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diff --git a/old/8652-h.htm.2021-01-26 b/old/8652-h.htm.2021-01-26 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5f48604 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/8652-h.htm.2021-01-26 @@ -0,0 +1,8180 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Crowded Out!, by Seranus + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + .side { float: right; font-size: 75%; width: 25%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; margin-left: 0.8em; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's Crowded Out! and Other Sketches, by Susie F. Harrison + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Crowded Out! and Other Sketches + +Author: Susie F. Harrison + + +Release Date: August, 2005 [EBook #8652] +This file was first posted on July 29, 2003 +Last Updated: March 15, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CROWDED OUT! AND OTHER SKETCHES *** + + + + +Text file produced by Juliet Sutherland, Robert Prince and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + CROWDED OUT! + </h1> + <h2> + And Other Sketches, + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Seranus + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div class="middle"> + <p> + The Story of Monsieur, Madame, and the Pea-Green Parrot. The Bishop of + Saskabasquia. “As it was in the Beginning.” A Christmas Sketch. The Idyl + of the Island. The Story of Delle Josephine Boulanger. The Story of + Etienne Chezy d'Alencourt. “Descendez a l'ombre, ma jolie blonde.” The + Prisoner Dubois. How the Mr. Foxleys Came, Stayed, and Never Went Away. + The Gilded Hammock. + </p> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>CROWDED OUT.</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> <b>Monsieur, Madame and the Pea-Green Parrot</b> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> <b>The Bishop of Saskabasquia.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> FINIS. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> <b>The Idyl Of The Island</b>. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> <b>The Story of Delle Josephine Boulanger</b> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> <b>The Story of Etienne Chezy D'Alencourt</b> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> <b>Descendez a L'Ombre, ma Jolie Blonde.</b> + </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> <b>The Prisoner Dubois.</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> <b>How the Mr. Foxleys Came, Stayed and Never + Went Away.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> <b>The Gilded Hammock.</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PREFACE. + </h2> + <p> + I present these “Sketches” in all proper fear and humility, to my Canadian + public, hoping that the phases of colonial life they endeavor to portray + will be recognized as not altogether unfamiliar. Some of them are true, + others have been written through the medium of Fancy, which can find and + inhabit as large a field in Canada as elsewhere; for, to my mind, there is + no country, no town, no village, as there is no nation, no class of + society, nor individual existence, that has not its own deep and peculiar + significance, its own unique and personal characteristics that distinguish + it from the rest of the world. + </p> + <h3> + SERANUS. + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Crowded Out. + </h2> + <p> + I am nobody. I am living in a London lodging-house. My room is up three + pair of stairs. I have come to London to sell or to part with in some + manner an opera, a comedy, a volume of verse, songs, sketches, stories. I + compose as well as write. I am ambitious. For the sake of another, one + other, I am ambitious. For myself it does not matter. If nobody will + discover me I must discover myself. I must demand recognition, I must + wrest attention, they are my due. I look from my window over the smoky + roofs of London. What will it do for me, this great cold city? It shall + hear me, it shall pause for a moment, for a day, for a year. I will make + it to listen to me, to look at me. I have left a continent behind, I have + crossed a great water; I have incurred dangers, trials of all kinds; I + have grown pale and thin with labor and the midnight oil; I have starved, + and watched the dawn break starving; I have prayed on my stubborn knees + for death and I have prayed on my stubborn knees for life—all that I + might reach London, London that has killed so many of my brothers, London + the cold, London the blind, London the cruel! I am here at last. I am here + to be tested, to be proved, to be worn proudly, as a favorite and costly + jewel is worn, or to be flung aside scornfully or dropped stealthily to—the + devil! And I love it so this great London! I am ready to swear no one ever + loved it so before! The smokier it is, the dirtier, the dingier, the + better. The oftener it rains the better. The more whimsical it is, the + more fickle, the more credulous, the more self-sufficient, the more + self-existent, the better. Nothing that it can do, nothing that it can be, + can change my love for it, great cruel London! + </p> + <p> + But to be cruel to <i>me</i>, to be fickle to <i>me</i>, to be deaf to <i>me</i>, + to be blind to <i>me</i>! Would I change then? I might. As yet it does not + know me. I pass through its streets, touching here a bit of old black + wall, picking there an ivy leaf, and it knows me not. It is holy ground to + me. It is the mistress whose hand alone I as yet dare to kiss. Some day I + shall possess the whole, and I shall walk with the firm and buoyant tread + of the accepted, delighted lover. Only to-day I am nobody. I am crowded + out. Yet there are moments when the mere joy of being in England, of being + in London, satisfies me. I have seen the sunbeam strike the glory along + the green. I know it is an English sky above me, all change, all + mutability. No steady cloudless sphere of blue but ever-varying glories of + white piled cloud against the gray. Listen to this. I saw a primrose—the + first I had ever seen—in the hedge. They said “Pick it.” But I did + not. I, who had written there years ago,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I never pulled a primrose, I, + But could I know that there may lie + E'en now some small or hidden seed, + Within, below, an English mead, + Waiting for sun and rain to make + A flower of it for my poor sake, + I then could wait till winds should tell, + For me there swayed or swung a bell, + Or reared a banner, peered a star, + Or curved a cup in woods afar. +</pre> + <p> + I who had written that, I had found my first primrose and I could not + pluck it. I found it fair be sure. I find all England fair. The shimmering + mist and the tender rain, the red wallflower and the ivy green, the + singing birds and the shallow streams—all the country; the blackened + churches, the grass-grown churchyards, the hum of streets the crowded + omnibus, the gorgeous shops,—all the town. God! do I not love it, my + England? Yet not my England yet. Till she proclaim it herself, I am not + hers. I will make her mine. I will write as no man has ever written about + her, for very love of her. I look out to-night from my narrow window and + think how the moonlight falls on Tintern, on Glastonbury, on Furness. How + it falls on the primrose I would not pluck. How it would like to fall on + the tall blue-bells in the wood. I see the lights of Oxford St. The + omnibuses rattle by, the people are going to see Irving, Wilson Barrett, + Ellen Terry. What line, of mine, what bar, what thought or phrase will + turn the silence into song, the copper into gold?—I come back from + the window and sit at the square centre table. It is rickety and + uncomfortable, useless to write on. I kick it. I would kick anything that + came in my way to-night. I am savage. Outside, a French piano is playing + that infernal waltz. A fair subject for kicking if you will. But, though I + would I cannot. What a room! The fire-place is filled with orange peel and + brown paper, cigar stumps and matches. One blind I pulled down this + morning, the other is crooked. The lamp glass is cracked, my work too. I + dare not look at the wall paper nor the pictures. The carpet I have kicked + into holes. I can see it though I can't feel it, it is so thin. My clothes + are lying all about. The soot of London begrimes every object in the room. + I would buy a pot of musk or a silken scarf if I dared, but how can I? + </p> + <p> + I must get my bread first and live for beauty after. Everything is refused + though, everything sent back or else dropped as it were into some + bottomless pit or gulf. + </p> + <p> + Here is my opera. This is my <i>magnum opus</i>, very dear, very clear, + very well preserved. For it is three years old. I scored it nearly + altogether, by <i>her</i> side, Hortense, my dear love, my northern bird! + You could flush under my gaze, you could kindle at my touch, but you were + not for me, you were not for me!—My head droops down, I could go to + sleep. But I must not waste the time in sleep. I will write another story. + No; I had four returned to-day. Ah! Cruel London! To love you so, only + that I may be spurned and thrust aside, ignored, forgotten. But to-morrow + I will try again. I will take the opera to the theatres, I will see the + managers, I will even tell them about myself and about Hortense—but + it will be hard. They do not know me, they do not know Hortense. They will + laugh, they will say “You fool.” And I shall be helpless, I shall let them + say it. They will never listen to me, though I play my most beautiful + phrase, for I am nobody. And Hortense, the child with the royal air, + Hortense, with her imperial brow and her hair rolled over its cushion, + Hortense, the <i>Châtelaine</i> of <i>Beau Séjour</i>, the delicate, + haughty, pale and impassioned daughter of a noble house, that Hortense, my + Hortense, is nobody! + </p> + <p> + Who in this great London will believe in me, who will care to know about + Hortense or about <i>Beau Séjour</i>? If they ask me, I shall say—oh! + proudly—not in Normandy nor in Alsace, but far away across a great + water dwells such a maiden in such a <i>château</i>. There by the side of + a northern river, ever rippling, ever sparkling in Summer, hard, hard + frozen in winter, stretches a vast estate. I remember its impenetrable + pinewood, its deep ravine; I see the <i>château</i>, long and white and + straggling, with the red tiled towers and the tall French windows; I see + the terrace where the hound must still sleep; I see the square side tower + with the black iron shutters; I see the very window where Hortense has set + her light; I see the floating cribs on the river, I hear the boatmen + singing— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Descendez â l'ombre, + Ma Jolie blonde. +</pre> + <p> + And now I am dreaming surely! This is London, not <i>Beau Séjour</i>, and + Hortense is far away, and it is that cursed fellow in the street I hear! + The morrow comes on quickly. If I were to draw up that crooked blind now I + should see the first streaks of daylight. Who pinned those other curtains + together? That was well done, for I don't want to see the daylight; and it + comes in, you know, Hortense, when you think it is shut out. Somebody + calls it <i>fingers</i>, and that is just what it is, long fingers of + dawn, always pale, always gray and white, stealing in and around my pillow + for me. Never pink, never rosy, mind that; always faint and shadowy and + gray. + </p> + <p> + It was all caste. Caste in London, caste in <i>Le Bos Canada</i>, all the + same. Because she was a <i>St. Hilaire</i>. Her full name—<i>Hortense + Angelique De Repentigny de St. Hilaire</i>—how it grates on me + afresh with its aristocratic plentitude. She is well-born, certainly; + better born than most of these girls I have seen here in London, driving, + walking, riding in the Parks. They wear their hair over cushions too. + Freckled skins, high cheek-bones, square foreheads, spreading eyebrows—they + shouldn't wear it so. It suits Hortense—with her pale patrician + outline and her dark pencilled eyebrows, and her little black ribbon and + amulet around her neck. <i>O, Marie, priey pour nous qui avous recours a + vous</i>! Once I walked out to <i>Beau Séjour</i>. She did not expect me + and I crept through the leafy ravine to the pinewood, then on to the + steps, and so up to the terrace. Through the French window I could see her + seated at the long table opposite Father Couture. She lives alone with the + good Père. She is the last one of the noble line, and he guards her well + and guards her money too. + </p> + <p> + “I do remember that it vill be all for ze Church,” she has said to me. And + the priest has taught her all she knows, how to sew and embroider, and + cook and read, though he never lets her read anything but works on + religion. Religion, always religion! He has brought her up like a nun, + crushed the life out of her. Until I found her out, found my jewel out. It + is Tennyson who says that. But his “Maud” was freer to woo than Hortense, + freer to love and kiss and hold—my God! that night while I watched + them studying and bending over those cursed works on the Martyrs and the + Saints and the Mission houses—I saw him—him—that old + priest—take her in his arms and caress her, drink her breath, feast + on her eyes, her hair, her delicate skin, and I burst in like a young + madman and told Father Conture what I thought. Oh! I was mad! I should + have won her first. I should have worked quietly, cautiously, waiting, + waiting, biding my time. But I could never bide my time. And now she hates + me, Hortense hates me, though she so nearly learned to love me. There + where we used to listen to the magical river songs, we nearly loved, did + we not Hortense? But she was a <i>St. Hilaire</i>, and I—I was + nobody, and I had insulted <i>le bon Pere</i>. Yet if I can go back to her + rich, prosperous, independent—What if that happen? But I begin to + fancy it will never happen. My resolutions, where are they, what comes of + them? Nothing. I have tried everything except the opera. Everything else + has been rejected. For a week I have not gone to bed at all. I wait and + see those ghastly gray fingers smoothing my pillow. I am not wanted. I am + crowded out. My hands tremble and I cannot write. My eyes fail and I + cannot see. To the window! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + The lights of Oxford St. once more; the glare and the rattle without, the + fever and the ruin, the nerves and the heart within. Poor nerves, poor + heart; it is food you want and wine and rest, and I cannot give them to + you. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Sing, Hortense, will you? Sit by my side, by our dear river St. Maurice, + the clear, the sparkling. See how the floating cribs sail by, each with + its gleaming lights! It is like Venice I suppose. Shall we see Venice + ever, Hortense, you and I? Sing now for me, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Descendez à l'ombre, + Ma Jolie blonde. +</pre> + <p> + Only you are <i>petite brune</i>, there is nothing <i>blonde</i> about + you, <i>mignonne</i>, my dear mademoiselle, I should say if I were with + you of course as I used to do. But surely I <i>am</i> with you and those + lights are the floating cribs I see, and your voice it is that sings, and + presently the boatmen hear and they turn and move their hands and join in—Now + all together, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Descendez à l'ombre, +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + It was like you, Hortense, to come all this way. How did you manage it, + manage to cross that great water all alone? My poor girl did you grow + tired of <i>Le bon Père</i> at last and of the Martyrs and the Saints and + the Jesuit Fathers? But you have got your amulet on still I hope. That is + right, for there is a chance—there is a chance of these things + proving blessings after all to good girls, and you were a good girl + Hortense. You will not mind my calling you Hortense, will you? When we are + in <i>Le Bas Canada</i> again, in your own seignieury, it will be + “Madamoiselle,” I promise you. You say it is a strange pillow, Hortense? + Books, my girl, and manuscripts; hard but not so hard as London stones and + London hearts. Do you know I think I am dying, or else going mad? And no + one will listen even if I cry out. There is too much to listen to already + in England. Think of all the growing green, Hortense, if you can, where + you are, so far away from it all. Where you are it is cold and the snow is + still on the ground and only the little bloodroot is up in the woods. Here + where I am Hortense, where I am going to die, it is warm and green full of + color—oh! Such color! Before I came here, to London you know London + that is going to do so much for me, for us both, I had one day—one + day in the country. There I saw—No! They will not let me tell you, I + knew they would try to prevent me, those long gray fingers stealing in, + stealing in! But I <i>will</i> tell you. Listen, Hortense, please. I saw + the hawthorne, pink and white, the laburnum—yellow—not + fire-color, I shall correct the Laureate there, Hortense, when I am + better, when I—publish!—It is dreadful to be alone in London. + Don't come, Hortense. Stay where you are, even if it is cold and gray and + there is no color. Keep your amulet round your neck, dear!—I count + my pulse beats. It is a bad thing to do. It is broad daylight now and the + fingers have gone. I can write again perhaps.—The pen—The + paper—The ink—God. Hortense! There is no ink left! And my + heart—My heart—Hortense!!! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Descendez à l'ombre, + Ma Jolie blonde. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Monsieur, Madame and the Pea-Green Parrot + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + I am an Englishman by birth. Having however lived for fourteen years out + in America or rather in Canada, I am only half an Englishman. All the love + for the dear old land which I am now revisiting is still there, deep in my + heart, but from so long a residence in another country certain differences + arise of character, habit and thought, not to be easily shaken off. I was + in the Civil Service in Canada and did very well until I meddled with + literature. Discovering that I had a faculty for verse and story-telling, + I was ambitious and at the same time foolish enough to work so hard at my + new pursuit that I was compelled to “cut” the service, in other words to + resign. Some other Englishman got my post and I found myself, rather + unexpectedly, it is true, free to write to my heart's content. + </p> + <p> + I got off a number of things, poems, sketches, etc., but my great work + turned out to be a comedy. I slaved at this all day and amused myself by + rehearsing it in my lodgings all night. I incurred the odium of the + landlady by coaxing the maid of all work to learn a part and act it with + me. Finally I resolved to take a great step. I would go down to New York + and get my comedy produced. That was exactly five years ago and though the + comedy was <i>not</i> produced, I am still sanguine that it yet may be, + and perhaps not in New York after all, but in a much more important + creative centre. + </p> + <p> + I was at the time of my visit to New York perfectly unacquainted with the + ways of a metropolis, and it was fortunate for me that I possessed one + friend there who if not exactly a friend <i>at court</i> as we say, was in + truth a much more useful person to me, as, having once been young and + inexperienced himself, he knew the ropes well and handled them thoroughly + to his own satisfaction and with an eye to my comfort and safety. + </p> + <p> + In the matter of cheap dives, for instance, he was invaluable. Left to + myself I either drifted to the most expensive place, for a meal short + perhaps of Delmonicos, or else to a shabby and altogether-to-be-repudiated + den, where the meat would be rags as well as the pudding. But under his + guidance we invariably turned up in some clean, bright, cheap and + wholesome “oysterbar” or coffee room round the corner or up a lane, and + were as happy as kings over our <i>lager beer</i>. + </p> + <p> + One day De Kock came to me (he is a grand-nephew or something, I believe, + of the great Frenchman) and said, with his knowing air, + </p> + <p> + “You will please put on your best coat, your tall hat and a pair of + gloves, for we are going to <i>dine</i> to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Have we not dined once to-day!” + </p> + <p> + “Pish! Pshaw! You have had a soup, a mutton-chop, a triangle of pie, a + lager beer, but you have not dined. You are not starving, and yet you + have, from my present point of view, eaten nothing the whole of this day. + <i>Mon cher</i>, it is necessary that you should dine for once in your + life. <i>Allons</i>! We go to Giuseppe, Giuseppe Martinetti with the pale + wife and the pea-green parrot—<i>allons, allons</i>!” To + Martinetti's accordingly we went. I don't know what the dinner cost. It + was dearer, certainly, than it would have been in London, but it was quite + as good. We sat at a table formed for holding four at an open window, + which, filled with exotics, overlooked Union Square, lighted by hundreds + of incandescent lamps. The room contained about twenty of these small + tables, and was, I suppose, very much like other rooms of its kind to <i>habitués</i> + of such places, but it was all new to me, and I stared and wondered + accordingly. The waiters seemed to be all foreigners, De Kock addressing + them in a mythical but magical language of his own. The tables were all + full, and the people at them were mostly foreigners as well. + </p> + <p> + “The Leicester Square of New York,” remarked De Kock, as he helped me to + the delicious Chiante wine out of a basket-covered bottle into a dainty + glass. The soup was excellent, I remember. So was the macaroni, served in + the best Italian method. I wondered to see De Kock manipulate it in + finished style, winding yards of it around his fork, and swallowing it + duly without any apparent effort. I cut mine at that time, although I have + learned better now. I recollect the asparagus, too: served by itself on a + great flat dish, and shining pale and green through the clear golden sauce + that was poured over it. I was just finishing my first luscious, liquid + stalk, and indulging in anticipations of my second, when the highest, the + shrillest, the most piercing, and most unearthly voice I ever heard, + shouted out— + </p> + <p> + “<i>And for goodness sake don't say I told you</i>!” + </p> + <p> + It was electrifying, at least to me. I dropped my half eaten asparagus + stalk and fork at the same time, and looked up to see my companion quietly + going on as before. One or two others had stopped eating too, but the + majority appeared quite unruffled. I concluded that it was the parrot to + which my friend had referred. + </p> + <p> + “The last comic song,” said the imperturbable De Kock. + </p> + <p> + “But where is the beast!” I inquired. “It seemed to be over my head.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Not so near as that. But take my advice and don't call it a beast, + although it is a nuisance undoubtedly. Besides, its master is not very far + away from your elbow.” + </p> + <p> + “What of that?” said I, still injured, though in a lower tone. + </p> + <p> + “What of that? Ah! You shall see. Look now! This short, stout person with + the diamond pin and the expansive shirt front is Giuseppe. Ah, he sees me! + Good evening, Giuseppe!” + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, Monsieur, good evening, good evening! De friend not like de + <i>parrot</i>, eh?” + </p> + <p> + The man was smiling at me with his hands crossed behind him. An Italian + Jew I dubbed him immediately. + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, he admires it very much,” said De Kock. + </p> + <p> + Following their eyes presently I saw the cage hanging from the centre of + the room, and in it a parrot as nearly pea-green in hue as it is possible + for a parrot to be. + </p> + <p> + “Tell my friend her name, Giuseppe,” said De Kock, beginning on some more + asparagus. + </p> + <p> + Giuseppe stood in his patronizing way—quite the <i>grand seigneur</i>—with + the light falling on his solitaire, making it so brilliant that it + fascinated and at the same time fatigued my eyes. + </p> + <p> + “The name of my parrot? Monsieur De Kock, he know that well. It is + Félicité—you catch—Fé-li-ci-té. It was the name of my wife.” + </p> + <p> + Then his wife was dead. De Kock must have made a mistake. + </p> + <p> + “It is an unusual name for a bird, is not it?” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur is right. Not often—not often—you meet with a bird + that name. My first wife—my <i>first</i> wife, gentlemen, she was + English. <i>You</i> are English—ah. Yes. So was she. The English are + like this.” Giuseppe took a bottle out of the cruet-stand and set it on + the table in front of him. He went on, “When an Englishman an Englishwoman + argue, they say”—here he took the bottle up very slowly and gingerly + and altered his voice to a mincing and conventional tone—“Is it oil + or is it vinegare? Did you not say that it was vinegare? I thought that it + was oil Oh! Now I see that it is vinegare.” + </p> + <p> + “Bravo!” exclaimed De Kock. “And so you did not get on with the + Englishwoman then I suppose, Giuseppe, and took Madame the next time?” We + were both laughing heartily at the man's mimicry when once again the + parrot shrieked. “But for goodness sake don't say I told you!” Giuseppe + walked off to speak to it and my friend and I were left alone. + </p> + <p> + “Was Félcité the name of his first or second wife!” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Of his second, of course. Didn't you hear him say the first was an + Englishwoman? The second is a tall, rather good-looking pale Frenchwoman. + You may see her to-night, and on the other hand you may not, she doesn't + often appear in here. I wish she did, I am rather fond of her myself, + which is more than her husband is. It's pretty well known that Mr. and + Mrs. Joseph do <i>not</i> get on comfortably. In fact, he hates her, or + rather ignores her, while she doats upon him and is tremendously jealous + of the parrot.” + </p> + <p> + “What, that green thing?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, its a lovely parrot, you must know, and the moment it came into his + possession—he has had it about three years—he seemed to + transfer whatever affection he had for his wife to that creature, with a + great deal beside. Why, he hugs it, and kisses it, and mows over it—look + at him now!” + </p> + <p> + Sure, enough, there was Martinetti with the bird on his finger, kissing + it, and otherwise making a fool of himself. He finished by actually + putting it away inside his coat in a kind of breast pocket, I should + imagine. + </p> + <p> + “All this is good for business, perhaps,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “What, the parrot and so on? Oh, yes I daresay, that has something to do + with it. Still they are a queer couple. I come here mostly on account of + this Chiante wine; you can't get it so good in many places in New York, + and besides I confess Monsieur and his wife interest me somewhat. And the + people one see here are immensely funny. That is your English expression, + isn't it? There are three actresses over there at that table with <i>amis + intimes</i>; they are 'restin' now, and can cut about and dine out as much + as they please. There is a French dressmaker who lives on the floor above + and is to be found here every day. She is superbly built and is hopelessly + ugly, isn't she? There is young Lord Gurgoyle, an Englishman like + yourself, you see—what the devil is he staring at like that?” + </p> + <p> + From behind a <i>portière</i> which fell across the end of the room came a + woman, tall, pale, and with a peculiar air of distinction about her. + Perhaps it was her very unusual pallor which so distinguished her for + there was nothing absolutely fine or handsome about the countenance. It + was a weak face I thought, with an ugly red mark over the upper lip, and + had she not been so very pale and so exceptionally well-dressed I should + not have looked at her twice. She wore a gown of black silk, dead-black, + lustrous, and fitting her slender figure to perfection. It was cut square + and low in the front and fell away in long folds upon the floor at the + back. What an apparition she made in the midst of this noisy crowd, + smoking, chatting, swearing, laughing! Especially so when I noticed that + as she walked very slowly down between the tables, her lips were moving + nervously and her hands clutching at her beautiful dress. As for her eyes, + they were everywhere in an instant. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis Félicité. You are fortunate,” murmured De Kock. “And she is a little + worse than usual.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” I demanded. “Drink?” “Hush-sh-sh! <i>Mon cher</i>, you are + stupid. It is jealousy, jealousy, my friend, with perhaps an occasional + over-dose of chloral. Chloral is the favorite prescription now-a-days, you + must remember that. But jealousy will do, jealousy will do. It will + accomplish a great deal, will jealousy; will destroy more, mark that! I + hope she will be quiet to-night for your sake.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she violent?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Poor thing, yes. When she finds him now with that creature inside his + coat; she will wring her hands and denounce him and threaten to kill it—I + wonder she doesn't—then her husband will march her off behind the + curtain and he will make love to the parrot again.” Precisely what + happened. The lady soon found her husband, raised her hands tragically and + broke out into excited French that was liberally sprinkled with oaths both + English and French. The mania was asserting itself, the propensity + overcoming her. It was a sad and at the same time an amusing scene, for + one could not help smiling at Giuseppe's fat unconcern as he kept his wife + off at arms' length, while all the time the parrot inside his coat was + shrieking in muffled tones “And for goodness sake don't say I told you!” + </p> + <p> + Finally Madame succumbed and was taken behind the curtain in a dishevelled + and hysterical condition which increased De Kock's pity for her. We paid + the waiter—or rather De Kock did—and left, not seeing Giuseppe + again to speak to, though he came in and removed the parrot, cage and all. + </p> + <p> + It was a lovely night outside, and I suggested sitting for a time in Union + Square. Finding an unoccupied bench, we each made ourselves happy with a + good cigar and watched the exquisite shadows of the trees above as thrown + by the electric light on the pavement. + </p> + <p> + “Wonderful effect!” remarked my friends. “How did you enjoy your dinner? + That was a dinner, eh, and no mistake; rather have had it without the + 'episode'? Oh! I don't know; you literary fellows must come in for that + sort of thing as well as the rest of the world; I should think it would + just suit you. Put them—the three of them—Monsieur, Madame and + the Pea-Green Parrot—into a book, or better still, on the stage. + There's your title ready for you too.” + </p> + <p> + I was just thinking of the same thing. + </p> + <p> + “They are undoubtedly originals, both of them—all three,” said I, + “but as far as I have seen them, there is hardly enough to go upon.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by 'enough'?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean, for one thing, we do not understand the woman's mental and moral + condition sufficiently to make a study of her. You say it is jealousy, and + at the same time the use of chloral. That would have to be understood more + clearly. Then, one would like something to—” + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” said my friend. “To—” + </p> + <p> + “Happen,” said I, lighting a second cigar. + </p> + <p> + Just then a couple of boys ran across the square. One of them stumbled + over my feet, picked himself up quickly and ran on again. Two or three + people now came, all running. De Kock jumped up. + </p> + <p> + “Something is happening,” he said, “and with a vengeance too I fancy. + Hark!” + </p> + <p> + The people now came fast and furious through the square, increasing in + numbers every moment, but through the bustle and hurry and clatter of + tongues, we could hear a woman's voice screaming in evident distress. + Mingled with it was another sound which may have mystified the general + crowd, but which De Kock and I could easily place. + </p> + <p> + “It is the parrot!” I exclaimed, as we started to run. + </p> + <p> + “You have your wish, <i>mon cher</i>, is it not so? But take it not so + fast; we will be there in time. <i>Ciel</i>! What a row!” + </p> + <p> + The steps leading up to the restaurant were thronged with people, + including two or three policemen. The dining-room was ablaze with light, + and still full of visitors, most of whom, however, were moving about in a + state of agitation. The upper windows were also lighted and wide open. The + screaming suddenly ceased, but not the parrot. + </p> + <p> + “For goodness sake don't say I told you!” It went on, louder than ever, + over and over again. + </p> + <p> + “Damn the bird!” exclaimed De Kock. “Policeman excuse me, but I am rather + at home here. Let me go up, will you?” + </p> + <p> + “It looks bad, sir. I'd better keep behind.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh. It isn't murder or anything of that sort. I know them, pretty couple, + they are!” + </p> + <p> + The next moment we were in a kind of sitting room over the restaurant + proper. Madame Martinetti lay as if exhausted on a sofa while the highly + excited parrot sang and screamed and tore at its cage as if for life. + Giuseppe was nowhere visible. “Now then where's the other?” demanded the + policeman who had just entered behind us, “There's always two at this + business. Show him up, now.” But Madame at first would deign no + explanation. Presently on the entry of policeman No. 2 she admitted there + had been a quarrel. Yes, she had quarrelled with her dear Giuseppe, (the + officers grinned) and had driven him away. Yes, he had gone—gone + forever, he had said so, never to come back, never, never! + </p> + <p> + “And leave this fine business to you, eh? No fear of that. I guess Mr. + Martinetti'll turn up all right in the morning, however, let us make a + search, Joe.” But Giuseppe was not found; there were no traces of a + struggle, and the policemen having done all they could retired. My friend + and I, by what right I know not were the last to leave the room. De Kock + stood for some moments looking out of the window. I approached the parrot + who was still screaming. + </p> + <p> + “If throwing a cloth over your head would stop you, I'd do it, my dear,” + said I. To my surprise, it ceased its noise directly, and became perfectly + quiet. Madame Martinetti looked around with a contemptuous smile. + </p> + <p> + “You have the secret as well,” said she. The bird turned to her and then + returned to me. I became quite interested in it. “Pretty Poll, pretty + bird; would you like a cracker?” + </p> + <p> + De Kock laughed softly at the window. “A cracker to such a bird as that! + Ask it another.” I actually, though with a timid air, opened the door of + the cage and invited Polly to perch on my finger. She came, looking at me + intensely all the while. I petted her little, which she took resignedly + and with a faint show of wonder, then in answer to De Kock's summons put + her back in the cage. + </p> + <p> + “I have the honour to wish madame a <i>bonsoir</i>,” said he, but the lady + was still sulky and vouchsafed no answer. + </p> + <p> + We were soon out in the street. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” said De Kock slowly, lighting a cigar and looking up at the + house, “Do you know, I thought something had happened.” + </p> + <p> + “And don't you now.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not sure,” answered my friend. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + We were pardonably curious to see the papers next morning. The affair was + dismissed in three lines, and although as De Kock swore, the case was one + for Gaboriau, it certainly was not our business to look into it and in + fact in a week's time I was back in Canada, and he up to his eyes in + commercial pursuits. The main point remained clear, however, that + Martinetti did <i>not</i> come back, nor was he found, or traced or ever + heard of again. Somebody took the business out of hand, as they say, and + De Kock would occasionally write a P. S. to his letters like this—“Dined + at poor Martinetti's, Chiante as usual. Ever yours.” Or it would be—“Drank + to the production of your last new comedy at Martinetti's.” Once he stated + that shortly after that memorable night Madame disappeared also, taking + the parrot along. “I begin to think they are a pair of deep ones and up to + some big game” he wrote. For myself, I never entirely forgot the + circumstance, although it was but once vividly recalled to my mind and + that was in a theatre in Montreal. An American company from one of the New + York theatres was performing some farcical comedy or other in which + occurred the comic song, admirably sung and acted by Miss Kate Castleton, + “For goodness sake don't say I told you!” The reminiscences forced upon me + quite spoiled my enjoyment; I could see that pale, nervous woman, hear her + screams, and hear too the fearful voice of the poor parrot. Where is it + now, thought I? That same winter I was much occupied in making studies of + the different classes of people among the French-Canadians. The latter + turn up everywhere in Montreal, and have a distinct “local color” about + them which I was curious to get and hope to preserve for use some future + day. I went everywhere and talked to everybody who might be of use to me; + cabmen, porters, fruit dealers and tobacconists. I found much to interest + me in the various Catholic institutions, and I was above all very fond of + visiting the large, ugly gray building with the air of a penitentiary + about it called the Grey Nunnery. Going through its corridors one day I + took a wrong turning and found I was among some at least quasi-private + rooms. The doors being open I saw that there were flowers, books, a warm + rug on the floor of one and a mirror on the wall of another. The third I + ventured to step inside of, for a really beautiful Madonna and child + confronted me at the door. The next moment I saw what I had not expected + to see—a parrot in a cage suspended from the window! I made quite + sure that it was not <i>the</i> parrot before I went up to it. It was + asleep and appeared to be all over of a dull grey color, to match the + Nuns, one might have said. I stood for quite a little while regarding it. + Suddenly it stirred, shook itself, awoke and seeing me, immediately broke + out into frantic shrieks to the old refrain “And for goodness sake don't + say I told you.” + </p> + <p> + So it was the parrot after all! Of that I felt sure, despite the changed + color, not only because of the same words being repeated—two birds + might easily learn the same song, but because of the bird's manner. For I + felt certain that the thing knew me, recognized me, as we say of human + beings or of dogs and horses. I felt an extraordinary sensation coming + over me and sat down for a moment. I seemed literally to be in the + presence of something incomprehensible as I watched the poor excited bird + beating about and singing in that way. The words of the song became + painfully and awfully significant—“for goodness sake don't say I + told you!” They were an appeal to my pity, to my sense of honor, to my + power of secrecy, for I felt convinced that the bird had seen something—in + fact that, to use De Kock's convenient if ambiguous phrase, <i>something + had happened</i>! Then to think of its recognizing me too, after so long + an interval! What an extraordinary thing to do! But I remembered, and hope + I shall never forget, how exceeding small do the mills of the gods grind + for poor humanity. I would have examined the creature at once more closely + had not two of the nuns appeared with pious hands lifted in horror at the + noise. They knew me slightly but affected displeasure at the present + moment. + </p> + <p> + “Who owns this bird?” said I. It was still screaming. + </p> + <p> + “The good Sister Félicité. It is her room.” + </p> + <p> + “Can I see her?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! <i>non</i>. She is ill, so very ill. She will not live long, <i>cette + pauvre soeur</i>!” + </p> + <p> + I reflected. “Will you give her this paper without fail when I have + written upon it what I wish?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais oui, Monsieur</i>!” + </p> + <p> + In the presence of the two holy women standing with their hands devoutly + crossed, and of the parrot whom I silenced as well as I could, and in + truth I appeared to have some influence over the creature, I wrote the + following upon a leaf torn out of my scratch-book: “To the Soeur Félicité. + A gentleman who, if he has not made a great mistake, saw you once when you + were Mdme. Martinetti, asks you now if in what may be your last moments, + you have anything to tell, anything to declare, or anybody to pardon. He + would also ask—what <i>was done to the parrot</i>? He, with his + friend M. De Kock, were at your house in New York the night your husband + disappeared.” + </p> + <p> + “Give her that,” said I to the waiting sister, “and I will come to see how + she is to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + That night, however, she died, and when I reached the nunnery next day it + was only to be told that she had read my note and with infinite difficulty + written an answer to it. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry I should have perhaps hastened her end,” said I. “Before you + give it to me, will you permit me to see her?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais oui, Monsieur</i>, if monsieur will come this way.” + </p> + <p> + Until I gazed upon the dead I did not feel quite sure of the identity of + this pious Sister of Charity. But I only needed to look once upon the + ghastly pallor, the ugly lip mark and the long slender figure on the bed + before me to recognize her who had once been Mdme. Martinetti. + </p> + <p> + “And now for the paper,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “It will be in the room that was hers, if monsieur will accompany.” We + walked along several corridors till we reached the room in which hung the + parrot, I quite expected it to fly at me again and try to get rid of its + miserable secret But no! It sat on its stick, perfectly quiet and + rational. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot find dat paper, it is very strange!” muttered the good sister, + turning everything over and over. A light wind playing about the room had + perhaps blown it into some corner. I assisted her in the search. + </p> + <p> + “It surely was in an envelope?” I said to the innocent woman. + </p> + <p> + “Yes monsieur, yes, and with a seal, for I got the <i>cire</i>—you + call it <i>wax</i>—myself and held it for her, <i>la bonne soeur</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not always wise to leave such letters about,” I put in as meekly as + I could “Where was it you saw it last?” + </p> + <p> + “On dees little table, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + Now, “dees little table” was between the two windows, and not far, + consequently from the parrot's cage. My eye travelled from the table to + the cage as a matter of necessity, and I saw that the bottom of it was + strewn with something white—like very, very tiny scraps of paper. “I + think you need not look any further,” said I. “Polly, you either are very + clever, or else you are a lunatic and a fool. Which is it?” + </p> + <p> + But I never found out The parrot had got the letter by some means or other + and so effectually torn, bitten and made away with it that nothing + remained of it for identification except the wax, which it did not touch + and left absolutely whole. The secret which had been the parrot's all + along belonged to the parrot still, and after having devoured it in that + fashion it became satisfied, and never—at least, as far as I am + aware—reverted morbidly to the comic refrain which has but one + significance for me. + </p> + <p> + I took the bird and kept it. I have it now with me. It has been examined + hundreds of times; for a long time I was anxious to know the secret of its + changed color, but I have never deciphered it. It is healthy, in good + condition, sweet-tempered and very fond of me. It does not talk much, but + its talk is innocent and rational. No morbid symptoms have ever appeared + in it since I took it from the nunnery in Montreal. Its plumage is soft + and thick, and perfectly, entirely gray. My own impression is that it was + naturally a gray parrot and had at that time of my sojourn in New York, + either been dyed or painted that peculiar pea-green which so distinguished + it then. I wrote to De Kock before leaving for England and told him + something of the story. I have seen the last of Madame; in all probability + I shall see the last of the Pea-Green Parrot, and I cannot help wondering + when I enter a café or ride on an omnibus whether I shall ever run across + Giuseppe Martinetti in the flesh, or whether the last of him was seen in + truth, five years ago. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Bishop of Saskabasquia. + </h2> + <p> + I have not a story, properly speaking, to tell about him. He, my Bishop, + is quite unconscious that I am writing about him, and would, I daresay, be + quite astonished if he knew that I could find anything that relates to him + to write about. But I will tell you just how I came to do so. I went to + see the “Private Secretary” some months ago. I had never been a great + admirer of clergymen as a sex (vide Frenchman's classification), and I + thoroughly enjoyed the capital performance of so clever a play. Here, + thought I, is a genuine and perfectly fair, though doubtless exaggerated, + portrait of the young and helpless curate. I quite lived on that play. I + used to go about, like many another delighted playgoer, I expect, quoting + the better bits in it, and they are many, and often laughing to himself at + its admirable caricature. However, to go on with what I am going to tell + you, about two months after I had seen the “Private Secretary,” I had + occasion to undertake a sea voyage. I had to go out on business to Canada, + and embarked one fine Thursday at Liverpool. One of the first things you + do on board an ocean steamer is to find your allotted place at table, and + the names, etc, of your companions. I soon found mine, and discovered with + a pang that I was six seats from the Captain at the side, between a lady + and her daughter I had already met at the North-Western Hotel and did not + like, and opposite to the Bishop of Saskabasquia, his wife and sister and + three children. There was no help for it, I must endure the placid small + talk, the clerical platitudes, the intolerable intolerance born of a + deathless bigotry that would emanate from my <i>vis-a-vis</i>. What a fuss + they made over him, too! Only a Colonial Bishop after all, but when we + were all at the wharf, ready to get into the tender, we were kept waiting—we + the more insignificant portion of the passengers, mercantile and so on—till + “my lord” and his family, nine in number, were safely handed up, with boys + and bundles and baggage of every description. + </p> + <p> + The Bishop himself was a tall thin man, rather priestly in aspect and + careworn. Mrs. Saskabasquia as I called her all through the voyage and the + seven children—seven little Saskabasquians—and Miss + Saskabasquia, the aunt, were all merry enough it seemed though dressed in + the most unearthly costumes I had ever seen. Where they had been procured + I could not imagine, but they appeared to be made of different kinds of + canvas, flannel shirting, corduroy, knitted wool and blankets. Of course + we all mustered at the lunch table that first day, people always do, and + affect great brightness and hysterical intellectuality and large + appetites. I took my seat with a resigned air. There was not a single + pretty girl on board. There were plenty of children, but I did not care + much for the society of children. The lady and her daughter between whom I + sat, presumably to hand them the dishes, did not like me any better than I + liked them. They were Canadians, that was easy to discover by their + peculiarly flat pronunciation, a detestable accent I hold, the American is + preferable. They were connected with the Civil Service in some way through + “papa” who figured much in their conversation and I fancy the mother + rather disliked the idea of such close contact with a member of the + commercial world. So much for colonial snobbery. The lunch was good + however, excellent, and we did justice to it. The Bishop did not appear + nor any of his family until we had almost finished. Then he entered with + his wife and the two eldest boys. The only vacant seats were those + opposite me which they took. I wondered they had not placed him next the + Capt., but divined that the handsome brunette and the horsey broker, Wyatt + and his wife of Montreal, fabulously rich and popular, had arranged some + time before to sit next the Capt. My Bishop was perhaps annoyed. But if + so, he did not show it. He and his wife ate abundantly, it was good to see + them. I involuntarily smiled once when the Bishop sent his plate back the + second time for soup, and he caught me. To my surprise, he laughed very + heartily and said to me: + </p> + <p> + “I hope you do not think I am forgetting all the other good things to + come! I assure you we are very hungry, are we not, Mary?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Saskabasquia laughed in her turn, and I began to perceive what a very + pretty girl she must have been once, and her accent was the purest, most + beautiful English. We seemed to warm up generally around the table as we + watched the Bishop eat. The boys behaved beautifully and enjoyed their + meal as well. Presently we heard a baby crying. It was evidently the + youngest of the seven young Saskabasquians. The Bishop stopped directly. + </p> + <p> + “Go on, go on with your dinner, my dear; I'll see to him, its only James. + Dropped his rattle and put his finger in his eye, I expect.” + </p> + <p> + He jumped up and went, I suppose, to the stateroom. Mrs. Saskabasquia + laughed softly, and when she spoke she rather addressed herself to me. + </p> + <p> + “My husband is very good, you know. And James is such a little monkey, and + so much better with him than with anyone else, so I just let him go, but + it does certainly look very selfish, doesn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” I responded gallantly. “I am sure you need the rest quite as + much as he does, particularly if the ba—if the little boy is very + young and you—that is—” I was not very clear as to what I was + going to say, but she took it up for me. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, James is the baby. He is just six months' old, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “That is very young to travel,” said I. I began to enjoy the charming + confidences of Mrs. Saskabasquia, in spite of myself. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he was only <i>three</i> months old when we left for England, quite a + young traveller as you say. But he is very good, and I have so many to + help me.” + </p> + <p> + Here the Bishop returned and sat down once more to his lunch. We had some + further conversation, in which I learned that he and his wife had gone out + to the North-West just twelve years ago for the first time. All their + children had been born there, and they were returning to work again after + a brief summer holiday in England. They told me all this with the most + delightful frankness, and I began to be grateful for my place at table, as + without free and congenial society at meal-time, life on board an ocean + steamer narrows down to something vastly uncomfortable. It was a bright + and beautiful afternoon on deck, and I soon found myself walking + energetically up and down with the Bishop. I commenced by asking him some + questions as to his work, place of residence and so on, and once started + he talked for a long time about his northern home in the wilds of Canada. + </p> + <p> + “My wife and I had been only married two months when we went out,” said + he, with a smile at the remembrance. “We did not know what we were going + to.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you have gone had you known?” I enquired as we paused in our walk + to take in a view of the Mersey we were leaving behind. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think so. Yes, I am quite sure we would. I was an Oxford man, + country-bred; my father is still alive, and has a small living in Essex. I + was imbued with the idea of doing something in the colonies long after I + was comfortably settled in an English living myself, but I had always + fancied it would be Africa. However, just at the time of our marriage I + was offered this bishopric in Canada, and my wife was so anxious to go + that I easily fell in with the plan.” + </p> + <p> + “Anxious to go out there?” I said in much surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! You don't know what a missionary in herself my wife is! Then, of + course, young people never think of the coming events—children and + all that you know. We found ourselves one morning at three o'clock, having + gone as far as there was any train to take us, waiting in a barn that + served as a station for the buckboard to take us on further to our + destination. Have you been in Canada yourself? No? Then you have not seen + a buckboard. It consists of two planks laid side by side, lengthwise, over + four antiquated wheels—usually the remains of a once useful wagon. + Upon this you sit as well as you can, and get driven and jolted and bumped + about to the appointed goal. I remember that morning so well,” continued + the Bishop. “It was very cold, being late in November, and at that hour + one feels it so much more—3 a.m., you know. There was one man in + charge of the barn; we called him the station-master, though the title sat + awkwardly enough upon him. He was a surly fellow. I never met such + another. Usually the people out there are agreeable, if slow and stupid.” + </p> + <p> + “Slow, are they?” said I in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, frightfully slow. A Canadian laborer is the slowest person in + existence, I really believe. However, this man would not give us any + information, except to barely tell us that this buckboard was coming for + us shortly. It was pitch dark of course and the barn was lighted by one + oil lamp and warmed by a coal stove. The lamp would not burn well, so my + wife unstrapped her travelling bag and with a pair of tiny curved nail + scissors did her best, with the wick, the man remaining perfectly + unmoveable and taciturn all the while. At four o'clock our conveyance + arrived, and would you believe it—both the driver and the station + master allowed me to lift my own luggage into it as well as I could? What + it would not take I told the man in charge I would send for as soon as + possible. There was no sleighing yet, and that drive was the most + excruciating thing I ever endured over corduroy roads through wild and + dark forests, along interminable country roads of yellow clay mixed with + mud till finally we reached the house of the chief member of society in my + district where we were to stay until our own house was ready.” + </p> + <p> + “How long did that take you?” I was quite interested. This was unlike the + other clergymen's conversation I remembered. + </p> + <p> + “O, a matter of eight hours or so. We had the eggs and bacon—the <i>piece + de resistance</i> in every Canadian farmhouse—at about half-past 12, + for which we were thankful and—hungry. But now you must excuse me + for here come two of the boys. Now, then, Alick, where's your mother? + Isn't she coming on deck with James? Run and fetch her and you, George, + get one of the chairs ready for her. And get the rugs at the same time + Alick, do you hear?” + </p> + <p> + I excused myself in turn and watched the family preparations with much + amusement. Mrs. Saskabasquia came up from her state room with a baby in + her arms, and a big fellow he was, followed by the other six and their + aunt. The Bishop placed chairs for the two ladies and walked up and down + the deck I should think the entire afternoon, first with two children and + then with two more and finally with the baby in his arms. This was a funny + sight but still not one to be ridiculed, far from it. Well, every day + showed my new friend in an improved light. Who was it took all the + children, not only his own but actually the entire troop on board up to + the bow and down to the stern in a laughing crowd to see this or that or + the other? Now a shoal of porpoises, now a distant sail or an iceberg, now + the beautiful phosphorescence or the red light of a passing ship—the + Bishop. Who divined the innate cliquism of life on board ship and + cunningly got together in intercourse the very people who wanted to know + each other, and even brought into good temper those unfortunate souls who + thought only of their own dignity and station in life? The Bishop. Who + organized the Grand Concert and Readings in the saloon, writing the + programmes himself, pinning them on the doors, discovering the clever and + encouraging the timid and reading from the “Cricket on the Hearth,” and + the “Wreck of the Grosvenor,” as I had never imagined a divine could read? + The Bishop again. Who might be seen in the mid-day hours when the cabin + passengers were asleep, quietly and without ostentation reading or talking + to the steerage, ay, and Mrs. Saskabosquia too with her baby on her arm, + going about amongst those poor tired folk, many of them with their own + babies, not too well fed and not too well washed nor clothed? Still the + Bishop, always the Bishop. They appeared as if they could not rest without + helping on somebody or something, and yet there was in Mrs. Saskabasquia + at least, a delightful sense of calm which affected all who came near her. + I used often to sit down by her, she with the inevitable baby on her lap + and two or three of the others at her feet on rugs, and she would talk + most frankly and unaffectedly of their strange life in Canada. I learnt + that she was the daughter of a clergyman in Essex, and had, of course, + been brought up in a refined and charming country home like an English + gentlewoman. What she had had to do in the new world seemed like a dream. + </p> + <p> + “What servants do I keep?” she said one day in answer to a question of + mine “Why, sometimes I am without any. Then Kathleen and I do the best we + can and the children they do the same and my husband takes what we give + him! Indeed, my house is a sort of dispensary you know. The most + extraordinary people come to me for the most extraordinary things. Now for + a bottle of medicine, now for some cast off clothing, now for writing + paper and old newspapers or a few tacks. So we have many wants to relieve + besides our own and really, that is good for us you know. One Xmas dinner + was an amusing one. Roast beef was out of the question, we couldn't get + any, and the old woman who usually brought us a turkey came eight miles in + the snow to bitterly lament the failure of her turkey crop. The one she + had intended for me had been killed and trussed and then the rats which + abound out there, got at it in the night and left not a bone of it! So I + got the poor old thing a warm cup of tea and gave her some thick socks and + sent her away relieved, resolved to spread myself on the pudding. Do you + remember Kathleen!” + </p> + <p> + And Miss Saskabasquia did and smiled at the remembrance. + </p> + <p> + “What was it like?” + </p> + <p> + “The pudding? Oh! It was the funniest pudding! George—no—Ethel, + was the baby then and very troublesome. Yes, you were my dear and cutting + teeth. I was far from strong and in the act of stirring the pudding was + taken quite ill and had to give it up. Kathleen was naturally forced to + attend to me and the three children, and only for Henry, we should have + had no Xmas dinner at all! He went to work with a will, stirred it well, + put it into the cloth and was just I believe dropping it into the water + when the string broke and the poor pudding tumbled into the water! Of + course it was useless, and my husband scarcely knew what to do with + himself. Fancy what he did do, though! He went to work and made another + out of what he could find without telling us. He'll tell you about it if + you ask him, how puzzled he was at first. There was some suet over, only + not minced, you know. So he took that just as it was in a lump and buried + it in bread-crumbs, luckily we had plenty of bread. Then he broke in the + eggs, but when he came to look for the fruit, that was all in the pot of + hot water, not a raisin left. He just ladled them out and put them in the + second time. I think that was delicious of him don't you? But he forgot + the flour and there was so little sugar seemingly in the bag (he didn't + know where my Xmas stores were kept) that he took fright and wouldn't use + it but broke up some maple sugar instead, then tied it up and got it + safely launched the second time. And it was not at all bad, though <i>very</i> + shapeless and unlike a trim plum pudding, with the holly at the top.” + </p> + <p> + And many another tale did she tell me of “Henry's” ceaseless activity, and + courage and patience. He had learnt three Indian dialects, the <i>patois</i> + of the <i>habitant</i>, and the Gaelic of two Scotch settlements, in order + to converse freely with his people and understand their wants properly. He + could doctor the body as well as the soul, set a fractured limb, bind a + wound, apply ice for sunstroke and snow for chilblains. He could harness a + horse and milk a cow; paddle a canoe and shoot and fish like an Indian, + cook and garden and hew and build—indeed there seemed nothing he + could not do and had not done, and all this along with the care of his + office, as much a missionary one as any could be. Peril of shipwreck and + peril of fire, peril of frost and peril of heat, peril of sickness, pain + and death, peril of men, ignorant and wicked, of wild beasts and wilder + storms—all these he had braved with his wife and little ones for the + sake of his convictions added to a genuine love of his fellow-man. I began + to consider, and rightly I think, the unknown, obscure Bishop of + Saskabasquia one of the most interesting men of the day. + </p> + <p> + Our journey, however, could not always last. Our pleasant chats, our + lively table-talk, Mrs. Saskabasquia's pretty womanly confidences and her + husband's deep-voiced readings from Dickens which he told me were of the + utmost moral value to his people, all came to an end. We all felt sorry to + part, yet greatly relieved at seeing the mighty cliff of Quebec draw + nearer and nearer with each succeeding hour. I had been quite ill for the + last two days like nearly all the other passengers. Coming up the Gulf of + St. Lawrence that is sometimes the case, and we were a miserable party + that Friday, hardly anyone on deck except the irrepressible Bishop and his + family and myself. I was wretched, sick and cold and trembling in every + limb, undoubted <i>mal de mer</i> had fastened upon me. We were standing + close by the railing of the promenade deck when a something swept by on + the water. “Child overboard!” I sang out as loudly as I could. Instantly + the steerage was in a state of commotion—the child was missed. There + didn't appear to be a sailor on the spot. The Bishop looked at me, and I + looked at the Bishop. Like lightning he tore off his coat. I put my hand + on his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Dear sir, you will not do such a thing!” + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Henry?” cried his wife. “Somebody must.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to God I could, sir!” In another moment he was over. + </p> + <p> + How he ever recovered from that awful plunge I don't know, but a boat was + immediately lowered for him and the child—he had it safe, + miraculously enough. How I cursed my weakness which prevented my going in + his place. But when I saw the two lives saved I was glad I had not gone, + for in my weak state I could not even have saved the child. + </p> + <p> + I am invited to a Christmas dinner, <i>whenever I like</i>, with the + Bishop of Saskabasquia, whom I count as perhaps the finest specimen of + healthy Christian manhood I have ever met, and although I can still laugh + at the fun of “The Private Secretary” I can say that even among her clergy + England can boast of heroes in these latter days as noble and + disinterested as in years gone by. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “As it was in the Beginning.” + </pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + A CHRISTMAS SKETCH. + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + It is Christmas day in the morning. There is no doubt about it. The shine + of the sun, the frost on the trees, the voice of the birds, and the + unusual crow, and cackle and clatter and confusion outside the house can + leave no doubts upon the subject, to say nothing of the inside of the + house. Here it is Christmas day and no mistake. On what other day is the + larder so full?—Full is not expressive enough; crammed, rammed, + jammed full is more like the actual condition of things, so tightly wedged + are pheasants and partridges, grouse and quail, great roasts of beef and + haunches of venison, pork and pasty, mutton and fowl. On what other day is + the still-room so alluring, where cordials are at their liveliest of brown + and amber, and the white fingers of the lady of the house gleam in and out + of the piling of herbs and the stirring of compounds—both innocent + and inebriating? On what other day is the kitchen so important? Why, the + cook is actually thinner than she was the yesterday! Christmas day in the + morning is taking it out of her. “No men cooks about me”, growls Sir + Humphrey Desart, “we'll keep Sarah.” So Sarah is kept, and though she be + fat, aye, and getting on to three score, yet her strength faileth not, as + you may observe. Somewhat of a martinet, yet kindly withal and leading the + hubbub in the kitchen with all the gusto of twenty years ago. My lady will + descend presently to see if all goes on properly, and Sarah must lose no + time. Heavens, how many eggs is she going to break? What are they all for? + Will not the resources of the farmyard fail her? This, then, explains all + the crow and cackle outside. Now what is she at? Lemons this time, and + anon giving a fine stimulus with her master-hand to the lumpy yellow + contents of a smooth yellow bowl. Ah! No lumps now; one turn and all + resolved into a perfect cadence. Anyone is an artist and a great one who + can so resolve a discordant measure. And now she is busy with the brandy! + Ah! Sarah, will no temptation accrue from the pouring of the warming + draught? “Out upon thee!” says Sarah. “Am I not already as warm over my + work as I want to be, and shall I not have my good glass of beer at my + dinner? Leave the quality upstairs their brandy,” says Sarah, “and let me + get to my work.” + </p> + <p> + Well, and the upshot of all this is, that, despite all one may affirm to + the contrary, the one grand essential, the peculiar and individualizing + attribute of Christmas is—the dinner. The parson may think of his + preaching (and if he ever does so, surely most of all on this day) and the + virtuous may think of the poor; the old may remember the young, and the + young be pardoned for only remembering each other, but the chief thought, + the most blissful remembrance is still—The Dinner. + </p> + <p> + If the parson preach a little better sermon than usual, it is because his + nine children have not been forgotten by Lady Bountiful, and are actually + going to have—A Dinner. + </p> + <p> + My Lady Bountiful in her turn may go to church, and appear devoutly + removed from the <i>mundus edibilis</i>, yet if you could look into her + reflections, you would perceive that she has but one thought—The + Dinner. Do you suppose, much as the youths from Oxford and their friend + the captain, from London, are devoted to mamma and her daughters, they are + not at the same time being eaten up, as it were, devoured, by the intense + wish for the hour to come when they may partake of—That Dinner! + </p> + <p> + Sir Humphrey has asked a particularly large party down this Christmas, and + seems to have forgotten nobody he ever knew. Not a poor relation but has + been remembered, and things are on a grander scale than usual. The candles + build famously, set in the chimney candelabra; the logs are all of the + biggest, and as for the Yule himself, he is a veritable Brobdignag; the + staircases drop flowers, and holly and mistletoe hang all about. + Everything shines, and gleams, and glows. There is to be a boar's head, + with, no lack of mustard and minstrelsy, and nothing eatable or drinkable + that pertains to Christmas will be wanting. Carols, and waits, and + contended tenants; merry chimes and clinking glasses; twanging fiddles and + the rush down the middle—nothing is spared and nobody is forgotten. + So the hour draws on, the guests pull through the dreary day (for as I + have said before, everything on Christmas day gives place to the dinner), + and at last the dinner becomes an absolute fact, something to be + apprehended, sat down to, and finally eaten. It <i>is</i> eaten, and + everyone has come into the long hall, at one end of which the Yule burns. + There is merry talk, and it is easier now for the captain to devote + himself to the girls, having left the dinner behind; there is talk, too, + of a little wonder at the gorgeousness of the dinner, for Sir Humphrey has + not been so gay for years, yes, just twenty years, when it is evident that + Sir Humphrey is going to make a speech. He stands alone in front of the + fire, and this is what he says. If you want to know what he looks like, + you may think of an old man who is a gentleman, white-haired, noble and + resolute, but with a sense of broken fortunes and deferred hopes upon him. + </p> + <p> + “I have been young and now am old,” says Sir Humphrey, “and I have never + yet seen the house, known the family, or penetrated the life where there + did not exist some trouble or some secret. Therefore, if I refer to-night + to the skeleton in my own house,” he continues, with a slight shudder, “I + only do what perhaps each individual before me might also do were there + the like necessity. The necessity of such reference, in my own case, does + not make it less hard for me.” Here, Sir Humphrey pauses. When he speaks + again he is something straighter and firmer than before. “But as at this + season the Church and our good friend the parson would teach us all to + remember each other and to help those we can help, I am about to speak. + You have heard, all of you, how twenty years ago I sent my two eldest sons + out of the house. You have heard, all of you, that they were foolish, and + that I was hard, something about a girl and cut off with a shilling, I + suppose. Well, to-night you shall hear the true story. I do not think even + Lady Desart knows it. She was not their mother, but, as you know, my + adored and adoring second wife. I do not know if many of you remember my + boys. I can see Humphrey now—a man does not easily forget his + first-born, and Hugh was no less dear. My dear friends, if I drove the + lads from my house twenty years ago to-night, I did it in obedience to the + rules of my own conscience and with regard to the laws of nature, which I + should have put before my conscience, as I have far greater respect for + them. I did it, as we so often futilely say, for the best. But how often, + oh, my dear friends, how often since I have thought that I may have made a + terrible mistake.” + </p> + <p> + “They were, Hugh and Humphrey, both madly in love with the same girl. She + was no pauper, as you may have been led to believe, but the Lady Barbara + Hastings. Her name is familiar to you. She was beautiful and talented, + never married, and you may remember that about a month ago she died at the + house of friends in London. I knew her, fortunately or unfortunately, + however, moving in society as the adopted daughter of a refined + gentlewoman, to be the child of a lunatic mother and a father who drank + his life away in a Continental retreat. Knowing this I would not for a + moment consent even to the thought of either of my sons marrying her, + although I knew her to be all that was gracious in womankind. I could not + tell them the reason: the secret was hers, poor girl, and I did not betray + it. I said 'No,' and each knew what that meant. So we separated, but the + worst of it was, my friends, that each lad thought I had refused my + consent to save the other the pain of seeing his brother happy; so that + greater than their anger with me was their jealousy of one another. With + murder in their hearts they fled to America, I believe, pursuing in + self-torture that phantom of revenge which we have all seen sometime or + another, and whose hot breath we must have felt.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Humphrey pauses oftener now. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you all this because I want you to see how possible it may be for + a man to think he is doing the very best, the only right thing, and then + for perhaps an infinitely worse one to crop up. I read not long ago in a + wild Western paper a story of two Englishmen who fought a lonely duel on + some slope of those great mountains out there, and I think I have not + slept since I read it. To have exiled my boys only that they might kill + one another in foreign lands and sleep so far away from our English + ground!” + </p> + <p> + Sir Humphrey's voice is failing now and his eyes grow moist A man, you + see, does not easily forget his first-born. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you all this,” he continues, “that it may help you to be kind and + to think twice. I only thought once, and perhaps the worst may have come + of it. Then I tell it to you, too, because I am an old man now, and my + voice is not as strong as it was, and I can't get out to church as + regularly as I used to do, and I want you all to help me to remember these + absent ones and with them any of your own. There is virtue in the holding + up of many hands and the lifting up of many hearts. Whether I see them + again or not, that does not matter; but for the assurance that they have + not harmed each other, let us pray Almighty God this night.” + </p> + <p> + Ah! Sir Humphrey, there are those who would give their life for yours, but + they cannot bring you that assurance to-night. Can you wait? + </p> + <p> + “I can wait,” says Sir Humphrey. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + It is Christmas day in the morning. At least, so Almanack says, and + Almanack ought to know, though he is given in those days to such ornate + and emblazoned titivation of himself outwardly, putting himself in the + hands of fair Mistress Kate Greenaway at the head of a mischievous throng, + that he causes one to seriously consider whether his old head be turned or + no. A scholar and statistician buried in heaps of flowers, with a rope of + daisies round his neck, and a belt of primroses round his waist; a + sunflower in his buttonhole, and a singing bird upon his shoulder; and, + worst of all, the picture of a pink-frocked, pink-faced girl next his + heart—can he be relied upon? But he persists in his claim to be + listened to, and we must take his word for it that this is Christmas day + in the morning, although it just looks like any other day. On any other + day the sun is just as bright, and the air just as keen. On other days the + snow is just as white, just as deep—two feet where the constant + tramping has levelled its crystalline beauty, ten, twelve, fifteen there + where a great soft cloud of drift reaches halfway up the side of a small + wooden house. On other days there is just as much blue in the sky, in the + smoke, in the shadows of the pines, and the shadows of the icicles. On + other days the house looks just as neat, just as silent, just as poor. The + clearing is small, the house is small, a small terrier suns himself on a + pile of wood, and the only large object apparently in existence is the + tall, broad-shouldered, well-proportioned man who presently emerges from + the wooden house. His ear has just caught the sound of a bell. It is not a + bad bell for Muskoka, and it has a most curious effect on this white, cold + silent world of snow and blue shadows. The owner of the house, who is also + the builder of it, stands a few moments listening. There is only the + twitter of the snowbirds to listen to, then the bell; more snowbirds, and + then the bell again. + </p> + <p> + “It has quite a churchy sound,” he remarks; “I never noticed how churchy + before, but it reminds me of some other bell. Ten years I have read for + them here, and I never noticed it before.” More twitter from the snowbirds + and the bell again. Time for church, although the functions of the + lay-reader will be this day laid aside, giving place to the more exacting + ones of the <i>rector chori</i>. This being Christmas day in the morning, + it devolves upon one clergyman to preach in four different places, if not + literally at once, at least on the same day. + </p> + <p> + “It isn't possible,” thinks the tall man swinging along at a tremendous + pace, “that this bell—there it is again, confound it; yet no, not + confound it—can resemble that other bell I used to know. No, quite + impossible. Is it likely that anything here,” and the thinker spreads both + long arms out to take in the entire landscape, “can resemble or remotely + suggest the Old Country, or, as people call it, home? Home? Why this is + home. That four-roomed and convenient, if not commodious, mansion I have + just quitted is my home. Talking of commodiousness, it's quite large + enough, too. I have no wife, no children, no partner, not even a sleeping + one, no one ever comes to see me. So I do not need a drawing-room, a + nursery, a guest chamber, or a smoking-room. I have no books, therefore I + need no library; I indulge in no chemical pursuits, therefore I need no + laboratory; my music-room is the forest in summer and the chimney in + winter, while my studio, according to the latest aesthetic fad—I + think that is the word—opens off the music-room. + </p> + <p> + “Now, if you take away art, science, literature, and society from the + daily life of a man, what do you leave? Simply the three radical + necessities of sleeping, eating, working. My work I do mostly in the open + air, so that, practically, I need but two rooms, one to cook in and the + other to sleep in. I have always felt convinced that to be happy I only + require two rooms, except on extra cold nights, when I find that one + suffices. That is when Tim and I lie near the kitchen fire to keep warm. + Home! Why of course it is home. Didn't I build the house myself? What + association is dearer than that? To come into a pile of half-ruined + towers, all gables and gargoyles, built somewhere about the fourteenth + century, and added to by every fool who liked, without the slightest + pretence to knowledge of architecture and civilization may be very + gratifying, but, strange as it may seem, I prefer the work of my own + hands. I am quite a Canadian, of course, though I once was an Englishman. + I array myself in strange raiment, thick and woollen, of many colours; my + linen is coarse and sometimes superseded by flannel; I wear a cast-off fur + cap on my head and moccasins on my feet. I have grown a beard and a fierce + moustache. I have made no money and won no friends except the simple + settlers around me here. And I shall grow old and grey in your service, my + Muskoka. I shall be forty-one on my next birthday. Then will come + fifty-one, another ten years and sixty-one. All to be lived here? Yes, I + have sworn it. Not Arcady, not Utopia, only Muskoka, but very dear to me. + There is the forest primeval! I know everything in it from the Indian pipe—clammy + white thing, but how pretty!—to that great birch there with the bark + peeling off in pieces a yard wide. There is the lovely Shadow river. + Masses of cardinal flowers grow there in the summer, and when I take my + boat up its dark waters I feel that no human being has felt its beauty so + before. I think, for a small river it is the loveliest in the world. And + as to my larder now, why I am going to make my Christmas dinner off a + piece or pork and ask for nothing better! I shall have a glorious + appetite, which is the main point. The bell again!” + </p> + <p> + Yes, and the snow birds, too, flying round the porch of the little church. + It is a very small and plain edifice and not over warm, and the + officiating clergyman, who has just driven eighteen miles with the + prospect of eighteen back after service, hurries the proceedings somewhat. + There is a harmonium played by the tall man, and there is a choir + consisting of himself and a small boy. In place of the usual Anglican + hymns two carols are sung by the choir, which have the quaintest effect in + such a place, and which appear to interest and even excite one of the + congregation. This is a man of middle age, most richly dressed with a + certain foreign air about him and evidently in a very delicate state of + health. He is accompanied by a lady whose dress is also a marvel of beauty + and costliness though hardly of fitness. The broad bands of gold which + adorn her wrists and neck would alone procure for her the entire attention + of the congregation were she seated in a more conspicuous place. As it is + they are seated near the stove for increased comfort. “Good King + Wenceslas” sings the choir, the small boy finding the long word very + trying, and coming utterly to grief in the last two verses, for his + companion appears to have lost his place. With the last verse of the carol + comes the close of the service, the straggling congregation disperse and + the jolly clergyman drives off again. Then an important thing happens, and + happens very quietly. So quietly that the richly dressed lady who is a + bright, shallow and unsentimental Californian does not mind it at all. + “Humphrey!” says the tall man, “Hugh!” says the other, and all is said. + There is not much sentiment in the meeting, how can there be? Their ways + have gone too far apart. The years—nearly twenty, since they parted + in Los Angeles—have brought gold and kith and kin to the one, with + an enfeebled constitution and an uncertain temper. To the other, they have + brought the glory of health for his manhood's crown, content and peace + unutterable. To learn to subdue the ground is to learn one great lesson. + So the strange meeting is soon over. The Christmas spell may not always + last and the brothers separate once more. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FINIS. + </h2> + <p> + The bright little lady who is taking her husband for a winter's Canadian + tour gets restive in this silent snowy world. But before they part a + letter is written to a white-haired old gentleman' in England, who has + only a month to wait. + </p> + <p> + “Whether I see them again or not does not matter,” says Sir Humphrey, “but + for the assurance that they have not harmed each other, I thank Almighty + God this night!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE IDYL OF THE ISLAND. + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Here lies mid-way between parallels 48 and 49 of latitude, and degrees 89 + and 90 of longitude, in the northern hemisphere of the New World, serenely + anchored on an ever-rippling and excited surface, an exquisitely lovely + island. No tropical wonder of palm-treed stateliness, or hot tangle of + gaudy bird and glowing creeper, can compare with it; no other northern + isle, cool and green and refreshing to the eye like itself, can surpass + it. It is not a large island. It is about half-a-mile long and quarter of + a mile broad It is an irregular oval in shape, and has two distinct and + different sides. On the west side its grey limestone rises to the height + of twenty feet straight out of the water. On the east side there occurs a + gradual shelving of a sumac-fringed shore, that mingles finally with the + ever-rippling water. For the waters in this northern country are never + still. They are perpetually bubbling up and boiling over; seething and + fuming and frothing and foaming and yet remaining so cool and clear that a + quick fancy would discover thousands of banished fountains under that + agitated and impatient surface. Both ends of the island are as much alike + as its sides are dissimilar. They taper off almost to a distinct + bladepoint of rock, in which a mere doll's flagstaff of a pine-tree grows; + then comes a small detached rock, with a small evergreen on it, then a + still smaller rock, with a tuft of grass, then a line of partially + submerged stones, and so out to the deep yet ever-bubbling water. This + island might seem, just the size for two, and there were two on it on a + certain July morning at five o'clock. One of these was a lady who lay at + full length and fast asleep upon a most unique couch. These northern + islands are in many places completely covered with a variety of + yellowish-green moss, varying from a couple of inches to a foot and a half + in thickness; and yielding to the pressure of the foot or the body as + comfortably as a feather bed, if not more so, being elastic in nature. A + large square of this had been cut up from some other part of the island + and placed on the already moss-grown and cushioned ground, serving as a + mattress, while two smaller pieces served as pillows. A sumac tree at the + head of the improvised couch gave the necessary shade to the face of the + sleeper, while a wild grapevine, after having run over and encircled with + its moist green every stone and stem on the island, fulfilled its longing + at length in a tumultuous possession of the sumac, making a massive yet + aerial patched green curtain or canopy to the fantastic bed, and ending + seemingly in two tiny transparent spirals curling up to the sky. + </p> + <p> + If there were a fault in the structure it was that it was too clever, too + well thought out, too rectangular, too much in fact like a bed. But it + told certainly of a skillful pair of hands and of a beautiful mind and the + union of art with nature perfectly suited the charms—contradictory + yet consistent—of the occupant. For being anything but a beautiful + woman she was still far from a plain one, which though no original mode of + putting it does convey the actual impression she made upon a gentleman in + a small boat who rowing past this island at the hour of five o'clock in + the morning was so much struck with this curious sight, quite visible from + the water below, that he was rude enough to stand up that he might see + better. The lady was dressed in some dark blue stuff that evidently + covered her all over and fitted tightly where it could be seen. A small + linen collar, worn all night and therefore shorn of its usual freshness + was round her neck, and she was tucked up from the waist under a Scotch + woollen rug. Her hair, of a peculiar red-brown, was allowed to hang about + her and was lovely; her mouth sad; her nose, rather too prominent; her + complexion natural and healthy, but marred by freckles and moles, not many + of either but undeniably scattered over the countenance. All told but her + eyes which, if they proved to match with her hair, would atone for these + other shortcomings. The gentleman sat down again and reflected. + </p> + <p> + “How still it is!” he said under his breath. “Absolutely not a thing + stirring. This is the time when the fish bite. I ought to be fishing I + suppose. Going to be warm by-and-bye.” + </p> + <p> + It was indeed almost absolutely silent. The sun climbed higher but the + lady slept on, and the gentleman gazed as if fascinated. The only sound + that broke the beautiful early morning silence was the occasional weird + laugh of the loon. It came twice and then a third time. The sleeper + stirred. + </p> + <p> + “If that thing out there cries again she will wake,” said the gentleman to + himself. “I must be off before that happens. But I <i>should</i> like to + see her eyes. What a pretty picture it is!” Once more the loon gave its + maniacal laugh and the lady started, sat bolt upright and wide awake. Her + admirer had not time to retreat but he took his oars up and confronted her + manfully. It was an awkward moment. He apologized. The lady listened very + politely. Then she smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Most of the islands in this lake are owned by private people,” she said, + “who use them during the summer months for the purpose of camping out upon + them. I should advise you, if you row about much here, to keep to the open + water, unless you wish to be seriously handled by the fathers and mothers + of families.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you very much,” returned the gentleman, standing up in his boat, “I + assure you I intended no rudeness, but I have never seen so charming a + summer couch before, and I was really fascinated by the—ah,—the + picture you made. May I ask what you mean by 'camping out'? Is it always + done in this fashion?” + </p> + <p> + The lady stared “Have <i>you</i> never camped out?” + </p> + <p> + “Never in my life,” said the gentleman. “I am an Englishman, staying at + the hotel near the point for a day or two. I came out to see something of + the country.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you should at least have camped out for a week or so. That is a + genuine Canadian experience,” said the lady with a frankness which + completely restored the equanimity of the Englishman. + </p> + <p> + “But how do you live?” he went on in a puzzled manner that caused the lady + with the red-brown hair, still all hanging about her, much amusement. + </p> + <p> + “O, capitally! Upon fish and eggs, and gooseberry tarts, and home-made + bread and French coffee. Just what you would get in town, and much better + than you get at the hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “O, that would be easy!” the gentleman groaned. “I eat my meals in a + pitch-dark room, in deadly fear and horror of the regiments of flies that + swarm in and settle on everything the minute one raises the green paper + blinds.” + </p> + <p> + The lady nodded. “I know. We tried it for two or three seasons, but we + could not endure it; the whole thing, whitewash and all, is so trying, + isn't it? So we bought this lovely island and bring our tent here and live + <i>so</i> comfortably.” The gentleman did not reply at once. He was + thinking that it was his place to say “Good morning,” and go, although he + would much have liked to remain a little longer. He hazarded the remark: + </p> + <p> + “Now, for instance, what are you going to breakfast on presently?” + </p> + <p> + The lady laughed lightly and shook her red brown hair. + </p> + <p> + “First of all I have to make a fire.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” + </p> + <p> + “But that is not so very difficult” + </p> + <p> + “How do you do it?” + </p> + <p> + “Would you like to know?” + </p> + <p> + “Very much indeed. I should like to see, if I may.” + </p> + <p> + The lady reflected a moment. “I suppose you may, but if you do, you ought + to help me, don't you think?” The gentleman much amused and greatly + interested. + </p> + <p> + “Ah but you see, it is you I want to see make it. I am very useless you + know at that sort of thing, still, if you will allow me, I will try my + best. Am I to come ashore?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, if you are to be of any use.” + </p> + <p> + The lady jumped lightly off the pretty couch of moss and wound her + plentiful hair round her head with one turn of her arm. Her dress was + creased but well-fitting, her figure not plump enough for beauty but + decidedly youthful. She watched her new friend moor his boat and ascend + with one or two strides of his long legs up the side of the cliff that was + not so steep. He took off his hat. + </p> + <p> + “I am at your service,” he said with a profound bow. The lady made him + another, during which all her long hair fell about her again, at which + they both laughed. + </p> + <p> + “What do we do first?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “O we find a lot of sticks and pieces of bark, mostly birch bark, and + anything else that will burn—you may have to fell a tree while you + are about it—and I'll show you how to place them properly between + two walls of stones, put a match to them and there is our fire. Will you + come with me?” + </p> + <p> + He assented of course, and they were soon busy in the interior of the + little wood that grew up towards the centre of the island. I must digress + here to say that the gentleman's name was Amherst. He was known to the + world in latter life as Admiral Amherst, and he was a great friend of + mine. When he related this story to me, he was very particular in + describing the island as I have done—indeed he carried a little + chart about with him of it which he had made from memory, and he told me + besides that he never forgot the peculiar beauty of that same little tract + of wood. The early hour, the delicious morning air, the great moss-grown + and brown decaying tree trunks, the white, clammy, ghostly, flower or + fungus of the Indian Pipe at his feet, the masses of ferns, the elastic + ground he trod upon, and the singular circumstance that he was alone in + this exquisite spot with a woman he had never seen until five minutes + previously, all combined to make an ineffaceable impression upon his mind. + The lady showed herself proficient in the art of building a fire and + attended by Amherst soon had a fine flame rising up from between the + fortifications evidently piled by stronger hands than her own. + </p> + <p> + “What do we do now?” asked Amherst “I should suggest—a kettle.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, that is the next step. If I give it to you, you might run and + fill it, eh?' + </p> + <p> + “Delighted!” and away went Amherst. When he returned the lady was not to + be seen. The place was shorn of its beauty, but he waited discreetly and + patiently, putting the kettle on to boil in the meanwhile. + </p> + <p> + “It's very singular,” said he, “how I come to be here. I wonder who are + with her in her party; no one else appears to be up or about. That striped + red and white thing is the tent, I see, over there. Ah! That's where she + has gone, and now she beckons me! Oh! I'll go, but I don't want to meet + the rest of them!” + </p> + <p> + But when he reached the tent, it was quite empty, save for rugs and wraps, + boxes, etc., and the lady was laughingly holding out a loaf of bread in + one hand and a paper package in the other. + </p> + <p> + “You will stay and breakfast with me?” + </p> + <p> + “What will you give me?” said Amherst, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “I can only give you eggs, boiled in the kettle, coffee and bread and + butter. The fish haven't come in yet.” + </p> + <p> + “What can be nicer than eggs—especially when boiled in the kettle, + that is, if you make the coffee first.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly I do.” + </p> + <p> + “And it is really French coffee?” + </p> + <p> + “Really. Café des Gourmets, you know; we—I always use it—do + not like any other.” + </p> + <p> + Amherst was fast falling in love. He told me that at this point his mind + was quite made up that if it were possible he would remain in the + neighborhood a few days at least, in order to see more of this charming + girl. She seemed to him to be about twenty-six or seven, and so frank, + simple and graceful, one could not have resisted liking her. Her hair and + eyes were identical in colour and both were beautiful; her expression was + arch and some of her gestures almost childish, but a certain dignity + appeared at times and sat well upon her. Her hands were destitute of any + rings as Amherst soon discovered, and were fine and small though brown. + While she made the coffee, Amherst threw himself down on the wonderful + moss, the like of which he had never seen before and looked out over the + water. An unmistakeable constraint had taken the place of the unaffected + hilarity of the first ten minutes. A reaction had set in. Amherst could of + course only answer to me in telling this for himself, but he divined at + the time a change in his companion's manner as well. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you like your eggs,” she said presently. + </p> + <p> + “They are very nice, indeed, thank you,” rejoined Amherst. + </p> + <p> + “And I have made your coffee as you like it?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly, thank you. But you—you are not eating anything! Why is + that?” + </p> + <p> + As he asked the question he turned quickly around, in order to rise that + he might help her with the ponderous kettle that she was about lifting off + the camp-fire, when a long strand of her hair again escaping from its coil + blew directly across his face. Amherst uttered a radiant “Oh!”, and taking + it to his lips forgot himself so far as to press kiss after kiss upon it. + The lady stood as if transfixed and did not move, even when Amherst + actually swept all her hair down over one arm and turning her face to his, + pressed one long long kiss on her forehead. + </p> + <p> + The moment he had done this his senses returned and he stepped back in + indignation with himself. But his companion was still apparently + transfixed. Amherst looked at her in dismay. She did not seem to see him + and had grown very pale. He touched her gently on the arm but she did not + show that she felt the touch. He retreated a few paces and stood by + himself, overcome with shame and contrition. What had he done? How should + he ever atone for such an unwarrantable action? Had it been the outcome of + any ordinary flirtation, he would have felt no such scruples, but the + encounter, though short, had been one of singular idyllic charm until he + had by his own rash act spoilt it. A few minutes passed thus in self + contemplation appeared like an eternity. He must speak. + </p> + <p> + “If you would allow me—” + </p> + <p> + But the lady put out her left hand in deprecation as it were and he got no + further. The silence was unendurable. Amherst took a step or two forward + and perceived great tears rolling down her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” he began desperately, “won't you allow me to say a word to tell you + how very, very sorry I am, how grieved I am and always shall be? I never—I + give you my word of honor—I never do those sort of things, have + never done such a thing before! But I can't tell what it was, the place is + so beautiful, and when all that lovely hair came sweeping past my face, I + could not help doing as I did, it was so electrical! Any man would have + done the same. I know that sounds like a miserable, cowardly excuse, but + it is true, perfectly true.” The lady seemed to struggle to appear calm + and with a great effort she turned her face towards Amherst. + </p> + <p> + “I know one man,” she said, in a voice choked with sobs, “who would not + have done it?” + </p> + <p> + Amherst started. “I am sorrier than ever, believe me. I might have known + you were engaged, or had a lover—one so Charming”— + </p> + <p> + “It is not that,” said the lady. “I am married.” She was still struggling + with her emotion. + </p> + <p> + Amherst recoiled. He was torn with conflicting thoughts. What if he had + been seen giving that involuntary salute? He might have ruined her peace + for ever. Who would believe in the truth of any possible explanation? + </p> + <p> + “I will leave you at once;” he said stiffly, “there is nothing more to be + said.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! You will reproach me now!” said his companion, wiping her eyes as the + tears came afresh. + </p> + <p> + “I will try not to;” said Amherst, “but you could so easily have told me; + I do not think it was—quite—fair.” Yet he could not be + altogether angry with the partner of his thoughtlessness, nor could he be + entirely cold. Her beautiful eyes, her despairing attitude would haunt him + he knew for many a day. She had ceased weeping and stood quietly awaiting + his departure. Amherst felt all the force of a strong and novel passion + sweep along his frame as he looked at her. Was she happy, was she a loved + and loving wife? Somehow the conviction forced itself upon him that she + was not. Yet he could not ask her, it must remain her secret. + </p> + <p> + Amherst looked at his watch. It aroused her. + </p> + <p> + “What is the time?” she said lifting her head for the first time since he + had kissed her. + </p> + <p> + “Ten minutes past six,” Amherst replied. + </p> + <p> + “You must go,” she said, with an effort at self-control. “I shall have + much to do presently.” + </p> + <p> + He cast one look about and approached her. + </p> + <p> + “Will you forgive me”—he began in a tone of repression, then with + another mighty and involuntary movement he caught her hands and pressed + them to his breast. “My God,” he exclaimed, “how I should have loved you!” + </p> + <p> + A moment after he flung her hands away and strode down the cliff, + unfastened his boat and rowed away in the direction of the hotel as fast + as he could. Rounding a sharp rock that hid what lay beyond it, he nearly + succeeded in overturning another boat like his own, in which sat a + gentleman of middle age, stout and pleasant and mild of countenance. The + bottom of the boat was full of fish. Amherst made an incoherent apology, + to which the gentleman answered with a good-natured laugh, insisting that + the fault was his own. He would have liked to enter into conversation with + Amherst, but my friend was only anxious to escape from the place + altogether and forget his recent adventure in the hurry of departure from + the hotel. Three days after he embarked at Quebec for England, and never + revisited Canada. But he never married and never forgot the woman whom he + always asserted he might have truly and passionately loved. He was about + twenty-eight when that happened and perfectly heart-whole. Why—I + used to say to him, why did you not learn her name and that of her + husband? Perhaps she is a widow now, perhaps you made as great an + impression upon her mind and affections as she did upon yours. + </p> + <p> + But my friend Admiral Amherst, as the world knew him, was a strange, + irrational creature in many ways, and none of these ideas would he ever + entertain. That the comfortable gentleman in the boat was her husband he + never doubted; more it was impossible to divine. But the cool northern + isle, with its dark fringe of pines; its wonderful moss, its fragrant and + dewy ferns, its graceful sumacs, just putting on their scarlet-lipped + leaves, the morning stillness broken only by the faint unearthly cry of + the melancholy loon, the spar-dyked cliffs of limestone, and the fantastic + couch, with its too lovely occupant, never faded from his memory and + remained to the last as realities which indeed they have become likewise + to me, through the intensity with which they were described to me. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Story of Delle Josephine Boulanger + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + Delle Josephine Boulanger, Miss Josephine Baker, Miss Josephine Baker, + Delle Josephine Boulanger. What a difference it makes, the language! What + a transformation! I thought this to myself as I stood on the opposite side + of the street looking at the sign. To be sure, it, was only printed in + French and sad little letters they were that composed the name, but my + mind quickly translated them into the more prosaic English as I stood and + gazed. Delle Josephine was a milliner and I had been recommended to try + and get a little room “<i>sous les toits</i>” that she sometimes had to + let, during my stay in the dismal Canadian village with the grand and + inappropriate name of <i>Bonheur du Roi</i>. Bonneroi, or Bonneroy, it was + usually called. Such a dismal place it seemed to be; one long street of + whitewashed or dirty wooden houses, two raw red brick “stores,” and the + inevitable Roman Catholic Church, Convent and offices, still and orderly + and gray, with the quiet priests walking about and the occasional sound of + the unmistakeable convent bell. I arrived on a sleety winter's day early + in December. Everything was gray, or colorless or white; the people's + faces were pinched and pale, the sky was a leaden gray in hue, and I + thought as I stood opposite to my future abode under Delle Josephine's + roof that the only bit of “local color” so far was to be found in her + window. I could distinctly see from where I stood the most extraordinary + <i>hat</i> I had ever seen. I immediately crossed the road to examine it. + It was a triumph in lobster-color. In shape like a very large + Gainsborough, it was made of shirred scarlet satin with large bows of + satin ribbon of the same intense color and adorned with a bird of + paradise. I can see it now and can recall the images it suggested to my + mind at the time. These were of cardinals and kings, of sealing-wax and + wafers, of tropic noons and tangled marshes, of hell and judgment and the + conventional Zamiel. It looked fit to be worn by a Mrs. Zamiel, if there + be such a person. I looked so long and earnestly that I evidently + attracted the notice of the mistress of the shop, for I saw a hand push + back the faded red curtain that veiled the interior and a queer little + visage appeared regarding me with something I thought of distrust. Did I + look as if I might break the glass and run off with the hat? Perhaps I + did, so I entered the shop immediately and said in a reasoning tone, + </p> + <p> + “I am looking for rooms in the village, Mademoiselle, and hear you have + one to let. Can I see it now, if not too much trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “You come from Morréall?” + </p> + <p> + This I learnt was meant for Montreal. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I returned. + </p> + <p> + “You are by yourself, Monsieur, you are sure? No ladees, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “O dear! No” said I laughing. “I am making some studies—sketches—in + this locality and am entirely alone. Do you find ladies a trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, perhaps not always. But there was one Mees I had. I did not like her, + and so I said—we will have no more Mees, but again and always + Messieurs.” She was frank enough but not unpleasant in her manner. A + little bit of a woman, thin and shrivelled, with one shoulder slightly + higher than the other, black beads for eyes, and the ugliest mouthful of + teeth that I had ever seen on any one. Had it not been that her expression + was honest and good natured and her manner bright and intelligent, I + should have recoiled before the yellow tusks of eye-teeth, and the + blackened stumps and shrunken gums revealed to me every time she spoke. + She wore a print dress made neatly enough which was very clean, and a + black crape ruff round her sallow neck. The shop was small but clean and + at the back I saw, a kind of little sitting room. Into this I went while + she ran up-stairs to prepare the room for my inspection. The carpet was + the usual horribly ingenious affair of red squares inside green octagons, + and green squares inside red octagons, varied by lengthwise stripes of + bright purple. The walls were plain white, covered with many prints in + vivid colors of the Crucifixion, the Annunciation and the Holy Family; + also three pictures of three wonderful white kittens which adorn so many + nurseries and kitchens. There were no ornaments, but there was a large + looking glass framed in walnut, and over it a dismal wreath of roses and + their leaves done in human gray hair. The glass was opposite the door and + I saw Delle Josephine descending to meet me just as I was turning away + from this suggestive “in memoriam.” A crooked little stairway brought me + to a small landing, and three more steps to my room. I may call it that, + for I took it on the spot It was large enough for my wants and seemed + clean and when the paper blinds, yellow, with a black landscape on them, + were raised, rather cheerful. We were opposite the chief “<i>epicerie</i>,” + the only <i>“marchandise sèches</i>” and a blacksmith, whose jolly red + fire I could sometimes catch a glimpse of. + </p> + <p> + Now, this is a really a true story of French Canadian life, or rather let + me say, a true story of one of my own French Canadian experiences, and so + I must confess that once installed in my little room <i>chez</i> Delle + Josephine Boulanger, nothing whatever of any interest took place until I + had been there quite a week. I lived most regularly and monotonously; + rising at eight I partook of coffee made by my landlady, accompanied by + tinned fruit for which I formed a great taste. Then I went out, getting my + mid-day meal where I could, eggs and bacon at a farmhouse, or tough steak + at the hotel, and sometimes not getting anything at all until I returned + ravenously hungry to my lodging. On these occasions the little Frenchwoman + showed herself equal to the extent of cooking a chicken or liver and bacon + very creditably and then I would write and read in my own room till + eleven. I must not forget to say that I never failed to look at the + wonderful scarlet hat in the window every time I went out or came in. + Purchasers for it would be rare I thought; I half formed the idea of + buying it myself when I went away as a “Souvenir.” + </p> + <p> + One day I came home very tired. After walking about, vainly waiting for a + terrific snowstorm to pass over that I might go on with my work—the + frozen fall of Montmorenci, framed in the dark pines and somber rocks that + made such a back ground for its glittering thread of ice, I gave it up, + chilled in every limb, and began to consider whether I was not a fool for + pains. Although I started quite early in the afternoon on my homeward + walk, the snow, piled in great masses everywhere along the route, impeded + my progress to such an extent that it was nearly seven o'clock and + pitch-dark when I got into the village. Bonneroy was very quiet. Shutters + were up to every shop, nobody was out except a dog or two and the snow + kept falling, falling, still in as persistent a fashion as if it had not + been doing the same thing for six hours already. I found the shop shut up + and the door locked. I looked everywhere for a bell or knocker of some + description. There was neither, so I began to thump as hard as I could + with my feet against the door. In a minute or two I heard Delle Josephine + coming. Perhaps I had alarmed the poor soul. She did look troubled on + opening the door and admitted me hurriedly, even suspiciously, I thought. + The door of the little sitting-room was closed, so fancying that perhaps + she had a visitor I refrained from much talking and asking her to cook me + some eggs presently and bring them up, I went to my room. + </p> + <p> + These cold days I had to keep a fire in the small open “Franklin” stove + going almost constantly. She had not forgotten to supply it with coals + during my absence, and lighting my two lamps I was soon fairly + comfortable. How it did snow! Lifting the blind I could actually look down + on an ever-increasing drift below my window and dimly wonder if I should + get out at all on the morrow. If not, I proposed to return to Montreal at + once. I should gain nothing by being confined in the house at Bonneroy. + Delle Josephine appeared with eggs and tea—green tea, alas for that + village shortcoming—there was no black tea to be found in it, and I + looked narrowly at her as she set it down, wondering if anything was amiss + with her. But she seemed all right again and I conjectured that I had + simply interrupted a <i>tête-a-tête</i> with some visitor in the + sitting-room at the time of my return. When I had finished my tea I sat + back and watched my fire. Those little open “Franklin” stoves are almost + equal to a fireplace; they show a great deal of fire and you can fancy + your flame on an English hearth very easily—if you have any + imagination. As I sat there, it suddenly came home to me what a curious + life this was for me; living quite alone over a tiny village shop in <i>Le + Bos Canada</i>, with a queer little spinster like Delle Josephine. Snowed + up, with her too! To-morrow I would certainly have to go and shovel that + snow away from the front door and take down the shutters and discover + again to the world the contents of the one window, particularly that + frightful hat! I would—here I started it must be confessed almost + out of my seat, as turning my head suddenly I saw on a chair behind the + door the identical hat I was thinking about! I sat up and looked at it. It + must have been there all the time I was eating my tea. I still sat and + looked. I felt vaguely uncomfortable for a moment, then my common sense + asserted itself and told me that Delle Josephine must have been altering + it or something of that kind and had forgotten to take it away. I wondered + if she sat in my room when I was away. I had rather she did not. Just as I + was about to rise and look at it more closely, a tap came at my door. I + rose and admitted Delle Josephine. She took the tea-things away in her + usual placid manner, but came back the next moment as if she had forgotten + something, clearly the hat. With a slight deprecatory laugh she removed it + and went hurriedly down the stair. Whatever had she been doing with it, I + thought, and settled with a sigh of satisfaction once more to my work, now + that the nightmare in red, a kind of mute scarlet “Raven,” was gone from + my room. How very quiet it was. Not a single sleigh passed, no sounds came + from the houses opposite or from next door, the whole world seemed + smothered in the soft thick pillows of snow quietly gathering upon it. + After a while, however, I could distinctly hear the sound of voices + downstairs. Delle Josephine had a visitor, undoubtedly. Was it a man or a + woman? Not a large company I gathered; it seemed like one person besides + herself. I opened my door, it sounded so comfortably in my lonely bachelor + ear to catch in that strange little house anything so cheerful as the + murmur of voices. My curiosity once aroused, did not stop here. I went + outside the door, not exactly to listen, but as one does sometimes in a + lazy yet inquisitive mood, when anything is going on at all unusual. This + was an unusual occurrence. If Delle Josephine had visitors often, I was + not aware of it. Never before had I noticed the slightest sound proceed + from her sitting-room after dusk. So I waited a bit listening. Yes there + was talking going on, but in French. As I did not understand her <i>patois</i> + very clearly, I thought there would be no harm in overhearing, and further + I thought I should like to have a peep at her and her companion. I could + see that the door was partly open. Taking off my slippers, I ran softly + down and found it wide enough open to admit of my seeing the entire room + and occupants in the looking-glass, that being opposite. It was quite dark + in the little hall and I should be unobserved. So I crept—most + rudely I am willing to say—into the furthest shadow of this hall and + looked straight before me. + </p> + <p> + I saw none but Delle Josephine herself. But she was a sight for the gods. + Seated on a kind of ottoman, directly in front of the looking-glass, she + was holding an animated conversation with <i>herself</i>, wearing a large + white antimacassar—one of those crocheted things all in wheels—pinned + under her chin and falling away at the back like a cloak, and upon her + head—the wonderful scarlet hat! I was amazed, startled, dismayed. To + see that shrivelled little old woman so travestying her hideous charms, + smiling at and bowing to herself, her yellow skin forming a frightful + contrast to the intense red of her immense hat and her bright black eyes, + was a pitiful and unique spectacle. I had intended but to take a peep at + the supposed visitor and then go back to my room, but the present sight + was one which fascinated me to such an extent that I could only look and + wonder. She spoke softly to herself in French, appearing to be carrying on + a conversation with her image in the glass. The feathers of the bird of + paradise swept her shoulder—the one that was higher than the other—and + mingled with the wheels of the white antimacassar. I looked as long as I + dared and then, fearing from her movements that the strange scene would + soon be over I went softly up again to my room. But I thought about it all + evening, all night in fact. The natural inquiry was—was the poor + girl a maniac? Even if only a harmless one, it would be well to know. As I + sat down again by my fire I considered the matter in every light. It was a + queer prospect. Outside the snow still fell. Inside, the fire languished + and the time wore on till at half-past ten I really was compelled to call + on my landlady for more coal. I could hear the muttered French still going + on, but I did not know where the coal was and could not fetch it myself. I + must break in upon her rhapsodizing. + </p> + <p> + “Delle Boulanger!” I called from my open door. “Delle Boulanger!” + </p> + <p> + The talking stopped. In a few moments Delle Josephine appeared, calm and + smiling, <i>minus</i> the hat and the antimacassar. “Coming, <i>monsieur</i>” + </p> + <p> + “I shall want some more coal,” said I, “It is getting colder, I think, + every minute!” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais oui, monsieur; il fait fret, il fait bien fret ce soir</i>, and + de snow—oh! It is <i>comme</i>—de old winter years ago, dat I + remember, <i>monsieur</i>, but not you. <i>Eh! bien</i>, the coal!” + </p> + <p> + I discovered nothing morbid about her manner; she was amiable and + respectful as usual, if a little more garrulous. The French will talk at + all times about anything, but our conversation always came to a sudden + stop the moment one of us relapsed into the mother tongue. As long as a + sort of common maccaronic was kept to we managed to understand one + another. After I made up my fire I sat up till long past twelve. I heard + no more talking downstairs but I could fancy her still arrayed in those + festive yet ghastly things, seated opposite her own reflection, intent as + a mummy and not unlike one restored in modern costume. Pulling the blind + aside before going to bed, I could see with awe the arching snowdrifts + outside my window. If it went on snowing, I should not be able to open it + on the morrow. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + My prediction was verified in the morning. The snow had ceased falling, + but lay piled up against the lower half of my window. On the level there + appeared to be about three feet, while the drifts showed from six to + twenty feet I had never seen anything like it, and was for sometime lost + in admiration. Across the road the children of the <i>epider</i> and the + good man himself were already busy trying to shovel some of it away from + the door. It seemed at first sight a hopeless task and I, looking down at + Delle Josephine's door, wondered how on earth we were ever to get out of + it when not a particle of it was to be seen. Not all that day did I get + out of the house, and but for the absorbing interest I suddenly found + centred in Delle Josephine I would have chafed terribly at being so shut + up. Trains, were blockaded of course, it was the great fall of '81, and + interrupted travel for half of a week. All that day I waited so to speak + for the evening. Snow-boys there were many; customers none. The little + Frenchwoman brought me some dinner at one o'clock, pork, tinned tomatoes, + and a cup of coffee. About five o'clock I strolled down into the shop, it + was lighted very meagrely with three oil lamps. Delle Josephine was seated + on a high chair behind the one counter at work on some ribbon—white + ribbon. She was quilling it, and looked up with some astonishment as I + walked up to her. + </p> + <p> + “Do you object to a visitor Miss Josephine?” said I with the most amiable + manner I could muster. Poor soul! I should have thought she would have + welcomed one. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais non Monsieur</i> but I speak so little English.” + </p> + <p> + “And I so little French. But we can manage to understand each other a + little, I think. What do you say to the weather? When shall I be able to + go out?” + </p> + <p> + Delle Josephine laughed. She went on quilling the ribbon that looked so + white against her yellow hands. + </p> + <p> + “O <i>Monsieur</i> could go out dis day if he like, but de snow ver bad, + very thick.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you ever go out, Miss Josephine?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Non Monsieur</i>. I have not been out for what you call a valk—it + will be five years that I have not been.” + </p> + <p> + “But you go to church, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais oui Monsieur</i>, but that is so near. And the good <i>Père Le + Jeune</i>—he come to see me. He is all the frien Delle Josephine + has, ah! <i>oui Monsieur</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Bonneroi isn't much of a place, is it? Have you ever been to Quebec + or Montreal?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! <i>Quebec—oui</i>, I live there once, many years ago. I was + taken when I was ver young by <i>Madame de la Corne de la Colombière pour + une bonne; vous comprenez</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! <i>bonne</i>, yes, we use that word too. It means a nursemaid, eh! + Were there children in the family?” + </p> + <p> + Delle Josephine dropped her ribbon and threw up her hands. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mon Dieu! les enfants! Mais oui, Monsieur</i>, they were nine + children! There was <i>Maamselle Louise</i> and <i>Maamselle Angelique</i> + with the tempaire of the <i>diable</i> himself <i>oui Monsieur</i>, and + François and Réné and <i>l'petite Catherine</i>, and the rest I forget <i>Monsieur</i>. + And dey live in a fine <i>château</i>, with horse and carridge and + everything as it would be if they were in their own France. <i>Monsieur</i> + has been in France?” + </p> + <p> + Only in Paris, I told her; a spasmodic run across the Channel—Paris + in eight hours. Two days there then return— + </p> + <p> + “That does not give one much idea of France.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Nou, non, Monsieur</i>. But there is no countree like France dey say + dat familee—and that is true, eh, <i>Monsieur</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid I cannot agree with you, Delle Josephine,” said I. “To me + there is no country like England, but that may be because I am an + Englishman. Tell me how long did you live in Quebec with this family?” + </p> + <p> + “I was there ten year <i>Monsieur</i>. Then one day, I had a great + accidence—oh! a ver sad ting, ver sad!” The Frenchwoman laid down + the ribbon and went on. “A ver sad ting happen to me and the <i>bébé + Catherine</i>. We were out <i>l'ptite</i> and me, for a valk, and we come + to a part of the town ver slant, ver hilly. <i>L'ptite Catherine</i> was + in her carridge and I let go, and she go all down, <i>Monsieur</i>, and I + too over the hill—the cleef, you call it—but the <i>bébé</i> + was killed and I <i>Monsieur</i>, I was alive, but like this!” showing her + shoulder. “And what did they do?” + </p> + <p> + “At the <i>château</i>? Ah, <i>figure-toi, monsieur</i>, the agony of dat + <i>pauvre dame</i>! I was sent away, she would not see me, and I left <i>Quêbec</i> + at once. I was no more <i>bonne</i>, monsieur; Delle Josephine was enough + dat. I could make de hats and de bonnets for de ladees, so I come away out + to Bonneroi, and I haf made de hats and de bonnets for the ladees of + Bonneroi for twenty year.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible?” I said, much touched by the little story. “And the + ladies of Bonneroi, are they hard to please?” + </p> + <p> + Delle Josephine, who had spoken with the customary vim and gesture of the + French while—telling her tale, resumed her quilling and said, with a + shrug of one shoulder, + </p> + <p> + “They do not know much, and dat is true.” I laughed at the ironical tone. + </p> + <p> + “And you—you provide the <i>modes</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “I haf been to Quêbec” she said quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Twenty years ago,” I thought, but had too much respect for the queer + little soul to say it aloud. + </p> + <p> + “I see amongst other things,” I went on, “a most—remarkable—a + very pretty, I should say—hat in your window. The red one, you know, + with the bird of paradise.” + </p> + <p> + Delle Josephine looked up quickly. “Dat is not for sale, <i>monsieur</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “No? Why, I had some idea of perhaps purchasing it for a friend of mine. + Did you make that hat yourself?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded with a sort of conscious pride. Yet it was not for sale! I + wondered why. The strange scene of the foregoing evening came into my + mind, and I began to understand this singular—case of monomania. It + must be that having lived so many years in almost solitary confinement, + one might say, her mind had slightly given away, and she found her only + excitement and relaxation in posing before the glass in that extraordinary + manner. I hardly knew whether it would be an act of kindness to remove the + hat; she talked quite rationally and cheerfully, and remembering the + innate vanity of the French as a nation, I concluded to let the matter + rest That night I heard no talking in the sitting-room. I slept + profoundly, and woke up later than usual We were not dug out yet, though + two snow-boys with their shovels were doing their best to unearth us. I + waited some time for Delle Josephine to appear with the tray; but she too + was late, evidently, for at ten o'clock she had not come. I dressed and + went down stairs. As I passed the sitting-room I saw her tricked out as + before in the hat and the antimacassar seated on the ottoman in front of + the looking-glass. Heavens, she looked more frightful than ever! I made up + my mind to speak to her at, once, and see if I could not stop such hideous + mummery. But when I advanced I perceived that indeed I had come too late. + The figure on the ottoman was rigid in death. How it ever held itself up + at all I could never think, for I gave a loud cry, and rushing from the + room knocked against the open door and fell down senseless. + </p> + <p> + Outside, I suppose, the snow-boys shovelled away as hard as ever. When I + came to myself I did not need to look around; I knew in a flash where I + was, and remembered what had happened. I ran to the shop door and hammered + with all my might. + </p> + <p> + “Let me out!” I cried. “Open the door! open the door! for Heaven's sake!” + Then I ran upstairs, and did the same at my window. It seemed years upon + years of time till they were enabled to open the door and let me out. I + rushed out bareheaded, forgetful of the intense cold, thinking first of + all of the priest <i>Père Le Jeune</i>, so strong is habit, so potent are + traditions. I knew where he lived, up the first turning in a small red + brick house next the church of St. Jean Baptiste. I told him the facts of + the case as well as I could and he came back at once with me. There was + nothing to be done. Visitation of God or whatever the cause of death Delle + Josephine Boulanger was dead. The priest lifted his hands in horror when + he saw the ghostly hat. I asked him what he knew about her, but he seemed + ignorant of everything concerning the poor thing, except the <i>aves</i> + she repeated and the number of times she came to confession. But when we + came to look over her personal effects in the drawers and boxes of the + shop, there could be no doubt but that she had been thoroughly though + harmlessly insane. We found I should think about one hundred and fifty + boxes: from tiny little ones of pasteboard to large square ones of deal, + full of rows and rows of white quilled ribbon, similar to the piece I had + seen her working at on that last night of her life on earth. Some of the + ribbon was yellow with age, others fresher looking, but in each box was a + folded bit of paper with these words written inside, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Pour l'ptite Catherine</i>. +</pre> + <p> + “What money there was, <i>Père Le Jeune</i> must have appropriated for I + saw nothing of any. After the dismal funeral, to which I went, I gathered + my effects together and went to the hotel. The first day I could proceed, + I returned to Montreal and have not visited Bonneroi since. The family of + <i>de la Corne de La Colombière</i> still reside somewhere near Quebec, I + believe. The <i>château</i> is called by the charming name of Port Joli, + and perhaps some day I may feel called upon to tell them of the strange + fate which befell their poor Josephine. Whether the melancholy accident + which partly bereft her of her reason was the result of carelessness I + cannot say but I shall be able, I think, to prove to them that she never + forgot the circumstance, and was to the day of her death occupied in + making ready for the little coffin and shroud of her '<i>p'tite Catherine</i>.' + My sketch of the frost bound Montmorenci was never finished, and indeed my + winter sketching fell through altogether after that unhappy visit to + Bonneroy. I was for weeks haunted by that terrible sight, half ludicrous, + half awful, and I have, now that I am married, a strong dislike to scarlet + in the gowns or head-gear of my wife and daughter.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Story of Etienne Chezy D'Alencourt + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + As my friends know, I was born an Englishman, spending the first + twenty-four years of my life in England. On my twenty-fifth birthday I set + foot on the shore of the great North American Continent, destined for a + time to be my home. Two days afterwards I entered the office set apart for + me in the handsome Government Buildings at Ottawa, and began my duties. A + transfer had recently been effected between the Home and Canadian Civil + Service, and I had been chosen to fill the vacant colonial post. Having no + ties or obligations of any kind I had nothing to lose by the transaction + except the pleasure and advantage of living in England, which, however, + had ceased for one or two reasons to be dear to me. + </p> + <p> + I did not, however, remain very long in the Service. I found it pleasant + work but monotonous, and receiving shortly after I went out a legacy + bequeathed by a widowed aunt I had almost forgotten, determined to leave + it and devote myself to study and travel. Like many Englishmen, I had + taken no trouble to ascertain the real points of interest about me. I had + been content with mastering and getting through my work, and with mingling + out of hours with the small but thoroughly charming set I had found ready + to welcome me on my arrival as the “new Englishman.” On the whole, I was + popular, though one great flaw—<i>i.e.</i>—lack of high birth + and desirable home connections, weighed to an alarming extent with the + dowagers of the Capital. + </p> + <p> + I had, on leaving the Service, made up my mind to study the people of the + Dominion. The English Canadians were easily disposed of in this way; most + of them were Scotch, and the rest appeared to be Irish. I then began on + the Indian population. But this was not so easy. It seemed impossible to + find even a single Indian without going some distance. + </p> + <p> + At last I unearthed one descendant of the Red man who kept a small tavern + in the lower part of the town; a dirty frame tenement almost entirely + hidden by an immense sign hanging outside, having the figure, heroic size + of an Iroquois in full evening dress, feathers, bare legs and tomahawk. + </p> + <p> + This place was known as “Tommy's.” But Tommy himself was only half an + Indian, and swore such bad swears in excellent English, that I was forced + to leave after a minute's inspection. + </p> + <p> + Then I began on the French-Canadians. There were plenty of them. In the + Buildings, on the streets, in the markets, in shops, they were all over. + Some of the most charming people I know were French-Canadians. My landlady + and her husband, quiet, sober devout people, were French-Canadians. + </p> + <p> + What I wanted to find, though, was a genuine unadulterated French-Canadian + of the class known as the <i>habitans</i>. I could recollect many + dark-eyed, fierce-mustached men whom I had seen since my residence in + Canada, and whom I conjectured must have been <i>habitans</i>. Up the + Gatineau and down the St. Lawrence, it would be easy to find whom I + wanted, but I preferred to wait on in town. I had many a disappointment. + One day it would be a cabman, another day a clerk. Though they all <i>looked</i> + French, they invariably turned out to be English or Scotch. My notions of + hair and skin and eyes were being all turned upside down; my favorite + predispositions annulled, my convictions changed to fallacies—in + short I was thoroughly bewildered. I could not find my <i>habitant</i>. At + the same time, when I did find him, he would have to know how to speak + some English, for I could only speak very little French. I read it well of + course, wrote it quite easily, but on essaying conversation was always + seized with that instinctive horror of making a fool of myself, which + besets most Englishmen when they would attempt a foreign language. + Besides, the <i>patois</i> these people spoke was vastly different from + ordinary French, as taught in schools and colleges, and what it might be + like I had not in those days the faintest idea, not having read Rabelais. + </p> + <p> + The worst <i>désillusionnement</i> I suffered I will recount. One day I + noticed an elderly man clad in corduroy trousers, shabby brown velveteen + coat, conical straw hat and dirty blue shirt, lounging about a wharf I + sometimes frequented where, at one time, would lay from thirty to fifty + barges laden with lumber. Bargetown it might have been called; it was a + veritable floating colony of French and Swede, Irish and Scotch, jabbering + and smoking by day and lying quietly at night under the stars, save for + the occasional jig and scrape of the fiddle of some active Milesian. Here, + had I fully known it, was my chance for observation, but I was ignorant at + that time of the ways of these people and did not venture among them. But + the man in the velvet coat interested me. He gesticulated the whole time + most violently, waved his arms about and made great use of his pipe, which + he used to point with. I could not hear what he was saying for his back + was turned to me and the wind carried all he said to the bargemen, as he + wished it to do I suppose. + </p> + <p> + How splendidly that coat becomes him, thought I. The descendant of some + fine old French settler, how superbly he carries himself! + </p> + <p> + The conical becomes on him a cocked hat and in place of ragged fringe and + buttons hanging by a single string, I see the buckles and bows, the sword + and cane of a by-gone age! + </p> + <p> + I made up my mind to address him, when to my disgust he got into one of + the barges, which moved off slowly, transporting him, as I supposed, to + his northern home. + </p> + <p> + The next morning the bell of my front door attracted my attention by + ringing three or four times. Evidently my landlady was out. I sauntered to + the door and found my <i>habitant</i> of the velveteen coat and duty blue + shirt! + </p> + <p> + Gracious heaven! I was overcome! By what occult power had he been driven + here to deliver himself into my hands? Before I could speak, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Av ye plaze, sorr, will yez be having any carrpets to bate? I'm taking + orders against the sphring claning, sorr.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! are you?” said I. I began to feel very sorry for myself, very sorry, + indeed, at this supreme instant. “Do you live near here?” I further + inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Shure and I do, sorr. Jist beyant yez. I pass yez every day in the week. + Me number's 415”—He was about handing me a greasy bit of paper, when + I slammed the door in his face and retired to my own room to meditate on + the strange accent and peculiar calling of this descendant of the “fine + old French settler.” + </p> + <p> + My next choice, however, proved a fortunate one. I got into a street-car + one evening late in the month of March. It was the winter street-car, a + great dark caravan, with a long narrow bench down either side and a mass + of hay all along the middle, with a melancholy lamp at the conductor's + end. Although fairly light outside, it was quite dark inside the caravan, + so the conductor set about lighting the lamp. This is the way he did it. + Opening the door he put his head in, looked all around, shut the door and + stopped his horses. Then he opened the door again and put his head in + again, keeping the door open this time that we might inhale the fresh + March night air. I say we, because when I grew accustomed to the dark, I + saw there was another occupant of the car, a man seated on the opposite + seat a little way down. The conductor felt under the seat for something + which I suppose was the can which, taken presently by him to the corner + grocery before which we had stopped, came back replenished with coal oil. + After he had filled the lamp, he lit in succession three matches, + persistently holding them up so that they all went out one after the + other. He felt in his pockets but he had no more. Then he asked me. I had + none. Then he asked the other man. The other man laughed and replied in + French. I did not understand what he said but saw him supply the conductor + with a couple of matches. When the lamp was finally lighted I looked more + closely at him. He was a working man from his attire: colored shirt, coat + of a curious bronze colour much affected by the Canadian labourer, old fur + cap with ears, and moccasins. At his feet stood a small tin pail with a + cover. His face was pale and singularly well-cut. His hair was black and + very smooth and shiny; a very slight moustache gave character to an + otherwise effeminate countenance and his eyes were blue, very light blue + indeed and mild in their expression. We smiled involuntarily as the + conductor departed. The man was the first to speak: + </p> + <p> + “De conductor not smoke, surely,” he said, showing me his pipe in one + hand. “I always have the matches.” + </p> + <p> + “So do I, as a general thing,”. I rejoined. “One never knows when a match + may be wanted in this country.” I spoke rather surlily, for I had been + getting dreadfully chilled while the conductor was opening and shutting + the door. The man bent forward eagerly, though without a trace of rudeness + in his manner. + </p> + <p> + “You do not live here, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! yes, I do now, but I was thinking of England when I spoke.” + </p> + <p> + “That is far away from here, surely.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! yes,” I sighed. So did the man opposite me. We were silent then for a + few moments when he spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “There is a countree I should like to see and dat is France. I hear, sir, + I hear my mother talk of dat countree, and I tink—I should like to + go there. But that is far away from here, too far away, sure.” + </p> + <p> + My heart leapt up. Here, if ever, must be the man I was in search of. + </p> + <p> + “You are a French-Canadian, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Sir, I am dat.” + </p> + <p> + “And where do you live?” said I. + </p> + <p> + “I work in de mill; de largess mill in the Chaudière. You know dat great + water, the fall under the bridge, dat we call the Chaudière.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it well,” said I, “but I have never gone properly over any of the + mills. I should like to go some day very much. Should I see you anywhere + if I went down?” + </p> + <p> + He stared, but gave me the name of his mill. It belonged to one of the + wealthiest lumber kings of the district. I resolved to go down the next + day. + </p> + <p> + “What is your name,” I asked. The man hesitated a minute before he + replied, + </p> + <p> + “Netty.” + </p> + <p> + “Netty!” I repeated “What a curious name! You have another name, I expect. + That must only be a nickname.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais oui Monsieur</i>. My name is much longaire than dat. My whole + name is Etienne Guy Chèzy D'Alencourt, but no man call me dat, specially + in de mill. 'Netty'—dey all know 'Netty.'” + </p> + <p> + It was a long name, truly, and a high-sounding one,—but I preferred + thinking of him by it than by the meaningless soubriquet of “Netty.” At + the next corner he got out, touching his cap to me quite politely as he + passed. + </p> + <p> + I was in high spirits that evening, for I believed I had found my <i>habitant</i>. + I went down to the Chaudière the following day, and got permission to go + over Mr. ——'s mill I found it very interesting, but my mind + was not sufficiently centered on planks and logs and booms to adequately + appreciate them. I wanted “Netty.” After I had made the complete round of + the mill I came upon him hard at work in his place turning off planks in + unfailing order as they whizzed along. The noise was deafening, of bolts + and bars, and saws and chains, with the roar of the great cascade outside. + He saw me and recognized me on my approach, but he could not speak for + some time. It was most monotonous work, I thought. No conversation + allowed, not even possible; the truly demoniacal noise, yet just outside + on the other side of a small window, the open country, the mighty waters + of the ever-boiling “Kettle,” or Chauldron, and the steep spray-washed + cliff. Standing on my toes I could, looking out of Netty's small window, + discover all this. The ice was still in the river, half the fall itself + was frozen stiff, and reared in gabled arches to the sky. I watched the + two scenes alternately until at 6 o'clock the wheels ran down, the belts + slackened and the men knocked off. + </p> + <p> + Netty walked out with me at my request, and learning that he had to return + in an hour I proposed we should have a meal together somewhere and a talk + at the same time. He must have been greatly astonished at a complete + stranger in another walk of life fastening upon him in this manner, but he + gave no hint of either surprise or fear, and maintained the same mild + demeanour I had noticed in him the day before. + </p> + <p> + It was darkening rapidly and I did not know where to go for a meal. Netty + told me he ought to go to St. Patrick St. I knew the locality and did not + think it necessary to go all that way, “unless anybody will be waiting for + you, expecting you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! not dat I live in a boarding house, my mother—she in the + countree, far from here.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, 'I said,' you can go where you like. Do you know any place near + here where we can get a cup of tea and some eggs? What will do for you, I + daresay, and I hardly want as much.” + </p> + <p> + But he knew of no reliable place and after walking about for a quarter of + an hour we finally went to the refreshment room at the station and ordered + beer and tea and sandwiches. + </p> + <p> + “I daresay you wonder at my bringing you out here with me. You'd get a + better meal perhaps at your boarding-house. But do you know I've taken a + fancy to you and, I want to see a little more of you and learn how you + live, if you will kindly tell me. I am interested in your people, the + French-Canadians.” + </p> + <p> + This sounds very clumsily put and so it did then, but I was obliged to + explain my actions in some way and what is better than the truth? Lies, I + have no doubt to some people, but I was compelled to be truthful to this + man who carried a gentle and open countenance with him. No gentleman could + have answered me more politely than he did now. + </p> + <p> + “Sir I am astonish—<i>oui un peu</i>, but if there is anyting I can + tell you, anyting I can show you I shall be ver glad. The mill—how + do you find dat, Sir? + </p> + <p> + “I like to watch you work very much, but the noise”— + </p> + <p> + Netty laughed, showing his radiant white teeth. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais oui</i>, de noise is bad, but one soon custom to dat. I am in de + mill for four year. I come from up in de north—from the Grand + Calumet—do you know there, Sir?” + </p> + <p> + “That is an island is it not? Yes, I know where it is, near Allumette, but + I have never been so far up on the Ottawa. And the Gatineau, that is a + river, is it not? What pretty names these French ones are! Gatineau!” I + repeated thinking. “That comes, I fancy having heard somewhere, from + Demoiselle Marie Josephe Gatineau Duplessis, wife of one of the first + French settlers. By the way your name is a curious one. Say it again.” + </p> + <p> + Netty very gravely repeated, “Etienne Guy Chézy D'Alencourt.” + </p> + <p> + “Was your father a native Canadian?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Oui Monsieur</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “The name seems familiar to me,” I remarked. “I daresay if you cared to + look the matter up, you might find that your great grandfather was + something or other under the Intendant Bigot or Vaudreuil, or earlier + still under Maisonneuve the gallant founder of Montreal. Ah! how everybody + seems to have forgotten those old days. Even in Canada, you see, there is + something to look back upon.” + </p> + <p> + My companion seemed rather puzzled as I talked in this strain. Very + probably it was over his head. I found he could neither read nor write, + had been reared in the pine-clad and icy fastnesses of Grand Calumet + Island all alone by his mother—an old dame now about seventy. He + himself was about thirty he judged, though he was far from sure. He was a + good Catholic in intention, though very ignorant of all ritual. From his + youth he had been employed on the rafts and lumber-slides of the Ottawa + river until his four years' session at the mill, where he had picked up + the English he knew. He had made no friends he told me. The more I + conversed with him the more I was impressed with his simple and polite + manners, his innate good breeding, and his faith and confidence in the + importance of daily toil and all honest labour. He smoked a little, drank + a little, but never lost his head became obtrusively familiar, noisy or + inquisitive. I felt ashamed to think how deliberately I had sought him + out, to pry into the secrets and facts of his daily life, but solaced + myself into the assurance that it could not at least bode him harm and it + might possibly do him some service. + </p> + <p> + When we returned to the mill, I was astonished at the weirdness of the + scene. The entire premises were flooded with the electric light and the + men were working away, and the saws, belts and bars all in motion as if it + were the middle of the day. What a pandemonium of sound and colour and + motion it was! The strong resinous odor of the pine-wood mingled with the + fresh air blown in from the river, and I inhaled both eagerly. + </p> + <p> + It was almost powerful enough to affect the head, and I fancied I caught + myself reeling a little as I walked out on to the bridge, swaying just the + least bit as the torrent of angry water swept under it I had said “<i>Bonsoir</i>” + to my friend the Frenchman and was free to go home. But I lingered long on + the heaving bridge, though it was cold and starless, and I got quite wet + with the dashed-up spray. + </p> + <p> + Up the river gleamed the icy masses of the frozen fall, beyond that the + northern country of the northern waters stretched away up to the North + Pole with little, if any, human interruption. + </p> + <p> + Down the river on the three superb cliffs, rising high out of the water, + sparkled the many lights in the Gothic windows of the buildings. On either + side were the illuminated mills with their rushing logs and their myriad + busy hands piling, smoothing and sawing the monsters of the forest + helpless under the fetters of leather and steel. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + For the events which followed, I hold myself alone and altogether + responsible. Nearly every evening I spent at the Chaudière, either + watching my new friend at his work or lounging on the bridge, and always + finishing the day by walking home with him to his boarding house. Thus I + got to know him very well, and I soon discovered one thing that he was far + from strong. Even a life-long residence among the purifying and + strengthening airs of the keen fresh North had not protected him from the + insidious ravages of that dread complaint—consumption. I fancied the + hereditary taint must be on his father's side, for he always alluded to + his mother as being exceptionally healthy. On Sundays I accompanied him to + Church in the morning at the Basilica; in the afternoons we used to walk + all over the town in various directions. Of course, on all these + excursions, I did most of the talking. He was a good listener, and readily + improved in understanding and appreciation. Noticing that he was + particularly fond of any story connected with the life of the early French + in Canada, I read up all the works I could find on the subject, going + often to the Parliamentary Library for that purpose, and retailing the + more interesting and intelligible facts to him afterwards. Crusoe did not + watch over and educate Friday any more carefully than I my mild and + gentlemanly “Shantyman” in his blue shirt and canvas trowsers. + </p> + <p> + I grew at last, after three months' intimacy with him, quite to love him, + and I am sure my affection was reciprocated for he ever welcomed me with a + strong, clinging pressure of my hand and a smile which was a brighter one + than that which his face had worn when I met him first. A strange + friendship, but one which I felt to be so absorbing that I could not have + endured other friends. April passed, and May, and with the hot weather + Etienne, whose health gave way all at once, would have to return for a + short visit to the old mother all by herself on the island of Grand + Calumet. + </p> + <p> + I feared to let him go, he looked more delicate in my eyes every day, but + I knew it would be good for him in many ways. So a day came that saw my + friend D'Alencourt go back to his northern home. He would not ask me to go + and visit him, he had too much natural pride for that, but I made up my + mind to find him out, for all that. As may be supposed I was like the + traditional fish out of the traditional water for some time after his + departure. + </p> + <p> + I read and amused myself in any way that offered, but cared not to + experiment on any more French-Canadians. + </p> + <p> + In my reading I read for two, and made notes of anything I thought would + interest Etienne. One day I came across the same name as his own, borne by + a certain young soldier, a sprig of the French <i>noblesse</i> who had + followed in the train of Bigot, the dissolute and rapacious Governor of + New France. I meditated long over this. The name was identical—Guy + Chézy D'Alencourt. In the case of my friend the mill-hand there was simply + the addition of Etienne, the first Christian name. Could he possibly be + the descendant of this daring and gallant officer, of whose marriage and + subsequent settling in Canada I could find no mention? The thing seemed + unlikely, yet perfectly possible. I had predicted it myself. As if to + fasten my thoughts even more securely on the absent Etienne that very day + arrived a letter from Grand Calumet. It was addressed to me in a laboured + but most distinct hand. I thought that Etienne had commissioned the priest + doubtless to write for him or some other friend, but when I opened it I + found to my great surprise that it was from Etienne himself and in his own + handwriting, the result he told me of work at home in his Lower Town + boarding-house. + </p> + <p> + I dropped the letter. He had taught himself to, write! This was the first + fruit of my intimacy with him, and I hardly knew whether I was pleased or + not. But I clearly saw that this night-work added to the arduous toil and + late hours imposed upon him by his place in the mill had probably been the + cause of undermining his bodily strength. The letter itself ran: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Dear Sir,—The frend of Etienne D'Alenconrt, he can write you—he + can send you a <i>lettre</i> from the Grand Calumet, his island that + is green, Monsieur, and full of sweet berries. If you would come, + Mossier, you would find Etienne and his mother reddy to do all they + can. Still, Monsieur shall in this please alway himself, the friend + and benefactor of Etienne Chézy D'Alencourt.” + </pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + GRAND CALUMET ISLAND. + + “It was at night, when Monsieur had gone home, that I learnt myself + to write and thank him for all teaching from the books beside.” + + “E.” + </pre> + <p> + Of course, I would accept the invitation. I decided to go in a week's time + and wrote to that effect. I wished to reprimand him for having overtaxed + his strength as I was sure he had done in sitting up teaching himself how + to write, but respect for the dear fellow's perseverance and ability + restrained me. + </p> + <p> + Only when I got him again, I said to myself, I would stop that. I took + with me a gun, fishing rods and tackle, a mosquito net, plenty of cigars + and a hamper of tinned meats, tea, coffee and biscuits. + </p> + <p> + My journey was nearly altogether by water and I enjoyed every inch of the + beautiful river. After I reached the landing stage, a place called + Lichfield, I had to wait an hour before proceeding in the direction which + I had found out it would be necessary to follow in order to find Etienne + and his mother. + </p> + <p> + I shall never forget the delight of that one hour passed in rambling + through the lonely green wood that covered the island down to the shore. + The ferns were young and freshly unfurled, the moss was everywhere, green + and close and soft like velvet and star-clustering, gray and yellow. The + surviving flowers were the large white blossoms of the woodland lily, and + the incoming <i>Linnæa</i> began to show the faint pink of its twin bells, + afterwards to be so sweet and fragrant. + </p> + <p> + I thought of that passage in the letter which told of “the island that was + green and full of sweet berries.” Not a bad description for a person whom + the world must perforce term an illiterate man. + </p> + <p> + When my conveyance arrived, it proved to be a stage of antiquated type and + I suffered horribly during the journey of three hours. At the end of that + time, I was set down with my luggage at the gate of a small log hut, with + a little garden in front, bordered with beautiful pink and green stones, + the like of which I had never seen before. A snake fence ran in front of + this and on two sides, at the back was a thick wood. + </p> + <p> + Etienne was ready for me at which I rejoiced, fearing to make myself known + to the dame his mother. + </p> + <p> + Once more I felt that honest and affectionate hand grasp, once more I met + those clear and steady blue eyes, and I noted the flush of pride which + overspread his face when I told him that I had received his letter and + marvelled at it. + </p> + <p> + “Mossieu know so much and Etienne so ver little.” But when the flush had + died away, I was pained exceedingly to see the pallor of his cheeks and + the prominence of his high cheekbones. His walk was unsteady too, he put + his feet down, I noticed, as if they were light instead of solid supports + for his body, a sure sign of great physical weakness. My worst fears were + realized when I saw on the deal table in the front room, furnished with + home-made rugs drawn from woolen rags dyed all colors and some plain deal + furniture stained brown, a little pile of books. There were two + copy-books, two dictionaries, a small “Histoire de Canada” and some + illustrated magazines. I saw that he could read, too, pretty well, for he + presently drew my attention to a very old book indeed, that lay on a + shelf, a little Roman Catholic missal with tarnished gold clasps and + scarlet edges. + </p> + <p> + “Dat was belong to my fader,” he said, “for many a year; and it was from + his fader he get it.” + </p> + <p> + I looked at it eagerly all over. The fly-leaf bore no inscription, but up + in one corner, in faded red ink, was something that looked like a monogram + with a device underneath. I would have examined it at once but that + Etienne was anxious to read me a little of the Latin which he had picked + out with infinite patience, I should think. I promised to help him a + little occasionally, but told him that he was not looking well and had + better be content with ignorance in this lovely summer weather. + </p> + <p> + “When the winter comes and you are back at the mill, you can study as much + as you like.” + </p> + <p> + The old dame was sallow and sunken from a life of incessant hard work. The + climate itself, so changeable as well as inclement in these northern + wilds, is enough to pinch the face and freeze the blood, although at the + time of my visit it was hot, intensely hot for so early in the summer. + Moreover, the old dame was not given to talking. So taciturn a Frenchwoman + I never met elsewhere. They are usually characterized by a vivacious + loquacity which is the seal of their nationality. But this one was silent + in the extreme and had, as her son told me, never once held a conversation + with him on any subject whatever. Of his father he knew literally only + this fact—that he had been a “shantyman” in his time too, and was + killed by a strained rope striking him across the middle. Etienne did not + remember him. The time sped on. They made me as comfortable as they could + in the front or “best” room, but, when I thought it would not offend them, + I slept outside—“<i>couchant à la belle etoile</i>” as Rousseau has + it—and beautiful nights those were I spent in this manner. We had + plenty of fruit—wild strawberries and raspberries—pork and + beans and potatoes forming the staple articles of diet. There was no cow, + no horse, no dog belonging to the house. Fish we could get ourselves in + plenty, and eggs made their appearance in a farmer's wagon about twice a + week. Etienne and I spent entire days out-of-doors, shooting, fishing, + walking, reading. I tried to take his mind off his books, but it was of no + use. He had got so attached to his studies and new pursuits in life that + one day he startled me by asserting that he did not intend to go back to + the mill in future. I remonstrated gently with him, reminding him that as + yet his education was very incomplete, that few situations of the kind he + probably aspired to would be open to him for some time to come, and that + in the meantime he must suffer from want of money, and thus be the cause + of seeing his mother suffer as well. But he startled me further in reply + by stating that he knew himself to be slowly dying of consumption and that + he would shortly be of little use to anyone. His wish was to leave Canada + altogether and die in—France! France, the country of his dreams, the + goal of his dying ambition, the land of the golden <i>fleur de lis</i>, of + the chivalrous soldiers, the holy women and the pious fathers who + colonized the land of his birth! + </p> + <p> + I remonstrated with him as I have said. I expostulated in every key; I + took his mother into my confidence as well as I could since she knew not a + word of English; I laughed at him, I wept over him, I endeavoured by every + argument in my power to make him change my mind, but— + </p> + <p> + I failed. Then when I understood how firmly his mind was set upon this + extraordinary idea, I made up my mind to accompany him, in fact, not to + leave him at all until he either grew wiser and stronger, or else died the + death he predicted for himself. I found that the old dame had quite a + store of money saved by her little by little every year from Etienne's + earnings, and from what she made by selling the rugs I mentioned. These + sold for a dollar and upwards according to the size. Putting some of my + own to this fund of hers, I calculated she had enough to go upon for at + least a year. Wants are few in that district. Then I turned my attention + to Etienne. He was growing worse; he would lie for hours reading or + attempting to read with great beads of perspiration mounting on his brow. + The heat was excessive and proved very bad for him. I judged he would be + better in town and after I had been on the island for about two months, I + begged him to return with me. I promised him that once there, I would not + leave him for a day, and would even consider the possibility of taking him + across the ocean. He still maintained his calm and perfect manners and + insisted upon paying his fare down the river which I let him do, knowing + that soon his stock of money would be exhausted and he would then be at my + mercy. No sign of cupidity was apparent in his demeanor, yet I wondered + how he ever thought to reach France unless I paid his way. Like all + consumptives, he had a trick of rallying now and then and appearing better + than he really was. This occurred on our arrival in town. He took long + walks with me again daily and seemed so much stronger that I again dared + to suggest the propriety of his returning to the mill, but to no purpose. + He drooped at the very thought, and I perceived that his apparent recovery + was but a delusion, I soon saw he was weaker than ever. But whenever he + was at all able, he persisted in reading what he could understand and + really his progress was a marvel to me. So it came about that one evening, + towards the close of September where we had sometimes to light the lamp as + early as half-past six, I returned to my rooms about that hour of the day + (we shared rooms together, so fond had I grown of him, and I trust, he of + me) to find him poring over the little Catholic Missal. + </p> + <p> + “In this light? This will never do. And you could not light the lamp + yourself, my poor Etienne!” + </p> + <p> + When it was lighted, I saw indeed from his weak and excited appearance + that he was unable to do anything for himself. Lying on my sofa, he had in + one hand the scarlet-edged missal, and in the other the book I have + referred to, which contained a short sketch of Guy Chézy D'Alencourt the + handsome and reckless lieutenant of <i>La Nouvelle France</i>. + </p> + <p> + He could hardly speak but through his gasping I could gather that he + wished me to examine the words in the corner of fly-leaf I had once + noticed before and believed to be a monogram. I quieted him a little, then + bringing the lamp-light to bear upon the faded ink, I was able to decipher + the device, which comprised a crown, three <i>fleurs-de-lis</i> under, and + a lamb bearing a banner, with the letters I.H.S. upon it. + </p> + <p> + “The arms of Rouen!” I exclaimed “and above them, some initials, yes, a + monogram!” + </p> + <p> + My companion sat up in his excitement. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! dat is what I cannot make quite out! Tree letter—<i>oui, vite, + cher mosdieu, vite</i>!” + </p> + <p> + I had to look very closely indeed to decipher these, but with the aid of a + small lens I found them to be “G. C. D'A.” + </p> + <p> + There could be little doubt but that Etienne was the lineal descendant of + Guy Chézy D'Alencourt, native of Rouen, who came to Canada in the same + year as Bigot. I told him so and wondered what his thoughts could be, for + clasping my hands with as much force as he possessed—and that is at + times a wonderful force in the clasp of the dying—he said with a + great effort: + </p> + <p> + “If dat is so, <i>mossieu</i>, if dat is so, I have <i>O le bon Dieu</i>—I + have—<i>mossieu</i>, I have—O if dat is true”— + </p> + <p> + He fell back and I caught no more. The excitement proved too much for my + poor friend. When I spoke to him, he was unconscious and he never fully + recovered his senses. Alas! he lay in a few weeks, beneath the sod of + Grand Calumet Island, and France is ignorant of the fact that a true + aristocrat and simple-hearted gentleman existed in the humble person of my + friend the <i>habitant</i>, Etienne Guy Chézy D'Alencourt, <i>alias</i> + “Netty.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Descendez a L'Ombre, ma Jolie Blonde. + </h2> + <p> + The Honourable Bovyne Vaxine Vyrus refused to be vaccinated. Stoutly, + firmly and persistently refused to be vaccinated. Not even the temptation + of exposing to the admiring gaze of a medical man the superb muscles and + colossal proportions of an arm which had beaten Grace and thrashed + (literally) Villiers of the Guards, weighed with him. + </p> + <p> + “It's deuced cool!” he said, to his cousin Clarges, of Clarges St. + Mayfair, a fair, slight fellow, with a tiny yellow moustache. “Haven't I + been six times to India, and twice to Africa; that filthy Algiers, you + remember, and Turkey, and New Orleans, and Lisbon, and Naples? and now, + when I was done only eight years ago at home, here I am to be done again, + where, I am sure, it all looks clean enough and healthy! It makes me ill, + and I <i>won't</i> be done; laid up for a week and lose all the fun I came + for!” + </p> + <p> + “Bovey, though you <i>are</i> the strongest fellow in England, you're no + less a coward!” + </p> + <p> + Young Clarges looked up as he spoke, seriously: “<i>I</i> shall be done!” + </p> + <p> + “You? Well, so I should expect from a baby like you, Arthur! You will + never grow up, never learn to think for yourself! Now let me alone on the + subject, and let us look up this country place we were told about!” But + Clarges was not easily silenced. + </p> + <p> + “Think of Lady Violet, Bovey! If anything were to happen to you out here, + and the children, Bovey,—Rex and Florence, you know!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! cut it, now, Arthur; I tell you it's of no use!” + </p> + <p> + Young Clarges looked out across the river, and bit the tiny yellow + moustache. “Then I won't be done, either!” said he to himself. “It's borne + in upon me that one of us has got to get this accursed thing, and if I can + prevent it, it shan't be Bovey!” What a strange scene it was beneath, + around, above and opposite them! Beneath flowed the river, solid with + sawdust, the yellow accumulation of which sent up a strong resinous smell + that almost made them giddy; to the left the tumultuous foam of the + Chaudière cast a delicate veil of spray over the sharp outlines of the + bridge traced against a yellow sky; to the right, the water stretched away + in a dull gray expanse, bordered by grim pines and flat sterile country. + Around them the three mighty cliffs on which the Capital is built, above + them the cold gray of an autumnal sky, and opposite them the long + undulations of purplish brown hills that break the monotony of the view, + and beyond which stretch away to an untrodden north the wastes and forests + of an uncleared continent. + </p> + <p> + “Are we looking due north, now, Arthur, do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so,” returned Clarges. He was astride a cannon and still biting + the tiny moustache. “Yes, by the direction of the sunset we must be, I + suppose. I say, if we are, you know, I should like to be able to tell + between what two trees—it would have to be between two of those + trees there—we should have to walk to get to the North Pole.” + </p> + <p> + The Hon. Bovyne looked around suddenly and laughed. He was fishing + apparently in his pockets for a paper or something of the kind, as he had + a number of letters in his hand, looking them over. + </p> + <p> + “What two trees? Where? Arthur, you <i>are</i> a donkey. What are you + talking about?” + </p> + <p> + “I say,” returned Clarges, “that it is perfectly true that as we sit here, + facing due north, all we have to do is to walk straight over this river—” + </p> + <p> + “On the sawdust?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, over those hills and between two of those trees in order to + get to the North Pole. Curious, isn't it? If you look awfully close, real + hard, you know, you can almost count their branches as they stand up + against the sky. Like little feathers—huff-f-f-f—one could + almost blow them away!” + </p> + <p> + The Honorable Bovyne laughed again. Clarges was a mystery to him, as to + many others. Half-witted he sometimes called him, though on other + occasions he stood in awe of his bright, candid, fearless nature, and his + truthful and reckless tongue. + </p> + <p> + “I say,” went on Clarges excitedly, shading his eyes with his hand. “There + are two trees out there in a straight line from this very cannon that—that + I should know again, Bovey! Do look where I point now like a good fellow. + Don't you see there, following the chimney of that big red place, factory + or other, right in a line with that at the very top of the hill at its + highest point, two trees that stand a little apart from the others and + have such funny branches—Oh! you must be able to see them by those + queer branches! One crooks out on one side just as the other does on the + other tree. That isn't very lucid, but you see what I mean can't you? They + make a sort of—of—lyre shape.” + </p> + <p> + The Hon. Bovyne shaded his eyes with his hand and looked out over the + river and distant hills. “I see a line of trees, feathery trees, you aptly + call them my dear Arthur, but I can't make out your particular two. How is + it possible, at such a distance, to see anything like a <i>lyre</i> of all + things? Come along, I've found the address I wanted. It reads most + peculiarly. It seems there are still a great number of French people + around here, in fact, all over this Province which they sometimes call + Lower Canada. Do you remember much of your French?” I spoke a lot in + Algiers of course but I fancy it isn't much like this jargon. Our + destination is or appears to be, <i>c/o Veuve Peter Ross, Les Chats</i>, + pronounced <i>Lachatte</i>, so Simpson told me. + </p> + <p> + “Who told you about the place?” enquired young Clarges getting off the + cannon? “Simpson? What sort of a fellow is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Who? Simpson?” said his cousin in turn. “Um—not bad. Been out here + too long, though. Awfully quiet, goes in for steady work and takes hardly + any exercise. I wonder why it is the fellows here don't walk more! New + country and all that; I should have thought they would all go in for + country walks and shooting and sports of all kinds. They don't, you know, + from some reason or other. It can't be the fault of the country.” + </p> + <p> + “You forget the roads, Bovey, and the fences, and the interminable + distances and the immense rivers, and the long winter. I say, it looks + like snow to-night, doesn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you know about snow!” rejoined the Hon. Bovyne. “Let us get on, + there's a good fellow—confound you! don't stare at those imaginary + trees any longer, but come along.” + </p> + <p> + Certainly young Clarges was possessed with the queerest fancy about those + trees. “I say, Bovey, they were funny, though, to strike me like that, out + of all the others! I am sure I should know them again. Perhaps some day + we'll take a fly and go out there—I wonder if there's an inn? Does + what's her name, your old Scotch lady, keep an inn, or is it a farm we're + going to?” + </p> + <p> + “Scotch? Why do you say Scotch? She's French, I tell you. Simpson says she + can't speak a word of English.” + </p> + <p> + “But 'Peter Ross' is Scotch, isn't it? At least you can't make it French, + however you twist it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not anxious to twist it. Don't you see, Arthur, she is evidently a + Frenchwoman who married a man called Peter Ross; she is the <i>veuve</i>, + widow, you know! of the lamented Scotchman. Now do you understand? But it + <i>is</i> peculiar.” + </p> + <p> + “Very,” said Clarges. “When do we start?” + </p> + <p> + “There's a train to-morrow morning at eight o'clock, but I thought we had + better hire a trap, and a man to bring the trap back, and put all our + things, tents and so on, into it, and go out comfortably so as to see the + country.” + </p> + <p> + “All right!” said Clarges. “By Jove, what a splendid night it's going to + be, stars out already, Bovey! Don't you hope it'll be like this tomorrow? + Shall we camp out the first night and think of—of—Lady Violet + by our camp fire, and Rex and Florence—how they'd like to see us, + wouldn't they? And they can't, you know, they're three thousand miles + away, trying to make out each other's faces in the November fog, eh! + Bovey? I say, what shall we get to eat out there, at Lachatte, you know, + the country always makes me desperately hungry.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! we shall do well enough. Simpson says she is a capital old woman, + lives entirely alone; will cook for us, wait on us, make us pancakes, I + expect, and give us plenty of that stuff we had this morning at the + hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “Sweet stuff?” asked Clarges. “<i>I</i> know. Syrup, maple syrup, that'll + do.” + </p> + <p> + Simpson, the authority, thrice quoted by the elder of the two Englishmen, + appeared at dinner with them that evening. He was a hard-working, stodgy + son of person who had come out to the Canadian Civil Service fifteen + years, ago, lived much by himself until he took a wife out of a Canadian + village, a phlegmatic, stolid, unimaginative sort of a girl, who was + nevertheless a good wife and an excellent housekeeper. Simpson sniffed at + the dinner. It wasn't as good as his own. He felt ill at ease in the + presence of the two men, whose airy talk and loud laughter struck him with + a keen sense of its novelty. They joked about everything. Clarges + particularly was in high feather. The wine, which came partly from the + hotel and partly from the Hon. Bovyne's hamper, flowed often and freely, + and Simpson, who was a very moderate fellow, wondered at the quantity his + friends seemed to be able to imbibe. “Without showing any traces of it, + either,” he said to himself. “All this vivacity is natural; I remember the + type; in fact, I was something like it myself ten or twelve years ago.” + </p> + <p> + After dinner, Clarges rushed up stairs and down again with a small silk + plush packet of photographs tied with ribbons. The men were in the smoking + room. + </p> + <p> + “I say, I want Simpson to see Lady Violet, Bovey.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, and the children too? You sentimental ass, Arthur!” Clarges + laughed. It was a funny laugh, a kind of inane ripple that nevertheless + tickled everybody who heard it. “But it's too smoky here. Come up stairs + to the drawing room. There's a jolly big drawing room with a piano, and we + can say what we want to, everyone stares here so!” + </p> + <p> + “I should think they would,” said Simpson quietly. “Why do you get + yourself up like that, simply because you're in Canada? A knitted + waistcoat, three sizes too large for you—” + </p> + <p> + “That's to admit of heavy underclothing,” said Clarges, not in the least + perturbed. “Knickerbockers,” continued Simpson, “that are certainly one + size too small; a cap that looks like a hangman's, and a coat that must + have come off Praed St.” + </p> + <p> + The Hon. Bovyne laughed long and loud. “Oh, Arthur, Arthur!” he said. But + young Clarges did not mind in the least. Indeed, had he but known it, and + be it remembered to his merit that he did not know it, he made a fair and + manly picture as he stood under the light of the chandelier. His slim, + well-knit figure was more prepossessing than the herculean proportions of + his cousin, “the strongest man in England;” his crisp fair hair brushed + boyishly up on one side and his well-trimmed moustache of silky yellow, + his keen gray eyes and delicate features, all went far in point of + attractiveness, especially when added to these mere physical details, rang + the infectious laugh, clear, hearty and youthful, and spoke the natural, + honest, unrestrained tongue. + </p> + <p> + In the drawing room Clarges established himself on a sofa between the + other two. “Now, Simpson,” he said, “you must excuse me calling you + Simpson so freely, by the way, but you know, Bovey always calls you + Simpson—you don't mind, do you? You bang away at my clothing all you + like, and in return I'll call you Simpson. Now I'm going to show you Lady + Violet. You know who she is, she is Bovey's wife, <i>and</i> the loveliest + woman in England. Loveliest woman in England, look at that!” Clarges held + up very carefully, out at arm's length, a very fine photograph of an + undeniably beautiful woman. “Bovey's wife.” he ejaculated again. “You + never saw her, so you don't know what beauty is, do you? But here's the + next best thing, her photograph, and such a photograph! Now, you be good, + as we say to the children, and I'll show you that again after all the + others.” Next he showed him in a sort of ecstasy, Bovey's children. + </p> + <p> + “Rex and Florence,” he said, in an awe-struck tone. Bovey laughed, so did + Simpson. So would anybody have done. + </p> + <p> + “What are you laughing at,” said young Clarges, solemnly. “Oh, at me! + that's all right, everybody laughs at me. I knew it couldn't be the + children. Now here's another lovely girl,” and then there was another and + still another, and then a group in hunting attire just after the + breakfast; then pretty interiors with dainty rooms and women and children + and dogs, a capital likeness of Fred Burnaby, Vyrus' fellow-officer, + autographs of Gordon and Wolseley, a garden party at Clarges Mount, a + water-party at Richmond, photograph's and sketches taken in Algiers, + Cairo, Damascus, Bombay and Edinburgh. Simpson sat through all this + slightly bored and confused. What had he to do with this kind of life? + Once he had had some gleams of it, it is true, but that was years ago, + before his modest little establishment was in existence, presided over by + the plain, but virtuous Matilda of his later days. + </p> + <p> + “Well, now,” said he, preparing to take his leave, “is there anything + further you want to know about your plans, for I suppose I shall scarcely + see you again before you leave if you get off tomorrow morning as you + intend. One thing—of course you've been vaccinated?” + </p> + <p> + The Hon. Bovyne muttered, “bah!” Clarges began putting the photographs + away, all but Lady Violet. + </p> + <p> + “Then you haven't been done, eh?” said Simpson, interrogatively. “I would + if I were you. You can't tell where you're going or whom you'll meet. Why, + you can 'do' yourself if you object to a medical man fussing around.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you?” said Clarges. + </p> + <p> + “I don't object,” said Bovey, loftily; “but I must say I think it is + making a ridiculous and most unnecessary fuss about the matter. Why, there + are half a dozen diseases as virulent as the small-pox stalking about in + every large town, and we don't take those! Why should we take the + small-pox when we don't take the cholera, or the—the—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” observed Simpson, in his quiet manner, “I thought you would stick + for want of details. The fact is, that you can inoculate for small-pox, + and you can't as yet, for cholera or leprosy, and so wise people accept + the fact, the revelation if you will, and get vaccinated. However, as far + as your immediate surroundings go, you're safe enough. Old Mrs. Ross will + do all she can for you, and it isn't far, only twenty two miles from town + after all. You'll be walking in in a day or two for another tent or a + barrel of whiskey. Nothing like whiskey, Canadian whiskey, out in camp on + cold nights.” Simpson got up. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” said he, suddenly, “how you escaped being done on the train. + You came up from Quebec <i>via</i> St. Martin's Junction, didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! your importunate Inspector did make an effort on my behalf, but I was + firm. Nearly had a lodging in the Police Station though, but I told him + who we were and swore to having marks the size of flat-irons on both arms, + so he let me go.” + </p> + <p> + “And you,” said Simpson, turning to Clarges. “Me! oh! I shall be done. I + say, couldn't I walk out with you now and see a doctor about it? I believe + I will, Bovey, if you can spare me. For look you, Simpson, I am the + plaything of his leisure hours, a kind of Yorick, you know, and he might + be dull.” + </p> + <p> + The Hon. Bovyne looked grave for a second, “I believe I <i>should</i> be + dull without you, dear boy, though you are a crank. Let me see, how old + are you, Arthur?” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty-two,” answered Clarges. “Good heaven!” exclaimed the Hon. Bovine, + “and I am getting perilously near to forty. We'll change the subject. I'm + very sleepy. Don't expect to find me up when you come in, Arthur; + to-morrow night, remember, we may be sleeping on the cold ground, I shall + get all the rest I can to-night.” Clarges and the other man took their + leave. + </p> + <p> + “Once more, Bovey,” said the former, “won't you be done? Simpson, make + him! See here, look once more at Lady Violet, speak with <i>her</i> lips, + look with <i>her</i> eyes—the loveliest woman in England!” + </p> + <p> + “Go and get 'done,' as you call it, for heaven's sake, and let me alone!” + was all he got in reply. + </p> + <p> + But Clarges did not get done. He had an idea and this was his idea: To + walk to some doctor recommended by Simpson and procure an instrument + suitable for the purpose, and the necessary material, and to vaccinate his + cousin himself. The first part was easy enough. Simpson vaguely wondering + at his light-hearted talk, left him at a doctor's surgery door, and + Clarges, who could always get what he wanted from anybody in any part of + the world, soon persuaded the doctor to give him a “point” and all + necessary instructions. + </p> + <p> + “A small lancet is really a better thing,” said that gentleman, “but you + will manage all right, I daresay. We must really take every precaution we + can. Good evening.” + </p> + <p> + All this was easy; now arose the difficulty, how best to tackle Bovey. + </p> + <p> + “He's such a giant of a fellow,” thought Clarges. “But if he is only + asleep as he hinted he would be, there'll not be much difficulty. What + will he do when he finds it out in the morning, supposing I am successful + in operating upon him to-night? What a suggestive word! I am quite the + surgeon. But I'll do it—Arthur Clarges, see that you <i>do</i> do + it, by all you hold dear and sacred in old England!” + </p> + <p> + On his return, however, to the hotel, he found that his cousin was clearly + wide-awake again. + </p> + <p> + “Hang it all!” he said to himself, “why isn't he asleep?” But the Hon. + Bovyne was not in the least sleepy. He rallied Arthur on his poor arm but + fortunately did not ask to look at it. He ordered up a sherry cobbler + apiece and brought out some of his rarest weeds. “I say, what do you think + of Simpson, Bovey?” said Clarges, suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Think? why, that there's nothing in him to think about.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you know he was married?” + </p> + <p> + “No; is he?” Bovey was always laconic. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and he has four children. Just think, four! Two boys and two girls.” + </p> + <p> + “How interesting!” The two men smoked silently for a few minutes, then + Clarges said, “It must be a beautiful thing to be married, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I <i>ought</i> to know,” returned his cousin. + </p> + <p> + Clarges put his cigar down and went on. “To have somebody that belongs to + you, and to know that you belong to somebody; that's marriage, and I think + it must be very beautiful. Of course, you belong to other people too, just + the same, and they belong to you, but not so much, not in the same way. + You don't go to church all in a tremble with your father and your mother, + or your sister or your brother. You don't wear a ring—a beautiful, + great broad band of gold, you know, always shining there on your finger—or + you don't put one on for anybody else save just the person that belongs to + you in that way, in the way of marriage, you know. And to be able to think + wherever you are, 'Well, there is that person, anyway, thinking of me, + waiting for me; the whole world doesn't matter if that person is really + there, anywhere, thinking of me, waiting for me.' Now, you know, <i>I'll</i> + never feel that, never, in this world. What good is there in me? I may be + Arthur Clarges, of Clarges, of course, but without money, that means + nothing. I say, Bovey, it's rather ghastly, but it's perfectly true. I + haven't a single soul in the world but you and Lady Violet to think of me + at all, or for me to think of.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't suppose you have,” said the Hon. Bovyne, thoughtfully. “You are a + lone beggar, Arthur, but a cheery one nevertheless.” + </p> + <p> + “So you see,” Clarges went on, “If in accompanying you around the world in + search of new pleasures and exciting experiences, anything happens to me, + you know, Arthur Clarges, of Clarges, nobody need mind. There isn't + anybody to mind.” + </p> + <p> + “All this because Simpson has got four children! Well, I hope you'll get + married yet, Arthur, you queer fish, and have six, two more than Simpson. + I know what you are driving at, however. You think me a selfish brute. You + can't understand how I can leave Lady Vi., and the two kids, and go off + annually on tours of exploration and so forth. I tell you, I am the better + for it, and she is the better for it, and nobody is any the worst for it, + unless it be yourself. Men who have knocked about as I have done, will + continue to knock about as long as they live. In the army, out of the + army, all the same. Lady Vi. understands me, and I her, and you forget, + Arthur, that you are very—young.” + </p> + <p> + “Then may I never get any older,” said Charles, almost rudely. + </p> + <p> + Not long afterwards his cousin, slightly heavy with wine, went to bed. + Clarges, abnormally wakeful, tried to read <i>Bell's Life</i> which lay + before him and waited until Bovey was fast asleep. They occupied the same + room, a large double-bedded one, which opened into a bathroom and parlour + <i>en suite</i>. When he was perfectly certain that his cousin was sound + asleep, so sound that “a good yelp from the county pack, and a stirring + chorus of 'John Peel' by forty in pink could not wake him,” thought + Clarges, the latter undertook his delicate task and accomplished it. He + did it quickly and skilfully with a tiny lancet he found in his cousin's + well-appointed travelling bag. Bovey never stirred. Clarges next undertook + to “do” himself. Then a strange thing happened. He had gone to the glass + and bared his left arm when a sudden faintness overcame him. He tried to + shake it off and sat down. Presently it left him and he felt quite as + usual. Then he made a second attempt. The same thing occurred again. This + time it was worse, and sight and strength failing, he sank on his own bed, + fainting. By a tremendous effort he prevented entire unconsciousness from + taking place and lay there half dressed and tremulous. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I <i>am a fool</i>! I can't help it. I can't try any more to-night, + for I am as weak and sleepy—if I can get up and undress it's as much + as I am capable of. But Bovey's all right. There's Lady Violet”—turning + his eyes to the photograph he had stuck in the looking glass frame—“she'd + thank me if she knew.” Sweet Lady Vi—so good to all around her—so + good to me—dear Lady Vi, the loveliest woman in England! + </p> + <p> + When Clarges awoke he was chilled and dazed, couldn't remember where he + was and what he had done. When he did recollect, he rose quietly, + extinguished the gas and made the room as dark as possible, in hopes that + Bovey might outsleep himself in the morning. Then he went to bed properly, + putting as a final precaution, his watch an hour in advance. It thus + happened that by Clarges' watch it was a quarter past ten when he awoke. + He rose first and bullied his cousin to that extent that the latter + tumbled out of bed and flung on his clothes without indulging in his usual + bath. At eleven the trap was due and Bovey was all on fire, bundled his + things around recklessly and swore a little at Clarges for keeping him up + the night before. Clarges was nervous, but up to the present time was + master of the situation. At breakfast, Bovey discovered the mistake, but + attributed it to Clarges' carelessness in such matters aggravated by a + probable bad arm. + </p> + <p> + “Why I took your watch for an authority instead of my own, I don't know,” + said he. “But last night I thought you were the clearer of the two, in + fact, I don't recollect winding mine at all, and it seems now that <i>you</i> + were the delinquent.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I must have been,” said Clarges, self-reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + At eleven the trap came, and by noon they were half-way to their + destination. The road winding higher and higher as it followed the + magnificent curves of the Gatineau was very beautiful, and revealed at + each turn a superb panorama of water, and wood and sky. For a long time + the Buildings were visible, towering over trees and valleys. Once the sun + came out and lit up the cold, gray scene. + </p> + <p> + “Pull up, Johnny,” said the Hon. Bovyne, “I want to see this. Why, its + immense, this is! Arthur, how's your arm?” + </p> + <p> + But Clarges was evidently struck with something. “I say, over there, is + where we were yesterday, Bovey, I can imagine I see the very spot, cannon + and all.” + </p> + <p> + “Just as then you imagined you saw a couple of trees here, eh? Now go + along, Johnny, and sit down, Arthur. It doesn't agree with you to be + vaccinated. I'm afraid you're too imaginative already my boy. By the way, + how <i>is</i> your arm?” + </p> + <p> + “Its a novel situation,” thought Clarges. “<i>He's</i> the one, not me. + Its <i>his</i> arm, not mine. But my turn will come to-night; pretty soon + he'll find it out for himself.” + </p> + <p> + Arrived at the house of <i>Veuve</i> Peter Ross, they found it clean and + inviting; warmed by a wood stove and carpeted with home-made rugs. The old + woman took a great interest in their arrival and belongings and jabbered + away incessantly, in French. Did they but request her to “cherchez un + autre blankette!” or fry an additional egg, up went her hands, her eyes + and her shoulders, and such a tirade of excited French was visited upon + them that they soon forebore asking her for anything but went about + helping themselves. At first they thought she was angry when these + outbreaks took place, but Bovey, who could partially understand her, + gathered that she was far from offended, but given over to the national + habit of delivering eloquent and theatrical monologues on the slightest + provocation. She had no lodgers at the present moment; a Frenchman had + left the day before, and the prospect was in every way favorable, to the + comfort of the two friends. + </p> + <p> + When the dusk fell, Bovey made a camp-fire. + </p> + <p> + “It's what we came for,” he said, “and we can't begin too early or have + enough of it, and I feel chilly, queer, quite unlike myself to-night. It's + a depressing country just about here.” + </p> + <p> + “It is,” said Clarges, anxious to keep his friend a little longer in the + dark. “We'll be all right when it's really night, you know, and the fire + blazes up. What a jolly tent and what glorious blankets? We ought to go to + bed early, for it was awfully late the last night There! now its getting + better. Hoop-la! more sticks Bovey! Throw them on, make it blaze up. Here + we are in the primeval forest at last, Bovey, pines and moss, and shadows + and sounds—What's that now? Is that on the river?” + </p> + <p> + For suddenly they heard the most wonderful strain coming from that + direction. The river was about three or four hundred yards away across the + road, in front of them, and upon a raft slowly passing by were a couple of + <i>habitans</i> singing. What strain was this, so weird, so solemn, so + earnest, yet so pathetic, so sweet, so melodious! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Descendez à l'ombre + Ma jolie blonde.” + </pre> + <p> + Those were the words they caught, no more, but the tune eluded them. + </p> + <p> + “It's the queerest tune I ever heard!” ejaculated Clarges. He had a + smattering of music, and not a bad ear. + </p> + <p> + “Can't get it for the life of me. It's like—I tell you what it's + like Bovey, its got the same—you know—the same intervals—that's + the word—that the priests chant in! And then, just when you're + thinking it has, off it goes into something like opera bouffe or those + French rounds our nurse used to sing. But isn't it pretty? I say—where's + Lady Violet now, Bovey, eh? Don't you wish she could see us, see you + there, quite the pioneer, looking like Queen Elizabeth's giant porter in + this queer light? and how she would catch up that tune and bring it out on + the piano, and make ever so much more of it with her clever fingers, first + like a battle-cry, men marching and marching you know, and then put in a + wonderful chord that would make us all creep and sigh as she would glide + into the loveliest nocturne, you know—I say, what a nocturne we're + having, eh! Do you think it's any livelier now?” + </p> + <p> + “My boy,” said the Hon. Bovyne, solemnly, “You are right, it is a nocturne + and a wonderful one. I'm not given to expressing myself poetically as you + know, so I shall content myself with saying that its immense, and now will + you pass the whiskey? I certainly feel shaky to-night, but I shall sleep + out here all the same. What are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I prefer to try the house, I think,” answered Clarges, and so he did. + When he was going to bed, heartily grateful that his cousin was as yet + ignorant of his interference, he looked long and earnestly from his one + window in the roof at the scene outside before he attempted again the + process of self-vaccination. He could see the mighty flames of Bovey's + camp-fire, a first-class fire, well planned and well plied. He could see + the pale outline of the tent and the dark figure of his cousin wrapped in + rugs and blankets by the side of the fire. He could see the tall pines and + the little firs, the glistening line of river and the circles of gleaming + white stones that marked the garden beds in front. The first snow of the + year was just beginning to fall in tiny flakelets that melted as soon as + they touched the ground. + </p> + <p> + “When they're all covered with snow, it must be pretty,” thought Clarges. + “Like all the Christmas trees in the world put together! The winter is + beginning, the long cold, constant Canadian winter we have heard so much + about. Good-bye, dear Lady Violet, good-bye, dear old England!” Clarges + sat on the side of the bed with his arm ready. But the faintness came + again, this time with a sickening thrill of frightful pain and + apprehension, and he rolled over in a deathly swoon with his own words + ringing in his ears. + </p> + <p> + When the morning broke, it broke in bright sunshine and with an inch or so + of snow on the ground. The Hon. Bovyne, though feeling unaccountably ill + and irritable, was delighted. + </p> + <p> + “Still I fear we are too late in the season for much camping,” he said, “I + must see Arthur about it.” + </p> + <p> + He waited till ten, eleven, half-past eleven. No Arthur, not even the old + woman about. He wondered very much. He approached the house, and finding + nobody coming at his knock, opened the door and went in. Something wrong. + He knew that at once. The air was stifling, horrible, with an unknown + quantity in it, it seemed to him. He threw open the front room door. <i>Veuve</i> + Peter Ross was in her bed, ill, and of small-pox. He could tell her that, + for certain. He rushed up-stairs and found Clarges on his bed, raving, + delirious. + </p> + <p> + What was it he heard? + </p> + <p> + “Bovey's all right! Bovey's all right?” This was all, repeated over and + over. + </p> + <p> + The Hon. Bovyne was neither a fool nor a coward. He tore off his coat and + looked at his arm, then he dragged his cousin out of the room, down the + stairs and out of the fatal house. Propping him up against a sturdy pine + and covering him with all available warm clothing, he sped like wind to + the nearest house. But neither the swift, keen self-reproaches of Bovey, + nor the skill of the best physician to be found in the town, nor the pure, + fresh pine-scented air, nor the yearning perchance of a dead yet present + mother could prevail. The young life went out in delirium and in agony, + but “thank God,” thought Bovey, “in complete unconsciousness.” + </p> + <p> + When he set about removing his tent and other camping apparatus some time + later, he was suddenly struck with the appearance of the tree against + which poor Clarges had been propped. He looked again and again. “I must be + dreaming,” said the Hon. Bovyne. “That tree—oh! its impossible—nevertheless, + that tree has its counterpart in the one opposite it, and both have + extraordinary branches! They bend upward, making a kind of—of—what + was it Arthur saw in those imaginary trees of his only—<i>yesterday</i>—my + God—it is true—a kind of lyre shape! There it is, and the more + I look at it the clearer it grows, and to think he has <i>died</i> there—!! + And beneath there he is buried, and the raftsmen will pass within a few + hundred yards of him where he lies, and will sing the same strain that so + fascinated him, but he will not hear it, and learn it and bring it back + for Lady Violet, the loveliest woman in England! For he has gone down into + the eternal shadow that no man ever penetrates.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Prisoner Dubois. + </h2> + <p> + Miss Cecilia Maxwell was the only child of Sir Robert Maxwell, K. C. M. + G., member of the Cabinet, chief orator of the Liberal party, and + understudy for the part of Premier, who, although a Scotchman by birth, + was a typical Canadian—free, unaffected, honest and sincere. His + bushy iron-gray hair, his keen gray eyes, his healthy florid color, and + the well-trimmed black moustache, which gave his face an unusually + youthful appearance for a man of his age, went with a fine stalwart + physique and a general bodily conformation apparently in keeping with the + ideas of early rising, cold ablutions and breakfasts of oatmeal porridge + that the ingenuous mind is apt to associate with Scotch descent and + bringing-up. His daughter was a very beautiful girl. Born in the shadow of + the pines, she had been educated successively in Edinburgh, Brussels and + Munich, had been presented at Court, been through two London seasons, + spent half of one winter in South America, another in Bermuda, had been + ogled by lords, worshipped by artists, and loved by everybody. + </p> + <p> + Once more in Canada, she took her place in the limited yet exacting + political circles of the Capital, of Toronto, and of distant Winnipeg. + Life was full of duties, and she shirked none, though on days when they + were put away earlier than usual she would fall to musing of the country + place down the river she had not seen for years, with the beautiful woods, + and the simple, contented French, and the evenings on the water. + </p> + <p> + “That great, lonely river,” she thought on one occasion, looking idly out + of her window. “What other river in the world is like it?—and the + tiny French villages with the red roofs and doors, and the sparkling + spires and the queer people. Delle Lisbeth, and <i>veuve</i> Macleod, and + Pierre—poor Pierre. I have never forgotten Pierre, with his solemn + eyes and beautiful brown hair. And how he knew the flowers in the wood, + and what were those songs he used to sing?” And Cecilia sang a couple of + verses of: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Un Canadian errant, + Banni de ses foyers.” + </pre> + <p> + When Sir Robert entered later he found her listless and preoccupied. “You + mustn't look like that to-night,” he said. “Don't forget that this is your + first important dinner-party: three French members and their wives, and La + Colombière, the new Minister of Finance, to whom you must be as charming + as possible. This North-West business is quickening as fast as it can. The + Métis are really up, there's no doubt about it.” + </p> + <p> + “In rebellion?” asked Cecilia breathlessly. There was an added interest in + life directly to the imaginative girl. + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said her father, “there's a rascal at the bottom of it we've been + after for a long time; but now, run away and look bright at dinner, like a + good girl.” + </p> + <p> + The small clique of Frenchmen and their wives could not but have been + charmed with their reception that evening. The dinner was good, and not + too heavy nor long, the wines excellent (for Sir Robert did not as yet + favor the “Scott” Act), and the suavity of his manner combined with the + appearance and grace of his daughter, in a delicate dress of primrose and + brown, with amber in her beautiful golden plaits and round her whitest + neck, left nothing to be desired. And yet on that very first night in her + capacity as hostess, Cecilia found she had to learn to play a part, the + part of woman, which all women who have just left off being girls find so + hard to play at first. For naturally the report of the Métis revolt had + spread. Sir Robert did a brave thing. He referred to it directly they were + seated, and then everybody felt at ease. Now it could be talked about if + anybody chose—and Cecilia did so choose. + </p> + <p> + “Who is this young Frenchman,” she asked of La Colombière, “that is + identified with this new rising? I have been away, and am ignorant of it + all.” + </p> + <p> + “His name is Dubois—Pierre Dubois,” returned La Colombière with a + gleaming smile. “He calls himself the representative of the + French-Canadian party. Bah! such men!” But Cecilia's heart had given a + mighty leap and then stopped, she almost thought, for ever. + </p> + <p> + “Pierre—Pierre Dubois?” she reiterated in her surprise. Her fan of + yellow feathers dropped from her lap, and her face showed extraordinary + interest for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “You know him M'lle.?” said La Colombière, returning her the fan. For an + instant she was the centre of attention. Then with a flutter of the yellow + feathers that subjugated the four impressionable Frenchmen completely, she + resumed her usual manner. + </p> + <p> + “I know the name, certainly. There was somebody of that name living at + Port Joli where we go in the Summer you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Laflamme carelessly, a little man with a bald head and a + diplomatist's white moustache, “Dubois is not a new offender. He has been + recognized as an agitator for three or four years. He has the eyes of the + ox and the wavy hair of the sculptor. He is to be admired—<i>vraiment</i>—and + has the gift of speech.” + </p> + <p> + When the dinner was over Cecilia played for them in the drawing-room. + Somehow or other, she wandered into the tender yet buoyant melody of the + <i>chanson</i> she had hummed earlier in the day. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Un Canadien errant, + Banni de ses foyers.” + </pre> + <p> + “Hum-hum,” trolled little Laflamme. “So you know our songs? <i>Ca va bien</i>!” + </p> + <p> + “That was taught me” said Cecilia, “once down the river at Port Joli.” But + she did not say who had taught her. Later on when the guests were gone and + Sir Robert was preparing to go back to the office, his daughter said very + quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Papa do you remember that young man at Port Joli who was staying with the + curé for his health, the one who was so kind and showed me so many things, + the woods, you know and the water, and who talked so beautifully?” + </p> + <p> + “I remember the one you mean, I think, but not his name. Why, dear child?” + </p> + <p> + “His name was Dubois,” returned Cecilia. “Pierre Dubois!” + </p> + <p> + “Dubois? Are you sure? That is very singular” said her father. “And he + talked beautifully you say? It must be <i>this</i> one.” + </p> + <p> + “That is what I think” said Cecilia, seeing her father to the door. + </p> + <p> + Then ensued a period of hard work for Cecilia. She read the papers + assiduously, going up every day to the Parliamentary reading-rooms for + that purpose that she might lose no aspect of the affair. She followed + every detail of the rebellion, even possessing herself of many of her + father's papers bearing on the matter. Those details are well known; how + the whisper ran through our peaceful land, breathing of war and battle and + blood-shed; how our gallant men marched to the front in as superb a faith + and as perfect a manhood as ever troops have shown in this country or the + Old; how some fell by the way, and how others were reserved to be clasped + again to the bosoms of wife and mother and how some met with the finest + fate of all, or at least the most fitting fate for a true soldier—death + on the battle-field. For a month the country was in a delirium. Then + joy-bells rang, and bonfires blazed, and hands were struck in other hands + for very delight that the cause of all the mischief, the rebel chief, the + traitor Dubois was taken. Cecilia alone sat in her room in horror. + </p> + <p> + “What will they do with the prisoner Dubois?” she said with a vehemence + that dismayed Sir Robert. + </p> + <p> + “The prisoner Dubois? Why, they will hang him of course. He has caused too + much blood to be shed not to have to give some of his own.” Cecilia + writhed as if in extreme pain. Her beauty, her grace, her youth all seemed + to leave her in a moment, and she stood faded and old before her father. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they will not do that! Imprison him or send him away—anything, + anything save that! See, they do not know him—poor Pierre, so kind, + so good—they do not know him as I knew him. Father, he could not + hurt a thing—he would step aside from the smallest living thing in + the path when we walked together that summer, and he helped everybody that + wanted help, there was nothing he could not do. And he loves his country—at + least he did so then. There is that song, <i>'O mon cher Canada</i>,' he + used to sing, and he told me of the future of his country, and how he had + prayed to be allowed to aid it and push it forward. And he does not hate + the English, only how can he help loving the French more when he is one of + them, and has good French blood in his veins—better than many of the + so-called English! And he was born to be a leader and to bring men away + from their home into battle and make war for them, and where in that does + he differ from other heroes we are taught to love and admire? If you had + ever heard him talk, and had seen the people all gathered round him when + he spoke of all these things—as for his church and the Virgin, and + the priests, it would be well if you and all of us thought as much about + our religion, and loved and revered it as he did his!” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia broke down into incoherent sobs. Sir Robert sat aghast at this + startling confession. No need to tell him that it was prompted by love. + </p> + <p> + “But what if he be insane, my dear?” he asked very quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Then it is still bad—it is worse,” said Cecilia. “Will hanging an + insane man bring back the others that are slain? Will it make foul fair + and clean still cleaner? Will it bring peace and friendliness, and right + feeling, or will it bring a fiercer fire and a sharper sword than our + country has yet seen—a hand-to-hand fight between rival races, a + civil war based on national distinction!” + </p> + <p> + “What would you do?” said her father, walking up and down the room. “What + can I or anybody do? It is common law and common justice; if he be found + guilty he must swing for it. Personal intercession—” + </p> + <p> + “Might save him!” said the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Must not be thought of!” said her father. + </p> + <p> + “You mean, <i>you</i> may not think of it. But others may—<i>I</i> + may. I am a woman, free and untrammelled by either party or personal + considerations of any kind. Father, let <i>me</i> try!” + </p> + <p> + “Cecilia, it is madness to take such a thing upon yourself. How is it + possible? What are your plans?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know. I have not thought. All is in a haze through which I see + that vision of the hangman and the rope Father, let me try!” + </p> + <p> + Sir Robert thought for a moment, then he said: “Very well, my dear, you + shall try, on one condition; that first of all you have an interview with + Dubois himself. In fact, for your purpose it is absolutely necessary that + you should see him, in order to identify him with the other Dubois you + used to know. After that interview, if you still persist in your course, I + promise—rash as it certainly seems—to help you. Now hold + yourself in readiness to start for the North-West at a moment's notice. I + have private information that tells me Dubois will be hung and any + intervention on your part or that of anybody else must be set on foot + immediately, do you see?” + </p> + <p> + A few days afterwards Cecilia, unveiled, and dressed in an irreproachable + walking costume of gray, was taken to the gloomy prison outside the little + northern town of ——, where the prisoner Dubois was confined. + There was a bit of tricolor in her hat and her cheeks were very pale—As + the beautiful daughter of Sir Robert Maxwell her way was sufficiently + paved with politeness as she presented her private order to see the + prisoner. Her heart was beating tumultuously and the blood surged round + her temples. The turnkey showed her into a small whitewashed room, + opposite the cell in which Dubois spent his time and informed her that in + compliance with strict orders he would have to be present during the + interview, to which Cecilia bent her head in assent; she could not have + spoken just then. “It is a strange thing that I am doing,” she thought, + “but I shall see Pierre—poor Pierre.” Approaching footsteps were + soon heard and the prisoner Dubois entered, escorted by two warders. He + started when he saw his visitor, and—stared. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle,—” he said, evidently trying to recall her name and + failing. + </p> + <p> + “Cecile,” she said, eagerly, “Ma'amselle Cecile you always called me, and + I liked it so much better than Cecilia. I think I like it still—Pierre—I—.” + </p> + <p> + The prisoner Dubois frowned. + </p> + <p> + “If Mdme. Dubois had ears through these walls, you had not called me + 'Pierre.' But—” laying his hand on his heart and bowing low, “Pierre + himself is flattered—<i>oui, mademoiselle</i>—by your + attention—<i>oui, vraiment</i>—and he is rejoiced to know that + his image is still cherished in that heart so fair, so <i>Anglaise</i>, so + pure, so good. <i>Belle-enfant, Je n'ai pas oublié nos amours</i>!” + </p> + <p> + The three men in the room suppressed a smile. Dubois stood with his head + thrown back, his arms folded and his soft dark eyes fixed on Cecilia. She + was still standing, indeed there was no chair in the room, and her eyes + were fixed on him as his upon herself. It was Pierre, and yet not her + Pierre. Rather an exaggerated growth—of the man she had once known. + The same soft brown hair, only thicker and rougher, one drooping wave + looking tangled and unkempt—the dreamy eyes with the latent sneer in + them dreamier than ever and yet the sneer more visible, the thin sensitive + nose thinner, the satisfied mouth more satisfied and conscious, the weak + chin fatally weaker. And he was married, too! Mdme. Dubois—that must + be his wife! How strange it was! Cecilia's brain was in a frightful state + of doubt and fever and hesitation. It was necessary for her to explain her + presence there, however, for she could not but resent the opening speech + of the prisoner Dubois. She was growing very tired of standing, moreover, + but she would have died rather than have demanded a chair. At length the + turnkey observed her fatigue and sent one of the warders for a chair. + </p> + <p> + “Fetch two,” interposed Dubois, with a flourish of his hand. “I myself + shall sit down.” When the man returned, bringing only one chair on the + plea that he could not find another, Cecilia, whose nerve was returning, + offered it to Dubois. He accepted it calmly and sat down upon it, waiting + to hear what she had to say. At this signal instance of arch selfishness + Cecilia felt her heart tighten and her temples grow cold as if fillets of + fire had been exchanged for ribbons of snow. + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” she began, “I am sorry to find you here.” Dubois smiled the smile + of a great man who listens with condescension to what an inferior has to + say. “I am glad you have not forgotten me, because all the time I was + away, and it has been a long time, I never—it is quite true—forgot + you—I mean (for Dubois smiled again) I never forgot that summer you + spent near us at Port Joli, and the things you talked about, about your + future. When I came home I found you had gone so much further than I know + you ever intended to, and have been the cause of so much trouble, and the + death of brave men, and I was very sorry.” Cecilia leant on the bare table + before her, and felt that every moment as it passed brought with it a + cooling of the once passionate feeling she had entertained for the Dubois + of her childhood. But if the lover were gone, there remained the man, + husband and father, maybe the leader, the orator, the martyr, the dear + human being. + </p> + <p> + “So I thought that if it were possible at all, some step should be taken + to—to prevent the law from taking its course—its final course + perhaps.” Cecilia felt her throat tighten as she spoke. “You have plenty + of friends—you must have—all the French will help and many, + many English, for it is no cause to die for, it is no cause at all! There + should never have been bloodshed on either side!” + </p> + <p> + Dubois uncrossed his long legs at last and said in his loftiest tone: + </p> + <p> + “<i>Chère enfant</i>, the French will not let me die. I—I myself—Pierre + Dubois—allowed to hang by the neck until I am dead! That will never + happen. <i>Voyez-vous donc chérie</i>, I am their King, their prophet, + their anointed, their fat priests acknowledge me, their women adore me!” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia shrunk together as she listened. She had sought and she had not + found, she had expected and it had been denied her. At this moment, the + turnkey signified that time was up. She felt her heart burning in an agony + of undefined grief and disappointment in which was also mingled the relief + of resignation. The prisoner Dubois bowed low with his hand on his heart + and then pressing her own hand lingeringly, gave her a tenderly + insinuating glance. As she turned away she heard him exchange a laugh and + a jest with one of the wardens, and her cheeks flamed with indignant + anger. “Were he a good or suffering man as I dreamed he was, I would have + bent low and kissed his hand; as it was, I am sorry I let him take mine.” + </p> + <p> + She was calm when she reached her carriage in which sat her father + waiting. He divined at once that his plan had been successful. “You look + tired, my dear,” was all he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have been standing for some time,” Cecilia returned in a peculiar + voice. + </p> + <p> + “Could they not find you a chair in the establishment?” + </p> + <p> + “They found one,” she said grimly, “and that was appropriated by the + prisoner Dubois.” + </p> + <p> + “The prisoner Dubois!” thought Sir Robert. “It is well. We shall hear no + more of Pierre.” + </p> + <p> + Two days before Christmas the prisoner Dubois underwent the extreme + penalty of the law. Cecilia sat in her room all that day. She never quite + made up her mind as to whether Pierre had been a lunatic or a fanatic, a + martyr or a fiend, an inspired criminal or a perverted enthusiast. Perhaps + he was a mixture of all. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + How the Mr. Foxleys Came, Stayed and Never Went Away. + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + There flows in Western Canada, by which I mean a region east of the + Saskatchewan and west of the Thousand Islands, a singular and beautiful + stream. It is beautiful because it is narrow, undulating and shallow, + because it has graceful curves and rounded bends, because its banks are + willow-clad and its bed boulder-strewn, because it flows along between + happy farms and neat white villages, because at one spot, it boasts a + picturesque and ruined mill and a moss-covered bridge and because—chiefly + because—it is above all things—placid. The mind familiar with + our Canadian streams will easily understand then, that if these be its + attributes of beauty, they also attest to its claim of singularity. For + the Canadian river is seldom placid, but oftener seething and steaming and + foaming; or else deep and dark and dangerous with many a mighty gorge and + tumbling cascade, wide and lonely and monotonous for the most part; pine + hung down to the very edge, black and lowering, or displaying waving wisps + of dry gray foliage that only resembles human hair. What a contrast, then, + does this cherished river I speak of, afford! No local Laureate has as yet + written it up, though picnic parties used to gather themselves together on + its banks and in its well-wooded shades, defiling everything they touched + from bark to beach, leaving bits of bread here, dead pie there, buttering + the leaves, peppering the grass, salting the stones, and scattering greasy + crumpled paper—PAPER—PAPER—everywhere. That is what + picnic parties do all over the world, and with such gusto all of them, + even the Sunday-schools, Dorcases, W. C. T. U's. and all the rest of them, + that I really think it must be intended as a serious part of the + Picnicker's Ritual and forms very likely a peace-offering or sacrifice of + propitiation towards some unknown God. I don't think the Druids left paper + about underneath their oaks. But presumably they left worse. Well, if as + yet, this river I love so well has not been immortalized in fiction, + travels or verse, it has however attracted the attention of several gifted + members of the Royal Academy—Royal Canadian of course, who have from + time to time invaded its peaceful shores and stuffing themselves into + adjacent if inconvenient farmhouses, sketched it in water and oil, in the + common-place pencil, and the more ambitious charcoal. The results are + charming and you may see them any day in the studios of our foremost + artists or in the picture dealers' windows or haply on the terra-cotta + tinted walls of our esteemed collectors, the retired grocers of Montreal, + or the aesthetic lawyers of a more western and more ambitious city. Still + though the sketches are charming both in conception and execution, I, were + I a Canadian artist, eager to secure Canadian subjects for my pencil, + would hardly choose this particular river as one likely to give the most + correct idea of Canadian scenery. No, I would chose the St. Maurice or the + Richelieu, the Lièvre or the Saguenay, the Ottawa or portions of the St. + Lawrence, with the grim Azoic rocks, the turbulent rapids and the somber + pines. What a superb river system it is! Tell them off on your fingers and + you'll have to go on borrowing from them afterwards and then all over + again. Think of all those rivers that cluster in the French Canada and + feed the mighty Gulf of St. Lawrence. There are the Ottawa, the Gatineau, + the Rideau, the Richelieu, the Lièvre, the Matanne, the Metapedia, the + Métis, the Saguenay. Those are the ones we know. Then look at the + Peribonka, the Maniconagan, all the Ste. Anne's, all the Rouge or Red + rivers, the Du Moine, the Coalonge, the Vermilion, the St. Francis. Then, + look at that cluster of great Saxon named streams, the Churchill, the + Nelson, the Severn, the English, the Albany! Lastly, glance at the + magnificent Saskatchewan with the historic streams of Battle and + Qu'Appelle Rivers! And now I have omitted the Athabasca, the Peace, the + Moose and the Assiniboine! There is no end to them; they defy enumeration + while they invite it. + </p> + <p> + Now, most of these Canadian rivers are Azoic in character; hence their + grim and formidable beauty. But my river has nothing the least Azoic about + it. It belongs to a more recent, a more comfortable, more placid, more + satisfying a formation. It is as idyllic a stream as any English one that + Tennyson noted in a contemplative ramble to work up later into the + “Brook.” + </p> + <p> + Crossing the moss-grown bridge I have alluded to, a gradual ascent + presents itself on the opposite side, of firm white road well macadamized + and leading through small neat low houses, each with a little garden in + front, to a church with a needle-like spire on the top of the hill, and + the parson's house adjoining. On a June day, for example, it made a + pleasant picture. Pastoral and prosperous the landscape, contented the + people on foot, in the fields, at the windows, and most delightful of all—a + certain Old World haze hanging over it. + </p> + <p> + This is what struck the Mr. Foxleys, driving out slowly from the town one + Saturday afternoon. George, the elder, pale with dark hair, lay back in + the phaeton with folded arms. Joseph, the younger, fair-haired and + freckled, sat up, driving. They had hardly exchanged a word since entering + the phaeton. For eight miles they had proceeded in almost perfect silence. + This did not mean that they were out of sorts, or not on pleasant terms + with one another. On the contrary, it proved that they were the very best + of friends, and never bored each other. I may as well say at once that + they were Englishmen, which was easy to gather from their picturesque and + unusual attire of neat gray small-clothes meeting gray stockings at the + knee, low white shoes, a striped blue and white flannel shirt and + canoe-shaped hats of gray, each bearing a snow-white “puggree” with blue + and gold fringed ends. Such was the outward adorning of the Mr. Foxleys. + Behind the phaeton ran a pretty brown retriever answering to the name of + “Bess,” and laid across the floor of the little carriage were a couple of + walking canes, a couple of fishing rods and a gun case strapped together, + while under the seat was a medium-sized portmanteau, and a peculiar long + box with a leather handle. The eight miles having been traversed by them + in silence, George, the elder, broke it by remarking, as they slackened + their pace, before advancing over the bridge, “This is better.” + </p> + <p> + “Very much so. Rather. I should think so,” answered Joseph, the younger, + who had a slightly more lively manner than his brother, and very laughing + eyes. “It looks a little more like the—the Old Country.” + </p> + <p> + The elder brother made no reply. A kind of weary smile flitted across his + face instead. + </p> + <p> + “It's a little bit after—Devonshire, don't you think?” went on + Joseph, surveying the green meadows, the neat painted fences, the sleeping + cows, the rising uplands in the distance leaning lovingly next the sky, + the bridge, the distant church, and the placid narrow river with the + overhanging willows and the stony amber floor. + </p> + <p> + “A long way after,” said George, without unfolding his arms or looking + around him at all. He was gazing straight before him. + </p> + <p> + “But you don't half see the beauty of it,” said the younger brother, + stopping the horse and standing up in the phaeton, “especially after that + horrid eight miles of half-cleared ugly-stumpy stubble! This is really + beautiful, such soft lines you know and little corners—oh! quite + English!” Some of his enthusiasm reached the quieter brother, who + apparently roused himself and looked around as directed. A faint pink came + into his pale cheeks, a new gleam into the weary eyes, “Well, it is <i>better</i>, + as I said before—you'll remember, I noticed it first—but not + English.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, not English altogether of course, I know,” said Joseph gathering up + his reins, “but its a jolly spot enough whatever it is, and—I say, + look at that now, that oak, on the other side of the road, in front of + that little cottage, we'll be up with it now in a minute.” + </p> + <p> + “By Jove, what a splendid tree!” Now I do not in the least wonder at the + Mr. Foxleys stopping opposite this mighty oak to admire it, because I + myself am quite familiar with it and have seen it scores of times, and + must agree with them in pronouncing it one of the finest trees I have ever + seen anywhere. Of course it has no story attached to it that the world + knows, at least it never talked that I am aware of, never hid or screened + anybody of importance—or anything of that sort—so naturally it + has little or no interest about it. And yet, for that very reason, it is + so much easier to think of it as a tree, to consider it and admire it, and + learn to love and understand it just as a tree. So the Mr. Foxleys + thought, as they gazed at its monstrous trunk, its glorious branches of + deep, dark glossy green with here and there an upstart arm of glowing + bronze or a smaller shoot of younger yellow. + </p> + <p> + “It might have grown in the <i>Manor Park</i>!” said the younger brother + airily with a keen sense of pleasure in the suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “It might have grown in the <i>Manor Park</i>, as you say”, rejoined the + elder brother gravely. + </p> + <p> + Then they went on again, slowly up the hill, that they might the better + examine the church, the parsonage and the road beyond. What they wanted + now was an Inn. Presently they espied one, just on the other side of a + tiny bridge spanning a tinier brook. It was no upstart brick building of + flaring red with blind white windows and a door flush with the street, a + dirty stable at one side and a ragged kitchen garden at the other. But low + and white and irregular with a verandah running along in front, it had red + curtains that would draw over the lower halves of the windows and hints of + chintz at the upper portions; the door was open and revealed a tall clock + in the hall, a stand of flowers, and a cat asleep in a large round chair; + at one side a flight of steps led down to the kitchen door at which a + buxom maid in bare arms stood in a pink gown and a pinker face, and at the + other side was the boarded square that held the pump—the village + pump—around which were gathered five or six bare-footed children, + the hostler of the Inn, the village butcher, tailor, and cobbler. A sign + swung out from the verandah. + </p> + <p> + “The Ipswich Inn, by M. Cox,” said the younger Mr. Foxley. Then he looked + at his brother. His brother looked at him. They understood one another at + once, and Joseph pulled up in good style at the door. The hostler, dressed + in old corduroy and with a fiddle under his arm, sprang forward to assist + them. He dropped his H's. “Delightful,” cried Mr. Joseph. So did the + landlady, a cheery person of about fifty in a silk apron. The brothers + were so content that they remained all night, “to look at the place.” + </p> + <p> + Next morning, endless surprises awaited and greeted them. They found that + the large room in front was a kind of drawing-room, in which rose-leaves, + china-bowls, old engravings, a shining mahogany book-case, and a + yellow-keyed piano atoned for the shortcomings of funeral horsehair and + home-made carpets. They thought it on the whole a charming room, only to + be eclipsed by the kitchen. For the kitchen, which was underneath the + ground floor and nearly the entire size of the house, was therefore very + spacious and comfortable, possessing three large pantries and an out-house + or summer kitchen; besides, moreover, it was dark-raftered, ham-hung, with + willow-pattern slates in a neat dresser, and peacock feathers over the + high mantel; with, in one corner—the darkest—a covered well, + into which I used to see myself the beautiful golden pats of butter + lowered twice a week in summer time. One window, a small one, curtained + with chintz and muslin drawn on a string, looked out on a small terraced + garden at the back leading to an orchard; the other window, large and + long, with twelve small panes and no curtains at all, adjoined the door + opening on the court or yard at the side of the house. This yard was paved + irregularly with grey stone slabs, between which the grass had wedged + itself, with an occasional root of the persistent and omnipresent + dandelion; it contained a cistern, a table with flower-pots, a parrot in + one cage, a monkey in another, garden implements, rods, buckets, tins and + tubs! A pleasant untidiness prevailed in the midst of irreproachably clean + and correct surroundings, and the Mr. Foxleys having finished their + breakfast up-stairs in the public dining-room—a bare, almost ugly + apartment, devoid of anything in furniture or appointments to make it + homelike, except a box of mignonette set in the side-window, looked + longingly out at the little paved court-yard beneath. They had had the + most delicious rasher of ham, eggs <i>sans peur et sans reproche</i>, some + new and mysterious kind of breakfast cake, split and buttered while hot, + and light and white inside as it was golden and glazed outside, and three + glasses of fresh milk each! They had been waited on by the buxom girl in a + blue gown this time, against which her arms looked pinker than ever, and + during the meal the landlady of the inn had looked in, with her hands too + floury and her mind too full of coming loaves to do more than inquire + generally as to their comfort. Looking over the mignonette, Mr. Joseph + Foxley espied her presently talking to the parrot and tending the monkey. + This was more than the frivolous Mr. Joseph could stand. He took his + brother and made a tour of the house accordingly, discovering in turn as I + have said the drawing-room, the kitchen, the court-yard, the garden and + orchard and lastly the bar! <i>That</i> proved the most comfortable, most + enticing room of all. More red curtains, at the windows and over one door, + an old-fashioned hearth paved with red brick and bearing even in June a + couple of enormous logs against the possible cold of a rainy evening, two + cases of stuffed birds, a buffalo's head over the fireplace, colored + prints of Love Lies Bleeding, Stocks and Bachelor's Buttons, and over all, + that odour of hot lemons and water, with something spirituous beyond, that + completely won the refractory heart of the elder Mr. Foxley and caused him + to drop down in a chair by the hearth with an incoherent expression of + wonder and relief that did not escape his brother. + </p> + <p> + “How long shall we say, George,” he asked. “She will want to know, because + there are other men who come out here from town occasionally it seems, and + of course it's only fair to let her know about the room. + </p> + <p> + “What shall I say?” Mr. George Foxley crossed his long legs in evident + comfort and took in the entire room in a smiling gaze before he answered. + Outside it was beautifully quiet, in front of the house. From the back + there came the faintest sounds of crow and cackle and farm-yard stir just + audible, from the kitchen rose cheerful laughter, and merry voices, the + smell of baking, and a fainter odor of herbs. Milly, the girl, in the blue + gown, passed with a milk pail in either hand. She looked in shyly. Mr. + Joseph waved his hand gallantly then laughed. Then Mr. George said, very + slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Say? Oh, say that we will take the room—the one we have now, you + know—for the rest of the Summer.” + </p> + <p> + “That is, you will take it, and remain here, while I knock about in town + and come out on Saturdays or whenever I can,” said Joseph. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” said his brother. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon Mr. Joseph returned to town in the neat hired phaeton + leaving his brother in full possession of the charming and comfortable + Inn. In a couple of days he came back, this time in the stage that passed + through Ipswich three times a week, and bringing with him a couple of + English trunks and a stout portmanteau. Thus the Mr. Foxleys entered upon + life in earnest in this dear placid little village, not far from the river + described in the beginning of my story. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + The Mr. Foxleys, after a week's sojourn or so at the Ipswich Inn, made a + mutual discovery. This was, that not only were the landlady of the Inn, + her son and the ostler all of English origin and descent, but that the + entire village appeared to be populated by people of English extraction. + The butcher was a Englishman, the blacksmith was a Cockney answering to + the name of 'Enry Ide, the cobbler was from South Devon somewhere, and the + parson was an undergraduate of Oxford. The farmers were mostly Scotch, and + the village store-keeper was David Macpherson. The driver of the stage was + an Irishman, and the sexton of the pretty church on the hill was an odd + product of that odd corner of the world known as the Isle of Man. + Certainly the two brothers found and made themselves at home. Milly + perhaps was the only native Canadian that came in their way. It was a + thoroughly British settlement, and it is a noteworthy fact that the only + well-to-do man in the place was an American. It was he who lived in the + square, red brick house with white blinds always pulled down, even in soft + welcome spring days, and with plaster casts of lions and deer couchant on + futile little wooden pedestals in the garden. It was he who owned the new + and prosperous mill which had superseded the worn-out one lower down the + stream, the old mill that the artists loved, and that reminded the Mr. + Foxley's of home. It was he who owned the only family carriage in the + neighborhood, other people had “buggies.” It was his daughter who had been + sent to New York for her education—who now appeared in church on + Sundays, in muslin costumes garnished with a greater number of yards of + ribbons in myriads of bows and ends than the village store had ever + possessed at one time in its life. It was he who once or twice a year + walked as far as the Inn and sitting down stiffly in the stiff dining room + would hold a short conversation with the landlady on village matters and + subjects in general. On these occasions the good woman was secretly amused + and not a little bored. She knew gentlemen when she saw them and he was + not one—that is, he was not one according to her knowledge of types. + The aristocracy of money was as yet a phase unknown to her simple English + mind accustomed to move in traditional and accepted groves. So not much + interchange of civilities took place between the mill and the Inn. Not for + Mr. Simon P. Rattray did the oleanders blossom in the big green tubs and + the wall-flowers and mignonette in the windows. Not for him did the + Jessamine climb and the one hawthorn tree at the back gate leading to the + orchard yield its sweet white May, not for him did the tall clock strike + and the parrot talk. Talk!! Why, the only time the creature was ever known + to be quiet was when Mr. Simon P. Rattray made his portentous visits twice + or three times a year. And as for the hidden sweetness of the drawing-room + or the comforts of the kitchen or the fascinations of the bar, Mr. Simon + P. Rattray knew nothing whatever about them. He was a total abstainer you + see, and the blue ribbon appeared in his buttonhole on certain important + ceremonial days and even on Sundays, and he was known to be interested in + the fortunes of a cold, dismal little place built of plaster and presided + over by a male Methodist just outside the village limits, known as a + “Temperance Hotel.” It will be easily gathered that the advent of the Mr. + Foxleys did not affect the fortunes of such a person as Mr. Simon P. + Rattray, nor was their subsequent career as residents in Ipswich affected + in any way by his existence, prejudices or peculiarities. But to the + remaining portions of the village, their arrival proved full of interest + The landlady took them to her heart at once. They were <i>gentlemen</i>, + she said, and that was enough for her. Her son, a heavy lout, unlike his + mother, accepted them as he did everything and everybody by remaining + outwardly profoundly unconscious of their existence; the hostler adored + them, especially Mr. Joseph; when the latter was there, which he was every + Saturday till Monday, he would stroll over the stable with Squires—that + was the hostler's name—joking incessantly, and treating the latter + to an occasional cigar. Urbane Mr. Joseph would joke with anybody, Mr. + George was more severe and had according to the landlady, the most perfect + and distinguished manners. + </p> + <p> + “What they call <i>hawtoor</i> in the Family Herald,” she told Milly, + “only I never see it gone too far with.” Milly of course was in love with + them both. + </p> + <p> + In time, the entire village succumbed to the charms of the Mr. Foxleys. + The parson called, accompanied by his eldest daughter who was the organist + of the choir and chief promoter of the Sunday-school. They found the + objects of their social consideration seated outside the kitchen in the + little paved yard that had rapidly grown dear. When the brothers appeared + upstairs in the drawing-room into which rose-scented and chintz-hung + apartment the reverend Mr. and Miss had been shown in appreciation of + their station, Mr. Joseph had tuned his laughing eye to a decorum as new + as it was unnatural. It was a hot day in August and Mr. George was so + excessively languid and long and speechless that but for his brother + conversation would have been an impossibility. But he and the parson soon + discovered mutual friends at home, a cousin in the Engineers, and a + friendly coach at the University. + </p> + <p> + “Charles James Foxley? Oh! I knew him well, very well” said the Rev. Mr. + Higgs, referring to the latter. “It is a somewhat—ah—unusual + name. The only other time I remember meeting with the name was once—let + me see—it was a meet, I think, at Foxley Manor, in Derbyshire it + was, and a very beautiful place.” + </p> + <p> + “In Nottinghamshire,” said Mr. Joseph smiling. “Yes, that is—or was—our + home. My father still resides there.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed?” said Mr. ——. “Is it possible! And you have come out + here? Really, it is most interesting, most fortunate that you should have + chosen our little village, should have pitched your tent so to speak—ah! + quite so.” + </p> + <p> + “My brother likes the country,” said Mr. Joseph. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! yes, quite so. And there is much to see in this new country, in + Canada, much to see. You will remain some time?” + </p> + <p> + “We will remain as long as it suits my brother,” said Mr. Joseph. “At + present, we can hardly tell.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so, quite so. I hope—I am sure my daughter concurs in the + hope, that we shall see you in church as often as you can come and also—ah! + at the Rectory. Such society as we can give you here you may be assured we + will endeavor to give with all our—ah! heart to the best of our + ability.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks very much” returned Mr. Joseph. “I am sure my brother and I will + be exceedingly glad to go and see you at the Rectory. About church I will + say that we never go very regularly anywhere, but when it isn't too hot, + too hot, you know, or too cold, or anything of that sort, I am sure we'll + try to turn up there as well.” + </p> + <p> + The rector, smiled indulgently. No call to be hard on the Mr. Foxleys, of + Foxley Manor. Miss Maria left the Inn smitten for the fiftieth time. + </p> + <p> + “I knew I should marry an Englishman,” she exclaimed ecstatically up the + road with her father. + </p> + <p> + “The dark one, oh! the dark one!” + </p> + <p> + “They are somewhat peculiar young men I fancy, Maria. Of course Mrs. Cox + is a very careful and a very good woman and—ah! her place is a very + respectable and comfortable one, and the order of travellers one meets, + that is, one would meet if one went there, is quite proper indeed, but + still, I thought, mind I do not say anything, I do not express any opinion + Maria, I simply say, I <i>thought</i>, that they would have smoked for + instance in the dinning-room or the bar, or on the verandah instead of in + that very conspicuous manner just outside the kitchen door.” But this was + the first and last stricture that the rector made as to the conduct of the + Mr. Foxleys, for by appearing in church two Sundays after his call and + spending an evening on the vine-covered verandah of the pretty Rectory, + they were speedily entered in the very best books kept by that worthy if + slightly common-place gentleman and his gushing daughter. + </p> + <p> + The next persons of distinction in the village were the Miss Dexters, who + lived with their father, at one time a prominent medical man, in the + little cottage graced by the presence of the mighty oak which had so + charmed the strangers when they first beheld it. Their father was old, + very old indeed, and slightly shaken in his mind. He was also an + Englishman and the daughters, not daring to enter upon life in town with + their small income and a helpless old man on their hands into the bargain + had retired to the country some ten years before the advent of the Mr. + Foxleys. Charlotte the elder was now forty and Ellen over thirty-five. + Neither of them had ever been beautiful and now they were, more or less + pinched and worn in their aspect, but they were gentlewomen, neat and + sweet spoken, and capable of offering small evening entertainments of + cribbage and hot weak tea with bread and butter with a gracious and well + bred air that marked them off as people who had seen “better times.” God + help such all over the world and thank Him too for the colonies, where + such people can retreat without being said to hide, and live down their + misfortunes or their follies or their weaknesses, and be of some use to + others after a while! It would be hard to say why the Mr. Foxleys went as + often as they did, especially Mr. Joseph—to the Miss Dexters for + tea. Perhaps the oak had much to do with it. + </p> + <p> + It had something I am sure, for indeed, it was the most beautiful tree for + miles around and it was worth a good deal to sit under its cool shade in + the Summer afternoons or to look up into its dark vault in the slowly + dusking twilights. I can't defend Mr. Joseph further than this. For + between cribbage and choir practice, Sunday rambles in the woods and rows + on the river, the lending of books and the singing of songs, the handing + of bread and butter and the drinking of tea, Mr. Joseph had caused both + the Miss Dexters to fall hopelessly and indeed fatally in love with him. + When the Xmas holidays came, Joseph, who had a clerkship in town, spent + his vacation naturally at the Inn with his brother, and then ensued a + period of very mixed delight for the Miss Dexters. + </p> + <p> + For the callous Joseph made as violent love to the unresisting Miss Higgs + over the Xmas tree and carols as she herself would have chosen to make to + Mr. George had she been given the chance. + </p> + <p> + As for Mr. George, he was just as languid and silent as ever. He hardly + ever went into the town at all, but preferred to remain on quietly at the + inn, fishing, shooting and taking long walks in the summer days when it + was fine, and when it rained, lounging in Mrs. Cox's kitchen. Here he + always had his meals, for the kind friend he had found in his landlady + gratified every whim, and any fancy he chose to profess, and cooked for + him, washed for him and waited on him with unceasing and in fact + ever-increasing devotion. Mr. Foxley's shirts and Mr. Foxley's socks, Mr. + Foxley's white coats and Mr. Foxley's jane boots, his dog, his gun, and + his effects generally were all sacred, all in irreproachable order, all + objects of the greatest value and interest to Mrs. Cox and her niece. You + see there were no children in this comfortable <i>ménage</i> and really, + when the baking and the washing and the preserving and the churning were + all done with early in the day or in the week there remained a good deal + of time on Mrs. Cox's hands, which in her earnest womanly heart she felt + she must fill up in some way. So it came that all this time and energy and + devotion were after a while centred on Mr. George Foxley, late of Foxley + Manor, Notts. As for Mr. Joseph, the good woman oftener told him to “go + along!” than anything else, for though she liked him, his love of mischief + and several practical jokes he had played her which she termed “his ways,” + had rendered her cautious and a little distrustful of him. Such an + existence proved very charming to all parties concerned, excepting perhaps + the Miss Dexters, and their companion in misery, at the rectory. For the + worst of it was, Xmas passed and Easter came, and another spring dawned + for the pretty little village of Ipswich and found the Mr. Foxleys still + there. They never spoke of going away and nobody hinted it to them. The + impression, natural in the extreme, that they were a couple of wealthy + young Englishmen going about for pleasure, who just happening to come to + Ipswich and being taken with it had stayed a little longer than they + intended, was fast giving way to another. For it was a well-known fact + that the Mr. Foxleys did not spend too much money either on themselves or + on other people. They paid their way and that was all one could say about + them. Squires was not included in this arrangement, however, but was + forced to remain content with cigars, cast-off studs and a present at + Christmas-time of a collie pup. I grieve to think of those poor Miss + Dexters—foolish souls—going without butter on their bread and + sugar in their tea that they might have both to offer Mr. Joseph when he + might come in airily for a cup, and making their already too thin gowns + last another winter, that they might spend a little money on a smoking cap + for the same gentleman and a pair of knitted wristlets for his brother. + All these tokens of friendship and attachment the brothers accepted in the + most charming and unconcerned way and never troubled themselves about + returning the compliment as we say. It was quite true that they had not + much money, but a little management of what they did possess would have + left a small sum over each year, which might have been expended on say a + pair of fur-lined gloves for Charlotte or a canary for Ellen, who was fond + of pets and used to keep Bess with her for days, feeding the unconscious + animal for its master's sake better than she was fed herself. And all this + time Mr. Joseph never proposed and never hinted at his prospects or + affairs in any way whatever! + </p> + <p> + The second summer of his stay saw old Mr. Dexter die. After his death + Ellen drooped visibly. General disgust at life, insufficient food and + sleep, and a hopeless passion for Mr. Joseph sapped a naturally weak + constitution, and her sister soon realized another bitter shock when she + helped Ellen to her bed one sultry September night from which she never + rose again. The windows of the little cottage were open, and the unhappy + girl could see the giant oak outside their door. How often she had sat + there with her cruel friend, her hand on his shoulder, and her eyes fixed + on his sharp, clear-cut features and laughing eyes! He had seemed so + gentle, so earnest, so winning—had talked so cleverly, so hopefully, + so gleefully. He had been the sunshine of her life, and alas!—of + Charlotte's too! Each knew the other's secret, but by intuitive sympathy + they had never alluded to it. They referred to him only as “Mr. Joseph,” + and on her death-bed Ellen sent her “kindest wishes to Mr. Joseph.” She + lingered till near the Christmas season, and then one day a small packet + per English mail arrived. They occasionally heard from friends in the Old + Country, and this special parcel contained a couple of silk handkerchiefs + and a sprig of holly. Charlotte took them up to her in the evening, + spreading them out on the bed. Ellen sat up, eagerly pressing the holly to + her lips. Alas! what were the recollections it brought that the poor, weak + frame and the poor, tired spirit could not brook them? Perhaps—not + perhaps—O most certainly, most truly of home and of England; of the + mother so long vanished, dimly remembered, almost forgotten; of winding + green lanes and of ivied walls, of little solemn churchyards—in none + of which she would never lie; of peeps of blue sea from the middle of a + wood; of a primrose at the foot of a tree; of the crowded coach and the + sounding horn; and lastly of the recreant one whom she could not even call + her lover, but who had made her love him so that her very life was eaten + away by sickness of fear, of apprehension, of despair! + </p> + <p> + With the holly pressed to her lips, Ellen Dexter passed out of this world + into another. + </p> + <p> + Did Mr. Joseph Foxley care? Who knows? I should know if anybody ever did, + but I do not hold Mr. Joseph so very much to blame after all. For a man is + often innocent of love-making at the very moment a woman is fancying + herself violently in love with him, and fancying, moreover, that he is in + love with her. Can anything be more fatal, more pernicious, more terrible? + And yet I believe there is nothing more common. There are some men who + press more tenderly than the requirements of ordinary social intercourse + call for or allow, the hand of every woman they meet They are not + necessarily flirts. Perhaps they never go farther than that clinging + hand-pressure. It is a relic of the customs of the days of chivalry—a + little more and this man will kiss the hand. Let the lady be beautiful, + gracious, the hour dusk, or close on midnight, the room a pretty one, and + the environment pleasing, he will bend over the hand, and if he does not + kiss it he will retain it just long enough to make her wish he had kissed + it. If she is a woman of the world she will laugh as she returns the + pressure, making it purposely as thrilling as she can—then she will + forget it completely the next moment as she dispenses five o'clock tea or + late coffee and cake to her husband or brother. But if she be not a woman + of the world, then God help her on her tear-wet pillow, or before her + slowly-dying fire as she thinks of that hand-pressure. It is enough to + last her all her life, she thinks—and yet, should it not come again? + But—<i>should</i> it come again! And the pillow is wet with fresh + tears, or the brow is prematurely wrinkled watching the decaying embers, + while the man—let us do him justice—is as blindly unconscious—unconscious! + Why, at that very moment he is making love—what <i>he</i> calls + making love—to the woman of his choice, his wife, his mistress, or + his <i>fiancée</i>! These are the men who do the most mischief in the + world. Your brute, your beast, your groveller in ditches, is not nearly so + dangerous. Women recoil from him. They understand him. But the man who + presses their hand awakes them, rouses their susceptibility, causes the + tender trouble to steal over them that so often ends in grief, or despair, + or death! And this is because neither sex is as yet properly trained in + the vital duty of responsibility, by which I mean that faculty of + self-repression which will cause a woman to try and understand what a man + means when he presses her hand, and cause the man to try and understand + what a woman feels when he does so. As for poor Ellen Dexter, it is dear + that she was not a woman of the world; but her sister Charlotte and Miss + Maria at the Rectory, if not precisely women of the world, were yet made + of much sterner stuff than she had been, and consequently, after much + reflection, decided that they were not going to be made fools of, in + village parlance. Miss Maria had, of course, long ago given up Mr. George + Foxley altogether. + </p> + <p> + “He is not human,” she said to her father, “and I don't believe he <i>is</i> + one of the Foxleys of Foxley Manor at all.” + </p> + <p> + “There can be no doubt about that, my dear,” answered the actor. + “Difficulties I should say—ah—difficulties have brought these + young men out here, but we must do our duty by them, we must do our duty. + Their father is a fine old gentleman, and well off, and a stanch Tory, my + dear. Patience, my dear Maria. The photographs are quite correct and the + seals bear quite the proper crest—ah—quite so.” + </p> + <p> + So Miss Maria transferred her affections to Mr. Joseph. The second + Christmas passed away, and a third spring dawned for Ipswich. The Inn was + just as comfortable as ever and so were apparently the two Mr. Foxleys but + for one fact and that was, Mr. George's health was not as good as it had + been. Always delicate, he had gradually failed, growing more and more + languid, more and more whimsical in spite of his comfortable abode and the + diligent care of his landlady. Poor Milly! How she worked for him too, + between hours, after hours, before hours! When the attacks of pleurisy, + painful in the extreme, from which he suffered, came on either in the + night or during the day, Milly was always near with her strong young arms, + not quite so pink as they used to be, and her quick young eyes, a shade + more subtle than they used to be, ready to apprehend and quiet the pain + before it came. How Miss Maria at the Rectory and Charlotte Dexter in her + lonely cottage would have envied her had they known, but though there were + gossips in plenty in the village, nothing that occurred in the + rose-scented drawing-room ever went out into that tattling little + Ipswichian world. + </p> + <p> + “Are your young gentlemen with you yet, Mrs. Cox? And one of 'em not over + strong? Deary me! that makes it hard for you and the young gal But you be + standing it remarkable well. And gentlemen born you say! They do say that + the other one wi' the specked skin be making fools of Miss Maria up at the + Rectory and old Miss Dexter at the cottage. Well! well! Poor Miss Ellen + was gone afore we knew it like, poor soul, that was so kind!” + </p> + <p> + Much of this cunning volubility sprung upon Mrs. Cox in pumping fashion + failed to extort from her anything but good-humoured smiles and laughs. If + I have not taken the trouble to describe this beloved Mrs. Cox to you + before this, it is because I fear you will say the picture is Unreal, no + such landlady, no such woman could exist out of England But why not? My + story, remember, deals with people and things as they were twenty years + ago. Twenty years ago there were such Inns, though few at number, to be + found in Western Canada—ay—and as English as any that a + certain Mrs. Lupin presided over in fascinating fiction, and much more + English than many Inns of the present day in England. Twenty years ago + there was such a landlady, rosy and plump and cheerful, wearing a flowered + gown, a black silk apron and a cap with a purple pansy in it and broad and + comfortable lappets, who, when her work was done, would sit in her small + private room opposite the bar also hung with red curtains, making + patchwork quilts or playing a demure rubber with the Scotch store-keeper, + or Irish stage driver, or an occasional gentleman from town. Such was Mrs. + Cox, widow of Captain Cox, able seaman, but bad lot, who died when they + had been five years in Canada, leaving her with her one child. The public + business had attracted her after her loss and she accordingly went into it + on the advice of her numerous friends. People who despise her calling need + not listen to me if I allude to—for I have not time to recount—all + her kindness, her cheerfulness, her powers of dispensing comfort, and + warmth, and happiness, and promoting the direct and indirect welfare of + everyone who came in her path. By what strange coincidence the brothers + Foxley had been led to her glowing fireside and her motherly arms brimming + over with zeal and kindness for the whole human race, does not matter. It + is sufficient that they found her and found with her a sense of + comparative peace and security which compensated for the one big slice of + trouble Fortune had treated them to before their departure from England. + For them did the wall flowers bloom and the mignonette at the window, for + them did the oleander blossom and the old clock strike, for them did the + jessamine climb and the one hawthorn tree yield its annual soft white + drift of snow, and yet who shall say that they were altogether unworthy, + even, if with that picture of poor Ellen Dexter in my mind, I have to say + that they did not deserve it? + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + If Mr. Joseph Foxley had but known the sentiments animating the couple of + maiden breasts that awaited his Saturday visits in Ipswich, he would have + been genuinely surprised. The truth is Mr. Joseph was rather what is + termed a general lover. He liked the sex in its entirety. Collectively he + loved all women and belonged to that hand-pressing section of humanity + which I have alluded to as mischievous. Were there not at least five young + ladies in town, at whose houses he visited, and who were more or less + interested in the young Englishman as he in them? Did Miss Charlotte dream + of them or Miss Maria at the rectory? If so, they never dared to ask Mr. + Joseph to give any account of his doings in town, although they managed to + glean what he did with himself in the village. He respected Charlotte + Dexter enough to intend at some future day to tell her a little more about + himself and his brother than he had yet done; as for Miss Maria, she only + bored him and fed his contempt. + </p> + <p> + “When a rather elderly old girl giggles after everything she says, + conversation is difficult and sympathy out of the question,” he had said + to his brother! When Mr. Joseph had known these young ladies for four + years, Miss Maria took her revenge in <i>her</i> way, that was by marrying + the younger brother of Mr. Simon P. Rattray, partner in the mill and the + red brick house by the river. The vision of becoming the cherished wife of + an English aristocrat and going home to reside in a manor house built in + the sixteenth century, with occasional visits to London and glimpses of + the Royal Family had gradually faded, and she accepted the less + rose-coloured lot that Mr. Lyman B. Rattray offered her, sitting in her + father's study, with his hair very much brushed up on one side and very + much flattened down on the other, a white tie and light-yellow duster + adorning his spare person. + </p> + <p> + Such was the American of those days—twenty years ago—there are + none such now I allow. + </p> + <p> + Miss Maria, who was considered “very English,” shuddered as she regarded + him. It so fell out that it being Saturday, Mr. Joseph was just then + passing—“kind of happening along” Mr. Rattray would have said—<i>en + route</i> to the Inn and his brother, on foot in spite of the dusty road + and the hot August sun, clad in trim tight knickerbockers and carrying an + immense bunch of red field lilies, a gun, and a leather satchel over his + shoulder. Slight and straight and cool, he looked the picture of a + contented cheerful energetic young English man. Along the road he came + whistling an old country tune. Miss Maria who had sighted him afar off, + begged her visitor's pardon and went to the window to arrange the blind. + How her heart warmed to that cruel Mr. Joseph, how she loved him then just + for that last moment! Her heart—that foolish old maid's heart—beat + quickly, beat thickly, she remembered to have read something somewhere + about people who could will other people to look at them, to speak to + them, to even think of them, to move across a room at their pleasure. If + she could but do that! She did try, with her fingers clenched on the + blind, and her eyes fixed on Mr. Joseph, she did wish with all her might + that he would turn his head and see her at the window and wave his hand + gallantly as he had done on one or two previous occasions. Then she would + beckon and he would run across and entering the room disconcert this + odious Mr. Lyman B. Rattray and put an end to his stony wooing. But alas! + for Miss Maria and her mesmeric powers! The harder she tried, the less she + succeeded. On came Mr. Joseph, supremely unconscious of the injured heart + beating behind the windowpane. At one moment it seemed as if he were about + to turn and look in her direction. A very brilliant wild yellow canary + crossed over his head and lit on a small shrub just inside the garden + paling. Had it remained there, would Miss Maria have ever become the wife + of Mr. Lyman B. Rattray? No one knows, for the canary flew away again to + the other side of the road and Mr. Joseph's eyes followed it In a moment + he was past, and the chance was gone for ever. Miss Maria left her window + and sat down opposite her visitor. There was nothing to keep her now, + nothing to give her courage and hope for the future, new fire for her + faded eyes, new strength for her jaded limbs. Yet she was only + thirty-four. How strange it is that some unmarried women are old at that + age, even while living in luxury and surrounded by every care and all + affection, while many a married woman, though beset with trials and + weaknesses and perhaps a brood of restless little ones to pull her gown + and get in the way of her busy feet, retains her figure and her step, her + smile and her complexion, her temper and her nerves! + </p> + <p> + It but remained for Charlotte Dexter to take her revenge in her way. Going + very seldom out of her house, and never visiting at the Inn she was really + very ignorant of the doings of either Mr. George or Mr. Joseph Foxley. + Towards the one she had never been greatly drawn, for the other she felt + all the passion that only a supremely lonely woman can feel in middle age + for a man younger than herself who charms her as a child, while he + captivates her as a lover. Of Mrs. Cox and Milly moreover, she hardly ever + thought, and in fact had not seen the latter for a long time. If she had + it is not likely she would even have recognized in the tall pale shapely + young woman with braids of dark hair and white linen cuffs fastened—must + I tell it? with a pair of antique monogram studs, the plump little + handmaiden of four years back. As it was, she only waited on day after + day, to hear Mr. Joseph speak. Instead of Mr. Joseph however appeared + another and less welcome confidante. This was the most malignant gossip in + the village, Mrs. Woods, the wife of the butcher, a tall red faced woman + with high cheek-bones on which the color seemed to have been badly + smirched, watery eyes and a couple of protruding yellow teeth. She looked + more like a butcher than the butcher himself who was a mild little man + with soft silky fair hair and small nervous fluttering hands. Yet he + managed to summon sufficient character to go on a tremendous burst—I + know of no other word, every third or fourth month and disappear for a + week When these periodical eclipses took place, his wife would come flying + into the Inn with her bonnet hanging round her neck and a large green and + red plaid shawl streaming out behind her. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Woods?” She would say. “Where's Woods? Give me Woods! Give 'im + up, I tell you; give 'im up now!” + </p> + <p> + But Woods was never found inside Mrs. Cox's neat dwelling, nor indeed + anywhere, although it had been whispered on, one occasion that he had been + seen in the back room of the little “Temperance Hotel” with the male + Methodist in attendance. This, of course, was clearly impossible. + </p> + <p> + It was this Mrs. Woods then that stopped at Dexter's Oak one Friday + morning with her donkey-cart and a small piece of the neck of mutton in + it. She was not an entirely bad woman, though a downright cunning virago, + and perhaps some inkling of the nature of the blow that was about to fall + on Miss Dexter's head caused her to come prepared by an acceptable present + to somewhat mitigate its appalling approach. + </p> + <p> + “I be at the Inn bright and early this morning Miss,” she began, “and + brought 'em their bit of fresh meat. And I'm bringin' you a bit as was + over, and it is'nt a bad piece for a stew, if you like a stew, Miss, with + an onion or two.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you very much, Mrs. Woods,” said Charlotte, who had come out to the + front door and now stood on the lower step, looking over the cart. “I'm + afraid I can't settle with you just at present,” she said further, with + some effort, “you can call some other time when you are passing. Will that + do? and is it weighed?” + </p> + <p> + “It is, miss, and I'll not say a word about the payin'! Six pound and a + 'alf, and Woods gone agen—I weighed it myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I am sorry to hear that,” said Charlotte. “Your husband gives you a + great deal of trouble. I am very sorry, and he is not at the inn?” + </p> + <p> + If Charlotte was guilty at that moment of purposely leading the + conversation up to this always for her most enthralling, most engrossing + subject, she soon enough received her punishment. On she went to her own + destruction. + </p> + <p> + “At the inn!” repeated the butcher's wife, with ineffable scorn on her + cruel mouth. She wiped her watery eyes and settled the refractory bonnet + before going on. + </p> + <p> + “No miss, he's not at the inn, and if he was sober, he wouldn't be at the + inn, and you'll never see him, nor me, nor 'Ide yonder, nor anyone on us + at all no more at the inn. For the inn's changed 'ands, miss. There's an + end of Mrs. Cox, who was a mother to many, if not to Woods. There's an end + to good old times and dancin' and singin', and honest Robert, though he + was a cross 'un—there's an end to it all now, miss, for the inn's + changed 'ands, and I'm the first in the village as knows it.” + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious. Is it possible?” said Charlotte, genuinely surprised. “Who + can have succeeded Mrs. Cox and why? I thought she was so popular and + making so much money, and what—what will become of the Mr. Foxleys?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Woods gave a triumphant grin. “It's them, theirselves, miss; it's + them that 'as it now. And the younger one will be marrying Milly in a + little while and settling down comfortable in the inn. It's gentlefolks + and aristocrats we'll have now at the inn, miss, and 'ard workin' people + like me and Woods may trudge all day and freeze all night, and never a pot + of beer or a warm at the kitchen fire and meat paid regular for year in, + year out!” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte stood aghast. The woman's injured volubility rushed past her as + a scene outside a railway car rushes past us, leaving only one idea, one + word caught at, as from the window through which we apprehend the + landscape, one scene or portion of a scene enchains the eye and lingers in + the mind though other scenes fly past in varied succession. + </p> + <p> + “Marry?” she repeated. “Marry! Milly, did you say? That is the girl, isn't + it, Mrs. Cox's niece? Which—” + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said the woman, “that's Milly, the 'ired girl; she's no I more than + that, if she be her aunt's niece. And 'ard work for one's niece. Me and + Woods, if we'd 'ad one, would have done better for her nor that, makin' + her work like a slave or a dummy. Cows, and pigs, and poultry, and + dish-washing, and scrubbing, and lamps, and starched fronts, and fine + gentlemen—but she's well paid, she's well paid. She's to marry one + of the fine gentlemen, Mr. Joseph it is, and they're to live on at the Inn + with Milly as mistress, and her fine husband behind the bar, very like. + Well, good-mornin', Miss Dexter; I wish you joy of the mutton. Me and + Woods often says—we'll take this or that little Dexter's Oak, but + it's most times forgot, for Woods is 'alf crazed, Miss Dexter, and I've + got to do the whole. Good-mornin'.” + </p> + <p> + Having adjusted her bonnet and the donkey-cart to her satisfaction, Mrs. + Woods drove off rather disappointed on the whole at Miss Dexter's calm + demeanour. Astonishment, perplexity, doubt, contempt and disgust she had + undoubtedly shown, but not a single sigh of weakness. Charlotte Dexter was + not the woman to swoon or lament or even turn pale as her sister Ellen + would have done. But when she came into her house and sat down in her + lonely parlour, she enacted a scene which would have petrified with + astonishment any inhabitant of the prosy little village in which she had + dwelt so long and indeed many other people as well, for when you and I, + dear reader, go to see one of these emotional plays in which the French + actress writhes on the sofa; grovels on the floor, rolls up her + handkerchief into a ball or tears it into strips, prays, weeps, curses, + censures, implores, looks at herself in the glass until she is on the + point of going mad, and strides about the stage as no woman in real life + has ever been seen to stride, ending by throwing herself across an + arm-chair as rigid as marble thereby assuring the audience that she is in + a “dead faint”—I say, that when we see all this performed by a + travelling “star,” and her truly eclectic Company, comprising a Diva, a + Duenna, a Diner-out and a Devil, we are apt to look around at the placid + Canadian or the matter-of-fact American audience and wonder if they + understand the drift of the thing at all, the situations, the allusions, + even in the slightest degree, forgetting that perhaps the most placid, + most commonplace person in the theatre has gone through some crisis, some + tragedy as thrilling, as subtle and as terrible as the scene we have just + witnessed. “Not out of Paris,” we say, “can such things happen?” Do we + know what we are saying? Is it only in Paris that hearts are won and + tossed aside this night—as in the play? Is it only in Paris that + honor is forgotten and promises are broken this night—as in the + play? Is it only in Paris that money allures and rank dazzles, and a dark + eye or a light step entrances, this night—as in the play? Is it only + in Paris that nature is human and that humanity is vile, or weak, or pure, + or firm, as this night in the play? Oh! in that obscure little Canadian + village, a lonely old maid locked her door that morning and pulled down + her blind that the daylight might not come in and see her misery, might + not mock even more malignantly than the ignorant, impertinent and + hard-hearted woman who had dealt her this blow. Like most women in such a + crisis, she lost the habit of thought. Reason entirely deserted her, and + she never dreamed but that it was true. For when a women has to own to + herself that she holds no dominion over a man, that it is only too + perfectly clear that the impulse of loving is all on her side and that she + has neither anything to expect nor anything to fear from him, since + indifference is the keynote of his attitude to her, she will all the more + readily believe that he loves elsewhere, worthily or unworthily the same + to her. A woman is not a noble object in such a situation. All trusting + feminine instincts, all sweet emotions of hope, all sentiment, all passion + even, retreat and fall away from her, leaving either a cold, bitter, + heartless petrifaction, in a woman's clinging robe, or the Fury that is + the twin sister of every little red-lipped, clear-eyed girl born into the + world. She never dreamed but that this story was true. In fact so entirely + had her woman's wit deserted her, she said to herself of <i>course</i> it + was true. Her brain could work sufficiently to conjure up hints, phrases, + words, looks, events, accidents that all bore testimony to the truth of + the extraordinary tale. For it was extraordinary. Miss Dexter herself was + the great grand-daughter of an Admiral, and the grand-daughter of a judge, + and as such, respected all these accidents of birth which we are supposed + to ignore or at least not expected to recognize in a new country. That + such men as the Mr. Foxleys could make themselves as completely at home in + the Inn as rumor had frequently asserted, and with truth, seemed at all + times monstrous to her. She had lived so long out of England, over thirty + years now, that she had forgotten the sweet relations that prevailed there + between the aristocracy or landed gentry and their inferiors. The Mr. + Foxleys were simply doing in Canada what they would have done had they + been still in England, only they were assisted in so doing by the + unusually English surroundings in which they found themselves. Miss Dexter + looked around her in the yellow inclosed light. There was a sampler in a + frame, worked by herself when a little child, another exactly similar, + worked by Ellen, a couple of fine old family portraits in heavy gilt + frames, half a dozen ivory miniatures scattered about on the walls, some + good carvings in ivory, a rare old Indian shawl festooned over the wooden + mantle-board, a couple of skins on the floor, a corner piece of furniture + known as a “whatnot” crowded with bits of egg-shell china, birds' eggs and + nests, a few good specimens of spar and coral and a profusion of plants + everywhere. It was all neat, respectable, even dignified, superior. There + was no such other room in the village. In the village? There were not many + at that time even in the town. Sooner than part with the eggshell china or + the Indian shawl the Miss Dexters had suffered the pains of poverty and + hunger; these cherished reminders of an absent father and an artistic + youth could never be lost or borne away by the hands of a stranger. And + how glad those foolish Miss Dexters had been to possess such beautiful and + interesting objects when it pleased Mr. George Foxley to drink tea out of + the cups on summer afternoons on the verandah of the little cottage + looking up into the splendid vault of the mighty oak, or when Mr. Joseph + would wind the Indian shawl round his silly head in the winter evenings + when the draughts of cold air would rush in through the thin walls. These + and other memories crowded into Charlotte Dexter's brain as she looked + around her room, crowded thick and fast, crowded fast and furious, surged, + broke, leaving an empty moment of perfect blankness, then crowded again + thicker, faster, surged and seethed and then broke again, leaving in the + void of perfect blankness this time a fixed idea, a resolve, a + determination, seen in the dark like a luminous point of phosphorus. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon as Farmer Wise was driving slowly along the road, the main + road leading through Ipswich to the town, he was accosted by Miss Dexter + from her verandah. She had her jacket on and held her bonnet in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Can you give me a seat as far as the Albion?” said she. “I would have + sent a message to you yesterday if I had known I was going. But if it will + not trouble you—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! no trouble no trouble at all, Miss Dexter,” replied Farmer Wise. “I'm + sorry I've only the waggon to offer ye. But I'm takin' in apples as you + see, nine barrel of 'em, and only a waggon will do for them.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, certainly,” said Miss Dexter, hurriedly trying on her bonnet. + “Can you wait a moment? I won't be longer, Mr. Wise, it is just to lock + the back door.” + </p> + <p> + The farmer nodded and drew up under the shade of Dexter's oak. It was a + beautiful afternoon late in November, characterized by the clear cold air, + the blue and gold of the sky, and the russet coloring of the foliage that + mark the close of the Autumnal season. He looked in at Miss Dexter's + little garden, admirably neat and well-trimmed; dahlias, hollyhocks, sweet + William and asters, though done with blossoms, still bore their green + leaves unsmitten by the frost. The windows appeared full of flowers too, + but the blinds were skimp and faded and drawn down behind them. He started + when he noticed this, for he knew the outer aspect of the house well, and + had never seen such a thing before, except in case of sickness or death. + The honest farmer thought and thought until Miss Dexter reappeared and + assisted by him, got up in her place beside him. Even after that he went + on thinking, and I must here tell you that it was not the first time + Farmer Wise's thoughts had dwelt so persistently upon his companion and + her house and personal history. For twelve years he had nursed a kind of + mild distant passion for Miss Dexter at the Oak, unguessed at by her and + his family, and only half understood by himself. He could not have said he + was in love with her. He had been in love once when he married his first + wife, who bore him a triad of splendid sons, one “keeping store” in the + Western States and the other two at home on the farm, all three great + giants of fellows, handsome in the fields or at barn-doors or in + market-waggons, but plain on Sundays in black coats or at evening dances + in the big ball-room at the Inn, when they would shuffle noisily through + cotillons or labor clumsily through a Highland Schottische. + </p> + <p> + For himself, Farmer Wise was an honest, sincere, good-hearted man, a maker + of money and a spender thereof—witness the fine red ploughs, the + painted barns, the handsome team, Kentucky bred, and the inner decorations + of his house, situated about five miles out of Ipswich, on the main-road. + After Mr. Simon P. Rattray, he was the representative man of the district, + although he did not come so closely into contact with the villagers. This + <i>penchant</i> for the elder Miss Dexter had been a gradual, a slow but + very sure and steady thing. Her father's death had increased it, so had + that of Ellen her sister, and the farmer lived too far away to know as + much as other people knew about the advent of the Mr. Foxleys. Had there + been a sister or a daughter, or a wife or a mother, or an aunt or a cousin + about the farm, he would have known very quickly. As it was, the girl who + did the housework on the farm was as ignorant of gossip, its existence and + the laws which govern its nature, as any male farm hand could be. When + Farmer Wise put up his horses at the Inn three or four times a year, and + sat down in the cheerful bar-room to drink a glass of whisky with his feet + to the fire if it were winter, or a taller glass of Belfast ginger ale if + it were summer, did he never notice Mrs. Cox? Mrs. Cox, well-to-do and + popular herself, fresh, blooming and hearty, a young woman yet, and just + the woman one would say, for him, and above all, the woman who thought + most of him and ran to change her cap—the black one with the knot of + rusty widow's crape—for the smart new one that held the velvet pansy + when she saw the team coming. There's where he should have chosen the + second time, there was the woman he should have noticed instead of poor, + proud, foolish Charlotte Dexter, whom he half feared as a “lady born,” and + who held in her heart, had he only knew it, the image of Mr. Joseph + Foxley. The farmer got on with the English gentlemen at the Inn whenever + he saw them “first-rate,” and it was of them he began most unsuspiciously + to talk when he and Miss Dexter had crossed the bridge, ascended the hill + on the other side of the river, and the team were settling to their work + as they entered upon the dreary eight miles called the Plains which lay + between them and the city. The farmer was consciously happy as he moved + his ponderous body slightly nearer to his companion and tucked her in with + his great hands, a single touch of one of them hurting her thin frame as + if they were made of iron or stiff rope. He thought he was gentle too—poor + man—but long years of manual labor had changed the natural soft + flesh to the consistency of leather, in which immense muscles and joints + seemingly of marble had been imbedded. + </p> + <p> + Besides, there was the delicate touch of another hand, as fine, as soft as + a woman's and yet almost as strong as the farmer's, in her mind, a hand + whiter than her own, though somewhat freckled, a hand that had taper + fingers and well-kept nails, a hand that bore an antique seal ring and a + fine pearl, a hand alas that had often retained her own in its warm + clinging pressure, and once—only once, and that was three years ago—clasped + her unresisting waist for a moment in the dark under the Oak while her + sister fumbled at the gate. And just as she cherished these memories of + Mr. Joseph, so did the widowed farmer retain the few occasions in his mind + on which he had met Miss Dexter, spoken with her, given her a “lift” into + town or up the road to the village store, for this was not the first use + she had made of his gallant good nature and the Kentucky team. + </p> + <p> + He looked down at her now as they drove along in silence and noticed her + thin black gown, her short jacket, her bit of black veil drawn over her + bonnet, and her dingy travelling-bag with its tarnished clasp, and he + heaved a sigh. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte was a “sizeable woman” thought Farmer Wise “and wants a good + live garment sometimes, to bring her figure out and make more of it and do + justice to it. A shawl now! How much would a good shawl be? I miss a woman + round the place; I wouldn't know what to ask for. I might ha' stopped nigh + the Inn and asked Mrs. Cox.” Ay, you might Farmer Wise, and have done + another mischievous thing, upsetting Mrs. Cox for a week as she waited for + a parcel from town and breaking her heart altogether as day after day + followed and no parcel arrived. + </p> + <p> + “I ha' never seen the ekil of those Mr. Foxleys yonder,” began the honest + farmer as something to start a conversation with. “I ha' never seen their + ekil.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Miss Dexter. “Yes? In what way?” + </p> + <p> + “So gentle and so funny as they be. Gentlemen both of them with delicate + hands and fine clothes—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” murmured Miss Dexter under her breath, clutching at her bag + and closing her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “And not above anybody or anything going. I see the pale one this day, and + pale he is and weak they say, enough to be walked about on the girl's + shoulder—I see him to-day as I passed the Inn, he was on a long + chair out in the bit of paved yard, you know Miss Dexter, and when he saw + me he raises his head and says 'Farmer Wise, is that you?'” May be you + don't remember just how he speaks. He speaks better now nor when he came, + and his brother too. At first It was all in a jumble like one word run + into the other and hard to understand at least for us country folks. But + now 'tis a bit clearer, more as you speak, begging your pardon, Miss + Dexter, for noticing that or anything else that concerns you, Miss Dexter. + And I says, stopping these fellows a bit. “Yes it's me. I'm on my way to + town with nine barrels of apples.” + </p> + <p> + “How many?” he calls out again. + </p> + <p> + “Nine,” I replies. + </p> + <p> + “Let's taste one,” he says. + </p> + <p> + “A barrel?” I says, and Milly, the girl, she come oat by the door, with + another quilt to put over him, laughing, and showing her teeth, rare ones + too, they be and says she. “Throw us down one, Farmer Wise,” and I did, + for I had a couple in my pocket, and here's the tother, “now Miss Dexter, + if you see your way to eatin' it now in the waggon alongside of me, or + will you wait till we get to the Albion?” Charlotte Dexter put her hand + out mechanically and took the apple, a large red one, from the farmer who + again managed to hurt her as his great wrist touched her fingers for an + instant. He blushed perceptibly and moved a little nearer still. And how + unconscious Charlotte Dexter was of his mere presence, let alone tender + thoughts, except when he hurt her! + </p> + <p> + “I have heard this morning, that is I believe everyone has known for some + time, though it is only spoken about generally today, for the first time, + that Mrs. Cox is giving up the Inn. Her niece, the girl you mention, is + going to be married—indeed, it is one of those gentlemen—the + Mr. Foxleys—whom she is to marry, and they will take the Inn out of + Mrs. Cox's hands.” + </p> + <p> + The farmer was as surprised as she had been. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he ejaculated “didn't I say I'd never seen their ekil? Milly's + going to marry one of the Mr. Foxleys? Which—” + </p> + <p> + “It is Mr. Joseph,” returned Miss Dexter, staring down at the apple in her + lap. “The youngest one, you know. He is a very merry young gentleman and + always has something to say. I daresay it will be a very comfortable + arrangement.” + </p> + <p> + “But it's a great thing for Milly,” said her companion, “it'll be a great + thing for her. She'll live in the tone, no doubt and may be cross the + ocean to see his home and his parents—it'll be a great thing for + Milly. A gentleman born! Ay, ay; ay, ay!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said Miss Dexter, irritably. “Don't I tell you, Farmer Wise, + that they will live on at the Inn? These young gentlemen like comfort, + like being waited upon. They do this in order to insure—in order to—oh! + it is difficult to explain my meaning, but you must see, Farmer Wise, that + it is not a proper marriage at all, it is a very sad thing for the girl, I + should consider, and some one—some friend should tell her so. She + can never be a lady, and what kind of life will it be for him, a gentleman + born, as you say, when he could have chosen too, where he liked. My great + grandfather, Mr. Wise, was an Admiral, and my grandfather was a Judge. My + father was a member of a respected profession, although not brought up to + it in early life, and <i>none</i> of my relations, or ancestors <i>ever</i> + married out of their own proper circle, except my poor father. He made a + most perverse and foolish marriage, Farmer Wise, which though only lasting + a few years, brought sorrow and trouble and poverty and oppression to his + family.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, ay,” said the farmer, softly. He was thinking still about those + down-drawn blinds. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, ay. You're right in the main, Miss Dexter—yes, you're right in + the main. Now, I thought I'd ask ye—I said to myself this morning, + when I see Miss Dexter the next time, her as is a lady, and no mistake, + I'll ask her—what would you say, or what your sister have said if + someone here right in this village, that is, there in Ipswich, I mean of + course, someone who wanted to just be kind and lend an 'elpin 'and, had + asked ye—or her—say her—had asked her anytime to marry + him, startin' fair, startin' fair, with a year to think on it. And a + comfortable 'ome awaitin' 'er with two 'ired girls to do the work and + plenty of hands on the farm and the best of cheese and butter and the + Harmonium in the parlor and drives to and fro' the Church and behind it + all a—solid man—a solid man—what do ye think she'd 'uv + said?” + </p> + <p> + Was ever man more in earnest, now that it had suddenly broken from him + after all these years, than honest Farmer Wise? The team jogged on, but + the reins were lying loosely in their owner's hands. + </p> + <p> + “I thought I'd ask ye,” he repeated looking away from his companion. “I + thought I'd ask ye.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Dexter had hardly gathered the import of his speech. She looked up + startled. + </p> + <p> + “My sister?” she said with increased irritability. “Ask my sister? What do + you mean? I never knew that anybody here, in the village, had proposed to + her, or dared—dared to think of her at all as a possible mate—wife, + whatever it is you mean. Surely you don't mean yourself, Farmer Wise! It + would never enter your head, I am sure, to propose to my sister!” + </p> + <p> + “No it never did,” said the farmer quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Then it is someone else? Really, you must tell me, if you know anything + about it, Farmer Wise. But I think you are making some mistake, it is + quite impossible that anyone in the village—any native of the + village, or indeed any native of this country should so far forget himself + as to propose to my sister.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said the farmer as quietly, “it is quite impossible. No one + 'ud 'av done it. No one did do it, that I know on. But I thought I'd ask + ye. And about yourself, too? There'd be no gettin' ye to forget all—all + that has been and to take up with things as they be, to be makin' a new + start, startin' fair, as I said, startin' fair, both parties agreed to + think a year on it, and one party to save up and buy nothin' till the year + 'd be out and then the other party to give the word for both to take 'ands + and make the start together! For what's past is past, and what's done is + done, and ye can't make this out the old country any more nor ye can bring + back those that are gone, which they wouldn't be, I 'low to say, if they'd + stayed behind in it. This” said the farmer, in a louder firmer voice, + indicating with his whip the dreary pine forests that bordered the road on + either side, “isn't the old country. I come from it myself, and I know it + taint. Them rustlin' leaves ain't the old country, heaps of brown and + yella up to your knees after a while, nor yet this road, nor that sky, nor + this waggon, nor them apples, nor them horses. Nor me myself. I'm no + longer old country. I'm fond of it—sho! I'm fonder of it now than I + was forty years ago, when I come away from it, I'm fonder of it every year + that goes by. But it's the New Country that's made me, that's give me all + I have and more than all I want, and accordin' I'm grateful to it, and + wouldn't turn my back on it. No Miss Dexter I wouldn't, and so I says, to + all as come out to it, it's better to try and forget the past, or at least + as much of it as 'll bear forgetting in order to let you live, and to take + up with things as they be, and not lookin' always to things as they were, + and to make the best of what the New World has to offer to ye And I don't + think that in England—God bless her—to-day, you 'll find a + finer team, nor redder apples, nor an easier going waggon, nor even a + prettier sky, than that there yella light breakin' all over the landscup + like!” + </p> + <p> + There was perfect silence after that. It had suddenly dawned upon + Charlotte Dexter with accession of disgust and embittered hostility that + the farmer's words related to himself. What new and hateful complication + was this to be reminded by such an ill-timed declaration of the ironical + in her life which had always been near enough to her apprehensions! + Anything and everything but what she wanted, she could have. It had always + been so. A dark frown gathered on her forehead, she clutched her bag and + drew herself away from the side of the honest farmer. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know what you are talking about,” she cried. “Such words can + have nothing to do with me. I could not disgrace myself and my father's + family by allying myself with anybody out here, least of all, one of the + working classes, or a farmer. You are very inconsiderate, Farmer Wise, and + I must ask you to distinctly understand that even conversation on such a + subject is quite out of the question. I cannot even discuss it with you or + with anyone in your position. I have told you what my connections are; + what my family is, you have now, I hope, some correct idea, and you will + see how utterly impossible it is that I should, even to better my + circumstances which I admit are somewhat precarious, make such a <i>mésalliance</i>—such + a mistake, I mean, as you refer to. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the farmer very quietly this time. “You're right in the main, + Miss Dexter, you're right in the main. But I thought I'd ask ye, I thought + I'd ask ye. Far from harm bein' done, there's only good, there's only + good, for now you understand me and I understand <i>you</i> and thank ye + for your confidences and there's an end on it.” + </p> + <p> + So begun, so ended the honest man's wooing. Did he suffer disappointment + as Miss Dexter's contemptuous eye and her irritated tone showed him—ah! + how plainly—she was forever out of his reach? Was an idol broken, a + dream dissolved, a blossom nipped, or hope murdered, just as much, in the + case of this comfortable placid unimaginative elderly farmer as in the + case of younger, warmer, more impetuous, more idealistic men? If so, + Farmer Wise was as self-contained as the best actor among them and handed + Miss Dexter out at the Albion with as gallant, though cautious politeness + and sat as far away from her at the hotel tea table and met her in the + hall afterwards with as severe an air, as if the situation were perfectly + pleasant and completely ordinary. He asked her when she would be going + back, and learnt that she would pass the night at the Albion, returning to + the village by the Saturday's stage. + </p> + <p> + “Then shall I take a seat for ye?” asked the willing farmer. + </p> + <p> + “No” said Miss Dexter, who appeared to be in a great hurry, “I can arrange + in the morning, thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “In any case, ye're sure ye won't want a 'lift' again, Miss Dexter,” said + the farmer respectfully, though there might have been the least tinge of + irony in the tone. “I'm not goin' back myself till to morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you,” returned Miss Dexter for the last time. + </p> + <p> + The Albion was a small hotel or tavern situated just on the outskirts of + the town, which did a flourishing business with the country people. Two + roads, the Ipswich and the Richmond, formed a sort of junction before its + door, one leading into the fine agricultural district or valley of + Richmond, Guernsey and Trenton, and the other following, the dreary Plains + through Ipswich to Orangetown, a thriving little community of mills and + saws and booms and planks picturesquely situated on the Upper Orange + River. + </p> + <p> + There was always a knot of farmers round the Albion, all of them English + or Scotch or native Canadians born of British parents. A French-Canadian + would have been hoisted on a table and examined minutely all over, hair, + eye, skin and costume, had one been present. But though the men were + respectable and decent and hard-working and most of them earned a good + income and few of them drank or gambled it away, they were noisy, smoky, + staring fellows for companions and Miss Dexter, having walked some + distance to a shop, made a purchase, and returned to the parlor of the + hotel while it was yet light, uncertain what to do with herself or where + to go to escape the bustle and clatter of tongues. Farmer Wise was smoking + in the bar, she had seen him as she passed in, and the mere sight of him, + with his head up against the counter, and his legs out on a chair made her + shudder. She sat in the parlor listening to the intolerable noise, heavy + delf and cutlery being momentarily banged down on tables and chairs, an + occasional broken plate and whirling pewter mug or kitchen spoon reaching + her ear with more than usual reverberation. Then would come a volley of + laughter, oaths, and bets on next week's races from the bar, then more + breaking of china from the scullery, the stamping of horses in the stable, + then the bar door would be closed and comparative silence ensue. In one of + these intervals, the girl who had waited at the tea-table appeared in the + parlor and inquired of Miss Dexter if she would like a fire put in the + wood stove that stood on a square of zinc in the middle of the room. It + came as a relief from the nervous broodings that were settling down on her + mind occupied in introspection neither healthy nor cheerful, and she + eagerly assented. + </p> + <p> + When the fire burned up, she opened the door that she might see the blaze + and spread out her thin hands to it and put her cold feet to its warmth. + Then for the first time she unclasped her bag and taking out her purchase, + looked at it. The shop she had gone into was a druggist's, and her + purchase had been a small bottle of a bluish fluid that she now held up to + the light and looked at long and steadily but with no change in her + countenance. The bar-door opened with a creak and closed with a bang. She + started and replaced the bottle in the bag and put the bag over her arm as + before. For a long time she sat before the fire warming first one foot, + then the other and never looking away from the blaze. When half-past ten + came, so did the girl with a lamp and two damp towels for Miss Dexter who + took them without opening her mouth much to the astonishment of the girl, + who though taciturn herself was well used to speech and “language” from + all she came in contact with, and who was also struck with the fact that + the strange lady had never removed her bonnet or jacket “since she come in + the house.” + </p> + <p> + She would have had additional ground for surprise had she known that the + strange lady did not remove them even upon reaching her own room, but + lowering the lamp, lay down fully dressed upon the bed still clasping her + small travelling bag in her hands, and slept until seven o'clock in the + morning. She then rose and hastily straightening her attire, descended to + the dining-room, partook of ham and eggs. Upon the close of this meal, she + went up again to the parlor and sat slightly back from the window that + overlooked the main road until twelve o'clock, when she partook of the + dinner served to the travellers at the Albion, including Farmer Wise who + had sold his apples and soon after dinner hitched up ready to go + homewards. After dinner she went up as before to the parlor and sat there + again. Two o'clock came, half past two, three o'clock, and Miss Dexter + began to look along the road in the direction of the town. Half-past three + found her, still looking along the road. Four o'clock came, half-past + four, then five. She grew visibly uneasy, walked to and fro in the little + parlor, sat down again. Half-past five, the clatter in the kitchen which + had been silent for a little while renewed itself. Six!! The men stumped + into their tea, and the girl ascending asked Miss Dexter if she was coming + down to hers. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Miss Dexter, “I expect to have a late tea at home, thank you. + And I am just going in a moment or two.” + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes past six. The late November afternoon had almost entirely + faded, it would soon be dark. A quarter past six and Miss Dexter, looking + continuously out of her window perceived the figure she had waited for so + long at length approaching. Gay, Mr. Joseph, you have thrown off the + fetters of town and work and dull care and responsibility, and here you + are free and untrammelled as the air, good humored, cheerful, humming your + Old Country tunes as usual, brisk, <i>débonnair</i>, untouched by thought + of present trouble or evil, unthinking and unsuspecting! Gay Mr. Joseph, + urbane Mr. Joseph, what have you got in your hand this time? Last time it + was a bunch of the red field lily. Now it is, or it looks like—yes, + it is—a genuine florist's bouquet. Something to open the eyes of the + Ipswich villagers. A gorgeous wired platoon of roses, and smilax tuberose + and mignonette—Mr. Joseph, Mr. Joseph, what does this mean, who is + this for? On he came, brisker, more <i>débonnair</i>, more smiling than + Miss Dexter had ever seen him in her life. Her breath came fast as he + neared the window. Exchanging a word with the hostler and a couple of + laboring men who stood almost in the centre of the road Mr. Joseph passed + on, looking down with a smile at the bouquet in his hand. Miss Dexter then + arose and quietly settling her bonnet at a glass walked out of the hotel + having paid her small bill at dinner-time. + </p> + <p> + She walked steadily on in the direction of Ipswich in the wake of Mr. + Joseph who did not appear to be walking as fast as usual himself. So by + straining every nerve as we say—in reality, walking as she had never + attempted to and dreamt of walking in her life—she slowly but surely + gained upon the unconscious Mr. Joseph. They were about in the middle of + the plains, that dreary bit of road bordered by pine forests on either + side when Miss Dexter found she could distinguish the <i>clink, clink</i> + or jingle of his watch-chain, a thing of steel links which she knew well + by sight as well as by sound as it struck against the buttons of his coat. + Slowly Miss Dexter gained on him, until it was necessary either to accost + him or pass him. Which did she mean to do? Dark as it was rapidly growing, + Mr. Joseph, in half turning his head to observe something in the trees or + sky, became conscious of a figure close behind him. The path was narrow, + for he had left the middle of the road since passing the Albion, and he + stepped aside with his usual ready politeness to allow the lady room to go + on before him. But in a moment he recognized Miss Dexter. She waited for + him to speak. + </p> + <p> + “I—really, why—is it possible it is you, my dear Miss Dexter? + I never knew you took such lonely walks so far from home. You don't mean + to say you've walked out from town?” + </p> + <p> + For an answer, Miss Dexter, who had previously unclasped her bag and taken + out the bottle, lifted her right hand and threw the contents over Mr. + Joseph. + </p> + <p> + “In the name of God!” shrieked the unfortunate man, warding off as he + imagined a second attack. But Miss Dexter had done her work and stood + rigid, unmovable, stony as marble, the bag fallen at her feet, her hands + fallen straight down at her sides. Mr. Joseph had sunk upon the ground + moaning and writhing, but through all the torture of the terrible pain he + was suffering, he thought of nothing but the inconceivable brutality of + the act itself. Why had she done it? + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it is vitriol,” he gasped. “Was it an accident—or—did + you—mean—to—do it? How have—I—injured—you? + Oh—say—say—” + </p> + <p> + He could get no further for a few moments in the appalling consciousness + of that living fire which had burnt into his poor eyes and played round + his poor temples. Otherwise he was not injured, for Miss Dexter's aim had + been a faulty one and nearly all the contents of the bottle had in reality + descended on the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Say—say” he went on. “Which it is? My—dear—Miss Dexter—I + am—sorrier for you—than—for—myself, and cannot + imagine—oh! Good God, I shall be blind, blind—ah!!—” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte Dexter still stood in the rapidly darkening air, a stem, rigid, + immovable figure. It was too soon for remorse. That would come in good + time. But a certain pity stole over her as she gazed at the huddled mass + on the ground before her, which a short time ago, had been the gay, + laughing, upright Mr. Joseph. + </p> + <p> + “Are you suffering very much?” She said at length in her ordinary voice. + </p> + <p> + “Good God! How—how—can you ask? Again—tell me—was + it—an accident?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she replied still in her most ordinary voice. “No. It was no + accident. It <i>is</i> vitriol, and I <i>did</i> mean to throw it.” + </p> + <p> + “It is horrible,” groaned Mr. Joseph, still in agony on the ground where + he had sunk at first. “And you will not—fiend that you appear now to + be—though Heaven knows—I thought you sweet and womanly enough + once—you will not—tell me why! It is infamous!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it <i>is</i> infamous,” returned Charlotte Dexter. “It <i>is</i> + horrible, and I am a fiend. I am not a woman any longer. I once was, as + you say, sweet and womanly enough for—for what? Joseph Foxley. For + you to come to any house and my sister's house, and blast <i>her</i> life + and strike <i>her</i> down as you thought you would strike me, for this + and that and for much more, but not enough for truth and honesty and an + offer of marriage in fair form, not enough for common respect and decent + friendship.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear lady,” said Mr. Joseph with great difficulty, “there was no one I—” + </p> + <p> + “And all that time, when I thought you at least free, at least your own + master, at least unbiased and unbound, for unlike a gentleman you never + hinted to me of these—other ties—you were engaged to this + miserable girl, this common drudge, the scullery-maid of a country inn. + You, you, you!” + </p> + <p> + “My dear lady,” said Mr. Joseph again with greater difficulty than before, + “I—upon my word—I have—I—” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte Dexter, suddenly regaining the use of her limbs, bent down + quickly and peered into the poor sightless face. Mr. Joseph had fainted. + She owned no fear yet however, though it was now quite dark, and five + miles lay between them and her own door. Pity was just giving away to + remorse. What if she had killed him? She bent down again but found that + there was no fear of that and even consciousness appeared to be returning. + At this moment the sound of wheels struck her ear. Nearer and nearer it + came and she soon descried a waggon coming along the road sharply in which + sat one man. The rest of the waggon was empty and as it was proceeding in + the direction of the village, into that, she made up her mind, should Mr. + Joseph be put. As it drew near, she stepped out of the dark shade of the + pines and bade the man stop. + </p> + <p> + “Whose there!” said he, “What's here? What's the matter? Why, if it ain't + Miss Dexter!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said she, stooping to assist her unfortunate companion. “How do you + do, Farmer Wise! I—do you know Mr. Foxley—Mr. Joseph Foxley—is + here—can you just see him—if you have a lantern, or, will you + help me to get him into the waggon?” + </p> + <p> + Farmer Wise forgot Miss Dexter and her family pride in an instant, though + at first sight the feeling of injury had somewhat revived, and he made + haste to come to her relief. He found Mr. Joseph just coming to himself. + </p> + <p> + “Why, why, what's the matter?” said the Farmer. “It minds me of old times, + this, when highway-men and tramps were a-infestin' the road and a-lyin' in + wait for honest travellers—in the Old Country of course, Miss + Dexter, not here, not here. Yet somethin's been at work here, eh! Mr. + Joseph, or else I'm much mistaken. Here, lend an 'and, Miss Dexter; now, + sir, can you see me?” + </p> + <p> + “Not very well,” gasped poor Mr. Joseph. “It's dark, I know,” said the + farmer, “and I hadn't begun carrying my lantern yet. Never mind Here, now, + place your foot there—are ye hurt anywhere that I may touch ye—tell + me where I hurt ye, if I do—now then, the other foot— + </p> + <p> + “There, now it's done! Miss Dexter, ma'am there's an old blanket at the + back there, lie him on that. Put his head down and let him look straight + up at them stars and he'll soon get himself, I warrant. If I knew where ye + were hurt, perhaps I could bind ye up. There's no wound,” anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mr. Joseph. “Thank you, Farmer Wise. I am—much—better—really. + I was unconscious!” + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said the farmer, “A little, and can you stand the joltin' now, are + ye sure? For if ye are, we'll drive on.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay a moment,” said Mr. Joseph. “I had some flowers—a bouquet—in + my hands when I—fell. I can't see—very well—in this + light—look for me, will you!” + </p> + <p> + “I do spy somethin' white on yonder ground where you was when I came up. + Maybe it's a pocket-handkerchief, may be it's the flowers you dropped.” + </p> + <p> + The former sprang down and returned with two articles one of which—the + bouquet he gave to Mr. Joseph, the other, a small bottle—he put in + his own pocket The bouquet was as fresh and untumbled as when it emerged + from the careful florist who had prepared it. Not a single drop of the + fiery liquid had fallen upon it nor scorched its fragrant beauty and it + presently lay upon the face of the suffering man, healing with its cool + moist sweet leaves and petals his poor scarred skin. + </p> + <p> + “I won't ask him,” thought the farmer, “I won't ask him. But what are they + doin' here together? Well, I won't ask that neither. And why did not she + came out by the stage as she said? I won't ask that neither. There's three + things I needn't go for to enquire into. But a little general conversation + in a nice kind of way, neither spyin' nor lyin' may do him good and not be + altogether despised by the—the other party.” He looked back and + could dimly see Mr. Joseph sitting up on the blanket. He had removed his + hat, and his hands were pressed to his head. Charlotte Dexter was in the + furthest corner of the waggon, a dark, stern, ominous figure. + </p> + <p> + “Strange that you and me <i>are</i> goin' home together, Miss Dexter, + after all,” said the farmer. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Dexter drove in to the Albion alongside of me yesterday, sir, and I + ask her if so be she need a second lift back to-day, and she said 'no.'” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Mr. Joseph. “Yesterday, did you say? I was—to have—come + out—yesterday—in answer to my brother's note—but I could + not manage—it. I wish,” with a grim attempt at the old humor—“I + had, 'pon my soul I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Your brother is well, I hope, sir?” said the farmer. “Don't talk too + much, I beg of ye, Mr. Joseph. To see ye with yer hands like that!” + </p> + <p> + “It is—better—easier—that way,” returned Mr. Joseph. “My + brother is well for him, thank you. You know, he is—not strong he—is—never—perfectly + well.” + </p> + <p> + “D—” said the farmer to himself. “Of course, of course, I know. I + see him yesterday morning, pale like and weak, but smiling and lookin' + happy enough too, I tell ye.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes” said Mr. Joseph, again lying down and pressing the flowers to + his hot lips. “I—these flowers—are for him and—her.” + </p> + <p> + “Her!” said the farmer. + </p> + <p> + “Milly, you know. Ah—perhaps you haven't heard. My brother is going + to—marry Milly, Mrs. Cox's niece, you know.” + </p> + <p> + An absolutely death-like stillness prevailed in the waggon. The Kentucky + team jogged on. The stars shone down on poor Mr. Joseph turning up his + sightless orbs to their beauty and majesty, and on the passion of grief + and remorse that now surged in Miss Dexter's suffering breast. + </p> + <p> + “It may be vanity,” thought Farmer Wise as the bridge and the river and + Dexter's Oak came in sight one after the other, “it may be vanity, though + I'm too old a man to be much given to that, but I can't help thinkin' I'm + a wiser man than I was yesterday by a good lot. I don't half know what's + happened, but somethin's goin' on, whether it's understandable or not to + me and the likes of me, I don't know as yet, and I don't think I'll try to + find out. If ifs bad it'll come out fast enough, and if it's good, leavin' + it alone maybe will make it a little better. But here we are,” he + continued aloud, “at Dexter's Oak. What's to be done, Miss Dexter, now, + and with you, Mr. Joseph? Of course, I'll take you straight to the Inn—as + for Miss Dexter—” + </p> + <p> + “I will get out at once,” said the unhappy woman. “You are sure you can + take him to the Inn all right and—and—lift—that is—without—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I guess so,” said the farmer, grimly relapsing into an Americanism + that was just beginning to leaven the whole country. “I guess I'll take + care on him, and as for gettin' him out at the Inn, there's plenty there. + Good-night Miss Dexter, take care there!—now you're all right” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte Dexter, with a long look at the prostrate form of Mr. Joseph, + leapt from the waggon and sped through the gate up to her desolate + dwelling. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” sighed the farmer to himself, one great long sigh that stirred his + hardy frame to its centre. He never sighed like that again either for + Charlotte Dexter or any other woman. + </p> + <p> + The next mile they traversed in silence broken only by occasional moans + from Mr. Joseph which moved the old farmer to wonder and dismay that + almost unnerved him. + </p> + <p> + Presently Mr. Joseph murmured some word the farmer did not catch all at + once. + </p> + <p> + “Is he out of his mind on top of it all!” he said to himself, and + listened. + </p> + <p> + “Farmer Wise,” said the same low voice, “are we near the Inn?” + </p> + <p> + “Just there, Mr. Joseph.” + </p> + <p> + “On the little bridge yet?” + </p> + <p> + “Just come on it, Mr. Joseph.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Can you—stop your horses?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. There! Now what is it?” Mr. Joseph sat up. + </p> + <p> + “I am in your waggon—the market waggon, Farmer Wise, I think?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mr. Joseph. You can't tell where we are, I see, being so much + shook.” + </p> + <p> + “No. That's not it,” said Mr. Joseph. “I—are you on the seat—the + front seat, Farmer Wise?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mr. Joseph. You can't make me out by this queer light, and I don't + wonder. The stars is beautiful, but they don't make up for havin' no + moon.” + </p> + <p> + “No. That's not it either, Farmer Wise. Did you say the stars were + shining? Orion, I suppose, and the Bull and the rest of them! Can't you—try—like + a dear old fellow—can't you—tell what's the matter with me? + You say you are sitting on the front seat, and I—have no doubt but + that you are, but your voice sounds so much further away—so very + much further away than that—and when one—can't—see you, + Farmer Wise,—” + </p> + <p> + A frightful pause. + </p> + <p> + “Can't see me, can't see me! Mr. Joseph, Mr. Joseph! Not blind—God + forgive me for sayin' the word out to ye like that! But I thought it, I + thought it, and so, out it come! But it is'nt that! Ye'll forgive me for + sayin' the word out to ye like that! It isn't that!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid it is, Farmer Wise. It can be—nothing—else.' + </p> + <p> + “If, as you say, the stars are shining and to be sure they generally are + about—this time—of night, and if, as you say, you are sitting + directly opposite me on the front seat of your waggon, and I have no + reason to doubt it, if this is so, and I—can see neither—these + stars shining—nor you—yourself—dear old fellow—on + the seat before me—it can be, I fear—nothing else.” + </p> + <p> + “And how—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I can't—quite remember. Some time, perhaps, I'll tell you how—shall + I go to my brother or—how can I?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Joseph,” entreated the farmer, seizing one of those delicate hands + and patting it as if it had been his own. “Will you come with me? I'll + make you comfortable, and have ye seen to and we'll find out about it and + what can be done, and that'll save your brother, look, and he not strong! + Come, Mr. Joseph! Lie down there as you was, just as ye was—God + forgive me for tellin' you to look up at them stars—and I'll speak a + word for you at the Inn, as we're passing. Won't that do, nor be better + than goin' in like that? Not knowin' either just what is the matter. Come, + Mr. Joseph! I'll drive straight home after that and make ye comfortable + for the night, and there'll be no—womankind, or, or anyone to + disturb ye, just me and the two boys—come, Mr. Joseph!” + </p> + <p> + “I am willing enough to go, old fellow,” answered Mr. Joseph with a groan. + “Willing enough to go anywhere, but where my brother—my poor brother—is. + Yes, it will be best. Drive on.” + </p> + <p> + The warm cheery Inn soon appeared in view. The firelight from the bar and + the lamp-light from the other rooms beamed out from the red-curtained + windows. The scrape of a fiddle came from the kitchen. “Squires,” murmured + Mr. Joseph, feebly. “He's always at it.” The farmer pulled up the team at + the pump corner one instant and looking around descried not a soul in + view. He got down and went to the side door leading to the bar and opening + it put his head in. Mrs. Cox herself was dispensing early gin and water to + three or four indolent but talkative gentlemen before the fire. But she + was not so busy as not to perceive the farmer. Had she already had that + cap on in which bloomed the violet velvet pansy, Mr. Joseph's whereabouts + might have been discovered, for invariably on those occasions she + accompanied the farmer not only to the door but even to the very feet of + the horses as he straightened up one thing or loosened another and would + often joke about the empty waggon or the purchases made in the town which + might happen to fill it. + </p> + <p> + But Farmer Wise left her no time even to adjust her head-dress, far from + changing it. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, ma'am,” said he, with his head in the door. “No. Don't + trouble about Squires. He's hard at work, I can hear, and besides, I don't + want him. I'm late, and the boys will wait for their supper. I just have + to tell ye that I see Mr. Foxley in town, Mr. Joseph Foxley, and he says + how he can't come out till—say—Monday. He was stuck full of + work—he was indeed—and said positive—he couldn't come. + But he give me this for his brother and for—her,” producing the + bouquet, which caused a thrill of amazement and awe to pervade the + loungers in the bar. “For his brother and for—her,” said the farmer, + taking a long stride across the little room and giving it to Mrs. Cox. “I + congratulate you, ma'am, I do indeed.” + </p> + <p> + Before she could well answer, he had shut the door and mounting the waggon + drove away as quickly as he could. He was too full of thoughts and plans + concerning Mr. Joseph to notice that quick as he was, Mrs. Cox, not + waiting this time to change her cap, had come out to the door and with her + hand shading her eyes, was looking wistfully after the departing team. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + It was as Mr. Joseph had said. His brother, George Albert Dacre Foxley, of + Foxley Manor, Notts, was indeed contemplating marriage with Milly, niece + of Mrs. Cox, landlady of the Ipswich Inn. If it seem strange, remember + that he had passed the meridian of his years, health was gone, life + rapidly passing away and it was impossible now for him to make any new + departure in his life or habits. He had become firmly attached to Mrs. + Cox's comfortable <i>ménage</i> and wanted nothing more. Never in England, + even while in the enjoyment of fairly good health and luxurious + surroundings had he ever felt so completely at rest, satisfied with + himself and his small immediate world, every want cared for, every wish + guessed at, and the best of company to his idea—company that called + for nothing but pure naturalness. He could smoke for hours in Mrs. Cox's + kitchen, or in her neat yard or even in the chintz-hung drawing-room and + no one would interrupt him with dissertations on politics, art or + literature. Like all Englishmen of the quiet country-loving stamp, he + cared little about politics except when some general crisis assented + itself, and knew less about art or literature. He thought Wilkie and + Landseer about the summit of the one and Byron the chief modern pillar of + the other. Twenty years ago, Tennyson had not made a very deep impression + on a mind of his calibre. Yet this handsome, quiet, delicate gentleman + when he did choose to talk had such an audience as is not given to many + men, for Mrs. Cox would leave her work (if she dared) and Milly would + listen with her young eyes fastened in a kind of ecstasy on the dark ones + turned to hers, and Squires would come along with his hands in his + trousers pockets and his fiddle under his arm, and Bess would put her paws + upon her master's knees and devour him with her own dark eyes—a + quintette of friends unsurpassed in the world for loyal attachment and + generous devotion. What if what he had to tell was but some simple story + of hunting England, or some bald description of London life seen under the + surveillance of a tutor fifteen or twenty years previous to the time of + narration—he was their oracle, prophet, God, what you will, and they + were his dearest, yes, his very dearest friends. When Mr. Joseph appeared + as one of this happy circle, it became more boisterous of course though + not necessarily any happier, for it was already as happy as it could be. + But the news from town and the occasional English mail, flowers and a + cheap new novel—these were some of the simple delights that Mr. + Joseph used to bring with him. During the first couple of years, both the + brothers would saunter out to the Miss Dexters' or to the Rectory, Mr. + Joseph in particular, never failing to appear on Saturday nights at + choir-practice and Sunday evening service—but Mr. George gradually + discontinued his visits as I have hinted and towards the fourth year of + his stay hardly ever went beyond the Inn. For at the back the small + terraced garden met the orchard, and the orchard sloping down met a small + pebbly brook, and the brook flowing along in sweet rippling fashion met + the most charming of wheat covered golden meadows in which it was pleasant + and good to stroll and which moreover all belonged to that matchless + paragon among landladies, Mrs. Cox. In those days people grew their own + kitchen stuff, and their own fruit and their own grain, fed their own live + stock, made their own butter and cheese, cured their own hams, laid their + own eggs, even brewed their own beer. Now, everything is different, and + let no confiding Englishman, allured by my tempting picture come out to + Canada today in search of such a Utopia for he will not find it. Moreover + all this pleasant prospect of wood and stream and meadow and orchard lay + well <i>behind</i> the Inn, let it be understood, and it was perfectly + possible for Mr. George Foxley to have all the air, walking and + exploration he desired and even a little shooting and fishing if he wanted + them without, as I have said, going beyond it. When he grew really weak, + he was obliged to give up both the latter occupations of course, but he + still walked or strolled a great deal, generally with Milly by his side. + She would leave anything she was at when he called her and opening the + little gate by the one hawthorn tree leading into the orchard, see him + safe down the slope to the side of the little brook where she would give + him her arm, and thus their walk would commence in earnest. Four years had + brought a great change in Milly. New ideas, new habits, association with + such thorough and high-bred gentleman and the natural desire to improve + and grow worthy of such dearly esteemed company, had altered her + completely. Where before she had been pink, now she was pale; thin, where + she had been plump; her features actually aquiline from the girlish snub + of the rounded contour four years back, her hair, three shades darker, her + dress, almost that of a lady. The most perfect sympathy appeared to exist, + and really did, between these two strangely met natures. + </p> + <p> + One day, they had sat down at the side of the brook as a couple of + children would have done to cast in sticks and leaves and watch them float + by. Sometimes these would get caught in the numberless little eddies that + such a stream possesses and be whirled round and round until it was + necessary to dislodge them and send them on their way after the others. + One fine yellow leaf on this November day attracted Mr. Foxley's attention + particularly, for it was obstinate in returning again and again to a cosy + little bay formed by a couple of large stones. Often as he poked it out, + back it came into the bay and anchored itself contentedly on the calm + water. + </p> + <p> + Milly laughed. + </p> + <p> + “He has found a haven,” said Mr. George. “Yes, without doubt he has found + his haven. What do you think, Milly?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't call me sir, child. What makes you do so?” + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing else I can call you, is there,—sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Mr. Foxley. He lay back at full length on the grass and put his + hands over his eyes. The river rippled on and Milly watched him anxiously. + “Is the leaf there still, Milly?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Now!” said Mr. Foxley in a warning tone. “I tell you I won't have it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir—I beg your pardon, Mr. George.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor that either,” said Mr. Foxley, slowly rising into a sitting posture + again. He had another poke at the yellow leaf. “Call me Dacre, my child, + will you?” Milly no longer watched him with those loving, anxious, eyes. + She was trembling from head to foot and had she spoken, she must have + wept. Mr. Foxley's voice was of itself enough to make any woman weep, it + was so soft, so tender, so subdued and indrawn. Once more he said, “Call + me Dacre, my child!” That pleading voice, so low, so musical, and that it + should plead to her? They were so close together that he could feel her + tremble. Weak as he was, he was the stronger of the two for a moment, and + turning slightly towards her met her rapturous eyes, and heard her call + him the name he wanted to hear. The same instant they kissed, a long + thrilling dark-enfolding kiss that was the first Milly had ever known from + a man and might have been, for its purity and restraint, the first also + that he had ever given to a woman. + </p> + <p> + “Have I found my haven too, like the wise leaf of autumn? Have I! Tell me, + my child, my darling!” + </p> + <p> + “O sir, dearest sir—I mean, dear Dacre, it is I who have found mine. + If indeed you care for me, sir!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Foxley laid his head just on her shoulder, then let it slide into her + lap, taking her trembling hands and putting them over his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I do more than care for you, my child. I love you. Stoop and kiss me. + There. Don't take your head away again like that. Leave it. Your face + against mine. Your lips on mine. Is it a haven, child? Truly, yes or no?” + </p> + <p> + “Dear Dacre!” + </p> + <p> + “Well!” + </p> + <p> + “You know it is. And I have always wanted so much to—to—care + for you, but I did not dare.” + </p> + <p> + “Dare! There is no dare about it my child. If you will give me your young + life—how old are you now, love?” + </p> + <p> + “Nineteen,” whispered Milly into his ear. + </p> + <p> + “Only nineteen, and such a tall girl, with such long hair—if you + will give it to me and be happy in giving it, child, that must be thought + of, there is no one else—” + </p> + <p> + “You know there is not, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will do all I can to deserve it. And nobody must call you Milly + any more. You are Mildred now. Miss Mildred if you like and soon, very + soon, to bear another name, mine. It is a good one, child.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of it, dear Dacre, and too good—far too good—for + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know how old I am, my child?” + </p> + <p> + “I heard your brother say.” + </p> + <p> + “And did he dare? What did he say it was, my age?” + </p> + <p> + “He said—you were forty-one.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he was out. It is more than that I am exactly forty-three; I say + exactly, for, Milly, this is my birthday, and—I cannot hope—neither + of as must dare to hope, child—that I shall see many more. You will + marry me whenever I say, my love?” + </p> + <p> + The girl bent over him in a passion of weeping. + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing I would not do for you, dear sir—” + </p> + <p> + “Except call me by my dearly-beloved third name!” + </p> + <p> + It began to turn cold as they sat by the stream and Milly or Mildred as + she is henceforth to be called, drying her eyes, fell into a fever over + her lover and besought him to return to the house. + </p> + <p> + Standing face to face, he put her arms around his neck. + </p> + <p> + “Before we go, dear child, you are sure you love me?” + </p> + <p> + “O do not ask me again, dear Dacre!” + </p> + <p> + “That is right. And you know how old I am?” + </p> + <p> + Another assent. + </p> + <p> + “And that you are to marry me whenever I say?” + </p> + <p> + “If I can.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you can. And that you are to give me all the love you possibly + have to give and more and more. I shall be exacting!” + </p> + <p> + “Dear Dacre!” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. Remember all those clauses, and now take me back to the house. + And some day, my child, I will tell you all my life and what it was—or + rather who it was—that sent me out of England, dear England—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you love it still,” murmured Mildred, looking at the ground. + </p> + <p> + “I shall always love it <i>now</i>, since I have found my happiness in + Canada, but once I hated it, Milly, yes, I hated it!” + </p> + <p> + So was accomplished the wooing of Mr. George Foxley. He was earnestly and + sincerely in love. The girl had grown up under his eye as it were and was + in fact almost a part of himself already. Marriage would complete the + refining and gilding process. The tones of her voice, her accent, her + pronunciation, her habits of sitting, of standing, of walking were all + more or less unconsciously imitated from him, she had modelled herself + upon him, she was indeed his “child” as he loved to call her. For a month + these two people enjoyed as pure and perfect and isolated an happiness as + can be experienced on earth. Then it became necessary to inform Mr. Joseph + and worthy Mrs. Cox. As if Mr. Joseph and Mrs. Cox didn't know! There are + two things that nothing can hide in this life. One is, the light in the + eyes of a girl who has found herself loved by the man she adores, and the + other is, the unutterable content in the mien of that man himself. And + there is no phase of passion sweeter, nor purer, nor warmer, nor more + satisfying, than that which is the result of a young girl's affection for + a man many years older than herself. + </p> + <p> + As for the telling, Mr. George, though he could talk fast enough and + fluently enough to Mildred, hated much talk or fuss about anything and so + made everything the easier by informing his brother, Mr. Joseph, by note. + A few lines sufficed as preparation for the news and he ended by + requesting him to purchase some small and inexpensive gift as from himself + in appreciation of the occasion. Mr. Joseph with characteristic good taste + and delicate feeling, concluded that flowers, though perishable, were the + most appropriate purchase he could light upon, and consequently walked out + from town a certain Saturday afternoon late in November with a monster + affair in smilax and roses in his hand. When it was placed, though not by + himself, in Mildred's hands she felt a disappointment she could not + altogether conceal. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” said Mr. George at full length on a sofa with Milly beside + him on a chair. He did indeed prove a most exacting lover. For a long time + her share of daily work in the Inn and out of it, had been growing less + and less, until now she hardly did anything at all besides wait on her + master, lover and friend, prepare what he eat, read to him, and sit by him + for hours, never leaving him in the evenings till long after twelve and + then it was understood that in case of night attacks of the dreadful + pleurisy and asthma combined that were slowing killing him, she would + always be at hand to come at the sound of his bell—or indeed his + voice, for Milly, sleeping in the room opposite his own, always left both + doors open and would lie fully dressed on her bed night after night, + listening in the dark, with wide open eyes and strained ears, for the + slightest cough or sigh that came from that worshipped one across the + narrow hall. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” said he on that Saturday night “My brother <i>is</i> busy + just now. Don't you remember, he found it difficult to come out last week. + It's an awful grind for Joseph, poor Joseph! But he enjoys life, I think; + at the present moment I expect he is flirting audaciously in town with + some charming girl. Or some fearfully plain one. You never know who next, + with my brother. He'll turn up on Monday.” + </p> + <p> + And Mr. Joseph did turn up on Monday. Farmer Wise had fetched some doctor + from Orangetown on Sunday, who after examining his injury, pronounced it + incurable. Mr. Joseph was as stoical as Englishmen are generally expected + to be and saw that it was absolutely imperative to tell his brother. + </p> + <p> + “I brought it on myself” he said to the farmer, “At least I try to believe + I did. By Jove! to think—to think of some men! Well, I <i>must</i> + tell my brother.” + </p> + <p> + When he did tell him late on Monday night, having been driven over by + Farmer Wise himself, with his poor eyes bandaged and the sturdy farmer's + hand to guide him into the little back parlor where Mr. George and Mildred + sat alone, for Mrs. Cox had been ordered out by that exacting gentleman as + early as eight o'clock. Nothing but the presence of Mildred herself and + the love divine and human that filled Mr. George's breast to overflowing + could have saved him from succumbing to the painful shock. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I should think you are cured now, my poor Joseph!” said his brother + presently. + </p> + <p> + “Of what, in heaven's name?” said poor Mr. Joseph. “By Jove to think—to + think of some men, George! What had I done, what had I done?” + </p> + <p> + “I do think of them,” said Mr. Foxley gravely. “I do think of them. And + but for my happiness here,” touching Mildred's dress reverently, “I could + wish—” wistfully, “That we had never come here—'twas I who + brought you my poor Joseph, 'twas I, 'twas I.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! that's rubbish!” pronounced Mr. Joseph energetically. “The main point + is now, how am I to get my living. God! I am perfectly useless! They won't + take me back in town there.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear Mr. Joseph,” said Mildred, with her eyes shining on the brother of + her lover. “You will live with us of course, with—Dacre, Dacre and + me, and my aunt. We all love you—see,” and Milly rose, first + pressing Mr. George's fingers as they touched her dress in passing and + giving him a look which was meant to keep him in order for a few moments, + “no one can nurse you as well as I can—ask Dacre—let me take + off that bandage and put it on again more comfortably for you! Will you, + dear Mr. Joseph?” Mr. Joseph groaned and hid his face against Milly's + heaving breast. + </p> + <p> + “She is to be your angel as well as mine, perhaps,” murmured his brother. + </p> + <p> + “I have always been so active,” groaned poor Mr. Joseph, “What is to + become of me? To live here with you would have been beautiful, but now—the + simple thought of existence at all anywhere is unbearable! And the money—good + God, George, how can I Help giving way!” + </p> + <p> + Some few other such scenes had naturally to be gone through before any + course could be suggested to Mr. Joseph. Mrs. Cox had been taken into + confidence, and Farmer Wise made to understand that nothing must be said + about the unhappy affair. Mr. Joseph wrote into town explaining in some + way his resignation of the rather important clerkship he had but just + begun to fill creditably, and sending for all his belongings took to Mrs. + Cox's remaining little room under the roof in the character of an invalid. + The secret was admirably kept, even by the doctor who had been written to + and who had seen a similar case some years ago. + </p> + <p> + “A jealous devil, I suppose,” said he, when he read Mr. George Foxley's + note. + </p> + <p> + “Well, he might have come off worse. But I should like to know who the + country lass was that he'd been sparkin', and who revenged herself like + that.” + </p> + <p> + A few weeks afterwards Mildred was married to George Albert Dacre Foxley, + of Foxley Manor, Notts, by the Rev. Mr. Higgs in the village church. Her + lover looked wonderfully well and strong on the occasion and was so happy + that he was actually mischievously inclined during the ceremony, nearly + causing his bride to laugh out audibly. Handsome and distinguished and + aristocratic a gentleman as he looked, Mildred was not unworthy of him, as + a straighter, firmer, more composed and more smiling a bride never entered + a church. The girl was too happy to know what nervousness meant nor + self-consciousness. She sat with her lover after he was dressed and had + lain down a few moments to rest, until it was time to start in the + carriage which Mr. Rattray had in the most unexpected manner offered them + and which Mr. George accepted with the easy languid grace that + characterized his acceptance of most things in this world excepting Milly. + He had plenty of force and passion and to spare concerning <i>that</i> + gift. Stipulating that “Squires” must sit on the box seat, he and Milly + and Mrs. Cox, an ideal little wedding party, drove off in actually high + glee, laughing and chatting and joking immoderately to the amazement of + the villagers, prominent among whom were Mrs. Woods and “Woods” himself, + rescued in a dazed condition from the back premises of the “Temperance + Hotel” according to popular local tradition, and Mrs. Lyman, B. Rattray, + <i>née</i> Maria Higgs. Mr. Joseph alas! could not be present. + </p> + <p> + In the year that followed this remarkable marriage, the relative positions + of the Mr. Foxleys underwent a great change. So much love and so much care + lightened the elder brother's existence so materially, that his health + actually improved, and by the end of the sixth month of marriage he was + able to shoot and fish once more, and walk with his adoring wife without + the help of her strong arm and shoulder. Indeed it was she who about this + time began to need his assistance during those long strolls by the side of + the brook or through the tall grain grown meadows—a matter which + astonished them both to the extent of stupefaction. Mr. George took his + trouble to Mrs. Cox. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what you expected, Mr. George, I don't indeed,” said she, + secretly amused at his simplicity. “You went and got married, as was only + natural, and now you are frightened at the results, as is only natural.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear lady,” expostulated the perplexed gentleman, “it involves so + many things, all manner of complications. For instance, money. I shall + have—I really believe, my dear good Mrs. Cox—I shall have to + make some money.” + </p> + <p> + “You!” ejaculated Mrs. Cox. + </p> + <p> + “I know. It appears hopeless. I never turned a penny, honest or otherwise + in my life. Joseph you see—ah! poor Joseph!” + </p> + <p> + Poor Joseph indeed, darkness for light, solitude for society, enforced + idleness for long-continued habits of activity, who could enjoy life under + these circumstances—and careful of him as Mildred was, and + sympathetic as his brother was, these two were too intensely absorbed in + each other to give him all the amusement and attention he craved. He grew + thin and weak and slightly perverse and seemed to care more for Mrs. Cox's + company than for his brother's. And yet there was nothing wrong with him + except his terrible affliction. Mrs. Cox was sure he had something on his + mind, and one day she ventured to tell him so. He flushed all over his + pale freckled skin, and feeling for her motherly hands took them in his + own. + </p> + <p> + “There is,” he said. “I wonder no one has ever guessed it. Miss Dexter, + where is she? Does anyone ever see her?” + </p> + <p> + “My poor boy, my dear Mr. Joseph,” cried Mrs. Cox. “You did not really + care for her, did you? Surely! You did not care for her!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said he decidedly. “No, I did not care for her—I didn't, never + could have cared for her as George cares for Mildred, say—but she + was a lady and kind to me, and I liked to go there, and the fact is—I + miss her—and I am so sorry for her! and yet, you know, I am half + frightened of her too and afraid to go out, thinking she may meet me and I + wouldn't see her coming, you know! Yet she wouldn't do it again, I think!” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven save us, no, Mr. Joseph! And you so forgiving! Mercy me, and + people say men make all the trouble!” + </p> + <p> + “It's half-and-half, Mrs. Cox, dear old soul,” muttered Mr. Joseph, + leaning back on his cushions. “I suppose we were both to blame. I can't, + for the life of me, fall to talking of it as a judgment, for before + heaven, I had done nothing. Yet I forgot how lonely she was and how proud, + and I forgot too, that Ellen—that Ellen—” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, Mr. Joseph. It was Ellen too. Poor Ellen, that passed away out of it + all!” + </p> + <p> + “And she—Miss Dexter—is still here, still living by herself in + the cottage by the oak! I remember so well, Mrs. Cox, the first time my + brother and I ever saw that oak!” + </p> + <p> + “I daresay, Mr. Joseph, I daresay. Yes, she is still there, living in her + cottage unloved and unheeded, Mr. Joseph. And may she ever continue so!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! don't say that, dear old soul! Don't say that! Do you know, I should + like to see her—I mean—meet her once again!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cox was certain he was not in “his right head” as she said to + herself. + </p> + <p> + “See her again! Meet her, talk to her! The woman who served ye like this! + what can you be thinking of? Let me call your brother. There he is coming + along the road, brown and bonny, with his wife on his arm, bless them + both?” + </p> + <p> + “Did you say he was brown, Mrs. Cox? My brother brown! What a change! He + looks so well then, dear old soul!” + </p> + <p> + “If you could but see him, Mr. Joseph, you would see how well.” + </p> + <p> + “Well and brown! And Mildred, she is pale, I suppose, and with her eyes + turned up to his and her lips brushing his shoulder every now and then—O + I can see them—I suppose they go on a worse than ever.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed and they do, Mr. Joseph. After, breakfast this morning I sent them + up into the drawing-room to be out of the way of the drover's meeting to + be held in the bar, and when I went up to ask them about the lunch they + would take with them on the river this afternoon I heard no sound like and + just whispered at the door a bit if I might come in. When I went in, there + was your brother standing behind her in a chair, with all her hair down, + and a brush in his hand and his wife fast asleep! He looked frightened for + a minute when he saw me and I besought him to bring her to, thinking he'd + mesmerized her. He'd been brushing it and playing with it and the morning + over warm—she had fallen asleep. And I left them, Mr. Joseph, I left + them, for they love each other so. And when I think of the honor he has + done my girl, and how particular he is that she shall be called Mrs. + Foxley—it—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, Mrs. Cox, ours is a good name, and I do not think my brother + would have ever allowed any but a good girl to bear it. And if a girl is + lovely and gentle and pure-minded, and innocent, and neat, and clean, and + refined as your niece was, it matters not about her birth. Birth! O my + dear old soul, I am sick of the word! Miss Dexter now, is a lady, you + know.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay.” + </p> + <p> + “And I must see her again,” enforced Mr. Joseph, brought back to his one + idea. “I must see her again.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cox communicated this intelligence to her niece, Mrs. Foxley. + </p> + <p> + “I think I can understand why,” said she, lying back in her husband's arms + one hot summer night under the trees at the back of the blouse. “It seems + a hard wish to understand and a harder one to comply with, but it may have + to be done. Dacre—” + </p> + <p> + “What my darling!” + </p> + <p> + “When are you going to tell me about your life in England and—and—about + the woman who sent you out of it?” + </p> + <p> + “The woman! I never told you about a woman, child!” + </p> + <p> + “No. But I guessed. It is sure to have been a woman, Dacre.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't mind when I tell you. Nothing of all that time is anything + to me now. Shall I tell you now?” + </p> + <p> + “If you please, dearest Dacre. For I must be close to you when I listen to + that, and must not have you see me, for I know I shall cry.” + </p> + <p> + “Dearest child! Well then, it shall be now, for you could scarcely be + closer to me than you are now? And if you cry, as you must try not to do, + you shall be allowed to cry here upon my breast and I will not look. I can + hardly see you as it is, it is so dark. Let me think, how I shall begin. + You know Joseph—our poor Joseph—is my only brother and I never + had any sisters. My father—you know this too—is an English + country gentleman living in one of the most beautiful seats in England. If + I were to describe the old place to you, you would want to go, and I could + not spare you, so I will only say—well, you have seen those + photographs?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dearest Dacre.” + </p> + <p> + “They only give you a faint idea of what it is. It is Tudor you know—do + you know what Tudor is, Mrs. Foxley—and all red brick, weathered all + colors, and terraced, with lots of little windows and some big ones with + stained glass in them, and urns on the terrace, and a rookery, and an old + avenue of poplars, haunted too, and so on, and so on—there's no end + to it, Mildred! Yes, it's a fine old place, without doubt Well, that is + where I was born. I don't remember my mother. I wish I did. She died when + Joseph was born, he is just four years younger than I am. Our youth was + passed there—at the Manor, of course, and we had the usual small + college education not extending to a university career that gentleman's + sons have in England, you know. I didn't make many friends at school, and + where we lived, there was no one to visit, and we had very few relations. + It is quite unusual I believe for two boys to grow up as we did, in + comparative isolation. My father was a kind of Dombey—you know + Dombey, Mildred—wrapped up in his old place and the associations of + his youth and in his family pride. The Foxleys are better born I believe + than half of the aristocracy; we go back to the Conquest on my father's + side—a thing which he never permits himself to forget for an + instant. Well, Milly, it was a dull life for two lively, affectionate lads + like Joseph and me, wasn't it, and had it not been for all this, child, + nature, you know, and the trees and the streams and the out-door sports I + love so well, I could never have got on at all. Then when I was nineteen—just + your age, love—came a change. I, being the elder and heir to the + estate was sent off to town—I mean, London, my dear—and the + Continent, with a tutor. Joseph—well, I believe I have never fully + understood what became of Joseph during the four years I was away, but I + suppose he amused himself. He has a knack of doing that I never had, + except when I am in the country. Well, this tutor wasn't a bad sort of a + fellow and at first we got on splendidly, living in town in chambers, + going to the plays and the opera, and dining all over, just wherever I + liked or he knew, and excursions oat of London, you know—oh! jolly + enough for a little while! Then we went across to Paris—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dearest Dacre?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Foxley stopped a moment to lift his wife's face closer to his own. He + kissed it—a long long kiss that entranced them both to the degree of + forgetting the story. + </p> + <p> + “If you would rather not go on—” said Mildred. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I must now. Well, we did Paris, and then the other capitals and Nice—Nice + was just then coming into vogue, and ran down into Italy—I remember + I liked Genoa so much—and then we came back to Paris, for Harfleur—that + was the tutor's name, and it doesn't sound like a real one, does it—preferred + Paris to any other European town and of course so did I. About this time, + his true character began to show itself. He went out frequently without + me, smoked quite freely, would order in wine and get me to drink with him, + and was very much given to calling me fresh, green, and all that you know. + I began to think he was right. I was past twenty-one, and I had never even + had a glimpse into the inside of life. Women, now and all that kind of + thing—I was positively ignorant of—but to be sure, one quickly + learns in Paris.” + </p> + <p> + For one night, Harfleur asked me in his usual sneering tone how I was + going to spend my evening. + </p> + <p> + “I am going out to a charming <i>soirée</i> at the house of Madame de + L'Estarre, the most charming woman in Paris,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “'Then I shall accompany you,' I said, fired by his insulting tone. And I + went, Mildred. I suppose I was good-looking, eh, my child—and had + sufficient air of distinction about me to impress Madame de L'Estarre, for + she left the crowd of waxed and perfumed Frenchmen and devoted herself + entirely to me. Although she was—beautiful—she was not tall, + and I, standing at her side all that evening, never took my eyes off her + dazzling face and her white uncovered bosom. In a week, my child, I had + learnt to know and love every feature in that dazzling face and began to + dream of the day when I should be allowed to kiss that bosom. Yes, I + certainly loved her.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure you loved her, Dacre my darling. And how could she help loving + you, dear, in return?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh that is another thing entirely, quite another thing. After that night, + Harfleur showed me more respect than he had done for some time previously + and we began to hit it off again better. I went to her <i>hotel</i>—her + house you know, every day. At first she would always receive me alone, + sending anybody away who happened to be there and refusing to admit + anybody who came while we were together.—It is difficult, even to my + wife, to explain what kind of a woman she was. All that first time, when + we would be alone, she would—make love, I suppose it must be called—with + her eyes and her hands, and her very skirts and her fan, and the cushion, + and the footstool. The room was always beautiful and always dim, and she + would greet me with outstretched hands and a shy smile, making room for me + beside her on the sofa—she always sat on a sofa. We would talk of + nothing at all perhaps but look into each other's eyes, until the force of + her look would draw me close, close to her till we were almost in one + another's arms, and I could feel her breath coming faster every moment + when just as I imagined she would sink upon my shoulder—she would + draw herself up with a laugh and push me away, declaring somebody was + coming. Then, if nobody came, she would go through the same farce again. + This would happen perhaps two or three times a day. In the evening, I was + again at her side, night after night regarding her with a devotion that + amazed even my friend Harfleur. + </p> + <p> + “She treats you like a dog. It will kill you yet, George. Come away.” But + of course I would not go. I accompanied her to the theatre, to the Bois, + to the shops, to church—yes, even to church, Mildred, think of that—and + she was very careful and circumspect and all that. I even believe as far + as direct actions go, she may have been a virtuous woman, for she + certainly, had no other lover when I knew her. She was a widow, enormously + rich and nothing to do. Therefore, I suppose she went in for the torturing + business as a profession. Her Frenchmen did not mind; that was the secret + of her charm with them—so clever, they called her, but it nearly + killed me, her cleverness. I grew pale and worn—sleep—I never + slept. All my life I had lived without natural affection, and now I was + pouring forth upon this woman the love I might have rendered friends, + sister, brother, mother, as well as the passion of a young man. I say to + you now, Mildred, my wife, that the woman who tramples on the passion of a + young man is as bad as the man who slays the innocence of a young girl. + And that's what she did. Finally, when this had lasted for a year and a + half, and Harfleur had gone back to England, one day, when I was perfectly + desperate and could have killed her, Milly, as she lay at full length on + her damned sofa—pardon, my dear, no, don't kiss my hand, child, + don't—dressed in some rose-colored stuff all trailing about her and + her hands clasped under her head, I fell by her on my knees and besought + her to tell me what she meant and if she ever could care for me. I give + you my word, my dear, and with my hand over your innocent heart, you know + I dare not lie—in all that year and a half I had not even touched + her lips. You cannot, happily imagine the torture of such a position. + </p> + <p> + Well, that day, she bent over to me on her side and said “What do you + want, is it to kiss me? Chut! wait for that till we are married.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to marry me?” I gasped out. “She said 'yes,' Mildred, and + brushed my cheek with her lips. What do you think I did then, Mildred?” + </p> + <p> + “How can I tell, dearest Dacre!” + </p> + <p> + “I fainted, dearest. Think of it. But I believed her, you see, and the + revulsion was too great. In a moment or two I came to myself with the + sounds of laughter in my ears. I was on her sofa—that damned sofa—pardon + again, my dear—and she was standing with three of her cursed + Frenchmen around her all laughing fit to kill themselves. I saw through it + all in a moment. They had been on the other side of the curtains. I went + straight up to her and said 'Did you say that you were ready to become my + wife?' She only laughed and the men too with her. Then I struck her—on + her white breast, Milly—and struck the three Frenchmen on the face + one after the other. They were so astonished that not one of them moved, + and I parted the curtains, and left the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you never see her again?” + </p> + <p> + “Never. I left Paris considerably wiser than I had entered it and avoided + society generally. I had one year's life in London, and was considered no + end of a catch by the mammas, I believe, but you can imagine I did not + easily fall a victim. No. That is all my story, my dear, all at least that + has been unguessed at by you. My health was very bad at home and beyond my + love of sport I cared for nothing. I grew to hate my life in England, even + England, though she had done me no harm. Finally, I quarrelled with my + father who married again, a woman we both disliked, Joseph and I, and so + we turned our backs on the Old World and came out to Canada and to—you.” + </p> + <p> + Mildred still lay, crying softly, in her husband's arms. “I had sometimes + dreamt,” continued Mr. Foxley, “of meeting some young girl who could love + me and on whose innocence and sweetness I could rest and whom besides I + should really love. It did not dawn upon me when I first saw you, that <i>you</i> + were the one I wanted, for we must confess, dear, that you were very plump + and rather pink and spoke—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Dacre, how can you? I was only fifteen! Cruel!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know. And how you changed! Now, you are so different that it is + not the same Mildred at all. Such is the power of a true love, my child, + and we must always be happy,—ours is one of those marriages.” + </p> + <p> + Theirs was indeed one of those marriages. Mr. Foxley took to farming and + enriched his purse as well as his health. Mr. Joseph had an interview with + Miss Dexter the nature of which I am not going to reveal, but which + resulted in a placid intimacy between the two to the surprise of all save + Milly who always said that “she thought she knew why.” Miss Dexter + frequently accompanied blind Mr. Joseph on his lonely walks or would sit + with him when the others were out, as none but he cared to meet her. + Towards his death which occurred in about four years time, she was with + him constantly, and died herself in a fortnight after, having left in her + will, all her maiden belongings to her “good friend, Farmer Wise.” The + farmer was not much moved when informed of this fact, so incomprehensible + to the rest of the village. He had always kept the little bottle with its + cruel label, and had always feared and avoided poor, proud, foolish, + wicked Charlotte Dexter since that Saturday night. + </p> + <p> + As for Mr. George and his wife, I see a vision of a successful and happy + husband and father in the prime of early old age (which means, that at + fifty-three one is not old with a young wife and three sweet children) and + of Mildred, who is always a little pale, has her eyes constantly turned up + to her husband's with her lips brushing her shoulder every now and then. + </p> + <p> + Still? + </p> + <p> + Ay, still and forever. And so ends my sketch of how the Mr. Foxleys came, + stayed and never went away. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Gilded Hammock. + </h2> + <p> + Who does not know the beautiful Miss De Grammont? Isabel De Grammont, who + lives by herself and is sole mistress of the brown-stone mansion in Fifth + Avenue, the old family estate on the Hudson, the villa at Cannes, the + first floor of a magnificently decayed palace at Naples, who has been + everywhere, seen everything and—cared for nobody? + </p> + <p> + She reclines now in her latest craze—a hammock made of pure gold + wire, fine and strong and dazzling as the late October sun shines upon it + stretched from corner to corner of her regally-furnished drawing-room. Two + gilded tripods securely fastened to the floor hold the ends of the hammock + in which she lies. The rage for yellow holds her as it holds everyone who + loves beauty and light and sunshine. Cushions of yellow damask support her + head, and a yellow tiger-skin is under her feet. The windows are entirely + hidden with thick amber draperies, and her own attire is a clinging gown + of some soft silk of a deep creamy tint that as she sways to and fro in + the hammock is slightly lifted, displaying a petticoat of darker tint, and + Russian slippers of bronzed kid. Amber, large clear and priceless, gleams + in its soft waxy glow in her hair, on her neck, round her waist, where it + clasps a belt of thick gold cloth and makes a chain for a fan of yellow + feathers. + </p> + <p> + Because you see, although it is autumn, it is very warm all through Miss + De Grammont's mansion, as she insists on fires, huge bonfires, you may + call them, of wood and peat in every room and on every hearth. Out of the + fires grew the desire for the hammock. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” says Miss De Grammont, with a faint yawn, “why must I only lie in a + hammock in the Summer, and then, where nobody can see me? I will have a + hammock made for the winter, to lie in and watch my fires by.” + </p> + <p> + And so she did, for money is law and beauty creates duty, and one day, + when the fashionable stream, the professional cliques and the artistic + hangers-on called upon her “from three to six,” they were confronted by + the vision of an exquisitely beautiful woman dressed in faint yellow with + great bunches of primroses in brass bowls from Morocco on a table by her + side, who received them in a “gilded hammock,” with her feet on a + tiger-skin, and her chestnut hair catching a brighter tinge from the + flames of her roaring fire, and the sunlight as it came in through the + amber medium of the silken-draped windows. + </p> + <p> + The tea was Russian, like the slippers, and the butler who presented it + was a mysterious foreigner who spoke five languages. The guests all + wondered, as people always did, at De Grammont. Nobody knew quite what she + had done with herself since she had been left an orphan at the age of + nineteen. She suddenly shot up into a woman, beautiful, with that + patrician and clear-cut loveliness with yet a touch of the <i>bohémienne</i> + about it which only <i>les belles Américaines</i> know. Then she took unto + herself a maid, two dogs, and three Saratoga trunks and went over to + Europe wandering about everywhere. At Cannes, she met and subjugated the + heir to the crown; of this friendship the tiger-skin remained as a <i>souvenir</i>. + The heir to the crown was not generous. Next came various members of + embassies, all proud, all poor, and all frantically in love. She laid all + manner of traps for her lovers and discovered in nearly every case that + these men were after her money. A certain Russian Grand Duke, from whom + had come some superb amber ornaments—he being a man of more wealth + than the others—never forgave her the insult she offered him. He + sent her these ornaments from the same shop in Paris that he ordered—at + the same time—a diamond star for a well-known ballet dancer, and the + two purchases were charged to his account. Through some stupidity, the + star came to her. She ordered her horses and drove the same day to the + jewelers, who was most humble and anxious to retrieve his error. He showed + her the amber. She examined it carefully. “It is genuine, and very fine,” + she said gravely. “I have lived in Russia and I know. I am very fond of + amber. I will buy this myself from you, and you may inform His Highness of + the fact.” + </p> + <p> + The delighted shop-keeper did not ask her very much more than its genuine + value and next day all Paris knew of the transaction and flocked to the + Opera to see her in the ornaments which had cost the Russian Duke his + friendship for the bearer. But though eccentric, impulsive and + domineering, no whisper had ever attached itself to her name. On her + return to her native New York, was she not welcomed, fêted, honored, + besieged with invitations everywhere? People felt she was different from + the girl who went away. <i>She</i> had been undecided, emotional, a trifle + vain, self-conscious, guilty of moods—no small offence in society; + this glorious creature was a queen, a goddess, always calm, always serene, + always a trifle bored, always superbly the same. Her house she + re-furnished altogether. The three Saratoga trunks were now represented by + nine or ten English ones, dress baskets, large packing cases, and one + mysterious long box which when opened contained several panels of old + Florentine carved wood-work which interested all New York immensely. + Pictures and tapestries, armor and screens, and a gate of mediæval wrought + iron were all among her art treasures. The foreign butler was her <i>chargé + d'affaires</i>, and managed everything most wisely and even economically. + He engaged a few servants in New York, her maid, housekeeper and the two + housemaids she had brought out with her. Her house was the perfect abode + of the most faultless æstheticism. It was perfection in every detail and + in the <i>ensemble</i> which greeted the eye, the ear, every sense, and + all mental endowments, from the vestibule in marble and rugs to the inner + boudoir and sanctum of the mistress of the house, hung with pale rose and + straw-color in mingled folds of stamped Indian silks, priceless in color + and quality. Two Persian cats adorned the lounge and one of her great dogs—a + superb mastiff—occupied the rug before the door night and day, + almost without rest. + </p> + <p> + Such were the general surroundings of Isabel de Grammont. Art and letters, + music and general culture were inseparable from the daily life of such a + woman as well as immediate beautiful presences, so that into this + faultless house came everything new that the world offered in books, + magazines, songs and new editions. Thanks to European travel, there was no + language she could not read, no modern work she had not studied. Also came + to her receptions the literary lions of New York. Aspiring journalists, + retiring editors, playrights and composers, a few actors and crowds of + would-be poets flocked to the exquisite drawing-rooms hung with yellow, + wherein the owner of so much magnificence lounged in her golden hammock. + Sonnets were written of her descriptive of orioles flying in the golden + west, and newspaper paragraphs indited weekly in her praise referred to + her as the “Semiramus of a new and adoring society world.” Baskets of + flowers, tubs of flowers, barrels of flowers were sent weekly to her + address, and she was solicited—on charitable, fashionable, + religious, communistic, orthodox and socialistic grounds as lady patroness + of this or member of that and subscriber to the other. In short, she was a + success, and as nothing succeeds like success, we may take it that as the + months rolled on, and the great house still maintained its superb + hospitality and Miss De Grammont still appeared in her sumptuous carriage + either smothered in furs or laces according to the seasons, she still + maintained in like manner her position in society and her right to the + homage and admiration of all classes. + </p> + <p> + But this was not the case. Even a worm will turn and public opinion is + very often a little vernacular, let us say. And it happened, that public + opinion in the case of Miss De Grammont, began to turn, to raise itself up + in fact and look a little about it and beyond it as we have all seen worms + do—both in cheeses and out of them—when the fact that she lay + most of the time in a gilded hammock swung in front of her drawing-room + fire was announced from the pulpits of society journals. It may have been + that her friends were devoid of imagination, that they were cold, prudish, + satirical, unpoetical, unaesthetic, anything we like to call them, that + will explain their action in the matter, for they clearly, one and all, + disliked the notion of the hammock. One spoke of it disparagingly to + another, who took it up and abused it to a third, who described it to a + friend who “wrote for the papers.” This gifted gentleman who lodged with a + lady of the same temper and edited a fashion journal, concocted with her + help a description of the thing which soon found its way into his paper + and was then copied into hers. The public grew uneasy. It would swallow + any story it was told about the Heir Apparent, for instance and a Russian + Grand Duke—is it not the sublime prerogative of American women to + dally with such small game as those gentlemen—but it kicked against + the probability of such an actual fact as the hammock already described + which seemed too ridiculous a whim to possess any real existence. However, + the tongues of the fashionable callers, the professional cliques and the + artistic hangers-on coincided in the affair to that extent that soon the + existence of the gilded hammock was established and from that time Miss De + Grammonts' popularity was on the wane. Dowagers looked askance and matrons + posed in a patronizing manner, the flippant correspondents of society + journals and the compilers of sonnets in which that very hammock had been + eulogized and metaphored to distraction now waited upon her, if at all in + an entirely different manner. Strange how all classes began to recall the + many peculiar or unaccountable things she had done, the extraordinary + costumes she had worn, the fact that she lived alone, and the other fact + that she made so few friends. From aspersions cast on her house, her + equipage, her dresses, there came to be made strictures on her private + character, her love affairs, her friends and career in Europe, her <i>ménage</i> + at present in New York and the members thereof. Finally public opinion + finding that all this made very little impression outwardly, upon the + regal disdain of Miss De Grammont in her carriage or in her Opera-stall, + however she might writhe and chafe when safely ensconced within that rose + and straw-colored boudoir, made up its mind that the secret of the whole + three volume novel, the key to the entire mystery lay with the—butler. + </p> + <p> + That black-moustached functionary, they whispered, had his mistress in his + power. He had been a courier, and she had fallen in love with him abroad. + Or he had been a well-known conjurer and coerced her through means little + less than infernal to run away with him. He was a mesmerist, so they said, + and could send her into trances at will. Then he had been the famous Man + Milliner of Vienna, whose disappearance one fine day with the entire + trousseau of an Austrian Grand Duchess had been a nine days' wonder. These + dresses she wore, strange mixtures never seen on earth before of violet + and blue, pink and pea-green, rose and lemon, were the identical ones + prepared for the Grand Duchess. Finally, he was an Italian Prince rescued + from a novel of “Ouida's,” whom she had found living in exile, having to + suffer punishment for some fiendish crime perpetrated in the days of his + youth. + </p> + <p> + When the stories had reached this point, Miss De Grammont, to whom they + were conveyed through papers, notes from “confidential friends,” her maid + and others, wrote a letter one day directed to the: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + REV. LUKE FIELDING, + Pastor, Congregational Church, + Phippsville, Vermont. +</pre> + <p> + A week or ten days after, Miss De Grammont, seated—not, in the + gilded hammock though it still swung gracefully before the glowing fire—but + in the cushions which graced her window looking on the front of the house, + saw a gentleman arrive in a cab. She rose hastily and opened the door of + the room herself for her visitor. This was the Rev. Luke Fielding, a + gentleman of the severest Puritanical cut and a true New Englander to + boot. With his hat in his hand he advanced with an expression on his face + of the deepest amazement and dismay which increased momentarily as he saw + not only the gorgeous coloring and appointments of the room but the fair + figure of its occupant. To be sure, she had with infinite difficulty + selected the plainest dress she could find in her wardrobe to receive him + in, a gown of dark green velvet made very simply, and high to the throat. + But alas! there was no disguising the priceless lace at her wrists, or the + gems that glittered on her firm white hands. + </p> + <p> + “My dear cousin!” said the lady, giving him both her hands. + </p> + <p> + “My dear cousin Isabel,” returned the minister, laying his hat down on a + plush-covered chair on which it looked curiously out of place, and taking + her hands in his. + </p> + <p> + “My dear cousin Isabel, after so many years!” + </p> + <p> + “It is only eight years, cousin,” returned the lady. + </p> + <p> + “True,” replied the minister gravely. “Yet to one like myself that seems a + long time. You sent for me, cousin.” His gaze wandered round the room and + then fastened once more upon Miss De Grammont. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said faintly. “I could not tell you all in my letter. I wanted—I + want still—somebody's help.” + </p> + <p> + “And it is very natural you should apply for mine, cousin, I will do + anything I can. I have”—the minister grew sensibly more severe, more + grave—“I have this day, on the train, seen a paper—a new kind + of paper to me, I confess,—a <i>Society Journal</i> it calls itself, + in which a name is mentioned. Is your—trouble—connected with + that?” + </p> + <p> + Miss De Grammont blushed deeply. “Yes. That is my name. I would not have + troubled you—but I must ask your advice, for you are the only one of + the family, of my mother's family—” Her voice broke. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, cousin, you are right.” + </p> + <p> + The minister rose and stood up before her, a stern though not + unsympathetic figure in his stiff black coat and iron gray hair. “I know + what you are going to ask me to do. You will ask me to see these people, + these editors, reviewers, whatever they are, to talk to them, to impress + upon them what you are and who you are, and who your mother was, and what + is the end of the base man who imagines lies and the end of all the + workers of iniquity. You will ask me to tell them that it is all false, + all abominable intrigue and treachery and I shall demand in your name and + in my own as your only near relative and a minister of the Gospel, an + apology. It is but jealousy, cousin. Forgive me, but you are too beautiful + and too young to live alone in such a house, in such a manner. You must + marry. Or else you must give up such a life. It maketh enemies within your + gates and behold! there shall be no man to say a good thing of thee!” + </p> + <p> + The minister had lifted up his voice as if he had been in the pulpit and + for one instant laid his hand on his cousin's hair. Then he went back to + his seat. + </p> + <p> + Miss De Grammont was profoundly moved. Great tears coursed down her cheeks + and until they had stopped she could not trust herself to speak. + </p> + <p> + “The paper!” she said dismally. “You have seen a paper, you say, with—my—my + name in it! There is nothing new in that. I have been in the papers for + months past. I am never out of them. And this one says—” + </p> + <p> + The minister drew it out of his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “That with you, in this house lives, in the character of a butler, an + exiled Italian Prince who committed grave personal and political offences + many years ago and was sent to prison. That you are married to him. My + dear cousin, it is monstrous!” + </p> + <p> + Miss De Grammont took out her handkerchief already wet through with her + tears and pressed it to her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “It is not monstrous,” she said, “but it is most extraordinary. He <i>is</i> + an Italian Prince, and I <i>am</i> married to him.” + </p> + <p> + To use a hackneyed phrase, the room swam around Mr. Fielding for an + instant When he recovered he could only sit and gaze at the beautiful + woman before him. The details of village life, in Vermont had not educated + him up to exigencies of this sort. A fearful chasm seemed to have opened + under his feet, and he began to comprehend dimly that there were other + lives than his own and that of his estimable but commonplace wife being + daily lived out in this world. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Miss De Grammont, a little more bravely now that the worst + shock was over. “That is quite true. And the extraordinary part of it is + that they can only have guessed at it; evolved it, as it were from the + depths of their inner consciousness, they can't possible have discovered + it. It isn't known anywhere, save perhaps to one or two in Italy.” + </p> + <p> + “In Italy,” murmured the Rev. Mr. Fielding. “You met him in Italy? And why + keep it secret? My dear cousin, you have made a great mistake. And all + this sad and singular story is true?” + </p> + <p> + “Very nearly true. All but the offences. They never happened.” + </p> + <p> + “Your husband is not a political character then?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! not in the least. He knows nothing of politics. My José! he couldn't + hurt anything, moreover!” + </p> + <p> + “José is a Spanish name, surely,” said Mr. Fielding. + </p> + <p> + “His mother was a Castilian, fair and proud as only a Castilian can be. + She named him José—But he has other names, three, all Italian—Antonio—” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said the minister dryly. “I am sorry that I cannot give you all + the sympathy in this matter that you may desire, but you have entered on a + course of action which is perplexing at least, to say no more. I feel, my + dear cousin, that as a—married woman—your confidences are—ill + placed and I must ask you to withdraw them. You must settle this matter + with your—ahem—husband.” Mr. Fielding took up his hat and in + another moment would have been gone forever, but that turning at the door + he saw such intense supplication in his cousin's eyes that his orthodox + heart melted. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me cousin,” he said coming back. “There may be still a way out of + it. Will you tell me all?” Miss De Grammont then related her different + heart episodes abroad, entanglements, half-engagements, desperate + flirtations and all the rest of it to this sober, black-coated gentleman. + Such a revelation poured forth in truly feminine style nearly drove him + away the second time, but true to his word, he remained nevertheless, + sitting bolt upright in a padded chair only meant for lounging. Finally, + she told him of her snares to catch lovers and how one day she was caught + herself by the dark-browed, eloquent Prince Corunna. + </p> + <p> + She fell in love herself for the first time in her life, and he with her, + so he declared. But he was miserably poor and with the pride of a + Castilian would not woo her because of her money. She hated it, yet she + could not live without it. + </p> + <p> + The minister smiled pityingly. + </p> + <p> + However she made him marry her, and then proposed as a test, in which he + joyfully acquiesced, that he should make himself of use to her, be in + fact, her major-domo, steward, butler, amanuensis, anything and + everything. + </p> + <p> + “It is most unprecedented,” sighed the minister. “That a man with + Castilian blood in his veins—” + </p> + <p> + Miss De Grammont interrupted him. “He was happier so, dear cousin. But I—I + grew most unhappy. And since I have been here, I have been very unhappy + still. We are both in a false position and now—thanks to that + unlucky hammock—our secret has become common property.” + </p> + <p> + “The hammock!” said Mr. Fielding. “What has that got to do with it? It is + a pretty idea.” + </p> + <p> + “So I think,” said Miss De Grammont, delighted beyond measure. Then she + told him about the paragraphs, large and small, the confidential friends, + the small beginnings that had lead insensibly up to the culminating point—that + of scandal. + </p> + <p> + “I am being dropped gradually,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you are,” said the minister. “Of course you are. Soon you will + be—forgive me—a dead letter. There is only one thing to be + done and that I can do at once. A letter must be written to this paper, + stating calmly in as few words as possible that this paragraph is true, + that you <i>are</i> married to Prince—ah—Corunna, that he <i>is</i> + a political offender and for that reason the marriage <i>was</i> kept + secret, but that now of course as informers must already have given the + secret away, you are obliged to endorse it yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “But José is not a political offender! Never did anything wrong in his + life!” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not,” said the minister. “Some of us others, even clergymen, + are not so fortunate. Now that must be included, else there is no good + reason for having kept your marriage secret. Other explanations will not + be taken. Besides this will entitle you to sympathy at once. Will you + write the letter and I can leave it at the office for you? There is time + for me to do that before my train starts.” + </p> + <p> + Miss De Grammont wrote her letter as dictated by her cousin. He put it in + his pocket and rose to go. + </p> + <p> + “Will you not stay and see my husband?” she said timidly. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, no.” returned Mr. Fielding. “I haven't met many foreigners. I + don't think, perhaps, we should get on. Down in Phippsville—well, my + circle is so different from yours, Isabel. It is the fashion I hear to + live abroad now, and desert America—at least to depreciate it, and + not to care about its opinion—but that hasn't spread yet to our + little village. It seems as if it might have been better for instance, had + you stayed in Europe. You see, having married an Italian, all this trouble + would have been avoided—I mean—it could have gone on over + there—but now—well, riches are a snare, my dear cousin, as you + have by this time found. Good-bye, dear cousin, and God be with you.” + </p> + <p> + When a letter addressed to the editor of the Society Journal appeared the + next day signed Isabel Corunna (née De Grammont) with its paralysing + statement in a few concise words, New York was startled to its foundation. + Public opinion which for a week had been at the culminating point of + distrust, malevolence and resentment, turned the corner in a moment and + for the moment believed implicitly in the faith of the lady it had + abandoned. The greatest sympathy was shown Madame La Princesse Corunna, or + Princess Corunna, or Miss De Grammont that was, or whatever her friends + chose to call her. The butler disappeared for ever and the Prince came in. + It was a transformation scene equal to Beauty and the Beast. Dark-browed + and eloquent as ever, the Prince was a social success whenever he chose to + be, but as time went on, he and his wife became more and more absorbed in + each other and the world saw little of either of them. For a time he posed + as a political offender which gave his wife no end of amusement. They were + so far reinstated into public favor that the hammock—source of + mingled joy and woe—was again considered as a thing of beauty and a + thing to be imitated. There are a dozen such hammocks now in New York + City. + </p> + <p> + But there are still a few ill-natured people, dowagers, matrons, an old + love or two, and a handful of shrivelled spinsters who declare that the + Prince is no Prince at all, but a Pastrycook. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Crowded Out! and Other Sketches, by +Susie F. Harrison + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CROWDED OUT! 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