diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/64110-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/64110-0.txt | 9170 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 9170 deletions
diff --git a/old/64110-0.txt b/old/64110-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 9eccaa2..0000000 --- a/old/64110-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9170 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of At the Sign of the Fox, by Mabel Osgood -Wright - -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 -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: At the Sign of the Fox - A Romance - -Author: Mabel Osgood Wright - -Release Date: December 22, 2020 [eBook #64110] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: D A Alexander and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AT THE SIGN OF THE FOX *** - - - - - -AT THE SIGN OF THE FOX - - - - - AT THE SIGN OF - THE FOX - - _A Romance_ - - BY - BARBARA - AUTHOR OF “THE GARDEN OF A COMMUTER’S WIFE,” - “PEOPLE OF THE WHIRLPOOL,” AND - “THE WOMAN ERRANT” - - NEW YORK - HURST & CO. - PUBLISHERS - - COPYRIGHT, 1905, - BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. - - Set up and electrotyped. Published July, 1905. - Reprinted August, September, December, 1905; - March, 1912. - - Norwood Press - J. S. Cushing & Co.—Berwick & Smith Co. - Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. - - - - -This Book is for the Brave - - -[Illustration] - - PRATE NOT TO ME OF WEAKLINGS, WHO - LAMENT THIS LIFE AND NOUGHT ACHIEVE, - I HYMN THE VAST AND VALIANT CREW - OF THOSE WHO HAVE SCANT TIME TO GRIEVE, - FIRM SET THEIR FORTUNES TO RETRIEVE, - THEY SING FOR LUCK A LUSTY STAVE, - THE WORLD’S STANCH WORKERS, BY YOUR LEAVE— - THIS IS THE BALLADE OF THE BRAVE! - - —RICHARD BURTON. - -[Illustration] - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I. THE RIVER KINGDOM 1 - - II. A BELATED FIRST CAUSE 13 - - III. THE DECISION OF MISS KEITH 25 - - IV. INTERLUDE 37 - - V. A PICTURE 49 - - VI. THE LAWTONS 64 - - VII. THE DAY AFTER 84 - - VIII. TRANSITION 101 - - IX. THE RETURN 125 - - X. TATTERS TRANSFERS HIMSELF 144 - - XI. BREAD 170 - - XII. REVELATION 195 - - XIII. AT THE SIGN OF THE FOX 219 - - XIV. THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS 243 - - XV. A MASQUE OF SPRING 263 - - XVI. THE WAY THE WIND BLEW 282 - - XVII. LOCKS AND KEYS 302 - - XVIII. THE RETURN OF MEMORY 324 - - XIX. SETTERS OF SNARES 342 - - XX. FIRE OF LEAVES 362 - - - - -THE PEOPLE - - - BROOKE LAWTON A Young Woman of To-day, who sees Things as they - might be. - - ADAM LAWTON Her Father, a Country-bred New Yorker of Affairs. - - PAMELA LAWTON Her Mother, a Brooke of Virginia. - - ADAM THE CUB Her Brother, at the Difficult Age of Sixteen. - - KEITH WEST Adam Lawton’s Maternal Cousin, who stayed at Home. - - LUCY DEAN Brooke’s Friend, who sees Things as they are. - - MRS. ENOCH FENTON A Cheerful Cripple. - - SILENT STEAD Sportsman and Misanthrope. - - MARTE LORENZ Idealist and Artist. - - TOM BROWNELL Engaged in climbing the Ladder of Journalism from - the Bottom Rung. - - HENRY MAARTEN A Farm Hand working on Shares. - - DR. RICHARD RUSSELL Of Oaklands, Friend of Stead and the Lawtons, and - Confidant-general of the County. - - THE PIEMAN A Travelling Optimist. - - TATTERS A Person, though disguised as an Old Collie Dog. - - The Usual Critic’s Chorus, composed of Citizens, Villagers, - Male and Female, Commonplace, Eccentric, or Otherwise. - -TIME - - The Present Century. - -PLACE - - Manhattan and the Hill Country of the Moosatuk. - - - - -AT THE SIGN OF THE FOX - - - - -CHAPTER I - -THE RIVER KINGDOM - - -Robert Stead and Dr. Russell, clad for hunting, tramped down a pent road -through the woodland and halted at the bars that separated it from the -highway. - -Like careful woodsmen, they made sure that their guns were at half-cock -before resting them against the tumble-down wall; pulling out pipe -and tobacco pouch, they filled and fingered the smooth bowls with the -deliberation that is akin to restfulness. Then, face to windward, they -applied the match and drew the few rapid puffs that kindle the charmed -fire, and leaning on the top rail, looked down the slope to where the -river, broad and tranquil as it passed, narrowed and grew more elusive -as the eye traced it toward its starting-point in the north country many -miles away. - -For more than a hundred miles between its throne in the hill country -and the sea travels the Moosatuk, and all the land through which it -passes is its kingdom. What its stern mood was in the ancient days when -as an ice-floe, maybe, it tore a pathway through the granite hills, -fortressing them with splintered slabs and tossing huge boulders from -its course, man may but guess; but to-day a wild thing, half tamed, it -obeys while it still compels. Above, below, confined by dams, it does the -will of man; and yet, flow where it will, man follows, with his mills, -his factories, his railways, until, by spreading into shallows, it half -eludes his greed. For twenty sinuous miles it follows a free, sunlit -course, now running swift and lapping the banks of little islands wooded -with hemlocks, now stretching itself on the smooth pebbles until it -tempts the unwary to the crossing on a bridge of stepping-stones. For all -this space the ferns and wood flowers stoop from the slanting banks to -snatch its lingering kisses, the wood folk drink from it, the wild fowl -sleep on it, and its waters bear no heavier responsibility or weight than -driftwood or the duck boat, that steals silently forth, a shadow in the -morning twilight, like the Mohican canoes that a mere century ago plied -the selfsame waters. - -Such is the Moosatuk where it passes Gilead, a peaceful village halfway -between Stonebridge and Gordon, with its farmsteads filling the fertile -river valley and climbing up the hillside as if to shun railways, until -from below the topmost are lost in the trees, like the aeries of some -furtive hawk or owl of the woods. This was the scene which lay below the -hunters as they paused to rest in the October noon glow before returning -to Stead’s lodge on top of Windy Hill. - -For a little space neither man spoke. In fact, the last mile of their -walk had passed in silence save for the occasional smothered exclamation -of the younger hunter, when he came upon a snare, now and then, and broke -it. Even the dry leaves lay untouched in their tracks, for the foot of a -woodsman seems instinctively to avoid the dead twig and leaf-filled rut. - -The dogs, two brown-eyed, mobile Gordon setters, well understanding -that the signal of stacked arms and the smell of tobacco meant that -the day’s work was over, started unchidden on a private hunting-trip, -nosing about through the ground-pine and frost-bleached lady-ferns, and -paused with tails swinging in wide circles before a great patch of glossy -wintergreen, where a ruffed grouse or shy Bob-white had doubtless made -his breakfast on the pungent scarlet berries. Out in the little-used -highway, October, herself an Indian in her colour schemes, had set her -loom in the grass-divided wheel tracks, a loom of many strands, wherein -she wove a careful tapestry of russet, bronze, crimson, gold, and ruby -from leaf of beech, sumach, oak, pepperidge, chestnut, birch, and -purpling dogwood, only to drop it as a rug for hoof tracks or fling it -aloft at random, a bit of gracious drapery for the too stern granite. - -Between these two men, neither young, as often happens between close -friends of either sex, silence did not come from lack of mutual -understanding. It is only the machine-made or undeveloped brain that -mistakes garrulity for companionship and casts the blight of motiveless -chatter upon the precious gift of silent hours, wherein the soul may -learn to know itself. - -More than fifteen years divided their ages, and their temperaments were -wider still apart; you could judge this even from trifles, as the shape -of their pipes and the way in which they held and smoked them. - -Robert Stead, turning fifty, tall and well knit, had heavy, matted brown -hair, beard cut close, and impenetrable eyes, whose colour no one could -tell offhand, any more than he might read the meaning of the mustache-hid -mouth. His firm walk and clear skin told of strength and present outdoor -life; his slightly rounded shoulders spoke either of past indoor hours or -the resistless, flinching attitude where a man ceases to face the storms -of life with chest thrown out and head erect as if to say to warring -elements—“See, I am ready; come and do your worst!” “Silent Stead” people -hereabout called him from his taciturnity, and he either held his short -brier close against his lips and puffed between tightly clinched teeth, -as if pulling against time, or in the revulsion let the flame die out -until, forgotten, the pipe hung cold, bitter, and noisome between his -lips. - -Dr. Russell’s pipe, a plain meerschaum of moderate length, held with -light firmness, was smoked deliberately as something that soothed yet -held in no thrall, and when its first sweetness passed, with a sharp, -cleansing rap, he returned the pipe to his pocket. Though in the later -sixties, the doctor radiated all the hope of youth. One realized that -his was a face to trust, even before compassing its details; the easy -turn of his shapely, well-poised head, with its closely cut hair blended -of steel and silver, every glance of his searching gray eyes, that -looked frankly from under eyebrows that were still black, conveyed both -comprehension and sympathy. His nose was straight and not too long, and -the thin nostrils quivered with all the sensitiveness of a highly strung -horse, while the mouth was saved from the sternness to which the firm -chin seemed to pledge it by a drooping of the corners that told of a keen -sense of humour. In stature he was of medium height, but his shoulders -were still squared to the burdens of life, and his erect carriage made -him appear tall; but, after all, the secret of his youth lay in a quality -of mind, the very quality that the younger man lacked—his steadfast -faith and confidence in his fellow-men; this had lasted undaunted by -disappointment during the forty years and more that he had held to them -the closest, wisest, and most blessed of human ministries—that of the -good physician. - -The doctor’s pipe grew cold, and placing it in one of the deep pockets -of his jacket, he fumbled in the other as he turned to his companion, -saying: “Was I not right, Rob? Give the city boys, with their automobiles -and pretty clothes, and the trolley-car hunters, the first two weeks -of October in which to moult their fine feathers, ruin their firearms -and dispositions, and decide that the Moosatuk has been overhunted, and -we may have the rest of open season to ourselves without danger when -crossing a brush lot in broad daylight of being mistaken for wild turkeys -or what not. It is the eighteenth to-day. We’ve tramped good twenty miles -since daybreak, and whom have we met? A woman looking for cows, two men -stacking slab sides, and some school children on the cross-road, while -we’ve had our fill of air unpeppered by small shot, this glorious view at -every curve and through every gap, and,” freeing his pocket, “a brace of -grouse, another of quail, and three woodcock as an excuse for our outing, -in the eyes of those who insist that excuses, aside from the desire, must -be made for every act. - -“Strange, perhaps, that the killing and hunting lust should be an excuse. -I often feel like begging pardon of these little hunched-up feathered -things; but in spite of humanitarian principles, I somehow fear that -we are growing too nice, and when the hunting fever dies out wholly, -something vital is lacking in a man.” - -“Hunting fever or not,” replied Stead, kicking a decaying log at his -feet into dust, “I’d rather the woods were full of visible men with guns -than invisible snares. Do you know that I have broken thirty or more -this morning? Some day these setters of snares and I shall meet, and -there will be trouble; it seems that I am destined always to war with -the intangible.” Then he spread his game on the fence, and though it -outranked the doctor’s spoils, he seemed to take no pleasure in it, but -still looked moodily across the river. - -“Ah, Rob, Rob,” said the doctor, throwing his arm affectionately about -the shoulder of the taller man, who leaned heavily on the fence-top, -“will your mood never change? Can you not forgive and at least play -bravely at forgetting? - -“It is ten years—no, eleven—since your child whom I tended died and Helen -left you, or you her, whichever way you choose to put it. The why of it -all you have never deemed best to tell, and I have never asked, trusting -your manhood. She led her own life then for the four years she lived. I -have managed to see you every year since, in spite of the drifting life -your profession forced upon you. And since the railway’s completion, when -you settled here, I’ve spent a week of my holiday each autumn with you, -hoping to see a change, believing you would waken and live your life out -instead of moping it away. But no! Your work and old comrades need you, -and you still refuse. What is it, Rob? Life seems so good to me with the -threescore and ten in plain sight that I cannot bear to see it playing -through your fingers at fifty. - -“Love may be gone, or clouded, let us say, but there is always work, and -work is glorious! Get out of your own shadow, man, and let the sun pass. -It is with you as _The Allegorist_ says:— - - “‘One looked into the cup of life, - And let his shadow fall athwart; - The wine gleamed darkly in the cup— - It surely was of bitter sort.’” - -Stead withdrew his gaze from the river and turned it on the face of his -companion. - -“I know it all, doctor, and much more than you can say. I know you’ve -clung to me when no one else would trouble, and that you drive all those -forty miles from home every autumn, rain or shine, to tramp the woods -with me, to sit beside my fire and give me comfort, and yet—— Do you -remember the old adage, that ‘Life without work is water in a sieve’? but -in the antiphon lies the sting, ‘Work without motive cannot live.’ It is -motive that is dead in me. I think I have forgiven, I delude myself if I -say I have forgotten, but, good God, doctor, can you imagine sitting and -feeling yourself as useless as water in a sieve and _not caring_? That is -my misery. If I could only really care, heart and soul, for anything for -one short month, I would give the rest of my life for it. - -“I have not even the primal motive of hunger that sets the wolf -a-prowling. The few yearly thousands my father left me have put that -chance away, and my contempt for that form of cowardice precludes -suicide. So I have actually come to be what passes current for content, -with every one but you. Here I am, located for life on the hillside, -with only half-breed José left of what was, with my books, which can -neither dissemble nor betray, for company, and so long as I have food -I shall have dog friends to follow me by day and sleep by me at night. -Then, as long as eyesight lasts, there is my River Kingdom,” and Stead -stretched his arms, half to relax their tension, toward the silver fillet -shimmering in the valley below, in which at that moment some white gulls, -with black-tipped wings, hanging in the skylike clouds, were mirrored. - -Then, giving a nervous, mirthless laugh, he whistled to the dogs, and as -if led to speak of himself too much, he turned to action, and vaulting -over the bars with but a hand touch, trailed his feet through rifts of -glowing leaves, and reaching backward for his gun, said lightly, “Who was -it, by the way, that christened this region The River Kingdom? Was it -your daughter?” - -“No, it was not Barbara,” said the doctor, crossing the bars, but more -sedately, his cheery temper relieved at the change of theme. “It was -Brooke Lawton, a cousin or niece or some such kin of Miss Keith West—a -lovable child, full of both romance and common sense. Her father, Adam -Lawton, whom you must have met in your capacity as a civil engineer, -for he has floated many railway schemes, was born here in Gilead in the -West homestead, his mother being of that family. Though he never comes -here, and all the kin but Keith, a first cousin, are dead, some slight -sentiment binds him to the past, and he has kept the little farm abreast -of all improvements and leaves Keith in charge. A few years ago Brooke, -his elder child and only daughter, recovering from an illness, came up -and spent the autumn; and I, being here for the shooting and knowing -Keith well, for she and my sister Lot were schoolmates at Mt. Holyoke -long ago, was called to see her several times. - -“But there was little that I could do for her,—indomitable pluck and -dauntless spirits were her best medicine. Well I remember one gray, cold -day, the last of her stay, I found Miss Keith in some alarm about her, as -the child had gone out on foot over two hours before. - -“As we stood consulting in the porch, a slim, gray-coated figure, with -soft brown hair flying like a gypsy’s, arms full of autumn leaves and -berries, came swiftly down the lane between house and wood, and throwing -her load on the steps, gazed at it in a sort of ecstasy, from which she -waked only at Miss Keith’s words of chiding. - -“‘I—lost?’ she queried, straightening her thick eyebrows into an -expression of incredulity, ‘why, Cousin Keith, I’ve only been to my River -Kingdom collecting tribute, but when I’m grown up and do as I please, I’m -coming back here to reign and have the wild flowers bow to me when I pass -and the little wood beasts follow me in procession.’ - -“I must have told you of it at the time, for I was stopping with you. -Yes, it was Brooke Lawton who christened the River Kingdom,—but she -never returned, and I heard indirectly that she had gone abroad to study -art. Come to think of it, she must be a grown woman now, at the rate -time goes. All of which reminds me that I sent word that I would go to -Miss Keith’s to-day; she wants counsel of some sort, about what I could -not even surmise from her letter. As she is one of the good middle-aged -women who always wish excuses made for every act, I will take her these -grouse as an apology and tangible explanation as to my clothes and gun, -and as she always insists that I should take a meal with her, you will -not see me until supper-time. If you will tell José to dress and split -the quail, I myself will broil them over the wood coals in your den, -spitted on hickory forks. Metal should never touch wild fowl, but you of -the younger generation do so grudge trouble and seem to have no capacity -for detail,” and, half chiding, half laughing, Dr. Russell shouldered -his beloved gun, picked up the grouse, smoothed the rumpled ruff of the -cock bird, and started on the mile walk downhill to the West homestead, -whistling. - -Robert Stead looked after him a moment, and then, calling the dogs to -heel, started up the hillside in an opposite direction. Before him for -a single instant stood the form of the young girl of the River Kingdom, -as Dr. Russell had portrayed her, with arms full of gay leaves and vines -that she had stripped from the hedges as she went, but as he reached her -she vanished, and turning toward the river itself, he was half surprised -to find it still moving as ceaselessly as ever. Love had mocked him long -ago and motive eluded him, but the dog at his side touched his fingers -with caressing tongue, and the River Kingdom still remained. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -A BELATED FIRST CAUSE - - -The West farm was on the upper of the two roads between Stonebridge and -Gordon, at the point where a steep uphill grade paused, on a plateau of -several hundred feet in length, as if to rest and take breath and allow -those who travelled upon it to drink in the splendour of the river view -before attempting the still steeper ascent beyond. - -Three generations of Wests had lived from this farm until, some forty -years before, its hundred acres being all too small for the needs of -modern push and life, the last young male of the family, a man of twenty -odd, of tenacious mixed Scotch and New England stock, had gone to New -York to follow a quicker game of dollars. - -In due course, when Adam Lawton’s parents died, his mother having been -a West and the homestead her portion, he found himself absorbed in the -beginnings of money-making, yet somewhere in him was a deep-buried -sentiment for his boyhood’s home, stern though the life and discipline -had been, and even though he found no leisure to revisit it. He therefore -had installed his maternal cousin Keith in it as guardian, paying the -taxes and for such improvements and repairs as kept it apace with the -times. Then he promptly forgot it, except on pay days, when he justified -himself to himself, the Scotch thrift in him insisting on justification, -for the comparatively slight outlay, by saying half aloud to his private -secretary, who did the forwarding, “A snug little place, and always worth -a price; my daughter fancies it, and perhaps some day, who knows, I may -like to go back there for a rest.” - -Thus it followed that Miss Keith and the farm had lived together for -twenty years a life of almost wedded devotion. The sheep had disappeared -from the hills, it is true, and four cows, a fat horse, and countless -chickens and ducks represented the live stock. The cultivated ground -had been reduced to a great corn-field, a potato patch, and vegetable -garden, on whose borders grew fruits of all seasons, the rest of the -land being sown down to rye or hay, while the woodland that protected -the house on the north and east, being only required to yield kindlings, -had returned to the beauty of a forest primeval, with a dense growth of -oak, white pine, and hemlock, underspread with untrodden ferns, amid -which, following the seasons’ call, blossomed arbutus, anemones, moccasin -flowers, snow crystal Indian pipe, and partridge vine. - -Now, for the first time in all these years, Miss Keith was faltering in -her single-hearted allegiance, and this upheaval coming on her fiftieth -birthday, too, gave it a double significance. At fifty one’s ideas and -person are supposed to be settled for life, but with Miss Keith her -semi-centennial was the first occasion upon which she ever remembered to -have felt thoroughly unsettled, and as she stood in front of the parlour -mantel-shelf, arms akimbo, gazing at the _First Cause_, that rested -against the wall between the fat clock and a blue china vase filled with -quaking grass, she alternately frowned and smiled. - -This First Cause was the highly finished cabinet photograph of a man, -coupled with a suggestion of marriage contained in a letter, the edge of -the pale blue envelope containing which peeped from under the garrulous -little clock that ticked vociferously the twenty-four hours through, and -gave an alarming whir-r, suggestive of asthma in the depths of its chest, -before striking every quarter and half, and mumbled a long grace before -the hours. - -The photograph was of a man past fifty, with a good head, large, -wide-open eyes, and a broad nose that might mean either stupidity or a -sense of humour, according as to how the nostrils moved in life. Very -little else could be said of the face, for mustache and beard covered -it closely, running up before the ears to meet a curly mop of hair that -roofed the head. It was an attractive face at first glance, and the low, -turned-over collar, flowing tie that was barely hinted at beneath the -beard, and loose sack-coat carried out the suggestion of strength, that -was continued to where a pair of powerful hands, whose fingers rested -together easily tip to tip, completed the picture. - -Picture and letter had arrived three days before, and yet the answer -to the latter lay in process of construction upon the flap of the -old-fashioned bookcase in the window corner. Perhaps the cause for the -delay was more in the fact that both picture and letter, though relating -to the First Cause, had not come directly from him, but from his sister. -She had been a school friend of Miss Keith’s, who occasionally came to -visit her and who was now living in Boston, having become the third wife -of some one connected in a humble capacity with a free library in the -city where the State-house dome seeks to rival Minerva’s helmet, and -whose streets ever coil in and out as if in classic emulation of Medusa’s -locks. - -Taking the letter from under the clock, Miss Keith went to the window and -re-read it for the twentieth time. - - “October 10, 19—. - - “MY DEAR FRIEND: - - “It is only during the past year, since I have been living - within reach and under the privilege and influence of all that - is inspiring to one of my aspirations, that I have realized - how lonely your life must be upon that farm, where your only - intimate associates are animals, feathered and otherwise, and - evening, instead of becoming as it is with me the period of - self-culture in the society of a loyal male companion, is too - often a period of premature somnolence and apathy. - - “Until now I have seen no method of escape to offer you, - and so have held my peace. Two weeks ago, however, fortune - smiled through a letter from my brother, James White, out in - Wisconsin. You must remember James—the handsome man with curly - hair who waited on Jane Tilley when we were at Mt. Holyoke, - until she jilted him for William Parsons. He got over it - nobly, though, and brought us paper flower bouquets the day we - graduated. Mine was of red and white roses, and yours was all - white. Surely you will remember—he said you looked ‘quite smart - enough for a bride.’ - - “Well, you _were_ pretty in those days, Keith, with your white - skin and light brown hair, before you took on freckles; but, - after all, dark complexions like mine wear the best. - - “Now, to come to time—James is a widower. He has sweet children - and needs a wife and mother for them. Though there are plenty - of western women, and some that have hoards of money, out - in Corntown, where his canning business is, he was always - particular and peckish, preferring a refined eastern woman - to influence his family. Knowing that I am living in Boston - in the midst of opportunities, so to speak, our home being - halfway between Bunker Hill Monument and Harvard University, - he has intrusted me to select him a wife. Your face appeared - to me. Putting aside more pressing claimants, I wrote to him - of the girl he once declared fit to be ‘a bride,’ and sent him - your last picture—at least it’s the last I’ve seen. He answered - by return post. He has not forgotten, and he will, if you - consent, come here the first of May to meet you and be married. - - “Now, dear Keith, why not put your place on the market, and - when winter sets in come here to me in Boston and see the - world, spend a season of relaxation, hear lectures and music, - and be thus attuned for matrimony in the sweet spring, when - the horse-chestnut buds yield to the sun and drop their glossy - shields in the Public Gardens? - - “Your friend and sister-in-law to be, - - “JUDITH W. DOW.” - -Straightway Miss Keith, the strong of body and heretofore of mind, the -adviser of both men and women for miles around, Miss Keith, the capable, -who, with help “on shares,” made the little farm pay and lived a life of -bustling content that was the opposite of somnolent vegetation, began -mentally to chafe and rebel against the confinement and loneliness of her -lot, and yearn for change,—she who had always preached and practised -that one’s work is that which lies nearest to hand. - -She ignored the freckle thrust and the phrase taking for granted that -the farm was hers to sell. The words _music_ and _lectures_ seemed -italicized, yet the strongest appeal in the crafty letter was its promise -of human companionship, for she had often yearned for kin. - -Miss Keith was of no common type, even among the many intelligent women -reared on New England farms. She had struggled her way through Mt. -Holyoke and fitted herself to teach in the Gilead school, where she had -remained ten years, until, at the death of her Aunt Lawton, her cousin -had offered to install her at the farm, where the active life indoors -and out proved a strong attraction. During these years her clear, strong -voice had led in singing-school and in the village choir, where it still -held sway,—the fact that it was slightly “weathered” increasing rather -than diminishing its power. Though pale of hair and face, at no time in -her life had she been wholly unattractive, and her speech, sometimes -lapsing into provincialisms when she was either excited or constrained, -was wholly free of either Yankee dialect or nasal twang. She had met many -people of all grades in due course,—farmers, manufacturers, prospectors, -and the leisurely class of cottagers from Stonebridge and Gordon; but no -man had ever said, “I love you.” - -Seating herself at the desk with an unaccustomed drooping of the head, -she finished the letter begun the day before, filling each of the four -pages with rapid strokes, folded it without once re-reading, sealed it -with a bit of crumby red wax that had not seen light probably since her -Aunt Lawton had used it for the sealing of her will, and affixed the -stamp with slow exactness precisely in the proper corner. Then with -folded hands she leaned back and gazed at the missive, saying, as she did -so, “That decides it. I will go to Boston the first of the year, when -everything is closed up and settled for the winter. Farrish, below, can -tend the stock. I’ve saved a little money to enjoy myself with, and when -May comes, if James White turns up and we hold to the same mind, I shall -marry him; if not—I suppose Cousin Adam will be glad for me to come back, -that is, unless he makes other arrangements.” - -The alternative to the matrimonial scheme seemed just then of such slight -moment that she hardly pronounced the words, but turned to leave the -desk, when a sharp, compelling bark from the rug before the hearth made -her start and brought a red spot to each cheek. - -There before her sat a shaggy brown dog, setter in build, but with a -collie cross showing in eccentricities of hair that formed a ruff about -his neck and gave the tail a strange bushiness. A pair of great, soft, -brown eyes were fixed on Miss Keith’s face, and the expression in them -was accentuated by the slight raising of the long, mobile, silky ears, -which seemed to ask a question. Meeting no response, the dog barked once -more and raised one paw pleadingly. - -Miss Keith, who had risen, seated herself again suddenly. “Why, Tatters, -old man, I’ve forgotten your breakfast, and it is almost dinner-time. -Where have you been since yesterday? Hunting by the river? You know you -should not come in here with a wet coat and muddy paws. Down! Down!” she -cried, as the dog, never moving his gaze from her face, crossed the room -and, sitting on his haunches before her, rested his fringy wet paws on -her lap. - -“What is the matter? Thorns or burs in your feet?” - -The dog continued to look at her steadfastly, giving a little whine -meantime, but never a wag of his tail. - -“Tatters!” she exclaimed at last, moistening her lips, which seemed to be -unaccountably dry, “I believe you know what is on my mind, and what I’ve -been wrestling with in the spirit these three days,—but it’s all settled -now, and my mind is free. Come, and I’ll get your dinner bone.” - -“Settled!” and then the thought struck her, “What would become of -Tatters?” A new caretaker might easily be found for the place and cattle, -who would also understand the pruning of the cherished vines and fruit -trees, but would he understand Tatters, and would Tatters understand or -tolerate any one not born of the family? As long as people of the West -stock had lived in Gilead, with them had been a sturdy breed of collies -and setters, whose sagacity and nosing power were famed throughout the -country-side. Now, through chance and short-sightedness, the two breeds -had merged in one, and Tatters, of middle age, wise beyond the dog wisdom -of his ancestors, was its only representative. - -Ever since his year of puppyhood, when Miss Keith with New England -firmness had completed his house-breaking education, he had been the -house man, guarding the picket gate by day, the door by night. In his -responsibility of combining double natures, he herded young calves in a -poorly fenced pasture, or tracked the turkey hens (those most brainless -of feathered things) when they recklessly led their broods into the dark -woodland in May storms. As setter, he ran free by the wagon when Miss -Keith took eggs, butter, or berries to her various customers, dashing in -among the hordes of English sparrows by the roadside, or going afield -with cautious tread and circling tail to flush the flocks of meadowlarks -with eager sporting fervour. As collie, with Scotch traditions in his -blood, he followed her to meeting or singing-school, and slept under -the pew seat or sat sentinel in the vestibule, according to season and -weather. Then by the winter hearth fire he was Miss Keith’s counsellor, -for in spite of the stoves that her Cousin Adam had supplied, her -practicality of mind, and the labour it entailed, she had a primeval -streak in her that yearned to see the heat that warms one. Tatters was -the silent partner, it is true, in their discussions, and merely looked -assent as he listened to the oft-repeated tale of short weight in feed, -and the sloth of hired men as opposed to the thrift of those who work on -shares, with perfect composure, yet let one of these hired men but raise -his voice in unamiable argument with Miss Keith, and Tatters crouched to -heel, upper lip cleared from his glistening teeth, ready for action, and -no one ever braved the warning. - -Then, too, he took the responsibility of beginning the day’s work upon -his shaggy shoulders. At six o’clock in winter, changing to five on May -day, he left his rug in the outer kitchen, and going to Miss Keith’s -bedroom, nosed open the door, wedged from jarring by a mat, and after -lifting her stout slippers to the bed edge, carefully, one by one, with -many false starts and droppings, if she did not waken, he would sit down, -and with thrown back head give quick, short barks until he had response. - -How did he know hours and dates? How do we know that of which we are most -sure, yet cannot prove by mathematical problems? He _did_ know—that was -sufficient. - -As all these things surged through Miss Keith’s brain, the First Cause on -the mantel-shelf grew more remote, and folding her strong lean arms about -the pleading dog, she rested her face against his head and began to cry -softly, a thing unheard of. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -THE DECISION OF MISS KEITH - - -It was while mistress and dog were thus absorbed that Dr. Russell, gun -on shoulder, and grouse dangling from his fingers, came up the side road -on the south that separated house and garden plot from the barn and -outbuildings, that stood close to the lane edge, facing it, like a row of -precise soldiers drawn up to give salute. - -He expected that at his first footfall on the side porch his coming would -be heralded by short, percussive barks,—Tatters’ greeting to his friends. -He knocked twice, then tried the yielding door-knob, and entered the -kitchen, where various saucepans, boiling over madly and deluging the -polished stove with an impromptu pottage, told of some sort of domestic -lapse. Crossing the hallway, guided by a light streak toward the first -open door, he entered the sitting room at the moment that Miss Keith had -raised her wet eyes from Tatters’ head, and was alternately rubbing them -with her handkerchief, held in one hand, and looking at her answer to the -disturbing letter, held in the other. - -“Why, what is the matter, Miss Keith,—bad news or a love letter?” the -doctor asked with the easy cheerfulness that showed how little real -anxiety lay beneath the question. “The carrier said that you wished to -see me to-day, and so I’ve come down, but I’d no idea that it was about a -tearful matter, and one in which Tatters was too much involved to ‘watch -out’ as usual.” - -Taken thus unawares, an aggressive expression crossed Miss Keith’s face -for an instant, but immediately disappeared under the influence of the -doctor’s smile, and, quickly recovering, she answered, as she gave her -hands into his hearty grasp: “It is both bad news _and_ a letter. To-day -is my fiftieth birthday,—you see I do not believe in belying the Lord’s -work and concealing one’s age as some do,—and I’ve had a letter that I -want man’s counsel upon.” Then, as a sound of liquid hissing on a hot -stove and the smell of burning food came from the hallway, she remembered -the time of day, the dinner in peril, and her duties as housekeeper, -at the same moment, and mumbling a hasty apology, fled to the kitchen, -followed by the doctor, who, after making the grouse serve as a birthday -offering, wisely retired to the sitting room until dinner should be ready. - -Once there, he made a few rapid but direct observations, beginning with -the First Cause on the mantel-shelf. - -Then, as he saw the two letters on the desk, one envelope hastily torn -open and bearing the signs of much handling, the other carefully sealed -and lying face downward, he chuckled to himself. “Woman all through, -Miss Keith, in spite of everything. Ten to one she has made up her mind -and answered her letter while she was waiting for me to come and advise -with her about it. At the same time, when the dinner is off her mind, she -will tell me the whole story, and discuss it from the very beginning, for -the mere pleasure of it; but no matter what I may say, she will post the -letter already written.” Then, going over to the bookcase that topped -the desk, he unlocked the diamond-paned door, and pulling out a book at -random, which proved to be a dingy copy of Hogg’s “Shepherd’s Calendar,” -he resigned himself to the inevitable drowsiness born of the volume and -his long walk, and stretching himself on the wide haircloth sofa, was -soon taking the “forty winks” that should sharpen his wits for the coming -interview. - -Fortunately he awoke before Miss Keith came to call him, for she had -scant respect for either man or woman who was caught napping in broad -daylight; and together they went out to the wide kitchen that served also -as a cheerful dining room, with its long double window filled with plants -and beau-pot of gay chrysanthemums on the table, the doctor meanwhile -offering Miss Keith his arm, half with natural, courtly deference, half -in mischief, a frequent mood of his that old friends understood and loved. - -At first Miss Keith, speaking clearly for the sake of breaking silence, -appeared nervous. The talk ran lightly in general channels,—the glorious -season, the shooting, the way in which the trolley line had turned the -horse traffic from the turnpike to the upper road, and how much more life -passed the West farm, Miss Keith telling that sometimes of an afternoon -a dozen pleasure vehicles on the way from Stonebridge to Gordon, or the -reverse, would stop on the plateau under the pines, combining a resting -spell for horses with their drivers’ enjoyment of the view. - -Next Silent Stead and his bachelor housekeeping on Windy Hill followed -in natural sequence. Did the doctor know the real story about Stead’s -dead wife, or if it were true that he was going away, back to his work -as civil engineer again? Many visitors, men of weight from Gordon, had -called on him that season, and the letter carrier said he had many thick -letters with great red seals, and it was whispered that he was wanted to -direct some new railway enterprise in the far West. - -No, Dr. Russell could not answer, other than to wish the gossip that sent -his friend back to the world’s work might foreshadow the truth. - -Then the doctor took the lead, asking home questions about Mr. Lawton and -the other kin, saying, “I met your Cousin Adam last winter in New York -one evening at the Century, where Martin Cortright introduced us. His is -a keen and interesting face, though rather nerve-worn. As he stood among -a group of financiers, that also deal liberally by the various arts, his -eyes roved about, dilating and contracting strangely, as if they followed -the workings of a dozen thoughts each minute, though otherwise his face -remained unchanged and he never moved a muscle. - -“Did I like him? He is not easy to approach, and it was only when I -told him that, though living at Oaklands, I go inland every autumn for -the hunting, and know Gilead well, also his Cousin Keith and West farm, -where I had once seen his daughter Brooke, that his eye brightened and -he showed any interest, while at the same moment some one whom he had -evidently been watching broke away from a distant group, and, your cousin -darting off to join him, our talk ceased.” - -“If Adam cares for anything but money-making, which I’ve sometimes -doubted, it is for Brooke,” said Miss Keith, quite at her ease again, -the coffee that she was pouring being fully up to its reputation. “In -fact, he deeded this farm to her on her twenty-first birthday, all on the -strength of her girlish whim and talk long ago about the _River Kingdom_. -This also makes me feel uncertain about my stay here. What if Brooke -should marry and _he_ should wish her to sell the place? Not that Adam -has ever said a word to me about the transfer, and he pays the taxes and -what not just the same, but Job Farrish was looking up his boundaries -last spring and saw the deed recorded in the Town House. In fact, Adam -himself never writes nowadays, his secretary does it all; and even Brooke -has only written once this year, and that was when I said the gutter -having leaked, the north room needed new paper, and she sent it—pretty it -is, too, wild roses running through a rustic lattice—she’s always had an -open eye for colour.” - -“What! is that gypsy child twenty-one?” exclaimed the doctor in surprise, -pushing back his chair so as to pull Tatters’ head between his knees and -stroke his ears, at the same time that he drew his coffee cup toward -him, sniffing the subtle aroma, only second in his nostrils to that of -the fresh earth in spring and his beloved pipe. “It seems but a year or -so since she was roving about the lane with her hair flying and Tatters -after her,—the two were inseparable.” - -“Twenty-one! Why, Dr. Russell, that time was eight years ago, the second -autumn you came up to hunt with Silent Stead. She’s turned _twenty-four_, -and that Tatters was this one’s uncle; they say there has been a dog of -the name in the family this hundred years and more. - -“Yes, Brooke was twenty-four last May, and it seems now that they should -call her by her rightful Christian name, Pamela, instead of that absurd -one that might as well be stick or stone. You did not know she had any -other? Oh, it is her middle name to be sure—Pamela Brooke Lawton. Her -mother was one of the proud old Virginia Brookes, and they say, failing -of male heirs in the South, they often call a daughter by her mother’s -maiden name. Mannish and affected though, I call it, still I must own -it did suit her eight years ago, for she had as many ways and turns and -deep and shallow places as that little stream on Windy Hill that begins -in only a thread that wouldn’t move a fern, and then widens to the Glen -Mill-pond, and saws all the wood hereabouts and grinds the flour for -Gilead. - -“Yes, she has been here several times, though never to stay long; mostly -she came with her great friend, Lucy Dean, when they were at school -at Farmington. I never liked _her_ though, she had a way of asking -point-blank questions and calling a spade a spade that sent a chill -through you.” - -“And what has Brooke been doing since she’s been a woman grown? What, for -the last four years?” asked the doctor, returning to the present with new -interest at sound of Brooke’s name. - -“Let me see,” and Miss Keith began counting on her fingers; “after -Brooke left school, she and her mother and father, with the Dean girl -and the Cub, spent one summer travelling in the West,—Adam was nosing -out some scheme or other. Then the women folks went to Europe for a year -or more, leaving young Adam, the Cub,—that’s what they call the boy, and -I must say, poor lad, he does seem a misfit and hard to manage,—at a -military boarding-school somewhere. - -“The Dean girl had a voice that her people thought worth the training, -though I never heard what became of it after, and Brooke wanted to go on -with her painting. Oh, yes, she does really paint—doesn’t just dabble -colours together like a marble cake, such as most pictures are, and call -it Art. Why, she got a prize, they say, in a New York exhibition for a -picture of some children eating cherries. I’ve got a photograph of it, -that she sent me, on my bureau. It’s fine work, good judges say; all the -same, to my eye it lacks one thing—it doesn’t look just quite alive. If -she was poor and had to work and kept on, I guess she’d get somewhere; -but now she’s at home again, and in society, and not being in need of -money, I suppose she’ll let the painting slip, except maybe to make candy -boxes for charity fairs and such. - -“Adam’s always been too busy ever to have much of a settled home. They -travelled about mostly of summers, and since they left the house down -town two years ago, where the children were born, they’ve lived in a big -sort of apartment arrangement, half flat, half hotel, as near as I can -make it out—‘It gives mamma no responsibility,’ Brooke wrote in telling -of it. But without some responsibility you can’t get much home comfort, -to my thinking. - -“Now that Brooke is educated and at home, I hear her father is building a -big city house and another down by the sea somewhere, and so perhaps—when -he has money enough—he will slow up and take a rest. The Lawtons and -Wests are both long-lived, and Adam never drank or dissipated, I guess; -but I should think at the pace he’s trotted these thirty years he’d be -footsore by this, and like a back-stairs sitting room out of reach, and a -loose pair of slippers.” - -Miss Keith grew more careless of her speech as she warmed to her subject, -and Dr. Russell laughed outright at the idea of the Adam Lawton whom he -had met, tall and distinguished, a bundle of steel nerves bound by will -power, sitting to rest anywhere, much less in loose slippers out of the -sound of the Whirlpool’s eddying. - -The fussy little clock in the sitting room, after making many futile -remarks, like a choking _do-re-mi_, landed fairly on _do_, and struck -four! Then Miss Keith, saying casually that she must skim the milk at -five, began to unfold her plan matrimonial. - -She did not read Mrs. Dow’s letter to the doctor, but spoke from memory, -with which an unexpected quality of imagination blended with dangerous -frequency. - -Alack a day! How often are the overworked three graces, Faith, Hope, and -Charity, pushed into the place of Truth, Experience, and Common Sense, -and forced to bear responsibility not theirs! - -When Miss Keith had finished, the good doctor naturally supposed that she -had received a direct proposal from an old-time lover who, once rejected, -had married some one else in pique. Also that the making of the sister’s -home the meeting place was her own idea, born of her maidenly regard of -the proprieties, which regard he well knew usually strengthens in inverse -proportion to the need for it! - -Finally, as he arose to go, she said, hovering tremulously between -kitchen and sitting room, “Now that I know that you agree with me, I will -ask one favour more. I have a letter that I would like to have posted in -Gilead by your hand; these outdoor letter boxes sometimes leak, you know. -Then I shall sleep content.” - -“Most certainly,” said the doctor, turning back, a smile crossing his -face and lurking at his mouth corners at this latest of many vocations -given him—that of Cupid’s postman, though he could not but admit that his -age made him a peculiarly suitable assistant in such a belated wooing. - -As he took the letter, he involuntarily turned it face upward, and -glanced at the address, saying in a dubious tone, his eyebrows raised: -“Mrs. Dow? Why not James White himself?” Then adding, with a touch of -irony in his voice that Miss Keith missed, “Is his sister acting the -kindly part of go-between? Ah, so! Well, Miss Keith, no one but yourself -can settle so delicate a matter finally, _but_ one thing promise me: go -to Boston, if you will; jig and jostle, hear reform lectures and eat -health food, and see life if you must; but for God’s sake, woman, don’t -commit yourself until you have seen the ‘_sweet children_’ and the man! -Photographs can lie, as well as tongues!” Then, fearing he had been too -harsh, he added kindly, “If you find that Tatters can’t transfer himself, -as you call it, let me know,—there is always room for one more dog at -Oaklands, and Barbara will pamper him.” - -That night Miss Keith, buoyed by the doctor’s talk and a man’s recent -presence in the house, albeit it was temporary, was in an exalted mood -and trod on air. Already she saw visions of the future, and kept saying -to herself, “I will do and see so and so when I go to Boston.” - -When she lit her candle and went upstairs, she took the First Cause -from the mantel and bore him with her. Where should she put him? Her -dresser seemed too intimate a place; the spare room album, too remote. -Finally she placed the photograph against the puffs and quills of the -pillow-shams of the best room bed and then fled to her own chamber, where -she blew out the candle and undressed in the dark, or, rather, by the -half moonlight, saying aloud, as she got into bed, “Thank fortune for one -thing, I’ve kept my own hair and teeth, and such as I am there is nothing -of me that takes off.” And though the remark was apropos of nothing in -particular, a wave of hot colour covered her face at the words, and she -buried her head in her pillow and tried to sleep. This she didn’t do, -for Tatters, whom she had utterly forgotten for the first time, and shut -out when she closed the door, resented being forced to sleep out on -the porch at such a frosty time, and at intervals throughout the night -bayed dismally at the moon, thereby calling to her mind an old ballad of -chilling and ominous portent. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -INTERLUDE - - -On a bright afternoon in early December a number of carriages and motor -cars that usually entered Central Park via the Plaza promptly at four, -continued to the right instead, and in impromptu procession slowed down -before the entrance of a new house in the Park Lane section of the avenue. - -The house belonged to Senator Parks, and on this day it was to be thrown -open to that portion of the public selected by the social sponsors of -his new wife. This wife, being a rather handsome California widow on -the agreeable side of thirty-five, had acquired enough knowledge of the -world during a three years’ residence abroad to bend the knee gracefully, -if not quite sincerely, to the powers that make or mar the fate of -newcomers, at the same time always, so to speak, carelessly twisting in -plain sight between her slender fingers the strings of a full purse. - -The conventional “At Home from 4 to 7 o’clock,” therefore, had more -than the usual significance, for it was known to imply a concert in -the superbly appointed music hall, by singers from the opera, and an -exhibition of paintings in the new gallery, so spacious that it ran from -block to block, such a one as had never before been seen in any private -dwelling in Manhattan. Then, too, there had been whispers of a _chef_ of -Gallic renown who had served two emperors and a prince, and altogether -society, whose appetite is rather keen at the beginning of the season, -expecting novelty or at least to be amused, was beginning to sally forth. -It did not commit itself by so doing, and it assumed no responsibility -other than leaving a card, by footman or otherwise, at the door, in due -course; it merely gave itself the opportunity to pass judgment. But as -the new hostess understood this perfectly well, and only desired the -chance of playing her trump card to win the lead, it was a beautifully -frank arrangement on both sides, in which no one was deceived. - -As the hour passed the stream of carriages became continuous, the -cavernous awning that swallowed the people as soon as they alighted being -the centre of that strange mob, usually composed of fairly well-dressed -women, who appear spontaneously wherever the carpet-covered steps and -striped awning tell of an entertainment to be. No buzzard hovering in air -drops to his prey more quickly than does the average idle woman catch -sight of this emblem of hospitality. - -Two young women, walking with easy, rapid gait up the avenue, paused on -the outskirts of the throng, uncertain as to the best point for breaking -through. At least the shorter of the two hesitated, while the taller, -after a swift survey, put her white-gloved hands firmly on the shoulders -of a gaping dressmaker’s apprentice, turned her about, saying, as she did -so, “Let us pass, please,” and instantly a way was opened. - -These young women were simply dressed for the street, with no obtrusive -fuss and feathers, yet each had an unmistakable air of individuality -and distinction. They were both of the same age, twenty-four, yet the -difference in colouring and poise made the taller appear fully two years -older. She had glossy black hair, tucked up under a three-cornered hat, -heavy eyebrows, from under which she looked one straight in the face with -a half-defiant look in the steel-gray eyes. Her nose was aquiline, and -her lips rather thin, but curled in a humorous way when she spoke. She -was broad of shoulder and small of waist and hips; and it was only a shy -curve of neck and bust that, judging from poise alone, prevented one from -thinking Lucy Dean a young athlete masquerading in his sister’s black -velvet fur-trimmed frock with its scarlet-slashed sleeves. - -Brooke Lawton, her companion, looked little more than twenty, was formed -in a more feminine mould, and though half a head shorter, was still -of medium height. Her hair, of the peculiar shade of ash brown with -chestnut glints that artists love, was worn rather loose at the sides -and gathered into a curly knot at the back of the neck, under a wide -brown beaver hat that was tied below the chin with a large bow and ends -after the fashion of our grandmothers. Her eyes were dark brown, and yet -a shade lighter than the brows and lashes. Her nose was not of classic -proportions, being rather too broad at the base and inclined to be -tip-tilted, but her mouth had a generous fulness that softened a resolute -chin, albeit it was cleft by a dimple. Her long coat was of brown, so -that the only bright colour about her was the vivid glow that the crisp -air and walking had brought to her cheeks. - -She also looked one straight in the eyes when she spoke, but with an -entire lack of self-consciousness wholly at variance with the attitude of -her friend. Brooke might be typified as a joyous yet shy thrush; Lucy, as -a splendid but vociferous red-winged blackbird! - -“Is your mother coming?” asked Lucy, as they went up the steps together. - -“Later, perhaps; she has not been feeling very festive these few days -past. In fact, she has been strangely spiritless of late; living in a -hotel disagrees with her ideas of home hospitality. Father seems worried -and has not been sleeping,—has a bit of a cough, and anything like that -always upsets dear little Mummy; she doesn’t realize that he is made of -steel springs just as I am. I’m sure she will try to come, if only for a -minute, for Mrs. Parks asked her to receive with her. She didn’t care to -do that because, though we met the Parkses very often in Paris, they were -never more than acquaintances, not real friends; but to stay away might -hurt her feelings, and of course that must not be.” - -“Oh, no, a Brooke of Virginia would never do that; she would be -hospitable to a burglar, even while waiting for the police to come -for him, and when he left, handcuffed, regret that uncontrollable -circumstances prevented his spending the night!” said Lucy, mimicking the -tone and manner of an old great-aunt of Brooke’s so thoroughly that she -was forced to laugh. - -“But thou, O most transparent of all the Brookes, even if you have Scotch -granite and American steel concealed in your depths, you very well know -that Madame Parks would have given many shekels of gold to have had your -mother standing on her right this afternoon. Do you realize that she even -asked me to sing to-day? Of course I wouldn’t.” - -“That surely was a compliment to your voice that you can hardly find -fault with,” said Brooke, pausing on the threshold to gather together the -requisite number of cards. - -“My voice! That had nothing whatever to do with it My voice might be -like a jay’s with its crop full of popcorn, for all she knows about it. -No, it was all on account of daddy; this affair has been well thought -out. She has been careful to have a representative bidden from every -department of the society trust,—clergy, laity, art, music, science. -Daddy represents up-to-date financiering,—there is no Mrs. Dean, hence -me! She wandered a bit, though, in asking me to sing on the same -afternoon with paid professionals. If it had been a very select and -spirituelle affair, with Maud Knowles at the harp and Dick Fenton with -his Boulevard imitations and songs, followed by bouquets of orchids -concealing bijouterie for the performers, I might have yielded. - -“Yes,” Lucy chattered on, “let us go upstairs; we had better drop our -wraps, as we expect to make an afternoon of it. What an apartment! -Madame’s, of course. Look at that bed on the dais and a boudoir and -breakfast room beyond! Eight maids! Why didn’t she have four and twenty -to match the pie blackbirds? Look at the way in which their skirts stay -in place behind when they wiggle them. Never saw such a thing off the -stage; one straight line from belt to hem, just the stunning way Hilda -Spong wears hers in ‘Lady Huntworth’s Experiment’! What is the exhibit -in that room across the hall, with the walls draped with white over -sky-blue? Everybody is going that way; let us also flock! - -“As I live, it’s the baby lying in state—no, holding a levée, I mean. -What an odd-shaped cradle! Isn’t he a fright, but look at his robe—Irish -point all made in one piece—and his gold toilet things on that tray! -Well, after all, there must be something novel to the Parkses about this. -Papa has been married three times and mamma twice, and this Chinese Joss -is all there is to show for it! I wonder if her craze for collecting -bric-a-brac can possibly account for his looks? If there isn’t the -Senator himself, hovering around to show off his little son. I wonder if -Madame knows papa is on the premises? Gracious, he’s taking the baby out -of the Easter egg! Hear the lace tear, and that monumental English head -nurse doesn’t move a muscle! - -“Don’t look distressed and blush so, Brooke; facts are facts, and then -besides, nobody can hear me in this babel. Now, let’s agree where we -shall meet, for we shall be duly torn asunder directly we go downstairs. -Come in here a second, my head feathers are awry. What a mercy it is -to have hair like yours, that the more it is let alone, the better it -behaves! - -“No, don’t touch the strings of your poke, and leave your bodice alone. -That creamy lace simply looks confidential and clinging, and not a bit -mussy like mine.” - -“I think I will go to the picture gallery as soon as we have made our -bows to Mrs. Parks, and settle there,” said Brooke, “so that I can see -everything before the concert is over. Then you will know where to find -me. To-day I feel more like looking than listening,” she added, when Lucy -was silenced a moment by holding half a dozen jewelled stick pins between -her lips, as she rearranged the folds of an expensive draped lace bodice -that, in spite of the beauty of the fabric, seemed out of key and mussy, -the severe and tailor-made being better adapted to her. - -For a few moments the two lingered in one of the alcoves of the dressing -room, looking for familiar faces among the arrivals. - -“By the way, I suppose Mr. Fenton is coming in later with the other -down-town men?” said Brooke. “If so, you needn’t look me up at all.” - -“Dick may be coming, though I doubt it, but it will not be to meet -me. See here, goosie,” said Lucy, half avoiding her friend’s eyes, “I -might as well tell you now as any other time. Dick and I have agreed to -disagree. It happened last Sunday, and I’d have told you before, only you -take all such things so seriously.” - -“What is the matter; has he changed?” - -“No, he has not, that is half the trouble. He has stayed quite too much -the same; I only wonder that I could have endured it for the eight months -it has lasted. You see, he was perfectly satisfied with himself as he -was, and that leaves no room for improvement. Of course everybody knows, -at the pace the world’s rolling along, if you don’t go ahead, you slide -back! I tend to balk and jump the traces enough myself when it comes to -hills, Heaven knows, and if my mate in harness can’t pull true on an up -grade, where shall we be at? Dick kept along on the level good naturedly, -I’ll say that for him, yet it was because I was my father’s daughter, not -because I’m myself. Being a young broker, he thought it a good thing to -have a father-in-law with unlimited ‘pointers’ in every wag of his chin -(poor chap, he hasn’t yet realized that these things mostly point both -ways), and he was serenely content! As for me, I felt as if I should go -wild,—no conversation except the eternal money market. I said so,—and -more besides! - -“He was very nice about it,—daddy really seemed relieved,—and—well, it’s -all over, though his mother did glower at me at first when I met her on -the avenue yesterday, but she decided to bow.” - -“Oh, Lucy, why are you so impetuous? When you told me of the engagement, -you said—” - -“Now listen, Brooke Lawton, and hear me swear one thing: money in one’s -pocket is a blessing, but continually dinned into one’s ears it’s the -other thing. If ever I marry any one, he must not be in this sickening -money business; he must do something different, if it’s only drawing -pictures on the sidewalk with chalk held between his toes, like the -armless sailor in Union Square, though, come to think of it, I’d rather -he’d have arms! - -“By the way, why don’t you ’phone your mother to come? It’s going to be -an awfully smart party. There’s a ’phone in the writing room or somewhere -near—there always is one now at swell functions for the use of guests, -and a young man (not a woman—too dangerous) from central to work it; they -say the society reporters fight and bribe to get the job, they hear so -much ‘inwardness.’ Your mother needn’t worry and stay at home. I don’t -think your father’s sick. I heard daddy say last night that he is in -another big deal, with trump cards enough to fill both hands, and he’s -holding them so close for fear of dropping any that he’s bound to be -preoccupied.” - -“It’s time for us to go; I hear the music,” said Brooke, who had been set -thinking by her friend’s talk. - -“Why not come into the music room for a few numbers and then escape if -you wish?” said Lucy, navigating the crowded stairs easily, and pausing -on a landing to continue her chatter and glance into the room below. -“What, all the chairs taken already? Just look at those orchids, by the -dozen, not single, the whole plant hung by gilt chains from the ceiling! - -“You won’t come? Well, so be it, if you have the ‘picture hunger’ -as badly as you did in Paris. Do you remember the big hybrid -French-English-Dutchman who gave that name to the moonstruck turns -you used to have over painted ‘masterpieces’ and unpainted landscapes -outdoors? Yes, I see you do. Well, I thought at one time he was painfully -smitten and would probably lay himself down humbly at your feet, like -an inconveniently thick bear rug that, failing to be able to step over, -one must tread on, though often to one’s downfall. Still, of course, -with artists the meaning of their looks and actions are usually either -exaggerated or vague, much like their talk of values and colour schemes -and atmosphere. I heard this same Marte Lorenz in a group of ravers -standing before a canvas one day at the Mirlitons’ when I called for you, -and I rubbered and peeped over their shoulders, expecting to see the -portrait of a delicious woman at the very least; and what was the whole -row about but an onion on a wooden plate, and they were saying that it -was genuine and showed insight! - -“It would be such fun to tease you, Brooke, if only you were teasable. -Suppose, after all, there should be a real live man behind all this -‘picture hunger.’ I think that there must be from the way you have turned -slack and dropped your brush in seeming disdain at your work, even after -you won that Baumgarten prize, with the picture of your cousin Helen’s -Mellin’s food babies sitting on the ground _au naturel_, eating cherries -(pits and all), bless their poor fat tummies! - -“However, there can’t be a man concealed in your mind, you are too -transparent,—I should have known it, and helped matters nicely to a -focus for you. Yet the copy-books used to say ‘still waters run deep’; -who knows, innocent-looking mountain Brooke, but there is a great, deep, -still swimming pool somewhere in your mind!” - -“Bless me, she is teasable after all!” ejaculated Lucy, for, while she -was still gabbling, Brooke had left her, slipped through the portières, -held apart by two footmen, given her name to a third, shaken her hostess -cordially by the hand, and after carefully giving her mother’s message of -regret, melted away in the crowd. - -“Charming girl, that Miss Lawton,” was Mrs. Parks’s mental comment. “I -guess, after all, there is something in having a well-bred-to-the-bone -mother. Three hundred people have squeezed my fingers already this -afternoon and murmured all sorts of things, while they either gazed over -my head or at my gown. She is the first one that looked at _me_ and as if -she meant what she said, or would really do me a good turn if she could.” -And the Senator’s ambitious wife gazed after Brooke rather wistfully. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -A PICTURE - - -Escaping from the ballroom, where, in spite of all possible care, -the hothouse heat and heavy odour of flowers, together with the mild -afternoon, made the air stifling, Brooke was guided by instinct toward -the picture gallery. In the reception hall back of the stairs, concealed -by a rose-covered screen, a Russian orchestra, the latest novelty, was -playing; but as the first strains of the concert floated from the music -room, the intended effect was lost and became wholly discordant and -bewildering. - -Once inside the doors, for the picture gallery was separated from the -house itself not only by a short passageway, curtained at both ends, but -by doors of richly carved antique oak, Brooke found herself in another -world, in which two more of the liveried regiment and she herself were -the only inhabitants. One of the men took from a Japanese stand of -bronze, by which he was stationed, a long satin-covered book, that proved -to be a catalogue of the paintings in the gallery. A photogravure of each -one filled the left-hand page, a few words relating to the artist facing -it. - -Mind and body were at once refreshed. The air itself was pure and -invigorating in the gallery, for the only floral decorations were -conventionally trimmed bushes of box, European laurel in pots, and -some pointed holly trees red with their Christmas offering of berries. -Whatever there was of lavish overdisplay in the other parts of this new -palace stopped outside of these doors. Ceiling and panelled wainscoting -that ran below the picture line were of the same carved oak, the inlaid -floor matching it in tone, while all else, wall hangings, divans, and -rugs, were blended of soft greens, as harmonious and restful to the -senses as the vines, ferns, and moss that drape and floor the forest. -The lights adjusted above the paintings, with due regard to individual -effect, were hidden from the eye by screens of coloured glass, in which -design of flowers and leaf were so well mingled that they formed a part -of the general whole. - -As to the pictures themselves—not too many, all in a way masterpieces -carefully hung—they seemed vistas opening through the greenery, carrying -the vision at once into the scene or among the people represented. Only -art could so feel for art, and the fact that the seeming simplicity was -the result of much detailed thought and expense was nowhere apparent. - -Brooke walked slowly to the upper end of the room, and seated herself in -one of the recesses of an oddly divided settee, high of back and arm, -that gave to each occupant complete seclusion. For a few minutes she -leaned back against the soft velvet, letting the quiet atmosphere envelop -her, and then raised her eyes to the two pictures that chanced to face -her, peering at them in her seclusion, from under her wide hat, with a -sidewise expression of eyes and lips slightly parted that reminded one of -Mme. le Brun’s portrait of the charming Mme. Crussal. - -The nearer picture was a marine, in which the Irish coast and waters of -the Channel were revealed by light of the full moon, and between the -headland and the foreground the white gulls were bedding themselves -so closely that they made a second moon path on the water. Back flew -Brooke’s thoughts across the sea,—England and Holland held her for a -moment, then she slipped on to France, to Paris, where for a year she -had worked in Ridgeway’s studio in the Rue Malesherbes and out at Passy, -had been oftentimes elated and finally cast down. How a past mood can -dominate the present as well as all surroundings! The next painting was -of a stretch of low country threaded by a canal, cattle in the distance, -and shivering poplars bending to the wind that scudded across the sky in -threatening clouds, while in the foreground a flock of geese were looking -about and pluming themselves against the coming storm. - -Where had that scene passed before her? “The Coming Storm near The -Hague—E. Oliver (Salon, 1900),” said the catalogue. - -“Ah!” Brooke exclaimed, half aloud. She remembered her first visit to -the Salon, of standing before this same picture with Marte Lorenz, -“the big hybrid English-Dutch-French artist,” Lucy Dean called him, -and laughing at the solemn, stupid geese, while he had told her in his -perfect, slow English that he had often driven flocks of geese to pasture -in his boyhood, also that sometimes he had found them to be no laughing -matter,—a trifling incident at the time, but now a sort of landmark in -the receding journey. - -She had met this Lorenz (Marte his intimates called him) often that -winter and spring on the easy impersonal footing that prevails between -the well-bred American woman and the art students of all countries. He -had been presented to her mother most regularly at a fête in Ridgeway’s -garden the autumn of their arrival, and from that moment until their -parting, a year later, one thing had set him apart from all the score of -men with whom she had come in close contact, men who blindly flattered, -evaded, or temporized. He had always told her the truth about her work. -If she had not realized it at the time, the conviction had always come to -her sooner or later. - -As to Lorenz himself, once a pupil of the Beaux Arts, his nationality -prevented his striving for the Prix-de-Rome, and he had turned his work -toward less classic lines; landscapes were his forte, the figure coming -second, and yet he oftenest worked at figure-painting and conventional -portraiture also, for he must have money for the pot-boiling, much as he -disliked the necessity. - -Farther away slipt the Whirlpool city and its surroundings. Once more -was Brooke sketching in oils, with some friends who often went to the -Carlo Rossi garden to pose for each other. Her subject was a girl of the -Boulevards, nominally a flower seller. Successful in the drawing and -colour, try as she might Brooke could not give the touch that should -bring the lifelike expression to the face. With knit brows she looked up -to see whose was the shadow cast on the grass before her. It was Lorenz, -big, honest fellow, his hands clasped upon the back of the garden seat, -his thatch of dark hair sticking out over his deep-set blue eyes, while -a questioning expression involved in its uncertainty his straight nose, -his deeply cleft chin, and the sensitive yet strong mouth that separated -them. Even his short-cut mustache, which accentuated rather than -concealed his lips, expressed doubt. - -“What is it, M. Lorenz?” Brooke had asked, smiling at his serious air; -“no one ever tells me anything definite but you. The master says, ‘Good! -keep on!’ One friend only grunts; some one else says ‘_Pas mal_.’ I know -that I must work, work, work, but what do I most lack?” - -Lowering his eyes almost to the grass itself, he spoke rapidly, as if the -telling was a pain to him: “You have not yet had the awakening; for it -you must wait; it is the same with me, but I may not dry my brushes to -wait for the day, only work, and destroy, and work again, come good, come -ill. It is not enough to block the form and lay on the colours truly. -Unless you can interpret your vision and see its shadow on the canvas, -watch it draw breath, move, and speak to you, you can never create. But -first of all you must know and feel, even if you suffer. How can you -interpret this woman before you? Never could you paint for what she -stands. Try children, animals, anything else—or better, dry your brush -and wait!” - -Brooke had flushed angrily and answered curtly; even now the memory -brought colour to her cheeks. Only once again had she seen Lorenz before -leaving, and now two years had passed. What had become of him? There were -depths in this woman’s nature that her parents, all devotion in their -different ways, had never fathomed, of which her friends of every day -had never dreamed; and in one of these secret places, all unconscious to -herself, this man had gained sufficient place at least to bar all others. - -While she was thus dreaming away the afternoon, the concert being ended, -the throng pressed toward the gallery, and the confusion of voices, high -in key and surging on, brought Brooke quickly to herself. Rising, she -turned over the pages of the catalogue, reading the artists’ names, and -sauntered down the line to where the numbers began, nodding occasionally, -or saying a few words to friends that came up; some of whom were stopping -to see the pictures, others merely noting the scenic effect of the whole. -Suddenly she halted so abruptly, her fingers gripping the page between -them with noticeable tension, that a man behind nearly fell over her, -while her eyes fastened on the letters that said, “24: Eucharistia. M. -Lorenz. 1901.” Before she could read the details opposite, the man whom -she had stopped, Charlie Ashton (now Carolus, cousin to Lucy Dean and a -courtesy artist possessed of a popular studio for concerts) looked over -her shoulder and said:— - -“Ah, Miss Lawton, looking for the picture the Senator’s gone daft about, -because he thinks the woman in it looks like his wife when he first saw -her as a girl out in the California wine country? It’s over this way, -that one with the long palm over the frame. I’ve just come from there; -everybody’s crowding round, guessing what the name means. I suggested -making up a guessing pool on it at five a head, and letting the winner -choose the charity; the Bishop is having a shy at it now.” - -Brooke steadied herself, and crossing the room joined the group, -catching at first but a partial glimpse of the picture. - -“Step back here by this holly tree; this distance is needed to preserve -the atmosphere,” said Ashton, guiding her by the sleeve into an alcove -formed of holly and laurel bushes arranged to shelter an exquisite ivory -statuette of Diana, the crescent, fillet, and bow being of rich gold. - -“I have never before seen pictures so well hung,” said Brooke, glancing -about as they waited for the crowd to move on, as it soon inevitably -would, toward the banquet hall. - -“A well-placed remark, Miss Brooke, sent straight home,” gurgled Ashton, -plucking at his collar, which was too tight for his short neck. “I may -say that I virtually hung these pictures, for I sent the Senator the -man who did, you know. Before I forget it, the Bagby girls and the rest -asked me to see you about arranging a benefit concert for that pretty -little Julia Garth,—used to give such stunning musicales a year ago,—now -old Garth is dead, and they’ve gone to no-put-together smash! Yes, not a -cent! I’ve offered my studio for it, and they thought perhaps you’d give -a picture to raffle,—just any little thing you’ve thrown off in a hurry -will do.” - -His words passed almost unheard, for while he was speaking the crowd -parted and the entire painting became visible. Brooke, leaning forward, -at first flushed, then grew white to the lips. The scene set before her -was a bit in the depths of the park at Fontainebleau. A grassy path -melted away in the distance between great sombre oaks that strengthened -as they reached the foreground. At the foot of one of these sat a man, -an artist, who had been sketching, for his implements lay on the sward -before him. His whole position was of dejection, except the head, which -was raised in a startled attitude. A little behind him stood a young -woman, clad in the dainty summer dress of every day, ash-brown hair -loosely caught up beneath a simple hat, paint box and luncheon basket -slung from her shoulder. One hand rested on the gnarled oak trunk, -the other, reaching across his shoulder, dropped into the man’s idle, -listless hands a bunch of golden grapes, that in their ripeness carried -sunlight with them. Graceful and charming as was the composition, it was -the handling of the light wherein the magic lay. Sifting down between -the leaves, the glow of early afternoon hovered about the girl’s bent -head like a halo, and passing behind, fell upon the man’s upturned face, -transfiguring it with a sort of holy joy, then focussed and was swallowed -in the bunch of grapes. - -A voice seemed calling in Brooke’s ears: “The last afternoon, when you -all went sketching with the master, and after lunching in the woods you -overtook the brotherhood of Clichy (as Lorenz’s coterie was called). -Farther on and apart you found him alone, with head bent. You thought he -was asleep and dropped the cool grapes in his hands, half as a trick, -darting away again. Then good Madame Druz, the chaperon of the day, -coming up, scolded you for ‘American imprudence,’ and finally that night -you cried, half at her vulgar interpretation of a harmless act, and half -because Lorenz never gave word or sign before your leaving. And because -not a single flower of the mass that filled your railway carriage was -from him, you let Lucy amuse herself all the way to Cherbourg by pelting -officials with them at each station passed. He has painted you as you -were!” cried the voice; “his face is as he might wish it to be.” - -It required an effort on Brooke’s part not to cry out, “Hush! speak -lower!” so real did the words seem. - -“Good work, isn’t it?—though half a dozen of us here at home could do as -well, if we had the atmosphere, you know,” said Ashton’s voice, sounding -through the rush of waters that filled her ears. “The Senator boasts that -he was the first to recognize the artist whom every one now applauds, and -he paid a cool ten thousand for it, the man’s first important picture at -that! The old man saw it in the new Salon, but it wasn’t for sale. ‘No, -no, no,’ said the artist,—‘he had a superstition, a sentiment, a desire -to keep it,’—but the Senator thought ‘Yes, yes, yes, the desire will -decrease with time and—money,’ and so it did, for this fall, just as the -Parkses were on the verge of leaving, the Senator doubled the first offer -and Lorenz capitulated. Then, before the ‘brotherhood’ could borrow his -‘luck penny’ he disappeared somewhere in Normandy, they say, to study, -out of the depressing sound of the pot-boiling of the Quarter. Half his -friends were glad, Ridgeway wrote me, and the other half, being jealous, -shrugged their shoulders and raised their eyes, groaning, ‘Another mad -American!’ - -“I have it all down fine, you see, for the papers to-morrow,—great -scheme! I had a Harvard chum that was, Tom Brownell, who won’t go the -respectable pace his father set for him in finance, and has turned -reporter, work it up. He wants news, and, plague it, it must be _true_ or -he won’t touch it. Of course I don’t appear in it, but all the credit is -socially mine, you see. - -“Why, come to think of it, Miss Brooke, I believe the girl looks a bit -like you! Did you ever chance to see this man? But then, of course, so -many charming women look alike in those stunning shirt-waist things, you -know. What do you make of the name?” - -Brooke wished that he might babble on as long as possible, that she -might learn the painting by heart and try to fathom the peculiarity of -the shaft of light, but as he stopped she said, almost without thought, -“Eucharistia! why may it not be the girl’s name?” - -“By Jove! of course, we never thought of it!” said Ashton. “You’re -growing quite pale from standing so long. You must have some punch. Do -let me take you to the banquet hall; it’s jolly nice there—all small -tables and souvenir menus in silver frames. I planned them, too, though -Tiffany’s name _is_ on them. There’s Cousin Lucy, and the Bagby girls are -waving to you now.” (“Yes, we’re under way, hold a table,” he signalled.) -“We can cook up the concert while we feed,” and offering his arm, upon -which Brooke laid her hand gratefully, for she felt a sudden weariness, -he led her through the maze of skirts and furniture as skilfully and -rapidly as if he had been her partner in the cotillon, and seated her at -one of the little tables amid a bevy of her friends, who were discussing -the house, the hostess, the flowers, the menus, and the fallen fortunes -of poor Julia Garth in a most impartial way, and at the top of their -voices. - -“Of course it’s awful to suddenly drop from having your gowns from Paris, -a maid, a private turnout, and keeping open house—or rather houses—and -all that, to a flat somewhere in Brooklyn, with a sick mother, and trying -to work off your music for a living,” said one shrill voice; “but then it -is an awful bore, too, for us to have her on our minds. This concert is -only the beginning, I suppose.” - -“Julia plays delightfully, and we all have more or less chamber music -during the winter, and one of us might take her to Lenox or Newport this -summer,” said another, in a reproving tone; “and then among us all there -are plenty of children for her to teach.” - -“If she plays and sings for us all winter, that is sufficient reason why -we shall be sick of her next summer,” said the first voice. “You know how -it was with Mrs. Darcey Binks and her Creole songs. We thought we could -not get enough of her. She thought she was settled here for life, and -biff! the Spanish mandolin players knocked her out the second season. As -for lessons, if you take up some one half out of charity, and then go -South in the middle of a term, they will always whine about it, and you -feel mean; a professional can take care of herself and always gets even, -but doesn’t let you know it.” - -“I wish we could think of something newer than a concert, that would make -a hit and a pot of money,” said Lucy Dean, not bragging of the fact that -she had already asked Julia Garth to come and live with her, and been -refused kindly but firmly. “What can you suggest, Brooke? you are always -overflowing with ideas, even if some of them are too good for this world.” - -Brooke, thus challenged, half rose in her chair so that she faced both -tables, and said: “I do not believe in offering Julia what she would -accept as work and you consider as charity; it is false pretence on both -sides! We can easily make up a Christmas purse for her among ourselves, -without giving her the pain of the advertising of a benefit concert, -and all the talk of it. Then when she has a chance to know where she -stands,—her father only died a month ago, poor child,—I will get my -father or yours” (motioning to Lucy) “to give her _real_ work for _real_ -pay, and with no charitable tag hanging to it. She has kept household -accounts and sometimes been her father’s private secretary. I saw her -last week, and what she wants and is able to do is real work and plenty -of it to make her forget, not charity coddling to make her remember.” - -“Mercy on me! don’t cut us up like cheese sandwiches, with your sarcasm!” -ejaculated Lucy, “and clutch that chair so, as if you had claws. Your -eyes remind me of a hawk that perches in a cage over in the park opposite -my window, and glares all day long at the silly sparrows outside!” - -Brooke laughed, and the dangerous flash in her eyes dying out again, she -turned to her plate of salad and the general gossip of the day, but a red -spot still glowed in the middle of each cheek. A few minutes later she -might have been seen driving down the avenue in her mother’s brougham, -trying to decipher, by the light of the electric street lamps, some -printing in the silk-covered catalogue. - -This is what she read: “Marte Lorenz, born at his uncle’s tulip farm -near Haarlem, in 1872. Educated in England, where his father had been a -merchant. Studied at the Amsterdam Art School, going afterward to Paris, -where his countryman, Israels, befriended him. A hard student, but the -picture ‘Eucharistia’ is his first important work, while European critics -and his masters believe it is the beginning of a great career. At present -he is living in seclusion in Normandy, following his art.” - -Ashton, the useful, had patched up the biographies in the little book, -helter-skelter, but Brooke did not know it, and tucking the catalogue -carefully into her great muff, she leaned back and closed her eyes. - -It was her portrait that Lorenz had painted, together with his own, -whatever the mystic word “Eucharistia” might mean. He had not forgotten -her, then, and he was loath to part with the picture. She did not -formulate the pleasure the thought gave her,—it was enough in itself. - -Then the brougham stopped before the blazing lights of the St. Hilaire, -where the Lawtons were making a temporary home, a sort of bridge, that -both mother and daughter had long wearied of, between the simpler -past and the long-delayed, complex future, when in the new house, now -building, her father promised once and for all to drop the reins of tape -and wire, cease from hurrying, and take rest. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE LAWTONS - - -With Mrs. Lawton the afternoon of the Park musical had been a time of -irresolution. When the man of a family is noted for swift arbitrary -decisions and often unexplained action in all domestic affairs, in -important matters and petty details alike, his wife is apt, simply by -force of reaction, to be driven to the opposite extreme in those things -that concern herself alone. Not that Adam Lawton’s wife had ever been -lacking in spirit, and when, as Pamela Brooke, a girl of twenty, he -had taken her from her southern plantation home, then crippled and -impoverished by war, yet where she still held absolute sway, many nodded -their heads, and said that the calculating, keen-eyed Yankee would some -day be startled by the fire of southern blood. - -Not but what his coming, seeing, and conquering had been as swift as the -most romantic could desire, one short month compassing it all, for there -was a certain magnetism about Adam Lawton that, when he chose to exert -it, was irresistible, while to those outside its influence he was doubly -a bit of chilling steel. - -Nor had his wife ever faltered in her loyalty to him; she would have -given much more than he would take, for in the beginning hers had been -a nature that sought happiness in pouring out her love freely and -enveloping its object in it, at the same time giving the man she had -chosen, through imagination, every noble and winning attribute that would -increase her passion. - -Two sons had been born to her before she had awakened from this ecstatic -period and was perforce obliged to separate the real from the ideal. Not -that Adam Lawton loved her a degree less strongly than when, calling -upon her father on purely business matters, he had first seen her riding -up the unkempt avenue of her home, her beauty and bearing lending -distinction to the faded habit that she wore. His love was of a strange -quality, a sort of transmutation of metals by sudden fire that, having -once taken place, must of necessity be welded for all time. In reality -an egotist, from his own point of view he was wholly unselfish, for he -asked little for what he gave, and would allow none of the little daily -services that nourish love, whose best food must have the flavour of -mutual dependence. - -The two boys died of scarlet fever almost together, before they were well -out of babyhood, and after a lapse of many years a daughter, Brooke, -had come, then another lapse, and another son, called Adam, now about -sixteen; and like many a son of a father who has planned a boy’s career -to the minutest detail, he seemed not only bound not to go in the desired -way, but to lack the bump of direction, which turns a boy from being -merely driftwood and guides him in any sort of way whatsoever. - -From habitual restraint of emotions learned in those first ten years, -Mrs. Lawton had come to pass for a perfectly bred, though somewhat -unsympathetic, woman. - -Brooke, whose own heart naturally beat as tumultuously as ever did -her mother’s, had learned to feel something of this even in her early -childhood, when at her father’s footstep she had been hushed in some wild -exhibition of childish enthusiasm; and though she and her mother were -the very best of friends, there was a certain quality missing in their -intercourse. Perhaps missing is not the word,—a quality not yet developed -expresses it more exactly, and this, too, came through the peculiar -temperament of Adam Lawton himself. Outside of his business he had but -one thought, his family, and to supply their needs as he read them, his -selfishness lying in the fact that he asked so little of them, beyond -their presence in his house, that it was impossible for him to judge, -by intimate contact, what those needs really were, or to realize that -confidence and sympathy are better coin than dollars. - -Brooke alone had been able to break through this crust of -self-sufficiency that he had used as a barrier against the world in his -early days of struggle, until it now shut him off from the luxury of -everything natural, uncalculated, and spontaneous. Brooke had enough -of the enthusiasm of youth not to be chilled by it. She looked forward -hopefully to the promised time when he should take a long holiday, and -be with them, and, as she explained it, only “think foolishness.” He had -never refused her anything that she asked of him, not that her wishes had -ever been extravagant. Many a time, as some clever whim of hers brought -a rare smile to his keen, thin face, intelligent and alive, if somewhat -harshly fined and worn, he almost clinched the hand that he always kept -in his left pocket in despair that this child was not the boy who should -keep his name alive, instead of that other who now bore it. But in the -fact that Brooke was a daughter lay all the charm, for there is no other -born relationship so subtle, so potent of good for each, as that between -father and daughter. - -For many years the Lawtons lived in an ample old-fashioned house in one -of the streets converging at Washington Square, where Brooke and young -Adam had been born. Here Mrs. Lawton had passed many days of quiet -content and social comfort, entertaining in the open-hearted southern -way that does not admit of push or hurry. True, the neighbourhood was -changing, and others more ambitious were moving away; in fact, Adam -Lawton had one day said the time had come when he was ready to build -a modern house, in a part of the city where a home more suited to his -position and a good investment could be combined, for with him the two -propositions always went together. - -Mrs. Lawton had sighed, but said nothing. She loved the wide, sunny -house, with its colonial mantels and irregular staircase, and secretly -she hoped that no one would buy it. Faint hope, for in a week from the -day the matter was broached, Adam Lawton announced that the house was -sold. A business building had purchased the adjoining property and -virtually gave him his price. They could live in an apartment hotel -pending the building of the new house. It would give his wife a rest, -for he was beginning to notice that she was looking rather worn, and -did not attribute it to the real cause or the flight of years, but to -some extraneous reason that that most dubious of all acts, “a change,” -might overcome. So Mrs. Lawton was spending her second winter at the St. -Hilaire, living apart from her own life, as it were. True, she had been -listless and not very well of late, but it was more from inertia than -any constitutional weakness. No one could expect to keep for thirty years -the radiant type of blonde beauty with which Pamela Brooke had glowed -at twenty. Mrs. Lawton was still in a sense a beautiful woman, but the -vivacity that often outlives freshness of tint and distinctiveness of -feature had died first of all. Her charm lay in a certain refinement of -outline; colour and features had grown dim as the reflection of a face in -a mirror blurred by dust, and her mass of waving golden brown hair, that -in its lights and shades had once surpassed even Brooke’s, was of a clear -white, as of the days of powder, and gave the delicate features an almost -dramatic setting. - -As Adam Lawton grew more and more absorbed in finance, he was the more -exacting of her presence during the evening hours, when, too absorbed to -either go out or bid friends come to him, he sat in his simply furnished -den, for all luxury stopped at his door, and pored over papers, letters, -and maps, scarcely glancing up or speaking to his wife twice in the -evening, yet expecting her presence and conscious if she left him for a -moment. - - * * * * * - -When Brooke had started on this particular winter afternoon for the -Parkses’ musicale, in company with her friend, Lucy Dean, Mrs. Lawton had -quite decided not to go. Her husband had been unusually silent for the -few days past, and had said something about possibly coming home in time -to drive up to the new house, which was yet uncompleted, owing to the -building strike of the past summer. - -But as the early twilight came on and he did not appear, she grew -restless, and knowing that it was too late for the proposed drive, -quickly determined to go to the Parkses’ for a little while and return -with Brooke. Going to her lounging room to call the carriage by -telephone, for she had an entirely separate wire from the private service -at her husband’s desk, she found several letters lying upon the table. -Exclaiming at the carelessness of the maids, of whom two were kept for -service of meals, etc., in the apartment, she looked at the addresses, -and the handwriting on the last put the thought of going out from her -mind. - -Four were in the handwriting of private secretaries, and promised social -invitations; the fifth, addressed in the shaded pin-point writing of the -seminary of thirty years ago, was postmarked Gilead; while the sixth -was in the rough and painfully unformed hand of Adam, “the Cub,” as his -friends called him, her only living son, now at a military school some -sixty miles away. - -It was impossible to deny that the Cub was behind-hand in his work, -and that, instead of being within two years of college, according to -his father’s schedule, he was little more than in sight of it; but her -mother’s heart told her that the rigidity of his father’s methods was -quite as much to blame as her son’s stupidity. Coming of ancestors whose -training on both sides had been for and of the out-of-door life, the -forcing system of surveillance under which he had lived, summer and -winter alike, since his eleventh year, had developed only the evil in him. - -Vainly she had suggested, nay almost fought, to have him sent to a famous -ranch school, where the sons of several of her friends had learned -self-reliance and books at one and the same time. Adam Lawton would not -hear of it, saying the dangers of the life and the distance were too -great. - -In Brooke his measure of fatherly affection was complete and satisfied, -and that she should never put her hand in an empty pocket his chief -desire; but still all his hopes of the future of his race theoretically -centred in this only son, as in an asset of both flesh and money, and -every hair of his tawny head and freckle on his face was more precious -than his own life-blood; yet he had the narrowness of the self-made man, -the financier in particular, and he could see honour and success in one -path only—that in which he himself had trodden. - -Adam Lawton senior, now halfway between sixty and seventy, though he did -not allow it even to himself, often felt the lack of academic knowledge, -and therefore Adam junior must undergo a certain polishing system -perforce, even if the substance to be polished lost its identity and -crumbled to chalk in the process. For only two things had Adam evinced -any liking,—for out-of-door life and a horse, while his backwardness with -his lessons had cut off these outlets by keeping him at school or under -tutelage the entire season through. - -If Adam Lawton loved his son as a matter of heredity, Pamela Lawton -loved him as a human being, as her baby, and her maternal passion gained -fierceness by repression. The letter was an appeal for permission to go -home, and contained a doctor’s certificate saying that the boy had, in -his opinion, outgrown his strength, and needed several months of outdoor -life, etc., etc. Mrs. Lawton crushed the paper in her hand. The last time -such a missive had been received it had resulted in the Cub’s being sent -to travel with a tutor. One human being the boy did love, and that was -herself,—he must have her care now or never! - -Without realizing that the hotel was no place for the boy, or what the -result might be, she went to her desk, wrote a few emphatic words, -enclosed a ten-dollar bill in the envelope (it chanced to be the last -money in her purse), and, quickly putting on coat and bonnet, took it -herself to the post-box on the street corner, not trusting it to the -hotel box; then she returned to her room with flushed cheeks, feeling -as guilty as a girl slipping out with a love-letter instead of a mother -daring to tell her own son to come home. At that moment she fairly hated -the motiveless comfort by which she was surrounded; passivity had become -almost a disease, she must shake it off; she would speak that night, and -have an understanding about the Cub, no matter how busy her husband might -be. - -When she had laid aside her things, no maid yet appearing, the Gilead -letter claimed her attention, and she was soon absorbed in it. It told of -Keith’s resolution to go to Boston, and gave an inventory of the property -on the farm that had been bought with Adam Lawton’s money. - -She had also, she said, written for instructions as to its future care; -would he take charge, or should she look for some suitable person in -the neighbourhood? Receiving no answer, and judging that the letter had -either been lost, or else that her cousin had been too busy to consider -it, Miss Keith had made a second careful copy and enclosed it in a letter -to Mrs. Lawton, saying that time pressed, and she must rely upon her to -“jog” Cousin Adam’s memory, or perhaps, as the farm at least stood in -Brooke’s name, that she might have some wishes in the matter. - -Mrs. Lawton had almost finished reading the inventory of simple -furnishings, etc., when Brooke entered. Her mother at once noticed a -strange expression in her always candid features, and a new light in her -wide-open eyes; but the letters in her lap caught Brooke’s attention, and -after she had given a brief history of the doings of the afternoon, the -two women, seated side by side, bent their heads over the Cub’s epistle, -though the elder already knew it by heart, word for word. - -“The poor, poor Cub!” ejaculated Brooke at last, half laughing, and then -stopping short, for looking up, she saw tears trembling on her mother’s -lashes. “If it were only long ago, we would buy him a horse, and spear, -and shield, and smuggle him outside the castle walls at night, and let -him gallop away to seek his own fortunes. Do you know, little mother, -that, in spite of all the liberty I have, and money in my pocket without -the asking, I sometimes feel choked and tied down like this bad boy of -ours? It was only an hour ago, when I was sitting in that beautiful -picture gallery, that it came over me how so many of the things we do -every day seem unreal and like a useless dream. We ourselves arrange or -else blindly submit to customs that keep us apart instead of bringing -those who love each other together, until life gets to be like those -stupid gas fire-logs yonder, all for show—a little feverish heat and -unwholesomeness as a result instead of the true thing, though to be sure -real logs are more trouble and a greater responsibility to tend. - -“I want to be something more than furniture in our new home, if it is -ever finished, and we succeed in getting out of what Lucy Dean calls -this ‘elaborated parlour-car method of living.’ Yes, mother, I’m getting -what you call a restless streak again. I think I’m going to pick up my -brushes”—and then a serious, almost sad expression crossed her face as -she added, “if they will let me.” - -“So Cousin Keith’s going away,—going to be married! I wish she could -have done the second without the first. I like to think of her at the -farm just as she used to be. You know it’s my farm now, and I’ve always -planned to go back there some summer, and really work, for if anything -could put life in my brush, it would be to live in my ‘River Kingdom.’ -I’d much rather do that than have a large country place, such as father -plans, though of course Gilead is too quiet and out of touch with things -for him, and the farm is too small a bit for his energy to work upon. -Cousin Keith has been very thrifty,—‘five cows, a farm horse, chickens, -ducks, seed potatoes, cordwood, etc.,’ (all mine, too, because the deed -says ‘inclusive of all live stock, and furnishings’). Last of all she -lists ‘Tatters, the family dog, whose race has been on the soil as long -as we ourselves; if he can’t transfer himself to the newcomers not of -the name, Dr. Russell has promised to take him down to Oaklands. Please -understand, Cousin Pamela, that Tatters doesn’t rank with live stock,—he -is a person, and must be treated as such!’” - -“Tatters!” repeated Brooke, looking involuntarily at the artificial fire, -so surely does visible heat draw the outward eye when the mind’s eye is -a-roving. “That was the name of one of the dogs they had that autumn when -I spent that lovely month there, and played at gypsy every day. But he -must be very, very old now. Yes, you shall be well treated, old fellow, -and not ‘transferred’ to anything or anybody against your will. - -“Mother, do you know I think that if only Cousin Keith were not going -away, it would be a fine thing to send the Cub to Gilead for a while, -until he pulled himself together, and then some not overzealous tutor -with a fondness for walking might be found for him. - -“What is it?” asked Brooke, reading the confusion in her mother’s face. -“You have answered him already and told him that he may come? Good! now -we will act together. You take father quite too seriously; if he really -understood just what we both wish to do and be, I’m sure that he would -be the last one to hinder either, but we haven’t let him see. How can a -man who has lived his own life so long possibly understand women unless -they give him the clew, and whisper ‘hot’ and ‘cold’ when he gets off the -track? - -“No one, since ever I can remember, has been allowed to let father even -think that he can make a mistake; consequently he really believes he -cannot err, and I don’t think that he is wholly to blame for it. I’m -going to beg for the Cub’s liberty the minute father comes home, and more -than that, I’m going to tell him that we four have been groping round in -opposite directions, and that he simply must come into our lives, and let -us do for him, or take us into his—that the ‘some day’ when he will have -time to listen must begin this very night!” - -“Dinner is served!” said the reproving accents of the waiting-maid, -letting drop the portière as she spoke, and both women glanced in -surprise at the clock that was striking eight. - -“Eight o’clock already, and I’m in my street gown,” said Brooke, -gathering up her possessions, and making sure that the silk-bound -catalogue was in her muff. - -“Eight o’clock, and your father has not yet come home!” - -“Perhaps he has stopped at the club, and talked longer than usual. I -heard to-day through Lucy, to whom her father seems to speak as freely -about his business as if she were his partner, that our parents are -engaged in some important ‘deal’ together! - -“He is probably late for our special benefit,” said Brooke, cheerfully, -“so that we may make ourselves just a wee bit pretty,” and putting her -arm about her mother, she led her down the corridor to their rooms, which -adjoined, and five minutes sufficed for each to slip on the tasteful, yet -simple, dinner gown that the lady’s-maid, now at her post, had laid in -readiness. - -“Ask the page in the outer hall if any note has come for mother,” said -Brooke to the woman, as they went to the dining room. “It was only -yesterday that I found that two personal notes had been travelling up and -down in the elevator for half the morning, in spite of two men at the -door, and one posted every ten feet the rest of the way.” - -“There is no note come, ma’am,” replied the waiting-maid, a couple of -minutes later, “but he says that Mr. Lawton’s been over an hour at -home,—at least he came in then, and he’s not seen him go out, that is, -not by the lift. He must have let himself in with a key, then, for -neither Sellers nor I opened for him.” - -“Perhaps he went to the den, thinking we were all out, and does not -realize how late it is,” said Brooke, moving swiftly down the hall, -followed by her mother. Turning the corner, for her father had located -his den, for the sake of quiet, as far as possible from the rest of the -apartment, she saw the light that shone above and below the portière, for -the door was not wholly closed. - -“Yes, he is here after all!” and she threw open the door without -knocking, as she alone dared, and entered with some playful words upon -her lips, quite prepared to rumple the iron-gray hair, a little thin on -top, that partially capped the figure seated at his desk, with his left -hand, as usual, in his pocket. - -The next moment she stopped, as an undefined feeling of dread held her -fast,—the right hand was stiffly extended, as if it had just let go its -hold of the movable ’phone that stood on the desk, and knocked it over. -The usually alert figure had settled in the chair, the head dropping -backward, while, after a single breath, that resounded like a snore, -there was no sound. - -Brooke touched him quickly; there was still the warmth of life, and the -left side of the face twitched frightfully, but no words came; his face, -flushed at first, was growing rapidly livid. Instantly she wound her -strong young arms about him, and, laying him on the thick rug, his head -slightly turned and raised, she motioned to her mother and the maid, who -had come at her unconscious call, to loosen collar and clothing, while -she sped back to the telephone in her mother’s sitting room to call a -doctor who was resident in the hotel, and he was at hand almost before -she realized that the call had gone forth. - -“Cerebral hemorrhage; has he had bad news or some sudden shock?” was what -the physician said a moment after he entered the room where Adam Lawton -lay, and saw the litter of papers and the overthrown instrument. But -there was no letter or telegram among them that could indicate, and the -ominous telephone receiver was mute. - -As the men from the house helped move him to his room, Mrs. Lawton and -Brooke following silent with the first calmness of a shock, her own words -rang in her ears. “He must come into our lives and let us do for him or -take us into his life; the ‘some day’ when he will have time to listen -must begin to-night!” - -The first hour passed, that period of rapid action following a calamity -that intervenes before the clutch of the tension of continued strain is -felt. - -The family physician came and called an expert in counsel, and then -Brooke was directed to send for a nurse,—more than one her mother would -not have, and as she was intelligently calm, no objection was made to her -insistence that she should share both the care and responsibility of the -night. - -Adam Lawton was unconscious, and life itself must hang in the balance for -many hours at best, and the physicians insisted upon the most perfect -quiet. - -Who can say where the mind is when its physical registry is interrupted? -The physician cannot tell you, but at the same time he is very careful to -keep injurious impression beyond the range of the seemingly deaf ears. -Brooke went to her father’s den and touched the instrument that had so -recently fallen from his hand, almost with a shudder. If only it would -repeat to her what it had said to him, some light would be shed upon the -mystery. - -After arranging for the nurse, a desire for companionship during this -night of suspense seized her, and she called the number that meant Lucy -Dean, thinking as she did so, “I must tell her as quickly as I can, for I -cannot bear her usual telephone joking now.” - -“Lucy? It is I, Brooke Lawton; can you come down and spend the night with -me? Please listen until I finish. Something awful has happened—father—” - -Lucy (breaking in with a torrent of words): “Yes, you poor dear, I know -all about it; heard it just as soon as I got home, before dinner—dad told -me. We would have been down by now, only dad thought, as your father had -gone against his advice through all this matter, it might seem pushing in -me. Cheer up, it may come out all right yet.” - -Brooke: “I don’t understand; how could you have heard before dinner?—it -was eight o’clock before we knew ourselves.” - -“Dad was worried over the affair and had a special sent him after he came -up town.” - -“Lucy, what are you talking about?” - -“Why, what else but your father’s great deal to buy up the stock control -of the T. Y. D. Q. Railroad, and the way those rascally friends of his -turned traitor? It isn’t so killing, after all. Dad was down perfectly -flat twelve years ago, and now he’s ten times to the good. What dad -thought foolish was for him to realize on everything else he had to go -into this shaky deal!” - -“You mean that my father has failed! Then that accounts, oh, that -accounts for it all!” - -“You don’t say that you did not know it? What did you mean and what are -you talking about? Your father hasn’t—” Fortunately the question that -Lucy asked did not reach Brooke’s ears, for, pushing the instrument from -her across the desk, she neither cried nor raved nor wrung her hands, but -sitting forward in her father’s chair, very much the attitude he took -when deep in thought, scarcely stirred for the quarter-hour. The visible -signs of the years she lacked of being the age she really was came -swiftly, and laid their hands upon hers, not empty hands nor yet filled -with the trifles the years sometimes hold. Presently Courage entered her -heart, and then its sponsors, Hope and Constancy. - -Soon a muffled closing of the door at the lower end of the hall, and the -approaching tiptoe tread of two people of uneven weights, brought her to -her feet and into the crisis again. It was Lucy, who, with every vestige -of flippancy gone, threw her arms around her friend’s neck and burst into -tears, while Brooke held out her hand to Mr. Dean, meanwhile, looking -him straight in the eyes, saying: “Thank you for coming. Do not trouble -to conceal anything, only tell me the truth, and do it quickly,” not -realising that in such cases truth-telling is not the simple thing that -it is reckoned. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -THE DAY AFTER - - -There was a single day of incredulity and suspense, and then the fact -of Adam Lawton’s financial downfall was made public through the papers, -together with the names of those who had been swept from their feet in -his company. As to his physical collapse, it was merely stated that -he was ill at his department in the St. Hilaire, denied himself to -all visitors, and would hold no communication even with his lawyer or -business associates. - -Few people sink alone in a financial maelstrom, and Lawton was not one -of these; so that the cries and muttered imprecations of those who, -unlike her father, were conscious and battling for life in trying to find -and cling to bits of the wreckage reached Brooke and rang in her ears, -partially deafening her to her own thoughts. - -It was not until noon of the second day that she had succeeded in getting -her mother to leave her post and see Mr. Dean in the library. At first -Brooke had hoped to keep the knowledge of the real cause of her father’s -illness from her mother, for a few days at least, but it was of no use; -every one in the great hotel was aware of the facts, even though it made -no difference in the attitude of the employees, for with a certain class -of people, and a fairly intelligent one at that, failures are often -interpreted merely as an odd trick in the game of finance now played. One -of the important morning papers even went so far as to print a thinly -veiled hint that Adam Lawton’s seclusion and supposed illness was a very -subtle excuse for gaining time or allowing him to forget much that it -would be extremely inconvenient to be called upon to remember at this -juncture. - -Mrs. Lawton had gone through her ordeal with Mr. Dean very quietly; she -heard his explanation—that is, as far as anything that might be said -could be called such, but its full meaning had not yet dawned upon her; -and being utterly worn out she allowed herself to be tucked up on the -lounge in Brooke’s room, where she fell into an exhausted sleep, under -the soothing touch of her daughter’s fingers. - -Lucy Dean, coming in during the late afternoon, for she had remained with -her friend since the first and had only gone out for a walk, found Brooke -sitting bolt upright in her father’s chair in the den, a newspaper that -rested on the desk crumpled in one hand, and a dangerous light in her -eyes. - -“Have you seen this?” she asked Lucy, in a voice that was fairly hoarse -from suppression, as she pointed to the insinuating article which bore -the double significance of being semi-editorial in form,—“and appearing -in the _Daily Forum_, too, the paper that father always thought the most -sound and moderate. Oh, how I wish that I could get hold of some one and -make them believe at least that father is truly ill and knows absolutely -no one, not even mother and me!” - -“Brooke Lawton, if you are going to read all the papers say or hint about -your affairs during the next few weeks, you will give me a chance to look -up a sanatorium, with nice cool bars for you to snub your nose against, -which won’t improve its shape. Don’t read the papers; if the things -aren’t true, why bother, and if some of them are, what are you going to -do about it?” - -Lucy had been astonishingly quiet and sympathetic for nearly twenty-four -hours, but a long walk in the fresh air had raised her indomitable animal -spirits to the top again, and though they sometimes made Brooke catch -her breath and gasp, like too crude a stimulant, they were under the -circumstances probably the best counterbalance and tonic she could have -had. - -“Of course,” Lucy continued, “if it was a purely social affair, I -could get Charlie Ashton to stuff the papers to the limit. If he is -my cousin, I must say that he managed to syndicate the account of the -Parkses’ musicale most adroitly (of course, though, you didn’t read -that yesterday). The main description—gowns and all that—was the same in -each, but Charlie contrived to let each reporter have some extra item -that fitted his paper specially. A little more about the music for one, -details of the picture gallery for another, the brand of champagne used -for a third, upholstery for a fourth, and so on. Come to think of it, I -remember something about his saying that a reporter on the _Daily Forum_ -was a chum of his at Harvard. I might try and see what Charlie can do, -but I’m afraid, as far as serious news goes, even his chum wouldn’t -swallow him.” - -“Oh, Lucy, Lucy! can’t you see it is not _stuffing_ and _swallowing_ -that I want, but for people to know that father is really ill and not -shamming—that we are not all combining in a dreadful game of deceit?” - -“Do be content, child, to let the talk wear itself out. From what the -doctor told my father this morning, your father may be a long time like -this—weeks and months perhaps—even if by and by he comes to himself. It -isn’t like a toothache that will be over to-morrow. You can’t rush out on -the avenue and pull the people up here in flocks to see for themselves, -though by to-morrow, just as soon as society has made up its mind what it -ought to do, you’ll have plenty of callers. You told me yourself that the -result of the consultation was that everything hinges on quiet. - -“By the way, there were two reporters clamouring at the lift when I went -out, one actually trying to bribe the boy to tell whether your father -was really here in the apartment. I sent them scurrying in a hurry, I -can tell you. Listen! I believe that there is another at the door now; -anyway, some one is asking for you. I think I heard the words _Daily -Forum_,” and Lucy pulled aside the curtain, and going to the angle in the -hallway peered down its length to where the maid was talking in whispers -to a tall somebody in pantaloons. - -“Yes, it is a reporter,” said Lucy, stepping back noiselessly. “Sellers -is trying to shoo him out, but he’s all inside the door and asking, not -a bit humbly, to see ‘a member of the family.’ Watch and see how long -it will take me to get rid of him,” and Lucy pulled on and buttoned her -gloves, which, on coming in, she had begun to take off, with a gesture as -though fists were to take part in the encounter, if necessary. - -Brooke, who had been listening to Lucy, yet not looking at her, with eyes -fixed on the crumpled paper before her, suddenly sprang to her feet, the -warning flash returning to her eyes, saying: “Don’t go; I will see this -man myself, and please remember, Lucy, whatever I may say or do, you are -not to speak. No, don’t leave the room. I want you to stay by me, but -this matter of father’s feigning illness is an affair of honour that only -one of the family can conduct.” - -Going quickly down the hall, she relieved the harassed maid by indicating -to the visitor that he was to follow her, at the same time making a -gesture to caution silence, as she guided him back to the den. - -What he first saw on entering the room was the tall, straight figure of a -young woman, back turned, half a hat and one cheek outlined against the -lace drapery, through which she was looking into the street with a frozen -fixedness, as if her very life depended upon not moving or turning the -fraction of an inch. His second glance rested on the other woman, who, -having preceded him, was standing by the desk corner, half supporting -herself by it. She raised her head with its wreath of ash-brown hair -proudly, and looked him in the face with eyes in which anger struggled -with a pleading expression, in keeping with the heavy shadows that -underlay them. - -After moistening her lips once or twice nervously, Brooke spoke: “You -asked to see one of the family, and said it was important that you -should. If you are a gentleman, as you appear to be, of course you would -not have come at such a time on trivial business. I am Brooke Lawton; -what do you wish to ask?” - -For an instant the young fellow hesitated, thoroughly abashed; he had -met with a variety of experiences in following his vocation of news -collecting, but never before had he felt so much like beating a retreat, -or his errand seemed so intrusive. Without any special claim to good -looks or great stature, he had a certain clear-cut distinctiveness of -feature, a mouth that stood the harsh test of the shaved upper lip, and -eyes that, though they opened lengthwise rather than wide, looked as if -they would take in the surroundings and atmosphere as well as the main -object on which they were focussed. - -While he hesitated the newspaper which Brooke still clutched attracted -him, and as he read its title he divined that Brooke had overheard the -name he had just given the maid at the door and already associated him -with the sneering article. Laying the card, which the maid had refused, -upon the table, he said quietly, but with an earnestness that carried -conviction: “I am Tom Brownell of the _Daily Forum_, the sheet you have -in your hand. I know that there was a nasty leader in this morning’s -issue that was slipped in, no one seems to know how, by some one who had -animus or was hard hit in this T. Y. D. Q. deal. We pride ourselves upon -getting at the truth of things that concern the public, so I have come -here to settle for once and all the question of Mr. Lawton’s reported -serious illness, by direct communication with some one of his family.” - -“You mean that you wish to know if my father is really ill? Then people -do doubt it and think he may be merely hiding to avoid inquiry?” said -Brooke, who now had full control of the voice that her friends called -silvery, but which now had more of steel in its ring. - -“Moreover, you expect to learn the truth by _asking_ one of his -family—what will that amount to if they choose to aid and abet the -illness that your paper hints is part of a well-arranged covering of a -retreat? If I should tell you that night before last, while my mother -and I were waiting for him to return to dinner, my father had come home, -unknown to us or the maids, letting himself in with a latch-key, which -he used so seldom that we had forgotten its existence; when finally, -attracted by a light under the door of this room, we opened it, he was in -this chair, unconscious, stricken with apoplexy, his hand by the receiver -of the overturned telephone; since then, though as far as physical life -goes he is living, he has neither moved nor spoken nor recognized any -one, nor can he swallow, and such liquid food as he has taken is given -artificially,—if I tell you all this, still how can you be sure it is the -truth?” - -“Please, please, Miss Lawton, I am shocked and awfully grieved and -ashamed. Don’t be so hard on yourself and on me as to think that I -dreamed of any such condition existing. We reporters do not rejoice in -the misfortunes of others. But that it is not the time for such things, -I could tell you that one of the reasons I had in beginning life in this -way was to get to the bottom of things, and see if some people at least -didn’t really want to tell and hear the truth in the newspapers. Of -course I will believe what you tell me, and all that remains is for me to -apologize for pushing in upon you and—go as quickly as possible. I only -wish I could help or do something to ease you.” - -“You forget that I have told you nothing,” said Brooke, hesitating and -catching at the throat of her blouse as if she wished to pull it away -and give herself more room to breathe—“I only said _if_, and if you are -looking for truth, to be certain you must see it, not ask about it.” -Then, as the new thought grew upon her, and she realized that her mother -was asleep, the tragedy fled from her eyes, that she had fixed upon the -face of the reporter,—who, fast losing his self-possession, stood looking -uncomfortable and foolish, turning his hat about by its rim like an -applicant for a situation,—her entire poise had altered, and she seemed -several inches taller. - -“Oh, Mr. Brownell, don’t you see that the only way that you can help -us in telling the truth about father is by seeing for yourself? Put -down your hat and come with me—” and before he had recovered from his -astonishment, Brooke grasped Tom Brownell by the wrist and literally led -him from the room, up the hallway, not toward the entrance but along the -side passage, where the electricity had not yet been turned on and which -was in a dim and uncertain light. - -Pausing before the door of Adam Lawton’s room, and without releasing her -hold of Brownell’s wrist, she turned the handle carefully, entered, and -was standing with her companion in the shadow of the bed before the nurse -at the opposite side realized that any one had come in, or could even -raise her hand in caution. No one spoke, and the footsteps on the thick -rug that covered the floor made no sound—the breathing of the pale figure -prone upon the bed was the only vibration even of the air. - -For two, perhaps three, minutes, that held an eternity of torture to -Brownell, who stood with bent head, they remained, so that no detail -could escape his notice. Then Brooke led him back to the den, leaving -the nurse in grave doubt as to what manner of man this might be who had -seemingly been forcibly led into the room where, by the doctor’s orders, -no one but mother and daughter were to be admitted. - -The moment that the curtains had closed behind the two, Lucy Dean turned -from the window with a suddenness that might be described as a bang, -except that no noise went with the motion. Drawing two or three long -breaths, as a relief to her suppressed speech, she crossed the room and -picked up the reporter’s card, turned it over and over and, reading the -name with deliberation, put it in her pocket. “Thomas Brownell, Jr., the -_Daily Forum_,” she repeated, at the same time making a mental note -that the card itself was of good quality and engraved, not printed, an -unusual occurrence with the average reporter. Spying his hat, she next -seized upon that, discovering at a single glance the name of a maker -of good repute and Brownell’s own address, at a comfortable though -inexpensive bachelor inn, stamped in gilt letters on the band. Hearing a -slight rustling in the hall, she returned to her post by the window, but, -instead of standing, she had thrown herself into a chair, half facing the -room, by the time that the two returned. - -Nothing further was said as to what had been seen. Brownell picked up -his hat, preparing to leave as quickly as possible, yet he could not -but notice that Lucy Dean, who by this time had turned wholly toward -the room, was looking at him with an expression half quizzical, half -challenging. - -Brooke dropped wearily into the chair by the desk; the strain of the last -hour had been greater than what she actually felt; she had been hurried -swiftly to face stern realities, which all her life, though through no -choice of her own, had been to her a side issue in which she took no part -or responsibility, and which she was never allowed to question. Then, -seeing that the reporter was standing and evidently at a loss how to go, -she went forward with extended hand, saying, very gently, “Good-by. I -think I may trust you not to misunderstand my father’s illness now.” -Turning to the figure by the window, now all on the alert, she said, -“Lucy, dear, will you please show Mr. Brownell the way out, there are -so many turns in this inner hall?” Then, as Lucy raised her eyebrows in -disgusted question marks, Brooke continued, “Ah, forgive me! this is my -dear friend, Miss Dean, Mr. Brownell, and”—a little smile hovered around -the comers of her mouth in spite of herself—“you may be very sure that -she will never tell you anything but the whole truth!” - -Then, as the two girls changed places and Lucy led the way down the main -hall, Brooke reseated herself before the desk, that might tell so much if -it only could, folded her arms upon it, hiding her weary eyes in them. -Had she done right or wrong in letting a stranger see her father’s real -condition? Would it make outside conditions better or worse? Why had the -doctor given out such evasive bulletins? Well, the die was cast, and -something within told her that from that hour, when she had taken the -family responsibility upon herself, she would have to bear it. - - * * * * * - -As Tom Brownell crossed the rug that lay before the outer door of the -Lawton apartment, something between it and the tiled flooring slid under -the pressure of his foot. Checking his first impulse to pass on and get -out as quickly as possible, he turned back, even though the door itself -was open, and, lifting the corner of the rug, picked up two thin keys, -one smaller than the other, that were joined by a steel ring. Accustomed -to fit two and two together rapidly, he involuntarily glanced at the -spring lock on the door to see if they belonged to it, but found it of -a different pattern. Stepping outside, the better to see by the hanging -electric light, he found that the keys bore no name or mark other than -figures, probably the factory number of keys of a fine make. Turning -to Lucy, who had already come into the main hall and, half closing the -door behind her, was watching him, he muttered a hasty apology for his -curiosity concerning the keys, saying: “To me unfamiliar keys have always -had a strange fascination, for all my life I have expected to find one -that would unlock a mystery. These probably belong to some of Mrs. or -Miss Lawton’s possessions—a travelling bag or jewel case. Will you please -take charge of them? And thank you for showing me the way out,” turning -up the corridor as he spoke. - -“You needn’t thank me for showing you the way, as you evidently don’t -know it,” said Lucy; “that is, unless you have professional reasons for -going down in the luggage lift with trunks, baby wagons, clothes-baskets, -and scrubbing pails. No, you needn’t raise your eyebrows, I’m not English -or infected with Anglomania either, simply I’m to the point, and _luggage -lift_ is a much more smooth and pronounceable expression than baggage -elevator, don’t you think? - -“To the right—there you are! Not running? Why, the thing was all right -when I came in not an hour ago, but I’ve noticed that the power has a -way of giving out, or the machinery needs oiling, about the time the -man might be supposed to want an afternoon nap. You’ll have to walk -downstairs. Good afternoon. Oh, by the way, do you happen to know Charlie -Ashton? I beg his pardon, _Carolus_, though I only promised to call -him that at his studio teas. He had a chum at college, he said, with a -literary and reformatory streak, who a year ago had cut away from his -father’s business, and incidentally his own fortune, and was climbing -into journalism, not in at the top story, but up the cellar stairs. I’ve -rather forgotten his name. He doesn’t chance to be you, does he?” - -“I’m afraid he does, and that Ashton has guyed me unmercifully to you, in -spite of all the good turns that he has done me. But as I am myself, you -must be his cousin, Miss Dean, of whom he talks so much at the club. I -did not quite catch what name Miss Lawton said.” - -“I am Lucy Dean, and I dare say that he has talked about me even at so -reprehensible a place as the club. Talking about me, I fear, is a bad -habit that a great many of my friends have. I also know that he didn’t -call me Miss Dean. What club was it? What did he call me? Lucyfer is his -pet title—and what did he say?” - -“Oh, Miss Dean, it wasn’t the way you mean at all. I was lunching, -at his invitation, with him at the Players,—quite by ourselves on my -word, and—he—well, he did call you Lucyfer, and said it expressed your -stand-off way and all that; but he declared you were the best chum a -fellow ever had, and if he wanted a studio entertainment to be a corking -success, he always had you pour tea. If I hadn’t been spending all my -time the last year climbing up the cellar stairs, as you express it, I -should have begged him to ask me to one of the teas; but I’m out of that -sort of thing, for good and all, you see.” - -Lucy flushed slightly, an odd thing for her, and then said suddenly, -holding out her right hand, both having been held behind her, after a -habit she had, until this moment: “You are keen to avoid teas, they -are horribly stupid; the cigarette smoke makes one’s eyes weak, and -the Saké punch does for the rest of one’s head, and unless we act -like mountebanks and shock people so that they forget to be bored, no -one would come twice. Ask Charlie to bring you up to the house some -afternoon, as you live so near to him, about five for a cup of real tea. -No, don’t thank me, it is not an invitation. It’s years since I’ve taken -the responsibility of giving one to a man,—certainly not since I was -eighteen; you must take the responsibility of coming upon yourself!” - -“As you have never seen me until this afternoon, and I only moved over -from—well, let’s call it the Borough of Queens—last month, how could -you know where I live?” queried Brownell, looking up with a quizzical -expression, and passing over the first part of her speech, not because he -did not heed it, but for the reason of a certain Indian instinct he had -of picking up trails as he went along, that helped him not a little in -his work. - -Lucy flushed furiously, this time to the roots of her hair, sought refuge -for a single instant in subterfuge, but finding herself fairly caught, -throwing her head up, stood with hands again clasped behind her, and lips -parted, smiling at the man who had already gone two steps downward on the -stairs when she had called the halt. - -“You say that you are seeking for truth with a fountain pen and a -stenographer’s note-book, also Brooke says that I always speak the -truth—attention! I saw your address in your hat this afternoon!” - -Brownell, who was at that moment holding his hat against his chest, -looked anxiously at the top of the crown, wondering if it had become -transparent. - -“No, I didn’t see _through_ the hat, it’s not my way; I looked _in it_ -when you were out of the room, because I wanted to know where it was -bought! A woman can tell a great deal by that! The biped _I_ call a _man_ -never buys a department-store hat, for instance, he’d rather wear a -second-hand one first. Well, yours did not come from a department store, -neither was it second-hand; in fact, it was painfully new, address and -all!” - -Then Lucy Dean turned on her heel with right-about-face rapidity and -vanished around the corner of the corridor; while Tom Brownell, half -angry, half fascinated, and wholly amazed, went down the marble stairs -two steps at a time, a difficult feat, and one that would have made the -very correct man at the door suspect that the visitor had been summarily -ejected, if it had not been for the expression of Brownell’s face, which, -by the time he reached the bottom stair, wore a decidedly satisfied -smile. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -TRANSITION - - -When Lucy Dean returned to the den, she found Brooke leaning upon the -desk, her head still pillowed by her arms, and fast asleep. Checking her -first impulse to waken Brooke and discuss the episode of the reporter, -Lucy stood thinking a moment, looked at the clock, then, drawing a sheet -of paper toward her, wrote a few words upon it in vigorous upright -characters, placed it where the sleeper could not fail to see it the -moment her eyes opened, and, after rearranging her furs, that she had -thrown off when she had returned from her walk, vanished from the room. - -Her coming and going made a mental movement, for there had been no sound. -Brooke raised her head, and looking about in a dazed way spied the note, -which said, “As everybody and thing seems to be asleep, have gone home to -dine with father; will be back before ten.” - -It was a positive relief to Brooke to be quite alone for a few hours, -and it would also give her the chance to see the physicians more -satisfactorily; they were due about six. - -Going to her own room, she found her mother had returned to the sick -room, so, slipping on a wrapper and loosening the tension of hair-pains, -she busied herself by laying away in closet and dresser various things -that had lain about since two nights before, which Olga, the maid, under -stress of confusion, had neglected. Taking up her great chinchilla muff -from a chair, she was shaking it in an absent-minded fashion before -putting it in its box, when something slipped from it and fell lightly to -the carpet. Groping in the dim light, she picked up, not her card case, -as she expected, but the silk-covered catalogue of the Parkses’ pictures -and the souvenir menu in its frame of silver filigree. It was only two -days since she had put them in her muff, but it seemed almost as if she -were looking back from another world. - -The catalogue naturally opened to the little reproduction of Marte -Lorenz’ picture. Cutting it carefully from the page, she slipped it into -the silver frame, which chanced to be of the exact size, and setting it -upon the dressing table, turned on the light above. Somehow the sight of -it gave her comfort more than anything else could, and the separation of -circumstances and distance seemed suddenly to have grown less. Whatever -the interpretation of the picture might be, whatever else might tide, she -had entered into and formed a part of the artist’s first serious work, -and even if they never met again, they would be comrades upon the canvas -as long as it lasted. For, in spite of the veiling of both the likenesses -by certain subtle touches, it did not obliterate the characteristics of -the two; and the longer that Brooke gazed upon the picture the stronger -grew her conviction that, under guise of an attractive composition, -it was he and she that Lorenz had painted, that he had bound together -forever by some mystical inspiration. - -Still Brooke did not formulate her feelings toward this man who had been -the first one to tell her the truth when an untruth or evasion would -have had a pleasanter sound; such a thing did not occur to her. Lucy -Dean would have dragged her emotion into the electric light, diagnosed, -and duly labelled it at once. Neither did Brooke kiss the portrait nor -put it under her pillow, nor hide it away in her orris-scented drawer -for sentiment’s sake or to feed mystery, as many a girl would have done; -but as the light glared upon the glass she turned it out, and lighting -a small green candle of bayberry wax, that stood upon her desk, placed -it near the frame so that its rays fell obliquely in accord with the -picture’s scheme of light, while the pungent fragrance of the wax wafted -like incense at a shrine. - -As she stood thus, the outer door closed, a squeaky tread awkwardly -muffled came along the hallway, and stopping outside her door made her -turn hastily. Without further ado the door opened, and a pair of lean, -sloping shoulders and a freckled face topped by a mop of sandy hair -parted the curtain, while two dull, greenish hazel eyes, very round and -wide open, explored the room to the very corners with an expression of -apprehension. Evidently being satisfied with the result, the rest of the -six feet of overgrown boy followed the head, swinging a suit case before -him with one hand, while he closed the door behind him with the other. - -Brooke was almost startled into calling out aloud, but the figure clapped -his hand to her mouth, and her voice dropped to a whispered “Oh, Cub, -Cub, where did you come from? How did you hear?” - -“Why, from school, to be sure, Sis, and I heard from Mummy, else I hadn’t -dared, or couldn’t have come,—she sent me a ten,—for I spent all that was -left of my quarterly on Pam; she was worth it, even if I’d have had to -walk. I’ve only had her a month, but she knows my whistle out of twenty, -and she just loves me; yes, she does, you ought to see her look at me -with her head on one side. I’ve just left her below with the engineer -till I saw if the coast was clear. I’ll bring her up to you, unless you -think father’s likely to come in. Then I suppose I’ll have to take her to -the stable for keeps.” - -While the boy rattled on, Brooke was recalling the fact of her brother’s -letter, and that her mother had told her about sending for him to come -home in spite of everything. He had come, then, in response to that and -knew nothing of what had happened. - -“Father will not come in,” she said, going to him and speaking very -quietly to gain time, also because she did not know exactly how best to -break the matter to this sixteen-year-old brother of hers, who, partly -through perversity, but chiefly because his father had never understood -his temperament or considered him as an individual, was the sort of cross -between a mule and a firebrand dubbed “an impossibility” by people in -general. - -“Who or what is Pam?” - -“She! She’s the finest year-old brindled pup you ever rolled your eyes -on, only a quarter English for bone and grit, and the rest Boston for -looks. Her father’s got eight firsts, and Bill Bent’s father owns the -mother, and she’s reckoned the finest bitch shown this year. I paid -fifty, but if Bill hadn’t been my chum, two hundred was the price! I -called her Pam, after Mummy, you know, and I thought maybe she’d keep -her for her own if father sends me off again to where they won’t have -Pam. Lots of women have Boston bulls to ride out with them every day,” -while, at the likelihood of catastrophe in connection with his pet, -the animation that had lighted the boy’s face and shown the improving -possibility of latent manhood died out, a weary look replacing it, and -the Cub dropped into a lounging chair and began to cough, holding his -hand to his side. - -“If you think I’d better not bring her up, I’ll take her round to the -stable right away,” he said, when the fit had passed over. - -“Leave her downstairs for now,” said Brooke; “I’m not sure if there is -any stable to-day,” and sitting on the arm of the chair, untangling his -mop of hair with her strong, slender fingers, a proceeding that he did -not resent as roughly as usual, she began to give him a brief history -of the past two days. At first he looked at her in amazement, as if he -thought that she had lost her mind, then his head sank, and when she -finished and tried to take his hand, he pulled it away, and, turning from -her, buried his face in the chair back, breaking into long sobs that -almost strangled him, and that he could not stifle. - -In vain Brooke tried to comfort him, to find if there was anything on his -mind of which she did not know. Her brother had never been emotional in -this way, and though she knew that her father’s strictness with the boy -was a sign that all his hope was in him, she never dreamed the Cub would -care so much, if at all. Pushing her away, he staggered toward the door, -his face still hidden by his hands. - -“Where are you going? you must be very quiet,” said Brooke, getting -between him and the curtain. - -“To mother! I want my mother! I must have her all to myself, and father -can’t prevent it now!” Then, to her amazement, Brooke realized that her -brother’s tears were not born of grief, but of hysterical relief at -release from a mental and physical bondage that had fretted and cramped -and warped his very soul. - -“Stay here,” she begged, “and I will bring mother to you!” Turning back, -with a look that told the boy better than words that she understood his -outburst, and did not brand it as foolishness, she said: “Be careful of -her, for I know now that you and I must be father and mother, and do some -hard thinking, and perhaps acting, in these next few weeks, for they -cannot. Will you stand by me, Adam?” Then the boy did not push away the -hands that rested on his shoulders, but held his sister close, awkwardly, -it is true, but as he had not clung to her since the old days in the -down-town house, when as a little girl she stooped over his crib to kiss -him good night. - -The doctors came, and when they left, Mrs. Lawton went to her son. An -hour passed, dinner was served, and still the two did not come out. -Brooke went to the door, then prepared and carried in a tray of food, -eating her own meal afterward in solitary silence that was very soothing -to her. - -For the first time she had been able to see the specialist alone, and -put such definite questions to him as dispersed the usual non-committal -generalities, while at the same time it convinced him that here was a -member of the family to whom the truth might and should be told. It was -possible that her father might recover from this attack, if there was no -further hemorrhage; also that the clot that plugged the brain channel -might be absorbed, the paralysis of face, leg, and arm relax, and speech -and memory return, so that though full vigour would never again be his he -might still have years of placid living and enjoyment. Or else he might -regain his physical faculties without the brain cloud ever lifting. As -for medicine, a few simple regulations and then quiet must do its work, -coupled with constant care. His failure and its agitation had struck the -blow, and of this cause not the faintest suggestion must reach him or be -even whispered of, for in such cases no one may precisely tell how much -of conscious unconsciousness exists. - -Meanwhile the laws of trade must be carried on, and others, to keep -their rights, sift and settle Adam Lawton’s affairs as far as possible, -before Brooke could learn what they as a family had or did not have and -by it measure what might be done. For neither mother nor daughter knew -of the extent of this final venture of all, and beyond keeping domestic -accounts and holding a joint key with her father to a box in an up-town -safe deposit company, where family papers and some securities belonging -to her mother were kept, Brooke was no partner in her father’s affairs. -In fact one of the things, Mr. Dean said, that had hurried the crisis and -complicated its untangling was the habit that Adam Lawton had formed of -holding aloof from the advice and confidence of his fellows. - - * * * * * - -Later in the evening, when the Cub emerged from Brooke’s room, he found -that she had taken the nurse’s place by her father and the library was -empty. While he walked about the room restlessly, alternately enjoying -his comparative liberty or wondering what he had best do about his dog, -something led him to cross the hall and turn the angle to the den, where, -to his intense astonishment, amid a blaze of lights, that contrasted -vividly with the semi-dark silence of the other rooms, was Lucy Dean, in -the great leather-covered Morris chair, upon one arm of which sat the -bull pup, whose persuasive pink tongue had just succeeded at the moment -he entered in touching Lucy’s nose in affectionate salute. - -“Brooke told me about the dear, and I went down and fished her out of -an old box, where they had bedded her, just in time to save her from -spoiling her figure with a whole bowl of oatmeal and soup,” said Lucy, -in answer to the question on the Cub’s face. “You’ve got to be very -particular about feeding her, remember, or she’ll grow groggy and sleepy -and wheeze, instead of keeping her sporting blood up—” and Lucy held -out her unoccupied left hand to the boy, who, after the callowness and -fervour of youth, regarded this friend of his sister’s, eight years his -senior, with her dash and vim, as the combination of everything admirable -and adorable and himself her equal in years. - -“No, I’m not going to kiss you this time,” she continued, leaning back in -the chair, as he half stooped behind her; “I’ve just transferred that to -Pam here. Why? Because you’ve gained a year and two inches since I saw -you when you came home last Christmas—and sixteen is a good stile to stop -at. Then hands off, young man, and no kisses outside the family until you -are twenty-one and able to shoulder your own responsibilities.” The Cub -growled out something half sulkily. - -“Yes, I know I never had an own brother, but I’ve been a good sister to -more of you boys than were ever born even in a Mormon family, and I’ve -kept them all for good friends, just such as you’re going to be. No, -don’t mope and go over in the corner, because within five minutes you’ll -simply have to come back again and sit by Pam and me—so you might as well -do it now. - -“That’s it, stretch and be comfortable! See, chains wouldn’t keep Pam -away from you now! Do you know I don’t blame you for squandering your -last penny on this bull pup—her points are all right, she has an angel -disposition; but she doesn’t forget to whom she belongs for a single -minute—it was all I could do to drag her past your coat in the hall! But -suppose she barks, how can you keep her here?” - -“That’s the point, I must take her over to the stable right away; but -you’ll be here when I come back, won’t you? I think Brooke said you were -stopping here.” - -“I was, but I guess now that you are here, I’ll go home. I stayed so that -Brooke shouldn’t be lonely; besides, I have your room.” - -“That don’t count,” protested the Cub, “I can sleep here just as well as -not.” - -“Oh, there is one other thing,” added Lucy. “I’m not so sure who there is -at the stable or how they would treat Pam, so best not take her there. -I’m so glad that you have come home, boy. I dined with dad to-night -and tried to learn as much as I could about this money trouble of your -father’s, and it is about as bad as can be, and though of course it may -be some time before it can be known exactly how things stand, there is -little doubt but when what’s left of the apple is divided there won’t be -even the core for you all. Of course, if the illness had not come, some -arrangement might have been made to tide things over. Suppose you take -Pam down to our house to-night, and stay there and have a talk with dad. -He will tell Brooke all he knows to-morrow. Don’t go yet, it’s only nine, -half an hour later will do as well as now. - -“Tell me, what is the matter with you, honour bright? Are you really -sick or only sort of lazy and shilly-shally, obstinate, discouraged, and -crazy to get out of jail? I know the symptoms, for I’ve had them all -one by one, in my youth, doing everything by rule, duty the watchword, -more mathematics the penalty for forgetting it, and dyspepsia the -result. _My_ sons shall be reared in the open, if they never get beyond -horse-breaking and cattle-breeding,” and a shiver of sympathy ran down -Lucy’s flexible spine, branching off in an odd twisting of her fingers -that sent her handkerchief, that she had rolled into a ball to amuse the -pup, flying across the room, much to the amusement of Pam, who caught it, -and made her master jump to rescue the roll of cambric and lace from her -investigating paws. - -“Honour bright, Lucy, it’s the being shut up so much, and the confounded -mathematics and knowing that I never seem to satisfy the old man on -top of that. If he’d only let me work at something I like, and learn -to do something out-of-doors, but at this rate I think I’m getting -consumption—” and the Cub gave a really dismal cough. - -“Of course a man must know how to count, and a few little things like -that, no matter what he does,” said Lucy, so seriously that the boy did -not at first realize that she was mocking him; “for whether you handle -your own or some other person’s money, or eggs and potatoes, counting -will be a painful necessity. - -“Oh, oh! what is this?” she exclaimed, as in handing her back her -handkerchief the thumb and forefinger of his right hand caught her eye. -These were stained a brownish yellow on the inside. Spreading the fingers -apart, she looked the boy in the face, and he flushed scarlet under his -freckles. - -“Been smoking cigarettes, on the sly, of course, and consequently in a -hurry, swallowed the smoke, and sometimes chewed the butts to pulp! There -is half the cause why your head won’t work right, as well as one reason -why you are lanky and cough. See here, young man, do you know that only -_what-is-its_ and _mistakes_ smoke cigarettes? _Men_ smoke pipes, or -cigars if they can afford them; and I’m going to give you a pipe on your -next birthday, with Pam’s head carved on a meerschaum bowl. I’ll get -Charlie Ashton to order it to-morrow; he knows a fellow who carves pipes -that are perfect dreams. Meantime not a whiff or sniff of a cigarette. -Yes, of course it’s hard to stop, they all say that, but really, Cub, -it’s a horrid trick. Yes, I know all about it; I tried cigarettes once -myself. Empty your pockets quick and swear off.” - -At first the boy had looked annoyed, and a curious, obstinate expression, -akin to that of a horse putting back his ears, crossed his features, -flattening them; but it only lasted a moment. It was impossible to be -angry with Lucy, for her tongue was pointed with common sense born of -experience, and there was never anything censorious or priggish in her -strictures. - -So the Cub produced two packages of cigarettes, an amber holder, and a -silver match-box, and piled them in the outstretched hand of his mentor. - -“Keep the match-box, and we’ll give those things to the ‘grasshoppers’ -that go around the street picking up cigar stumps with a spike in the end -of a stick.” So saying, the vigorous young woman opened the window, and -with a sidewise motion skittled the cigarettes through the air into the -street below, much to the alarm of an old gentleman upon whose shoulders -a shower from the first box fell. He had come out of the house to sample -the weather and immediately returned for umbrella and goloshes, while -the second box landed intact on the top of a passing hansom, much to the -driver’s satisfaction. - -Then the Cub brought his suit case, and, picking up Pam, went to carry -out Lucy’s suggestion, while she, after watching him go, said half aloud:— - -“He’s all right if you only understand him. I’ll give Brooke a hint. I -shouldn’t wonder if this smashup will give him a push and his chance—for -somebody has got to go to work in this family, and pretty quick, too, -according to father’s ideas. - -“Heigh-ho, I wonder what Tom Brownell will have to say in the _Daily -Forum_ to-morrow. Will he make a sensation column of us,—I mean of Brooke -and her object lesson,—or will he turn his back on the devil and give -out a simple, dignified statement regardless of making copy? No, I don’t -wonder either, I’ll gamble he’s straight as a plumb-line. Gracious, what -did I do with those keys?” and Lucy began feeling in the gold chain bag -that hung from her belt, as, hearing Brooke leave her father’s room, she -went to join her. - - * * * * * - -The _Daily Forum_ not only corrected its insinuation of the previous -day, but printed a further statement, the sincerity and judiciousness -of which at once made the financial disaster of Adam Lawton secondary -to his physical collapse. This allowed the numerous family friends and -acquaintances the chance to offer sympathy with perfect good taste, which -in the conventional society of the Whirlpool usually takes the place of -more spontaneous warm-heartedness. - -For many days a stream of callers came and went from the St. Hilaire, -some content merely to leave a card with inquiries, others asking for -Mrs. Lawton or Brooke, emphasizing their offer of “doing something” with -a hand-shake, but asking no prying questions. Still others, as “intimate -friends” of the family, as the days wore on and it was definitely known -that though the creditors might in time receive dollar for dollar, there -would be nothing over, not only called, but stayed and mingled advice and -chiding with their verbal sympathy. - -“Reduced to absolute beggars,” was the term that Mrs. Ashton, Lucy Dean’s -aunt, applied to the Lawtons when discussing the affair at a luncheon she -was giving, where all the guests were women of Mrs. Lawton’s class and -set, though few of them had her gentle breeding, “and if Mrs. Lawton and -quixotic Brooke had not had such ridiculous scruples as to what belonged -to whom, quite a lump might have been rescued for them, my brother says.” - -“My dear Susie,” protested Mrs. Parks, who since her housewarming was -fast advancing in power and called several exclusives by their first -names by request, “that is not a fault that can be often found with any -one nowadays. The Senator says that through all this business it was -precisely the same trait in Adam Lawton of not being quite willing to -knock down others and make them serve as scaling ladders that dealt him -out at last.” - -“The question is now,” continued Mrs. Ashton, “What shall we be expected -to do for them? They will leave the St. Hilaire the 1st of January; Mr. -Dean has manipulated things so far as that for them, and he wants them to -put Mr. Lawton into a partly endowed sanatorium of which he himself is a -trustee, as all the physicians say he must be kept out of turmoil. The -Cub, as they call the boy, is rather out of health, so that a year on a -school-ship would be a good place for him. They say if he went into an -office at once, as Mr. Dean expected, it would probably kill him. - -“Brooke, of course, will have to take up her painting, teach, and paint -bonbon boxes for Cuyler and Gaillard, or menus for us. We can all use -influence to get her work of that sort, and it will help out for a time -until we get sick of her style probably. Lucy swears that Brooke shall -live with her; we shall see. I think that there will be something a year -from some little investment they have, with which Mrs. Lawton might board -in some cheap place, not of course in New York, but Brooklyn or up in the -Bronx.” - -“Don’t, pray don’t suggest boarding in those dreadful places for that -sweet, sensitive woman; it would be like putting lilies-of-the-valley in -a saucepan,” cried Mrs. Parks with warm-hearted energy; “it’s too awful! -I would be only too glad to have her live with me, if she could put up -with the whirl of it, and Brooke too. I often wish that I had an elder -sister in the house with whom I could talk things over comfortably and -not have them spread over the face of the earth. The hard part of this -is that whatever is done the family will be split to kindlings, and it’s -no joke parting a mother and son!” For be it said that since the arrival -of the belated and beruffled little man in the Easter-egg crib, though -Mrs. Parks’s social ambition had rather increased than diminished, the -cold-heartedness that is often a part of a social career was altogether -lacking. - -“Besides, suppose that Mr. Lawton comes back to himself suddenly, for -you know they say that it sometimes happens when this aphasia (I’m -always possessed to call it aspasia, after the snake that bit Cleopatra) -lifts—how will he feel to find himself in an institution and his family -scattered?” - -“I don’t see that it concerns us,” said Mrs. Ashton, shrugging her -shoulders. “If he had only died at once and been done with it, they would -all have been comfortable, for my brother says that he carried a simply -fabulous life insurance, and that the keeping it up was what made him so -economical.” - - * * * * * - -It was the last week in December, Christmas week. Brooke and her mother -sat opposite each other in the den in a silence that was keeping the -brain of each more active than the most rapid speech. Although Adam -Lawton had not spoken, the tension that had drawn his face had relaxed, -and sensation was slowly returning to his foot, though his right hand -was still quite useless. But while he took no apparent notice of what -passed about him, his wife felt that his eyes dwelt upon her and followed -her when she was in range, and only that morning he had feebly retained -the hand she had laid within his upturned left palm. Recovery to a -certain extent was possible, the physician proclaimed, with no further -jars, and care and quietness; but how to secure this? Quiet is not always -the inexpensive thing it seems. But with this new-born hope, everything -else seemed unimportant to her. - -The apparent worst had been carefully explained to them and accepted -several days ago, but there had been yet more, for when Brooke had that -morning gone to the safety box, where some jewels of her mother’s,—a -necklace and other things seldom worn,—and some dozen railroad bonds, the -little property that came to her from the Brookes, with some shares of an -industrial stock, a birthday gift to Brooke at twenty-one, were stored, -the box was empty! - -Thoughts would come that must not find words even between themselves as -they sat there. They both believed in Adam Lawton’s honour and that if he -could speak he would explain; and finally, as the tension tightened into -agony, Brooke went over to her mother, and kneeling by her said, “Don’t -try to think it out now, mother; some day we shall know, and now it is -how to live and work until that day comes.” - -As for Brooke, she had lived five years in those few weeks. Every word -that she had ever heard of criticism of those in their present position -came back to her, the cruel discussion of Julia Garth at the musicale -topping the list. - -All the various suggestions, practical and problematical, for their -future arrayed themselves mockingly in a row before her, but one and all -they had their beginning in the separation of the family; not a single -plan offered the remotest possibility of keeping it together. - -That morning, after her finding of the empty box, Brooke had seen Mr. -Dean in his office and learned definitely that the only income they could -count upon after the new year was the interest upon her shares of stock, -six hundred dollars a year—fifty dollars a month; for though the shares -themselves were missing, as they stood in her name upon the company’s -books, the interest would keep on. Besides this, there would be a fund -gathered here and there from articles she or her mother personally owned -beyond question—a scant two thousand dollars. - -One asset had been overlooked until that interview, the homestead at -Gilead, Brooke’s own property, asked for in a moment of sentiment and -freely given her. Mr. Dean, knowing the place and location well, thought -that, with good management, it might be sold at the right season for -perhaps six or eight thousand dollars. - -All these circumstances were pushed into Brooke’s brain, jostling and -crowding each other until it seemed hopeless to think. Even Lucy Dean, -huffed because Brooke would not come to her for the rest of the winter -or borrow money of her father to establish a little apartment where she -could work at her painting, though she came as regularly as ever, had -ceased to question or even offer cheer. And it seemed almost impossible -for Brooke to tell her mother, in the face of hope, that Mr. Dean’s -plan of sending Adam Lawton to the sanatorium in the country seemed the -only feasible solution at the present moment. As for her mother and -herself, she would work for both, but not in anything obtained merely -by the insecure path of social influence. It would be teaching drawing, -of course, for too well she realized Lorenz’ words that as a painter of -pictures she had not yet “awakened,” and in the world of competition the -winners of a single prize or the acclaim won in charity bazaars is a -damning introduction. - - * * * * * - -The entrance of some one brought Brooke to herself, a shrill voice that -replied in a high key to the answer of the maid, “In the den? Then we’ll -go right in very informally, no need to take the cards,” and Mrs. Ashton, -followed by a married daughter, entered quite abruptly, the elder lady -looking at the two women with something akin to disapproval on her florid -face, an expression that Brooke interpreted instantly. Mrs. Ashton was -becoming bored at the situation and had a feeling of resentment that all -her opportunities of becoming the patroness of the Lawtons were vanishing. - -She still had one more card to play, a trump she considered it, and she -suddenly drew it from the pack and cast it before Mrs. Lawton. A widower, -more than passing rich, though not of her precise set, with two daughters -just leaving school, had intrusted her to find a well-bred New Yorker as -chaperon and companion to travel with them until the next autumn, and -then launch them tactfully in the Whirlpool. Any reasonable salary might -be demanded—would dear Pamela like the chance? Six or eight months abroad -would doubtless restore her tone and spirits. - -Brooke’s eyes flashed fire, Scotch fire not easily put out when once it -was kindled; but Mrs. Lawton only grew a shade more pale, and said in -her soft, slow accent, looking steadily at her friend, “Susan, you are -forgetting Adam. How could I both go abroad and give him the care he will -always need while he lives?” - -For some reason the soft answer not only did not turn away wrath, but -augmented it, and shortly the couple left; but alas for the treachery of -portières—scarcely were the pair in the hall when, forgetting that it -was not a door that closed behind them, Mrs. Ashton said, in an echoing -whisper, “Care, while he lives indeed—it’s just as I said the other -day, if Adam Lawton had only died at once and had done with it, those -women, instead of being beggars, could have lived in luxury on his life -insurance!” - -With the harsh, insistent vibration of a graphophone, the words stung the -ears of mother and daughter, who were standing where their guests had -left them. A look of horror froze Mrs. Lawton’s face to the immobility of -a statue, while in Brooke’s brain, still tingling with the other blow, -the thoughts were suddenly clarified as if by fire, and she never noticed -that the Cub had come in and was looking from one to the other in alarm. - -“It is monstrous!” she choked out, clasping her mother in her strong -arms. “Oh, mother, mother! do not look so, as if you were turning to -stone! You shall not be torn from father; we will go together and -keep together! Listen, you and he desired me and brought me into your -world for love, and took the responsibility of me when I was helpless; -now you shall come into mine and be my children, and I will bear the -responsibility for that same love. Father needs country quiet; so be it; -we will take him home to Gilead. It is my home, my very own in deed and -truth, given so long ago that no creditor can grumble. I never have lived -in the country, and I know nothing, you may say. What I do not know I can -learn. At worst, with what I have we can be secure somehow for a year. -Cousin Keith has lived and worked there, so can I, and if only Adam will -stand by me, I cannot fail. But you must trust me like a child, as I did -you, and do not question.” - -A look of wondrous joy crept into the mother’s eyes, but with it her -strength gave way, and when she tottered and would have fallen, it was -Adam who caught her, and as he held her with tender awkwardness, nodding -at his sister as if in answer to her appeal, he jerked out, “You bet your -life, Sis, I’ll stand by the crowd, and won’t it just suit Pam and me to -get out of town!” - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -THE RETURN - - -It was the 10th of January. At Gilead winter had been a-masking all -through December, and played the part of a fantastic snow-draped -Columbine in the Christmas pantomime where, the North Wind being -piqued to keep his distance, she was wooed by the South and West Winds -alternately amid a setting of warm noons, dramatic sunsets, and moonlight -nights of electric clearness, to the song of the Moosatuk’s mad racing. - -With January the reign of the North Wind began in a wrath of sleet -and ice that bound forest, field, and river also in cruel, glittering -shackles, covering the wayside granaries and driving the faithful birds -of the season, hooded and clad in sober garb of grays and russet, to beg -from door to door like mendicant friars of old. - -Even before its close, each day of the New Year had been checked by a -double cross from the calendar that hung on the door of Keith West’s -pantry, as if by its complete obliteration she hoped to hurry time itself. - -Waiting for others to act had never before fallen to Miss Keith’s lot in -life. For twenty years her comings and goings, her waking and sleeping, -and even the setting of the first spring brood of embryo broilers had -depended upon herself alone, for she had long since substituted an -incubator for that coy and freakish feathered female known as a setting -hen. Consequently this delay at the very outset of a new order of things -found her restless and in no very amiable mood. Also Judith Dow had -written that, as Miss Keith had promised to come the first of the year, -she had reserved her room and must charge her accordingly, which, as the -whole affair was upon a nominal basis, irritated her not a little. - -In writing to Adam Lawton of the determination to leave the farm, the -1st of January had been the date she had set for starting for Boston _en -route_ to Matrimony, and when, a short time after Christmas, Brooke had -combined her reply to the unanswered letter with the announcement that -she herself expected to go to take charge of the place as near the 1st of -January as possible, Miss Keith had hastened to complete her arrangements. - -Brooke had written concisely, yet with entire frankness; but even then -Miss Keith did not compass the exact condition of her cousin’s affairs, -or understand that as far as his relation with the world stood he was -as helpless and irresponsible as the day of his birth. She knew that -money and health had been lost, but fancied that, after a few months’ -retirement, more voluntary than enforced, as had been the case with one -or two families of the wealthy summer colony at Stonebridge, every one -concerned would swing back to the old pace again. - -Nevertheless she took great pride in making the evidence of her thrifty -stewardship apparent on every side. The hired man had been well-nigh -frantic at the number of times that he had been obliged to whitewash -spots that had dried thin in the cow and poultry houses. A fringe of -unthreshed rye straw made a lambrequin over the entrance to the stall of -Billy, the general utility horse with the long, common-sense face. The -front gate, always removed from its hinges at the coming of frost, had -been scrubbed before being stowed away in the attic, and the plant boxes -that edged the front porch and held nasturtiums in summer were filled -with small cedar bushes and branches of coral winterberry in remembrance -of Brooke’s youthful love of such things. - -The outside condition of things gave Miss Keith much more satisfaction -than did the inside arrangement of the house. Her only concern about -them was lest the mischievous boy should upset everything and doubtless -stone the cows, torment Laura, the sedate barn cat, and turn the laying -hens out in the cold; for to her spinster mentality if there was a -dubious quantity, it was the growing boy, the last straw under which the -many-humped back of female patience must break. - -She had considered the house the pink of perfection until she peopled it -with New Yorkers accustomed to every luxury, and then the gay flowers -of the chintz slip covers that hid the haircloth gloom of the parlour -furniture began to pale and fail to hold their own, and the texture of -the freshly laundered dimity curtains, those upstairs having wide hems, -while those below were edged with tatting of the wheel pattern, seemed to -grow coarser as the days went by. - -And all the while that she bustled to and fro, now in the cellar to see -that the stones had not slipped in the pork barrel and allowed the meat -to rise above the brine, then to the attic to be sure that her personal -possessions of bedding, linen, and tableware, neatly put up in barrel, -bale, and bundle until her marriage and final move, did not take up more -room than was necessary,—Tatters followed her, either so close to heel -that he literally seemed to dog her footsteps, or else sitting a little -way apart with his eyes fastened upon her with a blended look of dread -and reproach. Then she would often drop whatever she held and raising his -face (yes, Tatters had a face, not a “muzzle”) between her hands, plead -with him to tell her what he made of it all and if he believed she could -be happy away from Gilead, and if he thought that he could follow any one -else to market, allow her to shake out his mat, and choose juicy bones -that were not too hard for his middle-aged teeth. All of which showed -that she did not rejoice in thought at the _First Cause_ as completely -as would, under the circumstances, have been desirable; while Tatters -understood that this was not the accustomed affectionate babble or the -confidential discourse of everyday doings in which he was frequently -consulted, and he would raise his head and give, not his usual howl -belonging to moonlight nights, but a strange bay like an echo, deep down -in his throat. - -Three times in those ten bleak January days had she given what she -declared aloud to be a “final dusting” to each room. Three times had she -baked bread, cake, pies, and custard for the invalid (no, the third time -she made boiled soft custard to break the monotony), and then hovered -between the dread of waste and surfeit in consuming the food. - -However, on the tenth day of waiting her spirits rose, for soon after -breakfast Robert Stead stopped on his way back from Gilead, whither he -rode daily, rain or shine, to the post-office, as the rural carrier went -to Windy Hill but once a day and that in early afternoon, to say that he -had just heard from Dr. Russell and expected him up from Oaklands that -afternoon, as he was coming to meet Adam Lawton at the request of his New -York physician, in order to see the invalid safely established after his -precarious journey. - -In addition to this bit of news, Stead brought a fine pair of wild -ducks, shot a few days previous, farther down where the river was not -ice-locked, and he had taken the wise precaution of having them dressed -by José, his Mexican man of all work, for in Miss Keith’s agitation at -the knowledge that her kinsfolk were actually coming that very day, the -task of picking pin-feathers would have been impossible. - -In fact her hands trembled so, as she took the basket from Stead, that, -contrary to his habit of taciturnity, he questioned her closely as to her -health, and if he could help her in any preparations, and finally, after -leading Manfred to the stable, followed Miss Keith into the house only to -find her in the kitchen seated, as Dr. Russell had some months before, -with her face pressed against Tatters’ ears in a vain effort to stifle -her sobs. - -“I’ve wished for kin so long that now they are coming it doesn’t seem -as if I could bear it,” she said by way of explanation. “If it was only -Adam and Brooke, I wouldn’t mind; I’ve sampled her, and though she’s full -of spunk, she’s as pleasant as if she never had a cent, but to think of -that high-spirited southern woman, perhaps lording it over me, it’s too -much, even though I’m only going to hold over a day or two to give them -the lay of the land, as it were. Then like as not their city help will -take me for a servant, for they’ll not likely bring less than two for all -the cooking and the waiting that they are used to, which reminds me that -they’ll need to use the living room to dine in, for of course they won’t -eat in the kitchen as I’ve done, and what with turning the south parlour -into a bedroom (which it was in his mother’s day) for Adam, so that he -can get out on the porch easily, there won’t be any best room at all. - -“Would you help me move the table and dresser with the glass door into -the living room? Larsen bangs furniture so when he does it, and the deal -table from the summer kitchen can come here for the help.” - -Jumping up—“There’s some one knocking now! Dear me, it’s the Bisbee boy -with a telegram. Open it, do, and give him a quarter from the shelf -by the clock, for riding up with it,” and Miss Keith sank back in the -rocking chair and closed her eyes like some one about to have a tooth -drawn, who dreaded the sight of the instruments. - -Silent Stead opened the blue envelope with the studied deliberation with -which he performed every act of life, except riding Manfred, at which -time the two abandoned themselves to mutual impulse. Shaking out the -sheet, he read slowly:— - - “NEW YORK, January 10, 1904. - - “To MISS KEITH WEST, Gilead. - - “Please meet us with closed carriage at Stonebridge, two-thirty. - Baggage to Gilead. - - “BROOKE LAWTON.” - -“To-day at two-thirty!” ejaculated Miss Keith, who, mind you, had been -more than ready for ten days; “then there’s no time to fix up the living -room, or do more than sweep and tidy up and get dinner,—they will have -to put up with the kitchen for once. Why do they get out at Stonebridge? -It is three miles farther than Gilead Station, and a closed carriage -means one of Bisbee’s hacks, for the rockaway must go too for the help. -Has that boy of his gone?” Stead hurried to the road, but the boy was -disappearing down the third hill at a pace that forbade recall. - -“I will go down and order the carriage for you,” Stead volunteered, “and -tell them to put in hot stones and plenty of rugs; it’s a cold drive -from Stonebridge, but they come that way doubtless because the express -stops there and not at Gilead. They could not bring a man in Mr. Lawton’s -condition so long a journey in a way train.” - -“If you would, I should be so relieved, and one thing more. I know you -make a point of keeping away from folks, especially women, and these are -strangers to you; but they’ll be so worried likely as not they’ll hardly -notice you. Now would you be so good as to meet them and see they find -the carriage and get properly started, and tell Bisbee to keep to the -lower road in spite of the trolley until they reach the third hill? It’s -far less jolty and better shovelled out. - -“You see Brooke says, ‘Please meet us,’ and it doesn’t look hospitable to -send an empty hack, as if it was to meet a funeral; besides which there -wouldn’t be room, and I can’t spare the time, though, as I suppose the -boy is small, they could set him between.” - -“Yes, I will go to meet them,” answered Stead, hesitating a moment and -still looking at the telegram, which he folded absent-mindedly and -dropped into his pocket. “I do not think you need fear seeing Mrs. -Lawton. I knew her family and met her once long ago; she is a gentlewoman -to her finger-tips, and such are never overbearing,” and after making -this unusually long speech Silent Stead went out for his horse, Tatters -bounding in front of him joyously, for dogs and children always swarmed -about the lonely man whenever they had the chance, and they alone, Dr. -Russell excepted, were welcome at his retreat on Windy Hill. - -Like many capable people, who fuss aimlessly when there is really little -to do, but bring their best efforts to bear swiftly under stress, Miss -Keith set in motion certain necessary preparations for an afternoon meal, -which should be a compromise between a country dinner and supper, and -then went to the south parlour, until a few days ago her pride and the -most precise best room in the neighbourhood, and sitting quietly down -with hands folded in her lap, took a final survey. - -Something had suddenly changed her attitude toward the room. She ceased -thinking of it as her state apartment, sacred to sewing society meetings -and the more formal and rare social function of a high tea to welcome the -wife of a new minister, and now looked at it as it was to be, the bedroom -to which her Cousin Adam was coming for rest, and as she sat there it -occurred to her that it was the very room in which he had been born. - -Then there stole over her one of those subtle inspirations called -intuition, with which the Creator has blessed woman as a token of -sympathy with their weaknesses and a reward for much unspoken suffering, -and thereby more than bridged the difference of her physical inequality -with man. If the hope was to bring Adam Lawton back to himself, what -could be more suitable than that the surroundings should be those of his -early youth? - -Ringing the dinner bell out of the back door, the sign to Larsen that he -was wanted, Miss Keith began by taking the decorated “fireboard” from -before the wide fireplace, and brushing up the fragments of swallow’s -nests that had fallen down since the regular autumn clearing. Going -to a deep closet under the back stairs, she pulled out a large bundle -wrapped in papers and cloth, which being unrolled gave forth a pair of -long-necked andirons, with oval head-pieces and curiously curved legs, -made of what was known in the old days as princess metal, a warm-hued -alloy of copper and brass. Setting these in the fireplace, she directed -Larsen, who now appeared in the carpet slippers without which he never -dared come indoors, to bring in logs and lay a substantial fire with -backlog, forestick, catstick, and kindling, such as would outlast a -night, instead of the mere “splutter blaze that needs tending like a -spoiled child,” as she called the modern wood fire. - -Next she had the ornate and hideous black-walnut bed, a product of the -“ugly sixties,” that she had long regarded as a patent of respectability, -unscrewed, taken up garret, and put under the eaves, from which she -unpacked the frame of a slender-limbed four-poster of mellow, unstained -mahogany. The Wests had always been of plain farming stock, and had never -possessed carved mahogany or beds of the famous pineapple pattern. Dull -and lustreless as was the wood, she set the man to work with rags and a -compound of beeswax, oil, and turpentine, of which she always kept a jar -for brightening spotted furniture. Meanwhile she untied a bundle shaped -like a pillow, and carefully unfolded curtains, valance, and tester of -dimity, finished with a cross-stitch border, mended carefully here and -there, and yellow with age. - -Looking at the clock, which had not yet struck ten, she turned the fabric -over carefully, evidently weighing something in her mind, the while -saying aloud, “Yes, I’ll simply scald them, and iron them out with a bit -of starch. To bleach them would take weeks, and besides this old dimity -will never stand the strain.” - -While the irons were heating she returned to her reconstructive attempt. -The canvas bottom was laced firmly to the bed frame, the bedding adjusted -with mathematical precision, and finished with a cheerful patchwork -quilt from one of the attic chests. From the floor of her own room she -dragged a great rug made of rags in the herring-bone pattern, and spread -it over the somewhat faded parlour carpet, which it concealed, all but a -narrow border. A work-stand, with fat stomach and many little drawers, -and an old chintz-covered English arm-chair, with high back and head-rest -flaps at the top, were also brought to light and put in place, while the -haircloth parlour set, in its flowered outer covering, suggestive of a -gay domino worn over ministerial clothes, was distributed in living room -and hall, the long sofa being obliged to seek refuge under the plant -window in the angle of the kitchen itself. - -Twelve o’clock saw the bed draperies ironed and fastened in place, the -yellow hue of the dimity harmonizing with the painted woodwork and -blending with the wall paper of a cheerful nosegay pattern that Brooke -had chosen several years before, much to Miss Keith’s disappointment, as -at the time embossed papers with effects of gold, silver, and copper were -much in vogue in Gilead. - -Still not quite satisfied, Miss Keith swept into her apron all the -accumulations of little meaningless nothings that covered table and -mantel-shelf. Seeking for something with which to replace them, she -gathered half a dozen books from the old desk case in the living room, -and set a pair of iron candlesticks as sentinels on the corners of the -mantel-shelf, to guard a row of polished shells of various sorts. - -Raising the flap of the table near the west window, that coming between -two closets formed a small bay, Miss Keith placed half a dozen geraniums -upon it, that were rather overcrowding the plant window in the kitchen. -Satisfied with that quarter of the room, she was haunted by the partial -recollection of some bit of furniture that had once filled in the angle -between chimney and door leading to the back stairs, yet refused to -become definite. But presently the veil lifted, and going to the attic -for the twentieth time that morning, she returned followed by a bumping -sound, one bump for each stair of the two flights, twenty-six in all, and -presently the light of the fire that had kindled slowly cast sidewise -glances at a mahogany cradle, from under whose hood three generations of -little Wests had first gazed out into life. - -With a sigh of content Miss Keith folded her arms, searched every nook -in the room with eyes into which there crept a moisture, born neither -of nervousness nor of grief, but of an emotion in which race instinct -and true womanliness of heart were blended, and as, the circle of the -room being rounded, she looked beyond into the square hallway, her eyes -stopped, as if asking for courage, upon the face of the tall clock, above -which a full-rigged brig had been sailing for more than a hundred years -toward the harbour it never reached. At the same moment it struck the six -strokes of the three-quarter hour, and the words it said sounded like -“Well done! well done! well done!” - -In January, though the days have begun to lengthen minute by minute, dusk -begins to weave its shadows soon after four o’clock, and this fabric was -blending hill and river in its impenetrable gray when Miss Keith’s keen -eyes, now strained with watching, saw a man on horseback coming up the -second hill, while farther down, turning from the cut that connected -the upper and lower roads, two vehicles could be seen moving slowly, -the rockaway being in the lead, but as to their occupants, nothing was -discernible. - -Throwing a heavy shawl about her, Miss Keith reached the gate at the same -moment as Robert Stead, who flung himself from his horse the better to -answer her sudden fusillade of questions. Tatters, who had followed her -to the porch, paused with one paw raised, sniffed the wind, and came no -farther, in spite of the sight of his friend. - -“Have they come? Does Adam look badly? Can he walk? How much help did -they bring? Where are the trunks? Did they have them taken off at -Stonebridge and changed to the way train for Gilead?” - -Smiling in spite of himself, Stead made answer, counting on his fingers -as he did so that he might check off the questions:— - -“The family have all come. Mr. Lawton seems very ill and wan, but -as I have not seen him for many years, I cannot speak of his looks -comparatively. I do not think that he can walk; the porters carried him -from the car, and his wheel-chair is lashed behind the coach. They have -brought no maids. Their luggage will be at Gilead to-night, and Bisbee -has agreed to deliver it in the morning. Mr. and Mrs. Lawton, with Dr. -Russell, who came on with them, it seems, are in the coach, and Miss -Brooke and her brother are in the rockaway. I will house Manfred for -a few moments if I may, so that I may help the doctor get his patient -safely indoors.” - -Half turning about, Stead hesitated a moment and then added hurriedly, -but with much emphasis, “For God’s sake get indoors, Miss West, and -don’t stand staring down the road like that, nor mention maids, nor ask -a thousand questions before they are fairly inside the door. No one -knows just how much Adam Lawton remembers or understands; but his wife -and daughter are neither dumb nor blind, and both look spent.” And Miss -Keith, too conscience-stricken to be angry at the rating from an almost -stranger, fled in and closed the door before the rockaway came over the -last hill grade, and paused, as all vehicles did, on the long plateau -that reached and passed the house. - -Adam junior, long, lanky, and sandy of hair and skin, got out and swung -his sister to the ground. Something was bundled up under one of his arms, -but head and ears alone were visible. “Grandpa Lawton all over again, -Scotch hair and all! and he’s brought one of those snub-nosed dogs, as I -live!” ejaculated Miss Keith, from behind the curtain that screened the -glass half of the door, at the same time wondering if the proper moment -had arrived for hospitality. Brooke and young Adam waited for the coach -to draw up before they even looked houseward, and then Dr. Russell, with -serious cheerfulness, helped Mrs. Lawton, whose face Miss Keith could -scarcely see for the load of pillows that she handed to her daughter. -Stead and the doctor deftly bore out their burden, and Miss Keith opened -the door, stepping within its shadow. So Adam Lawton came home again, -surrounded by his family. - -Brooke entered first, close by her father, and spying Miss Keith, there -was a single moment of strained, painful silence, but only a moment, for, -dropping her pillows and holding out her hand with a little smile in -which the doctor and Stead alone discerned a pathetic droop, her silver -voice said, “Here I am, Cousin Keith; I’ve come back to my River Kingdom, -and I’ve more than kept my promise, by bringing all the others with me;” -then the tension relaxed, every one spoke, though quietly, and they -carried Adam Lawton into the south parlour, where the fire burned upon -the wide hearth as steadily as if it had never been extinguished in all -those intervening years, and set him in the old chintz-covered chair. - -Miss Keith held back in stiff reserve, and Mrs. Lawton followed, at -first blindly. Then, as her eyes, focussed to the firelight, took in the -details of the room in one swift glance,—bed hangings, quilt, cradle, -and all,—she caught her breath and turned toward Miss Keith with arms -extended, and whispered, “Ah, Cousin Keith, how did you know?—how did you -think of it? They say that he may come back to himself by the long way -of childhood; and how could he better do that than here in his mother’s -room?” And the head, with its lovely crown of silver, rested against the -taller woman’s bosom, and that swift touch of sympathy bound them doubly -as kin. - -“That’s a bully fire and no fake,” said the Cub, suddenly, after -examining the long, thick log with the toe of his shoe; then he followed -Miss Keith toward the kitchen, led both by curiosity and the smell of the -supper in preparation. - -“Where is that dog?” asked Miss Keith, abruptly. “I don’t know what -Tatters will say to him, so you had best not bring him in too sudden.” - -“That’s what the man said,” replied the Cub, cheerfully, “but your dog -couldn’t help liking Pam; she’d make friends with a lion.” - -“She. Oh, that’s different,” sniffed Miss Keith. - - * * * * * - -For the moment Dr. Russell was busy in taking Adam Lawton’s pulse, and -when Brooke turned to speak to Robert Stead he had silently slipped away. -“Never mind, Miss Brooke,” said the doctor, who read her thoughts; “Stead -is a strange fellow, though a man to be trusted, but I know of no more -bitter punishment to him than verbal thanks. You may need to remember -this. I found out long ago that the best gratitude that any one may -show him is to let him have a motive for doing something, no matter how -trivial, for some one else,—lack of motive is his curse.” - -Then Dr. Russell also passed out into the living room, and the three were -left alone. - -“Mother, are you glad that we have come?” asked Brooke, going to her with -that new look of complete understanding that each had worn toward the -other since that fateful night when Brooke had decided. - -“Glad, my daughter? I cannot say how thankful! Oh, if only I could be -sure that we could stay!” - -“No _ifs_, mother,” said Brooke, gently, her eyes opening wider as she -gazed into the fire. “You know in our new creed of work there is to be -plenty of love and faith and hope, but not a single _if_. In fact, I -always did think _if_ a poor, leaky word, that let people escape from all -sorts of nice promises; now we will simply banish it,—you and I and Adam -and—father.” - -Lowering her eyes to the hearth-rug, she became aware of a shaggy form -stretched out there—Tatters, _couchant_, with his solemn eyes fastened -upon hers, watching their every movement questioningly. In answer to his -appeal, Brooke knelt on the rug before him, raising him so that his paws -rested on her shoulders, and whispered, “We are of your people, Tatters, -and we are so tired and lonely. Won’t you love us, and let us live here -with you?” - -Then Tatters, who had not yet moved his eyes from Brooke’s, touched the -tip of her nose with his tongue as lightly as the brush of a moth’s wing, -and dropping his head to her lap, closed his eyes, as if in sign of -complete confidence. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -TATTERS TRANSFERS HIMSELF - - -Not even the insistent sense of responsibility and of the literal work of -hands that lay before her could keep Brooke awake that first night in the -homestead. - -With the fact that the move was accomplished came a feeling of relief, -as if a heavy weight had suddenly slipped from her shoulders, while the -knowledge that Dr. Russell had elected to return there for the night -after supping with Robert Stead gave her a wonderful sense of security. - -In future Adam would sleep in the small room that opened between his -father’s and the back entry, but for this one night Miss Keith insisted -upon occupying it herself, “So that you can all sleep with both eyes -shut, and naught but dreams to trouble you,” she insisted when Brooke, -after helping wash and put away the tea things, had proposed to discuss -certain domestic questions. - -The combination of a jingle of sleigh bells and the whirr-r with which -the hall clock cleared its throat, preparatory to striking nine, were -the first sounds that Brooke heard when she opened her eyes upon the -new surroundings, and then suddenly came to herself, conscience-stricken -at her utter oblivion of the past ten hours. Going to the east window, -whence the sound of bells and voices came, she raised the shade and -peered between the curtains. This window faced the front road, and -consequently the Moosatuk, to which it was parallel, though on a much -higher level; but all that could now be seen of the river was a broad -roadway, smooth, white, and level, bounded on each side by rugged banks, -set thick with snow-draped hemlocks. - -A light snow had fallen in the early hours of the night, not a -sufficient storm to drift and block the roads, but merely to “polish up -the sleighing,” as the country parlance has it, while its magic touch -lingered on every brier and roadside weed in fantastic crystals, which, -meeting the sunbeams, radiated dazzling prismatic colours. - -Stopping outside the fence was Silent Stead, driving Manfred before an -odd-looking low-running sled, with seat in front and box for merchandise -in the rear. With him was Dr. Russell, engaged in earnest conversation, -and also Tatters, who, as usual, was receiving his share of attention, as -he stood paws on the edge of the seat, the expression of his face, ears, -and tail seeming to vary according to the conversation of the men. - -Brooke stood there spellbound, the muslin draperies held together beneath -her chin like a garment, and, as she looked, the Cub came up the lane -road from the barn, carrying the beloved Pam held high on one shoulder. -At sight of Tatters, the pup struggled to free herself, and began to -bark wildly. Stead evidently said something to the Cub, for, lowering -Pam to the sleigh box, he stood back, and watched Tatters walk about the -box at a little distance, his tail stiffly erect, and the neck ruff that -belonged to the collie half of him bristling also. As he drew nearer, -Pam leaned forward on her outstretched paws, barked saucily, and before -the dignified old dog could think of a suitable reply, outflanked him -by giving him an enthusiastic lick on the nose, as he drew near. Next, -casting herself recklessly from the sleigh, she slid along sidewise, -landing on her back almost between his front feet, with her paws held up, -as if in sign of complete submission. Then, as the men laughed heartily -at these tactful feminine antics in a puppy of only six months, Pam began -running to and fro in the snow, making believe to eat large mouthfuls -of it, and kicking it into the air. For a moment Tatters hesitated, and -then bounded awkwardly after the pup as fast as his stiff hind leg would -let him. To and fro they ran in the ecstasy of puppy play until Miss -Keith, shawl over head, came out in amazement at the turn of things, and -Tatters, quite spent with his unusual exercise, lay panting in the snow, -Pam following suit. For there is one inflexible dog rule—that as soon as -a newcomer has received recognition, he must yield obedience to the dog -already in command; that is dog law. Thus it was that young life came -to Tatters with the new arrivals, even as it had come to the homestead -itself. - -As Miss Keith returned to the house, she glanced up at Brooke’s window, -and, seeing the face between the curtains, she nodded and waved her hand -gayly, a totally different attitude from that with which a week or even a -day before she would have greeted any one who had stayed abed until nine -in the morning. Instantly Brooke turned to her dressing, and though at -first the very cold water made her gasp, the after glow more than made up -for it. - -Brooke could not conceal her satisfaction at the fact that some breakfast -had been stored away for her in the “hot closet,” and the mere fact -placated Miss Keith more than a thousand apologies for oversleeping. Why -is it that people, women especially, feel it a special point of virtue -to suppress or deny the existence of natural appetites that to be truly -without would prove them abnormal? - -When both Mrs. Lawton and Brooke had duly learned where every dish, -pot, and pan belonged, and had seen the empty closet with its shelves -edged with scalloped paper that had been prepared for the china they had -brought,—one complete set, a Christmas present from Mr. Dean a few years -before, having been retained,—Mrs. Lawton returned to her husband, and -Brooke cornered Miss Keith for the necessary business conversation which, -though inevitable, the older woman for some reason was seemingly trying -to avoid. - -“In a minute I’ll be there, and we’ll have it all out,” she said, rushing -out the back door toward the chicken houses with a dish-pan of scraps -that she had deftly made into a sort of stew, while she talked, by the -addition of some corn meal, red pepper, and hot water, returning in a -very few minutes with the empty receptacle. - -“That reminds me, Brooke, it’s best the next three months to feed them -their hot meal in the morning, and not to let them out to exercise before -eleven, and shut them up tight, sharp at three, even on clear days. If -you don’t, they get so cold it sort of discourages the eggs at the time -you most want them. I’ve made out a list of my steady customers, and put -it here in the drawer along with the farm book, in case you have enough -eggs to peddle, and mind! forty cents a dozen is my steady price from -December to March. Don’t let ’em cheat you. After March you must follow -market rates. The farm book tells just what I plant, and when, and what -I naturally expect to get back. You see the place has run itself fairly -well, hired man and all, though you won’t expect it to now, because -you’ll need eggs to eat, and pretty much all the milk and butter output, -while your father’s on slop food. - -“If you’ll take my advice, you’ll tend the fowls yourself, and don’t -trust the hired help. And I don’t think you’d best start the incubator -this year,—you’ll have enough on your hands. There are eight or ten hens -that have been working overtime this winter, so I expect they will be -thankful to rest their legs, and set the first week in March. By the way, -there’s spring latches on the doors of the roosting and laying houses,—my -idea to trap light-fingered folk if they get in, and to keep the fowls -from straying. Best be careful not to get shut in without the keys (they -lie in the box by the clock with all the others, plainly labelled). What -money there is to be had from poultry in these parts comes from caring -for it yourself, and you can’t trust hired female help, ’specially when -it comes from the city.” - -“But, Cousin Keith,” said Brooke, as soon as she could be heard, and -struggling not to laugh at the outpouring of words, which, when the farm -was the topic, she soon found flowed as steadily as Niagara, “I do not -expect to keep female help from the city.” - -“Oh, you relied on getting them from about here, then? Well, I’m afraid -you’ll find it a scant market, unless you’ll put up with coloured; the -American girls won’t live out in families where they set them at separate -tables, and I don’t blame them. There’s old Mrs. Peck, she sometimes -accommodates for a month or so, as a working housekeeper in confinement -cases, but she is old-fashioned New England and wouldn’t take to city -ways. Why, she would think her soul lost if she used prepared flour for -her buckwheat cakes instead of setting them with yeast, and she sticks to -soda and cream of tartar, which she understands the workings of, for all -baking, as she claims that baking powder isn’t plain and above board and -so is to be avoided, though I must say her tea biscuits took the prize -over mine at the Gordon fair.” - -Once again Brooke shook her head, this time not trying to suppress her -laughter,—“I have no intention of keeping any household help whatsoever,” -she managed to say at last. - -Miss Keith stopped short with a gasp, as if a pail of ice-water had been -poured upon her head, and then said: “No hired help! then who is to do -the cooking, and what will you eat? If this was Stonebridge, you could -get table board at the Inn, though it is expensive, and the people that -often stop here in driving, to buy my fresh cake, complain that it isn’t -satisfactory.” - -“Cousin Keith, you must take me seriously. I do not think you understood -the letter that I wrote, telling you we were coming here. _I_ am going -to do the work; fifty dollars a month is our present income, and I do -not mean to touch the little principal we have, but keep it in case of -accident,—at least until I am in working order and have devised some plan -for earning more. All I hope to do is to get some good woman, like your -Mrs. Peck, to come here for a few weeks and teach me how to cook plain -food and be economical, for it is the other part that I understand, and -learned at Lucy Dean’s cooking class, to make cake, and candy, and all -the little supper dishes in a chafing-dish. Adam has already promised -that he will make the fires and do the heavy things, so you see I’m not -so badly off after all. You mustn’t look so discouragingly at me, Cousin -Keith. You see the only way for us to earn money in the very beginning is -by not spending it.” - -Instantly Keith West’s whole attitude changed. She not only ceased making -objections, but the distance that she herself had, in her imagination, -forced to be kept between herself and her kin disappeared, and practical -suggestions took the place of obstruction. - -“That minute you spoke and looked just like your Grandma West, when -the outlying members of the family tried to argue her into giving up, -and going down to winter at Gilead, after grandpa died. Gentle, but set -as fast as bricks in Portland cement. Of course you can do the work for -a while anyway (I did the same, and more too, at your age), if you can -only get the knack of turning it off, and I don’t know of any one more -likely to help you out than Mrs. Peck. That is, unless I postpone my -going for a couple of weeks, and do it myself,” and Miss Keith paused -with an eager look that said she would ask nothing better; for the advent -of the family, instead of making her feel out of place, had already made -her reasons for the change grow vague and hazy, and the departure itself -seemed not an escape, but more like an eviction. - -“You are very kind to offer, but that is impossible, you know,” answered -Brooke. “In the last letter you wrote me, regretting the delay, you said -that you must _absolutely_ leave on the 12th, and that will be to-morrow. -It is better too that we should begin at once before Adam and I grow lazy -from seeing you take the lead and being accustomed to our liberty. How -much does Mrs. Peck charge, and where does she live? I think I had best -go to see her to-day while you are here to be with mother.” - -Thus Miss Keith, by no act but her own, had literally closed the door -upon herself, which fact she was clear-sighted enough to recognize, -and bore herself accordingly, making haste to reply: “Mrs. Peck has six -dollars a week when she cares for mother, child, and the house, but when -it is just ‘accommodating’ with a grown girl to help out and take steps, -she has three, and must be called for and returned home. She would jump -at the chance to come here for three dollars, for there have been next -to no births this winter, and she has either been at home most of the -time, or else at her daughter’s, where she is kept busy and, of course, -gets no pay. She is very intimate with Mrs. Enoch Fenton, who lives just -round the turn on the Windy Hill road, not half a mile from here. You can -go up there for a walk after dinner, as I suppose you’d rather settle -your own business. No, you can’t go this morning, no one disturbs Mrs. -Fenton before dinner; you see, situated as she is, she must have all -the forenoon uninterrupted for her work—she manages wonderfully, but if -any one comes in before it is done, it upsets her for the day. Why, the -neighbours would no more think of calling on Mrs. Fenton in the morning -than they would of visiting the minister on Saturday night!” - -Brooke was about to ask how this particular woman was differently -circumstanced from her neighbours, when Miss Keith again took up the -domestic thread:— - -“There’s hay and straw and corn fodder enough to last over until pasture -is growing again. I’d advise you to sell the two old cows, the two young -ones (one calves in April, the other in September) will be enough for you -to manage. _Of course_ you’ll keep Billy; you’d be stuck fast here on -the hill like moss on a rock but for him. There’s no earthly reason why -Adam can’t learn to curry him, and milk too after a spell; but Larsen is -engaged until April, when he expects to be married, and work on one of -the great estates in Gordon. He works for me three hours a day in winter, -just the milking and chores morning and night. I pay him ten dollars a -month; the Fentons keep him the rest of the time, and pay him fifteen -dollars and board, for, of course, I couldn’t board a man here!” - -Brooke did not appreciate the exact reason, but did not say so, and Miss -Keith continued: “After the 1st of April, Adam ought to be well broken -in, and you can doubtless get a man to plot out the garden, and work the -corn lot, the potato, hay, and rye fields on shares. I’ll speak to Mr. -Bisbee and the blacksmith about that before I go, and tell them to keep -their eyes open for one.” - -“Don’t you think that three dollars a week is very small pay for a -woman such as Mrs. Peck appears to be, from what you say?” said Brooke, -unthinkingly, her old habits of generosity being yet strong upon her. - -“Brooke Lawton, if you are going to bring your ideas of city wages and -charitable reforms up here, you’ll make trouble for others, as well as -for yourself,” snapped Miss Keith, vehemently. “That is her price, set -by herself, and you can’t afford to change it for one thing (you’re good -to eat on your principal these first three months anyhow); and suppose -you could, what good would it do her, but make her discontented with -what others could pay, and humble them? People ought to hesitate before -they upset the wages of a place they come into new. Half such charity is -selfish gratification, to my thinking. There was old John Selleck; he -used to do little garden chores for fifty cents a day and food,—light -work with frequent resting spells. Along comes a city man and hires -a cottage on the lower road for two months. Said it was a shame to -‘underpay the labourer,’ gives him a dollar and a half a day. When the -two months were over, and he left again, would John Selleck chore about -for fifty cents a day and food? Not he, so, as nobody would pay him more, -and he wouldn’t work for less, he nearly starved last autumn, and now -he’s working on the town farm for board without the fifty cents!” - -It put matters in a different light to Brooke, and she was about to say -so when Dr. Russell thrust his head in at the door, and, catching only -a few words of Miss Keith’s oration on local political economy, judged -that Brooke was being unduly lectured, and would welcome release, which -he hastened to offer, by asking her to wrap up well and take a survey of -her property with him, saying that Adam had driven down to Gilead with -Stead, who had offered to show him the rounds of post-office, store, and -blacksmith’s shop. - -As Dr. Russell opened the front door for Brooke to pass out, Tatters, who -for the past hour had been lying by Adam Lawton’s chair in the sitting -room, now rose, stretched himself, and prepared to follow, while as he -did so, Mrs. Lawton saw that her husband’s eyes followed the dog with -an expression very similar to the one that he had worn the last week -when either she or Brooke came into plain view. By thus reading his -expression, and by it guessing of his needs, she had already established -a certain means of communication, which Dr. Russell had explained to her -she might hope to develop day by day to the point when continuous memory -and coherent speech should return. - -Once outside the door, Tatters sniffed at Brooke’s cloak, touched the -fingers of her ungloved hand lightly with his tongue, and then fell -behind, following her at a measured distance, pausing when she paused, -and straightway marching along as soon as she did. - -“It appears to me,” said Dr. Russell, smiling, as he watched the old -dog’s soldier-like tread, “that Tatters has ‘transferred himself’ pretty -thoroughly, and Miss Keith will therefore have her last objection to -going to Boston removed.” - -A path was shovelled from the front gate to the side lane above the -house, into which it turned, passing barn, cow, and chicken houses. - -“How well our forebears knew how to build for winter convenience,” said -the doctor, tucking Brooke’s hand under his arm, as they walked, for -there was a layer of treacherous ice under the new snow. “Nowadays a -landscape architect would put all these outbuildings out of sight below -the slope, or else up behind that knot of cedars, where it would take a -day’s work to dig a road in snow time, while here all you have to do is -to look out the kitchen window, and see that all is safe and sound. It is -a compact little home, dear child, and in view of my practical knowledge, -as well as of the sentimental value of such things, I believe that under -any circumstances it is the best and most possible life for you all for -many years to come; only remember, do not be discouraged if you have some -blue days before the spring sun shines. There is a trite old saying, -‘Who loves the land in February loves for life.’ Simply keep working and -do not try to look too far ahead; even the Bearer of the World’s Burden -would only have us cope with evil day by day. There is where we often -make our error—by cutting off the vista to the good with the shadow of -borrowed trouble.” - -Brooke looked up at him gratefully, and hesitated a moment before she -said: “There is only one thing about which I am troubling a little, and -that is Adam. How will dropping everything in the shape of books, and -turning into my assistant farmer, much as he likes the idea, affect his -future? You may not know how backward he is even now, and,” smiling -archly, “I’m afraid he’ll have to work for his board this first year -before I can even afford him an immigrant’s wages.” - -“I’m glad that you have come straight to this point,” said Dr. Russell, -“for it is one where I can meet you halfway. I had a talk with your -brother on the train yesterday, and I am convinced that the practical, -and not the scholastic, is his forte. When he goes to college it should -be to the scientific, not to the academic school; that part of his -culture must come from good reading. His first need is out-of-door air -and life—so far, so good, that he can have. Last night at supper I -discussed this with Robert Stead, as his early training was both at the -School of Mines and the Polytechnic of Troy. The upshot,—‘Let him come -to me every day,’ said Stead, ‘for as many hours as he can spare, more -or less, and I will see what he lacks, and perhaps stimulate him by -companionship in study, or at any rate we can fight out the essentials -together. Perhaps it will warm my brain again, doctor, who knows?’” - -Brooke clasped her hands with an expression of delight, and then dropped -them, saying, “But we cannot pay for such a favour as that would be, and -on the other hand we couldn’t put ourselves under an obligation.” - -“My child,” said the doctor, stopping in the middle of the cow-house, -which they chanced to be investigating at the moment, and leaning -against a stall, while the gentle occupant pulled at his coat with -her inquisitive tongue, “there is another way in which we all make -grave mistakes. God forbid that I should advocate the shirking or -casting of responsibility upon others, but there is another extreme -that we are falling into in this twentieth century—an eye-for-an-eye, -tooth-for-a-tooth breed of independence, while the brotherhood that -should blend and sweeten all our daily actions is treated as a vocation, -a thing set apart, and labelled ‘Charity’ or ‘Social Service.’ It seems -to me that the Christian law of silent burden-bearing is far finer and -more subtle than this, in that it leaves no obligation in its wake. - -“If Robert Stead, the man cursed with lack of motive, finds a fragment -of impulse in the stimulation of awakening his buried knowledge and in -contact with your brother, when your brother needs this knowledge, where -lies the obligation? No, the scales are evenly balanced; accept the -result, and do not draw a breath to jar the adjustment. Moreover, do not -judge Stead by the usual social standards, but bear with him. Perhaps -at times he may even seem discourteous, for what he thinks he suffered -by one woman, and a most remarkable one she was too, has made him curt -with all; for his great failing is that he can never judge except by the -personal measure, and unconsciously he has made a cult of selfishness.” - -“I understand, oh, now I understand; how can I ever thank you for showing -me the way? Do you know, Dr. Russell,” Brooke said, clasping her hands -on his arm, “it seems to me I never began really to live until the day -that trouble came to us;”—while as Brooke spoke, the silent hour in the -Parkses’ gallery, and Marte Lorenz’ picture, stretched themselves as the -inseparable background to all that had followed, and deepened the colour -in her cheeks, that were already glowing with the keen air. - - * * * * * - -When Brooke and the Doctor finished their tour, and were returning to the -house, Tatters still following solemnly, Bisbee’s double-runner sled with -the baggage was seen coming from the lower road, while Stead’s cutter -turned into the yard from the hill way. The Cub being in a very happy -frame of mind as the result of his morning’s trip. - -“Only think, Sis!” he cried, as soon as he was within speaking distance, -“the blacksmith has a registered dog bull pup, with just as good a -pedigree as Pam’s—a son of imported Black-eye who is owned over in -Gordon. He’s got a pedigree a mile long all written out, but it’s smudged -and mussy, and the blacksmith has offered me a dollar to copy it out on -a fan-shaped paper like mine. That will just come in handy to pay Pam’s -tax, too; it’s due up here the 1st of January. Then you see next year -we’ll go in partnership, and raise some pups, and fifty dollars apiece is -the very least we can get for them, and maybe a hundred for the dogs, if -they’re clever!” - -The elder men smiled at each other, and the doctor said to Silent -Stead, “Enthusiasm is an element that can be ill spared from _materia -medica_,—it will do you good even to get a whiff of it.” To Brooke: -“Good-by for now, my child; your father will have all that can be done -for him. A sloping platform from the kitchen door will allow him to be -wheeled out in pleasant weather, and time and care alone will show the -result. Remember, do not hesitate to send for me if you are puzzled—and -courage! the courage that is always given to the world’s workers at their -need,” and the good physician, the spiritual son of St. Luke of old, took -his place by Stead, who turned Manfred in the direction of the Gilead -station. - -Meanwhile Tatters had disappeared, and when Brooke went indoors again, -realizing too late that she had not yet thanked Silent Stead, she found -the dog stretched by her father’s chair, an indoor post he thereafter -occupied. - - * * * * * - -A little after two o’clock Brooke set out for Mrs. Fenton’s, leaving -her mother to superintend the unpacking of the simpler things, clothes, -books, and the little table furniture that they had deemed best to save -from the wreck and bring with them, a task in which Miss Keith seemed to -revel so unfeignedly that Brooke began her walk with an unusual sense of -freedom. - -She had gone only a few hundred yards when she remembered Tatters, and, -turning back to get him, found that he was already close behind, and -hurrying as if life or death depended upon his escort. “How did you know -I was coming? How did you get out?” she asked him, and then laughed at -herself for expecting a reply other than the short, joyous bark he gave, -as he circled around her, pawing up the snow, inviting her to play with -clumsy, stiff gestures that plainly said, “I know I am rather an old -fellow for this sort of thing, but I’m willing to do anything I can to -amuse you,” while he even raced after the snowballs she threw at random, -and rashly tried to retrieve one, dropping it hastily at her feet with a -comical expression, showing by a twist of his jaw and rubbing his nose -between his paws that it was too cold for his teeth. - -The walk was up an almost straight hill, relieved by occasional -resting-places by which alone travel in such a country is made possible -to man or beast, so that when Brooke reached the gate of the Fenton house -she paused, both for breath and to get her bearings. No pathway had been -shovelled to the front door, and the beaten track led round the side of -the house to a wide porch at the south, which also held a well-house in -its shelter, and this Brooke followed. - -Her knock at the door was followed by a rumbling sound from within, which -began in an opposite corner of the house, and drew rapidly nearer; then -the door opened outward, singularly enough, and just inside it sat a -little old lady in a wheel-chair that she both guided and propelled with -her own hands. - -“I’m so sorry to have troubled you,” Brooke began. “I wished to see Mrs. -Enoch Fenton, and Miss Keith said that it was the first house before the -cross-roads, but I must have misunderstood.” - -“And so it is, dear. I’m Mrs. Fenton.” Then, as she read Brooke’s puzzled -expression: “Oh, I see, Keith didn’t tell you that I use wheels instead -of feet. Come right in; see, Tatters is quite at home here, and he knows -where my cooky drawer is just as well as any child in the neighbourhood,” -and, jerking a strap that she held in her hand, which was also fastened -to the door handle, she closed it behind her guest even before Brooke -realized and apologized for not doing it herself. - -Quick as a flash the chair was turned, and travelled across the square -hall, which also served as a summer sitting room, into a kitchen, -cheerful and neat as wax, while as Brooke followed, her senses now keyed -to the unusual, she noticed that not only had the door-ways been widened, -but that all the furniture, tables, dresser, chest of drawers, and even -the stove itself were below the usual level. - -“Choose a chair,” said Mrs. Fenton, smiling brightly as she brought -herself to a stop close to the sunny southwest bay window, where a wide -shelf with a deep ledge, containing sewing materials and various garments -in process of manufacture, showed it to be her habitual nook. - -As Brooke drew a splint-bottomed rocker nearer to her hostess, she -noticed that, though the white hair and thin face had at first given the -impression of greater age, Mrs. Fenton was not more than sixty-five, -while the intelligence of her expression and brightness of eye might well -belong to a woman of fifty, and although her lower limbs seemed small and -were wrapped in a shawl, her arms and chest were full and muscular. - -“You don’t tell me your name, but I make it that you are Adam Lawton’s -daughter, whom Keith has been expecting and worrying about these ten -days past. She told me about your father’s money loss and shock, and how -he was coming back home; and I’ve been real interested to hear, because -you see, dearie, Adam and I went to school together fifty odd years -ago, and to the day he left we were always a tie in spelling matches, -and now here we are again, like as not matched together as cripples. -Tell me all about him, dear, if it don’t hurt you. I’ve found, these -eight years since I’ve had my discipline, that exchanging experiences -with others likely situated is apt to make one credit a lot of things -to the mercy side of the record that would never have been set down, -if we hadn’t been brought face to face with other folks’ misery, and -so forced to take count of stock, so to speak. And please, before we -begin and have a comfortable chat, give Tatters a sugar cooky out of the -drawer there (I never before set eyes on a dog so fond of sweet cake,—his -mouth is fairly watering),—no, not that little drawer, the peppermints -and maple candy are in there, though you might like a bit of that to -nibble on,—the second drawer;” and Brooke, after giving the expectant -dog his cake, drew still closer to the wheel-chair, and, such was the -spell of single-hearted sympathy, quite as a matter of course she told -Mrs. Fenton, naturally and frankly, of both her hopes and fears, ending -with her desire to get Mrs. Peck to “accommodate” until she should have -learned to manage alone. - -“You dear child!” exclaimed the lame woman, laying her work-hardened hand -on Brooke’s soft, shapely one as she ended, and looking at her through -the reminiscent tears that would gather on her lashes, “I take it a -special thought of Providence, your coming to me, for who has had to -learn, more than I, how to keep housework in hand?—and as to Mrs. Peck, -she will be here to-night, as Enoch, being Deacon, must sleep over at -Gordon, where the Con-Association meets. - -“Listen, and I’ll tell you of my trouble quickly as may be, because -what’s over and gone best not be dug too deep, except for the planting -of future seeds of grace. Eight years ago this winter I was down at my -daughter’s house in Gilead (she being the only one of six left me outside -God’s Acre), tending her first-born. All around the well was laid with -great cobbles, I slipped, and having a heavy pail in hand could not save -myself, and hurt my spine, and it paralyzed my legs. - -“They brought me home, and weeks and months went by. Enoch had the best -doctors that summer over from Gordon, but nothing could be done to liven -me; and then I knew that I must lie there bed-ridden, or be propped -in a sick-chair for life, and leave my work undone for others. Oh, it -was bitter, and I sorely rebelled to see a hired woman in my place, and -father only half cared for. Then came fall of the year, and one day -father brought in Doctor Russell, who had come up to stop on Windy Hill -with Robert Stead for the shooting. He asked father to go away and leave -him alone with me. Then he looked me over, bent all my joints that would -bend, and, after listening to my heart, sat in the big chair by the bed -(I can see him now just as plain), and said: ‘What troubles you the most, -Mrs. Fenton? What is your worst suffering, and what do you most wish?’ - -“‘To do something, to get to work, and not lie dead in the midst -of life.’ He sat quite still for ten minutes or more, matching his -finger-tips together in thought, and then he said, ‘If you have will -enough, and courage, as I believe, we’ll have you downstairs and back -at work again within a year.’ Then he told me of the chair, and how I -could be fastened in it to keep from falling, and learn to use the wheels -for legs, as a child does how to walk. Bless him! it all came true. At -first, to be sure, I was afraid, and banged about, and my arms were tired -to aching, and I often cried. But Enoch took such comfort, seeing me at -table even, that it was a nerve tonic. And gradually, as I strengthened, -he had the doors widened, and the sills done away with, and everything -set within my reach, until, when the year was up and a little more, I -turned off all my work except the washing, and cooked the dinner for the -doctor the next time he chanced in. - -“When the weather is seasonable, too, I get all about the yard, and now -I really feel ambitious to go down to see your father when the roads are -settled. You see it was a special Providence that I hit my back just the -spot I did, for if it had been higher up, or on my head, it might have -paralyzed my arms. Yes, there’s always something to the mercy side, if we -only stop to reckon up.” - -The sun was setting when Brooke left Mrs. Fenton, for she had been there -for two hours. The south-western sky was all aglow as the sun broke its -way through the dusky clouds of falling night, and like it, the heart of -the young woman glowed within her breast. Free of health and of limb, -what might she not will and do, ah, if only she could become, even as -that woman in the wheel-chair, one of the world’s workers! - -As she walked swiftly down the road, the long shafts of light and the -wind gusts also, sinking to rest, played with her hair; and at the -turn she met Silent Stead, who was returning from Gilead. Thinking the -opportunity had come to recognize his kindness, she stopped, half turning -to the roadway; but he, either through offishness or suspecting her -design, passed on with a mere greeting. - -Not piqued, because she remembered Dr. Russell’s warning, Brooke went her -way, smiling to herself in amusement; and when she neared the farm she -broke into a run, Tatters barking and gambolling about her, so that Miss -Keith, who came to the door at the sound, was forced to confess, though -much against her will, that, in spite of his years of service to herself, -Tatters had “transferred himself.” - -Meanwhile, by a strange perversity of fate, the radiant face of the girl -whom Robert Stead had passed by so curtly on the road, turned homeward -with him, all unbidden, now smiling at him from between Manfred’s mobile -ears, sitting opposite him at his table, and even permeating the smoke -wreaths from his pipe that coiled, as in a vision, around her head in -fantastic tresses. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -BREAD - - -Three weeks had now passed since Miss Keith’s departure, and the daily -toil of each had been punctuated by a series of unexpected events. - -Much as Brooke had dreaded the going of her executive kinswoman, it was -in a sense a relief. She was well aware that until she was entirely -thrown upon her own resources it would be impossible to judge her -strength or plan definitely for the future; and now that the move had -been made, this planning was the next hill to climb. It was impossible -for Brooke to have a quiet moment, except when she was alone in her room -at night, so long as Miss Keith was in the house; for the estimable woman -was continually remembering some important bit of advice, relative to the -year’s rotation of work in the garden or the “putting up” of the fruit. -One of the last details that she impressed upon Brooke in showing her -baskets of various bulbs and a large store of the seeds of sweet peas, -nasturtiums, and other hardy annual flowers, all neatly put up in paper -bags, was to sow plenty of them in long rows like vegetables, because -as she said “the rich folks were always stopping to see the view as they -drove from Stonebridge to Gordon, and often sent in and begged to buy the -old-fashioned flowers, because their gardens had not room for them.” - -Brooke promised, but the matter passed quickly from her overcrowded mind; -for, interpreted by Miss Keith, the work of the mistress of the West -homestead would have kept at least six Plymouth-Rock-ribbed housewives at -work from rise until set of sun. Very different indeed was it from Mrs. -Enoch Fenton’s soothing advice, “Dearie, just begin by doing what you -must, and let the rest sort of slip off your hands until the Lord gives -’em the knack to handle it.” - -When the rockaway, driven by Larsen, at last came to the door with the -Cub as honorary footman to see Miss Keith off and make sure that none of -her twelve pieces of wonderfully assorted baggage went astray, she broke -down completely, yet did not seem comforted or pleased with Brooke’s -invitation to return if she changed her mind about matrimony, the final -sniff that followed the sincere and cordial offer being more of scorn -than of grief. - -Mrs. Lawton was now fast shaking off the state of being in a waking -dream, in which she lived since the night of the calamity; and, once Miss -Keith had gone, both mother and daughter began to taste the quiet joys -of a companionship that the forced separation of the last few years of -conventional city life had not only left undeveloped but unknown. - -Their intercourse was none the less sustaining because the things that -they discussed were the bread-and-butter affairs of every day—whether -the invalid should have chicken or mutton broth, and as to whether it -was possible to make many of the dishes they desired with only half the -ingredients the cook-book demanded, Mrs. Lawton’s experience of long ago -and Brooke’s common sense deciding in the affirmative. - -In fact, the young mistress had not been working side by side with Mrs. -Peck (who came to “accommodate” and instruct the day after Miss Keith -left) a week before she was sure of what she had always suspected, that -fully three-quarters of modern recipes for cooking are merely competitive -struggles to see how much good material can be crammed into something -totally unsuitable for the human stomach. - -Gradually, as the first week drew to a close, it happened that, after -the Cub and Brooke had helped establish their father in his wheel-chair -for the day, Mrs. Lawton went to and fro about the lower floor, dusting, -adjusting, wiping dishes, watering the plants, and doing the thousand -and one little things that make a woman a part of her home. Then later -in the day she would wheel Adam Lawton into the kitchen perhaps, and, -taking out her work-basket, do some of the sewing that was imperative to -make the garments of the past even possible for present use. As to Adam -Lawton himself, he was more alert and did not seem to doze as constantly -as before, while his eyes wandered from object to object with a changeful -expression unlike the apathy of his first conscious period. - -Before the seven days were completely rounded, three things had happened. -Brooke heard her mother hum a snatch of the ballad “Jock o’Hazeldean,” -as she snipped withered leaves from the plants in the kitchen window; -she saw her father stroke Tatters’ head and finger his ears with his -well hand; and Robert Stead, who now left their mail as he returned with -his own from the village every morning, brought her, together with some -belated foreign New Year’s cards, a flat, square package, spattered with -foreign postmarks, addressed in an unknown hand, in care of Charlie -Ashton, and evidently remailed by him. - -In a perfectly unobtrusive and matter-of-course way, without so much -as by your leave, the silent man had established a more or less silent -intercourse with the Lawton family as a whole. He must pass the house on -his daily horseback trip to the village, and the fact that he brought -their morning mail or did a bit of marketing was a courtesy that could -not be construed into an obligation, and the lending of a magazine, -novel, or gardening book soon came to be a matter of course. - -Mrs. Lawton could not but welcome one of her own kind who belonged as -remotely to a certain past as she herself. Brooke, remembering Dr. -Russell’s words, greeted him cordially, glad to give cheer to one so -lonely, and added to this motive, be it said, was the general interest -which a man of fifty, who is in any way surrounded by a tragedy or -mystery, excites in a young, warm-hearted woman; while the Cub fairly -adored his tutor to be, afar off, for had not Stead a taste for horses, -dogs, guns, fishing tackle, and, above all, liberty? Also, had he not -offered to make easy the torturing pathway of mathematics?—while best of -all from the first he had treated the youth of the difficult age, which -is both aggressive and sensitive, like a fellow-man, younger, of course, -but still an equal, instead of a cross between a fool, a nuisance, and a -criminal, as some of his instructors had chosen to regard him. - -When Brooke had taken the little package from Stead’s hand, in spite of -the unfamiliarity of the writing upon it, a sudden embarrassment seized -upon her, making her redden to the temples; and, instead of considering -and opening it as one of the many cards of Christmas greeting that she -had received from fellow-students and friends ever since her Paris year, -she laid it aside and presently carried it to her room. - -Closing the door, though it was very seldom that even her mother came to -the second floor, Brooke turned the thick envelope over several times -before cutting the heavy cord that bound it, and so swift and sure is -the speech of telepathy that she did not wonder who had written to -her in care of Carolus Ashton. She did not try to trace the identity -of unfamiliar characters or remember that in the years that separated -her from that time no similar letter had reached her; she simply knew -that the address had been traced by the pen of Marte Lorenz, without -for a moment realizing that the source of this clairvoyance lay in the -undeniable craving of her whole being to know of him. Once opened, a -double sheet of blank paper enclosed a square of artists’ board covered -with light tissue. Tearing this off, with eager trembling fingers, -instead of the man’s face that she had expected to look out at her, with -those wide-open eyes from under the tumbled thatch of hair, instead of -the mustache-veiled lips which told simple truths with such sympathetic -sincerity that it made them more desirable than praise, she saw herself, -or rather one of herselves, for it is only a strangely monotonous, -colourless type of woman who can be interpreted by merely the universal -blending of composites. - -It was simply a head, small, perforce, and lightly sketched in oil, with -only enough of the shoulder curve, over which the face was turned, to -give a balance, the sombre background of deep browns serving to throw -out the golden glints of the hair; but the quality that struck Brooke at -once was the same strange effect of lighting that had puzzled her in the -picture of Eucharistia. Without being in the form of the conventional -halo of the old masters, a raying light emanated from behind the head, -and the eyes seemed as if they were but the opening to a vision beyond. - -Still hoping for some message or word, Brooke, holding the picture close, -saw in one corner, half hidden by a bit of drapery, the initials “M. L.” -and the words “For the New Year.” - -Then Brooke, the girl of sentiment and idealized emotions, argued with -Miss Lawton, the head of the family, the young woman of responsibilities -and practicalities. - -Brooke said, “Why did he send me my picture instead of his own?” - -Miss Lawton answered, “Perhaps it is not intended for a portrait at all, -but merely a chance resemblance in a New Year’s token, such as an artist -may send to a dozen friends!” - -“But,” queried Brooke, not listening, but following her desire, “he may -have meant by sending my portrait that he wished to tell me that he still -thought of me, and a girl always likes to have her picture painted; but -if he had sent his own it would be like intruding himself upon me, if I -had forgotten. How shall I thank him?” - -“It is evident, as he sent no address, he particularly desires not to be -thanked,” replied Miss Lawton, somewhat tartly. - -“If he trusted his letter to Carolus Ashton, probably hearing of him -through some mutual artist friend, why should not I do likewise, who have -known him as Lucy’s cousin all my life?” persisted Brooke. - -“And have him get up one of his fabulous tales about a mysterious -correspondence and tantalize Lucy with it until she turns about and -extracts the scant truth from him?” sneered Miss Lawton. - -Without deigning further reply, Brooke went to the little table by -the window, where stood an inkstand, in the drawer of which were some -loose sheets of paper and envelopes. Picking up one of the latter, -she addressed it in her usual hand, stamped it, and then, resting it -on the window ledge, drew a sheet of paper toward her and straightway -fell into a brown study, during which either her brain refused to think -or her hand to write. Then, suddenly starting up, she crossed to her -bureau and, taking up the little picture of Eucharistia, gazed at it -steadily, slipped it from the delicate silver frame, and with a sigh, -half of regret, wrapped it in a sheet of note-paper and sealed it in the -addressed envelope. - -Putting the wordless letter in the pocket of the short working apron she -wore, Brooke went to the letter-box that stood at the junction of main -road and lane leading to the barn, and dropped it in, that the carrier -might find it that afternoon on his daily trip. - -Returning by way of the kitchen, the loaves of bread that Brooke had -that morning kneaded, moulded, and covered for their final raising met -her eye. At first, smiling at the sudden change of motive, she examined -them seriously, for in reality these loaves were of no small importance, -representing as they did the girl’s first independent baking. - -Opening the oven doors, she tested floor and side, adjusted dampers after -Mrs. Peck’s custom, and then, shutting the loaves from sight, went away, -feeling very much as if she had imprisoned some living thing in a fiery -furnace, so much depended upon the outcome of the first venture. - -An hour later Mrs. Peck, returning from a neighbourly call upon Mrs. -Fenton, surprised Brooke in the act of taking the four freshly baked -loaves from their pans. They were done to a nicety of golden brown, -and she laid each one down carefully and paused a moment, sniffing the -appetizing odour before covering them with a clean towel, lest too sudden -cooling should make the crust seam. - -“Tired, bean’t you!” ejaculated Mrs. Peck, whose principal comfort in the -present was to lament and bewail a past of fabulous grandeur upon the -like of which no living contemporary had ever set eyes. “I suppose you -are thinking how little wunst you ever expected to hev to set to riz and -knead and bake your own bread. Poor dear, I kin feel for you! I’ve been -through it all—it’s turrible to feel yoursel’ downsot like I was after -Mr. Peck died, and not through your own deserts!” - -Brooke, who knew the good woman’s pet infirmity, hardly listened to her; -there was another theme that filled her brain, almost shaping itself -to rhythm, not of the past alone, but the present, the future—of all -time, as old as life itself, the unending song of the man who sows, of -the grain in the field that endures the winter and leaps upward, spears -aloft, militant, at the bugle of spring; of the grain in the ear, of the -molten gold of the harvest that goes to the mill, of the clear white -flour that the man’s mate blends with the magic leaven to be bread for -the house. And her heart took wing as she looked at the loaves, for if -the weal of the land rests on the farmer’s plough, second only should -stand the toil of the maker of bread. - -There were only four loaves, it is true, but to Brooke they stood for a -definite power—her first direct productive work. - -Choosing one from the rest and half wrapping it in a white towel, she -carried it to her mother, who was sitting beside her father, whose chair -was placed close by the sunny window. For the two days past his lips had -moved, though inarticulately, and his wife was doubly on the alert for a -single spoken word. - -Holding the loaf before her as if it had been a trophy, Brooke crossed -the room and, folding back the towel, the steaming odour of the bread -reached her mother’s nostrils. Then she held out her hands to her -daughter, taking the bread from her almost reverently. - -“Watch father!” whispered Brooke. - -There was a look of recognition struggling with other visions in his -eyes, and strange incoherent sounds were formed on the struggling lips. -His eyes fixed themselves on the loaf, which his wife held close. His -nostrils quivered as if in unison with his other awakening senses. Brooke -knelt by his chair, endeavouring to read sense in the vague sounds he -uttered. There came a pause, a hush, and then, in hoarse, uncertain -accents, unmistakable yet feeble at the close, Adam Lawton whispered two -words, “New bread.” - -Meanwhile, outside in the kitchen, warming himself by the stove, was -the Cub, who, coming in from the cold and the exertion of rounding up -refractory chickens after their morning sunning, had brought a keen -appetite with him. Snatching a knife that lay on the table, he cut a -thick crust from one of the loaves; this he hastened to spread with -molasses from a jug in the pantry, and then stood with his back to the -fire, taking great round bites with the wholesome gusto of six, instead -of his old-time critical mouthing of surfeited dyspeptic discontent. - - * * * * * - -The surprise of the second week was a visit from Lucy Dean at its close. -The excellent sleighing had filled many houses of both Stonebridge and -Gordon for the week end, and shortly before noon of Saturday Brooke was -sitting at the old desk in the living room, for which her added books had -earned the name of library, writing her weekly letter to Lucy, when a -shadow darkened the nearest window, and, looking up, she saw Lucy in the -flesh, peering in at her with a serio-comic expression that Brooke knew -of old to mean deep, real feeling. Bells had been jingling by the whole -morning, so that those that had heralded her coming had passed unnoticed. - -In an instant Brooke was at the door, and no one who saw the silent but -emphatic meeting could ever after deny the possible existence of real -friendship between women. - -“Where did you drop from?” - -“The Hendersons’ sleigh! I’m up there for Sunday simply because you -haven’t asked me here yet!” - -“Oh, Lucy, everything has been so unsettled and uncertain I really didn’t -even think of it.” - -“Of course not; now don’t begin to worry, it’s only my brutal way of -letting you know that I simply had to see you, and have not in the least -increased my admiration for the country in the winter, or the Hendersons -in particular!” - -“You will stay to dinner, surely? Or are they waiting outside?” cried -Brooke, in a sudden panic at the thought of being brought thus face to -face with some of their ultrafashionable friends. - -“No, my lamb, they have gone over for luncheon to the Parkses’ at Gordon -(you don’t know, of course, that the frisky Senator has just bought the -Smythers’ big estate,—furniture, servants, and all,—in order to carry -still farther the success of the New York housewarming). I begged off for -the day, and, as the party was one man shy, they gratefully gave me my -liberty, and will pick me up about four. - -“Now show me your property, live stock and all, and tell me of its -advantages and otherwise, that I may have the right background to keep -in my mind’s eye when I go home. But bless me! where is your mother? and -your father—perhaps he may know me!” - -Lucy clung to Mrs. Lawton as she always had, with a wealth of the -untutored daughterly affection that had missed its own outlet motherward, -so Brooke left the two alone together for a few moments in the library -while she went in to see how her father was faring. Tatters, as usual, -was by his chair, not lying down but sitting erect and close. Adam -Lawton was looking intently at a picture paper that Stead had brought -which was propped on the rack before him. Seeing that her father had -not yet noticed her, Brooke stood quite still, watching the pair. Once -in a while the left hand would pat the dog’s head, that was constantly -turned toward him, but Tatters’ attention seemed fixed upon the useless -hand that rested, a dead weight, upon the knee. Nosing it gently, as -a mother dog does her sleeping pups to make sure that they are alive, -Tatters moved it perhaps an inch, his eyes open wide and ears moving -questioningly. - -Meeting with no response, no sign of life, his dog mind evidently argued -that the poor human paw was ill, and bringing the universal medicine of -his race in play, he began to lick the hand with slow regular strokes -of his strong, clean tongue, first going over the entire surface, then -separating each finger with a clinging circular motion. - -Amazement seized Brooke as the thought came to her that, after all, had -not nature antedated man in this, as in many things, and endowed the -tongues of the dumb beasts with the vital principles of massage? Did the -dog know, with that wisdom that only the confessed materialist is willing -to call mere instinct, the impotence of that right hand; and why might -there not be healing in his imparted vitality? Why might not the natural -magnetism be as good as the electricity from the little machine that her -mother gave her father each day? - -As she thought all this, she again heard that hoarse whisper. Straining -every nerve, she listened; the sound came once more—a single word, -“Tatters,” repeated again and again, and lingered over as if it were a -magic clew to the loosening of a tangled skein of memory. - -Stepping quickly to his side, Brooke said, slowly and distinctly, -“Father, Lucy Dean is here, with mother in the library. Lucy Dean—would -you like to see her?” Ever since his return to Gilead, Brooke had made -a point of calling Adam Lawton “father” very distinctly whenever she -entered the room in his waking hours, to accustom him to the sound, also -to speak of the ordinary unemotional affairs of every day as a matter of -course, regardless of the fact that he did not heed. - -As she repeated the words “Lucy Dean” he shook his head slightly, but -the word “mother” he repeated quite distinctly several times, smiling -as he did so; and then Brooke knew for a certainty that, though motive -power and sense of touch and taste and smell were coming back, memory -had halted, and that it was the Tatters and mother of his youth that he -associated with the words. - -Presently Pam came rushing in; she had tracked the footprints of her -friend through the snow and had cast herself wildly against the front -door, regardless alike of paint or bruises, and scrambled into Lucy’s -lap in a very ecstasy. Nor was the Cub far off, and as the two young -women, two dogs, and one youth trudged off presently to see the “estate,” -as Lucy called it, she caught the boy by the wrist and held his right -palm upward as a fortune-teller might, asking what to Brooke seemed -strange questions. - -“Where did those blisters come from?” - -“Please, teacher, I got ’em splitting wood,” whined the Cub, in comic -imitation of the drawl of the children at the school below at the -cross-roads. - -“That dark red stain?” - -“Paint, off Silent Stead’s box sleigh—it’s been done over.” - -“Who, pray, is Silent Stead?” - -The Cub explained with adjectives and details, while Lucy made a mental -note of the same, watching Brooke out of the tail of her eye the while. - -“Yes, but those dirty brown stains on the thumb and fingers—they are not -paint!” - -“Nope—pine tar!” jerked the Cub, uncertain whether to laugh or resent -this catechising, but deciding on the former. - -“Honour bright, nothing else?” - -“Honour bright!” - -“Then here’s your pipe!” cried Lucy gayly, to the further mystification -of Brooke, who could not interpret the by-play. “Your birthday is half -a year off and Christmas is past; what comes next? Why St. Valentine’s -Day, of course! It’s a present for that with Pam’s love and my—respects -for your fortitude!” Then, rummaging in the front of her blouse, the -present and only pocket universal allowed women by fashion, she drew out -a leather case that enclosed a meerschaum of really beautiful curve, the -bowl being the carved head of the bull terrier! - -Then Brooke understood, and locking her arms in those of the other two, -they slid her between them as they ran up and down an icy bit on the side -road, while the Cub further suggested a good coast down the river slope -on an improvised bob-sled after dinner. - -But after dinner and its dishwashing, in which Lucy gayly took part, -the two young women ensconced themselves so snugly before the library -fire that it would have taken a stronger lure than a whiz down ever so -smooth a hill to drag them forth. Then they talked woman’s talk, and -Brooke found herself gradually asking for people, as from the distance -of another world, that two months ago she had met in almost daily -intercourse; while the strangest part of all was the fact thus borne in -upon her that a scant dozen, perhaps, were all among the throng who had -been bound by kindred tastes which make the enduring sympathy called -friendship. The rest were merely incidents, the floating clouds of -summer skies bred and born of the caprice of social wind and weather. - -“By the way, Brooke,” said Lucy, after they had travelled the old paths -once more in company, “what did you do with those two thin keys that Tom -Brownell picked up from under the rug the day I escorted him from your -apartment at the St. Hilaire? I gave them to you afterward. Don’t say -that you have lost them!” and, as Brooke hesitated, Lucy sat up straight -with a look of alarm. - -“Oh, no, they are quite safe in a box in my drawer, though they are -nothing to bother about, for they do not belong to anything of ours, and -both your father and our lawyer said that they fitted no business desk or -box of father’s.” - -“That may be,” said Lucy, guilelessly, “but Tom Brownell asked me -particularly if I would beg you to lend them to him. You see he has -a sort of genius for fitting odd numbers together, and finding those -ownerless keys as he did, they seem to have fascinated him strangely.” - -“Tom Brownell,” mused Brooke; then, becoming in her turn suddenly all on -the alert, she continued: “Why, he was that reporter who contradicted the -story of father’s feigned illness in the _Daily Forum_, was he not? And -pray, where did you stumble over him again?” - -“I haven’t stumbled over him—that is, I mean not to any great extent. -I wish I had, for he’s a most refreshing person,” answered Lucy, at -first surprised into confused utterance and next growing defiant and -continuing recklessly: “Didn’t you recognize him as the college friend -of Charlie Ashton? Oh, I thought you did! Well, he is, anyway, though he -wouldn’t go to Charlie’s red New Year’s tea, even when I begged him; and -he doesn’t go to dances or play bridge, for he’s on the jump most of the -time with his newspaper work. He’s been to the house a couple of times, -with Charlie, of course, and father being at home and unshakable, we four -have sat down to a solemn game of genuine whist; and you know yourself -that to sit opposite to a youngish man for two whole evenings under such -circumstances and not hate him is a proof of remarkable character, and as -I can’t be accused of anything of that kind, it lies with him, you see.” - -“Did he ask for the keys that night?” said Brooke, with overtransparent -innocence, which, however, passed unnoticed. - -“No, quite another time, when, having observed my intense interest in -cards, he dropped in between assignments (while he was waiting for it to -be time to take the speeches at an important corporation dinner, I think) -and offered to teach me solitaire; but that was yet more melancholy than -the whist, for as he had to look over my shoulder, I couldn’t even gaze -at him, so we drifted to casino, which allowed both sight and speech! - -“Really, Brooke, he is an awfully nice fellow; a gentleman and poor as -a church mouse, for though Charlie says his father would overlook his -distaste for the hereditary family business, a stepmother has recently -occurred, whose policy it is to keep the feud boiling. But you see -the fact that he can’t afford to marry, as Charlie says, and plainly -stating it, puts everything on a nice friendly basis, with no possible -misunderstanding on either side, which is quite delightful,” and Lucy -bridled with an amusing air of disinterested and sisterly virtue. - -So the time slipped away, as it has a way of doing under like -circumstances, and the cross streak of sunlight that illuminated the -title “The Pilgrim’s Progress,” on the lower shelf of the diamond-paned -bookcase topping the desk, told Brooke, now becoming versed in the -language of such things, that it was past four o’clock. - -“Now we will have some tea before the Hendersons come for you,” she said, -moving a quaint spindle-legged table from the corner to a convenient -place by the lounge, and lifting one of the flaps. - -“Yes, we have it as usual every day, mother and I, all by ourselves, -except once in a while when Mr. Stead joins us; and though Adam scorns -tea, I find that he happens in if fresh cakes are about, and Mrs. Peck -has simply spoiled us with her seed cookies, though of course in another -week that sort of thing will all be over. - -“No, don’t come and help, sit quite still while I get the tray and -kettle. Mother will make the tea; you know the girls always said, even in -the rush of the season, that a cup of her tea was something to remember, -and the making of it seems to pull her together.” - -The three women had but just gathered about the little table, with -Tatters sitting sedately beside, sniffing and coaxing for cookies, by -waving one paw in the air, while Pam found herself being fed literally -in the lap of luxury as personified by Lucy, when a clanging of heavy -shaft-bells sounded, quite unlike the merry jingle of the usual sleigh, -and then stopped suddenly, while at almost the same moment the ring in -the brass lion’s mouth that was the door-knocker sounded a vigorous -rat-tat-tat! - -“It’s the Hendersons; they’ve come for me!” cried Lucy, looking from -Mrs. Lawton to Brooke anxiously and jumping up in a confusion unusual -for this young person, who prided herself upon never being caught off -guard. For it suddenly occurred to her that it might be painful for her -friends to have their privacy thus invaded by those who were nothing if -not gossipingly critical, while at the same time she made a motion as if -to put on her outer garments before answering the knock. - -Brooke’s face, too, reflected something of her apprehension, but Mrs. -Lawton arose quietly, her head unconsciously taking the half backward -poise of mingled dignity and courtesy which many women of her world had -tried in vain to imitate. Stopping Lucy by a single gesture, she said: -“Do not hurry, it is still quite early; surely our friends will be glad -to join us, for they have already had a long drive and it has been -growing bitterly cold these two hours past. Who did you say made up the -party beside Paula and Leonie Henderson?” - -“Violet Lang, the Bleecker brothers, and Charlie Ashton,” replied Lucy, -sinking meekly back into her chair, holding Pam up before her face as a -sort of screen against consequences. - -“Brooke, will you please get some fresh tea, bread, and butter, and ask -Adam to show the coachman the way to the barn, where he can shelter the -horses and warm himself by Larsen’s little wood stove?” Then, as the -second battery of knocks began, Mrs. Lawton went swiftly to the door and -threw it open, revealing Charlie Ashton, enveloped to the eyes in the -most picturesque of furs, beating his hands and stamping his feet with -the cold. - -At the unexpected sight of the sweet-faced woman at the door, -backgrounded by the hospitable firelit interior, Ashton dropped back the -hooded arrangement that covered his head, and, holding out both hands, -grasped those of Mrs. Lawton with a fervor and expression of face that -said twenty times more than the conventional words of greeting that -followed. - -Would they all come in for a cup of tea? Just wouldn’t they, though! The -ladies were growling most dangerously about the wind, their ears, etc., -and he’d dig them out of that uncomfortable omnibus sleigh in a jiffy! - -When the six had fairly entered and been unwrapped from their furs in -the square hall, and the female portion had patted up ragged locks at -Great-grandma West’s eagle mirror that faced the old clock, Brooke (aided -by Mrs. Peck, who arose at once to the country watchword “company”) had -returned with fresh tea and two plates, one of thin bread and butter, the -other of wafer-like cheese sandwiches, while the hospitable influence of -the teakettle put the visitors quite at their ease. As for the men, they -were naturally and frankly delighted at seeing old friends, at the dogs, -the genuine simplicity of the house, and with the good things. - -True, the colour had rushed to Brooke’s face as Charlie Ashton had -greeted her, but no reference was made to the letter sent to his care -save a significant pressure of the hand, which somehow gave Brooke -comfort and a feeling of championship. - -The women talked rather nervously of the gossip of everyday and eyed the -surroundings in an uncomfortable, furtive sort of way that, as Lucy wrote -Brooke afterward, must have nearly made them cross-eyed. The men roamed -about openly after being bidden by their hostess to make themselves -at home and go where they pleased, “even into the pantry!” This they -presently did. Charlie Ashton, returning with one of Miss Keith’s jars of -strawberry jam carried aloft, and holding out the empty sandwich plate, -begged for more bread to spread it on. - -“Very well,” said Brooke, recovering her old-time gayety, “only you must -come to the kitchen and cut it for yourself; my hand is quite tired.” - -“Where did you buy such delightful sandwich bread in this out-of-the-way -place?” inquired Miss Henderson, patronizingly. “It is awfully difficult -to get it even in New York, and it’s one of Tokay’s specialties that lets -him ask such fabulous prices for his sandwiches, and this is even a shade -better. I wish I could get the recipe just to start a rival and pique -him, he’s so lordly!” - -“The bread?” said Brooke, looking back over her shoulder, “oh, I make it. -The recipe? That is one of the West family inheritances that I cannot -part with,” but as she spoke an idea entered Brooke’s teeming brain, -which remained there for many days awaiting development. - -Then the adieus were said, Brooke whispering to Lucy, as she drew her -inside for a final hug, “Remember, in the spring you are to come to stay -with me, even if the sky falls.” - -To which Lucy replied, “If I may do as you do in every way, it is a -bargain.” Then the door closed, and the jingle of bells died away in the -distance. - -Brooke, going to the kitchen, collected the crusts clipped from the -sandwiches into her chicken dish, Mrs. Peck, who had miraculously kept -in the background, remarking that she never saw pleasanter gentlemen and -that for solid satisfaction in feeding company, give her males. - -The men, speeding downhill in the sleigh, praised house and hostesses -alike and said that they had never been to a finer tea-party, the -Bleecker brothers declaring that Brooke’s cheese sandwiches knocked the -truffle and lettuce messes of Ashton’s pink, yellow, and red teas out of -the game. For some unaccountable reason, however, the women were very -silent, but that might have been because with Lucy’s return they were -again one man short. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -REVELATION - - -Winter was loitering through its last calendar month, although it usually -fastens its iron claws upon the first days of spring also, and is -dislodged only after a gusty struggle. Brooke turned from the cross-way -into the river road, upon the daily walk she forced herself to take in -all but impossible weather, according to her compact with Dr. Russell. -Of walking in general she would have declared that she was passionately -fond, but navigating the uneven roads, scarred by the storms of a winter -of unusual severity, did not come under the usual term. - -After crossing an especially slippery bit she paused to rest for a -moment, supporting herself by the rough fence of split rails that made -a barrier between the road edge and the rocky bank which fell away, at -first sharply, and then more gradually toward the Moosatuk. As she stood -there, looking up and down, the saying came forcibly to her, “Whosoever -loves the land in February, loves for life.” Did she love nature, or was -she only baffled and cowed by its omnipotence and bent to it by the -force of necessity? This day she herself could not have judged. - -All the sources of inspiration seemed closed. Silence reigned in the -River Kingdom; the voice of the ruler was stilled. Great, sooty crows, -lean and ravenous, patrolled the river meadows, croaking ominously as -they quarried a meal from the frozen wild apples, or rent asunder the few -blighted ears that remained in the corn-fields. - -The day before had been one of sleet and wind; no human being had even -passed the homestead—merely a brindled cat of the half-wild breed, and he -had scuttled along on the other side of the road under cover of the wall. -Robert Stead was ill of a sudden cold, Adam had reported when he returned -from his daily lessons, consequently José, the Mexican half-breed -factotum, had not left the shack even to fetch the mail. - -Thinner than when she had come to Gilead a month before, Brooke’s supple -figure had the spring and elasticity of physical health in spite of its -lack of roundness, for the long nights of sleep and the simplicity of the -daily routine offset the strain of unaccustomed toil. Neither was she -lonely in the common meaning of the word, which always implies a great -degree of leisure; also she was young, and Bulwer was right—“The young -are never lonely.” Then there were the books that the silent man brought -her—poetry, story, and all the lore of her fellows, the birds and beasts -of the field, that heretofore had been to her unknown creatures of -mystery; while Adam (she had never called him the Cub since the night of -his return) and she had many new sympathies, and when the boy, inspired -by the talk of his teacher, rushed in to tell her of the track that he -thought perhaps might belong to a fox or a mink, or with the surmise that -a strange bird was feeding by the granary, she was as eager as he to see -and to prove it. - -The grisly mood that had seized upon her this 12th day of February -was born of the sudden stepping into the foreground of the future -with all its necessities, which, until that moment, had been blended -optimistically with the middle distance at the very least. - -In two days more Mrs. Peck’s period of “accommodation” would be over; -the 1st of March Larsen would go to Gordon, and the spring work must be -begun if they would eat of the harvest. Toil as she and the boy might -with their hands, there must either be more money, or cattle and land -must be parted with, the homestead depleted, and the family start on that -dreadful shrivelling process of acquiring the habit of doing with less -and less, instead of pushing forward to fresh effort, which enervates the -mental, and finally the moral, nature, and has made some parts of New -England a graveyard of abandoned farms. For the thousandth time Brooke -thought of her mother’s little dower,—this, if it had not vanished, -would have more than doubled the monthly yield,—then she put the thought -from her as she had done before, but this time less forcibly. - -With all around ice, snow, dusky tree trunks, and rock of granite, she -felt all the sensations that would belong to a wild animal at bay. -Indeed, she might have lingered on there to her hurt, had not Tatters -barked and pulled her by the skirt. - -“Yes, I will come now, old man! I’m sorry I stood so long; I know your -paws must be chilled!” she exclaimed ruefully. “You want to go to Gilead -village instead of to the foot of Windy Hill to see old Mrs. Fenton? -Well, so be it, we shall see more people on that road; besides, I think -that both you and I need something from the store,—post-stamps, and -lavender oil, for I’m going to try my hand at painting, you see, Tatters, -if it’s only Easter bonbonnières. Cookies? Yes, sugar cookies, and you -can get two stale ones for this penny. Watch out, Tatters,” and Brooke, -throwing off her dismal mood with an effort, held the copper coin before -his nose as she spoke, and the dog, comprehending either tone, word, -gesture, or all three, preceded his mistress joyfully in an uneven but -steady trot, that ate up the road and caused her fairly to break step in -order not to be left behind. - -The cookies were bought and eaten, mistress and dog resting awhile at -the little shop that sold simple drugs, etc., and eleven o’clock saw -Brooke climbing the upper road toward home. She had gone but half of the -way when, missing Tatters, she turned about to look for him. Whistling -and waiting a moment, she saw his head appearing slowly over the last -upward roll in the road, and noticed that he was limping painfully. She -hurried back to where he had paused, as soon as he knew that he was -in no danger of being deserted, and he began to lick one of his front -paws, which had been cut by a sharp, jagged piece of ice, and which was -bleeding profusely. Kneeling in the road beside him, Brooke moistened -her handkerchief by the slow process of holding snow in her hands until -it melted, and, after cleansing the cut as well as she could, wound the -handkerchief tight around it. - -“You can’t hobble a mile in this plight, neither can I carry you. Will -you lie up there on that dry moss in the spot where the snow has melted, -and wait until I can send Adam for you?” and Brooke took a few steps -uphill to illustrate what she meant while waiting for his answer. - -No, Tatters emphatically declined to wait, for as soon as she had moved -a step he began to hobble on three legs, while at the same time the -leaden sky shed a few big snowflakes, as if to show casually what might -be expected at any time before night. So his mistress halted and began to -look about as if for a possible suggestion. - -Presently the head of a meek, ginger-colored horse began to rise above -a steep “thank-you-ma’am.” A stout body and four legs followed, next a -covered wagon, such as milk pedlers use, with a glass front, through -which a man’s face looked out. The sight was such a relief to Brooke that -she made no pretence of concealing the fact, but waited until the team -came alongside, when she read the legend “Mrs. Banks’ Homemade Pies,” -printed in elaborately shaded letters on the side of the canopy. - -The horse stopped of its own accord on the small plateau, the driver -dropped his window and looked out, smiling cheerfully. It was anything -but a handsome face,—that of a man who was probably sixty but might -be less, weathered and somewhat sharp; small gray eyes, but with a -merry twinkle, peered from under shaggy, sandy eyebrows, that matched -a half-starved mustache. The hair of the head was gray, and from it at -right angles two very sizable ears stuck out with somewhat startling -effect. Yet, in spite of these details, the whole was a face to inspire -trust. - -“Miss Keith West’s dog, and in trouble, I take it,” was his opening -remark. “I’m goin’ straight past her house, and I’ll fetch him up if you -like and relieve your mind, as you seem partial to animals.” - -“Could you take me, too?” asked Brooke, returning his smile, “that is, if -I shall not make your load too heavy, for though Tatters seems to know -you” (Tatters had given the coolest sort of tail wag at the sound of the -man’s voice), “I’m afraid he will not go without me.” - -“So you are travelling uphill too—climb right in, though I reckon you’ll -hev to set on this box here. Do you happen to be one uv Miss Keith’s -folks that owns the farm and wuz comin’ to live there when she goes -to Boston? Though, as I says to my wife (she’s _Mrs. Banks, Homemade -Pies_, and I’m Mr. Banks that peddles ’em, besides raisin’ and pickin’ -the berries and apples and pumpkins fer their innards, along with a -considerable lot of garden sass), I says, ‘Keith’ll never make up her -mind to go; the city isn’t all it’s cracked up to be when onct you’re -used to plenty o’ room to move and free empty air.’ What air there is in -big cities is so chuck full o’ noise and smell and one thing and another, -you wouldn’t know it. Why, it’s worse than the Methody church down in -the holler, when they had a revival meetin’ on a summer night, and felt -called to close the winders on account of gnats. - -“Yes, I lived in N’ York six months,—it’ll be nigh five years ago. You -see, the farm didn’t pay as it uster when I raised six children on it -and we was all satisfied. Everything doin’ got to be more wholesale and -knocked out us small fry. Next, for a spell, I took to the railroad; got -a job through one of the big bugs down ter Stonebridge, and after a time -got ter be conductor on the through express freight, sleepin’ home every -other night. Well, it gave me a chance to see life, I’m glad to say, for -which I’d allus hankered, but it was a nervous job, and kep’ me too far -above the ground, which was my born station. - -“Then the boys coaxed ma and me to go to N’ York, she to keep a flat for -’em,—I suppose maybe you’ve seen one o’ them contrary sort of outfits, -a floor divided up small like a parlour box car for racing stock, well -enough looking till you close the doors, then everybody shook up together -until you’re sick o’ the sight and smell o’ your very own. All of God’s -sunlight you get is what’s dribbled in down a flue, like the chute of a -feed bin, and not a scrap o’ grass to bleach clothes on, only to hang -’em out in a little narrer place to sweat on a line like bacon in a -smoke-house. Mother withered so that summer I was afeared she’d let go -the tree before autumn, like a windfall apple; and as for the ‘genteel -work for my old age’ the boys had got me—genteel be _damned_! I beg your -pardon, Miss—?” - -“Lawton.” - -“Oh, then you are one o’ Miss Keith’s kin. But that word’s one that -remains of my experience on the through freight that somehow’s too handy, -though wrong, to be quite give up. What was that job with short hours -that was to keep me clean-handed and from bendin’ my back? To wear a -plum-red coat, like a circus monkey, and stand in a bank on a stone -floor, that made me cold as an ice pond when you hole fer frost fish, -without the pleasure o’ catchin’, and openin’ and shuttin’ the door -all day fer a lot of fool Jays and Jenny Wrens, well able to do it fer -themselves, and me reachin’ toward sixty! _Genteel nothin’!_ My spirit -broke before noon of the second day, and goin’ to that flat I just picked -up mother and we lit out fer home, which the summer folks that rented -it had left, we leavin’ a note behind like young folks ’lopin’. Then, -when we’d set and considered a spell, the Lord pointed out pies, like a -sky-fallen revelation; the boys caved in and gave us a horse; now life’s -jest a hummin’ along brisk as a swarm o’ bees! And once more the Lord’s -borne it in upon us two old folks, after that discipline of city life, -that if we was goin’ to scratch a livin’ nowadays we’d got to give folks -jest what they want, and make it good, and no skimpin’. Folks in Gilead -County eats pies, and they need ’em good!” - -“Cousin Keith has been away a month now,” said Brooke, when Mr. Banks -paused for breath, “and she writes that she is enjoying herself -immensely, so I do not think that she is likely to return.” - -“She’s actoolly gone, then? That knocks me out,” said the pieman, with a -disappointed droop in his voice. “I didn’t know that, fer I’ve been goin’ -the short way and haven’t been over this upper road since New Year, the -goin’s been so bad. I allus reckoned on puttin’ up at the West farm for -the noon hour to bait Maria here and get my coffee het up; but maybe your -ma won’t fancy shelterin’ strangers, for I think Miss Keith said the farm -came through the female line and was again rightly vested in a female.” - -“I own the farm, and I shall be very glad to have you rest and feed your -horse there and take your dinner with us to-day,” said Brooke, taking a -mischievous satisfaction in the effect of her words on the funny little -man. - -“You! a slip of a girl like you own the snuggest small place in the -county, and best kep’ up!” he ejaculated, his jaw dropping with reflex -wonder; “but maybe you’re married?” - -“No.” - -“Keepin’ company, then?” - -“No”—this time Brooke had great difficulty in controlling either voice or -countenance. - -“Left a beau in town or in foreign parts somewhere, then?” he persisted, -almost anxiously. - -“No”—but this time the word had a different sound. - -“Not even got picked out yet? well, I want ter know! I thank you kindly -for yer invitation, and I’ll be pleased to go in. Hev you got a ma and -pa, or only a hired man?” - -With a person of his persistence social topics might have now become -embarrassing, but chance turned the subject at the right moment, taking -the shape of a covey of quail, huddled under some cedar bushes by the -roadside. The pieman spied them first, and at his sharp pull patient -Maria stopped, although the spot was not very suitable for such a halt. -Brooke expected to see the flock either rise in a body or disappear in -the under-brush, but they did neither, only huddling still closer, while, -inexperienced as she was, she noticed that even their ruffled feathers -illy hid the leanness of their bodies. - -“The game along this route has suffered this winter, and it’s missed me,” -he whispered, preparing to raise the curtain on the opposite side of the -wagon to the birds. - -“Raise up a minute, please, so’s I can git some buckwheat out uv that -box, and keep a hand on Tatters, else, lame as he is, he’ll out and flush -the covey.” - -Brooke did as she was told, while the pieman scooped up a handful of -unhulled buckwheat from the box, and, letting himself down quietly from -the wagon, scattered it among the bayberry bushes, not too near to the -flock, yet in plain sight of it. Returning, he re-fastened the curtain -and started the horse again before he said a word in answer to the -interrogation of Brooke’s face. Reaching the next level, a dozen rods -on, he half turned the wagon in order to give a clear view down the -hill; the quail had crossed the road and were feeding eagerly upon the -buckwheat, like a brood of chickens. - -“Puzzled, ain’t yer, ter see a Yankee scatterin’ good fodder by the way?” -said the pieman, highly gratified. “Well, it may seem uncommon, but the -truth is these five years I’ve been peddlin’ and coverin’ a wild tract -of country twict every week in cold and heat, rain and sun, I’ve come to -think that man ain’t the only created thing that the Lord has cause to -be proud uv or care fer. I’ve got kinder close to the wild folks along -the route, which after all is but accordin’ to Scripture, that bids us -‘Consider the way the lilies grow and look to the fowls of the air,’ and -says the Lord himself ain’t too busy to indulge in counting sparrers—(if -he’d only worded it song or chippin’ sparrers it would be more -comfortin’, though he couldn’t hev meant English ones, cause that island -wasn’t discovered in those days, and so is of no account in Scripture, -which must rile their pride). - -“I allus did like birds, even way back when I followed the plough, and -of course I knew some of them apart,—robins and swallers and phœbes and -hawks and all the gamies,—and I jest plumb knew that when crows sat on -the fence a-quaverin’, it was interestin’ and worthy conversation, most -like, if we could only sense it. But it was after that hell-fire summer -in the city that I got the call to treat ’em like my brothers and help -’em out with food in winter like we would neighbouring house folks. - -“Soon as it come hot weather there, that time in N’ York, I couldn’t set -closed into meetin’ of Sundays (though mother, she sit it out for sake of -principle), and I don’t believe the Lord does, either,—stands to reason -he’s got too much sense, not havin’ to set an example,—so I uster wander -out through that long narrer park o’ theirn, and when onct I cut clean -through westward, I strayed into that big museum where they keep the -natural relics, and there I come face to face with all the birds that -ever wuz together since Eve’s time. When I’d observed all the cockatoos -and parrerkeets and such like, I went on a bit further, ’n if there -warn’t a partridge a struttin’ on the leaves with his tail all fanned -out, and beyond it the brown eggs was nested in a ground holler. I passed -that by and next I seen a catbird in a syringa bush and a robin on an -apple branch and a highholder on a stump, that set my heart a-bumpin’ -so I was all of a tremble and sidled off into a small room to set down. -When I looked up next, what was there in a case marked something about -‘seasonable birds’ but a big medder lark. His breast was jest as fresh -and yaller as when he sings from a tree-top to yer in plantin’ time, or -turns and teeters on a fence to keep you from seein’ him too plain, and -it seemed as if I heard him calling fer spring. That broke me all up, and -I jest leaned over and cried it out into the white Sunday handkerchief -mother got me, ’cause my red ones jarred the boys. - -“I think it was the sight of those birds gave me grit to break loose fer -home. That next winter a woman we sold eggs to over in Gordon, seein’ my -fancy, gave me a book all about their ways and needs, and so ever since -I’ve been with ’em in heart. My, but ain’t they company along the lonely -road bits and in early mornings when I’m comin’ home! (I go up Tuesdays -and Fridays to sleep at Sairy Ann’s, my wife’s sister’s house near -Gordon, startin’ fer home next dawn.) - -“Along in April to see the woodcock flirt an’ dance’s as good’s a circus. -Sometime, maybe, ’twould pleasure you to take the trip with me, and Sairy -Ann’d be proud to hev you stop with her. My, here we are at your corner! -How good conversation does pass the time!” - -Without in the least realizing that he had been doing the whole of the -talking, the pieman handed Brooke out at the door stone, Tatters limping -carefully after, and Maria turned down the lane to the barn, with which -she was perfectly familiar. - -Brooke, hastening in to explain their unique guest to her mother and tend -the sick paw, found that Mrs. Peck had been sent for to “sit up” with -a bereaved household down at Gilead; telling Mrs. Lawton that it was -expected of her, no matter whom she might be “accommodating,” she had -left immediately, promising to return the next night. - -Brooke prepared the dinner, to which was added as a contribution, -received in the spirit in which it was offered, one of Mrs. Banks’ most -juicy whortleberry pies (truly the best of its kind), which the Cub -pronounced to be “just bully,” while in turn the pieman praised Brooke’s -coffee, and, for some reason that he could not have explained, kept his -knife in abeyance, while by his cheerful common sense gained the respect -of his entertainers. - -After he had left, taking Brooke’s ready promise to go over the route -with him some spring day to see the woodcock dance and hear the partridge -drum, the cloud that his cheerfulness had lifted again settled over the -girl’s spirits. Why was no gleam vouchsafed to lighten her darkness as -the vision of pies had led these humble people into a sort of promised -land? - -When she had washed the dishes and made everything neat, it was still -only half-past two. She could neither sew nor read nor settle herself -to write to Lucy Dean, her usual outlet when cast down; a new sort of -restlessness seized her, that of a wild animal caged, who paces to and -fro to its own exhaustion. - -Looking into her father’s room, she saw that he slept, while Tatters, -his hurt paw comfortably stretched out, lay on the rug. Her mother was -writing letters at the old desk; and going out to the barn she found -the Cub, with Pam of course close by, mending some spring traps that -he discovered in an old barrel, and preparing to set them, for mink or -weasel tracks, he could not tell which, had been seen that morning about -the chicken house. He was so absorbed and fascinated with his occupation -that he only grunted answers to his sister’s questions, so she returned -to the house, realizing that the change was doing wonders for the Cub, -which was one consolation. - -“What is the matter with me?” she said, half aloud. “Is it an illness -coming on? or can it be the painting fever? The air seems to sparkle and -rush through me like electricity! Oh, why did I not work harder when I -had the time? for now if the desire comes I cannot stop,” and Brooke -wrung her hands, and then laughed hysterically at her tragic action. - -Going to her room, she unpacked palette and paint box, and took the maul -stick from the closet, where it had remained all winter tied to some -umbrellas. Of canvas she had none, but hunting up some bits of manila -board from between her books, she took them to the kitchen and spread -them on the table, where she had left the turpentine and oil. What should -she try? The snow and rock bit from the window lacked colour and was too -harsh in outline to be seductive to her mood. A scarlet geranium in a pot -against the dark window frame caught her eye, and seating herself, she -began to draw it in rapidly with chalk—anything, if it would only find -vent for the fever of action that tingled in her finger tips. - -She was surprised to find that a certain accuracy as well as facility -of touch had not left her, in spite of stiffened fingers and lack of -practice. For her colour sense she claimed no credit; it was born with -her. But after the outline took shape and she began to paint and give -it texture, she dropped her brush again as the words of Lorenz seemed -whispered in her ears, “You have not yet had the awakening, for it you -must wait; it is the same with me; you must interpret your vision and see -it on the canvas before you can create; but first of all you must know -and feel, even if you suffer.” - -The awakening had not come to her, and still she waited; did she not -now know and feel, and had she not suffered enough? The stiff geranium -cramped in its pot bore her no message to interpret, and as a snow-squall -darkened her window she cast the brush aside. Shivering at the utter -silence of the house, she fled to her room and, throwing herself face -downward on her bed, was abandoning herself to the spirits of darkness, -when the thought of her other self, radiating light as Lorenz had painted -her, crossed her wild mood, checking it, and she lay quite still until -her pounding heart calmed to its regular beating, when bodily fatigue -claimed its dole and she fell asleep. - -When she awoke it was after five o’clock; the squall had passed away and -sunset light was warming the whole sky, even taking the chill from the -full moon, which it had worn on its apparent rise from the river ice. - -Below stairs everything was as she had left it, and yet a different -atmosphere pervaded the place, and the tension left her throat. The Cub -came in with the news, at which he seemed to think she would rejoice, -that Robert Stead was better and would be out again on the morrow. Her -mother expressed unfeigned pleasure, and Brooke was almost ashamed of -the fact that she had for the moment forgotten that he was ill. Yet she -always enjoyed his visits and watched for them, for he was a travelled -and well-read man, and, when off his guard, most entertaining, and not -without a certain compelling magnetism. - -“Let’s hurry supper,” said the Cub, when he had brought in the milk. -“I’ve had the last milking lesson I need, and I can do it all right now -without pulling too hard, or squirting, or laming my wrists. Larsen -says I’ll be worth twenty a month and board by summer if I keep on -steady,—just as if I wouldn’t! But I’ve got to keep the other end up -besides, and I’ve some reading to do to-night, if I’m going up to the -shack again in the morning.” Crossing the kitchen, he picked his mother -up as if she had been a feather, and whirling her about, gave her a -hearty kiss that sent a glow to her heart and cheeks at the same time, -before he seated her, like a small child, on the table edge, where she -struggled, laughed, and was sublimely happy at his rough caress. Then, -further to carry out his genial mood, he bounced into his father’s -room and, wheeling him to the kitchen, pushed the chair close to the -table, and thus they all supped together, a circumstance that had seemed -impossible in Mrs. Peck’s presence. - -After Adam Lawton had gone to bed, the Cub helping him as usual, the boy -settled himself by the bright lamp in the kitchen with his books, while -Mrs. Lawton and Brooke sat by the firelight in the library, talking -quietly. Brooke, hunched on the rug, leaned her head back against her -mother’s knee, and yielded to the soothing touch of gentle fingers upon -her eyes and brow. - -Presently Tatters began to growl deeply and give what they had learned -to designate as his animal bark, quite different in quality from that -with which he announced the approach of man. Pam, of course, joined him, -springing from the cushioned chair in which she slept. - -The Cub went to the door and listened—cackles of alarm were coming from -the chicken house. - -“It’s the weasel or mink, or whatever it was that prowled last night,” he -reported. “I’ll go out and see, because Stead says that sometimes, if -you leave them all night, they gnaw out of the trap. Don’t you want to -come too, Sis? Hurry up, then, and get your cape. No, don’t let the dogs -out, they’ll get pinched in the trap, or chew the beast up, maybe, and I -want to keep him whole. I guess the moon is bright enough, we will not -need the lantern,” and seizing a stout stick, the Cub tiptoed carefully -out to make as little noise as possible, not having yet learned that to -wild animals scent serves as a warning even more than sound. Brooke, -however, preferred to take the lantern, and lighting it, she quickly -followed. - -The Cub examined his traps. They were untouched, but as he knelt he saw -a straight row of tracks in the snow, that were too large to belong -to either weasel or mink. Following these, they led him around to the -roosting house. There, between it and the open yard, something that -appeared to be a small dog crouched in the corner. - -The moon shone brightly between the buildings, and every hair of the -little beast stood out as clearly as by electric light. - -“It’s a half-grown fox,” whispered the Cub, to Brooke. “Good work if I -can only kill it; there’ll be one less to kill the fowls. Look out that -it doesn’t dodge past you there, Sis,” and the Cub was going toward it, -club raised. But the little fox never stirred. They could only tell that -it was alive by the heaving of its lean sides. - -“Stop!” said Brooke, hoarsely, laying a detaining and no very gentle -touch on her brother’s arm. “I won’t have it killed. I believe that it is -starving, like those quails I saw this morning, only they could move, and -this fox is too weak. I’m going to take it in the barn and feed it, and -make it live. Get me some milk, and eggs, and meat.” - -“You’re crazy, Sis; it is only a fox, and they’re bad things. It’ll bite -you and make no end of a row,” but as he glanced at her face he saw -something there that stopped all argument, and he hastened to obey. - -Then Brooke, placing the lantern on the ground, drew nearer to the little -beast. Yes, he was starving. He tried to stand and toppled over against -the shed; he was powerless and at bay. Fixing her eyes on his, she read -his feelings interpreted by her own of that very afternoon, and kneeling -there in the snow, she understood him. - -A vital wave swept over her. Hanging the lantern on her arm, she slipped -the cape from off her shoulders with a swift movement, and covered the -fox with it, wrapping him completely. Then, lifting him in her arms, for -he was less weighty than a well-fed cat, she carried the bundle to the -barn, and slipping the latch, laid the poor little beast on the haymow, -a futile snap and snarl or two having been its only protests. - -When the Cub returned with the various articles of food, he was -astonished to see the pair facing each other, not a yard apart, with the -lantern hanging from a beam shedding light upon the strange scene. - -While the Cub was near the fox would not touch the food, but when he hid -from its sight, after a time it lapped the egg that Brooke broke and put -before it, as a dog would, and presently the milk; then, still wearing -the hunted look, settled deeper into the hay lair where she had placed -it, panting and with lolling tongue. - -“We will go away now and leave it in peace; only promise me, Adam, -that when it grows strong it shall run free, and no one shall kill it; -remember, it is my guest.” Adam promised, and hastily securing the latch, -they went back to the house. The Cub went to the library to tell his -mother of the adventure, but Brooke lingered in the kitchen. A half-hour -passed, and hearing no sound, the Cub went to the door. Returning softly, -he beckoned his mother to follow, and together they stood in the shadow -of the doorway, looking into the room. Two lamps stood side by side on -the mantel-shelf, casting an oblique light; below and at one side of -the fireplace stood Brooke, palette in hand, a straight-backed chair -before her; resting on its arms, as if it were an easel, was the great -oblong bread-board, and on this the girl was painting, with broad rapid -strokes, the head of a fox. Her cloak still hung from her shoulders, her -cheeks glowed; her eyes they could not see until she half turned her -head for a moment as if following a strayed memory, then they noticed a -strange light in them as of inspiration. - -Quietly they crept back into the dark and waited. An hour passed; still -Brooke kept at work. Another thirty minutes and they heard the chair move -and again they went to the door. - -Brooke stood back from the improvised easel, her hands behind her, -looking at her work. From the board gazed back the head of the little -fox, roughly done, but with the look in its eyes at once hunted, defiant, -and pleading,—not an image, a created thing, living and breathing. -Through suffering and its kinship had come the revelation to Brooke that -if she willed she might be the painter of animals, and as she looked -again, Lorenz’ words sounded in her ears. She had felt and suffered, and -had seen her vision in the eyes of the hunted beast. She had interpreted -it, she felt for what it stood, and now, crude as was the labor, it lived -under her brush. She had awakened, but the strength of the vital touch -was his, and he could not know it. Kneeling before the chair with clasped -hands, as if at some shrine, not to the picture, but to what it stood -for, Brooke took new courage. - -Before his mother could restrain Adam he had dashed across the kitchen, -and stood a moment with his hands resting on his sister’s shoulders. -Then, without warning, he tipped back her head and gave her a kiss of -genuine boyish enthusiasm, crying, “That’s a living picture all right, -Sis. Look out it don’t get away from you. I bet you’ve struck your luck -this time.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -AT THE SIGN OF THE FOX - - -In the morning the Cub hastened to the barn. Either the old-fashioned -latch had sprung up, or some one had been there before him, for the -little fox, having eaten every scrap of food, and thereby gained -strength, had gone his way, which, according to the string of footprints, -was up in the rock and hemlock country behind the farm. Yet after supper -on that night, and all the others that came before the spring thawing, -a woman’s figure, wearing a cape under which was concealed a dish of -scraps, outwitting Tatters, slipped from the pantry door, and going -around the barn, halted at a flat rock set in a group of hemlocks, -presently returning with the empty platter, her face wearing as rapt an -expression as that of some pious woman of old carrying food to the haunts -of hermit or saint of the pillar. - -February, as if sick of its dreary self, suddenly fell away before -March’s vigour, and its first gusty mood had softened before Brooke and -Adam realized themselves at least the sole guardians of their parents -and the homestead; yet in spite of this and the work it entailed, -the Cub managed to spend at least a couple of hours a day with Stead -at the lodge on Windy Hill, and Brooke tried to snatch a little time -for painting, but even with her mother’s help her toil was by far more -constant and exacting than her brother’s. However, direct motive had come -to both of them, and that alone can make one walk sure-footed on the -tight rope which at intervals through life replaces a safe path. Brooke -worked persistently, using Tatters, Pam, and Robert Stead’s hunting -dogs as studies, conscious of crudeness, imperfections, and the need of -criticism, but letting nothing quench her spirit as long as the spark of -vitality flashed back at her. She longed for the warm weather to come, -so that she might work outdoors, and use as a studio an old hay-thatched -shed on the hillside, once a sheepfold, which opened northeast toward the -river valley. - -At this juncture Robert Stead, whose technical training and passionate -love of nature and animal life gave his words more than a casual value, -stepped in, both as encourager and critic, and Brooke eagerly promised -to try a picture of Manfred,—“a serious order,” Stead called it,—as soon -as the season would permit. Meantime he brought her books and studies of -animal anatomy, of whose cost she little guessed, and in explaining the -details to her forgot both his warp and himself, becoming for the time -that most enthralling of beings, the man of middle age who blends all the -directness and fervour of youth with the subtle and reassuring charm of -matured experience. - -Was it a wonder that Brooke was glad at his coming? Between herself -and the usual man twice her age she would have felt need for greater -ceremony of outward deference. With Stead the friendship had begun on -the most informal of footings, and been almost instantly cemented with -the gratitude born of his kindness to her brother, as well as the mutual -isolation of the two households; while over it all hung Dr. Russell’s -words of caution, that owing to the peculiar circumstances of his life, -she must not regard Stead in the same light as other men or magnify -his little acts of kindness. Dear honest doctor, even he, with all his -fine humanity, could not diagnose the human emotions with anything like -finality. - -Here again the need of money in hand, even for canvas, pressed upon -Brooke, and like many another before her, she seized what came nearest -to hand; and when the Cub discovered a head of Pam upon the cover of the -sugar bucket, he straightway removed it from the closet to his room, -thereby letting some very early ants into the sugar. - -One great lesson in portrait art Brooke learned for herself in those -lonely days, that whatever the care and detail of finish, the life and -likeness is the work of but a few strokes. - -Meanwhile the fox’s head on the bread-board stood on the mantel-shelf in -the kitchen, watching Brooke as she went about her work, until she began -to feel a mysterious kinship with the little doglike animal of the narrow -eyes, and talked to it as if it was a human companion. - -One day she had gone for a call at Mrs. Enoch Fenton’s, where, ever since -that first January afternoon, she went when the tension of the mental and -physical became too great, to be soothed and relaxed by the cripple’s -cheerful common sense. She felt more than ever the absolute necessity of -adding at once to the family income, as for the second time since their -arrival she had been obliged to draw on the slender principal. Though the -real motive for the visit was to consult the Deacon, indirectly, through -his wife, about the likelihood of finding a man willing to cultivate the -farm on shares, the talk drifted toward the topic of ways and means, in -spite of Brooke’s constant resolve to keep such matters to herself. - -“If you want to get folks’ money steady,” Mrs. Fenton said, pausing in -her occupation of sewing a button on one of the Deacon’s blue hickory -shirts, and using her thimble finger to point and emphasize her remarks, -“you must give ’em something they want and need in exchange for it, and -what they need most constant is something good to eat!” - -Brooke smiled to herself, thinking of the pieman’s similar reasoning -concerning his wife’s “revelation,” but did not in any way apply the -matter personally until Mrs. Fenton’s next sentence. - -“The jell and jam market is a good one, only it’s pretty well taken -up, hereabouts, by Miss Ryerson at the Mill Farm, t’other side of -Stonebridge. She puts up for nearly all the city people clear through -to Gordon, and last year she added cherry bounce and blackberry brandy. -Strange enough, too, made by your Great-grandmother West’s rule,—I -suppose you know she accommodated wayfarers with meat and drink down -at the farm, and being strictly temperance had a great name for her -ginger-mint pop; the rule is in my book now. The old sign used to be in -the far side of your attic, behind the four-poster—it was a fox chasin’ -a goose, and I always heard it came from the old country; that reminds -me, Enoch says that old bed is set up, and your father’s sleepin’ on it -again—well, old times lets go hard sometimes. - -“Why, last year Miss Ryerson cleared two thousand above the wages of -her woman she keeps now to help her out. Of course there’s more in -making such things than meets the eye of those that hasn’t been inside -the preservin’ kettle, so to speak. It’s the keepin’ sound and eatin’ -well that counts, and that’s why, like everything else, for every ten -that tries the business, nine drop out because they pinch and neglect, -and slop somewhere, and don’t give the best there is. In eatin’ there’s -always a market for the best. But jam and jell won’t do for you, for -let alone not havin’ experience, you’d have to put out everything for a -season to catch your market, same as they cast away samples of new soap -and bakin’ powder. - -“Oh, yes, I almost forgot that you were askin’ about that man for the -ploughing! Enoch saw a big strong Dane, or Swede, or some of those -north-country people, down at the smithy last night. He’s come here -lately, and hired the little Bisbee cottage on the river road—plans to -fix it up, and plant a bit of garden, ’n make it ready for his sweetheart -that’s coming over in the fall. They say he’s got a bit of money saved -and table boards at Bisbee’s sister’s. He wants to work on shares or -by the day this season, so’s to have time for his own work between. He -brought a letter to Mr. Denny, the printer down at the _Bee_ office, and -he says he’ll recommend him willing. Somebody like that, steady, and who -would go ahead, would be better for a girl like you than a wild Polack -that you’d have to manage, or one of our town boys that would likely feel -called to boss you. Father says the fellow doesn’t own a horse mower yet, -but we’ll lend ours, and you’ve got a plough and scythes, as I suppose -Keith showed you. Father’ll bargain with him for you, and plan out the -work—he thinks it’ll be better to let the man see you’ve a farming friend -that knows, to come between you and what you’ve never seen done, and in -consequence hev no notion of.” - -Thanking the dear old lady both with words and the spontaneous kiss of -sudden gratitude, which she prized far more, Brooke walked home in a sort -of dream. She passed, quite unheeded, the blooming hepaticas clustering -amid the dry leaves in a sunny spot on the road bank, though she had -been looking among their thick ruddy leaves for the flowers ever since -Stead had shown her where they were bedded a week before. A song-sparrow, -perched on a twig of silvery pussy-willow, threw back his head as she -passed, and poured forth the most melodious verse of his changeful song. -She scarcely heard it, or if she did, paid no heed, any more than she did -to the fact that Tatters had flushed a partridge down in one of the wood -roads that start from the highway and end in silence, leaving her for its -ecstatic but fruitless quest. - -Going to the kitchen, she stood before the mantel-shelf looking at the -fox, as if at an oracle that must one day speak to her. Then something -cool seemed to touch her brain, clearing it and crystallizing her -thoughts, as it had that night when the plan of coming to the homestead -drove away the oppression of despair itself. - -“Yes,” she said aloud, “to win money it must be the best of its kind. -What can I do that is the best?—paint animals? by and by perhaps—but for -daily bread this spring? Ah, it has come! I can make sandwiches, all -kinds, of the very best (how the Hendersons and Bleeckers gobbled them -up), to go with mother’s tea, also the bread for them! I will make the -summer drink of ginger ale, ice, a lemon slice, and three sprigs of mint, -that father once said tasted so much better than the ginger-root affair -they bottle for sale. I will play I am Great-granny West, swing out my -sign, and ‘accommodate wayfarers’—that is, the pleasure drivers between -Stonebridge and Gordon—with food and drink, as Mrs. Fenton put it! She -says a day never passes from May to November but what people in driving -stop, and beg to buy even bread and milk. Grandma West’s sign was a fox -and a goose, but to-day geese are out of the running. My sign shall be -only the Sign of the Fox. You shall hang out over the gate on the old -pine in an iron frame, and talk wisely to the passers-by,” she said, -looking up at the picture. - -Then, taking the bread-board down from the shelf, she kissed the fox on -the nose in the fervour of hope that was dawning. - -“Instead of cakes and ale, or anything like that, you shall have just one -word—tea—painted over you, and we will leave them to guess the rest,” -and Brooke, who was in a mood to declare that the wise beast winked, -and licked his lips, needs must laugh at the curious yet satisfactory -blending of her dreams of the future, love, painting, and fame, with the -eternal everyday theme, bread and butter! - -After a moment the revulsion came. What would her mother say? That passed -away in the thought that she could not object, for to act untrammelled -was unquestionably the first link in the chain by which Brooke was to -endeavour to keep the family bound together. Yet it was a relief when, -an hour later, the plan had been thoroughly discussed and formulated, -to find that her mother not only fully approved, but was already on the -alert, and full of suggestions to make the simple service as dainty as -might be. - -Silent Stead was the first to throw a wet blanket upon the scheme, his -reasons being purely personal, as it usually developed that they were; -though he would bitterly have resented the idea of it. He found it -difficult to put his objections into reasonable words, and so merely -retired within himself, and was “grumpy,” as the Cub put it. - -The Cub came back from the village a few days later with the rings and -frame for the sign, which the blacksmith had fashioned; and Brooke, -after varnishing the bread-board well to keep out the weather, had fitted -it in place, and was looking at the result when Stead came in. In his -arms he carried several packages of bulbs and garden seeds for her, which -he dropped on the table. He had a lovely hillside garden of his own below -the lodge, which he and José tended, and already he was planning a more -elaborate arrangement of the old-fashioned kitchen garden at the farm -than Miss Keith had attempted, saying, in answer to Brooke’s objection, -that it would perhaps be more than they could care for:— - -“Turn about is fair play; you give me, an idler, a daily resting spot -between the valley and the hill; why may I not give you a spot to rest -in between the day’s work? For God’s sake, do not make me feel more of a -cumberer of the ground than necessary!” - -As for the gifts of seeds and roots, to Mrs. Lawton, accustomed as she -had been to the perfect southern courtesy of such things, that bore no -obligation between neighbours and equals, they seemed quite matters of -course, and of no special import. - -Mrs. Fenton, when Brooke told her of the new venture, and consulted her -as to the ways of the great folk of the neighbourhood, and their seasons -for coming and going, had expressed her opinion that the first of May was -time enough to begin, as then the people in general ran over from Boston -and New York for a few days at a time to start the wheels in motion, and -take a breath of air. This left Brooke a full month for her preparations, -and both Robert Stead and the mail carrier noticed the frequency with -which letters flew between herself and Lucy Dean during this time. - -Brooke, at first being humble-minded as to her ability, and therefore as -to the prices to be charged, was gradually convinced by her hard-headed -friend that if her wares were the equal of those which Tokay furnished -the same patrons at their houses in town, why might she not charge the -same at the wayside tea garden of the Moosatuk, where such things had -hitherto not only been unattainable but unknown? - -To clinch her unanswerable argument, Lucy had made and sent to her -friend a box of dainty cards, such as are often used at bazaars in -private houses. A fox’s head appeared at the top—next below TEA, lemon or -cream—MILK—FOXHEAD JULEP (the name with which they had christened Granny -West’s delicious ginger, lemon, and mint concoction). Then followed the -price-list of sandwiches—cheese—potted chicken—lettuce—jam, and plain -bread and butter, singly or by the dozen, according to Tokay’s schedule. -And Brooke accepted Lucy’s advice, but exacted a promise that she should -tell no one, nor exploit the plan in any way, saying, “I want the -venture to make its way from the inside out, not from the outside in.” - -Thus the matter was settled, and when mother and daughter had agreed that -it was best to use the exquisite fern-leaf china cups and saucers for -their added attraction over commoner china, and there seemed nothing more -to do but to work along in the interim, a new difficulty suddenly smote -Brooke. Though she and her mother might brew and bake, who was to serve -the tea to those who, lacking footmen, wished it brought to carriage or -served in the porch, which Brooke already called her Tea Garden, where -she planned, if business warranted, to place some seats and small tables? - -One day, the very last of March, Deacon Fenton stopped at the West farm, -and in answer to Mrs. Lawton’s urgent invitation to come in, replied: -“Thank you kindly, but not to-day. I’m looking for that farmer daughter -of yours. I’ve fetched up the new man, and given him an idee of the -plantin’. He seems to sense it all right, though he’s kinder soft and -unconditioned, and slow for spring ploughin’, and his hands blister up -so’s I told him he’d better wear sheepskin mits fer a spell, as it’s some -time he claims since he worked land for his mother. That don’t count, -however, when it’s work on shares. You get your half jest the same if -he’s a week doin’ a day’s work, and that’s the sense on it fer a girl -like yourn, who can’t be expected to drive farm hands up to the bit, -as must be did if you’re goin’ to git enough offen your land to feed a -sparrer! Where’s the young lady? A-paintin’ pussy cats—no, I think it was -wild rabbits likely, in the barn, Adam said, only I didn’t see her when -I tied up. I thought maybe she’d like to go down to the ploughed field, -and be made acquainted with her new help. She won’t need to bother much -with him, not payin’ out wages, but it may come in handy for her to have -speech with him, jest the same. - -“Say, Mis’ Lawton, the tea and spice pedler saw that fox-head sign, -settin’ in there in the kitchen, and he says the firm he travels fer -are just introducing a new brand of condensed goat’s milk, and if she’d -paint out a nice, white, lively-lookin’ goat with a pretty, dressed-up -baby sittin’ on its back, and a dreadful thin baby sittin’ on the road -a-crying ’cause she didn’t get none, he reckons he could get her all of -twenty-five dollars for it—maybe more. There’s a fine big carriage goat -boardin’ at Bisbee’s fer the winter that she could copy—’tain’t a milking -one, but she might add to it a little. Thought I’d jest mention it; you -know ’tain’t often she might get the chance to turn picture paintin’ into -something useful and instructive and payin’ all to onct.” - -At this juncture Brooke appeared to speak for herself, and, after she -had cleaned the paint from her fingers with turpentine, the shrewd old -farmer and the warm-hearted young enthusiast walked side by side down -the cross-road, skirting the hay-field, now growing green around the -moist edges. The meadowlarks were soaring and singing, the first white -butterflies fluttered in the sun, and down from the garden wafted an -odour that tells of spring in every quarter of the globe, the perfume of -the little white English violets. These nestled in sociable tufts under -the protection of the leafless bushes of crimson and damask roses in the -garden that Great-granny West had planted,—violets whose ancestors had -doubtless come overseas in company with the Sign of the Fox and the Goose. - -The unploughed corn-field lay to the right of the cross-road, and to -reach it they were obliged to skirt a small field of fall-sown rye that -was bounded by the roadway. As they picked their way along the stubbly -edge, between which and the stone fence ran one of those little brooks of -the hill countries that brawl and rush along in spring and autumn, but -shrink away and keep their silence in summer heat and winter cold alike, -Brooke paused once or twice to look upon her River Kingdom, which, after -the rain and freshet of a week past, was now showing the first real signs -of life. Dun and gray were still the prevailing hues of the river woods, -except where a ruddy or golden glow lying on the tree-tops told of swamp -maples or willows. The hemlocks on the rocky banks looked rusty and -winter-worn, not having yet donned their curved-tipped new feathers. The -marsh meadows, thickly studded with ponds by the overflow, alone showed -solid green, and glittered with the sunlit emerald leaves of the arums, -that had now risen above and concealed their ill-smelling mottled red -blossoms. - -Here and there on the hillsides the columns of pearl-gray smoke, wafted -straight skyward, showed both the location of cultivated land where -litter and brush were burning, and also that the wind was in abeyance, -and the sun once more in power. The sky wore a misty veil over the -blue, and the Moosatuk, rushing, foaming, and overleaping itself in -its spring-running seaward, drew more from the ground for colours than -of the sky reflections. Now and again an uprooted tree would be swept -by, turning and stretching its bare arms upward, as if giving signals -of distress, and then a log would plunge along, striking against the -submerged rocks, rearing, and plunging again like a gigantic water snake. - -Yes, in deed and in truth, life had returned to the River Kingdom at the -sound of the voice of the waters, and yet throughout all the wide expanse -the only human touch was in the field below, where a man, who cast a -Titan’s shadow behind him, was driving a plough into the deep, cool -soil, slowly shattering the stubbly hillocks of last year’s corn. Calmly -he worked, but with finality. The reins that guided the horses hung loose -about his neck, for he only made use of them at the turnings, while the -motive power seemed to come less from the horses than from the shoulders -of the man who kept the ploughshare true in its course. - -Brooke Lawton stood spellbound. For the first time she saw and -comprehended the most primitive labour of primitive man, and it appealed -to every sense of her body,—the mental, spiritual, physical,—appealed -to her as had the freshly baked loaves, by its symbolism as well as -directness, for beneath the leavening development of generations, side -by side with the temperament for music expressed in rhythm and colour -defined by pigments, walked another Brooke, the primitive woman. - -Ah! if she could but fix and paint the scene as she felt it! Instantly -the ploughman stood as the rightful ruler of the River Kingdom, and -dominated it. It was not the personality of the man, for she had not yet -seen his face, merely his fitness to his surroundings. Enoch Fenton’s -voice broke the spell: “A slow worker, as I told your ma (I put in my -mare with your horse, it’s too heavy for one), but that don’t signify in -share farmin’; you won’t hev to watch out sharp until the harvestin’, and -then I’ll help you out. If you was left to yourself, you might fare like -that pretty city Widder Harris, down to the Forks; she let old Ed Terry -keep her cow fer half the milk. Firstly the cow was dry, and Mis’ didn’t -get any of course; time went along, and the cow calved, and after a week -Mis’ Harris went across lots with her kettle fer her milk. - -“‘There’s no milk due you,’ said old Terry, chuckling. ‘How’s that?’ says -she, mad-like, ‘I’m to get half, and I saw you take in a full pail this -morning.’ ‘That’s all true,’ says he, ‘half comes to me, and your half -goes to the calf!’ - -“Not that I expect this chap is that kind; he’s sort o’ mild and solemn, -that’s why I chose you a foreigner; the native is often overcrafty to -work with green women folks that ain’t had the picklin’ experience -gives. There’s fellers round here would sell you cold storage eggs for -settin’ as quick as not. I know ’em, and bein’s you’re a friend o’ Dr. -Russell, wife and I feel a charge to look after you a spell. Now ’f it -was Keith, she’s different—no cold storage eggs for her! Do you hear when -the weddin’s coming off? That’s the only bargain of hers I mistrust. The -sharpest women on general trading most allers slips up on matrimony. I’ve -often said to ma, when it comes to matrimony, I think the Lord loves and -favours women best that, when they sets their mind on a poor sinful -man, jest closes their eyes, and topples right into marriage without -bargaining. - -“Old Terry was a corker! ’twas he that was mowin’ fer me one day, and I -says at the nooning, ‘Will you take rum and water, or cider?’ Says he, -‘As the rum’s handiest, I’ll take that while you’re drawin’ the cider!’ - -“Hi there, Henry! Henry! halt at the turn!” he called to the ploughman -as they reached the field edge. “It’s good he understands English, -and speaks it only a little back-handed. What’s his other name? Let’s -see—Petersen? no that was the one that wanted a steady job. Yes, I -remember, it’s Maarten,—they spell it with double _a_ where he comes from. - -“This is Miss Lawton you’re agoin’ to halve the crops with, and bein’ as -it is she expects you’ll measure full and fair, and something over, and -she wants you to remember that I’m standing by her, and my eye teeth is -cut!” - -“Why, I didn’t tell you to say that, deacon. I’m sure Mr. Maarten will be -fair,” stammered Brooke, feeling personally embarrassed at the implied -lack of confidence, and oblivious of the wink that her agricultural -preceptor had given her, for he had simply wished to show the newcomer -that she had a protector; while she stood there colouring with distress, -her hand half raised, not knowing whether she was to greet the farmer, as -she had made a point of doing their neighbours, or keep the reserve that -belonged to the city service of inferiors. - -As for the man, he stood quite still, one hand on the plough, the other -lifting his wide hat by the crown in greeting, an act of politeness no -country yokel would have vouchsafed. What he said she could not hear, -but the single glance he gave her, though interrupted by the shadow of -his hat, tinged with a swift respect instead of lingering curiosity, she -read as an appeal for fair trial and mercy for his awkwardness, so her -outstretched hand dropped to the stone wall that divided them. Leaning -on it, she asked some trifling questions that could be answered by a -brief yes and no, to put him at his ease, then strolled on again along -the field edges, only half listening to what Enoch Fenton said of the -best rotation of crops for soil somewhat overfarmed, and half busy with -her own thoughts, quickened in a dozen different ways by the impulse of -spring. - -“New man don’t seem sociably inclined to women folks,” said the deacon, -with a chuckle; “funny he should be took that way too! Most as dumb and -offish as Silent Stead up there on Windy Hill, though Stead’s thawed -out considerable toward ’em, ain’t he, since you folks come here?” he -added, in a persuasive tone intended to open further possibilities of -conversation. - -“Oh, that is not because we are women folks,” answered Brooke, simply, -smiling at the old man’s eagerness; “it is also because of Dr. Russell, -who introduced us. We are strangers, and lonely like himself, and you -know he is teaching my brother, so that he may not wholly lose sight of -college, and of course we are very grateful for that.” - -“Want ter know!” was the enigmatical reply, the non-committal answer of -the countryman, given as it always is with the falling inflection, though -the words imply a question. - -As they turned again toward the cross-road, the head of a man and horse -could be seen above the leafless wild hedge that covered the fence. -It was Robert Stead, and as he caught sight of Brooke, he pulled some -letters from his saddle-bag and waved them toward her. - -“As you’re likely to have company home, I reckon I’ll cut across -lots,” said Enoch Fenton, dryly, noticing her eagerness, for letters -always opened a realm of possibility, while the deacon’s query about -Keith West’s marriage reminded Brooke that she had not heard from the -prospective bride for nearly a month, and so she had unconsciously -hurried her steps. - -When she reached the bars (four rough chestnut poles held by old -horseshoes driven into the posts like staples,—the relic of an old -country tradition to keep the distemper from the cattle pastured -therein), Stead had already dismounted, and stood waiting for her, and -saying, “Letters first,” handed her the package—six in all: two for her -mother, one being in the writing of Mr. Dean, and one of the lawyer; one -from Lucy; two in strange hands, and the last addressed in the square, -upright characters that she had seen once before, this also readdressed -by Charlie Ashton. - -With a swift movement she dropped them into the pocket of her brown linen -pinafore, and, turning backward toward the Moosatuk, let the beauty -of the vista—which at that point was framed by the mottled trunks of -two gigantic plane trees that linked their gnarled branches across the -roadway—take the place of speech for a few moments. - -“Then you too love the river, and turn to it as I do,” Stead said, -watching her face, and attributing its changeful expression, now wrapt, -now alert, to its influence. - -“Yes, surely,” she answered, looking far off and beyond, “and I think I -must have known it somewhere in dreams, perhaps before ever I saw it. You -do not know that when I was only a child I christened all over there, as -far as eye can see, my River Kingdom, and said that some day I would be -fairy queen of it!” - -“Yes, I know; Dr. Russell once told me of your gypsying,—and now?” Stead -dropped Manfred’s bridle that he had been holding, and drew a step -nearer to the young woman, while the horse, feeling his liberty, began -to crop the tender tufts of grass that were growing between the wheel -tracks. “Is it not still your kingdom?” - -“Yes and no. The kingdom is still there, but fairy days have flown away -with their kings and queens, and all of that; it is only a corner of -the same big round workaday world, though an enchanted one, and I am -only just one woman in it, not even a gypsy queen. The river alone has -not changed: when I am quiet, it soothes me; when I am restless and -dissatisfied, it moves for me and cools the fever. This winter, when it -was frozen and buried, I too felt turned to stone at times, or as if I -stood by watching the face of some one I loved who was dead. If the ice -had lasted another month, I do not think I could have borne it,” and -Brooke, as she gazed, clasped her hands before her with a gesture half -supplication, half resolution, that had always been peculiarly her own. - -Then Stead saw that the hands, with the firm, but slender fingers that -tell of the artistic temperament, were no longer white and rose-tipped, -but roughened and seamed like the ground itself with the stress of the -winter,—the patient hands of the woman who works, not of the queen who -toys. - -Suddenly the frost wherein his heart had been encased, numbing him all -these eleven years, melted in the sunshine of her simple, wholesome -womanliness, and broke away with a swift wrench, like the ice of the -river in the force of the freshet. The red blood pulsed anew and sang in -his ears the eternal spring song that was all forgotten, or worse yet, -disbelieved; for a single moment it swirled him about, and hurried him -along, struggling uselessly, backward toward youth,—a perilous journey. - -Manfred, who had cropped all the grass within easy reach, now nibbled -sharply at his master’s pocket for sugar; with an impatient gesture -Stead turned—and the moment passed; while Brooke, once more sweeping -the landscape with her gaze, slowly stretched out her arms toward it -unconsciously, and began to climb the hill again. The last detail of it -all that lingered in her memory was the ploughman following in the furrow -that his strength made true, and as the two walked slowly homeward, the -ploughman in his turn stopped, and, lifting his hat to cool his head, -stood watching them. - -Robert Stead stopped at the barn to show the Cub, now in the first -enthusiasm of the coming trout season, how to repair an old rod of -his father’s that had grown brittle from disuse, and Brooke carried -the letters to her mother, reading that from Lucy; but she took the -one marked Overveen to her own room presently, where, sitting by the -window, she opened it slowly. It held a single sheet that bore these -words—random verses from the “Lost Tales of Miletus,” carefully copied—no -less, no more! - - But haunted by the strain, till then unknown, - Seeks to re-sing it back herself to charm, - Seeks still and ever fails, - Missing the key-note which unlocks the music— - - ... - - “They gave me work for torture; work is joy! - Slaves work in chains, and to the clank they sing! - Said Orpheus, ‘Slaves still hope.’ - - “And could I strain to heave up the huge stone - Did I not hope that it would reach the height? - There penance ends, and dawn Elysian fields, - But if it never reach?” - - The Thracian sighed, as looming through the mist - The stone came whirling back. “Fool,” said the ghost, - “Then mine at worst is everlasting hope!” - Again up rose the stone. - -Holding the paper clasped against her breast, again Brooke’s thoughts -sought counsel of the river, but now between her and it, a silhouette -standing against the water, on the slope below the ploughman guided the -horses to and fro unceasingly across the corn-field. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS - - -April flew by on the wings of the migrating birds, and it was almost the -last week, that brought the fragile wind flower to the wood edges and -the swallows to the old barn, before Brooke realized that the month had -fairly begun. For not more relentless is the rush of the city itself than -life on a farm in the springtime, when the power that drives is the vital -force of Nature herself, while a day dropped at this time slips back -beyond recall. - -One morning, in herding a refractory hen, who had strayed with her brood -out among the young oats, Brooke had found herself close by the spot -where Henry Maarten was planting potatoes, and, half laughing and wholly -out of breath, she called to him for help, which call he answered by -catching the clucking, scratching hen, while she gathered the brood in -her apron, and he followed her silently back to the chicken yard at a -respectful distance. - -Having put the chicks safely in a coop, Brooke pointed out a shorter -way across the flower garden by which Maarten might return to his -work. Seeing that he paused by the straggling clumps of early tulips -and daffodils that were already in bloom, and thinking they might be -reminding him of some other garden for which he was homesick, she bade -him gather as many as he wished, asked him if he was fond of flowers, -and whether he would not like some roots, seeds, or cuttings for his -little place, saying in a friendly way, to put him at his ease, for he -always seemed to dread her presence, “They tell me you are painting and -repairing to make a home at the Bisbee place for some one who is coming -over in the autumn. Nothing is so homelike to a woman as growing flowers.” - -Pulling his hat over his eyes with a gesture of embarrassment rather than -because the sun was bright, he said, in carefully pronounced musical -English, with a decided foreign accent: “And they told you that I make a -home for a sweetheart who comes? Yes, I had thought to; but if she comes -not, what then?” - -“But why should she not come? Surely she will if she has promised, and -knows that you work for her,” said Brooke, insensibly adopting his -pronunciation and speaking with ready confidence in the faith of woman -born of her own temperament. - -“She has not promised it,” he faltered, looking down at the tulips and -again pulling his hat betwixt himself and his young questioner, as if he -feared that if she saw his eyes she might penetrate too far into his -innermost feelings. - -“She knows you are working for her?” - -“No, not even that.” - -“At least she believes that you care?” persisted Brooke, too direct and -sympathetic to realize at once that she might be probing a wound. - -“I once dared to think so, but since I have come away, the word has -travelled that perhaps her liking may be for another.” - -“Why, doesn’t she know her own mind?” said Brooke, half to herself, all -at once becoming the self-appointed champion of her farmer-on-shares, -and not realizing until after the words had left her lips that she was -herself too young a woman to be a safe adviser to so young a man, and she -blushed hotly. - -Turning to the flowers to aid her in an unforeseen situation by which -she found herself much moved, she spied the great clump of white bridal -roses, now putting out green shoots, that had spread from a single bush -almost to a hedge, and which Miss Keith had pointed out in its winter -leafless state as a much-cherished family possession. “Cut a root from -this with your knife, carefully, for its thorns are long and sharp, and -plant it by your porch, for the saying is that it brings luck to new -homes,” she said quickly. As she watched him she thought of the verses in -her letter, and all unconsciously repeated them half aloud, “‘Then mine -at worst is everlasting hope—’” but a sharp exclamation from the man, who -with back toward her was tugging at the rose root, stopped her; his hand -had slipped, and the sharp thorn pierced his thumb to the bone. - -It was the pieman’s day, and promptly at noon his cart turned into the -barnyard. Mrs. Lawton, as well as Brooke, had come to look forward to -the break made by his visits, for embodied cheerfulness must always be a -welcome guest. This time, however, he was bustling with importance, and -laid a pink envelope, with an embossed violet in the place of a seal, -upon Brooke’s lap as she sat on the porch step waiting for him to settle -and unfold his budget. - -The envelope contained a painfully written letter from his wife’s sister, -Sairy Ann, inviting Brooke to take the long-promised drive on the “Friday -route,” and pass the night at her farm, “to see the early birds in the -morning.” The sincerity of the invitation was so evident and the promised -experience so tempting, that, after thinking it over a moment, Brooke -went indoors to write an answer of acceptance, realizing that after the -Sign of the Fox should be hung in its place there could be no holidays. - -“Going, bean’t you?” smiled the pieman, when she returned. - -“Yes,” she nodded gayly, “that is, if I can persuade Mrs. Peck to keep -mother company. You see I have hunted far and wide for a young girl to -help in our new venture,” of which, by the way, the pieman most heartily -approved, and had been heralding it like the most persistent advance -agent along the entire course of both his town and country routes. - -“Never mind, suthin’ may turn up yet,” he advised soothingly; “you’ve -got a week to spare and the Lord can raise up a heap o’ good as well as -trouble in that time, and sometimes waitin’ fer Providence after you’ve -done your best is advisable, and not to be jedged like settin’ and -waitin’ before you’ve done aught, and leaning, which is not faith, but -the devil’s yeast of laziness.” - -In the early afternoon, after the pieman had gone on his way, Brooke -wheeled her father into the garden, while she planted the seeds of -mignonette, bluets, sweet-sultan, and China pinks, and the second -planting of sweet peas of Miss Keith’s saving, in the long rows that she -had advised, for now there would be a double reason for having jugs of -fragrant flowers on the table of the honeysuckle-screened south porch, -which Brooke had christened the Tea House. - -Tatters was worried. Indoors he stayed by his master, outdoors he -followed his mistress—under the present circumstances, what was his duty? -First he licked Adam Lawton’s hand persistently, and then followed -Brooke along the line she had carefully marked with stick and string, -according to Stead’s gardening instructions, until he was made to -understand that his footprints in the newly turned earth were not things -to be desired; then he returned to the chair. - -There could be no question that physically Adam Lawton was in every way -improving. The use of his hand was gradually returning, and with the -aid of a cane he could move slowly from the bed to his chair; he could -also play a game of checkers, and though he spoke slowly the words were -finished, not broken as at first. Still his thoughts were of the past and -lacked connection. - -A sudden shower of potent April rain fell with sharp sound on Brooke’s -seed packages. Gathering them together hastily, she pushed the chair up -the sloping platform through the kitchen door that had been widened, and -as she did so the fishing pole that the Cub had mended fell clattering to -the floor. Stooping to pick it up she noticed that it caught her father’s -eye, and as she held it toward him, he grasped it eagerly, saying softly -to himself, “My new pole; to-morrow I’ll go fishing, if Enoch Fenton will -play hookey too.” - -The rain increased and by five o’clock had promised to settle into -a steady pour that drew a curtain across the river, cut ruts in the -roadway, and gullied the soft fields,—a class of storm dreaded in spring -in a hillside country, and entirely the reverse of the traditional -growing rain. - -The Cub came in and hung his coat to drip in the porch, and even the -water that ran from Pam’s grotesque and stubby tail made a puddle on the -floor. - -“I turned the cows out and shut the gate, because Mr. Fenton said I ought -to from now on,” said the Cub, looking at the rain, and then gauging the -wind, as it tore downhill, like a veritable native. “I guess I’ll go back -and let ’em in again, just this once. No, I don’t want an umbrella, it’ll -only go bust,” he added, as he stepped out the door, closing it with much -difficulty against the rising tide of wind and rain. - -Brooke, who had proffered the umbrella, stood watching him through the -glass half-door, and then a dark object coming up the cross-road drew her -attention. At first she could not make out whether it was man or woman; -then, while she was still in doubt, the screening umbrella broke loose -from its fastenings and, turning completely inside out, showed that its -carrier was a woman. - -“Mother, please come here and see if you can tell me who this is -struggling up the road. Can it be Mrs. Peck? She is the only human being -hereabouts who does not keep a horse!” But the figure proved to be too -tall and straight to belong to the widow, who not only had settled and -gone to flesh, but was somewhat listed as well. - -“When she reaches the house, whoever she may be, I would ask her in. -It may be some one who has come up by the trolley on the lower road -expecting to be met; better go and open the front door,” said Mrs. -Lawton, hastening to light the lamps, which were her special care. - -Brooke started to act upon the suggestion, but as she gave a final look -she saw that the woman had already turned into the barn lane, and, though -evidently almost spent, was coming across to the kitchen door with a -directness that betokened familiarity. So Brooke returned to the side -door and, opening it a crack, held it against the racking wind. As the -gust swept through the house, Tatters, who had been lying in the hallway, -arose, gave a growl, then a sniff, and, with his tail beginning to swing -in a circle, nosed open the door, in spite of his mistress’s effort to -stop him, and threw himself violently against the dripping figure coming -up the cobbled path, who seemed to grapple with him. - -“Back, Tatters! come back!” called Brooke, letting go her hold of the -door, which swung back with a clatter, as she clapped her hands to -attract the dog’s attention. - -“Down, bad dog! Why, he will tear the woman to pieces. Quick! blow the -horn for Adam; I never dreamed he could act so!” cried Mrs. Lawton. - -Brooke raised her hand to take the ram’s horn from its hook, still -calling and whistling to the dog, whose actions seemed to be wholly -unaccountable. As she looked, her hand dropped; the woman was hugging -Tatters, not buffeting him, while at the same instant the wind gave her -hat a final twist, breaking it from its moorings and carrying with it -the short veil whose modish black dots clung soddenly, like concentrated -tears, and the woman’s face was revealed. - -“It is Cousin Keith!” gasped Brooke, dashing into the rain to lend a -helping hand, for the water-soaked skirts had finally wound themselves -into a bandage around the poor woman’s legs and effectually prevented her -from lifting her feet to the steps, upon which she sank, chancing into -the biggest puddle she possibly could have chosen. - -Mrs. Lawton came to the door with hands extended, and a totally -bewildered expression on her face, while the same ideas were crowding the -brain of both mother and daughter. Had Keith West gone out of her mind, -or had a letter telling of her coming miscarried, and was her plight -wholly the result of not having been met and having miscalculated the -strength of the storm? Probably by this time she was no longer Keith -West, but Mrs. James White. If so, where was the First Cause? Had there -been a railway accident, or had she been “abandoned at the altar,” as the -newspapers put such matters? - -“No, not into the kitchen,” expostulated Miss Keith, as Brooke would have -led in; “let me stand here and drip a bit—that is, unless you can set -down the little starch tub for me to stand in,” she added, as a shiver -went up her spine, making her teeth chatter. - -“Nonsense, water cannot hurt oil-cloth, and you must go close to the fire -while I take off these sopping things at once,” said Brooke, decidedly, -pushing Miss Keith resolutely over the threshold and closing the door, -thinking, as she afterward said, that if she had a lunatic upon her -hands, she must neither hesitate nor argue. - -Meanwhile the Cub had returned from the barn and, throwing open the door, -came upon the apparition of his tall and somewhat angular kinswoman, who -three months before had gone away in such brave array, being rapidly -divested of her outer garments by his mother and sister. Her sandy hair, -usually trigly coiled about her crown, had fallen down and stuck to her -face in gluey strings, suggesting, to his boyish fancy, seaweed clinging -to the figurehead of some shipwrecked vessel that at last view had swept -proudly from port, all sails set. - -Giving vent to a long-drawn “wh-e-w,” the Cub began to laugh; it wasn’t -nice of him, but the scene was irresistibly funny. Not a word was -spoken, Miss Keith as yet offering no explanation whatever; and while -she managed to keep her usual poise, erect as a ramrod, she only moved -her legs and arms to release or put on garments as Brooke guided, like -a marionette. His laugh died away unheeded, and it was not until he -whispered “What’s up?” in a somewhat awe-struck tone in Brooke’s ear -that either of the women noticed him; and then Miss Keith gave a shriek, -and snatching one of the stockings that Brooke had but just succeeded -in peeling off, wrapped it around her neck, while Brooke said over her -shoulder, “We don’t exactly know, but won’t you _please_ go and stay -with father and coax Tatters with you,” for the dog was not a respecter -of clothes, and his joy at seeing his old friend was more emphatic than -convenient. - -Seated in an arm-chair before the stove, enveloped in the Cub’s striped -blanket wrapper, her hair pushed out of her eyes, and her slippered feet -resting on the oven ledge, Miss Keith looked about the kitchen and then -at Mrs. Lawton, who had quietly taken a seat beside her as if expectant -of some new sort of outbreak, while Brooke went for a stimulant, and -mixing some whiskey and water, held it to the thin, teetotal lips, that -at first sipped dubiously and then quaffed eagerly, as she felt vitality -returning in the wake of the draught. - -“Are you not better, and will you not tell us what has happened?” asked -Mrs. Lawton, in the precise, deliberate staccato speech by which the -calmest people often show that they are nervous. - -“Did you write us that you were coming? And why, pray, did you not take -Bisbee’s hack from the station, instead of risking such a walk in a storm -like this?” - -“Because I am a fool!” jerked Miss Keith; “I wanted to get here without -being seen; I hoped you would let me hide for a few days until I could -think out where to go and what to do! I came on the train as far as -Stonebridge, and when I boarded the trolley it promised to clear off. If -I’d taken Bisbee’s hack, the talk of me would have been all over town and -into prayer-meetin’ to-night. This is Wednesday, isn’t it?” - -“No, Tuesday,” replied Brooke, soothingly, exchanging an anxious glance -with her mother, which as much as said, “Yes, the poor soul is deranged,” -while at the same time she was revolving in her mind how she could -manage, without attracting attention, to send Adam for Dr. Love, a young -physician of Dr. Russell’s recommending, who had lately established -himself in Gilead, hitherto the people of the River Kingdom having been -obliged to send either to Stonebridge or Gordon. Swift as the glance was, -Miss Keith, who was rapidly recovering herself, caught it in passing and, -moreover, read its full meaning. - -“I’m not crazy, nor coming down with typhoid, nor dying from justice!” -she announced in a tone of suppressed excitement that was far from -reassuring. “In that I have proved scripture (not that it needed -proving), my visit of the last three months has been a success. Pride -goeth before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall. My pride is -gone and I have fallen—” - -“Oh, Keith!” said Mrs. Lawton, faintly. - -“In spirit, from my high aspirations,” she continued, not heeding the -interruption nor the sudden painful colour that suffused Mrs. Lawton’s -face. “Also a fool and his money are soon parted, likewise my money and -me. So I am, as I said before, a fool, but one who would like a few days -to review her folly before the minister and the neighbours feel called -upon to wrestle with her about it.” - -Light was beginning to dawn upon Mrs. Lawton and Brooke, though as yet -the clouds were by no means lifted. - -“Would you not rather rest until after supper or have a night’s sleep -before you pain yourself by telling us? We do not wish to force any -confidence, only naturally we feared that you were ill. Your room, by -chance, was aired to-day, and the bed-making is only a minute’s work,” -said Mrs. Lawton, rising and laying her hand soothingly upon Keith’s -shoulder, as a hint that she might perhaps like to retire, which would -have been an unspeakable relief. Not she! Keith West’s nature, blended -curiously as it was of Scotch and New England granite, was softest and -most retiring in triumphant, happy moods, but in adversity, unsparing and -unflinching. - -“What I have to tell won’t improve by keeping,” she said by way of -answer. “To begin with, I ought to have known better, after all my -farming experience, than to buy a pig in a poke, a cow over seven, or a -horse without knowing its age, and expect a bargain.” - -“You seemed to be having a delightful time in Boston when you last -wrote,” ventured Brooke, quietly, in an endeavour to hasten and focus the -explanation, which, being epigrammatically expressed, acquired vagueness -thereby. - -“Yes, I did at first, until I found out that my friend Mrs. Dow was -charging her car fare up to me when she took me about, and that her -company, with which the house was so full that I had to take a third -story back, were boarders, and I was charged double rates because I’d -only come for what she called the ‘cream of the season.’ I didn’t find -all this out until the first month’s payday, and then I overlooked -it because I know learned men never get big salaries and I felt for -Judith’s pride. The next shock was that Mr. Dow, who I supposed was at -the very least a professor or something in the museum and, as they say, -‘counted an honourable position above high pay,’ was only the janitor! -One day when I was out alone I called on him, and the door man said the -only person of that name about the place was tending the furnace in -the cellar. As I stood on the sidewalk, hesitating, wondering if I had -mistaken the place, up popped Dow’s head through the coal-hole! - -“Why hadn’t I guessed it before? I don’t know why, except that you don’t -judge a man by his looks or his clothes in Boston, only by his language, -and Mr. Dow certainly had a choice and entertaining flow. I meant to -speak of it to Judith, but I let that pass by too. Thinking of being -married so soon myself made me feel sympathy for a woman who wanted -the man of her choice to appear to advantage. All the same I felt like -shortening my stay as much as possible, and I wrote to James White to -that effect, he replying by return mail. He said that only one thing -stood in the way of his coming on the first of April, instead of waiting -until May; a small mortgage of three thousand dollars was due on the -farm, so that he must wait and arrange for it, as he wished to use the -money he had in hand for our journey and improving the place to suit me. -He hinted that money cost more out in Wisconsin than it does East, but he -guessed that he’d have no difficulty in renewing the mortgage at ten per -cent.” - -Here Miss Keith paused for breath, clenched her hands, and set her -teeth, as if taking a fresh grip on herself before she continued the -confession. The expression on her face was that of a martyr, not only -refusing to recant, but rather insisting upon punishment. This time, -however, there was a third auditor, the Cub, who was standing in the -hallway, concealed by the door niche, his rather small, deep-set, gray -eyes fairly sparkling with mischief. - -“As I said before, a fool and his money are soon parted, and here is -where I parted from mine. I don’t excuse myself and say that I was -overpersuaded, for I wasn’t—I was hallucinated and avaricious all in one. -My twenty years’ savings, four thousand dollars, only drew four per cent -in the savings-banks where I’d put it. If I took up that mortgage at -seven even, I should really be owning my own home, favouring my husband, -and being well paid for so doing, besides having something left over, for -even then a long experience in peddling eggs had learned me not to put -them all in one basket. - -“So I wrote James White, and after a little of what seemed natural -hesitation, he took my offer, told me how to forward the money, and said -he’d bring the mortgage on with him, as it would be safer than in the -mails. Also that he would be on in ten days and bring his youngest girl -with him, as she was piney and he wanted her to see a Boston doctor, and -she’d be company for me if I felt strange in going back. He did write -real considerate,” and Miss Keith paused a moment, as if she could not -yet wholly forget her hopes. - -“I lived well at Judith Dow’s those last ten days,—ice-cream every night -and as much real clear coffee as I could drink; and Mr. Dow brought home -three reserved-seat tickets to a Boston Symphony concert, but there was a -blizzard that night and the electrics got fouled, so we didn’t get there, -which was probably lucky, as I now firmly believe he found the tickets in -the street, or else in the museum, and the owner might have faced us down. - -“Judith helped me with my shopping, and I was ready even to my bonnet -(yes, that very one lying annihilated over there) the last week of March. -James wrote that he would be on by the first week of April, and he was, -the first _day_, as it chanced. It was just before supper that night when -Judith came running up all those three flights of stairs and only had -strength left to say ‘they’ve come,’ and ask me wouldn’t I rather meet -James alone before they all came in to tea, adding that her little niece -was very weary and so she had gone to bed. I thought Judith looked rather -queer and pale, but I laid it to the stairs and a weak heart, and having -my new blue waist on, I went straight down. - -“Judith opened the door of the parlour to let me pass, but as there was -nobody in it but a lean old man with a loose, close-shaven upper lip and -chin whiskers, I backed out again, thinkin’ she’d made a mistake, and -James was in the livin’ room where we ate; but she held the door, and I -said, thinking she didn’t notice, ‘Mr. White isn’t here!’ - -“‘Yes, he is,’ said she; ‘James, this is Keith West, your affianced!’ - -“‘You’re not James White!’ I said, getting as cold as clams, ‘I have his -picture; he is dark, and stout, and personable, with a heavy beard, and -but a little turned of fifty!’ - -“‘So I was, twenty years ago, when that picture was took,’ said the -horrid old man, grinning and wobbling his chin as he came forward, and -before I knew what he was doing he put his arm around my waist. - -“‘How dared you both lie to me so!’ I cried, turning to Judith. - -“‘I didn’t send you any picture; it was sister,’ said he. - -“‘I didn’t lie—you deceived yourself, you never asked when the picture -was taken! You are fifty and he was a grown man when you were in the -primary,’ said Judith, sharp as a knife. And when I came to think of it I -never had thought of this, or worked out his age. - -“‘Give me back my money and I’ll leave this house to-night!’ I said, but -even then Judith persuaded me to sleep over it and that things might look -differently in the morning. - -“They did—only worse—for that night one of the oldest boarders, a third -cousin of theirs, crept in and told me that James White was already four -times a widower, his farm being in a feverish sort of country, and that -the girl—belonging to his second wife—who had come with him was really -twenty, though she had never grown since she was ten, and had epileptic -fits. - -“I never slept a wink, but packed my trunks and slipped out for an -expressman as soon as it was light, and moved to a woman’s temperance -hotel that I had noticed not many blocks away. - -“James White and his sister followed me hot-foot after breakfast, and -words passed on both sides, Judith doing more talking than her brother, -who it then seemed to me was somewhat lacking and wouldn’t have fought -back without being egged on. - -“I said that I would sue for my money, and she said that he would sue -me for breach of promise, which he had in writing and signed plainly! I -stayed at that hotel until yesterday, wrestling with my pride, and then -I grew so homesick, the money I’d taken dwindled, and you know, Brooke, -you said that you’d be glad to see me if I ever came back, and so here -I am. I’ll work my board out, if you’ll let me, until I can look about -and perhaps rent a little place and go to raise chickens—if only you’ll -forget all that I’ve told and not repeat it except to Dr. Russell. Just -say I’ve changed my mind, for if Enoch Fenton got hold of this there’d -be no rest for me short of Middletown Asylum,” and Keith, relaxing at -last, began to sob just as she had the day that she had answered James -White’s first letter, using Tatters’ head (he had stolen in again) for a -pillow. - -Both Brooke and Mrs. Lawton, remembering her kindly welcome home in their -trouble, said all in their power to reassure her, and the younger woman -gave her a rapid sketch of her new business plans, saying that if her -hopes were realized fair pay would also be a part of the coöperative -living. Something else she was about to add, for with all her sentiment -Brooke was far-sighted, but her inborn delicacy stopped her, for the idea -seemed harsh and brutal when put in words. - -But the third listener read his sister’s thoughts and did not hesitate. -Striding into the room, he stood before his astounded kinswoman, towering -above her, and said, with an apparently genial smile and hands in -pockets: “I’ll make a bargain with you, Cousin Keith, fair and square -over the right. I’ll forget all about your trip to Boston, and help you -do the same, _unless_ you forget that sister is mistress here, that -I’m her backer, and mother the dowager duchess! In which case I shall -_remember_, and with _trimmings_!” And strange to say, the boy’s unasked -championship was possibly the only thing that could have clarified the -situation and made the coöperative household a possibility without -embarrassment or bitter feeling. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -THE MASQUE OF SPRING - - -The new dweller in the country longs for the coming of May as the only -truly gracious month of the New England spring. In a few seasons, -however, he learns to regret April, for when that month has gone, and the -curtain fairly rises on the Masque of Spring, while it seems as if the -orchestra is but playing the overture, and while yet he is watching the -drapery curtain of leafage unfold, the throng on foot and wing pass by, -all madly whirling to the pipe of Pan as they follow the voice of the -ages that guides them to their breeding haunts, lo and behold! spring -promise has merged in the summer of fulfilment. - -It was Brooke’s first knowledge of the coming of spring in wild nature. -Spring in New York means a certain lassitude and enervation—the sun -withers and the river winds chill alternately with exasperating -inconsistency. The planted tulips put up their decorous heads in the -parks at a certain date, much as the women in the streets don their -flowery spring head-gear,—both are pleasing to the eye, yet there is -nothing spontaneous or unexpected about either; while to come suddenly -upon a mat of arbutus or catch the silvery gleam of a mass of bloodroot -transfiguring the silence of the woodland, where the leaves of a dozen -winters, graduating to leaf mould, muffle the tread, is an event. So -every night Brooke longed for the next morning and its surprises, and -every morning she was eager for sunset and the night voices. Not that -she wished time away,—far from it,—but to her its passing also meant -progress, the nearing a certain goal. - -Sometimes it seemed to her that in a previous existence she had lived the -life of the River Kingdom; perhaps it was the heredity moulded beside -the Highland torrents that sang to her in the voice of the Moosatuk. On -this last day of April, as she stood at the edge of the pasture, with -wands of delicate cherry bloom waving softly between her and the river, -like heralds ushering one into the presence of a monarch, the words from -the song of the migrant bird, “Out of the South,” came to her lips, and -she chanted them softly, watching the old horse holding a nose-to-nose -conversation with a neighbour in the next field:— - - “I have sought - In far wild groves below the tropic line - To leave old memories of this land of mine. - I have fought - This vague mysterious power that flings me forth - Into the north. - But all in vain, when flutes of April blow, - The immemorial longing lures me, and I go!” - -Then, abandoning for the time the fight against the lure of a voice -beyond her ken and a memory in which sweetness and pain were inextricably -blended, she gave herself wholly up to the spell of the present. - -Another happening that day lent wings to her spirit, though the thing -was both practical and humble. Bisbee, the stableman, upon the strength -of having seen the Sign of the Fox when it was at the blacksmith’s being -framed in iron (for the rings had not held), ordered a sign for his newly -completed stable, offering the generous price (to him) of twenty-five -dollars for it, he to furnish the wood. - -“There’s a regular horse painter over in Gordon will do me a race-horse -in a sulky, driver included, for fifteen,” said Bisbee, a big, jolly, -liberal man, whose rosy cheeks plainly told that they were not made in -New England; “but he’s done that same one fer everybody within ten miles. -Besides, what sense in a race-horse sign fer a family stable, say I? Give -me something safe and assuring, yet not too safe!” - -So Brooke had eagerly accepted the commission, for with the return -of Keith West, two or three hours a day for work had become a joyful -possibility, and she conceived the idea of painting the heads of two -horses upon the sign-board he had sent up. One must represent a staid -family horse, and the other a more speedy roadster, and as she looked -across the pasture, the natural position of the two gossips by the stone -fence gave her the motive in a flash. If she only had the board there, -she might sketch in the grouping at once, she thought, and the light also -was exactly as she would wish it. The sign was in the barn, but it was -too heavy for her to carry, and Adam had gone up to Windy Hill for the -day, to do double work, as Robert Stead was expecting Dr. Russell to go -on their annual trouting excursion to Stony Guzzle the next day. Well, -there was no help for it, but still Brooke gazed about as if expecting -help would fall from the skies or spring Jack-in-a-box fashion from the -ground. It was the latter that happened, for at that moment the head of -the farmer-on-shares appeared above the fence of the potato field, where -he had just completed his task of planting, and was about to follow along -the little brook to the road. - -As Brooke hesitated to ask him to do an errand that certainly had nothing -to do with farming, he paused involuntarily. Meanwhile Brooke thought, “I -can surely ask it as a courtesy such as any man would do me,” and said, -“Good morning, Mr. Maarten” (she did not call him by his Christian name -as she would have one distinctly in service, for instinct hinted to her -that he might have been driven to his present vocation by hard luck), -“would you do me a favour?” - -Instantly the tools and potato bag were dropped, but he did not take the -advantage of coming nearer, as he might easily have done. - -Then Brooke explained her need in the frank way she had of taking people -into her confidence, yet without gush or familiarity, that had always -been one of her charms; and Maarten hastened to the barn while she went -to the house for her chalk and sketching stool. - -In an hour, after several false starts, Brooke had compassed the grouping -and outline, though there was one curve in the neck of the young horse -that displeased her. Hearing the pieman’s whistle out on the road, and -remembering that this was the day when she was to accompany him on his -route to “Sister-in-law Sairy Ann’s,” and knowing that Maarten would -naturally have gone home to his dinner,—for he never brought it in a -pail like other labourers, her informant being Enoch Fenton, who said he -table-boarded at the best place in Gilead, and paid six dollars a week, -and most likely had a big head,—she was demurring as to how she should -get the sign back, for to leave it might tempt the cows to lick the chalk -off. At this point she became conscious, through one of those swift half -glances that tell so many tales, that Maarten was waiting a little -beyond, and not only waiting, but watching her eagerly. Therefore, taking -advantage of the circumstance, she laughingly apologized for asking -two favours in one day, but would he carry the sign back to the little -harness room, long disused, with a door of its own on the pasture side of -the barn, where the sign could be kept free from hay dust?—adding, half -aloud, as she took a final look at her work, “There is something wrong -about the line of old Billy’s neck; it could not possibly twist like -that.” - -Point of view frequently has as much to do with our estimate of a thing -as the value of the thing itself. Therefore Brooke’s progress of fifteen -miles through the hill country in the pieman’s wagon brought her in -touch with an entirely different side of the world of the woods than if -she had driven over the same way with a party of guests who chattered -inconsequently, or gone on horseback in the company of Stead, as she had -done once or twice lately, for even the mild-mannered old horse required -guiding and attention that banished the spirit of revery. - -The pieman had covered his wares carefully, and rolled up the curtains -all around, while the horse, dragging the loaded cart, proceeded perforce -at a walk, so that Brooke, seated on a low chair, travelled with all the -leisurely ease of an old-time queen in a palanquin. This pace brought -her close to every feature of the Masque of Spring, face to face with the -reality of it, and she could anticipate, and then realize, every detail -in its fulness. - -Her charioteer also was as much a child of nature and a part of it all as -the big gray squirrels that raced along the fence-tops, while his simple -and positive faith in the goodness of all created things, and his intense -love and kinship with the wild brotherhood, opened a new world to Brooke, -banishing for the time all care and responsibility and replacing it with -the wholesome pleasure of the hour, born of the pure joy of mere living. -When one has known trouble, and then felt this touch of peace, is it not -the new Revelation of God, fitted to meet the needs and greeds of to-day, -even as nineteen centuries ago the single-hearted Messenger brought his -spiritual message to the material Oriental world? - -They would travel a mile, perhaps, in entire silence, the pieman merely -pulling up now and then, and pointing with his whip to a warm spot, -where a group of silver-green ferns slowly unfolded and stretched their -winter-cramped paws, or else, with finger raised, caution silence -while the song of some elusive bird thrilled the air,—“Whitethroat,” -“Fox-sparrow,” or “Oven-bird,” being his only words. Then a settlement -of half a dozen houses, and a period of bustle, barter, and exchange of -news would interrupt, and so on until, as the “peepers” began to tune up, -and the sun called the warmth of the day swiftly after him, they turned -into Sairy Ann’s yard. - -After a keenly relished supper, Brooke and her guide stole out to the -edge of a strip of woods that separated some grass meadows from a -brawling trout stream running its downhill course a dozen miles before -the Moosatuk received it. There, seated on a log, they waited as the -twilight began to cast its mysterious spell. Presently a strange cry -sounded through the gloom, was repeated, and echoed by others a second -and a third time. Next a rush of wings, as if a bird was flung suddenly -into the air, opening its wings at the same time. A sharp whirring sound -followed, increasing as the wings that made it vanished skyward. Bending -forward to watch the wonderful flight, until eye could not see it, in a -moment Brooke was startled by the falling as of a bolt from the clouds -close beside her, followed by a sweet musical whistle. - -“First one’s down again,—see, he’s doin’ it over!” said the pieman, and -the call and lunge were repeated as before. But this time the girl’s -eye did not follow; the wonder and rush of it all was thrilling her -from head to foot. She had seen the sky-dance of the woodcock, the free -Walpurgis night’s festival of the American river woods, with wild flowers -for bracken and hemlock boughs for witches’ brooms. Once more her toes -tingled, music rang in her ears, sorrow and love both slipped away, -and she was again the little girl playing at gypsy queen in her River -Kingdom. That night Brooke slept deeply, but it was the sleep of dreams -that comes from being drowned in a “best room” feather-bed for the first -time, an experience both fearful and wonderful. - -Instead of starting on his return trip at seven the next morning, as -usual, the pieman’s advice was asked by his widowed relative concerning -the buying of a cow, which was to be sold at auction that morning in the -next village. For this one day at least Brooke was in no haste, and as -the auction began at nine o’clock and was two miles distant, the pieman -suggested that she might like to spend the time in the woods that they -had skirted the previous night, and walk along the stream. Then, when she -had gone as far as she chose, all she had to do was to follow the brook -north again without fear of going astray, while by way of a lunch Sairy -Ann gave her half a dozen mellow russet apples, the storing and keeping -of which, in prime condition, well into the summer was a matter of great -pride. - -Nothing could have suited Brooke better than these few hours of perfect -liberty,—she was responsible for nothing about her, not even for her -presence there. The widow’s hens were cackling vigorously, and she -laughed as she realized that, whether they broke their eggs or stole -their nests, it was a matter of indifference to her. The revulsion from -the tense responsibility of the past three months flew to her head like -the subtle May wine of the Old World, her heart beat fast, she stretched -her limbs, and then began to thread the woods toward the stream in a -delicious waking dream. - -Being guided by sound, she stood looking at the bits of drift that -swirled by, the water drawing her eyes and holding them as a mirror does -those who are near it. - -In a few moments she noticed that, while there was a distinctly marked -path among the rocks and stones along her side of the watercourse, the -opposite bank was heavily brushed and almost impenetrable, while the -sunlight came filtering through and danced upon the water in a way that -entranced the artist in her. Choosing a mossy stump, and being thirsty, -for the first thirst of spring is more keen than any that follows, she -seated herself, buried her shoe tips in the deep moss, and taking an -apple from her pocket bit into it deliberately, critically watching the -juice ooze from the wound her teeth had made. As she munched, gazing at -the sunbeams chasing the shadows over the water, she was startled by a -ringing sound, as of metal striking stone. It was repeated several times -before she located its direction, and as she did so, saw that the noise -was made by the shoes of a horse, who was coming downstream, browsing -along the foot-path, in the line of which she was seated. - -A second glance showed her that it was Manfred, Stead’s horse, with -bridle fastened loosely to the saddle, while a fishing basket attached to -one side easily explained his presence. Seeing Brooke, he came quickly -toward her with a friendly whinny and nosed the apple. Almost at the -same time Robert Stead himself, in the water to the knees, slowly wading -the somewhat treacherous shallows, and whipping the stream as he came, -appeared from under the arch of overhanging hemlocks. - -For a moment he did not seem to believe the sight of his own eyes, -and then, rapidly reeling in his line, he looked out for the nearest -landing spot and stood before Brooke, with an expression that might -be interpreted either as one of surprise or resentment at having his -sport thus interrupted. But then he had acquired a stern expression by -practice. Brooke had often before thought he wore it as a mask, and his -words were not angry, but almost playful. - -“Eve, the apple, and a bit of Eden! But how did you come here and what -are you doing?” - -“_Not_ Eve, because, as you will observe, I am not going to offer my -apple to the only man in sight, but share it with a good sensible horse, -who will not tell tales. I came up to the farm last night with Mr. -Banks, the pieman, to see the woodcock dance, and I’m waiting here while -he buys a cow for Sister-in-law Sairy Ann. As to what I am doing, I _was_ -eating an apple, but Manfred interrupted me; and now I’m going to begin -another, and I’m very sorry that your simile prevents my offering one to -you,—for they’re good,” and Brooke took a bite from a particularly fine -specimen, a mischievous glance following her words. - -Stead tethered the horse a few yards away and, coming back, threw -himself down on the clean hemlock needles beside her. He felt suddenly -relaxed, tired he would have called it, as if rigidity and strength had -mysteriously left him. - -“And you?” continued Brooke, “I see of course that you are fishing, by -the two small trout in the basket; but how do you come to be so far away -from home at eight in the morning, when Adam said that Dr. Russell was to -visit you to-day?” - -“Because Dr. Russell came on the mail train last night and is now -whipping the west branch of the stream; in this narrow cut we interfered, -and we shall meet a mile below at Stony Guzzle in the course of an hour.” - -“Then you had better take to the water again, for I heard them saying -last night that this stream takes two steps sideways for every one it -goes forward, and that gives you a three-mile walk plus fishing!” said -Brooke, with a perfectly frank unconcern that piqued the man to natural -contradiction. - -“Thank you for your prudent advice, but I would rather sit here, for once -simply because I wish to, and trust to Manfred’s hoofs for catching up -with the doctor!” - -“Do you not always do what you wish?” asked Brooke, surprised at his -changing mood, and feeling her way. - -“Do you suppose that I can wish to lead the idle sort of life I do?” he -asked quickly, looking up at her to compel a direct answer. “It is only -because I have not a motive strong enough to make me break away, and -desire of action is dead; but is that doing as one wishes?” - -“Oh, I thought you loved it here at Gilead, and could not be happy out -of sight of the river—I—at least that is—what I made of what Dr. Russell -said,” stammered the girl, astonished at his vehemence in contrast to his -usual deliberation. - -“I do not know what he has said,—nothing unkind, that I warrant; but he -does not know—no one does. Listen, Brooke, for I am minded to do what I -have never done before—put my burden on some one else by sharing it, and -tell you the real reason why I am as I am, which has never before passed -my lips in words. No, you must be patient and listen,” he said, for -Brooke had made a sudden movement as if to rise. Stead did not realize -that he was perhaps spoiling the girl’s holiday; self-centred he was, -at base an egotist, though an unconscious one; and to the fact that he -regarded everything at the point where it touched himself could be laid -the pith of all his unhappiness. - -“Why do I tell you? I do not know, except that in all these years -since, you are the first woman I have met whom I think would understand -and who is also young enough to have mercy, and it is a matter for -woman’s judgment. Yesterday a letter came to me from an old friend in -my profession, asking me to overlook a bit of bridge work for him for a -month or so in early summer, while he takes some needed rest. At the end -he tells me of his plans for work, urges me to join him, and gives me -what he words as ‘a last call back to life.’ All this has stirred up the -sources of a stream I thought long dry; instead of putting it away, as I -once did, as something done and gone, it tempts me, and I am strangely -all at sea. I feel as if I only need some one in whose sincerity I could -believe to say, ‘Go back to work,’ and I should go.” - -“And leave the River Kingdom?” asked Brooke, looking up in alarm, her -first thought, it must be said, being of the Cub’s schooling. “We should -miss you so.” - -Stead’s eye brightened, and taking her hand that was not busy with the -apple and rested on the stump, he held it between his own. He himself -did not analyze his motive, simply it gave him comfort and secured her -attention. Then he said earnestly, solemnly it seemed to the girl, from -whose eyes the merry banter of a few minutes before had passed, “Listen, -Brooke, brave woman, who is fighting out her own problems to the shame of -others such as I. - -“When I was turning thirty and engineering a railway through a mountain -region of the south, I met and loved a woman as heartily as a man may, -but the passion seemed one-sided. She had given me a final answer, and I -was preparing to go away, as gossips whispered there was ‘some one else,’ -when the next day she recalled the no and made it yes. - -“I was almost beside myself with surprise and joy, and after a brief -month we were married, for my work was ended and I was going North. For -ten years we led a charmed sort of life, a little girl soon coming to -share it with us. We three, with José always as attendant, travelled -wherever my work lay, sometimes living in houses, sometimes in tents, -but always happy. Then the first grief came to me (it is nearly twelve -years since)—my little Helen died, down near Oaklands, where we were -summering. The illness came like a shot in the dark, without warning, and -Dr. Russell, whom I then met for the first time, was powerless. - -“After this my wife began to droop and grew sadder day by day. This was -natural except for the fact that she sought to be alone and avoided me, -until one day in a fit of bitter melancholy she told me the secret that -had lain between us like a sword all through those married years. - -“When I had first met her she had a lover, a wild, hot-blooded, handsome -fellow of the south mining country,—for him she refused me! At the same -time, unknown to her, he had committed a crime and the law was on his -track. He took refuge, as they thought he would, in her vicinity, and she -was watched to see if she would take him food or shelter him. To foil -them she betrothed herself to me, and thus disarmed, the watchers left, -and her lover escaped scot free.” - -“But why didn’t she go too, or follow him?” interrupted Brooke. - -“Because what she called her sense of honour forbade her, and she never -meant that I should know,—she was willing to pay the price of the scamp’s -life with her peace of mind.” - -“How she must have loved him!” said Brooke, tears trembling in her voice; -“I don’t see how she could have lived it down. To save the man you love -by marrying another, even if it was the only way—oh, I am not brave -enough to do such a thing, and so I must not judge her!” - -For a moment a startled expression crossed Stead’s face, as if this side -of the matter had never occurred to him; but again self conquered. - -“Do you wonder that I cannot forget, and that nothing seems worth while -when I know that in those years of seeming happiness I was the companion -of a woman whose heart was never mine; who played her part to me, until -the child’s death broke the capacity? Whom can I trust after that?” - -“I do not think you could have really loved her as you thought,” said -Brooke, looking at him simply with deep, quiet conviction in her voice, -“for if you had you would have at least understood her. And at the worst -I should think you would have flown to work instead of away from it.” - -“It may be that you are right,” Stead said, after a long pause, in which -the thoughts of both travelled far, but in different directions; “I have -a mind to try, but I shall never go away permanently from the River -Kingdom. Child, child! how strange it is that your words should have been -so long on my lips before ever I met you! Will you wish me luck for a -motive, if I go in June?” - -“Yes,” answered Brooke, wondering about the time of day, for the shadows -had shifted greatly. - -“And be glad to see me when I return?” - -“Of course,” said Brooke, frankly; then, as other words struggled on -Stead’s lips, blocking each other by haste, the pieman’s bell warned her -that he had returned and was ready to start. Giving the last apple to -Manfred, she freed her hand, stretching it vigorously, for it was almost -numb, sent a hasty message to Dr. Russell, and fled out into the open. - -Robert Stead waited motionless for several minutes, looking after her; -then, shaking himself as a horse does after a period of standing, he led -Manfred to the wood road below, and prepared to make up for lost time. -Yet for some strange reason he did not give the girl’s message to Dr. -Russell, neither did he vouchsafe any explanation of the fact of there -being only two trout in his basket, or prate about “fisherman’s luck” -when the enthusiastic doctor showed ten beauties bedded in wet moss. - -There was enough light left on Brooke’s return for a survey of house, -garden, and barns. It is strange when one goes away but seldom, that to -find everything in place on the return and people doing as usual comes as -a certain surprise. She opened the door of the old harness room to peep -at her sketch of the horses. After a careful survey, she said to herself, -“It is certainly true that one cannot judge work justly at the time it is -done. Yesterday the neck of the young horse seemed all awry, but to-day -it has exactly the toss and turn I was striving for.” - -As she closed the door she glanced down over the fields, but neither man -nor horse was there, only a convocation of crows sitting on the fence. -The pieman would doubtless have maintained that they were discussing -among themselves the probable location of this season’s corn-fields. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -THE WAY THE WIND BLEW - - -However anxious the wife of Senator Parks had been to impress herself -upon New York society, she experienced a delightful sense of relief -when the winter of her novitiate was ended. Furling her banners of -tactful triumph, she left town immediately after Easter, thereby doing -the correct thing and following her own mood, a combination of rare -accomplishment. - -Many times during the season she had thought of the Lawtons and missed -Brooke sorely from the circle of bright young women in their “third and -fourth winters,” whom she had the good sense as well as the attraction -to draw about her; but the swirl of the pool had been so insistent that -she had done little more than to send Brooke one or two cordial, if -inconsiderate, notes of invitation to visit her, which of course had not -been accepted. - -Now that she had moved to the famous Smythers place at Gordon, and -found her early passion for outdoor life and her developed taste for -luxury at once sufficiently satisfied by its beauty and stimulated by -its possibilities, she desired the companionship of some one of taste, -a friend and not a timeserver, with whom she could discuss her plans. -Immediately her mind reverted to Brooke Lawton, and knowing from Lucy -Dean that Gilead was within driving distance from Gordon, she set out -in her victoria one exquisite afternoon toward the end of May to locate -Brooke. Visiting Mrs. Parks was an elderly New York matron, Mrs. Van -Kleek, of particular social importance, who was anxious to run over to -her own cottage, recently built in Stonebridge and not yet open for the -season, in consequence of which this drive, having a double mission, -began immediately after luncheon. - -Both coachman and footman, being new importations to the hill country, -knew even less about the upper and lower turnpike and maze of cross-roads -than did their employer, who had a general idea of the region. It seemed -an easy matter to keep the river in sight, and yet the constant desire -of the ladies to follow up each pretty lane, with its delicate fringe -of wild flowers or drapery of catkins, kept luring them away from it at -right angles; so that five o’clock in the afternoon found the sweating -horses, as yet unused to anything longer than the drive through the park -to Claremont and return, toiling wearily uphill on the upper pike just -above Gilead, facing the way in which they desired not to go, but had -accomplished by looping about in a figure eight. - -The coachman was growing momentarily more anxious lest the horses should -break down; the footman was bored and cramped with long sitting; both -ladies were weary, quite talked out, and longing for their afternoon tea; -while Mrs. Parks was also exasperated at the failure of the excursion. - -“Stop a moment, Benson, and let Johnson ask that man in the field yonder -if we are on the right road to Stonebridge, and if there is any place -near where we can rest,” she said finally. Benson pulled up as well as -he could on the incline; Johnson dismounted and interviewed the farmer -and, returning with a disgusted expression, said, “Stonebridge is six -miles downhill, the way we’ve come up, mum, and if you please Gilead is -that village a mile and a half back, mum, we passed a bit ago. This ’ere -is the hupper road, the one in the dip below follows the river easy from -Gordon to Stonebridge, and he says we’d best get on that.” - -Mrs. Parks demurred a moment, and while she did so Benson, whose word was -law in all matters concerning the Parkses’ horseflesh, turned on the box -and, touching his hat, said in a tone that was not to be contradicted, -“Mrs. Parks, mum, we must keep on the way we are going, facin’ with the -wind until we can get to a flat spot where I can blanket my horses and -rest them a bit. I’d not take the risk of turning them against that chill -river breeze in their present sweat.” - -Both ladies understood stable ethics, and the moods of husbands when -these same are disregarded, too well to object, and so a drive that -would not have been abandoned for anything else was reversed by the mere -blowing of the wind. - -Reaching the beginning of the plateau by the West homestead, Benson had -the tact to choose a spot for blanketing the horses where the cross-road -opened Brooke’s favourite river vista to the ladies in the carriage. - -“How beautiful!” mumbled Mrs. Van Kleek, drowsily, her dry tongue -cleaving to the roof of her mouth. - -“It would be if we could only have our tea,” sighed Mrs. Parks. “I -declare I must have an outfit of some kind adjusted to this carriage, for -I’m devoted to driving, and every one says that it is the great feature -of this hill country, and of course there isn’t a place around here where -they know what tea is.” - -Johnson, who had been reconnoitring with an eye to a well, returned at -that moment. “Hup yonder, mum, there’s a neat house, mum, and a sign of -a fox hangs by the gate, mum, quite like the old country, only it says -‘TEA’ instead of hale, mum.” - -“Tea on a sign-board here in the backwoods! Lead the horses a little -farther up, Benson, and Johnson, do you go in and ask what we can -have,”—turning to Mrs. Van Kleek, “I don’t suppose the tea will be any -good, herbs or old hay, but at least it will be wet, and perhaps hot, -and I’m beginning to feel the evening chill in the wind. I wonder why no -one has the sense to have a good tea place hereabouts, like the English -tea-gardens, where they would put up sandwiches for fishing and touring -parties and all that. They could make a fortune in the season, I’m sure.” - -“Here’s the bill of fare, mum,” said Johnson, returning and presenting -the card; “a most genteel place, mum, though they’ve no license for -spirits. Everything made fresh to order, mum, and in fifteen minutes. -Besides what’s there, mum, there’s ginger hale and club sody, and will -you ’ave it ’ere or go on the porch, mum?” - -“Mrs. Van Kleek, will you look at this!” ejaculated Mrs. Parks, laying -the card upon that lady’s lap as if she had suddenly been presented with -a patent of nobility. - -“Printing, get-up, prices, quite like Tokay’s! We will decide quickly, -lest the thing prove an illusion and vanish as we near it, Cheshire-cat -fashion. Johnson, we will have a pot of tea for two, with cream, and -half—no, a dozen lettuce and chicken sandwiches, served out here. Also -you may get ginger ale and cheese sandwiches for Benson and yourself,” -for Mrs. Parks owed much of her social success, as well as happiness in -life, to the fact that she recognized the equal primal necessities of -all classes, and she argued that if Mrs. Van Kleek and herself, seated at -ease in the carriage, were thirsty beyond endurance, Benson and Johnson -on the box must be doubly so. - -In due course the man returned, and turning up the flap seat in front of -the ladies, placed the tray, with its dainty array, upon it. - -“Damask napkins, instead of paper!” gasped Mrs. Van Kleek. - -“Real cream!” said Mrs. Parks, “and domino sugar!” - -“English breakfast tea, smell the aroma! a pot with an inside strainer, -and porcelain cups and saucers!” continued Mrs. Van Kleek, proceeding -to pour the tea, after which the remarks of the two women turned into a -veritable patter song of praise, punctuated by sipping and munching. - -“Really, this is most extraordinary! I wish I could tell of what those -plates remind me; I seem to have seen the pattern before. Ferns, and no -two bits quite alike,—it’s not at all like the usual commercial china,” -said Mrs. Van Kleek, sinking comfortably back among the cushions, after -finishing two cups of tea, together with five of the delicate sandwiches, -and still looking meditatively at the sixth, murmuring, “Tokay could not -outdo this, they are of the best—and the tea—simply unique!” - -“Johnson,” called Mrs. Parks, for the two men were eagerly regaling -themselves at a respectful distance, “take back the tray and see if they -can change this bill—and Johnson, was there a waiter or any one there who -should have a tip?” - -“I should jedge, mum, there was one elderish party who should; she -was rather snappy, mum, and charged me not to break the ware; but the -others are gentlefolks, mum, quite through, and said as of course I’d be -careful, which of a certain I would, mum, and me bein’ in service, mum, -where I’d always known real china from Liverpool, and plate from pewter, -which they ’ad the eye to see, mum,” and Johnson walked off, bearing the -tray as carefully as if it held family plate. - -“Wait a minute,” Mrs. Parks called after him; “ask if they can put me -up fifty sandwiches, some of each kind, for ten o’clock to-morrow, and -pack them in a box, and if they know where a family named Lawton live -hereabouts,—the Adam Lawtons.” Then to Mrs. Van Kleek, “The Senator is -going to take those four old California chums of his, that come to-night, -trout fishing somewhere up this way to-morrow, to a place called Muzzle -Guzzle, or some such name. I wished to send a nice luncheon out in the -bus with the camping stove and the under cook to have it hot for them, -but no, the Senator has ordered sandwiches—plenty of sandwiches, with -Scotch and soda. They are to be driven only to the foot of the hills, -and then walk for the rest of the day. He says they want to forget who -and where they are for once,—be boys and all that sort of thing, you -know,—so if I could get the soda and sandwiches here it would be quite -delightful. - -“How long he stays! I believe I will go in myself and see to the matter, -for my curiosity is quite piqued. Will you come? No—very well, I’ll not -be gone a moment,” and Mrs. Parks, her delicate robes trailing behind -her, crossed the dandelion-studded sward toward the house, with a swish -and swirl of skirts, and a step as elastic as that of a young girl. -Laugh, as has been the foolish fashion, at those women who come out of -the West to receive the chill of eastern polish; yet they bring us a -better gift than they take, that of buoyancy of heel, head, and heart -that we greatly need. - -Mrs. Van Kleek meantime adjusted her head, heavy with comfortable -sleep, and gratefully entered the Land of Forty Winks, evidently for a -protracted visit. - -Hesitating as to whether front or side door was the legitimate entrance -for wayfarers, and deciding upon the latter, Mrs. Parks, rounding the -corner hurriedly, came face to face with Brooke, who was coming up from -the garden bearing a great bunch of lilies-of-the-valley, while Tatters -trotted beside her carrying a basket that held still more. - -“Brooke Lawton at last!” and Mrs. Parks put out her arms and, to -Johnson’s amazement, clasped Brooke, flowers and all, in a hug of -spontaneous pleasure, that made the girl’s heart beat quick for many a -day, as she thought of it. - -“Is this quaint, delightful place an inn as well, and are you stopping -here?” queried Mrs. Parks, holding Brooke off at arm’s length, first -looking at her and then sweeping the surroundings with a comprehensive -glance. - -“No, it isn’t an inn exactly,” replied Brooke, mischief lurking at the -corners of her eyes and mouth, “though I’m staying here. I am the Sign of -the Fox, and this is my home! Now that you are here, pray come in and see -mother, while I make you a bouquet from my very own garden in remembrance -of the hothouse lilies you sent us when father was first ill.” - -“The Sign of the Fox!—you! how do you mean?” ejaculated Mrs. Parks, -knitting her brows as if some one had asked her to guess a conundrum. -“Ah, yes, then that was your _mother’s_ fern china and her brand of tea -that we all used to rave over! Mrs. Van Kleek was recalling it only an -hour ago—by the way she’s out in the carriage (go tell her, Johnson, that -Miss Lawton lives here and ask her to come in). But I do not yet quite -understand.” - -“It is this way,” explained Brooke, with an admirable self-possession, -in which diffidence and independence were equally blended. “We had the -farm and a bit of money, but not quite enough to keep us; the life agrees -with father, and may cure him. If Adam and I went away to earn more -money, mother could not stay alone. Then I tried to think what I could -do or sell here. People drive a great deal hereabouts; the hill country -makes people hungry; therefore why not make and sell good tea and good -sandwiches? And I think that you must have found them so,” she added -archly, looking at the empty plate upon the tray that Johnson had left on -the serving table in the screened porch. - -“Good! superlatively so! but why didn’t you write me of your plan and -let me exploit it and interest our own set? for you know that they are -scattered all over these parts at some time of the year, either for the -entire season, or between times, and before and after Newport and Europe. -I would have done it with a will, I assure you, as I shall now with a -megaphone voice, in spite of you!” - -“I know that you would have, Mrs. Parks, and Lucy Dean wished to also; -but what has happened, I think you must acknowledge, is best. I wanted -people to find out for themselves, as you have done, and if they bought -my wares, to do so because they are good and they need them, not because -I sell them and desire their money. Otherwise the sun would very soon set -on the Sign of the Fox, instead of apparently beginning to rise. You -know that it is the way of the world! - -“But tell me; how did you come upon us? merely by chance? This must be a -lucky ‘red letter day,’ for Lucy herself is coming to visit me to-night; -Adam has already driven down to Gilead for her.” - -“Partly that, but chiefly because of the way the wind blew. You see we -started for Stonebridge and circled about, not finding our mistake until -we began to climb the hill below. By that time the horses were quite -spent, and Benson would not turn back in the teeth of the river wind.” - -“It’s no use, mum,” said Johnson, returning, “Mrs. Van Kleek is sleepin’ -that ’eavy and ’appy it would take a brass band to wake her, mum,” so -the two women passed indoors, the fragrance of the lilies-of-the-valley -lingering in the air. - -When Mrs. Parks left, her arms full of flowers, a half-hour had sped by; -but Mrs. Van Kleek, awaking with a jerk, was none the wiser for it, for -one of Mrs. Parks’s maxims was that it is always a mistake to apologize, -save at the pistol’s point, because it usually provokes irritation by -calling attention to things that, ten to one, would otherwise pass -unnoticed. As the victoria, following Brooke’s advice, turned the corner -toward the lower road, they met, coming up, a fat-stomached country horse -dragging a rockaway, that pulled to the side of the narrow cross-road to -let them pass. In it, beside Adam, sat Lucy Dean, while the rear seat was -heaped with hand-baggage; she waved gayly to Mrs. Parks, who would have -stopped then and there for a gossip about the afternoon’s events, but -Benson, intent on making the home stretch, all deaf to her exclamation, -kept his horses up to the bit, and soon the river road echoed their -hoof-beats. - -As to Mrs. Lawton, the visit, brief as it had been, did her untold good, -besides giving her no feeling save of pleasure, thus bringing her for -the second time naturally in contact with old acquaintances, without in -the least destroying her peace of mind or making her doubt the wisdom of -having broken away from the old life. - - * * * * * - -Brooke and Lucy always met with enthusiasm; indeed, one of the -reasons for the stanch friendship of the two being the way in which -they supplemented each other, thus allowing the character of both -complete scope, without forcing either into the lead, except in matters -conversational. - -“I was so surprised and pleased when I knew that you would come, for -the very evening after I wrote I saw in the _Daily Forum_ that you were -starting with your father on his car party to California. How did it -happen that you changed your mind?” asked Brooke, leading the way to the -little room next hers, for which Lucy had begged, instead of the formal -and unused best room over Mr. and Mrs. Lawton’s, which some day was to be -beautified, but at present harboured the dreadful black walnut furniture -moved from below, in addition to smelling of wood soot and wasps. - -Lucy threw herself into the arms of a fat rocking-chair that was covered -with a cheerful bird-of-paradise chintz, and rumpled her hair back from -her forehead before she answered. So long was she about it that Brooke -looked toward her apprehensively, fearing that the trip might have given -her a headache; then she noticed that Lucy really looked tired, and that -there was a lack of colour in her cheeks for which car soot could not -wholly account. - -“I did expect to go, and had planned out a delightful group of people for -the trip, which, aside from pleasure as a side issue, was to explore and -exploit a new bit of country that father thinks needs a railroad, and -help convince his friends of that fact. - -“_The Forum_ offered to send Tom Brownell as the newspaper man of -the trip, besides which two or three others we had chosen are always -excellent fun, and Mrs. Parks was to be chaperon, at which she is a -perfect success. She has the knack of always being on the spot, in case -any one needs to prove or disprove an alibi, yet at the same time is -totally oblivious; so Mrs. Grundy never has a chance to say a word, and -every one is happy.” - -“Did you turn your back on such attractions to come to us?” said Brooke, -deeply touched. Her feeling showed plainly in the look she gave Lucy, as -after unpacking her friend’s toilet things, she had dipped a sponge in -warm water, and kneeling by her, began to bathe her forehead and eyes as -gently as if Lucy had been a tired little child. - -Lucy closed her eyes and gave a sigh of content at the touch of Brooke’s -fingers, but in a second opened them again, and looking straight at -Brooke, replied: “No, I won’t let you quite think that, though you know -that I love to be with you and your mother. Some of the party turned -their backs on me; first, Tom Brownell had himself replaced (I made sure -through Charlie that it was his own doing) by a young westerner who, he -said, ‘knew the local ropes’ better, and would be of greater advantage to -the prospectors. Next Mrs. Parks decided that as _the_ baby was teething -she could not leave him for so long, in spite of having a separate maid -for his head, hands, and feet, besides a trained nurse in perpetual -residence. - -“Then father suggested that little Mrs. Morton be invited in Mrs. Parks’s -place. You must remember her,—the Hendersons’ cousin, a pretty, subdued -little widow of about thirty, who puts people’s houses in order and sees -to the curtains and other interior decorations. She always looks as if -she’d been cut out for a good time, but fate has been rough to her, and -though she is working hard to get used to it, a merry devil will look out -of her eyes in spite of herself.” - -“Oh, yes, I remember. She redecorated your house as a surprise for you -the season we were abroad, I believe,” said Brooke, sudden illumination -coming to her, for it had been openly whispered, early in the season, -that Mr. Dean was ardently, if maturely, in love with Mrs. Morton, but -that the little lady’s peace-loving nature and hardly won independence, -coupled with a fear of Lucy and her sharp tongue, stood firmly in the way -of a very comfortable and suitable match. - -“Yes, and father wished it done over again this winter, but I absolutely -refused to be routed out in cold weather. Now I’d heard, as I know you -have by your face, Miss Simplicity, that father was supposed to wish -to marry the lady long ago, but that she was afraid of me. At first it -pleased me to have her afraid; I revelled in it, also I thought that the -idea would wear off with father. - -“Lately I’ve changed my mind, and I think life is too good to live it -alone, and that everybody ought to marry any one they wish to, provided -the person does not have fits or inherit consumption. Then I went to -father and told him so, and he was so pleased that he nearly made me cry, -for though he always said that I was everything to him, it wasn’t quite -true it seems; and he said that some day I would find out that he was not -quite everything to me, and oh, Brooke, I really think I should like to!” - -Brooke, who was still kneeling by Lucy, put her arms around her, and the -two women, each having felt the mysterious throb of the woman heart that -made them kin, rested a moment cheek to cheek. - -Lucy recovered first, and shaking off the tender mood, tossed her head, -the usual bravado returning to eye and lip as she said: “Next, I went to -see Mrs. Morton and told her that so far as I was concerned the coast was -clear, that I bore no malice, and that I hoped she and father would have -a jolly old age (she is only six years older than I); but that I simply -could not go on the car trip with them, though I would thank her not to -announce it until after the start. - -“She—well, she is a good sort, and I guess we understand each other, for -she looked me straight in the face and said she hoped she’d have a chance -some day to stand by me in return, and she didn’t slop over or call me -‘dear daughter,’ or say she’d be a mother to me, for any grown woman -knows that there is only one who can be that. - -“Consequently society and Charlie Ashton think that I’m speeding to -California, while in reality I’ve flown to you for protection against -the blues, and I want to stay a month if you will let me cook and do -everything as you do—it is what I need. Who knows but I might turn -farmer, or try love in a cottage myself some day.” - -“A month, Lucy! oh, how good!” cried Brooke. “Yes, you shall do as -we do,—you’ll really have to if business rushes as it has since we -began,—but I’m afraid you will find it very dull, unless your fate dashes -up in an automobile.” - -“Dull! not a bit of it! Why, if I feel my flirting ability growing rusty, -I can practise on the Cub’s elderly paragon, Mr. Stead, or try archaic -sentiment on your big farmer man to console him for the sweetheart who -has not yet materialized. From your ardent written descriptions of the -landscapes about here, and the important places he always fills in them, -it seems to me that he must be at least a straying Walther or a prince in -disguise, seeking to be loved for himself alone.” - -“Mr. Stead will probably be down to-night, so that you need lose no time -in beginning,” Brooke made answer, flushing hotly. “We four have been -playing whist a good deal, lately, and as I am not passionately fond of -it, you shall take my hand. I think that you and he will prove pretty -evenly matched in most things. As to my farmer, as you absurdly call -him, you had better leave him alone,—it’s not worth while,—he might -misunderstand, take you in earnest, and embarrass you.” Whereupon, after -making the most cutting speech that Lucy had ever heard from her tongue, -she turned about and went quietly downstairs, saying something about -hurrying supper, as Lucy must be hungry as well as tired. - -A new idea came to Lucy, born of her own teasing words, spoken wholly -at random and in jest, and of Brooke’s flushing. She had always thought -Brooke wholly an idealist in affairs of the heart, and that whatever -emotion she had ever been able to detect had been brought out by the -artist Lorenz during their Paris sojourn. When it had apparently ended -in naught she had been both disappointed and glad, the latter especially -after Adam Lawton’s failure, for after this she had desired Brooke, -through matrimony, again to have the luxury and chance to enjoy her art -that she thought her friend deserved. - -When Charlie Ashton had drawn her attention to the resemblance to Brooke -in the picture, “Eucharistia,” she had expected developments, but now -that nearly six months had passed she regarded the thing as a mere -artistic coincidence, the lingering in the man’s memory, perhaps, of a -face for which he doubtless had a passing fancy. - -Now a tangible possibility in the shape of Stead came into the -foreground. Though Lucy had not seen the man, the Cub had given -him a glowing recommendation. As to his age,—Lucy was a woman of -experience,—fifty might mean many things, fatherly or otherwise, and the -life of leisure he led implied that he had some independent property. -Was he not always much at the house, and were not his books and various -offerings scattered about everywhere, even at her first visit? Brooke had -written of horseback rides in his company. Surely he did not come alone -out of respect for Mrs. Lawton or anxiety about the Cub’s lessons. Why -had Brooke blushed and been so resentful? - -Lucy sprang up, and seizing a brush, began to work at her hair with a -will, until the colour returned to her cheeks and the glossy dark locks -wreathed her crown in a way to add a fascinating air of maturity to her -arch face. Then, picking out the most dashing waist she had brought, -having merely chosen her plainest clothing, she adjusted it over a long, -flowing skirt and stood surveying herself for a moment, saying half -aloud, “I will look at Milor Stead, widower; if he is a good possession -for little Brooke, so be it, I stand aside; if not, I interfere!” and -then a softened expression followed the one that Brooke’s semi-challenge -had called forth, and she added, with a sigh, “How I wish Brooke could -have some one’s whole, first, fresh love, be he rich or poor! She would -keep it and live and die for it, and not mar it with a selfish thought. I -wonder if Charlie is right and that Tom Brownell is trying to avoid me? -Bah! but it is really a handicap for a woman to have a rich father; the -money lures those she dislikes, and gives the others blind staggers, and -they bolt in the wrong direction.” - -Two minutes later, Lucy, wholly radiant, was pushing Adam Lawton’s chair -in to supper, and insisting that she was sure that he recognized her, -even though he could not speak her name, while the Cub changed seats so -as to be next her at table, and Pam insisted upon sharing the somewhat -narrow chair by wedging herself between Lucy and the straight, high back. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -LOCKS AND KEYS - - -Ten days passed, and June was urging the growth of flower and leaf with -ardent breath. Even in the hill country, with its cool nights and winds -that rush down the river valley, the days were sultry, and August lent -her younger sister electric batteries for her relief; and almost every -afternoon the soft, rounded summer clouds that seemed to flock about -Windy Hill, like pasturing sheep, were put to flight by the dun-edged -thunder scud with its whips of lightning. - -Robert Stead had now gone his way to the north-west at his friend’s -request, the work indoors and out had settled with an even and soothing -monotony over the West farm, while the Sign of the Fox and its fame were -already relieving Brooke’s anxiety as to the immediate future. - -As Lucy paced to and fro along the neatly gravelled walks of the -old-fashioned garden, where the Cub was engaged in “brushing” the long -line of sweet peas, a vocation requiring a knack that he did not possess, -it seemed to her that two months, instead of two weeks, had passed since -her coming. Not that she was in any way bored or discontented, rather -did it seem as if she had always been a part of the household and living -her normal life, while the revelation, indoors and out, of work done by -personal service, instead of by money proxy, had given her active brain -much food for thought of a new though baffling order. - -In many other ways also did Lucy feel herself baffled. Upon Robert Stead -she had failed to make the slightest impression, either during the -half-dozen calls he had made at the farm, or upon a ride she had taken in -his company to his lodge on Windy Hill, when he had invited Mrs. Lawton -and Brooke to see his garden and some prints of old masters that they -had been discussing. The Cub being busy, Brooke had driven her mother in -the buggy with old Billy, and Stead, who had ridden down with an extra -saddle-horse in tow, had accompanied Lucy back. - -Not that he was discourteous; quite the contrary. He was the polished man -of the world, always polite, with a pretty compliment, too well-rounded -for spontaneity, upon his lips and plenty of intelligent conversation, -as well as chink-filling small talk that prevented dangerous pauses, yet -withal he was inscrutable. - -Hardly less so did Lucy find Brooke herself; perfectly free and frank -in their daily intercourse, yet she neither offered nor asked special -confidence. She brightened with all the charm of a born hostess when -Stead came, and he gravitated toward her as naturally; yet when he left, -even for six weeks’ stay, she exhibited no sign of loneliness and threw -herself into her play, which she called the few hours she seized for -painting, with fresh vigour, either working in the old carpenter’s shop, -that by opening a trap door above had a fine north light, or going into -the open fields to use Enoch Fenton’s colts, sheep, or oxen as studies. - -It was not strange, however, that Lucy could not fathom the mind of -either maid or man, for did they really know themselves? Stead was -experiencing the conscious coming of a second youth, even before he was -more than in the full vigour of middle life. The period of torpor through -which he had passed was much like the indifference and languid, brooding -time of adolescence before the bite of motive and passion awakens body -and brain and clears the vision; and it was Brooke who blamelessly had -brought all this to pass, Brooke, with her heroism of womanhood that was -none the less subtle and acute because of its elusiveness. - -Robert Stead loved her as a man loves but once, no matter how often he -may marry, but this second passion was so different in its elements -from the first that he did not recognize it as such, and consequently, -unchecked, it doubled its hold, even while Lucy was unable to put two and -two together, and piece a single palpable symptom. - -In a state of rebellion bordering on disgust, Lucy, who heretofore had -been the sort of woman that had usually obtained anything for which -she had cared to try, and much for which she had not striven, turned -her attention to the farmer-on-shares,—Walther, as she called him, who -was undoubtedly a most filling and picturesque figure in the perfect -series of pictures that grouped themselves between the homestead and the -Moosatuk,—to find him not only difficult but impossible of approach, -and try as she might, she had not yet succeeded in exchanging a word -with him. At the same time many of his doings puzzled her, for though -he was entirely his own master, by the very nature of the half-and-half -agreement, and had nothing to do with the home garden or aught else -about the place, his whole desire seemed to be of use and to serve its -occupants, though unobtrusively. - -It had been only a few mornings after her arrival that Lucy, just at -dawn, looking out of one of her windows (which overlooked the back of the -house, Brooke’s having wholly a river view), discovered the big fellow -setting out a quantity of seedling asters, a task that Brooke had begun -the afternoon before, and darkness had stopped when half accomplished. -Did Brooke know of it, she wondered. - -Again, at the same hour, she saw him, hands encased in great leather -mittens, uprooting the vigorous poison ivy and tearing it from the -pasture fences, and at once she remembered that Brooke bore the crusty -burn of contact with it on one hand. - -The Cub now and again remarked that Maarten was a brick and helped him -out of lots of tight corners, without even a hint being given, and Lucy -wondered if Brooke saw or understood; apparently she did neither, and yet -the very day after the Cub had thrown down his armful of pea-brush in -disgust at the tottering, inebriate line that rewarded his best efforts, -the brush appeared all set in place, standing like an evenly trimmed -hedge, attractive in its neatness, aside from the crop of fragrant -promise that already was beginning to finger the support clingingly with -its tendrils. - -But how was it with Brooke herself? If it is true that filial love or -work in sufficiency can fill life to the brim, then hers was full to -overflowing; yet this is not all,—work, to be the heaven it may be at its -best, demands that the heart be satisfied. - -Lorenz she had known less as a man than as an idealist, and it was this -side of his nature that she loved, together with his respectful yet -truth-speaking attitude. Then came the mystic picture, bringing with it -to fan the naturally kindled flame the knowledge that he remembered! No -further word had come from him since the verse of Sisyphus that she had -answered merely by a spray of arbutus blossom, the New England flower of -spring hope, shining through melting snow. Could he interpret it? Perhaps -not. - -Sometimes a sense of the unreality of it all and the dream stuff it was -made of came over Brooke, and she wondered if the spell would hold or if -the separation was not more sweet than the reality; but this mood never -lasted long. - -Of the patient service of the farmer-on-shares she could no longer be -ignorant, nor of the fact that he drew her eyes toward the landscape -of which he had come to be an inseparable part. Unwittingly she found -herself watching him day by day, though usually as a mere speck in the -distance. At such times she was bewildered, and trembled at herself. Was -it the poise of his head, and an occasional gesture as he stepped back -to look at something that he had done, that reminded her of Lorenz and -confused the two identities for the moment, or had the strain of the long -winter of struggling warped her brain? - -Brooke was no analyst who had made the mental dissipation of the -dissection of motives take the place of natural emotion. The ideal of her -nature had its outlet; why not then the real? It was the natural man in -Maarten that drew her, something beneath the surface, obliterating the -bands of caste and the social grades that divided their normal positions, -though for that, except for her father’s disastrous city career, she was -equally born a child of the soil and its heredities. - -She avoided the hay-fields, now swept by the June snow-storm of daisies, -and in spite of success and her friend’s companionship, was truly -miserable for the first time, for she could neither understand nor throw -off the spell she felt upon her. Self-respect is not oblivion, and is but -a chilly comforter for youth. - -The frequent thunder-showers had forced a new necessity upon the Sign -of the Fox. An open shed at least must be had to protect vehicles that -needed cover, while their occupants were sheltered by either screened -porch or welcomed in the neat kitchen itself; so that an old lumber room -in the cow barn had been cleared, and furnished with rings for tying -up, the drivers upon the upper road being chiefly of horses; for the -chauffeur avoided the steep, uneven hills, which jarred the constitution -of the car of Juggernaut unpleasantly, even in the downward trip. - -It chanced a little before this time that a party of young fellows, -headed by Charlie Ashton, in his big Mercedes touring car, built for -long-distance runs, had started for Gordon, where they were in demand -for a tennis tournament. Ashton’s chauffeur turning ill and unfit at -the last moment, they had beat about, and discussed the possibility of -substituting one of their number for the professional, as they all had -more or less experience; and the lot had fallen to Tom Brownell, who had -joined the party for a brief vacation, at the end of which he was to take -the position of city editor of the _Daily Forum_, a well-earned promotion -for which his gift of discerning the true from the merely sensational -peculiarly fitted him. - -Brownell knew from Ashton that the Lawtons were located somewhere on the -route they were to take, and ever since his first maladroit interview -with Brooke he had desired to be of some service to her, that should -atone for his blunder. - -The pair of keys on which he had stepped that day in leaving the -apartment had always remained, as it were, before his eyes, and after -learning all possible details of the Lawton failure from many sources, he -felt doubly convinced that, if these keys were placed, they might solve -at least one of the many questions unanswered because of Mr. Lawton’s -illness. He had therefore asked Lucy Dean to get them if possible—which -she had done. - -Two months of following the faint trail furnished by two thin keys merely -bearing numbers but not even the initials of their makers, had at last -brought about a certain result which might or might not be satisfactory, -but at least warranted him in seeing Brooke, and telling her of his -progress; and this was one of his many motives of touring to Gordon. - -He knew, from Lucy herself, that the Lawtons were located in the vicinity -of Gilead, and inquired the nearest way to the homestead, when they -reached the village late in the afternoon. On learning that it was on -the hill road, and as the machine he was driving had had two temper fits -within the hour, Brownell side-tracked it in a pleasant spot on the lower -road, and leaving his companions to spend an hour with their pipes and -the liquid remains of their luncheon, he started afoot up the cross-road. - -There had been many people stopping for tea at the Sign of the Fox that -afternoon; in fact, the last trap was only leaving as Brownell turned the -corner, being that of Mrs. Parks, who dined at eight on purpose to have -the sunset hours for driving,—a performance that the Senator could not -understand. - -Brownell hesitated a moment, as many others had done, as to which door, -front or side, was the more direct entrance, and deciding upon the -latter, turned the corner of the house and took the cobbled path that ran -between the prim box bushes toward the kitchen door. As he passed under -the window of the little library, the sound of a voice inside made him -stop as abruptly as if a detaining hand had been laid on his shoulder. -“They are at Coronado,—the engagement is announced,—they are to be -married immediately, and instead of coming home with the party go on to -Vancouver and Alaska. Father can no longer be my all in all, yet there is -no one to take his place!” were the words the voice uttered deliberately, -with an accent half mocking, yet with an undercurrent of sadness to one -who understood. - -Standing on tiptoe for one brief moment, Brownell saw Lucy Dean’s -clear-cut face through the shielding vines; it was turned away from the -window, and she continued speaking to some one whom he could not see, but -easily divined was Brooke herself. - -Recovering his power of motion as quickly as he had lost it, Brownell -darted down the lane toward the barn, and opening the door of the first -outbuilding that he reached, sprang in, closing it quickly behind him -with a heedless bang, in all the guilty trepidation of some peeping Tom -in fear of justice. In reality the being that Brownell most feared at -that moment was himself, as rendered illogical, helpless, and oblivious -of even the carefully planned work of his life, when in close proximity -to Lucy Dean. If she turned and saw him, he knew himself lost, so that -immediate flight was the only hope left. - -From the moment he had first met her Brownell had admired her stanch -friendship for Brooke, while her buoyant and frank audacity had soon -fairly swept him off his feet. He had gone to the Dean house many times, -it is true, half because not to do so would have been brutally rude, -half fluttering, moth-in-the-candle fashion and courting a singeing, -until in the close companionship of the six weeks’ journey that had been -proposed, he saw that he would not only be at bay, but completely at the -mercy of that most uncertain of quantities, the motherless daughter of an -influential and wealthy man. - -As an institution he had no quarrel with matrimony,—simply it had no -place at present in his somewhat altruistic plan of work. He did not wish -either to love or to marry; to see Lucy had cast him into the former -state, and caused matrimony to fill the entire vista. - -What had he to offer—that is, financially? Even with his promotion he -could little more than compete with her father’s _chef_. Of himself he -had but an indifferent opinion, which was unwise, merely his ambitions -were so far ahead of his achievements that he measured his shortcomings -by the discrepancy. - -That Lucy delighted to compete with him in a sort of game that Brooke -had called “truth telling” he knew, also that in some way he seemed -to stimulate her wit; but that there was a grain of sentiment in her -practical, and what people thought somewhat hard, nature, he never for a -moment dreamed. Therefore, knowing that if he saw her often the moment -would come when from his own standpoint he must become ridiculous in her -eyes, he had escaped from the overland trip, as he now sought to escape -the sudden and unexpected meeting by flight. - -It would soon be dusk, and he could slip back to his companions unseen, -make some easy excuse for not having called, and tell Brooke of his -partial discovery by letter. This flashed through his mind as the door -closed. At the same time he looked about the building that he had -entered, to see if it had another exit, and discovered it to be a poultry -house, the well-white-washed perches of which were crowded by mature, -experienced hens, each wing-capped for the night. In the uncertain light -he made a misstep on the uneven ground, compounded of ashes and broken -lime, that formed the floor, which sent him reeling into the midst of -the feathered multitude, and as he grasped a perch to save himself from -rolling in the dust, he shook off the portly sleepers. A perfect babel of -hen alarm arose as the frightened ladies flew in his face and lodged on -his arms and shoulders in their useless flight. - -“Be still,” he called in a husky voice; “for heaven’s sake don’t raise -such a devil of a row—they will take me for a rat or a weasel at the very -least, and set the dogs on me,” and then he laughed when he realized -upon what unintelligent scatterbrains his words had fallen. The windows, -all too small for retreat, were also netted. There was but one door, so -finally, getting his bearings, he made a dive for that, only to find it -firmly fastened by Miss Keith’s anti-chicken-thief spring lock! They say -love laughs at locksmiths, but bitter satire! when before had the device -of one of the craft imprisoned a man flying love, in a fowl house? - -Folding his arms, with shoulders squared and jaw set, Brownell waited. -Already he heard the barking of a dog, women’s voices, and steps upon the -porch of the house. Could any position be more preposterous? - - * * * * * - -Lucy had finished reading her letter, and stood in the porch, watching a -catbird’s fantastic wooing as it paused in the midst of an impassioned -song to jeer, expostulate, coax, and protest all in a breath, now raising -itself tiptoe on an ecstatic high note, and then languishing until it -seemed to melt into the bushes. Every other bird loses self-consciousness -and pours his heart out in the love time, the catbird never; and yet its -compelling fascination lies in that it is always itself. - -Lucy laughed softly as she watched the feathered pair, and said to -Tatters, who stood beside her, “Do you know, old fellow, I think if -any one wooes me, he will have to do it all in a breath, and after -hypnotizing me by his rattling, like that bird yonder, secure my hand and -heart before I wake. How I wish I were that lady bird this very minute, -having all this fuss made for me, and sitting perfectly composed in a -bush without a thought to spare for my trousseau!” - -Tatters’ answer was a low growl, and then a series of quick barks as the -hubbub in the hennery began. - -“I think something is stirring up your poultry; shall I go and see?” Lucy -called, going around under Brooke’s window, for the latter had gone up to -rest a few moments after a tiresome afternoon. - -“I guess the hens have only fallen off their perches, and are -frightened,” Brooke answered, coming to the window; “they often do, the -sillies. It cannot be rats or weasels, for that is not Tatters’ animal -bark,—that tone means a man, and no one would be so foolish as to come -prowling before dark.” - -Lucy continued to watch the catbird, but on the noise recommencing, -Tatters growled again, and leaving the porch, nose to ground, skirted the -library window, went to the gate, returned, stood under the window for a -second with bristling hair, and then, leading straight to the fowl house, -began tearing at the door. - -Interested in his tactics, and thinking the intruder nothing worse than -a prowling cat, Lucy threw the skirt of her flowered dimity over her arm -and crossed the garden to the lane. - -“Quiet, Tatters, quiet!” she cautioned, patting his head; “you must let -me attend to this; dogs are not allowed in fowl houses, they have been -known to produce heart disease in susceptible young pullets. Sit down -and watch out!” - -Touching the spring, she released the latch, and opening the door -cautiously, lest any fowls escape, she peered in, thus coming instantly -face to face with the caged man! The shock for a moment made her lose her -poise, and she almost tottered as she cried, “Tom Brownell!” - -At the same time Tatters, seeing the strange man, sprang forward, and to -keep him back Lucy stepped inside the sill-less door; his weight as he -sprung closed it with a snap, making her in turn a prisoner. - -“I thought you were in New York! What are you doing here?” she flashed, -regaining her poise and colour at the same time. - -“And I thought that you were in California,” retorted Brownell, -carelessly, hands in pockets, holding sentiment down hard. - -“Then you did not come here to see me?” - -“On the contrary, I came to see Miss Lawton! Are you usually to be found -in chicken houses?” - -“Ah, she _is_, then? Suppose, as we must put up with each other’s society -until Tatters leads Brooke to our rescue, that we play the truth game to -kill time,—you know that truth can be trusted to kill almost anything -nowadays; I will ask the first question. Did you give up the California -trip because you wished to avoid me?” - -“Yes, but not in exactly the way—Yes, I did,” this with an emphatic nod. - -“It is my turn. Why did you not go to California?” - -“Because—because—” and the eloquent Lucy became suddenly tongue-tied. - -“Because of a prospective stepmother, was it not?” assisted Brownell, -feeling an instant warmth about his heart, as her defiance relaxed. - -“No, it was because you were not going—that is, because my feelings, my -pride, were hurt,” and again she raised her head with a defiant glance, -adding hastily, “Now my turn. Why did you wish to see Brooke, and if you -came to see her, why are you found hiding in the fowl house?” - -“I came because I have learned something about those mysterious keys. -They belong to a box in a little-known safe deposit company in Brooklyn, -and the name of the lessee is not Lawton; further, they would not tell -me, nor can I go on without some aid from the family. Does this errand -meet with your approval?” - -“Then the keys do belong to something! Come quick, Brooke, let us out -and hear the news!” called Lucy, pounding on the door; but no response -came,—only a growl, not from Tatters, but from the unseen thunder-shower -that was, as usual, making its way over Windy Hill. - -“As to your last question,” continued Brownell, without heeding the -interruption, “I was passing a window on the way to the side door when I -heard a familiar voice reading a letter. One look confirmed my suspicion, -and, like a wise brute in danger, I made for the nearest cover, not -expecting to be made a prisoner, but to get off unseen!” - -“Why do you avoid me? What have I done to make you hate me so?” Lucy -almost whispered, a little break creeping into her voice that made -Brownell start forward. - -“Why? Because a sane man usually avoids a danger of which he has had many -warnings. Don’t look at me like that, Lucy, and for God’s sake take your -hand off my shoulder, or you’ll make me forget my self-respect and let -myself go, only to be mocked by a woman!” - -But Lucy did not move her eyes or her hand, while its mate stole to his -other shoulder. - -“Talking of self-respect,” she said slowly, but with an indescribable -tender archness of accent, “why do you wish to make me lose mine by -forcing me to throw myself into your arms? See, I am braver than you, I -do not fear to be mocked by a man!” - -“Lucy!” - -“Tom!” - -Those were the only two intelligible words of the rush that followed, -but even the catbird in the syringa bush, had his eye and ear been turned -that way, might have taken a lesson in rapid and complete wooing and -winning. - -A patter of rain on the roof, another growl, and a flash caused Brooke -to hasten out to the porch to look for her friend, while Tatters still -barked and clawed at the door of the poultry house. Opening the door, she -spied Lucy, who, for the moment, had pushed Brownell into the darkness -behind her. - -“So you looked for cats and weasels, and the door slammed on you!” she -cried, dragging Lucy out by the wrist, and brushing away the whitewash -that powdered her dark hair. “Hurry back to the house, for you know that -neither one of us has a love of thunder-storms!” - -“You were right, Brooke, it was not Tatters’ animal bark,—it was a man -that frightened the fowls,” answered Lucy, still holding back. - -“A man! Then why do you stay out here in the dusk? Who was it? You are -laughing,—it must have been Adam playing a trick on us!” - -“Adam! Oh, no, it is the man I am going to marry! Brooke Lawton—Tom -Brownell! I believe, by the way, you have never before been properly -introduced!” and the next flash saw three figures, followed by a joyous -dog, scudding toward the house under a burst of rain. - - * * * * * - -While the storm raged it was impossible either for Brownell to regain -his companions or to communicate with them in any way, while the -probabilities pointed to the chance of their having returned to Bisbee’s -stable for shelter at the first signs of the storm. - -At the supper table Lucy’s radiance was so dazzling that no one could -pretend to ignore it. The Cub, to whom Brownell was of course a stranger, -was inclined to be resentful and clumsily sarcastic, but as the elder man -had both tact and magnetism, he speedily concluded that it was better to -have a new friend than an unnecessary enemy. Mrs. Lawton and Miss Keith -were made partakers of the news by mere inference before the formal words -were spoken, and Brownell at once became a friend of the family, even -before the matter of the keys and his diligence in their interest came -up. Brownell took the bits of metal from his pocket and laid them on the -table beside him, as he told of his idea that, being paired and of the -type that is used by safety-vault companies, they might in some way be -connected with the personal belongings of Mrs. Lawton and Brooke; how -that by chance he had seen keys of a similar pattern in the pocket of a -friend, but, in locating the company, had found the name given by the man -renting the box to be West and not Lawton! - -“That was grandmother’s maiden name, and this is the West homestead,” -said Brooke, in a tense whisper. “The keys must have something to do with -father and all of us, if we can only fathom how!” - -“If West is a family name, the rest must unravel in time,” said Brownell, -looking eagerly toward Adam Lawton, who, sitting as usual in his -wheel-chair at the foot of the table, had turned slightly toward the -young man, idly fingering the keys, his eyes fixed on the distance. - -The circular storm, that had veered off for a time, now returned with -renewed fury. Pam jumped into Lucy’s lap and hid her head under the -table-cloth. Miss Keith fled to her room and bounced into the middle of -her feather-bed, to “keep her feet off the floor,” as she said. Lucy held -Tom tightly by the hand, while even Mrs. Lawton and Brooke grew pale and -the Cub feigned an indifference that he was far from feeling, for the -effect of the air charged with electricity was palpable and not to be -ignored. - -There came a moment when a series of explosions followed one another like -pistol shots, next a scathing flash and a deafening report, and at the -same instant a sound of ripping and tearing in front of the house, while -a sulphurous odour filled the room. - -Tatters, who was huddled close to Brooke, raised his head and gave a -weird howl, and for a moment no one had either power of speech or motion. - -Brownell was the first to recover, and going quickly to the front door, -he threw it open and looked out The giant button-ball inside the fence -was split from crown to trunk, and great twisted splinters littered the -short grass; but the old pine, holding the Sign of the Fox upon one of -its gnarled arms, stood safe and intact like a good omen. - -“Look at father!” were Brooke’s first words, spoken as Brownell returned, -and the entire group about the table watched him in wonder. - -At the flash his eyes had closed and a tremor passed over him, but when -he opened them again, a new intelligence was there. Slowly he looked -about; then, noticing the keys, that had remained between his fingers, he -clasped them tightly with an exclamation of satisfaction, and, turning -toward his wife, who had drawn close to his chair, said slowly, with -perfect articulation, yet hesitatingly, as if each word suggested its -neighbour: “Mela, here are those keys of the new box that I hired to-day -to hold your little belongings. I—seem—to—have—dreamed—that I—lost—them! -I may have a business ordeal—to go through—and what little belongs to -you—and—daughter must be put apart—in—safety. I took—this—in the name—of -Adam West, and to-morrow Brooke must go—also—to be recognized—Where am I? -how—did I come here at the old home?” Slipping from her chair, Brooke -went to her mother, and gently, each holding a hand, they wheeled the -chair back to the familiar bedroom, so that neither place nor people -should cause the return of memory to rush too swiftly and overtax itself. -Brooke left her father and mother together there, and going to the -library, wrote a brief note to Dr. Russell, asking his guidance in this -new crisis that might mean so much or so little. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -THE RETURN OF MEMORY - - -Of the household at the homestead, one heart sank instead of rejoicing, -at the first sign of the return of memory to Adam Lawton. This one bumped -painfully in the chest of the Cub, as, leaving the room unnoticed, with -face pale as it had not been for months, and unheeding the flapping -sheets of rain that smote and enveloped at the same moment, he fled to -the barn and threw himself with head buried in his arms on the dwindling -haymow that had once sheltered the little fox. - -Poor Cub, with the first perfectly lucid utterance of his father all the -old cringing dread had returned, and his manhood again struggled with the -fear that he had believed dead. This, also, after five months of proving -the stuff of which he was made by bitter, patient toil, until day by day -the warring elements were adjusting, the jangling grew fainter, and at -each hammer touch of experience the metal rang more true. If Adam Lawton -could have realized this, and seen his boy with unbiassed clearness, the -loss of money and life itself would have been nothing to the bitterness -that would have come to him as the results of his arbitrary attitude. - -The Cub need not have trembled. Remember whatever Adam Lawton might, a -law of life had been broken and their positions were reversed, the leader -must be led, the dictator of another’s free-born will must be protected, -gently dealt with, guarded from trouble, loved pitywise, but never would -he square his shoulders to the world and give and take. Can worse irony -of fate come to any man who has really lived? - -An hour after the electric bolt had riven the plane tree planted as a -landmark by the first West, and by its mystic influence cleared Adam -Lawton’s brain, the warm June moon, a line from full, was slowly pushed -edgewise from between the clouds and rolled slantwise above Moosatuk, a -giant coin of gold, fresh and articulate from the mint. - -Lucy Dean and Tom Brownell, coming out-of-doors the instant the storm -abated, walked up and down the cobbled path, all oblivious of the puddles -between the stones or of the dripping trees above. Brownell had meantime -entirely forgotten how he came to be where he was, also his friends below -on the river road, whose motive power he represented for the time being, -or the fact that, as the only resting-place in Gilead for the homeless -was a “Commercial Hotel” of small dimensions and still less visible -cleanliness, it would be necessary for them either to sleep in the -touring car or in Gordon. - -As the pair for the twentieth time reached the road end of the path and -turned again into the deep, sweet-smelling shadows of the great box -bushes, a buggy turned the corner from the cross-road and came to a halt -by the side gate. A slender male figure in a light suit and cap, leaping -therefrom, attracted their attention, and Brownell exclaimed, “Great -Cæsar! I’ve forgotten those wretches down below and they’ve come for me! -Now for it! right-about face, Lucy!” at the same time by a dexterous turn -of the arm catching her about the waist; for Lucy, whose chief pride -had always been facing the music, whether necessary or not, had started -to bolt, and exhibited as charming a bit of struggling confusion as the -heart of man could desire. - -The moonlight struck the man’s face as he came forward. “It’s only -Charlie Ashton,” she said, freeing herself at once, her head raised to -its defiant poise; “as he doesn’t know that I am here, it is his turn to -be surprised!” - -Charlie Ashton, the useful and ornamental, did not bear a reputation for -overweening brilliancy; but the moment his eyes rested upon the pair -before him, divided though they now were by a box bush, he divined what -had happened. - -“So this was the plot, and the reason you thought the hill would -disagree with the auto, and left us to drown all this time down on that -soaking river road so that you could meet Lucyfer alone,” he cried, -seizing Brownell by the hand and nearly wringing it off, while he aimed a -kiss at his cousin’s cheek, in token of his approval, which by a toss of -the head landed on her chin. - -“On my word, Charlie, there was no plot, it was pure accident. I never -dreamed of my luck!” - -“Most certainly not!” interrupted Lucy; “otherwise he would have been -safe and sound in Gordon two hours ago, instead of being engaged to me. -He really came here to tell Brooke about the keys, but circumstances -which he could not control (as he did the overland trip) obliged him to -see me first in a place hardly as airy, though quite as secluded, as a -special Pullman vestibule!” - -Ashton, scenting a mystery, but being too wary to press his cousin for -the clew, gave Brownell’s hand a final wring, saying, without being in -the least aware of his play upon words, “She’s a match for you, old man, -stubborn as you are—yes, and more than a match, and you have my profound -sympathy; but do have pity on us to-night and pilot us into Gordon, for -we are damp and hungry and sleepy, and this old plug is all I could get -at the stable. To-morrow you shall have the confounded car for the rest -of the week to return here in, choose your passenger, and go and break -down in the wildest cross-road of this confounded hill country. I’ll -even give you leave to ruin a tire, or if the worst comes to the worst, -wrench the steering gear, though I hope that won’t be necessary. Cheer -up, Lucyfer, it isn’t nine o’clock yet, and he can have a good sleep and -be back in twelve hours. I’ll go in and see the ladies a moment while you -do the finals!” - -“I shall write to father to-night,” Lucy said abruptly, as the door -closed upon Ashton, and Pam, who had been waiting to get out, began -bounding about her friend, giving yelps of joy. “What do you suppose he -will say?” - -Brownell began to speak, then paused, setting his teeth, and raising -Lucy’s chin gently, looked steadily in her face—“He will say one of two -things, according to his mood. Either that, resenting a stepmother, you -have thrown yourself away upon the first fellow who chanced by; or that -you have met the man who is to be, what he could not, ‘all in all’—that -you have found your mate!” - -And Lucy, pale with feeling, a different pallor from that the moonlight -gives, returned his gaze fearlessly, proudly, and from the lips that met -his bitterness vanished, while truth remained. He was indeed her mate, -her match, the first of many suitors, rich and poor alike, who had wooed -her, man to woman, without thought or apology of money. - -The second day after the great storm, for such it came to be -called, its erratic course through the hill country being blazed by -lightning-splintered trees and gullied watercourses, Dr. Russell came and -with him the Lawtons’ lawyer. Little by little the various happenings -were made clear, his situation and as far as might be his presence at -the farm explained, while, as the days went by, slowly the jarred brain -fitted the links in the chain of memory. But Dr. Russell said truly, that -Adam Lawton’s grit and grip were broken once for all, desire of power was -dead and in its place came desire of peace. Soon the little pottering -details of the farm, despised in youth, seemed dearer than aught else, -and he would sit for hours in his wheel-chair, training a vine or busied -with harness buckles in the barn. Nothing, however, would induce him to -allow his chair to go outside the gate, or to drive about the country or -to the village with Adam or Brooke upon their many errands. - -Side-tracked though he was to many eyes, one of his selves, the one -unknown,—for most of us have two,—came back to him through kinship -with the soil; and at his first words of pride in and praise of Adam’s -usefulness, the boy had fled away to the rick again, great sobs tearing -his throat, but in this tempest lay no dread, and with those tears the -Cub cast off his nickname and leaped a year in manhood. - -Toward his wife Adam Lawton was all tenderness, as in the early years, -and once more he called her Mela. But instead of the protective pride of -lover to sweetheart, it was the twofold, leaning quality, that makes some -men as they age seek the mother element in their wives and rest upon it. - -Before July came round the little property of Mrs. Lawton and Brooke, -together with the farm deed and the jewels, was restored to them. In all -it made an annual sixteen hundred dollars, less by many times than either -woman had spent for clothing or the many little luxuries and nothings -that smooth and beautify the daily life—yet for their station they had -been frugal women, though always generous. - -This money did not lessen Brooke’s determination or endeavour; it simply -turned striving to possibility of life in the composite household. -Neither, had the sum been ten times what it was, would any of the three, -mother, daughter, son, have cared to give up the work and with it motive; -simply Brooke could now dream more than day-dreams of her art. Rosius, -the animal painter, had built a studio at Gordon, and, after seeing a -head that Brooke had done of Senator Parks’s prize bull, he had replaced -his usual shrugging lethargy toward amateurs by enthusiasm, offered to -criticise her work throughout the season, and take her as a student of -animal anatomy in his winter studio in Washington, where the models -of the Zoo would be open to her, saying, “You feel, you understand, -you catch the thought, the meaning in the eyes,—this must be born, not -taught, all the rest only means much work and is learnable.” - -If all went well and the Sign of the Fox remained her talisman, who knew -but the fund might grow, her father become strong enough to be house -man in more than name, Adam might have some education even if Stead -returned to work, and she herself could steal a month or two in the dead -season?—for the Parkses would be in Washington, and both the Senator and -his wife took an interest in her work, not born of desire to patronize. - -Presently Adam Lawton began to read a little and could move slowly from -porch to garden seat, steadied by canes, and attend to many of his wants. -Then one glad day Mrs. Fenton had come down in her wheel-chair, and by -sheer force of will broke the home-staying spell by coaxing him to drive -back to a country boiled dinner with her, saying, “Don’t you remember, -Adam, when we were boy and girl together, and I said I’d go to your -father’s barn-raising dance with whichever of you boys could lift himself -up and touch his chin to the schoolroom door frame, three times? Some -boys couldn’t claw, and some got a grip and let go, while some wanted -boosting. You were the smallest, yet you got a hold and lifted yourself -slowlike, inch by inch, until you got there. That’s the way now, Adam! -You’ve had your tumble, and naturally you’ve got to help lift yourself!” - -Was it what rural folks call a good growing season, or did love and -labour brighten and sweeten the simple garden flowers beyond their wont? -Who can say? Adam had made some corner brackets for the vine-screened -“tea room” porch, which Brooke had covered with tufts of gray moss and -coral-capped lichens, and here every day she placed, as well as on the -table, quaint stone jugs and lustre pitchers, rescued from the high top -shelf of Grandma West’s dresser, filled them with sweet peas, Madonna -lilies, mignonette, sweet-william, and clove pinks, and kept long sprays -of sweet syringa, lilacs, snowballs, lemon-lilies, foxgloves, larkspur, -hollyhocks, according to the season, in an old stone churn raised upon a -bench before the kitchen window end to veil it. - -Not only did the garden yield its best to those who paused for -refreshment in passing by, but Brooke’s measure of added liberty, scant -though it was, gave her a breathing time to go abroad for flowers of -roadside, wood, and the rank river meadows; and while her eyes and hands -were busy with the blossoms, her soul drank in the beauty of the scenes -beyond, her heart beat strong, and her whole nature seemed to expand and -perfect itself in the growth and perfecting of the earth about her. - -It was on the return from one of these walks through the river meadows, -arms laden with blue fleur-de-lis and golden sundrops gathered to the -tinkling music of soaring bobolinks, that she met the postman turning up -the cross-road from the lower pike, and he begged that she would take the -mail, as he had none this afternoon for any other on that branch and his -horse was lame. - -Good-naturedly she turned up a corner of her skirt to act as mail pouch, -for the papers, circulars, and what not made quite a budget. - -Reaching the boundary of her land when halfway uphill, and being -wrist-cramped by the double load, she dropped her flowers and mail, and -sitting in the shade began to sort it. Behind her was the rye field, and -the wind curling across the crisping ears, now gold-green, made sound as -of a gently rising tide on pebbled shores, while as she leaned against -the bank the bayberry, sweet-gale, and hay ferns breathed their wild -fragrance. - -Oh, what a day it was! June dominance and rush yielding to the more -finished manners of July—nothing was lacking! That is, nothing -attainable; the love of things seemed to eclipse the love of people. -Ah, no, not quite, for as she gazed idly at the letters in her lap, her -heart gave a great throb, and one square package lurched and slid between -her trembling fingers, for the address on it was written in Ashton’s -eccentric hand. Picking it up, she laid the others by, and steadying -herself deliberately broke the seal, for it was sealed endwise with -wax. Inside was a double-folded piece of foreign-looking paper, but no -other address or postmark, the transit cover evidently having been torn -or soiled, and not a written word of any sort in view. Within its folds -a little square of millboard, the duplicate of that which had borne -her picture, only from this looked forth the face of Lorenz himself, -standing in a doorway, clad in his loose blouse, palette and brush in -hand. The heavy thatch of hair shaded his forehead deeply, the face was -thinner than she remembered it, the chin under the thick mustache more -determined, the jaw set with a depth of purpose, while the eyes looked -half away as if seeking inspiration and yet followed her everywhere, -until Brooke covered them with her hand a moment as if to escape the too -tense gaze of a real presence. - -Hoofs sounded on the road, and there passed by Enoch Fenton with his -horse-rake, coming in neighbourly fashion to help the farmer-on-shares -gather up the timothy hay from its last sunning to house it before -nightfall; to-morrow it would be turn about, according to country lore. -Seeing Brooke he stopped, and after making the usual crop and weather -epigrams, said: “That there man of our’n is right smart and steady, but -he hustles too much and he’s losing girth—’fore summer’s out he’ll be -slim enough to swim through an eel run. I’ve advised him, if he’s goin’ -to follow the soil, to locate farther north, but he seems unsettled and -I reckon he’ll move on after leaf-fall,—they mostly do, the smart ones, -besides which he acts as if the girl he’s waitin’ fer wasn’t comin’. If -she don’t, she’s a silly, for I nary seen a man with two strong hands hev -such a wise head! - -“Say, but you look sort of like a picter setting there with all them -posies, something like the one on the calendar they give with the ‘Rise -up bake powder’ when you’ve bought six cans. It’s called ‘The Love -Letter,’ only the girl’s got red heels to her shoes and powered-up hair, -besides which they’d bought her too small a pattern for her waist to -piece it well up in front! - -“Want ter know! I bet it’s a love letter, his picter and all, and I’m -right glad on’t!” Then farmer Fenton chirruped to his horses and went his -way, laughing to himself, and turning the tobacco from cheek to cheek -with relish, for Brooke had reddened under his banter, and in trying -to save the sliding letters in her lap had not only dropped them, but -the picture as well (which the farmer barely saw, having no glasses). -When she stooped to gather them up, and slipped the picture inside her -blouse for safer keeping, a second shadow crossed the road—that of Henry -Maarten, following the brook path to the hay-field, but if he saw her in -the sheltered bank nook he made no sign; neither did Brooke, but huddled -there among the ferns elated, disappointed, and quite bewildered, until -the sound of hoof and wheel had died away, and she knew that both men -were well within the fence. - -The words that Enoch Fenton muttered as he walked, talking to himself -in lengthy monologue, after the style of those much alone, were these: -“Bob Stead! by gosh, he’s been away a month, and what’s more likely than -he’s sent his picter and writes reglar? Anyhow, all the women folks this -side of Windy Hill and further has planned it so, and so it’s bound to -be! Besides which our darter’s boy, Willie, was lookin’ fer wintergreen -for mother’s rheumatiz up in North Woods beyond Stony Guzzle two months -back, and he spied a couple settin’ by the stream a-holdin’ hands and -eatin’ apples. Now if that ain’t courtin’—what is? Though it’s only jest -likely hit and miss, wife and Sairy Ann Williams met and pieced together -who they wuz. He’s a mum sort, but that’s the kind it takes a girl to -get goin’, and he’s well set up, funds and all, though oldish! Well, she -might do worse seein’ she’s had a taste o’ pinchin’,” and selecting a -fine spear of timothy with which to pick his teeth, Fenton reversed the -rake and mounted. - -Adam had written to Stead several times since his going away, and -received cheerful, though brief, replies, which, however, said nothing -definite as to his return, and though the time mentioned was a month, the -term might be merely nominal. All the household had missed him in their -different ways, the Cub with almost girlish sentiment, Mrs. Lawton as a -link with the state of life that was, and Brooke chiefly because she was -entirely used to him and associated him with so much that had given hope -and eased the winter rigour, that the friendship to her had become almost -the easy intimacy of relationship. - -It was an afternoon early in July that Brooke was searching along the -foot-path in the hemlock woods above the Fenton’s for the flowers of -pipsissewa, with their wax petals and spicy wood fragrance, when the -snapping of twigs made her turn, and striding down the hill, straight -into the light, with quick, elastic step, came Robert Stead, a new, alert -expression on his well-tanned face that wiped at least half a dozen years -from his time record. - -Brooke was surprised and also frankly glad. Dropping her flowers, she -held out both her hands and told him so. - -“As this is the first word from you in five long weeks, it is well that -it is a kind one,” he replied. Then, holding her off, he looked at her -as if to make sure it was she herself, and not the masquerading gypsy -girl whose image always rose and came between them when he met her -out-of-doors. - -“Ah, so much has happened since then! but Adam has written it all, except -perhaps that now I may hope to go to Washington for next winter to study. -That is quite far off, however, so tell me about yourself, also how -working has agreed with you!” she added mischievously. - -“Work! They tell the truth—those that call it the master-word that -unlocks all barriers! Child, child, do you know what you have done for me -by acting and teaching it, so that now to me life, that was ended (as far -as joy is life), has but begun? - -“Not only the desire for work, but the motive, came from you—is you! You -have the magic crystal of youth, I hold anew the power to shield it; -you have the fire of genius, I the fuel to feed its flame! Come to me, -Brooke; with you only I can forget, forgive! Redeem the past for me!” - -As he paused with arms extended, Brooke shrank backward against the trunk -of a great hemlock, bewildered, dizzy almost, by the sudden fierceness -of his passion, confounded by the meaning that now banished what was -friendship. She moistened her lips nervously and tried to speak, but -found no words. - -Hardly noticing her silence, he swept on: “Listen, and you will believe -that I know love at last. Ever since the day I met you by the trout -stream, I have understood how Helen could give up all to save her lover. -Why do you shrink? Is it all too sudden, my rebirth? Did you not even -guess?” - -Brooke steadied herself with difficulty and merely shook her head. Stead -leaned toward her and would have clasped her in his arms, but something -in her face held him at bay. - -“What is it, child? for God’s sake, don’t look so! I have frightened -you! You welcomed me as a friend, why not a lover? Am I then too old for -that?” and for an instant an iron frown drove the radiance from his face. - -Slowly Brooke began to realize that he was offering her his love, -his protection to them all. It meant pleasant companionship, no more -struggling, certainty and reasonable ease, time for study. For an instant -she felt weary, overcome, vanquished, and the relief within her grasp -seemed almost sweet. The next moment her woman’s nature, frank and real, -knew that this was not all, and faltering, yet gaining courage as she -spoke, she answered:— - -“That is not it; you do seem old to me, but if I had loved you, I should -not think of that or know it—only that I loved you.” - -“And how can you know that you do not? you with the transparent nature of -a child, how can you judge of these things as well as those who have been -tried by fire? Unless—” and his voice dropped and the colour died from -his face, leaving it an earthy gray under its coat of tan—“unless there -is some one else this time as there was before. Is there this some one, -Brooke, and has he stood proof as well?” - -Brooke’s pallor left her, and strength came to limb and voice. Stepping -quickly toward him, she laid her hands on his that were now held -clenched, and looking into his face said, in a voice quivering with -coming tears: “I need your pity, too. There is another, Robert Stead, but -he does not and may never know.” - -“God help us both,” he murmured, and stooping almost reverently, pressed -the kiss upon the folded hands with which a moment before he would have -sought to kindle the fire in her lips. - -For many moments they stood thus, and then Brooke said, with difficulty, -“You will come sometimes to see my mother and Adam? Oh, do not let my -blindness make you cast him off!” - -“Yes and no—” Stead answered, as they turned and walked mechanically down -the wood lane toward the highway. - -Once in the open he paused and said, in a voice so low and trembling that -it was but a whisper, “I have a report to make to-night, but to-morrow -I will go to see your mother.” Then, taking her hand gently: “Do not -grieve, gentle one, I was blind too; we are all blind when the heart’s -eye is satisfied. At worst, you have done more than you know for me; -now, the motive lacking, I shall try to work for work’s sake—and—” -pointing eastward—“I shall still share with you the River Kingdom!” - -No word of this ordeal ever passed the lips of Brooke, but it lay heavily -upon her, for she was of the sort who feel that love, honestly proffered, -even if unsought, carries an eternal obligation. Yet some one else had -seen and shared the secret that lay buried between them, and read the -meaning amiss. The farmer-on-shares had crossed the path below on his way -from Enoch Fenton’s rye-field at the moment that Stead had stooped to -kiss Brooke’s folded hands. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -SETTERS OF SNARES - - -The month of Lucy Dean’s stay spread itself over the entire summer, and -before she left the fragrance of wild grapes came from the river woods, -and the blue ribbon binding the tasselled grasses of the moist meadows -was loomed of Puritan fringed gentian instead of royal fleur-de-lis. Time -was when Lucy’s protracted presence, under like circumstances, would -have been a strain, akin to moving in a comedy of rapid action, where -every actor must be on the alert to take his cue. But to this restless, -high-strung woman love had come as a clarifier, like the magic electric -touch that vitalizes the air after the summer storm has passed, and makes -the breath come more freely. - -As she became an open book to her friend, their relative positions -altered, and the transparent Brooke of old in her turn became a mystery -to Lucy, while Stead fairly piqued her to the point of anger. She thought -she knew at least the eyemarks of masculine devotion, and before Stead’s -June departure she had read them in all their changefulness when his -eyes rested upon Brooke, and wondered if she were wholly blind, or -seeing it unwillingly, feigned blindness. Time would tell, she thought, -for judging by herself, she knew that, to some moods at least, separation -is the searcher of hearts in doubt. All visible signs, however, had -failed, as on the return the visits, though hardly less frequent, seemed -to lack the personal spontaneity of before, and to come under the family -or merely casual order. Still this might be accounted for by the fact -that Stead was absorbed in the designing of a serious piece of work of -some magnitude, and the remote hermitage had become the destination of -men of divers sorts,—old friends who had been held almost forcibly aloof -and new professional acquaintances. - -Dr. Russell, who had been at too great a distance to divine the intimate -reason of the revulsion, laid it wholly to the humanizing effect of the -general companionship and contact with the wholesome, firm-purposed -family life of the homestead, and he rejoiced exceedingly that at last -his friend had, as it were, separated self from shelf, and stood aside -from the self-inflicted gloom of his own shadow. But one day, chancing -upon Stead in New York, and reading a different, yet deeper, suffering, -purged of old selfishness, in his face, his habit of mental diagnosis, -tinged with kindly philosophy, was at an equal loss with Lucy’s lightning -intuition. - -As to Brooke, she walked straight forward, almost mechanically, -throughout those summer days, filled alike with work and sunshine. The -anxiety of the winter had been to know if the new life could possibly -become a permanence. Now life under the Sign of the Fox seemed a thing -assured; and yet the days seemed longer labourwise now than before, for -though Brooke could read the material future, she did not know herself. -The culmination of Stead’s friendship pained her, almost haunted her, -though chiefly because it had laid bare the needs of her own heart. Ideal -and real alike had grown intangible. Even Lorenz’ picture seemed to look -at her in reproach, and the giant shadow of the farmer-on-shares crossed -the fields less frequently now that the growing time was past. It seemed, -too, that Enoch Fenton’s words were proving true, for the man had grown -gaunt under the scorching sun and toil, and Bisbee duly reported that his -plans had fallen through about his sweetheart and settling, and that he -was going to the old country before winter. - -As to Lucy’s proposed descent upon the farmer-on-shares, begun in a -spirit of teasing and continued purely through curiosity, it was, as she -afterward termed it, “a regular toboggan slide”; and no matter in what -way or from where she approached him, without the least apparent effort -on his part, he was immediately at the farthest possible point away from -her. So that a one-sided wager she had made with Brooke, who professed -complete ignorance, that she could tell the colour of his eyes and what -he would look like without his “barbarous beard” at first sight, remained -unproven,—for Lucy there was no near-by first sight at all. - -From the West homestead Lucy Dean had gone to Gordon to visit Mrs. Parks. -After she had been away a week the early twilight saw her coming up the -cross-road from Gilead station, driven by the ubiquitous Bisbee boy in -the same buggy that had brought Ashton the night of the storm. - -No one was ever wholly surprised at any action on Lucy’s part, and when -Mrs. Lawton and Brooke noticed that the buggy had driven away again, they -concluded that Lucy had come to bid them good-by before returning home, -as the papers were full of the return of the new Mrs. Dean to New York, -of the satisfaction of their friends in general, and of the popularity of -the couple. They themselves were both dubious as to how Lucy would enjoy -being even temporarily only a daughter in the house where she had reigned -supreme; and though Mr. Dean had cordially approved of Lucy’s engagement, -it was well understood that it must necessarily be a long one. - -After the greetings were over, and Lucy learned their thoughts of her -coming, she did not appear as much at ease as usual. - -“The fact is,” she began abruptly, “I haven’t come to say good-by; I’m -stopping with Mrs. Parks until she goes to town, for the Senator has to -be away, and we hit it off nicely together. I’ve taught the heir apparent -endless tricks, so that he can outrank any baby of the social circus, and -consequently of course they adore me. - -“I’ve come to bid Tom good-by, for he is suddenly being sent abroad to -report socially, politically, and otherwise on that Congress at The -Hague. Of course it isn’t exactly the work of city editor, but he knows -the ground and languages and all of that, besides which it will be good -for him in every way, and he sails on Saturday!” - -“But where is he?” asked Brooke, too much puzzled to be surprised. “We -have not seen him, and how do you expect to meet him here when he knows -that you are in Gordon? though I’ve often thought it safest to look for -you where you are not, for there is where you are usually to be found,” -and then they both laughed at the Irish bull Brooke had perpetrated. - -“The telephone, my dear—from Gordon to New York—price one dollar! He -wired frugally: ‘Sail for Hague Saturday, will be in Gordon to-night,’ -upon which I called him up, and limited his trip to Gilead, supper at -the Sign of the Fox, afterward the Commercial Hotel by the depot, unless -_urgently_ requested by Mrs. Lawton to pass the night in the wasp room -with the black walnut furniture! Unfortunately, as you have no ’phone, I -could not inform you of the arrangement until I came in person,” and even -Adam Lawton joined quietly in the laugh that followed Lucy’s audacious -confession. - -“There will be a ’phone here for you to announce your marriage next -summer, if you grow impatient of watching and waiting,” said Brooke -mischievously; “so many people have asked us to have it that they may -send orders with less trouble, and then both Cousin Keith and mother -think that it would be real economy of both time and material for us to -know when large parties are driving out.” - -Tom Brownell came duly, and Mrs. Lawton almost purred with content as -she saw the pair of strong young faces at the tea-table, happy with the -tender happiness that is refined by a coming parting for anticipated -good. Again the two paced up and down the path beside the house in the -moonlight, but this time it was the young hunter’s moon, curved as a -powder-horn, and hurrying early to bed after his sun mother, that looked -narrowly between the trees athwart the western sky. - -“It will be a splendid trip for you,—nothing could be better,” said -Lucy, brightening; “you’ve not had a month out of the city these two -years past.” - -“It would be better if it were to be our wedding journey,” answered -Brownell; “being engaged may be an excitement and stimulant to the -sluggish, but for us the calmness of certainty would be far better; but -as it is, dear, I am more than thankful for my half-loaf.” - -Lucy did not speak for a few moments, and then, turning swiftly and -putting both hands on his shoulders, in her old earnest fashion, said, -transfixing him with her black eyes, in which mischief and pleading now -struggled for mastery: “If a thing would be better, it is wrong not to do -it, for we are bound to do our best. It shall be our wedding journey. How -much money have you of your very own?” - -Stunned into plain fact-telling, Brownell named a sum of less than three -thousand dollars, accumulated of extras and contributions to magazines. - -“Good! I have as much more of my half year’s allowance, which papa always -pays in advance; it will do very nicely!” - -“But Lucy, you wonder, I will not take a wedding trip or travel on your -money!” - -“Certainly not; yours will be more than enough for two months! I will -save mine for the suburban cottage furniture on our return, and I can -paper a not too big room beautifully myself, if the paper has stripes -to guide by. Miss Keith taught Brooke and me this past summer, and we -practised on the pantry, which looks quite well, because when the shelves -were put back they hid the bubbles, where our arms ached and we didn’t -rub the paper smooth.” - -“But think a moment, sweetheart,” almost gasped Brownell, who felt that -he was on the full run downstream toward rapids for which he had not a -paddle adjusted to shoot in safety. “Where shall we be married? This is -Wednesday,—there are only three days! How about your father? and then, -clothes?—women always need clothes! Don’t think I am objecting; it’s -only that I will not take unfair advantage of your warm-heartedness,” he -added, as a shadow of disappointment lurked on her piquant face. - -“Where? Here, to-morrow, at the Sign of the Fox, father and company to be -bidden by telephone; they can arrive at three-forty, and go on to Gordon -later. As to clothes—oh, Tom! all women have clothes enough in which to -follow their heart’s desire, and I have trunks full!” - -Then that slim young hunter’s moon (which should have been in bed) -thought some one called him softly, and, looking back, saw what would -have lured his godmother Diana from her hunting trail of solitude! - -For the second time that season the personal affairs of Lucy and Brownell -electrified the sober old house by their rapidity, and each one received -the news quite differently. Miss Keith rushed for the raisin jar and -began seeding with might and main, and handled the spice boxes until -they rattled, for it would take all the early morning hours to bake the -wedding cake, and all the early afternoon to cool it. - -The Cub was in his element, as, with Billy harnessed to the buggy, -he escorted Tom Brownell to the telephone office and the parson’s. -Brooke and Lucy opened a great chest in the attic, where some gowns of -past luxury were stowed away, to find a muslin for Brooke’s part of -bridesmaid; while Mrs. Lawton, thinking as ever first of her husband, -told him of the happenings with her hand resting on his, to secure -attention, and at the same time wondered, somewhat apprehensively, -how the sight of his old friend in the flower of his prosperity would -affect him. She need not have troubled, for Adam Lawton dwelt in that -strange between-land called Peace, where life is made up of apathy and -simple comfort, and was content, a state altogether different from the -triumphant peace that follows work achieved or victory won. - -So it came about that the next afternoon at five, in the little library -of the homestead, two strong human identities merged, and Lucy, no -longer Lucy Dean, in her dark red travelling gown, her bouquet made by -Brooke of fleece-white garden chrysanthemums, turning to her father, -clasped her arms about his neck with a new fervour, and whispered, “You -see I’m still following your lead, you dear old daddy, so have a care!” -Then, led by Brownell, she went to the screened porch, gay with bright -leaves and berries, to cut the wedding cake, which, both well baked and -safely cooled, crowned the hastily improvised collation. Tatters and Pam -appeared wearing white neck bows, and the only outsiders were Mrs. Parks -and Charlie Ashton, the mysterious coming of whom no one could fathom, -and of which he emphatically declined to tell. Although Brooke watched -him wistfully and lingered after the others had left for Gilead station, -he made no sign. - -It was three months since Lorenz had sent word or token. Was it, after -all, only an illusion? Brooke even began to doubt if Ashton’s was really -the hand that had forwarded the letters from Lorenz. She was minded -to ask him outright, but while she hesitated the moment passed, for, -entering Mrs. Parks’s landau, he returned with her to Gordon. Looking -up at the Sign of the Fox, her talisman, as she passed under it and in -at the gate, she wondered if it would ever see another wedding, and -smiled in spite of her own thoughts, and at the possible comic answer -to them as she looked up the path and saw the parson, lately installed, -an unencumbered man of sixty, taking his fourth cup of tea, alternating -lemon and cream, while Miss Keith twittered about him with the eatables, -and gave a deeply freckled blush at some remark he made in stowing a -small, flat package of wedding cake in his waistcoat pocket. Thus does -hope often triumph over experience. - - * * * * * - -Again it was the hunting season, and Dr. Russell would soon come for his -autumn holiday. Stead waited for him with more than usual eagerness, -being in pitiful want of companionship in which he need no longer play a -part that was growing every day more impossible and intolerable. Brooke -desired to see the doctor, and learn if possible how far her father’s -steady and rational improvement might be trusted; and Miss Keith, -remembering some past advice of his, began to feel tremulously that -possibly before another visit she might need a fresh instalment, and so -resolved to be forehanded. - -Much game had been let loose during the past few years in the hill -country in a sportsmanlike effort to restock it as far as might be, and -when this is done there follows the pot-hunter with his snares. Robert -Stead, always an enemy of these slouching malefactors of wood and brush -lot, had this season announced that he was prepared to give the tribe no -quarter. The very day before the doctor’s expected arrival he had covered -their shooting grounds quite thoroughly, and after breaking numerous -snares, set with the utmost boldness on his own immediate land, he took -his gun and ambushed himself at dusk, telling José and two constables, -whom he had summoned from the village, to be in readiness to come to him -whenever the signal gun was fired, indicating the different routes that -they were to take to make a capture the most likely. - -Sunset came, and another hour passed, when a single report called the -watchers; but as they circled in the direction of the sound, they did not -meet the flash of Stead’s dark lantern as agreed, and heard no crash of -bushes as of men in sudden flight,—nothing but darkness and deep silence. - -José, the half-breed, bloodhound by nature, with even more of the animal -instinct than human intelligence, the outcome of the trailing instinct -coupled with much adventure, at once scented calamity. Was the gun the -master’s or was it another’s? To him it had a heavy, muffled sound, and -besides, it was not the discharge of both barrels, as agreed upon. - -Returning quickly to the lodge, he seized the lantern and a flask of -brandy, and locating the foot-path his master had purposed to take, stole -carefully along it, the others following in his wake. - -Suddenly he paused and lowered the lantern; before him, stretched between -two trees, was what is called a foot-snare, a thin, stiff cord, well-nigh -invisible, which was fastened across the path between the trees at such -a height as to the most surely throw the passer. José cut this with a -muttered curse and hurried on. Twenty yards farther he found another; -still following the path, his nostrils began to quiver and his eyes to -dilate, as if he felt a presence he could not see. A low groan made him -bound forward, and he almost fell upon the form of his master, doubled -upon the ground, head upon breast, where, in coming up the path, the -third snare had thrown him. - -Raising him in haste, one of the men stepped backward on his gun, and lo! -the tale was told. The lurch of the sudden fall had reversed the weapon -and pitched it against a tree bole, which, striking the cocked hammer, -had discharged the gun, shooting its owner in the chest. - -Laying him on the moss, José attempted to stanch the bleeding, which -came also from the lips. “It is the lungs,” he muttered, and making -the sign of the cross above his master, he poured some brandy down his -throat, giving a grunt of satisfaction when it was swallowed. Awkward in -emergency, yet the constables made stalwart bearers, and between them, -guided by José, they carried Stead—now truly Silent—to the lodge, pausing -now and then to reassure themselves, by his laboured breathing, that he -was alive. - -Once there, José used all the skill of the half-savage to make his -master comfortable, one of the men bearing him company, while the other, -leaving the rig in which they had come to Windy Hill, took Stead’s horse -Manfred and rode against time for the Gilead doctor, who, also being a -hunter and a firm friend of both men, telegraphed to Dr. Russell before -starting on his drive. - - * * * * * - -The next morning, when news of the accident reached the homestead, Brooke -was already on her way by train to Gordon to buy the weekly supplies -according to her habit, and Mrs. Lawton, driven by Adam, wild with grief -at the calamity to this friend, started for Stead’s home. - -Arriving at Windy Hill by ten o’clock, they found Dr. Russell there, so -that, with Dr. Love and José, who would not leave his master’s side, as -nurse, and a coloured woman of the neighbourhood in the kitchen, material -help was not needed; while as for personal sympathy, though Stead was -quiet and perfectly conscious, Dr. Russell, who came into the book-strewn -den to greet them, told them gently but firmly that the strain on the -emotions would be most dangerous for Stead, as the wound from the -scattered shot must prove fatal, rally as he might, and that he wished to -arrange some business affairs as soon as might be. If later in the day -he had the strength and the desire to see his friends, they would send -down a messenger. - -So mother and son drove home in silence to break the news to Brooke on -her return, and Mrs. Lawton cautioned Adam that it must be done most -gradually, for even Brooke’s mother did not know how far beyond the -outward friendship her feelings might be involved, or even but what some -deeper understanding was either foreshadowed or might actually bind them. - - * * * * * - -Dr. Russell had been alone with Stead for half an hour, José keeping -jealous guard outside the door, where, lying upon the floor, he dozed -lightly, worn out with the night’s reflected suffering. - -Gradually the heart history of the last six months was revealed to the -good physician, who, half sitting, half kneeling, by the narrow bed, -hands clasped before him, eyes half closed as if to shut away outside -things, might easily have passed for a purely spiritual confessor. Yet -in the fact of closing his eyes lay his only power to keep back tears. -Twice he essayed to speak and stopped, and then said gently, “A year ago -you said that you would willingly give the rest of life if you could only -feel and care once more. At least that wish has been granted.” - -“Yes, and I rejoice in it, even now,” Stead answered slowly and -painfully. “What now lies before me is to take the means and give, as -far as it will do so, all that I have to secure the rest and comfort of -the woman who gave me the power to care, but could not grant me more. -There is paper in the desk, good friend, so now sit and write as I -dictate. Black Hannah and the doctor outside shall be the witnesses.” - -Then came to Dr. Russell the hardest task of all, to argue with one -dying, but he did not flinch. “Stop for a moment, Robert, and think, led -by your new power of caring. If Brooke could not take your love, do you -think that she would take your money? Would not the idea hurt that same -brave tenderness that kindled you to life? Think of some other way.” - -“She said that there was ‘some one else,’ but that ‘he did not know.’ -Some day his eyes will open, for God will not allow a steadfast heart -like Brooke’s to be shut out of life.” - -A struggle seemed to pass over Stead’s face that left a blueness about -the lips and the eyes, that quivered and closed. Dr. Russell gave him a -stimulant and waited in silence. - -Presently the eyes opened and he spoke deliberately, as one reciting a -hard lesson. “Then let me leave all in trust to you for the man Brooke -Lawton marries, not to be known or given until their wedding day, when -you must tell him all, and if he is struggling with life,—as I have -a feeling that he is, for nothing else could keep him from such a -woman,—for her sake he will take the gift as from man to man.” - -“And if the day does not come, or he refuses?” asked Dr. Russell, joy at -the man’s final unselfishness beaming from his face. - -“After ten years, then let it become a part of the endowment of your -hospital, in memory of the two Helens, my daughter and her mother.” - -Thus the will was made with due regard to formality, making the doctor -holder of a trust, the details of which were contained in sealed -instructions to keep privacy; a certain sum being set aside to furnish -the faithful José with an annuity; Stead’s lodge, guns, fishing -rods, books, and furniture to Dr. Russell for his convenience as a -shooting-box; his saddle-horse to Adam; and his pictures and his two dogs -to Brooke herself, for these last were really the possessions he most -prized. Then Dr. Love and Hannah Morley signed as witnesses, they having, -as is needful, no part in the will. - - * * * * * - -For a short time Robert Stead seemed better, as if a load was lifted from -his brain, but Dr. Russell was not deceived by it, while his heightening -colour spoke of increasing fever. - -About two o’clock Stead asked the time, and that he might be lifted up to -see the river, that, far below in the distance, flashed by between the -trees. But his sight no longer carried. Presently he said, “Do you think -that Brooke would come here for one single moment?—would it be too hard -for her to bear?” - -“No; I have sent the horses for her, and she should be here at once. Yes, -I see them now coming up the lower hill.” - -Brooke entered alone, as Dr. Russell had asked, and led by him went to -the bedside, gently taking the single hand that lay upon the counterpane, -the other arm being bandaged at the shoulder. She knew by Dr. Russell’s -face that there was perfect mutual knowledge, and that she might be -herself without fear of misunderstanding. - -Slipping down to her knees, to relieve the tension of stooping, neither -spoke, for what is there to say when each knows the other’s grief and -helplessness? Stead fastened his eyes upon her face with fading vision -that still saw through and beyond. - -“I cannot see the River Kingdom, it has faded from me, but you have -come to me from it,” he said at last. Then looking toward Dr. Russell, -he added, “Open the window, please, that I may hear the rushing of the -water.” - -“You could not hear it, there has been no rain this fall and the river -is still; it is only in the spring flood that the waters rush noisily,” -answered Dr. Russell, watching the man apprehensively. - -Again a space of silence, and Stead murmured, “What was that about still -waters?—a hymn or prayer or something of the sort. I used to know it when -I was a little chap—my mother taught it me!” - -Dr. Russell glanced at Brooke. Did she understand, and could she bear -the strain and answer? Yes,—leaning forward, she repeated softly, close -to his ear: “The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to -lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He -restoreth my soul: he leadeth me—” - -Here the grasp of Stead’s hand tightened, so that she paused abruptly, -and turning toward her, he cried—“Child, child! that is what you have -done—you have restored my soul to me!” and answering the unconscious -appeal in the pleading eyes, Brooke, without hesitation, kissed him on -the lips. Then, obeying a sign from Dr. Russell, she arose and passed -quickly from the room. - -The next day Robert Stead died, and to Brooke it seemed as if a hush -must fall over all the River Kingdom,—the hawks stop sailing to and fro, -the keen October wind rest from blowing, and the meadowlarks in the low -fields cease their song. Yet it was not so, for this is not the law of -life, which must forever be triumphant over the other law. - -After a time people who had missed and wondered about Stead and Brooke -concluded that they had been mistaken; the little gifts of the will were -the natural ones to friends and neighbours, and the trust placed in Dr. -Russell’s hands was natural, and doubtless for charity, and there was no -one in the Hill Country who would deny his fitness to hold it. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -FIRE OF LEAVES - - -Killing frost had come and given the blackening touch to garden and wild -hedge-row. Even the hardy chrysanthemums bowed their hoary heads, and a -snow-like rime covered the river meadows every morning. The flame was -already burning low in the leaf torches of the swamp maples, while the -oaks changed to wine and russet slowly, with majestic dignity and pride -of hardihood. - -The modest crops the farm had yielded were divided, and Brooke’s portion -of hay, rye, corn on the cob, potatoes, and apples duly stored away under -Enoch Fenton’s argus eyes; while even this astute Yankee found nothing to -quibble at, so generous had been Maarten’s halving. - -In fact, when the strange “farmer-on-shares,” after the sharing time, -prepared to plough up the corn stubble for burning and harrow the cleared -field, Fenton laughed half derisively, and said, “It’s plain to me he’ll -never make a farmer,—that harrowing job belongs to next year’s man.” - -Still Maarten kept on at work, this last week of his stay, for that -mysterious source “they say” had informed Adam that the man was homesick -and would return to the old country, also that Bisbee knew it to be true -and he had bought Maarten’s portion of the crops. - -So when, one afternoon of late October, Brooke, in a restless mood, -looking down the fields toward Moosatuk, saw the opal smoke of burning -brush, stubble, and leaves following the fence line just above the brook, -while a dark figure moved in and out, stirring and feeding the flames -with a trident fork, her feet followed her inclination to go and thank -the man who had worked for and halved so well with her, and wish him -God-speed. - -Later, she herself would flit for a time, and though she desired to go, -yet she dreaded it. The pleasure season itself was waning, although many -of the hill people, especially at Gordon, lingered until Thanksgiving. -After this, winter would quickly close in, they told her, and as Rosius -would be in Washington executing some commissions, Brooke, urged by the -entire household, had agreed to spend the first two winter months there -with Mrs. Parks, to study animal anatomy under him. - -As Brooke strolled slowly down the lane, Tatters, as usual, followed -her. At first, when Adam Lawton began to walk daily about the garden, -Tatters’ indecision whom to follow had been most amusing; but he had -evidently worked it out to his entire satisfaction by dog philosophy, -and convinced himself that the one who went farthest afield was most in -need of company, so followed her as at first, mounting guard again by -the master’s chair the moment of her return; and though he was kind and -obedient to Miss Keith, after her return, there was a decided tinge of -condescension in it. - -Brooke reached the line of smoke and found that the fire was north of the -tumble-down wall, while Maarten was bringing rakesful of dry chestnut -leaves from under the trees, beneath which they had drifted half across -the hay-fields. These leaves he was using as kindling for the obstinate -stubble, piled in a long line. - -As the breeze veered and brought the pungent smoke toward her, Brooke -walked back a few paces, dragging her feet luxuriously through the -leaves, and waited for Maarten to come down the line once more, that she -might speak. Then, as the time lengthened and he did not return, the -idea forced itself upon her that perhaps he was keeping on the outskirts -of the fire to avoid her or her thanks, either one or both, and feeling -humiliated, she turned nonchalantly to cross the hay-fields toward the -wood-lot, a customary walk of hers. - -As she did so she scented something burning that was not the brush fire. -Glancing about, she saw that a thin tongue of flame had crawled out from -the brush heap, and was licking up the dry leaves all about, and that -the flaring line was scorching her wool and cotton outing gown and slowly -creeping upward toward her hand. For a second she tried to beat it out; -then, seeing the leaf fire spreading on every side and no way of escape -save through it, she tried to call, but fear muffled her voice. - -Faint as the cry was, it was heard by Tatters, who was hunting squirrels -in the fence. Bounding toward her, he too felt the fire; circling it, he -flew straight across the brush toward Maarten, barking in a wholly new -and piercing key of pain and warning. - -Running down the line, Maarten took in the situation at a glance, tried -to beat the flame out with his hands, and failed. Tearing off his loose -coat, he wrapped Brooke in it, and lifting her bodily, dashed over the -brush and wall, setting her down at the stream’s edge, where a few -hatsful of water put out the fire without even blistering her finger-tips. - -As he seized Brooke, crushing her to him in his speed, a fierce wave of -joy that banished all fear enveloped the girl from head to foot, and when -he put her down and she knew that the flames were extinguished, she was -still breathing hard, and could find neither voice nor words to thank him. - -Glancing at Maarten, she saw that he was bathing his scorched, sooty face -and wrapping a wet handkerchief about his hands, also that the brush -fire had caught his beard and singed it all away. - -At her exclamation of regret and pity, he turned, then stood upright -before her with folded arms, his eyes fixed directly on hers. In the -short interval the outline of his face had changed, solidified, and the -firmness of mouth and chin was revealed. - -Brooke’s heart stood still, and then surged, in wild, clamorous beating. -“Lorenz!” she cried. “Lorenz! Oh, why have I not always known you? This -explains everything! Why did you come here like this? Why did you change -your name and turn into a labourer?” - -Her voice had an unconscious reproach in it,—or at least the man so heard -it,—and a light that had gleamed through all the smut and scorch died -from his eyes; while half kneeling, half crouching, on the bank among -the bleached ferns and feathering seed-stalks, her hair fallen to her -shoulders, bright colour succeeding the pallor of fear, looking again the -gypsy ruler of the River Kingdom, Brooke waited for the explanation of -the man who stood before her. Slowly it came, and the voice, from which -the feigned accent was dropped, trembled at first, but grew stronger with -fervour every moment. - -“Why did I come? To see you! Why did I come as a farm labourer? That is -to what I was born, back in the little tulip farm that I have often told -you of, near Haarlem. Also it was the only way that I might both be near -and serve you. My name is my own, as was that by which you first knew -me—Henri Lorenz Maarten—Lorenz being my mother’s maiden name, and by it -I was as often called in the days I spent with my uncle, who brought me -up, as Maarten, the name of my father, who died so long ago. In Paris my -friends reversed the titles, student fashion, to please themselves, and I -for the time became Maarten or Marte Lorenz.” - -Why did he stand there, stern and aloof? Could he not read her thoughts, -Brooke wondered. Did he not fathom the deep undercurrent upon which her -questions had merely floated like bits of driftage? - -No; what Maarten saw before him, as he looked, was that scene in the July -woods—a young woman with eyes cast down, the suitor with eyes aflame -pressing kisses upon her hands. That the man was dead did not obliterate -the vision. Maarten had resolved to make his own confession, complete and -unmistakable, and then to go his way. - -Not knowing this, Brooke let her thoughts fly to him in eager questions. - -“The picture! Tell me of ‘Eucharistia’ and the meaning of the light in -it, and how you found me here when the papers said that you had gone to -work and study in Brittany.” - -“Did they say that? I did not know it, for I came direct from home, where -I had seen my mother. As to the picture, it is a long story. Shall I -tell it to you now or write it down and leave it when I go? You will be -chilled, perhaps, if you wait longer.” - -“Then you _are_ going?” - -“Yes, next week, my work now being done,” here he glanced across the -fields; “and having seen you, I must go back to my brush again, hoarding -the studies I have made. Oh, yes, I have worked—between times—painting -you always; such work is life to me.” - -“No, do not write, tell me now,” said Brooke, wondering if the chill that -seized upon her spirit had its source from without or from within. - -“Then I will tell you if you will listen to the end.” Brooke nodded -assent. - -Maarten drew nearer, and half sitting, half leaning against the bank, -told his story. - -“When I met you in the Paris studios, it was five years after I had -turned my back on England and the commercial life my father’s brother, a -London Hollander, had planned for me. I belonged in an art country, and -its traditions held me in its grip, not to be broken. I had fought my way -along and worked steadily, first at home, earning some praise, and yet -always when I felt success coming toward me, it passed me by. At first I -thought you one of the great flock of those young women who dabble at -art, as an excuse for greater liberty,—soon I learned better. You were -kind and frank; you never seemed to wait for flattery, but rather shrank -from it. Presently I came to think, ‘Here is a woman to whom one may not -only tell the truth, but who craves it.’ So I spoke my mind freely, as -you remember on that day at Carlo Rossi’s, when, with a dozen others, -you were trying to sketch a woman of the street, and catching poise and -colouring admirably, the face was still a blank, because you could not -fathom the meaning of her expression.” - -“Yes, I remember,” Brooke whispered, half introspectively, as with hands -clasped over her knee she looked down toward the river. - -“I craved your friendship, and you gave it. Then the time came when -it was too little for me; and I—what had I to offer? So I kept in the -background; my work grew stale, and for the first time I half regretted -the five years’ struggle, and might have given up save that, had I done -so, my mother’s pride and pinching, that I might become a painter, would -have been wasted. - -“One day I went with some others from the Quarter to Fontainebleau to -sketch out of doors. Three of us had resolved to enter a competition. For -a week I had scarcely slept, for somewhere in my brain dwelt a picture, -that was growing, yet would not focus. All the morning I had wandered -about, and in the early afternoon, leaving the others, I threw myself -down under the oaks, quite in despair and wholly miserable. - -“Presently I heard a footfall on the grass. Before I could turn, a -cluster of cool, golden grapes dropped in my feverish hand, and looking -up and backward, I saw your face, and in the smile it wore a ray of -light, of inspiration, pierced my soul. Before I had awakened from the -vision, you passed on and joined your scolding chaperon. - -“As for me, as I lingered there, those grapes became as drops of -sacramental wine. I seized my brushes and hastily caught and kept the -vision as I saw it—for to me it was the divine awakening. - -“For weeks I dreamed and painted as I never had done before. My comrades -laughed and said, ‘Is it love or genius?’ and old Rossi shrugged his -shoulders and asked, ‘What is the difference?’ - -“The picture finished, I sent it to the competition, and there your rich -Senator both saw and coveted it. I would not sell it,—no, never! Ah, then -I never thought to; but later my mother sickened, and the price would -more than buy her a good annuity. I thought again, and something said, -‘_She_ would have liked to help your mother, who is old and still plods -on the tulip farm behind the poplars, which she will not leave;’ and I -yielded, and I then resolved to follow you,—across the earth if must -be,—for lacking you, my inspiration fled. - -“Through Carolus Ashton, the amateur, well known in the Paris studios, I -learned your whereabouts, and at the same time I chanced upon words of -your swift sorrow in a paper at a fellow-artist’s home. - -“‘She has trouble,’ I thought. ‘Surely in some way I can aid her,’ and I -sent the picture of yourself as not too bold a reminder. Your little copy -of my picture coming in return, I said, ‘Now I may go; she did not resent -my painting us together,’ and hope gave me wings.” - -“Ashton knew that you were here from the beginning, then, and forwarded -your portrait in the summer, and made no sign! How cruel!” - -“Yes, he knew, and also one named Brownell; but do not condemn them, for -there is a silence in such matters that is as honour among men, though -almost strangers; it is as strong as woman’s love. Besides, what good -would it have done?” - -“But the name you gave the picture? ‘Eucharistia,’” said Brooke, leaning -forward. - -Maarten drew closer, and almost dropping on his knees, looked in her -eyes and took her hands in his, that were hardened by toil and blistered -by fire of leaves, both for her sake, and said, “The word has two -meanings,—‘a sacrament,’ and ‘thanksgiving’; you had become the first to -me, for this I gave the title ‘Eucharistia.’ It has become my name for -you, and—I still give thanks.” - -Then, dropping her hands as that other picture in its setting of July -woods again crossed his inner vision, he stood, erect and proud, as one -waiting inevitable sentence, yet glad in the consciousness that he had -told the truth. - -For a moment there was silence, and Brooke’s head dropped lower, until it -rested on her hands. At last Maarten regained himself: “And now that all -is told, what is there more for me to do here? What more for me to say?” - -Slowly Brooke struggled to her feet, for in truth her clothes were damp -and heavy, though she had not before felt it. Standing there, she looked -up and smiled, and once again that shaft of light went forth from her to -him, as she said in yearning accents: “What more to say, Henri? All that -a man may say to the woman who loves him.” - -“Eucharistia!” he cried, still holding back in blind amazement. “It is -not parting, then, beloved, but waiting for you and work for me!” - -“No; work for you _and work for me_, for what else means the awakening?” -And placing her hand in his, she walked by his side along the border of -the stream, while the wind carried the news throughout the River Kingdom, -and Tatters, pushing himself between them, wagged his tail as he licked -the blistered fingers. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AT THE SIGN OF THE FOX *** - -***** This file should be named 64110-0.txt or 64110-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - https://www.gutenberg.org/6/4/1/1/64110/ - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no - restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it - under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this - eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the - United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where - you are located before using this eBook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |