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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79028 ***
+
+
+                          [Cover Illustration]
+
+[Illustration: _The Matrimonial Bureau_]
+
+
+
+
+                                  The
+                           Matrimonial Bureau
+                                   by
+                             Carolyn Wells
+                                  and
+                          Harry Persons Taber
+
+
+
+                          BOSTON•AND•NEW•YORK
+                       Houghton Mifflin & Company
+                     THE•RIVERSIDE•PRESS•CAMBRIDGE
+                                  1905
+
+        COPYRIGHT 1905 BY CAROLYN WELLS AND HARRY PERSONS TABER
+                          ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
+
+                         _Published April 1905_
+
+
+
+
+                                TO NANCY
+
+
+
+
+                          LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+               1. “I’M NOT A SPOILED CHILD”
+
+               2. TEA ON THE EAST PORCH
+
+               3. IN THE BROILING SUN, OBLIVIOUS OF THE HEAT
+
+               4. “SUPPOSE YOU TAKE MISS FOWLER HOME”
+
+
+
+
+                                   I
+
+
+[Illustration: _The Matrimonial Bureau_]
+
+    Think you there was, or might be such a man as this I dreamed
+    of?—_Antony and Cleopatra._
+
+It all happened in the most curious fashion to begin with. If Lieutenant
+Adams had not sent to Miss Esther the particularly heavy box which
+contained some sort of a plaster cast which he had picked up somewhere,
+and which necessitated a great deal of packing-stuff to keep it from
+breaking, Tekla never would have found the paper. Then, too, she never
+would have found the paper if Michael had been about the place on the
+afternoon the box came. But he wasn’t, and Miss Esther was impatient.
+The box had to be unpacked, so she and Tekla, armed with a hatchet, a
+screw-driver, and a monkey-wrench, went at it.
+
+“I expect it’s broken,” said Miss Esther, after the protecting boards
+had been removed, with that lack of dexterity but determined
+effectiveness which characterizes the carpenter work of the average
+woman; “I have no doubt it’s broken all to pieces.”
+
+“Yes’m, I suppose it is; they always are,” said Tekla, cheerfully, as
+she pulled out the bunches of paper which were stuffed about the cast.
+
+“It was packed carefully enough,” said Miss Esther.
+
+“Yes, indeed, ma’am. They must have used all the papers they had saved
+up for housecleaning time. I don’t know what they’ll have left to put on
+their pantry shelves.”
+
+“I’m glad they did; this is a specially fine cast, and I do hope it
+isn’t broken. It looks as if it were, though.”
+
+Miss Esther took hold of the end of the cast and tried to lift it out.
+She succeeded in extricating it from the mass of papers and carried it
+off in triumph.
+
+Tekla brought a basket and began picking up the crumpled papers from the
+kitchen floor. Some large figures on one bit caught her eye.
+
+“‘Circulation yesterday, 840,327,’” she read; “must have used ’em all.”
+
+She went on picking up the papers, carefully smoothing out those pieces
+which she believed might be of use for such purposes as suggest
+themselves to the careful housewife. “I wish,” she thought, “that they
+hadn’t crumpled these things up so much. They might just as well have
+left them flat. We could have used them then.”
+
+At the very bottom of the box she found several voluminous Sunday
+newspapers that apparently had never been opened. “At least here’s a few
+smooth ones,” she continued with a satisfied air.
+
+As she laid them aside, a conspicuous picture attracted her attention.
+“That,” said Tekla, after a long, steady stare at it, “is the kind of
+place I’m going to live in. There should be cows—yes—like those,” and
+she held the picture at arm’s length. “Chickens—yes—and dogs. Some
+calves, maybe, and pigeons and pigs, the same like those! Ah!”
+
+Again she held the picture out before her and gazed at it. “It is all
+there, all—but the man—not!”
+
+Taking down the big shears from their nail, Tekla cut out the picture
+and pinned it up above the kitchen table. “But I will have the cow-sheds
+nearer the house,” she said as she turned away. “They are not handy,
+so.”
+
+                 *        *        *        *        *
+
+In the household of Miss Esther Adams, a Sunday newspaper was almost an
+unknown quantity. To Tekla the discovery of three or four complete
+sheets, with all the various “sections” carefully put together, was an
+event of thrilling importance. She hurried through her work, and sat
+down that evening to enjoy without interruption the unexpected windfall.
+
+By a slow and laborious process of elimination she laid aside the
+primarily colored pages, the reproduced photographs, the editorial
+sections, and other interesting but unbelievable stories, and reserved
+only the advertisements.
+
+These she read eagerly, marking with her pencil such pictured glories of
+feminine apparel as appealed to her somewhat barbaric taste.
+
+Idly scanning one of the more uninteresting looking pages, she chanced
+upon a sort of advertisement which seemed to her to be wholly new.
+Nothing like it had ever fallen under her observation.
+
+                          SPINSTERS ATTENTION!
+
+    Why remain unappropriated blessings? Why waste your sweetness on
+    the desert air? Somewhere there is a heart that beats for you
+    alone. He may be on our list. We have bankers, brokers,
+    clergymen, lawyers, merchants, farmers,—
+
+“Farmers!” said Tekla, thoughtfully.
+
+    —machinists, carpenters, masons, and others. Every one of our
+    clients is a worthy, honorable gentleman who wants a wife. If
+    you will send $1 and your photograph, we will enter your name
+    upon our records.
+
+Tekla read and re-read this advertisement. “Only a dollar,—that is not
+so much. And they said farmers.”
+
+She raised her eyes to the picture she had pinned up on the wall.
+
+“A farm—and a farmer, and some cows yet, and chickens. A house like
+that, and two pigs and two horses and a kitchen all over white
+paint—with a yellow floor—”
+
+She hesitated, looked at the picture again doubtfully, and continued.
+“It stands in the advertisement that there should be a farmer. I will do
+it! I will send yet one dollar.”
+
+Tekla had lived under the influence of Miss Esther so long that whatever
+she did was more or less tinged with the old-fashioned fineness which
+characterized her large-hearted, gentle-minded mistress. Therefore,
+after a considerable amount of earnest effort, she produced this letter:
+
+                                              WHITFIELD, June 8th.
+
+    DEAR SIR,—I have read your advertisement and would say that I
+    inclose herewith one dollar. Please enter my name on your
+    records, and I would like a farmer.
+
+    The farm must contain many acres, also many cows, pigs, sheep,
+    and a donkey. But there must be no bees, as I do not enjoy
+    stinging.
+
+    I have never lived on a farm, but I have a picture of one, and I
+    am sure it will be good. I have lived with Miss Esther for seven
+    years and she has trusted me with the care of her large house,
+    and she says I am too good for James, who drives for the Doctor.
+
+    So please, Dear Sir, if among your worthy and honorable
+    gentlemen there is a farmer with a farm which I have described,
+    I should be glad to hear from you by return of post.
+
+             Yours to Command,
+                 TEKLA KLEIN.
+
+
+    P. S.—My Mother is dead.
+
+Tekla carefully copied the address given in the advertisement, folded
+her letter, and inclosed it in the envelope. Then she took from the top
+drawer of the old dresser, which stood in the kitchen closet, a new
+dollar bill, which Major Bradford had given her on his last visit. That
+was the day, Tekla remembered, when she had taken particular pains with
+the brushing of his uniform—it was the day of the dedication of the
+soldiers’ monument. She regarded the new bill with real affection. She
+had had it more than a year. For a moment she hesitated. What if the
+farmer were not forthcoming in response to her request? But before her
+hung the picture of the farmhouse, the horses, cows, chickens—not one
+single bee was visible.
+
+Tekla’s sense of justice was such that she felt a certain responsibility
+to Miss Esther for the spending of her wages, but surely, she thought,
+with this particular dollar she had every right to do as she chose.
+
+Therefore, trusting that the end would justify the means, she neatly
+folded the bill and placed it carefully with the letter in the already
+stamped and addressed envelope, and sealed it.
+
+And so, as we said at first, if Lieutenant Adams had not sent the cast
+to his cousin, and if Michael had not been absent the day it came, and
+if Miss Esther had not in her impatience insisted upon Tekla’s opening
+the box, the little German girl would not have seen the picture of her
+farm, the letter would not have been written, Adolf Hecksher would never
+have come to Whitfield, this story would never have been written—and
+what would you have done then?
+
+
+
+
+                                   II
+
+
+    This green plot shall be our stage, this hawthorn brake our
+    tyring-house; and we will do it in action.—_Midsummer Night’s
+    Dream._
+
+How the town came to be named Whitfield nobody who was fortunate enough
+to live there could remember, even if ever there had been any accurate
+information on the subject. The town was as old as those others in
+central and southern New York which are still worrying along under the
+burden of names bestowed upon them by that band of surveyors who, fresh
+from the schools where they had learned much of the history of ancient
+cities, had christened the still unpopulated quarter sections with the
+names of classic heroes, states, and battles. Utica, Syracuse, Troy,
+Palmyra, Cicero, Manlius, Sparta, Homer, Ovid, Ithaca,—these towns, it
+had been hoped by their sponsors in baptism, might grow up to be a
+credit to their distinguished namesakes. Whitfield may have been named
+for an eminent Methodist clergyman. Or possibly not. And it didn’t
+matter anyway.
+
+Whitfield was like a hundred other towns of its sort. One may find the
+sort in almost any state except perhaps Arizona. It had an escape about
+three miles wide from being on the railroad, and in consequence there
+was little manufacturing. There was a long street which ran out at both
+ends of the town and got lost somewhere in the country. This street was
+cut at right angles by another of less pretension. Both streets were
+bordered by great old trees, maples and elms and an occasional hickory,
+which had been left from the days when there had been a forest
+thereabouts. Looking at the town from the surrounding hillsides, these
+trees shut out all view of the houses, but when the casual visitor
+arrived in the village he found that they merely shaded them, and they
+were grateful. There were other streets in the village, and according to
+the census reports Whitfield had a population of 896, but that was
+before the Henderson twins were born, and before the Richardsons—eight
+of them—had moved into the Bradley house. Of course, this increase had
+been offset somewhat by the death of Kirk Buckley, who in a moment of
+temporary inebriety had walked one dark night into Deacon Wilson’s stone
+quarry, with a fatal result.
+
+So Whitfield had remained for some years practically stationary as to
+population. It was a quiet, orderly, rather dignified town. Its
+officials took it seriously. Casual visitors, who were entirely
+unsympathetic because they had been born in cities, were apt to smile a
+little at its peculiarities, which were not peculiarities, but only the
+natural outpourings of a heart interested in the doings of whosoever
+came within the line of vision. That was, and is to this day, the
+Whitfield of this story.
+
+At one corner of the long street and the shorter one which intersected
+it stood the Adams house. When it had been built, a century before, the
+Putnam Adams who built it had called the place Elmwood, but the name had
+been forgotten. The house itself showed that essential severity which
+characterized the Adamses, and was the pride of all Whitfield. It
+reproduced, as well as wood and white paint could do so, the development
+of the classic impulse which had its beginnings in eastern New York at
+the time when Sir William Johnson was made colonel of the Six Nations.
+
+The broad, low pediment set squarely upon four Ionic columns, the wide
+stone veranda and massive stone steps were as much a part of the
+landscape as the historic Whitfield elms. The interior of the house
+reflected the Adams attitude of mind and action. There were few curves
+in the decorations. The white-painted panels were uncompromisingly
+square. The mahogany balustrade ran straight up from the broad hall, and
+the stairs opened frankly at the top into the wide corridor which cut
+the upper floor into two halves,—five rooms on one side, five on the
+other, all precisely similar in size and shape. Every line which,
+architecturally, had to do with the making of the house, was straight up
+and down or straight across. There were no angles but right ones. There
+were no curves except those of the Ionic columns, and Colonel Adams had
+said after the house was built that he even wished he had made these
+square. But it was too late, and to-day in Whitfield these same columns
+stand, a lasting monument to the one weakness of decision in the
+character of Colonel Putnam Adams, of His Majesty’s forces in the
+Colonies.
+
+But there was one other monument—the library.
+
+While the library as it exists now could not, in the very nature of
+things, have been built entire by the first Putnam Adams, yet he laid
+the foundation for it; and when he was sent to America by the king, and
+found a place where he was to build his home, he fetched with him from
+England the library which he had collected in France and Italy and
+Germany. Begun with little thought as to its ultimate fate, this
+collection of books had grown with the changing tastes of the young
+soldier. There were the classics in original and translation; much Greek
+poetry, a wonderful edition of Horace, picked up in Rome, and bound in
+leather and gold, which bore the magic signature, deeply wrought, of
+Leonardo da Vinci. Then there was a Machiavelli and the stories of his
+wars and his methods of statesmanship; there was the story of the Life,
+which Benvenuto Cellini himself had written, and this book the Colonel
+had caused to be inclosed in a case of silver which bore upon its cover
+the arms of the House of the Cenci. This book he worshiped with a
+worship which was little short of idolatry. In the long evenings, when
+the Indians were at rest and the messages from Sir William were such as
+to allow him some freedom, he would shut himself in his rooms—wherever
+he might be—and sit the whole night through, living again with the
+Benvenuto those fearsome hours when he fought his way through the
+streets of Florence, leaving in his wake a line of fourteen dead men’s
+bodies—but rushing on to his Art and his Love.
+
+Perhaps, after all, that was why Colonel Putnam Adams decided on the
+curves for the capitals of the columns which guarded the entrance to the
+home which he had built for Margery, the daughter of the governor of
+Plymouth Colony.
+
+The second Putnam Adams inherited his father’s tastes and spent much of
+his time among the books, eagerly adding to the shelves such volumes as
+his somewhat limited opportunities made possible.
+
+Miss Esther’s father, the third Putnam Adams, enlarged the collection
+still further, for in his time the flood of literature which marked the
+Victorian era had already begun. He acquired not only valuable classics,
+as had his ancestors, but also contemporary fiction, essays, and poetry.
+
+The wife of the third Putnam Adams died when Esther was a baby, and the
+child grew up in the great house with only her father for guide,
+counselor, and friend. He was a silent man,—not stern with his little
+daughter, but maintaining the uncompromising dignity of the Adams
+family. He spent his days in the library, and Esther was allowed to stay
+there only on condition that she should not speak to him when he was
+reading. Often the child would stand wistfully waiting until he should
+lay down his book. But often he would do so only to take up another, and
+Esther would turn hopelessly away to amuse herself. Her amusements were
+peculiarly her own, and were not those which would have been considered
+entertaining by most children. She invented her own games. For the
+lonely child there was a certain fascination about a crowd of people,
+and her games always included certain strange individuals, who, though
+invisible to others, were very real to her. She peopled the stairs with
+vast armies marching valiantly up the hill and down again; she crowded
+the parlors with squires and dames of high degree, who danced minuets of
+great intricacy, bowing gallantly and languidly waving feathered fans.
+
+The old Adams stables she filled with palfreys and milk-white steeds,
+and the barnyard with peacocks and falcons. In the grass plot in front
+of the house Esther could see a sun-dial where she fully expected in
+some year to come to hold tryst with a lover who should wear a velvet
+cloak and a curling feather, and who would say “Parting is such sweet
+sorrow, that I could say good-night till it be morrow,” and then would
+kiss her hand—just as Romeo did in the wonderful old engraving in the
+Gilbert Shakespeare.
+
+Thus Esther Adams grew up. She went through the Whitfield school as a
+matter of course, but her tasks were easily learned and her school life
+was casual and perfunctory and quite outside the sentient part of her
+being. She lived in “that land where Rosalind and Imogen are—a Paradise
+apart.” The woodland about the old place was the Forest of Arden. The
+bank of the brook formed the shores of Illyria where the musicians
+played before the duke, and where Esther played the part—yes, lived the
+part—of Viola, and told to the wondering birds how she was letting
+concealment feed on her damask cheek.
+
+Instead of these fancies passing away, later years brought to Esther
+Adams a stronger sense of reality in her dreams, and she but the more
+thoroughly identified herself with the creatures which her imagination
+had appropriated. Through girlhood to womanhood she lived Romance,
+sometimes as Rosalind, sometimes as Iseult, and sometimes, when in
+desperate mood, as Catherine of Medici.
+
+But though the grass plot and the stairs had certain advantages of
+stage-setting, yet it was in the library that Esther gave her fancy
+fullest rein. The reason for this was too subtle to be understood by the
+child; but she had an inexplicable, intangible sense of the atmosphere
+of the books. As she grew older, this became clear to her, and she
+enjoyed her library with the definite knowledge of the satisfaction to
+be derived from the actual physical presence of books.
+
+For forty-five years she had enjoyed this library, as she believed, as
+much as was possible for her, without quite realizing that there was a
+sense of restraint in the presence of her father. Though she adored the
+silent man and gladly submitted to his mandates, the restrictions placed
+upon her as a child were never removed until the day of her father’s
+death, and it was not until after that event that she came to know what
+freedom from even unconsciously obeyed authority meant. And in the ten
+years since she had invested the room with more of her own personality,
+and instead of being as it had been before, merely a library, it was now
+her home.
+
+Although always surrounded by her unreal associates, for the last seven
+years Miss Esther’s only human companion had been Tekla, the maid, and
+Tekla was very human. When she came to live at the Adams house, Miss
+Esther was shocked at her deplorable ignorance, and immediately began to
+teach her at least the rudiments of an education. The good lady
+consciously and laboriously taught her charge reading and writing, but
+far more easily yet, she unwittingly instilled in Tekla’s mind a
+romantic sort of fancy not unlike her own. And that’s how it happened
+that Tekla’s stolidly practical German adaptation of Miss Esther’s ideas
+clothed the problematical farmer with a reality only second to Miss
+Esther’s Romeos.
+
+
+
+
+                                  III
+
+
+            But where is Kate? where is my lovely bride?
+
+            —_Taming of the Shrew._
+
+Not that Miss Esther had preferred imaginary Romeos. Imagination was all
+very well in its place, but she would have gladly welcomed a hero who
+could have spoken his own lines. Although she had never consciously or
+definitely wished for a husband, yet she had often felt the lack of that
+companionship which she knew could only be afforded by association with
+one whose mentality was equal to her own, whose tastes were congenial,
+and whose temperament was similar.
+
+Without reflection upon her own sex, but with total indifference to the
+lack of feminine comradeship, Miss Esther preferred masculine society.
+During their long and somewhat lonely life together, her association
+with her father had been a real friendship; and though not a whit
+mannish, indeed being herself the essence of femininity, men’s traits
+and characteristics appealed strongly to Esther Adams.
+
+More than this, she had, and knew she had, the capability to be a great
+deal to some one man. Responsive, tactful, loyal, and possessed of an
+instant perception, she demanded these qualities in the man she could
+love.
+
+No one in Whitfield had ever qualified.
+
+The young men who had entered into Miss Esther’s girlhood life were not
+of inferior mental calibre, in the opinion of the best Whitfield
+society, but owing to Esther’s possibly unfortunate fastidiousness, they
+did not come up to her standards. Her mentally intimate association with
+Galahad, Romeo, and The Admirable Crichton had made her exacting. It is
+not that she was unreasonable, nor did she complain; her demeanor toward
+the young men of Whitfield was marked by a gentle courtesy and frank
+good comradeship. Whitfield society did not understand her attitude, and
+could not have done so had she explained it to them—which she did not.
+Indeed, so misleading was her apparent acceptance of their attentions,
+that more than one young man had put himself in a position to receive
+her gracious but decided refusal.
+
+Through her girlhood years Miss Esther had thought it not impossible
+that she might yet meet a man who would be the realization of her
+ideals. But no strangers ever came to Whitfield, and her filial sense of
+duty would not allow her to leave her father alone, so she could not
+accept invitations to visit elsewhere, which would otherwise have given
+her great pleasure. Major Adams was so deeply occupied with his books
+that it never occurred to him that his daughter needed a change, or
+recreation of any sort other than that which was offered at home,
+although had she asked to go he would have gladly given consent. It had
+never occurred to him, either, but that she would sometime make a choice
+among the men of Whitfield, for he knew nothing of his daughter’s ideals
+and was himself amply content with the society of his native town.
+
+Once, when Whistler was shooting at a Scotch country place, he
+deliberately shot a dog which was standing near by. Because, as he
+afterward explained, the dog was out of drawing. He should have been
+twenty feet further to the left, if in the landscape at all. And so it
+seemed to Miss Esther that the men who had come into her life had been
+“out of drawing.” She did not shoot them, but she put them out of her
+life as completely as if they had been shot.
+
+This state of things, however, did not leave Miss Esther’s life as empty
+as might have been expected. The very qualities which induced this lack
+brought with them their own means of fulfilling it. Although without any
+definite acceptance of these facts, Miss Esther went on from day to day,
+living in the way which seemed to her to offer the best possible
+selection from all that life had to offer. The Romeos and Galahads of
+her happy fancies came nearer the perfection of her standards than did
+the men of Whitfield, and her dream-life with them was happier in its
+ideality than any real life she had seen. This play-life was begun by
+Esther Adams, sitting in prim frocks, silent, her foot tucked
+comfortably under her on the straight-backed sofa of her father’s
+library. It continued through the girlhood days when she was still known
+as Esther Adams; and now, after many years, when, a woman of fifty, she
+was called Miss Esther by everybody in Whitfield, the gentle,
+gray-haired lady still found in the atmosphere of her wonderful old
+books the realization of the ideals which had been denied her elsewhere.
+
+And so this is the explanation of why Miss Esther Adams never married.
+
+One morning Miss Esther sat in her broad-armed veranda chair with her
+hands idly folded in her lap. She rocked slowly as she gazed across the
+lawn at the riotous rose-garden.
+
+“Ay, ’tis as thou sayest, Rosalind; the blossoms be o’er-blown. They
+ought to have been cut earlier. They are really of no use now except to
+make potpourri. Heigh-ho, Rosalind, I wonder if your roses in the Forest
+of Arden ever bothered you as much as mine do me.”
+
+Miss Esther’s attention was attracted from the roses by a stranger
+within her gates. This was an unusual occurrence; even more so in that
+this stranger was a man. And he was big and broad and black-bearded, and
+distinctly of Teutonic origin. His air was assured, yet deferential, and
+he approached the house with the look of one who was certain of a
+waiting welcome.
+
+“He looks like Thor,” said Miss Esther, critically, “but I never saw a
+brunette Thor before.”
+
+With the pleasant manner of childlike confidence characteristic of the
+people of his country, he said:
+
+“Is this Tekla Klein’s house?”
+
+“No,—not exactly—”
+
+“That is too bad. I wished to marry her.”
+
+“Is that so?” said Miss Esther, with interest. “In that case perhaps I
+had better call her.”
+
+“If you will be so kind.”
+
+The big man seated himself on the lowest of the stone steps, removed his
+wide-brimmed hat, and calmly wiped his forehead with a huge
+handkerchief.
+
+Miss Esther looked at her brunette Thor steadily, with a dawning
+appreciation that here at last she was confronted by a dramatic
+situation quite to her taste. She went into the house and into the
+library. She rang the bell and in a moment Tekla appeared.
+
+“There is a person inquiring for you at the front door,” said Miss
+Esther.
+
+“Yes, ma’am,” said Tekla.
+
+The stranger had not moved since Miss Esther went into the house, but at
+the sound of a footstep behind him he rose and went up the steps to
+where Tekla Klein stood by one of Putnam Adams’s fluted pillars.
+
+He took a letter from his pocket, and she saw that it was the one which
+she had written in answer to the advertisement.
+
+“I have come,” he said, simply.
+
+Tekla looked at him critically, and then with an air of satisfaction she
+said, “It is good. And you have the farm?”
+
+“Yes, a half-section, many—three hundred and twenty acres—one hundred
+wheat, one hundred corn, one hundred and twenty in pasture.”
+
+“Is it in America?” asked Tekla.
+
+“It is in Nebraska,” he replied.
+
+“Oh! I would rather it had been in America. But it does not matter. I
+will go.”
+
+Again the pleased smile broke over the big, good-natured face.
+
+“I was born near Breslau. I am a German. I have lived in America fifteen
+years—ten years in Nebraska. I own my farm there, and my cattle. I am
+thirty-five years old. My name is Adolf Hecksher.”
+
+“Adolf is a nice name,” said Tekla.
+
+“Yes, it is a good name. It was my father’s. Can you go soon?”
+
+“Yes, soon; but first I must tell Miss Esther. She will not be pleased.”
+
+“She will miss you?”
+
+“Yes, I have lived with her for seven years, and she has been very kind
+to me.”
+
+“But she will let you go?”
+
+“Oh, yes; I will go. Come with me and we will tell her together.”
+
+Leading her big captive, Tekla went straight to the library. Miss Esther
+smiled at the pair as they entered, and said indulgently, “Well?”
+
+“He has come to marry me,” said Tekla.
+
+“So he told me,” said Miss Esther. “Who is he?”
+
+“I am Adolf Hecksher—” began the accepted suitor.
+
+“And he has three hundred and twenty acres,” interrupted Tekla, “and he
+wants to marry me.”
+
+“I understand that,” said Miss Esther, “but where did you find him or
+where did he find you?”
+
+“It was an advertisement,” said Tekla, “and—”
+
+“What!” exclaimed Miss Esther, “you answered an advertisement? a
+matrimonial advertisement!”
+
+“It was in one of those papers Lieutenant Adams sent with the cast,”
+asserted Tekla, “and it cost but a dollar.”
+
+Miss Esther smiled. “He’s big enough to be worth it,” she said.
+
+“Yes, ma’am,” and Tekla looked at the giant beside her, “he is.”
+
+“But I don’t understand,” pursued Miss Esther. “Did that dreadful
+matrimonial agency send this man to you? Have you ever seen him before?
+Do you know who he is?”
+
+“Yes,” said Tekla; “he is Adolf Hecksher.”
+
+“You are a little fool,” said Miss Esther. “Leave the room and I will
+talk with your Adolf Hecksher myself.”
+
+Tekla left the room, smiling. Miss Esther invited her guest to be
+seated, and in the next half hour satisfied herself from the credentials
+which he produced in the shape of savings-bank books, deeds of property,
+and a draft which he had received from the last lot of cattle which had
+been shipped to Chicago, that he was at least in a position to take care
+of a wife. She promised to communicate with the people whom he had named
+as references in the little Nebraska town where he lived. This matter
+being disposed of, Miss Esther again rang the bell for Tekla. “It is all
+right,” she said, “and you may ask Mr. Hecksher to stay to dinner with
+you if you wish.”
+
+“Yes, ma’am,” said Tekla.
+
+As Miss Esther passed through the kitchen shortly before dinner, Tekla
+showed her the picture she had cut from the paper.
+
+“That is what my farm will be like,” she said. “There will be cows and
+sheep and many, many acres—and Adolf.”
+
+Miss Esther returned to the veranda. “It is very nice for them,” she
+thought; “but where can I find another Tekla?”
+
+
+
+
+                                   IV
+
+
+    Did you ever see the picture of we three?—_Twelfth Night._
+
+After several trials Miss Esther succeeded in obtaining a maid who,
+while she was not another Tekla, seemed capable of following in her
+footsteps. In most respects the new maid was competent and satisfactory,
+but in the matter of afternoon tea Miss Esther had found some difficulty
+in having her instructions rightly carried out. Afternoon tea was rather
+unusual in Whitfield, except as a special function. It was only at the
+Adams house that tea was served every afternoon at five o’clock, whether
+guests were present or not, but the custom appealed to Miss Esther
+because in the English novels she had read it had been such an
+attractive feature. Consequently tea was served every day at five
+o’clock—in winter in the library, and in summer on the veranda.
+
+The mistress of the house was punctilious as to the appointments of her
+tea service, and Tekla, who was after all but a reflection of Miss
+Adams, had found no difficulty in pleasing her. But Nora, the new maid,
+had not yet learned to appreciate the vital importance of synchronizing
+the time and the tea.
+
+As a consequence of this, Miss Esther had sometimes to arrange or
+rearrange her own tea-table. And so when Jean Richards came flying
+across the lawn one warm afternoon, she found Miss Esther fussing over
+her alcohol lamp with her usual calm a little bit ruffled.
+
+“Tea ready?” she called out.
+
+“No, it is not. That good sister in the kitchen is making a bondmaid and
+a slave of me. She hasn’t toasted the muffins.”
+
+“Let me take them out and toast them.”
+
+“No, you can’t. They’re already buttered.”
+
+“Oh, well, never mind. We’ll eat them as they are. What are you playing
+to-day, Miss Esther?”
+
+“To-day I am Katherine. Nora is enough to make a shrew of anybody.”
+
+“Well, I’m sure you’re Bonny Kate, and not Kate the Curst. May I take
+this chair or is Petruchio sitting in it?”
+
+“He has already risen, that you may have it. Sit down.”
+
+Jean sat down suddenly, as she always did everything, and took her cup
+of tea from Miss Esther.
+
+“This is the very nicest part of the day’s work,” she said, “drinking
+tea here with you. I wonder if the other girls are coming.”
+
+“I hope so,” said Miss Esther; “I haven’t seen Helen for a week.”
+
+“Helen’s got the blues,” said Jean. “She’s had ’em for three days.”
+
+“What’s the matter this time?” asked Miss Esther; “or is she just having
+the blues from a sense of duty?”
+
+“That’s it,” said Jean, cheerfully. “It’s her make-up, you know. She has
+to have the blues about once in so often to live up to that temperament
+of hers. I’m glad I haven’t any.”
+
+“Yes. It is a fearful thing to have to entertain a temperament. Don’t
+ever acquire one, Jeanie.”
+
+“No, ma’am,” said Jean, submissively; “I wouldn’t have one of the
+ridiculous things. People don’t like people with temperaments.”
+
+“Nonsense,” replied Miss Esther; “everybody likes Helen.”
+
+“Not as much as they like me,” said Jean, comfortably sipping her tea.
+
+“Well, if they don’t,” said Miss Esther, stoutly, “it is Helen’s own
+fault. She likes so few people.”
+
+“That’s just what I said; and that’s the fault of her everlasting
+temperament.”
+
+Jean leaned back in her chair and happily munched her untoasted muffin.
+
+“Now just look at the two of them,” she said, as two girls came in at
+the gate. “Couldn’t you tell at a glance which one has the blues? Helen
+looks as though she owned all the indigo mines in India, or wherever it
+comes from. Anybody could see, though, that Lillian hasn’t a blue to her
+name.”
+
+But if Helen Fairbanks had the blues they were certainly rather becoming
+to her than otherwise. As she approached the house, trailing her parasol
+listlessly along the walk, she was apparently paying no attention to her
+companion, who was pointing enthusiastically toward the distant
+landscape.
+
+Helen Fairbanks’s sponsors in baptism had disagreed as to the child’s
+name. Her father had insisted on Pearl, but her mother had finally
+carried the day, and had given to her daughter the only name which
+absolutely fitted her. Tall, fair, graceful, statuesque, Helen
+Fairbanks’s beauty was of that classic perfection which is inevitably
+associated with the name of Helen. Her large, calm, gray eyes which had
+never yet lived up to the possibilities of their dark lashes, her golden
+hair which she wore a bit too smooth, her mouth which showed all too
+seldom the little curves at its corners, were trustworthy indexes of her
+beautiful but cold nature. Miss Esther had said of Helen that she
+reminded her of Cassius:
+
+           “Seldom he smiles; and smiles in such a sort,
+           As if he mock’d himself, and scorn’d his spirit
+           That could be mov’d to smile at any thing.”
+
+As for Lillian Hastings, she was as unlike Helen as Helen was unlike
+Jean. But the three were united in their friendship for each other and
+their admiration of Miss Esther, which amounted almost to adoration.
+Lillian was an artist; that is, she was by every implication of her
+being, by every wish and desire of her soul, and by every intent of her
+strong and somewhat stubborn character. The mere fact that owing to
+limited opportunities she had not as yet achieved much on canvas, in no
+way contradicts the statement that she was an artist. She had spent two
+blessed weeks one summer at Shinnecock, and there fallen under the
+direction of Chase and his associates. There the impulse had its
+beginnings—possibly from the inspiration of the instructors, possibly
+because of the fact that she met there other girls who, so they had told
+her, could paint no better than she did when they began, but who now,
+after three years of work, had had the distinction of really selling a
+picture. So her ambition formed itself into an absolute mania for
+definite accomplishment.
+
+During those two weeks a great artist had asked her to pose for him, and
+he had painted her portrait. “Gad!” he had said to his friends,
+afterward, “she’s built like a greyhound. Her figure is the figure of a
+girl of eight—grown up. Her hair is Burne-Jones’s ladies’ hair, and her
+complexion—well, I tried to paint it here, but I haven’t got the
+transparency of it yet.”
+
+“Who is this paragon?” his friends had asked him.
+
+“By George!” he exclaimed, “I forgot to ask her name. She was just a
+painter girl, working with the others down there on Peconic Bay.”
+
+And so Lillian had kept on painting. She had a studio which was an
+honest workroom, without draperies, plaster casts, or cosy corners, and
+here she worked doggedly, perseveringly, and without a moment’s doubt as
+to her ultimate success. She understood herself. She had no false or
+flattering opinions of her own ability, but she was sure that
+intelligent effort, properly directed, would lead her eventually to the
+Roman Road.
+
+“Confide in us, Helen, dear,” cried Jean as the two came up the steps.
+“Why so blue and wan, fair lady? Is it your doll or tea-set that’s
+broken to-day?”
+
+“Neither,” said Helen, briefly.
+
+“Perhaps it’s her heart,” suggested Lillian.
+
+“Not Helen’s,” returned Jean; “she hasn’t any heart.”
+
+Helen sat down on the wicker settee beside Miss Esther, with a look of
+patient exasperation.
+
+“Oh, it’s nothing,” she said, “only another proposal; that’s all.”
+
+“It’s a perfect shame,” said Miss Esther, “the way those men bother
+you.”
+
+“It is,” said Jean. “Why don’t you hang out a sign, ‘No Others Need
+Apply’?”
+
+“I think it’s awfully hard on Helen,” said Lillian, sympathetically;
+“she’s so kind-hearted, she hates to say ‘no’ to a goose.”
+
+“And yet they keep her saying it most of the time,” said Jean.
+
+“Who is it this time?” asked Miss Esther.
+
+“Mr. Walker,” said Helen.
+
+“The young man who is staying at Bradstreet’s?”
+
+“Yes, that pretty boy with the glasses,” said Jean. “He came here for
+health, and he found Helen, and now he wants to take them both back to
+New York.”
+
+“But you’ve always said you’d like to live in New York, Helen.”
+
+“Yes, Miss Esther, but I didn’t mean with Mr. Walker.”
+
+“Why not?” asked Miss Esther, straight-forwardly. “Why don’t you like
+Mr. Walker?”
+
+“Because there’s nothing to like about him. He has no more to recommend
+him than—than—”
+
+“Than any of the Whitfield men who have asked you to marry them?”
+queried Jean.
+
+“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean, Jeanie, as nobody knows better than
+you do.”
+
+“Yes,” said Jean, with an exaggerated sigh. “I, too, have my troubles.
+It’s a fearful thing, girls, to be belles of society, with no society to
+be belles of.”
+
+“And who are you, my girl,” asked Miss Esther, “that you scorn Whitfield
+society? Pray what sort of people would you like, if given your choice?”
+
+“Oh, a lot of gay people,” said Jean, “at some kind of a summery place,
+with lovely clothes, and hops, and bathing-suits. And beautiful men in
+white flannels, and automobiles, and—and—everything!”
+
+“Modest child! With such easily gratified tastes, it’s a pity they
+cannot be realized.”
+
+“Oh, they will be, sometime,” said Jean. “What would you choose,
+Lillian?”
+
+“Oh, I don’t care for a lot of people, but if I just had one—”
+
+“A nearer one still, and a dearer one?” asked Jean.
+
+“No, what I mean is some fairy godmother or grandmother or
+great-grandmother who would take me abroad and let me see pictures—and
+paint them.”
+
+“It’s your turn next, Helen,” said Miss Esther.
+
+“I,” said Helen, slowly, “want nothing more nor less than a castle in
+Spain, but it must be the largest and handsomest castle there is in
+Spain, and it must be my own.”
+
+“Anybody there with you?” asked Jean.
+
+“Yes, I think so; one of Miss Esther’s best Galahads or Romeos.”
+
+“I hope you’ll find your castle,” said Miss Esther, looking at Helen
+with keen appreciation. “You would make an admirable châtelaine.”
+
+
+
+
+                                   V
+
+
+           Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift,
+           As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift.
+
+           —_Two Gentlemen of Verona._
+
+In her library that evening Miss Esther’s thoughts came back to Helen
+and her castle in Spain.
+
+“She ought to have one,” she thought. “She’s just the girl for a castle
+in Spain,—no, not exactly in Spain,—a Joyous Gard would suit her
+better. There should be a maze and a pleasaunce, and a mailed knight
+should come on his charger to beg for her glove, that he might joust for
+it in the Field of the Cloth of Gold. She would have made a wonderful
+Iseult, with a touch of Morgan le Fay. She is wonderful enough as it is,
+and it is a shame that there are no available Apollos or Abelards or
+Aucassins who want châtelaines for their castles.”
+
+It is clearly to be seen that Miss Esther fully appreciated the fact
+that the ultimate ambition of the eternal feminine is the individual
+interpretation of that ubiquitous architectural structure known as a
+castle in Spain. This is distinctly opposed to the masculine attitude of
+mind which looks only for the Princess at the Window.
+
+Though not definitely conscious of this differentiation, Miss Esther was
+building in her imagination various castles for Helen, when it suddenly
+occurred to her that the Prince would provide the castle, could she but
+find the Prince.
+
+“Tekla found her Prince for herself,” thought Miss Esther, smiling as
+she remembered the big brunette Thor; “but one could scarcely imagine
+Helen applying to a matrimonial agency. I might apply for her, select a
+suitable Prince, and deposit him on her doorstep the way that Adolf man
+was dropped here.”
+
+The whimsical idea pleased Miss Esther’s fancy, and she went into it in
+detail. “While I’m about it,” she thought, “I may as well select Princes
+for Jean and Lillian, too. This thing is not without precedent.
+Petruchio was brought and dropped at Katherine’s feet by outside
+influences. If I can help Helen, I’m going to do it. If she wants a
+castle, she’s going to have it, and if, as Tekla’s experience seems to
+prove, a matrimonial bureau is a necessary factor in the case—I’ll _be_
+one!”
+
+The beauty of the plan grew upon Miss Esther. The possibilities widened
+as she thought about it, and she grew so excited that she found herself
+walking about the library, peering into the bookcases and making quick,
+explosive remarks to her friends:
+
+“You, Henry the Eighth, you ought to appreciate what I’m doing! You were
+nothing but a matrimonial bureau yourself!” and she shook her fist at
+the worn, leather-backed volume. “And you, Don Quixote, if you had
+applied to a matrimonial bureau, you would have found your old Dulcinea
+without any trouble, and you wouldn’t have had to fight those ridiculous
+windmills.”
+
+“Yes, I’ll be a matrimonial bureau—a first-class one, and I’ll apply to
+myself for Princes for those three girls—and I’ll get them, too!”
+
+“Dr. Isaiah Bushnell,” announced Nora, appearing at the library door;
+“do you want to see him?”
+
+“Of course she does,” said the Reverend Doctor Bushnell, affably, as,
+rubbing his hands, he walked past Nora into the room.
+
+“How do you do, Dr. Bushnell. Pray be seated. You find me very busy
+to-night.”
+
+“Ah, yes, my dear Miss Adams, ’tis a busy world; but work is a blessing;
+as one of our poets has it, ‘’Tis better to have—better to have—’ but
+there, I have no doubt you know the quotation. You are so familiar with
+the flowers of poesy.”
+
+“I fear I cannot place the quotation you refer to,” replied Miss Esther,
+a little coldly.
+
+“Ah, well, ’tis no matter, ’tis no matter. How often our memory fails us
+just as we need it most. It was only yesterday that I intended to
+approach you in reference to a most unfortunate affair which has been
+brought recently to my attention. But, ah, that fickle memory again. The
+little errand entirely escaped my mind, but to-night, as I was passing
+your beautiful home, and remembered that here dwelt the most charitable
+of women, I said to myself, ‘I will ask her!’ That, my dear Miss Adams,
+is my errand.”
+
+“Is it?” said Miss Esther; “and how much money do you want?”
+
+“Please do not be so abrupt, dear lady. Let me state the case. Let me
+tell you of the destitution—”
+
+“Never mind the destitution, Dr. Bushnell, I will contribute to your
+cause, but as I said, I am extremely busy this evening.”
+
+“Ah, yes indeed, yes indeed! and can I not help you? The benefit of my
+wider experience is yours for the asking. Let me advise and assist.”
+
+“Do,” said Miss Esther, with sudden cordiality. “I should be glad of
+your help. Does your wide experience embrace the organization of a
+matrimonial agency?”
+
+“Ah, you jest,” said Dr. Bushnell, a little stiffly; “surely you cannot
+mean to resort to such methods. You, who are destined to fill so nobly
+the niche in which Providence has placed you!”
+
+The matter being presented to her in this light, Miss Esther perceived a
+certain humor in the situation that had not appealed to her before.
+
+“Oh, if you advise against it, I will drop all thought of such a thing.”
+
+“I do, my dear Miss Adams,” said Dr. Bushnell, earnestly. “Trust to my
+maturer judgment. It would be a mistake to take any such step, I do
+assure you. As I was reading yesterday, in my collection of famous
+poetry, ‘’Twas ever thus—’ ah, again the flowing numbers have escaped
+me. But you know—doubtless you know the lines. Now, as you were saying,
+my dear Miss Adams, every little counts, and your contribution will be
+gladly welcomed not only by myself, but by the worthy people whom we are
+endeavoring to assist. If you will pardon my abrupt departure, I will,
+upon the receipt of your beneficence, take my leave.”
+
+Once again by herself, Miss Esther’s mind returned to her daring scheme.
+
+“Let me see,” she thought, “young Putnam Adams must be about thirty now,
+and the Adamses are good enough Princes for anybody. I wonder how he
+would do for Helen. But no. A lieutenant in the regular army would never
+be able to provide the kind of a castle that ambitious girl insists
+upon. He would suit Jean better. She loves uniforms and a gay life; her
+happy disposition would be a fair match for his. In fact, the more I
+think of it, the more appropriate it seems. But I haven’t seen Putnam of
+late. The last time I saw him was when he was graduated at West Point,
+and that was six years ago. Since then he has been stationed in Manila,
+and goodness knows where else. Now all this may have made a man of him,
+and then, again, it may not, but he is an Adams, and he has won his
+shoulder-straps since he went away, so I think the boy must be all
+right. At any rate, I will invite him up here. I wonder if he will
+come.”
+
+Having satisfactorily settled Jean’s future, Miss Esther turned her
+attention to the next name on the records of her matrimonial agency.
+
+“Lillian,” she thought, “is so different from Jean. She takes everything
+so seriously—even that ridiculous art of hers. Well, perhaps ridiculous
+isn’t the word, for Lillian is not the sort that paints calla-lilies on
+a black background. She goes only so far, but every step she takes is
+just right; the trouble is that’s as far as she goes, and she never will
+get far enough to know that she can’t go any farther. A woman has no
+business with art, anyway. There never was one that did anything really
+worth while. I’m glad nobody’s here to say George Eliot at me, or Rosa
+Bonheur, or Chaminade. Sporadic instances count for nothing except to
+prove the rule. And I think that Lillian would be much happier married
+to some good, kind fairy godfather than going to Europe with some fairy
+godmother.
+
+“But Putnam Adams would never do for Lillian—no, he is better for Jean.
+Lillian should have an older man—I don’t know why, for Lillian is no
+older than Jean, and yet it seems to me that the man who would be just
+the one for Lillian Hastings would be a kind, wise, staid sort of
+man—who would guide, counsel, and befriend her, and then if he thought
+she ought to go on with her art work, I’m sure I’d be perfectly willing.
+Then the responsibility of that girl would be off my mind. Now all I’ve
+got to do is to find that man. I wish there had been one in Whitfield,
+but as there isn’t, I must get him somewhere else. It’s positively
+maddening to think that there are probably hundreds of them in the
+world, if I only knew their addresses.”
+
+Miss Esther possessed an absurd but absolutely unshakable belief in the
+way-pointing possibilities of the nearest available piece of printed
+matter.
+
+She calmly picked up the morning paper with the certainty that she would
+find in it some indicating arrow pointing toward the material
+manifestation of the man whose image she had so clearly in her mind. It
+was part of her method to accept the first hint that could by any
+possibility be made available for her use as an accomplished fact.
+
+“This will do nicely,” she said:—
+
+                        A PHILANTHROPIC BEQUEST
+
+    Hiram Briggs Founds an Art School—The Wealthy Button
+    Manufacturer Dedicates His New Edifice—Cost $500,000—A
+    Memorial to His Late Wife.
+
+—“That’s the one,” said Miss Esther, decidedly. “I need look no
+further. A man who is loving enough to erect such a memorial to his dead
+wife, and who is rich enough to spend $500,000 on it, and who is clever
+enough to have got rich on buttons, and who is sensible enough to be
+named Hiram Briggs, is just the man to take care of that artistic
+temperament of Lillian Hastings. He will act as a blender to her sharply
+colored views of life. Where does this altogether desirable man live? I
+will write to him to-night. Of course, Lillian may object to the
+buttons, but when she realizes Mr. Briggs’s devotion to Art, she will
+see the matter in its right light, I am sure.”
+
+Miss Esther skimmed through the article quickly and discovered that Mr.
+Briggs was a citizen of Nashua, New Hampshire. This was entirely
+satisfactory, and the further details of the story also confirmed her
+good opinion of the man.
+
+“He ought to get my letter by the day after to-morrow,” she thought,
+“which will give him ample time to take Lillian abroad this summer. They
+ought to sail by the fifteenth of August, I should think. And I shall
+give her one of those lovely traveling-bags furnished with any number of
+silver things. It must be such fun to find out what they’re all for, and
+I should think her honeymoon would just about give her time enough.”
+
+
+
+
+                                   VI
+
+
+    Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard.—_Othello_, iii,
+    7.
+
+The Matrimonial Bureau had proved successful in meeting the demands of
+two of its clients, but the third name on its records still baffled Miss
+Adams. It seemed to her that the only possible mate for Helen Fairbanks
+was a being so far above and beyond the ordinary mortal that it would be
+impossible to find him outside the glass doors of her mahogany
+bookcases.
+
+“He might be in there,” she thought, looking toward a favorite corner
+where the fairy books were, “or even in there,” she added, as she
+glanced at the Thackeray shelf; “but one thing is certain, he never
+would be in a newspaper, so there’s no use looking there. I suppose he’s
+in the directory, but I don’t know what letter his name begins with, so
+I can’t find him there. I don’t know how I shall find him. I don’t
+believe there are many of that type of men in the world. The only one I
+ever knew was a woman. Cousin Emily Westcott—of the Chester Adams
+branch—is just the kind of person I mean. It’s a pity she is a woman,
+though of course she is too old for Helen. Let me see,—Cousin Emily
+must be sixty by now; she had four boys, and nice, well-behaved young
+chaps they were. I wonder if they are all married. I remember sending
+Roger his piece of the old Adams silver two years ago, and Emily wrote
+that Hugh was engaged. Still, that leaves two, and if they take after
+their mother they’re just the kind of men I want. I will write to her,
+too, and I’m sure one of them will be all right for Helen. They’re
+Adamses, anyway.”
+
+The president of the Matrimonial Bureau now resigned the chair in favor
+of the secretary, and Miss Esther began the clerical work. She wrote
+first to Lieutenant Putnam Adams and invited him to spend his vacation
+with her that summer. “I do not know,” she wrote, “whether the state of
+the country is such as to allow officers of the army anything like
+vacations, but if there is any for you this summer, please come up and
+visit your old cousin. I haven’t seen a real live Adams for a long time,
+and I want to thank you for the cast. Even if your visit must be a short
+one, I hope you can come, and come soon.”
+
+To her cousin Emily Westcott Miss Esther wrote very frankly, saying that
+Lieutenant Putnam Adams was coming to visit her, and asking that one of
+the two younger Westcott boys come at the same time. She informed Mrs.
+Westcott that she wished her to send the one who was most distinctly an
+Adams, and said further that she would trust the mother’s judgment in
+the matter.
+
+“But they’re _all_ Adams—both of them!” exclaimed Mrs. Westcott, as she
+read this letter. “I’ll have to send them both!”
+
+Miss Esther’s letter to Hiram Briggs, the philanthropist of Nashua, was
+a more trying ordeal. For once in her life she found it difficult to
+express herself, and it was nearly midnight when she completed the
+following business-like if unconventional epistle:—
+
+                                               WHITFIELD, June 22.
+
+    MR. HIRAM BRIGGS, NASHUA, N. H.
+
+    DEAR SIR,—I have just read in the morning paper an account of
+    the art school which you have founded. I have been thinking the
+    matter over, for I am much interested in such philanthropic
+    movements, and I have a special reason for a peculiarly personal
+    interest in this one.
+
+    It is apparent, from the facts stated in the account of your
+    worthy undertaking, that you are an art patron, and are
+    therefore alive to the possibilities in the development of the
+    artistic effort. I am quite certain that a man with the name of
+    Hiram Briggs, and who is the proprietor of a button manufactory,
+    must be possessed of sound common sense and fully able to
+    appreciate and understand the proposition which I am about to
+    make.
+
+    I have a young girl friend who believes that she is well on the
+    way toward becoming a great artist, and who certainly has the
+    artistic temperament. Her ambition is to go abroad for the study
+    of art, but at present she has not the means to do this.
+
+    From the fact that the praiseworthy memorial which you have
+    built must have taken several years to complete, I assume that
+    Mrs. Briggs must have long since been laid to rest. My young
+    friend is eminently fitted to assist in the carrying out of the
+    plans which you have evidently made for this great work which
+    you have begun, and further, her education and accomplishments
+    are such as to enable her to take her place in any social
+    sphere.
+
+    I trust, my dear Mr. Briggs, that you will receive this
+    communication in the spirit in which it is written, and if at
+    any time you wish to call on me I should be pleased to welcome
+    you to my home in Whitfield.
+
+             Most sincerely yours,
+                 ESTHER ADAMS.
+
+The next morning Miss Esther was favored with a visit from her young
+neighbor, Jack Remington. Jack was a social character and often dropped
+in, apparently for no particular reason. These fortuitous calls were
+liable to happen on baking days, or when he felt the need of Miss
+Esther’s moral support in his seasons of tribulation. Ten years old,
+sturdily built, stolidly minded, he was of the stuff of which Lincolns
+are made, rather than Michael Angelos or Robert Brownings. Miss Esther
+had been obliged to recognize this fact, but she still hoped to train
+his young ideas into grooves of her own choosing. Though as yet no
+visible progress had been made, she did not despair, but continued in a
+course which gave her much pleasure and did not bother Jack.
+
+The boy had a passion for battle-ships, and his highest ambition was to
+build one. He had already begun it, but obstacles often confronted him,
+and he depended on Miss Esther both for advice and for more material
+assistance. She did not know much about battle-ships, but her elementary
+knowledge was supplemented by furtive consultations of the encyclopedia
+between Jack’s visits. Afterward, she conversed on these subjects with
+much erudition, and Jack’s admiration grew, for she was the only woman
+of his acquaintance who even knew on which end of a ship the bow was
+placed. Miss Esther really cared very little about the technical
+construction of any ship, but she was fond of the boy and had her own
+notions as to his future career. Of these notions Jack was entirely
+aware, but since, in his opinion, they were totally unnecessary to a
+builder of ships, he ignored them with the superiority of a
+ten-year-old.
+
+With a view to gracious influences, the would-be architect of Jack’s
+fortunes had endeavored to induce a friendship between him and a
+golden-haired siren of four, who was her neighbor on the other side. Her
+name was Amabel, but for obvious reasons she was known as Chub. Miss
+Esther’s efforts toward the foundation of this friendship had resulted
+disastrously. On their first introduction the children had cordially
+approved of each other, and Amabel had not changed her mind. But just as
+the friendship was ripening, Jack discovered Chub’s calamitous ignorance
+concerning the necessity for guns on battle-ships. She had promised to
+sail with him on his to the great naval battle which he assured her was
+imminent. More, she had promised to assist in any capacity in the
+working of the ship, when, in an impulsive burst of generosity, Jack
+responded that she might man one of the guns.
+
+“Gunth!” and Chub suddenly sat down on the floor and shrieked. Her
+terror-stricken squeals brought Miss Esther to the scene. She looked
+from the screaming baby on the floor to the disdainful ship-builder, who
+stood with his legs apart and his hands in his pockets, surveying the
+disturbance with an expression of absolute disgust.
+
+“If she yells like that when I say guns,” said he, contemptuously, “I
+wonder what she’ll do when the shooting begins.”
+
+“Thooting!” exclaimed Chub, her demonstrations checked for the moment,
+“who we going to thoot?”
+
+“The enemy,” said Jack, tersely.
+
+“Won’t it hurt ’em?”
+
+“It’ll _kill_ ’em!”
+
+Chub’s wails began again with redoubled force. “Take her away,” said
+Jack. He turned to continue the building of his warship with the fixed
+resolve that henceforth and forever womankind should have no part or
+parcel in his life.
+
+But the young misanthrope made an exception of Miss Esther Adams. He
+relied implicitly upon her knowledge and judgment, not only in nautical
+matters, but regarding all the vicissitudes which beset his somewhat
+strenuous existence. His mother always accompanied the application of
+court-plaster with a reproof. When Miss Esther bound up his wounds, a
+delectable doughnut added largely to the healing qualities of her
+ministrations.
+
+On this particular morning, however, the doughnut was of minor
+importance. He ate it, and even abstractedly took a second one, but
+without enthusiasm. Not observing any necessity for sticking-plaster,
+Miss Esther concluded the distress was mental and awaited developments.
+
+Jack wriggled into one of the big veranda chairs opposite Miss Esther,
+and with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands stared
+moodily into space. Miss Esther waited.
+
+“I got to be a minister,” he said at last.
+
+“Have you, dear? When?”
+
+“Soon’s I’m big enough. ’Tain’t fair, jes’ ’s I got my ship most done,
+and was goin’ to be a sailor like Dewey or somebody, and now I got to be
+an old minister; mother told me so las’ night.”
+
+“But perhaps you’ll like being a minister,” suggested Miss Esther.
+
+“No sirree! I bet I won’t. I know the stunt. I was over to Dr.
+Bushnell’s jes’ now, and I asked him what a fellow had to do to be a
+minister, but he said, don’t be ’reverent, little boy, and I wasn’t. But
+I know my own self what they got to do. Preach and bury people and marry
+’em and baptize kids and have prayer-meetin’s and donations and wear
+high hats and never smoke nor go to circuses nor go in swimmin,’—least
+I never seen Dr. Bushnell in,—and where’s any fun in all that, I’d like
+to know. But they was another man there a-visitin’ the minister, and he
+asked me what I wanted to be, and I told him a sailor and he said ’s
+that so. And I told him you and me was a-buildin’ a battle-ship and
+asked him to come over ’n see it and he said he would and he’s comin’
+to-morrow mornin’ and he give me this card with his name on it.”
+
+The name on the card was
+
+                      THEODORE WINTHROP BREWSTER.
+
+Although the surname meant nothing to Miss Esther, she remembered that
+there had been a Theodore Winthrop in her mother’s line. “Possibly he
+may be of that family,” she thought.
+
+“I wish mother’d let me be a sailor,” went on Jack, wistfully.
+
+“Well, wait until Mr. Brewster comes over here to-morrow,” said Miss
+Esther, “and we’ll see what he thinks about it.”
+
+Jack, much comforted at the thought of a possible escape from the
+reverend calling, went whistling to the kitchen, where he enjoyed
+another doughnut with an appetite unhampered by a depressed mentality.
+
+“It would be strange,” said Miss Esther, still looking at the card she
+held, “if this man were one of our Winthrops. I don’t remember the
+Brewster connection, but I’ll look it up in the book.”
+
+
+
+
+                                  VII
+
+
+                My noble and well warranted cousin.
+
+                —_Measure for Measure_, v, 1.
+
+When a telegram arrived announcing that Lieutenant Adams accepted his
+cousin’s invitation, Miss Esther was greatly pleased, and at once began
+a pleasant flurry of preparation for his reception. A letter following
+the next day told how exceedingly welcome her invitation had been, and
+how it was necessary for him to leave Fort Monroe on sick leave for a
+time. “Your letter,” he wrote, “could not have reached me at a time when
+the prospect of a few weeks in the country was more attractive. In
+working out on the ramparts where we have been taking down the old guns,
+I slipped, and broke my leg. I had planned to go into the mountains of
+Virginia. I have changed my plans. I am coming to you. All I want is
+rest in a quiet place where my foolish leg can get well. I have already
+telegraphed, and I may reach Whitfield on the same day with this letter,
+for I am going north to-night. I can get about on crutches fairly well.
+Thank you again for the inspiration which led you to ask me to come.”
+
+Miss Esther was pleased rather than otherwise at her cousin’s
+misfortune, for she was a born nurse and dearly loved to fuss over an
+invalid, and, moreover, she could keep him longer and use him to better
+advantage in the accomplishment of her fell project.
+
+Miss Esther knew, however, that a broken leg did not necessarily affect
+a man’s appetite, so she enjoyed stocking her larder with the lavishness
+which always characterized her hospitality. It was in the midst of these
+preparations that a letter arrived from Nashua.
+
+                                           NASHUA, N. H., June 24.
+
+    MISS ESTHER ADAMS,
+
+    DEAR MADAM,—Mr. Briggs received your letter yesterday, and
+    wishes me to thank you for your kind words. He especially
+    appreciates your commendation of his philanthropic efforts, and
+    wishes all success to your young friend in her pursuit of art.
+
+    He regrets his inability to accept your kind invitation to call
+    on you at Whitfield, and assures you that he received your
+    proposition quite in the spirit in which it was written.
+
+    Mr. Briggs and myself have just returned from our wedding trip,
+    and unite in sending you hearty good wishes for the future
+    success of your own philanthropic plans. I am, my dear Miss
+    Adams,
+
+             Very sincerely yours,
+                 EMMELINE FISHER BRIGGS,
+                 (MRS. HIRAM BRIGGS.)
+
+“Just returned from their wedding journey!” exclaimed Miss Esther. “I
+should have written Mr. Briggs at least two months ago. Well,” she went
+on, cheerfully, “I must get somebody else for Lillian. And it’s just as
+well, too, for ‘Lillian Briggs’ wasn’t a very pretty name; but I did
+want her to sail in August. I shall have to hurry. Let me see what I can
+do—”
+
+“Hullo, Aunt Esther,” called Jack from the driveway, “I’ve got Mr.
+Brewster to come to see the ship.”
+
+Miss Esther rose to greet the big blond man who accompanied Jack, and
+shook his hand cordially.
+
+“I am assured,” began Mr. Brewster, “by my young friend, Mr. Remington,
+that any friend of his is welcome at the Adams house.”
+
+“Not only that,” said Miss Esther, graciously, “but I have reason to
+think that your family and mine are connected, and that I may welcome
+you as a sort of relative. You are a Winthrop?”
+
+“My mother was a Winthrop,” said Mr. Brewster, “of the Gideon Winthrop
+branch.”
+
+“And my mother,” said Miss Esther, “was a Winthrop of the Wingate
+Winthrops. But of course, a few generations back they were identical,
+and I claim you as a relative.”
+
+“I am very glad to be claimed,” responded Mr. Brewster, with a touch of
+foreign-mannered courtesy which Miss Esther afterward discovered was
+characteristic of the man.
+
+“Providential,” thought Miss Esther. “Here is Mr. Briggs’s substitute
+ready-made to my hand.”
+
+“Then, Aunt Esther,” interrupted Jack, “that makes Mr. Brewster my
+uncle, don’t it? And now can he go see our ship?”
+
+Miss Esther acquiesced, and Mr. Brewster and Jack went at once to the
+large room on the second floor which had been given over to the young
+ship-builder.
+
+Then Nora brought the tea-table, and Miss Esther supervised the
+arrangement of her beloved cups and saucers, and when the two
+enthusiasts returned from the inspection of the ship, they found the
+hostess surrounded by three chattering girls.
+
+“Hullo, Jean!” cried Jack, “come on up and see my ship.”
+
+“Is the rudder working properly yet?” the young lady inquired, but
+before he could answer, Miss Esther presented Mr. Brewster to Helen,
+Lillian, and Jean.
+
+“I’m so glad to meet you, Mr. Brewster,” exclaimed Jean. “I’ve been
+longing to meet you all day—ever since I saw you at the post-office
+this morning with Dr. Bushnell; but I didn’t know you knew Miss Adams.”
+
+“I didn’t until half an hour ago, but she, too, has been kind enough to
+say that she was glad to meet me; though she didn’t say she had been
+longing for it all day.”
+
+“But she didn’t see you at the post-office,” said Jean.
+
+“No,” said Miss Esther, “but if I had I shouldn’t have waited for an
+introduction until now, for he is one of our own Winthrops.”
+
+“I bet that’s Cousin Putnam coming now,” exclaimed Jack, watching a
+carriage turning in at the gate.
+
+“Who’s Cousin Putnam?” asked Jean, as Miss Esther hurried down the
+steps.
+
+“Oh,” explained Jack, ecstatically, “he’s Aunt Esther’s cousin and he’s
+a lieutenant in the army with a uniform and a sword and he knows all
+about war and navies and ships and he was in Cuba with General Kent and
+he was in Manila after Dewey was there, and he saw Dewey once, ’cause he
+wrote Aunt Esther so, and he’s had fights with natives and things and
+he’s going to tell me all about the ships, ’cause Aunt Esther said she’d
+make him, and he fell on a fort where he lives down South somewheres and
+he bust his leg and he’s come here to get well—and everything.” Jack
+paused for want of further breath as the carriage drove up, when he flew
+down the steps exclaiming, “Hello, Cousin Putnam! Why didn’t you wear
+your uniform?”
+
+Seeing Lieutenant Adams’s crutches, Mr. Brewster followed Jack and
+offered his assistance.
+
+Notwithstanding Lieutenant Adams’s ability to manage his crutches, he
+was glad of Brewster’s support. Miss Esther had scarcely more than
+spoken to her cousin when she was surprised by seeing another carriage
+closely following the first.
+
+“More company!” cried Jack. “Who is it, Aunt Esther?”
+
+As the second carriage stopped, two young men jumped out, exclaiming,
+“Here we are. Mother sent us. She said you wanted us. You’re our Cousin
+Esther, aren’t you?”
+
+“Goodness! are you Emily’s boys? and what are the two of you doing
+here?”
+
+“Why you sent for us, didn’t you? Mother telegraphed us to stop here on
+our way home. Didn’t you get our telegram saying we’d be here to-day?”
+
+“No, I didn’t; but I’m just as glad to see you. Come right in. Which of
+you is Kenneth?”
+
+“I am. I am Kenneth Adams Westcott, and he is Mark Adams Westcott. He’s
+a little older than I am, but I’m a whole lot nicer than he is.”
+
+“You look like the Adamses,” said Miss Esther, as she led the way up the
+steps and straight to the group around the tea-table.
+
+When Brewster reached the veranda with Lieutenant Adams, he suddenly
+realized that the responsibility of the hospitality of the house of
+Adams devolved upon him. He presented the newcomer to the young ladies
+and Jean promptly shared the honors with Mr. Brewster. She appropriated
+the bronzed invalid, and impressing Brewster into her service, she
+ordered from him successive relays of tea and muffins with which to
+regale her newly acquired subject, when she saw Miss Esther approaching
+with what seemed like two new worlds to conquer.
+
+Miss Esther introduced the Westcott boys to Lillian and Helen, and then
+bringing them over to Jean, begged her to make tea for them.
+
+This effervescent young woman was in her element. With four newly made
+and evidently admiring acquaintances, she fairly bubbled with
+excitement, and wondered how Helen and Lillian could take it all so
+calmly.
+
+“It’s a funny thing,” said Miss Esther, looking proudly at the four
+young men, “to think that for years not a single one of my cousins has
+visited me, and now they come not single spies, but in battalions.”
+
+“I think battalions are very nice things,” said Jean.
+
+“So do I,” replied Miss Esther; “I only wish all my cousins were here.”
+
+“There are something like two hundred of them, I believe,” said
+Lieutenant Adams.
+
+“Well, I don’t care; I would put up tents on the lawn.”
+
+“Won’t you have to put up tents for us as it is?” inquired Kenneth
+Westcott. “You seem to have had an unexpected avalanche of relatives
+to-day.”
+
+“Oh, no, indeed,” replied Miss Esther. “The Adams house has plenty of
+room, and, too, Mr. Brewster is not staying here. He’s a guest of Dr.
+Bushnell.”
+
+“Is this a surprise party to you as well as to us, Miss Esther?” asked
+Helen.
+
+“_I_ was expected,” said Lieutenant Adams; “these other scions of the
+house of Adams are base interlopers, but Cousin Esther wrote me that she
+specially wanted me to come, and I wrote her that I was coming to-day.”
+
+“And mother telegraphed us that Cousin Esther specially wanted us to
+come,” said Mark, “and we telegraphed that we were coming to-day.”
+
+“Here comes the telegram now,” said Lillian, as the boy from the
+telegraph-office rode slowly up the driveway on a bicycle.
+
+“Hello, Mercury!” said Jean, as he dismounted from his wheel.
+
+“Ah, gwan!” said the boy, gallantly, as he remounted and rode away.
+
+Miss Esther read the message. “I learn from this,” she said, “that my
+two Westcott cousins are coming to-day to make me a visit.”
+
+“Then we’re not interlopers any more?” asked Kenneth.
+
+“Not at all. You are honored and expected guests, and I hope you will
+stay all summer.”
+
+“I hope so, too,” said Jean.
+
+When Brewster and the three girls went away, Lieutenant Adams said, “Do
+you often have such tea-parties as this, Cousin Esther?”
+
+“Nearly every afternoon,” replied Miss Adams.
+
+“Then we’ll all stay all summer,” exclaimed the Lieutenant.
+
+“I want you to, anyway, Putnam; and at least one of you other boys,”
+said Miss Esther.
+
+“Why can’t my little brother stay, too?” asked Mark.
+
+“Oh, let’s all stay,” said the Lieutenant, “and I have a friend who’s
+awfully anxious to come to Whitfield for the summer with me, and he’s an
+all-round good fellow, too; besides, he has barrels of money, and he can
+sing and paint and everything.”
+
+“Send for him,” said Miss Esther, in a sudden enthusiastic burst of
+hospitality.
+
+
+
+
+                                  VIII
+
+
+    And wears upon his baby brow the round and top of
+    sovereignty.—_Macbeth_, iv, 1.
+
+Not only because her Cousin Putnam was an Adams, but also because he was
+a soldier and an invalid, he was invested to Miss Esther’s mind with a
+certain halo of romance. The mere incidental fact that his injury had
+not been received on the field of battle, but in the more commonplace
+pursuit of supervising the moving of certain heavy guns from the
+ramparts of Fort Monroe on a peaceful June afternoon, made no difference
+in her attitude toward it. She felt that a dearth of woman’s tears was
+just as pathetic in an accident of this sort as in the case of an
+Algiers hero, and she was resolved that there should be no lack of
+woman’s nursing if she had her way about it. Since he had decided on the
+career of a soldier and left home for West Point, Putnam Adams had seen
+enough of woman’s tears, for they were not an unknown commodity in Cuba
+and the Philippines, but he had had but little experience with the
+woman’s nursing part of the problem. His work had been cut out for him
+from the very day of his graduation, and when he was finally ordered
+home and to service at the artillery school at Fort Monroe there had
+been no thought but the accurate carrying out of the general and special
+orders of his commanding officer, with, back of it, the firm resolve to
+take his place at the very front rank of the profession which he loved
+with that love which comes through generations of trained
+soldiers—fighters.
+
+And now in one of Miss Esther’s dimity-curtained bedrooms he was
+receiving the gentle motherly care which he had never had since his
+boyhood years. She did not fuss over him, or at least, if she did, it
+was with that practical, sensible fussing which carried conviction and
+brought a sense of absolute peace and rest.
+
+The Westcotts were more easily disposed of. Miss Esther sent them off to
+bed as unceremoniously as she would have done ten years earlier had they
+visited her then. Their rooms boasted as many dimity-curtains and the
+wall-paper as many pink roses as were to be found in Putnam Adams’s room
+across the hall. But these details were entirely lost upon these two
+healthy young cubs whose physical prowess far outstripped their artistic
+instinct. They fell asleep without appreciating that the drapery of
+their couches was the traditional lavender-scented Adams linen.
+
+Having said good-night to her cousins, Miss Esther returned to her
+library. The immediate success of her plans had surpassed all her
+expectations. Within four days she had gathered under her own roof four
+eligible candidates for the hands of the unconscious clients of her
+Matrimonial Bureau. To be sure, she had only three clients, but it was
+well to have an extra man in case another client presented herself.
+
+“It seems to me, Portia,” she said, “that I have managed this thing
+quite as well as even you could have done it. I have laid my plans
+carefully, and I feel sure that they will work out successfully. Putnam
+Adams is a dear, and, as I thought, he is just the one for Jean.
+Winthrop Brewster I am not so sure of. He must be the one for Lillian,
+for he came almost the very moment after I received the refusal from
+Hiram Briggs. And Mr. Brewster is apparently very intellectual, though
+he doesn’t seem to have any special leaning toward art. The Westcott
+boys are all right. Either of them is good enough for Helen, and she can
+take her choice. I don’t suppose they have very large castles as yet;
+but the Westcott fortune is great and there is plenty of time. Yes,
+things are certainly working out well. The Matrimonial Bureau has
+already proved its right to existence, and I shall be glad to see my
+girls married and settled.”
+
+With the feeling of satisfaction that comes from an achieved purpose,
+Miss Esther turned out the library lights and went slowly up the stairs.
+As she passed Jack’s shipyard, she smiled happily. “And after the
+weddings are all over,” she said, “Jack and I will go on with the
+building of the ship.”
+
+                 *        *        *        *        *
+
+On the east side of the Adams house was a square porch which had been
+built by Miss Esther’s father in order that he might have an out-of-door
+reading-room when the days of summer made it too warm to remain
+comfortably in the library. This was now inclosed in vines,—wistaria,
+honeysuckle, and crimson ramblers,—which gave the place a frisky
+appearance quite in contrast to the stately effect of the stone-floored,
+white-columned front porch.
+
+After breakfast next morning Miss Esther formally transferred this
+desirable bit of property to the boys, and especially to Putnam. For his
+especial benefit she had arranged a big wicker lounging-chair with a
+convenient table by its side. Then there were rugs and hammocks,
+ash-trays, and other things supposed to be necessary to the comfort of
+the average man. Lieutenant Adams, who found himself after his tiresome
+journey provokingly helpless, dropped gratefully into his pillow-filled
+chair, but the Westcott boys promptly upset the orderly scheme of things
+which Miss Esther had so happily arranged during the early morning
+hours. Kenneth picked up a large palm in a pot which he summarily
+deposited on the lawn outside. Mark pitched the pillows out of the
+hammocks. “There’s no place for my feet,” he said.
+
+Much as Miss Esther had enjoyed arranging these things for the comfort
+of her guests, she enjoyed still more their high-handed demolishing of
+that arrangement. “Now have you everything you want?” she asked, beaming
+on the twelve-feet-six of Westcott humanity that was festooned end to
+end across the porch.
+
+“All but one thing,” said Kenneth, “and that’s some fishing-tackle. I
+want to go fishing.”
+
+“But there’s no place to fish.”
+
+“That doesn’t make any difference. I don’t want to fish; I just want to
+go fishing, and so I want some tackle and bait and a creel and a pair of
+hip-boots.”
+
+“There is a little bit of a brook that runs through the east meadow,”
+said Miss Esther, thinking hard in her endeavor to provide what was
+wanted. “But there are no fish in it that I know of.”
+
+“That will do nicely, thank you. Of course, I would have preferred
+something with tarpon in it; but a brook is a brook, after all. Where
+are the things?”
+
+“Father used to have all those things. They’re in the big attic now.
+I’ll go and get them.”
+
+“Not on your life you won’t!” And Kenneth bounced out of the hammock,
+picked Miss Esther up bodily and carefully deposited her in his place,
+tucking some pillows about her feet. “I’ll get them myself. You stay
+right there. Watch her, fellows!”
+
+The screen door slammed behind him and Kenneth went in search of his
+fishing-tackle. He returned triumphantly with the hip-boots and much
+other paraphernalia which he scattered over the floor, chairs, and also
+over his hostess, whom he decorated with red and yellow trout flies.
+Even after the good lady had escaped and unwillingly obeyed Nora’s
+summons to the kitchen, Kenneth was still fussing with his flies.
+
+“By Jove!” exclaimed Putnam, looking down across the lawn, “what a
+picture!” Kenneth paused, and, looking through a vine-framed opening,
+saw an exceeding fat baby propelling herself on all-fours through a
+too-small aperture in the boxwood hedge. Halfway through she had paused
+perforce and beamed contentedly. Then redoubling her efforts she
+wriggled through the rest of the way, stood upright and carefully
+brushed the dirt from her tiny skirts, and started toward the house. She
+walked deliberately, as one with a set purpose. At a rose-bush a few
+feet from the hedge she stopped, kissed one of the roses, patted another
+lovingly, clasped her fat little hands and stood for a moment in rapt
+adoration of the flowers. Then she turned and trotted on toward the
+house.
+
+A small toad hopped in front of her. The baby gave a little squeal, and
+putting her hands over her eyes, she walked carefully and deliberately
+around the toad, leaving plenty of room between them. Contentedly then
+she came slowly on.
+
+“Hullo, Yellowtop!” called out Mark, who with the others had watched the
+eventful journey across the lawn.
+
+At this the baby looked up, saw the three strange men, and with a sudden
+absolute collapse she dropped to the ground where she stood, sitting
+squarely down, her chubby fingers outstretched on either side of her,
+and her feet sticking up in front. For a moment she stared blankly at
+the awful sight before her, and then, opening her mouth wide, there came
+forth a wail of terror and indignant surprise such as never was on land
+or sea.
+
+“Bless your baby heart!” said Kenneth, “what in the world’s the matter?”
+
+The response to this was another yell, more prolonged and terrified than
+the first. This brought Miss Esther.
+
+“What are you doing to Chub?” she exclaimed.
+
+“Nothing,” said Kenneth, honestly; “she’s hollering at me.”
+
+“I’ll get her,” said Mark, helpfully, and bounding down the steps he
+picked up the tumultuous morsel of humanity. Pausing in the vocal
+demonstration of her temper, she resorted to effective pugilism and
+pounded Mark with her dimpled fists, her blue eyes flashing with the
+indignation of outraged dignity.
+
+“Don’t hit him so hard, Baby,” laughed Putnam; “you’ll kill him!”
+
+“Will I?” asked Chub, pausing in her warlike enterprise, and looking
+straight into Mark’s eyes.
+
+“Of course you will,” said Mark, reproachfully. “I’m almost dead now.”
+
+“I wath goin’ to thtop anyway,” said Chub with a final thump on his
+chest. Then she threw her arms around him as far as they would go and
+beamed adoringly at him.
+
+From that moment Mark bent his neck to Chub’s yoke. Her monarchy was
+absolute. Anything less than instantaneous obedience occasioned
+blood-curdling yells that always reduced Mark to sudden subjection, not
+only in self-defense but for the sake of suffering humanity. By the time
+Mark had reached the porch Chub had reached a state of intermittent
+calm, and submitted with a fine air of condescension to the
+introductions thrust upon her.
+
+She greeted Lieutenant Adams and Kenneth Westcott pleasantly at Miss
+Esther’s bidding, but allowed it plainly to be seen that she very much
+preferred Mark’s society.
+
+Miss Esther, seeing that Chub was peacefully settled, turned to enter
+the house.
+
+“Don’t go,” called Lieutenant Adams after her.
+
+“I must,” said Miss Esther; “I have a lot of things to attend to.”
+
+“They can wait; I want you. I wish you’d get one of the new magazines
+and read me a story.”
+
+Miss Esther went into the house and soon returned with several
+magazines. “Here are the books,” she said, “but I can’t read to you. I
+have a hundred things to do this morning.”
+
+Putnam looked at her calmly. “You are not going to do any of them,” he
+said; “you are going to stay right straight here with me—and read to
+me. Sit down in that chair.”
+
+Miss Esther sat down, and Putnam regarded her with a look of entire
+satisfaction. “Any story will do,” he said.
+
+She turned the pages, hunting for the most interesting story.
+
+Her mind was slightly distracted by the novel sensation of submitting to
+irresistible authority. The feeling was distinctly pleasant.
+
+“Romeo couldn’t have done that,” she thought. “A lover is more
+condoling, but my chief humor is for a tyrant. Well, I’ve certainly
+found one in this dominating cousin of mine.”
+
+
+
+
+                                   IX
+
+
+    I pr’ythee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with
+    thee.—_As You Like It_, iv, 1.
+
+Kenneth started on his fishing expedition. The road which passed the
+Adams house wandered aimlessly off toward a woodland, and at the edge of
+this there was a brook. Here was shade, and fallen trees which offered
+particularly comfortable seats. As Miss Esther had said, there were no
+fish now. There had been one once—a very large one—which had been
+caught, but that was in the days when Miss Esther’s father used to fish
+there. This lack, however, did not cause the least worry to Kenneth. His
+mood was rather for the manner than the matter in hand. He wanted to
+fish—not to catch fish, and his mother’s pail, had there been nothing
+else available, would have suggested to him those essential ideas which
+are of the Waltonian impulse. He wanted to think, and there is nothing
+more subtly conducive to the reflective frame of mind than sitting on a
+log, dangling a fish-line in a brook. If one catches fish, then there is
+immediate business in hand which spoils a train of thought. Your true
+philosopher, therefore, desires no fish—he simply wants to sit and
+think. That is the secret of fishing, and Kenneth Westcott knew it.
+
+Jean Richards, from behind the vines of her own veranda, had watched
+Kenneth’s departure from the Adams house and his subsequent progress
+toward the brook. “How absurd,” she thought, as she noted the rod and
+creel. “He can’t catch anything in that brook. I’ll go down and tell him
+so. I rather like those boys of Miss Esther’s. I think I’ll cultivate
+them—the brothers I mean; that lame lieutenant is a prig, I’m sure, but
+the Westcott boys seem quite worth while. Yes, I’ll go down there. He’ll
+be glad of somebody to amuse him when he finds he can’t catch any fish.”
+
+Jean waited until she thought that Kenneth had had time to discover the
+fishlessness of the brook, and then leisurely proceeded along the same
+path he had taken.
+
+She came upon him suddenly. Seated on the ground, his back against a
+fallen log, his hands clasped behind his head, and his fish-line
+trailing in the brook, Kenneth was staring vacantly toward the blue of
+the sky.
+
+“Good gracious, how you scared me!” cried Jean. “I didn’t know you were
+here.”
+
+“I’m going away in a minute,” he replied, as, after a disinterested
+glance at the intruder, he went on with his sky-gazing.
+
+“Well, of _all_ things!” exclaimed Jean. “May I sit here until you go?
+I’m awfully tired.”
+
+“Certainly, sit down if you like. It isn’t my log.”
+
+Jean sat down. Kenneth continued to gaze at the sky.
+
+“What are you doing?” she asked at last.
+
+“Cleaning my automobile.”
+
+“Papa has just got a new buggy,” said Jean, ingratiatingly.
+
+“Has he?”
+
+“My father is the manager of the Whitfield Flour and Feed Company.”
+
+“Is he?”
+
+“Yes, he is. He thinks I’m nice.”
+
+“Does he?”
+
+Jean rested her chin in her hand and regarded the young man steadily for
+some moments. “Do you know, I rather like you? Nobody ever talked to me
+like that before.”
+
+“Do you like to be talked to that way?” Kenneth glanced critically at
+his fishing-rod, and moved his position a trifle.
+
+“Yes; who are you, anyway?”
+
+“You know my name.”
+
+“Well, what are you, then?”
+
+“I’m a fairy prince.”
+
+“What are you doing?”
+
+“I’m hunting a fairy princess.”
+
+“How fortunate I happened along just now.”
+
+Kenneth rose, picked up his rod, walked a little way and leaned it
+against a tree.
+
+“Oh, are you going?” asked Jean. “Good-bye!”
+
+“No, I’m not going. I’m coming back to sit on the log and talk to you;
+but I see an interruption approaching in the shape of two able-bodied
+men. One of them is our friend, Mr. Brewster.”
+
+“And the other is Dr. Bushnell, the minister. Mr. Brewster is staying at
+his house.”
+
+The two newcomers accepted the hospitality offered by the occupants of
+the log, Brewster throwing himself at full length on the grass, and Dr.
+Bushnell, carefully selecting an available place, seated himself with
+great dignity. “What a poetic spot,” he said. “It reminds me of that
+wonderful line of Mrs. Hemans’s, ‘Men may come and men may go, but I go
+on forever.’ That is a beautiful thought. It is well said that there are
+sermons in running brooks.”
+
+“Why don’t you pick one out for next Sunday, Dr. Bushnell?” inquired
+Jean, with an air of seriousness.
+
+“I think I will. I think I will. That is by no means a bad idea. I thank
+you, my dear young lady, for suggesting it to me. From a brook one may
+draw many—”
+
+“Fish,” said Jean.
+
+“Not from this brook,” said Kenneth. “I’ve been fishing all the morning
+and haven’t caught a thing.”
+
+“I referred to sermons, not fish,” remarked Dr. Bushnell, mildly.
+
+“Oh, I didn’t have any sermon bait.”
+
+“And haven’t you really caught anything?” inquired Brewster.
+
+“Only a fairy princess,” said Jean.
+
+“And that without any bait,” retorted Kenneth.
+
+“Oh, I knew he wouldn’t catch any fish, so I came down to amuse him. We
+were playing fairy prince and princess.”
+
+“Was this log your castle?” asked Brewster, interestedly.
+
+“No, indeed,” replied Jean. “I think the fairy prince was going to build
+a real air-castle, with moats and dungeons and things.”
+
+“I don’t think that kind of a castle would suit you,” said Kenneth.
+
+“What kind would suit me?” asked Jean.
+
+“A more modern one,” said Brewster. “A brownstone front on Fifth Avenue,
+for instance.”
+
+“That would suit me exactly,” she replied, “but it isn’t a castle.”
+
+“Wouldn’t you rather be suited exactly than to have a castle?” said
+Brewster, quizzically.
+
+“Yes, I would,” said Jean, honestly. “Helen is the one for the castle.
+You know Miss Fairbanks,—you met her yesterday. She has set her heart
+upon a real castle with turrets and drawbridges and moats.”
+
+“She ought to have it, too,” said Brewster. “She would grace it
+perfectly.”
+
+“I am grieved to learn,” said Dr. Bushnell, “that Miss Helen has set her
+heart on anything so far beyond her reach. It seems to me not only the
+height of folly, but almost a sin to aspire to something that one may
+never hope to gain.”
+
+          “‘Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp,
+          Or what’s a heaven for?’”
+
+quoted Brewster.
+
+“Heaven, my dear sir, is quite another matter. We may all hope to attain
+that blessed state.”
+
+“True,” said Brewster, in such a bland tone of acquiescence that Jean
+giggled.
+
+“It is not a matter for flippancy,” said Dr. Bushnell, with his most
+ministerial air. “Ambition, rightly directed, and not having its source
+in a prideful desire for vainglory, is admirable and praiseworthy in
+all. But ambition that is selfish and based on a desire for vulgar
+ostentation and display—”
+
+“Helen Fairbanks is not vulgar or ostentatious,” broke in Jean. “She
+doesn’t want a castle for show. What she wants and what she ought to
+have is the sort of thing represented by a moated castle. She would fit
+right into a picture of that kind, and she knows it, and so, naturally,
+she longs intensely for it. But she isn’t miserable over it.”
+
+“Of course,” said Brewster; “I have only met Miss Fairbanks once, and
+she certainly gives a stranger the impression of the Haughty Princess.
+One would hardly imagine her longing intensely for anything.”
+
+“That’s only because you don’t know her,” said Jean. “Her likes and
+dislikes are extreme. It is not the material castle that she cares for,
+either. It is simply that she wants to realize her tremendous ideals.”
+
+“Just as I said,” interposed Dr. Bushnell. “Her ideals are so tremendous
+that I fear they can never be realized, and therefore I say that it is
+wrong for her to hold them. It is better to be like you, my dear young
+lady—contented with your lot and cherishing no overweening ambitions.”
+
+“Is that so?” said Kenneth, with much interest. “Do I really see before
+me an absolutely contented individual?”
+
+“You do not!” said Jean, indignantly, as if content were a thing to be
+ashamed of. “I have fully as many ideals as Helen, though they are quite
+different ones.”
+
+“What is the chief one?” asked Kenneth; “a fairy prince?”
+
+“No, indeed; I have dozens of fairy princes who await but my nod. My
+chief desire this morning is for a white chiffon parasol and a maltese
+kitten.”
+
+“They are not exactly in line with the ideals you attribute to Miss
+Fairbanks,” said Brewster.
+
+“No,” said Dr. Bushnell, “but they are within the possibilities, and so
+show a more admirable trait of character, in that your desires are
+subservient to your probable attainments. Yours is a disposition to be
+envied.”
+
+“I’ll tell Helen that,” said Jean. “I would like to have her envy me. It
+would be such a pleasant change.”
+
+“Why, do you envy her?” asked Kenneth.
+
+“I do, indeed. She is so beautiful and stately, and so great-hearted
+under her apparent calm indifference, and so unswerving in her aims, and
+so—so fond of kittens.”
+
+“But you are that,” said Kenneth.
+
+“Yes, but the kittens are fond of her in return—that’s Helen.”
+
+“If Miss Helen would confine her ambitions to kittens,” said Dr.
+Bushnell, “it would be so much wiser and better for her. She is a dear
+girl, but it occasions me much serious thought when I observe her
+mistaken tendencies. Does it not seem to you, Mr. Brewster—I ask you
+now in a general way—does it not seem to you that our extravagant
+desires, which in the very nature of things are impossible of
+fulfillment, should be curbed—nay, should be rooted out by the kind
+hand of friendly counsel?”
+
+“I am sorry that I do not agree with you, Dr. Bushnell,” replied
+Brewster, “but I’m afraid I must confess to a deep sympathy with Miss
+Fairbanks, for I myself am a victim of unattainable and often even
+incomprehensible ideals.”
+
+
+
+
+                                   X
+
+
+    If he fail, yet go we under our opinion still that we have
+    better men.—_Troilus and Cressida_, i, 3.
+
+After thinking it all over seriously, Miss Esther had concluded that
+Mark Westcott and Theodore Winthrop Brewster were the most suitable
+candidates yet entered on the books of her Matrimonial Bureau for the
+hand of her artist-client, Lillian Hastings. It had been difficult to
+choose between them, for they were both distinctly eligible, but after
+two or three days’ acquaintance, she had discovered that Mark possessed
+more of the traits which might develop into the character of the
+traditional fairy godfather. In pursuance of her plans, the wily lady
+one afternoon invented an errand for one unsuspecting youth.
+
+“Mark,” she said, ingratiatingly, “wouldn’t you like to go over to
+Lillian Hastings’s for me?”
+
+“Why, are you over there?”
+
+“Don’t be saucy. I assumed that you could understand English. I’ll try
+again. Cousin, or, fair cousin, I would wish you, or, I would request
+you, or, I would entreat you, not to fear, not to tremble: but to go,
+or, to walk, or, to amble withal, to the house, or the home, or the
+studio of Miss Lillian Hastings, and there with deep diplomacy acquaint
+thyself with that which I desire. This having done, I bid thee tell me
+true that which with subtle art thou hast discovered.”
+
+“Sure, I’ll go; but what is this tremendous mission?”
+
+“Lillian is painting a picture, and I want to know if it is finished
+yet.”
+
+“But where does the diplomacy come in?”
+
+“You see, I don’t want her to know that I want to know, but when the
+picture is finished, I’m going to have a party or something for her.”
+
+“What is the picture? How am I to know it?”
+
+“It’s a great big field with a cow in the middle.”
+
+“All right. I can tell it by the cow, but how am I to know if it is
+finished?”
+
+“That’s where you must use your ingenuity. Take your time and lead the
+conversation around by devious by-paths until you find out.”
+
+“All right; put me up a little luncheon and I’ll stay all day.”
+
+“You haven’t any diplomacy,” said Kenneth. “I’ll go along with you and
+manage the ingenious part.”
+
+“No, no! You can’t go, Kenneth. I want you this afternoon. I want you to
+take me driving.”
+
+“But you can’t go driving, Cousin Esther,” broke in Lieutenant Adams.
+“You promised to stay with me. I’ve got to have you. Clear out, you two
+boys, and stay as long as you like.”
+
+In the few days of Putnam Adams’s stay it had come about that the
+household obeyed him unquestioningly. Miss Esther realized that
+Kenneth’s going would interfere with her plans, yet there was no escape
+from the inevitable, and she docilely remained with Putnam and watched
+the brothers as they sauntered across the lawn.
+
+They found Lillian at her easel, at work on a large landscape.
+
+“That’s the picture, now,” exclaimed Mark, diplomatically.
+
+“I told you you hadn’t any ingenuity,” said Kenneth, “and besides that
+can’t be the picture. There isn’t any cow in it!”
+
+“There was a cow—” began Lillian.
+
+“How did it get away?”
+
+“I painted it out,” replied the artist.
+
+“Then that’s the picture. I knew it was,” said Mark.
+
+“What picture?”
+
+“We can’t tell you. We’re diplomats. When will it be finished?”
+
+“It’s almost finished now. I think it will be done by Saturday.”
+
+“Then that’s all right. I’ll tell Cousin Esther,” said Mark.
+
+“What does she want to know for?”
+
+“We can’t tell you. That’s a surprise. How can people be diplomats if
+other people ask them questions all the time?”
+
+“Hullo, who painted this head?” Kenneth had discovered a portrait among
+a lot of sketches.
+
+“By Jove!” exclaimed Mark, “that looks like the girls.”
+
+“What girls?” asked Lillian.
+
+“Our girls,” said Kenneth. “We’re engaged to them, you know. Want to see
+’em?”
+
+“Yes, indeed. Where are they?”
+
+The boys simultaneously drew from their pockets two thin gold cases each
+containing a miniature of a young woman.
+
+“Why, these are pictures of the same girl,” said Lillian.
+
+“Not exactly,” explained Kenneth. “We’ve each got one. You see they’re
+twins.”
+
+“I should think they were twins. I never saw anything so much alike in
+my life. How do you tell them apart?”
+
+“We can’t,” said Mark. “At least we can tell the girls apart, but not
+the pictures. They got mixed up once and we’ve never known which is
+which since. But it doesn’t matter. They can tell us apart.”
+
+“Yes, of course, they can tell which of you they are engaged to.”
+
+“Yes,” said Kenneth, “we have to depend on them to sort us out. But
+sometimes I think they fool us.”
+
+“I know they do,” said Mark. “They think it’s a great joke.”
+
+“Are you to be married soon?” asked Lillian.
+
+“Yes, there’s to be a double wedding in the fall. Great time—I wish
+you’d come to it.”
+
+“I’d love to go. Is Miss Esther going?”
+
+“Oh, I guess so. She came on to Roger’s wedding, but she hasn’t said
+anything about ours.”
+
+“They’re awfully pretty girls. What are their names?”
+
+“Butler—Edna and Edwina. We call them Ed for short.”
+
+“How do they know which one you mean?”
+
+“Why, according to who says it. I wouldn’t call Edna ‘Ed.’”
+
+“You’d better not,” said Mark. “I’d pound you if you did.”
+
+“Where are they now?” asked Lillian, interestedly.
+
+“They are going on with mother this week from Boston to the Adirondacks,
+and Mark and I are to join them there later.”
+
+Just then Brewster and Helen Fairbanks came into the studio.
+
+“We’ve been walking miles and miles,” said Helen, “and we’re going over
+to Miss Esther’s for a cup of tea, and we want you to come with us.”
+
+“All right,” said Mark, “we’ll go. Just wait a few minutes till Miss
+Hastings paints a cow into her picture.”
+
+“Oh, the cow can wait till to-morrow,” said Lillian; “but won’t you show
+Miss Fairbanks those two miniatures, or one at least?”
+
+The boys produced the lockets and handed them to Helen. “What a
+beautiful girl,” she said. “Is she your sister?”
+
+“No—she isn’t one girl, she’s twins, and she’s engaged to these two
+brothers here,” said Lillian.
+
+“Which is which?” asked Helen.
+
+“Merciful powers!” exclaimed Kenneth, “you haven’t mixed them up again,
+have you? We just got them sorted out.”
+
+“Why these are the Butler twins,” said Brewster as he looked at the
+pictures. “I’ve known them all their lives;—this is Edna and this is
+Edwina.”
+
+“How can you tell?” asked Mark, admiringly; “but give me Edwina quick,
+while you know.”
+
+“Now I’m ready,” said Lillian, sticking her brushes into an already
+crowded ginger jar. “Come on, let’s go. It’s almost five.”
+
+On the way to the Adams house they passed Dr. Bushnell’s. Brewster
+turned in at the gate. “Go on,” he said, “I’ll get the book I promised
+Miss Fairbanks, and catch you before you get to Miss Esther’s.”
+
+That afternoon had proved an eventful one for Miss Adams, and had
+completely disarranged her Matrimonial Bureau.
+
+She had been sitting on the east porch with Putnam, when Nora announced
+the arrival of three ladies.
+
+“Well, Emily Westcott!” exclaimed Miss Esther, “I’m so glad to see you.
+Where under the sun did you come from?”
+
+“I’m on my way to Saranac, and just stopped over for the night to see
+you and to show you my new daughters. This is Edwina Butler and this is
+Edna Butler. Where are the boys?”
+
+“I’m very glad to see you—all of you. But why do you call these young
+ladies your daughters?”
+
+“Why, they’re engaged to Mark and Kenneth. Haven’t they told you?”
+
+“Mark and Kenneth?” said Miss Esther, “Mark and Kenneth! but which of
+you is which? How can they tell you apart?”
+
+“They can’t,” said Edna Butler. “We tell them.”
+
+Miss Esther sat down. “Well, of _all_ things!” she said.
+
+“Why are you so surprised?” asked Mrs. Westcott. “The boys are old
+enough. Mark is twenty-five—”
+
+“Yes, yes, I know. And I’m very much pleased,—very much pleased. I am
+sure,” she added, turning to the young ladies, “that you must be twins.
+You are, aren’t you?”
+
+“Yes, we are; I am Edwina. There’s no way to tell us apart except by our
+first names. Mark is my special property.”
+
+“And Kenneth is mine,” said Edna. “He has written so much about you and
+this beautiful place that we’re perfectly delighted to be here. He told
+us, too, about numbers of new cousins he had found here. Mayn’t we see
+them?”
+
+“Yes, indeed,” said Miss Esther. “At least we have one of them on
+exhibition. Your boys have gone calling somewhere, but one of the new
+cousins—Lieutenant Adams—is on the east porch, laid up with a broken
+leg. Come out and amuse him for a while.”
+
+She took the Butler twins to the east porch, presented Lieutenant Adams,
+and then returned to Mrs. Westcott. “Those young people can take care of
+themselves,” she said, “and you and I can have a good old-time chat.”
+
+“We’ve come out to get acquainted,” announced Edna. “You may not know
+it, but you are to be one of our new cousins, Lieutenant Adams.”
+
+“I’m very glad to hear that,” he said; “but if I’m your cousin, you must
+call me Putnam. What’s your name?”
+
+“Mine’s Edna, and hers is Edwina. You may use them, if you like.”
+
+“I don’t know how I can remember which belongs to which. Your gowns are
+exactly alike. You ought to have some distinguishing mark.”
+
+“All right. Give me one of your gilt buttons,” said Edna, “and I’ll wear
+it on my chain.”
+
+“Of course,” said Lieutenant Adams, cutting off a button from his white
+duck coat, which Edna gleefully attached to her long chain.
+
+“I want one, too,” said Edwina, “to put on my chain.”
+
+“Of course. Here’s one for you.”
+
+Edwina strung the button on her chain. “Now shut your eyes,” she said,
+“and count ten.”
+
+During the counting Putnam heard an ostentatious rustle and two very
+similar giggles. Then he announced “Ten!”
+
+“Now look at us,” said one of them. “Which am I?”
+
+“That’s dead easy; you’re Edwina.”
+
+“How can you tell?”
+
+“Why, because one of you is so much prettier than the other.”
+
+“Which?” cried the twins together.
+
+“Both,” said Putnam, gallantly.
+
+“Well, if that doesn’t look like Winthrop Brewster,” said Edwina, as she
+saw a tall man in white flannels crossing the lawn.
+
+“It is,” said her sister.
+
+“Of course it is,” said Putnam. “Do you know him?”
+
+“Yes, known him all our lives. Hullo, Winthrop!”
+
+“Well, Peaches Butler!” exclaimed Brewster as he came up the steps. “How
+did you get here? You see,” he explained to Putnam, “that when I address
+these young women together I have to refer to them in the plural. When I
+meet only one of them I call her Peach.”
+
+From the library window Miss Esther could hear the laughter on the east
+porch. She had left Mrs. Westcott in her room, after hearing from her
+the details of the boys’ engagements.
+
+“Mark and Kenneth both out of it,” she thought. “To be sure, I only
+needed one of them, but I can’t have either, it seems. I think the Jean
+and Putnam affair will turn out as I have planned. Then, of course, I
+must give Winthrop Brewster to Lillian. That still leaves Helen. She is
+certainly my most troublesome client. This being a Matrimonial Bureau is
+harder work than I thought it would be.”
+
+
+
+
+                                   XI
+
+
+    He well may be a stranger, for he comes to an honored
+    triumph.—_Pericles_, ii, 2.
+
+After leaving Brewster at Dr. Bushnell’s, Mark explained to his
+companions that he had forgotten to go to the post-office as he had
+promised Miss Esther he would do. They all went with him. When they
+reached the Adams house there was no one on the front veranda.
+
+“We’re late,” said Helen, “and yet I don’t see any appearance of
+tea-things. I wonder where everybody is?”
+
+“Some fearful accident must have happened in this well-regulated family
+to have interfered with the tea routine,” said Lillian.
+
+“Yes,” exclaimed Kenneth, “the fearful accident is Putnam Adams. He has
+regulations of his own, and he has hypnotized Cousin Esther into
+thinking that they are hers. He’s probably having tea in that padded
+cell of his.”
+
+“From the racket, I should say he had a whole tea-party,” said Mark.
+
+“We’ll invite ourselves to it,” said Lillian.
+
+They sauntered slowly toward the porch, Lillian and Mark ahead, and
+Helen following with Kenneth.
+
+“That’s Mark’s laugh,” said Edwina. “The boys are coming, Ed.”
+
+The Butler twins flew to the vine-framed window and looked out to see
+Mark and Kenneth apparently very much interested in two merry young
+women. At the same moment Lillian spied the twin faces in the leafy
+frame. “There,” she cried, “are the girls out of your lockets!”
+
+“Edwina Butler!” yelled Mark, dropping in an astonished heap on the
+grass. “Whichever one of you belongs to me, come out here—quick!”
+
+“No, you come up here. Aren’t you awful glad to see us? We’re a surprise
+party,” said Edwina.
+
+“You certainly are,” said Kenneth, bounding up the steps. “What are you
+doing here, anyway?”
+
+Lillian and Helen followed Kenneth, and Brewster introduced them to the
+Butler twins. Just as Mark rose to go, too, Jean came around the corner
+of the house. “Where’s everybody?” she said.
+
+“Up in Putnam’s porch,” replied Mark. “Come on up.”
+
+“Here comes Mark with another girl,” said Edwina to Brewster. “Is he
+making a collection?”
+
+“Yes, I think he is,” replied Brewster; “and I admire his taste in
+gems.”
+
+“His latest acquisition seems to be a sparkling one.”
+
+“She’s all of that,” said Brewster. “Jean Richards is a witch; but I’m
+not sure that I would call her Mark’s acquisition.”
+
+“Is she yours?”
+
+“No, not that either. Lieutenant Adams—”
+
+Just at this moment Mark came up and Edwina lost interest in Brewster’s
+sentence.
+
+“Mark has good taste,” thought Brewster, glancing at Miss Butler, “but
+for myself—” He deliberately walked across the porch and seated himself
+beside Helen Fairbanks.
+
+Miss Esther and Mrs. Westcott appeared at the door.
+
+“The Mother!” shrieked Kenneth, and sprang to meet her.
+
+“What a lot of people for tea,” said Miss Esther. “We must all go out on
+the front veranda right away. Everything is ready.”
+
+“We are going to have tea here to-day,” said Putnam.
+
+He looked at Miss Esther with that air of absolute finality which she
+had already learned meant ultimate acquiescence on her part; and while
+she felt it necessary to parley a little, if only for a compromise with
+her own dignity, yet she was secretly pleased with the positive
+knowledge that she would capitulate at last. In a word, she enjoyed
+Putnam’s despotism.
+
+“But we always have it on the front veranda. We’ll have to go out
+there,” she said.
+
+“No,” said Putnam; “it is to be served here. Sit down.”
+
+Miss Esther sat down.
+
+“Now, Miss Richards,” began Putnam, “you will kindly ask Nora to
+superintend moving all that tea baggage out here, and you Westcott boys
+get busy and do the boosting.”
+
+Usually Putnam’s orders were carried out to the letter, but when Jean
+reached the front veranda, she was surprised to see a strange young man
+sitting there. He was a fat little man, who looked as though he might be
+merry in favoring circumstances. But just now he sat in an attitude of
+deep dejection, his round face showing a most woe-begone expression.
+
+“Don’t cry!” said Jean. “It’s all right. What’s the matter?”
+
+“Somebody’s broke the doorbell, and I can’t get in. Sit down, won’t
+you?”
+
+Jean sat down beside him. “I really must be going,” she said; “they’re
+waiting for me inside.”
+
+“Can’t I go in, too? I’m expected. I am Abraham Lincoln Dodd.”
+
+Jean regarded him critically. “You don’t look like Abraham Lincoln,” she
+said.
+
+“No; I favor the Dodds. We are the Dodds of Lawrence. We spell our name
+D-o-double-d. It is pronounced Dodd—the final d is silent.”
+
+“How interesting,” said Jean.
+
+“Yes, isn’t it? Putnam Adams wrote for me to come down here. He said
+that his Cousin Esther said I might. Are you his Cousin Esther?”
+
+“Oh, no. Miss Adams is a lady of about fifty.”
+
+“Yes, so Putnam said.”
+
+“Where are you, Miss Richards?” called Mark from the doorway.
+
+“Here I am. Come out and meet Mr. Dodd.”
+
+“Certainly,” said Mark, dropping down on the top step. “Did Putnam tell
+you to keep Mr. Dodd out here?”
+
+“We can’t get in,” said Abraham Lincoln Dodd. “Nobody answered my ring,
+and I can’t find Putnam.”
+
+“What’s up?” asked Kenneth, coming out after more teacups.
+
+“I’ve found a stranger,” said Jean, “and I took him in. Want to see
+him?”
+
+“She hasn’t taken me in _yet_,” said Dodd, cheerfully.
+
+“She will, though,” said Kenneth, sitting down beside his brother. “It’s
+a happy little faculty Miss Richards possesses. But you’re not a
+stranger. Putnam expected you.”
+
+“Yes, Miss Adams was kind enough to invite me. They said to come as soon
+as I could, and so I came right away. I drove over from Richfield
+Springs in my automobile.”
+
+“You did?” cried Jean. “Have you got an automobile? Will you take me out
+in it?”
+
+“All right,” replied Dodd. “Get your hat.”
+
+“There’s a riot on the east porch,” said Brewster, appearing suddenly.
+“_Where_ is that tea-table?”
+
+“Never mind the tea,” exclaimed Jean. “Here’s Mr. Dodd, and he’s got an
+automobile! Come out and see him.”
+
+“Where is it?” asked Brewster, joining the group.
+
+“Why,” said Dodd, “it was most unfortunate. Just as I was coming through
+the village it had a pain, so I left it at the blacksmith’s. It will be
+all right by to-morrow.”
+
+“I can go to-morrow,” said Jean. “We’ll all go.”
+
+“How many are there of us?” asked Dodd.
+
+“Oh, there’s a lot of us,” replied Jean. “There’s Miss Esther—”
+
+“Yes, here’s Miss Esther,” said that lady coming through the hall. “What
+is going on? Are you going to keep these boys here all the afternoon?”
+
+“Why,” said Jean, “I’m entertaining your company. Mr. Dodd is here.”
+
+“Oh, Putnam’s Mr. Dodd?”
+
+“Your Mr. Dodd, if you will have me,” said Abraham Lincoln, rising.
+
+“Certainly I will. Consider yourself one of my adopted boys. I have a
+great many. Won’t you come in?”
+
+“I’ve been trying to get in, but Miss Richards has kept me out.”
+
+“She is quite capable of it. You’re a bad girl, Jean. Go back to the
+east porch at once. Putnam wants you. Also, I left two girls weeping for
+the Westcott boys. Mr. Brewster, tell Putnam that Mr. Dodd is here. I’ll
+bring him out there directly.”
+
+“It was right down good of you to ask me over here, Miss Adams,” said
+Dodd as they were left alone.
+
+“I am glad to have you. Any friend of Putnam’s is welcome. I am very
+fond of that boy.”
+
+“Yes, he’s an all-round good fellow. I’m sorry he’s laid up, but this is
+certainly an ideal spot to be laid up in. The country is beautiful, and
+I’m glad I brought my sketching-traps.”
+
+“Oh, yes. Putnam told me you painted. I’m so glad.”
+
+“You won’t be when you see my pictures. I don’t paint very well.”
+
+“But you take an interest in art?”
+
+“Oh, yes. I like pictures and I like people who like pictures.”
+
+It was with great satisfaction that Miss Esther showed Abraham Lincoln
+Dodd to his room. When she came down stairs she paused a moment in the
+library. “It’s nothing short of providential,” she thought. “Just when I
+had to give up all hopes of one of those Westcott boys for Lillian, here
+comes along an even better candidate. He is not only available along the
+art lines, but Putnam says he is rich and so, of course, he could take
+Lillian abroad or anywhere she wants to go. I really think he’ll do very
+well. Dodd isn’t a much prettier name than Briggs, and I did want
+Westcott; but I must not sit too long on trifles. It is working out
+admirably. There does seem to be a special providence that waits on
+Matrimonial Bureaus. If all goes well, Lillian can sail by the middle of
+August after all.”
+
+
+
+
+                                  XII
+
+
+    My chief humor is for a tyrant.—_Midsummer Night’s Dream_, i,
+    2.
+
+Putnam’s tea on the east porch proved a decided success. Abraham Lincoln
+Dodd was an acquisition, and Miss Esther viewed the entire group with a
+secret elation that at last she had secured a stage-setting such as she
+wanted, and furthermore had brought her actors all together upon the
+scene.
+
+It seemed to her the perfected realization of her attempt to model a
+situation after those described in her favorite English novels. The
+wicker tea-table and its complete appointments, the pretty girls in
+their light summer frocks, the jolly, careless men with their
+unostentatious thoughtfulness for Putnam, the blue sky, the green,
+close-cut grass, and even the sweep of the graveled driveway, along
+which Miss Esther’s imagination could see Lady Rose’s daughter rolling
+in her victoria,—all these filled her heart with joy. This joy was not
+expressed in words, but its manifestation was evident in her demeanor
+and made her, appropriately enough, a fitting central figure for the
+picture. She looked at the three girls she was so fond of, she looked at
+her recently acquired collection of cousins, and then she looked
+curiously at Mr. Dodd and wondered. “I think he will do,” she thought,
+“and he seems to like Lillian already.”
+
+As a matter of fact, Mr. Dodd seemed to like not only Lillian but all of
+Miss Esther’s guests, and apparently the regard was mutual. The centre
+of an admiring group, he was telling of some exciting experience which
+befell him when he was young. “It wasn’t so bad, then, but after I grew
+up—” he began.
+
+“But you didn’t grow very far,” interrupted Jean.
+
+“Not up, no; but I grew a lot cross-wise. I think Nature intended me for
+a sphere.”
+
+“She accomplished her purpose admirably,” said Putnam.
+
+[Illustration: _Tea on the east porch._]
+
+“The minister was telling me the other day,” said Jean, “that I ought to
+find my sphere. I wonder if you’re it.”
+
+“No,” said Miss Esther, involuntarily. “That is, I mean,” she went on
+hurriedly, “I won’t have anybody calling my guests spheres or any other
+geometrical solids. And by the way, Mr. Dodd, what am I to call you? You
+see, all these other adopted boys of mine I call by their first names.”
+
+“But Mr. Dodd’s first name is so ponderous,” said Helen.
+
+“It is,” said Dodd, hopelessly. “But,” he added, brightening, “they used
+to call me Little Sunshine.”
+
+“I shall call you Lincoln,” said Miss Esther, decidedly. “It suits you.”
+
+“I am very glad to hear that somebody has at last realized my essential
+Lincolnic attributes. I have always wanted to issue a proclamation. I am
+a born proclaimer, and if I could only emancipate somebody from
+something, I could die happy. I am Lincolnian to the backbone. I was cut
+out for a great fighter.”
+
+“If you’re talking about fighters,” said Mark, “Fitzsimmons is my
+choice.”
+
+“Well, call me Fitz if you like. I might just as well have been named
+after him, if he had done his fighting as early as Lincoln did. He’s
+another kind of fighter, to be sure, but if a man fights to win, what’s
+the odds whether he fights men or conditions?”
+
+“I don’t see why men like to fight so much,” said Lillian. “I should
+think you would rather be something nice. A painter, for instance, like
+Sir Joshua Reynolds.”
+
+“Oh, I am a painter, and you may call me Sir Josh if you like.”
+
+“Are you really a painter?”
+
+“Yes, I am. I’m a big painter. My last picture was a scene up Gloucester
+way, and covered the whole coast, all the shore from Rocky Neck to Cape
+Ann.”
+
+“All on one canvas?” asked Putnam.
+
+“Yes, I wanted it for a certain space, but somehow I got the thing too
+long, and when I got it home it wouldn’t fit.”
+
+“What did you do then?”
+
+“I had to take a tuck in it,—up and down, you know. It didn’t make any
+difference. It only cut out a few miles between the DeCamp cottage and
+the hotels on the eastern shore. That stretch is uninteresting, anyway.”
+
+“I’m awfully glad you paint,” said Lillian; “I paint some, too. If you
+paint better than I do, you can teach me.”
+
+“I will, with pleasure, and if you paint better than I do, you can teach
+me.”
+
+Miss Esther smiled. Mr. Dodd was certainly a most tractable man. If she
+had told him just what she wanted, he couldn’t have fallen in with her
+plans better. She foresaw a friendship that should begin over the paint
+tubes, and should lead straight to the deck of the European steamer.
+“Perhaps I am not exactly the god in the machine,” she thought, while
+apparently listening to Mrs. Westcott’s periphrases, “but I am the
+machinist, and I must set the god to work. And if ’t were done when ’t
+is done, then ’twere well ’twere done quickly.”
+
+Miss Esther regarded Lillian with the expression a chess-player would
+bestow upon an idle pawn. She decided to make a move upon her
+matrimonial chessboard. “Lillian,” she said, transparently diplomatic,
+“wouldn’t you like to take Mr. Dodd over to your studio and let him
+advise you about that new picture of yours?”
+
+Lillian did want to, but not feeling sure of Mr. Dodd’s state of mind on
+the subject, she looked at him, inquiringly.
+
+“Nothing I should like better,” said he, jumping up. “As an adviser I am
+a great success. I make a specialty of advising. I have noticed that
+nowadays it is the thing to be a specialist.”
+
+“But I thought specialists were surgeons or doctors,” said Edwina
+Butler. “Are you a doctor?”
+
+“Yes, I am. I administer advice in capsules to my patients, and they’re
+not always sugar-coated, either.”
+
+“Then sometimes they are hard to take,” said Lillian. “I hope you’ll
+sugar-coat mine.”
+
+“I don’t know,” Dodd returned. “I haven’t seen your picture yet, and I
+don’t know what kind you’ll need.”
+
+“Advise her to put her cow back in the pasture,” said Mark.
+
+“Where is she now?” asked Dodd. “Do you allow your cow to paint on your
+pictures, Miss Hastings, while you’re away?”
+
+“No, it was only a painted cow upon a painted picture, and I unpainted
+her, because—”
+
+“Because she wouldn’t moo,” interrupted Helen.
+
+“Oh, you are a realist?” asked Dodd.
+
+“Yes. I want to paint cows that can moo,” replied Lillian, “although I
+may not hear them.”
+
+“They’d scare you to death if they did,” said Jean. “I never knew
+anybody so afraid of cows as you are.”
+
+“Well, go on,” said Miss Esther. “I’ve no doubt if you meet any cows on
+the way Mr. Dodd will—”
+
+“Paint them out,” supplemented Putnam.
+
+“We will,” said Dodd as he walked down the steps with Lillian; “but
+remember that sometimes it requires a good deal of courage to paint
+out.”
+
+Lillian gave him a glance of admiring appreciation. Miss Esther caught
+it, and smiled.
+
+Pursuing her rôle of a zealous and very active fate, Miss Esther next
+proceeded to clear the stage for the more prominent actors in her
+comedy-drama. “Girls,” she said to the Butler twins, “wouldn’t you like
+to see something of the place? Why don’t you ask that pair of Westcotts
+of yours to take you down where Kenneth was fishing the other day?
+That’s a most romantic spot.”
+
+“Oh, we’re not so romantic as all that,” said Edwina, “or at least if we
+are, we have plenty of opportunities for romance; but it isn’t often
+that we get a chance at such a lovely afternoon tea as this is, and we
+want to stay to it.”
+
+“This is my tea,” said Putnam, “and I can manage it any way I like. Now
+I’ll interrupt it right here, and you kids go down to the brook. We’ll
+begin the tea again when you come back.”
+
+“Yes,” said Miss Esther, delighted that her necessary acquiescence with
+Putnam’s views should coincide so perfectly with her wishes, “run along
+at once. Stay as long as you like, and be sure to be here at seven
+o’clock for dinner.”
+
+“They’ll never get back by that time,” said Mrs. Westcott. “You don’t
+know that quartette as well as I do. They have no idea of time. You
+ought not to let them go.”
+
+“Why, she’s sending us,” cried Edna. “I don’t care a snip about going.”
+
+“Oh, go along,” said her hostess, “you’ll be back in time.”
+
+The four ran laughing down the steps and crossed the lawn in the
+direction of the woodland. Elated by her success so far, Miss Esther
+proceeded to dispose of Helen and Mr. Brewster, for her ultimate plan
+was nothing less than to leave Jean and Lieutenant Adams in undisturbed
+possession of the east porch. But Theodore Winthrop Brewster was not so
+easily managed as the Westcott boys. She made several unsuccessful
+attempts. “Mr. Brewster,” she said, finally, “have you seen Jack’s ship
+since he has painted it?”
+
+“I have, indeed,” said Brewster, cheerfully; “in fact I helped him paint
+it yesterday.”
+
+“But he put on another coat this morning, and it really looks very
+different. Take Helen up to see it. She’s so interested in Jack’s ship.”
+
+“I’m the one that is interested in Jack’s ship,” broke in Jean; “let me
+go.”
+
+“Stay where you are,” said Putnam, dictatorially; “you weren’t invited.
+Miss Fairbanks was.”
+
+“But I don’t want to go,” said Helen. “I am very comfortable here;” and
+she leaned back in her lounging-chair with one of her best expressions
+of reposeful content.
+
+“You always exasperate me when you look like that,” said Jean. “I wish
+Miss Esther would make you go.”
+
+“I can’t,” said Miss Esther. “I can make some people do some things some
+of the time, but I know better than to order Helen Fairbanks around.
+Besides, Putnam is the only one here who can make anybody do anything.”
+
+“Try it,” said Helen, looking over at Putnam.
+
+“Not I. I should be proud to have you give me orders, but I should never
+dream of commanding Miss Helen Fairbanks.”
+
+“Your decision is a wise one, as my family could tell you. Collectively
+and individually they have tried to make me mind, but without any very
+startling success.”
+
+“Come with me, Miss Fairbanks,” said Brewster. “There are some
+interesting details about Jack’s ship that I would like to show you.”
+
+Helen rose smilingly, and with an evident unconsciousness that she was
+obeying dictation, she walked into the house with Brewster. Putnam
+caught Miss Esther’s glance across the porch and threw back an amused
+smile of comprehension.
+
+After Helen and Mr. Brewster left them, Miss Esther diplomatically
+contrived an exit for herself and Mrs. Westcott. “If you will come into
+the library with me, Emily,” she said, “I will look up those papers and
+we will settle those disputed genealogical questions.”
+
+“Oh, there’s no hurry about it,” said Mrs. Westcott, “I shall be here
+two or three days.”
+
+“Come now,” said Miss Esther, “I’m just in the mood for it.”
+
+She held the door open with such an air of compulsion that Mrs. Westcott
+reluctantly went in.
+
+Left alone with Putnam on the veranda, Jean, for some unaccountable
+reason, felt vaguely embarrassed. “I must take these things out to
+Nora,” she said, as she began rather aimlessly to fuss with the teacups.
+
+“Stay where you are,” said Putnam.
+
+“But you see,” said Jean, “I really must look after these things. It’s
+Nora’s afternoon out—at least I think it is—and Miss Esther always
+depends on me to look after things for her—especially if she has
+company—and so, you see, I really must—”
+
+“Sit down,” said Putnam.
+
+
+
+
+                                  XIII
+
+
+            And I for no woman.—_As You Like It_, v, 2.
+
+“I won’t sit down,” said Jean. “You can boss Miss Esther as much as you
+like, but you needn’t think that I’m going to do exactly as you say. I
+am in the habit of doing the ordering myself. That is the divine right
+of an only child.”
+
+“An only child needn’t be a spoiled child,” said Putnam, lazily.
+
+[Illustration: “_I’m not a spoiled child!_”]
+
+“I’m not a spoiled child,” and Jean’s eyes flashed; “nobody ever said
+that before!”
+
+“I don’t object to being a pioneer. The rôle has always appealed to me.”
+
+“Well, don’t indulge your proclivities in this undiscovered country.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+Putnam regarded Jean deliberately, and with an expression of amused
+curiosity. He was an unusually handsome man, and his magnificent
+physique gave an impression of resolute power to a degree rare, even in
+a soldier. This impression was in no way lessened, but was rather
+accented by his present condition of physical helplessness. Stretched at
+full length in a steamer-chair, and consequently incapable of active
+exertion, he still showed unmistakable evidence of an immense amount of
+reserve force. It was this air of indolently conscious superiority which
+proved so excessively tantalizing to Jean.
+
+She sat down in a low chair beside him, and resting her chin in her
+hands, gazed straight into his eyes.
+
+“Why not?” repeated Putnam.
+
+“Because I won’t stand it. You’re the spoiled child yourself. You always
+have your own way, irrespective of what anybody else wants, and it makes
+me furious to have you think that you can order me about as you do
+others. You shan’t do it!”
+
+“Why not?” said Putnam again.
+
+He still looked at her quizzically with the added provocation of a
+slight patronizing smile. Jean flushed angrily. Putnam changed his
+position, but with difficulty, and the expression of pain which came
+into his eyes roused all Jean’s instincts of helpfulness. Without
+realizing what she was doing, she rose and took a pillow from the
+hammock. This she placed under Putnam’s shoulder, and with quick, deft
+touches patted it into exactly the right position.
+
+“Thank you,” he said, with a grave courtesy quite at variance with his
+former teasing mood. Jean flushed again, but this time it was not with
+anger. She could not have analyzed the reason even if she had tried. It
+was simply the charm of Putnam Adams’s personality. Splendid physical
+strength and an iron will, with a calm, consummate indifference, born of
+unqualified self-confidence, make the most attractive combination
+possible in a man, and he possessed these qualities in their perfection.
+Possibly the consciousness of this had added to his manner a little too
+great a touch of autocracy, but this was always forgiven him, because,
+when necessary, Putnam Adams commanded forgiveness with the same
+assurance that he commanded everything else.
+
+And so this personality appealed to Jean, not only because of its
+effectiveness with all women, but because this was the first time that a
+man of this stamp had come within her experience. She was a little
+bewildered by it, and in consequence lost much of her self-confident
+ability to hold her own against any odds.
+
+Indeed, it was otherwise inexplicable that she, the high-handed
+dispenser of begged-for favors, should, not only without invitation, but
+without volition, have bestowed upon an outrageously indifferent
+beneficiary a favor which, however casual it might seem, was really a
+tribute to his masterfulness. She was conquered, although she didn’t
+know it.
+
+Putnam Adams knew it, but he did not tell her.
+
+                 *        *        *        *        *
+
+After a few weeks of rest and Miss Esther’s care, Putnam’s condition
+improved to such an extent that he was able to get about without his
+crutches, and was able to take his place in the sextette which had many
+excursions by automobile and otherwise in the surrounding country about
+Whitfield.
+
+The Westcott party had gone on to the Adirondacks, after promising to
+stop at Miss Esther’s on the way back. After Mark’s departure, Chub had
+transferred her affections to Abraham Lincoln Dodd, whom she called
+Linkum, and whom she alternately petted and tyrannized over.
+
+One morning Dodd lay on his back on the lawn, looking up at a very blue
+sky, and Chub amused herself by piling leaves upon his face.
+
+“I’m a wobin,” she said, gleefully, “and you’re my Babeth in the
+Woodth.”
+
+“I knew a robin once,—” began Dodd.
+
+“A nither wobin than me?”
+
+“No, not nicer than you, except that that robin didn’t put sand in my
+eyes.”
+
+“Wath it a weally wobin?”
+
+“Yes, a really robin, with feathers. We were great friends.”
+
+“I have a friend—he’th a chipmuk; and I have ’nother friend, and he’th
+a tagger; and I have ’nother friend, and he’th a—a—a—Bear—a awful
+big Bear; and I had ’nother friend, and he wath a little
+kittypillar—but he ranned away.”
+
+“Is your bear a really bear?” asked Dodd.
+
+“Oh, yeth; a big live bear with featherth, and he livth wight over
+there.”
+
+With a comprehensive sweep of her dimpled arm, Chub vaguely indicated
+the habitat of the bear.
+
+“Lovely!” said Dodd. “And do the tiger and chipmunk live there, too?”
+
+“Yeth, we all live there, and we have thupper together and the tagger
+eath bread and milk, and the chipmuk eath cuthtard, and the bear—”
+
+“Eats the caterpillar?” questioned Dodd.
+
+“No, he didn’t. The little kittypillar ranned away, cauth the bear theen
+him go, and he ranned acroth the woad and acroth the brook and acroth
+the fenth, he ranned awful fatht.”
+
+“Did you run after him?”
+
+“Yeth, and I felled in the brook and got all drownded up, and the
+chipmuk come ’long and he felled in the brook, and the tagger come ’long
+and he felled in the brook, and the bear come ’long and he felled in the
+brook, and the chipmuk come ’long and he felled in the brook, and—”
+
+“Oh, you had the chipmunk in the brook before.”
+
+“Yeth, but he felled in two timeth; and the bear come ’long—”
+
+But the end of this thrilling tale was lost to history, and so far as we
+know authoritatively, the animals are still in the brook, for just at
+this moment Chub’s nurse appeared and carried the baby off for her
+morning nap.
+
+Dodd rose, brushed off the leaves and wisps of grass with which Chub had
+favored him, and went into the house in search of Miss Esther. When he
+reached the hall he saw her in the library.
+
+As he entered the room, she said, apparently to nobody, “They are all
+doing beautifully, except Winthrop Brewster. I cannot understand,
+Cassius,” she said, “what is the matter with that man. I’m sure he cares
+a lot about Helen, and last night I managed to leave them alone on the
+East porch, and,” seeing Dodd in the doorway, “if you’ll believe me,
+Lincoln Dodd, nothing came of it!”
+
+“You don’t mean it!” said Dodd.
+
+“Yes, I do, and I was just telling Cassius—”
+
+“I heard you address Cassius. Is he a dog?”
+
+“No, I mean Caius Cassius. I often talk to my books—especially when I
+want advice.”
+
+“Do you often get it?”
+
+“Always, if I ask the right ones.”
+
+“How do you know who are the right ones?”
+
+“My intuitions tell me, and just now they tell me that you are the one.”
+
+“I’m a good adviser,” said Dodd.
+
+“Yes, I believe you are, and that is why I’m going to ask you seriously
+about a very important matter.”
+
+“Do,” he replied. “I’ve been wanting excitement of some kind.”
+
+“Well, this will be exciting enough, I promise you. It’s nothing more
+nor less than that you are to get married,—sooner than you expect to.”
+
+“To you? All right!”
+
+“No. Don’t be foolish. Not to me. But really, a rich young man like you
+are, and a good man, and a kind man, ought to make some girl happy.”
+
+“But perhaps it wouldn’t make me happy,” said Dodd.
+
+“Oh, don’t attempt to be coy with me. I understand perfectly how the
+land lies, and I am thoroughly pleased, I can assure you. Lillian
+Hastings is one of the dearest girls I know, and—”
+
+“Good Heavens! Miss Esther, what in the world are you talking about?”
+
+“Oh, anybody can see with half an eye that you’re in love with her.”
+
+“But I’m not. I’m not a bit in love with Miss Hastings or with any other
+lady, and I never wish to marry or be given in marriage.”
+
+“You’re not in love with Lillian Hastings!”
+
+Miss Esther dropped onto the sofa. She looked the picture of woe.
+
+“Et tu, Brute!” she said. “Another candidate defeated!”
+
+
+
+
+                                  XIV
+
+
+    Here’s a small trifle of wives.—_Merchant of Venice_, ii, 2.
+
+Lillian’s studio was peculiarly fitted for confidences. It was away up
+in the top of a house which had been constructed in the time when
+gingerbread formed a part of the architectural impulse of Central New
+York. Still, up in the attic there had been left an unfinished
+room—garret, with rafters and other things dear to the heart of those
+who were born in Central New York in the middle seventies. This room the
+young woman had adapted to her own uses. She had impressed the men from
+the Whitfield Planing Mill and Agricultural Works, and she had directed
+them to construct a ceiling of matched lumber—though she did not know
+what matched lumber meant.
+
+After it was finished she discovered that it was simply a ceiling of
+boards closely fitted together, and that by no possibility could the
+boards be said to match—so far as her eye for color could discover.
+Still, she was satisfied, for she had covered the whole affair with a
+coat of burlap, and over this she had put a coat of paint—dark green,
+with splashes of gold in it—and when it was done she sat down and
+thought it all out.
+
+“They thought it was matched lumber,” she said. “I have made it match.”
+
+That, in effect, was the attitude which Lillian Hastings, she of the
+artistic temperament, held toward life.
+
+This point of view had been questioned by Jean, but Helen understood it.
+“It’s this way,” said she, as they discussed it for the thousandth time.
+“Very often Lillian’s lumber doesn’t match, but she covers it up with a
+bit of decorative drapery and is perfectly satisfied.”
+
+“Yes,” said Lillian, “but the decoration, if it is of my own choosing,
+pleases me so much that I forget the unmatchedness of the lumber.”
+
+“Just in the same way, I suppose,” said Jean, “that you have forgotten
+the ugliness of that picture which you have so cleverly covered with
+that square of Turkish embroidery.”
+
+“Exactly that. As it is, I forget that the ugliness is behind, and see
+only the beautiful. To me the ugliness is not there.”
+
+“No,” said Helen, “I know it. Now to me the ugliness is not only there,
+but is all the more visible to me from the fact that I try to cover it
+up.”
+
+“That’s foolishness,” said Jean. “There’s no sense in seeing ugly things
+because they’re covered up; but then, there’s no sense in having them
+there, anyway. If a thing is ugly, why not take it away, or else go
+somewhere else yourself?”
+
+Lillian went about the work of the studio thoughtfully. “There are some
+uglinesses,” she said, presently, “that one cannot get away from. If
+they are there, and are put there by those who put things there for us
+in the beginning—then why not either accept them or get away from them,
+or—cover them up? The system is complicated. Not all can be escaped.
+Not all can be accepted—but all of them can be covered up to a greater
+or less degree, and the mere fact that we are conscious of them
+ourselves need not make them visible to those who happen to come under
+the influence of the beautiful things with which we cover the
+uglinesses—Bah! the very idea of exploiting all our guilty consciences
+and all our ugly little ideas before everybody that may come along! It
+is disgusting. We know they are there. We know the spots on the
+wall-paper, and we know that there is a worn place in the carpet, and
+these mean either carelessness or something else. Whatever they mean, we
+back a chair up against the spot on the wall and we put a rug over the
+carpet’s shortcomings—just exactly as we put figurative chairs and rugs
+over the spots on our consciences. We know they are there—but the other
+people do not, maybe, and if they don’t, then they are not offended by
+the sight. They haven’t got to fight the thing out. If we have—then we
+can do it after they have gone away. We will have to do it alone,
+anyway.”
+
+“I am more glad than ever that I haven’t the artistic temperament,” said
+Jean, “if you have to reason things out as deeply as that. I don’t see
+the use of paying any attention to ugly things. It’s all I can do to
+find time enough for all the beautiful things there are in the world.”
+
+“Much you know about the world!” flung in Lillian.
+
+“Mr. Brewster says,” remarked Helen, “that nothing is ugly, _per se_.”
+
+“I always did wonder what _per se_ meant,” said Jean; “but it seems to
+me, Helen, that Mr. Brewster’s opinions mean an awful lot to you of
+late.”
+
+“That’s because his opinions are valuable _per se_.”
+
+“Now you see, Jean,” said Lillian, “what _per se_ means. It means to
+Helen.”
+
+“Well, if he expresses his opinions to me more than he does to you
+girls, it’s because I listen with some serious attention, and you—well,
+you never seem to be around when he’s talking.”
+
+“There’s gratitude for you!” exclaimed Jean. “After we have purposely
+kept out of your way and tried our best to give you opportunities for
+hearing opinions—”
+
+“And for serious attentions,” broke in Lillian.
+
+“You needn’t have troubled yourselves,” said Helen, “for your kind
+efforts were not even noticed, let alone appreciated.”
+
+“Speak for yourself,” said Jean; “speak for Mr. Brewster too, if you
+like; but I can tell you that Miss Esther understood and appreciated our
+delicate little unattentions.”
+
+Helen looked at Jean—blankly at first, and then with a slow-dawning
+realization of her meaning. “Am I to understand,” she said, “that you
+think Miss Esther thinks that I am trying to attract Mr. Brewster’s
+attentions?”
+
+“Not so much that,” remarked Lillian, “but that Miss Esther is trying to
+attract them for you.”
+
+“Indeed,” said Helen; “do you imagine for a minute that I—”
+
+“Oh, Helen,” interrupted Jean, “take off that haughty Princess air. Have
+you ever seen anywhere one who fitted the rôle of Prince for your castle
+better than this same man whose opinions you have been quoting?”
+
+“Oh, if you are going to be serious about the matter,” said Helen, “I am
+quite willing to admit that Mr. Brewster comes nearer to my ideal than
+any other man I have ever met.”
+
+“He ought to appreciate that compliment,” said Lillian; “that is, if he
+knows what your ideals are.”
+
+“He does know,” said Helen, slowly. “I have told him.”
+
+“Wasn’t he scared, then?” asked Jean.
+
+“Of course he was,” replied Helen. “He was so scared that he ran away
+and I haven’t seen him since.”
+
+“You can see him right away, if you like,” cried Jean, who was sitting
+on the broad window-seat. “Mr. Brewster!” she called loudly.
+
+The automobile stopped. Brewster got out and came toward the house,
+smiling up at Jean.
+
+The machine, with Miss Esther and Lincoln Dodd as the only occupants,
+went puffing on along the country road.
+
+“I am glad of this opportunity to talk to you alone, Lincoln,” began
+Miss Esther.
+
+“Well, you said you wanted to talk to me about something; that’s why I
+brought you out this afternoon. I thought we’d manage to drop Brewster
+somewhere.”
+
+“Do you know, I was perfectly astounded when you told me the other day
+that you were not in love with Lillian Hastings!”
+
+“I told you only the truth. I was not, I am not, and I am positive that
+I shall not be. But I have no reason to think that if I were, it would
+particularly please Miss Hastings.”
+
+“That does not make any difference,” said Miss Esther, impatiently. “It
+would please me.”
+
+“You know, Miss Esther,” said Lincoln, “I would do anything in the world
+to please you, and if you are sure that Miss Hastings—”
+
+“Oh, will you, really? I do want you to fall in love with Lillian, and I
+want you to be married by the middle of August and then take her abroad
+to study art.”
+
+“Well, that is certainly a delightful programme you have mapped out for
+us.”
+
+“I’m so glad you think so. I knew that when you came to understand them
+fully, you would agree to my plans.”
+
+“Have you many plans of this sort?”
+
+“Three,” said Miss Esther, very seriously. “But the other two are all
+right. It was only you that I was worried about. I am very much obliged
+to you.”
+
+“Look here, Miss Esther, what in the world are you talking about? You
+surely are not in earnest?”
+
+“I believe I’ll tell you all about it.”
+
+“If I’m to be married in August, I think it’s about time that I knew
+something definite.”
+
+With an enthusiasm born of her deep interest in the cause, supplemented
+by her success with Lincoln Dodd, Miss Esther detailed to him the plans
+of her Matrimonial Bureau. She told him of the inception of the plan,
+and how happy Tekla was in her Nebraska home. She told him, too, of the
+dearth of suitable material for her protégées in Whitfield, and she told
+it all with a quaintness of argument that carried conviction. She
+enumerated instances which proved conclusively that Lieutenant Adams was
+interested in Jean; she confessed that the affair between Helen and
+Brewster was not progressing quite as rapidly as she desired, but looked
+forward with a cheerful confidence to what she hoped was inevitable.
+“And now,” she said, “that I feel assured of your regard for Lillian, I
+cannot help flattering myself that perhaps my seemingly unusual methods
+have not been employed altogether in vain.”
+
+“But, my dear Miss Esther,” cried Dodd, “now that I grasp your meaning
+as one having inside information, let me hasten to tell you that
+although I must refuse to be a candidate, even for the hand of any one
+of your charming protégées, I shall be more than glad to remain upon the
+executive committee, and I promise to help you in every way that I
+possibly can.”
+
+Miss Esther was of a buoyant nature; she was persevering, even
+persistent, and it took a pretty hard blow to daunt her, and now the
+blow had fallen. A week before Lincoln Dodd had discouraged her. He had
+refused to fall in with her plans. But to-day she had thought he was
+more tractable, even to the point of acquiescence; and to have her hopes
+ruthlessly crushed to earth, even though sure they would rise again,
+made her feel for the moment absolutely discouraged. “I don’t see,” she
+said, “how you can help me in any other way.”
+
+“Oh, there are lots of other ways, my dear Miss Esther. For one thing, I
+might provide a substitute. I know a man who I am sure would admire your
+Lillian Hastings. He is a most kind and estimable gentleman, admirably
+fitted for the rôle of loving fairy godfather. He is intensely
+interested in art and would enjoy nothing better than a honeymoon trip
+to Europe on the fifteenth of August. Is that a sailing-day? I never can
+be sure of what day a steamer sails.”
+
+“That doesn’t matter,” said Miss Esther; “who is the man?”
+
+“He is my father,” said Dodd.
+
+
+
+
+                                   XV
+
+
+    Pray thee, let it serve for table talk.—_Merchant of Venice_,
+    iii, 5.
+
+It was certainly surprising that when Dodd’s father accepted Miss
+Esther’s invitation and came to the Adams house, the gayety of that
+particular nation was increased rather than diminished. The young people
+most interested had felt that the advent of an elderly gentleman might
+prove an obstacle to the careless fun and frolic which they had enjoyed
+all summer. Instead of which, Mr. George Washington Dodd, father of
+Abraham Lincoln Dodd, proved himself not only ready to follow the
+leader, but to lead the followers. He not only fell in with their plans,
+but he proposed plans of his own and insisted upon their being carried
+out.
+
+The plans were usually impracticable, but he insisted just the same, and
+the attempts at them were just as much fun as if they had been
+successful. He had not been in the house twenty-four hours before he had
+turned the East porch inside out. “I think the hammocks would be more
+comfortable out under the trees,” he said, and out the hammocks went.
+
+Michael was instructed how to trim the box-hedges, and the cook was
+inducted into the mysteries of a salad dressing which had chives—and
+not too many. He persuaded all the clocks in the house to strike
+together, and painted the chicken-coops red because he liked them better
+so.
+
+He reconstructed Jack’s battle-ship upon more approved models and showed
+him the distinctive difference between a brig and a brigantine. As for
+Chub, he proved himself to be an adept in the quelling of the ebullient
+fits of temper which manifested themselves so often. Her most theatrical
+pose was to sit down and yell with much enthusiasm, as she did when she
+first discovered the young men on the East porch. When George Washington
+Dodd saw this exhibition for the first time, he approached Chub
+casually, put his hand over her mouth, and said “Stop that!” whereupon
+Chub immediately stopped. Though often repeated, this process continued
+efficacious.
+
+In a word Mr. Dodd became a power in the house. Not just such a power as
+was Lieutenant Adams. Putnam’s masterfulness was actuated by motives
+which would be considered rules under the Army Regulations, and, so far
+as he was concerned, they made law. They were reasonable and—well, when
+he wanted a thing done, he wanted it done instantly. They have that
+habit of demanding obedience in the Army. Dodd, on the contrary, had the
+wayward whims of a spoiled child, but carried them out with an
+unflinching determination before which even Putnam Adams went down.
+
+Miss Esther pondered deeply over this difference in the characters of
+the two men. She realized that she implicitly obeyed Putnam, and she
+enjoyed doing so. She assisted in the carrying out of Mr. Dodd’s plans,
+as they all did, compelled by the sheer force of his whimsical,
+inconsequent personality.
+
+“He’s like a child,” she thought, “a great, big, overgrown boy; and he’s
+just made to be humored. If Lillian can only learn to humor him, she can
+have her own way as much as she likes.”
+
+It was at this point in her meditations that Miss Esther was interrupted
+by Lincoln Dodd.
+
+“Didn’t I tell you Father would admire your Lillian Hastings?” he said,
+dropping astride of the first chair he came to.
+
+“Does he?” said Miss Esther, eagerly.
+
+“Does he! I should say so. Just look at them now!”
+
+Miss Esther looked and saw Dodd Senior and Lillian Hastings sitting on
+the lawn deeply interested in a game of mumble-peg. Although Lillian’s
+discarded parasol lay only a few feet away, the players sat in the
+broiling sun, apparently oblivious of the heat.
+
+“Coming on all right, isn’t it?” said Lincoln.
+
+“Yes. I hope so—I think so; but he hasn’t said anything definite.”
+
+“How do you know he hasn’t?” asked Lincoln.
+
+“Oh, I’m sure Lillian would have told me if he had.”
+
+“Perhaps he hasn’t had a chance.”
+
+“Oh, if that’s the case, let’s make a chance for them.”
+
+Lincoln entered into the spirit of the game with enthusiasm. “Let’s ask
+Lillian to stay to tea,” he exclaimed.
+
+“She’ll stay anyway,” replied Miss Esther; “and besides, that won’t give
+them a chance alone.”
+
+“Well, ask her to stay to dinner, and Dad can take her home.”
+
+“That will do,” said Miss Esther; “and it’s a lovely moonlight night.”
+
+So the conspiracy succeeded, and Lillian stayed to dinner.
+
+“Am I the only guest?” asked Lillian, when dinner was announced.
+
+“Yes,” said Miss Esther; “that doesn’t embarrass you, does it?”
+
+“I was afraid it might,” said Putnam, “so I’ve sent for Jean. Stay the
+proceedings, Cousin Esther; she’ll be here in a minute.”
+
+[Illustration: _In the broiling sun, oblivious of the heat._]
+
+Jean came flying in, becomingly flushed after her run across the field.
+“I came across lots,” she exclaimed, “because I was in such a hurry to
+get here. Thank you, so much, Miss Esther, for sending Jack for me.”
+
+“Why, I didn’t send him,” said Miss Esther.
+
+“But he said that you said that I must come because you were going to
+have strawberry shortcake for dinner.”
+
+“How ridiculous,” said Miss Esther. “I never sent any message at all by
+Jack, and besides, there aren’t any strawberries now. It’s too late.”
+
+“I never thought of that,” said Jean, looking a little blank. “I was so
+glad to come,” she explained, ingenuously.
+
+“I sent the message myself,” said Putnam, calmly. “I knew you wouldn’t
+come unless I sent an invitation from Cousin Esther. And of course, I
+didn’t mean real strawberry shortcake.”
+
+“Perhaps you didn’t mean for me really to come,” said Jean.
+
+“I meant I really wanted you to come.”
+
+“If I had known that you sent the invitation I wouldn’t have come.”
+
+“Not if you knew that I really wanted you?”
+
+At this, Lincoln, who was behind the speakers, nudged Miss Esther’s arm,
+and rolled up his eyes ecstatically. Miss Esther looked like a
+beneficent Machiavelli, and folded her hands with an air of intense
+complacency.
+
+“Of course,” said Jean, “you always succeed in getting what you
+want;—that’s your way. But in this case—”
+
+“In this case,” said Putnam, provokingly, “I succeeded in getting you.”
+
+“Indeed you haven’t succeeded in getting me!”
+
+“Well, if I haven’t, I will,” said Putnam, as he rose to go to dinner.
+
+This speech so pleased the conspirators, that Lincoln Dodd seized Miss
+Esther’s hands, and the two fairly danced down the long hall toward the
+dining-room.
+
+“Hang out our banners on the outward walls,” sang Miss Esther.
+
+“What for?” asked Lillian, who, accompanied by Mr. Dodd, had joined the
+procession.
+
+“So people can see them, of course,” said Lincoln. “It’s foolish to hide
+your banners under a bushel.”
+
+With what Miss Esther deemed a masterpiece of generalship, she arranged
+that Lillian should sit next to Mr. Dodd. Lillian, willfully
+misunderstanding instructions, took the chair on the side of the table
+where Lincoln stood.
+
+“Oh, she doesn’t mean me,” he exclaimed in dismay. “She means the
+Ancient.”
+
+“What are you?” asked Putnam; “the Honorable?”
+
+“I think,” said Lillian, “that the young Mr. Dodd looks older than the
+old Mr. Dodd.”
+
+“It’s quite as bad,” said Putnam, “to say ‘the old Mr. Dodd,’ as to say
+‘the Ancient.’”
+
+“But I have to distinguish them in some way, and I don’t see that either
+one looks older than the other.”
+
+“You might call me George,” suggested Mr. Dodd, casually.
+
+“I’m afraid if I did, you would call me Lillian.”
+
+“Very likely,” said Mr. Dodd.
+
+“Let’s order some more banners,” whispered Lincoln to Miss Esther. “I
+think we’ll need them.”
+
+“What are you talking about?” said Jean. “What are these banners?”
+
+“A banner,” said the Ancient, instructively, “is one who or that which
+bans.”
+
+“What does ban mean?” asked Lillian.
+
+“A ban,” said the Ancient, still instructively, “is a thing you put
+things under.”
+
+“I thought it meant to get married,” said Jean.
+
+“That’s when it’s plural,” explained the Ancient, kindly. “It takes two
+banns to get married.”
+
+“May I interrupt your very wise discourse,” said Putnam, “long enough to
+request you to pass me the salt?”
+
+“Now that’s always the way,” said the Ancient in an exasperated tone;
+“the conventional dinner-table appointments are sadly at fault. One
+never gets fairly started on a logical sequence of ideas, but one is
+interrupted by a request to pass the salt. I use the term advisedly. The
+passing of the salt is but a type of the things which we are made to do
+at the time when we do not want to do them. There should be a remedy for
+all this. Invention, as it stands to-day, is deplorably neglectful of
+our minor needs. Invention, after all, is but the application of some
+well-known force or principle to a new use.”
+
+Here the Ancient produced from his pocket a small mechanical toy. It was
+a tiny automobile, made of tin and painted red, and when wound up would
+run by itself for several minutes. Turning it upside down, he proceeded
+to wind it; then reversing it, and holding the wheels tightly, he
+emptied into it the contents of Miss Esther’s salt-cellar. Starting it
+in the direction of Putnam, he released the wheels and the machine moved
+slowly along the table.
+
+“You see,” he observed, “how easy it is to apply mechanical power in a
+way which will do the most good. If every dinner-table were supplied
+with this simple contrivance, it would do away with the passing of the
+salt. Consequently, there would be no interruption in one’s flow of
+conversation.”
+
+“With _one’s_ flow of conversation!” said Jean. “And pray, when would
+the other five get a chance to speak?”
+
+“They wouldn’t,” said the Ancient.
+
+“I don’t see why any one wants to interrupt,” said Lillian, “when the
+conversation is so instructive and entertaining as Mr. Dodd’s is.”
+
+“Banners!” said Lincoln, aside to Miss Esther.
+
+But later in the evening there was reason to bring in the banners from
+the outward walls, or at least it seemed so. Miss Esther’s deep-laid
+scheme for sending the elder Mr. Dodd home with Lillian seemed in
+imminent peril. When Lillian announced that it was time for her to go,
+Putnam suggested that as he was about to go home with Jean, Lincoln and
+Lillian could go with them, and they would all walk around by the brook.
+Miss Esther was not present at the moment, and though three people
+strongly objected to the arrangement, as Putnam’s suggestions were
+looked upon as commands, none of them dared question it.
+
+Lincoln Dodd did not wish to appear ungallant; Washington Dodd was not
+quite sure that his escort was desired, and Lillian naturally hesitated
+to express her preference.
+
+Lincoln Dodd rushed into the house, ostensibly to fetch his hat, but
+really to find Miss Esther. He almost ran over that lady in the hall,
+and whispered tragically, “Haul in the banners! Awful things are
+happening! Putnam says I’ve got to go home with Lillian.”
+
+“Putnam, indeed!” cried Miss Esther. “I’ll fix Putnam.”
+
+She hurried out on the veranda.
+
+“Lincoln can’t go home with you, Lillian,” she said. “I want him myself
+this evening. He promised to—transplant some bulbs for me.”
+
+“They’re night-blooming cereus,” said Lincoln, “and they always have to
+be moved at night.”
+
+“Yes,” said Miss Esther; “and so, Mr. George Dodd, will you please
+escort Miss Hastings home?”
+
+“Certainly, if Miss Hastings doesn’t object to the transfer,” said Mr.
+Dodd; but he spoke without enthusiasm.
+
+“Oh, all Dodds look alike to me,” said Lillian, flippantly.
+
+Miss Esther looked the picture of despair, as, after this speech,
+Lillian and her apparently unwilling escort walked silently down the
+path.
+
+“Honestly,” said Miss Esther, “from the depths of your heart, tell me
+truly what you think; tell me by the light of your greater experience,
+and by the knowledge you have of your father’s affections; tell me,” she
+continued, tragically, “_will_ those two hearts find each other?”
+
+She hung on his words with the air of a doomed prisoner awaiting
+sentence.
+
+“I don’t know,” said Dodd.
+
+
+
+
+                                  XVI
+
+
+    Conspirant ’gainst this ’high-illustrious prince.—_King Lear_,
+    v, 3.
+
+“I suppose,” said George Washington Dodd, indulgently, as they went out
+the gate, “that you, being possessed of youth, beauty, and a romantic
+temperament, would prefer to go home around by the brook.”
+
+“Yes,” said Lillian, “I would, and I am going that way. But if you, not
+being possessed of those very desirable qualities, prefer to go the
+other way, you may.”
+
+“No, we’ll both go around by the brook,” said Dodd, airily; “for those
+qualities are as much mine as yours. Beauty is entirely a matter of
+opinion, and my own opinion is that I am very beautiful. Youth is a
+matter of comparison, and by some standards I am exceedingly young; and
+as to my romantic temperament—give me a chance.”
+
+“Your beauty of its kind, I will admit, though perhaps it is not equal
+to my own,” said Lillian, consideringly; “your romantic temperament is
+an unknown quantity—it may be like mine; but surely I am not quite as
+old as you are.”
+
+“I’m not sure about that,” Dodd replied. “Of course, you are young, but
+then so am I. The gods love me, and I shall never grow old.”
+
+“But,” objected Lillian, “those whom the gods love die young.”
+
+“That is, I admit, the accepted intent of the quotation, but its real
+meaning is that those whom the gods love are young when they die, for
+the simple reason that they never grow old. That makes me just the same
+age as you, and I shall always stay so.”
+
+“All right,” said Lillian; “then we’ll go around by the brook.”
+
+“And now,” said Dodd, as they walked along the path to the brook, “since
+you have conceded my youth and beauty, I will proceed to convince you of
+my romantic temperament. Just now it is wildly enthusiastic over the
+beauty of the night. To me, the moon is a beautiful golden boat, sailing
+away over blue waters. And that reminds me, I shall sail myself next
+month, I am going abroad.”
+
+“To study art?”
+
+“No, not that, although I mean to buy a few pictures that I’ve had my
+eye on for some years. By the way, I want you to go with me.”
+
+“To advise you about the pictures?” said Lillian, delightedly.
+
+“No, as my wife.”
+
+“What!” exclaimed Lillian.
+
+“You heard me,” said Dodd. “It may seem precipitate, but I am a man of
+quick decisions. I always decide quickly when I find what I
+want—whether it’s a picture or you.”
+
+“Are you sure you want me?” asked Lillian.
+
+“Yes, I’m sure. I was sure the moment I saw you. I want you, and I want
+you now. I want you to marry me and go abroad with me next month.”
+
+“And then may I study art?”
+
+“You may not. There’s to be no more of this art foolishness. We will
+look at pictures together, and we will buy pictures together, but you
+have painted your last picture. Will you go with me?”
+
+“Well, for a girl with a confessedly romantic temperament, this is about
+the most unromantic proposal I ever heard of; and from a man, too, who
+boasted of his own romantic temperament.”
+
+“Never you mind that. Once you have answered my question in the way I
+want you to, my romantic temperament is at your disposal for the rest of
+your life; but just now I am in earnest.”
+
+“You seem to be in earnest,” said Lillian, “but if ever I want an
+exhibition of your romantic temperament, it is at a time like this.
+Unless you can—”
+
+“Oh, I can ask you in more romantic terms, if that’s what you want.”
+
+Dodd dropped on one knee, struck his breast melodramatically, and
+began—
+
+“Queen Regent of my heart, may I supplicate—”
+
+“Oh, not that way,” interrupted Lillian. “That’s foolish. I don’t
+believe your romantic temperament is the real thing at all.”
+
+“Yes, it is—truly, it is. I’ll try again.”
+
+He put his arm around Lillian, and began with an impassioned, “My
+darling—”
+
+“Oh, that won’t do at all—that’s too familiar.”
+
+“Is it?” said Dodd, composedly, but he did not release her. “Well, then,
+I’ll tell you what. I’ll just say in plain English, ‘Will you be my
+wife?’ and you just say, ‘Yes,’ and then to-morrow I’ll make a study of
+this and write it out in a sort of an essay. We’ll write it together.
+Now then, will you marry me?”
+
+Lillian was helpfully silent.
+
+“Say Yes,” he prompted.
+
+Lillian said yes.
+
+                 *        *        *        *        *
+
+The next day George Washington Dodd wandered around the house in a sort
+of beatific daze quite contrary to his usual alert activity.
+
+He and Lillian had planned to announce their engagement that afternoon
+at tea, and they anticipated a truly exciting occasion. After luncheon
+Mr. Dodd strolled into the darkened library and lay down upon a couch in
+a remote corner, where he promptly fell asleep. A little later he was
+wakened by voices in the room.
+
+“I wish I knew,” said Miss Esther, “exactly how the situation stands. Do
+you think there’s any hope?”
+
+“I don’t know,” said Lincoln. “Dad thinks an awful lot of her, but don’t
+believe she cares for him much; and it’s awfully soon, anyway. Give them
+time.”
+
+“Oh, I think Lillian is very fond of your father,” said Miss Esther;
+“but somehow he doesn’t seem to have a very high opinion of her art
+work.”
+
+“He hasn’t,” said Lincoln, honestly. “But he has a high opinion of her.”
+
+“Well, that will do just as well, if only he will come to the point
+soon. I wish you’d ask him what he means to do, for if Lillian sails by
+the fifteenth of August something must be done soon.”
+
+“Me ask him!” exclaimed Dodd; “he’d tell me to go about my business. No,
+you ask him, or at least with your clever tact find out from him. I’d
+rather ask Lillian.”
+
+“Well, then, you do that,” said Miss Esther; “and find out what you can
+and we’ll compare notes. You meet me here in the library to-night and
+tell me what you’ve learned, and in the mean time I’ll find out what I
+can from your father. And another thing that’s bothering me is this, I’m
+afraid Helen is not going to accept Mr. Brewster.”
+
+“Has he asked her?” said Lincoln.
+
+“No,” replied Miss Esther; “but it’s because she won’t give him a
+chance. She is so proud and reserved, and she snubs him far more than
+she realizes. I don’t wonder that he doesn’t like it.”
+
+“Can’t you reason with her?”
+
+“No; the more you reason with Helen Fairbanks, the worse she is. The
+only girl who is acting just right is Jean, and Putnam is a dear. That
+affair is going on just as I want it to.”
+
+George Washington Dodd, on the sofa, suddenly realized that he was
+deliberately listening to the deep-laid plans of a desperate conspiracy,
+but as he had not made his presence known in the first place, he
+certainly could not do so now, and it was with a decided feeling of
+relief that he saw the conspirators leave the room, quite unaware of his
+eavesdropping presence.
+
+“Huh!” he exclaimed; “so they’re going to hold a court of inquiry over
+Lillian and me, are they? Well, we’ll be ready for them. After I’ve made
+up my mind what to say, and after I’ve told Lillian what she’s to say,
+they may begin as soon as they like. I’ll go over and see her now, and I
+rather think we’ll defer that announcement this afternoon. We’ll have a
+lot of fun out of this thing.”
+
+As he left the house, Lincoln was just coming from the stables in his
+automobile. “Take me in,” said his father. “Where are you going?”
+
+“Over to the Hastings house,” said Lincoln. “Where do you want to go?”
+
+“That’s where I want to go. I wish you’d leave me there and then do an
+errand for me down in the village.”
+
+“But I was going to take Miss Hastings for a ride.”
+
+“All right. You can come back and get her after you do this errand for
+me. I want to send a wire to New York. Here it is. I have written it
+down.”
+
+Lincoln tucked the paper in his pocket. “All right,” he said; “I’ll be
+back in half an hour.”
+
+While the telegraph operator waited, Lincoln read the message his father
+had given him. It ran:
+
+“No message for New York. Just want to be rid of you for a few minutes.”
+
+“There’s some mistake here,” said Lincoln to the operator. “I have
+brought the wrong paper. I’ll see you again later.”
+
+“Phew!” he said. “Dad’s coming it rather strong. To think of his sending
+me on a kid’s errand like that! But I’ll be even with him yet!”
+
+When he reached the Hastings house he found his father and his hoped-for
+stepmother apparently wrapped in the deepest gloom. They sat far apart
+on the veranda and appeared to be dejected beyond power of words. As he
+drew up, his father said, “I believe you were to take Miss Hastings for
+a drive. She is quite ready to go. I will walk on home.”
+
+“Just as well take you over, Dad!”
+
+“No, thank you. I prefer to walk.”
+
+After a very slight exchange of courtesies with Lillian, which Lincoln
+had no idea was part of a carefully prearranged plan, George Washington
+Dodd walked away, inwardly chuckling, but displaying great gravity of
+demeanor.
+
+“That telegram scheme was an inspiration,” he said to himself. “Now if
+Lillian only does exactly as I told her to, and I think she will, that
+young hopeful of mine will have a ripping report to take home to his
+fellow conspirator. As for the fellow conspirator herself, I will see to
+it that she has a report equally hair-raising.”
+
+
+
+
+                                  XVII
+
+
+    A quarrel, but nothing wherefore.—_King Lear_, ii, 3.
+
+Delighted with the little comedy he had devised, Mr. Dodd walked on
+toward home. At the gate he was joined by Jean.
+
+“Why are you looking so particularly pleased?” she asked.
+
+“I was thinking about a friend of mine who is very, very happy.”
+
+“What made him so?” demanded Jean.
+
+“He has just become engaged to a very beautiful young lady.”
+
+“Oh,” she replied; “I thought you were looking happy on your own
+account.”
+
+“No, no, indeed; far from it. On my own account I am deeply, desperately
+dismal.”
+
+“What are you going to do about it?”
+
+“I don’t know. What would you do?”
+
+“When I feel like that I always go to Miss Esther and she talks to me.”
+
+“Good. I will go straight to Miss Esther, and somehow I have a feeling
+that she will talk to me.”
+
+“Do,” said Jean.
+
+By this time the two had reached the East porch, where, as usual, Putnam
+was reading in the hammock.
+
+“How do you do,” said Jean. “Where’s Miss Esther?”
+
+“I think she’s in the library,” said Putnam. “Shall I call her?”
+
+“No,” replied Jean; “Mr. Dodd wants to see her; don’t you, Mr. Dodd?”
+
+“Oh, I do want to see her. I want to see her dreadfully.”
+
+“What’s the matter with Dodd?” asked Putnam, as that gentleman went into
+the house.
+
+“I don’t know,” said Jean; “but he’s got the blues something fearful.
+I’m so sorry for him.”
+
+“Be sorry for me, won’t you?” said Putnam; “I’ve got the blues, too.”
+
+“Why do you have the blues?”
+
+“So you’ll be sorry for me.”
+
+“But I’m always sorry for you.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Because you have such a dreadful disposition.”
+
+“Yes, I have, haven’t I?” said Putnam, placidly.
+
+“Yes, you have; and the worst of it is you don’t care a bit.”
+
+“Do _you_ care?”
+
+“No, indeed—why should I?”
+
+Jean tossed her head, and Putnam observed, coolly, “If you bob your head
+about like that, you’ll lose that very beautiful pink rose out of your
+hair, which you have arranged with such accuracy and precision.”
+
+“I don’t care if I do!”
+
+“If you don’t care for the rose, then give it to me.”
+
+“Indeed I won’t. I wouldn’t give you a rose for anything.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“Oh, because it’s so silly and sentimental.”
+
+“Oh, I didn’t mean it in a sentimental way. I never thought of that. I
+just saw a beautiful rose, and wanted you to give it to me.”
+
+“Oh, well, if you want it that way, then take it!” Jean snatched the
+rose from her hair, and threw it on the table between them.
+
+“Give it to me,” said Putnam, dictatorially.
+
+“I’ve given it to you just as much as I intend to. If you want it, take
+it.”
+
+“I do want it, but I won’t take it, and you _shall_ give it to me.”
+
+“I won’t do any such thing! You are altogether too domineering. It was
+all very well when you were an invalid, and ought to be read to, and
+coddled, and fussed over, but you needn’t think you can keep on ruling
+everybody who comes anywhere near you.”
+
+“I don’t mean to rule you—”
+
+“You’d better not,” she interrupted.
+
+“But I’m going to ask you once more to give me the rose.”
+
+“I have given it to you,” said Jean, stubbornly. “If you don’t take it,
+it’s because you don’t want it.”
+
+“I only want it if you’ll give it to me,” said Putnam, more gently than
+he had spoken before.
+
+“Nothing of the sort! You only want to have your own way. You’re a
+horrid, dictatorial, arrogant, overbearing, conceited man! and I _hate_
+you!”
+
+Jean ran down the steps and across the lawn toward her own home.
+
+Putnam got up lazily from the hammock, and taking the rose from the
+table, smiled as he put it carefully away in his pocket-book.
+
+“I did tease her,” he said, “but ’twas worth it!” And he smiled again.
+
+Having held the session of the court of inquiry in the library, Miss
+Esther, after leaving Mr. Dodd, was in no mood to receive the shock
+which awaited her on the East porch.
+
+“Where’s Jean?” she asked, when she saw Putnam alone.
+
+“She got mad at me,” said Putnam, “and ran away home.”
+
+“One of her usual playful jests, I suppose.”
+
+“No,” said Putnam, “this time she seemed very much in earnest.”
+
+“Oh, she doesn’t mean anything, Putnam. Don’t take her too seriously.”
+
+“I’m not sure that I shall take her at all,” said Putnam. “She’s a
+little spitfire.”
+
+Miss Esther, clasping her hands in despair, was about to speak, when
+Nora announced that Mr. Brewster was on the front veranda.
+
+Brewster’s dejected air was quite in harmony with Miss Esther’s mood,
+but she was unprepared for the news he brought her.
+
+“I am going away,” he said, “and I have come to say good-bye.”
+
+By a whimsical association of ideas, Miss Esther suddenly realized
+exactly how Chub felt when she indulged in her favorite trick of sitting
+flat down on the ground and squealing. The elder lady did not squeal,
+but had circumstances permitted it, she would have been glad to do so.
+All in the same day her three clients had disappointed her hopes. She
+wrung her hands, tragically. “One woe doth tread upon another’s heels,
+so fast they follow!” she exclaimed.
+
+“Yes, I, too, am sorry to go,” said Brewster. “I have had a very happy
+summer, and you have been very kind to me, Miss Esther.”
+
+“But you are leaving us very suddenly.”
+
+“I know it; but there are reasons—good reasons.”
+
+“But Helen—Miss Fairbanks—does she know you’re going?”
+
+“Oh, yes, she knows. I have just come from there.”
+
+“And doesn’t she care?”
+
+“No, I think not,” said Brewster, with his calm dignity.
+
+“Oh, Mr. Brewster,” cried Miss Esther, “I wish she did care.”
+
+“I wish so, too,” he replied.
+
+“But have you made allowances for Helen’s excessive pride?”
+
+“She hasn’t made allowances for mine,” said Brewster.
+
+“Hullo, you people,” cried Lincoln Dodd, as he rushed up the driveway in
+his automobile; “is tea ready? I’m nearly starving.”
+
+“Not quite,” said Miss Esther; “but it soon will be. Come on in.”
+
+For the first time that summer, none of the girls came over to tea.
+Obliged to do all the honors herself, Miss Esther rose to the occasion
+nobly, and presided with her usual grace, her unruffled calm giving no
+hint of the perturbation of spirit beneath. But late that evening when a
+meeting of the conspirators was held in the library, Miss Esther
+confided to Abraham Lincoln Dodd her doubts of the final success of her
+Matrimonial Bureau.
+
+“To think,” she said, “of that stupid Jean having a fight, a real fight
+with Putnam!”
+
+“Oh, they’re always squabbling,” said Lincoln.
+
+“Yes, but this time it’s serious. Putnam told me so. And now Helen has
+offended Mr. Brewster and he’s going away, and Lillian’s case is equally
+hopeless.”
+
+“Why, what did you find out from father?”
+
+“Why, it’s the strangest thing, and I’m not sure that I ought to tell
+you.”
+
+“And I’m not sure, either, that I ought to tell you what Lillian said.”
+
+“Well, I must know what you learned, so I’ll tell you what I found out.
+Your father was awfully nice, and he said that he was very much in love
+with Lillian,—very much; and he thinks she cares for him. And he wants
+to marry her, but he thinks you wouldn’t like it if he did.”
+
+“Me!” exclaimed Dodd; “why of course I want him to marry her, and I’ll
+tell him so so that he will understand it!”
+
+“No, no,” said Miss Esther; “he said not to let you know anything about
+it. He didn’t even want to suggest the idea to you for fear you’d be
+displeased.”
+
+“Well, if that doesn’t beat all! Lillian said just the same thing about
+you. She didn’t say right out, you know, that she was fond of the
+Governor, but she said that even if she were she couldn’t marry him, for
+she felt sure that you wouldn’t approve of the match.”
+
+“Me!” cried Miss Esther; “why of course I want her to marry him, and
+I’ll tell her so so that she will understand it.”
+
+“No, don’t say a word. She expressly said that she didn’t want you to
+know she had ever had such a thought, for fear it would displease you.”
+
+“Good gracious!” cried Miss Esther, exasperated beyond all endurance.
+“Was there ever such a lot of intractable men and ridiculous girls.”
+
+“Why don’t you give them up?” suggested Lincoln.
+
+“Never! I’m going to carry this thing through and you’re going to help
+me as you agreed. I haven’t brought these six people together and looked
+after them all summer, and brought them all to the very verge of
+success, to have my plans fail now. Jean and Putnam shall be persuaded
+to make up; though I don’t know how it will be accomplished, for he’s
+stubbornness itself and she’s just as bad. Helen and Brewster must be
+reconciled, and that’s harder yet, for she’s as proud as Lucifer and
+he’s more so. As to your father and Lillian—”
+
+“Oh,” interrupted Dodd, “if they care for each other, surely they can be
+brought around.”
+
+“Oh, I don’t know—Lillian is a perverse little witch; but anyhow, it
+shall be done. On that I am resolved, and if I don’t succeed I will be
+the first Adams who ever failed in a great undertaking.”
+
+“And you will succeed,” said Dodd, carried away by her eloquence.
+
+“I certainly shall,” said Miss Esther.
+
+
+
+
+                                 XVIII
+
+
+    With a solemn earnestness, more than indeed belonged to such a
+    trifle.—_Othello_, v, 2.
+
+When Brewster left Miss Esther’s house, after telling her good-bye, he
+met Jack Remington.
+
+“Hullo, Mr. Brewster,” exclaimed Jack; “I thought you had gone away.”
+
+“I am going early in the morning,” replied Brewster; “and I won’t forget
+the book I promised to send you.”
+
+Jack turned and walked along by Brewster’s side. “I’m sorry you’re
+going,” he said; “we’ve been good chums, haven’t we?”
+
+“Yes, we have,” said Brewster, heartily; and then somehow the
+conversation seemed to flag. Jack was dimly conscious of this and tried
+to relieve the situation.
+
+“I’ve just been over to Cousin Helen’s house,” he said,
+conversationally.
+
+“Have you?” said Brewster, with an unexpected exhibition of interest in
+his tone.
+
+“Yes, and she gave me this,” said Jack, producing a knife from his
+pocket; “see, it has a saw-blade and a screw-driver and a lot of
+things.”
+
+“So it has,” said Brewster, looking at Jack’s treasure critically. “It’s
+much better than the one I gave you last week.”
+
+“Yes, it is; and what do you think, Cousin Helen traded with me. She
+gave me this and I gave her that one you gave me.”
+
+“You did? What made you think she wanted it?”
+
+“Why, she asked me for it. She said if I’d give her that one she’d give
+me this.”
+
+“What did she want of an old knife like that?”
+
+“I don’t know. I was showing it to her and she said she wanted it, and
+so we traded.”
+
+“Did she know I gave it to you?”
+
+“Yes, I told her it was an old one of yours; and besides she saw your
+initials on it, but she didn’t mind that.”
+
+“Oh, she didn’t!” Brewster walked on in silence for a moment. “Jack,” he
+said, “it’s lucky you have that new knife. It is just what we want to
+use in working on the ship. I’ll come over to-morrow and we can finish
+it all up.”
+
+“To-morrow!” exclaimed Jack; “I thought you were going away in the
+morning.”
+
+“I’ve changed my mind,” said Brewster.
+
+If Jack was surprised at Brewster’s sudden change of plans, Helen was
+none the less so when the next afternoon she saw him walk in at her
+gate.
+
+“How do you do,” she said, in her calm, sweet way. “I thought you had
+left us.”
+
+“No,” said Brewster, easily; “I’ve decided to stay a while longer.”
+
+He dropped naturally into his accustomed place at the end of the
+veranda. He had been at the Fairbanks house a great deal that summer and
+in consequence had assumed the air of a privileged guest.
+
+“It’s a beautiful day,” said Brewster, gazing affably into the
+atmosphere.
+
+“Yes,” said Helen, agreeingly. “It is a good day for reading aloud; and
+as you are going to stay longer, we may have time to finish the book we
+were reading yesterday.”
+
+This was a distinct concession on Helen’s part, and Brewster accepted it
+as such. The book in question had been the cause of a violent argument
+the day before, which had resulted in his sudden determination to leave
+Whitfield. The immediate theme of the discussion had been certain
+ethical propositions which Brewster upheld and which seemed to him the
+very mainsprings of masculine action, but which Helen had denounced with
+a scornful pride that acknowledged no exceptions. So positive had been
+her assertions that he had been unable to escape the conviction that,
+knowing his views, she had deliberately intended to arraign him
+personally.
+
+Helen had not meant this personal application—at least not to the
+extent that Brewster assumed. With all her uncompromising positivism and
+her insistence upon theoretical perfection, she was more than willing in
+individual cases to ignore shortcomings, even in important directions,
+for the sake of the things which she found good. But Brewster did not
+know this, and when she had so specifically condemned traits which he
+knew he possessed, he was forced to believe that her opinion of him was
+unfavorable and unchangeable. And as he was conscious of his own growing
+regard for her, it seemed to him that the only thing to do was to go
+away at once.
+
+The trifling episode of the penknife had changed all this. It seemed to
+prove that Helen’s well-defined laws were capable of being at least
+slightly affected by the personal element. If she had cared enough for
+his old penknife to secure it for herself, then she had shown that there
+was a vulnerable point in her armor, and Brewster was not lacking in
+courage.
+
+It was characteristic of him that the slight favorable indication should
+impart to his attitude an air of assured success. His exultation, which
+was out of all proportion to its cause, was evident. This was a mistake
+on Brewster’s part, for Helen saw it and resented it. And so he defeated
+his own ends; for the girl, especially sensitive to Brewster’s moods,
+was annoyed at his mysterious air of triumph.
+
+“Certainly,” he said, most amiably; “I should be more than glad to read
+the book to you if I may; but this afternoon we are all going over to
+the Crossways Inn to supper. I have just come from Miss Esther’s, who
+sent your invitation by me.”
+
+“Is everybody going?” asked Helen.
+
+“Yes, in Lincoln’s automobile.”
+
+“Oh, we’re all going together. Yes; certainly I will go.”
+
+“I thought I would drive you over myself,—may I?”
+
+“Thank you, no. I prefer to go with the others.”
+
+“Very well,” said Brewster; “we’ll go with them, then.”
+
+                 *        *        *        *        *
+
+Chub crawled through the hedge and trotted across the lawn to the Adams
+house. Finding nobody on the East porch, she wandered aimlessly about
+the grounds and finally found herself on the path which led down to the
+brook. This was forbidden territory, and Chub had not forgotten it, but
+this afternoon she was in an irresponsible frame of mind and paid no
+heed to the unwelcome voice of conscience. Besides, where the bridge was
+there grew some wonderful scarlet blossoms, and these the young explorer
+desired for her very own. Even from the edge of the lawn she could see
+them, but beyond, where the wood began, there was darkness. The
+temptation to go down there was irresistible, so on the baby went.
+
+The scarlet blossoms were achieved without mishap, and then, lured by
+the fascinations of the unknown, she strayed a little further into the
+wood.
+
+“I don’t thee any puthy willowth,” she said, “but Uncle Linkum thaid
+they lived here. I’ll wait a li’le while and p’rapth I’ll hear thome
+mew.”
+
+She sat down in the shade of a big tree to wait. She did not hear the
+mewing of the pussy-willows, but she found plenty of things to interest
+her. A butterfly came. A black beetle labored with a leaf at her very
+feet, and she asked him questions concerning the welfare of his family.
+A squirrel chattered from a tree-top, and she scolded back at him. A
+bird perched on a dead twig and sang his very best song right at her.
+Then she sang—and then she went to sleep, the scarlet blossoms tightly
+clutched in her arms.
+
+Chub’s propensity for getting lost was recognized by the members of her
+family. As she explained it, she “just losed herself,” and if she had
+thought of it, she might have added that the losing process was no part
+of her prearranged plans. All was well, and presently she was lost. Then
+people came and found her, and all was well again. It had never failed.
+She knew that somebody would eventually find her.
+
+But on this occasion there was no conscious feeling of being lost. She
+slept peacefully, and the butterfly came back and hovered over the
+scarlet blossoms in her arms. The squirrel, with the insistent curiosity
+of his kind, came down from his tree and looked at the baby at close
+range. The bird still continued his song—a sort of lullaby now—and
+Chub slept, while the people up at her home and at the Adams house began
+the search.
+
+It was Putnam who found her, and he picked her up, still fast asleep,
+and carried her toward the house. Jean met him near the bridge. It was
+the first time he had seen her since the episode of the rose, and he
+wondered what attitude she would assume toward him.
+
+“Where did you find her?” she asked.
+
+“In the woods—asleep,” he replied, shortly.
+
+Jean turned and walked beside him toward Chub’s home. Neither spoke.
+Presently the baby wakened. The scarlet flowers were still clasped
+tightly in her dimpled hand—crushed, perhaps, but they were none the
+less effective for all that.
+
+She looked sleepily up into Putnam’s eyes.
+
+“For you,” she said, offering the wilted blossoms.
+
+“Did you pick them for me?” said Putnam.
+
+“I don’t know; but I will give them to you becauth I love you.”
+
+Putnam took the flowers. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he said; but he looked
+squarely at Jean.
+
+Jean stared straight ahead, but she saw his expression.
+
+“Do you care for flowers?” she asked.
+
+“Yes, when they are given to me.”
+
+“Not otherwise?”
+
+“Never but once otherwise.”
+
+“When was that?”
+
+“Oh, long ago.”
+
+“Before you knew me?”
+
+“Well, it was before I knew you as well as I do now.”
+
+“Tell me about it,” said Jean.
+
+“I don’t think you’d be interested in the story.”
+
+“Yeth,” said Chub, “tell me thtory.”
+
+“Well,” began Putnam, “once upon a time there was a little girl.”
+
+“A very pretty little girl,” said Jean.
+
+“And she had a rose,” continued Putnam, “and a man—”
+
+“A perfectly horrid man,” said Jean.
+
+“Asked her for it,” Putnam went on; “and what do you think?”
+
+“She gave it to him,” said Chub, “becauth she loved him.”
+
+“So she did,” said Putnam, “and he carried it with him always after
+that.”
+
+“Ith he got it yet?” asked Chub.
+
+“Yes,” said Putnam; “he has it yet.”
+
+“What for?” questioned Chub; “it mutht be all dead.”
+
+                 *        *        *        *        *
+
+When the truant had been returned to her anxious family, Putnam and Jean
+went back to Miss Esther’s.
+
+“Had you finished the story of the rose?” she asked.
+
+“Why, would you like to hear more of it?”
+
+“Not particularly; but I would like to have some one care enough for my
+roses to carry them always and always.”
+
+Without a word Putnam produced his pocket-book and took from it a
+withered rose.
+
+“This is the one you gave me,” said he.
+
+“So it is,” said Jean, complacently; “I knew you’d keep it.”
+
+
+
+
+                                  XIX
+
+
+    She is beautiful and therefore to be woo’d.—_1 Henry VI_, v, 3.
+
+The horse had seen better days—better in the sense that he had been in
+his earlier youth a better horse. Grown old in the service of a livery
+stable in the town of Farmington—the next one to Whitfield on the left
+as you go from Utica—he still maintained a sort of dignity and absolute
+safety which made him a valuable asset when his owner had a request from
+timid women for what is technically known as a “rig.”
+
+He drew a phaeton of the type built on the lines of Central New York
+styles of carriage building—distinctly unattractive and ungraceful.
+Driving the horse was a young woman whose impetuosity urged her steed to
+greater efforts in the matter of speed. The horse wore no “blinders,”
+and when his driver told him to get up, and beat him gingerly with a
+whip, he glanced casually back at her over his shoulder, as who should
+say, “If I go faster I may be very dangerous.” So he strolled on, and
+Julia Fowler’s efforts, directed toward swifter locomotion, met with no
+response from him. He knew his business. He was a safe horse, and he did
+not propose to risk his reputation by any undue exertion.
+
+Miss Fowler herself was of a type distinctly different from that
+represented by her equipage. She could by no chance have been the
+product of Central New York. Possibly her ancestors might have been, but
+she was urban to her finger tips. Suburbanity had no accent on her
+appearance. Her beauty was of a spectacular order. She was the type of
+the twentieth century—its best expression—and she had come to
+Farmington to rest at the boarding-house of one Mrs. Moore. She had
+tired of it in a week, and her excursion to Whitfield was for the
+purpose of finding a place which might prove more attractive to her
+exacting demands.
+
+She had been told that a certain Mrs. Hemingway in Whitfield conducted a
+boarding-house, and she was in search of this establishment when she
+caught sight of the Adams house. This seemed an ideal place to spend a
+few weeks, and being by no means timid, Miss Fowler concluded to make
+the attempt to induce the owner of the place to take her in for a time.
+She turned in at the gate, and when she saw Miss Esther on the veranda
+she was quite positive that she had found exactly what she was looking
+for.
+
+Miss Esther watched the stranger as she jumped out of the phaeton, ran
+up the steps, and without invitation seated herself in one of the large
+rocking-chairs.
+
+“Don’t mind me,” she said, pleasantly. “I always come in like that. I am
+Julia Fowler, and I am staying over in Farmington, but I don’t like it
+there, and somebody told me that Whitfield was lovely, and that Mrs.
+Hemingway kept a very nice boarding-house. I was on my way there when I
+noticed this house, and I thought I should like it here a great deal
+better. So won’t you please take me for a couple of weeks? I’m awfully
+good-natured and I won’t make a bit of trouble.”
+
+Miss Esther looked at her visitor and came to the conclusion that she
+was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.
+
+It was not only a beauty of feature and coloring; but the vivacity and
+charm of Julia Fowler were of a degree which exceeded anything Miss
+Esther had ever known. Though her manner was gay and informal to the
+verge of sauciness, yet it was tinged with a delightful deference, and
+Miss Esther proved herself no exception to the rule that whoever met
+Julia Fowler fell immediately under the spell of her wonderful charm.
+
+“Nonsense, child,” said Miss Esther, smiling at her pretty visitor; “I
+don’t take boarders, but you will like it at Mrs. Hemingway’s, I’m sure.
+She can make you very comfortable.”
+
+“But I like this house so much better,” said Julia, coaxingly; “and I’m
+sure you have room enough.”
+
+“Yes, of course, there are rooms enough in the Adams house, but we never
+take boarders.”
+
+“Oh, is this the Adams house?” asked Julia; “and are you Miss Adams,
+Miss Esther Adams? I have often heard of you in Farmington.”
+
+“Yes, I am the one,” and Miss Esther smiled graciously. Somehow people
+always smiled graciously on Miss Fowler.
+
+“Oh, then do let me stay. I have heard so much about your house and your
+library; and I’ll keep to myself when you don’t want me around, and I’ll
+be jolly good company when you do. You live alone, don’t you?”
+
+Like a flash Miss Esther realized what it would be to have a young woman
+with such compelling attractions in her house, or, indeed, for that
+matter, in Whitfield at all. The three affairs which she was managing
+seemed to be complicated enough as it was, without an additional
+disturbing element. Putnam, she knew, would rave over her. Lincoln Dodd
+would flirt desperately, and she felt sure that Winthrop Brewster must
+also inevitably succumb to this bewitching beauty. It was apparent,
+then, to Miss Esther that it would never do to have Miss Fowler remain
+in Whitfield.
+
+Miss Esther’s three girls were sweet and attractive, but she well knew
+that they would not shine by comparison with this exquisite and
+experienced woman of the world. Though probably not older in years, Miss
+Fowler was far more sophisticated than the Whitfield girls, and her own
+personality, helped by her social training, gave her a fascination which
+could not otherwise be attained.
+
+The imminent danger of this catastrophe almost stunned Miss Esther.
+Something must be done, and that quickly, to prevent Miss Fowler’s
+staying in Whitfield. In consequence her attitude towards her visitor
+changed instantly.
+
+“Yes, I live alone,” she said, “and it is from preference. I have small
+need for company, for I am never lonely, and I could not think of taking
+a boarder even for a short time. Pray do not ask me again.”
+
+“Indeed, I shall ask you again,” said Julia, with one of her most
+ingratiating smiles. “I shall keep on coaxing until I persuade you to
+say yes.”
+
+Had circumstances been otherwise, nothing would have pleased Miss Esther
+better than to have granted the request and taken this most attractive
+young woman into her house for a fortnight. This fact made it difficult
+for her to continue her refusals; but, awake to the seriousness of the
+situation, she answered decidedly, “No, I shall never say yes. I am not
+of a vacillating nature, and rarely change my mind. It is quite
+impossible for me to take you. Now that I think of it, I don’t believe
+that you would be satisfied at Mrs. Hemingway’s, either. They are plain
+people, and live very plainly.”
+
+“That would just suit me,” said Julia. “I came up here for rest and
+quiet, and I love a simple country home.”
+
+“But it is very dull in Whitfield,” continued Miss Esther. “There are no
+gayeties of any sort.”
+
+“That would just suit me, too. I have a surfeit of gayety at home in the
+winter.”
+
+Baffled at every turn, and determined to accomplish her end, Miss Esther
+deliberately drew upon her imagination. “There are five little children
+at Mrs. Hemingway’s, and they are a most spoiled, disagreeable lot. I am
+sure they’d make your life a burden there.”
+
+“That alters the case,” said Julia, decidedly. “I detest spoiled
+children. How old are they?”
+
+“I don’t know,” said Miss Esther, a little vaguely, which was only
+natural, considering the fact that there were really no children at the
+Hemingway house. “About four or five years old, I think.”
+
+“Oh, I don’t mind such little children,” said Julia, airily; “but I
+dislike them when they get to be about ten years old.”
+
+“Oh, there are several as old as that, too,” declared Miss Esther, whose
+imagination was equal to juveniles of any age.
+
+“Then I won’t go there,” said Julia. “I’m surprised that she has any
+boarders. I think you might let me stay here.”
+
+“I asked you not to mention that again,” said Miss Esther, with a sudden
+exhibition of the Adams dignity; “but if you really want country home
+life, there is a very delightful place at Westfield that I am sure would
+please you.”
+
+“Where is Westfield?”
+
+“About eight miles the other side of Farmington.”
+
+“I’ll drive over there to-morrow,” said Julia, “and look at the place,
+and if I don’t like it I’ll come back here.”
+
+This bit of bravado was accompanied by such a winning smile that Miss
+Esther could not respond as sternly as she would have liked to do.
+
+“Will you have tea on the veranda or on Lieutenant Adams’s porch?” asked
+Nora, appearing at the door.
+
+“On the East porch,” said Miss Esther, shortly.
+
+“Oh, mayn’t I stay to tea?” exclaimed Julia. “Please let me. I’ll be
+very good, and go away immediately after.”
+
+“Excuse me one moment,” said Miss Esther, without answering her guest’s
+question.
+
+She went to the East porch where she knew Lincoln Dodd was reading. He
+was the only one of her guests at home.
+
+“Lincoln,” she exclaimed, “come to my rescue, and come quick. What under
+the sun am I going to do?”
+
+“What in the world’s the matter?” asked Dodd.
+
+“Oh, it’s dreadful. The most beautiful girl in the world is on the front
+veranda.”
+
+“Command my services,” said Lincoln, rising with alacrity. “What makes
+her so dreadful? Is she a maniac?”
+
+“No, indeed. I only wish she were. She’s perfectly charming.”
+
+“What am I to do for you? Do you want me to marry her?”
+
+“Don’t be foolish. But don’t you see I expect the people home to tea at
+any minute now, and if any of those men see that raving beauty, they’ll
+fall in love with her on the spot.”
+
+“Of course they will,” said Dodd. “Give her to me. I’ll take her off to
+a desert island.”
+
+“No, but I want you to take her home in your automobile. That’s the only
+way I can get rid of her.”
+
+“Where is her home? How did she come?”
+
+“She came in a forlorn old gig, but I can let Michael take that home for
+her. And mind, now, you’re not to make yourself too entertaining, or ask
+her to come again, or let her know that I have any young men staying
+here. She’s the most dangerous thing I’ve ever seen. You get your
+machine and come around in front just as if you were going out for a
+drive, and I’ll do the rest.”
+
+“All right,” said Dodd. “I’ll go, but I don’t know when I’ll be back.
+Don’t wait tea for me.”
+
+[Illustration: “_Suppose you take Miss Fowler home._”]
+
+“Now don’t go scouring all over the country with her. She lives in
+Farmington, and you can go there and back in an hour.”
+
+“Perhaps I can and perhaps I can’t,” said Dodd, as he ran down the
+steps.
+
+“And hurry,” called Miss Esther after him. “There’s no time to be lost.”
+
+Miss Esther returned to the veranda, and in a few moments Lincoln came
+whirling up from the stables.
+
+“Ah, Mr. Dodd,” called Miss Esther, “are you going anywhere in
+particular?”
+
+“No,” said Lincoln, pleasantly; “just out for a little spin.”
+
+“Well, then, suppose you take Miss Fowler home. My dear,” she said,
+turning to the young lady, “you’d like to drive over with Mr. Dodd,
+wouldn’t you?”
+
+“Oh, ever so much,” cried Julia, showing her most engaging dimples and
+laughing down at Dodd. “But what will become of my fractious steed?”
+
+“Michael can drive him home for you,” said Miss Esther. “Run along
+quick, now. Mr. Dodd doesn’t like to wait.”
+
+As the pair disappeared, Miss Esther drew a long breath of relief. Her
+manœuvre had been accomplished none too quickly, for they were hardly
+out of sight before Brewster, Putnam, and George Washington Dodd came
+strolling in to tea.
+
+“That was a narrow escape,” she thought. “The times would have been very
+much out of joint if I had not set them right. I have rescued the
+Matrimonial Bureau from the jaws of one more danger.”
+
+
+
+
+                                   XX
+
+
+    Make feasts, invite friends and proclaim the banns.—_Taming of
+    the Shrew_, iii, 2.
+
+The three men came up to the East porch where Miss Esther gave them
+their tea. She was plainly in a mood of the utmost complacency. Nor were
+her guests less complacent. George Washington Dodd, with the knowledge
+that he had arranged his little comedy quite to his liking, was placidly
+awaiting its working out. Brewster was in a seventh heaven. The trifling
+affair of the penknife was to him a wind-proving straw, and, always
+self-confident, he felt now not the slightest doubt of his ability to
+win Helen Fairbanks.
+
+However, as time went on and the three girls did not appear, the edge of
+Miss Esther’s complacency was dulled, and she grew more and more
+perturbed.
+
+“I don’t see what can be keeping them,” she said. “They said they’d come
+over for tea, and then we would all start for the Crossways together.”
+
+“Where’s Lincoln?” said his father.
+
+“He went off to do an errand for me,” said Miss Esther, casually. “He’ll
+be back very soon. I told him particularly not to dawdle by the way. If
+we start by six we’ll have plenty of time.”
+
+But at half-past five Dodd had not returned, nor had any of the girls
+come. Miss Esther began to show signs of nervousness. Putnam’s brow
+clouded, and the senior Dodd began to fidget.
+
+At twenty minutes to six a decided gloom had settled upon the whole
+party, and at ten minutes of six, consternation was palpably apparent.
+
+“I can’t imagine why those girls don’t come,” said Miss Esther.
+
+“At least one of them,” said Putnam. “She said she’d be here at five.”
+
+Miss Esther smiled happily at her cousin; but her face clouded again as
+she said, “I wish Lincoln would come, then we could start and pick up
+the girls on the way.”
+
+Six o’clock struck, and still there were no signs of the expected ones.
+
+“I believe I’ll go over to Miss Fairbanks’s,” said Brewster, “and see
+why they don’t come.”
+
+“I’ll go with you,” said Putnam. “I hope nothing has happened to her.”
+
+“Your pronoun is ambiguous,” said Dodd, “but never mind; we understand.”
+
+Before the investigating party could start, the automobile came romping
+up the driveway, and in it were Lincoln Dodd and the three girls. They
+all seemed to be in unusually good spirits.
+
+“We’ve had the loveliest ride,” cried Jean. “We’ve been over to
+Farmington!”
+
+“What!” cried Miss Esther.
+
+“Yes,” began Helen; “we went with Mr. Dodd and the loveliest—”
+
+“Yes, yes,” interrupted Miss Esther, “I’ve no doubt you had a lovely
+time.”
+
+“She’s certainly a peach,” said Lincoln, winking at Miss Esther.
+
+“Oh, you mean your automobile. Has she acted well to-day? She certainly
+is a beauty,” said Miss Esther, fearful lest he refer more explicitly to
+Julia Fowler.
+
+“Yes, she certainly is a beauty,” replied Dodd; “and she acted very
+well.”
+
+“Come, come,” said Miss Esther, still a bit nervously; “we must be
+starting.”
+
+“All right,” said Lillian; “and on the way I’ll tell you how Mr. Dodd
+picked us girls up and took us over to Farmington. As a traveling
+companion we had the most beautiful—”
+
+“Do you consider Lincoln Dodd such a raving beauty,” said Miss Esther,
+looking at him critically.
+
+“Oh, I didn’t mean him,” replied Lillian; “I—”
+
+“Oh, then you mean Helen? We all acknowledge her beauty.”
+
+“I wish she had meant me,” said Helen; “but she meant—”
+
+“She meant me!” cried Jean, whose quick wit perceived that Miss Esther
+did not care to discuss Julia Fowler.
+
+“You would be a beautiful traveling companion,” said Putnam, judicially,
+“if your hat were on straight and that bunchy fluff which is supposed to
+decorate the back of your neck hadn’t twisted itself around under one
+ear.”
+
+“That’s where it belongs,” said Jean. “That’s where they’re wearing them
+now, and my hat is at the very latest fashionable angle. I’m not one of
+those women who get all disheveled just because they take a little
+automobile ride.”
+
+“We’re obliged to believe your statement,” said Lincoln Dodd; “but you
+are certainly giving a very good imitation of the type.”
+
+“Well, I don’t look a bit more tumbled than your friend Julia did. Her
+veil hung by one pin.”
+
+“Julia who?” asked Putnam, looking up.
+
+Jean caught Miss Esther’s bothered look, and good-naturedly helped her
+out. “I don’t mean Julia, exactly,” she said. “I mean—er—Alice.”
+
+“Alice who?” inquired the elder Dodd.
+
+“Alice Ben Bolt,” said Miss Esther, shortly.
+
+“Oh, that one? By the way, did anybody ever remember her? I always hear
+people tunefully inquiring.”
+
+“I didn’t know she wore an automobile coat,” said Lincoln, doubtfully.
+“At any rate, her costume must have been awfully queer.”
+
+“How do you know what she wore?” said Lillian. “Have you ever seen her
+picture?”
+
+“No, but the song says they fitted a slab of granite so gray; it must
+have been a very superior tailor that could do it.”
+
+“All women look well in gray,” said Brewster, glancing approvingly at
+Helen.
+
+“Do you know, I like green best,” said George Washington Dodd, staring
+at Lillian’s crisp linen costume.
+
+“This isn’t green; it’s reseda,” said Lillian, scornfully; “and if I’d
+known you’d like it, I wouldn’t have worn it.”
+
+When Dodd admired Lillian’s gown Miss Esther looked distinctly pleased,
+but when that young lady spoke so rudely in reply her hopes fell again.
+Dodd, however, realized that she was reminding him of his almost
+forgotten rôle, and taking his cue, he replied, “I don’t like it. I said
+I liked green.”
+
+“Huh!” said Lillian.
+
+                 *        *        *        *        *
+
+Crossways Inn is one of the few survivals of that class of hostelry that
+had its beginnings in the eighteenth century. Around many of them
+hamlets sprang up,—some grew into cities. In the stage-coach days they
+were the resting places of the weary travelers. When the railroads came
+the travelers rushed by in trains, and the inns were forgotten.
+
+No hamlet had sprung up about Crossways. Standing at the intersection of
+two country roads it had held its own through a century and a half of
+varying fortunes. There was little travel thereabouts, until the
+automobiles came. Then, after a time, the drivers of the machines came
+to understand that at Crossways there was to be had a dinner like
+grandmother used to cook, and now scarcely a day went by without some
+merry party from Richfield Springs, Farmington, or even Utica, making a
+pilgrimage in the direction of the fried chicken and green corn in the
+season.
+
+It was at a dinner of this sort that the Matrimonial Bureau entertained
+its clients. If gayety be a proof of appreciation, then were the
+clients, though unsuspecting of their claim to that title, deeply
+appreciative.
+
+“This would be a fine place to establish a rest-cure,” said Lillian. “It
+is the quietest place I ever saw.”
+
+“If you’ll establish one,” said George Washington Dodd, “I’ll be press
+agent for you. I’ll engage to get you a lot of patients.”
+
+“I’ll do better than that,” said Lincoln; “I’ll be a patient.”
+
+“Good idea,” said Putnam; “you need a rest-cure.”
+
+“He does,” said his father; “he certainly needs to be cured of the
+resting habit. It has become chronic with him.”
+
+“What will be your course of treatment?” asked Helen.
+
+“At first I shall only have the patients stop resting three times a
+day,” said Lillian, consideringly.
+
+“For meals?” suggested Lincoln.
+
+“Yes; and then after that, oftener, until they can go without resting
+for an hour at a time.”
+
+“A whole hour?” asked Jean.
+
+“Yes; and if they show signs of a relapse I shall make them work.”
+
+“Work!” exclaimed Lincoln; “then I withdraw my application.”
+
+“Oh,” said Lillian, “I don’t mean manual labor; I mean brain work.”
+
+“Oh, that would be the same to me as resting. My brain works
+automatically without any exertion on my part.”
+
+“I’ve often thought so,” observed Putnam.
+
+“Yes,” said Lincoln; “it’s a great convenience. I just set it going and
+then I go off and leave it.”
+
+“Where did you leave it to-night?” asked Jean, innocently.
+
+“I left it at home, working out a great problem. You see, Miss Esther
+and I—”
+
+“This is good pie,” said Miss Esther, hurriedly.
+
+“It is,” said Lincoln. “As I was saying, Miss Esther and I are very much
+worried—”
+
+“This is good pie,” said Miss Esther, glaring at him.
+
+“Yes, I said it was,” said Lincoln. “Miss Esther and I are trying very
+hard—”
+
+“This is good pie,” remarked Miss Esther, determinedly.
+
+“That speech is getting to be a habit with you, Cousin Esther,” said
+Putnam. “Why don’t you take something for it?”
+
+“Well,” said Lincoln’s father, “if you have quite finished that exciting
+story about yourself and Miss Esther, I will tell you a little story.
+Miss Hastings and I—”
+
+“This is good pie,” said Lillian, blushing furiously.
+
+“It seems to have gone to your head,” remarked Jean, looking at Lillian,
+inquiringly.
+
+“Miss Hastings and I,” went on Dodd, “are engaged to be married.”
+
+To say that Miss Esther’s face beamed with delight, would be an
+inadequate expression of the illumination that took place on her
+countenance. She fairly radiated happiness and coruscated with joy.
+
+“One home, and two on bases,” cried Lincoln, exultantly; but no one
+heard him in the tumult and the shouting consequent upon the
+announcement.
+
+As is usual with the inspirers of great movements, Miss Esther was
+entirely forgotten at the moment of final triumph. Oblivious to this,
+however, she sat in silent rapture, gloating over her first and
+irrevocable success.
+
+“Ah! King John,” she said, though not aloud, “at last Victory doth perch
+upon one of my dancing banners; and as to the other two, I am Sir
+Oracle, and when I ope my mouth, let no dog bark!”
+
+
+
+
+                                  XXI
+
+
+    A contract of true love to celebrate.—_The Tempest_, iv, 1.
+
+Whitfield’s observance of holidays was in the nature of a religious
+rite. The patriotism of the Fourth of July, as shown in the firing of
+the anvil in the early morning, the speeches in the grove, and the
+reading of the Declaration of Independence, invariably by Dr. Bushnell,
+was all that the Father of his Country could have desired. Christmas and
+Thanksgiving had lost none of their original character. The flippant
+might have observed the groaning of boards from one end of the town to
+the other. May Day was a triumph of maidens crowned with wilted wild
+flowers holding court in rickety bowers. Other days had their
+importance; in fact any holiday which had any excuse for being was
+seized upon and made much of by the Whitfield citizens.
+
+But above and beyond all others, in the hearts of the countrymen, was
+Circus Day. For the days intervening between the posting of the bills
+announcing its coming and the fateful day of its arrival, there were
+fierce debates at the post-office and at the blacksmith shop concerning
+the relative merits of the hippopotamus and the other animals. The
+postmaster himself averred that the man-eating tiger and the
+hippopotamus, whose wide-opened jaws showed glistening teeth of vast
+size, were much more fearsome beasts than the Behemoth of Holy Writ, and
+although this staggered the ultra-orthodox, yet were they fain to
+believe it.
+
+The fact that the people of Whitfield had seen for many successive years
+the same posters representing the same gaudily attired ladies whose
+skirts were the soul of wit itself, poised on toe-tip upon the same
+madly careering charger, in no way interfered with their interest in
+them.
+
+This interest perennially expressed itself in long and deep arguments,
+embracing various views which resolved themselves finally into a
+generally commendatory condemnation.
+
+The laws of the Medes and Persians were laxly obeyed in comparison with
+the unwritten but traditional law which demanded that every citizen take
+his or her nearest child relative to see the show. Census reports,
+however, showed the proportion of about one child to seventeen grown
+people. But this rather aided than hindered the law-abiding citizens,
+and uncles, aunts, and cousins cheerfully accompanied their particular
+portion of the juvenile audience.
+
+The fact that there were no children in the Adams house in no wise
+disconcerted Miss Esther and her guests. They appropriated Jack and
+Chub, and days before the circus, had arranged to escort them. Jack
+announced that he had already been invited to attend the function by Dr.
+Bushnell, but this, of course, made no difference. Chub, being
+unattached, graciously signified her willingness to attend.
+
+“I have theen the thircuth,” Chub announced. “It ith on the big, high
+fenth. There are lionth and ’pottymutheth and a beauty horth with a
+lovely lady on it—oh, a lovely lady, jutht like Couthin Helen.”
+
+“I noticed the picture,” said Brewster. “It is indeed just like Miss
+Fairbanks.”
+
+“But that isn’t the real circus,” explained Helen. “Those are only the
+pictures of what you are going to see when you get there.”
+
+“Oh,” said Chub; “and will you weally wide on the horth on your
+tippy-toeth?”
+
+“If she doesn’t, somebody else will,” said Brewster.
+
+Another traditional law required that the country people for miles
+around, as well as the villagers, should assemble at the railway station
+to see the circus train come in. As its arrival was inconsiderately
+timed at four in the morning, this necessitated early rising. But this
+necessity was cheerfully met, the more so in that it made Circus Day
+just that much longer.
+
+At the Adams house all the traditions were strictly observed.
+Alarm-clocks were set for half-past three, and after a hasty cup of
+coffee Lincoln hustled Miss Esther, his father, and Putnam into the
+automobile, picked up Brewster and the three girls, and they reached the
+station just in time for the first act of the day’s play.
+
+To the men of the party the sight was a novel one, and not
+uninteresting. The sun was rising much as usual, although George
+Washington Dodd remarked that he thought the sun was always up a few
+feet in the morning. He was not given to getting up solely to see the
+spectacle, and though he had a dim idea that there were such things as
+sunrises, raved over by poets and such persons, he found the
+picturesqueness of the real thing of a character to call forth approving
+remarks from him. “Pretty good work for such a young sun,” he said,
+looking at the long streaks of light that shot across the fields and
+made a spectacular gathering of the otherwise commonplace crowd that
+swarmed over the railroad tracks. Into this crowd the locomotive puffed
+and snorted, and children shrieked with delight, while their
+elders—though hardly less vociferous, were no less eager. Vehicles of
+all descriptions lined the roadway. Luncheon baskets were in evidence in
+the democrat wagons. There was a superfluity of whiskers of varying
+shades of color and cut, and alpaca dresses, still showing the wrinkles
+of long-time packing, gave evidence that the holiday spirit was rampant
+in the hearts, even of the staid grandmothers and the mothers.
+
+“I’ll bet,” said Lincoln, “that every one of them is possessed of some
+haircloth chairs, and is distinctly proud of a certain bunch of wax
+fruit under a glass bell in the parlor.”
+
+The small boys stood about, ecstatically rubbing bare foot against bare
+leg, and letting off sympathetic grunts of helpfulness as the men of the
+circus train pushed and shoved and lifted the big wagons and other
+paraphernalia off the cars. From one of the closed cages came the roar
+of a lion. Little girls clutched their mothers’ hands in an agony of
+fear and delight. These sounds were the foretaste of the joys to come.
+
+The people who had come from the surrounding country prepared to make a
+full day of it camped under the trees in the grove near the circus
+grounds. The men sat about and discussed the outlook for the crops,
+while the women prepared a breakfast. The children stared,
+wide-open-eyed, at the closed cages, from which from time to time there
+issued strangely fascinating growlings of wild beasts. The circus men
+laid out the ring and raised the tent, and the side-show men, being
+quick in action, insistently proclaimed the presence of the bearded
+lady, the educated pig, the living skeleton, and the strong man who
+could shiver rocks with his fist. From the top of the big tent-pole a
+wire was stretched, and from the dizzy height a wonderful woman, clad in
+tightly fitting pink, slid boldly to the ground. This was in the nature
+of a daring advertisement of the wonderful, magnificent, marvelous,
+myriad of startling feats to be seen during the performance.
+
+“Well, I swan!” exclaimed an elderly man, with whiskers of an ancient
+design; “I should think she’d of fell off’n that slim wire.”
+
+But the villagers, not being obliged to camp under the trees, returned
+to their homes for breakfast. In celebration of Circus Day, and
+incidentally because it might materially assist her plans, Miss Esther
+had a house-party, and the clients of her Bureau made merry at the Adams
+house breakfast.
+
+“We’ll see the morning parade,” said George Washington Dodd, “from the
+front fence.”
+
+“I choose to sit on the gate-post,” said Jean.
+
+“You can have one gate-post,” said Mr. Dodd, “but I want the other
+myself.”
+
+“One is enough,” said Jean. “I rarely use two at once.”
+
+“And then this afternoon we’ll take the children and Dr. Bushnell to the
+performance, and this evening we’ll go by ourselves.”
+
+“And stay to the concert,” said Helen.
+
+“And then we’ll all walk home in the moonlight,” continued Dodd. “My
+fiancée is very romantic.”
+
+“It must be very nice to have a romantic fiancée,” said Putnam.
+
+“You never will have,” said Jean. “No romantic girl could possibly
+accept you.”
+
+“This is good pie,” said Lincoln, gazing off into space.
+
+“Do they have nice circuses in Europe?” asked Lillian.
+
+“Yes,” replied Dodd, instructively; “they have a very large one in Rome,
+and Paris is a good deal of a circus all by itself, as you shall see.”
+
+“Yes,” said Lillian, happily; “I’m so glad I’m going. I’ve always loved
+a circus, and if Paris is anything like it, I know I shall like that
+city.”
+
+“People always take their little boys to the circus,” said Lincoln,
+plaintively, “and I think you might take me—Ma-ma!”
+
+“All right, son, you shall go if you want to—the next time we go,”
+replied Lillian, kindly.
+
+“Oh, that’s what I meant,” said Lincoln. “Of course I’d be a bother this
+time.”
+
+“Indeed you would,” said his father. “We’re going for pleasure.”
+
+“When do you sail?” asked Brewster.
+
+“I’ve tickets for the fifteenth,” said Dodd.
+
+“So soon?” said Brewster, in surprise.
+
+“Yes; isn’t it lovely,” said Lillian. “I always did like to get married
+in a hurry.”
+
+“I don’t care how soon you get married,” said Jean, “so long as you wait
+till after this year’s Circus Day, and come home before the next one.”
+
+“Next Circus Day you may be away on your own wedding trip,” said Miss
+Esther.
+
+“No,” said Jean; “I’d never marry anybody who would take me away from
+Whitfield on Circus Day.”
+
+“January would be a safe month,” said Putnam, musingly.
+
+Jean’s only reply to this sally was a glance which was meant to be
+withering, but somehow it turned into a vivid blush.
+
+“Do you know the address of a good flagmaker in the city, Governor?”
+said Lincoln. “I want to telegraph an order for some banners.”
+
+“Do!” said Miss Esther.
+
+
+
+
+                                  XXII
+
+
+    Was ever woman in this humour woo’d?—_Richard III_, i, 2.
+
+Although the afternoon performance was scheduled for three o’clock, Jack
+and Chub, anxious to be in time, arrived at the Adams house while Miss
+Esther and her guests were still at breakfast.
+
+“We’re all weddy,” announced Chub, consciously patting down her starched
+white ruffles, and turning her back to give a better view of her pink
+sash bows.
+
+Jack, no less conscious of his new sailor suit, but striving manfully
+not to call undue attention to it, remarked, casually, “I s’pose we’re a
+little early, but we’ll wait till you’re ready to go.”
+
+“How fortunate,” said Lincoln; “then you’ll be here to help us watch the
+morning parade go by.”
+
+“Yeth,” said Chub; “we’re going to thit on the gate-potht, and you can
+hold uth on.”
+
+“Huh,” said Jack; “I don’t need to be held on. I wasn’t last year, and I
+didn’t fall off but once, and that was when the elephant hollered.”
+
+“I will be held on,” said Chub, “by Uncle Linkum.”
+
+“You’ll have to sit backward, Chub, so the folks in the parade can see
+that big sash of yours.”
+
+Chub said nothing, but after a few moments’ deep thought began tugging
+at her pink sash so effectively that she finally landed the big bow
+exactly in front.
+
+“There!” she said, with a satisfied sigh.
+
+By eleven o’clock the children were on their respective gate-posts, Miss
+Esther and Dr. Bushnell occupying large arm-chairs in the gateway
+between them. The rest of the party were ranged along the fence on
+either side like birds on a telegraph wire.
+
+Rocking amiably, his finger tips together in an attitude of judicial
+consideration, Dr. Bushnell filled the hour of waiting with pleasant
+discourse. Whitfield always expected to wait an hour after the scheduled
+time for the arrival of the circus parade, and in this it was never
+disappointed.
+
+“It has gratified me to note,” the Doctor said, “that the proprietors of
+this exhibition have among their collected animals a fine specimen of
+the wombat.”
+
+“Whath a wombat?” asked Chub.
+
+“A wombat,” went on Dr. Bushnell, with the air of imparting information
+to a large audience,—“a wombat is simply a _Phascolomys ursinus_. It is
+fond of hay—”
+
+“We’ll take some hay along for the wombat,” said Lincoln, kindly.
+
+“—which he bites into short pieces with his knife-edged teeth. As the
+poet has it,
+
+                 Let dogs delight to bark and bite,
+                 For ’tis—for ’tis—”
+
+“Their nature to,” put in Miss Esther, involuntarily.
+
+“True,” continued Dr. Bushnell; “and it is the wombat’s nature to
+excavate the earth until it forms a deep tunnel. The wombat is by no
+means an active animal, but trudges along with a heavy, rolling waddle,
+like the gait of a very fat bear.”
+
+“I have always admired the gait of a very fat bear,” said Brewster,
+dispassionately. “There is something peculiarly attractive and
+exceedingly graceful about it.”
+
+Dr. Bushnell was a trifle ruffled by this slighting allusion to his
+favored animal, and went on with some asperity.
+
+“A wombat, my dear sir, is far from being an ungraceful animal. I take
+it you have never seen one on its native heath. Indeed, a perfect
+wombat, a perfect wombat—”
+
+“Nobly planned,” said Miss Esther, helpfully.
+
+At this Lincoln Dodd fell off the fence.
+
+“Ho!” said Chub; “Uncle Linkum wath going to hold me on, and now he’th
+felled off himthelf!”
+
+Except that Lincoln was nearly choked to death by Chub in her exuberance
+over the little white ponies, the parade passed without accident. Dr.
+Bushnell gazed eagerly at the open cages, and disappointedly at the
+closed ones, hoping to see the promised wombat. He philosophically met
+his failure to find it by an unshaken confidence in its appearance at
+the show proper.
+
+                 *        *        *        *        *
+
+At the afternoon performance Lincoln took especial charge of Chub. This
+proved to be a more arduous undertaking than he had anticipated. Twice
+he pulled her out from under the seats, and once he rescued her from
+apparent instant death at the feet of the elephant. He was also obliged
+to temper generosity with wisdom in the matter of pink lemonade and
+peanuts.
+
+Miss Esther had started under the mistaken impression that she was
+taking charge of Jack, but he soon made it evident that his
+understanding of the case was that she was in his charge. He grandly
+offered her prize packages of gum. He bought for her a complete
+programme of the whole show, and carefully scrutinized the numbers on
+their tickets and seats to make sure that they corresponded.
+
+Miss Esther herself was enjoying the afternoon. Aside from the
+entertainment provided by the circus troupe, she was delightedly
+entertained by the performances of her own immediate circle. Lillian and
+Mr. Dodd were a most exemplary engaged couple. Jean and Putnam, if not
+announced allies, were at least preserving an armed truce. As for Helen
+and Brewster, the more she saw them together, the more she thought that
+they were born for each other, and she felt confident that soon they
+would realize this for themselves. In consequence of this, it seemed to
+Miss Esther that the last cloud was dissipated and that the intents of
+her Matrimonial Bureau were practically the same as fulfilled.
+
+To the exclusion of the startlingly incredible feats in the ring, Miss
+Esther’s thoughts were entirely concentrated on the pleasant outcome of
+her plans. It was with an expression of blank surprise, and a half
+conscious realization of impending disaster, that she looked up suddenly
+and saw Julia Fowler coming toward her along the aisle. Her first
+impulse was to stay the invader’s advance at any cost. Involuntarily,
+she half rose from her seat and glared at the intruder. Her unwelcoming
+expression was entirely lost on Miss Fowler, who rushed up to her and
+shook her warmly by both hands.
+
+“I’m so glad to see you again!” she cried.
+
+“How do you do?” said Miss Esther, perfunctorily, and with a frigidity
+of manner that would have repelled a less volatile personage than Julia
+Fowler.
+
+“Isn’t the circus perfectly lovely!” she exclaimed. “I’m enjoying it so
+much, and when I saw your party I flew right over here, and Lieutenant
+Adams has asked me to go home to dinner with you all, and come back to
+the show to-night—and may I go?”
+
+However much she may have wanted to, Miss Esther’s ideas of hospitality
+would not allow her to say no. “Certainly,” she said; and if the
+invitation was not noticeably heartfelt, Julia seemed to overlook any
+lack of enthusiasm. Of course, Miss Esther still realized, and more
+emphatically than ever as she looked at Julia, the dangers involved. Mr.
+Dodd was out of the running. Lincoln’s heart interests were not her
+affair; but Putnam was decidedly susceptible, and her ideas of
+Brewster’s intentions toward Helen were as yet so unauthorized that she
+was by no means certain that they might not be easily swerved. Still,
+the mischief was done; the blow had fallen, and as a consequence, the
+Adams pluck rose triumphant.
+
+But Miss Esther had crossed her bridge before she came to it. At dinner
+that night Julia was a decided acquisition, and charmed everybody. But
+the two men for whom Miss Esther had feared the most were not unduly
+interested in the fair visitor. Indeed, the only one who surrendered at
+sight was Lincoln Dodd. This state of mind, however, on Lincoln’s part
+was not necessarily a permanence, as Miss Esther well knew. Putnam, of
+course, showed the courteous deference and gentle consideration which
+all women received from him, but there was no apparent undercurrent of
+personal interest; Brewster maintained his usual attitude of polite
+indifference, which, however, had in it no lack of civility, but neither
+did it show any trace of a special attraction.
+
+Although Whitfield went to the afternoon performance ostensibly for the
+benefit of its juvenile element, in the evening it attended the show
+frankly and openly for its own amusement. Following this precedent the
+Adams house-party at eight o’clock again bundled into the automobile and
+started for the tent. The men vowed that it was the hardest day’s work
+they had ever done in their lives, but the girls took the day as a
+matter of course, and would not hear of omitting any part of the
+regulation programme.
+
+Miss Esther’s complacency was restored by the turn affairs had taken,
+and her mind was relieved regarding Julia’s invasion. Therefore, she
+started off in the same high spirits that had marked the early
+afternoon.
+
+The circus managers, desirous of saving every possible scrap of time,
+had facilitated the midnight moving of their paraphernalia by taking the
+roof off the tent before the beginning of the evening performance. After
+sunset, and if the weather permitted, they always did this. The plan was
+acceptable to the audience, and the general effect of the crowded tent,
+open to the starry heavens, appealed especially to Brewster as a
+picturesquely humorous situation. Desirous of seeing it all from the
+best possible viewpoint, he asked Helen to sit with him in the top row
+of seats. The rest preferred seats nearer the ground, Lincoln devoting
+himself to Julia, and Miss Esther, supremely satisfied, listening
+willingly to Dr. Bushnell’s oratorical periods.
+
+“What a curious picture,” said Helen, as she took her seat.
+
+“Yes,” replied Brewster; “I never saw anything just like it before.”
+
+“I have seen this every year,” said Helen, “but it always impresses me
+anew. The incongruity of the tawdry, noisy glitter of the scene below,
+compared to the calm beauty of the stars above, is—”
+
+“Is, perhaps, the ultimate contrast?”
+
+“Yes, that is exactly what I mean. Why is it, I wonder, that I can’t
+express myself as I want to? You always seem to know just what word to
+use.”
+
+“Perhaps I know more words than you do.”
+
+“No, I know words enough, but I never can command them at the time I
+want them, though they often come to me when it is too late to use
+them.”
+
+“Like Thackeray’s cab wit,” suggested Brewster.
+
+“Yes, I can quite picture him, disconsolate in his cab, saying to
+himself the bright things which he ought to have said an hour before. I
+have done the same thing.”
+
+“You should have a preceptor, one who could teach you to say the right
+thing at the right time.”
+
+“It would have to be one who would not only understand my moods, but be
+in thorough sympathy with them; some one of—”
+
+“Quick perception,” said Brewster.
+
+“Yes; and gentle—”
+
+“Instincts.”
+
+“Yes; and a way of teaching that would not make me self-conscious or
+embarrassed.”
+
+“That goes without saying if the teacher be of a true perception and
+sympathy.”
+
+“_It might as well be you!_” sang a sextette of clowns through six
+megaphones in the ring.
+
+“So it might,” said Brewster; “in fact it might much better be me than
+anybody else. I think I will begin now.”
+
+“I wish you would,” said Helen; “I do, honestly, but I’m afraid you will
+find it a hopeless task. There are so many things that you know so much
+more about than I do—”
+
+“_There are a few_,” came bellowing up from the megaphone sextette.
+
+“The megaphone men seem inclined to help out,” said Brewster.
+
+“Yes, and I am grateful to any one who will help me.”
+
+“May I try, Helen, though gratitude is not the return I ask?”
+
+“_I may love you too well to let you go_,” vociferated the insistent
+megaphones.
+
+Helen looked at Brewster. “The megaphone men _are_ helping,” she said.
+
+“Would you have said that if you had thought of it in time?” he asked.
+
+“Yes,” said Helen.
+
+
+
+
+                                 XXIII
+
+
+    And certainly a woman’s thought runs before her actions.—_As
+    You Like It_, iv, 1.
+
+“Where’s Putnam?” asked Miss Esther, coming out on the East porch the
+next morning.
+
+“Don’t know,” said Lincoln. “I haven’t seen him since breakfast.”
+
+Chub, seated on a low stool directly in front of Lincoln, regarding him
+with worshiping eyes, volunteered the information that she “thaw him
+picking a lot of wotheth,” and that he had afterward gone out of the
+gate and walked rapidly up the street.
+
+“Ah,” said Miss Esther, with a satisfied smile, “I suppose he has gone
+over to Jean’s.”
+
+“I thuppothe tho,” Chub acquiesced.
+
+But when, a little later, Jean came over to the Adams house, Miss Esther
+looked at her aghast. “Where’s Putnam?” she said, sternly.
+
+“That’s what I want to know,” said Jean. “He asked me to play tennis
+with him this morning.”
+
+“Why, I don’t see where he can be,” said Miss Esther; “but he’ll
+probably be back in a few minutes. Chub said he went up the road—”
+
+“Oh, _up_ the road,” said Jean.
+
+Jean sat down by Chub. “I did want to play tennis this morning,” she
+said. “I think somebody else might take Lieutenant Adams’s place.”
+
+“If that very obscure hint is aimed at all in my direction,” said
+Lincoln, “I refuse to act upon it. When I play tennis I must have a
+foeman worthy of my skill. Why don’t you ask Chub to play with you?”
+
+Chub, taking this as an invitation, rose and began a search for Putnam’s
+racket. “I will play with Couthin Jean,” she said, kindly, “becauthe bad
+old Uncle Putnam hath ranned away, and ithn’t never coming back to play
+with you.”
+
+Although Miss Esther was used to Chub’s romancing, this oracular
+utterance gave her a sudden but unmistakable shock. “Don’t mind what the
+baby says,” she said.
+
+“Couthin Jean doethn’t care if Couthin Putnam doethn’t never come back,”
+insisted Chub.
+
+“Oh, yes, she does, Chub,” said Lincoln; “we all love Cousin Putnam.”
+
+“Yeth,” said Chub, who always agreed with Lincoln; “we all love Couthin
+Putnam.”
+
+“Do you?” asked Miss Esther, looking pointedly at Jean.
+
+“Yes, I love him a lot. I began worshiping at his shrine the very day he
+arrived. He seems to compel that sort of thing.”
+
+“He’s an all-round good fellow,” said Lincoln.
+
+“He is, indeed,” said Miss Esther, earnestly. “I don’t know what I shall
+do without him. He says he can’t stay more than a fortnight longer. I
+wonder where he is now? I thought he was over at your house.”
+
+“I know where he ith,” said Chub, with the air of one who is possessed
+of a state secret.
+
+“Where?”
+
+“I don’t think Uncle Putnam wanth me to tell.”
+
+“Well, don’t tell if it’s a secret,” said Lincoln.
+
+“It ith a thecret,” said Chub, “and I won’t tell, becauthe he don’t want
+anybody to know he wath going to Farmington.”
+
+“What did he go to Farmington for?” asked Miss Esther.
+
+“I don’t know, but I gueth he wath going to thell wotheth.”
+
+“There ought to be a good market for roses in Farmington,” said Lincoln,
+reflectively.
+
+“Well,” exclaimed Miss Esther; “if Putnam is carting roses over to Julia
+Fowler—”
+
+“Oh, maybe she likes roses,” remarked Jean, casually.
+
+“Oh,” said Miss Esther, softening a little; “if you say it’s all right,
+I suppose it is.”
+
+“Of course it’s all right,” said Lincoln. “Whatever Putnam does is
+right.”
+
+“What an enviable reputation,” said Helen, appearing suddenly in the
+doorway. “I wish people would say that whatever I did was always right.”
+
+“But, my dear girl,” said Miss Esther, “you couldn’t expect to be looked
+up to as such a paragon of all the virtues as my cousin is. Of course,
+though, you’re always right—as far as you go.”
+
+“I’ve gone pretty far this time,” said Helen.
+
+“I thought as much,” said Jean. “When did it happen?”
+
+“Last night—at the circus,” replied Helen, serenely.
+
+“Good for you!” said Lincoln.
+
+“What did Couthin Helen do at the thircuth?” asked Chub, with interest.
+
+“She went and engaged herself to Mr. Brewster,” said Jean.
+
+“What!” exclaimed Miss Esther. “Winthrop Brewster!”
+
+“He’s the only Mr. Brewster I know,” said Helen, apologetically.
+
+“He’s all right,” said Lincoln. “He’s the best Brewster going. I think
+it’s great.”
+
+Jean said nothing, but flew at Helen and bestowed upon her a few dozen
+of that particular variety of kisses which are supposed to mean a
+congratulatory acknowledgment of tidings such as these, and taking
+possession of her, marched her down the steps and across the lawn.
+
+“As President of the Matrimonial Bureau,” said Lincoln,
+enthusiastically, “you are certainly making a screaming success of
+yourself.”
+
+“Yes,” said Miss Esther, still looking a little bewildered, “but I am so
+surprised.”
+
+“Why, you planned it yourself.”
+
+“Yes, I know, but I thought my plans had all fallen through. Helen was
+so haughty and Mr. Brewster was so reserved. I wasn’t half so surprised
+when Lillian announced her engagement. I wish Helen would come back. I
+want to ask her more about it.”
+
+“Oh, she’s engaged all right—just as much as Lillian. Now that makes
+two, and you only have Jean left on your books.”
+
+“Yes,” said Miss Esther, complacently. “And she’s all right, too, for
+I’m just as sure Putnam means to marry her as if he had said so.
+Sometimes I think she’s engaged now.”
+
+“Perhaps she is,” said Lincoln.
+
+When Helen and Jean reached the gate they turned naturally in the
+direction of Lillian’s house. They found her on the veranda, but when
+she saw the excited visitors she jumped to the conclusion that the
+exigencies of the occasion could only be met in the studio.
+
+“Come on up,” she cried; “what is the matter?”
+
+“Ask Helen,” said Jean.
+
+“Well, you see,” began Helen, “you said that Miss Esther said that she
+thought I ought to marry Mr. Brewster, and so—”
+
+“And so she feels that she must,” interrupted Jean.
+
+“How perfectly lovely,” cried Lillian; “I am so glad.”
+
+“On the principle that misery loves company?” suggested Jean.
+
+“Yes—on that principle, of course; but I don’t believe we call it
+misery, do we, Helen?”
+
+“Not yet,” said Helen.
+
+“May I come in?” said a voice from the doorway; and without waiting for
+a reply Miss Esther walked in. “I couldn’t wait another minute,” said
+she; “I just had to see Helen and hear more about this affair.”
+
+“Helen says it’s all your doing, anyway,” said Lillian.
+
+“Well, I didn’t say exactly that,” replied Helen.
+
+“Well, what did you say, then?” demanded Lillian.
+
+“Why, I don’t know that I said anything.”
+
+“Then it’s time you began,” said Jean; “and you’ve got to tell us every
+single thing about it right straight away.”
+
+“It was just this way,” said Helen; “Mr. Brewster said if I wanted to
+marry him I could, and I said I did, and that was all there was about
+it.”
+
+“What a kind man he is,” remarked Lillian, reflectively.
+
+“Did he tell you anything about his castle?” asked Jean.
+
+“Yes, he described it at length. It has the most modern and approved
+automatic drawbridges and an electric moat—”
+
+“Is that anything like an electric motor?” asked Jean.
+
+“Same thing,” replied Helen; “and it has a portcullis and scullions and
+castellated turrets and—”
+
+“And a Prince?” said Lillian.
+
+“Yes; a very beautiful Prince, too.”
+
+“Yes, Helen, he is,” said Miss Esther, “and I am very much pleased. He
+seems to come pretty near realizing the ideals which you were discussing
+last spring.”
+
+“Yes,” said Helen, disdainfully; “Winthrop goes far beyond any ideals I
+had then.”
+
+“Well,” exclaimed Jean, “for a driveling idiot, give me a girl who has
+been engaged something less than twenty-four hours!”
+
+“I think so, too,” agreed Lillian; “I’ve been engaged most a week, and
+I’m as sensible as a judge.”
+
+“I wonder how I’d act if I were engaged,” said Jean, reflectively.
+
+“Aren’t you?” said Miss Esther.
+
+“When I am,” said Jean, “you shall be the first to know of it.”
+
+“Of course I shall,” said Miss Esther; “I made Putnam promise that he’d
+tell me the very first one.”
+
+“Well, you keep right on asking him every day,” said Jean, “and perhaps
+you’ll find out.”
+
+“Just to think,” said Miss Esther, “only last spring we were discussing
+the futures of you three girls, and now you are all practically settled.
+Helen has her ideal Prince, Lillian has her fairy godfather, and Jean—”
+
+“Jean isn’t engaged yet,” said Lillian.
+
+“When I see how it affects you two girls,” said Jean, “I am not sure
+that I want to be.”
+
+“Sour grapes,” said Helen.
+
+“Nothing of the sort,” said Miss Esther. “Jean can be engaged any minute
+she wants to.”
+
+“Well, I wish she’d hurry up, then,” said Lillian. “It makes me
+embarrassed to have her left out.”
+
+“Could you give me till to-morrow?” asked Jean, meekly.
+
+
+
+
+                                  XXIV
+
+
+    I am in haste; go along with me: I’ll tell you all.—_Merry
+    Wives of Windsor_, v, 1.
+
+Miss Esther was more than delighted when Putnam came to her in the
+library that evening and said that he had something to tell her.
+
+“Perhaps I can guess what it is,” she said.
+
+“You’re pretty clever if you can,” he replied, “for I didn’t know it
+myself until to-day.”
+
+“No,” said Miss Esther, smiling; “you didn’t know it yourself until
+eleven o’clock this morning.”
+
+“No, I didn’t,” said Putnam, honestly. “In fact it came over me rather
+suddenly, and I thought you’d like it if I told you first.”
+
+“Are you really engaged?” asked Miss Esther.
+
+“Oh, no; I haven’t spoken to her yet about anything like that.”
+
+“Well, why don’t you?” said Miss Esther, with a slight show of
+impatience.
+
+“I don’t know how she’d take it,” said Putnam, with the first indication
+of diffidence that Miss Esther had ever seen in her cousin.
+
+“There’s only one way to find out.”
+
+“Oh, of course, I shall ask her sometime, but not yet.”
+
+“Well, don’t wait too long. I am very glad you have told me this. I
+think you and she were made for each other.”
+
+“So do I. I never before believed in love at first sight, but it
+certainly is what has happened to me. She is the most beautiful girl I
+ever saw.”
+
+“Perhaps not beautiful,” said Miss Esther, “but she is certainly very
+pretty.”
+
+“More than pretty. I think she is a raving beauty.”
+
+“You’re probably prejudiced,” said Miss Esther, comprehendingly, “but
+I’m glad you do admire her so much. She is a good-hearted little thing
+with all her whimsical temper; but I feared you might think her perhaps
+too countrified and unsophisticated.”
+
+“Well!” exclaimed Putnam, “I never should call Julia Fowler
+unsophisticated. To my mind she stands for everything that represents
+the best and highest type of a cultured woman of the world. That kind of
+a woman, Cousin Esther, is the kind that appeals most strongly to me. It
+is the type I like best and Miss Fowler is the perfection of that type,
+just as little Jean Richards is the perfection of the peach-blossom
+type, or Chub is the perfection of winsome babyhood, and it’s a great
+thing to meet at last the highest possible expression of the type one
+most desires. I have a great deal of the Adams clannishness in me, and I
+am glad you so thoroughly approve my choice.”
+
+“Putnam,” said Miss Esther, looking at her cousin desperately, “go to
+bed!”
+
+Left to herself, Miss Esther faced the situation. Her worst fears were
+verified. The invasion of Julia had proved as disastrous as she had
+anticipated. Not only were her own plans defeated, but she realized the
+appalling wrong she had done to Jean by assisting to bring about a state
+of affairs that now she knew must inevitably break the child’s heart.
+
+“It seems,” she thought, “that this glorious summer of mine is like to
+be turned into a winter of discontent. Not that I care so much for
+myself: the Matrimonial Bureau is not yet at the end of its rope. I
+could, of course, find another Prince for Jean, but the trouble is, I’m
+sure she has set her heart on Putnam, notwithstanding her apparent
+antagonism, and after what she said this morning I feel sure I am right.
+I think she expected him to tell her so to-night, and now—well, I will
+do what I can. Patience, and shuffle the cards—perhaps there’ll be a
+way out of it yet. But I can’t see a ray of hope for my poor little
+Jean.”
+
+                 *        *        *        *        *
+
+But if Miss Esther had seen her poor little Jean at that moment she
+would have been obliged to confess that at least one ray of hope was
+illuminating her darksome horizon.
+
+As a matter of fact she was spinning along with Lincoln Dodd in his
+automobile, quite as contented as though there were no Putnam Adams in
+existence.
+
+“You see,” Dodd was saying, “I would have gone, but I had reasons for
+not wanting to go.”
+
+“I don’t see,” insisted Jean, “what reasons you could possibly have for
+not wanting to go on a lovely yachting trip like that—way up the coast
+to Labrador—to be gone for weeks, and with such a lovely party—they
+are lovely, aren’t they?”
+
+“Yes; the people are nice enough,” said Lincoln.
+
+“And a crew all in white duck, with beautiful gilt buttons—aren’t
+they?”
+
+“Yes; the crew is good enough.”
+
+“And beautiful ladies, in gorgeous clothes, sitting around in wicker
+arm-chairs on the deck! Aren’t they?”
+
+“Oh, yes; the women’s gowns are good enough.”
+
+“And then, whenever they stop anywhere, there would be gala nights, with
+flowers and music, and dances on deck and Japanese lanterns and flags
+flying and banners waving! Oh, I think it would be heavenly! I wish I
+could go!”
+
+“Come on, and go—with me!”
+
+“Oh,” cried Jean, “I wish I could! But I’m not invited.”
+
+“My wife is invited wherever I am.”
+
+“I didn’t know you had a wife,” said Jean, with an air of polite
+interest.
+
+“I haven’t,” said Dodd, “but I will have in about twenty minutes.”
+
+Lincoln turned the wheel and the huge machine swung around with reckless
+speed.
+
+“Where are you going to get her?” asked Jean.
+
+“Now, listen,” said Lincoln, as they flew along the road, “and think
+fast. If we go on this yachting party,—you and I,—we’ve got to catch
+that twelve forty-five train from Utica.”
+
+“What!” gasped Jean.
+
+“It will take us about twenty minutes to get to Dr. Bushnell’s; about
+twenty more to get married. That leaves us two hours to get over to the
+Utica station, and I guess this old machine will do it.”
+
+“You’re talking nonsense,” said Jean.
+
+“Yes, I know,” said Lincoln, cheerfully; “but never mind that now. I
+told you you had to think fast. Now you’ve got all the way from here to
+Dr. Bushnell’s parsonage to make up your mind, and if you don’t want to
+go on, say the word and I’ll turn around.”
+
+As they stopped at Dr. Bushnell’s gate, Jean said, “I think we’d better
+turn around.”
+
+“Too late now,” said Lincoln, lifting her out.
+
+“I thought it would be,” said Jean, softly.
+
+In response to Lincoln’s imperative ring at the doorbell, Dr. Bushnell
+appeared and looked with surprise at his two late visitors.
+
+“Come in,” he said, blandly; “come in.”
+
+“Thank you, we will,” said Lincoln.
+
+Mrs. Bushnell rose to greet the pair as they entered the pastor’s study.
+She was Jean’s aunt, and as Jean’s mother had been dead for many years,
+Mrs. Bushnell had always exercised more or less authority over her
+willful, high-spirited niece. Mr. Richards, Jean’s father, was away in a
+distant Western city on a business trip, and so Mrs. Bushnell considered
+Jean her special property for the time being.
+
+“You must excuse us if we seem rather hurried,” said Lincoln, with a
+more business-like air than he often showed. “We are sailing to-morrow
+morning, and we must catch the twelve forty-five train out of Utica. We
+want you to marry us, and you’ve got just twenty minutes to do it in.”
+
+“Is that time enough?” asked Jean, anxiously.
+
+“My dear young friends,” began Dr. Bushnell, “you must realize the grave
+importance of the step you propose to take. The responsibilities of—”
+
+“What are you two children talking about?” broke in Mrs. Bushnell.
+
+“Never mind what we are talking about,” said Lincoln, hurriedly. “We’ll
+tell you some other time—we’ll write to you—but now we want you to
+marry us—”
+
+“But,” said Mrs. Bushnell, “have you thought this thing all over?”
+
+“Indeed I have,” said Jean; “I had twenty minutes, and I thought fast.
+You see, it’s this way, Aunt Serena; I’m going to marry Lincoln, anyway,
+and if I marry him to-night and catch that twelve forty-five train, we
+can go on the most beautiful yachting trip you ever heard of. Way up to
+Labrador, and the ladies have the most beautiful clothes, and Japanese
+lanterns and flowers—and everything.”
+
+“But, Jean—” began her aunt.
+
+“Yes, I know, Aunt Serena, but we’ve only got twenty minutes, you
+know—and, Auntie, the yacht is the loveliest thing—it’s all white and
+brass and shining—”
+
+“Ah, yes,” said Dr. Bushnell, “as the poet so effectively puts it, ‘A
+painted ship—a painted ship’—”
+
+“Now hold on, Dr. Bushnell,” said Lincoln; “as I told you, we’ve only
+got twenty minutes—five are gone already. As Jean says, she’s going to
+marry me, anyway; so you may as well let us go on that yachting trip and
+send us off with your blessing.”
+
+“You’re the only one that can do it, Uncle Isaiah,” said Jean; “and
+please do, ’cause I would love that trip!”
+
+“But, Jean,” said Mrs. Bushnell, “does Miss Esther know about this?”
+
+“No, and that makes me downright sorry; but I can’t help it, Aunt
+Serena. You tell her to-morrow, won’t you? and I’ll write to her. But we
+must catch that twelve forty-five train.”
+
+“So you must,” said Dr. Bushnell, rising to the occasion, “so you must.
+Serena, my dear, if you will call the parlor maid—her name has for the
+moment escaped me, but you will doubtless remember it—if you will call
+her for a second witness we will proceed with the ceremony.”
+
+“Her name is Martha,” said Mrs. Bushnell, still hesitating.
+
+“Call Martha,” said Lincoln, decisively.
+
+“Are you sure,” began Mrs. Bushnell, “that—”
+
+“Call Martha,” said Jean.
+
+
+
+
+                                  XXV
+
+
+    Those men are happy; and so are all are near her.—_Henry_ VIII,
+    iv, 1.
+
+After she had dismissed Putnam, Miss Esther sat disconsolately in her
+library, worrying over the imminent breaking of Jean’s heart. She was
+fully convinced that Jean’s interest in Putnam was very real, and she
+feared the effect on her emotional nature when she should discover
+Putnam’s attitude toward Julia Fowler.
+
+Possibly Miss Esther had taken too much for granted. Neither Jean
+herself nor Putnam had told her definitely of any intention that either
+had in relation to the future happiness or unhappiness of the other. But
+still, Miss Esther had observed the drifting of the straws, and being
+used to the drawing of conclusions from seemingly unimportant premises,
+she had decided in her own mind at least, that there was only one
+conclusion to be drawn. This was one which pleased her very much.
+
+On the whole, Miss Esther, up to this time, had thought that the plans
+which had been so whimsically made in the beginning had been brought to
+a conclusion that was not only quite to her liking, but which was
+entirely fitting from every point of view.
+
+And now, just as she had dreamed that beside being the architect of the
+fortunes of her beloved girls, she had helped, too, in the detailed
+drawings of the plans for Putnam’s future, he had come in with the
+startling announcement that the design was not at all satisfactory, and
+that he had decided upon using some home-made affair that she knew was
+not drawn to a proper scale.
+
+Somehow, though, even in spite of the fact that one of her pet plans had
+apparently failed, Miss Esther believed that she should win. Nor was it
+in a sense of winning that she thought of it. Rather, she believed that
+now that two of her protégées had found what she chose to call their
+Fates, the other one of the three should, sometime, come to a place
+where there should be the proverbial happy ending of the chapter. How it
+was all to come about she did not know. Her faith was secure in the fact
+that she knew what she knew. She had said long ago that the Adams pluck
+would ultimately win, and while the mere planning of the summer had been
+begun in the same spirit of romantic whimsicality which made her as a
+child play with the people of her dreams—on the stairs, on the lawns,
+and through the severe old halls of the Adams house—and which later had
+made her make these same heroes and heroines of her dreams her playmates
+through a life that would have been otherwise very lonely—“Ah,” she
+said, “some dreams come true; and after all, the jesting word is not so
+often false but that it may be true.”
+
+Perhaps Miss Esther did not realize that the whole summer had been a
+living of the dream which, though built of the flimsiest of fabrics in
+the beginning, had proved, at the last, to be constructed of very solid
+materials.
+
+Begun, as it was, it seemed that the summer, after all, had shaped
+itself with a sort of seriousness of which Miss Esther had not dreamed.
+She cared too much for the girls to play with them—and particularly she
+would not have played a game that would bring to them anything but the
+most perfect happiness. In planning it all, she had believed that it was
+rather a bit of a game—such as she played with her characters in the
+plays in the old volumes in her library—hers and her father’s—and
+before that the father’s father’s—and even his father before him—they
+had all lived and dreamed among the books which had been to Esther Adams
+an inspiration and a delight which had lasted through the years of her
+life.
+
+That these dreams, in some subtle fashion, had really carried out the
+mental suggestion of a mere advertisement in a Sunday newspaper, brought
+to her notice in a way that was little short of providential—all this
+entered not at all into the calculations of the woman who now faced a
+condition which was far from being merely theoretical.
+
+So far as two of her girls were concerned, she was satisfied. Not that
+she—in thinking it all over—would admit to herself that she had
+deliberately brought Helen and Brewster together, or that she had thrown
+Lillian in the face of George Washington Dodd—far from it. That she was
+satisfied, there could be no doubt. But, as she put it to herself, “It
+was fortunate that Mr. Brewster came to visit Dr. Bushnell, and it was
+fortunate that Mr. Dodd came to visit his son.”
+
+Still—and this is the perversity of reasoning—she felt that Putnam’s
+failure to carry out a cherished plan of her own was something for which
+she was directly responsible—not alone because of the fact that she
+felt that he would fail to do as she wished—and she disliked
+antagonism, like all the Adamses—but she felt, too, that somehow she
+was responsible to Jean in having brought her to the place where she
+might by any chance fall in love with a man who was fickle enough to be
+drawn away by the first pretty face that rose above the horizon.
+
+There was in it all something which was altogether too like the
+suggestion of failure to appeal to Miss Esther. A battle fairly
+fought—won or lost—it didn’t matter, so long as it was in the open:
+this was her delight. But to make an attempt, under cover, with however
+good intentions, and then fail—that was a sting, and one which made her
+feel that it would have been better never to have tried. Logic entered
+into the discussion not at all. She would not admit that she had tried
+to accomplish anything. And yet, behind it all, there was the haunting
+shadow of a failure.
+
+She was as much annoyed as surprised when at that late hour Dr. Bushnell
+called upon her.
+
+“How do you do,” she said, with a perfunctory politeness. “What is the
+charity this time?”
+
+“Ah, Miss Esther, you will have your little joke,” said her visitor,
+blandly, “but it is not a charity this time. I come upon a far different
+errand. I bring news that will surprise you—ay, that will surprise you
+greatly. I come as winged messenger—as winged messenger—the quotation
+has escaped me.”
+
+“But what is your important news?”
+
+“It is indeed important news. Mr. Dodd—Mr. Lincoln Dodd—”
+
+“Has anything happened to Lincoln?” broke in Miss Esther.
+
+“I do not know that ‘happened’ is the term which I should use, but
+certainly something has occurred. Something has occurred to Mr. Lincoln
+Dodd. But a half hour since, I married Mr. Lincoln Dodd to my niece,
+Miss Jean Richards.”
+
+“What!” exclaimed Miss Esther, excitedly. “What! Jean married!”
+
+“Yes,” continued Dr. Bushnell, calmly, “they are married. My wife and I
+were very much surprised, as you are; but Jean is impulsive, you know,
+and Mr. Dodd said that it was absolutely necessary for them to catch the
+twelve forty-five train from Utica—”
+
+“From Utica,” gasped Miss Esther; “have they gone?”
+
+“Yes, they have gone, and Mr. Dodd begged me to offer you his deepest
+apologies for seeming to leave you thus suddenly. But he said he would
+write.”
+
+“Write!” exclaimed Miss Esther; “I should think he’d better! I never
+heard of such a performance. Jean! Lincoln!”
+
+Whistling blithely, George Washington Dodd came through the hall.
+
+“_Will_ you come in here!” called out Miss Esther. “What _do_ you
+think!”
+
+“What has happened,” inquired Mr. Dodd, as he came smilingly into the
+library.
+
+“Tell him, Dr. Bushnell,” said Miss Esther.
+
+“Prepare yourself, my dear sir,” began Dr. Bushnell, “for a great
+surprise. As I was seated in my study this evening—”
+
+“Lincoln took Jean over there and married her,” broke in Miss Esther.
+
+“Exactly so,” agreed Dr. Bushnell; “exactly so.”
+
+“Lincoln!” said Mr. Dodd, bewilderedly, “and Jean! Are you sure you mean
+Lincoln?”
+
+“Yes,” said Dr. Bushnell; “he came in his automobile. I am sure it was
+Mr. Lincoln Dodd.”
+
+“Yes,” said Mr. Dodd, reflectively; “it must have been he. On the whole,
+I am rather pleased than otherwise.”
+
+“Pleased!” cried Miss Esther, “pleased! It’s glorious. It’s perfectly
+magnificent.”
+
+“I am glad you feel that way, Miss Esther,” said Dr. Bushnell,
+cheerfully. “As Shakespeare—as Shakespeare says—”
+
+“As Shakespeare says,” said Miss Esther, interrupting him, “‘O, rejoice
+beyond a common joy! and set it down with gold on lasting pillars.’”
+
+                 *        *        *        *        *
+
+Lincoln’s promised letter came. Miss Esther read it in the library. A
+part of it ran thus:
+
+“Although my most abject apologies are due for running away as I did,
+with apparent ingratitude for your hospitality, I maintain that the
+exigencies of the plans of the Matrimonial Bureau demanded quick action.
+As Chairman of the Executive Committee and President of the Advisory
+Board, I felt the responsibilities of my position, and I trust you will
+approve and ratify my action in the matter.
+
+“Your orders, when I enlisted in your service, I have carried out in
+spirit if not in letter. You may remember that the first duty you
+required of me was to marry one of your clients. This I have done, and
+being thus disqualified for further assistance in your noble work, I am
+forced regretfully to offer you my resignation.
+
+“If I may be pardoned for referring to one small favor I was happily
+enabled to grant, I will say, in connection with the fact of my bringing
+my father to Whitfield, that my great regret is that I have only one
+father to lay at the feet of the Matrimonial Bureau.”
+
+“One was enough,” said Miss Esther, placidly. “I think I may
+congratulate myself on the unqualified success of my plans. Fortune
+brings in some boats that are not steered, and though I steered some
+myself, Fortune played into my hands.”
+
+“What are you doing, Couthin Ethter?” cried Chub, dancing into the room
+with her arms full of flowers.
+
+“I’m winding up the affairs of the Matrimonial Bureau,” replied Miss
+Esther, taking the baby up in her lap.
+
+“Whath that mean?” demanded Chub.
+
+“It was an effort to make some people happy, which succeeded beyond
+anything I ever dreamed of.”
+
+“Thath nithe,” said Chub, contentedly. “Did it make _you_ happy?”
+
+“Very happy,” said Miss Esther.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+                           TRANSCRIBER NOTES
+
+Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple
+spellings occur, majority use has been employed.
+
+Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors
+occur.
+
+Illustrations have been relocated due to using a non-page layout.
+
+ [The end of _The Matrimonial Bureau_ by Carolyn Wells and Harry Taber]
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79028 ***