diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/60469-8.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/60469-8.txt | 5360 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 5360 deletions
diff --git a/old/60469-8.txt b/old/60469-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 396dcc1..0000000 --- a/old/60469-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5360 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Hundred and Other Stories, by Gertrude Hall Brownell - -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: The Hundred and Other Stories - -Author: Gertrude Hall Brownell - -Release Date: October 11, 2019 [EBook #60469] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HUNDRED AND OTHER STORIES *** - - - - -Produced by Carlos Colon, the University of California 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.) - - - - - - - - - - -/$ - [Illustration: - - Page 140 - "SHE LOOKED AT HIM A LONG MOMENT WITH FIXED EYES"] -$/ - - - - -/$ - The Hundred - and Other Stories - - - _By GERTRUDE HALL_ - - - WITH ILLUSTRATIONS - - - [Illustration] - - - NEW YORK AND LONDON - HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS - 1898 -$/ - - - - -/$ - Copyright, 1898, by HARPER & BROTHERS. - - _All rights reserved._ -$/ - - - - -/$ - TO - - MY MOTHER -$/ - - - - -CONTENTS - - -/$ - PAGE - - THE HUNDRED 1 - - THE PASSING OF SPRING 59 - - PAULA IN ITALY 104 - - DORASTUS 142 - - CHLOE, CHLORIS, AND CYTHEREA 204 -$/ - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS - - -/$ - "SHE LOOKED AT HIM A LONG MOMENT - WITH FIXED EYES" _Frontispiece_ - - "SHE LET BONNET HAVE ONE OF HER - ARMS" _Facing page_ 6 - - "AT LAST THEY WERE GONE" " 10 - - "PAULA HERSELF SAT BY THE WINDOW" " 130 -$/ - - - - -/$ - THE HUNDRED - AND OTHER STORIES -$/ - - - - -THE HUNDRED - - -Mrs. Darling was dining from home, and every heart in her little -establishment rejoiced over the circumstance, for it meant less work -for everybody, with an opportunity to enjoy Christmas Eve on his own -account. - -Mrs. Bonnet, the lady's-maid, with the plans she had in mind for the -evening, was scarcely annoyed at all when her mistress scolded because -the corset-lace had got itself in a knot. - -The chamber was full of a delicate odor of iris. The gas-globes at the -ends of their jointed gold arms looked like splendid yellow pearls; on -the dressing-table under them glittered a quantity of highly embossed -silverware, out of all reasonable proportion with the little person -owning it, who sat before the mirror beautifying her finger-nails -while Mrs. Bonnet did her hair. - -"Mind what you are about," the mistress murmured, diligently polishing. - -Mrs. Bonnet instantly removed the hot tongs from the tress she was -twisting, and caught it again with greater precaution. - -"Mind what you are about," warned Mrs. Darling, somewhat louder, a -beginning of acid in her voice. - -Mrs. Bonnet again disengaged the hair from the tongs, and after a -little pause, during which to make firm her nerve, with infinite -solicitude took hold again of the golden strand, and would have waved -it, but-- - -"Mind what you are about!" almost screamed little Mrs. Darling. "Didn't -I _tell_ you to be careful? You have been pulling right along at the -same hair! _Do_ consider that it is a human scalp, and not a _wig_ you -are dealing with! Bonny, you are not a bad woman, but you will wear me -out. Come, go on with it; it is getting late." - -Before the hair-dressing was accomplished Mrs. Darling rolled up her -eyes--her blue eyes, round and angelic as they could sometimes be--at -the reflection of Mrs. Bonnet's face in the mirror, and said, meekly: -"Bonny, do you think that black moiré of mine would make over nicely -for you? I am going to give it to you. No, don't thank me--it makes me -look old. Now my slippers." - -While Bonnet was forcing the shoe on her fat little foot, Mrs. -Darling's glance rested, perhaps by chance, on a photograph that leaned -against the clock over the mantelpiece. It was that of a still young, -well-looking man, whose face wore an unmistakable look of goodness, of -the kind that made it what one expected to read under it in print--the -Rev. Dorel Goodhue. There was another more conspicuous man-photograph -in the room, on the dressing-table, in a massive frame that matched the -toilet accessories. It stood there always, airing a photographic smile -among the brushes and hand-glasses and pin-boxes. - -"I suppose," said Mrs. Darling, while she braced herself against Bonnet -to help get the small shoe on--"I suppose I have a very bad temper!" -and she laughed in such a sensible, natural, good-natured way any -one must have felt that her exhibition of a moment before had been a -sort of joke. "Tell the truth, Bonny: if every mistress had to have a -certificate from her maid, you would give me a pretty bad one, wouldn't -you? But I was abominably brought up. I used to slap my governesses. -And I have had all sorts of illnesses; trouble, too. And I mostly -don't mean anything by it. It is just nerves. Poor Bonny! I treat you -shamefully, don't I?" - -"Oh, ma'am," said the lady's-maid, expanding in the light of this -uncommon familiarity, "I would give you a character as would make it -no difficulty in you getting a first-class situation right away; you -may depend upon it, ma'am, I would. Don't this shoe seem a bit tight, -ma'am?" - -"Not at all. It is a whole size larger than I wear. If you would just -be so good as to hold the shoe-horn properly. There, that is it." - -She stood before the bed, on which were spread two long evening -dresses. A little King Charles spaniel had made himself comfortable -in the softest of one. His mistress pounced on him with a cry, first -cuffed, then kissed and put him down. "Which shall I wear?" she asked. - -Bonnet drew back for a critical view, but dared not suggest unprompted. - -"The black and white is more becoming, but the violet crape is -prettier. Oh, Bonny, decide quickly for me, like a tossed-up penny!" - -"Well, I think now I should say the violet, ma'am." - -"Should you?" Mrs. Darling mused, with a finger against her lip. "But -I look less well in it. Surely I had rather look pretty myself than -have my dress look pretty, hadn't I? Give me the black and white, and -hurry. Mr. Goodhue will be here in a second. Bonnet!" she burst forth, -in quite another tone. "You trying creature! Didn't I _tell_ you to put -a draw-string through that lace? Didn't I _tell_ you? _Where_ are your -ears? _Where_ are your senses? What on _earth_ do you spend your time -thinking about, I should like to know, anyway? I wouldn't wear that -thing as it _is_, not for--not for--Oh, I am tired of living surrounded -by fools! Take it away--take it away! Bring the violet!" - -At last she was encased in the fluffy violet crape, and at sight of the -sweet picture she made in the mirror her brow cleared a little; she -looked baby-eyed and angelic again, with her wavy hair meekly parted in -the middle. While she looked at herself she let Bonnet have one of her -arms to button the long glove. - -"Ouch! Go softly; you pinch!" she murmured. - -Bonnet changed her method with the silver hook, adjusted it anew, and -pulled at it ever so softly. - -"Ouch! You pinch me!" said Mrs. Darling, a little louder. - -Bonnet stopped short, and looked helplessly at the glove, that could -not be made to meet without strain over the plump white wrist. After -a breathing-while, with stealthy gentleness, again she fitted the -silver loop over the button, and, with a devout inward appeal to -Heaven, tried to induce it through the button-hole. She had almost -succeeded when Mrs. Darling screamed, "Ouch, ouch, ouch! You pinch like -_anything_! I am black and blue!" And tearing her arm from the quaking -servant, began fidgeting with the button herself, soon pulling it off. - -[Illustration: "SHE LET BONNET HAVE ONE OF HER ARMS"] - -"Bonnet, how many times must I tell you to sew the buttons fast on my -gloves before you give them me to put on?" she asked, severely. "No, -they were not!" she stormed, and peeled off the glove, throwing it far -from her, inside out. - -There was a knock, and a respectful voice saying, outside the door, -"Mr. Goodhue is below, ma'am." - -"Get a needle," Mrs. Darling said, humbly, like a child reminded of its -promise to behave, and waited patiently while the button was sewed on, -and held out her arm again, letting Bonnet pinch without a murmur. - -A final bunch of violets was tucked in the bosom of her gown, and she -was leaving the bedroom, when, as if at a sudden thought, she turned -back, went to the door of a little room leading from it, and stood -looking in. - -"Aren't they lovely, the hundred of them?" she gushed. "Did you ever -see such a sight? One prettier than the other! I almost wish I were one -of the little girls myself!" - -"Them that gets them will be made happy, sure, ma'am. I suppose it's -for some Christmas-tree?" - -"They are for my cousin Dorel's orphans. Pick up, Bonny. Open the -windows. Mind you keep Jetty with you. Don't let him go into the -kitchen. I am sure they feed him. I shall not be very late--not later -than twelve." - -Mrs. Darling went down the stairs, followed by Bonnet with her mantle -and fan, and Jetty, who leaped and yapped in the delusion that he was -going to be taken for a walk. - -The gentleman waiting below came forward to take Mrs. Darling's hand. - -Mrs. Bonnet listened to the exchange of polite expressions between -them with no small degree of impatience; it seemed to her they might -just as well have made these communications later, in the carriage. - -At last and at last they were gone. With the clap of the door behind -them the whole atmosphere of the house changed as by enchantment. A -door slammed somewhere; a voice burst out singing below-stairs; the -man in livery who had held the door for Mrs. Darling and her reverend -cousin leaned over the banisters and shouted, heartily, "Catherine! -I say, Catherine!" Mrs. Bonnet fairly scampered up-stairs, with the -mistaken Jetty, who thought this was the beginning of a romp, hard -after her, trying to catch her by the heels. - -She entered Mrs. Darling's room with no affectation of soft-stepping, -threw up the window--the sharp outer air cut into the scented warmth -like a silver axe--and began pushing things briskly into their places. -She digressed from her labors a moment to get from the closet a black -moiré, which she examined, then replaced. - -Now came a rap at the door, and a voice only a shade less respectful -than before, saying, "Miss Pittock is waiting below, ma'am." - -"Very well, I will be down directly," said Mrs. Bonnet. "Come here, -Jetty!" - -Jetty, instead of coming, ran round and round among the chair legs, -waving his tail in a graceful circle, eluding Mrs. Bonnet's hand not by -swiftness, but craft. - -"Come here, you little fool," muttered Bonnet; and as her bidding, -however severe, availed nothing, she cast Mrs. Darling's wrapper over -the little beast, and got him entangled like a black-and-tan butterfly -in a pocket-handkerchief. She snatched him up squirming a little, -tucked him tightly under her arm, and ran up-stairs to her own chamber -on the third floor. There she dropped him; and when she had donned her -black coat and bonnet, gloves and galoshes, during which preparations -Jetty was leaping and yapping like crazy, in the supposition again that -they were going for a walk together, she turned out the light and shut -the door against his wet, black nose. His reproachful barks followed -her down the passage. "It's good for 'is lungs," she said, grimly, -hurrying over the stairs. - -[Illustration: "AT LAST THEY WERE GONE"] - -And here at the foot was Miss Pittock, looking quite more than the lady -in her mistress's last year's cape. - -"I hope I haven't kept you waiting, Miss Pittock." - -"Quite the contrary; don't mention it, Mrs. Bonnet. Oh, the shops is a -sight to behold, Mrs. Bonnet! I never seen anything like this year. It -do seem as if people made more to-do than they used about Christmas, -don't it? Are we ready, Mrs. Bonnet?" - -"I am if you are, Miss Pittock." - -"Now, what kind of shops do you fancy most, so we'll go and look into -their show-windows first?" - -"I'm sure I don't know. What do you prefer yourself, Miss Pittock? -We've time to see most everything of any account, anyhow. She's not -coming home before twelve." - -"No more is mine. Suppose we go first to the Grand Bazar. They've -always got the most amazing show there. That you, Mr. Jackson? A merry -Christmas to you, Mr. Jackson, and a happy New Year!" - -For just as they reached the door they found the butler letting himself -out too. He did not sleep in the house, and was taking the opportunity -to-night to leave early. For a second he could not return Miss -Pittock's salutation, his mouth being crowded with a last bite snatched -in haste. When he had swallowed, he grinned and excused his hurry, -holding the door for the ladies. - -"Sorry I ain't going your way, ladies," he said, amiably, and the door -closed behind the three. - -In the kitchen the cook, with a face like a pleasant copper saucepan, -rosy and shining and round, was moving about leisurely, giving this and -that a final unhurried wipe. She wore a face of contentment; it was her -legitimate night out; with a good conscience presently she was going up -to make a change, and off to her family. - -A young woman in a light gingham and frilled cap sat watching her -sulkily, her hands idle on her embroidered muslin apron. A girl of -perhaps eighteen, capless, in a dark calico that made not the first -pretension to elegance, was washing her face at one of the shiny copper -faucets. She vanished a moment, and came back with her damp hair -streaked all over by the comb. The cook was gone. - -"You going, too, I suppose?" said the sullen parlor-maid. - -"Why, yes. 'Ain't I done everything? There's no need of my staying, is -there?" The kitchen-maid went home for the night, too. - -"No, I don't suppose there is. I just thought you might happen to be, -that's all." - -The kitchen-maid sat down a minute, in a tired, ungirt position, and -looked over at the parlor-maid with good-natured young eyes grown a -trifle speculative. The latter let her glance wander over the day's -newspaper, brought down-stairs until inquired for. - -"Tell you what I'd like to do!" exclaimed the kitchen-maid. - -"What'd you like to do, Sally?" - -"That's to come back again after I've been home for just a minute." - -The parlor-maid looked up, unable altogether to conceal her interest. -The house was very quiet. Through the clock-ticks, at perfectly regular -intervals, came the muffled sound of Jetty's disconsolate yaps. Neither -of the girls appeared to hear them. - -"You don't mean just to oblige, do you, Sally?" - -"Well, I'd do it in a minute for nothing else beside, but that ain't -quite all I was thinking of just this once. Miss Catherine"--she -hesitated, then, enthusiastically--"have you seen 'em up-stairs? the -whole hundred of 'em laid out off Mrs. Darling's bedroom? I saw 'em -when Mrs. Bonnet she sent me up for the lamps to clean. Law! Wouldn't -any child like to see a sight like that! There's a little girl in my -tenement, she'd just go crazy. Do you think there'd be any harm in it -if I was to bring her over and let her get one peep? She's as clean a -child as ever you saw. She comes of dreadful poor folks, but just as -respectable! She never seen anything like it in her life. Law, what -would I have done when I was a young one if I'd seen that? I'd thought -I was dead and gone to heaven. I say, Miss Catherine, d' you think any -one would mind?" - -"How'll they know?" said Miss Catherine, callously. "Look here, Sally; -you go along just as fast as you can and fetch your young one. And when -you've got back, perhaps I'll step out a minute, two or three doors up -street, and you can answer the bell while I'm gone. Now hurry into your -things. I'll give you your car fare." - -"Miss Catherine, you're just as good as you can be, and I'll do -something to oblige you, too, some time," said Sally, her face aglow -with delight; and having hurried into her jacket and tied up her head -in a worsted muffler, was off. - -She almost ran over the packed snow down the street. She had soon left -the quiet rows of private dwelling-houses and come where hundreds of -lights glittered across the rose-tinged snow. At every few rods a -street band tootled and blared, covering the scraping of snow-shovels -and jingle of bells. "How gay it is!" she thought; "won't it be a -treat!" - -She plunged into a mean, small street, leading off a mean but tawdry -larger one, where things hung outside the shops with their prices, -written large, pinned on them, and had soon come to the house where her -family lived. - -She went in like a great gust of fresh air. In less than five minutes -she came out, leading by the hand a little girl who, from being very -much bundled up about the shoulders, and having brief petticoats -above thin black legs, looked top-heavy. She was obliged to nearly -run to keep up with Sally, and was trying to get out words through -the breathlessness occasioned by hurrying and laughing and coming so -suddenly into the frosty air. - -"Oh, lemme guess, Sal, and tell me when I'm hot. Is it made of sugar?" - -"No, it ain't." - -"But you said it was a treat, didn't you, Sally?" - -"I did that. But ain't there all sorts of treats? There's going to the -circus, for instance. That hasn't any sugar." - -"Is it a circus, Sally? Is it a circus?" - -"No, it ain't a circus, but it's every bit as nice." - -"Is it freaks, Sally? oh, tell me if it's freaks? It isn't? Are you -sure I shall like it very much? It's nothing to eat, and it's nothing -I can have to keep, and it's not a circus. What color is it? You'll -answer straight, won't you?" - -"Oh, it's every color in the world, and striped and polka-dotted and -crinkled and smooth. There's a hundred of it." - -The child would have stopped short on the sidewalk the better to centre -her mind on guessing, but Sally dragged her briskly along. At the top -of the street they came to a standstill. - -"What is it?" asked the child. - -"We're going to take the car," said Sally, grandly. - -"O--h!" breathed the child. - -"I guess you never stepped on to one of these before. This, Tibbie, is -nothing but the beginning. Hi! Hi!" - -The swiftly gliding, fiery, formidable car stopped, and the hoarse -buzz died out in a grinding of brakes; the light was dimmed a minute, -then flared out again, as if the monster had winked. Sally and Tibbie -climbed on; it moved, banging and whirring on its farther way. They had -to stand, of course, but what of that? Tibbie looked all about with her -shining, intelligent brown eyes, and felt a flush of gratified pride -to see Sally, when the conductor had squeezed himself near, pay like -the others; it had seemed impossible that some compromise should not -have to be made with him. She slipped her hand in Sally's, and was too -occupied with the people and the colored advertisements to talk. - -"Did you get anything for Christmas yet, Tibbie?" - -She moved her head up and down, bestowing all her attention on a -parcel-laden woman bound to drop something the next time she stirred. - -"What did you get?" - -"A doll's flat-iron and a muslin bag of candy. I put the iron on to -heat, and it melted. I gave what was left to Jimmy." - -"Who gave them to you?" - -"Off the Sunday-school tree. But there were no lights on it, because it -was daytime. Sally, I know something that has a hundred--" - -"What's that? Let's see if you've got it now?" - -Tibbie looked a little shamefaced, then said, "A dollar--is a hundred -cents." - -"Well, and would I be bringing you so far just to show you a dollar? -This is worth as much as a dollar, every individual one of them. -Tibbie, it's just the grandest sight you ever seen--pink and blue and -yellow and striped--" - -Tibbie, who was looking Sally fixedly in the face, as if to see if her -secret anywhere transpired, now almost shouted, "It's marbles!" - -"Aw, but you're downright stupid, Tibbie. I don't mind telling you I'm -disappointed. You're just a common, every-day sort of young one, with -no idear of grandness in your idears at all. And you don't seem to keep -a hold on more than one notion at a time. First it's a dollar. Is that -pink and blue? And next it's marbles. Is marbles worth a dollar apiece? -Now tell me what's the grandest, prettiest thing that ever you saw--" - -"... Angels." - -"D' you ever see any?" - -"In the church window, painted." - -"Well, this is as handsome as a hundred angels, less than a foot tall, -all in new clothes, with little hats on." - -"Sally, I think I know now. Only it couldn't be that. There couldn't -likely be a hundred of them all together, for, oh, Sally, it isn't a -store we are going to! You didn't tell me it was a store." - -"No more it is. We're going straight to Mrs. Darling's house, and no -place but there. Here's where we get off." - -The big girl, with the small one, alighted and turned into the quieter -streets, Tibbie, as before, almost running to keep up with her -long-legged friend. - -They went into Mrs. Darling's by the back door. In the kitchen stood -Miss Catherine in a coat with jet spangles and a hat with nodding -plumes, pulling on a pair of tight kid gloves. - -Tibbie at sight of her hung back, murmuring to Sally, "You didn't tell -me! You didn't tell me!" - -"Now, you'll be sure she don't touch anything, Sally," said Miss -Catherine, looking Tibbie over. - -"Naw! She won't hurt anything. I've told her I'll skin her if she does." - -"Are her hands clean? You'd better give them a wash, anyhow." - -Tibbie dropped her eyes, a little mortified. - -"All right! I'll wash 'em," said Sally. - -"She'd better scrape her boots thoroughly on the mat, too, before going -up." - -"I'll look after all that, Miss Catherine. Just you go long with an -easy mind." - -"Well, I'm off. I won't be long. Why don't you give her a piece of that -cake? It's cut. But make her eat it down here. Good-night, little -girl. I guess you never was in a house like this before. Good-night, -Sal. Is my hat on straight?" - -She was gone, and the whole house now belonged to Sally and Tibbie. -They looked at each other in silence a moment; the glee they felt came -shining to the surface of their faces and made them grin broadly at -each other. - -"She's particular, ain't she?" said Sally. - -"I just as soon wash them again, but they're clean. I thought you said -she was gone off to a party and going to be gone till real late." - -"Law!" roared Sally, and plumped down to contort herself in comfort. -"She thought it was Mrs. Darling herself! Law! law!" - -Tibbie laughed, too, but not so heartily, and the great time began. - -Sally went for the cake-box, and Tibbie made a thoughtful selection; -and "Who'll ever find a few crumbs?" said Sally. "Come along!" - -The great child and the little, full of a sense of play, went up the -stairs hand in hand. Tibbie could scarcely take account of what was -happening to her, such was the pure delight of the adventure. - -"This is the dining-room; this is the sitting-room; this is the -receiving-room; this, now prepare--this is Mrs. Darling's own room!" - -Up went the light; the rose-paper walls, the rose-chintz dumpy chairs, -the silver-laden dressing-table, the pink and white draped bed, leaped -into sight. Tibbie stood still, open-lipped. - -"Ain't it handsome?" asked Sally, with the pride of indirectly -belonging to such things. "Come along, I'm going to wash your hands in -Mrs. Darling's basin." - -She drew Tibbie, who gazed backward over her shoulder, into the little -alcove where the marble wash-stand was, and turned on stiff jets of hot -and cold water together. At the sweet odor of the soap tablet pushed -under her nose, Tibbie's attention was won to the operations of washing -and wiping. - -"But where is there a hundred of anything?" she asked, faintly, -looking all about. - -"Oh, this ain't it yet! This is only like the outside entry. Now, Miss -Tibbs, what kind of scent will you have on your hands?" - -"Oh, Sal!" - -"Shall it be Violet, or Russian Empress, or--what's this other--Lilass -Blank? or the anatomizer played over them like the garden-hose?" - - -They unstopped the bottles in turn, and drew up out of them great, -noisy, luxurious breaths. "This, Sally, this," said Tibbie at the one -with the double name like a person. Sally poured a drop in her little -rough, red hands, and she danced as she rubbed them together. - -"Why are the little scissors crooked?" she asked, busily picking -up and putting down things one after the other. "What for is the -fluting-irons? What for is the butter in the little chiny jar? What's -the flour for in the silver box? Oh, what's this? Oh, Sal, what's that?" - -Sally picked up the powder-puff and gave her little friend, who drew -back startled and coughing, a dusty dab with it on each cheek. "It's to -make you pale," she said. "It ain't fashionable to be red." She applied -the puff to her own cheeks as well. The two stood gazing in silent -interest at themselves in the mirror, and gradually broke into smiles -at the incongruous reflection. Sally suddenly bent one cheek, hitched -up one shoulder, and brushed half her face clean; then did the same by -the other cheek with her other shoulder. Tibbie, who had watched her, -aped her movement faithfully. They looked at themselves again, and -Tibbie remarked, "But I ain't red, anyhow." - -"Law! that you ain't! When are you going to begin to get some fat on -your bones, Tibbie, or to grow?" - -"I don't know. Who's the gentleman, Sal, in the pretty frame?" - -"That's Mrs.'s husband. He ain't been living some time." - -"Oh, he isn't living. Listen, listen, Sally! What's that noise I keep -hearing? I've heard it ever since we came." - -Sally listened. "That? That's Jetty. It's a little bit of a dog, up at -the top of the house." - -"Oh, a little bit of a dog! Why does he bark all the time?" - -"I guess Mrs. Bonnet shut him up there alone in the dark till she came -back from gadding with Miss Pittock." - -"Couldn't we get him, Sally? I hate to hear him. I want to see him -awfully." - -"All right. You wait here. But don't you hurt anything, or I'll skin -you, sure, like I told Miss Catherine. And whatever you do, don't you -go into the little room till I come back." - -"Is the hundred there?" - -"Yes, it's there." - -Tibbie, left alone, looked at the half-open door a minute, then turned -away from it: all was so interesting, anyhow, she could wait with -grace. With the palm of her hand, which she frequently stopped to -smell, she stroked the fine linen pillows on the bed, and the white -bear rugs on the floor, and the curtains: everything felt so soft. She -examined the features of the Rev. Dorel Goodhue with approbation, -proposing to ask Sally whether she knew him. - -The bark came nearer and nearer; when the door opened, in tumbled a -small silky ball of black dog, who almost turned himself inside out in -his delight at being in human company again. He ran floppily about and -about the floor, in his conscious, cringing, graceful way, waving his -tail round and round, tossing back his long silk ears to bark and bark. - -At last the girls between them had him caught. He was squeezed tight in -Tibbie's arms, where he wriggled and twitched, covering her cheeks and -ears with rapid dog-kisses, interspersed still with rapturous barks. -"Oh, oh!" cried Tibbie, trying vainly to hold him still long enough to -get a good kiss at him. "Isn't he soft? Isn't he sweet? And he has a -yellow ribbon. Oh, do keep quiet, doggie dear--you tickle!" - -"I don't think we will bother any more about seeing the hundred," said -Sally, a feigned coldness in her tone, and stood aloof watching child -and dog. - -"I had forgotten, honest, Sally." - -"Put him down and come on, then." - -"Mayn't I hold him and come too?" - -"No; for when you see 'em, you'll drop him so quick you'll like as not -break his legs." - -"All right. Down, Jetty! Down, sir! Come along, Jetty; come right -along, dear!" - -"Wait a minute. I'll go in first and turn up the light. When I sing -out, you come on." - -She went ahead, and Jetty precipitated himself at her heels. Tibbie -stooped with anxious inducing noises, and "Come back, sir! Come back!" - -"Ready!" shouted Sally. - -Tibbie made a bound for the door, but at a step's distance was overcome -by a curious timidity, and instead of bolting in, pulled the door -towards her tremulously, and pushed aside the lace hanging with a cold -hand. - -There lay the hundred, all on a couch under the gas-light, arranged as -in a show-window, propped by means of silk cushions so as to form a -solid sloping bank--the hundred beautiful dolls. - -"Well, ma'am?" asked Sally, expectantly. - -Tibbie said nothing, but looked at them vaguely, full of constraint. - -"Well, I never!" said Sally. "Don't you like 'em? What on earth did you -expect, child? Well, I never! Well, if it don't beat all! Why, when I -was a young one--Why, Tibbie girl--don't you think they are _lovely_?" - -"Yes," she whispered, moving her head slowly up and down, then letting -it hang. - -"Aw, come out of that," said Sally, understanding. "Come, let's look at -'em one by one, taking all our time. Come to Sally, darling, and don't -feel bad. We'll have lots of fun." - -She took the not unwilling Tibbie by the hand, and led her nearer the -banked splendor. - -The dolls were all of a size, and, undressed, would with difficulty -have been told apart, except, perhaps, by their little mothers. All -were very blond and wide-eyed and bow-lipped; all, though dressed like -little ladies, had the chubby hands of infants; and their boots were -painted trimly on with black, and their garters with blue. But how to -render the coquettish fashionableness with which these wax-complexioned -darlings were tricked out! all equally in silks and satins and velvets -and lace, so that there could be no jealousies; all with hats of like -beauty and stylishness. - -Sally seated herself on the floor beside the low couch, and pulled -Tibbie down into her lap, who drew up Jetty into hers. Tibbie had -recovered the power to speak, but was still unduly sober and husky. - -"I had almost guessed it, you know," she said, "when you said like -angels with hats on. But I couldn't think there would be a hundred -unless it was a store. What has the lady so many for?" - -"Bless your heart! They ain't for herself! They are for orphans in a -school that a minister-cousin of hers is superintendent of. She has -been over a month making these clothes. Every Wednesday she would give -a tea party, and a lot of ladies come and sit stitching and snipping -and buzzing over the dolls' clothes the blessed afternoon. And I washed -the tea things after them all!" - -"They are for the orphans. Are there a hundred orphans?" - -"I guess likely." - -"Suppose, Sally--suppose there were only ninety-nine, and some girl got -two!" - -"Well, we two have got a hundred for to-night, Tibbie, so let's play, -and glad enough we've got our mothers. Look, this is the way you must -hold them to be sure of not crumpling anything." - -She slipped her hand deftly under a doll's petticoats, and they peeped -discreetly at the dainty under-clothes, crisp and snowy, more lace than -linen. - -"My soul and body! Did you ever see the like!" exclaimed Sally, -spurring on Tibbie's enthusiasm by the tone of her voice, making the -wonder more, to fill her little friend's soul to intoxication. Tibbie -easily responded. She fairly rocked herself to and fro with delight. - -"And not a pin among 'em," sighed Sally. "All pearl buttons and silk -tying-strings and silver hooks and eyes; and, mercy on my soul! a -little bit of a pocket in every dress, with its little bit of a lace -pocket-handkerchief inside. D'you see that, Tibbie? And not two alike!" - -"Oh, but there are some _'most_ alike!" said the quick-eyed Tibbie; -"only, scattered far apart. There are three with the little rose-bud -silk, and here's more than one with the speckled muslin. Perhaps those -will be given to sisters." - -"Come on, Tibbie; let's choose the one we would choose to get, if we -was to get one given us. Now, I would like that one in red velvet. It's -just so dressy, ain't it, with the gold braid sewed down in a pattern -round the bottom. Which would you take?" - -"I should like the one all in white. She must be a bride; see, she has -a wreath and veil and necklace. I should like her the very best. But -right after that, if I could have two, I should like this other in the -shade-hat with the forget-me-nots, and forget-me-nots dotted all over -her dress. And, see! the sky-blue hair-ribbon. If I could just have -three of them, then I would take this one too, with the black lace -shawl over her head fastened with roses instead of a hat. She has such -a lovely face! And after her I would choose this one in green--or this -one in pink; no, this one here, Sally, just look--this one in green and -pink. And you, if you could have more than one, which would you choose, -after the red one?" - -"Well, I guess I'd choose this one in white." - -"Oh no, Sally; don't you remember? That is the bride, the one I said -the very first. You can have all the others, Sally dear, except the -bride. But let's see, perhaps there are two brides. Yes!--no!--that is -just a little girl in white, without a wreath. Should you like her as -well? I was the first to say the bride, you know." - -"Law! I wouldn't have wanted her if I had known she was a bride! I -take this one, Tibbie--this one with the feathers in her hat. Ain't she -the gay girl, in red and green plaid! And this purple silk one, and -this red and white stripe, and this--" - -"Wait! That's enough, Sally; that makes four for you. It's my turn -now. If I could have five, I should take one of the rose-bud ones--no, -two of them, so's to play I had twins. Say, Sally, let's choose one -apiece--first you one, then me one, till we've chosen them all up, and -got fifty apiece. Your turn." - -They chose and chose, pointing each time, and detailing the costume of -the chosen one aloud with the greatest enjoyment. - -Jetty had laid himself down beside them, stretched his silky length, -his nose between his paws. He was very tired. Perhaps among the things -his great moist eyes were wondering about was the reason of this -fatigue in his vocal chords. - -"For my forty-fifth one," said Sally, placing her forefinger pensively -against the side of her nose, "I choose her--her with the little black -velvets run all through." - -"Taken already," said Tibbie, promptly. - -"Then her over there, with the short puffy sleeves." - -"Taken!" - -"She taken too? Well, then, her in the pink Mother Hubbard with the -little knitting-bag on her arm." - -"Taken, Sally! Can't you remember anything? Those belong to me; I chose -them long ago. These are the only not taken ones; here and here and -here and here and here and here and--" - -"Aw, you're a great girl!" cried Sally, suddenly throwing her arms -around Tibbie and casting herself backward on the floor with her, where -they tumbled and rolled, laughing, Jetty jumping about on top of them, -barking hoarsely in a frenzy of fun. - -"Oh, Tibbie, ain't we having a time of it?" - -And Tibbie almost shouted, "Yes!--ain't we having a time of it!" - -"Ain't this a night?" - -"Oh yes!--ain't it a night!" - -Sally tickled and poked her affectionately; and she tried to tickle -Sally, and laughed till she was almost hysterical, and never -remembered who she was, or thought of anything outside this little -room, but was filled with a sense of the crazy deliciousness of the -moment. - -At last, weak with laughter, she disentangled herself from the still -panting and laughing Sally on the floor, and insisted on returning -to the business of the distribution. She felt in the mood to be very -funny. She jerked herself up and down and all about in a senseless sort -of way. - -"Here, Sally, now stop laughing and let's finish. It was your turn. -You'd best take that one; she looks more as if she might be a little -girl of yours, her cheeks are so red--red as a great big cabbage!" This -remark seemed to Tibbie so inexpressibly humorous that she laughed -again till she nearly cried. - -"Well, it's sure none of 'em has legs to make 'em look like children -of yours," retorted Sally; and that seemed a greater joke still. With -a foal's action, Tibbie flung out the thin black legs with the awkward -boots at the ends of them, and dropped to the floor squirming and -laughing. Sally caught her suddenly again, and cast herself backward -with her as before, in a gale of mirth. - -There they were frolicking, when the peal of a bell rang brightly -across their giggles. - -Sally sat up instantly, and all in Mrs. Darling's house was for a long -moment still as the very grave, for Sally had instinctively clapped her -hand over Jetty's ready muzzle. - -"Murder!" whispered Sally, solemnly, at last. - -"What is it?" breathed Tibbie in her ear. - -"Was it the front door or the back door?" asked Sally. - -"I dun'no', Sally." - -Sally had picked herself up, and was stroking down her things. - -Tibbie stood beside her, looking up in her face, her own a trifle pale. - -Sally's irresolution lasted only a second. She cast an eye on the -dolls, saw that they were very nearly as she had found them, and turned -down the light. She looked about Mrs. Darling's room to see that all -was as usual, and turned down the lights there too, after glancing at -the clock. - -"It ain't late," she murmured. "It ain't a bit later than I supposed. -It can't be her! It might be Mrs. Bonnet, though, getting home before -Catherine, who's got the key. I shouldn't want her to catch you here -for the whole world. Look here, Tibbie. You stand in here till I find -out who it is, and if it's Mrs. Bonnet, you'll have to stay hidden till -I find a good chance to come and smuggle you down." - -Tibbie waited in the farthest corner of the hall closet, holding her -breath, conscious of nothing at first but excitement and fear of she -did not know quite what. After a little, the thought drifted across her -fervent hope for present safety, that though she got well out of this -scrape, she would probably never see those radiant dollies again, her -own half or Sally's. - -She heard a whiffling and scratching at the closet door. Here was -Jetty, dear Jetty, whose actions would surely betray her to Mrs. Bonnet -when she came that way. Tibbie whispered: "Go right away, Jetty. -There's no one in this closet; go right away!" and pressed backward to -the wall, among the water-proofs, feeling like a little criminal with -the police on her track. - -"Tibbie!" came Sally's voice from the foot of the stairs: it sounded -perfectly calm, and pleasant with a sort of company pleasantness. -"It's all right. It's just a friend dropped in for a moment. You can -go in again and play a little longer. Turn up the light carefully. But -remember what I told you." - -Tibbie instantly forgot all her fears. She came out and picked up -Jetty; she kissed him, explaining why she had told him to go away. The -doggie seemed to bear no malice. - -Tibbie tiptoed into the doll-room, and established herself on her knees -before the dolls, happier than before, with a profounder happiness, in -a stiller, almost devotional mood. It was so different being alone with -them, having them quite to herself, to play with in her own way. She -took up the bride with a reverent hand, and after long contemplating -her, very seriously, tenderly kissed her. Then, touching them as if -they had been snow-flakes almost, she moved the impressive little -persons about, until her fifty were on one side and Sally's on the -other. - -"I can't play they're a family," she reflected; "they are too many -all the same age, and all girls. I will play they are a hundred girls -in an orphan asylum--a very rich orphan asylum--and that I am the -superintendent. To-morrow I am going to give each a beautiful doll -for a Christmas present. This little girl's name is Rosa. That one -is Nelly. That one is Katy. That one is Sue." She named every one, -passing through the list of such names as Golden-locks, Cherrylips, -Diamondeyes, to end with such invented ones as Kirry, Mirry, Dirry, -Birry. They seemed so much completer with names. Tibbie would say, -"Miss Snowdrop!" And Miss Snowdrop, with Tibbie's assistance, would -rise, answering, "Yes, ma'am." "Spell knot." "N--O--T!" "Not at all, -my dear. Sit down again, my dear. Miss Lily; stand up, miss, and see if -you can do any better this morning." - -Suddenly, after having taken the asylum through a day's exercises, -Tibbie tired of being the superintendent. She craved a relation more -intimate, more affectionate, with the dollies. She did not believe a -superintendent would have kissed and fondled them as she longed to do. -She selected a dozen or so, to play they were her children. She gave -them their supper; she washed them and made them say their prayers. She -told them it was bedtime, and she would now rock them to sleep. She -turned down the light, to make all very real, and drawing out a low -rocking-chair that seemed made for her purpose, seated herself in it -with two dolls on each arm, the rest made as comfortable as possible -on her lap; for not one of them, after being included in the family, -could, of course, be left out of the rocking. She rocked gently, now -hushing, now singing "Bye-low-low-baby," her maternal heart swollen -very large. In time, one of the daughters became fractious and -restless; she had to have medicine, and the rocking for her sake had -to become almost violent. Nothing would soothe her but that the chair -should rock backward and forward to the very tip ends of its rockers. -This had its good effect at last; all the dolls were fast asleep, and -the mother, her duty done, composed herself to take a well-earned rest -too. This thought was no doubt suggested to Tibbie by the fact that she -was really getting sleepy. It was long past her bedtime. - -She was not far from napping when she became aware of Sally saying: -"Lively, Tibbie! Miss Catherine has got back. We must be packing off -home. I declare I lost sight of the time. There's just no one like a -fireman to be entertaining, I declare. Mrs. Bonnet won't be long coming -now." - -She turned up the light, and saw the dolls so disarranged. - -Tibbie was rubbing her eyes. - -"Law!" said Sally, a little blankly. "Do you suppose we can get them to -look as they did? I hope t' Heaven she didn't know which went next to -which. Do you remember, Tibbie, where each belonged?" - -"Yes. The bride went here. The rose-buds here. The purple and gray -here. I can put them all back, every one." - -"Oh, we're all right!" said Sally, cheerfully again. "No one'll ever -know in the world they've been disturbed." - -She had drawn off to get the general effect, and compare it with the -earlier image in her brain, when she made a dive for one of the dolls, -the last one, that the sleepy Tibbie had handed her up off the floor. - -"Tibbie!" she said, in a ghastly whisper, "look at its head!" - -Something had happened to it, certainly. Its pink-and-white face was -pushed in; it looked very much as if a chair-rocker had gone over it. -Tibbie looked at it, not understanding at all. - -"Oh, Tibbie!" groaned Sally, "now what'll we do!" - -"I didn't do it," said Tibbie, lifting a pale face with perfectly -truthful eyes. "I was just as careful! She was one of my daughters; I -had her in my lap rocking her to sleep with the others; she must have -slipped off my lap--there were too many for one lap, I guess--but I -didn't step on her. Sure, Sally--sure as I live, I didn't step on her!" - -"Oh, law! You must have rocked on her. Oh, Tibbie, what'll I do!" - -She picked up the doll to examine it, but saw at once that the little -face could not be made right again. - -Tibbie watched her without a word; her voice seemed to have sunk far -below reach. - -Sally moved the dolls about tentatively, so that ninety-nine should -cover the same space as a hundred. Certainly at first glance the -one she held would never be missed. "But what's the good?" she -said, throwing it down. "They'll count them, and there'll be the -mischief of a fuss. Oh, Tibbie"--and she had reached the end of her -good-nature--"why did I ever think of bringing you here? Now look -at all the trouble you've brought on me, when I thought you'd be so -careful! And I told you and told you till I was hoarse. And here -you've ruined all!" - -Tibbie's eyes could not bear to meet Sally's. She stood with her hands -behind her, speechless and motionless, in the middle of the floor. - -"I declare I don't know what to do!" Sally exclaimed, dropping her arms -and sitting down before the wreck. "I wish I'd never seen 'em! I wish -there'd never been any Christmas! Oh, it's a great job, this! Tibbie, -you've done for me this time!" - -At this moment Miss Catherine came in to hurry them. - -"She's broken one of them!" blurted out Sally. - -"You don't mean it!" - -"Yes, she has!" - -"Let me see it. Oh, you wicked child! She's smashed its face right in! -Now who ever heard of such naughtiness?" - -Tibbie twisted about ever so little, to get her back turned towards the -two. - -"She didn't do it out of naughtiness at all, Miss Catherine. She's as -good a child as ever lived!" At that Tibbie's shoulders gave a little -convulsive heave. "It was an accident entirely. But that's just as bad -for me. I suppose I shall have to say it was me did it." - -"And then they'll say what was I doing while the kitchen help was -poking about in the Mrs.'s chamber. No; you don't get me into trouble, -Sally Bean! You'd much better say how it was--how that you asked me if -you just might bring a little girl to look, and I said you might, out -of pure good-nature, being Christmas is rightly for children, and I've -a softness for them. And while we was both in the kitchen, she slipped -away from us and came here and done it before we knew. And the child -herself will say that it was so. You'll be packed off dead sure out of -this place if you let on you meddled with them yourself. She won't have -her things meddled with--There goes the bell. There comes that old cat -Bonnet." - -She hurried off to open. - -"What's the matter?" said Mrs. Bonnet, elevating her eyebrows as she -appeared at the door and looked into the room she had expected to find -dark and still. She held a paper bag; she spoke with an impediment and -a breath of peppermint. Her cheek-bones and the end of her nose were -brilliant pink with the cold. "What child is that?" - -Miss Catherine was behind Mrs. Bonnet. "It happened this way, Mrs. -Bonnet," she began, and told the story with a little tactful adaptation -to the intelligence of her audience, ending, "And now, Mrs. Bonnet, -what's to be done?" - -"Oh, you wicked little brat!" said Mrs. Bonnet. "I just want to get -hold of you and shake you!" - -She made a snatch at Tibbie, who instinctively got beyond her clutch, -and turning scared eyes towards Sally, said, just audibly, "I want to -go home; I want to go home." - -"It don't seem possible," said Mrs. Bonnet, bitterly, "that I can't run -out a minute just to do an errand for Mrs. Darling herself--to get a -spool of feather-stitching silk--but things like this has to happen. -Catherine, I thought you, at least, was a responsible person, and here -you has to go and--" - -"Mrs. Bonnet," Catherine interrupted, "you just let that alone! Don't -you try none of that with me! I went out of an errand every bit as much -as you did. I went out to make sure the ice-cream would be sent in good -season for Christmas dinner, I did. Now I don't get dragged into this -mess one bit more than you do!" - -Mrs. Bonnet looked at her with a poison-green eye. She seemed to be -repressing what was a trifle difficult to keep the upper hand of. - -"Well," she exclaimed at last, "Mrs. Darling will be here in a -minute, and then we shall all see what we shall see. Lord, ain't that -woman been cross to-day, and fussy! 'Tain't as if she was like other -people--a little bit sensible, and could take some little few things -into consideration, and remember we are all human flesh and blood. -Not much! She don't consider nothing, nor nobody, nor feelings, nor -circumstances! She just makes things fly! Things has to go her way, -every time!" - -"I want to go home," cried Tibbie, pathetically, and looked towards -Sally now with a trembling face. - -"No, you sha'n't go home," said Bonnet, uglily. "You shall stay right -here and take the blame you deserve, after spoiling the face of that -handsome doll. What do you mean by it, you little brat, you little -gutter imp?" - -"You let her alone, Mrs. Bonnet," said Sally, with a boldness that had -never before characterized her relations with that lady. "Don't you -talk to her like that! Any one can see she's as sorry as sorry can be -for what she's done, and all the trouble she's got us into--" - -"And what does that help, I'd like to know? The doll is broke, ain't -it? And some one of us is going to catch it, however things go. You're -a lucky girl, I say, if you don't lose your place. Some one of us is -going to, I can easy foretell." - -"I ain't going to lose my place," said Miss Catherine, firmly; and -with a lifted chin was leaving to lay off her things, when the cook's -nice copper-saucepan face was pushed a little inside the door. - -"What's the matter?" she asked, cheerily, and stepped in. Her -high-colored shawl was pinned on her breast with a big brooch; her -bonnet-strings were nearly lost in her fat chin. "What's it all about? -Whose nice little girl is this?" - -Gradually she got the whole story, and going straight to Tibbie lifted -her miserable little face, saying: "Don't you feel bad one bit, -darlin'! It was all an accident, and it's no good crying over spilt -milk. And if Mrs. Darling gets mad at you, she ain't the real lady I -take her for. Why, I gave my Clary a new doll to-night, and it's ready -for a new head this minute. And did I stop to rear and tear about it? -Not a bit of it. Why, bless you, she didn't go for to do it! What child -smashes a doll a purpose? You're a pretty set, the whole gang of you, -to pitch into a mite like this!" - -Tibbie by this time was freely weeping, and Sally and the cook -together were trying to comfort and silence her. - -"I've a great mind to stay here myself and stand up for her, yer pack -of old maids, the lot of yer!" said the cook, looking hard at Mrs. -Bonnet, who had reappeared without her hat and coat. - -"You will oblige me, Mrs. MacGrath, by doing nothing of the sort," -said Mrs. Bonnet. "We've no need to have a whole scene from the drama. -You've no business on this floor anyhow, and I must insist on your -keeping yourself in your own quarters." - -"And I'll take my own time, yer born Britisher," said Mrs. MacGrath. -Then putting her arm around Tibbie: "Well, Tibbie dear, you can be -sure of this: however bad this seems, it'll soon be over. And if Mrs. -Darling does scold, it'll soon be over too. It'll all be looking -different to you in the morning. However things goes, you'll soon be -forgetting all about it. And to-morrow is Christmas Day, that our own -dear Lord was born on, and I'll bake you a little cake and send it to -you by Sally." - -"But Sally's going to be sent away," sobbed Tibbie. - -"So she might be, but I feel it in my little toe that she ain't going -to be." - -"Well, and if I am, I am, and there an end," said Sally, bravely. "But -I don't see why she can't take the price of the doll out of my wages -and let me stay." - -"I think you'll find," said Mrs. Bonnet, "that it ain't most -particularly the cost of the doll gets you into trouble--There she -comes this minute!" - -The door-bell had rung. Profound silence reigned above, while all -listened. Tibbie stopped crying. - -"Good-night," came Mrs. Darling's sweet voice, presently, floating up -from the foot of the stairs. - -"Good-night," came the Rev. Dorel Goodhue's. - -There was a rustle of silken skirts. - -"Oh, Cousin Cynthia!" - -"Yes?" - -"At ten, did you say--or half past?" - -"I said ten--_or_ half past. Good-night." - -More rustling of skirts; then, - -"Oh, Cousin Dorel--" - -"Yes?" from the foot of the stairs. - -"It doesn't matter--what we spoke about, you know, unless perfectly -convenient." - -"Oh, but it will be convenient, perfectly. Good-night. Sleep well." - -"You too. Pleasant dreams. Good-night." - -"Good-night." - -The rustling drew nearer, and Mrs. Darling stood in the doorway, -looking with a sort of absent-minded astonishment at the assemblage in -her room. - -The violets were quite dead on her white bosom; her hair was beginning -to come loose, and stood out in golden wisps about her flushed face. -She looked very sweet and soft and shiny-eyed and pleasant altogether. - -"What is it?" she asked; and as Jetty was evoluting and clamoring about -her feet she picked him up and kissed him like a mother. "Has anything -happened? What is everybody doing up here? Whose little girl is this -sitting up so late? They used to tell me I should never grow, my dear, -if I sat up so late--" - -"This is what it is, ma'am," began Mrs. Bonnet; and she told her -arrangement of the story, uttering her words as a mowing-machine cuts -weeds. - -Mrs. Darling abstractedly took the rocking-chair; as she listened, the -pleasant, happy look forsook her face. - -"Oh, cut it short!" she interrupted, sharply. "What you have to tell is -that the child there has broken one of the dolls, isn't it?" - -There was an assenting mutter from Mrs. Bonnet. - -"And you've kept her here, when she ought to have been in bed these -hours, to bear the first beauty of my displeasure--" - -Mrs. Darling had said so much in a hard voice, with an appearance of -cold anger; here her voice suddenly died, and she burst out crying -like a vexed, injured child. "I _declare_ it is too bad!" she sobbed, -quite reckless of making a spectacle of herself, while all looked on -and listened in consternation--"I declare it is too bad! It's no use! -It doesn't matter _what_ I do--it is always the same! It is _always_ -taken for granted I will conduct myself like a beast. Who can wonder, -after that, if I do? Here I find them, pale as sheets, the five of -them, shaking in their boots because a forlorn little child has broken -a miserable doll. And _what_ is it supposed I shall do about it? Didn't -I dress the hundred of them for children, and little poor children -too? And I must have known they would get broken, of course. _Why_ -did I dress them? _What_ did I spend months dressing them for? Solely -for _show_, they think--not for any charity, any kindness, any love -of children, or anything in the _world_ but to make an effect on an -occasion, I suppose--to make myself a merit with the parson, perhaps!" -Here her crying seemed to become less of anger and nervousness, and -more of sorrow; one would have thought her heart-broken. "Oh, it is too -bad! One would imagine I never said a decent thing, or did a kind act, -to any one. And Heaven knows it is not for lack of trying to change. -But no one sees the difference! I am treated like a vixen and a terror. -All the people about me hate and fear and deceive me! A proof of it -to-night! Oh, the _lesson_! Oh, I wasn't _meant_ for this! I wasn't -meant for it! When I remember last Sunday's sermon, and how straight to -my heart it went--oh, I am a fool to cry! Come here to me, dear child. -What is your name? What? A little louder! What did you say? Tibbie! -Oh, what a nice, funny name!" Mrs. Darling smiled through her tears, -pathetically hiccoughing and sighing while she spoke. "_You_ didn't -think I was going to scold you, did you, dear? Of _course_ not! It was -an accident; I understand all about it. I used to break my dolls' heads -frequently, I remember very well--" - -Mrs. Darling had put her arm endearingly around Tibbie, and tried to -make the child's head easy on her shoulder. But poor Tibbie's muscles -could not relax; her stiff little face rested uncomfortably, without -pressing, upon its warm alabaster prop. "Let us see, dear, now, what -we can do to make us both feel happier. I dressed all those dolls for -little children I am not acquainted with at all. Which of them should -you like the very best? Which should you like for your very own?" - -Tibbie could neither make herself move nor speak; but the tail of her -eye travelled towards the dolls. - -"The bride!" Sally took the liberty of saying, beaming as she came to -Tibbie's aid. - -"The bride? Which one is that? That one? Of course!" Mrs. Darling -reached for the resplendent favorite and placed her in Tibbie's hands. -"There, my dear." - -Tibbie took the doll loosely, without breath of thanks; but while Mrs. -Darling reviewed the dolls, her hand went out involuntarily towards the -broken one. Mrs. Darling saw it. "Of course," she said--"of course, you -would want that poor dollie to nurse back to health. Now, dear, isn't -there _one more_ you would like?" - -At this Tibbie's confusion seemed likely to overwhelm and swamp her. -"I'll choose one for you," said Mrs. Darling, "and you shall call her -Cynthia, after me. How would you like that? Suppose we say this one, -with the forget-me-nots? She looks a little like me, doesn't she, with -her hair parted in the middle? Her frock is made of a piece of one of -my own, and that blue is my favorite color. There, Tibbie, now you have -two whole dollies and part of another. You must run right home to bed. -A Merry Christmas to you, dear child. I am very happy to have made your -acquaintance." - -The exuberant Sally talked like a clock gone mad all the way home -through the clear wintry night; and since she felt inclined to -conversation, it was well she could keep one up alone, for Tibbie, who -trotted beside her, holding fast her dolls, did not utter a single -word. - - - - -THE PASSING OF SPRING - - -In the crowded, unbeautiful part of the city were two streets forming -as if the two long legs of the A we knew as children, the A with feet -wide apart, that stood for Ape. A third street went from one to the -other, as the little bar does across the A, but crooked, as a child's -hand would draw it. This street was narrow, gloomy, and relatively -quiet. The tide of traffic kept to the larger streets; the small street -knew, beyond the occupants of its own houses and visitors to these, few -but hurried foot-travellers who used it as a short cut, and people of -inferior pretensions coming there to trade. The ground-story of almost -every house was a shop; a person might have spent a life without real -necessity for leaving the street. Here boots were made and mended; in -the next door, clothes were sold (the dim show-windows were full of -decent dresses, very good still for what you paid; you could be fitted -even with a ball-dress, all beads and satin bows), yonder you could -get money on deposit of your watch, or your flute, or your ear-drops; -farther you could have yourself shaved. There was a window full of -tarts and loaves; another window in which a roast fowl set its gold -note, as some would say, between the pink note of half a ham and the -coral note of a lobster. - -Across a certain one of the windows in that street for a long time had -hung from a line, as from the belt of a savage, tails of hair--black, -brown, blond. Below these, two featureless wax faces presented their -sallow blankness to the passer, one wreathed with yellow curls, the -other capped with brown waves of a regular pattern. Ordered around the -twin turned-ebony stands were hairpins, sticks of cosmetic wrapped -in silver paper, slabs of chalk laid on pink cotton, china pots with -pictures of flowers or beauties and pleasing inscriptions in French, -fuzzy white balls of down, combs, gilt-brass ornaments, kid-capped -phials containing amber and ruby liquids. On the inside of the heavy -shutter, caught back against the street-wall by day, was pasted a -large print. This told you in what a prodigious way Madame Finibald's -Gold Elixir would make your hair grow, and showed you the picture of a -lady who doubtless had used it--her hair was extraordinary, it nearly -reached to her feet. - -Perhaps it had been found that the neighborhood was become hardened to -the sight of the luxuriant pictured hair; perhaps some who had provided -themselves with the small copy of it, to be obtained inside on a bottle -full of brown stuff, had grown inclined to treat of it lightly: "Ah, -Madame Finibald!" perhaps one irritated customer had said to the old -proprietress, coming to have made clear to her why after three bottles -of Gold Elixir her locks were still not thick, still not glossy and -splendid as the announcement promised they should be, "it's easy to -cork up herb tea. It's easy to make hair long in a picture, and it's -easy to make it thick. I don't believe there ever was any such person -as that young woman on the label!" One morning saw a change in Madame -Finibald's window. All the accustomed things were crowded to the sides -to make room for a chair; on this sat a girl with brown-gold hair that -reached in very truth to the floor. - -On every morning and every afternoon, through a long winter, first one -end and then the other of the little street was crossed by a youth who -kept to the larger thoroughfares with the stream. He carried books; he -went rapidly, granting small attention to the things he passed. It is -not from that to be supposed that he was profoundly thinking. His face, -agreeable in feature and color, was rather wanting in expression; no -more interesting than it was interested. He passed at precisely the -same hour every morning, and the time of his passing in the afternoon -varied but little. This, from October unto April. But when April set -its gold stamp on the weather, had there been any wise person observing -this well--constructed blond machine, applauding its regularity, -holding it up perhaps as an example to other young frequenters of -schools and lecture-rooms--that wise person would have been troubled, -he would have had misgivings, he would have been at last full of grief. - -A change had come over the young man's mood. His eye was acquiring a -roving habit. If his step had before been bent on duty, it was now -less directly bent; if before he had been on time at his appointments, -he must now have been always more or less late. He walked leisurely, -swinging his books by a strap. He loitered before shop-windows, he -turned to look after a face. The sky smiled down between the rows of -buildings on the occasion of the first balmy day; little clouds floated -in it, shimmering like dissolving pearls. He returned the soft sky's -compliment; he looked up at it, the winter sternness melting from his -eyes. At every street corner he was seen to stop, foolishly smiling -upward; and, yes, positively, he was seen there, forgetful of all the -people, to sigh and stretch! On that very day he lost three books out -of his strap, and did not for some time notice it; when he did, he -cared nothing! From a scrawl on the fly-leaf the finder of these books -learned their rightful owner to be of the house of Fraisier. - -He had come hundreds of miles from an obscure town to study in this -great city; he had been a serious, mechanical plodder for months, -feeling that he owed it to himself and to his distant family to fill -his head full, full with precious notions. He had formed no friendships -with his fellow-students, fearing that they would divert him, or -perhaps, fearing the young fellows themselves, among whom he felt -singularly green. He lived alone in one little room at the end of the -world, took no holidays, had no fun, went to bed early so as to be -fresh for his book in the morning. And now, suddenly, he had completely -lost the point of view from which it had seemed necessary that he -should get dizzily high marks, that he should conquer field after field -in the realm of learning, and return to his home exuding glory. He -could not persuade himself any more but that it befitted him perfectly -to spend many hours strolling through the streets with his hands in -his pockets, amusing his eyes with sights of every sort. He could find -no argument that satisfied him why he should not lounge on a garden -seat warm with sun, smoking cigarettes half the day, thinking nothing -profitable. The wretched boy had lost all sober sense of the duty of -man. - -If he had limited himself to sitting idle in the garden, watching the -year develop in that narrow, charming enclosure, one might have found -an excuse for him, the same as for the scientist who studies a specimen -under a glass; or, one might have said he had been overworking, his new -circumstances on coming to the city had induced in him a false sort -of fervor for work--a reaction was to be expected. But the mood whose -first stage had been simple disinclination for study and a taste for -pointless wanderings, by the time that in the march of the year the -crocuses had gone, took on developments. It was not so often before a -many-colored flower-bed he stopped, as before a window full of hats and -bonnets. - -If, again, he had limited himself to staring in at milliners' fronts! -The wares there do somewhat resemble fantastic flowers, and might -explain the interest of a botanist. But he halted in the same way -before shops that offered no excuse for the same attention; windows in -which were only idle feminine frocks displayed, flippant fans, frills -of fluted lace, feathery things for the neck. - -One might have imagined from his wonder and interest that all these -things had just been invented, that they were a strange spring-crop; -that new, too, was the race of smiling, chatting, shopping beings -crowding the street on sunny days, new and in fashion only since this -spring, such unaccustomed pleasure spoke in his eye that shyly followed -them in their prettiest representatives. What exquisite sense shown, O -ever-young Creator, in making the lip red, and the neck white, and the -temperate cheek between white and red! - -The boy had moments of being drunk in a glorified way even as is the -innocent bee, with nothing but wandering among flowers. Owing to a -confusion in the ideas attendant on that mysterious soft travailing -among the atoms of the heart warmed through by spring, all sorts of -things to him were as flowers! His imagination was so increased in -power, that with nothing but a pair of little shoes in a show-case to -start from he could build up the most astonishing, dreamy stories: -he could set feet in the shoes and rear a palatial flesh-and-blood -structure over them, as easy as sigh; fit the whole with graces, -laces, circumstances and adventures--contrive even to tangle its fate -pleasingly with his own. - -Which may make supposed that he was a youth of some boldness. Far from -it. He scarcely knew what a woman's eyes were like, except in profile -or fugitive three-quarters; on the other hand, he was well acquainted -with her back hair. Hair, in which he could pursue long studies -unconfounded, seemed to him the most beautiful thing in all the world. - -One day, with a view to lengthening the way by taking a road that -though shorter must from novelty be richer in diversion than his -daily track, he turned into the little street that cut off the -triangle of the A. He paused before the window of the worn watches and -sleeve-links; he took his time over the faded finery of the second-hand -clothes shop; he examined certain yellowed wood-cuts and stained books -he found in a narrow open stall. As he seemed coming to the end of the -street's resources, he looked over the way and thoughtfully felt his -cheek: he could not find there what would have justified a refreshing -station at the barber's. He continued his way slowly, to make it last. -Now, he stopped where several others were likewise stopping--he had -come to Madame Finibald's. - -The girl sat amid her hair, either unconscious or disdainful of the -eyes watching her beyond the glass. She looked in a book open on her -lap; now and then she turned over a leaf, sometimes revealing a picture -on the page. Her chair was low, perhaps so that her hair should amply -trail; its lowness made an excuse for the listlessness of her posture; -her feet were outstretched and crossed, the passers might know that -one of her shoes was laced with pink twine. If she moved her eyes from -her book a moment, it was only to sweep them past the faces, unseeing, -and lift them to the strip of sky between the houses--so blue this day, -the little bit there was of it. - -Her face one scarcely noticed for the first moment more than any rosy -apple; for oh! her hair!--her hair claimed all the attention a man had -to give, did her shining hair falling stately along her cheeks, all -over her shoulders, below her waist, beyond her garment--richer, of -course, than any possible queen's cloak. The light rippled over it, -changing on it all the time, when nothing else in the window appeared -to live. - -Within the shadow of the shop was discerned a watchful, wrinkled old -face, chiefly differing from a parrot's in the slyness of its eyes. -Fraisier catching sight of it thought of a witch on guard over a -princess enchanted and imprisoned in a glass-case. - -The little group in front of Madame Finibald's dispersed, formed anew -with other faces many times in the hour; Fraisier remained, his eyes -climbing up, sliding down the golden ropes of hair. - -At last, though the girl gave no sign, he was made uncomfortable by -the sense that she must, even without looking, have seen how long he -stood. He inquired timidly of her face. It was informed with a gentle -brazenness, fortified to be stared at all the day. Yet there was a -suggestion of childishness in its abstracted expression; she wore the -sort of look one has seen on the face of a little girl playing at being -somebody else far more splendid than herself. A close observer might -have suspected that she really thought it rather grand to sit there in -the gorgeousness of her hair, and was amused with pretending not to -know that a soul looked on. - -Fraisier, because her eyes were lowered, found hardihood to stare his -fill at her face. He surrendered without struggle before the round -cheeks, the short little nose, the good-natured mouth and chin, which, -in truth, took more than their just space in the face. But most--oh, -still most! delighted him the brown-gold hair that tumbled over her -forehead and ears in little curls. - -He was realizing from the mutterings of what was left him of a -conscience how late it must be getting--he must be taking himself -off; he was making long the one minute more he allowed himself, when -her pupils slid between the lashes in his direction. He had lost all -presence of mind, he could not withdraw his glance. After a second's -pause upon his, her eyes slid back to her book and were hidden. Then, -without another thought towards duty, he crossed the street to the -barber's, from whose window he could see Madame Finibald's; and, -coming forth with a smoother face than the rose, entered the little -eating-shop next door, from which likewise he could command Madame -Finibald's. - -He went through the little street every day. He took many atrocious -meals in the shop, on the table nearest the window. - -On such days as brought perfect weather, the girl in Madame Finibald's -would turn very often to the sky a look easily interpreted as longing. -Then would Fraisier look up too and sigh. It seemed such a pity, this -wasted blue weather. - -It seemed such a pity, all this wasted sweetness, he thought in -crossing a public garden on his occasional unwilling way to a lecture. -The quince-tree blossomed in red; under the cherry were little drifts -of scented snow; up out of the vigorous, rested earth were flowers -springing in mad, gay multitudes. The air was silver made air in the -morning; and in the afternoon it was gold made air. Birds, busily -building, busily twittered. These things did nothing to him, but the -more they were lovely and penetrated the heart, the more to make him -lonesome. - -He took himself away from their radiance without one regret for them, -to spend his time in preference in an ugly little street where one -could scarcely have known what season it was, where there was nothing -to see that was beautiful but certain long, long hair. In thought, -though, let it be said in vindication of spring's power of enthralling, -having done up the hair in braids, and extinguished it with a hat, he -was always, always guiding it to the contemned garden. When once it was -in the garden, May there had become perfect. - -He wondered whether it could be she had become aware of his persistent -presence. He feared she had, and as often that she had not. He imagined -sometimes that when he looked her face was quivering with a conquered -desire to smile. That disconcerted him a shade. Sometimes he thought -she looked suspiciously rosy for a girl unconscious of all the world. -Sometimes he looked away, with the idea that if he turned suddenly -he should find her stealing a glance at him. But he dared not look -very quickly, lest the action should be too marked; and turning with -discreet alacrity, he could never feel sure. - -One day, at last, having settled in his mind that this tame conduct was -unworthy of a man, refusing himself a second in which to think better -of any matter, he crossed the street and charged the shop. A bell -snapped sharply as he opened the door. It startled him to the point of -gasping. He grew crimson, finding himself opposed in truth, as many -a night before in dream, by Madame Finibald's sly and lowly smile, -breathing the same faintly drug-perfumed air as the princess breathed, -no glass screen between himself and the hair. He could have touched it, -had he been so bold. - -He stammered a request for soap--scented soap. He wished himself tens -of ten miles away, or time out of mind dead, when--wonderful! The -maiden in the window looked frankly over her shoulder. Was it that her -eyes brimmed with friendly laughter, or did it seem so to him because -his head had become incapable of a true notion? His heart, so to speak, -found its feet; he made a muddle of every sentence he launched upon, -but his words had a voice behind them. So much he contrived to convey: -he was very hard to please in the matter of soap. He sniffed at a -variety of proffered tablets, whose virtues Madame Finibald, in very -truth like a witch with a philter to sell, assiduously set forth; each -cake he examined seemed to hold in her estimation just a little higher -place than the foregoing. At the end of ten minutes, without positively -losing her good-humor, she declared that he had seen all in the shop, -she was sorry and surprised they could not suit him, they might have a -fresh stock in on the morrow. He was leaving in clumsy embarrassment, -empty handed, with a promise to return, when the princess lightly -jumped from the window-place, and, sweeping the hair off her face, -said: "There is one more sort, ma'am. I saw it up there, high, when I -dusted. Let me get it." - -She fetched the steps, and in a moment had climbed and lifted down a -box. She set it on the counter; she opened it herself and held towards -him, with a direct glance, a packet with a red rose printed on the -wrapper. - -Madame Finibald, with an exclamation, snatched it from the girl's hand, -and began, as if here had been a little grandchild recovered to her -old age, to speak with tenderness of its merits. The girl stood near, -twining and untwining a lock around her finger, while she unaffectedly -looked at the customer. Her hair came below her knees; every moment -she had to toss it back out of her face. - -"Go back to your window, wicked child!" cried the old witch, suddenly, -as if catching at a piece of gold as it was being taken out of her -pocket. "Go back!" - -"I am tired of sitting!" said the little princess, twisting her -shoulders in her frock with the prettiest peevishness. "I have sat and -sat and sat! I have finished my story. Let me go out and get a bun. You -know you said I could when it was noon." - -She caught at her hair, and, to the infinite wonder of one looking -on, began twisting, twisting, twisting, coiling, coiling, coiling, -driving in great skewers--while he filled his blissful pockets with -rose-scented soap. - -The bell snapped in fretful reprehension for her passing out. Less than -a minute after, it exclaimed in annoyed surprise for his. - -Now was he no longer made lonesome by every coquettish touch the more -that the year put to her toilet. For the girl of the regal hair -smiled to him, surreptitiously with her lips, but unguardedly with her -eyes, when he came by her glass-case; while he dawdled in the window -opposite, she communicated with him by signs no other eye could have -perceived. Even before their acquaintance had become very old, she -slipped out to walk in the garden, and they sat on the green seats and -had long, foolish, youthful talks--delightful, foolish, youthful times. - -Her conversation took an amusing interest from the peculiarities of -her education. She had seen and heard much in her short life in a hard -world, where it was no one's affair to keep anything from her young -ken--much of dark, and petty, and unpicturesque--preserving through -all a sort of hardy innocence; and she had borrowed from a cheap -circulating library a vast lot of fiction dealing with the supremely -grand. Her preference in literature, however, had remained for fairy -tales, a taste formed when it had been one of her duties to read aloud -to certain little children of the rich. She knew them by the score. It -was to this, perhaps, some of her remarks owed the fanciful touch that -redeemed them from the commonness of her general conversation--a genial -commonness, condoned to such young lips. She had a childish way of -lending a personality to everything, that amused him more than epigram -would have done. She ascribed intention to the wind that blew off her -hat, and stopped to express her mind to it. She assumed consciousness -in the bench they sat on; she wanted to take the same one, lest it -should think they slighted it because it was rickety, for which it -was not to blame. Every flower was to her a person. "Hush! They are -listening!" she said, looking from the corner of her eye at a bank of -knowing pansies. She scolded a button for coming off, as if the want -of principle shown by it had been a thing to revolt her. She stood in -a one-sided relation of good-fellowship with the brown birds hopping -among the gravel, and the fishes in the pond; she spared them many -crumbs. With homely good-heartedness she took into an amused regard all -the family of spring--buds, blades, insects--addressing speech to them -as if she had been a giant and they a very little people. - -Never can spring return without Fraisier's remembering that spring. -It was bright; by it all the springs following have been cast in the -shadow. - -The long hair was woven through and through his thoughts; but not as -a disturbing, upheaving element. The girl made him waste a great deal -of time, but nothing else--not the life of his heart. Because of her -good-nature, her entire want of coquetry or perverseness, his feeling -for her complicated itself in nowise; rather it grew simpler as it -insensibly changed. His wonder and fine dread at feminine appurtenances -had worn away a little with increased familiarity; he reposed on that -fact as if it had been such an one as becoming accustomed to the noise -of guns. He felt under delicate obligations to her for having routed -his shyness, and not at all tormented him in any of the thousand ways -he apprehended a feminine being would have at her command. - -As he was less and less in awe of her and that suspected arsenal, -though a charming, fearful element went out of his sentiment, his -affection perhaps grew more. She made such a good little comrade! -Insidiously, she connected herself in his mind with future days--she -who cared only for the day and the pleasure thereof. When he spoke of a -thing it would be pleasant to do, a place pleasant to visit, he said, -always unreflectingly, yet from a sincere heart: "Some day we must go -there. Let us do such a thing some time." When he described the hills -and ponds of home, he said what they might have done had she been -there last summer or the years before, how they might have rowed and -rambled. He painted the good time they might have together, in some not -impossible, but not specified time, place, and circumstances. - -So the green from tender grew brilliant--grew deep--became void of -interest to the accustomed eye, and more or less dust settled over it. -It was manifest to all that spring was past. - -Then began an anxious time. Those lectures, those miserable lectures! -Those courses, those wretched courses, which he had neglected! That -blessed information he had spared to cull when the time was for it! -These things seemed likely to get their revenge. When he awoke to a -sense of his danger--very late! only when the bloom was off the year, -when lily and early rose had gone where they could divert no mortal -more--he could not believe that he should not, by fitting exertion, -catch up in time at the appointed goal. He worked rabidly, with a wet -cloth around his head. He thought not of girls in those days, I promise -you; he recked not of bronze-gold hair! - -It was written that he should not be saved. He closed his school term -pitiably conditioned. - -When the worst was known, at least was time to breathe, however sore -the lungs, then his mind reverted to her. He had been man enough to -harbor no spite towards her, accuse her of nothing. He sent her a -message and waited at the appointed place, wondering a little, while -he waited, at his follies of the spring. They seemed so unnecessary, -looked back upon now. Why, in a very real, practical world like -this one, where a man's failure to pass his exams was sure to call -forth from his progenitor letters such as his pocket at this moment -contained, conduct one's self as if existing in a world of lambs and -purling streams and shepherdesses? He was one with the actual world in -looking with astonishment and condemnation upon his own works. The sky -above was hard, barren blue; it seemed so easy, looking back, to have -stuck to the approved road. What had possessed him? - -Then she appeared. At sight of her his heart dropped its armor. She -brought back a whiff of the sweetness of a past atmosphere. Was it -possible he had ever been the happy boy he seemed to remember! He -smiled up in her face with cheek-muscles stiffened by disuse, and eyes -ringed with studious shadows. She had on a flimsy frock, printed all -over with little flowers that seemed to him to smell good; her hair, -where the great wad projected beyond the straw brim, was touched with -a warm, peculiar glory. He had meant to keep himself well hardened -against her, tell her the various things necessary in a matter-of-fact -way, and bid her good-bye indefinitely. He felt more like crying with -his disgraced head in her lap. - -He conquered his weakness.... A pretty man he made! - -He got out with sufficient composure and dignity what he had to say. -He told her all that had happened, the change it made in the coming -months. He was not going home for the holidays; he could not endure to -see the folks. He was going into the country to spend the summer in -hard study, to make sure of "passing" next term. He was going to the -particular place he mentioned because he had a friend there, a fellow -he had taken up with in the last weeks, one that had had the same bad -luck as himself. This man's family lived there; it would not be quite -so dreary as being alone. - -She chaffed and consoled him in turns. Now that the world had gone -all wrong with him, her eyes seemed to him sweeter and softer than -he had ever observed. What a good, kind little friend! Lord! what -a good, crazy, light-hearted time they had had, and how pretty she -looked to-day! What wonderful, thrice wonderful hair it was, waving and -ringletting about her glowing summer face, coiling massively on the -back of her head! No woman on earth had such hair! - -He did wish for a moment that Green, his new friend, might see her--he -was proud of her. One night, when they had sat grinding together for -mutual assistance, the oil giving out, Green had told him of a cousin -of his. Fraisier had said nothing of any girl. He only wished that -Green might see the hair of this girl whose name he had foreborne to -speak. - -Good-bye, Minnie! He should be working like a slave all through the -burning golden days--let her think of him a little. He should be very -lonesome. When he had studied until his eyes smarted and his head -swam, there would be nothing pleasant to do, no one pleasant to talk -with--she might spare a moment to be sorry for him now and then. He -should be back in the fall. Bless the beautiful and beautiful and -beautiful hair! Good-bye, Minnie! - -She so little perished from his mind after their parting that -whenever--as Green and he lay under the trees, withdrawn from the world -and devoted to arduous studies, keeping off the insects by smoke--Green -began talking about that cousin of his, Fraisier became half sick with -reminiscence. He could not resist replying by talking--with the finest, -shyest reverence always--of Minnie. There was a dreamy solace in -talking of her to some one. She described so well, too; so unusually. -He had a proud secret assurance that as an incident in a man's life she -altogether eclipsed a cousin in interest. - -"How long is your cousin's hair?" he asked, with assumed casualness, -once. Green stared a little, and confessed not having the slightest -idea. Fraisier opened his arms as wide as they could go, and said, -vaguely blushing, "The young lady I spoke of has hair as long as this!" - -"Come! I should like to see it!" spoke Green, in such a tone that -Fraisier turned a deep, vexed red. - -He said nothing, but on the next day took his books to a different -place, choosing to keep to himself so long as Green did not seek him -with a suitable apology. - -The spot selected by the young men as a meeting ground lay at an equal -distance between Green's home and the cottage in which Fraisier had -taken up his summer quarters. It was on the skirts of a wood, and, by -some accident of the land, often cool when other places were hot. The -rolling pasture it commanded was dotted with scrubby evergreens, and -crossed by a small brook the cow's hoofs had in some places trodden -broad and shallow. It was colored in patches with the frequent pink of -clover-heads, surprised here and there with the white of a long-necked, -belated daisy. - -Fraisier took himself to a spot just not so far from the usual haunt -but that Green when he came might see him. - -It was a fair, soft, simmering morning, promising a scorching day. -He stretched himself under the trees and lighted a pipe--he had taken -to a pipe in place of cigarettes since coming into the wilderness. -He composed himself for a serious forenoon's work, deciding that it -was much more profitable, after all, to study alone--Green was always -digressing. - -The spot he had chosen was not so good, it proved, as the one he had -left clear for Green. A path ran through the woods, just within the -trees; there was a frequent patter of bare feet on the dust, children -with pails passed looking for things. He waited to proceed with his -theorem till their high piping, scattered voices had died away. It was -not so cool, either; as a fact, it was hotter than most places. He did -not crave the exertion of seeking a better; this was at least shady. He -turned over on his back and closed his eyes, yielding gracefully to the -force of circumstances. - -A light blow in the face, from an acorn, perhaps, roused him. -He thought of Green, and, instantly broad awake, looked for the -development of some practical joke. - -It was not Green--he saw it with a sort of disappointment. It was one -of the berry-seeking children that had caught sight of him snoozing, -and followed its natural instinct. A boy's grinning head was seen -bobbing above one of the neighboring bushes. He turned from it in -disgust and felt surlily about the grass for his pipe, about his person -for a match-- - -Gracious powers! what sort did the young one take him for, with this -free persecution? Another acorn had hit him smartly on the head. - -"Look out, there!" he called, making a feint of rising to give chase. - -"Come on!" shouted the boy, gayly, from behind the bush. There was a -burst of laughter, a flash and flutter of pink, and the boy, who turned -out to be a girl, came precipitately towards him. She stopped just -short of a collision, and dropped in the grass panting with laughter. -He stared at her blankly. Every time she looked up and caught sight of -his expression she doubled herself and fairly writhed. - -"He doesn't know me!--he doesn't know me!" she brought forth amid her -convulsive giggling. - -"Minnie! My God! What--what have you done to yourself?" he exclaimed, -and had no breath left. - -She moderated her laughter, and presented her smiling face a moment for -him to see well what had happened. She ran her fingers over her cropped -head, ruffling it absurdly, making the short locks stand on end. - -"Isn't it funny? Doesn't a person look funny at first? The rest of -it is hanging, like a fairy horse's tail, in the window, across the -picture of the Elixir lady. (Bad old woman! Cheat! She didn't give -me much for it! But, Natty Fraisier, I would have taken even less, -I did want to come so!) You poor, lonesome boy! I can stay a whole -week--perhaps more. I have found a place in the village, just near you. -The first child I met told me all I wanted to know. I thought it would -have been harder. Mercy! isn't it heavenly still and sweet here, with -hills and cows? I was never in the true country before. Mercy! isn't -it good? Look out, you flower there--over there, you, miss! That is -called a bee; he has a terrible stinger--oh, he is an old acquaintance? -Go ahead, then, and give him a nice swing, and honey for his tea. Oh, -Natty, I am so glad! Aren't you glad?" - -He choked and cleared his throat. No, without that voice, never in -the world would he have known her. Before him seemed to be a common -little street-boy who had run off in a girl's new pink dress and shiny -shoes--an unknown boy whose features had something painfully familiar. -Strange! He remembered Minnie's face as possessing a certain harmony -in its lines, however childish and trivial they were; this terrible -little impostor, though not ill favored, was broad of jaw and narrow -of forehead; his eyes even were not the same, but smaller and nearer -together, while the mouth was larger--its very proneness to laughter -increased its commonness. And that ridiculous hair--literally chopped -off by an unskilled hand and twisted here and there with unpractised -tongs! It was so thick, it had no more light or lustre than a -hearth-brush. - -Her face sobered ever so little as she looked at him. "What is the -matter? Poor dear! you haven't got over those exams. But I won't -bother, you know, and take up all your time; I have learned better. -I won't interfere with any work, I promise, Natty. See me swear? On -this algebra! Only, before you begin and when you have done each day, -we will go for walks and rows. I saw a boat on the pond. We will have -lunch on the grass, and make a fire with sticks we pick up. Look! you -put three long sticks like that and hang the kettle in the middle. We -will do all those things we used to plan when we never much thought -there would be a chance. You poor, lonesome boy, have you been having -a horrid time? We will make up for it now. Natty, you don't care about -the _hair_, do you? You needn't. You know, I had got mortally sick of -sitting in that window. I could not have stood it a day longer. When -a fly buzzed on the pane I wanted to scream. Again and again I have -come near putting my foot through the glass at one of the gaping -faces, then jumping down and catching the old woman while she told lies -about my having used her Elixir faithfully--never touched a drop!--and -dancing her up and down all around the room until she dropped. I -shall go back to taking care of little children now, as I did before -she found me. I do love children! And in that business, I don't mind -telling you, I shall do better without all that hair. No matter how -tight I did it up, some one was always grumbling that it made too -much show. You mustn't care a bit about the hair, Natty; I gave it up -without a twinge. I cut it off with my own hands. You have no idea how -much comfortabler this is in hot weather. My head feels so light! I can -dip it in the water any minute. I do love it like this!" - -She ran her hands through her hair again, ruffling it still more -fantastically. Fraisier winced. He was sick beyond calculating the -degree. "Oh, my poor girl!" he contrived at last to say. - -She looked at him more closely than before in her overrunning joy, -and her face fell a little. No doubt she had seen herself in mirrors -since her alteration, but not in a real mirror until she saw herself -reflected in his very pale face. She smiled still, but a little -foolishly; then no more, and stopped chatting. It was as if a stone -had been set to seal up a spring--a large stone laid upon her bubbling -heart. There was a silence. - -He saw that she must be seeing what he could not keep out of his face. -He could not help it; he could get no control over his feelings, over -his expression. He was not sure he cared to--he did not try. He was at -sea: he did not know what he felt, what he did not feel. The bottom -seemed to have dropped out of his heart, out of the world--out of -something, everything. He knew not! He only knew he was sick--sick, and -incapable of speech, of action, of reflection. - -"You can't stay here, child," he heard some one saying, in a -matter-of-fact, superficial voice. "Don't you see, yourself, that you -can't? For your own sake, I mean. It would never do, Minnie. You must -understand that. You don't know what a thing a small country village -like this is, for gossip and slanderous tongues. I couldn't let you -injure yourself so, don't you see?" - -"It wouldn't be proper?" she inquired, faintly. - -"No, Minnie; no, it wouldn't--at all. Don't you see it?" - -She got to her feet, full as pale as he now. - -"All right," she said, and after a few mechanical steps, paused a -moment, looking down, biting her finger--lost in thought, or waiting -for something to happen, for him to say something further. - -He could not speak--he could not make himself speak. - -"All right," she said again, very distinctly, and turned to go without -another word. - -"Minnie! Minnie!" he faltered, and had instinctively cast himself -after her. His outstretched hand almost touched her pink draperies. -She turned on him fiercely, whisking herself out of reach. He was -confronted for a second by a little angry street-boy face, but with -the gathered experience and woe of half a race in the eyes. "Let me -alone! Don't dare to touch me! Nathaniel Fraisier, I hate you!" - -She began desperately to run. He saw her clutch her poor little ruined -head, and heard her cry out, breaking into sobs: "Oh, my hair! Oh, my -hair!" - -He dropped in the grass, face downward, and pressed his hands over his -ears, trembling. It all seemed so strange, so out of proportion. - -In the late afternoon of that same hot day the crabbed little bell on -Madame Finibald's door snapped to let in a tired, dusty youth, whose -dejected face was so flushed, one's thought at sight of him turned -at once on sunstroke. He leaned wearily over the counter and asked a -few questions, at which madame's liver seemed so shaken she could not -keep a hold on her good manners. At the height of her voice she began -berating all the world, and one absent person. Fraisier tried to calm -her, with vague, soothing motions of his hands patting down the air. -When she subsided enough for him to be heard, he pointed to a long -tail of shining hair in the window, and spoke again, growing redder, -if possible, than before--so red that his eyes watered, and he had to -shade them a moment, leaning his elbows on the counter. She unhitched -the hair, shaking it brutally. He put out his hands in remonstrance. -She flung it down before him with a forbidding proposition and a deep -snort of malice. Meekly he emptied his purse on the counter, unfolding -the bills, spreading out the silver and lucky pieces to count, -reserving only for himself a crumpled ticket. - -She watched him with gleeful, avaricious eyes. After computation, he -rose without breath of argument and went down the street to pawn his -watch and studs and cigarette-case, returning solvent. - -He left with a rather unsightly parcel in his hand; the cover was burst -in more than one place. Madame Finibald had not been so particular -as she sometimes was in the selection of her wrapping-paper. He had -no overcoat and no pocket large enough to put his prize in; he was -forced to hold it, conscious how it was heavy and soft and its contents -gleamed through the holes. - -He got home at dark, reporting to his landlady with his back to the -light. He wanted nothing to eat: there were lamps and voices in the -dining-room. He could not go to bed, worn out as he was: on the porch -below his window was singing and picking of strings. - -He went forth into the fields. At last, beyond all sounds but the -summer's own, he sank on the grass. He did not look up once at the -stars, but lay sprawling with his forehead on his crossed arms, and -let his heart torture itself at its own good leisure. He drank deeper -and deeper of its dark bitterness, forcing himself recklessly to it, -reaching a sort of desperate drunkenness. It seemed to his inexperience -there could be nothing worse at any time in this life to taste. - -He woke long hours afterwards, wondering a little at first, feeling -somewhat stiff. The air was warm and still, tremulous with -crickets--thrilled through with the shaken baubles of the summer's -myriad little jesters. In his sleep he had rolled over; his face was -to heaven. The sky was faint with starlight; the Milky Way was a road -of diamond sand; the great constellations had hung themselves with -solemn jewels; down near the rim of the world watched far-spaced large -earnest beacon-lights--but above, the tiniest irresponsible stars -twinkled in and out, like shining ants in ant-hills. He looked, almost -wondering why his eyes felt so queer--sore besides heavy; why his -breast felt so heavy. He rose sitting; he was on a hillock. Like an -opaque reproduction of the transparent, lightsome sky looked the ground -about him, which the scythe had this season respected; it was dark -dotted with daisies. He rubbed his aching head a little, then lay back -again, the grass shooting coolly up along his cheeks. After the sound, -dreamless sleep of utter exhaustion from which he had waked, because he -had drained it to satisfaction, his head was numbed, but, the little -it worked, clear in its working; his heart was sore, but quieted. -Something had changed; all wore another aspect; all seemed farther -removed. Hours had gone by already, a month would go--a year--fifteen -years. This would be lived out of memory. If it is realized that a -thing must cease, has it not begun to die already? At the first one -must be patient, and take suffering as a matter of course. He stretched -his limbs wearily, not entirely deceived by himself, nor unaware of -depths of heartache under this film of philosophy that had scummed them -over in sleep. He drew his hot palms over the grass; his hand came upon -the parcel that he had not dared to leave behind nor to open, that he -never would have the strength to open--and his philosophy was severely -shaken. His heart was near bursting out afresh; he laid his face on the -wretched, soft, dead little bundle, and agonized. - -Then he revolted against this suffering that seemed to him undeserved, -disproportionate. He was not a bad fellow; looking into his heart, -he could declare truthfully that it was not in him to willingly harm -anything--give any one pain. Why should he feel so endlessly mean, so -endlessly miserable? He appealed to Minnie, his reasonable Minnie of -old, against this state of things. He defended himself to her; she -defended him to himself. When all was said, he had at no time done -anything to blame, had that day said nothing that was not wise and for -the best, that he would not in like case be forced to say over again. -He had been taken unawares; he had not expressed himself with tact--he -had been fatally slow. The fact remained that the girl could not have -stayed by him, setting the whole country-side agog. But if his heart -still refused to be at peace about this matter, let it be assured he -meant to seek till he found the girl; it must be easy enough to find -her, though he had failed that day. Alas! poor little forlorn head, -shorn of its great gleaming beauty--poor little discrowned head, at -this hour full of what thoughts, God knew! He would make all things -right to her; he was extravagantly ready to pay any price; he was -lavish of his future, free of all the gods gave him to give. At the -same time that he made these protestations to himself and to her, and -he was sincere in making them, he knew that Minnie would never look at -him again--he knew that she had understood how he was changed with the -change in her; it was beyond his governing, but she must be forgiven -for not forgiving it. And looking into his man's heart, he wondered at -the mystery of it. - -In that hour of being honest, after revolting at it, reasoning about -it, trying to sophisticate it away, he came back always to a hopeless -contemplation of it as a simple fact, not to be done away with. In -the face of it he might clear himself of all blame, perhaps, but he -remained humiliated and full of a vague pity. As he lay in the grass -so, plucking heedlessly in the dark at the little tufts, emptied of all -pride under the lofty stars, a dreamy mood followed upon what degree -of success he had in suppressing feelings he was determined not to -endure, so did they hurt! His thoughts in search of soothing travelled -back to days before last spring, when he could hardly have conceived -what he had this night been suffering. Peaceful period, but without -great charm, he decided, loyal to his altered taste. He thought of -the past spring, the soft awakening all without and within a man--the -tender, vast burgeoning, fluttering, shimmering, outreaching! He judged -it sadly from a midsummer night. Not all were flowers that put forth in -that mad amenity of nature; no, not all flowers. - -And in connection with all that freshness and fragrance and beauty of -spring, he thought unavoidably of what had seemed to his new-quickened -heart its very expression, its chiefest adornment--the gentle order -he loved in so general and devoted a way. His conjuring head filled -with charming phantoms, pathetic to his sense at this juncture; they -passed, exquisite pageant, leaving as if a perfume of themselves -through the halls of his mind, not one little grace, one foolish trick, -one dainty manner of being, lost on his worshipping sensibility: -silver laughter--odors of violets--sunny loose hairs and white -hand tucking them behind the ear--pretty feet tiptoeing across the -street in bad weather--pouted lips cooing to a baby, or quaintly -attempting its own language to a bird--languid attitudes--belts -of a span--caprices--teasing humors--tenderness--pity for small -creatures--long lashes blinking a tear--queenly bearing--rods of -lily held over bowing heads with such assurance of power as never a -sceptre--aye, power greater than any emperor's, founded, dear God--upon -what? at the mercy--of what? And he yearned and grieved over them, poor -youth, as if he had been their maker. - - - - -PAULA IN ITALY - - -On his way down-stairs Prospero came upon the _padrona di casa_. - -She stood at the door of the first floor, which he had supposed -untenanted, the windows on the street being always dark. She looked -pleased, anxious, and full of business. - -"Just step in for a moment, signorino," she said, "and tell me what it -seems to you." - -The young man followed her. The windows of the apartment were wide -open--most likely to let in the heat, for to lean forth beyond the -chill boundary of the stone walls was like dipping into a warm bath. -The long, old, neatly darned lace curtains waved gently in the April -air. The stone floors had been sprinkled; a pleasant freshness arose -from them. Everything had an air of having just been gone over with a -damp dust-cloth; everything that could be furbished shone to the utmost -of its capacity. - -The little woman led Prospero into the large _sala_, from which, -through several open doors, one got glimpses of other airy chambers. -The great height of the ceiling--increased to illusion by the cunning -of the fresco, which professed to open into the sky itself, and show -a flight of rosy cupids tumbling among the clouds--had the effect of -dwarfing the furniture, even the gigantic vases under their shining -bells. The seats were placed about in social groups; in the embrasure -of the balcony window stood a small table supporting a coral-colored -coffee service, lately placed between two low chairs, with a view to -spreading about suggestions of cosiness--the joys of intimate life. - -"I see that you are expecting a tenant," said Prospero. - -"So it is indeed; a great lady--a foreigner," replied the _padrona_, -under her breath. "Just see, signorino, what you make of this name." -While she felt in her pocket she went on: "It is Dottor Segati sends -her to me. Oh, he has sent me families before when there was a patient -among them; and this apartment has always given satisfaction; that I -can say with my hand upon my conscience. There--can you read it? I can -tell the letters, but I can't make the sound. One ought to have another -tongue on purpose for these foreign names." - -Prospero studied a second, then pronounced, clearly, "Gräfin Paula von -Schattenort." - -"_Gräfin_ means Countess," said the landlady. "The doctor told me that -she is a Countess; but whether Danish or Swedish or Hollandish I don't -remember. For me all those countries are the same. Schattenort, you -call it? What would that be in Italian?" - -Prospero laughed. "It stays as it is, dear lady. Is this Countess -young, do you know?" he went on, looking again at the name on the -paper he still held. "Is she coming here for her health?" - -"I don't know anything beyond the fact that the doctor engages the -rooms for her, and I can rely upon him. Oh, he has sent me families -before, you know, who have always been perfectly satisfied with me, and -I with them. You can see yourself that the quarters are such that even -a Countess might find herself well in them--" - -"Yes, truly," replied Prospero, agreeably. "She would be hard to please -if she were not content. Well, if you allow me now, I go. Have you -perhaps a commission of any sort for me? I shall do myself a pleasure -in serving you." - -"Too good--much too good. If you would just say the name over--" - -"Von Schattenort." - -"What it is to have a memory! What a thing is education! Not but -that also I can make myself understood in the French tongue. -Schattenort--Schattenort. I should not like to _scomparire_, you will -understand, at the very first meeting. But if I forget, I will simply -say _Signora Contessa_. Only one likes to be able to tell friends whom -one has got in the house." - -Prospero, late already, was hurrying down the stairs, his music under -his arm; at the foot he was forced to stop. He took off his hat, and -leaned against the wall to let the ladies pass. - -The gray-haired gentleman talking unpractised French he knew to be -Dottor Segati. He fixed upon Paula von Schattenort without a second's -hesitation; of the two ladies, only the one in the hat and feather -could, in his conception of possibility, be she. He was half-conscious -as she passed him on her upward way of a faint pang of disappointment. -The name had suggested to his imagination something tall and frail, -delicate yet imposing, exceedingly, luminously blond, with eyes of a -corn-flower blue. The magic of the name was defeated. - -He bethought him how late he would be, and without turning his head for -a second look, or giving another thought to the arrivals, slipped past -the two maids, who stood in the doorway talking in a language unknown -to him, while the Countess's man handed them bundles from the carriages -drawn up to the door. - -Paula, on entering the apartment, let her little gloved hands drop at -her sides, and looking around with wide, quick eyes, gave a long sigh -of pleasure. - -"Here I can breathe--here I can breathe indeed!" she said to her -companion, in their Northern tongue; then turning to the doctor, she -assured him in French that she found it charming, as she had found -everything in Italy--that she thanked him for his goodness. The doctor -and the landlady both watched her with a half smile and slightly raised -eyebrows as she walked quickly through the rooms, exclaiming at every -window with delight at sight of the fawn-colored, warm-looking river -flowing below and flashing back the sunshine, and the low hills clothed -in their early green. - -Her companion followed her with an unusual solemn dignity of manner, -intended to counterbalance Paula's unaccustomed vivacity, and give the -people of the house, if possible, an adequate impression of the two as -a whole. - -"Oh, look--look, Cousin Veronika!" exclaimed the younger woman from the -balcony, over the parapet of which she had been leaning venturously -far--"look at that dear old bridge; it is the Jeweller's Bridge; I -recognize it. _N'est-ce pas, cher docteur?_ Oh, what a sky! But have -you any patients at all in this city, doctor? Is it possible to be ill -here? Do persons die? Of what? I will never believe it!" - -"My dear lady," said the gray doctor, his kindly face lighting as if -with the reflection of her childish excitement, "will you be advised by -me? Will you sit down on this commodious divan and rest a little, while -you take what the signora has brought for you--this little glass of our -white _vin santo_? It will do you good. You must be tired, very tired." - -"Oh no! no, doctor! It is like magic. I do not understand it. I feel -like another. I shall not be tired here, ever. You must come and see -me every day indeed, but not as a doctor--as my good, good friend. -Tell me, is it still standing, the house where Dante lived? Have you a -book--I mean, could you advise me a book--in which there is everything -of the story about him and Beatrice? It must be sweet to think of when -one is in their city." - -"I will do myself the pleasure of sending you the _Vita Nova_," he -said; then, solicitously, "but accommodate yourself, my dearest lady, -and drink this--" - -"_Vita Nova?_ Does that mean new life? New life!" she said, as if to -herself, suddenly half stretching her arms up in the air and smiling in -indeterminate happiness at the ceiling, whereon the shining river cast -a restless, quivering brightness. "Yes, send it me; I want to read it. -I will drink this to please you, signor, but not that I am tired. Here -is to New Life!" - -She touched her glass to the doctor's and Veronika's, and emptied it -at an eager draught. Veronika watched her in surprised displeasure, -sipping her own wine staidly and decorously. It warmed her very heart -to see Paula merry, only she thought it unbecoming to behave in the -presence of strangers as if one were a person of no importance. - -Her good-humor returned as soon as the doctor and the _padrona_ -had excused themselves. When they were alone she seized Paula -unceremoniously by the wrists and forced her back into an arm-chair; -then lifted her feet, and with much decision placed them upon a -footstool. "Now you don't stir," she said, shaking her finger in -Paula's face. - -"But, cousin, it is so different," pleaded Paula. "I feel no more -as I do at home, than this mild, heavenly air is like our joyless -atmosphere. Are your eyes open, Cousin Veronika? Do you perceive the -things about you--or is it all a dream of my own? It seemed to me as we -drove from the station that we had arrived in an enchanted place." - -"It's just a city," murmured Veronika. - -"Those sombre palaces we passed, how they make the spring-time in the -sky above them more lightsome, more warm! And those flowers banked up -for sale against that black stone wall, could you see what they were? -They seemed to me all new sorts--marvellous. Have you noticed how happy -every one looks in Italy, even the beggars sitting in the sun? And what -beautiful faces one sees--" - -She stopped and mused, gazing ahead in silence for a few moments; then -went on aloud: "Yes--beautiful faces, like pictures. Did you see the -young man whom we met on the stairs? Not? Veronika, for what have you -eyes? The light just there was a little dim, but I saw him perfectly. -I passed him slowly on purpose--he leaned against the wall to let us -go by him. He had wavy hair, longer than is usual, falling over his -forehead, and soft brown eyes like an animal's. I am sure one sees such -eyes only in Italy, half asleep, yet deeply intelligent, that when you -look in them you think a thousand things--" - -"You certainly took in a great deal at a glance," said Veronika. - -"Oh, I could tell you much else," laughed Paula; "beside that he wore a -pink in his button-hole and carried a roll of music." - -"Veronika," she said, after a pause, jumping up from her chair and -walking about excitedly as before, "we must be very happy here. We must -begin at once. Think how much time we have lost--all our years up to -this day. Now we must really enjoy ourselves, live--love!" she added, -recklessly, with light in her eyes. - -Veronika, kneeling over an open satchel, paused in her task to look -over her spectacles with a vaguely shocked air, as if something immoral -had been said. - -"This seems like the opening chapter in a lovely story-book that -becomes more interesting with every page," said Paula, dropping -on her knees and crushing her cheek to Veronika's gray hair, with -an expansiveness that took this lady aback. "I have the happiest -presentiments! Ah, Veronika, there was once a woman who said that -happiness is to be young, beloved, and in Italy!" - -"Unless you keep quiet and rest," said Veronika, "you will be ill, and -that is as far as _you_ will get--" - -Paula stared a second in wonder at Veronika's impatience; then she -reflected that her cousin was old and could not understand. "Poor -Veronika!" she thought, with a sympathetic shake of the head, "_she_ -can never have but Italy!" - -Like a good child, she went back to her chair, but before settling down -in it she pushed it to the balcony window; then she sat with her eyes -fixed upon San Miniato. - -Dr. Segati came the next day, early. He found Paula pale and infinitely -tired, but wearing a contented face. She sat in the balcony window, -closed to-day, with a cushion behind her shoulders; flowers stood in -the water near her--a delight to the eyes, wonderful wind-flowers, -white and pink, purple, scarlet, pale violet. She rose to meet the -doctor, and gave him the childish smile that had won his heart to her -the day before. - -She pointed to the book she held. "It came last night. I thank you. I -am trying to read it, you see. But I do not know enough. I can make -only just a little sense here and there, where it resembles French. Oh, -I like it all the same--very much. The title is beautiful--_Vita Nova_!" - -"Tell her she must not read, doctor," said Veronika. "It is bad for -her. She has been tiring herself over the book." - -The doctor listened politely, an intelligent eye fixed on Veronika's, -and made no objection to what she said. She had always after that half -an idea that he understood her. - -"I had the cook sent in," said Paula, with a brightening face. "The -native cook whom the _padrona_ was so good as to engage for me. I asked -her about some passages. She could read them easily--how I envied -her!--but she could not make them clear to me, though she seemed to do -her best." - -The doctor laughed amusedly, and took a seat beside her. "What an eager -little lady! Certainly that is the way to learn. But why this hurry? -The great object first is to become robust. Oh, this air will do it! I -have no fear. And how did you sleep?" - -Paula blushed as if caught in fault. "I don't know why it should -be I lay awake so much. My old doctor at home (I bless him for his -inspiration of sending me here!) has written you about me, I suppose. I -dare say you know I cough sometimes in the night. Doctor," she asked, -abruptly, "who lives above us?" - -He looked interrogatively at the ceiling, and shook his head. - -"Oh, I am so sorry you do not happen to know. It is a great musician, -and I feel much gratitude towards him. I was becoming nervous with -lying awake--I was on the point of calling my poor cousin--when some -one began playing on the piano in the room above me. Sweetly, very -sweetly. I could hear it just distinctly enough. It was a joy. I lay -awake, but it soothed me more than sleep." - -"I seem to remember that there is a music-master living in the house," -said the doctor. "I will beg the _padrona_ to speak to him. He should -not play in the night." - -"Not at all," exclaimed Paula, with a warmth he could not expect. -"Please, I want him to play. I shall be grieved if you say anything to -prevent him. It does not keep me awake. If I were sleepy I could not -hear it." - -The doctor prolonged his visit far into the forenoon. At the first -movement he made to go, Paula said, pleadingly: "Oh, not yet. I -entertain myself so willingly with you!" And he stayed. - -He was interested, in the woman as well as in the case. She was -different from his other aristocratic patients. She was of a type new -to him; without appearing to, he studied her face as she spoke, and -from it, and from frequent allusions she dropped, he built up a theory -of her past. - -He divined that she was older than she looked. It was, he resolved, -the childlike glance and smile, the voice as of shyness overcome, her -artlessness, her continually outcropping ignorance of the world, her -immature mind perhaps, that gave the impression of youthfulness one at -first received from her. If one looked well, she had even already a -sad little beginning of faded appearance. Her face was a trifle broad, -and the high cheek-bones were commencing slightly to accuse themselves, -as they say in French. The charm of her countenance, to such as felt -it, lay in her eyes: they were unsophisticated, hopeful, interested, -idealizing eyes. Vanity, it must be pityingly related, had taught her -nothing. Her blond hair, dull and fine and soft--a large treasure -that would have made the boast of many another woman--was drawn away -rigorously from her forehead, braided, and wound compactly against the -back of her head, like a school-girl's. - -He noticed with amused wonder how unpretending--nay, provincial, -homely, for persons of rank and fortune--was the _mise_ of the two -women. Fashion by them was misconstrued, or else despised. He did -not incline to the latter interpretation of their plainness; he -rather laid to a touching innocence of the mode's dictates Mamsell -Veronika's pelerine and the black lace tabs on the sides of her head; -the antiquated cut of Paula's deep violet gown, the little black silk -mitts that covered her pale pretty hands to the point where her rings -began. These were numerous rather than rich, and gave the impression -of being heirlooms--things worn for a memory: brilliants mounted in -darkening silver, enamels, carnelians; one showed a pale gleam of human -hair. - -Paula had never spoken so much about herself to any one as she did to -the doctor. Her loquacity was an effect of her unreasoning instinct -that in this new place everything was good to her, every influence -favorable. She let herself go in a way that would have seemed out of -her nature at home. - -All she had ever read in the long, melancholy winter evenings at -Schattenort, of poetry or romance, came back to her mind in essence, -drawn to the surface by an inexplicable magic. Her conversation in this -mental excitement teemed with allusions and modest flowers of speech -that almost surprised herself, and gave her a strange delight. She felt -as she were some one she had some time read of. - -"Oh, we will make you well, quite well, soon," said the doctor, -cheerily, on taking his leave. "But you must promise to be very good, -very prudent." - -He gave his directions with a light air, but as he turned from the door -a shadow settled upon his kindly old face. - -In his breast-pocket lay folded the letter his colleague, Paula's -former doctor, had written him. The consciousness of what was said in -it gave rise in his heart to a tender, grateful thought of his own -children--grown-up daughters, fair and healthy, happily established in -life. - -Paula had hoped to go for a drive that day, but a light rain fell, and -she could only watch the turbid stream outside through the glistening -window-pane. She sat with her forehead leaning against it, her book in -her lap. Now and then she opened this and let her eyes wander over the -lines, without trying to understand, just for a pleasure she found in -its being Italian too. - -She had prevailed upon Veronika to go out for a walk, so that she might -amuse her with an account of what there was to see. - -Towards evening the clouds broke. She saw the red reflection of the -sunset on the river. Tempted, she opened the balcony door; a smell of -damp stone came gratefully to her nostrils. She slipped out and leaned -over the cool balusters, and looked up and down the empty gleaming -street. The hills were as if washed with wine; the air was sparkling. -She heard a footstep; she hoped it might be Veronika's. She looked. But -it was not a woman. She recognized the young man who had been on the -stairs when she arrived. He did not look up. She leaned over to see -him disappear in the _portone_ below. Then, swiftly, she came in-doors -and stopped in the middle of the floor. She listened intently. In a -few moments she thought to hear, faintly, faintly, footsteps in the -room above. She clasped her hands silently, saying to herself with -unaccountable excitement: "I knew it already. I knew it well." - -Late in the night again she heard music. She had been listening for -it a long time. Night to her was often tediously long. Often she spent -many hours staring at the square of paler darkness, star-bestrewn, the -window made. At a certain pitch of nervousness, soon reached when the -city had become quiet and the stillness of the bedroom was full of -mysterious sounds, she always thought of a dear sister she had lost, -rehearsing old sad scenes vivid in her brain as if they had been lived -through but yesterday. Her own physical discomfort increased as she -thought of that other girl's long-drawn-out suffering. It seemed to her -that already she could not breathe; her body was damp with sweat of -fear. "It is all useless!" she groaned, tossing wretchedly. "I too--I -too am going that way!" Then she prayed diligently, and looked out up -at the stars with a return of tranquillity, hoping steadfastly in a -beautiful world beyond them. - -But on the night in question she lay patiently and happily watchful. -And late in the night again she heard music. No very definite melody -was played; it was as if skilful hands were dreamily straying over -the keys, unravelling a little tangled skein of musical impression, -thinking aloud. The tune wandered and flitted like a butterfly over -a summer garden. Paula's thought climbed upward and entered the -musician's chamber. She saw him clearly, leaning back, looking upward, -swaying slightly. She took joy in the symmetry of his dark Italian -face. She pictured him intensely, and held her breath gazing. Then she -tried to build up his surroundings; she adorned his room poetically. - -Satisfied at last, her imagination folded its wings and dropped back -into its nest. She merely listened, and let herself be comforted; -accepted passively what dreams the music imposed. It was as if she and -another were walking in a moonless starry night along a quiet village -road; and the dewy flowers in the stilly little gardens skirting the -way were giving forth perfume in the warm dark. Then it was as if -another and she were in a boat with drooping sail, becalmed, drifting -slowly. The moon was behind a great cloud wonderfully silvered on the -ravelled edges; the sea at the horizon was a streak of pure light. The -other had laid her on velvet cushions and covered her with a cloak, was -playing and singing softly to her. They hoped the wind would not rise. -Drifting--drifting. And she slept. - -In the gayest mood next day she showed the doctor a little package of -letters to different persons in the city, but said that she was not -ready yet to let these distinguished ones know of her arrival; she must -first attend to various important things. He derived from her words -that she wished to make her establishment more elegant, and became -gruff and severe when she asked him to procure for her the address of -the most fashionable mantua--maker. She almost cried when he forbade -the expense of any precious energy on worldly vanities, but was half -consoled by his promise soon to make her well enough to employ a master -in the art of playing the guitar. - -He prescribed a daily drive in the sunniest hour. Paula came back from -her first excursion with flushed cheeks. Veronika grumbled: "I will -tell the doctor, and he will forbid your going out at all. It is not to -kneel in damp churches will help you. You might as well take up your -abode in the cellar." - -"Don't scold me," said Paula, gently. "I had to thank God." - -Towards sunset she seated herself on the balcony wrapped in fleecy -white, and looked down the street towards the Jeweller's Bridge. She -saw Prospero come. But he did not look up. That night again she heard -him play. - -Many times she sat on the balcony and saw Prospero coming. Sometimes he -looked up, but oftener he passed into the house unaware of a Countess -gazing after him from above. - -Some nights he did not play; those were restless, disappointed nights -for her. - -Once or twice she met him on the stairs as she was going to her -carriage; he glanced at her with an unimpressed eye, then looked -elsewhere, standing against the wall, hat in hand. - -Occasionally she saw him in the street, but he seemed never to see her. -A vague heartache grew out of those occasions. - -The Italian spring deepened in warmth and color; the air had a -fragrance, some days, as of lilacs; other days, more penetrating, as of -hyacinths. The little hills in the midst of which Florence lies took -on dewy morning hues of the opal, changing evening tints of the dark -dove's neck. The pure noon light made the statues in the King's Garden, -where Paula walked sometimes, look dazzlingly white against the sombre -walls of clipped laurel. The open country now was full of blossoming -fruit trees; Paula often begged Veronika to alight from the carriage -and gather for her the flowers she saw shining in the grass--primroses -and violets, tulips, narcissi, fleurs-de-lis. She brought home immense -nosegays, which she spent long minutes breathing; this perfume of Italy -went to her brain. - -At sunset once a red flower lay by chance on the rail of the balcony, -just where a movement of her arm would brush it off; it would drop in -the street. A bold thought crossed her mind. But that evening Prospero -did not come at the usual hour. She sat outside, trembling slightly as -the dusk closed around her and the dew fell; then Veronika, with shrill -cries of surprise and blame, came to fetch her in. She felt guilty and -ashamed, and did not protest. She spent the evening on the divan, with -her face to the wall, crying softly with a vast invincible melancholy, -a sense of forlornness and failure, giving no explanation of her humor. - -She was kept in-doors for many days after that. Only she insisted upon -being folded in a fur and seated on the balcony at a certain hour -every afternoon. The beggar-woman stationed at the street corner with -a basket on her knees got used to seeing the sick _forestiera_ appear, -who always threw her a bit of silver, and gave her a faint little -smile. - -Veronika suffered from Paula's silence and depression. She went about -with two deep lines constantly between her updrawn brows. Her heart -misgave her; her inability to communicate with the doctor and those -around her became a gnawing despair. She formed a habit, which never -left her after, of talking audibly to herself. She gave up the effort -to hold cheerful conversation with Paula, and simply tried to preserve -in her presence an unconcerned attitude. She secretly yearned to be at -home. She felt an unappeasable animosity towards this Italy, that had -seemed to do her Paula so much good, only to make her worse. She began -to hate everything Italian. - -Paula herself sat by the window watching the hills opposite with an -absent face. Now and then she rose to take a few desultory steps about -the large room, touching the things, passing her hand over the flowers, -making the guitar-strings give forth a murmur as she brushed them; she -went back to her chair and closed her eyes, tired out. - -Once a friend was walking at Prospero's side. They were talking. As -they approached, the friend looked up, and evidently asked a question -of Prospero, who looked up too: she thought his lips framed her name. -Her heart leaped; she drew back, faint, and felt foolish at feeling -such pleasure. She waited more eagerly than usual that night to -hear him; it seemed the music must have a special message for her. -Silence--utter, atrocious. The night seemed unending. - -The doctor wondered next day what spring had broken within her. She -showed so little interest in anything; she was fretful as he had never -seen her before. He scarcely knew how to conduct himself to avoid -irritating her. At a loss, he picked up the little tome of _Vita Nova_, -that always lay on the table at her side, and inquired of her progress -in it. - -"Oh, put it away!" she said, tears springing to her eyes. "Put it away! -I cannot suffer it. That title exasperates me; it works upon my nerves. -Doctor, doctor, I shall never be well again!" and she poured forth a -long complaint. - -[Illustration: "PAULA HERSELF SAT BY THE WINDOW"] - -He feigned to make light of her fears; he comforted her. Casting about -in his mind for things to say that should divert, interest her in her -gray mood, he found this, which brought the sudden color to her face: - -"Did you not once ask me who lived in the apartment above? I know now. -I will not take the credit of having applied myself to discover just on -that hint of curiosity from you; I confess hearing it by chance. Your -neighbor is the young _maestro_ Prospero C----, celebrated in his way. -He has written an opera, to be produced for the first time precisely -to-night. Those who know promise great things for it--" - -She had leaned forward, listening thirstily. The doctor could -congratulate himself. - -When Veronika went to the door with him, he turned upon her suddenly, -and asked, almost violently: "Why did you wait so long? Why did you not -bring her to this climate before?" - -She looked at him in a puzzled way, and in her turn said something he -could not understand. - -He appeared for a moment as if he meant to shake her, but shrugged his -shoulders and brusquely left. - -Some who were present at the first night of "Parisina" remember well -how when the curtain dropped on the first act and they looked about to -discover whom they should salute, their attention was arrested by the -strange apparition in one of the second-tier boxes. There, in a crimson -velvet chair, sat very upright an unknown lady in a gown such as no -one nowadays wears--a gown of cloth of gold, that might have figured -at a court ball perhaps a century earlier. An ermine-lined mantle half -covered her arms and neck, dainty thin and white as wax, and half -extinguished the gleam of her heavy jewels. A wreath of roses was -twined in her pale hair, that might have made one laugh in its _démodé_ -pretentiousness but that one divined the lady to be a foreigner from -some Northern country, where perhaps it is still customary to adorn -the hair with a garland. She held her fan like a sceptre, her fingers -stiffly closed on the pearl sticks. A mass of roses lay in her lap. -She turned a colorless face upon the stage; her eyes were wide and -glassy, and fixed as a somnambulist's. - -On the opposite side of the box, less clearly defined against the -darkness, sat an elderly, soberly clad lady, whose face expressed -a degree of uneasiness, misery, and fear almost pitiful--if not -comical--to behold. She made no pretence of interest in the stage or -the gleaming galleries, but watched her golden-haired companion with an -unswerving, frightened eye. - -No one knew who these were, though many took pains to discover. - -Through the second act the lady in gold listened breathlessly, as if -life itself were suspended. It seemed to her that the soul left her -body, and went floating up, up, on the strains of the music. She was -praying, praying with all her strength, for the success of this work, -that the people might feel just as she felt how it was beautiful! - -When a crash of applause came and a call for the composer, it seemed -but an answer to her prayer. She rose to her feet, radiant. - -Prospero C---- came to the foot-lights below, looking a slight thing, -the acclaimed great man, in his close black evening dress, and bowed -his thanks. Then, as the applause continued, he lingered a moment, and -let his eye pass along the friendly faces in the boxes, a grateful -emotion expressed in his smile. - -The lady in gold leaned over the velvet parapet, breathing short, -tremulously smiling, her flowers in her hands. His eye passed her -unrecognizing. She wanted to shout: "It is I, Paula! Nothing could keep -me away!" The clamor subsided. Panting, she leaned back in the shade. - -The third act ended in triumph. Again the composer was called. Paula -laughed and cried at the same time, clapping her little hands like mad, -forgetting herself. - -Then, when it was all over and she sat in the dark carriage rolling -homeward, she felt a chill seizing upon her very heart; she began to -shiver. But her physical condition scarcely interested her; a sense of -the sad things of life weighed heavily upon her: the vanity of earthly -hopes, the evanescence of happy things, the inequality in the measure -of pain and pleasure to God's children, the fugitiveness of illusions, -the foolishness of dreams. She thought of the beggar sitting at the -corner in sun and rain through years: she felt disgust for a world -where such things could be. She said, "It is a good thing to have done -with it. It is a deliverance. I will not give it one regret; no, not -one." She felt suddenly that she did not love Italy: it had betrayed -her. "It is you, you who are to blame," she said, full of helpless -resentment, shaking a pale small hand vaguely from the window out -at the balmy moonlit world; "you, soft air! you, flower smell! you, -velvety firmament with the many-colored stars! I was a simple soul: my -common life was enough for me; you sowed in my unguarded heart all the -seeds of vain dreams, and fostered them. And they bear no fruit; they -wither on their shallow roots--they are weeds!--But I will not curse -you, for God made you lovely." - -She closed her eyes; her thoughts turned to remote Schattenort; -she wished she were there again, in the dull, quiet, big, cold, -familiar country house where she had been born and bred. A mist of -bitter longing rose in her eyes. The moon was shining clamorously, -obtrusively; it cast a green light, a light almost warm, on the pale -pavement. She hated its fervent beauty. "Would God I were home!" she -sighed. - -Veronika, mistaking her meaning, said, "You are almost there." - -Paula suffered Veronika and her maid to put her to bed. She seemed not -to notice them. She was thinking--far away. Out of habit she listened a -moment for the piano above. But all was silent. "He is happy," she said -to herself; "he has gone with his friends. Or perhaps he is up there -living it all over again." And her imagination, touched anew with the -old obstinate insanity, took the road up to his never-seen chamber, -bent over him, and rejoiced with him. "Oh, if I could--" she said; "if -I could! But he will never know how a dying noble lady used to listen -to his playing in the dead of night, and loved him, and left him her -blessing--" - -Veronika had no sleep that night. Before day the doctor was summoned. -He remained several hours. At going he drew Veronika aside, and by -signs succeeded at last in procuring from her the package of letters -the Countess had once shown him. He looked at the superscriptions, and -took from among them one "To the Abbé S----." - -That evening he brought with him a white-haired old man in priestly -garb, whom Veronika was relieved to hear address her in her native -tongue. - -Presently, with muffled footsteps and a frightened, solemn mien, she -led him into the Countess's bedroom, dimly lighted by shaded candles, -and left them long alone together. - -Prospero, returning home that night, opened the window wide and stood a -moment looking out at the stars, at peace with life, every desire for -the moment hushed, satisfied. Then he lighted the candles on the piano, -and the faint yellow illumination brought out a hint of color in the -objects around. It showed an ordinary, rather bare room; he lived in -it very little. The littering music and the piano formed its chief -adornment. - -He sat down, but for a moment did not touch the keys. He removed the -flower from his coat and smelt it, thinking of Rosina, who had given -it him at the theatre door--Rosina with the broad velvet-faced hat, -the tight silk dress, the diamonds in her ears, and the small basket -of flowers on her arm. She was pretty--oh, pretty! Having thought how -pretty she was, he wisely tossed away her faded favor, determining to -remain cold and prudent. He shook back his hair, as if thereby to free -his mind of her, spread his hands over the ivory keys, and began, as -he loved to do before sleeping, to let his fancies and emotions make -themselves sound. - -He played long, losing himself, finding a melodious vesture for his -half-formed dream. The night was very quiet; it came to be very -late without his perceiving it. Suddenly he felt a cool air on his -forehead--he looked up, and paused in his playing, his hands motionless -above the keys, his lips open. He felt that he ought to speak, but -his voice failed to answer his will. He was asking himself in the dim -background of his consciousness how the Countess Paula von Schattenort -had entered his dwelling so noiselessly, and what she might be seeking -there. More clearly he was wondering at her face, strangely still and -white, vaguely woe-begone, astonished, pathetic. He recognized her, -yet she seemed to him altered from the one he sometimes saw on the -balcony and met on the stairs--that object without interest, a woman -not pretty. Perhaps it was the wonderful hair that, shining along her -cheeks like a pale gilded mist, transfigured her. The firm fine braids -that heretofore he had seen always wound in austere simplicity about -her head were undone; the narrowly waved hair floated to her knees; -her face peered wistfully between two shimmering bands of it. She was -clothed in a white garment bordered with dark fur; a heavy rosary hung -about her neck. - -She looked at him a long moment with fixed eyes, an expression of -plaintive disillusion, and said nothing. - -He tried to ask in what manner he might serve her, but his tongue was -numb. - -She turned and looked all about the room, very slowly, as a person -seeking something. Then she looked again at him, silently, with that -same face of disappointment; and her hands, that had been tightly shut -on the golden crucifix appended to her rosary, opened and slipped -softly to her sides. She turned to the door. He rose from his seat, and -without taking his eyes from her, fumbled to lift the candle from its -socket, to light her way; he was awkward in his amazement. He saw her -pass the threshold. In a second he followed her. She was not in the -next room. He passed through the two rooms that separated him from the -door leading to the common stairway. He came to the door; it was as he -had left it, secured for the night. Seized with dismay, in spite of the -thought that she must have lingered behind in the shady embrasure of -a window, he undid the chain and bolt and came out on the landing and -looked, expecting inconsistently to see a white figure vanishing down -the steps. He saw nothing but a faint light cast upon the wall at the -turn of the stairs. He stood hesitating. - -In a moment he heard below a sound of weeping; he went down with a -trembling of the knees. On the landing of the _piano nobile_ was the -landlady. She had set her little brass lamp on the last step, and was -crying. The door to the Countess's apartment was wide open, and the -draught from there made the tiny flame flicker and smoke. - -"What is it?" said Prospero, in a husky whisper. - -"She is dead, the poor lady!" sobbed the _padrona_. - -He felt his hair softly rising. - - - - -DORASTUS - - -She had large violet eyes, of a melancholy effect, and fine -honey-colored hair, flowing smoothly over her ears. She looked -excessively meek and always a little apprehensive, as if accustomed to -reproaches, yet never quite hardened to them. One easily supposed her -to be an orphan. - -She lived with an aunt, her mother's half-sister, considerably older -and less pleasing than her mother in that charming woman's brief day. -Her cousins were all older than she; the girls were so perfect in every -respect that intimacy between her and them was out of the question; -the son, a big, blunt young man, was mostly away, and, when at home, -too much taken up with other interests to be more than just aware of -the violet eyes. So, life was very dull for Emmeline--"Emmie" she was -familiarly called. - -She went often of an evening to her mother's grave, and, sitting beside -it, reflected how it was in keeping with the general sadness of things -that there should be no prospect of any change for her in all the -years of her life, no change from the present weary round of aunt and -cousins, of sterile duties and insipid pleasures. - -And there, by her mother's grave, came the very change she was sighing -for. She sat on the sward, musingly watching the square tower of the -church grow gray against the delicate, flushed sky, when she became -aware of a stranger going from stone to stone in the fading light, -examining the inscriptions. At first she was afraid. While she debated -whether to hide or flee, the stranger approached, and in a foreign -voice and accent asked some common question about the place. She could -not answer readily for a foolish shame mixed with terror. She got to -her feet, blushing, then turning pale. It could be none other than -the astonishing fiddler who had played the night before in the hall -at Colthorpe, and who could, they said, make your hair rise on end -by the power of weird, unearthly music, or your eyes dissolve with -tenderness--as he chose. She stared without speech into his dark, -peculiar face. And he, seeing that she was discomfited, instead of -apologizing and withdrawing, undertook, in a tone as persuasive as his -violin's, to set her at ease. And when a few days later he disappeared -from that part of the world, the violet eyes disappeared too. - -Aunt Lucretia in time received a letter, asking her forgiveness and -announcing Emmie's marriage. - -She did not grant her forgiveness until several years later, after due -savoring of sad, black-bordered letters from Emmie, imploring kindness. -Her husband, after a brief illness, was dead; her little boy and she -were left alone, without anything in the world. She acknowledged -her fault so humbly; she owned so freely that her marriage had been -excessively--deservedly--wretched; she longed so desperately to be -taken back into her old home, that Lucretia found herself relenting. -Her daughters were now married and lived at a distance; she felt daily -more and more the need of a female companion. Her son, after reading -the young widow's pitiful appeals, protested that it would be inhuman -to refuse her a shelter. It was decided that she should be allowed to -come, and in time the big, blunt Gregory, of whom she had been afraid -in old days, went a long stretch of the journey to meet her, for that -had seemed to him requisite, though to his mother superfluous. He even -crossed the arm of sea that she must presently be crossing, with no -apparent purpose but to cross it again with her. - -When the boat was well out at sea and the passengers had disposed -themselves in patience about the deck, he marched up and down, as did -several of the others, and, while avoiding to look like one in search, -sought diligently the remembered face of his cousin. - -It was a cheerless gray day. The sea was quiet; the boat pitched but -slightly. He was not long unsuccessful; when he had satisfied himself -that she was not in the crowd on the windside, he went to lee and saw -her sitting almost alone. She might have gone there for warmth. She did -not seem to notice that cinders and fine soot were raining down upon -her. He found himself disinclined to accost her at once; he went to -lean where he could watch her without pointed appearance of curiosity. - -She looked mournful in her black things--not the new, crisp crape -of well-to-do bereavement, but a poor gentlewoman's ordinary shabby -black. Her cheeks had lost their pretty roundness; the effect of her -eyes was more than ever melancholy. The pale little face, set in its -faint-colored hair, framed in its black bonnet, might pass a hundred -times unnoticed: it had little to arrest the attention; but attention, -by whatever chance once secured, must be followed by a gentle, -compassionate interest in the breast of the beholder. This emotion felt -Gregory. - -She sat on one of the ship's benches, hugging her black wrap about her, -hiding in it her little gloveless hands. A bundle was on her lap, at -her feet a large bag. She looked wearily off over the crumpled leaden -plain, and now and then called: "Dorastus! Dorastus!" - -At that, a toddling bundle came towards her, never near enough to be -caught, and toddled off again, coming and going busily, with muttered -baby soliloquy. He was a comical little figure, clumsily muffled -against the cold, with a pointed knit cap drawn well down over his -ears. If he ignored her call, she rose and fetched him, shaking his -little hand and bidding him not to go again so far from mother. He -dragged at his arm, squealing the while she exhorted, and almost -tumbled over when she let him loose. Then he resumed his interrupted -play. - -After a time he seemed to tire of it. He came to his mother and, -touching the bag at her feet, unintelligibly demanded something. -She shook her head. He seemed to repeat his demand. "No, no, -Dorastus--mother can't!" she said, fretfully. Then this dot of humanity -made himself formidable. Gregory watched in surprise the little -imperious face become disquietingly like an angry man's. He hammered -with both small fists on his mother's knee, and stamped and loudly -sputtered. She caught his arms for a moment and held them quiet; mother -and child looked each other in the face, his strange, unbabyish, -heavy-browed eyes flaming, hers lit with a low smouldering resentment. -He struggled from her grasp, and at last, as his conduct was beginning -to attract attention, she stooped, vanquished, and, bruising her -fingers on the awkward buckles, undid the bag. - -Gregory at this point approached and spoke to her by name. She lifted -her face, her eyes full of helpless tears. She reddened faintly on -recognizing him. She handed the boy a diminutive toy-fiddle from the -bag. Pacified, he retired at a little distance and, while his mamma and -the gentleman entered into conversation, scraped seriously, the tassel -on the tip of his cap bobbing with his funny little _airs de tęte_. - -"How good of you, how good of you--how comforting to me!" she said, her -forlorn face softly brightening; "I was getting so tired of taking -care of myself! I have never travelled alone, and--and I am so timid--" - -How different seemed the old house to Emmie returning! She settled -down in it with the sense of passionate contentment. I can imagine in -a dove restored to the cote after escaping the fowler's snare and the -rage of wintry storms. How shut it was against the cold! how safe from -arrogant men demanding money! Life in it now seemed to her one round -of luxurious pleasures: one could sleep undisturbed, tea and buttered -bread came as regularly as the desire for them; flowers bloomed at -every season on mantel-shelf and table; the grate glowed as if to glow -were no more than a grate's nature. There was undeniably the domestic -tyrant still; but what a mild one by comparison! Aunt Lucretia might -be peremptory and critical and contradictory: to Emmie in these days -she personated a benevolent Providence. It is possible that the lady's -disposition had softened towards her niece: her superior daughters -were removed, and the little widow with her manifold experiences was -unquestionably a person more interesting to have about than the moping -girl of yore. - -The two ladies, sitting together with their wools, in undertones talked -over Emmie's married miseries. She was as ready with her confidences as -Aunt Lucretia with her listening ear. There seemed no end to what she -had to tell or the number of times she might relate the same incident -and be heard out with tolerance. She was glad of some one to whom to -unburden her heart of its accumulated grievance; she could not but be a -little glad, too, now it was well over, that so much that was unusual -had happened to her, since it lent her this importance. Aunt Lucretia -gave a great deal of good advice--said what she would have done in -like case; Emmie accepted it with as much humble gratitude as if it -had still been of service. She concurred with all her heart in her -aunt's unqualified condemnation of her first lapse from the respectable -path--her elopement; she declared with perfect sincerity that she was -puzzled to explain how it all happened--certainly before a week had -been over the folly of it had stared her in the face. - -The young widow, when she had taken her aunt through scenes of rage -and jealousy that made that matron's nostrils open as a war-horse's, -and had shown up the petty tyrannies and meannesses of a bad-tempered, -vindictive, vain man, afflicted with a set of morbidly tense nerves, -would sometimes inconsistently betray a sort of pride in the fact that -she had been adored by this erratic being, whose ill-treatment of her -came partly from that fact; also a certain pride in the assurance she -had had on every side, of his being a great artist who might have risen -to fortune had he been blessed with a different constitution. A prince -had once, in token of his appreciation, bestowed on him a jewelled -order; Emmie wished she had not been forced to sell it when he was -ill. She herself could not judge of his playing--she could not abide -the sound of a violin--but the star might be accounted a proof of his -ability. - -"You were too meek, my dear," said Lucretia, conclusively, after a -tale of oppression; "I should have taken a stand." - -"Dear aunt," said Emmie, pensively considering her relative's size -and the cast of her features, "I think you would. He would have been -afraid of you. If I displeased him, he said I was rebellious because I -felt myself bolstered up by the admiration of whoever in the inn had -happened to give me a passing glance, and he would torment me until I -swore I loved him with every thought of my life. Sometimes, when he had -made me cry, he would cry, too--I hate that in a man, aunt!--and go on -tormenting me until I said I forgave him--" - -"Ah, I should have taught him a lesson!" - -"Yes, aunt, you would. But I swore whatever he pleased. If I was sulky, -he was as likely as not to sit up all night, wailing on his violin when -I wanted to sleep. He always took remote chambers at inns, for the -privilege of playing at night, if he pleased. If I complained, he said -that if I had liked the music it would have soothed me to sleep, and -if I did not like it, it was well I should be kept awake. He was very -sore on the point of my not being in love with his music." - -"I should like to see a man play the fiddle in my bedroom!" said Aunt -Lucretia, with a face of danger. - -And Emmie, from this lady's example and counsel, got a retrospective -courage that enabled her in memory, now that she was well-fed, -well-dressed, and possessed of the assurance that goes with those -conditions, to bring the stormy scenes with her husband to an end more -honorable to herself. She could imagine herself even braving him--when, -perhaps, would come in sight Dorastus. Then her heart would sink in -consciousness of its folly. There was no contending for her with a -nature like that. That baby could bend her to his will even as the -father had done. He was so little now that she could not strive with -him to any enduring advantage; and when he would be bigger, she felt -it already, no revolt of hers would be of use. The tyranny was handed -down from father to son, with the sensitiveness and the jealousy. She -looked over at the little, intrepid face sometimes with a sort of -slave's aversion: every day he would be more like that other; he kept -him disagreeably alive now in her memory with the tricks of his face, -the difficulties of his temper. She only hoped, in an unformed way as -yet, that before he grew to make himself heavily felt something might -have arisen for her protection. - -She made him pretty things with a mother's full indulgence, caressed -him in due measure, and gave dutiful attention to his every request; -but deep in her heart and in her eye was a reservation. And in him, -though he could hardly frame speech, seemed an inherited suspicion of -this want of loyalty in her, a consciousness of her appeal to something -outside, against him. In his baby rages he seemed aware, by an instinct -beyond his understanding, that she did not care for them, except that -they made her uncomfortable, and he beat her with all his fierce little -strength for it. She belonged strictly to him, and there was always -treachery in the air; so he must be foes with all surrounding her, and -most severe with herself, whom he idolatrously loved. - -Often, if they were alone and she did nothing to cross him, but treated -respectfully his every whim, he rewarded her gravely with such tokens -of his devotion as he could devise. If they were out under the trees, -he would make a hundred little voyages and from each bring back some -treasure, flower or pebble, that he dropped in her lap, watching her -face to see if she were appropriately pleased. If she were busy with -her stitching and after a time forgot to acknowledge his gift, he would -make known his disgust by taking everything from her and stamping it -under foot; but if she wisely kept her whole mind on him, and gave him -praise and smiles, and admired his offerings, he would multiply his -efforts to please her, get her things the most difficult and perilous -to obtain, stones that were heavy, insects that were frightful, parade -before her every little accomplishment, be débonnaire and royal, and -expose his true worshipping heart to his servant. - -Woe if in such moments of expansion Gregory came out on the lawn -and took the empty seat on the rustic bench beside Emmie! The child -would know nothing of a divided allegiance, and showed his sense of -outrage by a prompt attack on both, whom he seemed to think equally -conspirators against his peace. They stood his babbled vituperation -and baby blows with smiling patience for a little, trying to converse -coherently under them; then, when he burst into angry tears, with a -sigh the mother bore him off to be lectured and calmed, resuming her -conversation with Gregory at a more opportune moment. Before Gregory -she never spoke of her husband. - -With the passing months her cheek got back its freshness, her eye -its clear brightness. Now a haunting fear awoke in her breast: Aunt -Lucretia was wearying of her presence. She had heard all of her -injuries till the story was stale. She was beginning to find fault with -her just as of old, to set her back in her place now and then with the -former terrible abruptness, and that place a very low one. The poor -little woman accepted all abjectly, shuddering at the possibility -of being again cast on the world with her child. She went about with -reddened eyelids and a look of pathetic nervousness, hushing Dorastus -whenever he lifted his voice, doing her pitiful best that neither -should give offence. Gregory could not look on in patience: he laid the -gentle afflicted creature's tremors forever by asking her to become his -wife. - -His mother left the house and went to abide with her daughters. But in -time she became reconciled to what was unalterable and returned to her -ancient seat of government, allowing her age to be cheered by the sight -of her favorite child's happiness. Little sons and daughters, his wife -gave him four, among whom prevailed straw-colored hair and eyes of the -admired flower tint. The old house was gay as at early dawn a tree full -of gossiping birds. - -So to Emmie was raised a mighty salvation; against Dorastus arrayed -themselves innocent yellow heads, like so many insuperable golden -lances. - -When the children were called into the drawing-room to be shown to -the company, a visitor was sure to ask, "And who is this little -man?" meaning Dorastus; so unlikely did it appear that he could be -of his mother's kindred. To the golden hen, her golden brood. How in -seriousness call a chick the little black creature with the large beak -and the piercing eyes? - -And as unlike his brothers as he was physically, so unlike he remained -in disposition. By all the children as by Dorastus himself the -difference in kind was felt. He remained solitary among them and at -odds with all. They set him down a domineering, bad-tempered thing, -and he summed them up scornfully as a pack of pudding-heads. It was -not plain to any one why he thought himself superior: his actual -accomplishments were somewhat less than ordinary. Bullet-headed, -downright Hector, his brother nearest in age, could beat him at any -sport, and when their differences brought them to blows was rather more -than half sure of victory over his senior, inferior to him in size -and art; Martin was cleverer than he at his books; the little girls -even could give him points in conduct--yet his attitude of every minute -insisted upon it that he was better than any of them, and that his -mother was more particularly his mother than she was theirs. Emmie, it -is true, did not reprove him quite as she did Hector; he was allowed -more than the others the full swing of his temperament. His step-father -punctiliously refrained from meddling with him, and if he made trouble -with his temper and his pride Emmie warned her nice-natured children -not to irritate him, to make allowances for him. Insensibly that -qualified the relation between Dorastus and his mother. That negative -indulgence he felt, however dimly, did not prove him a favorite: it -made him a sort of alien. He became more reserved in his demands upon -his mother. There were too many yellow heads for one boy to contend -with successfully by ordinary means. He still held to it bravely in -his attitude towards his brothers and sisters that he was better than -they, and that his mother belonged exclusively to him, but herself -he troubled less and less with his jealousy and his claims. It might -have seemed at last almost as if she were become indifferent to him. -Absorbed by her domestic cares, she had scarcely perceived the change. - -The cares were many, but pleasant in their nature. Gregory was -steadily, lazily kind, the children were healthy, she herself was in -the beautiful full bloom of life--she found it good. She had almost -forgotten the bitter taste of her beginnings, when one night, startled -from a deep sleep, she lay in the dark awhile and wondered that she -should dream so clearly of hearing the long, low wail of a violin. -It had recreated about her in an instant the atmosphere of old days. -She lay as she had lain often enough, with lead upon her heart, a -dead sense of there being no escape in view from this slavery, this -poverty, this succession of weary travel and third-rate inns, this -nerve-racking sound of the violin penetrating through the brain as a -red-hot needle--no release from this unrelenting master, this terrible -added burden of baby. She shook herself free from what she thought the -remaining effect of a nightmare; she had seemed for a moment to smell -the very essence her first husband used on his hair, mixed with the -flat odor of the small Dutch inn-chamber in which Dorastus was born. -She turned over on her side to sleep again, when she became assured -that she heard a violin. She listened through her thick heart-beats, -a thrill of superstitious horror stiffening her skin. She knew it -unreasonable, but could not dispel her fear. She rose sitting in bed, -becoming at last fully awake. Still she heard the violin, sounding -faintly, as if from some distant part of the house. Then she thought. -It had been these long years in the garret, the treasured Amati he had -made her swear to keep for his child. The child had found it. - -She could not fall to sleep again, she must satisfy herself. - -She slipped her feet into their shoes, got her dressing-gown about her, -and crept through the shadowy corridor, up the stair, to where Dorastus -slept. Since he would be the master, whoever shared his room, which -was obviously unfair to his room-mate, he had been allotted a little -chamber by himself in a somewhat remote part of the house. - -As she approached it, the sound of the violin came more and more clear -to her. She stopped and leaned against the balusters, yielding to a -soul-sickness that had its rise in she scarce knew which, memory or -foreboding. She listened curiously. It was strange playing, though -simple, subdued to not wound the night silence; unordinary as it was, -there was nothing tentative about it, the hands seemed going to it -with a fine boldness, a delicate natural skill. The mother felt not a -moment's joy. - -She came to the door, opened it noiselessly, and stood in the doorway -with her candle shining upward in her wide eyes, her solemn face. - -Dorastus stopped playing, and said, with a gleeful, short laugh, "I -knew it would make you come!" - -As Emmie had expected, he held the Amati. He had thrown off his jacket -and tie and stood in his shirt-sleeves, with his neck bare. His dark -eyes were burning and dancing; his black hair was ruffled and pushed -up on end; his face was hotly flushed. His whole attitude had in it -something new, finely expressive of conscious power. - -"I knew it would make you come!" he said, with a triumphant nod. - -She entered and set down her light on the little chest of drawers. "You -ought not to play at night," she said, faintly. "It disturbs people's -sleep." - -"It wouldn't wake _them_!" he exclaimed, scornfully, "and if it did I -shouldn't care, as long as they didn't come and bother. I wanted to -call you, to make you come to me. I was sure I could. Are you cold, -little mother dear? Get into my bed." - -He laid down his instrument; he came where she stood, with her silken -hair tumbling over her shoulders, and felt her chilled hands. - -"No, no," she said, irritably, taking them from him, "it is unheard -of, playing at this hour of the night. I must go." But she went -mechanically to sit on the edge of his bed, that had not been lain in -that night, and still kept towards him that wondering, dismayed face. - -"How did it sound?" asked the boy, whose excitement seemed to dull his -perception, so that he remained unchilled by her want of warmth. "Did -it say plainly, Arise, wrap your sky-blue gown about you, never mind -tying up your gold hair, light your light, and come gliding through -the shadow of the sleeping house, to your dear son, the only one who -loves you, in his solitary room, far from all the others? That is what -I meant it should say, but towards the end I meant it to say something -else, towards the end it was explaining. Did you understand that part?" - -"How did you find it?" asked Emmie, still in her faint voice. "Why did -you take it without asking our permission? Who taught you to play on -it?" - -The boy laughed again his gleeful laugh. He got on to the bed beside -her and sat with his chin in his hand, his glowing face full of pride -in himself. "Ah, how I found it, when it was up in the garret? It was -like that story of the Greek fellow--what's his name?--dressed like a -girl. When the peddler brought shawls and ribbons and things, and a -sword hidden among them, he took the sword, and the peddler knew by -that sign that he was a man. In the garret there were old hoop-skirts, -and broken mousetraps, and bird-cages, and boxes full of religious -books and things--but my hand went straight to the violin!" - -"Tell me the truth, Dorastus," spoke his mother, wearily. - -"Well, then, after talking with a certain person, I concluded that it -must be there. I looked for it and found it, months and months ago. I -took it and learned to play, to give you a surprise. Do you think I can -ever play as my father did?" - -"Whom have you heard speak of your fathers playing, Dorastus?" - -"Aha! There is some one who remembers him at this very place--who -heard him just once and never forgot it. I might as well tell you: -it is the brother of the inn-keeper's wife at Colthorpe; he used to -be the hostler, but is too old now. He plays the violin himself, at -weddings, sometimes, and dances--but not much, dear. He taught me, but -I have gone far ahead--oh, far ahead of him now! He knows when it is -good, however, and you should hear what he says of me and my playing. -You must see him and ask him. He had climbed up from outside into the -window when once my father played at Colthorpe, and he can speak of -it as if it had happened yesterday. (He says that I am very like my -father, that any one would know me who had seen him. He knew, before -asking, whose son I was. Only, my father wore his hair long; well, I -will wear my hair long!) He says that, as he played, every trouble he -had ever had came back to him, even the death of a dog, and he could -not help crying--but he liked it; he enjoyed feeling bad. And he says -that it made him see plain before him, but not very plain either, a -lot of things he had only heard folks talk about--the shepherds in -the East, for instance, with the angels singing good-will in a hole in -the clouds. And he knew for sure, he says, how it would have felt if -the girl he wanted hadn't married some one else and gone to live away, -but had taken him. I asked him, the other day, if I could make him -feel those things. He said, 'Not yet, not quite yet;' but he thought I -was beginning. He has a number of music sheets; I can read the notes -much quicker than he already, though he taught me. But I don't care -for those; there must be others much better than those! Those are -nothing! I like better what I make up myself than I do those. Did you -notice?--but no, you must have been too far--how quickly I can play -some passages? My left fingers go like a spider, and it is so easy for -them! Giles says my hand is like my father's--he remembers it--a true -violinist's hand. I feel that it can do anything, dear--anything! And -I mean that it shall do such things! Look at it, mother!" and he held -up the thin, unboyishly delicate, angular hand, stronger in appearance -than the rest of his body. "Is it like my father's? You are the one, of -course, that remembers best. Is it like my father's?" - -"Oh, yes--yes!" she almost moaned. - -He did not seem to perceive her impatience, but contemplated his own -hand a little while, calmly sure that he must be an object of pride to -her now. "It is quite unlike Hector's, at least. I should like to see -him try to play with his pink paws!" - -"He might not be able to play," said Emmie, "but he will, I dare say, -do something quite as useful." - -"There is nothing quite so useful!" cried the boy superbly, and -laughed again in his perverse glee. "It is more useful than anything -you can invent to say that Hector is going to do. Hector! Hector will -be a rabbit-raiser; he likes rabbits better than anything. But I will -come with my violin and make the rabbits stand up on their hind-legs -and stare; I will play softly, wheedlingly, going slowly backwards -towards the woods, and they will all come after me, without stopping -for a nibble. I will lead them away, away, all the flock of little, -round-backed, skipping things--just as I made you get out of bed and -come up here." - -"I came to tell you to stop, foolish boy. I didn't want you to wake the -others. It was very inconsiderate in you--very inconsiderate. And I am -not sure that I am pleased with you for taking a thing so valuable--it -is worth a great deal of money--unknown to me, or for doing things in -secret, or for having dealings with people I know nothing of--hostlers -and inn-keepers' wives. You certainly play nicely--" - -"Ah, did you truly think I did, mother?" he asked, eagerly. "You ought -to know; you used to hear himself. Now, tell me, dear--" - -"But I am not at all sure"--she interrupted him, lamely -querulous--"that the violin--You have been so underhanded, and I see -now how you waste your time--it explains your being so bad with your -lessons. I am not at all sure that the violin ought not to be taken -from you." - -"I shall not give it up!" Dorastus said instantly, and it might be -perfectly understood that he would struggle with his last breath to -keep it, doing as much damage as in him lay to his opposers. - -Emmie, quite pale, looked into his face, that had fully returned from -its mood of happy pride, and he looked into hers, as they had looked -already when he was but a baby. Then, seeing what she had always seen, -she tossed up her hands with a little helpless, womanish motion, and -complained: "Oh, I am so cold, and I feel so ill! It is like a horrid -dream--and I am miserable." She rose and pulled her things about her to -go, tears shining on her cheek. - -Dorastus, who had leaped up and laid his hand resolutely on his violin -and bow, if they should be in any immediate danger, watched her with -a strange face. His jaw was iron. When, as she reached the door, -he unclinched his teeth to speak, his face worked in spite of him -and tears gushed from his eyes. "You never understand anything!" he -exploded, in a harsh, angry voice all his pride could not keep from -breaking. Then, with the indignant scorn of a child for a grown-up -person who seems to him out of all nature dull--"Go!" he said, beating -his arms violently about, "Go! Go!" - -So Dorastus retained the violin, and defiantly played on it, in and out -of season. His mother's failure to be pleased with his playing seemed -to have cut her off, in his estimation, from all right to an opinion. -It is true that after the first night she armed herself with patience -towards a situation she could not change. She did not cross the boy -more than her conscience positively enjoined; he might play since he -pleased, but must not neglect his studies in pursuit of a vain pastime. - -In spite of her, his studies suffered. He felt no humiliation now -that Hector or any should be ahead of him with books; he could have -been far ahead of them if he had chosen, but they could under no -circumstance have done what he did. Of these things he was proudly -convinced, and he declared them without hesitation. His almost -untutored playing took on a strange audacity, a fantastical quality -that made it pleasing to none in the household. That did not disturb -him; he pursued triumphantly in the direction repugnant to them, taking -their disapproval to naturally point to its excellence. Sometimes, -half in scorn, he would play for the little girls the simple melodies -they knew, to show them that he could do that, too, if he chose; full -tenderly could he play them and delight their gentle hearts, but he -preferred, if he could catch an unprejudiced soul for audience, a -housemaid for instance, to set her opposite to him and play to her from -his head, then question her as to what the music had made her think of, -helping her to detail her impressions, expressing his contempt freely -if the music had not had on her the desired effect, but hugging her if -she happened to answer as he wanted. - -Whenever he had a holiday, or took one, he disappeared with his -instrument, returning with a conqueror's mien, out of place in a boy -with whom every one is displeased, and who has had nothing to eat. It -was felt by all how he was in these days not friends with anybody, -nor anybody friends with him. It suited his pride to carry off the -situation as if he had been a king among boors. - -Her eldest child's conduct began at last to be something of a grievance -to Emmie. She appealed to no one for help to reduce him to obedience. -She would not have dared do that; an intimate sense forbade it, a -scruple which would have had no voice, perhaps, had she loved him -more. She excused and up-held him in her little wars with Lucretia, -and respected Gregory's reluctance to interfere with him, founded in -justice on the consciousness of a deep-seated, invincible dislike; but -she fretted under his undutifulness and only refrained from satisfying -the desire to attempt asserting her power over him, though it should -be futile as ever, in the idea that, at the worst, he would soon be -leaving home, with Hector, for school, when the detested violin must -be given up and stronger hands than her own find a way to bend his -obstinate spirit. At the same time, in a corner of her heart, she felt -unreasonably, unaccountably hurt, as perhaps she would have felt if -Dorastus's father had suddenly ceased from his persecutions and she had -known by that sign that, worm as he was, he had ceased to care for her. - -"This is all very well; but when you get to school--" Phrases begun on -that line became frequent in Dorastus's ear as the time approached. He -heard them with a singularly bright eye. - -The two boys set out for school together, under the guardianship of the -tutor. Consternation fell on the family when it was known that Dorastus -had been missed on the way. The boy was traced to London; there he was -easily lost among the millions of its inhabitants. - -While the question was in discussion whether it behooved Gregory -himself to travel to London and institute a search for the runaway, -came a letter from the boy, making it easily decent for his step-father -to leave the stinging weed to get its growth where it might without -being a nuisance, and reconciling his mother to letting him take his -chances as he pleased, since he was so sure they were brilliant--very -brilliant, those chances. - -His certainty of himself, his enthusiasm, were such that gradually they -communicated themselves in a degree to her. Why not? After all, his -father, they had said, was a great man; princes had honored him. An -involuntary respect crept through her for Dorastus's daring. It seemed -advisable at least to give him the opportunity he wanted; the more that -the process of finding him, bringing him back in what to him would seem -ignominy, and thereafter keeping watch over him, was uncomfortable to -think of. - -His letter was to his mother, a mixture of boyishness and manliness, -more frank than any speech she had had from him in a long time. It -vaguely stirred her heart; for it seemed to restore to her something -that possessing she had not prized, but, careful economist, did not -like to think lost. - -"You must promise that I shall not be troubled by any attempt to get -me back. I will do anything terrible if I am trapped. Don't you see -that I couldn't go to school with Hector, who is younger? We should -be put in classes together, for a while at least, and I couldn't stand -it. Besides, I haven't the time, I have so much to do! Besides, I -couldn't go on living with _those people_ forever. I don't mean that -you shall, either. I won't tell you all now, but after a time you may -know that there is to be a house much better than theirs for you to -live in, with me. You shall have everything much better. But I will -not tell you more. Only, you can be perfectly sure of it. You will not -think that I came away without caring about leaving you. I was afraid -you would guess something if I hugged you before them as I wanted to, -but I had been to your room in the night, and any of your gowns you -put on is full of your son's kisses. If I thought you would show this -letter, I think that I should never in my life write you again. If you -should send me any money, I should return it at once or destroy it, so -please don't do it, it would make me angry. I know that we had nothing -when we came to their house, except the violin. One of the servants -told me how we came. What do you suppose keeping me all these years -has cost? When I can, I mean to give them double; you can tell him so, -if you choose. I can't now, but what I can do is to take nothing more -from them. You need not be anxious about me. I am prepared, because I -have long known what I meant to do, and I can take care of myself. I -have met several persons already who know of my father; it seems to be -something here to be his son, though not at home, except to one man, -and he a hostler. Well, I will show them--you, too, dear mother. I -don't mean to vex or grieve you, mother, dear. If I have vexed you, I -know I shall make you forgive me some day, before long, perhaps, when I -shall have made you understand. You can write me at the Tartar's Head, -but if you hunted me there, or information concerning me, you would -never find me, I vow." - -Other letters came from time to time, written in fine spirits always, -referring, but mysteriously, to fine successes. Emmie felt a certain -modesty about these letters. She communicated what was in them with -reserve, and adopted towards inquirers the tone of discretion that the -letters had with herself. But she found herself often brooding over the -contents. They charmed the imagination; they sounded like things one -read. It was so remarkable, this circumstance of a poor boy, a boy of -her own, arriving in a great city, with little but his violin, and by -sounds merely forcing the things one values to come to him, as he had -spoken fancifully once, she remembered, of making a flock of rabbits -follow him into the woods. He wrote little very definite, but dropped -telling hints of how he had played before this great man and that man -of importance, and this one had said--the other had promised. He had -been called upon to perform at a certain levee, and out of his fee had -bought the things he was sending; he had money to spare. And there came -a parcel of presents for Emmie and the little girls, by which all were -greatly impressed. Dorastus's rank in the memory of his family rose a -degree. Now, on looking back, each knew that he had always foreseen -how, with that powerful will, Dorastus must be able to hew his way -through difficulties and compel circumstances to serve him. He was -looked on rather as a man than a boy, even as he looked on himself. His -mother was grateful to him for seeming to efface the weak foolishness -out of her first marriage: she was justified in her latter days, and -proved a virgin full of good sense. She wrote Dorastus encouraging -letters. Her good words got glowing answers: surely it would not be -long; he was working with all his might. But they must be patient, -for success as a material recompense was slow; and he hinted with the -effect of a sigh at rivalries, at the density of the public mind. Yet -talent must inevitably triumph in the end and manly effort meet its -reward. - -When Hector came home for his holidays he found it just a little -stupid to have been a good boy. The personage in the general mind -seemed to be his undisciplined half-brother. He contrived, however, -in the course of weeks, to fix a good deal of attention on himself. -He restored the balance to his mother's mind. Dorastus sank into his -natural place in relation to her other children. She waited in serene -patience--sometimes with a passing touch of scepticism, the reflection -of some outsider's attitude, oftener with childish perfection of -faith--for the developments he announced in letters somewhat decreasing -in frequency, but preserving their early tone of hopefulness. - -So time passed. The unusual became the usual and lost consideration, -according to its habit. - -Then the sisters-in-law, those perfect daughters, mothers, and wives, -came to visit the head of the house in the home of their girlhood. They -brought maids and children and chattels manifold. - -Now these ladies had been in London, and Emmie heard much from them of -the glories and greatness of that city; she had long opportunity to -learn respect for their manners and gowns, which alike came from there. -They had not happened upon Dorastus; they could not remember hearing of -him, and as that seemed to make it plain to Emmie they had not been in -the most polite places, they explained that the city was so large and -populous you might not come across a person in a lifetime. - -They left on a rainy autumn morning. Emmie, with her forehead against -the glass, watched their carriages dwindling, dwindling. Gone, with all -their patterns for gowns, with the last sweet thing in worsted-work; -gone, with their fashionable conversation, the art of which she had not -had quite time yet to master. But even if she had become perfect in -all, as they, of what use could it have been to her here? she asked, -turning from the dripping window-pane. - -She moved with an air of being the moon by day. The sickness of the -decaying year seemed to have got into her blood; she felt as if she -herself were the perishing summer, which had somehow been wasted. She -said over her children's ages with a sort of terror, a sense of time -having stolen a march on her; she was vaguely panic-stricken to think -there was so little of the good time of life left before her. She -sought the mirror to divert her mind with trying on again the bonnet -the sisters had bestowed on her, pronouncing it so becoming. Under the -severe gray light the face she saw reflected held more than ever to her -discontented eyes a forecast of the cheerless coming days when the rose -should be withered, the gold gone. The deadly quiet of the country, the -silence of the well-regulated house, suddenly seemed to her an outrage, -a roof incontrovertible that no one cared what happened to her. Gregory -in particular did not care. Else would he not have comprehended that -movement and novelty and gayety alone could at this pass save her from -the insidious oncreeping evil that encouraged hard lines between the -pale cheek and the drooping mouth? Clearly he did not care. He cared -for nothing but not to be disturbed after dinner. In this connection -she thought over many a subtle wrong she had been putting up with for -years. She thought of Dorastus, from whom this husband, with his royal -indifference, allowed her to be so long separated; Dorastus, who as she -looked to him, turning from the lukewarm, apathetic tribe surrounding -her, seemed an embodiment of swiftness and strength, a tempered steel -blade to rely on, a flame at which to warm the numb hands of the heart. -Ah, well, he was making a home for her with him, yonder in the living -city. She lost sight of the mirror into which she was staring; she -saw that home. Suddenly it seemed to her she could not live longer -without seeing her boy. She rose with the energy of true inspiration. -It was such an obviously legitimate desire, this desire to behold again -her own flesh and blood, that she need not be at pains to fabricate -palliation or excuse for it. She sought Gregory directly. She was weary -and ill, she had dreams at night, he did not know how hard her life had -become. She wanted to see Dorastus. - -Gregory yielded. - -They came to London. They took rooms at a quiet hotel known to him of -old. - -The novelty of all, the anticipation, made Emmie feel young again. Her -violet eyes were still childishly clear, her hair was pretty still; -little was missed of the beauty of her youth but its slender lightness. - -"No, no; you must leave it all to me," she said, when Gregory would -have accompanied her in her search for Dorastus. "I have a clue which -I will not betray. He has shown, dear fellow, that he might be trusted -to take care of himself. I will bring him home to dine with us. You may -take seats for the pantomime." - -So the good Gregory put her in the care of a trusted driver, and saw -her started on her adventure. - -Now she was driven--it seemed to her they were hours on the way--to the -Tartar's Head, a coffee-house of not very imposing appearance, in a -crowded part. - -Before reaching her destination she almost wished she had let Gregory -come: it was so noisy; the air was so dingy it deadened one's spirits -despite wealth of delightful prospects; and she must face various -unknown, perhaps unfriendly, faces before finding his face--after which -all would be well. - -She descended from the carriage with a little flutter, then with the -haste of rout got into it again, and requested the driver to bring some -one to her, as if she had been a great person. - -A young man came out to take her commands, a well-oiled young man in -side-whiskers and a broad shirt-front. - -Had not letters been received there addressed to so-and-so? - -The young man was more than polite. Inquiries were made. Such letters -had been received. The person to whom they were addressed called for -them. - -"I am his mother," said Emmie, lamely, for she had prepared another -course than this simple one, a course involving strategy. "Does he not -live here? Where does he live?" - -The young man continued very obliging. He made further inquiries and -came back looking a little blank. The person came himself and left no -direction for forwarding his letters; a letter had once been waiting -several weeks. - -"Does no one here know him?" asked his mother, nearly in tears. Of a -sudden this city seemed to her terribly large, and terribly full of -people who cared nothing for any distress of hers. "He plays on the -violin--he plays very beautifully on the violin." - -A possibility of intelligence dawned in the obliging young man's face, -and he ran in-doors again. He came back with a hopeful air. "Yes, your -ladyship. There is an old man belonging to the place knows him. He took -him a letter once when he couldn't come himself, being laid up. He -didn't want to tell at first, saying how he'd sworn. But I let him know -your ladyship was the young man's mother, and he told. It's a bit far." - -The waiter stepped up to the coachman and gave him instructions. Emmie -rewarded his obligingness with bounty in proportion to her relief at -all proving so easy. Of course some one knew him. It was part of his -boyishness to suppose he could hide, after his light had begun shining -through the bushel, too. - -She looked out through the misty pane at the bright passing -shop-windows; there seemed to her thousands in a row, and hundreds of -carriages rolling along with her. She liked the city again exceedingly, -and was glad to hope she might be there often after a time; it was so -various, it put life into one. If only the murky cloud would lift that -rested on the chimney-tops, and the rain stop making more the gray -slime on the flags. - -It was a long distance. She looked out until she was tired and -confused; then leaned back and meditated pleasantly for a time, then -looked out again, with a little shock of disappointment at seeing no -more bright windows. - -They were going more slowly; the streets here were narrow, the air -seemed dingier, the houses and people looked miserable. - -She watched with a saddened interest these that she fixed upon as -the poor city-people in their poor quarters. She was sorry for them, -but she would be relieved when they were left behind for the gayer -thoroughfares, or the roomier, more cheerful suburbs. - -Now at the entrance of a narrow court the carriage stopped. She -wondered what could be hindering its progress, and fidgeted while the -coachman left his box and came to the door. He opened it with a stolid -face and held his finger to his hat, waiting for her to alight. - -"But--but"--she stammered, eying the poverty-stricken appearance of the -place, "this cannot be it!" - -"The directions were clear, ma'am; I've followed them," said the man, -with respectful firmness. "This is as near as I can get to the house; -there's no room to turn around in the court." - -Emmie leaned back a moment, determined not to stir from her -cushions--the mistake was on the face of it too stupid. - -The coachman stood waiting, a man of patience carved in wood. Emmie -eyed him helplessly; then, seeing that the imposing creature would be -satisfied with no less from her, with the abruptness of impatience -she alighted, and rustled into the dark court, peering upward for the -number. - -There it was. She knocked, and listened, with a heart in which strange -things seemed to be happening. To the capless woman who opened she -stammered a name, looking for the relief of being told instantly that -none of that name lived there. - -"Three pair back, ma'am," said the woman, who appeared like a cook, -actual, past, or potential. "But he's not in. There's no telling how -soon he will come. What name did you say? Drastus what? Sibbie-mole? -Oh no, ma'am. Beg pardon. I listened as far as Drastus, and answered -because it's such a curious name. Ours name is Fenton. But, let's see. -What manner of young man might yours be? Like a foreigner, with a large -nose and black eyes, and plays the fiddle, and wears his hair long? -Dear me, ma'am, the very same! His room's three pair back. You wish to -wait for him? This way, then, ma'am." - -Emmie, in whom all processes of thought had stopped in amazement, -followed the landlady as best she could up three flights of dark -stairs, and entered through the door flung open for her. - -They stood in a little room that received the day through a sky-light. -Emmie dropped, sitting on the edge of the narrow bed and knotted her -little gloved fingers together in silence. She was so pale that the -landlady felt alarmed and asked if she were feeling ill. She shook her -head, and continued looking about fearfully and in wonder. - -There was little to see, nothing that might not have belonged to any -one in the wide world as well as to that boy; not one of these sordid -appurtenances reminded her of him, except the music on the table--but -any fiddler might have just such music. - -She rose to her feet as if jerked by a hidden string, and walked -stiffly towards the door, saying, "It is evidently not the one. This -one's name is Drastus Fenton, you say. The one I seek is Dorastus -Sibbemol. Good-morning, ma'am." - -But near the door she stopped, her eyes widening upon an object set -upright in the corner--a black wooden box, very old, scarred and -worm-eaten, mournfully resembling a child's coffin. - -She went back to the bed, and limply leaned against the wall. She -stared over at the box, with its peculiar wrought-iron hinges and -handle. - -"Has he been here long?" she asked, faintly, at last, of the blowzy -woman who was looking at her with some concern, and at the same time, -in view of the lady's respectability, trying to smooth down her untidy -hair. - -She thought a moment and judged he might have been there half a year. - -Emmie wrung her hands in an aimless way. She felt little of pain as -yet, or indignation; only vague throes and convulsions of change, a -working of all the atoms in heart and brain trying to adjust themselves -to something new. - -"And he is poor!" she murmured. - -"Well," said the landlady, exculpatingly, "we are all poor folks here, -ma'am. He mostly pays his rent--I don't ask much, but when he's behind -I'm not hard on him. He's a good lad," she went on, and as she was a -sizable woman, after a gesture of deferential apology she took a seat, -to support her in her view of lingering to angle with information -until she caught a little enlightenment. "A good lad, but that proud! -He thinks he'll be as rich as a dook some day, with his little fiddle!" -She shook her head in compassion and chuckled fatly over a household -joke of long standing. "He's all right in his head, ma'am, except on -that point. A poor lad that plays in the streets is none so likely to -pick up a fortune. And such tunes as he plays! I've always been told -I'd an uncommon ear for a catch, but to catch head or tail of them is -beyond me!" - -"He plays in the streets!" - -"Yes, poor Dook--come rain, come shine. Sometimes he has a good day, -sometimes a bad one; but times is hard--it's not very good at best. -He's not one of them pretty-impudent Italian boys with wheedling brown -velvet eyes. He looks too scornful, and despises folks more than is for -his own good. I have felt hurt at it myself, ma'am, and I may say I'm -not touchy. When I've known that he was a bit hard up and he looked -hollow, and I've asked him in neighborly to have a bite with us, he -has answered me almost as if he hated me for it--and gone hollow." - -His mother drew in her breath sharply. - -"Might you be a friend of his?" asked the landlady. "Once when he was -sick abed, and I came up to say a good word, he got sociabler than -usual, and spoke of a lady, a lady of quality, who'd heard him play--I -thought likely it was before he came here with his coat so seedy--a -lady who thought he was very fine. Perhaps I don't understand about -fiddle-playing, and he is all he says. Might you be the lady?" - -"Yes, yes, yes!" said Emmie, scarcely knowing what she said. - -The landlady looked much interested. "Well, now, I thought as much, -for I don't think he's any one in the world belonging to him. He's a -good lad, ma'am," she said again, with a good-natured impulse to make -hay for a fellow-creature while this, possibly a sun, was shining. -"He deserves better than he gets, if I do say it. He works at them -music-books for hours sometimes, at night, till the man below is fit -to go mad. But I tell him I can't put out a lodger that pays more -frequent than he, and when I speak to Drastus he says he'll leave, -though he should have to sleep on the pavement--he must play when he -pleases. He says that it's because he can't play as other fiddle-men -do, from a book and in a particular way, that he can't get nothing to -do but play in the streets. So he must learn, and learn he will, and -he scrapes away like a meeting of cats on the roof. I'm sorry he's -out, ma'am. What did you want with him, now? Couldn't I give your -message--or must you wait yourself?" - -"I will wait--I will wait." - -"He may not be home till night. He sometimes even--" - -"Oh, leave me, my good woman!" moaned Emmie. "What else can I do but -wait?" - -And the landlady, taking pity on what seemed to her an inordinate -perturbation of spirit, left the visitor to herself, returning now and -then to listen, and bringing up once an inquiry from the coachman. - -Emmie remained sitting on the edge of the bed. After a time she rose -and looked with pointless minuteness at everything in the room, opening -every drawer and reading every paper. She found all her letters tied in -a bundle and wrapped in a silk neckerchief of her own, old, and that -she had never missed. He had few possessions, and they made the heart -sick to pore over. - -The light faded off the dull glass overhead. With chilled fingers -she felt for the candle and lighted it. The landlady, coming up at -dark, insisted on bringing her a cup of tea. The good creature had -so disciplined her curiosity concerning the history implied in this -gentlewoman's presence here that her delicacy now in endeavoring to -discover was touching. Yet it went unrewarded. She stayed for the -satisfaction of seeing the lady, who she thought looked fairly ill, -refresh herself; and when it was delayed, tried by example to institute -in the atmosphere that cheerfulness which is conducive to a better -appetite--until asked again, with an imploring glance from eyes like a -shot dove's, to go, for the sake of pity to go. - -Emmie now took down the few clothes she had seen on the hooks, with a -vague idea that they required mending. She spread them out over her lap -one by one, and passed her hand mechanically over the threadbare places -where the black was green, over certain fringes about the holes, her -heart feeling extraordinarily large and empty and silent. The rings on -her cold hand glittered in the stroking movement, four rich rings with -various stones, Gregory's gifts. Four--but she had five children. - -She stretched herself suddenly on the bed with her face in the old -coat, the chill of the room slowly seizing upon her as she lay. She -prayed in a distant, half-conscious way, without the least illusion -that such words could persuade any one, for God to unmake everything -that had happened to her, to let her have died, and Dorastus too, at -his very birth; for them to have both been lying in the remote Dutch -God's-acre these many years. For one fleeting moment memory gave back -to her perfect an impression never before recalled. She seemed to have -been roused from a stupor deeper than sleep; her eyes dwelt without -wonder on what she thought to be a cathedral, with colored windows -ablaze--it dwindled, until it was a mere night-light glimmering. Then -shadowy people placed a little bundle in her arms. She tingled as an -instrument whose every string is touched, a coolness rippled from her -head to her feet, she knew a state never known before or since, a sense -of unlimited wealth, a tenderness ineffable, a trembling outgoing of -all her being to this handful of life. She heaved a great, faint sigh, -and with effort unspeakable bent till her lips were pressed as to a -warm rose-leaf. She sank to sleep, weak unto death, but blissfully -happy--waking stronger and in a different mood. - -She wished she might not have waked, but been buried with her poor -first baby in her arms, having ceased to be in the single moment -wherein she completely loved it. Nothing that had happened to her since -then seemed to her sweet; all was sicklied through by the consciousness -of a crime gone before and daily confirmed, a woman's most monstrous, -miserable crime--not loving enough. Nothing could make her withered, -yellowed, cheapened life right now--she should have died at that -moment. She said this over and over again to the powers that hear us, -until all meaning had faded from it. She started, with a sense of -something going out--she thought it must be the candle and she should -be left in the dark. She sat up, frightened and freezing. - -The candle was burning quietly. Then, as she scrutinized the shadows -ahead, loath to stir, she became aware of her rings having grown loose, -they were in danger of dropping off; of her clothes having grown loose, -they let the cold in under them; she felt a prickling at the temples, -as if it were the gray creeping through her hair; she felt her features -becoming pinched and old, beauty dropping from them like a husk. She -wanted to cry then with a childish self-pity, but no tears would come; -she did not know how to start the flood that she longed for to relieve -her. She felt that she could only have screamed. - -She got up to rid herself of this congealment, and paced the room from -corner to corner with sweeping black gown that told of the dusty things -it had that day brushed. - -Company had come to the man below; they were making a great deal of -very jolly noise. The candle guttered drearily; a reek of warm cabbage -climbed up the stairway to her nostrils. She looked up on hearing a -soft tapping--the black sky-light was spattered with silver tears, like -a pall. - -She walked up and down, waiting and listening, everything taking more -and more the quality of a dream wherein the most unnatural things grow -ordinary. She had felt with a numbed sort of cowardly loathing that -every moment brought her nearer to a black stream of realizing grief -and remorse into which willy-nilly she must descend; but now it seemed -in accordance with every known law that she should be here, destined to -go on walking so forever, never arriving, nor anything ever changing. -She heard herself say aloud in a light, indifferent tone, "He will -never come. He will never come." - -For a moment she remembered Gregory, whose image seemed to rise out of -the dim past: Gregory in the warm light of the hotel coffee-room, where -dinner was set on a little table for three, dinner with wine-glasses of -two shapes, and fruit and confectionery in crystal dishes. The thought -worked upon her as a sweet smell in sea-sickness. All that had to do -with Gregory seemed of negative importance; let him wait and wonder and -worry. She felt hard-hearted towards him and all prosperous things. - -A burst of voices reached her through the floor; they were rough -and hoarse, their mirth had turned to wrangling. It was so horribly -lonely here! If they were suddenly possessed to climb the stairs, to -burst in upon her! There was a crash of glass--she screamed; then a -laugh--she shuddered--and the noise grew less. She breathed again, but, -feeling her knees weaken, went back to the bed, and sat listening in -fascination for the murmuring sounds to develop again into a quarrel. - -Suddenly, without the warning of gradually approaching sounds she had -prepared herself for, she heard footsteps just outside. - -She knew them. An impulse to flee seized her. She looked about for a -place to hide in, a place to get through, to jump from. She could not -bear to see him, she felt as a murderess whose victim's ghost is upon -her. His image flashed before her, pinched with hunger and cold, worn, -embittered with disappointment, terrible with its long unrequited love -turned to hatred--gray, with glassy eyes. - -She looked wildly, but she could not move. Besides, it was too late, a -hand was on the door. - -As it opened, a deep stillness fell upon her, a suspension of all. - -A spell seemed to snap with his coming into the range of the -candle-light; it was as to a child locked all night in a graveyard the -cock-crow that lays the ghosts and heralds the day. She took a feeble -breath and her heart gave a warm little throb. The very face! only, a -young man's face rather than a boy's, thinner and bolder than ever, -but, thank Heaven! not pathetic, not heart-breaking--but with red where -red should be, with living light in the eyes. - -He held his violin; he was meanly clad, and his woollen muffler was of -a cheap and dismal tint no mother would have chosen for him. - -He looked in surprise at the lighted candle, and quickly cast his eyes -about, frowning to see who had taken this liberty. He caught sight of -her, blinked and narrowed his eyes, to distinguish. - -She could not make a sound, or bring a vestige of expression to her -face, or lift the pale little hands from her black lap--but sat -transfixed under his questioning stare. - -He took a few steps, uttered a jubilant shout, and dashed towards her -with outstretched arms--But he stopped before reaching her. He gave a -glance around the horrible little room, a glance at her face with the -eyes full of stern sadness, of reproach for the many, many lies he -had told her. Abruptly he turned his back to her and dropped on his -knees beside the table, saying furiously in disjointed syllables as he -pressed his working face against his arms. "You won't understand! You -never understand anything! I think sometimes that you are a fool!" - -But he felt her soft icy hands tremble about his head, he felt her -fluttering breath in his neck. She was kneeling beside him, saying in -choked whispers in the intervals of lifting her poor lips from his wet -face, "Don't speak!--Don't speak!" - -She was straining him to her with a passionate tenderness never shown -another being, raining on him the sweetest kisses. - -Both fell to crying as if their hearts would break. - - - - -CHLOE, CHLORIS, AND CYTHEREA - - -To make you acquainted by sight with young Chloris: she was a tall -girl, a trifle meagre in outline, but not disagreeably so; she had -light reddish-brown hair, and a sprinkling of freckles on a peachy -skin, and those eyes with dead-leaf spots in them; altogether an air -of openness and intelligent goodness that had quickly thrown the newly -introduced off the question--was she pretty? But she was pretty, too, -at her hours. - -On this day she had shut out the sun by means of the green Venetian -blinds, and her room, like a submerged crystal chamber, was full of a -watery light; she herself, white clothed, made a fair green-shadowy -nymph in the dim green atmosphere. - -This was her first hour of complete conscious content. So rich was she -in content that she had set herself to perusing a volume of the driest -essays, a present for a diligent girl graduate. - -This sense of life unfolding like a normal flower and becoming the -perfection of a rose was too much for the grateful heart to contemplate -at its ease; some great demonstration towards God must follow on -such contemplation. And Chloris in her security putting it off until -bedtime, sat reading about the discipline of the will, the happy blood -all the while keeping up in her veins a pleasant undercurrent babbling -of other matters. Two hours more and the summer sun would be reaching -its glorious haven, the cool flow in with the darkness, and time take -up again that sweet scanning of the lines of her idyl.... - -After reading the same passage some seven times, Chloris let her book -lie a moment in her lap. How marvellous, how simple, how natural, -how exquisite! Truly like the coming up of a flower. First, they -were children together, fair-dealing, unquarrelsome playmates; -then, schoolboy and schoolgirl, always good unsentimental friends; -and finally, time, passing over them, slowly turned them to lovers; -for this, no question, was whither they were tending: quiet, -undemonstrative, unjealous, faithful, devoted lovers, presently married -people, and by and by, God pleasing, tenants of one same grave. And -this sweetness in the heart, this best of all earthly goods, God -granted it to the humblest of his creatures! Why, then, were so many -dissatisfied with this dear earth? Why were some on it interested in -the discipline of the will? Ah, this summer, so endearingly begun, to -be ended so--and Chloris, in a confusion of bliss, almost as if to give -herself a countenance towards herself, took up her book again, finding -moonlight and wild azaleas and whippoorwills between the lines, a -dappled, singing shingle, a golden beach, velvet winds from over sea. - -The sunshine crept off the window-square; a sadness instantly invaded -the room; Chloris jumped up to open the blinds. Time to dress! Then -she did her hair as painstakingly as ably, put on a just-ironed white -gown with a violet figure, and stood at the glass weighing the question -of a velvet band around the neck. A fateful sound already was dawning -on the distance outside, but she did not as yet hear it. Too hot! She -tossed the velvet ribbon in the top bureau-drawer so unconcernedly -as if not, at that moment, the Parcć had been tangling the skein of -her life, and wondered idly if any one describing her would call her -pretty. She thought, in conscience, not; but of a charming appearance, -she hoped any one would. - -At this point penetrated to her brain a sound of voices out on the road -beyond the lawn and the hedge. She looked between the curtains. - -Two ladies, unknown to her, were slowly sauntering past in the -direction of the beach; one, near middle age, in a darkish gown; the -other, young, in light colors of a distinctly fashionable tone; this -latter carried over her shoulder a very large, fluffy, and, as it -showed even at this distance, inexpressibly costly parasol. She turned -her face a moment on the ancient vine-overclambered country-house, from -one window of which peeped Chloris, looked it up and down and across, -and turned away, making, Chloris supposed, some comment upon it to her -companion. - -When they had disappeared from sight, Chloris, still at the window, -musing on that face seen a moment, heard a leisurely jingling, and saw -pass at a walking pace an empty shining carriage, drawn by two superb -bays, driven by a man in livery. - -"It must be their turn-out," she concluded her wondering. "Who can they -be but the people that were to move into the Beauregard cottage?" - -Then, as there was time to spare before tea, she sat down in the -window. Shortly, was a lively jingling, a trampling, and the shining -carriage bowled swiftly by on its way back from the beach; on its -cushions, two ladies under a broad lacy parasol; a mighty cloud of dust -running after it, never to over-take. - -Almost at the same moment Chloris saw Him, half the subject of her -idyl, coming across the lawn. - -She went to meet him. - -"Who are the arrivals?" she asked at once. - -And here was pronounced, for the first time before Chloris, the name of -Cytherea. - -"Cytherea, Damon? Who is Cytherea? Where does she come from? Do you -know her?" - -"Very slightly," answered the young man; "I have met her in town. She -had told me she thought of coming here for the summer, but I supposed -it was conversation. I had completely forgotten, until I saw her this -afternoon. She is entranced with everything! You can never see our poky -little old place in its true light: you must get a description of it -from her, Chloris. She will find it deadly dull before the end of a -week; but for the moment she imagines quiet to be all she wants. She -has been working like a slave at doing the proper thing in town." - -"She has brought her style with her, I see." - -"They are inseparable. She arrived yesterday on the late train, and you -should see the change already in the Beauregard." - -"You have been there, then?" - -"Just a moment. They called to me from the veranda. They were having -tea. Fancy their bringing down a grand-piano!" - -"Does she play much?" - -"I don't know. Very probably. She looks as if she might." - -"Oh, no, Damon! There you mistake. She looks as if she mightn't. She is -very pretty, but I will vouch for it she can't play--" - -"Perhaps the cousin is the pianist. We shall see. I said you would call -on them this evening." - -"I, Damon? The instant they arrive? Why did you say that? Why should I -call before they have had time to breathe?" - -"Do you mind? I am so sorry. They asked me to come, and I half -promised. It is likely to be somewhat slow for them here if we stand on -ceremony. You will like them, I am sure." - -"You are sure? No doubt I shall. But to-night seems -rather--instantaneous, if you don't mind. You will excuse me to them, -and I will wait till they get a little more settled." - -"Settled! They have brought down an army of servants. The house looks -as if they had lived in it for a month." - -"Make what excuse for me you please, then." - -"You won't come, Chloris?" - -"I think not. Not this evening. Go by yourself, and tell me all the -great changes to-morrow. She will be much better pleased to see you -than me, anyway." - -"Why do you say that?" - -"Her face, my dear boy! She can't play the piano, to speak of, and she -greatly prefers men to women." - -"Perhaps you do her an injustice--" - -"Have I said anything disparaging? I signalled two virtues, I think. -You don't really mind my not going, Damon? I had intended to write -letters this evening, and mend table-cloths and read to father." - -When, shortly after tea, Damon had gone, Chloris tried to return -herself into a truthful person by reading an hour to her father, -and adding a dozen stitches to a delicate darn, and writing a note, -which, when finished, she tore up. In order, as far as possible, with -her conscience, she seated herself at the piano, a poor, tin-voiced -instrument, tired of the sea-air. No one so well as Chloris, accustomed -to its senile vagaries, could make the worn thing discourse music; her -greatest successes on it were old-time compositions written in the day -of spinet and harpsichord, minuets with a sprinkling of grace-notes, -things not sonorous or profound. To-night, playing for no one's praise, -she plunged haphazard into the melodies most sympathetic at the -moment, stormy and subtle, melancholy and intricate and modern. It was -Chloris's one proud gift, this effectiveness at the piano. - -Her father and his elderly sisters took themselves off to bed on the -stroke of ten. Chloris remained on the adjustable stool, relieved at -their going. She took up her playing again, without trying now to keep -her eyes dry. - -The sweet, hot air of the day, cooling, was turned to dew outside; -something of the same kind seemed taking place within herself--and -the dew was tears. Why had she been so curiously uplifted that day, -so at rest concerning every point in life, so sure of one thing at -least? Nothing was changed, yet she saw no reason now for blessing -this summer, golden hour for hour, and looking to it for the greatest, -serenest happiness. Damon? What was Damon to her, or she to Damon? He -had never in so many words made love to her, and she had never felt -the first pang of wonder or disappointment at this. They had walked, -rowed, ridden together. What of it? They should do these things again -a hundred times, probably. What of that? What had she been dreaming, -erewhile? Or was this the dream, this bad one? Something splendid and -shining and purple had gone gray. - -While continuing mechanically to play, she looked through the open -window into the summer night. It was rightfully her moon, that honeyed -bright moon outside; her balm-breathing night; it was her silver sea -yonder out of sight; they were her odorous pine-needle paths in the -sighing grove--and she was robbed of them. And the sense of it gave -her a seething in the heart, the like of which sensation she had never -dreamed existed: as if a painful separation of all the atoms in it one -from the other, as well as the stern conviction of being--oh, the novel -idea!--a fool. - -"I won't have it!" she muttered, emphatically, without knowing -definitely what she meant, and struck an angry discord. - -Through her playing reached her suddenly that merry harness-jingle of -the afternoon, approaching, passing, fading away. - -"There they go--to the beach for the second time to-day--to look at the -ocean by light of the moon." - -When in little less than an hour she heard the breaking again, on the -quiet air, of the fatuous silvery jingle, she let her playing fall to a -mere musical murmur, and listened, acutely, burning all the while with -shame. - -"Go slowly, Humphrey," she caught, in a rich, sweet voice; "I want to -listen to the music." - -"She plays really wonderfully. I have never heard playing I preferred -to hers," came in a well-known deeper voice, at which Chloris's cheeks -waxed hotter still. She pressed her foot on the pedal and shut herself -within a wall of dinning, buzzing sound. - -When she had lifted it, and risen, the road was empty, the night -silent, but for the crickets and the distant surf, as the grave. - - * * * * * - -Several days passed, each bringing Chloris its very natural request -from Damon that she would go with him to pay her respects to the new -neighbors; but with a perversity that surprised herself more livelily -than him, she daily found a bad reason for putting off the duty. This -hindered the progress of the idyl; for Damon had a delicate conscience -where these strangers were concerned; he would not see them bored in a -latitude whose honor, as an earlier inhabitant, he appeared to have at -heart. - -And presently the atmosphere of the whole country-side seemed qualified -by the presence of this Cytherea. It seemed to Chloris one could not -escape the effect of her, without taking to the deepest of the woods. -She was like an unstopped jar of some powerful essence; the little -country world was redolent of her. - -Before the time Chloris had at last rigidly fixed for a formal visit -came a message from Cytherea inviting her. Hard as she sought to -discover a reason for misliking the dainty note, she could find none; -it was irreproachable, and Chloris dressed herself for the occasion -with a divided mind, the preponderant part of which was finally -comfort: she should at least grapple now with a reality. - -She came to Cytherea's house at evening under Damon's escort. As one -approached it among the trees it looked rather more like one's idea of -an Eastern temple than a sea-coast cottage. The veranda was behung -with colored paper moons, glowing subduedly among the vines; soft light -streamed through lace from the changed interior. - -Excitement took Chloris from herself. Now the great adversary was -welcoming her; and Chloris, at the touch of a warm, soft hand, said -to herself, "What bugbear have I been frightening myself with?" and -found ease and ability to converse, and release from that sense of -disadvantage that had ridden her helpless heart like a nightmare. - -This atmosphere of the great world that went with Cytherea, how -awakening, how satisfying after all, to the mind! Not the smallness -of envy, thought Chloris, should keep her from giving it its due, or -getting her benefit from it. In the distance and abstract she had hated -it; but entered into, seen close, how unconscious, how inoffensive, -nay, genial, it proved! What a great good, too, this wealth that -permitted such distinction in luxury! Country girl as she was, it -seemed to Chloris she was breathing her native air. - -At Cytherea's prayer she sat down at the piano, and to her own surprise -played better than usual. When she had done, she begged the hostess to -play. She forgot how she had declared that Cytherea's face showed no -soul for music. - -She was surprised to hear the lady say, "I play hardly at all." She -sincerely now could not believe it. - -"Ah, well!" laughed Cytherea; and good-naturedly she pushed a chair to -the piano, and appeared preparing to begin. - -Chloris looked on in some wonder. Cytherea seated herself half away -from the keyboard, one nonchalant arm over the back of her chair, -her curly forehead on her hand; and, the first to smile at her own -affectation, played an elaborate waltz, very languidly, with her left -hand. - -Impossible for the eyes to leave her a moment while she performed -her pretty trick; and ably enough she performed it, with an adorable -cream-white hand. - -Chloris seemed to be slowly returning to consciousness. What perfection -was here! Nature had given this creature everything. Criticism of her -could only pass current under the stamp of envy. That gracious dark -beauty, that warm radiance! And sparkle, and charm--with winningness, -dignity, rarity, variousness! - -Chloris looked over at Damon; and the image of his fascinated face, as, -a fond forgotten smile on his lips, he followed with his dark dog-eyes -each movement of Cytherea's, affected her as a drop of poison let into -her blood. She seemed to herself growing aged and haggard, even as she -sat there, the dancing measure beating on her ear. Her hands lay cold -in the lap of her best gown--modest made-over gown of pale purplish -silk that she wore with a lace bertha of past fashion, once her poor -mother's. "What is the use of trying to contend with a thing like -that?" her heart asked, dully. - -An acuter pain pierced it when, the waltz played out, the laugh -following it laughed out, and conversation resumed, she realized the -faintest possible shade of disregard in Cytherea for the observations -made by Damon. Cytherea prized her, Chloris's, utterances distinctly -more; her, she seemed, from all her manner, to be honoring; him, for -some reason, she held a trifle cheap. This seemed to Chloris just a -little more unendurable than all the rest. And the dear boy, who, -totally ignorant of the effect he produced, was in such high spirits, -was so anxious to please, so cheerfully making a mantle in the mud of -himself for the beauty to tread upon. - -At last it was over; Chloris lay in her own bed in the pale summer -darkness, and felt she was the heart of the created world, and this -pain man's old inheritance; it seemed the very essence of her being -which was distilled slowly from her eyes. - - * * * * * - -On the day following, Chloris punctually sought Cytherea, for -appreciation must be shown the cordiality of the beauty. That was a -question apart from others: one is just and polite before anything -else. A person overhearing the chatting and laughing of that afternoon -in Cytherea's room would have thought certainly he listened to a pair -of heart friends. The greater expense of admiration between the two -women seemed of a truth to be borne by Cytherea. Chloris must look -herself mentally over in astonishment at this value set on her by so -great a judge. After the examination she felt foolish and humble. She -felt profoundly how, all being different, she too could have worshipped -Cytherea. - -And now she must be concerned in every sort of rural festivity -organized by Damon for Cytherea's amusement; she must see the rival's -first effect of being mildly bored by Damon's whole-souled dedication -turn into an effect of indulgence, daily tinged with increased liking; -for who in nature could fail to do final justice to one so simple, so -sincere as Damon--Damon, with his dear, clear, curiously gentle Roman -face and curly hair? - -"The heat does not seem to agree with you this summer, child," one of -the aunts concluded her kindly meant scrutiny of Chloris's face; and -the girl's heart tightened with affright. - -She stood that day before the glass, and, leaning her elbows on the -bureau, seriously examined the tinted shadow. "All is of no use," -she said. "The more I care, the more I must look like that. Does it -not seem a little strange that the more one loves the less lovely -one should become? And a little hard, too, perhaps, oh, you, my God, -with all respect, who have arranged these little matters?" And tired, -discouraged Chloris began weakly to laugh aloud, though she was alone; -and watched the grimacing of her own reflection with a sort of brutal -contemptuousness. "Oh, you sickening object!" she exclaimed, and hid -the delicate, nervous, tell-tale face in her hands. "This cannot go -on!" she raved. "Human flesh cannot endure it--and I cannot alter it. -All must soon see how it is with me. I can barely keep a hold on my -temper now. I must get away. Damon shall court her; she shall bloom -and smile at her ease for him. Welcome to each other--both! I shall be -where I cannot see it. I refused to visit Fidele in her mountain home. -I had a use already--God help me!--for every hour of the summer. I -will write to say I repent. Then Damon, Cytherea, sing duets out in -the canoe by moonlight; find clover-leaves for each other. I shall be -scouring the mountain in search of healing herbs, and I do not doubt -but, God helping, I shall find them. It is not in nature that a torture -like this should last!" - -And Chloris, when next she appeared before the public eye, looked -almost triumphant. And when her leave had been taken of all, and the -swift air of change was blowing against her brow, her heart felt so -strangely sound and quiet that she almost laughed, asking herself, "Why -am I going away? I am recovered merely at the notion of it. Had I but -known, I could have remained like a little heroine, and stood it out." - -But the hours passing broke down and carried off more and more all -the gallant props of pride and resolution, and at last Chloris sat -in the galloping car, a drooping runaway, who looked steadily out of -the window, and saw the flying scene through tears. Contemptible, -countrified Chloris, with her freckles and inferior clothes, and so -ordinary notions of conduct and taste, running away from comparison -with the peerless Cytherea; taking her envy and weakness out of sight -till she got strength to disguise them. - -Now the scenery, which she had not been seeing, became more lonely and -wild; the first low hills, heavy and slow in the general nimbleness of -things, shifted themselves with an amiable clumsiness till they had -closed in Chloris with her train; waking her suddenly, with a faintly -happy sense of diversion from immediate suffering, to the feeling -of being a child again visiting strange countries. Then wheeled and -tumbled themselves about and came to meet her the little hills' big -brothers, the mountains, with velvety sides, and rocky, rosy summits. -A weight for no reason seemed to melt away from Chloris's chest as -she looked up at them, and thought of living among them now for many -a day--the distinguished, sage, cool, sturdily benevolent ones, so -high above, so far from, the world she knew, down on the hot-colored, -populous plain. - -Here she was at last, where she must alight; in a high, pure, -crystal-clear atmosphere, at a little lost place, wildly green to eyes -used to the sun-burned shore, forgotten of all the world but this train -that remembered it for a second twice a day. - -And here was Fidele! It seemed to Chloris she had not half known, until -this moment, how fond she was of Fidele. Tears sprang to her eyes on -meeting the familiar eyes, and she embraced her old school friend with -an impulse of overflowing gratitude. She felt like a storm-beaten lamb -come to some sort of shelter at last. - -After the first moment's frantic clutch the two friends stood apart, -holding hands, and looking each other fondly and frankly over, with -wide, moved smiles. Fidele, seeing Chloris's eyes, wondered why tears -had not come to her, too; and compared her own nature unfavorably -with her friend's rich nature; and at this thought of her friend's -deep, sweet nature, behold! tears were come in her affectionate eyes, -too. Then both girls fell to giggling like schoolgirls, from mere -association of this meeting with other meetings; and in a moment were -talking lightly and inconsecutively, in an involuntary imitation of -old days; and Fidele had taken her friend's arm tightly under her own, -intertwined their fingers, and was dragging her along at a hop-and-skip -pace. - -"What a godsend you are to me!" she exclaimed, rapturously. "There -is not a soul in this forsaken place to whom one can talk like a -Christian. Oh, but we are slow! Oh, but we are primitive! Oh, but we -are simple!--" - -"What air it is!" Chloris breathed, profoundly. "How sweet! I never -dreamed such green!--My dear, this is Paradise!" - -"The air is good enough. The grass is certainly green. But oh, the -people are green too! But now you are here, we will change all this, -dear. What a holiday! You will inspire us. We will rise up, and look -into our closets, and fetch out wherewith to make a good impression -on the stranger. You bring the very air of civilization with you in -your clothes and hair. Where did you get it, Chlo--the general air, you -know? How ravishingly you do your hair! And that little hat! Now, who -in the world but you would have a hat like that? Oh, you rare darling! -Do you know you are greatly improved? You are thinner, but it suits -you. You always were a beauty, you know. Yes, you were! But you have -acquired so much besides--such an interesting air--yes, you have!--so -much expression. No one could see you without--gospel truth, Chlo! But, -yes--I will--I will hold my tongue. Did you bring your music at least, -for there is a piano, such as it is. Thank Heaven! You shall make their -capture with song. They shall grovel. You know, dear, I am not really -so silly as I seem; your arriving has turned my head. I always did -adore you, but it is even better than I remembered." - -Chloris that night, alone at last, tried to readjust herself, to get -back through this new experience her self of yesterday. The morning -of her starting from home, but sixteen hours removed, seemed withdrawn -into a much remoter past; a screen of glittering, crumbling, changing -color was arisen between herself and it. She interrogated her breast -curiously for that pain lately grown so familiar, forgotten for the -first time only in these last hours; her breast did not answer by at -once producing it. She goaded it tentatively with a sharp memory or -two; it responded sluggishly--a divinely restful torpor was possessing -it. She knelt by the window, and looked out at the still, strong, black -mountains; instinctively she wafted profound thanks to their rude -majesties. Far, far away in her dream at this moment, in an infinitely -small, sun-warmed, murmuring plain, moved two tiny figures: the great -Damon, who erewhile filled the entire horizon of her life, and the -great Cytherea, who interposed her fair shape between her and the sun, -shutting off the light of life--two tiny black figures, in a far-off, -sunshiny place it fatigued her to think of. Only the mountains were -big and important; and this cool, rough bedchamber was fifteen by -twelve; only Fidele and herself and the people seen for the first time -this evening were life-size and real. - -Stretching her tired limbs in the bed, that had nothing to-night in -common with the rack, feeling natural sleep creep over her as it had -long not done, she remembered with a vague joy that she was young; she -divined a time ahead--perhaps not so far ahead either--when life would -become possible again. - -She felt as if cosily tucked in and kept warm by the sense of Fidele's -affectionate appreciation, and the evident admiration of her friends, -called in even on this first evening to greet her. It was good. It -restored one's lost self-confidence. - -The last thought Chloris was conscious of was not for Damon this -once, but Demetrius. (Demetrius, I said. The reader here revolts. -Chloris, Cytherea, a Chloe apparently still to come, and Fidele, Damon, -Demetrius! Are these names to pass off on the discriminating reader in -a tale that has nothing to do with the times of Theocritus or Addison? -I confess it, I would have deceived. The persons in this story knew -themselves by none of the names I have set down. They had been given -at the font, and had by chance and inheritance come into, names that -represented them far less well. Who can assume to fitly name a babe in -arms? With a pure purpose I rechristened them. If you could know what, -for instance, was the real name of Cytherea--But enough.) - -On the next morning arises Chloris, constating with thankfulness that -no more than the night before is her heart bleeding at every pore. -Filled with a venerable feminine desire to still increase the favorable -impression she is sure she has made on the inhabitants of this high -hamlet, she does her hair more than ever engagingly, puts on her -crispest white gown with the lavender ribbons, and her broad straw hat -with roses--the hat Damon had praised in the early part of the season. -Something stirs in her sleeping bosom at the remembrance; she pauses -in her task of pinning it on; the green-gray eyes with the brown spots -grow fixed upon a vision, small as if seen through the wrong end of -the opera-glass: On a shining shore, two little figures setting out -in a sail-boat--only two, for the cousin has pleaded the disagreeable -effect on her of the motion of the sea. Chloris sits down discouraged, -feeling the blood drop from her face, and her heart present her with -as finished a pain as ever. "It really matters so very little," she -murmurs, firmly restraining from wringing her hands; "I only--only -should like to know how long this kind of thing may be supposed to -last!" - -Chloris and Fidele loiter about the garden full of morning sunshine, -snipping off wet sweet-peas and roses, and reminding each other of -things. Then, to please Chloris, they go for a stroll. Chloris is eager -for a little climb. Heated and pleasantly tired, they come to the top -of an eminence and sit down under the only clump of trees, in company -of the unbudging horned cows, who know their claim is good, for they -got there first. Fidele, leaning against a tree-trunk, fans herself -more and more fitfully with her hat, and presently slumbers. Chloris, -with her head in Fidele's lap, can never weary of looking off over the -faint-hued valley which the shadows of clouds softly overstray. In this -delicious bodily relaxation after hill-climbing in the sun, strange -peace inundates her soul, and she entertains a superstition that it is -flowing out to her from the mountains, and lies luxuriously, letting -herself be done good to. "They know the secret of peace," she muses -in her manner of a girl. "They cannot speak, but the effect of their -knowledge radiates from them, and reaches us. The end of all--of all is -peace. All works towards it incessantly, as one sees nature do towards -harmony. Through these battles, to peace. Why can one not remember it -down on the plain?" Now a cloud obscures the sun that gropes through -it with long golden fingers; Chloris, dreaming, ponders half wistfully -what it would be to remain here always, begin life anew, never return -where one had suffered so much, and was surely so little missed! - -On their way home the girls meet Demetrius in his chaise, on his -rounds. He reins in, and leans out of the leathern hood; with arms -alink the girls stand in the white road below, in a great bath of -light. They converse a moment; Chloris's lifted face, with the stamp on -it still of her high thinking on the hill-top, is like a flushed pearl -under her rose-laden hat. - -"You must let me show you the country," says Demetrius, before driving -on. - -When he is gone, Chloris and Fidele naturally fall to talking of him. - -"How is it," says Chloris, "that a man so superior has attained his age -and is merely a doctor in a place like this?" - -"My dear, we have our ailments like the rest. You don't grudge us a -good doctor? He was born here, and after a good number of years down -in the haunts of men came back in a natural sort of way. His father -left him property up here. He is not ambitious; he has an abundance of -money. He practises more or less for the love of it, and something to -do. He is our most presentable man, and I want you to appreciate our -good points in him. He adores music; the piano I spoke of is his. He -has invited us up there; as soon as you feel inclined we will go." - -When, in a few days, Chloris consented to go, one-half the curious -population went with her, to hear her play. - -The stiff farm-house parlor, closed nine-tenths of the year, had -been made to breathe out its musty ice-house atmosphere; lighted and -garnished and filled with guests, it scarcely recognized itself. - -Demetrius leaned on the instrument while Chloris played, his untrimmed -head dreamily drooping, his eyes half closed, like a lazy cat's in -the sunshine, when a hand is stroking it the right way. When she had -finished, and all lifted their hands and praised and questioned her, -he turned away with a sigh, saying nothing; and yet both knew that the -truest music-lover of all was he; and when she played again it was -chiefly with the thought of him as an audience. - -"What an air of intelligence your hands have when you play," he said, -later. "But it is the same when you are crocheting, or just drumming on -the chair-arm. They look as if they could talk, and utter such wise and -witty things." - -A very friendly understanding was almost at once established between -them; after which, he being such a sensible, direct, humorous man, well -on towards middle age, and Fidele urging it, it seemed but proper to -accept the offered seat in his chaise and see the country to the best -advantage. - -They travelled many leagues behind his mare; they reached many points -of vantage from which to look off at the view. Their conversation was -half laughter; yet Chloris felt a serene security in the awe she knew -she inspired. - -In the country doctor's company, such was his effect on her and hers -on him, Chloris felt always sweetly young, and unusually well-dressed, -unusually beautiful and brilliant--as well as experienced in the ways -of the world, and possessed of a strong and complicated character. -With all this, something of an impostor. - -After many rides, many conversations, the light about Demetrius was -insensibly changed, and offered him under a different aspect. What -genuine kindliness in his rather heavy yet well-featured face! what a -good, sane, comprehensive intelligence under his shaggy hair! and under -his country-made waistcoat a heart suspected to be tender and faithful! -If he had done little, risen little, circumstances were more to blame -than will; and it pierced through his mockery of himself sometimes that -he was not all satisfied now with his condition; ambition that had -slumbered gave signs of waking. And he was still young enough to mould -his fate to a different shape. - -Chloris, regarding him, as she told herself, merely in the light of a -specimen in which to study human nature, concluded that the woman who -intrusted her happiness to Demetrius, at least in the event of her -being a superior creature, would be in the main a very fortunate one. -Nothing to fear in this man from inconstancy; no account to make with -the inflammable imagination of youth; the gracious, condescending woman -would get unbounded gratitude from his humility for every little favor -shown. Her life would be so peaceful, so guarded from all trouble that -care can keep at bay, so surrounded with delicate consideration. - -So the herds-grass purpled and was mown; the mustard yellowed, and its -yellow vanished; and the apple began to redden. Then Demetrius, with a -little help from everybody, gave a party--a party the like of which had -not been given in the sleepy place since his sister's marriage a dozen -years before; but this Chloris from afar, as Fidele had foretold, was -inspiring the natives. - -And undoubtedly she was the queen of the party. To see her was to know -as much. She wore a grand gown of pale purplish silk, with a real lace -bertha (the talk of the place for nine days after), and white flowers -pricked into the shiny structure of her hair. - -There was hired music, and dancing on the waxed kitchen-floor, and an -opportunity never surpassed in the annals of the neighborhood to get -enough of good things to eat. - -Towards the end, when one-half the simple revellers were gone, and the -musicians were silenced with feeding, and the night air breathed in at -the open windows with a feel of great lateness in it, came a petition -to Chloris to play a piece on the piano. - -After various laughing negatives, yielding, Chloris, whose eyes -were lightsome and dancing to-night, pushed away the stool, and, -substituting for it a chair, sat a little sideways in this, with one -arm over the back; and, a curious little smile playing on her lips, -propped her ruffled head with its wilted flowers on her right hand; -and, while the country innocents exchanged wondering glances, with her -nimble left hand, amply sufficient to the task alone, began playing a -waltz--a sweet, dreamy waltz. - -When they were at last home, and Fidele, half undressed, had come in -to chat a moment with her friend, she asked, "Did you enjoy yourself, -dearie?" - -"Immensely!" said Chloris. "How nice they all are to me! What dear, -kind things they are! By the way, though, there was something I wanted -to ask. Who is that dark-haired, plump young woman, with black bugle -eyes, and a skin like red-and-white paper--quite passable-looking, if -she did not look so sulky?" - -"What did she wear?" - -"Something pretentious but unbecoming. It had a lot of bead-trimming. -Now, speaking of how nice every one and everything was, I except that -girl's manner. _She_ was positively rude. I did not know how to take -it. I have met her before, with all the others, and passed her on the -road, bowing my best; but we have never more than exchanged a word or -two, so I can have done nothing to offend her." - -Fidele was laughing. - -"Who is she?" asked Chloris. - -"That is Chloe," replied Fidele. - -"Chloe?" - -"You mustn't mind her rudeness, dearie. She is really a good sort of -creature. But she is no doubt sorely tried." - -"What tries her? Why do you laugh?" - -"Demetrius! He was a shade partial to her before you came--not enough -to cause comment in any place but this. And, even here, not enough to -lay himself open to blame. It is a pity, though, that she can't keep -her feelings hidden, and must vent her spite on you. Silly thing! I -have no patience with that kind of girl." - -Chloris's fingers became absent among the hair they were braiding. She -looked into the lamp-flame with a vacant expression. - -Fidele plied the brush in her tangled locks, and went on chatting. - -Suddenly Chloris, who for some time had not spoken, laughed. - -"What is it, dear?" asked Fidele, looking up at her friend, where she -stood still staring in the lamp-flame. "Have I said anything funny?" - -"No, it was nothing you said. I was thinking--my mind travelled from -one thing to another--you know how it jumps about--and I had to laugh, -before I knew, at a stupid old circumstance--" - -"What circumstance?" - -"Oh, nothing, dear--a thing we learned in school, in French, a -fable--never mind!" - -"A fable! My dear Chloris, how interesting! What fable?" - -"I can't quote it. I have forgotten my French. It was about a hare--a -hare who ran away in terror of a bull, and in his flight came to a -swamp where the frogs were just as much afraid of him. Wouldn't it be -interesting to know the rest? What the hare did, whether he put on his -fiercest outside, and tried to make the frogs quake in their little wet -boots?" - -"What nonsense, you dear idiot! Ask Demetrius! He will give his -best consideration to the frog question, and be impressed with its -profoundness, while Chloe wears bead trimming and grows sage-color. -Good-night, dear. I am dreadfully sleepy." - -"I mean you shall take me to call on Chloe some day soon. Now that I -see her face with a different idea of her, it is a nice face! Poor -child! I could never settle down contentedly under the notion that -some one disliked me; could you? Even a dog! I have had such a happy, -peaceful time here, in this dear little place, I want every one to feel -kindly towards me when I leave." - -"You speak as if I were going to let you go, Chloris." - -"Oh, my dearest, I don't want to talk of it. I have put off talking of -it, day after day, yet you must know that I can only stay a very little -longer. Think of it! I came for a month, and I have stayed--how long is -it? And father must be getting lonesome; and he so seldom writes, and -then tells me little or nothing. And everything must be needing me--" - -"You extraordinary girl!" exclaimed Fidele, now very wide awake; "I -swear I absolutely do not understand you! What do you mean? First you -seem--you seem--and then--and then suddenly--" - -Fidele could not get out her words, for Chloris's hand was across her -lips. - -"Hush!" she pleaded, quite earnestly. "Say nothing about it! When a -thing has been spoken it seems to exist! You don't understand--I don't -understand either. Who is consistent? Who knows what he wants? Who -knows ever what he is doing? How many creatures we crush just walking -across the grass! A path opens ahead, we take it blindly, not knowing -whither it leads. With good reason we say we grope in the dark. Let us -have the grace, then, when a moment's illumination is granted us, to -go by its light. You don't know what I mean; I scarcely know myself. -But don't try to keep me, dear! Remain at my side every minute that -is left of my stay here; see me to the train without the shadow of an -adventure--and I will love you all my life!" - -And a few days later the train that had brought Chloris picked her -up again, all flushed with Fidele's last kisses, and flew with her -homeward. - -She looked out of the window with other eyes than those she had first -turned upon the mountains. Yet tears were in them, too, as she said, -"Good-bye, dears! Your little sister leaves you, made quite well again. -But never will she cease to love you. You shall be always in her -dreams. And she will come back one day. When God sends her sorrows she -will take refuge again with you." - -All through the first hours of being rushed along across the brilliant -fading land, that she looked at, scarcely seeing, she retained a sense -of exaltation. She seemed to herself as a sword after the proofs -of furnace and ice-brook. She could have laughed to think of the -philosopher that was going home in place of the pallid victim of an -almost pathological sensibility. - -The mountains were dwindling to little hills; the latter-year sun was -too barely bright: a crude earth-color and a sombre green took place -of the angelic vague green and blue and pink of the dewier, earlier -period. The plain was opening with its more trivial detail. Chloris's -mind descended to its level, and projected itself with a limited -emotion into the circumstances of the approaching home-coming. She felt -prepared to endure whatever awaited her with grace and dignity; she -felt sure, indeed, that she should feel very little. "I have learned -the secret of life," she said to herself; "I have weighed and measured -everything." - -At this same moment an elderly gentleman who had a daughter was -thinking how touchingly young and inexperienced his fellow-traveller -looked; in his old heart he felt sorry for her, somehow, for being so -young. - -"I have weighed and measured everything," she said. "God is real, God -lasts, and the love of Him. Human passion passes away. One might almost -say that it does not exist. It is like a physical pain: it tortures, -you try to locate it, you fix your mind upon the presumed seat of -it--it is not there, there is no pain; and presently, when you are -well, you cannot call up a remembrance of the sensation. I feel fitted -to write a book on this subject. I thought I could never endure my life -without Damon--dear, dear Damon! Yet I live and am improved in health. -And, blinded by I shall never be able to explain what mist, I was -beginning to adapt my mind to the thought of life with Demetrius, whom -I pictured out of all proportion happy and grateful to me. Why more -grateful than another? Thank God I was delivered from committing such -a blunder! Ah, if I could teach Chloe all that I have learned! But she -does not need it; she gets what she wants, for beyond a doubt Demetrius -in time goes back to her. I--I am armed now at every point. I have a -defence against every circumstance. The secret is: Nothing matters, but -God above. And, knowing this, I mean to be very sweet to all at home, -more thoughtful of every one, more generous of all myself--" - -She was running between familiar orchards and fields; the image of -reaching home became very present, and a sweetness pervaded her rising -excitement at the thought of touching so soon the home-hands. The -mountains were thrown back to the horizon of her mind. Between the -sandy hummocks, beyond the level salt meadows which she had left green -and found russet, she caught glimpses of a great sapphire line. She -began looking eagerly for the farm-house that meant she was within -a minute of her journey's end. It flashed past. She gathered up her -things; she came out on the platform, and with a joyous heart looked -for her father's gray face and his hand extended to help her down. - -He was not there, and she got off the train alone, half-conscious of a -dog-cart not far, with a horse behaving as a horse should not at the -locomotive. The superbly indifferent iron monster puffed off, dragging -after it its train; the indignant horse quieted down. She heard her -name called; the voice was the man's in the dog-cart, it was Damon's. -The philosopher hurried towards him with an insanely beating heart, an -uplifted, greeting, beaming face. - -He helped her in, and his trickle of answers met her stream of -questions, and her stream of answers his trickle of questions, as they -jogged, tilting along between the dusty roadsides. The warm flood of -her home-coming sensations subsided a little, and she turned to look at -him, to take a fond inventory of his face--dear old faithful friend, so -kind to fetch her himself! Her heart tightened. What was gone wrong -with Damon?--Damon, whom she had been picturing so happy, and was just -rousing her spirit to question casually concerning Cytherea. Even at -that moment they were approaching her dwelling, when the question, -if she could make her voice right, not too indifferent, nor yet too -interested, would seem so in place. - -The grass on the lawn was long and uneven, constellated with twinkling -autumn dandelions; the windows were shuttered, the veranda was empty, -the chimney smokeless; a forgotten hammock rope, blackened and twisted -by the rain, swung from a branch in front of the deserted house, -thumping faintly against the tree-trunk. Chloris turned her lengthened -face towards Damon; he lifted to hers a pair of very miserable eyes, -and said, in an unresonant voice, "You should have got back in time for -the cattle-fair. It was better than usual this year. Cookson's little -mare took a prize." - -"You don't mean it!" faltered Chloris, and looking straight ahead set -her lips hard, to keep down an impetuous flood of hatred for Cytherea. - -She saw the propriety of continuing to talk; but she could not keep her -mind on it. Damon's powers of conversation, too, had failed him. He -kept a stolid face to the horse's head; and they drove in silence to -her door, where, alighting, she was swallowed in a sea of affectionate -fatherly and auntly embraces. - -"I may stay to tea, mayn't I?" asked Damon, dully, from his corner, -where he seemed sitting in the cold. - -Chloris gave him a place beside herself, and treated him like a sick, -beloved child; but so tactfully, he could know only that it soothed. - -She let him lie on the sofa, afterwards, while she played, and the -others slept in the upper chambers. - -She played with upturned face, pale and gentle and full of -understanding; her eyebrows lifted, her eyes very large and kind. She -would have thought that Damon slept, but that now and again he sighed. - -When at last she stopped to look for something among her music, to go -on with, he got up and came to the piano-side. "I am so glad you have -got back," he said, from all his heart; "you are such a brick. Good -Lord, how I have missed you--" - -He turned away and went aimlessly to the window, and stood looking out. -"I suppose it is time I went," he said. "But I hate to go home! I don't -know what is come to me, I can't sleep these nights." - -Chloris had gone to the window, too, and stood beside him, her -indulgent young face, that wore a world-old expression, turned on the -dimly glimmering white petunia-beds outside. - -"Would you--won't you come out for a little stroll, Chloris? Run for -your shawl, there is a dear girl, and let us go over to the beach. It -isn't really late, and I am so restless, and I don't want to go alone, -and it is so stuffy in my room at home." - -Chloris, without a word of demur, took her wrap and followed him. They -walked side by side in silence; the sense they must have in common -of the beauty of the night might at first take lieu of conversation; -when that sense must be outworn, they still thought their thoughts in -silence. Chloris knew the relief it is not to pretend; Damon thought -only of himself in this hour. - -It was she, after a while, that led--tall, slender figure a step ahead -of him, walking swiftly, with a sort of intrepidity. With his head a -little bowed, his hands behind him, he followed. - -She led him to the beach, and without regard for time or fitness of -things, farther and farther along the smooth sands, away from home; -then, by a long loop, back to the homeward road, as if with the -determination to tire him out. She herself was conscious of no fatigue. -She felt like a spirit; her uplifted eyes seemed so expanded that they -could take in all the radiant firmament. - -At last, as if awaking, he stopped and vaguely looked about, saying, "I -am ready to drop! Good Lord, how far have you been taking me? Let us -sit down a moment and rest." - -They were not far from home, on the edge of a familiar pine-grove that -ran down to the lapping inland sea. She sank on the dry pine-needles; -he dropped beside her, and, tearing off his cap, unquestioningly laid -his head in her lap. - -"Does it ache?" she asked, softly. - -"Yes," he murmured. "Rub it." - -She passed her hand with a measured motion across his forehead, pushing -up the heavy hair. She felt his face for an instant press closer to her -knees; volumes of gratitude seemed expressed in the impulsive movement. -She continued her stroking with a quiet, sisterly hand, her swelling -heart suddenly choking her. She had him back, that she knew beyond a -doubt. Broken, disillusioned, his heart seared by the image of another, -he was hers, as he lay there thinking of that other. Hers to help, to -heal, to make love her as much as she loved him. And a flood of human -passion, the sensation she had decided--God forgive her!--disposed of -forever, surged in her. Her eyes brimmed over with happy tears. Why -should there be any feeling of bitterness mixed in a feeling so sweet? -Why should the hurt to one's vanity be remembered in such a situation? -Why not be finally glad to give more than one received, offer something -whole for something broken, bless beyond all desert? No--no--that other -could never have loved him so! Fate had meant well by him in putting -her out of reach; this sorrow of his should pass away and be as if it -had never been. Chloris felt in herself such inexhaustible wells of -tenderness and patience, she knew hers was the good title; she knew she -could be sufficient--make Damon forget. Her heart sang a song of praise -and victory, while her hand smoothed his forehead with the fancy that -it brushed away the image of Cytherea, fatal line by line. - -Ineffable fatigue drew her down from high serene thoughts to thoughts -nearer earth. She ached; waves of unnatural sensation swept through -her, but she would not move. The weight of his dear head was better -than ease. - -While she took patience till he should be ready to rise and go sensibly -home to bed, a whimsical image formed in her brain: Herself, and -to one side of her, a little higher, Cytherea, and to the other, a -little lower, Chloe--and beyond Chloe, in the descending line, some -poor woman, not pretty or winning at all, to whom Chloe must appear -a half-divinity; and above Cytherea, in the ascending line, another -fairer than she, for, when all was said, there must be in this world -women even fairer than the great Cytherea, of whom she, perchance, -lying awake in her queenly bed, would think with anguish, confessing -herself helpless to struggle. Poor Cytherea, then, in her turn! Chloris -framed a sincere wish for her continued happiness, and that in the -event of despised love God should grant her to become a philosopher. -And her imagination went on feebly, whimsically, weaving. Still another -fairer still creature above Cytherea's victress--still another at the -other end, to whom the envier of Chloe should be an object of envy--and -so on, till the chain seemed to extend from the seraphs down to the -last of the most degraded race, and take a slightly humorous aspect. -"It pleases the powers to be merry," thought Chloris, and was conscious -of no irreverence in the conceit. - -"Wake up, Chloris!" came Damon's voice, sounding more as it had used to -sound, before he was so grown-up, and had untoward things happen to him -in his sentiments. - -"I have not been asleep!" she said, sheepishly, "except below my knees." - -"I won't contradict you, but when I struck a light you were nodding and -smiling away to yourself like a little China mandarin. Have you any -idea of the time it is? Well, I won't enlighten you. What a crazy thing -we have been doing! Come, dear, let me help you up. I hope to Heaven -you haven't taken cold. Hello, can't you walk straight? What a brute I -am! Take my arm--" - -And laughing weakly and wearily, they set out staggering across the dim -stubble-field that separated them from home. - -"Dear old Chloris!" Damon murmured, pressing her arm to his side. -"Best girl in the universe! You can never think what a comfort it is to -have you home again. I feel more like myself. I think that to-night I -shall sleep." - - -/$ - THE END -$/ - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Hundred and Other Stories, by -Gertrude Hall Brownell - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HUNDRED AND OTHER STORIES *** - -***** This file should be named 60469-8.txt or 60469-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/4/6/60469/ - -Produced by Carlos Colon, the University of California 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - 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. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - |