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diff --git a/7410-0.txt b/7410-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a5a8426 --- /dev/null +++ b/7410-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13003 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Minister's Charge, by William Dean Howells + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Minister's Charge + +Author: William Dean Howells + + +Release Date: February, 2005 [EBook #7410] +This file was first posted on April 25, 2003 +Last Updated: February 25, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MINISTER'S CHARGE *** + + + + +Produced by Anne Folland, Eric Eldred, Charles Franks, and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + +THE MINISTER'S CHARGE + +OR, THE APPRENTICESHIP OF LEMUEL BARKER + + +By William Dean Howells + + +Author Of “The Rise Of Silas Lapham,” “A Modern Instance,” “Indian +Summer,” Etc. + + + + + +THE MINISTER'S CHARGE; + +OR, THE APPRENTICESHIP OF LEMUEL BARKER. + + + + +I. + + +On their way back to the farm-house where they were boarding, Sewell's +wife reproached him for what she called his recklessness. “You had no +right,” she said, “to give the poor boy false hopes. You ought to have +discouraged him--that would have been the most merciful way--if you knew +the poetry was bad. Now, he will go on building all sorts of castles +in the air on your praise, and sooner or later they will come tumbling +about his ears--just to gratify your passion for saying pleasant things +to people.” + +“I wish you had a passion for saying pleasant things to me, my dear,” + suggested her husband evasively. + +“Oh, a nice time I should have!” + +“I don't know about _your_ nice time, but I feel pretty certain of my +own. How do you know--Oh, _do_ get up, you implacable cripple!” he broke +off to the lame mare he was driving, and pulled at the reins. + +“Don't saw her mouth!” cried Mrs. Sewell. + +“Well, let her get up, then, and I won't. I don't like to saw her +mouth; but I have to do something when you come down on me with your +interminable consequences. I dare say the boy will never think of my +praise again. And besides, as I was saying when this animal interrupted +me with her ill-timed attempts at grazing, how do you know that I knew +the poetry was bad?” + +“How? By the sound of your voice. I could tell you were dishonest in the +dark, David.” + +“Perhaps the boy knew that I was dishonest too,” suggested Sewell. + +“Oh no, he didn't. I could see that he pinned his faith to every +syllable.” + +“He used a quantity of pins, then; for I was particularly profuse of +syllables. I find that it requires no end of them to make the worse +appear the better reason to a poet who reads his own verses to you. But +come, now, Lucy, let me off a syllable or two. I--I have a conscience, +you know well enough, and if I thought--But pshaw! I've merely cheered a +lonely hour for the boy, and he'll go back to hoeing potatoes to-morrow, +and that will be the end of it.” + +“I _hope_ that will be the end of it,” said Mrs. Sewell, with the +darkling reserve of ladies intimate with the designs of Providence. + +“Well,” argued her husband, who was trying to keep the matter from being +serious, “perhaps he may turn out a poet yet. You never can tell where +the lightning is going to strike. He has some idea of rhyme, and some +perception of reason, and--yes, some of the lines _were_ musical. His +general attitude reminded me of Piers Plowman. Didn't he recall Piers +Plowman to you?” + +“I'm glad you can console yourself in that way, David,” said his wife +relentlessly. + +The mare stopped again, and Sewell looked over his shoulder at the +house, now black in the twilight, on the crest of the low hill across +the hollow behind them. “I declare,” he said, “the loneliness of that +place almost broke my heart. There!” he added, as the faint sickle +gleamed in the sky above the roof, “I've got the new moon right over my +left shoulder for my pains. That's what comes of having a sympathetic +nature.” + + * * * * * + +The boy was looking at the new moon, across the broken gate which +stopped the largest gap in the tumbled stone wall. He still gripped in +his hand the manuscript which he had been reading to the minister. + +“There, Lem,” called his mother's voice from the house, “I guess you've +seen the last of 'em for one while. I'm 'fraid you'll take cold out +there 'n the dew. Come in, child.” + +The boy obeyed. “I was looking at the new moon, mother. I saw it over my +right shoulder. Did you hear--hear him,” he asked, in a broken and husky +voice,--“hear how he praised my poetry, mother?” + + * * * * * + +“Oh, _do_ make her get up, David!” cried Mrs. Sewell. “These mosquitoes +are eating me alive!” + +“I will saw her mouth all to the finest sort of kindling-wood, if she +doesn't get up this very instant,” said Sewell, jerking the reins +so wildly that the mare leaped into a galvanic canter, and continued +without further urging for twenty paces. “Of course, Lucy,” he resumed, +profiting by the opportunity for conversation which the mare's temporary +activity afforded, “I should feel myself greatly to blame if I thought I +had gone beyond mere kindness in my treatment of the poor fellow. But at +first I couldn't realise that the stuff was so bad. Their saying that +he read all the books he could get, and was writing every spare moment, +gave me the idea that he _must_ be some sort of literary genius in +the germ, and I listened on and on, expecting every moment that he was +coming to some passage with a little lift or life in it; and when he got +to the end, and hadn't come to it, I couldn't quite pull myself together +to say so. I had gone there so full of the wish to recognise and +encourage, that I couldn't turn about for the other thing. Well! I +shall know another time how to value a rural neighbourhood report of the +existence of a local poet. Usually there is some hardheaded cynic in the +community with native perception enough to enlighten the rest as to the +true value of the phenomenon; but there seems to have been none here. I +ought to have come sooner to see him, and then I could have had a chance +to go again and talk soberly and kindly with him, and show him gently +how much he had mistaken himself. Oh, _get_ up!” By this time the mare +had lapsed again into her habitual absent-mindedness, and was limping +along the dark road with a tendency to come to a full stop, from step to +step. The remorse in the minister's soul was so keen that he could not +use her with the cruelty necessary to rouse her flagging energies; as he +held the reins he flapped his elbows up toward his face, as if they were +wings, and contrived to beat away a few of the mosquitoes with them; +Mrs. Sewell, in silent exasperation, fought them from her with the bough +which she had torn from an overhanging birch-tree. + +In the morning they returned to Boston, and Sewell's parish duties began +again; he was rather faithfuller and busier in these than he might have +been if he had not laid so much stress upon duties of all sorts, and +so little upon beliefs. He declared that he envied the ministers of the +good old times who had only to teach their people that they would be +lost if they did not do right; it was much simpler than to make them +understand that they were often to be good for reasons not immediately +connected with their present or future comfort, and that they could not +confidently expect to be lost for any given transgression, or even to be +lost at all. He found it necessary to do his work largely in a personal +way, by meeting and talking with people, and this took up a great deal +of his time, especially after the summer vacation, when he had to get +into relations with them anew, and to help them recover themselves +from the moral lassitude into which people fall during that season of +physical recuperation. + +He was occupied with these matters one morning late in October when +a letter came addressed in a handwriting of copybook carefulness, but +showing in every painstaking stroke the writer's want of training, +which, when he read it, filled Sewell with dismay. It was a letter from +Lemuel Barker, whom Sewell remembered, with a pang of self-upbraiding, +as the poor fellow he had visited with his wife the evening before they +left Willoughby Pastures; and it enclosed passages of a long poem which +Barker said he had written since he got the fall work done. The passages +were not submitted for Sewell's criticism, but were offered as examples +of the character of the whole poem, for which the author wished to find +a publisher. They were not without ideas of a didactic and satirical +sort, but they seemed so wanting in literary art beyond a mechanical +facility of versification, that Sewell wondered how the writer should +have mastered the notion of anything so literary as publication, till +he came to that part of the letter in which Barker spoke of their having +had so much sickness in the family that he thought he would try to +do something to help along. The avowal of this meritorious ambition +inflicted another wound upon Sewell's guilty consciousness; but what +made his blood run cold was Barker's proposal to come down to Boston, if +Sewell advised, and find a publisher with Sewell's assistance. + +This would never do, and the minister went to his desk with the +intention of despatching a note of prompt and total discouragement. +But in crossing the room from the chair into which he had sunk, with a +cheerful curiosity, to read the letter, he could not help some natural +rebellion against the punishment visited upon him. He could not deny +that he deserved punishment, but he thought that this, to say the least, +was very ill-timed. He had often warned other sinners who came to him +in like resentment that it was this very quality of inopportuneness that +was perhaps the most sanative and divine property of retribution; the +eternal justice fell upon us, he said, at the very moment when we were +least able to bear it, or thought ourselves so; but now in his own case +the clear-sighted prophet cried out and revolted in his heart. It was +Saturday morning, when every minute was precious to him for his sermon, +and it would take him fully an hour to write that letter; it must be +done with the greatest sympathy; he had seen that this poor foolish boy +was very sensitive, and yet it must be done with such thoroughness as to +cut off all hope of anything like literary achievement for him. + +At the moment Sewell reached his desk, with a spirit disciplined to the +sacrifice required of it, he heard his wife's step outside his study +door, and he had just time to pull open a drawer, throw the letter into +it, and shut it again before she entered. He did not mean finally to +conceal it from her, but he was willing to give himself breath before he +faced her with the fact that he had received such a letter. Nothing in +its way was more terrible to this good man than the righteousness of +that good woman. In their case, as in that of most other couples who +cherish an ideal of dutiful living, she was the custodian of their +potential virtue, and he was the instrument, often faltering and +imperfect, of its application to circumstances; and without wishing to +spare himself too much, he was sometimes aware that she did not spare +him enough. She worked his moral forces as mercilessly as a woman uses +the physical strength of a man when it is placed at her direction. + +“What is the matter, David?” she asked, with a keen glance at the face +he turned upon her over his shoulder. + +“Nothing that I wish to talk of at present, my dear,” answered Sewell, +with a boldness that he knew would not avail him if she persisted in +knowing. + +“Well, there would be no time if you did,” said his wife. “I'm +dreadfully sorry for you, David, but it's really a case you can't +refuse. Their own minister is taken sick, and it's appointed for this +afternoon at two o'clock, and the poor thing has set her heart upon +having you, and you must go. In fact, I promised you would. I'll see +that you're not disturbed this morning, so that you'll have the whole +forenoon to yourself. But I thought I'd better tell you at once. It's +only a child--a little boy. You won't have to say much.” + +“Oh, of course I must go,” answered Sewell, with impatient resignation; +and when his wife left the room, which she did after praising him and +pitying him in a way that was always very sweet to him, he saw that he +must begin his sermon at once, if he meant to get through with it in +time, and must put off all hope of replying to Lemuel Barker till Monday +at least. But he chose quite a different theme from that on which he had +intended to preach. By an immediate inspiration he wrote a sermon on the +text, “The tender mercies of the wicked are cruel,” in which he taught +how great harm could be done by the habit of saying what are called kind +things. He showed that this habit arose not from goodness of heart, +or from the desire to make others happy, but from the wish to spare +one's-self the troublesome duty of formulating the truth so that it +would perform its heavenly office without wounding those whom it was +intended to heal. He warned his hearers that the kind things spoken +from this motive were so many sins committed against the soul of the +flatterer and the soul of him they were intended to flatter; they were +deceits, lies; and he besought all within the sound of his voice to +try to practise with one another an affectionate sincerity, which was +compatible not only with the brotherliness of Christianity, but +the politeness of the world. He enforced his points with many apt +illustrations, and he treated the whole subject with so much fulness and +fervour, that he fell into the error of the literary temperament, and +almost felt that he had atoned for his wrongdoing by the force with +which he had portrayed it. + +Mrs. Sewell, who did not always go to her husband's sermons, was at +church that day, and joined him when some ladies who had lingered to +thank him for the excellent lesson he had given them at last left him to +her. + +“Really, David,” she said, “I wondered your congregation could keep +their countenances while you were going on. Did you think of that poor +boy up at Willoughby Pastures when you were writing that sermon?” + +“Yes, my dear,” replied Sewell gravely; “he was in my mind the whole +time.” + +“Well, you were rather hard upon yourself; and I think I was rather too +hard upon you, that time, though I was so vexed with you. But nothing +has come of it, and I suppose there are cases where people are so lost +to common sense that you can't do anything for them by telling them the +truth.” + +“But you'd better tell it, all the same,” said Sewell, still in a glow +of righteous warmth from his atonement; and now a sudden temptation to +play with fire seized him. “You wouldn't have excused me if any trouble +had come of it.” + +“No, I certainly shouldn't,” said his wife. “But I don't regret it +altogether if it's made you see what danger you run from that tendency +of yours. What in the world made you think of it?” + +“Oh, it came into my mind.” said Sewell. + +He did not find time to write to Barker the next day, and on recurring +to his letter he saw that there was no danger of his taking another step +without his advice, and he began to postpone it; when he had time he was +not in the mood; he waited for the time and the mood to come together, +and he also waited for the most favourable moment to tell his wife that +he had got that letter from Barker and to ask her advice about answering +it. If it had been really a serious matter, he would have told her at +once; but being the thing it was, he did not know just how to approach +it, after his first concealment. He knew that, to begin with, he would +have to account for his mistake in attempting to keep it from her, and +would have to bear some just upbraiding for this unmanly course, and +would then be miserably led to the distasteful contemplation of the +folly by which he had brought this trouble upon himself. Sewell smiled +to think how much easier it was to make one's peace with one's God +than with one's wife; and before he had brought himself to the point of +answering Barker's letter, there came a busy season in which he forgot +him altogether. + + + + +II. + + +One day in the midst of this Sewell was called from his study to see +some one who was waiting for him in the reception-room, but who sent in +no name by the housemaid. + +“I don't know as you remember me,” the visitor said, rising awkwardly, +as Sewell came forward with a smile of inquiry. “My name's Barker.” + +“Barker?” said the minister, with a cold thrill of instant recognition, +but playing with a factitious uncertainty till he could catch his breath +in the presence of the calamity. “Oh yes! How do you do?” he said; and +then planting himself adventurously upon the commandment to love one's +neighbour as one's-self, he added: “I'm very glad to see you!” + +In token of his content, he gave Barker his hand and asked him to be +seated. + +The young man complied, and while Sewell waited for him to present +himself in some shape that he could grapple with morally, he made an +involuntary study of his personal appearance. That morning, before +starting from home by the milk-train that left Willoughby Pastures at +4.5, Barker had given his Sunday boots a coat of blacking, which he had +eked out with stove-polish, and he had put on his best pantaloons, which +he had outgrown, and which, having been made very tight a season after +tight pantaloons had gone out of fashion in Boston, caught on the tops +of his boots and stuck there in spite of his efforts to kick them loose +as he stood up, and his secret attempts to smooth them down when he had +reseated himself. He wore a single-breasted coat of cheap broadcloth, +fastened across his chest with a carnelian clasp-button of his father's, +such as country youth wore thirty years ago, and a belated summer scarf +of gingham, tied in a breadth of knot long since abandoned by polite +society. + +Sewell had never thought his wife's reception-room very splendidly +appointed, but Barker must have been oppressed by it, for he sat in +absolute silence after resuming his chair, and made no sign of intending +to open the matter upon which he came. In the kindness of his heart +Sewell could not refrain from helping him on. + +“When did you come to Boston?” he asked with a cheeriness which he was +far from feeling. + +“This morning,” said Barker briefly, but without the tremor in his voice +which Sewell expected. + +“You've never been here before, I suppose,” suggested Sewell, with the +vague intention of generalising or particularising the conversation, as +the case might be. + +Barker abruptly rejected the overture, whatever it was. “I don't know as +you got a letter from me a spell back,” he said. + +“Yes, I did,” confessed Sewell. “I did receive that letter,” he +repeated, “and I ought to have answered it long ago. But the fact is--” + He corrected himself when it came to his saying this, and said, “I +mean that I put it by, intending to answer it when I could do so in the +proper way, until, I'm very sorry to say, I forgot it altogether. Yes, +I forgot it, and I certainly ask your pardon for my neglect. But I can't +say that as it's turned out I altogether regret it. I can talk with you +a great deal better than I could write to you in regard to your”--Sewell +hesitated between the words poems and verses, and finally said--“work. +I have blamed myself a great deal,” he continued, wincing under the hurt +which he felt that he must be inflicting on the young man as well as +himself, “for not being more frank with you when I saw you at home in +September. I hope your mother is well?” + +“She's middling,” said Barker, “but my married sister that came to +live with us since you was there has had a good deal of sickness in her +family. Her husband's laid up with the rheumatism most of the time.” + +“Oh!” murmured Sewell sympathetically. “Well! I ought to have told you +at that time that I could not see much hope of your doing acceptable +work in a literary way; and if I had supposed that you ever expected +to exercise your faculty of versifying to any serious purpose,--for +anything but your own pleasure and entertainment,--I should certainly +have done so. And I tell you now that the specimens of the long poem you +have sent me give me even less reason to encourage you than the things +you read me at home.” + +Sewell expected the audible crash of Barker's air-castles to break the +silence which the young man suffered to follow upon these words; but +nothing of the kind happened, and for all that he could see, Barker +remained wholly unaffected by what he had said. It nettled Sewell a +little to see him apparently so besotted in his own conceit, and he +added: “But I think I had better not ask you to rely altogether upon my +opinion in the matter, and I will go with you to a publisher, and you +can get a professional judgment. Excuse me a moment.” + +He left the room and went slowly upstairs to his wife. It appeared +to him a very short journey to the third story, where he knew she was +decking the guest-chamber for the visit of a friend whom they expected +that evening. He imagined himself saying to her when his trial was well +over that he did not see why she complained of those stairs; that he +thought they were nothing at all. But this sense of the absurdity of the +situation which played upon the surface of his distress flickered and +fled at sight of his wife bustling cheerfully about, and he was tempted +to go down and get Barker out of the house, and out of Boston if +possible, without letting her know anything of his presence. + +“Well?” said Mrs. Sewell, meeting his face of perplexity with a +penetrating glance. “What is it, David?” + +“Nothing. That is--everything! Lemuel Barker is here!” + +“Lemuel Barker? Who is Lemuel Barker?” She stood with the pillow-sham +in her hand which she was just about to fasten on the pillow, and Sewell +involuntarily took note of the fashion in which it was ironed. + +“Why, surely you remember! That simpleton at Willoughby Pastures.” If +his wife had dropped the pillow-sham, and sunk into a chair beside +the bed, fixing him with eyes of speechless reproach; if she had done +anything dramatic, or said anything tragic, no matter how unjust or +exaggerated, Sewell could have borne it; but she only went on tying the +sham on the pillow, without a word. “The fact is, he wrote to me some +weeks ago, and sent me some specimens of a long poem.” + +“Just before you preached that sermon on the tender mercies of the +wicked?” + +“Yes,” faltered Sewell. “I had been waiting to show you the letter.” + +“You waited a good while, David.” + +“I know--I know,” said Sewell miserably. “I was waiting--waiting--” He +stopped, and then added with a burst, “I was waiting till I could put it +to you in some favourable light.” + +“I'm glad you're honest about it at last, my dear!” + +“Yes. And while I was waiting I forgot Barker's letter altogether. I put +it away somewhere--I can't recollect just where, at the moment. But that +makes no difference; he's here with the whole poem in his pocket, now.” + Sewell gained a little courage from his wife's forbearance; she knew +that she could trust him in all great matters, and perhaps she thought +that for this little sin she would not add to his punishment. “And +what I propose to do is to make a complete thing of it, this time. Of +course,” he went on convicting himself, “I see that I shall inflict +twice the pain that I should have done if I had spoken frankly to him +at first; and of course there will be the added disappointment, and the +expense of his coming to Boston. But,” he added brightly, “we can save +him any expense while he's here, and perhaps I can contrive to get him +to go home this afternoon.” + +“He wouldn't let you pay for his dinner out of the house anywhere,” said +Mrs. Sewell. “You must ask him to dinner here.” + +“Well,” said Sewell, with resignation; and suspecting that his wife was +too much piqued or hurt by his former concealment to ask what he now +meant to do about Barker, he added: “I'm going to take him round to a +publisher and let him convince himself that there's no hope for him in a +literary way.” + +“David!” cried his wife; and now she left off adjusting the shams, and +erecting herself looked at him across the bed, “You don't intend to do +anything so cruel.” + +“Cruel?” + +“Yes! Why should you go and waste any publisher's time by getting him +to look at such rubbish? Why should you expose the poor fellow to the +mortification of a perfectly needless refusal? Do you want to shirk the +responsibility--to put it on some one else?” + +“No; you know I don't.” + +“Well, then, tell him yourself that it won't do.” + +“I have told him.” + +“What does he say?” + +“He doesn't say anything. I can't make out whether he believes me or +not.” + +“Very well, then; you've done your duty, at any rate.” Mrs. Sewell +could not forbear saying also, “If you'd done it at first, David, there +wouldn't have been any of this trouble.” + +“That's true,” owned her husband, so very humbly that her heart smote +her. + +“Well, go down and tell him he must stay to dinner, and then try to +get rid of him the best way you can. Your time is really too precious, +David, to be wasted in this way. You _must_ get rid of him, somehow.” + +Sewell went back to his guest in the reception-room, who seemed to have +remained as immovably in his chair as if he had been a sitting statue of +himself. He did not move when Sewell entered. + +“On second thoughts,” said the minister, “I believe I will not ask you +to go to a publisher with me, as I had intended; it would expose you to +unnecessary mortification, and it would be, from my point of view, an +unjustifiable intrusion upon very busy people. I must ask you to take +my word for it that no publisher would bring out your poem, and it never +would pay you a cent if he did.” The boy remained silent as before, and +Sewell had no means of knowing whether it was from silent conviction or +from mulish obstinacy. “Mrs. Sewell will be down presently. She wished +me to ask you to stay to dinner. We have an early dinner, and there will +be time enough after that for you to look about the city.” + +“I shouldn't like to put you out,” said Barker. + +“Oh, not at all,” returned Sewell, grateful for this sign of animation, +and not exigent of a more formal acceptance of his invitation. “You +know,” he said, “that literature is a trade, like every other vocation, +and that you must serve an apprenticeship if you expect to excel. But +first of all you must have some natural aptitude for the business you +undertake. You understand?” asked Sewell; for he had begun to doubt +whether Barker understood anything. He seemed so much more stupid than +he had at home; his faculties were apparently sealed up, and he had lost +all the personal picturesqueness which he had when he came in out of the +barn, at his mother's call, to receive Sewell. + +“Yes,” said the boy. + +“I don't mean,” continued Sewell, “that I wouldn't have you continue +to make verses whenever you have the leisure for it. I think, on +the contrary, that it will give a grace to your life which it might +otherwise lack. We are all in daily danger of being barbarised by the +sordid details of life; the constantly recurring little duties which +must be done, but which we must not allow to become the whole of life.” + Sewell was so much pleased with this thought, when it had taken form in +words, that he made a mental note of it for future use. “We must put a +border of pinks around the potato-patch, as Emerson would say, or else +the potato-patch is no better than a field of thistles.” Perhaps because +the logic of this figure rang a little false, Sewell hastened to add: +“But there are many ways in which we can prevent the encroachment of +those little duties without being tempted to neglect them, which would +be still worse. I have thought a good deal about the condition of our +young men in the country, and I have sympathised with them in what seems +their want of opportunity, their lack of room for expansion. I have +often wished that I could do something for them--help them in their +doubts and misgivings, and perhaps find some way out of the trouble for +them. I regret this tendency to the cities of the young men from the +country. I am sure that if we could give them some sort of social +and intellectual life at home, they would not be so restless and +dissatisfied.” + +Sewell felt as if he had been preaching to a dead wall; but now the +wall opened, and a voice came out of it, saying: “You mean something to +occupy their minds?” + +“Exactly so!” cried Sewell. “Something to occupy their minds. Now,” he +continued, with a hope of getting into some sort of human relations with +his guest which he had not felt before, “why shouldn't a young man on +a farm take up some scientific study, like geology, for instance, which +makes every inch of earth vocal, every rock historic, and the waste +places social?” Barker looked so blankly at him that he asked again, +“You understand?” + +“Yes,” said Barker; but having answered Sewell's personal question, he +seemed to feel himself in no wise concerned with the general inquiry +which Sewell had made, and he let it lie where Sewell had let it drop. +But the minister was so well pleased with the fact that Barker had +understood anything of what he had said, that he was content to let the +notion he had thrown out take its chance of future effect, and rising, +said briskly: “Come upstairs with me into my study, and I will show you +a picture of Agassiz. It's a very good photograph.” + +He led the way out of the reception-room, and tripped lightly in his +slippered feet up the steps against which Barker knocked the toes of his +clumsy boots. He was not large, nor naturally loutish, but the +heaviness of the country was in every touch and movement. He dropped the +photograph twice in his endeavour to hold it between his stiff thumb and +finger. + +Sewell picked it up each time for him, and restored it to his faltering +hold. When he had securely lodged it there, he asked sweetly: “Did you +ever hear what Agassiz said when a scheme was once proposed to him by +which he could make a great deal of money?” + +“I don't know as I did,” replied Barker. + +“'But, gentlemen, _I've no time to make money_.'” Barker received the +anecdote in absolute silence, standing helplessly with the photograph in +his hand; and Sewell with a hasty sigh forbore to make the application +to the ordinary American ambition to be rich that he had intended. +“That's a photograph of the singer Nilsson,” he said, cataloguing the +other objects on the chimney-piece. “She was a peasant, you know, +a country girl in Norway. That's Grévy, the President of the French +Republic; his father was a peasant. Lincoln, of course. Sforza, throwing +his hoe into the oak,” he said, explaining the picture that had caught +Barker's eye on the wall above the mantel. “He was working in the field, +when a band of adventurers came by, and he tossed his hoe at the tree. +If it fell to the ground, he would keep on hoeing; if it caught in the +branches and hung there, he would follow the adventurers. It caught, and +he went with the soldiers and became Duke of Milan. I like to keep the +pictures of these great Originals about me,” said Sewell, “because in +our time, when we refer so constantly to law, we are apt to forget +that God is creative as well as operative.” He used these phrases +involuntarily; they slipped from his tongue because he was in the habit +of saying this about these pictures, and he made no effort to adapt them +to Barker's comprehension, because he could not see that the idea would +be of any use to him. He went on pointing out the different objects in +the quiet room, and he took down several books from the shelves that +covered the whole wall, and showed them to Barker, who, however, made no +effort to look at them for himself, and did not say anything about them. +He did what Sewell bade him do in admiring this thing or that; but if +he had been an Indian he could not have regarded them with a greater +reticence. Sewell made him sit down from time to time, but in a sitting +posture Barker's silence became so deathlike that Sewell hastened to get +him on his legs again, and to walk him about from one point to another, +as if to keep life in him. At the end of one of these otherwise aimless +excursions Mrs. Sewell appeared, and infused a gleam of hope into her +husband's breast. Apparently she brought none to Barker; or perhaps he +did not conceive it polite to show any sort of liveliness before a lady. +He did what he could with the hand she gave him to shake, and answered +the brief questions she put to him about his family to precisely the +same effect as he had already reported its condition to Sewell. + +“Dinner's ready now,” said Mrs. Sewell, for all comment. She left +the expansiveness of sympathy and gratulation to her husband on most +occasions, and on this she felt that she had less than the usual +obligation to make polite conversation. Her two children came downstairs +after her, and as she unfolded her napkin across her lap after grace she +said, “This is my son, Alfred, Mr. Barker; and this is Edith.” Barker +took the acquaintance offered in silence, the young Sewells smiled +with the wise kindliness of children taught to be good to all manner +of strange guests, and the girl cumbered the helpless country boy with +offers of different dishes. + +Mr. Sewell as he cut at the roast beef lengthwise, being denied by his +wife a pantomimic prayer to be allowed to cut it crosswise, tried to +make talk with Barker about the weather at Willoughby Pastures. It had +been a very dry summer, and he asked if the fall rains had filled up the +springs. He said he really forgot whether it was an apple year. He also +said that he supposed they had dug all their turnips by this time. He +had meant to say potatoes when he began, but he remembered that he had +seen the farmers digging their potatoes before he came back to town, and +so he substituted turnips; afterwards it seemed to him that dig was not +just the word to use in regard to the harvesting of turnips. He +wished he had said, “got your turnips in,” but it appeared to make no +difference to Barker, who answered, “Yes, sir,” and “No, sir,” and “Yes, +sir,” and let each subject drop with that. + + + + +III. + + +The silence grew so deep that the young Sewells talked together in +murmurs, and the clicking of the knives on the plates became painful. +Sewell kept himself from looking at Barker, whom he nevertheless knew +to be changing his knife and fork from one hand to the other, as doubt +after doubt took him as to their conventional use, and to be getting +very little good of his dinner in the process of settling these +questions. The door-bell rang, and the sound of a whispered conference +between the visitor and the servant at the threshold penetrated to the +dining-room. Some one softly entered, and then Mrs. Sewell called out, +“Yes, yes! Come in! Come in, Miss Vane!” She jumped from her chair and +ran out into the hall, where she was heard to kiss her visitor; she +reappeared, still holding her by the hand, and then Miss Vane shook +hands with Sewell, saying in a tone of cordial liking, “_How_ d'ye do?” + and to each of the young people as she shook hands in turn with them, +“How d'ye _do_, dear?” She was no longer so pretty as she must have once +been; but an air of distinction and a delicate charm of manner remained +to her from her fascinating youth. + +Young Sewell pushed her a chair to the table, and she dropped softly +into it, after acknowledging Barker's presentation by Mrs. Sewell with a +kindly glance that probably divined him. + +“You must dine with us,” said Mrs. Sewell. “You can call it lunch.” + +“No, I can't, Mrs. Sewell,” said Miss Vane. “I could once, and should +have said with great pleasure, when I went away, that I had been +lunching at the Sewells; but I can't now. I've reformed. What have you +got for dinner?” + +“Roast beef,” said Sewell. + +“Nothing I dislike more,” replied Miss Vane. “What else?” She put on her +glasses, and peered critically about the table. + +“Stewed tomatoes, baked sweet potatoes, macaroni.” + +“How unimaginative! What are you going to have afterwards?” + +“Cottage pudding.” + +“The very climax of the commonplace. Well!” Miss Vane began to pull off +her gloves, and threw her veil back over her shoulder. “I will dine with +you, but when I say dine, and people ask me to explain, I shall have to +say, 'Why, the Sewells still dine at one o'clock, you know,' and +laugh over your old-fashioned habits with them. I should like to do +differently, and to respect the sacredness of broken bread and that +sort of thing; but I'm trying to practise with every one an affectionate +sincerity, which is perfectly compatible not only with the brotherliness +of Christianity, but the politeness of the world.” Miss Vane looked +demurely at Mrs. Sewell. “I can't make any exceptions.” + +The ladies both broke into a mocking laugh, in which Sewell joined with +sheepish reluctance; after all, one does not like to be derided, even by +one's dearest friends. + +“As soon as I hear my other little sins denounced from the pulpit, I'm +going to stop using profane language and carrying away people's spoons +in my pocket.” + +The ladies seemed to think this also a very good joke, and his children +laughed in sympathy, but Sewell hung his head; Barker sat bolt upright +behind his plate, and stared at Miss Vane. “I never have been all but +named in church before,” she concluded, “and I've heard others say the +same.” + +“Why didn't you come to complain sooner?” asked Sewell. + +“Well, I have been away ever since that occasion. I went down the +next day to Newport, and I've been there ever since, admiring the +ribbon-planting.” + +“On the lawns or on the ladies?” asked Sewell. + +“Both. And sowing broadcast the seeds of plain speaking. I don't know +what Newport will be in another year if they all take root.” + +“I dare say it will be different,” said Sewell. “I'm not sure it will +be worse.” He plucked up a little spirit, and added: “Now you see of how +little importance you really are in the community; you have been gone +these three weeks, and your own pastor didn't know you were out of +town.” + +“Yes, you did, David,” interposed his wife. “I told you Miss Vane was +away two weeks ago.” + +“Did you? Well I forgot it immediately; the fact was of no consequence, +one way or the other. How do you like that as a bit of affectionate +sincerity?” + +“I like it immensely,” said Miss Vane. “It's delicious. I only wish I +could believe you were honest.” She leaned back and laughed into +her handkerchief, while Sewell regarded her with a face in which his +mortification at being laughed at was giving way to a natural pleasure +at seeing Miss Vane enjoy herself. “What do you think,” she asked, +“since you're in this mood of exasperated veracity--or pretend to be--of +the flower charity?” + +“Do you mean by the barrel, or the single sack? The Graham, or the best +Haxall, or the health-food cold-blast?” asked Sewell. + +Miss Vane lost her power of answering in another peal of laughter, +sobering off, and breaking down again before she could say, “I mean cut +flowers for patients and prisoners.” + +“Oh, that kind! I don't think a single pansy would have an appreciable +effect upon a burglar; perhaps a bunch of forget-me-nots might, or a +few lilies of the valley carelessly arranged. As to the influence of a +graceful little _boutonnière_, in cases of rheumatism or cholera morbus, +it might be efficacious but I can't really say.” + +“How perfectly cynical!” cried Miss Vane. “Don't you know how much good +the flower mission has accomplished among the deserving poor? Hundreds +of bouquets are distributed every day. They prevent crime.” + +“That shows how susceptible the deserving poor are. I don't find that +a bowl of the most expensive and delicate roses in the centre of a +dinner-table tempers the asperity of the conversation when it turns upon +the absent. But perhaps it oughtn't to do so.” + +“I don't know about that,” said Miss Vane; “but if you had an impulsive +niece to supply with food for the imagination, you would be very glad of +anything that seemed to combine practical piety and picturesque effect.” + +“Oh, if you mean that,” began Sewell more soberly, and his wife leaned +forward with an interest in the question which she had not felt while +the mere joking went on. + +“Yes. When Sibyl came in this morning with an imperative demand to be +allowed to go off and do good with flowers in the homes of virtuous +poverty, as well as the hospitals and prisons, I certainly felt as if +there had been an interposition, if you will allow me to say so.” + +Miss Vane still had her joking air, but a note of anxiety had crept into +her voice. + +“I don't think it will do the sick and poor any harm,” said Sewell, “and +it may do Sibyl some good.” He smiled a little in adding: “It may afford +her varied energies a little scope.” + +Miss Vane shook her head, and some lines of age came into her face which +had not shown themselves there before. “And you would advise letting her +go into it?” she asked. + +“By all means,” replied Sewell. “But if she's going to engage actively +in the missionary work, I think you'd better go with her on her errands +of mercy.” + +“Oh, of course, she's going to do good in person. What she wants is +the sensation of doing good--of seeing and hearing the results of her +beneficence. She'd care very little about it if she didn't.” + +“Oh, I don't know that you can say that,” replied Sewell in deprecation +of this extreme view. “I don't believe,” he continued, “that she would +object to doing good for its own sake.” + +“Of course she wouldn't, David! Who in the world supposed she would?” + demanded his wife, bringing him up roundly at this sign of wandering, +and Miss Vane laughed wildly. + +“And is this what your doctrine of sincerity comes to? This fulsomeness! +You're very little better than one of the wicked, it seems to me! Well, +I _hoped_ that you would approve of my letting Sibyl take this thing up, +but such _unbounded_ encouragement!” + +“Oh, I don't wish to flatter,” said Sewell, in the spirit of her +raillery. “It will be very well for her to go round with flowers; but +don't let her,” he continued seriously--“don't let her imagine it's more +than an innocent amusement. It would be a sort of hideous mockery of the +good we ought to do one another if there were supposed to be anything +more than a kindly thoughtfulness expressed in such a thing.” + +“Oh, if Sibyl doesn't feel that it's real, for the time being she won't +care anything about it. She likes to lose herself in the illusion, she +says.” + +“Well!” said Sewell with a slight shrug, “then we must let her get what +good she can out of it as an exercise of the sensibilities.” + +“O my dear!” exclaimed his wife, “You _don't_ mean anything so +abominable as that! I've heard you say that the worst thing about +fiction and the theatre was that they brought emotions into play that +ought to be sacred to real occasions.” + +“Did I say that? Well, I must have been right. I--” + +Barker made a scuffling sound with his boots under the table, and rose +to his feet. “I guess,” he said, “I shall have to be going.” + +They had all forgotten him, and Sewell felt as if he had neglected this +helpless guest. “Why, no, you mustn't go! I was in hopes we might do +something to make the day pleasant to you. I intended proposing--” + +“Yes,” his wife interrupted, believing that he meant to give up one +of his precious afternoons to Barker, and hastening to prevent the +sacrifice, “my son will show you the Public Garden and the Common, and +go about the town with you.” She rose too, and young Sewell, accustomed +to suffer, silently acquiesced. “If your train isn't to start very +soon--” + +“I guess I better be going,” said Barker, and Mrs. Sewell now gave her +husband a look conveying her belief that Barker would be happier if they +let him go. At the same time she frowned upon the monstrous thought of +asking him to stay the night with them, which she detected in Sewell's +face. + +She allowed him to say nothing but, “I'm sorry; but if you really +must--” + +“I guess I better,” persisted Barker. He got himself somehow to the +door, where he paused a moment, and contrived to pant, “Well, good day,” + and without effort at more cordial leave-taking, passed out. + +Sewell followed him, and helped him find his hat, and made him shake +hands. He went with him to the door, and, beginning to suffer afresh at +the wrong he had done Barker, he detained him at the threshold. “If you +still wish to see a publisher, Mr. Barker, I will gladly go with you.” + +“Oh, not at all, not at all. I guess I don't want to see any publisher +this afternoon. Well, good afternoon!” He turned away from Sewell's +remorseful pursuit, and clumsily hurrying down the steps, he walked +up the street and round the next corner. Sewell stood watching him in +rueful perplexity, shading his eyes from the mild October sun with his +hand; and some moments after Barker had disappeared, he remained looking +after him. + +When he rejoined the ladies in the dining-room they fell into a +conscious silence. + +“Have you been telling, Lucy?” he asked. + +“Yes, I've been telling, David. It was the only way. Did you offer to go +with him to a publisher again?” + +“Yes, I did. It was the only way,” said Sewell. + +Miss Vane and his wife both broke into a cry of laughter. The former got +her breath first. “So _that_ was the origin of the famous sermon that +turned all our heads grey with good resolutions.” Sewell assented with a +sickly grin. “What in the world _made_ you encourage him?” + +“My goodness of heart, which I didn't take the precaution of mixing with +goodness of head before I used it.” + +Everything was food for Miss Vane's laugh, even this confession. “But +what is the natural history of the boy? How came he to write poetry? +What do you suppose he means by it?” + +“That isn't so easy to say. As to his natural history, he lives with his +mother in a tumbledown, unpainted wooden house in the deepest fastness +of Willoughby Pastures. Lucy and I used to drive by it and wonder what +kind of people inhabited that solitude. There were milk-cans scattered +round the door-yard, and the Monday we were there a poverty-stricken +wash flapped across it. The thought of the place preyed upon me till one +day I asked about it at the post-office, and the postmistress told me +that the boy was quite a literary character, and read everything he +could lay his hands on, and 'sat up nights' writing poetry. It seemed to +me a very clear case of genius, and the postmistress's facts rankled in +my mind till I couldn't stand it any longer. Then I went to see him. I +suppose Lucy has told you the rest?” + +“Yes, Mrs. Sewell has told me the rest. But still I don't see how he +came to write poetry. I believe it doesn't pay, even in extreme cases of +genius.” + +“Ah, but that's just what this poor fellow didn't know. He must have +read somewhere, in some deleterious newspaper, about the sale of some +large edition of a poem, and have had his own wild hopes about it. I +don't say his work didn't show sense; it even showed some rude strength, +of a didactic, satirical sort, but it certainly didn't show poetry. He +might have taken up painting by a little different chance. And when it +was once known about the neighbourhood that he wrote poetry, his vanity +was flattered--” + +“Yes, I see. But wasn't there any kind soul to tell him that he was +throwing his time away?” + +“It appears not.” + +“And even the kind soul from Boston, who visited him,” suggested Mrs. +Sewell. “Go on, David.” + +“Visited him in spite of his wife's omniscience,--even the kind soul +from Boston paltered with this plain duty. Even he, to spare himself +the pain of hurting the boy's feelings, tried to find some of the lines +better than others, and left him with the impression that he had praised +them.” + +“Well, that was pretty bad,” said Miss Vane. “You had to tell him +to-day, I suppose, that there was no hope for him?” + +“Yes, I had to tell him at last, after letting him waste his time and +money in writing more stuff and coming to Boston with it. I've put him +to needless shame, and I've inflicted suffering upon him that I can't +lighten in the least by sharing.” + +“No, that's the most discouraging thing about pitying people. It does +them no manner of good,” said Miss Vane, “and just hurts you. Don't +you think that in an advanced civilisation we shall cease to feel +compassion? Why don't you preach against common pity, as you did against +common politeness?” + +“Well, it isn't quite such a crying sin yet. But really, really,” + exclaimed Sewell, “the world seems so put together that I believe we +ought to think twice before doing a good action.” + +“David!” said his wife warningly. + +“Oh, let him go on!” cried Miss Vane, with a laugh. “I'm proof against +his monstrous doctrines. Go on, Mr. Sewell.” + +“What I mean is this.” Sewell pushed himself back in his chair, and then +stopped. + +“Is what?” prompted both the ladies. + +“Why, suppose the boy really had some literary faculty, should I have +had any right to encourage it? He was very well where he was. He fed the +cows and milked them, and carried the milk to the crossroads, where the +dealer collected it and took it to the train. That was his life, with +the incidental facts of cutting the hay and fodder, and bedding the +cattle; and his experience never went beyond it. I doubt if his fancy +ever did, except in some wild, mistaken excursion. Why shouldn't he have +been left to this condition? He ate, he slept, he fulfilled his use. +Which of us does more?” + +“How would you like to have been in his place?” asked his wife. + +“I couldn't _put_ myself in his place; and therefore I oughtn't to have +done anything to take him out of it,” answered Sewell. + +“It seems to me that's very un-American,” said Miss Vane. “I thought +we had prospered up to the present point by taking people out of their +places.” + +“Yes, we have,” replied the minister, “and sometimes, it seems to me, +the result is hideous. I don't mind people taking themselves out of +their places; but if the particles of this mighty cosmos have been +adjusted by the divine wisdom, what are we to say of the temerity that +disturbs the least of them?” + +“I'm sure I don't know,” said Miss Vane, rising. “I'm almost afraid to +stir, in view of the possible consequences. But I can't sit here all +day, and if Mrs. Sewell will excuse me, I'll go at once. Yes, 'I guess +I better be going,' as your particle Barker says. Let us hope he'll get +safely back to his infinitesimal little crevice in the cosmos. He's a +very pretty particle, don't you think? That thick, coarse, wavy black +hair growing in a natural bang over his forehead would make his fortune +if he were a certain kind of young lady.” + +They followed her to the door, chatting, and Sewell looked quickly out +when he opened it for her. + +As she shook his hand she broke into another laugh. “Really, you looked +as if you were afraid of finding him on the steps!” + +“If I could only have got near the poor boy,” said Sewell to his wife, +as they returned withindoors. “If I could only have reached him where +he lives, as our slang says! But do what I would, I couldn't find any +common ground where we could stand together. We were as unlike as if we +were of two different species. I saw that everything I said bewildered +him more and more; he couldn't understand me! Our education is +unchristian, our civilisation is pagan. They both ought to bring us in +closer relations with our fellow-creatures, and they both only put us +more widely apart! Every one of us dwells in an impenetrable solitude! +We understand each other a little if our circumstances are similar, but +if they are different all our words leave us dumb and unintelligible.” + + + + +IV. + + +Barker walked away from the minister's door without knowing where he +was going, and with a heart full of hot pain. He burned with a confused +sense of shame and disappointment and anger. It had turned out just as +his mother had said: Mr. Sewell would be mighty different in Boston from +what he was that day at Willoughby Pastures. There he made Barker think +everything of his poetry, and now he pretended to tell him that it was +not worth anything; and he kept hinting round that Barker had better go +back home and stay there. Did he think he would have left home if there +had been anything for him to do there? Had not he as much as told him +that he was obliged to find something to make a living by, and help the +rest? What was he afraid of? Was he afraid that Barker wanted to come +and live off _him_? He could show him that there was no great danger. If +he had known how, he would have refused even to stay to dinner. + +What made him keep the pictures of these people who had got along, if he +thought no one else ought to try? Barker guessed to himself that if that +Mr. Agassiz had had to get a living off the farm at Willoughby Pastures, +he would have _found_ time to make money. What did Mr. Sewell mean by +speaking of that Nilsson lady by her surname, without any Miss or Mrs.? +Was that the way people talked in Boston? + +Mr. Sewell had talked to him as if he were a baby, and did not know +anything; and Barker was mad at himself for having stayed half a minute +after the minister had owned up that he had got the letter he wrote +him. He wished he had said, “Well, that's all I want of _you_, sir,” and +walked right out; but he had not known how to do it. Did they think it +was very polite to go on talking with that woman who laughed so much, +and forget all about him? Pretty poor sort of manners to eat with her +bonnet on, and tell them she hated their victuals. + +Barker tried to rage against them in these thoughts, but at the bottom +of all was a simple grief that he should have lost the friend whom he +thought he had in the minister; the friend he had talked of and dreamed +of ever since he had seen and heard him speak those cordial words; the +friend he had trusted through all, and had come down to Boston counting +upon so much. The tears came into his eyes as he stumbled and scuffled +along the brick pavements with his uncouth country walk. + +He was walking up a straight, long street, with houses just alike on +both sides and bits of grass before them, that sometimes were gay with +late autumn flowers. A horse-car track ran up the middle, and the cars +seemed to be tinkling by all the time, and people getting on and off. +They were mostly ladies and children, and they were very well dressed. +Sometimes they stared at Barker, as they crossed his way in entering or +issuing from the houses, but generally no one appeared to notice him. +In some of the windows there were flowers in painted pots, and in others +little marble images on stands. + +There were more images in the garden that Barker came to presently: an +image of Washington on horseback, and some orator speaking, with his +hand up, and on top of a monument a kind of Turk holding up a man that +looked sick. The man was almost naked, but he was not so bad as the +image of a woman in a granite basin; it seemed to Barker that it ought +not to be allowed there. A great many people of all kinds were passing +through the garden, and after some hesitation he went in too, and walked +over the bridge that crossed the pond in the middle of the garden, where +there were rowboats and boats with images of swans on them. Barker +made a sarcastic reflection that Boston seemed to be a great place for +images, and passed rather hurriedly through the garden on the other side +of the bridge. There were beds of all kinds of flowers scattered about, +and they were hardly touched by the cold yet. If he had been in better +heart, he would have liked to look round a little; but he felt strange, +being there all alone, and he felt very low-spirited. + +He wondered if this were the Public Garden that Mrs. Sewell had spoken +of, and if that kind of grove across the street were the Common. He +felt much more at home in it, as he wandered up and down the walks, and +finally sat down on one of the iron benches beside the path. At first +he obscurely doubted whether he had any right to do so, unless he had a +lady with him; most of the seats were occupied by couples who seemed to +be courting, but he ventured finally to take one; nobody disturbed him, +and so he remained. + +It was a beautiful October afternoon; the wind, warm and dry, caught the +yellow leaves from the trees overhead in little whiffs, and blew them +about the grass, which the fall rains had made as green as May; and a +pensive golden light streamed through the long loose boughs, and struck +across the slopes of the Common. Slight buggies flashed by on the street +near which he sat, and glistening carriages, with drivers dressed out in +uniform like soldiers, rumbled down its slope. + +While he sat looking, now at the street and now at the people sauntering +and hurrying to and fro in the Common, he tried to decide a question +that had mixed itself up with the formless resentment he had felt ever +since Mr. Sewell played him false. It had got out in the neighbourhood +that he was going to Boston before he left home; his mother must have +told it; and people would think he was to be gone a long time. He had +warned his mother that he did not know when he should be back, before he +started in the morning; and he knew that she would repeat his words to +everybody who stopped to ask about him during the day, with what she had +said to him in reply: “You better come home to-night, Lem; and I'll have +ye a good hot supper waitin' for ye.” + +The question was whether he should go back on the five o'clock train, +which would reach Willoughby Centre after dark, and house himself from +public ignominy for one night at least, or whether self-respect did not +demand that he should stay in Boston for twenty-four hours at any rate, +and see if something would not happen. He had now no distinct hope +of anything; but his pride and shame were holding him fast, while +the home-sickness tugged at his heart, and made him almost forget the +poverty that had spurred him to the adventure of coming to Boston. He +could see the cows coming home through the swampy meadow as plain as if +they were coming across the Common; his mother was calling them; she and +his sister were going to milk in his absence, and he could see her now, +how she looked going out to call the cows, in her bare, grey head, +gaunt of neck and cheek, in the ugly Bloomer dress in which she was +not grotesque to his eyes, though it usually affected strangers with +stupefaction or alarm. But it all seemed far away, as far as if it were +in another planet that he had dropped out of; he was divided from it by +his failure and disgrace. He thought he must stay and try for something, +he did not know what; but he could not make up his mind to throw away +his money for nothing; at the hotel, down by the depot, where he had +left his bag, they were going to make him pay fifty cents for just a +room alone. + +“Any them beats 'round here been trying to come their games on _you_?” + +At first Barker could not believe himself accosted, though the young man +who spoke stood directly in front of him, and seemed to be speaking to +him. He looked up, and the young man added, “Heigh?” + +“Beats? I don't know what you mean,” said Barker. + +“Confidence sharps, young feller. They're 'round everywheres, and don't +you forget it. Move up a little!” + +Barker was sitting in the middle of the bench, and at this he pushed +away from the young man, who had dropped himself sociably beside him. He +wore a pair of black pantaloons, very tight in the legs, and widening at +the foot so as almost to cover his boots. His coat was deeply braided, +and his waistcoat was cut low, so that his plastron-scarf hung out from +the shirt-bosom, which it would have done well to cover. + +“I tell you, Boston's full of 'em,” he said excitedly. “One of 'em come +up to me just now, and says he, 'Seems to me I've seen you before, but +I can't place you.' 'Oh yes,' says I, 'I'll tell you where it was. I +happened to be in the police court one morning when they was sendin' +you up for three months.' I tell you he got round the corner! Might 'a' +played checkers on his coat tail. Why, what do you suppose would +been the next thing if I hadn't have let him know I saw through him?” + demanded the young man of Barker, who listened to this adventure +with imperfect intelligence. “He'd 'a' said, 'Hain't I seen you down +Kennebunk way som'eres?' And when I said, 'No, I'm from Leominster!' +or where-ever I was from if I was green, he'd say, 'Oh yes, so it _was_ +Leominster. How's the folks?' and he'd try to get me to think that _he_ +was from Leominster too; and then he'd want me to go off and see the +sights with him; and pretty soon he'd meet a feller that 'ud dun him for +that money he owed him; and he'd say he hadn't got anything with him but +a cheque for forty dollars; and the other feller'd say he'd got to have +his money, and he'd kind of insinuate it was all a put-up job about the +cheque for forty dollars, anyway; and that 'ud make the first feller +mad, and he'd take out the check, and ask him what he thought o' that; +and the other feller'd say, well, it was a good cheque, but it wan't +money, and he wanted money; and then the first feller'd say, 'Well, come +along to the bank and get your money,' and the other'd say the bank was +shut. 'Well, then,' the first feller'd say, 'well, sir, I ain't a-goin' +to ask any favour of _you_. How much _is_ your bill?' and the other +feller'd say ten dollars, or fifteen, or may be twenty-five, if they +thought I had that much, and the first feller'd say, 'Well, here's a +gentleman from up my way, and I guess he'll advance me that much on my +cheque if I make it worth his while. He knows me.' And the first thing +you know--he's been treatin' you, and so polite, showin' you round, and +ast you to go to the theayter--you advance the money, and you keep on +with the first feller, and pretty soon he asks you to hold up a minute, +he wants to go back and get a cigar; and he goes round the corner, and +you hold up, and _hold_ up, and in about a half an hour, or may be less +time, you begin to smell a rat, and you go for a policeman, and the next +morning you find your name in the papers, 'One more unfortunate!' You +look out for 'em, young feller! Wish I _had_ let that one go on till +he done something so I could handed him over to the cops. It's a shame +they're allowed to go 'round, when the cops knows 'em. Hello! There +_comes_ my mate, _now_.” The young man spoke as if they had been talking +of his mate and expecting him, and another young man, his counterpart +in dress, but of a sullen and heavy demeanour very unlike his own brisk +excitement, approached, flapping a bank-note in his hand. “I just been +tellin' this young feller about that beat, you know.” + +“Oh, he's all right,” said the mate. “Just seen him down on Tremont +Street, between two cops. Must ha' caught him in the act.” + +“You don't say so! Well, that's good, anyway. Why! didn't you' get +it changed?” demanded the young man with painful surprise as his mate +handed him the bank-note. + +“No, I didn't. I been to more'n twenty places, and there ain't no small +bills nowhere. The last place, I offered 'em twenty-five cents if they'd +change it.” + +“Why didn't you offer 'em fifty? I'd 'a' give fifty, and glad to do it. +Why, I've _got_ to have this bill changed.” + +“Well, I'm sorry for you,” said the mate, with ironical sympathy, +“because I don't see how you're goin' to git it done. Won't you move up +a little bit, young feller?” He sat down on the other side of Barker. +“I'm about tired out.” He took his head between his hands in sign of +extreme fatigue, and drooped forward, with his eyes fixed on the ground. + +Lemuel's heart beat. Fifty cents would pay for his lodging, and he could +stay till the next day and prolong the chance of something turning up +without too sinful a waste of money. + +“How much is the bill?” he asked. + +“Ten dollars,” said the young man despondently. + +“And will you give me fifty cents if I change it?” + +“Well, I said I'd give fifty cents,” replied the young man gloomily, +“and I will.” + +“It's a bargain,” said Lemuel promptly, and he took from his pocket the +two five-dollar notes that formed his store, and gave them, to the young +man. + +He looked at them critically. “How do I know they're good?” he asked. +“You're a stranger to me, young feller, and how do I know you ain't +tryin' to beat me?” He looked sternly at Lemuel, but here the mate +interposed. + +“How does _he_ know that you ain't tryin' to beat _him_?” he asked +contemptuously. “I never saw such a feller as you are! Here you make me +run half over town to change that bill, and now when a gentleman offers +to break it for you, you have to go and accuse him of tryin' to put off +counterfeit money on you. If I was him I'd see you furder.” + +“Oh, well, I don't want any words about it. Here, take your money,” said +the young man. “As long as I said I'd do it, I'll do it. Here's your +half a dollar.” He put it, with the bank-note, into Lemuel's hand, and +rose briskly. “You stay here, Jimmy, till I come back. I won't be gone a +minute.” + +He walked down the mall, and went out of the gate on Tremont Street. +Then the mate came to himself. “Why, I've _let_ him go off with both +them bills now, and he owes me one of 'em.” With that he rose from +Lemuel's side and hurried after his vanishing comrade; before he was out +of sight he had broken into a run. + +Lemuel sat looking after them, his satisfaction in the affair alloyed by +dislike of the haste with which it had been transacted. His rustic mind +worked slowly; it was not wholly content even with a result in its own +favour, where the process had been so rapid; he was scarcely able to +fix the point at which the talk ceased to be a warning against beats and +became his opportunity for speculation. He did not feel quite right at +having taken the fellow's half-dollar; and yet a bargain was a bargain. +Nevertheless, if the fellow wanted to rue it, Lemuel would give him +fifteen minutes to come back and get his money; and he sat for that +space of time where the others had left him. He was not going to be +mean; and he might have waited a little longer if it had not been for +the behaviour of two girls who came up and sat down on the same bench +with him. They could not have been above fifteen or sixteen years +old, and Lemuel thought they were very pretty, but they talked so, and +laughed so loud, and scuffled with each other for the paper of chocolate +which one of them took out of her pocket, that Lemuel, after first being +abashed by the fact that they were city girls, became disgusted with +them. He was a stickler for propriety of behaviour among girls; his +mother had taught him to despise anything like carrying-on among them, +and at twenty he was as severely virginal in his morality as if he had +been twelve. + +People looked back at these tomboys when they had got by; and some +shabby young fellows exchanged saucy speeches with them. When Lemuel got +up and walked away in reproving dignity, one of the hoydens bounced into +his place, and they both sent a cry of derision after him. But Lemuel +would not give them the satisfaction of letting them know that he heard +them, and at the same time he was not going to let them suppose that +they had driven him away. He went very slowly down to the street where a +great many horse-cars were passing to and fro, and waited for one marked +“Fitchburg, Lowell, and Eastern Depots.” He was not going to take +it; but he meant to follow it on its way to those stations, in +the neighbourhood of which was the hotel where he had left his +travelling-bag. He had told them that he might take a room there, or he +might not; now since he had this half-dollar extra he thought that he +would stay for the night; it probably would not be any cheaper at the +other hotels. + +He ran against a good many people in trying to keep the car in sight, +but by leaving the sidewalk from time to time where it was most crowded, +he managed not to fall very much behind; the worst was that the track +went crooking and turning about so much in different streets, that he +began to lose faith in its direction, and to be afraid, in spite of the +sign on its side, that the car was not going to the depots after all. +But it came in sight of them at last, and then Lemuel, blown with the +chase but secure of his ground, stopped and rested himself against the +side of a wall to get his breath. The pursuit had been very exhausting, +and at times it had been mortifying; for here and there people who saw +him running after the car had supposed he wished to board it, and in +their good-nature had hailed and stopped it. After this had happened +twice or thrice, Lemuel perceived that he was an object of contempt to +the passengers in the car; but he did not know what to do about it; he +was not going to pay six cents to ride when he could just as well walk, +and on the other hand he dared not lose sight of the car, for he had no +other means of finding his way back to his hotel. + +But he was all right now, as he leaned against the house-wall, panting, +and mopping his forehead with his handkerchief; he saw his hotel a +little way down the street, and he did not feel anxious about it. + +“Gave you the slip after all,” said a passer, who had apparently been +interested in Lemuel's adventure. + +“Oh, I didn't want to catch it,” said Lemuel. + +“Ah, merely fond of exercise,” said the stranger. “Well, it's a very +good thing, if you don't overdo it.” He walked by, and then after a +glance at Lemuel over his shoulder, he returned to him. “May I ask why +you wanted to chase the car, if you didn't want to catch it?” + +Lemuel hesitated; he did not like to confide in a total stranger; this +gentleman looked kind and friendly, but he was all the more likely on +that account to be a beat; the expression was probably such as a beat +would put on in approaching his intended prey. “Oh, nothing,” said +Lemuel evasively. + +“I beg your pardon,” said the stranger, and he walked away with what +Lemuel could only conjecture was the air of a baffled beat. + +He waited till he was safely out of sight, and then followed on down the +street towards his hotel. When he reached it he walked boldly up to +the clerk's desk, and said that he guessed he would take a room for +the night, and gave him the check for his bag that he had received in +leaving it there. + +The clerk wrote the number of a room against Lemuel's name in the +register, and then glanced at the bag. It was a large bag of oilcloth, a +kind of bag which is by nature lank and hollow, and must be made almost +insupportably heavy before it shows any signs of repletion. The shirt +and pair of everyday pantaloons which Lemuel had dropped that morning +into its voracious maw made no apparent effect there, as the clerk held +it up and twirled it on the crook of his thumb. + +“I guess I shall have to get the money for that room in advance,” he +said, regarding the bag very critically. However he might have been +wounded by the doubt of his honesty or his solvency implied in this +speech, Lemuel said nothing, but took out his ten-dollar note and handed +it to the clerk. The latter said apologetically, “It's one of our rules, +where there isn't baggage,” and then glancing at the note he flung it +quickly across the counter to Lemuel. “That won't do!” + +“Won't do?” repeated Lemuel, taking up the bill. + +“Counterfeit,” said the clerk. + + + + +V. + + +Lemuel stretched the note between his hands, and pored so long upon +it that the clerk began to tap impatiently with his finger-tips on the +register. “It won't go?” faltered the boy, looking up at the clerk's +sharp face. + +“It won't go here,” replied the clerk. “Got anything else?” + +Lemuel's head whirled; the air seemed to darken around him, as he pored +again upon the note, and turned it over and over. Two tears scalded +their way down his cheeks, and his lips twitched, when the clerk added, +“Some beats been workin' you?” but he made no answer. His heart was +hot with shame and rage, and heavy with despair. He put the note in his +pocket, and took his bag and walked out of the hotel. He had not money +enough to get home with now, and besides he could not bear to go back in +the disgrace of such calamity. It would be all over the neighbourhood, +as soon as his mother could tell it; she might wish to keep it to +herself for his sake, but she could not help telling it to the first +person and every person she saw; she would have to go over to the +neighbours to tell it. In a dreary, homesick longing he saw her crossing +the familiar meadows that lay between the houses, bareheaded, in her +apron, her face set and rigid with wonder at what had happened to her +Lem. He could not bear the thought. He would rather die; he would +rather go to sea. This idea flashed into his mind as he lifted his eyes +aimlessly and caught sight of the tall masts of the coal-ships lying at +the railroad wharves, and he walked quickly in the direction of them, +so as not to give himself time to think about it, so as to do it +now, quick, right off. But he found his way impeded by all sorts of +obstacles; a gate closed across the street to let some trains draw in +and out of a station; then a lot of string teams and slow, heavy-laden +trucks got before him, with a turmoil of express wagons, herdics, and +hacks, in which he was near being run over, and was yelled at, sworn at, +and laughed at as he stood bewildered, with his lank bag in his hand. He +turned and walked back past the hotel again. He felt it an escape, after +all, not to have gone to sea; and now a hopeful thought struck him. He +would go back to the Common and watch for those fellows who fooled him, +and set the police on them, and get his money from them; they might +come prowling round again to fool somebody else. He looked out for a car +marked like the one he had followed down from the Common, and began to +follow it on its return. He got ahead of the car whenever it stopped, so +as to be spared the shame of being seen to chase it; and he managed +to keep it in sight till he reached the Common. There he walked about +looking for those scamps, and getting pushed and hustled by the people +who now thronged the paths. At last he was tired out, and on the Beacon +Street mall, where he had first seen those fellows, he found the very +seat where they had all sat together, and sank into it. The seats were +mostly vacant now; a few persons sat there reading their evening papers. +As the light began to wane, they folded up their papers and walked away, +and their places were filled by young men, who at once put their arms +round the young women with them, and seemed to be courting. They did not +say much, if anything; they just sat there. It made Lemuel ashamed to +look at them; he thought they ought to have more sense. He looked away, +but he could not look away from them all, there were so many of them. He +was all the time very hungry, but he thought he ought not to break into +his half-dollar as long as he could help it, or till there was no chance +left of catching those fellows. The night came on, the gas-lamps were +lighted, and some lights higher up, like moonlight off on the other +paths, projected long glares into the night and made the gas look sickly +and yellow. Sitting still there while it grew later, he did not feel +quite so hungry, but he felt more tired than ever. There were not so +many people around now, and he did not see why he should not lie down on +that seat and rest himself a little. He made feints of reclining on his +arm at first, to see if he were noticed; then he stretched himself out, +with his bag under his head, and his hands in his pockets clutching the +money which he meant to make those fellows take back. He got a gas-lamp +in range, to keep him awake, and lay squinting his eyes to meet the path +of rays running down from it to him. Then he shivered, and rose up with +a sudden start. The dull, rich dawn was hanging under the trees around +him, while the electric lamps, like paler moons now, still burned among +their tops. The sparrows bickered on the grass and the gravel of the +path around him. + +He could not tell where he was at first; but presently he remembered, +and looked for his bag. It was gone; and the money was gone out of both +his pockets. He dropped back upon the seat, and leaning his head against +the back, he began to cry for utter despair. He had hardly ever cried +since he was a baby; and he would not have done it now, but there was no +one there to see him. + +When he had his cry out he felt a little better, and he got up and went +to the pond in the hollow, and washed his hands and face, and wiped +them on the handkerchief his mother had ironed for him to use at the +minister's; it was still in the folds she had given it. As he shook it +out, rising up, he saw that people were asleep on all the benches round +the pond; he looked hopelessly at them to see if any of them were those +fellows, but he could not find them. He seemed to be the only person +awake on the Common, and wandered out of it and down through the empty +streets, filled at times with the moony light of the waning electrics, +and at times merely with the grey dawn. A man came along putting out +the gas, and some milk-carts rattled over the pavement. By and by a +market-wagon, with the leaves and roots of cabbages sticking out from +the edges of the canvas that covered it, came by, and Lemuel followed +it; he did not know what else to do, and it went so slow that he could +keep up, though the famine that gnawed within him was so sharp sometimes +that he felt as if he must fall down. He was going to drop into a +doorway and rest, but when he came to it he found on an upper step a +man folded forward like a limp bundle, snoring in a fetid, sodden sleep, +and, shocked into new strength, he hurried on. At last the wagon came to +a place that he saw was a market. There were no buyers yet, but men +were flitting round under the long arcades of the market-houses, with +lanterns under their arms, among boxes and barrels of melons, apples, +potatoes, onions, beans, carrots, and other vegetables, which the +country carts as they arrived continually unloaded. The smell of peaches +and cantaloupes filled the air, and made Lemuel giddy as he stood and +looked at the abundance. The men were not saying much; now and then one +of them priced something, the owner pretended to figure on it, and then +they fell into a playful scuffle, but all silently. A black cat lay +luxuriously asleep on the canvas top of a barrel of melons, and the man +who priced the melons asked if the owner would throw the cat in. There +was a butcher's cart laden with carcasses of sheep, and one of the men +asked the butcher if he called that stuff mutton. “No; imitation,” said +the butcher. They all seemed to be very good-natured. Lemuel thought he +would ask for an apple; but he could not. + +The neighbouring restaurants began to send forth the smell of breakfast, +and he dragged up and down till he could bear it no longer, and then +went into one of them, meaning to ask for some job by which he could pay +for a meal. But his shame again would not let him. He looked at the +fat, white-aproned boy drawing coffee hot from a huge urn, and serving a +countryman with a beefsteak. It was close and sultry in there; the open +sugar-bowl was black with flies, and a scent of decaying meat came from +the next cellar. “Like some nice fresh dough-nuts?” said the boy to +Lemuel. He did not answer; he looked around as if he had come in search +of some one. Then he went out, and straying away from the market, he +found himself after a while in a street that opened upon the Common. + +He was glad to sit down, and he said to himself that now he would stay +there, and keep a good lookout for the chaps that had robbed him. But +again he fell asleep, and he did not wake now till the sun was high, and +the paths of the Common were filled with hurrying people. He sat where +he had slept, for he did not know what else to do or where to go. +Sometimes he thought he would go to Mr. Sewell, and ask him for money +enough to get home; but he could not do it; he could more easily starve. + +After an hour or two he went to get a drink at a fountain he saw a +little way off, and when he came back some people had got his seat. He +started to look for another, and on his way he found a cent in the path, +and he bought an apple with it--a small one that the dealer especially +picked out for cheapness. It seemed pretty queer to Lemuel that a person +should want anything for one apple. The apple when he ate it made +him sick. His head began to ache, and it ached all day. Late in the +afternoon he caught sight of one of those fellows at a distance; but +there was no policeman near. Lemuel called out, “Stop there, you!” but +the fellow began to run when he recognised Lemuel, and the boy was too +weak and faint to run after him. + +The day wore away and the evening came again, and he had been +twenty-four hours houseless and without food. He must do something; he +could not stand it any longer; there was no sense in it. He had read in +the newspapers how they gave soup at the police-stations in Boston +in the winter; perhaps they gave something in summer. He mustered up +courage to ask a gentleman who passed where the nearest station was, +and then started in search of it. If the city gave it, then there was no +disgrace in it, and Lemuel had as much right to anything that was going +as other people; that was the way he silenced his pride. + +But he missed the place; he must have gone down the wrong street from +Tremont to Washington; the gentleman had said the street that ran along +the Common was Tremont, and the next was Washington. The cross-street +that Lemuel got into was filled with people, going and coming, and +lounging about. There were girls going along two or three together with +books under their arms, and other girls talking with young fellows who +hung about the doors of brightly lighted shops, and flirting with them. +One of the girls, whom he had seen the day before in the Common, turned +upon Lemuel as he passed, and said, “There goes my young man _now_! Good +evening, Johnny!” It made Lemuel's cheek burn; he would have liked to +box her ears for her. The fellows all set up a laugh. + +Towards the end of the street the crowd thickened, and there the mixture +of gas and the white moony lights that glared higher up, and winked and +hissed, shone upon the faces of a throng that had gathered about the +doors and windows of a store a little way down the other street. Lemuel +joined them, and for pure listlessness waited round to see what they +were looking at. By and by he was worked inward by the shifting and +changing of the crowd, and found himself looking in at the door of +a room, splendidly fitted up with mirrors and marble everywhere, and +coloured glass and carved mahogany. There was a long counter with three +men behind it, and over their heads was a large painting of a woman, +worse than that image in the garden. The men were serving out liquor to +the people that stood around drinking and smoking, and battening on this +picture. Lemuel could not help looking, either. “What place is this?” he +asked of the boy next him. + +“Why, don't you know?” said the boy. “It's Jimmy Baker's. Just opened.” + +“Oh,” said Lemuel. He was not going to let the boy see that he did not +know who Jimmy Baker was. Just then something caught his eye that had a +more powerful charm for him than that painting. It was a large bowl at +the end of the counter, which had broken crackers in it, and near it +were two plates, one with cheese, and one with bits of dried fish and +smoked meat. The sight made the water come into his mouth; he watched +like a hungry dog, with a sympathetic working of the jaws, the men who +took a bit of fish, or meat, or cheese, and a cracker, or all four of +them, before or after they drank. Presently one of the crowd near him +walked in and took some fish and cracker without drinking at all; he +merely winked at one of the bartenders, who winked at him in return. + +A tremendous tide of daring rose in Lemuel's breast. He was just going +to go in and risk the same thing himself, when a voice in the crowd +behind him said, “Hain't you had 'most enough, young feller? Some the +rest of us would like a chance to see now.” + +Lemuel knew the voice, and turning quickly, he knew the impudent face +it belonged to. He did not mind the laugh raised at his expense, but +launched himself across the intervening spectators, and tried to seize +the scamp who had got his money from him. The scamp had recognised +Lemuel too, and he fell back beyond his grasp, and then lunged through +the crowd, and tore round the corner and up the street. Lemuel followed +as fast as he could. In spite of the weakness he had felt before, wrath +and the sense of wrong lent him speed, and he was gaining in the chase +when he heard a girl's voice, “There goes one of them now!” and then a +man seemed to be calling after him, “Stop, there!” He turned round, and +a policeman, looking gigantic in his belted blue flannel blouse and his +straw helmet, bore down upon the country boy with his club drawn, and +seized him by the collar. + +“You come along,” he said. + +“I haven't done anything,” said Lemuel, submitting, as he must, and in +his surprise and terror losing the strength his wrath had given him. He +could scarcely drag his feet over the pavement, and the policeman had +almost to carry him at arm's length. + +A crowd had gathered about them, and was following Lemuel and +his captor, but they fell back when they reached the steps of the +police-station, and Lemuel was pulled up alone, and pushed in at the +door. He was pushed through another door, and found himself in a kind +of office. A stout man in his shirt-sleeves was sitting behind a desk +within a railing, and a large book lay open on the desk. This man, whose +blue waistcoat with brass buttons marked him for some sort of officer, +looked impersonally at Lemuel and then at the officer, while he chewed +a quill toothpick, rolling it in his lips. “What have you got there?” he +asked. + +“Assaulting a girl down here, and grabbing her satchel,” said the +officer who had arrested Lemuel, releasing his collar and going to the +door, whence he called, “You come in here, lady,” and a young girl, her +face red with weeping and her hair disordered, came back with him. She +held a crumpled straw hat with the brim torn loose, and in spite of her +disordered looks she was very pretty, with blue eyes flung very wide +open, and rough brown hair, wavy and cut short, almost like a boy's. +This Lemuel saw in the frightened glance they exchanged. + +“This the fellow that assaulted you?” asked the man at the desk, nodding +his head toward Lemuel, who tried to speak; but it was like a nightmare; +he could not make any sound. + +“There were three of them,” said the girl with hysterical volubility. +“One of them pulled my hat down over my eyes and tore it, and one of +them held me by the elbows behind, and they grabbed my satchel away that +had a book in it that I had just got out of the library. I hadn't got it +more than----” + +“What name?” asked the man at the desk. + +_“A Young Man's Darling,”_ said the girl, after a bashful hesitation. +Lemuel had read that book just before he left home; he had not thought +it was much of a book. + +“The captain wants to know your name,” said the officer in charge of +Lemuel. + +“Oh,” said the girl, with mortification. “Statira Dudley.” + +“What age?” asked the captain. + +“Nineteen last June,” replied the girl with eager promptness, that must +have come from shame from the blunder she had made. Lemuel was twenty, +the 4th of July. + +“Weight?” pursued the captain. + +“Well, I hain't been weighed very _lately_,” answered the girl, with +increasing interest. “I don't know as I been weighed since I left home.” + +The captain looked at her judicially. + +“That so? Well, you look pretty solid. Guess I'll put you down at a +hundred and twenty.” + +“Well, I guess it's full as _much_ as that,” said the girl, with a +flattered laugh. + +“Dunno how high you are?” suggested the captain, glancing at her again. + +“Well, yes, I _do_. I am just five feet two inches and a half.” + +“You don't look it,” said the captain critically. + +“Well, I _am_,” insisted the girl, with a returning gaiety. + +The captain apparently checked himself and put on a professional +severity. + +“What business--occupation?” + +“Sales-lady,” said the girl. + +“Residence?” + +“No. 2334 Pleasant Avenue.” + +The captain leaned back in his arm-chair, and turned his toothpick +between his lips, as he stared hard at the girl. + +“Well, now,” he said, after a moment, “you know you've got to come into +court and testify to-morrow morning.” + +“Yes,” said the girl, rather falteringly, with a sidelong glance at +Lemuel. + +“You've got to promise to do it, or else it will be my duty to have you +locked up overnight.” + +“Have me locked up?” gasped the girl, her wide blue eyes filling with +astonishment. + +“Detain you as a witness,” the captain explained. “Of course, we +shouldn't put you in a cell; we should give you a good room, and if you +ain't sure you'll appear in the morning----” + +The girl was not of the sort whose tongues are paralysed by terror. “Oh, +I'll be _sure_ to appear, captain! Indeed I will, captain! You needn't +lock me up, captain! Lock me _up!_” she broke off indignantly. “It would +be a _pretty_ idea if I was first to be robbed of my satchel and then +put in prison for it overnight! A great kind of law _that_ would be! +Why, I never heard of such a thing! I think it's a perfect shame! I want +to know if that's the way you do with poor things that you don't know +about?” + +“That's about the size of it,” said the captain, permitting himself a +smile, in which the officer joined. + +“Well, it's a shame!” cried the girl, now carried far beyond her +personal interest in the matter. + +The captain laughed outright. “It _is_ pretty rough. But what you going +to do?” + +“Do? Why, I'd----” But here she stopped for want of science, and added +from emotion, “I'd do _any_thing before I'd do that.” + +“Well,” said the captain, “then I understand you'll come round to the +police court and give your testimony in the morning?” + +“Yes,” said the girl, with a vague, compassionate glance at Lemuel, who +had stood there dumb throughout the colloquy. + +“If you don't, I shall have to send for you,” said the captain. + +“Oh, I'll _come_,” replied the girl, in a sort of disgust, and her eyes +still dwelt upon Lemuel. + +“That's all,” returned the captain, and the girl, accepting her +dismissal, went out. + +Now that it was too late, Lemuel could break from his nightmare. “Oh, +don't let her go! I ain't the one! I was running after a fellow that +passed off a counterfeit ten-dollar bill on me in the Common yesterday. +I never touched her satchel. I never saw her before----” + +“What's that?” demanded the captain sharply. + +“You've got the wrong one!” cried Lemuel. “I never did anything to the +girl.” + +“Why, you fool!” retorted the captain angrily; “why didn't you say that +when she was here, instead of standing there like a dumb animal? Heigh?” + +Lemuel's sudden flow of speech was stopped at its source again. His lips +were locked; he could not answer a word. + +The captain went on angrily. “If you'd spoke up in time, may be I might +'a' let you go. I don't want to do a man any harm if I can't do him some +good. Next time, if you've got a tongue in your head, use it. I can't do +anything for you now. I got to commit you.” + +He paused between his sentences, as if to let Lemuel speak, but the boy +said nothing. The captain pulled his book impatiently toward him, and +took up his pen. + +“What's your name?” + +“Lemuel Barker.” + +“I thought may be there was a mistake all the while,” said the captain +to the officer, while he wrote down Lemuel's name. “But if a man hain't +got sense enough to speak for himself, I can't put the words in his +mouth. Age?” he demanded savagely of Lemuel. + +“Twenty.” + +“Weight?” + +“A hundred and thirty.” + +“I could see with half an eye that the girl wan't very sanguine about +it. But what's the use? I couldn't tell her she was mistaken. Height?” + +“Five feet six.” + +“Occupation?” + +“I help mother carry on the farm.” + +“Just as I expected!” cried the captain. “Slow as a yoke of oxen. +Residence?” + +“Willoughby Pastures.” + +The captain could not contain himself. “Well, Willoughby Pastures,--or +whatever your name is,--you'll get yourself into the papers _this_ +time, _sure_. And I must say it serves you right. If you can't speak for +yourself, who's going to speak for you, do you suppose? Might send round +to the girl's house----No, she wouldn't be there, ten to one. You've got +to go through now. Next time don't be such an infernal fool.” + +The captain blotted his book and shut it. + +“We'll have to lock him up here to-night,” he said to the policeman. +“Last batch has gone round. Better go through him.” But Lemuel had +been gone through before, and the officer's search of his pockets only +revealed their emptiness. The captain struck a bell on his desk. “If it +ain't all right, you can make it right with the judge in the morning,” + he added to Lemuel. + +Lemuel looked up at the policeman who had arrested him. He was an +elderly man, with a kindly face, squarely fringed with a chin-beard. The +boy tried to speak, but he could only repeat, “I never saw her before. I +never touched her.” + +The policeman looked at him and then at the captain. + +“Too late now,” said the latter. “Got to go through the mill this time. +But if it ain't right, you can make it right.” + +Another officer had answered the bell, and the captain indicated with a +comprehensive roll of his head that he was to take Lemuel away and lock +him up. + +“Oh, my!” moaned the boy. As they passed the door of a small room +opening on an inner corridor, a smell of coffee gushed out of it; the +officer stopped, and Lemuel caught sight of two gentlemen in the room +with a policeman, who was saying---- + +“Get a cup of coffee here when we want it. Try one?” he suggested +hospitably. + +“No, thank you,” said one of the gentlemen, with the bland +respectfulness of people being shown about an institution. “How many of +you are attached to this station?” + +“Eighty-one,” said the officer. “Largest station in town. Gang goes on +at one in the morning, and another at eight, and another at six P.M.” He +looked inquiringly at the officer in charge of Lemuel. + +“Any matches?” asked this officer. + +“Everything but money,” said the other, taking some matches out of his +waistcoat pocket. + +Lemuel's officer went ahead, lighting the gas along the corridor, and +the boy followed, while the other officer brought up the rear with the +visitor whom he was lecturing. They passed some neat rooms, each with +two beds in it, and he answered some question: “Tramps? Not much! Give +_them_ a _board_ when they're drunk; send 'em round to the Wayfarers' +Lodge when they're sober. These officers' rooms.” + +Lemuel followed his officer downstairs into a basement, where on either +side of a white-walled, brilliantly lighted, specklessly clean +corridor, there were numbers of cells, very clean, and smelling of fresh +whitewash. Each had a broad low shelf in it, and a bench opposite, a +little wider than a man's body. Lemuel suddenly felt himself pushed +into one of them, and then a railed door of iron was locked upon him. +He stood motionless in the breadth of light and lines of shade which the +gas-light cast upon him through the door, and knew the gentlemen were +looking at him as their guide talked. + +“Well, fill up pretty well, Sunday nights. Most the arrests for +drunkenness. But all the arrests before seven o'clock sent to the City +Prison. Only keep them that come in afterwards.” + +One of the gentlemen looked into the cell opposite Lemuel's. “There +seems to be only one bunk. Do you ever put more into a cell?” + +“Well, hardly ever, if they're men. Lot o' women brought in 'most always +ask to be locked up together for company.” + +“I don't see where they sleep,” said the visitor. “Do they lie on the +floor?” + +The officer laughed. “Sleep? _They_ don't want to sleep. What they want +to do is to set up all night, and talk it over.” + +Both of the visitors laughed. + +“Some of the cells,” resumed the officer, “have two bunks, but we hardly +ever put more than one in a cell.” + +The visitors noticed that a section of the rail was removed in each door +near the floor. + +“That's to put a dipper of water through, or anything,” explained the +officer. “There!” he continued, showing them Lemuel's door; “see how +the rails are bent there? You wouldn't think a man could squeeze through +there, but we found a fellow half out o' that one night--backwards. +Captain came down with a rattan and made it hot for him.” + +The visitors laughed, and Lemuel, in his cell, shuddered. + +“I never saw anything so astonishingly clean,” said one of the +gentlemen. “And do you keep the gas burning here all night?” + +“Yes; calculate to give 'em plenty of light,” said the officer, with +comfortable satisfaction in the visitor's complimentary tone. + +“And the sanitary arrangements seem to be perfect, doctor,” said the +other visitor. + +“Oh, perfect.” + +“Yes,” said the officer, “we do the best we can for 'em.” + +The visitors made a murmur of approbation. Their steps moved away; +Lemuel heard the guide saying, “Dunno what that fellow's in for. Find +out in the captain's room.” + +“He didn't look like a very abandoned ruffian,” said one of the +visitors, with both pity and amusement in his voice. + + + + +VI. + + +Lemuel stood and leaned his head against the wall of his cell. The tears +that had come to his relief in the morning when he found that he was +robbed would not come now. He was trembling with famine and weakness, +but he could not lie down; it would be like accepting his fate, and +every fibre of his body joined his soul in rebellion against that. The +hunger gnawed him incessantly, mixed with an awful sickness. + +After a long time a policeman passed his door with another prisoner, a +drunken woman, whom he locked into a cell at the end of the corridor. +When he came back, Lemuel could endure it no longer. “Say!” he called +huskily through his door. “Won't you give me a cup of that coffee +upstairs? I haven't had anything but an apple to eat for nearly two +days. I don't want you to _give_ me the coffee. You can take my clasp +button----” + +The officer went by a few steps, then he came back, and peered in +through the door at Lemuel's face. “Oh! that's you?” he said: he was the +officer who had arrested Lemuel. + +“Yes. Please get me the coffee. I'm afraid I shall have a fit of +sickness if I go much longer.” + +“Well,” said the officer, “I guess I can get you something.” He went +away, and came back, after Lemuel had given up the hope of his return, +with a saucerless cup of coffee, and a slice of buttered bread laid on +the top of it. He passed it in through the opening at the bottom of the +door. + +“Oh, my!” gasped the starving boy. He thought he should drop the cup, +his hand shook so when he took it. He gulped the coffee, and swallowed +the bread in a frenzy. + +“Here--here's the button,” he said, as he passed the empty cup out to +the officer. + +“I don't want your button,” answered the policeman. He hesitated a +moment. “I shall be round at the court in the morning, and I guess if it +ain't right we can make it so.” + +“Thank you, sir,” said Lemuel, humbly grateful. + +“You lay down now,” said the officer. “We shan't put anybody in on you +to-night.” + +“I guess I better,” said Lemuel. He crept in upon the lower shelf, and +stretched himself out in his clothes, with his arm under his head for a +pillow. The drunken woman at the end of the corridor was clamouring to +get out. She wished to get out just half a minute, she said, and settle +with that hussy; then she would come back willingly. Sometimes she +sang, sometimes she swore; but with the coffee still sensibly hot in his +stomach, and the comfort of it in every vein, her uproar turned into an +agreeable fantastic medley for Lemuel, and he thought it was the folks +singing in church at Willoughby Pastures, and they were all asking him +who the new girl in the choir was, and he was saying Statira Dudley; and +then it all slipped off into a smooth, yellow nothingness, and he heard +some one calling him to get up. + +When he woke in the morning he started up so suddenly that he struck +his head against the shelf above him, and lay staring stupidly at the +iron-work of his door. + +He heard the order to turn out repeated at other cells along the +corridor, and he crept out of his shelf, and then sat down upon it, +waiting for his door to be unlocked. He was very hungry again, and he +trembled with faintness. He wondered how he should get his breakfast, +and he dreaded the trial in court less than the thought of going +through another day with nothing to eat. He heard the stir of the other +prisoners in the cells along the corridors, the low groans and sighs +with which people pull themselves together after a bad night; and he +heard the voice of the drunken woman, now sober, poured out in voluble +remorse, and in voluble promise of amendment for the future, to every +one who passed, if they would let her off easy. She said aisy, of +course, and it was in her native accent that she bewailed the fate of +the little ones whom her arrest had left motherless at home. No one +seemed to answer her, but presently she broke into a cry of joy and +blessing, and from her cell at the other end of the corridor came the +clink of crockery. Steps approached with several pauses, and at last +they paused at Lemuel's door, and a man outside stooped and pushed in, +through the opening at the bottom, a big bowl of baked beans, a quarter +of a loaf of bread, and a tin cup full of coffee. “Coffee's extra,” he +said jocosely. “Comes from the officers. You're in luck, young feller.” + +“I ha'n't got anything to pay for it with,” faltered Lemuel. + +“Guess they'll trust you,” said the man. “Any-rate, I got orders to +leave it.” He passed on, and Lemuel gathered up his breakfast, and +arranged it on the shelf where he had slept; then he knelt down before +it, and ate. + +An hour later an officer came and unbolted his door from the outside. +“Hurry up,” he said; “Maria's waiting.” + +“Maria?” repeated Lemuel innocently. + +“Yes,” returned the officer. “Other name's Black. She don't like to +wait. Come out of here.” + +Lemuel found himself in the corridor with four or five other prisoners, +whom some officers took in charge and conducted upstairs to the door of +the station. He saw no woman, but a sort of omnibus without windows was +drawn up at the curbstone. + +“I thought,” he said to an officer, “that there was a lady waiting +to see me. Maria Black,” he added, seeing that the officer did not +understand. + +The policeman roared, and could not help putting his head in at the +office door to tell the joke. + +“Well, you must introduce him,” called a voice from within. + +“Guess you ha'n't got the name exactly straight, young man,” said the +policeman to Lemuel, as he guarded him down the steps. “It's Black +Maria you're looking for. There she is,” he continued, pointing to +the omnibus, “and don't you forget it. She's particular to have folks +recognise her. She's blacker 'n she's painted.” + +The omnibus was, in fact, a sort of aesthetic drab, relieved with +salmon, as Lemuel had time to notice before he was hustled into it with +the other prisoners, and locked in. + +There were already several there, and as Lemuel's eyes accustomed +themselves to the light that came in through the little panes at the +sides of the roof, he could see that they were women; and by and by he +saw that two of them were the saucy girls who had driven him from his +seat in the Common that day, and laughed so at him. They knew him too, +and one of them set up a shrill laugh. “Hello, Johnny! That you? You +don't say so? What you up for _this_ time? Going down to the Island? +Well, give us a call there! Do be sociable! Ward 11's the address.” The +other one laughed, and then swore at the first for trying to push her +off the seat. + +Lemuel broke out involuntarily in all the severity that was native to +him. “You ought to be ashamed of yourselves.” + +This convulsed the bold things with laughter. When they could get their +breath, one of them said, “Pshaw! I know what he's up for: preaching on +the Common. Say, young feller! don't you want to hold a prayer-meetin' +here?” + +They burst into another shriek of laughter, so wild and shrill that the +driver rapped on the roof, and called down, “Dry up in there!” + +“Oh, you mind your horses, and we'll look after the passengers. Go and +set on his knee, Jen, and cheer him up a little.” + +Lemuel sat in a quiver of abhorrence. The girl appealed to remained +giggling beside her companion. + +“I--I pity ye!” said Lemuel. + +The Irishwoman had not stopped bewailing herself, and imploring right +and left an easy doom. She now addressed herself wholly to Lemuel, whose +personal dignity seemed to clothe him with authority in her eyes. She +told him about her children, left alone with no one to look after them; +the two little girls, the boy only three years old. When the van stopped +at a station to take in more passengers, she tried to get out--to tell +the gentlemen at the office about it, she said. + +After several of these halts they stopped at the basement of a large +stone building, that had a wide flight of steps in front, and columns, +like the church at Willoughby Pastures, only the church steps were wood, +and the columns painted pine. Here more officers took charge of them, +and put them in a room where there were already twenty-five or thirty +other prisoners, the harvest of the night before; and presently another +van-load was brought in. + +There were many women among them, but here there was no laughing or +joking as there had been in the van. Scarcely any one spoke, except the +Irishwoman, who crept up to an officer at the door from time to time, +and begged him to tell the judge to let her have it easy this time. +Lemuel could not help seeing that she and most of the others were +familiar with the place. Those two saucy jades who had mocked him were +silent, and had lost their bold looks. + +After waiting what seemed a long time, the door was opened, and they +were driven up a flight of stairs into a railed enclosure at the corner +of a large room, where they remained huddled together, while a man at +a long desk rattled over something that ended with “God bless the +commonwealth of Massachusetts.” On a platform behind the speaker sat +a grey-haired man in spectacles, and Lemuel knew that he was in the +court-room, and that this must be the judge. He could not see much of +the room over the top of the railing, but there was a buzz of voices and +a stir of feet beyond, that made him think the place was full. But full +or empty, it was the same to him; his shame could not be greater or +less. He waited apathetically while the clerk read off the charges +against the vastly greater number of his fellow-prisoners arrested for +drunkenness. When these were disposed of, he read from the back of a +paper, which he took from a fresh pile, “Bridget Gallagher, complained +of for habitual drunkenness. Guilty or not guilty?” + +“Not guilty, your honour,” answered the Irishwoman who had come from +Lemuel's station. “But make it aisy for me this time, judge, and ye'll +never catch me in it again. I've three helpless childer at home, your +honour, starvin' and cryin' for their mother. Holy Mary, make it aisy, +judge!” + +A laugh went round the room, which a stern voice checked with “Silence, +there!” but which renewed itself when the old woman took the stand at +the end of the clerk's long desk, while a policeman mounted a similar +platform outside the rail, and gave his testimony against her. It was +very conclusive, and it was not affected by the denials with which the +poor woman gave herself away more and more. She had nothing to say +when invited to do so except to beg for mercy; the judge made a few +inquiries, apparently casual, of the policeman; then after a moment's +silence, in which he sat rubbing his chin, he leaned forward and said +quietly to the clerk, + +“Give her three months.” + +The woman gave a wild Irish cry, “O my poor childer!” and amidst the +amusement of the spectators, which the constables could not check at +once, was led wailing below. + +Before Lemuel could get his breath those bold girls, one after the +other, were put upon the stand. The charge against them was not made +the subject of public investigation; the judge and some other elderly +gentleman talked it over together; and the girls, who had each wept in +pleading guilty, were put on probation, as Lemuel understood it, and, +weeping still and bridling a little, were left in charge of this elderly +gentleman, and Lemuel saw them no more. + +One case followed another, and Lemuel listened with the fascination of +terror; the sentences seemed terribly severe, and out of all proportion +to the offences. Suddenly his own name was called. His name had been +called in public places before: at the school exhibitions, where he had +taken prizes in elocution and composition; in church, once, when the +minister had mentioned him for peculiar efficiency and zeal among other +Sabbath-school teachers. It was sacred to him for his father's sake, +who fell in the war, and who was recorded in it on the ugly, pathetic +monument on the village green; and hitherto he had made it respected and +even honoured, and had tried all the harder to keep it so because his +family was poor, and his mother had such queer ways and dressed so. He +dragged himself to the stand which he knew he must mount, and stole from +under his eyelashes a glance at the court-room, which took it all in. +There were some people, whom he did not know for reporters, busy with +their pencils next the railings; and there was a semicircular table in +the middle of the room at which a large number of policemen sat, and +they had their straw helmets piled upon it, with the hats of the lawyers +who sat among them. Beyond, the seats which covered the floor were +filled with the sodden loafers whom the law offers every morning the +best dramatic amusement in the city. Presently, among the stupid eyes +fixed upon him, Lemuel was aware of the eyes of that fellow who had +passed the counterfeit money on him; and when this scamp got up and +coolly sauntered out of the room, Lemuel was held in such a spell that +he did not hear the charge read against him, or the clerk's repeated +demand, “Guilty or not guilty?” + +He was recalled to himself by the voice of the judge. “Young man, do +you understand? Are you guilty of assaulting this lady and taking her +satchel, or not?” + +“Not guilty,” said Lemuel huskily; and he looked, not at the judge, but +at the pretty girl, who confronted him from a stand at the other end of +the clerk's desk, blushing to find herself there up to her wide-flung +blue eyes. Lemuel blushed too, and dropped his eyes; and it seemed to +him in a crazy kind of way that it was impolite to have pleaded not +guilty against her accusation. He stood waiting for the testimony which +the judge had to prompt her to offer. + +“State the facts in regard to the assault,” he said gravely. + +“I don't know as I can do it, very well,” began the girl. + +“We shall be satisfied if you do your best,” said the judge, with +the glimmer of a smile, which spread to a laugh among the spectators, +unrebuked by the constables, since the judge had invited it. + +In this atmosphere of sympathy the girl found her tongue, and with a +confiding twist, of her pretty head began again: “Well, now, I'll tell +you just how it was. I'd just got my book out of the Public Library, and +I was going down Neponset Street on my way home, hurrying along, because +I see it was beginning to be pretty late, and the first thing I know +somebody pulled my hat down over my eyes, and tore the brim half off, so +I don't suppose I can ever wear it again, it's such a lookin' thing; any +rate it ain't the one I've got on, though it's some like it; and then +the next thing, somebody grabbed away the satchel I'd got on my arm; and +as soon as I could get my eyes clear again, I see two fellows chasin' up +the street, and I told the officer somebody'd got my book; and I knew it +was one of those fellows runnin' away, and I said, 'There they go now,' +and the officer caught the hind one, and I guess the other one got away; +and the officer told me to follow along to the station-house, and when +we got there they took my name, and where I roomed, and my age----” + +“Do you recognise this young man as one of the persons who robbed you?” + interrupted the judge, nodding his head toward Lemuel, who now lifted +his head and looked his accuser fearlessly in her pretty eyes. + +“Why, no!” she promptly replied. “The first thing I knew, he'd pulled my +hat over my eyes.” + +“But you recognise him as one of those you saw running away?” + +“Oh yes, he's one of _them_,” said the girl. + +“What made you think he had robbed you?” + +“Why, because my satchel was gone!” returned the girl, with logic that +apparently amused the gentlemen of the bar. + +“But why did you think _he_ had taken it?” + +“Because I see him running away.” + +“You couldn't swear that he was the one who took your satchel?” + +“Why, of course not! I didn't _see_ him till I saw him running. And I +don't know as he was the one, now,” added the girl, in a sudden burst of +generosity. + +“And if it was to do over again, I should say as much to the officers at +the station. But I got confused when they commenced askin' me who I +was, and how much I weighed, and what my height was; and _he_ didn't say +anything; and I got to thinkin' may be it _was_; and when they told me +that if I didn't promise to appear at court in the morning they'd have +to lock me up, I was only too glad to get away alive.” + +By this time all the blackguard audience were sharing, unchecked, the +amusement of the bar. The judge put up his hand to hide a laugh. Then he +said to Lemuel, “Do you wish to question the plaintiff?” + +The two young things looked at each other, and both blushed. “No,” said +Lemuel. + +The girl looked at the judge for permission, and at a nod from him left +the stand and sat down. + +The officer who had arrested Lemuel took the stand on the other side +of the rail from him, and corroborated the girl's story; but he had not +seen the assault or robbery, and could not swear to either. Then Lemuel +was invited to speak, and told his story with the sort of nervous +courage that came to him in extremity. He told it from the beginning, +and his adventure with the two beats in the Common made the audience +laugh again. Even then, Lemuel could not see the fun of it; he stopped, +and the stout ushers in blue flannel sacks commanded silence. Then +Lemuel related how he had twice seen one of the beats since that time, +but he was ashamed to say how he had let him escape out of that very +room half an hour before. He told how he had found the beat in the crowd +before the saloon, and how he was chasing him up the street when he +heard the young lady hollo out, “There they go now!” and then the +officer arrested him. + +The judge sat a moment in thought; then said quietly, “The charge is +dismissed;” and before Lemuel well knew what it meant, a gate was opened +at the stand, and he was invited to pass out. He was free. The officer +who had arrested him shook his hand in congratulation and excuse, and +the lawyers and the other policemen gave him a friendly glance. The +loafers and beats of the audience did not seem to notice him. They were +already intent upon a case of coloured assault and battery which had +been called, and which opened with the promise of uncommon richness, +both of the parties being women. + +Lemuel saw that girl who had accused him passing down the aisle on the +other side of the room. She was with another girl, who looked older. +Lemuel walked fast, to get out of their way; he did not know why, but he +did not want to speak to the girl. They walked fast too, and when he got +down the stairs on to the ground floor of the courthouse they overtook +him. + +“Say?” said the older girl, “I want to speak to _you_. I think it's a +down shame, the way that you've been treated; and Statira, she feels +jus' 's I do about it; and I tell her she's got to say so. It's the +least she can do, I tell her, after what she got you _in_ for. My name's +'Manda Grier; I room 'th S'tira; 'n' I come 'th her this mornin' t' help +keep her up; b't I _didn't_ know 't was goin' to be s'ch a _perfect_ +flat-out!” + +As the young woman rattled on she grew more and more glib; she was what +they call whopper-jawed, and spoke a language almost purely consonantal, +cutting and clipping her words with a rapid play of her whopper-jaw till +there was nothing but the bare bones left of them. Statira was crying, +and Lemuel could not bear to see her cry. He tried to say something to +comfort her, but all he could think of was, “I hope you'll get your book +back,” and 'Manda Grier answered for her---- + +“Oh, I guess 't ain't the book 't she cares for. S' far forth 's the +book goes, I guess she can afford to buy another book, well enough. B't +I tell her she's done 'n awful thing, and a thing 't she'll carry to her +grave 'th her, 'n't she'll remember to her dyin' day. That's what _I_ +tell her.” + +“She ha'n't got any call to feel bad about it,” said Lemuel clumsily. +“It was just a mistake.” Then, not knowing what more to say, he said, +being come to the outer door by this time, “Well, I wish you good +morning.” + +“Well, good morning,” said 'Manda Grier, and she thrust her elbow +sharply into Statira Dudley's side, so that she also said faintly-- + +“Well, good morning!” She was fluent enough on the witness-stand and in +the police station, but now she could not find a word to say. + +The three stood together on the threshold of the court-house, not +knowing how to get away from one another. + +'Manda Grier put out her hand to Lemuel. He took it, and, “Well, good +morning,” he said again. + +“Well, good morning,” repeated 'Manda Grier. + +Then Statira put out her hand, and she and Lemuel shook hands, and said +together, “Well, good morning,” and on these terms of high civility they +parted. He went one way and they another. He did not look back, but the +two girls, marching off with locked arms and flying tongues, when they +came to the corner, turned to look back. They both turned inward, and so +bumped their heads together. + +“Why, you--coot!” cried 'Manda Grier, and they broke out laughing. + +Lemuel heard their laugh, and he knew they were laughing at him; but he +did not care. He wandered on, he did not know whither, and presently he +came to the only place he could remember. + + + + +VII. + + +The place was the Common, where his trouble had begun. He looked back to +the beginning, and could see that it was his own fault. To be sure, you +might say that if a fellow came along and offered to pay you fifty cents +for changing a ten-dollar bill, you had a right to take it; but there +was a voice in Lemuel's heart which warned him that greed to another's +hurt was sin, and that if you took too much for a thing from a +necessitous person, you oppressed and robbed him. You could make it +appear otherwise, but you could not really change the nature of the act. +He owned this with a sigh, and he owned himself justly punished. He was +still on those terms of personal understanding with the eternal spirit +of right which most of us lose later in life, when we have so often +seemed to see the effect fail to follow the cause, both in the case of +our own misdeeds and the misdeeds of others. + +He sat down on a bench, and he sat there all day, except when he went to +drink from the tin cup dangling by the chain from the nearest fountain. +His good breakfast kept him from being hungry for a while, but he was +as aimless and as hopeless as ever, and as destitute. He would have gone +home now if he had had the money; he was afraid they would be getting +anxious about him there, though he had not made any particular promises +about the time of returning. He had dropped a postal card into a box as +soon as he reached Boston, to tell of his safe arrival, and they would +not expect him to write again. + +There were only two ways for him to get home: to turn tramp and walk +back, or to go to that Mr. Sewell and borrow the money to pay his +passage. To walk home would add intolerably to the public shame he must +suffer, and the thought of going to Mr. Sewell was, even in the secret +which it would remain between him and the minister, a pang so cruel +to his pride that he recoiled from it instantly. He said to himself +he would stand it one day more; something might happen, and if nothing +happened, he should think of it again. In the meantime he thought of +other things: of that girl, among the rest, and how she looked at the +different times. As nearly as he could make out, she seemed to be a very +fashionable girl; at any rate, she was dressed fashionably, and she was +nice-looking. He did not know whether she had behaved very sensibly, but +he presumed she was some excited. + +Toward dark, when Lemuel was reconciling himself to another night's +sleep in the open air, a policeman sauntered along the mall, and as he +drew nearer the boy recognised his friendly captor. He dropped his head, +but it was too late. The officer knew him, and stopped before him. + +“Well,” he said, “hard at it, I see.” + +Lemuel made no answer, but he was aware of a friendly look in the +officer's face, mixed with fatherly severity. + +“I was in hopes you had started back to Willoughby Pastures before this. +You don't want to get into the habit of settin' round on the Common, +much. First thing you know you can't quit it. Where you goin' to put up +to-night?” + +“I don't know,” murmured Lemuel. + +“Got no friends in town you can go to?” + +“No.” + +“Well, now, look here! Do you think you could find your way back to the +station?” + +“I guess so,” said Lemuel, looking up at the officer questioningly. + +“Well, when you get tired of this, you come round, and we'll provide a +bed for you. And you get back home to-morrow, quick as you can.” + +“Thank you,” said Lemuel. He was helpless against the advice and its +unjust implication, but he could not say anything. + +“Get out o' Boston, anyway, wherever you go or don't go,” continued the +officer. “It's a bad place.” + +He walked on, and left Lemuel to himself again. He thought bitterly that +no one knew better than himself how luridly wicked Boston was, and that +there was probably not a soul in it more helplessly anxious to get out +of it. He thought it hard to be talked to as if it were his fault; as if +he wished to become a vagrant and a beggar. He sat there an hour or two +longer, and then he took the officer's advice so far as concerned his +going to the station for a bed, swallowing his pride as he must. He +must do that, or he must go to Mr. Sewell. It was easier to accept +humiliation at the hands of strangers. He found his way there with +some difficulty, and slinking in at the front door, he waited at the +threshold of the captain's room while he and two or three officers +disposed of a respectably dressed man, whom a policeman was holding up +by the collar of his coat. They were searching his pockets and taking +away his money, his keys, and his pencil and penknife, which the captain +sealed up in a large envelope, and put into his desk. + +“There! take him and lock him up. He's pretty well loaded,” said the +captain. + +Then he looked up and saw Lemuel. “Hello! Can't keep away, eh?” he +demanded jocosely. “Well, we've heard about you. I told you the judge +would make it all right. What's wanted? Bed? Well, here!” The captain +filled up a blank which he took from a pigeon-hole, and gave it to +Lemuel. “I guess that'll fix you out for the night. And tomorrow you put +back to Willoughby Pastures tight as you can get there. You're on the +wrong track now. First thing you know you'll be a professional tramp, +and then you won't be worth the powder to blow you. I use plain talk +with you because you're a beginner. I wouldn't waste my breath on that +fellow behind you.” + +Lemuel looked round, and almost touched with his a face that shone fiery +red through the rusty growth of a week's beard, and recoiled from a +figure that was fouler as to shirt and coat and trousers than anything +the boy had seen; though the tramps used to swarm through Willoughby +Pastures before the Selectmen began to lock them up in the town +poorhouse and set them to breaking stone. There was no ferocity in the +loathsome face; it was a vagrant swine that looked from it, no worse in +its present mood than greedy and sleepy. + +“Bed?” demanded the captain, writing another blank. “Never been here +before, I suppose?” he continued with good-natured irony. “I don't seem +to remember you.” + +The captain laughed, and the tramp returned a husky “Thank you, sir,” + and took himself off into the street. + +Then the captain came to Lemuel's help. “You follow him,” he said, “and +you'll come to a bed by and by.” + +He went out, and, since he could do no better, did as he was bid. He +had hardly ever seen a drunken man at Willoughby Pastures, where the +prohibition law was strictly enforced; there was no such person as a +thief in the whole community, and the tramps were gone long ago. +Yet here was he, famed at home for the rectitude of his life and the +loftiness of his aims, consorting with drunkards and thieves and tramps, +and warned against what he was doing by a policeman, as if he was +doing it of his own will. It was very strange business. If it was all +a punishment for taking that fellow's half-dollar, it was pretty heavy +punishment. He was not going to say that it was unjust, but he would +say it was hard. His spirit was now so bruised and broken that he hardly +knew what to think. + +He followed the tramp as far off as he could and still keep him in +sight, and he sometimes thought he had lost him, in the streets that +climbed and crooked beyond the Common towards the quarter whither they +were going; but he reappeared, slouching and shambling rapidly on, in +the glare of some electric lights that stamped the ground with shadows +thick and black as if cut in velvet or burnt into the surface. Here +and there some girl brushed against the boy, and gave him a joking +or jeering word; her face flashed into light for a moment, and then +vanished in the darkness she passed into. It was that hot October, and +the night was close and still; on the steps of some of the houses groups +of fat, weary women were sitting, and children were playing on the +sidewalks, using the lamp-posts for goal or tag. The tramp ahead of +Lemuel issued upon a brilliantly lighted little square, with a great +many horse-cars coming and going in it; a church with stores on the +ground floor, and fronting it on one side a row of handsome old +stone houses with iron fences, and on another a great hotel, with a +high-pillared portico, where men sat talking and smoking. + +People were waiting on the sidewalk to take the cars; a druggist's +window threw its mellow lights into the street; from open cellarways +came the sound of banjos and violins. At one of these cellar doors his +guide lingered so long that Lemuel thought he should have to find the +way beyond for himself. But the tramp suddenly commanded himself from +the music, the light, and the smell of strong drink, which Lemuel caught +a whiff of as he followed, and turning a corner led the way to the side +of a lofty building in a dark street, where they met other like shapes +tending toward it from different directions. + + + + +VIII. + + +Lemuel entered a lighted doorway from a bricked courtyard, and found +himself with twenty or thirty houseless comrades in a large, square +room, with benching against the wall for them to sit on. They were all +silent and quelled-looking, except a young fellow whom Lemuel sat down +beside, and who, ascertaining that he was a new-comer, seemed disposed +to do the honours of the place. He was not daunted by the reserve native +to Lemuel, or by that distrust of strangers which experience had so soon +taught him. He addressed him promptly as mate, and told him that the +high, narrow, three-sided tabling in the middle of the room was where +they would get their breakfast, if they lived. + +“And I guess I shall live,” he said. “I notice I 'most always live till +breakfast-time, whatever else I do, or I don't do; but sometimes it +don't seem as if I _could_ saw my way through that quarter of a cord +of wood.” At a glance of inquiry which Lemuel could not forbear, he +continued: “What I mean by a quarter of a cord of wood is that they let +you exercise that much free in the morning, before they give you your +breakfast: it's the doctor's orders. This used to be a school-house, but +it's in better business now. They got a kitchen under here, that beats +the Parker House; you'll smell it pretty soon. No whacking on the +knuckles here any more. All serene, I tell you. You'll see. I don't know +how I should got along without this institution, and I tell the manager +so, every time I see him. That's him, hollering 'Next,' out of that room +there. It's a name he gives all of us; he knows it's a name we'll answer +to. Don't you forget it when it comes your turn.” + +He was younger than Lemuel, apparently, but his swarthy, large-mouthed, +droll eyed face affirmed the experience of a sage. He wore a blue +flannel shirt, with loose trousers belted round his waist, and he +crushed a soft felt hat between his hands; his hair was clipped close +to his skull, and as he rubbed it now and then it gave out a pleasant +rasping sound. + +The tramps disappeared in the order of their vicinity to the manager's +door, and it came in time to this boy and Lemuel. + +“You come along with me,” he said, “and do as I do.” When they entered +the presence of the manager, who sat at a desk, Lemuel's guide nodded to +him, and handed over his order for a bed. + +“Ever been here before?” asked the manager, as if going through the form +for a joke. + +“Never.” He took a numbered card which the manager gave him, and stood +aside to wait for Lemuel, who made the same answer to the same question, +and received his numbered card. + +“Now,” said the young fellow, as they passed out of another door, “we +ain't either of us 'Next,' any more. I'm Thirty-nine, and you're +Forty, and don't you forget it. All right, boss,” he called back to +the manager; “I'll take care of him! This way,” he said to Lemuel. “The +reason why I said I'd never been here before,” he explained on the way +down, “was because you got to say something, when he asks you. Most of +'em says last fall or last year, but I say never, because it's just +as true, and he seems to like it better. We're going down to the +dressing-room now, and then we're going to take a bath. Do you know +why?” + +“No,” said Lemuel. + +“Because we can't help it. It's the doctor's orders. He thinks it's the +best thing you can do, just before you go to bed.” + +The basement was brightly lighted with gas everywhere, and a savoury +odour of onion-flavoured broth diffused itself through the whole place. + +“Smell it? You might think that was supper, but it ain't. It's +breakfast. You got a bath and a night's rest as well as the quarter of a +cord of wood between you and that stew. Hungry?” + +“Not very,” said Lemuel faintly. + +“Because if you say you are they'll give you all the bread and water you +can hold, now. But I ruther wait.” + +“I guess I don't want anything to-night,” said Lemuel, shrinking from +the act of beggary. + +“Well, I guess you won't lose anything in the long run,” said the other. +“You'll make it up at breakfast.” + +They turned into a room where eight or ten tramps were undressing; some +of them were old men, quite sodden and stupefied with a life of vagrancy +and privation; others were of a dull or cunning middle-age, two or three +were as young as Lemuel and his partner, and looked as if they might be +poor fellows who had found themselves in a strange city without money +or work. But it was against them that they had known where to come for a +night's shelter, Lemuel felt. + +There were large iron hooks hanging from the walls and ceiling, and his +friend found the numbers on two of them corresponding to those given +Lemuel and himself, and brass checks which they hung around their necks. + +“You got to hang your things on that hook, all but your shoes and +stockings, and you got to hang on to _them_, yourself. Forty's your +number, and forty's your hook, and they give you the clothes off'n it in +the morning.” + +He led the way through the corridor into a large room where a row +of bath-tubs flanked the wall, half of them filled with bathers, who +chatted in tones of subdued cheerfulness under the pleasant excitement +of unlimited hot and cold water. As each new-comer appeared, a black +boy, perched on a windowsill, jumped down and dashed his head from a +large bottle which he carried. + +“Free shampoo,” explained Lemuel's mate. “Doctor's orders. Only you have +to do the rubbing yourself. I don't suppose _you_ need it, but some the +pardners here couldn't sleep without it,” he continued, as Lemuel +shrank a little from the bottle, and then submitted. “It's a regular +night-cap.” + +The tramps recognised the humour of the explanation by a laugh, intended +to be respectful to the establishment in its control, which spread along +their line, and the black boy grinned. + +“There ain't anything mean about the Wayfarer's Hotel,” said the mate, +and they all laughed again, a little louder. + +Each man, having dried himself from his bath, was given a coarse linen +night-gown; sometimes it was not quite whole, but it was always clean; +and then he gathered up his shoes and stockings and went out. + +“Hold on a minute,” said the mate to Lemuel, when they left the +bath-room. “You ought to see the kitchen,” and in his night-gown, +with his shoes in his hand, he led Lemuel to the open door which that +delicious smell of broth came from. A vast copper-topped boiler was +bubbling within, and trying to get its lid off. The odour made Lemuel +sick with hunger. + +“Refrigerator in the next room,” the mate lectured on. “Best beef-chucks +in the market; fish for Fridays--we don't make any man go against his +religion, in _this_ house; pots of butter as big as a cheese,--none of +your oleomargarine,--the real thing, every time; potatoes and onions +and carrots laying around on the floor; barrels of hard-tack; and bread, +like sponge,--bounce you up if you was to jump on it,--baked by the +women at the Chardon Street Home--oh, I tell you we do things in style +here.” + +A man who sat reading a newspaper in the corner looked up sharply. +“Hello, there! what's wanted?” + +“Just dropped in to wish you good night, Jimmy,” said Lemuel's mate. + +“You clear out!” said the man good-humouredly, as if to an old +acquaintance, who must not be allowed to presume upon his familiarity. + +“All right, Jimmy,” said the boy. He set his left hand horizontally on +its wrist at his left shoulder and cut the air with it in playful menace +as the man dropped his eyes again to his paper. “They're all just so, +in this house,” he explained to Lemuel. “No nonsense, but good-natured. +_They're_ all right. They know me.” + +He mounted two flights of stairs in front of Lemuel to a corridor, where +an attendant stood examining the numbers on the brass checks hung +around tramps' necks as they came up with their shoes in their hands. He +instructed them that the numbers corresponded to the cots they were +to occupy, as well as the hooks where their clothes hung. Some of them +seemed hardly able to master the facts. They looked wistfully, like +cowed animals, into his face as he made the case clear. + +Two vast rooms, exquisitely clean, like the whole house, opened on the +right and left of the corridor, and presented long phalanxes of cots, +each furnished with two coarse blankets, a quilt, and a thin pillow. + +“Used to be school-rooms,” said Lemuel's mate, in a low tone. + +“Cots thirty-nine and forty,” said the attendant, looking at their +checks. “Right over there, in the corner.” + +“Come along,” said the mate, leading the way, with the satisfaction of +an _habitué_. “Best berth in the room, and about the last they reach in +the morning. You see, they got to take us as we come, when they call us, +and the last feller in at night's the first feller out in the morning, +because his bed's the nearest the door.” + +He did not pull down the blankets of his cot at once, but stretched +himself out in the quilt that covered them. “Cool off a little, first,” + he explained. “Well, this is what I call comfort, mate, heigh?” + +Lemuel did not answer. He was watching the attendant with a group of +tramps who could not find their cots. + +“Can't read, I suppose,” said the mate, a little disdainfully. “Well, +look at that old chap, will you!” A poor fellow was fumbling with his +blankets, as if he did not know quite how to manage them. The attendant +had to come to his help, and tuck him in. “Well, there!” exclaimed the +mate, lifting himself on his elbow to admire the scene. “I don't suppose +he's ever been in a decent bed before. Hayloft's _his_ style, or a +board-pile.” He sank down again, and went on: “Well, you do see all +kinds of folks here, that's a fact. Sorry there ain't more in to-night, +so 's to give you a specimen. You ought to be here in the winter. Well, +it ain't so lonesome now, in summer, as it used to be. Sometimes I used +to have nearly the whole place to myself, summer nights, before they got +to passin' these laws against tramps in the country, and lockin' 'em +up when they ketched 'em. That drives 'em into the city summers, now; +because they're always sure of a night's rest and a day's board here if +they ask for it. But winter's the time. You'll see all these cots full, +then. They let on the steam-heat, and it's comfortable; and it's always +airy and healthy.” The vast room was, in fact, perfectly ventilated, +and the poor who housed themselves that night, and many well-to-do +sojourners in hotels, had reason to envy the vagrants their free +lodging. + +The mate now got under his quilt, and turned his face toward Lemuel, +with one hand under his cheek. “They don't let _every_body into this +room, 's I was tellin' ye. This room is for the big-bugs, you know. +Sometimes a drunk will get in, though, in spite of everything. Why, I've +seen a drunk at the station-house, when I've been gettin' my order for a +bed, stiffen up so 't the captain himself thought he was sober; and then +I've followed him round here, wobblin' and corkscrewin' all over the +sidewalk; and then I've seen him stiffen up in the office again, and go +through his bath like a little man, and get into bed as drunk as a fish; +and may be wake up in the night with the man with the poker after him, +and make things hum. Well, sir, one night there was a drunk in here that +thought the man with the poker was after him, and he just up and jumped +out of this window behind you--three stories from the ground.” + +Lemuel could not help lifting himself in bed to look at it. “Did it kill +him?” he asked. “Kill him? _No_! You can't kill a _drunk_. One night +there was a drunk got loose, here, and he run downstairs into the +wood-yard, and he got hold of an axe down there, and it took five men to +get that axe away from that drunk. He was goin' for the snakes.” + +“The snakes,” repeated Lemuel. “Are there snakes in the wood-yard?” + +The other gave a laugh so loud that the attendant called out, “Less +noise over there!” + +“I'll tell you about the snakes in the morning,” said the mate; and he +turned his face away from Lemuel. + +The stories of the drunks had made Lemuel a little anxious; but he +thought that attendant would keep a sharp lookout, so that there would +not really be much danger. He was very drowsy from his bath, in spite of +the hunger that tormented him, but he tried to keep awake and think what +he should do after breakfast. + + + + +IX. + + +“Come, turn out!” said a voice in his ear, and he started up, to see the +great dormitory where he had fallen asleep empty of all but himself and +his friend. + +“Make out a night's rest?” asked the latter. “Didn't I tell you we'd +be the last up? Come along!” He preceded Lemuel, still drowsy, down the +stairs into the room where they had undressed, and where the tramps were +taking each his clothes from their hook, and hustling them on. + +“What time is it, Johnny?” asked Lemuel's mate of the attendant. “I left +my watch under my pillow.” + +“Five o'clock,” said the man, helping the poor old fellow who had not +known how to get into bed to put on his clothes. + +“Well, that's a pretty good start,” said the other. He finished his +toilet by belting himself around the waist, and “Come along, mate,” he +said to Lemuel. “I'll show you the way to the tool-room.” + +He led him through the corridor into a chamber of the basement where +there were bright rows of wood-saws, and ranks of saw-horses, with +heaps of the latter in different stages of construction. “House +self-supporting, as far as it can. We don't want to be beholden to +anybody if we can help it. We make our own horses here; but we can't +make our saws, or we would. Ever had much practice with the woodsaw?” + +“No,” said Lemuel, with a throb of home-sickness, that brought back the +hacked log behind the house, and the axe resting against it; “we always +chopped our stove-wood.” + +“Yes, that's the way in the country. Well, now,” said the other, “I'll +show you how to choose a saw. Don't you be took in by no new saw because +it's bright, and looks pretty. You want to take a saw that's been filed, +and filed away till it ain't more 'n an inch and a half deep; and then +you want to tune it up, just so,--like a banjo--not too tight, and not +too slack,--and then it'll slip through a stick o' wood like--lyin'.” He +selected a saw, and put it in order for Lemuel. “There!” He picked out +another. “Here's _my_ old stand-by!” He took up a saw-horse, at random, +to indicate that one need not be critical in that, and led through the +open door into the wood-yard, where a score or two of saws were already +shrilling and wheezing through the wood. + +It was a wide and lofty shed, with piles of cord-wood and slabs at +either end, and walled on the farther side with kindling, sawed, split, +and piled up with admirable neatness. The place gave out the sweet smell +of the woods from the bark of the logs and from the fresh section of +their grain. A double rank of saw-horses occupied the middle space, and +beside each horse lay a quarter of a cord of wood, at which the men were +toiling in sullen silence for the most part, only exchanging a grunt or +snarl of dissatisfaction with one another. + +“Morning, mates,” said Lemuel's friend cheerfully, as he entered the +shed, and put his horse down beside one of the piles. “Thought we'd look +in and see how you was gettin' along. Just stepped round from the Parker +House while our breakfast was a-cookin'. Hope you all rested well?” + +The men paused, with their saws at different slopes in the wood, and +looked round. The night before, in the nakedness in which Lemuel had +first seen them, the worst of them had the inalienable comeliness of +nature, and their faces, softened by their relation to their bodies, +were not so bad; they were not so bad, looking from their white +nightgowns; but now, clad in their filthy rags, and caricatured out of +all native dignity by their motley and misshapen attire, they were a +hideous gang, and all the more hideous for the grin that overspread +their stubbly muzzles at the boy's persiflage. + +“Don't let me interrupt you, fellows,” he said, flinging a log upon his +horse, and dashing his saw gaily into it. “Don't mind _me!_ I know you +hate to lose a minute of this fun; I understand just how you feel about +it, and I don't want you to stand upon ceremony with _me._ Treat me just +like one of yourselves, gents. This beechwood is the regular Nova +Scotia thing, ain't it? Tough and knotty! I can't bear any of your cheap +wood-lot stuff from around here. What I want is Nova Scotia wood, every +time. Then I feel that I'm gettin' the worth of my money.” His log +dropped apart on each side of his horse, and he put on another. “Well, +mates,” he rattled on, “this is lovely, ain't it? I wouldn't give up +my little quarter of a cord of green Nova Scotia before breakfast for +anything; I've got into the way of it, and I can't live without it.” + +The tramps chuckled at these ironies, and the attendant who looked into +the yard now and then did not interfere with them. + +The mate went through his stint as rapidly as he talked, and he had +nearly finished before Lemuel had half done. He did not offer to help +him, but he delayed the remnant of his work, and waited for him to catch +up, talking all the while with gay volubility, joking this one and +that, and keeping the whole company as cheerful as it was in their dull, +sodden nature to be. He had a floating eye that harmonised with his +queer, mobile face, and played round on the different figures, but +mostly upon Lemuel's dogged, rustic industry as if it really amused him. + +“What's your lay, after breakfast?” he asked, as they came to the last +log together. + +“Lay?” repeated Lemuel. + +“What you goin' to do?” + +“I don't know; I can't tell yet.” + +“You know,” said the other, “you can come back here, and get your +dinner, if you want to saw wood for it from ten till twelve, and you get +your supper if you'll saw from five to six.” + +“Are you going to do that?” asked Lemuel cautiously. + +“No, sir,” said the other; “I can't spare the time. I'm goin' to fill +up for all day, at breakfast, and then I'm goin' up to lay round on the +Common till it's time to go to the Police Court; and when that's over +I'm goin' back to the Common ag'in, and lay round the rest of the day. I +hain't got any leisure for no such nonsense as wood-sawin'. I don't mind +the work, but I hate to waste the time. It's the way with most o' the +pardners, unless it's the green hands. That so, pards?” + +Some of them had already gone in to breakfast; the smell of the stew +came out to the wood-yard through the open door. Lemuel and his friend +finished their last stick at the same time, and went in together, +and found places side by side at the table in the waiting-room. The +attendant within its oblong was serving the men with heavy quart bowls +of the steaming broth. He brought half a loaf of light, elastic bread +with each, and there were platters of hard-tack set along the board, +which every one helped himself from freely, and broke into his broth. + +“Morning, Jimmy,” said the mate, as the man brought him and Lemuel their +portions. “I hate to have the dining-room chairs off a paintin' when +there's so much style about everything else, and I've got a visitor with +me. But I tell him he'll have to take us as he finds us, and stand it +this mornin'.” He wasted no more words on his joke, but plunging his +large tin spoon into his bowl, kept his breath to cool his broth, +blowing upon it with easy grace, and swallowing it at a tremendous rate, +though Lemuel, after following his example, still found it so hot +that it brought the tears into his eyes. It was delicious, and he +was ravenous from his twenty-four hours' fast, but his companion was +scraping the bottom of his bowl before Lemuel had got half-way down, and +he finished his second as Lemuel finished his first. + +“Just oncet more for both of us, Jimmy,” he said, pushing his bowl +across the board; and when the man brought them back he said, “Now, I'm +goin' to take it easy and enjoy myself. I can't never seem to get the +good of it, till about the third or fourth bowl. Too much of a hurry.” + +“Do they give you four bowls?” gasped Lemuel in astonishment. + +“They give you four barrels, if you can hold it,” replied the other +proudly; “and some the mates _can_, pretty near. They got an awful tank, +as a general rule, the pards has. There ain't anything mean about this +house. They don't scamp the broth, and they don't shab the measure. I +do wish you could see that refrigerator, oncet. Never been much at sea, +have you, mate?” + +Lemuel said he had never been at sea at all. + +The other leaned forward with his elbows on each side of his bowl, and +lazily broke his hard-tack into it. “Well, I have. I was shipped when +I was about eleven years old by a shark that got me drunk. I wanted to +ship, but I wanted to ship on an American vessel for New Orleans. First +thing I knowed I turned up on a Swedish brig bound for Venice. Ever been +to It'ly?” + +“No,” said Lemuel. + +“Well, I hain't but oncet. Oncet is enough for _me_. I run away, while +I was in Venice, and went ashore--if you can call it ashore; it's +all water, and you got to go round in boats: gondolas they call 'em +there--and went to see the American counsul, and told him I was an +American boy, and tried to get him to get me off. But he couldn't do +anything. If you ship under the Swedish flag you're a Swede, and the +whole United States couldn't get you off. If I'd 'a' shipped under the +American flag I'd 'a' been an American, I don't care if I was born in +Hottentot. That's what the counsul said. I never want to see that town +ag'in. I used to hear songs about Venice--'Beautiful Venice, Bride of +the Sea;' but I think it's a kind of a hole of a place. Well, what +I started to say was that when I turn up in Boston, now,--and I most +generally do,--I don't go to no sailor boardin'-house; I break for the +Wayfarer's Lodge, every time. It's a temperance house, and they give you +the worth o' your money.” + +“Come! Hurry up!” said the attendant. He wiped the table impatiently +with his towel, and stood waiting for Lemuel and the other to finish. +All the rest had gone. + +“Don't you be too fresh, pard,” said the mate, with the effect of +standing upon his rights. “Guess if you was on your third bowl, you +wouldn't hurry.” + +The attendant smiled. “Don't you want to lend us a hand with the +dishes?” he asked. + +“Who's sick?” asked the other in his turn. + +“Johnny's got a day off.” + +The boy shook his head. “No; I couldn't. If it was a case of sickness, +of course I'd do it. But I couldn't spare the time; I couldn't really. +Why, I ought to be up on the Common now.” + +Lemuel had listened with a face of interest. + +“Don't you want to make half a dollar, young feller?” asked the +attendant. + +“Yes, I do,” said Lemuel eagerly. + +“Know how to wash dishes?” + +“Yes,” answered the boy, not ashamed of his knowledge, as the boy of +another civilisation might have been. Nothing more distinctly marks +the rustic New England civilisation than the taming of its men to the +performance of certain domestic offices elsewhere held dishonourably +womanish. The boy learns not only to milk and to keep the milk cans +clean, but to churn, to wash dishes, and to cook. + +“Come around here, then,” said the attendant, and Lemuel promptly +obeyed. + +“Well, now,” said his mate, “that's right. I'd do it myself, if I had +the time.” He pulled his soft wool hat out of his hip pocket. “Well, +good morning, pards. I don't know as I shall see you again much before +night.” Lemuel was lifting a large tray, heavy with empty broth-bowls. +“What _time_ did you say it was, Jimmy?” + +“Seven o'clock.” + +“Well, I just got time to get there,” said the other, putting on his +hat, and pushing out of the door. + +At the moment Lemuel was lifting his tray of empty broth-bowls, Mr. +Sewell was waking for the early quarter-to-eight breakfast, which he +thought it right to make--not perhaps as an example to his parishioners, +most of whom had the leisure to lie later, but as a sacrifice, not too +definite, to the lingering ideal of suffering. He could not work before +breakfast--his delicate digestion forbade that--or he would have risen +still earlier, and he employed the twenty minutes he had between his +bath and his breakfast in skimming the morning paper. + +Just at present Mr. Sewell was taking two morning papers: the +_Advertiser_ which he had always taken, and a cheap little one-cent +paper, which had just been started, and which he had subscribed for +experimentally, with the vague impression that he ought to encourage the +young men who had established it. He did not like it very well. It was +made up somewhat upon the Western ideal, and dealt with local matters +in a manner that was at once a little more lively and a little more +intimate than he had been used to. But before he had quite made up his +mind to stop it, his wife had come to like it on that very account. She +said it was interesting. On this point she used her conscience a little +less actively than usual, and he had to make her observe that to be +interesting was not the whole duty of journalism. It had become a matter +of personal pride with them respectively to attack and defend _The +Sunrise_, as I shall call the little sheet, though that was not the +name; and Mr. Sewell had lately made some gain through the character +of the police reports, which _The Sunrise_ had been developing into a +feature. It was not that offensive matters were introduced; the worst +cases were in fact rather blinked, but Sewell insisted that the tone of +flippant gaiety with which many facts, so serious, so tragic for their +perpetrators and victims, were treated was odious. He objected to the +court being called a Mill, and prisoners Grists, and the procedure +Grinding; he objected to the familiar name of Uncle for the worthy +gentleman to whose care certain offenders were confided on probation. He +now read that department of _The Sunrise_ the first thing every +morning, in the hope of finding something with which to put Mrs. Sewell +hopelessly in the wrong, but this morning a heading in the foreign news +of the _Advertiser_ caught his eye, and he laid _The Sunrise_ aside to +read at the breakfast-table. His wife came down in a cotton dress, as +a tribute to the continued warmth of the weather, and said that she had +not called the children, because it was Saturday, and they might as well +have their sleep out. He liked to see her in that dress; it had a +leafy rustling that was pleasant to his ear, and as she looked into the +library he gaily put out his hand, which she took, and suffered +herself to be drawn toward him. Then she gave him a kiss, somewhat less +business-like and preoccupied than usual. + +“Well, you've got Lemuel Barker off your mind at last,” she divined, in +recognition of her husband's cheerfulness. + +“Yes, he's off,” admitted Sewell. + +“I hope he'll stay in Willoughby Pastures after this. Of course it +puts an end to our going there next summer.” “Oh, I don't know,” Sewell +feebly demurred. + +“_I_ do,” said his wife, but not despising his insincerity enough to +insist that he did also. The mellow note of an apostle's bell--the +gift of an aesthetic parishioner--came from below, and she said, “Well, +there's breakfast, David,” and went before him down the stairs. + +He brought his papers with him. It would have been her idea of +heightened cosiness, at this breakfast, which they had once a week +alone together, not to have the newspapers, but she saw that he felt +differently, and after a number of years of married life a woman learns +to let her husband have his own way in some unimportant matters. It was +so much his nature to have some sort of reading always in hand, that +he was certainly more himself, and perhaps more companionable with his +papers than without them. + +She merely said, “Let me take the _Sunrise_,” when she had poured out +his coffee, and he had helped her to cantaloupe and steak, and spread +his _Advertiser_ beside his plate. He had the _Sunrise_ in his lap. + +“No, you may have the _Advertiser_” he said, handing it over the table +to her. “I was down first, and I got both the papers. I'm not really +obliged to make any division, but I've seen the _Advertiser_, and I'm +willing to behave unselfishly. If you're very impatient for the police +report in the _Sunrise_ I'll read it aloud for you. I think that will be +a very good test of its quality, don't you?” + +He opened the little sheet, and smiled teasingly at his wife, who said, +“Yes, read it aloud; I'm not at all ashamed of it.” + +She put the _Advertiser_ in her lap, and leaned defiantly forward, +while she stirred her coffee, and Sewell unfolded the little sheet, and +glanced up and down its columns. “Go on! If you can't find it, I can.” + +“Never mind! Here it is,” said Sewell, and he began to read-- + +“'The mill opened yesterday morning with a smaller number of grists than +usual, but they made up in quality what they lacked in quantity.' + +“Our friend's metaphor seems to have weakened under him a little,” + commented Sewell, and then he pursued-- + +“'A reasonable supply of drunks were despatched--' + +“Come, now, Lucy! You'll admit that this is horrible?” he broke off. + +“No,” said his wife, “I will admit nothing of the kind. It's flippant, +I'll allow. Go on!” + +“I can't,” said Sewell; but he obeyed. + +“'A reasonable supply of drunks were despatched, and an habitual drunk, +in the person of a burly dame from Tipperary, who pleaded not guilty and +then urged the “poor childer” in extenuation, was sent down the harbour +for three months; Uncle Cook had been put in charge of a couple of young +frailties whose hind name was woman--' + +“How do you like that, my dear?” asked Sewell exultantly. + +Mrs. Sewell looked grave, and then burst into a shocked laugh. “You must +stop that paper, David! I can't have it about for the children to get +hold of. But it _is_ funny, isn't it? That will do--” + +“No, I think you'd better have it all, now. There can't be anything +worse. It's funny, yes, with that truly infernal drollery which the +newspaper wits seem to have the art of.” He read on--“--'when a case was +called that brought the breath of clover blossoms and hay-seed into the +sultry court-room, and warmed the cockles of the habitués' toughened +pericardiums with a touch of real poetry. This was a case of assault, +with intent to rob, in which a lithe young blonde, answering to the +good old Puritanic name of Statira Dudley, was the complainant, and the +defendant an innocent-looking, bucolic youth, yclept--'” + +Sewell stopped and put his hand to his forehead. + +“What is it, David?” demanded his wife. “Why don't you go on? Is it too +scandalous?” + +“No, no,” murmured the minister. + +“Well?” + +“I can't go on. But you must read it, Lucy,” he said, in quite a passion +of humility. “And you must try to be merciful. That poor boy--that--” + +He handed the paper to his wife, and made no attempt to escape from +judgment, but sat submissive while she read the report of Lemuel's +trial. The story was told throughout in the poetico-jocular spirit of +the opening sentences; the reporter had felt the simple charm of the +affair, only to be ashamed of it and the more offensive about it. + +When she had finished Mrs. Sewell did not say anything. She merely +looked at her husband, who looked really sick. + +At last he said, making an effort to rise from his chair, “I must go and +see him, I suppose.” + +“Yes, if you can find him,” responded his wife, with a sigh. + +“Find him?” echoed Sewell. + +“Yes. Goodness knows what more trouble the wretched creature's got into +by this time. You saw that he was acquitted, didn't you?” she demanded, +in answer to her husband's stare. + +“No, I didn't. I supposed he was convicted, of course.” + +“Well, you see it isn't so bad as it might be,” she said, using a pity +which she did not perhaps altogether feel. “Eat your breakfast now, +David, and then go and try to look him up.” + +“Oh, I don't want any breakfast,” pleaded the minister. + +He offered to rise again, but she motioned him down in his chair. +“David, you shall! I'm not going to have you going about all day with a +headache. Eat! And then when you've finished your breakfast, go and find +out which station that officer Baker belongs to, and he can tell you +something about the boy, if any one can.” + +Sewell made what shift he could to grasp these practical ideas, and +he obediently ate of whatever his wife bade him. She would not let him +hurry his breakfast in the least, and when he had at last finished, she +said, “Now you can go, David. And when you've found the boy, don't you +let him out of your sight again till you've put him aboard the train for +Willoughby Pastures, and seen the train start out of the depot with him. +Never mind your sermon. I will be setting down the heads of a sermon, +while you're gone, that will do _you_ good, if you write it out, whether +it helps any one else or not.” + +Sewell was not so sure of that. He had no doubt that his wife would +set down the heads of a powerful sermon, but he questioned whether any +discourse, however potent, would have force to benefit such an abandoned +criminal as he felt himself, in walking down his brown-stone steps, +and up the long brick sidewalk of Bolingbroke Street toward the Public +Garden. The beds of geraniums and the clumps of scarlet-blossomed salvia +in the little grass-plots before the houses, which commonly flattered +his eye with their colour, had a suggestion of penal fires in them now, +that needed no lingering superstition in his nerves to realise something +very like perdition for his troubled soul. It was not wickedness he had +been guilty of, but he had allowed a good man to be made the agency +of suffering, and he was sorely to blame, for he had sinned against +himself. This was what his conscience said, and though his reason +protested against his state of mind as a phase of the religious insanity +which we have all inherited in some measure from Puritan times, it +could not help him. He went along involuntarily framing a vow that if +Providence would mercifully permit him to repair the wrong he had done, +he would not stop at any sacrifice to get that unhappy boy back to his +home, but would gladly take any open shame or obloquy upon himself in +order to accomplish this. + +He met a policeman on the bridge of the Public Garden, and made bold to +ask him at once if he knew an officer named Baker, and which station he +could be found at. The policeman was over-rich in the acquaintance +of two officers of the name of Baker, and he put his hand on Sewell's +shoulder, in the paternal manner of policemen when they will be +friendly, and advised him to go first to the Neponset Street station, +to which one of these Bakers was attached, and inquire there first. +“Anyway, that's what I should do in your place.” + +Sewell was fulsomely grateful, as we all are in the like case, and at +the station he used an urbanity with the captain which was perhaps not +thrown away upon him, but which was certainly disproportioned to the +trouble he was asking him to take in saying whether he knew where he +could find officer Baker. + +“Yes, I do,” said the captain. “You can find him in bed, upstairs, +but I'd rather you wouldn't wake a man off duty, if you don't have to, +especially if you don't know he's the one. What's wanted?” + +Sewell stopped to say that the captain was quite right, and then he +explained why he wished to see officer Baker. + +The captain listened with nods of his head at the names and facts given. +“Guess you won't have to get Baker up for that. I can tell you what +there is to tell. I don't know where your young man is now, but I gave +him an order for a bed at the Wayfarer's Lodge last night, and I guess +he slept there. You a friend of his?” + +“Yes,” said Sewell, much questioning inwardly whether he could be truly +described as such. “I wish to befriend him,” he added savingly. “I knew +him at home, and I am sure of his innocence.” + +“Oh, I guess he's _innocent_ enough,” said the captain. “Well, now, +I tell you what you do, if you want to befriend him; you get him home +quick as you can.” + +“Yes,” said Sewell, helpless to resent the officer's authoritative and +patronising tone. “That's what I wish to do. Do you suppose he's at the +Wayfarer's Lodge now?” asked Sewell. + +“Can't say,” said the captain, tilting himself back in his chair, and +putting his quill toothpick between his lips like a cigarette. “The only +way is to go and see.” + +“Thank you very much,” said the minister, accepting his dismissal +meekly, as a man vowed to ignominy should, but feeling keenly that he +was dismissed, and dismissed in disgrace. + +At the Lodge he was received less curtly. The manager was there with +a long morning's leisure before him, and disposed to friendliness that +Sewell found absurdly soothing. He turned over the orders for beds +delivered by the vagrants the night before, and “Yes,” he said, coming +to Lemuel's name, “he slept here; but nobody knows where he is by this +time. Wait a bit, sir!” he added to Sewell's fallen countenance. “There +was one of the young fellows stayed to help us through with the dishes, +this morning. I'll have him up; or may be you'd like to go down and take +a look at our kitchen? You'll find him there if it's the one. Here's our +card, We can supply you with all sorts of firewood at less cost than the +dealers, and you'll be helping the poor fellows to earn an honest bed +and breakfast. This way, sir!” + +Sewell promised to buy his wood there, put the card respectfully +into his pocket, and followed the manager downstairs, and through the +basement to the kitchen. He arrived just as Lemuel was about to lift a +trayful of clean soup-bowls, to carry it upstairs. After a glance at the +minister, he stood still with dropped eyes. + +Sewell did not know in what form to greet the boy on whom he had +unwillingly brought so much evil, and he found the greater difficulty in +deciding as he saw Lemuel's face hardening against him. + +“Barker!” he said at last. “I'm very glad to find you--I have been very +anxious to find you.” + +Lemuel made no sign of sympathy, but stood still in his long check +apron, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbow, and the minister +was obliged to humble himself still further to this figure of lowly +obstinacy. + +“I should like to speak with you. Can I speak with you a few moments?” + +The manager politely stepped into the storeroom, and affected to employ +himself there, leaving Lemuel and the minister alone together. + + + + +X. + + +Sewell lost no time. “I want you to go home, Barker. I feel that I am +wholly to blame, and greatly to blame, for your coming to Boston with +the expectation that brought you; and that I am indirectly responsible +for all the trouble that has befallen you since you came. I want to be +the means of your getting home, in any way you can let me.” + +This was a very different way of talking from the smooth superiority of +address which the minister had used with him the other day at his own +house. Lemuel was not insensible to the atonement offered him, and it +was not from sulky stubbornness that he continued silent, and left the +minister to explore the causes of his reticence unaided. + +“I will go home _with_ you, if you like,” pursued the minister, though +his mind misgave him that this was an extreme which Mrs. Sewell would +not have justified him in. “I will go with you, and explain all +the circumstances to your friends, in case there should be any +misunderstanding--though in that event I should have to ask you to be my +guest till Monday.” Here the unhappy man laid hold of the sheep, which +could not bring him greater condemnation than the lamb. + +“I guess they won't know anything about it,” said Lemuel, with whatever +intention. + +It seemed hardened indifference to the minister, and he felt it his +disagreeable duty to say, “I am afraid they will. I read of it in the +newspaper this morning, and I'm afraid that an exaggerated report of +your misfortunes will reach Willoughby Pastures, and alarm your family.” + +A faint pallor came over the boy's face, and he stood again in his +impenetrable, rustic silence. The voice that finally spoke from, it +said, “I guess I don't want to go home, then.” + +“You _must_ go home!” said the minister, with more of imploring than +imperiousness in his command. “What will they make of your prolonged +absence?” + +“I sent a postal to mother this morning. They lent me one.” + +“But what will you do here, without work and without means? I wish you +to go home with me--I feel responsible for you--and remain with me till +you can hear from your mother. I'm sorry you came to Boston--it's no +place for you, as you must know by this time, and I am sure your mother +will agree with me in desiring your return.” + +“I guess I don't want to go home,” said Lemuel. + +“Are you afraid that an uncharitable construction will be placed upon +what has happened to you by your neighbours?” Lemuel did not answer. “I +assure you that all that can be arranged. I will write to your pastor, +and explain it fully. But in any event,” continued Sewell, “it is your +duty to yourself and your friends to go home and live it down. It would +be your duty to do so, even if you had been guilty of wrong, instead of +the victim of misfortune.” + +“I don't know,” said Lemuel, “as I want to go home and be the +laughing-stock.” + +Against this point Sewell felt himself helpless. He could not pretend +that the boy would not be ridiculous in the eyes of his friends, and all +the more ridiculous because so wholly innocent. He could only say, “That +is a thing you must bear,” and then it occurred to him to ask, “Do you +feel that it is right to let your family meet the ridicule alone?” + +“I guess nobody will speak to mother about it, more than once,” said +Lemuel, with a just pride in his mother's powers of retort. A woman who, +unaided and alone, had worn the Bloomer costume for twenty years in +the heart of a commentative community like Willoughby Pastures, was not +likely to be without a cutting tongue for her defence. + +“But your sister,” urged Sewell; “your brother-in-law,” he feebly added. + +“I guess they will have to stand it,” replied Lemuel. + +The minister heaved a sigh of hopeless perplexity. “What do you propose +to do, then? You can't remain here without means. Do you expect to +sell your poetry?” he asked, goaded to the question by a conscience +peculiarly sore on that point. + +It made Lemuel blush. “No, I don't expect to sell it, now. They took it +out of my pocket on the Common.” + +“I am glad of that,” said the minister as simply, “and I feel bound to +warn you solemnly, that there is absolutely _no_ hope for you in that +direction.” + +Lemuel said nothing. + +The minister stood baffled again. After a bad moment he asked, “Have you +anything particular in view?” + +“I don't know as I have.” + +“How long can you remain here?” + +“I don't know exactly.” + +Sewell turned and followed the manager into the refrigerator room, where +he had remained patiently whistling throughout this interview. + +When he came back, Lemuel had carried one trayful of bowls upstairs, +and returned for another load, which he was piling carefully up for safe +transportation. + +“The manager tells me,” said Sewell, “that practically you can stay here +as long as you like, if you work, but he doesn't think it desirable you +should remain, nor do I. But I wish to find you here again, when I come +back. I have something in view for you.” + +This seemed to be a question, and Lemuel said, “All right,” and went +on piling up his bowls. He added, “I shouldn't want you to take a great +deal of trouble.” + +“Oh, it's no trouble,” groaned the minister. “Then I may depend upon +seeing you here any time during the day?” + +“I don't know as I'm going away,” Lemuel admitted. + +“Well, then, good-bye, for the present,” said Sewell, and after speaking +again to the manager, and gratefully ordering some kindling which he +did not presently need, he went out, and took his way homeward. But he +stopped half a block short of his own door, and rang at Miss Vane's. +To his perturbed and eager spirit, it seemed nothing short of a divine +mercy that she should be at home. If he had not been a man bent on +repairing his wrong at any cost to others, he would hardly have taken +the step he now contemplated without first advising with his wife, who, +he felt sure, would have advised against it. His face did not brighten +at all when Miss Vane came briskly in, with the “_How_ d'ye do?” which +he commonly found so cheering. She pulled up the blind and saw his +knotted brow. + +“What is the matter? You look as if you had got Lemuel Barker back on +your hands.” + +“I have,” said the minister briefly. + +Miss Vane gave a wild laugh of delight. “You _don't_ mean it!” she +sputtered, sitting down before him, and peering into his face. “What +_do_ you mean?” + +Sewell was obliged to possess Miss Vane's entire ignorance of all the +facts in detail. From point to point he paused; he began really to be +afraid she would do herself an injury with her laughing. + +She put her hand on his arm and bowed her head forward, with her face +buried in her handkerchief. “What--what--do you suppose-pose--they did +with the po-po-_po_em they stole from him?” + +“Well, one thing I'm sure they _didn't_ do,” said Sewell bitterly. “They +didn't _read_ it.” + +Miss Vane hid her face in her handkerchief, and then plucked it away, +and shrieked again. She stopped, with the sudden calm that succeeds such +a paroxysm, and, “Does Mrs. Sewell know all about this?” she panted. + +“She knows everything, except my finding him in the dish-washing +department of the Wayfarer's Lodge,” said Sewell gloomily, “and my +coming to you.” + +“Why do you come to me?” asked Miss Vane, her face twitching and her +eyes brimming. + +“Because,” answered Sewell, “I'd rather not go to her till I have done +something.” + +Miss Vane gave way again, and Sewell sat regarding her ruefully. + +“What do you expect me to do?” She looked at him over her handkerchief, +which she kept pressed against her mouth. + +“I haven't the least idea what I expected you to do. I expected you to +tell me. You have an inventive mind.” + +Miss Vane shook her head. Her eyes grew serious, and after a moment she +said, “I'm afraid I'm not equal to Lemuel Barker. Besides,” she added, +with a tinge of trouble, “I have _my_ problem, already.” + +“Yes,” said the minister sympathetically. “How has the flower charity +turned out?” + +“She went yesterday with one of the ladies, and carried flowers to the +city hospital. But she wasn't at all satisfied with the result. She said +the patients were mostly disgusting old men that hadn't been shaved. I +think that now she wants to try her flowers on criminals. She says she +wishes to visit the prisons.” + +Sewell brightened forlornly. “Why not let her reform Barker?” + +This sent Miss Vane off again. “Poor boy!” she sighed, when she had come +to herself. “No, there's nothing that I can do for him, except to order +some firewood from his benefactors.” + +“I did that,” said Sewell. “But I don't see how it's to help Barker +exactly.” + +“I would gladly join in a public subscription to send him home. But you +say he won't _go_ home?” + +“He won't go home,” sighed the minister. “He's determined to stay. I +suspect he would accept employment, if it were offered him in the right +spirit.” + +Miss Vane shook her head. “There's nothing I can think of except +shovelling snow. And as yet it's rather warm October weather.” + +“There's certainly no snow to shovel,” admitted Sewell. He rose +disconsolately. “Well, there's nothing for it, I suppose, but to put +him down at the Christian Union, and explain his checkered career to +everybody who proposes to employ him.” + +Miss Vane could not keep the laughter out of her eyes; she nervously +tapped her lips with her handkerchief, to keep it from them. Suddenly +she halted Sewell, in his dejected progress toward the door. “I might +give him my furnace?” + +“Furnace?” echoed Sewell. + +“Yes. Jackson has 'struck' for twelve dollars a month, and at present +there is a 'lock-out,'--I believe that's what it's called. And I had +determined not to yield as long as the fine weather lasted. I knew I +should give in at the first frost. I will take Barker now, if you think +he can manage the furnace.” + +“I've no doubt he can. Has Jackson really struck?” Miss Vane nodded. “He +hasn't said anything to me about it.” + +“He probably intends to make special terms to the clergy. But he told me +he was putting up the rates on all his 'famblies' this winter.” + +“If he puts them up on me, I will take Barker too,” said the minister +boldly. “If he will come,” he added, with less courage. “Well, I will +go round to the Lodge, and see what he thinks of it. Of course, he +can't live upon ten dollars a month, and I must look him up something +besides.” + +“That's the only thing I can think of at present,” said Miss Vane. + +“Oh, you're indefinitely good to think of so much,” said Sewell. “You +must excuse me if my reception of your kindness has been qualified by +the reticence with which Barker received mine, this morning.” + +“Oh, do tell me about it!” cried Miss Vane. + +“Sometime I will. But I can assure you it was such as to make me shrink +from another interview. I don't know but Barker may fling your proffered +furnace in my teeth. But I'm sure we both mean well. And I thank you, +all the same. Good-bye.” + +“Poor Mr. Sewell!” said Miss Vane, following him to the door. “May I run +down and tell Mrs. Sewell?” + +“Not yet,” said the minister sadly. He was too insecure of Barker's +reception to be able to enjoy the joke. + +When he got back to the Wayfarer's Lodge, whither he made himself walk +in penance, he found Lemuel with a book in his hand, reading, while the +cook stirred about the kitchen, and the broth, which he had well under +way for the mid-day meal, lifted the lid of its boiler from time to time +and sent out a joyous whiff of steam. The place had really a cosiness +of its own, and Sewell began to fear that his victim had been so far +corrupted by its comfort as to be unwilling to leave the Refuge. He had +often seen the subtly disastrous effect of bounty, and it was one of the +things he trembled for in considering the question of public aid to the +poor. Before he addressed Barker, he saw him entered upon the dire life +of idleness and dependence, partial or entire, which he had known so +many Americans even willing to lead since the first great hard times +began; and he spoke to him with the asperity of anticipative censure. + +“Barker!” he said, and Lemuel lifted his head from the book he was +reading. “I have found something for you to do. I still prefer you +should go home, and I advise you to do so. But,” he added, at the look +that came into Lemuel's face, “if you are determined to stay, this is +the best I can do for you. It isn't a full support, but it's something, +and you must look about for yourself, and not rest till you've found +full work, and something better fitted for you. Do you think you can +take care of a furnace?” + +“Hot air?” asked Lemuel. + +“Yes.” + +“I guess so. I took care of the church furnace, last winter.” + +“I didn't know you had one,” said the minister, brightening in the ray +of hope. “Would you be willing to take care of a domestic furnace--a +furnace in a private house?” + +Lemuel pondered the proposal in silence. Whatever objections there were +to it in its difference from the aims of his ambition in coming to the +city of Boston, he kept to himself; and his ignorance of city prejudices +and sophistications probably suggested nothing against the honest work +to his pride. “I guess I should,” he said at last. “Well, then, come +with me.” + +Sewell judged it best not to tell him whose furnace he was to take care +of; he had an impression that Miss Vane was included in the resentment +which Lemuel seemed to cherish toward him. But when he had him at +her door, “It's the lady whom you saw at my house the other day,” he +explained. It was then too late for Lemuel to rebel if he had wished, +and they went in. + +If there was any such unkindness in Lemuel's breast toward her, it +yielded promptly to her tact. She treated him at once, not like a +servant, but like a young person, and yet she used a sort of respect for +his independence which was soothing to his rustic pride. She put it +on the money basis at once; she told him that she should give him ten +dollars a month for taking care of the furnace, keeping the sidewalk +clear of snow, shovelling the paths in the backyard for the women to +get at their clothes-lines, carrying up and down coal and ashes for the +grates, and doing errands. She said that this was what she had always +paid, and asked him if he understood and were satisfied. + +Lemuel answered with one yes to both her questions, and then Miss Vane +said that of course till the weather changed they should want no fire in +the furnace, but that it might change, any day, and they should begin +at once and count October as a full month. She thought he had better go +down and look at the furnace and see if it was in order; she had had the +pipes cleaned, but perhaps it needed blacking; the cook would show him +how it worked. She went with him to the head of the basement stairs, and +calling down, “Jane, here is Lemuel, come to look after the furnace,” + left him and Jane to complete the acquaintance upon coming in sight of +each other, and went back to the minister. He had risen to go, and she +gave him her hand, while a smile rippled into laughter on her lips. + +“Do you think,” she asked, struggling with her mirth to keep unheard of +those below, “that it is quite the work for a literary man?” + +“If he is a man,” said Sewell courageously, “the work won't keep him +from being literary.” + +Miss Vane laughed at his sudden recovery of spirit, as she had laughed +at his dejection; but he did not care. He hurried home, with a sermon +kindling in his mind so obviously, that his wife did not detain him +beyond a few vital questions, and let him escape from having foisted his +burden upon Miss Vane with the simple comment, “Well, we shall see how +that will work.” + +As once before, Sewell tacitly took a hint from his own experience, and +enlarging to more serious facts from it, preached effort in the erring. +He denounced mere remorse. Better not feel that at all, he taught; +and he declared that what is ordinarily distinguished from remorse +as repentance, was equally a mere corrosion of the spirit unless some +attempt at reparation went with it. He maintained that though some +mischiefs--perhaps most mischiefs--were irreparable so far as restoring +the original status was concerned, yet every mischief was reparable in +the good-will and the good deed of its perpetrator. Do what you could +to retrieve yourself from error, and then, not leave the rest to +Providence, but keep doing. The good, however small, must grow if tended +and nurtured like a useful plant, as the evil would certainly grow, +like a wild and poisonous weed, if left to itself. Sin, he said, was a +terrible mystery; one scarcely knew how to deal with it or to attempt +to determine its nature; but perhaps--he threw out the thought while +warning those who heard him of its danger in some aspects--sin was not +wholly an evil. We were so apt in this world of struggle and ambition +to become centred solely in ourselves, that possibly the wrong done to +another,--the wrong that turned our thoughts from ourselves, and kept +them bent in agony and despair upon the suffering we had caused another, +and knew not how to mitigate--possibly this wrong, nay, certainly this +wrong, was good in disguise. But, returning to his original point, we +were to beware how we rested in this despair. In the very extremity +of our anguish, our fear, our shame, we were to gird ourselves up to +reparation. Strive to do good, he preached; strive most of all to do +good to those you have done harm to. His text was “Cease to do evil.” + +He finished his sermon during the afternoon, and in the evening his wife +said they would run up to Miss Vane's. Sewell shrank from this a little, +with the obscure dread that Lemuel might have turned his back upon good +fortune, and abandoned the place offered him, in which case Sewell would +have to give a wholly different turn to his sermon; but he consented, as +indeed he must. He was as curious as his wife to know how the experiment +had resulted. + +Miss Vane did not wait to let them ask. “My dear,” she said, kissing +Mrs. Sewell and giving her hand to the minister in one, “he is a pearl! +And I've kept him from mixing his native lustre with Rising Sun Stove +Polish by becoming his creditor in the price of a pair of overalls. I +had no idea they were so cheap, and you can see that they will fade, +with a few washings, to a perfect Millet blue. They were quite his own +idea, when he found the furnace needed blacking, and he wanted to +use the fifty cents he earned this morning toward the purchase, but +I insisted upon advancing the entire dollar myself. Neatness, +self-respect, awe-inspiring deference!--he is each and every one of them +in person.” + +Sewell could not forbear a glance of triumph at his wife. + +“You leave us very little to ask,” said that injured woman. + +“But I've left myself a great deal to tell, my dear,” retorted Miss +Vane, “and I propose to keep the floor; though I don't really know where +to begin.” + +“I thought you had got past the necessity of beginning,” said Sewell. +“We know that the new pearl sweeps clean,”--Miss Vane applauded his +mixed metaphor--“and now you might go on from that point.” + +“Well, you may think I'm rash,” said Miss Vane, “but I've thoroughly +made up my mind to keep him.” + +“Dear, _dear_ Miss Vane!” cried the minister. “Mrs. Sewell thinks you're +rash, but I don't. What do you mean by keeping him?” + +“Keeping him as a fixture--a permanency--a continuosity.” + +“Oh! A continuosity? I know what that is in the ordinary acceptation of +the term, but I'm not sure that I follow your meaning exactly.” + +“Why, it's simply this,” said Miss Vane. “I have long secretly wanted +the protection of what Jane calls a man-body in the House, and when I +saw how Lemuel had blacked the furnace, I knew I should feel as safe +with him as with a whole body of troops.” + +“Well,” sighed the minister, “you have not been rash, perhaps, but +you'll allow that you've been rapid.” + +“No,” said Miss Vane, “I won't allow that. I have simply been +intuitive--nothing more. His functions are not decided yet, but it is +decided that he is to stay; he's to sleep in the little room over the L, +and in my tranquillised consciousness he's been there years already.” + +“And has Sibyl undertaken Barker's reformation?” asked Sewell. + +“Don't interrupt! Don't anticipate! I admit nothing till I come to it. +But after I had arranged with Lemuel I began to think of Sibyl.” + +“That was like some ladies I have known of,” said Sewell. “You +women commit yourselves to a scheme, in order to show your skill in +reconciling circumstances to the irretrievable. Well?” + +“_Don't_ interrupt, David!” cried his wife. + +“Oh, let him go on,” said Miss Vane. “It's all very well, taking +people into your house on the spur of the moment, and in obedience to +a generous impulse, but when you reflect that the object of your good +intentions slept in the Wayfarer's Lodge the night before, and in the +police-station the night before that, and enjoys a newspaper celebrity +in connection with a case of assault and battery with intent to +rob,--why, then you _do_ reflect!” + +“Yes,” said Sewell, “that is just the point where I should begin.” + +“I thought,” continued Miss Vane, “I had better tell Sibyl all about it, +so if by any chance the neighbours' kitchens should have heard of the +case--they read the police reports very carefully in the kitchens----” + +“They do in some drawing-rooms,” interrupted Sewell. + +“It's well for you they do, David,” said his wife. “Your _protégé_ would +have been in your Refuge still, if they didn't.” + +“I see!” cried the minister. “I shall have to take the _Sunrise_ another +week.” + +Miss Vane looked from one to the other in sympathetic ignorance, but +they did not explain, and she went on. + +“And if they should hear Lemuel's name, and put two and two together, +and the talk should get to Sibyl--well, I thought it all over, until the +whole thing became perfectly lurid, and I wished Lemuel Barker was back +in the depths of Willoughby Pastures----” + +“I understand,” said Sewell. “Go on!” + +Miss Vane did so, after stopping to laugh. “It seemed to me I couldn't +wait for Sibyl to get home--she spent the night in Brookline, and didn't +come till five o'clock--to tell her. I began before she had got her +hat or gloves off, and she sat down with them on, and listened like a +three-years' child to the Ancient Mariner, but she lost no time when +she understood the facts. She went out immediately and stripped the +nasturtium bed. If you could have seen it when you came in, there's +hardly a blossom left. She took the decorations of Lemuel's room into +her own hands at once; and if there is any saving power in nasturtiums, +he will be a changed person. She says that now the great object is +to keep him from feeling that he has been an outcast, and needs to be +reclaimed; she says nothing could be worse for him. I don't know how she +knows.” + +“Barker might feel that he was disgraced,” said the minister, “but I +don't believe that a whole system of ethics would make him suspect that +he needed to be reclaimed.” + +“He makes me suspect that _I_ need to be reclaimed,” said Miss Vane, +“when he looks at me with those beautiful honest eyes of his.” + +Mrs. Sewell asked, “Has he seen the decorations yet?” + +“Not at all. They are to steal upon him when he comes in to-night. The +gas is to be turned very low, and he is to notice everything gradually, +so as not to get the impression that things have been done with a design +upon him.” She laughed in reporting these ideas, which were plainly +those of the young girl. “Sh!” she whispered at the end. + +A tall girl, with a slim vase in her hand, drifted in upon their group +like an apparition. She had heavy black eyebrows with beautiful blue +eyes under them, full of an intensity unrelieved by humour. + +“Aunty!” she said severely, “have you been telling?” + +“Only Mr. and Mrs. Sewell, Sibyl,” said Miss Vane. “_Their_ knowing +won't hurt. He'll never know it.” + +“If he hears you laughing, he'll know it's about him. He's in the +kitchen, now. He's come in the back way. Do be quiet.” She had given her +hand without other greeting in her preoccupation to each of the Sewells +in turn, and now she passed out of the room. + + + + +XI. + + +“What makes Lemuel such a gift,” said Miss Vane, in a talk which she had +with Sewell a month later, “is that he is so supplementary.” + +“Do you mean just in the supplementary sense of the term?” + +“Well, not in the fifth-wheel sense. I mean that he supplements us, all +and singular--if you will excuse the legal exactness.” + +“Oh, certainly,” said Sewell; “I should like even more exactness.” + +“Yes; but before I particularise I must express my general satisfaction +in him as a man-body. I had no idea that man bodies in a house were so +perfectly admirable.” + +“I've sometimes feared that we were not fully appreciated,” said Sewell. +“Well?” + +“The house is another thing with a man-body in it. I've often gone +without little things I wanted, simply because I hated to make Sarah +bring them, and because I hated still worse to go after them, knowing +we were both weakly and tired. Now I deny myself nothing. I make Lemuel +fetch and carry without remorse, from morning till night. I never knew +it before, but the man-body seems never to be tired, or ill, or sleepy.” + +“Yes,” said Sewell, “that is often the idea of the woman-body. I'm not +sure that it's correct.” + +“Oh, _don't_ attack it!” implored Miss Vane. “You don't _know_ what a +blessing it is. Then, the man-body never complains, and I can't see that +he expects anything more in an order than the clear understanding of it. +He doesn't expect it to be accounted for in any way; the fact that +you say you want a thing is enough. It is very strange. Then the moral +support of the presence of a man-body is enormous. I now know that I +have never slept soundly since I have kept house alone--that I have +never passed a night without hearing burglars or smelling fire.” + +“And now?” + +“And now I shouldn't mind a legion of burglars in the house; I shouldn't +mind being burned in my bed every night. I feel that Lemuel is in +charge, and that nothing can happen.” + +“Is he really so satisfactory?” asked Sewell, exhaling a deep relief. + +“He is, indeed,” said Miss Vane. “I couldn't, exaggerate it.” + +“Well, well! Don't try. We are finite, after all, you know. Do you think +it can last?” + +“I have thought of that,” answered Miss Vane. “I don't see why it +shouldn't last. I have tried to believe that I did a foolish thing in +coming to your rescue, but I can't see that I did. I don't see why +it shouldn't last as long as Lemuel chooses. And he seems perfectly +contented with his lot. He doesn't seem to regard it as domestic +service, but as domestication, and he patronises our inefficiency while +he spares it. His common-sense is extraordinary--it's exemplary; it +almost makes one wish to have common-sense one's-self.” They had now got +pretty far from the original proposition, and Sewell returned to it with +the question, “Well, and how does he supplement you singularly?” + +“Oh! oh, yes!” said Miss Vane. “I could hardly tell you without going +into too deep a study of character.” + +“I'm rather fond of that,” suggested the minister. + +“Yes, and I've no doubt we should all work very nicely into a sermon as +illustrations; but I can't more than indicate the different cases. In +the first place, Jane's forgetfulness seems to be growing upon her, and +since Lemuel came she's abandoned herself to ecstasies of oblivion.” + +“Yes?” + +“Yes. She's quite given over remembering _any_thing, because she knows +that he will remember _every_thing.” + +“I see. And you?” + +“Well, you have sometimes thought I was a little rash.” + +“A little? Did I think it was a little?” + +“Well, a good deal. But it was all nothing to what I've been since +Lemuel came. I used to keep some slight check upon myself for Sibyl's +sake; but I don't now. I know that Lemuel is there to temper, to delay, +to modify the effect of every impulse, and so I am all impulse now. And +I've quite ceased to rule my temper. I know that Lemuel has self-control +enough for all the tempers in the house, and so I feel perfectly calm in +my wildest transports of fury.” + +“I understand,” said Sewell. “And does Sibyl permit herself a similar +excess in her fancies and ambitions?” + +“Quite,” said Miss Vane. “I don't know that she consciously relies +upon Lemuel to supplement her, any more than Jane does; but she must be +unconsciously aware that no extravagance of hers can be dangerous while +Lemuel is in the house.” + +“Unconsciously aware is good. She hasn't got tired of reforming him +yet?” + +“I don't know. I sometimes think she wishes he had gone a little farther +in crime. Then his reformation would be more obvious.” + +“Yes; I can appreciate that. Does she still look after his art and +literature?” + +“That phase has changed a little. She thinks now that he ought to be +stimulated, if anything--that he ought to read George Eliot. She's put +_Middlemarch_ and _Romola_ on his shelf. She says that he looks like +Tito Malemma.” + +Sewell rose. “Well, I don't see but what your supplement is a very +demoralising element. I shall never dare to tell Mrs. Sewell what you've +said.” + +“Oh, she knows it,” cried Miss Vane. “We've agreed that you will +counteract any temptation that Lemuel may feel to abuse his advantages +by the ferociously self-denying sermons you preach at him every Sunday.” + +“Do I preach at him? Do you notice it?” asked Sewell nervously. + +“Notice it?” laughed Miss Vane. “I should think your whole congregation +would notice it. You seem to look at nobody else.” + +“I know it! Since he began to come, I can't keep my eyes off him. I do +deliver my sermons at him. I believe I write them at him! He has an eye +of terrible and exacting truth. I feel myself on trial before him. He +holds me up to a standard of sincerity that is killing me. Mrs. Sewell +was bad enough; I was reasonably bad myself; but this! Couldn't you keep +him away? Do you think it's exactly decorous to let your man-servant +occupy a seat in your family pew? How do you suppose it looks to the +Supreme Being?” + +Miss Vane was convulsed. “I had precisely those misgivings! But Lemuel +hadn't. He asked me what the number of our pew was, and I hadn't the +heart--or else I hadn't the face--to tell him he mustn't sit in it. How +could I? Do you think it's so very scandalous?” + +“I don't know,” said Sewell. “It may lead to great abuses. If we tacitly +confess ourselves equal in the sight of God, how much better are we than +the Roman Catholics?” + +Miss Vane could not suffer these ironies to go on. + +“He approves of your preaching. He has talked your sermons over with me. +You oughtn't to complain.” + +“Oh, I don't! Do you think he's really softening a little toward me?” + +“Not personally, that I know,” said Miss Vane. “But he seems to regard +you as a channel of the truth.” + +“I ought to be glad of so much,” said Sewell. “I confess that I hadn't +supposed he was at all of our way of thinking. They preached a very +appreciable orthodoxy at Willoughby Pastures.” + +“I don't know about that,” said Miss Vane. “I only know that he approves +your theology, or your ethics.” + +“Ethics, I hope. I'm sure _they're_ right.” After a thoughtful moment +the minister asked, “Have you observed that they have softened him +socially at all--broken up that terrible rigidity of attitude, that +dismaying retentiveness of speech?” + +“I know what you mean!” cried Miss Vane delightedly. “I believe Lemuel +_is_ a little more supple, a little _less_ like a granite boulder in one +of his meadows. But I can't say that he's glib yet. He isn't apparently +going to say more than he thinks.” + +“I hope he thinks more than he says,” sighed the minister. “My +interviews with Lemuel have left me not only exhausted but bruised, +as if I had been hurling myself against a dead wall. Yes, I manage him +better from the pulpit, and I certainly oughtn't to complain. I don't +expect him to make any response, and I perceive that I am not _quite_ so +sore as after meeting him in private life.” + + * * * * * + +That evening Lemuel was helping to throng the platform of an overcrowded +horse-car. It was Saturday night, and he was going to the provision man +up toward the South End, whom Miss Vane was dealing with for the time +being, in an economical recoil from her expensive Back Bay provision +man, to order a forgotten essential of the Sunday's supplies. He had +already been at the grocer's, and was carrying home three or four +packages to save the cart from going a third time that day to +Bolingbroke Street, and he stepped down into the road when two girls +came squeezing their way out of the car. + +“Well, I'm glad,” said one of them in a voice Lemuel knew at once, “'t +there's one man's got the politeness to make a _little_ grain o' room +for you. Thank you, sir!” she added, with more scorn for the others than +gratitude for Lemuel. “_You're_ a gentleman, _any_way.” + +The hardened offenders on the platform laughed, but Lemuel said simply, +“You're quite welcome.” + +“Why, land's sakes!” shouted the girl. “Well, if 'tain't you! S'tira!” + she exclaimed to her companion in utter admiration. Then she added to +Lemuel, “Why, I didn't s'pose but what you'd a' be'n back home long ago. +Well, I _am_ glad. Be'n in Boston ever since? Well, I want to know!” + +The conductor had halted his car for the girls to get off, but, as he +remarked with a vicious jerk at his bell-strap, he could not keep his +car standing there while a woman was asking about the folks, and the +horses started up and left Lemuel behind. “Well, there!” said 'Manda +Grier. “'F I hain't made you lose your car! I never see folks like some +them conductors.” + +“Oh, I guess I can walk the rest of the way,” said Lemuel, his face +bright with a pleasure visible in the light of the lamp that brought +out Statira Dudley's smiles and the forward thrust of 'Manda Grier's +whopper-jaw as they turned toward the pavement together. + +“Well, I guess 'f I've spoke about you once, I have a hundred times, +in the last six weeks. I always told S'tira you'd be'n sure to turn up +b'fore this 'f you'd be'n in Boston all the time; 'n' 't I guessed you'd +got a disgust for the place, 'n' 't you wouldn't want to see it again +for _one_ while.” + +Statira did not say anything. She walked on the other side of 'Manda +Grier, who thrust her in the side from time to time with a lift of her +elbow, in demand of sympathy and corroboration; but though she only +spoke to answer yes or no, Lemuel could see that she was always smiling +or else biting her lip to keep herself from it. He thought she +looked about as pretty as anybody could, and that she was again very +fashionably dressed. She had on a short dolman, and a pretty hat that +shaded her forehead but fitted close round, and she wore long gloves +that came up on her sleeves. She had a book from the library; she walked +with a little bridling movement that he found very ladylike. 'Manda +Grier tilted along between them, and her tongue ran and ran, so that +Lemuel, when they came to Miss Vane's provision man's, could hardly get +in a word to say that he guessed he must stop there. + +Statira drifted on a few paces, but 'Manda Grier halted abruptly with +him. “Well, 'f you're ever up our way we sh'd be much pleased to have +you call, Mr. Barker,” she said formally. + +“I should be much pleased to do so,” said Lemuel with equal state. + +“'Tain't but just a little ways round here on the Avenue,” she added. + +Lemuel answered, “I guess I know where it is.” He did not mean it for +anything of a joke, but both the girls laughed, and though she had been +so silent before, Statira laughed the most. + +He could not help laughing either when 'Manda Grier said, “I guess if +you was likely to forget the number you could go round to the station +and inquire. They got your address too.” + +“'Manda Grier, you be still!” said Statira. + +“S'tira said that's the way she knew you was from Willoughby Pastures. +Her folks is from up that way, themselves. She says the minute she heard +the name she knew it couldn't 'a' be'n you, whoever it was done it.” + +“'Manda Grier!” cried Statira again. + +“I tell her she don't believe 't any harm can come out the town o' +Willoughby, anywheres.” + +“'Manda!” cried Statira. + +Lemuel was pleased, but he could not say a word. He could not look at +Statira. + +“Well, good evening,” said Amanda Grier. + +“Well, good evening,” said Lemuel. + +“Well, good evening,” said Statira. + +“Well, good evening,” said Lemuel again. + +The next moment they were gone round the corner, and he was left +standing before the provision man's, with his packages in his hand. It +did not come to him till he had transacted his business within, and was +on his way home, that he had been very impolite not to ask if he might +not see them home. He did not know but he ought to go back and try to +find them, and apologise for his rudeness, and yet he did not see how he +could do that, either; he had no excuse for it; he was afraid it would +seem queer, and make them laugh. Besides, he had those things for Miss +Vane, and the cook wanted some of them at once. + +He could hardly get to sleep that night for thinking of his blunder, and +at times he cowered under the bedclothes for shame. He decided that the +only way for him to do was to keep out of their way after this, and if +he ever met them anywhere, to pretend not to see them. + +The next morning he went to hear Mr. Sewell preach, as usual, but he +found himself wandering far from the sermon, and asking or answering +this or that in a talk with those girls that kept going on in his mind. +The minister himself seemed to wander, and at times, when Lemuel forced +a return to him, he thought he was boggling strangely. For the first +time Mr. Sewell's sermon, in his opinion, did not come to much. + +While his place in Miss Vane's household was indefinitely ascertained, +he had the whole of Sunday, and he always wrote home in the afternoon, +or brought up the arrears of the journal he had begun keeping; but the +Sunday afternoon that followed, he was too excited to stay in and write. +He thought he would go and take a walk, and get away from the things +that pestered him. He did not watch where he was going, and after a +while he turned a corner, and suddenly found himself in a long street, +planted with shade-trees, and looking old-fashioned and fallen from a +former dignity. He perceived that it could never have been fashionable, +like Bolingbroke Street or Beacon; the houses were narrow, and their +doors opened from little, cavernous arches let into the brick fronts, +and they stood flush upon the pavement. The sidewalks were full of +people, mostly girls walking up and down; at the corners young fellows +lounged, and there were groups before the cigar stores and the fruit +stalls, which were open. It was not very cold yet, and the children who +swarmed upon the low door-steps were bareheaded and often summer-clad. +The street was not nearly so well kept as the streets on the Back Bay +that Lemuel was more used to, but he could see that it was not a rowdy +street either. He looked up at a lamp on the first corner he came to, +and read Pleasant Avenue on it; then he said that the witch was in it. +He dramatised a scene of meeting those girls, and was very glib in it, +and they were rather shy, and Miss Dudley kept behind Amanda Grier, who +nudged her with her elbow when Lemuel said he had come round to see if +anybody had robbed them of their books on the way home after he left +them last night. + +But all the time, as he hurried along to the next corner, he looked +fearfully to the right and left. Presently he began to steal guilty +glances at the numbers of the houses. He said to himself that he would +see what kind of a looking house they did live in, any way. It was +only No. 900 odd when he began, and he could turn off if he wished long +before he reached 1334. As he drew nearer he said he would just give a +look at it, and then rush by. But 1334 was a house so much larger and +nicer than he had expected that he stopped to collect his slow rustic +thoughts, and decide whether she really lived there or whether she had +just given that number for a blind. He did not know why he should think +that, though; she was dressed well enough to come out of any house. + +While he lingered before the house an old man with a cane in his hand +and his mouth hanging open stopped and peered through his spectacles, +whose glare he fixed upon Lemuel, till he began to feel himself a +suspicious character. The old man did not say anything, but stood +faltering upon his stick and now and then gathering up his lower lip as +if he were going to speak, but not speaking. Lemuel cleared his throat. +“Hmmn! Is this a boarding-house?” + +“I don't know,” crowed the old man, in a high senile note. “You want +table board or rooms?” + +“I don't want board at all,” began Lemuel again. + +“What?” crowed the old man; and he put up his hand to his ear. + +People were beginning to put their heads out of the neighbouring +windows, and to walk slowly as they went by, so as to hear what he and +the old man were saying. He could not run away now, and he went boldly +up to the door of the large house and rang. + +A girl came, and he asked her, with a flushed face, if Miss Amanda Grier +boarded there; somehow he could not bear to ask for Miss Dudley. + +“Well,” the girl said, “she _rooms_ here,” as if that might be a +different thing to Lemuel altogether. + +“Oh!” he said. “Is she in?” + +“Well, you can walk in,” said the girl, “and I'll see.” She came back to +ask, “Who shall I say called?” + +“Mr. Barker,” said Lemuel, and then glowed with shame because he had +called himself Mister. The girl did not come back, but she hardly seemed +gone before 'Manda Grier came into the room. He did not know whether +she would speak to him, but she was as pleasant as could be, and said he +must come right up to her and S'tira's room. It was pretty high up, but +he did not notice the stairs, 'Manda Grier kept talking so; and when he +got to it, and 'Manda Grier dashed the door open, and told him to walk +right in, he would not have known but he was in somebody's sitting-room. +A curtained alcove hid the bed, and the room was heated by a cheerful +little kerosene stove; there were bright folding carpet-chairs, and the +lid of the washstand had a cloth on it that came down to the floor, and +there were plants in the window. There was a mirror on the wall, framed +in black walnut with gilt moulding inside, and a family-group photograph +in the same kind of frame, and two chromes, and a clock on a bracket. + +Statira seemed surprised to see him; the room was pretty warm, and her +face was flushed. He said it was quite mild out, and she said, “Was it?” + Then she ran and flung up the window, and said, “Why, so it was,” and +that she had been in the house all day, and had not noticed the weather. + +She excused herself and the room for being in such a state; she said +she was ashamed to be caught in such a looking dress, but they were not +expecting company, and she did suppose 'Manda Grier would have given her +time to put the room to rights a little. He could not understand why +she said all this, for the whole room was clean, and Statira herself +was beautifully dressed in the same dress that she had worn the night +before, or one just like it; and after she had put up the window, 'Manda +Grier said, “S'tira Dudley, do you want to kill yourself?” and ran and +pulled aside the curtain in the corner, and took down the dolman +from among other clothes that hung there, and threw it on Statira's +shoulders, who looked as pretty as a pink in it. But she pretended to be +too hot, and wanted to shrug it off, and 'Manda Grier called out, +“Mr. Barker! _will_ you make her keep it on?” and Lemuel sat dumb and +motionless, but filled through with a sweet pleasure. + +He tried several times to ask them if they had been robbed on the way +home last night, as he had done in the scene he had dramatised; but he +could not get out a word except that it had been pretty warm all day. + +Statira said, “I think it's been a very warm fall,” and 'Manda Grier +said, “I think the summer's goin' to spend the winter with us,” and they +all three laughed. + +“What speeches you do make, 'Manda Grier,” said Statira. + +“Well, anything better than Quaker meetin', _I_ say,” retorted 'Manda +Grier; and then they were all three silent, and Lemuel thought of his +clothes, and how fashionably both of the girls were dressed. + +“I guess,” said Statira, “it'll be a pretty sickly winter, if it keeps +along this way. They say a green Christmas makes a fat graveyard.” + +“I guess you'll see the snow fly long before Christmas,” said 'Manda +Grier, “or Thanksgiving either.” + +“I guess so too,” said Lemuel, though he did not like to seem to take +sides against Statira. + +She laughed as if it were a good joke, and said, “'Tain't but about a +fortnight now till Thanksgiving anyway.” + +“If it comes a good fall of snow before Thanksgivin', won't you come +round and give us a sleigh-ride, Mr. Barker?” asked 'Manda Grier. + +They all laughed at her audacity, and Lemuel said, Yes, he would; and +she said, “We'll give you a piece of real Willoughby Centre Mince-pie, +if you will.” + +They all laughed again. + +“'Manda Grier!” said Statira, in protest. + +“Her folks sent her half a dozen last Thanksgivin',” persisted 'Manda +Grier. + +“'_Manda!_” pleaded Statira. + +'Manda Grier sprang up and got Lemuel a folding-chair. “You ain't a bit +comfortable in that stiff old thing, Mr. Barker.” + +Lemuel declared that he was perfectly comfortable, but she would not be +contented till he had changed, and then she said, “Why don't you look +after your company, S'tira Dudley? I should think you'd be ashamed.” + +Lemuel's face burned with happy shame, and Statira, who was as red as +he was, stole a look at him, that seemed to say that there was no use +trying to stop 'Manda Grier. But when she went on, “I don't know but +it's the fashion to Willoughby Centre,” they both gave way again, and +laughed more than ever, and Statira said, “_Well_, 'Manda Grier, what do +you s'pose Mr. Barker 'll think?” + +She tried to be sober, but the wild girl set her and Lemuel off laughing +when she retorted, “Guess he'll think what he did when he was brought up +in court for highway robbery.” + +'Manda Grier sat upright in her chair, and acted as if she had merely +spoken about the weather. He knew that she was talking that way just +to break the ice, and though he would have given anything to be able to +second her, he could not. + +“How you do carry on, 'Manda Grier,” said Statira, as helpless as he +was. + +“Guess I got a pretty good load to carry!” said 'Manda Grier. + +They all now began to find their tongues a little, and Statira told +how one season when her mother took boarders she had gone over to +the Pastures with a party of summer-folks on a straw-ride and picked +blueberries. She said she never saw the berries as thick as they were +there. + +Lemuel said he guessed he knew where the place was; but the fire had got +into it last year, and there had not been a berry there this summer. + +Statira said, “What a shame!” She said there were some Barkers over East +Willoughby way; and she confessed that when he said his name was Barker, +and he was from Willoughby Pastures, that night in the station, she +thought she should have gone through the floor. + +Then they talked a little about how they had both felt, but not very +much, and they each took all the blame, and would not allow that the +other was the least to blame. Statira said she had behaved like a +perfect coot all the way through, and Lemuel said that he guessed he had +been the coot, if there was any. + +“I guess there was a pair of you,” said 'Manda Grier; and at this +association of them in 'Manda Grier's condemnation, he could see that +Statira was blushing, though she hid her face in her hands, for her ears +were all red. + +He now rose and said he guessed he would have to be going; but when +'Manda Grier interposed and asked, “Why, what's your hurry?” he said he +guessed he had not had any, and Statira laughed at the wit of this till +it seemed to him she would perish. + +“Well, then, you set right straight down again,” said 'Manda Grier, with +mock severity, as if he were an obstinate little boy; and he obeyed, +though he wished that Statira had asked him to stay too. + +“Why, the land sakes!” exclaimed 'Manda Grier, “have you been lettin' +him keep his hat all this while, S'tira Dudley? You take it right away +from him!” And Statira rose, all smiling and blushing, and said-- + +“Will you let me take your hat, Mr. Barker?” as if he had just come in, +and made him feel as if she had pressed him to stay. She took it and +went and laid it on a stand across the room, and Lemuel thought he had +never seen a much more graceful person. She wore a full Breton skirt, +which was gathered thickly at the hips, and swung loose and free as she +stepped. When she came back and sat down, letting the back of one +pretty hand fall into the palm of the other in her lap, it seemed to him +impossible that such an elegant young lady should be tolerating a person +dressed as he was. + +“There!” began 'Manda Grier. “_I_ guess Mr. Barker won't object a great +deal to our going on, if it _is_ Sunday. 'S kind of a Sunday game, +anyways. You 'posed to games on Sunday?” + +“I don't know as I am,” said Lemuel. + +“Now, 'Manda Grier, don't you!” pleaded Statira. + +“Shall, too,” persisted 'Manda. “I guess if there's any harm in the key, +there ain't any harm in the Bible, and so it comes out even. D'you ever +try your fate with a key and a Bible?” she asked Lemuel. + +“I don't know as I did,” he answered. + +“Well, it's _real_ fun, 'n' its curious how it comes out, often_times._ +Well, _I_ don't s'pose there's anything _in_ it, but it _is_ curious.” + +“I guess we hadn't better,” said Statira. “I don't believe Mr. Barker +'ll care for it.” + +Lemuel said he would like to see how it was done, anyway. + +'Manda Grier took the key out of the door, and looked at it. “That key +'ll cut the leaves all to pieces.” + +“Can't you find some other?” suggested Statira. + +“I don't know but may be I could,” said 'Manda Grier. “You just wait a +half a second.” + +Before Lemuel knew what she was doing, she flew out of the door, and he +could hear her flying down the stairs. + +“Well, I _must_ say!” said Statira, and then neither she nor Lemuel said +anything for a little while. At last she asked, “That window trouble you +any?” + +Lemuel said, “Not at all,” and he added, “Perhaps it's too cold for +you?” + +“Oh no,” said the girl, “I can't seem to get anything too cold for me. +I'm the greatest person for cold weather! I'm _real_ glad it's comin' +winter. We had the greatest _time_, last winter,” continued Statira, +“with those English sparrows. Used to feed 'em crumbs, there on the +window-sill, and it seemed as if they got to know we girls, and they'd +hop right inside, if you'd let 'em. Used to make me feel kind of creepy +to have 'em. They say it's a sign of death to have a bird come into your +room, and I was always for drivin' 'em out, but 'Manda, she said she +guessed the Lord didn't take the trouble to send birds round to every +one, and if the rule didn't work one way it didn't work the other. You +believe in signs?” + +“I don't know as I do, much. Mother likes to see the new moon over her +right shoulder, pretty well,” said Lemuel. + +“Well, I declare,” said Statira, “that's just the way with _my_ aunt. +Now you're up here,” she said, springing suddenly to her feet, “I want +you should see what a nice view we got from our window.” + +Lemuel had it on his tongue to say that he hoped it was not going to be +his last chance; he believed he would have said it if 'Manda Grier had +been there; but now he only joined Statira at the window, and looked +out. They had to stoop over, and get pretty close together, to see the +things she wished to show him, and she kept shrugging her sack on, and +once she touched him with her shoulder. He said yes to everything she +asked him about the view, but he saw very little of it. He saw that +her hair had a shade of gold in its brown, and that it curled in tight +little rings where it was cut on her neck, and that her skin was very +white under it. When she touched him, that time, it made him feel very +strange; and when she glanced at him out of her blue eyes, he did not +know what he was doing. He did not laugh as he did when 'Manda Grier was +there. + +Statira said, “Oh, excuse me!” when she touched him, and he answered, +“Perfectly excusable,” but he said hardly anything else. He liked to +hear her talk, and he watched the play of her lips as she spoke. Once +her breath came across his cheek, when she turned quickly to see if he +was looking where she was pointing. + +They sat down and talked, and all at once Statira exclaimed, “_Well!_ I +should think 'Manda Grier was _makin'_ that key!” + +Now, whatever happened, Lemuel was bound to say, “I don't think she's +been gone very long.” + +“Well, you're pretty patient, I _must_ say,” said Statira, and he did +not know whether she was making fun of him or not. He tried to think of +something to say, but could not. “I hope she'll fetch a lamp, too, when +she comes,” Statira went on, and now he saw that it was beginning to be +a little darker. Perhaps that about the lamp was a hint for him to go; +but he did not see exactly how he could go till 'Manda Grier came back; +he felt that it would not be polite. + +“Well, there!” said Statira, as if she divined his feeling. I shall give +'Manda Grier a _good_ talking-to. I'm awfully afraid we're keeping you, +Mr. Barker.” + +“Not at all,” said Lemuel; “I'm afraid I'm keeping _you_.” + +“Oh, not at all,” said Statira. She became rather quieter, till 'Manda +Grier came back. + +'Manda Grier burst into the room, with a key in one hand and a lamp in +the other. “Well, I knew you two'd be holdin' Quaker's meetin'.” + +“We hain't at all! How d'you know we have? Have we, Mr. Barker?” + returned Statira, in simultaneous admission and denial. + +“Well, if you want to know, I listened outside the door,” said 'Manda +Grier, “and you wa'n't sayin' a word, either of you. I guess I got a key +now that'll do,” she added, setting down her lamp, “and I borrowed an +old Bible 't I guess 'tain't go'n' to hurt a great deal.” + +“I don't know as I want to play it much,” said Statira. + +“Well, I guess you got to, now,” said 'Manda Grier, “after all my +trouble. Hain't she, Mr. Barker?” + +It flattered Lemuel through and through to be appealed to, but he could +not say anything. + +“Well,” said Statira, “if I got to, I got to. But you got to hold the +Bible.” + +“You got to put the key in!” cried 'Manda Grier. She sat holding the +Bible open toward Statira. + +She offered to put the key in, and then she stopped. “Well! I'm great! +Who are we going to find it for first?” + +“Oh, company first,” said 'Manda Grier. + +“You company, Mr. Barker?” asked Statira, looking at Lemuel over her +shoulder. + +“I hope not,” said Lemuel gallantly, at last. + +“Well, I declare!” said Statira. + +“Quite one the family,” said 'Manda Grier, and that made Statira say, +“'Manda!” and Lemuel blush to his hair. “Well, anyway,” continued 'Manda +Grier, “you're company enough to have your fate found first. Put in the +key, S'tira.” + +“No, I sha'n't do it.” + +“Well, _I_ shall, then!” She took the key from Statira, and shut the +book upon it at the Song of Solomon, and bound it tightly in with a +ribbon. Lemuel watched breathlessly; he was not sure that he knew what +kind of fate she meant, but he thought he knew, and it made his heart +beat quick. 'Manda Grier had passed the ribbon through the ring of the +key, which was left outside of the leaves, and now she took hold of the +key with her two forefingers. “You got to be careful not to touch the +Bible with your fingers,” she explained, “or the charm won't work. Now +I'll say over two verses, 't where the key's put in, and Mr. Barker, you +got to repeat the alphabet at the same time; and when it comes to the +first letter of the right name, the Bible will drop out of my fingers, +all I can do. Now then! _Set me as a seal on thine heart_--” + +“A, B, C, D.” began Lemuel. “Pshaw, now, 'Manda Grier, you stop!” + pleaded Statira. + +“You be still! Go on, Mr. Barker!--_As a seal upon thine arm; for love +is as strong as death_--don't say the letters so fast--_jealousy as +cruel as the grave_--don't look at S'tira; look at me!--_the coals +thereof are coals of fire_--you're sayin' it too slow now--_which hath a +most vehement flame._ I declare, S'tira Dudley, if you joggle me!--_Many +waters cannot quench love; neither can the floods drown it_--you +must put just so much time between every letter; if you stop on every +particular one, it ain't fair--_if a man would give all the substance of +his house for love_--you stop laughin', you two!--_it would be utterly +consumed_. Well, there! Now we got to go it all over again, and my arm's +most broke _now_.” + +“I don't believe Mr. Barker wants to do it again,” said Statira, looking +demurely at him; but Lemuel protested that he did, and the game began +again. This time the Bible began to shake at the letter D, and Statira +cried out, “Now, 'Manda Grier, you're making it,” and 'Manda Grier +laughed so that she could scarcely hold the book. Lemuel laughed too; +but he kept on repeating the letters. At S the book fell to the floor, +and Statira caught it up, and softly beat 'Manda Grier on the back with +it. “Oh you mean thing!” she cried out. “You did it on purpose.” + +'Manda Grier was almost choked with laughing. + +“Do you know anybody of the name of Sarah, Mr. Barker?” she gasped, and +then they all laughed together till Statira said, “Well, I shall surely +die! Now, 'Manda Grier, it's your turn. And you see if I don't pay you +up.” + +“I guess I ain't afraid any,” retorted 'Manda Grier. “The book 'll do +what it pleases, in spite of you.” + +They began again, Statira holding the book this time, and Lemuel +repeating as before, and he went quite through the alphabet without +anything happening. “Well, I declare!” said Statira, looking grave. +“Let's try it over again.” + +“You may try, and you may try, and you may try,” said 'Manda Grier. “It +won't do you any good. I hain't got any fate in that line.” + +“Well, that's what we're goin' to find out,” said Statira; but again the +verses and alphabet were repeated without effect. + +“Now you satisfied?” asked 'Manda Grier. + +“No, not yet. Begin again, Mr. Barker!” + +He did so, and at the second letter the book dropped. Statira jumped up, +and 'Manda Grier began to chase her round the room, to box her ears +for her, she said. Lemuel sat looking on. He did not feel at all severe +toward them, as he usually did toward girls that cut up; he did not feel +that this was cutting up, in fact. + +“Stop, stop!” implored Statira, “and I'll let you try it over again.” + +“No, it's your turn now!” + +“No, I ain't going to have any,” said Statira, folding her arms. + +“You got to,” said 'Manda Grier. “The rest of us has, and now you've got +to. Hain't she got to, Mr. Barker?” + +“Yes,” said Lemuel delightedly; “you've got to, Miss Dudley.” + +“Miss Dudley!” repeated 'Manda Grier. “How that _does_ sound.” + +“I don't know as it sounds any worse than Mr. Barker,” said Lemuel. + +“Well,” said 'Manda Grier judicially, “I she'd think it was 'bout time +they was both of 'em dropped, 'T any rate, I don't want you should call +me Miss Grier--Lemuel.” + +“Oh!” cried Statira. “Well, you _are_ getting along, 'Manda Grier!” + +“Well, don't you let yourself be outdone then, S'tira.” + +“I guess Mr. Barker's good enough for me a while yet,” said Statira, and +she hastened to add, “The name, I mean,” and at this they all laughed +till Statira said, “I shall _certainly_ die!” She suddenly recovered +herself--those girls seemed to do everything like lightning, Lemuel +observed--and said, “No, I ain't goin' to have mine told at all. I don't +like it. Seems kind of wicked. I ruther talk. I never _could_ make it +just right to act so with the Bible.” + +Lemuel was pleased at that. Statira seemed prettier than ever in this +mood of reverence. + +“Well, don't talk too much when I'm gone,” said 'Manda Grier, and before +anybody could stop her, she ran out of the room. But she put her head in +again to say, “I'll be back as soon's I can take this key home.” + +Lemuel did not know what to do. The thought of being alone with Statira +again was full of rapture and terror. He was glad when she seized the +door and tried to keep 'Manda Grier. + +“I--I--guess I better be going,” he said. + +“You sha'n't go till I get back, anyway,” said 'Manda Grier hospitably. +“You keep him, S'tira!” + +She gave Statira a little push, and ran down the stairs. + +Statira tottered against Lemuel, with that round, soft shoulder which +had touched him before. He put out his arms to save her from falling, +and they seemed to close round her of themselves. She threw up her face, +and in a moment he had kissed her. He released her and fell back from +her aghast. + +She looked at him. + +“I--I didn't mean to,” he panted. His heart was thundering in his ears. + +She put up her hands to her face, and began to cry. + +“Oh, my goodness!” he gasped. He wavered a moment, then he ran out of +the room. + +On the stairs he met 'Manda Grier coming up. “Now, Mr. Barker, you're +real mean to go!” she pouted. + +“I guess I better be going,” Lemuel called back, in a voice so husky +that he hardly knew it for his own. + + + + +XII. + + +Lemuel let himself into Miss Vane's house with his key to the back gate, +and sat down, still throbbing, in his room over the L, and tried to get +the nature of his deed, or misdeed, before his mind. He had grown up to +manhood in an austere reverence for himself as regarded the other sex, +and in a secret fear, as exacting for them as it was worshipful of +women. His mother had held all show of love-sickness between young +people in scorn; she said they were silly things, when she saw them +soft upon one another; and Lemuel had imbibed from her a sense of +unlawfulness, of shame, in the love-making he had seen around him all +his life. These things are very open in the country. Even in large +villages they have kissing-games at the children's parties, in the +church vestries and refectories; and as a little boy Lemuel had taken +part in such games. But as he grew older, his reverence and his fear +would not let him touch a girl. Once a big girl, much older than he, +came up behind him in the play-ground and kissed him; he rubbed the +kiss off with his hand, and scoured the place with sand and gravel. One +winter all the big boys and girls at school began courting whenever the +teacher was out of sight a moment; at the noon-spell some of them sat +with their arms round one another. Lemuel wandered off by himself in the +snows of the deep woods; the sight of such things, the thought of them +put him to shame for those fools, as he tacitly called them; and now +what had he done himself? He could not tell. At times he was even proud +and glad of it; and then he did not know what would become of him. But +mostly it seemed to him that he had been guilty of an enormity that +nothing could ever excuse. He must have been crazy to do such a thing to +a young lady like that; her tear-stained face looked her wonder at him +still. + +By this time she had told 'Manda Grier all about it; and he dared not +think what their thoughts of him must be. It seemed to him that he ought +to put such a monster as he was out of the world. But all the time there +was a sweetness, a joy in his heart, that made him half frantic with +fear of himself. + +“Lemuel!” + +He started up at the sound of Sibyl Vane's voice calling to him from the +dining-room which opened into the L. + +“Yes, ma'am,” he answered tremulously, going to his door. Miss Vane had +been obliged to instruct him to say ma'am to her niece, whom he had at +first spoken of by her Christian name. + +“Was that you came in a little while ago?” + +“Yes, ma'am, I came in.” + +“Oh! And have you had your supper?” + +“I--I guess I don't want any supper.” + +“Don't want any supper? You will be ill. Why don't you?” + +“I don't know as I feel just like eating anything.” + +“Well, it won't do. Will you see, please, if Jane is in the kitchen?” + +Lemuel came forward, full of his unfitness for the sight of men, but +gathering a little courage when he found the dining-room so dark. He +descended to the basement and opened the door of the kitchen, looked in, +and shut it again. “Yes, ma'am, she's there.” + +“Oh!” Sibyl seemed to hesitate. Then she said: “Light the gas down +there, hadn't you better?” + +“I don't know but I had,” Lemuel assented. + +But before he could obey, “And Lemuel!” she called down again, “come and +light it up here too, please.” + +“I will as soon as I've lit it here,” said Lemuel. + +An imperious order came back. “You will light it here _now,_ please.” + +“All right,” assented Lemuel. When he appeared in the upper entry and +flashed the gas up, he saw Sibyl standing at the reception-room door, +with her finger closed into a book which she had been reading. + +“You're not to say that you will do one thing when you're told to do +another.” + +Lemuel whitened a little round the lips. “I'm not to do two things at +once, either, I suppose.” + +Sibyl ignored this reply. “Please go and get your supper, and when +you've had it come up here again. I've some things for you to do.” + +“I'll do them now,” said Lemuel fiercely. “I don't want any supper, and +I sha'n't eat any.” + +“Why, Lemuel, what is the matter with you?” asked the girl, in the +sudden effect of motherly solicitude. “You look very strange, you seem +so excited.” + +“I'm not hungry, that's all,” said the boy doggedly. “What is it you +want done?” + +“Won't you please go up to the third floor,” said Sibyl, in a phase of +timorous dependence, “and see if everything is right there? I thought I +heard a noise. See if the windows are fast, won't you?” + +Lemuel turned and she followed with her finger in her book, and her book +pressed to her heart, talking. “It seemed to me that I heard steps and +voices. It's very mysterious. I suppose any one could plant a ladder +on the roof of the L part, and get into the windows if they were not +fastened.” + +“Have to be a pretty long ladder,” grumbled Lemuel. + +“Yes,” Sibyl assented, “it would. And it didn't sound exactly like +burglars.” + +She followed him half-way up the second flight of stairs, and stood +there while he explored the third story throughout. + +“There ain't anything there,” he reported without looking at her, and +was about to pass her on the stairs in going down. + +“Oh, thank you very much, Lemuel,” she said, with fervent gratitude +in her voice. She fetched a tremulous sigh. “I suppose it was nothing. +Yes,” she added hoarsely, “it must have been nothing. Oh, let _me_ go +down first!” she cried, putting out her hand to stop him from passing +her. She resumed when they reached the ground floor again. “Aunty has +gone out, and Jane was in the kitchen, and it began to grow dark while +I sat reading in the drawing-room, and all at once I heard the strangest +_noise_.” Her voice dropped deeply on the last word. “Yes, it was very +strange indeed! Thank you, Lemuel,” she concluded. + +“Quite welcome,” said Lemuel dryly, pushing on towards the basement +stairs. + +“Oh! And Lemuel! will you let Jane give you your supper in the +dining-room, so that you could be here if I heard anything else?” + +“I don't want any supper,” said Lemuel. + +The girl scrutinised him with an expression of misgiving. Then, with +a little sigh, as of one who will not explore a painful mystery, she +asked: “Would you mind sitting in the dining-room, then, till aunty gets +back?” + +“I'd just as lives sit there,” said Lemuel, walking into the dark +dining-room and sitting down. + +“Oh, thank you very much. Aunty will be back very soon, I suppose. She's +just gone to the Sewells' to tea.” + +She followed him to the threshold. “You must--I must--light the gas in +here for you.” + +“Guess I can light the gas,” said Lemuel, getting up to intercept her in +this service. She had run into the reception-room for a match, and she +would not suffer him to prevent her. + +“No, no! I insist! And Lemuel,” she said, turning upon him, “I must ask +you to excuse my speaking harshly to you. I was--agitated.” + +“Perfectly excusable,” said Lemuel. + +“I am afraid,” said the girl, fixing him with her eyes, “that you are +not well.” + +“Oh yes, I'm well. I'm--pretty tired; that's all.” + +“Have you been walking far?” + +“Yes--not very.” + +“The walking ought to do you good,” said Sibyl, with serious +thoughtfulness. “I think,” she continued, “you had better have some +bryonia. Don't you think you had?” + +“No, no! I don't want anything,” protested Lemuel. + +She looked at him with a feeling of baffled anxiety painted on her face; +and as she turned away, she beamed with a fresh inspiration. “I will get +you a book.” She flew into the reception-room and back again, but she +only had the book that she had herself been reading. + +“Perhaps you would like to read this? I've finished it. I was just +looking back through it.” + +“Thank you; I guess I don't want to read any, just now.” + +She leaned against the side of the dining-table, beyond which Lemuel +sat, and searched his fallen countenance with a glance contrived to +be at once piercing and reproachful. “I see,” she said, “you have not +forgiven me.” + +“Forgiven you?” repeated Lemuel blankly. + +“Yes--for giving way to my agitation in speaking to you.” + +“I don't know,” said Lemuel, with a sigh of deep inward trouble, “as I +noticed anything.” + +“I told you to light the gas in the basement,” suggested Sibyl, “and +then I told you to light it up here, and then--I scolded you.” + +“Oh yes,” admitted Lemuel: “that.” He dropped his head again. + +Sibyl sank upon the edge of a chair. “Lemuel! you have something on your +mind?” + +The boy looked up with a startled face. + +“Yes! I can see that you have,” pursued Sibyl. “What have you been +doing?” she demanded sternly. + +Lemuel was so full of the truth that it came first to his lips in +all cases. He could scarcely force it aside now with the evasion that +availed him nothing. “I don't know as I've been doing anything in +particular.” + +“I see that you don't wish to tell me!” cried the girl. “But you might +have trusted me. I would have defended you, no matter what you had +done--the worse the better.” + +Lemuel hung his head without answering. + +After a while she continued: “If I had been that girl who had you +arrested, and I had been the cause of so much suffering to an innocent +person, I should never have forgiven myself. I should have devoted +my life to expiation. I should have spent my life in going about the +prisons, and finding out persons who were unjustly accused. I should +have done it as a penance. Yes! even if he had been guilty!” + +Lemuel remained insensible to this extreme of self-sacrifice, and she +went on: “This book--it is a story--is all one picture of such a nature. +There is a girl who's been brought up as the ward of a young man. He +educates her, and she expects to be his wife, and he turns out to be +perfectly false and unworthy in every way; but she marries him all the +same, although she likes some one else, because she feels that she ought +to punish herself for thinking of another, and because she hopes that +she will die soon, and when her guardian finds out what she's done for +him, it will reform him. It's perfectly sublime. It's--ennobling! If +every one could read this book, they would be very different.” + +“I don't see much sense in it,” said Lemuel, goaded to this comment. + +“You would if you read it. When she dies--she is killed by a fall from +her horse in hunting, and has just time to join the hands of her husband +and the man she liked first, and tell them everything--it is wrought up +so that you hold your breath. I suppose it was reading that that made +me think there were burglars getting in. But perhaps you're right not +to read it now, if you're excited already. I'll get you something +cheerful.” She whirled out of the room and back in a series of those +swift, nervous movements peculiar to her. “There! that will amuse you, +I know.” She put the book down on the table before Lemuel, who silently +submitted to have it left there. “It will distract your thoughts, +if anything will. And I shall ask you to let me sit just here in the +reception-room, so that I can call you if I feel alarmed.” + +“All right,” said Lemuel, lapsing absently to his own troubled thoughts. + +“Thank you very much,” said Sibyl. She went away, and came back +directly. “Don't you think,” she asked, “that it's very strange you +should never have seen or heard anything of her?” + +“Heard of who?” he asked, dragging himself painfully up from the depths +of his thoughts. + +“That heartless girl who had you arrested.” + +“She _wasn't_ heartless!” retorted Lemuel indignantly. + +“You think so because you are generous, and can't imagine such +heartlessness. Perhaps,” added Sibyl, with the air of being illumined +by a happy thought, “she is dead. That would account for everything. She +may have died of remorse. It probably preyed upon her till she couldn't +bear it any longer, and then she killed herself.” + +Lemuel began to grow red at the first apprehension of her meaning. As +she went on, he changed colour more and more. + +“She is alive!” cried Sibyl. “She's alive, and you have seen her! +You needn't deny it! You've seen her to-day!” Lemuel rose in clumsy +indignation. “I don't know as anybody's got any right to say what I've +done, or haven't done.” + +“O Lemuel!” cried Sibyl. “Do you think anyone in this house would +intrude in your affairs? But if you need a friend--a sister----” + +“I don't need any sister. I want you should let me alone.” + +At these words, so little appreciative of her condescension, her +romantic beneficence, her unselfish interest, Sibyl suddenly rebounded +to her former level, which she was sensible was far above that of this +unworthy object of her kindness. She rose from her chair, and pursued-- + +“If you need a friend--a sister--I'm sure that you can safely confide +in--the cook.” She looked at him a moment, and broke into a malicious +laugh very unlike that of a social reformer, which rang shriller at the +bovine fury which mounted to Lemuel's eyes. The rattle of a night-latch +made itself heard in the outer door. Sibyl's voice began to break, as it +rose: “I never expected to be treated in my own aunt's house with +such perfect ingratitude and impudence--yes, impudence!--by one of her +servants!” + +She swept out of the room, and her aunt, who entered it, after calling +to her in vain, stood with Lemuel, and heard her mount the stairs, +sobbing, to her own room, and lock herself in. + +“What is the matter, Lemuel?” asked Miss Vane, breathing quickly. She +looked at him with the air of a judge who would not condemn him unheard, +but would certainly do so after hearing him. Whether it was Lemuel's +perception of this that kept him silent, or his confusion of spirit from +all the late rapidly successive events, or a wish not to inculpate the +girl who had insulted him, he remained silent. + +“Answer me!” said Miss Vane sharply. + +Lemuel cleared his throat. “I don't know as I've got anything to say,” + he answered finally. + +“But I insist upon your saying something,” said Miss Vane. “What is this +_impudence?_” + +“There hasn't been any impudence,” replied Lemuel, hanging his head. + +“Very well, then, you can tell me what Sibyl means,” persisted Miss +Vane. + +Lemuel seemed to reflect upon it. “No, I can't tell you,” he said at +last, slowly and gently. + +“You refuse to make any explanation whatever?” + +“Yes.” + +Miss Vane rose from the chair which she had mechanically sunk into while +waiting for him to speak, and ceased to be the kindly, generous soul +she was, in asserting herself as a gentlewoman who had a contumacious +servant to treat with. “You will wait here a moment, please.” + +“All right,” said Lemuel. She had asked him not to receive instructions +from her with that particular answer, but he could not always remember. + +She went upstairs, and returned with some banknotes that rustled in her +trembling hand. “It is two months since you came, and I've paid you one +month,” she said, and she set her lips, and tried to govern her head, +which nevertheless shook with the vehemence she was struggling to +repress. She laid two ten-dollar notes upon the table, and then added +a five, a little apart. “This second month was to be twenty instead of +ten. I shall not want you any longer, and should be glad to have you go +now--at once--to-night! But I had intended to offer you a little present +at Christmas, and I will give it you now.” + +Lemuel took up the two ten-dollar notes without saying anything, and +then after a moment laid one of them down. “It's only half a month,” he +said. “I don't want to be paid for any more than I've done.” + +“Lemuel!” cried Miss Vane. “I insist upon your taking it. I employed you +by the month.” + +“It don't make any difference about that; I've only been here a month +and a half.” + +He folded the notes, and turned to go out of the room. Miss Vane caught +the five-dollar note from the table and intercepted him with it. “Well, +then, you shall take it as a present.” + +“I don't want any present,” said Lemuel, patiently waiting her pleasure +to release him, but keeping his hands in his pockets. + +“You would have taken it at Christmas,” said Miss Vane. “You shall take +it now.” + +“I shouldn't take a present any time,” returned Lemuel steadily. + +“You are a foolish boy!” cried Miss Vane. “You need it, and I tell you +to take it.” + +He made no reply whatever. + +“You are behaving very stubbornly--ungratefully,” said Miss Vane. + +Lemuel lifted his head; his lip quivered a little. “I don't think you've +got any right to say I'm ungrateful.” + +“I don't mean ungrateful,” said Miss Vane. “I mean unkind--very +silly, indeed. And I wish you to take this money. You are behaving +resentfully--wickedly. I am much older than you, and I tell you that you +are not behaving rightly. Why don't you do what I wish?” + +“I don't want any money I haven't earned.” + +“I don't mean the money. Why don't you tell me the meaning of what I +heard? My niece said you had been impudent to her. Perhaps she didn't +understand.” + +She looked wistfully into the boy's face. + +After a long time he said, “I don't know as I've got anything to say +about it.” + +“Very well, then, you may go,” said Miss Vane, with all her _hauteur_. + +“Well, good evening,” said Lemuel passively, but the eyes that he +looked at her with were moist, and conveyed a pathetic reproach. To her +unmeasured astonishment, he offered her his hand; her amaze was even +greater--_more_ infinite, as she afterwards told Sewell--when she found +herself shaking it. + +He went out of the room, and she heard him walking about his room in the +L, putting together his few belongings. Then she heard him go down and +open the furnace door, and she knew he was giving a final conscientious +look at the fire. He closed it, and she heard him close the basement +door behind him, and knew that he was gone. + +She explored the L, and then she descended to the basement and +mechanically looked it over. Everything that could be counted hers by +the most fastidious sense of property had been left behind him in the +utmost neatness. On their accustomed nail, just inside the furnace-room, +hung the blue overalls. They looked like a suicidal Lemuel hanging +there. + +Miss Vane went upstairs slowly, with a heavy heart. Under the hall light +stood Sibyl, picturesque in the deep shadow it flung upon her face. + +“Aunt Hope,” she began in a tragic voice. + +“Don't _speak_ to me, you wicked girl!” cried her aunt, venting her +self-reproach upon this victim. “It is _your_ doing.” + +Sibyl turned with the meekness of an ostentatious scape-goat, unjustly +bearing the sins of her tribe, and went upstairs into the wilderness of +her own thoughts again. + + + + +XIII. + + +The sense of outrage with which Lemuel was boiling when Miss Vane came +in upon Sibyl and himself had wholly passed away, and he now saw his +dismissal, unjust as between that girl and him, unimpeachably righteous +as between him and the moral frame of things. If he had been punished +for being ready to take advantage of that fellow's necessity, and +charge him fifty cents for changing ten dollars, he must now be no +less obviously suffering for having abused that young lady's trust and +defencelessness; only he was not suffering one-tenth as much. When he +recurred to that wrong, in fact, and tried to feel sorry for it and +ashamed, his heart thrilled in a curious way; he found himself smiling +and exulting, and Miss Vane and her niece went out of his mind, and he +could not think of anything but of being with that girl, of hearing her +talk and laugh, of touching her. He sighed; he did not know what his +mother would say if she knew; he did not know where he was going; it +seemed a hundred years since the beginning of the afternoon. + +A horse-car came by, and Lemuel stopped it. He set his bag down on +the platform, and stood there near the conductor, without trying to +go inside, for the bag was pretty large, and he did not believe the +conductor would let him take it in. + +The conductor said politely after a while, “See, 'd I get your fare?” + +“No,” said Lemuel. He paid, and the conductor went inside and collected +the other fares. + +When he came back he took advantage of Lemuel's continued presence to +have a little chat. He was a short, plump, stubby-moustached man, and he +looked strong and well, but he said, with an introductory sigh, “Well, +sir, I get sore all over at this business. There ain't a bone in me that +hain't got an ache in it. Sometimes I can't tell but what it's the ache +got a bone in it, ache seems the biggest.” + +“Why, what makes it?” asked Lemuel absently. + +“Oh, it's this standin'; it's the hours, and changin' the hours so much. +You hain't got a chance to get used to one set o' hours before they get +'em all shifted round again. Last week I was on from eight to eight; +this week it's from twelve to twelve. Lord knows what it's going to be +next week. And this is one o' the best lines in town, too.” + +“I presume they pay you pretty well,” said Lemuel, with awakening +interest. + +“Well, they pay a dollar 'n' half a day,” said the conductor. + +“Why, it's more than forty dollars a month,” said Lemuel. + +“Well, it is,” said the conductor scornfully, “if you work every day in +the week. But I can't stand it more than six days out o' seven; and +if you miss a day, or if you miss a trip, they dock you. No, sir. It's +about the meanest business _I_ ever struck. If I wa'n't a married man, +'n' if I didn't like to be regular about my meals and get 'em at home +'th my wife, I wouldn't stand it a minute. But that's where it is. It's +regular.” + +A lady from within signalled the conductor. He stopped the car, and the +lady, who had risen with her escort, remained chatting with a friend +before she got out. The conductor snapped his bell for starting, with a +look of patient sarcasm. “See that?” he asked Lemuel. “Some these women +act as if the cars was their private carriage; and _you_ got to act so +_too_, or the lady complains of you, and the company bounces you in a +minute. Stock's owned along the line, and they think they own _you_ too. +You can't get 'em to set more than ten on a side; they'll leave the car +first. I'd like to catch 'em on some the South End or Cambridge cars. +I'd show 'em how to pack live stock once, anyway. Yes, sir, these ladies +that ride on this line think they can keep the car standin' while they +talk about the opera. But you'd ought to see how they all look if a +_poor_ woman tries their little game. Oh, I tell you, rich people are +hard.” + +Lemuel reflected upon the generalisation. He regarded Miss Vane as a +rich person; but though she had blamed him unjustly, and had used him +impatiently, even cruelly, in this last affair, he remembered other +things, and he said-- + +“Well, I don't know as I should say all of them were hard.” + +“Well, may be not,” admitted the conductor. “But I don't envy 'em. The +way I look at it, and the way I tell my wife, I wouldn't want their +money 'f I had to have the rest of it. Ain't any of 'em happy. I saw +that when I lived out. No, sir; what me and my wife want to do is to +find us a nice little place in the country.” + +At the words a vision of Willoughby Pastures rose upon Lemuel, and a +lump of home-sickness came into his throat. He saw the old wood-coloured +house, crouching black within its walls under the cold November stars. +If his mother had not gone to bed yet, she was sitting beside the +cooking-stove in the kitchen, and perhaps his sister was brewing +something on it, potion or lotion, for her husband's rheumatism. Miss +Vane had talked to him about his mother; she had said he might have her +down to visit him, if everything went on right; but of course he knew +that Miss Vane did not understand that his mother wore bloomers, and he +made up his mind that her invitation was never to be accepted. At the +same time he had determined to ask Miss Vane to let him go up and see +his mother some Sunday. + +“'S fur's we go,” said the conductor. “'F you're goin' on, you want to +take another car here.” + +“I guess I'll go back with you a little ways,” said Lemuel. “I want to +ask you--” + +“Guess we'll have to take a back seat, then,” said the conductor, +leading the way through the car to the other platform; “or a standee,” + he added, snapping the bell. “What is it you want to ask?” + +“Oh, nothing. How do you fellows learn to be conductors? How long does +it take you?” + +Till other passengers should come the conductor lounged against the +guard of the platform in a conversational posture. + +“Well, generally it takes you four or five days. You got to learn all +the cross streets, and the principal places on all the lines.” + +“Yes?” + +“It didn't take me more'n two. Boston boy.” + +“Yes,” said Lemuel, with a fine discouragement. “I presume the +conductors are mostly from Boston.” + +“They're from everywhere. And some of 'em are pretty streaked, I can +tell you; and then the rest of us has got to suffer; throws suspicion on +all of us. One fellow gets to stealin' fares, and then everybody's got +to wear a bell-punch. I never hear mine go without thinkin' it says, +'Stop thief!' Makes me sick, I can tell you.” + +After a while Lemuel asked, “How do you get such a position?” + +The conductor seemed to be thinking about some thing else. “It's a +pretty queer kind of a world, anyway, the way everybody's mixed up with +everybody else. What's the reason, if a man wants to steal, he can't +steal and suffer for it himself, without throwin' the shame and the +blame on a lot more people that never thought o' stealin'? I don't +notice much when a fellow sets out to do right that folks think +everybody else is on the square. No, sir, they don't seem to consider +that kind of complaint so catching. Now, you take another thing: A woman +goes round with the scarlet fever in her clothes, and a whole carful of +people take it home to their children; but let a nice young girl get in, +fresh as an apple, and a perfect daisy for wholesomeness every way, and +she don't give it to a single soul on board. No, sir; it's a world I +can't see through, nor begin to.” + +“I never thought of it that way,” said Lemuel, darkened by this black +pessimism of the conductor. He had not, practically, found the world +so unjust as the conductor implied, but he could not controvert his +argument. He only said, “May be the right thing makes us feel good in +some way we don't know of.” + +“Well, I don't want to feel good in some way I don't know of, myself,” + said the conductor very scornfully. + +“No, that's so,” Lemuel admitted. He remained silent, with a vague +wonder flitting through his mind whether Mr. Sewell could make anything +better of the case, and then settled back to his thoughts of Statira, +pierced and confused as they were now with his pain from that trouble +with Miss Vane. + +“What was that you asked me just now?” said the conductor. + +“That I asked you?” Lemuel echoed. “Oh yes! I asked you how you got your +place on the cars.” + +“Well, sir, you have to have recommendations--they won't touch you +without 'em; and then you have to have about seventy-five dollars +capital to start with. You got to get your coat, and your cap, and your +badge, and you got to have about twenty dollars of your own to make +change with, first off; company don't start you with a cent.” + +Lemuel made no reply. After a while he asked, “Do you know any good +hotel, around here, where I could go for the night?” + +“Well, there's the Brunswick, and there's the Van-dome,” said the +conductor. “They're both pretty fair houses.” Lemuel looked round at +the mention of the aristocratic hostelries to see if the conductor was +joking. He owned to something of the kind by adding, “There's a little +hotel, if you want something quieter, that ain't a great ways from +here.” He gave the name of the hotel, and told Lemuel how to find it. + +“Thank you,” said Lemuel. “I guess I'll get off here, then. Well, good +evening.” + +“Guess I'll have to get another nickel from you,” said the conductor, +snapping his bell. “New trip,” he explained. + +“Oh,” said Lemuel, paying. It seemed to him a short ride for five cents. + +He got off, and as the conductor started up the car, he called forward +through it to the driver, “Wanted to try for conductor, I guess. But +I guess the seventy-five dollars capital settled that little point for +him.” + +Lemuel heard the voice but not the words. He felt his bag heavy in his +hand as he walked away in the direction the conductor had given him, and +he did not set it down when he stood hesitating in front of the hotel; +it looked like too expensive a place for him, with its stained-glass +door, and its bulk hoisted high into the air. He walked by the hotel, +and then he came back to it, and mustered courage to go in. His bag, +if not superb, looked a great deal more like baggage than the lank +sack which he had come to Boston with; he had bought it only a few days +before, in hopes of going home before long; he set it down with +some confidence on the tesselated floor of cheap marble, and when a +shirt-sleeved, drowsy-eyed, young man came out of a little room or booth +near the door, where there was a desk, and a row of bells, and a board +with keys, hanging from the wall above it, Lemuel said quite boldly +that he would like a room. The man said, well, they did not much expect +transients; it was more of a family-hotel, like; but he guessed they had +a vacancy, and they could put him up. He brushed his shirt sleeves down +with his hands, and looked apologetically at some ashes on his trousers, +and said, well, it was not much use trying to put on style, anyway, when +you were taking care of a furnace and had to run the elevator yourself, +and look after the whole concern. He said his aunt mostly looked after +letting the rooms, but she was at church, and he guessed he should +have to see about it himself. He bade Lemuel just get right into the +elevator, and he put his bag into a cage that hung in one corner of the +hallway, and pulled at the wire rope, and they mounted together. On +the way up he had time to explain that the clerk, who usually ran the +elevator when they had no elevator-boy, had kicked, and they were +just between hay and grass, as you might say. He showed Lemuel into a +grandiose parlour or drawing-room, enormously draped and upholstered, +and furnished in a composite application of yellow jute and red plush +to the ashen easy-chairs and sofa. A folding-bed in the figure of a +chiffonier attempted to occupy the whole side of the wall and failed. + +“I'm afraid it's more than I can pay,” said Lemuel. “I guess I better +see some other room.” But the man said the room belonged to a boarder +that had just gone, and he guessed they would not charge him very much +for it; he guessed Lemuel had better stay. He pulled the bed down, +and showed him how it worked, and he lighted two bulbous gas-burners, +contrived to burn the gas at such a low pressure that they were like +two unsnuffed candles for brilliancy. He backed round over the spacious +floor and looked about him with an unfamiliar, marauding air, which had +a certain boldness, but failed to impart courage to Lemuel, who trembled +for fear of the unknown expense. But he was ashamed to go away, and when +the man left him he went to bed, after some suspicious investigation of +the machine he was to sleep in. He found its comfort unmistakable. He +was tired out with what had been happening, and the events of the day +recurred in a turmoil that helped rather than hindered slumber; none +evolved itself distinctly enough from the mass to pursue him; what he +was mainly aware of was the daring question whether he could not get the +place of that clerk who had kicked. + +In the morning he saw the landlady, who was called Mrs. Harmon, and who +took the pay for his lodging, and said he might leave his bag a while +there in the office. She was a large, smooth, tranquil person, +who seemed ready for any sort of consent; she entered into an easy +conversation with Lemuel, and was so sympathetic in regard to the +difficulties of getting along in the city, that he had proposed himself +as clerk and been accepted almost before he believed the thing had +happened. He was getting a little used to the rapidity of urban +transactions, but his mind had still a rustic difficulty in keeping up +with his experiences. + +“I suppose,” said Mrs. Harmon, “it ain't very usual to take anybody +without a reference; I never do it; but so long as you haven't been a +great while in the city--You ever had a place in Boston before?” + +“Well, not exactly what you may call a place,” said Lemuel, with a +conscience against describing in that way his position at Miss Vane's. +“It was only part work.” He added, “I wasn't there but a little while.” + +“Know anybody in the city?” + +“Yes,” said Lemuel reluctantly; “I know Rev. David L. Sewell, some.” + +“Oh, all right,” said Mrs. Harmon, with eager satisfaction. “I have +to be pretty particular who I have in the house. The boarders are all +high-class, and I have to have all the departments accordingly. I'll +see Mr. Sewell about you as soon as I get time, and I guess you can take +right hold now, if you want to.” + +Mrs. Harmon showed him in half a minute how to manage the elevator, and +then left him with general instructions to tell everybody who came upon +any errand he did not understand, that she would be back in a very short +time. He found pen and paper in the office, and she said he might write +the letter that he asked leave to send his mother; when he mentioned his +mother, she said, yes, indeed, with a burst of maternal sympathy which +was imagined in her case, for she had already told Lemuel that if +she had ever had any children she would not have gone into the hotel +business, which she believed unfriendly to their right nurture; she said +she never liked to take ladies with children. + +He enclosed some money to his mother which he had intended to send, but +which, before the occurrence of the good fortune that now seemed opening +upon him, he thought he must withhold. He made as little as he could of +his parting with Miss Vane, whom he had celebrated in earlier letters +to his mother; he did not wish to afflict her on his own account, or +incense her against Miss Vane, who, he felt, could not help her part +in it; but his heart burned anew against Miss Sibyl while he wrote. He +dwelt upon his good luck in getting this new position at once, and he +let his mother see that he considered it a rise in life. He said he was +going to try to get Mrs. Harmon to let him go home for Thanksgiving, +though he presumed he might have to come back the same night. + +His letter was short, but he was several times interrupted by the lady +boarders, many of whom stopped to ask Mrs. Harmon something on their +way to their rooms from breakfast. They did not really want anything, +in most cases; but they were strict with Lemuel in wanting to know just +when they could see Mrs. Harmon; and they delayed somewhat to satisfy a +natural curiosity in regard to him. They made talk with him as he took +them up in the elevator, and did what they could to find out about him. +Most of them had their door-keys in their hands, and dangled them by the +triangular pieces of brass which the keys were chained to; they affected +some sort of _negligée_ breakfast costume, and Lemuel thought them very +fashionable. They nearly all snuffled and whined as they spoke; some had +a soft, lazy nasal; others broke abruptly from silence to silence, in +voices of nervous sharpness, like the cry or the bleat of an animal; +one young girl, who was quite pretty, had a high, hoarse voice, like a +gander. + +Lemuel did not mind all this; he talked through his nose too; and he +accepted Mrs. Harmon's smooth characterisation of her guests, as she +called them, which she delivered in a slow, unimpassioned voice. “I +never have any but the highest class people in my house--the very +nicest; and I never have any jangling going on. In the first place I +never allow anybody to have anything to complain of, and then if they do +complain, I'm right up and down with them; I tell them their rooms are +wanted, and they understand what I mean. And I never allow any trouble +among the servants; I tell them, if they are not suited, that I don't +want them to stay; and if they get to quarrelling among themselves, I +send them all away, and get a new lot; I pay the highest wages, and I +can always do it. If you want to keep up with the times at all, you have +got to set a good table, and I mean to set just as good a table as any +in Boston; I don't intend to let any one complain of my house on that +score. Well, it's as broad as it's long: if you set a good table, you +can ask a good price; and if you don't, you can't, that's all. Pay as +you go, is my motto.” + +Mrs. Harmon sat talking in the little den beside the door which she +called the office, when she returned from that absence which she had +asked him to say would not be more than fifteen minutes at the outside. +It had been something more than two hours, and it had ended almost +clandestinely; but knowledge of her return had somehow spread through +the house, and several ladies came in while she was talking, to ask when +their window-shades were to be put up, or to say that they knew their +gas-fixtures must be out of order; or that there were mice in their +closets, for they had heard them gnawing; or that they were sure their +set-bowls smelt, and that the traps were not working. Mrs. Harmon was +prompt in every exigency. She showed the greatest surprise that those +shades had not gone up yet; she said she was going to send round for the +gasfitter to look at the fixtures all over the house; and that she would +get some potash to pour down the bowls, for she knew the drainage was +perfect--it was just the pipes down _to_ the traps that smelt; she +advised a cat for the mice, and said she would get one. She used the +greatest sympathy with the ladies, recognising a real sufferer in each, +and not attempting to deny anything. From the dining-room came at times +the sound of voices, which blended in a discord loud above the clatter +of crockery, but Mrs. Harmon seemed not to hear them. An excited +foreigner of some sort finally rushed from this quarter, and thrust his +head into the booth where Lemuel and Mrs. Harmon sat, long enough to +explode some formula of renunciation upon her, which left her serenity +unruffled. She received with the same patience the sarcasm of a boarder +who appeared at the office-door with a bag in his hand, and said he +would send an express-man for his trunk. He threw down the money for his +receipted bill; and when she said she was sorry he was going, he replied +that he could not stand the table any longer, and that he believed that +French cook of hers had died on the way over; he was tired of the Nova +Scotia temporary, who had become permanent. A gentleman waited for the +parting guest to be gone, and then said to the tranquil Mrs. Harmon: “So +Mellen has kicked, has he?” + +“Yes, Mr. Evans,” said Mrs. Harmon; “Mr. Mellen has kicked.” + +“And don't you want to abuse him a little? You can to me, you know,” + suggested the gentleman. + +He had a full beard, parted at the chin; it was almost white, and +looked older than the rest of his face; his eyes were at once sad and +whimsical. Lemuel tried to think where he had seen him before. + +“Thank you; I don't know as it would do any good, Mr. Evans. But if he +could have waited one week longer, I should have had that cook.” + +“Yes, that is what I firmly believe. Do you feel too much broken up to +accept a ticket to the Wednesday matinée at the Museum?” + +“No, I don't,” said Mrs. Harmon. “But I shouldn't want to deprive Mrs. +Evans of it.” + +“Oh, she wouldn't go,” said Mr. Evans, with a slight sigh. “You had +better take it. Jefferson's going to do _Bob Acres_.” + +“Is that so?” asked Mrs. Harmon placidly, taking the ticket. “Well, I'm +ever so much obliged to you, Mr. Evans. Mr. Evans, Mr. Barker--our new +clerk,” she said, introducing them. + +Lemuel rose with rustic awkwardness, and shook hands with Mr. Evans, who +looked at him with a friendly smile, but said nothing. + +“Now Mr. Barker is here, I guess I can get the time.” Mr. Evans said, +well, he was glad she could, and went out of the street door. “He's just +one of the nicest gentlemen I've got,” continued Mrs. Harmon, following +him with her eye as far as she conveniently could without turning her +head, “him and his wife both. Ever heard of the _Saturday Afternoon_?” + +“I don't know as I have,” said Lemuel. + +“Well, he's one of the editors. It's a kind of a Sunday paper, I guess, +for all it don't come out that day. I presume he could go every night +in the week to every theatre in town, if he wanted to. I don't know how +many tickets he's give me. Some of the ladies seem to think he's always +makin' fun of them; but I can't ever feel that way. He used to board +with a great friend of mine, him and his wife. They've been with me now +ever since Mrs. Hewitt died; she was the one they boarded with before. +They say he used to be dreadful easygoing, 'n' 't his wife was all 't +saved him. But I guess he's different now. Well, I must go out and see +after the lunch. You watch the office, and say just what I told you +before.” + + + + +XIV. + + +Sewell chanced to open his door to go out just as Miss Vane put her hand +on the bell-pull, the morning after she had dismissed Lemuel. The cheer +of his Monday face died out at the unsmiling severity of hers; but he +contrived to ask her in, and said he would call Mrs. Sewell, if she +would sit down in the reception-room a moment. + +“I don't know,” she said, with a certain look of inquiry, not unmixed +with compassion. “It's about Lemuel.” + +The minister fetched a deep sigh. “Yes, I know it. But she will have to +know it sooner or later.” He went to the stairway and called her name, +and then returned to Miss Vane in the reception-room. + +“Has Lemuel been here?” she asked. + +“No.” + +“You said you knew it was about him--” + +“It was my bad conscience, I suppose, and your face that told me.” + +Miss Vane waited for Mrs. Sewell's presence before she unpacked her +heart. Then she left nothing in it. She ended by saying, “I have +examined and cross-examined Sibyl, but it's like cross-questioning a +chameleon; she changed colour with every new light she was put into.” + Here Miss Vane had got sorrowfully back to something more of her wonted +humour, and laughed. + +“Poor Sibyl!” said Mrs. Sewell. + +“Poor?” retorted Miss Vane. “Not at all! I could get nothing out of +either of them; but I feel perfectly sure that Lemuel was not to blame.” + +“It's very possible,” suggested Mrs. Sewell, “that he did say something +in his awkward way that she misconstrued into impertinence.” + +Miss Vane did not seem to believe this. “If Lemuel had given me the +slightest satisfaction,” she began in self-exculpation. “But no,” she +broke off. “It had to be!” She rose. “I thought I had better come and +tell you at once, Mr. Sewell. I suppose you will want to look him up, +and do something more for him. I wish if you find him you would make him +take this note.” She gave the minister a ten-dollar bill. “I tried to do +so, but he would not have it. I don't know what I shall do without him! +He is the best and most faithful creature in the world. Even in +this little time I had got to relying implicitly upon his sense, his +judgment, his goodness, his--Well! good morning!” + +She ran out of the door, and left Sewell confronted with his wife. + +He did not know whether she had left him to hope or to despair, and he +waited for his wife to interpret his emotion, but Mrs. Sewell tacitly +refused to do this. After a dreary interval he plucked a random +cheerfulness out of space, and said: “Well, if Miss Vane feels in that +way about it, I don't see why the whole affair can't be arranged and +Barker reinstated.” + +“David,” returned his wife, not vehemently at all, “when you come out +with those mannish ideas I don't know what to do.” + +“Well, my dear,” said the minister, “I should be glad to come out with +some womanish ideas if I had them. I dare say they would be better. But +I do my poor best, under the circumstances. What is the trouble with my +ideas, except that the sex is wrong?” + +“You think, you men,” replied Mrs. Sewell, “that a thing like that can +be mended up and smoothed over, and made just the same as ever. You +think that because Miss Vane is sorry she sent Barker away and wants him +back, she can take him back.” + +“I don't see why she can't. I've sometimes supposed that the very +highest purpose of Christianity was mutual forgiveness--forbearance with +one another's errors.” + +“That's all very well,” said Mrs. Sewell. “But you know that whenever I +have taken a cook back, after she had shown temper, it's been an entire +failure; and this is a far worse case, because there is disappointed +good-will mixed up with it. I don't suppose Barker is at all to blame. +Whatever has happened, you may be perfectly sure that it has been partly +a bit of stage-play in Sibyl and partly a mischievous desire to use her +power over him. I foresaw that she would soon be tired of reforming him. +But whatever it is, it's something that you can't repair. Suppose Barker +went back to them; could they ignore what's happened?” + +“Of course not,” Sewell admitted. + +“Well, and should he ask her pardon, or she his?” + +“The Socratic method is irresistible,” said the minister sadly. “You +have proved that nothing can be done for Barker with the Vanes. And now +the question is, what _can_ be done for him?” + +“That's something I must leave to you, David,” said his wife +dispiritedly. She arose, and as she passed out of the room she added, +“You will have to find him, in the _first_ place, and you had better go +round to the police stations and the tramps' lodging-houses and begin +looking.” + +Sewell sighed heavily under the sarcastic advice, but acted upon it, and +set forth upon the useless quest, because he did not know in the least +what else to do. + +All that week Barker lay, a lurking discomfort, in his soul, though as +the days passed the burden grew undeniably lighter; Sewell had a great +many things besides Barker to think of. But when Sunday came, and he +rose in his pulpit, he could not help casting a glance of guilty fear +toward Miss Vane's pew and drawing a long breath of guilty relief not to +see Lemuel in it. We are so made, that in the reaction the minister was +able to throw himself into the matter of his discourse with uncommon +fervour. It was really very good matter, and he felt the literary joy +in it which flatters the author even of a happily worded supplication +to the Deity. He let his eyes, freed from their bondage to Lemuel's +attentive face, roam at large in liberal ease over his whole +congregation; and when, toward the close of his sermon, one visage +began to grow out upon him from the two or three hundred others, and to +concentrate in itself the facial expression of all the rest, and become +the only countenance there, it was a perceptible moment before he +identified it as that of his inalienable charge. Then he began to preach +at it as usual, but defiantly, and with yet a haste to be through and +to get speech with it that he felt was ludicrous, and must appear +unaccountable to his hearers. It seemed to him that he could not bring +his sermon to a close; he ended it in a cloudy burst of rhetoric which +he feared would please the nervous, elderly ladies--who sometimes blamed +him for a want of emotionality--and knew must grieve the judicious. +While the choir was singing the closing hymn, he contrived to beckon the +sexton to the pulpit, and described and located Lemuel to him as well +as he could without actually pointing him out; he said that he wished +to see that young man after church, and asked the sexton to bring him +to his room. The sexton did so to the best of his ability, but the +young man whom he brought was not Lemuel, and had to be got rid of with +apologies. + +On three or four successive Sundays Lemuel's face dawned upon the +minister from the congregation, and tasked his powers of impersonal +appeal and mental concentration to the utmost. It never appeared twice +in the same place, and when at last Sewell had tutored the sexton +carefully in Lemuel's dress, he was driven to despair one morning when +he saw the boy sliding along between the seats in the gallery, and +sitting down with an air of satisfaction in an entirely new suit of +clothes. + +After this defeat the sexton said with humorous sympathy, “Well, there +ain't anything for it now, Mr. Sewell, but a detective, or else an +advertisement in the Personals.” + +Sewell laughed with him at his joke, and took what comfort he could from +the evidence of prosperity which Lemuel's new clothes offered. He argued +that if Barker could afford to buy them he could not be in immediate +need, and for some final encounter with him he trusted in Providence, +and was not too much cast down when his wife made him recognise that he +was trusting in Luck. It was an ordeal to look forward to finding Lemuel +sooner or later among his hearers every Sunday; but having prepared his +nerves for the shock, as men adjust their sensibilities to the recurrent +pain of a disease, he came to bear it with fortitude, especially as he +continually reminded himself that he had his fixed purpose to get at +Lemuel at last and befriend him in any and every possible way. He tried +hard to keep from getting a grudge against him. + +At the hotel, Lemuel remained in much of his original belief in the +fashion and social grandeur of the ladies who formed the majority of +Mrs. Harmon's guests. Our womankind are prone to a sort of helpless +intimacy with those who serve them; the ladies had an instinctive +perception of Lemuel's trustiness, and readily gave him their confidence +and much of their history. He came to know them without being at all +able to classify them with reference to society at large, as of that +large tribe among us who have revolted from domestic care, and have +skilfully unseated the black rider who remains mounted behind the +husband of the average lady-boarder. Some of them had never kept house, +being young and newly married, though of this sort there were those who +had tried it in flats, and had reverted to their natural condition +of boarding. They advised Lemuel not to take a flat, whatever he did, +unless he wanted to perish at once. Other lady boarders had broken up +housekeeping during the first years of the war, and had been boarding +round ever since, going from hotels in the city to hotels in the +country, and back again with the change of the seasons; these mostly had +husbands who had horses, and they talked with equal tenderness of the +husbands and the horses, so that you could not always tell which Jim +or Bob was; usually they had no children, but occasionally they had a +married daughter, or a son who lived West. There were several single +ladies: one who seemed to have nothing in this world to do but to come +down to her meals, and another a physician who had not been able, in +embracing the medical profession, to deny herself the girlish pleasure +of her pet name, and was lettered in the list of guests in the entry as +Dr. Cissie Bluff. In the attic, which had a north-light favourable to +their work, were two girls, who were studying art at the Museum; one of +them looked delicate at first sight, and afterwards seemed merely very +gentle, with a clear-eyed pallor which was not unhealth. A student in +the Law School sat at the table with these girls, and seemed sometimes +to go with them to concerts and lectures. From his talk, which was +almost the only talk that made itself heard in the dining-room, it +appeared that he was from Wyoming Territory; he treated the young ladies +as representative of Boston and its prejudices, though apparently they +were not Bostonians. There were several serious and retiring couples, +of whom one or other was an invalid, and several who were poor, and +preferred the plated gentility of Mrs. Harmon's hotel--it was called the +St. Albans; Mrs. Harmon liked the name--to the genuine poverty of such +housekeeping as they could have set up. About each of these women a home +might have clung, with all its loves and cares; they were naturally like +other women; but here they were ignoble particles, without attraction +for one another, or apparently joy for themselves, impermanent, idle, +listless; they had got rid of the trouble of housekeeping, and of its +dignity and usefulness. There were a few children in the house, not at +all noisy; the boys played on the sidewalk, and the little girls stayed +in their rooms with their mothers, and rarely took the air oftener than +they. + +They came down rather later to breakfast, and they seemed not to go to +school; some of them had piano lessons in their rooms. Their mothers did +not go out much; sometimes they went to church or the theatre, and they +went shopping. But they had apparently no more social than domestic +life. Now and then they had a friend to lunch or dinner; if a lady +was absent, it was known to Mrs. Harmon, and through her to the other +ladies, that she was spending the day with a friend of hers at an hotel +in Newton, or Lexington, or Woburn. In a city full of receptions, of +dinner-giving, and party-going, Mrs. Harmon's guests led the lives of +cloistered nuns, so far as such pleasures were concerned; occasionally +a transient had rooms for a week or two, and was continually going, and +receiving visits. She became the object of a certain unenvious curiosity +with the other ladies, who had not much sociability among themselves; +they waited a good while before paying visits at one another's rooms, +and then were very punctilious not to go again until their calls had +been returned. They were all doctoring themselves; they did not talk +gossip or scandal much; they talked of their diseases and physicians, +and their married daughters and of Mrs. Harmon, whom they censured for +being too easygoing. Certain of them devoured novels, which they carried +about clasped to their breasts with their fingers in them at the +place where they were reading; they did not often speak of them, and +apparently took them as people take opium. + +The men were the husbands or fathers of the women, and were wholly +without the domestic weight or consequence that belongs to men living in +their own houses. There were certain old bachelors, among whom were +two or three decayed branches of good Boston families, spendthrifts, +or invalided bankrupts. Mr. Evans was practically among the single +gentlemen, for his wife never appeared in the parlour or dining-room, +and was seen only when she went in or out, heavily veiled, for a walk. +Lemuel heard very soon that she had suffered a shock from the death of +her son on the cars; the other ladies made much of her inability to get +over it, and said nothing would induce them to have a son of theirs go +in and out on the cars. + +Among these people, such as they were, and far as they might be from +a final civilisation, Lemuel began to feel an ambition to move more +lightly and quickly than he had yet known how to do, to speak promptly, +and to appear well. Our schooling does not train us to graceful or even +correct speech; even our colleges often leave that uncouth. Many of Mrs. +Harmon's boarders spoke bad grammar through their noses; but the ladies +dressed stylishly, and the men were good arithmeticians. Lemuel obeyed +a native impulse rather than a good example in cultivating a better +address; but the incentive to thrift and fashion was all about him. +He had not been ignorant that his clothes were queer in cut and out of +date, and during his stay at Miss Vane's he had taken much council with +himself as to whether he ought not to get a new suit with his first +money instead of sending it home. Now he had solved the question, after +sending the money home, by the discovery of a place on a degenerate +street, in a neighbourhood of Chinese laundries, with the polite name +of Misfit Parlours, where they professed to sell the failures of the +leading tailors of Boston, New York, and Chicago. After long study of +the window of the Parlours, Lemuel ventured within one day, and was +told, when he said he could not afford the suit he fancied, that he +might pay for it on the instalment plan, which the proprietor explained +to him. In the mirror he was almost startled at the stylishness of his +own image. The proprietor of the Parlours complimented him. “You see, +you've got a good figure for a suit of clothes--what I call a ready made +figure. _You_ can go into a clothing store anywheres and fit you.” + +He took the first instalment of the price, with Lemuel's name and +address, and said he would send the clothes round; but in the evening he +brought them himself, and no doubt verified Lemuel's statement by this +device. It was a Saturday night, and the next morning Lemuel rose early +to put them on. He meant to go to church in them, and in the afternoon +he did not know just what he should do. He had hoped that some chance +might bring them together again, and then he could see from the way Miss +Dudley and 'Manda Grier behaved, just what they thought. He had +many minds about the matter himself, and had gone from an extreme of +self-abhorrence to one of self-vindication, and between these he had +halted at every gradation of blame and exculpation. But perhaps what +chiefly kept him away was the uncertainty of his future; till he could +give some shape to that he had no courage to face the past. Sometimes he +wished never to see either of those girls again; but at other times he +had a longing to go and explain, to justify himself, or to give himself +up to justice. + +The new clothes gave him more heart than he had yet had, but the most he +could bring himself to do was to walk towards Pleasant Avenue the next +Sunday afternoon, which Mrs. Harmon especially gave him,--and to think +about walking up and down before the house. It ended in his walking +up and down the block, first on one side of the street and then on the +other. He knew the girls' window; Miss Dudley had shown him it was the +middle window of the top story when they were looking out of it, and +he glanced up at it. Then he hurried away, but he could not leave the +street without stopping at the corner, to cast a last look back at the +house. There was an apothecary's at that corner, and while he stood +wistfully staring and going round the corner a little way, and coming +back to look at the things in the apothecary's window, he saw 'Manda +Grier come swiftly towards him. He wanted to run away now, but he could +not; he felt nailed to the spot, and he felt the colour go out of his +face. She pretended not to see him at first; but with a second glance +she abandoned the pretence, and at his saying faintly, “Good afternoon,” + she said, with freezing surprise, “Oh! Good afternoon, Mr. Barker!” and +passed into the apothecary's. + +He could not go now, since he had spoken, and leave all so inconclusive +again; and yet 'Manda Grier had been so repellent, so cutting, in her +tone and manner, that he did not know how to face her another time. +When she came out he faltered, “I hope there isn't anybody sick at your +house, Miss Grier.” + +“Oh, nobody that you'll care about, Mr. Barker,” she answered airily, +and began to tilt rapidly away, with her chin thrust out before her. + +He made a few paces after her, and then stopped; she seemed to stop too, +and he caught up with her. + +“I hope,” he gasped, “there ain't anything the matter with Miss Dudley?” + +“Oh, nothing 't _you'll_ care about,” said 'Manda Grier, and she added +with terrible irony, “You've b'en round to inquire so much that you +hain't allowed time for any _great_ change.” + +“Has she been sick long?” faltered Lemuel. “I didn't dare to come!” he +cried out. “I've been wanting to come, but I didn't suppose you would +speak to me--any of you.” Now his tongue was unlocked, he ran on: “I +don't know as it's any excuse--there _ain't_ any excuse for such a +thing! I know she must perfectly despise me, and that I'm not fit for +her to look at; but I'd give anything if I could take it all back and be +just where I was before. You tell her, won't you, how I feel?” + +'Manda Grier, who had listened with a killingly averted face, turned +sharply upon him: “You mean about stayin' away so long? I don't know as +she cared a great deal, but it's a pretty queer way of showin' you cared +for her.” + +“I didn't mean that!” retorted Lemuel; and he added by an immense +effort, “I meant--the way I behaved when I was there; I meant--” + +“Oh!” said 'Manda Grier, turning her face away again; she turned it so +far away that the back of her head was all that Lemuel could see. “I +guess you better speak to Statira about that.” + +By this time they had reached the door of the boarding-house, and +'Manda Grier let herself in with her latch-key. “Won't you walk in, Mr. +Barker?” she said in formal tones of invitation. + +“Is she well enough to see--company?” murmured Lemuel. “I shouldn't want +to disturb her.” + +“I don't believe but what she can see you,” said 'Manda Grier, for the +first time relentingly. + +“All right,” said Lemuel, gulping the lump in his throat, and he +followed 'Manda Grier up the flights of stairs to the door of the girls' +room, which she flung open without knocking. + +“S'tira,” she said, “here's Mr. Barker,” and Lemuel, from the dark +landing, where he lurked a moment, could see Statira sitting in the +rocking-chair in a pretty blue dressing-gown; after a first flush she +looked pale, and now and then put up her hand to hide a hoarse little +cough. + + + + +XV. + + +“Walk right in, Mr. Barker,” cried 'Manda Grier, and Lemuel entered, +more awkward and sheepish in his new suit from the Misfit Parlours than +he had been before in his Willoughby Pastures best clothes. Statira +merely said, “Why, Mr. Barker!” and stood at her chair where she rose. +“You're quite a stranger. Won't you sit down?” + +Lemuel sat down, and 'Manda Grier said politely, “Won't you let me take +your hat, Mr. Barker?” and they both treated him with so much ceremony +and deference that it seemed impossible he could ever have done such a +monstrous thing as kiss a young lady like Miss Dudley; and he felt that +he never could approach the subject even to accept a just doom at her +hands. + +They all talked about the weather for a minute, and then 'Manda Grier +said, “Well, I guess I shall have to go down and set this boneset to +steep;” and as he rose, and stood to let her pass, she caught his arm, +and gave it a clutch. He did not know whether she did it on purpose, or +why she did it, but somehow it said to him that she was his friend, and +he did not feel so much afraid. + +When she was gone, however, he returned to the weather for conversation; +but when Statira said it was lucky for her that the winter held off so, +he made out to inquire about her sickness, and she told him that she +had caught a heavy cold; at first it seemed just to be a head-cold, but +afterwards it seemed to settle on the lungs, and it seemed as if she +never _could_ throw it off; they had had the doctor twice; but now she +was better, and the cough was nearly _all_ gone. + +“I guess I took the cold that day, from havin' the window open,” she +concluded; and she passed her hand across her lap, and looked down +demurely, and then up at the ceiling, and her head twitched a little and +trembled. + +Lemuel knew that his hour had come, if ever it were to come, and he said +hoarsely: “I guess if I made you take cold that day, it wasn't all I +did. I guess I did worse than that.” + +She did not look at him and pretend ignorance, as 'Manda Grier would +have done; but lifting her moist eyes and then dropping them, she said, +“Why, Mr. Barker, what can you mean?” + +“You know what I mean,” he retorted, with courage astonishing to him. +“It was because I liked you so much.” He could not say loved; it seemed +too bold. “There's nothing else can excuse it, and I don't know as +_that_ can.” + +She put up her hands to her eyes, and began to cry, and he rose and went +to her, and said, “Oh, don't cry, don't cry!” and somehow he took hold +of her hands, and then her arms went round his neck, and she was crying +on his breast. + +“You'll think I'm rather of a silly person, crying so much about +nothing,” she said, when she lifted her head from his shoulder to wipe +her eyes. “But I can't seem to help it,” and she broke down again. “I +presume it's because I've been sick, and I'm kind of weak yet. I know +you wouldn't have done that, that day, if you hadn't have cared for me; +and I wasn't mad a bit; not half as mad as I ought to have been; but +when you stayed away so long, and never seemed to come near any more, I +didn't know what _to_ think. But now I can understand just how you felt, +and I don't blame you one bit; I should have done just so myself if I'd +been a man, I suppose. And now it's all come right, I don't mind being +sick or anything; only when Thanksgiving came, we felt sure you'd call, +and we'd got the pies nicely warmed. Oh dear!” She gave way again, and +then pressed her cheek tight against his to revive herself. “'Manda said +she knew it was just because you was kind of ashamed, and I was too sick +to eat any of the pies, anyway; and so it all turned out for the best; +and I don't want you to believe that I'm one to cry over spilt milk, +especially when it's all gathered up again!” + +Her happy tongue ran on, revealing, divining everything, and he sat down +with her in his arms, hardly speaking a word, till her heart was quite +poured out. 'Manda Grier left them a long time together, and before +she came back he had told Statira all about himself since their last +meeting. She was very angry at the way that girl had behaved at Miss +Vane's, but she was glad he had found such a good place now, without +being beholden to any one for it, and she showed that she felt a due +pride in his being an hotel clerk. He described the hotel, and told what +he had to do there, and about Mrs. Harmon and the fashionableness of all +the guests. But he said he did not think any of the ladies went ahead +of her in dress, if they came up to her; and Statira pressed her lips +gratefully against his cheek, and then lifting her head held herself +a little away to see him again, and said, “_You're_ splendidly dressed +_too_; I noticed it the first thing when you came in. You look just as +if you had always lived in Boston.” + +“Is that so?” asked Lemuel; and he felt his heart suffused with tender +pride and joy. He told her of the Misfit Parlours and the instalment +plan, and she said, well, it was just splendid; and she asked him if he +knew she wasn't in the store any more; and “No,” she added delightedly, +upon his confession of ignorance, “I'm going to work in the box-factory, +after this, where 'Manda Grier works. It's better pay, and you have more +control of your hours, and you can set down while you work, if you've +a mind to. I think it's going to be splendid. What should you say if +'Manda Grier and me took some rooms and went to housekeepin'?” + +“I don't know,” said Lemuel; but in his soul he felt jealous of her +keeping house with 'Manda Grier. + +“Well, I don't know as we shall do it,” said Statira, as if feeling his +tacit reluctance. + +'Manda Grier came in just then, and cast a glance of friendly satire at +them. “Well, I declare!” she said, for all recognition of the situation. + +Lemuel made an offer to rise, but Statira would not let him. “I guess +'Manda Grier won't mind it much.” + +“I guess I can stand it if you can,” said 'Manda Grier; and this seemed +such a witty speech that they all laughed, till, as Statira said, she +thought she should die. They laughed the more when 'Manda Grier added +dryly, “I presume you won't want your boneset now.” She set the vessel +she had brought it up in on the stove, and covered it with a saucer. “I +do' know as _I_ should if I was in your place. It's kind o' curious I +should bring _both_ remedies home with me at once.” At this they all +laughed a third time, till 'Manda Grier said, “'Sh! 'sh! Do you want to +raise the roof?” + +She began to bustle about, and to set out a little table, and cover it +with a napkin, and as she worked she talked on. “I guess if you don't +want any boneset tea, a little of the other kind won't hurt any of us, +and I kinder want a cup myself.” She set it to steep on the stove, and +it went through Lemuel's mind that she might have steeped the boneset +there too, if she had thought of it; but he did not say anything, though +it seemed a pretty good joke on 'Manda Grier. She ran on in that way of +hers so that you never could tell whether she really meant a thing or +not. “I guess if I have to manage many more cases like yours, S'tira +Dudley, I shall want to lay in a whole chest of it. What do you think, +Mr. Barker?” + +“_Mr. Barker!_” repeated Statira. + +“Well, I'm afraid to say Lemuel any more, for fear he'll fly off the +handle, and never come again. What do you think, Mr. Barker, of havin' +to set at that window every Sunday for the last three weeks, and keep +watch of both sidewalks till you get such a crick in your neck, and your +eyes so set in your head, you couldn't move either of 'em?” + +“Now, 'Manda Grier!” said Statira from Lemuel's shoulder. + +“Well, I don't say I had to do it, and I don't say who the young man was +that I was put to look out for----” + +_“'Manda!”_ + +“But I _do_ say it's pretty hard to wait on a sick person one side the +room, and keep watch for a young man the other side, both at once.” + +“'Manda Grier, you're _too_ bad!” pouted Statira. “Don't you believe a +word she says, Mr. Barker.” + +_“Mr. Barker!”_ repeated 'Manda Grier. + +“Well, I don't care!” said Statira, “I know who I mean.” + +“_I_ don't,” said 'Manda Grier. “And I didn't know who you meant this +afternoon when you was standin' watch 't the window, and says you, +'There! there he is!' and I had to run so quick with the dipper of water +I had in my hand to water the plants that I poured it all over the front +of my dress.” + +“_Do_ you believe her?” asked Statira. + +“And I didn't know who you meant,” proceeded 'Manda Grier, busy with +the cups and saucers, “when you kept hurryin' me up to change it; 'Oh, +quick, quick! How long you are! I know he'll get away; I _know_ he +will!' and I had to just _sling_ on a shawl and rush out after this +boneset.” + +“There! Now that _shows_ she's makin' it all up!” cried Statira. “She +put on a sack, and I helped her on with it myself. So there!” + +“Well, if it _was_ a sack! And after all, the young man was gone when I +got down int' the street,” concluded 'Manda Grier solemnly. + +Lemuel had thought she was talking about him; but now a pang of jealousy +went through him, and showed at the eyes he fixed on her. + +“I don't know what I sh'd 'a' done,” she resumed demurely, “if I hadn't +have found Mr. Barker at the apothecary's and got _him_ to come home 'th +me; but of course, 'twan't the same as if it was the young man!” + +Lemuel's arm fell from Statira's waist in his torment. + +“Why, Lemuel!” she said in tender reproach. + +“Why, you coot!” cried 'Manda Grier in utter amazement at his +single-mindedness; and burst into a scream of laughter. She took the +teapot from the stove, and set it on the table. “There, young man--if +you _are_ the young man--you better pull up to the table, and have +something to start your ideas. S'tira! Let him come!” and Lemuel, +blushing for shame at his stupidity, did as he was bid. + +“I've got the greatest mind in the world to set next to S'tira myself,” + said 'Manda Grier, “for fear she should miss that young man!” and now +they both laughed together at Lemuel; but the girls let him sit between +them, and Statira let him keep one of her hands under the table, as much +as she could. “I never saw such a jealous piece! Why, I shall begin +to be afraid for myself. What should you think of S'tira's going to +housekeeping with me?” + +“I don't believe he likes the idea one bit,” Statira answered for him. + +“Oh yes, I do!” Lemuel protested. + +“'D you tell him?” 'Manda Grier demanded of her. She nodded with saucy +defiance. “Well, you _have_ got along! And about the box-factory?” + Statira nodded again, with a look of joyous intelligence at Lemuel. +“Well, what _hain't_ you told, I wonder!” 'Manda Grier added seriously +to Lemuel, “I think it'll be about the best thing in the world for +S'tira. I see for the last six months she's been killin' herself in that +store. She can't ever get a chance to set down a minute; and she's on +her feet from mornin' till night; and I think it's more 'n half that +that's made her sick; I don't _say_ what the other four-fifths was! + +“Now, 'Manda Grier, stop!” + +“Well, that's over with now, and now we want to keep you out that store. +I been lookin' out for this place for S'tira a good while. She can go +onto the small boxes, if she wants to, and she can set down all the +time; and she'll have a whole hour for her dinner; and she can work by +the piece, and do as much or as little as she's a mind to; but if she's +a mind to work she can make her five and six dollars a week, easy. Mr. +Stevens's _real_ nice and kind, and he looks out for the girls that +ain't exactly strong--not but what S'tira's as strong as anybody, when +she's well--and he don't put 'em on the green paper work, because it's +got arsenic in it, and it makes your head ache, and you're liable to +blood poisonin'. One the girls fainted and had spasms, and as soon as he +found it out he took her right off; and he's just like clockwork to pay. +I think it'll do everything for S'tira to be along 'th me there, where I +can look after her.” + +Lemuel said he thought so too; he did not really think at all, he was +so flattered at being advised with about Statira, as if she were in his +keeping and it was for him to say what was best for her; and when she +seemed uncertain about his real opinion, and said she was not going to +do anything he did not approve of, he could scarcely speak for rapture, +but he protested that he did approve of the scheme entirely. + +“But you shouldn't want we girls to set up housekeeping in rooms?” she +suggested; and he said that he should, and that he thought it would be +more independent and home-like. + +“We're half doin' it now,” said 'Manda Grier, “and I know some +rooms--two of 'em--where we could get along first rate, and not cost us +much more 'n half what it does here.” + +After she cleared up the tea-things she made another errand downstairs, +and Lemuel and Statira went back to their rocking-chair. It still amazed +him that she seemed not even to make it a favour to him; she seemed to +think it was favour to her. What was stranger yet was that he could not +feel that there was anything wrong or foolish about it; he thought of +his mother's severity about young folks' sickishness, as she called it, +and he could not understand it. He knew that he had never had such right +and noble thoughts about girls before; perhaps Statira was better than +other girls; she must be; she was just like a child; and he must be very +good himself to be anyways fit for her; if she cared so much for him, +it must be a sign that he was not so bad as he had sometimes thought. +A great many things went through his mind, the silent comment and +suggestion of their talk, and all the time while he was saying something +or listening to her, he was aware of the overwhelming wonder of her +being so frank with him, and not too proud or ashamed to have him know +how anxious she had been, ever since they first met, for fear he did not +care for her. She had always appeared so stylish and reserved, and now +she was not proud at all. He tried to tell her how it had been with him +the last three weeks; all that he could say was that he had been afraid +to come. She laughed, and said, the idea of his being afraid of _her_! +She said that she was glad of everything she had gone through. At times +she lifted herself from his shoulder and coughed; but that was when she +had been laughing or crying a little. They told each other about their +families; Statira said she had not really any folks of her own; she was +just brought up by her aunt; and Lemuel had to tell her that his mother +wore bloomers. Statira said she guessed she should not care much for +the bloomers; and in everything she tried to make out that he was much +better than she was, and just exactly right. She already spoke of his +sister by her first name, and she entered into his whole life, as if she +had always known him. He said she must come with him to hear Mr. Sewell +preach, sometime; but she declared that she did not think much of a +minister who could behave the way he had done to Lemuel. He defended +Sewell, and maintained that if it had not been for him he might not have +come to Boston, and so might never have seen her; but she held out that +she could not bear Mr. Sewell, and that she knew he was double-faced, +and everything. Lemuel said well, he did not know that he should ever +have anything more to do with him; but he liked to hear him preach, and +he guessed he tried to do what was about right. Statira made him promise +that if ever he met Mr. Sewell again, he would not make up to him, any +way; and she would not tolerate the thought of Miss Vane. + +“What you two quar'lin' about?” demanded 'Manda Grier, coming suddenly +into the room; and that turned their retrospective griefs into joy +again. + +“I'm scoldin' him because he don't think enough of himself,” cried +Statira. + +“Well, he seems to take it pretty meekly,” said 'Manda Grier. “I guess +you didn't scold very hard. Now, young man,” she added to Lemuel, “I +guess you better be goin'. It's five o'clock, and if you should be out +after dark, and the bears should get you, I don't know what S'tira would +do.” + +“'Tain't five yet!” pleaded Statira. “That old watch of yours is always +tryin' to beat the town clock.” + +“Well, it's the clock that's ahead this time,” said 'Manda Grier. “My +watch says quarter of. Come, now, S'tira, you let him go, or he sha'n't +come back any more.” + +They had a parting that Lemuel's mother would have called sickish +without question; but it all seemed heavenly sweet and right. Statira +said now he had got to kiss 'Manda Grier too; and when he insisted, her +chin knocked against his, and saved her lips, and she gave him a good +box on the ear. + +“There, I guess that 'll do for one while,” she said, arranging her +tumbled hair; “but there's more kisses where that came from, for both of +you if you want 'em. Coots!” + +Once, when Lemuel was little, he had a fever, and he was always seeming +to glide down the school-house stairs without touching the steps with +his feet. He remembered this dream now, when he reached the street; he +felt as if he had floated down on the air; and presently he was back in +his little den at the hotel, he did not know how. He ran the elevator up +and down for the ladies who called him from the different floors, and he +took note of the Sunday difference in their toilet as they passed in to +tea; but in the same dreamy way. + +After the boarders had supped, he went in as usual with Mrs. Harmon's +nephew, less cindery than on week-days, from the cellar, and Mrs. +Harmon, silken smooth for her evening worship at the shrine of a popular +preacher from New York. The Sunday evening before, she had heard an +agnostic lecture in the Boston Theatre, and she said she wished to +compare notes. Her tranquillity was unruffled by the fact that the +head-waitress had left, just before tea; she presumed they could get +along just as well without her as with her: the boarders had spoiled +her, anyway. She looked round at Lemuel's face, which beamed with his +happiness, and said she guessed she should have to get him to open the +dining-room doors, and seat the transients the next few days, till she +could get another head-waitress. It did not seem to be so much a request +as a resolution; but Lemuel willingly assented. Mrs. Harmon's nephew +said that so long as they did not want him to do it he did not care who +did it; and if a few of them had his furnace to look after they would +not be so anxious to kick. + + + + +XVI + + +Lemuel had to be up early in the morning to get the bills of fare, which +Mrs. Harmon called the Meanyous, written in time for the seven o'clock +breakfasters; and after opening the dining-room doors with fit ceremony, +he had to run backward and forward to answer the rings at the elevator, +and to pull out the chairs for the ladies at the table, and slip them +back under them as they sat down. The ladies at the St. Albans expected +to get their money's worth; but their exactions in most things were of +use to Lemuel. He grew constantly nimbler of hand and foot under them, +and he grew quicker-witted; he ceased to hulk in mind and body. He did +not employ this new mental agility in devising excuses and delays; he +left that to Mrs. Harmon, whose conscience was easy in it; but from +seven o'clock in the morning till eleven at night, when the ladies +came in from the theatre, he was so promptly, so comfortingly at their +service, that they all said they did not see how they had ever got along +without him. + +His activities took the form of interruptions rather than constant +occupation, and he found a good deal of broken-up time on his hands, +which he passed in reading, and in reveries of Statira. At the hours +when the elevator was mostly in use he kept a book in it with him, and +at other times he had it in the office, as Mrs. Harmon called his little +booth. He remained there reading every night after the house quieted +down after dinner, until it was time to lock up for the night; and +several times Mr. Evans stopped and looked in at him where he sat in +the bad combustion of the gas that was taking the country tan out of his +cheeks. One night when he came in late, and Lemuel put his book down to +take him up in the elevator, he said, “Don't disturb yourself; I'm going +to walk up,” but he lingered at the door looking in with the queer smile +that always roused the ladies' fears of tacit ridicule. “I suppose you +don't find it necessary,” he said finally, “to chase a horse-car now, +when you want to find your way to a given point?” + +Lemuel reddened and dropped his head; he had already recognised in Mr. +Evans the gentleman from whose kindly curiosity he had turned, that +first day, in the suspicion that he might be a beat. “No,” he said, “I +guess I can go pretty near everywhere in Boston now.” + +“Well,” said Mr. Evans, “it was an ingenious system. How do you like +Boston?” + +“I like it first-rate, but I've not seen many other places,” answered +Lemuel cautiously. + +“Well, if you live here long enough you won't care to see any other +places; you'll know they're not worth seeing.” Lemuel looked up as if he +did not understand exactly, and Mr. Evans stepped in and lifted the book +he had been reading. It was one he had bought at second hand while he +was with Miss Vane: a tough little epitome of the philosophies in all +times, the crabbed English version of a dry German original. Mr. Evans +turned its leaves over. “Do you find it a very exciting story?” he +asked. + +“Why, it isn't a story,” said Lemuel, in simple surprise. + +“No?” asked Mr. Evans. “I thought it must be. Most of the young +gentlemen who run the elevators I travel in read stories. Do you like +this kind of reading?” + +Lemuel reflected, and then he said he thought you ought to find out +about such things if you got a chance. + +“Yes,” said the editor musingly, “I suppose one oughtn't to throw any +sort of chance away. But you're sure you don't prefer the novels? You'll +excuse my asking you?” + +“Oh, perfectly excusable,” said Lemuel. He added that he liked a good +novel too, when he could get hold of it. + +“You must come to my room some day, and see if you can't get hold of one +there. Or if you prefer metaphysics, I've got shelves full that you're +welcome to. I suppose,” he added, “you hadn't been in Boston a great +while when I met you that day?” + +“No,” said Lemuel, dropping his head again, “I had just come.” + +As if he saw that something painful lurked under the remembrance of the +time for Lemuel the editor desisted. + +The next morning he stopped on his way to breakfast with some books +which he handed to Lemuel. “Don't feel at all obliged to read them,” + he said, “because I lend them to you. They won't be of the least use to +you, if you do so.” + +“I guess that anything you like will be worth reading,” said Lemuel, +flattered by the trouble so chief a boarder as Mr. Evans had taken with +him. + +“Not if they supplied a want you didn't feel. You seem to be fond of +books, and after a while you'll be wanting to lend them yourself. I'll +give you a little hint that I'm too old to profit by: remember that you +can lend a person more books in a day than he can read in a week.” + +His laugh kept Lemuel shy of him still, in spite of a willingness that +the editor showed for their better acquaintance. He seemed to wish to +know about Lemuel, particularly since he had recognised the pursuer of +the horse-car in him, and this made Lemuel close up the more. He would +have liked to talk with him about the books Evans had lent him. But when +the editor stopped at the office door, where Lemuel sat reading one of +them, and asked him what he thought of it, the boy felt that somehow +it was not exactly his opinion that Mr. Evans was getting at; and this +sense of being inspected and arranged in another's mind, though he could +not formulate the operation in his own, somehow wounded and repelled +him. It was not that the editor ever said anything that was not kind and +friendly; he was always doing kind and friendly things, and he appeared +to take a real interest in Lemuel. At the end of the first week after +Lemuel had added the head waitership to his other duties, Evans stopped +in going out of the dining-room and put a dollar in his hand. + +“What is it for?” asked Lemuel. + +“For? Really, I don't know. It must be tribute-money,” said the editor +in surprise, but with a rising curiosity. “I never know what it's for.” + +Lemuel turned red, and handed it back. “I don't know as I want any money +I haven't earned.” + +That night, after dinner, when Evans was passing the office door on his +way out of the hotel, Lemuel stopped him and said with embarrassment, +“Mr. Evans, I don't want you should think I didn't appreciate your +kindness this morning.” + +“Ah, I'm not sure it was kindness,” said Evans with immediate interest. +“Why didn't you take the money?” + +“Well, I told you why,” said Lemuel, overcoming the obscure reluctance +he felt at Evans's manner as best he could. “I've been thinking it over, +and I guess I was right; but I didn't know whether I had expressed it +the best way.” + +“The way couldn't be improved. But why did you think you hadn't earned +my dollar?” + +“I don't do anything but open the doors, and show people to their +places; I don't call that anything.” + +“But if you were a waiter and served at table?” + +“I wouldn't _be_ one,” said Lemuel, with a touch of indignation; “and I +shouldn't take presents, anyway.” + +Evans leaned against the door-jamb. + +“Have you heard of the college students who wait at the mountain hotels +in vacation? They all take fees. Do you think yourself better than they +are?” + +“Yes, I do!” cried Lemuel. + +“Well, I don't know but you are,” said the editor thoughtfully. “But +I think I should distinguish. Perhaps there's no shame in waiting at +table, but there is in taking fees.” + +“Yes; that's what I meant,” said Lemuel, a little sorry for his heat. “I +shouldn't be ashamed to do any kind of work, and to take my pay for it; +but I shouldn't want to have folks giving me money over and above, as if +I was a beggar.” + +The editor stood looking him absently in the face. After a moment he +asked, “What part of New England did you come from, Mr. Barker?” + +“I came from the middle part of the State--from Willoughby Pastures.” + +“Do those ideas--those principles--of yours prevail there?” + +“I don't know whether they do or not,” said Lemuel. + +“If you were sure they did, I should like to engage board there for next +summer,” said the editor, going out. + +It was Monday night, a leisure time with him, and he was going out to +see a friend, a minister, with whom Monday night was also leisure time. + +After he was gone, some of the other boarders began to drop in from the +lectures and concerts which they frequented in the evening. The ladies +had all some favour to ask of Lemuel, some real or fancied need of +his help; in return for his promise or performance, they each gave him +advice. What they expressed collectively was that they should think that +he would put his eyes out reading by that gas, and that he had better +look out, or he would ruin his health anyway, reading so much. They +asked him how much time he got for sleep; and they said that from twelve +till six was not enough, and that he was just killing himself. They had +all offered to lend him books; the least literary among them had a sort +of house pride in his fondness for books; their sympathy with this taste +of his amused their husbands, who tolerated it, but in their hearts +regarded it as a womanish weakness, indicating a want of fibre in +Lemuel. Mrs. Harmon as a business woman, and therefore occupying a +middle ground between the sexes, did not exactly know herself what to +make of her clerk's studiousness; all that she could say was that he +kept up with his work. She assumed that before Lemuel's coming she had +been the sole motive power of the house; but it was really a sort of +democracy, and was managed by the majority of its inmates. An element +of demagoguery tampered with the Irish vote in the person of Jerry, +nominally porter, but actually factotum, who had hitherto, pending the +strikes of the different functionaries, filled the offices now united in +Lemuel. He had never been clerk, because his literature went no further +than the ability to write his name, and to read a passage of the +constitution in qualifying for the suffrage. He did not like the new +order of things, but he was without a party, and helpless to do more +than neglect the gong-bell when he had reason to think Lemuel had +sounded it. + +About eleven o'clock the law-student came in with the two girl +art-students, fresh from the outside air, and gay from the opera they +had been hearing. The young man told Lemuel he ought to go to see it. +After the girls had opened their door, one of them came running back to +the elevator, and called down to Lemuel that there was no ice-water, and +would he please send some up. + +Lemuel brought it up himself, and when he knocked at the door, the same +girl opened it and made a pretty outcry over the trouble she had given +him. “I supposed, of course, Jerry would bring it,” she said contritely; +and as if for some atonement, she added, “Won't you come in, Mr. Barker, +and see my picture?” + +Lemuel stood in the gush of the gas-light hesitating, and the +law-student called out to him, jollily, “Come in, Mr. Barker, and +help me play art-critic.” He was standing before the picture, with his +overcoat on and his hat in his hand. “First appearance on any stage,” he +added; and as Lemuel entered, “If I were you,” he said, “I'd fire that +porter out of the hotel. He's outlived his usefulness.” + +“It's a shame, your having to bring the water,” said Miss Swan; she was +the girl who had spoken before. + +The other one came forward and said, “Won't you sit down?” + +She spoke to Lemuel; the law-student answered, “Thank you; I don't care +if I do.” + +Lemuel did not know whether to stay, nor what to say of Miss Swan's +picture, and he thanked the young lady and remained standing. + +“O Jessie, _Jessie_, Jessie!” cried Miss Swan. + +The other went to her, tranquilly, as if used to such vehement appeals. + +“Just _see_ how my poor cow looks since I painted out that grass! She +hasn't got a leg to stand on!” + +The law-student did nothing but make jokes about the picture. “I think +she looks pretty well for a cow that you must have had to study from a +milk-can--nearest you could come to a cow in Boston.” + +Miss Carver, the other young lady, ignored his joking, and after some +criticisms on the picture, left him and Miss Swan to talk it over. She +talked to Lemuel, and asked him if he had read a book he glanced at on +the table, and seemed willing to make him feel at ease. But she did not. +He thought she was very proud, and he believed she wanted him to go, +but he did not know how to go. Her eyes were so still and pure; but they +dwelt very coldly upon him. Her voice was like that look put into sound; +it was rather high-pitched but very sweet and pure, and cold. He hardly +knew what he said; he felt hot, and he waited for some chance to get +away. + +At last he heard Miss Swan saying, “_Must_ you go, Mr. Berry? So +_soon_!” and saw her giving the student her hand, with a bow of +burlesque desolation. + +Lemuel prepared to go too. All his rusticity came back upon him, and he +said, “Well, I wish you good evening.” + +It seemed to him that Miss Carver's still eyes looked a sort of starry +scorn after him. He found that he had brought away the book they had +been talking about, and he was a long time in question whether he +had better take it back at once, or give it to her when she came to +breakfast. + +He went to bed in the same trouble of mind. Every night he had fallen +asleep with Statira in his thoughts, but now it was Miss Carver that he +thought of, and more and more uncomfortably. He asked himself what she +would say if she saw his mother in the bloomers. She was herself not +dressed so fashionably as Statira, but very nicely. + + + + +XVII. + + +At Sewell's house the maid told Evans to walk up into the study, without +seating him first in the reception-room, as if that were needless with +so intimate a friend of the family. He found Sewell at his desk, and he +began at once, without the forms of greeting: + +“If you don't like that other subject, I've got a new one for you, and +you could write a sermon on it that would make talk.” + +“You look at it from the newspaper point of view,” returned Sewell, in +the same humour. “I'm not an 'enterprise,' and I don't want to make talk +in your sense. I don't know that I want to make talk at all; I should +prefer to make thought, to make feeling.” + +“Well,” said the editor, “this would do all three.” + +“Would you come to hear me, if I wrote the sermon?” + +“Ah, that's asking a good deal.” + +“Why don't you develop your idea in an article? You're always bragging +that you preach to a larger congregation than I.” + +“I propose to let you preach to my congregation too, if you'll write +this sermon. I've talked to you before about reporting your sermons in +_Saturday Afternoon_. They would be a feature; and if we could open with +this one, and have a good 'incisive' editorial on it, disputing some of +your positions, and treating certain others with a little satire, at +the same time maintaining a very respectful attitude towards you on the +whole, and calling attention to the fact that there was a strong and +increasing interest in your 'utterances,' which we were the first to +recognise,--it would be a card. We might agree beforehand on the points +the editorial was to touch, and so make one hand wash another. See?” + +“I see that journalism has eaten into your soul. What is your subject?” + +“Well, in general terms, and in a single word, _Complicity_. Don't you +think that would be rather taking? 'Mr. Sewell, in his striking sermon +on Complicity,' and so forth. It would be a great hit, and it would +stand a chance of sticking, like Emerson's 'Compensation.'” + +“Delightful! The most amusing part is that you've really a grain +of business in your bushel of chaff.” Sewell wheeled about in his +swivel-chair, and sat facing his guest, deeply sunken in the low easy +seat he always took. “When did this famous idea occur to you?” he +pursued, swinging his glasses by their cord. + +“About three weeks ago, at the theatre. There was one of those pieces on +that make you despair of the stage, and ashamed of writing a play even +to be rejected by it--a farrago of indecently amusing innuendoes and +laughably vile situations, such as, if they were put into a book, would +prevent its being sent through the mail. The theatre apparently can +still be as filthy in suggestion as it was at the Restoration, and not +shock its audiences. There were all sorts of people there that night: +young girls who had come with young men for an evening's polite +amusement; families; middle-aged husbands and wives; respectable-looking +single women; and average bachelors. I don't think the ordinary +theatrical audience is of a high grade intellectually; it's third +or fourth rate; but morally it seems quite as good as other public +assemblages. All the people were nicely dressed, and they sat there +before that nasty mess--it was an English comedy where all the jokes +turn upon the belief of the characters that their wives and husbands +are the parents of illegitimate offspring--and listened with as smooth +self-satisfaction as if they were not responsible for it. But all +at once it occurred to me that they _were_ responsible, every one of +them--as responsible as the players, as the author himself.” + +“Did you come out of the theatre at that point?” asked Sewell. + +“Oh, I was responsible too; but I seemed to be the only one ashamed of +my share in the business.” + +“If you were the only one conscious of it, your merit wasn't very +great,” suggested the minister. + +“Well, I should like the others to be conscious of it too. That's why +I want you to preach my sermon. I want you to tell your people and my +people that the one who buys sin or shame, or corruption of any sort, is +as guilty as the one who sells it.” + +“It isn't a new theory,” said Sewell, still refusing to give up his +ironical tone. “It was discovered some time ago that this was so before +God.” + +“Well, I've just discovered that it ought to be so before man,” said +Evans. + +“Still you're not the first,” said Sewell. + +“Yes,” said the editor, “I think I am, from my peculiar standpoint. The +other day a friend of mine--an upright, just, worthy man, no one more +so--was telling me of a shocking instance of our national corruption. +He had just got home from Europe, and he had brought a lot of dutiable +things, that a customs inspector passed for a trifling sum. That was all +very well, but the inspector afterwards came round with a confidential +claim for a hundred dollars, and the figures to show that the legal +duties would have been eight or ten times as much. My friend was glad to +pay the hundred dollars; but he defied me to name any country in Europe +where such a piece of official rascality was possible. He said it made +him ashamed of America!” Evans leaned his head back against his chair +and laughed. + +“Yes,” said Sewell with a sigh, and no longer feigning lightness. +“That's awful.” + +“Well, now,” said Evans, “don't you think it your duty to help people +realise that they can't regard such transactions _de haut en bas_, if +they happen to have taken part in them? I have heard of the shameful +condition of things down in Maine, where I'm told the French Canadians +who've come in regularly expect to sell their votes to the highest +bidder at every election. Since my new system of ethics occurred to me, +I've fancied that there must have always been a shameful state of things +there, if Americans could grow up in the willingness to buy votes. I +want to have people recognise that there is no superiority for them in +such an affair; that there's nothing but inferiority; that the man who +has the money and the wit to corrupt is a far baser rascal than the man +who has the ignorance and the poverty to be corrupted. I would make this +principle seek out every weak spot, every sore spot in the whole social +constitution. I'm sick to death of the frauds that we practise upon +ourselves in order to be able to injure others. Just consider the +infernal ease of mind in which men remain concerning men's share in the +social evil----” + +“Ah, my dear friend, you can't expect me to consider _that_ in my +pulpit!” cried the minister. + +“No; I couldn't consider it in my paper. I suppose we must leave that +where it is, unless we can affect it by analogy, and show that there is +infamy for both parties to any sin committed in common. You must +select your instances in other directions, but you can find plenty +of them--enough and to spare. It would give the series a tremendous +send-off,” said Evans, relapsing into his habitual tone, “if you would +tackle this subject in your first sermon for publication. There would be +money in it. The thing would make a success in the paper, and you could +get somebody to reprint it in pamphlet form. Come, what do you say?” + +“I should say that you had just been doing something you were ashamed +of,” answered Sewell. “People don't have these tremendous moral +awakenings for nothing.” + +“And you don't think my present state of mind is a gradual outgrowth +of my first consciousness of the common responsibility of actors and +audience in the representation of a shameless comedy?” + +“No, I shouldn't think it was,” said the minister securely. + +“Well you're right.” Evans twisted himself about in his chair, and hung +his legs over one of the arms. + +“The real reason why I wish you to preach this sermon is because I have +just been offering a fee to the head-waiter at our hotel.” + +“And you feel degraded with him by his acceptance? For it _is_ a +degradation.” + +“No, that's the strangest thing about it. I have a monopoly of the +degradation, for he didn't take my dollar.” + +“Ah, then a sermon won't help _you!_ Why wouldn't he take it?” + +“He said he didn't know as he wanted any money he hadn't earned,” said +Evans, with a touch of mimicry. + +The minister started up from his lounging attitude. “Is his +name--Barker?” he asked, with unerring prescience. + +“Yes,” said Evans with a little surprise. “Do you know him?” + +“Yes,” returned the minister, falling back in his chair helplessly, not +luxuriously. “So well that I knew it was he almost as soon as you came +into the room to-night.” + +“What harm have you been doing him?” demanded the editor, in parody of +the minister's acuteness in guessing the guilty operation of his own +mind. + +“The greatest. I'm the cause of his being in Boston.” + +“This is very interesting,” said Evans. “We are companions in +crime--pals. It's a great honour. But what strikes me as being so +interesting is that we appear to feel remorse for our misdeeds; and I +was almost persuaded the other day by an observer of our species, that +remorse had gone out, or rather had never existed, except in the fancy +of innocent people; that real criminals like ourselves were afraid of +being found out, but weren't in the least sorry. Perhaps, if we are +sorry, it proves that we needn't be. Let's judge each other. I've told +you what my sin against Barker is, and I know yours in general terms. +It's a fearful thing to be the cause of a human soul's presence in +Boston; but what did you do to bring it about? Who is Barker? Where did +he come from? What was his previous condition of servitude? He puzzles +me a good deal.” + +“Oh, I'll tell you,” said Sewell; and he gave his personal chapter in +Lemuel's history. + +Evans interrupted him at one point. “And what became of the poem he +brought down with him?” + +“It was stolen out of his pocket, one night when he slept in the +common.” + +“Ah, then he can't offer it to me! And he seems very far from writing +any more. I can still keep his acquaintance. Go on.” + +Sewell told, in amusing detail, of the Wayfarer's Lodge, where he +had found Barker after supposing he had gone home. Evans seemed more +interested in the place than in the minister's meeting with Lemuel +there, which Sewell fancied he had painted rather well, describing +Lemuel's severity and his own anxiety. + +“There!” said the editor. “There you have it--a practical illustration! +Our civilisation has had to come to it!” + +“Come to what?” + +“Complicity.” + +Sewell made an impatient gesture. + +“Don't sacrifice the consideration of a great principle,” cried Evans, +“to the petty effect of a good story on an appreciative listener. I +realise your predicament. But don't you see that in establishing and +regulating a place like that the city of Boston has instinctively +sanctioned my idea? You may say that it is aiding and abetting +the tramp-nuisance by giving vagrants food and shelter, but other +philosophers will contend that it is--blindly perhaps--fulfilling the +destiny of the future State, which will at once employ and support all +its citizens; that it is prophetically recognising my new principle of +Complicity?” + +“Your new principle!” cried Sewell. “You have merely given a new name to +one of the oldest principles in the moral world.” + +“And that is a good deal to do, I can tell you,” said Evans. “All +the principles are pretty old now. But don't give way to an ignoble +resentment of my interruption. Go on about Barker.” + +After some feints that there was nothing more important to tell, Sewell +went on to the end; and when he had come to it, Evans shook his head. +“It looks pretty black for you, but it's a beautifully perfect case of +Complicity. What do you propose to do, now you've rediscovered him?” + +“Oh, I don't know! I hope no more mischief. If I could only get him back +on his farm!” + +“Yes, I suppose that would be the best thing. But I dare say he wouldn't +go back!” + +“That's been my experience with him.” + +They talked this aspect of the case over more fully, and Evans said: +“Well, I wouldn't go back to such a place myself after I'd once had a +glimpse of Boston, but I suppose it's right to wish that Barker would. I +hope his mother will come to visit him while he's in the hotel. I would +give a good deal to see her. Fancy her coming down in her bloomers, and +the poor fellow being ashamed of her? It would be a very good subject +for a play. Does she wear a hat or a bonnet? What sort of head-gear goes +with that 'sleek odalisque' style of dress? A turban, I suppose.” + +“Mrs. Barker,” said the minister, unable to deny himself the fleeting +comfort of the editor's humorous view of the situation, “is as far from +a 'sleek odalisque' as any lady I've ever seen, in spite of her oriental +costume. If I remember, her _yashmak_ was not gathered at the ankles, +but hung loose like occidental trousers; and the day we met she wore +simply her own hair. There was not much of it on top, and she had it +cut short in the neck. She was rather a terrible figure. Her having ever +been married would have been inconceivable, except for her son.” + +“I should like to have seen her,” said Evans, laughing back in his +chair. + +“She was worth seeing as a survival of the superficial fermentation of +the period of our social history when it was believed that women could +be like men if they chose, and ought to be if they ever meant to show +their natural superiority. But she was not picturesque.” + +“The son's very handsome. I can see that the lady boarders think him +so.” + +“Do you find him at all remarkable otherwise? What dismayed me more +than his poetry even was that when he gave that up he seemed to have no +particular direction.” + +“Oh, he reads a good deal, and pretty serious books; and he goes to hear +all the sermons and lectures in town.” + +“I thought he came to mine only,” sighed the minister, with, a +retrospective suffering. “Well, what can be done for him now? I feel my +complicity with Barker as poignantly as you could wish.” + +“Ah, you see how the principle applies everywhere!” cried the editor +joyously. He added: “But I really think that for the present you can't +do better than let Barker alone. He's getting on very well at Mrs. +Harmon's, and although the conditions at the St. Albans are more +transitory than most sublunary things, Barker appears to be a fixture. +Our little system has begun to revolve round him unconsciously; he keeps +us going.” + +“Well,” said Sewell, consenting to be a little comforted. He was about +to go more particularly into the facts; but Mrs. Sewell came in just +then, and he obviously left the subject. + +Evans did not sit down again after rising to greet her; and presently he +said good night. + +She turned to her husband: “What were you talking about when I came in?” + +“When you came in?” + +“Yes. You both had that look--I can always tell it--of having suddenly +stopped.” + +“Oh!” said Sewell, pretending to arrange the things on his desk. “Evans +had been suggesting the subject for a sermon.” He paused a moment, and +then he continued hardily, “And he'd been telling me about--Barker. He's +turned up again.” + +“Of course!” said Mrs. Sewell. “What's happened to him now?” + +“Nothing, apparently, but some repeated strokes of prosperity. He has +become clerk, elevator-boy, and head-waiter at the St. Albans.” + +“And what are you going to do about him?” + +“Evans advises me to do nothing.” + +“Well, that's sensible, at any rate,” said Mrs. Sewell. “I really think +you've done quite enough, David, and now he can be left to manage for +himself, especially as he seems to be doing well.” + +“Oh, he's doing as well as I could hope, and better. But I'm not +sure that I shouldn't have personally preferred a continued course of +calamity for him. I shall never be quite at peace about him till I get +him back on his farm at Willoughby Pastures.” + +“Well, that you will never do; and you may as well rest easy about it.” + +“I don't know as to never doing it,” said Sewell. “All prosperity, +especially the prosperity connected with Mrs. Harmon's hotel, is +transitory; and I may succeed yet.” + +“Does everything go on there in the old way, does Mr. Evans say?” Mrs. +Sewell did not refer to any former knowledge of the St. Albans, but to a +remote acquaintance with the character and methods of Mrs. Harmon, with +whom the Sewells had once boarded. She was then freshly widowed by the +loss of her first husband, and had launched her earliest boarding-house +on that sea of disaster, where she had buoyantly outridden every storm +and had floated triumphantly on the top of every ingulfing wave. They +recalled the difficult navigation of that primitive craft, in which each +of the boarders had taken a hand at the helm, and their reminiscences +of her financial embarrassments were mixed with those of the unfailing +serenity that seemed not to know defeat, and with fond memories of her +goodness of heart, and her ideal devotion in any case of sickness or +trouble. + +“I should think the prosperity of Mrs. Harmon would convince the most +negative of agnostics that there was an overruling Providence, if +nothing else did,” said Sewell. “It's so defiant of all law, so +delightfully independent of causation.” + +“Well, let Barker alone with her, then,” said his wife, rising to leave +him to the hours of late reading which she had never been able to break +up. + + + + +XVIII. + + +After agreeing with his wife that he had better leave Barker alone, +Sewell did not feel easy in doing so. He had that ten-dollar note which +Miss Vane had given him, and though he did not believe, since Evans had +reported Barker's refusal of his fee, that the boy would take it, he was +still constrained to do something with it. Before giving it back to +her, he decided at least to see Barker and learn about his prospects and +expectations. He might find some way of making himself useful to him. + +In a state of independence he found Lemuel much more accessible than +formerly, and their interview was more nearly amicable. Sewell said +that he had been delighted to hear of Lemuel's whereabouts from his old +friend Evans, and to know that they were housed together. He said that +he used to know Mrs. Harmon long ago, and that she was a good-hearted, +well-meaning woman, though without much forecast. He even assented to +Lemuel's hasty generalisation of her as a perfect lady, though they both +felt a certain inaccuracy in this, and Sewell repeated that she was +a woman of excellent heart and turned to a more intimate inquest of +Lemuel's life. + +He tried to find out how he employed his leisure time, saying that he +always sympathised with young men away from home, and suggesting the +reading-room and the frequent lectures at the Young Men's Christian +Union for his odd moments. He learned that Lemuel had not many of these +during the week, and that on Sundays he spent all the time he could get +in hearing the different noted ministers. For the rest, he learned that +Lemuel was very much interested in the city, and appeared to be rapidly +absorbing both its present civilisation and its past history. He was +unsmilingly amused at the comments of mixed shrewdness and crudity which +Lemuel was betrayed into at times beyond certain limits of diffidence +that he had apparently set himself; at his blunders and misconceptions, +at the truth divined by the very innocence of his youth and +inexperience. He found out that Lemuel had not been at home since he +came to Boston; he had expected to go at Thanksgiving, but it came so +soon after he had got his place that he hated to ask; the folks were all +well, and he would send the kind remembrances which the minister asked +him to give his mother. Sewell tried to find out, in saying that Mrs. +Sewell and himself would always be glad to see him, whether Lemuel had +any social life outside of the St. Albans, but here he was sensible that +a door was shut against him; and finally he had not the courage to do +more about that money from Miss Vane than to say that from time to time +he had sums intrusted him, and that if Lemuel had any pressing need +of money he must borrow of him. He fancied he had managed that rather +delicately, for Lemuel thanked him without severity, and said he should +get along now, he guessed, but he was much obliged. Neither of them +mentioned Miss Vane, and upon the whole the minister was not sure that +he had got much nearer the boy, after all. + +Certainly he formed no adequate idea of the avidity and thoroughness +with which Lemuel was learning his Boston. It was wholly a Public Boston +which unfolded itself during the winter to his eager curiosity, and +he knew nothing of the social intricacies of which it seems solely to +consist for so many of us. To him Boston society was represented by +the coteries of homeless sojourners in the St. Albans; Boston life was +transacted by the ministers, the lecturers, the public meetings, +the concerts, the horse-cars, the policemen, the shop-windows, the +newspapers, the theatres, the ships at the docks, the historical +landmarks, the charity apparatus. + +The effect was a ferment in his mind in which there was nothing clear. +It seemed to him that he had to change his opinions every day. He was +whirled round and round; he never saw the same object twice the same. He +did not know whether he learned or unlearned most. With the pride that +comes to youth from the mere novelty of its experiences was mixed a +shame for his former ignorance, an exasperation at his inability to +grasp their whole meaning. + +His activities in acquainting himself with Boston interested Evans, who +tried to learn just what his impression was; but this was the last thing +that Lemuel could have distinctly imparted. + +“Well, upon the whole,” he asked, one day, “what do you think? From +what you've seen of it, which is the better place, Boston or Willoughby +Pastures? If you were friendless and homeless, would you rather be cast +away in the city or in the country?” + +Lemuel did not hesitate about this. “In the city! They haven't got any +idea in the country what's done to help folks along in the city!” + +“Is that so?” asked Evans. “It's against tradition,” he suggested. + +“Yes, I know that,” Lemuel assented. “And in the country they think the +city is a place where nobody cares for you, and everybody is against +you, and wants to impose upon you. Well, when I first came to Boston,” + he continued with a consciousness of things that Evans did not betray +his own knowledge of, “I thought so too, and I had a pretty hard time +for a while. It don't seem as if people _did_ care for you, except +to make something out of you; but if any one happens to find out that +you're in trouble, there's ten times as much done for you in the city as +there is in the country.” + +“Perhaps that's because there are ten times as many to do it,” said +Evans, in the hope of provoking this impartial spirit further. + +“No, it isn't that altogether. It's because they've seen ten times as +much trouble, and know how to take hold of it better. I think our folks +in the country have been flattered up too much. If some of them +could come down here and see how things are carried on, they would be +surprised. They wouldn't believe it if you told them.” + +“I didn't know we were so exemplary,” said Evans. + +“Oh, city folks have their faults too,” said Lemuel, smiling in +recognition of the irony. + +“No! What?” + +Lemuel seemed uncertain whether to say it. “Well, they're too +aristocratic.” + +Evans enjoyed this frank simplicity. He professed not to understand, and +begged Lemuel to explain. + +“Well, at home, in the country, they mightn't want to do so much for +you, or be so polite about it, but they wouldn't feel themselves so much +above you. They're more on an equality. If I needed help, I'd rather be +in town; but if I could help myself, I'd just as soon be in the country. +Only,” he added, “there are more chances here.” + +“Yes, there _are_ more chances. And do you think it's better not to be +quite so kind, and to be more on an equality?” + +“Why, don't you?” demanded Lemuel. + +“Well, I don't know,” said Evans, with a whimsical affection of +seriousness. “Shouldn't you like an aristocracy if you could be one of +the aristocrats? Don't you think you're opposed to aristocracy because +you don't want to be under? I have spoken to be a duke when we get an +order of nobility, and I find that it's a great relief. I don't feel +obliged to go in for equality nearly as much as I used.” + +Lemuel shyly dropped the subject, not feeling himself able to cope +with his elder in these railleries. He always felt his heaviness and +clumsiness in talking with the editor, who fascinated him. He did not +know but he had said too much about city people being aristocratic. It +was not quite what he meant; he had really been thinking of Miss Carver, +and how proud she was, when he said it. + +Lately he had seemed to see a difference between himself and other +people, and he had begun to look for it everywhere, though when he spoke +to Evans he was not aware how strongly the poison was working in him. It +was as if the girl had made that difference; she made it again, whatever +it was, between herself and the black man who once brought her a note +and a bunch of flowers from one of her young lady pupils. She was very +polite to him, trying to put him at ease, just as she had been with +Lemuel that night. If he came into the dining-room to seat a transient +when Miss Carver was there, he knew that she was mentally making a +difference between him and the boarders. The ladies all had the custom +of bidding him good morning when they came in to breakfast, and they all +smiled upon him except Miss Carver; she seemed every morning as if more +surprised to see him standing there at the door and showing people to +their places: she looked puzzled, and sometimes she blushed, as if she +were ashamed for him. + +He had discovered, in fine, that there were sorts of honest work in the +world which one must not do if he would keep his self-respect through +the consideration of others. Once all work had been work, but now he +had found that there was work which was service, and that service was +dishonour. He had learned that the people who did this work were as +a class apart, and were spoken of as servants, with slight that was +unconscious or conscious, but never absent. + +Some of the ladies at the St. Albans had tried to argue with Lemuel +about his not taking the fees he refused, and he knew that they talked +him over. One day, when he was showing a room to a transient, he heard +one of them say to another in the next apartment, “Well, I did hate +to offer it to him, just as if he was a common servant;” and the other +said, “Well, I don't see what he can expect if he puts himself in the +place of a servant.” And then they debated together whether his quality +of clerk was sufficient to redeem him from the reproach of servitude; +they did not call his running the elevator anything, because a clerk +might do that in a casual way without loss of dignity; they alleged +other cases of the kind. + +His inner life became a turmoil of suspicions, that attached themselves +to every word spoken to him by those who must think themselves above +him. He could see now how far behind in everything Willoughby Pastures +was, and how the summer folks could not help despising the people that +took them to board, and waited on them like servants in cities. He +esteemed the boarders at the St. Albans in the degree that he thought +them enlightened enough to contemn him for his station; and he had his +own ideas of how such a person as Mr. Evans really felt toward him. He +felt toward him and was interested in his reading as a person might feel +toward and be interested in the attainments of some anomalous animal, a +learned pig, or something of that kind. + +He could look back, now, on his life at Miss Vane's, and see that he was +treated as a servant there,--a petted servant, but still a servant,--and +that was what made that girl behave so to him; he always thought of +Sibyl as that girl. + +He would have thrown up his place at once, though he knew of nothing +else he could do; he would have risked starving rather than keep it; +but he felt that it was of no use; that the stain of servitude was +indelible; that if he were lifted to the highest station, it would not +redeem him in Miss Carver's eyes. All this time he had scarcely more +than spoken with her, to return her good mornings at the dining-room +door, or to exchange greetings with her on the stairs, or to receive +some charge from her in going out, or to answer some question of hers +in coming in, as to whether any of the pupils who had lessons of her +had been there in her absence. He made these interviews as brief as +possible; he was as stiff and cold as she. + +The law-student, whose full name was Alonzo W. Berry, had one joking +manner for all manner of men and women, and Lemuel's suspicion could +not find any offensive distinction in it toward himself; but he disabled +Berry's own gentility for that reason, and easily learning much of the +law-student's wild past in the West from so eager an autobiographer, he +could not comfort himself with his friendship. While the student poured +out his autobiography without stint upon Lemuel, his shyness only +deepened upon the boy. There were things in his life for which he was in +equal fear of discovery: his arrest and trial in the police court, +his mother's queerness, and his servile condition at Miss Vane's. The +thought that Mr. Sewell knew about them all made him sometimes hate the +minister, till he reflected that he had evidently told no one of them. +But he was always trembling lest they should somehow become known at the +St. Albans; and when Berry was going on about himself, his exploits, his +escapes, his loves,--chiefly his loves,--Lemuel's soul was sealed within +him; a vision of his disgraces filled him with horror. + +But in the delight of talking about himself, Berry was apparently +unaware that Lemuel had not reciprocated his confidences. He celebrated +his familiarity with Miss Swan and her friend, though no doubt he had +the greater share of the acquaintance,--that was apt to be the case with +him,--and from time to time he urged Lemuel to come up and call on them +with him. + +“I guess they don't want _me_ to call,” said Lemuel with feeble +bitterness at last, one evening after an elaborate argument from Berry +to prove that Lemuel had the time, and that he just knew they would be +glad to see him. + +“Why?” demanded Berry, and he tried to get Lemuel's reason; but when +Lemuel had stated that belief, he could not have given the reason for it +on his death-bed. Berry gave the conundrum up for the time, but he did +not give Lemuel up; he had an increasing need of him as he advanced in +a passion for Miss Swan, which, as he frankly prophesied, was bound to +bring him to the popping-point sooner or later; he debated with himself +in Lemuel's presence all the best form's of popping, and he said that it +was simply worth a ranch to be able to sing to him, + + “She's a darling, + She's a daisy, + She's a dumpling, + She's a lamb,” + +and to feel that he knew who _she_ was. He usually sang this refrain to +Lemuel when he came in late at night after a little supper with some of +the fellows that had left traces of its cheer on his bated breath. +Once he came downstairs alone in the elevator, in his shirt-sleeves and +stocking-feet, for the purpose of singing it after Lemuel had thought +him in bed. + +Every Sunday afternoon during the winter Lemuel went to see Statira, +and sometimes in the evening he took her to church. But she could not +understand why he always wanted to go to a different church; she did not +see why he should not pick out one church and stick to it: the ministers +seemed to be all alike, and she guessed one was pretty near as good as +another. 'Manda Grier said she guessed they were all Lemuel to her; and +Statira said well, she guessed that was pretty much so. She no longer +pretended that he was not the whole world to her, either with him or +with 'Manda Grier; she was so happy from morning till night, day in and +day out, that 'Manda Grier said if she were in her place she should be +afraid something would happen. + +Statira worked in the box-factory now; she liked it a great deal better +than the store, and declared that she was ever so much stronger. The +cough lingered still, but none of them noticed it much; she called it +a cold, and said she kept catching more. 'Manda Grier told her that she +could throw it off soon enough if she would buy a few clothes for +warmth and not so many for looks; but they did not talk this over before +Lemuel. Before he came Statira took a soothing mixture that she got of +the apothecary, and then they were all as bright and gay as could be, +and she looked so pretty that he said he could not get used to it. The +housekeeping experiment was a great success; she and 'Manda Grier had +two rooms now, and they lived better than ever they had, for less money. +Of course, Statira said, it was not up to the St. Albans, which Lemuel +had told them of at first a little braggingly. In fact she liked to have +him brag of it, and of the splendours of his position and surroundings. +She was very curious, but not envious of anything, and it became a joke +with her and 'Manda Grier, who pretended to despise the whole affair. + +At first it flattered Lemuel to have her admire his rise in life so +simply and ardently; but after a while it became embarrassing, in +proportion as it no longer seemed so superb to him. She was always +wanting him to talk of it; after a few Sundays, with the long hours +they had passed in telling each other all they could think of about +themselves, they had not much else to talk of. Now that she had him to +employ her fancy, Statira no longer fed it on the novels she used to +devour. He brought her books, but she did not read them; she said that +she had been so busy with her sewing she had no time to read; and every +week she showed him some pretty new thing she had been making, and tried +it on for him to see how she looked in it. Often she seemed to care more +to rest with her head on his shoulder, and not talk at all; and for a +while this was enough for him too, though sometimes he was disappointed +that she did not even let him read to her out of the books she +neglected. She would not talk over the sermons they heard together; but +once when Mr. Evans offered him tickets for the theatre, and Lemuel +had got the night off and taken Statira, it seemed as if she would be +willing to sit up till morning and talk the play over. + +Nothing else ever interested her so much, except what one of the girls +in the box-factory had told her about going down to the beach, summers, +and waiting on table. This girl had been at Old Orchard, where they +had splendid times, with one veranda all to themselves and the +gentlemen-help; and in the afternoon the girls got together on the +beach--or the grass right in front of the hotel--and sewed. They got +nearly as much as they did in the box-factory; and then the boarders all +gave you something extra; some of them gave as much as a dollar a week +apiece. The head-waiter was a college student, and a perfect gentleman; +he was always dressed up in a dress-suit and a white silk neck-tie. +Statira said that next summer she wanted they should go off somewhere, +she and 'Manda Grier, and wait on table together; and she knew Lemuel +could easily get the head-waiter's place, after the St. Albans. She +should not want he should be clerk, because then they could not have +such good times, for they would be more separated. + +Lemuel heard her restively through, and then broke out fiercely and told +her that he had seen enough of waiting on table at the St. Albans for +him never to want her to do it; and that the boarders who gave money +to the waiters despised them for taking it. He said that he did not +consider just helping Mrs. Harmon out the same as being head-waiter, +and that he would not be a regular waiter for any money: he would rather +starve. + +Statira did not understand; she asked him meekly if he were mad at her, +he seemed so; and he had to do what he could to cheer her up. + +'Manda Grier took Statira's part pretty sharply. She said it was one +thing to live out in a private family--that _was_ a disgrace, if you +could keep the breath of life in you any other way--and it was quite +another to wait in an hotel; and she did not want to have any one hint +round that she would let Statira demean herself. Lemuel was offended by +her manner, and her assumption of owning Statira. She defended him, but +he could not tell her how he had changed; the influences were perhaps +too obscure for him to have traced them all himself; after the first +time he had hardly mentioned the art-student girls to her. There were a +great many things that Statira could not understand. She had been much +longer in the city than Lemuel, but she did not seem to appreciate the +difference between that and the country. She dressed very stylishly; no +one went beyond her in that; but in many things he could see that she +remained countrified. Once on a very mild April evening, when they were +passing through the Public Garden, she wished him to sit on a vacant +seat they came to. All the others were occupied by young couples who sat +with their arms around each other. + +“No, no!” shuddered Lemuel, “I don't want people should take you for one +of these servant-girls.” + +“Why, Lem, how proud you're getting!” she cried with easy acquiescence. +“You're awfully stuck up! Well, then, you've got to take a horse-car; I +can't walk any further.” + + + + +XIX. + + +Lemuel had found out about the art-students from Berry. He said they +were no relation to each other, and had not even been acquainted before +they met at the art-school; he had first met them at the St. Albans. +Miss Swan was from the western part of the State, and Miss Carver from +down Plymouth way. The latter took pupils, and sometimes gave lessons at +their houses; she was, to Berry's thinking, not half the genius and not +half the duck that Miss Swan was, though she was a duck in her way too. +Miss Swan, as nearly as he could explain, was studying art for the fun +of it, or the excitement, for she was well enough off; her father was a +lawyer out there, and Berry believed that a rising son-in-law in his own +profession would be just the thing for the old man's declining years. He +said he should not be very particular about settling down to practice +at once; if his wife wanted to go to Europe a while, and kind of tender +foot it round for a year or two in the art-centres over there, he would +let the old man run the business a little longer; sometimes it did an +old man good. There was no hurry; Berry's own father was not excited +about his going to work right away; he had the money to run Berry and a +wife too, if it came to that; Miss Swan understood that. He had not told +her so in just so many words, but he had let her know that Alonzo W. +Berry, senior, was not borrowing money at two per cent. a month any +more. He said he did not care to make much of a blow about that part of +it till he was ready to act, and he was not going to act till he had a +dead-sure thing of it; he was having a very good time as it went along, +and he guessed Miss Swan was too; no use to hurry a girl, when she was +on the right track. + +Berry invented these axioms apparently to put himself in heart; in the +abstract he was already courageous enough. He said that these Eastern +girls were not used to having any sort of attention; that there was +only about a tenth or fifteenth of a fellow to every girl, and that +it tickled one of them to death to have a whole man around. He was not +meanly exultant at their destitution. He said he just wished one of +these pretty Boston girls--nice, well dressed, cultured, and brought up +to be snubbed and neglected by the tenths and fifteenths of men they had +at home--could be let loose in the West, and have a regular round-up of +fellows. Or, no, he would like to have about five thousand fellows from +out there, that never expected a woman to look at them, unloaded in +Boston, and see them open their eyes. “Wouldn't one of 'em get home +alive, if kindness could kill 'em. I never saw such a place! I can't get +used to it! It makes me tired. _Any_ sort of fellow could get married in +Boston!” + +Berry made no attempt to reconcile his uncertainty as to his own chances +with this general theory, but he urged it to prove that Miss Swan and +Miss Carver would like to have Lemuel call; he said they had both said +they wished they could paint him. He had himself sustained various +characters in costume for them, and one night he pretended that they +had sent him down for Lemuel to help out with a certain group. But they +received him with a sort of blankness which convinced him that Berry had +exceeded his authority; there was a helplessness at first, and then an +indignant determination to save him from a false position even at their +own cost, which Lemuel felt rather than saw. Miss Carver was foremost +in his rescue; she devoted herself to this, and left Miss Swan to punish +Berry, who conveyed from time to time his sense that he was “getting +it,” by a wink to Lemuel. + +An observer with more social light might have been more puzzled to +account for Berry's toleration by these girls, who apparently associated +with him on equal terms. Since he was not a servant, he _was_ their +equal in Lemuel's eyes; perhaps his acceptance might otherwise be +explained by the fact that he was very amusing, chivalrously harmless, +and extremely kind-hearted and useful to them. One must not leave out of +the reckoning his open devotion for Miss Swan, which in itself would do +much to approve him to her, and commend him to Miss Carver, if she were +a generous girl, and very fond of her friend. It is certain that they +did tolerate Berry, who made them laugh even that night in spite of +themselves, till Miss Swan said, “Well, what's the use?” and stopped +trying to discipline him. After that they had a very sociable evening, +though Lemuel kept his distance, and would not let them include him, +knowing what the two girls really thought of him. He would not take part +in Berry's buffooneries, but talked soberly and rather austerely with +Miss Carver; and to show that he did not feel himself an inferior, +whatever she might think, he was very sarcastic about some of the +city ways and customs they spoke of. There were a good many books +about--novels mostly, but not the kind Statira used to read, and poems; +Miss Carver said she liked to take them up when she was nervous from her +work; and if the weather was bad, and she could not get out for a walk, +a book seemed to do her almost as much good. Nearly all the pictures +about in the room seemed to be Miss Swan's; in fact, when Lemuel asked +about them, and tried to praise them in such a way as not to show his +ignorance, Miss Carver said she did very little in colour; her lessons +were all in black and white. He would not let her see that he did not +know what this was, but he was ashamed, and he determined to find +out; he determined to get a drawing-book, and learn something about it +himself. To his thinking, the room was pretty harum-scarum. There +were shawls hung upon the walls, and rugs, and pieces of cloth, which +sometimes had half-finished paintings fastened to them; there were +paintings standing round the room on the floor, sometimes right side +out, and sometimes faced to the walls; there were two or three fleeces +and fox-pelts scattered about instead of a carpet; and there were two +easels, and stands with paints all twisted up in lead tubes on them. He +compared the room with Statira's, and did not think much of it at first. + +Afterwards it did not seem so bad: he began to feel its picturesqueness, +for he went there again, and let the girls sketch him. When Miss Swan +asked him that night if he would let them he wished to refuse; but she +seemed so modest about it, and made it such a great favour on his part, +that he consented; she said she merely wished to make a little sketch in +colour, and Miss Carver a little study of his head in black and white; +and he imagined it a trifling affair that could be despatched in a +single night. They decided to treat his head as a Young Roman head; and +at the end of a long sitting, beguiled with talk and with thoughtful +voluntaries from Berry on his banjo, he found that Miss Carver had +rubbed her study nearly all out with a piece of bread, and Miss Swan +said she should want to try a perfectly new sketch with the shoulders +draped; the coat had confused her; she would not let any one see what +she had done, though Berry tried to make her let him. + +Lemuel looked a little blank when she asked him for another sitting; but +Berry said, “Oh, you'll have to come, Barker. Penalty of greatness, +you know. Have you in Williams & Everett's window; notices in all the +papers. 'The exquisite studies, by Miss Swan and Miss Carver, of the +head of the gentlemanly and accommodating clerk of the St. Albans, as +a Roman Youth.' Chromoed as a Christmas card by Prang, and photograph +copies everywhere. You're all right, Barker.” + +One night Miss Swan said, in rapture with some momentary success, “Oh, +I'm perfectly in love with this head!” + +Berry looked up from his banjo, which he ceased to strum. “Hello, hello, +hel-_lo_!” + +Then the two broke into a laugh, in which Lemuel helplessly joined. + +“What--what is it?” asked Miss Carver, looking up absently from her +work. + +“Nothing; just a little outburst of passion from our young friend here,” + said Berry, nodding his head toward Miss Swan. + +“What does it mean, Mad?” asked Miss Carver in the same dreamy way, +continuing her work. + +“Yes, Madeline,” said Berry, “explain yourself.” + +“Mr. Berry!” cried Miss Swan warningly. + +“That's me; Alonzo W., Jr. Go on!” + +“You forget yourself,” said the girl, with imperfect severity. + +“Well, you forgot me first,” said Berry, with affected injury. “Ain't it +hard enough to sit here night after night, strumming on the old banjo, +while another fellow is going down to posterity as a Roman Youth with a +red shawl round his neck, without having to hear people say they're in +love with that head of his?” + +Miss Carver now stopped her work, and looked from her friend, with her +head bowed in laughter on the back of her hand, to that of Berry bent +in burlesque reproach upon her, and then at Lemuel, who was trying to +control himself. + +“But I can tell you what, Miss Swan; you spoke too late, as the man +said when he swallowed the chicken in the fresh egg. Mr. Barker has a +previous engagement. That so, Barker?” + +Lemuel turned fire-red, and looked round at Miss Carver, who met his +glance with her clear gaze. She turned presently to make some comment on +Miss Swan's sketch, and then, after working a little while longer, she +said she was tired, and was going to make some tea. + +The girls both pressed Lemuel to stay for a cup, but he would not; and +Berry followed him downstairs to explain and apologise. + +“It's all right,” said Lemuel. “What difference would it make to them +whether I was engaged or not?” + +“Well, I suppose as a general rule a girl would rather a fellow wasn't,” + philosophised Berry. He whistled ruefully, and Lemuel drawing a book +toward him in continued silence, he rose from the seat he had taken on +the desk in the little office, and said, “Well, I guess it'll all come +out right. Come to think of it, _I_ don't know anything about your +affairs, and I can tell 'em so.” + +“Oh, it don't matter.” + +He had pulled the book toward him as if he were going to read, but +he could not read; his head was in a whirl. After a first frenzy of +resentment against Berry, he was now angry at himself for having been +so embarrassed. He thought of a retort that would have passed it all off +lightly; then he reflected again that it was of no consequence to these +young ladies whether he was engaged or not, and at any rate it was +nobody's business but his own. Of course he was engaged to Statira, but +he had hardly thought of it in that way. 'Manda Grier had joked about +the time when she supposed she should have to keep old maid's hall +alone; when she first did this Lemuel thought it delightful, but +afterwards he did not like it so much; it began to annoy him that +'Manda Grier should mix herself up so much with Statira and himself. +He believed that Statira would be different, would be more like other +ladies (he generalised it in this way, but he meant Miss Swan and Miss +Carver), if she had not 'Manda Grier there all the time to keep her +back. He convinced himself that if it were not for 'Manda Grier, he +should have had no trouble in telling Statira that the art-students were +sketching him; and that he had not done so yet because he hated to have +'Manda ask her so much about them, and call them that Swan girl and that +Carver girl, as she would be sure to do, and clip away the whole evening +with her questions and her guesses. It was now nearly a fortnight +since the sketching began, and he had let one Sunday night pass without +mentioning it. He could not let another pass, and he knew 'Manda Grier +would say they were a good while about it, and would show her ignorance, +and put Statira up to asking all sorts of things. He could not bear +to think of it, and he let the next Sunday night pass without saying +anything to Statira. The sittings continued; but before the third Sunday +came Miss Swan said she did not see how she could do anything more +to her sketch, and Miss Carver had already completed her study. They +criticised each other's work with freedom and good humour, and agreed +that the next thing was to paint it out and rub it out. + +“No,” said Berry; “what you want is a fresh eye on it. I've worried over +it as much as you have,--suffered more, I believe,--and Barker can't +tell whether he looks like a Roman Youth or not. Why don't you have up +old Evans?” + +Miss Swan took no apparent notice of this suggestion; and Miss Carver, +who left Berry's snubbing entirely to her, said nothing. After a +minute's study of the pictures, Miss Swan suggested, “If Mr. Barker had +any friends he would like to show them to?” + +“Oh no, thank you,” returned Lemuel hastily, “there isn't anybody,” and +again he found himself turning very red. + +“Well, I don't know how we can thank you enough for your patience, Mr. +Barker,” said the girl. + +“Oh, don't mention it. I've--I've enjoyed it,” said Lemuel. + +“Game--every time,” said Berry; and their evening broke up with a laugh. + +The next morning Lemuel stopped Miss Swan at the door of the breakfast +room, and said, “I've been thinking over what you said last night, and +I _should_ like to bring some one--a lady friend of mine--to see the +pictures.” + +“Why, certainly, Mr. Barker. Any time. Some evening?” she suggested. + +“Should you mind it if I came to-morrow night?” he asked; and he thought +it right to remind her, “it's Sunday night.” + +“Oh, not at all! To-morrow night, by all means! We shall both be +at home, and very glad to see you.” She hurried after Miss Carver, +loitering on her way to their table, and Lemuel saw them put their heads +together, as if they were whispering. He knew they were whispering +about him, but they did not laugh; probably they kept themselves from +laughing. In coming out from breakfast, Miss Swan said, “I hope your +friend isn't _very_ critical, Mr. Barker?” and he answered confusedly, +“Oh, not at all, thank you.” But he said to himself that he did not care +whether she was trying to make fun of him or not, he knew what he had +made up his mind to do. + +Statira did not seem to care much about going to see the pictures, +when he proposed it to her the next evening. She asked why he had been +keeping it such a great secret, and he could not pretend, as he had once +thought he could, that he was keeping it as a surprise for her. “Should +_you_ like to see 'em, 'Manda?” she asked, with languid indifference. + +“I d' know as I care much about Lem's picture, s'long's we've got _him_ +around,” 'Manda Grier whipped out, “but I _should_ like t' see those +celebrated girls 't we've heard s' much about.” + +“Well,” said Statira carelessly, and they went into the next room to +put on their wraps. Lemuel, vexed to have 'Manda Grier made one of the +party, and helpless to prevent her going, walked up and down, wondering +what he should say when he arrived with this unexpected guest. + +But Miss Swan received both of the girls very politely, and chatted +with 'Manda Grier, whose conversation, in defiance of any sense of +superiority that the Swan girl or the Carver girl might feel, was +a succession of laconic snaps, sometimes witty, but mostly rude and +contradictory. + +Miss Carver made tea, and served it in some pretty cups which Lemuel +hoped Statira might admire, but she took it without noticing, and in +talking with Miss Carver she drawled, and said “N-y-e-e-e-s,” and “I +don't know as I d-o-o-o,” and “Well, I should think as mu-u-ch,” with +a prolongation of all the final syllables in her sentences which he had +not observed in her before, and which she must have borrowed for the +occasion for the gentility of the effect. She tried to refer everything +to him, and she and 'Manda Grier talked together as much as they could, +and when the others spoke of him as Mr. Barker, they called him Lem. +They did not look at anything, or do anything to betray that they found +the studio, on which Lemuel had once expatiated to them, different from +other rooms. + +At last Miss Swan abruptly brought out the studies of Lemuel's head, and +put them in a good light; 'Manda Grier and Statira got into the wrong +place to see them. + +'Manda blurted out, “Well, he looks 's if he'd had a fit of sickness in +_that_ one;” and perhaps, in fact, Miss Carver had refined too much upon +a delicate ideal of Lemuel's looks. + +“So he d-o-o-es!” drawled Statira. “And how funny he looks with that red +thing o-o-o-n!” + +Miss Swan explained that she had thrown that in for the colour, and that +they had been fancying him in the character of a young Roman. + +“You think he's got a Roman n-o-o-se?” asked Statira through her own. + +“I think Lem's got a kind of a pug, m'self,” said 'Manda Grier. + +“Well, 'Manda Grier!” said Statira. + +Lemuel could not look at Miss Carver, whom he knew to be gazing at the +two girls from the little distance to which she had withdrawn; Miss Swan +was biting her lip. + +“So that's the celebrated St. Albans, is it?” said 'Manda Grier, when +they got in the street. “Don't know 's I really ever expected to see +the inside 'f it. You notice the kind of oilcloth they had on that upper +entry, S'tira?” + +They did not mention Lemuel's pictures, or the artists; and he scarcely +spoke on the way home. + +When they parted, Statira broke out crying, and would not let him kiss +her. + + + + +XX. + + +“I'm afraid your little friend at the St. Albans isn't altogether happy +of late,” said Evans toward the end of what he called one of his powwows +with Sewell. Their talk had taken a vaster range than usual, and they +both felt the need, that people know in dealing with abstractions, of +finally getting the ground beneath their feet again. + +“Ah?” asked Sewell, with a twinge that allayed his satisfaction in this. +“What's the matter with him?” + +“Oh, the knowledge of good and evil, I suspect.” + +“I hope there's nothing wrong,” said Sewell anxiously. + +“Oh no. I used the phrase because it came easily. Just what I mean is +that I'm afraid his view of our social inequalities is widening and +deepening, and that he experiences the dissatisfaction of people who +don't command that prospect from the summit. I told you of his censure +of our aristocratic constitution?” + +“Yes,” said Sewell, with a smile. + +“Well, I'm afraid he feels it more and more. If I can judge from +the occasional distance and _hauteur_ with which he treats me, he is +humiliated by it. Nothing makes a man so proud as humiliation, you +know.” + +“That's true!” + +“There are a couple of pretty girls at the St. Albans, art-students, +who have been painting Barker. So I learn from a reformed cow-boy of +the plains who is with us as a law-student and is about with one of +the young ladies a good deal. They're rather nice girls; quite nice, in +fact; and there's no harm in the cow-boy, and a good deal of fun. But if +Barker had conceived of being painted as a social inferior, and had been +made to feel that he was merely a model; and if he had become at all +aware that one of the girls was rather pretty--they both are--” + +“I see!” + +“I don't say it's so. But he seems low-spirited. Why don't you come +round and cheer him up--get into his confidence--” + +“Get into the centre of the earth!” cried Sewell. “I never saw such an +inapproachable creature!” + +Evans laughed. “He _is_ rather remote. The genuine American youth is +apt to be so, especially if he thinks you mean him a kindness. But +there ought to be some way of convincing him that he need not feel any +ignominy in his employment. After so many centuries of Christianity and +generations of Democracy, it ought to be very simple to convince him +that there is nothing disgraceful in showing people to their places at +table.” + +“It isn't,” said the minister soberly. + +“No, it isn't,” said Evans. “I wonder,” he added thoughtfully, “why we +despise certain occupations? We don't despise a man who hammers stone +or saws boards; why should we despise a barber? Is the care of the +human head intrinsically less honourable than the shaping of such rude +material? Why do we still condemn the tailor who clothes us, and honour +the painter who portrays us in the same clothes? Why do we despise +waiters? I tried to make Barker believe that I respected all kinds of +honest work. But I lied; I despised him for having waited on table. +Why have all manner of domestics fallen under our scorn, and come to be +stigmatised in a lump as servants?” + +“Ah, I don't know,” said the minister. “There _is_ something in personal +attendance upon us that dishonours; but the reasons of it are very +obscure; _I_ couldn't give them. Perhaps it's because it's work that in +a simpler state of things each of us would do for himself, and in this +state is too proud to do.” + +“That doesn't cover the whole ground,” said Evans. + +“And you think that poor boy is troubled--is really suffering from a +sense of inferiority to the other young people?” + +“Oh, I don't say certainly. Perhaps not. But if he were, what should +you say was the best thing for him to do? Remain a servant; cast his +lot with these outcasts; or try to separate and distinguish himself from +them, as we all do? Come; we live in the world,--which isn't so bad, +though it's pretty stupid. He couldn't change it. Now, what ought he to +do?” + +Sewell mused a while without answering anything. Then he said with a +smile, “It's very much simpler to fit people for the other world than +for this, don't you think?” + +“Yes, it is. It was a cold day for the clergy when it was imagined that +they ought to do both.” + +“Well,” said Sewell, rising to follow his friend to the door, “I will +come to see Barker, and try to talk with him. He's a very complicated +problem. I supposed that I had merely his material prosperity to provide +for, after getting him down here, but if I have to reconcile him to the +constitution of society!----” + +“Yes,” said Evans. “I wish you'd let me know the result of your labours. +I think I could make a very incisive article on the subject. The topic +is always an attractive one. There is nobody who doesn't feel that +somebody else is taking on airs with him, and ought to have his comb +cut. Or, if you should happen to prove to Barker that his ignominy is in +accordance with the Development Theory, and is a necessary Survival, +or something of that sort, don't you see what a card it would be for us +with the better classes?” + +They went downstairs together, and at the street door Evans stopped +again. “Or, I'll tell you what. Make it a simple study of Barker's +mind--a sort of psychological interview, and then with what I've been +able to get from him we can present the impression that Boston makes +upon a young, fresh, shrewd mind. That would be something rather new, +wouldn't it? Come! the _Afternoon_ would make it worth your while. And +then you could work it into a sermon afterwards.” + +“You shameless reprobate!” said Sewell, laying his hand affectionately +on his friend's arm. + +There was nothing in Lemuel's case that seemed to him urgent, and he did +not go to see him at once. In the meantime, Fast Day came, and Lemuel +got away at last to pay his first visit home. + +“Seems to me ye ain't lookin' over and above well, Lem,” was the first +thing his mother said to him, even before she noticed how well he was +dressed. + +His new spring overcoat, another prize from the Misfit Parlours, and his +new pointed-toe shoes, and Derby hat, with the suit of clothes he had +kept so carefully all through the winter, were not the complete disguise +he had fancied they might be at Willoughby Pastures. The depot-master +had known him as soon as he got out of the cars, and ignored his +splendour in recognising him. He said, “Hello, Lem,” and had not time to +reconcile himself to the boy's changed appearance before Lemuel hurried +away with the bag he had bought so long before for the visit. He met +several people on his way home from the depot: two of them were women, +and one of these said she knew as soon as she looked at him who it was, +and the other said she should have known it was Lem Barker as far as she +could see him. She asked him if he was home for good now. + +His mother pushed back his thick hair with her hard old hand as she +spoke to him, and then she pressed his head down upon her neck, which +was mostly collar-bone. But Lemuel could hear her heart beat, and the +tears came into his eyes. + +“Oh, I'm all right, mother,” he said huskily, though he tried to say it +cheerfully. He let her hold his head there the longer because mixed with +his tenderness for her was a horror of her bloomers, which he was not at +once able to overcome. When he gained courage to look, he saw that she +had them on, but now he had the strength to bear it. + +“Ye had any breakfast?” she asked, and when he said that he had got a +cup of coffee at Fitchburg, she said, well, she must get him something, +and she drew him a cup of Japan tea, and made him some milk toast and +picked-fish, talking all the time, and telling him how his sister and +her husband had gone to the village to have one of her teeth drawn. They +had got along through the winter pretty well; but she guessed that they +would have had more to complain of if it had not been for him. This was +her way of acknowledging the help Lemuel had given them every week, +and it was casually sandwiched between an account of an Indian Spirit +treatment which Reuben had tried for his rheumatism, and a question +whether Lemuel had seen anything of that Mind Cure down to Boston. + +But when he looked about the room, and saw here and there the simple +comforts and necessaries which his money had bought the sick man and +the two helpless women, his heart swelled with joy and pride; and he +realised the pleasure we all feel in being a good genius. At times it +had come pretty hard to send the greater part of his week's wages home, +but now he was glad he had done it. The poor, coarse food which his +mother had served him as a treat; the low, cracked ceilings; the waving +floor, covered with rag carpet; the sagging doors, and the old-fashioned +trim of the small-paned windows, were all very different from the +luxurious abundance, the tesselated pavement, and the tapestry Brussels, +the lofty studding, and the black walnut mouldings of the St. Albans; +and Lemuel felt the difference with a curious mixture of pride and +remorse in his own escape from the meanness of his home. He felt the +self-reproach to which the man who rises without raising with him +all those dear to him is destined in some measure all his life. His +interests and associations are separated from theirs, but if he is not +an ignoble spirit, the ties of affection remain unweakened; he cares for +them with a kind of indignant tenderness, and calls himself to account +before them in the midst of pleasures which they cannot share, or even +imagine. + +Lemuel's mother did not ask him much about his life in Boston; she had +not the materials for curiosity about it; but he told her everything +that he thought she could understand. She recurred to his hopes when he +left home and their disappointment in Sewell, and she asked if +Lemuel ever saw him nowadays. She could not reconcile herself to +his reconciliation with Sewell, whom she still held to have behaved +treacherously. Then she went back to Lemuel's looks, and asked him if +he kept pretty well; and when he answered that he did, she smoothed with +her hand the knot between her eyes, and did not question him further. + +He had the whole forenoon with his mother, and he helped her to get the +dinner, as he used to do, pulling the stove-wood out of the snow-drift +that still embedded part of the wood-pile, though the snow was all gone +around Boston. It was thawing under the dull, soft April sky, and he saw +the first bluebird perched on the clothes-line when he went out for the +wood; his mother said there had been lots of them. He walked about the +place, and into the barn, taking in the forlornness and shabbiness; and +then he went up into the room over the shed, where he used to study and +write. His heart ached with self-pity. + +He realised as he had not done at a distance how dependent this wretched +home was upon him; and after meaning the whole morning to tell his +mother about Statira, he decided that he was keeping it from her, not +merely because he was ashamed to tell her that he was engaged, but +because it seemed such a crazy thing, for a person in his circumstances, +if it was really an engagement. He had not seen Statira since that night +when he brought her to look at the pictures the art-students had made of +him. He felt that he had not parted with her kindly, and he went to see +her the night before he started home, though it was not Sunday, but he +had found her door locked, and this made him angry with her, he could +not have said just why. If he told his mother about Statira now, what +should he tell her? He compromised by telling her about the two girls +that had painted his likeness. + +His mother seemed not to care a great deal about the pictures. She said, +“I don't want you should let any girl make a fool of you, Lem.” + +“Oh no,” he answered, and went and looked out of the window. + +“I don't say but what they're nice girls enough, but in your place you +no need to throw yourself away.” + +Lemuel thought of the awe of Miss Carver in which he lived, and the +difference between them; and he could have laughed at his mother's +ignorant pride. What would she say if she knew that he was engaged to a +girl that worked in a box-factory? But probably she would not think that +studying art and teaching it was any better. She evidently believed that +his position in the St. Albans was superior to that of Miss Carver. + +His sister and her husband came home before they had finished dinner. +His sister had her face all tied up to keep from taking cold after +having her tooth drawn, and Lemuel had to go out and help his rheumatic +brother-in-law put up the horse. When they came in, his brother-in-law +did not wash his hands before going to the table, and Lemuel could not +keep his eyes off his black and broken fingernails; his mother's and +sister's nails were black too. It must have been so when he lived at +home. + +His sister could not eat; she took some tea, and went to bed. His +brother-in-law pulled off his boots after dinner, and put up his +stocking-feet on the stove-hearth to warm them. + +There was no longer any chance to talk with his mother indoors, and he +asked her if she would not like to come out; it was very mild. She put +on her bonnet, and they strolled down the road. All the time Lemuel had +to keep from looking at her bloomers. When they met any one driving, he +had to keep himself from trying to look as if he were not with her, but +was just out walking alone. + +The day wore heavily away. His brother-in-law's rheumatism came on +toward evening, and his sister's face had swollen, so that it would not +do for her to go out. Lemuel put on some old clothes he found in his +room, and milked the cows himself. + +“Like old times, Lem,” said his mother, when he came in. + +“Yes,” he assented quietly. + +He and his mother had tea together, but pretty soon afterwards she +seemed to get sleepy; and Lemuel said he had been up early and he +guessed he would go to bed. His mother said she guessed she would go +too. + +After he had blown out his light, she came in to see if he were +comfortable. “I presume it seems a pretty poor place to you, Lem,” she +said, holding her lamp up and looking round. + +“I guess if it's good enough for you it is for me,” he answered +evasively. + +“No, it ain't,” she said. “I always b'en used to it, and I can see from +your talk that you've got used to something different already. Well, +it's right, Lem. You're a good boy, and I want you should get the good +of Boston, all you can. We don't any of us begrutch it to ye; and what +I came up to say now was, don't you scrimp yourself down there to send +home to us. We got a roof over our heads, and we can keep soul and body +together somehow; we always have, and we don't need a great deal. But I +want you should keep yourself nicely dressed down to Boston, so 't you +can go with the best; I don't want you should feel anyways meechin' on +account of your clothes. You got a good figure, Lem; you take after your +father. Sometimes I wish you was a little bigger; but _he_ wa'n't; and +he had a big spirit. He wa'n't afraid of anything; and they said if he'd +come out o' that battle where he was killed, he'd 'a' b'en a captain. He +was a good man.” + +She had hardly ever spoken so much of his father before; he knew now +by the sound of her voice in the dim room that the tears must be in her +eyes; but she governed herself and went on. + +“What I wanted to say was, don't you keep sendin' so much o' your money +home, child. It's yours, and I want you should have it; most of it goes +for patent medicines, anyway, when it gets here; we can't keep Reuben +from buying 'em, and he's always changin' doctors. And I want you should +hold yourself high, Lem. You're as good as anybody. And don't you go +with any girls, especially, that ain't of the best. You're gettin' to +that time o' life when you'll begin to think about 'em; but don't you go +and fall in love with the first little poppet you see, because she's got +pretty eyes and curly hair.” + +It seemed to Lemuel as if she must know about Statira, but of course she +did not. He lay still, and she went on. + +“Don't you go and get engaged, or any such foolishness in a hurry, Lem. +Them art-student girls you was tellin' about, I presume they're all +right enough; but you wait a while. Young men think it's a kind of +miracle if a girl likes 'em, and they're ready to go crazy over it; but +it's the most natural thing she can do. You just wait a while. When +you get along a little further, you can pick and choose for yourself. I +don't know as I should want you should marry for money; but don't you go +and take up with the first thing comes along, because you're afraid to +look higher. What's become o' that nasty thing that talked so to you at +that Miss Vane's?” + +Lemuel said that he had never seen Sibyl or Miss Vane since; but he did +not make any direct response to the anxieties his mother had hinted +at. Her pride in him, so ignorant of all the reality of his life in +the city, crushed him more than the sight and renewed sense of the mean +conditions from which he had sprung. What if he should tell her that +Miss Carver, whom she did not want him to marry in a hurry, regarded him +as a servant, and treated him as she would treat a black man? What if +she knew that he was as good as engaged to marry a girl that could no +more meet Miss Carver on the same level than she could fly? He could +only tell his mother not to feel troubled about him; that he was not +going to get married in any great hurry; and pretend to be sleepy and +turn his head away. + +She pulled the covering up round his neck and tucked it in with her +strong, rough old hand, whose very tenderness hurt. + +He had expected to stay the greater part of the next day, but he took an +earlier train. His sister was still laid up; she thought she must have +taken cold in her jaw; her husband, rumpled, unshaven, with a shawl over +his shoulders, cowered about the cook-stove for the heat. He began to +hate this poverty and suffering, to long for escape from it to the life +which at that distance seemed so rich and easy and pleasant; he trembled +lest something might have happened in his absence to have thrown him out +of his place. + +All the way to Boston he was under the misery of the home that he was +leaving; his mother's pride added to the burden of it. But when the +train drew in sight of the city, and he saw the steeples and chimneys, +and the thin masts of the ships printed together against the horizon, +his heart rose. He felt equal to it, to anything in it. + +He arrived in the middle of the afternoon, and he saw no one at the +hotel except the Harmons till toward dinner-time. Then the ladies coming +in from shopping had a word of welcome for him; some of them stopped and +shook hands at the office, and when they began to come down to dinner +they spoke to him, and there again some of them offered their hands; +they said it seemed an age since he had gone. + +The art-students came down with Berry, who shook hands so cordially with +him that perhaps they could not help it. Miss Carver seemed to hesitate, +but she gave him her hand too, and she asked, as the others had done, +whether he had found his family well. + +He did not know what to think. Sometimes he felt as if people were +trying to make a fool of him almost. He remained blushing and smiling +to himself after the last of them had gone in to dinner. He did not +know what Miss Carver meant, but her eyes seemed to have lost that cold +distance, and to have come nearer to him. + +Late at night Berry came to him where he sat at his desk. “Well, Barker, +I'm glad you're back again, old man. Feels as if you'd been gone a month +of Sundays. Didn't know whether we should have you with us this _first_ +evening.” + +Lemuel grew hot with consciousness, and did not make it better for +himself by saying, “I don't know what you mean.” + +“Well, I don't suppose I should in your _place_,” returned Berry. “It's +human nature. It's all right. What did the ladies think of the 'Roman +Youth' the other night? The distinguished artists weren't sure exactly, +and I thought I could make capital with one of 'em if I could find +out. Yes, that's my little game, Barker; that's what I dropped in for; +Bismarck style of diplomacy. I'll tell you why they want to know, if you +won't give me away: Miss Swan wanted to give her 'bit of colour'--that's +what she calls it--to one of the young ladies; but she's afraid she +didn't like it.” + +“I guess they liked it well enough,” said Lemuel, thinking with shame +that Statira had not had the grace to say a word of either of the +pictures; he attributed this to 'Manda Grier's influence. + +“Well that's good, so far as it goes,” said Berry. “But now, to come +down to particulars, what did they _say_? That's what Miss Swan will ask +_me_.” + +“I don't remember just what they said,” faltered Lemuel. + +“Well, they must have said something,” insisted Berry jocosely. “Give +a fellow some little clue, and I can piece it out for myself. What did +_she_ say? I don't ask which she _was_? but I have my suspicions. All +I want to know is what she _said_. Anything like beautiful middle +distance, or splendid chiaroscuro, or fine perspective, or exquisite +modelling? Come now! Try to think, Barker.” He gave Lemuel time, but to +no purpose. “Well,” he resumed, with affected dejection, “I'll have to +try to imagine it; I guess I can; I haven't worked my imagination much +since I took up the law. But look here, Barker,” he continued more +briskly, “now you open up a little. Here I've been giving you my +confidence ever since I saw you--forcing it on you; and you know just +how far I'm gone on Miss Swan, to a hundredth part of an inch; but I +don't know enough of your affections to swear that you've got any. Now, +which one is it? Don't be mean about it. I won't give you away. Honest +Injun!” + +Lemuel was goaded to desperation. His face burned, and the perspiration +began to break out on his forehead. He did not know how to escape from +this pursuit. + +“Which is it, Barker?” repeated his tormentor. “I know it's human nature +to deny it; though I never could understand why; if I was engaged, the +Sunday papers should have it about as quick!” + +“I'm _not_ engaged!” cried Lemuel. + +“You ain't?” yelled Berry. + +“No!” + +“Give me your hand! Neither am I!” + +He shook Lemuel's helpless hand with mock heroic fervour. “We are +brothers from this time forth, Barker! You can't imagine how closely +this tie binds you to me, Barker. Barker, we are one; with no particular +prospect, as far as I am concerned, of ever being more.” + +He offered to dramatise a burst of tears on Lemuel's shoulder; but +Lemuel escaped from him. + +“Stop! Quit your fooling! What if somebody should come in?” + +“They won't,” said Berry, desisting, and stretching himself at ease +in the only chair besides Lemuel's with which the office was equipped. +“It's too late for 'em. Now o'er the one-half world nature seems +dead-ah, and wicked dreams abuse the curtained sleep-ah. We are safe +here from all intrusion, and I can lay bare my inmost thoughts to you, +Barker, if I happen to have any. Barker, I'm awfully glad you're not +engaged to either of those girls,--or both. And it's not altogether +because I enjoy the boon companionship of another unengaged man, but +it's partly because I don't think--shall I say it?” + +“Say what?” asked Lemuel, not without some prescience. + +“Well, you can forgive the brotherly frankness, if you don't like it. I +don't think they're quite up to you.” + +Lemuel gave a sort of start, which Berry interpreted in his own way. + +“Now, hold on! I know just how you feel. Been there myself. I have seen +the time too when I thought any sort of girl was too good for Alonzo W., +Jr. But I don't now. I think A. W., Jr., is good enough for the best. +I may be mistaken; I was the other time. But we all begin that way; and +the great object is not to keep on that way. See? Now, I suppose you're +in love--puppy love--with that little thing. Probably the first girl you +got acquainted with after you came to Boston, or may be a sweet survival +of the Willoughby Pastures period. All right. Perfectly natural, in +either case. But don't you let it go any further, my dear boy; old man, +don't you let it go any further. Pause! Reflect! Consider! Love wisely, +but not too well! Take the unsolicited advice of a sufferer.” + +Pride, joy, shame, remorse, mixed in Lemuel's heart, which eased itself +in an involuntary laugh at Berry's nonsense. + +“Now, what I want you to do--dear boy, or old man, as the case may +be--is to regard yourself in a new light. Regard yourself, for the sake +of the experiment, as too good for any girl in Boston. No? Can't fetch +it? Try again!” + +Lemuel could only laugh foolishly. + +“Well, now, that's singular,” pursued Berry. “I supposed you could have +done it without the least trouble. Well, let's try something a little +less difficult. Look me in the eye, and regard yourself as too good, for +example, for Miss Carver. Ha!” + +An angry flush spread over Lemuel's embarrassed face. “I wish you'd +behave yourself,” he stammered. + +“In any other cause I would,” said Berry solemnly. “But I must be cruel +to be kind. Seriously, old man, if you can't think yourself too good +for Miss Carver, I wish you'd think yourself good enough. Now, I'm not +saying anything against the Willoughby episode, mind. That has its place +in the wise economy of nature, just like anything else. But there ain't +any outcome in it for you. You've got a future before you, Barker, and +you don't want to go and load up with a love affair that you'll keep +trying to unload as long as you live. No, sir! Look at me! I know I'm +not an example in some things, but in this little business of correctly +placed affections I could give points to Solomon. Why am I in love with +M. Swan? Because I can't help it for one thing, and because for another +thing she can do more to develop the hidden worth and unsuspected powers +of A. W., Jr., than any other woman in the world. She may never feel +that it's her mission, but she can't shake my conviction that way; and +I shall stay undeveloped to prove that I was right. Well, now, what you +want, my friend, is development, and you can't get it where you've been +going. She hain't got it on hand. And what you want to do is not to +take something else in its place--tender heart, steadfast affections, +loyalty; they've got 'em at every shop in town; they're a drug in the +market. You've got to say 'No development, heigh? Well, I'll just look +round a while, and if I can't find it at some of the other stores I'll +come back and take some of that steadfast affection. You say it won't +come off? Or run in washing?' See?” + +“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” said Lemuel, trying to summon +an indignant feeling, and laughing with a strange pleasure at heart. +“You've got no right to talk to me that way. I want you should leave me +alone!” + +“Well, since you're so pressing, I will go,” said Berry easily. “But +if I find you at our next interview sitting under the shade of the +mustard-tree whose little seed I have just dropped, I shall feel that +I have not laboured in vain. 'She's a darling, she's a daisy, she's a +dumpling, she's a lamb!' I refer to Miss Swan, of course; but on other +lips the terms are equally applicable to Miss Carver; and don't you +forget it!” + +He swung out of the office with a mazurka step. His silk hat, gaily +tilted on the side of his head, struck against the door-jamb, and fell +rolling across the entry floor. Lemuel laughed wildly. At twenty these +things are droll. + + + + +XXI. + + +A week passed, and Lemuel had not tried to see Statira again. He said +to himself that even when he had tried to do what was right, and to show +those young ladies how much he thought of her by bringing her to see +their pictures, she had acted very ungratefully, and had as good as +tried to quarrel with him. Then, when he went to see her before his +visit home, she was out; she had never been out before when he called. + +Now, he had told Berry that they were not engaged. At first, this +shocked him as if it were a lie. Then he said to himself that he had +a right to make that answer because Berry had no right to ask the +questions that led to it. Then he asked himself if he really were +engaged to Statira. He had told her that he liked her better than any +one else in the world, and she had said as much to him. But he pretended +that he did not know whether it could be called an engagement. + +There was no one who could solve the question for him, and it kept +asking itself that whole week, and especially when he was with Miss +Carver, as happened two or three times through Berry's connivance. Once +he had spent the greater part of an evening in the studio, where he +talked nearly all the time with Miss Carver, and he found out that she +was the daughter of an old ship's captain at Corbitant; her mother was +dead, and her aunt had kept house for her father. It was an old square +house that her grandfather built, in the days when Corbitant had direct +trade with France. She described it minutely, and told how a French +gentleman had died there in exile at the time of the French revolution +and who was said to haunt the house; but Miss Carver had never seen any +ghosts in it. They all began to talk of ghosts and weird experiences; +even Berry had had some strange things happen to him in the West. Then +the talk broke in two again, and Lemuel sat apart with Miss Carver, who +told at length the plot of a story she had been reading; it was a story +called _Romola_; and she said she would lend it to Lemuel; she said she +did not see how any one could bear to be the least selfish or untrue +after reading it. That made Lemuel feel cold; but he could not break +away from her charm. She sat where the shaded lamp threw its soft light +on one side of her face; it looked almost like the face of a spirit, and +her eyes were full of a heavenly gentleness. + +Lemuel asked himself how he could ever have thought them proud eyes. He +asked himself at the same time and perpetually, whether he was really +engaged to Statira or not. He thought how different this evening was +from those he spent with her. She could not talk about anything but +him and her dress; and 'Manda Grier could not do anything but say saucy +things which she thought were smart. Miss Swan was really witty; it was +as good as the theatre to hear her and Berry going on together. Berry +was pretty bright; there was no denying it. He sang to his banjo that +night; one of the songs was Spanish; he had learned it in New Mexico. + +Lemuel began to understand better how such nice young ladies could go +with Berry. At first, after Berry talked so to him that night in the +office against Statira, he determined that he would keep away from him. +But Berry was so sociable and good-natured that he could not. The first +thing he knew, Lemuel was laughing at something Berry said, and then he +could not help himself. + +Berry was coming now, every chance he had, to talk about the +art-students. He seemed to take it for granted that Lemuel was as much +interested in Miss Carver as he was himself in Miss Swan; and Lemuel did +begin to speak of her in a shy way. Berry asked him if he had noticed +that she looked like that Spanish picture of the Virgin that Miss Swan +had pinned up next to the door; and Lemuel admitted that there was some +resemblance. + +“Notice those eyes of hers, so deep, and sorry for everybody in general? +If it was anybody in particular, _that_ fellow would be in luck. Oh, +she's a dumpling, there's no mistake about it! 'Nymph, in thy orisons be +all my sins remembered!' That's Miss Carver's style. She looks as if she +just _wanted_ to forgive somebody something. I'm afraid you ain't wicked +enough, Barker. Look here! What's the reason we can't make up a little +party for the Easter service at the Catholic cathedral Sunday night? The +girls would like to go, I know.” + +“No, no, I can't! I mustn't!” said Lemuel, and he remained steadfast in +his refusal. It would be the second Sunday night that he had not seen +Statira, and he felt that he must not let it pass so. Berry went off +to the cathedral with the art-students; and he kept out of the way till +they were gone. + +He said to himself that he would go a little later than usual to see +Statira, to let her know that he was not so very anxious; but when he +found her alone, and she cried on his neck, and owned that she had not +behaved as she should that night when she went to see the pictures, and +that she had been afraid he hated her, and was not coming any more, he +had stayed away so long, his heart was melted, and he did everything to +soothe and comfort her, and they were more loving together than they had +been since the first time. 'Manda Grier came in, and said through her +nose, like an old country-woman, “'The falling out of faithful friends, +renewing is of love!'” and Statira exclaimed in the old way, “'_Manda_!” + that he had once thought so cunning, and rested there in his arms with +her cheek tight pressed against his. + +She did not talk; except when she was greatly excited about something, +she rarely had anything to say. She had certain little tricks, poutings, +bridlings, starts, outcries, which had seemed the most bewitching things +in the world to Lemuel. She tried all these now, unaffectedly enough, in +listening to his account of his visit home, and so far as she could she +vividly sympathised with him. + +He came away heavy and unhappy. Somehow, these things no longer sufficed +for him. He compared this evening with the last he had spent with the +art-students, which had left his brain in a glow, and kept him awake +for hours with luminous thoughts. But he had got over that unkindness +to Statira, and he was glad of that. He pitied her now, and he said to +himself that if he could get her away from 'Manda Grier, and under the +influence of such girls as Miss Swan and Miss Carver, it would be much +better for her. He did not relent toward 'Manda Grier; he disliked +her more than ever, and in the friendship which he dramatised between +Statira and Miss Carver, he saw her cast adrift without remorse. + +Sewell had told him that he was always at leisure Monday night, and the +next evening Lemuel went to pay his first visit to the minister since +his first day in Boston. It was early, and Evans, who usually came that +evening, had not arrived yet, but Sewell had him in his thought when he +hurried forward to meet his visitor. + +“Oh, is it you, Mr. Barker?” he asked in a note of surprise. “I am glad +to see you. I had been intending to come and look you up again. Will +you sit down? Mr. Evans was here the other night, and we were talking of +you. I hope you are all well?” + +“Very well, thank you,” said Lemuel, taking the hand the minister +offered, and then taking the chair he indicated. Sewell did not know +exactly whether to like the greater ease which Lemuel showed in his +presence; but there was nothing presumptuous in it, and he could not +help seeing the increased refinement of the young man's beauty. The knot +between his eyes gave him interest, while it inflicted a vague pang upon +the minister. “I have been at home since I saw you.” Lemuel looked down +at his neat shoes to see if they were in fit state for the minister's +study-carpet, and Sewell's eye sympathetically following, wandered to +the various details of Lemuel's simple and becoming dress,--the light +spring suit which he had indulged himself in at the Misfit Parlours +since his mother had bidden him keep his money for himself and not send +so much of it home. + +“Ah, have you?” cried the minister. “I hope you found your people all +well? How is the place looking? I suppose the season isn't quite so +advanced as it is with us.” + +“There's some snow in the woods yet,” said Lemuel, laying the stick +he carried across the hat-brim on his knees. “Mother was well; but my +sister and her husband have had a good deal of sickness.” + +“Oh, I'm sorry for that,” said Sewell, with the general sympathy which +Evans accused him of keeping on tap professionally. “Well, how did +you like the looks of Willoughby Pastures compared with Boston? Rather +quieter, I suppose.” + +“Yes, it was quieter,” answered Lemuel. + +“But the first touch of spring must be very lovely there! I find myself +very impatient with these sweet, early days in town. I envy you your +escape to such a place.” + +Lemuel opposed a cold silence to the lurking didacticism of these +sentences, and Sewell hastened to add, “And I wish I could have had +your experience in contrasting the country and the town, after your long +sojourn here, on your first return home. Such a chance can come but once +in a lifetime, and to very few.” + +“There are some pleasant things about the country,” Lemuel began. + +“Oh, I am sure of it!” cried Sewell, with cheerful aimlessness. + +“The stillness was a kind of rest, after the noise here; I think any one +might be glad to get back to such a place----” + +“I was sure you would,” interrupted Sewell. + +“If he was discouraged or broken down any way,” Lemuel calmly added. + +“Oh!” said Sewell. “You mean that you found more sympathy among your old +friends and neighbours than you do here?” + +“No,” said Lemuel bluntly. “That's what city people think. But it's all +a mistake. There isn't half the sympathy in the country that there is +in the city. Folks pry into each other's business more, but they don't +really care so much. What I mean is that you could live cheaper, and +the fight isn't so hard. You might have to use your hands more, but +you wouldn't have to use your head hardly at all. There isn't so much +opposition--competition.” + +“Oh,” said Sewell a second time. “But this competition--this +struggle--in which one or the other must go to the wall, isn't that +painful?” + +“I don't know as it is,” answered Lemuel, “as long as you're young and +strong. And it don't always follow that one must go to the wall. I've +seen some things where both got on better.” + +Sewell succumbed to this worldly wisdom. He was frequently at the +disadvantage men of cloistered lives must be, in having his theories +in advance of his facts. He now left this point, and covertly touched +another that had come up in his last talk with Evans about Barker. +“But you find in the country, don't you, a greater equality of social +condition? People are more on a level, and have fewer artificial +distinctions.” + +“Yes, there's that,” admitted Lemuel. “I've worried a good deal about +that, for I've had to take a servant's place in a good many things, and +I've thought folks looked down on me for it, even when they didn't seem +to intend to do it. But I guess it isn't so bad as I thought when I +first began to notice it. Do you suppose it is?” His voice was suddenly +tense with personal interest in the question which had ceased to be +abstract. + +“Oh, certainly not,” said the minister, with an ease which he did not +feel. + +“I presume I had what you may call a servant's place at Miss Vane's,” + pursued Lemuel unflinchingly, “and I've been what you may call head +waiter at the St. Albans, since I've been there. If a person heard +afterwards, when I had made out something, if I ever did, that I had +been a servant, would they--they--despise me for it?” + +“Not unless they were very silly people,” said Sewell cordially, “I can +assure you.” + +“But if they had ever seen me doing a servant's work, wouldn't they +always remember it, no matter what I was afterwards?” Sewell hesitated, +and Lemuel hurried to add, “I ask because I've made up my mind not to be +anything but clerk after this.” + +Sewell pitied the simple shame, the simple pride. “That isn't the +question for you to ask, my dear boy,” he answered gently, and with +an affection which he had never felt for his charge before. “There's +another question, more important, and one which you must ask yourself: +'_Should I care if they did?_' After all, the matter's in your own +hands. Your soul's always your own till you do something wrong.” + +“Yes, I understand that.” Lemuel sat silently thoughtful, fingering his +hat-band. It seemed to Sewell that he wished to ask something else, and +was mustering his courage; but if this was so, it exhaled in a sigh, and +he remained silent. + +“I should be sorry,” pursued the minister, “to have you dwell upon such +things. There are certain ignoble facts in life which we can best combat +by ignoring them. A slight of almost any sort ceases to be when you +cease to consider it.” This did not strike Sewell as wholly true when he +had said it, and he was formulating some modification of it in his mind, +when Lemuel said-- + +“I presume a person can help himself some by being ashamed of caring for +such things, and that's what I've tried to do.” + +“Yes, that's what I meant----” + +“I guess I've exaggerated the whole thing some. But if a thing is so, +thinking it ain't won't unmake it.” + +“No,” admitted Sewell reluctantly. “But I should be sorry, all the same, +if you let it annoy--grieve you. What has pleased me in what I've been +able to observe in you, has been your willingness to take hold of any +kind of honest work. I liked finding you with your coat off washing +dishes, that morning, at the Wayfarer's Lodge, and I liked your going at +once to Miss Vane's in a--as you did----” + +“Of course,” Lemuel interrupted, “I could do it before I knew how it was +looked at here.” + +“And couldn't you do it now?” + +“Not if there was anything else.” + +“Ah, that's the great curse of it; that's what I deplore,” Sewell broke +out, “in our young people coming from the country to the city. They must +all have some genteel occupation! I don't blame them; but I would gladly +have saved you this experience--this knowledge--if I could. I felt that +I had done you a kind of wrong in being the means, however indirectly +and innocently, of your coming to Boston, and I would willingly have +done anything to have you go back to the country. But you seemed to +distrust me--to find something hostile in me--and I did not know how to +influence you.” + +“Yes, I understand that,” said Lemuel. “I couldn't help it, at first. +But I've got to see it all in a different light since then. I know that +you meant the best by me. I know now that what I wrote wasn't worth +anything, and just how you must have looked at it. I didn't know some +things then that I do now; and since I have got to know a little more I +have understood better what you meant by all you said.” + +“I am very glad,” said Sewell, with sincere humility, “that you have +kept no hard feeling against me.” + +“Oh, not at all. It's all right now. I couldn't explain very well that I +hadn't come to the city just to be in the city, but because I had to +do something to help along at home. You didn't seem to understand that +there wa'n't anything there for me to take hold of.” + +“No, I'm afraid I didn't, or wouldn't quite understand that; I was +talking and acting, I'm afraid, from a preconceived notion.” Lemuel made +no reply, not having learned yet to utter the pleasant generalities with +which city people left a subject; and after a while Sewell added, “I am +glad to have seen your face so often at church. You have been a great +deal in my mind, and I have wished to do something to make your life +happy, and useful to you in the best way, here, but I haven't quite +known how.” At this point Sewell realised that it was nearly eight +months since Lemuel had come to Boston, and he said contritely, “I have +not made the proper effort, I'm afraid; but I did not know exactly how +to approach you. You were rather a difficult subject,” he continued, +with a smile in which Lemuel consented to join, “but now that we've come +to a clearer understanding--” He broke off and asked, “Have you many +acquaintances in Boston?” + +Lemuel hesitated, and cleared his throat, “Not many.” + +Something in his manner prompted the minister to say, “That is such a +very important thing for young men in a strange place. I wish you +would come oftener to see us, hereafter. Young men, in the want of +companionship, often form disadvantageous acquaintances, which they +can't shake off afterwards, when they might wish to do so. I don't mean +evil acquaintance; I certainly couldn't mean that in your case; but +frivolous ones, from which nothing high or noble can come--nothing of +improvement or development.” + +Lemuel started at the word and blushed. It was Berry's word. Sewell put +his own construction on the start and the blush. + +“Especially,” he went on, “I should wish any young man whom I was +interested in to know refined and noble woman.” He felt that this +was perhaps in Lemuel's case too much like prescribing port wine and +carriage exercise to an indigent patient, and he added, “If you cannot +know such women, it is better to know none at all. It is not what women +say or do, so much as the art they have of inspiring a man to make the +best of himself. The accidental acquaintances that young people are so +apt to form are in most cases very detrimental. There is no harm in them +of themselves, perhaps, but all irregularity in the life of the young is +to be deplored.” + +“Do you mean,” asked Lemuel, with that concreteness which had alarmed +Sewell before, “that they ought to be regularly introduced?” + +“I mean that a young girl who allowed a young man to make her +acquaintance outside of the--the--social sanctions--would be apt to be a +silly or romantic person, at the best. Of course, there are exceptions. +But I should be very sorry if any young man I knew--no; why shouldn't I +say _you_, at once?--should involve himself in any such way. One thing +leads to another, especially with the young; and the very fact of +irregularity, of romance, of strangeness in an acquaintance, throws a +false glamour over the relation, and appeals to the sentiments in an +unwarranted degree.” + +“Yes, that is so,” said Lemuel. + +The admission stimulated Sewell in the belief that he had a clue in +his hand which it was his duty to follow up. “The whole affair loses +proportion and balance. The fancy becomes excited, and some of the most +important interests--the very most important interests of life--are +committed to impulse.” Lemuel remained silent, and it seemed the silence +of conviction. “A young man is better for knowing women older than +himself, more cultivated, devoted to higher things. Of course, young +people must see each other, must fall in love and get married; but +there need be no haste about such things. If there is haste--if there is +rashness, thoughtlessness--there is sure to be unhappiness. Men are apt +to outgrow their wives intellectually, if their wives' minds are set on +home and children, as they should be, and allowance for this ought to be +made, if possible. I would rather that in the beginning the wife should +be the mental superior. I hope it will be several years yet before you +think seriously of such things, but when the time comes, I hope you will +have seen some young girl--there are such for every one of us--whom it +is civilisation and enlightenment, refinement, and elevation, simply +to know. On the other hand, a silly girl's influence is degrading and +ruinous. She either drags those attached to her down to her own level; +or she remains a weight and a clog upon the life of a man who loves +her.” + +“Yes,” said Lemuel, with a sigh which Sewell interpreted as that of +relief from danger recognised in time. + +He pursued eagerly. “I could not warn any one too earnestly against such +an entanglement.” + +Lemuel rose and looked about with a troubled glance. Sewell continued: +“Any such marriage--a marriage upon any such conditions--is sure to be +calamitous; and if the conditions are recognised beforehand, it is sure +to be iniquitous. So far from urging the fulfilment of even a promise, +in such a case, I would have every such engagement broken, in the +interest of humanity--of morality----” + +Mrs. Sewell came into the room, and gave a little start of surprise, +apparently not mixed with pleasure, at seeing Lemuel. She had never been +able to share her husband's interest in him, while insisting upon his +responsibility; she disliked him not logically, but naturally, for the +wrong and folly which he had been the means of her husband's involving +himself in; Miss Vane's kindliness toward Lemuel, which still survived, +and which expressed itself in questions about him whenever she met the +minister, was something that Mrs. Sewell could not understand. She now +said, “Oh! Mr. Barker!” and coldly gave him her hand. “Have you been +well? Must you go?” + +“Yes, thank you. I have got to be getting back. Well, good evening.” He +bowed to the Sewells. + +“You must come again to see me,” said the minister, and looked at his +wife. + +“Yes, it has been a very long time since you were here,” Mrs. Sewell +added. + +“I haven't had a great deal of time to myself,” said Lemuel, and he +contrived to get himself out of the room. + +Sewell followed him down to the door, in the endeavour to say something +more on the subject his wife had interrupted, but he only contrived +to utter some feeble repetitions. He came back in vexation, which he +visited upon Lemuel. “Silly fellow!” he exclaimed. + +“What has he been doing now?” asked Mrs. Sewell, with reproachful +discouragement. + +“Oh, _I_ don't know! I suspect that he's been involving himself in some +ridiculous love affair!” Mrs. Sewell looked a silent inculpation. “It's +largely conjecture on my part, of course,--he's about as confiding as an +oyster!--but I fancy I have said some things in a conditional way that +will give him pause. I suspect from his manner that he has entangled +himself with some other young simpleton, and that he's ashamed of it, +or tired of it, already. If that's the case, I have hit the nail on the +head. I told him that a foolish, rash engagement was better broken than +kept. The foolish marriages that people rush into are the greatest bane +of life!” + +“And would you really have advised him, David,” asked his wife, “to +break off an engagement if he had made one?” + +“Of course I should! I----” + +“Then I am glad I came in in time to prevent your doing anything so +wicked.” + +“Wicked?” Sewell turned from his desk, where he was about to sit down, +in astonishment. + +“Yes! Do you think that nobody else is to be considered in such a thing? +What about the poor, silly girl if he breaks off with her? Oh, you men +are all alike! Even the best! You think it is a dreadful thing for a +young man to be burdened with a foolish love affair at the beginning +of his career; but you never think of the girl whose whole career is +spoiled, perhaps, if the affair is broken off! Hasn't she any right to +be considered?” + +“I should think,” said Sewell, distinctly daunted, “that they were +equally fortunate, if it were broken off.” + +“O my dear, you know you don't think anything of the kind! If he has +more mind than she has, and is capable of doing something in the world, +he goes on and forgets her; but she remembers him. Perhaps it's her one +chance in life to get married--to have a home. You know very well that +in a case of that kind--a rash engagement, as you call it--both are to +blame; and shall one do all the suffering? Very probably his fancy was +taken first, and he followed her up, and flattered her into liking him; +and now shall he leave her because he's tired of her?” + +“Yes,” said Sewell, recovering from the first confusion which his wife's +unexpected difference of opinion had thrown him into, “I should think +that was the very best reason in the world why he should leave her. +Would his marrying make matters worse or better if he were tired of her? +As for wickedness, I should feel myself guilty if I did not do my utmost +to prevent marriages between people when one or other wished to break +their engagement, and had not the moral courage to do so. There is no +more pernicious delusion than that one's word ought to be kept in such +an affair, after the heart has gone out of it, simply because it's been +given.” + +“David!” + +But Sewell was not to be restrained. “I am right about this, Lucy, +and you know it. Half the miserable marriages in the world could be +prevented, if there were only some frank and fearless adviser at hand to +say to the foolish things that if they no longer fully and freely love +each other they can commit no treason so deadly as being true to their +word. I wish,” he now added, “that I could be the means of breaking +off every marriage that the slightest element of doubt enters into +beforehand. I should leave much less work for the divorce courts. +The trouble comes from that crazy and mischievous principle of false +self-sacrifice that I'm always crying out against. If a man has ceased +to love the woman he has promised to marry--or _vice versa_--the best +possible thing they can do, the only righteous thing, is not to marry.” + +Mrs. Sewell could not deny this. She directed an oblique attack from +another quarter, as women do, while affecting not to have changed her +ground at all. “Very well, then, David, I wish you would have nothing to +do with that crazy and mischievous principle yourself. I wish you would +let this ridiculous Barker of yours alone from this time forth. He has +found a good place, where he is of use, and where he is doing very well. +Now I think your responsibility is fairly ended. I hope you won't meddle +with his love affairs, if he has any; for if you do, you will probably +have your hands full. He is very good looking, and all sorts of silly +little geese will be falling in love with him.” + +“Well, so far his love troubles are purely conjectural,” said Sewell +with a laugh. “I'm bound to say that Barker himself didn't say a word to +justify the conjecture that he was either in love or wished to be out of +it. However, I've given him some wholesome advice which he'll be all the +better for taking, merely as a prophylactic, if nothing else.” + +“I am tired of him,” sighed Mrs. Sewell. “Is he going to keep +perpetually turning up, in this way? I hope you were not very pressing +with him in your invitations to him to call again?” + +Sewell smiled. “You were not, my dear.” + +“You let him take too much of your time. I was so provoked, when I heard +you going on with him, that I came down to put an end to it.” + +“Well, you succeeded,” said Sewell easily. “Don't you think he's greatly +improved in the short time he's been in the city?” + +“He's very well dressed. I hope he isn't extravagant.” + +“He's not only well dressed, but he's beginning to be well spoken. I +believe he's beginning to observe that there is such a thing as not +talking through the nose. He still says, 'I don't know as,' but most +of the men they turn out of Harvard say that; I've heard some of the +professors say it.” + +Mrs. Sewell was not apparently interested in this. + + + + +XXII. + + +That night Lemuel told Mrs. Harmon that she must not expect him to +do anything thenceforward but look after the accounts and the general +management; she must get a head-waiter, and a boy to run the elevator. +She consented to this, as she would have consented to almost anything +else that he proposed. + +He had become necessary to the management of the St. Albans in every +department; and if the lady boarders felt that they could not now get on +without him, Mrs. Harmon was even more dependent. + +With her still nominally at the head of affairs, and controlling the +expenses as a whole, no radical reform could be effected. But there were +details of the outlay in which Lemuel was of use, and he had brought +greater comfort into the house for less money. He rejected her old +and simple device of postponing the payment of debt as an economical +measure, and substituted cash dealings with new purveyors. He gradually +but inevitably took charge of the storeroom, and stopped the waste +there; early in his administration he had observed the gross and foolish +prodigality with which the portions were sent from the carving-room, and +after replacing Mrs. Harmon's nephew there, he established a standard +portion that gave all the needed variety, and still kept the quantity +within bounds. It came to his taking charge of this department entirely, +and as steward he carved the meats, and saw that nothing was in a way to +become cold before he opened the dining-room doors as head-waiter. + +His activities promoted the leisure which Mrs. Harmon had always +enjoyed, and which her increasing bulk fitted her to adorn. Her nephew +willingly relinquished the dignity of steward. He said that his furnaces +were as much as he wanted to take care of; especially as in former +years, when it had begun to come spring, he had experienced a stress of +mind in keeping the heat just right, when the ladies were all calling +down the tubes for more of it or less of it, which he should now be very +glad not to have complicated with other cares. He said that now he could +look forward to the month of May with some pleasure. + +The guests, sensibly or insensibly, according to their several +temperaments, shared the increased ease that came from Lemuel's +management. The service was better in every way; their beds were +promptly made, their rooms were periodically swept; every night when +they came up from dinner they found their pitchers of ice-water at their +doors. This change was not accomplished without much of that rebellion +and renunciation which was known at the St. Albans as kicking. +Chambermaids and table-girls kicked, but they were replaced by Lemuel, +who went himself to the intelligence office, and pledged the new ones to +his rule beforehand. There was even some kicking among the guests, who +objected to the new portions, and to having a second bill sent them if +the first remained unpaid for a week; but the general sense of the hotel +was in Lemuel's favour. + +He had no great pleasure in the reform he had effected. His heart was +not in it, except as waste and disorder and carelessness were painful +to him. He suffered to promote a better state of things, as many a +woman whose love is for books or pictures or society suffers for the +perfection of her housekeeping, and sacrifices her taste to achieve it. +He would have liked better to read, to go to lectures, to hear sermons; +with the knowledge of Mr. Evans's life as an editor and the incentive +of a writer near him, he would have liked to try again if he could not +write something, though the shame of his failure in Mr. Sewell's eyes +had burned so deep. Above all, since he had begun to see how city people +regarded the kind of work he had been doing, he would have liked to get +out of the hotel business altogether, if he could have been sure of any +other. + +As the spring advanced his cares grew lighter. Most of the regular +boarders went away to country hotels and became regular boarders there. +Their places were only partially filled by transients from the South +and West, who came and went, and left Lemuel large spaces of leisure, in +which he read, or deputed Mrs. Harmon's nephew to the care of the office +and pursued his studies of Boston, sometimes with Mr. Evans,--whose +newspaper kept him in town, and who liked to prowl about with him, +and to frequent the odd summer entertainments,--but mostly alone. They +became friends after a fashion, and were in each other's confidence as +regarded their opinions and ideas, rather than their history; now and +then Evans dropped a word about the boy he had lost, or his wife's +health, but Lemuel kept his past locked fast in his breast. + +The art-students had gone early in the summer, and Berry had left Boston +for Wyoming at the end of the spring term of the law-school. He had not +been able to make up his mind to pop before Miss Swan departed, but he +thought he should fetch it by another winter; and he had got leave to +write to her, on condition, he said, that he should conduct the whole +correspondence himself. + +Miss Carver had left Lemuel dreaming of her as an ideal, yet true, with +a slow, rustic constancy, to Statira. For all that had been said and +done, he had not swerved explicitly from her. There was no talk of +marriage between them, and could not be; but they were lovers still, +and when Miss Carver was gone, and the finer charm of her society +was unfelt, he went back to much of the old pleasure he had felt in +Statira's love. The resentment of her narrow-mindedness, the shame for +her ignorance passed; the sense of her devotion remained. + +'Manda Grier wanted her to go home with her for part of the summer, but +she would not have consented if Lemuel had not insisted. She wrote him +back ill-spelt, scrawly little letters, in one of which she told him +that her cough was all gone, and she was as well as ever. She took a +little more cold when she returned to town in the first harsh September +weather, and her cough returned, but she said she did not call it +anything now. + +The hotel began to fill up again for the winter. Berry preceded the +art-students by some nervous weeks, in which he speculated upon what he +should do if they did not come at all. Then they came, and the winter +passed, with repetitions of the last winter's events, and a store of +common memories that enriched the present, and insensibly deepened the +intimacy in which Lemuel found himself. He could not tell whither the +present was carrying him; he only knew that he had drifted so far from +the squalor of his past, that it seemed like the shadow of a shameful +dream. + +He did not go to see Statira so often as he used; and she was patient +with his absences, and defended him against 'Manda Grier, who did not +scruple to tell her that she believed the fellow was fooling with her, +and who could not always keep down a mounting dislike of Lemuel in +his presence. One night towards spring, when he returned early from +Statira's, he found Berry in the office at the St. Albans. “That you, +old man?” he asked. “Well, I'm glad you've come. Just going to leave +a little Billy Ducks for you here, but now I needn't. The young ladies +sent me down to ask if you had a copy of Whittier's poems; they want to +find something in it. I told 'em Longfellow would do just as well, but +I couldn't seem to convince 'em. They say he didn't write the particular +poem they want.” + +“Yes, I've got Whittier's poems here,” said Lemuel, unlocking his desk. +“It belongs to Mr. Evans; I guess he won't care if I lend it.” + +“Well, now, I tell you what,” said Berry; “don't you let a borrowed book +like that go out of your hands. Heigh? You just bring it up yourself. +See?” He winked the eye next Lemuel with exaggerated insinuation. +“They'll respect you all the more for being so scrupulous, and I guess +they won't be very much disappointed on general principles if you come +along. There's lots of human nature in girls--the best of 'em. I'll +tell 'em I left you lookin' for it. I don't mind a lie or two in a good +cause. But you hurry along up, now.” + +He was gone before Lemuel could stop him; he could not do anything but +follow. + +It appeared that it was Miss Swan who wished to see the poem; she could +not remember the name of it, but she was sure she should know it if she +saw it in the index. She mingled these statements with her greetings to +Lemuel, and Miss Carver seemed as glad to see him. She had a little more +colour than usual, and they were all smiling, so that he knew Berry had +been getting off some of his jokes. But he did not care. + +Miss Swan found the poem as she had predicted, and, “Now all keep +still,” she said, “and I'll read it.” But she suddenly added, “Or no; +you read it, Mr. Barker, won't you?” + +“If Barker ain't just in voice to-night, I'll read it,” suggested Berry. + +But she would not let him make this diversion. She ignored his offer, +and insisted upon Lemuel's reading. “Jessie says you read beautifully. +That passage in _Romola_,” she reminded him; but Lemuel said it was only +a few lines, and tried to excuse himself. At heart he was proud of his +reading, and he ended by taking the book. + +When he had finished the two girls sighed. + +“Isn't it beautiful, Jessie?” said Miss Swan. + +“Beautiful!” answered her friend. + +Berry yawned. + +“Well, I don't see much difference between that and a poem of +Longfellow's. Why wouldn't Longfellow have done just as well? Honestly, +now! Why isn't one poem just as good as another, for all practical +purposes?” + +“It is, for some people,” said Miss Swan. + +Berry figured an extreme anguish by writhing in his chair. Miss Swan +laughed in spite of herself, and they began to talk in their usual +banter, which Miss Carver never took part in, and which Lemuel was quite +incapable of sharing. If it had come to savage sarcasm or a logical +encounter, he could have held his own, but he had a natural weight and +slowness that disabled him from keeping up with Berry's light talk; +he envied it, because it seemed to make everybody like him, and Lemuel +would willingly have been liked. + +Miss Carver began to talk to him about the book, and then about Mr. +Evans. She asked him if he went much to his rooms, and Lemuel said no, +not at all, since the first time Mr. Evans had asked him up. He said, +after a pause, that he did not know whether he wanted him to come. + +“I should think he would,” said Miss Carver. “It must be very gloomy +for him, with his wife such an invalid. He seems naturally such a gay +person.” + +“Yes, that's what I think,” said Lemuel. + +“I wonder,” said the girl, “if it seems to you harder for a naturally +cheerful person to bear things, than for one who has always been rather +melancholy?” + +“Yes, it does!” he answered with the pleasure and surprise young +people have in discovering any community of feeling; they have thought +themselves so utterly unlike each other. “I wonder why it should?” + +“I don't know; perhaps it isn't so. But I always pity the cheerful +person the most.” + +They recognised an amusing unreason in this, and laughed. Miss Swan +across the room had caught the name. + +“Are you talking of Mrs. Evans?” + +Berry got his banjo down from the wall, where Miss Swan allowed him to +keep it as bric-a-brac, and began to tune it. + +“I don't believe it agrees with this banjoseph being an object of +virtue,” he said. “What shall it be, ladies? Something light and gay, +adapted to disperse gloomy reflections?” He played a fandango. “How do +you like that? It has a tinge of melancholy in it, and yet it's lively +too, as a friend of mine used to say about the Dead March.” + +“Was his name Berry?” asked Miss Swan. + +“Not Alonzo W., Jr.,” returned Berry tranquilly, and he and Miss Swan +began to joke together. + +“I know a friend of Mr. Evans's,” said Lemuel to Miss Carver. “Mr. +Sewell. Have you ever heard him preach?” + +“Oh yes, indeed. We go nearly every Sunday morning.” + +“I nearly always go in the evening now,” said Lemuel. “Don't you like +him?” + +“Yes,” said the girl. “There's something about him--I don't know +what--that doesn't leave you feeling how bad you are, but makes you want +to be better. He helps you so; and he's so clear. And he shows that he's +had all the mean and silly thoughts that you have. I don't know--it's as +if he were talking for each person alone.” + +“Yes, that is exactly the way I feel!” Lemuel was proud of the +coincidence. He said, to commend himself further to Miss Carver, “I have +just been round to see him.” + +“I should think you would value his acquaintance beyond anything,” said +the girl. “Is he just as earnest and simple as he is in the pulpit?” + +“He's just the same, every way.” Lemuel went a little further; “I knew +him before I came to Boston. He boarded one summer where we lived.” + As he spoke he thought of the grey, old, unpainted house, and of his +brother-in-law with his stocking-feet on the stove-hearth, and his +mother's bloomers; he thought of his arrest, and his night in the +police-station, his trial, and the Wayfarer's Lodge; and he wondered +that he could think of such things and still look such a girl in the +face. But he was not without that strange joy in their being unknown to +her which reserved and latent natures feel in mere reticence, and which +we all experience in some degree when we talk with people and think of +our undiscovered lives. + +They went on a long time, matching their opinions and feelings about +many things, as young people do, and fancying that much of what they +said was new with them. When he came away after ten o'clock, he thought +of one of the things that Sewell had said about the society of refined +and noble women: it was not so much what they said or did that helped; +it was something in them that made men say and do their best, and help +themselves to be refined and noble men, to make the most of themselves +in their presence. He believed that this was what Miss Carver had done, +and he thought how different it was with him when he came away from an +evening with Statira. Again he experienced that compassion for her, in +the midst of his pride and exultation; he asked himself what he could do +to help her; he did not see how she could be changed. + +Berry followed him downstairs, and wanted to talk the evening over. + +“I don't see how I'm going to stand it much longer, Barker,” he said. +“I shall have to pop pretty soon or die, one of the two; and I'm afraid +either one 'll kill me. Wasn't she lovely to-night? Honey in the comb, +sugar in the gourd, _I_ say! I wonder what it is about popping, anyway, +that makes it so hard, Barker? It's simply a matter of business, if you +come to boil it down. You offer a fellow so many cattle, and let him +take 'em or leave 'em. But if the fellow happens to have on a long, +slim, olive-green dress of some colour, and holds her head like a whole +floral tribute on a stem, and _you_ happen to be the cattle you're +offering, you can't feel so independent about it, somehow. Well, what's +the use? She's a daisy, if ever there was one. Ever notice what a +peculiar blue her eyes are?” + +“Blue?” said Lemuel. “They're brown.” + +“Look here, old man,” said Berry compassionately, “do you think I've +come down here to fool away my time talking about Miss Carver? We'll +take some Saturday afternoon for that, when we haven't got anything else +to do; but it's Miss Swan that has the floor at present. What were +you two talking about over there, so long? I can't get along with Miss +Carver worth a cent.” + +“I hardly know what we did talk about,” said Lemuel dreamily. + +“Well, I've got the same complaint, I couldn't tell you ten words that +Madeline said--in thine absence let me call thee Madeline, sweet!--but I +knew it was making an immortal spirit of me, right straight along, every +time. The worst thing about an evening like this is, it don't seem to +last any time at all. Why, when those girls began to put up their hands +to hide their yawns, I felt like I was just starting in for a short +call. I wish I could have had a good phonograph around. I'd put it on my +sleepless pillow, and unwind its precious record all through the watches +of the night.” He imitated the thin phantasmal squeak of the instrument +in repeating a number of Miss Swan's characteristic phrases. “Yes, sir, +a pocket phonograph is the thing I'm after.” + +“I don't see how you can talk the way you do,” said Lemuel, shuddering +inwardly at Berry's audacious freedom, and yet finding a certain comfort +in it. + +“That's just the way I felt myself at first. But you'll get over it +as you go along. The nicest thing about their style of angel is that +they're perfectly human, after all. You don't believe it now, of course, +but you will.” + +It only heightened Lemuel's conception of Miss Carver's character to +have Berry talk so lightly and daringly of her, in her relation to +him. He lay long awake after he went to bed, and in the turmoil of his +thoughts one thing was clear: so pure and high a being must never know +anything of his shameful past, which seemed to dishonour her through his +mere vicinity. He must go far from her, and she must not know why; +but long afterwards Mr. Sewell would tell her, and then she would +understand. He owed her this all the more because he could see now that +she was not one of the silly persons, as Mr. Sewell called them, who +would think meanly of him for having in his ignorance and inexperience, +done a servant's work. His mind had changed about that, and he wondered +that he could ever have suspected her of such a thing. + +About noon the next day the street door was opened hesitatingly, as if +by some one not used to the place; and when Lemuel looked up from the +menus he was writing, he saw the figure of one of those tramps who from +time to time presented themselves and pretended to want work. He scanned +the vagabond sharply, as he stood moulding a soft hat on his hands, and +trying to superinduce an air of piteous appeal upon the natural gaiety +of his swarthy face. “Well! what's wanted?” + +A dawning conjecture that had flickered up in the tramp's eyes flashed +into full recognition. + +“Why, mate!” + +Lemuel's heart stood still. “What--what do you want here?” + +“Why, don't you know me, mate?” + +All his calamity confronted Lemuel. + +“No,” he said, but nothing in him supported the lie he had uttered. + +“Wayfarer's Lodge?” suggested the other cheerfully. “Don't you +remember?” + +“No----” + +“I guess you do,” said the mate easily. “Anyway, I remember you.” + +Lemuel's feeble defence gave way. “Come in here,” he said, and he shut +the door upon the intruder and himself, and submitted to his fate. “What +is it?” he asked huskily. + +“Why, mate! what's the matter? Nobody's goin' to hurt you,” said the +other encouragingly. “What's your lay here?” + +“Lay?” + +“Yes. Got a job here?” + +“I'm the clerk,” said Lemuel, with the ghost of his former pride of +office. + +“Clerk?” said the tramp with good-humoured incredulity. “Where's your +diamond pin? Where's your rings?” He seemed willing to prolong the +playful inquiry. “Where's your patent leather boots?” + +“It's not a common hotel. It's a sort of a family hotel, and I'm the +clerk. What do you want?” + +The young fellow lounged back easily in his chair. “Why, I did drop +in to beat the house out of a quarter if I could, or may be ten cents. +Thank you, sir. God bless you, sir.” He interrupted himself to burlesque +a professional gratitude. “That style of thing, you know. But I don't +know about it now. Look here, mate! what's the reason you couldn't get +me a job here too? I been off on a six months' cruise since I saw you, +and I'd like a job on shore first rate. Couldn't you kind of ring me in +for something? I ain't afraid of work, although I never did pretend to +love it. But I should like to reform now, and get into something steady. +Heigh?” + +“There isn't anything to do--there's no place for you,” Lemuel began. + +“Oh, pshaw, now, mate, you think!” pleaded the other. “I'll take any +sort of a job; I don't care what it is. I ain't got any o' that false +modesty about me. Been round too much. And I don't want to go back to +the Wayfarer's Lodge. It's a good place, and I know my welcome's warm +and waitin' for me, between two hot plates; but the thing of it is, it's +demoralisin'. That's what the chaplain said just afore I left the--ship, +'n' I promised him I'd give work a try, anyway. Now you just think up +something! I ain't in any hurry.” In proof he threw his soft hat on the +desk, and took up one of the _menus_. “This your bill of fare? Well, +it ain't bad! Vurmiselly soup, boiled holibut, roast beef, roast turkey +with cranberry sauce, roast pork with apple sauce, chicken corquettes, +ditto patties, three kinds of pie; bread puddin', both kinds of sauce; +ice cream, nuts, and coffee. Why, mate!” + +Lemuel sat dumb and motionless. He could see no way out of the net that +had entangled him. He began feebly to repeat. “There isn't anything,” + when some one tried the door. + +“Mr. Barker!” called Mrs. Harmon. “You in there?” + +He made it worse by waiting a moment before he rose and opened the +door. “I didn't know I'd locked it.” The lie came unbidden; he groaned +inwardly to think how he was telling nothing but lies. Mrs. Harmon did +not come in. She glanced with a little question at the young fellow, who +had gathered his hat from the table, and risen with gay politeness. + +It was a crisis of the old sort; the elevator boy had kicked, and Mrs. +Harmon said, “I just stopped to say that I was going out and I could +stop at the intelligence office myself to get an elevator boy--” + +The mate took the word with a joyous laugh at the coincidence. “It's +just what me and Mr. Barker was talking about! I'm from up his way, and +I've just come down to Boston to see if I couldn't look up a job; and +he was tellin' me, in here, about your wantin' a telegraph--I mean a +elevator-boy, but he didn't think it would suit me. But I should like +to give it a try, anyway. It's pretty dull up our way, and I got to do +something. Mr. Barker 'll tell you who I am.” + +He winked at Lemuel with the eye not exposed to Mrs. Harmon, and gave +her a broad, frank, prepossessing smile. + +“Well, of course,” said Mrs. Harmon smoothly, “any friend of Mr. +Barker's----” + +“We just been talkin' over old times in here,” interrupted the mate. “I +guess it was me shoved that bolt in. I didn't want to have anybody see +me talkin' with him till I'd got some clothes that would be a little +more of a credit to him.” + +“Well, that's right,” said Mrs. Harmon appreciatively. “I always like +to have everybody around my house looking neat and respectable. I keep +a first-class house, and I don't have any but first-class help, and I +expect them to dress accordingly, from the highest to the lowest.” + +“Yes, ma'am,” said the mate, “that's the way I felt about it myself, me +and Mr. Barker both; and he was just tellin' me that if I was a mind to +give the elevator a try, he'd lend me a suit of his clothes.” + +“Very well, then,” said Mrs. Harmon; “if Mr. Barker and you are a mind +to fix it up between you----” + +“Oh, we are!” said the mate. “There won't be any trouble about that.” + +“I don't suppose I need to stop at the intelligence office. I presume +Mr. Barker will show you how to work the elevator. He helped us out with +it himself at first.” + +“Yes, that's what he said,” the other chimed in. “But I guess I'd better +go and change my clothes first. Well, mate,” he added to Lemuel, “I'm +ready when you're ready.” + +Lemuel rose trembling from the chair where he had been chained, as it +seemed to him, while the mate and Mrs. Harmon arranged their affair with +his tacit connivance. He had not spoken a word; he feared so much to +open his lips lest another lie should come out of them, that his sense +of that danger was hardly less than his terror at the captivity in which +he found himself. + +“Yes,” said Mrs. Harmon, “I'll look after the office till you get back. +Mr. Barker 'll show you where you can sleep.” + +“Thank you, ma'am,” said the mate, with gratitude that won upon her. + +“And I'm glad,” she added, “that it's a friend of Mr. Barker's that's +going to have the place. We think everything of Mr. Barker here.” + +“Well, you can't think more of him than what we do up home,” rejoined +the other with generous enthusiasm. + +In Lemuel's room he was not less appreciative. “Why, mate, it does me +good to see how you've got along. I got to write a letter home at once, +and tell the folks what friends you've got in Boston. I don't believe +they half understand it.” He smiled joyously upon Lemuel, who stood +stock still, with such despair in his face that probably the wretch +pitied him. + +“Look here, mate, don't you be afraid now! I'm on the reform lay with +all my might, and I mean business. I ain't a-goin' to do you any harm, +you bet your life. These your things?” he asked, taking Lemuel's winter +suit from the hooks where they hung, and beginning to pull off his coat. +He talked on while he changed his dress. “I was led away, and I got my +come-uppings, or the other fellow's comeuppings, for _I_ wa'n't to blame +any, and I always said so, and I guess the judge would say so too, if it +was to do over again.” + +A frightful thought stung Lemuel to life. “The judge? Was it a +passenger-ship?” + +The other stopped buttoning Lemuel's trousers round him to slap himself +on the thigh. “Why, mate! don't you know enough to know what a _sea +voyage_ is? Why, I've been down to the _Island_ for the last six months! +Hain't you never heard it called a sea voyage? Why, we _always_ come off +from a cruise when we git back! You don't mean to say you never _been_ +one?” + +“Oh, my goodness!” groaned Lemuel. “Have--have you been in prison?” + +“Why, of course.” + +“Oh, what am I going to do?” whispered the miserable creature to +himself. + +The other heard him. “Why, you hain't got to do anything! I'm on the +reform, and you might leave everything layin' around loose, and I +shouldn't touch it. Fact! You ask the ship's chaplain.” + +He laughed in the midst of his assertions of good resolutions, but +sobered to the full extent, probably, of his face and nature, and tying +Lemuel's cravat on at the glass, he said solemnly, “Mate, it's all +right. I'm on the reform.” + + + + +XXIII. + + +Lemuel's friend entered upon his duties with what may also be called +artistic zeal. He showed a masterly touch in managing the elevator from +the first trip. He was ready, cheerful, and obliging; he lacked nothing +but a little more reluctance and a Seaside Library novel to be a perfect +elevator-boy. + +The ladies liked him at once; he was so pleasant and talkative, and so +full of pride in Lemuel that they could not help liking him; and several +of them promptly reached that stage of confidence where they told him, +as an old friend of Lemuel's, they thought Lemuel read too much, and was +going to kill himself if he kept on a great deal longer. The mate said +he thought so too, and had noticed how bad Lemuel looked the minute he +set eyes on him. But he asked what was the use? He had said everything +he could to him about it. He was always just so, up at home. As he found +opportunity he did what he could to console Lemuel with furtive winks +and nods. + +Lemuel dragged absently and haggardly through the day. In the evening he +told Mrs. Harmon that he had to go round and see Mr. Sewell a moment. + +It was then nine o'clock, and she readily assented; she guessed Mr. +Williams--he had told her his name was Williams--could look after the +office while he was gone. Mr. Williams was generously glad to do so. +Behind Mrs. Harmon's smooth large form, he playfully threatened her +with his hand levelled at his shoulder; but even this failed to gladden +Lemuel. + +It was half-past nine when he reached the minister's house, and the maid +had a visible reluctance at the door in owning that Mr. Sewell was at +home. Mrs. Sewell had instructed her not to be too eagerly candid with +people who came so late; but he was admitted, and Sewell came down from +his study to see him in the reception-room. + +“What is the matter?” he asked at once, when he caught sight of Lemuel's +face; “has anything gone wrong with you, Mr. Barker?” He could not help +being moved by the boy's looks; he had a fleeting wish that Mrs. Sewell +were there to see him, and be moved too; and he prepared himself as he +might to treat the trouble which he now expected to be poured out. + +“Yes,” said Lemuel, “I want to tell you; I want you to tell me what to +do.” + +When he had put the case fully before the minister, his listener was +aware of wishing that it had been a love-trouble, such as he foreboded +at first. + +He drew a long and deep breath, and before he began to speak he searched +himself for some comfort or encouragement, while Lemuel anxiously +scanned his face. + +“Yes--yes! I see your--difficulty,” he began, making the futile attempt +to disown any share in it. “But perhaps--perhaps it isn't so bad as it +seems. Perhaps no harm will come. Perhaps he really means to do well; +and if you are vigilant in--in keeping him out of temptation----” Sewell +stopped, sensible that he was not coming to anything, and rubbed his +forehead. + +“Do you think,” asked Lemuel, dry mouthed with misery, “that I ought to +have told Mrs. Harmon at once?” + +“Why, it is always best to be truthful and above-board--as a principle,” + said the minister, feeling himself somehow dragged from his moorings. + +“Then I had better do it yet!” + +“Yes,” said Sewell, and he paused. “Yes. That is to say--As the +mischief is done--Perhaps--perhaps there is no haste. If you exercise +vigilance--But if he has been in prison--Do you know what he was in +for?” + +“No. I didn't know he had been in at all till we got to my room. And +then I couldn't ask him--I was afraid to.” + +“Yes,” said Sewell, kindly if helplessly. + +“I was afraid, if I sent him off--or tried to--that he would tell about +my being in the Wayfarer's Lodge that night, and they would think I had +been a tramp. I could have done it, but I thought he might tell some lie +about me; and they might get to know about the trial----” + +“I see,” said Sewell. + +“I hated to lie,” said Lemuel piteously, “but I seemed to have to.” + +There was another yes on the minister's tongue; he kept it back; but +he was aware of an instant's relief in the speculation--the question +presented itself abstractly--as to whether it was ever justifiable or +excusable to lie. Were the Jesuitical casuists possibly right in +some slight, shadowy sort? He came back to Lemuel groaning in spirit. +“No--no--no!” he sighed; “we mustn't admit that you _had_ to lie. We +must never admit that.” A truth flashed so vividly upon him that it +seemed almost escape. “What worse thing could have come from telling the +truth than has come from withholding it? And that would have been some +sort of end, and this--this is only the miserable beginning.” + +“Yes,” said Lemuel, with all desirable humility. “But I couldn't see it +at once.” + +“Oh, I don't blame you; I don't blame _you_,” said Sewell. “It was +a sore temptation. I blame _myself_!” he exclaimed, with more +comprehensiveness than Lemuel knew; but he limited his self-accusal by +adding, “I ought to have told Mrs. Harmon myself what I knew of your +history; but I refrained because I knew you had never done any harm, and +I thought it cruel that you should be dishonoured by your misfortunes in +a relation where you were usefully and prosperously placed; and so--and +so I didn't. But perhaps I was wrong. Yes, I was wrong. I have only +allowed the burden to fall more heavily upon you at last.” + +It was respite for Lemuel to have some one else accusing himself, and +he did not refuse to enjoy it. He left the minister to wring all the +bitterness he could for himself out of his final responsibility. The +drowning man strangles his rescuer. + +Sewell looked up, and loosened his collar as if really stifling. “Well, +well. We must find some way out of it. I will see--see what can be done +for you to-morrow.” + +Lemuel recognised his dismissal. “If you say so, Mr. Sewell, I will go +straight back and tell Mrs. Harmon all about it.” + +Sewell rose too. “No--no. There is no such haste. You had better leave +it to me now. I will see to it--in the morning.” + +“Thank you,” said Lemuel. “I hate to give you so much trouble.” + +“Oh,” said Sewell, letting him out at the street-door, and putting +probably less thought and meaning into the polite words than they had +ever contained before, “it's no trouble.” + +He went upstairs to his study, and found Mrs. Sewell waiting there. +“Well, _now_--what, David?” + +“Now what?” he feebly echoed. + +“Yes. What has that wretched creature come for now?” + +“You may well call him a wretched creature,” sighed Sewell. + +“Is he really engaged? Has he come to get you to marry him?” + +“I think he'd rather have me bury him at present.” Sewell sat down, and, +bracing his elbow on his desk, rested his head heavily on his hand. + +“Well,” said his wife, with a touch of compassion tempering her +curiosity. + +He began to tell her what had happened, and he did not spare himself in +the statement of the case. “There you have the whole affair now. And a +very pretty affair it is. But, I declare,” he concluded, “I can't see +that any one is to blame for it.” + +“No one, David?” + +“Well, Adam, finally, of course. Or Eve. Or the Serpent,” replied the +desperate man. + +Seeing him at this reckless pass, his wife forebore reproach, and asked, +“What are you going to do?” + +“I am going around there in the morning to tell Mrs. Harmon all about +Barker.” + +“She will send him away instantly.” + +“I dare say.” + +“And what will the poor thing do?” + +“Goodness knows.” + +“I'm afraid Badness knows. It will drive him to despair.” + +“Well, perhaps not--perhaps not,” sighed the minister. “At any rate, we +must not _let_ him be driven to despair. You must help me, Lucy.” + +“Of course.” + +Mrs. Sewell was a good woman, and she liked to make her husband feel it +keenly. + +“I knew that it must come to that,” she said. + +“Of course, we must not let him be ruined. If Mrs. Harmon insists upon +his going at once--as I've no doubt she will--you must bring him here, +and we must keep him till he can find some other home.” She waited, +and added, for a final stroke of merciless beneficence, “He can have +Alfred's room, and Alf can take the front attic.” + +Sewell only sighed again. He knew she did not mean this. + +Barker went back to the St. Albans, and shrunk into as small space in +the office as he could. He pulled a book before him and pretended to +read, hiding the side of his face toward the door with the hand that +supported his head. His hand was cold as ice, and it seemed to him as if +his head were in a flame. Williams came and looked in at him once, +and then went back to the stool which he occupied just outside the +elevator-shaft when not running it. He whistled softly between his +teeth, with intervals of respectful silence, and then went on whistling +in absence of any whom it might offend. + +Suddenly a muffled clamour made itself heard from the depths of the +dining-room, like that noise of voices which is heard behind the scenes +at the theatre when an armed mob is about to burst upon the stage. Irish +tones, high, windy, and angry, yells, and oaths defined themselves, +and Mrs. Harmon came obesely hurrying from the dining-room toward the +office, closely followed by Jerry, the porter. When upon duty, or, as +some of the boarders contended, when in the right humour, he blacked the +boots, and made the hard-coal fires, and carried the trunks up and down +stairs. When in the wrong humour, he had sometimes been heard to swear +at Mrs. Harmon, but she had excused him in this eccentricity because, +she said, he had been with her so long. Those who excused it with her +on these grounds conjectured arrears of wages as another reason for her +patience. His outbreaks of bad temper had the Celtic uncertainty; the +most innocent touch excited them, as sometimes the broadest snub failed +to do so; and no one could foretell what direction his zigzag fury +would take. He had disliked Lemuel from the first, and had chafed at the +subordination into which he had necessarily fallen. He was now +yelling after Mrs. Harmon, to know if she was not satisfied with _wan_ +gutther-snoipe, that she must nades go and pick up another, and whether +the new wan was going to be too good to take prisints of money for his +worruk from the boarthers, and put all the rest of the help under the +caumpliment of refusin' ut, or else demanin' themselves by takin' ut? +If this was the case, he'd have her to know that she couldn't kape anny +other help; and the quicker she found it out the betther. Mrs. Harmon +was trying to appease him by promising to see Lemuel at once, and ask +him about it. + +The porter raised his voice an octave. “D' ye think I'm a loyar, domn +ye? Don't ye think I'm tellin' the thruth?” + +He followed her to the little office, whither she had retreated on a +purely mechanical fulfilment of her promise to speak to Lemuel, and +crowded in upon them there. + +“Here he is now!” he roared in his frenzy. “He's too good to take the +money that's offered to 'um! He's too good to be waither! He wannts +to play the gintleman! He thinks 'umself too good to do what the other +servants do, that's been tin times as lahng in the house!” + +At the noise some of the ladies came hurrying out of the public parlour +to see what the trouble was. The street-door opened, and Berry entered +with the two art-students. They involuntarily joined the group of +terrified ladies. + +“What's the row?” demanded Berry. “Is Jerry on the kick?” + +No one answered. Lemuel stood pale and silent, fronting the porter, who +was shaking his fist in his face. He had not heard anything definite in +the outrage that assailed him. He only conjectured that it was exposure +of Williams's character, and the story of his own career in Boston. + +“Why don't you fire him out of there, Barker?” called the law-student. +“Don't be afraid of him!” + +Lemuel remained motionless; but his glance sought the pitying eyes of +the assembled women, and then dropped before the amaze that looked at +him from those of Miss Carver. The porter kept roaring out his infamies. + +Berry spoke again. + +“Mrs. Harmon, do you want that fellow in there?” + +“No, goodness knows I don't, Mr. Berry.” + +“All right.” Berry swung the street-door open with his left hand, and +seemed with the same gesture to lay his clutch upon the porter's collar. +“Fire him out myself!” he exclaimed, and with a few swiftly successive +jerks and bumps the burly shape of the porter was shot into the night. +“I want you to get me an officer, Jerry,” he said, putting his head out +after him. “There's been a blackguard makin' a row here. Never mind your +hat! Go!” + +“Oh, my good gracious, Mr. Berry!” gasped Mrs. Harmon, “what have you +done?” “If it's back pay, Mrs. Harmon, we'll pass round the hat. Don't +you be troubled. That fellow wasn't fit to be in a decent house.” + +Berry stopped a moment and looked at Lemuel. The art-students did not +look at him at all; they passed on upstairs with Berry. + +The other ladies remained to question and to comment. Mrs. Harmon's +nephew, to whom the uproar seemed to have penetrated in his basement, +came up and heard the story from them. He was quite decided. He said +that Mr. Berry had done right. He said that he was tired of having folks +damn his aunt up hill and down dale; and that if Jerry had kept on a +great deal longer, he would have said something to him himself about it. + +The ladies justified him in the stand he took; they returned to the +parlour to talk it all over, and he went back to his basement. Mrs. +Harmon, in tears, retired to her room, and Lemuel was left standing +alone in his office. The mate stole softly to him from the background of +the elevator, where he had kept himself in safety during the outbreak. + +“Look here, mate. This thing been about your ringin' me in here?” + +“Oh, go away, go away!” Lemuel huskily entreated. + +“Well, that's what I intend to do. I don't want to stay here and git you +into no more trouble, and I know that's what's been done. You never done +me no harm, and I don't want to do you none. I'm goin' right up to your +room to git my clo'es, and then I'll skip.” + +“It won't do any good now. It'll only make it worse. You'd better stay +now. You must.” + +“Well, if you say so, mate.” + +He went back to his elevator, and Lemuel sat down at his desk, and +dropped his face upon his arms there. Toward eleven o'clock Evans came +in and looked at him, but without speaking; he must have concluded that +he was asleep; he went upstairs, but after a while he came down again +and stopped again at the office door, and looked in on the haggard boy, +hesitating as if for the best words. “Barker, Mr. Berry has been telling +me about your difficulty here. I know all about you--from Mr. Sewell.” + Lemuel stared at him. “And I will stand your friend, whatever people +think. And I don't blame you for not wanting to be beaten by that +ruffian; you could have stood no chance against him; and if you had +thrashed him it wouldn't have been a great triumph.” + +“I wish he had killed me,” said Lemuel from his dust-dry throat. + +“Oh no; that's foolish,” said the elder, with patient, sad kindness. +“Who knows whether death is the end of trouble? We must live things +down, not die them down.” He put his arm caressingly across the boy's +shoulder. + +“I can never live this down,” said Lemuel. He added passionately, “I +wish I could die!” + +“No,” said Evans. “You must cheer up. Think of next Saturday. It will +soon be here, and then you'll be astonished that you felt so bad on +Tuesday.” + +He gave Lemuel a parting pressure with his arm, and turned to go +upstairs. + +At the same moment the figure of Mrs. Harmon's nephew, distracted, +violent, burst up through the door leading to the basement. + +“Good heavens!” exclaimed the editor, “is Mr. Harmon going to kick?” + +“The house is on fire!” yelled the apparition. + +A thick cloud of smoke gushed out of the elevator-shaft, and poured +into the hall, which it seemed to fill instantly. It grew denser, and +in another instant a wild hubbub began. The people appeared from every +quarter and ran into the street, where some of the ladies began calling +up at the windows to those who were still in their rooms. A stout little +old lady came to an open window, and paid out hand over hand a small +cable on which she meant to descend to the pavement; she had carried +this rope about with her many years against the exigency to which she +was now applying it. Within, the halls and the stairway became the scene +of frantic encounter between wives and husbands rushing down to save +themselves, and then rushing back to save their forgotten friends. Many +appeared in the simple white in which they had left their beds, with the +addition of such shawls or rugs as chance suggested. A house was opened +to the fugitives on the other side of the street, and the crowd that had +collected could not repress its applause when one of them escaped from +the hotel-door and shot across. It applauded impartially men, women, and +children, and, absorbed in the spectacle, no one sounded the fire-alarm; +the department began to be severely condemned among the bystanders +before the engines appeared. + +Most of the ladies, in their escape or their purpose of rescue, tried +each to possess herself of Lemuel, and keep him solely in her interest. +“Mr. Barker! Mr. Barker! Mr. Barker!” was called for in various sopranos +and contraltos, till an outsider took up the cry and shouted, “Barker! +Barker! Speech! Speech!” This made him very popular with the crowd, +who in their enjoyment of the fugitives were unable to regard the fire +seriously. A momentary diversion was caused by an elderly gentleman who +came to the hotel-door, completely dressed except that he was in his +stockings, and demanded Jerry. The humourist who had called for a speech +from Lemuel volunteered the statement that Jerry had just gone round the +corner to see a man. “I want him,” said the old gentleman savagely. “I +want my boots; I can't go about in my stockings.” + +Cries for Jerry followed; but in fact the porter had forgotten all his +grudges and enmities; he had reappeared, in perfect temper, and had +joined Lemuel and Berry in helping to get the women and children out of +the burning house. + +The police had set a guard at the door, in whom Lemuel recognised +the friendly old officer who had arrested him. “All out?” asked the +policeman. + +The smoke, which had reddened and reddened, was now a thin veil drawn +over the volume of flame that burned strongly and steadily up the +well of the elevator, and darted its tongues out to lick the framework +without. The heat was intense. Mrs. Harmon came panting and weeping from +the dining-room with some unimportant pieces of silver, driven forward +by Jerry and her nephew. + +They met the firemen, come at last, and pulling in their hose, who began +to play upon the flames; the steam filled the place with a dense mist. + +Lemuel heard Berry ask him through the fog, “Barker, where's old Evans?” + +“Oh, I don't know!” he lamented back. + +“He must have gone up to get Mrs. Evans.” + +He made a dash towards the stairs. A fireman caught him and pulled him +back. “You can't go up; smoke's thick as hell up there.” But Lemuel +pulled away, and shot up the stairs. He heard the firemen stop Berry. + +“You can't go, I tell you! Who's runnin' this fire anyway, I'd like to +know?” + +He ran along the corridor which Evans's apartment opened upon. There +was not much smoke there; it had drawn up the elevator-well, as if in a +chimney. + +He burst into the apartment and ran to the inner room, where he had once +caught a glimpse of Mrs. Evans sitting by the window. + +Evans stood leaning against the wall, with his hand at his breast. He +panted, “Help her--help--” + +“Where _is_ she? Where _is_ she?” demanded Lemuel. + +She came from an alcove in the room, holding a handkerchief drenched +with cologne in her hand, which she passed to her husband's face. “Are +you better now? Can you come, dear? Rest on me!” + +“I'm--I'm all right! Go--go! I can get along--” + +“I'll go when _you_ go,” said Mrs. Evans. She turned to Lemuel. “Mr. +Evans fainted; but he is better now.” She took his hand with a tender +tranquillity that ignored all danger or even excitement, and gently +chafed it. + +“But come--come!” cried Lemuel. “Don't you know the house is on fire?” + +“Yes, I know it,” she replied. “We must get Mr. Evans down. You must +help me.” Lemuel had seldom seen her before; but he had so long heard +and talked of her hopeless invalidism that she was like one risen from +the dead, in her sudden strength and courage, and he stared at the +miracle of her restoration. It was she who claimed and bore the greater +share of the burden in getting her husband away. He was helpless; but +in the open air he caught his breath more fully, and at last could +tremulously find his way out of the sympathetic crowd. “Get a carriage,” + she said to Lemuel; and then she added, as it drove up and she gave an +address, “I can manage him now.” + +Evans weakly pressed Lemuel's hand from the seat to which he had helped +him, and the hack drove away. Lemuel looked crazily after it a moment, +and then returned to the burning house. + +Berry called to him from the top of the outside steps, “Barker, have you +seen that partner of yours?” + +Lemuel ran up to him. “No!” + +“Well, come in here. The elevator's dropped, and they're afraid he went +down with it.” + +“I know he didn't! He wouldn't be such a fool!” + +“Well, we'll know when they get the fire under.” + +“I thought I saw something in the elevator, and as long as you don't +know where he is--” said a fireman. + +“Well,” said Berry, “if you've got the upper hands of this thing, I'm +going to my room a minute.” + +Lemuel followed him upstairs, to see if he could find Williams. The +steam had ascended and filled the upper halls; little cascades of water +poured down the stairs, falling from step to step; the long strips of +carpeting in the corridors swam in the deluge which the hose had poured +into the building, and a rain of heavy drops burst through the ceilings. + +Most of the room-doors stood open, as the people had flung them wide in +their rush for life. At the door of Berry's room a figure appeared which +he promptly seized by the throat. + +“Don't be in a hurry!” he said, as he pushed it into the room. “I want +to see you.” + +It was Williams. + +“I want to see what you've got in your pockets. Hold on to him, Barker.” + +Lemuel had no choice. He held Williams by the arms while Berry went +through him, as he called the search. He found upon him whatever small +articles of value there had been in his room. + +The thief submitted without a struggle, without a murmur. + +Berry turned scornfully to Lemuel. “This a friend of yours, Mr. Barker?” + +Still the thief did not speak, but he looked at Lemuel. + +“Yes,” he dryly gasped. + +“Well!” said Berry, staring fiercely at him for a moment. “If it wasn't +for something old Evans said to me about you, a little while ago, I'd +hand you both over to the police.” + +Williams seemed to bear the threat with philosophic resignation, but +Lemuel shrank back in terror. Berry laughed. + +“Why, you are his pal. Go along! I'll get Jerry to attend to you.” + +Lemuel slunk downstairs with Williams. “Look here, mate,” said the +rogue; “I guess I ha'n't used you just right.” + +Lemuel expected himself to cast the thief off with bitter rejection. +But he heard himself saying hopelessly, “Go away, and try to behave +yourself,” and then he saw the thief make the most of the favour of +heaven and vanish through the crowd. + +He would have liked to steal away too; but he remained, and began +mechanically helping again wherever he saw help needed. By and by Berry +came out; Lemuel thought that he would tell some policeman to arrest +him; but he went away without speaking to any one. + +In an hour the firemen had finished their share of the havoc, and had +saved the building. They had kept the fire to the elevator-shaft and +the adjoining wood-work, and but for the water they had poured into the +place the ladies might have returned to their rooms, which were quite +untouched by the flames. As it was, Lemuel joined with Jerry in fetching +such things to them as their needs or fancies suggested; the refugees +across the way were finally clothed by their efforts, and were able +to quit their covert indistinguishable in dress from any of the other +boarders. + +The crowd began to go about its business. The engines had disappeared +from the little street with exultant shrieks; in the morning the +insurance companies would send their workmen to sweep out the extinct +volcano, and mop up the shrunken deluge, preparatory to ascertaining the +extent of the damage done; in the meantime the police kept the boys +and loafers out of the building, and the order that begins to establish +itself as soon as chaos is confessed took possession of the ruin. + +But it was all the same a ruin and a calamitous conclusion for the time +being. The place that had been in its grotesque and insufficient fashion +a home for so many homeless people was uninhabitable; even the Harmons +could not go back to it. The boarders had all scattered, but Mrs. Harmon +lingered, dwelling volubly upon the scene of disaster. She did not +do much else; she was not without a just pride in it, but she was not +puffed up by all the sympathy and consolation that had been offered her. +She thought of others in the midst of her own troubles, and she said +to Lemuel, who had remained working with Jerry under her direction in +putting together such things as she felt she must take away with her-- + +“Well, I don't know as I feel much worse about myself than I do about +poor Mr. Evans. Why, I've got the ticket in my pocket now that he gave +me for the Wednesday matinee! I do wonder how he's gettin' along! I +guess they've got you to thank, if they're alive to tell the tale. What +_did_ you do to get that woman out alive?” Lemuel looked blankly at her, +and did not answer. “And Mr. Evans too! You must have had your hands +full, and that's what I told the reporters; but I told 'em I guessed +you'd be equal to it if any one would. Why, I don't suppose Mrs. Evans +has been out of her room for a month, or hardly stepped her foot to the +floor. Well, I don't want to see many people look as he did when you +first got him out of the house.” + +“Well, I don't know as I want to see many more fires where I live,” said +her nephew, as if with the wish to be a little more accurate. + +Jerry asked Lemuel to watch Mrs. Harmon's goods while he went for a +carriage, and said sir to him. It seemed to Lemuel that this respect, +and Mrs. Harmon's unmerited praises, together with the doom that was +secretly upon him, would drive him wild. + + + + +XXIV. + + +The evening after the fire Mrs. Sewell sat talking it over with her +husband, in the light of the newspaper reports, which made very much +more of Lemuel's part in it than she liked. The reporters had flattered +the popular love of the heroic in using Mrs. Harmon's version of his +exploits, and represented him as having been most efficient and daring +throughout, and especially so in regard to the Evanses. + +“Well, that doesn't differ materially from what they told us +themselves,” said Sewell. + +“You know very well, David,” retorted his wife, “that there couldn't +have been the least danger at any time; and when he helped her to get +Mr. Evans downstairs, the fire was nearly all out.” + +“Very well, then; he would have saved their lives if it had been +necessary. It was a case of potential heroism, that contained all the +elements of self-sacrifice.” + +Mrs. Sewell could not deny this, but she was not satisfied. She was +silent a moment before she asked, “What do you suppose that wretched +creature will do now?” + +“I think very likely he will come to me,” answered Sewell. + +“I dare say.” The bell rang. “And I suppose that's he now!” + +They listened and heard Miss Vane's voice at the door, asking for them. + +Mrs. Sewell ran down the stairs and kissed her. “Oh, I'm _so_ glad you +came. Isn't it wonderful? I've just come from them, and she's taking the +whole care of him, as if he had always been the sick one, and she strong +and well.” + +“What do you mean, Lucy? He isn't ill!” + +“Who isn't?” + +“What are you talking about?” + +“About Mr. Evans--” + +“Oh!” said Miss Vane, with cold toleration. She arrived at the study +door and gave Sewell her hand. “I scarcely knew him, you know; I only +met him casually here. I've come to see,” she added nervously, “if you +know where Lemuel is, Mr. Sewell. Have you seen anything of him since +the fire? How nobly he behaved! But I never saw anything he wasn't equal +to!” + +“Mrs. Sewell objects to his saving human life,” said Sewell, not able to +deny himself. + +“I don't see how you can take the slightest interest in him,” began Mrs. +Sewell, saying a little more than she meant. + +“You would, my dear,” returned Miss Vane, “if you had wronged him as I +have.” + +“Or as I,” said Sewell. + +“I'm thankful I haven't, then,” said his wife. “It seems to me that +there's nothing else of him. As to his noble behaviour, it isn't +possible you believe those newspaper accounts? He didn't save any one's +life; there was no danger!” + +Miss Vane, preoccupied with her own ideal of the facts, stared at her +without replying, and then turned to Sewell. + +“I want to find him and ask him to stay with me till he can +get something else to do.” Sewell's eyebrows arched themselves +involuntarily. “Sibyl has gone to New York for a fortnight; I shall be +quite alone in the house, and I shall be very glad of his company,” + she explained to the eyebrows, while ignoring them. Her chin quivered a +little, as she added, “I shall be _proud_ of his company. I wish him to +understand that he is my _guest._” + +“I suppose I shall see him soon,” said Sewell, “and I will give him your +message.” + +“Will you tell him,” persisted Miss Vane, a little hysterically, +“that if he is in any way embarrassed, I insist upon his coming to me +immediately--at _once?_” + +Sewell smiled, “Yes.” + +“I know that I'm rather ridiculous,” said Miss Vane, smiling in +sympathy, “and I don't blame Mrs. Sewell for not entering into my +feelings. Nobody could, who hadn't felt the peculiar Lemuel glamour.” + +“I don't imagine he's embarrassed in any way,” said Sewell. “He seems to +have the gift of lighting on his feet. But I'll tell him how peremptory +you are, Miss Vane.” + +“Well, upon my word,” cried Mrs. Sewell, when Miss Vane had taken leave +of them in an exaltation precluding every recurrent attempt to enlighten +her as to the true proportions of Lemuel's part in the fire, “I really +believe people like to be made fools of. Why didn't _you_ tell her, +David, that he had done nothing?” + +“What would have been the use? She has her own theory of the affair. +Besides, he did do something; he did his duty, and my experience is that +it's no small thing to do. It wasn't his fault that he didn't do more.” + +He waited some days for Lemuel to come to him, and he inquired each time +he went to see the Evanses if they knew where he was. But they had not +heard of him since the night of the fire. + +“It's his shyness,” said Evans; “I can understand how if he thought he +had put me under an obligation he wouldn't come near me--and couldn't.” + +Evans was to go out of town for a little while; the proprietors of the +_Saturday Afternoon_ insisted upon his taking a rest, and they behaved +handsomely about his salary. He did not want to go, but his wife got him +away finally, after he had failed in two or three attempts at writing. + +Lemuel did not appear to Sewell till the evening of the day when the +Evanses left town. It seemed as if he had waited till they were gone, so +that he could not be urged to visit them. At first the minister scolded +him a little for his neglect; but Lemuel said he had heard about them, +and knew they were getting along all right. He looked as if he had not +been getting along very well himself; his face was thin, and had an air +at once dogged and apprehensive. He abruptly left talking of Evans, and +said, “I don't know as you heard what happened that night before the +fire just after I got back from your house?” + +“No, I hadn't.” + +Lemuel stopped. Then he related briefly and cleanly the whole affair, +Sewell interrupting him from time to time with murmurs of sympathy, and +“Tchk, tchk, tchk!” and “Shocking, shocking!” At the end he said, “I had +hoped somehow that the general calamity had swallowed up your particular +trouble in it. Though I don't know that general calamities ever do that +with particular troubles,” he added, more to himself than to Lemuel; and +he put the idea away for some future sermon. + +“Mr. Evans stopped and said something to me that night. He said we had +to live things down, and not die them down; he wanted I should wait till +Saturday before I was sure that I couldn't get through Tuesday. He said, +How did we know that death was the end of trouble?” + +“Yes,” said the minister, with a smile of fondness for his friend; “that +was like Evans all over.” + +“I sha'n't forget those things,” said Lemuel. “They've been in my head +ever since. If it hadn't been for them, I don't know what I should have +done.” + +He stopped, and after a moment's inattention Sewell perceived that he +wished to be asked something more. “I hope,” he said, “that nothing more +has been going wrong with you?” and as he asked this he laid his hand +affectionately on the young man's shoulder, just as Evans had done. +Lemuel's eyes dimmed and his breath thickened. “What has become of the +person--the discharged convict?” + +“I guess I had better tell you,” he said; and he told him of the +adventure with Berry and Williams. + +Sewell listened in silence, and then seemed quite at a loss what to say; +but Lemuel saw that he was deeply afflicted. At last he asked, lifting +his eyes anxiously to Sewell's, “Do you think I did wrong to say the +thief was a friend of mine, and get him off that way?” + +“That's a very difficult question,” sighed Sewell. “You had a duty to +society.” + +“Yes, I've thought of that since!” + +“If I had been in your place, I'm afraid I should be glad not to have +thought of it in time; and I'm afraid I'm glad that, as it is, it's too +late. But doesn't it involve you with him in the eyes of the other young +man?” “Yes, I presume it does,” said Lemuel. “I shall have to go away.” + +“Back to Willoughby Pastures?” asked Sewell, with not so much faith in +that panacea for Lemuel's troubles as he had once had. + +“No, to some other town. Do you know of anything I could get to do in +New York?” + +“Oh, no, no!” said the minister. “You needn't let this banish you. We +must seek this young Mr.--” + +“Berry.” + +“--Mr. Berry out, and explain the matter to him.” + +“Then you'll have to tell him all about me?” + +“Yes. Why not?” + +Lemuel was silent, and looked down. + +“In the meantime,” pursued the minister, “I have a message for you from +Miss Vane. She has heard, as we all have, of your behaviour during the +fire--” + +“It wasn't anything,” Lemuel interrupted. “There wasn't the least +danger; and Mrs. Evans did it all herself, anyway. It made me sick to +see how the papers had it. It's a shame!” + +Sewell smiled. “I'm afraid you couldn't make Miss Vane think so; but I +can understand what you mean. She has never felt quite easy about the +way--the terms--on which she parted with you. She has spoken to me +several times of it, and--ah--expressed her regret; and now, knowing +that you have been--interrupted in your life, she is anxious to have you +come to her--” + +An angry flash lighted up Lemuel's face. + +“I couldn't go back there! I wouldn't do any such work again.” + +“I don't mean that,” Sewell hastened to say “Miss Vane wished me to ask +you to come as her guest until you could find something--Miss Sibyl Vane +has gone to New York--” + +“I'm very much obliged to her,” said Lemuel, “but I shouldn't want to +give her so much trouble, or any one. I--I liked her very much, and I +shouldn't want she should think I didn't appreciate her invitation.” + +“I will tell her,” said the minister. “I had no great hope you would see +your way to accepting it. But she will be glad to know that you received +it.” He added, rather interrogatively than affirmatively, “In the right +spirit.” + +“Oh yes,” said Lemuel. “Please to tell her I did.” + +“Thank you,” said Sewell, with bland vagueness. “I don't know that I've +asked yet where you are staying at present?” + +“I'm at Mrs. Nash's, 13 Canary Place. Mrs. Harmon went there first.” + +“Oh! And are you looking forward to rejoining her in a new place?” + +“I don't know as I am. I don't know as I should want to go into an hotel +again.” + +Sewell manifested a little embarrassment. “Well, you won't forget your +promise to let me be of use to you--pecuniarily, if you should be in +need of a small advance at any time.” + +“Oh no! But I've got enough money for a while yet--till I can get +something to do.” He rose, and after a moment's hesitation he said, “I +don't know as I want you should say anything to that fellow about me. To +Mr. Berry, I mean.” + +“Oh! certainly not,” said Sewell, “if you don't wish it.” + +Whatever it was in that reticent and elusive soul which prompted his +request, the minister now felt that he could not know; but perhaps the +pang that Lemuel inflicted on himself had as much transport as anguish +in it. He believed that he had for ever cut himself off from the +companionship that seemed highest and holiest on earth to him; he should +never see that girl again; Berry must have told Miss Swan, and long +before this Miss Carver had shuddered at the thought of him as the +accomplice of a thief. But he proudly said to himself that he must let +it all go; for if he had not been a thief, he had been a beggar and a +menial, he had come out of a hovel at home, and his mother went +about like a scarecrow, and it mattered little what kind of shame she +remembered him in. + +He thought of her perpetually now, and, in those dialogues which we hold +in reverie with the people we think much about, he talked with her +all day long. At first, when he began to do this, it seemed a wrong to +Statira; but now, since the other was lost to him beyond other approach, +he gave himself freely up to the mystical colloquies he held with her, +as the devotee abandons himself to imagined converse with a saint. +Besides, if he was in love with Statira, he was not in love with Jessie; +that he had made clear to himself; for his feeling toward her was wholly +different. + +Most of the time, in these communings, he was with her in her own home, +down at Corbitant, where he fancied she had gone, after the catastrophe +at the St. Albans, and he sat there with her on a porch at the front +door, which she had once described to him, and looked out under the +silver poplars at the vessels in the bay. He formed himself some image +of it all from pictures of the seaside which he had seen; and there were +times when he tried to go back with her into the life she had led there +as a child. Perhaps his ardent guesses at this were as near reality +as anything that could be made to appear, for, after her mother and +brothers and sisters had died out of the wide old house, her existence +there was as lonely as if she had been a little ghost haunting it. She +had inherited her mother's temperament with her father's constitution; +she was the child born to his last long absence at sea and her mother's +last solitude at home. When he returned, he found his wife dead and his +maiden sister caring for the child in the desolate house. + +This sister of Captain Carver's had been disappointed, as the phrase +is, when a young girl; another girl had won her lover from her. Her +disappointment had hardened her to the perception of the neighbours; +and, by a strange perversion of the sympathies and faculties, she had +turned from gossip and censure, from religion, and from all the sources +of comfort that the bruised heart of Corbitant naturally turned to, and +found such consolation as came to her in books, that is to say romances, +and especially the romances that celebrated and deified such sorrow +as her own. She had been a pretty little thing when young, and Jessie +remembered her as pretty in her early old age. At heart she must still +have been young when her hair was grey, for she made a friend and +companion of the child, and they fed upon her romances together. When +the aunt died, the child, who had known no mother but her, was stricken +with a grief so deep and wild that at first her life and then her mind +was feared for. To get her away from the associations and influences +of the place, her father sent her to school in the western part of the +State, where she met Madeline Swan, and formed one of those friendships +which are like passions between young girls. During her long absence, +her father married again; and she was called home to his deathbed. He +was dead when she arrived; he had left a will that made her dependent on +her stepmother. When Madeline Swan wrote to announce that she was coming +to Boston to study art, Jessie Carver had no trouble in arranging with +her stepmother, by the sacrifice of her final claim on her father's +estate, to join her friend there, with a little sum of money on which +she was to live till she should begin to earn something. + +Her life had been a series of romantic episodes; Madeline said that if +it could be written out it would be fascinating; but she went to work +very practically, and worked hard. She had not much feeling for colour; +but she drew better than her friend, and what she hoped to do was to +learn to illustrate books. + +One evening, after a day of bitter-sweet reveries of Jessie, Lemuel went +to see Statira. She and 'Manda Grier were both very gay, and made him +very welcome. They had tea for him; Statira tried all her little arts, +and 'Manda Grier told some things that had happened in the box-factory. +He could not help laughing at them; they were really very funny; but he +felt somehow that it was all a preparation for something else. At last +the two girls made a set at him, as 'Manda Grier called it, and tried to +talk him into their old scheme of going to wait on table at some of the +country hotels, or the seaside. They urged that now, while he was out of +a place, it was just the time to look up a chance. + +He refused, at first kindly, and at last angrily; and he would have +gone away in this mood if Statira had not said that she would never say +another word to him about it, and hung upon his neck, while 'Manda Grier +looked on in sullen resentment. He came away sick and heavy at heart. +He said to himself that they would be willing to drag him into the mire; +they had no pride; they had no sense; they did not know anything and +they could not learn. He tried to get away from them to Miss Carver in +his thoughts; but the place where he had left her was vacant, and he +could not conjure her back. Out of the void, he was haunted by a look of +grieving reproach and wonder from her eyes. + + + + +XXV. + + +That evening Sewell went to see an old parishioner of his who lived on +the Hill, and who among his eccentricities had the habit of occupying +his city house all summer long, while his family flitted with other +people of fashion to the seashore. That year they talked of taking a +cottage for the first time since they had sold their own cottage at +Nahant, in a day of narrow things now past. The ladies urged that he +ought to come with them, and not think of staying in Boston now that he +had a trouble of the eyes which had befallen him, and Boston would be so +dull if he could not get about freely and read as usual. + +He answered that he would rather be blind in Boston than telescopic at +Beverly, or any other summer resort; and that as for the want of proper +care, which they urged, he did not think he should lack in his own +house, if they left him where he could reach a bell. His youngest +daughter, a lively little blonde, laughed with a cousin of his wife's +who was present, and his wife decorously despaired. The discussion of +the topic was rather premature, for they were not thinking of going to +Beverly before middle of May, if they took the cottage; but an accident +had precipitated it, and they were having it out, as people do, each +party in the hope that the other would yield if kept at long enough +before the time of final decision came. + +“Do you think,” said the husband and father, who looked a whimsical +tyrant at the worst, but was probably no easier to manage for his +whimsicality, “that I am going to fly in the face of prosperity, and +begin to do as other people wish because I'm pecuniarily able to do as I +please?” + +The little blonde rose decisively from the low chair where she had been +sitting. “If papa has begun to reason about it, we may as well yield +the point for the present, mamma. Come, Lily! Let us leave him to Cousin +Charles.” + +“Oh, but I say!” cried Cousin Charles, “if I'm to stay and fight it out +with him, I've got to know which side I'm on.” + +“You're on the right side,” said the young lady over her shoulder; “you +always are, Cousin Charles.” + +Cousin Charles, in the attempt to kiss his hand toward his flatterer, +pulled his glasses off his nose by their cord. “Bromfield,” he said, “I +don't see but this commits me against you.” And then, the ladies having +withdrawn, the two men put on that business air with which our sex tries +to atone to itself for having unbent to the lighter minds of the other; +heaven knows what women do when the men with whom they have been talking +go away. + +“If you should happen to stay in town,” continued the cousin +treacherously, “I shall be very glad, for I don't know but I shall be +here the greater part of the summer myself.” + +“I shall stay,” said the other, “but there won't be anything casual +about it.” + +“What do you hear from Tom?” asked the cousin, feeling about on the +mantel for a match. He was a full-bodied, handsome, amiable-looking old +fellow, whose breath came in quick sighs with this light exertion. +He had a blond complexion, and what was left of his hair, a sort of +ethereal down on the top of his head, and some cherished fringes at the +temples, was turning the yellowish grey that blond hair becomes. + +The other gentleman, stretched at ease in a deep chair, with one leg +propped on a cricket, had the distinction of long forms, which the years +had left in their youthful gracility; his snow-white moustache had been +allowed to droop over the handsome mouth, whose teeth were beginning to +go. “They're on the other side of the clock,” he said, referring to the +matches. He added, with another glance at his relative, “Charles, you +ought to bant. It's beginning to affect your wind.” + +“_Beginning!_ Your memory's going, Bromfield. But they say there's a new +system that allows you to eat everything. I'm waiting for that. In the +meantime, I've gone back to my baccy.” + +“They've cut mine off,” sighed the other. “Doesn't it affect your +heart?” + +“Not a bit. But what do you do, now you can't smoke and your eyes have +given out?” + +“I bore myself. I had a letter from Tom yesterday,” said the sufferer, +returning to the question that his cousin's obesity had diverted him +from. “He's coming on in the summer.” + +“Tom's a lucky fellow,” said the cousin. “I wish you had insisted on my +taking some of that stock of his when you bought in.” + +“Yes, you made a great mistake,” said the other, with whimsical +superiority. “You should have taken my advice. You would now be rolling +in riches, as I am, with a much better figure for it.” + +The cousin smoked a while. “Do you know, I think Tom's about the best +fellow I ever knew.” + +“He's a good boy,” said the other, with the accent of a father's pride +and tenderness. + +“Going to bring his pretty chickens and their dam?” asked the cousin, +parting his coat-skirts to the genial influence of the fire. + +“No; it's a short visit. They're going into the Virginia mountains for +the summer.” A manservant came in and said something in a low voice. +“Heigh? What? Why, of course! Certainly! By all means! Show him in! Come +in, parson; come in!” called the host to his yet unseen visitor, and he +held out his hand for Sewell to take when he appeared at the door. “Glad +to see you! I can't get up,--a little gouty to-day,--but Bellingham's on +foot. _His_ difficulty is sitting down.” + +Bellingham gave the minister a near-sighted man's glare through his +glasses, and then came eagerly forward and shook hands. “Oh, Mr. Sewell! +I hope you've come to put up some job on Corey. Don't spare him! With +Kanawha Paint Co. at the present figures he merits any demand +that Christian charity can make upon him. The man's prosperity is +disgraceful.” + +“I'm glad to find you here, Mr. Bellingham,” said Sewell, sitting down. + +“Oh, is it double-barrelled?” pleaded Bellingham. + +“I don't know that it's a deadly weapon of any kind,” returned the +minister. “But if one of you can't help me, perhaps the other can.” + +“Well, let us know what the job is,” said Corey. “We refuse to commit +ourselves beforehand.” + +“I shall have to begin at the beginning,” said Sewell warningly, “and +the beginning is a long way off.” + +“No matter,” said Bellingham adventurously. “The further off, the +better. I've been dining with Corey--he gives you a very good dinner +now, Corey does--and I'm just in the mood for a deserving case.” + +“The trouble with Sewell is,” said Corey, “that he doesn't always take +the trouble to have them deserving. I hope this is interesting, at +least.” + +“I suspect you'll find it more interesting than I shall,” said the +minister, inwardly preparing himself for the amusement which Lemuel's +history always created in his hearers. It seemed to him, as he began, +that he was always telling this story, and that his part in the affair +was always becoming less and less respectable. No point was lost upon +his hearers; they laughed till the ladies in the drawing-room above +wondered what the joke could be. + +“At any rate,” said Bellingham, “the fellow behaved magnificently at the +fire. I read the accounts of it.” + +“I think his exploits owe something to the imagination of the +reporters,” said Sewell. “He tells a different story himself.” + +“Oh, of course!” said Bellingham. + +“Well; and what else?” asked Corey. + +“There isn't any more. Simply he's out of work, and wants something to +do--anything to do--anything that isn't menial.” + +“Ah, that's a queer start of his,” said Bellingham thoughtfully. “I +don't know but I like that.” + +“And do you come to such effete posterity as we are for help in a case +like that?” demanded Corey. “Why, the boy's an Ancestor!” + +“So he is! Why, so he is--so he is!” said Bellingham, with delight in +the discovery. “Of course he is!” + +“All you have to do,” pursued Corey, “is to give him time, and he'll +found a fortune and a family, and his children's children will be +cutting ours in society. Half of our great people have come up in that +way. Look at the Blue-book, where our nobility is enrolled; it's the +apotheosis of farm-boys, mechanics, insidemen, and I don't know what!” + +“But in the meantime this ancestor is now so remote that he has nothing +to do,” suggested Sewell. “If you give him time you kill him.” + +“Well, what do you want me to do? Mrs. Corey is thinking of setting up +a Buttons. But you say this boy has a soul above buttons. And besides, +he's too old.” + +“Yes.” + +“Look here, Bromfield,” said Bellingham, “why don't you get _him_ to +read to you?” + +Corey glanced from his cousin to the minister, whose face betrayed that +this was precisely what he had had in his own mind. + +“Is that the job?” asked Corey. + +Sewell nodded boldly. + +“He would read through his nose, wouldn't he? I couldn't stand that. +I've stopped talking through mine, you know.” + +“Why, look here, Bromfield!” said Bellingham for the second time. “Why +don't you let me manage this affair for you? I'm not of much use in the +world, but from time to time I like to do my poor best; and this is just +one of the kind of things I think I'm fitted for. I should like to see +this young man. When I read in the newspapers of some fellow who has +done a fine thing, I always want to see what manner of man he is; and +I'm glad of any chance that throws him in my way.” + +“Your foible's notorious, Charles. But I don't see why you keep my +cigars all to yourself,” said Corey. + +“My dear fellow,” said Bellingham, making a hospitable offer of the +cigar-box from the mantel, “you said they'd cut you off.” + +“Ah, so they have. I forgot. Well, what's your plan?” + +“My plan,” said Bellingham, “is to have him to breakfast with me, and +interview him generally, and get him to read me a few passages, without +rousing his suspicions. Heigh?” + +“I don't know that I believe much in your plan,” said Corey. “I should +like to hear what my spiritual adviser has to say.” + +“I shouldn't know what to advise, exactly,” said Sewell. “But I won't +reject any plan that gives my client a chance.” + +“Isn't client rather euphuistic?” asked Corey. + +“It is, rather. But I've got into the habit of handling Barker very +delicately, even in thought. I'm not sure he'll come,” added Sewell, +turning to Bellingham. + +“Oh yes, he will,” said Bellingham. “Tell him it's business. There won't +be anybody there. Will nine be too late for him?” + +“I imagine he's more accustomed to half-past five at home, and seven +here.” + +“Well, we'll say nine, anyway. I can't imagine the cause that would get +me up earlier. Here!” He turned to the mantel and wrote an invitation +upon his card, and handed it to Sewell. “Please give him that from me, +and beg him to come. I really want to see him, and if he can't read well +enough for this fastidious old gentleman, we'll see what else he can +do. Corey tells me he expects Tom on this summer,” he concluded, in +dismissal of Lemuel as a topic. + +“Ah,” said Sewell, putting the card in his pocket, “I'm very glad to +hear that.” + +He had something, but not so much, of the difficulty in overcoming +Lemuel's reluctance that he had feared, and on the morning named Lemuel +presented himself at the address on Bellingham's card exactly at nine. +He had the card in his hand, and he gave it to the man who opened the +street door of the bachelors' apartment house where Bellingham lived. +The man read it carefully over, and then said, “Oh yes; second floor,” + and, handing it back, left Lemuel to wander upstairs alone. He was +going to offer the card again at Bellingham's door, but he had a dawning +misgiving. Bellingham had opened the door himself, and, feigning to +regard the card as offered by way of introduction, he gave his hand +cordially, and led him into the cozy room, where the table was already +laid for breakfast. + +“Glad to see you, glad to see you, Mr. Barker. Give me your coat. Ah, +I see you scorn the effeminacy of half-season things. Put your hat +anywhere. The advantage of bachelors' quarters is that you _can_ put +anything anywhere. We haven't a woman on the premises, and you can fancy +how unmolested we are.” + +Lemuel had caught sight of one over the mantel, who had nothing but her +water-colours on, and was called an “Etude;” but he no longer +trembled, for evil or for good, in such presences. “That's one of those +Romano-Spanish things,” said Bellingham, catching the direction of his +eye. “I forget the fellow's name; but it isn't bad. We're pretty snug +here,” he added, throwing open two doors in succession, to show the +extent of his apartment. + +“Here you have the dining-room and drawing-room and library in one; and +here's my bedroom, and here's my bath.” + +He pulled an easy-chair up toward the low fire for Lemuel. “But perhaps +you're hot from walking? Sit wherever you like.” + +Lemuel chose to sit by the window. “It's very mild out,” he said, and +Bellingham did not exact anything more of him. He talked at him, and +left Lemuel to make his mental inventory of the dense Turkey rugs on +the slippery hardwood floor, the pictures on the Avails, the deep, +leather-lined seats, the bric-a-brac on the mantel, the tall, coloured +chests of drawers in two corners, the delicate china and quaint silver +on the table. + +Presently steps were heard outside, and Bellingham threw open the door +as he had to Lemuel, and gave a hand to each of the two guests whom he +met on his threshold. + +“Ah, Meredith! Good morning, venerable father!” He drew them in. “Let +me introduce you to Mr. Barker, Mr. Meredith. Mr. Barker, the Rev. Mr. +Seyton. You fellows are pretty prompt.” + +“We're pretty hungry,” said Mr. Meredith. “I don't know that we should +have got here if we hadn't leaned up against each other as we came +along. Several policemen regarded us suspiciously, but Seyton's cloth +protected us.” + +“It was terrible, coming up Beacon Street with an old offender like +Meredith, at what he considered the dead hour of the night,” said Mr. +Seyton. “I don't know what I should have done if any one had been awake +to see us.” + +“You shall have breakfast instantly,” said Bellingham, touching an +annunciator, and awakening a distant electric titter somewhere. + +Mr. Seyton came toward Lemuel, who took the young Ritualist for a +Catholic priest, but was not proof against the sweet friendliness which +charmed every one with him, and was soon talking at more ease than he +had felt from all Bellingham's cordial intention. He was put at his +host's right hand when they sat down, and Mr. Seyton was given the foot, +so that they continued their talk. + +“Mr. Bellingham tells me you know my friend Sewell,” said the clergyman. + +Lemuel's face kindled. “Oh yes! Do you know him too?” + +“Yes, I've known him a long time. He's a capital fellow, Sewell is.” + +“I think he's a great preacher,” ventured Lemuel. + +“Ah--well--yes? Is he? I've never heard him lecture,” said Mr. Seyton, +looking down at his bread. + +“I swear, Seyton,” said Meredith across the table, “when you put on that +ecclesiastical superciliousness of yours, I want to cuff you.” + +“I've no doubt he'd receive it in a proper spirit,” said Bellingham, who +was eating himself hot and red from the planked shad before him. “But +you mustn't do it here.” + +“Of course,” said Mr. Seyton, “Sewell is a very able man, and no end of +a good fellow, but you can't expect me to admit he's a priest.” + +He smiled in sweet enjoyment of his friend's wrath. Lemuel observed that +he spoke with an accent different from the others, which he thought +very pleasant, but he did not know it for that neat utterance which the +Anglican Church bestows upon its servants. + +“He's no Jesuit,” growled Meredith. + +“I'm bound to say he's not a pagan, either,” laughed the clergyman. + +“These gentlemen exchange these little knocks,” Bellingham explained +to Lemuel's somewhat puzzled look, “because they were boys together at +school and college, and can't realise that they've grown up to be lights +of the bar and the pulpit.” He looked round at the different plates. +“Have some more shad?” No one wanted more, it seemed, and Bellingham +sent it away by the man, who replaced it with broiled chicken before +Bellingham, and lamb chops in front of Mr. Seyton. “This is all there +is,” the host said. + +“It's enough for me,” said Meredith, “if no one else takes anything.” + +But in fact there was also an omelet, and bread and butter delicious +beyond anything that Lemuel had tasted; and there was a bouquet of pink +radishes with fragments of ice dropped among olives, and other facts of +a polite breakfast. At the close came a dish of what Bellingham called +premature strawberries. + +“Why! they're actually _sweet_!” said Meredith, “and they're as natural +as emery-bags.” + +“Yes, they're all you say,” said Bellingham. “You can have strawberries +any time nowadays after New Year's, if you send far enough for them; +but to get them ripe and sound, or distinguishable from small turnips in +taste, is another thing.” + +Lemuel had never imagined a breakfast like that; he wondered at himself +for having respected the cuisine of the St. Albans. It seemed to him +that he and the person he had been--the farm-boy, the captive of the +police, the guest of the Wayfarer's Lodge, the servant of Miss Vane, and +the head-waiter at the hotel--could not be the same person. He fell into +a strange reverie, while the talk, in which he had shared so little, +took a range far beyond him. Then he looked up and found all the others' +eyes upon him, and heard Bellingham saying, “I fancy Mr. Barker can +tell us something about that,” and at Lemuel's mystified stare he added, +“About the amount of smoke at a fire that a man could fight through. +Mr. Seyton was speaking of the train that was caught in the forest fires +down in Maine the other day. How was it with you at the St. Albans?” + +Lemuel blushed. It was clear that Mr. Bellingham had been reading that +ridiculous newspaper version of his exploit. “There was hardly any smoke +at all where I was. It didn't seem to have got into the upper entries +much.” + +“That's just what I was saying!” triumphed Bellingham. “If a man has +anything to do, he can get on. That's the way with the firemen. It's the +rat-in-a-trap _idea_ that paralyses. Do you remember your sensations +at all, when you were coming through the fire? Those things are very +curious sometimes,” Bellingham suggested. + +“There was no fire where I was,” said Lemuel stoutly, but helpless to +make a more comprehensive disclaimer. + +“I imagine you wouldn't notice that, any more than the smoke,” said +Bellingham, with a look of satisfaction in his hero for his other +guests. “It's a sort of ecstasy. Do you remember that fellow of Bret +Harte's, in _How Christmas came to Simpson's Bar_, who gets a shot in +his leg, or something, when he's riding to get the sick boy a Christmas +present, and doesn't know it till he drops off his horse in a faint when +he gets back?” He jumped actively up from the table, and found the book +on his shelf. “There!” He fumbled for his glasses without finding them. +“Will you be kind enough to read the passage, Mr. Barker? I think I've +found the page. It's marked.” He sat down again, and the others waited. + +Lemuel read, as he needs must, and he did his best. + +“Ah, that's very nice. Glad you didn't dramatise it; the drama ought to +be in the words, not the reader. I like your quiet way.” + +“Harte seems to have been about the last of the story-tellers to give us +the great, simple heroes,” said Seyton. + +When the others were gone, and Lemuel, who had been afraid to go first, +rose to take himself away, Bellingham shook his hand cordially and +said, “I hope you weren't bored? The fact is, I rather promised myself +a _tête-à-tête_ with you, and I told Mr. Sewell so; but I fell in with +Seyton and Meredith yesterday--you can't help falling in with one when +you fall in with the other; they're inseparable when Seyton's in town +and I couldn't resist the temptation to ask them.” + +“Oh no, I wasn't bored at all,” said Lemuel. + +“I'm very glad. But--sit down a moment. I want to speak to you about a +little matter of business. Mr. Sewell was telling us something of you +the other night, at my cousin Bromfield Corey's, and it occurred to me +that you might be willing to come and read to him. His eyes seem to be +on the wane, some way, and he's rather sleepless. He'd give you a bed, +and sometimes you'd have to read to him in the night; you'd take your +meals where you like. How does it strike you, supposing the 'harnsome +pittance' can be arranged?” + +“Why, if you think I can do it,” began Lemuel. + +“Of course I do. You don't happen to read French?” + +Lemuel shook his head hopelessly. “I studied Latin some at school--” + +“Ah! Well! I don't think he'd care for Latin. I think we'd better stick +to English for the present.” + +Bellingham arranged for Lemuel to go with him that afternoon to his +cousin's and make, as he phrased it, a stagger at the job. + + + + +XXVI. + + +The stagger seemed to be sufficiently satisfactory. Corey could not +repress some twinges at certain characteristics of Lemuel's accent, +but he seemed, in a critical way, to take a fancy to him, and he was +conditionally installed for a week. + +Corey was pleased from the beginning with Lemuel's good looks, and +justified himself to his wife with an Italian proverb: “_Novanta su +cento, chi è bello difuori ê buono di dentro_.” She had heard that +proverb before, and she had always considered it shocking; but he +insisted that most people married upon no better grounds, and that what +sufficed in the choice of a husband or wife was enough for the choice +of an intellectual nurse. He corrected Lemuel's pronunciation where he +found it faulty, and amused himself with Lemuel's struggles to +conceal his hurt vanity, and his final good sense in profiting by the +correction. But Lemuel's reading was really very good; it was what, even +more than his writing, had given him a literary reputation in Willoughby +Pastures; and the old man made him exercise it in widely different +directions. Chiefly, however, it was novels that he read, which, indeed, +are the chief reading of most people in our time; and as they were +necessarily the novels of our language, his elder was not obliged to use +that care in choosing them which he must have exacted of himself in the +fiction of other tongues. He liked to hear Lemuel talk, and he used the +art of getting at the boy's life by being frank with his own experience. +But this was not always successful, and he was interested to find +Lemuel keeping doors that Sewell's narrative had opened carefully closed +against him. He betrayed no consciousness that they existed, and Lemuel +maintained intact the dignity and pride which come from the sense of +ignominy well hidden. + +The week of probation had passed without interrupting their relation, +and Lemuel was regularly installed, and began to lead a life which was +so cut off from his past in most things that it seemed to belie it. He +found himself dropped in the midst of luxury stranger to him than the +things they read of in those innumerable novels. The dull, rich colours +in the walls, and the heavily rugged floors and dark-wooded leathern +seats of the library where he read to the old man; the beautiful forms +of the famous bronzes, and the Italian saints and martyrs in their +baroque or Gothic frames of dim gold; the low shelves with their ranks +of luxurious bindings, and all the seriously elegant keeping of the +place, flattered him out of his strangeness; and the footing on which +he was received in this house, the low-voiced respect with which the +man-servant treated him, the master's light, cordial frankness, +the distant graciousness of the mistress, and the unembarrassed, +unembarrassing kindliness of the young ladies, both so much older than +himself, contributed to an effect that afterwards deepened more and +more, and became a vital part of the struggle which he was finally to +hold with himself. The first two or three days he saw no one but Mr. +Corey, and but for the women's voices in the other parts of the house, +he might have supposed himself in another bachelor's apartments, finer +and grander than Bellingham's. He was presented to Mrs. Corey when she +came into the library, but he did not see the daughters of the house +till he was installed in it. After that, his acquaintance with them +seemed to go no further. They were all polite and kind when they met +him, in the library or on the stairs, but they showed no curiosity about +him; and his never meeting them at table helped to keep him a +stranger to them under the same roof. He ate at a boarding-house in a +neighbouring street, but he slept at the Coreys' after he had read their +father asleep, and then, going out to his late breakfast, he did not +return till Mr. Corey had eaten his own, much later. + +He wondered at first that neither of those young ladies read to their +father, not knowing the disability for mutual help that riches bring. +Later, he saw how much Miss Lily Corey was engrossed with charity and +art, and how constantly Miss Nannie Corey was occupied with social +cares, and was perpetually going and coming in their performance. Then +he saw that they could not have rendered nor their father have received +from his family the duty which he was paid to do, as they must have done +if they had been poorer. But they were all fond of one another, and the +father had a way of joking with his daughters, especially the youngest; +and they talked with a freedom of themselves which puzzled Lemuel. It +appeared from what they said at different times that they had not always +been so rich, or that they had once had money, and then less, and now +much more. It appeared also that their prosperity was due to a piece of +luck, and that the young Mr. Corey, whom they expected in the summer, +had brought it about. His father was very proud of him, and, getting +more and more used to Lemuel's companionship, he talked a great deal +about his Tom, as he called him, and about Tom's wife, and his wife's +family, who were somehow, Lemuel inferred, not all that his own family +could wish them, but very good people. Once when Mr. Corey was talking +of them, Mrs. Corey came in upon them, and seemed to be uneasy, as if +she thought he was saying too much. But the daughters did not seem to +care, especially the youngest. + +He found out that Mr. Corey used to be a painter, and had lived a long +time in Italy when he was young, and he recalled with a voluptuous +thrill of secrecy that Williams had once been in Italy. Mr. Corey +seemed to think better of it than Williams; he liked to talk of Rome and +Florence, and of Venice, which Williams had said was a kind of hole. The +old man said this or that picture was of this or that school, and vague +lights of knowledge and senses of difference that flattered Lemuel's +intellectual vanity stole in upon him. He began to feel that the things +Mr. Corey had lived for were the great and high objects of life. + +He now perceived how far from really fine or fashionable anything at +the St. Albans had been, and that the simplicity of Miss Vane's little +house, which the splendour of the hotel had eclipsed in his crude fancy, +was much more in harmony with the richness of Mr. Corey's. He oriented +himself anew, and got another view of the world which he had dropped +into. Occasionally he had glimpses of people who came to see the Coreys, +and it puzzled him that this family, which he knew so kind and good, +took with others the tone hard and even cynical which seemed the +prevailing tone of society; when their acquaintances went away they +dropped back, as if with relief, into their sincere and amiable fashions +of speech. Lemuel asked himself if every one in the world was playing a +part; it did not seem to him that Miss Carver had been; she was always +the same, and always herself. To be one's-self appeared to him the best +thing in the world, and he longed for it the more as he felt that he too +was insensibly beginning to play a part. Being so much in this beautiful +and luxurious house, where every one was so well dressed and well +mannered, and well kept in body and mind, and passing from his amazement +at all its appointments into the habit of its comfortable beauty, he +forgot more and more the humility and the humiliations of his past. He +did not forget its claims upon him; he sent home every week the greater +part of his earnings, and he wrote often to his mother; but now, when +he could have got the time to go home and see her, he did not go. In the +exquisite taste of his present environment, he could scarcely believe in +that figure, grizzled, leathern, and gaunt, and costumed in a grotesque +unlikeness to either sex. Sometimes he played with the fantastic +supposition of some other origin for himself, romantic and involved like +that of some of the heroes he was always reading of, which excluded her. + +Another effect of this multifarious literature through which his duties +led him was the awakening of the ambition to write, stunned by his first +disastrous adventures in Boston, and dormant almost ever since, except +as it had stirred under the promptings of Evans's kindly interest. But +now it did not take the form of verse; he began to write moralistic +essays, never finished, but full of severe comment on the folly of the +world as he saw it. Sometimes they were examinations of himself, and +his ideas and principles, his doctrines and practice, penetrating quests +such as the theologians of an earlier day used to address to their +consciences. + +Meantime, the deeply underlying mass of his rustic crudity and raw +youth took on a far higher polish than it had yet worn. Words dropped at +random in the talk he now heard supplied him with motives and shaped his +actions. Once Mr. Bellingham came in laughing about a sign which he saw +in a back street, of Misfit Parlours, and Lemuel spent the next week's +salary for a suit at a large clothing store, to replace the dress Sewell +had thought him so well in. He began insensibly to ape the manners of +those about him. + +It drew near the time when the ladies of the Corey family were to leave +town, where they had lingered much longer than they meant, in the hope +that Mr. Corey might be so much better, or so much worse, that he would +consent to go to the shore with them. But his disabilities remained much +the same, and his inveterate habits indomitable. By this time that trust +in Lemuel, which never failed to grow up in those near him, reconciled +the ladies to the obstinate resolution of the master of the house to +stay in it as usual. They gave up the notion of a cottage, and they were +not going far away, nor for long at any one time; in fact, one or other +of them was always in the house. Mrs. Corey had grown into the habit of +confidence with Lemuel concerning her husband's whims and foibles; and +this motherly frankness from a lady so stately and distant at first was +a flattery more poisonous to his soul than any other circumstance of his +changed life. + +It came July, and even Sewell went away then. He went with a mind at +rest concerning Lemuel's material prospects, and his unquestionable +usefulness and acceptability; but something, at the bottom of +his satisfaction, teased him still: a dumb fear that the boy was +extravagant, a sense that he was somehow different, and not wholly for +the better, from what he had been. He had seen, perhaps, nothing worse +in him than that growth of manner which amused Corey. + +“He is putting us on,” he said to Bellingham one day, “and making us fit +as well as he can. I don't think we're altogether becoming, but that's +our fault, probably. I can't help thinking that if we were of better cut +and material we should show to better effect upon that granite soul. I +wish Tom were here. I've an idea that Tom would fit him like a glove. +Charles, why don't _you_ pose as a model for Barker?” + +“I don't see why I'm not a very good model without posing,” said +Bellingham. “What do you want me to do for him? Take him to the club? +Barker's _not_ very conversational.” + +“You don't take him on the right topics,” said Corey, not minding +that he had left the point. “I assure you that Barker, on any serious +question that comes up in our reading, has a clear head and an apt +tongue of his own. It isn't our manners alone that he emulates. I can't +find that any of us ever dropped an idea or suggestion of value that +Barker didn't pick it up, and turn it to much more account than the +owner. He's as true as a Tuscan peasant, as proud as an Indian, and as +quick as a Yankee.” + +“Ah! I _hoped_ you wouldn't go abroad for that last,” said Bellingham. + +“No; and it's delightful, seeing the great variety of human nature there +is in every human being here. Our life isn't stratified; perhaps it +never will be. At any rate, for the present, we're all in vertical +sections. But I always go back to my first notion of Barker: he's +ancestral, and he makes me feel like degenerate posterity. I've had the +same sensation with Tom; but Barker seems to go a little further back. I +suppose there's such a thing as getting too far back in these Origin +of Species days; but he isn't excessive in that or in anything. He's +confoundedly temperate, in fact; and he's reticent; he doesn't allow any +unseemly intimacy. He's always turning me out-of-doors.” + +“Of course! But what can we old fellows hope to know of what's going +on in any young one? Talk of strangeness! I'd undertake to find more in +common with a florid old fellow of fifty from the red planet Mars than +with any young Bostonian of twenty.” + +“Yes; but it's the youth of my sires that I find so strange in Barker. +Only, theoretically, there's no Puritanism. He's a thorough believer +in Sewell. I suspect he could formulate Sewell's theology a great deal +better than Sewell could.” + + + + +XXVII + + +Statira and 'Manda Grier had given up their plan of getting places in a +summer hotel when Lemuel absolutely refused to take part in it, and +were working through the summer in the box-factory. Lemuel came less +regularly to see them now, for his Sunday nights had to be at Mr. +Corey's disposition; but Statira was always happy in his coming, and +made him more excuses than he had thought of, if he had let a longer +interval than usual pass. He could not help feeling the loveliness of +her patience, the sweetness of her constancy; but he disliked 'Manda +Grier more and more, and she grew stiffer and sharper with him. +Sometimes the aimlessness of his relation to Statira hung round him +like a cloud, which he could not see beyond. When he was with her he +contented himself with the pleasure he felt in her devotion, and the +tenderness this awakened in his own heart; but when he was away from her +there was a strange disgust and bitterness in these. + +Sometimes, when Statira and 'Manda Grier took a Saturday afternoon off, +he went with them into the country on one of the horse-car lines, or +else to some matinee at a garden-theatre in the suburbs. Statira liked +the theatre better than anything else; and she used to meet other girls +whom she knew there, and had a gay time. She introduced Lemuel to them, +and after a few moments of high civility and distance they treated him +familiarly, as Statira's beau. Their talk, after that he was now used +to, was flat and foolish, and their pert ease incensed him. He came away +bruised and burning, and feeling himself unfit to breathe the refined +and gentle air to which he returned in Mr. Corey's presence. Then he +would vow in his heart never to expose himself to such things again; +but he could not tell Statira that he despised the friends she was happy +with; he could only go with a reluctance it was not easy to hide, and +atone by greater tenderness for a manner that wounded her. One day +toward the end of August, when they were together at a suburban theatre, +Statira wandered off to a pond there was in the grounds with some other +girls, who had asked him to go and row them, and had called him a bear +for refusing, and told him to look out for Barnum. They left him sitting +alone with 'Manda Grier, at a table where they had all been having +ice-cream at his expense; and though it was no longer any pleasure to be +with her, it was better than to be with them, for she was not a fool, at +any rate. Statira turned round at a little distance to mock them with +a gesture and a laugh, and the laugh ended in a cough, long and +shattering, so that one of her companions had to stop with her, and put +her arm round her till she could recover herself and go on. + +It sent a cold thrill through Lemuel, and then he turned angry. “What is +it Statira does to keep taking more cold?” + +“Oh, I guess 'tain't 'ny _more_ cold,” said 'Manda Grier. + +“What do you mean?” + +“I guess 'f you cared a great deal you'd noticed that cough 'f hers +before now. 'Tain't done it any too much good workin' in that arsenic +paper all summer long.” + +'Manda Grier talked with her face turned away from him. + +It provoked him more and more. “I _do_ care,” he retorted, eager to +quarrel, “and you know it. Who got her into the box-factory, I should +like to know?” + +“_I_ did!” said 'Manda Grier, turning sharply on him, “and you _kept_ +her there; and between us we've killed her.” + +“How have I kept her there, I should like to know?” + +“'F you'd done's she wanted you should, she might 'a' been at some +pleasant place in the country--the mount'ns, or somewhere 't she'd been +ov'r her cough by this time. But no! You was too nasty proud for that, +Lemuel Barker!” + +A heavy load of guilt dropped upon Lemuel's heart, but he flung it off, +and he retorted furiously, + +“You ought to have been ashamed of yourself to ever want her to take a +servant's place.” + +“Oh, a servant's place! If she'd been ashamed of a servant when you came +meechin' round her, where'd you been, I sh'd like to know? And now I +wish she had; 'n' if she wa'n't such a little fool, 'n' all wrapped +in you, the way 't she is, I could wish 't she'd never set eyes on you +again, servant or no servant. But I presume it's too late now, and I +presume she's got to go on suff'rin' for you and wonderin' what she's +done to offend you when you don't come, and what she's done when you +do, with your stuck-up, masterful airs, and your double-faced ways. But +don't you try to pretend to me, Lemuel Barker, 't you care the least +mite for her any more, 'f you ever did, because it won't go down! 'N' +if S'tira wa'n't such a perfect little blind fool, she could see 't +you didn't care for her any more than the ground 't you walk on, 'n' 't +you'd be glad enough if she was under it, if you couldn't be rid of her +any other way!” 'Manda Grier pulled her handkerchief out and began to +cry into it. + +Lemuel was powerfully shaken by this attack; he did feel responsible for +Statira's staying in town all summer; but the spectacle of 'Manda Grier +publicly crying at his side in a place like that helped to counteract +the effect of her words. “'Sh! Don't cry!” he began, looking fearfully +round him. “Everybody 'll see you!” + +“I don't care! Let them!” sobbed the girl. “If they knowed what I know, +and could see you _not_ cryin', I guess they'd think you looked worse +than I do!” + +“You don't understand--I can explain--” + +“No, you can't explain, Mr. Barker!” said 'Manda Grier, whipping down +her handkerchief, and fiercely confronting him across the table. “You +can't explain anything so 's to blind me any longer! I was a big fool to +ever suppose you had any heart in you; but when you came round at first, +and was so meek you couldn't say your soul was your own, and was so +glad if S'tira spoke to you, or looked at you, that you was ready to +go crazy, I _did_ suppose there was some _little_ something to you! And +yes, I helped you on all I could, and helped you to fool that poor thing +that you ain't worthy to kiss the ground she walks on, Lord forgive me +_for_ it! But it's all changed now! You seem to think it's the greatest +favour if you come round once a fortnight, and set and let her talk to +you, and show you how she dotes upon you, the poor little silly coot! +And if you ever speak a word, it's like the Lord unto Moses, it's so +grand! But I understand! You've got other friends now! _You after that +art-student_? Oh, you can blush and try to turn it off! I've seen you +blush before, and I know you! And I know you're in love with that girl, +and you're just waitin' to break off with S'tira; but you hain't got +the spirit to up and do it like a man! You want to let it lag along, +and _lag_ along, and see 'f something won't happen to get you out of it! +_You waitin' for her to die_? Well, you won't have to wait long! But if +I was a man, I'd spoil your beauty for you first.” + +The torrent of her words rolled him on, bruising and tearing his soul, +which their truth pierced like jagged points. From time to time he +opened his lips to protest or deny, but no words came, and in his +silence a fury of scorn for the poor, faithful, scolding thing, so just, +so wildly unjust, gathered head in him. + +“Be still!” he ground between his teeth. “Be still, you--” He stopped +for the word, and that saved him from the outrage he had meant to pay +her back with. He rose from the table. “You can tell Statira what you've +said to me. I'm going home.” + +He rushed away; the anger was like strong drink in his brain; he was +like one drunk all the way back to the city in the car. + +He could not go to Mr. Corey's at once; he felt as if physically +besmeared with shame; he could not go to his boarding-house; it +would have been as if he had shown himself there in a coat of tar and +feathers. Those insolent, true, degrading words hissed in his ears, +and stung him incessantly. They accused, they condemned with pitiless +iteration; and yet there were instants when he knew himself guiltless of +all the wrong of which in another sense he knew himself guilty. In his +room he renewed the battle within himself that he had fought so long in +his wanderings up and down the street, and he conquered himself at last +into the theory that Statira had authorised or permitted 'Manda Grier +to talk to him in that way. This simplified the whole affair; it offered +him the release which he now knew he had longed for. As he stretched +himself in the sheets at daybreak, he told himself that he need never +see either of them again. He was free. + + + + +XXVIII. + + +Lemuel went through the next day in that licence of revolt which every +human soul has experienced in some measure at some time. We look back at +it afterwards, and see it a hideous bondage. But for the moment Lemuel +rejoiced in it; and he abandoned himself boldly to thoughts that had +hitherto been a furtive and trembling rapture. + +In the afternoon, when he was most at leisure, he walked down to the +Public Garden, and found a seat on a bench near the fountain where +the Venus had shocked his inexperience the first time he saw her; he +remembered that simple boy with a smile of pity, and then went back into +his cloud of reverie. There, safely hid from trouble and wrong, he told +his ideal how dear she was to him, and how she had shaped and governed +his life, and made it better and nobler from the first moment they +had met. The fumes of the romances which he had read mixed with the +love-born delirium in his brain; he was no longer low, but a hero of +lofty line, kept from his rightful place by machinations that had failed +at last, and now he was leading her, his bride, into the ancient halls +which were to be their home, and the source of beneficence and hope to +all the poor and humbly-born around them. His eyes were so full of this +fantastic vision, the soul of his youth dwelt so deeply within this +dream-built tabernacle, that it was with a shock of anguish he saw +coming up the walk towards him the young girl herself. His airy +structure fell in ruins around him; he was again common and immeasurably +beneath her; she was again in her own world, where, if she thought of +him at all, it must be as a squalid vagabond and the accomplice of a +thief. If he could have escaped, he would, but he could not move; he sat +still and waited with fallen eyes for her to pass him. + +At sight of him she hesitated and wavered; then she came towards him, +and at a second impulse held out her hand, smiling with a radiant +pleasure. + +“I didn't know it was you at first,” she said. “It seems so strange to +see any one that I know!” + +“I didn't expect to see you, either,” he stammered out, getting somehow +upon his feet, and taking her hand, while his face burned, and he could +not keep his eyes on hers; “I--didn't know you were here.” + +“I've only been here a few days. I'm drawing at the Museum. I've just +got back. Have you been here all summer?” + +“Yes--all summer. I hope you've been well--I suppose you've been away--” + +“Yes, I've just got back,” she repeated. + +“Oh yes! I meant that!” + +She smiled at his confusion, as kindly as the ideal of his day-dream. +“I've been spending the summer with Madeline, and I've spent most of it +out-of-doors, sketching. Have you been well?” + +“Yes--not very; oh yes, I'm well--” She had begun to move forward with +the last question, and he found himself walking with her. “Did she--has +Miss Swan come back with you?” he asked, looking her in the eyes with +more question than he had put into his words. + +“No, I don't think she'll come back this winter,” said the girl. “You +know,” she went on, colouring a little, “that she's married now?” + +“No,” said Lemuel. + +“Yes. To Mr. Berry. And I have a letter from him for you.” + +“Was he there with you, this summer?” asked Lemuel, ignoring alike +Berry's marriage and the letter from him. + +“Oh yes; of course! And I liked him better than I used to. He is very +good, and if Madeline didn't have to go so far West to live! He will +know how to appreciate her, and there are not many who can do that! Her +father thinks he has a great deal of ability. Yes, if Madeline _had_ to +get married!” + +She talked as if convincing and consoling herself, and there was an +accent of loneliness in it all that pierced Lemuel's preoccupation; +he had hardly noted how almost pathetically glad she was to see him. +“You'll miss her here,” he ventured. + +“Oh, I don't dare to think of it,” cried the girl. “I don't know what +I shall do! When I first saw you, just now, it brought up Madeline and +last winter so that it seemed too much to bear!” + +They had walked out of the garden across Charles Street, and were +climbing the slope of Beacon Street Mall, in the Common. “I suppose,” + she continued, “the only way will be to work harder, and try to forget +it. They wanted me to go out and stay with them; but of course I +couldn't. I shall work, and I shall read. I shall not find another +Madeline Swan! You must have been reading a great deal this summer, Mr. +Barker,” she said, in turning upon him from her bereavement. “Have you +seen any of the old boarders? Or Mrs. Harmon? I shall never have another +winter like that at the poor old St. Albans!” + +Lemuel made what answer he could. There was happiness enough in merely +being with her to have counterbalanced all the pain he was suffering; +and when she made him partner of her interests and associations, and +appealed to their common memories in confidence of his sympathy, his +heavy heart stirred with strange joy. He had supposed that Berry must +have warned her against him; but she was treating him as if he had not. +Perhaps he had not, and perhaps he had done so, and this was her way of +showing that she did not believe it. He tried to think so; he knew +it was a subterfuge, but he lingered in it with a fleeting, fearful +pleasure. They had crossed from the Common and were walking up under the +lindens of Chestnut Street, and from time to time they stopped, in the +earnestness of their parley, and stood talking, and then loitered on +again in the summer security from oversight which they were too rapt to +recognise. They reached the top of the hill, and came to a door where +she stopped. He fell back a pace. “Good-bye--” It was eternal loss, but +it was escape. + +She smiled in timorous hesitation. “Won't you come in? And I will get +Mr. Berry's letter.” + +She opened the door with a latch-key, and he followed her within; a +servant-girl came half-way up the basement stairs to see who it was, and +then went down. She left him in the dim parlour a moment, while she went +to get the letter. When she returned, “I have a little room for my work +at the top of the house,” she said, “but it will never be like the St. +Albans. There's no one else here yet, and it's pretty lonesome--without +Madeline.” + +She sank into a chair, but he remained standing, and seemed not to +heed her when she asked him to sit down. He put Berry's letter into his +pocket without looking at it, and she rose again. + +She must have thought he was going, and she said with a smile of gentle +trust, “It's been like having last winter back again to see you. We +thought you must have gone home right after the fire; we didn't see +anything of you again. We went ourselves in about a week.” + +Then she did not know, and he must tell her himself. + +“Did Mr. Berry say anything about me--at the fire--that last day?” he +began bluntly. + +“No!” she said, looking at him with surprise; there was a new sound in +his voice. “He had no need to say anything! I wanted to tell you--to +write and tell you--how much I honoured you for it--how ashamed I was +for misunderstanding you just before, when--” + +He knew that she meant when they all pitied him for a coward. + +Her voice trembled; he could tell that the tears were in her eyes. He +tried to put the sweetness of her praise from him. “Oh, it wasn't that +that I meant,” he groaned; and he wrenched the words out. “That fellow, +who said he was a friend of mine, and got into the house that way, was +a thief; and Mr. Berry caught him robbing his room the day of the fire, +and treated me as if I knew it and was helping him on--” + +“Oh!” cried the girl. “How cruel! How could he do that?” + +Lemuel could not suffer himself to take refuge in her generous faith +now. + +“When I first came to Boston, I had my money stolen, and there were two +days when I had nothing to eat; and then I was arrested by mistake for +stealing a girl's satchel; and when I was acquitted, I slept the next +night in the tramp's lodging-house, and that fellow was there, and when +he came to the St. Albans I was ashamed to tell where I had known him, +and so I let him pass himself off for my friend.” + +He kept his eyes fixed on hers, but he could not see them change from +their pity of him, or light up with a sense of any squalor in his +history. + +“And I used to think that _my_ life had been hard!” she cried. “Oh, how +much you have been through!” + +“And after that,” he pursued, “Mr. Sewell got me a place, a sort of +servant's place, and when I lost that I came to be the man-of-all work +at the St. Albans.” + +In her eyes the pity was changing to admiration; his confession which he +had meant to be so abject had kindled her fancy like a boastful tale. + +“How little we know about people and what they have suffered! But I +thank you for telling me this--oh yes!--and I shall always think of +myself with contempt. How easy and pleasant my life has been! And you--” + +She stopped, and he stood helpless against her misconception. He told +her about the poverty he had left at home, and the wretched circumstance +of his life, but she could not see it as anything but honourable to his +present endeavour. She listened with breathless interest to it all, and, +“Well,” she sighed at last, “it will always be something for you to +look back to, and be proud of. And that girl--did she never say or do +anything to show that she was sorry for that cruel mistake? Did you ever +see her afterwards?” + +“Yes,” said Lemuel, sick at heart, and feeling how much more +triumphantly he could have borne ignominy and rejection than this sweet +sympathy. + +She seemed to think he would say something more, but he turned away +from her, and after a little silence of expectance she let him go, with +promises to come again, which she seemed to win from him for his own +sake. + +In the street he took out Berry's letter and read it. + +“DEAR OLD MAN,--I've been trying to get off a letter to you almost any +time the last three months; but I've been round so much, and upside +down so much since I saw you--out to W. T. and on my head in Western +Mass.--that I've not been able to fetch it. I don't know as I could +fetch it now, if it wasn't for the prospective Mrs. A. W. B., Jr., +standing over me with a revolver, and waiting to see me do it. I've just +been telling her about that little interview of ours with Williams, that +day, and she thinks I ought to be man enough to write and say that I +guess I was all wrong about you; I had a sneaking idea of the kind from +the start almost, but if a fellow's proud at all, he's proud of his +mistakes, and he hates to give them up. I'm pretty badly balled up now, +and I can't seem to get the right words about remorse, and so forth; but +you know how it is yourself. I am sorry, there's no two ways about that; +but I've kept my suspicions as well as my regrets to myself, and now I +do the best thing I can by way of reparation. I send this letter by Miss +Carver. She hasn't read it, and she don't know what it's all about; but +I guess you'd better tell her. Don't spare, yours truly, A. W. BERRY, +JR.” + +The letter did not soften Lemuel at all towards Berry, and he was +bitterly proud that he had spoken without this bidding, though he had +seemed to speak to no end that he had expected. After a while he lost +himself in his day-dreams again, and in the fantastic future which he +built up this became a great source of comfort to him and to his ideal. +Now he parted with her in sublime renunciation, and now he triumphed +over all the obstacles between them; but whatever turn he willed his +fortunes to take, she still praised him, and he prided himself that he +had shown himself at his worst to her of his own free impulse. Sewell +praised him for it in his reverie; Mr. Corey and Mr. Bellingham both +made him delicate compliments upon his noble behaviour, which he feigned +had somehow become known to them. + + + + +XXIX. + + +At the usual hour he was at Mr. Corey's house, where he arrived +footsore, and empty from supperless wanderings, but not hungry and not +weary. The serving-man at the door met him with the message that Mr. +Corey had gone to dine at his club, and would not be at home till late. +He gave Lemuel a letter, which had all the greater effect from being +presented to him on the little silver tray employed to bring up the +cards and notes of the visitors and correspondents of the family. +The envelope was stamped in that ephemeral taste which configured the +stationery of a few years ago, with the lines of alligator leather, and +it exhaled a perfume so characteristic that it seemed to breathe Statira +visibly before him. He knew this far better than the poor, scrawly, +uncultivated handwriting which he had seen so little. He took the +letter, and turning from the door read it by the light of the next +street lamp. + +“DEAR LEMUEL--Manda Grier has told me what she said to you and Ime about +crazy about it dear Lem I want you should come and see mee O Lem you +dont Suppose i could of let Manda Grier talk to you that way if I had of +none it but of course you dident only do Say so I give her a real good +goen over and she says shes sory she done it i dont want any body should +care for mee without itse there free will but I shall alwayes care for +you if you dont care for me dont come but if you do Care I want you +should come as soon as ever you can I can explane everything Manda Grier +dident mean anything but for the best but sometimes she dont know what +she is sayin O Lem you mussent be mad But if you are and you dont want +to come ennymore dont come But O i hope you wouldent let such a thing +set you againste mee recollect that I never done or Said anything to set +you against me, + +“STATIRA.” + + +A cruel disgust mingled with the remorse that this letter brought him. +Its illiteracy made him ashamed, and the helpless fondness it expressed +was like a millstone hanged about his neck. He felt the deadly burden of +it drag him down. + +A passer-by on the other side of the street coughed slightly in the +night air, and a thought flashed through Lemuel, from which he cowered, +as if he had found himself lifting his hand against another's life. + +His impulse was to turn and run, but there was no escape on any side. It +seemed to him that he was like that prisoner he had read of, who saw the +walls of his cell slowly closing together upon him, and drawing nearer +and nearer till they should crush him between them. The inexperience +of youth denies it perspective; in that season of fleeting and +unsubstantial joys, of feverish hopes, despair wholly darkens a world +which after years find full of chances and expedients. + +If Mr. Sewell had been in town there might have been some hope through +him; or if Mr. Evans were there; or even if Berry were at hand, it would +be some one to advise with, to open his heart to in his extremity. He +walked down into Bolingbroke Street, knowing well that Mr. Sewell was +not at home, but pretending to himself, after the fashion of the young, +that if he should see a light in his house it would be a sign that all +should come out right with him, and if not, it would come out wrong. He +would not let himself lift his eyes to the house front till he arrived +before it. When he looked his heart stood still; a light streamed bright +and strong from the drawing-room window. + +He hurried across the street, and rang; and after some delay, in which +the person coming to the door took time to light the gas in the hall, +Mr. Sewell himself opened to him. They stood confronted in mutual +amazement, and then Sewell said, with a cordiality which he did not keep +free from reluctance, “Oh--Mr. Barker! Come in! Come in!” But after they +had shaken hands, and Lemuel had come in, he stood there in the hall +with him, and did not offer to take him up to his study. “I'm so glad to +have this glimpse of you! How in the world did you happen to come?” + +“I was passing and saw the light,” said Lemuel. + +Sewell laughed. “To be sure! We never have any idea how far our little +candle throws its beams! I'm just here for the night, on my way from the +mountains to the sea; I'm to be the 'supply' in a friend's pulpit at +New Bedford; and I'm here quite alone in the house, scrambling a sermon +together. But I'm _so_ glad to see you! You're well, I hope? You're +looking a little thin, but that's no harm. Do you enjoy your life with +Mr. Corey? I was sure you would! When you come to know him, you will +find him one of the best of men--kindly, thoughtful, and sympathetic. +I've felt very comfortable about your being with him whenever I've +thought of you, and you may be sure that I've thought of you often. What +about our friends of the St. Albans? Do you see Mrs. Harmon? You knew +the Evanses had gone to Europe.” + +“Yes; I got a letter from him yesterday.” + +“He didn't pick up so fast as they hoped, and he concluded to try the +voyage. I hear very good accounts of him. He said he was going to write +you. Well! And Mr. Corey is well?” He smiled more beamingly upon Lemuel, +who felt that he wished him to go, and stood haplessly trying to get +away. + +In the midst of his own uneasiness Sewell noted Lemuel's. “Is there +anything--something--you wished to speak with me about?” + +“No. No, not anything in particular. I just saw the light, and--” + +Sewell took his hand and wrung it with affection. + +“It was so good of you to run in and see me. Don't fancy it's been any +disturbance. I'd got into rather a dim place in my work, but since +I've been standing here with you--ha, ha, ha! those things do happen so +curiously!--the whole thing has become perfectly luminous. I'm delighted +you're getting on so nicely. Give my love to Mr. Corey. I shall see you +soon again. We shall all be back in a little over a fortnight. Glad of +this moment with you, if it's only a moment! Good-bye!” + +He wrung Lemuel's hand again, this time in perfect sincerity, and +eagerly shut him out into the night. + +The dim place had not become so luminous to him as it had to the +minister. A darkness, which the obscurity of the night faintly typified, +closed round him, pierced by one ray only, and from this he tried to +turn his face. It was the gleam that lights up every labyrinth where our +feet wander and stumble, but it is not always easy to know it from +those false lights of feeble-hearted pity, of mock-sacrifice, of sick +conscience, which dance before us to betray to worse misery yet. + +Some sense of this, broken and faltering, reached Lemuel where he stood, +and tried to deal faithfully with his problem. In that one steadfast ray +he saw that whatever he did he must not do it for himself; but what his +duty was he could not make out. He knew now, if he had not known before, +that whatever his feeling for Statira was, he had not released himself +from her, and it seemed to him that he could not release himself by any +concern for his own advantage. That notion with which he had so long +played, her insufficiency for his life now and for the needs of his +mind hereafter, revealed itself in its real cruelty. The things that Mr. +Sewell had said, that his mother had said, that Berry had said, in what +seemed a fatal succession, and all to the same effect, against throwing +himself away upon some one inadequate to him at his best, fell to the +ground like withered leaves, and the fire of that steadfast ray consumed +them. + +But whom to turn to for counsel now? The one friend in whom he had +trusted, to whom he had just gone, ready to fling down his whole heart +before him, had failed him, failed him unwittingly, unwillingly, as he +had failed him once before, but this time in infinitely greater stress. +He did not blame him now, fiercely, proudly, as he had once blamed him, +but again he wandered up and down the city streets, famished and outcast +through his defection. + +It was late when he went home, but Mr. Corey had not yet returned, and +he had time to sit down and write the letter which he had decided to +send to Statira, instead of going to see her. It was not easy to write, +but after many attempts he wrote it. + +Dear Statira,--You must not be troubled, at what Amanda said to me. I +assure you that, although I was angry at first, I am entirely willing +to overlook it at your request. She probably spoke hastily, and I am now +convinced that she spoke without your authority. You must not think that +I am provoked at you. + +“I received your letter this evening; and I will come to see you very +soon. Lemuel Barker.” + +The letter was colder than he meant to make it, but he felt that he must +above all be honest, and he did not see how he could honestly make +it less cold. When it came to Statira's hands she read it silently to +herself, over and over again, while her tears dripped upon it. + +'Manda Grier was by, and she watched her till she could bear the sight +no longer. She snatched the letter from the girl's hands and ran it +through, and then she flung it on the ground. “Nasty, cold-hearted, +stuck-up, shameless thing!” + +“Oh, don't, 'Manda; don't, 'Manda!” sobbed Statira, and she plunged her +face into the pillows of the bed, where she sat. + +“Shameless, cold-hearted, stuck-up, nasty thing!” said 'Manda Grier, +varying her denunciation in the repetition, and apparently getting fresh +satisfaction out of it in that way. “Don't? St'ira Dudley, if you was +a woman--if you was _half_ a woman--you'd never speak to that little +corpse-on-ice again.” + +“O 'Manda, don't call him names-! I can't bear to have you!” + +“Names? If you was anybody at all, you wouldn't look at him! You +wouldn't _think_ of him!” + +“O 'Manda, 'Manda! You know I can't let you talk so,” moaned Statira. + +“Talk? I could talk my _head_ off! 'You must not think I was provoked +with you,'” she mimicked Lemuel's dignity of diction in mincing +falsetto. “'I will come to see you very soon.' Miserable, worthless, +conceited whipper-snapper!” + +“O 'Manda, you'll break my heart if you go on so!” + +“Well, then, give him up! He's goin' to give you up.” + +“Oh, he ain't; you know he ain't! He's just busy, and I know he'll come. +I'll bet you he'll be here to-morrow. It'll kill me to give him up.” + +She had lifted herself from the pillow, and she began to cough. + +“He'll kill you anyway,” cried 'Manda Grier, in a passion of pity and +remorse. She ran across the room to get the medicine which Statira +had to take in these paroxysms. “There, there! Take it! I sha'n't say +anything more about him.” + +“And do you take it all back?” gasped Statira, holding the proffered +spoon away. + +“Yes, yes! But do take your med'cine, St'ira, 'f you don't want to die +where you set.” + +“And do you think he'll come?” + +“Yes, he'll come.” + +“Do you say it just to get me to take the medicine?” + +“No, I really do believe he'll come.” + +“O 'Manda, 'Manda!” Statira took her medicine, and then wildly flung her +arms round 'Manda Grier's neck, and began to sob and to cry there. “Oh, +how hard I am with you, Manda! I should think if I was as hard with +everybody else, they'd perfectly hate me.” + +“You hard!” + +“Yes, and that's why he hate me. He does hate me. You said he did.” + +“No, St'ira, I didn't. You never was hard to anybody, and the meanest +old iceberg in creation couldn't hate you.” + +“Then you think he does care for me?” + +“Yes.” + +“And you know he'll come soon?” + +“Yes.” + +“To-morrow?” + +“Yes, to-morrow.” + +“O'Manda, O'Manda!” + + + + +XXX. + + +Lemuel had promised himself that if he could gain a little time he +should be able better to decide what it was right for him to do. His +heart lifted as he dropped the letter into the box, and he went through +the chapters which Mr. Corey asked him to read, after he came in, with +an ease incredible to himself. In the morning he woke with a mind that +was almost cheerful. He had been honest in writing that letter, and so +far he had done right; he should keep his word about going soon to +see Statira, and that would be honest too. He did not look beyond this +decision, and he felt, as we all do, more or less vaguely when we have +resolved to do right, that he had the merit of a good action. + +Statira showed herself so glad to see him that he could not do less than +seem to share her joy in their making-up, as she called it, though he +insisted that there had been no quarrel between them; and now there +began for him a strange double life, the fact of which each reader must +reject or accept according to the witness of his own knowledge. + +He renewed as far as he could the old warmth of his feeling for Statira, +and in his compunction experienced a tenderness for her that he had not +known before, the strange tenderness that some spirits feel for those +they injure. He went oftener than ever to see her, he was very good to +her, and cheered her with his interest in all her little interests; +he petted her and comforted her; but he escaped from her as soon as he +could, and when he shut her door behind him he shut her within it. He +made haste to forget her, and to lose himself in thoughts that were +never wholly absent even in her presence. Sometimes he went directly +from her to Jessie, whose innocent Bohemianism kept later hours, and who +was always glad to see him whenever he came. She welcomed him with talk +that they thought related wholly to the books they had been reading, +and to the things of deep psychological import which they suggested. He +seldom came to her without the excuse of a book to be lent or borrowed; +and he never quitted her without feeling inspired with the wish to +know more, and to be more; he seemed to be lifted to purer and clearer +regions of thought. She received him in the parlour, but their evenings +commonly ended in her little studio, whither some errand took them, or +some intrusion of the other boarders banished them. There he read to her +poems or long chapters out of the essayists or romancers; or else they +sat and talked about the strange things they had noticed in themselves +that were like the things they found in their books. Once when they had +talked a long while in this strain, he told how when he first saw her he +thought she was very proud and cold. + +She laughed gaily. “And I used to be afraid of you,” she said. “You used +to be always reading there in your little office. Do you think I'm very +proud now?” + +“Are you very much afraid of me now?” he retorted. + +They laughed together. + +“Isn't it strange,” she said, “how little we really know about people in +the world?” + +“Yes,” he answered. “I wonder if it will ever be different. I've been +wrong about nearly every one I've met since I came to Boston.” + +“And I have too!” she cried, with that delight in the coincidence of +experience which the young feel so keenly. + +He had got the habit, with his growing ease in her presence, of walking +up and down the room, while she sat, with her arms lifted and clasped +above her head, forgetful of everything but the things they were saying, +and followed him with her eyes. As he turned about in his walk, he saw +how pretty she was, with her slender form cased in the black silk she +wore, and thrown into full relief by the lifted arms; he saw the little +hands knit above her head, and white as flowers on her dark hair. Her +eyes were very bright, and her soft lips, small and fine, were red. + +He faltered, and lost the thread of his speech. “I forgot what I was +going to say!” + +She took down her hands to clasp them over her laughing face a moment. +“And I don't remember what you were saying!” They both laughed a long +time at this; it seemed incomparably droll, and they became better +comrades. + +They spent the rest of the evening in laughing and joking. + +“I didn't know you were so fond of laughing,” he said, when he went +away. + +“And I always supposed you were very solemn,” she replied. + +This again seemed the drollest thing in the world. “Well, I always was,” + he said. + +“And I don't know when I've laughed so much before!” She stood at the +head of the stairs, and held her lamp up for him to find his way down. + +Again looking back, he saw her in the undefended grace that had +bewildered him before. + +When he came next they met very seriously, but before the evening was +past they were laughing together; and so it happened now whenever he +came. They both said how strange it was that laughing with any one +seemed to make you feel so much better acquainted. She told of a girl +at school that she had always disliked till one day something made them +laugh, and after that they became the greatest friends. + +He tried to think of some experience to match this, but he could not; +he asked her if she did not think that you always felt a little gloomy +after you had been laughing a great deal. She said yes; after that first +night when they laughed so, she felt so depressed that she was sure she +was going to have bad news from Madeline. Then she said she had received +a letter from Madeline that morning, and she and Mr. Berry had both +wished her to give him their regards if she ever saw him. This, when +she had said it, seemed a very good joke too; and they laughed at it a +little consciously, till he boldly bade her tell them he came so very +seldom that she did not know when she could deliver their message. + +She answered that she was afraid Madeline would not believe that; and +then it came out that he had never replied to Berry's letter. + +She said, “Oh! Is that the way you treat your correspondents?” and he +was ashamed to confess that he had not forgiven Berry. + +“I will write to him to-night, if you say so,” he answered hardily. + +“Oh, you must do what you think best,” she said, lightly refusing the +responsibility. + +“Whatever you say will be best,” he said, with a sudden, passionate +fervour that surprised himself. + +She tried to escape from it. “Am I so infallible as that?” + +“You are for me!” he retorted. + +A silence followed, which she endeavoured to break, but she sat still +across the little table from him where the shaded lamp spread its glow, +leaving the rest of the room, with its red curtains and its sketches +pinned about, in a warm, luxurious shadow. Her eyes fell, and she did +not speak. + +“It must sound very strange to you, I know,” he went on; “and it's +strange to me, too; but it seems to me that there isn't anything I've +done without my thinking whether you would like me to do it.” + +She rose involuntarily. “You make me ashamed to think that you're so +much mistaken about me! I know how we all influence each other--I know +I always try to be what I think people expect me to be--I can't be +myself--I know what you mean; but you--you must be yourself, and not +let--” She stopped in her wandering speech, in strange agitation, and he +rose too. + +“I hope you're not offended with me!” + +“Offended? Why? Why do you--go so soon?” + +“I thought you were going,” he answered stupidly. + +“Why, I'm at _home!_” + +They looked at each other, and then they broke into a happy laugh. + +“Sit down again! I don't know what I got up for. It must have been +to make some tea. Did you know Madeline had bequeathed me her +tea-kettle--the one we had at the St. Albans?” She bustled about, and +lit the spirit-lamp under the kettle. + +“Blow out that match!” he cried. “You'll set your dress on fire!” He +caught her hand, which she was holding with the lighted match in it at +her side, after the manner of women with lighted matches, and blew it +out himself. + +“Oh, thank you!” she said indifferently. “Can you take it without milk?” + +“Yes, I like it so.” + +She got out two of the cups he remembered, and he said, “How much like +last winter that seems!” + +And “Yes, doesn't it?” she sighed. + +The lamp purred and fretted under the kettle, and in the silence in +which they waited, the elm tree that rose from the pavement outside +seemed to look in consciously upon them. + +When the kettle began to sing, she poured out the two cups of tea, and +in handing him his their fingers touched, and she gave a little outcry. +“Oh! Madeline's precious cup! I thought it was going to drop!” + +The soft night-wind blew in through the elm leaves, and their rustling +seemed the expression of a profound repose, an endless content. + + + + +XXXI. + + +The next night Lemuel went to see Statira, without promising himself +what he should say or do, but if he were to tell her everything, he felt +that she would forgive him more easily than 'Manda Grier. He was +aware that 'Manda always lay in wait for him, to pierce him at every +undefended hint of conscience. Since the first break with her, there had +never been peace between them, and perhaps not kindness for long before +that. Whether or not she felt responsible for having promoted Statira's +affair with him, and therefore bound to guard her to the utmost from +suffering by it, she seemed always to be on the alert to seize any +advantage against him. Sometimes Statira accused her of trying to act +so hatefully to him that he would never come any more; she wildly blamed +her; but the faithful creature was none the less constant and vigilant +on that account. She took patiently the unjust reproaches which Statira +heaped upon her like a wayward child, and remitted nothing of her +suspicion or enmity towards Lemuel. Once, when she had been very bitter +with him, so bitter that it had ended in an open quarrel between them, +Statira sided with him against her, and when 'Manda Grier flounced out +of the room she offered him, if he wished, to break with her, and never +to speak to her again, or have anything more to do with such a person. +But at this his anger somehow fell; and he said no, she must not think +of such a thing; that 'Manda Grier had been her friend long before he +was, and that, whatever she said to him, she was always good and true +to her. Then Statira fell upon his neck and cried, and praised him, and +said he was a million times more to her than 'Manda Grier, but she would +do whatever he said; and he went away sick at heart. + +When he came now, with his thoughts clinging to Jessie, 'Manda Grier +hardly gave him time for the decencies of greeting. She was in a high +nervous exaltation, and Statira looked as if she had been crying. + +“What's become o' them art-students you used to have 't the St. Albans?” + she began, her whopper-jaw twitching with excitement, and her eyes +glaring vindictively upon Lemuel. + +He had sat down near Statira on the lounge, but she drew a little away +from him in a provisional fashion, as if she would first see what came +of 'Manda Grier's inquisition. + +“Art-students?” he repeated aimlessly while he felt his colour go. + +“Yes!” she snapped. “Them girls 't used to be 't the St. Albans, 't you +thought so wonderful!” + +“I didn't know I thought they were very wonderful!” + +“Can't you answer a civil question?” she demanded, raising her voice. + +“I haven't heard any,” said Lemuel, with sullen scorn. + +“Oh! Well!” she sneered. “I forgot that you've b'en used to goin' with +such fine folks that you can't bear to be spoken to in plain English.” + +“'Manda!” began Statira, with an incipient whimper. + +“You be still, S'tira Dudley! Mr. Barker,” said the poor foolish thing +in the mincing falsetto which she thought so cutting, “have you any idea +what's become of your young lady artist friends,--them that took your +portrait as a Roman youth, you know?” + +Lemuel made no answer whatever for a time. Then, whether he judged it +best to do so, or was goaded to the defiance by 'Manda Grier's manner, +he replied, “Miss Swan and Miss Carver? Miss Swan is married, and +lives in Wyoming Territory now.” Before he had reached the close of the +sentence he had controlled himself sufficiently to be speaking quite +calmly. + +“Oh indeed, Mr. Barker! And may I ask where Miss Carver is? She merried +and living in Wyoming Territory too?” + +“No,” said Lemuel quietly. “She's not married. She's in Boston.” + +“Indeed! Then it _was_ her I see in the Garden to-day, S'tira! She b'en +back long, Mr. Barker?” + +“About a month, I think,” said Lemuel. + +“Quite a spell! _You_ seen her, Mr. Barker?” + +“Yes, quite often.” + +“I want to know! She still paintin' Roman boys, Mr. Barker? Didn't seem +to make any great out at it last winter! But practice makes perfect, +they say. I s'pose _you_ seen her in the Garden, too?” + +“I usually see her at home,” said Lemuel. “_You_ probably receive your +friends on the benches in the Garden, but young ladies prefer to have +them call at their residences.” He astonished himself by this brutality, +he who was all gentleness with Miss Carver. + +“Very well, Mr. Barker! That's all right. That's all I wanted to know. +Never mind about where I meet my friends. Wherever it is, they're +_gentlemen_; and they ain't generally goin' with three or four girls 't +the same time.” + +“No, one like you would be enough,” retorted Lemuel. + +Statira sat cowering away from the quarrel, and making little +ineffectual starts as if to stay it. Heretofore their enmity had been +covert, if not tacit, in her presence. + +Lemuel saw her wavering, and the wish to show 'Manda his superior power +triumphed over every other interest and impulse in him. He got upon his +feet. “There is no use in this sort of thing going on any longer. I came +here because I thought I was wanted. If it's a mistake, it's easy +enough to mend it, and it's easy not to make it again. I wish you good +evening.” + +Statira sprang from the lounge, and flung her arms around his neck. “No, +no! You sha'n't go! You mustn't go, Lem! I know your all right, and I +won't have you talked to so! I ain't a bit jealous, Lem; indeed I ain't. +I know you wouldn't fool with me, any more than I would with you; and +that's what I tell 'Manda Grier, I'll leave it to her if I don't. I +don't care who you go with, and I hain't, never since that first time. +I know you ain't goin' to do anything underhanded. Don't go, Lem; oh, +_don't_ go!” + +He was pulling towards the door; her trust, her fond generosity drove +him more than 'Manda Grier's cutting tongue: that hurt his pride, his +vanity, but this pierced his soul; he had only a blind, stupid will to +escape from it. + +Statira was crying; she began to cough; she released his neck from her +clasp, and reeled backward to the lounge, where she would have fallen, +if 'Manda Grier had not caught her. The paroxysm grew more violent; a +bright stream of blood sprang from her lips. + +“Run! Run for the doctor! Quick, Lemuel! Oh, quick!” implored 'Manda +Grier, forgetting all enmity in her terror. + +Statira's arms wavered towards him, as if to keep him, but he turned and +ran from the house, cowed and conscience-stricken by the sight of that +blood, as if he had shed it. + +He did not expect to see Statira alive when he came back with the doctor +whom he found at the next apothecary's. She was lying on the lounge, +white as death, but breathing quietly, and her eyes sought him with an +eagerness that turned to a look of tender gratitude at the look they +found in his. + +The doctor bent over her for her pulse and her respiration; then when +he turned to examine the crimson handkerchief which 'Manda Grier showed +him, Lemuel dropped on his knees beside her and put his face down to +hers. + +With her lips against his cheek she made, “Don't go!” + +And he whispered, “No, I'll not leave you now!” + +The doctor looked round with the handkerchief still in his hand, as if +doubting whether to order him away from her. Then he mutely questioned +'Manda Grier with a glance which her glance answered. He shrugged his +shoulders, with a puzzled sigh. An expression of pity crossed his face +which he hardened into one of purely professional interest, and he went +on questioning 'Manda Grier in a low tone. + +Statira had slipped her hand into Lemuel's, and she held it fast, as if +in that clasp she were holding on to her chance of life. + + + + +XXXII. + + +Sewell returned to town for the last time in the third week of +September, bringing his family with him. + +This was before the greater part of his oddly assorted congregation had +thought of leaving the country, either the rich cottagers whose family +tradition or liberal opinions kept them in his church, or the boarding +and camping elements who were uniting a love of cheapness with a love +of nature in their prolonged sojourn among the woods and fields. Certain +families, perhaps half of his parish in all, were returning because the +schools were opening, and they must put their children into them; and it +was both to minister to the spiritual needs of these and to get his own +children back to their studies that the minister was at home so early. + +It was, as I have hinted already, a difficult and laborious season with +him; he himself was always a little rusty in his vocation after his +summer's outing, and felt weakened rather than strengthened by his rest. +The domestic machine started reluctantly; there was a new cook to be +got in, and Mrs. Sewell had to fight a battle with herself, in which she +invited him to share, before she could settle down for the winter to +the cares of housekeeping. The wide skies, the dim mountain slopes, +the long, delicious drives, the fresh mornings, the sweet, silvery +afternoons of their idle country life, haunted their nerves and +enfeebled their wills. + +One evening in the first days of this moral disability, while Sewell sat +at his desk trying to get himself together for a sermon, Barker's name +was brought up to him. + +“Really,” said his wife, who had transmitted it from the maid, “I think +it's time you protected yourself, David. You can't let this go on +for ever. He has been in Boston nearly two years now; he has regular +employment, where if there's anything in him at all, he ought to prosper +and improve without coming to you every other night. What _can_ he want +now?” + +“I'm sure I don't know,” said the minister, leaning back in his chair, +and passing his hand wearily over his forehead. + +“Then send down and excuse yourself. Tell him you're busy, and ask him +to come another time!” + +“Ah, you know I can't do that, my dear.” + +“Very well, then; I will go down and see him. You sha'n't be +interrupted.” + +“Would you, my dear? That would be very kind of you! Do get me off some +way; tell him I'm coming to see him very soon.” He went stupidly back to +his writing, without looking to see whether his wife had meant all she +said; and after a moment's hesitation she descended in fulfilment of her +promise; or, perhaps rather it was a threat. + +She met Lemuel not unkindly, for she was a kind-hearted woman; but she +placed duty before charity even, and she could not help making him feel +that she was there in the discharge of a duty. She explained that Mr. +Sewell was very unusually busy that evening, and had sent her in his +place, and hoped soon to see him. She bade Lemuel sit down, and he +obeyed, answering all the questions as to the summer and his occupations +and health, and his mother's health, which she put to him in proof of +her interest in him; in further evidence of it, she gave him an account +of the Sewell family's doings since they last met. He did not stay long, +and she returned slowly and pensively to her husband. + +“Well?” he asked, without looking round. + +“Well; it's all right,” she answered, with rather a deep breath. “He +didn't seem to have come for anything in particular; I told him that if +he wished specially to speak with you, you would come down.” + +Sewell went on with his writing, and after a moment his wife said, “But +you must go and see him very soon, David; you must go to-morrow.” + +“Why?” + +“He looks wretchedly, though he says he's very well. It made my heart +ache. He looks perfectly wan and haggard. I wish,” she burst out, “I +wish I had let you go down and see him!” + +“Why--why, what was the matter?” asked Sewell, turning about now. “Did +you think he had something on his mind?” + +“No, but he looked fairly sick. Oh, I wish he had never come into our +lives!” + +“I'm afraid he hasn't got much good from us,” sighed the minister. “But +I'll go round and look him up in the morning. His trouble will keep +overnight, if it's a real trouble. There's that comfort, at least. And +now, do go away, my dear, and leave me to my writing.” + +Mrs. Sewell looked at him, but turned and left him, apparently reserving +whatever sermon she might have in her mind till he should have finished +his. + +The next morning he went to inquire for Lemuel at Mr. Corey's. The man +was sending him away from the door with the fact merely that Lemuel was +not then in the house, when the voice of Mr. Corey descending the stairs +called from within: “Is that you, Sewell? Don't go away! Come in!” + +The old gentleman took him into the library and confessed in a bit of +new slang, which he said was delightful, that he was all balled up by +Lemuel's leaving him, and asked Sewell what he supposed it meant. + +“Left you? Meant?” echoed Sewell. + +When they got at each other it was understood that Lemuel, the day +before, had given up his employment with Mr. Corey, expressing a fit +sense of all his kindness and a fit regret at leaving him, but alleging +no reasons for his course; and that this was the first that Sewell knew +of the affair. + +“It must have been that which he came to see me about last night,” he +said, with a sort of anticipative remorse. “Mrs. Sewell saw him--I was +busy.” + +“Well! Get him to come back, Sewell,” said Mr. Corey, with his +whimsical imperiousness; “I can't get on without him. All my moral and +intellectual being has stopped like a watch.” + +Sewell went to the boarding-house where Lemuel took his meals, but found +that he no longer came there, and had left no other address. He knew +nowhere else to ask, and he went home to a day of latent trouble of +mind, which whenever it came to the light defined itself as helpless +question and self-reproach in regard to Barker. + +That evening as he sat at tea, the maid came with the announcement that +there was a person in the reception-room who would not send in any name, +but wished to see Mr. Sewell, and would wait. + +Sewell threw down his napkin, and said, “I'll bring him in to tea.” + +Mrs. Sewell did not resist; she bade the girl lay another plate. + +Sewell was so sure of finding Lemuel in the reception-room, that he +recoiled in dismay from the girlish figure that turned timidly from the +window to meet him with a face thickly veiled. He was vexed, too; here, +he knew from the mystery put on, was one of those cases of feminine +trouble, real or unreal, which he most disliked to meddle with. + +“Will you sit down?” he said, as kindly as he could, and the girl +obeyed. + +“I thought they would let me wait. I didn't mean to interrupt you,” she +began, in a voice singularly gentle and unaffected. + +“Oh, no matter!” cried Sewell. “I'm very glad to see you.” + +“I thought you could help me. I'm in great trouble--doubt--” + +The voice was almost childlike in its appealing innocence. Sewell sat +down opposite the girl and bent sympathetically forward. “Well?” + +She waited a moment. Then, “I don't know how to begin,” she said +hoarsely, and stopped again. + +Sewell was touched. He forgot Lemuel; he forgot everything but the +heartache which he divined before him, and his Christ-derived office, +his holy privilege, of helping any in want of comfort or guidance. +“Perhaps,” he said, in his loveliest way,--the way that had won his +wife's heart, and that still provoked her severest criticism for +its insincerity; it was so purely impersonal,--“perhaps that isn't +necessary, if you mean beginning at the beginning. If you've any trouble +that you think I can advise you in, perhaps it's better for both of us +that I shouldn't know very much of it.” + +“Yes?” murmured the girl questioningly. + +“I mean that if you tell me much, you will go away feeling that you have +somehow parted with yourself, that you're no longer in your own keeping, +but in mine; and you know that in everything our help must really come +from within our own free consciences.” + +“Yes,” said the girl again, from behind the veil which completely hid +her face. She now hesitated a long time. She put her handkerchief +under her veil; and at last she said: “I know what you mean.” Her voice +quivered pathetically; she tried to control it. “Perhaps,” she whispered +huskily, after another interval, “I can put it in the form of a +question.” + +“That would be best,” said Sewell. + +She hesitated; the tears fell down upon her hands behind her veil; she +no longer wiped them. “It's because I've often--heard you; because I +know you will tell me what's true and right--” + +“Your own heart must do that,” said the minister, “but I will gladly +help you all I can.” + +She did not heed him now, but continued as if rapt quite away from him. + +“If there was some one--something--if there was something that it would +be right for you to do--to have, if there was no one else; but if +there were some else that had a right first--” She broke off and asked +abruptly, “Don't you think it is always right to prefer another--the +interest of another to your own?” + +Sewell could not help smiling. “There is only one thing for us to do +when we are in any doubt or perplexity,” he said cheerily, “and that is +the unselfish thing.” + +“Yes,” she gasped; she seemed to be speaking to herself. “I saw it, +I knew it! Even if it kills us, we must do it! Nothing ought to weigh +against it! Oh, I thank you!” + +Sewell was puzzled. He felt dimly that she was thanking him for anguish +and despair. “I'm afraid that I don't quite understand you.” + +“I thought I told you,” she answered, with a certain reproach, and a +fall of courage in view of the fresh effort she must make. It was some +moments before she could say, “If you knew that some one--some one who +was--everything to you--and that you knew--believed--” + +At fifty it is hard to be serious about these things, and it was well +for the girl that she was no longer conscious of Sewell's mood. + +“--Cared for you; and if you knew that before he had cared for you there +had been some else--some else that he was as much to as he was to you, +and that couldn't give him up, what--should you--” + +Sewell fetched a long sigh of relief; he had been afraid of a much +darker problem than this. He almost smiled. + +“My dear child,”--she seemed but a child there before the mature man +with her poor little love-trouble, so intricate and hopeless to her, so +simple and easy to him--“that depends upon a great many circumstances.” + +He could feel through her veil the surprise with which she turned to +him: “You said, whenever we are in doubt, we must act unselfishly.” + +“Yes, I said that. But you must first be sure what is really selfish--” + +“I _know_ what is selfish in this case,” said the girl with a sublimity +which, if foolish, was still sublimity. “She is sick--it will kill her +to lose him--You have said what I expected, and I thank you, thank you, +_thank_ you! And I will do it! Oh, don't fear now but I shall; I _have_ +done it! No matter,” she went on in her exaltation, “no matter how much +we care for each other, now!” + +“No,” said Sewell decidedly. “That doesn't follow. I have thought of +such things; there was such a case within my experience once,”--he could +not help alleging this case, in which he had long triumphed,--“and I +have always felt that I did right in advising against a romantic notion +of self-sacrifice in such matters. You may commit a greater wrong in +that than in an act of apparent self-interest. You have not put the +case fully before me, and it isn't necessary that you should, but if you +contemplate any rash sacrifice, I warn you against it.” + +“You said that we ought to act unselfishly.” + +“Yes, but you must beware of the refined selfishness which shrinks from +righteous self-assertion because it is painful. You must make sure of +your real motive; you must consider whether your sacrifice is not going +to do more harm than good. But why do you come to me with your trouble? +Why don't you go to your father--your mother?” + +“I have none.” + +“Ah--” + +She had risen and pushed by him to the outer door, though he tried to +keep her. “Don't be rash,” he urged. “I advise you to take time to think +of this--” + +She did not answer; she seemed now only to wish to escape, as if in +terror of him. + +She pulled open the door, and was gone. + +Sewell went back to his tea, bewildered, confounded. + +“What's the matter? Why didn't he come in to tea with you?” asked his +wife. + +“Who?” + +“Barker.” + +“What Barker?” + +“David, what _is_ the matter?” + +Sewell started from his daze, and glanced at his children: “I'll tell +you by and by, Lucy.” + + + + +XXXIII + + +A month passed, and Sewell heard nothing of Lemuel. His charge, always +elusive and evanescent, had now completely vanished, and he could find +no trace of him. Mr. Corey suggested advertising. Bellingham said, why +not put it in the hands of a detective? He said he had never helped work +anything up with a detective; he rather thought he should like to do it. +Sewell thought of writing to Barker's mother at Willoughby Pastures, but +he postponed it; perhaps it would alarm her if Barker were not there; +Sewell had many other cares and duties; Lemuel became more and more a +good intention of the indefinite future. After all, he had always shown +the ability to take care of himself, and except that he had mysteriously +disappeared there was no reason for anxiety about him. + +One night his name came up at a moment when Sewell was least prepared +by interest or expectation to see him. He smiled to himself in running +downstairs, at the reflection that he never seemed quite ready for +Barker. But it was a relief to have him turn up again; there was no +question of that, and Sewell showed him a face of welcome that dropped +at sight of him. He scarcely new the gaunt, careworn face or the shabby +figure before him, in place of the handsome, well-dressed young fellow +whom he had come to greet. There seemed a sort of reversion in Barker's +whole presence to the time when Sewell first found him in that room; +and in whatever trouble he now was, the effect was that of his original +rustic constraint. + +Trouble there was of some kind, Sewell could see at a glance, and his +kind heart prompted him to take Lemuel's hand between both of his. “Why, +my dear boy!” he began; but he stopped and made Lemuel sit down, waited +for him to speak, without further question or comment. + +“Mr. Sewell,” the young man said abruptly, “you told me once you--that +you sometimes had money put into your hands that you could lend.” + +“Yes,” replied Sewell, with eager cordiality. + +“Could I borrow about seventy-five dollars of you?” + +“Why, certainly, Barker!” Sewell had not so much of what he called his +flying-charity fund by him, but he instantly resolved to advance the +difference out of his own pocket. + +“It's to get me an outfit for horse-car conductor,” said Lemuel. “I can +have the place if I can get the outfit.” + +“Horse-car conductor!” reverberated Sewell. “What in the world for?” + +“It's work I can do,” answered Lemuel briefly, but not resentfully. + +“But there are so many other things--better--fitter--more profitable! +Why did you leave Mr. Corey? I assure you that you have been a great +loss to him--in every way. You don't know how much he valued you, +personally. He will be only too glad to have you come back.” + +“I can't go back,” said Lemuel. “I'm going to get married.” + +“Married!” cried Sewell in consternation. + +“My--the lady that I'm going to marry--has been sick, ever since the +first of October, and I haven't had a chance to look up any kind of +work. But she's better now; and I've heard of this place I can get. I +don't like to trouble you; but--everything's gone--I've got my mother +down here helping take care of her; and I must do something. I don't +know just when I can pay you back; but I'll do it sometime.” + +“Oh, I'm sure of that,” said Sewell, from the abyss of hopeless +conjecture into which these facts had plunged him; his wandering fancy +was dominated by the presence of Lemuel's mother with her bloomers in +Boston. “I--I hope there's nothing serious the trouble with your--the +lady?” he said, rubbing away with his hand the smile that came to his +lips in spite of him. + +“It's lung trouble,” said Lemuel quietly. + +“Oh!” responded Sewell. “Well! Well!” He shook himself together, and +wondered what had become of the impulse he had felt to scold Barker for +the idea of getting married. But such a course now seemed not only far +beyond his province,--he heard himself saying that to Mrs. Sewell in +self-defence when she should censure him for not doing it,--but utterly +useless in view of the further complications. “Well! This is great news +you tell me--a great surprise. You're--you're going to take an important +step--You--you--Of course, of course! You must have a great many demands +upon you, under the circumstances. Yes, yes! And I'm very glad you came +to me. If your mind is quite made up about----” + +“Yes, I've thought it over,” said Lemuel. “The lady has had to work +all her life, and she--she isn't used to what I thought--what I +intended--any other kind of people; and it's better for us both that +I should get some kind of work that won't take me away from her too +much----” He dropped his head, and Sewell with a flash of intelligence +felt a thrill of compassionate admiration for the poor, foolish, +generous creature, for so Lemuel complexly appeared to him. + +Again he forbore question or comment. + +“Well--well! we must look you up, Mrs. Sewell and I. We must come to see +your--the lady.” He found himself falling helplessly into Lemuel's way +of describing her. “Just write me your address here,”--he put a scrap +of paper before Lemuel on the davenport,--“and I'll go and get you the +money.” + +He brought it back in an envelope which held a very little more than +Lemuel had asked for--Sewell had not dared to add much--and Lemuel put +it in his pocket. + +He tried to say something; he could only make a husky noise in his +throat. + +“Good night!” said Sewell pressing his hand with both of his again, at +the door. “We shall come very soon.” + +“Married!” said Mrs. Sewell, when he returned to her; and then she +suffered a silence to ensue, in which it seemed to Sewell that his +inculpation was visibly accumulating mountains vast and high. “_What did +you say_?” + +“Nothing,” he answered almost gaily; the case was so far beyond despair. +“What should _you_ have said?” + + + + +XXXIV. + + +Lemuel got a conductor's overcoat and cap at half-price from a man who +had been discharged, and put by the money saved to return to Sewell when +he should come. He entered upon his duties the next morning, under the +instruction of an old conductor, who said, “Hain't I seen you som'ere's +before?” and he worked all day, taking money and tickets, registering +fares, helping ladies on and off the car, and monotonously journeying +back and forth over his route. He went on duty at six o'clock in the +morning, after an early breakfast that 'Manda Grier and his mother got +him, for Statira was not strong enough yet to do much, and he was to be +relieved at eight. At nightfall, after two half-hour respites for dinner +and tea, he was so tired that he could scarcely stand. + +“Well, how do you like it, as fur's you've gone?” asked the instructing +conductor, in whom Lemuel had recognised an old acquaintance. “Sweet +life, ain't it? There! That switch hain't worked again! Jump off, young +man, and put your shoulder to the wheel!” + +The car had failed to take the right-hand turn where the line divided; +it had to be pushed back, and while the driver tugged and swore under +his breath at his horses, Lemuel set himself to push the car. + +“'S no use!” said the driver finally. “I got to hitch 'em on at the +other end, and pull her back.” + +He uncoupled the team from the front of the car, and swung round with +it. Lemuel felt something strike him, on the leg, and he fell down. He +scrambled to his feet again, but his left leg doubled under him; it went +through his mind that one of the horses must have lashed out and broken +it; then everything seemed to stop. + +The world began again for him in the apothecary's shop where he had been +carried, and from which he was put into an ambulance, by a policeman. +It stopped again, as he whirled away; it renewed itself in anguish, and +ceased in bliss as he fainted from the pain or came to. + +They lifted him up some steps, at last, and carried him into a high, +bright room, where there were two or three cots, and a long glass case +full of surgical instruments. They laid him on a cot, and some one +swiftly and skilfully undressed him. A surgeon had come in, and now he +examined Lemuel's leg. He looked once or twice at his face. + +“This is a pretty bad job, I can't tell how bad till you have had the +ether. Will you leave it with me?” + +“Yes. But do the best you can for me.” + +“You may be sure I will.” + +Lemuel believed that they meant to cut off his leg. He knew that he had +a right to refuse and to take the consequences, but he would not; he had +no right to choose death, when he had others to live for. + +He woke deathly sick at first, and found himself lying in bed, one of +the two rows in a long room, where there were some quiet women in neat +caps and seersucker dresses going about, with bowls of food and bottles +of medicine. + +Lemuel still felt his leg, and the pain in it, but he had heard how +mutilated men felt their lost limbs all their lives, and he was afraid +to make sure by the touch of his hand. + +A nurse who saw his eyes open came to him. He turned them upon her, but +he could not speak. She must have understood. “The doctor thinks he can +save your leg for you; but it's a bad fracture. You must be careful to +keep very still.” + +He fell asleep; and life began again for him, in the midst of suffering +and death. He saw every day broken and mangled men, drunk with ether, +brought up as he had been, and laid in beds; he saw the priest of the +religion to which most of the poor and lowly still belong, go and come +among the cots, and stand by the pillows where the sick feebly followed +him in the mystical gestures which he made on his brow and breast; he +learned to know the use of the white linen screen which was drawn +about a bed to hide the passing of a soul; he became familiar with the +helpless sympathy, the despair of the friends who came to visit the sick +and dying. + +He had not lacked for more attention and interest from his own than the +rules of the hospital allowed. His mother and 'Manda Grier came first, +and then Statira when they would let her. She thought it hard that she +was not suffered to do the least thing for him; she wished to take him +away to their own rooms, where she could nurse him twice as well. At +first she cried whenever she saw him, and lamented over him, so that +the head nurse was obliged to explain to her that she disturbed the +patients, and could not come any more unless she controlled herself. She +promised, and kept her word; she sat quietly by his pillow and held his +hand, when she came, except when she put up her own to hide the cough +which she could not always restrain. The nurse told her that, of course, +she was not accountable for the cough, but she had better try to check +it. Statira brought troches with her, and held them in her mouth for +this purpose. + +Lemuel's family was taken care of in this time of disaster. The +newspapers had made his accident promptly known; and not only Sewell, +but Miss Vane and Mrs. Corey had come to see if they could be of any +use. + +One day a young girl brought a bouquet of flowers and set it by Lemuel's +bed, when he seemed asleep. He suddenly opened his eyes, and saw Sybil +Vane for the first time since their quarrel. + +She put her finger to her lip, and smiled with the air of a lady +benefactress; then, with a few words of official sympathy, she +encouraged him to get well, and flitted to the next bed, where she +bestowed a jacqueminot rosebud on a Chinaman dying of cancer. + +Sewell came often to see him, at first in the teeth of his mother's +obvious hostility, but with her greater and greater relenting. Nothing +seemed gloomier than the outlook for Lemuel, but Sewell had lived too +long not to know that the gloom of an outlook has nothing to do with a +man's real future. It was impossible, of course, for Lemuel to go back +to Mr. Corey's now with a sick wife, who would need so much of his care. +Besides, he did not think it desirable on other accounts. He recurred to +what Lemuel had said about getting work that should not take him too far +away from the kind of people his betrothed was used to, and he felt a +pity and respect for the boy whom life had already taught this wisdom, +this resignation. He could see that before his last calamity had come +upon him, Barker was trying to adjust his ambition to his next duty, +or rather to subordinate it; and the conviction that he was right gave +Sewell courage to think that he would yet somehow succeed. It also gave +him courage to resist, on Barker's behalf, the generous importunities +of some who would have befriended him. Mr. Corey and Charles Bellingham +drove up to the hospital one day, to see Lemuel; and when Sewell met +them the same evening, they were full of enthusiasm. Corey said that +the effect of the hospital, with its wards branching from the classistic +building in the centre, was delightfully Italian; it was like St. +Peter's on a small scale, and he had no idea how interesting the South +End was; it was quite a bit of foreign travel to go up there. Bellingham +had explored the hospital throughout; he said he had found it the thing +to do--it was a thing for everybody to do; he was astonished that he +had never done it before. They united in praising Barker, and they asked +what could be done for him. Corey was strenuous for his coming back to +him; at any rate they must find something for him. Bellingham favoured +the notion of doing something for his education; a fellow like that +could come to almost anything. + +Sewell shook his head. “All that's impossible, now. With that girl----” + +“Oh, confound her!” cried Bellingham. + +“I was rather disappointed at not seeing his mother,” said Corey. “I had +counted a good deal, I find, upon Mrs. Barker's bloomers.” + +“With a girl like that for his wife,” pursued Sewell, “the conditions +are all changed. He must cleave to her in mind as well as body, and he +must seek the kind of life that will unite them more and more, not less +and less. In fact, he was instinctively doing so when this accident +happened. That's what marriage means.” + +“Oh, not always,” suggested Corey. + +“He must go back to Willoughby Pastures,” Sewell concluded, “to his +farm.” + +“Oh, come now!” said Bellingham, with disgust. + +“If that sort of thing is to go on,” said Corey, “what is to become of +the ancestry of the future _élite_ of Boston? I counted upon Barker to +found one of our first families. Besides, any Irishman could take his +farm and do better with it. The farm would be meat to the Irishman, and +poison to Barker, now that he's once tasted town.” + +“Yes, I know all that,” said Sewell sadly. “I once thought the greatest +possible good I could do Barker, after getting him to Boston, was to get +him back to Willoughby Pastures; but if that was ever true, the time is +past. Now, it merely seems the only thing possible. When he gets well, +he will still have an invalid wife on his hands; he must provide her a +home; she could have helped him once, and would have done so, I've no +doubt; but now she must be taken care of.” + +“Look here!” said Bellingham. “What's the reason these things can't be +managed as they are in the novels? In any well-regulated romance that +cough of hers would run into quick consumption and carry Barker's +fiancee off in six weeks; and then he could resume his career of +usefulness and prosperity here, don't you know. He could marry some one +else, and found that family that Corey wants.” + +They all laughed, Sewell ruefully. + +“As it is,” said Corey, “I suppose she'll go on having hemorrhages to a +good old age, and outlive him, after being a clog and burden to him all +his life. Poor devil! What in the world possesses him to want to marry +her? But I suppose the usual thing.” + +This gave Sewell greater discomfort than the question of Lemuel's +material future. He said listlessly, “Oh, I suppose so,” but he was +far from thinking precisely that. He had seen Lemuel and the young girl +together a great deal, and a painful misgiving had grown up in his mind. +It seemed to him that while he had seen no want of patience and kindness +towards her in Lemuel, he had not seen the return of her fondness, +which, silly as it was in some of its manifestations, he thought he +should be glad of in him. Yet he was not sure. Barker was always so +self-contained that he might very well feel more love for her than he +showed; and, after all, Sewell rather weakly asked himself, was the love +so absolutely necessary? + +When he repeated this question in his wife's presence, she told him she +was astonished at him. + +“You know that it is _vitally_ necessary! It's all the more necessary, +if he's so superior to her, as you say. I can't think what's become of +your principles, my dear!” + +“I do, you've got them,” said Sewell. + +“I really believe I have,” said his wife, with that full conviction of +righteousness which her sex alone can feel. “I have always heard you +say that marriage without love was not only sinful in itself, but the +beginning of sorrow. Why do you think now that it makes no difference?” + +“I suppose I was trying to adapt myself to circumstances,” answered +Sewell, frankly at least. “Let's hope that my facts are as wrong as my +conclusions. I'm not sure of either. I suppose, if I saw him idolising +so slight and light a person as she seems to be, I should be more +disheartened about his future than I am now. If he overvalued her, it +would only drag him lower down.” + +“Oh, his future! Drag him down! Why don't you think of her, going up +there to that dismal wilderness, to spend her days in toil and poverty, +with a half-crazy mother-in-law, and a rheumatic brother-in-law, in +such a looking hovel?” Mrs. Sewell did not group these disadvantages +conventionally, but they were effective. “You have allowed your feelings +about that baffling creature to blind you to everything else, David. Why +should you care so much for his future, and nothing for hers? Is that so +very bright?” + +“I don't think that either is dazzling,” sighed the minister. Yet +Barker's grew a little lighter as he familiarised himself with it, or +rather with Barker. He found that he had a plan for getting a teacher's +place in the Academy, if they reopened it at Willoughby Pastures, as +they talked of doing, under the impulse of such a course in one of the +neighbouring towns, and that he was going home, in fancy at least, with +purposes of enlightenment and elevation which would go far to console +him under such measure of disappointment as they must bring. Sewell +hinted to Barker that he must not be too confident of remodelling +Willoughby Pastures upon the pattern of Boston. + +“Oh no; I don't expect that,” said Lemuel. “What I mean is that I shall +always try to remember myself what I've learnt here--from the kind of +men I've seen, and the things that I know people are all the time doing +for others. I told you once that they haven't got any idea of that in +the country. I don't expect to preach it into them; they wouldn't like +it if I did; and they'd make fun of it; but if I could try to _live_ +it?” + +“Yes,” said Sewell, touched by this young enthusiasm. + +“I don't know as I can all the time,” said Lemuel. “But it seems to me +that that's what I've learnt here, if I've learnt anything. I think the +world's a good deal better than I used to.” + +“Do you indeed, my dear boy?” asked Sewell, greatly interested. “It's a +pretty well-meaning world--I hope it is.” + +“Yes, that's what I mean,” said Lemuel. “I presume it ain't +perfect--isn't, I should say,” and Sewell smiled. “Mr. Corey was always +correcting me on that. But if I were to do nothing but pass along the +good that's been done me since I came here, I should be kept busy the +rest of my life.” + +Sewell knew that this emotion was largely the physical optimism of +convalescence; but he could not refuse the comfort it gave him to find +Barker in such a mood, and he did not conceive it his duty to discourage +it. Lofty ideals, if not indulged at the expense of lowly realities, he +had never found hurtful to any; and it was certainly better for Barker +to think too well than too ill of Boston, if it furnished him incentives +to unselfish living. He could think of enough things in the city to +warrant a different judgment, but if Barker's lesson from his experience +there was this, Sewell was not the person to weaken its force with him. +He said, with a smile of reserved comment, “Well, perhaps you'll be +coming back to us, some day.” + +“I don't look forward to that,” said Lemuel soberly; and then his face +took a sterner cast, as if from the force of his resolution. “The first +thing I've got to do after I've made a home for her is to get Statira +away from the town where she can have some better air, and see if she +can't get her health back. It'll be time enough to talk of Boston again +when she's fit to live here.” + +The minister's sympathetic spirit sank again. But his final parting with +Barker was not unhopeful. Lemuel consented to accept from him a small +loan, to the compass of which he reduced the eager bounty of Miss Vane +and Mr. Corey, representing that more would be a burden and an offence +to Barker. Statira and his mother came with him to take leave of the +Sewells. + +They dismounted from the horse-car at the minister's door; and he saw, +with sensibility, the two women helping Lemuel off; he walked with a +cane, and they went carefully on either side of him. Sewell hastened +to meet them at the door himself, and he was so much interested in the +spectacle of this mutual affection that he failed at first to observe +that Mrs. Barker wore the skirts of occidental civilisation instead of +the bloomers which he had identified her with. + +“She _says_ she's goin' to put 'em on again as soon as she gets back +to Willoughby,” the younger woman explained to Mrs. Sewell in an aside, +while the minister was engaged with Lemuel and his mother. “But I +tell her as long as it ain't the fashion in Boston, I guess she hadn't +better, he-e-e-re.” Statira had got on her genteel prolongation of her +last syllables again. “I guess I shall get along with her. She's kind +of queer when you first get acquainted; but she's _real_ +good-_heart_-e-e-d.” She was herself very prettily dressed, and though +she looked thin, and at times gave a deep, dismal cough, she was so +bright and gay that it was impossible not to feel hopeful about her. She +became very confidential with Mrs. Sewell, whom she apparently brevetted +Lemuel's best friend, and obliged to a greater show of interest in +him than she had ever felt. She told her the whole history of her love +affair, and of how much 'Manda Grier had done to help it on at first, +and then how she had wanted her to break off with Lemuel. “But,” she +concluded, “I think we're goin' to get along real nice together. I don't +know as we shall live all in the same _hou_-ou-se; I guess it'll be the +best thing for Lem and I if we can board till we get some little of our +health back; I'm more scared for him than what I am for my-_se_-e-lf. I +don't presume but what we shall both miss the city some; but he might be +out of a job all winter in town; I shouldn't want he should go back on +them _ca_-a-rs. Most I hate is leavin' 'Manda Grier, she is the one +that I've roomed with ever since I first came to Boston; but Lem and her +don't get on very well; they hain't really either of 'em _got_ anything +against each other now, but they don't _like_ very _we_-e-ll; and, of +course, I got to have the friends that he wants me to have, and that's +what 'Manda Grier says, _to_-o-o; and so it's just as well we're goin' +to be where they won't _cla_-a-sh.” + +She talked to Mrs. Sewell in a low voice; but she kept her eyes upon +Lemuel all the time; and when Sewell took him and his mother the length +of the front drawing-room away, she was quite distraught, and answered +at random till he came back. + +Sewell did not know what to think. Would this dependence warm her +betrothed to greater tenderness than he now showed, or would its excess +disgust him? He was not afraid that Lemuel would ever be unkind to +her; but he knew that in marriage kindness was not enough. He looked +at Lemuel, serious, thoughtful, refined in his beauty by suffering; and +then his eye wandered to Statira's delicate prettiness, so sweet, +so full of amiable cheerfulness, so undeniably light and silly. What +chiefly comforted him was the fact of an ally whom the young thing +had apparently found in Lemuel's mother. Whether that grim personage's +ignorant pride in her son had been satisfied with a girl of Statira's +style and fashion, and proven capableness in housekeeping, or whether +some fancy for butterfly prettiness lurking in the fastnesses of the old +woman's rugged nature had been snared by the gay face and dancing eyes, +it was apparent that she at least was in love with Statira. She allowed +herself to be poked about and rearranged as to her shawl and the +narrow-brimmed youthful hat which she wore on the peak of her skull, and +she softened to something like a smile at the touch of Statira's quick +hands. + +They had all come rather early to make their parting visit at the +Sewells, for the Barkers were going to take the two o'clock train for +Willoughby Pastures, while Statira was to remain in Boston till he could +make a home for her. Lemuel promised to write, as soon as he should be +settled, and tell Sewell about his life and his work; and Sewell, beyond +earshot of his wife, told him he might certainly count upon seeing them +at Willoughby in the course of the next summer. They all shook hands +several times. Lemuel's mother gave her hand from under the fringe of +her shawl, standing bolt upright at arm's-length off, and Sewell said it +felt like a collection of corn-cobs. + + + + +XXXV. + + +“Well?” said Sewell's wife, when they were gone. + +“Well,” he responded; and after a moment he said, “There's this comfort +about it which we don't always have in such cases: there doesn't seem to +be anybody else. It would be indefinitely worse if there were.” + +“Why, of course. What in the world are you thinking about?” + +“About that foolish girl who came to me with her miserable love-trouble. +I declare, I can't get rid of it. I feel morally certain that she went +away from me and dismissed the poor fellow who was looking to her love +to save him.” + +“At the cost of some other poor creature who'd trusted and believed in +him till his silly fancy changed? I hope for the credit of women that +she did. But you may be morally certain she did nothing of the kind. +Girls don't give up all their hopes in life so easily as that. She might +think she would do it, because she had read of such things, and thought +it was fine, but when it came to the pinch, she wouldn't.” + +“I hope not. If she did she would commit a great error, a criminal +error.” + +“Well, you needn't be afraid. Look at Mrs. Tom Corey. And that was her +own sister!” + +“That was different. Corey had never thought of her sister, much less +made love to her, or promised to marry her. Besides, Mrs. Corey had her +father and mother to advise her, and support her in behaving sensibly. +And this poor creature had nothing but her own novel fed fancies, and +her crazy conscience. She thought that because she inflicted suffering +upon herself she was acting unselfishly. Really the fakirs of India and +the Penitentes of New Mexico are more harmless; for they don't hurt any +one else. If she has forced some poor fellow into a marriage like this +of Barker's she's committed a deadly sin. She'd better driven him to +suicide, than condemned him to live a lie to the end of his days. No +doubt she regarded it as a momentary act of expiation. That's the way +her romances taught her to look at loveless marriage--as something +spectacular, transitory, instead of the enduring, degrading squalor that +it is!” + +“What in the world are you talking about, David? I should think _you_ +were a novelist yourself, by the wild way you go on! You have no proof +whatever that Barker isn't happily engaged. I'm sure he's got a much +better girl than he deserves, and one that's fully his equal. She's only +too fond of that dry stick. Such a girl as the one you described,--like +that mysterious visitor of yours,--what possible relation could she have +with him? She was a lady!” + +“Yes, yes! Of course, it's absurd. But everybody seems to be tangled +up with everybody else. My dear, will you give me a cup of tea? I think +I'll go to writing at once.” + +Before she left her husband to order his tea Mrs. Sewell asked, “And do +you think you have got through with him now?” + +“I have just begun with him,” replied Sewell. + +His mind, naturally enough in connection with Lemuel, was running upon +his friend Evans, and the subject they had once talked of in that room. +It was primarily in thinking of him that he begun to write his sermon +on Complicity, which made a great impression at the time, and had a more +lasting effect as enlarged from the newspaper reports, and reprinted in +pamphlet form. His evolution from the text, “Remember them that are +in bonds as bound with them,” of a complete philosophy of life, was +humorously treated by some of his critics as a phase of Darwinism, +but upon the whole the sermon met with great favour. It not only +strengthened Sewell's hold upon the affections of his own congregation, +but carried his name beyond Boston, and made him the topic of editorials +in the Sunday editions of leading newspapers as far off as Chicago. +It struck one of those popular moods of intelligent sympathy when the +failure of a large class of underpaid and worthy workers to assert their +right to a living wage against a powerful monopoly had sent a thrill of +respectful pity through every generous heart in the country; and it +was largely supposed that Sewell's sermon referred indirectly to the +telegraphers' strike. Those who were aware of his habit of seeking to +produce a personal rather than a general effect, of his belief that you +can have a righteous public only by the slow process of having righteous +men and women, knew that he meant something much nearer home to each +of his hearers when he preached the old Christ-humanity to them, and +enforced again the lessons that no one for good or for evil, for sorrow +or joy, for sickness or health, stood apart from his fellows, but each +was bound to the highest and the lowest by ties that centred in the hand +of God. No man, he said, sinned or suffered to himself alone; his error +and his pain darkened and afflicted men who never heard of his name. If +a community was corrupt, if an age was immoral, it was not because +of the vicious, but the virtuous who fancied themselves indifferent +spectators. It was not the tyrant who oppressed, it was the wickedness +that had made him possible. The gospel--Christ--God, so far as men had +imagined him,--was but a lesson, a type, a witness from everlasting +to everlasting of the spiritual unity of man. As we grew in grace, +in humanity, in civilisation, our recognition of this truth would be +transfigured from a duty to a privilege, a joy, a heavenly rapture. Many +men might go through life harmlessly without realising this, perhaps, +but sterilely; only those who had had the care of others laid upon them, +lived usefully, fruitfully. Let no one shrink from such a burden, or +seek to rid himself of it. Rather let him bind it fast upon his neck, +and rejoice in it. The wretched, the foolish, the ignorant whom we found +at every turn, were something more; they were the messengers of God, +sent to tell his secret to any that would hear it. Happy he in whose +ears their cry for help was a perpetual voice, for that man, whatever +his creed, knew God and could never forget him. In his responsibility +for his weaker brethren he was Godlike, for God was but the +impersonation of loving responsibility, of infinite and never-ceasing +care for us all. + +When Sewell came down from his pulpit, many people came up to speak to +him of his sermon. Some of the women's faces showed the traces of tears, +and each person had made its application to himself. There were two +or three who had heard between the words. Old Bromfield Corey, who was +coming a good deal more to church since his eyes began to fail him, +because it was a change and a sort of relief from being read to, said-- + +“I didn't know that they had translated it Barker in the revised +version. Well, you must let me know how he's getting on, Sewell, and +give me a chance at the revelation, too, if he ever gets troublesome to +you again.” + +Miss Vane was standing at the door with his wife when Sewell came out. +She took his hand and pressed it. + +“Do you think I threw away my chance?” she demanded. She had her veil +down, and at first Sewell thought it was laughter that shook her voice, +but it was not that. + +He did not know quite what to say, but he did say, “He was sent to +_me_.'” + +As they walked off alone, his wife said-- + +“Well, David, I hope you haven't preached away all your truth and +righteousness.” + +“I know what you mean, my dear,” answered Sewell humbly. He added, “You +shall remind me if I seem likely to forget.” But he concluded seriously, +“If I thought I could never do anything more for Barker, I should be +very unhappy; I should take it as a sign that I had been recreant to my +charge.” + + + + +XXXVI + + +The minister heard directly from Barker two or three times during the +winter, and as often through Statira, who came to see Mrs. Sewell. +Barker had not got the place he had hoped for at once, but he had got a +school in the country a little way off, and he was doing something; and +he expected to do better. + +The winter proved a very severe one. “I guess it's just as well I stayed +in town,” said Statira, the last time she came, with a resignation which +Mrs. Sewell, fond of the ideal in others as most ladies are, did not +like. “'Manda Grier says 'twould killed me up there; and I d' know but +what it would. I done so well here, since the cold weather set in that +'Manda Grier she thinks I hadn't better get married right away; well, +not till it comes summer, anyway. I tell her I guess she don't want I +should get married at all, after all she done to help it along first +off. Her and Mr. Barker don't seem to get along very well.” + +Now that Statira felt a little better acquainted with Mrs. Sewell, she +dropped the genteel elongation of her final syllables, and used such +vernacular forms of speech as came first to her. The name of 'Manda +Grier seemed to come in at every fourth word with her, and she tired +Mrs. Sewell with visits which she appeared unable to bring to a close of +herself. + +A long relief from them ended in an alarm for her health with Mrs. +Sewell, who went to find her. She found her still better than before, +and Statira frankly accounted for her absence by saying that 'Manda +thought she had better not come any more till Mrs. Sewell returned some +of her calls. She laughed, and then she said-- + +“I don't know as you'd found me here if you'd come much later. 'Manda +Grier don't want I should be here in the east winds, now it's coming +spring so soon; and she's heard of a chance at a box factory in +Philadelphia. She wants I should go there with her, and I don't know but +what it _would_ be about the best thing.” + +Mrs. Sewell could not deny the good sense of the plan, though she was +sensible of liking Statira less and less for it. + +The girl continued: “Lem--Mr. Barker, I _should_ say--wants I should +come up _there_, out the east winds. But 'Manda Grier she's opposed to +it: she thinks I'd ought to have more of a mild climate, and he better +come down there and get a school if he wants me too,” Statira broke into +an impartial little titter. “I'm sure I don't know which of 'em 'll win +the day!” + +Mrs. Sewell's report of this speech brought a radiant smile of relief to +Sewell's face. “Ah, well, then! That settles it! I feel perfectly sure +that 'Manda Grier will win the day. That poor, sick, flimsy little +Statira is completely under 'Manda Grier's thumb, and will do just what +she says, now that there's no direct appeal from her will to Barker's; +they will never be married. Don't you see that it was 'Manda Grier's +romance in the beginning, and that when she came to distrust, to dislike +Barker, she came to dislike her romance too--to hate it?” + +“Well, don't _you_ romance him, David,” said Mrs. Sewell, only +conditionally accepting his theory. + +Yet it may be offered to the reader as founded in probability and +human nature. In fact, he may be assured here that the marriage which +eventually took place was not that of Lemuel with Statira; though +how the union, which was not only happiness for those it joined, but +whatever is worthier and better in life than happiness, came about, it +is aside from the purpose of this story to tell, and must be left for +some future inquiry. + + +THE END. + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Minister's Charge, by William Dean Howells + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MINISTER'S CHARGE *** + +***** This file should be named 7410-0.txt or 7410-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/4/1/7410/ + +Produced by Anne Folland, Eric Eldred, Charles Franks, and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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