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diff --git a/old/60526-0.txt b/old/60526-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index df4f780..0000000 --- a/old/60526-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6933 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Jean of Greenacres, by Izola L. Forrester - -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: Jean of Greenacres - -Author: Izola L. Forrester - -Release Date: October 19, 2019 [EBook #60526] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JEAN OF GREENACRES *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines, Jen Haines & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net - - - - - - - - - - - [Cover Illustration] - - - - - JEAN OF GREENACRES - BY - IZOLA L. FORRESTER - THE WORLD SYNDICATE PUBLISHING CO. -CLEVELAND, O. NEW YORK, N.Y. - - - - - _Copyright, 1917, by_ - _George W. Jacobs & Company_ - _All rights reserved_ - -[Illustration] - _Printed in the United States of America_ - - - - - CONTENTS - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I A Knight of the Bumpers 9 - II Christmas Guests 25 - III Evergreen and Candlelight 43 - IV The Judge’s Sweetheart 59 - V Just a City Sparrow 81 - VI “Arrows of Longing” 99 - VII The Call Home 115 - VIII Seeking Her Goal 133 - IX Jean Mothers the Brood 153 - X Cousin Roxy’s “Social” 171 - XI Cynthy’s Neighbors 183 - XII First Aid to Providence 199 - XIII Mounted on Pegasus 223 - XIV Carlota 239 - XV At Morel’s Studio 253 - XVI Greenacre Letters 269 - XVII Billie’s Fighting Chance 285 - XVIII The Path of the Fire 301 - XIX Ralph’s Homeland 317 - XX Open Windows 331 - - - - - JEAN OF GREENACRES - - - - - CHAPTER I - A KNIGHT OF THE BUMPERS - - -It was Monday, just five days before Christmas. The little pink express -card arrived in the noon mail. The girls knew there must be some -deviation from the usual daily mail routine, when the mailman lingered -at the white post. - -Jean ran down the drive and he greeted her cheerily. - -“Something for you folks at the express office, I reckon. If it’s -anything hefty you’d better go down and get it today. Looks like we’d -have a flurry of snow before nightfall.” - -He waited while Jean glanced at the card. - -“Know what it is?” - -“Why, I don’t believe I do,” she answered, regretfully. “Maybe they’re -books for Father.” - -“Like enough,” responded Mr. Ricketts, musingly. “I didn’t know. I -always feel a little mite interested, you know.” - -“Yes, I know,” laughed Jean, as he gathered up his reins and jogged off -down the bridge road. She hurried back to the house, her head sideways -to the wind. The hall door banged as Kit let her in, her hands floury -from baking. - -“Why on earth do you stand talking all day to that old gossip? Is there -any mail from the west?” - -“He only wanted to know about an express bundle; whether it was hefty or -light, and where it came from and if we expected it,” Jean replied, -piling the mail on the dining-room table. “There is no mail from -Saskatoon, sister fair.” - -“Well, I only wanted to hear from Honey. He promised me a silver fox -skin for Christmas if he could find one.” - -Kit’s face was perfectly serious. Honey had asked her before he left -Gilead Center just what she would like best, and, truthful as always, -Kit had told him a silver fox skin. The other girls had nicknamed it -“The Quest of the Silver Fox,” and called Honey a new Jason, but Kit -still held firmly to the idea that if there was any such animal floating -around, Honey would get it for her. - -Jean was engrossed in a five-page letter from one of the girl students -at the Academy back in New York where she had studied the previous -winter. The sunlight poured through the big semicircular bay window at -the south end of the dining-room. Here Doris and Helen maintained the -plant stand, a sort of half-moon pyramid, home-made, with rows of potted -ferns, geraniums, and begonias on its steps. Helen had fashioned some -window boxes too, covered with birchbark and lined with moss, trying to -coax some adder’s tongue and trailing ground myrtle, with even some wild -miniature pines, like Japanese dwarfs, to stay green. - -“It has turned bleak and barren out of doors so suddenly,” said Helen. -“One day it was all beautiful yellow and russet and even old rose, but -the next, after that heavy frost, it was all dead. I’m glad pines don’t -mind frost and cold.” - -“Pines are the most optimistic, dearest trees of all,” Kit agreed, -opening up an early spring catalogue. “If it wasn’t for the pines and -these catalogues to encourage one, I’d want to hunt a woodchuck hole and -hiberate.” - -“Hibernate,” Jean corrected absently. - -Now, one active principle in the Robbins family was interest in each -other’s affairs. It was called by various names. Doris said it was -“nosing.” Helen called it “petty curiosity.” But Kit came out flatly and -said it was based primarily on inherent family affection; that -necessarily every twig of a family tree must be intensely and vitally -interested in every single thing that affected any sister twig. -Accordingly, she deserted her catalogues with their enticing pictures of -flowering bulbs, and, leaning over Jean’s chair, demanded to know the -cause of her absorption. - -“Bab Crane is taking up expression.” Jean turned back to the first page -of the letter she had been reading. “She says she never fully realized -before that art is only the highest form of expressing your ideals to -the world at large.” - -“Tell her she’s all wrong.” Kit shook her mop of boyish curls decidedly. -“Cousin Roxy told me the other day she believes schools were first -invented for the relief of distressed parents just to give them a -breathing spell, and not for children at all.” - -“Still, if Bab’s hit a new trail of interest, it will make her think -she’s really working. Things have come to her so easily, she doesn’t -appreciate them. Perhaps she can express herself now.” - -“Express herself? For pity’s sake, Jeanie. Tell her to come up here, and -we’ll let her express herself all over the place. Oh! Just smell my -mince pies this minute. Isn’t cooking an expression of individual art -too?” said Kit teasingly as she made a bee line for the oven in time to -rescue four mince pies. - -“Who’s going to drive down after the Christmas box?” Mrs. Robbins -glanced in at the group in the sunlight. “I wish to send an order for -groceries too and you’ll want to be back before dark.” - -“I’m terribly sorry, Mother dear,” called Kit from the kitchen, “but -Sally and some of the girls are coming over and I promised them I’d go -after evergreen and Princess pine. We’re gathering it for wreaths and -stars to decorate the church.” - -“And I promised Father if his magazines came, I’d read to him,” Helen -added. “And here they are, so I can’t go.” - -“Dorrie and I’ll go. I love the drive.” Jean handed Bab’s letter over to -Kit to read, and gave just a bit of a sigh. Not a real one, only a bit -of a one. Nobody could possibly have sustained any inward melancholy at -Greenacres. There was too much to be done every minute of the day. Kit -often said she felt exactly like “Twinkles,” Billie’s gray squirrel, -whirling around in its cage. - -Still, Bab’s letter did bring back strongly the dear old times last -winter at the Art Academy. Perhaps the girl students did take themselves -and their aims too seriously, and had been like that prince in -Tennyson’s “Princess,” who mistook the shadow for the substance. Yet it -had all been wonderfully happy and interesting. Even in the hills of -rest, she missed the companionship of girls her own age with the same -tastes and interests as herself. - -Shad harnessed up Princess and drove around to the side porch steps. It -seemed as if he grew taller all the time. When the minister from the -little white church had come to call, he had found Shad wrapping up the -rose bushes in their winter coats of sacking. Shad stood up, six feet of -lanky, overgrown, shy Yankee boy, and shook hands. - -“Well, well, Shadrach, son, you’re getting nearer heaven sooner than -most of us, aren’t you?” laughed Mr. Peck. And he was. Grew like a weed, -Shad himself said, but Doris told him pines grew fast too, and she -thought that some day he’d be a Norway spruce which is used for -ship-masts. - -Mrs. Robbins came out carrying her own warm fur cloak to wrap Doris in, -and an extra lap robe. - -“Better take the lantern along,” advised Shad, in his slow drawling way. -“Looks like snow and it’ll fall dark kind of early.” - -He went back to the barn and brought a lantern to tuck in under the -seat. Princess, dancing and side stepping in her anxiety to be off, took -the road with almost a scamper. Her winter coat was fairly long now, and -Doris said she looked like a Shetland pony. - -It was seven miles to Nantic, but the girls never tired of the ride. It -was so still and dream-like with the early winter silence on the land. -They passed only Jim Barlow, driving his yoke of silver gray oxen up -from the lumber mill with a load of logs to be turned into railroad -ties, and Sally’s father with a load of grain, waving his whipstock in -salute to them. - -Sally herself was at the “ell” door of the big mill house, scraping out -warm cornmeal for her white turkeys. She saluted them too with the -wooden spoon. - -“I’m going after evergreen as soon as I get my dishes washed up,” she -called happily. “Goodbye.” - -Along the riverside meadows they saw the two little Peckham boys driving -sheep with Shep, their black and white dog, barking madly at the foot of -a tall hickory tree. - -“Got a red squirrel up there,” called Benny, proudly. - -“Sally says they’re making all their Christmas presents themselves,” -said Doris, thinking of the large family the mill house nested. “They -always do, every year. She says she thinks presents like that are ever -so much more loving than those you just go into a store and buy. She’s -got them all hidden away in her bureau drawer, and the key’s on a ribbon -around her neck.” - -“Didn’t we make a lot of things too, pigeon? Birchbark, hand-painted -cards, and pine pillows, and sweet fern boxes. Mother says she never -enjoyed getting ready for Christmas so much as this year. Wait a -minute.” Jean spied some red berries in the thicket overhanging the rail -fence. - -She handed Doris the reins, and jumping from the carriage, climbed the -fence to reach the berries. Down the road came the hum of an automobile, -a most unusual sound on Gilead highways. Princess never minded them and -Doris turned out easily for the machine to pass. - -The driver was Hardy Philips, the store keeper’s son at Nantic. He swung -off his cap at sight of Jean. She surely made an attractive picture with -the background of white birches against red oak and deep green pine, and -over one shoulder the branches of red berries. The two people on the -back seat looked back at her, slim and dark as some wood sprite, with -her home crocheted red cap and scarf to match, with one end tossed over -her shoulder. - -“Somebody coming home for Christmas, I guess,” she said, getting back -into the carriage with her spoils. “Princess, you are the dearest horse -about not minding automobiles. Some stand right up and paw the air when -one goes by. You’ve got the real Robbins’ poise and disposition.” - -Doris was snuggling down into the fur robe. - -“My nose is cold. I wish I had a mitten for it. It’s funny, Jeanie. I -don’t mind the cold a bit when I walk through the woods to school, but I -do when we’re driving.” - -“Snuggle under the rug. We’ll be there pretty soon.” - -Jean drove with her chin up, eyes alert, cheeks rosy. There was a snap -in the air that “perked you right up,” as Cousin Roxy would say, and -Princess covered the miles lightly, the click of her hoofs on the frozen -road almost playing a dance _tempo_. When they stopped at the hitching -post above the railroad tracks, Doris didn’t want to wait in the -carriage, so she followed Jean down the long flight of wooden steps that -led to the station platform from the hill road above. And just as they -opened the door of the little stuffy express office, they caught the -voice of Mr. Briggs, the agent, not pleasant and sociable as when he -spoke to them, but sharp and high pitched. - -“Well, you can’t loaf around here, son, I tell you that right now. The -minute I spied you hiding behind that stack of ties down the track, I -knew you’d run away from some place, and I’m going to find out all about -you and let your folks know you’re caught.” - -“I ain’t got any folks,” came back a boy’s voice hopefully. “I’m my own -boss and can go where I please.” - -“Did you hear that, Miss Robbins?” exclaimed Mr. Briggs, turning around -at the opening of the door. “Just size him up, will you. He says he’s -his own boss, and he ain’t any bigger than a pint of cider. Where did -you come from?” - -“Off a freight train.” - -Mr. Briggs leaned his hands on his knees and bent down to get his face -on a level with the boy’s. - -“Ain’t he slick, though? Can’t get a bit of real information out of him -except that he liked the looks of Nantic and dropped off the slow -freight when she was shunting back and forth up yonder. What’s your -name?” - -“Joe. Joe Blake.” He didn’t look at Mr. Briggs, but off at the hills, -wind swept and bare except for their patches of living green pines. -There was a curious expression in his eyes, Jean thought, not -loneliness, but a dumb fatalism. As Cousin Roxy might have put it, it -was as if all the waves and billows of trouble had passed over him, and -he didn’t expect anything better. - -“How old are you?” - -“’Bout nine or ten.” - -“What made you drop off that freight here?” - -Joe was silent and seemed embarrassed. Doris caught a gleam of appeal in -his glance and responded instantly. - -“Because you liked it best, isn’t that why?” she suggested eagerly. -Joe’s face brightened up at that. - -“I liked the looks of the hills, but when I saw all them mills I—I -thought I’d get some work maybe.” - -“You’re too little.” Mr. Briggs cut short that hope in its upspringing. -“I’m going to hand you right over to the proper authorities, and you’ll -land up in the State Home for Boys if you haven’t got any folks of your -own.” - -Joe met the shrewd, twinkly grey eyes doubtfully. His own filled with -tears reluctantly, big tears that rose slowly and dropped on his worn -short coat. He put his hand up to his shirt collar and held on to it -tightly as if he would have kept back the ache there, and Jean’s heart -could stand it no longer. - -“I think he belongs up at Greenacres, please, Mr. Briggs,” she said -quickly. “I know Father and Mother will take him up there if he hasn’t -any place to go, and we’ll look after him. I’m sure of it. He can drive -back with us.” - -“But you don’t know where he came from nor anything about him, Miss -Robbins. I tell you he’s just a little tramp. You can see that, or he -wouldn’t be hitching on to freight trains. That ain’t no way to do if -you’re decent God-fearing folks, riding the bumpers and dodging -train-men.” - -“Let me take him home with me now, anyway,” pleaded Jean. “We can find -out about him later. It’s Christmas Friday, you know, Mr. Briggs.” - -There was no resisting the appeal that underlay her words and Mr. Briggs -capitulated gracefully, albeit he opined the county school was the -proper receptacle for all such human rubbish. - -Jean laughed at him happily, as he stood warming himself by the big drum -stove, his feet wide apart, his hands thrust into his blue coat pockets. - -“It’s your own doings, Miss Robbins,” he returned dubiously. “I wouldn’t -stand in your way so long as you see fit to take him along. But he’s -just human rubbish. Want to go, Joe?” - -And Joe, knight of the bumpers, rose, wiping his eyes with his coat -sleeve, and glared resentfully back at Mr. Briggs. At Jean’s word, he -shouldered the smaller package and carted it up to the waiting carriage -while Mr. Briggs leisurely came behind with the wooden box. - -“Guess you’ll have to sit on that box in the back, Joe,” Jean said. -“We’re going down to the store, and then home. Sit tight.” She gathered -up the reins. “Thank you ever and ever so much, Mr. Briggs.” - -It was queer, Mr. Briggs said afterwards, but nobody could be expected -to resist the smile of a Robbins. He swung off his cap in salute, -watching the carriage spin down the hill, over the long mill bridge and -into the village with the figure of Joe perched behind on the Christmas -box. - - - - - CHAPTER II - CHRISTMAS GUESTS - - -Helen caught the sound of returning wheels on the drive about four -o’clock. It was nearly dark. She stood on the front staircase, leaning -over the balustrade to reach the big wrought iron hall lamp. When she -opened the door widely, its rays shining through the leaded red glass, -cast a path of welcome outside. - -“Hello, there,” Jean called. “We’re all here.” - -Doris jumped to the ground and took Joe by the hand, giving it a -reassuring squeeze. He was shivering, but she hurried him around to the -kitchen door and they burst in where Kit was getting supper. Over in a -corner lay burlap sacks fairly oozing green woodsy things for the -Christmas decoration at the church, and Kit had fastened up one long -trailing length of ground evergreen over an old steel engraving of -Daniel Webster that Cousin Roxy had given them. - -“He ain’t as pretty as he might be,” she had said, pleasantly, “but I -guess if George Washington was the father of his country, we’ll have to -call Daniel one of its uncles.” - -“Look, Kit,” Doris cried, quite as if Joe had been some wonderful gift -from the fairies instead of a dusty, tired, limp little derelict of fate -and circumstance. “This is Joe, and he’s come to stay with us. Where’s -Mother?” - -One quick look at Joe’s face checked all mirthfulness in Kit. There were -times when silence was really golden. She was always intuitive, quick to -catch moods in others and understand them. This case needed the -Motherbird. Joe was fairly blue from the cold, and there was a pinched, -hungry look around his mouth and nose that made Kit leave her currant -biscuits. - -“Upstairs with Father. Run along quick and call her, Dorrie.” She knelt -beside Joe and smiled that radiant, comradely smile that was Kit’s -special present from her fairy godmother. “We’re so glad you’ve come -home,” she said, drawing him near the crackling wood fire. “You sit on -the woodbox and just toast.” She slipped back into the pantry and dipped -out a mug of rich, creamy milk, then cut a wide slice of warm -gingerbread. “There now. See how that tastes. You know, it’s the -funniest thing how wishes come true. I was just longing for somebody to -sample my cake and tell me if it was good. Is it?” - -Joe drank nearly the whole glass of milk before he spoke, looking over -the rim at her with very sleepy eyes. - -“It’s awful good,” he said. “I ain’t had anything to eat since yesterday -morning.” - -“Oh, dear,” cried Kit. This was beyond her. She turned with relief at -Mrs. Robbins’ quick light step in the hall. - -“Yes, dear, I know. Jeanie told me.” She put Kit to one side, and went -straight over to the wood box. And she did just the one right thing. -That was the marvel of the Motherbird. She seemed always to know -naturally what a person needed most and gave it to them. Down she -stooped and took Joe in her arms, his head on her shoulder, patting him -while he began to cry chokingly. - -“Never mind, laddie, now,” she told him. “You’re home.” She lifted him -to her lap and started to untie his worn sodden shoes. “Doris, get your -slippers, dear, and a pair of stockings too, the heavy ones. Warm the -milk, Kit, it’s better that way. And you cuddle down on the old lounge -by the sitting room fire, Joe, and rest. That’s our very best name for -the world up here, did you know it? We call it our hills of rest.” - -Shad came in breezily, bringing the Christmas boxes and a shower of -light snow. He stared at the stranger with a broad grin of welcome. - -“Those folks that went up in the automobile stopped off at Judge -Ellis’s. Folks from Boston, I understood Hardy to say. He just stopped a -minute to ask what was in the boxes, so I thought I’d inquire too.” - -Nothing of interest ever got by the Greenacre gate posts if Shad could -waylay it. Helen asked him to open the boxes right away, but no, Shad -would not. And he showed her where it was written, plain as could be, in -black lettering along one edge: - - “Not to be opened till Christmas.” - -Mrs. Robbins had gone into the sitting room and found a gray woolen -blanket in the wall closet off the little side hall. From the chest of -drawers she took some of Doris’s outgrown winter underwear. Supper was -nearly ready, but Joe was to have a warm bath and be clad in clean fresh -clothing. Tucking him under one wing, as Kit said, she left the kitchen -and Jean told the rest how she had rescued him from Mr. Briggs’s -righteous indignation and charitable intentions. - -“Got a good face and looks you square in the eye,” said Shad. “I’d take -a chance on him any day, and he can help around the place a lot, -splitting kindlings, and shifting stall bedding and what not.” - -The telephone bell rang and Jean answered. Rambling up through the hills -from Norwich was the party line, two lone wires stretching from -home-hewn chestnut poles. Its tingling call was mighty welcome in a land -where so little of interest or variation ever happened. This time it was -Cousin Roxy at the other end. After her marriage to the Judge, they had -taken the long deferred wedding trip up to Boston, visiting relatives -there, and returning in time for a splendid old-fashioned Thanksgiving -celebration at the Ellis homestead. Maple Lawn was closed for the winter -but Hiram, the hired man, “elected” as he said, to stay on there -indefinitely and work the farm on shares for Miss Roxy as he still -called her. - -“And like enough,” Cousin Roxy said comfortably, when she heard of his -intentions, “he’s going to marry somebody himself. I wouldn’t put it -past him a mite. I wish he’d choose Cindy Anson. There she is living -alone down in that little bit of a house, running a home bakery when -she’s born to fuss over a man. I told Hiram when I left, if I was him -I’d buy all my pies and cake from Cindy, and then when I drove by -Cindy’s I just dropped a passing word about how badly I felt at leaving -such a fine man as Hiram to shift for himself up at the house, so she -said she’d keep an eye on him.” - -“But, Cousin Roxy,” Jean had objected, “that’s match-making.” - -“Maybe ’tis so,” smiled Roxy placidly. “But I always did hold to it that -Cupid and Providence both needed a sight of jogging along to keep them -stirring.” - -Over the telephone now came her voice, vibrant and cheery, and Jean -answered the call. - -“Hello, yes, this is Jean. Mother’s right in the sitting room. Who? Oh, -wait till I tell the girls.” She turned her head; her brown eyes -sparkling. “Boston cousins over at the Judge’s. Who did you say they -are, Cousin Roxy? Yes? Cousin Beth and Elliott Newell. I’ll tell Father -right away. Tomorrow morning early? That’s splendid. Goodbye.” - -Before the girls could stop her, she was on her way upstairs. The -largest sunniest chamber had been turned into the special retiring place -of the king, as Helen called her father. - -“All kings and emperors had some place where they could escape from -formality and rest up,” she had declared. “And Plato loved to hide away -in his olive grove, so that is Dad’s. Somebody else, I think it’s -Emerson, says we ought to keep an upper chamber in our souls, well swept -and garnished, with windows wide.” - -“Not too wide this kind of weather, Helenita,” Jean interrupted, for -Helen’s wings of poetry were apt to flutter while she forgot to shake -her duster. Still, it was true, and one of the charms of the old Mansion -House was its spaciousness. There were many rooms, but the pleasantest -of all was the “king’s thinking place.” - -The months of relaxation and rest up in the hills had worked wonders in -Mr. Robbins’ health. As old Dr. Gallup was apt to say when Kit rebelled -at the slowness of recovery, - -“Can’t expect to do everything in a minute. Even the Lord took six days -to fix things the way he liked them.” - -Instead of spending two-thirds of his time in bed or on the couch now, -he would sit up for hours and walk around the wide porch, or even along -the garden paths before the cold weather set in. But there still swept -over him without warning the great fatigue and weakness, the dizziness -and exhaustion which had followed as one of the lesser ills in his -nervous breakdown. - -He sat before the open fire now, reading from one of his favorite -weeklies, with Gladness purring on his knees. Doris had found Gladness -one day late in October, dancing along the barren stretch of road going -over to Gayhead school, for all the world like a yellow leaf. She was a -yellow kitten with white nose and paws. Also, she undoubtedly had the -gladsome carefree disposition of the natural born vagabond, but Doris -had tucked her up close in her arms and taken her home to shelter. - -Some day, the family agreed, when all hopes and dreams had come true, -Doris would erect all manner and kind of little houses all over the -hundred and thirty odd acres around the Mansion House and call them Inns -of Rest, so she would feel free to shelter any living creature that was -fortunate enough to fall by the wayside near Greenacres’ gate posts. - -Cousin Roxy had looked at the yellow kitten with instant recognition. - -“That’s a Scarborough kitten. Sally Scarborough’s raised yellow kittens -with white paws ever since I can remember.” - -“Had I better take it back?” asked Doris anxiously. - -“Land, no, child. It’s a barn cat. You can tell that, it’s so frisky. -Ain’t got a bit of repose or common sense. Like enough Mis’ -Scarborough’d be real glad if it had a good home. Give it a happy name, -and feed it well, and it’ll slick right up.” - -So Gladness had remained, but not out in the barn. Somehow she had found -her way up to the rest room and its peace must have appealed to her, for -she would stay there hours, dozing with half closed jade green eyes and -incurved paws. Kit said she had taken Miss Patterson’s place as nurse, -and was ever so much more dependable and sociable to have around. - -“Father, dear,” Jean exclaimed, entering the quiet room like an autumn -flurry of wind. “What do you think? Cousin Roxy has just ’phoned, and -she wants me to tell you two Boston cousins are there. Did you hear the -machine go up this afternoon? Beth and Elliott Newell. Do you remember -them?” - -“Rather,” smiled Mr. Robbins. “It must be little Cousin Beth and her -boy. I used to visit at her old home in Weston when I was a little boy. -She wanted to be an artist, I know.” - -Jean had knelt before the old gray rock fireplace, slipping some light -sticks under the big back log. At his last words she turned with sudden -interest and sat down cross legged on the rug just as if she had been a -little girl. - -“Oh, father, an artist? And did she study and succeed?” - -“I think so. I remember she lived abroad for some time and married -there. Her maiden name was Lowell, Beth Lowell.” - -“Did she marry an artist too?” Jean leaned forward, her eyes bright with -romance, but Mr. Robbins laughed. - -“No, indeed. She married Elliott’s father, a schoolmate from Boston. He -went after her, for I suppose he tired of waiting for Beth’s career to -come true. Listen a minute.” - -Up from the lower part of the house floated strains of music. Surely -there had never issued such music from a mouth organ. It quickened one -into action like a violin’s call. It proclaimed all that a happy heart -might say if it had a mouth organ to express itself with. And the tune -was the old-fashioned favorite of the fife and drum corps, “The Girl I -Left Behind Me.” - -“It must be Joe,” Jean said, smiling mischievously up at her father, for -Joe was still unknown to the master of the house. She ran out to the -head of the stairs. - -“Can Joe come up, Motherie?” - -Up he came, fresh from a tubbing, wearing Doris’s underwear, and an old -shirt of Mr. Robbins’, very much too large for him, tucked into his worn -corduroy knee pants. His straight blonde hair fairly glistened from its -recent brushing and his face shone, but it was Joe’s eyes that won him -friends at the start. Mixed in color they were like a moss agate, with -long dark lashes, and just now they were filled with contentment. - -“They wanted me to play for them downstairs,” he said gravely, stopping -beside Mr. Robbins’ chair. “I can play lots of tunes. My mother gave me -this last Christmas.” - -This was the first time he had mentioned his mother and Jean followed up -the clue gently. - -“Where, Joe?” - -He looked down at the burning logs, shifting his weight from one foot to -the other. - -“Over in Providence. She got sick and they took her to the hospital and -she never came back.” - -“Not at all?” - -He shook his head. - -“Then, afterwards,—” much was comprised in that one word and Joe’s -tone, “afterwards we started off together, my Dad and me. He said he’d -try and get a job on some farm with me, but nobody wanted him this time -of year, and with me too. And he said one morning he wished he didn’t -have me bothering around. When I woke up on the freight yesterday -morning, he wasn’t there. Guess he must have dropped off. Maybe he can -get a job now.” - -So it slipped out, Joe’s personal history, and the girls wondered at his -soldierly acceptance of life’s discipline. Only nine, but already he -faced the world as his own master, fearless and optimistic. All through -that first evening he sat in the kitchen on the cushioned wood box, -playing tunes he had learned from his father. When Shad brought in his -big armfuls of logs for the night, he executed a few dance figures on -the kitchen floor and “allowed” before he got through Joe would be chief -musician at the country dances roundabout. - -After supper the girls drew up their chairs around the sitting room -table as usual. Here every night the three younger ones prepared their -lessons for the next day. Jean generally read or sat with her father -awhile, but tonight she answered Bab Crane’s letter. It was read over -twice, the letter that blended in so curiously with the coming of the -cousins from Boston. - -Ever since Jean could remember she had drawn pictures. In her first -primer, treasured with other relics of that far off time when she was -six instead of seventeen, she had put dancey legs on the alphabet and -drawn very fat young pigs with curly tails chasing each other around the -margins of spellers. - -No one guessed how she loved certain paintings back at the old home in -New York. They had seemed so real to her, the face of a Millet peasant -lad crossing a stubble field at dawn; a Breton girl knitting as she -walked homeward behind some straying sheep; one of Franz Hals’ Flemish -lads, his chin pressed close to his violin, his deep eyes looking at you -from under the brim of his hat, and Touchstone and Audrey wandering -through the Forest of Arden. - -She had loved to read, as she grew older, of Giotto, the little Italian -boy trying to mix colors from brick dust, or drawing with charcoal on -the stones of the field where Cimabue the monk walked in meditation; of -the world that was just full of romance, full of stories ages old and -still full of vivid life. - -Once she had read of Albrecht Durer, painting his masterpieces while he -starved. How the people told in whispers after his death that he had -used his heart’s blood to mix with his wonderful pigments. Of course it -was all only a story, but Jean remembered it. When she saw a picture -that seemed to hold one and speak its message of beauty, she would say -to herself, - -“There is Durer’s secret.” - -And some day, if she ever could put on canvas the dreams that came to -her, she meant to use the same secret. - -“I think,” said Kit, yawning and stretching her arms out in a perfect -ecstasy of relaxation after a bout with her Latin, “I do think Socrates -was an old bore. Always mixing in and contradicting everybody and -starting something. No wonder his wife was cranky.” - -“He died beautifully,” Helen mused. “Something about a sunset and all -his friends around him, and didn’t he owe somebody a chicken and tell -his friends to pay for it?” - -“You’re sleepy. Go to bed, both of you,” Jean told them laughingly. -“I’ll put out the light and fasten the doors.” - -She finished her letter alone. It was not easy to write it. Bab wanted -her to come down for the spring term. She could board with her if she -liked. Expenses were very light. - -Any expenses would be heavy if piled on the monthly budget of -Greenacres. Jean knew that. So she wrote back with a heartache behind -the plucky refusal, and stepped out on the moonlit veranda for a minute. -It was clear and cold after the light snowfall. The stars were very -faint. From the river came the sound of the waterfall, and up in the big -white barn, Princess giving her stall a goodnight kick or two before -settling down. - -“You stand steady, Jean Robbins,” she said, between her teeth. “Don’t -you dare be a quitter. You stand steady and see this winter straight -through.” - - - - - CHAPTER III - EVERGREEN AND CANDLELIGHT - - -After her marriage to Judge Ellis, Cousin Roxy had taken Ella Lou from -Maple Lawn over to the big white house behind its towering elms. - -“I’ve been driving her ten years and never saw a horse like her for -knowingness and perspicacity,” she would say, her head held a little bit -high, her spectacles half way down her nose. “I told the Judge if he -wanted me he’d have to take Ella Lou too.” - -So it was Ella Lou’s familiar white nose that showed at the hitching -post the following morning when the Boston cousins came over to get -acquainted. - -Jean never forgot her introduction to Beth Newell. She was about -forty-seven then, with her son Elliott fully five inches taller than -herself, but she looked about twenty-seven. Her fluffy brown hair, her -wide gray eyes, and quick sweet laughter, endeared her to the girls -right away. - -“And she’s so slim and dear,” Doris added. “Her dress makes me think of -an oak leaf in winter, and she’s a lady of the meads.” - -Elliott was about fifteen, not one single bit like his mother, but -broad-shouldered and blonde and sturdy. It was so much fun, Kit said, to -watch him take care of his mother. - -“Where’s your High School out here?” he asked. “I’m at Prep. -specializing in mathematics.” - -“And how any son of mine can adore mathematics is beyond me,” Cousin -Beth laughed. “I suppose it’s reaction. Do you like them, Jean?” She put -her arm around the slender figure nearest her. - -“Indeed, I don’t,” Jean answered fervently, and then all at once, out -popped her heart’s desire before she could check the words. Anybody’s -heart’s desire would pop out with Beth’s eyes coaxing it. “I—I want to -be an artist.” - -“Keep on wishing and working then, dear, and as Roxy says, if it is to -be it will be.” - -While the others talked of turning New England farms into haunts of -ancient peace and beauty, these two sat together on the davenport, Jean -listening eagerly and wistfully while her cousin told of her own -girlhood aims and how she carried them out. - -“We didn’t have much money, so I knew I had to win out for myself. There -were two little brothers to help bring up, and Mother was not strong, -but I used to sketch every spare moment I could, and I read everything -on art I could find, even articles from old magazines in the garret. But -most of all I sketched anything and everything, studying form and -composition. When I was eighteen, I taught school for two terms in the -country. Father had said if I earned the money myself, I could go -abroad, and how I worked to get that first nest egg.” - -“How much did you get a week?” - -“Twelve dollars, but my board was only three and a half in the country, -and I saved all I could. During the summers I took lessons at Ellen -Brainerd’s art classes in Boston and worked as a vacation substitute at -the libraries. You know, Jean, if you really do want work and kind of -hunt a groove you’re fitted for, you will always find something to do.” - -Jean was leaning forward, her chin propped on her hands. - -“Yes, I know,” she said. “Do go on, please.” - -“Ellen Brainerd was one of New England’s glorious old maids with the far -vision and cash enough to make a few of her dreams come true. Every year -she used to lead a group of girl art students over Europe’s beauty -spots, and with her encouragement I went the third year, helping her -with a few of the younger ones, and paying part of my tuition that way. -And, my dear,” Cousin Beth clasped both hands around her knees and -rocked back and forth happily, “we set up our easels in the fountain -square in Barcelona and hunted Dante types in Florence. We trailed -through Flanders and Holland and lived delightfully on the outskirts of -Paris in a little gray house with a high stone wall and many flowers.” - -“And you painted all those places?” exclaimed Jean. “I’ve longed and -longed to go there.” - -“Well, I tried to,” Cousin Beth looked ruefully at the fire. “Yes, I -tried to paint like all the old masters and new masters. One month we -took up this school and the next we delved into something else, studying -everything in the world but individual expression.” - -“That’s just what a girl friend of mine in New York wrote and said she -was doing,” cried Jean, much interested. - -“Then she’s struck the keynote. After your second cousin David came over -and stopped my career by marrying me I came back home. We lived out near -Weston and I began painting things of everyday life just as I saw them, -the things I loved. It was our old apple tree out by the well steeped in -full May bloom that brought me my first medal.” - -“Oh, after Paris and all the rest!” - -“Yes, dear. And the next year they accepted our red barn in a snowstorm. -I painted it from the kitchen window. Another was a water color of our -Jersey calves standing knee deep in the brook in June, and another was -Brenda, the hired girl, feeding turkeys out in the mulberry lane. That -is the kind of picture I have succeeded with. I think because, as I say, -they are part of the home life and scenes I love best and so I have put -a part of myself into them.” - -“Durer’s heart’s blood,” Jean said softly. “You’ve helped me so much, -Cousin Beth. I was just hungry to go back to the art school right now, -and throw up everything here that I ought to do.” - -“Keep on sketching every spare moment you can. Learn form and color and -composition. Things are only beautiful according to the measure of our -own minds. And the first of March I want you to visit me. I’ve got a -studio right out in my apple orchard I’ll tuck you away in.” - -“I’d love to come if Mother can spare me.” Jean’s eyes sparkled. - -“Well, do so, child,” Cousin Roxy’s hands were laid on her shoulders -from behind. “I’m going up too along that time, and I’ll take you. It’s -a poor family that can’t support one genius.” She laughed in her full -hearted, joyous way. “Now, listen, all of you. I’ve come to invite you -to have Christmas dinner with us.” - -“But, Cousin Roxy,” began Mrs. Robbins, “there are so many of us—” - -“Not half enough to fill the big old house. Some day after all the girls -and Billie are married and there are plenty of grandchildren, then we -can talk about there being too many, though I doubt it. There’s always -as much house room as there is heart room, you know, if you only think -so. They’re going to have a little service for the children at the -Center Church, Wednesday night, and Shad had better drive the girls -over. Bring along the little lad too.” She smiled over her shoulder at -Joe, seated in his favorite corner on the woodbox reading one of Doris’s -books, and he gave a funny little onesided grin back in shy return. -“Billie’s going away to school after New Year’s, did I tell you?” - -“Oh, dear me,” cried Kit, so spontaneously that everyone laughed at her. -“Doesn’t it seem as if boys get all of the adventures of life just -naturally.” - -“He’s had adventures enough, but he does need the companionship of boys -his own size. Emerson says that the growing boy is the natural autocrat -of creation, and I don’t want him to be tied down with a couple of old -folks like the Judge and myself. You’re never young but once. Besides, I -always did want to go to these football games at colleges and have a boy -of mine in the mixup, bless his heart.” - -“My goodness!” Kit exclaimed after the front door had closed on the last -glimpse of Ella Lou’s white feet going down the drive. “Doesn’t it seem -as if Cousin Roxy leaves behind her a big sort of glow? She can say more -nice things in a few minutes than anybody I ever heard. Except about -Billie’s going away. I wonder why he didn’t come down and tell me -himself.” - -“Well, you know, Kit,” Helen remarked, “you haven’t a mortgage on -Billie.” - -“Oh, I don’t care if he goes away. It isn’t that,” Kit answered -comfortably. “I wouldn’t give a snap of my finger for a boy that -couldn’t race with other fellows and win. Jean, fair sister, did you -realize the full significance of Cousin Roxy’s invitation? No baking or -brewing, no hustling our fingers and toes off for dinner on Christmas -Day. I think she’s a gorgeous old darling.” - -Jean laughed and slipped up the back stairs to her own room. It was too -cold to stay there. A furnace was one of the luxuries planned for the -following year, but during this first winter of campaigning, they had -started out pluckily with the big steel range in the kitchen, the genial -square wood heater in the sitting room and open fire places in the four -large bedrooms and the parlor. - -“We’ll freeze before the winter’s over,” Kit had prophesied. “Now I know -why Cotton Mather and all the other precious old first settlers of the -New England Commonwealth looked as if their noses had been frost bitten. -Sally Peckham leaves her window wide open every night, and says she -often finds snow on her pillow.” - -But already the girls were adapting themselves to the many ways of -keeping warm up in the hills. On the back of the range at night were -soapstones heating through, waiting to be wrapped in strips of flannel -and trotted up to bed as foot warmers. - -Cousin Roxy had sent over several from her own store and told the girls -if they ran short a flat iron or a good stick of hickory did almost as -well. It was comical to watch their faces. If ever remembrance was -written on a face it was on Helen’s the first time she took her -soapstone to bed with her. Where were the hot water coils of yester -year? Heat had seemed to come as if by magic at the big house at Shady -Cove, but here it became a lazy giant you petted and cajoled and watched -eternally to keep him from falling asleep. Kit had nicknamed the kitchen -stove Matilda because it reminded her of a shiny black cook from Aiken, -Georgia, whom the family had harbored once upon a time. - -“And feeding Matilda has become one of the things that is turning my -auburn tinted locks a soft, delicate gray,” she told Helen. “I know if -any catastrophe were to happen all at once, my passing words would be, -‘Put a stick of wood in the stove.’” - -Jean felt around in her desk until she found her folio of sketches. The -sitting room was deserted excepting for Helen watering the rows of -blooming geraniums on the little narrow shelves above the sash curtains. -Cherilee, the canary, sang challengingly to the sunlight, and out in the -dining-room Doris was outmatching him with “Nancy Lee.” - -Helen went upstairs to her father, and Kit appeared with a frown on her -face, puzzling over a pattern for filet lace. - -“I think the last days before Christmas are terrible,” she exclaimed -savagely. “What on earth can we concoct at this last minute for Cousin -Beth? I think I’ll crochet her a filet breakfast cap. It’s always a race -at the last minute to cover everybody, and you bite off more than you -can chew and always forget someone you wouldn’t have neglected for -anything. What on earth can I give to Judge Ellis?” - -“Something useful,” Jean answered. - -“I can’t bear useful things for Christmas presents. Abby Tucker says she -never gets any winter clothes till Christmas and then all the family -unload useful things on her. I’m going to send her a bottle of violet -extract in a green leather case. I’ve had it for months and never -touched it and she’ll adore it. I wish I could think of something for -Billie too, something he’s never had and always wanted.” - -“He’s going away,” Jean mused. “Why don’t you fix up a book of snapshots -taken all around here. We took some beauties this summer.” - -“A boy wouldn’t like that.” - -“He will when he’s homesick.” Jean opened her folio and began turning -over her art school studies. Mostly conventionalized designs they were. -After her talk with Cousin Beth they only dissatisfied her. Suddenly she -glanced up at the figure across the table, Kit with rumpled short curls -and an utterly relaxed posture, elbows on table, knees on a chair. There -was a time for all things, Kit held, even formality, but, as she loved -to remark sententiously when Helen or Jean called her up for her lax -ways, “A little laxity is permissible in the privacy of one’s own home.” - -Jean’s pencil began to move over the back of her drawing pad. Yes, she -could catch it. It wasn’t so hard, the ruffled hair, the half averted -face. Kit’s face was such an odd mixture of whimsicality and -determination. The rough sketch grew and all at once Kit glanced up and -caught what was going on. - -“Oh, it’s me, isn’t it, Jean? I wish you’d conventionalized me and -embellished me. I’d like to look like Mucha’s head of Bernhardt as -Princess Lointaine. What shall we call this? ‘Beauty Unadorned.’ No. -Call it ‘Christmas Fantasies.’ That’s lovely, specially with the nose -screwed up that way and my noble brow wrinkled. I like that. It’s so -subtle. Anyone getting one good look at the helpless frenzy in that -downcast gaze, those anguished, rumpled locks—” - -“Oh, Kit, be good,” laughed Jean. She held the sketch away from her -critically. “Looks just like you.” - -“All right. Hang it up as ‘Exhibit A’ of your new school of expression. -I don’t mind. There’s a look of genius to it at that.” - -“One must idealize some,” Jean replied teasingly. She hung it on the -door of the wall closet with a pin, just as Mrs. Robbins came into the -room. - -“Mother dear, look what my elder sister has done to me,” Kit cried -tragically. Jean said nothing, only the color rose slowly in her cheeks -as her mother stood before the little sketch in silence, and slipped her -hand into hers. - -“It’s the first since I left school,” she said, half ashamed of the -effort and all it implied. “Kit looked too appealing. I had to catch -her.” - -“Finish it up, girlie, and let me have it on the tree, may I?” There was -a very tender note in the Motherbird’s voice, such an understanding -note. - -“Oh, would you like it, really, Mother?” - -“Love it,” answered Mother promptly. “And don’t give up the ship, -remember. Perhaps we may be able to squeeze in the spring term after -all.” - - - - - CHAPTER IV - THE JUDGE’S SWEETHEART - - -It took both Ella Lou and Princess to transport the Christmas guests -from Greenacres over to the Ellis place. Nobody ever called it anything -but just that, the Ellis place, and sometimes, “over to the Judge’s.” -Cousin Roxy said she couldn’t bear to have a nameless home and just as -soon as she could get around to it, she’d see that the Ellis place had a -suitable name. - -It was one of the few pretentious houses in all three of the Gileads, -Gilead Green, Gilead Centre, and Gilead Post Office. For seven -generations it had been in the Ellis family. The Judge had a ponderous -volume bound in heavy red morocco, setting forth the history of Windham -County, and the girls loved to pore over it. Seven men with their -families, bound westward towards Hartford in the colonial days of -seeking after home sites, had seen the fertile valley with its -encircling hills, and had settled there. One was an Ellis and the Judge -had his sword and periwig in his library. As for the rest, all one had -to do was go over to the old family burial ground on the wood road and -count them up. - -During the fall, this had been a favorite tramp of the Greenacre hikers, -and Jean loved to quote a bit from Stevenson, once they had come in -sight of the old grass grown enclosure, cedar shaded, secluded and -restful: - -“There is a certain frame of mind to which a cemetery is if not an -antidote, at least an alleviation. If you are in a fit of the blues, go -nowhere else.” - -Here they found the last abiding place of old Captain Ephraim Ellis with -his two wives, Lovina Mary and Hephzibah Waiting, one on each side of -him. The Captain rested betwixt the two myrtle covered mounds and each -old slate gravestone leaned towards his. - -“Far be it from me,” Cousin Roxy would say heartily, “to speak lightly -of those gone before, but those two headstones tell their own story, and -I’ll bet a cookie the Captain could tell his if he got a chance.” - -Every Legislature convening at Hartford since the olden days, had known -an Ellis from Gilead. Only two of the family had taken to wandering, -Billie’s father and Gideon, one of the old Captain’s sons. The girls -wove many tales around Gideon. He must have had the real Argonaut -spirit. Back in the first days of the Revolution he had run away from -the valley home and ended up with Paul Jones on the “Bonhomme Richard.” - -Billie loved his memory, the same as he did his own father’s, and the -girls had straightened up his sunken slatestone record, and had planted -some flowers, not white ones, but bravely tinted asters for late fall. -Billie showed them an old silhouette he had found. Mounted on black -silk, the old faded brown paper showed a boy with sensitive mouth and -eager lifted chin, queer high choker collar and black stock. On the back -of the wooden frame was written in a small, firm handwriting, “My -beloved son Gideon, aged nineteen.” - -The old house sat far back from the road with a double drive curving -like a big “U” around it. Huge elms upreared their great boughs -protectingly before it, and behind lay a succession of all manner and -kind of buildings from the old forge to the smoke house. One barn stood -across the road and another at the top of the lane for hay. Since Cousin -Roxy had married the Judge, it seemed as if the sunlight had flooded the -old house. Its shuttered windows had faced the road for years, but now -the green blinds were wide open, and it seemed as if the house almost -smiled at the world again. - -“I never could see a mite of sense in keeping blinds shut as if somebody -were dead,” Cousin Roxy would say. “Some folks won’t even open the -blinds in their hearts, let alone their houses, so I told the Judge if -he wanted me for a companion, he’d have to take in God’s sunshine too, -’cause I can’t live without plenty of it.” - -Kit and Doris were the first to run up the steps and into the center -hall, almost bumping into Billie as he ran to meet them. Behind him came -Mrs. Ellis in a soft gray silk dress. A lace collar encircled her -throat, fastened with an old pink cameo breast-pin. Helen had always -coveted that pin. There was a young damsel on it holding up her full -skirts daintily as she moved towards a sort of chapel, and it was set in -fine, thin old gold. - -“Come right in, folkses,” she called happily. “Do stop capering,” as -Doris danced around her. “Merry Christmas, all of you.” - -Up the long colonial staircase she led the way into the big guest room. -Down in the parlor Cousin Beth was playing softly on the old melodeon, -“It came upon the midnight clear, that glorious song of old.” The air -was filled with scent of pine and hemlock, and provocative odors of -things cooking stole up the back stairs. - -Kit and Billie retreated to a corner with the latter’s book supply. It -was hard to realize that this was really Billie, Cousin Roxy’s “Nature -Boy” of the summer before. Love and encouragement had seemed to round -out his character into a promise of fulfilment in manliness. All of the -old self consciousness and shy abstraction had gone. Even the easy -comradely manner in which he leaned over the Judge’s arm chair showed -the good understanding and sure confidence between the two. - -“Yes, he does show up real proud,” Cousin Roxy agreed warmly with Mrs. -Robbins when they were all downstairs before the glowing fire. “Of -course I let him call me Grandma. Pity sakes, that’s little enough to a -love starved child. I’m proud of him too and so’s the Judge. We’re going -to miss him when he goes away to school, but he’s getting along -splendidly. I want him to go where he’ll have plenty of boy -companionship. He’s lived alone with the ants and bees and rabbits long -enough.” - -Helen and Doris leaned over Cousin Beth’s shoulders trying the old -carols: “Good King Wencelas,” “Carol, Brothers, Carol,” and “While -Shepherds Watched Their Flocks By Night.” Jean played for them and just -before dinner was announced, Doris sang all alone in her soft treble, -very earnestly and tenderly, quite as if she saw past the walls of the -quiet New England homestead to where “Calm Judea stretches far her -silver mantled plains.” - -Cousin Roxy rocked back and forth softly, her hand shading her eyes as -it did in prayer. When it was over, she said briskly, wiping off her -spectacles, - -“Land, I’m not a bit emotional, but that sort of sets my heart strings -tingling. Let’s go to dinner, folkses. The Judge takes Betty in, and -Jerry takes Beth. Then Elliott can take in his old Cousin Roxy, and I -guess Billie can manage all of the girls.” - -But the girls laughingly went their own way, Doris holding to the -Judge’s other arm and Helen to her father’s, while Jean lingered behind -a minute to glance about the cheery room. The fire crackled down in the -deep old rock hearth. In each of the windows hung a mountain laurel -wreath tied with red satin ribbon. Festoons of ground pine and evergreen -draped each door and picture. It was all so homelike, Jean thought. Over -the mantel hung a motto worked in colored worsteds on perforated silver -board. - - Here abideth peace - -But Jean turned away, and pressed her face against the nearest window -pane, looking down at the sombre, frost-touched garden. There wasn’t one -bit of peace in her heart, even while she fairly ached with the longing -to be like the others. - -“You’re a coward, Jean Robbins, a deliberate coward,” she told herself. -“You don’t like the country one bit. You love the city where everybody’s -doing something, and it’s just a big race for all. You’re longing for -everything you can’t have, and you’re afraid to face the winter up here. -You might just as well tell yourself the truth. You hate to be poor.” - -There came a burst of laughter from the dining-room and Kit calling to -her to hurry up. It appeared that Doris, the tender-hearted, had said -pathetically when Mrs. Gorham, the “help,” brought in the great roast -turkey: “Poor old General Putnam!” - -“That isn’t the General,” Billie called from his place. “The General ran -away yesterday.” - -Now if Cousin Roxy prided herself on one thing more than another it was -her flock of white turkeys led by the doughty General. All summer long -the girls had looked upon him as a definite personality to be reckoned -with. He was patriarchal in the way he managed his family. And it -appeared that the General’s astuteness and sagacity had not deserted him -when Ben had started after him to turn him into a savory sacrifice. - -“First off, he lit up in the apple trees,” Ben explained. “Then as soon -as he saw I was high enough, off he flopped and made for the corn-crib. -Just as I caught up with him there, he chose the wagon sheds and perched -on the rafters, and when I’d almost got hold of his tail feathers, if he -didn’t try the barn and all his wives and descendants after him, mind -you. So I thought I’d let him roost till dark, and when I stole in after -supper, the old codger had gone, bag and baggage. He’ll come back as -soon as he knows our minds ain’t set on wishbones.” - -“Then who is this?” asked Kit interestedly, quite as if it were some -personage who rested on the big willow pattern platter in state. - -“That is some unnamed patriot who dies for his country’s good,” said the -Judge, solemnly. “Who says whitemeat and who says dark?” - -Jean was watching her father. Not since they had moved into the country -had she seen him so cheerful and like himself. The Judge’s geniality was -like a radiating glow, anyway, that included all in its circle, and -Cousin Roxy was in her element, dishing out plenteous platefuls of -Christmas dainties to all those nearest and dearest to her. Way down at -the end of the table sat Joe, wide eyed and silent tongued. Christmas -had never been like this that he knew of. Billie tried to engage him in -conversation, boy fashion, a few times, but gave up the attempt. By the -time he had finished his helping, Joe was far too full for utterance. - -In the back of the carriage, driving over from Greenacres, Mrs. Robbins -had placed a big bushel basket, and into this had gone the gifts to be -hung on the tree. After dinner, while the Judge and Mr. Robbins smoked -before the fire, and Kit led the merry-making out in the sitting room, -there were mysterious “goings on” in the big front parlor. Finally -Cousin Beth came softly out, and turned down all the lights. - -Jean slipped over to the organ, and as the tall old doors were opened -wide, she played softly, - - “Gather around the Christmas tree.” - -Doris picked up the melody and led, sitting on a hassock near the doors, -gazing with all her eyes up at the beautiful spreading hemlock, laden -with lights and gifts. - -“For pity’s sake, child, what are you crying about?” exclaimed Cousin -Roxy, almost stumbling over a little crumpled figure in a dark corner, -and Joe sobbed sleepily: - -“I—I don’t know.” - -“Oh, it’s just the heartache and the beauty of it all,” said Helen -fervently. “He’s lonely for his own folks.” - -“’Tain’t neither,” groaned Joe. “It’s too much mince pie.” - -So under Cousin Roxy’s directions, Billie took him up to his room, and -administered “good hot water and sody.” - -“Too bad, ’cause he missed seeing all the things taken off the tree,” -said Cousin Roxy, laying aside Joe’s presents for him, a long warm knit -muffler from herself, a fine jack-knife from the Judge with a pocket -chain on it, a package of Billie’s boy books that he had outgrown, and -ice skates from the Greenacre girls. After much figuring over the -balance left from their Christmas money they had clubbed together on the -skates for him, knowing he would have more fun and exercise out of them -than anything, and he needed something to bring back the sparkle to his -eyes and the color to his cheeks. - -“Put them all up on the bed beside him, and he’ll find them in the -morning,” Billie suggested. “If you’ll let him stay, Mrs. Robbins, I’ll -bring him over.” - -“Isn’t it queer,” Doris said, with a sigh of deepest satisfaction, as -she watched the others untying their packages. “It isn’t so much what -you get yourself Christmas, it’s seeing everybody else get theirs.” And -just then a wide, flat parcel landed squarely in her lap, and she gave a -surprised gasp. - -“The fur mitten isn’t there, but you can snuggle your nose on the muff,” -Jean told her, and Doris held up just what she had been longing for, a -squirrel muff and stole to throw around her neck. “They’re not -neighborhood squirrels, are they, Billie?” she whispered anxiously, and -Billie assured her they were Russian squirrels, and no families’ trees -around Gilead were wearing mourning. - -Nearly all of Billie’s presents were books. He had reached the age where -books were like magical windows through which he gazed from Boyhood’s -tower out over the whole wide world of romance and adventure. Up in his -room were all of the things he had treasured in his lonesome days before -the Judge had married Miss Robbins: his home-made fishing tackle, his -collection of butterflies and insects, his first compass and magnifying -glass, the flower calendar and leaf collection, where he had arranged so -carefully every different leaf and blossom in its season. - -But now, someway, with the library of books the Judge had given him, -that had been his own father’s, Gilead borders had widened out, and he -had found himself a knight errant on the world’s highway of literature. -He sat on the couch now, burrowing into each new book until Kit sat down -beside him, with a new kodak in one hand and a pair of pink knit bed -slippers in the other. - -“And mother’s given me the picture I like best, her Joan of Arc -listening to the voices in the garden at Arles. I love that, Billie. I’m -not artistic like Jean or romantic like Helen. You know that, don’t -you?” - -Billie nodded emphatically. Indeed he did know it after half a year of -chumming with Kit. - -“But I love the pluck of Joan,” Kit sighed, lips pursed, head up. “I’d -have made a glorious martyr, do you know it? I know she must have -enjoyed the whole thing immensely, even if it did end at the stake. I -think it must be ever so much easier to be a martyr than look after the -seventeen hundred horrid little everyday things that just have to be -done. When it’s time to get up now at 6 A. M. and no fires going, I -shall look up at Joan and register courage and valor.” - -Helen sat close to her father, perfectly happy to listen and gaze at the -flickering lights on the big tree. She had gift books too, mostly fairy -tales and what Doris called “princess stories,” a pink tinted ivory -manicure set in a little velvet box, and two cut glass candlesticks with -little pink silk shades. The candlesticks had been part of the “white -hyacinths” saved from the sale at their Long Island home, and Jean had -made the shades and painted them with sprays of forget-me-nots. Cousin -Roxy had knit the prettiest skating caps for each of the girls, and -scarfs to match, and Mrs. Newell gave them old silver spoons that had -been part of their great great-grandmother Peabody’s wedding outfit, and -to each one two homespun linen sheets from the same precious store of -treasures. - -“When you come to Weston,” she told Jean, “I’ll show you many of her -things. She was my great grandmother, you know, and I can just vaguely -remember her sitting upstairs in her room in a deep-seated winged -armchair that had pockets and receptacles all around it. I know I looked -on her with a great deal of wonder and veneration, for I was just six. -She wore gray alpaca, Jean, silver gray like her hair, and a little -black silk apron with dried flag root in one pocket and pink and white -peppermints in the other.” - -“And a cap,” added Jean, just as if she too could recall the picture. - -“A cap of fine black lace with lavender bows, and her name was Mary -Lavinia Peabody.” - -“I’d love to be named Mary Lavinia,” quoth Kit over her shoulder. “How -can anybody be staid and faithful unto death with ‘Kit’ hurled at them -all day. But if I had been rightly called Mary Lavinia, oh, Cousin Beth, -I’d have been a darling.” - -“I don’t doubt it one bit,” laughed Cousin Beth merrily. “Go along with -you, Kit. It just suits you.” - -Doris sat on her favorite hassock clasping a new baby doll in her arms -with an expression of utter contentment on her face. Kit and Jean had -dressed it in the evenings after she had gone to bed, and it had a -complete layette. But Billie had given her his tame crow, Moki, and her -responsibility was divided. - -“Where’d you get the name from, Billie?” she asked. - -Billie stroked the smooth glossy back of the crow as one might a pet -chicken. - -“I found him one day over in the pine woods on the hill. He was just a -little fellow then. The nest was in a dead pine, and somebody’d shot it -all to pieces. The rest of the family had gone, but I found him -fluttering around on the ground, scared to death with a broken wing. Ben -helped me fix it, and he told me to call him Moki. You know he’s read -everything, and he can talk some Indian, Pequod mostly, he says. He -isn’t sure but what there may be some Pequod in him way back, he can -talk it so well, and Moki means ‘Watch out’ in Pequod, Ben says. I call -him that because I used to put him on my shoulder and he’d go anywhere -with me through the woods, and call out when he thought I was in -danger.” - -“How do you know what he thought?” - -“After you get acquainted with him, you’ll know what he thinks too,” -answered Billie soberly. “Hush, grandfather’s going to say something.” - -The Judge rose and stood on the hearth rug, his back to the fire. He was -nearly six feet tall, soldierly, and rugged, his white curly hair -standing out in three distinct tufts just like Pantaloon, Kit always -declared, his eyes keen and bright under their thick brows. He had taken -off his eyeglasses and held them in one hand, tapping them on the other -to emphasize his words. Jean tiptoed around the tree, extinguishing the -last sputtering candles, and sat down softly beside Cousin Roxy. - -“I don’t think any of you, beloved children and dear ones, can quite -understand what tonight means to me personally.” He cleared his throat -and looked over at Billie. “I haven’t had a real Christmas here since -Billie’s father was a little boy. I didn’t want a real Christmas either. -Christmas meant no more to me than to some old owl up in the woods, -maybe not as much. But tonight has warmed my heart, built up a good old -fire in it just as you start one going in some old disused rock -fireplace that has been stone cold for years. - -“When I was a boy this old house used to be opened up as it is tonight, -decorated with evergreen and hemlock and guests in every room at -Christmas time. I didn’t live here then. My grandfather, old Judge -Winthrop Ellis, was alive, and my father had married and moved over to -the white house on the wood road between Maple Lawn and the old burial -ground. You can still find the cellar of it and the old rock chimney -standing. I used to trot along that wood road to school up at Gayhead -where Doris and Helen have been going, and I had just one companion on -that road, the perkiest, sassiest, most interesting female I ever met in -all my life.” He stopped and chuckled, and Cousin Roxy rubbed her nose -with her forefinger and smiled. - -“We knew every spot along the way, where the fringed gentians grew in -the late fall, and where to find arbutus in the spring. The best place -to get black birch and where the checker-berries were thickest. Maybe -just now, it won’t mean so much to you young folks, all these little -landmarks of nature on these old home roads and fields of ours, but when -the shadows begin to lengthen in life’s afternoon, you’ll be glad to -remember them and maybe find them again, for the best part of it all is, -they wait for you with love and welcome and you’ll find the gentians and -the checker-berries growing in just the same places they did fifty years -ago.” - -Jean saw her father put out his hand and lay it over her mother’s. His -head was bent forward a trifle and there was a wonderful light in his -eyes. - -“And all I wanted to say, apart from the big welcome to you all, and the -good wishes for a joyous season, was this, the greatest blessing life -has brought me is that Roxana has come out of the past to sit right over -there and show me how to have a good time at Christmas once again. God -bless you all.” - -“Oh, wasn’t he just a dear,” Kit said, rapturously, when it was all -over, and they were driving back home under the clear starlit sky. “I do -hope when I’m as old as the Judge, I’ll have a flower of romance to -sniff at too. Cousin Roxy watched him just as if he were sixteen instead -of sixty.” - -“You’re just as sentimental as Helen and me,” Jean told her, teasingly. - -“Well, anybody who wouldn’t get a thrill out of tonight would be a toad -in a claybank. And Jean, did you see Father’s face?” - -Jean nodded. It was something not to be discussed, the light in her -father’s face as he had listened. It made her realize more than anything -that had happened in the long months of trial in the country, how worth -while it was, the sacrifice that had brought him back into his home -country for healing and happiness. - - - - - CHAPTER V - JUST A CITY SPARROW - - -Christmas week had already passed when the surprise came. As Kit said -the charm of the unexpected was always gripping you unawares when you -lived on the edge of Nowhere. Mrs. Newell and Elliott had departed two -days after Christmas for Weston. Somehow the girls could not get really -acquainted with this new boy cousin. Billie, once won, was a friend for -ever, but Elliott was a smiling, confident boy, quiet and resourceful, -with little to say. - -“He overlooks girls,” Helen had said. “It isn’t that he doesn’t like us, -but he doesn’t see us. He’s been going to a boys’ school ever since he -was seven years old, and all he can think about or talk about is boys. -When I told him I didn’t know anything about baseball, he looked at me -through his eye glasses so curiously.” - -“I think he was embarrassed by such a galaxy of the fair cousins,” Kit -declared. “He’s lived alone as the sole chick, and he just couldn’t get -the right angle on us. Billie says he got along with him all right. He -was very polite, girls, anyway. You expect too much of him because -Cousin Beth was so nice. If he’d been named Bob or Dave or Billie or -Jack, he’d have felt different too. His full name’s Elliott Peabody -Newell. I’ll bet a cookie when I have a large family, I’ll never, never -give them family names.” - -“You said you were going to be a bachelor maid forever just the other -day.” - -“Did I? Well, you know about consistency being the hobgoblin of little -minds,” Kit retorted calmly. “Since we were over at the Judge’s for -Christmas, I’ve decided to marry my childhood love too.” - -“That’s Billie.” - -“No, it is not, young lady. Billie is a kindred spirit, an entirely -different person from your childhood love. I haven’t got one yet, but -after listening to the Judge say those tender things about Cousin Roxy, -I’m going to find one or know the reason why.” - -By this time, Jean had settled down contentedly to the winter régime. -She was giving Doris piano lessons, and taking over the extra household -duties with Kit back at school. School had been one of the problems to -be solved that first year. Doris and Helen went over the hill road to -Gayhead District Schoolhouse. It stood at the crossroads, a one story -red frame building, with a “leanto” on one side, and a woodshed on the -other. Helen had despised it thoroughly until she heard that her father -had gone there in his boyhood, and she had found his old desk with his -initials carved on it. Anything that Father or Mother had been -associated with was forever hallowed in the eyes of the girls. - -But Kit was in High School, and the nearest one was over the hills to -Central Village, six miles away. As Kit said, it was so tantalizing to -get to the top of the first hill and see the square white bell tower -rising out of the green trees way off on another hill and not be able to -fly across. But Piney was going and she rode horseback on Mollie, the -brown mare. - -“And if Piney Hancock can do it, I can,” Kit said. “I shall ride -Princess over and back. Piney says she’ll meet me down at the bridge -crossing every morning. It will be lots of fun, and she knows where we -can put the horses up. All you do is take your own bag of grain with -you, and it only costs ten cents to stable them.” - -“But, dear, in heavy winter weather what will you do?” - -“Piney says if it’s too rough to get home, she stays overnight with Mrs. -Parmalee. You remember, Mother dear, Ma Parmalee from whom we bought the -chickens. I could stay too. Cousin Roxy says you mustn’t just make a -virtue of Necessity, sometimes you have to take her into the bosom of -the family.” - -Accordingly, Kit rode in good weather, a trim, lithe figure in her brown -corduroy cross saddle skirt, pongee silk waist, and brown tie. After she -reached Central Village, and Princess was stabled, she could button up -her skirt and feel just as properly garbed as any of the girls. And the -ride over the rounded hills in the late fall months was a wonderful -tonic. Mrs. Robbins would often stand out on the wide porch of an early -morning and watch the setting forth of her brood, Helen and Doris -turning to wave back to her at the entrance gates, Kit swinging her last -salute at the turn of the hill road, where Princess got her first wind -after her starting gallop. - -“I think they’re wonderfully plucky,” she said one morning to Jean. “If -they had been country girls, born and bred, it would be different, but -stepping right out of Long Island shore life into these hills, you have -all managed splendidly.” - -“We’d have been a fine lot of quitters if we hadn’t,” Jean answered. “I -think it’s been much harder for you than for us girls, Mother darling.” - -And then the oddest, most unexpected thing had happened, something that -had strengthened the bond between them and made Jean’s way easier. The -Motherbird had turned, with a certain quick grace she had, seemingly as -girlish and impulsive as any of her daughters, and had met Jean’s glance -with a tell-tale flush on her cheeks and a certain whimsical glint in -her eyes. - -“Jean, do you never suspect me?” she had asked, half laughingly. “I know -just exactly what a struggle you have gone through, and how you miss all -that lies back yonder. I do too. If we could just divide up the time, -and live part of the year here and the other part back at the Cove. I -wouldn’t dare tell Cousin Roxy that I had ever ‘repined’ as she would -say, but there are days when the silence and the loneliness up here seem -to crush so strongly in on one.” - -“Oh, Mother! I never thought that you minded it.” Jean’s arms were -around her in a moment. “I’ve been horribly selfish, just thinking of -myself. But now that Father’s getting strong again, you can go away, -can’t you, for a little visit anyway?” - -“Not without him,” she said decidedly. “Perhaps by next summer we can, I -don’t know. I don’t want to suggest it until he feels the need of a -change too. But I’ve been thinking about you, Jean, and if Babbie writes -again for you to come, I want you to go for a week or two anyway. I’ll -get Shad’s sister to help me with the housework, and you must go. Beth -and I had a talk together before she left, and I felt proud of my first -nestling’s ambitions after I heard her speak of your work. She says the -greatest worry on her mind is that Elliott has no definite ambition, no -aim. He has always had everything that they could give him, and she -begins now to realize it was all wrong. He expects everything to come to -him without any effort of his own.” - -“But, Mother, how can I go and leave you—” - -“I want you to, Jean. You have been a great help to me. Don’t think I -haven’t noticed everything you have done to save me worry, because I -have.” - -“Well, you had Father to care for—” - -“I know, and he’s so much better now that I haven’t any dread left. If -Babbie writes again tell her you will come.” - -Babbie wrote after receiving her Christmas box of woodland things. Jean -had arranged it herself, not thinking it was bearing a message. It was -lined with birch bark, and covered with the same. Inside, packed in -moss, were hardy little winter ferns, sprays of red berries, a wind -tossed bluebird’s nest, acorns and rose seed pods, and twined around the -edge wild blackberry vines that turn a deep ruby red in wintertime. Jean -called it a winter garden and it was one of several she had sent out to -city friends for whom she felt she could not afford expensive presents. - -Babbie had caught the real spirit of it, and had written back urgently. - -“You must run down if only for a few days, Jean. I’ve put your winter -garden on the studio windowsill in the sunlight, and it just talks at me -about you all the time. Never mind about new clothes. Come along.” - -It was these same new clothes that secretly worried Jean all the same, -but with some fresh touches on two of last year’s evening frocks, her -winter suit sponged and pressed, and her mother’s set of white fox furs, -she felt she could make the trip. - -“You can wear that art smock in the studio that Bab sent you for -Christmas,” Kit told her. “That funny dull mustard yellow with the Dutch -blue embroidery just suits you. But do your hair differently, Jean. It’s -too stiff that way. Fluff it.” - -“Don’t you do it, Jean,” Helen advised. “Just because Kit has a flyaway -mop, she doesn’t want us to wear braids. I shall wear braids some day if -my hair ever gets long enough. I love yours all around your head like -that. It looks like a crown.” - -“Stuff!” laughed Kit, merrily. “Sit thee down, my sister, and let me -turn thee into a radiant beauty.” - -Laughingly, Jean was taken away from her sewing and planted before the -oval mirror. The smooth brown plaits were taken down and Kit deftly -brushed her hair high on her head, rolled it, patted it, put in big -shell pins, and fluffed out the sides around the ears. - -“Now you look like Mary Lavinia Peabody and Dolly Madison and the -Countess Potocka.” - -“Do I?” Jean surveyed herself dubiously. “Well, I like the braids best, -and I’d never get it up like that by myself. I shall be individual and -not a slave to any mode. You know what Hiram used to say about his plaid -necktie, ‘Them as don’t like it can lump it for all of me.’” - -The second week in January Shad drove Princess down to the station with -Jean and her two suitcases tucked away on the back seat. Mr. Briggs -glanced up in bold surprise when her face appeared at the ticket window. - -“Ain’t leaving us, be you?” - -“Just for a week or two. New York, please.” - -“New York? Well, well.” He turned and fished leisurely for a ticket from -the little rack on the side wall. “Figuring on visiting friends or maybe -relatives, I shouldn’t wonder?” - -“A girl friend.” Jean couldn’t bear to sidestep Mr. Briggs’s friendly -interest in the comings and goings of the Robbins family. “Miss Crane.” - -“Oh, yes, Miss Crane. Same one you sent down that box to by express -before Christmas. Did she get it all right?” - -“Yes, thanks.” - -“I kind of wondered what was in it. Nothing that rattled, and it didn’t -feel heavy.” He looked out at her meditatively, but just then the train -came along and Jean had to hurry away without appeasing Mr. Briggs’s -thirst for information. - -It was strange, the sensation of adventure that came over her as the -little two coach local train wound its way around the hills down towards -New London. The unexpected, as she had said once, always brought the -greatest thrill, and she had put from her absolutely any hope of a trip -away from home so that now it came as a double pleasure. - -It was late afternoon and the sunshine lay in a hazy glow of red and -gold over the russet fields. There was no sign of snow yet. The land lay -in a sort of sleepy stillness, without wind or sound of birds, waiting -for the real winter. On the hillsides the laurel bushes kept their deep -green lustre, the winter ferns reared brave fresh tinted fronds above -the dry leaf mold. On withered goldenrod stalks tiny brown Phoebe birds -clung, hunting for stray seed pods. Here and there rose leisurely from a -pine grove a line of crows, flying low over the bare fields. - -The train followed the river bank all the way down to New London. Jean -loved to watch the scenery as it flashed around the bends, past the -great water lily ponds below Jewett City, past the tumbling falls above -the mills, over a bridge so narrow that it seemed made of pontoons, -through beautiful old Norwich, sitting like Rome of old on her seven -hills, the very “Rose of New England.” Then down again to catch the -broad sweep of the Thames River, ever widening until at last it spread -out below the Navy Yard and slipped away to join the blue waters of the -Sound. - -It was all familiar and common enough through custom and long knowledge -to the people born and bred there. Jean thought an outsider caught the -perspective better. And how many of the old English names had been given -in loving remembrance of the Mother country, New London and Norwich, -Hanover, Scotland, Canterbury, Windham, and oddly enough, wedged in -among the little French Canadian settlements around Nantic was -Versailles. How on earth, Jean wondered, among those staid -Non-Conformist villages and towns, had Marie Antoinette’s toy palace -ever slipped in for remembrance. - -At New London she had to change from the local train to the Boston -express. It was eleven before she reached the Grand Central at New York -and found Bab waiting for her. Jean saw her as she came up the -Concourse, a slim figure in gray, her fluffy blonde hair curling from -under her gray velvet Tam, just as Kit had coaxed Jean’s to do. Beside -her was Mrs. Crane, a little motherly woman, plump and cheerful, who -always reminded Jean of a hen that had just hatched a duck’s egg and was -trying to make the best of it. - -“What a wonderful color you have, child,” she said, kissing Jean’s rosy -cheeks. “She looks a hundred per cent better, doesn’t she, Bab, since -she left Shady Cove.” - -“Fine,” Babbie declared. “Give the porter your suitcases, Kit. We’ve got -a taxi waiting over here.” - -It was very nearly a year since Jean had left the New York atmosphere. -Now the rush and hurly burly of people and vehicles almost bewildered -her. After months of the silent nights in the country, the noise and -flashing lights rattled her, as Kit would have expressed it. She kept -close to Mrs. Crane, and settled back finally in the taxi with relief, -as they started uptown for the studio. - -“Yet you can hardly call it a studio now, since Mother came and took -possession,” Bab said. “We girls had it all nice and messy, and she -keeps it in order, I tell you. But you’ll like it, and it’s close to the -Park so we can get out for some good hikes.” - -“Somebody was needed to keep it in order,” Mrs. Crane put in. “You know, -Jean, I had to stay over in Paris until things were a little bit -settled. We had a lease on the apartment there, and of course, they held -me to it, so I let Bab come back with the Setons as she had to be in -time for her fall term at the Academy.” - -“Noodles and Justine and I kept house,” Bab put in significantly. “And, -my dear, talk about temperament! We had no regular meals at all, and -Justine says if you show her crackers and pimento cheese again for a -year, she’ll just simply die in her tracks. Mother has fed us up -beautifully since she came. Real substantial food, you know, fixed up -differently, Mother fashion.” - -“Yes, and they didn’t think they needed me at all, Jean. Somehow a -mother doesn’t go with a studio equipment, but this one does, and now -everyone in the building troops down to visit us. They all need -mothering now.” - -It was one of the smaller brick buildings off Sixth Avenue on -Fifty-Seventh Street. There had been a garage on the first floor, but -Vatelli, the sculptor, had turned it into a work room with a wife and -three little Vatellis to make it cosy. The second floor was the Cranes’ -apartment, one very large room and two small ones. The two floors above -were divided into one- and two-room studios. It looked very -unpretentious from the outside, but within everything was delightfully -attractive. The ceiling was beamed in dark oak, and a wide fireplace -with a crackling wood fire made Jean almost feel as if she were back -home. There were wide Dutch shelves around the room and cushioned seats -along the walls. An old fashioned three-cornered piano stood crosswise -at one end, and there were several oak settees and cupboards. At the -windows hung art scrim curtains next the panes, and within, heavy dark -red ones that shut out the night. - -Noodles came barking to meet them, a regular dowager of a Belgian -griffon, plump and consequential, with big brown eyes and a snub nose. -And smiling archly, with her eyes sparkling, Justine stood with arms -akimbo. She had been Bab’s nurse years before in France, and had watched -over her ever since. Jean loved the tall, dark-browed Brittany woman. In -her quick efficient way, she managed Bab as nobody else could. No one -ever looked upon Justine as a servant. She was distinctly “family,” and -Jean was kissed soundly on both rosy cheeks and complimented volubly on -her improved appearance. - -“It’s just the country air and plenty of exercise, Justine,” she said. - -“Ah, but yes, the happy heart too, gives that look,” Justine answered -shrewdly. “I know. I have it myself in Brittany. One minute, I have -something warm to eat.” - -She was gone into the inner room humming to herself, with Noodles -tagging at her high heels. - -“Now take off your things and toast,” Bab said. “There aren’t any -bedrooms excepting Mother’s in yonder. She will have a practical bedroom -to sleep in, but we’ll curl up on the couches out here, and Justine has -one. Oh, Jean, come and sing for me this minute.” - -Coat and hat off, she was at the piano, running over airs lightly, not -the songs of Gilead, but bits that made Jean’s heart beat faster; some -from their campfire club out at the Cove, others from the old art class -Bab and she had belonged to, and then the melody stole into one she had -loved, the gay Chanson de Florian, - - “Ah, have you seen a shepherd pass this way?” - -Standing behind her, under the amber glow of the big silk shaded copper -lamp, Jean sang softly, and all at once, her voice broke. - -“What is it?” asked Bab, glancing up. “Tired?” - -Jean’s lashes were wet with tears. - -“I was wishing Mother were here too,” she answered. “She loves all this -so—just as I do. It’s awfully lonesome up there sometimes without any -of this.” - -Bab reached up impulsively and threw her arms around her. - -“I knew it,” she whispered. “I told Mother just from your letters that -you had Gileaditis and must come down.” - -“Gileaditis?” laughed Jean. “That’s funny. Kit would love it. And it’s -what I have got too. I love the hills and the freedom, but, oh, it is so -lonely. Why, I love even to hear the elevated whiz by, and the sound of -the wheels on the paved streets again.” - -“Jean Robbins,” Bab said solemnly. “You’re not a country robin at all, -you’re a city sparrow.” - - - - - CHAPTER VI - “ARROWS OF LONGING” - - -Jean slept late the next morning, late for a Greenacre girl at least. -Kit’s alarm clock was warranted to disturb anybody’s most peaceful -slumbers at 6 A. M. sharp, but here, with curtains drawn, and the studio -as warm as toast, Jean slept along until eight when Justine came softly -into the large room to pull back the heavy curtains, and say chocolate -and toast were nearly ready. - -“Did you close the big house at the Cove?” Jean asked, while they were -dressing. - -“Rented it furnished. With Brock away at college and me here at the -Academy, Mother thought she’d let it go, and stay with me. She’s over at -Aunt Win’s while I’m at classes. They’ve got an apartment for the winter -around on Central Park South because Uncle Frank can’t bear commuting in -the winter time. We’ll go over there before you go back home. Aunt Win’s -up to her ears this year in American Red Cross work, and you’ll love to -hear her talk.” - -“Do you know, Bab,” Jean said suddenly, “I do believe that’s what ails -Gilead. Nobody up there is doing anything different this winter from -what they have every winter for the last fifty years. Down here there’s -always something new and interesting going on.” - -“Yes, but is that good? After a while you expect something new all the -time, and you can’t settle down to any one thing steadily. Coming, -Justine, right away.” - -“Good morning, you lazy kittens,” said Mrs. Crane, laying aside her -morning paper in the big, chintz-cushioned rattan chair by the south -window. “I’ve had my breakfast. I’ve got two appointments this morning -and must hurry.” - -“Mother always mortgages tomorrow. I’ll bet anything she’s got her -appointment book filled for a month ahead. What’s on for today, dear?” - -“Dentist and shopping with your Aunt Win. I shall have lunch with her, -so you girls will be alone. There are seats for a recital at Carnegie -Hall if you’d enjoy it. I think Jean would. It’s Kolasky the ’cellist, -and Mary Norman. An American girl, Jean, from the Middle West, you’ll be -interested in her. She sings folk songs beautifully. Bab only likes -orchestral concerts, but if you go to this, you might drop in later at -Signa’s for tea. It’s right upstairs, you know, Bab, and not a bit out -of your way. Aunt Win and I will join you there.” - -“Isn’t she the dearest, bustling Mother,” Bab said, placidly, when they -were alone. “Sometimes I feel ages older than she is. She has as much -fun trotting around to everything as if New York were a steady sideshow. -Do you want to go?” - -“I’d love to,” Jean answered frankly. “I’ve been shut up away from -everything for so long that I’m ready to have a good time anywhere. -Who’s Signa?” - -“A girl Aunt Win’s interested in. She’s Italian, and plays the violin. -Jean Robbins, do you know the world is just jammed full of people who -can do things, I mean unusual things like painting and playing and -singing, better than the average person, and yet there are only a few -who are really great. It’s such a tragedy because they all keep on -working and hoping and thinking they’re going to be great. Aunt Win has -about a dozen tucked under her wing that she encourages, and I think -it’s perfectly deadly.” - -Bab planted both elbows on the little square willow table, holding her -cup of chocolate aloft, her straight brows drawn together in a pucker of -perplexity. - -“Because they won’t be great geniuses, you mean?” - -“Surely. They’re just half way. All they’ve got is the longing, the urge -forward.” - -Jean smiled, looking past her at the view beyond the yellow curtains and -box of winter greens outside. There was a little courtyard below with -one lone sumac tree in it, and red brick walks. A black and white cat -licked its paws on the side fence. From a clothes line fluttered three -pairs of black stockings. The voices of the little Vatellis floated up -as they played house in the sunshine. - -“Somebody wrote a wonderful poem about that,” she said. “I forget the -name, but it’s about those whose aims were greater than their ability, -don’t you know what I mean? It says that the work isn’t the greatest -thing, the purpose is, the dream, the vision, even if you fall short of -it. I know up home there’s one dear little old lady, Miss Weathersby. -We’ve just got acquainted with her. She’s the last of three sisters who -were quite rich for the country. Doris found her, way over beyond the -old burial ground, and she was directing some workmen. Doris said they -were tearing down a long row of old sheds and chicken houses that shut -off her view of the hills. She said she’d waited for years to clear away -those sheds, only her sisters had wanted them there because their -grandfather had built them. I think she was awfully plucky to tear them -down, so she could sit at her window and see the hills. Maybe it’s the -same way with Signa and the others. It’s something if they have the eyes -to see the hills.” - -“Maybe so,” Bab said briskly. “Maybe I can’t see them myself, and it’s -just a waste of money keeping me at the Academy. I’m not a genius, and -I’ll never paint great pictures, but I am going to be an illustrator, -and while I’m learning I can imagine myself all the geniuses that ever -lived. You know, Jean, we were told, not long ago, to paint a typical -city scene. Well, the class went in for the regulation things, -Washington Arch and Grant’s Tomb, Madison Square and the opera crowd at -the Met. Do you know what I did?” She pushed back her hair from her -eager face, and smiled. “I went down on the East Side at Five Points, -right in the Italian quarter, and you know how they’re always digging up -the streets here after the gas mains or something that’s gone wrong? -Well, I found some workmen resting, sitting on the edge of the trench -eating lunch in the sunlight, and some kiddies playing in the dirt as if -it were sand. Oh, it was dandy, Jean, the color and composition and I -caught it all in lovely splashes. I just called it ‘Noon.’ Do you like -it?” - -“Splendid,” said Jean. - -Bab nodded happily. - -“Miss Patmore said it was the best thing I had done, the best in the -class. You can find beauty anywhere if you look for it.” - -“Oh, it’s good to be down talking to you again,” Jean exclaimed. “It -spurs one along so to be where others are working and thinking.” - -“Think so?” Bab turned her head with her funny quizzical smile. “You -ought to hear Daddy Higginson talk on that. He’s head of the life class. -And he runs away to a little slab-sided shack somewhere up on the Hudson -when he wants to paint. He says Emerson or Thoreau wrote about the still -places where you ‘rest and invite your soul,’ and about the world making -a pathway to your door, too. Let’s get dressed. It’s after nine, and I -have to be in class at ten.” - -It was now nearly a year since Jean herself had been a pupil at the art -school. She had gone into the work enthusiastically when they had lived -at the Cove on Long Island, making the trip back and forth every day on -the train. Then had come her father’s breakdown and the need of the -Robbins’ finding a new nest in the hills where expenses were light. As -she turned the familiar street with Bab, and came in sight of the gray -stone building, she couldn’t help feeling just a little thrill of -regret. It represented so much to her, all the aims and ambitions of a -year before. - -As they passed upstairs to Bab’s classroom, some of the girls recognized -her and called out a greeting. Jean waved her hand to them, but did not -stop. She was too busy looking at the sketches along the walls, -listening to the familiar sounds through open doors, Daddy Higginson’s -deeply rounded laugh; Miss Patmore’s clear voice calling to one of the -girls; Valleé, the lame Frenchman, standing with his arm thrown about a -lad’s shoulders, pointing out to him mistakes in underlay of shadows. -Even the familiar smell of turpentine and paint made her lift her nose -as Princess did to her oats. - -“Valleé’s so brave,” Bab found time to say, arranging her crayons and -paper on her drawing board. “Do you remember the girl from the west who -only wanted to paint marines, Marion Poole? Well, she joined Miss -Patmore’s Maine class last summer and Valleé went along too, as -instructor. She’s about twenty-four, you know, older than most of us, -but Miss Patmore says she really has genius. Anyway, she was way out on -the rocks painting and didn’t go back with the class. And the tide came -in. Valleé went after her, and they say he risked his life swimming out -to save her when he was lame. They’re married now. See her over there -with the green apron on? They’re giving a costume supper Saturday night -and we’ll go.” - -“I haven’t anything to wear,” Jean said hastily. - -“Mother’ll fix you up. She always can,” Bab told her comfortably. “Let’s -speak to Miss Patmore before class. She’s looking at you.” - -Margaret Patmore was the girls’ favorite teacher. The daughter of an -artist herself, she had been born in Florence, Italy, and brought up -there, later living in London and then Boston. Jean remembered how -delightful her noon talks with her girls had been of her father’s -intimate circle of friends back in Browning’s sunland. It had seemed so -interesting to link the past and present with one who could remember, as -a little girl, visits to all the art shrines. Jean had always been a -favorite with her. The quiet, imaginative girl had appealed to Margaret -Patmore perhaps because she had the gift of visualizing the past and its -great dreamers. She took both her hands now in a firm clasp, smiling -down at her. - -“Back again, Jean?” - -“Only for a week or two, Miss Patmore,” Jean smiled, a little wistfully. -“I wish it were for longer. It seems awfully good to be here and see you -all.” - -“Have you done any work at all in the country?” - -Had she done any work? A swift memory of the real work of Greenacres -swept over Jean, and she could have laughed. - -“Not much.” She shook her head. “I sort of lost my way for a while, -there was so much else that had to be done, but I’m going to study now.” - -“Sit with us and make believe you are back anyway. Barbara, please show -her Frances’s place. She will not be here for a week.” - -So just for one short week, Jean could make believe it was all true, -that she was back as a “regular.” Every morning she went with Bab, and -joined the class, getting inspiration and courage even from the -teamwork. Late afternoons there was always something different to take -in. That first day they had gone up to the recital at Carnegie Hall. -Jean loved the ’cello, and it seemed as if the musician chose all the -themes that always stirred her. Chopin’s Nocturne in E Flat; one of the -Rhapsodies, she could not remember which, but it always brought to her -mind firelight and gypsies; and a tender, little haunting melody called -“Petit Valse.” Up home she had played it often for her father at -twilight and it always made her long for the unfulfilled hopes. And then -the “Humoreske,” whimsical, questioning, it seemed to wind itself around -her heart and tease her about all her yearnings. - -Miss Norman sang Russian folk songs and some Hebrides lullabies. - -“I’m not one bit crazy over her,” said Bab in her matter-of-fact way. -“She looks too wholesome and solid to be singing that sort of music. I’d -like to see her swing into Brunhilde’s call or something like that. -She’d wake all the babies up with those lullabies.” - -“You make me think of Kit,” Jean laughed. “She always thinks out loud -and says the first thing that comes to her lips.” - -“I know.” Bab’s face sobered momentarily as they came out of the main -entrance and went around to the studio elevator. “Mother says I’ve never -learned inhibition, and that made me curious. Of course, she meant it -should. So I hunted up what inhibition meant in psychology and it did -rather stagger me. You act on impulse, but if you’d only have sense -enough to wait a minute, the nerves of inhibition beat the nerves of -impulse, and reason sets in. I can’t bear reason, not yet. The only -thing I really enjoyed in Plato was the death of Socrates.” - -“That’s funny. Kit said something about that a little while ago, the -sunset, and his telling someone to pay for a chicken just as he took the -poisoned cup.” - -“I’d like to paint it.” Bab’s gray eyes narrowed as if she saw the -scene. “Why on earth haven’t the great artists done things like that -instead of spotted cows and windmills.” - -Before Jean could find an answer, they had reached Signa Patrona’s -studio. It seemed filled with groups of people. Jean had a confused -sense of many introductions, and Signa herself, a tall, slender girl in -black with a rose made of gold tissue fastened in her dusky, low coiled -hair. She rarely spoke, but smiled delightfully. The girls found Mrs. -Crane and her sister in a corner. - -“Aunt Win,” said Bab. “Here’s your country girl. Isn’t she blooming? -Talk to her while I get some tea.” - -“My dear,” Mrs. Everden surveyed her in a benevolent, critical sort of -fashion, “you’re improved. The last time I saw you, was out at Shady -Cove. You and your sisters were in some play I think, given by the -Junior Auxiliary of the Church. You live in the country now, Barbara -tells me. I have friends in the Berkshires.” - -“Oh, but we’re way over near the Rhode Island border,” Jean said -quickly. It seemed as if logically, all people who moved from Long -Island must go to the Berkshires. “It’s real country up there, Gilead -Centre. We’re near the old Post Road to Boston, from Hartford, but -nobody hardly ever travels over it any more.” - -“We might motor over in the spring, Barbara would enjoy it. Are the -roads good in the spring, my dear?” - -Visions of Gilead roads along in March and April flitted through Jean’s -mind. They turned into quagmires of yellow mud, and where the frost did -take a notion to steal away, the road usually caved in gracefully after -the first spring rains. Along the end of April after everybody had -complained, Tucker Hicks, the road committeeman, would bestir himself -leisurely and patch up the worst places. No power in Gilead had ever -been able to rouse Tucker to action before the worst was over. - -“Mother’d dearly love to have you come,” she said. “The only thing we -miss up there is the friendship of the Cove neighbors. If you wouldn’t -mind the roads, I know you’d enjoy it, but they are awful in the spring. -But nobody seems to mind a bit. One day down at the station in Nantic I -heard two old farmers talking, and one said the mud up his way was clear -up to the wheel hubs. ‘Sho,’ said the other. ‘Up in Gilead, the wheels -go all the way down in some places.’ Just as if they were proud of it.” - -Mrs. Everden shook her head slowly, and looked at her sister. - -“I can’t even imagine Bess Robbins living in such a forsaken place.” - -“Oh, but it isn’t forsaken,” protested Jean loyally. “And Mother really -enjoys it because it’s made Father nearly well.” - -“And there’s no society at all up there?” - -“Well, no, not exactly,” laughed Jean, shaking her head, “but there are -lots of human beings.” - -“I could never endure it in this world.” - -Jean thought privately that there are many things one has to learn to -endure whether or no, and someway, just that little talk made her feel a -wonderful love and loyalty towards the Motherbird holding her home -together up in the hills. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - THE CALL HOME - - -The second evening Aunt Win took them down to a Red Cross Bazaar at her -club rooms. Jean enjoyed it in a way, although after the open air life -and the quiet up home, overcrowded, steam-heated rooms oppressed her. -She listened to a famous tenor sing something very fiery in French, and -heard a blind Scotch soldier tell simply of the comfort the Red Cross -supplies had brought to the little wayside makeshift hospital he had -been taken to, an old mill inhabited only by owls and martins until the -soldiers had come to it. Then a tiny little girl in pink had danced and -the blind soldier put her on his shoulder afterwards while she held out -his cap. It was filled with green bills, Jean saw, as they passed. - -Then a young American artist, her face aglow with enthusiasm, stood on -the platform with two little French orphans, a boy and girl. And she -told of how the girl students had been the first to start the godmother -movement, to mother these waifs of war. - -“Wonderful, isn’t it, the work we’re doing?” said Aunt Win briskly, when -it was over and they were in her limousine, bound uptown. “Doesn’t it -inspire you, Jean?” - -“Not one single bit,” Jean replied fervently. “I think war is awful, and -I don’t believe in it. Up home we’ve made a truce not to argue about it, -because none of us agree at all.” - -“Well, child, I don’t believe in it either, but if the boys will get -into these fights, it always has fallen to us women and always will, to -bind up the wounds and patch them up the best we can. They’re a -troublesome lot, but we couldn’t get along without them as I tell Mr. -Everden.” - -“That sounds just like Cousin Roxy,” Jean said, and then she had to tell -all about who Cousin Roxy was, and her philosophy and good cheer that -had spread out over Gilead land from Maple Lawn. - -Better than the bazaar, she had liked the little supper at the Valleé’s -studio. Mrs. Crane had found a costume for her to wear, a white silk -mandarin coat with an under petticoat of heavy peach blossom embroidery, -and Bab had fixed her dark hair in quaint Manchu style with two big -white chrysanthemums, one over each ear. Bab was a Breton fisher girl in -a dark blue skirt and heavy linen smock, with a scarlet cap on her head, -and her blonde hair in two long heavy plaits. - -The studio was in the West Forties, over near Third Avenue. The lower -floor had been a garage, but the Valleé’s took possession of it, and it -looked like some old Florentine hall in dark oak, with dull red velvet -tapestry rugs and hangings. A tall, thin boy squatted comfortably on top -of a chest across one corner, and played a Hawaiian ukulele. It was the -first time Jean had heard such music, and it made her vaguely homesick. - -“It always finds the place in your heart that hurts and wakes it up,” -Bab told her. “That’s Piper Pearson playing. You remember the Pearsons -at the Cove, Talbot and the rest? We call him Piper because he’s always -our maker of sounds when anything’s doing.” - -Piper stopped twanging long enough to shake hands and smile. - -“Coming down to the Cove?” - -“I don’t think so, not this time,” Jean said, regretfully. She would -have loved a visit back at the old home, and still it might only have -made her dissatisfied. As Kit said, “Beware of the fleshpots of Egypt -when one is living on corn bread and Indian pudding.” - -Marion Valleé remembered her at once, and had the girls help make -sandwiches behind a tall screen. Rye bread sliced very thin, and -buttered with sweet butter, then devilled crabmeat spread between. That -was Bab’s task. Jean found herself facing a Japanese bowl of cream -cheese, bottle of pimentoes and some chopped walnuts. - -Later there was dancing, Jean’s first dance in a year, and Mrs. Crane -smiled at her approvingly when she finished and came to her side. - -“It’s good to watch you enjoy yourself. Jean, I want you to meet the -youngest of the boys here tonight. He’s come all the way east from the -Golden Gate to show us real enthusiasm.” - -Jean found herself shaking hands with a little white haired gentleman -who beamed at her cheerfully, and proceeded to tell her all about his -new picture, the Golden Gate at night. - -“Just at moonrise, you know, with the reflections of the signal lights -on ships in the water and the moon shimmer faintly rising. I have great -hopes for it. And I’ve always wanted to come to New York, always, ever -since I was a boy.” - -“He’s eighty-three,” Mrs. Crane found a chance to whisper. “Think of him -adventuring forth with his masterpiece and the fire of youth in his -heart.” - -A young Indian princess from the Cherokee Nation stood in the firelight -glow, dressed in ceremonial garb, and recited some strange folk poem of -her people, about the “Trail of Tears,” that path trod by the Cherokees -when they were driven forth from their homes in Georgia to the new -country in the Osage Mountains. Jean leaned forward, listening to the -words, they came so beautifully from her grave young lips, and last of -all the broken treaty, after the lands had been given in perpetuity, -“while the grass grows and the waters flow.” - -“Isn’t she a darling?” Bab said under her breath. “She’s a college girl -too. I love to watch her eyes glow when she recites that poem. You know, -Jean, you can smother it under all you like, not you, of course, but we -Americans, still the Indian is the real thing after all. Mother Columbia -has spanked him and put him in a corner and told him to behave, but he’s -perfectly right.” - -Jean laughed contentedly. In her other ear somebody else was telling her -the Princess was one fourth Cherokee and the rest Scotch. But it all -stimulated and interested her. As Kit would have said, there was -something new doing every minute down here. The long weeks of monotony -in Gilead faded away. Nearly every day after class Mrs. Everden took the -girls out for a spin through the Park in her car, and twice they went -home with her for tea in her apartment on Central Park South. It was all -done in soft browns and ivories, and Uncle Frank was in brown and ivory -too, a slender soldierly gentleman with ivory complexion and brown hair -just touched with gray. He said very little, Jean noticed, but listened -contentedly to his wife chat on any subject in her vivacious way. - -“I trust your father is surely recovering up there,” he said once, as -Jean happened to stand beside him near a window, looking down at the -black swans preening themselves on a tiny island below. “I often think -how much better it would be if we old chaps would take a playtime now -and then instead of waiting until we’re laid up for repairs. Jerry was -like I am, always too busy for a vacation. But he had a family to work -for, and Mrs. Everden and I are alone. I’d like mighty well to see him. -What could I send him that he’d enjoy?” - -“Oh, I don’t know,” Jean thought anxiously. “I think he loves to read -now, more than anything, and he was saying just before I left he wished -he had some new books, books that show the current thought of the day, -you know what I mean, Mr. Everden. I meant to take him up a few, but I -wasn’t sure which ones he would like.” - -“Let me send him up a box of them,” Mr. Everden’s eyes twinkled. “I’ll -wake him up. And tell him for me not to stagnate up there. Rest and get -well, but come back where he belongs. There comes a point after a man -breaks down from overwork, when he craves to get back to that same work, -and it’s the best tonic you can give him, to let him feel and know he’s -got his grip back and is standing firmly again. I’ll send the books.” - -Sunday Bab planned for them to go to service down at the Church of the -Ascension on lower Fifth Avenue, but Mrs. Crane thought Jean ought to -hear the Cathedral music, and Aunt Win was to take them in the evening -to the Russian Church for the wonderful singing there. - -Jean felt amused and disturbed too, as she dressed. Up home Cousin Roxy -said she didn’t have a mite of respect for church tramps, those as were -forever gadding hither and yon, seeking diversion in the houses of the -Lord. Still, when she reached the Cathedral, and heard the familiar -words resound in the great stone interior, she forgot everything in a -sense of reverence and peace. - -After service, Mrs. Crane said she must run into the children’s ward -across the street at St. Luke’s to see how one of her settlement girls -was getting along. Bab and Jean stayed down in the wide entrance hall, -until the latter noticed the little silent chapel up the staircase at -the back. - -“Oh, Bab, could we go in, do you think?” she whispered. - -Bab was certain they could, although service was over. They entered the -chapel, and knelt quietly at the back. It was so different from the -great cathedral over the way, so silent and shadowy, so filled with the -message to the inner heart, born of the hospital, “In the midst of life -ye are in death.” - -“That did me more good than the other,” Jean said, as they went -downstairs to rejoin Mrs. Crane. “I’m sure worship should be silent, -without much noise at all. Up home the little church is so small and -sort of holy. You just have that feeling when you go in, and still it’s -very plain and poorly furnished, and we haven’t a vested choir. The -girls sing, and Cousin Roxy plays the organ.” - -Bab sighed. - -“Jean, you’re getting acclimated up there. I can see the signs. Even now -your heart’s turning back home. Never mind. We’ll listen to Aunt Win’s -Russian choir tonight, and that shall suffice.” - -In the afternoon, some friends came in for tea, and Jean found her -old-time favorite teacher, Daddy Higginson, as all the girls called him -at the school. He was about seventy, but erect and quick of step as any -of the boys; smooth shaven, with iron gray hair, close cut and curly, -and keen, whimsical brown eyes. He was really splendid looking, she -thought. - -“You know, Jeanie,” he began, slipping comfortably down a trifle in his -easy chair, as Bab handed him a third cup of tea, “you’re looking fine. -How’s the work coming along up there in your hill country? Doing -anything?” - -Jean flushed slightly. - -“Nothing in earnest, Mr. Higginson. I rather gave up even the hope of -going on with it, after we went away.” - -“You couldn’t give it up if it is in you,” he answered. “That’s one of -the charms and blessings of the divine fire. If it ever does start a -blaze in your soul’s shrine, it can never be put out. They can smother -it down, and stamp on it, and cover it up with ashes of dead hopes, all -that, but sure as anything, once the mind is relaxed and at peace with -itself, the fire will burn again. You’re going back, I hear from Bab.” - -Jean nodded. - -“I’m the eldest, and the others are all in school. I’m needed.” - -He smiled, looking down at the fire Justine had prepared for them on the -wide hearth. - -“That’s all right. Anything that tempers character while you’re young, -is good for the whole system. I was born out west in Kansas, way back in -pioneer days. I used to ride cattle for my father when I was only about -ten. And, Lord Almighty, those nights on the plains taught my heart the -song of life. I wouldn’t take back one single hour of them. We lived in -a little dugout cabin, two rooms, that’s all, and my mother came of a -fine old colonial family out of Colebrook, in your state. She made the -trip with my father and two of us boys, Ned and myself. I can just -remember walking ahead of the big wagon with my father, chopping down -underbrush and trees for us to get through.” - -“Wasn’t it dangerous?” asked Jean, eagerly. - -“Dangerous? No! The Indians we met hadn’t learned yet that the white man -was an enemy. We were treated well by them. I know after we got settled -in the little house, baking day, two or three of them would stand -outside the door, waiting while my mother baked bread, and cake and -doughnuts and cookies, in New England style, just for all the world like -a lot of hungry, curious boys, and she always gave them some.” - -“Did you draw and paint them?” - -He laughed, a round, hearty laugh that made Mrs. Crane smile over at -them. - -“Never touched a brush until after I was thirty. I loved color and could -see it. I knew that shadows were purple or blue, and I used to squint -one eye to get the tint of the earth after we’d ploughed, dull rusty red -like old wounds, it was. First sketch I ever drew was one of my sister -Polly. She stood on the edge of a gully hunting some stray turkeys. I’ve -got the painting I made later from that sketch. It was exhibited too, -called ‘Sundown.’” - -“Oh, I saw it,” Jean exclaimed. “The land is all in deep blues and -hyacinth tones and the sky is amber and the queerest green, and her -skirt is just a dash of red.” - -“That’s what she always made me think of, a dash of red. The red that -shows under an oriole’s wing when he flies. She was seventeen then. -About your age, isn’t that, Jeanie?” - -He glanced at her sideways. Jean nodded. - -“I thought so, although she looked younger with her hair all down her -back, and short dresses on.” - -“I—I hope she didn’t die,” said Jean, anxiously. - -“Die? Bless your heart,” he laughed again. “She’s living up in -Colebrook. Went back over the old trail her mother had travelled, but in -a Pullman car, and married in the old home town. Pioneer people live to -be pretty old. Just think, girlie, in your autumn of life, there won’t -be any of us old timers left who can remember what a dugout looked like -or a pioneer ox cart.” - -“It must have been wonderful,” Jean said. “Mother’s from the west too, -you know, only way out west, from California. Her brother has the big -ranch there now where she was born, but she never knew any hardships at -all. Everything was comfortable and there was always plenty of money, -she says, and it never seemed like the real west to us girls, when she’d -tell of it.” - -“Oh, but it is, the real west of the last forty years, as it is grown up -to success and prosperity. Ned lives out there still, runs for the State -Legislature now and then, keeps a couple of automobiles, and his girls -can tell you all that’s going on in the world just as easily as they can -bake and keep house if they have to. If I keep you here talking any -longer to an old fellow like myself, the boys won’t be responsible for -their action. You’re a novelty, you know, Piper’s glaring at me.” - -He rose leisurely, and went over beside Aunt Win’s chair, and Piper -Pearson hurried to take his place. - -“I thought he’d keep you talking here all night. And you sat there -drinking it all in as if you liked it.” - -“I did,” said Jean, flatly. “I loved it. I haven’t been here at all. -I’ve been way out on the Kansas prairie.” - -“Stuff,” said Piper calmly. “Say, got any good dogs up at your place?” - -“No, why?” Jean looked at him with sudden curiosity. - -“Nothing, only you remember when you were moving from the Cove, Doris -sold me her Boston bull pup Jiggers?” - -“Oh, I know all about it.” As if she could ever forget how they had all -felt when Doris parted with her dearest treasure and brought the ten -dollars in to add to the family fund. - -“We’ve got some dandy puppies. I was wondering whether you’d take one -home to Doris from me if I brought it in.” - -“I’d love to,” said Jean, her face aglow. It was just like a boy to -think of that, and how Doris would love it, one of Jiggers’ own family. -“I think we’ll call it Piper, if you don’t mind.” - -Piper didn’t mind in the least. In fact, he felt it would be a sign of -remembrance, he said. And he would bring in the puppy as soon as Jean -was ready to go home. - -“But you needn’t hurry her,” Bab warned, coming to sit with them. “She’s -only been down a week, and I’m hoping if I can just stretch it along -rather unconsciously, she’ll stay right through the term, the way she -should.” - -Jean felt almost guilty, as her own heart echoed the wish. How she would -study, if only it could happen. Yet there came the tug of homesickness -too, along the end of the second week. Perhaps it was Kit’s letter that -did it, telling how the house was at sixes and sevens without her, and -Mother had to be in fifty places at once. - -Jean had to laugh over that part though, for Kit was noted for her -ability to attend to exactly one thing at a time. - -“Now, Shad, I can’t attend to more than one thing at a time, you know.” - -“Can’t you?” Shad had responded, meditatively. “Miss Roxy can tend to -sixty-nine and a half things at the same time with her eyes shut and one -hand tied.” - -Then suddenly, out of the blue sky came the bolt. It was a telegram -signed “Mother.” - -“Come at once. Am leaving for California.” - -Jean never stopped to think twice. It was the call to duty, and she -caught the noon train back to Gilead Center. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - SEEKING HER GOAL - - -All the way up on the train Jean kept thinking about Daddy Higginson’s -last words when he had held her hand at parting. - -“This isn’t my thought, Jeanie, but it’s a good one even if Nietzsche -did write it. As I used to tell you in class about Pope and Socrates and -all the other warped geniuses, think of a man’s physical suffering -before you condemn what he has written. Carlyle might have been our best -optimist if he’d only discovered pepsin tablets, and lost his dyspepsia. -Here it is, and I want you to remember it, for it goes with arrows of -longing. The formula for happiness: ‘A yea, a nay, a straight line, a -goal.’” - -It sounded simple enough. Jean felt all keyed up to new endeavor from -it, with a long look ahead at her goal, and patience to wait for it. She -felt she could undertake anything, even the care of the house during her -mother’s absence, and that was probably what lay behind the telegram. - -When Kit met her at the station, she gave her an odd look after she had -kissed her. - -“Lordy, but you do look Joan of Arc-ish, Jean. You’d better not be lofty -up home. Everything’s at sixes and sevens.” - -“I’m not a bit Joan of Arc-ish,” retorted Jean, with a flash of true -Robbins spirit. “What’s the trouble?” - -Kit gathered up the reins from Princess’s glossy back, and started her -up the hill. Mr. Briggs had somehow been evaded this time. There was a -good coating of snow on the ground and the pines looked weighed down by -it, all silver white in the sunshine, and green beneath. - -“Nothing much, except that—what on earth have you got in the bag, -Jean?” - -Jean had forgotten all about the puppy. Piper had kept his word and met -her at the train with Jiggers’ son, a sleepy, diminutive Boston bull pup -all curled up comfortably in a wicker basket with little windows, and a -cosy nest inside. He had started to show signs of personal interest, -scratching and whining as soon as Jean had set the bag down at her feet -in the carriage. - -“It’s for Doris. Talbot Pearson sent it up to her to remember Jiggers -by.” - -“Jiggers?” - -“It’s Jiggers’ baby,” said Jean solemnly. “Looks just like him, too. His -name is Piper. Won’t she love him, Kit?” - -“I suppose so,” said Kit somewhat ungraciously. “I haven’t room for one -bit of sentiment after the last few days. You’ve been having a round of -joy and you’re all rested up, but if you’d been here, well . . .” -eloquently. “First of all there came a letter from Benita Ranch. Uncle -Hal’s not expected to live and they’ve sent for Mother. Seems to me as -if everyone sends for Mother when anything’s the matter.” - -“But Father isn’t going way out there too, is he?” - -“Yes. They’ve wired money for both of them to go, and stay for a month -anyway, and Cousin Roxy says it’s the right thing to do. She’s going to -send Mrs. Gorham, the Judge’s housekeeper, to look after us. Now, Jean, -don’t put up any hurdles to jump over because it’s bad enough as it is, -and Mother feels terribly. She’d never have gone if Cousin Roxy hadn’t -bolstered up her courage, but they say the trip will do Father a world -of good and he’ll miss the worst part of the winter, and after all, -we’re not babies.” - -Jean was silent. It seemed as if the muscles in her throat had all -tightened up and she could not say one word. They must do what was best, -she knew that. It had been driven into her head for a year past, that -always trying to do what was best, but still it did seem as if -California were too far away for such a separation. The year before, -when it had been necessary to take Mr. Robbins down to Florida, it had -not seemed so hard, because at Shady Cove they were well acquainted, and -surrounded by neighbors, but here—she looked out over the bleak, wintry -landscape and shivered. It had been beautiful through the summer and -fall, but now it was barren and cheerless. The memory of Bab’s cosy -studio apartment came back to her, and a quick sense of rebellion -followed against the fate that had cast them all up there in the circle -of those hills. - -“You brace up now, Jean, and stop looking as if you could chew tacks,” -Kit exclaimed, encouragingly. “We all feel badly enough and we’ve got to -make the best of it, and help Mother.” - -The next few days were filled with preparations for the journey. Cousin -Roxy came down and took command, laughing them out of their gloom, and -making the Motherbird feel all would be well. - -“Laviny don’t hustle pretty much,” she said, speaking of old Mrs. -Gorham, who had been the Judge’s housekeeper for years. “But she’s sure -and steady and a good cook, and I’ll drive over every few days to see -things are going along as they should, and there’s the telephone too. -Bless my heart, if these big, healthy girls can’t look after themselves -for a month, they must be poor spindling specimens of womanhood. I tell -you, Betty, it’s trials that temper the soul and body. You trot right -along and have a second honeymoon in the land of flowers. And if it’s -the Lord’s will your brother should be taken, don’t rebel and pine. I -always wished we had the same outlook as Bunyan did from his prison cell -when he wrote of the vision on Jordan’s bank, when those left on this -side sang and glorified God if one was taken home. Remember what Paul -said, ‘For ye are not as those who have no hope.’ Jean, put in your -mother’s summer parasol. She’s going to need it.” - -Shad drove them down to the station in a snowstorm. Jean stood in the -doorway with Cousin Roxy and Mrs. Gorham, waving until they passed the -turn of the road at the mill. The other girls were at school, and the -house seemed fearfully lonely to her as she turned back and fastened the -storm doors. - -“Now,” Cousin Roxy said briskly, drawing on her thick knit woolen -driving gloves, “I’m going along myself, and do you stand up straight, -Jean Robbins, and take your mother’s place.” She mitigated the seeming -severity of the charge by a sound kiss and a pat on the shoulder. “I -brought a ham down for you chicks, one of the Judge’s prize hickory home -smoked ones, and there’s plenty in the cellar and the preserve closet. -You’d better let Laviny go along her own gait. She always seems to make -out better that way. Just you have an oversight on the girls and keep up -the good cheer in the house. Pile on the logs and shut out the cold. -While they’re away, if I were you I’d close up the big front parlor, and -move the piano out into the living-room where you’ll get some good of -it. Goodbye for now. Tell Laviny not to forget to set some sponge right -away. I noticed you were out of bread.” - -Ella Lou took the wintry road with zest, the steam clouding her -nostrils, as she shook her head with a snort, and breasted the hill -road. Jean breathed a sigh as the familiar carriage disappeared over the -brow of the hill. Out in the dining-room, Mrs. Gorham was moving -placidly about as if she had always belonged there, humming to herself -an old time song. - -“When the mists have rolled in splendor, from the beauty of the hills, -And the sunshine warm and tender, falls in kisses on the rills, -We may read love’s shining letter, in the rainbow of the spray, -We shall know each other better, when the mists have cleared away.” - -When Shad returned from the station, he came into the kitchen with a -load of wood on his arm, stamping his feet, and whistling. - -“Seen anything of Joe?” he asked. “I ain’t laid eyes on the little -creature since breakfast, and he was going to chop up my kindling for -me. I’ll bet a cookie he’s took to his heels. He’s been acting funny for -several days ever since that peddler went along here.” - -“Oh, not really, Shad,” said Jean, anxiously. She had overlooked Joe -completely in the hurry of preparations for departure. “What could -happen to him?” - -“Nothing special,” answered Shad dryly, “’cepting an ingrowing dislike -for work.” - -“You can’t expect a little fellow only nine to work very hard, can you?” - -“Well, he should earn his board and keep, I’ve been telling him. And he -don’t want to go to school, he says. He’s got to do something. He keeps -asking me when I’m going down to Nantic. Looks suspicious to me!” - -“Nantic? Do you suppose—” Jean stopped short. Shad failed to notice her -hesitancy, but went on out doors. Perhaps the boy was wondering if he -could get any trace of his father down at Nantic, she thought. There was -a great deal of the Motherbird’s nature in her eldest robin’s sympathy -and swift, sure understanding of another’s need. She kept an eye out for -Joe all day, but the afternoon passed, the girls came home from school, -and supper was on the table without any sign of their Christmas waif. -And finally, when Shad came in from bedding down the cows and milking, -he said he was pretty sure Joe had cut and run away. - -“Do you think it’s because he didn’t want to stay with us while Mother -and Father were away?” asked Helen. - -“No, I don’t,” Shad replied. “I think he’s just a little tramp, and he -had to take to the road when the call came to him. He wasn’t satisfied -with a good warm bed and plenty to eat.” - -But Jean felt the responsibility of Joe’s loss, and set a lamp burning -all night in the sitting room window as a sign to light his way back -home. It was such a long walk down through the snow to Nantic, and when -he got there, Mr. Briggs would be sure to see him, and make trouble for -him. And perhaps he had wandered out into the hills on a regular tramp -and got lost. Just before she went up to bed Jean called up Cousin Roxy -and asked her advice. - -“Well, child, I’d go to bed tonight anyway. He couldn’t have strayed -away far, and there are plenty of lights in the farmhouse windows to -guide him. I saw him sitting on the edge of the woodpile just when your -mother was getting ready to leave, and then he slipped away. I wouldn’t -worry over him. It isn’t a cold night, and the snow fall is light. If he -has run off, there’s lots of barns where he can curl down under the hay -and keep warm. When the Judge drives down to Nantic tomorrow I’ll have -him inquire.” - -But neither tomorrow, nor the day after, did any news come to them of -Joe. Mr. Briggs was sure he hadn’t been around the station or the -freight trains. Saturday Kit and Doris drove around through the wood -roads, looking for footprints or some other signs of him, and Jean -telephoned to all the points she could think of, giving a description of -him, and asking them to send the wanderer back if they found him. But -the days passed, and it looked as if Joe had joined the army of the -great departed, as Cousin Roxy said. - -Before the first letter reached them from California, telling of the -safe arrival at Benita Ranch of Mr. and Mrs. Robbins, winter decided to -come and stay a while. There came a morning when Shad had hard work -opening the storm door of the kitchen, banked as it was with snow. -Inside, from the upper story windows, the girls looked out, and found -even the stone walls and rail fences covered over with the great mantle -that had fallen steadily and silently through the night. There was -something majestically beautiful in the sweep of the valley and its -encircling hills, seen in this garb. - -“You’ll never get to school today, girls,” Mrs. Gorham declared. -“Couldn’t get through them drifts for love nor money. ’Twouldn’t be -human, nuther, to take any horse out in such weather. Like enough the -mailman won’t pull through. Looks real pretty, don’t it?” - -“And, just think, Mother and Father are in summerland,” Helen said, -standing with her arm around Jean at the south window. “I wish winter -wouldn’t come. I’m going to follow summer all around the world some time -when I’m rich.” - -“Helenita always looks forward to that happy day when the princess shall -come into her own,” Kit sang out, gleefully. “Meantime, ladies, I want -to be the first to tell the joyous tidings. The pump’s frozen up.” - -“Shad’ll have to take a bucket and go down to the spring then, and break -through the ice,” Mrs. Gorham said, comfortably. “After you’ve lived up -here all your life, you don’t mind such little things. It’s natural for -a pump to freeze up this sort of weather.” - -“You know,” Kit said darkly to Jean, a few minutes later, in the safety -of the sitting room, “I’m not sure whether I want to be an optimist or -not. I think sometimes they’re perfectly deadly, don’t you, Jean? I left -my window open at the bottom last night instead of the top, and this -morning, my dear child, there was snow on my pillow. Yes, ma’am, and -when I told that to Mrs. Gorham, she told me it was good and healthy for -me, and I ought to have rubbed some on my face. Let’s pile in a lot of -wood and get it nice and toasty if we do have to stay in today. Who’s -Shad calling to?” - -Outside they heard Shad’s full toned voice hailing somebody out in the -drifts, and presently Piney came to the door stamping her feet. She wore -a pair of Honey’s old “felts,” the high winter boots of the men folks of -Gilead, and was muffled to her eyebrows. - -“I walked over this far anyway,” she said happily. “Couldn’t get through -with the horse. I wondered if we couldn’t get down to the mill, and -borrow Mr. Peckham’s heavy wood sled, and try to go to school on that.” - -“We can’t break through the roads,” objected Doris. - -“They’re working on them now. Didn’t you hear the hunters come up in the -night? The barking of the dogs wakened us, and Mother said there were -four big teams going up to the camp.” - -Just then the door opened and Shad came in with the morning’s milk, his -face aglow, his breath steaming. - -“Well, it does beat all,” he exclaimed, taking off his mittens and -slapping his hands together. “What do you suppose? It was dark last -night and snowing when I drove the cows up from the barnyard. They was -all huddled together like, and I didn’t notice them. Well, this morning -I found a deer amongst ’em, fine and dandy as could be, and he ain’t a -bit scared, neither. Pert and frisky and lying cuddled down in the hay -just as much at home as could be. Want to come see him? I’ve got a path -shoveled.” - -Out they all trooped to the barn, through the walls of snow. The air was -still and surprisingly mild. Some Phoebe birds fluttered about the hen -houses where Shad had dropped some cracked corn, and Jim Dandy, the big -Rhode Island Red rooster, stood nonchalantly on one foot eyeing the -landscape as if he would have said, - -“Huh, think this a snowfall? You ought to have seen one in my day.” - -The barn smelled of closely packed hay and dry clover. Inside it was dim -and shadowy, and two or three barn cats scooted away from their pans of -milk at the sight of intruders. Shad led the way back of the cow stall -to the calf corner, and there, sure enough, shambling awkwardly but -fearlessly to its feet, was a big brown deer, its wide brown eyes asking -hospitality, its nose raised inquiringly. - -“You dear, you,” cried Doris, holding out her hand. “Oh, if we could -only tame him; and maybe he’d bring a whole herd down to us.” - -“Let’s keep him until the hunters have gone, anyway,” Jean said. “Will -he stay, Shad?” - -“Guess so, if he’s fed, and the storm keeps up. They often come down -like this when feed’s short, and herd in with the cattle, but this one’s -a dandy.” - -“And the cows don’t seem to mind him one bit.” Doris looked around -curiously at the three, Buttercup, Lady Goldtip and Brownie. They -munched their breakfast serenely, just as if it were the most everyday -occurrence in the world to have this wild brother of the woodland herd -with them. - -“Let’s call up Cousin Roxy and tell her about it,” said Kit. “She’ll -enjoy it too.” - -On the way back to the house they stopped short as the sharp crack of -rifles sounded up through the silent hills. - -“They’re out pretty early,” said Shad, shaking his head. “Them hunter -fellows just love a morning like this, when every track shows in the -snow.” - -“They’d never come near here,” Doris exclaimed, indignantly. “I’d love -to see a lot of giant rabbits and squirrels hunting them.” - -“Would you, bless your old heart,” laughed Jean, putting her arm around -the tender hearted youngest of the brood. “Never have any hunting at -all, would you?” - -Doris shook her head. - -“Some day there won’t be any,” she said, firmly. “Don’t you know what it -says in the Bible about, ‘the lion shall lie down with the lamb and -there shall be no more bloodshed’?” - -Shad looked at her with twinkling eyes as he drawled in his slow, Yankee -fashion, - -“Couldn’t we even kill a chicken?” - -And Doris, who specially liked wishbones, subsided. Over the telephone -Cousin Roxy cheered them all up, first telling them the road -committeeman, Mr. Tucker Hicks, was working his way down with helpers, -and would get the mailman through even if he was a couple of hours late. - -“You folks have a nice hot cup of coffee ready for the men when they -come along, and I’ll do the same up here, to hearten them up a bit. I’ll -be down later on; a week from Monday is Lincoln’s birthday, and I -thought we’d better have a little celebration in the town hall. It’s -high time we stirred Gilead up a bit. I never could see what good it was -dozing like a lot of Rip van Winkles over the fires until the first -bluebird woke you up. I want you girls to all help me out with the -programme, so brush up your wits.” - -“Isn’t that splendid?” exclaimed Kit, radiantly. “Cousin Roxy is really -a brick, girls. She must have known we were ready to nip each other’s -heads off up here just from lack of occupation.” - -Piney joined in the general laugh, and sat by the table, eyeing the four -girls rather wistfully. - -“You don’t half appreciate the fun of being a large family,” she said. -“Just think if you were the only girl, and the only boy was way out in -Saskatoon.” - -Jean glanced up, a little slow tinge of color rising in her cheeks. She -had not thought of Saskatoon or of Honey and Ralph for a long while. - -“When do you expect him back, Piney?” - -“Along in the summer, I think. Ralph says he is getting along first -rate.” - -“Give him our love,” chirped up Doris. - -“Our very best wishes,” corrected Helen in her particular way. But Kit -said nothing, and Jean did not seem to notice, so the message to the -West went unchallenged. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - JEAN MOTHERS THE BROOD - - -Cousin Roxy came down the following day and blocked out her plan for a -celebration at the Town Hall on Lincoln’s Birthday. The girls had -pictured the Town Hall when they had first heard of it as a rather -imposing edifice, imposing at least, for Gilead. But it was really only -a long, old gray building, one story high, built like a Quaker meeting -house with two doors in front, carriage houses behind, and huge -century-old elms overshadowing the driveway leading up to it. - -Two tall weather worn posts fronted the main road, whereon at intervals -were posted notices of town meetings, taxes, and all sorts of “goings on -and doings,” as Cousin Roxy said. An adventurous woodpecker had pecked -quite a good sized hole in the side of one post, and here a slip of -paper would often be tucked with an order to the fishman to call at some -out of the way farmhouse, or the tea and coffee man from way over near -East Pomfret. - -Next to the Town Hall stood the Methodist Church with its little -rambling burial ground behind it, straying off down hill until it met a -fringe of junipers and a cranberry bog. There were not many new -tombstones, mostly old yellowed marble ones, somewhat one sided, with -now and then a faded flag stuck in an urn where a Civil War soldier lay -buried. - -“Antietam took the flower of our youth,” Cousin Roxy would say, with old -tender memories softening the look in her gray eyes as she gazed out -over the old square plots. “The boys didn’t know what they were facing. -My mother was left a young widow then. Land alive, do you suppose -there’d ever be war if women went out to fight each other? I can’t -imagine any fun or excitement in shooting down my sisters, but men folks -are different. Give them a cause and they’ll leave plough, home, and -harrow for a good fight with one another. And when Decoration Day comes -around, I always want to hang my wreaths around the necks of the old -fellows who are still with us, Ezry, and Philly Weaver, and old Mr. -Peckham and the rest. And that reminds me,” here her eyes twinkled. The -girls always knew a story was coming when they looked that way, brimful -of mirth. “I just met Philly Weaver hobbling along the road after some -stray cows, ninety-two years young, and scolding like forty because, as -he said, ‘That boy, Ezry Hicks, who only carried a drum through the war, -has dared ask for an increase in pension.’ Ezry must be seventy-four if -he’s a day, but he’s still a giddy boy drummer to Philly.” - -Jean helped plan out the programme. It seemed like old times back at the -Cove where the girls were always getting up some kind of entertainment -for the church or their own club. Billy Peckham, who was a big boy over -at Gayhead school this year, would deliver the Gettysburg speech, and -the Judge could be relied on to give a good one too. Then Jean hit on a -plan. Shad was lanky and tall, awkward and overgrown as ever Abe Lincoln -had been. Watching him out of the dining-room window as he split wood, -she exclaimed suddenly, - -“Why couldn’t we have a series of tableaux on his early life, Cousin -Roxy. Just look out there at Shad. He’s the image of some of the early -pictures, and he never gets his hair cut before spring, he says, just -like the horses. Let’s try him.” - -Once they had started, it seemed easy. The first scene could be the -cabin in the clearing. Jean would be Nancy Lincoln, the young mother, -seated by the fireplace, teaching her boy his letters from the book at -her knee. - -“Dug Moffat will be right for that,” said Jean happily. “He’s about six. -Then we must show the boy Lincoln at school. Out in Illinois, that was, -wasn’t it, Cousin Roxy, where he borrowed some books from the teacher, -and the rain soaked the covers, so he split his first wood to earn -them.” - -Cousin Roxy promised to hunt up all the necessary historical data in the -Judge’s library at home, and they went after it in earnest. Freddie -Herrick, the groceryman’s boy over at the Center, was chosen for Abe at -this stage, and Kit coaxed Mr. Ricketts, the mailcarrier, to be the -teacher. - -“Go long now,” he exclaimed jocularly, when she first proposed it. “I -ain’t spoke a piece in public since I was knee high to a grasshopper. I -used to spout, ‘Woodman, spare that tree.’ Yep. Say it right off smart -as could be. Then they had me learn ‘Old Ironsides.’ Ever hear that one? -Begins like this.” He waved one arm oracularly in the air. “‘Aye, tear -her tattered ensign down, long has it waved on high.’ Once they got me -started, they couldn’t stop me. No, sirree. Went right ahead and learned -’em, one after the other. ‘At midnight in his guarded tent, the Turk lay -dreaming of the hour—’ That was a Jim dandy to roll out. And—and the -second chapter of Matthew, and Patrick Henry’s speech, and all sorts of -sech stuff, but I’d be shy as a rabbit if you put me up before everybody -now.” - -Still, he finally consented, when Kit promised him his schoolmaster desk -could stand with its back half to the audience to spare him from -embarrassment. - -“Oh, it’s coming on splendidly,” she cried to Cousin Roxy, once she was -sure of Mr. Ricketts. “We’ll have Shad for the young soldier in the -Black Hawk war, and three of the big boys for Indians. And then, let’s -see, the courting of Ann Rutledge. Let’s have Piney for Ann. She has -just that wide-eyed, old daguerreotype look. Give her a round white -turned down collar and a cameo breast-pin, and she’ll be ideal.” - -The preparations went on enthusiastically. Rehearsals were held partly -at Greenacres, partly over at the Judge’s, and always there were -refreshments afterwards. Mrs. Gorham and Jean prepared coffee and cocoa, -with cake, but Cousin Roxy would send Ben down cellar after apples and -nuts, with a heaping dish of hermits and doughnuts, and tall pitchers of -creamy milk. - -Doris was very much excited over her part. She was to be the little -sister of the young soldier condemned to death for falling asleep on -sentinel duty. And she felt it all, too, just as if it was, as Shad -said, ‘for real.’ Shad was the President in this too, but disguised in a -long old-fashioned shawl of Cousin Roxy’s and the Judge’s tall hat, and -a short beard. He stood beside his desk, ready to leave, when Doris came -in and pleaded for the boy who was to be shot at dawn. - -“I know I’m going to cry real tears,” said Doris tragically. “I can’t -help but feel it all right in here,” pressing her hand to her heart. - -“Well, go ahead and cry for pity’s sake,” laughed Cousin Roxy. “All the -better, child.” - -Kit had been chosen for a dialogue between the North and the South. -Helen, fair haired and winsome, made a charming Southland girl, very -haughty and indignant, and Kit was a tall, determined young Columbia, -making peace between her and the North, Sally Peckham. - -It was Sally’s first appearance in public, and she was greatly perturbed -over it. Life down at the mill had run in monotonous channels. It was -curious to be suddenly taken from it into the limelight of publicity. - -“All you have to do, Sally, is let down your glorious hair like -Rapunzel,” said Kit. “It’s way down below your waist, and crinkles too, -and it’s like burnished gold.” - -“It’s just plain everyday red,” said Sally. - -“No, it isn’t, and anyway, if you had read history, you’d know all of -the great and interesting women had red hair. Cleopatra and Queen -Elizabeth and Theodora and a lot more. You’re just right for the North -because you look sturdy and purposeful.” - -“You know, Cousin Roxy, I think you ought to be in this too,” said Jean, -towards the last. - -“I am,” responded Cousin Roxy, placidly. “I’m getting up the supper -afterwards. Out here you always have to give them a supper, or the men -folks don’t think they’re getting their money’s worth. Sometimes I have -an oyster supper and sometimes a bean supper, but this time it’s going -to be a chicken supper. And not all top crust, neither. Plenty of -chicken and gravy. We’ll charge fifty cents admission. I wish your -father were here. He’d enjoy it. Heard from them lately?” - -Jean nodded, and reached for a letter out of her work-basket on the -table. - -“Uncle Hal’s better, and Mother says—wait, here it is.” She read the -extract slowly. - -“‘Next year Uncle Hal wants one of you girls to come out and visit the -ranch. I think Kit will enjoy it most.’” - -“So she would,” agreed Cousin Roxy. “Don’t say when they expect to start -for home, does it? Or how your father is?” - -“She only says she wishes she had us all out there until spring.” - -“Don’t write her anything that’s doleful. Let her stay until she’s -rested and got enough of the sunshine and flowers. It will do her good. -We’ll let her stay until the first of March if she likes.” Here Cousin -Roxy put her arm around Jean’s slender waist and drew her nearer. “And -then I want you should go up to visit Beth for the spring. She’s -expecting you. You’ve looked after things real well, child.” - -“Oh, but I haven’t,” Jean said quickly. “You don’t know how impatient I -get with the girls, especially Helen. It’s funny, Cousin Roxy, but Doris -and I always agree and pal together, even do Helen’s share of the work -for her, and I think that’s horrid. We’re all together, and Helen’s just -as capable of helping along as little Doris is.” - -“Well, what ails her?” Cousin Roxy’s voice was good natured and -cheerful. “Found out how pretty she is?” - -“She found that out long ago,” Jean answered. “She isn’t an ordinary -person. She’s the Princess Melisande one day, and Elaine the next. It -just seems as if she can’t get down to real earth, that’s all, Cousin -Roxy. She’s always got her nose in a book, and she won’t see things that -just have to be done. And Kit tells me I’m always finding fault, when I -know I’m right.” - -“Well, well, remember one thing. ‘Speak the truth in love.’ Coax her out -of it instead of scolding. She’s only thirteen, you know, Jeanie, and -that’s a trying age. Let her dream awhile. It passes soon enough, this -‘standing with reluctant feet, where the brook and river meet.’ Remember -that? And it would be an awfully funny world if we were all cut out with -the same cookie dip.” - -So Helen had a respite from admonishings, and Kit would eye her elder -sister suspiciously, noticing Jean’s sudden change of tactics. Two of -Helen’s daily duties were to feed the canary and water the plants in the -sunny bay window. But half the time it was Kit who did it at the last -minute before they hurried away to school. Then, too, Jean would notice -Kit surreptitiously attack Helen’s neglected pile of mending and wade -though it in her quick, easy-going way, while Helen sat reading by the -fire. But she said nothing, and Kit grew uneasy. - -“I’d much rather you’d splutter and say something, Jean,” she said one -day. “But you know Helen helps me in her way. I can’t bear to dust and -she does all of my share on Saturday. She opened up that box of books -for Father from Mr. Everden, and put them all away in his bookcase in -just the right order, and she’s been helping me with my French like -sixty. You know back at the Cove she just simply ate up French from -Mother’s maid, Bettine, when she was so little she could hardly speak -English. So it’s give and take with us, and if I’m satisfied, I don’t -think you ought to mind.” - -“I don’t, not any more,” Jean replied, bending over a neglected box of -oil pastels happily. “You do just as you want to, and I’m awfully sorry -I was catty about it. I guess the weather up here’s got on my nerves, -although Cousin Roxy and Jean Robbins have cooked up something between -them, and that’s why she looks so serene and calm.” She paused in the -lower hall and looked out of the little top glass in the door. Around -the bend of the road came Mr. Ricketts’ little white mail cart and old -white horse with all its daily promise of letters and papers. Kit was -out of the house, bareheaded, in a minute, running to meet him. - -“Got quite a lot this time,” he called to her hopefully. “I couldn’t -make out all of them, but there’s one right from Californy and I guess -that’s what you’re looking for.” - -Kit laughed and took back the precious load. Magazines from Mrs. Crane, -and newspapers from the West. Post-cards for Lincoln’s birthday from -girl friends at the Cove, and one from Piper with a picture of a -disconsolate Boston bull dog saying, “Nobody loves me.” - -Jean opened the California letter first, with the others hanging over -the back of her chair. It was not long, but Kit led in the cheer of -thanksgiving over its message. - -“We expect to leave here about the 18th, and should be in Gilead a week -later.” - -Doris climbed up on a chair to the calendar next the lamp shelf, and -counted off the days, drawing a big circle around the day appointed. But -when they had called up Cousin Roxy and told her, she squelched their -hopes in the most matter-of-fact way possible. - -“All nonsense they coming back here just at the winter break-up. I’ll -write and tell them to make it the first of March, and even then it’s -risky, coming right out of a warm climate. I guess you girls can stand -it another week or two.” - -“Well,” said Kit heroically, “what can’t be cured must be endured. Rub -off that circle around the 18th, Doris, and make it the first of March. -What’s that about the Ides of March? Wasn’t some old fellow afraid of -them?” - -“Julius Cæsar,” answered Jean. - -“No such a thing,” said Kit stoutly. “It was Brutus or else Cassius. -When they were having their little set-to in the tent. We had it at -school last week. Girls, let’s immediately cast from us the cares of -this mortal coil, and make fudge.” - -Jean started for the pantry after butter and sugar, but in the -passageway was a little window looking out at the back of the driveway, -and she stopped short. Dodging out of sight behind a pile of wood that -was waiting to be split, was a familiar figure. Without waiting to call -the girls, she slipped quietly around the house and there, sure enough, -backed up against the woodshed, his nose fairly blue from the cold, was -Joe. - -“Don’t—don’t let Shad know I’m here,” he said anxiously. “He’ll lick me -fearfully if he catches me.” - -“Oh, Joe,” Jean exclaimed happily. “Come here this minute. Nobody’s -going to touch you, don’t you know that? Aren’t you hungry?” - -Joe nodded mutely. He didn’t look one bit ashamed; just eager and glad -to be back home. Jean put her arm around him, patting him as her mother -would have done, and leading him to the kitchen. And down in the barn -doorway stood Shad, open mouthed and staring. - -“Well, I’ll be honswoggled if that little creetur ain’t come back home -to roost,” he said to himself. In the kitchen Joe was getting thawed out -and welcomed home. And finally the truth came out. - -“I went hunting my dad down around Norwich,” he confessed. - -“Did you find him?” cried Doris. - -Joe nodded happily. - -“Braced him up too. He says he won’t drink any more ‘cause it’ll -disgrace me. He’s gone to work up there in the lockshop steady. He -wanted me to stay with him, but as soon as I got him braced up, I came -back here. You didn’t get my letter, did you? I left it stuck in the -clock.” - -Stuck in the clock? Jean looked up at the old eight-day Seth Thomas on -the kitchen mantel that they had bought from old Mr. Weaver. It was made -of black walnut, with green vines painted on it and morning glories -rambling in wreaths around its borders. She opened the little glass door -and felt inside. Sure enough, tucked far back, there was Joe’s farewell -letter, put carefully where nobody would ever think of finding it. -Written laboriously in pencil it was, and Jean read it aloud. - - “Dere folks. - - I hered from a pedlar my dad is sick up in norwich. goodby and - thanks i am coming back sum day. - - yurs with luv. - Joe.” - -Joe looked around at them with his old confident smile. - -“See?” he said. “I told you I was coming back.” - -“And you’re going to stay too,” replied Jean, thankfully. “I’m so glad -you’re not under the snow, Joe. You’d better run down and get in that -kindling for Shad.” - -This took real pluck, but Joe rose bravely, and went out, and Shad’s -heart must have thawed a little too, for he came in later whistling and -said the little skeezicks was doing well. - -Jean laughed and sank back in the big red rocker with happy weariness. - -“And Bab said this country was monotonous,” she exclaimed. “If anything -else happens for a day or so, I’m going to find a woodchuck hole and -crawl into it to rest up.” - - - - - CHAPTER X - COUSIN ROXY’S “SOCIAL” - - -The night of the entertainment down at the Town Hall finally arrived. -Doris said it was one of the specially nice things about Gilead, things -really did happen if you just waited long enough. There was not room -enough for all the family in the buggy or democrat with only one horse, -so the Judge sent Ben down to drive Mrs. Gorham over and the two -youngest. Shad took the rest with Princess. All along the road they met -teams coming from various side roads, and the occupants sent out -friendly hails as they passed. It was too dark to recognize faces, but -Kit seemed to know the voices. - -“That’s Sally Peckham and her father,” she said. “And Billy’s on the -back seat with the boys. I heard him laugh. There’s Abby Tucker and her -father. I hope her shoes won’t pinch her the way they did at our lawn -party last year. And Astrid and Ingeborg from the old Ames place on the -hill. Hello, girls! And that last one is Mr. Ricketts and his family.” - -“Goodness, Kit,” Jean cried. “You’re getting to be just like Cousin Roxy -on family history. I could never remember them all if I lived out here a -thousand years.” - -“‘An I should live a thousand years, I ne’er should forget it,’” chanted -Kit, gaily. “Oh, I do hope there’ll be music tonight. Cousin Roxy says -she’s tried to hire some splendid old fellow, Cady Graves. Isn’t that a -queer name for a fiddler? He’s very peculiar, she says, but he calls out -wonderfully. He’s got his own burial plot all picked out and his -tombstone erected with his name and date of birth on it, and all the -decorations he likes best. Cousin Roxy says it’s square, and on one side -he’s got his pet cow sculptured with the record of milk it gave, and on -the other is his own face in bas relief.” - -“It’s original anyway,” said Jean. “I suppose there is a lot of -satisfaction in fixing up your own last resting place the way you want -it to be.” - -“Yes, but after he’d sat for the bas relief, there it was with a full -beard, and now he’s clean shaven, and Cousin Roxy says if he didn’t get -the stone cutter over to give the bas relief a shave too.” - -Down Huckleberry Hill they drove with all its hollows and bumps and -“thank-ye-ma’ams.” These were the curved rises where the road ran over a -hidden culvert. Gilead Center lay in a valley, a scattered lot of white -houses set back from the road in gardens with the little church, country -store and Town Hall in the middle of it. The carriage sheds were already -filled with teams, so the horses were blanketed and left hitched outside -with a lot of others. Inside, the little hall was filled with people, -the boys perched up on the windowsills where they could get a good view -of the long curtained-off platform that was used as a stage. - -Cousin Roxy was busy at her end of the room, preparing the supper behind -a partition, with Mrs. Peckham and Mrs. Gorham to help. Around the two -great drum stoves clustered the men and older boys, and the Judge seemed -to loom quite naturally above these as leader. Savory odors came from -the corner, and stray tuning up sounds from another corner, where Mr. -Graves sat, the center of an admiring group of youngsters. Flags were -draped and crossed over doorways and windows, and bunting festooned over -the top of the stage. - -Jean took charge behind the curtain, getting the children ready for -their different parts in the tableaux. Then she went down to the old -tinkling, yellow keyed piano and everybody stood up to sing “My Country, -’Tis of Thee.” - -“Land alive, it does grip the heartstrings, doesn’t it?” Cousin Roxy -exclaimed, once that was over. “I often wish I’d done something in my -life to give folks a happy holiday every time my birthday came ’round.” - -Then the Judge rose and took the platform, so tall that his head just -missed the red, white and blue bunting overhead. And he spoke of Lincoln -until it seemed as if even the smallest children in the front rows must -have seen and known him too. Jean and Kit always enjoyed one of the -Judge’s speeches, not so much for what he said, as for the pleasure of -watching Cousin Roxy’s face. She sat on the end of a seat towards the -back now, all in her favorite gray silk, her spectacles half way down -her nose, her face upraised and smiling as she watched her sweetheart -deliver his speech. - -“When you look at her you know what it means in the Bible by people’s -faces shining, don’t you?” whispered Kit, as the Judge finished in a -pounding applause in which hands, feet and chair legs all played their -part. - -Next came the tableaux amid much excitement both before the curtain and -behind. First of all the curtain was an erratic and whimsical affair, -not to be relied on with a one-man power, so two of the older boys -volunteered to stand at either end and assist it to rise and fall at the -proper time in case it should fail to respond to the efforts of the -official curtain raiser, Freddie Herrick. But Fred’s mind was on the -next ten minutes when he was to portray the twelve-year-old schoolboy -Abe, and the crank failed to work, so the curtain went up with the -pulley lines instead, and showed the interior of the little cabin with -Dug Moffat industriously learning to read at Jean’s knee. And a very -fair, young Nancy she made too, with her dark hair arranged by Cousin -Roxy in puffs over her ears, and the plain stuff gown with its white -kerchief crossed in front. On the wall were stretched ’possum and -squirrel pelts, and an old spinning wheel stood beside the fireplace. - -“You looked dear, Jean,” Helen whispered when the curtain fell. “Your -eyes were just like Mother’s. Is my hair all right?” - -Jean gave it a few last touches, and then hurried to help with the music -that went in between the scenes. The school room scene was a great -success. Benches and an old desk made a good showing, with some old maps -hung around, and a resurrected ancient globe of the Judge’s. - -Mr. Ricketts appeared in all his glory, with stock, skirted coat, and -tight trousers. And Fred, lean and lanky, his black forelock dangling -over his eyes as he bent over his books, made a dandy schoolboy Lincoln. -So they went on, each picture showing some phase in the life of the -Liberator. But the hit of the evening was Doris pleading for the life of -her sentinel brother. She had said she would surely cry real tears, and -she did. Kneeling beside the tall figure of the President, her little -old red fringed shawl around her, she did look so woe begone and -pathetic that Cousin Roxy said softly, - -“Land sakes, how the child does take it to heart.” - -Last of all came the tableau of the North and South being reunited by -Columbia, and Kit looked very stern and judicial as she joined their -reluctant hands, and gave the South back her red, white and blue banner. - -It was all surprisingly good considering how few things they had had to -do with in the way of properties and scenery, but Cousin Roxy sprang a -last surprise before the dancing began. Up on the platform walked three -old men, Philly Weaver first, in his veteran suit, old Grandpa Bide -Tucker, Abby’s grandfather, and Ezra Hicks, the “boy” of seventy. Solemn -faced and self conscious they took their places, and there was the old -Gilead fife and drum corps back again. - -“Oh, bless their dear old hearts,” cried Kit, her eyes filled with -sudden tears as the old hands coaxed out “The Girl I Left Behind Me.” - -There was hardly a dry eye in the Town Hall by the time the trio had -finished their medley of war tunes. Many were there who could remember -far back when the little village band of boys in blue had marched away -with that same trio at its head, young Bide and Ezra at the drums, and -Philly at the fife. When it was over and the stoop-shouldered old -fellows went back to their benches, Cousin Roxy whispered to the Judge, -and he rose. - -“Just one word more, friends and neighbors,” he said. “Mrs. Ellis -reminds me. A chicken dinner will be served after the dancing.” - -The floor was cleared for dancing now, and Cady Graves took command. No -words could quite do justice to Cady’s manner at this point. He was -about sixty-four, a short, slender, active little man, with a perpetual -smile on his clean shaven face, and a rolling cadence to his voice that -was really thrilling, Helen said. - -It was the girls’ first experience at a country dance. They sat around -Cousin Roxy watching the preparations, but not for long. Even Doris -found herself with Fred filling in to make up a set. When the floor was -full Cady walked around like a ringmaster, critically surveying them, -and finally, toe up, heel down hard ready to tap, fiddle and bow poised, -he gave the word of command. - -“Sa-lute your partners!” - -Jean thought she knew how to dance a plain quadrille before that night, -but by the time Cady had finished his last ringing call, she was reduced -to a laughing automaton, swung at will by her partner, tall young Andy -Gallup, the doctor’s son. Cady never remained on the platform. He -strolled back and forth among the couples, sometimes dancing himself -where he found them slowing down, singing his “calling out” melodiously, -quaintly, throwing in all manner of interpolated suggestions, smiling at -them all like some old-time master of the revels. - -“Cousin Roxy, do you know he’s wonderful,” said Kit, sitting down and -fanning herself vigorously. - -“Who? Cady?” Cousin Roxy laughed heartily. She had stepped off with the -Judge just as lightly as the girls. “Well, he has got a way with him, -hasn’t he? Cady’s more than a person up here. He’s an institution. I -like to think when he passes over the Lord will find a pleasant place -for him, he has given so much real happiness to everyone.” - -Last of all came the chicken supper, served at long tables around the -sides of the hall. All of the girls were pressed into service as -waitresses, with Cousin Roxy presiding over the feast like a beaming -spirit of plenty. - -“Land, do have some more, Mis’ Ricketts,” she would say, bustling around -behind the guests. “Just a mite of white meat, plenty of it. Mr. Weaver, -do have some more gravy. I shall think I missed making it right if you -don’t. There’s a nice drumstick, Dug.” - -“Had two already, Mis’ Ellis,” Dug piped up honestly. - -“Well, they’re good for you. Eat two more and maybe you’ll run like a -squirrel, who knows,” laughed Cousin Roxy. - -“Kit,” Helen said once, as they rested a moment near the little kitchen -corner, “what a good time we’re having, and think of the difference -between this and an entertainment at home. Why is it?” - -“Cousin Roxy,” answered Kit promptly. “Put her down there and she’d -bring people together and make them have a good time just as she does -here. Doesn’t Jean look pretty tonight? I don’t believe in praising the -family, of course, far be it from me,” she laughed, her eyes watching -Jean. “But I think my elder sister in her Nancy get-up looks perfectly -dear. She’s growing up, Helenita.” - -Helen nodded her head in the old wise fashion she had, studying Jean’s -appearance judicially. - -“Well, I don’t think she’ll ever be really beautiful,” she said, gently, -“but she’s got a wonderful way with her like Mother. I heard Cousin Beth -tell Father she had charm. What is charm, Kit?” - -“Charm?” repeated Kit, thoughtfully. “I don’t know exactly. But Jean and -Mother and Doris have it, and you and I, Helenita, have only our looks.” - - - - - CHAPTER XI - CYNTHY’S NEIGHBORS - - -After the entertainment there followed a siege of cold weather that -pretty well “froze up everybody,” as Shad said. A still coldness without -wind settled over the hills. No horses could stand up on the icy roads. -Mr. Ricketts was held up with the mail cart for three days, and when the -road committee started out to remedy matters, they got as far as Judge -Ellis’s and turned back. None of the girls could get to school, so they -made the best of it. Even the telephone refused to respond to calls. On -the fourth day Mr. Peckham managed to break through the roads with his -big wood sled, and riding on it was Sally muffled to the eyebrows. - -“Unwind before you try to talk,” Kit exclaimed, taking one end of the -long knit muffler. “How on earth did you get through?” - -“It isn’t so bad,” Sally replied in her matter-of-fact way, warming her -hands over the kitchen fire. “And our hill is fine for coasting. The -boys have been using it. Father’s going to break the road through for -the mail cart, and on his way back we can all get on and ride back. You -don’t need any sleds. We’ve got a big bob.” - -Jean and Helen hesitated. Winter at the Cove had never meant this, but -Doris pleaded for them all to go, and Kit was frankly rebellious against -this spirit in the family. - -“Jean Robbins,” she said, “do you really think it is beneath your -dignity to slide down hill on a bobsled? You won’t meet one of Bab -Crane’s crowd. Come along.” - -“It’s so cold,” Helen demurred, from her seat by the sitting-room fire -with a book to read as usual. - -“Cold? You’re a couple of cats, curled up by the fire. Bundle up and -let’s have some fun.” - -“Do you all a pile of good,” Mrs. Gorham said placidly. “You just sit -around and toast yourselves ’stid of getting used to the cold. Get out -and stir around. Look at Sally’s red cheeks.” - -So laughing together, they all wrapped up warmly and went out to get on -the wood sled when it came back. The hill over by the sawmill was not so -steep, but it swept in long, undulating sections, as it were, clear from -the top of Woodchuck Hill down to the bridge at Little River. The -Peckham boys had been sliding for a couple of days, and had worn a fair -sized track over the snow and ice. - -“There’ll be fine skating when the snow clears off a bit,” Billy called -out. “We’ve got a skating club, and you’ll have to join. Piney’s the -best girl skater. Jiminy, you ought to see her spin ahead. We skate on -the river when it’s like this and you can keep on going for miles.” - -“Do you know, girls,” Jean said on the way back, “I think we stay in the -house too much and coddle ourselves just as Mrs. Gorham says. I feel -simply dandy now. Who’s for the skating club?” - -Even Helen joined in. It seemed to take the edge off the loneliness, -this co-operation of outdoor fun and sport. The end of the week found -the river clear and ready for skating. Jean never forgot her first -experience there. It was not a straight river. It slipped unexpectedly -around bends and dipping hillsides, curving in and out as if it played -hide-and-seek with itself, Doris said, like the sea serpent that met its -own tail half way around the seven seas. - -Up near the Greenacre bridge Astrid and Ingeborg met them with Hedda. -Helen, the fanciful, whispered to Jean how splendid it was to have real -daughters of the northland with them, but Jean laughed at her. - -“Cousin Roxy would say ‘fiddlesticks’ to that. I’m sure they were all -born right on this side of the briny deep, you little romancer.” - -“It doesn’t matter where they were born,” answered Helen, loftily. “They -are the daughters of vikings somewhere back. Just look at their hair and -eyes.” - -It really was a good argument, Jean thought. They had the bluest eyes -and the most golden hair she had ever seen. Sally skated up close to her -and began to talk. - -“Father says when his father was a boy, there were gray wolves used to -come down in wintertime from Massachusetts, and they’ve been chased by -them on this river when they were skating.” - -“My father tells of wolves too,” Astrid said in her slow, wide-eyed way. -“Back in Sweden. He says he was in a camp in the forest on the side of a -great mountain, and the men told him to watch the fires while they were -hunting. While he was there alone there came a pack of wolves after the -freshly killed game. He stood with his back to the fire and threw -blazing pine knots at them to keep them back. While the fire kept up -they were afraid to come close, but he could see the gleam of their eyes -in the darkness all around him, and hear them snap and snarl to get at -him. Then the men and dogs returned and fought them. He was only -thirteen.” - -“Oh, and his name should have been Eric the Bold, son of Sigfried, son -of Leofric.” Kit skated in circles around them, her muff up to her face -as she talked. “You’ve got such a dandy name, Astrid, know it?” - -“It is my grandmother’s name,” Astrid answered in her grave unsmiling -way. - -“But it means a star, the same as Stella or Estelle or Astarte or -Ishtar. We’ve been studying the meanings of proper names at school, and -it’s so fascinating. I wish I had been named something like Astrid. I’d -love to be Brunhilde.” - -Jean watched them amusedly. Kit and Helen had always been the two who -had loved to make believe they were “somebody else,” as Helen called it. -“Let’s play we’re somebody else,” had been their unfailing slogan for -diversion and variety, but Jean lived in the world of reality. She was -Jean Robbins, living today, not Melisande in an enchanted forest, nor -Berengaria, not even Kit’s favorite warrior maid, Jeanne D’Arc. Helen -could do up the supper dishes all by herself, and forget the sordid -details entirely making believe she was the Lady of Tripoli waiting for -Rudel’s barque to appear, but Jean experienced all of the deadly -sameness in everyday life. She could not sweep and dust a room and make -believe she was at the spring exhibitions. She could not face a basket -of inevitable mending, and imagine herself in a castle garden clad in -clinging green velvet with stag hounds pacing at her heels. - -When they had first come to the country to live, it had been comical, -this difference in the girls’ temperaments. Mrs. Robbins had wanted a -certain book in her room upstairs, after dark, and had asked Helen to -run up after it. And Helen had hesitated, plainly distressed. - -“For pity’s sake, Helenita, run along,” Jean had said laughingly. -“You’re not afraid of the dark, are you?” - -“I don’t know,” Helen had answered, doubtfully. “Maybe I am. I’m the -only one in the family with imagination.” - -Sometimes Jean almost envied the two their complete self-absorption. She -was never satisfied with herself or her relation to her environment. -Seeing so many needs, she felt a certain lack in herself when she shrank -from the little duties that crowded on her, and stole away her time. She -had brought up from New York a fair supply of material for study, and -had laid out work ahead for the winter evenings, but the days were -slipping by, and time was short. Her pads of drawing paper lay untouched -in her desk drawer. Not a single new pencil had been used, not a stick -of crayon touched. The memory of Daddy Higginson driving his herd of -cattle cheered her more than anything when she felt discouraged. And -after all, when she thought of the California trip and what a benefit it -would be to her father, that thought alone made her put every regret -from her, and face tomorrow pluckily. - -“I’m half frozen,” Doris said suddenly, just as they swung around a bend -of the river, and faced long levels of snow-covered meadows. “Oh, girls, -look there.” She stopped short, the rest halting too. Crossing over the -frozen land daintily, following a big antlered leader, were five deer. -Straight down to the river edge they came, only three fields from the -girls. - -“They’ve got a path to their drinking place,” said Sally. “Don’t move, -any of you.” - -“Oh, I wonder if ours is there,” Doris whispered. “He hasn’t been with -the cows since the storm passed, but I know I could tell him from the -rest. He had a dark patch of brown on his shoulder.” - -“There’s only one with antlers,” Sally answered. “I hope the hunters -won’t find them. I never could bear hunters. Maybe if we had to depend -on them for food it would be different, but when they just come up here -and kill for fun, well, my mother says she just hopes some day it’ll all -come back to them good and plenty.” - -“Yes, and who eats squirrel pie with the rest of us,” her brother -teased. “And partridge too. She’s only talking.” - -“Don’t fight,” Helen told them softly. “Isn’t that a house over there -where the smoke is?” - -“It’s Cynthy Allan’s house,” Ingeborg looked around warningly as she -spoke the name. “I’m not allowed to go there. She’s queer.” - -“Isn’t that interesting,” Kit cried. “I love queer people. Let’s all go -over and call on Cynthy. How old is she, Ingeborg?” - -“Oh, very old, over seventy. But she thinks she is only about seventeen, -and she’s always doing flighty things. She’s lived out in the woods all -summer, and she ran away from her family.” - -“She won’t hurt you, I suppose,” Sally explained. “Mother says she just -worked herself crazy. Once she started to make doughnuts and they found -her hanging them on nails all over her kitchen, the round doughnuts, I -mean. Lots of them. So folks have been afraid of her ever since.” - -“Just because she made a lot of doughnuts and hung them around her -kitchen? I think that’s lovely,” Kit cried. “What fun she must have had. -Maybe she just did it to nonplus people.” - -“I don’t know,” Sally said doubtfully. “She took to the woods after -that, and now she lives in the house along with about fourteen cats.” - -“I shall call on Cynthy today, won’t you, Jean?” - -“I’d like to get warmed up before we skate back,” Jean agreed. “I don’t -suppose she’d mind. If you don’t want to, Ingeborg, you could wait for -us.” - -Ingeborg thought waiting the wiser plan, but the rest of them took off -their skates, and started up over the fields towards the little grey -house in the snow. There were bare rose bushes around the front door and -lilacs at the back. Several cats scudded away at their approach and took -refuge in the woodshed, and at the side window there appeared a face, a -long, haggard, old face, supported on one old, thin hand that -incessantly moved to hide the trembling of the lips. Kit, on the impulse -of the moment, waved to her, and smiled. - -“Gee, I hope she’s been cooking some of those doughnuts today,” said one -of the Peckham boys. - -Jean tapped at the door. It was several minutes before it opened. Cynthy -looked them over first from the window before she took any chances, and -even when she did deign to lift her latch, the door only opened a few -inches. - -“Could we please come in and get warm?” asked Jean in her friendliest -way. - -“What did you stick out in the cold and get all froze up for?” asked -Cynthy tartly. But the door opened wider, and they all trooped into the -kitchen. Out of every rush bottomed chair there leaped a startled cat. -The kitchen was poorly furnished, only an old-fashioned painted dresser, -a wood stove, a maple table, and some chairs, but the braided rugs on -the floor made little oases of comfort, and the fire crackled -cheerfully, throwing sparkles from the copper tea kettle. - -“Ain’t had nobody to draw me no well water today,” Cynthy remarked -apologetically. “Else I wouldn’t mind making you a cup of tea, such as -it is. Warm you up a mite anyhow.” - -Steve Peckham grabbed the water pail and hustled out to the well, and -his brother made for the woodshed to add to the scanty supply in the -woodbox. - -“Ain’t had nobody to cut me no wood for a spell nuther,” Cynthy -acknowledged. “You won’t find much out there ’ceptin’ birch and chips. -Sit right down close to the fire, girls.” She looked them all over in a -dazed but interested sort of way. “Don’t suppose—” she hesitated, and -Kit flashed a telepathic glance at Jean. It wasn’t possible Cynthy was -still in the doughnut making business, she thought. But the old lady -went on, “Don’t suppose you’d all like some of my doughnuts, would ye? -They’re real good and tasty.” - -Would they? They drew up around the old maple table while Cynthy spread -a red tablecloth over it, and set out a big milkpan filled with golden -brown doughnuts. Jean found a chance to say softly, she hoped Miss Allan -would come up to Greenacres soon, and sample some of their cooking too. - -“Ain’t got any hat to wear,” Cynthy answered briefly. “Never go -anywheres at all, never see anybody. Might just as well be dead and -buried. Anyhow, it’s over two and a half miles to your place, ain’t it? -Used to be the old Trowbridge place, only you put a fancy name on it, I -heard from the fishman. Don’t know what I’d do if it wasn’t for him -coming ’round once a week. I never buy anything, but he likes to have a -few doughnuts, and I like to hear all the news. I’d like to see how -you’ve fixed up the old house. When nobody lived there, I used to go -down and pick red raspberries. Fearful good ones over in that side lot -by the barn.” - -“We made jam of them last year,” Kit exclaimed, eagerly. “I’ll bring -some down to you, sure.” - -“Wish I did have a hat to wear,” went on Cynthy, irrelevantly. “Wish I -had a hat with a red rose on it. I had one once when I was a girl, and -it was so becoming to me. Wish I had another just like it.” - -“There’s a red silk rose at home among some of Mother’s things. I know -she’d love you to have it. She’ll be home soon, and I’ll bring it down -to you when I find the rose.” - -The very last thing that Cynthy called from the door as they all trooped -down the path, was the injunction to Kit not to forget the rose. - -“Isn’t it wonderful,” she said enthusiastically to Jean, as they skated -home. “She must be seventy or eighty, Jean, but she longs for a red -rose. I don’t believe age amounts to a thing, really and truly, except -for wrinkles and rheumatism. I’ll bet two cents when I’m as old as -Cynthy is, I’ll be hankering after pink satin slippers and a breakfast -cap with rosebuds.” - -Jean laughed happily. The outing had brought the bright color to her -cheeks, and it seemed as if she felt a premonition of good tidings even -before they reached the house up on the pine-crowned hill. She was -singing with Doris as they turned in at the gateway and went up the -winding drive, but Kit’s eagle eye discovered signs of fresh tracks in -the snow. - -“There’s been a team or a sleigh in here since we went out,” she called -back to them, and all at once Doris gave an excited little squeal of -joy, and dashed ahead, waving to somebody who stood at the side window, -the big, sunny bay window where the plant stand stood. Then Kit ran, and -after her Helen, and Jean too, all speeding along the drive to the wide -front steps and into the spacious doors, where the Motherbird stood -waiting to clasp them in her arms. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - FIRST AID TO PROVIDENCE - - -It was after supper that night when the younger ones were in bed that -Jean had a chance to talk alone with her mother, one of those intimate -heart to heart talks she dearly loved. Mr. Robbins was so much improved -in health that it really seemed as if he were his old self once more. -The girls had hung around him all the evening, delighted at the change -for the better. - -“It’s worth everything to see him looking so well,” Helen had said in -her grave, grown-up way. “All the winter of trials and Mrs. Gorham, and -the pump breaking.” - -“Yes, and to think,” Jean said to her mother, as the girls made ready -for the procession upstairs to bed, “to think that Uncle Hal got well -too.” - -“I think it was half an excuse to coax us west, his illness,” laughed -Mrs. Robbins, “and I told him so. But, oh, my chicks, if you could only -see the ranch and live out there for a while. It took me back so to my -girlhood, the freedom and sweep of it all. There is something about the -west and its mountains you never get out of your system once you have -known and loved them. I want you all to go out there some day.” - -“Isn’t it a pity that one of us isn’t a boy,” said Kit meditatively. -“Just because we are all girls, we can’t go in for that sort of a life, -and I’d love it. At least for a little while. I’d like my life to be a -whole lot of experiences, one after the other.” - -“Piney says she’s going to live in the wilds anyway, whether she’s a -girl or not,” Helen put in, leaning her chin on her palms on the edge of -the table, her feet up in the big old red rocker. “She’s going to study -forestry and be a government expert, and maybe take up a big claim -herself. She says she’s bound she’ll live on a mountain top.” - -“Well, she can if she likes,” Jean said. “I like Mother Nature’s cosy -corners, don’t you, Motherie? When you get up as high as you can on any -old mountain top, what’s the use? You only realize how much you need -wings.” - -“Go on to bed, all of you,” ordered Kit, briskly. “Jean, don’t you dare -talk Mother to death now.” - -“Let me brush your hair,” coaxed Jean after it was all quiet. So they -sat downstairs together in the quiet living-room, the fire burning low, -Mrs. Robbins in the low willow rocker, her long brown hair unbound, -falling in heavy ripples below her waist. She looked almost girlish -sitting there in the half light, the folds of her pretty grey crepe -kimono close about her like a twilight cloud, Jean thought, and the glow -of the fire on her face. Jean remembered that hour often in the weeks -that followed. After she had brushed out her hair and braided it in -soft, wide plaits, she sat on the hassock at her feet and talked of the -trip west and all the things that had happened at Greenacres during that -time. - -“One thing I really have learned, Mother dear,” she finished. “Nothing -is nearly as bad as you expect it to be. It was very discouraging when -the pump was frozen, and Mrs. Gorham got lonesome, but Cousin Roxy came -down and I declare, she seemed to thaw out everything. We got a plumber -up from Nantic, and Cousin Roxy took Mrs. Gorham over to a meeting of -the Ladies’ Aid Society, and it was over in no time.” - -“Remember the old king who offered half of his kingdom to whoever would -give him a saying that would always banish fear and care? And the one -that he chose was this, ‘This too shall pass away.’” - -“It’s comforting, isn’t it,” agreed Jean. “But another thing, Mother, -you know I’ve never been very patient. I mean with little things. You’ll -never know how I longed to stay down in New York with Bab this winter -and go to art school. I can tell you now, because it’s all over, and the -winter has done me good. But I was honestly rebellious.” - -Mrs. Robbins’ hand rested tenderly on the smooth dark head beside her -knee. Kit always said that Jean’s head make her think of a nice, sleek -brown partridge’s crest, it was so smooth and glossy. - -“I know what you mean,” she said, this Motherbird who somehow never -failed to understand the trials of her brood. “Responsibility is one of -the best gifts that life brings to us. I’ve always evaded it myself, -Jean, so I know the fight you have had. You know how easy everything was -made for me before we came here to live in these blessed old hills. -There was always plenty of money, plenty of servants. I never worried -one particle over the realities of life until that day when Cousin Roxy -taught me what it meant to be a helpmate as well as a wife. So you see, -it was only this last year that I learned the lesson which has come to -you girls early in life.” - -“Oh, I know,” as Jean glanced up quickly to object, “you’re not a child, -but you seem just a kiddie to me, Jean. It was fearfully hard for me to -give up our home at the Cove, and all the little luxuries I had been -accustomed to. Most of all I dreaded the change for you girls, but now, -I know, it was the very best thing that could have happened to us. Do -you remember what Cousin Roxy says she always puts into her prayers? -‘Give me an understanding heart, O Lord.’ I guess that is what we all -lacked, and me especially, an understanding heart.” - -“Doesn’t Cousin Roxy seem awfully well acquainted with God, Motherie,” -said Jean thoughtfully. “I don’t mean that irreverently, but it really -is true. Why, I’ve been going to our church for years and hearing the -service over and over until I know it all by heart, but when she gets up -at prayer meeting at the little white church, it seems as if really and -truly, He is there in the midst of them.” - -“She’s an angel in a gingham apron,” laughed Mrs. Robbins. “Now, you -must go to bed, dear. It’s getting chilly. Did you see how glad Joe was -to have us back? Dear little fellow. I’m glad he had the courage to come -back to us. I called up Roxy as soon as we arrived at the station, and -she will be over in the morning early to plan about your trip to -Weston.” - -“Oh, but—you can’t spare me yet, can you?” exclaimed Jean. “It’s still -so cold, and I wouldn’t be one bit happy thinking of you managing alone -here.” - -“I’ll keep Mrs. Gorham until you get back. It’s only twelve a month for -her, and that can come out of my own little income, so we shall manage -all right. I want you to go, Jean.” She held the slender figure close in -her arms, her cheek pressed to Jean’s, and added softly, “The first to -fly from the nest.” - -Jean felt curiously uplifted and comforted after that talk. It was cold -in her own room upstairs. She raised the curtain and looked out at -Greenacres flooded with winter moonlight. They were surely Whiteacres -tonight. It was the very end of February and no sign of spring yet. She -knew over in Long Island the pussy willow buds would be out and the air -growing mild from the salt sea breezes, but here in the hills it was -still bleak and frost bound. - -What would it be like at Weston? Elliott was away at a boys’ school. She -felt as if Fate were lending her to a fairy godmother for a while, and -she had liked Cousin Beth. There was something about her,—a curious, -indefinable, intimate charm of personality that attracted one to her. -Cousin Roxy was breezy and courageous, a very tower of strength, a -Flying Victory standing on one of Connecticut’s bare old hills and -defying fate or circumstance to ruffle her feathers, but Cousin Beth was -full of little happy chuckles and confidences. Her merry eyes, with lids -that drooped at the outer corners, fairly invited you to tell her -anything you longed to, and in spite of her forty odd years, she still -seemed like a girl. - -Snuggled down under the big soft home-made comforters, Jean fell asleep, -still “cogitating” as Cousin Roxy would have called it, on the immediate -future, wondering how she could turn this visit into ultimate good for -the whole family. There was one disadvantage in being born a Robbins. -Your sympathies and destiny were linked so indissolubly to all the other -Robbinses that you felt personally responsible for their happiness and -welfare. So Jean dozed away thinking how with Cousin Beth’s help she -would find a way of making money so as to lighten the load at home and -give Kit a chance as the next one to fly. - -The winter sunshine had barely clambered to the crests of the hills the -following morning when Cousin Roxy drove up, with Ella Lou’s black coat -sparkling with frost. - -“Thought I’d get an early start so I could sit awhile with you,” she -called breezily. “The Judge had to go to court at Putnam. Real sad case, -too. Some of our home boys in trouble. I told him not to dare send them -up to any State homes or reformatories, but to put them on probation and -make their families pay the fines.” - -Kit was just getting into her school rig, ready for her long drive down -to catch the trolley car to High School. - -“Oh, what is it, Cousin Roxy?” she called from the side entry. “Do tell -us some exciting news.” - -“Well, I guess it is pretty exciting for the poor mothers.” Mrs. Ellis -got out of the carriage and hitched Ella Lou deftly, then came into the -house. “There’s been considerable things stolen lately, just odds and -ends of harness and bicycle supplies from the store, and three hams from -Miss Bugbee’s cellar, and so on; a little here and a little there, -hardly no more’n a real smart magpie could make away with. But the men -folks set out to catch whoever it might be, and if they didn’t land -three of our own home boys. It makes every mother in town shiver.” - -“None that we know, are there?” asked Helen, with wide eyes. - -“I guess not, unless it may be Abby Tucker’s brother Martin. There his -poor mother scrimped and saved for weeks to buy him a wheel out of her -butter and egg money, and it just landed him in mischief. Off he kited, -first here and then there with the two Lonergan boys from North Center, -and they had a camp up towards Cynthy Allan’s place, where they played -they were cave robbers or something, just boy fashion. I had the Judge -up and promise he’d let them off on probation. There isn’t one of them -over fifteen, and Gilead can’t afford to let her boys go to prison. And -I shall drive over this afternoon and give their mothers some good -advice.” - -“Why not the fathers too?” asked Jean. “Seems as if mothers get all the -blame when boys go wrong.” - -“No, it isn’t that exactly.” Cousin Roxy put her feet up on the nickel -fender of the big wood stove, and took off her wool lined Arctics, -loosened the wide brown veil she always wore tied around her crocheted -gray winter bonnet, and let Doris take off her heavy shawl and gray and -red knit “hug-me-tight.” It was quite a task to get her out of her -winter cocoon. “I knew the two fathers when they were youngsters too. -Fred Lonergan was as nice and obliging a lad as ever you did see, but he -always liked cider too well, and that made him lax. I used to tell him -when he couldn’t get it any other way, he’d squeeze the dried winter -apples hanging still on the wild trees. He’ll have to pay the money -damage, but the real sorrow of the heart will fall on Emily, his wife. -She used to be our minister’s daughter, and she knows what’s right. And -the Tucker boy never did have any sense or his father before him, but -his mother’s the best quilter we’ve got. If I’d been in her shoes I’d -have put Philemon Tucker right straight out of my house just as soon as -he began to squander and hang around the grocery store swapping horse -stories with men folks just like him. It’s her house from her father, -and I shall put her right up to making Philemon walk a chalk line after -this, and do his duty as a father.” - -“Oh, you glorious peacemaker,” exclaimed Mrs. Robbins, laughingly. “You -ought to be the selectwoman out here, Roxy.” - -“Well,” smiled Cousin Roxy comfortably, “The Judge is selectman, and -that’s next best thing. He always takes my advice. If the boys don’t -behave themselves now, I shall see that they are squitched good and -proper.” - -“What’s ‘squitched,’ Cousin Roxy?” asked Doris, anxiously. - -“A good stiff birch laid on by a man’s hand. I stand for moral -persuasion up to a certain point, but there does come a time when human -nature fairly begs to be straightened out, and there’s nothing like a -birch squitching to make a boy mind his p’s and q’s.” - -“Hurry, girls, you’ll be late for school,” called the Motherbird, as she -hurriedly put the last touches to three dainty lunches. Then she -followed them out to the side door where Shad waited with the team, and -watched them out of sight. - -“Lovely morning,” said Cousin Roxy, fervently. “Ice just beginning to -melt a bit in the road puddles, and little patches of brown showing in -the hollows under the hills. We’ll have arbutus in six weeks.” - -“And here I’ve been shivering ever since I got out of bed,” Jean cried, -laughingly. “It seemed so bleak and cheerless. You find something -beautiful in everything, Cousin Roxy.” - -“Well, Happiness is a sort of habit, I guess, Jeanie. Come tell me, now, -how are you fixed about going away? That’s why I came down.” - -“You mean—” - -“I mean in clothes. Don’t mind my speaking right out, because I know -that Bethiah will want to trot you around, and you must look right. And -don’t you say one word against it, Elizabeth,” as Mrs. Robbins started -to speak. “Your trip out west has been an expense, and the child must -have her chance. Makes me think, Jean, of my first silk dress. Nobody -knew how much I wanted one, and I was about fourteen, skinny and -overgrown, with pigtails down my back. Cousin Beth’s mother, our -well-to-do aunt in Boston, sent a silk dress to my little sister Susan -who died. I can see it now, just as plain as can be, a sort of dark -bottle green with a little spray of violets here and there. Susan was -sort of pining anyway, and green made her look too pale, so the dress -was set aside for me. Mother said she’d let the hem down and face it -when she had time but there was a picnic, and my heart hungered for that -silk dress to wear. I managed somehow to squeeze into it, and slip away -with the other girls before Mother noticed me.” - -“But did it fit you?” asked Jean. - -“Fit me?” Cousin Roxy laughed heartily. “Fit me like an acorn cap would -a bullfrog. I let the hem down as far as I could, but didn’t stop to hem -it or face it, and there it hung, six inches below my petticoats, with -the sun shining through as nice as could be. My Sunday School teacher -took me to one side and said severely, ‘Roxana Letitia Robbins, does -your mother know that you’ve let that hem down six ways for Sunday?’ -Well, it did take away my hankering for a silk dress. Now, run along -upstairs and get out all your wardrobe so we can look it over.” - -Jean obeyed. Somehow Cousin Roxy had a way of sweeping objections away -before her airily. And the wardrobe was at a low ebb, when it came to -recent styles. In Gilead Center, anything later than the time of the -mutton leg sleeve was regarded as just a bit too previous, as Deacon -Farley’s wife said when Cousin Roxy laid away her great aunt’s Paisley -shawl after she married the Judge. - -She dragged her rocking chair over beside the sofa now, and took -inventory of the pile of clothing Jean laid there. - -“You’ll want a good knockabout sport coat like the other girls are -wearing, and a pretty mid-season hat to match. Then a real girlish sort -of a silk sweater for the warm spring days that are coming, and a good -skirt for mornings. Bethiah likes to play tennis, and she’ll have you -out at daybreak. Better get a pleated blue serge. Now, what about party -gowns?” - -Here Jean felt quite proud as she laid out her assortment. The girls had -always gone out a good deal at the Cove, and she had a number of well -chosen, expensive dresses. - -“They look all right to me, but I guess Bethiah’ll know what to do to -them, with a touch here and there. Real lace on them, oh, Elizabeth!” -She shook her head reprovingly at Mrs. Robbins, just sitting down with a -pan of apples to pare. - -“I’d rather go without than not have the real,” Jean said quickly, -trying to spare the Motherbird’s feelings, but Gilead had indeed been a -balm to pride. She laughed happily. - -“I know, Roxy, it was foolish. But see how handy it comes in now. We’ve -hardly had to buy any new clothes since we moved out here, and the girls -have done wonderfully well making over their old dresses.” - -“Especially Helen,” Jean put in. “Helen would garb us all in faded -velvets and silks, princesses wearing out their old court robes in -exile.” - -“Well, if I were you, I’d just bundle all I wanted to take along in the -way of pretty things into the trunk and let Bethiah tell you what to do -with them. She knows just what’s what in the latest styles, and you’ll -be like a lily of the field. I’ll get you the coat and sweater and serge -skirt, and all the shoes and stockings you’ll need to match. Go long, -child, you’ll squeeze the breath out of me,” as Jean gave her a royal -hug. “I must be trotting along.” She rose, and started to bundle up, but -gave an exclamation as she glanced out of the window. “For pity’s sake, -what’s Cynthy Allan doing way off up here?” - -Sure enough, hobbling along from the garden gate was Cynthy herself, one -hand holding fast to an old cane, the other drawing around her frail -figure an old-fashioned black silk dolman, its knotted fringe fluttering -in the breeze. - -Straight up the walk she came, determined and self possessed, with a -certain air of dignity which neither poverty nor years of isolation -could take from her. - -Cousin Roxy watched her with reminiscent eyes, quoting softly: - - “You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will, - But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.” - -“Cynthy used to be the best dancer of all the girls when I was young, -and I’ll never forget how the rest of us envied her beautiful hands. She -was an old maid even then, in the thirties, but slim and pretty as could -be.” - -Jean hurried to the side door, opening it wide to greet her. - -“I didn’t think you’d mind my coming so early,” she said apologetically, -“but I’ve had that rose on my mind ever since you were all over to see -me.” - -“Oh, do come right in, Miss Allan,” Jean exclaimed warmly. “What a long, -long walk you’ve had.” - -“’Tain’t but two miles and a half by the road,” Cynthy answered as -sprightly as could be. “I don’t mind it much when I’ve got something -ahead of me. You see, I’ve been wanting to ride up to Moosup this long -while to get some rags woven into carpets and I need that rose for my -hat something fearful.” - -Jean led her through the long side entry way and into the cheery warm -sitting room before she hardly realized where she was going, until she -found herself facing Cousin Roxy and Mrs. Robbins. - -“Land alive, Cynthy,” exclaimed the former, happily. “I haven’t seen you -in mercy knows when. Where are you keeping yourself?” - -“Take the low willow rocker, Miss Allan,” urged Mrs. Robbins after the -introduction was over, and she had helped lift the ancient dolman from -Cynthy’s worn shoulders. Jean was hovering over the rocker delightedly. -As she told the girls afterwards, Mother was just as dear and charming -as if Cynthy had been the president of the Social Study Club back home. - -“Thank ye kindly,” said Cynthy with a little sigh of relief. She -stretched out her hands to the fire, looking from one to the other of -them with a mingling of pride and appeal. Those scrawny hands with their -knotted knuckles and large veins. Jean thought of what Cousin Roxy had -said, that Cynthy’s hands had been so beautiful. She ran upstairs to -find the rose. It was in a big cretonne covered “catch-all” box, tucked -away with odds and ends of silks and laces, a large hand-made French -rose of silk and velvet, its petals shaded delicately from palest pink -at the heart to deep crimson at the outer rim. There was a black lace -veil in the box too that seemed to go with it, so Jean took them both -back downstairs, and Cynthy’s face was a study as she looked at them. -She rocked to and fro gently, a smile of perfect content on her face, -her head a bit on one side. - -“Ain’t it sightly, Roxy?” she said. “And those shades always did become -me so. I suppose it’s foolish of me, but I just needed that rose to -hearten me up for the trip to Moosup. I had a letter from the town -clerk.” She fumbled in the folds of her skirt for it. “He says I haven’t -paid my taxes in over two years, and the town can’t let them go on any -longer, and anyhow, he thinks it would be better for me to let the house -and six acres be sold for the taxes, and for me to go down to the town -farm. My heart’s nigh broken over it.” - -Cousin Roxy was sitting very straight in her chair, her shoulders -squared in fighting trim, her eyes bright as a squirrel’s behind her -spectacles. - -“What do you calculate to do about it, Cynthy?” - -“Well, I had a lot of good rag rugs saved up, and I thought mebbe I -could sell them for something, and some more rags ready for weaving, and -there’s some real fine old china that belonged to old Aunt Deborah -Bristow, willow pattern and Rose Windsor, and the two creamer sets in -copper glaze and silver gilt. I’ll have to sell the whole lot, most -likely. It’s twenty-four dollars.” - -Jean was busily sewing the rose in place on the old black bonnet and -draping the lace veil over it. Mrs. Robbins’ eyes flashed a signal to -Cousin Roxy and the latter caught it. - -“Cynthy,” she said briskly, “you get all warmed up and rested here, and -I’ll drive down and see Fred Bennet. He’s the other selectman with the -Judge, and I guess between them, we can stop any such goings on. It -isn’t going to cost the town any for your board and keep, anybody that’s -been as good a neighbor as you have in your day, helping folks right and -left. I shan’t have it. Which would you rather do, stay on at your own -place, or come over to me for a spell? I’ll keep you busy sewing on my -carpet rags, and we’ll talk over old times. I was just telling Mrs. -Robbins and Jean what a lovely dancer you used to be, and what pretty -hands you had.” - -Cynthy’s faded hazel eyes blinked wistfully behind her steel rimmed -“specs.” Her hand went up to hide the trembling of her lips, but before -she could answer, the tears came freely, and she rocked herself to and -fro, with Jean kneeling beside her petting her, and Mrs. Robbins -hurrying for a hot cup of tea. - -“I’d rather stay at my own place, Roxy,” she said finally, when she -could speak. “It’s home, and there’s all the cats to keep me company. If -I could stay on down there, and see some of you now and then, I’d -rather, only,” she looked up pleadingly, “could I just drive over with -you today, so as to have a chance to wear the red rose?” - -Could she? The very desire appealed instantly to Cousin Roxy’s sense of -the fitness of things, and she drove away finally with Cynthy. It was -hard to say which looked the proudest. - -“Mother darling,” Jean said solemnly, watching them from the window. -“Isn’t that a wonderful thing?” - -“What, dear? Roxy’s everlasting helping of Providence? I’ve grown so -accustomed to it now that nothing she undertakes surprises me.” - -“No, I don’t mean that.” Jean’s eyes sparkled as if she had discovered -the jewel of philosophy. “I mean that poor old woman over seventy being -able to take happiness and pride out of that red rose, when life looked -all hopeless to her. That’s eternal youth, Mother mine, isn’t it? To -think that old rose could bring such a look to her eyes.” - -“It wasn’t so much the rose that drew her here,” said the Motherbird, -gazing out of the window at the winding hill road Ella Lou had just -travelled. “It was the lure of human companionship and neighborliness. -We’ll let Doris and Helen take her some preserves tomorrow, and try and -cheer her up with little visits down there. How Cousin Roxy will enjoy -facing the town clerk and showing him the right way to settle things -without breaking people’s hearts. There comes the mail, dear. Have you -any to send out?” - -Jean caught up a box of lichens and ferns she had gathered for Bab, and -hurried out to the box. It stood down at the entrance gates, quite a -good walk on a cold day, and her cheeks were glowing when she met Mr. -Ricketts. - -“Two letters for you, Miss Robbins,” he called out cheerfully. “One from -New York, and one,” he turned it over to be sure, “from Boston. Didn’t -know you had any folks up Boston way. Got another one here for your -father looks interesting and unusual. From Canady. I suppose, come to -think of it, that might be from Ralph McRae or maybe Honey Hancock, eh?” - -Jean took the letters, and tried to divert him from an examination of -the mail, his daily pastime. - -“It looks as if we might have a thaw, doesn’t it?” - -“Does so,” he replied, reassuringly, “but we’ll get a hard spell of -weather along in March, as usual. Tell your Pa if he don’t want to save -them New York Sunday papers, I’d like to have a good look at them. -Couldn’t see anything but some of the headlines, they was done up so -tight. Go ’long there, Alexander.” - -Alexander, the old white horse, picked up his hoofs and trotted -leisurely down the hill to the little bridge, with his usual air of -resigned nonchalance, while Jean ran back with the unusual and -interesting mail, laughing as she went. Still, as Cousin Roxy said, it -was something to feel you were adding to local history by being a part -and parcel of Mr. Ricketts’ mail route. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - MOUNTED ON PEGASUS - - -It was one of the habits and customs of Greenacres to open the daily -mail up in Mr. Robbins’ own special room, the big sunny study -overlooking the outer world so widely. - -When they had first planned the rooms, it had been decided that the -large south chamber should be Father’s own special corner. From its four -windows he could look down on the little bridge and brown rock dam above -with its plunging waterfall, and beyond that the widespread lake, dotted -with islands, reed and alder fringed, that narrowed again into Little -River farther on. - -“It’s queer,” Doris said once, when winter was half over. “Nothing ever -really looks dead up here. Even with the grass and leaves all dried up, -the trees and earth look kind of reddish, you know what I mean, Mother, -warm like.” - -And they did too, whether it was from the rich russets of the oaks that -refused to leave their twigs until spring, or the green laurel -underneath, or the rich pines above, or the sorrel tinted earth itself, -the land never seemed to lose its ruddy glow except when mantled with -snow. - -Mr. Robbins stood at a window now, his hands behind his back, looking -out at the valley as they came upstairs. - -“Do you know, dear,” he remarked. “I think I just saw some wild geese -over on that first island, probably resting for the trip north -overnight. That means an early spring. And there was a woodpecker on the -maple tree this morning too. That is all my news. What have you -brought?” - -Everyone settled down to personal enjoyment of the mail. There was -always plenty of it, letters, papers, new catalogues, and magazines, and -it furnished the main diversion of the day. - -Jean read hers over, seated in the wide window nook. Bab’s letter was -full of the usual studio gossip, and begging her to come for a visit at -Easter. But Cousin Beth’s letter was brimful of the coming trip. She -wrote she would meet Jean in Boston, and they would motor over if the -roads were good. - -“Plan on staying at least two months, for it will be work as well as -play. I was afraid you might be lonely with just us, so I have invited -Carlota to spend her week ends here. You will like her, I am sure. She -is a young girl we met last year in Sorrento. Her father is an American -sculptor and married a really lovely Contessa. They are deep in the war -relief work now, and have sent Carlota over here to study and learn the -ways of her father’s country. She is staying with her aunt, the Contessa -di Tambolini, the oddest, dearest, little old grande dame you can -imagine. You want to call her the Countess Tambourine all the time, she -tinkles so. It just suits her, she is so gay and whimsical and -brilliant. Come soon, and don’t bother about buying a lot of new -clothes. I warn you that you will be in a paint smock most of the time.” - -“I wonder what her other name is,” Jean said, folding up the letter. -“One of our teachers at the Art Class in New York was telling us her -memories of Italy, and she mentioned some American sculptor who had -married an Italian countess and lived in a wonderful old villa, at -Sorrento, of a dull warm tan color, with terraces and rose gardens and -fountains, and nice crumbly stone seats. She went to several of his -receptions. Wouldn’t it be odd if he turned out to be Carlota’s father. -It’s such a little world, isn’t it, Father?” - -“We live in circles, dear,” Mr. Robbins smiled over the wide library -table at her flushed eager face. “Little eddies of congeniality where we -are constantly finding others with the same tastes and ways of living. -Here’s a letter from Ralph, saying they will start east in May, and stay -along through the summer, taking Mrs. Hancock and Piney back with them.” - -“Piney’ll simply adore the trip way out west,” exclaimed Jean. “She’s -hardly talked of anything else all winter but his promise to take them -there, and Mrs. Hancock’s just the opposite. She declares her heart is -buried right up in the little grave yard behind the church in the -Hancock and Trowbridge plot.” - -“She’ll go as long as both children are happy,” Mrs. Robbins said. “She -has an odd little vein of sentiment in her that makes her cling to the -land she knows best and to shrink from the unknown and untried, but I’m -sure she’ll go. She’s such a quiet, retiring little country mother to -have two wild swans like Honey and Piney, who are regular adventurers. -I’ll drive over and have a talk with her as soon as my own bird of -passage is on her way.” - -Wednesday of the following week was set for Jean’s flitting. This gave -nearly a week for preparations, and Kit plunged into them with a zest -and vigor that made Jean laugh. - -“Well, so little ever happens up here we just have to make the most of -goings and comings,” said Kit, warmly. “And besides, I’m rather fond of -you, you blessed, skinny old dear, you.” - -“Of course, we’re all glad for you,” Helen put in in her serious way. -“It’s an opportunity, Mother says, and I suppose we’ll all get one in -time.” - -Jean glanced up as they sat around the table the last evening, planning -and talking. Out in the side entry stood her trunk, packed, locked, and -strapped, ready for the early trip in the morning. Doris was trying her -best to nurse a frost bitten chicken back to life out by the kitchen -stove, where Joe mended her skates for her, but Kit and Helen were -freely bestowing advice on the departing one. - -“Enjoy yourself all you can, but think of us left at home and don’t stay -too long,” advised Helen. “I feel like the second mermaid.” - -“What on earth do you mean by the second mermaid?” asked Kit. - -“Don’t you see? I’m not the youngest, so I’m second from the youngest, -and in ‘The Little Mermaid’ there were sixteen sisters and each had to -wait her turn till her fifteenth birthday before she could go up to the -surface of the sea, and sit on a rock in the moonlight.” - -“Pretty chilly this kind of weather,” Jean laughed. “Can’t I wear a -sealskin wrapped around me, please, Helenita?” - -“No, she only had seaweed draperies and necklaces of pearls,” Helen -answered, thoughtfully. - -“I shall remember,” Jean declared. “I’d love to use that idea as a basis -for a gown some time, seaweed green trailing silk, and long strands of -pearls. If I fail as an artist, I shall devote myself to designing -wonderful personality gowns for people, not everyday people, but -exceptional ones. Think, Kit, of having some great singer come to your -studio, and you listen to her warble for hours, while you lie on a -stately divan and try to catch her personality note for a gown.” - -“I don’t want to make things for people,” Kit said, emphatically. “I -want to soar alone. I’m going with Piney to live in the dreary wood, -like the Robber Baron. I’ll wear leather clothes. I love them. I’ve -always wanted a whole dress of softest suede in dull hunter’s green. No -fringe or beads, just a dress. It could lace up one side, and be so -handy.” - -“Specially if a grasshopper got down your neck,” Doris added sagely. “I -can just see Kit all alone in the woods then.” - -They laughed at the voice from the kitchen, and Kit dropped the narrow -silk sport tie she was putting the finishing stitches to. - -“Oh, dear, I do envy you, Jean, after all. You must write and tell us -every blessed thing that happens, for we’ll love to hear it all. Don’t -be afraid it won’t be interesting. I wish you’d even keep a diary. Shad -says his grandmother did, every day from the time she was fourteen, and -she was eighty-six when she died. They had an awful time burning them -all up, just barrels of diaries, Shad says. All the history of Gilead.” - -Kit’s tone held a note of pathos that was delicious. - -“Who cares about what’s happened in Gilead every day for seventy years?” -Helen’s query was scoffing, but Jean said, - -“Listen. Somebody, I forget who, that Father was telling about, said if -the poorest, commonest human being who ever lived could write a perfect -account of his daily life, it would be the most wonderful and -interesting human document ever written.” - -Helen’s expression showed plainly that she did not believe one bit in -“sech sentiments,” as Shad himself might have put it. Life was an -undiscovered country of enchantment to her where the sunlight of romance -made everything rose and gold. She had always been the most detached one -in the family. Only Kit with her straightforward, uncompromising tactics -ever seemed to really get by the thicket of thorns around the inner -palace of the sleeping beauty. Kit had been blessed with so much of her -father’s New England directness and sense of humor, that no thorns could -hold her out, while Doris and Jean were more like their mother, -tender-hearted and keenly responsive to every influence around them. - -“I don’t see,” Kit would say sometimes, “which side of the family Helen -gets her ways from. I suppose if we could only trace back far enough, -we’d find some princess ancestress who trailed her velvet gowns -lightsomely over the morning dew and rode a snow white palfrey down -forest glades for heavy exercise. Fair Yoland with the Golden Hair.” - -“Anyway,” Helen said now, hanging over Jean’s chair, “be sure and write -us all about Carlota and the Contessa, because they sound like a story.” - -Doris came out of the kitchen with her finger to her lips. - -“I’ve just this minute got that chicken to sleep. They’re such light -sleepers, but I think it will get well. It only had its poor toes frost -bitten. Joe found it on the ground this morning, crowded off the perch. -Chickens look so civilized, and they’re not a bit. They’re regular -savages.” - -She sat down on the arm of Jean’s chair, and hugged the other side, with -Helen opposite. And there flashed across Jean’s mind the picture of the -evenings ahead without the home circle, without the familiar -living-room, and the other room upstairs where at this time the -Motherbird would be brushing out her long, soft hair, and listening to -some choice bit of reading Mr. Robbins had run across during the day and -saved for her. - -“I just wish I had a chance to go west like Piney,” Kit said suddenly. -“When I’m old enough, I’m going to take up a homestead claim and live on -it with a wonderful horse and some dogs, wolf dogs, I think. I wish -Piney’d wait till we were both old enough, and had finished school. She -could be a forest ranger and I’d raise—” - -“Ginseng,” Jean suggested, mischievously. “Goose. It takes far more -courage than that just to stick it out on one of these old barren farms, -all run down and fairly begging for somebody to take them in hand and -love them back to beauty. What do you want to hunt a western claim for?” - -“Space,” Kit answered grandly. “I don’t want to see my neighbors’ -chimney pots sticking up all around me through the trees. I want to gaze -off at a hundred hill tops, and not see somebody’s scarecrow waggling -empty sleeves at me. Piney and I have the spirits of eagles.” - -“Isn’t that nice,” said Helen, pleasantly. “It’ll make such a good place -to spend our vacations, girls. While Piney and Kit are out soaring, we -can fish and tramp and have really pleasant times.” - -“Come on, girls,” Jean whispered, as Kit’s ire started to rise. “It’s -getting late now, truly, and I have to rise while it is yet night, you -know. Good night all.” - -She held the lamp at the foot of the stairs to light the procession up -to their rooms, then went out into the kitchen. Shad sat over the -kitchen stove, humming softly under his breath an old camp meeting hymn, - - “Swing low, sweet chariot, - Bound for to carry me home, - Swing low, sweet chariot, - Tell them I’ll surely come.” - -“Good night, Shad,” she said. “And do be sure and remember what I told -you. Joe’s such a little fellow. Don’t you scold him and make him run -away again, will you, even if he is aggravating.” - -“I’ll be good to him, I promise, Miss Jean,” Shad promised solemnly. “I -let my temper run away from me that day, but I’ve joined the church -since then, and being a professor of religion I’ve got to walk softly -all the days of my life, Mis’ Ellis says. Don’t you worry. Joe and me’s -as thick as two peas in a pod. I’ll be a second grand uncle to him -before I get through.” - -So it rested. Joe was still inclined to be a little perverse where Shad -was concerned, and would sulk when scolded. Only Jean had been able to -make him see the error of his ways. He would tell the others he guessed -he’d run away. But Jean had promptly talked to him, and said if he -wanted to run away, to run along any time he felt like it. Joe had -looked at her in surprise and relief when she had said it, and had -seemed completely satisfied about staying thereafter. It was Cousin Roxy -who had given her the idea. - -“I had a colt once that was possessed to jump fences and go rambling, so -one day after we’d been on the run hunting for it nearly every day, I -told Hiram to let all the bars down, and never mind the pesky thing. And -it was so nonplussed and surprised that it gave right up and stayed to -home. It may be fun jumping fences, but there’s no real excitement in -stepping over open bars.” - -So Joe had faced open bars for some time, and if he could only get along -with Shad, Jean knew he would be safe while she was away. He was an odd -child, undemonstrative and shy, but there was something appealing and -sympathetic about him, and Jean always felt he was her special charge -since she had coaxed him away from Mr. Briggs. - -The start next morning was made at seven, before the sun was up. -Princess was breathing frostily, and side stepping restlessly. The tears -were wet on Jean’s cheeks as she climbed into the seat beside Shad, and -turned to wave goodbye to the group on the veranda. She had not felt at -all this way when she had left for New York to visit Bab, but someway -this did seem, as the Motherbird had said, like her first real flight -from the home nest. - -“Write us everything,” called Kit, waving both hands to her. - -“Come back soon,” wailed Doris, and Helen, running as Kit would have put -it, true to form, added her last message, - -“Let us know if you meet the Contessa.” - -But the Motherbird went back into the house in silence, away from the -sitting-room into a little room at the side where Jean had kept her own -bookcase, desk, and a few choice pictures. A volume of Browning -selections, bound in soft limp tan, lay beside Jean’s old driving gloves -on the table. Mrs. Robbins picked up both, laid her cheek against the -gloves and closed her eyes. The years were racing by so fast, so fast, -she thought, and mothers must be wide eyed and generous and fearless, -when the children suddenly began to top heads with one, and feel their -wings. She opened the little leather book to a marked passage of Jean’s, - - “The swallow has set her young on the rail.” - -Ready for the flight, she thought. If it had been Kit now, she would not -have felt this curious little pang. Kit was self sufficient and full of -buoyancy that was bound to carry her over obstacles, but Jean was -sensitive and dependent on her environment for spur and stimulation. She -heard a step behind her and turned eagerly as Mr. Robbins came into the -room, seeking her. He saw the book and the gloves in her hand, and the -look in her eyes uplifted to his own. Very gently he folded his arms -around her, his cheek pressed close to her brown hair. - -“She’s only seventeen,” whispered the Motherbird. - -“Eighteen in April,” he answered. “And dear, she isn’t trusting to her -own strength for the flight. Don’t you know this quiet little girl of -ours is mounted on Pegasus, and riding him handily in her upward trend?” - -But there was no winged horse or genius in view to Jean’s blurred sight -as she watched the road unroll before her, and looking back, saw only -the curling smoke from Greenacres’ white chimneys. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - CARLOTA - - -“I thought you lived in a farmhouse too, Cousin Beth,” Jean said, in -breathless admiration, as she laid aside her outer wraps, and stood in -the big living-room at Twin Oaks. The beautiful country house had been a -revelation to her. It seemed to combine all of the home comfort and good -cheer of Greenacres with the modern air and improvements of the homes at -the Cove. Sitting far back from the broad road in its stately grounds, -it was like some reserved but gracious old colonial dame bidding you -welcome. - -The center hall had a blazing fire in the high old rock fireplace, and -Queen Bess, a prize winning Angora, opened her wide blue eyes at the -newcomer, but did not stir. In the living-room was another open fire, -even while the house was heated with hot air. There were flowering -plants at the windows, and freshly cut roses on the tables in tall jars. - -“You know, or maybe you don’t know,” said Cousin Beth, “that we have one -hobby here, raising flowers, and specially roses. We exhibit every year, -and you’ll grow to know them and love the special varieties just as I -do. You have no idea, Jean, of the thrill when you find a new bloom -different from all the rest.” - -“I wouldn’t be surprised to find out anything new and wonderful about -this place,” Jean laughed, leaning back in a deep-seated armchair. Like -the rest of the room’s furniture it wore a gown of chintz, deep cream, -cross barred in dull apple green, with lovely, splashy pink roses -scattered here and there. Two large white Polar rugs lay on the polished -floor. - -“If those were not members of the Peabody family, old and venerated, -they never would be allowed to bask before my fire,” Cousin Beth said. -“But way back there was an Abner Peabody who sailed the Polar seas, and -used to bring back trophies and bestow them on members of his family as -future heirlooms. Consequently, we fall over these bears in the dark, -and bless great-grandfather Abner’s precious memory.” - -After she was thoroughly toasted and had drunk a cup of Russian tea, -Jean found her way up to the room that was to be hers during her visit. -It was the sunniest kind of a retreat in daffodil yellow and oak brown. -The furniture was all in warm deep toned ivory, and there were rows of -blossoming daffodils and jonquils along the windowsills. - -“Oh, I think this is just darling,” Jean gasped, standing in the middle -of the floor and gazing around happily. “It’s as if spring were already -here.” - -“I put a drawing board and easel here for you too,” Cousin Beth told -her. “Of course you’ll use my studio any time you like, but it’s handy -to have a corner all your own at odd times. Carlota will be here -tomorrow and her room is right across the hall. She has inherited all of -her father’s talent, so I know how congenial you will be. And you’ll do -each other a world of good.” - -“How?” - -“Well, you’re thoroughly an American girl, Jean, and Carlota is half -Italian. You’ll understand what I mean when you see her. She is high -strung and temperamental, and you are so steady nerved and well -balanced.” - -Jean thought over this last when she was alone, and smiled to herself. -Why on earth did one have to give outward and visible signs of -temperament, she wondered, before people believed one had sensitive -feelings or responsive emotions? Must one wear one’s heart on one’s -sleeve, so to speak, for a sort of personal barometer? Bab was high -strung and temperamental too; so was Kit. They both indulged now and -then in mental fireworks, but nobody took them seriously, or considered -it a mark of genius. She felt just a shade of half amused tolerance -towards this Carlota person who was to get any balance or poise out of -her own nature. - -“If Cousin Beth knew for one minute,” she told the face in the round -mirror of the dresser, “what kind of a person you really are, she’d -never, never trust you to balance anybody’s temperament.” - -But the following day brought a trim, closed car to the door, and out -stepped Carlota and her maid, a middle-aged Florentine woman who rarely -smiled excepting at her charge. - -And Jean coming down the wide center flight of stairs saw Cousin Beth -before the fire with a tall, girlish figure, very slender, and all in -black, even to the wide velvet ribbon on her long dark braid of hair. - -“This is my cousin Jean,” said Mrs. Newell, in her pleasant way. She -laid Carlota’s slim, soft hand in Jean’s. “I want you two girls to be -very good friends.” - -“But I know, surely, we shall be,” Carlota exclaimed. And at the sound -of her voice Jean’s prejudices melted. She had very dark eyes with lids -that drooped at the outer corners, a rather thin face and little eager -pointed chin. Jean tried and tried to think who it was she made her -think of, and then remembered. It was the little statuette of Le Brun, -piquant and curious. - -“Now, you will not be treated one bit as guests, girls,” Cousin Beth -told them. “You must come and go as you like, and have the full freedom -of the house. I keep my own study hours and like to be alone then. Do as -you like and be happy. Run along, both of you.” - -“She is wonderful, isn’t she?” Carlota said as they went upstairs -together. “She makes me feel always as if I were a ship waiting with -loose sails, and all at once—a breeze—and I am on my way again. You -have not been to Sorrento, have you? You can see the little fisher boats -from our terraces. It is all so beautiful, but now the villa is turned -into a hospital. Pippa’s brothers and father are all at the front. Her -father is old, but he would go. She’s glad she’s an old maid, she says, -for she has no husband to grieve over. Don’t you like her? She was my -nurse when I was born.” - -“Her face reminds one of a Sybil. There’s one—I forget which—who was -middle-aged instead of being old and wrinkled.” - -“My father has used Pippa’s head often. One I like best is ‘The Melon -Vendor.’ That was exhibited in Paris and won the Salon medal. And it was -so odd. Pippa did not feel at all proud. She said it was only the magic -of his fingers that had made the statue a success, and father said it -was the inspiration from Pippa’s face.” - -“I wonder if you ever knew Bab Crane. She’s a Long Island girl from the -Cove where we used to live, and she’s lived abroad every year for two or -three months with her mother. She is an artist.” - -“I don’t know her,” Carlota shook her head doubtfully. “You see over -there, while we entertained a great deal, I was in a convent and -scarcely met anyone excepting in the summertime, and then we went to my -aunt’s villa up on Lake Maggiore. Oh, but that is the most beautiful -spot of all. There is one island there called Isola Bella. I wish I -could carry it right over here with me and set it down for you to see. -It is all terraces and splendid old statuary, and when you see it at -sunrise it is like a jewel, it glows so with color.” - -Jean curled her slippered feet under her as she sat on the window seat, -listening. There was always a lingering love in her heart for the -“haunts of ancient peace” in Europe’s beauty spots, and especially for -Italy. Somewhere she had read, it was called the “sweetheart of the -nations.” - -“I’d love to go there,” she said now, with a little sigh. - -“And that is what I was always saying when I was there, and my father -told me of this country. I wanted to see it so. He would tell me of the -great gray hills that climb to the north, and the craggy broken -shoreline up through Maine, and the little handful of amethyst isles -that lie all along it. He was born in New Hampshire, at Portsmouth. We -are going up to see the house some day, but I know just what it looks -like. It stands close down by the water’s edge in the old part of the -town, and there is a big rambling garden with flagged walks. His -grandfather was a ship builder and sent them out, oh, like argosies I -think, all over the world, until the steamboats came, and his trade was -gone. And he had just one daughter, Petunia. Isn’t that a beautiful -name, Petunia Pomeroy. It is all one romance, I think, but I coax him to -tell it to me over and over. There was an artist who came up from the -south in one of his ships, and he was taken very ill. So they took him -in as a guest, and Petunia cared for him. And when he was well, what do -you think?” She clasped her hands around her knees and rocked back and -forth, sitting on the floor before her untouched suitcases. - -“They married.” - -“But more than that,” warmly. “He carved the most wonderful figureheads -for my great grandfather’s ships. All over the world they were famous. -His son was my father.” - -It was indescribable, the tone in which she said the last. It told more -than anything else how dearly she loved this sculptor father of hers. -That night Jean wrote to Kit. The letter on her arrival had been to the -Motherbird, but this was a chat with the circle she knew would read it -over around the sitting room lamp. - - Dear Kit: - - I know you’ll all be hungry for news. We motored out from - Boston, and child, when I saw the quaint old New England - homestead we had imagined, I had to blink my eyes. It looks as - if it belonged right out on the North Shore at the Cove. It is a - little like Longfellow’s home, only glorified—not by fame as - yet, though that will come—by Greek wings. I don’t mean Nike - wings. There are sweeping porticos on each side where the drive - winds around. And inside it is summertime even now. They have - flowers everywhere, and raise roses. Kit, if you could get one - whiff of their conservatory, you would become a Persian rose - worshipper. When I come back, we’re going to start a sunken rose - garden, not with a few old worn out bushes, but new slips and - cuttings. - - Carlota arrived the day after I did. She looks like the little - statuette of Le Brun on Mother’s bookcase, only her hair hangs - in two long braids. She is more Italian than American in her - looks, but seems to be very proud of her American father. Helen - would love her ways. She has a maid, Pippa, from Florence, - middle-aged, who used to be her nurse. Isn’t that medieval and - Juliet-like? But she wears black and white continually, no - gorgeous raiment at all, black in the daytime, white for - evening. I feel like Pierrette beside her, but Cousin Beth says - the girls of our age dress very simply abroad. - - The Contessa is coming out to spend the week end with us, and - will take Carlota and me back with her for a few days. I’ll tell - you all about her next time. We go for a long trip in the car - every day, but it is awfully cold and bleak still. I feel - exactly like Queen Bess, the Angora cat, I want to hug the fires - all the time, and Carlota says she can’t bear our New England - winters. At this time of the year, she says spring has come in - Tuscany and all along the southern coast. She has inherited her - father’s gift for modelling, and gave me a little figurine of a - fisher boy standing on his palms, for a paper weight. It is - perfect. I wish I could have it cast in bronze. You know, I - think I’d rather be a sculptor than a painter. Someway the - figures seem so full of life, but then, Cousin Beth says, they - lack color. - - I mustn’t start talking shop to you when your head is full of - forestry. Let me know how Piney takes to the idea of going west, - and be sure and remember to feed Cherilee. Dorrie will think of - her chickens and neglect the canary sure. And help Mother all - you can. - - With love to all, - Jean. - -“Humph,” said Kit, loftily, when the letter arrived and was duly -digested by the circle. “I suppose Jean feels as if the whole weight of -this household rested on her anxious young shoulders.” - -“Well, we do miss her awfully,” Doris hurried to say. “But the canary is -all right.” - -“Yes, and so is everything else. Wait till I write to my elder sister -and relieve her mind. Let her cavort gaily in motor cars, and live side -by each with Angora cats in the lap of luxury. Who cares? The really -great ones of the earth have dwelt in penury and loneliness on the -solitary heights.” - -“You look so funny brandishing that dish towel, and spouting, Kit,” -Helen said, placidly. “I’m sure I can understand how Jean feels and I -like it. It is odd about Carlota wearing black and white, isn’t it? I -wish Jean had told more about her. I shall always imagine her in a -little straight gown of dull violet velvet, with a cap of pearls.” - -“Isn’t that nice? How do you imagine me, Helenita darling?” Kit struck a -casual attitude while she wiped the pudding dish. - -“You’d make a nice Atalanta, the girl who raced for the golden apples, -or some pioneer girl.” - -“There’s a stretch of fancy for you, from ancient Greece to Indian -powwow times. Run tell Shad to take up more logs to Father’s room, or -the astral spirit of our sweet sister will perch on our bedposts tonight -and rail at us right lustily.” - -“What’s that?” asked Doris, inquisitively. “What’s an astral spirit?” - -Kit screwed her face up till it looked like Cynthy Allan’s, and prowled -towards the youngest of the family with portentous gestures. - -“’Tain’t a ghost, and ’tain’t a spook, and ’tain’t a banshee. It’s the -shadow of your self when you’re sound asleep, and it goeth questing -forth on mischief bent. Yours hovers over the chicken coops all night -long, Dorrie, and mine flits out to the eagles’ nests on mountain tops, -and Helenita’s digs into old chests of romance, and hauls out caskets of -jewels and scented gowns by ye hundreds.” - -“There’s the milk,” called Shad’s voice from the entry way. “Better -strain it right off and get it into the pans. Mrs. Gorham’s gone to bed -with her neuralgy.” - -Dorrie giggled outright at the interruption, but Kit hurried to the -rescue with the linen straining cloth. It took more than neuralgia to -shake the mettle of a Robbins these days. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - AT MOREL’S STUDIO - - -“I’ve just had a telephone message from the Contessa,” Cousin Beth said -at breakfast Saturday morning. “She sends an invitation to us for this -afternoon, a private view of paintings and sculpture at Henri Morel’s -studio. She knew him in Italy and France, and he leaves for New York on -Monday. There will be a little reception and tea, nothing too formal for -you girls, so dress well, hold up your chins and turn out your toes, and -behave with credit to your chaperon. It is your debut.” - -Carlota looked at her quite seriously, thinking she was in earnest, but -Jean always caught the flutter of fun in her eyes, and knew it would not -be as ceremonious as it sounded. When she was ready that afternoon she -slipped into Cousin Beth’s own little den at the south end of the house. -Here were three rooms, all so different, and each showing a distinct -phase of character. One was her winter studio. The summer one was built -out in the orchard. This was a large sunny room, panelled in soft toned -oak, with a wood brown rug on the floor, and all the treasures -accumulated abroad during her years there of study and travel. In this -room Jean used to find the girl Beth, who had ventured forth after the -laurels of genius, and found success waiting her with love, back in -little Weston. - -The second room was a private sitting-room, all willow furniture, and -dainty chintz coverings, with Dutch tile window boxes filled with -blooming hyacinths, and feminine knick-knacks scattered about -helterskelter. Here were framed photographs of loved ones and friends, a -portrait of Elliott over the desk, his class colors on the wall, and -intimate little kodak snapshots he had sent her. This was the mother’s -and wife’s room. And the last was her bedroom. Here Jean found her -dressing. All in deep smoke gray velvet, with a bunch of single petaled -violets on her coat. She turned and looked at Jean critically. - -“I only had this new serge suit,” said Jean. “I thought with a sort of -fluffy waist it would be right to wear.” - -The waist was a soft crinkly crepe silk in dull old gold, with a low -collar of rose point, and just a touch of Byzantine embroidery down the -front. Above it, Jean’s eager face framed in her brown hair, her brown -eyes, small imperative chin with its deep cleft, and look of interest -that Kit called “questioning curiosity,” all seemed accentuated. - -“It’s just right, dear,” said Cousin Beth. “Go get a yellow jonquil to -wear. Carlota will have violets, I think. She loves them best.” - -There was a scent of coming spring in the air as they motored along the -country roads, just a delicate reddening of the maple twigs, and a mist -above the lush marshes down in the lower meadows. Once Carlota called -out joyously. A pair of nesting bluebirds teetered on a fence rail, -talking to each other of spring housekeeping. - -“Ah, there they are,” she cried. “And in Italy now there will be spring -everywhere. My father told me of the bluebirds here. He said they were -bits of heaven’s own blue with wings on.” - -“How queer it is,” Jean said, “I mean the way one remembers and loves -all the little things about one’s own country.” - -“Not so much all the country. Just the spot of earth you spring from. He -loves this New England.” - -“And I love Long Island. I was born there, not at the Cove, but farther -down the coast near Montauk Point, and the smell of salt water and the -marshes always stirs me. I love the long green rolling stretches, and -the little low hills in the background like you see in paintings of the -Channel Islands and some of the ones along the Scotch coast. Just a few -straggly scrub pines, you know, and the willows and wild cherry trees -and beach plums.” - -“Somewhere I’ve read about that, girls; the old earth’s hold upon her -children. I’m afraid I only respond to gray rocks and all of this sort -of thing. I’ve been so homesick abroad just to look at a crooked apple -tree in bloom that I didn’t know what to do. Each man to his ‘ain acre.’ -Where were you born, Carlota?” - -“At the Villa Marina. Ah, but you should see it.” Carlota’s dark face -glowed with love and pride. “It is dull terra cotta color, and then dull -green too, the mold of ages, I think, like the under side of an olive -leaf, and flowers everywhere, and poplars in long avenues. My father -laughs at our love for it, and says it is just a mouldy old ruin, but -every summer we spend there. Some day perhaps you could come to see us, -Jean. Would they lend her to us for a while, do you think, Mrs. Newell?” - -“After the sick soldiers have all been sent home well,” said Jean. “I -should love to. Isn’t it fun building air castles?” - -“They are very substantial things,” Cousin Beth returned, whimsically. -“Hopes to me are so tangible. We just set ahead of us the big hope, and -the very thought gives us incentive and endeavor and what Elliott calls -in his boy fashion, ‘punch.’ Plan from now on, Jean, for one spring in -Italy. I’m scheming deeply, you know, or perhaps you haven’t even -guessed yet, to get you a couple of years’ study here, then at least one -abroad, and after that, you shall try your own strength.” - -“Wouldn’t it be awful if I turned out just ordinary!” Jean said with her -characteristic truthfulness. “I remember one girl down at the Cove, Len -Marden. We went through school together, and her people said she was a -musical genius. She studied all the time, really and truly. She was just -a martyr, and she liked it. They had plenty of means to give her every -chance, and she studied harmony in one city abroad, and then something -in another city, and something else in another. We always used to wonder -where Len was trying her scales. Her name was Leonora, and she used to -dread it. Why, her father even retired from business, just to give his -time up to watching over Len, and her mother was like a Plymouth Rock -hen, brooding over her. Well, she came back last fall, and just ran away -and married one of the boys from the Cove, and she says she doesn’t give -a rap for a career.” - -Cousin Beth and Carlota both laughed heartily at Jean’s seriousness. - -“She has all of my sympathy,” the former declared. “I don’t think a -woman is able to give her greatest powers to the world if she is gifted -unusually, until she has known love and motherhood. I hope Leonora finds -her way back to the temple of genius with twins clinging to her wing -tips.” - -It was just a little bit late when they arrived at the Morel studio. -Jean had expected it to be more of the usual workshop, like Daddy -Higginson’s for instance, where canvases heaped against the walls seemed -to have collected the dust of ages, and a broom would have been a -desecration. Here, you ascended in an elevator, from an entrance hall -that Cousin Beth declared always made her think of the tomb of the -Pharoahs in “Aida.” - -“All it needs is a nice view of the Nile by moonlight, and some tall -lilies in full bloom, and someone singing ‘Celeste Aida,’” she told the -girls when they alighted at the ninth floor, and found themselves in the -long vestibule of the Morel studio. Jean had rather a confused idea of -what followed. There was the meeting with Morel himself. Stoop -shouldered and thin, with his vivid foreign face, half closed eyes, and -odd moustache like a mandarin’s. And near him Madame Morel, with a -wealth of auburn hair and big dark eyes. She heard Carlota say just -before they were separated, - -“He loves to paint red hair, and Aunt Signa says she has the most -wonderful hair you ever saw, like Melisande.” - -Cousin Beth had been taken possession of by a stout smiling young man -with eyeglasses and was already the center of a little group. Jean heard -his name, and recognized it as that of a famous illustrator. Carlota -introduced her to a tall girl in brown whom she had met in Italy, and -then somehow, Jean could not have told how it happened, they drifted -apart. Not but what she was glad of a breathing spell, just a chance as -Shad would have said, to get her bearings. Morel was showing some recent -canvases, still unframed, at the end of the studio, and everyone seemed -to gravitate that way. - -Jean found a quiet corner near a tall Chinese screen. Somebody handed -her fragrant tea in a little red and gold cup, and she was free to look -around her. A beautiful woman had just arrived. She was tall and past -first youth, but Jean leaned forward expectantly. This must be the -Contessa. Her gown seemed as indefinite and elusive in detail as a -cloud. It was dull violet color, with a gleam of gold here and there as -she moved slowly towards Morel’s group. Under a wide brimmed hat of -violet, you saw the lifted face, with tired lovely eyes, and close waves -of pale golden hair. And this was not all. Oh, if only Helen could have -seen her, thought Jean, with a funny little reversion to the home -circle. She had wanted a princess from real life, or a contessa, -anything that was tangibly romantic and noble, and here was the very -pattern of a princess, even to a splendid white stag hound which -followed her with docile eyes and drooping long nose. - -“My dear, would you mind coaxing that absent-minded girl at the tea -table to part with some lemon for my tea? And the Roquefort sandwiches -are excellent too.” - -Jean turned at the sound of the new voice beside her. There on the same -settee sat a robust, middle-aged late comer. Her satin coat was worn and -frayed, her hat altogether too youthful with its pink and mauve -butterflies veiled in net. It did make one think of poor Cynthy and her -yearnings towards roses. Jean saw, too, that there was a button missing -from her gown, and her collar was pinned at a wrong angle, but the -collar was real lace and the pin was of old pearls. It was her face that -charmed. Framed in an indistinct mass of fluffy hair, gray and blonde -mixed, with a turned up, winning mouth, and delightfully expressive -eyes, it was impossible not to feel immediately interested and -acquainted. - -Before they had sat there long, Jean found herself indulging in all -sorts of confidences. They seemed united by a common feeling of, not -isolation exactly, but newness to this circle. - -“I enjoy it so much more sitting over here and looking on,” Jean said. -“Cousin Beth knows everyone, of course, but it is like a painting. You -close one eye, and get the group effect. And I must remember everything -to write it home to the girls.” - -“Tell me about these girls. Who are they that you love them so?” asked -her new friend. “I, too, like the bird’s eye view best. I told Morel I -did not come to see anything but his pictures, and now I am ready for -tea and talk.” - -So Jean told all about Greenacres and the girls there and before she -knew it, she had disclosed too, her own hopes and ambitions, and perhaps -a glimpse of what it might mean to the others still in the nest if she, -the first to fly, could only make good. And her companion told her, in -return, of how sure one must be that the spark of inspiration is really -a divine one and worthy of sacrifice, before one gives up all to it. - -“Yonder in France, and in Italy too, but mostly in France,” she said, “I -have found girls like you, my child, from your splendid homeland, living -on little but hopes, wasting their time and what money could be spared -them from some home over here, following false hopes, and sometimes -starving. It is but a will-o’-the-wisp, this success in art, a sort of -pitiful madness that takes possession of our brains and hearts and makes -us forget the daily road of gold that lies before us.” - -“But how can you tell for sure?” asked Jean, leaning forward anxiously. - -“Who can answer that? I have only pitied the ones who could not see they -had no genius. Ah, my dear, when you meet real genius, then you know the -difference instantly. It is like the real gems and the paste. There is -consecration and no thought of gain. The work is done irresistibly, -spontaneously, because they cannot help it. They do not think of so -called success, it is only the fulfilment of their own visions that they -love. You like to draw and paint, you say, and you have studied some in -New York. What then?” - -Jean pushed back her hair impulsively. - -“Do you know, I think you are a little bit wrong. You won’t mind my -saying that, will you, please? It is only this. Suppose we are not -geniuses, we who see pictures in our minds and long to paint them. I -think that is the gift too, quite as much as the other, as the power to -execute. Think how many go through life with eyes blind to all beauty -and color! Surely it must be something to have the power of seeing it -all, and of knowing what you want to paint. My Cousin Roxy says it’s -better to aim at the stars and hit the bar post, than to aim at the bar -post and hit the ground.” - -“Ah, so. And one of your English poets says too, ‘A man’s aim should -outreach his grasp, or what’s a heaven for?’ Maybe, you are quite right. -The vision is the gift.” She turned and laid her hand on Jean’s -shoulder, her eyes beaming with enjoyment of their talk. “I shall -remember you, Brown Eyes.” - -And just at this point Cousin Beth and Carlota came towards them, the -former smiling at Jean. - -“Don’t you think you’ve monopolized the Contessa long enough, young -woman?” she asked. Jean could not answer. The Contessa, this whimsical, -oddly gowned woman, who had sat and talked with her over their tea in -the friendliest sort of way, all the time that Jean had thought the -Contessa was the tall lady in the temperamental gown with the stag hound -at her heels. - -“But this is delightful,” exclaimed the Contessa, happily. “We have met -incognito. I thought she was some demure little art student who knew no -one here, and she has been so kind to me, who also seemed lonely. Come -now, we will meet with the celebrities.” - -With her arm around Jean’s waist, she led her over to the group around -Morel, and told them in her charming way of how they had discovered each -other. - -“And she has taught me a lesson that you, Morel, with all your art, do -not know, I am sure. It is not the execution that is the crown of -ambition and aspiration, it is the vision itself. For the vision is -divine inspiration, but the execution is the groping of the human hand.” - -“Oh, but I never could say it so beautifully,” exclaimed Jean, pink -cheeked and embarrassed, as Morel laid his hand over hers. - -“Nevertheless,” he said, gently, “success to thy finger-tips, -Mademoiselle.” - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - GREENACRE LETTERS - - -Jean confessed her mistake to Cousin Beth after they had returned home. -There were just a few moments to spare before bedtime, after wishing -Carlota and her aunt good night, and she sat on a little stool before -the fire in the sitting-room. - -“I hadn’t the least idea she was the Contessa. You know that tall woman -with the stag hound, Cousin Beth—” - -Mrs. Newell laughed softly, braiding her hair down into regular -schoolgirl pigtails. - -“That was Betty Goodwin. Betty loves to dress up. She plays little parts -for herself all the time. I think today she was a Russian princess -perhaps. The next time she will be a tailor-made English girl. Betty’s -people have money enough to indulge her whims, and she has just had her -portrait done by Morel as a sort of dream maiden, I believe. I caught a -glimpse of it on exhibition last week. Looks as little like Betty as I -do. Jean, child, paint if you must, but paint the thing as you see it, -and do choose apple trees and red barns rather than dream maidens who -aren’t real.” - -“I don’t know what I shall paint,” Jean answered, with a little quick -sigh. “She rather frightened me, I mean the Contessa. She thinks only -real geniuses should paint.” - -“Nonsense. Paint all you like. You’re seventeen, aren’t you, Jean?” - -Jean nodded. “Eighteen in April.” - -“You seem younger than that. If I could, I’d swamp you in paint and -study for the next two years. By that time you would have either found -out that you were tired to death of it, and wanted real life, or you -would be doing something worth while in the art line. But in any event -you would have no regrets. I mean you could trot along life’s highway -contentedly, without feeling there was something you had missed. It was -odd your meeting the Contessa as you did. She likes you very much. I -wish it could be arranged for you to go over to Italy in a year, and be -under her wing. It’s such a broadening experience for you, Jeanie. -Perhaps I’ll be going myself by then and could take you. You would love -it as I did, I know. There’s a charm and restfulness about old world -spots that all the war clamour and devastation cannot kill. Now run -along to bed. Tomorrow will be a quiet day. The Contessa likes it here -because she can relax and as she says ‘invite her soul to peace.’ Good -night, dear.” - -When Jean reached her own room, she found a surprise. On the desk lay a -letter from home that Minory had laid there. Minory was Cousin Beth’s -standby, as she said. She was middle-aged, and had been “help” to the -Peabodys ever since she was a girl. Matrimony had never attracted -Minory. She had never been known to have a sweetheart. She was tall and -spare, with a broad serene face, and sandy-red hair worn parted in the -middle and combed smoothly back over her ears in old-fashioned style. -Her eyes were as placid and contented as a cat’s, and rather greenish, -too, in tint. - -“Minory has reached Nirvana,” Cousin Beth would say, laughingly. “She -always has a little smile on her lips, and says nothing. I’ve never seen -her angry or discontented. She’s saved her earnings and bought property, -and supports several indigent relatives who have no earthly right to her -help. Her favorite flower, she says, is live forever, as we call it here -in New England, or the Swiss edelweiss. She’s a faithful Unitarian, and -her favorite charity is orphan asylums. All my life I have looked up to -Minory and loved her. There’s a poem called ‘The Washer of the Ford,’ I -think it is, and she has made me think of it often, for over and over at -the passing out of dear ones in the family, it has been Minory’s hand on -my shoulder that has steadied me, and her hand that has closed their -eyes. She stands and holds the candle for the rest of us.” - -It was just like her, Jean thought, to lay the home letter where it -would catch her eye and make her happy before she went to sleep. One joy -of a letter from home was that it turned out to be a budget as soon as -you got it out of the envelope. The one on top was from the Motherbird, -written just before the mail wagon came up the hill. - - DEAR PRINCESS ROYAL: - - You have been much on my mind, but I haven’t time for a long - letter, as Mr. Ricketts may bob up over the hill any minute, and - he is like time and tide that wait for no man, you know. I am - ever so glad your visit has proved a happy one. Stay as long as - Cousin Beth wants you. Father is really quite himself these - days, and I have kept Mrs. Gorham, so the work has been very - easy for me, even without my first lieutenant. - - It looks like an early spring, and we expect Ralph and Honey - from the west in about a week, instead of in May. Ralph will - probably be our guest for awhile, as Father will enjoy his - company. The crocuses are up all along the garden wall, and the - daffodils and narcissus have started to send up little green - lances through the earth. I have never enjoyed the coming of a - spring so much as now. Perhaps one needs a long bleak winter in - order to appreciate spring. - - Have you everything you need? Let me know otherwise. You know, I - always find some way out. A letter came for you from Bab which I - enclose. Write often to us, my eldest fledgling. I feel very - near you these days in love and thought. The petals are - unfolding so fast in your character. I want to watch each one, - and you know this, dear. There is always a curious bond between - a firstborn and a mother, to the mother specially, for you - taught me motherhood, all the dear, first motherlore, my Jean. - Some day you will understand what I mean, when you look down - into the face of your own. I must stop, for I am getting - altogether homesick for you. - - Tenderly, - Mother. - -Jean sat for a few minutes after reading this, without unfolding the -girls’ letters. Mothers were wonderful persons, she thought. Their -brooding wings stretched so far over one, and gave forth a love and -protectiveness such as nothing else in the world could do. - -The next was from Helen, quite like her too. Brief and beautifully -penned on her very own violet tinted note paper. - - DEAR JEANIE: - - I do hope you have met the wonderful Contessa. I can picture her - in my mind. You know Father’s picture of Marie Stuart with the - pearl cap? Well, I’ve been wondering if she looked like that. I - know they wore pearl caps in Italy because Juliet wore one. I’d - love a pearl cap. Tell me what Carlota talks about, and what - color are her eyes! - - School is very uninteresting just now, and it is cold driving - over to the car. But I have one teacher I love, Miss Simmons. - Jean, she has the face of Priscilla exactly, and she is - descended from Miles Standish, really and truly. She told me so, - and Kit said if all of his descendants could be bunched - together, they would fill a state. You know Kit. Miss Simmons - wears a low lace collar with a small cameo pin, and her voice is - beautiful. I can’t bear people with loud voices. When I see her - in the morning, it just wipes out all the cold drive and - everything that’s gone wrong. Well, Kit says it’s time to go to - bed. I forgot to tell you, unless Mother has already in her - letter, that Mr. McRae is coming from Saskatoon with Honey, and - he will stay here. Doris hopes he will bring her a tame bear - cub. - - Your loving sister, - Helen Beatrice Robbins. - -“Oh, Helenita, you little goose,” Jean laughed, shaking her head. The -letter was so entirely typical of Helen and her vagaries. A mental flash -of the dear old Contessa in a pearl cap came to her. She must remember -to tell Cousin Beth about that tomorrow. - -Doris’s letter was hurried and full of maternal cares. - - DEAR SISTER: - - We miss you awfully. Shad got hurt yesterday. His foot was - jammed when a tree fell on it, but Joe is helping him, and I - think they like each other better. - - We are setting all the hens that want to set. The minute I - notice one clucking I tell Mother, and we fix a nest for her. - Father has the incubator going, but it may go out if we forget - to put in oil, Shad says, and the hens don’t forget to keep on - the nests. Bless Mother Nature, Mrs. Gorham says. She made - caramel filling today the way you do, and it all ran out in the - oven, and she said the funniest thing. “Thunder and lightning.” - Just like that. And when I laughed, she told me not to because - she ought not to say such things, but when cooking things went - contrariwise, she just lost her head entirely. Isn’t that fun? - Send me a pressed pink rose. I’d love it. - - Lovingly yours, - Dorrie. - -Last of all was Kit’s, six sheets of pencilled scribbling, crowded -together on both sides. - - I’m writing this the last thing at night, dear sister mine, when - my brain is getting calm. Any old time the poet starts singing - blithesomely of ye joys of springtide I hope he lands on this - waste spot the first weeks in March. Jean, the frost is thawing - in the roads, and that means the roads are simply falling in. - You drive over one in the morning, and at night it isn’t there - at all. There’s just a slump, understand. I’m so afraid that - Princess will break her legs falling into a Gilead quagmire, I - hardly dare drive her. - - I suppose Mother has written that we have a guest coming from - Saskatoon. I feel very philosophical about it. It will do Dad - good, and I’ll be glad to see Honey again. Billie’s coming home - for Easter, thank goodness. He’s human. Do you suppose you will - be here then? What do you do all day? Gallivant lightsomely - around the adjacent landscape with Cousin Beth, or languish with - the Contessa and Carlota in some luxurious spot, making believe - you’re nobility too. Remember, Jean Robbins, the rank is but the - guinea’s stamp, “a man’s a man for a’ that.” Whatever would you - do without your next sister to keep you balanced along strict - republican lines? Don’t mind me. We’ve been studying comparisons - between forms of government at school, and I’m completely - jumbled on it all. I can’t make up my mind what sort of a - government I want to rule over. This kingship business seems to - be so uncertain. Poor old King Charles and Louis, and the rest. - I’m to be Charlotte Corday at the prison window in one of our - monthly tableaux. Like the picture? - - If you do see any of the spring styles, don’t be afraid to send - them home. Even while we cannot indulge, it’s something to look - at them. I don’t want any more middies. They are just a - subterfuge. I want robes and garments. And how are the girls - wearing their hair in quaint old Boston town? Mine’s getting too - long to do anything with, and I feel Quakerish with it. It’s an - awful nuisance trying to look like everybody else. I’ll be glad - when I can live under a greenwood tree some place, with a - stunning cutty sark on of dull green doeskin. Do you know what a - cutty sark is? Read Bobby Burns, my child. I opine it’s a cross - between a squaw’s afternoon frock and a witch’s kirtle. But it - is graceful and comfortable, and I shall always wear one when I - take to the forest to stay. - - I have a new chum, a dog. Shad says he’s just as much of a stray - as Joe was, but he isn’t. He’s a shepherd dog, and very - intelligent. I’ve called him Mac. He fights like sixty with - Shad, but you just ought to see him father that puppy of Doris’s - you brought up from New York. He trots him off to the woods with - him, and teaches him all sorts of dog tricks. Doris had him - cuddled and muffled up until he was a perfect little - molly-coddle. I do think she would take the natural independence - out of a kangaroo just by petting it. - - I miss you in the evenings a whole lot. Helen goes around in a - sort of moon ring of romance nowadays, so it’s no fun talking to - her, and Dorrie is all fussed up over her setting hens and the - incubator natural born orphans, so I am left to my own devices. - Did you ever wish we had some boys in the family? I do now and - then. I’d like one about sixteen, just between us two, that I - could chum with. Billie comes the nearest to being a kid brother - that I’ve ever had. That boy really had a dandy sense of - fairness, Jean, do you know it? I hope being away at school - hasn’t spoilt him. And that makes me think. The Judge and Cousin - Roxy were down to dinner Sunday, and the flower of romance still - blooms for them. It’s just splendid to see the way he eyes her, - not adoringly, but with so much appreciation, Jean, and he - chuckles every time she springs one of her delicious sayings. I - don’t see how he ever let her travel her own path so many years. - - Well, my dear, artistic close relative and beloved sister, it is - almost ten P. M., and Shad has wound the clock, and locked the - doors, and put wood on the fire, so it’s time for Kathleen to - turn into her lonely cot. Give my love to Cousin Beth, and write - to me personally. We can’t bear your inclusive family letters. - - Fare ye well, great heart. We’re taking up Hamlet too, in - English. Wasn’t Ophelia a quitter? - - Yours, - Kit. - -If it had not been too late, Jean felt she could have sat down then and -there, and answered every one of them. They took her straight back to -Greenacres and all the daily round of fun there. In the morning she read -them all to Carlota, sitting on their favorite old Roman seat out in the -big central greenhouse. Here were only ferns and plants like orchids, -begonias, and delicate cyclamen. There was a little fountain in the -center, and several frogs and gold fish down among the lily pads. - -“Ah, but you are lucky,” Carlota cried in her quick way. “I am just -myself, and it’s so monotonous. I wish I could go back with you, even -for just a few days, and know them all. Kit must be so funny and -clever.” - -“Why couldn’t you? Mother’d love to have you, and the girls are longing -to know what you look like. I’d love to capture you and carry you into -our old hills. Perhaps by Easter you could go. Would the Contessa let -you, do you think?” - -Carlota laughed merrily, and laid her arm around Jean’s shoulder. - -“I think she would let me do anything you wished. Let us go now and ask -her.” - -The Contessa had not joined them at breakfast. She preferred her tray in -Continental fashion, brought up by Minory, and they found her lying in -the flood of sunshine from the south window, on the big comfy chintz -covered couch drawn up before the open fireplace. Over a faded old rose -silk dressing gown she wore a little filmy lace shawl the tint of old -ivory that matched her skin exactly. Jean never saw her then or in after -years without marvelling at the perpetual youth of her eyes and smile. -She held out both hands to her with an exclamation of pleasure, and -kissed her on her cheeks. - -“Ah, Giovanna mia,” she cried. “Good morning. Carlota has already -visited me, and see, the flowers, so beautiful and dear, which your -cousin sent up—roses and roses. They are my favorites. Other flowers we -hold sentiment for, not for their own sakes, but because there are -associations or memories connected with them, but roses bring forth -homage. At my little villa in Tuscany which you must see some time, it -is very old, very poor in many ways, but we have roses everywhere. Now, -tell me, what is it you two have thought up. I see it in your eyes.” - -“Could I take Carlota home with me for a little visit when I go?” asked -Jean. “It isn’t so very far from here, just over in the corner of -Connecticut where Rhode Island and Massachusetts meet, and by Easter it -will be beautiful in the hills. And it’s perfectly safe for her up -there. Nothing ever happens.” - -The Contessa laughed at her earnestness. - -“We must consult with your cousin first,” she said. “If we can have you -with us in Italy then we must let Carlota go with you surely. We sail in -June. I have word from my sister. Would you like to go, child?” - -Jean sat down on the chair by the bedside and clasped her hands. - -“Oh, it just couldn’t happen,” she said in almost a hushed tone. “I’m -sure it couldn’t, Contessa. Perhaps in another year, Cousin Beth said -she might be going over, and then I could be with her. But not yet.” - -The Contessa lifted her eyebrows and smiled whimsically. - -“But what if there is a conspiracy of happiness afoot? Then you have -nothing to say, and I have talked with your cousin, and she has written -to another cousin, Roxy, I think she calls her. Ah, you have such -wonderful women cousins, Giovanna, they are all fairy godmothers I -think.” - -Jean liked to be called Giovanna. It gave her a curious feeling of -belonging to that life Carlota told her of, in the terra cotta colored -villa among the old terraces and rose gardens overlooking the sea. She -remembered some of Browning’s short poems that she had always liked, the -little fragment beginning, - - “Your ghost should walk, you lover of trees, - In a wind swept gap of the Pyrenees.” - -“If you keep on day dreaming over possibilities, Jean Robbins,” she told -herself in her mirror, “you’ll be quite as bad as Helen. You keep your -two feet on the ground, and stop fluttering wings.” - -Whereupon for the remainder of the stay at Cousin Beth’s, she bent to -study with a will, until Easter week loomed near, and it was time to -think of starting for the hills once more. Carlota was going with her, -and so excited and expectant over the trip that the Contessa declared -she almost felt like accompanying them, just to discover this marvelous -charm that seemed to enfold Greenacres and its girls. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - BILLIE’S FIGHTING CHANCE - - -It was the Friday before Easter when they arrived. Jean looked around -eagerly as she jumped to the platform, wondering which of the family -would drive down to meet them, but instead of Kit or Shad, Ralph McRae -stepped up to her with outstretched hand. All the way from Saskatoon, -she thought, and just the same as he was a year before. As Kit had said -then, in describing him: - -“He doesn’t look as if he could be the hero, but he’d always be the -hero’s best friend, like Mercutio was to Romeo, or Gratiano to Benvolio. -If he couldn’t be Robin Hood, he’d be Will Scarlet, not Alan a Dale. I -couldn’t imagine him ever singing serenades.” - -Jean introduced him to Carlota, who greeted him in her pretty, half -foreign way, and Mr. Briggs waved a welcome as he trundled the express -truck past them down the platform. - -“Looks a bit like rain. Good for the planters,” he called. - -Princess took the long curved hill from the station splendidly, and Jean -lifted her head to it all, the long overlapping hill range that unfolded -as they came to the first stretch of level road, the rich green of the -pines gracing their slopes, and most of all the beautiful haze of young -green that lay like a veil over the land from the first bursting leaf -buds. - -“Oh, it’s good to be home,” she exclaimed. “Over at Cousin Beth’s the -land seems so level, and I like hills.” - -“They were having some sort of Easter exercises at school, and the girls -could not drive down,” Ralph said. “Honey and I arrived two days ago, -and I asked for the privilege of coming down. Shad’s busy planting out -his first lettuce and radishes in the hotbeds, and Mrs. Robbins is up at -the Judge’s today. Billie’s pretty sick, I believe.” - -“Billie?” cried Jean. “Not Billie?” - -Even to think of Billie’s being ill was absurd. It was like saying a -raindrop had the measles, or the wind seemed to have an attack of -whooping cough. He had never been sick all the years he had lived up -there, bare headed winter and summer, free as the birds and animals he -loved. All the long drive home she felt subdued in a way. - -“He came back from school Monday and they are afraid of typhoid. I -believe conditions at the school were not very good this spring, and -several of the boys came down with it. But I’m sure if anybody could -pull him through it would be Mrs. Ellis,” said Ralph. - -But even with the best nursing and care, things looked bad for Billie. -It was supper time before Mrs. Robbins returned. Carlota had formed an -immediate friendship with Mr. Robbins, and they talked of her father, -whom he had known before his departure for Italy. For anyone to have -known and appreciated her father, was a sure passport to Carlota’s -favor. It raised them immensely in her estimation, and she was delighted -to find, as she said, “somebody whose eyes have really looked at him.” - -Kit was indignant and stunned at the blow that had fallen on her chum, -Billie. She never could take the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune -in the proper humble spirit anyway. - -“The idea that Billie should have to be sick,” she cried. “How long will -he be in bed, Mother?” - -“I don’t know, dear,” Mrs. Robbins said. “He’s sturdy and strong, but -the fever usually has to run its course. Dr. Gallup came right over.” - -“Bless him,” Kit put in fervently. “He’ll get him well in no time. I -don’t think there ever was a doctor so set on making people well. I’d -rather see him come in the door, no matter what ailed me, sit down and -tell me I had just a little distemper, open his cute little black case, -and mix me up that everlasting mess that tastes like cinnamon and sugar, -than have a whole line up of city specialists tapping me.” - -Helen and Doris clung closely to Jean, taking her and Carlota around the -place to show her all the new chicks, orphans and otherwise. Greenacres -really was showing signs of full return this year for the care and love -spent on its rehabilitation. The fruit trees, after Shad’s pruning and -fertilizing, and general treatment that made them look like swaddled -babies, were blossoming profusely, and on the south slope of the field -along the river, rows and rows of young peach trees had been set out. -The garden too, had come in for its share of attention. Helen loved -flowers, and had worked there more diligently than she usually could be -coaxed to on any sort of real labor. Shad had cleared away the old dead -canes first, and had plowed up the central plot, taking care to save all -the perennials. - -“You know what I wish, Mother dear,” said Helen, standing with earth -stained fingers in the midst of the tangle of old vines and bushes. “I -wish we could lay out paths and put stones down on them, flat stones, I -mean, like flags. And have flower beds with borders. Could we, do you -think? And maybe a sun dial. I’d love to have a sun dial in our family.” - -Her earnestness made Mrs. Robbins smile, but she agreed to the plan, and -Cousin Roxy helped out with slips from her flower store, so that the -prospect for a garden was very good. And later Honey Hancock came up -with Piney to advise and help too. The year out west had turned the -bashful country boy into a stalwart, independent individual whom even -Piney regarded with some respect. He was taller than her now, broad -shouldered, and sure of himself. - -“I think Ralph has done wonders with him,” Piney said. “Mother thinks so -too. He can pick her right up in his arms now, and walk around with her. -She doesn’t seem to mind going west any more, after seeing what it’s -made of Honey, and hearing him tell of it. And Ralph says we’ll always -keep the home here so that when we want to come back, we can. I think he -likes Gilead someway. He says it never seems just like home way out -west. You need to walk on the earth where your fathers and grandfathers -have trod, and even to breathe the same air. Mother says the only place -she hates to leave behind is our little family burial plot over in the -woods.” - -In the days following Easter, while Mrs. Robbins was over at the Ellis -place helping care for Billie, Helen, Piney and Carlota formed a fast -friendship, much to Jean and Kit’s wonderment. It was natural for Helen -and Carlota to be chums, but Carlota was enthusiastic over Piney, her -girl of the hills, as she called her. - -“Oh, but she is glorious,” she cried, the first day, as she stood at the -gate posts watching Piney dash down the hill road on Mollie. “My father -would love to model her head. She is so fearless. And I am afraid of -lots and lots of things. She is like the mountain girls at home. And her -real name—Proserpine. It is so good to have a name that is altogether -different. My closest girl friend at the convent was Signa Palmieri and -she has a little sister named Assunta. I like them both, and I like -yours, Jean. What does it mean?” - -“I don’t know,” Jean answered, musingly, as she bent to lift up a -convolvulus vine that was trying to lay its tendrils on the old stone -wall. “It is the feminine of John, isn’t it?” - -“Then it means beloved. That suits you.” Carlota regarded her seriously. -“My aunt says you have the gift of charm and sympathy.” - -Jean colored a little. She was not quite used to the utter frankness of -Carlota’s Italian nature. While she and the other girls never hesitated -to tell just what they thought of each other, certainly, as Kit would -have said, nobody tossed over these little bouquets of compliment. It -was entirely against the New England temperament. - -Just as Carlota started to say more there came a long hail from the -hill, and coming down they saw Kit and Sally Peckham, with long wooden -staffs. Sally dawned on Carlota with quite as much force as Piney had. -Her heavy red gold hair hung today in two long plaits down her back. She -wore a home-made blue cloth skirt and a loose blouse of dark red, with -the neck turned in, and one of her brothers’ hats, a grey felt affair -that she had stuck a quail’s wing in. - -“Hello,” called Kit, “we’ve been for a hike, clear over to the village. -Mother ’phoned she needed some things from the drug store, so we thought -we’d walk over and get them. Billie’s just the same. He don’t know a -soul, and all he talks about is making his math. exams. I think it’s -perfectly shameful to take a boy like that who loves reading and nature -and natural things, and grind him down to regular stuff.” - -She reached the stone gateway, and sat down on a rock to rest, while -Jean introduced Sally, who bowed shyly to the slim strange girl in -black. - -“I didn’t know you had company, excepting Mr. McRae,” she said. “Kit -wanted me to walk over with her.” - -“I love a good long hike,” interrupted Kit. “Specially when I feel -bothered or indignant. We’ve kept up the hike club ever since the roads -opened up, Jean. It’s more fun than anything out here, I never realized -there was so much to know about just woods and fields until Sally taught -me where to hunt for things. Do you like to hike, Carlota?” - -“Hike?” repeated Carlota, puzzled. “What is it?” - -“A hike is a long walk.” - -Carlota laughed in her easy-going way. - -“I don’t know. Not too long. I think I’d rather ride.” - -“I also,” Helen said flatly. “I don’t see a bit of fun dragging around -like Kit does, through the woods and over swamps, climbing hills, and -always wanting to get to the top of the next one.” - -“Oh, but I love to,” Kit chanted. “Maybe I’ll be a mountain climber yet. -Children, you don’t grasp that it is something strange and interesting -in my own special temperament. The longing to attain, the—the -insatiable desire to seize adventure and follow her fleeing footsteps, -the longing to tap the stars on their foreheads and let them know I’m -here.” - -“Kit’s often like this,” said Helen, confidentially to Carlota. “You -mustn’t mind her a bit. You see, she believes she is the genius of the -family, and sometimes, I do too, almost.” - -“There may be a spark in each of us,” Kit said generously. “I’ll not -claim it all. Let’s get back to the house. I’m famished, and I’ve coaxed -Sally to stay and lunch with us.” - -“What good times many can have,” Carlota slipped her arm in Jean’s on -the walk back through the garden. “Sometimes I wish I had been many too, -I mean with brothers and sisters. You feel so oddly when you are all the -family in yourself.” - -“Well,” laughed Jean, “it surely has some disadvantages, for every -single one wants something different at the same identical moment, and -that is comical now and then, but we like being a tribe ourselves. I -think the more one has to divide their interests and sympathies, the -more it comes back to them in strength. Cousin Roxy said that to me -once, and I liked it. She said no human beings should have all their -eggs in one nest, but make a beautiful omelet of them for the feeding of -the multitude. Isn’t that good?” - -Carlota had not seen Cousin Roxy yet. With Billie down seriously ill, -the Judge’s wife had shut out the world at large, and instituted herself -his nurse in her own sense of the word, which meant not only caring for -him, but enfolding him in such a mantle of love and inward power of -courage that it would have taken a cordon of angels to get him away from -her. - -Still, those were long anxious days through the remainder of April. Mrs. -Gorham and Jean managed the other house, while Mrs. Robbins helped out -at the sick room. There was a trained nurse on hand too, but her duties -were largely to wait on Cousin Roxy, and as Mrs. Robbins said -laughingly, it was the only time in her life when she had seen a trained -nurse browbeaten. - -Kit was restless and uneasy over her chum’s plight. She would saddle -Princess and ride over on her twice a day to see what the bulletins -were, and sometimes sit out in the old fashioned garden watching the -windows of the room where Cousin Roxy kept vigil. She almost resented -the joyous activity of the bees and birds in their spring delirium when -she thought of their comrade Billie, lying there fighting the fever. - -And oddly enough, the old Judge would join her, he who had lived so many -years ignoring Billie’s existence, sit and hold her hand in his, gazing -out at the sunlight and the growing things of the old garden, and now -and then giving vent to a heavy sigh. He, too, missed his boy, and -realized what it might mean if the birds and bees and ants and all the -rest of Billie’s small brotherhood, were to lose their friend. - -Jean never forget the final night. She had a call over the telephone -from her mother about nine, to leave Mrs. Gorham in charge, and come to -her. - -“Dear, I want you here. It’s the crisis, and we can’t be sure what may -happen. Billie’s in a heavy sleep now, and the old Doctor says we can -just wait. Cousin Roxy is with him.” - -Jean laid off her outer cloak and hat, and went in where old Dr. Gallup -sat. It always seemed foolish to call him old although his years -bordered on three score. His hair was gray and straggled boyishly as -some football hero’s, his eyes were brown and bright, and his smile -something so much better than medicine that one just naturally revived -at the sight of him, Cousin Roxy used to say. He sat by the table, -looking out the window, one hand tapping the edge, the other deep in his -pocket. One could not have said whether he was taking counsel of Mother -Nature, brooding out there in the shadowy spring night, or lifting up -his heart to a higher throne. - -“Hello, Jeanie, child,” he said, cheerily. “Going to keep me company, -aren’t you? Did you come up alone?” - -“Shad drove me over. Doctor, Billie is all right, isn’t he?” - -“We hope so,” answered the old doctor. “But what is it to be all right? -If the little lad’s race is run, it has been a good one, Jeanie, and he -goes out fearlessly, and if not, then he is all right too, and we hope -to hold him with us. But when this time comes and it’s the last sleep -before dawn, there’s nothing to do but watch and wait.” - -“But do you think—” - -Jean hesitated. She could not help feeling he must know what the hope -was. - -“He’s got a fine fighting chance,” said the doctor. “Now, I’m going in -with Mrs. Ellis, and you comfort the Judge and brace him up. He’s in the -study there.” - -It was dark in the study. Jean opened the door gently, and looked in. -The old Judge sat in his deep, old arm chair by the desk, and his head -was bent forward. She did not say a word, but tiptoed over, and knelt -beside him, her cheek against his sleeve. And the Judge laid his arm -around her shoulders in silence, patting her absent-mindedly. So they -sat until out of the windows the garden took on a lighter aspect, and -there came the faint twittering of birds wakening in their nests. - -Jean, watching the beautiful miracle of the dawn, marvelled. The dew -lent a silvery radiance to every blade of grass, every leaf and twig. -There was an unearthly, mystic beauty to the whole landscape and the -garden. She thought of a verse the girls had found once, when they had -traced Piney’s name in poesy for Kit’s benefit, one from “The Garden of -Proserpine.” Something about the pale green garden, and these lines, - - “From too much love of living, - From joy and care set free.” - -And just then the old doctor put his head in the door and sang out -cheerily, - -“It’s all right. Billie’s awake.” - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - THE PATH OF THE FIRE - - -Carlota’s stay was lengthened from one week to three at Jean’s personal -solicitation. The Contessa wrote that so long as the beloved child was -enjoying herself and benefiting in health among “the hills of rest,” she -would not dream of taking her back to the city, while spring trod -lightly through the valleys. - -“Isn’t she poetical, though?” Kit said, thoughtfully, as she knelt to -make some soft meal for a new batch of Doris’s chicks. Carlota had read -the letter aloud to the family at the breakfast table, and they could -hear her now playing the piano and singing with Jean and Helen, -“Pippa’s” song: - - “The year’s at the spring, - And day’s at the morn.” - -“No wonder Carlota is posted on all the romance and poetry of the old -world. All Helen has done since she came is moon around and imagine -herself Rosamunda in her garden. It makes me tired with all the spring -work hanging over to be done. How many broods does this make, Dorrie?” - -“Eight,” said Dorrie, “and more coming. Shad said he understood we were -going to sell off all the incubated ones at ten cents apiece, and keep -the real brooders for the family.” - -“Oh, dear!” Kit leaned back against the side of the barn, and looked -lazily off at the widening valley vista before her. “I am so afraid that -Dad will get too much interested in chicken raising and crops and soils -and things, so that we’ll stay on here forever. Somehow I didn’t mind it -half as much all through the winter time, but now that spring is here, -it is just simply awful to have to pitch in and work from the rising of -the sun even unto its going down. I want to be a ‘lily of the field.’” - -Overhead the great fleecy, white clouds sailed up from the south in a -squadron of splendor. A new family of bluebirds lately hatched was -calling hungrily from a nest in the old cherry tree nearby, and being -scolded lustily by a catbird for lack of patience. There was a delicate -haze lingering still over the woods and distant fields. The new foliage -was out, but hardly enough to make any difference in the landscape’s -coloring. After two weeks of almost daily showers there had come a spell -of close warm weather that dried up the fields and woods, and left them -as Cousin Roxy said “dry as tinder and twice as dangerous.” - -“How’s Billie?” asked Doris, suddenly. “I’ll be awfully glad when he’s -out again.” - -“They’ve got him on the veranda bundled up like a mummy. He’s so topply -that you can push him over with one finger-tip and Cousin Roxy treats -him as if she had him wadded up in pink cotton. I think if they just -stopped treating him like a half-sick person, and just let him do as he -pleased he’d get well twice as fast.” - -Doris had been gazing up at the sky dreamily. All at once she said, - -“What a funny cloud that is over there, Kit.” - -It hung over a big patch of woods towards the village, a low motionless, -pearl colored cloud, very peculiar looking, and very suspicious, and the -odd part about it was that it seemed balanced on a base of cloud, like a -huge mushroom or a waterspout in shape. - -“What on earth is that?” exclaimed Kit, springing to her feet. “That’s -never a cloud, and it is right over the old Ames place. Do you suppose -they’re out burning brush with the woods so dry?” - -“There’s nobody home today. Don’t you know it’s Saturday, and Astrid -said they were all going to the auction at Woodchuck hill.” - -Kit did not wait to hear any more. She sped to the house like a young -deer and, with eyes quite as startled, she burst into the kitchen and -called up the back stairs. - -“Mother, do you see that smoke over the Ames’s woods?” - -“Smoke,” echoed Mrs. Robbins’ voice. “Why, no, dear, I haven’t noticed -any. Wait a minute, and I’ll see.” - -But Kit was by nature a joyous alarmist. She loved a new thrill, and in -the daily monotony that smothered one in Gilead anything that promised -an adventure came as a heaven sent relief. She flew up the stairs, -stopping to call in at Helen’s door, and send a hail over the front -banister to Jean and Carlota. Her father and mother were standing at the -open window when she entered their room, and Mr. Robbins had his field -glasses. - -“It is a fire, isn’t it, Dad?” Kit asked, eagerly, and even as she spoke -there came the long, shrill blast of alarm on the Peckham mill whistle. -There was no fire department of any kind for fourteen miles around. -Nothing seemed to unite the little outlying communities of the hill -country so much as the fire peril, but on this Saturday it happened that -nearly all the available men had leisurely jaunted over to the Woodchuck -Hill auction. This was one of the characteristics of Gilead, shunting -its daily tasks when any diversion offered. - -“Oh, listen,” exclaimed Helen, who had hurried in also. “There’s the -alarm bell ringing up at the church too. It must be a big one.” - -Even as she spoke the telephone bell rang downstairs, while Shad called -from the front garden: - -“Fearful big fire just broke out between here and Ames’s. I’m going over -with the mill boys to help fight it.” - -“Can I go too, Shad?” cried Joe eagerly. “I won’t be in the way, honest, -I won’t.” - -“Go ’long, you stay here, an’ if you see that wing of smoke spreadin’ -over this way, you hitch up, quick as you can, an’ drive the folks out -of its reach.” Shad started off up the road with a shovel over one -shoulder and a heavy mop over the other. Jean was at the telephone. It -was Judge Ellis calling. - -“He’s worried over Cousin Roxy, Mother,” Jean called up the stairs. -“Cynthy wanted her to come over to her place today to get some carpet -rags, and Cousin Roxy drove over there about an hour ago. He says her -place lies right in the path of the fire. Mrs. Gorham has gone away for -the day to the auction with Ben, and the Judge will have to stay with -Billie. He’s terribly anxious.” - -“Oh, Dad,” exclaimed Kit, “couldn’t I please, please, go over and stay -with Billie, and let the Judge come up to the fire, if he wants to. I’m -sure he’s just dying to. Not but what I’m sure Cousin Roxy can take care -of herself. May I? Oh, you dear. Tell him I’m coming, Jean.” - -“Yes, you’re going,” said Helen, aggrievedly, “and you’ll ride Princess -over there, and how on earth are the rest of us going to be rescued if -the fire comes this way.” - -“My dear child, and beloved sister, if you see yon flames sweeping down -upon you, get hence to Little River, and stand in it midstream. I’m sure -there isn’t one particle of danger. Just think of Astrid and Ingeborg -coming back from the auction, and maybe finding their house just a pile -of ashes.” - -Carlota stood apart from the rest, her dark eyes wide with surprise and -apprehension. A forest fire to her meant a great devastating, -irresistible force which swept over miles of acreage. Her father had -told her, back in the old villa, of camping days in the Adirondacks, -when he had been caught in the danger zone, and had fought fires side by -side with the government rangers. She did not realize that down here in -the little Quinnibaug Hills, a wood fire in the spring of the year was -looked upon as a natural visitation, rather calculated to provide -amusement and occupation to the boys and men, as well as twenty cents an -hour to each and every one who fought it. - -Jean had left the telephone and was putting on her coat and hat. - -“Mother,” she asked, “do you mind if Carlota and I just walk up the wood -road a little way? We won’t go near the fighting line where the men are -at all, and I’d love to see it. Besides I thought perhaps we might work -our way around through that big back wood lot to Cynthy’s place and see -if Cousin Roxy is there. Then, we could drive back with them.” - -“Oh, can’t I go too?” asked Doris, eagerly. “I won’t be one bit in the -way. Please say yes, Mother, please?” - -“I can’t, dear,” Mrs. Robbins patted her youngest, hurriedly. “Why, yes, -Jean, I think it’s safe for you to both go. Don’t you, Jerry?” - -Mr. Robbins smiled at Jean’s flushed, excited face. It was so seldom the -eldest robin lost her presence of mind, and really became excited. - -“I don’t think it will hurt them a bit,” he said. “Dorrie and Helen had -better stay here though. They will probably be starting back fires, and -you two girls will have all you can do, to take to your own heels, -without looking out for the younger ones.” - -With a couple of golf capes thrown over their shoulders, the two girls -started up the hill road for about three quarters of a mile. The church -bell over at the Plains kept ringing steadily. At the top of the hill -they came to the old wood road that formed a short cut over to the old -Ames place. Here where the trees met overhead in an arcade the road was -heavy with black mud, and they had to keep to the side up near the old -rock walls. As they advanced farther there came a sound of driving -wheels, and all at once Hedda’s mother appeared in her rickety wagon. -She sat far forward on the seat, a man’s old felt hat jammed down over -her heavy, flaxen hair, and an old overcoat with the collar upturned, -thrown about her. Leaning forward with eager eyes, the reins slack on -the horse’s back, giving him full leeway, she seemed to be thoroughly -enthusiastic over this new excitement in Gilead. - -“Looks like it’s going to be some fire, girls. I’m givin’ the alarm -along the road. Giddap!” She slapped the old horse madly with the reins, -and shook back the wind blown wisps of hair from her face like a -Valkyrie scenting battle. - -“Did you see?” asked Carlota, wonderingly. “She wore men’s boots too.” - -“Yes, and she runs a ninety acre farm with the help of Hedda, thirteen -years old, and two hired men. She gets right out into the fields with -them and manages everything herself. I think she’s wonderful. They are -Icelanders.” - -Another team coming the opposite way held Mr. Rudemeir and his son -August. An array of mops, axes, and shovels hung out over the back seat. -Mr. Rudemeir was smoking his clay pipe, placidly, and merely waved one -hand at the girls in salutation, but August called, - -“It has broken out on the other side of the road, farther down.” - -“Is it going towards the old Allan place?” asked Jean, anxiously. “Mrs. -Ellis is down there with Cynthy, and the Judge telephoned over he’s -anxious about them. That’s where we are going.” - -“Better keep out,” called back old Rudemeir over his shoulder. “Like -enough she’ll drive right across the river, if she sees the fire comin’. -Can’t git through this way nohow.” - -The rickety old farm wagon disappeared ahead of them up the road. Jean -hesitated, anxiously. The smoke was thickening in the air, but they -penetrated farther into the woods. Up on the hill to one side, she saw -the Ames place, half obscured already by the blue haze. It lay directly -in the path of the fire, unless the wind happened to change, and if it -should change it would surely catch Carlota and herself if they tried to -reach Cynthy’s house down near the river bank. Still she felt that she -must take the chance. There was an old wood road used by the lumber men, -and she knew every step of the way. - -“Come on,” she said to Carlota. “I’m sure we can make it.” - -They turned now from the main road into an old overgrown byway. Along -its sides rambled ground pine, and wintergreen grew thickly in the shade -of the old oaks. Jean took the lead, hurrying on ahead, and calling to -Carlota that it was just a little way, and they were absolutely safe. -When they came out on the river road, the little mouse colored house was -in sight, and sure enough, Ella Lou stood by the hitching post. - -Jean never stopped to rap at the door. It stood wide open, and the girls -went through the entry into the kitchen. It was empty. - -“Cousin Roxy,” called Jean, loudly. “Cousin Roxy, are you here?” - -From somewhere upstairs there came an answering hail. - -“Pity’s sakes, child!” exclaimed Cousin Roxy, appearing at the top of -the stairs with her arms full of carpet rags. “What are you doing down -here? Cynthy and I are just sorting out some things she wanted to take -over to my place.” - -“Haven’t you seen the smoke? All the woods are on fire up around the -Ames place. The Judge was worried, and telephoned for us to warn you.” - -“Land!” laughed Mrs. Ellis. “Won’t he ever learn that I’m big enough and -old enough to take care of myself. I never saw a Gilead wood fire yet -that put me in any danger.” - -She stepped out of the doorway, pushed her spectacles up on her forehead -and sniffed the air. - -“’Tis kind of smoky, ain’t it,” she said. “And the wind’s beginning to -shift.” She looked up over the rise of the hill in front of the house. -Above it poured great belching masses of lurid smoke. Even as she looked -the huge wing-like mass veered and swayed in the sky like some vast -shapes of genii. Jean caught her breath as she gazed, but Carlota said -anxiously, - -“We must look out for the mare, she is frightened.” - -Ella Lou, for the first time since Jean had known her, showed signs of -being really frightened. She was tugging back at the rope halter that -held her to the post, her eyes showing the whites around them, and her -nostrils wide with fear. Cousin Roxy went straight down to her, -unhitched her deftly, and held her by the bridle, soothing her and -talking as one would to a human being. - -“Jean, you go and get Cynthy quick as you can!” she called. - -Jean ran to the house and met Cynthy groping her way nervously -downstairs. - -“What on earth is it?” she faltered. “Land, I ain’t had such a set-to -with my heart in years. Is the fire comin’ this way? Where’s Roxy?” - -“She says for you to come right away. Please, please hurry up, Miss -Allan.” - -But Cynthy sat down in a forlorn heap on the step, rocking her arms, and -crying, piteously. - -“Oh, I never, never can leave them, my poor, precious darlings. Can’t -you get them for me, Jean? There’s General Washington and Ethan Allen, -Betsy Ross and Pocahontas, and there’s three new kittens in my yarn -basket in the old garret over the ‘L.’” - -Jean realized that she meant her pet cats, dearer to her probably than -any human being in the world. Supporting her gently, she got her out of -the house, promising her she would find the cats. For the next five -minutes, just at the most crucial moment, she hunted for the cats, and -finally succeeded in coaxing all of them into meal bags. Every scurrying -breeze brought down fluttering wisps of half burned leaves from the -burning woods. The shouts of the men could be plainly heard calling to -each other as they worked to keep the fire back from the valuable timber -along the river front. - -“I think we’ve just about time to get by before the fire breaks -through,” said Mrs. Ellis, calmly. Jean was on the back seat, one arm -supporting old Cynthy, her other hand pacifying the rebellious captives -in the bag. Carlota was on the front seat. She was very quiet and -smiling a little. Jean thought how much she must resemble her mother, -the young Contessa Bianca, who had been in full charge of the Red Cross -Hospital, across the sea, for months. - -Not a word was said as Cousin Roxy turned Ella Lou’s white nose towards -home, but they had not gone far before the mare stopped short of her own -free will, snorting and backing. The wind had changed suddenly, and the -full force of the smoke from the fire-swept area poured over them -suffocatingly. Cynthy rose to her feet in terror, Jean’s arm around her -waist, trying to hold her down, as she screamed. - -“For land’s sakes, Cynthy, keep your head,” called Mrs. Ellis. “If it’s -the Lord’s will that we should all go up in a chariot of fire, don’t -squeal out like a stuck pig. Hold her close, Jean. I’m going to drive -into the river.” - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - RALPH’S HOMELAND - - -At the bend of the road the land sloped suddenly straight for the river -brink. A quarter of a mile below was the dam, above Mr. Rudemeir’s red -saw mill. Little River widened at this point, and swept in curves around -a little island. There were no buildings on it, only broad low lush -meadows that provided a home for muskrats and waterfowl. Late in the -fall fat otters could be seen circling around the still waters, and wild -geese and ducks made it a port of call in their flights north and south. - -As Ella Lou started into the water, Carlota asked just one question. - -“How deep is it?” - -“Oh, it varies in spots,” answered Cousin Roxy, cheerfully; her chin was -up, her firm lips set in an unswerving smile, holding the reins in a -steady grasp that steadied Ella Lou’s footing. To Jean she had never -seemed more resourceful or fearless. “There’s some pretty deep holes, -here and there, but we’ll trust to Ella Lou’s common sense, and the -workings of divine Providence. Go ’long there, girl, and mind your -step.” - -Ella Lou seemed to take the challenge personally. She felt her way along -the sandy bottom, daintily, and the wheels of the two seated democrat -sank to the hubs. Out in midstream they met the double current, sweeping -around both sides of the island; and here for a minute or two, danger -seemed imminent. Cousin Roxy gave a quick look back over her shoulder. - -“Can you swim, Jean?” Jean nodded, and held on to the cats and Cynthy, -grimly. It was hard saying which of the two were proving the more -difficult to manage. The wagon swayed perilously, but Ella Lou held to -her course, and suddenly they felt the rise of the shore line again. -Overhead, there had flown a vanguard of frightened birds, flying ahead -of the smothering clouds of smoke that poured now in blinding masses -down from the burning woods. The cries and calls of the men working -along the back fire line reached the little group on the far shore, -faintly. - -As the mare climbed up the bank, dripping wet and snorting, Cousin Roxy -glanced back over her shoulder at the way they had come. Cynthy gave one -look too, and covered her face with her hands. The flames had swept -straight down over her little home, and she cried out in anguish. - -“Pity’s sakes, Cynthy, praise God that the two of us aren’t burning up -this minute with those old shingles and rafters,” cried Mrs. Ellis, -joyfully. “I could rise and sing the Doxology, water soaked as I am, and -mean it more than I ever have in all of my life.” - -“Oh, and Miss Allan, not one of the cats got wet even,” Jean exclaimed, -laughing, almost hysterically. “You don’t know what a time I had holding -that bag up out of the water. Do turn around and look at the wonderful -sight. See, Carlota!” - -But Carlota had jumped out of the wagon with Cousin Roxy, and the two of -them were petting and tending Ella Lou, who stood trembling in every -limb, her eyes still wide with fear. - -“You wonderful old heroine, you,” said Carlota, softly. “I think we all -owe our lives to your courage.” - -“She’s a fine mare, if I do say so, God bless her.” Cousin Roxy unwound -her old brown veil and used it to wipe off Ella Lou’s dripping neck and -back. If her own cloak had been dry she would have laid it over her for -a cover. - -The flames had reached the opposite shore, but while the smoke billowed -across, Little River left them high and dry in the safety zone. - -“I guess we’d better be making for home as quick as we can,” said Cousin -Roxy. Except for a little pallor around her lips, and an extra -brightness to her eyes, no one could have told that she had just caught -a glimpse of the Dark Angel’s pinions beside that river brink. She -pushed back her wisps of wavy hair, climbed back into the wagon, and -turned Ella Lou’s nose towards home. - -The Judge was watching anxiously, pacing up and down the long veranda -with Billie sitting in his reed chair bolstered up with pillows beside -him. He had telephoned repeatedly down to Greenacres, but they were all -quite as anxious now as himself. It was Billie who first caught a sight -of the team and its occupants. - -Kit had gone out into the kitchen to start dinner going. She had refused -to believe that any harm could come to Cousin Roxy or anyone under her -care, and at the sound of Billie’s voice, she glanced from the window, -and caught sight of Jean’s familiar red cap. - -“Land alive, don’t hug me to death, all of you,” exclaimed Cousin Roxy. -“Jean, you go and telephone to your mother right away, and relieve her -anxiety. Like enough, she thinks we’re all burned to cinders by this -time, and tell her she’d better have plenty of coffee and sandwiches -made up to send over to the men in the woods. All us women will have our -night’s work cut out for us.” - -It was the girls’ first experience of a country forest fire. All through -the afternoon the fresh relays of men kept arriving from the nearby -villages, and outlying farms, ready to relieve those who had been -working through the morning. Up at the little white church, the old bell -rope parted and Sally Peckham’s two little brothers distinguished -themselves forever by climbing to the belfry, lying on their backs on -the old beams, and taking their turns kicking the bell. - -There was but little sleep for any members of the family that night. -Jean never forgot the thrill of watching the fire from the cupola -windows, and with the other girls she spent most of the time up there -until daybreak. There was a fascination in seeing that battle from afar, -and realizing how the little puny efforts of a handful of men could hold -in check such a devastating force. Only country dwellers could -appreciate the peril of having all one owned in the world, all that was -dear and precious, and comprised in the word “home,” swept away in the -path of the flames. - -“Poor old Cynthy,” said Jean. “I’m so glad she has her cats. I shall -never forget her face when she looked back. Just think of losing all the -little keepsakes of a lifetime.” - -It was nearly five o’clock when Shad returned. He was grimy and smoky, -but exuberant. - -“By jiminitty, we’ve got her under control,” he cried, executing a -little jig on the side steps. “Got some hot coffee and doughnuts for a -fellow? Who do you suppose worked better than anybody? Gave us all cards -and spades on how to manage a fire. He says this is just a little flea -bite compared with the ones he has up home. He says he’s seen a forest -fire twenty miles wide, sweeping over the mountains up yonder.” - -“Who do you mean, Shad,” asked Jean. “For goodness’ sake tell us who it -is, and stop spouting.” - -“Who do you suppose I mean?” asked Shad, reproachfully. “Honey Hancock’s -cousin, Ralph McRae, from Saskatoon.” - -Jean blushed prettily, as she always did when Ralph’s name was -mentioned. She had hardly seen him since his arrival, owing to Billie’s -illness, and Carlota’s visit with her. Still, oddly enough, even Shad’s -high praise of him, made her feel shyly happy. - -The fire burned fitfully for three days, breaking out unexpectedly in -new spots, and keeping everyone excited and busy. The old Ames barn went -up in smoke, and Mr. Rudemeir’s saw mill caught fire three times. - -“By gum!” he said, jubilantly, “I guess I sit out on that roof all night -long, slapping sparks with a wet mop, but it didn’t get ahead of me.” - -Sally and Kit ran a sort of pony express, riding horseback from house to -house, carrying food and coffee over to the men who were scattered -nearly four miles around the fire-swept area. Ralph and Piney ran their -own rescue work at the north end of town. Honey had been put on the mail -team with Mr. Ricketts’ eldest boy, while the former gave his services -on the volunteer fire corps. The end of the third day Jean was driving -back from Nantic station, after she had taken Carlota down to catch the -local train to Providence. The Contessa had sent her maid to meet her -there, and take her on to Boston. It had been a wonderful visit, Carlota -said, and already she was planning for Jean’s promised trip to the home -villa in Italy. - -Visions of that visit were flitting through Jean’s mind as she drove -along the old river road, and she hardly noticed the beat of hoofs -behind her, until Ralph drew rein on Mollie beside her. They had hardly -seen each other to talk to, since her return from Boston. - -“The fire’s all out,” he said. “We have left some of the boys on guard -yet, in case it may be smouldering in the underbrush. I have just been -telling Rudemeir and the other men, if they’d learn to pile their brush -the way we do up home, they would be able to control these little fires -in no time. You girls must be awfully tired out. You did splendid work.” - -“Kit and Sally did, you mean,” answered Jean. “All I did was to help -cook.” She laughed. “I never dreamt that men and boys could eat so many -doughnuts and cup cakes. Cousin Roxy says she sent over twenty-two -loaves of gingerbread, not counting all the other stuff. Was any one -hurt, at all?” - -“You mean eating too much?” asked Ralph, teasingly. Then more seriously, -he added, “A few of the men were burnt a little bit, but nothing to -speak of. How beautiful your springtime is down here in New England. It -makes me want to take off my coat and go to work right here, reclaiming -some of these old worked out acres, and making them show the good that -still lies in them if they are plowed deep enough.” - -Jean sighed, quickly. - -“Do you really think one could ever make any money here?” she asked. -“Sometimes I get awfully discouraged, Mr. McRae. Of course, we didn’t -come up here with the idea of being farmers. It was Dad’s health that -brought us, but once we were here, we couldn’t help but see the chance -of making Greenacres pay our way a little. Cousin Roxy has told us we’re -in mighty good luck to even get our vegetables and fruit out of it this -last year, and it isn’t the past year I am thinking of; it’s the next -year, and the next one and the next. One of the most appalling things -about Gilead is, that you get absolutely contented up here, and you go -around singing blissfully, ‘I’ve reached the land of corn and wine, and -all its blessings freely mine.’ Old Daddy Higginson who taught our art -class down in New York always said that contentment was fatal to -progress, and I believe it. Father is really a brilliant man, and he’s -getting his full strength back. And while I have a full sense of -gratitude towards the healing powers of these old green hills, still I -have a horror of Dad stagnating here.” - -Ralph turned his head to watch her face, giving Mollie her own way, with -slack rein. - -“Has he said anything himself about wanting to go back to his work?” he -asked. - -“Not yet. I suppose that is what we really must wait for. His own -confidence returning. You see, what I’m afraid of is this: Dad was born -and brought up right here, and the granite of these old hills is in his -system. He loves every square foot of land around here. Just supposing -he should be contented to settle down, like old Judge Ellis, and turn -into a sort of Connecticut country squire.” - -“There are worse things than that in the world,” Ralph replied. “Too -many of our best men forget the land that gave them birth, and pour the -full strength of their mature powers and capabilities into the city -mart. You speak of Judge Ellis. Look at what that old fellow’s mind has -done for his home community. He has literally brought modern -improvements into Gilead. He has represented her up at Hartford off and -on for years, when he was not sitting in judgment here.” - -“You mean, that you think Dad ought not to go back?” asked Jean almost -resentfully. “That just because he happened to have been born here, he -owes it to Gilead to stay here now, and give it the best he has?” - -Ralph laughed, good naturedly. - -“We’re getting into rather deep water, Miss Jean,” he answered. “I can -see that you don’t like the country, and I do. I love it down east here -where all of my folks came from originally, and I’m mighty fond of the -west.” - -“Oh, I’m sure I’d like that too,” broke in Jean, eagerly. “Mother’s from -the west, you know. From California, and I’d love to go out there. I -would love the wide scope and freedom I am sure. What bothers me here, -are those rock walls, for instance.” She pointed at the old one along -the road, uneven, half tumbling down, and overgrown with gray moss; the -standing symbol of the infinite patience and labor of a bygone -generation. “Just think of all the people who spent their lives carrying -those stones, and cutting up all this beautiful land into these little -shut-in pastures.” - -“Yes, but those rocks represent the clearing of fields for tillage. If -they hadn’t dug them out of the ground, they wouldn’t have had any cause -for Thanksgiving dinners. I’m mighty proud of my New England blood, and -I want to tell you right now, if it wasn’t for the New England blood -that went out to conquer the West, where would the West be today?” - -“That’s all right,” said Jean, a bit crossly for her, “but if they had -pioneered a little bit right around here, there wouldn’t be so many run -down farms. What I would like to do, now that Dad is getting well, is -make Greenacres our playground in summertime, and go back home in the -winter.” - -“Home,” he repeated, curiously. - -“Yes, we were all born down in New York,” answered Jean, looking south -over the country landscape, as though she could see Manhattan’s -panoramic skyline rising like a mirage of beckoning promises. “I am -afraid that is home to me.” - - - - - CHAPTER XX - OPEN WINDOWS - - -“It always seems to me,” said Cousin Roxy, the first time she drove down -with Billie to spend the day, “as if Maytime is a sort of fulfilled -promise to us, after the winter and spring. When I was a girl, spring up -here behaved itself. It was sweet and balmy and gentle, and now it’s -turned into an uncertain young tomboy. The weather doesn’t really begin -to settle until the middle of May, but when it does—” She drew in a -deep breath, and smiled. “Just look around you at the beauty it gives -us.” - -She sat out on the tree seat in the big old-fashioned garden that sloped -from the south side of the house to what Jean called “the close.” The -terraces were a riot of spring bloom; tall gold and purple flag lilies -grew side by side with dainty columbine and poet’s narcissus. Along the -stone walls white and purple lilacs flung their delicious perfume to -every passing breeze. The old apple trees that straggled in uneven rows -up through the hill pasture behind the barn, had been transformed into -gorgeous splashy masses of pink bloom against the tender green of young -foliage. - -“What’s Jean doing over there in the orchard?” Kit rose from her knees, -her fingers grimy with the soil, her face flushed and warm from her -labors, and answered her own query. - -“She’s wooing the muse of Art. What was her name? Euterpe or Merope? -Well, anyway that’s who she’s wooing, while we, her humble sisters, who -toil and delve after cut worms—Cousin Roxy, why are there any cut -worms? Why are there fretful midges? Or any of those things?” - -“Land, child, just as home exercises for our patience,” laughed Mrs. -Ellis, happily. - -Jean was out of their hearing. Frowning slightly, with compressed lips, -she bent over her work. With Shad’s help she had rigged up a home-made -easel of birchwood, and a little three legged camp stool. As Shad -himself would have said, she was going to it with a will. The week -before she had sent off five studies to Cousin Beth, and two of her very -best ones, down to Mr. Higginson. Answers had come back from both, full -of criticism, but with plenty of encouragement, too. Mrs. Robbins had -read the two letters and given her eldest the quick impulsive embrace -which ever since her babyhood had been to Jean her highest reward of -merit. But it was from her father, perhaps, that she derived the -greatest happiness. He laid one arm around her shoulders, smiling at her -with a certain whimsical speculation, in his keen, hazel eyes. - -“Well, girlie, if you will persist in developing such talent, we can’t -afford to hide this candle light under a bushel. Bethiah has written -also, insisting that you are given your chance to go abroad with her -later on.” - -“What does Mother say?” asked Jean, quickly. She knew that the only -thing that might possibly hold her back from the trip abroad would be -her mother’s solicitude and loving fears for her welfare. - -“She’s perfectly willing to let you go as long as Cousin Beth goes with -you. It would only be for three months.” - -“But when?” interrupted Jean. “It isn’t that I want to know for my own -pleasure, but you don’t know how fearfully precious these last years in -the ’teens seem to me. There’s such a terrible lot of things to learn -before I can really say I’ve finished.” - -“And one of the first things you have to learn is just that you never -stop learning. That you never really start to learn until you attain the -humility of knowing your own limitations. So don’t you worry, Jeanie, -you can’t possibly go over to Europe and swallow its Art Galleries in -three months. By the way, if you are really going, you had better start -in learning some of the guide posts.” - -He crossed over to one of his book cases, and picked out an old -well-worn Baedeker bound in red morocco, “Northern Italy.” He opened it -lovingly, and its passages were well underlined and marked in pencil all -the way through. There were tiny sprays of pressed flowers and four -leaved clovers, a five pointed fig leaf, and some pale silver gray olive -ones. “Leaves from Vallambrosa,” he quoted, softly. “Your mother and I -followed those old world trails all through our honeymoon, my dear.” - -Jean leaned over his shoulder, eagerly, her arms clasped around his -neck, her cheek pressed to his. - -“You dear,” she said, fervently. “Do you know what I’m going to do with -the very first five thousand dollars I receive for a masterpiece? I -shall send you and the Motherbird flying back to visit every single one -of those places. Won’t you love it, though?” - -“I’d rather take all you kiddies with us. You gain so much more when you -share your knowledge with others. Do you know what this west window -makes me think of, Jean?” He pointed one hand to the small side window -that looked far down the valley. “Somewhere over yonder lies New York. -Often times through the past year, I have stood there, and felt like -Dante at his tower window, in old Guido Di Rimini’s castle at Ravenna. -Joe’s pigeons circling around down there make me think of the doves -which he called ‘Hope’s messengers’ bringing him memories in his exile -from his beloved Florence.” - -Jean slipped down on her knees beside him, her face alight with -gladness. - -“Oh, Dad, Dad, you do want to go back,” she cried. “You don’t know how -afraid I’ve been that you’d take root up here and stay forever. I know -it’s perfectly splendid, and it has been a place of refuge for us all, -but now that you are getting to be just like your old self—” - -Her father’s hand checked her. - -“Steady, girlie, steady,” he warned. “Not quite so fast. I am still a -little bit uncertain when I try to speed up. We’ve got to be patient a -little while longer.” - -Jean pressed his hand in hers, and understood. If it had been hard for -them to be patient, it had been doubly so for him, groping his way back -slowly, the past year, on the upgrade to health. - -Softly she repeated a poem that was a favorite of Cousin Roxy’s, and -which he had liked to hear. - - THE HILLS OF REST - - Beyond the last horizon’s rim, - Beyond adventure’s farthest quest, - Somewhere they rise, serene and dim, - The happy, happy Hills of Rest. - - Upon their sunlit slopes uplift - The castles we have built in Spain— - While fair amid the summer drift - Our faded gardens flower again. - - Sweet hours we did not live go by - To soothing note on scented wing; - In golden lettered volume lie - The songs we tried in vain to sing. - - They all are there: the days of dream - That built the inner lives of men! - The silent, sacred years we deem - The might be and the might have been. - - Some evening when the sky is gold, - I’ll follow day into the west; - Nor pause, nor heed, till I behold - The happy, happy Hills of Rest. - -Jean was thinking of their talk as she sat out in the orchard today, -trying to catch some of the fleeting beauty of its blossom laden trees. -It was an accepted fact now, her trip abroad with Mrs. Newell, and they -planned to sail the first week in September, so as to catch the Fall -Academy and Exhibitions, all the way from London south to Rome. A letter -from Bab had told her of the Phelps boy’s success; after fighting for it -a year he had taken the _Prix de Rome_. This would give him a residence -abroad, three years with all expenses paid, full art tuition and one -thousand dollars in cash. Babbie had written: - -“I am teasing Mother to trot over there once again, and am pretty sure -she will have to give in. The poor old dear, if only she would be -contented to let me ramble around with Hedda, we would be absolutely -safe, but she always acts as if she were the goose who had not only laid -a golden egg, but had hatched it. And behold me as the resultant genius. -Anyway we’ll all hope to meet you down at Campodino. I hear the -Contessa’s villa there is perfectly wonderful. Mother says it’s just -exactly like the one that Browning rented during his honeymoon. He tells -about it in ‘DeGustibus.’ I believe most of the rooms have been -Americanized since the Contessa married Carlota’s father, and you don’t -have to go down to the seashore when you want to take a bath. But the -walls are lovely and crumbly with plenty of old lizards running in and -out of the mold. I envy you like sixty. I wish I had a Contessa to tuck -me under her wing like that.” - - * * * * * - -“How are you getting along, girlie?” asked a well known voice behind -her. - -“I don’t know, Dad,” said Jean, leaning back with her head on one side, -looking for all the world, as Kit would have said, like a meditative -brown thrush. “I can’t seem to get that queer silver gray effect. You -take a day like this, just before a rain, and it seems to underlie -everything. I’ve tried dark green and gray and sienna, and it doesn’t do -a bit of good.” - -“Mix a little Chinese black with every color you use,” said her father, -closing one eye to look at her painting. “It is the old masters’ trick. -You’ll find it in the Flemish school, and the Veronese. It gives you the -atmospheric gray quality in everything. Hello, here come Ralph and -Piney.” - -Piney waved her hand in salutation, but joined Kit and Helen in the -lower garden at their grubbing for cut worms. - -“If you put plenty of salt in the water when you sprinkle those, it’ll -help a lot,” she told them. - -“Oh, we’ve salted them. Shad told us that. We each took a bag of salt -and went out sprinkling one night, and then it rained, and I honestly -believe it was a tonic to the cut worm colony. The only thing to do, is -go after them and annihilate them.” - -Ralph lifted his cap in greeting to the group on the terrace, but went -on up to the orchard. Kit watched him with speculative eyes and spoke in -her usual impulsive fashion. - -“Do you suppose for one moment that the prince of Saskatoon is coming -wooing my fair sister? Because if he has any such notions at all, I’d -like to tell him she’s not for him,” she said, emphatically. “Now I -believe that I’m a genius, but I have resources. I can do housework, and -be the castle maid of all work, and smile and be a genius still, but -Jean needs nourishing. If he thinks for one moment he’s going to throw -her across his saddle bow and carry her off to Saskatoon, he’s very much -mistaken.” - -Piney glanced up at the figures in the orchard, before she answered in -her slow, deliberate fashion, - -“I’m sure, I don’t know, but Ralph said he was coming back here every -spring, so he can’t expect to take her away this year.” - -Up in the orchard Mr. Robbins talked of apple culture, of the -comparative virtues of Peck’s Pleasants and Shepherd Sweetings, and -whether peaches would grow in Gilead’s climate. From the birch woods -across the road there came the clinking of a cow bell where Buttercup -led some young stock in search of good pasturage. Shad was busy mending -the cultivator that had balked that morning, as he was weeding out the -rows of June peas. He called over to Mr. Robbins for some advice, and -the latter joined him. - -Ralph threw himself down in the grass beside the little birch easel. -Jean bent over her canvas, touching in some shadows on the trunks of the -trees, absently. Her thoughts had wandered from the old orchard, as they -did so often these days. It was the future that seemed more real to her, -with its hopes and ambitions, than the present. Gilead was not one half -so tangible as Campodino perched on the Campagna hills with the blue of -the Mediterranean lapping at its feet. - -“Aren’t you afraid you’ll miss it all?” asked Ralph, suddenly. - -“Perhaps,” she glanced down at him in Jean’s own peculiar, impersonal -way. To Ralph, she had always been the little princess royal, ever since -he had first met her, that night a year ago, in the spring gloaming. -Dorrie and Kit had met the stranger more than half way, and even Helen, -the fastidious, had liked him at first sight, but with Jean, there had -always been a certain amount of reserve, her absorption in her work -always had hedged her around with thorns of aloofness and apparent -shyness. “But you see after all, no matter how far one goes, one always -comes back, if there are those you love best waiting for you.” - -“You’ll only be gone three months, won’t you?” - -Jean shook her head. - -“It depends on how I’m getting on. Cousin Beth says I can find out in -that time whether I am just a plain barnyard chicken, or a real wild -swan. Did you ever hear of how the islanders around Nantucket catch the -young wild geese, and clip their wings? They keep them then as decoys, -until there comes a day when the wings are full grown again, and the -geese escape. Wouldn’t it be awful to imagine one were a captive wild -goose, and then try to fly and discover you were just a nice little home -bred White Leghorn pullet.” - -“Oh, Jean,” called Kit. “Cousin Roxy’s going, now.” - -Ralph rose, and extended his hand. - -“I hope your wings carry you far, Jean,” he said earnestly. “We’re -leaving for Saskatoon Monday morning and I’ll hardly get over again as -Honey and I are doing all the packing and crating, but you’ll see me -again next spring, won’t you?” - -Jean laid her hand in his, frankly. - -“Why, I didn’t know you were going so soon,” she said. “Of course, I’ll -see you if you come back east.” - -“I’ll come,” Ralph promised, and he stood where she left him, under the -blossoming apple trees, watching the princess royal of Greenacres join -her family circle. - - THE END - - TRANSCRIBER NOTES - - Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where - multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed. - - Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer - errors occur. - - Where multiple versions of hyphenation occurred, majority use - has been employed. - - - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Jean of Greenacres, by Izola L. 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