voice as he spoke. - -"We enjoyed everything," he went on; "every bit of fun, every bit of -beauty--the mere fact of living and loving, the mere fact of the world -being beautiful, the mere fact of there being so much to do and to be -and to strive after. I was not very ambitious for myself. At one time -I _had_ cared greatly; then the desire had left me. But when she first -came into my life, she roused me from my lethargy; she loved me, and did -not wish me to pause one moment in my life's work. The old ambitions had -left me, but for her sake I revived them; she was my dear good angel, -but always, as I told her, a stern task-giver. Then when she was gone, -and I had not her dear presence to help me, I just felt I could not go -on writing any more. Then I remembered how ambitious she was for me, -and so I did not wait one moment. I took up my work at once, and have -tried to earn a name and a fame for her sake." - -He paused and stirred the fire uneasily. - -"It was very difficult at first," he continued; "everything was -difficult. And even now, after ten years, it is not always easy. And I -cared so little. That was the hardest part of all: to learn to care -again. But the years pass, and we live through a tempest of grief, and -come out into a great calm. In the tempest we fancied we were alone; in -the calm we know that we have not been alone; that the dear face has -been looking at us lovingly, and the dear voice speaking to us through -the worst hours of the storm, and the dear soul knitting itself closer -and closer to our soul." - -Joan bent over the paper. - -"So the days have passed into weeks and months and years," he said, "and -here am I, still looking for my dear love's blessing and approval; still -looking to her for guidance, to her and no one else. Others may be able -to give their heart twice over, but I am not one of those. People talk -of death effacing love! as though death and love could have any dealings -the one with the other. They always were strangers; they always will be -strangers. So year after year I mourn for her, in my own way, happily, -sorrowfully, and always tenderly; sometimes with laughter, sometimes -with tears. When I see all the beautiful green things of the world, and -sing from very delight, I know she would be glad. When I make a good -joke or turn a clever sentence, I know she would smile her praise. When -I do my work well, I know she would be satisfied. And though I may fail -in all I undertake, still there is the going on trying. Thus I am -always a mourner, offering to her just that kind of remembrance which -her dear beautiful soul would cherish most." - -He was handling the little miniature. - -"May I see the face?" Joan asked very gently. - -He put the miniature in her hands. She looked at it, and then returned -it to him, almost reverently. - -"And now, little secretary," he said, in his old cheery way, "I do -believe I could do some work if I tried. It's only a question of -will-power. Come, dip your pen in the ink, and write as quickly as you -can." - -He dictated for nearly an hour, and then Joan slipped off quickly home. - -Up in her little bedroom it was all in vain that she chased the tears -from her face. They came again, and they came again. - -"He has seen that I love him," she sobbed. "And that was his dear kind -way of telling me that I was a foolish little child. Of course I was a -foolish little child, but I couldn't help it! Indeed I couldn't help -it. And I must go on crying. No one need know." - -So she went on crying, and no one knew. - - - - - *CHAPTER XI.* - - *HIERONYMUS GOES.* - - -They were captured, those little wretches, the hill-ponies, having been -chased down from all directions, and gathered together in the enclosure -set apart for their imprisonment. There they were, cribbed, cabined, and -confined, some of them distressed, and all of them highly indignant at -the rough treatment which they had received. This gathering together of -the wild ponies occurred two or three times in the year, when the owners -assembled to identify their particular herd, and to reimpress their mark -on the ponies which belonged to them. It was no easy matter to drive -them down from the hills; though indeed they came down willingly enough -at night to seek what they might devour. Then one might hear their -little feet pattering quickly over the ground, helter-skelter! The -villagers were well accustomed to the sound. "It's only the -hill-ponies, the rascals!" they would say. But when they were wanted, -they would not come. They led the beaters a rare dance over hill and -dale; but it always ended in the same way. Then, after four or five -years of life on the hills, their owners sold them, and that was the end -of all their fun, and all their shagginess too. - -Hieronymus stood near the enclosure watching the proceedings with the -greatest interest. The men were trying to divide the ponies into -groups, according to the mark on their backs. But this was no easy -matter either; the little creatures kicked and threw themselves about in -every direction but the right one, and they were so strong that their -struggles were generally successful. The sympathies of Hieronymus went -with the rebels, and he was much distressed when he saw three men -hanging on to the tail of one of the ponies, and trying to keep him back -from another group. - -"I say, you there!" he cried, waving his stick. "I can't stand that." - -Mrs. Benbow, who was standing near him, laughed, and called him to -order. - -"Now don't you be meddling with what you don't understand," she said. -"You may know a good deal about books, but it's not much you'll know -about hill-ponies." - -"That's quite true," said Hieronymus humbly. - -"Come along with me now," commanded Mrs. Benbow, "and help me buy a red -pig!" - -Nothing but a red pig would have made Hieronymus desert the hill-ponies. -A red pig was of course irresistible to any one in his senses; and the -historian followed contentedly after the landlady of the Green Dragon. -She made her way among the crowds of people who had come to this great -horse-fair, which was the most important one of the whole year. -Hieronymus was much interested in every one and everything he saw; he -looked at the horses, and sheep, and cows, and exchanged conversation -with any one who would talk to him. - -"There's a deal of money will change hands to-day," said a jolly old -farmer to him. "But prices be dreadful low this year. Why, the pigs be -going for a mere nothing." - -"I'm going to buy a pig," Hieronymus said proudly, "a red one." - -"Ah," said the farmer, looking at him with a sort of indulgent disdain, -"it's a breed as I care nothing about." - -Then he turned to one of his colleagues, evidently considering -Hieronymus rather a feeble kind of individual, with whom it was not -profitable to talk. - -The historian was depressed for the moment, but soon recovered his -spirits when he saw the fascinating red pigs. And his pride and conceit -knew no bounds when Mrs. Benbow actually chose and bought the very -animal which he had recommended to her notice. He saw David Ellis, and -went to tell him about the pig. The exciseman laughed, and then looked -sad again. - -"My little Joan is very unhappy," he said, half in a whisper. "The old -white horse is to be sold. Do you see her there yonder? How I wish I -could buy the old mare and give her to Joan!" - -"That would be a very unwise thing for you to do," said Hieronymus. - -"Yes," said David. "And do you know, I've been thinking of what you -said about her going out into the world. And I found this -advertisement. Shall I give it to her?" - -Hieronymus looked at it. - -"You're a dear fellow, David," he said warmly. "Yes, give it to her. -And I too have been thinking of what you said to me. I've told her a -little of my story, and she knows now how my heart is altogether taken -up with my past. So, if I've done any harm to her and you, I have tried -to set it right. And to-morrow I am going home. You will see me off at -the station?" - -"I'll be there," said the exciseman. - -But there was no sign in his manner that he wished to be rid of -Hieronymus. The historian, who all unconsciously won people's hearts, -all unconsciously kept them too. Even Auntie Lloyd, to whom he had been -presented, owned that he "had a way" about him. (But then he had asked -after her sciatica!) He spoke a few words to Joan, who stood lingering -near the old white mare. She had been a little shy of him since he had -talked so openly to her; and he had noticed this, and used all his -geniality to set her at her ease again. - -"This is my last afternoon," he said to her, "and I have crowned the -achievements of my visit here by choosing a red pig. Now I'm going back -to the big barbarous world to boast of my new acquirements--brewing -beer, eating pastry, drinking beef-tea, cutting up the beans, making -onion pickles, and other odd jobs assigned to me by Queen Elizabeth of -the Green Dragon. Here she comes to fetch me, for we are going to drive -the red pig home in the cart. Then I'm to have some tea with rum in it, -and some of those horrible Shropshire crumpets. Then if I'm alive after -the crumpets and the rum, there will be a few more odd jobs for me to -do, and then to-morrow I go. As for yourself, little secretary, you are -going to put courage into your heart, and fight your battles well. Tell -me?" - -"Yes," she said; and she looked up brightly, though there were tears in -her eyes. - -"Do you know those words, '_Hitch your wagon to a star?_'" he said. -"Emerson was right. The wagon spins along merrily then. And now -good-bye, little secretary. You must come and see me off at the station -to-morrow. I want all my friends around me." - -So on the morrow they gathered round him, Mr. Benbow, Mrs. Benbow, two -of the Malt-House Farm boys, the old woman who kept the grocer's shop, -and who had been doing a good trade in sweetmeats since Hieronymus came, -the exciseman, and Joan Hammond, and old John of the wooden leg. They -were all there, sorrowful to part with him, glad to have known him. - -"If you would only stay," said Mrs. Benbow; "there are so many odd jobs -for you to do!" - -"No, I must go," said the historian. "There is an end to everything, -excepting to your beef-tea. But I've been very happy." - -His luggage had increased since he came to Little Stretton. He had -arrived with a small portmanteau; he went away with the same -portmanteau, an oak chair which Mr. Benbow had given him, and a small -hamper containing Gamboge. - -"Take care how you carry that hamper," he said to the porter. "There is -a dog inside undergoing a cat incarnation!" - -To Joan he said: "Little secretary, answer the advertisement and go out -into the world." - -And she promised. - -And to David he said: "When you've finished that book-list write to me -for another one." - -And he promised. - -Then the train moved off, and the dear kind face was out of sight. - - * * * * * - -Mrs. Benbow went home to do the scouring and cleaning. - -David rode off to Ludlow and bought a book. - -Joan sat in her room at the Malt-House Farm, and cried her heart out. -Then she looked at the advertisement and answered it. "It was kind of -David," she said. - - * * * * * - -So Joan went out into the world. - - * * * * * - -The weeks, the months, seem long without her. He buys his books, and -with every new book he buys new comfort. He recalls the historian's -words: "Some day, when she is tired, she will be glad to lean on some -one whom she can trust." - -So David waits. - - - - THE END. - - - - - * * * * * * * * - - - - - *AN IDYLL OF LONDON.* - - *BY BEATRICE HARRADEN.* - - -It was one o'clock, and many of the students in the National Gallery had -left off work, and were refreshing themselves with lunch and -conversation. There was one old worker who had not stirred from his -place; but he had put down his brush, and had taken from his pocket a -small book, which was, like its owner, thin and shabby of covering. He -seemed to find pleasure in reading it, for he turned over its pages with -all the tenderness characteristic of one who loves what he reads. Now -and again he glanced at his unfinished copy of the beautiful portrait of -Andrea del Sarto, and once his eyes rested on another copy next to his, -better and truer than his; and once he stooped to pick up a girl's -prune-colored tie which had fallen from the neighboring easel. After -this he seemed to become unconscious of his surroundings, as unconscious -indeed as any one of the pictures near him. Any one might have been -justified in mistaking him for the portrait of a man, but that his lips -moved; for it was his custom to read softly to himself. - -The students passed back to their places, not troubling to notice him, -because they knew from experience that he never noticed them, and that -all greetings were wasted on him, and all words were wanton expenditure -of breath. They had come to regard him very much in the same way as -many of us regard the wonders of Nature, without astonishment, without -any questionings, and often without any interest. One girl, a newcomer, -did chance to say to her companion: - -"How ill that old man looks!" - -"Oh, he always looks like that," was the answer. "You will soon get -accustomed to him. Come along! I must finish my 'Blind Beggar' this -afternoon." - -In a few minutes most of the workers were busy again, although there -were some who continued to chat quietly, and several young men who -seemed reluctant to leave their girl friends, and who were by no means -encouraged to go! One young man came to claim his book and pipe, which -he had left in the charge of a bright-eyed girl, who was copying Sir -Joshua's Angels. She gave him his treasures, and received in exchange a -dark-red rose, which she fastened in her belt; and then he returned to -his portrait of Mrs. Siddons. But there was something in his -disconsolate manner which made one suspect that he thought less of Mrs. -Siddons' beauty than of the beauty of the girl who was wearing the -dark-red rose! The strangers strolling through the rooms, stopped now -and again to peer curiously at the students' work. They were stared at -indignantly by the students themselves, but they made no attempt to move -away, and even ventured sometimes to pass criticisms of no tender -character on some of the copies. The fierce-looking man who was copying -"The Horse Fair" deliberately put down his brushes, folded his arms, and -waited defiantly until they had gone by; but others, wiser in their -generation, went on painting calmly. Several workers were painting the -new Raphael; one of them was a white-haired old gentlewoman, whose hand -was trembling, and yet skillful still. More than once she turned to -give a few hints to the young girl near her, who looked in some distress -and doubt. Just the needful help was given, and then the girl plied her -brush merrily, smiling the while with pleasure and gratitude. There -seemed to be a genial, kindly influence at work, a certain homeliness -too, which must needs assert itself where many are gathered together, -working side by side. All made a harmony: the wonderful pictures -gathered from many lands and many centuries, each with its meaning, and -its message from the Past; the ever-present memories of the painters -themselves, who had worked and striven and conquered; and the living -human beings, each with his wealth of earnest endeavor and hope. - -Meanwhile, the old man read on uninterrupted, until two hands were put -over his book, and a gentle voice said: - -"Mr. Lindall, you have had no lunch again. Do you know, I begin to hate -Lucretius. He always makes you forget your food." - -The old man looked up, and something like a smile passed over his -joyless face when he saw Helen Stanley bending over him. - -"Ah!" he answered, "you must not hate Lucretius. I have had more -pleasant hours with him than with any living person." - -He rose, and came forward to examine her copy of Andrea del Sarto's -portrait. - -"Yours is better than mine," he said critically; "in fact, mine is a -failure. I think I shall only get a small price for mine; indeed, I -doubt whether I shall get sufficient to pay for my funeral." - -"You speak dismally," she answered, smiling. - -"I missed you yesterday," he continued, half-dreamily. "I left my work, -and I wandered through the rooms, and I did not even read Lucretius. -Something seemed to have gone out from my life; at first I thought it -must be my favorite Raphael, or the Murillo; but it was neither the one -nor the other, it was you. That was strange, wasn't it? But you know -we get accustomed to anything, and perhaps I should have missed you less -the second day, and by the end of a week I should not have missed you at -all. Mercifully, we have in us the power of forgetting." - -"I do not wish to plead for myself," she said, "but I do not believe -that you or any one could really forget. That which outsiders call -forgetfulness might be called by the better name of resignation." - -"I don't care about talking anymore now," he said suddenly, and he went -to his easel and worked silently at his picture; and Helen Stanley -glanced at him, and thought she had never seen her old companion look so -forlorn and desolate as he did to-day. He looked as if no gentle hand -had ever been placed on him in kindliness and affection; and that seemed -to her a terrible thing, for she was one of those prehistorically-minded -persons who persist in believing that affection is as needful to human -life as rain to flower-life. When first she came to work at the gallery, -some twelve months ago, she had noticed this old man, and had wished for -his companionship; she was herself lonely and sorrowful, and, although -young, had to fight her own battles, and had learned something of the -difficulties of fighting; and this had given her an experience beyond -her years. She was not more than twenty-four years of age, but she -looked rather older, and though she had beautiful eyes, full of meaning -and kindness, her features were decidedly plain as well as unattractive. -There were some in the Gallery who said among themselves jestingly, that -Mr. Lindall had waited so many years before talking to any one, he might -have chosen some one better worth the waiting for! But they soon got -accustomed to seeing Helen Stanley and Mr. Lindall together, and they -laughed less than before; and meanwhile the acquaintance ripened into a -sort of friendship, half sulky on his part, and wholly kind on her part. -He told her nothing about himself, and asked nothing about herself; for -weeks he never even knew her name. Sometimes he did not speak at all, -and the two friends would work silently side by side until it was time -to go; and then he waited until she was ready, and walked with her -across Trafalgar Square, where they parted and went their own ways. - -But occasionally, when she least expected it, he would speak with -glowing enthusiasm on art; then his eyes seemed to become bright, and -his bent figure more erect, and his whole bearing proud and dignified. -There were times, too, when he would speak on other subjects; on the -morality of free thought, and on those who had died to indicate free -thought; on Bruno, of blessed memory, on him, and scores of others too. -He would speak of the different schools of philosophy; he would laugh at -himself, and at all who, having given time and thought to the study of -life's complicated problems, had not reached one step farther than the -old world thinkers. Perhaps he would quote one of his favorite -philosophers, and then suddenly relapse into silence, returning to his -wonted abstraction, and to his indifference to his surroundings. Helen -Stanley had learned to understand his ways, and to appreciate his mind, -and, without intruding on him in any manner, had put herself gently into -his life, as his quiet companion and his friend. No one, in her -presence, dared to speak slightingly of the old man, to make fun of his -tumble-down appearance, or of his worn-out silk hat with a crack in the -side, or of his rag of a black tie, which, together with his overcoat, -had "seen better days." Once she brought her needle and thread, and -darned the torn sleeve during her lunch time; and though he never knew -it, it was a satisfaction to her to have helped him. - -To-day she noticed that he was painting badly, and that he seemed to -take no interest in his work; but she went on busily with her own -picture, and was so engrossed in it that she did not at first observe -that he had packed up his brushes, and was preparing to go home. - -"Three more strokes," he said quietly, "and you will have finished your -picture. I shall never finish mine. Perhaps you will be good enough to -set it right for me. I am not coming here again. I don't seem to have -caught the true expression; what do you think? But I am not going to let -it worry me, for I am sure you will promise to do your best for me. -See, I will hand over these colors and these brushes to you, and no -doubt you will accept the palette as well. I have no further use for -it." - -Helen Stanley took the palette which he held out toward her, and looked -at him as though she would wish to question him. - -"It is very hot here," he continued, "and I am going out. I am tired of -work." - -He hesitated, and then added: "I should like you to come with me, if you -can spare the time." - -She packed up her things at once, and the two friends moved slowly away, -he gazing absently at the pictures, and she wondering in her mind as to -the meaning of his strange mood. - -When they were on the steps inside the building, he turned to Helen -Stanley and said: - -"I should like to go back to the pictures once more. I feel as if I -must stand among them just a little longer. They have been my -companions for so long that they are almost part of myself. I can close -my eyes and recall them faithfully. But I want to take a last look at -them; I want to feel once more the presence of the great masters, and to -refresh my mind with their genius. When I look at their work, I think -of their life, and can only wonder at their deaths. It was so strange -that they should die." - -They went back together, and he took her to his favorite pictures, but -remained speechless before them, and she did not disturb his thoughts. -At last he said: - -"I am ready to go. I have said farewell to them all. I know of nothing -more wonderful than being among a number of fine pictures. It is almost -overwhelming. One expects Nature to be grand; but one does not expect -Man to be grand." - -"You know we don't agree there," she answered. "_I_ expect everything -grand and great from Man." - -They went out of the Gallery, and into Trafalgar Square. It was a -scorching afternoon in August, but there was some cooling comfort in -seeing the dancing water of the fountains sparkling so brightly in the -sunshine. - -"Do you mind stopping here a few minutes?" he said. "I should like to -sit down and watch. There is so much to see." - -She led the way to a seat, one end of which was occupied by a workman, -who was sleeping soundly, and snoring too, his arms folded tightly -together. He had a little clay pipe in the corner of his mouth; it -seemed to be tucked in so snugly that there was not much danger of its -falling to the ground. At last Helen spoke to her companion. - -"What do you mean by saying that you will not be able to finish your -picture? Perhaps you are not well--indeed, you don't look well. You -make me anxious, for I have a great regard for you." - -"I am ill and suffering," he answered quietly. "I thought I should have -died yesterday; but I made up my mind to live until I saw you again, and -I thought I would ask you to spend the afternoon with me and go with me -to Westminster Abbey, and sit with me in the Cloisters. I do not feel -able to go by myself, and I know of no one to ask except you; and I -believed you would not refuse me, for you have been very kind to me. I -do not quite understand why you have been kind to me, but I am -wonderfully grateful to you. To-day I heard some one in the Gallery say -that you were plain; I turned round and I said, 'I beg your pardon, I -think she is very beautiful.' I think they laughed, and that puzzled -me; for you have always seemed to me a very beautiful person." - -At that moment the little clay pipe fell from the workman's mouth, and -was broken into bits. He awoke with a start, gazed stupidly at the old -man and his companion, and at the broken clay pipe. - -"Curse my luck!" he said, yawning. "I was fond of that damned little -pipe." - -The old man drew his own pipe and his own tobacco-pouch from his pocket. - -"Take these, stranger," he said. "I don't want them. And good luck to -you!" - -The man's face brightened up as he took the pipe and pouch. - -"You're uncommon kind," he said. "Can you spare them?" he added, -holding them out half-reluctantly. - -"Yes," answered the old man; "I shall not smoke again. You may as well -have these matches, too." - -The laborer put them in his pocket, smiled his thanks, and walked some -little distance off; and Helen watched him examine his new pipe, and -then fill it with tobacco and light it. - -Mr. Lindall proposed that they should be getting on their way to -Westminster, and they soon found themselves in the Abbey. They sat -together in the Poet's Corner. A smile of quiet happiness broke over -the old man's tired face as he looked around and took in all the solemn -beauty and grandeur of the resting place of the great. - -"You know," he said half to himself, half to his companion, "I have no -belief of any kind, and no hopes and no fears; but all through my life -it has been a comfort to me to sit quietly in a church or a cathedral. -The graceful arches, the sun shining through the stained windows, the -vaulted roof, the noble columns, have helped me to understand the -mystery which all our books of philosophy cannot make clear, though we -bend over them year after year, and grow old over them, old in age and -in spirit. Though I myself have never been outwardly a worshiper, I -have never sat in a place of worship but that, for the time being, I -have felt a better man. But directly the voice of doctrine or dogma was -raised, the spell was broken for me, and that which I hoped was being -made clear had no further meaning for me. There was only one voice -which ever helped me, the voice of the organ arousing me, filling me -with strange longing, with welcome sadness, with solemn gladness. I -have always thought that music can give an answer when everything else -is of no avail. I do not know what you believe." - -"I am so young to have found out," she said, almost pleadingly. - -"Don't worry yourself," he answered kindly. "Be brave and strong, and -let the rest go. I should like to live long enough to see what you will -make of your life. I believe you will never be false to yourself or to -any one. That is rare. I believe you will not let any lower ideal take -the place of your high ideal of what is beautiful and noble in art, in -life. I believe that you will never let despair get the upper hand of -you. If it does, you may as well die; yes, you may as well die. And I -entreat you not to lose your entire faith in humanity. There is nothing -like that for withering up the very core of the heart. I tell you, -humanity and nature have so much in common with each other that if you -lose your entire faith in the former, you will lose part of your -pleasure in the latter; you will see less beauty in the trees, the -flowers, and the fields, less grandeur in the mighty mountains and the -sea; the seasons will come and go, and you will scarcely heed their -coming and going; winter will settle over your soul, just as it settled -over mine. And you see what I am." - -They had now passed into the Cloisters, and they sat down in one of the -recesses of the windows, and looked out upon the rich plot of grass -which the Cloisters inclose. There was not a soul there except -themselves; the cool and the quiet and the beauty of the spot refreshed -these pilgrims, and they rested in calm enjoyment. - -Helen was the first to break the silence. "I am glad you have brought me -here," she said; "I shall never grumble now at not being able to afford -a fortnight in the country. This is better than anything else." - -"It has always been my summer holiday to come here," he said. "When I -first came I was like you, young and hopeful, and I had wonderful -visions of what I intended to do and to be. Here it was I made a vow -that I would become a great painter, and win for myself a resting-place -in this very abbey. There is humor in the situation, is there not?" - -"I don't like to hear you say that," she answered. "It is not always -possible for us to fulfill all our ambitions. Still, it is better to -have had them and failed of them, than not to have had them at all." - -"Possibly," he replied coldly. Then he added: "I wish you would tell me -something about yourself. You have always interested me." - -"I have nothing to tell you about myself," she answered frankly. "I am -alone in the world, without friends and without relations. The very name -I use is not a real name. I was a foundling. At times I am sorry I do -not belong to any one, and at other times I am glad there is no one whom -I might possibly vex and disappoint. You know I am fond of books and of -art, so my life is not altogether empty, and I find my pleasure in hard -work. When I saw you at the gallery I wished to know you, and I asked -one of the students who you were. He told me you were a misanthrope, -and I was sorry, because I believed that humanity ought to be helped and -loved, not despised. Then I did not care so much about knowing you, -until one day you spoke to me about my painting, and that was the -beginning of our friendship." - -"Forty years ago," he said sadly, "the friend of my boyhood deceived me. -I had not thought it possible that he could be false to me. He screened -himself behind me, and became prosperous and respected at the expense of -my honor. I vowed I would never again make a friend. A few years -later, when I was beginning to hold up my head, the woman whom I loved -deceived me. Then I put from me all affection and all love. Greater -natures than mine are better able to bear these troubles, but my heart -contracted and withered up." - -He paused for a moment, many recollections overpowering him. Then he -went on telling her the history of his life, unfolding to her the story -of his hopes and ambitions, describing to her the very home where he was -born, and the dark-eyed sister whom he had loved, and with whom he had -played over the daisied fields and through the carpeted woods, and all -among the richly tinted bracken. One day he was told she was dead, and -that he must never speak her name; but he spoke it all the day and all -the night--Beryl, nothing but Beryl; and he looked for her in the fields -and in the woods and among the bracken. It seemed as if he had unlocked -the casket of his heart, closed for so many years, and as if all the -memories of the past and all the secrets of his life were rushing out, -glad to be free once more, and grateful for the open air of sympathy. - -"Beryl was as swift as a deer," he exclaimed. "You would have laughed -to see her on the moor. Ah, it was hard to give up all thoughts of -meeting her again. They told me I should see her in heaven, but I did -not care about heaven. I wanted Beryl on earth, as I knew her, a merry, -laughing sister. I think you are right; we don't forget, we become -resigned in a dead, dull kind of way." - -Suddenly he said: "I don't know why I have told you all this. And yet -it has been such a pleasure to me. You are the only person to whom I -could have spoken about myself, for no one else but you would have -cared." - -"Don't you think," she said gently, "that you made a mistake in letting -your experiences embitter you? Because you had been unlucky in one or -two instances, it did not follow that all the world was against you. -Perhaps you unconsciously put yourself against all the world, and -therefore saw every one in an unfavorable light. It seems so easy to do -that. Trouble comes to most people, doesn't it? and your philosophy -should have taught you to make the best of it. At least, that is my -notion of the value of philosophy." - -She spoke timidly and hesitatingly, as though she gave utterance to -these words against her will. - -"I am sure you are right, child," he said eagerly. - -He put his hands to his eyes, but he could not keep back the tears. - -"I have been such a lonely old man," he sobbed; "no one can tell what a -lonely, loveless life mine has been. If I were not so old and so tired, -I should like to begin all over again." - -He sobbed for many minutes, and she did not know what to say to him of -comfort; but she took his hand within her own and gently caressed it, as -one might do to a little child in pain. He looked up and smiled through -his tears. - -"You have been very good to me," he said, "and I dare say you have -thought me ungrateful. You mended my coat for me one morning, and not a -day has passed but that I have looked at the darn and thought of you. I -like to remember that you have done it for me. But you have done far -more than this for me; you have put some sweetness into my life. -Whatever becomes of me hereafter, I shall never be able to think of my -life on earth as anything but beautiful, because you thought kindly of -me, and acted kindly for me. The other night, when this terrible pain -came over me, I wished you were near me; I wished to hear your voice. -There is very beautiful music in your voice." - -"I would have come to you gladly," she said, smiling quietly at him. -"You must make a promise that when you feel ill again you will send for -me. Then you will see what a splendid nurse I am, and how soon you will -become strong and well under my care; strong enough to paint many more -pictures, each one better than the last. Now, will you promise?" - -"Yes," he said, and he raised her hand reverently to his lips. - -"You are not angry with me for doing that?" he asked suddenly. "I -should not like to vex you." - -"I am not vexed," she answered kindly. - -"Then perhaps I may kiss it once more?" he asked. - -"Yes," she answered, and again he raised her hand to his lips. - -"Thank you," he said quietly, "that was kind of you. Do you see that -broken sun-ray yonder? Is it not golden? I find it very pleasant to -sit here; and I am quite happy and almost free from pain. Lately I have -been troubled with a dull, thudding pain near my heart, but now I feel -so strong that I believe I shall finish that Andrea del Sarto after -all." - -"Of course you will," she answered cheerily, "and I shall have to -confess that yours is better than mine. I am quite willing to yield the -palm to you." - -"I must alter the expression of the mouth," he replied. "That is the -part which has worried me. I don't think I told you that I have had a -commission to copy Rembrandt's old Jew. I must set to work on that next -week." - -"But you have given me your palette and brushes!" she laughed. - -"You must be generous enough to lend them to me," he said, smiling. "By -the way, I intend to give you my books, all of them. Some day I must -show them to you; I especially value my philosophical books, they have -been my faithful companions through many years. I believe you do not -read Greek. That is a pity, because you would surely enjoy Aristotle. I -think I must teach you Greek; it would be an agreeable legacy to leave -you when I pass away into the Great Silence." - -"I should like to learn," she said, wondering to hear him speak so -unreservedly. It seemed as if some great barrier had been rolled aside, -and as if she were getting to know him better, having been allowed to -glance into his past life, to sympathize with his past mistakes, and -with the failure of his ambitions, and with the deadening of his heart. - -"You must read AEschylus," he continued enthusiastically, "and if I -mistake not, the 'Agamemnon' will mark an epoch in your life. You will -find that all these studies will serve to ennoble your art, and you will -be able to put mind into your work, and not merely form and color. Do -you know, I feel so well that I believe I shall not only live to finish -Andrea del Sarto, but also to smoke another pipe?" - -"You have been too rash to-day," she laughed, "giving away your pipe and -pouch, your palette and brushes in this reckless manner! I must get you -a new pipe to-morrow. I wonder you did not part with your venerable -Lucretius." - -"That reminds me," he said, fumbling in his pocket, "I think I have -dropped my Lucretius. I fancy I left it somewhere in the Poet's Corner. -It would grieve me to lose that book." - -"Let me go and look for it," she said, and she advanced a few steps and -then came back to him. - -"You have been saying many kind words to me," she said, as she put her -hand on his arm, "and I have not told you that I value your friendship -and am grateful to you for letting me be more than a mere stranger to -you. I have been very lonely in my life, for I am not one to make -friends easily, and it has been a great privilege to me to talk with -you. I want you to know this; for if I have been anything to you, you -have been a great deal to me. You see, although I am young, I have long -since learned somewhat of sorrow. I have had hard times and hard words, -and have never met with much sympathy from those of my own age. I have -found them narrow and unyielding, and they found me dull and -uninteresting. They had passed through few experiences and knew nothing -about failure or success, and some of them did not even understand the -earnestness of endeavor, and laughed at me when I spoke of a high ideal. -So I withdrew into myself, and should probably have grown still more -isolated than I was before, but that I met you, and as time went on we -became friends. I shall always remember your teaching, and, though all -the world may laugh, I will try to keep to a high ideal of life and art, -and I will not let despair creep into my heart, and I will not lose my -faith in humanity." - -As she spoke, a lingering ray of sunshine fit up her face and gently -caressed her soft brown hair; slight though her form, and somber her -clothes, and unlovely her features, she seemed a gracious presence, -beautiful and gladdening, because of her earnestness. - -"Now," she said, "you rest here until I come back with your Lucretius, -and then I think I must be getting on my way home. But you must fix a -time for our first Greek lesson; for we must begin to-morrow." - -When she had gone he walked in the Cloisters, holding his hat in his -hand and his stick under his arm. There was a quiet smile on his face, -which was called forth by pleasant thoughts in his mind, and he did not -look quite so shrunken and shriveled as usual. His eyes were fixed on -the ground; but he raised them and observed a white cat creeping toward -him. It came and rubbed itself against his foot, and purring with all -its might, seemed determined to win some kind of notice from him. The -old man stooped down to stroke it, and was just touching its sleek coat, -when he suddenly withdrew his hand and groaned deeply. He struggled to -the recess and sank back. The stick fell on the stone with a clatter, -and the battered hat rolled down beside it, and the white cat fled away -in terror; but realizing that there was no cause for alarm, it came back -and crouched near the silent figure of the old man, watching him -intently. Then it stretched out its paw and played with his hand, doing -its utmost to coax him into a little fun; but he would not be coaxed, -and the cat lost all patience with him, and left him to himself. - -Meanwhile Helen Stanley was looking for the lost Lucretius in the Poet's -Corner. She found it lying near Chaucer's tomb, and was just going to -take it to her friend when she saw the workman to whom they had spoken -in Trafalgar Square. He recognized her at once and came toward her. - -"I've been having a quiet half-hour here," he said. "It does me a sight -of good to sit in the Abbey." - -"You should go into the Cloisters," she said kindly. "I have been -sitting there with my friend. He will be interested to hear that you -love this beautiful Abbey." - -"I should like to see him again," said the workman. "He had a kind way -about him, and that pipe he gave me is an uncommon good one; still, I am -sorry I smashed the little clay pipe. I'd grown used to it. I'd smoked -it ever since my little girl died and left me alone in the world. I -used to bring my little girl here, and now I come alone; but it isn't -the same thing." - -"No, it could not be the same thing," said Helen gently; "but you find -some little comfort here?" - -"Some little comfort," he answered. "One can't expect much." - -They went together into the Cloisters, and as they came near the recess -where the old man rested, Helen said: - -"Why, he has fallen asleep! He must have been very tired. And he has -dropped his hat and stick. Thank you, if you will put them down there I -will watch by his side-until he wakes up. I don't suppose he will sleep -for long." - -The workman stooped down to pick up the hat and stick, and glanced at -the sleeper. Something in the sleeper's countenance arrested his -attention. He turned to the girl and saw that she was watching him. - -"What is it?" she asked anxiously. "What is the matter with you?" - -He tried to speak, but his voice failed him, and all he could do was to -point with trembling hand to the old man. - -Helen looked, and a loud cry broke from her lips. The old man was dead. - - - - THE END. - - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BIRD OF PASSAGE AND OTHER -STORIES *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/44322 - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission -and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the -General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and -distributing Project Gutenberg(tm) electronic works to protect the -Project Gutenberg(tm) concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a -registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, -unless you receive specific permission. If you do not charge anything -for copies of this eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. 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