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diff --git a/old/53891-8.txt b/old/53891-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 4c68b6d..0000000 --- a/old/53891-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11076 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Bobbie, General Manager, by Olive Higgins Prouty - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Bobbie, General Manager - A Novel - -Author: Olive Higgins Prouty - -Release Date: January 5, 2017 [EBook #53891] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BOBBIE, GENERAL MANAGER *** - - - - -Produced by Alan and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from -images generously made available by The Internet -Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - BOBBIE, GENERAL MANAGER - - - - - BOBBIE - GENERAL MANAGER - - _A NOVEL_ - - BY - OLIVE HIGGINS PROUTY - - [Illustration] - - GROSSET & DUNLAP - PUBLISHERS :: NEW YORK - - - _Copyright, 1913, by_ - FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY - - _All rights reserved including that of translation into foreign - languages, including the Scandinavian._ - - _TENTH PRINTING_ - - [Illustration: _March, 1913_] - - - - - TO - THE MEMORY OF - MY FATHER - - - - -Bobbie, General Manager - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -I am a junior in the H.C.H.S., which stands for Hilton Classical High -School, and am sixteen years old. I live in a big brown house at number -240 Main Street, and my father is a state senator in Boston. I am a -member of the First Congregational Church, which I joined when I was -thirteen, and am captain of the basket-ball team at the high school. I -have travelled as far east as Revere Beach, as far west as the Hoosac -Tunnel, on my way to Aunt Ella's funeral in Adams, and as far south as -New London, Connecticut, where I watched my oldest brother Tom row in -a perfectly stunning eight-oared boat-race on the Thames. I haven't -been north at all. I have had six diseases, including scarlet fever and -typhoid, with which I almost died last year, and as a result of which -am now wearing my hair as short as a child with a Dutch-cut. - -I am not pretty, nor a bit popular with the boys. I can't play the -piano, and I never went to dancing-school in my life. Most of my -clothes are as ugly as mud, for I haven't any mother; and my hair has -always been as straight as a stick. They say that the kink that has -appeared in it since the typhoid won't last but a little while, so it -isn't much comfort. In fact, the only real consolation that I have -is a secret conviction which I keep well concealed in the innermost -compartment of my heart. No one knows of its existence except myself, -and I wouldn't be the one to tell of it for anything in the world. It -is on account of it, however, that I am writing the experiences of my -early life. I often think how valuable it would have been if William -Shakespeare had told us about his school-days or Julius Caesar had -described his family and what they used to do when he was a boy of -fifteen. Of course I may not be a genius; but facts point that way. -I hate mathematics, my imagination is vivid, my life is difficult -and full of obstacles, and my handwriting illegible. My Themes are -generally read out loud in English, and my quarterly deportment mark -is frightfully low. Moreover, if I am not a genius I shall be awfully -disappointed. Why, I think I should rather be a genius than to go -to a College Prom. It makes everything so bearable, from a flunk in -geometry, to not being invited to Bessie Jaynes' birthday-party last -week. - -My life has not been an easy one. Ever since I can remember I have been -the mother of five children--two of them older and three younger than -myself. They all call me Bobbie for short, but my real name is Lucy -Chenery Vars. - -Our house is a big ugly brown affair which Father built when we were -all babies and the business was prosperous. The house has twenty rooms -in it, and on the top an octagon cupola, which I have fixed up with -a fish-net and some old tennis rackets, and call my study. I have a -plaster cast of a skull up here, and a "No Trespassing" sign which -Juliet Adams and I stole out of old Silas Morton's blueberry-pasture. -It looks exactly like a college man's room now and I intend to do all -my writing up here. It is a perfectly lovely place for inspirations! -From my eight little windows I can see all over New England, and at -night every star that shines. It is simply glorious up here in a -thunder-storm, and when I have the trap-door once closed behind me, -with all my cares and troubles shut safely away down below, I feel as -if I could fly with the birds. I ought to write something wonderful. - -In the first place I had better state that I haven't anything -distinguishing about me except my experience. I am middling tall--five -feet five inches, to be precise; middling heavy--112 pounds; and am -one of six children--four boys and two girls--without the honour of -being either the oldest or youngest. With Father there are seven of us; -with Nellie and the cook (when we have one) and poor little Dixie, the -horse, there are ten. - -Father is a big, quiet, solemn man and is sixty-eight years old. He -is president of the Vars & Company Woollen Mills, has perfectly white -hair, and wears grey and white seersucker coats in the summer. Tom is -the oldest and is in business out West. We're all awfully proud of -Tom. He was a perfect star in college, and is making money hand over -fist with his lumber camps in Michigan. Alec, the next to oldest, is -struggling along in business with Father. Then I come, and next to me -the twins--Oliver and Malcolm, aged fifteen and perfect terrors. Last -is Ruthie; and after her, mother died and so there weren't any more. -_I_ was the mother then, and I was only a little over five. Father says -he used to put me on the dictionary in mother's chair at the table -when I was so little that Nellie had to help lift the big silver pot -while I poured the coffee. Well, I've sat there ever since, pushed the -bell, scowled at the twins and performed a mother's duty generally, as -well as I knew how. - -It hasn't been easy. Ruthie isn't the kind of little sister who likes -to be petted or cuddled. The twins scorn everything I do or say. The -house is a perfect elephant to run (there are thirty-three steps -between the refrigerator and the kitchen sink) and our washings are -something frightful. Alec says we simply can_not_ afford a laundress, -and the result is that I spend most of my Saturday mornings in -intelligence-offices hunting cooks. Intelligence-offices are dreadful -on inspirations. - -Ever since I can remember, the house has been out of repair--certain -doors that won't close, certain windows that have no shades, certain -ceilings that are stained and smoked. It's hard to give the rooms the -proper look when there are paths worn all over the Brussels carpet, -exactly like cow-paths in a pasture, and the stuffed arms of the -furniture in the parlour are worn as bare as the back of a little -baby's head I once saw. - -When Tom wrote that he was going to bring Elise, his young bride, -whom we had never laid eyes on, to Hilton on their wedding trip, I -nearly had a Conniption Fit. I thought Tom must have lost his mind. -Any one ought to know what a shock our house would be to the kind of -girl Tom would choose to marry. The concrete walk that leads up to the -front door was dreadfully cracked, and the crevices were filled with -a healthy growth of green grass. The iron fountain in the centre of -the walk was as dry as a desert, and the four iron urns on the square -porch as empty as shells. The ninety feet of elaborate iron fence -that runs in front of the house needed a new coat of paint, and the -little filigree iron edging, standing up like stiffly starched Hamburg -embroidery around the top of the cupola, had a piece knocked out in -front. But Tom _would_ come, so I buckled down and made preparations. - -I must explain a little about Tom. It isn't simply because he is the -oldest son that we all look up to him so much. Every one in Hilton -admires Tom. The _Weekly Messenger_ refers to his "brilliant career," -and the minister at our church calls him "an exceptional young man." He -isn't a genius--he's too successful and everybody likes him too much -for a genius--but he's different from the other young men in Hilton. -When Father picked out some little technical school or other for Tom -to go to, Tom announced that he was awfully sorry but that he had made -up his mind to graduate from the biggest university in the country. -And once there, Tom had a perfectly elegant time! Every one adored -him. I saw him carried off once on the shoulders of a lot of shouting -young men, who were singing his name. Why, I was proud to be Tom Vars' -sister! He was captain of the crew, president of his class, a member of -a whole lot of societies, and when he graduated his name was printed -under the _magna cum laude_ list on the programme (I can show it to you -in my Souvenir Book) which meant that he was a perfect wizard in his -lessons. - -Tom graduated the year that Father's business began to look a little -wobbly. Just when Father was looking forward, with a good deal of hope, -to his oldest son's help and coöperation, Tom ran up home for over -Sunday one day in May, and broke the news that after Commencement he -had decided to accept a position from his room-mate's rich uncle in -some wild and woolly lumber camps in Michigan. It just about broke poor -Father's heart. He couldn't enjoy the honours of Tom's Commencement. -But Tom went out West just the same--for Tom always carries out his -plans--he went, smiling and confident, with never a single reference -to Father's silence, ignoring absolutely the sad look in Father's -eyes. He went just as if he were carrying out Father's dearest hope; -and the funny part is, that inside of three years Tom had made Father -so proud of his hard work and steady success that the poor dear man's -disappointment faded away like mist before the sun, as they say in -Shakespeare or the Bible--I forget which. The whole scheme worked like -a charm, as Tom's schemes always do. There was faithful Alec to help -Father; and the rich uncle, who had no son of his own, was simply -aching to get hold of a fine, smart, clean young man like Tom Chenery -Vars to boost up to success. - -Whenever Tom had a holiday, except Christmas when he came home, he -spent it in Chicago with his room-mate or the uncle. That is how he -happened to fall in with such a lot of fashionable people--not that Tom -ever boasted that his friends were fashionable, for Tom never blows his -own horn--but I knew they were, just the same. He used to send stunning -monograms to Ruthie and me for our collections, torn off from the notes -which his wealthy young-lady friends wrote to him; besides, when he -came home for Christmas he always had a pocketful of kodak pictures -to show us of his life in the West. They weren't _all_ taken in the -lumber camps. Some were snapshots of house-parties, which he'd been on, -and I assure _you_, I always took in the expensive background of these -pictures--carved stone doorways, perfectly elegant houses, lawns kept -like a park, and automobiles with chauffeurs sitting up as stiff as -ramrods. I hadn't much doubt, when Tom wrote that he was engaged to be -married to Miss Elise Hildegarde Parmenter, but that she was an inmate -of one of these millionaire mansions, and I was absolutely convinced -of it when I laid eyes on her photograph--one of those brown carbons a -foot square--and counted the six magnificent plumes on her big drooping -picture-hat. I knew that 240 Main Street, Hilton, Mass., would look -pretty worn and dingy alongside Sunny-lawn-by-the-Lake, which was -engraved in gold letters and hyphens at the top of Miss Parmenter's -heavy grey note-paper. - -The minute Tom wrote that he was going to bring his elegant bride to -Hilton I button-holed Father and Alec one day after dinner, and told -those two men that the house had simply _got_ to be done over. It was -disgraceful as it was; it hadn't been painted since I could remember; -it was unworthy of our name. Father reminded me that the reason none -of us went to the wedding (Tom was married in California, on Elise's -father's orange ranch) was to save expense, as I already knew, and -merely to paint the house would cost the price of a ticket or two. - -"Let us be ourselves, Lucy," said Father to me, "_ourselves_, child. -If Tom's wife is the right kind of woman, she will look within, -_within_, Lucy." - -"Oh," I said, "but the inside is worse than the out, Father. The -wall-paper in the guest-room--" - -Father interrupted me gently. - -"Within our hearts," he corrected, touching his heavy gold watch-chain -across his chest. "Within our hearts, Lucy." - -Father is a perfectly splendid man, but I knew that spotless hearts -wouldn't excuse smoked ceilings; and when, the next day being Sunday, -I saw Father drop his little white sealed envelope, which I knew -contained five perfectly good dollars, into the contribution box, I -didn't believe any heathen girl needed that money more than I. - -I am going to tell about that first appearance of Elise's in detail. -But it's got to be after dinner, for fifteen minutes ago the big -whistle on Father's factory spurted out its puff of white steam (I -could see it from my north window before I heard the blast) and Father -and Alec will soon be driving up the hill in the phaeton, with the top -down and the reins slack over faithful Dixie's back. I must be within -calling-distance when Father strikes the Chinese gong at the foot of -the stairs. It's the first thing he always does when he enters the -house at noon. We all recognise his two strokes on each one of the -three notes as surely as his voice or step. Why, that ring of Father's -simply speaks! It is as full of impatience as a motorman ringing for a -truck to get off the track. - -Father hates to wait for dinner. By the time he has taken off his -overcoat, and scrubbed up in the wash-room off the hall, he likes us -all to be seated at the table when he comes into the dining-room. -"Hello, chicken," he says to me. "Hello, baby," to Ruth. (He calls -Dixie "baby" too.) "Hello, boys," to the twins. Then he sits down at -the head of the table, opposite me, clears his throat as a signal, and -asks the blessing. - -Father's blessing is always the same except when we have company. -I can tell how important the company is by the length of Father's -prayer. When Juliet Adams, my best friend, drops in for supper, she is -served the regular everyday family blessing, but when we have company -important enough to put on the best dishes, or at the first meal that -Tom is with us, Father keeps at it so long that the twins get to -fooling with each other under cover of the tablecloth. I wished Father -would omit the blessing entirely when Elise came, and family prayers -too. They're so old-fashioned nowadays; but I knew better than to -suggest such a preposterous thing. Father is a member of the Standing -Committee at our church, and has a lot of principles. - -There he is coming now! I wish he could afford a new carriage. I'm -simply dying for one of those sporty little red-wheeled runabouts! - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -Among the first things I did in preparation for Elise's visit was -to set the twins to work on the lawn, and Ruthie to clearing up a -rubbishly-looking place back of the barn where there was a pile of old -boxes and barrel hoops. - -I myself harnessed up Dixie, made a trip to the country, and brought -back three bushel-baskets full of rock ferns from the woods. Juliet -Adams helped me fill the iron urns the next day. I know very well that -red geraniums, hanging vines, and a little palm in the centre are -the correct plants for urns (there's a painting of one on the garden -scenery at our theatre here in Hilton) but as geraniums are a dollar -and a quarter a dozen, and the urns are perfectly enormous, I knew that -such luxuries could not be afforded. I also knew that it was out of the -question to work the fountain. I cleared out its collection of leaves, -soused it well with the hose, and was obliged to leave it in the middle -of the walk, out of commission, but at least clean. The tennis-court, -which hadn't been used for tennis for ten years, had now passed even -the potato-patch era and was a perfect mass of weeds. I paid the twins -five cents each for mowing it twice, and then set out the croquet set -with a string. I put a fresh coat of white paint on the wickets, and -though the ground was far too uneven for any practical use, the general -effect at a distance was not bad at all. - -I spent two solid afternoons in the stable sweeping and cleaning as -if my life depended on it. We don't keep a man now. Dixie is the only -horse we own, and Alec does all the feeding and rubbing-down that Dixie -gets. Poor little Dixie, rattling around in one of the big box stalls, -can't give the place the proper air. It's a stunning stable--stalls for -eight horses and a big room filled with all sorts of carriages. They -are dreadfully out of style now (I used to play house in them when I -was ten and they had begun their dust gathering even then), but Father -says they were the best that could be bought in their day. I pinned the -white sheets that cover them down around their bodies as closely as I -could, so that Miss Parmenter couldn't see how out-of-date the dear old -arks were. I cleaned up all the harnesses and hung them up, black and -shining, on the wooden pegs. In an old sleigh upstairs I discovered -a girl's saddle, which I dusted and hung up in plain view by the -whip-rack; there's something so sporty about horseback riding! I was -bound to have Miss Parmenter know that at one time we were prosperous. - -But most of my efforts of course went into the house. It was terribly -discouraging. We own loads of black walnut, and though I begged and -begged for a brass bed for the guest-room, Father was adamant. He had -allowed me to have the room repapered and _that_, he said, was all -that I must ask for. The new paper really was lovely. I picked it out -myself, pink roses on a light blue ground and a plate-rail half-way up. - -I spent a lot of pains on the guest-room, carrying out the pink and -blue colour-scheme in every possible detail. I took the light blue -rose bowl off the mantel in the sitting-room and put it on the bureau, -for hatpins. I rehung my "Yard of Pink Roses" over the guest-room -mantel. My blue kimono I had freshly laundered and hung it up in the -closet. A pair of pink bedroom slippers were carefully placed beneath. -I found a book in the library bound in pink, entitled "Baby Thoughts," -and put it on the marble-topped guest-room table alongside a magazine -and my work-basket on which I had sewed a huge blue bow and inside of -which I had placed my solid gold thimble. I also tied a smashing pink -and blue rosette on the waste-basket; and the half-dozen coat-hangers -which I was able to scare up out of Alec's and Father's closets -Ruthie wound with pink and blue ribbons. I didn't neglect the more -necessary details either. I paid thirty-five cents for a cake of pink -French soap; and the only embroidered towels we own I strung along in -a showy row on the back of the commode. In the tooth-brush holder I -placed a sealed Prophylactic tooth-brush, which I read in the _Perfect -Housekeeper_ should be found in every nicely appointed guest-room; -nor did I overlook the Bible, and candle and matches by the bed. The -_Perfect Housekeeper_ says that it is the little touches in your home, -such as a fresh bunch of flowers on the shelf in your guest-room, or -in cold weather a hot-water bag between the sheets, that count with -a guest. I was dreadfully sorry that it was too warm for hot-water -bottles. - -I was in perfect despair about Nellie. Nellie is our second-girl and -has been with us for years. Nellie doesn't look a bit like a servant. -She has grey hair and wears glasses. People are always mistaking her -for an aunt. I wrote out a set of rules for Nellie, tacked them up over -the sink in the butler's pantry, and told her to study them during the -week before Tom and Elise were due to arrive. Here's a copy of them: - - _Rule 1_ - - When a meal is ready don't stand at the foot of the stairs and holler - "Dinner!" Come to me and say in a low, well modulated voice, "Dinner - is served, Miss Lucy." - - _Rule 2_ - - Be sure and call me _Miss_ Lucy, and Tom, _Mister_ Tom. Never plain - Tom or plain Lucy. And so on through the family. - - _Rule 3_ - - When I ring the bell during a meal, don't just stick your head in - through the swinging-door but enter all-over and find out what is - wanted. - - _Rule 4_ - - Don't offer a last biscuit or piece of cake and say, "There's more in - the kitchen." - - _Rule 5_ - - If any member of the family asks for any other member of the family, - don't say, "They're in the barn, or down-cellar, or upstairs," but go - quietly and find them yourself. - - _Rule 6_ - - Be sure and put ice-water every night into Mrs. Vars' bedroom when you - turn down the bed. - - _Rule 7_ - - If you get the hiccups when waiting on the table, withdraw to the - kitchen immediately and take ten swallows of water. - -Nellie is a good-natured old soul. I can manage her beautifully, but -it took a head to do anything with Delia. Delia was the cook. I was in -the butler's pantry the day before Tom and Elise arrived, putting away -the family napkin-rings (for of course I know napkin-rings are tabooed) -when it occurred to me that we had got to have clean napkins for every -meal as long as Elise stayed. If she was with us a week that would make -a hundred and sixty-eight napkins in all, counting three meals a day -and eight people at the table. We owned just four dozen napkins and -that meant--I figured it all out on a piece of paper--that the whole -four dozen would have to be washed every other day. I went out into -the kitchen and explained it to Delia just as nicely and sweetly as I -could. She went off on a regular tangent. It was enough, she said, all -the extra style I was planning on, without piling on a week's washing -for every other day. She said she'd never heard of such tommyrot, and -if a napkin was clean enough for Tom and Tom's family, she guessed it -was clean enough for Tom's wife, whoever she was. I was simply incensed! - -"We won't discuss it," I said with much dignity. "Not another word, -please, Delia," and I left the kitchen. - -I heard her slam a kettle into the iron sink, and mutter something -about "another place," so I thought it better policy not to press my -point. I hate being imposed upon--there isn't a teacher at the high -school who can talk Lucy Vars into a hole--but I wasn't going to cut -off my own nose. So I went straight to the telephone, called up a dry -goods store and ordered ten dozen medium-priced napkins to be sent up -special. All the rest of the afternoon I sat at the sewing-machine -hemming like mad, and Nellie folded the things so that the machine -stitches wouldn't show. I knew that napkins should be hemmed by hand. - -Tom and Elise were due at eight o'clock on a Wednesday night. I had it -planned that Father and Alec would meet them at the station and I would -remain at the house to greet them as they came in. I wished awfully -that we had a coachman and some decent horses, but I begged Father to -hire a carriage and he promised that he would. The suspense while I -waited for them to drive up over the hill was as awful as when I've -been sent for by the principal at the high school--kind of thrilly -inside and as nervous as a cat. I walked from room to room like a caged -animal, trying to imagine how the old house would look to a person who -hadn't lived in it forever. I lit the open fire in the hall, arranged -the books on the sitting-room table for the hundredth time, and watched -the piano-lamp like a hawk. It smokes the ceilings if you leave it -alone. - -The twins, Oliver and Malcolm, stationed themselves in the parlour to -keep watch of the road. About half-past eight Oliver hollered out, -"They're coming, Bobbie!" and I went out into the hall and opened the -door. I saw the big bulky old depot carriage draw up to the curbing out -beyond the iron fountain, and I whispered to the twins, "Go down and -help with their bags!" They pushed by me; and a minute after, everybody -was in a confused bunch in the vestibule--Oliver and Malcolm with the -suitcases, Father and Alec, Ruthie hanging on to my skirt, and finally -Tom, big and handsome and natural! - -"Hello, Bobbie, old girl," he said. "Hello, little Ruthiemus!" And -suddenly behind him Elise appeared--tall, pale as a lily, quiet, and -very calm. "Well, here they all are, Elise," Tom went on lustily, -"Malcolm and Oliver, and Bobbie who is the mother of us, and Ruthiemus -the baby." - -Elise came forward, shook hands with the boys, and when she came to -me she kissed me. I'd never been so near such a perfectly gorgeous -Irish-lace jabot in my life. After she had leaned down and kissed Ruth -she said in the quietest, lowest voice I ever heard, while we all -stared, "I know you all, already, for Chenery has told me all about -you." - -Chenery! How perfectly absurd! No one ever calls Tom anything but just -plain Tom. We all have Chenery for a middle name--it was mother's -before she was married--but it is only to sign. After that remark about -Chenery the silence was simply deathly, but Alec, who always comes -to the rescue, exclaimed, "Don't you people intend to stop with us -to-night? Usher us in, Bobbie." - -There was none of the Vars hail-fellow-well-met, slap-you-on-the-back -spirit about that evening. We all distributed ourselves in a circle -about the sitting-room, exactly like a Bible-class at church, and -talked in the stiffest, most formal way imaginable. I don't know why we -couldn't be natural; but Elise, sitting there so perfectly at ease, -smiling and talking so gracefully made us feel like country bumpkins -before a princess. I was furious at her for making us appear in such -a light. Why couldn't Tom have married somebody like ourselves, some -jolly good sport who wouldn't be afraid to hurt her clothes? I knew -Elise Hildegarde Parmenter's style. She wore some of those high-heeled -shoes, like undressed kid gloves, and her feet were regular pocket -editions. If we had acted as we usually do when Tom comes home, all -talking and laughing at once, we'd have shocked this delicate little -piece of china into a thousand bits. - -I was dreadfully surprised at Tom when he said, as if Elise was not -there, "Come on, Bobbie, bring in the apples." - -You see it is one of our customs, the first night that Tom comes home, -to sit up awfully late and eat apples, Father paring them with an old -kitchen knife. But of course I wasn't going to have apples to-night, -of all times, passed around in quarters on the end of a knife. So I -said to Tom as quietly as possible, for really I was catching Elise's -manner, "Not apples to-night, Tom. I ordered a little chocolate. -I'll speak to Nellie." I had gotten out our best hand-painted violet -chocolate cups, told Delia to make some cocoa and whip some cream, and -had opened a fresh package of champagne wafers. Everything was all -ready on a tray in the dining-room, so I went out and told Nellie to -bring it in. When she appeared holding the big tray out before her I -had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. Nellie had never worn a -cap before and it didn't seem to go with her style. It was sticking -straight up on the top of her grey pug of hair like a bird on the -tip end of a flag pole. I saw Malcolm and Oliver begin to giggle. I -squelched them with a look and began stirring my chocolate hard. - -"Hello, Nellie," said Tom, when the tray reached him, and though I'd -cautioned Nellie a hundred times to address Tom as _Mister_ Tom, she -got it mixed up in some stupid fashion, and replied, "How do you do, -Mister Vars," and Father who heard her come out with his name asked, -"Did you speak to me, Nellie?" Nellie replied, "No, I didn't. I was -speaking to Tom." - -Late that first night, as I was turning out my light, and after I had -set my alarm-clock for quarter of six (for I thought I'd better get up -early and see how things were running) Malcolm and Oliver pushed open -my door and came in. Behind them was Alec on his way to bed. - -"Hello, Bobbie," they said, grinning. - -"Close the door," I whispered, and then I wrapped myself up in a down -comforter and crawled up on the bed. My brothers came over and all sat -down around me. - -"Well," I said, "what do you think of her?" - -"Did you see the diamond pendant?" Malcolm began. "It was a ripper!" - -"Tom gave her that for a wedding-present," Oliver explained. - -"He did!" I was amazed. "Plain Tom slinging around diamond pendants -like that!" - -"He'll have to, to live up to being called Chenery. Did you get on to -that?" - -"Did I? Isn't it too silly? I hate such airs! We stand for good plain -things and why couldn't Tom get something plain?" - -"Oh, she's a blue-blood," said Oliver. "We're regular Indians beside -her." - -"No, we're not, Oliver Vars," I flared back. "Don't you say that. I -shan't eat humble-pie for any one. We're just as good as she is. It's -brains that count." - -"I bet a dollar she couldn't throw a ball straight; and she looks as if -she'd be afraid of the dark," said Malcolm. - -"Oh, come ahead, you young knockers," interrupted Alec, who hadn't said -a word till now--Alec never says much and when he does it's always -nice--"Come along to bed, and let the General-manager here get a little -rest. Good-night, Bobbie," he said, coming up to me and giving me a -little good-natured shove, so that I toppled over on the bed. Oliver -and Malcolm each grabbed a pillow. - -"Good-night, angel," they sang out as they lammed them at me hard. I -heard them dash out of the room and slam the door with a bang. Nice old -brothers! We Vars never waste much time in kissing, but we understand -all right. - -The next morning I was down in the kitchen before Delia had her fire -made. About eight o'clock when we were all flaxing around as fast as we -could there suddenly broke out upon us a very queer noise. It sounded -like a cat trying to meow when it had a dreadful cold. It startled me -awfully and Delia gave a terrible jump. - -"For the love of Mike, what's that?" said she. - -I investigated, and after a little, I discovered the cause. Years ago -we had some sort of a bell system that connected with all the rooms, -with an indicator in the kitchen. We hadn't used it for a long time and -I supposed the whole system was as dilapidated as the stable. Whenever -we wanted Nellie for anything we found it easier to go to the back -stairs and holler. It occurred to me that the electrician who had put -in some new batteries the week before, for the front door bell, which -before Elise came was dreadfully unreliable, must have monkeyed with -the other bells too. - -"Elise has rung for you," I said to Nellie, thankful with all my heart -that the old thing had worked. I knew that Tom was already downstairs, -so of course wasn't there to tell her that the old push-button didn't -mean a thing, and I was glad of that. Heaven knew there was enough else -to apologise for. - -When Nellie came back I asked, "What did she want?" - -"She wanted me to button up her waist and also to give me her laundry." - -"Laundry!" gasped Delia. I never could understand why cooks hate -washing so. - -"Yes," I said, turning to her, "laundry! I told Mrs. Vars," I went -on with much authority, "to put any soiled clothing she might have -in a pink and blue bag which I made to match the guest-room, for -this express purpose--for her to put her laundry in. That's only -hospitality." I crossed the room. "And now you may put breakfast on, -Delia," I finished, and went out. - -After breakfast Nellie came to me and said, "Delia wishes to speak to -you in the kitchen." - -My heart sank. I left Elise in the sitting-room talking in her lovely -soft way to Father and Alec. Delia was in the laundry standing by a -regular haystack of lacy lingerie. She was holding up the most superb -lace skirt I ever saw, rows upon rows of insertion and if you'll -believe me made every inch by hand. - -"I just wanted to say," she began, "that I don't stay if I have to wash -these. They aren't dirty, in the first place, and what's more I'm not -hired to wash company's clothes, and what's more I won't. And what's -more still, I think you better hunt for another girl." - -I couldn't have received more depressing news. I hated being ruled by a -cook, and I hated to let her go. I didn't have a soul to ask about it. -I didn't know what to do. I flared right up. - -"The washing must be done," I said sternly. "_That's_ settled." - -Delia dropped the skirt. - -"All right. I'll do the washing to-day," she announced, "and I'll leave -to-morrow." - -I just wanted to sit down and cry and cry and say, "O please be nice -about it and help us out. Please stay! O please, please, _please!_" -But I did no such thing. I bit my lip hard and replied, "Very well," -and when I joined the others in the sitting-room, I was apparently as -undisturbed as a summer's breeze. - -Things got no better as time went on. Elise didn't fit into our family -a bit. None of us was natural. Father didn't ring the gong when he -came in at noon and call up to me, "Slippers, chicken"; the twins -didn't fool under the tablecloth and call me "Snodgrass," "Angel" or -"Trolley" (because of my shape); Alec didn't tilt back on the hind legs -of his chair after dessert, with his hands shoved down in his pockets; -Ruthie didn't practice a note on the piano; even Tom was different. -At first he tried to whoop things up in the old Vars fashion, but he -gave it up after an attempt or two. We wouldn't respond. We balked like -stubborn horses, while all the time Elise kept right on being very -sweet and charming, but, oh my, cold and far away. - -Her tact got on my nerves. I realised that she was trying to be nice, -but her appreciation of everything made me tired. Of course she had -seen grander houses than ours and yet she pretended to enthuse over -our old-fashioned mantels. "What fine woodwork in them," she'd say to -Father, "and what beautiful mahogany in those sliding-doors!" or, as -she gazed at our ornate black walnut bookcase, she would remark, "Black -walnut is becoming so popular!" Once she exclaimed, "How many books you -have!" and her eyes were resting on a row of black-bound town records -Father insists on keeping. When she and I attempted a miserable game -of croquet she remarked, "I think it is more fun having the ground a -little uneven." Heavens, I would have loved her if she had blurted out, -"Say, this is rotten! Let's not play." I despise insincerity. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -One day at dinner (I've forgotten whether it was the first or second -day of Elise's visit, but anyhow it was before the ice was broken) -Father suggested that Tom take the new member of our family for a drive -in the afternoon with Dixie (he and Alec, could go out to the factory -by electrics), so as soon as Elise went upstairs to rest, as she always -did after dinner, I escaped to the barn, to hitch up. Alec doesn't have -much time to devote to Dixie and I gave that poor little animal such -a currying as he had never had before in his life. Then I drew up the -check two holes higher, dusted out the phaeton, and put in the best -yellow plush robe and lash whip. - -Elise and Tom got back about half-past six. I was in the sitting-room -when Elise came into the house. - -"Chenery has been showing me all the sights," she said. "I think Hilton -is lovely. I told Chenery we were staying too long. I'm afraid we're -late for dinner. But I'll hurry. It won't take me ten minutes to dress." - -Dinner indeed! I wondered if she called the layout we had at noon -just lunch. We've always had supper at night and I hadn't intended -changing for Elise. But if she'd gone upstairs to dress for it, I'd -got to prepare something besides tea, sliced meat and toast, for all -the trouble she was taking. I flew to the kitchen. We had a can of -beef-extract, and I told Delia to make soup out of that. Then I sent -Ruth for some beefsteak, hauled down a can of peas for a vegetable, and -the sliced oranges which were already prepared would have to do for -dessert. I rushed to my room, put on my best light blue cashmere and -laid out Ruth's white muslin. - -It was, after all, on the first day of Elise's visit that she took that -drive with Dixie, for _this_, I remember now, was the first evening -meal that she had had with us. An awful catastrophe took place during -the ordeal too. In the first place, having dinner at night added to -the strain the family were all under, and it may have been due to -the general atmosphere of uneasiness that made Nellie so stupid and -careless. I don't know how it happened, but when she was passing -the crackers to Elise, during the soup course, her cap got loose -somehow and fell cafluke on Elise's bread-and-butter plate. There was -an instant of dead quiet, and then Oliver, who just at that moment -happened to have his mouth full of soup, exploded like a rubber ball -with water in it. He shoved back his chair with a jerk, and coughing -and choking into his napkin, got up and left the room. Of course that -sent Malcolm off into a regular spasm, and little Ruth began to giggle -too. I could feel myself growing as red as a beet, but I didn't laugh. -No one laughed outright. - -Elise was the first one to break the pause, and this is what she said: - -"I've had the loveliest drive this afternoon," and then as no one -replied she went on, "Chenery took me around the reservoir. How old are -the ruins of that old mill at the upper end?" - -Perhaps you think that that was a very graceful way of treating the -situation, but I didn't. We were all simply dying to laugh. We couldn't -think of old mills with that cap sticking on Elise's butter. However, -I heard Father at the other end of the table making some sort of an -answer to Elise, and all of us managed to control themselves somehow -or other. Nellie, red in the face, carried the bread-and-butter plate -away; Oliver sneaked back into his place; and I slowly began to cool -off. But of course it spoiled the meal for me. - -As soon after the horrible occurrence as possible, I escaped up here to -my cupola, and Tom found me here before he went to bed. I knew he must -be disappointed at the way I was running things. I hadn't been alone -with him before, and when his head pushed up through the trap door and -he asked, "You here?" I didn't answer. I was sitting in the pitch dark -on the window-seat, but Tom must have seen my shadow for he came up -and stood beside me. He remained perfectly silent for a minute then he -said, "Aren't there a lot of stars out to-night!" - -"Oh, Tom," I burst out, "I'm so sorry! Wasn't it awful? Everything's -going all wrong." - -He sat down. - -"It's all right, Bobbie," he said quietly. "Only I wish Elise might see -us as we really are. _Then_," he added, "you would see Elise as _she_ -really is." - -Tom didn't ask me how I liked her (he knew better than to do that), -and suddenly I felt sorry for my brother. I could have almost cried, -not because of the accident at dinner, not because of my failure, but -because Elise hadn't made us like her. I did so want Tom's wife to be -the same bully sort of person Tom was. - -The crisis came the next day. At eleven o'clock in the morning, I found -Delia putting on her coat and hat, actually preparing to go. - -"What does this mean?" I exclaimed. - -"Can't you see?" she asked very saucily. - -"But the washing. Have you--" - -"No, I haven't, and what's more I'm not going to." She was spitting mad. - -I stood there, just helpless before her. - -"I have telephoned to all the intelligence offices," I said, "and -I can't get anyone to come until Saturday night. I thought, to -accommodate us, you might be willing--" - -She cut me right off: - -"Well, I'm not! No one accommodates me here, and I'm not used to being -treated like this. Two dinners a day and up until all hours!" - -It didn't seem to me as if she had half so much to stand as I did. -I wished I could up and clear out too. I thought she was very -disagreeable to leave me in the lurch that way. But I didn't have any -words with her. I told her she might go as soon as she pleased. I hated -the sight of her standing there in the kitchen, which she had left all -spick and span, not as a kitchen should look at eleven in the morning -with half a dozen full-grown mouths to be fed at one o'clock. - -I was on my way upstairs to break the news to Nellie when Elise called -to me from the sitting-room. - -"Oh, Lucy," she said in her musical voice, "will there be time for me -to run over to the postoffice with some letters before lunch?" - -I stalked into the sitting-room. She was sitting at the desk in her -graceful easy way, with a beautiful French hand-embroidered lingerie -waist on, that I'd be glad to own for very best. There were gold beads -about her neck, and her hair, even in the morning, was soft and fluffy -and wavy. She had her feet crossed and I took in the silk stockings and -the low dull-leather pumps. - -I had a sudden desire to tear down all her beautiful appearance of ease -and grace. - -"We don't have lunch at noon," I said bluntly. "We have dinner, just -dinner. We've always had dinner." - -"Yes, I know," she began in her persistently pleasant way; "people do -very often, in New England." - -I couldn't bear her unruffled composure. - -"Oh," I said, bound to shock her, "it isn't because we're New England. -It's because we're plain, plain people. The rich families in New -England as well as anywhere, have dinner at night. But _we_," I said, -glorying in every word, "are _not_ one of the rich families. We have -doughnuts for breakfast, baked beans and brown bread Saturday nights, -and Saturday noons a boiled dinner. We love pie. We all just _love -it_. Father came from a farm in Vermont. He didn't have any money at -all when he started in. You see we're common people. And so's Tom. Tom -comes from just a common, common, _common_ family," I said, loving to -repeat the word. - -She was sitting with her arm thrown carelessly over the back of the -chair, and her gaze way out of the west window. When I stopped to -see what effect my words had had she just laughed--a quiet pleased -laugh--and mixed up with it I heard her say, "Why, Chenery is the most -uncommon man I ever met." And she blushed like eighteen. - -I went right on. - -"We don't call him Chenery, either," I said. "We cut off all such -fringes. He's plain Tom to us. I know how the plain way we live -must impress _you_. I know you've been used to French maids, and -push-a-button for everything you want. I'm sorry for the shock you must -have got coming here. But you might as well wake up to the truth. You -see what a mess the house is in, and how Nellie won't call us Mister -and Miss, and how if she is on the third floor and she wants me she -just yells. And," I said, pointing out of the window, "there goes Delia -now. And there isn't a sign of a cook left in the house." - -Elise sat up straight. - -"Is she leaving without notice?" she exclaimed. - -"Naturally," I laughed. - -"How dreadfully unkind of her!" - -"That's what I think, but Delia doesn't care if I do." - -"Haven't you some one to help you out? What will you do?" Elise was -really excited. - -"Do?" I replied grimly. "Oh, I'll duff in and cook myself, I suppose." - -Elise put down her pen. - -"I can make delicious desserts," she said. "Can't you telephone to -the family not to come home this noon? We can be ready for them by -to-night. I know how to make the best cake you ever tasted in your -life." - -That's the way it came about. I took her out into the kitchen and -didn't try to cover up a thing. She could see everything exactly as it -was--smoked kitchen ceiling, uneven kitchen floor, paintless pantry -shelves. She could go to the bottom of the flour barrel if she wanted -to; and she did. Covered with an old apron and her sleeves rolled up, -she was first in the kitchen pantry looking into every cupboard, drawer -or bucket for powdered sugar; next in the fruit-closet feeling all the -paper bags, in search of a lemon; then calling to me in her musical -voice to come here and taste some dough to see if it needed anything -else; in the butler's pantry choosing just the plate she wanted for her -cookies; and actually underneath the sink, pulling out a greasy spider -for panouchie, which she was going to make out of some lumpy brown -sugar she discovered in a wooden bucket. I took grim pleasure in having -her see the worst there was. I wondered if she could stand the fact -that we didn't own an ice-cream freezer, when she suggested ice-cream -for dessert, nor possess a drop of olive oil for her mayonnaise. I -didn't care. I liked telling her the things we didn't have. When I -heard her burst into laughter in the butler's pantry, and pushing open -the swinging-door, saw her gazing at my set of rules tacked up over the -sink for Nellie, I made no explanation whatsoever. I was delighted to -have her read them. At sight of me she went off into regular peals. - -Finally she gasped, with her finger on Rule 6, "She put--the ice--in a -hunk, in the big pitcher in the wash-bowl!" and the tears ran down her -cheeks. - -I laughed a little then in spite of myself. - -"Nellie's an old fool," I said and went back to my work. - -It happened that Father and Alec had gone to Boston for the day on -business, and the last minute Tom had joined them, so the men wouldn't -be home until night anyhow. I called up the twins, just before their -fifth-hour period (I had cut school myself) and told them to get a bite -to eat at the high school lunch-counter. "I'll pay for it," I assured -them, for I knew the twins would jump at the chance of a free spread, -and as they had manual-training that afternoon, Elise and I were safe -from any interruption from the male section. - -We had supper at half-past six as usual. It was very queer about that -meal. The awful strain we had all felt the same day at breakfast had -suddenly disappeared. Elise had suggested that we shouldn't tell any -one of Delia's departure, and on the outside everything was just as it -was in the morning, even to Nellie's ridiculous cap. - -"These biscuits are good, Lucy," Father said suddenly, as he reached -for the plate. Father usually speaks of the food, but he hadn't done so -once since Elise had come. - -"There's more in the kitchen," announced Nellie blandly. - -"There's a whole panful," added Elise. "I'm awfully glad you like -them!" she exclaimed and then stopped short. - -"There," I said, "I knew you'd let the cat out. Elise made them!" I -announced. - -"Delia's left--" Elise hurried to say. - -"And we--" I put in. - -"We got supper!" she finished proudly. - -"_You_ and Bobbie?" exclaimed Alec. - -"Bobbie and _you_?" gasped Tom. - -"Of course!" she said. "Bobbie scallopped the oysters." - -"Give me some more," said Malcolm. - -"Fling over the last biscuit," sang out Oliver. And in a flash Elise -picked up the little brown ball and tossed it across the fern-dish -straight as an arrow. - -"Good shot!" said Oliver, catching it in both hands. - -"Oh," piped up Ruthie, "make Malcolm stop. He took a cookie and it -isn't time for them." - -Father just chuckled, and said, "Pretty good! pretty good!" And I tell -you it was simply glorious to be natural again! - -"Don't eat too much," said Elise, "for dessert's coming and it's -awfully good." - -"And chocolate layer-cake with it!" said I. - -"Oh, bully!" shouted Malcolm and Oliver together. - -"Say," asked Alec, "isn't this a good deal better than last night when -Nellie's cap fell into your butter?" - -We all burst into sudden laughter and Nellie, who was filling the -glasses, had to set down the pitcher. She was shaking with mirth. We -laughed until it hurt; we simply roared; and suddenly Elise gasped, -when she was able to get her breath: - -"Wasn't it funny? I was so frightened by you all then, I didn't know -what to say about that old cap. But now--O dear!" and suddenly she -turned to Ruth who sat next to her, put her arms around her and kissed -her. "Oh, Ruthie," she exclaimed, "isn't it _nice_ to know them all!" -And I couldn't tell whether the tears in her eyes were from laughing or -crying. - -We stayed up late that night. - -"Run and get my slippers," said Father to Ruth after supper; and all -the evening he lay back in his chair and watched us children while we -sang college songs to Elise's ripping accompaniment; and poked fun -at the twins because they'd just bought their first derbies. It was -eleven-thirty when we went up to bed. - -"Come here a minute, Bobbie," whispered Elise to me, and I went into -the guest-room. "Do unhook the back of this dress." When I had finished -she said, "I'll be down at six-thirty" (we were going to get breakfast -too), "and don't you dare to be late! I'm going to make the omelet. You -can make the johnny-cake. Bobbie, isn't it nice Delia left?" And she -kissed _me_ as well as Ruth. - -That night the boys all gathered in my room again. I wrapped up in the -down comforter, and we were just beginning to talk when Tom appeared. - -"Hello," he said, smiling all over. He came in and closed the door. -"Well," he asked, "what do you think of her?" And I knew he asked us -because he so well knew what we did think. But just the same I wanted -to tell him. - -I shot out my bare skinny arm at him. - -"Tom," I said, "I think she's a corker!" - -He first took my hand and then suddenly, very unlike the Vars, he put -both arms around me tight. - -"Bobbie," he said in a kind of choked voice, "you're a little brick!" - -And, my goodness, I just had to kiss Tom then! - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -It has been nearly a whole year since I have written in this book of -mine. I've been too discouraged and heart-sick even to drag myself up -here into my cupola. I've aged dreadfully. I've been disillusioned of -all the hopes and dreams I ever had in my life. I've skipped that happy -period called girlhood, skipped it entirely, and I had hoped _awfully_ -to go to at least one college football game before I was grey. I am -sitting in my study. It is a lovely day in spring. There are white -clouds in the sky, young robins in the wild cherry, but _my_ youth, -_my_ schooldays, _my_ aspirations are all over and gone. - -Miss Wood said to me one day last winter--Miss Wood is my Sunday-school -teacher and was trying to be kind--"You know, Lucy, it is a law of -the universe for us all to have a certain amount of trouble before we -die. Some have it early, some late. Now _you_, dear, are having your -misfortunes when you are young. Just think, later they will all be -out of your way." Miss Wood hasn't had a bit of her share of trouble -yet. Why, she has a mother, a father, a fiancé, and a bunch of violets -every Sunday. She has perfectly lovely clothes, a coachman to drive -her around, and was president of her class her senior year in college. -Such blessings won't be half as nice, and Miss Wood knows it, when I'm -old and grey. I just simply hate having all my troubles dealt out to me -before my skirts touch the ground. - -Our minister said to me that misfortune is the greatest builder of -character in the world. Well, it hasn't worked that way with me. I'm -hot-tempered and have an unruly tongue; I don't love a soul except my -brother Alec; and the only friend I have in the world is Juliet Adams. -I'm not even a genius--I've discovered that--and my religious beliefs -are dreadfully unsettled. Years ago I used to lie awake at night -and imagine myself in deep sorrow. I was always calm and sweet and -dignified then, beautiful and stately in my clinging black, and near me -always was a young man, a strong, handsome, clean-shaven young man in -riding clothes (I adore men in riding clothes) and I used to play that -this man was the son of the governor of the state. Strange as it might -seem, he was in love with me and when my entire family had suddenly -been killed in a railroad accident--I always had them _all_ die--this -man came to me in my lonely house and told me of his devotion. It -really made sorrow beautiful. But let me state right here that that was -one of the many empty dreams of my youth. When misfortune _did_ swoop -down upon me, I was not sweet and lovely, there was no man within a -hundred miles to understand and sympathise, there was nothing beautiful -about it. It was just plain hard and bitter. It's only in books that -trouble is romantic. - -Elise visited us in the spring a year ago about this time (it seems -like a century to me) and my misfortunes began to pour in the following -fall, when I was a senior, and seventeen years old. That last year of -high school had started in to be a very happy one for me. Father had -finally allowed me to go to dancing-school; mathematics was a bugbear -of the past; and our basket-ball team was a perfect winner. - -I loved dancing-school. It came every Saturday night from eight to -ten, and Juliet Adams used to call for me in her closed carriage and -drop me afterwards at my door. I remember that on that last Saturday -night I was particularly full of good-feeling, for I kissed Juliet -good-bye--a thing I seldom do--and called back to her as I ran up the -steps, "Good-night. See you at Church." I was never so unsuspecting in -my life as I opened the front door. But the instant I got inside the -house and looked into the sitting-room, I knew something was wrong. The -entire family was all sitting about the room doing absolutely nothing. -Father was not at his roll-top desk; the twins were not drawn up to the -centre table studying by the student-lamp; Alec was not out making his -Saturday night call; and, strangest of all, Ruthie was not in bed. - -"What's the matter?" I asked. - -"Take your things off and come in, Lucy," said Father. - -I didn't stir. My heart stood dead still for an instant. I grabbed hold -of the portière. - -"Something has happened to Tom," I gasped, so sure I didn't even have -to ask. - -I suppose I must have looked horribly frightened, for one of the twins -blurted out, in the twins' frank brutal way, "Oh, say, don't get so -everlastingly excited. Tom's all right, for all we know. So's every one -else. Do cool off." - -Ruthie giggled. She always giggles at the twins, and I knew then that -my sudden fear had been for nothing. The angry colour rushed into my -face. - -"Smarties!" I flung back at the twins with all my might. - -"Oh, Lucy!" I heard Father murmur, and I saw Alec drop his eyes as if -he were ashamed of such an outburst from his seventeen-year-old sister. - -"I don't care," I went on. "Why do you want to frighten me to death? -What's the matter with you all, anyway? What are you all doing? Why -isn't Ruthie in bed? Why are the twins--" - -"It's all about _you_!" Malcolm interrupted in a sort of triumphant -manner. - -"Me!" I gasped. "What in thunder--" - -"Oh, Lucy!" Father again murmured. - -"Well, what," I continued, "have you all been saying about _me_?" And I -sat down on the piano-stool. - -Father cleared his throat the way he does before he asks the blessing, -and every one else was quiet. I knew something important was coming. - -"Lucy," Father said, "we think the time has come for you to go to -boarding-school." - -It hit me like a hard baseball and I couldn't have spoken if I were to -have died. - -Father went on in his sure, unfaltering way. - -"I have been considering it for some little while, and now as I talk -it over with the others--we always do that, you know--I am more -convinced of the wisdom of such a step than ever. Alec has been doing -some investigating, and Elise suggested in her last letter that Miss -Brown's-on-the-Hudson is an excellent school. I have, therefore, -communicated with Miss Brown and a telegram announces to me to-day -that a vacancy allows her to accept you, late as it is. Before worrying -you unnecessarily, I have made all arrangements. I have written to -Aunt Sarah, and she is willing to come and take your place here. So, -my dear child, I am only waiting now for your careful and womanly -consideration." I think he must have seen the horror on my face, for he -added gently, "You needn't decide to-night, Lucy. Think it over and in -the morning your duty will seem clear to you." - -I have heard of people whose hair grows grey in a single night. It's -a wonder mine didn't turn snow-white during that single speech. -Boarding-school had never been intimated to me before. I had been away -from home for over night only twice in my life, and then stayed only a -week. Both times I had almost died of homesickness. I would as soon be -sentenced to prison or to death. Oh, I didn't want to go away! I didn't -want to! The silence after Father finished was awful. One of the twins -broke it. - -"When Father told us about this to-night," Malcolm began importantly, -"we thought he was dead right. You see," he went on, "we want our -sister to be as nice as any other fellow's sister." - -"Don't you 'sister' _me_," I managed to murmur, for I wasn't going to -be patronised by the twins who are a year younger than I am. - -"Well, anyhow," said Oliver, the crueller one of the twins, "you -haven't got the right hang of fixing yourself up yet. You go round -with tomboys like Juliet Adams, and some others I might mention, that -fellows haven't any use for. High school is all right for _us_, but, -no siree, not for _you_. Some girls get the knack all right at home; -but look at yourself now! You wouldn't think a girl of seventeen would -twist her feet around a piano-stool like that!" I twisted them tighter. -"Even Toots" (that's Ruthie), he went on, "seems to carry herself more -like a young lady." - -Ruth giggled at Oliver's last remark and I came back to life. - -"I may be plain and awkward and gawky," I began, "and as homely as -a hedge fence, but let me tell you two children, if I spent my time -primping before the glass, and mincing up and down the street Saturday -afternoons before Brimmer's drug-store like your precious Elsie -Barnard," I fired, looking straight at Malcolm and bringing the colour -to his face, for he was awfully gone on Elsie, "or Doris Abbott, Mister -Oliver," I added, and Oliver flushed brilliant red, "you two wouldn't -have any stockings mended or any buttons on your coats or any lessons -either, for you know without me to explain every little thing you are -awful dunces!" - -Father said, "Oh, come, Lucy, let us not quarrel;" Ruth went over and -sat on the arm of Oliver's chair (she always sides with the twins); and -my older brother Alec just looked hard at his magazine. - -There was a long silence and then I got up and walked over to Alec. I -took the magazine out of his hand. I was calm now. - -"Alec, what do _you_ think about my going away?" I said. - -He looked up and smiled his kind, tired smile at me. Then he took my -hand but I drew it away quickly, turned and sat down on the arm of the -Morris-chair in which he was sitting, with my back square to him. His -gentle voice came to me from over my shoulder. - -"Well, Lucy," he said, "you see, you've been working so hard for us -all here, for so many years, that I think, too, you've earned a little -vacation. You've been such a splendid mother to us--such a perfect -little housekeeper, that now I'd like to see you less hard-worked. We -don't want to cheat you of your girlhood. We want you to have all the -good times, and gaieties, and clothes, and things like that, that other -girls have." - -Ah, yes! I saw finally. They were ashamed of me. Even Alec was ashamed -of me. I was not like other girls. I was plain and awkward and wore -ugly clothes. I wasn't pretty. They wanted to send me away as if I were -an old dented spoon to be straightened and polished at the jeweller's. -When Alec paused he put his arm over in front of me so that it lay in -my lap. At the touch of it the sobs seemed suddenly to rise up in my -throat, pressing after each other as if they were anxious to get out -into the air, and I rose quickly, pushed Alec's arm away and left the -room. They mustn't see--oh, no, they mustn't see me cry! I meant to -go to my bedroom and have it out by myself, but instead I rushed to -the kitchen and buried my face for a minute in the roller-towel. Then -before I let myself give way, I drew the dipper full of cold water and -swallowed those sobs back, forcing them with the strength of Samson. -You see I knew my sudden exit would leave an uncomfortable sensation -in the room back there, and I wouldn't have had one of them think I -was emotional for anything. So after a minute I went back. They could -see for themselves that there wasn't a tear in sight. Standing in the -doorway, facing them all, this is what I said, my voice as hard as -metal. - -"Father, I shall be packed, and ready to go on Monday morning." - -When I closed the door to my room that night I did not cry, although -my throat ached with wanting to. As I drew my curtain and looked out -into the dark night I thought of Juliet Adams, sleeping peacefully -like a child, and I realised how little she knew of sorrow. When the -big clock in the hall struck twelve I was kneeling before my bureau, -stacking my underclothes in neat little piles ready for my trunk. How -little I knew that what I then thought my pretty ninety-eight-cent -nightgowns, long-sleeved and high-necked, would about die of shame for -their plainness, before the beautiful lace and French hand-embroidered -lingerie represented at midnight spreads at school. I'm glad I didn't -know then that I would come to despise my poor faithful clothes. - -I was piling my gloves into a box when there came a soft knock at the -door. Alec came in, in his red and grey bath-towel bath-robe. - -"Not in bed yet?" he said gently, and came over and sat down near me -on the floor with his back against the wall, his knees drawn up almost -to his chin and his arms clasped about them. We sat there for a moment -silently, and I grimly folded gloves. Then, "Good stuff, Bobbie," he -said finally--and oh, so kindly--"Good nerve." - -I turned and looked straight at him. - -"No, Alec," I said, "there isn't anything good about it. It's horrid -feelings and hate that make me go." - -He looked away from me as he always does when he disapproves, but he -put his hand on my shoulder and I was grateful for that touch. - -I turned on him frantically and burst out, "Alec Vars, you are the -only one in this whole house I love--you and Father," I amended, for -we all adore Father. "You're the only one who is kind or thoughtful. -I've tried to do my duty in this place by you and the others, but I -guess I haven't succeeded. Now I'm going away and we'll see how the -twins enjoy a dose of Aunt Sarah." I paused, then added, "Look here, -Alec, don't let Ruth go out to the Country Club. She is pretty and the -older men--why, your friends talk to her and make her vain and hold -her on the arms of their chairs. Don't let _her_ go. And the twins--I -haven't told on them yet--but they're smoking! They're dead scared for -fear I'll tell Father, and I said that I should if I caught them at it -again." - -"Good Bobbie, you'd keep us straight if you could, wouldn't you?" - -"No, I wouldn't," I flared back. "It's hate I feel and--" - -Alec put his hand over my mouth. - -"What shall I do to you?" he laughed. - -I rose abruptly, crossed the room and closed the window at my back. -There was a big lump in my throat and I stopped at the marble -wash-stand built into one corner of my room, and took a drink of water. -Then I went back to my glove-sorting. Finally I was able to ask, -"Alec, were you at the bottom of this?" - -"Oh, I don't know," he smiled. "Possibly--I--or Will Maynard." - -"Will Maynard!" I exclaimed. Dr. Maynard is a physician in our town, -and was a classmate of Alec's years ago in college. He has nothing to -do with _me_. - -Alec picked up one of my gloves and began turning it right-side-out, as -he explained. - -"We dropped into Grand Army Hall one afternoon a week or so ago when -you were playing a basket-ball game. I'd never seen you play before. -We stayed for a half an hour or more. Going home Will said to me, 'Why -don't you send that little wild-cat sister of yours away to school?' -I began to mull it over. Of course, Bobbie, old girl," Alec went on, -"I admire your pluck and spirit in basket-ball. I like to see you win -whatever you set out to. You played a fine game--a bully fine game; -but there are other things in life to acquire--other kinds of things, -Bobbikins." He stopped. "Oh, you'll like boarding-school," he said. - -"I'll like Dr. Maynard not to butt into my affairs," I replied under my -breath; then I remarked, "I'm ready for that glove, please." - -Alec passed it over and got up. - -"Good-night," he said. "Oh, by the way," he added, "here is something -you may find a use for. Your tuition and board, of course, will be -paid for by Father, but I know there are a lot of extras--girl's -things--that you'll need. Possibly this will help." He dropped a piece -of paper into my lap and was gone before I could look up. - -I unfolded the paper and saw a check dancing before my eyes for one -hundred dollars! I knew very well that we were as poor as paupers in -spite of our big house, and stable, as empty now as a shell. I knew -Father's business was about as lifeless as the stable, and that Alec -alone stood by him trying to give a little encouragement. Splendid -Alec! I fled after him. He was just groping his way up the stairs to -his third-floor room. I caught him and very unlike my even temperament -put my arms around him tight. - -"O Alec," I blubbered, "it isn't because of the money; it's because of -_you_." Then I added, like a great idiot, "Oh, I _will_ try not to be -such a tomboy! I _will_ try to be worth something when I'm away, and -all the things you want me to be." And then because I hated to pose as -any kind of an angel, I turned, fled back to my room and locked the -door. - -I made a great impression with my announcement the next day in -Sunday-school. Juliet could hardly believe me. She stared at me as -open-eyed and awestruck as if I had told her I was going to China. She -wouldn't sing the hymns, and during the long prayer she whispered to -me: "You'll be going to Spreads!" And later: "You'll have a Room-mate!" -And again: "Perhaps you'll be invited to House-parties!" - -If I were about to be hanged it would be little comfort to me to be -told that in a few hours I would be playing on harps, walking streets -of gold and wearing wings. I didn't want to go away--that was the -plain truth. I preferred Intelligence-Offices to boarding-schools; -I preferred our big brown ugly old house, empty stable, out-of-date -carriages, cruel twins, and uncuddleble Ruth to spreads, room-mates -and house-parties. I wanted to stay at home! But I was bound that no -one should know that my heart was breaking; I was determined that -no one should guess that I was being sent away, boosted out of my -position, like the poor old minister in the South Baptist church. I -would go with my head up, and tearless! Only once did I give way, and -that was in poor little Dixie's furry neck when I threw my arms about -him in his stall. Poor little dumb Dixie! Poor pitiful dumb carriages -gazing silently at me. "_You'll_ miss me. _You'll_ be sorry," I said. - -On that last grey Sunday afternoon I took my good-bye walk, through -Buxton's woods back of our house. I gazed for the last time on the -precious landmarks that I had grown to love--the two freak chestnut -trees, soldered into one like the Siamese twins; the hollow oak where -we used to dig the rich dark brown peet and find the big, slimy white -worms; the huge fallen pine, struck once by lightning, along whose -trunk and in among whose dead branches we used to play "ship" and -"pirate-boat." I walked alone--all alone. There was no romantic lover -in riding clothes, as in my dreams, to share my sad reflections. Only -a scurrying chipmunk or red squirrel, now and then, gazed at me with -frightened eyes, then scampered away; only the dead leaves under -my feet kept rhythm with my dragging steps. I was awfully lonely -and unhappy. It seemed to me that even the sombre sky and the dead -quietness of Sunday connived to add to my dreariness. - -When I reached our iron gate on my return, it was nearly dark. -Dr. Maynard was just coming away from one of his frequent Sunday -afternoons with Alec and I met him by the fountain. - -"Hello, little Wild-cat," he sang out cheerily. He always has called me -Wild-cat, though I never knew why. "Back from one of your walks 'all by -your lone'?" I think he copied that from Kipling. "Ears been burning? -Al and I have just been talking about you." - -I had never as much as peeped in Dr. Maynard's presence before--he's -fifteen years older than I--but I couldn't bear his interference in -my affairs and I retorted, "I should advise you not to meddle with -wild-cats, Dr. Maynard!" - -"Whew!" he whistled in mock alarm; and though it was not a pretty thing -for a girl of seventeen to say to a man whose hair was beginning to -turn grey, I finished hotly, "Or you'll get scratched!" and turned and -dashed into the house. - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -In thinking over my career at boarding-school I always recall three -remarks which were made to me in the smoky Hilton Station as I waited -for my train. Father and Alec and Juliet who, the dear old trump, had -actually cut school to see me off, were at the station. - -Alec had said, "Go slowly, Bobbie, and know only the best girls," and I -had replied, pop-full of confidence, "Of course, Alec." - -"And whatever else you do," exclaimed Juliet, "don't you dare to get a -swelled head, Lucy Vars." "I won't," I had assured her. - -Father, dear kind Father, his hand on my shoulder, had commanded: "Dear -child, discover some one less fortunate than yourself and be kind to -her." And I had promised, tussling with the painful lump in my throat, -"I will, dear Father." - -Father had slipped a paper bag into my hand then--a bag of lemon-drops -(Father always buys lemon-drops) and two sticks of colt's-foot. The -poor dear man had forgotten that I didn't like colt's-foot, but when -I opened the bag in the train and saw those two little brown sticks, -somehow I loved dear Father harder than ever. I put them into my -travelling bag very tenderly, and have kept them ever since. - -I don't know how to explain my impressions of boarding-school. I -realise now that in spite of the pain at leaving home I did have -buried in the bottom of my heart dreams of the vague, unknown joys of -room-mates and spreads. Every young girl has such dreams, I guess. Even -as I sped along in the train, trying desperately to dissolve that lump -in my throat with Father's lemon-drops, I was wondering about the new -bosom friends I should make. Edith Campbell, an awfully popular older -girl in our town and a friend of Alec's, had been to a fashionable -boarding-school in New York ever since she was a child, and she was -forever bringing home girls to visit her, or whisking off herself to -ball-games and Proms with "a Room-mate's brother" or "a Best-friend's -cousin." I could hardly realise that I, Lucy Vars, was about to step -within the same fascinating circle. Fifty girls to eat and sleep and -walk with; fifty girls to choose my friends from; fifty girls to bring -home with me for over a holiday; fifty girls for me to visit; and fifty -girls with brothers or cousins at Harvard and Yale and Princeton. -Perhaps that very winter some college man would invite me to a Prom; -I would dance till morning, and become such a dazzling belle that by -Easter-time I would look upon the twins as mere _boys_. Probably by -summer I would be dashing about to house-parties, and talking to real -grown-up men over a cup of tea like Dolly in the "Dolly Dialogues." -Perhaps I would be president of my class at school, like Tom at -college. Perhaps--perhaps--oh, I am forced to smile at myself now as I -look back and see the funny little short-skirted, pig-tailed creature -that I was, sitting there in the train, gazing out of the window, -building my absurd little air-castles by the score, on the very way -to the destruction of every dream I ever had. I didn't make a single -friend at boarding-school. I didn't meet a man. Here it is almost -summer, and house-parties seem as remote from me as they did ten years -ago. I must try to explain why I made such a flat failure of things. It -isn't a pleasant story, but here goes: - -The first instant that I stepped into that school I knew that I was a -curiosity to everybody there. Never shall I forget that first evening -when Miss Brown ushered me into the big school dining-room and seated -me beside her. It looked like fairy-land to me--red candles on a dozen -little round tables and all the girls in soft, light dresses with Dutch -necks. When I finally dared look up from my plate and glance round, I -thought I had never seen such beautiful creatures. I couldn't find a -homely girl among them; and such lovely hair as they had, done soft and -full and fluffy with large ribbon-bows tied at the back of their necks. -The girls at our table had the whitest hands and the prettiest soft -arms, with bracelets jingling on them. - -After supper Miss Brown seated herself in a big armchair by a low lamp -in the drawing-room and read aloud from "Pride and Prejudice." The -girls all gathered about her and did fancy work on big hoops. I didn't -have any work and tried to make myself comfortable on a little high -silk-brocaded chair. I felt horribly embarrassed. Every time a girl -looked up from her work and scrutinised me from top to toe, I felt like -saying, "I know I'm a perfect mess. I see it. I know my hands are like -sandpaper, and my shoes thick-soled, and my dress a sight. I know my -hair is ridiculous braided and bobbed up with a black ribbon like a -horse's tail. I know it." I couldn't listen to a word that Miss Brown -was reading. I was awfully disturbed thinking about my trunk on its -way to me, filled with its queer collection, and wondering what in the -name of heaven I could put on the next night. My blue cashmere haunted -me like a bad dream. I think that first evening at boarding-school -was the first time I really missed having a mother. _She_ would have -known the blue cashmere was ugly; _she_ would have known that little -bronze slippers with stockings to match were the proper thing; _she_ -would have known that girls at boarding-school wore Dutch necks and -wide ribbons tied low, at the back of their necks. I simply dreaded -unpacking that pitiful little trunk of mine. I wished it could be lost. - -My room-mate's name was Gabriella Atherton, but when I entered the room -which I was supposed to share with her I wished she had been plain -Mary Jane. The bureau was simply loaded with silver things--silver -brushes and mirrors and powder-boxes, and at least three silver frames -with the stunningest men's pictures in them you ever saw. The walls -were covered with college flags, and the window-seat was banked with -college sofa-cushions. Why, I didn't know a single man, except high -school boys, great awkward creatures like the twins. I hoped Gabriella -wouldn't find out that I had never been to a college football game -in my life, nor been invited to one either. My one last hope for -consolation lay in the possibility that Gabriella was older than I. I -thought she must be at least twenty to know so many men. When we were -finally alone, getting ready to go to bed I asked her. My heart sank -when she announced that she was only sixteen. I know exactly how a -mother feels now when another person's baby born a month before hers -talks first and shows signs of greater intelligence. I remember I was -standing before my chiffonier braiding my hair for the night, pulling -it flat back as I always did and fixing it in one tight short little -braid, when Gabriella announced she was sixteen. Why, she looked old -enough to be married, and I--I gazed at my reflection--I looked like -poor Sarah Carew in the garret. No wonder the family wanted to send the -old spoon away to be polished. No wonder! - -"One of the girls," Gabriella went on to say, "has had a Box from home. -She's asked the whole school to a Kimono Spread in her room. Do you -want to go?" - -A Spread! My heart leaped! And then I got a glimpse of Gabriella in the -glass before me. She was a vision in a flowing pink silk kimono with -white birds on it. She had her hair fluffed up on top and tied with a -wide pink taffeta ribbon--she actually slept in it--and little pink -shoes on her feet. - -"I guess I won't to-night, thanks," I said, not turning around, for I -didn't want her to see what a peeled onion I looked like; "the train -made me car-sick." And I snapped the elastic band around the end of my -braid. - -After Gabriella had gone I turned out the light and crawled into the -little brass bed, which Miss Brown had said was mine; but I didn't -go to sleep. I just lay there listening to the muffled laughter and -chatter at the end of the hall. It was only nine o'clock and lights -were not due to be out until ten. I hated lying there wide awake and I -kept wondering how I could get dressed in the morning without letting -my room-mate see all my plain ugly things. Then I remembered that I had -left my common cheap little wooden brush, the shellac all washed off -with weekly scrubbings, on top of my chiffonier. I jumped up quickly -and hid it in the top drawer; then suddenly I turned on the light, sat -down in my horrid red wool wrapper, and wrote something like this to -Alec, blubbering and dabbing tears all through it: - - "_Dear Alec_, - - I'm here safely, I've met all the girls and they are perfectly lovely. - I'm going to love it. My room-mate's name is Gabriella Atherton--isn't - that a beautiful name?--and she is a perfect dear! I can't write long - for I am due at a spread; so, so-long until I have more time. This - place is full of corking girls. They would, however, consider the - twins mere babes-in-arms. Tell Aunt Sarah that Father will want his - flannel night-shirts as soon as there is a frost. They are in the - all-over leather trunk in the storeroom. The girls will be wondering - where I am, so good-night. - - "Your enthusiastic - "BOBBIE." - -Then I went back to bed and bawled like a baby, until I heard -Gabriella at the door. Another girl was with her and I heard her say, -"Good-night, dear," and Gabriella call back exactly as they do in books -and as they did once in my dreams. "Good-night, sweetheart." Thereupon -I ducked my head down underneath the covers and pretended to be asleep. -A half-hour later, when I felt sure that Gabriella was dead to the -world, I opened my eyes and lay awake until almost morning. - -But no one needs to think that I was homesick. Wild horses couldn't -have dragged me home. I was bound to stick it out or die and I tried -not to be a little goose and cry my eyes out. That wouldn't help me to -make the best girls my friends and I didn't mean to disappoint Alec if -I could help it. I was there for business and I meant to accomplish it. -Alec had said he admired that quality. - -But Miss Brown's-on-the-Hudson was awfully different from the -Hilton Classical High School. They played basket-ball as if it were -drop-the-handkerchief: there was no regular team. We exercised by -walking two by two for an hour every afternoon. There wasn't the -slightest chance for me to shine in athletics. - -I was robbed also of my hope of being a genius. There was a girl who -could write ten times better than I. It was after one of her poems -was read out loud in class, that I discovered I wasn't gifted in the -least. She was the marvel of the school, and whenever there were guests -she was asked to read her poems herself. They were the deepest things -I ever listened to--about the soul, and sorrow, and "swift sweet -death." She _looked_ like a genius too. She had jet black hair and -wore it in long curls tied loosely behind, big dreamy eyes, and pale -transparent skin. She wasn't very healthy and always wore black. Her -mother was an artist in Florence, and Lucia (think of it, _my_ name, -but pronounced so differently) Lucia had always lived in Italy until -she came to school. I tell you, as soon as I saw her and listened to -her poetry, I was terribly thankful that I had never let any one know -that I had ever thought _I_ could write. I got A on my compositions, -and A in everything else, but no one imagined that I was a genius. -They considered _me_ just a plain everyday shark. But I tried not to -be offensively smart. I flunked on purpose once in a while; I passed -notes in class whenever I could find any one to pass them to; I got -so I could turn off a "darn" as neatly as any of them, and pout and -say "The devil!" when I pricked my finger pinning down my belt. For I -was determined they shouldn't think me a "goody-goody" or a "teacher's -pet." I even crocheted a man's tie and pretended it was for a friend of -mine at a fashionable preparatory school in Massachusetts. I went so -far in my frantic endeavours, as to cut out from old magazines all the -pictures I could find of an actor, whom, by the way, I had never even -seen, and stuck them in the corners of the glass over my chiffonier. - -Oh, I tried to be like the other girls. I knew they hadn't liked their -first impressions of me, but I tried to show them that I wasn't as -queer as I looked. I tried to be pleasant and accommodating; I tried to -be patient and bide my time; I tried--heaven knows I tried, Alec--but -it was no use. From the start it was absolutely no go. I couldn't -make even the _worst_ of those girls my friends. I tell you I did my -level best, but I hadn't the clothes, nor the silver bureau-sets, nor -the frames, nor the men's pictures to put into them, nor the college -banners, nor the mother to send me boxes of food from home. Those girls -treated me as if I were the mud under their feet. If I was in the room, -I might as well have been the bed-post for all the attention they paid -to me. If I was told to walk with one of them during "Exercise," that -one was pitied by the rest. They looked upon my clothes as if I were a -Syrian or Turk in strange costume. I used to get hot all over whenever -I had to appear in a dress they had never seen. And, O Juliet--good -old loyal Juliet--you were afraid I would be spoiled by admiration! I -simply have to chortle with glee when I think of your warning to your -old chum. A swelled head! My _eyes_ got swollen instead, old Jule, with -tears! And Father--dear Father--there wasn't a single soul for me to be -kind to. _I_ was the most miserable one in the whole school, the most -unpopular, the most forlorn. And there's the truth in black and white. - -After about five weeks of an average of ten insults a day, I got tired. -Too long a stretch on the diet of humble-pie doesn't agree with me. -There's an end to every one's patience. One day in late November little -Japan up and fought; and once started, there was no stopping her. You -see the girls had gotten into the habit of asking me to help them with -their lessons. At first I was pleased, for I naturally thought that if -they would let me see their stupid minds, they would admit me into a -few of their intimacies and secret affairs--and oh, I did long to be -friends with them! But I discovered they had no such intention. - -One night I went into Beatrix Fox's room, by appointment, at quarter of -ten. She was waiting and ready for me, but I could see the remains of -a spread on the table and desk--crumbs, nutshells, olive-stones, and a -half-eaten bunch of Tokays. - -"Oh, here you are!" said Beatrix, and with no attempt at concealment, -she went on. "I've been having half a dozen girls to a spread," she -said. "But I told them to leave one piece of cake for _you_, Lucy. Here -it is. Now let's get at the Latin." - -I was awfully insulted. Beatrix Fox nor any one else had ever seen the -least fire or spunk in Lucy Vars before that night, but I couldn't hold -in a minute longer. I took the delicious piece of chocolate layer-cake -and went over to the waste-basket. I threw it in. "There's your cake!" -Beatrix stared as if I had gone crazy. "There's your old cake, Beatrix -Fox!" I repeated, and went out of the room. - -After that night I was a changed person. I couldn't be touched with -a ten-yard pole. I became a regular bunch of fire-crackers--spurting -and going off in everybody's face and eyes at the least spark. And -oh, to speak out my mind, and to spit out my feelings at last, was -simply glorious! It was like getting the rubber-dam off your tooth -after a three hours' sitting at the dentist's. After that experience -with Beatrix, there was no more Cicero translated nor French sentences -corrected by Lucy Vars for a single one of those stupid-minded, -rattle-brained young ladies. I made a notice on pasteboard in black ink -and hung it on my door. It read: "A PUBLIC TUTOR CAN BE OBTAINED FROM -MISS BROWN. DON'T APPLY HERE! LUCY CHENERY VARS." The girls thought the -sign was perfectly horrid and I was glad of it. I wanted to be horrid. -I revelled in it. I wanted to be horrid to everybody who had been -horrid to me. - -Once during "Written Exercise," I wrote a whole page of Latin -Composition wrong, so that little cheating snobbish Barbara Porter -next to me might copy it off on her paper and pass it in. At the bottom -of _my_ sheet I wrote, "I've made these mistakes on purpose. You may -give me zero." Miss Brown, in a long talk in her private office, told -me it was not a kind thing for me to do. But I didn't care. I had let -Barbara Porter copy my Latin Comp for five weeks without a murmur, and -she had never put _herself_ out to be kind to _me_. I wasn't going to -be anybody's door-mat! - -At Thanksgiving all the girls "double up," which means that the ones -who live far away spend the holiday with the ones who live near. Of -course no one wanted me. Gabriella, who at times tried to be nice to -me, felt conscience-stricken, I suppose, for she said to me one day -when we were dressing, "It's too bad you're going to be here alone, -Lucy. Don't you suppose Miss Brown would let you to come down to -East Orange" (Gabriella lived in East Orange, New Jersey) "and eat -Thanksgiving dinner with us?" - -I replied maliciously, "Why, I'm sure Miss Brown would let me spend the -entire three days with you, Gabriella." - -Gabriella hedged then, as I knew she would. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I'm -taking Grace and Barbara home with me, and there's a dance I do want to -go to--and--if you--" - -"O Gabriella," I broke in, "don't be alarmed. I shan't burden you for -one little tiny minute. I just wanted to frighten you. I wouldn't give -your friends at home such a shock as the sight of me would be, for -anything in the world. I shall enjoy, on the other hand, the quiet of -this room after my charming room-mate has departed." - -That's the way I talked but I wrote home: "Gabriella wants me awfully -to spend Thanksgiving with her. There is a dance and all sorts of -plans, but in spite of all her urging I've refused. There's quite a -bunch of us staying here" (the bunch were teachers), "and jolly spreads -and sprees in store." - -I didn't want my family to know--kind Alec, the arrogant twins, pretty -Ruth, and Father who used to be so proud of me--I didn't want them to -know what a poor little Cinderella I was. When I went home I wanted -every one to think I had had a glorious time at school, as all girls -do. I wanted my family to open their eyes and say, "My, how you're -changed!" and every one at church to whisper when I came in a little -late, "There's Lucy Vars home! Hasn't she grown up?" I wanted Dr. -Maynard to raise his hat to me when he met me on the street, and call -me Miss Vars. I wanted Juliet to gaze at me with envy. If there was any -real silver underneath the tarnish on me I was bound it should shine -when I went home at Christmas. And so it happened that I made up my -mind that if I couldn't make friends with my new schoolmates I could at -least learn something from them. I used to observe them very carefully -and jot down important points in my memory. Even the things that I -derided to their faces, I meant to copy when I went home. My brain -became a regular copybook of rules. - -"My skirts," I recorded, "should be below my shoe-tops, not above. - -"The way to keep a waist down, is to fasten it with a safety-pin -behind and a long black steel pin in front. - -"My nails should be as shining as a dinner-plate. - -"A shining face is not supposed to be pretty. - -"Powder is used to remove shine, and isn't wicked like rouge. - -"Girls of seventeen use hairpins and rats, and keep their hats on with -hatpins instead of elastics. - -"Mohair and gingham underskirts and Ferris waists are not worn by girls -of seventeen. - -"Huge taffeta bows underneath the chin, on the hair, or anywhere in -fact, is the rubber-stamp for a girl of my age. - -"Automobiles, actors, college football, and allowances are popular -subjects for conversation. - -"Don't break crackers into your soup. - -"Don't butter a whole slice of bread. - -"Don't cut up all your meat before beginning to eat." - -I used to watch Gabriella dress like a hawk. She had lots of clever -little tricks, like pinning up her pompadour to the brim of her hat, or -rubbing her cheeks with a hair-brush to make them rosy. She used to put -a little cologne just back of her ears, which I thought very queer, and -she was forever asking me if I could see light through her hair. Every -week she gave her face what she called a cold-cream bath. She said her -mother always did, after riding in the automobile. - -I planned to spend every cent of Alec's one hundred dollars on clothes. -I did all my shopping in New York. I adored New York! Saturday -afternoons when the other girls went to the matinée, the chaperone -allowed me to spend the time in the big department stores. I didn't -buy anything--just looked and looked, priced and priced, and when I -had a nice clerk, tried things on. Once I had my nails manicured, so -I would know how; once I went to a Fifth Avenue hair dresser, who -charged me a dollar and a half to make me look like a sight; and one -day I bought Father a necktie for fifty cents and Alec a scarf-pin for -seventy-five. That is all I spent until just before Christmas when I -blew in the whole hundred. For, you understand, it was not to impress -the girls at school, but the people at home, that I bought my new -outfit. It was not until after I had made a great many estimates and -carefully planned it all out on a piece of paper that I asked one of -the younger teachers, who I thought had good taste, if she would help -me buy a few trifling clothes on the following Saturday. - -We started on the early train and reached New York at nine o'clock. I -think that Saturday was the happiest day of my life! I bought a suit -for thirty-five dollars at Kirby's; a hat marked down to ten dollars -at Earl & Kittredge's; a silk dress for twenty-five dollars; a spotted -veil for fifty cents; a barette for twenty cents; pumps for four -dollars; one pair of silk stockings for one dollar, and so on. I had -just seven dollars and sixty-seven cents left after I had bought my -last purchase--a lovely red silk waist for travelling. My suit was dark -blue, my boots tan with Cuban heels, and my blue velvet hat had two -reddish quills in it. I was awfully pleased with my selections, and I -confided to Miss Davis, the teacher, that I wasn't going to wear any of -the things until the very day I started for home. - -"And now," I said, "I'm going to take you to luncheon, Miss Davis, -after which I want you to be my guest at a matinée." - -It was simply grand to have money! It makes you feel like a queen to -fling it around as if it were paper. After I had spent almost a hundred -dollars Miss Davis thought I was an heiress in disguise, and to carry -out the part I left the whole of fifty cents as a tip for our waiter at -luncheon. I told Miss Davis to pick out the most popular play in New -York for us to see. We bought the best seats in the house. - -Never, never as long as I live shall I forget those two hours and a -half of perfect happiness! I'd never seen anything but vaudeville in my -life, and I almost cry now when I think of that play. It was perfectly -grand. The hero kept looking right straight at me all the time and what -do you think? What do you suppose? He was the very actor whose pictures -I had cut out and stuck in my mirror! He was Robert K. Dwinnell, and I -hadn't known until I was inside the theatre and looked at the program -that he was in New York. It seemed to me too strange a coincidence to -be true. I don't believe in omens, but Miss Davis told me afterward -she hadn't the slightest idea that I had been collecting his pictures. -After that play I could hardly speak. The queer grey light of day after -the glow of the footlights, didn't seem real. Boarding-school and all -the girls seemed trifling. I couldn't think of anything except Robert -Dwinnell and that play all the way back in the train. I felt that I was -the beautiful heroine instead of Lucy Vars. I felt her joy at meeting -her lover instead of my anguish at going back to a lot of unfriendly -girls. I lived and breathed in the action of the plot I had just seen. -I couldn't get away from it. Before I boarded the train that night I -dragged Miss Davis into a small shop which we passed on the way to the -station, and with the last fifty cents of Alec's one hundred dollars I -bought a real picture of Robert Dwinnell. The picture is here now in -this very cupola, in the top drawer of my desk and is the only comfort -that I have. Mr. Dwinnell is sitting on the edge of a table swinging -one foot, just as he did in the play--I remember the place in the third -act--and his eyes are looking right at me. - -I wonder, oh, I wonder sometimes, if he and I will ever meet. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -It was about a week before the Christmas vacation that my last outbreak -at boarding-school occurred. It was one noon after lunch when I was -passing through the hall on my way upstairs. I had to go by Sarah -Platt's room, where the little clique of girls I had once longed to be -one of, used often to congregate after luncheon before the two o'clock -study-hour. They were gathered there to-day, talking and laughing -together in their usual mysterious manner, and I wondered vaguely as -I went by, what they were discussing now. I never allowed myself to -listen intentionally, but the conversation of those girls, who were -still strangers to me, always fascinated me, and I confess I used to -overhear all that I could without being dishonourable. As I sauntered -by the half-closed door of that room I recognised the voice of Sarah -Platt herself, who of all the girls I had aspired to make my best -friend. Sarah was a dashing kind of girl and would show off to awfully -good advantage before my family if I had invited her to visit me. - -"Well," I heard her say, "I think Miss Brown is taking her in on -charity." - -I knew Sarah must be referring to me and I stopped stock-still. - -"Why, she hasn't _anything_, and this horrid place is probably a palace -to her!" - -I flushed with rage. Palace nothing! - -"I think," said a little Jewess by the name of Elsie Weil, "it's too -bad for Gabriella. I'd hate to have such a room-mate forced on _me_." - -"I don't think Miss Brown ought to take such a girl in at all and make -us who pay a thousand dollars a year be intimate with a person we never -can know socially," drawled Sarah Platt. "It's hard on her too," she -finished patronisingly. - -"Oh, don't mind about _me_," I breathed, ready to explode. - -"I'm just tired," another girl broke in, "of having all the teachers, -and Miss Brown too, talking and lecturing to us about being nice to -_Lucy, Lucy, Lucy_ all the time." - -"And the spite and scorn that the child puts on lately," added Sarah, -"is perfectly absurd. As if she had anything to back it up!" - -"I know," went on the little Jewess, "her family can't be much. You can -see that. Did you ever notice the row of old-fashioned family pictures -on the back of her chiffonier?" - -At that I caught my breath. My dear good family! And without waiting to -hear another word I flung open the door. There were six or seven girls -before me crowded together in a bunch on a couch in the corner. I felt -myself grow suddenly calm as I stood there before them not saying a -word, and they staring back at me as if I were an apparition. - -"I heard every single word you said," I began slowly, "every single -word!" Then my thoughts collected themselves and filed by in the order -of soldiers on parade. "I don't care a straw for your opinions. I -feel above every one of you. It makes me smile to think I would be -the least disturbed by common and uneducated westerners," for Sarah -lived in Missouri, "or Jews!" I spat at Elsie Weil. "You needn't any -of you trouble about being kind to me. I don't want your kindness. I'm -perfectly indifferent to every one of you. I am _not_ here on charity; -and as for the pictures on my chiffonier, if you don't like them, lump -them, or else keep your eyes at home." I knew I was acting unladylike -but I was fired up and couldn't help going on. "My family may not have -fashionable photographs, my clothes may be as ugly as mud, but if you -_knew_ who my older brother is, if you _knew_ who my father is, if you -_knew_! My father is president of the Vars & Company Woollen Mills; my -father is a director in the Hilton County Savings Bank; my father is a -state senator; my father--oh, I shan't tell you all he is, because you -haven't got enough brains to appreciate it. It would be like telling -monkies about Abraham Lincoln!" I stopped just a moment, but no one -spoke. All those girls huddled together in a bunch just kept on staring -as they would at a rearing horse in a parade, meekly from the sidewalk. -"You don't know about anything but clothes and theatres. And let me -tell you once for all I don't want anything of _any_ of you." Sarah -Platt opened her mouth to speak. I cut her off short. "Keep still, -Sarah Platt," I said. "Don't you dare address one word to me!" Oh, -I wanted to do something insulting, like sticking out my tongue, or -making an ugly face. But instead I just said, "And don't one of you in -this room ever assume to speak one word to me as long as you live!" And -I turned, stalked out of the room, and went straight upstairs. - -I don't know how I could have said anything so horrid as all that, and -I seventeen years old, but somehow it is always easier for me to roll -off spiteful things than anything sweet and kind. I am always less -embarrassed about it. Poor Alec would have been awfully disappointed to -have heard such an outburst from his sister. Father would have said, -"Oh, Lucy!" The arrogant twins wouldn't have wanted to own me. Only -my dear old chum Juliet Adams would have been proud. She would have -exclaimed, "Bully for you, Bobs!" - -When I reached my room on the next floor, I calmly opened the door and -went in. Gabriella was standing by her desk. I never shall forget how -she looked--perfectly white and staring at me horribly. I wondered what -ailed her, for she couldn't have heard my tirade on the floor below. - -"What's the matter, Gabriella?" I asked. - -"Oh, Lucy," she began, then sank down in a chair by her desk, leaned -forward with her head buried in her arms, and began to cry dreadfully. - -I went over to her. - -"Gabriella," I said, sorry for her somehow, for though she was one -of Sarah Platt's clique she had not been talking about me; she was, -after all, my room-mate, and at least she let me see her cry. "Please, -Gabriella, tell me what it is." - -"Miss Brown," she choked, "wants--" she stopped, then wailed, "_you_!" - -"Me?" I groped blindly. Me? Had my awful words been telegraphed to Miss -Brown's office? Did she know already? I couldn't follow. Things were -happening too rapidly. "Me, Gabriella," I asked. "But what for? Please -stop crying and tell me." - -I could barely catch a few words amidst her violent sobs. - -"_My_ father," she said. (I knew Gabriella's father had died the winter -before when she was away at school.) "A telegram," she stumbled on, and -I waited, "_your_ father--" - -My father! - -I went to Gabriella quickly, put my arm about her and leaned my head -down close to hers. - -"Listen, Gabriella. Be quiet for just one minute and answer me. Did you -say _my_ father?" and then in a fresh torrent of sobs I heard her "Yes." - -I left her crying there and went down through the long corridors to -Miss Brown's office. I passed Sarah Platt's room without knowing it. I -even passed some one in the hall but I have no idea who it was. I kept -thinking, "This is your first test. Be ready and don't break." - -Miss Brown was at her desk. She started a little when she saw me, then -smiled--how could she smile--and said, "Oh, Gabriella found you. Come -here, dear," and she put out her hand. I closed the door and then -backed up against it. I couldn't go near Miss Brown. I didn't want her -tissue-paper sympathy. - -"What's happened to my father, Miss Brown?" I asked. "You can tell me -the very worst right off." - -She didn't hedge any more. - -"He is very, very ill," she replied, going straight to the point as I -liked to have her. - -"Does that mean," I said, "that he is--is--" I couldn't say it--"is -worse than very ill?" I finished. - -"No," she replied. "No, Lucy. Your father is still living. I have just -called up your brother by long distance telephone and they want you -to come home immediately. It is your father's heart." Then she added, -looking at me firmly, as if she were upholding me by the hand: "It is a -long trip. You must be prepared for the worst, Lucy." I didn't answer -and she turned to her desk, picked up a piece of paper and passed it to -me. "Read it," she said. "It is a telegram for you." - -I looked down and these words greeted me like dear, comforting friends: - -"_Stand up, Bobbie. Be brave. We need you to be strong. Alec._" - -It was just as if my dear brother Alec were suddenly there like -a miracle in the room beside me, and _now_, at last, I would not -disappoint him. - -I looked up at Miss Brown. - -"When is there a train?" I asked calmly; but to myself I was saying -over and over again, "Stand up. Be brave. They need you to be strong." - -Miss Brown came over to me, and I must say I've always liked her from -that day to this. She didn't say anything silly or comforting to me. -That would all have been so useless. She just took my hand in a man's -sort of way and held it firmly a minute in hers, "Your brother will be -proud of you," she said. That was all, but do you think then I would -have failed? - -"We will go upstairs and pack," she added immediately, and I followed -her, bound now to control myself or die. - -I don't know how I ever got started. I only know there was a confused -half-hour of packing, with Miss Brown helping and Gabriella close by -me all the time. Gabriella couldn't seem to do enough. I saw her slip -her pink kimono into my suit-case; I saw her pin one of her beautiful -pearl bars on my red silk waist. She got out my new blue suit and -brushed it; my new hat with the red quills; and while I combed my -hair, she laced my new tan shoes. I understood that it was her way of -telling me how sorry she was, for every once in a while she'd have to -stop and cry. Once she said, "Oh, I am so sorry I've been so mean. I -hope--oh, I do _hope_ you'll come back, Lucy." But I didn't care now. -It was too late. All my thoughts were with my family who needed me. -I gathered their dear pictures together in a pile and put them in my -suit-case--Father's picture too, but I didn't trust myself to look at -it. Dear Father--but I didn't dare let myself think, just at first. - -I felt in the air that all the girls knew my news about as soon as I -did. Of course they didn't come near me. Even if I had been popular I -don't believe they would have come. Sorrow somehow builds up such a -barrier, and the one or two girls I met in the corridors kept close to -the other wall and tried to avoid meeting my eyes. Gabriella and Miss -Brown and the English teacher, whom I had always hated, saw me off. I -begged to take the trip alone and Miss Brown finally allowed it. - -I thought of everything during that journey, and the more I thought -the more I trusted myself to think, I don't know what made me so -clear-headed and fearless, but I'd run my thoughts right up to any hard -truth, and they wouldn't balk; they'd go right over. My mother had died -when I was so little that I did not remember it and so this was the -first test I had ever had. Perhaps--oh, perhaps,--I faced it clearly -and squarely--perhaps when I was met at the station they would tell me -that I had come too late. I knew now that I wouldn't give way. Some -great wonderful strength was in me and I wasn't afraid of myself. My -home-coming was very different from the one I had planned, but when we -drew near to the familiar old station I just said, "Be strong," and I -knew that I should. - -Dr. Maynard was at the station to meet me. The minute he got hold of my -hand he said, "It's all right. You're not too late." - -"That's good," I replied, but somehow I couldn't feel any more joy than -sorrow. I remember, in the carriage, I asked lots of straight-forward, -businesslike questions and Dr. Maynard answered me in the same way. -There was no hope. The end might come at any moment. When he stopped -before our door and helped me out, he said, "Bobbie, you're a brave -girl." But I wasn't. I couldn't have cried. I didn't know how. - -I went into the house while Dr. Maynard stopped to hitch and blanket -his horse. I found the twins and Ruth and Aunt Sarah all in the -sitting-room. It didn't come to my mind then, but now, as I remember -it, it was all very different from the triumphant entry I had planned. -No one jumped up to greet me, and my new suit and tan shoes and hat -with the quills were all unnoticed even by myself. The twins came -forward and kissed me--not embarrassed as they usually are, but -scarcely realising it. They didn't say anything, just kissed me and -turned away. Ruth lay prostrate on the couch. She didn't stir at sight -of me and I went up to her and kissed her on the temple. At that she -buried her face deeper into the cushions and began to sob. Aunt Sarah -looked as if she had been crying for weeks. She sat quietly rocking -by the west window and her big, dyed-out, blue eyes were swimming -in tears, brimming over, and running down her wrinkled face. It's -something awful to me, to see a grown person cry. It's like an old -wreck at sea, and I just couldn't kiss her. Everybody so horrible and -silent and dismal, was worse somehow than death, and just for a moment -I stood kind of helpless in the middle of the room. Then the door into -the library opened and I saw my dear tired, patient Alec, and suddenly -his arms were around me tight, holding me close--close to him and I -heard him murmur, "Good Bobbie, good, brave Bobbie," and oh, if I can -hate people awfully, I can love them too. When he let me go, he said -calmly, "Don't you want to come and see Father?" and I followed him -upstairs. - -Dr. Maynard led me to the side of Father's bed and I took one of -Father's dear, familiar hands in mine. Alec sat down on the other side -and for a while we three waited silently until Father should wake -up. I wasn't frightened. It all seemed very natural, and none of the -heart-breaking thoughts that came to me all during the weeks after -he left us came to me then. It really seemed almost beautiful to be -waiting there until Father should wake up. When finally he opened his -eyes and saw me, he smiled, and pressed my hand a very little. Then he -spoke. - -"Lucy!" he said; and after a long pause, "Do you like school?" he -asked, just as naturally as if we were having a nice little talk -downstairs. - -"Oh, yes, dear Father, I do!" I answered, and he pressed my hand again. -It didn't strike me so very deeply then that my last word to my father -was a lie, but afterward I used to cry about it for hours and hours. -After a moment my father turned to Alec, "Stand by the business, my -son," he murmured. - -And without a moment's hesitation my brother promised, "I will, Father." - -I didn't think Father would say anything more, for he closed his eyes -again, but after a while he opened them and I saw he was actually -noticing my hat and red waist, and the pearl pin Gabriella had given -me. He smiled and I heard him murmur, "Pretty!" That was all; and -oh, since, I have been so glad that my new clothes did so much more -than I had ever hoped. For that was the last word my father said. I -felt his hand grow limp in mine, and just then Dr. Maynard touched my -shoulder and led me quietly away. He told me to lie down on the bed in -the guest-room. I obeyed him and when, a little later, he came to me -I understood the message in his eyes. I didn't feel the awfulness of -it then nor I didn't have the least inclination to cry. I lay there -very quietly for half an hour, then of my own accord I got up and went -downstairs. - -I found Aunt Sarah by the window still crying without the grace of -covering her tear-stained face. The twins were not there. Ruth jumped -up when I came in and clung to me frantically. - -"Aunt Sarah," I asked, annoyed, "_why_ do you sit there and cry?" - -"Unnatural girl," she answered, "have you no heart, no tears? Don't you -know your father has died?" - -At those awful words poor little Ruth clung to me still tighter and -wailed, "Oh, send her away, make her go off!" - -I replied to my aunt, "Aunt Sarah, don't you know you shouldn't speak -like that before Ruth? I'm surprised." - -A little later Alec came quietly into the room. Poor Ruthie flung -herself upon him just as she had upon me, and as he held her and patted -her shoulder, he said, looking at me in a way that made me stronger, -"Lucy, you will find Oliver in the alcove under the stairs. Go to him -and give him something to do." - -Poor Oliver was crying as only a boy of sixteen who isn't used to it -can, I guess--dreadfully uncontrolled. He was sitting on the leather -couch, leaning forward with his face in his hands. I went straight -over to him and sinking down beside him, put my arms right around him. -Poor Oliver--poor big broken Oliver! All the hate in my heart for that -cruel twin rolled right away when I felt his great big body leaning up -against me. I loved him just as if he were my son come home. We sat -there together a long while--just Oliver and I--and finally when he -was a little quieter he managed to say, "Don't--don't tell Alec and -Malcolm--that I--I--" - -"Of course I won't, Oliver," I assured him, and then I added just as if -nothing had happened, "My trunk is still at the station, Oliver. I need -it awfully. Here's the check. It's dark out now. Will you go down and -see about it?" - -He looked away and replied in a voice that tried to sound natural, -"Sure, I'll go," and stood up and blew his nose very hard. I saw him -glance into the mirror over the fireplace. Then, "Will you get my -overcoat and hat?" he asked shamefacedly. When he went out of the house -he had the visor of his cap pulled well down over his eyes, and his -hands shoved deep into his pockets. We hadn't said a word about Father. - -As for myself, I don't know what was the matter. I honestly didn't seem -to feel a thing. I was just like a soulless machine. During the three -following days I wrote notes, sent telegrams, saw about a black dress -for Ruth, Aunt Sarah and myself, planned good nourishing meals for -the family, went on errands, and "picked up" every room in the house, -for they certainly looked awful. I didn't sleep and I wasn't hungry. -I was wound up pretty tight, I guess, for it took me a long while to -run down. On the second afternoon Dr. Maynard took me out to drive and -then shut me up in my bedroom with the curtains all drawn tight and a -little white sleeping-powder to take in fifteen minutes if I didn't -go to sleep. I took the powder and stayed awake all night besides. -Once during those blind, confused three days Juliet came to see me, to -tell me how sorry she was I suppose, but I wasn't glad to have her. -I remember I just said, "Hello, Juliet, how's basket-ball and high -school?" I wasn't glad to see even Tom and Elise. When Elise held me -tight in her arms and whispered, "Poor little Bobbie!" I felt like a -hypocrite, and pulled away. Every time the door-bell rang and I knew -that it was some one else who had come to try and comfort us, I wanted -to lock myself in my room. My head ached and my eyes felt like chunks -of lead. But I didn't want sympathy. I didn't need it. - -The end came the night after the funeral. It hadn't occurred to me but -that I would go back to boarding-school after Christmas. We were all in -the sitting-room--all but Aunt Sarah who finally had stopped crying and -was recuperating in her bed upstairs. Tom and Alec were discussing all -sorts of plans, and I remember that Dr. Maynard, who seemed to be one -of the family now, was there too. I wasn't following the conversation -very closely, and suddenly I heard Tom say, "Well certainly the sooner -Aunt Sarah packs up, the better." - -"Why, who then," I asked, "will take her place?" - -Alec looked up. - -"What do you mean, Bobbie," he asked. "You'll be here, won't you?" - -"Why, no. I shall be at boarding-school," I replied. - -At that Ruth suddenly flopped over on the couch and began her usual -torrent of crying. "I hate Aunt Sarah! I hate Aunt Sarah! I hate Aunt -Sarah!" she wailed. - -"The whole fall was rotten!" put in Malcolm. "Do you mean to say, Lucy, -that you're going back to that school?" he fired. - -"I guess your duty is _here_, Bobbie, old girl," said Tom; and Elise -got up and came over to my chair. - -"I know how hard it is to give up school," she said sweetly, "but they -do need you, don't they, dear? Later, perhaps--" - -"Well, I must say," interrupted Oliver, who was master of himself -without any doubt now, "if this isn't the greatest! Look here, Alec," -he asked, "do you intend to allow Bobbie to neglect us in this fashion?" - -And Alec, dear Alec, across the room just smiled and said, looking -straight at me, "I am going to let her do as she thinks best," and his -eyes were full of kindness. - -I got up then. My knees were trembling. I thought at last I was going -to break down and cry. They wanted--oh, finally my family wanted me! I -didn't know whether to trust my voice or not. - -"Well," I said a little wobbly, trying to smile back at Alec, "I'll -think it over." And as soon as I could, I sneaked out of the room, on -the pretense of getting a drink of water. I went into the little back -hall off the kitchen, took an old golf cape that was hanging there, -threw it over my shoulders, and went outdoors. It didn't seem as if I -could get my breath inside the house. It was dark, the stars had come -out, and I went out of the back gate, walking as hard and fast as I -could. I knew I must do something, for as wicked as it seems I was -almost crazy with happiness, and I was afraid that at any moment, now -at the very last, I should give up entirely, lie down at the side of -the road and cry and cry. I almost ran as I hurried along, and all the -time I kept saying, "Hold on. Be strong. Don't let go." Yet I knew the -storm was gathering and I was losing my grip. I didn't plan to go to -Juliet's house, but suddenly I saw it looming up in front of me, and -it occurred to me to stop and tell Juliet my beautiful good news. So I -hurried to the back door and burst into the kitchen. The Adams's cook -gave an awful start. - -"Good Lord!" she exclaimed. - -"Hannah," I asked, and my voice was strange and hoarse, "where's -Juliet?" - -"Why, at dinner," gasped Hannah, staring at me. "What is it, Miss Lucy?" - -"Tell her to come up to her room," I managed to say, and in our usual -informal way I dashed up the back stairs to Juliet's room, which I -knew so well. I waited impatiently in the dark and in a minute I heard -Juliet pounding up the stairs. Then I saw her coming through the hall, -her white napkin in her hand. I grabbed her. - -"Juliet," I cried, "Juliet, I'm not going back to boarding-school! They -want me here! I'm so happy I don't know what to do. It's horrible to be -happy but I am, I _am_!" And then it struck me so funny to be happy on -such a day that I laughed! I laughed simply dreadfully. All my pent-up -feelings burst forth then, and I laughed till I cried. I could hear -myself laugh and that made me laugh more, and then Juliet looked so -queer and thunderstruck that that added to it. Pretty soon Mrs. Adams -was there and they were putting cold water on my face, which struck me -as the hugest joke I ever heard of, for they must have thought I was -hysterical. I laughed so hard that actually I hadn't enough will or -strength left to stop if I tried--I, who am usually so controlled. I -got down on the floor finally, and then I don't remember anything more. - -When I woke up it must have been hours later, for I was all undressed -lying quietly in Juliet's bed, and there was Mrs. Adams going out of -the door, and there--yes--there was Dr. Maynard behind her. There was -a low light on the table by the bed and beside it sat my dear stolid -Juliet. I thought at first I would burst out laughing again to see her -sitting there with her funny little tight pig-tails braided for the -night, with me in her bed getting her sheets all hot. Just then she -looked up. - -"Hello, Bob," she said in her commonplace, natural way. "Want a drink -of water?" and she came over and gave me a little sip out of a glass. I -didn't remember anything then, only that it was good to have old Juliet -around. - -"There was no one as nice as you at school, Juliet," I said. - -"I guess that's a merry jest," she replied in her usual way. She took -the glass away and I heard her go out of the room. I lay there very -quietly and watched the dim light flickering. There was a little clock -somewhere that was ticking quietly. - -Then--oh, then I came back to life, and suddenly the thought of my -dear, dear father returned to me. I began to cry softly for the first -time, and finally fell asleep. - -As I sit here this soft spring day and listen for the noon-whistle on -Father's factory to blow, I shall not wait for the sight of Dixie and -the phaeton coming up the hill, for Alec will be alone and I hate to be -reminded of too many places left empty by Father. Father had so many -favourite chairs. In every room in the house it seems as if he had his -special place. And his roll-top desk closed and locked, his various -pairs of shoes and slippers which he used to keep underneath all put -away, makes the dear spot look as if it were for rent. I hate the -neat orderly air of the sitting-room. It seems to be reproaching me. -Father used to love to fill the room with all kinds and descriptions -of papers. Everything, from a folder left at the front door directed -to "The Lady of the House" to year-old newspapers, Father wanted -preserved. There were three piles of the _Scientific Machinist_, four -feet high, stacked up in one corner. I used to beg Father to let me -carry off those _Scientific Machinists_ at least--they collected dust -fearfully--but he wouldn't allow me even to suggest such an idea. So -on my own responsibility one day, I stealthily took away some of the -bottom ones and packed them in the storeroom. I knew he'd never miss -them and the pile was growing. Every month I'd clear out the paper -case, preferring to annoy the kindest father a girl ever had to having -an untidy room. I cry when I think of the kind of daughter I was; I -cry and cry in the middle of the night. I wasn't good! I wasn't good! -I write it down for every one to see. Of course it's too late now, -but I've taken down the muslin curtains from Father's room, and the -lace ones from the sitting-room. Father never approved of hangings -of any kind. I don't allow the cat in the front of the house. I -haven't destroyed a single folder, pamphlet or catalogue. The pile of -_Scientific Machinists_ I wouldn't move from the corner for anything in -the world. - -Oh, Father, if you were only here to be pleased; if you were only here -to scatter papers around; if you were only here to ring the gong for -dinner, call Ruthie "baby," me "chicken," say "Hello, boys!" to the -twins, and then sit down opposite me, clear your throat and ask the -blessing; if you were here again I would be a better oldest daughter. I -wouldn't tease for a rubber-tired runabout, for new wallpaper, nor for -that brass bed for my room. - -I don't know where you are, nor where my mother is, but somehow up here -in this cupola on a starry night, when I sit on the window-seat, lie -flat back with my head out of the open window, and look up into that -great dome of a sky, I feel as if you two may be together somewhere, -perhaps seeing me. - -But I don't _know_. There are times when I'm dreadfully doubtful; there -are times that I don't believe anything. I think I may be an atheist! -I have never discussed the subject with anybody, but occasionally it -comes to me, just as the fear used to come that I was adopted, that -religion is all a lie. I know I'm a member of the church, and it may be -horribly wicked of me, but once in a while right in the middle of my -prayers at night, I'll stop and think, "Perhaps no one is hearing me at -all." - -Really, I wonder sometimes if any other girl ever had such awful -thoughts. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -One day last fall I received an important letter from Oliver. The twins -are in college now, perfectly great fellows and awfully prominent. I -don't know what they don't belong to down there at that university; -and good-looking--well, I just wish Gabriella or Sarah Platt or horrid -little Elsie Weil could lay their eyes on Oliver's last photograph. -He's stunning! The big loose baggy clothes that college men wear, suit -those two boys perfectly, and though I refuse to put on the worshipful -air that Ruth assumes in the twins' presence, I'm just exactly as proud -of my brothers as any girl in this world. Oliver is the better-looking -of the two and the more athletic. He's a member of the crew now, and -it gave me an awfully funny feeling up and down my spine when I saw my -younger brother's picture in one of the Boston papers. Malcolm is the -more studious, wears glasses and sings in the Glee Club. He isn't "a -greasy grind" at all--not that sort, but he never gets into scrapes or -mix-ups, and doesn't seem to need so much money. - -Money was what Oliver's important letter to me was about. Usually he -wrote to Alec but this time he appealed to me. When I tore open his -letter at the breakfast table and started to read it out-loud to Alec -and Ruthie as usual, I was confronted with great printed notices at -the top and on the margins--PRIVATE! PERSONAL! DO NOT READ OUT LOUD! -SECRET! and so forth. I assure you I shuffled that letter back into its -envelope as quickly as I could and waited for a quiet hour by myself. -This is what the letter said: - - "_Dear Bobbie_, - - "This is _very_ important. So shut the door and read it carefully. - I'm writing to you because you have influence with Alec, and you've - _got_ to use it. Alec doesn't seem to realise the demands on a man - down here. When he and Tom were at college they had all the money - they wanted, and they don't in the least understand the mighty - embarrassing position it puts a fellow in to have _no cash_. I get - pretty sick of sponging. There are certain class and society dues, - Athletic Association fees, etc., that any kind of a good fellow must - ante up on. Alec doesn't in the least appreciate the situation. He's - getting mighty close lately, it seems to me, and every time he sends - me my measly monthly allowance, he seems to think it's a good chance - to drool out a sermon on economy. Economy! Heavens, I've been known - time and time again to walk out from town after the theatre, to save a - five-cent car-fare. I've been to some of the swellest dances that are - given in a hired dress-suit. _Of course_ I had to have some evening - clothes. _You_ would know that. - - Now look here, Bobbie, it so happens that I've got to have something - that resembles a hundred dollars! Don't jump. I'll pay it all - back--every cent. But it's serious, and I _must have it_. If you can't - get it from Alec, can't you borrow it out of the Household Account - which you have charge of? I'll make it right with you in a week or so, - and be more than grateful. - - "Your affectionate brother, - "OLIVER." - - "P. S. - - "Don't let Malcolm know I need this money, nor tell Alec what you - want it for. And by the way, I must have seventy-five of the hundred - by December third at the latest _absolutely_. Understand this is no - ordinary matter. If I don't get the money somehow it will mean public - disgrace. Comprenez-vous?" - -Now Oliver knew as well as I that we were dreadfully poor. Ever since -Father died, Alec had made it very plain to us that we were on the -ragged edge of financial disaster. We had never been what any one could -call prosperous--at least not since I could remember--but when Alec -took hold of the reins at Father's woollen mills he found things in -a pretty bad condition, I guess. He explained to Malcolm and Oliver -just exactly how uncertain our financial future was, before they even -started in at college. He told them that they must let it be known, -early in their college course, that they couldn't afford the luxuries -of well-to-do men's sons. He said that college must mean to them a -period of serious preparation. It was only due to Tom's generosity, he -explained, that it was possible for the twins to go to college at all. -Tom assumed the responsibility of the twins' tuition. "And sometime," -announced Alec emphatically, "both you boys are to pay back that -loan, every cent." "Sure. Certainly. Count on us!" were the replies -they made. They were overwhelming in their assurances. There was no -grumbling _then_ when Alec preached to them about economy. - -It was just before the twins went to college that we were all put on -an allowance. Alec called us together one day in the sitting-room and -we talked it over. Alec conducts those discussions of ours with a lot -of ceremony. He sits in Father's big chair and allows each one of us -to state his or her opinion, while the rest sit quietly and listen. -Even little Ruth may say what she thinks and no one is allowed to break -in or interrupt. Alec is the jury and the judge all in one, and when -he has heard both sides and weighed the question carefully he makes -the decision. Tom is the higher court, but I've never known Tom once -to disagree with Alec's verdict, so it doesn't do much good to appeal -your case. At that meeting in the sitting-room it was arranged that -Ruth and I should receive each twelve dollars a month, and when it came -to the twins we all agreed that they ought to have a great deal more -than two girls living at home. Alec said that he would start them on -twenty-five apiece, and out of that amount everything, except board and -room and doctor's bills, should be paid. At the same time Alec also -arranged a household allowance, and I was very proud when he appointed -me keeper of the Household Account. I was glad he thought me old and -able enough for such a position and was bound to prove myself worthy. -Every month he made out a check to me for fifty dollars and put it in -the bank under my name. I paid the grocery and provision bill on the -tenth of every month, submitted a report of the different items to Alec -on a long ruled sheet of paper, which he, when he had time, examined -and O.K'd. He impressed upon me again and again the absolute necessity -of keeping the Household Account separate from my own. He told me in -a long talk how awfully dishonest it would be if I ever used a single -cent of that deposit for anything but household expenses. He went so -far as to give me examples of cashiers in banks who were put in prison -because they borrowed a little money now and then from the bank for -their own use, fully intending to pay it back as soon as they could. -So you see that when Oliver suggested my borrowing from the Household -Account it was entirely out of the range of possibility to consider -such a thing. - -I felt sorry for Oliver. I knew exactly how much he must have wanted -a dress-suit. It seemed to me a perfect shame to have two corking -fine fellows like the twins cheated out of friends and good times and -popularity--like myself at boarding-school--because they couldn't -afford the proper clothes or pay their shares on spreads and theatre -parties. A hundred dollars was an awfully lot but I put Oliver's letter -into my work-bag the evening of the day it came and went down into the -sitting-room after supper to join Alec by the drop-light on Father's -desk. Every evening I sewed while Alec worked on the factory books. -Alec didn't talk much lately. He didn't seem to want to. He was usually -too tired for anything but bed, when he finally closed the big ledgers, -but I was always there beside him just the same. The twins sent their -laundry home every two weeks in an extension-bag, and it's quite a -job keeping two strapping college boys sewed up. To-night as I weaved -in and out across a delicate little hole in a mauve-coloured sock of -Oliver's it looked to me as if it were an expensive sock: it had silk -clocks embroidered up the side. I was so busy, planning just how I -would approach Alec for that hundred dollars, that he startled me when -he turned around in Father's revolving desk-chair. - -"Bobbie, I want to talk with you," he said. - -"All right," I replied gladly. "Go on." Perhaps, I thought to myself, -there will be a chance to introduce Oliver's letter. - -Alec folded his hands on the slide of the desk drawn out between us. - -"We're spending too much money," he said simply. - -I had heard that same sentiment expressed so often that I wasn't deeply -impressed. I had observed in spite of Alec's continued talk about -economy that there was always enough to pay the bills. I continued -sewing. - -"Of course; I know," I said, trying to appear sympathetic. - -"No, Bobbie," Alec replied; "I don't think you do. It is different this -time. Will you stop sewing?" - -"What do you mean?" I asked, dropping my work in my lap. - -"Bobbie," Alec said, "perhaps you will understand the seriousness of -the situation when I tell you that I do not think that we ought to live -in such a big house." - -"Not live here?" I exclaimed. - -"I'm afraid not, Lucy. It's a big place to keep up for just you and me -and Ruth. We can't afford it." - -"Has the business failed, Alec?" I interrupted with kind of a sick -feeling in my stomach. - -"Certainly not," he said in an annoyed sort of manner as if he had not -liked me to ask. "We're simply living way beyond what we can afford; -that's all. We've got to cut down. I don't know how long it may take -to make a favourable sale of this house, but in the meanwhile we can't -afford to keep two servants. I'm sorry, Lucy; I'm sorry; but it's a -matter of economy _to-day_, not economy _to-morrow_. I've thought it -all out," my brother continued, beginning now to pace up and down the -room. "I know Nellie has been with us twenty years. We shall miss her; -but she's not strong, she can't cook or wash. We must have a good young -Irish girl--five dollars a week--not more. It means a big change this -time, you see. I had hoped to avoid such a course as this, but if we -are to escape a worse catastrophe--" - -I don't know what Alec went on talking about as he walked up and down -that sitting-room floor; I don't know how long he continued explaining, -and trying to make clear to me the seriousness of our situation; I -don't know; I really _don't know_. I sat stunned and silent in my -chair, not stirring a muscle. _Sell our home!_ Why, Father had built -it. I had been born in it. _Dismiss Nellie!_ Why, Nellie had known my -mother. Nellie was part of the foundation of our lives. I couldn't take -in the succeeding facts because those two were stuck in my throat. I -felt like crying out, "Don't, don't cram any more in. I'm choking!" But -Alec kept right on. - -"The stable, of course, I shall close immediately. We mustn't keep a -horse. I shall have to get rid of Dixie." - -It isn't a nice figure, but at that last announcement I gulped up all -that I had tried to swallow before. - -"O Alec," I interrupted, "poor little Dixie! Please, please, _please_ -don't sell Dixie!" I pleaded. "Please don't sell our home," I cried. -"Why, where shall we live? Don't send Nellie away. Don't! Don't! I'll -do anything! I won't buy a stitch for myself. And I'll work--I'll work -my hands to the bones! I can earn something. But oh, don't sell dear, -poor little Dixie." I leaned forward suddenly and burst into tears. -"Oh, everything has always been hard in my life--hard, hard, hard!" I -sobbed. - -Alec came over and stood in front of me perfectly silent. He hadn't -seen me go into a passion like this for years. I could feel his tired -kind gaze burrowing through my two hands that covered my face. I wished -he wouldn't look so troubled and sad, for though I didn't glance up, I -knew exactly how disappointed in me he was--how shocked by my tears. -For a full half-minute he said nothing. He waited until I was perfectly -quiet, then he spoke very gently. - -"Why, Bobbie," he said, "ever since the day that you came from -boarding-school when Father was so ill, and I came into the room and -found you strong and calm and self-possessed, ever since then I have -thought of you as _my partner_." He stopped. "But perhaps this--_this_ -is too much. Perhaps--" - -"No, Alec," I said, ashamed; "no, it isn't too much. Just wait a -minute, please." - -"I will," said Alec kindly, and walked over to the window. - -I guess it might have been two minutes he waited. His back was toward -me when I mopped my eyes, when I tucked my handkerchief into the front -of my shirt-waist and stood up. I summoned all my strength. Alec is my -commander-in-chief, and I tried to rally my forces before him. I must -not be a coward before Alec. I took up my sewing. - -"I won't be so foolish again," I remarked evenly. "You can tell me -_anything_ now." - -And my general replied, "That's the sort," and smiled. "As to the -twins," he went on, taking me at my word, "here's a letter stating -the situation to them." He gave a short laugh with no joy in it. "The -twins' allowances are going to be cut down almost half!" - -"The twins!" I had completely forgotten Oliver's letter. "The twins! -Can't you possibly--O Alec, college boys need so much and--Oliver, you -know--" - -"I'm tired of Oliver's extravagances," burst forth Alec impatiently. "I -don't want to hear another word from Oliver about money. If he can't -get along on the amount I am able to send, he can come home and go into -the mill." - -Just here the cheerful honk-honk of Dr. Maynard's automobile sounded -outside the window. Alec went to the door and let him in. As Dr. -Maynard entered the room he brought in a big breath of fall evening. - -"Hello," he said. "What are you two up to? Come on, Al, put on an -overcoat and come out for a run around the reservoir. I've got my -engine working like a bird again." - -"Thanks, Will, wish I could," said Alec with that tired smile of his, -"but I've got a lot of work on hand to-night. I think I'll send Bobbie." - -"All right! Fine!" said Dr. Maynard, and though I didn't have much -heart for going, I knew that Alec didn't want to talk with even Will -Maynard to-night, so without a word I went for my things that were -hanging in what we called the "Black Closet." - -I was glad to escape for a minute to the protecting dark. I stood -pressing up against the old overcoats and ulsters, waiting for my eyes -to appear less swollen, and wondering why Oliver needed seventy-five -dollars by December third. The vision of Oliver in overalls at work -in the mills, disgrace, no home, no Nellie, no Dixie, rags, poverty, -wriggled before my eyes like moving pictures. I took hold of the -nearest garment at hand and pressed it against my face. It happened to -be Father's old overcoat. I recognised it by the feeling, for often -I had groped for it when Father had been alive and brought it out to -him waiting in the hall. I reached up to-night and touched the dear -familiar, worn, velvet collar. "O Father," I whispered, "everything is -tumbling down. What shall I do about Oliver?" Probably another girl -would have breathed a little prayer to God but I make all _my_ requests -of Father. It seems to me that Father is more likely to take a personal -interest in my affairs than any one else in heaven. - -"What are you up to?" Dr. Maynard sang out; and I called back, -"Coming," and hustled into my warm overshoes. - -It was a beautiful dark starry night, and I wished Alec could have felt -a little of the cold air on his hot head. I love an automobile! I'm -never happier than when I'm sitting with my two hands on the wheel, one -toe on the gas, the other on the brake, a heel on the little pedal that -makes the old machine snort up a hill like a horse dug in the side with -a spur. But to-night I didn't care to run the car. I suppose I wasn't -a very entertaining companion, for on the way home, after we had been -out about an hour, Dr. Maynard asked in his friendly manner: - -"What is it, Bobbie? You're leaving it to me to have most of the fun -to-night." - -"Dr. Maynard," I exclaimed, "I'd give anything in the world if I were a -man and could earn some money." - -"What profession would you follow?" he laughed at me. - -"I'm serious. Has Alec ever told you much about the business?" - -"Not much, but I know he's been disturbed about something lately." - -"Well," I said, "there's one of those pictures in that big Doré book -with illustrations of the Old Testament, that reminds me of the Vars' -affairs. It's a picture of Samson, and he's standing in a great huge -kind of hall, pushing down two perfectly enormous stone pillars. The -walls and the ceiling and the roof are all caving in--people headfirst, -arms, legs, great blocks of granite, children, men,--oh, everything you -can think of--tumbling down in horrible confusion. That picture used to -give me the nightmare; and now it seems to me as if some old giant of a -Samson had gotten down underneath us. All our underpinnings are giving -way and we're all falling down--headfirst a thousand feet, smash, on to -rock-bottom." - -"Why, what do you mean, Bobbie?" laughed Dr. Maynard, amused. - -"I mean," I replied--though perhaps I ought not to have told--"I mean, -that Alec is going to sell the house and Dixie and we're going to keep -only one girl. I mean that the business is on the ragged edge of -nothing, and that we're as poor as paupers." - -Dr. Maynard slowed down our speed to ten miles an hour. - -"Al's a plucky fellow," he said. "I hadn't an idea!" Then he added, -"_You_ want to help?" - -"Well," I replied, "I've got to have a lot of money right off, and I -don't like to ask Alec. It's for an emergency," I added. "Can you think -of any possible way for a girl who can't do a thing on earth but scrub -and darn stockings, to earn a fortune?" - -I think we ran about a mile before Dr. Maynard spoke. Then when he did, -he seemed to be almost apologising for his scheme, which seemed to me -perfectly lovely. - -Dr. Maynard has stacks of money and since his mother died, lives all -alone in the big, white-pillared house where he was born. Eliza, their -old servant, takes care of him. "But," he explained to me, "cooking and -cleaning are Eliza's strong points. Now there are lots of odds and ends -she doesn't have time for. She never liked to sew, and I have a pretty -hard time keeping socks mended, and linen, and towels, and such things -in good condition. I hire a woman now by the day once in a while. But -I'm sure I'm way behind now. If the scheme appeals to you at all, I'll -have Eliza lay out a pile of stuff that needs a few stitches, and you -can sew on it at odd moments. Just keep track of your time and I'll pay -you--well, you seem to be a fairly busy person, I'll pay you double -what I'm paying now which would be about fifty cents an hour." - -"Dr. Maynard," I said, "I think you're the very kindest man I ever -knew!" - -"Oh, no," he broke in, "this is purely a business transaction." - -"But," I went on, "fifty cents is a lot too much. That would be giving -me money." - -"Well, let it be understood," he said, "I'm not giving you -anything. You're earning it in just as businesslike a manner as a -stenographer--or Eliza. I'd like you to keep an accurate account of -your time, please, and send me an itemised bill. I said fifty cents and -I stick to it. Shall I come over to-morrow with your first relay?" - -I thanked Dr. Maynard with my whole heart. I was so relieved I didn't -know what to do. - -"Would you mind," I said as he opened the front door for me, "waiting -just a minute? I've a note upstairs that I wish you'd mail on your way -home." - -I dashed up to my room, directed an envelope in mad haste to Oliver, -and on a half-sheet of note-paper I scratched: - - "In spite of Alec's news I may be able to scare up some of the money. - - "BOBBIE." - -Alec had half a dozen letters for Dr. Maynard to mail also, and I had -the satisfaction of laying my note to Oliver on top of the announcement -which cut his allowance in half. After the door had closed and Alec and -I were alone, I went and kissed my brother good-night. - -"Good-girl," he said wearily; "the ride brightened you up." - -"Yes," I replied; "and I know we're going to come out all right, Alec." -And I felt that we should, now that I was going to put _my_ shoulder to -the wheel. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -Two days later I received a frenzied reply to my note to Oliver. The -words were underscored, smeared, repeated, blotted and scratched out. -I never read such a letter. I think Oliver swore in it. At any rate -my heart almost stood still when the words "for God's sake" struck at -me like swords from the white paper. I knew at least that Oliver was -terribly in earnest. I read and re-read the letter, then locked it away -in the cupola in the lowest drawer of my table-desk. No one shall ever -see it; no one shall ever know what it contains--no one but Oliver and -me. I shall never tell Alec, nor his own twin Malcolm, nor even his -wife, if he should ever marry. This is between Oliver and me. He had -chosen to tell his older sister about his trouble to the exclusion of -every one else, and she would prove to him that he had rightly placed -his faith. - -I don't want to imply that Oliver had been really dishonest. I am sure -he had not been that, but it seems that he was treasurer of something -or other down there at college, and had boggled the accounts. He never -could keep money straight. Perhaps he had borrowed a little of it--like -the bank clerk Alec told me about--and now suddenly he discovered -there was more of a shortage than he could make good. He wrote that on -December third he must make a report, and if he couldn't account for -seventy-five dollars short in the treasury--well--There followed six -dashes with three exclamation points at the end. - -I wrote back I'd get that seventy-five dollars for him or die. - -I scraped money out of every hole and corner I could find. I sold my -lavender liberty automobile veil to Juliet Adams for a dollar and -a half, and Ruth bought my rhinestone horse-shoe pin, which I paid -three-fifty for, for seventy-five cents. I didn't spend a single penny -of my own allowance for November and begged Alec for five dollars which -I told him, without a quiver, that I'd got to have for the purpose of -buying some new stuff for the kitchen. But most of the money had to -come from Dr. Maynard. I sewed like mad. Locked in my bedroom with -the alarm-clock keeping track of my time I simply devoured holes. -I was like a hungry animal. I couldn't get enough of them--and the -bigger they were the better they satisfied me. Socks by the dozens; -table-clothes gnawed by rats; napkins worn to shreds; blankets to be -rebound; sheets to be hemmed; _anything_ that required a needle, I -welcomed with rejoicing. - -But of course a man doesn't need more than three dozen socks on hand, -five dozen perfectly whole towels and ten table-clothes. There is an -end to a bachelor's equipment, and even after I had finished mending -with gummed paper a whole music-rack full of old sheet-music Dr. -Maynard used to sing, I had earned only twenty dollars. - -I was very unhappy when Dr. Maynard passed me my last receipted bill. -He was looking at me out of the corner of his eye. - -"Well," he said, "does this close our business transactions? Are you -all fixed up now?" - -I shook my head and blushed, ashamed somehow to be in need of so much -money. - -"Oh, I know," I hastened to say, "that there's no more work you can -give me, and I do thank you--I do really." - -"Let's see," Dr. Maynard said. "Let's see. What kind of a hand do you -write? If it's plain and legible, I don't know but what I'll engage you -to copy some old letters of my mother's--written to me when I was a -small boy at school. The ink is fading and I want them preserved." - -"Dr. Maynard," I exclaimed, "I don't know what I'd do if it wasn't for -you!" There were almost tears in my eyes I was so grateful. - -"Nonsense," he laughed. "But what do you want so much money for?" - -"A bill--for some dresses I had made, and I don't want to bother Alec." - -Dr. Maynard gave a long low whistle. - -"Oh, I see." Then quite seriously he added "Better tell him, Bobbie." - -"Dr. Maynard," I said, "if you mention one single word of this to -Alec, you don't know the harm you'll do. You don't know!" Why, if Alec -had gotten wind of what Oliver had done, there wouldn't be a scrap -of lenience shown that poor twin. It would mean clattering looms for -Oliver, as surely as the electric chair for a murderer; and I was -absolutely fierce in my determination that that brother of mine should -graduate from college, as well as all the others. Before Dr. Maynard -went home that afternoon he had promised he would not tell Alec a word -about our business transactions. - -I enjoyed the copying. Dr. Maynard's mother must have been a perfectly -lovely woman. She used to write to her son every Sunday, and oh, such -sweet companionable little notes--all about what was going on in the -town, and always at the end just a sentence or two about honour and -ideals, and how she believed in her son and missed him. If Oliver had -had a mother to write to him like that--to tell him how she wanted -him to grow up in the image of his honoured father who had died, who -rejoiced at every success he had, who sympathised at every failure--if -Oliver had had a mother to write him letters every Sunday evening by -the firelight, I don't believe he would have ever gotten into such a -difficulty. I wondered if mothers wrote letters like these to their -daughters. Of course they must. - -Every once in a while, I would run across a reference to my own mother -(for Mrs. Maynard was her neighbour) and, really, it was a little like -seeing her for just a minute. - -I know I'm neglecting my story, but I must tell about one special -letter of Mrs. Maynard's, because it referred to me. It didn't happen -to be written to her son but to a woman friend whom I didn't know. -It was a chatty letter, that related all the important events and -happenings in the town, very long and full of the littlest details you -can imagine. It was on the fourth thin sheet that I ran across this: -"And our dear neighbour Mrs. Vars has a little daughter three weeks -old," I deciphered. "She has named her Lucy for herself. I went in to -see her last week and took her a jar of my quince jelly. She is a very -happy woman. She has always wanted a little girl. When she took the -little baby in her arms she said with tears in her eyes, 'My little -daughter and I are going to be "best friends" all our lives.'" - -I read that precious sentence over and over again. My mother and I -'best friends all our lives'--and oh, I couldn't remember her smile. -'Best friends all our lives'--and she had gone before we could share a -single secret. I leaned right forward over my copying and cried, "If -you'd lived I wouldn't care if we were poor. If you and I were 'best -friends,' I wouldn't care if I never had a good time. Oh, if you were -here! If you were here!" - -And yet, although I cried so hard, I was strangely happy that evening. -Of course I don't believe in miracles. They don't happen nowadays, and -yet it seems almost as if my mother might have sent that message to -me, to console me in my struggle, to tell me that I wasn't all alone. -I gazed at her picture--the only one she had ever had taken--under its -cold glass over my bed, before I went to sleep that night. It is a -profile, clear-cut and a little sad. They tell me she was only nineteen -in the picture--my age, just my age now. - -"My best friend," I whispered, "my best friend all my life!" - -As the dreary days wore on, all the sympathy that I possessed yearned -over my patient brother Alec. But I couldn't help him any. Time and -time again I tried to cheer him up, but my attempts fell flat. There -was a time when Alec used to go out among the young people in Hilton -quite a good deal, but I observed that lately he had nothing but -business engagements to take him away. - -Alec had never talked to me about a certain young lady named Edith -Campbell--I don't know that he had ever mentioned her name to me--but -I knew that he had always entertained a sneaking admiration for her. -Since father died he hadn't seen her so much and I had been glad of it. -I don't like Edith Campbell. There is so much show about her, and she -always contrives to make Alec look so forlorn and pathetic. I remember -one morning not long after Alec's serious talk with me, that he went -out of the door gloomier than ever with his green felt bag filled with -the ledgers that he'd been working over till midnight. Just as he was -going down the front steps who should appear but Edith Campbell in -a sporty little rig, driving a new cob of hers--round and plump and -shiny. She had some little out-of-town whippersnapper of a man beside -her, and as she drew her horse to a standstill right by Alec, she -looked trig and sporty enough for the front cover of a magazine. She -gave Alec a play salute from the brim of her perky little hat, and my -poor tired brother took off his limp grey felt. He went over and leaned -one hand on the horse's brilliant flank, and gazed up at Edith. His -overcoat that used to be black looked greenish in the bright sunlight -and the velvet collar was worn about the edges. - -"Hello, Al Vars!" exclaimed Miss Campbell. I could hear her through -the open door, hidden behind the lace. "I haven't seen you for _one -age_. You ought to come out of that shell of yours. Al _used_ to be a -pal of mine," she laughed to the man beside her and introduced them. -The stiffly-starched little out-of-town man gave Alec a hand gloved in -yellow dog-skin and Alec turned and said something I couldn't hear to -Miss Campbell. She called her reply back over her shoulder as she drove -off. "Sorry, Al. Can't. Too bad. I'm going to Florida with Mother and -Dad for the winter next week!" - -Alec stood forlorn in the middle of the street, watching her descend -the hill. The back of the highly-shellacked little waggonette flashed -in the sunlight. Miss Campbell sat erect, sleek as her horse. My -feelings grew savage against her, and when Alec finally shifted the -heavy green bag to the other hand and moved slowly off down the street -toward the factory I wanted to run after him and tell him she wasn't -worth a single thought of his. I wished that my life-long devotion -might make up for this single morning's sting of Edith Campbell's -heartless exhibition of prosperity. But it couldn't. It couldn't break -through my brother's brooding silence for even an interval. - -Ruth took our change of circumstances very philosophically at first. -Ruth is sixteen now, and awfully pretty. She has boy-callers about -three times a week. She's very popular. She can sing like a little -prima-donna, and can dance a cake-walk like a young vaudeville -performer. The twins think Ruth is the cleverest little creature alive. -She's a very independent sort of girl. No one can give any advice to -Ruth on what is the proper thing for her to wear; no one can tell _her_ -what is the correct way for girls of sixteen to act; at least, _I_ -can't. Ruth loves fashion and style. She was glad to have Alec dispose -of Dixie. - -"Why," she said to me in her little sophisticated way, "Dixie is -eating his _head_ off, and he _limps_! I'd be ashamed to be seen at a -funeral driving Dixie! You may have noticed _I_ never use him." She -was delighted to learn that Alec was going to sell the house. "For he -says," she announced to me gleefully, "that perhaps _now_ we can live -in one of those darling little shingled houses on the south side. Those -houses have the loveliest little dens in them with a stained-glass -window, where I could have my callers. I just hate the parlour here. -There's a big new crack over the marble mantel, and I have a dreadful -time making people sit with their backs to it." - -"And Nellie?" I questioned. - -"Good riddance, I think. She's the bane of my life, and she hasn't a -scrap of style. She's been here so long she thinks she can boss me as -if she were my mother." - -Ruth's chief source of sorrow was the announcement that she couldn't -attend dancing-school. That brought the tears and for three days she'd -hardly speak a word. When I told her that she ought to be cheerful for -Alec's sake, she slammed the door in my face and told me not to preach. - -I am afraid Ruth and I aren't very congenial sisters. I try very hard -to be helpful and sympathetic, for Ruth, of course, is as motherless as -I am. But she's a difficult younger sister. She never wanted me to take -her to places when she was a little girl. She hates to be petted. It -troubles me a little to think we aren't closer friends, because we each -are the only sister in the world that the other has. - -It was Ruth who stepped in and upset my whole scheme with Dr. Maynard. -She can be dreadfully annoying, and cause as much trouble as any -grown-up person I ever knew. It was when I was within ten dollars of -the end of my struggle. I had finished the copying, and now I was -working Dr. Maynard's initials on about everything that that man owned. - -It was on a Saturday afternoon, and Juliet Adams, who had come down -from college to spend Sunday with her family (Juliet goes to a girl's -big college now), had dropped over to see me. I was sitting by the west -window sewing on some things of my own, for of course all Dr. Maynard's -work I was careful to do in private. Ruth was upstairs getting dressed -to go out to a party with one of her numerous boy-friends. Suddenly, -with her hair down her back, and dressed only in her white petticoat -and dressing-sack, she appeared in the doorway. - -"Got a thimble?" she asked. "I want to baste in a ruching," and without -asking leave she grabbed my work-bag that was on the couch. It was open -and she caught hold of it in such a way that the contents all went -tumbling out on the floor. A dozen new socks done up in balls, on which -I had been working initials, rolled out in all directions. The red -monogram stared me in the face. - -"I'll pick them up," I said hurriedly, but Ruth was too quick for me -and she pounced upon them before I could stop her. Very little of -importance escapes Ruth. - -"W. F. M.!" she exclaimed. "Who's that? W. F. M.! As I live, on _every_ -one of them! Who's W. F. M.?" She unrolled one pair. "Men's socks too," -she said, holding them up to plain view. "W. F. M.!" Then suddenly she -broke into hilarious laughter. "I have it!" she burst out, waving the -socks over her head and triumphantly dancing around the room. "William -Ford Maynard! W. F. M. William Ford Maynard!" - -"Stop, Ruth!" I cried, my old anger beginning to surge up in me. -"_Stop_, I tell you!" - -But Ruth was deaf to me. She simply kept on tearing around the room -like a wild Indian. "How do you do, Mrs. Maynard," she shouted at me in -silly school-girl fashion, and amidst her mad laughter sang out, full -of derision, "Juliet, let me introduce Mrs. William Ford Maynard!" - -I was standing up in a minute and was at Ruth with all my might and -main. I was firing mad. - -"Ruth Chenery Vars," I cried, "stop, _stop_, STOP!" and then suddenly -there was Alec standing quietly in the doorway in his overcoat and hat. - -Ruth and I went out like flames. - -There was a dead silence for an instant, then Alec asked quietly: - -"What does this mean?" - -Ruth answered him. - -"I tipped over Lucy's work-bag and all these men's socks fell out. -Every one of them is marked with Dr. Maynard's initials, and Lucy got -mad because I made fun of her." - -"Will's initials, Lucy?" asked Alec perplexed. - -"Yes, W. F. M.," went on Ruth delightedly. "See?" She gave the socks to -Alec. "Nobody is W. F. M. in this town, but William Ford Maynard," she -finished and sat down on the piano-stool in a satisfied way, as if she -had cleared _herself_ of any blame, and now was ready for some fun. - -I think it was here that Juliet got up and slipped out of the room. -Anyhow I know she wasn't there during the whole interview. - -"Well, Lucy?" said Alec, looking at me. - -"I was paid for it," I exclaimed. "I was paid for every single initial -and every single stitch I ever took for him! Oh, there was nothing -sentimental about it. Ruth makes me sick! I did it simply to earn -money." - -Alec looked down at the initials. - -"How much were you paid?" he asked. - -"I was paid," I went on, still on the defensive, "I was paid fifty -cents an hour. It was all business from beginning to end. Oh, there was -nothing silly in it!" - -"Fifty cents an hour?" Alec repeated. - -"Oh, yes," I said. "Ruth is absurd. I made out bills and receipts and -everything. It was absolutely businesslike." - -"And how much has Will already given you?" - -The colour for some reason rose to my cheeks. Alec looked as if he -wasn't pleased and I was suddenly ashamed. - -"About--sixty dollars," I murmured. - -"Sixty dollars!" Alec flashed. "Why did you need so much money?" he -asked me sternly. - -I saw my danger then. It was as if I had had my hands on the -steering-wheel of Dr. Maynard's automobile, and suddenly saw an -enormous limousine headed for me around a curve. - -"Why," I stammered, trying to keep calm, "I thought the business was -doing so--poorly, that I--I--" - -"Why did you think it necessary not to tell me about this--enterprise -of yours?" asked Alec. - -The limousine kept coming straight for me, you see. - -I hesitated just a moment. I had no idea of telling about Oliver. After -you've worked for a cause, you'll protect it if it kills you. But I -was at a loss to know which way to turn, and I had to act quickly. An -inspiration came to me. It wasn't a good one, but I was excited. - -"I borrowed seventy-five dollars from the Household Account. I had a -dressmaker's bill of my own to pay that had stood a long while, and -so--now I'm trying to make it up." - -Alec dropped the socks as if they had been hot. He didn't say a single -word. He just stood there and stared and stared. I glanced up for a -fleeting second and Alec's eyes were terrible. The vision of them -remained with me for days, just as the image of the sun will dance -before your eyes after you have gazed at its piercing light for an -instant. I turned and looked quickly out of the window. The clock in -the hall struck five. I counted it to myself. The last stroke died -away, and still Alec stood and stared. He seemed to be willing me -to bow down in remorse and shame. I couldn't help it. I tried and I -couldn't. I wasn't guilty--oh, no, Alec, I wasn't guilty--but suddenly -a hot wave spread over me up to my temples and I hung my head before my -brother's condemning gaze. - -He turned away then, and without a word went out into the hall. - -I didn't know a silence could be so eloquent; I didn't know a silence -could hurt. It sobered even Ruth. She slunk quietly upstairs. And when -I discovered I was quite alone, I drew a long breath. Then I got up, -gathered the poor socks that had caused so much trouble together in a -pile and put them back into my work-bag. - -I didn't go down to supper that night. Alec knocked on my bedroom door -about nine o'clock, and came in. - -"Please put the household check-book on my desk," he said shortly; "I -will take charge of it hereafter." - -"Very well," I replied, perfectly calm; and a thick heavy curtain fell -quietly down between Alec and me like the curtain after the last act at -the theatre. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -How can I tell about the days that followed--black, blinding days with -Alec's silent displeasure following me wherever I went, Ruth looking at -me askance and avoiding an encounter, and I, firm, uncommunicative, and -dismal as the grave? - -To save Oliver from disgrace cost me a big price. I paid Alec's -confidence and respect to buy Oliver's honour. Sisters ought not -to have preferences among their brothers, but, Father, you know, -_you_--before whom now there is no deceiving or pretending--you know -that there is no one in the world to me like Alec. Why, Oliver and I -used to fight like cats and dogs. Ruth is Oliver's favourite. I don't -know why I was putting myself to so much trouble for Oliver, breaking -my heart to save his reputation. Father would have put Oliver into the -mills; Tom would have put him there; Alec also; but at night when I -look at the sad profile over my bed, that face which only until lately -had been simply an old-fashioned picture of my mother, I wonder what -_she_ would have done. I know Mrs. Maynard would have sold her soul -to protect _her_ son's reputation. Perhaps I was saving Oliver from -disgrace for the sake of my "best friend." At any rate there was no -going back now. - -Meal-time of course was dreadful. There was no connected conversation. -The clatter of the slumpy general-housework girl, as she piled up our -plates and took them away, was more annoying than ever, when we all -simply sat and listened. It's a difficult thing, too, to ask for the -bread, and avoid glancing at the person who passes it. I didn't join -Alec in the sitting-room any more by the drop-light; I didn't hurry -downstairs to meet him at noon; I didn't ask him if he were tired. - -"Please, Alec, say _something_!" I said, almost desperate, at the end -of the third day. - -I didn't know Alec could be so hard and unforgiving. His reply made -me feel awfully sympathetic and kind toward Oliver, or any one else -who might have made a mistake. It seems that, besides shattering my -brother's entire confidence in my honesty, I had shocked his sense of -propriety in accepting money from Dr. Maynard. To call it a business -transaction appealed to Alec as absolutely absurd. He assured me that -he was going to pay every cent of Will's money back to him. I started -to reply, but Alec shrugged his shoulders and turned away. - -"I don't want to talk about it, Lucy. Let us not argue about a matter -in which your honesty and reliability is so involved. I had such faith -in you! I could have forgiven you your lack of pride--your utter -ignorance of the proprieties in spite of your nineteen years, in -accepting sixty dollars from a friend! But you have been dishonest. You -knew as well as I the seriousness of your offence when you borrowed -from the Household Account placed in your name at the bank. No, please, -do not answer me. For what is there for you to say?" - -I didn't know. I went upstairs--not to cry, not to grieve, but to -sit down in my black walnut rocker by the window and think bitter -thoughts. I didn't care if I had been improper; I didn't care if -Alec was unjust and willing to believe the worst of me; _I didn't -care_! I had sixty good, crisp dollars tucked safely away in a little -chamois bag in the bandbox where I keep my best Sunday-go-to-meeting -hat, and when my allowance came due on December first I should have -seventy-five. I didn't care if all the world turned against me. I had -accomplished what I had set out to do, and no one could rob me of my -victory anyhow. - -I had it all planned that on December first I would deposit the -seventy-five dollars in the bank and make out a check for Oliver -immediately. But something happened which made quicker action necessary. - -When December third, Oliver's fateful day, was about a week off I -received another letter from him. In his haste, in directing it, he had -omitted the state, and the letter had travelled to a Hilton, New York, -which I never knew was on the map, before it found its way to me three -days later. - - "The business meeting has been set forward to November twenty-sixth, - so you better send the check on the twenty-fourth, at the latest. - You've been a trump to get it for me, and if you're good, I'll have - both you and Ruth down for a game sometime, with a spread in my room." - -I didn't read any farther. I reached for my calendar. I found the -twenty-sixth. I followed the column up to the days of the week. Yes--as -sure as I was alive--Saturday! To-day was Saturday. To-day was -November twenty-sixth! Oliver must have seventy-five dollars to-day! - -It was nine o'clock. Alec was at the factory. Ruth was not in the -house. I went down to the roll-top desk and found a timetable. There -was a train at nine-fifty. It didn't take me an instant to decide -that I would deliver that money to Oliver myself. I would go down to -that college town, hunt that boy up, and place my little packet of -seventy-five hard-earned dollars in his hands. - -I put on my hat and coat--the same old black coat, by the way, that I -had had dyed when Father left us--instructed the general-housework girl -to tell Alec that I wouldn't be home for lunch, and hurried over to Dr. -Maynard's. I buried all the pride I ever had (which Alec had said was -a small amount) and pulled the big front bell. I was glad when Eliza -said the doctor was in. I had never called there before, and I refused -to enter even the hall. I had come to beg for money and it seemed more -correct to stand on the doorstep. I had made up my mind after Alec's -cutting speech that I would never take another cent from Dr. Maynard -as long as I lived. But I had to, you see. My allowance wasn't due for -five days. I simply had to have nineteen dollars immediately--four for -my railroad fare and fifteen for Oliver. I wasn't going to have that -twin even fifteen dollars dishonest. I wasn't going to fail now, at the -eleventh hour, even if it cost my reputation. - -"Hello," said Dr. Maynard in the doorway. "Good morning! It isn't often -I have calls from young ladies so early. Come in!" - -"No," I replied. "No, thanks." I stopped a minute then I said, "I know -you'll be very much surprised. I know I'm going to do a very improper -thing. I must seem to have no pride at all, but--but--can you lend me -nineteen dollars?" My cheeks were burning red. Dr. Maynard folded his -arms and leaned up against the casement of the door. I could see him -smiling. "I'll pay you back," I went on bravely, "in four days--at -least fifteen dollars of it. The rest I can give you on January first." - -Dr. Maynard sat down on the doorstep and made a place for me. - -"Sit down, Bobbie," he said. - -"I can't," I replied; "I'm in a hurry." - -Dr. Maynard stood up again--he's always very polite with me--and -refolded his arms. - -"Alec came over last night," he went on, "and it seems, Lucy, that Al -didn't approve of our little game. He took it a little more seriously -than we did, and perhaps it's better, after all, if you're in any sort -of difficulty to go straight to your brother, if you've got as good a -one as Alec." - -"Aren't you going to lend it to me?" I asked point-blank. - -"Well, now, you see," Dr. Maynard smiled, "Al didn't tell me the story, -but he implied that you had explained the whole thing to _him_; and of -course, Bobbie, if he, your brother, doesn't approve of your cause--" - -"I told him a lie," I interrupted; "I told him I'd just the same as -stolen seventy-five dollars from the Household Account, which he put -me in charge of; and I haven't at all. I simply haven't! I shan't ever -need any more money after to-day. I'll never ask another favour after -this, but I've got to have it. _I've got to!_ If it would do any good -to get down on my knees and beg, I'd do it. But it seems to me when I -debase myself by asking you for money right out of a clear sky, you -must know it's awfully important. Alec tells me I've been improper even -to earn money from a friend. It must be worse to beg it. But I don't -care--I _don't care_--just so you give it to me, and quick, because -I've got to take a train." - -Dr. Maynard looked very sober and serious for him. - -"Can't you tell me what you need it for?" he asked. - -For a moment I was tempted, but men are so queer and severe with boys -who make mistakes, so terribly correct about honesty, how did I know -but perhaps Dr. Maynard, too, would think Oliver ought to go into the -mills. - -I shook my head. - -"I can't," I said; "I wish I could,--but, I'm sorry, I can't." - -"How much do you need for your railroad fare?" he inquired, -irrelevantly, and when I had told him he asked, "And what time does -your train leave?" - -"At nine-fifty," I burst out impatiently; "and I shall lose it if you -don't hurry. We are wasting time. Oh, please decide quickly." - -He didn't answer for a minute. He was biting his under lip, beneath -his moustache, and gazing far away beyond my head. His arms were still -folded. - -"Four dollars; the nine-fifty," he contemplated out loud, unmindful of -my precious minutes. - -The frown between his eyes looked dreadfully unfavourable to me. I -stepped toward him, and looking up to him on the step above I said, -"Dr. Maynard, I copied all those letters of your mother's, and it seems -as if I almost knew her now. I just know _she_ would think my cause was -worthy." - -Dr. Maynard simply adored his mother, and I suppose it was the sudden -thought of her that brought a kind of mist into his eyes. He stepped -down beside me, took out his leather bill-book, and passed me two -ten-dollar bills. "Then, Bobbie, here it is!" he said gravely. - -I thanked him quietly, opened my bag, and put them away. - -I have always thought Dr. Maynard was a mind-reader. His next speech -simply staggered me. - -"I should go to the train immediately," he said; "the nine-fifty will -be crowded this morning, with people going to the game. And by the way, -if by any chance, you have a notion of passing through any college town -on the day of a big football game, you'll find it very confusing. Why -not let me go with you? I'll ask no questions. Or will the twins meet -you?" - -"How did you know? How did you guess?" was on the tip of my tongue; but -I replied instead, "Oh, thank you. I _must_ go alone. I shall be back -by dark--and--and some one will meet me," I stammered. - -All the way to the station I kept thinking, "Why couldn't Alec have -believed me worthy of good motives too? Why couldn't Alec have surmised -and understood? Why couldn't it have been my brother who trusted and -had faith?" - -Before I bought my ticket I sent a telegram to Oliver, so he wouldn't -be passing away with anxiety. "_Coming to-day. Bobbie_" I said, and -five minutes later sank into a seat in the train with a sigh of relief. - -It was nearly twelve o'clock when the last friendly, blue-coated -policeman left me with a pleasant nod near the end of my destination. -I didn't have a bit of difficulty changing trains, crossing Boston -and weaving my way in and out and up and down a labyrinth of subway -passages and various street-car lines. Everybody was awfully helpful -and as long as I have a tongue I could travel around the world, I -believe, without the least bit of trouble. It wasn't until I neared the -end of my journey that I felt any nervousness at all. Oliver roomed -at number 204 Grey Street and as I reached the nineties my uneasiness -became quite apparent. I could feel it in my chest, as if I were -hungry. I did hope Oliver would be in. I did hope I was doing the right -thing. Probably my growing excitement was a little due to the gala -spirit of the football day. It pervaded everything. It thrilled me. -Crowds of people with steamer-rugs and overcoats over their arms had -thronged the trains and street-cars all along my route--a good-natured -crowd, prosperous-looking young men and stunning girls wearing great -bunches of flowers and carrying flags. Everybody was excited, even down -to the small boys selling programmes and banners in the square I had -just left; everybody glowed with enthusiasm and with the foretaste of -a triumph. I had never been to a football game in my life, and I had -always wanted to. Perhaps Oliver would take me; perhaps we would have -lunch together somewhere! I should adore to see the college buildings! -Possibly--oh, possibly, he would introduce me to some of his friends!! -The thought of the thrilling things that might be in store for me made -me swallow to keep myself calm. As I hurried along Grey Street I was so -excited that I somehow wished that the wonderful time was all over, and -that I was speeding safely and victoriously home again, wearing a faded -bunch of chrysanthemums that Oliver would buy for me, and hoarding in -my memory the brand-new acquisition of a real College Football Game. - -I was rather disappointed in the appearance of number 204. It was a big -brick building and not at all my idea of a College Dormitory. It was -just as plain and ordinary as it could be, with the door opening right -square on to the brick sidewalk, and a horrid little tailor-shop and -drug-store opposite. I didn't know what I ought to do. The big front -door was wide open, and I could see into the hall. It looked like a -prison--all brick and masonry, and bare granolithic stairs with an iron -railing. I didn't know whether to go in or not. If there had been a -policeman in sight I would have asked his advice, or an old lady, or -a girl, but there was only a very good-looking young man on the other -side of the street, so I rang the bell and waited. No one came. I rang -again; I rang that old bell--at least I pushed the button--six times! -No one answered, so I finally started up the stairs. Perhaps I was -waiting at the basement door (the interior certainly looked like a -cellar) and the parlours or reception-rooms were possibly on the floor -above. It was while I was standing, hesitating on the second landing, -gazing up interminable flights of cement stairs and brick walls, -wondering how in the world I could dig Oliver out of such a tomb, that -a door opened somewhere up above and down those stairs--bump-bump, -clappity-clap, pell-mell, like ten barrels falling down one over -another, shouting, laughing, guffawing--I heard what I thought must be -a regiment charging down upon me. I drew back a little into the corner -and suddenly four men--four stunning young college men appeared before -me. - -They all stopped shouting as if I had been a vision, and though they -didn't say a word I could feel they observed me with a start of -surprise as if young ladies in their corridors were a great curiosity. -I blushed for no particular reason; they passed on quietly down the -stairs; and would have left me there without a word if I hadn't spoken. - -"Excuse me," I said to the back of the last young man. "Could you tell -me--I'm sorry to stop you--but does Oliver Vars room here?" - -They all halted and looked up at me. I blushed worse than ever. I -suddenly felt as if I ought not to have been there, and though the -young men were just as courteous and polite as they could be I was -awfully embarrassed. - -"Why, yes, he does room here," said the young man nearest me, taking -off his hat. "Did you want to see him?" - -"Yes," I stammered. "It's--it's very important. I'm sorry but I--" - -"That's all right," he assured me quickly, for I guess he heard my -voice tremble; "I'll find him for you." And oh, he had the nicest, -straightest, cleanest look. "You go on," he said to his friends; "I'll -be with you in a minute." Then to me, "Vars rooms here, but I am about -sure he's out now. If you'll come with me perhaps--Must you see him -right off?" he inquired. - -"Oh, yes, thank you. I must. I _must_! I've come on the train to see -him. I've got to see him if I sit here and wait for him." - -"Oh, I'll get him all right," the young man said. "We haven't much of -a place here to wait, but if you'll come with me, we'll find him," he -assured me. - -He stepped back to let me pass out in front of him to the street, and -once on the sidewalk, he fell behind me a moment so that he might walk -next to the curbing. Oh, that young man had beautiful manners! I'll -always remember them. It was just the noon hour and he met lots of men -that he knew. To each one he raised his hat as if he'd had a princess -with him. They returned his bow in the same manner, with a curious look -at me. - -"They think," he laughed pleasantly, "I'm taking you to the game this -afternoon!" - -I flushed. I wanted to say, "I wish you were." If I had been the pretty -girl whom we had just passed, in the black lynx, with a little round -fur hat with a red flower on it, it would have been easy to smile, -glance sidewise, and say pretty things. But from under my black felt -sailor, side glances wouldn't be attractive. I kept my eyes straight -ahead. "You can explain to them afterward," I said. - -He left me in a drug-store. "I'll get him!" were his last words as he -raised his hat. - -I waited three quarters of an hour. It was after one o'clock when I -saw Oliver push open the big plate-glass door. He had been hurrying. -His face was red, his eyes startled and frightened, his hair tossed a -little under the cap he wore. At sight of me he stopped, then strode up -to me, where I was sitting on a stool by the soda-fountain. - -"You!" he gasped. "You! For heaven's sake, Bobbie, what are you here -for?" - -"I telegraphed," I explained. "Didn't you--" - -"No," he broke in, "I've had no telegram. What's the trouble anyhow? -Who's dead? Who--" - -"Why, Oliver," I replied calmly, "nobody's dead." Then in a lower tone, -"I've come with the money," I said. - -"The money! Why didn't you mail it?" he fired. - -"Your letter didn't come till this morning, and--isn't the meeting -to-day?" - -"Oh, yes," he said still annoyed; "but there was no such rush. I've -managed to borrow enough to fix _that_ up. Oh, I knew I better not rely -on your getting it here, and so a friend of mine lent me enough to tide -me over." We had moved away from the soda-fountain and were talking in -low tones beside a display of fancy soap. - -"Then why--?" I began. - -"Oh, because," he took me up, "I've got to pay Holmes back. No man of -any respect owes money to a friend for a longer time than he can help. -But Holmes didn't expect it till next week. It was absolutely crazy, -your coming way down here. You went to my room, didn't you? What do -you suppose the men will think? Do you know who it was told me you were -here? Blanchard! Blanchard! A Senior! One of the biggest men here! -Heavens, when he told me a girl wanted to see me--You don't have any -idea of propriety, Lucy!" - -"Oliver Vars," I returned, "I've brought seventy-five dollars down here -in this bag for you, and you had better stop talking like that to me. -If it wasn't for me and my impropriety, you'd be working in the mills, -let me tell you. And I don't know but what it would be better. If Alec -knew what you'd done--if Tom knew--" - -Oliver's attitude changed immediately. - -"Oh, I know," he interrupted. "It's been bully of you, Bobbie. I tell -you I appreciate it. I suppose you had a hard time squeezing even such -an amount out of old Al, and just now too, when business is so rotten. -But I'll pay you back some day, you'll see. You've helped me out of a -devil of a scrape. I'm going to have you down to a game or a tea soon." - -"There's a game this afternoon!" I exclaimed. "Oh, Oliver--I've never -seen a football game." - -My brother frowned. "I'm more than sorry, but I'm taking some one this -afternoon. Malcolm and I, two other fellows and four girls, a party of -eight of us, are all going together." - -"Couldn't I sit alone somewhere, off in a corner? I wouldn't mind a -bit. I want to see the crowds and be able to say that I have been. Oh, -I'd love to hear the cheering. You could call for me afterward, and--" - -"Oh, no, Lucy; oh, no. That's out of the question. Why even if I could -get a ticket, which I can't, it wouldn't do. You don't understand in -the least." - -There was something about the way Oliver glanced at my old rusty laced -boots that made me say fiercely, "I don't suppose I'm dressed well -enough!" - -"Oh, it isn't that--not at all," he assured me, and suddenly I felt -that it was. "Of course it isn't, though the girls do put on the best -things they have. It's simply that no girl ever goes alone to a game." - -"Well, then, here's the money," I said in a hard voice. - -"Say, Bobbie, I'm awfully sorry. If you only had let me know. If you -only--" - -"Oh, never mind," I interrupted. - -A young man in a grey sweater entered the store. Oliver glanced -around at him, then flushed and finally raised his cap. The young man -returned the bow generously. If I had been less sensitive I wouldn't -have noticed how Oliver stood so as to shield me from the young man's -gaze. If I hadn't walked that three blocks and a half with that -young god Blanchard, whoever he was, I wouldn't have minded Oliver's -half-apologetic bow. Mr. Blanchard hadn't been ashamed of me; _he_ -hadn't hidden me; _he_ hadn't flushed when he met his friends. I wanted -to get away from Oliver as soon as I could. I wanted to go home. - -"Well, I might as well be starting along," I said. "I found my way down -here without any trouble, and I guess I'll get home all right." - -"Say, Bobbie, I'm more than sorry. I wish I could put you safely on -the Hilton train, but I've got to rush like mad as it is--change my -clothes, get some food, and call for Miss Beresford, all before two -o'clock. So if you're sure--" - -"I am," I tucked in. - -"I'll put you on the electric car. Say--" his face brightened, "don't -you want some hot chocolate?" - -"Oh, I couldn't, Oliver. No thanks. Please." - -I was glad to be alone again. I was glad of the protection of the -crowds and the stream of strange faces. I sat in the corner of the car, -where Oliver had left me, with a hard look about my mouth--at least I -felt as if it were hard. There is no such thing as reward. Everything -in life is unfair. Who was Miss Beresford? Would she wear coon-skin and -velvet? Would Oliver buy her a stunning bunch of flowers to wear at -her waist? Perhaps one of the actual dollars that I had earned would -purchase a little flag for her to wave. Why should I pay for Miss -Beresford's good time? Why should I have to work so hard, and wear ugly -black? Why should I be going home--hungry and faint, and ashamed--while -every one else was thronging in the other direction? - -It was while I was changing cars, standing alone on the edge of the -sidewalk, taking in all I could see of the excitement, that my eyes -fell on a stunning creature in a long luxurious fur coat. She wore a -huge bunch of violets, as big as a cauliflower. A great big sweeping -plume streamed out behind. She was bubbling with laughter, and the -young man striding along beside her was laughing too. They were a -lovely pair, both of them full of the joy of living. The girl (I looked -twice to make sure) was some one I knew. The girl, as sure as I was -alive, was no other than Sarah Platt--Sarah Platt, whom I had longed to -know at boarding-school; Sarah Platt who had always scorned the very -sight of Lucy Vars; Sarah Platt whom finally I had almost spat upon as -contemptible and mean. A half an hour ago, Oliver had tried to hide -me, and now I tried to hide myself. I slunk behind a telegraph-pole. -Sarah swept by like a gilded chariot; I heard her voice; I smelled the -odor of her violets. "She'll always be glorious and happy," I thought -savagely. "She'll always have a good time. She'll marry that young -man. I know she will. And I--I'll always be poor and miserable and -forgotten." - -It was half-past two when I re-entered the big station, inquired of -a news-stand girl the way to the restaurant, and found my way to the -lunch counter. Instead of luncheon with Oliver, at a small table in -some darling little college-town restaurant, I hoisted myself up on a -stool and ordered a ham sandwich and a cup of coffee. The girl who drew -the steaming black liquid out of the shining metal tank looked sour -and dissatisfied. She slopped some of it on the saucer as she shoved -the thick crockery toward me. She slammed down my check and slung a -towel up over her shoulder with a sort of vehemence that expressed -my feelings exactly. I don't know why she was so miserable; I never -knew; but I sympathised just the same. When she dropped a glass and it -shattered and broke at her feet, she merely shrugged her shoulders, -and kicked the pieces as if she didn't care a rap if the whole station -fell down and broke. Oh, I just loved that girl, somehow. I knew she -thought life was cruel, hard as iron, and terribly unjust. I wasn't the -only one who at that moment was not cheering with the crowds at the -football game. I wasn't the only wretched person in the world. - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -About a week after I had been down to see Oliver, I observed that -something strange had come over Dr. Maynard. The first time I noticed -it was the day I hailed him when he was passing the house one noon, -and gave him an envelope with my December allowance sealed up inside. -I explained it was in part payment of the loan he had made me the -week before. He didn't laugh; he didn't even smile; he was as solemn -as a judge, as he took that envelope and put it in his breast-pocket. -Usually there is a joke on the tip of Dr. Maynard's tongue. He is -always saving situations from becoming serious by a bit of fun. I never -knew what it was to feel uncomfortable with Dr. Maynard. The next day -when he passed me alone in his automobile, when I was coming home from -downtown, it flashed upon me as very odd that he didn't stop and take -me in as usual. Then it occurred to me that he hadn't taken me out -for a ride, for days. I got to thinking! The next Sunday at church -he and Alec seemed friendly enough, but I observed that Dr. Maynard -didn't drop in on us in the afternoon. The grave look that had come -into his eyes when he passed those two bills to me that morning on his -front porch, the solemn tone in his voice when he said, "Then, here -it is, Bobbie," seemed to be there every time he spoke to me. I was -sorry. It made me uneasy. It didn't seem as if I could bear it if Dr. -Maynard should go back on me--along with the business, and Alec, and -everything and everybody I ever cared a cent about. - -I wondered what was the cause of Dr. Maynard's coolness. Perhaps he -felt that Alec was blaming him for allowing me to take so much of his -money; perhaps he was nursing the idea that he was responsible for the -strangeness between my older brother and myself; or else, possibly Dr. -Maynard thought that since I had committed such an unheard-of act as to -ask him for money I would naturally feel embarrassed and ill-at-ease in -his presence. But that was all nonsense. I didn't regret a thing that I -had done. In spite of what Alec might consider my shocking impropriety, -I didn't feel ashamed. I adored Dr. Maynard's cheerfulness! It seemed -as if I must go and tell him that the only fun I had left now was -the fun I had with him. I used to love his jokes and merry-making. -I believe Dr. Maynard could make the worst catastrophe in the world -a lark, if he wanted to. Why, whenever we had a puncture in the -automobile, Dr. Maynard was so good-natured about it that any one would -have thought he enjoyed punctures. "You've got a flat tire, George," -he'd sing out to me (he calls me George when I am running the car), or, -"Sorry, Miss; sounds mighty like a blow-out," he'd say, if he happened -to be at the wheel; and while he was jacking-up, I'd flax around -and unlock the tools. Before he had the shoe off, I was ready with -the new inner tube, and thirty minutes from the time we had stopped -we were zinging along again as good as new. Most of the sunshine in -my life--literal sunshine and the other kind too--came through Dr. -Maynard. - -As I became more and more convinced that he was acting queerly, I began -to realise how kind he had been to me. I suppose Dr. Maynard is really -a better friend of mine than Juliet Adams, to whom I write twice every -week, and for whom I make a stunning Christmas present every year. He -has surely done more to fill my heart with gratitude and everlasting -appreciation. It flashed upon me, one day, that I had never done a -thing in my life, without pay, for Dr. Maynard. I began thinking -and thinking what a girl of nineteen could do anyhow, for a man of -thirty-five, who lives all alone and has all the money he wants. - -It was when I was working on Juliet's Christmas present that it -occurred to me that possibly it might please an older man, who didn't -have any family, if some one gave _him_ a Christmas present. The more -I thought about it the better I liked the idea. It seemed to me a -delicate way of expressing my thanks to Dr. Maynard for all that he had -done. - -I had an awful time deciding on the present. First I wanted to buy -a wind-shield for his automobile but the price of wind-shields is -something terrific. Fur robes, automobile clocks, a Gabriel horn all -were delightful possibilities, but beyond the limits of my purse. -My oldest brother Tom likes books, I always give Alec socks or -handkerchiefs. The twins adore sofa-pillows for their rooms. Sofa -pillows! Would Dr. Maynard like a sofa-pillow for his room? For a week -I hesitated between a sofa-pillow and a hand-embroidered picture frame, -but finally decided on the pillow. - -I knew exactly how I was going to make it. I had seen one of my -friends, who attends a big boarding-school near Philadelphia, -embroidering a perfectly stunning one at Thanksgiving for a college man -she knew. I copied hers. Of course I realised that Dr. Maynard had been -out of college for years, but he is very loyal to his Alma Mater. He -told me all about the fifteenth reunion he attended last June as soon -as he got home, and seemed awfully enthusiastic. So I bought and had -charged to myself, two yards of the most expensive and shiniest satin -in the Hilton stores, had it stamped on one side with the seal of Dr. -Maynard's college, and on the other with his initials and the numerals -of his class beneath. It wasn't very complimentary to Dr. Maynard -I suppose, but as I worked, I wondered if I would ever embroider a -sofa-pillow for a real college man. I wished this one was destined for -some one who was in college now. I should have enjoyed the thought that -a pillow made by my hands would be piled high on a couch in the corner -of a college boy's room, beneath posters and signs and flags, and that -college men would lean up against it and play banjos and guitars. I -wished I had half an excuse for making a sofa-pillow for Mr. Blanchard. -Dr. Maynard graduated perfect ages ago, in the class of '90--three -years before the World's Fair in Chicago, which is one of my earliest -recollections. The pillow that I copied mine from has on it a big '09, -and Mr. Blanchard is a member of the class of '06. I had only to turn -my pillow upside down and it would have been perfect for Mr. Blanchard. - -After I had finished the embroidery, I bought the best down-pillow -for the thing that I could find--for I wasn't going to skimp on Dr. -Maynard's Christmas present, after all his generosity--and also a heavy -black silk cord to go around the edge. I must confess when it was all -done--the black letters standing up so that they cast a shadow on the -red satin, and the surface as round and full as a raised biscuit--I -must confess it was perfectly lovely. I think Mr. Blanchard would have -liked it very much. I wrapped it up very carefully in tissue paper, -over that a layer of brown paper held together by pins, and put it well -out of sight on my closet shelf. I was determined that Ruth shouldn't -see it. - -Christmas used to be a great day with us. Tom always came home from -the West; and we had fricasseed chicken for breakfast; turkey and -pies for dinner; figs, nuts and Malaga grapes for supper. We never -celebrated with a Christmas tree (we considered them childish) and -the younger ones of us--Ruth and I and the twins--never hung our -stockings. Since Mother died there was no one to keep up the fiction -of Santa Claus, and I remember we used to feel awfully set-up and -superior at the church supper on Christmas Eve when we, with grown-ups, -knew that the person in the old red coat and white beard was just the -Sunday-school superintendent dressed up. We always opened our presents -in the sitting-room directly after breakfast. Each member of the family -had a chair of his own, with his presents piled in it. When we all -finally got started on the opening, I don't know whether we were more -interested in seeing the presents we had given, opened, or opening the -ones we had received. It was a wonderful hour anyhow, and I can't even -remember it without getting a thrill. - -It's different now; everything is different--Memorial Day, Fourth of -July and Thanksgiving--with Father gone. We can't seem to fill up the -rooms without Father. When we try to celebrate a holiday I think it -must be something like acting or preaching to an empty house. Father -was a beautiful audience, and his applause made the day worth while. -Since Tom has been married he hasn't been here for Christmas either. -Elise's family wants her with them. Besides, she has two little -daughters now and can't possibly come East anyhow. You can imagine with -only Ruth, the twins, heart-sick Alec, and me--no Dixie, no Nellie, no -money for presents, and the "For Sale" sign still outside the parlour -window--it wasn't a very merry Christmas for the Vars family. It just -dragged, I can tell you. I had to cook the dinner myself because -Bridget, the general-housework girl, had too soft a heart to disappoint -her second cousin, who had invited her to spend the day with her. -Ruth and the twins started off on a skating-party about three in the -afternoon, after we'd done up the dishes together. As soon as I was -sure they were all safely out of the way--Alec was sound asleep on the -third floor--I stuck on my red tam and sweater, and took my present -over to Dr. Maynard. - -I was dreadfully afraid I'd meet some one I knew on the way, and they'd -inquire what I had in the bundle. It was the awkwardest thing I ever -attempted to carry in my life. Try it sometime. When I struggled up to -Dr. Maynard's front door, I wondered if he had been watching me from -the windows, and asking himself what in the name of heaven was coming -now. But he wasn't at home. Eliza who came to the door explained that -Dr. Maynard had gone out horseback riding, but wouldn't I come in and -wait? - -I thanked Eliza--I'd never been inside Dr. Maynard's house before--and -entered the hall. She showed me into a big square room at the left, and -told me to sit down. - -"I won't stop, I think," I said. "I'll just leave this. It's a -Christmas present for Dr. Maynard. Don't tell him who left it. There's -a card inside." - -"I'll lay it right here on his desk," said Eliza, grinning with -pleasure. - -She'd no sooner put my bundle down than I heard the clatter of horse's -hoofs on the hard driveway outside. - -"I believe he's coming," I exclaimed. "How lucky! I'll wait." - -After Eliza had gone back to the kitchen and I was alone, I gazed about -the room. It was a dark, dull room with bronze-coloured walls. Low, -black walnut bookcases were built in around two sides, and over them -hung two solitary pictures--steel engravings of battle scenes. There -were several huge leather armchairs, and a bare leather couch in one -corner. There wasn't a single sofa-pillow on it. I didn't believe Dr. -Maynard liked sofa-pillows after all. Everything was so big and dark -and stiff in that room, I was afraid a pillow would look out of place. -I walked over to Dr. Maynard's desk. It was just like the room--nothing -pretty on it--a book or two, a big bronze horse, a piece of black onyx -for a paperweight. There was also a small, dark leather frame, and in -it a kodak picture of Alec on horseback. The horse was poor dear little -Dixie, who had gone away. I remembered when Dr. Maynard had taken that -picture. It was in our back yard last summer. The smoke-bush had been -in full plumage. Just before he snapped the picture, he had called to -me, "You get into it, too, Bobbie. Stand up here, in front, by Dixie's -head." And there I was, as sure as life, pinching the dear little -horse's soft under lip, and smiling at Dr. Maynard. - -As I stood looking at the picture, wondering where Dixie had gone--for -Alec hadn't told me and I dreaded to ask--Dr. Maynard passed by the -window by my side. He was coming in from the stable by way of the front -door, and Eliza would have no opportunity for telling him that he had -a caller. As I heard him fitting his key into the lock of the outside -door, it occurred to me that it would be fun to hide. I glanced around -the room. There wasn't a drapery in sight. There wasn't a hanging of -any description that I could crawl behind. So finally I dashed into -what proved to be a closet--dark as pitch. - -Dr. Maynard didn't stop in the hall. He didn't call Eliza. He came -directly toward the library door and entered the room. The sun was -just setting, and a few last rays came slanting through the windows. -They burnished the room like magic brass-polish. The bronze-coloured -walls shone like dull copper; the brown leather armchairs, the black -walnut woodwork, the old camel-shaded rugs were absolutely golden. As -Dr. Maynard stood in the late sunshine in his khaki coloured riding -things, his face all aglow and ruddy with the cold, he too glowed -like everything else. He looked very handsome in his riding boots (I -could see him through the crack in the door) and much sportier than in -automobile goggles and a visored cap. - -He tossed down his riding whip and soft felt hat in a chair, rubbed his -bare hands together as if they were cold, blew through his fingers, -then abruptly flung himself full length on the leather couch. He -clasped his two hands underneath his head, and lay there with his eyes -wide open, staring up at the ceiling. I hoped he wouldn't keep me -waiting long. A small travelling clock on the desk struck four-thirty, -and he turned toward it. It was then that he saw the big white bundle -resting on his blotter. He frowned a moment, as his gaze fell upon it -(I was shaking with laughter) then got up and walked over to it. He -picked it up, turned it over, and laid it down again. He examined the -outside closely--for an address, I suppose--gave it up, then shoving -his hands into his pockets, stood looking down at the bundle, as if -some stranger had left a baby at his door and he didn't know what -to do with it. Finally, he decided to open the thing at least, and -began taking out the pins. Beneath the brown paper was the layer of -white tissue paper, tied with red Christmas ribbon. I didn't think -Dr. Maynard would ever get beneath that tissue paper. You would have -thought that there was something explosive inside. He lifted up the -rustling package gingerly by the red ribbon and looked it all over. My -card was hanging from the under side. Dr. Maynard took it off at last -and read it. - -It was a plain white card with simply the words: "Merry Christmas to -W. F. M. from his discharged chauffeur, George." Dr. Maynard gazed at -that card as if there had been volumes written on it. He turned it -over, searched on the back, and examined again its face. Then he went -to the window, put the shade up to the top, and came back to the desk. -His back was toward me; I couldn't see the expression on his face as he -folded back the tissue paper, and my pillow finally shone up at him. He -didn't speak nor make a single sound as he stood looking down at the -initials and his class numeral. He didn't stir--just looked until the -silence grew uncomfortable. Suddenly he sat down in his desk-chair, -leaned forward, picked up Alec's picture and began looking at that in -the same awfully still, quiet way. I couldn't bear it a minute longer. -The tensity was something like a shrill, long-drawn-out note on a -violin. I can't explain it, but it made me want to scream. - -Suddenly I burst out upon him. - -"Well," I exclaimed, "do you like it?" - -He wheeled about, as if he'd heard a shot. - -"Lucy!" he said, "Where did you--?" - -"In the closet," I interrupted, "watching." - -He still had the picture in his hands. He glanced at it, then laid it -down, and for the first time in my life I saw the dark colour come into -Dr. Maynard's face. He came over to me. - -"Did you make it?" he asked me quietly. - -"Every stitch for you!" I said, laughing. - -He didn't answer at first. He just kept looking at me, with that queer, -new look of his. He didn't joke. His eyes didn't twinkle with fun. When -he spoke his voice trembled. He took one of my hands very kindly and -gently in both of his cold ones. - -"You have made my Christmas the very happiest one in my life, Lucy," he -said solemnly. - -I glanced up surprised. I wish I could write down how his eyes looked. -I can't. I only know I was suddenly afraid. I drew my hand away and -laughed, for no reason. I was actually embarrassed before Dr. Maynard! - -"I guess I must go," I said nervously. The sun had set and the glow had -all gone out of the room. - -Dr. Maynard didn't answer me. He just stood there like a stone man. Oh, -I think that silences are the most awfully eloquent things in the world! - -"It's getting dark," I added desperately. - -Without a word Dr. Maynard went to the library door and opened it. I -followed. Then to the front door and opened that. He stood holding it -back, still not speaking (but I could feel his gaze burning into me) -and I sped past him out into the dusk, like a wild bird out of a cage. - -I don't know how I got home. I half ran, half stumbled along the frozen -road. My heart was thumping, and though I wasn't a bit cold (my cheeks -fairly burned) my teeth chattered as if I were chilled through. When I -reached the house there was a funny, choking feeling in my throat, and -I dashed up to my room and locked myself in. - - * * * * * - -All this last took place not eight hours ago and it is very late -Christmas night. - -When I write down what has happened it seems absurd to be excited. -But when I think of it--when I close my eyes, see his gaze, hear his -voice, I can't sleep. So I have climbed up into my cupola. I have been -sitting looking up at the stars. They are very bright to-night. There -are millions shining. - -I can see most all the houses in Hilton from my eyrie. They are dark -now. It is after twelve. But there are two windows aglow. I can see -them shining, side by side like eyes, through the bare limbs of our -apple orchard. They are western windows, in a white house, and eight -hours ago the setting sun shone into them, upon Dr. Maynard in his -riding clothes. I wonder what he is doing so late. - -It's a lovely night--cold, clear and so still. I'd like to walk twenty -miles before morning. I'd like to fly a thousand. - -O Father, I don't know why it is--it doesn't seem right, for the awful -shadow is still over our house and Alec hasn't smiled all day--but -this--oh, this is _my_ happiest Christmas too! - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -On a certain night in April I was in the sitting-room trying to keep -awake until Alec came home. His train was not due until midnight. I was -awfully anxious to wait up for him, but at ten o'clock I was so sleepy -that I couldn't keep my eyes open another minute. So I went to Father's -roll-top desk and scribbled this on a piece of paper: "_Dear Alec--Be -sure and stop at my room when you come in. Bobbie_," and fastened it -with a wire hairpin on the light that I left burning. - -Alec and I were on friendly terms again, and the whole world was -smiling for me. I didn't care if the "For Sale" was still hitting me -in the face every time I entered the yard, since Alec had put me back -in charge of the Household Account. I might have known my cheque-book -wouldn't have lied for me. Alec didn't get around to look into my -bookkeeping until about the first of January, and then he was so -delighted to discover that I hadn't failed in my trust, after all, that -he couldn't reinstate me quickly enough. It was so good to be friends -again, such a relief to have his faith in me restored and made whole, -that I guess he didn't want to risk urging me to explain what I really -wanted the seventy-five dollars for. "I know you'll explain all about -it, sometime," he said. And I replied, "Sometime, Alec." That was the -way our quarrel ended. The next morning I walked to the factory with my -brother; the next evening I sat with him by the drop-light and when he -went to bed I carried to his room some hot milk and crackers so that -he would sleep. Since then we have been nearer to each other than ever -before. - -There is something beautiful about our relations. I'd die for Alec. I -don't believe there ever has been a brother and sister more congenial -than Alec and I. I know just how to please him, and he knows better -than any one in this world how to manage me. There isn't a prouder girl -alive than I, when Alec confides his business affairs to me. I do not -understand them very well. Companies and Coöperations, Preferred and -Common Stock, Bonds and Bank-notes are all a perfect jumble in my mind. -But I've learned long ago, that nothing will shut a man up more quickly -than a comment on a girl's part that shows him how ignorant she is. -So now I keep still; listen as hard and closely as I can; sympathise -with my whole heart when Alec is worried, and rejoice with him when -he announces that some Boston bank or other has lent him twenty-five -thousand dollars, although I _am_ frightened to death of borrowing. I -never give my brother a chance to scoff at a girl's comprehension of -business transactions. The result is, he talks to me by the hour, and -thinks I understand a great deal more than I do. - -Ever since last Christmas Alec has been running down to New York about -every two weeks. There was a big order that he was trying to secure, -besides some sort of an arrangement he wanted to work up with some rich -men down there to increase the capital stock of the business, I think -he said. I have an idea, though I never asked, that if he could have -worked that arrangement it would have saved the business from peril of -failing. Alec used to stay in New York about three days usually, and -always came home a little more worried, anxious, and discouraged than -when he started. - -This time he had been away almost two weeks. I had had only one short -note from him written the day after he left home. Since then I had not -heard from him until his telegram had arrived announcing he would reach -Hilton on the midnight from New York. - -It was a cold blustering night for April, and before I went to bed -myself, I went up into Alec's third-floor room, turned on the heat, -filled a hot-water bag and stuck it down between the cold sheets of his -bed. - -I must have been sleeping very soundly when Alec stole into my room -at twelve-thirty. I didn't know he was in the house, until I felt his -hand on my shoulder and his gentle, "Hello, Bobbie!" I woke up with a -glad start and found him sitting on the side of my bed. "My, what a -sleeper!" he said and leaned down and kissed my forehead. - -I knew from the first whiff that Alec must have been sitting in the -smoking-car (he doesn't smoke himself) and I drew in a fine, long -breath before I spoke. - -"Oh, Alec," I exclaimed, "how beautifully New Yorky you smell!" - -"Do I, funny Bobbikins?" he laughed at me, and at the sound of that -name which Alec had not called me by for six months, a thrill of new -courage ran through me. - -I sat up. - -"Alec," I said, "you've brought good news. I _know_ it! I _know_ it! I -knew we couldn't fail. I've felt it all along. I knew Father's dear old -business wouldn't go back on us. I had a feeling that _this_ trip to -New York would be a lucky one." - -"I've been farther than New York, Bobbie. I've been to Pinehurst, North -Carolina," Alec announced. - -"To Pinehurst! Mercy! Whatever in the world--do tell me _every_ word. -I'm simply crazy to hear all about it." - -"Well--" he began. "Say, Bobbikins," he broke off, "would you be very -much surprised to know that it is--all right between Edith and me?" - -Alec might as well have struck off on a tangent about George Washington -or Joan of Arc. - -"Edith?" I gasped. - -"Yes," went on Alec gently; "Edith Campbell. Of course you've known -I've cared for no one else for the last ten years. The business and our -large family have always made it seem rather hopeless. But when I was -in New York I had a common little picture post-card from Edith, who was -at Pinehurst, and your disgraceful old brother here dropped everything -and went down there. I was there for six whole days, and she and her -family and I all came home together to-night after two rather nice -days in New York. She's actually got a ring in a little blue velvet -box which she's going to wear for me a little later, Bobbie." He tried -to say it lightly but his whole voice was exulting. "You see, I had to -come in and tell my partner, didn't I? She would have to know first of -all about such a great piece of news." - -He stopped and I sat perfectly silent, stunned for an instant, not -knowing quite what had struck me and knocked me down with my breath -all gone. Alec waited and I tried to jump up, as it were, and speak, so -he would know I wasn't dead. - -"Why, Alec Vars!" I managed to gasp, and then the horror of his news -flashed over me. The man I loved best in the whole world had just -told me that he was engaged to be married to a girl whom I abhorred! -I wanted to scream; I wanted to bury my face in my pillow and cry; I -wanted to say, "Oh, go away, go away, Alexander Vars. Leave me alone. -I want to die." But instead I remarked quite calmly, "You engaged? To -Edith Campbell? My goodness, but I'm surprised." And then warned by the -choke in my voice, I switched off into something commonplace. "Say, -would you mind," I said jovially enough, "just removing your hundred -and seventy-five pounds off my left foot there? You're crushing the -bones in it." - -Alec leaned forward and kissed me hard. - -"You little brick of a Bobbie! I knew you'd take it like a soldier." - -I gulped down a disgusting sob. - -"But wasn't I the goose," I hurried like mad to say, for I was afraid -I'd break down and bawl like a baby before his very eyes, "wasn't I the -little goose to think it was the business that made you so happy?" - -"Oh, the business," Alec announced, "is bound to succeed _now_." - -"Sure," I broke in hastily, "just bound to. It's awfully nice, all -around, isn't it? And I--" I floundered on, "I am just--just _pleased_!" - -The hall clock struck one. I grasped the blessed sound like a sinking -man. - -"Is that twelve-thirty, one, or one-thirty? I haven't the ghost of -an idea," I said lightly. Then desperately, at the breaking point, I -gasped, "Is it cold out?" - -Alec patted my hand. - -"Brave girl! I understand. But don't you worry. Everything will work -out all right. Now I'll say good-night." - -I think Alec must have seen I couldn't hold in much longer. I was, -in fact, using every atom of strength that I possessed to fight that -pushing, shoving, tumbling crowd of lumps and sobs in my throat. Just -as Alec was closing my door I managed to call after him, so that he -might know that I wasn't crying, "Be sure and turn out the lights." - -"All right, General-manager." - -"And say," I added, "you know I think it's perfectly fine." - -"Surely! Good-night." - -Then my door closed, and I sank down on my pillow, opened the gates -wide, and let the torrent of sobs rush through. - -Can any one realise the torture of my mind during the long dark hours -of that night? I hardly can realise it now, myself. The fact, "ALEC IS -ENGAGED TO EDITH CAMPBELL!" glared at me horribly as if it were printed -in enormous white letters on a black ground, like a big sign on a -factory, and I stared and stared, hypnotised, beyond power of thought. -I was so stunned and overcome by the fact itself that at first I was -unable to comprehend what it would mean to me. I hated Edith Campbell. -All my life I had hated her. She had always treated Alec like the dirt -under her feet--forever flaunting Palm Beach and Poland Springs in -his face and eyes, parading to church every other Sunday with smart -stylish-looking men and planting them down in the pew two rows in front -of ours to show them off. - -Of course I had guessed that Alec had liked Edith Campbell. As long -ago as I can remember he used to call on her when she came home from -her fashionable New York boarding-school. Alec invited her to be his -special guest, at his Class-Day, when he graduated from college. But -she elected to go with somebody else, and pranced down there with a -millionaire's son. Poor Alec didn't invite any other girl. I was in -knee skirts then, but I was old enough to hate her for it. Not that I -wanted such a creature to be nice to Alec. I didn't. I knew my brother -was miles too good for her, but I couldn't bear to have such a flashy, -worldly, inferior girl show scorn toward a prince. I never understood -why Alec had admired her. She's absolutely opposite from my brother in -every possible way. She has the most confident, cock-surest manner I -ever witnessed. Her clothes are dreadfully flashy and her father is a -mere upstart who squeezes money out of everybody he knows. Hilton used -to criticise Edith Campbell before it commenced bowing and scraping -to her. When she came home from boarding-school, she let it be known -that her intimate friends lived outside of Hilton. She advertised that -she visited at some of the big places in the Berkshires. She merely -tolerated Hilton and its people. - -Oh, I hate her! I never saw why men ran after her so frantically. It -used to make me absolutely sick when the younger girls in Hilton got -the Edith Campbell craze. They used to try to copy everything she wore. -But _I_ didn't. I wouldn't as much as turn my head to look at her. I -was delighted when Alec stopped going to see her. I had thought, when -Alec announced his engagement to me, that that little romance of his -had been dead and buried for five years. It hadn't even worried me. - -When I awoke the morning after Alec told me his astonishing news, and -saw the sun shining in a square on the wall opposite me, I lay very -still for a moment. "You've had a horrible dream," I said. "Alec didn't -come home last night. Just a minute, and things will get themselves -fixed." I sat up, but the dream didn't fade. There was the tell-tale -towel with which I had bathed my eyes; there the glass of water; there -the dissipated-looking candle burned down to its very last; here the -confused tossed bed-clothes, and when I staggered to the mirror, there -were my swollen red eyes and awful tangled hair. I dressed slowly, with -a very heavy heart, and unable to cry any more, smiled at myself once -or twice in the glass out of grim spite. - -I had not gone to sleep until it had begun to grow light. I remembered -now. And it was nine o'clock when I went downstairs for an attempt at -breakfast. Ruth was devouring eggs when I went into the dining-room. -I had thought she would be at school, but I had forgotten that it was -Saturday. Alec had already gone to the factory. His eggy plate and -half-filled coffee-cup stood at his deserted place. - -"My, but you're late," said Ruth, emptying the cream-pitcher into her -coffee. "Say, isn't it corking about Alec? We've been sitting here -hours talking about it. I think it's simply dandy. Just imagine--Edith -Campbell!" - -I became very busy fixing my cuff-link, for I was ashamed of my swollen -eyes; but Ruth was sure to see them. She glanced up. - -"I might have known you'd take it like that," she broke out, though I -hadn't said a word; "always acting like a thunder-cloud, and throwing -wet blankets on everything. Now why in the world shouldn't Alec get -married?" - -"I didn't say he shouldn't," I murmured. - -"Well," went on Ruth, "Edith Campbell is _great_. I can't get over -the fact, that with all the men she's known, she likes Alec better -than any of them. She's dreadfully popular. I'll bet she's had a dozen -proposals. Oh, I think Al's done awfully well. The Campbells have piles -of money. I know her younger sister Millicent, and their house beats -anything I ever saw. You ought to see it. And besides, Edith Campbell -is the best-looking thing! She's stunning on a horse." - -Ruth always antagonises me when she talks about people she admires. - -"_I_ think," I said in a low voice, "that Edith Campbell is common and -loud and vulgar." - -"Oh, nonsense!" retorted Ruth. "I'm simply wild about the whole thing. -The Campbells are going to do this tumbledown old ark all over, for a -wedding present, and Al says her father is going to insist on Edith's -bringing her horses with her. I don't call that common or vulgar. I -call it generous!" - -"Is she going to live here?" I gasped. - -"Of course she is. Where else? And Alec says that you and I will each -have a perfectly lovely room, and divide our time between here and -Tom's. I tell you what, I'm glad for one, that we won't have to live -like pigs any more. Edith Campbell is used to piles of servants!" - -I don't know why Ruth's words made me so terribly angry. - -"Ruth Chenery Vars," I said, "I hate Edith Campbell, and I'll never -live under the same roof with her. I never will. Do you hear me? I -never will!" - -Ruth glanced up and met my fiery eyes. - -"Mercy," she said, simply disgusted, "why get so everlasting mad?" - -I shoved back my chair and left the table quietly, hurried up the -stairs straight to my disheveled room, and locked the door tight. -My mind was clear now all right; I could comprehend the meaning of -the awful black and white sign _now_, without any difficulty. I was -no goose not to know perfectly well that Alec's engagement meant -that Miss Lucy Vars would be requested to hand in her resignation as -General-manager, Keeper-of-the-Household-Account, Bosser-of-the-meals, -Mother-of-the-family, and oh, too, Partner-of-Alec. Why, I had poured -the coffee at our table ever since the day Father had put me there -in Mother's empty chair. I had always sat there, pushed the bell, -and told the maid to take off the plates for dessert. My place had -always been opposite Father, and after he had gone, Alec had sat -there. Ever since, he and I had held the reins together. There wasn't -a chair nor a rug, nor a table in the house that I hadn't put in -position. There wasn't a pound of sugar, nor a half-dozen oranges -in the pantry that I had not ordered. For five years there hadn't -been a servant engaged by any one but me. Now, suddenly, all such an -arrangement was to be at an end. Ruth was delighted; Alec was supremely -happy; the twins, who worship anything that means more cash, would be -transported with joy. Everybody, in fact, would delight in a change in -administration--everybody but the poor old dethroned ruler, who was -locked in her desolate room trying to find consolation in vigorously -making her bed. - -When Alec came home at noon I saw him scanning my impassive face, for I -had not been crying since the night before, and the trace of tears was -gone. After our regular Saturday boiled dinner he asked me to come into -the sitting-room. He closed the doors carefully and sat down beside -me on the couch. I wished he wouldn't take my hand for it was chapped -and red, and of course he had held hers, for which he had bought the -beautiful ring in the little blue velvet box, and hers would be soft -and white. I drew mine away. Alec talked to me gently and told me -about the arrangements. I heard him say with a dull shock, that they -would be married in the early fall. I remember wondering how they had -decided such details in the course of ten days. I soon discovered that -they had managed to go over the whole ground. There seemed to be no -question undecided, no points untouched. Ruth, he said, would start -in at boarding-school in the fall; the twins of course would continue -at college and their vacations would, as usual, be spent at home. He -repeated what I already very well knew that after the twins graduated -they would probably go out West and start into one of Tom's lumber -camps. - -"So there'll just be me left," I hurried to say, kind of to help him -out. - -"And, of course, _you'll_ live right along here with us," he said, -"except, once in a while, when Tom and Elise want you there with them." - -"I'm worse to dispose of than a mother-in-law," I half laughed, sorry -in a moment that I had spoken so, for Alec looked hurt, and exclaimed, -"Oh, Bobbie dear!" - -"Oh, I'll try, Alec, I really will," I reassured him, for Alec always -brings out the best in me. - -"And go and see Edith very soon?" he said, following me up cruelly. -"She'll be expecting you." - -"Oh, yes, I'll try," I murmured, biting my trembling under lip. - -"Good girl! I knew I could count on you. You'll like Edith," he said. -"And she wants to be awfully kind to you and Ruth. I know you'll try -and make it easy for her, Bobbie," he added, and left me as cheerfully -as a summer's breeze. - -Late that afternoon, about five I think, I started out for a walk in -Buxton's woods, a quarter of a mile back of our house. I hadn't been -gone very long when I heard a step behind me, and turning around I saw, -mounted on her stunning black Kentucky thoroughbred, Edith Campbell, -coming toward me. I wanted to run away, to hide perhaps behind a tree -and let her pass, but I couldn't for she had caught sight of me. - -"Hold on," she called. "Wait a minute," and she drew up beside me. -"Hello, Lucy," she said in her familiar, breezy way. "Now isn't this -luck?" Her dark, crisp hair was neat and firm beneath the little black -derby--an affectation in dress that no one wears riding in Hilton -except Edith Campbell. She didn't have them on to-day, but usually she -wears long green drop-earrings, screwed on, I think--too New Yorky for -anything. "Wait a jiffy," she laughed, "and I'll walk along with you. -Pierre here, can mosey along behind." She sprang down from her saddle -like a sporty horse-woman, came up and thrust out a gauntlet-gloved -hand to me. She gave me a Hercules grip. "Has Al told you?" she asked, -plunging straight ahead, with no delicacy. - -"Yes, he has," I stammered, "and--I congratulate you both," I finished -desperately. - -It did sound stiff and formal and schoolgirlish, but I was angry -with Edith Campbell when she laughed at me and exclaimed, "You funny -old-fashioned child!" - -She arranged one pair of reins over her horse's neck and used the other -pair for a lead, slipping her arm through the loop. - -"Come on now, let's walk," she said and put her free arm through mine, -a familiarity from the wonderful Edith Campbell for which even sensible -Juliet would envy me. _I_ wanted to edge away from her. "Alec," she -went on, "thinks the world and all of you, Bobbie," (as if she had to -inform me!) "and I want you to know right off, you won't be losing a -brother, simply gaining a sister." (Usual, meaningless words! As if -Ruth wasn't more than enough anyhow.) "And another thing," she ploughed -ahead, "there will always be a room in our house for Bobbie. One of the -things I told Alec was that he must look out for his sisters." - -"Alec would do that anyway," I said. - -"Of course. Nice old Al! He's as good as gold." - -I couldn't bear her patronising manner. She has always treated Alec -like that, just because she had money and he had nothing but goodness. -I turned to her seriously. - -"Miss Campbell," I asked, "how did you come to want to marry Alec?" - -"You amusing chicken!" she laughed, then pinching me disgustingly on -the arm, she added in a sly way, "You wait, you'll know when the right -one comes." - -I flushed but held my peace. - -"I was only wondering," I said. "Alec has so little money, and you--I -mean our business--our success is so uncertain." - -"Alec is bound to succeed _now_," she replied in her cock-sure way. "I -told Al there was no such word in my vocabulary as failure. Besides -_Father_ is going to look into the business, and Father never touched a -thing that wasn't successful." - -"Your father!" I gasped with the colour again in my face. Her father -used to collect junk-iron. "Our business!" - -"Oh, come, come. Just like Al at first. This Vars pride! Don't you see, -my dear, that, independent of weddings, a man can put a little life -into a dead business if he wants to?" - -"My father's business isn't dead," I exclaimed, now filled with -indignation. - -"Oh, come, Bobbikins!" - -"Don't call me that, please," I said and drew away my arm. - -"Tut, tut! Come now! You and I are going to be friends." She treated -me as if I were aged five. "You know," she went on, "when I come, I -think there'll be an extra saddle horse, in one of the stalls in your -stable." She used that mysterious tone you do to children when talking -about Santa Claus. "I think if you will look very hard you will find -your initials on him somewhere, Bobbie." - -"I wouldn't touch it, Miss Campbell. I wouldn't touch one hair of the -horse; and please call me Lucy." - -We were breaking out of the narrow wood-path, and coming to a travelled -road. We walked in silence till we reached the highway. It was almost -dark. Suddenly Edith Campbell spoke. - -"I must be hustling homeward," she said glibly, and as if nothing -unpleasant had occurred between us she asked, "Lend me your hand, will -you, Bobbie, please?" - -I helped her mount, in silence. - -"That's the way," she said. "Thanks. Now look here, poor little -childie," she broke off, looking down at me like a queen from her -saddle, "whenever you're ready to be friends, remember, so am I. All -right, Pierre!" and she cantered off in the dusk. - -I stood quite still for a moment, and then right to that lonely, empty -road, I said out loud, "I can't live with her. I can't--I can't! Dear -Alec, I tried. Dear Father and Tom and Elise, I tried, but I can't, I -can't!" And all the dark way home, all the long night through, I ran -over and over the words like a squirrel in a revolving cage. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -For three days and nights I wandered over the ruins of my life, back -and forth, helpless, almost driven mad by the horror of it; and then at -last Dr. Maynard came. I had not realised that he had been out of town. -I had been so stunned by Alec's announcement that I had not missed him. -He had been down to Baltimore for three days attending some sort of -a medical conference and I had not known that he had been outside of -Hilton. - -Dr. Maynard and I were as good friends as ever now. Three whole months -had passed since that Christmas Day when he discovered my sofa-pillow -on his desk, and I had come to the conclusion that he had been merely -surprised into his queer behaviour that day. He had never shown a scrap -of the same emotion since. I remember the very next time I saw him he -had dropped that newly acquired gravity of his. Somehow I had been -disappointed. When he referred to my pillow in his old natural, jovial -way, I had been hurt. "I tell you what," he had said, "I feel like an -undergraduate again. Nice girl like Lucy Vars making me a pillow for -my room! Won't you come to my Class-Day?" he had laughed. It was I -who had flushed then. I managed to throw back some sort of a careless -rejoinder, but I tell you, I didn't waste any more madly happy moments -on Dr. Maynard. Grey-haired old bachelor! He was old enough to be my -uncle anyhow! We had resumed our automobile rides just as naturally -as if he'd never acted queerly at all. We took up our jolly repartee, -returned to our old plane of good-comradeship, exactly as if I had -never seen him gaze at my picture, and heard his voice tremble when he -told me I had made his Christmas the very happiest in his life. _I_ -didn't care. I was glad of it. I had never wanted Dr. Maynard for a -lover! But I wanted him for a friend. - -I don't believe I quite appreciated how much I wanted him, until he -came back from Baltimore and discovered me wandering about my ruins -like a maniac. When I found myself bundled up in Father's old ulster, -again beside him in his automobile, flashing through the cool night -air, a great wave of relief ran over me. Dr. Maynard has seen me -through so much trouble, brought me safely over so many difficulties, -that it was a comfort just to sit beside him in silence. When we had -reached a good clear stretch of road, he settled down comfortably -behind the wheel. - -"Now go ahead," he said heartily; "the whole story, please," and I knew -that Alec had broken his news to him. - -"Well," I started in, "since you've been gone, there's been a dreadful -earthquake around here." (Dr. Maynard and I adore to talk in similes.) -"My house has been smashed up, and I'm a pitiful refugee. I am cold and -hungry and without a home." - -"I've come with supplies," laughed Dr. Maynard, taking it up -delightfully. "I'm a little late, but I've brought bread and meat and a -tent, and want you to crawl in and warm up." - -"I can't live with her, Dr. Maynard. I can't!" I broke out, too -heart-sick to play with similes any more. "I hate her and I can't help -it. She's taken Alec away, she's pushed herself into my dear father's -business, and there's no place for me, as I can see, anywhere." - -"Tell me all about it," said Dr. Maynard, and I related every single -word of my whole pitiful story, growing sorrier and sorrier for myself -as I went along, and finally at the end breaking down completely, -repeating my old time-worn phrase, "I can't live with her. I can't, -can't!" I covered my face with both hands. There were tears trickling -down my cheeks. - -Without a word of advice or comfort, Dr. Maynard shut off the power and -brought the car to a standstill by the side of the bleak country road. -He took hold of my hands and gently drew them away from my face down -into my lap. Then in a low voice with the play and banter all gone out -of it he said, "Could you live with _me_, Lucy?" - -"Oh, yes," I replied quickly enough, "fifty times easier!" - -Perhaps he smiled, for he added half laughing and yet gravely, too, "I -would like to have you, if you want to." - -"I only wish I could," I said desperately. - -And then very seriously and very solemnly he told me his story. I can't -say that I was exactly surprised. I had half guessed it for the last -two years; but then I had half guessed a lot of preposterous things -that never came true. "I talked with Alec last night," I heard Dr. -Maynard telling me gently, "and if you would like--that is if you want -to come with me, Lucy, your brother would be glad to have you, I am -certain. This isn't the only talk Alec and I have had about you. I -wanted to speak to you about this last fall, but Al thought it better -to wait. And I wanted to speak again after--the sofa-pillow, and again -Al couldn't quite make up his mind that you had grown up, and wanted me -to wait again. So I did. You see," he smiled, "it isn't a _new_ idea -with me." - -I listened calmly as Dr. Maynard went on talking in his quiet, -unexcited manner. I didn't interrupt his long, well-planned speech. -I simply sat dumb with my hands clasped tightly in my lap. I don't -remember that I felt a single sensation during the entire explanation -except at the end a kind of shock as I thought to myself: "So after all -it's going to be just Dr. Maynard!" For when he had finally finished, -I said evenly, with the moon standing there like a clergyman before -us, and all the watching stars like witnesses behind, "I will come, -Dr. Maynard," and I added, "and I think you are the very kindest man I -know." For you see he had offered me his home, his protection, and his -love, he said, for all my life. - -There was something awfully silent and ominous about the gentle still -way he turned the machine around and started for home. It was entirely -different from what I had guessed might take place. In the dreams that -I had woven I had never accepted Dr. Maynard. I had been grateful -for his devotion, honoured by his proposal, deeply sorry for his -disappointment, but like the girl in an old play called "Rosemary," my -heart belonged to one who possessed youth and passion. In those absurd -imaginings of mine I used to frame letters which I should write to -Juliet Adams about poor Will Maynard. I used to plan just how I should -break the news to my brother Alec. But now--Oh, now, I couldn't write -Juliet at all; I couldn't tell Alec; I couldn't tell any one about -my first proposal. I had accepted it in the first half-hour. There -was nothing thrilling about it. I sat like a stone image beside Dr. -Maynard. I couldn't speak. - -"It took you an awfully long while to grow up," he said at last, half -laughing. "I've actually grown grey waiting for you. Alec said to me -the first time, 'Wait till she's nineteen,' and then, 'Good heavens, -Will, she's nothing but a child yet. Wait till she's twenty,' and -so on, and so on. Awful hindrance, because for the last two years -I've been wanting to do some important research work in Germany. But -I couldn't leave you to the wolves. How did I know but that some -good-looking young chap would come along and snatch you up? But now, -we'll go to Germany together, and, Lucy," he said, "Lucy--" but I -didn't want Dr. Maynard to grow serious. I think he must have seen me -kind of cringe away for he broke off lightly enough, "and perhaps some -fine day the refugee and I will be seeing Paris together." - -I stole into the house that night very quietly, crept up to my room and -closed the door without a sound. I wanted to be alone. I was suddenly -filled with a kind of panic-stricken wonder, for there had been actual -tears in Dr. Maynard's eyes when he took my hand at the door (I hadn't -known how to say good-night to him), a tremble in his voice that awed -and frightened me. He acted very much as he had about my Christmas -present. It had made me happy then, but, you see _then_ I hadn't just -promised to marry him. Oh, I hated having him look so serious and -solemn about it, and now as I stood a moment with my back against my -closed door, my hat and coat still on, I pressed my two cool hands -against my burning cheeks and tried to comprehend a little of what it -all meant. Suddenly I crossed the room, pulled on the gas by my bureau, -leaned forward and gazed grimly at my familiar old face in the glass -before me. So this was what was to become of Lucy Chenery Vars, I -thought calmly; this was her story; this was her end; and oh, to think -that all the beautiful unknown future of the person in the glass before -me was wiped out and decided in one fell swoop, made me want to throw -my arms about her image and kiss her for pity. I turned away. - -Of course I liked Dr. Maynard--I had always liked him. And his big, -empty, white-pillared house was in the very town, on the very street of -my dear beloved home. There was a place for me there. Alec had given -Dr. Maynard to understand that there would be no objection from him. -Probably it seemed to Alec a good way to dispose of me. Oh, there was -everything in favour of the arrangement. I had always longed to go -to Europe. Germany and Paris were sparkling ahead, and here--_here_ -nothing but the nightmare of Edith Campbell everywhere I turned. I drew -a long breath--there was no other course for me to follow--looked once -more sadly into the glass, pulled down my curtain and began to get -ready for bed. - -I never shall forget that night. I don't believe I slept at all. I -don't know what time it was when I got up and, lighting my candle, sat -down at my desk, shivering in my long white nightgown. I just sat -and sat; and gazed and gazed; and thought and thought; and dropped, I -remember, little drops of melted wax along my bare arm, as I turned -over my problem in my mind. "If only I didn't actually have to marry -him!" I said out loud and turned and sank again into troubled silence. -I got up once and carried the candle close to the cold, glass-covered -picture of my mother that hung over my bed. Why did she have to die -so long ago? What would she say--she who was to have been my best -friend--what would she say if she could turn that clear-cut profile -around and let me look into her eyes? I didn't know. I hadn't been old -enough to remember even her smile. Shouldn't a girl be glad on the -night of her betrothal? Shouldn't there be ardent looks, passionate -words, tender caresses for her to live through again in thought? -Shouldn't she long for the sight of the man whom she had promised to -marry? "What shall I do, Father?" I said out loud. "What shall I do?" -But only my clock answered me with its steady, unintelligible tick. -No one could help me--no one in the wide world. I asked them, and -they couldn't. Even Edith Campbell had said, "you'll know"; but oh, I -didn't, I didn't. - -So that is why, near morning, I got up again, went to my desk, opened a -little secret drawer, and took out a picture. The picture was the one I -had bought in New York after I had seen Robert Dwinnell at the theatre -in the afternoon. Of course it is silly and very absurd for a girl of -my years to treasure a picture of an actor in a secret drawer in her -desk. I can't help it. That picture had been my ideal for almost five -years now. It wasn't the actor that I liked so much (for of course I -have been told that actors aren't nice); it wasn't Robert Dwinnell -himself I admired. It was simply the jolly look in his eyes and the way -he had--I remembered it so well--of striding across the stage, sitting -carelessly on the edge of a table and swinging one foot. It had just -about torn the heart out of me to watch that man make love. He had a -kind of lingering way with his hands, and with his eyes too, every time -the heroine was in his presence. Even before he had proposed to her, I -knew he adored her and afterward--oh, really I think Robert Dwinnell -must have loved that actress off the stage as well as on. Dr. Maynard's -hands had never lingered about my shoulders when he helped me on with -a coat; he had never gazed at me eloquently across a crowded room; -and even after I had promised to marry him he hadn't crushed me to -him in any mad wave of joy. I gazed for a whole half-minute at Robert -Dwinnell's picture. I forgot all my problems for a little while--I -forgot everything in the memory of that man's image. Call it absurd -if you want to, ridiculous and impossible, but when I raised my eyes -at last and rose, clear as the day that was just breaking, bright as -a new-born vision, I knew--I _knew_ I couldn't marry just everyday, -kind Dr. Maynard. It was just as if Robert Dwinnell had gotten up from -out of that picture, walked over to me, taken my hand and said, "You -must wait for some one like me." And I looked up and knew that I must. -It was like a miracle, and I shall never forget the sudden trembling -assurance in my heart, as I found my way to my desk and in the light of -that lovely new morning, drew out a sheet of paper and wrote to Edith -Campbell and told her I was ready to be friends. For suddenly, brought -face to face with the thrilling image of the man of my dreams, I was -ready to live with twenty Edith Campbells. Of course, _of course_, -I couldn't marry Dr. Maynard, and with a little pang of regret or -something like it in my heart, I finally wrote him this note: - - "_Dear Dr. Maynard_, - - The refugee has thought it all over very carefully and has decided to - gather the pieces of her house together and rebuild on the same spot, - like San Francisco." - -Then I added, dropping all play and with something I knew to be pain: - - "I can't do it, Dr. Maynard, I've tried and I can't. But you'll always - be the very kindest man I know. - - "LUCY CHENERY VARS." - -"_Now_ if you don't come!" I said to the picture, and leaned forward -and buried my head in my arms. - -So that is how it happened that Dr. Maynard went away to Germany alone -and I remained at home to fight my battle. It was a dull, grey morning -that he sailed, some three weeks after that wakeful night of mine, and -I was sitting alone in my room at precisely eleven o'clock--the sailing -hour--trying to imagine Dr. Maynard down there in New York on the big, -white-decked liner, waving good-bye in his Oxford grey overcoat. - -I was wondering if the nicest, cheerfullest steamer letter I could -write had reached him when suddenly Mary, the general-housework girl, -pushed open my door and shoved in a long white box that had come -by express. I opened it wonderingly and gasped at the big mass of -fresh red roses that met my gaze. I lifted them into my arms. It was -exactly as if the kindest man I know had thrown them to poor me upon -the shore, just at the moment that the big boat was pulling out, and I -had caught them safely in my arms. There was a little limp card that -came with them. The stick had all come off the envelope and it fell -out on the bed like a loose rose petal. I leaned and picked it up. The -ink had begun to run a little as if the message had been written on -blotting-paper, but I could make it out all right. The three little -words brought burning tears to my eyes. - -The card said: "For plucky San Francisco." - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -Many months have passed since Dr. Maynard went to Europe. There have -been two crops of chestnuts for me to gather alone in October since -he sailed away--two dull, grey, unimportant Christmas nights since my -ridiculous happiest one. Edith has been in command of my father's house -for so long now that all the difficult adjustments have been made, the -machinery is running without an audible squeak, and the house itself -has developed into a plant as imposing and prosperous as a modern -factory. As I write to-day I am sitting in my elaborate new bedroom, -built on over the new porte-cochère--my old room was cut up into two -baths and a shower--and am surrounded with rose cretonne hangings, lacy -curtains, and delicately shaded electric lights. - -Even the people in my life have changed so radically that I hardly -recognise them as the ones that I once worked and cared for. Ruth -has grown into a charming young lady; the twins have graduated from -college and are earning their own way--Malcolm in New York and Oliver -in a lumber camp out West; Tom is middle-aged; Elise, whom I visited -last winter, is becoming a little stout and her hair is sprinkled -through with grey; Alec has buried his personality in Edith; nothing -is as it was. Even Hilton is different. The old Brooks Hotel on Main -Street, where George Washington once stopped for over night, has -been torn down; there's a new postoffice, a new City Hall; there's a -double-tracked electric-car line to Boston. There are two taxicabs -in the town now and a new theatre. Dr. Maynard's house looks like a -tomb. The wisteria vine is the only live thing about it. Like hair it -keeps on growing after death--winding, coiling, across the doors and -window-panes with no hand to push it back. A young man just graduated -from medical school has taken Dr. Maynard's practice; and as for kind, -gentle Dr. Maynard himself I begin to doubt if such a person ever -existed. When he went away he sold his automobile to Jake Pickens, a -plumber down on Blondell Street, and to-day as I glided grandly by -in Edith's limousine I observed Mr. Pickens wheezing up Main Street, -chugging along with awful difficulty. The poor old machine looked about -ready for the junk heap. A great wave of pity for it swept over me that -brought tears to my eyes. Oh, I wish I could have kept right straight -on with my old story. But I suppose everything has got to change, -houses and towns and automobiles, as well as people and their histories. - -I can hardly believe it was only two years ago that I used to climb -into the cupola and lock myself away from everything below. There _is_ -no cupola now. It was cut off, like an offending wart. I was surprised -to discover what a perfectly enormous thing it was as it stood upon -the lawn waiting to be carried off. It reminded me of a horse that has -fallen down on the pavement--symmetrical enough in its proper position, -but dreadfully awkward and absolutely colossal sprawling about on the -ground. Why, it took four horses to drag it up to old Silas Morton's. -Silas Morton is a farmer up near Sag Hill and he bought my sacred -temple for fifteen dollars. He uses it for a hen-house! It seemed to -me like sacrilege, but the hens laid eggs in it, Mr. Morton said, -as if they were possessed. The upper part of the window-panes in the -cupola are made of yellow stained-glass, and he thinks--Silas Morton -is kind of an inventor--that the hens have an idea it's sunshine and -that spring is coming. I tell him the cupola is inspired. I saw a -picture once of a common little farmhouse where Mrs. Eddy wrote her -book, "Science and Health." If my book were to be published, and some -photographer took a picture of the house in which I wrote it, I guess -that old hen-coop would win the prize for an odd spot in which to have -an inspiration. - -With the cupola gone and the French roof entirely obliterated, the -iron fence and the iron fountain sold to a junk man, a spreading -porte-cochère at one side of the house, a billiard-room at the -other, low verandas like a wide brim to a hat surrounding the entire -structure, and everything painted a bright yellow trimmed with green, -you never in this world would recognise 240 Main Street, once brown and -square and ugly. There's a new stable a quarter of a mile back of the -house; there are lawns where the vegetable garden used to be; the old -apple orchard is now a sunken garden with a pool in the centre. As I -write I can hear the trickle of a stream of water that spouts out of -the little artificial pond, and catch the prosperous sound of the hum -of a lawn-mower run by a motor. The name that Edith has chosen to give -to all this grandeur is "The Homestead." It is engraved at the head -of every sheet of note-paper in the establishment. The Homestead! You -might as well call Windsor Castle the "Bide a Wee" or the "Dewdrop Inn" -as this glaring, officious, stone-gated palace anything that suggests -plainness and sweet homely comfort. The last time I wrote to Juliet I -drew a big black ink line through the words "The Homestead" and wrote -above "The Waldorf-Ritz-Plaza." - -I've tried not to interfere with the changes Edith has made. I will -confess I appealed to Alec about the apple orchard. But it was of no -use. It seemed a shame to me, to go among that little company of old -friends--twenty or thirty bent and bowing apple-trees grown up now side -by side, touching branches and blooming together beautifully every -spring just as if they were not far too old to bear anything to be -called a harvest. I told Alec that I thought an apple orchard and a -stone wall with poison ivy climbing over it was the loveliest garden -for a New England homestead that any one could lay out. Alec must -have told Edith, for the next day she asked me, in her laughing way, -if I wouldn't like chickens scratching in the front yard, and yellow -pumpkins piled on the back porch. New England homesteads even managed, -she added, to keep pigs near enough the house so that the family could -breathe the healthy odour in the parlour. "Dear child," she said, "of -course we can't let the place be run over with poison ivy! How funny -you are!" And the apple-trees came down. There are formal paths in -the apple orchard now, the imported shrubs are tagged with labels, -the pond is lined with cement. I simply have to escape to the woods, -every once in a while, to make sure that nature is still having her way -somewhere in the world. - -You must think from this description that Edith Campbell is something -of an heiress. Now that word to me has a kind of aristocratic sound, -and so I prefer to say in regard to the Campbells, that they have -simply oodles and oodles of money. I hate the word "oodles," but it -just fits Edith Campbell. It describes her worldly possessions to a -T. Her father, old Dave Campbell, is rolling up a fortune that is -attracting attention. Why, the cost of all the improvements on old -"two-forty" here didn't make a dent in his bank account they say. Alec -tells me that if it wasn't for Mr. Campbell, Father's woollen business -would not have endured another twelve months. Mr. Campbell has gone -into the business heart and soul, and I don't know whether to be glad -or sorry. Father never had any use at all for Mr. Campbell. He used to -call him "scurvy." I remember the word because as a child I thought -it a funny adjective to apply to a man who had a perfectly flawless -complexion. I had to muster up all the control I had when I first saw -David Campbell's big, fat, voluminous body occupying Father's revolving -desk-chair in the private office down at the factory. I didn't think -Father would like it. But Alec says that Father would much prefer to -have Mr. Campbell elected as a president of the Vars & Company Woollen -Mills than that any concern bearing his, Father's, name should fail -to pay its creditors a hundred cents on the dollar. Perhaps he would; -I don't know much about business. Anyhow I try to be nice to Mr. -Campbell. - -I try to be nice to Edith, too. It isn't easy. I don't like her, and -I don't like her methods, but I don't tell her so. We don't quarrel, -although we mix about like oil and water. Of course Edith has her good -points. For instance she is the most generous person I ever knew, and -she's good-nature itself. She'll take an insult from you, pay you back -in your own coin and then exclaim: "Oh, come on, let's not fight. -There's a dear! Let's go to the matinée this afternoon." She has a -lot of practical ability too. She's a born manager, and as systematic -as a machine. The trouble with Edith is her ambition. She wants to -stand at the head of all society in the world, and to get there she -is ready to work till she drops. Just as soon as she struggles up on -top of one heap of people she begins on another, and so on. I don't -know where she'll stop. Juliet Adams' mother told me that she could -remember when people in Hilton didn't like to invite Mrs. Campbell to -their houses. That was years ago, of course, for now they thank their -lucky stars if they are invited to hers. There used to be, and are -still, lots of beautiful country places sprinkled around Hilton. These -summer people never mingled very much with Hiltonites, but as soon as -Edith was able to walk she was bound to mingle with them. Well, she -has realised that ambition. The summer colony, which is the set that -gives social distinction to Hilton, includes Edith in all of its big -functions now, in spite of the damning fact that she is a "native" and -an "all-the-year-round." - -Edith's social activities are simply marvellous to me. She has her -plan of campaign--the various combinations of people to be invited to -dinner-parties, bridges, or small teas, all mapped out and written -down in a book at the beginning of each season. Then she manages to -inveigle, by means of big fat cheques, I imagine, lions--pianists, and -authors, and lecturers, whom everybody wants to see and hear--to act as -her guest of honour. So her parties are always rather popular, you see. -Oh, Edith is clever. She may not understand my nature very well, but -to the likes and dislikes, pet ambitions and pleasures of human-nature -generally she can cater to the queen's taste. - -She has fairly hypnotised Ruth. My little sister thinks there is no one -like her. As soon as Edith married Alec, she took complete possession -of Ruth, provided her with a lot of lovely clothes and sent her off, -for the first winter, to a fashionable boarding-school in New York. -After eight dazzling months of that sort of life she ordained that -Ruth should return to Hilton and "come out." Last fall she gave her a -reception that fairly thrilled the town. Edith's word is sacred law -to Ruth; Edith's opinion the ultimatum to any doubt on any question -whatsoever. _I_ am a mere speck on Ruth's outlook on life; _my_ ideas -don't count; I am so old-fashioned and so easily shocked; I don't -know what style is; I don't possess a scrap of what Edith calls -social-sense. Perhaps as much as anything else it is Edith's complete -possession of Ruth that hurts me. It seems a shame that she couldn't -have been satisfied with Alec. I don't see why she had to rob me of my -only sister too. I don't cry about it (I won't let myself) but I think -I've missed my own mother more since I was twenty than before I was -ten. It may be a comfort to mothers whose little children have grown -out of the helpless age to know this from a grown-up daughter. - -I don't know what to say to you about my brother Alec. I wonder -sometimes what has become of him. I see him, I hear him speak, I -reply, but I might as well be gazing at his picture and talking with -him over the long distance 'phone. I have no idea what he thinks -about this new life of ours. He doesn't confide in me any more; we -are almost strangers now. Of course I should expect him to be loyal -to his wife--he's such a thoughtful man that he wouldn't hurt Edith's -feelings for anything--but I wonder and wonder where all his old -qualities have gone. Alec used to be so firm and determined, so frugal -and economical. Are those qualities still smouldering away down deep -in him somewhere, or when Edith took possession of his house, did she -take possession of his soul too, and sweep out everything she didn't -like, just as she cut off the cupola and sold the iron fence? Some men -let women do that with them, especially if it's a woman they've wanted -terribly for a dozen years, and never thought themselves good enough -for her to accept. Why, Alec simply wants to please Edith and her -family in every human way that he can. I have an idea that he feels so -grateful to Edith for accepting him, and to Mr. Campbell for saving the -business, that he doesn't dare disagree with a single solitary thing -the Campbells ever do or think or suggest. I believe my brother is so -overcome by living in such continual grandeur, sleeping in a bed with -gold trimmings--Napoleonic, Edith says--bathing in a bathroom with -Florentine tiles, entertaining all the big bugs within a hundred miles, -and travelling to the office every morning in a limousine, that he -feels that he must have been a mere worm when Edith picked him up. _I_ -think he's more of a worm _now_! Anyhow he doesn't show any backbone. - -Sometimes at the table I glance at him across the flowers, and once -in a long, long while there's a look in his eyes when they meet mine -that I recognise as my dear brother's. Usually it's when Ruth and Edith -are discussing society; and after one of these clandestine meetings -of Alec's and mine across the flowers, I always come up here to my -room wonderfully comforted, with a feeling that I am not absolutely -deserted, after all. - -Perhaps that sounds as if I were unhappy. Please do not think so, -because I'm not. I'm _bound_ not to be. I should be ashamed of myself, -if just because I happened to be ousted from my job and didn't fancy my -successor, I simply "went out into the back yard and ate worms." That -isn't what I'm doing at all. Once Alec was married and I had made up -my mind that I couldn't run away to New York and earn my way, or hire -a house of my own and live by myself, I buckled down and did my level -best to adjust my likes and habits to the conditions of Edith's reign. -One can get used to anything, I believe. I accepted Edith as a person -ought to accept any circumstance that can't be avoided. What if her -ambitions do seem to me unworthy? What if she has crowded me out of my -little niche? What if the customs and the things I liked are desecrated -before my very eyes? All this will not cripple me, as a chance railroad -accident might. I'm not enduring physical torture. I can still see, -and hear, and use my two unhampered feet for long sweet walks in the -country. What if, indeed, Edith has robbed me of Alec, and Ruth too? -She cannot rob me of the joys of out-of-doors, the messages to me in -books, the thrill I feel at the sound of distant music. - -I can generally find several hours every day when I am able to steal -away somewhere by myself with a book. I never had much time to read -when I was younger and no one to suggest and guide as I grew up. I -had never read _Vanity Fair_ even, nor _Silas Marner_, nor _David -Copperfield_. So after Alec was married, I made it my task to catch -up with other girls of my age. I have my nose buried inside a novel -most all of the time now. At first I used to drive myself to it, allot -myself a certain number of chapters to read each day and accomplish -it as if it were a stint. Now I simply devour a book in great hungry -bites and wish there were more when I am finished. I don't know what -I should do if I hadn't learned to love to read. I wonder if it would -open up other sources of joy if I should learn to appreciate symphony -or Italian Art. Perhaps Beethoven and Leonardo da Vinci, mere names to -me now, would become as individual and inspire me with their messages -as deeply as dear old Stevenson, whom I couldn't live without. - -I think you must have surmised by this time that I haven't proved a -great belle in society. You're exactly right. In the first place I -hate bridge! Whenever I attempt to play, I get hot all over, and I wish -I could unhook my tight collar and roll up my prickly sleeves. When -it comes my turn to play, and I find myself desperately at a loss to -know whether to trump or not--my partner looking daggers at me across -the table and everybody waiting in dead silence--I simply give up -all responsibility in the matter, repeat to myself: "Eenie, meenie, -mynie moe, Catch a nigger by the toe," etc., and fling down the card -that's "it," in utter abandon. Of course, that isn't good bridge, -and Edith says I'll never make a player. She says I don't possess -any more card-sense than social-sense. I wonder what kind of sense I -do possess anyhow! It was a big consolation when I learned that the -emptiest-headed women often make the best card players, simply because -no superfluous ideas are at work in their brains to interrupt the train -of concentrated card thought. - -I'm not much more successful in conversation than I am in bridge. I -seem to be always on the outside of women's intimacies somehow. Edith's -set know one another so confidentially--keep tabs on the gowns, the -hats, the jewellery, the number of servants each one has, and guess -at one another's incomes. And then they use such a lot of mysterious -signs! Sometimes raised eyebrows, a little nod toward a person's back, -very tightly pursed lips, somebody abruptly twirling her two thumbs, -will set off a whole roomful into peals of laughter, while I simply sit -dazed and blank. It's just so with Ruth's younger crowd too. They're -always giggling or making unintelligible remarks. You see I'm a kind of -an in-between age, not old enough for Edith's set, nor young enough -for Ruth's. The girls I used to know in the high school have not proved -to be of the fashionable society here in Hilton, and Edith won't let -me have them at the house. I've drifted away from most of them, except -Juliet Adams, who is doing settlement work in New York, and I can't -find any one to take their place. - -I've come to the sad conclusion that I'm not popular with men either. -At the little dances given here in Hilton occasionally, I'm not a -wall-flower, possibly because I'm Edith Vars' sister-in-law, but I'm -never "rushed." I can't be very brilliant in conversation at a dance -when I'm anxiously watching for some kind, charitable soul to deliver -my partner from the fear of two numbers in succession with me. And I -have a sneaking conviction that I don't dance very well. You see all -Ruth's set "Boston" to a waltz and two-step, and I don't know how. When -a man is good enough to ask me to dance it seems too bad to make him -exercise until he perspires. No one knows that I don't enjoy dances -very much. It looks as if I were having a good time, I suppose, but -down in my heart I'm worried and afraid. - -At first I used to be eagerly on the lookout for my ideal--for a -fleeting glimpse of a face that resembled the picture locked away in my -secret desk-drawer. But such a quest is mere nonsense. I go to Boston -to shop with Edith quite often; but never, in all the trains, railroad -stations, restaurants, or elevators in law-office buildings (where one -runs across so many good-looking men) have I seen even once the face -of my desire. Why, I searched for that face throughout Oliver's and -Malcolm's entire class when they graduated from college; I look for it -among the new young men that come to call on Ruth, but I can't find it. -Yet if I ever do marry, the man must be born by this time, I suppose. -Sometimes, especially when I listen to music, I wonder where he is, in -just what city, what house, what room he is sitting at that particular -moment. I smile to think how unconscious he is of me, who some day will -fill his life completely, and how surprised he'd be if he knew that I -was loving him even now. - -I wonder what he's doing this very minute--three o'clock on a Saturday -afternoon. Perhaps he's playing golf in a Norfolk Scotch tweed; perhaps -he's oiling an engine in blue overalls; perhaps he's at the point of -death with typhoid fever and is lying in bed with a thermometer in his -mouth, and I am going to lose him! Oh, I hope he will be spared! I'll -love him, overalls and all, and be proud too, to stand at the back-door -and wave my apron when his train goes by, just as they do in magazine -stories. I don't believe, after all, I'm a bit ambitious when it comes -to marrying. - -I suppose every reader of this résumé chapter of mine is simply -skipping paragraphs by the dozen in the fond hope that he'll run across -some exciting reference to Dr. Maynard. People are always so suspicious -of an old love-affair. Let me relieve your mind. As much as you may -be disappointed, I must announce that I am not reserving any sweet -sentimental morsel, for a climactic finale. Far from it. I haven't got -it to reserve. I only wish I had. A sweet memory is such a comforting -possession, a thrilling romance of the past such a reassurance. But it -is very evident that Dr. Maynard has no intention of providing me with -sweet memories or thrilling romances. All the balm and comfort that his -proposal may have given me in the beginning he has destroyed by being -hopelessly commonplace ever since. I wish you could read his letters! -Impersonal? Why, they might easily be addressed to a maiden aunt. Never -once has he referred to that starry night, when he asked me to go to -Germany with him; never intimated that he wished that I were there to -see the castles on the Rhine, or hear the music in the gardens above -Heidelberg; never asked, as any normal man would do, if I had changed -my mind. Not that I have in the least. I haven't! Only it seems to me -almost impolite not as much as to inquire. - -Dr. William Ford Maynard is becoming quite well known here in America. -There have been several articles already in the magazines about him -and the remarkable results of his scientific research. I ought to -be flattered to receive envelopes addressed to _me_ from _him_ at -all, I suppose. We write about once a month. His letters are full -of descriptions of pensions, and cafés, and queer people at his -boarding-place. I know some of his guinea-pigs by name--the ones who -have the typhoid, the scarlet-fever, and the spinal meningitis; the -convalescents, the fatalities, and the triumphant recoveries are -reported to me monthly. But as honoured as I ought to feel, I suppose, -to share the results of this man's famous work, the truth is I don't -enjoy his letters one bit! I am glad I was foresighted enough not to -marry such a passionless man. I never would have been satisfied. I see -it clearly now. - -My letters to him are regular works of art. I'm bound not to let him -pity me, at any rate, and if he can write cheerful and enthusiastic -descriptions so can I. To Dr. Maynard I am simply delighted over our -burst into prosperity and social splendour. Edith's improvements on the -house I rave over. I describe bridge parties, teas and dances as if I -gloried in them. I refer to various men--mostly Ruth's suitors, I must -confess--frequently and with familiarity. I am simply "Living," with a -big capital L, in my letters to Dr. Maynard, and my stub pen crosses -its T's and ends its sentences with great broad, militant dashes that -are bold with triumph. - -Once only did Dr. Maynard condescend to refer to the past, and that -was in a little insignificant postscript at the end of a long humorous -description of a German family that he saw in a café. This is what he -wrote, all cramped up in a little bit of space, after he had signed his -name: - - "How is San Francisco progressing in her reconstruction? Does she need - any outside help in building up her beautiful city? Please let me know - when she does!" - -I tell you I wrote him the gayest, most flippant little note I could -compose--all about how busy I was with engagements, etc., etc.; and -then after I had signed my name, along the margin of the paper I said: - - "About San Francisco--she is progressing wonderfully, she doesn't - need any help from any one, unless possibly lead weights to keep - her from soaring. The earthquake did her good. She's becoming very - modernised and when you see her next I doubt if you recognise her on - account of all the changes. Is Lizzie better? Or was it Nibbles who - had the typhoid?" - -If Dr. Maynard couldn't afford a fresh sheet of paper, go upstairs and -shut himself in his room, and ask me seriously and quietly if I were -unhappy or lonely, I would starve first before I'd ask bread of him. - -I have it all planned just how I shall treat Dr. Maynard when he comes -home--very distantly and as if so much society had made me a little -blasé. When his name is sent up I shall keep him waiting in the little -gold reception-room for about five minutes, and then glide into his -presence, in a long clinging crêpe-de-chine dress. After I have shaken -hands and said, "How pleasant it is to have you with us again," I'll -ring for tea, then go back and sit down in the carved Italian armchair -with the high back, dangle the ivory paper-cutter in one hand the way -Ruth does, and inquire what sort of a passage he has had. - -If he should come this year I've just the gown to wear. It's black, -with a gold cord around the waist. I look about twenty-nine in it, and -awfully sophisticated. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -Ruth's coming-out party cost over two thousand dollars, they say. Her -dress alone was made by a dressmaker in Boston who won't "touch a -thing" under a hundred and fifty; and Edith's--shimmering blue, draped -with chiffon covered with green spangles, and here and there a crimson -one (it looked just like the shining sides of a little wet brook -trout)--simply spelled money. - -I tell you the whole party lived up to the gorgeousness of Edith's -gown too. There were orchids frozen in ice, for a punch bowl, in the -dining-room; Killarney roses by the dozens in the reception-room; -chrysanthemums in big round red bunches in the living-room; and the -stairway was wound with smilax and asparagus fern, with real birch -trees--silvery bark and all--at intervals of four or five feet. There -were extra electric lights, extra maids, extra everything; and on -the morning of Wednesday, the twenty-fifth of October, there arrived -a whole squad of caterers from Boston with cases large as trunks -filled with pattie shells, a thousand tiny brown pyramids of potato -croquettes, tanksful of mushrooms, crab meat, and sweet-breads, -cratesful of Malaga grapes and actual strawberries imported from -somewhere which they dipped in white fondant and then set away to cool -in little frilled paper holders, all over the butler's pantry. - -It took Edith and Ruth two solid weeks of discussion and consultation -to complete the invitation list. You see Edith was careful to give the -party early in the fall before the summer colony had gone back home -to its winter quarters. After the reception itself there was to be a -small dance, and the elect were invited to remain. It was a source of -satisfaction to Edith that only a dozen native Hilton men were invited -to the dance, and but eight girls. Of course such partiality and -ruthless slight and scorn of the people of her own native city caused -a good deal of feeling in Hilton, but I observed that most every one -who was invited to the reception came, in spite of the fact that they -had been omitted from the dance to follow. Every living woman in Hilton -was anxious, I suppose, to prove by her presence that she had the -distinction of a portion of the engraved invitation at least. - -I remember one name was under discussion for a week--a Mrs. Hugh -Fullerton who was simply crazy "to get into things," Edith said--an -officious, showy little bride from the West, she explained, who had -married that young Yale graduate, Hugh Fullerton. Hugh Fullerton had -been invited everywhere before he was married. He had been in Hilton -only three years, but he had taken well. New young men usually do -take well in Hilton. It's the women and the girls who have to climb -and scramble. Mr. Fullerton was from Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and was -learning the boiler business in the Hilton Boiler Works. He was a fine, -tall, athletic, bronzed sort of fellow; Edith used to invite him to -The Homestead very often; he'd ridden every one of her hunters; he was -supposed to be one of her favourites. Then he married, and Edith's -invitations came to an abrupt end. I had never seen Mrs. Fullerton, -but I felt sorry for her. - -"She has been married only since June," I said to Edith; "why not -invite the poor thing to the dance? What harm would it do? She may be -a little homesick way on here in the East, and it might cheer her up a -lot to have a little distinction if she's so awfully anxious for it." - -"Bobbie, dear child, I'm not running an institution for homesick -girls," replied Edith. "I know what I'm about. I rather liked the -girl at first, I confess. She's got a lot of style, but she simply -isn't being taken up--that's all. The Ogdens live in St. Louis in the -winter and this Mrs. Fullerton lived there before she was married. The -Ogdens know everybody in St. Louis of any importance, but they never -even heard of Mrs. Fullerton. I'm not going to try to float a girl in -society, whom I know nothing about. You may be sure of _that_." - -"I should think your position would be secure enough after a while, for -you to show a little independence," I murmured. - -"Independence! Why, child, I'm inviting her to the reception, as it -is. Anyhow what can _you_ know about it? I'll settle the invitations, -dearie." That was an example of the manner with which my ideas were -usually treated. - -There was a house-party planned at The Homestead in addition to the -tea and dance. Edith always does a thing up good and brown. She wrote -to about a dozen out-of-town people and invited them to become the -guests of the house for over the twenty-fifth. These consisted of -boarding-school friends of Ruth's, several of Edith's; and Oliver and -Malcolm, who of course came home for the event, provided a generous -supply of men from their crowd at college. - -The three automobiles were kept busy meeting trains all the day before -the tea, and the expressmen were tramping up and down the stairs with -dozens of various trunks of all styles and sizes. The guest-rooms in -The Homestead looked very festive, all decked out in real lace and -silver, with Edith's best embroidered trousseau-spreads stretched out -gorgeously upon the beds. It really grew quite exciting as the time for -the tea drew near--even I felt a little of the pervading delight. Of -course I hated meeting so many new people, but everybody's attention -was centered upon Ruth, and I was perfectly free to withdraw to my room -at any time I desired. I, thank goodness, was only Ruth's sister. - -The tea was on a Wednesday, October twenty-fifth, from five until -seven o'clock. Edith had bought a lovely dress for me--pink and soft -and shining--and about three o'clock she sent the professional hair -dresser, who had been spending the day at the house, to puff and marcel -Bobbie, she said. - -I hardly knew myself when I gazed into my mirror after I was all -dressed. My hair was done up high like a queen's, and there were two -little sparkling pink wings in it. My dress was cut into a V in front, -and my neck looked so long and slender with my hair drawn away from its -usual place in the back, and piled up in a soft puffy pyramid on top, -that I seemed almost stately. I just wished Dr. Maynard could see San -Francisco then! - -As I walked out into the hall, my train made a lovely sound on the -soft oriental rugs. I stood at the top of the stairs and gazed about -me. Everything was in readiness--maids in black and white stationed -at the bedroom doors, the musicians below already beginning to tune -their instruments, the dark draperies drawn, a soft illumination -of electricity everywhere, and the faint delicious odour of coffee -mixed with the perfume of roses. I was overwhelmed with the spirit of -prosperity that filled every corner and cranny of my father's house. -I wondered what Father would think of it all--big, calm, quiet Father -whose tastes were so plain, habits so simple, and whose words of -advice to us his children always so eloquent with the wickedness of -extravagance. I put him out of my mind just as quickly as I could. I -didn't want to think of him just now. I wanted to have a good time for -once in my life; I wanted everybody to see that I wasn't shy and quiet -and plain; I wanted to be clever and admired; and I would be too! I -caught a glimpse of myself, whole length, in the long hall-mirror. My -cheeks were flushed and rosy, my eyes were dark and bright. I really -believed I was pretty! I could have shouted, I felt so happy. I ran -down the side stairway, that leads to the hall off the porte-cochère, -through the chrysanthemum-laden living-room and hall, into the -rose-perfumed reception-room, where I found Edith and Ruth ready for -the first arrival. I felt suddenly generous-hearted toward all the -prosperity and luxury that made such a palace of our old house and such -a new creature of me. I wanted to tell Edith how lovely I thought it -all was. - -I had more reason than ever to feel grateful to Edith about an hour -later. It was at the very height of the afternoon rush, about quarter -past five. I happened to be standing just back of Edith, waiting for a -chance to offer her some lemonade which one of the ladies assisting had -been thoughtful enough to send to her by me. There was a long line of -women that stretched way out into the hall, just like a line in front -of a ticket window at the theatre, each waiting her turn for a chance -to shake hands with Edith, though most of them she sees every time she -goes out anyhow. Edith was very gracious and cordial this afternoon. -I've heard very often that she makes a lovely hostess. I watched her -closely, trying to see just where the charm lay. - -"Ah, good afternoon! Mrs. Fullerton, I believe?" suddenly broke in -on my reflections, and I glanced up quickly, curious to see the poor -little neglected bride whom I championed. There really was nothing very -poor nor very neglected about her appearance. I couldn't see her face -beneath her plumed picture-hat, but her costume was very costly and -elegant--a lot of Irish lace over something dark. - -"Yes, Mrs. Hugh Fullerton," she replied effusively. "Hugh has told me -so much about his good times here at The Homestead, Mrs. Vars, and how -kind and cordial you've been to him, and I _do_ want to thank you. -Haven't you a gorgeous afternoon? I'm so glad to meet you, after all -Hugh has said. Why, I know some of your horses by name even--Regal, for -instance--the one that threw Hugh--do you remember?" - -Edith's manner cooled, hostess though she was. - -"Regal has thrown so many!" she remarked. "Ruth, Mrs. Fullerton," she -finished. - -"Oh," went on Mrs. Fullerton to Ruth, not at all abashed, "I've met -Miss Vars already. A bride remembers everybody new she meets, you know, -and then of course I couldn't help but remember _you_." There was -something hauntingly familiar about Mrs. Fullerton's manner and voice. -I put the lemonade on a table near by and drew nearer. "It was at Mrs. -Jaynes' bridge-party last week," she went on; "don't you remember? We -played at the same table, Miss Vars." - -"Did we?" inquired Ruth in her sweet, icy, little way; "I don't -remember." - -"Of course," flushed Mrs. Fullerton. "Débutantes meet so many new -people. I know just how it is--I was there once myself. I don't wonder -one bit. I remember _I_ couldn't keep even the men straight, to say -nothing of the women." - -"O Lucy," suddenly exclaimed Edith, catching sight of me, "this is Mrs. -Fullerton. My other sister, Miss Vars, Mrs. Fullerton. She'll take you -to the dining-room and serve you some tea or an ice." - -I raised my eyes to Mrs. Fullerton's. No, I hadn't been mistaken. I -should have recognised that voice in China. Mrs. Fullerton's mouth -opened in amazement as she gazed at me. - -"Lucy Vars," she finally ejaculated. "Lucy Vars! Why, Lucy, don't you -remember Sarah Platt?" - -"Yes, I remember," I nodded. - -"How lovely! How perfectly lovely!" exploded Sarah. "Why, Mrs. Vars," -she sparkled, "Lucy and I are old pals! Isn't it too nice for -anything? We were at Miss Brown's-on-the-Hudson the same year, and I -guess if you've ever been to boarding-school yourself, you know what -that means. Why, Lucy, you old trump, how are you anyway? I'm simply -pleased to pieces!" And the once much-envied Sarah Platt of years ago, -the successful, the glorious Sarah Platt, enveloped me at last in a -huge schoolgirl embrace! - -"Hypocrite!" I thought. - -"I'd lost track of Lucy completely," she went on to Edith and Ruth, -linking her arm familiarly through mine. "I'd forgotten your home was -in Hilton, though I certainly knew it was in Massachusetts somewhere. -Wasn't it stupid? Here I've been living for three months in the same -place with you, Lucy Vars, and never knew it! Here you were all the -time a sister to Mrs. Alexander Vars, whom Hugh wrote me so much about -that I almost grew jealous," she laughed. "Isn't this world just the -smallest place you ever heard of, Mrs. Vars? You must come right over -and see me, Lucy, and make up for lost time, and I hope you'll both -come with her," smiled Sarah upon my sisters; "I'd simply love to have -you." - -We moved away toward the dining-room. - -"Oh, Lucy," went on Sarah, "I am so glad to see you again! It's just -like discovering somebody from home. I haven't any friend here my own -age at all. You've grown so pretty! You're looking splendid; and aren't -your sister and sister-in-law just stunning!" - -I drew my arm away from Sarah's. I remembered what she had thought -about my family once. - -"Don't leave me," she exclaimed, "please, or I'll perish. Stay while I -have my ice. I don't know one soul in that dining-room." - -Life works out its patterns very cunningly, I think. Once I had hidden -in shame behind a telegraph-pole from this majestic creature; once -she had looked upon me as mean and insignificant, unworthy of even -her pity; now she actually plead for my favour, toadied to my family, -palavered me with flatteries. I drew in deep breaths of satisfaction. - -"Dear, dear life, how kind and just you are after all!" I said half an -hour later, gazing into my mirror, in my own closed room. "_My_ day -is dawning now--mine, mine, at last! And I'm so happy! I'm going to -have a wonderful time at the dance to-night. I feel it. Oh, it's good -after all to have money and prosperity; it's good to wear soft, pink -shimmering dresses that are becoming and make people gaze and whisper; -it's good to hold such a position in a community that even Sarah -Platts bow and scrape and try to please; it's more than good--it's -exhilarating!" - -I went out into the hall and started to go down the main stairway. It -was deserted now. The hour was seven-thirty, just before the men were -due to arrive for the supper and the evening celebrations to follow. - -Half-way down this stairway, on the landing, there is a large portrait -of my father. Amid all the preparations going on in the house I had -not known that Edith had had the electricians adjust a row of shielded -electric lights at the top of the heavy frame of Father's picture. The -portrait had always hung on the landing where the light is very dim. -We had had it for years. It was painted when we were prosperous, but -I had never examined it very closely. It was an awfully black sort of -picture, and before Ruth's tea I could not have definitely said whether -Father was standing or sitting in it. I didn't know that a row of -lights could make such a difference. As I turned on the landing that -night and came suddenly upon the painting I stopped stock-still. Why, -it wasn't a picture! I didn't see the frame, nor the canvas, nor the -paint. It was Father, dear Father himself, sitting at his roll-top desk -down in the sitting-room. I could see every little wrinkle in his face, -the crows-feet at the corners of his eyes, the fine, tired-looking -lines along his forehead. He was sitting in his big leather armchair, -and I remembered exactly how the leather had worn brown and velvety -like that, along the edges. As usual he wore across his breast his -heavy gold watch-chain, with the black onyx fob--the one he used to let -me play with in church, when I was very little--and in one hand, which -was resting easily along the arm of the chair, Father held his glasses -just as he used to hold them when he took them off to glance up at me -before I dashed off to dancing-school on Saturday nights. "Can't you -keep that hair a little smoother?" he'd say to me, and "Isn't there -a good deal of trimming on that dress? Your mother always wore plain -things with a little white at her neck. Keep your tastes simple, my -girl, and your clothes neat and nicely sewed." They were plain, homely -words. Any man could say them, but as I remembered them that night, -they seemed terribly sweet--almost sacred--and I backed up against -the wall, and stared at Father there before me, with tears in my eyes. -He would not have liked the sparkling wings I was wearing in my hair. -The dress that Edith had given me--all shining satin, wasn't like my -mother's with a little white at the neck. The silent, sad expression in -my father's eyes smote me. He was gazing straight at me, down into my -heart. I almost saw his lips move. The words of the verse that he used -to repeat so often at our morning prayers after breakfast, I seemed to -hear again: "Children, how hard it is for them that trust in riches to -enter into the Kingdom of God." Father was always quoting things from -the Bible about vanity and riches. His heroes were always big, simple, -honest men like Abraham Lincoln and Benjamin Franklin. As I stood and -stared at Father's picture the musicians began to play some soft, -dreamy melody, and just then Alec from above caught sight of me leaning -up against the wall. - -"Hello," he called cheerfully; "how do you like the new lights on the -picture?" And he came tripping down all dressed up in his evening -clothes to join me. I don't believe Alec had seen the portrait lighted -before either, for he stopped short beside me when he came in full view -of it. He was speechless for a moment. Really those lights made Father -look as if he could answer if we spoke to him. He seemed to be actually -sitting there amid all the luxury and splendour he had so despised. -Alec came over beside me. He took my hand in his and for a long sweet -half-minute, my old partner and I stood there together on the landing -and gazed up into Father's noble eyes. - -"It's miraculous," breathed Alec, softly, at last. - -I couldn't answer. It _was_ miraculous. I wished I was in my ugly old -blue cashmere and could crawl up into Father's lap. - -I didn't know anybody was coming up the stairs till suddenly Alec -dropped my hand and left me. - -"Hello--hello there," he called out jovially. "Come right up, Mr. -Campbell. Just gotten here, haven't you? Everything's gone in tip-top -shape so far. We're looking pretty fine around here, aren't we? Bobbie -and I were passing judgment on Edith's new lights. Here, let me take -that coat. Edith discovered that this old portrait of Father was by an -artist who has a reputation now, so she had it properly lighted. It is -marvellous what a really excellent likeness it is. Come and tell us -your opinion." - -I slunk away to my room quietly. - -All that evening amid the babble of voices and din of violins, pianos -and cornets, while girls in gorgeous raiment sat beneath Father's -picture between dances with their partners on the top stair of the -landing, and just below men gathered around the punch-bowl; while Edith -and Ruth shone in jewels, and old Dave Campbell blatantly exhibited the -latest improvements in the house to all his friends, Father looked down -upon it all from his lofty position silently, disapprovingly, a look of -censure in his eyes that I couldn't seem to escape. My little hour of -triumph was snuffed out by Father's gaze like a candle in a tempest; -my sudden self-satisfaction, my burst of eager joy in prosperity and -position, born to feel the throb of life but for an hour. - -I didn't enjoy the dance. I couldn't. I tried once or twice to -"enter in," but it was masquerade. There had been champagne served -at the supper. Girls as well as men were full of the spirit of mad -merry-making. Everybody was having a glorious time--everybody but me. -I hated the hilarious laughter. I don't mean to imply that any one -became intoxicated, I don't think they did exactly, but just the same -the whole affair seemed to me like a debauch going on in my father's -house beneath his very eyes. I stole up to the landing about eleven -o'clock when the music was still shrieking, Ruth's cheeks burning with -excitement, Oliver laughing so loudly that I could hear him above the -music, and switched off the lights above Father's picture. He shouldn't -look on at such festivities--mute, unable to speak his mind, tied there -in his chair, helpless and forgotten--he shouldn't if I could help it! - -Late that same night--or it must have been the next morning--anyway -after every one was quiet, and the house was finally dark I stole out -of my room and crept quietly down on the landing. The house was dead -still. I heard the big clock with the chimes strike a half-hour, and a -second after all the other clocks reply. I was in my nightgown wrapped -around with an eiderdown bath-robe. I found my way stealthily to the -little button behind the portrait. I pushed it. There was a little -click and suddenly Father was before me! I went back and sat down on -the lowest stair, close up to the railing, and looked up into his -comforting eyes. No one had known that I had spent the last six dances -shut up in my room. No one had missed me. I had had a horrid time, but -no one cared. - -There were the remains of the orgy of the night before scattered all -about Father's feet--a discarded bunch of violets, a torn piece of -chiffon, a half a macaroon, a girl's handkerchief. As I sat there -and wondered how Ruth and the twins and Alec could all go peacefully -to sleep, unmindful of their strict and rigid bringing-up, forgetful -of Father left here in the midst of the confusion of the things he -preached against, I heard from somewhere, way off, a queer long laugh. -I listened intently, and in a moment I could catch the rumble of voices -from behind closed doors. I wondered who could be awake at such an -hour, when a door opened downstairs, and as plain and distinct as day, -a man's voice exclaimed, "Come on, boys, we'll have to carry old Ol up. -Lend a hand, one of you chaps who can walk straight, and don't make any -noise. Wake up, Oliver, old pal. We're going to bed." I heard a horrid -guttural sort of rejoinder from Oliver, and I shuddered. Some of the -men must have been sitting up in the dining-room and drinking! I knew, -oh, I knew now, that Oliver must be intoxicated! I was in my nightgown. -There was no time to turn out the lights over Father's picture, to -shield Father from the awful sight of his son, drunk--horridly, -helplessly drunk, being carried upstairs to bed. I glanced up at Father -shining there in his frame. He was looking straight down the long broad -stairway. In another minute Oliver and Father would meet face to face. -I turned and fled back to my room. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -Four months later. Twelve o'clock at night. Wrapped up in my eiderdown -bath-robe. Sitting at my desk. - -It is midnight. I cannot sleep. I have been lying wide awake, listening -to a strong April wind, howling around the corner of the house, for -two hours! I've repeated the twenty-third Psalm over and over again. -I've imagined a flock of sheep going over a stile (though I never saw -it done) for ten minutes solid. I've swallowed two Veronal tablets. -It's useless. I surrender. I don't want to get up. I shall have an -awful headache to-morrow, besides heavy lead weights behind my eyes; -and to-morrow--to-morrow of all days--I want to be fresh and bright and -as beautiful as nature can make me. Moreover, I'd rather not write. -But I can't read. There has never been a book printed that could hold -my thoughts to-night. My mind goes back to the events of the day like -steel to a magnet. I've tried solitaire, and ended by pushing the silly -cards on the floor. You see something has happened--something big and -actual and real! - -I have seen Dr. Maynard! - -I have met him face to face, talked with him, laughed with him, walked -with him from Charles Street to the sunken garden, sat with him by the -fountain. I am beside myself with excitement. I had better tell how it -all happened. If I get it out of my system I may be able to snatch -a little sleep, and I _must_ sleep. I have an important engagement -to-morrow at three. - -It occurred at four o'clock this afternoon. I had bought a bunch of -primroses from a man on the street five minutes before. I was on my -way home from a shopping tour, and with my pretty early-spring flowers -tucked in at my waist, and my hands full of packages, I turned up -Charles Street as unconcerned as you please. At the corner I bowed to -our minister's wife, and the remains of the smile were still on my -face, I suppose, when I saw Dr. Maynard. I didn't know that he was on -this side of the ocean, and when I observed him coming down the steps -of the postoffice--vigorous and strong and buoyant--I stood still in -my tracks, and the remains of the smile turned into something startled -and afraid. Dr. Maynard approached me all aglow, stretched out his hand -and took mine in a warm, firm grasp. A thrill went through me like a -knife. He was as natural as day, beautifully tanned, smiling, big, -broad-shouldered as ever, and yet different--oh, awfully different. - -"Hello, Bobbie," he said in his hearty old voice, and I looked back at -him, perfectly white--I could feel that I was--and speechless. "Don't -be a goose. It's just Dr. Maynard," I tried to reason with myself. - -"Am I speaking to Miss Lucy Vars?" I heard asked of me. "Miss Lucy -Chenery Vars, of 240 Main Street, Hilton, Mass.?" - -I nodded, and somewhere down there in the chaos in my chest, I found my -poor little voice. "Is it _you_?" I asked shakily. - -"Well, I'm not quite sure. Nothing looks very natural around here. I'm -beginning to think I'm somebody else." - -"Well, I _am_ surprised!" I exploded. "I certainly _am_ surprised! -Why, I never _was_ so surprised!" I stopped a minute. Dr. Maynard was -smiling right down into my eyes. "I never was so surprised in all my -life!" I repeated, as if I hadn't another idea in my head. - -He leaned down just here and picked up a half-dozen bundles, more or -less, that I had dropped when we shook hands. - -"I better help you carry some of these home, hadn't I?" he suggested. - -"Oh, yes, _do_," I replied eagerly, and somehow we managed to walk back -to the house together. - -I don't know through what streets we went, past what houses. I can -scarcely recall of what we talked. "He's come home! He's come home! -He's come home!" kept ringing in my ears over and over again, like -jubilant chimes. "Dr. Maynard has come home!" And whenever I looked -up and saw him smiling down at me--so naturally, so beautifully--it -seemed as if I should have to make a pirouette or two, right there on -the sidewalk. Every time he laughed I wanted to shout; every time he -remarked upon a new building or a new house, and especially when he -exclaimed, "Good heavens! What have we here?" at the sight of one of -the taxicabs, I wanted to turn a handspring. When he first came in view -of 240 Main Street and stood stock-still in his tracks, and gasped, -"Where's the cupola, and the French roof, and the iron fountain, and -the barn, and the apple orchard?" I wanted to throw my arms around -him for joy. I must have felt like a dog at the sight of his beloved -master whom he hasn't seen for months. It was so intoxicating to have -Dr. Maynard beside me again that it seemed as if I must express my joy -by jumping up on him, and half knocking him down. Which, of course, -I didn't do. My voice broke a dozen times, my underlip trembled, my -cheeks burned with excitement, but otherwise I walked along as sedately -as if it were an everyday occurrence to run across a man I believed was -hopelessly buried in a laboratory in Europe. - -It was in the sunken garden that the most important part of our -conversation took place. You remember, don't you, that in my letters -to Dr. Maynard I had always been enthusiastic over the improvements -Edith has made on old 240. So now it was with apparent pride that I -led my old friend down the granolithic steps into the one-time apple -orchard. I showed him the cement-lined pool in the centre, the Italian -garden-seat, the rare shrubbery now bound up in yellow straw, with -something like delight. I was so full of exultation at the mere sight -of dear, kind, understanding Dr. Maynard that I could have rejoiced -about anything. When I exclaimed, "And there's a squash-court connected -with the garage, and a tennis-court as _smooth_ as _glass_ beside the -stable; and where the old potato-patch used to be, there's a pergola!" -my eyes fairly sparkled. "That sun-dial over there," I boasted, "was -designed especially for Edith; and oh, there's the dearest, slimmest -little stream of water that spouts out of the centre of the pool, in -the summer. You ought to see it!" I was all enthusiasm. Edith wouldn't -have recognised me. Ruth would have thought I had lost my reason. Even -Dr. Maynard looked at me curiously. - -"It certainly is all very fine, I've no doubt," he remarked. - -"Yes, isn't it?" I exclaimed. - -"But I must confess," he went on. "_I_ never objected to the old apple -orchard. Just about where the pool is now, there used to grow the best -old Baldwins I ever tasted." - -"Oh, my," I scoffed, "you ought to see the bouncing big Oregon apples -Edith buys by the crate." - -Dr. Maynard shook his head and smiled. Then he came over and sat down -beside me on the Italian seat. - -"Well, well," he sighed, "I suppose old Rip must get used to the -changes that have taken place since he's been asleep--squash-courts -and pergolas, great sweeping estates with granolithic drives and -sunken gardens; new hotels; new postoffices; instead of the roomy, -old-fashioned livery-stable hacks, taxicabs; instead of good old snappy -New England Baldwins, apples imported from Oregon; and instead of a -girl in a red Tam-o-Shanter and her father's old weather-beaten ulster, -sitting behind the wheel of a little one-lunger automobile, running it, -in all sorts of weather, like a young breeze--instead of that girl," -said Dr. Maynard, looking me up and down closely, "a very correct and -up-to-date young lady in kid gloves and a veil, a smart black and white -checked suit, a very fashionable hat (_I_ should call it), with a bunch -of primroses, to cap it all, pinned jauntily at her waist." - -I blushed with triumph. - -"I've just about come to the conclusion," added Dr. Maynard in a kind -of wistful voice, "that I don't know San Francisco at all now." - -"Well," I laughed waveringly, "I do hope you'll find it a little more -civilised than it was before." - -"_I_ never thought it was uncivilised," said Dr. Maynard quietly; "_I_ -rather enjoyed it just as it was, to tell the truth. I shall be sorry -to find many changes in it because I shall have to become acquainted -with it all over again and my time is so short." - -"Short?" I exclaimed. I don't know why I had drawn the sudden -conclusion that Dr. Maynard had come back to stay. His very next words -put an end to my little half-hour of jubilance like the announcement of -a death. - -"Yes," he said; "I'm sailing back to Germany in two weeks. I was -appointed an executor of a distant relative's will, and it seemed -necessary to come to New York and attend to it. Of course I couldn't -be so near--San Francisco, without coming to see how it prospered -after the earthquake. I'm glad to find you so happy, Bobbie. You've -richly earned all this," he glanced around the display that surrounded -us, "both you and Al, and it's really fine that the change in your -circumstances came about, when _you_, Lucy, were still a young -girl, and just ready to appreciate and enjoy good times, and pretty -surroundings, and new young people. Sometimes the apparent catastrophes -work out for our best happiness. You _are_ happy, aren't you, Bobbie?" - -"Oh, yes--perfectly happy," I flashed indignantly. - -"I thought so. Your enthusiasm brims over in your letters. Well, well," -twitted Dr. Maynard, "who ever would have thought Al's little sister, -whom I used to call 'wild-cat,' would turn into a society girl--a -mighty popular one too, if _I'm_ any judge. Parties and engagements -all the time, I suppose. Now I'm just curious enough to wonder," went -on Dr. Maynard teasingly, while my feelings, hurt and enraged, were -working up to one of their habitual explosions, "which one of all -those admirers I hear mentioned in your letters sent you your pretty -primroses _this_ morning." - -"No one sent them," I blurted out. "If you _must_ know, I bought them -myself five minutes before I saw you. Those men in my letters were -Ruth's friends, not mine." - -Dr. Maynard glanced at me sharply. - -"Oh," I went on fiercely, "I'm glad to know if you think that I'm -happy. It shows how well you understand me. Happy! I'm perfectly -miserable, if you want to know the truth. I hate and loathe and despise -all this display you say I've so richly earned. I hate parties, and -splurge, and sunken gardens, and pergolas, and I haven't a single -solitary admirer in the world. I thought you knew me, but I see you -don't. I thought if you ever came back _you'd_ understand, but you -don't--not one little single bit. I thought _you_--_you_--" - -I stopped abruptly. There's no use trying to hide tears that run -shamelessly down your cheeks. It was absolutely necessary for me to -ask for my bag which Dr. Maynard held, and produce a handkerchief. He -didn't say anything as I mopped my eyes. I thought perhaps he was too -shocked to speak. He didn't offer me a single word of comfort--just sat -and waited. I didn't look at him; and still with my face turned away I -said, subdued, apologetically, "I don't see what is the matter with me -lately. You mustn't mind my being so silly. I'm always getting 'weepy' -for no reason at all." I opened my bag, tucked away my handkerchief, as -a sign that the storm was over, and stood up. "I hope you won't think -that I usually act this way with--with all those admirers of mine," I -added, smiling. - -Dr. Maynard ignored my attempt at humour. - -"Lucy," he said quietly, but in a voice and manner that made me start -and catch my breath, "my real reason for coming to America wasn't -the will. It was you." He stopped and I looked hard into the centre -of the dry pool. "I mistrusted some of your letters lately, though I -confess not at first--not until last fall. You've been overdoing your -enthusiasm this winter, Bobbie. So I decided to come over and find out -for myself if you had been trying to deceive me. The will offered a -good excuse, so here I am. And you _have_ been deceiving me--for two -whole years. Why, Bobbie," he said very softly, "what shall I do to -you?" - -I glanced up and saw the old piercing tenderness in his eyes. - -"Don't be kind to me," I warned hastily; "not _now_--not for anything. -_Please_, or I shall cry again." - -I heard Dr. Maynard laugh the tenderest, gentlest kind of laugh, and -in a second both his arms were around me. Yes, both Dr. Maynard's arms -were close around me! I didn't cry. I just stayed there quiet and still -and safe; and I've been there in imagination about every moment since. - -When he finally let me go he said simply, but in a queer trembling -voice, "Will you go to drive with me to-morrow afternoon at three, way -off into the country, away from pergolas and cement pools, and people?" - -I nodded, unable to speak. - -"All right. I'll be here. Good night," he said gently, and turned -abruptly and left me there alone in the garden. - -I watched him hurry up the garden-steps and out of the gateway. He -turned once and waved his hand to the pitiful little wind-blown -creature he left behind in the bleak unbeautiful garden. I felt as -if he had torn me from my moorings and that I must toss and drift in -strange unknown seas until to-morrow at three. - -I managed to gather my bundles together somehow, and come up here to -the house. My cheeks were flaming when I opened the door. I left my -packages in a chair in the hall and hurried up here to my room as -quickly as I could. Once here I locked my door tight and threw off my -things. "Oh, don't be silly; don't be absurd," I said, and buried my -face in the dark of my arms on my desk. "It's just Dr. Maynard," I went -on later, "and you know how you felt two years ago. Oh, be reasonable. -Be calm." But all the time that I was talking sense to myself, I -was feeling strong arms about my shoulders, and a kind of sinking, -fainting, going-out feeling that people must experience when they lose -consciousness, would steal over me so that I couldn't think. - -Finally to put an end to my nonsense I opened a secret compartment and -took out Robert Dwinnell's picture. _He_ would cure me of my delusion; -_he_ would keep me true to my ideals. I gazed at Robert Dwinnell for a -solid sixty seconds, then deliberately, straight across the forehead, -down the nose, through the very smile that once had thrilled me, I tore -that poor picture into a thousand bits, and dumped the remains into the -waste-basket. It was a dreadful act. I felt like a murderess. I don't -know what made me do it, but Robert Dwinnell had lost his charm. Dr. -Maynard, glowing with health, his eyes fierce with a tenderness that -actually hurt, made my poor old idol look flat and insipid. - -Some time later--ten minutes perhaps--an hour--I don't know--a maid -knocked and asked if I were coming down to dinner. I got up and -followed her mechanically, and for the life of me I don't know whether -there was roast-beef or lamb. - -Now I am again locked in my room, and my soul is actually on fire. It -is as dark as death outdoors. Every one in the house is asleep. But I -am sitting here gazing at a little faded picture of an automobile which -I finally discovered in an old souvenir-book of mine. That little speck -there is Dr. Maynard and I am going to see him to-day at three! - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -Ever since I can remember having any ideas on the subject at all, -I have always longed to be married in one of those dark, little -tucked-away chapels in some cathedral or other, in France or England, -like a girl I read about in a book. Perhaps a late afternoon service -would be going on up near the big altar; candles would be burning; -the priest would be chanting queer minor things; poor women would be -stepping in, crossing themselves, to say a prayer; and, all unconscious -of me, nearly hidden by the big stone pillars, tourists would be -tip-toeing about, gazing at the rose-window and the towering arches. -There would be footfalls and whispers in the nave. Echoes everywhere. -I should have loved the echoes! "But then," Edith said, "you wouldn't -have had a sign of a wedding present, and you can't furnish your house -with echoes, crazy Bobbs." - -If ever there was a wedding opposite to my ideal of one, it was mine. -For of course I am married to Dr. Maynard. - -You aren't surprised, I know. It was all decided that afternoon at -three, and two weeks later when Will sailed back to Germany it wasn't -in imagination that I stood on the dock and waved him good-bye. I -was there soul and body this time, and I followed with my fluttering -handkerchief every motion that he made with his hat and great spoke of -an arm. I watched him till he faded out of sight, and then with Ruth -and Edith, who went to New York with me, I returned to the shops to buy -my trousseau. - -Will had to be back in Germany on May first to deliver a lecture before -a very learned assembly of scientists and doctors. They wanted him to -tell them about a few of his experiments with his guinea-pigs. It was -a great compliment for so young a man, and an American besides, to -receive an invitation to address a body of old-world sages. Of course -he couldn't disappoint them, but he told me that by the middle of -August he would be sailing back again and after a simple little wedding -in the dead quiet of midsummer, he would at last carry his refugee back -with him to Europe. He was not going to begin work until October. We -planned to travel till then. - -"So, after all," said Will to me that afternoon at three o'clock, -"after all, some day--oh, Lucy--perhaps some day--" and _this_ time it -was I who finished the sentence. - -"Yes, perhaps some day," I said sparkling, "the refugee and you will be -seeing Paris together." - -Our plans would have been lovely if they had worked out; but they -didn't. I haven't seen Paris yet, and there's no prospect that I -shall until Will's Sabbatical year comes around. We're going across -then, he says, if we have to work our way on a cattle ship. You see -Will no sooner got back there to Germany and delivered his lectures -to those old sages, than the medical department of one of the biggest -universities here in America sent him an invitation to become a member -of their faculty. The position was quite to his taste, he wrote me. -He could keep right on with his experimenting and guinea-pigs to his -heart's content--the university had wonderfully equipped laboratories, -the best in America--and what did I say? What _should_ I say to a -person whose very picture that had been taken for just me to put on my -bureau, had appeared in two magazines that month? Such an insignificant -tail to the big lion as I, ought cheerfully to go wagging to the North -Pole or the Sahara Desert. Of course I didn't say a word. - -I never saw anything like the way the magazines burst forth in sudden -praise of Will. His appointment to the faculty of the university -was reported in every paper published. I didn't know whether my -emotions were of pride or fear. After reading an account of what Dr. -William Ford Maynard had accomplished and how high his position was -in the scientific world, and then, immediately following, seeing the -announcement of his engagement to Miss Lucy Chenery Vars, of Hilton, -Mass., I was filled with a good deal of apprehension. - -Edith was delighted with my engagement. To boast of William Ford -Maynard as a future brother-in-law was a great feather in her cap. The -plans for an elaborate wedding were formed and crystallised before I -had gotten used to wearing my engagement ring. I didn't want a big -wedding, but it seemed useless to remonstrate. You see I was under -obligations to Edith. All my linen, stiff gorgeous stuff with heavy -elaborate monograms, she had given me; bath towels two yards long -which I despise, sets of underwear all ruffles, fol-de-rols and satin -rosettes, she had bestowed upon me; also my solid silver service, -Sheffield tray and flat silver were gifts from Edith. I didn't like my -flat silver. The design is awfully elaborate, representing a horn of -plenty overflowing with pears and grapes and apples. Edith, however, -thought it was stunning. I didn't like my wedding invitations, thick -as leather, engraved in enormous block letters, my name staring at me -like a sign over a store and a whole pack of cards besides. But Edith -did. I didn't want the ceremony to take place in the Episcopal church -which Edith has been attending lately, with a boys' choir preceding -me up the aisle, when I've always been a plain straight old-fashioned -Congregationalist. I didn't want eight bridesmaids of Edith's choosing, -selected from the most prominent families that she could find. I didn't -want all society invited. But I soon discovered that my wedding was to -be Edith's party, not mine. - -On the morning of the fifth day before the great occasion I was in the -Circassian walnut guest-chamber looking at the overwhelming display -of wedding presents. The original furniture had been moved into the -stable and a low wide shelf covered with heavy white damask ran around -the entire room. Edith had put all the cut-glass together in the -bay-window, and under the glare of a dozen extra electric lights it -sparkled bright and hard. There were two enormous punch-bowls, a lamp, -a vase big enough for an umbrella-stand, thirteen berry dishes, baskets -and candlesticks, two ice-cream sets, two dozen finger-bowls and six -dozen glasses. I hate cut-glass! - -"Lucy, Lucy, you up there?" somebody called as I gazed. - -"I suppose so," I sang back, and I heard Edith coming up the stairs. I -hadn't a doubt but that she would be staggering under a fresh load of -presents and I wasn't mistaken. She appeared with a regular Pisa Tower -of them, extending up to her eyes. - -"How's this for a haul?" she gasped. "Come on, my dear, hustle up and -see what you draw." Then she added, "Gracious, Lucy, where in the world -did you resurrect that old dress? Don't you know every one will be -dropping in at all hours during these last days?" Edith herself was -fairly dazzling in stiff crackling white linen. - -"It was so comfortable," I murmured, "and it has no bones in the -collar." - -"I should say it hadn't! Your bridesmaids will be here any minute. -Hurry up and look at these things, and then go and get yourself fixed -up. _Do._" - -I began silently on the bottom box, cut the string, removed the cover, -and from beneath the tissue-paper drew out a red flannelette bag. - -"It's another plateau," I said wearily before I unpulled the -draw-string. I had seven already. - -"A plateau! From the Elmer Scotts!" She tossed the cards over to me -contemptuously. "That girl visited me for two weeks before I was -married. They have loads. A plateau! Only the six-fifty size at that, -and--how disgusting--_marked_!" - -I didn't know the Scotts from Adam. Half my presents were from Edith's -friends. I didn't see why the Scotts should give me anything. - -"Why, they were invited to the reception, my dear!" said Edith, -scandalised. "Come, pass it over! Here goes for three hundred and -seventy-two," and she tore off a little number from a sheet of others, -touched it with the tip of her tongue and slapped it on to the face -of the plateau. She listed it under S in a small book and placed it -with my seven other plateaus on the silver table. I hadn't liked -putting them all together. "But, nonsense," Edith had said. "Don't -you see, little simpleton, if they are together, people can tell how -many plateaus you have at a glance? My goodness, three hundred and -seventy-two presents so far and three more days yet! I'll bet you -get five hundred. Dear me, Lucy," she broke off, "there come your -bridesmaids. Do go and change your dress. Put on the embroidered mulle; -and hurry, child." - -I suppose my blue checked gingham did look faded and plain, but I -went to my room with a great swelling loyalty in my heart for every -plain thing in the world. I hung my blue gingham in the closet almost -tenderly. Already my wedding costume was there, staring at me from the -corner--shining satin and expensive lace, little sachet bags sewed -into the lining, and, on the belt inside, the name in gold letters -of one of the most fashionable dressmakers in New York. I was gazing -at it, wishing with all my heart that I hadn't got to take the place -of the tissue-paper now stuffed into the waist and sleeves, when my -sister-in-law suddenly appeared at the door. - -"Hurry, Bobbie," she said. "Hurry, do. Your bridesmaids are all here -and the Leonard Jacksons have brought over the John Percivals in their -car. Don't forget the Jacksons gave you the dozen silver coquilholders, -and the Percivals the Dresden service plates. Be nice to Mrs. Percival. -She's going to be one of your neighbours next year. I must run along. -They'll be wondering." She started to go, but turned back and added, -"Why in the world aren't you more enthusiastic, Lucy? You ought to be -the happiest girl in the world, _I_ think. I never saw a more elaborate -trousseau or a costlier layout of presents in my life. I can't imagine -what else you want!" - -A maid knocked outside the door and spoke to Edith. I didn't hear the -message, but Edith gave a little exclamation and hurried away. - -"The King Georges or the Kaiser Wilhelms in their aeroplane, no doubt," -I muttered, and made a face at my wedding-gown as I yanked down my -embroidered mulle. - -I am going to skip the details of my wedding--the broiling condition -of the thermometer, the sweltering bridesmaids, the crowds, the push, -the funny grown-up feeling in my heart when Alec and Tom kissed me -good-bye so gently, the joy when the train finally gave a snort and a -jerk, and I knew that Edith in her pearls and satin couldn't possibly -follow. I am so anxious to describe the funny old brown house that -Will and I leased in the shadow of chemistry buildings, law-schools, -and dormitories down here in this university town, and the life--the -curious, happy, contented life that I drifted into--that I do not want -to waste any time. - -The week after my wedding Edith sailed with Ruth for four months in -Europe. That is how it happened that she wasn't on the ground to -superintend the choice of a residence for Will and me. I knew very well -that Edith would never have countenanced for a minute the house that we -finally decided to rent for the winter. It was a brown, square affair, -a door in the middle with a window on each side, not colonial in the -least, nondescript as it could be, with a slate French roof. Will and I -thought it would answer the purpose, however--even though the bathtub -was tin--and moved into it when the brick sidewalk was sprinkled with -yellow maple-leaves, and the gutter was collecting dry ones. - -I didn't know a soul in the town. I didn't know the name of a single -street except our own. I didn't know where to go to buy even a spool of -thread. But I wasn't homesick--oh, no, I wasn't homesick. You see I had -forgotten the joy of my own kitchen and pantry; I had forgotten what -a collander looked like; I had forgotten how sweet a row of cups are -hanging by their handles, underneath a shelf edged with scalloped paper! - -I enjoyed acting as my own mistress too; though I am sure if Edith -had known what I was up to, she would have left all the pleasures -of Paris to set me in the right path. For I didn't even unpack some -of my wedding presents. They didn't fit in very well with Will's -furniture which he had freighted down from the old white-pillared -house in Hilton, and every sliver of which I simply adored. It wasn't -colonial furniture, understand, which is so fashionable nowadays, but -black walnut of the seventies--high-backed armchairs and sofas and -marble-topped bedroom tables. There were funny old steel engravings of -the United States Senate, battle scenes, and Abraham Lincoln, besides -some big heavy bronzes that Will told me were very valuable. The -sideboard was black walnut like everything else and Edith's elaborate -silver service made it look so out-of-date that I put on it instead -my own mother's old coffee-pot--the one that used to be so heavy for -me--and our old-fashioned silver water pitcher with four high goblets -to match. I didn't even unlock my enormous chest of silver. Alec had -let me take from the safe at home the forks and darling thin spoons and -knives that had always been in our family. It was like sheltering old -friends under my roof to care for them again. - -Edith would have hated the life I drifted into. She would have called -it "a mere existence" or "worse than the frontier." From September to -February, I didn't go to a single luncheon, tea, or bridge! People had -called--members of the faculty, I suppose, I'm sure I don't know, for -the cards were mere names to me and I was always out when they were -left. You see one evening I had run across something in a pamphlet of -Will's on our living-room table that set me to thinking. The pamphlet -was a sort of bulletin of lectures given by different professors in -the college. There was a star after several of the announcements and -at the bottom of the page it said, "Open to the Public." I hadn't a -notion whether it was the right thing for me to go to them or not, but -one rainy afternoon I hunted up Tyler Hall and Room twenty-one on the -second floor and slunk into one of the back chairs at five minutes to -three, very much frightened and wondering if I would be turned out. The -lecture was the second or third of a series given by a Dr. Van Breeze -on something in philosophy. I didn't understand more than about two -sentences, but no one seemed to question my right to sit there, and I -felt ten times more comfortable than I ever had at bridge parties in -Hilton. - -You see I have never been to college. Although I hated boarding-school -with all my heart and soul, I have always had a sneaking idea I might -have done better at college. I always liked to study and when I became -aware of the fact that Juliet--who, though the best and staunchest -girl in the world, was never very brainy--was soaring above me in -knowledge, I used to be a little envious. It may seem odd to you for a -married woman to be trotting across a campus every other day to attend -lectures in class-rooms, as if she were an undergraduate, but after -my first plunge into that discourse on philosophy by Dr. Van Breeze I -never missed a single lecture in the series. I went the next week and -the next and the next; and also bolted bravely into a series of French -lectures every Monday afternoon. I liked just to sit and breathe the -air of those class-rooms. I liked the long line of blackboards covered -with unintelligible words that belonged to a previous lecture, the row -of felt erasers, the smell of dry chalk-dust. I liked sitting in those -studious-looking chairs with a big arm on one side. It was as strange -and foreign as a new country in those class-rooms, with the bare -maple-tree branches grazing the window-pane, and in my ears the music -of the French language which I hadn't heard since I left high school. I -was a thousand, thousand miles away from the atmosphere of limousines -and Edith, five hundred and two wedding presents, and a wedding-dress -that cost two hundred dollars. It was like a distant echo from another -world when I received an invitation for a bridge one day from a Mrs. -Percival. It had completely escaped my mind that she was one of the -individuals who had given me a dozen Dresden plates. Even if I had -recollected I shouldn't have accepted the invitation. Why should I put -handcuffs on myself again, now I was once free from a bondage that I -loathed? I sent a very proper note of regret to Mrs. Percival, pleading -a previous engagement. It was true. An old white-haired gentleman whom -I often met at Dr. Van Breeze's lectures had asked me to sit beside him -that particular afternoon at three o'clock in Tyler Hall. - -I didn't tell Will about the lectures. He was usually busy at the -medical school daytimes, and I was always at home when he arrived at -six. I was ashamed to confess to Will that I, who never studied a -science in my life, was presuming to attend lectures on the Geology -of Fuels and Fluxes (for I took in everything that was starred), the -Influence of Science upon Religion, and something about the Law of -Falling Spheres. I hated to have him laugh at me, so I kept absolutely -quiet on the subject of my ridiculous search for knowledge. I didn't -even tell him about my new acquaintances. - -The white-haired old gentleman and I developed quite a friendship. -Every Thursday we used to walk home together as far as the Library, -and he would explain things in the lecture that I didn't understand. -He called me Pandora in fun because I was so inquisitive and couldn't -bear to let things unknown to me alone. Once in a while a queer little -man in a frock coat and a soft artist's tie would join us, and a -woman--a Miss Avery in an ugly brown suit and a stiff linen collar -like a man's. They used to think that my questions were the drollest -things they had ever heard in their lives; but I couldn't help but feel -that the sweet old man took quite a fancy to me. He gave me a book -once on philosophy, by a famous scholar, and another time he asked me -to come to his house to meet his wife. Naturally I didn't go, for I -wouldn't have let any one guess I was Mrs. William Ford Maynard for all -the wives in creation. It was a funny existence to drift into, wasn't -it--cake and snow-pudding in the morning (I loved to mess about in the -kitchen); economics, geology, philosophy and French in the afternoon; -and evenings our open fire and cribbage with dear old Will, by the -light of our big bronze lamp? It was a happy existence too. - -I found something in those lectures of Dr. Van Breeze's which I had -lost a long time ago. It was a precious thing and at first I didn't -recognise it. You see every once in a while Dr. Van Breeze would -say something that was better than anything I had ever heard in any -church. I wasn't sure that I quite understood him, so I asked the old -gentleman. It was a great eye-opener to me when I learned that such a -great thinker as Dr. Van Breeze had a religion. - -"Why, even _I_ don't believe anything," I told my white-haired friend. - -His little eyes twinkled at that. "And proud of it too, I'll wager," he -laughed. - -I blushed, for I think I did feel rather superior, just as I had felt -wise when I knew there was no Santa Claus. Juliet and I had talked -quite a good deal about religion. She took a course in "Bible" at -college, which seemed to knock all the inspiration and the miracles out -of it for her; and when it came to her course in philosophy, well--she -said that she thought that ministers were a very credulous lot of men. -She said you couldn't argue with them because they always wanted to -prove things by quoting the Bible, while there existed simply dozens of -other worthy reference books. She said that she preferred to rely on -great scholars and philosophers for truth, rather than on men who only -looked in _one_ book for information. Naturally I didn't want to keep -on believing in a fallacy, simply because I had never been to college. -Childish as it may seem at first, I used to feel awfully unanchored -not to say my prayers at night; but of course such a custom was silly, -if I really was an unbeliever. I told my white-haired old friend in -defence of my shocking statement (which by the way didn't shock him at -all) that he might laugh, but anyhow I was backed up by scholars and -philosophers, who since the year one had all been busy trying to prove -that there wasn't anything in religion to believe. - -"Why, my dear mistaken Pandora," smiled my friend. "On the contrary, -philosophers have all been trying to prove there _is_ something to -believe, of some nature or other." - -"Really?" I exclaimed. "It would be a big relief to me--but are you -sure?" - -"Did you ever hear of Benedict Graham?" he replied. Of course I -had--every one has. He's at the head of the philosophy department at -this university. The next week my friend presented me with Benedict -Graham's "Introduction to Philosophy." I thought such a book would be -way beyond my understanding, but it wasn't. I used to read a chapter -or two by myself and then talk it over with my friend afterward. He -made everything very simple to me and seemed besides to be an awfully -well-informed old gentleman. I didn't think even Juliet could scoff -at him, though he did _believe_ a lot of things. After a week or -two I felt rather ashamed at having so loftily pronounced myself an -Unbeliever. I am no such thing! I can't tell you exactly what I am. I -really don't know. But so long as minds ten times bigger and greater -than mine (like Dr. Van Breeze and Benedict Graham, and lots of those -learned old Greeks and Germans) so long as such intellects entertain -the idea that there is _something_ of _some_ nature to believe in, I -tell you, I'm going to believe in it with all my might and main. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -Edith didn't remain in Europe as long as she expected. She dropped -down upon us one night, with Ruth trailing on behind, as unexpectedly -as a falling star. I had just had a letter that said that she and Ruth -and Alec--my brother had since joined them--were all installed in a -fashionable hotel in Paris for six weeks. You can imagine my surprise -when Edith and Ruth appeared at my front door. - -Will and I were playing cribbage. He had laid down his big book; I had -put aside my sewing; and the four little pegs on the cribbage-board -had already run the course twice. We always play five games of -cribbage every night before we go upstairs to bed. We call it our -sleeping-powder. Will had just dealt the cards--it was almost nine -o'clock--when the door-bell rang. Old Delia had creaked up to bed ages -ago, so Will went to the door himself. I didn't bother even to uncurl -my feet--I was sitting Turkish fashion--for I thought it must be the -expressman. I yawned and waited. - -I heard Will say, "Hello! hello! Well, well, of all--When did -you--Where--" and a moment later, resplendent in a long sealskin coat, -a sealskin hat, a perfectly enormous muff and a gold chain purse, Edith -pushed into our hall, eyes simply sparkling and cheeks aglow. - -"Hello, Turtle-doves!" she exclaimed. "Hello, Brother Will! Hello, Mrs. -Bobbikins!" - -I started up. - -"Of all things!" I ejaculated. - -Edith kissed me through a prickly veil. Ruth kissed me too. Ruth was -simply overwhelming in a huge blue hat with not less than six blue -ostrich plumes. They both kissed Will. We all began to laugh. - -"We _knew_ you'd be surprised," said Ruth. - -"But I thought--" I began. - -"Where's Alec?" asked Will. - -"Why in the world--" I tucked in. - -"Listen! Wait!" commanded Edith. "_I'll_ explain. We thought," she -said, gurgling with mirth, "it would be great fun to surprise you, so--" - -"Alec got a cable last week--" put in Ruth. - -"From my dad," Edith went on. "Business! Wasn't it disgusting when -we weren't planning to sail for six weeks? Al had to go right on to -Chicago--and The Homestead--" - -"We had the bridal suite on the _Mauretania!_" I heard Ruth exclaim to -Will. - -"--isn't open," finished Edith. "The servants are scattered to the four -winds. I've written to them, but of course they haven't had a chance to -open things up yet. So we thought it would be fun to--" - -"To pop in on you!" giggled Ruth. - -"Can you put us up?" snapped Edith. - -"Of course! How nice!" I tried to say cordially, with the image of -my cold, unused, north guest-room dancing before my eyes, the floor -covered with newspapers, two cut-glass punch-bowls, thirteen berry -dishes and seven vases. "_Of course_ I can put you up. Take off your -things." - -Will produced two dining-room chairs and Edith and Ruth buried them -in no time beneath a stack of coats, hats and muffs. Edith was -gowned--slick as a black suede glove--in a tight-fitting, broadcloth, -one-piece dress, Irish lace at neck and wrists. Ruth's new Parisian -hair was simply glorious. They strutted into our comfortable -living-room like two peacocks, Edith surveying the walls and ceilings -as if she were examining the dome of the Boston State-house. - -"So this is where you coo!" she said in her horrid patronising manner. -Imagine Dr. William Maynard of the medical department of one of the -biggest universities in the country cooing! I blushed for Will. He -pushed up a chair. It chanced to be one of Father's old morocco -leather armchairs I had found in the storeroom at home. Edith made -opera-glasses of her two hands, and pretended to gaze intently at the -poor old piece of furniture. - -"Hello, old friend!" she said, and made a mock salute. "You look -familiar. Back into service again, hey? 'Comfy' anyhow!" she finished -and settled into it. - -"What sort of a passage was it?" asked Will, and for the next half-hour -we listened to an account of a perfectly disgusting customs officer in -New York, who made Edith pay one hundred and ninety-five dollars on a -half-dozen mere gowns that already were simply worn to shreds. - -It was when Will had gone to the kitchen for some water that Edith -leaned forward and said to me: - -"How'd you happen to take _this_ house, my dear? And don't you dress -for dinner, Lucy?" - -"Oh," I said, "this? It's short and I can hook it up myself." - -"I just _knew_," chimed in my own sister Ruth, "that Lucy would be one -of those to get slack after she was once married. Now I've always said -that _I_--" - -"I didn't know," broke in Edith in a sudden burst of laughter, "that -there were any houses left nowadays that had those funny old-fashioned -storm-doors that you hook on every winter." - -"Trust Lucy to pick out the oldest shack in the town," tucked in Ruth, -touching the surface of her perfect coiffure with light fingers, and -glancing sideways at herself in an old gilt-framed mirror on the wall. - -"By the way, Lucy," Edith added, piling it on, I thought, a bit too -thick, "people aren't using doilies under ornaments any more. Where are -all those stunning plateaus?" - -"Dear me," I laughed, bound to be good-natured, "I'd completely -forgotten the plateaus. They must be in one of the barrels we haven't -opened." - -"Haven't opened! I _never_ saw any one like you. Haven't opened! It -certainly is a good thing that I've come home." - -It was with a sinking heart that I took Edith and Ruth up to the -guest-room in which I had put one of Will's black walnut bedroom sets. - -"If I'd only known you were coming!" I began going up the stairs trying -to explain. "The bureau is chuck-full of silver things--we ought to -have a safe. And the closet--all my good dresses are there. We have -so little closet-room in this house. In the morning I'll clear it -out. I know you'd like separate beds too, but when Will's things were -all unpacked there wasn't room for much new furniture. And I'm sorry, -Edith, that you haven't a bath connected. We have only one bathroom in -the entire house and even that--" - -Edith wouldn't let me finish. We were in the guest-room now. Her eyes -were on the cut-glass in the corner. - -"I ought never to have gone to Europe," she announced. "Never in this -world!" - -I wished she had never come home, and when I kissed her good-night, -all the old rancour and rebellion, dormant for so long, was raging in -my heart. I stole downstairs after I was undressed, pulled out Edith's -silver service from underneath the stairs and put it on the sideboard; -I unlocked Edith's chest of silver, and began laying the breakfast -table with the horns-of-plenty; I dragged out some elaborate breakfast -napkins; I hauled down from the top shelf of the pantry a Coalport -breakfast-set. At one A. M., when I was crawling back stealthily to our -room, I had to pass the guest-chamber door. I heard voices, and stopped -a moment. - -"It's human nature for a man, single or married, to prefer a woman in -pretty clothes, whoever she is," said Edith. - -"Of course," Ruth agreed. "When she came in to say good-night did you -see the horrid old red worsted bedroom slippers she had on?" - -"And moreover," Edith went on, "a man likes an attractive house--pretty -pictures, pretty ornaments, a place where he is proud to bring his -friends." - -"Naturally." - -"A man likes to be proud of his wife too," went on the sage, "proud -of her friends, of her place in society. Now Lucy--absolutely _no_ -social-sense--not a spark. No doubt, if she's made any friends at all, -they're the grocery-man and the seamstress, or the woman who washes her -hair." - -Ruth giggled. - -"Now _you_, Ruth," Edith pursued, "are a girl after my own heart. -_You_ are the kind to be the wife of a famous man. _You_ could be Mrs. -William Maynard with the right sort of go." - -I had to smile at the thought of Ruth and Will. Will hates false -things--puffs and brilliantine; he hates fluffy negligees, and silly, -high-heeled unwalkable shoes; he hates fuss and feathers. I passed on -down the hall. - -"It will take more than Edith Campbell and my young sister Ruth to -disturb me, I guess," I said to myself as I turned out several flaring -gas-jets in the hall and bathroom, left by those two extravagant -creatures to burn all night. - -Edith awoke the next morning armoured for battle. I could see it in her -eyes and feel it in her manner. I knew it was to be no slight skirmish, -but a well-thought-out and carefully-planned campaign. I knew it was -to be a serious engagement because neither she nor Ruth criticised a -single thing for the next two days. If they were shocked and surprised, -I knew it only by raised eyebrows, critical smiles or covert glances. -I hated their silence. I felt as if the entire foundation of my life -was stealthily being honeycombed with tunnels, laid with bombs and -dynamite, and I wondered a little uncomfortably when Edith would light -the fuse. Edith is wonderful in some ways, as you know. At a hotel or -on a steamer she catches on to the right people to know within the -first twenty-four hours, and by the third day she's playing bridge with -them. As soon as ever her half-dozen pieces of baggage had arrived, she -donned a Paquin three-piece velvet suit and set out to call on Mrs. -Percival. That night the explosion took place. - -"I called on Mrs. Percival this afternoon," she began after dinner. -"She says, Lucy, that you never returned her call." - -Will had gone to a lecture that evening. Ruth was playing solitaire in -front of the fire. - -"Has Mrs. Percival called on me? I didn't realise it," I replied. - -"Not only has Mrs. Percival called, but every one else who should. -That impossible servant of yours said that all these people had -called." Edith took down the brass jardinière where I deposit all my -visiting-cards. "She said that you were never in afternoons and had not -seen _one_ of them. Where under the heavens were you, Lucy?" - -I felt ashamed to tell Edith about the lectures, so I said instead: - -"Oh, anywhere--walking, shopping--_anywhere_. I never stay in -afternoons. I can't bear to." - -"How many of those calls have you returned?" cross-examined my -sister-in-law. - -"Well--I am _going_ to return them all," I began. "They're such -strangers to me that I've been putting it off. You know how I hate -making calls anyway. But of course--" - -Edith interrupted me. - -"_The_ people in this town are the ones connected with the university. -I have always heard that. You've had every opportunity to know them. -They've all called on account of Will. You've simply thrown away chance -upon chance. Here are the Philemon Omsteds' cards. Mrs. Percival says -that Dr. Omsted is awfully queer--kind of a socialist--but that Mrs. -Omsted's musicales are the selectest things given. Here are Mrs. Daniel -Haynes McClellan's cards, the Bernkapps, Madame Gauthier. I found out -from Mrs. Percival, indirectly of course, that all these people are -_in_ things. Mrs. Benedict Graham--even _she_ has called on you. And -Mrs. Percival says that _she_ was a Granville--daughter of President -Emeritus Granville. Dr. Graham is an awfully prominent man himself. -Surely you've heard of Benedict Graham, Lucy. Surely--" - -"Of course!" I interrupted. "Every one has, Edith, and I'm reading his -book, but I'd be frightened to death to go up and pull the Benedict -Grahams' bell. I couldn't!" - -"You ought to be married to a clerk or a barber, and then you wouldn't -need to. I should hate to think I had married a man whom I couldn't -live up to. Every one has heard of Will. He has been talked about all -over the country. But what about his wife? Who is she?" Edith's words -were beginning to cut now and I bit my lip. "There was a tea this very -afternoon to which Mrs. William Maynard ought to have been invited. -Were you?" - -I shook my head. - -"Of course you weren't, nor last week to a musicale that Mrs. Omsted -gave, and I'll bet you had nothing whatsoever to do with the Charity -Bazaar that the younger women in the university set get up every -Christmas. Do you think a man wants to be married to a person who is -not received--absolutely ignored, as if something was the matter with -her? Whom in the world do you know here, anyway? Any one at all?" - -Pictures of the little man with the soft tie, the dear white-haired -old gentleman whose name I did not even know, and Miss Avery, all -impossible I knew to Edith, flashed before my eyes. So I shook my head -and Edith went on. - -"And the house--it's simply impossible! Such a location! Why, no one -lives in this part of town. You would think that Will couldn't afford -anything better, but he can. You ought to have two maids. And why under -the heavens all this old furniture? People don't use black walnut any -more, and that old narrow, square dining-room table is simply beyond -words!" - -"And you have no butler's pantry nor back stairs," put in Ruth. - -"And you ought to make your maid wear black afternoons." - -"And turn down the beds," added Ruth. - -"It's _my_ house," I began. "If you don't like it--" I got up quickly -and started to leave the room. - -"Oh, come, Bobbikins," Edith said in her persistently cheerful way. -"Don't get cross. I was only trying to be helpful." Then she went on: -"I found this on the floor, by your desk. I couldn't help but see it. -It's an invitation for dinner from Mrs. Benedict Graham. I can't -understand why she invites you if you've never returned her call, but -of course it's on account of Will. I can't imagine your not accepting -this invitation and yet I heard you say that next Thursday, the sixth, -the very evening of this dinner, you and Will had tickets for the -theatre." - -"Yes, we've been planning to go on that particular night for three -weeks. It's a little secret anniversary of ours," I said sullenly; "and -we're going too. Why should you, Edith, come here and try to upset the -whole universe? We're happy. Will is satisfied. He loves things simple. -I wish you'd leave us alone. Will doesn't care a scrap about society, -and I hate it, hate it, hate it!" I was on the verge of bursting into -tears. - -"Well, if there's going to be a scene, excuse _me_, please," said Ruth, -and started to leave the room. - -"If you're through with that card-table, please fold it up and put it -in the closet," I said to Ruth with my eyes full of fire. "I haven't -got six servants." - -"Whew!" whistled Ruth and began gathering up her cards. - -"I should think," calmly went on Edith like a repeating alarm-clock, -"you'd like your husband to be _proud_ of you." - -"Oh, please--please--" I fired back, and then suddenly, too full to -speak, I turned abruptly and fled up the stairs to my room. - -The sweet darkness enveloped me. I drew a chair to the window. _Will_ -would ask her to mind her own affairs; _Will_ would talk to her; _Will_ -would tell her how he hated her mean ambitions, how he abhorred her -contemptible snobbishness; _Will_ would defend and stand up for me; -_Will_ would fix her! "Just wait for _Will_!" I said, and listened for -his step on the sidewalk outside and the sound of his key in the latch. -I heard him come in about half past ten. It was almost twelve when he -came up to me. - -"Not in bed?" he asked gently and leaned down and kissed me. "Edith was -downstairs when I came in and we've been talking. I don't know but what -we ought to keep two maids, Bobbie dear," Will said, and I felt as if -I had been struck. Will went over and lit the gas. "I guess we might -as well postpone our theatre party for next Thursday," he went on. "I -think, after all, we'd better go to the Grahams' dinner. By the way," -he broke off, "didn't you get an invitation to the Omsteds' affair last -week?" - -"No, Will, I didn't," I said dully. - -"Perhaps you'll find time to pay back a few of those calls some time -pretty soon, Bobbie dear," he said to me. And that morning about four -A. M. I cried myself to sleep. - -Edith went to the dinner too. She had Will telephone and fix it up -someway. I don't know how nor I didn't ask. I was very miserable, -very unhappy. My heart was heavier than it had been for a whole year. -"Will wasn't satisfied, Will wasn't proud, Will was ashamed of me," -rang in my ears from morning till night. During the few days that -still must be lived before Thursday the sixth at seven o'clock, Edith -exhibited the usual kindness and gentle consideration of any victor -over the vanquished. I didn't make another plea. I was as resigned as -a fatalist, and as unmurmuring as a stoic. I wrote my acceptance at -Edith's dictation without a word, and silently fought the tears that -came to my eyes, as I sealed the envelope. - -"O Bobbie," said Will gently, "don't worry so about it, dear. You -weren't so frightened about your own wedding." - -"Exactly," said Edith. "And I've had dinners at The Homestead just as -grand as this. You're simply out of training. People won't notice you -so much as you think anyhow. Just act slowly, and don't try to talk. -That's all. _I'll_ be there and you can 'lean on me, grandpa.' _You'll_ -be all right," she assured me grandly. - -I couldn't explain to Will and Edith how I felt about that dinner at -the Grahams'. They wouldn't understand. Of course I had been to Edith's -parties at The Homestead, but then I was simply Lucy Vars; and now I -was Mrs. William Ford Maynard. Everybody in Hilton had accepted Lucy -Vars long ago as a queer, quiet sort of shy little mouse, and treated -her as such. She was used to it. But here, no one had as yet discovered -Mrs. William Ford Maynard. She had been living for six, beautiful, -unmolested months in idyllic secretion. But she had been run down at -last, she must give herself up like a hunted convict, and by Thursday -at midnight all of Dr. Maynard's learned associates would know just -what sort of insignificant little person he had married. Oh, if only -for Will's sake I had been born clever and brilliant; if only I had -possessed a little of Edith's style; Ruth's _savoir faire_. Do you -wonder then, that I trembled in anticipation of this occasion? Ruth's -coming-out party, my wedding, a dozen dinners of Edith's, were as -doll's tea-parties as compared to this, when Mrs. William Ford Maynard -must come forth from her hiding-place and meet this test of a searching -inspection. - -I shall never forget the faint, sickening feeling inside of me as -we stood waiting for admittance before the big colonial house. We -must have been the last ones to arrive. A babble of voices in the -drawing-room at the left greeted us as we entered. We walked up the -old colonial stairway, and into a big bedroom at the top with a black -walnut bedroom set. I noticed that even in my fright. - -"Mercy, child, don't take off your gloves," whispered Edith to me. - -"I _hate_ them," I said, and ripped my arms bare. I wore a light -blue silk dress with a Dutch neck, in spite of Edith in her low-cut -ball-gown plastered over with glittering black spangles. My hair was -done in its usual everyday knot at the back of my neck, bobbed up in -the last five minutes after Ruth's sixth attempt at dressing it in the -"new way." Edith looked like a fashion-plate: she had a perfect figure; -her neck is marvellous; she wore diamonds and a string of pearls. - -I followed her down the stairs very carefully, lest I trip in my little -French-heeled satin slippers or lose the silly things altogether. My -heart was in my mouth. "What shall I say when I am introduced? What -shall I say? What shall I say?" I kept thinking in a panic and watched -Edith sweep across the hall in her most impressive manner. I waited an -instant. A minute more and Will was announcing, "And this is my wife, -Mrs. Graham." My heart fluttered as it used to at parties at home. - -The grand lady smiled upon me. She took my hand. - -"So this is _Mrs._ William Maynard," she said. "I'm glad you could -come. We all know Dr. Maynard so well--we're so proud to have him one -of us--that I am glad to meet _you_." Was she thinking how funny and -young I looked? Was she saying "What a strange little insignificant bit -of thing indeed for such a man as William Maynard!" I wished, after -all, I had had my hair marcelled. - -"I want Dr. Graham to meet you," my hostess continued and, leaning -over, touched the great philosopher on the shoulder with her fan. He -was talking to Edith. "Benedict, my dear." He turned. "Mrs. Maynard!" - -I trembled in my shoes and raised my eyes. - -"You!" I gasped and stepped back. Dr. Benedict Graham--_the_ Dr. -Benedict Graham--was no other than my dear sweet old white-haired -gentleman of the philosophical lectures! His hands went out to me--both -of them--and gathered my ten cold trembling fingers in his warm grasp. - -"You?" he repeated with the sweet light of recognition in his eyes. -"You! _Pandora!_ Julia," he said to Mrs. Graham, "Mrs. Maynard is -Pandora of whom I have told you, my little friend who takes a walk -with me every week. Well--well," he chuckled. "Well--well." Then to -astonished Will he exclaimed, "Your wife and I are old friends," and -oh, I could have kissed him! - -The colour rushed back into my cheeks. My hand was in Mrs. Graham's -again, and when I looked around the room I found I stood in a little -circle--every one's eyes, like the lights, upon me. It was like a -surprise-party, or a fairy story, or some trick worked by a skilful -magician. First my eyes fell upon Dr. Van Breeze; and then, in a flash, -on Monsieur Gauthier, who gave the French lectures; and suddenly coming -toward me was the funny little man with the soft wide tie. He wore it -even to-night. He took my hand cordially and Will exclaimed, "Do you -know her too, Mr. Omsted?" - -It all happened in a minute. I can't tell it quickly enough. "She has -read one of my books from cover to cover," I heard Dr. Graham laugh, -eyes twinkling into mine; and I think it was just after that remark -of Dr. Graham's that Monsieur Gauthier stepped forward and bowing -before me in the dearest, Frenchiest manner in the world, said in his -own language with every one listening, "I have never been presented -to Mrs. Maynard, but if I am not mistaken I think I have observed her -face at my Monday afternoon lectures. Is it not so? Always the same -chair--third from the back, two removed from the aisle--always the -same. It has been a pleasure to see you there each week." - -I understood every word. I didn't lose a phrase. The warmth, the light, -those words in French, everybody's eyes upon me acted like just enough -champagne. - -"_Merci, Monsieur_," I dared to say and swept him a little bow. I can -hear now my voice and those two little French words falling upon the -silence of that room like a noise on a still night. I don't know how -I ever presumed to speak in French. I would have thought it affected -in any one else, but at that exultant moment I could have mimicked -Chinese. Two words in a foreign language I know should not be very -amazing (any one could do it) but I could feel a little murmur pass -among the people after I had spoken that was something--a little--like -the applause at the theatre. A moment later the talking began again; -I was being introduced at left and right; my own voice and laughter -mingled with the general babble. It was exactly as though I had taken -my plunge, come safely to the surface and now was swimming along with -long even strokes with the others for the shore. Edith looked at me -astonished. Will observed me as though I were a stranger. Easy words -came to my lips, my cheeks burned, and every one was so kind--so good -to me, that I forgot my dress, my hair and my French-heeled shoes. - -I don't mean to imply that I was the belle of the evening. Of course I -wasn't. It would be absurd for a mere slip of a girl, married though -she was, to come among learned men and sages and have them all turning -their attention and thought upon her. Even if she had been pretty, -and skilful in the art of smiles and glances, which I am not, such an -event would be amazing. I only mean to say that I didn't feel awkward -nor wonder where to put my hands between the courses. I was placed at -the left of Dr. Graham and felt as easy as if I were sitting beside -my own father. The dinner, it seemed, was in honour of Dr. Van Breeze -on account of his book about to be published, consisting of the very -lectures he had been delivering in Tyler Hall. The talk centred about -the book a good deal and though I didn't contribute a single idea to -the conversation I understood perfectly what was being discussed. But -I do not think Edith enjoyed herself. She was over-jewelled, in the -first place, and kept running on to Dr. Omsted, who, you know, is a -kind of socialist, about the gorgeous bridal suite on the _Mauretania_, -the one hundred and ninety-two dollars duty she had to pay, and of -how she smuggled in a thousand-dollar pearl necklace, until I was -embarrassed. - -We went home about ten-thirty. Just at the door as we were going out -Mrs. Philemon Omsted stopped me. Will had me by the arm. Edith was just -in front. - -"Mrs. Maynard," she said to me, "just a moment, please. I have been -very glad to meet you. And, by the way, Easter Monday I am giving a -small musicale. Mrs. Graham is to pour for me. I should be delighted if -you will assist." - -I thanked her quietly (but oh, in my heart I could have crowned her -with flowers) and passed out to our hired carriage. - -I sat in the middle between Edith and Will. We drove away in silence, -my heart singing, and my cheeks warm with excitement. Will pressed my -arm with his bare hand hidden underneath the folds of my party-coat. I -could feel his joy. It was Edith who spoke first. - -"What a miserable stuffy little carriage," she said; then after a -moment, "Those people may have brains, but I don't think I ever saw -such a lot of frumpily dressed women in my life." - -Will leaned forward then, and said playfully, but with a queer little -sure sound in his voice, "What was your impression of Mrs. William -Maynard?" - -"Of Bobbie?" Edith asked raising her eyebrows, disgusted with Will's -little streak of fun. - -"Of Mrs. William Maynard," he corrected; then in a low voice he added, -"Of Mrs. William Maynard, of whom I am so proud!" and I had to draw -away my hand to wipe away two silly tears. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -It used to be a source of great anxiety to Father that none of his -children was married. He had a notion that the only way to make a -family name a strong one was by increase. When Tom and Alec were -scarcely out of college and the twins were still in short trousers, -Father announced that he was going to present to the first grandson -bearing the name of Vars, a check for three thousand dollars. We -treated it a good deal as a joke then and used to poke a lot of fun at -the boys about it. That was a long time ago--before Father died--and -when we found the same offer written out in plain black and white in -Father's will we were a little surprised and a little touched too, -realising how dreadfully in earnest the poor dear man must have been -about it, and how disappointed. According to his instructions, however, -the three thousand dollars was put away at interest to await the coming -of the first Vars heir. - -At the beginning of this chapter three of us were married--though of -course I didn't count, being a girl--and still the three thousand -dollars remained unclaimed. Poor unlucky Elise had had four girls, -and Edith hadn't had a baby of any kind. However, we all knew if ever -such an event should take place in Edith's career it would be the most -important occasion in the entire annals of the family. And we weren't -mistaken. Edith had been married several years when the wonderful -preparations were begun. One would have thought she was the Queen -of Holland. Everybody in Hilton seemed to vie one with another in -embroidering tiny martingales, knitting worsted blankets, or scalloping -flannel shawls for Edith Vars' baby. The nursery that she had had built -on the sunny side of Father's house four years before fairly bloomed -into pink and white equipment. You had only to spend a half-hour there -to discover what a popular person Edith was and what a select place -in society she had at last attained. She was more than accommodating -about telling from whom each little gift had come. For instance the -superb baby-dress with Irish insertion Mrs. Alfred Sturtevant brought -over herself yesterday; the elaborate hand-embroidered bassinette -sheets were from Mrs. Barlow--_the_ Mrs. Barlow, you understand; the -silk puffs, silk socks, silk caps from Beatrice, Phyllis and Bernice. -A hand-made, finely-worked Christening dress of Alec's, proving the -family's prosperity thirty-five years ago (Edith herself had risen from -the sod, you know; you may be sure _her_ Christening dress wasn't on -exhibition) had been rooted out of an old trunk in the storeroom. The -most expensive "Specialist" within reach had been engaged, and a nurse -from Boston was to remain for four months at the rate of twenty-five a -week. You could trust Edith to do the thing up in the proper style; you -could trust her also to carry away that three thousand dollars premium -in Father's will. She felt cock-sure of it herself. Things had always -come her way, hadn't they? _She_ never did the ignominious thing, did -she? Poor Elise and her four little girls she had always held in the -lowest esteem. Fate simply wouldn't allow Edith Vars' baby to be a -girl. Every one said so. Even I was convinced. - -Alec treated Edith as if she were the centre of the universe. When -the shocking news about Oliver reached us, Alec's chief concern was -in regard to the effect of the news upon poor Edith. It was two years -after that first dinner of ours at Dr. Graham's that the knowledge of -my brother Oliver's latest escapade reached me one morning in early -April. - -I was diligently dusting the black walnut bookcases in our sunny -living-room. I sat down in the nearest chair at hand, perfectly stunned -for a moment, my jaw hanging open, no doubt, and read through the -letter containing the fatal news at least three times before I had the -strength to get up. The first thing I did was to hang up the square -piece of hem-stitched cheese-cloth at the head of the cellar stairs; -then I went and hunted up a time-table. There was a train due to leave -for Hilton at eleven-ten. Will had left early that morning, for he had -a nine o'clock recitation, so he wasn't at home when Alec's letter -came. But I knew that nothing less than a death in the family could -drag him away from his precious clinic the next day, so I hurried off -for the train alone. I stuck a note of explanation into the dish of -ferns on the middle of the dining-room table: - - "_Dear Will_, - - "I've had a letter from Alec. Oliver was married to a Madge Tompkins - in February! He's bringing her to Hilton to-night. This is all I know - about it. Will try to be back before Sunday. - - "BOBBIE." - -During the last half-year Oliver had been superintending a gang of -granite workers in a little town in Vermont. City life hadn't seemed -to agree with Oliver's purse very well, and the diversions of the -several middle-western cities, in each of which Oliver had made a great -hit with all the nicest girls and their mothers, had interfered with -his business hours. It was after he had tried six or seven positions, -starting with banking in Pittsburg, and ending up with shipping -automobile tires in Akron, Ohio, that Tom and Alec deposited Oliver, -with scarcely a cent to his name, in Glennings Falls, Vermont, where -the possibilities for spending money were rather limited. - -Poor Oliver! I felt awfully sorry for him. He's such a -brilliant-appearing fellow! It seemed to me as if he had struck an -awfully hard run of luck since he graduated from college. He really -is a civil engineer, but fate has swerved him into other lines, which -I think is the cause of his checkered career. He always loved to -build bridges and dams and toy railroads even as a small boy. After -he finally succeeded in squeezing through college he conceived a -foolish notion--foolish according to Tom--to take a course in Civil -Engineering at Cornell. Of course he didn't have anything else to -study--no bugbears like English Composition, Latin or Greek, so perhaps -that is why he did so well in the Engineering. Anyhow he passed the -examinations with some kind of an honour--the only one, poor boy, that -he had ever been able to boast of in his life. Tom, who had pooh-poohed -the idea of Oliver's wasting a year at Cornell, finally gave up his -plan of putting the boy to work in his lumber camps, and Oliver started -forth, hopes high and spirits aglow, to accept an engineering job -in Arizona. On the way out, at Pittsburg, he stopped off to visit an -old college friend for a fortnight, and at the end of the first week -he wrote that he had struck a "gold mine." His friend's father was -prominently connected with half a dozen banks in Pittsburg and had -offered him a position. I could have told the friend's father that -Oliver would never make a banker, but he found it out himself in a -little while. - -After Oliver left Pittsburg everything went wrong with him. No civil -engineering jobs presented themselves, no more friends' fathers, no -more "gold mines" seemed to be available. After that Oliver became a -regular rolling-stone. He couldn't seem to keep any of his positions, -or he wouldn't, I don't know which. He tried everything. It was -manufacturing automobile parts in Toledo; selling motorcycles in -Buffalo; making out orders for plumbers' supplies in Cleveland. He -fizzled miserably each time. He never had any money. He was forever -sending to Tom or Alec for a check for fifty until his salary was due. -He was forever running down to New York or over to Chicago for a class -reunion or a dance. He was forever writing to me vivid descriptions of -new "queens" he had met. - -It was when Tom and Alec had to pay fourteen hundred and fifty dollars -for a "swell" little last season's roadster that Oliver had secured at -a wonderful bargain from a friend of his in Akron (this was when he was -a shipping clerk in a tire factory) and in which he had been sporting -about through the streets of the place at a speed of thirty an hour, -that he was summoned to the court of his older brothers, and after due -consultation was sent up to Glennings Falls, like a convict, to work in -the mines. His roadster was sold at a terrible sacrifice, he said, and -that fact seemed at the time to be his greatest regret. - -I could have cried for Oliver. There would be no "queens" in Glennings -Falls; there would be no Sunday-night Lobster-Newbergs over a -chafing-dish; there would be no stunning "visiting girls" whom he met -at Class-Day or in Pittsburg when he was there, or in Toledo, Cleveland -or Buffalo, for him to call on until eleven P.M. - -When I arrived in Hilton, Alec was at the station in the automobile -to meet me (I had had just time to 'phone him that I was coming) and -Tom who had come flying on from the West the minute Alec's shocking -telegram had reached him was there too. Malcolm had caught the midnight -from New York and was waiting on the veranda when we ran up under the -porte-cochère. It was really a family reunion, but all the joy of -seeing each other again was buried beneath the horror and consternation -in our hearts. Oliver's act was astounding. We're not an erratic -family. We never figure in accidents or tragedies of any kind. We hate -notoriety. - -"And besides all the horrid publicity of a secret marriage," said Ruth, -"Edith says the creature is too _common_ for anything." Ruth dangled -a dainty velvet pump on the tip of her toe as she made this remark. -We were gathered in the room that used to be the sitting-room, all of -us--Tom, Malcolm, Edith, Alec, Ruth and I. We had been talking for an -hour. - -"Common!" took up Edith. "She's absolutely impossible, I tell you! -We stopped off to see Oliver for an hour on our way to the Green -Mountains," she explained to me, "last fall, in the automobile. He -didn't know we were coming. It was Sunday and he had some dreadful -little frowzy-headed creature in tow, I'm sure her name was -Tompkins--silly, simpering little thing--perfectly enormous pompadour -and a cheap Hamburg open-work lingerie waist, over bright pink--oh, -horribly cheap! I can't begin to tell you!" - -"Well--well--we must try to make the best of it," said Tom lightly. - -"Best of it!" scoffed Edith. "Well, if Oliver thinks for one minute -that I am going to throw open my house to his precious Madge -Tompkins he's greatly mistaken. Ruth is having a large bridge party -Thursday--ten tables. This affair has simply got to be kept quiet -until after that. Breck Sewall is coming up from New York to spend -Sunday. You all know he's paying marked attention to Ruth, and the -Sewalls--Heavens!--they're particular to a degree! Oh, we mustn't let a -single word of this miserable affair leak out--not a single word! Oh, -when I think of it, I just want--" - -"Come, come, Edith," interrupted Alec. "Gently, dear. Gently, you know." - -"Well, if any of you expect _me_," Edith went on, "to have that common -person here, I must tell you that I can't--I simply can't! I'm not in a -condition to endure it. I--" - -"Now look here, dear," Alec said soothingly, "no one expects you to. -Everything will be exactly as you wish." - -Oh, he would have stopped the sun from rising if Edith had requested -it. I've never witnessed such dog-devotion as Alec shows to Edith. -He can't be five minutes late to an appointment with her, without -telephoning a plausible excuse, or sending a special messenger. She has -him wonderfully trained. You ought to see him run around and put down -windows, raise shades, carry chairs or rush upstairs for her work-bag -which she forgot and left on her bureau just before dinner. - -At about five o'clock that afternoon Malcolm, who had been haunting the -station all day in the hope of meeting Oliver and his companion, and -hurrying them quietly into a closed carriage as soon as possible, burst -in upon us, all excitement. - -"What in the world is the matter now?" exclaimed Ruth. - -"Have they come?" asked Alec. - -"Has any one heard of it?" gasped Edith. - -"Heard of it! It's gotten into the papers!" Malcolm announced. - -Tom and Alec both got up. - -"Very bad?" asked one of them, and Edith sprang forward like a cat and -snatched the paper out of Malcolm's hand. - -"On the front page," said Malcolm. "Here! There it is. Oh, no one can -miss it." - -"Heavens!" Edith ejaculated as her eyes fell upon the headlines. - -"Read it," commanded Tom. - - "Romantic Love Affair of Oliver Chenery Vars ends in an Elopement. Son - of William T. Vars, former President of the Vars & Co. Woollen mills - of this City Marries his Landlady's Daughter." - -She stopped short. - -"Go on," said Tom in a low voice. - -"Hadn't _I_ better?" suggested Alec. - -But Edith continued: - - "The friends of Oliver Chenery Vars will be surprised to learn of - his marriage to Miss Madge Tompkins of Glennings Falls, Vermont. For - the past year young Vars has been connected with the Glennings Falls - Granite Works, and the attachment between himself and Miss Tompkins, - daughter of Mrs. Ebenezer Tompkins, a widow with whom he boarded, has - been a matter of some concern to the Vars family. The news of his - marriage, which is said to have taken place last February, comes as - a total surprise and few particulars are known. However, it has been - ascertained that the young lovers have been forgiven and that they - will be the guests of the Alexander Vars at The Homestead for the - remainder of the week. The new Mrs. Vars is but eighteen and carried - off the blue ribbon in the Pretty Girl contest at the Glennings Falls - Agricultural Fair last September." - -"How perfectly disgusting!" broke in Ruth. - -"Rotten!" muttered Malcolm. - -Edith couldn't speak. The paper fluttered to the floor and Alec went -over and put her gently in a chair. Tom scowled and looked hard out of -the window. We sat in silence for a full half-minute, then Tom turned -suddenly. - -"Look here," he said, "here he comes! Here Oliver comes!" - -I leaned forward quickly, picked up the discarded paper and thrust it -under my elbow on the table. - -Oliver was alone. I shall always remember how he looked on that spring -evening as he swung along, overcoat open and flapping in the wind, -head held high and brow smooth and cloudless. His step was as sure and -firm as when he joined us all after he had received his diploma on his -graduation day at college. My heart went out to him--poor Oliver always -getting into trouble, gifted and talented in a way (he can sing like an -angel) awfully good-looking and lovable (he has friends everywhere), -poor Oliver--what would become of him? I heard his step on the veranda, -and a minute later he was standing, six feet high, smiling and -confident in the door of the library. There is something irresistible -about Oliver's smile. If he had only looked at me I should have smiled -back, but his eyes rested on Tom. - -"Hello, everybody!" he said. "Hello, Tom! Mighty good of _you_ to come -way on East. Well, well," he glanced swiftly around the room, "all -here, aren't you?" Then he added, "Well, what do you think?" - -"Seen the paper?" inquired Tom. - -"Is it in the paper?" asked Oliver, and Malcolm pulled the horrible -thing from beneath my elbow and thrust it into Oliver's hands. I -watched Oliver closely. I saw the slow, dark colour spread over his -face and across that cloudless brow of his. I saw his eyes travel once -through the article and then go back and retrace each painful word of -it again. When he had satisfied himself he laid the paper down and -looked up. - -"Well, it's true," he said, and six pairs of eyes glowered upon him. - -"What explanation have you for this--step of yours?" asked Tom. - -Oliver's confidence fell away a little. He picked off a bit of lint -from the sleeve of his coat. - -"Oh, why hash the whole thing over?" he said. "I'm married all right. -What's the use--of course I'm sorry it is in the paper." - -"Sorry!" sniffed Ruth. - -"But _I_ didn't let it out. Hang it all," he broke off, "you bury me in -a hole like that--she was the only girl worth looking at. _I_ didn't -want to go to Glennings Falls. It was _your_ plan." - -"You had had six other positions before we resorted to Glennings -Falls," fired Alec. - -Oliver flushed. - -"Oh, well--if you've all made up your minds to be disagreeable! I left -Madge at the station to come up in a carriage," he explained. "She'll -be here in five minutes. I hope at least you'll be decent to _her_." - -"Decent to _her_, Oliver Vars!" Edith had found her voice, "I guess you -better begin and think how _you_ can be decent to _us_. Do you know -what you've done? You've simply ruined our reputations and just when -Breck Sewall--oh, you've disgraced us all! I shall never want to hold -up my head again, and Ruth has invitations out for a big bridge. Madge -Tompkins! Don't ask _me_ to be decent to _her_. She'll never spend a -night under _this_ roof as long as _I_ live. Oh, I've seen her--common -little--" - -"Be careful," shot back Oliver, flushed and angry now. "Madge's father -was a minister, an educated gentleman, when yours at that period of his -career was collecting scrap iron and junk from people's back yards!" - -Edith grew red. The early life of her iron-king father had always been -a sore point with her. I don't know what she would have done; perhaps -literally have scratched Oliver's eyes out, if Tom hadn't interrupted. - -"Oh, come. None of this," he said. "Oliver, you were hasty in what you -said; and, Edith, let us see the young lady before we pass judgment on -her. I think she's coming. At least here is a carriage." - -It was very touching to me when Oliver went down to the carriage at -the curbing and helped out the girl whom of all the hundreds (for -Oliver could have had almost any one: Women adored him) he had chosen -to honour the most highly. She was short and a little shabby with a -sort of cheap flashiness that you could see a hundred yards away. I -knew particular, fastidious Oliver must feel a little ashamed of the -wrinkled checked suit she wore, the big-figured gaudy lace veil over -her hat, the dingy white ostrich plumes. I felt very sorry for Oliver -when at the library door she stepped back to let him enter, and he said -gently, "_You_ first, Madge." She stumbled in smiling and confused. -She really was rather impossible: pretty in a way, but oh, miles and -miles away from everything that is essential to a good taste and good -manners. She wore white kid gloves and patent-leather slippers that -pinched her feet. There was a celluloid comb in the back of her hair -with rhinestones in it. - -"Well, here they are, Madge!" said Oliver heartily. - -Her first words jarred us. - -"I guess we surprised you some," she laughed. - -"Well--it was unexpected," said Tom finally. - -She giggled at that; then she asked, trying to appear at ease, "Well, -aren't you going to introduce me around, Oliver?" - -It was very painful. She gave her fingers to us in a ridiculous -fashion. "Pleased to meet you!" she said like a machine after each -name, and then after I, the last one, had dropped her hand, in a moment -of deep confusion she remarked, glancing around the room, "Oh, my, I -think your house is just grand!" - -Malcolm coughed; Oliver flushed. - -"Did you have a long trip?" I asked. - -"Just dreadful," she replied eagerly. "The dirt was something awful. We -came up in a parlour-car. I just love parlour-cars! We've been staying -at an elegant hotel in New York." - -"Sit down, won't you?" said Malcolm kindly. He pushed up a chair and -she glanced at him archly. - -"Thank you ever so much!" Then she added coyly, and my heart bled -for her poor pitiful attempt, "I know _you_. _You're_ Malcolm. I was -awfully gone on your photo once." She giggled again. Alec took out a -large white handkerchief and wiped his brow. Malcolm shifted uneasily -to his other foot, and she added confidentially, "It was something -awful the way it used to make Oliver jealous." - -At that moment Edith swept up before her. "I think I met you once," she -began loftily. - -"I remember," said Madge. "You came through in a big auto. My, but I -thought Oliver had some stylish folks!" - -"I'm extremely sorry that our rooms are all filled to-night," went on -Edith grandly, "and that it will be impossible for me to ask you to -remain." - -Madge reddened. "I wouldn't trouble you for anything," she apologised. - -"No," said Oliver and his voice shook with scorn, "we wouldn't trouble -you. Madge, please wait for me a moment on the veranda." She looked -up frightened. "Yes," he said, and she rose and without a word walked -out of the room. Oliver closed the door. He was red in the face with -indignation. - -"Thank you all for your kindness," he said very scathingly; "I'm sure -I'm very grateful. If this is what it means to be a member of a family, -let me be free of it." - -Tom got up. "Well--" he drawled, "if you can get along without us, why -we--" - -"Very well," retorted Oliver. "Very well, if that's your answer. I've -thrown up the charming job at Glennings Falls anyway. I'm not so -everlasting dependent as you have an idea. I'm off, and thank heaven! -It's too bad if I've interrupted Ruth's bridge party. It's really too -bad. I'm through with the whole lot of you. I'm through!" He turned. -The door slammed. The room trembled to the very ceiling and a gust of -wind snatched a pile of loose papers on the table and whirled them on -to the floor. We heard the angry bang of the outer door and Oliver had -gone. - -That evening I wired to Will: "_Three of us will arrive to-night. -Bobbie._" - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - - -The minute I heard Oliver explode out of that house of ours, and swing -down the street--proud, angry, indignant, with that ridiculous little -creature running on behind--I felt that he was headed straight to -unhappiness and disaster. I understand Oliver pretty well, and knew -that he saw, as plainly as any of us, all the crude rough corners of -the little country girl, to whom he had been attracted, and married in -some mad impulsive moment. After listening for half an hour to a lot of -plagiarisms from Tom and Alec such as, "He must paddle his own canoe," -"Experience is the best teacher," etc., I slipped out of the house and -down to the station. - -I told Will about it late that night. - -"I found them sitting on a bench in the waiting-room. They weren't -speaking. She had been crying. Oliver was glum and very silent. I think -he was feeling awfully sorry that he had married her--I do really--and -I don't know whether I felt sorrier for him or for her. So right then -and there I decided to bring them home with me. We _must_ do something, -Will. We _must_. I finally wormed it out of Oliver that he was down to -his very last one hundred dollars and not a single thing in sight. I -know as well as you that Madge is a difficult proposition, but we've -got to have her for a sister-in-law whether we like it or not. I know -that our reputations are all tangled up in this thing, but a snarl will -never get untangled unless somebody begins to pick it apart. Will, I'm -so glad that you have got a mind that is concerned with the ailments -of guinea-pigs rather than society and what people think. For you see, -dear, I've told Oliver that he and Madge shall stay right here with us -until something turns up for Oliver to do." - -"But, Bobbie, my dear girl," said Will, "have you forgotten that for -Commencement week we have invited Dr. Merrill, who is to receive an -honorary degree, and his wife to be our guests?" - -"No, Will dear, I haven't forgotten it, nor that I was giving my first -really-truly little dinner next Wednesday; but I know that Oliver is -my own brother and that I've simply got to stand by him and see him -through." - -Three days later I received a scathing letter from Edith: - - "I suppose that you are posing as the Good Samaritan. We all think you - acted very unwisely and not at all for Oliver's best good. You may be - interested to know that the doctor says he wouldn't have allowed me - to keep the girl here for one minute. I am still in bed, as it is, - from the bad effects of the shock of the whole affair. I made Alec - write something for the paper yesterday, denying the report that we - were entertaining the couple here. On the contrary I have let it be - known that I do not intend to recognise the new Mrs. Vars at all. It - is the only safe policy. If you want to know _my_ opinion, _I_ think - you are extremely foolish to have taken that girl into your house for - one night even. You'll simply kill yourself socially. Remember you're - a new member in the circle in which you are moving and will be known - and judged by the friends and connections you have. It's a shame when - you've just got started on the right path to ruin your chances, and - Will's too. However, it's your affair. Do as you please." - -"Oh, thanks," I said and stuffed the charming epistle into the kitchen -stove. - -My real difficulty however lay with Madge herself. The poor deluded -girl had been brought up to believe that she was irresistibly charming. -There hadn't been a prettier girl than she in Glennings Falls. She -could boast of more "best young men," as she called them, than any girl -I ever knew. Four young aspirants, before Oliver had appeared, had -proposed to her, and she was only nineteen. Her father, a man of enough -education to be a minister, had died of consumption, when Madge was a -baby. Since then, she and her mother had managed to make a living by -boarding some of the foremen and superintendents at the quarries. They -had always had the distinction of entertaining the owner of the granite -works whenever he came to Glennings Falls for a yearly inspection. -It was he who had procured a position for Madge "to wait on table" -summertimes at one of the big mountain hotels. There she had picked up -a great many ideas on style and fashion, and copied them now in cheap -exaggerated imitation. - -The first evening after her trunk arrived at our house, she appeared -decked out in a fearful display of lace and flashy finery, redolent -with cologne, and manners that matched her clothes. She talked -incessantly. Her lace and perfumery seemed to give her confidence. -She discoursed volubly on New York, and aired her newly-acquired -knowledge of hotel life in a way that was pitiable. Even Will, quiet -and dignified, failed to impress Madge. All the scientific knowledge in -the world could not awe the little village coquette into silence. She -even dangled her ear-rings at solemn old Will and tried to flirt with -him. It was not Madge who appeared ill-at-ease; it was the rest of us -who squirmed in our boots, blushed at her mistakes, coughed, gulped -down desperate swallows of water to cover our confusion. She was quite -unconscious of the horrible burlesque she was playing. As the days -went on, the more silent the rest of us became, the more she prattled. -The more we failed to appreciate her loveliness and wit, the more -toggery she pulled out of her trunk and exhibited for our benefit, the -crimpier grew her hair, the higher, if possible, became her pompadour, -the noisier her laughter. Once I humbly suggested that she leave off -her ear-rings on a certain occasion when we were going shopping. She -treated my interference with utter scorn, and appeared half an hour -later ready to accompany me to the market, with two large pearls -screwed securely into the lobe of each ear. "Every one wears them in -New York," she announced. - -I didn't know what to do with the child. For two weeks I rose every -morning and went downstairs to a painful ordeal at breakfast; for two -weeks I saw Oliver flush and try to keep his eyes from meeting mine -when Madge opened her mouth to speak; for two weeks I saw a threatening -frown hover about Oliver's brow. I began to despair. Then suddenly, one -evening, I found my poor brother in the gloomy living-room, brooding -over an open fire. His head was in his hand, his elbow on his knee. I -hadn't spoken to Oliver directly about Madge. I didn't now. I simply -said very gently, "Want me to read aloud to you?" - -"She wasn't like this at Glennings Falls," he burst out miserably, not -stirring. "I want you to know it, because, well--I suppose you wonder -why I ever was attracted to her. I wonder sometimes myself now--" He -stopped a moment, then went on, talking straight into the fire. "I used -to see a lot of her, you see. Every night and every morning. She used -to pack my lunch and bring it up to me to the grove near the works -every noon. I used to look forward to having her come--a lot. Glennings -Falls is the deadliest hole you ever struck, and well--Madge was bright -and full of fun. She isn't herself now. She wasn't like this. She was -just as natural and simple. Upon my word," he broke off, "I've seen a -lot of girls, one time and another, winners too, but somehow they none -of them took such a hold on me as Madge. I thought she'd learn quickly -enough, as soon as I got her down into civilisation, and so--anyway, I -married her. Since--Well, it's no go, that's all. It's been bully of -you to take her in, but I see clearly enough it can't work. Of course I -mean to stick to her," he went on. "_Of course._ I suppose I've simply -got to find a job out West somewhere, a long way off from everything -and every one I know or--care about, and clear out. I mean to do the -right thing." Then raising his eyes to mine he said with a queer, -forced smile, "I guess _my_ fun's all over, Bobbie." - -"Oh, no, no, _no_, it isn't." I said fiercely. "Don't say that." I put -my hand on his shoulder. "No, it isn't, Oliver," and suddenly, because -I couldn't bear to see Oliver unhappy and despairing, because my voice -was trembling and there were tears in my eyes, I went quickly out of -the room and upstairs. - -I was surprised on passing the guest-room to hear muffled sobs. I -stopped and listened, and then, quite sure, I abruptly knocked and -immediately opened the door. I was amazed to discover Madge face -downward on the bed in tears. - -"Why, what's the matter?" I exclaimed. I had never seen anything but -arch glances in her eyes before. - -"I want to go home! I want to go home! They're not ashamed of me at -home!" she wailed. - -I closed the door and went over to her. - -"I just hate it here, I just hate it!" she went on. "Oliver thought I -was good enough at home." She was crying all the time and each sentence -came brokenly. "Oh, I wish I'd never _heard_ of Oliver Vars," she -choked. "I've tried and tried to be like his folks but he finds fault -with every single thing I do, or wear, or say, or think, and I'm going -home. I think his people are all stuck-up, horrid old things anyway and -I just hate it, hate it, _hate it here_. Oh, go away, go away!" she -cried out at me in a torrent of sobs. - -Instead I sat down beside her. - -"Look here, Madge," I said sternly. "Stop talking like that. Stop it. -You can't go home. Don't you know you're married? Why, it's perfectly -absurd!" - -The sobbing stopped suddenly and she lay still with her nose buried in -the down comforter. I went on talking to the cheap rhinestone comb in -the back of her head. - -"I've got something to say to you," I said, "and I want you to listen. -I've been wanting to talk to you ever since you came to this house, and -now I'm going to do it. You say Oliver finds fault with you, and let -me tell you I don't blame him a bit. He certainly has reason to. Why, -I never have run across a young lady who knew so little about things -as you do. You don't know how to do anything properly. Your clothes -are atrocious, and your manners--your self-assured manners here in my -house are inexcusable. You're only a young girl of nineteen years who -never has had any experience nor seen anything of the world. I don't -blame you, understand. It isn't your _fault_ that everything you do or -say or wear makes us all blush with shame; but it does--it does, Madge. -Why, I had to give up inviting some people here to dinner because I was -afraid of the breaks and the horrible remarks you might make before my -friends. Edith wouldn't have you in her house. That's the bald truth -of it, my dear. You might as well know how we feel. It may sound cruel -and hard, and I wouldn't say these things to Oliver's wife if she had -come here modest, unpretentious, and anxious to learn; but she didn't, -I should say she didn't! The worst ignorance in the world is that which -parades itself up and down thinking itself very grand and elegant while -all the lookers-on are laughing up their sleeves. That's what you've -been doing, Madge." I stopped a moment to give the poor girl a chance -to say something. - -"Go away--go away--_go away_!" she burst out at me, turning her head -enough to let the words out into the room. "Oh, go away!" - -I stood up. - -"No, Madge," I replied calmly. "I shan't go away, and neither shall -you. You don't seem to know what's best for yourself, so I will tell -you. You're going to stay right here with me, and work and study and -learn. You are married to Oliver Vars and you're to make a success -of it if it kills you; and it won't kill you. You're going to make -him and the rest of us all proud of you before you get through and -I am going to help you. Do you hear me? We're going to work it out -together. You've got it in you. I know you have. I _see_ you have," I -lied. "You're a fine girl underneath. Don't you remember up there in -Glennings Falls how you used to bring Oliver his lunch at noon? He has -told me all about it--how nice you were, I mean--and how sure he was -that you would learn as soon as you came down here. Well--you're going -to begin to-night. Hereafter you'll do exactly as I say." - -"Go away!" came again from the depths of the down comforter. - -I ignored it entirely. - -"Get up now and bathe your eyes," I said cheerfully. "Dinner will be -ready in half an hour. I want you to wear the white muslin you had on -this morning and no ear-rings. Remember," I added distinctly, going to -the door, "remember, absolutely no ear-rings to-night, please." - -But Oliver and Will and I had dinner alone that evening. "She won't -come down," Oliver had announced gloomily. "She's in an awful state. -She's crying. She wants to go home," he said, and my heart sank for I -knew I had played my last card and lost. - -That night Will had brought home the long-looked-for good news of a -position for Oliver. We discussed it quietly at dinner--the three of -us with Madge crying upstairs. A friend of Will's, a civil engineer, -had said that if Oliver cared to go down into South America to some -God-forsaken spot in the Argentine Republic--no place for a woman, by -the way--there was an engineering job down there waiting for somebody. -The job would take some five or six months; there might or might not be -any future--Will's friend couldn't say. - -"I'll go. I'll go right off," said Oliver. "Madge is unhappy and wants -to go home anyway. I'm sure it's best. It was all a mistake," he -admitted sadly to Will, "my taking her away from Glennings Falls. I -might have known it wouldn't work." I stared hard at a saltcellar. Will -began carving the steak silently. "You can go ahead now and have your -people here for Commencement," observed Oliver; "Madge and I will both -be gone in a week. I'm relieved it's settled," he added gravely. - -It was during our dessert, after Delia had taken up a tray to Madge, -that I was told that Mrs. Vars wanted me in her bedroom. I excused -myself and slipped upstairs quietly. Madge was in bed; her hair was -parted, braided neatly down her back; her tears were dried; her plain -little nightgown buttoned at her throat. I had never seen her look so -pretty. Her dinner stood beside her bed untouched. - -"You wanted me?" I asked. - -"Yes," she replied. "I'm not going home. I'll do anything you tell me," -she said. - -And she didn't go home. We packed Oliver off alone for South America, -the next week, and as I rode back from the station in the open car with -his slip of a wife beside me, on my hands for the next half year, I -drew my first long free breath. Oliver, I recognised, had been more of -a responsibility on my mind than Madge. My way was clear now. Lessons -could begin any day, and no one will ever know what earnestness and -determination went into the task that I had undertaken. From the -beginning I took it absolutely for granted that since our stormy talk -that evening in the guest-room our relations thereafter would be those -of scholar and teacher; my authority would be unquestioned. - -I overhauled the child's entire wardrobe with the freedom and cruelty -of a customs officer. The cheap lace things I sent to the Salvation -Army. The rhinestone comb I dropped into the stove before her very -eyes. Ear-rings, jingling bracelets, glass beads, enameled brooches, -I put in a box in the storeroom. A much-treasured parasol made out of -cheap Hamburg embroidery I presented to Delia. Even Madge's toilet -accessories were somehow done away with. Her elaborate hand-mirror -with decorated porcelain back and hair-brush to match were replaced -by a set of plain white celluloid that could be scrubbed with safety -every week. The perfumery was poured down the bathroom sink. As soon -as I was able, I purchased for Madge a few plain white shirt-waists -with tailored collars, and a "three-fifty" stiff sailor hat made of -black straw. When the crimp had all been soaked out of her hair, a -wire pompadour supporter, three side-combs, eighteen hairpins, a net, a -switch that didn't match, two puffs and a velvet bow had been extracted -from her coiffure, I parted the little hair that remained and rolled -it into a bun about as big as a doughnut in the back of her neck. She -looked as shorn as a young sheep that has just been clipped. Her eyes -fairly stared out of her head. I discovered that they were large and -blue, with long lashes. Her features, unframed by the dreadful halo of -hair, were flawless--small and finely cut. After I had gotten all the -dreadful veneer off of the child she reminded me of a lovely old piece -of mahogany discovered in some old attic or other, after the several -coats of common crude paint have been scraped off and the natural grain -finally appears perfect and unharmed. - -She looked on at her metamorphosis, and at the cruel ravage of her -treasures, passive and apparently indifferent. After her surrender -to me she had no spirit left. She accepted my rule with a meekness I -couldn't understand. After that night in the guest-room she became a -different creature. She dropped her little airs and affectations as -abruptly as if they were a garment that she could hang up and leave -behind her in the closet. She became dumb at our table, and with Will -actually shy and frightened. I thought her sudden change was due to -ill-temper, and I bullied the poor beaten little creature terribly. I -domineered, tyrannised, scorned and mocked. I didn't dare be tender, -for I was convinced that success lay only in complete submission. Poor -little "alone" thing--I did feel sorry for her at times! Her eyes were -often red from crying. She didn't eat very much and her cheeks grew -pale before my sight. She used to sit sometimes for an hour at a time -without saying a word, until I longed to put comforting arms about her. -When she accompanied me to the market several weeks after Oliver had -gone away--quiet, silent, subdued, Glennings Falls would never in the -world have recognised their gay sparkling little village coquette who -had had a word, a nod, and a smile ready for every one who passed. - -Oliver had been gone about six weeks when Madge told me her astounding -news. I didn't know what to say to her for a moment. I was awfully -surprised. She seemed such a baby, and I suppose it always comes with a -jolt when you first realise your younger brother is actually a man. I -was amazed too that such an apparently weak little thing as Madge had -so pluckily kept her big secret to herself for so many weeks. She had -known of it before Oliver had gone away, but she hadn't liked to tell -him, she confessed. He had left her without as much as a premonition of -the truth, and it was because of what was waiting for her in the future -that she had been frightened into staying with me. She hadn't known -what else to do. I stared at her open-eyed. It was when I saw her under -lip tremble like a little child's and two tears fall splash upon her -wrist, that I put out my hand and drew her down beside me on the couch. -She leaned against me and began to cry in earnest then. - -"Oh, don't, don't cry, Madge," I pleaded quietly. "Please! I'm just as -glad as I can be, dear," I said. "Everything will be all right. Don't -be afraid." But still she sobbed. "Listen; I've been wanting to tell -you for days how well you're doing--even Will remarks on it. Please, -please don't cry, Madge. Why, I hadn't an idea of _this_. I didn't -dream of it. But we'll see you safely through. Oh, Madge, don't cry so -hard. Listen, my dear girl, you can go home to-morrow if you want to." - -Suddenly she turned and buried her head on my shoulder. Her hand sought -mine and held it tight. She clung to me as if she needed me very much. - -"I don't want to go home. I'd rather stay right here with you," she -sobbed. - -My arms went around her. Remember I have never had many friendships -with girls. Staunch, true, loyal Juliet would nurse me through the -smallpox if necessary, but she doesn't like to be kissed. Years ago -when we stayed all night at each other's houses we slept on the extreme -opposite edges of the bed and if one of my elbows as much as grazed -Juliet's shoulder-blade, I was vigorously poked in the ribs and told -to get over to my side. My younger sister Ruth had not sought one of -my hands since she was able to walk alone. She would rather cry into a -pillow than on my shoulder. If there had ever been any doubt about my -loving this little helpless creature, who turned to me now in her hour -of fear and dread, it was entirely dispelled during that half-hour on -the couch in our living-room. - -It was after that day that our best work began. I continued stern and -severe with Madge, but there was unmistakable affection underneath. -I resorted to every device in the world for my little protegée's -education. I laugh as I look back to some of the drills and tests I -put her through. Fridays, for instance, were our shopping days in -Boston. Department stores are regular educational institutions. It -wasn't a month before Madge was able to detect machine embroidery from -hand-work; imitation Irish crochet from real; coarse linen from fine. -We spent hours at "window-gazing." In that old, popular childhood game -of "Choosing," Madge became quite an adept. I used to make her pick out -the suit, or the hat, or the piece of dress-goods in a window display -which was the most conservative, and verify her choice by my selection. -Conservatism I preached to her from morning till night, and she got so -she could recognise it a block away. Homeward-bound from those Friday -shopping days, I would indicate an individual opposite to us in the -car, and that evening a vivisection of her toilet would take place -in our library. I have often felt sorry for the poor mortals whose -oversupply of imitation fillet, high-heeled ill-kept pumps, or spotted -veil we so severely criticised; for the young girls--gay, unconscious -creatures--who laughed too freely, talked too loudly for our fastidious -requirements. - -Madge's table-manners had been shocking. She mashed her food with -the prongs of her fork and poured gravy over her bread; she ate -enough butter for three men. We used to have written examinations on -table-manners. After she had progressed so that she could eat a poached -egg without daubing the entire plate, and a half-orange with a spoon -without sprinkling the front of her waist with drops of yellow juice, -I advanced her to my place at the table. For a month she sat opposite -Will and played at hostess. She offered the bread; she inquired if any -one would have more of the dessert; she learned to address Delia with -consideration. I left it to my pupil to suggest that we adjourn to the -living-room at the close of our meals. I made her pour the coffee into -our tiny best china cups. - -The effect of all this training upon myself was as miraculous as -upon Madge. You don't know what confidence in a subject it gives you -to teach it. I honestly believe Madge did Will and me about as much -good as we did her. Our meal-times became regular little models of -perfection--quiet voices, good conversation, and manners fit for -a queen. I began to dress every evening for the ceremony, as an -example for Madge, and it was then that Will who entered into the -game beautifully began changing every night into a dinner coat. The -fussy little frills--candlelight and coffee served in the living-room, -which I had spurned after leaving Edith--I returned to for Madge's -sake. For her (for I discovered that my pupil considered me as a model -of all that is proper and correct) I dressed myself with greatest -care--spotless white kid-gloves, carefully adjusted veil, neat and -well-kept boots--and sallied forth to pay some calls. As an example to -Madge I invariably inquired what time Will would return in the evening -and made a point of arriving at the house at least a half-hour before -him, so that he might find me calm, quiet and freshly attired, like a -lady leisurely awaiting her lord, in an apartment as neat and well-kept -as the library of his Club. I didn't allow myself to slump awkwardly -into a comfortable chair in his presence, nor yawn and stretch my arms. -I even tucked away the horrid, red worsted bedroom slippers and from -my supply of unused negligees drew forth a blue china-silk kimono. -There was a pink one like it which I gave to Madge. Her eyes sparkled -as they fell upon it. "Save it till Oliver comes," I said, and I, who -had scoffed in my heart at Ruth's and Edith's conversation which took -place in that same guest-room of mine eight months before, repeated -their very words, as if they had left them printed on the walls. "You -mustn't be the kind to grow careless before your husband. A man likes -a woman to be dainty whether he is married to her or not. A man likes -to be proud of his wife," I repeated parrot-like. Oh, you see, there -was more than one conversion taking place that spring in the ugly brown -house in the unfashionable street, and the greater of these was not, in -my estimation, that of the little country girl from Glennings Falls, -Vermont. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - - -Will and I used to run up to Hilton for over Sunday very often. But -when Edith found out that Oliver had gone to South America and Madge -had remained with us, she wrote to me immediately and warned me never -to attempt "to cram the girl down her throat." She had no idea of -_ever_ recognising Oliver's wife as any connection of _hers_. If Will -and I came up to Hilton she must ask us to leave our preposterous -protegée behind. - -I didn't see that it would hurt Edith any to be formally courteous -to Madge. She needn't have become intimate. I didn't expect Madge -to be invited everywhere I went. I didn't take her anywhere with me -in my social life at the university. But I did think that Edith was -neglecting her duty as a woman to ignore Alec's own brother's wife, -whoever she was. It was almost inevitable to avoid the growth of a -feeling of hostility between Edith and me; but I did want to escape -an open break. I didn't want to quarrel about Madge, so whenever I -saw Edith I tried to overlook the existence of any bone of contention -between us. I made a point of running up to Hilton very often for the -day, and tried to refer to Madge in a natural, open, frank sort of -manner that made little of the seriousness of the situation. I didn't -go to Hilton to court trouble, I assure you. I made my fortnightly -trips for the express purpose of promoting family peace and harmony. - -The arrival of Edith's baby was only about a month off when I went up -to carry her a little afghan I had crocheted. I found her unpacking -some baby scales and the most elaborate weighing basket I ever saw. It -was all beruffled and trimmed with artificial rosebuds around the edge. -It was when I stood off and admired it that I remarked with a sigh, and -in the most offhand way in the world, that I guessed Madge's baby would -have to be weighed on the kitchen scales if at all. I meant it as a -kind of tribute to Edith's basket. Besides I thought it a good idea to -refer to Madge's expectations. It seemed more friendly to the family to -take them into my confidence in such a matter. - -You would have thought a bomb had gone off in the room. - -"That creature going to have a baby!" Edith exclaimed. - -"Yes," I said. "Just think of it! Oliver with a little son or daughter!" - -Edith turned suddenly upon me. - -"Oh, I see!" she flashed. "I see! A son indeed! So that's the story! I -suppose the girl has her eyes on that three thousand, without doubt. -Designing little minx!" - -"Why, your baby comes first, Edith," I replied. "Of course if you -shouldn't get the prize, I think Madge could make pretty good use of -three thousand dollars. She probably needs it more than you." - -"Oh! So you hope I won't have a boy! That's it. Very well. We'll see. -You hope--" - -"Why, Edith," I interrupted, "I don't hope anything of the sort. I--" - -"We'll see if this girl of Oliver's has any right to that money," -Edith went on excitedly. "We'll see about that. When is her precious -baby expected? Too soon for decency's sake, I suppose--horrid, common -little--" - -I flushed. "Edith Vars," I fired, "don't you imply anything like that -about Madge. Don't you _dare_!" - -I was angry now and Edith knew it. She seemed to glory in it, for she -prodded me again with another false accusation against Madge, and -before I could stop it we were quarrelling dreadfully. I don't remember -all we said to each other that morning in Edith's room, but I know our -words came thick and fast; I know our voices shook with our fury, and -that we glared at each other across the expanse of the snowy bed with -actual hatred in our eyes. It all ended by Edith's suddenly flinging -herself face down upon the pillows, and bursting into awful sobs. Not -until then did I realise that my sister-in-law was not well, nor quite -herself these days--I had never seen her cry before in my life--and -frightened I went out of the room to call for help. - -That noon Alec sent for a doctor, and half an hour later it was -announced that Edith had a temperature. A trained nurse appeared at -four o'clock and Alec called me into the library. - -He was dreadfully concerned about the consequences of my news in regard -to Madge; I shouldn't have mentioned it, it seems; it might be the -cause of the most dreadful results--he couldn't tell. Edith was very -excitable just now. I ought to have known better. He blamed me wholly. -I had been careless, inconsiderate and cruel. I had better leave for -home as soon as possible. The thought of me in the house annoyed and -disturbed Edith even now; she had inquired three times if I had gone. -Alec had ordered the automobile; I could catch the five-thirty if I -hurried. He wished I hadn't come to see Edith at all; she had been -so well; everything had appeared very favourable before my arrival; -Alec couldn't understand my attitude toward Edith anyway; she had done -everything for Ruth and me (had I forgotten my wedding?) and I paid her -back with gratitude like this! - -I didn't reply to my brother. Alec and I had travelled too many -miles in opposite directions to understand each other now. A bitter -antagonism arose in my heart against Edith. I should have quarrelled -with Alec too had I opened my mouth to speak. I went out and got into -the automobile without a retort, and as I whisked out of the driveway -and looked back at Edith's curtained windows, a wicked wish was born in -my heart. I said to myself, "I hope it _will_ be a girl. 'Twould serve -her exactly right." - -It was, however, a pretty discouraged ambassador of peace who crawled -back to her little brown refuge that night about eight o'clock. Will -was sitting by the fire reading a big book, his hair all ruffled up -as it always is when he reads. Madge had gone upstairs to bed. The -comfortable lamp-light, the dear, homely black walnut furniture, Will's -quiet sympathy, never seemed more precious to me than that night. - -"O Will," I said tearfully when he kissed me, "I've quarrelled with -Edith and Alec. And, oh, dear, it was the last thing in the world I -meant to do." - -"Tell me about it," he said and laid aside his big book. I took its -place on the arm of his chair, and told him my story. After he had rung -up Edith's doctor by telephone and found that there wasn't cause for -alarm, he came back to me and called me "young wildcat" which sweet -words were music to my ears. I knew at the sound of them that Will -didn't consider the quarrel serious. "It will all blow over in a week. -You see!" he laughed, and I went to sleep comforted. - -But it didn't blow over. That fateful visit of mine marked the -beginning of an understood family war. Clouds of trouble grew thicker -instead of blowing away. The very next evening I received a brief -note from Alec asking that I postpone any more visits to Hilton until -after Edith's illness. Ruth wrote she couldn't understand me in the -least; she thought it was dreadful that Madge was going to have a child -anyway, but if she got Father's three thousand dollars it would be the -unjustest thing that ever happened! Tom--even fair-minded Tom from -out West--told me to remember that Oliver's marriage had been rather -out-of-order, and asked me if I was championing a cause I could call -worthy. When Ruth ran across me one day in town a fortnight later she -treated me like a bare acquaintance. Alec went so far as to cancel -a Saturday golf engagement with Will. Long distance telephone calls -between our houses came to an abrupt end. Malcolm from New York bluntly -referred to the "family row." - -I didn't tell Madge about the trouble brewing in our family. I never -even imparted to her the knowledge of the premium to be paid for the -first Vars grandson. Silently I sat with her sewing by the hour on her -meagre little outfit of five nainsook slips, three flannel Gertrudes, -two bands, two shirts, and three flannellette night-gowns, with never -a word of my eager thoughts. I became very loyal to the cause I had -chosen to defend. It didn't trouble me that our little baby-clothes -were so much plainer than Edith's, for night and day, day and night, -I was hoping against hope, wishing against chance, willing and -frantically demanding that Madge's splendour might lie in her victory. - -You can imagine the ecstatic state of excitement I was thrown into when -the news of the arrival of Edith's nine-pound daughter reached me some -six weeks after my last visit to Hilton. - -I must have felt a good deal like the supporters of a weaker foot-ball -team when their side makes the first touchdown. I could have thrown -up my hat with joy; I could have shouted myself hoarse. Madge had an -opportunity! Madge had a chance! It seemed too good to be true, and I -longed to share with Madge the triumph so nearly hers. But Will was -afraid she might worry and fret about it,--there was, of course, the -possibility of disappointment,--so I followed his advice and kept on -building my air-castles in secret. - -It was on November twenty-first that Madge's little child was born. -We had written to Oliver in June and he had started on his homeward -journey as soon as Madge's belated letter reached him, some time in -August. He had tramped a hundred miles down a tropical river, had -lain sick for five weeks with a fever in a native camp, had dragged -himself in a weakened condition twenty miles farther on to the coast, -and finally had caught a slow-travelling freight-boat bound for Spain. -Blown out of its course, becalmed, disabled by a terrific storm, Oliver -never saw the coast of Europe until well into November. His mite of a -child was two weeks old before he reached home. - -Oliver had done well down there in South America. Reports of his -ability had reached the Boston office months before Oliver himself -appeared. It seems that Oliver's chief had written a long letter -telling all about the ingenuity which young Vars had shown in working -out some technical problem connected with a suspension bridge down -there. I told you Oliver's line was civil engineering. The Boston -office informed Will they had offered Vars a good position right here -at home with a salary that he could live on. I was delighted, and as -soon as we learned that he had started for God's country, I began to -hunt up apartments. - -I wanted Oliver to see for himself and _by_ himself what a perfect -little housekeeper--what a lovely little creature, simple as she was, -he had chanced to pick out up there in the mountains of Vermont. I -honestly began to fear Oliver wouldn't appreciate half of the delicate -points that Madge had developed. I wished I could give my brother a -course of training too. He is the kind to be rather impolite inside -the walls of his own domain. I selected for Madge and Oliver a suburb -where the rents were not high, about half an hour by trolley from -Boston. I planned to have Madge well established in her own five sunny -little rooms before the arrival of either her husband or child. From -my safe-full of silver and attic-full of Will's furniture, which I -couldn't use, I could easily have set up two brides at housekeeping. -I sent over a whole load of things from our house to Madge's and we -spent days afterward settling the darling little rooms. On November -twenty-first I went over to the apartment alone. Madge had complained -of not feeling very well and I didn't want her to get all tired out -before she actually moved the following week. The kitchen utensils were -waiting to be washed and set in rows on the cupboard shelves, so I -started out straight after breakfast and spent the whole day "playing -house" there alone. I didn't get back until after seven o'clock at -night. Will must have been watching for me, for he met me at the -door. The instant I entered the house I knew something unexpected had -happened. There was a white pillow on the couch in the living-room. I -smelled ether. - -"Will," I said all weak in my knees, "where's Madge? What's happened?" - -He closed the living-room door and turned up the gas. - -"She's all right, dear. We didn't send for you, because there was -nothing you could do. I was here all the time." - -"You mean--" I began. "Will," I said, and then my mind leaped over a -league of details to one question, and after I had asked it Will took -my hands and replied gently: - -"No, dear, a sweet little girl." - -I couldn't answer at first. I crumpled down in a heap in Will's big -chair. - -"It was the only thing I ever really, really wanted," I said brokenly. -"Oh, Will, I can't believe fate would be so unkind! Tell me again--did -you say a girl--really a _girl_?" - -"Yes, dear, a fine, perfect, lovely little girl." - -I stared straight in front of me. - -"Isn't it too bad, too bad, too bad," I said. "Oh, Will!" I broke out, -and began to cry. - -Will came over and put his arms around me. - -"Why, Bobbie dear," he said sadly, "I should think the little kiddie -was yours." - -I couldn't have been more disappointed if it had been. All the -victorious telegrams, all the confident, buoyant notes to the different -members of the family were more than useless now. The poor little -mite of humanity wrapped up in a piece of flannel upstairs in the -sewing-room in the clothes-basket, which Madge and I had lined with -muslin, had shattered all my plans--had frustrated its poor little -mother's only chance for glory. - -It was all I could do to muster up a smile for poor, broken, beaten -Madge herself, when the nurse ushered me into her bedroom the next day. -I was glad when I saw her smiling up at me from the pillows that I had -not confided my eager hopes to her. - -"Oh, Lucy," she said to me, "it's a girl! I knew you hoped it would be -a little girl, because you were so happy when Edith's baby came. And -I--" - -"Are you glad?" I asked tremblingly, feeling like a hypocrite before an -angel. - -"I--oh, I _prayed_ for a girl. I wouldn't know what to do with a boy. -My dolls were always girls." - -It wasn't until I ran across Edith, most unexpectedly, several days -later in town, that I woke up to the fact that that little girl of -Madge's was a blessing in disguise. Edith's daughter was then about -three months old and she was flitting about again as gay as ever, -feathered and furred, stepping like a horse who has just had a good -rub-down. I had seen her several times in the last month. She does all -her shopping in Boston and I am often there myself. Of course we had -spoken, even chatted on impersonal subjects as we chanced to meet here -and there. On this particular day we happened to find ourselves in the -drapery department of a large department store both waiting for the -elevator to take us to the street. - -"Oh, how do you do?" she said to me loftily. "Gorgeous day, isn't it?" - -"Fine," I replied. - -And then she asked evasively, her curiosity getting the better of her. -"How's everything at your establishment?" - -"Oh, all right. I have a note already written to you. There's a new -member in our family, you know." - -I saw the colour rush to Edith's face. - -"No!" she exclaimed. "Really?" Then arming herself against a dreaded -blow she gasped, "Which is it?" - -"A girl," I hated to announce; "born Thursday." - -"A girl! Did you say a girl?" Edith's voice broke into a nervous -laugh. "Lucy Vars, has Oliver's wife a little girl? Is she dreadfully -disappointed? How is she? When was it? How much does it weigh? A girl! -Well, well, is it _possible_?" Her eyes were fairly glowing now. - -I followed her into the elevator. - -"You mean it? You aren't fooling? This isn't a joke?" she exclaimed as -we dropped a floor. - -"No," I assured her. - -"Poor thing! Poor thing!" she ejaculated with sparkling eyes. "A girl. -A girl!" She found my hand and gave it an eager little squeeze. "Won't -Oliver be just too cute with a daughter?" she bubbled. - -By the time we reached the ground floor, she had slipped her arm -through mine. - -"You've got to come and have lunch with me, Bobbie Vars," she said. -"Let's let bygones be bygones. I hate fights. I'm tired to death -putting myself out to be disagreeable. Heavens! I can hardly wait -to tell Alec. A little girl!" She led me out into the street. "I'm -starved," she ran on. "We'll blow ourselves to the best luncheon in -this town. I want to know _all_ the details--every one. Do you know I -felt in my bones she would have a daughter, and I simply never make -a mistake; and by the way, way down in my boots, _I_ wanted a girl -myself. I _said_ I preferred a boy, but that was talk. You can dress -girls up in such darling clothes. That's what I'm telling people -anyhow," she confided frankly. "Remember, should any one ask." - -In spite of the many things about Edith I do not like, she has some -splendid qualities. "Look here," she ejaculated abruptly, "I believe -I'll send that poor little creature of Oliver's some flowers. I don't -suppose she has many. Come on in here, Bobbie, and help me pick out -something stunning!" - -Next Wednesday Ruth 'phoned from town. Friday she came out for dinner, -and not very long afterward, the expressman left a lovely embroidered -baby's coat and cap "for the dear little daughter," it said on Edith's -visiting-card in her bold unmistakable handwriting. - -It was Oliver himself, who had been at home about two days, who opened -the package. He and I were alone in the living-room. He flushed when -his eyes fell upon the card. - -"So Edith--" he began. - -"Yes," I assured him; "and the roses on Madge's bureau are from Edith -too." - -He flung the card down on the table and came over and stood before me. - -"Look here, Bobbie," he said. "I must have been completely run down or -something, before I went away. I don't know what ailed me. Everything -bothered me horribly and to think I took it out so on poor little -Madge. Why, Madge--Say, Bobbie, isn't Madge--" He stopped. "Pshaw!" he -went on, "I've known a lot of girls in my day but not one to come up to -Madge. Did I ever tell you how she can cook? Like a streak! You ought -to see her arrange flowers in the middle of the table. Looks as if they -were growing! Madge is worth twenty society girls. Could Ruth run a -vegetable garden, do you think? Could her boarding-school friends go -into the village store and run the accounts when the regular girl's off -on a vacation? Madge can! I knew she would learn city ways and manners -quickly enough once she was here. I _knew_ it. And say--isn't she -pretty? Isn't she simply--lovely with the kid? Humph--" he broke off, -picking up Edith's card and tossing it down again. "I knew the family -couldn't help but like Madge once they knew her, and I'm mighty glad!" - -"So am I, Oliver. She's got the loveliest, sweetest disposition! -Sometimes I've been afraid that _you_ would be the one not to -appreciate it. She's thinking a lot how to make you happy, Oliver. -Her head is full of schemes and little devices to please and satisfy -you; and I've been wondering if you've been thinking up little ways to -please her. Sometimes married people take it for granted that schemes -and methods and contrivances for happiness are superfluous, if they -love each other; but _I_ believe that new love needs just about as much -care and tending as that little helpless baby in there. I hope you -think so too, Oliver." - -"I don't know as I'd thought much about it. I'm not much of a -philosopher on such subjects. Things come to me in flashes, and they -stick too. I remember the last time I ever had a real good old time -with the college crowd was at Ruth's party, two or three years ago. -I drank more than was good for me that night and when I came to go -upstairs about four A. M., right there on the landing waiting for me -was Father. Somebody had left his picture lighted up, you know, and it -was absolutely gruesome how he stared down at me out of his frame--like -a ghost or something. I never forgot it. I tried to get the fellows to -put out the light, but they couldn't find the switch. It was horrible -to struggle up in front of Father in my condition--I can't explain it; -but from that day to this I've never been able to enjoy that sort of a -time since. I've never taken more than I should since that night, and -I never shall again. I'm sure of myself now." - -"Isn't it splendid to live on in the way Father does?" I remarked -quietly. - -"Well," went on Oliver, "the first sight of Madge in there with the -baby was like that lighted picture of Father. Do you know what I mean? -It flashed over me, 'Heavens, I've got to amount to something now -_anyhow_,' and those flashes stick, as I said. I _shall_ amount to -something. See if I don't!" He stopped a moment, embarrassed. "I don't -know as you understand at all about that picture of Father, and Madge -in bed in there, as if they had any connection. They haven't, only--" - -"I do understand, Oliver," I said; "I do perfectly. And I'm so glad and -happy and proud! I always felt you had it in you!" - -About a week later Edith called me up from Boston. - -"Hello," she said. "You, Bobbie? It's Edith. Ruth and I are in town. -We've just had lunch. I've got to go to the tailor's at two, but we -thought later we might come out and see the baby." ("It's Edith," I -whispered excitedly to Will with my hand over the receiver.) "Will it -be all right?" - -"Surely," I called back. "Come right ahead." - -"Is Madge able to see people yet?" ("She wants to see Madge," I told -Will.) "Oh, yes! She comes downstairs every afternoon now. We'll expect -you--good-bye." - -I hung up the receiver, and went into the butler's pantry to prepare my -tea-tray. Ten minutes later I casually remarked to Madge: - -"Oh, by the way, Edith and Ruth are coming out this afternoon. I think -I shall ask you to pour tea, Madge." - -"All right," she replied quietly, like a little stoic. "I understand. -I'll do my very best, Lucy." - -I felt something of the same tremulous pride of a mother listening -to her daughter deliver a valedictory at a high school graduation, -as I watched Madge at the tea-table that afternoon. Her parted hair, -simply knotted behind, pale cheeks tinged with a little colour, her -frail hands among the tea-cups, her shy timid manner, were all lovely -to behold. Oliver, from the piano-stool, glowed with pride; Edith and -Ruth, from the couch, could not fail to appreciate the careful, calm, -and correct collection of napkin, plate, tea-cup and spoon. Edith has -a great faculty for observation. I knew she was sizing up Madge out of -the corner of her eye, even as she rattled on to me on the wonders of -the little niece in Hilton whom I had never seen. - -She and Ruth stayed until just time to connect with the six-thirty -train for Hilton. It was closeted in my room that Edith said to me in -her erratic way, "My dear, I never saw such a change in any living -_mortal_. Do you realise that having that baby has simply made that -girl over? It's wonderful--put refinement into her. Why, really, one -wouldn't guess the child's origin _now_. Listen to me. I've decided -to invite the whole family bunch, as usual, for Christmas (one may as -well be forgiving in this short life, I've concluded); so I came to -have a look at Madge. She isn't half bad, you know. I had a nice little -chat alone with her when you were showing Ruth the baby. She says she -was simply crazy for a girl, and I think she means it. She isn't as -impossible as I feared--not half. All she needs are some clothes and -I've gotten it into my head to take her to my own dressmaker in town. -One may as well be generous, Lucy. Besides, if the girl comes to the -house at Christmas she must dress decently. I've a good mind to take -the little thing in hand myself and polish her up a little. She's -pretty enough. You see," Edith broke off, "Breck Sewall will probably -be around Christmas-time--won't it be wonderful if he should marry -Ruth?--and I simply had to have a look at Madge before inviting her. -However, I really think she'll do." - -The instant the door had closed on Edith I rushed back to Madge. I -threw my arms about her. - -"You've passed your preliminaries, dear child!" I said and kissed her -hard. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - - -Did you ever attempt to buy a lot of fifteen thousand feet at fifty -cents a foot, and build a house on it of twelve rooms, three baths, a -shower, a sleeping-porch and a small unpretentious garage for fourteen -thousand dollars? This isn't an example in mental arithmetic, but it -was a problem Will and I laboured over every March and April for three -successive springs, before deciding each year to stay on for another -twelve months in our old rented brown box, gas-lighted and tin-tubbed. -I am not going to explain how such a problem can be solved, because -frankly I don't know. - -Will is a regular miracle-performer in some lines. He'll work for -hours over some knotty proposition in his laboratory, and come home -from the hospital simply glowing with enthusiasm over the successful -onslaught of a squad of his well-trained microbes upon an unruly lot of -beasts who were making life miserable for a poor man almost dying with -carbuncles. The medical journals describe Dr. William Ford Maynard's -accomplishments as miraculous. However, I can vouch that he is utterly -unable to perform any feats with wood and plaster and plumbers' -supplies. Two hours working over our house-plans used to exhaust Will -more than four days solid in his laboratory. He said there was more -hope in discovering the haunts of the wary meningitis microbe than in -finding a contractor who would build us a house at our price. - -Will and I adored our first little home, of course, but then there were -disadvantages. Every time it rained I had to put a basin in the middle -of my bed--in case the roof leaked--and the fireplaces did smoke when -you first lit them, and the kitchen stove did need a new lining. The -owner was awfully disagreeable about repairs, and after we had been -vainly pleading for three months solid for a new brick or two in a -disabled chimney, which threatened to burn down the house, we began -to consider moving. We didn't intend to build. We thought it would -cost too much. We didn't even intend to buy. We simply wanted to find -something better to rent. - -Rummaging about among second-hand houses is very depressing, I can tell -you. Some of the same old arks that had been on the market when we -were first married, were still without a master, like certain wrecks -of servants who haunt intelligence-offices. Dilapidated run-down old -things--I hate the very thought of them! They have a musty, dead-rat -sort of odour that's far from welcoming when you enter their darkened -halls. You always wonder if it's the plumbing and ask why the last -people left. And oh, the closets in those houses--little, black horrid -holes! I used to pull open their doors, and time and again find some -sort of human paraphernalia left behind on one of the hooks--a man's -battered straw hat, or once, I remember, a solitary pair of discarded -corsets. Spattered places in the bedrooms, paths worn on the hardwood -floors, ink spots, grease spots, and on the walls an accurate pattern -of the arrangement of the last family's pictures, actually offended -me. I've heard that robins will never take possession of a last year's -birds' nest. I know exactly how they feel about them. Oh, it isn't -inspiring to hunt for a home among other people's cast-offs. Will -and I were awfully discouraged after we had inspected the fifteenth -impossibility--a dreadful affair with high ceilings, elaborately -stencilled, and in the corners of each room little arched plaster -grooves designed for statuary. For six months Will and I searched in -vain for the sweet, clean little ready-made cottage of our dreams, -shining in a fresh coat of white paint, its perennial garden in -full-bloom, waiting for two nice home-loving people like ourselves to -open its gate, stroll up its flag-stoned walk, and claim it for our own. - -On our way home from impossibility the fifteenth, we took a street -that had just been cut through some new land where little brand new -houses were springing up like mushrooms. There was one, a tiny plaster -house trimmed with light green blinds with half-moons cut in them, that -I thought was simply adorable. It wasn't completed; I could see the -workmen through the open windows. The temporary pine door stood open. - -"Let's go in, for fun," I suggested, and Will helped me up the inclined -plank that led to the little front stoop. - -We stayed for a whole hour in that house! It was like gazing on sweet -sixteen; it was simply refreshing; we didn't know anything so lovely -existed. There was a darling little bathroom with open plumbing, and -a shining porcelain tub. There was a marble slab for mixing in the -pantry. The bedrooms were painted white. The closets, tiny though they -were, smelled of fresh plaster. Will got into conversation with the -contractor while I amused myself by planning which room I would choose -for ours. But the house wasn't for rent. A man who ran a fish-market -was building it. I saw Will get out an old letter and begin figuring on -the back of the envelope. That place, lot and all, wasn't going to cost -that fish man but ten thousand dollars--Will told me that night that we -could own a house that cost fourteen thousand and still save money on -our rent. I was excited. We didn't look at another house to hire. We -dropped them as if they were infected. The very next Saturday afternoon -we set out to search for lots. - -We weren't very particular at first. Any little square of ground that -we looked at with the idea of possible ownership seemed perfectly -lovely to me; anything with a tiny glimpse of horizon, and a place -in the back for a garden, was like a little piece of heaven. We were -both awfully easily pleased the first month. There were so many pretty -places to build on, we simply didn't know which one to choose. Then one -day the agent sent us up to look at some land that had just been put on -the market at sixty cents a foot. Of course it was more than we could -pay, and we went to inspect it simply out of idle curiosity. The result -was that the next day among that whole townful of open spaces and green -fields, there was only one solitary spot that Will and I wanted for our -own. You see after we had once climbed up on to that expensive little -hilltop and looked off and seen the view--a round bowl of a lake with -a clump of pines beside it, and beyond, a hill with a long ribbon of -road leading up to a real New England white farmhouse with a splash -of red barn beside it, we couldn't think kindly of any other spot in -town. After we had sat down on the stone wall that ran right square -through the back of the lot, and watched a glorious sunset reflected -in the lake below, Will said, "By Jove, we'll have this!" There were -six old apple-trees on the lot, a wild cherry and a dear little waif of -a pine-tree. Will and I made a solemn vow to each other that we would -build a cheap house, and get along a while longer with one maid for the -sake of that lovely sunset every night when we ate supper. I said I'd -as soon live in a lean-to. Will said we'd live just where we were for -another year until we could afford to put up even a lean-to. We bought -the darling of our hearts seven days later. It used up over two-thirds -of our fourteen-thousand-dollar house fund. - -We ate picnic suppers on our stone wall, and winter-times drank hot -coffee there boiled over a tiny bon-fire built in the rocks, for three -solid years before we began to dig the cellar of our lean-to. I had -hollyhocks and a whole row of Canterbury-bells flowering in our garden -for two springs before there was a door and some steps to lead out to -it. It's all very well to vow you'll build a cheap house, but it's -another thing to do it. Of course we had to have plumbing and heat; -electric light fixtures seemed a necessity too, as well as a few doors -here and there. - -Will and I literally laboured over those plans. They had to undergo a -dreadful series of operations. Every spring when it seemed to us as if -we couldn't endure another summer cooped up in our noisy, stone-paved, -double-electric-car-tracked street, I'd haul down the architect's -blue-prints and stretch them out on a card-table. We amputated so -much from those plans I wondered they held together. Of course the -shower-baths and the garage, oak floors, and a superfluous bathroom -came off as easily as fingers; but when we began cutting out partitions -here and there, a treasured fireplace or two, two closets, and even the -back stairs, I tell you it was ticklish! Even when we'd shaved off two -feet from the length of the living-room, four from the dining-room, -and squeezed our hall so that it was only nine feet wide, even then -we couldn't find a generous-hearted builder who would even try to be -reasonable in his charges. - -Our house wasn't, by the way, anything like the fish man's. It wasn't -a plaster house with light green blinds, with half-moons cut in them. -It seemed to our architect (and to me too, as soon as he suggested -it) that the most New England type of house possible--flat-faced, -clapboarded, painted white, a hall in the centre and a room on each -side, would fit in with those apple-trees better than anything quaint -or original. Oh, ours was just the housiest house possible, with -nothing odd about it like oriel windows, or diamond trellises, or -unexpected bays and swells. - -The first day the plans arrived I did some measuring, and cut out of -cardboard on the same scale as the plans, patterns of our furniture. -That night Will and I moved into our paper house, shoving the -furniture around the rooms with lightning speed, shifting hall-clocks, -davenports, and grand pianos from parlour to bedroom with surprising -little effort. Why, I rearranged my rooms time and time again before I -ever stepped foot in them. If you'll believe me, I made a complete new -bedroom set for the nursery, and a little crib which I placed between -the windows, when the real room was only a square block of air above -the apple-trees. - -You can imagine how excited we were when at the end of three years -we finally signed the contract with McManus & Mann, Contractors -and Builders. We were simply house-crazy by that time. I wanted to -celebrate the important occasion somehow, so I went down to Mr. -McManus's office and ordered several bundles of six-foot-length laths, -such as are used in plastering a room, to be sent up to our lot on -Saturday morning. Will and I always spend Saturday afternoons together, -and, provided with the roll of plans, a yard-stick, a hatchet and my -lunch-basket packed with tea and sandwiches, we started out about two -P. M. to lay out our house, life size, with the laths on the very -spot where it was so soon now to stand. By five o'clock I was serving -tea before the fireplace in the living-room, and apple-blossom petals -were blowing through the kitchen and hall partitions into the very -cream-pitcher by my side. - -It was just when the water over my alcohol stove had begun to boil -that our first guests arrived. Dr. Van Breeze is married now, and his -wife, Alice, and I are very good friends. For the three years that Will -and I had been working on house-plans she had followed the changes in -them as if they were hers. So I 'phoned her that I should be delighted -if she and George (George is Dr. Van Breeze) would take tea with us -Saturday afternoon at four-thirty in our new house. When they appeared -in their touring-car at the foot of our hill, I saw that dear Dr. -Graham and Mrs. Graham were in the back seat, and I dashed through the -living-room wall and down to the road to meet them. Ten minutes later -the Omsteds arrived strolling up the hill from their house which is -the nearest one to ours. Will had already arranged boulders for chairs -around the fireplace, and my dainty little sandwiches and tiny cream -puffs were laid out neatly on plates covered with fresh napkins. The -tea was hot and strong and fragrant; the decorations of six trees full -of apple-blossoms, lovely to behold; the illumination of a pink and -blue sunset, reflected in the lake below, more beautiful than a hundred -electric lights. - -After we had drank tea and eaten the last cream puff, I invited my -guests to inspect the house. Every one entered into my little game. -Dr. Omsted made us all respect the partitions as if they existed; -George Van Breeze insisted on walking up the front stairs; and dear -Dr. Graham found a grasshopper somewhere and exclaimed chuckling, "Oh, -my dear Pandora" (he still calls me that silly name), "what of your -housekeeping? I saw dozens of these in your pantry!" - -Oh, it was just the nicest house-warming in the world. I like every -one of Will's friends; they may be awfully learned, but they seem just -plain natural and unpretentious to me. They stayed until nearly six -o'clock. We waved them good-bye from our front door. When they all had -disappeared over the brow of the hill, Will drew me into our hall and -kissed me, just as if there had really been walls. Then he came into -the living-room and helped me clear up. - -I haven't mentioned yet the thorn I keep hidden in my heart and carry -everywhere I go. I don't like to talk of it because Will doesn't like -to have me, but it robs every joy I have of completeness. As Will and I -strolled home that night perhaps we ought to have been very happy. We -had the best and pleasantest friends in the world--I granted it; ground -for our dream-house was to be broken on Monday morning; we had been -married four years, and loved each other more than ever. - -"Oh, Will, four years--four long years," I exclaimed, and sighed. - -"Pshaw," he replied, and changed the subject. - -Ever since Madge's little baby was born, I've wanted one of my own. I -didn't care before that, but when I held the warm little thing in my -arms for minutes at a time, dressed it, cared for it when the nurse was -out, and listened to its poor pitiful little cry in the middle of the -night, something seemed to spring open in me that I can't close. - -I want a little daughter-companion of my very own! I want to wash her, -and dress her and take her out with me. I want her to sit with me rainy -afternoons in her little rocking-chair and play while I sew. I want her -to tell me all her secrets, and I want to give her all the love, all -the good times and pretty things a little girl wants. When Madge brings -over her Marjorie, and I see her clinging to her mother's knee when I -come into the room, I'd give anything in the world to have some little -girl cling to _me_ like that! Will has always loved children; he has -wanted them even longer than I, though he never told me. Will affects -indifference on the subject, but he doesn't deceive me in the least. I -know the lurking hunger is always in his heart as it is in mine. - -Why I was so especially down-hearted to-night as we walked home from -our tea-party on the hilltop was on account of a remark of Alice Van -Breeze's thrown off in her quick, careless fashion. I think Will kissed -me in the hall to soothe a little of the hurt of Alice's unconscious -words. People who have babies of their own don't guess how many times -they stab those who haven't. - -"What an ideal place this is for children!" Alice had exclaimed. "Such -air! Such sunshine! If you don't mind, Lucy," she had caught herself -up, "I shall bring Junior up here often to get some tan in your -adorable garden." - -"Do," I had said, looking away. - -"How is the little chap?" Will had asked her kindly. Will can't even -talk about a child without a little note of tenderness in his tone. - -"Oh, he's perfect!" Alice had laughed. "The very world revolves about -him. Why, we're prouder of that little bundle of bones and flesh than -of his father's latest book!" - -I didn't look at Will and Will didn't look at me. We're so filled with -pity for each other at such moments (and there are many of them) that -we can't bear to gaze upon the hurt look in the other's face. - -Our whole sad little story can be traced in our house-plans. When we -first decided to build, we talked bravely _then_ about the nursery -on the sunny side; it looked out towards the south and east; it was -large and airy, with four big windows, and a fireplace for chilly -nights. When the first sketches arrived the room was plainly labelled -in printed letters, and I remember that the mere word gave me a queer -thrill of joy. I had, as you know, immediately made patterns of the -nursery furniture, placed the paper crib in position, and estimated the -number of steps from my bed to the baby's. I had had it beautifully -planned for contagious diseases: Will could move into the guest-room, -and I and the sick children could be absolutely isolated from the -rest of the house, in two lovely rooms with a bathroom of our own. -But I needn't have planned on children's contagious diseases. There -will never be any little children with measles, or chicken-pox, or -whooping-cough in our house, to take care of. I am sure of it now. On -the last roll of plans which our architect submitted to us the word -printed across the face of the southeast room had been changed from -Nursery to Chamber! I think Will must have requested it and I knew then -with awful finality that even Will had given up hope. I never asked how -or why the room's name had been changed. I simply understood without -asking and cried it out by myself in my room. The next day I burned the -nursery paper furniture--the crib, the folding yard, the toy-case like -Edith's--in the kitchen stove, with a pang as big as if they had been -real. - -After that I called the southeast chamber, "Ruth's room." I had always -secretly hoped that Ruth would live with me if ever I had a house of -my own. I had hoped it ever since Alec had married Edith. It hadn't -come to pass--it never would. Ruth is so fastidious. But she has spent -a night with me very often so I decided to make over the room that no -little child seemed to want to occupy, for my only sister. It really -was easier to refer to the room as Ruth's. I was glad, after the first -shock, that Will had made the change. The evident question and pity -in people's eyes when we had called it by its old name had become -unpleasant for both Will and me. - -I grew very philosophical about my disappointment as time went on. -I didn't mean to allow it to shadow my whole life. There was lots -else to be thankful for. But that night after our little tea-party my -philosophy seemed to leave me. It always does when I'm a little tired -and need it most. I couldn't keep up any kind of conversation at dinner -that night. I tried, but I couldn't. My thoughts got to travelling -the wellworn path that they will stray away to every once in a while -in spite of me, and it's always Will who comes to my rescue and pulls -them back on to safe sure ground, before they lose themselves in utter -dejection. - -"Let's play some cribbage!" he suggested lightly after dinner. - -I laid down my useless embroidery and listlessly drew up to the -table. We played three games without an interruption. I won them all. -Then just as Will was dealing for a fourth game I had to get out my -handkerchief and wipe my eyes. - -"Oh, my dear girl!" said Will accusingly. - -"I know it, but I can't help it!" I replied. "It seems _too_ cruel! -I simply can't bear not to use the room we built the house around. I -wish we could find a little child somewhere that we could--borrow. You -see, Will, a woman, to be really happy, seems to require a family to -take care of, unless she's a genius--an artist or a poet, or something -like that, which I'm not. Why, Will," I broke out, "I'm getting so I -don't like to hear about other people's children--or see them or want -them around. When Alice spoke about bringing her baby into my garden it -seemed as if I'd simply have to find _somewhere_ a little creature of -our own to play with the flowers I've planted. Don't I _know_ it's a -perfect place for children? Don't I know it? And does she think we also -wouldn't be prouder of a little child than of your discoveries? Oh, -Will, I know how disappointed you are. You won't say it but I know it's -awfully hard for you too." - -"Nonsense," Will scoffed. "What's hard about it? I've got you, haven't -I? You and I are the two best children at playing games in a garden -that _I_ ever saw. _I'm_ perfectly satisfied. Come ahead, cut the -cards. I'm about to beat you now at five games of crib." - -I shook my head and looked away. - -"You're mistaken," Will went on, "if you think _I'm_ envying anybody -anything. I've yet to meet two people happier than we. Children are -pleasant enough incidents in life," Will went on, "but don't you -draw any wrong conclusions that happiness is dependent on them. It -isn't. Look at Dr. and Mrs. Graham. They never had any, and two more -congenial, more contented, happier people never existed--except perhaps -ourselves. Dr. Graham has too much sound thought to allow the denial -of any _one_ of the supposed blessings of life to disturb his peace. -And so have we, Bobbie, don't you think? Some of the very best people -in the world, some of those who have accomplished the most effective -work, never had children. It isn't the first question we ask about a -great man or a good woman. I might have reason to complain if I didn't -have my health or a good sound mind, or if after these few precious -years together, I lost _you_. But as it is--well, please don't ever -say again, young lady, that our present conditions are hard for me. -Hard--Nonsense!" - -Dear Will! I'd heard this same little speech of his dozens of times -before. When he tries so hard to cheer me it seems too bad not to -respond; so I smiled now. - -"Will Maynard," I said, "you don't deceive me for one minute by all -this talk! Don't think you do! _I_ know--_I_ understand. But I'll say -this--and I've said it a hundred times before--you certainly _are_ the -kindest man I ever knew." - -"Bosh!" he laughed. - -"Yes, you are--yes, you are. And I guess if I've got you I'd better -not complain." I put away my handkerchief. "It's all over now," I -announced, "and I'm ready to beat you at those five games of crib." - -He dealt the cards and for five minutes we played in earnest; then -suddenly Will reached across and took my hand. - -"Who says you and I aren't perfectly happy?" he asked. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - - -It wasn't a week after that Sunday afternoon of ours on our darling -hilltop that I received a letter from Ruth announcing her intention of -paying me a visit. I was amazed. - -Ruth usually prefers to visit at houses where she can stay in bed until -ten o'clock in the morning and sink luxuriously into an upholstered -limousine fitted up with plum-coloured cushions and a bunch of fresh -flowers, every time she goes out of doors. She isn't the type who likes -making her own bed and helping with the dishes--not that I require such -toll from a guest; but you know our house has only one bathroom and -Ruth says a tin tub always looks greasy. She says that black walnut -furniture has a depressing effect on her, and assures me that she -doesn't dare turn over in my guest-room bed for fear the head of the -thing--a big towering mass of black walnut blocks and turrets--will -fall down on top of her in the night. Ruth suffered the hardships of -my establishment only when it was necessary. Whenever a taxicab did -draw up to my door and deposit my dressy sister for the night, I knew -that it was because she had an early appointment with her tailor the -next morning, or had missed the last Hilton Express. I didn't remember -that Ruth had ever spent a single night under my roof for the mere -friendliness or sisterly love of sleeping between my embroidered -sheets. Ruth has a very sensitive temperament--so sensitive that -certain combinations of colour will affect her spirits. My guest-room -has mustard-coloured walls with reddish fleur-de-lis. - -Ruth is an extraordinary girl. She doesn't seem a bit like a Vars. -We're such a conventional and just-what-you-would-expect kind of -family. Ruth contrives somehow to shroud herself in a veil of mystery -and create an impression everywhere she goes. I guess she's the most -discussed girl in all Hilton. She affects heliotrope shades in her -clothes, combining several tones in one gown, and wears large, round, -floppy hats. She always manages to select big stagy chairs to sit in, -that set her off as if she were a portrait. I have to pinch myself -every once in a while to make sure she isn't a foreign adventuress of -some kind with an exciting past, instead of just my common ordinary -little sister Ruthie. She has the queerest ideas on life and love -that I ever heard talked outside of a book, and she preaches them -too. I don't know how she dares; but somehow a little wickedness, -a little cynicism, from so very pretty a girl seems simply to add -to her piquancy and charm. Ruth dabbles in every artistic line that -exists--sings with the finish of a prima-donna and loves to improvise -by the hour on the big drawing-room piano at home, while some love-lorn -suitor sits in silence in the half-dark and worships. She's clever -at drawing--has designed book-plates for all her friends, besides -having modelled in bas-relief several of their portraits in clay. She -writes poetry too. She never read any of it to _me_; I suppose I'm not -sympathetic enough for it; but I got hold of some of her papers once -and spent a whole hour with them. I never knew till then what deep -ideas Ruth really has! I copied several of the verses and Bob Jennings, -who is an instructor in English at the university down here, said they -were "full of promise." - -When Ruth's letter arrived announcing her proposed visit, my only -sorrow lay in the fact that her room in the new house wasn't ready. -I was going to have it papered in lavender chambray and had already -selected a wisteria design in cretonne for the hangings. It was going -to be the most artistic room in the house. I wasn't going to hang a -single picture on the walls (no pictures is Ruth's latest fad) and the -furniture was going to be plain colonial mahogany. It's queer how all -the family pay homage to Ruth. She's younger than I, by three years, -but I've always longed for her approval. I used to criticise her -extravagance, and tell her she was vain and selfish, but down in the -bottom of my heart I've always thought Ruth was wonderful. Will makes -fun of me for laying out my best linen every time Ruth comes to see us. -It _is_ foolish, but I don't want Ruth to think that I don't possess -any of the fine points of the people she most admires. I began to plan -to make her first real visit with me as much of a success as I knew -how. Ruth likes to have parties planned ahead for her, so I decided to -invite the Van Breezes to dinner one night, and Bob Jennings another. - -Bob is a perfectly splendid young man and awfully good-looking. I -was sorry that Ruth had to meet him for the first time in the unkind -surroundings of our house. Setting, background, atmosphere, influence -her so much. If she sees a man for the first time in company with -black walnut and marble-topped tables, she is apt to think him as -offensively old-fashioned as the furniture. And I did want to prove to -Ruth that there existed a decent man with several degrees to his name, -who knew how to dress properly for dinner and converse intelligently on -the latest opera. - -Will and I both met Ruth at the station when she arrived. She kissed -me and gave both her hands to Will in her most engaging manner. She -presented him later with three trunk checks. I was flattered. I was -glad that there happened to be several teas on hand, and a musicale at -the Omsted's that week. I would show Ruth that all our friends didn't -live in ugly brown French-roofed houses, and that she hadn't brought -all her pretty gowns to my house in vain. - -But here I was disappointed. After dinner Ruth announced, "Oh, no; I -couldn't. Don't make any engagements for me, please. My time won't be -my own while I'm here. I didn't mention in my letter that Breck Sewall -is coming up from New York to-morrow. He has invited me to several -things in town. I thought it would be simpler for me to spend my nights -here, than to go back so many times to Hilton." - -I didn't say a word, but my heart skipped a beat, I think. I had -thought the affair with Breck Sewall had blown over. The Sewalls -haven't occupied their summer place near Hilton for three years. -It hadn't occurred to me that Ruth's visit could have any possible -connection with Breck Sewall. Ruth knew that Will and I disapprove of -him; she knew the sound of his very name was unwelcome in our house. I -felt like telling Ruth to go upstairs, lock up her precious trunks, -and go home. Once I would have spat out something nasty to my sister -about accepting attentions from a man she knew was not nice, but now I -was too anxious to become her friend to quarrel with her on the first -night she arrived. I had learned that the safest course for me to -follow was simply not to oppose Ruth in anything. - -It was Will, turning from fastening the windows, who blurted out -bluntly, "Are you still keeping up your connections with that man?" - -Ruth smiled, raising her eyebrows a little, and then folded her hands -behind her head, her pretty arms bare to the elbows. - -"Don't you approve of him, brother William?" she inquired archly as if -she didn't care a straw whether he did or not. - -"Do _you_?" asked Will. - -Ruth laughed an amused, silvery laugh and replied lightly, "I am -engaged to be married to Breck Sewall, I suppose, if that answers you." - -Will didn't say a word for a minute. Then, "I am sorry to hear that," -he replied shortly. - -"Really?" smiled Ruth. "Breck and I shall certainly miss your blessing, -William." She always calls him William when she's making fun of him. -I don't see how she dares to mock a man so much wiser and older than -she, but Ruth would deride the President of the United States if he -interfered with her little schemes. - -Will replied; "You're too fine a girl to make such a mistake, Ruth." - -She rippled into another laugh and my cheeks grew warm with -indignation. She leaned forward and selected a chocolate-cream from a -box of candy on the table. - -"That's a very prettily veiled compliment, William, and I thank you," -she said. She nibbled a bit of her candy as she spoke. - -She was awfully exasperating, sitting there so gay and unconcerned. -Will stepped up to her chair and I could tell from his voice that he -was angry. - -"I know all about Breck Sewall," he said. "He's not the kind of man for -any nice girl to associate with. He spent a year at this university. He -was expelled, not only because he could not keep up in his courses, not -only because he was brought home time and time again too disgustingly -drunk to stand alone, not only because of these things, but because of -another and more disreputable affair. I think you ought to know about -it before this goes any further. It was an affair with a girl. There -was no doubt about it. He acknowledged the whole thing. Why, Ruth, he -isn't the kind of man for you even to speak to!" Will said. "Sometime I -will tell you the whole story--sometime--if it's necessary." - -Ruth took another bite of her chocolate-cream. - -"Do _now_," she smiled, "if it amuses you. But it will be no news -to _me_. I know all about that college affair of Breck's. He has -told me the whole story himself. I know the girl's name and all the -particulars. Breck isn't afraid to tell me the truth. Nothing in the -world shocks me, you know," she announced with bravado. "Did you think -I was so narrow-minded and hemmed in by prejudice not to overlook the -follies a man may have committed when he was hardly more than a boy? -I don't care what Breck did before he knew me. What other awful news -have you to break to me, William?" Ruth inquired sweetly. - -Will stared at Ruth as if she were something he never knew existed. - -"Nothing else," he said shortly, "if that isn't sufficient." - -There was an uncomfortable silence. My sister must have felt a little -uneasy under the gaze of Will's astonished eyes; for when she had -finished her candy, daintily touched her lips with her bit of a white -handkerchief, tucked it away, and spoke again, her manner towards him -had changed. - -"Will," she said, "I'm so different from any one you ever knew that you -can't understand me, can you? Now I know you told me just now about -that little unfortunate affair of Breck's because you want me to be -happy. And I do appreciate your interest in me--I do really. Of course -I have no mother," she put in quite tragically; "I never had. Perhaps -that is why I am so different from other girls. I'm not shocked at the -things young girls are brought up to be shocked at. I don't tremble at -the sound of unadulterated truth and bare facts. I am aware of it. I -am not living under the false illusion that the man I am to marry is -perfect. I know he isn't, and I am content. Why, the very qualities -I require in a man preclude at least a few of the supposed virtues. -Perhaps, Will," said Ruth patronisingly, "you do not understand a man -of Breck's tempestuous nature. _You're_ so scientific. It's easy for -you to stay within the narrow path. But you shouldn't be severe on -others." - -"Do you love Breck Sewall?" asked Will point-blank. - -"Oh, _love_!" Ruth shrugged her shoulders. "Love would be the last -thing I would marry a man for. I'm not as short-sighted as that. Love -may last a year, or two perhaps, but it is not enduring. I marry for -sounder reasons than love. You must know that the Sewalls are immensely -wealthy. Their position is as established as royalty in England. -Oh, you see," laughed Ruth, standing up and walking over toward -the bookcase, "how dreadfully worldly and wicked I am! Have you La -Rochefoucauld? Let me read you a little saying of his." - -"No, not dreadfully worldly--not dreadfully wicked, Ruth," said Will; -"only dreadfully young, I think." - -Ruth hates to be accused of youth. - -"But old enough to marry whom I please, William, perhaps," she flashed. - -"Oh," scoffed Will, "that doesn't require much age, nor much wisdom. -You are young enough to think it rather clever and smart to scorn -virtue, make fun of love, and pretend to marry a man for his wealth and -position. It sounds so bookish and so sophisticated!" - -Ruth would not have deigned to respond to such an insulting assault -as that if I had made it, but to Will she replied, "You're mistaken -there. I've thought and read on this subject. I'm not so young as you -think." She walked over to the mantel and leaned her back against the -white marble, then folding her arms across her chest, like a judging -goddess, she continued: "I believe, and several people of reputation -agree with me, that the most important thing to consult in considering -marriage is one's temperament. Ask yourself what your tastes are and -then see if the new life will gratify them. Temperament never changes. -If you love music when you are twenty, you will love it when you are -forty. Well, I have studied my nature very closely. I know what pleases -it. I know what annoys and disturbs it. I'm different from the others -in our family. I often wonder from whom I inherit my peculiarities. I -love beautiful music, beautiful pictures, soft rugs, fine furniture, -delicate lace at the windows. Low, artistic lamp-light, the comings and -goings of soft-footed unobtrusive servants, a dinner perfectly served, -exquisite china, old silver, exclusive people--all such things give me -actual physical pleasure. I enjoy position and influence. My nature -grows and expands under recognition. It dries up and dies under slight -and disregard. The people I envy most in the world are those who are -born in high positions. I can't alter my birth, but I have been invited -to become a member of a prominent and influential family, and as one of -that family I shall be invited and received everywhere, without any of -the humiliating striving. I'm proud, you know. I despise toadying. I -don't want to work for social position. I want it placed upon me, like -a king his crown. Why, Will, Breck Sewall can supply my nature with -everything it demands. Why shouldn't I marry him?" - -"Can Breck supply your intellect with what it demands?" asked Will. - -Ruth laughed good-naturedly. - -"Poor Breck! Poor old maligned Breck! He isn't exactly intellectual, -I agree, but don't you worry, Will, I shall find congenial minds -enough in his circle. The Sewalls entertain all sorts of interesting -professional people--the top-notchers, I mean. My intellect won't -suffer. Where is the woman, anyhow, who discusses her soul with her -husband? How can a woman read poetry with a man who has just been -grumbling at the price of her prettiest gown?" Ruth shuddered. "No, no! -Please! I prefer not. But I shan't be lonely. Never fear." She gave -Will a meaning look from beneath her eyebrows and added in a sort of -bold, daring way, "There will be some one." - -I don't know why Ruth loves to preach such wickedness. She doesn't mean -half she says. I waited for the walls to fall. Will abhors married -women who attempt to flirt with other men. Ruth waited too for the -clap of thunder she thought must follow her startling implication. -But when Will spoke there wasn't a trace of anger in his voice--just -disgust--just plain unflattering disgust. "Come, Lucy," he said to me; -"I've had about enough of this. Let's go upstairs to bed." - -The Sewalls are the high-muck-a-mucks of the Hilton summer colony. -They're New York people and their place, just outside Hilton, -reminds me of the castles that give distinction to so many otherwise -nondescript little towns in Europe--not in age, for I can remember when -the Sewalls' place was rough cow-pasture land, but in its relation -to the town and the surrounding country. It's Hilton's show-place. -We always point it out to strangers when we take them on their first -drive. The wrought-iron gates cost five thousand dollars; the distance -around the house and adjoining buildings added together measures half a -mile; the big entrance hall, we state (and we're proud of our knowledge -too) is hung with old tapestries and furnished in carved English oak. - -After Mrs. F. Rockridge Sewall's advent, there was established among -the Hilton summer colonists a new law of society. You were either of -the elect or of the rejected; you were either entertained by Mrs. F. -Rockridge Sewall or you were an ignominious nobody. There existed no -self-respecting middle position in Hilton after Mrs. Sewall arrived -in mid-July with her retinue of some twenty-odd servants, her four or -five automobiles, and half-dozen hunters. Mrs. Sewall was for some time -a very disturbing factor in Edith's life. The lights of a ballroom, -the sound of dance-music, however lovely they may be, are absolutely -irritating to my sister-in-law, if seen and heard from the outside. -It took two long discouraging seasons of scheming, manipulating, and -rather bold attacking, before Edith gained the proper kind of entrance -to the hallowed ground inside those five-thousand-dollar wrought-iron -gates. It was really due to Ruth that she was admitted then. Young -Breckenridge Sewall had chanced to see a stunning young creature -in lavender and grey at a garden-party at Mrs. Leonard Jackson's, -one afternoon late in August, during his mother's second season at -Grassmere, the name of their place in Hilton. He had only to see Ruth -once to beg for an introduction. That is the way it is with every -man across whose field of vision my sister steps. I think that Ruth -is the loveliest production that Hilton, or Hilton's environs, ever -produced; and Breckenridge Sewall thought so too. Three weeks after -that introduction at Mrs. Leonard Jackson's Ruth rushed in upon Edith -one Friday noon and announced, "I'm invited to a house-party at the -Sewalls'! One of the out-of-town guests has disappointed Mrs. Sewall -at the last moment and Breck wants me to fill in!" Before the Sewalls -went back to New York that fall, Ruth was the most distinguished young -lady in all Hilton. She was pointed out everywhere she went as the -girl to whom Breck Sewall was paying such marked attention; she burst -into notoriety; and Edith's position was at last made secure. Trust -Edith to squeeze into the limelight along with Ruth. I don't know how -my sister-in-law manages such things but it was clear sailing for her -after Breck's discovery. - -That man rushed Ruth for two years and a half before there was any word -from my sister about an engagement. During the summer he used to call -on Ruth about six evenings a week, and as Edith made us all go upstairs -(this was before I was married) on the nights that Breck came, by nine -o'clock, it got to be a nuisance. At first I remember we were all a -little flattered by the young millionaire's attention to our pretty -Ruth and even I used to feel a thrill of pride at the thought of such a -brilliant match in our quiet midst. - -Breck didn't propose to Ruth till after I was married. She came in -from a long motor run one Sunday in July, when Will and I happened -to be in Hilton, and told us the news before she even took off her -hat. I remember it very well for there followed one of our dreadful -family discussions. By that time Will and I, and Alec too, had begun -to feel a little doubt as to Breck's desirability. We had always -heard rumours about his habits, but Edith prized Breck's attentions -to Ruth so highly, that Alec had neglected a thorough investigation. -He thought that Breck didn't intend to marry Ruth anyway, called it -a summer affair and trusted that time would cure them both of their -fancy. So when Will came out with a few telling facts detrimental -to Breck Sewall's character, Edith was simply furious. She told me -that I shouldn't come back meddling after I was married. Ruth loved -Breck Sewall--she was sure of it; we might be the cause of wrecking -the child's happiness for life if we interfered. Alec looked awfully -distressed as we talked but he didn't rise up in indignation, stampede -as he should have, and swear that no sister of his should ever marry -a man with Breck Sewall's reputation, so long as he lived. Alec is -awfully ineffectual when Edith is around. - -I don't know how it all would have come out, if Mrs. Sewall hadn't -interrupted matters. Suddenly, right in the midst of the thickest -of our discussion, three or four days after Ruth's announcement, -Mrs. Sewall decided to go abroad. She closed up her summer mansion, -mid-season though it was, barred the windows, locked the gates, and -sailed away to Europe, Breck and all. She didn't come back for two -years, and even then she didn't come back to Hilton. The excitement -about Breck and Ruth died down like fire, and about as suddenly. He -didn't even write to Ruth after three or four months, and just before -Ruth came down to visit me and announced her startling piece of news, -I had read that Breckenridge Sewall was reported engaged to his cousin, -Miss Gale somebody or other, a débutante of last season. - -Ruth's news was an awful shock to me. I knew without being told how -jubilant Edith would be, how helpless Alec in the face of what seemed -to both the women of his household such a brilliant victory. I didn't -know what to do. It didn't seem as if I could stand by and watch my -own sister marry the kind of man Will said that Breck Sewall was. I -lay awake a long while that night after Ruth's arrival at our house, -wondering what under heaven I, whose ideas on life my sister considered -so provincial--what there was that _I_ might do to swerve her from her -purpose. - -I could hope for no help from Will. Ruth had thrown him utterly out of -sympathy with her. He washed his hands of the whole affair; he told me -so that night when we came upstairs to bed, and I knew by his manner -to my sister the next morning at breakfast, courteous enough though it -was, in what contempt he held her. I told Will I couldn't send Ruth -back to Hilton, and, as distasteful as I knew Breck Sewall's coming to -our door would be to him, I hoped he would let me keep Ruth with me as -long as she would stay. I didn't have any plan, any deep-laid scheme. -It simply seemed to me that it must have been an act of heaven that -Ruth had been sent to me during such a critical period in her history, -and I didn't want to fly in the face of Providence. - -I began by being just as nice and kind to her as I knew how. I didn't -offer one word of opposition; I didn't advise; I didn't criticise; I -appeared even to welcome her suitor when he first arrived to carry my -sister in town to dinner and the theatre; I chatted with him pleasantly -while she put on her party coat upstairs. I served Ruth breakfasts in -bed at eleven A. M.; and admired and praised all her gowns and lovely -fol-de-rols as she dressed every afternoon in preparation for her lover. - -For five days Ruth blandly carried on her love-affair in our house, -going and coming at her own sweet time, accepting our hospitality as -a matter of course, while she bestowed her rarest smiles upon a man -whom she knew Will considered disreputable and whom therefore I could -not approve of. For five days she lunched, motored, and dined with -Breck Sewall, and in between times talked with him over the 'phone for -twenty-minute periods. I despaired. I didn't see any way out, and as -the days went on and the house became more and more perfumed by Breck -Sewall's roses and violets and valley-lilies, I began to give up hope. - -On the sixth day I received a letter from Edith: - - "Ruth would go down to you. I told her that neither you nor Will liked - Breck Sewall and it wouldn't be a bit pleasant. Alec and I are both - very much pleased about the engagement, because Ruth really loves - Breck Sewall with all her heart, and since his renewed attentions, the - dear girl has been simply radiant. I write this because I'm afraid - that you'll try to poison Ruth's mind against the man she loves. We - all want her to be happy, I'm sure, and I think you would assume a - lot of responsibility in trying to stop a girl from marrying the only - man she ever has cared for or ever will. She likes to boast that - she doesn't love Breck. It's pose. I, who have been with Ruth so - intimately for so long, know she is _wild_ about Breck Sewall, and - loves him madly. Don't meddle with it, Bobbie. I'd hate to be to blame - for _my_ sister's broken heart." - -That letter of Edith's set me to thinking. It hadn't occurred to me -that Ruth was simply _pretending_ to marry for position. I didn't think -that such a repulsive creature as Breck Sewall could inspire anything -so divine as love in my sister's heart. And yet, perhaps--how did I -know (I understand Ruth so little anyway)--how did I know--perhaps -Edith was right. Perhaps, after all, Ruth was simply trying to conceal -her love by contempt and scorn of it. It wouldn't have made any -difference as to my opposition, but it would have cleared Ruth of -unworthy motives, at any rate. I was determined to find out. - -She had told me when she left the house at three that afternoon -that she and Breck were going to motor to somebody's place on the -north shore and would not be back until late in the evening. It was -eleven-thirty when I finally heard Breck Sewall fumbling with the -lock and a minute later I caught the odour of his cigarette, as I lay -waiting for it in bed. I knew then that he and Ruth were established -in the living-room for their usual half-hour alone before he bade her -good-night. I don't suppose it was a very honourable thing to do, -but after about five minutes I got up, put on a wrapper, and crawled -quietly down to the landing, stepping over the third step which -creaks awfully. It was pitch dark in the corner near the wall; there -was no danger of being seen from below; and I stood perfectly still, -eavesdropping for all I was worth. Ruth had lit one dim burner by the -piano and from my balcony I could plainly see Breck Sewall, low as the -light was, ensconced in a corner of our davenport-sofa. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - - -He was making himself entirely at home. He had crossed his feet and -had placed them square in the middle of the mahogany seat of my nice -little Windsor chair, which he had drawn up in front of him. His toes -pointed to the ceiling; his cigarette pointed there too; for he had -comfortably pillowed his greasy old head (Breck's hair is jet black and -always looks as if it was wet) on the top of the low back of the sofa. -The smoke that he blew at times from his nose went straight up like -smoke from a chimney on a windless day. I didn't think it was a very -pretty attitude for a man to assume in the presence of a young lady. -His hands were stuffed in his trousers pockets, and when he spoke the -only trouble he went to was to roll his head in Ruth's direction. He's -anything but good-looking. He has half-closed eyes like a Chinaman's, -and a yellow, unpleasant complexion. - -"Come on over here," I heard him say in that kind of guttural voice a -man uses when he tries to talk with a cigarette in his mouth, and I saw -him shift up one shoulder to motion Ruth to sit down beside him. - -I couldn't see my sister but I heard her reply. "I don't feel like it -to-night, Breck," she said. - -Breck smoked in silence for half a minute, then he asked, removing his -cigarette, "Say, what's the matter with you to-night? Are you back -again on that old subject which your precious saint of a professor -here raised up out of the past? Haven't I explained that to you a dozen -times?" - -"I wish you wouldn't refer to members of my family in such a way," -replied Ruth. "It isn't respectful to me. You're not marrying beneath -you, as your manner sometimes seems to imply. My brother-in-law whom -you choose to call a saint is a noted man, if you only read enough to -know it, Breck. Oh, no, I'm not thinking about that college affair of -yours. I'm not a jealous kind of girl. You know that." - -"Well, what is it then? It gets _me_ what I've done to deserve such -treatment. Weren't they the right kind of flowers?" - -"Don't be absurd, Breck. As if ornaments or flowers were what I -required! I'll tell you what's the matter, if you want to know," said -Ruth. "It's simply this: I don't think you're treating your engagement -with proper respect. It seems out-of-order to me that I should have -told my family about our intentions before you have told yours. It -isn't a bit as it should be. I hate even to speak about so delicate a -thing--but, Breck, why hasn't your mother written to me? Why hasn't -she set a day for me to come and see her? Here _my_ family are all -recognising _you_ as a future member of their group, while your family -haven't even as much as made a sign." - -"Oh, now, now," replied Breck soothingly. "That's it, is it? Don't -you worry, little one. The mater will come around, all right. Give -her time. For my part, though, I'd rather step into the Little Church -Around the Corner and get it over with in a swoop." - -If Ruth was sitting down, I'll wager she stood up now. Her reply came -like lightning. - -"Breck Sewall," she exclaimed, "that's the third time in a week that -you've suggested eloping to me! I wish you'd stop it. It is absolutely -insulting!" - -Breck looked up surprised. - -"Insulting?" he repeated dazed. - -"Exactly. Insulting," went on Ruth in hot haste. "I'm not a -servant-girl. I require all the proprieties that exist, understand. -Why," she added, "until your mother recognises me publicly as your -fiancée, I'll never marry you as long as I live!" She stopped suddenly. -I knew she was very angry, for Ruth. - -Breck chuckled in a horrid insulting sort of way, and lay down his -cigarette. - -"Say," he broke out, putting his feet down on the floor, leaning -forward with his elbows on his knees and rubbing his two hands -together, "say, you're simply stunning when you're mad." He was looking -at Ruth as if he'd like to gobble her up. "You're glorious! You're -great! Most of 'em cry and make sights of themselves, but you--you--" -He got up. He strode over to Ruth. I suppose she was simply too -stunning, too glorious, too great to resist. I don't know. The portière -hid her and I was glad of it. I shouldn't enjoy seeing Breck Sewall -as much as lay a finger on my sister. I closed my eyes and waited. I -should have been afraid of a man like that, myself, but I suppose Ruth -suffered herself to be kissed by him with the indifference that she -offers her cheek for the same caress to a girl. When she spoke again -her anger seemed to have spent itself. - -"You're very silly, Breck," she said. - -"And you--you're as cold as a little fish," he replied as tenderly as -he knew how. I really think he loved Ruth, though I was convinced that -she didn't have an emotion of any kind for him. "But I'll wake you up, -you little marble statue," he went on. "I'll make you care for me. -Women are all alike. See if I don't." - -"It's more important," I heard Ruth reply, "to make your mother care -for me. You see, Breck, if we hope to get married in October you had -better tell her your news as soon as possible. Why not to-night when -you go back to the hotel? She has been here now three days with you -and if she wants me to call I can go to-morrow, or the next day, -before I go home. You say she came on so as to make arrangements to -open Grassmere this year. Certainly the engagement must be announced -immediately, so that I shall be received by your mother properly this -summer." - -"You seem to care more about my mother than about me," objected Ruth's -lover. - -Ruth laughed prettily. - -"Poor abused creature!" she mocked. "Poor sulky boy! If I showed my -feelings for you, Breck, all the time, you wouldn't care for me half -so much. I understand men. You call me a little fish and that's what I -am--always slipping out of your fingers, always evading capture, for I -know that once a man gets his fish and puts it in his little basket, -the cat can eat it then for all he cares." - -"You're a clever little piece," said Breck admiringly. "Half the time I -don't know what you're driving at." - -Just here I saw Ruth walk over to the table and pick up Breck's gold -cigarette box. I don't remember that I have ever been so shocked in -my life as when, staring like a cat out of my dark corner, I saw my -sister--my own little sister Ruth, over whose bed hung the pure, -clean-cut profile of my mother, in whose heart must dwell the memory -of the best, the noblest, the finest father a girl ever had--select a -cigarette, light it, and actually place it between her lovely lips! I -wanted to call out, "Ruth Chenery Vars, what are you doing? Have you -lost your mind? Are you crazy?" I saw her sit down on the corner of the -sofa that Breck had left empty and lean her head back in much the same -luxurious fashion. I saw her blow a fine little ribbon of smoke up to -the ceiling. I waited until I saw Breck cross the room to her side, and -then, too sick to endure the awful spectacle another instant, I turned -and groped my way upstairs to bed. - -I couldn't sleep for hours and hours. I turned over at intervals of -four to eight minutes, until it began to grow light. I may have dropped -off into semi-consciousness. I don't know. Anyhow my dreams were one -continuous nightmare of my waking vision. Had it been Ruth whom I -had seen with my own eyes smoking a cigarette in my living-room? Had -it been my own little sister? Had she done it before? Did she do it -often? If I had been anxious to save Ruth from Breck before my horrible -discovery, now I was determined. She shouldn't share such a life as -his. She shouldn't! She shouldn't! I waited impatiently for the morning -light. I was eager to be about my undertaking. I had a disagreeable -task before me, and haunted by the dread of it, very much as we are -visited by the fear of an operation that must be undergone, I wanted to -get it over with and out of the way as soon as possible. - -After Will had left for the university and I, as usual, had carried -the breakfast-tray to Ruth (lying as sweet and fresh as a carnation -in her white sheets--you would never have dreamed she had ever -tasted a cigarette) I went upstairs to my room, put on my best -eighty-five-dollar Boston tailor-made suit, and grimly set out for town. - -It was ten-thirty when I sent up my name to Mrs. F. Rockridge Sewall -at the Hotel St. Mary, where I knew Breck had been stopping since -his arrival in town. The clerk behind the yellow onyx counter that -enclosed the office of this exclusive hotel, had informed me that Mrs. -Sewall had just breakfasted and therefore could assure me that she was -in. He asked for my card and summoned a bell-boy. I withdrew to the -rose-brocade writing-room at the left, and five minutes later into the -envelope in which I placed my card I slipped a note that read something -like this: - - "_My dear Mrs. Sewall_, - - "It occurs to me that you may not remember who I am from my card, or - if so, be quite at a loss to know what prompts this call. I have come - to consult with you on a matter that concerns your son, and would be - greatly obliged if you will see me. - - "LUCY MAYNARD." - -I must confess my heart acted like a trip-hammer, as I waited for -my answer. I experienced a moment of misgiving and apprehension, as -I gazed at the pattern of the rose brocade on the walls. I had not -confided to Will my intention of a consultation with Mrs. Sewall, -and just for a moment as I sat there on the edge of a formal little -gilt-trimmed chair, I wondered if my intuitions were leading me into a -dreadful social blunder. - -"She will see you; suite thirty-three. The boy will show you up," -suddenly broke in on my reflections, and in another moment I was -silently shooting up the elevator shaft, gazing at a row of brass -buttons on the bell-boy's coat and estimating their number, to keep -myself calm. - -The room into which I was conducted was empty when I entered it--a -typical hotel-suite drawing-room, furnished with elaborate and very -puffy looking stuffed furniture. I chose the only straight chair in the -room, and sat down and waited again. I had met Mrs. Sewall only once in -my life, quite formally at a party of some sort at Edith's. We may have -exchanged a half dozen words, not more. I had never been invited to -her grand house, and most of my knowledge of the lady had come through -hearsay, and the social columns in the papers. It was necessary to keep -my mind pretty closely fastened on the cigarette spectacle, or else -I might have lost courage, and quietly withdrawn before Mrs. Sewall -appeared. She kept me waiting in torture for at least fifteen minutes -(I can tell you the subject of every one of the engravings on the -wall, I am sure) but the queer thing is, that when she finally joined -me and I rose to speak, I forgot to be afraid. Will says that such an -experience is very common with him in making an after-dinner speech. - -"You don't know me, Mrs. Sewall," I began. - -"I fear I do not," she replied, smiling formally. She was dressed very -plainly, but elegantly too. Her iron-grey hair looked as if it were cut -out of marble not a wisp astray; and you simply felt, so perfect was -everything about her, that the nail of her little finger was as nicely -pointed, polished, and pinked as all the rest. - -"But your card," she went on, "your name sounds familiar." - -Of course it did--she probably had seen it signed after Will's articles -in the magazines, I thought--but I replied simply, "You met me before -I was Mrs. William Ford Maynard--in Hilton--several years ago. My name -was Lucy Vars." - -I was quite prepared for the expression of hostility that crossed Mrs. -Sewall's face at this remark. - -"Vars," she repeated a little vaguely. "Oh, yes, I remember. There was, -I believe, a Ruth Vars. Are you related?" Then as if she had forgotten -it up to this time, she suddenly asked, "Won't you sit down?" - -I thanked her and did so, she herself sinking into a voluminous tufted -armchair opposite. - -"I am Ruth Vars' sister," I explained, "and it is about Ruth and your -son that I have come to talk with you." - -Mrs. Sewall raised her brows. - -"Your sister? My son? Really? How extraordinary!" - -"Why, yes. You must know," I went on, "that your son is seeing a great -deal of Ruth lately." - -Mrs. Sewall smiled in a very patronising manner and replied, "It is -very difficult for a mother to keep track of all a young man's fancies." - -"This is more than a fancy, Mrs. Sewall. Ruth and your son are engaged -to be married," I announced calmly. - -A slight flush spread over Mrs. Sewall's face to the very roots of her -marcel wave, but her voice showed no emotion when she spoke. - -"Would it not have been more delicate to have allowed my son to have -told me this piece of news," she asked me cuttingly. - -"I was not thinking much about the delicacy of my call, I'm afraid." - -"Evidently," she agreed. - -"I have come simply to find out if you approve of this engagement and, -if not, what we can do about it." - -Mrs. Sewall looked me up and down deliberately, then: - -"You seem to be a very courageous young person," she said, "but I fear -this interview cannot alter my opinion. Your sister is no doubt a -very charming young girl, but I have other ambitions for my son, Mrs. -Maynard." - -"I thought so. I guessed it from a conversation I overheard, and -that is why I have come this morning. I thought we could work better -together than alone." - -"I plainly see," said Mrs. Sewall, gazing pityingly upon me, "that it -will be necessary to be quite blunt with you. Did you never suspect -that I closed Grassmere three years ago, simply to separate my son from -your sister? As soon as I learned that my son actually intended to -marry Miss Vars I was forced to take him to a different environment. -When you consider that I have fought against this attachment for so -long, you will see how absurd it is for you to hope to win my approval -now, however bold your attempt." - -"Oh," I flushed, "it isn't to win your approval that I am here. You -have misunderstood me. It is to win, or rather to assure myself of your -disapproval. You see I'm not in favour of the marriage either." - -"You're not in favour of it?" Mrs. Sewall ejaculated. - -"I'm not in favour of it," I repeated. "Ruth doesn't love your -son. She's marrying for position--and I want to save her from such -unhappiness. I don't want her to marry any one she doesn't love," I -hastened to add. - -"Well, well," Mrs. Sewall interrupted, "this is a novel experience for -me. I wonder," she broke off in a sudden burst of friendliness, sarcasm -and patronage gone from her voice, "I wonder I never discovered you in -Hilton, Mrs. Maynard." Then she added with an amused twinkle in her -eyes, "You are rather unlike your very enterprising sister-in-law, Mrs. -Alexander Vars." - -"Yes," I smiled, "perhaps a little. I have rather old-fashioned ideas -on marriage, I suppose." - -"I trust," Mrs. Sewall went on, "that you are sincere in saying you are -opposed to this affair between your sister and my son." - -"Sincere? Oh, yes, truly. Perfectly sincere." I blushed in spite of -myself. - -"I believe you--oh, I believe you," Mrs. Sewall reassured me quickly. -"I know without your saying so that there may be other grounds why you -object to your sister's engagement. You know," she smiled, "there is a -different code of morals for every class of society that exists." - -"I know," I murmured. - -"But we won't go into that. It is sufficient that you _do_ object. -And now that we discover ourselves to be, instead of enemies, fellow -soldiers, fighting together on the same side for the same cause, I am -going to be very frank and tell you how low my ammunition is. I am -powerless to do anything to influence this affair, I fear. A mother's -wishes are of little account these days--my advice, my desires, not -worth consideration. There are some things, I am learning, that I -cannot control. A determined and hot-tempered young man in love with an -ambitious girl, who sees wealth and position in her lover's proposals, -is a combination beyond hope of breaking up." - -"Oh, no, it isn't," I interrupted. - -She shook her head. - -"I have opposed and opposed. My son knows my hostile and bitter -attitude toward the whole affair. It does not make the slightest dent -upon his intentions. I have talked by the hour; I have cajoled; I have -threatened; but to no avail. Mrs. Maynard, my son ought to marry a girl -with money. His fortune is greatly overestimated, and until he ran -across your sister again--oh, by the merest chance three months ago on -Fifth Avenue--he was devoted to his cousin, Miss Gale Oliphant, whom -you may have read about when she made her brilliant début last season. -I heartily approve of such a match--appropriate in every way." - -"Of course," I tucked in. "Why, Ruth has barely enough to buy her -necessary clothes." - -"Exactly," Mrs. Sewall sighed. "Oh, I don't know how it all will work -out; I really don't know. At least your sister is a nice girl. My son -might have chosen some one who wasn't educated or cultured--he has had -so many fancies--and I shall have the satisfaction also, I suppose, of -having avoided the notoriety of an elopement. My consent was forced -from me, but it seemed the only way." - -"Have you consented?" I asked alarmed. - -"Reluctantly. Why, I could do nothing else. Breckenridge threatened a -month ago that if I didn't consent he would elope with Miss Vars. At -least, if the marriage _must_ take place, it had better be decently. -When he disappeared from home a week ago, I thought the worst had -happened. I was so relieved when I placed my son at this hotel and -found he was still single, that I decided to accept the inevitable -with as much grace as possible now that I had been given a second -opportunity. Breckenridge says your sister will marry him at any time -if he but says the word, and he assures me he _will_ say it unless my -note of welcome reaches Miss Vars--to-morrow. So--" She shrugged her -shoulders. - -"That isn't true!" I replied. "Not a word of it! Ruth wouldn't elope -for anything in the world. She's awfully proud, Mrs. Sewall. I ought -not to have done it, but I listened to a private conversation between -Ruth and your son. I heard Ruth say, when your son suggested a secret -marriage, that the idea was absolutely insulting to her. She was -awfully angry, and that was only last night at eleven o'clock." - -"You heard her say that? Last night? You are sure?" - -"Yes," I went on quickly, "and what is more I heard her say she would -never marry Breck in this world till you accepted her publicly as his -fiancée. It was when I heard that, that I decided to come and talk with -you." - -"Breckenridge has been misrepresenting the situation," Mrs. Sewall -remarked. - -"Ruth _is_ ambitious," I went on. "Ruth _is_ fond of wealth and -position, but she's the proudest girl I ever knew. I thought if you -understood how important a part _you_ and your attitude played in the -engagement, you could act accordingly. Ruth would break it off herself, -if--it sounds awfully disloyal to her--but if you made the situation -uncomfortable enough for her. I'm sure of it." - -Mrs. Sewall got up and walked over to the little mahogany desk. - -"I was afraid the maid had already mailed it," she exclaimed, holding -up the little square envelope with Ruth's name and my address upon it. -"It was a note of--" she smiled wryly--"of welcome to your sister. How -fortunate," she added, "that you called just when you did. It throws a -different light on the matter." - -I remained with Mrs. Sewall until nearly twelve o'clock. We talked -the situation threadbare before I left. I told her all I knew of -Ruth's hopes and visions of the future. I repeated my sister's speech -to Will of the peculiar demands of her temperament. I discussed her -as freely as if she were a patient with important symptoms, and Mrs. -Sewall the physician. I explained the situation in Hilton, Edith's -influence upon Ruth, at what a high value my sister-in-law placed Mrs. -Sewall's recognition, how persistently she preached the advantage of a -connection by marriage. In the face of the force of Edith's influence, -I pointed out Ruth's saving traits of pride and self-esteem. Ruth was -as haughty as the highest. I enlarged on the absolute impossibility of -an elopement as far as my high-spirited sister was concerned. Oh, I -urged Ruth's humiliation as the only hope for success! - -Before I left I had the satisfaction of seeing Mrs. Sewall tear up my -sister's card of introduction to the Sewall family, and deposit the -remains in the waste-basket. As I rose to go Mrs. Sewall took my hand -in both of hers. Edith, I am sure, would have been surprised if she -could have witnessed such intimacy between grand Mrs. F. Rockridge -Sewall and Bobbikins. - -"I am so glad you came," she said. "I owe you so much. I haven't -entirely decided on my exact course, but if you later hear of my -opening Grassmere, do not be surprised. There may be method in my -madness." - -"I'll leave it all with you," I reassured her. "Only I hope you won't -make it any worse for Ruth than necessary." - -"I won't, my dear; and by the way, sometime when you are in Hilton, -will you let me know? Or by any chance in New York? After this we -surely must be friends." - -"Instead of connections?" I asked. - -"You would be delightful as both," she laughed, and I bade her -good-bye. - -I felt like a traitor that night at dinner. Ruth never seemed sweeter. -She had explained as she sat down to our evening meal that she was -going to visit with Will and me alone that night. She was returning to -Hilton in two days and she had told Breck that one evening at least, -she intended to devote to her sister. I felt dreadfully guilty. But -for me, her long-looked-for, much-coveted note of welcome from Mrs. -Sewall would now be on its way to her; but for me, her bright visions -of a social position being placed upon her head like a crown would have -become a reality. I wished she wouldn't keep on piling coals of fire -upon my head. She started in on her appreciation of my hospitality -right after dinner. She said she would always remember her nice little -breakfasts that I had served her in bed, whatever her future life might -be (and she implied that it promised to be rather grand); she remarked -she hoped I didn't believe all that she said to Will the first night -she was with us; she assured me that my quiet and gracious acceptance -of Breck had made an impression that she would never forget. She kissed -me good-night of her own accord. - -I told Will about my call on Mrs. Sewall as soon as we were safely in -our room. I wanted to get the secret knowledge of it off my mind. I was -beginning to feel a little apprehensive and doubtful. I really don't -know what right I have to snatch Ruth's life away from her and treat it -as if it were mine. But Will always reassures me. - -"Well," he said, "if you do succeed in breaking off this disreputable -affair, Lucy, I'll take off my hat to you, and so will Ruth--some day." - -"Oh, do you think she will?" I asked relieved. - -"Know it. My, but what a girl I did marry! You _do_ take the bull by -the horns. If you had had a son what a staver he would have been." - -I forgot Ruth and her affairs in a twinkling. - -I wilted like a flower plucked from its stem. - -"You used to say that in the simple future, and now it's past -subjunctive," I trembled. - -Will laughed at me. "Don't like my tenses! What a particular person! -Well, how's this? Here's a sentence in the simple present. It always -has been present tense, always will be present." He leaned and -whispered something in my ear. - -"Pooh!" I scoffed, smiling for his sake. "That's too easy. It's the -first tense of the first verb given in every grammar of every language -in the world!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - - -It was five months later, sometime during the last of September, that -I again heard directly from Ruth and her love-affair with Breckenridge -Sewall. - -Miss Kavenaugh, the dollar-and-a-half-a-day university seamstress, -had come to help me with my muslin curtains. Miss Kavenaugh is a very -much-sought-after lady, and when I am able to secure her for a day, -I give up everything else, sit down and sew with her. She plans, -cuts and bastes, and I run the chain-stitch machine like mad. We had -been working since eight A. M. in my darling new bedroom that looks -out on my row of late dahlias. I could hardly keep my eyes on the -machine-needle because of the distracting flame of several maple-trees -against some dark green cedars across the lake. Will and I had been in -our new house about two weeks and we adored it! I was perched on the -step-ladder at the particular moment the telephone bell rang, hanging -the last muslin curtain in the room we called Ruth's. Miss Kavenaugh -was puttering with the cretonne overhangings, pulling and patting them -as tenderly as if they had been dainty dresses hung up on forms. - -It was Ruth on the telephone calling me from town. - -"I'm in here shopping," she said. "Can you possibly come in and have -lunch? Do, if you can. I want to see you." - -Now whenever Ruth did honour me with an invitation to luncheon it was -in quite a different manner. To-day she actually asked me to set the -hour and seemed inclined to adapt her plans to mine. I didn't want to -leave Miss Kavenaugh in the least (she couldn't give me another day for -a week), but if Ruth was as anxious to see me as all that, I decided I -had better meet her if it broke a bone. I told her I would be at the -appointed place at one-thirty. - -Since June, Will and I had been buried in a little out-of-the-way spot -in Newfoundland. The few letters that I had received had scarcely -mentioned Ruth's affairs. Only one from my sister herself early in July -had given me any inkling that Mrs. Sewall was acting on my suggestion. -In that letter Ruth had briefly said that her engagement to Breck would -probably not be announced till fall, and asked me to say nothing about -the matter to any one. I was delighted not to. - -Ruth was looking as pretty as ever, when I finally found myself -sitting opposite to her at one of the side tables in the dining-room -of the only hotel in town where she will condescend to eat. If she had -anything of importance on her mind she certainly exhibited no outward -agitation. She was dressed in a scant, tailor-made white serge suit, -and had on a big, floppy, soft, fur-felt hat, which no other woman I -know would have attempted to wear. It was lavender in shade and the -brim drooped as if it had lost all its stiffening. Around the crushed -crown was tied a piece of hemp rope. I never saw a hat like it in -any shop. Ruth is always discovering odd, outlandish "shapes" in the -millinery line and trimming them up with things no one ever thought of -putting on a hat before. This particular creation looked as if it had -been blown on to Ruth's head, but I must say it had landed at just the -right angle to reveal a bit of her pretty hair, and to frame her face -in a halo of soft mauve. - -"What shall we eat?" asked Ruth in a bored little way, and tossed -me a menu. After we had decided on mock-turtle soup, sweet-breads -a-la-something, little peas, and Waldorf salad (Ruth isn't the kind -to pick up a ham-sandwich and cup of coffee at a lunch-counter, I can -tell you) and the superior-looking waiter had departed, Ruth opened her -shopping bag and tossed two dress samples down upon the white cloth. - -"What do you think of these?" she asked nonchalantly. - -I wondered if Ruth had dragged me all the way in town, occupied and -busy as I had been at home, to show me dress samples. Always the -psychological moment to share a confidence, or to announce a startling -piece of news, is after the waiter has departed with your order. But -Ruth took her own time. - -"I'm trying a new tailor," she went on. "I've ordered the -black-and-white stripe. It's very good in the piece. By the way, don't -you prefer butter without salt? Waiter!" Ruth is very imperious when -she is in a hotel. Clerks and maids and bell-boys simply fly to obey -when Ruth gives an order. We were supplied with crescents, corn-muffins -and slim brown-bread sandwiches, fresh butter, ice-water and two -napkins apiece, before a man lunching alone at the next table could get -his glass refilled. - -It wasn't until we were well started on our elaborate menu, that Ruth -thought best to gratify my curiosity. It was while she was pouring the -tea, and after I had given up hope that she had anything thrilling to -announce to me after all, that she asked, "Sugar, I believe?" and then -as she dropped one little crystal cube into the cup added, "Oh, by the -way, I've broken my engagement to Breck Sewall." - -I didn't show a trace of wonder or surprise. - -"Is that so?" I said, as if I didn't much care if she had, and then -after I had taken a swallow of tea I asked, "How did that happen?" - -"Oh, I simply decided to," Ruth replied shortly; and as if the subject -were closed, she inquired, "How's the new house?" - -I was simply aching to ask a few questions, but I didn't allow myself -even one. - -"Oh, it's very nice," I replied; "we've been in it two weeks now." - -"How did the lavender room turn out?" asked Ruth, travelling away as -fast as possible from the subject of her engagement. - -"_Your_ room, Ruth, you mean," I replied patiently. "Very well, I -think." - -"Is it finished yet? I mean could any one sleep in it--to-night?" - -"Will you come home with me, Ruth?" I asked eagerly. - -"I thought I might--possibly, if you'd like to have me, and if you -have an empty bed. At least," she added, "I'm not going back to The -Homestead." - -"Oh, you're not!" I replied, vaguely wondering if it were the tailor -who was keeping her or the manicurist. "Well, I can lend you a -nightgown and you can buy a tooth-brush." - -"Oh, my trunk is at the station," said Ruth. "I was determined to go -somewhere. You see things are not very pleasant for me just now in -Hilton. Besides, Edith and I have quarrelled." - -It wasn't very charitable to rejoice at such an announcement; it wasn't -very noble of me, I suppose, to delight that conditions at Hilton were -too disagreeable for Ruth to remain there; but remember I had always -wanted to shelter my sister--remember I had always been jealous of her -loyalty and devotion to Edith, and remember, also, ever since the plans -of our house had been put on paper, I had hoped and almost prayed that -_some one_ would wish to sleep in the southeast chamber. - -I reached for a biscuit to help conceal my feelings. - -"Well," I said steadily, "your room is ready, and you're free to use it -or not, as you wish." - -"It won't be for very long," apologised Ruth, "and perhaps I can -help you settle. You mustn't let me be the least bother. I haven't -forgotten, you know," she said smiling, "how to wipe dishes." - -"Didn't there used to be a lot of them in the old days at home," I -remarked. - -"And wasn't I horrid?" she followed up in a sudden burst of generosity. -"Wasn't I horrid about helping? I was never very nice to you, I'm -afraid, Lucy." - -"Of course you were!" I scoffed. - -"Oh, I know I wasn't, but you used to be awfully rabid. It seems to me -you've improved a great deal in that respect since you were married. -I noticed it when I visited you last spring." She stopped a moment. -Then, "I want to tell you," she went on, "that I think you were -awfully decent about Breck Sewall. You may not have liked him, but I -appreciated your not trying to urge and influence me, the way Will did. -If you had mixed yourself up in the affair too much I wouldn't feel -like coming to you now." - -I lowered my eyes as a hypocrite should. - -"Of course not," I murmured ashamed. - -Suddenly Ruth shoved her tea-cup to one side, her plate to the other, -and folding her hands on the table in front, abruptly launched out into -the midst of the details of her broken engagement. - -"Edith," she began, "is willing to humiliate herself to any degree for -the sake of a promotion in the social world. Now I'm too proud to stoop -to some things. Edith actually advised me to marry Breck without Mrs. -Sewall's approval. She said Mrs. Sewall would be sure to come around -once the affair was settled. Could you imagine me in such a position?" - -"Oh," I said, "didn't Mrs. Sewall approve?" - -"Haven't you heard?" asked Ruth. "Every one else has. It has been -anything but pleasant. When I wrote you that my engagement wouldn't -be announced till fall it was simply because I hadn't heard from Mrs. -Sewall. Breck said he hadn't told his mother and I believed him. She -was ill or something, and I was willing to wait until it seemed wise -to break the news to her. I was willing to meet her half-way, you -see. I meant to be patient with Mrs. Sewall. Of course I realise I -have no money nor position; but I won't be insulted by any one! She -opened Grassmere in August, and brought along with her a young niece -of hers, a Miss Oliphant--a silly creature, I thought; and she set in -entertaining for her as she's never entertained before. Hilton has -never been so gay, and everyone who was within the range of possibility -was invited to Grassmere--everybody except Edith and me. Think of it! -Think of the insult! It was the most pointed thing you ever saw. Edith -is simply furious. Mrs. Sewall avoids her everywhere she sees her, and -me too for that matter. _I_ don't mind so much. It is Edith whom it -stings so. _I_ simply long for a chance to cut Mrs. Sewall. That's _my_ -attitude. However I don't enjoy being gossiped about, and all Hilton is -buzzing. Oh, it's horrid!" - -"I should say so," I murmured, stunned by the disaster I had caused. - -"Well, during it all Breck has kept right on coming to see me--late -every night after his social engagements at Grassmere. That was the -feature I hated most, and the one that Edith, on the other hand, clung -to as our only hope of salvation. But I'm not the kind to become the -secret fancy of any man, even if he is the King of England. If I'm not -good enough for his mother to recognise, then I don't want anything of -him. Anyhow I consider myself, from the point of view of culture and -education, superior to the Sewalls!" - -"Of course," I agreed. - -"The whole thing has made me sick and tired of the social game," -ejaculated Ruth. "I don't believe there's any such thing as pure, -unadulterated friendship between people who are socially ambitious. -Why, some of the girls, who I thought were my best friends, have been -acting very cool and offish since they've observed Mrs. Sewall's -attitude towards me. And both Edith and I are omitted from lots of -other people's parties besides the Sewalls, simply because Mrs. -Sewall and Miss Oliphant are often the guests of honour. Oh, I think -that all women are vain and selfish and insincere, and, if sometimes -they _appear_ thoughtful or sacrificing, it's simply because such an -attitude toward someone will help them up another rung on the ladder. -I'd like to get away from society for a while. It almost seems," Ruth -added vehemently, "as if I'd like to enter a convent!" - -"Oh, I'm awfully sorry, Ruth," I began. - -"There's nothing for _you_ to be sorry about. You couldn't help it. If -I only had more money," Ruth went on, "I'd travel. I'd escape this sort -of life. But what can any one do on my income? Eight hundred dollars! -And I won't take any more from Edith." - -"Did you quarrel very badly?" I dared to ask. - -"Oh, quite. She went into an awful passion when I told her that I'd -broken the engagement. She called me a short-sighted little fool! -Breck, you see, wanted me to marry him in spite of his mother. Imagine -me eloping! I wouldn't do such a vulgar thing. Edith said that her -mother had run off with her father (imagine comparing me to that -impossible Mrs. Campbell!) and that if I didn't marry Breck everybody -would think _he_ had gotten tired of _me_--cast me off, and all that -sort of thing. I don't get angry often, but I gave Edith a piece of my -mind that I guess she'll remember for a long time, and Alec didn't like -it a bit. So this morning I just decided to decamp." - -"But of course Breck will follow you," I suggested cheerfully. - -"Oh, no, he won't. I've quarrelled with him too." Ruth smiled. "I -seem to have quarrelled with everybody. But Breck threatened, and -threats never have the least effect on me. He really did want to marry -me, in spite of what people said about his marked attentions to this -Oliphant girl. He was crazy to marry me. Things got to an awful pitch -of excitement and one night three days ago, he said that if I wouldn't -run off with him in the dark like some common girl in a newspaper -story, and get married by a country parson along the road somewhere, -he wasn't going to spend any more of his time waiting around. He said -that Gale--that's Miss Oliphant--would marry him, mother or no mother; -she had some heart and feeling in her. I told him that _I_ on the other -hand wouldn't lower my self-respect one iota, for love, or position, -or any other reason. And so ... well, here I am, with all my bridges -burned. By the way," Ruth broke off, "please don't ask me to discuss -this matter with Will. He was too intolerant last spring for me to care -to talk it over with him now." - -"You needn't mention it to him," I assured her. - -"You can imagine," said Ruth, "that I'm not feeling very much like -talking about it to any one." - -"I understand, and we won't refer to it at all. I know how hard it is, -Ruth,--but time--" - -"Oh, time!" replied my sophisticated sister. "There's no scar on my -heart for time to heal. You see now, don't you, how safe it is to keep -such affairs strictly in the region of one's head." - -Two or three weeks later I received a letter from Mrs. Sewall. I didn't -know her writing but I saw Grassmere engraved on the envelope, so I -suspected before I broke the seal. - - "_My dear Mrs. Maynard_, - - "You will be interested to know that the engagement of Miss Gale - Oliphant to my son is to be publicly announced on Wednesday next. - But for you I am afraid this very happy alliance might not have been - arranged. Relying absolutely on what you told me I could expect from - your sister I have acted on your suggestion, with these results. I was - sorry to treat so lovely a girl as your sister seems to be in so cruel - a manner, but such an object-lesson seemed to me the most effectual - way of showing what a future relation with me might prove to be. Let - me say I think she is a very fine-principled and high-minded girl, and - another season when I shall return to Grassmere with my son and his - bride I trust I may see a great deal of her. Another season I hope I - may set everything right with Mrs. Alexander Vars also, whom it seemed - necessary to sacrifice for a little while to our cause, if, in fact, I - cannot do something toward reparation this year in the few weeks left - before I return to New York. Let me add with all heartiness that I am - particularly anticipating the pleasure of entertaining, sometime soon, - an old fellow-soldier of mine. - - "Sincerely, - "FRANCES ROCKRIDGE SEWALL." - -"Take off your hat," I said to my husband late that night. "You -promised you would. The engagement is broken. Breck Sewall is going to -marry his cousin, and Ruth is in bed in the southeast chamber." - -During the weeks immediately following Ruth's decision in regard to -Breck Sewall, she became an absorbingly interesting proposition, -to herself. For the first month she wouldn't show any interest in -anything outside her own problem. Ruth has admirers where-ever she -goes and under any circumstances; and as soon as it was learned that -she was staying with me the telephone began to ring every day--the -door-bell every night or so with would-be suitors. But Ruth wouldn't -see any of her callers or accept any invitations. She assumed such a -blasé and indifferent attitude toward life that it worried me. She -used to take long walks alone over the hills and improvise by the -hour by firelight in our living-room. Evenings after dinner she spent -in her own room reading Marcus Aurelius, Omar Khayyam, Oscar Wilde -and Marie Bashkirtseff. I used to find the books missing from the -book-shelves, and discover them on the couch in Ruth's room later. A -drop-light arranged on a small table by the head of the couch, a soft -down quilt wrapped around a china-silk negligee, and Ruth nestled -down inside of all that, was the picture to which Will and I always -sang out good-night when we closed our door at ten P.M. She used to -devote several hours a day to writing, but whether it was a novel or -an epic poem that she was so busy about, I didn't know. She kept her -papers safely locked away in her trunk and I didn't like to intrude on -her intimacy. I think Ruth rather enjoyed herself during these first -days after the settlement of her affair with Breck. Her newly-won -independence, her freedom, brought about entirely by her own will -and volition, filled her with a little self-admiration. She appealed -to herself as rather an unique and remarkable young person, bearing -the interesting distinction of a broken engagement. She was young -and fresh and lovely, and belonged to no one; her future lay in her -own hands; she didn't know what she should do with it, but it was -hers--hers alone, and full of all sorts of exciting possibilities. - -"I don't want to see anything more of men for a long time," she would -say. "I haven't decided yet what I'm going to go into, but I want to -_do_ something. I want to see all sides of life. I have had enough of -society and bridge and silly girls who only want to get married. I'm -seriously considering settlement work in New York. Sometime I'd like to -go to Paris and study sculpture." - -At the end of Ruth's third week with us--one Saturday night, I believe -it was--the door-bell rang about eight o'clock. The maid answered it -and when she came upstairs and passed by the door of Will's study -(which is a little room over the front door and where we sit evenings) -I said with a sigh of relief, "Thank goodness, it's for Ruth. I did -want to finish this ruffle." And a moment later I added, "I wonder what -excuse she'll send down to-night." - -I was surprised five minutes later by Ruth's appearance in the doorway. -She had put on a favourite gown of hers--crow-black meteor satin, so -plain it had kind of a naked appearance, with a V-shaped neck that -showed a bit of Ruth's throat. There wasn't a scrap of any kind of -trimming on it. - -"Will you hook this up please?" she asked, and when I had finished, -"Thanks," she said, and with no explanation went downstairs. - -"I wonder who it can be!" I exclaimed after she had departed. "It's the -first one she has seen." - -Will looked up and smiled. - -"Oh, it's just a _man_. Rest assured that this pose of Ruth's can't -last much longer. Three weeks of a diet that excludes all forms of -masculine admiration is a long fast for Ruth. They'll be calling here -thick and fast now." - -But it wasn't just a man! About nine-thirty I stole down the back -stairs to get two pieces of chocolate cake and two glasses of milk for -Will and me. I peeked into the front hall before crawling back again. - -"Will," I said two minutes later, "leaning up against the Chippendale -chair in the hall is a man's walking-stick and it has got a plain -silver top like Bob Jennings'. I introduced Bob to Ruth last week at a -Faculty Tea and he walked home with her, before I was ready to leave. -It does seem odd that he didn't send cards up to us too, doesn't it?" - -It was almost eleven o'clock before I heard the front door close and -Ruth snapping off the lights in the living-room. Will was staying up -late to-night, and I had put on a soft wrapper and curled up in the -Morris-chair with a magazine. The door was slightly ajar, and as Ruth -passed it on her way to bed she stopped just outside, and asked softly: - -"Are you both still up?" - -"Surely," I replied. "Come in." - -She came over and stood by the table where Will was working. - -"Can you be torn away from your precious books for a while, Will?" she -asked sweetly. - -"Of course I can," he replied. - -"Because," Ruth went on, "I want to tell you something." She paused. - -"Yes?" encouraged Will. "Fire away." - -"I suppose," Ruth continued, "you two are wondering when I am going -home. I've been here nearly a month now and I ought to decide what I am -going to do. I'd like your advice if you're not too busy." - -"Certainly I'm not," Will responded heartily. - -Ruth can be very complimentary and deferential when she chooses. She -chose so to be now. Will closed his books. Ruth was standing by the -table; her tapering finger-tips just reached the mahogany surface, she -leaned lightly on them; her face was in the shadow, for the only light -was Will's low reading-lamp, and her arms suddenly appearing out of the -dark were startlingly white and pretty. - -"It was Mr. Jennings who called to-night," she went on. "I saw him -because he rather interested me last week when I met him at one of your -Faculty Teas. I was talking with him to-night a little about my life. -It came in after I had read him a few of my verses, which he said he -would be kind enough to give me his opinion about, when I told him last -week that I wrote a little. He suggested a plan that rather appealed -to me. I don't know what you think of it, but he says that there are a -lot of girls who take special courses here at Shirley (Shirley is the -girls' college connected with the university) and that, even though I'm -not a college girl, he thinks he could arrange for me to take a course -or two in poetry and literature. He wants me to develop my talent. -Oh, I'd love to do it!" Ruth exclaimed, suddenly enthusiastic. "Mr. -Jennings is _so_ encouraging! He thinks I really might write something -worth while some day. I've always thought that poetry was the very -highest form of expression. Mr. Jennings thinks so too. He says, Lucy, -that you attend certain courses connected with the university that -would be excellent for me. He says that I could go to some of those -afternoons with you perhaps. He's going to get the Shirley catalogue -and lay out a course of study for me. Do you suppose, Will, that you -could find a place for me to room somewhere around here?" - -"To room, Ruth? Why, we should want you to stay right here with us," I -exploded. - -"Oh, of course," Ruth scoffed, "I couldn't break in on you and Will -that way." - -"But, Ruth," I began. - -"Oh, no, Lucy, I wouldn't do that. I've been fifth wheel at The -Homestead for years, but I don't intend to be here." - -"Nonsense," said Will; "we'd like to have you. Lucy spent a lot of time -preparing that room you're in and--" - -"No. Please. I shan't listen. Why, you haven't even talked it over. -Wait till morning anyway. I simply came in to ask your advice on my -turning into a 'blue-stocking.' Do you think it absolutely ridiculous?" - -We thought it was splendid--both Will and I. We talked and planned -and built air-castles with Ruth till after midnight. She even read us -some of her pretty verses and before she went to bed at one A. M. she -had already become a poetess of renown with contributions appearing -frequently in the most exclusive magazines. - -A new-found genius slept in the southeast chamber that night, and at -seven A. M. when the sun and I crawled into her room together we found -her fast asleep with one hand tucked cosily under her cheek. Her hair, -which is neither blonde nor brown but kind of a dull mouse-colour and -almost mauve when she wears the right shade, was braided and flung up -back over the pillow. Upon the pillow beside her lay her left hand -upturned and free from jewellery of any kind. That upturned hand had -kind of an appealing, wistful expression about it that made me want to -cry. Somehow the sight of Ruth's bare unpromised hand making the only -dent on the surface of the pillow by her side filled me with a wave of -thanksgiving. She breathed softly, regularly, her violet-tinted eyelids -quivering a little, a half-smile lingering in the corners of her mouth. -A fly lit on Ruth's chin and, unmolested, walked audaciously up along -the flushed, velvety surface of her cheek. It stopped just beneath -her long-curved eyelashes. She didn't stir--just kept on with her -even, measured breathing and her steady sleep. I frightened that bold -creature away with a wave of my hand. I honestly believe that Breck -Sewall hadn't disturbed my sister any more than the fly on her cheek. -She seemed to me the most superbly virginal creature I had ever gazed -upon. - -I sat down and touched her shoulder softly. - -"It's morning," I said, and when she was entirely awake I continued, -"It's morning, and you wanted us to wait till morning. We've talked -it all over together alone and we both still want you to stay with -us as long as you possibly can. Why, Ruth, we built this room for -_you_--especially for _you_--and I do hope you'll like it well enough -to stay." - -"It's prettier than my room at Edith's," replied Ruth. Then suddenly -she put out her hand and touched my knee. "Lucy," she said, "I'm -_crazy_ to stay. I'd _hate_ a stuffy boarding-house." - -"Of course you would!" - -"This is so adorably fresh and clean and simple. Have you and Will -really talked it all over? I think I ought not to stay, but I'll -promise not to be the least bother in the world." - -"Bother!" I exclaimed. - -"I'll be busy with my studies daytimes and keep out of the way -evenings. Really," she asked, "do you want me?" - -"We really do," I said solemnly. - -She turned and suddenly sat up beside me on the edge of the bed. She -was a lovely creature with her long thick hair, her white arms, and her -pretty, soft, beribboned nightgown falling off one shoulder. She seemed -too lovely to be my sister. She flung one arm around my shoulders. - -"Lucy," she exclaimed, "from this time on, I'm going to be nice to you." - -I don't remember that Ruth had ever before put her arm around me of -her own accord. A lump came in my throat. Tears blinded me. I got up -hastily and began putting down the windows. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - - -If you want to know what became of Ruth I'll tell you--I'll tell you -right off. She fell in love with Bob Jennings. She fell awfully in love -with him--absorbingly, overwhelmingly in love. Ruth, the lofty, the -high, the pedestalled! Ruth who prided herself on her coolness and her -circumspection, Ruth who boasted that fate had foreordained a brilliant -marriage, lost her head over a young college instructor who taught -English composition to freshmen and sophomores, at a salary something -less than three thousand a year. It simply proves that the eternal -feminine will crop out, however much it has been choked and blighted, -just like a dry bulb that's been kept in a damp dark cellar all winter. -Once you put it in the sun and warmth, and give it a little water, it -just can't help but grow up bright and green--brilliant rank green, -full of juicy stalks and buds. Why, Ruth got to be such a normal sort -of girl that she blushed every time Bob's name was mentioned. Ruth the -invulnerable! She even lost her appetite--of all ordinary things--and -great circles appeared under her eyes. The most astounding feature to -me was that Ruth fell in love before she was asked to. Imagine that if -you can. Ruth the haughty! The bulb began to send out shoots like a -common onion or potato, before invited by the sun. Things came to such -a pass that Will finally touched on the delicate subject with Bob. We -thought the man must be blind, crazy or heartless, not to have seen -the tell-tale symptoms in Ruth's manner long before circles began to -appear. But Will found that Bob was simply penniless. This university -pays salaries about large enough to keep two canaries alive, and Bob -told Will that though he had loved Ruth ever since the day he first saw -her, he couldn't say a word to her about it, because he already had a -mother quite alone and dependent living with him, besides a sister he -was trying to put through college, and he knew Ruth was a girl who had -been used to luxuries. - -Bob is a kind of dreamy sort of man. He says the simplest things in -a way that thrills you. His letters, even his notes accepting dinner -invitations (and such are the only kind I have ever received) have a -kind of "way" with them--exclamation points here and there, single -words, capitalised and perioded, to express a whole sentence. Oh, Bob -is awfully individual; but he'll never be rich. He's a teacher, in the -first place; and in the second, he hasn't a father with a fortune. When -I realised that Ruth loved Bob Jennings, I was worried about those -demands of that temperament of hers--the soft-footed, unobtrusive -servants, the exquisite china, the fine lace, the dinners perfectly -served, all those expensive things that Bob couldn't supply in a -lifetime. If only Bob had had Breck's fortune, or Breck had had Bob's -poetic soul, everything would have been all right; for I am sure Ruth -would have eloped with Bob Jennings the first time he asked her. - -I realised that Ruth was thinking seriously about Bob Jennings when -she began inquiring of Will about the salaries of instructors at the -university. Later she asked me how much rents were, in this section -of the country. She was perfectly aware from the very beginning that -Bob earned just about enough to afford an apartment the size of -Oliver's and Madge's, which she had formerly pronounced "cunning" but -"impossible." If Ruth, as she boasted, confined matrimonial questions -to the region of her head she ought to have sent Bob on his way the -very instant that she learned these salient facts about him. But she -didn't. She kept right on seeing him, night after night, as if he were -a millionaire who could supply her every desire by merely dashing off -his signature. She kept on reading her poetry with him, discussing art -and literature by the hour, and quoting him to me all the next day as -if he were an authority. Ruth simply lost her equilibrium over Bob. I -don't believe she had ever seen a man like him before. He certainly is -different from Breck Sewall, packed with sentiment, full impressions -and delicate sensibilities. I overheard him talking with Ruth about -women smoking once. He said you might as well deface a beautiful -picture by painting cigarettes in the angels' mouths. I suppose it -might have been the fact of being classed with the angels that "took" -Ruth so. Anyhow she wanted Bob for her own, salary or no salary; she -wanted him so badly that we couldn't even joke on the subject in her -presence. By Christmas-time the situation was tragic. - -The quarrel with Edith, as all quarrels with Edith are sure to be, had -been of short duration. The fact that Mrs. Sewall had invited her to -assist at a tea before her final departure from Hilton had assuaged -her grievances somewhat in that quarter. Moreover a startling piece -of news in the New York papers in early December, ten days before the -Oliphant-Sewall wedding was to take place, had vindicated Ruth's course -of action even in Edith's eyes, beyond a shadow of doubt. It seems that -there was already a Mrs. Breckenridge Sewall. Breck had, after all, -been more decent than Will thought. He had married the girl whom he had -known in college, and it was she who was now bringing suit against the -groom-to-be. So as there existed nothing but kindly feelings between -Edith and Ruth now, there was no reason why Ruth should not have spent -the holidays in Hilton, but she simply wouldn't give up a single hour -with Bob Jennings. He always came Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays and -Sundays. Our electric-light bill, dim as Ruth prefers the room to be, -was a dollar extra a month, after Bob began to call. - -I was glad to have Ruth with me during the Christmas vacation. -Otherwise I should have been all alone. Early in December Will had gone -to a medical conference of some kind in Chicago, and just as he was -about to start for home, some big physician out there called him in, in -consultation, on the case of a little boy, who had some awful thing the -matter with his spine. He was the son of a millionaire, and experts and -specialists from all over the country had given up hope of recovery. -The father was just about crazy and when Will suggested some radical -treatment of his own which he had tried out successfully on one of -our little guinea-pigs, he wrote that that father simply clung to him -bodily, got hold of him with his hands and told him he could have every -cent of money that he possessed in the world if he'd only give him -back his son. So Will stayed. He would have stayed if the man had been -a pauper, if he'd loved his little boy like that. You see it is just -the way Will would feel about _his_ son. He understood. I wanted him -to stay too. I was only sorry that, after all the long nights he had -to sit up by the little chap's bed (for first there was an operation -before Will began his treatment; and Will wouldn't leave much to the -nurses), after the weary nights, the doubtful dawns, the long uncertain -journey to the day of the crisis, I was only sorry that Will couldn't -bring the little boy he saved home with him (if he saved him) for ours -to keep and love. He fought for the life of that child. He wanted it to -live awfully; and I, hundreds of miles away, would wake often in the -night during the long struggle--at three, at four, at seven when it -grows light--and wonder, and hope, and, I suppose you'd call it, pray. - -It was just before Christmas that my dread and fear about that little -boy's life in Chicago became intermingled with a thrilling hope -that was very much nearer home. My startling realisation came so -unexpectedly to me after all the waiting, so undreamed, so miraculously -a gift of heaven, that I couldn't believe at first that there was any -real substantial fact about it. I couldn't, or I wouldn't, I don't know -which. I dreaded disappointment. But oh, the mere possibility of such -a joy being mine at last, made me so happy that I couldn't help but -show a jubilant spirit in my letters. I wrote to Will that somehow, -suddenly, I felt that that little boy out there was going to get well; -I'd been as doubtful as he last week, but now, unaccountably, I was -sure that the dear little fellow was going to live to grow up. I -didn't tell Will _why_ I felt so (it was such a silly woman's reason) -but I kept on writing it over and over again, every day, as I woke each -morning with the reassurance that the thing I wanted more than anything -in the world was coming true. - -I never thought I was superstitious, but you know how over-particular -and over-careful you are about anything that's awfully important. Your -anxiety borders on superstition before you know it, and when somebody -accuses you, you simply don't care, you're so eager to have everything -propitious. Well, I somehow got to believing that that child's life -in Chicago that Will was striving so hard to save and the life of my -hidden joy had something to do with each other. The idea obsessed me; -I couldn't get it out of my head, fanatical and ridiculous as I knew a -sensible person would call it, and I kept writing to Will as if that -millionaire's son were mine. Will said it was a good thing that he -wasn't a practising physician if I took his cases so much to heart as -all that; but, just the same, he told me that my letters did fill him -with hope and courage. - -All during this period, while Ruth was eating out her soul for Bob, and -Will was eating out his soul for the little sick boy, and I was eating -out my soul for a gift I'd have died to possess for a day, no one would -have guessed from Ruth's and my pleasant good-mornings, our casual -calm and undisturbed conversations at meal-time, and Will's cheerful -paragraphs, that we were all living through crises. Ruth and I with our -anxieties grew very near to each other at this time. She was a lot of -comfort to me and I tried to appreciate the feelings of a proud girl -in love with a man who has not spoken. During the evenings that Bob -called I sat up alone in Will's study, embroidering a centrepiece for -the dining-room table. Evening after evening my fingers fairly ached to -get out the rustling tissue paper patterns that Madge had left. But I -wouldn't let myself--I wasn't going to be heart-broken--I wouldn't let -myself put a needle to a single bit of nainsook. - -It was on Saturday, January fifteenth, at ten o'clock at night, that -Will's special delivery letter came. My fingers trembled as they tore -at the envelope. I closed the study door to be alone. "If the little -boy has died," I said out loud, "I mustn't be superstitious. I simply -mustn't." But oh, he hadn't died! He hadn't died! Will's letter was one -triumphant song from beginning to end. The little boy had passed the -crisis; he was going to live; and live strong and well and normal. The -miracle had been performed; the serum had done its magic part; there -had been just the response that Will had dared to rely on; everything -had been gloriously successful; and he was coming home in five days! - -I let myself be just as superstitious then as I wanted. I had said if -that little sick boy lived, so would my hopes, and I believed it. I -lit a candle and went up into the unfinished part of our attic where -there is a lot of old furniture packed away. It's rather a spooky -place in the dark, and cold too, but I didn't notice it to-night. 'Way -over in the corner stood the little old-fashioned cradle that belonged -to Will's mother--one of those low, wooden-hooded ones with rockers, -that you can rock with one foot. I had always planned to use that. -It's so quaint and dear and old-fashioned. In the cradle in a green -pasteboard box was a whole bundle of Will's baby-clothes--the queerest, -finest little hand-made muslin shirts, and dresses with a lot of stiff -embroidery and ruffles. - -I had no idea what time it was when later I heard Ruth calling me from -below. - -"Lucy, Lucy! Are you up there?" - -"Yes," I answered. "What time is it?" - -"Why, it's after midnight! _What_ are you doing?" - -"Oh, looking up some old stuff. I'll be right down." - -I met her on the stairs. I felt guilty. I was afraid that joy was -written all over my face. I might as well have just left the arms of a -lover. - -"Oh, Ruth," I exclaimed, "isn't it _fine_? That little boy in Chicago -is going to live! I've had a special delivery from Will. Isn't it -_great_? He's going to get well!" - -"That's splendid," said Ruth, and then, eyes sparkling, voice -trembling, she exploded, "Oh, Lucy, Bob has just gone! We're engaged!" - -I blew out the candle for safety's sake, and put my arms about my -sister. - -"Really, Ruth?" I exclaimed, and we sat down side by side on the dark -stairs. - -"He's cared for me all along, _all_ the fall--_all this time_! Of -course we both couldn't help but know it! But Bob--he's just that -honourable he wouldn't say a word till he told me all about his -circumstances and--everything. Circumstances! Oh, dear, I--What do you -think of Bob, Lucy?" she broke off. - -"I've always said that, next to Will, I'd rather marry Bob than any man -I've known," I replied heartily. - -"And does Will like him?" quivered Ruth. - -"Will calls Bob the salt of the earth. _Everybody_ likes Bob Jennings, -Ruth!" - -"I know they do. I know it. I don't see how I ever got him. You know -all the men in his classes simply adore him! His courses are awfully -popular. He's going to have juniors and seniors next year. The -President stopped Bob the other day in the street and complimented him -on his work. Oh, Bob is going to go right to the top! And he isn't a -bit spoiled. His dear old silver-haired mother worships him just like -everybody else. Do you know, Bob was afraid I wouldn't want her to live -with us--she's the loveliest old lady--of course I do! And he thought, -besides, I'd hate an apartment and one maid. But he didn't know me. -My nature isn't the kind that requires 'Things.' If it didn't have -sympathy and understanding and inspiration, it's the kind that would -simply shrivel up and die. But Bob, he responds in just the right way, -to every side of my temperament. It's wonderful!" - -"Isn't it?" I agreed. "Why, we're all happy to-night! Will because of -the little boy, and you because of Bob, and I because--" I hesitated -just a moment, and then in the pitch-dark of the back stairs I confided -to Ruth, "because the southeast chamber has a waiting-list." - -"A waiting-list?" queried Ruth. - -"Yes, I was upstairs when you called, seeing if Will's little -old-fashioned mahogany cradle would do." - -"Oh, really!" said Ruth not very much impressed after all. "Of course. -My room _was_ meant to be the nursery. I remember now. Well, I suppose -you're glad, and there'll be a vacancy all right for some one to fill -in June. We're going to be married right after Commencement. We've got -it all planned. Isn't it exciting?" she exclaimed, eager on the trail -of her own happiness. "We're not going to Europe, or anything grand -like that. We're going to begin by saving. With my eight hundred a year -and Bob's salary, and a little he has besides, our income will be about -four thousand. We're going to have a lovely honeymoon! Bob likes the -word 'honeymoon' though no one uses it now. Bob's so funny! We're going -to camp out all alone for a whole month on a little lake we know about -in the Adirondacks and I'm going to cook while he cuts wood. Bob didn't -know I could cook. Why, he was awfully surprised when he discovered how -practical I am, and that I trim all my own hats even now. Lucy, don't -you think that Bob's _awfully_ nice-looking?" she asked and pressed my -hand. - -"Yes I do. I've always told Will that Bob was the best-looking man on -the faculty," I replied and pressed back. - -An hour later we groped down the stairs together. It was two o'clock in -the morning. The light in the study was still going and I went in and -turned it off. - -At my door Ruth begged, "Come on into my bed, Lucy. I shall never be -able to get to sleep to-night." - -"All right. In five minutes," I agreed. - -When I went into Ruth's room she was sitting by the window ready for -bed, her long hair braided, and a knitted worsted shawl wrapped around -her white shoulders. - -"Well, Ruth, it's half-past two," I said. - -"Bob's coming at nine o'clock, before his first recitation," remarked -Ruth dreamily. "That's six hours, isn't it?" - -"And a half," I smiled. - -"Oh, Lucy," suddenly exclaimed Ruth, standing up before me, "I'm -terribly happy!" - -"Are you? Well, so am I!" I replied. - -"It just seems as if I'd have to open a window and let off steam -somehow!" said Ruth. - -"Well, let's!" said I. - - -THE END - - * * * * * - - - JOHN FOX, JR'S. - - STORIES OF THE KENTUCKY MOUNTAINS - -May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list. - - - THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE. - - Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. - -[Illustration] - -The "lonesome pine" from which the story takes its name was a tall tree -that stood in solitary splendor on a mountain top. The fame of the pine -lured a young engineer through Kentucky to catch the trail, and when -he finally climbed to its shelter he found not only the pine but the -_foot-prints of a girl_. And the girl proved to be lovely, piquant, and -the trail of these girlish foot-prints led the young engineer a madder -chase than "the trail of the lonesome pine." - - - THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COME. - - Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. - -This is a story of Kentucky, in a settlement known as "Kingdom Come." -It is a life rude, semi-barbarous; but natural and honest, from which -often springs the flower of civilization. - -"Chad," the "little shepherd" did not know who he was nor whence he -came--he had just wandered from door to door since early childhood, -seeking shelter with kindly mountaineers who gladly fathered and -mothered this waif about whom there was such a mystery--a charming -waif, by the way, who could, play the banjo better that anyone else in -the mountains. - - - A KNIGHT OF THE CUMBERLAND. - - Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. - -The scenes are laid along the waters of the Cumberland the lair of -moonshiner and feudsman. The knight is a moonshiner's son, and the -heroine a beautiful girl perversely christened "The Blight." Two -impetuous young Southerners' fall under the spell of "The Blight's" -charms and she learns what a large part jealousy and pistols have in -the love making of the mountaineers. - -Included in this volume is "Hell fer-Sartain" and other stories, some -of Mr. Fox's most entertaining Cumberland valley narratives. - - -_Ask for complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_ - -GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK - - - - - STORIES OF RARE CHARM BY - - GENE STRATTON-PORTER - -May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list. - - - THE HARVESTER. - - Illustrated by W. L. Jacobs - -[Illustration] - -"The Harvester," David Langston, is a man of the woods and fields, who -draws his living from the prodigal hand of Mother Nature herself. If -the book had nothing in it but the splendid figure of this man, with -his sure grip on life, his superb optimism, and his almost miraculous -knowledge of nature secrets, it would be notable. But when the Girl -comes to his "Medicine Woods," and the Harvester's whole sound, -healthy, large outdoor being realizes that this is the highest point -of life which has come to him--there begins a romance, troubled and -interrupted, yet of the rarest idyllic quality. - - - FRECKLES. Decorations by E. Stetson Crawford - -Freckles is a nameless waif when the tale opens, but the way in which -he takes hold of life; the nature friendships he forms in the great -Limberlost Swamp; the manner in which everyone who meets him succumbs -to the charm of his engaging personality; and his love-story with "The -Angel" are full of real sentiment. - - - A GIRL OF THE LIMBERLOST. - - Illustrated by Wladyslaw T. Brenda. - -The story of a girl of the Michigan woods; a buoyant, lovable type of -the self-reliant American. Her philosophy is one of love and kindness -towards all things; her hope is never dimmed. And by the sheer beauty -of her soul, and the purity of her vision, she wins from barren and -unpromising surroundings those rewards of high courage. - -It is an inspiring story of a life worth while and the rich beauties of -the out-of-doors are strewn through all its pages. - - - AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW. - - Illustrations in colors by Oliver Kemp. Design and decorations by - Ralph Fletcher Seymour. - -The scene of this charming, idyllic love story is laid in Central -Indiana. The story is one of devoted friendship, and tender -self-sacrificing love; the friendship that gives freely without return, -and the love that seeks first the happiness of the object. The novel is -brimful of the most beautiful word painting of nature, and its pathos -and tender sentiment will endear it to all. - - -_Ask for complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_ - -GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK - - - - - MYRTLE REED'S NOVELS - -May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. - - - LAVENDER AND OLD LACE. - -[Illustration] - -A charming story of a quaint corner of New England where bygone romance -finds a modern parallel. The story centers round the coming of love -to the young people on the staff of a newspaper--and it is one of the -prettiest, sweetest and quaintest of old fashioned love stories, * * * -a rare book, exquisite in spirit and conception, full of delicate -fancy, of tenderness, of delightful humor and spontaneity. - - - A SPINNER IN THE SUN. - -Miss Myrtle Reed may always be depended upon to write a story in -which poetry, charm, tenderness and humor are combined into a clever -and entertaining book. Her characters are delightful and she always -displays a quaint humor of expression and a quiet feeling of pathos -which give a touch of active realism to all her writings. In "A Spinner -in the Sun" she tells an old-fashioned love story, of a veiled lady who -lives in solitude and whose features her neighbors have never seen. -There is a mystery at the heart of the book that throws over it the -glamour of romance. - - - THE MASTER'S VIOLIN. - -A love story in a musical atmosphere. A picturesque, old German -virtuoso is the reverent possessor of a genuine "Cremona." He consents -to take for his pupil a handsome youth who proves to have an aptitude -for technique, but not the soul of an artist. The youth has led the -happy, careless life of a modern, well-to-do young American and he -cannot, with his meagre past, express the love, the passion and the -tragedies of life and all its happy phases as can the master who has -lived life in all its fulness. But a girl comes into his life--a -beautiful bit of human driftwood that his aunt had taken into her -heart and home, and through his passionate love for her, he learns the -lessons that life has to give--and his soul awakes. - -Founded on a fact that all artists realize. - - -_Ask for a complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_ - -GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK - - - - - GROSSET & DUNLAP'S - - DRAMATIZED NOVELS - - THE KIND THAT ARE MAKING THEATRICAL HISTORY - -May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. - - - WITHIN THE LAW. By Bayard Veiller & Marvin Dana. - - Illustrated by Wm. Charles Cooke. - -This is a novelization of the immensely successful play which ran for -two years in New York and Chicago. - -The plot of this powerful novel is of a young woman's revenge directed -against her employer who allowed her to be sent to prison for three -years on a charge of theft, of which she was innocent. - - - WHAT HAPPENED TO MARY. By Robert Carlton Brown. - - Illustrated with scenes from the play. - -This is a narrative of a young and innocent country girl who is -suddenly thrown into the very heart of New York, "the land of her -dreams," where she is exposed to all sorts of temptations and dangers. - -The story of Mary is being told in moving pictures and played in -theatres all over the world. - - - THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM. By David Belasco. - - Illustrated by John Rae. - -This is a novelization of the popular play in which David Warfield, as -Old Peter Grimm, scored such a remarkable success. - -The story is spectacular and extremely pathetic but withal, powerful, -both as a book and as a play. - - - THE GARDEN OF ALLAH. By Robert Hichens. - -This novel is an intense, glowing epic of the great desert, sunlit -barbaric, with its marvelous atmosphere of vastness and loneliness. - -It is a book of rapturous beauty, vivid in word painting. The play has -been staged with magnificent cast and gorgeous properties. - - - BEN HUR. A Tale of the Christ. By General Lew Wallace. - -The whole world has placed this famous Religious-Historical Romance on -a height of pre-eminence which no other novel of its time has reached. -The clashing of rivalry and the deepest human passions, the perfect -reproduction of brilliant Roman life, and the tense, fierce atmosphere -of the arena have kept their deep fascination. A tremendous dramatic -success. - - - BOUGHT AND PAID FOR. By George Broadhurst and Arthur Hornblow. - Illustrated with scenes from the play. - -A stupendous arraignment of modern marriage which has created an -interest on the stage that is almost unparalleled. The scenes are laid -in New York, and deal with conditions among both the rich and poor. - -The interest of the story turns on the day-by-day developments which -show the young wife the price she has paid. - - -_Ask for complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_ - -GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK - - - - - GROSSET & DUNLAP'S - - DRAMATIZED NOVELS - -Original, sincere and courageous--often amusing--the kind that are -making theatrical history. - - - MADAME X. By Alexandre Bisson and J. W. McConaughy. Illustrated with - scenes from the play. - -A beautiful Parisienne became an outcast because her husband would not -forgive an error of her youth. Her love for her son is the great final -influence in her career. A tremendous dramatic success. - - - THE GARDEN OF ALLAH. By Robert Hichens. - -An unconventional English woman and an inscrutable stranger meet and -love in an oasis of the Sahara. Staged this season with magnificent -cast and gorgeous properties. - - - THE PRINCE OF INDIA. By Lew. Wallace. - -A glowing romance of the Byzantine Empire, presenting with -extraordinary power the siege of Constantinople, and lighting its -tragedy with the warm underglow of an Oriental romance. As a play it is -a great dramatic spectacle. - - - TESS OF THE STORM COUNTRY. By Grace Miller White. Illust. by Howard - Chandler Christy. - -A girl from the dregs of society, loves a young Cornell University -student, and it works startling changes in her life and the lives of -those about her. The dramatic version is one of the sensations of the -season. - - - YOUNG WALLINGFORD. By George Randolph Chester. Illust. by F. R. Gruger - and Henry Raleigh. - -A series of clever swindles conducted by a cheerful young man, each -of which is just on the safe side of a State's prison offence. As -"Get-Rich-Quick Wallingford," it is probably the most amusing expose of -money manipulation ever seen on the stage. - - - THE INTRUSION OF JIMMY. By P. G. Wodehouse. Illustrations by Will - Grefe. - -Social and club life in London and New York, an amateur burglary -adventure and a love story. Dramatized under the title of "A Gentleman -of Leisure," it furnishes hours of laughter to the play-goers. - - -GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK - - - - - B. M. Bower's Novels - - Thrilling Western Romances - - Large 12 mos. Handsomely bound in cloth. Illustrated - - - CHIP, OF THE FLYING U - -A breezy wholesome tale, wherein the love affairs of Chip and Delia -Whitman are charmingly and humorously told. Chip's jealousy of Dr. -Cecil Grantham, who turns out to be a big, blue eyed young woman is -very amusing. A clever, realistic story of the American Cow-puncher. - - - THE HAPPY FAMILY - -A lively and amusing story, dealing with the adventures of eighteen -jovial, big hearted Montana cowboys. Foremost amongst them, we find -Ananias Green, known as Andy, whose imaginative powers cause many -lively end exciting adventures. - - - HER PRAIRIE KNIGHT - -A realistic story of the plains, describing a gay party of Easterners -who exchange a cottage at Newport for the rough homeliness of a Montana -ranch-house. The merry-hearted cowboys, the fascinating Beatrice, and -the effusive Sir Redmond, become living, breathing personalities. - - - THE RANGE DWELLERS - -Here are everyday, genuine cowboys, just as they really exist. Spirited -action, a range feud between two families, and a Romeo and Juliet -courtship make this a bright, jolly, entertaining story, without a dull -page. - - - THE LURE OF DIM TRAILS - -A vivid portrayal of the experience of an Eastern author, among the -cowboys of the West, in search of "local color" for a new novel. "Bud" -Thurston learns many a lesson while following "the lure of the dim -trails" but the hardest, and probably the most welcome, is that of love. - - - THE LONESOME TRAIL - -"Weary" Davidson leaves the ranch for Portland, where conventional -city life palls on him. A little branch of sage brush, pungent with -the atmosphere of the prairie, and the recollection of a pair of large -brown eyes soon compel his return. A wholesome love story. - - - THE LONG SHADOW - -A vigorous Western story, sparkling with the free, outdoor, life of a -mountain ranch. Its scenes shift rapidly and its actors play the game -of life fearlessly and like men. It is a fine love story from start to -finish. - - -Ask for a complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction. - -GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK - - - - - THE NOVELS OF - - STEWART EDWARD WHITE - - - THE RULES OF THE GAME. Illustrated by Lajaren A. Hiller - -The romance of the son of "The Riverman." The young college hero goes -into the lumber camp, is antagonized by "graft" and comes into the -romance of his life. - - - ARIZONA NIGHTS. Illus. and cover inlay by N. C. Wyeth. - -A series of spirited tales emphasizing some phases of the life of the -ranch, plains and desert. A masterpiece. - - - THE BLAZED TRAIL. With illustrations by Thomas Fogarty. - -A wholesome story with gleams of humor, telling of a young man who -blazed his way to fortune through the heart of the Michigan pines. - - - THE CLAIM JUMPERS. A Romance. - -The tenderfoot manager of a mine in a lonesome gulch of the Black Hills -has a hard time of it but "wins out" in more ways than one. - - - CONJUROR'S HOUSE. Illustrated Theatrical Edition. - - Dramatized under the title of "The Call of the North." - -Conjuror's House is a Hudson Bay trading post where the head factor is -the absolute lord. A young fellow risked his life and won a bride on -this forbidden land. - - - THE MAGIC FOREST. A Modern Fairy Tale. Illustrated. - -The sympathetic way in which the children of the wild and their life -is treated could only belong to one who is in love with the forest and -open air. Based on fact. - - - THE RIVERMAN. Illus. by N. C. Wyeth and C. Underwood. - -The story of a man's fight against a river and of a struggle between -honesty and grit on the one side, and dishonesty and shrewdness on the -other. - - - THE SILENT PLACES. Illustrations by Philip R. Goodwin. - -The wonders of the northern forests, the heights of feminine devotion, -and masculine power, the intelligence of the Caucasian and the instinct -of the Indian, are all finely drawn in this story. - - - THE WESTERNERS. - -A story of the Black Hills that is justly placed among the best -American novels. It portrays the life of the new West as no other book -has done in recent years. - - - THE MYSTERY. In collaboration with Samuel Hopkins Adams - With illustrations by Will Crawford. - -The disappearance of three successive crews from the stout ship -"Laughing Lass" in mid-Pacific, is a mystery weird and inscrutable. In -the solution, there is a story of the most exciting voyage that man -ever undertook. - - -GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK - - - - - STORIES OF WESTERN LIFE - -May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list - - - RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE, By Zane Grey. - - Illustrated by Douglas Duer. - -In this picturesque romance of Utah of some forty years ago, we are -permitted to see the unscrupulous methods employed by the invisible -hand of the Mormon Church to break the will of those refusing to -conform to its rule. - - - FRIAR TUCK, By Robert Alexander Wason. - - Illustrated by Stanley L. Wood. - -Happy Hawkins tells us, in his humorous way, how Friar Tuck lived among -the Cowboys, how he adjusted their quarrels and love affairs and how he -fought with them and for them when occasion required. - - - THE SKY PILOT, By Ralph Connor. - - Illustrated by Louis Rhead. - -There is no novel, dealing with the rough existence of cowboys, so -charming in the telling, abounding as it does with the freshest and the -truest pathos. - - - THE EMIGRANT TRAIL, By Geraldine Bonner. - - Colored frontispiece by John Rae. - -The book relates the adventures of a party on its overland pilgrimage, -and the birth and growth of the absorbing love of two strong men for a -charming heroine. - - - THE BOSS OF WIND RIVER, By A. M. Chisholm. - - Illustrated by Frank Tenney Johnson. - -This is a strong, virile novel with the lumber industry for its central -theme and a love story full of interest as a sort of subplot. - - - A PRAIRIE COURTSHIP, By Harold Bindloss. - -A story of Canadian prairies in which the hero is stirred, through -the influence of his love for a woman, to settle down to the heroic -business of pioneer farming. - - - JOYCE OF THE NORTH WOODS, By Harriet T. Comstock. - - Illustrated by John Cassel. - -A story of the deep woods that shows the power of love at work among -its primitive dwellers. It is a tensely moving study of the human heart -and its aspirations that unfolds itself through thrilling situations -and dramatic developments. - - -_Ask for a complete free list of C. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_ - -GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK - - * * * * * - -Transcriber's Notes - - --Quotation marks in the letters have been retained as published. - --Variations in hyphenation have been maintained. - --Assumed printer's errors have been changed. - --Italicized words and phrases are presented by surrounding - the text with _underscores_. - - * * * * * - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Bobbie, General Manager, by Olive Higgins Prouty - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BOBBIE, GENERAL MANAGER *** - -***** This file should be named 53891-8.txt or 53891-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/8/9/53891/ - -Produced by Alan and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from -images generously made available by The Internet -Archive/American Libraries.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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